((Author's Note: I've spoken about Warriors before. I'd like to revisit this topic. Also sorry about no post yesterday. Had to take my cat to the vet.))
When I needed something to read, Warriors was there. When I felt like nothing was consistent, Warriors was there. When I needed something to talk or write about, Warriors - and my one friend who'd read the series - was there.
I always knew it had to come to and end - all things do. But it just didn't feel like it should end so soon.
After finishing The Last Hope I reread Into the Wild (the first book in all the series - please start here!!), roleplayed, wrote fanfictions, talked with my friend about Warriors, drew, and, with tears in my eyes, reread the final installment in the 24 book main Warriors series.
Warriors has been as certain as the sun and the moon rising. I know where it will be. I know that it will be. I feel whole when I'm with a Warriors book.
I recommend Warriors to anyone who;
1) Needs something to read
2) Loves cats and falling in love with characters (and, ahem, crying when they die...especially in the last book...)
3) Enjoys stories about adventure
4) Likes reading about loyalty, proving yourself, fighting for what's right
5) Doesn't think every life is "worth" something and wants to find their purpose
Warriors by Erin Hunter.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
2008
Despite my recent enrollment in a Creative Writing class at a nearby college, I have lost all interest in writing for my blog. My hypothesis for this is because I spent the last week or so doing nothing but writing for my blog and preparing posts for that day, the next, and perhaps even the one after the next.
In my free time I am a 100% fictional writer, besides the memoir I am writing for my cat. I enjoy fictional writing because you can base fictional writing off of any point in any end it at any point. Fictional writing allows my expressionism, in my eyes. I...I love it.
Blogging, in most cases, is not and should not be fictional. I started this "everyday blogging" endeavor with the thought, in the back of my mind, that I might begin to like nonfiction writing more if I was "forced" to do it everyday. I don't want this to feel like I'm being forced or like it's work of any sorts. I absolutely hate it when things that were supposed to be fun, or were, turn into feeling like a job. And, to add on to that, your actual paid occupation should never feel like a job - love what you do. You choice to do it.
Another reason I have lost interest in creating posts for this blog is because I am taking my cat to the vet today. He might have Feline Lower Urinary Tract Disease (FLUTD). FLUTD is deadly in male cats, most of the time, and it killed my last cat. Ozzie has most of the common symptoms - wanting to lay around and do nothing for prolonged periods of time, squating much longer over the litter box, meowing or crying while using the litter box, excretion/urination outside litter box, and he doesn't finish all the food we put in his bowl. It's the first time I've ever said that.
I am extremely worried for Ozzie. He is 6 years old and he is the love of my life. I don't want to loose him. Not now, not ever
In my free time I am a 100% fictional writer, besides the memoir I am writing for my cat. I enjoy fictional writing because you can base fictional writing off of any point in any end it at any point. Fictional writing allows my expressionism, in my eyes. I...I love it.
Blogging, in most cases, is not and should not be fictional. I started this "everyday blogging" endeavor with the thought, in the back of my mind, that I might begin to like nonfiction writing more if I was "forced" to do it everyday. I don't want this to feel like I'm being forced or like it's work of any sorts. I absolutely hate it when things that were supposed to be fun, or were, turn into feeling like a job. And, to add on to that, your actual paid occupation should never feel like a job - love what you do. You choice to do it.
Another reason I have lost interest in creating posts for this blog is because I am taking my cat to the vet today. He might have Feline Lower Urinary Tract Disease (FLUTD). FLUTD is deadly in male cats, most of the time, and it killed my last cat. Ozzie has most of the common symptoms - wanting to lay around and do nothing for prolonged periods of time, squating much longer over the litter box, meowing or crying while using the litter box, excretion/urination outside litter box, and he doesn't finish all the food we put in his bowl. It's the first time I've ever said that.
I am extremely worried for Ozzie. He is 6 years old and he is the love of my life. I don't want to loose him. Not now, not ever
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Warrior Cats
Quick post today (sorry!)
For many years, I have been obsessed with Warriors. Reading, roleplaying, drawing, writing - anything to do with them. I have met many people online who share my obsession but only one person in real life who does.
I ask you; I you love the Warrior series by Erin Hunter, please! talk to me. I would love to meet you and get to know your favorite ships and characters and your headcannons! :D
(ps LeafxCrow forever :3)
For many years, I have been obsessed with Warriors. Reading, roleplaying, drawing, writing - anything to do with them. I have met many people online who share my obsession but only one person in real life who does.
I ask you; I you love the Warrior series by Erin Hunter, please! talk to me. I would love to meet you and get to know your favorite ships and characters and your headcannons! :D
(ps LeafxCrow forever :3)
Monday, July 14, 2014
Reach Workcamps
What impact does volunteering have in people's lives?
If you have the chance to look into Reach, or spread the word, or perhaps even go yourself, I beg you to please give it a chance! I have only met one person who did not want to go again; but she did admit it changed her life. It's eye opening. It's amazing. It truly does make an impact, on the volunteer and the receptor.
You might be on the receiving end. Or; you might be volunteering, hard at work, slaving away for hours upon hours for someone you barely know and may never get to know.
On the 20th, I will be leaving on for a week-long mission trip, called Reach with about a dozen other kids and leaders from my church and community. We are going to a town about 45 minutes away from the church, and we will get back on the 26th. It will be a work of hard work, compassion, teaching about God, and learning more about how Christianity impacts my, and my co-workers, lives.
I will have limited Internet access during the time; my only contact with the Web will be through my phone which will not have wifi, and therefore a slow and halting connection. However; because I am dedicated to blogging every. single. day, I will be posting a small manuscript of sorts about my day's experience, guiding you through how the work day went and how the Lord affected me through the day.
