Observations #2

Here I stand, in the corner of traditions. I live in a building that carries on legacies. In front of me, there is a tractor- A symbol of pride.

            My room gives off somber vibes, and for that, I am overlooked. I am ignored. I am neglected. Across from me, five of my brothers are suffering from the same life I’m living, and to my left, more of my siblings are crying.

            Beneath me lives a layer of majestic, brick arrangements of color. It’s been almost a century of being in this same corner and yet the room still feels new. I notice a new face each and every day. They pass me in the halls but no one stops to look. Nobody cares to listen. Not a single person notices me enough to appreciate. And while I am greeted by the stares of my kind each and every day, it is never enough. I wonder if any one of them will ever pleasure me with the feeling of acceptance. I wonder if I will ever be acknowledged as a significant figure in my own home.

            The mornings disgust me. Thousands of them pass me. Of the thousand, one hundred look at me. Of the hundred, not a single admires. Uninvited, they fill the halls of my home with excess noise comprised of obnoxious yelling and laughing. They all appear different. Each and every one of them. They’re all different in their own identical ways.

            As the afternoon approaches, my mood lightens. They will be getting out soon. When they finally do, I am delighted with silence. As I continue to stand in this corner, accompanied by my family of decayed beauty, I mourn. I mourn over my own deteriorating body. I stand here in this corner, surrounded by lights and bricks and magnificent designs. I stand here in this corner, eaten up by the lack of attention, swallowed up by dust and cracks and scratches. I continue to stand here, in this corner, waiting. Waiting for somebody to save me. 

Active Verbs

Active verbs can make all the difference in a writing piece. They make cliche descriptions come alive. Here goes my attempt at using active verbs, while describing the hallways at school:

With the ring of a bell, they were off. Words flew through the air at the speed of their own scurrying feet, The bumping of backpacks, the slipping of supplies, and the active apologies, all initiated by a single repetitive tone. Minutes, students, and faculty pass. They fill the classrooms, and what was just chaotic becomes peaceful. The halls are now empty and class begins.

My Children's Story

If I was the author of a children's story, I'd probably fail miserably at first. I'd have to attempt to write it like nine times before coming up with a decent plot. I really have no clue what my moral would be.

Luckily, in my creative writing class, I wasn't alone. I was working with great minds to come up with a solid story. Our collaboration was a success, because we came up with a great plot and an important moral.

Things I'm Thankful For

I'm thankful for the three F's: Family, Friends, and Food. 

I'm thankful for the opportunities I have, meaning school and education.

I'm thankful that I have a place to live.

And last but not least, on behalf of myself and females everywhere, I am thankful for Nutella. 

Listing Fears

Of all scary things: spiders, ghosts, evil clowns, children laughing in the dark, my biggest fear has to be losing somebody close to me. It hasn't happened yet, and I don't know exactly how I'd react if it did. I love everyone in my life so much. Yes, everyone. Even the people I don't like. I know that doesn't make sense, but It's true. 

I can't imagine life any other way than it is now. With different people, or without some people. Everyone has impacted me immensely, and I'd like them to keep doing that. Forever. Even though I know that it's impossible. 

I don't wanna expand on this topic any further. It's too scary. 

Thoughts on Revision

Honestly, I absolutely hate revision. It may be a stubbornness issue with me. When I actually do revise, my pieces sound much better. Actually, I think I need to revise more often, because it really does help. I just don't like the thought of getting out of my comfort zone. Sometimes I feel like when I revise, I'm changing my initial thoughts. 


Oh, and I just thought I'd say this: I didn't revise this post before officially publishing it. That should say enough about my stubbornness.

Tickles My Fancy #2: Ride Warrior

    The click of the belt told me one thing: it was time. I grasped the cold metal bar in front of me, and took a deep breath. Looking down, I could see tiny people, all waiting, dreading their turn. Far ahead of me was a sparkling, blue beauty of a lake, reflecting intense beams from the bright sun above me. My heart raced, my feet planted, and I sat back, waiting. I could hear prayers in the air, anxious tapping, and last minute sighs. With a simple release of breaks, we were off. I heard clicks of wood and metal, one after the other, faster and faster until we reached a gradual stop. At this point, my heart was bound to beat right out of my chest. My sweaty palms could no longer keep a firm clasp on the metal bar in front of me. I was shaking, praying. I felt as if my eyelids were ready to rip open. They couldn't remain shut any longer. My stomach felt like it was supporting my entire body weight. Now, my knees were giving up, and I was ready to fall.


And then we were off, once again. 

  

          I don't know why, but I've been having flashbacks of my first time at Cedar Point. I was such a wimp at the time, refusing to go on roller coasters, fussing about having to walk long distances, and constant complaining about the heat. But hey, I was like nine. 

         When my family finally did talk me into riding a roller coaster, I was still terrified. Not only was it my first time, but I was going to ride the Millennium Force. Yeah, tough stuff. I ended up having a blast, and when I went there again a few years later, I rode just about every roller coaster they had. I now consider myself to be a ride warrior. 

