Well, this is officially my last post of the year.
It has been quite a journey, has it not? I had a lot of hope for 2020, but a micro-terror had other plans. But on the bright side, I have learned a lot, and now I have time to catch up on projects.
My first blog post was titled “This Year Is…”, so I felt compelled to bring this year to a full circle. Feel free to read that ancient post to see how much I have grown. (:
I typed a poem created as black out poetry. It was made on the first day of school, and I found it quite ironic:
“This year
is
depicting
feeling
and
some creative role.
Existing
is
now on display.”
If you are unfamiliar with black out poetry, you basically take a permanent marker to a page full of words, select a few that stand out, and mark out everything else. And mine somehow predicted my year on the first day of school? (objectively, of course).
“This year is depicting feeling and some creative role.”
I started this year feeling so out of place. How could I live among so many creative individuals? How could I possibly write anything I was willing to share? How could I exist in an environment filled with so much talent? I processed everything too narrowly and relied on strategy to carry me into every tomorrow. But I had been this way for quite some time. I spent so many days erasing every written word and staring into books in crowded cafeterias. I spent so many days feeling swept away in a sea of people, having nowhere to go. I wanted to write. I wanted to create. But how could I ever write something I felt proud of enough to share?
This year, I threw everything from the past few years out of a window. Good-bye, being afraid to share writing. Peace out, grey. Adiós, taking a book to lunch.
This year was the happiest I have felt in awhile. I stopped relying on logic so much and allowed my creativity to flourish. I grew so much, and I needed it. And I no longer feel like I am smothering.
“Existing is now on display.”
This is kind of a peculiar piece of the poem, but I feel like it holds a lot of wisdom. You are connected to so many people. You influence the earth in some way. And what does your art say about you? What do you display?
I applied and auditioned for MSA without much expectation. I only wanted to grow as a writer and survive two years of living in a dorm surrounded by people. I did not care if I sat alone during meals, and I could not care less about making friends.
I spent the first week afraid to leave my dorm room and mystified by the assumed enormity of the campus. And somewhere between panicking over classroom locations and speaking only to my roommate, I started to feel lonely. I watched the seniors hug their teachers and converse with one another with ease. And I felt discouraged by all of the surrounding possibilities. I had so many questions, and I often entertained the idea of being home.
The beginning of the year had so many pleasant surprises, however, and I miss the newness of everything. I spent my breaks eating oranges beneath massive oak trees. And I loved discovering the abundance of clubs and opportunities. Candlelight dinner, also, was such an experience. I did not expect it to be such a significant event, and I hope I can experience it as a senior because…cheesecake and candles, obviously.
With the end of August, positive change arrived. I remember my first coffee house. The lights were dimmed, and coffee in Styrofoam cups accompanied cookies. Everyone clapped for one another, and I remember being amazed by the poetry of my peers. People sang and played instruments as well, and I remember feeling so glad to be a literary student at MSA. There is something special about coffee house, something special about the way people laugh and cry and celebrate art. I realized the importance of having a community.
September had a lot in store for me. I began to truly appreciate my discipline and looked forward to our classes together. We all had a chosen computer in the literary lab, and I miss mine. Sometimes I had more inspiration in class than anywhere else, and that has never happened before. I miss changing my desktop’s wallpaper and drinking coffee out of a Stitch mug and sinking into leather rolly chairs. The literary lab is such a comfortable, creative environment, and I miss the laughs or the days we all silently typed at our stations. I miss workshop and doodling on each others’ papers, and I miss leaving a workshop and feeling as if I had awoken from a dream. I miss laughing at comedic plays and reading all of the amazing, beautiful pieces of the people I have learned to appreciate and trust with my writing. I miss the dimmed lights and jazz music. And I miss our assumed seats at the table. I always loved seeing everyone in the morning or after lunch, whenever we had class.
I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to learn at MSA; only 3/4 of a year taught me so much. I thought I would grow to despise writing, but I love it even more. I have direction, and I am learning to develop my voice. I have accomplished more than I thought was possible at my level, and I want to further pursue writing in the future (with more seriousness). I went from filling up one journal with poor poetry to lugging around at least seven.
Sometimes I can only say thank you. I would have preferred a final day and a good-bye, but how could this be the end? Time is a river flowing nonstop and in a direction we are blind to, but we gain more memories from the journey than from the destination. Thank you for the spider lilies in the fall and the continuous jazz hands. Thank you for surprising me with more than I could ever imagine. I filled so many notebooks with yellow words and smiley faces, and I saw a myriad of color.
I will miss living on the sixth floor. I never quite grew accustomed to the stairs, but I have sprinted down six flights so many times that I deserve some kind of award—(with a fifty-pound backpack?) that takes talent. I miss waiting years for the elevator, especially on mandatory go-home weekends—which are hilariously painful—when I would eventually give up and drag my luggage down the stairs.
