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Sunday, October 3, 2010

post #20

Dreams. Desires. They consume us, drive us our whole lives. They change so drastically as years pass.

As a little girl, I wanted to be a princess. A Disney princess, specifically. Every morning I'd wake up, stand in my crib, and sing Cinderella songs. I waited for birds to fly in through my window and get me dressed for the day; they never did, but that never kept me from singing.

I also pretended to be Ariel from The Little Mermaid whenever I went to the beach. I'd sit in the water, belt Part of Your World at the top of my lungs, and keep my heels together. It made me look like I had a mermaid fin... or so I thought.

As I grew up, my dreams changed. Although I'd never pass up a chance to be Cinderella or Ariel for a day, it's not a top priority anymore.

In 7th grade, my alternative music obsession began. Ever since, I've wanted to be a rock star. You know, leather jackets, heavy black eyeliner, the whole nine yards... more or less. Most importantly, I'd be a fearless performer, singing my own music, amazing music.

Though I'd love to be in an all-girl punk band, I'm pretty sure it could never happen (I'm also pretty sure my mom wouldn't approve). So I'll move on to other dreams.

I don't have a specific dream, goal, plan set in life yet. Maybe something that involves writing. Or music. Or both. I'll look to God to see what He has in store. Whatever it is, I know it'll be realistic.

post #19

what about taking this empty cup and filling it up with a little bit more of innocence? - jason mraz 

I live in a sad generation. A cheap-thrill seeking, vice-ridden world. Where has innocence gone? Does it always go with age? I'm sure it does; I've heard it does. But I never thought it would be this bad. What I see in school everyday, what I hear. It's... disheartening, to say the least.

Now I sound like an adult.

But honestly, what's going on? 

When did it become the norm for over 20 songs out of iTunes Top 100 to have explicit lyrics?

When did kids come to the conclusion that the only way to have fun is to completely screw up their lives? 

When were these kids told that drinking and drugs would take away their pain?

When did sharing a kiss become... not enough? When did relationships become validated by that "next level", that level that doesn't truly belong at this age?

When did it become okay to judge someone's worth by their appearances? When did we lose the courage to be honest with someone, and instead, bully anonymously?

When did it all go wrong?

Well, I think it all started in the beginning...

post #18

Prompt: Write through the perspective of someone else meeting you for the first time.

She is confusing, all darting eyes and wild hair. Glasses frame her round face, hiding the darting brown orbs. They are focused on the ground now; at her feet. More specifically, the blue-green nail polish that her toes were painted. She looks up.

"H-hi," she stammers, waving awkwardly in my general direction. Eyes to the ground again.

"Hi." I offer my hand to her. She takes it in a surprisingly strong grip. She shakes it, looking like she was fighting to look into my eyes. Flattering. "What's your name?" I ask.

"Uh, Amy."

I nod.

If I had called the previous minutes awkward, I was so criminally mistaken. We continue to stand there in the most painfully awkward silence in the history of the world. Until, that is, she throws me another awkward wave and speed-walks away from me; head down, feet shuffling, eyes darting, hair flying.

I suppose that's just Amy.

post #17

It's sea green.
Sea green with circles.
Sea green with yellow circles.
Sea green with yellow and pink circles.
Sea green with yellow, pink, and purple circles.

It smells like home.

It's soft.
Soft and comforting.
Soft, comforting, warm.
Soft, comforting, warm, security.
Soft, comforting, warm, security blanket.

post #16

I hate deadlines; I always miss them.

I hate time; I always waste it.

I hate discontinuity; I feel lost.

I hate questions; I feel pressured.

I hate homework; it's boring.

I hate sleep deprivation; it's mind-numbing.

I can't think anymore.

post #15

You walk in the doorway; sanctuary. The sights, sounds, smells; you're immediately calmed by your surroundings. The people are nicer, the world is brighter.

You're at Starbucks.

You step in line. Maybe you're looking at the menu, or maybe at the people sitting down, cups set aside, laptop screens casting light on their faces. You could be tapping your foot to the slow, soothing beat of the music playing.

You could could be break-dancing in utter glee. Seriously, it's Starbucks.

You finally make your way to the register, smiling at the cashier.

One tall toffee mocha frappuccino and a blueberry scone, please.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. You are handed your blueberry scone. You wait until no one's looking and take a massive, revolting bite.


After what feels like an eternity:

Tall toffee mocha!

Hold the cup, grab a straw, take a sip.

Your day just became a million times better.

post #14

It's the white light filtering through my window.
It's the clear sky and the clouds, blue and white unity.
It's the birds chirping happily. Or maybe angrily, I've never known.
It's the hope for a better day.
It's the drive, the determination to make it a better day.
It's God's power, in me, and in my surroundings.
Honestly? It's mainly my alarm, blaring my favorite song.
This is why I get up in the morning.

post #13

Rope handles were digging into my palms, branding them with red marks.
The weight was excruciating.
My arms were sore.
The worst part? My feet.
I suppose it's what you get for choosing the cute shoes; they're always the uncomfortable ones.
I shuffled along in those evil shoes; little did I know two matching blisters were forming on each foot.
My face? Ironically, genuinely happy. Smiling wide.
The joys of shopping with friends thoroughly outweighed any sore or ache in my body.

post #12

It hits your ears first.
Waves of sound, bursting with life.
Pulsing, coursing through your veins.
It fills you up inside,
to the very brim.
Your heart is beating in sync.
You get up,
you start to dance.
Maybe you smile,
or you cry.
Maybe you scream.
Or maybe... you just sing along.
This is your favorite song, after all.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

post #11

Technology. I'm using it right now. I feel like our generation praises it too much. Myself included.

Today I looked out the window. I didn't even go outside. I saw the green of the trees, the red roses, birds pecking at the ground pointlessly, all from the comfort of my electrical haven. I had the sudden urge to cry. I didn't, but I felt my heart sinking to the ground as I realized how much I took God's gifts for granted. The only good things in this world: the nature, the animals; the things that don't betray, I lose sight of. Instead I hold to people, and things. I love people, but they break me. I'm fascinated by technology, but I will never find beauty in it, comfort in it.

I think I'm going to take a walk today.

post #10

The most concealed, seemingly shallow form of expression is also the most misunderstood.

Makeup is art, for me. If I were to tell anyone this, they'd probably laugh in my face. Or just internally validate my shallowness. I know I'm not, though. I also know I'm not alone in my opinion.

I wouldn't necessarily call my obsession a hobby, but I definitely find it fun. The contouring, the highlighting, the color play; most people don't make it this complicated. And it really isn't for me, most of the time. I only wear eye makeup, after all. For most women, makeup is just a tool for beauty. It is for me as well, but I always express myself with it. I take inspiration from all around me, and transform it into something I could wear on my face. Mixing colors, adding shadows and brightness where need be; it's an art. Learning your face, your features, and finding out what looks best on them.

I probably take it more seriously than I should. I'm not planning on making it a career, so what's the use?

I don't know.

It's not for self-confidence. It's not for the compliments, either. It's just... art.

I hope my makeup isn't the first thing someone notices about me. I'm sure it isn't; I think my eyes speak for themselves.