Thursday, September 30, 2010
College Oh College.
It's a Monday morning; approx 7:56 A.M.
I step out of my car. Lot 26, behind the Track Stadium; within close proximity of the campus of University California Riverside.
I can't believe it.
Yesterday I turned Seven.
Today I'm a working college student.
First year. First Day.
It's going to take awhile to reach the populated buildings of campus--the parking lots are quite a bit away. I see a boy with a messenger backpack and brown scruffy hair begin walking towards the campus, just a few feet from me. Immediately, I catch up to him and without hesitation, give a friendly "Hey, what's up?"
Our conversation carried through the 13 minute walk to the campus. His name was David. He was an interesting fellow; with a heavy accent of some sort and a passion for politics. As we departed shortly after reaching the campus to go our separate ways, I stopped to take a look around.
Large, complex buildings. Vast open spaces with trees and green lawns. A scatter of students making their way towards their early classes. It wasn't crowded--not yet anyway.
So here I am I guess. I've left High School behind. I'm here now. In this large facility dedicated to the purpose of learning--enhancing one's understanding and knowledge of the world around him/her. It's a beautiful place. On the outside, I can feel myself start to shake a little. Feeling a little overwhelmed. My God, what am I doing in this place?
But deep down I feel a part of me that is silent. That never moves. And that is always centered. He refers to me as "Kid." I don't know what to call him--I just listen. Though he doesn't say anything now, I can feel that he is overjoyed and ready to encounter what this new stage of life has to bring. I trust him, and feel a little more sure-footed. I keep walking to find my classes.
My drama class slowly fills up to 90 students. It's a little intimidating at first--but I find that I really like it. It's new. It's refreshing. What's going to happen next? The instructor asks for a few volunteers and I feel my hand shoot up. For some reason my outside isn't so shaky as it used to be. And my center seems to be taking over more and more as I actually do the things it tells me to do. With some of my peers, I stand in a line in front of the class, facing the ocean of faces of those who would rather watch the demonstration. Spotlights overhead illuminate all we are. I have no idea what's going to happen. But I stare up, and don't feel so small. I don't feel scared. I don't feel nervous as much. I just feel...happy I think.
So the drama instructor walks toward an empty student's chair, and stares at us.
The entire room is quiet.
85 pairs of eyes fall on us.
Quiet.
The threat of an awkward tidal wave threatens us.
I look at the instructor's expression.
She's grinning.
Lightbulb.
I whisper to the guy next to me: "Hey, I think we're performing right now."
So I ask him in a clear voice
"My name is William! What's yours?"
"Oh, my name is Aaron. Nice to meet you."
"Great! I'm a first year."
"That's awesome."
So I turn to the remaining volunteers who were utterly quiet and ask
"Hey guys! Have you met Aaron!?"
And so we all proceeded to introduce ourselves--completely forgetting about the audience.
At the end of the "demonstration" our instructor taught that performing is easier when you concentrate --not on the audience, but the relationships and the scene itself with the other actors. We had passed her little "test." Damn, this place was interesting.
I walk out of my Drama class--time flew by--as I would learn later. All my lectures flew by. It was nothing like high school--where periods would drag on--seemingly forever. In this place, lectures were intriguing. And they all seemed so short--despite that they usually lasted at least an hour.
I reach one of the main central areas of the campus. And take a look around.
Teens, students, everywhere. Walking to places. Running to places. Biking to places. Skateboarding, rollerblading. Everywhere, everyone was headed somewhere. There were literally thousands of people all over the campus. It was an eternal "passing period" in this place. When students got to their classes, new ones would come out of old ones, and be making their way to the next. People making their way to the cafeteria with friends. Individuals finding empty tables to do some reading. People on benches with laptops, scanning for some quick information. Sorority sisters walking in groups, tall guys with tattoos smoking at the entrances of the library, a boyfriend and girlfriend having an animate conversation about a party last week passing by. A band begins to play at the bell tower. A scattered 30 sit to watch them while some others start dancing in the front. Bike racks are everywhere on this campus--and they always seem so full. Everyone, each with their own story--making their way to their next progression. It's the Sims here. It's the Sims on a gargantuan scale. Everyone is busy doing something.
