Leaves

Hello there, Lovelies! My novelette got published online on Teen Ink! I would greatly appreciate it if you checked it out then rated it 5 stars. The highest rated novels get on the Top Voted list, which means more publicity. Please check it out here: Leaves Thank you so much for all your love and support!
Warning- the link may not work on all mobile devices.

Another List

Unfortunately, I have recently rediscovered writer's block. Though I have ignored writing a blog post for some time because of that wretched beast, I have decided that today was the day to put something up. There is no schedule for my creativity- I hate forcing an idea out of my brain for the sake of keeping to a schedule so I have decided to do one of the things I do best when being engulfed in writer's block. I write lists. Without further ado, here is twenty-five things that my friends may or may not know about me:

1. I am a nerdfighter. 
2. When I grow up, I want to be a middle school English teacher.
3. When I was little I wanted to be a cartographer. 
4. My favorite athletes are Rebecca Soni and Missy Franklin.
5. I do the things I do to impress myself, almost never to impress others.
6. I want to learn how to play the ukulele. 
7. As of late I seem to be more in love with the general idea of love than in love with any one person.
8. I have a nerdy fangirl crush on Andrew Garfield.
9. My favorite color is emerald green.
10. I am somewhat of an introvert.
11. My three favorite words to use in my writing are exultant, opulent, and plethora. 
12. Sometimes I correct people in my head when they use incorrect grammar.
13. My favorite books are Heartbeat by Sharon Creech, The Penderwicks by Jeanne Birdsall, and The Boy in the Striped Pajamas by John Boyne.
14. My favorite ice cream flavor is moosetracks.
15. I choose not to curse because I have come to the realization that those who do sound like lamebrains.
16. A pet peeve of mine is when people my own age are rude to adults.
17. I am afraid of dying (who isn't), hurting people, spiders, and growing up too quickly.
18. I love swim meets but I'm not crazy about swim practices, especially those that include breath control.

Because of a Butterfly

      On this occasion, much like others in the past, I have wondered what made man want to keep reaching new heights in architecture. Was it after the discovery that human beings cannot reach new heights by flight? Of course, we reached those heights once the airplane was invented, but I am talking about the discovery that man could not soar using man-made wing-like contraptions (much to the disappointment of Leonardo Da Vinci). After that startling wake-up call, buildings kept getting taller and taller. They started building skyscrapers that touched the clouds so wonderfully it brought mankind to the once unspeakable thought that perhaps anything is possible.
     Sometimes I wonder if it was all because a child with a kite and a dream of soaring with the birds found out that his vision was unreachable. Maybe another child caught a butterfly and his mother yelled at him to let it go. Maybe, just maybe, that innocent face's mother yelled all the time and all he wanted, even though he was offered so many material items, was to be like that butterfly. He just wanted to be set free. Perhaps the child who wished to fly and the child who wished to feel freedom stream across his face like rays of sunshine became the men who started the never-ending competition of "who can build it taller?".
     Truthfully, my imagination is floating around the timeline of history when it comes to my thoughts on who started it all in the beginning. Well, whoever they were, they both had a dream. Most likely my story is only partially correct in that the men had broken childhoods, for everyone builds from the bottom up even in life, if you know what I mean. To think though, that whoever they were, that they were the architectural innovators that inspired the innovators of today is astounding. In the long run, they reached new heights and paved the way for others to do so as well. Through those others, their dreams continue to come true.

