My love for Scenic Photography

Being a student at the Mississippi School of the Arts takes hard work and dedication. Often I find myself not being able to the things I love; one of things being photography. I found my love for photography ever since I got a camera phone honestly. I love taking pictures of the cloudy sky, the dewy day after it finishes raining, or simply just a beautiful flower.

According to Wikipedia, scenic photography is also known as landscape photography shows spaces within the world, sometimes vast and unending, but other times microscopic. Scenic photographs typically capture the presence of nature but can also focus on man-made features or disturbances of landscapes. Scenic photography is done for a variety of reasons.

Here are some my favorite scenic photographs:

 Intergalactic Mullard Observatory, Cambridgeshire
Intergalactic Mullard Observatory, Cambridgeshire , Photographer: Justin Minns
 Autumn in Ashridge Hertfordshire
Autumn in Ashridge Hertfordshire Photographer: Justin Minns
Photographer: Valda Bailey
A dreamy sand dunes photo focusing on pink foreground flowers
Photographer: Erin Babnik

Okay, so now I think you understand my fascination with scenic photography. The endless opportunities you can create with scenic photography with just the base of the beautiful earth. I mean I know when I feel upset, overwhelmed, or I even just need to relax. I go outside of my house and sit down on my drive way and just observe my surroundings. I take a deep breathe and I meditate. I instantly feel at peace with the world as if we are one.  The beauty of nature is a underrated form of art and I believe everyone should just sit outside and fully take in the beauty of nature. The inspiration you feel is as if your past ancestors or your guardian angels are in conversation and you can feel their presence. I hope i’m making sense, probably not I don’t know, but back on topic with scenic photography.

Last year in my digital media class the assignment for our final exam was to create a photography show and OF COURSE I decided to implement my  personal scenic photography. So here is the photography show I submitted. I hope you enjoy.

WARNING: These pictures look nothing of the quality above I am just a beginner with a starter camera. So please judge lightly lol!

Stephyne Weathersby Photography Show

 

            Brief Information about the photos in case you’re interested   

  The first two photos I featured were the pictures I took while I was at the cabins lat year with my family. It was probably 30 something degrees outside,but it was a sunset and I had to capture the moment. In the first photo presented in a slideshow I tried to make the view of the sunset the main point but with a sub view of my cousin looking at it. The second photo is similar to the first considering they were taking at the same location.

For the rest of the photos that are shown are from my vacation I took last summer. For the vacation I went on a cruise to Montego Bay, Jamaica, Cayman Islands, and Mexico. The third picture is when I was in Montego Bay, Jamaica on a tour bus and it was the view of the city.

  In the next picture I was still in Jamaica; however, this is probably one of my favorites. Even though it is blurry you can see a clear sight of a tree with springing pink leaves. 

The fifth photo shows a picture of a hill in Montego Bay and where loose goats were roaming free. The tour guide said, “Even though you don’t see the owner doesn’t mean their not there. If you try to pick one up you see someone come after you.”  I thought the story was entertaining so I took a photograph of the view to describe it.

The next three pictures were placed in Cayman Islands which was the second place I visited on the cruise. The picture of the sea turtles is when I was in a animal museum. I saw all kinds of live animals like alligators, snakes, and etc. The sea turtles caught my eye because I never saw one in person before, and I thought they were so beautiful. In the picture that I took of the sea turtles were bunch together and their shells look like rocks dazzling in the sun. The next picture, features a mamma chicken and her chicks trailing behind her which I actually saw outside the museum. I thought this symbolize family, and since I was there with family I thought it symbolize the trip pretty well. The last picture I took in Cayman Island was the picture of the ground. If you look closer you can see an iguana and a pink flower that stands out through the grass.

The last two sets of pictures I took were in Mexico. While in Mexico I didn’t  explore the city but I did go on a private beach. These pictures feature the sky of the beach we were on. All the photos I edited with same technique I added more color and lowered the lightness slightly . I tried to make this set of pictures more colorful.

3 months at mississippi school of the arts

With there being one more day after today of October, I thought this blog post should reflect on my stay here at MSA. The time has flown by, and I would love to share what it has been like.


First off, wow. Coming here in August was magical. Yes, I was filled with fear. Yes, I was awkward for a few days, but MSA became a second home to me. August consisted of orientation, and finding out who would be my friends throughout the year. It was me getting used to being around people all of the time. It was me appreciating the support given to me here. I’ll admit, I didn’t have a rough few months like most. For some reason MSA was a great fit for me- it just worked. At the end of August, my personality began to spill out. People encouraged me to be the sarcastic, and sassy person that I am.

Then September rolled around. I believe this was around the time I got my hair cut past my shoulders. I took on a different fashion sense, but I did not dye my hair. That’s the thing about MSA, it allows you to experiment with who you are. I would say that I discovered important things about who I was during that time. When I would leave MSA, I would want to come back quickly. I would miss my friends, and celebrate when I returned.