Damn I'm starving.
I stop a guy in mid-stride and ask him where a good place to eat would be. He gives his opinions, his directions, and finally says "The cheapest place to eat though is off campus." I find out later that just about everyone on this campus is friendly and open. Not like the scattered douche bags from High School. They know why they're here, they're motivated, they're ambitious, and they're not afraid to help a fellow student out. I spend the break between my next classes at Taco Bell. Just a short drive away. So I'm eating my tacos, studying the map of the campus, and it hits me.
Wow....it's all me. Just here. Completely self-directed. Doing whatever the hell I want. This is...weird--but in the best way possible.
I find myself filing into a crowded lecture hall--a lecture for British Literature. It's a room that can hold probably about 300-400 students. I see an empty seat and ask the girl adjacent to it if anyone was going to sit there. With the A-Okay, I sat down and busted some note-taking utensils out. The lecture would start in about 5 minutes. So there was down time to fill up. I turn toward the girl next to me and ask:
"Hey what's up?"
"Erhm, nothing much haha."
I realize if I'm going to make friends here I have to open up. But it's so easy here. Talking to "strangers." We're all here for the same reason. And we are all connected in that way. It's easy to relate. And I'm so glad I'm not the nervous wreck I was the first 3 years of high school. I'm so thankful that in the last year, I at least acquired the confidence to talk to anyone without tearing myself down. Dammit High School, I'll never forget how you helped me.
As the lecture proceeded, I noticed some students with laptops in the mid-rows. Some taking notes. Other's on completely irrelevant websites. Others on facebook. Sometimes during the lecture, people would leave. Other times, people would just arrive. I quickly concluded that:
It didn't matter whatever the hell you did during the lecture. You can be late, or early, or just leave whenever you wanted to. You could put your head down and sleep--and nobody would care. This lecture was for you. And if you didn't want to pay attention--hell, you didn't have to. Don't want to take notes? Hell, just sit back, relax, and just watch! It was this freedom that made the lecture that much more engaging. The fact that I had a choice made the positive choice much more fulfilling--as I felt. This is what education was truly about. About WANTING to find out more. And not being forced through a tunnel that shoved information down your throat. This place had so much more leeway, so much vast openness, that it felt wonderful learning. It felt good listening to what the instructor had to say. It felt good calling the shots. And to know that you are only 1 in 400 in the class, sharing this same awesome atmosphere.
A 50 minute drive back to Temecula, and I find myself at work. It's 6:30PM, and I'm closing to 10PM.
I'm on the road of education, and I'm making money on the side.
There's no time to question my worth now.
There's simply no time to be miserable.
There's only just time.
And all the space in between is that much more meaningful.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
When Least Expected...Clouds Connected.
Enlisted; by fears and phantoms from past anxiety.
The smell of desperation; the edge of uncertainty; the black smoke evanescent.
The army, drunk with confusion.
How can I think? When I'm not sure how to think?
Splintered visions of vanity flood my dreams on all fronts. Isolated, I fight to find ground. But I question every second of the journey. Do I search for the chicken? Or do I search for the egg? Do I waste valuable seconds on the clock wondering what to search for? Need I take drastic action now? There is no strategy for this unknown enemy. Yet it closes in, ever silently and restlessly. The impending threat to my life's meaning....
----------I blink.
I am driving a 2001 Ford Mustang on the 15 North. The light hum of the engine soothes the senses.
The highway is always so beautiful. There is no question of where to go. There is one way. Different cars, models, colors, sizes, shapes, ages, all headed to different destinations, yet all travel the same road. They coexist in a benevolent invention of man, but the invention itself proves an analogy to the greater picture. At speeds of deathly capability, we, the engines, travel in harmony. Death threatens at any second or mistake. Yet rare is it that metal would ever touch metal in this vile format of what could-be.
