Fear is only a Word

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." -Marianne Williamson

For me, the most terrifying thing is having to watch something happen - something you want to change, something you have to change - and not being able to. Being helpless. That's the worst. It's watching someone you love die, it's finding something taken - stolen from you. Or it's even trying your best, but not making it. We say that our greatest fear is not that we aren't good enough, but that we are great beyond measure. I've often thought about that - it sounds nice, maybe it's even a profound thought. But it's not true.

Sometimes, when we stand watching something horrifying happening before our very eyes, we stand looking because there is nothing else we can do. We sometimes tell ourselves we can do anything, but we can't. We're human. We can't stop someone from dying no matter how much we love them, we can't always find again what we have lost. We can't be better than we are if we're our best, we can't change the world's problems in one day.

But we can try. In fact, sometimes the most we can do is try. Because it's better to try and fail than to be haunted by "what-ifs." The problem is that trying sets up often for a broken heart, because to truly succeed, we often have to fight with all our being. But I guess it's better to have a broken heart than a complete one, because a broken heart makes us feel - makes us comprehend - instead of being numb. After all, to truly be alive, we have to live.

(thanks for the comments - I love reading them - sorry haven't had time to reply)

Growing Pains

My brother always used to tell me that we grow the most when we’re stretched to our limits. But if a week full of midterms, no sleep, and being really sick just after finishing a similar week also filled with midterms and no sleep is called “growing,” then I want no part of it.

I’ve been sick all week, so today I went to student health and was diagnosed with tonsillitis: a fancy word for being dizzy, sick to your stomach, having a sore throat, an awful headache, and no appetite. But it was actually kind of nice – going to the health center - because the doctors actually cared about me: something I kind of relish in when my professors won’t let me reschedule big tests – 100 degree fever or no.

Then when I got back to my dorm, and my roommate kindly welcomed me, “So where’ve you been?”

“Student Health. I had like three doctors look at me, and they prescribed penicillin for me and they sai-- ”

“So are you contagious?” No. Of course I’m not contagious. And I’m sorry I didn’t think to mention that first.

It’s so hard.

It’s so hard when professors and roommates treat me like I’m a robot – like it’s my own fault I’m sick. Sometimes I can be okay with humans forgetting that they themselves are human, but I’m not okay with humans forgetting that others are human. Then I think about how my grades are naturally going to fall, and that my Dad will then probably give me another talk on how I don’t belong here – that maybe I should go to a less prestigious university. It’s like a downwards spiral where I expect the worst and then the worst of the worst.

Ah, maybe I need to love myself more. But I feel like I can’t help me, I feel like I need others to help me. I guess I thought that if I loved everyone, they’d love me back, so I wouldn’t have to worry about loving me myself. But even so, I’d rather love all people and have them disappoint me, than to fill myself with pure hate for anybody. Hate only destroys the holder of it, and while love can also destroy its owner, there’s also a slight chance that it could complete and fulfill instead.

So I still love my roommate, I still love my Dad, and I still respect my professors. Maybe that’s silly – to love the people who hurt you – but then, no one can truly hurt you unless you love them. And loving someone never really was love if you don’t love them during the tough times.

My brother, he always used to tell me that we grow the most when we’re stretched to our limits. He never told me it was fun – never even promised it was worth it.

But I promise myself it will be worth it.

{comments always appreciated :) }

Running out in the Blue

Out of the blue, five years ago, someone struck up a conversation with me asking, “So, would you rather live in the city or the country?” Without thinking, I immediately exclaimed, “The country!” Of course, maybe my passion for horses had something to do with that, but perhaps there was more . . .

Today I’m in love with the city: how the block you live on is like one big family, how you can go out to eat at 3a.m. without seeming bizarre, how there’s always a vivacious party to go to, how you don’t need a car. Then there’s the lights. The feeling of life. The architecture. The history. It’s all completely beautiful and overwhelming at once.

But then there’s the country with the painted sunsets and the trees’ dark silhouettes made of black lace. There's the trickling creek that has neither an end nor a beginning, the birds that sing you gentle lullabies and the wind that never stops lapping at your hair. There's the fragrance of flowers mixed with a sky that’s bigger than all the oceans sewed together which flaunts its twinkling stars at night. There’s the strong personality that equals the city’s diversity – and you don’t have to go to the gym for exercise.