A Letter

To Whom-ever-this-may-concern,  
     There is nothing more horrifically painful emotionally than that of feeling alone. It is a curious thing, to feel that way, for in truth you are not by your lonesome in space. There are other human beings on our planet with hearts that beat and lungs that fill up with air. They are just living their lives in this time period known as existence; however, the feeling of being alone is also in existence, drifting around like a balloon caught in a wind current. Some people tend to feel lonely because they are sucked into a deep, dark, abyss-like pit of fear that no one understands them- that no wants to be their friend. In truth, there is someone out there that will gladly accept you, but it is up to you to try to find that person, that friend. Yes, that means that you may have to use the big "C" word, "courage". It is awfully scary, but just imagine the jubilation that will fill up your entire body after you show the world how powerful and how brave you are.
     Some people feel so alone that they feel as if they need a romantic partner at their hip. They build on top of the nonexistent perception they have of perfection. Perhaps, you are one of those people. Maybe you believe that in order to fill your deep, dark, abyss-like pit of unhappiness, you must have a relationship with someone...anyone. Some people replace their emptiness with someone they do not necessarily find attractive or have no similarities with just to have, say, a date to the eighth grade formal. Either way, their loneliness may escape their minds completely when they have that one person or it might stick around, hanging over their heads like a smoky gray rain cloud.
     On the other hand, there is one more thing I must discuss: loneliness may be based on point of view. Sometimes, the peace and quiet of solitude is pleasant but there are people who are critical of that. It is like in the song "Stronger" by Kelly Clarkson in which the line is "Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone". Many chose to view people who like to spend a lot of time alone, such as a few introverts, as people who are lonely, when it fact, they are not. Perhaps, this is the way you feel. Maybe it is not loneliness that you are experiencing but the need to express your confusing emotions as "loneliness" for fear that others may not think highly of you for wanting to spend a day with yourself. "Loneliness" may be the one word answer that you have to force to choke up in order to feel somewhat respected.

The Endless Heartbeat

     Time itself is measured from the smallest fraction of a second to the endless period known as existence. There are a plethora of people out there much like myself who chose to measure time in moments. The day goes on as it always does, but instead of the monotonous "it took her 5 minutes to get back to the classroom", we think of it as, "by the time she got back, we laughed until our sides hurt, we joked about something absolutely irrelevant, and everyone was smiling white, toothy grins". Time is a funny thing that way. There are good moments, but there are also bad moments. People who measure time as I do tend to try to forget the less intriguing moments. They block them from their memories as if that moment in time was just an unnoticeable tear in their stockings. On the other hand, I consider myself one of the people who measure time in moments, but I have a different approach when it comes to the bad memories. Unlike some, I tend to remember bad memories for a long time. In fact, some of those bad moments have carried on to what I suppose will end up being remembered for the all of existence. My existence, I guess. Rather, I do exaggerate these subjects often.

     There are also frustrating things about time. One evident thing is that there never seems to be enough. Life would be so much more enjoyable if time slowed down, letting us catch up to it before it disappears to the other side of the hill. Imagine if generations could live exultant lives filled with a different kind of opulence. Then again, time can be one of those few beautiful things. It is like a heartbeat. Time goes in a steady pace and never stops. Of course, there are awful moments in time such as when a heart stops beating. One day, time's own heartbeat will stop, and I hope that before that day comes, people will stop hating each other so much. That is another frustration involving time. Human beings go on living their lives as if they have all the time in the world. They forget that each moment in time is important in its own way, shape, or form, so they abuse it by showing disgust towards other living creatures. Since I know that to be true, hatred must be the ultimate enemy of time. Perhaps, the heartbeat of time  will stop with an abundance of hate and frustration after all.
     I like to believe that time will never stop. Maybe I chose to believe this because of my fear of the unknown, or rather it is for the sake of not wanting it to stop. I like to believe that when this minuscule planet called Earth is no longer in the time period known as existence, another period of time called "forever" will still have a heartbeat. It's truly a remarkable thought; however, "forever" might just be a fake word created by another human being who is afraid. (If you do not understand the "fake word" reference, I wrote of fake words in my post entitled Perfection is a Myth Pt. 2.) Whether you wish to think about it or dream about it, I still like to hold to my belief that when our blue planet is no longer in existence, there will still be the stars and other galaxies- including those that we have not yet discovered or that we will never discover. If they are there, the time period of existence must still have a heartbeat, and surrounding existence must be the infinite time period of forever. For if Earth is not there, but other things still continue to exist in space, time would be just a foolish thought if it did not go on to the endless heartbeat called "forever".

