"I always watched that show. Which was your favorite?"
"I liked the pink one. Everyone did."
"No! She's too perfect. Buttercup's the best."
"You're always like that, Sydney."
"Like what?" I was clueless, as usual.
I purposely go against the crowd. At least, according to Sheila. She said I always tried to be different, to think different. I told her that I was as mainstream as mainstream came, giving my taste in music as evidence. I then promptly distracted her with a recollection of a funny event that had happened earlier that day that she missed while she was in the bathroom. We laughed off the moment and that little moment was most likely forgotten. For her, I mean. I still visit that moment and, more often than not, go off on one of two tangents.
I often ponder my explanation to Sheila. Why would I ever want her to think that I was (am) mainstream? I have to hide my Seventeen magazine subscription from her out of the fear that she'd be disappointed. She might think that I'm going to the dark side (which side is that, I wouldn't be able to say). But this tangent often leads to more questions. Was I anti-mainstream for Sheila? Why was I selectively main? How do I subconsciously choose what to tell her? Am I mainstream? This leads to the other tangent. Am I considered to (somewhat) be anti-stream?
Honestly, if you asked me and gave me enough time to contemplate it, I'm neither nor. I dabble in life and I wear oxymorons like I wear my favorite pair of Converse. I am not a single thing. I am a combination of so many things. It’s like making black out of other colors. It’s warmer that way, more human, more relatable.
Being a combination of things, I thus have a combination of influences in my life. While I am not all the way mainstream, I am not completely anti-mainstream. My iPod is filled with Top-40 pop but I know old school soul songs by heart. I like flimsy and frivolous chick flicks more than anything with substance. But that’s simply a personal choice. My biggest influence comes from the media. I take away what I will, what makes sense. I read about other people’s ideas and perceptions and whatever is plausible is added as a possibility. I am my own ideas tweaked by my experiences in life. Only what I choose to influences me. I shall not be subjected to ideas without a base foundation strong enough to support my own weight.
Giving enough thought to it, I do suppose that I am somewhat subconsciously anti-stream. When given the chance, I would go the other way. Take the left line, go the traveled road because others would take the less traveled. I would hate popular things and I abhor the very sacrilege gum that seems to have wedged itself into the woodworks of my school. But I cannot say if I do that because others are doing the opposite. I enjoy what I do. Is it me going against the grain or is it the grain being against me? Who truly decides what is or is not mainstream? Dictionary.com defines mainstream as “the principal or dominant course, tendency, or trend. However, with all of the people going anti-stream, are they becoming the new mainstream? It is an oxymoron in itself.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Don't Laugh
And in that moment, there were only three things that I was absolutely sure about.
First, her name was Abigail.
Second, somewhere, deep inside of her -
having been cultivated since birth-
she coveted a happy ending.
And third, there was no chance of me giving it to her.
Pfft. I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. This came into my mind while listening to the 50 Taylor Swift songs of my iPod on repeated shuffle (Don't judge me) after a few story ideas popped into my head. And I admit: I'm pretty darn close to actually doing this. Which is saying something.
Just a couple of short story entries. Nothing much. And they'll mostly revolve around Abigail but maybe a few other people in her life and then maybe a few randoms to give it some color.
I kind of already hate Abigail from what I fleshed out from her character. Idk, it's just that I don't like her type. I tend to choose to write about someone I don't like. I think it keeps me from MarySue-ifying them.
ButButBut Abigail is a Sue! Her middle name is Mary! (Which I just decided while typing that sentence) She is every cliche in the book and she wants every cliche in the book. And while her people surrounding her are more GenreSavvy (I've been troping too much) so I like that conflict they have. But I don't want the reader to hate her. I want her very likable, maybe even pitied.
This is how I write really. I just go out there and bam. Something, anything, inspires thoughts. And then I think those through until I get somewhere. And I'll already be halfway thinking something out when I realize it has potential. There will be a line or a paragraph or a title or something that will click and then I'm like, "There's something in that." And I don't always realize it. That's why I talk things to my memo recorder. I can't tell if something's gold. I have a document that's just lines or phrases or ideas that makes me go, "That's good," just in case I get something from that someday. But, usually, when I write something down, it just doesn't read write and that what keeps me from writing things down. I blame my handwriting. And I'm easily distracted. Even right now, I keep going between writing ideas down, writing this, playing Burrito Bison, listening to music, and focusing on the television.
"That's your problem right there! Life's not a movie and you can't script everything out, you petty control-freak"
^^^Example^^^
I talk things out. I expand and expand and expand and just detail things. Without even thinking, I know the character's favorite flavour of ice cream and why and what kind of colors they prefer and whether or not they're a White Sox fan.
But, my kind of writing is involuntary. I can't sit down and just come up with idea. But when I have one, little stuff will appear everywhere.
Stories play like movies in my head and depending on my feeling, I know whether or not certain details. For a story I've been writing for 2 years, I still have no idea who the protagonist's boyfriend is. His face is blurred and I can't hear people call his name. But when I figure a piece out, the fog clears.
Hm. This went from being about the little Twilight thing to a rant about me writing. Meph.
First, her name was Abigail.
Second, somewhere, deep inside of her -
having been cultivated since birth-
she coveted a happy ending.
And third, there was no chance of me giving it to her.
Pfft. I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. This came into my mind while listening to the 50 Taylor Swift songs of my iPod on repeated shuffle (Don't judge me) after a few story ideas popped into my head. And I admit: I'm pretty darn close to actually doing this. Which is saying something.
Just a couple of short story entries. Nothing much. And they'll mostly revolve around Abigail but maybe a few other people in her life and then maybe a few randoms to give it some color.
I kind of already hate Abigail from what I fleshed out from her character. Idk, it's just that I don't like her type. I tend to choose to write about someone I don't like. I think it keeps me from MarySue-ifying them.