I sink back in my seat and enjoy the peace.
I know where I am going. I know not where others are headed, but I share the same concrete with them. Risk between life and death teeters at constant; but I worry not. I control this steel. I control my fate. I am independent; in control. If I die now, it is by my own conscience, and it is by my own doing. At this concept, I take great comfort in.
Perhaps...life is a highway. I cannot stop this car. To stop, is to die. I must continue onward, and take the exits I believe will take me to my destination.
Every exit is an entrance to somewhere.
This highway...could lead me as far as New York, or as close to a loved one's home. This highway, branches off to any destination I would ever intend to travel.
It doesn't matter where I start.
...it's all connected.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
To Be.
Me.
I.
I am not a student.
I am not a worker.
I am not a punk.
I am not a guitarist.
I am not an Asian boy.
I am not desperate.
I am not hungry.
I am not intelligent.
I am not clueless.
I am, I am.
I am awareness. I am frequent, constant, limitless awareness. I am the presence of mind. I am awareness.
I am a fluctuation of thoughts and emotions.
I am constantly shifting.
I am constantly wanting.
I am constantly learning.
I am everything. I am nothing. I am in between.
I can't figure myself out, because there's nothing to figure out.
There is no self. There is only....now. The now. Forget yesterday and tomorrow.
There is what's happening right now.
This exactly, lethal moment.
When was the last time you were present?
Truly present?
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Death's in The Family.
Here now. Sitting. Sit. Sat. Back then. Was. When.
Watching television with my cousins.
Phone rings.
Automatically answer.
Second nature.
My instant robotic inquiry of a friendly:
"Hello?"
I am greeted by sobbing. Sudden, incoherent words, spluttering out of the receiver. My ears strain to make sense of what is now taking place.
Here now. Listening. Listened. Listen. Back then. Was. When.
"Anna?" I ask, now alarmed; concerned, fearful, stricken.
"--Will" I make out from the sobs. I listen as she attempts feebly to control her voice between the chocking tears.
"Yes?! What is it?" I ask. Reality threatens to bring a blow. Tragedy drips from the static.
"Aunti Susie--is dead!"
"WHAT!?"
Without meaning, I sit up. Eyes focused, looking past the solid reality in front of me. Confused, fearful, shocked, rejecting. The word is reflexive. I dare not believe the words I hear. There must be a mistake. I did not hear it correctly. I am at fault. The message is wrong. The message cannot fit with this reality. The message cannot fit with my reality. And so my senses snap and spit back the message in an instance, as automatic as a flinch; a wince.
The question: "What?"
My aunt had died. In a biking accident. She was struck by a vehicle.
That lovely woman died. The image of her smile, broke down like shattered glass. The associated feeling of hope and joy after a terrible day, fluttered silently away. My aunt, whose laugh was the loudest at family social gatherings, whose humor never faltered to trigger contagious smiles, who was simply there. She was there. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Funerals, Birthdays--she was there. All the time.
But no, that can't be, you see.
She's always at the family gatherings. Get-togethers. She plays a large part. She's always there with something bright to say. She's always there to hug in greetings and leavings. She's always there. Always.
How can I hold my view of the world, if those concepts that made up that view--cease to exist?
How can I understand what night and day are, if their very means of existing are suddenly pulled out from under me?
How can she just....be gone.
My father sat down with my Grandma. Slowly, meaningfully, to tell her the awful news. Seconds before, I had watched my Grandma, hugging everyone--aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, son-in-laws--the family-- that had driven to our house. All our family was there. Hugging Grandma. She didn't know yet... She was so happy. She didn't ask why they were there. She didn't care why they were there. She was just happy to see them visit. My father sat her down... Everyone went quiet. Dreading. I leaned back against a wall with folded arms. Feeling guilty for what I was about to witness. I knew I should have looked away, or looked down at the ground. Or leave the room. Anything. But I couldn't take my eyes off of my Grandma, who was about to receive the news that her beloved daughter had died.
