My blog posts come in floods and droughts. Sometimes I'll write three huge posts a day, then I'll go a week without thinking of anything to say. Today, I have a lot to say. I guess writing in general has been on my mind.
Showing posts with label Just Thinking.... Show all posts
Showing posts with label Just Thinking.... Show all posts
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Procrastination. And some thoughts.
This is just going to be a blogpost full of random thoughts while I put off college apps.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
oops, I like social experimentation?
sorry, my mistake, let me correct myself: I LOVE SOCIAL EXPERIMENTATION.
Is the way i just said it looking a bit obnoxious? good. But really I don't think I've said anything particularly wrong.
Is the way i just said it looking a bit obnoxious? good. But really I don't think I've said anything particularly wrong.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Post Story Depression
I think I have a severe case of Post Story Depression.
Whenever I finish a story, I find myself getting seriously disappointed, bored, and overall dissatisfied with myself.
Whenever I finish a story, I find myself getting seriously disappointed, bored, and overall dissatisfied with myself.
A Scarlet Letter?!?!? No.......i tricked you.
Just a random letter to myself in the ridiculous hours of the morning.
colorless junk
November 27, 2010 12:16AM
Right now, I’ve been looking at the empty personal message box open on my messenger application. It kind of makes me sit and wonder. Especially since my mind is just looking to be distracted right now.
How do I feel?
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
uhm. what? double rainbows? not really.
I'm currently supposed to be working on college apps. But I never seem to be able to think of anything relevant unless it's due in 5 minutes.
....and it's not due in 5 minutes. So.
I haven't written anything for a while. I just feel like I don't really have anything to say. Actually, I do have things to say. I'm just being super lazy. It's hibernation season. All this winter and snow makes me feel extra slow.
But after listening to the same song on repeat 42 (43 now...) times, I've decided I really should write something. Even if it's not for college apps. So I'm just going to write a random story, regardless of how terribly it turns out. It's half stream of consciousness, since I'm just going to write it as random ideas pop into my head. Okay?
Even if you're not okay with it, too bad. I really need to get writing. And I feel sort of snobby right now. Sorry.
....and it's not due in 5 minutes. So.
I haven't written anything for a while. I just feel like I don't really have anything to say. Actually, I do have things to say. I'm just being super lazy. It's hibernation season. All this winter and snow makes me feel extra slow.
But after listening to the same song on repeat 42 (43 now...) times, I've decided I really should write something. Even if it's not for college apps. So I'm just going to write a random story, regardless of how terribly it turns out. It's half stream of consciousness, since I'm just going to write it as random ideas pop into my head. Okay?
Even if you're not okay with it, too bad. I really need to get writing. And I feel sort of snobby right now. Sorry.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
rust, anyone?
Rust makes me think of being disappointed. It's like a shiny nail that's turned all brown and is falling apart gradually (chemistry students, unite!). It's like you expect a beautiful carmine sort of flower, and once it blooms you find out it's been half chewed by aphids and whatnot and is in the process of decaying. It's like picking out an awesome apple at QFC (people don't seem to pick apples off of trees nowadays...) and turning it over to see an ugly, ugly bruise. Rust is upsetting.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
GUYS. We're ALL Prism flavored!
I was surfing the interwebs when all of a sudden I saw an ad. For 5 gum.
I'm still feeling sorta blah creativity-wise, but i've just been getting over it by doing chem homework, and seeing this ad just made me feel a lot better.
But really. Who thought of that name? What do prisms have to do, in any way, with watermelons? or electric ones, for that matter? How do people make those associations?
It kind of makes me think of those ridiculous internet/magazine quizzes. like, Which celebrity are you? What is yo' animal? Who is yo' Twilight love match? (wow, ew).
...If you're mostly A's, you're THIS. If you're mostly B's, you're THAT. If you're mostly C's, you're NEITHER, and consequently very-very, very very very very VERY unacceptably lame. You should change yourself so you're either mostly A's or mostly B's, got it?
But it's not just those quizzes. People in general, I think, have the tendency to try and label themselves under certain categories. It's supposed to refrect yo' chaaaaractaaar and sho' yu de weeeei. Even at camps, I've heard random questions like, If you were a FRUIT (just imagine you were!) what FRUIT would you be?....or maybe you are actually a VE-GE-TA-BLE?!?!? If your name was a CITY, what CITY would you want? Rrrrrromantic, like Paris? Byoootiful, like Bellevue? Sketchy, like Las Vegas (i see what you did there, buddy)?
It's not exactly a bad thing to want to put a label on things, I guess. But I also think it obscures things. It makes people focus on a single aspect of something, rather than looking at the whole. If we looked at things holistically, there'd be no way for us to label ourselves like that. There would be no words. But, I think, there would be stories.
From what I've read of the workshop stories, so many of the characters are so filled out, so real, so 3D. And it's not from direct description. It's from their experiences that I witness in the stories written about them, and sooner or later, while I'm reading the story, I feel like I'm almost reading a huge character sketch every time, because I get to know the character so well! But if you asked me to describe the character, I wouldn't be able to find the right words at all. The feelings that the stories evoke......they're somethin' else. No words to describe the thoughts and sympathy they grow, Prism flavored or not.
Prism flavored.....an electric watermelon.
I'm still feeling sorta blah creativity-wise, but i've just been getting over it by doing chem homework, and seeing this ad just made me feel a lot better.
But really. Who thought of that name? What do prisms have to do, in any way, with watermelons? or electric ones, for that matter? How do people make those associations?