ButButBut Abigail is a Sue! Her middle name is Mary! (Which I just decided while typing that sentence) She is every cliche in the book and she wants every cliche in the book. And while her people surrounding her are more GenreSavvy (I've been troping too much) so I like that conflict they have. But I don't want the reader to hate her. I want her very likable, maybe even pitied.
This is how I write really. I just go out there and bam. Something, anything, inspires thoughts. And then I think those through until I get somewhere. And I'll already be halfway thinking something out when I realize it has potential. There will be a line or a paragraph or a title or something that will click and then I'm like, "There's something in that." And I don't always realize it. That's why I talk things to my memo recorder. I can't tell if something's gold. I have a document that's just lines or phrases or ideas that makes me go, "That's good," just in case I get something from that someday. But, usually, when I write something down, it just doesn't read write and that what keeps me from writing things down. I blame my handwriting. And I'm easily distracted. Even right now, I keep going between writing ideas down, writing this, playing Burrito Bison, listening to music, and focusing on the television.
"That's your problem right there! Life's not a movie and you can't script everything out, you petty control-freak"
^^^Example^^^
I talk things out. I expand and expand and expand and just detail things. Without even thinking, I know the character's favorite flavour of ice cream and why and what kind of colors they prefer and whether or not they're a White Sox fan.
But, my kind of writing is involuntary. I can't sit down and just come up with idea. But when I have one, little stuff will appear everywhere.
Stories play like movies in my head and depending on my feeling, I know whether or not certain details. For a story I've been writing for 2 years, I still have no idea who the protagonist's boyfriend is. His face is blurred and I can't hear people call his name. But when I figure a piece out, the fog clears.
Hm. This went from being about the little Twilight thing to a rant about me writing. Meph.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Modern Day Slavery
Lazy Week post :-D
I actually wrote this a while ago for Gilly Lit
"Willingly, no one chooses the yoke of slavery." -Aeschylus
Some would say modern day slavery is parents forcing their children into chores. I'm not talking about the normal pick-up-your-clothes or clean-your-room chores. I'm talking about the help-re-tile-the-roof and clean-the-basement-even-though-you-haven't-gone-down-there-in-months ones. Whether or not those who say so are right is not of my concern.
That is to say, I can't touch that.
Most people would talk about the sweatshops in China and other places of that sort and about the fact that those 200 dollar shoes that you bought last Christmas with your babysitting money could be made by kids making maybe $2 a week. But, as you can see, I'm not most people. I don't know much about sweatshops. I have a general idea but that's all it is, a general idea. The impossible has happened: I'm afraid of information. I'm afraid that I won't be able to go to the mall and not break down crying once I see a box of Nike gym shoes. Crying is not something that I enjoy doing and I certainly don't enjoy doing it in public.
I don't know much about other countries. I don't take A.P. Human Geography like the crazy ones and we're still just learning about the long ago history of Europe in World Studies. I've stopped watching the news due to the fact I have much better (and more pleasant) things to be than hearing the same depressing stuff over and over. I know practically nothing about other countries. I don't think that we can help unless we help ourselves first. Would it be right for me to help my friend study for her French quiz while I'm failing Spanish? I don't so. As selfish as it sounds, in some cases, you have to put yourself first. And this is one of those cases.
There's not just life overseas. There's life here too. Coincidentally, modern slavery is not just the people across the oceans. There's some America too, just better disguised.
I'm talking about those working for low wages and doing everything under the sun and the moon. What else should you consider it? When obviously being stretched farther than you should be (than you job details) and earning less than you should be, isn't it the same as the sweat shops? In this case, it could be worse. America is supposed to be setting an example. How can you save those across seas when the people are being pushed farther than the land goes? What I mean by that is that people are being pushed off farther than the dock extends, being pushed into the water.
And, as sad as it is, most can't swim.
People have too many hats on one head. Human heads aren't big enough for that, regardless of how big the egos are. We are not silly putty, nor Play-Doh (If anything, we are 999-piece puzzles: impossible to put together and your bound to lose a few which means you'll never be again once you leave that safe box. Heck, you might not even come with all of the pieces). You cannot pull us apart and expect us to go back just like before. We are not a product built by the wonders of engineering. We are people. The stress is making more and more become obese (from comfort eating and trying to feed yourself on less money than you should make) and die quicker (once again from the obesity and the fact that stress in general takes years off of your life).
That being said, the true question lies in whether or not that counts as slavery. Most would think a slave is someone who works for someone else for nothing and who are held against their will. Dictionary.com defines a slave as the following:
1. a person who is the property of and wholly subjected to another; a bond servant and 2. a person entirely under the domination of some influence or person.
So, it seems to me that a slave is someone trapped with someone else in power. Sounds familiar? Even though you're getting paid, if you are stuck under terrible conditions working for the looming powers that be and hold you against your true will and wish, youare may be a slave.
Another example, a much more morbid one, is regular slavery. No one is safe from it. Men, women, and children are being sold all over and all over the world. This is outright underground slavery. Human trafficking is the third most profitable crime, after drug and arms dealing. And once you're sold, you're gone. You will never be the same. Things will happen that you can't undo, that'll scar you for the rest your life. These scars will not even hold a match to the scar you got from falling out of that tree that your mom told you not to climb when you were 7 but you did anyway. This one is emotional, deep and growing.
The worst part? It'll never fade.
Human trafficking is good ol'-fashioned slavery, just color blind (an improvement that I want to be proud of and I don't at the same time. It's progress. We're coming to the point that the races are so equal that everyone's fair game. But how can one accept the conditions it's under?). Everyone is sold. Everyone is taken against their will. It's rare when someone comes out alive and even if you do, you're changed forever. That is slavery and it's happening today. Right now, some woman in Nevada is being sold to a pimp while a young girl in Wisconsin is being sold to a creepy old man. All while you're watching an episode similar on CSI: Miami on the TV.