With calm control, my father said clearly and objectively to her:
"This morning..."
I studied to see my Grandma's smile slowly fade to an expression of curiosity.... leaving room for a small thought-- that perhaps this wasn't such a happy visit afterall...
"...Susie Died."
A fist gripped my insides as I watched her old wrinkled face shrivel to a cry. Her words of disbelief. My father's confirmation. She cupped her small hands to her face as I froze to listen to her dry sobs. Her dry tears.
She was too old to experience this. She was too old to feel such hurt.
It must be the worst thing in the world. To have to bury your children.
Fate is sick.
I walked inside, chest hurting from such an overwhelming flood of emotions. Of what cruel reality it is to be a human being, and to feel such empathy, compassion, and understanding in so many perspectives and degrees at once.
I realized then that it wasn't just my aunt who had died.
My grandmother lost her daughter.
My father lost his sister.
Her friends lost their friend.
And our family lost a light.
I sat at the kitchen table in painful recognition of this. At the peak of understanding, finally the gates had given in to the pressure--and I had begun to break down for the first time since hearing the news. I did not feel hollow inside. I did not feel anything gripping my insides. I only felt pain.
Pain. Unquenchable, unforgiving, immeasurable pain. A pain that quickly destroyed reason. A pain that quickly destroyed thought. A body's odd retaliation to pump out salt water from tear ducts. A pain that shook the body. A pain that shook everything I was. I was pain itself. And in that instance of a depthless agony I had fallen into, I slowly crept closer to what it meant to be here;
Now. Sitting. Sit. As I sat. Back then. What was. When.
I felt alive. Human. At peace. At edge. At a loving, hateful vantage point where I could see everything for what it was. With no bias. With no hesitation. I felt the loss of life; and felt the value of what it was to be alive.
How unpredictably, life can just pull things out from under you. How it can take away all that you know, and leave you wondering if you ever knew anything in the first place. Leaving you scared, lost, confused.
But it is by this act that life does us the most justice. It is through the pain and heartache that we feel whole. It is by getting sucked into the hole that we may ever truly begin to look up. To just look up and see that everything is brighter than we had thought. It was the darkness that clenched me that allowed for the stars to shine bright.
Life may bring darkness in this life,
But it is darkness that brings out the stars;
and all the hope their light brings.
Rest in peace my wonderful Aunt Susie.
I will never forget the light you brought me. Both in life, and death.
Watching television with my cousins.
Phone rings.
Automatically answer.
Second nature.
My instant robotic inquiry of a friendly:
"Hello?"
I am greeted by sobbing. Sudden, incoherent words, spluttering out of the receiver. My ears strain to make sense of what is now taking place.
Here now. Listening. Listened. Listen. Back then. Was. When.
"Anna?" I ask, now alarmed; concerned, fearful, stricken.
"--Will" I make out from the sobs. I listen as she attempts feebly to control her voice between the chocking tears.
"Yes?! What is it?" I ask. Reality threatens to bring a blow. Tragedy drips from the static.
"Aunti Susie--is dead!"
"WHAT!?"
Without meaning, I sit up. Eyes focused, looking past the solid reality in front of me. Confused, fearful, shocked, rejecting. The word is reflexive. I dare not believe the words I hear. There must be a mistake. I did not hear it correctly. I am at fault. The message is wrong. The message cannot fit with this reality. The message cannot fit with my reality. And so my senses snap and spit back the message in an instance, as automatic as a flinch; a wince.
The question: "What?"
My aunt had died. In a biking accident. She was struck by a vehicle.
That lovely woman died. The image of her smile, broke down like shattered glass. The associated feeling of hope and joy after a terrible day, fluttered silently away. My aunt, whose laugh was the loudest at family social gatherings, whose humor never faltered to trigger contagious smiles, who was simply there. She was there. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Funerals, Birthdays--she was there. All the time.
But no, that can't be, you see.
She's always at the family gatherings. Get-togethers. She plays a large part. She's always there with something bright to say. She's always there to hug in greetings and leavings. She's always there. Always.