The Understudy: Chapter 1

(Click here to read the Prologue before this chapter.)

Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him. ~Louis L'Amour

Senna Thorne awoke to a force pressing on her chest in a steady beat. One, two, three. A deep voice was becoming clearer above her, yelling, “She’s opening her eyes!” With a deep breath, her lungs gasped at the sudden air that filled them. Her heart fluttered a bit as she regained consciousness. A lifeguard was at her side, with an iPhone in hand. She heard the young man asking for a phone number, someone he could call to pick her up. Senna tried to remember what happened before she was laying on slippery tiles that smelled like chlorine, but it hurt her heart to try. She just stood up as if the water that she had an unmistakable passion for did not try to end her life. The lifeguard was screaming after her, but Senna could not speak, instead she casually walked to the bleachers, arranged her stuff, put on her matching blue swim team sweat pants and jacket, then walked right out the door.

Even though the air was thick and tasted like winter, Senna felt absolutely nothing. Her breath did not mimic the appearance of smoke in the cold. Instead, her body was filled with warmth, as if she were a living fireplace. It was calming, but at the same time, made her feel weaker. Suddenly, an imperfection in the sidewalk caused her to slide on a piece of ice and fall onto her back. The ache she felt was worse than the pain she had experienced in the pool, for this was physically draining. While Senna attempted to stand once more, the wind whipped around her tauntingly. It whispered things that made her head want to explode. “Give up. “ It whispered in high-pitched, mocking voices. “You are not good enough!” Tears fell down her face as the wind’s laughter increased in volume, its voices seemed more real, more fierce. It was as if a nightmare had become reality. Senna’s whole body was filled with such anger towards the wind; it was an adrenaline rush fuelled by insanity. She sprung off the ground and screamed as loud as her madness could take her. Her eyes began to twitch, and the ground began to move as if an Earthquake was about to erupt. It hurt every ounce of her being, but the winds were getting louder in their shrieks, and the snow began to melt into the watery snakes that hissed. They only added to the utter turmoil. The sidewalk began to shatter like a window. Senna’s fists were clenched as if it could make it less painful, but it was to no degree helpful. The snow fell on her as the indescribable pain made her curl into a tight ball with her arms around her knees, the earth cracked around her, and she began to slip off to a dark place once more.    

The Understudy: Prologue

     Senna glided through the water as if it were not even there. Breaststroke was her strongest. It made her feel powerful, important. Every time she came up for a breath, her heart beat a little steadier and she felt the air go to her lungs. Senna did not need the breaths though. She could have gone without a few of them if it were legal by the book, but swim practice was different tonight. Tonight her goggles filled up with tears that stung her eyes and rage clung to her soul, making her chest ache. Even her feet hit the wall with such a force that the vibrations tickled her toes. Every ounce of Senna’s being seemed to scream at her in an all-too-familiar voice, “Faster! Faster! You are not fast enough; not good enough.” Whispers filled her ears with the same phrase, as if the water was suddenly speaking to her. The power that flooded through Senna’s whole body was fighting these thoughts, beginning to fight the water itself, which began to pull her back; every stroke was fueled by anger. For the first time in a long time, her lungs felt as like going to burst; as if they were those crappy balloons handed out at birthday parties. Her throbbing heart got the best of her and Senna’s inner warrior grew weaker every kick in protest. A single wave-like force wrapped itself around her right leg, dragging her to where the water’s whispers hissed like a snake. And the world suddenly became a scary place to be- a cold place. A dark place.