It kind of makes me think of those ridiculous internet/magazine quizzes. like, Which celebrity are you? What is yo' animal? Who is yo' Twilight love match? (wow, ew).
...If you're mostly A's, you're THIS. If you're mostly B's, you're THAT. If you're mostly C's, you're NEITHER, and consequently very-very, very very very very VERY unacceptably lame. You should change yourself so you're either mostly A's or mostly B's, got it?
But it's not just those quizzes. People in general, I think, have the tendency to try and label themselves under certain categories. It's supposed to refrect yo' chaaaaractaaar and sho' yu de weeeei. Even at camps, I've heard random questions like, If you were a FRUIT (just imagine you were!) what FRUIT would you be?....or maybe you are actually a VE-GE-TA-BLE?!?!? If your name was a CITY, what CITY would you want? Rrrrrromantic, like Paris? Byoootiful, like Bellevue? Sketchy, like Las Vegas (i see what you did there, buddy)?
It's not exactly a bad thing to want to put a label on things, I guess. But I also think it obscures things. It makes people focus on a single aspect of something, rather than looking at the whole. If we looked at things holistically, there'd be no way for us to label ourselves like that. There would be no words. But, I think, there would be stories.
From what I've read of the workshop stories, so many of the characters are so filled out, so real, so 3D. And it's not from direct description. It's from their experiences that I witness in the stories written about them, and sooner or later, while I'm reading the story, I feel like I'm almost reading a huge character sketch every time, because I get to know the character so well! But if you asked me to describe the character, I wouldn't be able to find the right words at all. The feelings that the stories evoke......they're somethin' else. No words to describe the thoughts and sympathy they grow, Prism flavored or not.
Running Dry
I'm starting to freak out, which is stupid, considering I have about two months (A LITTLE LESS, ACTUALLY, OMGGGG) to write my story. Stupid, stupid. And really I shouldn't be worrying about my nonexistent, far off story because I should actually be worrying about my UW app, which I haven't started, despite the fact that it's due the day after tomorrow. Anyways, I always seem to be worrying about dumb things, in a dumb order of importance.
Sometimes, I even manage to worry a little about my inability to set my priorities straight! Brilliant, eh? I know. I'm a brilliant kid, and you're jealous. -.- just kidding.
I'm in a really blah sort of state right now. My whole life is blah, college apps are blah, and my short story has accomplished the amazing feat of being blah without even existing.
But seriously, I have NO IDEA what I'm doing with my story, and I am quite, quite quite quite concernnned that I'm going to be this blank by the time January rrrrrrolls around and my story is DUE. ICK. These stories I've been reading for workshop are BRILLIANT so yeah, I feel especially clueless now. It's amazing how unique people's ideas are, how their stories are fiction, yet so them. How does that happen? How do bits and pieces of ourselves sneak in, slip in and pop up in random parts of our stories?
So anyways....I'm going to start writing random ideas, bits and pieces, NOW. TODAY. TODAY IS THE DAY......for what? I have no idea about that, either. But the brainstorm needs to start brewing ASAP. Right now I admit it's a bit of a noob-tropical storm out in the middle of whatever the lamest ocean is (which do YOU think the lamest ocean is? ha).
So. Don't read this next part, if anyone was reading this in the first place.This is my storm-in-the-making. And hopefully, if my creativity-drought ends, by January I can make it something that can reckon with the likes of Poseidon (I wish).
Some things I want in my story.....mabes:
So far, I've only been able to make decisions on what I don't want to write. I don't want a love story, or a story placed in the country, or one with many characters or dialogue. I'm looking for something simple and maybe slightly strange in my messed-up, upside-down mind. I'm thinking I still need a longgggggggg while before I can sort things out.
....Therefore, WEBASSIGN GO T_T
Sometimes, I even manage to worry a little about my inability to set my priorities straight! Brilliant, eh? I know. I'm a brilliant kid, and you're jealous. -.- just kidding.
I'm in a really blah sort of state right now. My whole life is blah, college apps are blah, and my short story has accomplished the amazing feat of being blah without even existing.
But seriously, I have NO IDEA what I'm doing with my story, and I am quite, quite quite quite concernnned that I'm going to be this blank by the time January rrrrrrolls around and my story is DUE. ICK. These stories I've been reading for workshop are BRILLIANT so yeah, I feel especially clueless now. It's amazing how unique people's ideas are, how their stories are fiction, yet so them. How does that happen? How do bits and pieces of ourselves sneak in, slip in and pop up in random parts of our stories?
So anyways....I'm going to start writing random ideas, bits and pieces, NOW. TODAY. TODAY IS THE DAY......for what? I have no idea about that, either. But the brainstorm needs to start brewing ASAP. Right now I admit it's a bit of a noob-tropical storm out in the middle of whatever the lamest ocean is (which do YOU think the lamest ocean is? ha).
So. Don't read this next part, if anyone was reading this in the first place.This is my storm-in-the-making. And hopefully, if my creativity-drought ends, by January I can make it something that can reckon with the likes of Poseidon (I wish).
Some things I want in my story.....mabes:
- weird quirks. People can be so strange.
- Fortune cookies
- Food in general?
- Those faces I always seem to imagine when I see car headlights...
- colors?
- superheroes?
- letters?
- I can't decide if I want a happy ending or a sad one. both of them seem difficult.
- Setting: our everyday world? a high rise? the city? a park? a single room? a door? a not-door (window)? a desk?
