songs, beer, and a letter

I’ve been listening to itunes for the last several hours, and suddenly I realized something. Why are all songs practically about love? ALLL of them.

Okay, not all of them. Ke$ha sings about beer.

But still. A lot of songs are about love. Or maybe it’s just the songs I listen to…..o.0 Or maybe it’s just Koreans plus Taylor Swift…..Or maybe….nah. Anyways, I just thought it was weird that all Koreans plus Taylor Swift just sing about love. How do they think of sooooo many ways to say much of the same thing?!!? It goes to show that the way things are said matter big time. Even with the same basic message, I think some songs are just dumb, while others are super kinda extremely clever. And I never seem to get tired of listening to the same messages of hopefulness or heartbreak or whatever if they’re just phrased differently. A new song feels new because it demonstrates the same message as that of another song in a completely different manner. Writing lyrics seems like hard business. Especially when there’s rhyming and syllable counting involved.

Anyways, I felt like writing another random thing that has nothing to do with anything I just said. Again, it’s another semi-stream-of-consciousness deal, so forgive me if it makes your eyes bleed, I really didn’t mean for that to happen, sorry, sorry:

Dear Sailor Moon,

"Who is your hero?" my college application asks.

You come to mind.

This is a really big problem.

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A Scarlet Letter?!?!? No.......i tricked you.

Just a random letter to myself in the ridiculous hours of the morning.

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Sorry.

Just a random thing I felt like writing....I've been really preoccupied by the concept of growing up lately....It seems like the more I think about it, the faster time goes. So I try not to think about it, but that's like trying not to think about something when someone commands you not to. It just doesn't work.

Sorry. She was sorry. Sorry that when she looked in the mirror, she saw someone older than she expected. In her mind's eye, she saw her five-year-old self, puzzled and hurt by the neglect she was showing to the setting world of her childhood.

But it was inevitable. The days--they just slipped, she couldn't help it, they just got away from her, leaked out of her tightly cupped hands. She wanted to find the source, use one hand to stopper time, wherever it began, and use her other hand to reach out to the girl of her past, the girl being left behind, the girl being locked away--alone in a world of magic, vibrant colors, and childish secrets meant to be whispered into attentive ears, not brokenly mumbled into empty air. But she was too far gone, the time was too late.

There once was a time she was sure who she was, when some magic, and dreams, and her faith was enough. There once was a day she hoped she'd become a hero like in the cartoons she'd so devotedly watched, when she thought she'd rise up and unfold her wings. But she grew and changed, the world changed, time was moving, moving along, pushing and nudging her towards new dreams, more realistic and cold hopes, more logical and precise wishes. It nudged so far into cold and rationality that that the dreams, hopes, and wishes soon became "goals"--stony pellets and shells that encased her soft, glittering, childish heart. Goals closed her eyes with exhaustion when years ago she'd spent her nights intently staring at the ceiling sprinkled with glow-in-the-dark stars from Toys-R-Us. Back then, the ceiling had been the whole galaxy and beyond.

Sorry. She was so sorry. Sorry to her reflection, sorry for hating that awkward girl in the mirror. Sorry to the past, sorry for locking it away. And sorry to herself, because she was stuck, in between. Between the child who had to be forgotten in order to survive the new obstacles time brought, and the adult she feared becoming--the adult who embodied dullness, faithlessness, and utter cynicism.

Nostalgia

I don't consider myself a writer. On a normal basis, the idea of writing kinda makes me cringe. I journal because I want to keep memories, not necessarily because I feel like writing. Which is why I always push back, back journal entries, saying, I'll do it tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, until I realize I've forgotten what I was first going to write about, or I turn to my last journal entry and freak about the fact that it's from a month ago. Or when we get an essay from school, I just get a sinking feeling, thinking about how I'm going to spend the next several days sitting in front of my computer and getting my skin bleached by the light coming off the screen.

Other times, like the flash backs we discussed in class (but not really), something happens, and I have to write. I'm afraid of forgetting stuff, losing ideas, or not recording something important for future reference, and if I'm unfortunate enough, I'll have to get up in the middle of the night to scribble something on a random scrap sheet or an index card before I forget it...although I probably won't be able to read it the next morning. And when I actually get myself to journal or write letters, I can't seem to stop. I might as well finish and get out a lot of thoughts once I start, right?

So those are the times when I feel compelled to write--kind of forced by my conscience. And my other reason is tied to fear of forgetfulness I guess, but it's a different way of looking at it...I like looking back at old journal entries. They're like a call from the past, and then there's a wave of nostalgia, kin of (I sound like I'm 100 years old....). A lot of the time that makes me upset, but I feel like nostalgia's also important and necessary, despite people always saying, "Move FORWARD!!!!!! INTO THE FUTURE!!!! LIVE IN THE NOW AND SEIZE THE DAY!!!" Once I'm through with the upset part of nostalgia, I'm actually a bit more cheerful and a dab more secure than I started off. Nostalgia's like a check against the future. It's exactly as it sounds--sad, but soft and round, comforting and warm. When I move too far forward, all at once, that I get lost, I look back and see how I got where I am. I retrace my steps--laugh at mistakes, cry at losses, listen to old music, draw with crayons, look at pictures, and youtube a TV show I used to love--all to run into Nostalgia's arms. i rest a little in the past, because it's easier to relive things than to forge ahead, always pushing the boundaries of time. I think that it's important, especially now that I'm applying to college, that I keep the sense of Nostalgia alive, because it's so easy to try and put up a pretense, a perfect-student-image that's set and cropped to match what we think colleges want. And there's all that rush--people get ready for the next stage in their lives, and it kinda makes them forget what they're also in the process of leaving behind.