How can I hold my view of the world, if those concepts that made up that view--cease to exist?
How can I understand what night and day are, if their very means of existing are suddenly pulled out from under me?
How can she just....be gone.
My father sat down with my Grandma. Slowly, meaningfully, to tell her the awful news. Seconds before, I had watched my Grandma, hugging everyone--aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, son-in-laws--the family-- that had driven to our house. All our family was there. Hugging Grandma. She didn't know yet... She was so happy. She didn't ask why they were there. She didn't care why they were there. She was just happy to see them visit. My father sat her down... Everyone went quiet. Dreading. I leaned back against a wall with folded arms. Feeling guilty for what I was about to witness. I knew I should have looked away, or looked down at the ground. Or leave the room. Anything. But I couldn't take my eyes off of my Grandma, who was about to receive the news that her beloved daughter had died.
With calm control, my father said clearly and objectively to her:
"This morning..."
I studied to see my Grandma's smile slowly fade to an expression of curiosity.... leaving room for a small thought-- that perhaps this wasn't such a happy visit afterall...
"...Susie Died."
A fist gripped my insides as I watched her old wrinkled face shrivel to a cry. Her words of disbelief. My father's confirmation. She cupped her small hands to her face as I froze to listen to her dry sobs. Her dry tears.
She was too old to experience this. She was too old to feel such hurt.
It must be the worst thing in the world. To have to bury your children.
Fate is sick.
I walked inside, chest hurting from such an overwhelming flood of emotions. Of what cruel reality it is to be a human being, and to feel such empathy, compassion, and understanding in so many perspectives and degrees at once.
I realized then that it wasn't just my aunt who had died.
My grandmother lost her daughter.
My father lost his sister.
Her friends lost their friend.
And our family lost a light.
I sat at the kitchen table in painful recognition of this. At the peak of understanding, finally the gates had given in to the pressure--and I had begun to break down for the first time since hearing the news. I did not feel hollow inside. I did not feel anything gripping my insides. I only felt pain.
Pain. Unquenchable, unforgiving, immeasurable pain. A pain that quickly destroyed reason. A pain that quickly destroyed thought. A body's odd retaliation to pump out salt water from tear ducts. A pain that shook the body. A pain that shook everything I was. I was pain itself. And in that instance of a depthless agony I had fallen into, I slowly crept closer to what it meant to be here;
Now. Sitting. Sit. As I sat. Back then. What was. When.
I felt alive. Human. At peace. At edge. At a loving, hateful vantage point where I could see everything for what it was. With no bias. With no hesitation. I felt the loss of life; and felt the value of what it was to be alive.
How unpredictably, life can just pull things out from under you. How it can take away all that you know, and leave you wondering if you ever knew anything in the first place. Leaving you scared, lost, confused.
But it is by this act that life does us the most justice. It is through the pain and heartache that we feel whole. It is by getting sucked into the hole that we may ever truly begin to look up. To just look up and see that everything is brighter than we had thought. It was the darkness that clenched me that allowed for the stars to shine bright.
Life may bring darkness in this life,
But it is darkness that brings out the stars;
and all the hope their light brings.
Rest in peace my wonderful Aunt Susie.
I will never forget the light you brought me. Both in life, and death.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
All Demons Were Once Angels.
Is flight brought to he who no longer thinks the ground, but thinks the skies?
Be that true, what if he thinks the ground? Will he fall?
May flight be brought to he who acknowledges ground, and chooses to think sky?
Yes, I acknowledge the deathly solidity of the ground and all beneath.
Yes, I choose to think over the whelms; that which God has favored in my route,
His plan for my untimely demise.
But for as long as I may think coherently, with morality christened by soul; I choose not to lay waste to a demonic heart, whom swells in all effort to forward my undoing; but rather to speak in it's behalf for coexistence with the hope it's intended to balance.
He is.
I am.
We Are.
And if God's will falters to destroy me; surely I will make this body commit wonders.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Deathday.
