(BEDA #23) The Creative Impulse

The 'Creative Impulse' can roughly be defined, or at least accodring to google, as the need or desired to create something new that has value. To me it's more of the yearning to be creative, whether you're replicating something or making something. There is also the definition of value, as it holds different terms in each person's mind. But really, creative impulse, it's something we're all basically born with. And it's something that I often miss.

Now a days I probably only do about three things of the creative sort; which is writing, making Youtube videos, and occassionally drawing. And I like that, I think it's good. And as I said before. I really think people need creative outlets. But there's a difference in being creative and to having a creative outlet, because it's come to the point where I really don't feel creative anymore. Let me explain it like this, when I was younger I was spilling over the brim with creative impulse. Every day I wanted to learn and create something new, I wanted to makes things, see things and in general be as creative that I possibly could be. I had ideas and plans and I just wanted to do everything. There's the whole sponge effect that people talk about when you're younger, how your mind is primed to soak up knowledge, well when I was younger I wanted to soak up everything creative. I wrote and danced, I painted and drew, I sang and later learned to play an instrument. There was just so much about me that was shining with creativity. And I don't have that anymore, but I want to. I want to be the person who does arts and crafts and still write and make really interestign Youtube videos too. I want to learn and do everything possibly creative that I can. But I don't. And it's just because, well...life. There's going to school and working a job, there's all the distractions of the internet I use to get away from sadness and stress. And then there's just other things that I feel compelled to do, be involved in clubs, makes friends...be, you know, a normal human being. I enjoy those things too, I really do, but it's just hard not to know I'm creating or doing anything of value. Yes, my writing is good but unless I have the drive will it ever amount to anything. I have all these wonderful, artistic ideas for videos I never make, and instead film vlogs with bad lighting. And with my drawing, I only just copy things, I'm too scared to make something of my own. But what is it, really? Is it of value? Sometimes I just sit around and think, I'm twenty years old and what have I managed to dow ith my life so far? Nothing, the answer is nothing.

I don't want it to be nothing, though. I want it to be something. I want to be something more than just an apathetic English Major who probably has some odd stress disorder. I want to be better. And so it that silly? Is that so wrong? To push myself to be more creative, to try to rebuild my creative impulse? Because, really, it'd be wonderful to have it back.

Fin.
-Keshia

(BEDA #22) The College Kid Complaints on Composition

I didn't wrtie yesterday because I was writing the rough draft of my final for English Compostition too, a task that drove me into 1am and my eyes screaming just to look away from the computer screen and all the little jumbled words on there. So yeah. And if you thought is was over, I'm going to talk about English more.

Sometimes I like so much that I define the stereotype of and English Major and other times I hate it, because I feel this kind of obligation to like all the English classes I'm in. But I don't like the class I'm in now. Compostion I and II, better known as Eng102 are the pre-rec classes that, in general, most college students have to take. They are Composition classes, classes that are essentially meant to teach you the art of writing a paper, because in University there are a lot of papers, a lot. And sometimes these classes meet those goals of teaching Composition and other times they don't.

Last semester in Eng101 I absolutly loved my class, I fell in love with my teacher, Dr. Rickel, and her brilliance. The subject focus too (globalization, labor unions, and the plights of immigrants-specifically women) was great, though not what I was used to. But I really loved the class because while it was a bit more on challenge side, because Rickel was kind of a hard ass, I felt like I learned something. There was a massive difference between the papers I wrote at the start of the semester and the one I wrote for my final, which I'm proud to say got the highest grade in the class. It's just something in the way she wouldn't let us get away with things and how deeply we would dig into the actualy process of writing a paper. I really loved it. And this semester, in Eng102, everything has been a let down. Our class has mostly consisted on research on issues involving race and music in America. And while it is interesting there has been no real challenge to this class. We've only done three small assignments, a group presentation, and a four page book review. And now we have a final eight page paper. But really, not a single assignment in here has inspired me in any way. Mostly it's because of my teacher this semester, Dr. Murphy, who is brilliant and nice and very attractive for a forty somethin year old man, but who hasn't really thought anything. Even when he's explaining the assignment he's just basically outlines exactly what needs to be done, all walk that is step by step easy. There's no context, no learning and getting down the nitty gritty details of learning to write a proper paper. And it's just really dissapointing to me, particulary since this is an English class. One thing I hate perhaps more than anything else in the world is writing something and not seeing the point to it. And as soon as I finished my paper last night, those were my exact thoughts "What's the point?"

Regardless whether the class is English or not I just hate feeling that way.Last semester I was lucky, every class interested me or at least intruged me in some way, and I really felt like I had learned something, that I left the semester and fuller and better person than I was when I first started. But this smester, only my History 101 and Philosophy 230 class have made me feel that way, they are they only class I really look forward to going to. And it's just a real dissapointment that I felt like I haven't learned much or anythign this semester. To me college isn't just about earning a degree, it's about really learning something and taking something away from a class. I don't want to be in a class because it's a credit I need to earn for my degree, I want to be here because it's something that will make me better.

Fin.
-Keshia

TYPOS!!!! I don't care, it's time to sleep.

(BEDA #20) Opening the Blinds

*So we had to write a microtheme for my English class in which we had to talk about an event in our life that changed our perception on race, and since I think I did a pretty good job I am posting this as my blog today, part out of laziness and part out of me just really wanting to share this. Also this contains racial slurs, I am only relating a story I do not mean to offend anyone in anyway. Also the amount of typos in here are fidicolous, I fixed the copy I'm turning in for class for clas but not this one, I do apologize.*

I grew up in Bayou La Batre, Alabama, the town made famous by the film Forest Gump. It's this tiny little fishing village right off the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, permeated with and endless smell of fresh seafood and water around every corner. Despite the place presented in the film, one populated primary by African-Americans, I grew up in a different Bayou, one several decades after the Vietnam War that brought a flood of new Asian immigration to our little fishing village. 