I do not intend, in any way, for this to be a "Christian blog." I want it to be about what it says in the subtitle - a teenager figures out life. So, my posts during the 20th-26th will be structured with the first half being about what happened that day, and the second half about how God impacted said day. You can feel free to stop reading before the Christian section, if you so desire.
This year, as well as last year which was the first year I was eligible to attend Reach, I brought along my Christian-Jewish friend, Nadia. Last year, Nadia was much more split on which religion she wished to practice. Now, she has been bat mitzvahed and is a full Jew. I respect that.
However, Nadia still wished to attend the camp, and attend she will. She is told from the start that if she wishes to exit the prayers at any time, she can; but Nadia is a respectful young lady and I believe she realizes the importance of taking place in the prayers and hymns at a Christian camp. And anyways; in retrospect, it is the same God worshipped in both Judaism and Christianity.
Last year ended in quite a good percentage of the 602 campers being sick, and somewhere around five of them being sent to the hospital to receive IVs because they were so dehydrated, one of them being a girl from my church's group. It was over 100 degrees F (37.7 degrees C) three consecutive days and over 100% humidity every day. Not to mention, there was no AC and very few power jacks for fans. This had been their largest, and arguably worst, camp ever. But, even with my sickness, I was able to see the impact I had the woman whose house I worked on.
If you have the chance to look into Reach, or spread the word, or perhaps even go yourself, I beg you to please give it a chance! I have only met one person who did not want to go again; but she did admit it changed her life. It's eye opening. It's amazing. It truly does make an impact, on the volunteer and the receptor.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Fragment of your imagination
Today's topic: dreams. More specifically, three reoccurring dreams I've been having.
Every July, these three dreams repeat themselves. Every July. No other time in the year do I have these dreams.
The first one begins with me on a school bus. I am probably four or five years old. The school bus is taking me to the preschool I went to as a child. When we arrive at the school, our teacher takes out into the corn fields next to the preschool. We wade through the corn, which is bright yellow. At this point, the dream is not first person, I am watching the dream from an elevated point, and I can see myself and the twenty-ish other kids and leaders. There is a line of trees that seems to spread on for miles. The kids approach the line of trees. My teacher pulls the trees apart so that the kids can pass through. And beyond the trees there is...I don't know. I always wake up right as we pass through. Maybe one time we passed through; I vaguely remember a giant purple butterfly and fields we froliced in.
Well, firstly. I never took a school bus to my preschool, my mom always drove me. And there are no corn fields within a 100-mile radius, perhaps even bigger, of my preschool. This dream always confuses me because I have been having it for years and still no answer on what the hell it could mean. It is so detailed and has so many parts that psychoanalyzing it would take days.
The second dream is one I had two nights ago (surprise, surprise. It's July). It starts by my mom and I in a thrift store of sorts, buying some things. Then, mom pulls out her phone and checks the time. It is 11:20pm. She looks at me, then says, "we are going to miss it!" and I say, "miss what?" Mom begins to put the things she is buying onto the checkout counter. "The dragon fight!" Suddenly, we are on a giant, silver floating disc in the middle of the ocean (it is supposed to be a cruise boat, but it is shaped like a giant plate/Frisbee disc). There are people, myself included, playing in a section of the boat with various games. Then, a six-foot tall monster jumps out of the wall. His skin is green and his eyes are on sticking out on his head, think hammerhead shark. He chases everyone around, never making sounds. I'm not sure what he does when he catches someone. Luckily, I run away. The disc is shaped like a donut, but in the center where there is a hole on the donut there is a giant dome, which reminds me of a planetarium. The outside ring, or where the actual donut would be, people line both sides, with a path down the middle to get where you are going. So, there are people up against the walls on both sides. I am sprinting down the center, with many kids in front of me and behind me, and we are screaming. This goes on for awhile, me running back and forth, hiding, trying to get away, although the monster never makes a specific lunge for me. On one section of the boat there are merchants. The monster runs behind a kiosk, and goes for a kid. I turn and run, in front of the kiosk, and the monster attempts to lunge through the kiosk and reach for my hair. I run, and I see the monster turn away for it's next victim. As I am looking, I trip on a blanket, and a nice Hispanic father grabs me. He speaks to me as if I am his daughter and he lets me lay on him since he can feel me shaking. The man is comforting. His daughter and wife come over (His wife, might I note, is Chinese. I thought it was pretty cool I had a mixed-racial couple in my dream). For some reason I suddenly do not feel safe with this man. I get up, and run. More running, hiding, and trying to get away from monster. Then, the kiosk scene happens again, and the monster hisses at me when he does not catch me. That is the only sound he ever makes. This time I look forward and I see my dad. "Daddy!" I exclaim and jump into his arms. "I'm scared," I say as he holds me and comforts me. "We are all scared," he replies. I turn my head and see mom, reading a magazine. She seems to not even notice that there was a monster in the first place. Then a man comes over the intercom. "The monster has been defeated. We are go!" The dome lifts that is in the center of the ring and now there is a soccer game going on - in a circle-shaped court. The players are all wearing are all wearing dobaks, or the uniform worn in Tae Kwon Do, a form of martial arts. But instead of being all white or white and black like they usually are, the dobaks are colored with the colors of the player's country's flag. All of the player are wearing different colors and every single country has a flag. The players are all teenagers. After one goal is scored, the players all separate into pairs and suddenly have flags of their country in their hands. I get up from dad and run over to someone; it is my friend from school and someone I did Tae Kwon Do with back when I did TKD. I watch as the flag parts of the flags are taken off and everyone uses the staff of the flag for sparing, sort of like fencing. The dream ends with me running back and forth around the bright green center circle.
