Category: Good Reads

this isn’t really a story, but a series of personal revelations.

i’m just gonna get this out of the way now: existence is exhausting. it’s not really me trying to be hashtag-edgy or whatever else anyone may want to cast unto me, more of just a general fact of nature. i’m tired all the time, humanity is in shambles all the time, and i really just dislike being confined to this single physical plane all the time. if my outlook on life is so bleak and horrible, then what’s the point, right? well let me tell you, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows (she says, meaning not quite the opposite, but landing somewhere in the middle).

lesson one: it’ll all be alright, probably, and here’s why.

believe it or not, i’m actually a bit of an optimist. okay, let me clarify: when it comes to a general outlook on the world as a whole, i’m pretty sure things will all work out in the end. i essentially feel the same way about my own life specifically, but it’s a little more convoluted and wonky to get to those conclusions. i go back and forth between bouts of idealism and realism, pessimism and optimism – some of the few things i don’t actually have hard opinions on. i have days where i feel like there’s no real hope for the state of the world we live in just as much as i feel like there’s so much hope for it.

overall, i think our world is growing and changing so much and so quickly, and nine times out of ten, i think it’s for the better. but our lovely little friend social media really really knows just how to put a damper on things. i see so much good and creation and innovation all through this little electronic window into the rest of humanity, but it seems like there’s a new tragedy every time i refresh the page. is this awareness of world news and events important? absolutely. does that mean i need to immediately hear about 30 dead in such-and-such or five dead in so-and-so? not in the slightest.

lesson two: it’s the little things that count, i guess.

rest assured, there are some big things, too. new technologies are being developed every day to cure diseases, provide clean drinking water, and over all just improve the quality of living for people all over the world. i put my name on that probe nasa just sent to the sun – just because i could! just because it felt cool to say something with my name on it is currently in space! studying the sun! tell me that’s not at least a little cool, i dare you.

i place a lot of extra value in things that subjectively don’t matter. i save knick knacks and trinkets that probably would find a better home finally being thrown away, which is part of why it’s so hard for me to keep my room clean for very long. but i like having the memories of the little moments, like a friend’s prop from when we presented student plays in my oral communication class freshman year. they’re nice little reminders of the times when i didn’t worry about anything, the times when i was just having a laugh without having to be burdened by, y’know, that crushing weight of existence.

lesson three: there is good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for.

let me just say, it’s hard to be an optimist in the face of all the turmoil.

but i do it, because i have to believe there is something to tether me here and make all of this aforementioned peril of existence actually worth it. when i’m not feeling up for so much heavy reading about rising death counts, the next story is a dog seeing snow for the first time. remember what i said about the little things?

and there are big things too, of course. the new technologies and whatnot. so you have to fight for them both. fight for the sunsets just as much as you fight for revolution (now talk about opposite ends of the spectrum). while it’s really easy to just get caught up in all the sad nastiness of the world, it’s so much more worth it to look for all of the good in it.

i grew up surrounded by music – not your typical childhood tunes, though. my dad raised me in a pool of heavy metal and classic rock, throwing me in before i could swim, and my mom cheered him along from the sidelines as my older sister shook her head with distaste. to this day, if you mention a child listening to rock music, my dad will grin and tell you about the time he looked in the backseat and saw me in my booster seat, headbanging to the Metallica song he had playing.

so, naturally, i listened to music any chance i got: on the bus, sitting at home, during car rides, while waiting at the dentist’s office. i grew to admire the guitarists of each band i listened to and aspired to be like them – to be in a band of my own as the lead guitarist and travel the world, meet countless new people. i even began to learn how to play the instrument in fifth grade but never kept up with it.

one year prior, though, my teacher, mrs. scott, gave the class a writing assignment. i cannot remember the exact prompt she gave, given my terrible memory and the fact that this occurred over eight years ago, but i do remember that the assignment required a horror/mystery-inspired theme (i believe it was october at the time). being the natural reader i was, many different plots swam in my brain, and i had a difficult time choosing which to write out. eventually, i finished my paragraph or two and turned it in. later that day, my teacher approached me and told me how much she loved my writing and the use of the phrase “blood-curdling scream.” in retrospect, she probably just admired that a fourth-grader even knew the term “blood-curdling,” but being the nine-year-old i was, i did not know that; for the next few days or so, i was beaming with pride, doing everything i could to mention to others that mrs. scott had liked it so much and that she had also displayed it for everyone in the school to see on the wall in the hallway outside of her classroom (which she also did with a few other students’ works, but i had never made it there before). i also can recall her showing the paper to other teachers, discussing how well i had written for an elementary student.

