A Hallway Drama

He couldn’t understand her, somehow, and he wondered if she understood herself. All he could see was worn-out shoes, socks, a face devoid of makeup, and an ambition.

But he couldn’t tell if she was pretty. Or if she was the kind of pretty that you read about in books; so natural that somehow a beauty shined through as the sun hit her eyes and he leaned in for a kiss, with the heavens singing and the stars aligning, and the grass billowing, and her beautiful mind humming…and the sentences running on and on and on.

He saw her try to protect herself from being made foolish. From being too loving. He saw her heart, tightening slowly at an unanswered text message, and the ice behind her eyes hardening as she saw friends together without her. But he never said a word. Not ever. He looked at her for a long time in the hallway, when she didn’t notice, because she was too busy talking. Or maybe she pretended not too notice. They both knew she would do that.

But he also saw bright smiles, so bright they made his heart flutter. He watched her hands as she doodled, so bored by menial tasks. He turned his head quickly when she looked over. He knew she thought he didn’t remember her. Didn’t care to talk to her. But he did. Oh yes he did.

 

But he would say something boring, and she might be confused, and then he would go home pretending not to care. And he would come back to class, pretending not to remember. And he would see her, slouched in her seat, feet up on the back of someone else’s chair, not bothered to take her notebook out yet, and he would pretend he didn’t see her.

Ghostwriting

Alot of times I find pieces in my “junk drawer.”

Well-written, emotionally charged documents

which embody everything that writing is supposed to be.

Everything that I love about it.

But I don’t remember writing them.

See,

When I have a lot of those...

you know…

feelings...

too many for me too handle,

and too many to bottle up,

I sit down and I write.

I bleed, just as Ernest Hemingway said writers should.

And once I’ve finished,

once the pages have leached the vile, curdled emotions from my heart

(for now)

I forget it even happened.

When I fall into that space,

of complete abandon,

of full-scale therapeutic word purging,

I am not myself.

Not the self who remembers the past or dwells in it.

I am my purest self.

So pure I cannot even remember that I wrote, let alone what I wrote.

And that is raw, pure, beauty.

That, my friends,

is writing.

A Passionate Passion

            I’m a passionate person who is passionate about sharing that passion with people that are equally passionate about learning my passion for passions.

            Have I said the word passion enough times yet?

            Well it’s still probably still less than the number of times I've heard it used in quotes, seminars, or ‘how to be successful in life’ lists.

            Passion is supposedly more important than almost anything else. Brush honesty and kindness away for a second, it seems that in order to do anything anywhere, one must pinpoint their passion.

            And hey! It’s true!

            Seems strange doesn't it? That even though I’m quite irritated with the word ‘passion,’ I am still able to admit that without it, life is dull. Maybe even pointless.

            See, passion is the thing you could do all your life. It is writing, dancing, playing football, studying chemistry, teaching, or folding origami. It could be anything; your passion is the thing that comes most naturally to you.

            Have you always been exceptional at the piano? No matter how hard it was, you always enjoyed it? Then your passion is probably piano. Maybe.

            It’s a complicated business this passion thing.

            They say that if you find your passion you will never work a day in your life. That your job will be like having a party and getting paid for it.

            Oh but I fear that this belief is a slippery slope to disappointment.  

            Here’s what I've come to conclude: sometimes your passion can feel like work.

            They don’t tell us teenagers that, because then we might give up.

            You don’t tell your two-year old that the cough medicine is 99% likely to taste like the inside of a Windex bottle, you let them figure it out on their own, because that is more likely to yield results.  

            Sometimes when I sit down to write, which I think is my passion, the words just don’t come. Every sentence sounds oh so stupid. And I get frustrated. Maybe next time I think about finishing the piece, I’ll get a little lazy. I’ll remember that I was struggling and might even put off coming back for a while.

            But it doesn't mean I’m not passionate about it.

            Just as the river of love never did run smooth, the road of passion probably has pot holes and toll booths. But doesn't mean you’re going to give up.

            It’s your passion because you can only take a break for so long. It’s your passion because when you come back, it feels natural again. And even if it doesn't, you keep coming back anyway.