...Woah. Yeah, uh...not really sure what to make of that one, either.
The final dream, which repeats much less often, but has repeated, begins with me on a beautiful, bright hill, one that resembles the hills in the Sound of Music. Next to me is Daniel Radcliff and a...giant...potato. The potato is wearing a Santa cap. I turn my head and am horrified as I hear Daniel speaking Spanish and the potato going "ho, ho, ho!" And...that's all that I really remember.
Now, take these dreams with a grain of salt. This is all the stuff that I know happened. I'm sure there's some stuff missing that might help figure out what the heck they really mean, but, uh...what I remember, I remember.
In all seriousness, what really makes up a dream? Why do we dream? Why are dreams insane, crazy things we never would have remembered or imagine while conscious? I guess that's another mystery we have to figure out. In the meantime, I'll be sleeping, waiting for a journey back to my preschool, or a trip to beautiful Austria.
Every July, these three dreams repeat themselves. Every July. No other time in the year do I have these dreams.
The first one begins with me on a school bus. I am probably four or five years old. The school bus is taking me to the preschool I went to as a child. When we arrive at the school, our teacher takes out into the corn fields next to the preschool. We wade through the corn, which is bright yellow. At this point, the dream is not first person, I am watching the dream from an elevated point, and I can see myself and the twenty-ish other kids and leaders. There is a line of trees that seems to spread on for miles. The kids approach the line of trees. My teacher pulls the trees apart so that the kids can pass through. And beyond the trees there is...I don't know. I always wake up right as we pass through. Maybe one time we passed through; I vaguely remember a giant purple butterfly and fields we froliced in.
Well, firstly. I never took a school bus to my preschool, my mom always drove me. And there are no corn fields within a 100-mile radius, perhaps even bigger, of my preschool. This dream always confuses me because I have been having it for years and still no answer on what the hell it could mean. It is so detailed and has so many parts that psychoanalyzing it would take days.
The second dream is one I had two nights ago (surprise, surprise. It's July). It starts by my mom and I in a thrift store of sorts, buying some things. Then, mom pulls out her phone and checks the time. It is 11:20pm. She looks at me, then says, "we are going to miss it!" and I say, "miss what?" Mom begins to put the things she is buying onto the checkout counter. "The dragon fight!" Suddenly, we are on a giant, silver floating disc in the middle of the ocean (it is supposed to be a cruise boat, but it is shaped like a giant plate/Frisbee disc). There are people, myself included, playing in a section of the boat with various games. Then, a six-foot tall monster jumps out of the wall. His skin is green and his eyes are on sticking out on his head, think hammerhead shark. He chases everyone around, never making sounds. I'm not sure what he does when he catches someone. Luckily, I run away. The disc is shaped like a donut, but in the center where there is a hole on the donut there is a giant dome, which reminds me of a planetarium. The outside ring, or where the actual donut would be, people line both sides, with a path down the middle to get where you are going. So, there are people up against the walls on both sides. I am sprinting down the center, with many kids in front of me and behind me, and we are screaming. This goes on for awhile, me running back and forth, hiding, trying to get away, although the monster never makes a specific lunge for me. On one section of the boat there are merchants. The monster runs behind a kiosk, and goes for a kid. I turn and run, in front of the kiosk, and the monster attempts to lunge through the kiosk and reach for my hair. I run, and I see the monster turn away for it's next victim. As I am looking, I trip on a blanket, and a nice Hispanic father grabs me. He speaks to me as if I am his daughter and he lets me lay on him since he can feel me shaking. The man is comforting. His daughter and wife come over (His wife, might I note, is Chinese. I thought it was pretty cool I had a mixed-racial couple in my dream). For some reason I suddenly do not feel safe with this man. I get up, and run. More running, hiding, and trying to get away from monster. Then, the kiosk scene happens again, and the monster hisses at me when he does not catch me. That is the only sound he ever makes. This time I look forward and I see my dad. "Daddy!" I exclaim and jump into his arms. "I'm scared," I say as he holds me and comforts me. "We are all scared," he replies. I turn my head and see mom, reading a magazine. She seems to not even notice that there was a monster in the first place. Then a man comes over the intercom. "The monster has been defeated. We are go!" The dome lifts that is in the center of the ring and now there is a soccer game going on - in a circle-shaped court. The players are all wearing are all wearing dobaks, or the uniform worn in Tae Kwon Do, a form of martial arts. But instead of being all white or white and black like they usually are, the dobaks are colored with the colors of the player's country's flag. All of the player are wearing different colors and every single country has a flag. The players are all teenagers. After one goal is scored, the players all separate into pairs and suddenly have flags of their country in their hands. I get up from dad and run over to someone; it is my friend from school and someone I did Tae Kwon Do with back when I did TKD. I watch as the flag parts of the flags are taken off and everyone uses the staff of the flag for sparing, sort of like fencing. The dream ends with me running back and forth around the bright green center circle.
...Woah. Yeah, uh...not really sure what to make of that one, either.
The final dream, which repeats much less often, but has repeated, begins with me on a beautiful, bright hill, one that resembles the hills in the Sound of Music. Next to me is Daniel Radcliff and a...giant...potato. The potato is wearing a Santa cap. I turn my head and am horrified as I hear Daniel speaking Spanish and the potato going "ho, ho, ho!" And...that's all that I really remember.