October was (and still is) a busy month. It was filled with big projects (for me) such as writing 3,000 words for a story. The most relevant thing was Artoberfest, and that is happening this week actually. There was much work put into this Haunted House. Even at the last bit of October I have another big project. So yes, it has not only been a fun month, but also the most hectic. 

All in all, my time here has been wonderful. I have met the most amazing people, and have been challenged to do my best. This has been the best decision I have made so far. With that being said, if you are an upcoming junior wanting to be a literary, apply! Seriously, I encourage you to look past your fears of being away from home/new people, etc. If you want to be at MSA, then you have to start working on your portfolio. Give it your best shot, and be authentic. I hope that if you get accepted, it will be as enriching of an experience as mine has been!

 

I almost wrote a mafia book on Wattpad…

So, yes. The title is true. Way back when Wattpad was popular amongst us fanfiction enthusiasts, I attempted to write a book. For those of you who don’t know what Wattpad is, it is an app/website of writers from all over the world who make stories on just about anything. Some of the genres listed on the app are: Adventure, Fanfiction, Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Horror, Humor, Mystery, Non-fiction, Poetry (a new genre to the app), Romance (of course), Science Fiction, Short story, Teen fiction, and Thriller. It’s a pretty diverse range of stories you can read. Personally, when I was younger, I loved reading fanfictions. Yes, I used to read stories about one direction and mindless behavior (don’t judge because I know you or a family member has too!).

Though I would love to reminisce on all the stories I read, I won’t…or will I? Yes, yes I will actually. This will lead up to what possessed me to try to write a book.

My taste in stories was quite broad on Wattpad. I’ve read almost from every category, though I didn’t read to much out of the horror/thriller genres. I mainly kept my interests in romance, teen fiction, and supernatural. I read some stories that would blow a lot of mainstream novels out the water. There is something different about these stories, something that mainstream novels don’t have. They’re raw and unfiltered; they hold nothing back, and they explore worlds never thought of. One of my favorite books, surprisingly, falls under historical fiction. It followed the story of a man and woman falling in love during a time where woman were to be married off rather the modern day exploration of love by free will. This story was a series (thank God!) and I hope it is adapted into a physical book one day. By any chance the author of this book, Robert Their, sees this post (which he probably won’t) just know that your books are amazing and deserve more recognition! If you are interested in reading, the entire series is still on Wattpad and they’re free!

After reading all of these books, I drifted onto the dark side of Wattpad, this being the land of mafia books. I’m not going to be ashamed of reading them because those were some of the greatest stories I ever read, but it led me down a dark path. I’m totally being dramatic, but I did have a sort of infatuation for the Italian mafia for a while. The glorified romance, nail-biting drama, and heartbreaking deaths had my head in phone for weeks. I caught multiple neck cramps, but it was worth it. I fell absolutely in love with these stories. My all time favorite, Luciano, brought me into the world of Faith, Liam, and Rico. I won’t give to much away, for I want you to go an explore this world for yourself, but just know these three characters were my entire life at one point. Before I dive more into that, I’ll talk about why I thought I could write a mafia book of my own.

My love for these stories out ruled the rational part of my brain that knew I couldn’t write an entire book. My tween heart ached for this story, but I had absolutely nothing to write. I couldn’t copy the other books, so I had to come up with a concept cool enough to read. Truth be told, if your story doesn’t have over one million views…it was less likely to be read. Now, I didn’t care TO much about the views, but I did want people to read my story. This plagued my mine for so long. I had the perfect title, The Don. I figured I would write a love story between the don of a infamous mafia family and a lonely girl seeking for revenge of the murder of her parents by a rival family. But, if you haven’t guessed already…that idea had already been done and executed. I was so frustrated that I gave up on the story and threw away my dream of becoming a writer. Little did I know that one day I would be at an arts school for writing!

I thought this would be a cool little post about me and a part of my life that I never really shared with the world. Wattpad was my safe haven for the longest time, and even now when I need a little escape I will turn to the app. I hope you enjoyed reading, and if you have ANY story suggestions on the app, please let me know!

 

from me to you

“If someone were to walk a mile in your shoes, what is something they’d quickly learn?”

If someone were to walk a mile in my shoes, I think they would quickly learn how hard it is to function with bipolar disorder. I’ve never talked about what it’s like being mentally unstable (loll) in my blogs, so I figured I would go ahead and discuss something I’m very familiar with.

Bipolar Disorder is defined as “a mental condition marked by alternating periods of elation and depression”. To simplify that by a LOT, it means that my mood changes drastically for no reason. I want to clarify that just because you have mood swings, that does not mean that you have BPD. Everybody has mood swings.

BPD is a lot more than just being happy, then sad, then mad. It is SO much more than that. The lows are extremely low and it’s so hard to get out of bed. Being in a low is like feeling a gaping hole in your chest for no reason. The highs are extremely high as well. Which can be a good and bad thing. You’re in a good mood but it also causes you to be irrational and spontaneous. Don’t get me wrong, being spontaneous is not a bad thing when you’re not doing anything too crazy.