- a dentist
- A single, yellow canine in an otherwise white and flawless smile
- markers
So far, I've only been able to make decisions on what I don't want to write. I don't want a love story, or a story placed in the country, or one with many characters or dialogue. I'm looking for something simple and maybe slightly strange in my messed-up, upside-down mind. I'm thinking I still need a longgggggggg while before I can sort things out.
....Therefore, WEBASSIGN GO T_T
Monday, November 8, 2010
My friend Jesus.
So...just now, as my mom walked by, I took out my planner and it opened up to a page with two random Buddhas and a Jesus drawn on it. Needless to say, my mom was quite surprised and slightly (very very very very) offended. Luckily, my experience as an Asian child helped me to save myself by letting her know instantly that I certainly didn't put them there.
Anyways, that close-call reminded me of something. My mother's reaction, I must admit, was similar to how I first freaked out when my friend drew Jesus on my planner during school earlier today. This sort of thing goes to show that the freak-out-factor is genetic. I think it's weird how whenever I go to Church (sorry if some people don't like religion-y things), I get told that God should be like my best friend, my dad, my teacher, ....everything. Even though I'm sure that is a very encompassing and good idea, to be honest I can't quite imagine myself saying, "'Sup God," or "Oh hey there, it's the Holy Spirit," or "Holaaaaaaaa.....Jesus." I feel like to revere something, I somehow need to get sort of distant to it: Jesus is amazing y'all, but DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH A HAIR OF HIS HOLY HEAD. IT'S NOT ALLOWED.
I remember this one time I came back from Church when I was about seven, and I was kinda excited 'cuz that was the first time I heard God was supposed to....be my best friend?
So I remember sort of staying up that night at until 12 and just sitting in the dark (this is way back in the old days when 12 was LATE for me)....trying to talk to God. Up till that point, when I prayed, I'd just recited standard stuff. It was the same everyday. So this whole conversational thing was new, and weird. And after struggling for about half an hour, I decided I was being ridiculous and went to sleep.
So what is it that makes people avoid stuff like that? Why is it bad to "talk to God," or Jesus, or the Holy Spirit, or whatever floats your boat, for that matter? For me, I feel like there's a taboo. I'm supposed to be super well-behaved talking to someone like, God, have my best attitude, and my brightest smile, and he's supposed to know that everythings going wonderfully. The world is great.
But then, that doesn't quite fit either, does it? It feels so unnatural, so dishonest. Which it is, I guess. So I kinda just felt like writing a thing about Jesus, in a less....not in a less reverent way, but in a less awkward way. In a more honest, blunt way. I'm not quite sure if it's still what I'm looking for, but hopefully, I've gotten somewhere since my seven-year-old problems.
I know a guy named Jesus. He's an old friend. I've known him just about since I was born. He's super smart and he tells good stories, while being the perfect listener. He gets what you're talking about instantly, and he doesn't judge you. So basically, he's an overall awesome and nice guy. But there's a problem. It's not his problem. It's my problem.
He listens even when he knows I'm lying. I know I shouldn't take advantage of that. But thinking about people like Jesus makes me feel like crap. If I were honest I'd probably complain all the time, or freak about something completely irrelevant and unimportant, or talk about a bunch of ordinary, bland topics that he hears about just about a million times a day.
And another thing. I haven't seen him in a long time. Talking to him was awkward, so I guess I quit being his friend over a period of several years. I used to go over every week, I swear, but I'm a busy kid. One week I was busy being sick after staying up three nights in a row, and the next week my mom was sick, and then my dog was sick, I had a birthday party to go to, I had a huge project, I procrastinated on homework, I felt tired, I didn't really know anyone at his house anymore, I couldn't wake up early enough, I forgot about it.
I'm a heathen, I know.....So do you think he'll still be friends with me?
I hope so.
He's a smart guy who can understand. I want his good stories to make me smart, too. And the way he listens makes me wish I talked using a little less words, with a little more honesty.
Anyways, that close-call reminded me of something. My mother's reaction, I must admit, was similar to how I first freaked out when my friend drew Jesus on my planner during school earlier today. This sort of thing goes to show that the freak-out-factor is genetic. I think it's weird how whenever I go to Church (sorry if some people don't like religion-y things), I get told that God should be like my best friend, my dad, my teacher, ....everything. Even though I'm sure that is a very encompassing and good idea, to be honest I can't quite imagine myself saying, "'Sup God," or "Oh hey there, it's the Holy Spirit," or "Holaaaaaaaa.....Jesus." I feel like to revere something, I somehow need to get sort of distant to it: Jesus is amazing y'all, but DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH A HAIR OF HIS HOLY HEAD. IT'S NOT ALLOWED.
I remember this one time I came back from Church when I was about seven, and I was kinda excited 'cuz that was the first time I heard God was supposed to....be my best friend?
So I remember sort of staying up that night at until 12 and just sitting in the dark (this is way back in the old days when 12 was LATE for me)....trying to talk to God. Up till that point, when I prayed, I'd just recited standard stuff. It was the same everyday. So this whole conversational thing was new, and weird. And after struggling for about half an hour, I decided I was being ridiculous and went to sleep.
So what is it that makes people avoid stuff like that? Why is it bad to "talk to God," or Jesus, or the Holy Spirit, or whatever floats your boat, for that matter? For me, I feel like there's a taboo. I'm supposed to be super well-behaved talking to someone like, God, have my best attitude, and my brightest smile, and he's supposed to know that everythings going wonderfully. The world is great.