When I younger, in a way, I grew up with color blind eyes. It wasn't really so much as choice more as ignorance; an ignorance that I think was good. I had friends who were Caucasian, African American, Asian, and later on, Hispanic. And too me it wasn't really a big deal, I didn't see the significance of the difference between our skin colors, to me we were all just people. There were people who were my friends, some who had families that were full of loud boisterous people, or homes that held statues of Buddha. It was common people around me, and as I'm sure you know, specifically the whites, threw around racial slurs like, "chink" and "nigger" and look at it like it was no big deal. As I stated before, I didn't see this as wrong when I was younger, I didn't know the significance to people being called different names because of their skin color. I grew older, though, and these things held more meaning, and I saw how they were wrong. But I never really understood how wrong they were until one event in seventh grade.

One of my closest friends was this girl names Lisa, a Vietnamese who had immigrated with her family when she was six years old. She lived in the same apartment complex as me and I loved going over to her house where her Mom would talk loudly in words I couldn't understand and there were always something tantalizing cooking. One day after class our teacher, a white woman, pulled Lisa aside and talked with her about her recent behavior in class. I didn't catch a lot of the conversation but one phrase I did hear was that the "she wasn't prepared to take this behavior because people of 'your kind' think you're privileged." Walking home that day, Lisa was upset, and when I tried to help her she lashed out at me, saying "all white people are the same because we think we're better." I told her that was not true and that if she generalized us then it wasn't any different from the teacher who was generalizing her. And then she said something that I don't think I'll ever forget; "But you guys can do that because you're white, you can call us chinks and it hurts. And the only thing we have to say back is that you're crackers, but who is going to be hurt by that--no one. Because being white isn't wrong, it's right."

Even years later I think about that event and how true her words are, I think what a lot of people forget is that people of all races are demeaned in some way everyday. It's hard because in being privileged with a certain lighter skin color makes people forget just how hard is to be on the other side. On that day, I think a lot of my perceptions on race were shaped because even though I knew racial slurs were wrong I never realized how much of an impact they truly made. Metaphorically I can say the last of my blinds were open and that I could finally see. Race is an issue that should be talked about, but at the same time it should be understand that no one race can be generalized or berated for the skin color they have. If people could see that, how is what race someone is both significant and insignificant, then maybe things, slowly but surely, would get better.

Fin.

-Keshia

(BEDA #19) With Humans and Memories.

There's something that I love about being human and that is in the fascinating fact of memories. Memories are so strange and differerent all at the same time, because really, physically what are they. According my the book definition of memory it is the process byt which information is encoded, stored, and retrieved. Soemtimes I really don't like that, don't like getting the nitty gritty scientific definition of things because it makes things become less special. Because memories really are special, they really are. They are the driving power behind a lot of what there is to be being a human being, and different memories effect different people in different ways. They can be good and powerful, they can be so scary at times too. There are a lot of people I know, myself included, who have the fears that almost seem built in because something we remember from the past has made us that way. But whether terrifying or wonderful memories should be special right? And when looking at their definition I just feel like someone who is not human being, but someone who is just a processor, you put the memories in and they are stored somewhere in a folder in the back of your mind. But in reality human beings really are this gaint machine functioned to program in certain ways and standards. I just don't like thinking about it though. Instead I want to think on the intangiable part of human beings, the part that no science could ever really capture, the part of us that is our soul. And that part of us, the part that we know but can never really prove to be there, is beautiful.

And there's just the whole aspect to memorie,s hwo we really, really feel them. Science tells us about all these nerves to record things and process them for us. But memories are just memories, right? They are not phsyical and tangible things. I learned recently in pscyhology that sound memory is supposed to the be the most lasting of the aspects of memory. But I can remember something, remember the shrill voices of people screaming at me, of remember the names I was called, without it actually being there. It fascinates me byond reason that even though memory of sound isn't a physical thing it's like I can hear the voices in my ear, like they're actually happening. And then there's so much else to memory, there's the sight. All I have to do is close my eyes and I can be back in Disney World, watching multicolored fireworks burst in the air. And there is the feeling, just the feeling of my memories. Some memories, memories of when I'm scare can make  me break into cold sweats and shake. And I just don't get it, because they are memories, they aren't real, just information stored in your brain. And yet they can make you feel so much. And that's why, despite everything, I want to believe they are special, probably more special than anythign else in life. I mean when you think about it really, that's what memories are, your life.