Observations #3 Choir On The Stairs

        I'm incapable of reflecting much emotion into words at the moment. The sweet voices have left me speechless, breathless. They fill the room with powerful sounds that mirror their own souls. All I want to do is listen.


       Ten minutes pass, and I'm back in class. I'm now able to collect my thoughts and ponder on my observations. The sight was beautiful. I was standing on top of a staircase, but it felt like I was on top of the world. The voices of the choir were lovely, but they were not what caused me such surprising satisfaction. It was the fact that they were my own. My fellow students. People that I know and see every day.

Her Mother's Face

Her Mother's Face by Roddy Doyle inspired me with a new way of thinking. Those of us who are blessed with having both parents alive and present tend to be a little bit unappreciative. Since we don't know how it feels to lack the feeling of knowing our parents, we don't notice exactly how important it is to have them.
I'm not even joking, when I got home the day I read Her Mother's Face, I hugged and kissed my mother like I've never done it before. It's amazing how much the misery of others affects the way one thinks of their life. My life is a blessing.

Other than the fact that this book made me realize that I'm such a careless and cruel teenager, it also provided me with some happiness. I got really happy when the author described Siobhan's mother to be easy going, fun spirited, and not serious. My mom is exactly the same. I don't know why that made me happy, but it did. I enjoy making connections with fictional characters.

Lifting a Line

“I never have trouble starting a piece of writing.” Beginning a story, poem, narrative, or any kind of writing should never be difficult. In my mind, beginnings don’t even exist. Let me break that down.

            Our thoughts are never ending. They are always flowing, always changing, and always present. There is no such thing as a first thought.

What is writing? A reflection of our thoughts. And our thoughts are a reflection of our own souls, which are shaped by our surroundings. There is no beginning to our surroundings, is there? So you see, when we claim to have created a beginning to a piece of writing, we are really just pouring out our individuality onto paper. We are continuing our thoughts and lengthening a line of forever growing reflections. 

The Blogging Experience

I've never been one to really share my thoughts with anyone other than myself. I've always been very cautious about who gets to read my writing. In fact, I'd say the only human beings who have read my writing are my teachers, and the occasional close friend. 
When my creative writing teacher required that we must keep a blog for the class, I was pretty nervous. I didn't know if I was ready to put my thoughts out there for everyone to see. 

I was overwhelmed with the fact that I had to put down my notebook and pencil, and get on the computer to write. I'm so accustomed to writing things in a private journal for ME and only me. 

Now, a few weeks into this whole blogging experience, I can proudly say that I am an in-love blogger. It's awesome. I feel so free, like no one can tell me what to do. I'm more comfortable with letting strangers into my brain, allowing them to mingle with my thoughts. 

Maintaining an active blog is easier than I had imagined. 

My Real favorite blog

A while ago, I posted a link to a blog called the "To Don't List"
While I did found that blog pretty funny, I have to say that it is far from my favorite.
Whoever runs it is doing a terrible job, they update once every 2 years. (I'm exaggerating a little bit)

I am now following a different blog, one that is run by one of my favorite people on earth:
The one and only Jenna Marbles.
She has always been my favorite youtube-er, and I've always been loyal to watching her videos almost immediately after she posts them. I knew she had a blog, but I wasn't really motivated to follow it. Now that I have a blog, the situation has changed entirely. I love checking out her new posts. They're inappropriately HILARIOUS.
AND, she updates it pretty often. I don't think I'll ever get bored of the classic Jenna filled humor that is found on her wonderful blog.
Click the link on the side to witness the epicness.

Inspirational Story

When I was younger, one of my favorite books to read was "Where the Sidewalk Ends" by Shel Silverstein.

It's a book that consists of many poems; some short, some long, some funny, some random. I loved every single one of them.

but my absolutefavorite one was this one: 

Where the Sidewalk Ends
There is a place where the sidewalk ends And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind. Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go To the place where the sidewalk ends. Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go, For the children, they mark, and the children, they know The place where the sidewalk ends. At a young age, I didn't look beyond the cool details and the awesome wording. Now that I'm a bit older, I think I've found the meaning behind it. Shel Silverstein is telling his readers that there is a place better than the world we live in, and it lies in our imagination. To get there, we must get away from a world of corruption, and settle in a state of innocence. He is telling us that everything comes to an end, and we shouldn't live our lives letting this affect us. We should live with minds like children, and we should aim to reach our own state of happiness and relaxation. Or something like that... My interpretation has inspired me to write a poem. Please allow me to speak to your heart, open your mind, and hopefully reach your inner kid... We're stuck in a rut of maniacal nonsense, drifting away from our sense of perfection. we're leaving our imagination small and rusty while we dwell over our evil consciences. We're living apart from childhood fantasies and grasping a state of bitter corruption. If we can walk away from all of this chaos, we can embrace the heaven that awaits us all. A child can see that it is peaceful in the place where innocence lies. We must learn to follow the path of our minds leading away from the dark forces holding us back. There, in a world of free creativity, where our inner child overcomes us, we will find the answers to our misery and live among the youthful magic.