And I’ve found that no matter how deeply I am enamored by the city, it could never come close to the country. For the county, it takes our breath away – no, it takes our being away. It makes us one with nature and weaves us into its painting. Of course, the city can steal our breath with its magnificence too.

But.

We can find out how a city was built - how it was created - if we want. We could study the architecture, we could learn the city's history. Whereas with the country, we can’t. Sure, we can learn the techniques of a painting locked in a museum, but we can’t know how the inspiration of this mere copy was created. We can’t know why trees were made with broad leaves to shade us, or why birds are the ones that fly. The country is wrapped around baffling puzzles and questions of existence.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, in the city, we usually run inside a gym, but in the country, we run inside a dazzling mystery that changes everyday.

(would love to know your thoughts!)

Sue His Side

I could never understand it, but that’s why I tried to understand it. I mean, it’s natural to strive for life, right? It’s natural to fear - to avoid - the unknown. And yet, some would rather brave the unknown than the known, because there’s something not right with the known, something gone wrong. In fact, 83 times a day in the U. S., once every 17 minutes it happens: suicide.

I won’t pretend to be an expert on suicide, but I do find it interesting that when people commit suicide, it’s after they commit suicide, that others truly take notice of them. Whereas people need to be noticed, maybe even want to be noticed, before they kill themselves. They talk about it, plan for it, give away things, and say good-bye like it’s for the last time. And yet, when people do that, do we really take them seriously – offer to help?

Like with Michael Jackson, not that he committed suicide, but before he died, people in general thought he was a weird person – a success gone wrong. He was someone who looked weird and acted strange. And then, when he died, everyone suddenly started buying and playing his music. They started talking about how great he was, how he influenced culture. People forgot about his faults, and only remembered his greatness. Someone who no one had a passion for was suddenly praised and loved . . . once he was dead.

So why can’t we do that when the person is alive? Why can’t we praise and love them when they can hear us? Why can’t we forgive them while they’re alive? We need to realize what we could lose before we loose it. We need to tell the people we care about that we care for them. We need to tell the people we admire that we admire them. We need to tell the people we love that we love them.

Because it might make a difference - it might save a life . . . it might save our life.

(let me know what you think!)

The Storyteller

Every person has a story. In fact, those are usually the best stories: our own. We can even look to great literature and see that the books held in highest esteem are often reflected on the author’s own life, like Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness” or Joyce’s “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.” Maybe we like to pretend – perhaps even the great authors like to pretend - that the best stories we imagine and write are escapes from our own lives, but they aren’t. Our life is always our inspiration, is always our influence, because that is what we know best. For it is not someone else’s story or life that teaches us to express loving and dying, but our own.

So this is my story.

I was homeschooled. In a way, that one sentence explains everything. People always ask me how homeschooling was, and I always reply that it depends on your parents: it’s true.

My first disappointment with homeschooling came when I was about six. I knew I was going to be a ballerina when I grew up. I was practically made to wear pink tutus and dance everyday. Unfortunately, my parents didn't share the same view, and decided I should quit ballet after a year because it took too much time away from homeschooling.

Then I started up soccer and, consequently, I fell in love with it. I liked getting out of the house, being a part of a team, and just running with the ball at my feet. It’s kind of hard to explain how much passion you can have for something that isn’t a person, but to me, soccer was more than just a hobby. However, after a few years, I had to quit that too.

Then things became worse. My parents would have my younger sister and I work on our studies throughout our weekends and summers. I would be threatened that if I didn’t do my schoolwork, I couldn’t have dinner. I couldn’t lock my door, or it might be removed, and I couldn’t go to the library because I might check out a bad book. Plus, my Dad would unfortunately often yell at me when he was upset about anything, because I was the only person in the family who would stand up to him.

But the worst part was when I became serious about ice-skating. I had started it even before ballet, and I had a natural talent in it. My teachers wanted me to compete, and as for me, there wasn’t anything I liked better than the sound of ice scraping beneath my feet - it was the closest thing to flying for me. I bought professional ice-skates and practiced for hours each week – plus it was the only time I saw my friends and had a break from studies. But then, my parents decided that that had to go too, and that broke my heart in a way.

I was suddenly stuck in the house for weeks on end and I realized that my parents had taken away everything from me that had actually kept me working on my studies: my friends, my passions, even my cd player. They couldn’t take anything more away from me, and studying more wasn’t working. So, I quit. I stopped studying, I stopped eating as much, I stopped looking forward to the next day.