            I went for a while thinking that finding my passion meant instant happiness and never working another day in my life (okay, I’m only not even an adult, and I've barely worked at all, but you know what I mean.)

            I've learnt that dedication, perseverance, and especially hard work are just as important as the mighty “passion.”

            They just aren't mentioned with the same admiration. Passion is always up on stage, all smiles and curtsy, a little over advertised. But dedication and hard work are the back stage hands that make the show go round, without them, passion is just a pretty face. 

Like a telescope into the past

For a long time, the word perspective was one dimensional to me. I didn't think about it very much, or fully understand what it meant. But after bumping into it several times lately, I've realized that it builds our daily lives almost single-handedly.

Perspective is that lens you see the world through. Some people may use a lens that only sees what they want it to see. Other people may see everything clearly because they are able ignore their personal bias (their upbringing, experiences, education, etc.) Of course, I’d love to be that last person, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get there. And I don’t know how far I am along in the journey to get there. But I do know some stuff. Here we go.

I know that I don’t know much.

I know that we humans are often too short sighted to know where we are going next when we are in the midst of something. We don’t realize the relationships we are in the midst of building until they are noticeably complete.

An example: I have been friends with a kid since 5^th grade. Casual friends; our conversation rarely scraping the surface. But suddenly this year, we became a lot closer. I wonder if every encounter since 5^th grade has led up to this friendship, or if it is simply something that has shaped up recently because of circumstance.  But I do know that I wasn't thinking about every interaction with him as a building block of sorts, it’s only looking back now that I can imagine the progression.

How many great relationships am unknowingly building in my life right now?  Maybe the kid I sit next to in AP History will become my best friend senior year, or maybe he won’t. We know so little about the way the universe is spinning life into existence. But I know nearly nothing is a coincidence. As Sherlock Holmes once said, “the universe is rarely so lazy.”  

Now that's a quote

“What’s the point of being alive if you don’t at least try to do something remarkable?” 

-John Green 

I found this quote swimming in the time-wasting sludge that is the internet and I’ve decided that I like it. When I saw it, I thought, “that’s what I want to do.” That’s what I’m going to do. But, unfortunately I had a massive realization.

I have done absolutely nothing extraordinary in my life.

Usually, I’m of the assumption that I am rather above all the idiots I feel I am surrounded by in most places I go. I’m constantly pondering what I need to be and what I need to do, and somehow that makes me feel like I am grander than everyone else.

But, the truth is, I have no idea what everyone around me is thinking. I can’t assume that what’s happening in my head, coming out of my mouth, or playing out on my face is anything more brilliant than those around me.

I began to wonder if I have ever done anything that would actually warrant my holier-than-thou outlook on the world. Okay…I sound like a total snob now. But, I don’t know if my recognizing my snotty-ness makes me more or less so. But that’s too much to think about.

Again, back to the point I was trying to make. What have I ever done that is extraordinary? Have I ever achieved anything that would actually set me apart from my peers in the real world? I’ve decided to take a glimpse at everything I’ve done and everything I considered an accomplishment.

None of the things I came up with have helped save a life or made one better. They were just certificates or publications that really only matter to me. And I don’t feel that it really falls into the category of “something remarkable”

How about you? Do you feel that you have done something remarkable in your life? Pursued something you had always dreamed of or created something wonderful?

And if not, why? And is doing the remarkable something you want to pursue?

Those are all the questions I’m asking myself, and trudging along trying to find answers to. It’s especially telling though, that all of these questions are yes or no, supposedly the simplest type of question, but they seem so gosh darn difficult. 

Now that's a quote

I'm sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody. -J.D. Salinger

*Just a little before I get started note*  I first heard this quote during one of John Green's Question Tuesdays on his YouTube channel VlogBrothers. I'd never heard anything like it, and it had a set of ideas behind it that were completely new to me. So this is what I thought. 

There are some that are just thrown into this world with spirit. In second grade, when the teacher asks them what they want to be when they grow up, they already know. Of course, the ideas change practically every day, but they always seem to be going somewhere, doing something. I wonder where it comes from, and what it actually means. Do those kids who are President of every freakin club under the sun actually care? Or do they just want to be known? Do they want to be able to look back in 10 years and say that were that person? And it means that those kids feel purposeless if they aren't recognized. They simply don't have the courage to be a nobody. 