from that moment on, i decided to start writing. but i still wanted to play in a band. as the years passed, though, i never really learned how to play the guitar, and i began writing more and more as the days went by. eventually (around eighth or ninth grade), my guitar went to my sister because i stopped wanting to play it for a living, and my dreams transitioned to ones of keyboards, ink pens, and loose notebook paper. so much so that i applied to an arts high school in my tenth grade year, specifically with the purpose of going for writing, and got in.

my dreams are nowhere near the general vicinity of my future, but i never imagined i would be where i am now, especially when i was in fourth grade, proud of the use of “blood-curdling scream” in a paragraph-long story. but to this day, i do not know how to play the guitar, but i will never give up on my dreams of writing.

There are some lessons I learned in 2018 that I would like to share.

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#1: Deal with things no matter how difficult they may seem. The longer you go without dealing with the negative things in your life, you not only hurt yourself, but the people who have done nothing to you. Take the time to deal with things before the issue(s) becomes bigger/deeper than it needs to.

#2: Always have something or someone you can always vent to. It is nice to think that we are strong enough to deal with everything on our own, but that is just not true. We can try, but it won’t work. Life was not made to walk alone. I suggest having an older and wiser to person to vent to and to believe in some form of a higher power. That higher power can be anything you just whole-heartedly believe in. Those who things alone will get you a long way.

#3: Trust your gut. Nobody knows and understands you like you do and nobody ever will. With that being said, you have to trust yourself enough to allow yourself not to put yourself in the wrong situations. (Read that last sentence slowly, it makes sense, lol.)

#4: Think your mind, not your heart. Everybody is not in your life for the long run. Some people are placed in your life just to teach you something, whether it be positive or negative. Take the lesson and let them go. Do NOT repeatedly try to keep someone around who isn’t supposed to be. Accept it, deal with it, grow from it, and move on.

#5: Don’t let other people’s problems stress you out. You have your own life to live. Just because that is your friend does not mean that their problems are your problems. Support and love is not always shown with inserting yourself into the problem. The best thing you can do is offer your advice or opinion and support whatever they decide to do, as long as it doesn’t go against the morals you have set for yourself.

#6: You literally have ONE life. Do not spend it worrying about how the next person feels about you. People are going to like or dislike you for one reason or another and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. No matter how much you do or change, they will always have their own feeling about you.

#7: The things that happen in your life happen for a reason. Most of the time, they are to make you either emotionally stronger or wiser. Depending on the situation, it can enhance both. Try your hardest to not break down as much because believe it or not, it is all happening for a reason. I know sometimes it feels like your world is falling a part and there is nothing more you can do but break down, and that is okay. And if or when you do breakdown, know that once the pieces fall back in line, you will look and feel better than ever before.

#8: Live to learn! Learn to love! Love life! Any other type of love will come later on. Let it happen naturally.

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I strongly believe that 2018 was the year of losses and lessons. 2019 will be the year of applying those lessons and success-ing. No matter what, keep your head up high. I was listening to a song by Heather Headley. It;s called “In My Mind”. It’s somewhat of a love song about a man leaving a woman and her thinking “in her mind”, she’ll always be his. Well, I had the song on repeat because it was something about the song that just made me think. Then I realized what it was. There’s a part in the song that says,

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“They say if you love something, you’ve got to let it go.
And if it comes back, then it means so much more.
Fine if it never does, at least you will know,
that it was something you had to go through to grow.”

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Yes, it fits the idea of the song, but my interpretation of this was so much different. Now, I live by this. I’m not saying you should to, but just consider it.

Where would they place you in a shopping market?

I ask this hoping that you can be open-minded about it. If you were a product on a shelf in some corner store, what would you be? An avocado? Perhaps a pair of socks, or chewing gum, or even a bag of Jolly Ranchers?

Think to yourself about what you would be and write down your initial answer. The very first thing that comes to mind. It’s important.

Now, go back and actually think about what I’m asking.

In what part of a shopping market do you fit in?

This question could mean multiple things. I could be asking what you relate to, whether it’s Almond Milk because you’re lactose intolerant, or white bread because you’re simple and straightforward, a common component, a staple food.