After a while, my Mom became worried about me and decided to enroll me into my community college and signed me up for taekwondo. And, well, I came alive again. I got my black belt, and I received several awards at college for my almost 4.0 GPA and my involvement in social live. I became a sort of social butterfly, and was invited into top societies and clubs.

Then, earlier this year, I ran into more trouble, which is why I took a break from this blog. I wanted to transfer to a better school, and my advisor told me that I shouldn’t have a problem doing so – in fact, since I had been homeschooled, I didn’t even need to take the GED (to get a high school diploma) or the SATs. But then, a month later, he changed his mind. So suddenly, I had to take the next SAT available with two weeks to prepare. I had to take the GED too, and with the SAT and five college classes, I had only the night before to study. But I ended up receiving above average grades on the SAT, and on the GED, I received extremely high grades even though I had never finished 9^th grade.

Then I was left with about a week to write my college essays, when most people have months, and there was a chance I might not make the deadlines. However, in the end, before I was even accepted, I actually received an e-mail from an admission’s office with praise for my essay, which is apparently unheard of. In the end, I decided to go to University of Virginia. It kind of amazes me that I went from practically no high school education and some community college, to going to one of the top national universities and just about the best public university in the country.

Of course the hardest part, has been forgiving my parents. They taught me so much: not only that the people you love are the ones who can hurt you the most, but also that the people you truly love, you can never completely hate. And I love them, and I know they love me, and perhaps that’s all I need to know to forgive them in the end.

So maybe I’m just naturally smart and lucky. Maybe those years of homeschooling really did prove their worth. But I know that’s not it – it’s that I chose what I wanted and went for it. There wasn’t a day when I didn’t want to give up, but I realized that I shouldn’t let my situation determine my life. Sometimes we just have to realize what we want and go after it and get it because we might not get another chance. And, more importantly, we’ve got to be so stubborn that people’s opinions don’t sway us – and realize that for every will there really is a way.

So this is my story, told to you. Because, after all, if a story isn't told, then it ceases to exist.

(feel free to comment!)

A Tiny Note

Hey, everyone! I just wanted to say sorry I haven't been able to post recently - just been busy with school right now. But I'll definitely be posting soon & let you know what's been up ;)

No Trespassing

It’s one of the well-known rules: surround yourself with good friends. Because if we hang out with people who don’t respect the law, who have bad morals, or don’t care about their future, then they'll influence us, right? After all, isn't that what we've been told - to stay away from people like that?

Today one of my friends from church walked up to me and told me that a mutual friend was doing some things out of the normal – joining bad groups, promoting wrong things, etc. She then went on to tell me that he’d better stop; otherwise we would have to break off our friendship with him because of his potential bad influence.

But, even though I saw her point, I don’t completely agree. Because if friends are having problems, then I think that’s the worst time to leave them. I mean, what kind of friends are we if we leave when our friend needs us most – when our friend needs our advice most?

Even in the Bible, if you’re religious, there’s proof: Jesus didn’t just hang out with the good guys – he hung out with the prostitutes and the tax collectors. He didn’t shun them; he actually sought after them in a way. And I think perhaps we forget that, because sometimes we run away from people who don’t follow us, rather than staying, always patient – always waiting.

In addition, if religious people believe in God, how can they hate people whom God loves? If God does not hate the worst people within the world, how can they hate them? Sometimes I think that our idea of religion can blind us – we try to be good by leaving people who might impact us in a bad way, and yet, maybe that’s not quite what we’re supposed to do.

So whether we’re religious or not, we should give second chances. Someone who makes a mistake should not be forever condemned. We need to be there for our friends, not throw them away because they're doing something wrong. We need to help our friends not just in the good times, but also in bad. Because, in the end, we shouldn’t just remember that they can influence us, but also that we can influence them.

Hating the Hurt

My Dad used to yell at me a lot when I was little, and I thought it made me stronger. I mean, I thought that if I could bear my own Dad's shouting, I could take anyone’s shouting. It makes sense, right? But it turns out I was wrong. Because when others yell at me, it’s like my scabs peel off inside. I think I can handle it, but each time someone yells, I feel this new remembrance wave crash upon me.

And I think that one of the main reasons we hate is so we can’t be hurt anymore – because hate is the opposite of love, and the people we love are the ones who have the power to hurt us. So when they do hurt us, there’s nothing else like it, because we trusted them not to. It’s kind of like they betrayed us in a way.