Writing From a Word

"Kittens"


So cute, so tiny, so delicate. I miss staying up late at night, snuggling with a little furry feline. 

I've had several kittens in the past, and they all end up being taken away from me, for different reasons. It broke my heart every time. I just miss coming home, stepping on my porch, and noticing that there is a beautiful little fur ball waiting for me at the window. I miss watching my kitty go berserk when I shake the can of cat food. I miss having it fall asleep in my arms on long nights. 

One of the kittens I had was particularly strange. He would wake me up every morning, but not by meowing or scratching the door.. He would sit on my head. I'd be woken up by the lack of oxygen and a weird feeling of having a furry face.

I remember how funny it was to watch my mother run away from something so tiny. She'd climb random things, and occasionally lock the poor kitten in the bathroom. 
She'd never let me get another one, she doesn't want to take the chance of giving me another responsibility. I can barely handle my two parakeets.

But caring for a parakeet is not the same. With a kitten, I feel like I'm caring for my own child..a feeling that made me warm and fuzzy inside.
 Oh how I miss all of my kittens.




 I sound like a crazy cat lady.

"Isn't My Name Magical?"

The poem "Isn't My Name Magical?" by James Berry made me realize that a name is not just a form of identity, but it is a natural form of awakening an inner soul.

Hearing your name being called sparks a sense of curiosity, as Berry suggests in his poem.

"My sound switches me on to answer like it was my human electricity"

This makes me think of class. When a teacher says my name while talking, I automatically look up and pay attention, even if he/she was just using me as an example.

I don't know if this is weird, but whenever a teacher says words like "remember" or "remind," my senses strengthen. The beginning of these words sound like the beginning of my name, and they get my attention EVERY time. 

A name is just a word, and it's unbelievable how one specific word can have so much meaning to one specific person.

Little Nate Dog

While looking through some old photos, I came across this one.^
It's me and my younger brother, who I care for deeply. This picture gave me goosebumps. Even at a very young age, I felt the need to protect him and love him with all of my heart. These feelings will never change, no matter how old we get.





I know that I don't stress it enough, 
but I really do love you, brother.
Your complaining can make things really tough,
but I wouldn't settle for any other.

I will provide the best protection,
I will share with you my entire heart.
I will guide you into the right direction,
We will never be apart.

But now you're growing up you see,
and it's hard for me to bare.
seeing you on your own frightens me,
and it's all because I care.

I know that life is a brutal endeavor,
but remember I will be here forever. 

I love you Nate Dog.
                                                                                                                   

Finding Perfection

A green blanket of lively trees hover over the grass beneath me. It creates a wave of shade, with patches of sun creeping up at me. I can feel the cool, crisp air sail through my pores and provide me with surreal relaxation. 
I look up, and there it is.
It's not a building. It's a masterpiece.
It stands tall and firm, wearing light brown bricks and a smile.
It's beauty flows through the air, blending with the wind. I hear leaves. They're dancing. Dancing to the beat of beauty.

Then I look to my left. 
My ears surprise me with the sound of zipping engines.
My eyes betray me with the sight of a polluted atmosphere.
My nose punishes me with the smell of gasoline,
and my thoughts fill me with a feeling of despair.

The busy street is attracting the attention of curious human souls, but I will not fall victim. 
I will not let the beauty of nature stand overlooked. 
I quickly drift my senses back to where they belong. I cancel out all of the excess noise, and focus on the sound of silence. This is where perfection lies.

My Guilty Pleasure

Every time I'm in a bad mood, I turn to one thing to cheer me up. 
It's not food,
it's not a song,
and it is not a person.


It's the Retarded Running Horse!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dyMXYE_50Ts

I find it inappropriately hilarious. 

I don't know what it is about this video, but I can never get sick of it. I have a feeling that it might have to do with the song in the background. It sounds like a laughing donkey. Enjoy :D

Not Exactly Perfect

She walks in, and he's just sitting there. Two steps closer, he puts his book down, and just looks at her. There's something about his meaningful glare that gets the best of her. She wants to turn away and leave. But why? Why does she want to leave the only person who understands her, the only person who cares? 

He loves her. 

Everything is so perfect, yet so far from it. 

Why does she dislike the presence of him? 

She's afraid of his judgement, even though she knows that he would be the last to judge. 

All he wants is for it to work out between them. She says she does too, but deep down, there are doubts crawling inside her confused body. She has yet to find out what she is made of. 

He calls her beautiful. But only him, and she hates that. She doesn't want HIM to be the only one who cares, but he's all she has. 

Looking for a laugh?

   http://todontlist.blog.com/ <------Okay. It's pretty easy to get me to laugh, but that doesn't change the fact that this blog is hysterical. I viewed it for five minutes and I've already decided that it was one of my new favorite things to read. I don't even know if the writer intended for it to be humorous, but regardless, it is. 

Check it out!