Closing the front door behind me, I walk past the dining room and notice that a low lamp is lit; illuminating the large portrait of Kristina's Memorial. I walk a couple of steps more only to realize something...
I check my phone.
September 13th. 2010.
Oh God. Is it...it's her birthday today.
I notice two burnt out candles on the counter, " 1 7 " cut outs. No cake to be found, but I know my parents had a small traditional cake for her. I know they blew out the candles. I know they remembered.
Part of me wants to scream "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU CELEBRATING HER BIRTHDAY IF SHE'S FUCKING DEAD?"
Part of me just wants to sit in front of her ashes and cry like a little kid.
Part of me looks away.
I've already cried. I've already yelled. I've already grieved. But there's a pain that will never leave me for as long as I live. Something so horrid and dreadful, all hope seems to vanquish in essence of each thought. The thought that she died. The hard God damn reality that her heart has stopped beating. That her flesh has turned to ashes. That her smile has been destroyed. That her laugh has been extinguished.
That my little sister is dead.
I lean over the door frame as I ask my father
"So...how old would she be today?"
"She would be seventeen."
Seventeen. Oh my God. She would be a senior right now. Enjoying her last fucking year of high school. But she never made it to high school. No. She died an 8th grader. She'll never know what it's like...what anything is like...
What's the fucking point of saying how old she would be? She will never age now. She will never grow older. She will always be the same 14 year old little girl as I've always remembered her to be. She will never graduate high school. She will never go to college. She will never have a career, or a guy who would love and care for her, or have kids, or be a mother, or a grand mother, or anything.
She's just dead.
It feels as if my insides have hollowed. It feels as if the devil is gripping my heart with his cold hands and continuously wrenching at it. I feel as if the sun will never rise. That joy will never come. That my life should end right now. I feel that I could bury myself in the darkest pit and sit there, waiting for the hollow screams to stop, for the pain to burn until it has nothing else to consume, for the lost times, the regrets, and all to just....stop.
I have so much regret it will literally eat at me until surely I'll turn black on the inside. As black as her ashes lay now, inside a box in our living room. Why the fuck did she have to die..?
Why couldn't it be me..?
Why did that wonderful little girl have to suffer such a tragedy? I can't even hold my breath for 2 fucking minutes and she had a gripping embrace on her windpipe, with immense strain and pressure twisting at her neck, suffocating the life, suffocating hope, destroying part of my life. destroying a part of me.
I remember walking into her room late at night and waking her up. We'd talk for hours, sneak around the house and play video games or microwave t.v dinners at 4AM in the morning; laughing about the stupidest shit. She'd talk about her problems and I'd talk about mine. I could talk to her about anything.
I remember about a month before her death, I asked God if he could give me a friend I could talk to anything about.
A month later she dies; a twisted point God makes to spit at me, shaming me into taking her for granted.
Well thank you God, I sure fucking appreciate her now.
And it makes me think....
Could I ever have realized how special Kristina was if she never died? Could I have realized how much I loved her--how much of a true friend she was to me--if she never died? Could I even grasp how much of a kind and caring spirit she was if she were alive today?
Maybe not.
A sick possibility....no....
If she never died, she would never have lived. She would never have changed my life the way she did. She would never have made me think twice. Her death exemplified her life. It made her life whole. It made her who she was to me. It defined her in a way that life could not possibly have convinced me otherwise.
Death made her beautiful.
And now a part of me says "Will, you're just a twisted fuck. How can death make anyone beautiful?"
...Perhaps, it is the impermanence of such beauty itself that makes it so. That makes it special.
How can anything be special if it can never be lost?
It's Just a Matter of Time.
So another day swings by and work steeps over at the 2:30 mark, successfully "ending" my free time at around 1:30, including time to get ready.
My boss said she'll start me off with only 15 hours a week when school starts; I'll be able to adjust everything from there.