That’s why we sometimes hate most deeply what we’ve loved most intensely - like parents, or, for some, God. We feel like they’ve let us down, when we trusted them. And there’s no real way to stop loving someone you’ve truly loved, but we start hating – because of hurt. And it’s not that we stop loving exactly –although maybe we think so– it’s just that we start covering it with hate.

But is there a way out? I guess we have to make an effort, have to make a set-will, a goal, to look past hate. And sometimes we have to realize that when people hurt us, they don’t really know what they’re doing. Okay, maybe they do – but they have no idea what extent they’re hurting us - after all, we loved them, and they probably loved us. For God, for some of us, we just have trust that he knows what he’s doing.

As for me, you could ask anyone, and they would tell you I’ve never yelled.

Glimmering Geodes

When I was younger, I used to pray to God to make me so beautiful on the inside that it would show through to my outside beauty. I just believed, and still do, that the inside of us counts for so much more than the outside ever could.

People’s beauty – it’s like a rock. And I know, most rocks look common and bland, right? And although some are more appealing than others depending on the shape, or maybe a slight difference in color, they usually aren’t that special.

However, when we cut a rock open, when we peek to the inside, sometimes our view of the rock changes completely. Sure, some rocks look the same as they did on the outside, but others – when we've cut them open – it’s like we’ve discovered our own personal rainbow; a crystal filled light. And that’s what inside beauty is. It’s something that is often so beautiful that we suddenly forget what the outside really looked like in the first place.

A lot of us - we wish we could change our looks. We want to have curly hair, or straight hair, maybe grow taller, or have a different shape. Perhaps we want to have brown or blue eyes, or maybe we want look more exotic or just different. However, even though this might not seem fair, we’re so exceedingly lucky because, even though we can’t change how we look on the outside, we can change our beauty on the inside.

And amazingly, my prayer came true - that inside beauty – it usually does show through to the outside ;)

Answering the Answer

You know how that guy with cancer will suddenly decide to use his time left to promote a cure? Or how an abused girl will choose to stand up for others like her? Or how a guy, whose friend died from drugs, will cultivate a group for drug awareness? Or how an alcoholic, who almost died from his addiction, will change and become a speaker against his own past? It's amazing when we think about it; how these people used what happened to them, and turned it into good. It’s almost like there was a reason for why those terrible things happened – almost like those things happened so these people would be inspired to help others in the same situation.

But that's not completely true.

These horrific things do not just happen because it is destiny for the people impacted to fight against them. In fact, many people decide to give up on life when things go wrong - they decide there is no medicine, no cure, to make up for injustices. No, terrible things usually don't seem to occur for any reason at all.

Rather, the people deeply impacted by them decide that there must be a reason - they chose a reason. We are not exactly given reasons – instead we make them by wanting them. After all, there should be a reason, right? We don’t exactly believe that things happen because they happen. No, we beg & plead - we cry out - maybe even scream, “Why?” instead of settling for just a, “Well, that’s life for you.” We look for reasons, and by doing so, we make reasons. And often that’s how we attach meaning to our lives, that’s how we fulfill our questions, how we make sense of our lives.

So when bad things happen to us, we shouldn’t just wait for a reason to come and explain what happened, because there might not be one. Rather, we have to make them.

Because sometimes, if we make reasons, then there is a reason after all.

My Grandma

I feel a whisper in my ear
Someone I know
Yes, she’s here

I feel a brush against my hair
Someone’s laughing
Love and care

I feel a kiss upon my tears
Someone understanding
I know she hears

You knew so much
Yet left me here
With just your touch
It’s hard to bear

But when I look in the sky
I know you’re there
Somewhere high
Urging to dare

You’re the one I know
Who hears my prayers
And keeps me safe
From unknown blows

Yes, she isn’t here
And yet she is
People forget her
But I know she lives

I love you too, Grandma

{This is to my Grandma who died a year ago}

A Quick Note

Hey! I just wanted to let you know that I definitely haven't forgotten about posting on my blog - I've just been busy working on college applications that were due today. So I'll be posting soon, but I just wanted to let you know what's been up with me :)

Shopping for the Pampers

It flashed across the TV screen while I was working out at the gym: a Pampers’ commercial. Of course, ordinarily a diapers commercial wouldn’t interest me – why should it? Seriously, it’s one of the last things on my mind. But it still caught my attention, and I looked up at it.