Or maybe it is that I’m asking for setting. Where in a super market should you be? The back stall of the girl’s bathroom, smoking the last cigarette from your mother’s purse? Do you see yourself in line for checkout, frantically searching for thirty cents? In between packages of toilet paper, playing hide and seek with your little sister?

Or maybe still I am asking what aisle you belong on. Is it with the baking goods, you with your powdery personality, or by the spices, all turmeric and cardamom, or picking through the frozen shellfish in the front?

The first answer you gave would seem irrelevant now, or at least it did to me when I was asked this question. I went back and I changed my mind. Initially I said with the dairy products, and I was thinking of nothing more than the fact that I love strawberry yogurt, but once I began considering every factor, I decided I belong more in the gardening area with the mixed potting soil, and this came with the tedious thoughts of both location, my personality relating to potting soil, and how the workers and customers interact different in that section of most supermarkets. It’s like it is another store completely back there. I would most certainly fit in.

I might have lost you by now. How is this inspiring in any way, you ask?

Just wait, we are headed in the right direction. This blog is going to be about “second times”. In other words, second-attempts at “first time” things, a rethinking on the things you might have already been through. This blog is about stepping out of the picture to look at yourself in whole. Stay with me.

My life moves faster than I can keep up with it most of the time. Two weeks ago I was thirteen and now I am graduating in just five months. My hands and feet somehow  have always kept up, but my brain has trouble doing the same on occasion.

In my junior year, I was determined to have as many “firsts” as possible, whether they be good experiences or absolute terrible memories. In the excitement of the moments in which I was experiencing all of my “firsts”, it never really mattered how I felt after, or who I hurt in the process. I ended up having a beautifully destructive year because of this, and I am so thankful for that, because I learned a good bit about my own person and others through it. And if there is one thing I can say in this post that sticks with anyone, my hope is that it will be this: Life is about revisions. It has never, and will never be about first times, although those are very important. No, I think I’ve come to realize, life is about second times, and third times, and the continuation of new experiences that become an eventual rhythm in our daily lives. Life is about doing things that are hard for days- days that turn into months, that turn into years. It’s about choosing the right thing every time, not just that one time when you were feeling brave. It is about becoming consistent in finding your fear and fulfilling that fear until you aren’t afraid of it anymore.

In my life right now, I am working every day to make friends with my insecurities, my discomforts, my secret dreams and hopes that I have not fully whispered into the world.

I take the time to sit down and make decisions now, to actually ask myself questions and follow through with the answers, whether they be about grocery stores or college options.

I still go with my gut when it feels right, though. There are some things in life that work out in the most amazing ways the first time, things that don’t need polishing or revisions. These are our “Perfect Things”-we keep them close to our heart.

These perfect things are like pebbles. Imagine yourself,walking down a stretch of the beach, picking up pebbles as you go. Each one is beautiful in its own way, carved by the ocean and almost asking you to snatch them from the sand. Lets say you begin filling your pockets, and you walk, and you continue this exercise of finding the pebbles and filling your pockets with them the entire time. What happens when your pockets fill entirely?

Another thing I have recently dealt with is my issue with not being able to let people and things leave my life if they were once a part of it. This is how I see those pebbles, as individual people and memories that are pieces of myself in some way, due to my obsessive attachment to them. When people leave my life without me having a choice in the matter, I seem to forget every other pebble down the stretch of beach, ahead of me-my future people, experiences, memories.

I’ve begun to be very selective in which things I keep close to my heart, the things I fill my pockets with. I put many hours into a few choice pebbles, I keep a small few close to me, and I give them 100%, rather than expend a half-hearted energy on many separate moments and feel equally attached to all of them.

I hope I’m making a clear point, but if not, this is what I am basically trying to say: Cultivate yourself and the people that care about you, and cultivate your life with them. Remember that all good things eventually do end and be grateful for the experiences you get. Never take what you have now for granted, even if you once had better, or could have better. Don’t forget about the life ahead of you, or even the present life you have. Do not be too focused on your past that you miss out on everything now.

At this point, I know you’re still at a loss for exactly how this post is supposed to invigorate you, to inspire you.

The truth is- and let me warn you, this is going to suck- the truth is that nothing I put in this blog, no matter how eloquently written, will ever be enough to inspire you if you do not first see the potential to be inspired in yourself.