Bipolar Disorder means going through therapist after therapist after therapist. It also means rarely finding friends who understand what it’s like and how to deal with you. It’s so hard to surround yourself with people who know that sometimes nothing is really wrong, but something is wrong. Like, nothing happened to put you in this mood, but this mood sucks. BPD also means feeling trapped inside your own head.

I can remember spending nights curled up next to my mom just bawling my eyes out because I wanted out of my own head. There would be mornings when she’d come into my room to try and wake me up and I’d just start crying because it was already bad at six in the morning. Those were the days that I stayed in bed all day. I wouldn’t watch TV, play on my phone, go out and talk, or anything. It’s absolutely miserable when you feel miserable for no reason. There’s no way to fix your mood because there isn’t a problem in the first place.

With BPD, I tend to feel everything a little more deeply; which can be a good thing, but also a bad thing. When I’m happy, I’m exhilarated. But when I’m kind of sad, I can literally feel a hole in my chest. I feel every emotion deeper than people without Bipolar Disorder.

It used to really offend me when people would be like, “oh my gosh, Brianna, you’re so bipolar!” I always took this as an offense because they said it like it was a bad thing. It made me feel insecure about my brain because it doesn’t work the way other peoples’ do. But now, after lots of counseling and personal growth, being called bipolar as a joke doesn’t offend me because, yeah, I am bipolar. And I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of. Now, the only thing that upsets me when it comes to BPD is people fake diagnosing themselves just because they’re hormonal teenagers. Mood swings are extremely common for people our age. If you think you may have BPD, don’t go around saying, “OMG! I’m so bipolar hahahaha” but instead go to a mental health doctor.

Having Bipolar Disorder definitely isn’t easy. I feel kind of bad for everyone that puts up with me because I know it’s kind of hard sometimes. But it definitely makes me appreciate those who stick around even more than I already do.

Okay that’s enough personal sharing for one day.

Peace out girl scout 🙂

psychology facts that may or may not be true

i found these on google so what are you expecting? i don’t know if they’re true or not but they sounded cool, so.

Holding hands with someone you love can alleviate physical pain as well as stress and fear.

i 100% believe this because there’s just something relieving about holding someone’s hand that you love.

Falling in love has a similar neurological effect as getting high on cocaine.

and I oop-

Opposites don’t attract. You’re more likely to be attracted someone who looks and thinks the same as you do.

my soulmate is going to be SO annoying then.

You can’t multitask.

it’s literally impossible (at least for me it is)

Your most vivid memories are wrong.

oh noooooo.

Your favorite song is probably your favorite because you associate it with an emotional event in your life.

okay, yeah. i see this one being true.

The type of music, you listen to affects the way you perceive the world.

i listen to the most broad spectrum of music soooo

Romantic love is biochemically indistinguishable from having a severe obsessive-compulsive disorder.

that’s terrifying 🙂

The brain treats rejection like physical pain.

i 100% agree with this. that pain in your chest after being told no hits a lil different, lol.

The average high school kid today has the same level of anxiety as the average psychiatric patient in the early 1950’s.

lollllllyeahthisisdefinitelytruelllllllll

A hug longer than twenty seconds will release chemicals into your body that make you trust the person you’re hugging.

no wonder i don’t like hugging people that much, lol.

People are more honest when physically tired. This is why people confess things during late night conversations.

that’s why i drink coffee, bud. never catch me slipping!

Chocolate discharges the same chemical into your body that is produced when you start falling in love.

this is why i’m in love with almond joys then….

Crying makes you feel better, reduces stress, and may help to keep the body healthy.

well i cry almost everyday so guess who’s gonna live to be 103?

Writers are 121% more likely to suffer from bipolar disorder than those working in uncreative fields. 

me and my oldest brother both suffer from bipolar disorder and we both work in an artistic field, so i definitely believe this.

Women generally prefer men with deep husky voices because they seem more confident and not aggressive.

yes ma’am!

The people who give the best advice are usually the ones with the most problems.

lol, ME.

Women have twice as many pain receptors on their bodies than men, but they have a much higher pain tolerance.

we’re obviously the superior sex. i said what i said.

It is possible to die from a broken heart. It’s called Stress Cardiomyopathy. 

darnnn.

On this day 17 years ago…a star was born

Today is my birthday!!!!! Ahh yes, the day I’m reminded of me getting older. Though some people don’t dwell on their birthday, and see it as any other day—I am not one of those people. I love my birthday, and it isn’t anything selfish hearted. My birthday is the only day out of the year that I ever feel truly loved. I know how it sounds, but it is the only day where I’m reminded that I am loved. I want to explain myself here, so sit back and enjoy this very long explanation. Warning!! I tend to tell a thousand stories while trying to tell just one.

So, I’ll start by explaining my love language. I know you’re wondering what that has to do with my birthday, but it will make sense in the end…I promise. My number one form of love language is reassurance; I need reassurance.