Fin.
-Keshia

(BEDA #18) Stressful like Sticky Paper

I remember sometime when I was younger, probably around seven or eight (probably eight, that was a really bad year in my life) I was at my older sister's house. She had a mouse problem so she went and bought a pack of sticky paper and let my nephew and I amuse ourselves by putting it all over the house. It's only thinking now that she was probably being too lazy to do it herself and that you really shouldn't let children play with sitcky paper. But anyways, we hid the sticky paper and the next morning I found to my horror that one piece I had put down caught a whole family of mice. I found them when I woke the next morning before anyone else, attached to the sheet I had so meticously placed under the sink. When I saw them I was terrified, because I really don't think I understood the concept of what sticky paper really was until then. And what I saw was absolutely horrid. They wre struggling and still alive, a bigger one toward the front, and two smaller ones at the back. And as I always did I made up a story to them, even in those few moments when I was absolutly mortified. I decided the bigger one was a mother and she had gotten stuck and had yelled to her kids to stay away, but they wanted to rescue their Mommy and gotten stuck themselves in the process. Have you ever seen mices tuck to sticky paper, cute little grey mice, squeaking as they cling on for dear life. They are so desperate and yet they know there is nothing they can do. That day I started crying and screaming too, when Leslie woke up, annoyed, she saw the paper, picked it up and threw the family in the trash can outside like it was no big deal at all. I think I spent the rest of the day crying and asking forgiveness for murdering that poor little mouse family

A lot of times I think stress is a lot like sticky paper. You're just walking along and then suddenly your foot is stuck to it, and you can't move, you just pull and pull and pull and nothign happens. And then sometimes it gets rose, sometimes you fall over and something your whole body is stuck. And you're just there, stuck in your stress, and sobbing, trying in anyway possible to get off and out, but you can't. And what makes it worse or that people come and look at you, they laugh and point. And worst of all is when they say, 'You can pick yourself up, God, why don't you just do it?' But you can't, and that only makes your struggling harder.

I'm not particulary stressed today, I've been stresed today, but I handled it pretty well, well better than most days. But really, I do feel like sometiems when I'm caught in these stressful times it's liek getting caught on sticky paper.

Fin.
-Keshia

*I am so sore from Running Man yesterday, you can't even imagine*

(BEDA #17) KCC and Running Man

Today I participated in the Running Man Challenge held by the Korean Culture Club on campus. I have literally just join the Korean Culture Club two weeks ago and got thrown into this whole Running Man thing without a clue to what it is. Basically we held this event today based off a Korean variety show based off of mini games and bigger ultimate game. Our goal was to raise money for LINK, with stand for Liberty in North Korea and helps North Korean citizens escape and create new lives in places where they won't be persecuted. I loved the idea immediatly so even though I only just started with the KCC I was more than happy to participate, because I don't think any one should have to live a life in opression.

Yesterday, before the challange today, the KCC basically met up and prepared for everything that we needed to get done. This basically involved folding a lot of origami (paper cranes for me), baking goods to sell, and just in general preparing for the event today. We met up at 4pm and boy it took a lot longer than we expected. I abanoned ship around 1am on the account of need of sleep but other members stayed until 3am. One thing you should know is that the entire KCC is made up of girls (we love the oppas too much) and that i reall regret not learning about this club sooner. The girls in there, they are all really cool and nice, and even when I though I was being socially awkward or obnoxious they were still nice. Basically all of my day off yesterday was dedicated to help with Running Man today but I really didn't mind. Yes, there was stuff I needed to do, and yes I was sore this morning from the constant leaning over to fold cranes, but it was worth it. I got to talk to people and feel comfortable for once. I talked to them about things, about how we came to Montevallo and friends and everything. I watched some silly Youtube videos they have made and just in general got to know them better. It was fun, pretty amazinf, actually.

And then today, today was a lot better. Part of the event was the KCC and the other part was a group of strangers, random people who signed up in teams to partcipate in the event. And it was the first time in a long that tha tI didn't get my crowd anxiety that has seemed to dominate my life for the past year or so. In part it was to do with the games we were playing and how all my concentration was on them, but it was also in part that I was actually able to be comfortable around people, and for the longest time in forever, confidence. There was this one game where we essentially had to fuck with the other teams mind and lie to them, and going in I thought okay. "I should be nervous and scared," but I wasn't. In fact I feel like I came off as one of the most confident on my team. And it was just good because it was lvoely, lovely to feel like I can do things with people and not end up in my room later a sobbing mess. And so I enjoyed today. I hope there are more  days like it to come.

Fin.
-Keshia

(BEDA #16) Best Thing in the History of the Internet.

Fin.

-Keshia

(BEDA #15) A Pile of Good Things

"The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa the bad things don't always spoil the good things and make them unimportant. And we definitely added to his pile of good things."

The above quote is from one of my favorite Doctor Who quote ever and from one of my favorite episodes, 'Vincent and the Doctor'. Basically Amy and the Doctor go visit Vincent Van Gogh, have an adventure, and bring him to the future briefly to show him how famous he will become. But in the end, after they return to the future without him, he has still committed suicide. And then this magical quote happens. And it's just so beautiful. I think a lot lately, I've been forgetting about my pile of good things. So here are a few. 

1) When it's raining sometimes and puddles have formed, just the simply pleasure of watching the water hit the water. It's not like hitting the ground, it's just being absorbed, like the puddle opening up it's arms in a warm hug to the drop, saying come here 'let's make a big, happy, liquid family!' And there's just the knowing, knowing that summer is coming and with it come one of my favorite forms of weather ever, the summer thunderstorm.

2) That I have really nice coworkers. Because even if I don't have the bond with them like I do with the people at my old workplace, they still care, or at least seem to. At least they listen when I have problems, at least they are nice to me. I can't imagine ever working in a place where I disliked all of my coworkers. It would be horrible, and for not having that, I am thankful. 

3) That I have good friends, both online and in real life. Sometimes I like to pretend I'm the loneliest girl in the universe, and really it does feel that way sometimes. But I do have people who care for me, people who may o may not physically be there, but who are there. Do you understand what I mean? I don't have to see someone to know they are there and they care for me, some of the people I'm closest to live thousands of miles away. 