A woman gently sang “Happy Birthday” while a mother was shown cradling her small cooing baby. At the end, the commercial announced that every time a package of Pampers was bought, a vaccine/shot would be given to save one baby’s life somewhere around the world.

Okay, so what’s extraordinary about that? Pampers is trying to help – to support a good cause – while promoting themselves. But, what if not enough Pampers were bought to save some of the babies? What if there wasn’t enough money to go around (from different organizations as well) to save all of them? Would Pampers refuse to help? Could they refuse to help? In the extreme sense, would they let a child die because not enough Pampers were sold? I understand they’re helping to raise money for this, but do they ever refuse to save life because of money – money they have, but not particularly set aside for this cause?

Because I don’t think I could ever refuse someone who pleaded for a vaccine to help save their baby’s life. I just couldn’t – I think life, I think a person, is so much more important than money. I know that I’d probably be bankrupt with that attitude if I lived in poorer country – but wouldn’t it almost be worth it? How can someone see a mother watch her baby die, while knowing she couldn’t save what was most important to her?

And it’s amazing – the money needed for something like a vaccine must be so small. How else could a company say that purchasing diapers is also purchasing a vaccine? So how come there isn’t enough money for something so cheap? Usually people feel for people, usually people want to help & give. So why isn’t there enough? And I think it’s because people can become numb.

We see people die on the other side of the world – so what? We can’t fix that, it isn’t necessarily our problem. We see people begging for money on the city streets, but that really isn’t our problem – what if they use the money for drugs? What if we gave away all our money – we couldn’t, could we? So what’s the point to give, and just be asked for more and more? We might hear friends wanting to borrow money because they say they need food, but they never pay you back. Do you really want to keep going on like that?

And that – that is becoming numb. It’s not feeling for others, because they’re just someone we’ve already seen before. It's not fixing a problem, because we know we can't fix the whole of it. But we can help fix things – we can help others. And we know we can’t save everyone, but we know we can save some. We may not succeed, but we can always try.

As for me, sometimes I just want to give someone everything I have freely – my heart to someone - when they haven’t even asked for it. I just feel for people, I don’t want them to not have enough money for basic needs, because money is really nothing compared to life, nothing compared to family & friends, nothing compared to love. And sometimes I feel like I die in a way when I can’t help someone who really needs it. Maybe someday that attitude will get me into trouble – but wouldn’t it almost worth it? To be poor in money, but rich in happiness.

{feel free to comment!}

A Real Person

Sometimes my Mom sounds a little too much like me. Yesterday she decided to get into this discussion about how a real person goes past what other people say, and goes ahead anyway. She says that’s the sign of a person who’s grown up – a person who’s complete.

However, last night my Mom told me I’m not capable. And when someone tells you something that, labels you like that, you kind of get this cold icy feeling gush over you – or at least I do. I think she noticed, as she quickly told me that I need to prove her wrong. I need to look past what she says - like a real person - and go ahead anyway. I shouldn’t let words stop me.

But I feel like, to not care about what she says, I have to believe that I’m on my own – that I am the only person who cares for me. That I’m a lone soldier fighting on my own, because the people who love me most seem to have left my side. However I don’t believe I’m alone – I believe that people are supposed to support each other – that maybe a lone soldier can fight a battle, but not a war, as an army could. But my parents are the people I most deeply love, so how can I fight against what they say? How can I not feel words from the people who are supposed to love and support me in every way that is good? How can I take someone out of my heart, if they occupy the whole of it?

Sometimes we believe what we want to believe, rather than the bare truth. I want to believe that I can go past what my parents say and not be negatively affected by it. I want to believe that what they say, or rather challenging what they say, makes me stronger – that it’s for my good & that they’re teaching me not to be reliant upon them.

But that’s not true.

Because what they say hurts, what they say cracks open my heart. I am affected by what they say, and it tears me apart. They are not supposed to be my challenge; they are supposed to help me get rid of my challenges. That’s my truth. They are wrenching me – twisting me – and how can you say that breaking something and gluing it back together makes the object stronger? How can you say going past what you feel makes you become a complete person?

For our feelings make us people, our reasoning makes us human. I am not a dog, not an ant, not a fish. I am human. I am not dead. I am alive. I am not ignorant. I feel with my heart, and think with my mind.