Now, take these dreams with a grain of salt. This is all the stuff that I know happened. I'm sure there's some stuff missing that might help figure out what the heck they really mean, but, uh...what I remember, I remember.
In all seriousness, what really makes up a dream? Why do we dream? Why are dreams insane, crazy things we never would have remembered or imagine while conscious? I guess that's another mystery we have to figure out. In the meantime, I'll be sleeping, waiting for a journey back to my preschool, or a trip to beautiful Austria.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
3 1/4 rounds to 2 1/2
I wonder what an "inside joke" really is. Because they aren't really inside you. Inside jokes are, more commonly than not, a small joke shared between two or more friends. You don't keep that inside. You tell others.
Obviously, the meaning of the title "inside joke" is supposed to mean "inside the group of friends sharing the group" but everyone in their live has or will be asked "what's so funny?" when they say a inside joke just a bit too loud so that others outside the group hear. And inside jokes can be anything; like the "leave a cushion!" joke my dad and I share, or the "get off my plantation!" joke some of my friends and I share. That's just two of hundreds of jokes I share with various others.
Inside jokes often elicit extensive laughs from the other people in on the joke, many more laughs if the joke has not been used in a while. I find this very entertaining. Inside jokes are just words, strung together like popcorn on a garland for a Christmas tree. They mean nothing to one; and the world to another.
I think that some words are worth one thousand pictures. You can have a picture, but it's just a picture; you have to use words to explain what's happening, why the picture was taken, who took it, when the picture was taken, and where you were when the picture was taken. It will take many words to explain that. And then; words can mean so much more. If your best friend dies, you may cringe whenever you meet someone with the same name. If you are away from your dog for a long time and you hear someone talking about their dog, you might feel a surge of happiness as you think of yours. And then, words like love, which you know just mean a lot in some people's life. Love they seek, love they miss, love they...love. Words are worth a lot more than pictures.
Share inside jokes, think about what they really mean. Cherish them. And laugh. Oh, please, just laugh.
Obviously, the meaning of the title "inside joke" is supposed to mean "inside the group of friends sharing the group" but everyone in their live has or will be asked "what's so funny?" when they say a inside joke just a bit too loud so that others outside the group hear. And inside jokes can be anything; like the "leave a cushion!" joke my dad and I share, or the "get off my plantation!" joke some of my friends and I share. That's just two of hundreds of jokes I share with various others.
Inside jokes often elicit extensive laughs from the other people in on the joke, many more laughs if the joke has not been used in a while. I find this very entertaining. Inside jokes are just words, strung together like popcorn on a garland for a Christmas tree. They mean nothing to one; and the world to another.
I think that some words are worth one thousand pictures. You can have a picture, but it's just a picture; you have to use words to explain what's happening, why the picture was taken, who took it, when the picture was taken, and where you were when the picture was taken. It will take many words to explain that. And then; words can mean so much more. If your best friend dies, you may cringe whenever you meet someone with the same name. If you are away from your dog for a long time and you hear someone talking about their dog, you might feel a surge of happiness as you think of yours. And then, words like love, which you know just mean a lot in some people's life. Love they seek, love they miss, love they...love. Words are worth a lot more than pictures.
Share inside jokes, think about what they really mean. Cherish them. And laugh. Oh, please, just laugh.
Friday, July 11, 2014
Don't take the first option.
As I sat in a car at a detour today, wondering what I should blog about for the next post, I thought it might be good to speak about, more or less, what's happening now. So; I bring to you, now.
This week I have been volunteering at a VBS (Vacation Bible School) at a church not to far from the one I go too. We sadly can't have it at my church because of lack of children, but the opportunity of a VBS with the abundance of children we have at the one I am working at is quite...surprising, to say the least.
I got thinking, during a lower-key time of the camp, what do children think of religion, and more specifically, the religion their parents are raising them in, Christianity? And don't be fooled - it is quite true that often times parents will "force" their children into their religion. My parents didn't force me, per se - my dad's not even a member of the church he visits every Sunday since he doesn't "want to limit himself to one church." I was told from the very start that I would be attending church every Sunday. It was my choice whether I wanted to stay in the pews and listen to the good news of the Gospel, or head to the back of the sanctuary where there were toys, and coloring books. I'd say about 50% of the time I was in the back decorating the table with my wonderful artistry, and the other half I was "listening." I was probably laying on my back in the pews, getting my back scratched by my mother.
I also decided when I was about 11, during the Dark Ages, I wanted to be, and loved being, Christian. I was offered the chance to being a confirmation class, or "elevated Sunday school," as my mom called it. I accepted.
Confirmation class confused me at first. I knew only the pastor, and her barely. There were two boys, who shared the name Joe and where good friends. Then there was Ava, a fourteen year old spread into a sixteen year old's body. She was definitely big for her age, and smart. She only came every other Sunday and seemed much more interested in other religions and beliefs than the one she was studying. There was also Eli, the quiet but funny darker skinned boy who started coming one year into the two year confirmation endeavor - Joe 2 is still bitter about the fact he got to be confirmed the same time the rest of us did with half the work.
Ava chose not to be confirmed the day of confirmation, and I sincerely applaud her for that. She got up in front of everyone in that church and said she did not want to be confirmed. Her reason was that she hadn't tried all the religions yet, and it was only fair to try all, yes, all, before securing her faith to one forever. I think it was brave to say that. I like Ava.
But this actually helped me. I had known from pretty early on I was, and would always be, Christian. But it interested me there was someone like Ava, young and growing, who still wanted to try everything.
I brought it back to VBS with me this Monday. What do these children think? Do they want to try other religions? Or are they sure-fire Christians?