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(Click here to read Chapter 1)
What I am currently reading: 1776 by David McCullough

In other news: Yup, here is the prologue to my novelette of a story like I promised in the last post. Feel free to love it or hate it because everyone's opinions matter! I plan to write as often as I can, which could mean once every 2 weeks or a chapter every other day. Who knows? Also, I have decided that instead of a Quote-of-the-Week or Quote-of-the-Month, I will do a new thing called "Think about it" where I will have a quote every post.

Think about it: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." ~Albert Einstein

Perfection is a Myth Pt. 2

     Who are we to judge someone based solely on their looks? Human beings, unfortunately. When we, as humans, look at our neighbor or a random person on the street, we are always judging. It is so sad to think about judging a book by its cover, but the truth is, it is human nature. We are always looking for perfections. Yes, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but the picture in our mind of what "beautiful" is precisely is our own interpretation of perfection. (Before you continue, click here if you have not read part 1.)

     The term "ugly" is the most abhorrent word in the dictionary. I believe it is that horrendous for this reason: in reality, it is what I call a "fake word". "Ugly" does not truly exist. Humanity uses it as a bullying word to describe someone that does not fit their mold of beautiful or perfect. Though some heartless people may disagree with my stance, I think that everyone is beautiful in their own way, no matter how corny that sounds. Since each individual person's uniqueness makes them beautiful, everyone fits the dictionary definition of perfection. Flawlessness is only reached by those who have the confidence to believe the voice in their head that is telling them they have reached it.

     When someone believes that another person is not perfect, that there is something off about them, there tends to be a lot of throwing around of fake words/phrases. Those fake words/phrases may include "ugly" and things like "you have a big nose". (Both are speaking from personal experience.) Well, the people who say rude things like that are most likely crazy. We have already gone over why "ugly" is nonexistent, and things starting with "you have" are not insulting at all. Why are they not insulting, you ask? These so-called insults are being hurled at you by someone who lacks the intelligence to think of any mean phrases to say so they just state the truth. It should not matter if they tell you that you have a big nose or that you are a "four-eyes" if you have glasses, because you already know that. You also already know that you are perfectly beautiful, and anything they say should not be hurtful since there is no such thing as a "flaw", only something that makes you unique.

I Wrote A Poem

"The Girl in the Yellow Bathing Suit"

by Sarah Harmon

Hello there, Princess

in the yellow bathing suit

in a pool as blue as the summer Sky

You are lucky, brown-eyed Girl

in the yellow bathing suit

your life is worry-free

Boys are only friends now

Girls are only Strangers

I wish I were you, happy Memory

in the yellow bathing suit

You do not yet understand

that little Girls grow into women

And someday everything must die

Sorry, youthful Innocent

in the yellow bathing suit

People change like the leaves in Autumn

Hate slips under one's door just like change

And you will learn the hard way

Goodbye, Darling  

in the yellow bathing suit

one day it will all make Sense

5 Things That Inspired Me Today

     I considered posting a quote of the week, but then my mind filled up with fantastic ideas for posts and beautiful thoughts with metaphors galore. That was when I sat back, organized all the thoughts in my head, and realized that each thought was based off of something that made me somewhat inspired. Here are some of those things:

1. The gorgeous, yellow daylilies in my backyard that reminded me that beauty is in every corner.
2. My House leader's speech (after we won Field Day) about the importance of sportsmanship towards the losing teams even though last year they were horrible to us when they won.
3. This video made by one of my favorite YouTubers, morganpaigeloves, about originality. 
4. Watching my teammate help up one of our opponents after she was knocked down by someone on her own team.  
5. When Gary from my post entitled "La Citation de la Semaine: Numéro Deux" was fully supportive of everyone on our team by cheering and bringing extra drinks for us when no one expected him of all people to do those very things.

     I know that some of those "little inspirations" were off-topic, and 3/5 of them were about Field Day, but I hope you found them a bit inspiring as well. If not, think of your own 5 things that inspired you today. You will be surprised that the tiniest things may have had the most meaning. 