Finding the Bow in the Rain

Once a boy and his family were forced out of their house, so he had to work to support them. Two years later, more tragedy befell him, and his mother died. A few years later, he failed in business. He decided to run for state legislature, but lost. He lost a job too, so he applied to law school, but couldn't get in. He then borrowed money from a friend to begin a business, but by the end of the year he was bankrupt.

Then his fiancé died, and he was heartbroken. He had a nervous breakdown and was in bed for six months. He tried to become speaker of the state legislator and lost. He tried to become an elector and lost. He ran for Congress and lost. He ran for Congress again and finally won, but lost his re-election. He tried to get the position of land officer (in his home state!) but was rejected. He ran for U.S. Senate and lost. He ran for Vice President and lost. He ran again for U.S. Senate and lost again. And then, by chance, he became president - President Abraham Lincoln.

That's astounding when you think about it– it almost defies human limits: to keep trying, to keep failing, to keep trying, to keep failing. Somehow it seems like a normal human being would give up along the way – say that he couldn’t handle it, that it just wasn’t meant to be, that he couldn’t beat the odds. Then again, Lincoln wasn’t a normal human being. But then, are any of us?

The element that distinguishes successful people from non-successful people is not luck – it’s how they view failure. Or sometimes it’s just as simple as realizing, when they feel like giving up, why they held on for so long.

Remember why you’ve held on; remember why you haven’t given up yet. Where there’s a will there’s a way, because there is nothing stronger than your set will. The way will be cruel, it will hurt, it will test you, but that just means that what you are going after is worth so much more.

Lincoln wasn’t a normal human being. We don’t have to be either.

{Just in case, finding the bow in the rain = rainbow ;) }

Vulnerable

What makes your heart tick?

What makes your face glow?

What makes you smile?

I want to know

I want to peek inside your heart

See if it’s for me

Set apart

I want to steer within your mind
Find if it’s as pure

As it is kind

I want to know all your passions

See what they are

Exquisite fashions

I want to see what you love

Money and riches

Or hearts from above

What makes your heart tick?

What makes your face glow?

What makes you smile?

I want to know

Could it be me?

But do you see in me
What I see in you
Could you forever be
Everlasting true

Do you love me
Would you watch me go?
Or would you follow
No matter where I flow

Are you really different?
Do you truly care
What’s inside of me
Or am I in your hair?

Do you care as much of me
As I do of you
Or am I just another girl
To drop on a cue

Want to see what’s in my heart?
My mind, body, soul
Or really just tear it apart
For your own personal goal

Do you care what makes my heart tick?

Do you care what makes my face glow?

Do you care what makes me smile too?

I want to know

Armed with Crayons

Reading old diaries is always fun – especially when they aren’t your own. A few years ago, my Mom gave me a diary she kept right before, and a couple years after, I was born. And no matter what mood I’m in when I start peering through the pages, I always end up with a laugh somehow escaping me.

There are cute little memories in-between the folds, where my Mom tells how I’d run to get a tissue for my baby sister without being asked, or how I’d try to help give her a bath. Then there are the funny stories where I’d try stay in the library longer by refusing to put my jacket on until my Mom whispered, “Cookie.” Or where my big brother showed me a picture of a frilled lizard, and I smartly proclaimed, “He has a costume on.”

However, my favorite little story in the diary is when I would ask for a blank piece of paper to draw on by saying, “Mommy, can I have an empty picture?” And I like it, not just because it’s cute, but also because I saw the blank white piece of paper for its potential, rather than just for what it was.

And maybe we can go further - just as a blank piece of paper lacks a picture, we could see that maybe hate is not purely hate, but a lack of love, and that despair is an absence of hope. We could see that a problem isn't always something terrible - it's just something that doesn't have a solution yet.

So here's to picking up my purple crayon, and erasing away my empty picture.

{Btw, I have to say thanks to you all for cheering me on - I wish that words could thank you enough, but somehow they'd fall short no matter what I said. Thanks so much for caring about me - you're amazing <3 }

Numb to Numbness

If we cry enough - if we’re hurt enough - we become numb to the pain, right? We’ll become numb enough not to feel, because we’ve already been through the indescribable things. For if we’ve already been burned by fire, how could we feel again? If we’ve already drowned, how can we drown again? If we're already frozen, how can we be frozen once more? If we’ve fallen, we just get used to picking ourselves back up. The things that happen today prepare us for tomorrow.