Professional hypnotists begin all of their sessions by telling their clients, the audience, etc. , that the hypnotism will not work if you are not open to be hypnotized. You have to actually tell yourself that you can and will be hypnotized for the process to make any change in you. Basically, you must trick yourself into believing it, and at that point, the hypnotists job is easy- they have already won you over because you have won yourself over.

Life is the same in this sense, and inspiration. If your brain is not willing to be “tricked” into its own happiness, then you won’t be happy.

There is a choice in your head that you must make to cause movement in your legs, your arms, your knees. Your brain tells them to move to put you in a different place, right? We move to survive, to leave bad places, to run away or stand and fight. These choices propel our well being.

Movement in terms of mindset is exactly like the movements in your body, and other people notice this as well.

Have a frown in the waiting room because the nurse hasn’t called you back yet? Maybe you got impatient and didn’t hold the door open for the man behind you in a wheelchair?  The lady taking phone calls in the front, yes- she noticed, and she makes choices about how to treat you because of it. She might just have a thirty minute conversation with your doctor about his upcoming trip to Sweden in a few minutes because of it.  This is just one example of how our actions have reactions and are intertwined, and everyone’s lives are substantially connected in this way as well.

In other words, everything effects everything. It’s like we’ve all got the flu and can’t help but cough on one another.

For me, being inspired is like believing in God. You don’t need proof, you need faith, and sometimes, you need to challenge your reality and perspective.

Faith that things can and will get better, despite how it looks now. Faith in your feet and hands that you know where you’re headed, knowing there will be obstacles in your future. Faith to make the right choice in general, even when you’re tired, even when it’s so hard to.

It’s calling rejection an opportunity to receive feedback and improve work for the second time around. It is actually taking the time to revise your life, and knowing that the greatest thing you can do with it is give every day to your and other’s betterment.

It’s going to bed having failed, and having failed in the most costly ways, and still being able to call the day a trial and error process. You are the only person in the world that can tell yourself how to think and what to believe, and every choice you make reflects who you are, no matter how insignificant you think the decision is.

Life is a series of first drafts, and it’s up to you to find the files and edit.

 

 

Now, I’ve had my fair share of disasters. When I think of the word “disaster,” I don’t think about the time I created a poisonous gas out of germ-x in 6th grade science, or the time I wrote a littlest pet shop fan-fiction. My mind automatically goes to one thing- Washington DC.

It was the summer after my 6th grade year when my gifted class went on a trip to Washington DC. We had done fundraisers all year in order to save up for the trip, and we were all so hopeful that this would be one of the most amazing trips we would go on- EVER. It was that hyped up.

The day comes. We have all gathered our bags, and are waiting in front of the school for the bus to come pick us up. Suddenly, we get a call from our bus driver. Our original bus driver had fallen sick the day before, and had to be replaced.

“Hey, I’m in South Pinola- where is the school?”

We live in Pontotoc.

I won’t go into the specifics, but, we eventually found him and got him to the right school.

The trip was delayed slightly, but it made no difference. Not at the time. Driving was smooth. Everyone played cards together, and waited anxiously for our arrival in the most historical area in America. Time passed,and passed, and passed. So did that same area of land. We were going in circles, and were running out of gas.

So we stop for gas. There’s just ONE issue- our drivers card isn’t working.

Imagine being the one to tell a group of 30 6th graders that because they had to stop at a gas station for 2 hours, they would not be able to make any more food or restroom stops the entire way to Washington.

That was the most tense bus ride I had ever been on.

Fast forward- we get to Washington. Our bus driver gets fired, but still hangs around for the trip.  one woman gets word that her grandchild is about to be born, and has to travel back home. We wish her farewell and check into the hotel. This is where we meet our hero-

LANCE

Lance gave us cookies and apologizes for our suffering, though he had absolutely nothing to do with it. Lance would later introduce us to our tour guide.

Our tour guide was a very sharp man. He wore a suit and tie, carried an umbrella, and told us stories from when he used to work at Disney.

The first tour we went on was dedicated to those that had died in the military. At the time we did not realize we were standing next to a “Tours Here” sign. We were all so shocked when random people started asking questions.

Our day goes well. We travel here, travel there. We get lost and see all the sides of the pentagon. The weather is nice and sunny, our new bus brakes down.

….Yeah, our second bus with our new driver, that bus broke down.