I expected way too much of this question. They were anywhere from three to ten. Some of them were probably capable of answering this, but I had been matched with the youngest group of kids and did not know any of the older kids. I couldn't just prance up to them, and ask, "hey, are you, like, Christian, or...?" They were at a Christian summer camp, for God's sake!
I am now confirmed, and proud of it. I am now considered an adult in the church. I have begun my adult-like actions inside the church, including recruiting new members for my church's yearly mission trip (click here for more info), helping with the Sunday school, volunteering at the VBS, and generally spreading the word of God's love and everlasting life with others.
I am not trying to force down religion down yours, nor anyones, throat. I am absolutely, 105% okay with everyone and anyone choosing any religion to be a part of - or no religion, if they so desire. It doesn't matter to me. I wouldn't want someone to tell me what to believe. I won't do it to someone else.
The main point of this blog post was to question if it is right to restrict yourself to one religion. There are thousands of religions, and sub-religions, in the world. It will take Ava years to try every religion out. That's dedication.
I plan to stay in contact with Ava. I will enjoy hearing about her action as she travels around the world, trying every belief. Perhaps she will find one so spectacular she won't need to try anymore.
I leave you with this, comrades - do not be afraid to reach out! There is nearly never a one-hundred percent correct answer to answer in life (besides math, perhaps. Even that isn't always set-in-stone). Religion is one of the most debated topics of this, and any, century. I beg you to check out as many religions and beliefs as you can if you are unsure, or think someone has forced you. There is a style of faith for everyone.
This week I have been volunteering at a VBS (Vacation Bible School) at a church not to far from the one I go too. We sadly can't have it at my church because of lack of children, but the opportunity of a VBS with the abundance of children we have at the one I am working at is quite...surprising, to say the least.
I got thinking, during a lower-key time of the camp, what do children think of religion, and more specifically, the religion their parents are raising them in, Christianity? And don't be fooled - it is quite true that often times parents will "force" their children into their religion. My parents didn't force me, per se - my dad's not even a member of the church he visits every Sunday since he doesn't "want to limit himself to one church." I was told from the very start that I would be attending church every Sunday. It was my choice whether I wanted to stay in the pews and listen to the good news of the Gospel, or head to the back of the sanctuary where there were toys, and coloring books. I'd say about 50% of the time I was in the back decorating the table with my wonderful artistry, and the other half I was "listening." I was probably laying on my back in the pews, getting my back scratched by my mother.
I also decided when I was about 11, during the Dark Ages, I wanted to be, and loved being, Christian. I was offered the chance to being a confirmation class, or "elevated Sunday school," as my mom called it. I accepted.
Confirmation class confused me at first. I knew only the pastor, and her barely. There were two boys, who shared the name Joe and where good friends. Then there was Ava, a fourteen year old spread into a sixteen year old's body. She was definitely big for her age, and smart. She only came every other Sunday and seemed much more interested in other religions and beliefs than the one she was studying. There was also Eli, the quiet but funny darker skinned boy who started coming one year into the two year confirmation endeavor - Joe 2 is still bitter about the fact he got to be confirmed the same time the rest of us did with half the work.
Ava chose not to be confirmed the day of confirmation, and I sincerely applaud her for that. She got up in front of everyone in that church and said she did not want to be confirmed. Her reason was that she hadn't tried all the religions yet, and it was only fair to try all, yes, all, before securing her faith to one forever. I think it was brave to say that. I like Ava.
But this actually helped me. I had known from pretty early on I was, and would always be, Christian. But it interested me there was someone like Ava, young and growing, who still wanted to try everything.
I brought it back to VBS with me this Monday. What do these children think? Do they want to try other religions? Or are they sure-fire Christians?
I expected way too much of this question. They were anywhere from three to ten. Some of them were probably capable of answering this, but I had been matched with the youngest group of kids and did not know any of the older kids. I couldn't just prance up to them, and ask, "hey, are you, like, Christian, or...?" They were at a Christian summer camp, for God's sake!
I am now confirmed, and proud of it. I am now considered an adult in the church. I have begun my adult-like actions inside the church, including recruiting new members for my church's yearly mission trip (click here for more info), helping with the Sunday school, volunteering at the VBS, and generally spreading the word of God's love and everlasting life with others.
I am not trying to force down religion down yours, nor anyones, throat. I am absolutely, 105% okay with everyone and anyone choosing any religion to be a part of - or no religion, if they so desire. It doesn't matter to me. I wouldn't want someone to tell me what to believe. I won't do it to someone else.
The main point of this blog post was to question if it is right to restrict yourself to one religion. There are thousands of religions, and sub-religions, in the world. It will take Ava years to try every religion out. That's dedication.
I plan to stay in contact with Ava. I will enjoy hearing about her action as she travels around the world, trying every belief. Perhaps she will find one so spectacular she won't need to try anymore.
I leave you with this, comrades - do not be afraid to reach out! There is nearly never a one-hundred percent correct answer to answer in life (besides math, perhaps. Even that isn't always set-in-stone). Religion is one of the most debated topics of this, and any, century. I beg you to check out as many religions and beliefs as you can if you are unsure, or think someone has forced you. There is a style of faith for everyone.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
I want to go, I want to go, too.
((I'd like to preface this by saying once again, I have changed this girl's name from her real name to Elizabeth, to hide her identity. All other names in this have been altered from originals as well.))
We all changed.
