Final thoughts

I'm braindead. I believe I've mentioned the fact that I've been short on time at least four times in the past two hours, and that's stupid. You don't care; you care that you're short on time and that you're wasting time repeating how you have no time, and how that's stupid, too.

Have a good vacation, enjoy your free time. Students, try not to stress over applications and school and time. Teacher, try not to stress over grading and supervisors and time. Anyone else, try to find something better to do than read a random classroom blog.

I feel this has nothing to do with English, but it has every reason to be discussed. I have completed the last first semester of high school, and already I can't count the number of times my mother has cried. Yes, time is short, but it's also gone. Lots of it. So, might as well make the best of what we have left.

Let the break begin.

quick rant

Throughout high school, I set my sights on Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I was going to be a great engineer and do great, incredible things. I was told time and time again I wouldn't make it. My own best friend shirked any mention of MIT to hide her obvious doubt in my capabilities. Aptitude tests pushed me towards customer service and international business, telling me I didn't have the mind of a mathematician. I was determined to prove them wrong.

Thursday, my early application was deferred to regular admissions. Basically, I wasn't good enough this round.

What is so upsetting was my contentment; I told all who asked I would be pushed back. There was no burning fire of rage and anger; inside, the voices of disbelief and pessimism whispered cooly, "You knew this was coming. Why get ruffled up about it?"


Hey, Doubt: shut up. If MIT doesn't want me, fine. I don't need MIT, but, more than anything, I don't need you.

book bindings and heartstrings

I miss reading. Even though it hasn't been a long separation, I yearn for the company of a good book, one that will sweep me away to a distant life. I wish I read quicker so I may experience everything; I wish I had an uncanny talent for selecting good books so I may at least experience the best of everything.

I wonder what a person's favorite book says about their character. If you like daring heroes, are you brave, relishing the valiant qualities you hold so dearly, or are you cowardly, clinging to stories in order to fill what you lack? If you favor fantasy, is your imagination blossoming or fed by the mind of another?

Soon, I might scavenge the family bookshelves to find a work I've not yet read. Maybe I'll discover something new in myself, something exciting and wonderful!
Or maybe I'll just enjoy a good story.

Author/Character Connection

My favorite essay I've ever written was about a homeless girl who uses sexuality as her redemption. Even though I was on a time crunch, I had fun stepping into a completely separate personality. The narrator is a young partier who uses sex and sarcasm as means of escaping homelessness and desparity. The author is an upper middle-class virgin nerd who has no fear of ever falling into such an unfortunate state. The best part was how easy it felt to slip into character.

When approached with the prompt, I was excited and clueless; how was I supposed to have any idea how to write from the point of view of a homeless person? I considered many options: suicide, generational poverty, begging. No, that wasn't what I was looking for. After a weekend of contemplation, I settled on a character unlike any I'd ever heard of but something that seemed so logical: a young woman, too proud and stupid to call home, who uses her femininity to her greatest advantage. Now, I'm far from that girl, but her vulnerability was universal, showing the subtle connections all humans have in common if we took the time to dig for it.

People always say write what you know--it's more authentic. I say write what you don't--it shows the authenticity you wouldn't expect.

Facebook envy

I wish I was Facebook.

Everyone would skip class to come hang out with me.
Everyone would tell me their problems,
and it's only official if it comes through me.
My games wouldn't have to be fun;
people would still want to play anyway.
I would always be invited to the coolest events.
I'd have an ongoing stream of photo memories, never to be forgotten.
You're only cool if you're my friend;
you're even cooler if you snuck behind your parents back to do so.
You're bound to like me sooner or later,
and we'd always have lots of common interests.
I'd know every language,
and I'd travel the world on a daily basis.
I could change time zones to fit my need,
and I could endorse whatever I wanted.

If I was Facebook,
this would be a note, not a blog.

Repetitive Admiration

I admire people who cry, especially people who cry in front of other people. It takes guts to expose your heart enough to feel immense pain. It means you care; you feel something. You don't just mosey on down the path of life, content with whatever happens.

I admire people who create, especially people who are brave enough to share their creations with other people. It takes brains to conjure something new, something perhaps revolutionary. It means you're paying attention; you're learning from the world. You don't just accept things as-is, expecting life to mix things up for you when you're feeling bored.

I admire people who don't back down, especially people who don't back down to other people who don't back down. It takes soul to stand your ground, to stick to your beliefs even in the deepest trouble. It means you're brilliant; you're living the life you've chosen. You don't just sigh at each setback, determined to keep determination from making waves.


I admire you.

Slammed

For a brief period, I visited the Belton Art Slam down at Bodega Bean, and I was incredibly impressed. Instantly, I had trouble parking, alerting me to the startling popularity of tonight's downtown area. The enclosed space was packed; people sat in the floor as chairs filled up. The array of artists was marvelous: I heard original compositions, marveled at astounding work, and stood with mouth ajar, dumbfounded and inspired.

What I believe I enjoyed most was the audience. I saw jocks and geeks and teachers and parents. I heard laughter and sighs and discomfort and joy. The group set out to encourage beauty in our community; incidentally, they also promoted unity and learning and strength and passion. The audience was a blend of individuals who, I believe, could have only been brought together by a force so encompassing as beauty.

Beauty alone cannot save the world, but beauty can bring together those who can.

Late last minute thoughts

So, these next eight blogs are a few hours late. We'll see what happens.

It's funny how quickly time flies by. I feel like I haven't had one day where I'm not constantly doing something or I need to be constantly doing something. Even with the holiday break, my head and heart feel the heavy pressures of deadlines and missed opportunities. Even with these blogs, a simple writing exercise to connect us to our classmates, I feel overwhelmed. Yes, I put them off until the last minute, but every other minute was in use!

Every winter, my parents expect a wish list detailing my desires. After three hours, my efforts were rewarded with a measly product; my wants were intangible. I considered asking for a Time Turner replica, the hourglass pendant necklace featured in Harry Potter, but I feel that would only act as a sick reminder of how my moments are slipping by at an alarming rate.


Goodbye, sweet time. I miss thee, and I pray thee soon slows down.