It takes a heck of a lot of courage to be an absolute nobody, to work behind the scenes, or on something that isn't universally known to be brilliant. 

Everybody likes to do good work. Though the motivation behind each person's help is different. For the courageous absolute nobody, they help, learn, and love without much public recognition. But it seems that love themselves enough to know what they are doing, or not doing, is important, without a reporter telling them so. 

Which goes back to why do we help? Do I help because the other person needs it, or because I want to feel like some sort of hero at that time? For most of us, me included, whether or not i help someone depends way to much on my mood. Which goes back to the fact that I'm only helping for myself, not for the other person. I don't know...I don't know if the whole idea of community service in itself is selfish. If, we really only help other for the satisfaction that it brings us. And that sounds bad, wrong even, but that can be seen in a positive light. If knowing that we will get satisfaction moves us to donate our time, then so be it really.  

"Do I know you?...." The Story of Celebrities

          Zac Efron. John Green. Nash Grier. Shailene Woodley. Oprah for goodness sake! The world is full of celebrities. Obviously not as many as there are normal people, but still, tons. And we idolize them, they are the faces on our t-shirts, the reason we spend hours on YouTube, you might even know that they wear argyle socks (as I happen to about John Green...it was in a YouTube video.) See?! I know tons of useless information  just from watching his videos, which, by the way, are brilliantly funny, sometime punny, and totally demonstrate why he could write such an amazing book. But the thing is, John Green doesn't even know I exist. He probably never will. Yet I sit there watching his videos and crying over his book. 

          Its a funny relationship really. We feel like we know a celebrity, invest time and money into seeing them, meeting them, and they forget us within a second. Not that its their fault, no body is at fault in this crazy loop. I'm just trying to understand how it works. How even though I know that the "relationship" doesn't even meet minimum requirements that say, being friends with a kid in math class would, I still feel like I'm friends with the collection of pixels on my computer screen. 

          I guess it's sort of humbling, to realize how infinitely tiny you are in just one man's fan base. Imagine how much of a speck you are compared to the rest of the world. Just goes back to not taking yourself too seriously. There's not much wrong with our whole celebrity system, as long as its still in perspective. Remember that we are not personally responsible when Justin Beiber ends up in jail, yet I can still find insane happiness in every episode of Sherlock (or anything featuring Benedict Cumberbatch). It's all in the balance, as always. 

Everyone in their boxes..

  People are confusing creatures. There are the obnoxious ones that everyone loves, the quiet ones that never speak but everyone still hates for no reason, the listeners, the talkers, and everyone has a little piece of each type in them. At least I do.

 I listened as my friend told me about how many gosh darn rants he listens to a day, and how he himself never rants (not entirely true, but that’s not the point.) I realized, we all end up in our own little box with each person, whether we put ourselves their or they put us there. Our box defines us and everyone’s expectation of us. It’s like when the know-it-all kid cracks a joke in class, nobody thinks it’s funny. But when the popular kid says the same thing, it’s suddenly hilarious. It’s because the know-it-all is stuck in a shipping box labeled "annoying and dorky", while the popular kid's box says "cool and always funny." It’s only with the people we’re really close with that we can stick every limb in a different box and not seem two-faced.
At the beginning of this post I had it in me that we could change this boxed system. But as I wrote, I realized it would probably take years of evolution for the brain to rewire like that, since it’s such a universal human trait. Either way, if we all stopped believing that each person belongs in one personality box, then we would be appreciated more easily, and would have freedom to be whomever we wanted. The first step is individually listening to the content, and not where it’s coming from. Maybe the dorky kid will surprise you.

Impromptu Poem

These are 4 Truths of Life. 

Imagination is a powerful tool.

Without it, phones would look like refrigerators,

and we would be locked into reality

Clichés stomp out creativity.

Why contaminate our own writing with second-hand ideas?

Self-consciousness is detrimental.

We hate being addressed with demands, or commands,

But every day,

We allow others control our lives,

With their opinions.

Drama does not find us, we invite it.

*This is not meant to be a full poem, just a few observations.