We shopped around in a gift shop while the adults tried to fix it, but, to no avail. During this incident, they turned to our original bus driver, and gave him money to take a cab to go get the old bus. We didn’t see him until a few days later.

After an hour or so, our tour guide squints his eyes, looks down the street, and says,

“Hey, you guys wanna see the white house?”

Of course we want to see the white house!

Let me tell you, the white house is not that big. It’s often glorified to be big and spacious. In reality, it’s no bigger than a college building. Still though, its beautiful. We got to bask in its glory for exactly 15 minutes before they have to clear out the area because President Obama was coming home.

By the time we had gotten kicked out of the white house’s area, someone managed to find us a temporary bus and driver. They brought us back to the hotel, and dropped off the tour guide.

Later on, that same bus would bring us to the John F. Kennedy Center for Performing Arts. I’ve never forgot the sights. We were able to go up to the top balcony and see for miles. There were so many planes flying around, which was very interesting to me! More interesting, though, was the fact that we ran into our tour guide at the theater. He ditched a crowd of old drunk people to come hang out with us. He never really quit working. I remember him rattling off the history of the place, despite him not being the one that was supposed to tour that building with us.

When it came time to go home, I was incredibly sad. I was happy we had finally gotten a permanent bus, but the fact I was leaving made me upset. I wanted to go on even more wacky adventures. Getting to see all these amazing monuments, the Ford Theater, Kennedy Center, Parks, White House, Pentagon, even the Hard Rock Cafe-it was all incredible. Just one last adventure- that was all I wanted, and that’s what I got.

4 buses and 7 drivers after our trip had begun, we stopped at Cracker Barrel for one last meal….

 

 

Guess who we saw.

yep, it was our first bus driver. The one that got us lost, got fired, and never came back for us. He asked my teacher to pay for his meal. Let me say, few people have ever seen a teacher laugh in the way she laughed. It was so hysterical, and yet, so profound.

That one last little bit really brought closure to the trip. Something about it was so ironic. It felt like I was living in a disaster movie, and this was the final scene.

Looking back on it, I think it’s the most memorable trip I have ever been on. It helped me learn so much more than a perfect trip would have taught me.

Enjoy the mistakes in life- embrace them. What would have happened if we just sat outside that gift shop waiting for the first driver? We would not have gotten kicked out of the White House area! How many people can say that’s happened to them?

Appreciate the people that go out of their way for you. Lance didn’t have to get us cookies. Our tour guide didn’t have to abandon his other group to tour the Kennedy Center with us. Their actions still remain in my mind as something that made Washington the coolest place ever.

Be in the moment, laugh afterwards. This trip was absolutely wild. It was stressful in the moment, but now its HILARIOUS. Looking back, I enjoy the experience more now than I did when it happened.

Special Thank You to my UFO (Unlimited Future Opportunities) teacher for being the most amazing trip planner. Without her, we would have never gone. Actually, we were the only class to ever go! To have such bad luck, we sure were lucky.

For the past two years, I have heard over and over again how my dreams will only lead me in two directions: eternal debt or on the streets. Or both. Ever since the statement, “I want to major in Journalism and minor in Fashion and Creative Writing at the University of Southern California. After college I hope to build myself up to eventually working for Vogue,” left my mouth, people have been putting their input in like it’s their dream to create. I mean, after all, our dreams are the one thing we can shape and develop without anyone knowing it. It’s in our minds and whether we put it out in the world or not is completely up to the dreamer. However, that never stopped them from putting their impute in, just hoping to change something in my plan. And I have to admit, for a while I let them get in my head and curate my dreams and goals. Since then I’ve had so much on and off doubt inside me on whether the colleges I want to go to and the goals I have in life are valid. If they were even achievable.

After many long talks with family members about why I should go to a school in state and how I’m “too smart to settle for a Journalism degree,” I started to doubt myself. I would tell myself I was going in state, and that I could major in Nursing because at least then my family would be proud of me. I guess you could say for a while, my main priority was to make them happy and forget about my very own happiness. I played this part very well for a few months until I realized that this is not my passion. I realized that if I did not follow through with my dreams, I would not be happy.

There were two things upon this awakening that became visible: I would have to work 10 times harder to get where I want to be, and that no matter what, Journalism is my passion and even if I am living pay check to pay check for the rest of my life, I will be doing what I love.