That’s what I used to think.

Sure it’s a good attitude – maybe it even makes sense. But it’s not true. Because no matter how much I’ve cried, no matter how much I'm hurt, the pain doesn’t lessen, it just adds up. We can’t become numb enough to block out the hurt, because to do so, we have to block out the love too. To banish the feeling that eat us up, we have to kill all feeling.

Because it’s the people we love who hurt us most deeply, we usually don’t care so much about others - people we don’t love – and what they say & do to us. When we give our hearts & love to our friends, our family, we give them the power to hurt us, but we trust them not to. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always that work that way.

Some people think crying is weakness but when something hurts, and it means the world to us, sometimes it’s better to let it out. And if we really think about it, tears usually aren’t stupid – they’re beautiful because they mean we care deeply about something. They mean we’re strong enough to go for something great, at the risk of being hurt.

Just a Prompt

There’s no question about it, SAT essays are hard – in 25 minutes you have to think and argue your point completely. I had a practice SAT essay a couple days ago, and the prompt was, “What motivates people to change?” What makes a poor city boy dream of becoming president? What stirs someone to walk through a past of hate, and become someone who has a heart of gold? What inspires someone, who's dreams have been broken, to keep dreaming? What rouses us from within to become the best we can, no matter the disappointments?

It's in seeing how we live, and deciding that we can live better. No one can ever make us change - they can beg us to change, pay us to change – but in the end, it’s our decision. It’s our decision to look at our life, and decide it’s not good enough for us. It’s our decision to rise past what people have said and done to us, and strive for perfection.

And change, it’s often hard & cruel, but it’s worth it. It’s a choice to be or not to be: do you want to be a fighter? Or someone who just watches?

And to change, we have to know what we want. So what do you want? No – really – if you could do anything you wanted, what would it be? Because you can do it. If you’re that person who wants to be president, you can. If you want to walk past hate, you can. If you want to follow a dream, you can. It might not work out the way you think, people might say it’s impossible, but you can try & give it your all. Because really, that’s how a president becomes a president, or how a person follows a dream, that’s how someone can walk past hate, and go for love.

However, I believe the main reason of change is death. Because if you think about it, death is what cuts our life short, and the reality makes us want to have purpose – there needs to be a reason why we’re living, why our life’s worth living. Because what will be left when you’ve left? What do you want to be left? A picture? Or a book? A memory? Perhaps a legend?

Do something great – all you have to do is want to.

The Reason Why

Defiant: (adj. di-fahy-uhnt) Boldy resisting authority or an opposing force; challenging

If we want something bad enough, we go for it, right? We have to at least try to chase after what we want, even if its course is like a butterfly; up, down; right, left – like it wants to purposefully tease us. Either that or we just give up. . . Ah, so let me start at the beginning:

I was homeschooled, and then my parents put me into community college (a couple years earlier than usual). My parents promised me if I went to community college I wouldn’t have to take the SAT or GED because I would be considered a transfer student. It sounded like a good deal to me; an easy way out – so good it almost couldn’t be true.

However, a few months later, my sister started questioning, “Are you sure? On the internet it’s pretty clear that all transfers need the SAT & GED.” But that changed when I visited my transfer advisor last month, and he happily informed me, “Nope, you don’t need the SAT or GED.” I was so relieved – it’s that sensation you get when it feels like bricks have been lifted off your wings so you can finally fly.

I hurriedly started to fill out applications, but slowly started to get this sinking feeling – my sister was right – the colleges did clearly state that I needed the tests. But, the transfer advisor was the authority - he had even stated he would call the schools personally to talk with them about the SAT & GED. However, just to make sure of everything, I saw him again this month, and pointed out what the applications stated. And he was like, “What? For all transfer students?” He quickly informed me that I needed to take the SAT & GED - this month.

So suddenly I’m in crash course for the SAT three hours every day plus a couple hours of homework. Now I’m caught applying for the GED, hoping I can squeeze by in time. Other things have changed too: every time I want to get out, my dad suggests that I’m not spending my time well, if I’m not studying. With the GED my parents don’t seem to understand, “Well can’t you just take that in April? Why now? Or, “We don’t want to drive you to that location for the test. Can you call up the GED office and ask them these questions?” I love my parents, but I hate that realization of feeling like I’m doing this all alone.