The woman would have been taken while on her morning job. She would have been called "feisty" and "a fighter with a heck-of-a-lot of fight." She will go on to prove that, fighting at every chance, amusing her captors. She would be held down and injected, the drugs racing through her system. She would try to fight again and again, a much harder task this time. She will become sedated and quiet while she constantly fights for her consciousness. She will subsequently lose that fight, and she will wake up randomly underneath different men, and, after moments that will feel like many eternities, she will pass right back out. She will be caught in that vicious cycle till one of the following happens: she is rescued, deemed unnecessary and thrown out like old mop water, or dead.
The young girl will fare no better. She would have been taken while walking home from school, distracted with thoughts of biology and geometry and whether or not she should say something to Jessica, who keeps insulting her to her face, regardless of being her "best friend." She will be taken to the old man's house and kept locked in the basement. She'd be too afraid to fight back, an innocent soul who wouldn't even know the first thing about fighting. She would just be asking to be let go and hopelessly bargaining with the promise of never telling another living soul. He would laugh at her requests. I suppose the all do. What evil person wouldn't laugh at the naive girl who thinks she'll ever be able to escape. He will then assume control over her. A teenage girl against a grown man is not a fair fight. he will dominate her, and she will lose that brilliantly bright and bubbly personality of hers. her hair will lack luster, her skin will pale, and her eyes and face will appear to have sunken in.
Slavery's not just over seas. It's in our backyards and in our alleys. It's in our offices. It's down our streets. It doesn't only come out at and may not be obvious to see in the light of day. I don't care what Lincoln has done, what the laws say. It may be outlawed on paper and in the history books, but it's still happening here, here in the land of the supposed "free." It has adapted to the times and moved into and under the official name of "business." It has moved online and towards the safety of fake names and accounts and rerouted IP addresses. The government may have gotten smarter, but so have the white (and blue collar) criminals.
It's been 148 years (and 43 days) since former President Lincoln announced the Emancipation Proclamation, about 145 since Congress made it official with the 13th amendment, and we still have slavery. Go figure.
I guess I wrote a lot about this topic is because it hits me hard. I'm African-American. Somewhere along the lines, my ancestors were sold and brought to America to work for the settlers. Yeah, that was fixed but it's back (did it ever leave?) and I feel trapped. I just can't win. And now, it's not because I'm black. It's because I'm young or a girl or attractive or just in the wrong place at the wrong time while the wrong person wrong idea about me. How is that fair? I know that life isn't fair it's just that, it's just that... How is this right? Is it right that I can't escape? Or does this not come down to the matter of right and wrong.
Lock up the children, the pets, and yourself, America. No one's safe from the terror. Not even a 14-year old Freshman who likes yellow and writing. I mean, come on! I am not for sale. I do not have a price tag on my foot or a bar code underneath my jeans. Don't even searching for one, I've just checked for you.
Of course, whenever you don't come with a price, they'll just put one on you. They'll pencil it in on your heart, a pleasant thought indeed.
I actually wrote this a while ago for Gilly Lit
"Willingly, no one chooses the yoke of slavery." -Aeschylus
Some would say modern day slavery is parents forcing their children into chores. I'm not talking about the normal pick-up-your-clothes or clean-your-room chores. I'm talking about the help-re-tile-the-roof and clean-the-basement-even-though-you-haven't-gone-down-there-in-months ones. Whether or not those who say so are right is not of my concern.
That is to say, I can't touch that.
Most people would talk about the sweatshops in China and other places of that sort and about the fact that those 200 dollar shoes that you bought last Christmas with your babysitting money could be made by kids making maybe $2 a week. But, as you can see, I'm not most people. I don't know much about sweatshops. I have a general idea but that's all it is, a general idea. The impossible has happened: I'm afraid of information. I'm afraid that I won't be able to go to the mall and not break down crying once I see a box of Nike gym shoes. Crying is not something that I enjoy doing and I certainly don't enjoy doing it in public.
I don't know much about other countries. I don't take A.P. Human Geography like the crazy ones and we're still just learning about the long ago history of Europe in World Studies. I've stopped watching the news due to the fact I have much better (and more pleasant) things to be than hearing the same depressing stuff over and over. I know practically nothing about other countries. I don't think that we can help unless we help ourselves first. Would it be right for me to help my friend study for her French quiz while I'm failing Spanish? I don't so. As selfish as it sounds, in some cases, you have to put yourself first. And this is one of those cases.
There's not just life overseas. There's life here too. Coincidentally, modern slavery is not just the people across the oceans. There's some America too, just better disguised.
I'm talking about those working for low wages and doing everything under the sun and the moon. What else should you consider it? When obviously being stretched farther than you should be (than you job details) and earning less than you should be, isn't it the same as the sweat shops? In this case, it could be worse. America is supposed to be setting an example. How can you save those across seas when the people are being pushed farther than the land goes? What I mean by that is that people are being pushed off farther than the dock extends, being pushed into the water.
And, as sad as it is, most can't swim.
People have too many hats on one head. Human heads aren't big enough for that, regardless of how big the egos are. We are not silly putty, nor Play-Doh (If anything, we are 999-piece puzzles: impossible to put together and your bound to lose a few which means you'll never be again once you leave that safe box. Heck, you might not even come with all of the pieces). You cannot pull us apart and expect us to go back just like before. We are not a product built by the wonders of engineering. We are people. The stress is making more and more become obese (from comfort eating and trying to feed yourself on less money than you should make) and die quicker (once again from the obesity and the fact that stress in general takes years off of your life).
That being said, the true question lies in whether or not that counts as slavery. Most would think a slave is someone who works for someone else for nothing and who are held against their will. Dictionary.com defines a slave as the following:
1. a person who is the property of and wholly subjected to another; a bond servant and 2. a person entirely under the domination of some influence or person.
So, it seems to me that a slave is someone trapped with someone else in power. Sounds familiar? Even though you're getting paid, if you are stuck under terrible conditions working for the looming powers that be and hold you against your true will and wish, you
Another example, a much more morbid one, is regular slavery. No one is safe from it. Men, women, and children are being sold all over and all over the world. This is outright underground slavery. Human trafficking is the third most profitable crime, after drug and arms dealing. And once you're sold, you're gone. You will never be the same. Things will happen that you can't undo, that'll scar you for the rest your life. These scars will not even hold a match to the scar you got from falling out of that tree that your mom told you not to climb when you were 7 but you did anyway. This one is emotional, deep and growing.