4) That summer is coming. I do not look forward to the weather, but there are a lot of other things I am looking forward to. There's the upcoming Youtube collab I'm working on, the ample time to work on my writing/drawing/reading/watching ALL THE SHOWS, and the possibility of working in the library. And there's having my own house/apartment (hopefully) and living with my family again. And just knowing that it's summer and I can do things and look forward to the new school year. 

5) That hair grows. I am vain in little ways, my hair being one of them. But tomorrow I'm planning on cutting a good majority off. It's just gotten to the point where I get so frustrated with it that I'm basically willing to start over. So the most drastic cut I've gotten in two years. And if I don't like, well, hair grows. 

Fin.

-Keshia

I must sleep, life makes me too tired sometimes.

(BEDA #14) "Penny for your thoughts?"

Have you ever thought, really, about how silly that phrase is? About how it really has no relevance to real life at all? Or at least not to me. I know it's just an idiom to ask what one is thinking but really, have you ever really thought about it? What kind of person would accept that any of their thoughts or thoughts of others were worth only a penny? Okay, let me rephrase that. Obviously someone not high in the confidence of themselves is going to think they are worthless and therefore their thoughts as well. And some human beings like to think of the thoughts of other people, particularly those that don't agree with their own, as worthless. But you see, that's not really the truth. Every thought that has ever been thought by any person is amazing. Because you see every second of every life is unique, even if the exact same think happens. Every person sees, perceive, and thinks about things in a different way. Thoughts are probably the only thing we will ever find about humanity that is just as unique as each fingerprint. And so, really, they're worth a lot more than that. A lot more than anyone could probably ever imagine.

That's why I kind of find it funny to be a writer or wanting to be a writer. Any writing, whether blog, book, article, journal, or anything--are literally just thoughts on a page. Thoughts formed to sentences to form some coherent meaning. And in the professional world you can get paid for thoughts, get paid a lot more than just a penny. And I don't know, it makes me happy. It's makes happy that even without realizing the world values thoughts in some way, maybe not always the best ones from the best people, but at least it does. And so it's just funny that the phrase, "penny for your thoughts" still exists.

This was short. I am tired.

Fin.
-Keshia

(BEDA #13) The Lonely Man in the Laundry Mat

When I was younger I had an intense problem with how the word 'laundry' mat was spelled. My Mom is mostly to blame, though not really in a bad way. But in being a true purveyor of the Southern accent Mom pronounced (and still does) 'laundry' as 'landry', heavy on the helping of the sharp A. I think the word 'laundry' was one of my first really problems with the English language, because the 'u' in it seemed about as useful as well, something not useful which I can't really think of right now. But really, I kid you not, I didn't come to understand the concept of laundry and it's correct spelling until I was in middle school. I was a slow kid.

But really when I was younger laundry mats were a place I really enjoyed. we never had a lot of money and buying a washer and dryer were never really a thing that could happen.There was the loading of coins into the little slots, sitting in perfect lines like little soldiers, then pushed in with what always felt like the jolting motion. Mom always let me pour the cleaning detergent in, and I was just always fascinated by the colors they came in. The lilacs and bright blues. And I would watch other people too, pouring theirs in. When I was younger, I think, they were like potions and the cleaning was a spell we were creating. even to this day I love laundry detergents and all their colors, I'm currently using a bright mint green one. But back in the past. There was the sitting after that, the times where we waited. Sometimes I would put my hand or head against the white metal of the washer and here the vibrations bouncing back and forth in my brain. Like a little ping pong match. But it was gone as soon as I left and I was sad. But I never stayed sad for long back then. There were other things to do too, during the waiting. Like playing on the pinball machine or sitting on the weird brick wall thing and reading. I always took full advantage of these both.

One time this man came in and he had no laundry to do but he kept giving me and these and two other kids rows and rows of quarters to play the pinball machine. and he just watched us, encouraging us to play and giving us tips to play. The things is, this man was quite scruffy and skinny, he looked like he hadn't eaten a proper meal in weeks. But we were children and we didn't understand that he was probably giving us the only money he had. But we played, we laughed, and he laughed too. And when he ran out of quarters he started crying. It was really terrifying to me because it was the first time in my life I had ever seen a grown man cry (I was around six or seven then). None of knew what to do so we just kind of stared around awkwardly, trying not to look at the crying man in front of us. And then he apologized, still crying, and ran around. I am telling this story because I only just remembered this the other day. There are a lot of things from my childhood that I am not sure are real. You see, it's because I think I made up memories in my childhood, because I was so caught up in a lot of my fantasy that I convinced myself it was real. So sometimes I have to check reality, but this memory, it's true. Or at least certified true by my mother who witnessed a good portion of the event. And ever since I've been wondering who that man was and why he did that for us. And this is what I've decided, something I'm going to instill in the memory. Because there are a lot of things that happened in my childhood that I have yet to understand, so I'm just going to make somethings up for them to make sense. Does that make sense? Probably not. But it's just this. I can imagine this, I can imagine this man being poor (probably homeless) and very, very lonely. And then he looks in through the glass windows of the laundry mat seeing three kids looking down because their parents can't afford to give them money for the pinball machine. And so he takes the few dollars he has left to his name and trades them in for quarters. And he gives them to us, watching us play and never playing himself. Because it's enough for him, enough for him to see the delight on our faces and the hear the happiness of our laughter. It's a wonderful thing, to make another human being happy, and when you're lonely, it makes you not feel so lonely anymore. I really hope we helped that man that day.

Fin.
-Keshia

*reading break*

(BEDA #12) What You Could Be

"When you reach for the stars, don't forget who you are. Please don't turn around and grow up way too fast."