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What I am currently reading: 1776 by David McCullough (Yes, I am taking my time!)
In other news: My House, Phoenix, won Field Day for the first time in 3 years! If you did not know, my school is split into 3 houses similar to in the Harry Potter Series but minus one house. I am hoping that we win the House Cup this year as well! Follow me on Instagram: iluvunicorns11 Follow me on YouTube: MsHamster15

Perfection is a Myth Pt. 1

     It comes to me tonight that the things I said about teenage girls in my post entitled "The Somewhat Ostensible Bikini Dilemma", were sort of mean. I guess it is because deep down inside, I am angry with myself for one reason or another, or maybe something entirely different. If you are one of those girls, most of which are on my swim team, I am sincerely sorry if I offended you. The quote "The pen is mightier than the sword" is entirely relevant in this instance. It is time to think happy thoughts about everyone! Anyway, I would like to change the subject a bit from partially nude teenagers to something I find more intriguingly brilliant. (Oops! The last thing I wrote in this paragraph was probably just as offensive as my "Bikini Dilemma" post but I will leave it in anyways for the sake of a pretty well-written transitional sentence.)
     If you have read some of my other posts, you have probably read this: "(almost) perfect". Yes, the "almost" is parentheses is not a mistake. I, Sarah, do not believe in perfection. Think about it: what is perfect, anyway? Each individual human being has their own idea of what "perfect" is. There is no possible way to even reach perfection since everyone thinks of perfection in different ways. A kid named Billy could think his friend Joe is the best baseball player ever- that he is perfect. Billy could try all he wants to reach Joe's skill level because practice makes perfect, right? Nope. Billy can not physically become Joe, so Billy can not be considered perfect in his own eyes. If Joe pales in comparison to say, Alex Rodriguez on the New York Yankees, Billy will definitely never be perfect. I hope that example made at least a glimpse of sense. What I am trying to say is that there is no way to grasp perfection, hence perfection is nonexistent, a myth at best. Practice does not make perfect, it makes "better". In conclusion, I write "(almost) perfect" for a valid reason. Perfection can never be obtained when generally speaking, but hey there readers, you are perfect in my eyes always. :)

The Somewhat Ostensible Bikini Dilemma

     Though rain is falling today as if the sky is crying, yesterday was the first day of a summer filled with sunshine. The pool club opened yesterday, which was our official beginning of summer and the swim season. It was not surprising that the majority of the girls I recognized from my swim team were wearing bikinis, and a few of them lost a lot of weight. It came to me that I was probably one of only two girls of my age or older still wearing a sporty one-piece, and I was no doubt the heaviest. I am not one to complain about my weight or that I'm "fat" because I am actually pretty normal sized compared to a large chunk of America right now. It just made me a little mad that these girls could just go around wearing skimpy bathing suits that hardly look comfortable, and my body was not made that way. Please don't assume that I'm jealous of them though, because I am just the opposite. Of course, I envy their flat stomachs and their obvious, (sometimes obnoxious,) confidence, but I hardly feel any jealousy towards the annoying ridiculousness that is their conformity to modern day society. (I hope those were the right words for it.)

     There is this one girl who I was once kinda-friends with, and last year she started wearing these tankinis, inspiring me to get the confidence to wear the same style, which would have made me feel awkward a year before since they made it possible to show a bit of stomach. I cannot tell you how much I looked up to her. Now this summer, she lost weight and now continues to be a follower in that I saw her wearing a bikini just like all of her pretty, (almost) perfect friends. I felt happy for her that she finally had the body she always wanted, but it made me furious that now I would once again be alone in one way or another. If you could not tell already, I have a one-third jealous, one-third dislike, one-third respect feeling towards that huge group of girls who all seem to look the same. I say they all look the same because they are all gorgeous, good-at-everything-especially-swim, popular, and all wear the same type of clothing. Once upon a time, I wanted to be one of them, but as of today, I am happy being pretty damn unique in comparrison. On the other hand, some of them are people I look up to academically or for something courageous they have done, so I hope you understand that this post was not written to express complete jealousy towards everyone. But for the girls I definitely do not look up to, I know that one day, I will do something great and when that day comes, they might finally have a one-third jealous, one-third dislike, one-third respect feeling towards me. 