The worst part? It'll never fade.
Human trafficking is good ol'-fashioned slavery, just color blind (an improvement that I want to be proud of and I don't at the same time. It's progress. We're coming to the point that the races are so equal that everyone's fair game. But how can one accept the conditions it's under?). Everyone is sold. Everyone is taken against their will. It's rare when someone comes out alive and even if you do, you're changed forever. That is slavery and it's happening today. Right now, some woman in Nevada is being sold to a pimp while a young girl in Wisconsin is being sold to a creepy old man. All while you're watching an episode similar on CSI: Miami on the TV.
The woman would have been taken while on her morning job. She would have been called "feisty" and "a fighter with a heck-of-a-lot of fight." She will go on to prove that, fighting at every chance, amusing her captors. She would be held down and injected, the drugs racing through her system. She would try to fight again and again, a much harder task this time. She will become sedated and quiet while she constantly fights for her consciousness. She will subsequently lose that fight, and she will wake up randomly underneath different men, and, after moments that will feel like many eternities, she will pass right back out. She will be caught in that vicious cycle till one of the following happens: she is rescued, deemed unnecessary and thrown out like old mop water, or dead.
The young girl will fare no better. She would have been taken while walking home from school, distracted with thoughts of biology and geometry and whether or not she should say something to Jessica, who keeps insulting her to her face, regardless of being her "best friend." She will be taken to the old man's house and kept locked in the basement. She'd be too afraid to fight back, an innocent soul who wouldn't even know the first thing about fighting. She would just be asking to be let go and hopelessly bargaining with the promise of never telling another living soul. He would laugh at her requests. I suppose the all do. What evil person wouldn't laugh at the naive girl who thinks she'll ever be able to escape. He will then assume control over her. A teenage girl against a grown man is not a fair fight. he will dominate her, and she will lose that brilliantly bright and bubbly personality of hers. her hair will lack luster, her skin will pale, and her eyes and face will appear to have sunken in.
Slavery's not just over seas. It's in our backyards and in our alleys. It's in our offices. It's down our streets. It doesn't only come out at and may not be obvious to see in the light of day. I don't care what Lincoln has done, what the laws say. It may be outlawed on paper and in the history books, but it's still happening here, here in the land of the supposed "free." It has adapted to the times and moved into and under the official name of "business." It has moved online and towards the safety of fake names and accounts and rerouted IP addresses. The government may have gotten smarter, but so have the white (and blue collar) criminals.
It's been 148 years (and 43 days) since former President Lincoln announced the Emancipation Proclamation, about 145 since Congress made it official with the 13th amendment, and we still have slavery. Go figure.
I guess I wrote a lot about this topic is because it hits me hard. I'm African-American. Somewhere along the lines, my ancestors were sold and brought to America to work for the settlers. Yeah, that was fixed but it's back (did it ever leave?) and I feel trapped. I just can't win. And now, it's not because I'm black. It's because I'm young or a girl or attractive or just in the wrong place at the wrong time while the wrong person wrong idea about me. How is that fair? I know that life isn't fair it's just that, it's just that... How is this right? Is it right that I can't escape? Or does this not come down to the matter of right and wrong.
Lock up the children, the pets, and yourself, America. No one's safe from the terror. Not even a 14-year old Freshman who likes yellow and writing. I mean, come on! I am not for sale. I do not have a price tag on my foot or a bar code underneath my jeans. Don't even searching for one, I've just checked for you.
Of course, whenever you don't come with a price, they'll just put one on you. They'll pencil it in on your heart, a pleasant thought indeed.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Something to Believe In
Yeah. Just finished reading WGWG by JG. @ 2am. Sleep is obsolete.
Rhyme.
Um, these are the rare moments where I get thrown headfirst into a twister (not tornado, because right now I have an image of Dorothy, Oz, and Kindergarteners in my head) and I see why people have religion.
Controversial moment time.
I don't honestly believe in religion. I'm not saying this to start a fight but it's true. It's an unseen thing that I can put myself behind. I get it. I get it. It's called "faith" for a reason. You have to give something without knowing you'll get something. I get it. Faith is taking the first step when you don't see the whole staircase. <---Quote from Martin Luther King Jr. (my childhood hero) according to a television commercial.
I'm a skeptic. There's no way I'm getting on a staircase where I have no idea if the whole thing's there. I'm not putting myself out there like that, no thank you. I can't believe in something invisible. There was more proof of Santa and The Tooth Fairy and look how that turned out. I take the Bible as an interpretation of how things COULD have happened and leave everything we don't know as it is. We can't say what happened or didn't. We were there. (<-- Motto for most of things in my life) So who are we to say what did or didn't? Prove your theories, people. And science, don't get me started on science. I've got a major problem with people arguing against religion with things that they only know because some people, once upon a long time ago, agreed to them. Which is what religion are.
Hello pot, hello kettle. Have you two met?
This is why I'm agnostic. I can't say what is or isn't true. I'm merely mortal and who are we mere mortals to say what history is? History is hisstory. He who fights to see the end, gets to write the books. I'm sure those in England see the American Revolution differently.
Not the point of this post really. I've just realized that while looking at my humidifier which really should have been emptied weeks ago.
The point is, this is one of those moments where I see why people need it. Why people need to believe in something. Why they need to feel that there's something more after life for them, that there's something, someone, watching over them. It would be a nice thought, right. Someone higher, pulling strings so you don't feel guilty. It's like when your parents are there saying that they'll know everything and that some how keeps you out of trouble.
This is a moment where I wish I had something to believe, to blindly trust fall into. Something to turn to, to have define you. But then, whenever I consider "finding faith", I'm reminded that it's like trying to believe in Santa again. It's a lie to me. And it's not fair to those who believe unconditionally.