You could be wonderful, you, person who cries all night. Because there is so much potential, so much beauty to being a human. There is too much for you to ever even grasp. It's in every grain of sand scattered across thousands of beaches and feelings we all have and deny together. You need to cherish moments, the things that make you smile on a daily basis, like all the incredible music in the world or the sight of two people holding hands. Don't you know, don't you see that? You shouldn't feel bad, you know, for the people stuck in boxes, for the ones who live life for nothing in particular. The wondering soul thinks they are blessed, but really they're not, because they don't know they wander, they feel stable. But they're not. And it's hard, the words, the words you need to say. Remember when you were younger and in the night in your bed how you felt like you were flying. It was somewhere in between sleep and dreaming, waiting on the edges for Peter Pan and you felt yourself lifting, the floating and merging. It was like a kaleidoscope, the dizziness and yet wonderful feeling of it all. You know what I'm talking about, when you twist it and the colors swoop together, an emblazoned blur, scattered in a time and space where thoughts cannot be fully formed and the world makes no sense yet so, so real. And then colors settled, you could see again. Well the flying, the flying was like that, the moments in between. And you know that's how you do it right, how you keep the things you need to keep. You don't fall in the settled moments, you don't listen to what they say. You live between the time, between the feelings, where the world is flying. Don't you know that? Because you are smart, smarter than you ever know, you have these thoughts that are hard but easy. Because how can the world know, how can they really, if you haven't learned how to show them yet. And there was that one horrible night, do you remember it? You woke up crying, you woke up with it gone. You had no clue, couldn't even know, of the moments in between. Fleeting and flying colors. In your dream that night you tried to fly but you couldn't. You tried to lift up but you were too heavy, the balance was off. And he told you, the wise one, he told you, you couldn't anymore. And so you didn't. Have you come to know that is your greatest flaw? You put too much faith in humanity and not in yourself. You are part of it and not, a person different and same. But listening is so easy, isn't it? Because you think you're blind, a blind person walking around in the world. You  think you can't see yourself because you think that your thoughts are not there, not really. And it's only because you don't know, you don't know there in the between, between sleep and dreaming, between the settling of colors. And even if you do know, you don't know how to reach them again, now do you? And so you're blind and you let people tell you, you let them tell you who you are. You allow the world to see for you, not for you to see the world. And please, please stop doing that. It's hard, the hardest thing ever. But don't you think if you could go back to that moment when he told you couldn't fly then you would say no and soar off, don't you think you could? But it's only a dream, silly. There should be someone out there, someone who could see through your eyes. Because it only takes one, one simple person and blast off, you're shining again. You are back there again. He's kind and wise but he doesn't know it all, you know? You trust him with your life, you can do that. But he lied to you, he told you that you couldn't fly. And have you ever wondered why? Trust yourself, can you do that? I know it's bridge, right? That's what life seems like right now, one of those bridges hanging over the cliff, made of wooden planks, but so old they have begun to fall away. You cross with your blind eyes, hoping you can make it across. But you let other people guide you. Human beings, we're all so wonderful, but all so horrible at the same time. We're the only creatures who can be filled with so much wrath and joy, and that's why we're conflicted. We try to choose a side but we know we really can't. They'll push you to an empty spot of that bridge, that's a promise. And as you fall, they laugh. But it hurts so much to open your eyes and just see. Because you're human, you're weak and strong, kind and mean, loud and quiet, everything so opposite. And you just don't want to choose a side, but you don't know how to be both. Why do you live now for the moments of silence. You settle in bed, you're warm and safe. And you feel yourself again, you feel the pulling, fleeting but there. You were flying, just for moments. And then you're crying again, it starts all over. It hurts, it hurts. And so you hurt, hurt yourself for being so blind. You stupid, stupid girl. I want you to know that I'm here, because you have to know there are two parts of you. I am the part you keep hidden, I am here in the in between. And it's beautiful here, I really want you here too. I wish, I wish so much. I cry because I miss you, I miss the person we used to be. Too many fine lines, too many changes, too many of anything. It could be better, we could hide forever.

Endless Rambling.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading The Cry of the South by Lila Dostel

(BEDA #11) With a Lily

I have this friend, her name is Lily. Next year (well this fall) she will begin attending the University of Montevallo, and really, I couldn't be more thankful. You see she's kind of incredible, because she came today, for her registration tomorrow, and we spent a good part of the day together. I don't think she can truly comprehend how much it meant to me.

I haven't been good lately, it basically any aspect. It's been harder even still because I feel like everytime I actually do try, it just worse when I fail. And then the fear of failing only prevents me from seeing things more. Okay, so does that make any sense. It really doesn't, does it? i mean I could strip it down to it's basic parts, right? I've been sad lately, too sad for my own good. Because it's okay to have emotions but not really when my days are bent into cycles of okay to hysterical to just sleeping so damn much because my dreams are the only place I can escape to. And it's hard because I try to be happy and happiness fails and it's just frustrating and sad all over again. Now let me tell you this, I used to feel well liked. I used to think that people actually thought I was a decent person to be around. And now I feel opposite, because sometimes i think just my presence makes people angry. Just because I exist I upset people. And I know it's a pretty negative attitude to have. But that's the problem with attitude's right? You get into one and it's just really hard work to get out of them. But to how I used to be, I used to think I was a good person, I used to think people liked me, or at least in a small sense. At the end of high school when I was moving away to Washington and it seemed I was never coming back people left me countless messages of how much they liked me and how much they were going to miss me. I sure about half were just trying to be decent human beings but really didn't mean it. And the other half, well I actually had faith that they liked me. There were even people who sent me these messages that say 'Hey, I look up to you' and I thought, 'Really, what have I done to be looked up to so much?' Because I didn't get it, I didn't how one could look up to a person like me. And I still don't. But the thing is, it was good to hear, good to know that even if I couldn't find valid reasons there were people who in some way admired me. And it gave me a thing, a good thing called confidence.