We all changed when we reached 6th grade. I no longer cared where I fell on the social elevator at all. My best friend wanted nothing to do with me. Dell, a kid I had considered an acquaintance because he wasn't into "fitting in," suddenly became another "popular kid," dropping his love for books and drawing birds of prey. Paul began to care less about school, and started to fail classes, seemingly unbothered by it. Pam dropped her witty, educated self, turning into what one of my friends, David, calls the "soccer bitches." David? Yeah, he changed, too. He still cared about school unlike many, trying his hardest during class. But he doesn't ever do his homework anymore - homework time is now taken up by his obsession with suggestive Japanese anime. Noel, who I already hated for being notorious for needlessly starting drama, became faux goth, wearing as much eyeliner as her helicopter mother would allow.
We all changed.
I had to say goodbye to the people I had once shared many jokes with - well, not by choice.
But my emptiness, the gaping hole the Dark Ages had tore in me that could only be filled with jokes and laughs with friends, overwhelmed me. I searched for a friend who will not, does not, cannot desert me. I was a slave to my erotic desire to have someone to talk to. In my cat I found a friend I could confide in. But like a rubber ball against the floor, the information bounced back. I spoke one language and he spoke another, and scholars had yet to figure out how to translate between the two.
Cue math class, about three weeks into the year. Cue me, in a desperate haze, blinded by reality, I do not see that someone I could trust, who would share my interests, my hidden hatreds, who was capable of producing jokes that hurt my stomach from laughing, and who would appreciate my jokes as well, is sitting beside me in class.
The first week, and many weeks following, my math teacher began our Monday period five math class by asking us how our weekend was. And this girl, who at the time I could only describe as "white headband girl" because of her obsession with wearing a white headband everyday, boasted about how her absence the first three days of school was due to the fact her family had been in Disney World. Their family went there every year to the park, as well as Texas to see her step-brothers' mother, and North Carolina, to visit a beach they'd been going to for eleven years. I wondered how anyone could afford so many trips, every. single. year.
Following that Monday I referred to her as "rich white headband girl" since I really didn't know what to call her. But only for a short while.
I believe that through a group assignment in math class where I had no say in who I was to work with I was joined with rich white headband girl. It seemed that one minute I considered her a spoiled brat, and the next, we were talking infinitely about our appreciation for cats (my two to her eight, my love to her like). We discussed our love of video games; watching people play these games, playing them ourselves. I reached myself within her. Elizabeth explained to me her siblings (and step-siblings) names, ages, relations, and if they lives at her mom's or dad's house. I invited her over so I could show her a game, Minecraft, and teach her some tricks I had learned from my many hours of play.
I never asked if she wanted to be my friend because we kind of just were. And today we are friends, and yesterday we were friends, and I hope to God we are friends tomorrow.
She says I am the only person she texts and I hope that's true because I love her. And I believe it is a "best friend" love but I do not know. And I may have been different between fifth and sixth grade but then, when I met Elizabeth;
We all changed.
Through her, there was me laughing again. Through her, there was me knowing I had a friend again - a real friend. Through her I was bright again and I was having fun and through her I found that she hated everyone who wasn't me. And through her I found I could say that, too.
We were inseparable, I'd like to believe. I shared books and video games and funny pictures and songs online with her and she shared hilarious jokes and fantastic wit and videos and books and maybe even her time with me, and we laughed. I wouldn't give up that for anything. I needed someone to share their time. She did. And without even knowing it, pulled me out of the hardest point in my life. We both shared things, giving each other what we needed. But then we shared what only we could share - memories. Jokes between us two and quotes of books and movies. I wanted only to talk to her and no one else, and I learned what it meant to have a true friend.
But what if she dies.
And that's not a question mark because I know she's going to. And I know I'm going to, as well. The 25th president of the United States of America, William McKinley, has famous last words. They were, in response to his wife saying "I want to go too! I want to go too!," said, "We are all going."
We are all going.
When there was a fire in her backyard, Elizabeth texted me "we are all going!" We shared a laugh but then, maybe not jokingly, she said she wanted me to plan her funeral if she died. And I promised I would. We are all going and we might be missed if we leave an impact on this world. I hope I die before her because I know I have left an impact on her, just like she left one on me, and I learned from my research you die when you have completed your purpose here on Earth. I hope I die before her because that would prove my theory that she has a lot more to do in the world that is important and necessary than I do.
Yes, Mr. McKinley. We are all going.
We all changed.
We all changed when we reached 6th grade. I no longer cared where I fell on the social elevator at all. My best friend wanted nothing to do with me. Dell, a kid I had considered an acquaintance because he wasn't into "fitting in," suddenly became another "popular kid," dropping his love for books and drawing birds of prey. Paul began to care less about school, and started to fail classes, seemingly unbothered by it. Pam dropped her witty, educated self, turning into what one of my friends, David, calls the "soccer bitches." David? Yeah, he changed, too. He still cared about school unlike many, trying his hardest during class. But he doesn't ever do his homework anymore - homework time is now taken up by his obsession with suggestive Japanese anime. Noel, who I already hated for being notorious for needlessly starting drama, became faux goth, wearing as much eyeliner as her helicopter mother would allow.
We all changed.
I had to say goodbye to the people I had once shared many jokes with - well, not by choice.
But my emptiness, the gaping hole the Dark Ages had tore in me that could only be filled with jokes and laughs with friends, overwhelmed me. I searched for a friend who will not, does not, cannot desert me. I was a slave to my erotic desire to have someone to talk to. In my cat I found a friend I could confide in. But like a rubber ball against the floor, the information bounced back. I spoke one language and he spoke another, and scholars had yet to figure out how to translate between the two.
Cue math class, about three weeks into the year. Cue me, in a desperate haze, blinded by reality, I do not see that someone I could trust, who would share my interests, my hidden hatreds, who was capable of producing jokes that hurt my stomach from laughing, and who would appreciate my jokes as well, is sitting beside me in class.