So yeah. Sometimes, I wish I had something a little like religion on my side.
Rhyme.
Um, these are the rare moments where I get thrown headfirst into a twister (not tornado, because right now I have an image of Dorothy, Oz, and Kindergarteners in my head) and I see why people have religion.
Controversial moment time.
I don't honestly believe in religion. I'm not saying this to start a fight but it's true. It's an unseen thing that I can put myself behind. I get it. I get it. It's called "faith" for a reason. You have to give something without knowing you'll get something. I get it. Faith is taking the first step when you don't see the whole staircase. <---Quote from Martin Luther King Jr. (my childhood hero) according to a television commercial.
I'm a skeptic. There's no way I'm getting on a staircase where I have no idea if the whole thing's there. I'm not putting myself out there like that, no thank you. I can't believe in something invisible. There was more proof of Santa and The Tooth Fairy and look how that turned out. I take the Bible as an interpretation of how things COULD have happened and leave everything we don't know as it is. We can't say what happened or didn't. We were there. (<-- Motto for most of things in my life) So who are we to say what did or didn't? Prove your theories, people. And science, don't get me started on science. I've got a major problem with people arguing against religion with things that they only know because some people, once upon a long time ago, agreed to them. Which is what religion are.
Hello pot, hello kettle. Have you two met?
This is why I'm agnostic. I can't say what is or isn't true. I'm merely mortal and who are we mere mortals to say what history is? History is hisstory. He who fights to see the end, gets to write the books. I'm sure those in England see the American Revolution differently.
Not the point of this post really. I've just realized that while looking at my humidifier which really should have been emptied weeks ago.
The point is, this is one of those moments where I see why people need it. Why people need to believe in something. Why they need to feel that there's something more after life for them, that there's something, someone, watching over them. It would be a nice thought, right. Someone higher, pulling strings so you don't feel guilty. It's like when your parents are there saying that they'll know everything and that some how keeps you out of trouble.
This is a moment where I wish I had something to believe, to blindly trust fall into. Something to turn to, to have define you. But then, whenever I consider "finding faith", I'm reminded that it's like trying to believe in Santa again. It's a lie to me. And it's not fair to those who believe unconditionally.
So yeah. Sometimes, I wish I had something a little like religion on my side.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Rebels & Regrets
Rebels with a cause
May not fall short of their plan
May not turn back
Rally all the rebels
Stand tall for your beliefs
Wave you flag
Speak your name
Belt it out
But be warned,
It may not be easy
The path is perilous
With many an obstacle
You have a cause
a reason
a method to the madness
and for that you stand
You fight, knowing you may die
Knowledge that you may lose
May cause moments of hesitation
But be warned
Those mere moments
of hesitation
May hinder your fight
So press straight on
Don't look back, want to go back
It is too late to go back
True rebels have made their stand
So radical, no time to changed minds
No regrets.
No cause for regrets
Rebels with a cause
have no cause for regret
May not fall short of their plan
May not turn back
Rally all the rebels
Stand tall for your beliefs
Wave you flag
Speak your name
Belt it out
But be warned,
It may not be easy
The path is perilous
With many an obstacle
You have a cause
a reason
a method to the madness
and for that you stand
You fight, knowing you may die
Knowledge that you may lose
May cause moments of hesitation
But be warned
Those mere moments
of hesitation
May hinder your fight
So press straight on
Don't look back, want to go back
It is too late to go back
True rebels have made their stand
So radical, no time to changed minds
No regrets.
No cause for regrets
Rebels with a cause
have no cause for regret
What Cannot Be Defeated - An Emo Poem
How can that talkative girl
be a loner
How can that ray of light
be depressed
How can the cheer captain
be considering suicide
One does not know
A bundle of life on the outside
But immersed in darkness inside
You can't guess
The outgoing are shy
The peppy, suicidal
Head jock is bringing a gun to school tomorrow
Because there are only shadows
Where there is light
It follows you, melds to your life
Plagued by darkness
You work harder when you're
Mentally surround by death
You push harder, try harder
Run farther, go farther
But the more you go, the more you try to go
You're drained of your life
You begin the day in life
But return at the end to dark
Because when you're on the outside
Bathed by the high sun
Living in light,
There is still night
No light makes it inside
You think in darkness
No light makes it inside your chest
Your heart is swallowed in darkness
There is no light without the shadows
It cannot shine everywhere
It cannot defeat all
Night cannot be defeated
You are in the light...
... but you are sheltered by the dark
be a loner
How can that ray of light
be depressed
How can the cheer captain
be considering suicide
One does not know
A bundle of life on the outside
But immersed in darkness inside
You can't guess
The outgoing are shy
The peppy, suicidal
Head jock is bringing a gun to school tomorrow
Because there are only shadows
Where there is light
It follows you, melds to your life
Plagued by darkness
You work harder when you're
Mentally surround by death
You push harder, try harder
Run farther, go farther
But the more you go, the more you try to go
You're drained of your life
You begin the day in life
But return at the end to dark
Because when you're on the outside
Bathed by the high sun
Living in light,
There is still night
No light makes it inside
You think in darkness
No light makes it inside your chest
Your heart is swallowed in darkness
There is no light without the shadows
It cannot shine everywhere
It cannot defeat all
Night cannot be defeated
You are in the light...
... but you are sheltered by the dark
Thursday, March 3, 2011
*Thoughts* and ~Feelings~
March 3, 2011
6.33 PM
Sorry it’s been so long. I just found this the other night.
Last summer, a close friend of mine moved away to Pennsylvania. It's almost on the other side of the country. Like, half a country away. Her birthday is Tuesday, the 8th and to celebrate, my friends and I am shipping her a care package as a gift with a CD of songs for her on it. We got the idea to record a few of the songs with a few of us singing it.
We've been planning it for 2 months. We've been practicing for 1. Saturday we were planning to record but tech difficulties. We were going to do it on Tuesday but dentist appointments, math team, and . Today, it was at either of my friend’s houses. But they're on the North Side and I'm pretty far. My mom said no to picking me up. Not driving me, because we would take the train but to picking me up. Because it's a school night.