But then, that doesn't quite fit either, does it? It feels so unnatural, so dishonest. Which it is, I guess. So I kinda just felt like writing a thing about Jesus, in a less....not in a less reverent way, but in a less awkward way. In a more honest, blunt way. I'm not quite sure if it's still what I'm looking for, but hopefully, I've gotten somewhere since my seven-year-old problems.
I know a guy named Jesus. He's an old friend. I've known him just about since I was born. He's super smart and he tells good stories, while being the perfect listener. He gets what you're talking about instantly, and he doesn't judge you. So basically, he's an overall awesome and nice guy. But there's a problem. It's not his problem. It's my problem.
He listens even when he knows I'm lying. I know I shouldn't take advantage of that. But thinking about people like Jesus makes me feel like crap. If I were honest I'd probably complain all the time, or freak about something completely irrelevant and unimportant, or talk about a bunch of ordinary, bland topics that he hears about just about a million times a day.
And another thing. I haven't seen him in a long time. Talking to him was awkward, so I guess I quit being his friend over a period of several years. I used to go over every week, I swear, but I'm a busy kid. One week I was busy being sick after staying up three nights in a row, and the next week my mom was sick, and then my dog was sick, I had a birthday party to go to, I had a huge project, I procrastinated on homework, I felt tired, I didn't really know anyone at his house anymore, I couldn't wake up early enough, I forgot about it.
I'm a heathen, I know.....So do you think he'll still be friends with me?
I hope so.
He's a smart guy who can understand. I want his good stories to make me smart, too. And the way he listens makes me wish I talked using a little less words, with a little more honesty.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Bloodtypes EVERYWHERE
My mom and I have weird conversations during dinner. Yesterday, she was telling me about guessing one's personality based on bloodtypes. Although I was skeptical, suddenly I was seeing bloodtypes all over the place, guessing bloodtypes, and trying to figure out what I was (because sadly, even doctor's daughters don't know their bloodtypes sometimes -_-. My dad can be so fail sometimes).
I'm still not quite sure if I believe what my mom said. I don't totally disbelieve it, either--I've inherited superstition and a dislike of skepticism >.<
Anyways, I think I'm an A. therefore, A's FTW.
yeah. that was completely objective.
Okay. I admit guessing personality by bloodtype is ridiculous, but I don't want to eliminate the possibility. What if it's tied to some other ridiculous gene that communicates a person's sensitivity, thought processes, extro/introversion, etc?
Huh. I don't like that idea either, now that I think of it. I don't like the idea that personality depends on genetics. I'd really just like to believe that people have complete free will, that there's no factors that determine who someone is, that all of it is just innate, and that we're all in full control. I just want to think that there's a little bit of magic involved in how a person works, that there's something special that distinguishes a human from a dead, empty carcass--not just that one's alive and the other's not, but that there's a soul in one, and not in the other. I like hoping that afterwards, there's something that all people can look forward to and hope for, that life doesn't just end here, that the magic that makes a living person's eyes glow with meaning doesn't just crumble away once the sense of alertness leaves ones eyes, and the eyes grow dull and thoughtless.
How did a ramble on bloodtypes end up like this? I'm always so unfocused and shooting off on weird tangents.
....it must mean I'm bloodtype A.
jk. :)
I'm still not quite sure if I believe what my mom said. I don't totally disbelieve it, either--I've inherited superstition and a dislike of skepticism >.<
Anyways, I think I'm an A. therefore, A's FTW.
yeah. that was completely objective.
Okay. I admit guessing personality by bloodtype is ridiculous, but I don't want to eliminate the possibility. What if it's tied to some other ridiculous gene that communicates a person's sensitivity, thought processes, extro/introversion, etc?
Huh. I don't like that idea either, now that I think of it. I don't like the idea that personality depends on genetics. I'd really just like to believe that people have complete free will, that there's no factors that determine who someone is, that all of it is just innate, and that we're all in full control. I just want to think that there's a little bit of magic involved in how a person works, that there's something special that distinguishes a human from a dead, empty carcass--not just that one's alive and the other's not, but that there's a soul in one, and not in the other. I like hoping that afterwards, there's something that all people can look forward to and hope for, that life doesn't just end here, that the magic that makes a living person's eyes glow with meaning doesn't just crumble away once the sense of alertness leaves ones eyes, and the eyes grow dull and thoughtless.
How did a ramble on bloodtypes end up like this? I'm always so unfocused and shooting off on weird tangents.
....it must mean I'm bloodtype A.
jk. :)
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Simply sincere
I've been thinking about writing in general recently, especially since the beginning of the short story workshops has been freaking me out. I have absolutely NOOOOO idea what I'm going to write about, how I'm going to go about writing it, and when I'm going to start writing it. I'm just at a stasis right now. I can't think of anything to write about when I sit myself down in front of the computer and try to write. I can't just sit in front of a screen and come up with ideas. I just get random thoughts throughout the day, and I try to tuck them in a little pocket in my mind for use later, or I repeat it to myself over and over in my head until I can find paper and a pencil to write with. Usually, I forget what it was that I was so enthusiastic about getting down, and then I have to wait until the next time an idea decides to pop into my mind.
This all led me to think that writing really should be a sincere, natural sort of thing. It can't be forced, there's no formula involved in making a good piece of writing. I always feel like when I write I need to have something meaningful in the words I use, or the subjects I talk about, and then I get super self-conscious and fail miserably. But I had a conversation with one of my friends today, and as I read her messages in the chat box it really hit me what a sincere voice she has. I enjoy talking to her because the way she expresses herself is so candid, honest, and open. It invites conversation and reminds me of weird things--like fresh apples waiting to be eaten, or a blank sheet of paper waiting to be written on. She says things that wait to be discussed, thought about, and enjoyed.