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What I am currently reading: 1776 by David McCullough

In other news: Happy Memorial Day Weekend! It's bikini season.... 

Additional comment: (made 6/11/12) I really want to take this post off because I know that it shows a bad side of me, yet I am fascinated with my mother's description of my blog after she read this post. She described it as "well-written teenage angst". I hate that I find that hilarious!

Book Review: The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

For an (almost) perfect eNotes synopsis of this absolutely stunning book that I give a 4.5 out of 5 click here.

     The Boy in the Striped Pajamas by John Boyne is unlike any book set in the time of the Holocaust that I have ever read before. Though the story is being told in the third person, it seems as if it is being told through the main character nine-year-old Bruno's eyes. At the same time, this book is not for nine-year-olds. Throughout the entire story, I found myself feeling so much agony for Bruno, a little kid who does not understand that his own father is a monster and how selfish he is when he speaks to his new little friend who is suffering on the other side of the fence. Even if Bruno did not understand what was going on, I found myself gasping when I finally realized Bruno's innocence in that the names he called the camp just outside his bedroom window, and the people who gave his father the promotion and a fancy new uniform with a strange symbol on his armband, were the most horrible things in reality. I found myself in hysterics at the end of the novel because everything changed so fast. I was sucked into a world where two little boys became friends even though they were surrounded by so much hatred that they did not comprehend. When it comes to the literature aspect, every sentence, no matter how short, had so much power behind it. The relationship between Bruno and his sister reminded me of the one I share with my little brother, which made me feel even more for the characters.  Even though I had read so many books in school about the horrors of the Holocaust, no book had ever made the characters feel so human. Of course, I cried at the ends of each book whether the main characters died with 6 million others, which makes my heart break at just the thought, or survived with a fiery hole of grief in the pit of their stomach, but this book was so different. At the end, I felt just like Bruno. I did not understand why it had to end the way that it did. In the end it made me confused, angry, speechless. I recommend this fascinating book for everyone over the age of 12, but if after reading the summary you feel as if you are not ready, wait. Also, a tip would be to learn as much as you can about the history and important places in the Holocaust before you read, for then you will have the realizations that Bruno never got to have. 

Reflection From a Self-Proclaimed Tortured Writer

     I have been avoiding it for a while now. In fact, I try and keep the memory tucked away so no one can see the pain in my eyes anymore. I'm actually tearing up a bit writing this, just trying to remember what made me who I am today. It was an experience I will carry with me throughout the rest of my life and I swear that on my deathbed, before the last ounce of life escapes from my body, I will cry because I will remember. I have tried to talk about it before but everyone seems to think it's stupid and I should just put it behind me. Now, before I forget the truth, I feel as if I should share the story with the world one last time.

     It was the 6th grade and I was in a time where I was feeling so alone in the world. I felt like even though there was an overcrowded lunch table, I was left in my lonesome in my little corner of the conversation. During gym class, a girl I will call "Diana" flat-out hit me. My daddy always said that if someone hits you it is not snitching, it is standing up for yourself, so that's what I did. I went to Guidance to look for the guidance counselor who helped me with a previous bullying problem. She was absent so I was forced to, in hysterics, talk to a counselor who did not know me or anything about my problem in 4th grade. Since I had so many problems in 4th grade, I was pretty shaken up when a girl had no problem laying a hand on me. Perhaps the whole ordeal was an overreaction due to my previous experiences. Anyway, the counselor suggested I bring in Diana to talk in a group, so I pulled myself together, went out to recess, and tried to persuade Diana into coming. There I was, a shy girl trying to face her bully because the guidance counselor didn't understand how I did not know what I was supposed to do. Diana kept insisting that she did nothing wrong and that I was being an idiot. Eventually, we went to the office and Diana talked and talked to try and prove her innocence. I did not get one single word in. The counselor wrapped everything up instantly, believing Diana's every word. What the counselor said still echoes in my mind whenever I think about talking to an adult whenever someone calls me a name. She said, "You girls just seem like close friends having an argument." Diana smiled sweetly and I tried hard to fight back more tears. It took so much for me just to tell someone about her hitting me, and in the end nothing happened. She was definitely not my friend.