My friend begged and begged and managed to get her parents to let her bring her camera to school to record. I usually stay till 4.30 on Thursdays anyway. I get off school at 2.25, them at 3.15. We practiced and managed to record 1 song. But, alas, come 4.30 and we had 2 (we knocked off the last one) to go.
I called my mother and asked if I could stay till 5. She was already there, she always was already there. She's a person who enjoys getting places very early. She said no and told me to come out. But, I had been planning this for so long, it's my gift to my friend, it's my thing, and I'm the main voice on BOTH of the other tracks.
So I ignored her.
Now, this is my mom. The same one that if I miss 1 assignment in school, I am banned from after school activities till this time next year. This is the psycho one (in my biased opinion). I knew that I would be in more than trouble by ignoring her. I knew I would lose something big. I knew what I was getting into.
But, for the reasons 2 paragraphs above, I did it regardless. In 20 minutes, we had both songs recorded. I was outside and bracing myself for whatever wind was gonna blow.
And blow, it did.
She blew up as soon as I was inside the car. I hate when she's mad and drives. She's not a good emotion-controller. She drives angry and I do not wish for me to die because she can't control her emotions like an adult. So she's yelling at me saying that I "disrespected her", I "don't get it yet", I "made the wrong choice", that maybe I should "go back to therapy. maybe i would 'get it' then". She says you can't trust me because of that. And that my friends would never to that to their parents.
I find it funny that she thinks she knows my friends. She's never talked to them, never got to know them. How is she to know what they or would not do? She got mad and threatened to hit me when I "yelled" at her (it wasn't yelling. It just wasn't meek me talking) after she accused my friends of making me do that, telling me to do that, goading me. Hell no. That was the first and only time my voice broke. I love my friends to death and hold them higher than my parents, I'll admit.
What do I owe my parents? What have I done that they are not supposed to do? They are their own choices. Do I owe them because she gave birth? No. Not in my opinion. She chose to do it. Blood may be thicker than water but you can get a blood transplant from anyone. Besides, apparently your family will never leave you. They can't. They have to love you. But I don't want to be with people who love me because they have to. My friends take me as I am because they want me as I am. No one is forcing them.
What else is funny is that she usually says not to be like my friends, that I go along with the crowd. That yadda yadda yadda. But this time, she wants me to. They can't pick and choose. I am not Burger King. You can't have me your way.
So I lost my iPod, which I use for music, general entertainment, and as a sleep machine seeing that I live in the city and it's so noisy I can't sleep. I lost that for a undefined amount of time, a library date with a friend this weekend, and my chance to go to a screening of a movie on Tuesday. I got the free tickets from school and was planning to go with 2 friends.
Originally, it was just going to be the library. But, apparently, because I had said earlier in the mostly one-sided conversation, that I had made a commitment and was going to uphold it (she called a commitment to my friends stupid and meaningless compared to the word of my mother [what, is her word law?]) she took the other two away.
Seriously, it went like this, "For this, no library on Saturday. Now you're lucky. I almost took away the iPod and Tuesday. Matter of fact, I am taking them away for you saying you didn't want to disappoint your friends [I never said that. I said I had a commitment. But can I tell her that? No.]"
And, apparently, she almost drove off without me. She said I had better had money on me to get home on the train because I would have to find my own way home. And that's what will happen if I try that again. Very caring mother, very. Specially seeing as I'm not allowed to take the train by myself so I have only the slightest idea about how to. I would need at least 2 separate trains. And I don't live in the best of neighborhoods.
No regrets. I have to tell myself that. No regrets. Because I would do it again if this day was rewound. I made my decision, it was a conscious one. And I knew I would have consequences and I accept them.
And I think that's what made her the most angry. That I wasn't reduced to a melted mess.
People wonder about the relationship I have with my parents and how it's not a happy one. And this is why. I actually think and I do it differently so all of my actions are misinterpreted. But I've stopped caring. Because I chose my decisions and I accept that.
She’s repetitive, my mom. She basically had 4 points that she cycles through again and again. Repetition only helps memorization. When it’s coming from a person, you’re more likely to block it out than listen. Because humans love routine, but hate forced repetition.
I am not easily scared or easily controlled. It would be smart for people to remember that.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
That Girl - Poem!
I'm that girl
Don't you remember me?
I'm that girl.
The one you bumped into
Just the other day
You didn't get a good look at her face
Too busy trying to make that movie
(Was your ice coffee worth the rush?)
I'm the girl
The one you don't notice
I don't blend into the background
I just don't stick out
I'm the one
Who made you laugh that one time
Not too hard
For you would have retold the story to your friends
And not with a brilliant joke.
You would have retold that too.
Just an innocent enough
Forgettable enough
Plain old chuckle.
(Do you finally get it?)
I am average.
Maybe slightly above
You wouldn't know
You don't even know the color of my eyes.
Even though we spent minutes
That felt like hours
Together in an elevator
Just staring at each other
Would you notice
If I bumped into you again?
If our paths were called upon
To 'X' once more?
Would you realize
That the girl who just walked past
Is someone you saw
Met
Laughed with before?
I am that girl
Who passes unnoticed,
Noticing everything that passes.
The girl of no importance.
A fading faint memory,
With a dreamlike difficulty of remembering.
Slipping through
The fingers of your mind
Like trying to grasp
Sun-kissed, sun-dried sand.
I am the girl
The one that no one cares about
That no one knows
That no one remembers
That no one can place their greasy fingers on.
Showing myself for the most fleeting of moments.
Don't feel bad.
Well, if you must, you must.
It's okay.
While it really shouldn't be.
You're not alone
You're not the only one.
I pass by many people
I touch many lives.
But that's just fine.
Because I'm not alone.
I'm not the only one.
There's other girls
Who walk by too
(And boys, I guess)
So it's just fine.
And I'm not alone.