The first week, and many weeks following, my math teacher began our Monday period five math class by asking us how our weekend was. And this girl, who at the time I could only describe as "white headband girl" because of her obsession with wearing a white headband everyday, boasted about how her absence the first three days of school was due to the fact her family had been in Disney World. Their family went there every year to the park, as well as Texas to see her step-brothers' mother, and North Carolina, to visit a beach they'd been going to for eleven years. I wondered how anyone could afford so many trips, every. single. year.
Following that Monday I referred to her as "rich white headband girl" since I really didn't know what to call her. But only for a short while.
I believe that through a group assignment in math class where I had no say in who I was to work with I was joined with rich white headband girl. It seemed that one minute I considered her a spoiled brat, and the next, we were talking infinitely about our appreciation for cats (my two to her eight, my love to her like). We discussed our love of video games; watching people play these games, playing them ourselves. I reached myself within her. Elizabeth explained to me her siblings (and step-siblings) names, ages, relations, and if they lives at her mom's or dad's house. I invited her over so I could show her a game, Minecraft, and teach her some tricks I had learned from my many hours of play.
I never asked if she wanted to be my friend because we kind of just were. And today we are friends, and yesterday we were friends, and I hope to God we are friends tomorrow.
She says I am the only person she texts and I hope that's true because I love her. And I believe it is a "best friend" love but I do not know. And I may have been different between fifth and sixth grade but then, when I met Elizabeth;
We all changed.
Through her, there was me laughing again. Through her, there was me knowing I had a friend again - a real friend. Through her I was bright again and I was having fun and through her I found that she hated everyone who wasn't me. And through her I found I could say that, too.
We were inseparable, I'd like to believe. I shared books and video games and funny pictures and songs online with her and she shared hilarious jokes and fantastic wit and videos and books and maybe even her time with me, and we laughed. I wouldn't give up that for anything. I needed someone to share their time. She did. And without even knowing it, pulled me out of the hardest point in my life. We both shared things, giving each other what we needed. But then we shared what only we could share - memories. Jokes between us two and quotes of books and movies. I wanted only to talk to her and no one else, and I learned what it meant to have a true friend.
But what if she dies.
And that's not a question mark because I know she's going to. And I know I'm going to, as well. The 25th president of the United States of America, William McKinley, has famous last words. They were, in response to his wife saying "I want to go too! I want to go too!," said, "We are all going."
We are all going.
When there was a fire in her backyard, Elizabeth texted me "we are all going!" We shared a laugh but then, maybe not jokingly, she said she wanted me to plan her funeral if she died. And I promised I would. We are all going and we might be missed if we leave an impact on this world. I hope I die before her because I know I have left an impact on her, just like she left one on me, and I learned from my research you die when you have completed your purpose here on Earth. I hope I die before her because that would prove my theory that she has a lot more to do in the world that is important and necessary than I do.
Yes, Mr. McKinley. We are all going.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Europe; 5th to 15th century AD
It truly started on April 29, 2004, with the death of my grandfather, "Pépé" as we called him, French for grandpa. Right around the same time the family cat, given to my parents as a wedding gift from my godparents, died. I was shoved in the face of death.
It was not until around nine years later I began to realize how quickly everything that you loved and that you cared so much about could be tore from you so quickly. My godfather's father died of cancer, and I had the solemn pleasure of attending his wake and funeral. I saw what the desperate claws of death could do, but I did not fully understand it.
I didn't know my godfather's father at all. But everyone told me he was a loyal man with a sometimes prodigious temper. The hospital room had been ominous; suddenly, he wasn't talking.
Around the same time, within two months, one of my best friend's father died. He was so young. 56 years old at the time of death, November 14th, 2013. He is revolutionary around here; he brought IVF to our region, and become one of the most well known doctors in the area because of it. His family introduced me to a sport that I was committed to for quite a few years. He was a form of a teacher in that sport. I was over to their house many times, and I got to know him. I am so lucky to have met this kind, energetic, loving man.
When he died, my first selfish thought was, "I wonder if he ever thought about me." I don't know what sparked this thought. Perhaps I just wanted everyone to know that I knew him; that I knew this man who everyone exalted. I wanted him to think of me. I wanted him to wonder if all of his children's friends cared. But he was not like that.
Of all of her friends, I was the only one invited to the funeral. The wake had been open of course; the line to reach his casket weaving through row after row of chairs, and out the door. But the funeral was much more solemn, and the service, heavily Catholic and written by him in the months before his inevitable death, was around three and a half hours long. My family was brought downstairs following the service for a picnic of sorts. We enjoyed many cookies and fruits, and watched a slideshow of pictures consisting of him and his children - one showed me and him smiling at their house many years before he was diagnosed.
Death grabbed me, shooked me, and smiled in my face until I could see his evil eyes when I closed mine.
Then, a rush.
It was the tenth anniversary of my Pépé's death. My aunt's dog, the only dog I ever loved, Sadie, died to a heart tumor. My pastor's daughter died and everyone in the church felt it. It was the 50th anniversary of JFK's assassination. And, though I cannot remember it at this moment, there was another death. Death opened his mouth and showed his teeth, he breathed in my face. I felt his claws digging into my back.
Thus began the Dark Ages.
I questioned life; was it worth it? The Dark Ages began right around the time my friend's father died and stretched seemingly endlessly to only a few months ago. I hated going to school, something I enjoyed doing since my day of kindergarten, because going to school involved interaction with beings I called "lesser" sense they did not question life, purpose, and worth of individuals.