     That story was not why I'm scarred, though. About a week later, after I thought it was about time to forget, the worst happened. This time it was a slap in the face emotionally. I was eating lunch, and first, Diana took my sandwich. I closed my eyes really tight and clenched my fists, hoping it was all just a bad dream. She saw me and gave it back. I thought, "Maybe she does have a heart after all." Unfortunately, I was wrong. After all the girls in our little lunch table group came back from the lunch line, we began telling stories. The story of the day came from Diana. She started giggling to lighten the mood, and that is when she relayed our whole Guidance conflict- the entire story as a comedy. Everyone was laughing and I could feel my face becoming hotter, my eyes welling up with tears. One girl's laugh was horrible, loud, and every time I hear it at school, I still cringe. A girl at our table who had contributed to group bullying me in 4th grade had seen me cry before. She asked, still laughing, "Are you crying, Sarah?" I simply did a fake chuckle and said through my tears, "I'm laughing so hard I'm crying." I find myself often asking myself: why did I chose these heartless girl to sit with in the first place?

La Citation de la Semaine: Numéro Deux

"Généralement, les gens qui savant peu parlent beaucoup, et les gens qui savant beaucoup parlent peu." ~Rousseau (philosopher)

  I cannot begin to tell you how many times I have heard this quote and thought nothing of it. I did not wonder where it came from or who said it until today. This quote in French translates to a common quote that is used in many different languages. "Generally speaking, the people who know little speak a lot and the people who know a lot speak little." All of us can remember a time when these words were used (the exact quote or a brief version), whether it be by our parents, our teachers (in school or in life), or a friend. Evidently, I could have used these very words in class not too long ago.
     There is this horribly annoying boy in my fourth period class who is immature, rude, and all the synonyms of those words to a tee. For the sake of writing this short story with average sentence structure, I shall call him "Gary". Anyway, I was absolutely fed up with Gary blabbing away while I was trying to watch the educational film on the Smartboard. It was obviously frustrating to not just me, but the entire class, for everyone was constantly being annoyed by his big mouth throughout the year. Students have tried asking him to politely quiet down before, and the teachers have even taken attempted to take action, but he refused to end his rein as King of the Chatterboxes. This is how my quote-of-the-week comes into play. Gary was always talking so much it made him seem unintelligent. On top of that, his excessive rambling would prevent him from focusing on his work, which led to his grades always dropping significantly. (I know that because I have heard him talking about his report card quite loudly, as if it were something to brag about.) Sometimes I feel pretty bad for him, but that is another story. 

     The other half of the quote says "people who know a lot speak little". I cannot begin to tell you how much I believe this is true. The most clever (and au courant may I add lol) people I know are the ones who tend to be a little shy. I believe that true intellect comes from listening, and that quiet is the most beautiful way to know if a person is enlightened because it means that the wheels in their brain are turning faster than their mouth can move due to being human.

      In conclusion, please free to comment below after you have finished reading, or even after reading halfway. You should never have to feel like you have to read something in its entirety if you do not wish to. Also, I used Google Translator for the title and the following sentences so if you  have any issues involving French grammar, please do not put the metaphorical weight on my shoulders or judge me on the poor usage of the "weight on my shoulders" expression.  Merci d'avoir lu mon blog. S'il vous plaît venez à nouveau! 