Things can be enjoyed even if they're conversational. They're just nice in their simplicity. A complex topic can be presented in a simple voice, and everything becomes all the more striking, more forward, more memorable. I want to write like that eventually. Hopefully, with time I'll become completely comfortable about writing in my voice, with no bells and whistles attached.
This all led me to think that writing really should be a sincere, natural sort of thing. It can't be forced, there's no formula involved in making a good piece of writing. I always feel like when I write I need to have something meaningful in the words I use, or the subjects I talk about, and then I get super self-conscious and fail miserably. But I had a conversation with one of my friends today, and as I read her messages in the chat box it really hit me what a sincere voice she has. I enjoy talking to her because the way she expresses herself is so candid, honest, and open. It invites conversation and reminds me of weird things--like fresh apples waiting to be eaten, or a blank sheet of paper waiting to be written on. She says things that wait to be discussed, thought about, and enjoyed.
Things can be enjoyed even if they're conversational. They're just nice in their simplicity. A complex topic can be presented in a simple voice, and everything becomes all the more striking, more forward, more memorable. I want to write like that eventually. Hopefully, with time I'll become completely comfortable about writing in my voice, with no bells and whistles attached.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, October 29, 2010
You don't know me.
Something just occurred to me, and I wanted to get it down.
Do most people feel as if their parents know them? While I've been doing college application essays, and other people have been doing the same, I feel like that issue has been coming up a lot....
At first, I wrote an essay that I thought would turn out well...I sat down and said, I"M WRITING MY COLLEGE ESSAY....STARTING NOW. My mom read it and hated it. She was like, it doesn't sound like you.
I must admit, I ended up agreeing with her, but at first I got super pissed about it and it ended up being a two-week long argument. She said my essay was too negative, dark, and unappealing. I responded by saying, "Well clearly you don't know me then. But I know myself, and I know I'm in this essay, and if you don't like me this way, that's too bad." But she won the argument, and I edited the essay over, and over, and over again to make it "positive" until I realized I'd edited myself out completely, and I was trying to write in the voice of a stranger. The idea I'd had, the idea I'd been enthusiastic about for months, the idea I'd anticipated writing eagerly, became ugly, and later I couldn't stand it.
So I scrapped it, eventually. And I was super upset, so I was writing about how I was upset about that....and then that became my new college essay.....@_@ super circular and ironic. And after that, I wrote two more essays, and as of yet the three essays all feel like me, I think. I hope.
My mom likes these better. But still, there are times when she points at a line and says, THIS ISN"T YOU, and I say HOW WOULD YOU KNOW. This whole back and forth process has been stressing me out. It made me wonder if I was abnormal or unreasonable, if I was the only one having these huge arguments.
But then I heard a lot of people talking about the same things, and it made me think that the college essay really is a sort of pressure cooker. People get pushed by everyone else on all sides--do this, do that, take that out, I don't like this, you should be that. So it's critical to truthful, good writing to be honest to yourself. Follow intuition. If it feels wrong for you, it's because it is wrong for you. It doesn't matter if you don't know exactly, explicitly, precisely who you are. Somehow, if there's something that clicks, even if you don't know what, you should follow through with it. An essay about yourself should be something that you can smile about, not something that you hate. It should be something easy to write, not something that you worry about or something that makes you feel insecure.
People don't, people can't, know all about you. People can't know all about me. The writer needs to take control, because they're the only ones who can easily, naturally, beautifully lay themselves out on the paper.
Do most people feel as if their parents know them? While I've been doing college application essays, and other people have been doing the same, I feel like that issue has been coming up a lot....
At first, I wrote an essay that I thought would turn out well...I sat down and said, I"M WRITING MY COLLEGE ESSAY....STARTING NOW. My mom read it and hated it. She was like, it doesn't sound like you.
I must admit, I ended up agreeing with her, but at first I got super pissed about it and it ended up being a two-week long argument. She said my essay was too negative, dark, and unappealing. I responded by saying, "Well clearly you don't know me then. But I know myself, and I know I'm in this essay, and if you don't like me this way, that's too bad." But she won the argument, and I edited the essay over, and over, and over again to make it "positive" until I realized I'd edited myself out completely, and I was trying to write in the voice of a stranger. The idea I'd had, the idea I'd been enthusiastic about for months, the idea I'd anticipated writing eagerly, became ugly, and later I couldn't stand it.
So I scrapped it, eventually. And I was super upset, so I was writing about how I was upset about that....and then that became my new college essay.....@_@ super circular and ironic. And after that, I wrote two more essays, and as of yet the three essays all feel like me, I think. I hope.
My mom likes these better. But still, there are times when she points at a line and says, THIS ISN"T YOU, and I say HOW WOULD YOU KNOW. This whole back and forth process has been stressing me out. It made me wonder if I was abnormal or unreasonable, if I was the only one having these huge arguments.
But then I heard a lot of people talking about the same things, and it made me think that the college essay really is a sort of pressure cooker. People get pushed by everyone else on all sides--do this, do that, take that out, I don't like this, you should be that. So it's critical to truthful, good writing to be honest to yourself. Follow intuition. If it feels wrong for you, it's because it is wrong for you. It doesn't matter if you don't know exactly, explicitly, precisely who you are. Somehow, if there's something that clicks, even if you don't know what, you should follow through with it. An essay about yourself should be something that you can smile about, not something that you hate. It should be something easy to write, not something that you worry about or something that makes you feel insecure.