My big questions were, what happens when we die? What is life? How long can humans be? How big is space? When will everything die?
I fell into a depression I don't recall much about. I found that I was trying to figure out what it meant to be. I read books that others didn't understand the meaning of. I read them, over and over again, until I could recite the first chapter and a good portion of the second. I quoted it in conversations, dropping hints, hoping that one day someone would understand my references, and then we could speak about the book. To this day, Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein is my favorite book.
I cringed when people called my actions immature; I was not immature. I was curious, investigating, looking for answers to my big questions. I spent - and still do - a majority of my time on the computer, hunting, searching. I just need a lead. I want to figure out the secrets.
I learned. I learned so much I saw myself as much more mature than everyone else around me. I wanted to be mature. They already held me as intelligent; why did I need more? I figured if you paired mature and smart, you had the ultimate person. That's what I was going for.
No doubt I was much more mature coming out of my research than I was going in. I had ten times the manners anyone of double my age did. I volunteered constantly. I did whatever I could to show to others that I was loyal, trustworthy, and well-rounded. I lived for compliments; I did not show it.
But my life was still dark. I lacked friends at school. Someone who I had been friends with since first grade suddenly abandoned me. I met the girl I described in the post two days ago, a girl under the alias Elizabeth. She may have faulted that one time, but she almost always was there for me on other days.
She lead me out of the Dark Ages. In tomorrow's post I will describe how we met. She molded me. She's still molding me. My Dark Ages have come and gone. We will all have Dark Ages, when death confronts us. We will scare away death. We all can do it, we just have to be willing. Find a friend. Find a book. Find a hobby.
Find yourself.
It was not until around nine years later I began to realize how quickly everything that you loved and that you cared so much about could be tore from you so quickly. My godfather's father died of cancer, and I had the solemn pleasure of attending his wake and funeral. I saw what the desperate claws of death could do, but I did not fully understand it.
I didn't know my godfather's father at all. But everyone told me he was a loyal man with a sometimes prodigious temper. The hospital room had been ominous; suddenly, he wasn't talking.
Around the same time, within two months, one of my best friend's father died. He was so young. 56 years old at the time of death, November 14th, 2013. He is revolutionary around here; he brought IVF to our region, and become one of the most well known doctors in the area because of it. His family introduced me to a sport that I was committed to for quite a few years. He was a form of a teacher in that sport. I was over to their house many times, and I got to know him. I am so lucky to have met this kind, energetic, loving man.
When he died, my first selfish thought was, "I wonder if he ever thought about me." I don't know what sparked this thought. Perhaps I just wanted everyone to know that I knew him; that I knew this man who everyone exalted. I wanted him to think of me. I wanted him to wonder if all of his children's friends cared. But he was not like that.
Of all of her friends, I was the only one invited to the funeral. The wake had been open of course; the line to reach his casket weaving through row after row of chairs, and out the door. But the funeral was much more solemn, and the service, heavily Catholic and written by him in the months before his inevitable death, was around three and a half hours long. My family was brought downstairs following the service for a picnic of sorts. We enjoyed many cookies and fruits, and watched a slideshow of pictures consisting of him and his children - one showed me and him smiling at their house many years before he was diagnosed.
Death grabbed me, shooked me, and smiled in my face until I could see his evil eyes when I closed mine.
Then, a rush.
It was the tenth anniversary of my Pépé's death. My aunt's dog, the only dog I ever loved, Sadie, died to a heart tumor. My pastor's daughter died and everyone in the church felt it. It was the 50th anniversary of JFK's assassination. And, though I cannot remember it at this moment, there was another death. Death opened his mouth and showed his teeth, he breathed in my face. I felt his claws digging into my back.
Thus began the Dark Ages.
I questioned life; was it worth it? The Dark Ages began right around the time my friend's father died and stretched seemingly endlessly to only a few months ago. I hated going to school, something I enjoyed doing since my day of kindergarten, because going to school involved interaction with beings I called "lesser" sense they did not question life, purpose, and worth of individuals.
My big questions were, what happens when we die? What is life? How long can humans be? How big is space? When will everything die?
I fell into a depression I don't recall much about. I found that I was trying to figure out what it meant to be. I read books that others didn't understand the meaning of. I read them, over and over again, until I could recite the first chapter and a good portion of the second. I quoted it in conversations, dropping hints, hoping that one day someone would understand my references, and then we could speak about the book. To this day, Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein is my favorite book.
I cringed when people called my actions immature; I was not immature. I was curious, investigating, looking for answers to my big questions. I spent - and still do - a majority of my time on the computer, hunting, searching. I just need a lead. I want to figure out the secrets.
I learned. I learned so much I saw myself as much more mature than everyone else around me. I wanted to be mature. They already held me as intelligent; why did I need more? I figured if you paired mature and smart, you had the ultimate person. That's what I was going for.
No doubt I was much more mature coming out of my research than I was going in. I had ten times the manners anyone of double my age did. I volunteered constantly. I did whatever I could to show to others that I was loyal, trustworthy, and well-rounded. I lived for compliments; I did not show it.
But my life was still dark. I lacked friends at school. Someone who I had been friends with since first grade suddenly abandoned me. I met the girl I described in the post two days ago, a girl under the alias Elizabeth. She may have faulted that one time, but she almost always was there for me on other days.
She lead me out of the Dark Ages. In tomorrow's post I will describe how we met. She molded me. She's still molding me. My Dark Ages have come and gone. We will all have Dark Ages, when death confronts us. We will scare away death. We all can do it, we just have to be willing. Find a friend. Find a book. Find a hobby.
Find yourself.
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