Photography

Sometimes I like to take some artsy photos. :)

These  make me smile, how about you? I took them with my phone, a Samsung Stratosphere, and then used the magic of Instagram.

10 Things I Like

Here is a list of 10 things I like, inspired by Heartbeat by (literature genius) Sharon Creech.

1. sunshine
2. running barefoot
3. books/poems with vivid descriptions that inspire my writing or make me think
4. the smell of apple crumb pie
5. the freedom I feel when I swim 
6. making people smile
7. the color of grass in the spring 
8. laying on a picnic blanket, watching clouds go by
9. swinging so high to try and touch the sky
10. the butterflies I get in my stomach when I write my events on my hand in permanent marker before a swim meet

     What are 10 things you like? I know it sounds silly to ask because no one will answer. But, perhaps one day I will be wrong, and someone will reply, because when you think about it, we are just tiny specks on this huge world. Yet, every single speck is important in their own way. That is why I value every opinion- because I am a speck as well as anybody else....that makes me important too, right? (I hope that made sense.) Feel free to respond. Why? You matter. 

Liz's Tree

    Today my kind friend Liz showed all the girls at my lunch table a beautiful drawing of a tree. What she can do with colored pencils is ultimately astounding! I swear that she is the most talented, creative, sweet, most intelligent person I know.  She then proceeded to casually ask me what the hidden meaning of the picture was. (It turns out that the answer to what I assumed was a riddle was "there is no meaning" in the end, but that is currently unimportant.) Of course, I responded to her question with my classic "my brain does not work that way, sorry" because I didn't want anyone to laugh at my whole philosophical speech that I had on the tip of my tongue. Yes, I know what you are thinking. (I hate using that phrase because there is no way for me to actually know unless I had some pretty kick-ass super powers, but today is the exception.) Why would I act so inane? Well, what would you do in front of a group of your peers who pride themselves at picking out all your insecurities? That is why I hid my thoughts even from Liz, one of two people besides myself at the table who would respect what I had to say.

    The drawing of the tree represented something far beyond eraser marks and Crayola's colored pencils. It meant to me that there is still good in this world even as we are surrounded by hatred, war, and fear. There is hope that we can sustain the little piece of happiness left in the world; we can grow up knowing right from wrong. There is still a glimmer of hope shining through all the madness that is evil. Even the tiny bird in the drawing had a meaning. It represents the hope that one day everyone can finally be free, whether freed from the cruelty that is slavery, or from the political chains that hold back free speech. Everyone will be free to dance in the streets and cry tears of joy instead of despair. Everyone will be free to scream the truth until their lungs throb instead of speaking it in hushed whispers. 

    The way the branches seemed to resemble a hand grasping the leaves reminded me of how some of us tiny human beings in such a big universe still struggle to grasp the truth that even the child inside every single one of us must grow up eventually. No matter how hard we try to let go of our blankies (metaphorically or literally), there is always the little kid inside trying to yell with every ounce they have left "Mommy, Mommy! Please! Stop!," and as it  disappears into our memories, we find ourselves whimpering, "...now I have no one left who loves me. Now I'm alone." And Liz, if you are reading this, now you know what the drawing meant to me. 

Quote of the Week: My First Blog Post

     I had nothing special planned for a first blog post, so I might as well post something important to me. This is the quote engraved into my soul that I will always remember. I live by these words.

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." ~Maya Angelou

     I hope that whether one person stumbles across this or a million, someone is inspired by these beautiful words as I was. When you truly sit and think about what it means, your world changes; how you treat other people changes. As I tell my friend Christine, "you are a person, and people make mistakes". People are human beings, and human beings are anything but perfect. Flawlessness is only grasped ever-so slightly by those who stand back and think about how they affect others. Because people will never forget the flicker of pain you made their heart feel when you told them something you will later regret.