I often overthink and make scenarios in my head when things happen. Someone could bump into me by accident, and I will think about it all day and ask a million things about it; Did they not like me? Do I know them? Have I met them before? Did I do something to them? Was that revenge for something I did? What did I do? Did I bump into their shoulder? As you can see, I overthink everything, even the smallest of things. I’ve been burdened with this for quite some time now. I think it may have derived from years of bullying, but it honestly could have been from anything. I lost a lot of confidence and gained a lot of insecurities during that time in my life. I didn’t feel wanted; I didn’t feel loved. It took a while to come from such a dark place, but I can happily say that my confidence is fully restored, and those insecurities are no longer present in my life. But, today isn’t a time to reminisce on sad memories, but to embrace a life celebration.

Back to my love language, I need reassurance. It is simply for peace of mind. I will run my mind to many places when a simple act of reassurance will soothe my mind. I am a complex person of sorts. I often feel I only experience true love from my family. I’m not complaining over that because I love my family with everything in me, but I desire love from outside my family. I’ll admit that I’ve never had a real relationship with anybody. Love of any intimate kind is completely foreign to me. With friendships, I’ve had many fail, and when those failed I realized that I was never truly loved by those people. The amount of people who “love” me is very limited in my life. Now, I don’t want to negate the people who do love me, and trust that I love them with all my heart. I just feel sometimes that I only have myself, and no one truly loves me. It’s sad to say, but I’ve learned that it’s best to own up to my feelings and realizing that they’re valid. I’m learning to embrace every aspect of my life.  I’ve felt this way for as long as I can remember, but I’ve always suppressed my feelings. I’ve come to realize that as I grow older, I don’t want to feel this way. This is why I value my birthday so much. I get messages from some of my closest friends and family that remind me of how much I mean to them, and it just dawns on me that even when I feel the least loved, there are people who love me dearly. These messages remind me that love surrounds me no matter where I am. One of my goals for this new chapter in my life is to learn to love myself. I no longer want to live in fear or absence of love. I want to surround myself with nothing but love; love from myself and from my loved ones. I manifest this onto my life!

This post, though it isn’t much, means a lot to me. I’m slowly learning to admit my feelings and let them out my mind rather let it sit there and burden me. I know some might not read through it all, and that’s perfectly fine, but I do ask that you read this next part.

To Morgan,

on this day 17 years ago…a star was born. A beautiful, bright star who was created to bring light to those around. This star has seen darkness, but has also seen the brightest of days. For as long as this star shines, peace and love shall remain in its life. This star will point its points in all directions and reach for those around. This star will warm the hearts of others and continue to do so for as long as it shines. When that star doesn’t shine anymore, be reminded of its warmth in those that it reached. Take this into the new journey ahead, and be reminded of it daily. You are beautiful. You are happy. You are loved. Forever and always.

Thanks for all the birthday wishes! I’m glad to be at MSA during the next chapter of my life, and I hope that for anybody who has felt this way, you find peace and happiness. Remember that you are loved and will continue to be loved, Forever and always.

  • I will drop this lovely picture into the post. This was my favorite picture I took at 16! I wonder what pictures will surface at 17…hopefully no bad ones…LOL WHO AM I KIDDING??? I DON’T TAKE BAD PICTURES HAHAAAAAAAAAAAN! (totally kidding here guys…or am I?…)

 

 

Art Students: Should They Go For Something More Practical?

I know I usually do a casual blog post in between two topics, but since I was late with the blog on white privilege, here’s the topic that won the last poll— enjoy!


Can art students have a practical job in their field?

A contributor for accreditedschoolsonline.org, Kelsey Brow, wrote an article entitled, Practical Art Degrees That Challenge the Starving Artist Myth in which she creates a guide that combines the artist’s life with a viable career.

Brow writes, “Many people envision an art graduate as the struggling painter or frustrated sculptor who is living on noodles and crackers. This vision of the “starving artist” is far from the reality of those who choose practical art degrees. Those who want to be able to find a good job and make a living upon graduation can choose degrees that allow their artistic side to shine while giving them a good paycheck and job security. This guide focuses on those degrees that offer aspiring artists the best of all creative worlds.”

In the guide, she describes what makes an art-related degree practical and provides different jobs in the art field, as well as pros and cons to those jobs. She focuses on visual and fine arts, so for those of you going into that field, you should definitely read the article.

However, for those of you, who are going into theater, writing, film-making, instrumental, or a different art form, there is a project called Strategic National Arts Alumni Project (SNAAP).

SNAAP is an online database created by the Indiana University Center for Post-secondary Research that surveys arts alumni on their field of study. The project provides research that dispels the “starving artist” myth in that many artists actually have successful careers.

SNAAP works by teaming up with arts high schools and colleges and administering their surveys to graduates.

According to their website, “SNAAP defines “the arts” and “arts alumni” broadly, to include the following fields: performance, design, architecture, creative writing, film, media arts, illustration and fine art.” Here is a chart that displays the results of a survey SNAAP took of arts graduates within the last 5 years. They surveyed 17, 000 graduates.