Upon this discovery, I realized that I’m the only one holding me back, and my families input is just something to feed to the insecurity in my head. For a while, it became the fuel to those parts of me. However, now I know that my parents can’t decide what college I attend and nor can my grandparents. At the end of the day, I am the one that will choose which major I want to pursue.

It was this realization that motivated me to keep striving. I decided to start taking all AP classes to get my GPA up so I’d have a better chance at getting into the colleges I want. I’m studying extra hard for the ACT and have decided to take it every time possible so I can get to the 30+. I even started my college essays because I know that the essay in itself holds a big weight when it comes to college admissions. I’m working towards my goals because I finally got rid of the insecurities and self-doubt that was holding me back, and it is truly liberating.

I guess what I’m trying to get at is, don’t let other people tell you what your dreams should be. If you want something bad enough, you will get it. Yes, it will take some hard work and some dedication, but at the end of the road when you have finally gotten to where you want to be, you will realize just how worth it all of it was. The fact of the matter is, you possess the power to get what you want and be who you want to be. The only disadvantage is deciding to not use that power, but again, that is completely up to you.

So, I will major in Journalism and minor in Fashion and Creative Writing at the University of Southern California. I will graduate and I will work at Vogue as a Journalist.

Now, who wants to try and stop me?

 

One can often feel like life is always on the verge of toppling off a cliff into an ocean of vicious, enraged sharks, or perhaps is balancing on a tightrope a couple hundred feet above ground during a level nine earthquake. You never know what’s going to happen next, but you begin to assume it won’t be anything good. It’s absolutely dreadful living like this, but it’s so easy all the same. Its sad to say that being a pessimist is easy, but looking into current society, the fact is undeniable. Living miserably is almost second nature.

There is always somewhere to find hope though. That is something I learned from my Great Uncle Buck. The year 2018 wasn’t the easiest for him. In January, my family suffered a great loss when my Great Grandma passed away. Uncle Buck was the oldest out of her many children, which now makes him the oldest in the family. It was a rough time, but I remember he told me that better days were coming.

A couple months later, his only daughter fell ill and passed as well. He and my Aunt Betty were devastated. I remember watching them fall apart together at her funeral. It broke my heart, and I didn’t know how my uncle could take it all. Still, before I left that day, he gave me a hug and told me that better days were coming.

My Aunt Betty had cancer for a long time. There was no curing her at her stage, so we just watched and prayed. Each day was a blessing. Her death didn’t come as such a shock, but it didn’t hurt any less. I hurt mostly for him though. I could not fathom why the world was taking everything away from him. I cried for the misery he must be feeling. He cried too, but amidst the pain, he talked about those better days.

Her brother moved in my uncle after her passing, and they pretty much became best friends. He was always much happier when I saw him with his brother-in-law. The family was happy that he was no longer alone. Everything seemed swell, but December of 2018 took his best friend away from him. It’s such a painful thought to lose the most important people in your life is such a short amount of time. I couldn’t even imagine what my uncle was going through. I didn’t go to the funeral, but I asked my grandma how he was doing. She told me he was waiting on better days.

To me, that is the bravest thing you can do. When you suffer so much loss but have so much faith that a win is coming. Great Uncle Buck hasn’t given up on love or happiness or peace. He keeps moving and keeps praying because he knows he cannot change what has happened, but eventually it will stop raining and he will find better days. Watching him has taught me that pain can make you stronger, and that even the worst disasters aren’t the end of the world. The world will try to destroy you sometimes, but as long as appreciate what you get and stay positive, something better is coming.

(I’m going to give a warning for mentions of loss and death. You can continue now :3)

When I think of positivity, my mind goes to some sort of weird stigma around it. I think of some sort of bubbly, sunshine-radiating person with blond hair and blue eyes that always spews out inspirational quotes while giving a white-toothed smile. However, when I really think about it, that’s not the post of positivity. The point is to be able to look at life, people, and circumstances and find a way to look at them with a new lens. This new lens gives you an ability to look back and help you realize that it had a place in your life, no matter what it was. 

I’ve faced more than my share fair of challenges in life. My life, just like so many others, has been filled with pain, heartache, and suffering. However, now that I look back on these events, I can see now that they were preparing me for more than what I could see at the time. I’m not going to pretend like these events didn’t affect me; they certainly made their mark on me as a child, and to this day I sometimes can’t help but think about the trauma these events caused me. Now, though, I’m able to see that there was always some form of hope in front of me, no matter the circumstance at the time. 