People don't, people can't, know all about you. People can't know all about me. The writer needs to take control, because they're the only ones who can easily, naturally, beautifully lay themselves out on the paper.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Heffalumps and Woozles.
I was having a conversation with David Cannon about Halloween, which turned into a conversation about Pooh Bear.
And then i got a link to a video that forever changed my perspective on pooh bear. And Heffalumps and Woozles, for that matter.
...I don't remember Winnie the Pooh being this scary. I wonder if I never noticed because at the time I was five. I watched a Sailor Moon episode and realized all of the bad guys are complete creepers, too.
How do children not notice such creepy things? Maybe my mind has just been corrupted.
I also worry and wonder who made this video.
Nevertheless, I think I can forgive the Pooh Bear team for this mind-freak, Pooh Bear's still awesome because I still have a million Pooh Bears attached to my back pack.
And then i got a link to a video that forever changed my perspective on pooh bear. And Heffalumps and Woozles, for that matter.
...I don't remember Winnie the Pooh being this scary. I wonder if I never noticed because at the time I was five. I watched a Sailor Moon episode and realized all of the bad guys are complete creepers, too.
How do children not notice such creepy things? Maybe my mind has just been corrupted.
I also worry and wonder who made this video.
Nevertheless, I think I can forgive the Pooh Bear team for this mind-freak, Pooh Bear's still awesome because I still have a million Pooh Bears attached to my back pack.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Video Games...in My Sleep? AHJDSJLASASJDKL
I don't really like blogging about how life's been going and all that crap, I feel like blogs should be more for like...thoughts? or particular topics that's the central focus of the whollllllle blog, but what do I know? Also, i'm a hypocrite. And if you tell me you're not, you're a hypocrite too....(ummm that sounds circular...but I hope that made sense).
Anyways, I realized how sadly college has already been eating my life from a dream I had last night!
Warning: I have weird dreams.
I've been really interested in the concept of lucid dreaming lately. This link basically lays out the gist of what lucid dreaming is, and how people practice it! I really want to be able to dream lucidly....it kinda makes me feel like...I'd be playing a video game, except I'd be IN THE VIDEOGAME.....IN MY SLEEP. People can do whatever they imagine in lucid dreams, the sky's the limit!...literally. If you want to fly, you can fly, instantly. Because you're aware that you're dreaming, and you can control everything you want, however much you want.
...Maybe it's unrealistic that I'm hoping to use lucid dreaming to do the impossible.
Too bad.
So...I've been practicing strategies to lucid dream. Basically, this consists of me spending random moments of the day feeling stupid while I look at a wall and try to change it's color with the force of my mind. It's like using a totem in Inception, just less cool. If the wall changes color, OMG YOU'RE ACTUALLY DREAMING AND NOW YOU KNOW. If the wall doesn't change color, you should stop. You're awake, and looking at the wall with so much focus makes you look like a dork.
~So if this becomes a habit, it increases the chance that you'll look at a wall while you're asleep/dreaming and that you'll try to change it's color while you're asleep. Which is what I did last night!!! and the wall REALLY changed color from yellow to green and purple and I freaked out in my sleep, because I realized I was dreaminggggg.
Apparently people unpracticed in lucid dreaming are super stupid when they're dreaming. In my dream, my mom, who has been yelling at me about college apps for what feels like forever (why so azn, mom?), was STILL YELLING at me about them. SO then, my brilliant dream-self reasoned that since my mom was still freaking about college apps, and not being nice or letting me do whatever (aka play video games, watch TV, fly, walk on the walls, etc), I was actually AWAKE. Yes, I convinced myself that somehow, even though the wall just changed color, my mother's anger proved that I'd been imagining the color change, and that I was actually awake. So I literally forgot that I was dreaming. T_T
My dreams SUCK.
They're either completely lame and boring, or I'm always being chased by zombies and trying to kill them with a black baseball bat I got in second grade that I keep in my closet. And then the zombies come attack me and overwhelm me, and I die, because my mom's too busy cooking the rice or calculating taxes or rearranging the furniture to help me.
...why does this happen?!?! I must say I really, really hope dreams are NOT a reflection of a person's life at all....
Anyways, I realized how sadly college has already been eating my life from a dream I had last night!
Warning: I have weird dreams.
I've been really interested in the concept of lucid dreaming lately. This link basically lays out the gist of what lucid dreaming is, and how people practice it! I really want to be able to dream lucidly....it kinda makes me feel like...I'd be playing a video game, except I'd be IN THE VIDEOGAME.....IN MY SLEEP. People can do whatever they imagine in lucid dreams, the sky's the limit!...literally. If you want to fly, you can fly, instantly. Because you're aware that you're dreaming, and you can control everything you want, however much you want.
...Maybe it's unrealistic that I'm hoping to use lucid dreaming to do the impossible.
Too bad.
So...I've been practicing strategies to lucid dream. Basically, this consists of me spending random moments of the day feeling stupid while I look at a wall and try to change it's color with the force of my mind. It's like using a totem in Inception, just less cool. If the wall changes color, OMG YOU'RE ACTUALLY DREAMING AND NOW YOU KNOW. If the wall doesn't change color, you should stop. You're awake, and looking at the wall with so much focus makes you look like a dork.