The survey showed that finding a job was not as hard as people make it out to be. They also provided a survey that showed whether the arts graduates were happy in their jobs.

Thoughts from an art school student

As a student at the Mississippi School of the Arts, and as I prepare to go to college, I have this HUGE fear that I won’t be successful in my career. Writing is such a competitive filed to go in to, and my whole life I’ve been told: “There’s no money in writing,” “It takes so long to make it big… most writers die before they ever receive fame,” “Have you thought about law school?” or “You’d make a great teacher; there’s no money in that either, but at least you’ll have job security.”

People often fail to realize that the “starving artist” stereotype began in the Romanticism era of the 18th and 19th centuries. It’s 2019, artists are doing more, and there are more opportunities for us to thrive, so it’s time to get rid of that myth.

People also often assume that to be successful in the arts industry, you have to be well-known or famous. That is absolutely not true! There are so many talented artists out there who many have never even heard of, but are not starving, in debt, or struggling financially. However, if fame is what you seek, it is harder to do that nowadays because everyone’s trying to make it big, but if you are pursuing a career in any arts field, as an arts students, I would just tell you to just hang on to your passion. That is what drives you even after things fall through or big breaks don’t happen. You really do have to have some tough skin to go into the arts, and be ready to face criticism, but never let that discourage you from doing what you are passionate about; let push you to be better.

If you want to write, write. If you want to sing, sing. If you want to dance,  dance. Do what makes YOU happy. I mean, don’t throw practicality out of the window completely, but don’t be disheartened by the misconceptions.


Poll time!

The next blog post topic choices are:

  • Feminism & Equality of the Sexes
  • Fashion
  • Should Trix Stop its Discrimination and Make Them for Everyone?
  • To Kneel or Stand: The National Anthem

Comment below!

 

college’s for creative writing

Okay, so I plan to major in creative writing. With that being said, this blog post will be most helpful to those who aspire to get degrees in that major. I’m going to put the prices, locations, etc. So if you are interested, keep reading.


The University of Iowa: Wow, a creative writer’s (me) dream. This University is home to the Writer’s Workshop. It is based in Iowa City, Iowa- it looks lovely. If you are a fan of snow, then i think you’ll love it in the winter time. Continuing, the University of Iowa has an (this is one degree) English and Creative Writing BA degree (woo!). Not to mention, it continues with a MFA if you wanted that. Those are two things that I want, so this is why it is at the first of my list. So let’s look at the numbers: It looks like the ACT scores are between 22-29. The average g.p.a is 3.76. You also need to have an Regent Admission Index score of 255 or higher (for out-of-state). By the way, their deadline is May 1st for the fall semester (just saying).  Here’s a link for costs:  https://www.admissions.uiowa.edu/finances/estimated-costs-attendance

New York University: If you’re into big cities, then I think you’ll like this University. The best news is: They have a creative writing program. But wait, there’s more! They also have a MFA in creative writing. The bad news is there is a low acceptance rate. You will most likely need at 3.7 gpa, and above a 29 act. So the stakes are high, and they are very selective. Don’t forget to take the writing section of the ACT/SAT (it’s apart of the admissions). Here’s the link for costs: https://www.nyu.edu/students/student-information-and-resources/bills-payments-and-refunds/tuition-and-fee-rates.html

Savannah College of Art and Design: Also known as SCAD, this college is based in Savannah, Georgia. It offers a B.F.A in Creative Writing (which is fantastic). Continuing, you can also get your M.F.A in writing there. It has an act score of 21-27, and the acceptance rate is about 72%. Here’s the costs: https://www.scad.edu/admission/tuition-and-fees

So here’s the thing, there are tons of college’s, but I think the most important thing you can do to filter out college’s is to visit them. You could even look on YouTube. It will give you insight on what college would be right for you. Also, consider the realistic scores that you will have before the admission deadlines. For example, if you have a 18 on the act, then it is quite unrealistic to think a college with high act standards (like a 30 plus) will accept you. That will help you apply to college’s that you actually have a shot at. So get out there, and do the work! Good luck to my aspiring creative writing major community 😉

 

 

mythology short story

The first short story I wrote here was based off of the mythical creature, the Chimera. If you don’t know anything about this creature, I would suggest that you look it up before reading my story so it makes more sense.

Just to give some background, the main character in my story represents this mythical creature through age and experience. He has multiple personality disorder and is locked up in an insane asylum due to it, and the fact that he has visions involving the future that no one believes. I hope you enjoy reading:)

“Kaimera Fatuus.” The guard sat down at the long metal table impatient. His short grey hair stiffly moved from breeze the cold room gave off. “Let me ask you again, Do you know why you’re here?” Kaimera stared at the bag of Doritos in front of him, reached for it, and then opened it. The guard hunched forward and scraped his chair across the floor closer to him. “I asked you a question. If you don’t answer me now, I’m going to have to tell the authorities again.” He folded his large arms and leaned back in his chair. 