Because I was adopted, much of my family is rather older than me. My parents are currently both well into their fifties, and all my cousins on my dad’s side are full adults with paying jobs. Because of this, my grandparents and other relatives were much older than what the usual standard is. As a child, I simply thought that it was normal to have grandparents be well into their seventies- I only found that to not be the case fairly recently, truth be told. By the time I was old enough to have the constant drive to play all the time, my grandparents were mostly in the stage of life where they couldn’t play with me as much as they would want. My grandfather on my dad’s side had heart conditions, and my grandparents on my mother’s side both had health issues (Paw, as we called him, had lung cancer, and Grandma had memroy issues). 

There was one person in my family I could always count on to play with me and go with my silly ideas: Uncle Richard. Uncle Richard wasn’t actually my uncle; he was good friends with my dad, and after they graduated college, he was always a nearby presence because of his “issues” with living alone. By issues, I mean that he just was the type that didn’t do well on their own. No doubt, he was brilliant: he owned tons of books, and for a time he taught college-level English. When he retired, he came to live with my parents in a trailer. I can always remember peering inside and seeing the small thing being filled wall-to-wall with books of all shapes and sizes. 

As a child, I would always do my best to pull him out of the trailer so he could play with me. Keep in mind, he was well into his sixites, and I was a four-year-old with an overactive imagination and no other people to play with. In my mind, he was the perfect person to play with me. I would often lead him on my fantastical adventures, whether it be inside conducting a tea party with my stuffed animals, or exploring imaginary fantasy lands outside. He never could say no to my exploits; he allowed me to lead him on all sorts of fantastical adventures, the only time he would object being if he was ill. 

As I grew older, my desire to play lessened, and my sister entered the picture. She never possessed as much imagination as I had, but she did want company when I was busy with homework, so she succeeded me in pulling Uncle Richard out of his camper to play. 

The year I turned eleven, he was admitted into a nursing home. I found out that he had a heart condition; he had a minor heart attack at the Jackson State Fair, so after that he agreed to be put in the nursing home. I would still visit him fairly often, though, and he still greeted me the same way he had when I had been knocking on his trailer door. He couldn’t be as active, but he still loved hearing me talk about all the new things that had happened since the last time I had seen him. I always looked forward to these visits, and I never thought about a future without him. 

The inevitable happened. He passed away the summer before I turned thirteen. I remember feeling absolute shock when I heard that he had passed away in the nursing home. I remember feeling numb as I cried against my dad’s shirt. I had dealt with personal loss before, but this just felt so much more different than that. My world as I had known it was forever shattered. I remember coming to the realization that he wouldn’t be around to see me grow up. I had taken on his passion of reading, and he always encouraged me to read more. He had been proud of my proficiency in the language arts, and he especially enjoyed helping me with my English homework. I realized I had not just lost a friend, but a mentor as well. 

I remember being silent at his funeral. I remember looking to the open coffin before turning my head away, unable to face my new reality. I remember crying at night, bleary-eyed as I looked up at the ceiling, asking why God had done this to me. I was distraught; I didn’t know how I was going to cope with this loss. 

However, now that I’ve grown, I’ve realized that Uncle Richard has made more of an effect than I had known at first. I realized that he influenced me to create, and gave me more energy to create more than before. He encouraged me to follow my ideas wherever they took me, and helped me to realize my creative potential. He gave me a passion for learning more about the world and educating myself about things around me. He gave me an incentive to learn about language arts and the literary world. Most importantly, he gave me someone to talk to, someone to confide in, someone to be with me when my life was rough. He was really more than a family friend. He truly was my family. 