~So if this becomes a habit, it increases the chance that you'll look at a wall while you're asleep/dreaming and that you'll try to change it's color while you're asleep. Which is what I did last night!!! and the wall REALLY changed color from yellow to green and purple and I freaked out in my sleep, because I realized I was dreaminggggg.
Apparently people unpracticed in lucid dreaming are super stupid when they're dreaming. In my dream, my mom, who has been yelling at me about college apps for what feels like forever (why so azn, mom?), was STILL YELLING at me about them. SO then, my brilliant dream-self reasoned that since my mom was still freaking about college apps, and not being nice or letting me do whatever (aka play video games, watch TV, fly, walk on the walls, etc), I was actually AWAKE. Yes, I convinced myself that somehow, even though the wall just changed color, my mother's anger proved that I'd been imagining the color change, and that I was actually awake. So I literally forgot that I was dreaming. T_T
My dreams SUCK.
They're either completely lame and boring, or I'm always being chased by zombies and trying to kill them with a black baseball bat I got in second grade that I keep in my closet. And then the zombies come attack me and overwhelm me, and I die, because my mom's too busy cooking the rice or calculating taxes or rearranging the furniture to help me.
...why does this happen?!?! I must say I really, really hope dreams are NOT a reflection of a person's life at all....
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
I wish I played videogames.....
....Just saying.
I REALLY WANT TO PLAY TWILIGHT PRINCESS WTF
I noticed over the last few days I'm an incredible dork. I was listening....to the sound track of Twilight Princess because I want that to be the first video game I play!!! And I liked the music a lot.....I think it's because it just gets me in a positive mood, and makes me feel like I'm in the video game, almost.....dorky, I know. But a lot of the time, I love video games, or cartoons, or books, and stories because it gets me out of my life and into a whole new world. Because that's the point of a lot of fantasy, right? It's a good reliever of stress, and gives people a time to just imagine, and be in an ideal world, where they can have ridiculous powers, or be able to believe in magic, or do things they wouldn't be able to achieve in real life...and when I draw, or write random things, it's kind of the same thing...because I make up a whole 'nother place in my head, right?
So I think videogame graphics, or cartoons, etc can be really counted as a true form of art.... For a long time, I kind of looked down on art as an idea. It didn't really compare, I thought, with being something like a doctor. While doctors saved people's lives, artists just made pretty pictures. But that's so incorrect...art is what happens when people express their thoughts, and good artists can bring people into their own worlds, and make people believe in what they believe in, love what they love, and see things how they see things. Doctors save lives in the physical sense, but art saves lives in the mental sense, I think.
But there are times when playing games, or watching a cartoon, or looking at fantastical landscapes and whatnot kind of make me sad. It makes me slightly crestfallen when I look at those sorts of things, and then realize that while in the imaginary world people are off taming dragons, and fighting monsters, or whatever, I need to turn back to my desk and finish my AP Stats, Quiz 5.1.
Oh homework. You thrill me -.-
Or I listen to....like, the Sailor Moon theme song, and I get a flood of memories of wanting to be Sailor Moon when I was little. And then I check the time, and it's 3 in the morning. It makes me wonder if people have the time in their lives to live in two separate ways, two separate places--one life in the mind, far, far away, another life right where gravity holds them down, right side up, stuck to solid ground that seems to get...too real sometimes.
And being a child is so much more awesome, when it comes to these things. Children have the wonderful ability, I think, to completely immerse themselves in different worlds. It's so easy to believe things :3. But maybe length of childhood, or the ability for one to control one's childhood doesn't have to be the same for everyone. With practice, consideration, deliberation, and care, it's a skill that can be cultivated over time. Growing up doesn't mean you need to forget how to believe in ridiculous things, even if it's just for a little while.
I REALLY WANT TO PLAY TWILIGHT PRINCESS WTF
I noticed over the last few days I'm an incredible dork. I was listening....to the sound track of Twilight Princess because I want that to be the first video game I play!!! And I liked the music a lot.....I think it's because it just gets me in a positive mood, and makes me feel like I'm in the video game, almost.....dorky, I know. But a lot of the time, I love video games, or cartoons, or books, and stories because it gets me out of my life and into a whole new world. Because that's the point of a lot of fantasy, right? It's a good reliever of stress, and gives people a time to just imagine, and be in an ideal world, where they can have ridiculous powers, or be able to believe in magic, or do things they wouldn't be able to achieve in real life...and when I draw, or write random things, it's kind of the same thing...because I make up a whole 'nother place in my head, right?
So I think videogame graphics, or cartoons, etc can be really counted as a true form of art.... For a long time, I kind of looked down on art as an idea. It didn't really compare, I thought, with being something like a doctor. While doctors saved people's lives, artists just made pretty pictures. But that's so incorrect...art is what happens when people express their thoughts, and good artists can bring people into their own worlds, and make people believe in what they believe in, love what they love, and see things how they see things. Doctors save lives in the physical sense, but art saves lives in the mental sense, I think.
But there are times when playing games, or watching a cartoon, or looking at fantastical landscapes and whatnot kind of make me sad. It makes me slightly crestfallen when I look at those sorts of things, and then realize that while in the imaginary world people are off taming dragons, and fighting monsters, or whatever, I need to turn back to my desk and finish my AP Stats, Quiz 5.1.
Oh homework. You thrill me -.-
Or I listen to....like, the Sailor Moon theme song, and I get a flood of memories of wanting to be Sailor Moon when I was little. And then I check the time, and it's 3 in the morning. It makes me wonder if people have the time in their lives to live in two separate ways, two separate places--one life in the mind, far, far away, another life right where gravity holds them down, right side up, stuck to solid ground that seems to get...too real sometimes.