I will miss procrastinating essays and mopping the hallway while listening to Tears for Fears. I will miss randomly receiving hugs, gifts, and tacos. And I will miss the random knocks at my door and the coffee conversations. I appreciate it all, thank you. I loved waking up tired but ready to start a new day. I loved seeing everyone’s faces, and I always looked forward to it. I appreciated all of my teachers, and I had the most fun at a school than ever before (despite the stress).
I will miss hoarding salt packets and commenting on the nature of cafeteria food. I miss their potato soup. ): And I miss picking gingko leaves and dandelions, sharing songs, and laughing at absurd pieces. I will miss eating oranges outside and staring up into the limbs of impressively tall trees. I will miss lying on the sidewalk and sitting in rocking chairs and walking in the rain. I will miss watching clouds and running in the wind and playing a broken flute, and I will miss blogging every week.
Why am I typing this like an obituary? Well, anyway, I miss fries and the occasional iced coffee. I miss complaining about short weekends and then sometimes spending them thinking about school. I miss staying up late working on assignments and unpacking my bag Sunday night. I miss complaining about homework and eating rapidly melting ice cream and walking for hours. And I miss the dashes to class and the pink sunrises and the way my keys clattered against my badge.
I have learned how to write proper poetry I am (somewhat?) proud of. I have discovered that I love creating moments of dialogue. I have learned that I prefer short fiction over poetry, and I have discovered that plays are worth further exploring. I have so, so much more to grow as a writer, but now I have some direction. I have learned so much, and, most importantly, I have remembered how much writing means to me.
I moved out of my dorm room about a week ago. A weight of sorts had grown within my chest like a tumor, but it disappeared that day. It is so bizarre to see familiar faces obscured by sterile masks. It is so bizarre to see your room after a month, March still frozen on your calendar. It is so bizarre to see the place you have lived in emptied for the first time since August. But I saw MSA in the spring, and I am grateful for the hope and sense of relief that day provided me. Needless to say, I am ready for next year.
You never know when life will tip sideways and shift everything into disarray. You never know when your last day will be. Why should you not take graduation or the last nine weeks of school for granted? I can only say that I have appreciated my junior year, and I have enjoyed all of the luxuries of normal life (fries…sigh…). I remember my last day, my last week, and I do not regret it. Thank you, everyone who gave me reason to miss a school in Brookhaven.
So, in conclusion, I have enjoyed my year quite a bit. I started out full of questions and doubt, but now I want to truly sink myself into existence. It has been nearly two months since my last school day on campus, and I only hope that I can return in August. Agh, I am so ready for next year. To be completely honest, I am afraid of the incoming students. And I dread certain senior obligations. But I look forward to more days in the literary lab and beneath the cafeteria’s colorful ceiling tiles.
I had so many more blog ideas, so I might carry them into next year. I mean, who else will educate you all about certain pressing matters? I hope I have a synthesizer by then…and some fries…and maybe a milkshake. I would very much like to pick more gingko leaves, also, and see people in person (for the first time in at least five months, ow). But for now I love listening to music nonstop and going on daily walks. I love being able to watch television again, and I have eaten so many chips.
I have learned a lot. For instance, eating outside instead of a crowded cafeteria is a lot more peaceful (that is, until you end up chasing your napkins and swatting away mosquitoes). I have met people that I will hold onto as long as I can, people that I will appreciate for the rest of my life in some way. I have loved meeting the people at MSA so much, and they are one in a million. They are the kind of people that want to understand the world and feel deeply. They are the kind of people that want to make a difference, and I am always amazed by their awareness and want to succeed in life. They are of substance and color and resilience, and I have loved spending hours of my free time with some of them in particular. I have grown in their community, and I have loved giving and receiving in such a foreign place (now it feels so familiar). For some of us, this is the end of living in one central location. And for the rest of us, our time is winding down. But we will each carry a piece of one another into the future, and we will remember all of the days spent together. This is not the end, only the beginning of what is to come. So, good luck, and I hope next year means something more after all of this minor yet heavy loss. Existence is “now on display”, so why not exist greatly and with purpose? (;
Thank you, everyone, for the memories and the laughter. I wish I could type more, but I must face reality: I type a book each blog post. I will keep most of my memories and appreciation to myself. Anyway, stay safe and keep trying; I believe in all of you. I hope to be back next year with more explosive content (haha), so let us hope. Until then, stay groovy and addicted to writing lasagna poems or whatever brings you happiness. Dang, I wish I did not have to go. There is so much I want to say, nooooo….
Wednesday’s Fun Fact:
Water is (not) wet.
Peace out.
No, wait, I want to say something super important. Before I go for…10,000 years…I wanted to say that I—