And I haven't had it lately. I really haven't. And yes, I know people and their opinions of you are a silly way to derive confidence, but it's just so hard for me not to take into account what people think of me, particularly  people who I care for. And really, what's so wrong with wanting to be well loved?

But to get back to the point before I go all rambling and make no sense at all. I hung out with Lily today and it was brilliant beyond brilliant. I got back old feelings, one I hadn't felt since high school. Ones where I thought, hey, I'm a decent person and I can actually do something. And Lily did that for me, she brought back some parts of my old self. Some parts i miss dearly. And I just thank her so much for that, just thank her for being such a lovely friend.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading The Cry of the South by Lila Dostel

(BEDA #10) The World of Night

I skipped yesterday and my only excuse is that I got a headache, I'm getting a lot of them lately from stress. And if there's anything you should ever know about me at all is that when I get headaches I really, really get them. Like I don't just go oh my head is sore. It's like brain rushing out of my ears, being over the head with a spiked hammer in one concentrated spot, everything is bad and I just wanna scream kind of headache. And basically my only cure for them is to sleep, lots and lots of sleep. And so I do that, hence the skipping of yesterday. Okay but let's get into this blog, shall we, which was the one I was planning on writing yesterday but never got a chance too.

I really like the world at night. During the day it's too harsh, there's something wrong. The light is either too bright or too dull, the cold seems colder and the hot seems hotter. And then there's just nothing calm, not where to hide. I stay inside a lot because the world during the day scares me. And that's probably bad, because I probably have a huge vitamin deficiency from not being in the sun enough. But the day is just so scare, sometimes I wish so badly that humans could just sleep during the day and be awake during the night. Nighttime just makes feel so alive, it's just so amazing. And night, no matter what, is always beautiful. Think about the summer nights, everything is cooler and less humid. But the air is till heavy, but heavy of human things, the smells and tastes, sights and sounds. In summer it's like you can hear the the sounds of the day in the air, laughter of children hidden between the rustle of leaves. And if you grew up close to water like me, there's nothing more wondrous than tasting the salt in the air at night and hear the beating of the waves like, natures own clock with the hands never stopping their beat. We celebrate in the night of summer too, and I can tell you, there is nothing as beautiful as watching fireworks light up the night on the forth, the world filled with smoke and fog, where streetlights and reflections can turn a tree's silhouette into the most magical thing. And there's fall, when everything gets colder and the air just seems newer and cleaner. Sometimes you'll catch the harvest moon, blazing red orange and larger than you're used to. And in fall there are more stars, there are more people staying up late, there is more life in the night that comes with the time change. Winter is the best, because everything is so clear and perfect. Stars twinkle during the winter, the really do, winking back and forth at each other, little kisses they give to each other. And even if it gets too cold it's never too cold, really. Because the grass is crunchy beneath your feet and cold air comes out of your mouth, you can be a dragon at night, breathing your smoke into the perfect air. There's something about the winter night, about how still and contained it is. It's like you're surrounded by glass, an ever still breaking glass that never stops and never ceases, and endless stream of perfection. But the best part of the winter is late in the year, seeing the colored and white lights coming to life on streets. Christmas have always been one of my favorite things in the world. They're just amazing. The way they light up things, the images they show,I'm not sure how anyone could dislike Christmas lights. And then spring, the spring which we're falling into right now, how nights come later and sunsets last longer. The world is getting more reckless, throwing itself away to the warm weather. It's there at night too, the warm that's not too hot yet, it holds you like a warm hand in spring. And the wind it stirs everything, filling your nose with flowers and pollen, scented dewdrops of some higher world. And trees, bursting with green, their leaves reaching toward the sparkling stars above. Then storms come in spring, spreading into summer. And they are so brilliant, the thumping rain heavy or light, beating around you. With flashes of thunder that light up everything for one, fleeting moment. A capture, a picture of the beautiful night.

And night is just nice. It's comforting. It saves me.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading The Cry of the South by Lila Dostal

(BEDA #8) Things.

I just had one of the most emotionally draining conversations of my life, which is why I'm writing this blog at exactly midnight. But it's still the eighth to me, because I haven't fallen asleep yet and I honestly probably won't for a while. It's just going to be hard. The conversation was with my Dad and it's the first time I've talked to him in two months, because I really am the worst daughter. Most of it was me crying, most of it was me apologizing, but it's also the most honest I've been with anyone in a long time.