 

“Wait!” Kaimera blurted out. He sat up straighter in his chair and shoved a handful of chips in his mouth obnoxiously. “Okay, okay, okay I’ll tell you.” He fixed his wide mouth to a smile, showing his perfect white teeth. “I’m here because everyone thinks I’m crazy and ignores me, and then they blame everything I warn them of on me. Personally, I don’t think it’s very fair.” He looked straight ahead with a sad face. Then looked up at the guard and began crying. “I’m completely innocent I tell you!” He pleaded across the table to the guard and then immediately stopped and laughed, lining his finger under his eyes and flicking away the fake tears. 

“I’m just messing with you.” His smile remained, “I mean- I am innocent, but who’s going to believe that?.. If only people listen to me. I’m just trying to help them… HA!” His eyes bounced around the room and then rested on the guard with amusement. “Have I ever told you how fantastic that uniform looks on you? I mean wow. Just wow! I bet you must-” The guard held up his hand annoyed.

“That’s enough.” He said bluntly as he stood up. “Come on. We’re going to therapy.” 

Kaimera stood up and clapped his hands, “ooooooo therapy. How fun? My favorite part of the day. Wait a minute. Where is therapy again? Do you have anymore food? I’m hungry. Why am I always so hungry?” He continued to ramble as he followed behind the guard, his slippers slightly squeaking as they dragged across the slippery floor. Once they reached the room, the guard turned around and stood by another.

“We’re going to be outside the whole time, so don’t try anything again.” He opened the door and guestured inside. Kaimera stared at the guards’ feet with a blank expression and then briefly smiled, meeting their eyes. 

“Oh, of course not.” He replied. As he walked by, he nodded slightly at the guards and slowly walked inside. He gently took a seat on the leather couch provided in the small, bland white room. As he waited for his therapist, he ran his hands through his golden shaggy hair and admired the way it shone in the sunlight beaming through the window.  Soon, his therapist walked in and rolled her chair in front of him.

“Hello Kia, how are we today?” she asked concerned. His softened eyes rested innocently on her face and a kind smile appeared. “I’m doing very well currently, thank you. How are you today, Margret?” He asked with genuine and concern the same way she did. She fixed her glasses and smiled down at her notebook and began to write. 

“I’m also doing very well. It’s a pleasure that I got you this way… I hope it doesn’t change again.” Margret gazed out the window, avoiding Kiamera’s response. He frowned slightly and stared out the window too. “Yes, many think this is my best self. I’m not sure it is, though.” His voice trailed off and got quieter as he spoke, leaving the room silent. She jerked her head towards him with a question on her face. 

“And why’s that?” Her words fell out of her mouth and crashed onto the floor. He glared at her. 

“Because I don’t think it is.” He snapped, slightly leaning closer. She widened her eyes and looked away. 

“Oh right, the short temper,” she suggested quietly. 

He glared at her and opened his mouth, but bit his lip and forced himself to calm down and maintain the softness in his eyes. “No, that’s not why. I just don’t think it is. I prefer my other self. I have flaws to this side.” He protested. She tilted her head in thought as she stared at his clean slippers. 

“You know, Kia, it’s perfectly fine to have flaws. Everyone has them.” She said as she looked up at him. His face was blank and slowly his kind expression faded and he grinned maniacally as he stared out the bright window. 

“No, Margret, It’s not “perfectly fine” to have flaws. It’s pathetic. But it’s a good thing I’m not everyone. Tell me, how does it feel to be utterly useless?” He narrowed his piercing eyes at her as his words slithered out of his mouth and coiled her throat. She swallowed and looked up to the ceiling, whispering to herself.

 “Behavior like that will do nothing but keep you here longer.” She forced her words through behind her clenched teeth and shot him a look of disgust. He welcomed her words with a smile and slightly laughed.

“I don’t care. I’m leaving soon anyway.” He whispered, looking out the window. She looked at him surprised and leaned her ear closer to him.

“What did you just say?” She paused waiting for an answer. 

“You heard me.” He said unequivocal. She stared at him in bewilderment and shook her head. 

“You are most certainly not.” She laughed,”and I’ll be damned if you- or anyone thinks otherwise!” He stood up and scowled her, tilting his chin to his chest, forming long shadows on his face and showing mostly see the whites of his eyes. He stepped closer and slammed his hands down oh her desk that was messy with papers and carefully grabbed a pen, making sure her eyes were on his and she was not paying attention to his hands. 

“You have some nerve to laugh at me after what happened last time.” He threatened. 

Her eyes widened as a flashback ran through them and she slowly rolled her chair away from him by pushing her feet against the floor. 

“Guards!” She yelled frightened. Once her eyes were on the door, he deceitfully lifted the pen and placed in his gown pocket and stood annoyed as he heard the guards yelling at him not to move.  

The guards burst through the door and grabbed each of his arms and tried to pull him back, but he did not budge. He yanked his arms out of their grasp, leaving them to fall to the floor. He held his fists firmly by his sides and the anger in his eyes intensified. 