I know I’m aiming high – I’m shooting for Yale, I’m going for Vanderbilt and Pomona among others. I know it’s going to be hard too, trying to take the SAT & GED while applying & writing essays for colleges and taking six classes at my community college at the same time. But I’m not stupid – I have an extremely high GPA & on the Dean’s List, I’m awarded most valuable in Student Activities Committee, I’m in the Phi Theta Kappa & Sigma Alpha Pi, and soon to be Vice President of Sigma Kappa Delta. But is that enough?

Sometimes I feel so alone, pushing myself to do something that no one’s helping me with. I’ve realized I am expected to do the impossible, and I’m going to try. It’s one of those things where you either give up completely, or chase after with your whole being. I can do it. I can make it. Normally, people do not have to do this completely on their own, but I’ll rise to the occasion. And I keep telling myself that before I give up, I have to remember why I’ve held on for so long.

Tenacious: (adj. tuh-ney-shuhs) Persistent or stubborn; holding fast; holding together

{I’m sorry I haven’t been able to comment recently on your blog, but now you have the reason why. & please comment on my blog if you’d like – it means the world to me. Thanks guys! :) }

What's the Truth?

Would you die for your friends?

Of course you would, what kind of question is that? Our friends are the reason we survive sometimes. They're the people who are constantly there for us, the people with the offered shoulder to cry on, the people we share secret laughs with. Who would not die for their friends?

Valor; it’s beautiful. It’s how people can die for their friends. It’s how that daring prince kills the dragon for his princess, or how David hits the giant, Goliath, with a tiny stone. It’s how Edward defends Bella, or how Frodo strives to destroy the ring. We watch them, and we know those tales are right – that’s how it’s just supposed to be.

So we admit we would die for our friends, that we would stand up against injustice. Some might go further and state they wouldn’t have an abortion no matter the circumstance, or others might pronounce that they would offer up the world for that special person. They are so magnificent, our words & intentions.

But stop. What if they are just words and intentions?

No, I mean really. Would you die for your friends? Really? Would you? There’s a blazing fire in a building of apartments – a building where a couple of your best friends live. You might have to put up a good struggle with the soot-faced firemen to even get close to the smoke-choked heat. Once you plunge in, if you plunge in, you’ll be gasping to drink just a drop of air, but still you know there might be enough time rescue one friend, and then go back in for another.

Or maybe your friend decided to be a show-off and jump off the boat for a swim. You see a sharp fin creeping along, your friend spies it too, and he dashes back towards the boat. Except he begins to panic along the way – he starts wildly spiraling down. There might be enough time to dive in and bring him aboard, or at least hand him to the sailors before being carelessly torn into a mangled mess.

Would you?

Would you really hand over your life? If you saw a gang murder, would you tell, even if they might come back to haunt and kill you as well? If you became pregnant by someone you didn’t know, would you be strong enough to keep the baby? Would you give world to one person, if you could? Would you?

If we thought about our words, not as stories that will never happen, but as future facts, would we stay true? Do we know what we say when we say it? Because the truth is, we think we know what we'd do if we were ever in a bad situation, but how can we predict exactly what we’ll do? Imagining something happen and then actually have it happen are two different things.

But then, if I dig deeper, I know that if our friend’s really in immediate danger, we probably aren’t going to waste enough time to think about it, we’d probably be stupid enough to just rush in and save our friend. That’s what love does – it makes us forget about ourselves.

And all this time, I thought I was writing about valor . . .

{Hey! Sorry I haven't commented on your blogs much - some unexpected stuff has come up (which I'll probably post about later). Anyways, please feel free to comment - I love to hear your thoughts :) }

Why

How could you not see?
How could you not hear?
My shattered heart’s beat
The drop of a tear

You gave up so much
But couldn’t see
What you made me miss:
Being free

You picked me up
So you could crush me down
You chained me with a lock
Underwater I couldn’t drown

You showed me the stars
Then told me I couldn’t have them
Because I’m the air inside jars
Stifled and grim

You told me I was stupid
But also not to cry
You told me I was just a little kid
But that I might get by

You taught me not to care
That maybe I wasn’t human
This was something I could bear
Because I couldn’t run

You didn’t care
But said you did
You weren’t aware
Of how I hid

But how could you not see?
But how could you not hear?
My shattered heart’s beat
The drop of a tear