The thing is, I don't talk about my Dad, not really, not to anyone. Only people close to me get to know about him, I mean, about him really, not just his name in passing. But even then it's rare, because they are a lot of people in my life who have probably never even heard me mention my Dad or even known of his existence  And of all of the friends I've ever had in this life, only one friend has ever actually met my Dad, and just a few (maybe three) have seen pictures. I don't let people know about my Dad because of things that happened in the past and because people are way too harsh to judge. No one understands, and no one ever will, about  how I feel about my Dad and the things that happened when I was young, too young to comprehend the world. But I'm older now, my comprehension of it came years ago. And I'm forgiving but the world isn't and it scares me, and so I don't let them know. I hide him. But here's three things, three things you can know about my Dad. One; he's a shrimper/fisherman/crabber...anything seaworthy or any sea vessel you can imagine has been touched by him in his life, he's one of those people who was just born for the water. And I am not ashamed at all for this. Two; oddly enough with the love of the sea my Dad also looks like a pirate, a one Captain James Hook. Somehow I think it fueled my obsession wit Peter Pan as I grew up. But really, my dad has it, the long black hair (longer than mine even), beard and mustache. Though in the recent years there has been more grey than black. And he has these piercing bright blue eyes that are just amazing and I'm really jealous that I was never blessed with (damn you Jeannie for inheriting most of his genes). Three; my Dad is the only person in the world who I allow to call me baby, on any other person's lips the word just sounds derogatory. And I love me Dad and when he tells me he loves me, I know he really means it.

And tonight we talked. And it's hard to say. I can't say in here. Only that you should know that I am sad, I am really sad. But I am also happy. The thing with me, though, is that my sadness is so much stronger than my happiness. It just overwhelms me. And tonight, just earlier when I was on the phone with my Dad, I was drowning in it. And I just let it swallow me. And I got things out, I said things that I've wanted to say and haven't been saying. I really don't know if I feel better or worse for it. But I do know that it hurts, it hurts so much because I have to go through everyday pretending everything is okay. But it is okay, sometimes. I mean really, the simplest things on a daily basis make me happy. But it's like my sadness it living inside of my all time, and it's just waiting there at any moment to rise up and drown me again.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading Cry of the South by Lila Dostal

*Just found out blogger is two hours behind my time, so technically I did post this before midnight*

(BEDA #7) Dealing With Anxiety: The Internet Vs. Real Life

A lot of times I feel like the picture above. I mean, it's a silly screenshot for a hilarious anime, but really when you think about it the picture says a lot. There's this whole difference to being on the internet than being  in real life. I mean, the real world vs. the virtual world, and I touched on it a little bit yesterday, but not a lot, because I was more focused on reasons to share on social media, specifically Youtube. Today this is more of a personal thing, because I'm going to talk about me on the internet as opposed to me in real life.

Let me try to put it this way, in some examples. I've always wanted to make a collab channel on Youtube, I think they are amazing and beautiful. It is a whole new way of connecting, really. And I just like the idea of it, friends just sharing videos with each other and with other people, all in one effort to make an awesome channel. And so this month I messaged three other girls on Youtube, three (and then one of the girls telling me about a fourth) girls who make videos similar to me and perhaps don't get the amount of views that they deserve on their videos. And girls who are just awesome people. They are all people that within the last month or so I have subscribed too/contacted because I miss the connecting aspect on the internet a lot. And this is the thing, I only just had the idea this morning and they all agreed and we've already got days picked out and everything. It was so easy and when we start next month I hope everything goes well, I really hope that it does. But like I said, it was easy. I didn't feel nervous sending them the message to talk about the collab and I don't feel overwhelmed. But if I ever tried that in real life, like say with people who lived in Montevallo, it would be a whole other story. 

First there's the aspect of even approaching them in the first place (like I've done in the past month or so with these girls) because I NEVER would have done that in real life. I just can't. Do you know how hard it is to approach people. There's this girl named Katie who met via Tumblr a few months ago and she's at Montevallo now, I follower her and her roommate on Tumblr, Twitter, and Facebook and often comment/like their things. Communication is so EASY on the internet. And yet the other day I was in the cafe alone and they were there and I asked to sit with them and it was awkward and horrible and I felt like I made them so uncomfortable and I kept apologizing for making awkward. And they are both younger then me too, at least two years younger, and one thing I really dislike is when I feel inferior or naive compared to people younger than me. And I know it's bound to happen, because there are thousands of people younger than me who are better than me in some way or the other, but it makes me feel all the more worse. But then yesterday I messaged Katie on FB and told her we should hang sometime; me, her, and Bailey, before the end of the school year. And that messaging, it was easy. But I have a feeling that when it happens it's going to be horrible and awkward and I'm gonna blame it on myself all again. And well, I don't know. I hope that doesn't happen, and I'm really gonna try. But are you getting the point now, I'm already so anxious about hanging out with two people in real life, people who I have no problem whatsoever talking to on the internet. 

And the thing is, I wasn't like this. I didn't always have this social anxiety. I mean in high school, I was the most outgoing person on the planet, but I had no problem meeting new people, in fact most of the acting goofy around them because I was just happy to meet new people. And sitting int he crowded cafeteria, walking in the hallways and saying hay to random people, no problem. And now I hate crowded place, the cafe and the Wow scare me half the time. I hate going out in public a lot, even if for it's smallest bits. And the most common thing people tell me when I say I used to not be like this is that I need to 'get out there' and 'go make friends' and all that jazz. But it's just so hard and I don't even know why. The thing is, most of the time I can somewhat handle people by themselves, but have more than one person and it's like I just can't handle it. A lot of times it's like this, like I just have all this weird pressure on me and like there's this rock crushing me and I just don't know. And it's even gotten to the point where sometimes I feel like I can't breathe, I just can't breathe--and a lot of times this leads to me running away and just sobbing in my room. But I try, I do try. Once a week I go to the Korean Culture Club and Creative Writing Club. This upcoming week I'm volunteering for the Literary Festival and going to the Spectrum (GSA Alliance) Ball on Friday. I really do try. And I wish people would see how much I try and how much I still want to try. 