Monday, Wednesday, and Friday will be the days I have school starting on September 20th, with my earliest class starting at 8. Because it's about an hour drive, I'll probably leave the house an hour and a half earlier, at 6:30, which would mean half an hour to get ready which would mean I'd have to be awake at 6. Oh, good old High School days.
So reasonably, 15 hours a week means about 2 whole shifts. So my schedule would look something like...
Monday - School
Tuesday - Work
Wednesday - School
Thursday - Work
Friday - School
Sat/Sun - Homework / Leisure
Typically of course, I'll probably have work over the weekend if not the weekdays, so we shall see what kind of work schedule Fro Yo puts me on. I hear college homework take A LOT of time, so I will most likely be spending the mornings before work on homework. Interesting.
30 hours every 2 weeks would mean $240 every paycheck; $480 every month excluding the amount the government will take from me.
If I have $2,000 in the bank now, and I hope to buy a Macbook Pro 17inch and a Canon 5D Mark II in 6 months...by March...I would make roughly $2,880 from now until March if I were to save every penny from my paycheck.
If Anna pays me back my $500 over the span of these 6 months I should have about
$5,300 to spend on the two items.
Hopefully a Canon 5D Mark III will come out during the time; causing the Mark II to drop in price and saving me more money. I think I'm going to rule out buying the items directly from their manufacturers (I've considered the additional taxing cost and calculated that I would be paying at least an extra $400 for the damn camera; damn government); And so, I'm probably going to be checking craigslist every week to see what sales are going on where.
I'm just going to have to make wise decisions from here on out, and hopefully commit myself to enough research time to determine exactly what will best fit what I'm looking for.
I know I can do this.
.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
"Well God, make it fly faster than I'm falling in love."
Saw Sam today at work.
No, of course we didn't exchange any glances or any greetings; it's still on a
"I kind of...yea, I don't really want much to do with you" kind of basis.
It's weird how I could spot her from a mile away, just by the way she walks.
It's interesting to think about how much you can know about a person. I knew her dreams, her tendencies, her motives, her fears, her insecurities, her thoughts, her body. All in those 6 wonderful months of finally knowing what it was like to be in an awesome relationship. Where everyday you woke up and you just thought about one person and it just made you feel light inside because you know damn well they're thinking about you too.
I was a different person back then.
I remember the way my heart jumped whenever I heard my phone's text message ringtone. I remember how my mind swam in thoughts and possibilities every single day. I was drenched in emotion; and it was a true experience that changed me. I was finally able to do all those little cute things good boyfriends are suppose to do.
I made her notes everyday.
The deepest thoughts I've ever written were in the poetry I would give her every week.
I drew comics with us as the stars, and how we would overcome the odd and the evil.
I remember times where we'd cook orange chicken and write little short stories.
I experienced what it felt like giving a girl flowers; asking someone to a dance romantically, just going up to give random hugs and kisses, holding their hand wherever you went, buying them little gifts and all that mushy stuff.
I learned how to kiss like a human being and not like a slobbery dog.
I felt more like a man because I could say a silly phrase like "Oh yea, I'm going to spend time with my girlfriend."
Those were the days where everything meant so much to me. Where my life literally revolved around one person.
I remember the moment I first saw her sitting on a bench at lunch, and thought to myself "Wow, never seen this girl before." And how I literally went "Okay Universe, I want you to give me a chance on this one, because I really want to make it happen."
And look what happened, skinny insecure William got his damn first girlfriend ever.
I remember trembling and stuttering the first time I gave her this little card I made that intended to cheer her up because "her last boyfriend was a douche." I remember how my heart felt like it was going to explode and burst out of my chest when I asked her to be my girlfriend.
I remember the shocking reality when I realized that it's okay to like someone, and let them know about it.
If High School taught me anything at all, it was in the social progression I made during those 4 years. From a frightened freshman, to an insecure sophomore, to a nervous junior, and finally to a semi-confident senior. I can't thank the damn system enough for disguising this truly amazing social bubble of teaching as a prison for "academic success."
Of course, I don't feel the same way about Sam now. It's all changed. I fell out of love. And I'll be sure to never abuse that four letter word ever again for as long as I live.