And being a child is so much more awesome, when it comes to these things. Children have the wonderful ability, I think, to completely immerse themselves in different worlds. It's so easy to believe things :3. But maybe length of childhood, or the ability for one to control one's childhood doesn't have to be the same for everyone. With practice, consideration, deliberation, and care, it's a skill that can be cultivated over time. Growing up doesn't mean you need to forget how to believe in ridiculous things, even if it's just for a little while.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Just Because
I'm tired. Sometimes I feel like I get so caught up in the "daily-routine-of-the-average-teenager" that I'm not really quite alive. So I think I'll just take some time to blog. Not blogging for homework, or blogging for class stuff. Just blogging, just talking. Just because.
Mentioning the whole every-day-routine deal in the previous paragraph made me think of something. To a certain extent, the "daily-routine" sort of freaks me out. It insights a sort of fear, and when I think about it for too long, I can actually feel my heart rate go up and my lungs start to hyperventilate. hm....I need a name for the thing I'm going to talk about next. So here goes:
The Daily-Routine-Factor. The Daily-Routine-Factor is the part of one's life that makes it like any other day. It might be good, it might be boring.
For me, it is terrifyingly boring. I think this is sort of at the heart of me not wanting to grow up. When I see adults, working from 9 to 5, with wayyyy less vacation time and wayyyy more stress, it makes me wonder. Is life this way for everyone? Is this the way life needs to be run? It seems like people spend the prime of their lives so they can spend the last few in satisfaction. But shouldn't there be another way to live, a way where not only the retirement years are enjoyable, but also the working years?
I guess the answer is yes, there is a way, but it's highly unlikely for anyone to be completely satisfied. So this really gets to an issue that's been on my mind since last year. Science or art?
Both things I enjoy, to some extent, both with their benefits and faults.
I can understand Science. In science, I think there's less of a risk, it's just about guaranteed you can find yourself an educated steady income in medicine. Research helps people. Science has a defined answer. You're right or your wrong. No uncertainty.
I can also, on the other hand, understand art. Art is risky, though. No certainty, 'cause it's based upon opinion, right? An artist puts him or herself onto a blank canvas, people look at the artist, splattered across the medium, and reach a decision. Art is subject to gaping, praising, disagreeing, burning, vandalizing, copying, inspiring, adoring, hoping, dreaming. But I'm drawn to art. Although pursuing art would probably make me worried about having to live on the streets and whatnot, over the years, I've found art to be increasingly amazing!!! Art's not just drawing, or painting, I think. It's writing, photographing, sculpting, doodling, sketching, folding origami, scribbling letters. It's creating, and creating is a powerful thing. You take an object, hold an idea in your mind, and try to inject the idea into the object to the best of your ability. You place a teeny weeny bit of your soul into each piece, and then the piece has a life of its own.
I think I really want a life that is open to constant change--always something new to look forward too, an adventure. But I also want to be able to fight for something that will help other people--cures to diseases, research on maintaining better health. Maybe somewhere the two overlap. I hope so.
Mentioning the whole every-day-routine deal in the previous paragraph made me think of something. To a certain extent, the "daily-routine" sort of freaks me out. It insights a sort of fear, and when I think about it for too long, I can actually feel my heart rate go up and my lungs start to hyperventilate. hm....I need a name for the thing I'm going to talk about next. So here goes:
The Daily-Routine-Factor. The Daily-Routine-Factor is the part of one's life that makes it like any other day. It might be good, it might be boring.
For me, it is terrifyingly boring. I think this is sort of at the heart of me not wanting to grow up. When I see adults, working from 9 to 5, with wayyyy less vacation time and wayyyy more stress, it makes me wonder. Is life this way for everyone? Is this the way life needs to be run? It seems like people spend the prime of their lives so they can spend the last few in satisfaction. But shouldn't there be another way to live, a way where not only the retirement years are enjoyable, but also the working years?
I guess the answer is yes, there is a way, but it's highly unlikely for anyone to be completely satisfied. So this really gets to an issue that's been on my mind since last year. Science or art?
Both things I enjoy, to some extent, both with their benefits and faults.
I can understand Science. In science, I think there's less of a risk, it's just about guaranteed you can find yourself an educated steady income in medicine. Research helps people. Science has a defined answer. You're right or your wrong. No uncertainty.
I can also, on the other hand, understand art. Art is risky, though. No certainty, 'cause it's based upon opinion, right? An artist puts him or herself onto a blank canvas, people look at the artist, splattered across the medium, and reach a decision. Art is subject to gaping, praising, disagreeing, burning, vandalizing, copying, inspiring, adoring, hoping, dreaming. But I'm drawn to art. Although pursuing art would probably make me worried about having to live on the streets and whatnot, over the years, I've found art to be increasingly amazing!!! Art's not just drawing, or painting, I think. It's writing, photographing, sculpting, doodling, sketching, folding origami, scribbling letters. It's creating, and creating is a powerful thing. You take an object, hold an idea in your mind, and try to inject the idea into the object to the best of your ability. You place a teeny weeny bit of your soul into each piece, and then the piece has a life of its own.
I think I really want a life that is open to constant change--always something new to look forward too, an adventure. But I also want to be able to fight for something that will help other people--cures to diseases, research on maintaining better health. Maybe somewhere the two overlap. I hope so.
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