Go on, live your life
Keep on not paying attention
To the person that just passed by
Let that laugh
Slip out of your memory
Let that girl
Stay in the elevator
And sure,
You can leave that
Bumped-into girl
On the sidewalk,
In the dust
(You shouldn't, really)
Because, guess what?
We invisibles are okay too.
Don't you remember me?
I'm that girl.
The one you bumped into
Just the other day
You didn't get a good look at her face
Too busy trying to make that movie
(Was your ice coffee worth the rush?)
I'm the girl
The one you don't notice
I don't blend into the background
I just don't stick out
I'm the one
Who made you laugh that one time
Not too hard
For you would have retold the story to your friends
And not with a brilliant joke.
You would have retold that too.
Just an innocent enough
Forgettable enough
Plain old chuckle.
(Do you finally get it?)
I am average.
Maybe slightly above
You wouldn't know
You don't even know the color of my eyes.
Even though we spent minutes
That felt like hours
Together in an elevator
Just staring at each other
Would you notice
If I bumped into you again?
If our paths were called upon
To 'X' once more?
Would you realize
That the girl who just walked past
Is someone you saw
Met
Laughed with before?
I am that girl
Who passes unnoticed,
Noticing everything that passes.
The girl of no importance.
A fading faint memory,
With a dreamlike difficulty of remembering.
Slipping through
The fingers of your mind
Like trying to grasp
Sun-kissed, sun-dried sand.
I am the girl
The one that no one cares about
That no one knows
That no one remembers
That no one can place their greasy fingers on.
Showing myself for the most fleeting of moments.
Don't feel bad.
Well, if you must, you must.
It's okay.
While it really shouldn't be.
You're not alone
You're not the only one.
I pass by many people
I touch many lives.
But that's just fine.
Because I'm not alone.
I'm not the only one.
There's other girls
Who walk by too
(And boys, I guess)
So it's just fine.
And I'm not alone.
Go on, live your life
Keep on not paying attention
To the person that just passed by
Let that laugh
Slip out of your memory
Let that girl
Stay in the elevator
And sure,
You can leave that
Bumped-into girl
On the sidewalk,
In the dust
(You shouldn't, really)
Because, guess what?
We invisibles are okay too.
Outcast
Outcast
I'm an outcast
Join the club, put on the badge
Learn the secret handshake
On the outskirts of the life
I'm a lonely solo one
Off to the side, out of the spotlight
Away from the view of the world
In a room full of people
In a crowd of friends
I melt into the background
Observer,
Not participator
An onlooker to the game
Pushed out of the circle
Done, not by others, but by self
The wrong cog
That won't make the clock turn
The apple among oranges
The swan among pigeons
The stroke of blues among shades of red
SOMETHING DOES NOT BELONG
There's an outcast
Can you find her?
Here's a hint:
She only doesn't belong in. her. mind.
I'm an outcast
Join the club, put on the badge
Learn the secret handshake
On the outskirts of the life
I'm a lonely solo one
Off to the side, out of the spotlight
Away from the view of the world
In a room full of people
In a crowd of friends
I melt into the background
Observer,
Not participator
An onlooker to the game
Pushed out of the circle
Done, not by others, but by self
The wrong cog
That won't make the clock turn
The apple among oranges
The swan among pigeons
The stroke of blues among shades of red
SOMETHING DOES NOT BELONG
There's an outcast
Can you find her?
Here's a hint:
She only doesn't belong in. her. mind.
The Thinker - Yet Another Poem...
I am a thinker. I think. Faster than I can speak, ideas race through my mind. I flit here and there, from topic to topic, not stopping, nor slowing. Racing past me, I only glimpse the slightest before I'm off again.
Living a life in my head, the clouds being mere wisps, I am left in the garden, but distracted from the roses. The flowers become simple, colored blurs in my mind. My memory made to worth nothing. Too many thoughts that I cannot keep track of. No re-tellings. The thought is of the moment.
For it is a chore. Staying in the moment is a bother. Always moving forward. Not by choice, but because I cannot look back.
And I want to look back. I want to remember. I want to stop along the stone path and smell the bright and inviting flowers. I want to take a moment and feel pain as the thorns prick my finger. I want to be conscious of thought. Slow, savoring. The brilliant glow of the moment, of the memory.
But I can't. I can't slow down. I can't keep up. Full speed ahead. Stopping's dangerous. Stopping's bad. It will throw your train from the track. It'll mess up your plans, mess everything up. It will ruin you. It will ruin what you have, what you know.
It'll change things. Changing will change things. It will force you to adapt. But I am not mold-able. And I don't want to stop. And I don't want to slow. But I want to see the petals. And I want to remember life.
I am a thinker. I think. Because that's the only thing I can do.
Living a life in my head, the clouds being mere wisps, I am left in the garden, but distracted from the roses. The flowers become simple, colored blurs in my mind. My memory made to worth nothing. Too many thoughts that I cannot keep track of. No re-tellings. The thought is of the moment.
For it is a chore. Staying in the moment is a bother. Always moving forward. Not by choice, but because I cannot look back.
And I want to look back. I want to remember. I want to stop along the stone path and smell the bright and inviting flowers. I want to take a moment and feel pain as the thorns prick my finger. I want to be conscious of thought. Slow, savoring. The brilliant glow of the moment, of the memory.
But I can't. I can't slow down. I can't keep up. Full speed ahead. Stopping's dangerous. Stopping's bad. It will throw your train from the track. It'll mess up your plans, mess everything up. It will ruin you. It will ruin what you have, what you know.
It'll change things. Changing will change things. It will force you to adapt. But I am not mold-able. And I don't want to stop. And I don't want to slow. But I want to see the petals. And I want to remember life.
I am a thinker. I think. Because that's the only thing I can do.