My strength lies in a few things: English, baking (sort of), cooking (kind of). But my failures? Almost everything I’ve done has resulted in something negative, especially if it was my first time. For example, I went skating when I was younger. I had never touched a pair of roller skates in my life until I went to my cousin’s birthday party. I was somewhat excited, but also nervous because what child really wants to fall down? Well, my tough-love father decided that he would teach me how to skate. He helped me shuffle forward a few feet and then let go. I cruised on just fine for a minutes, but that soon changed. I went around the curve of the rink, and was on ground, screaming and crying within moments. Dad came over and picked me up like it was nothing, my mom was panicking like the world was ending around her, one of the workers at the rink was trying to save their tail to avoid some lawsuit or something. And me? Yep, still crying. I had to wait a full day before I was taken to a hospital because my parents didn’t think my ankle was broken, but we were all mistaken. I broke my tibia, which was all fine and dandy. I got out of P.E., kids signed my cast, it was cool. And guess what? I love skating now. At my old elementary school, they always took us skating (this was after I broke my ankle) on field trips. I didn’t want to be left out, so I went on the trips too. With the help of a teacher, whom I can’t remember right now, I learned how to skate, but I’m cautious about it. I guess what I got out of that whole situation was to keep trying, even if it might hurt a little. You’re going to fall down, you might break something, but you’re still going to get up because you can’t stay on the ground long. And trust me, I fall down a lot. I am a literal and metaphorical klutz, and that’s okay with me! But usually, it’s my first times that will knock me down. When I try something new (as most people), I tend to mess up a lot. If it’s some sort of physical thing, well…. I get hurt.

But there’s one thing that I’m decent at: writing. I guess I wouldn’t be on this blog, sitting in this chair inside this classroom if I wasn’t decent enough at it. But I’ve been writing since I was little, whether it was an essay or a story. I think my first “contest” was required by my teacher, and she wanted us to write an essay on what is our favorite thing about the Gulf Coast. The prize was our essay getting published in a magazine and two tickets to Gulf Islands Waterpark. For the essay, I wrote about how much I loved going to the buffets at casinos because I loved the crab there. I’m pretty sure that was the whole essay: just describing crab. But I was one of the kids picked, so my essay was published, I was given a copy of the magazine and the tickets. It was nice. I don’t have it anymore; I think it was lost or thrown away a long time ago. I didn’t realize the significance of it at the time, but now, I kind of see that essay contest as the seed that has created the writer in me. That’s my origin story of sorts: just a little girl with a love for crab at casino buffets. Humble beginnings, I guess. So writing in my success, and I want to make it better because I know it can be improved if I just work on it. My goal is to improve my writing, just as a pianist spends most of their practicing, or an artist tests new paint techniques, or a pastry chef creates the next best dessert to hit the culinary world. And who knows? Maybe I’ll go back to that beginning and I’ll create a story about a little girl who just loves crab.

Mrs. Sibley was giving us the welcome back spill today and she said something that really hit me in the heart. She was talking about writing something and in the midst of writing it you get a better idea and go to that instead. I do that all. the. time.

You can’t even imagine how many times I’ve tried to write a novel. When I first started writing them, I would write three chapters and stop because I actually had no plot planned out, just the beginning of the book. In my mind, the only things I had planned out was the beginning and the climax. That’s it.

As time went on, I realized that I had no idea what I was doing. That took like 8 book ideas and 70 chapters written and rewritten to no avail. I couldn’t stick to anything. I stopped writing.

A few months go by and my mom tells me I should try out for MSA. At first I was like “No way.” but then I decided to look at the criteria for the audition.

I almost didn’t try out because I would have to write a short story. I would have to COMPLETE a story. But I started working on it. I don’t really know if I worked so hard on it to prove something to myself or to get into the school.

When I finished it I was so proud of myself. I seriously thought it was the best story I would ever write, and looking back on it now I am so glad I was wrong. That story was actually pure garbage, but hey. It got me here. Plus, you’ve got to start somewhere I guess.

It took me nearly two months to write that short story. Now, I can write a short story within a few hours. I’m super happy about my growth and I’m so ready to grow even more. maybe one day I will finish that novel. I think wh

I have learned new ways to stick to an idea. the first thing is to write out the entire plot. All the major points, the how, the why, and make sure that within my writing I am working towards all my points. I planned out this entire book by the chapter a few months back, but I never even finished writing the complete first chapter. I kept changing it and redoing it because I thought it wasn’t good enough. I think that is my biggest problem when it comes to writing. I always think my ideas are typical and my writing is boring and the stories I’m writing could be better if I told the idea to another person and they wrote it. Maybe everyone feels like that about their art. Maybe I’m too hard on myself. Either way, I know I can’t give up. This is what I love to do.

And now that I’ve heard what I needed to hear, I think I will go back to it. My first short story wasn’t that great, so my first book probably won’t be either, but I’ve got to start somewhere. If I never finish writing one bad book, I’ll never write one good one