But that isn't to say just because I don't feel the same way, doesn't mean I don't appreciate what we experienced together, and how I've matured in so many ways because of it.
I can still vaguely feel the warm heart of that memory, stored in stone in the back of my mind. I see it; but I can no longer truly feel it. But it is now that those experiences have settled in; to a solidified frame, that I may use it as a step further to becoming a more mature adult.
Experience truly does yield confidence.
And despite that it was "just" a 6 month junior year high school relationship,
It has helped shape me into the more mature person I am today.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Here, I Eternally Reside.
Day, slide me by every hour I breathe in.
Sandwiches every third hour, a protein shake every week.
Fingers sliced by soft strings on an instrument.
Blood in the back of my throat from the weather.
A book over breakfast of toast and eggs.
1 Hour Workouts fill an afternoon.
10 Minute raps after every shower.
A look in the mirror to pick at imperfections.
A look outside the window to see the intersection.
But there's nothing for me there. Not now anyway.
Just a yogurt shop with colored spoons and tips every now and then.
Wearing the same jeans for 3 hot days.
It's not so prestigious, but I still get paid.
Late night returns, everyone is asleep.
I'll be a shattered expectation if this prolongs.
$200 singing program from a torrent.
Waiting for a Camera and a Laptop to wash ashore from this current.
It's very still here, in this brain.
Silent; remain to repeat the same.
This too shall pass, but there will be a time where I look back to know
That somewhere; it is here, where I eternally reside.
Sandwiches every third hour, a protein shake every week.
Fingers sliced by soft strings on an instrument.
Blood in the back of my throat from the weather.
A book over breakfast of toast and eggs.
1 Hour Workouts fill an afternoon.
10 Minute raps after every shower.
A look in the mirror to pick at imperfections.
A look outside the window to see the intersection.
But there's nothing for me there. Not now anyway.
Just a yogurt shop with colored spoons and tips every now and then.
Wearing the same jeans for 3 hot days.
It's not so prestigious, but I still get paid.
Late night returns, everyone is asleep.
I'll be a shattered expectation if this prolongs.
$200 singing program from a torrent.
Waiting for a Camera and a Laptop to wash ashore from this current.
It's very still here, in this brain.
Silent; remain to repeat the same.
This too shall pass, but there will be a time where I look back to know
That somewhere; it is here, where I eternally reside.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Know a little about a lot.
I'm not sure what to focus on. But I know I'd like to be a...
- Dancer
- Comedian
- Singer
- Editor
- Rapper
- Philosopher
- Poet
- Artist
- Athlete
- Photographer
- Director
- Actor
- Writer
- Musician
I've 82 more years to live.
And damn! There is a lot to learn :]
Sunday, September 5, 2010
1 Minute for 1 Day.
Another short blog.
Life is a drag as it seems for me; quite lately.
Things will pick up when college starts though.
I got a hold of a $200 singing program, and I'm very excited to start training on my vocals. It will be entirely worth it, I know it! I've got so much to look forward to; but it's all jumbled and uneven at the edges. It's unclear. It's mysterious.
But things always get better. Especially at it's shittiest.
Because when you're damned starving for something;
Even the smallest crumb carries it's weight.
Life is a drag as it seems for me; quite lately.
Things will pick up when college starts though.
I got a hold of a $200 singing program, and I'm very excited to start training on my vocals. It will be entirely worth it, I know it! I've got so much to look forward to; but it's all jumbled and uneven at the edges. It's unclear. It's mysterious.
But things always get better. Especially at it's shittiest.
Because when you're damned starving for something;
Even the smallest crumb carries it's weight.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Mask
It might not mean anything anymore.
It might be just last week's flavor.
It could be a winter's chill in a summer heat that has found it's way into my spine.
Growing to bring cold; a festering wound within a wound.
Or I could be deluded; solitary endeavors spent on a perfectly beautiful day.
I hate every beautiful day.
What good is a gun without someone to pull the trigger?
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