Haunted - Another Poem
Haunted
I'm haunted
Haunted by the memories
Haunted by the mistakes
Haunted by bitterness
And regrets
Haunted by the apparitions
The ones that refuse to disappear
Into meaningless nothingness
Haunted by the
What ifs and maybes and whys
Haunted by commitments
Haunted by requirements
Haunted by failed decisions
Haunted by expectations
Too high to reach
Too close to brush off
I can't run
You can't run when
You're being haunted
I can't hide
You can't hide when
You're being haunted
When you're haunted
You're trapped
You're simply a shadow
Of your being
You're lost
But you're there
And you certainly can't leave
You're at a dead end
In your maze
And just as you turn around
The walls begin to close in
And they're mocking you
The walls
Because they know as well as you do
That you can't get out
I'm haunted by my life
What's left of it
The remains of the person
I used to be
Haunted by the pounding of my heart
Haunted by the blood running in my veins
Haunted by the betrayal
I betrayed myself
I'm endlessly haunted
And I'm about to break
Because I can't take it anymore
Because it has to stop.
And
As we all know
You're only haunted
Till the day you die
So I sit
And live
And wait
For this haunting to be over
I'm haunted
Haunted by the memories
Haunted by the mistakes
Haunted by bitterness
And regrets
Haunted by the apparitions
The ones that refuse to disappear
Into meaningless nothingness
Haunted by the
What ifs and maybes and whys
Haunted by commitments
Haunted by requirements
Haunted by failed decisions
Haunted by expectations
Too high to reach
Too close to brush off
I can't run
You can't run when
You're being haunted
I can't hide
You can't hide when
You're being haunted
When you're haunted
You're trapped
You're simply a shadow
Of your being
You're lost
But you're there
And you certainly can't leave
You're at a dead end
In your maze
And just as you turn around
The walls begin to close in
And they're mocking you
The walls
Because they know as well as you do
That you can't get out
I'm haunted by my life
What's left of it
The remains of the person
I used to be
Haunted by the pounding of my heart
Haunted by the blood running in my veins
Haunted by the betrayal
I betrayed myself
I'm endlessly haunted
And I'm about to break
Because I can't take it anymore
Because it has to stop.
And
As we all know
You're only haunted
Till the day you die
So I sit
And live
And wait
For this haunting to be over
WWYD - A Poem
What do you do
When your world has come crashing
Down upon your head?
Like being caught in a thunderstorm
Without an umbrella
Or a sign of shelter.
Drowning in the raindrops
Made salty by other people's tears
And fears and worries.
And you're stuck in the dangerous whirlwind
Of their wide-spreading
And inescapable influences.
What would you do
If everything you felt
Everything you thought and felt and did
Left you with a sick feeling
In your stomach
That just wouldn't go away?
It's your fault.
Even if it's not your problem.
What do you do
When your heart is caught
In your throat
Choking you with sorrow
To the point where
You can't take in a single breath
Or defend yourself
Against yourself?
When it feels like
A boa constrictor
Is crushing your chest
And you know that your
Already breaking, fragile heart
Will not survive.
What should I do
Since I'm powerless
Against the powers that be?
And I'm imprisoned
In the jail cell
Whose bars
Are my own regrets.
When the one who is the one
Has melted into
Something resembling
Nothing.
What do I do
When I'm lost and alone
An alien on my version
Of planet Earth?
Feeling helpless.
Hopeless.
Heartless.
What can I do
Now that I have become Atlas
And the fate of my world
Rests in my petite hands?
(How can my world
Rest in my petite hands?)
What do I do
Now that I am stopped
At life's crossroad
And both paths
Are blocked?
And it's
...
it's
...
it's like
---
I'll never be enough.
Even when
I'm everything
I can possibly be.
I will Never. Be. Enough.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Breath in the Taste of a New Year
"This is me swallowing my pride, standing in front of you telling you I'm sorry..."
Happy 2011 people! No, I did not write this in 1 minute seeing as it was posted at 12.01pm Jan. 1. I was a good girl and I planned ahead. Currently, it is 12.27am December 28th. I've been up all night working on this and my school blog (Gilly Lit! Go there. Now!) and I've been burning through the M&Ms my friend got me for Christmas. I don't think I'll be slowing down anytime soon so I decided to get this post out of the way.
So, after many failed attempts and one passing attempt, I have finally decided to swallow my pride and go ahead and just do this. Get it over with. Because I have so many opinions that it's come down to the point where I will either pop or five in. And popping isn't apparently an option according to my lovely Editor.
So welcome! To this blog! It may not look like much at first and it probably won't be. But that's at first. It'll probably be sucky at first. But stick with me and I'll stick with you. We'll get through this together.
So hi! This is just the intro post. Once I get my head on straight, I'll probably just put an "About This" page because it's much easier. But, for now, this is required. I'll forgive you if you don't read it. But that's simply because I don't want to write it. :-)
So hi! This is my place, my blog, my home for sudden inspirations. That was a name possibility, actually. Sudden Inspirations. Sounds nice, doesn't it? I considered a bunch of names for this blog. Breathtaking Collisions, Chance Encounters, OpenHearted Confessions, etc. I went through A LOT. And it's hilarious that I ended up coming back to my original name: Amazingly Hysterical.
If you know me well enough, you should know that I made a blog called Amazingly Hysterical. I posted about my life. Random stuff, really. Because I'm a random girl. Well, after some inspiration, I wanted to start of anew. I wanted something unaffected by my past history. So I stored all my AH stuff on another, unpublished blog and I cleared it out. All that was left was to get over myself and post.
....
I've stalled long enough. I made it to about 425 word(ish) without even introducing myself or the blog. How dare I!
So hi! (I've said that way too many times already) I'm Syd but I'll be writing under the name of Gilly, a play on my last name. So refer to me as Gilly por favor! I'm a writer, or at least I want to be. That's pretty much the goal of this. To determine and enhance my writing voice.
And it's a place to store my ramblings, rants, and writings of that sort.
So enjoy people! And you're allowed to LINK anything here, as long as you're not copying and pasting and stealing my work. I tolerate many things and condone many more. But, if you still my chiz, I will pull a Taken and I will find you and I will destroy you. Huggles♥