“Don’t you see? You’re all inadequate in my pressenses. Worthless.” He hissed. As Margret stared at him with complete terror in his eyes, the guards hurried to pick themselves off the floor and tackle him. They dragged him out of the room, but his eyes did not leave Margret’s and soon the eye contact broke as she quickly turned away. 

Kaimera smiled maniacally the whole way back to his room. The guards tightly squeezed his arms as they pushed him forward to keep walking. They shoved his slender back into the room and slammed the steel door. “Don’t expect to leave your room anytime soon!” They yelled through the thick door. 

He stumbled and fell to the tile floor and heard the guards footprints diming. Making sure they were gone, he gathered himself off the floor and stepped towards his bed to lift up his mattress. His only set of clothes were neatly folded under his mattress and he quickly slipped them on under his hospital gown. He took off his slippers and laid them neatly beside his bed so he could be more stealthy. He sat on his bed, waiting for mostly everyone to leave as they do every night.

After a couple hours, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a pen he had stolen from his therapist and grinned. He disassembled the pen and  grasped the sparse metal stick that had come from it and made his way across his dim room to the door. He kneeled at the door knob and quickly, but carefully, forced the thin line of metal into the keyhole. Working promptly, he managed to pick the lock in less than a minute- a new record for him. He grinned, pleased with himself, and lifted up his gown to place the metal stick in his pants pocket.

 

He slowly cracked open the heavy door without saying a goodbye to his room and slipped through it. He stood barefoot in the tile hall, the floor brutally freezing beneath his feet. It was eminently dark with the exception of two or three lights shining pale light. He snuck along the wall to avoid the cameras by hiding in the shadows, running his hand against the rough cinder blocks behind him. The air smelled of aseptic carbolic acid and the hopeless smell of flowers. He heard footsteps clattering against the echoing floor, making their way closer and closer to him. He got up on his tiptoes to run quicker, clinging to the wall. 

 

He turned down a hall, paranoid of being caught and sprinted until he collided into a sudden wall. He had reached a dead end and there was nowhere to go. He bent over to catch his breath, but the thin air would not fill his lungs. He began to panic and he started to hyperventilate, gasping desperately for oxygen. Progressively losing the air in his body, he hit the hard floor and passed out. 

A vivid image of fire and death overtook his mind. Screaming and sorrow. Buildings collapsing as the earth beneath them crumbled like nothing more than a dessert. Enormous explosions and utter destruction of everything everyone knew. 

He thrusted forward as he jerked awake. His bulging eyes welled with tears as he choked on the thought. “I need to hurry.” He said aloud to himself. 

 

He forced himself off the floor and felt his head throbbing from where he ran into the wall and hit the floor. Despite his pounding headache, he began to run again. He ran the dark and long halls of the mental institution he had been kept for years. His eyes searched frantically for the directions to “therapy hall”, where he had been planning to escape for the past years. Running past every door, every room, and up every set of stairs, the halls became more familiar and he recognized where he was. He stopped running,  made a right turn, and smiled. There it was. “Margret Janice” was hanging on the door and a welcome matt waited for him in front of it. 

 

He pulled the metal stick out of his pants pocket and picked the lock with ease as he had done before. Once the door creaked open, he proceeded inside the room he had sat every Wednesday for years and took off his gown and placed it in his usual spot to leave a sign saying to Margret, “I did what you said I wouldn’t”. He wandered over to the window and peered outside. The same tall trees and rolling green hills he studied every session called to him.

He broke the lock on the large window and it screeched as he opened it, causing an abrupt alarm to go off. Red lights began to flash as the sirens blared in his ears and he swiftly threw his legs out the window and followed them. He crashed on the ground as he landed in the overgrown grass and immediately started running towards the open gate. An announcement boomed over his head as he ran, and then he started sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him. 

“ATTENTION! THERE HAS BEEN AN ESCAPE IN UNIT 5, WING 13! CLOSE THE GATE IMMEDIATELY!” The gate ahead began to squeak and it started closing faster and faster. 

“Stop it right there Kaimera! STOP!” Guards were yelling at him as they filed out of the great doors behind him. He turned around and could see all the other patients in their gowns gathered around the windows cheering for him. 

He ran through the trees turned black by the night and reached the closing gate. With no hesitation, he flew through the narrowing opening and collapsed when he heard it close all the way. He lifted his head and could no longer see the psychiatric hospital, but could only hear the distant curses of the frustrated guards. He laughed to himself relieved. 

 

He walked all through the night across the grassy hills. His feet were aching. The sky was pink and purple and the sun was a dark orange. It greeted him as its dull light kissed his face. He continued to walk through the tall grass that hit his kneecaps until he reached an empty road and the bottom of the last hill he climbed. He walked along it for hours barefoot until he came to a large city. “At last!” He yelled and ran to the first group of people he saw.

“You there! Prepare yourselves! Something is coming!” He yelled as he looked all of them in their eyes, panicked. They looked at him confused as he described the vision he had to them and they kept walking. 

“Ignore him. He’s just crazy, poor guy.” One of them explained. “Should I call the police or something?” Another asked.

Kaimera grabbed his long hair infuriated and shrieked. “No! No, No, No! Don’t you understand what I am trying to tell you?! Listen to me! Stop ignoring me!” They continued walking, glancing back at him as they shook their heads in repulsiveness. 

Distressed and frenetic, he confronted everyone he saw about his vital news. They sneered and scoffed at him and pretended not to hear him. “Kaimera! Don’t move!” He looked over his shoulder and saw guards pushing through crowds of people and making their way towards him. He stood there helpless trying to devise a plan, but everywhere he looked, there were guards coming at him. 

“The world is ending!” He yelled and everyone stared at him. “Prepare yourself for your last days! Volcanoes will erupt spewing their lava and explosions will-” one of the guards grabbed him and started shaking him. 

“That’s enough! We’ve already been through this haven’t we? You always tell people these types of things and all it does is frighten them.” The guard looked at him worried and waited for a response. 

“It always comes true though, doesn’t it?” As Kaimera questioned him, the guard grew angry and threw him to the others. 

“Throw him in the car. We’re going back now. Sorry about that folks! You all just carry on now!” He smiled and turned to Kaimera who had tears streaming down his face. 

“Please just listen to me! I know that what I’m saying is true!” He cried. The guard laughed nervously as everyone observed the situation concerned. 

“Kaimera.” He said gently, “you’re in an insane asylum for a reason.” Kaimera slightly nodded his head defeated and looked around with pleading eyes. Everyone turned away and continued with their day as the guard instructed. 

 

The only sound on the car ride back was the car’s wheels running on the road. “I don’t know what you think you were accomplishing by doing all that, but you’re not going to be able to do it again.” one of the guards spat at him as they stopped at the familiar destination. He stared out the window and did not speak another word.  

 

A couple days later, Kaimera was peacefully sitting in his room as the sound of terrified screams filled the world outside. The horror spilled inside the hospital after it caught on fire from an explosion in the 4th wing. Half of the asylum was obliterated to ashes and outside his widow were the tall trees and rolling hills burning with fire. He folded his hands in his lap and shook his head, looking away from the window. “I tried to warn them.”

Routine And Forgetting What Matters

A pandemic has long since plagued humanity, festering within the chest and the mind of the individual, scooping out practically everything with merit. Contagious, it consumes massive communities, capturing its members all at once with only a few escaping captivity. Worse yet, its victims remain unaware, some even possessing fond feelings for this invisible force of disintegration. And it never stops. The ravaging never stops. The process subsists in hordes of population, devouring the individual. It never stops.

You may ask of the nature of this disease that has swept the world. Is it a virus? How many have succumbed to it? How do you know if you have it? Well, I have news that might surprise you. The pandemic, although a virus of sorts, feeds only on concepts of intangibility. Yes, it may also have an effect on one’s physicality, but it primarily affects the mind and the heart in a metaphorical way. This disease is, in fact, forgetting what matters, and something known as routine shakes it into action.


What do you think about? When do you think? Why do you think?

Do you become most philosophical when brushing your teeth?

How do you think? What frequently crosses your mind?

When did you last take a few minutes to do absolutely nothing? When did you last appreciate something? When did you last feel thankful for what you have?

When did you last remember what matters?


A large portion of life is fighting to see the beauty that surrounds us. Although we somewhat have control over our lives, society has constructed a mold that each of us must squeeze through. While fitting through this impossible shape, we find ourselves absolutely swamped with pressures and demands and deadlines, and there comes a point that nothing matters except the swirling numbers, the screaming steps we must fulfill.

We sink into a routine. We attempt to find sleep after spending hours typing on a computer. We heat up processed food and pop open canned vegetables. We sit around the television because we feel too tired to do anything. We work, and then we crash on the couch. We fuss at our family members and let irritation consume us. We allow our minds to dance with thoughts reeking of negativity. We do not care. We do not want to care. We work and then lounge around and then sleep, repeating the cycle again and again until a vacation sparks a little emotion. Otherwise, we feel apathetic.

This happens to nearly everyone. In fact, some fail to ever recover, allowing routine to tear apart their humanity. Humans are more than merely machines. We have this earth and what lies beyond it. Beauty exists all around us even though we either shove it aside or butcher it. We are forgetting what truly matters, what it means to be human. Although existing can prove to be painful and messy, existence itself is art. Everything exists on a grand scale, so we must take everything into consideration while still including the most miniscule fragments of life.


What do you think it means to be human?

How do you view existence?

What do you consider beautiful, and where do you think beauty can be observed?

What matters to you?


Wednesday’s Fun Fact:

One theory of intelligence is that multiple forms exist instead of one general form (please look up Gardner).

Imagine education that considers each of these. Wow.

I wonder if that would be possible.