I think it's because of this. I moved to Washington right out of high school and only kept in contact with a few, maybe like five, friends. No one else made an effort to care about me. And in Washington, other than a few coworkers, I made one damn friend the entire time. And then I came back to Alabama and took a year off and I still only kept in contact with those few friends. I mean, I wanted to talk to all the people I had known from high school and all but they all seemed busy or to no longer care. And so my closest friends became my coworkers, the people I talked to everyday, and it just got harder. And when I came to Montevallo I had so much hope, I was going to make friends and have tons of fun. I was going to make college amazing. And the friends I came here with, most of them those 'few' who I maintained contact with, we were all going to be close. But we weren't, and I was left behind. And it got so much harder at Montevallo, everyone was making new friends and it was like I lost my ability. I'm just bad at making friends. But I'm trying, trying so hard and no one can see it. No one can see how scared I am all the time. And so I hide on the internet, the internet where things are not scary and communication is easy. It's all easy. 

Fin.

-Keshia

Currently Reading The View From the Seventh Layer by Kevin Brockmieir 

And The Cry of the South by Lila Dostel

*Note: I thought I had posted this on the 7th, but apparently it only saved it as a draft then, so yeah. I didn't technically post it until the 8th, but I wrote it on the 7th. I am no breaking rules*

(BEDA #6) Looking forward to looking back...

There was this one song playing at Panera earlier (where I am sitting right now, waiting to go into work) and I heard this song, which kept repeating  the lyrics, 'I'm looking forward to looking back.' I've never heard this song but the lyrics kind of baffled me, so I researched and it's by Mandy Moore (which took me by complete surprise because it sounds nothing like what her voice has always sounded like) and it's basically about a girl breaking up/leaving her boyfriend and she's 'looking forward to looking back' on the memories that they created. And really that logic makes no sense to me whatsoever. But I also may not be understanding  the song so well, I do that sometimes. But that line really is weird, 'looking forward to looking back.'

Sometimes their is a kind of weird thing with memories, or at least he process of making them. I don't really look forward to things with the attitude of 'looking back' on them. but there's also this too, I'm a highly sentimental person, I take pictures and make videos like crazy. And sometimes I think, "Oh, I want to do this because it would make an awesome Youtube video", but there's a difference to it because I don't do it just because of wanting to make the Youtube video but I also want to experience it. And experiences are what make up life. I think it's really hard now-a-days with all the sharing of social media and for people to really do things for the experience  I mean, there's so much sharing and connecting, and I think it's wonderful and beautiful how we can cannot to other humans life through this sharing. It really is amazing. But sometimes I think, how much of this is real? How much is something they really enjoying and having fun and how much of it is just an act for the camera, an opportunity to get a new Facebook profile picture, or share a exciting tweet? And I'm not really guilt free in it, but I do try to go into things with the attitude of of really doing them and not just recording them. So I don't want to look at things and think "I'm looking forward to looking back", I want to go into things thinking hey, I'm looking forward to the here and now,what I'm really living. And hey, maybe it would be nice to make a video of it or take some pictures of it. there's this one quote that one of my favorite Youtubers, Shawna (Nanalew) says. she showed a few clips from a time she went on tour, but only a few. At the end of the video she says she didn't take anymore because sometimes, "You have to live through these lenses," and refers to her eyes. And I think that's true. I also think recording things is beautiful as well, but both should be within a balance.

I think about it like this. On the last day of my eighth grade year I discovered that I had a video camera on my cell phone. The last days of school are usually famous for doing nothing, and sot hat's what me and my friends were doing, schoolwork wise. But we were actually acting really goofy and crazy and just being crazy teenagers. And so I decided to record a few videos on my phone. The thing is, I didn't have a Youtube channel then (I didn't even know what Youtube was then, it was to discovered that summer) and the only internet things I used were my Myspace and several anime forums. But nothing else. I never managed to get the clips off my phone and I ended losing said phone. And I really regret it, because I would love to look back on those clips now and see them. But I didn't take them because I was looking forward to looking back, on that day I made those clips for the right reason.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading The View From the Seventh Layer by Kevin Brockmieir

(BEDA #5) Writing Club at Montevallo

A month or so ago, right after College Night events were over, I started to attend Creative Writing Club at Montevallo. It's this group of people who meet in the bottom of Carmicheal Library every Thursday at 8pm and read things back and forth to each other and give tips and such, we also get distracted sometimes and find things on the internet to babble on about. And the thing is, I've been part of the group for a short while, but I've come to fall in love with it. I requested to have Thursdays off, just so I can make sure never to miss a meeting. And it was nice the first time, the first meeting. I listened to people share their works (mostly poetry that night) and didn't give much input, I wasn't sure what to say. And then the second meeting was terrifying, because I decided to share something I wrote.

The thing is, I've never read something I've written out loud to a group of people. I mean, there's been speeches and presentations in class but never something that really meant something to me. But I shared, I read something out loud, a little piece of Italian Bakery. I read too fast, and low I'm sure. And my face and chest were doing that thing they do when I get embarrassed, red and patchy. It's like my blushing is bipolar. But I did do it, and I was proud of myself for that night. I got a good response, questions about my story, and it felt nice. It felt good to know there are other people out there who have some understanding of how I feel about writing and can support me. I mean, we haven't talked out of class and most of time I don't even get or give a nod or hello if I pass them on campus. But on Thursday nights, in the basement of the Library, I feel good. And the past two meetings, I've been the first one to read something, though, I really don't I've ever stopped being nervous.

There's been a lot of me that has been sad this semester. A lot of things that have been really hard for me, and it's only getting more stressful and worse. It's hard for me to hold unto happiness a lot, but Writing Club is something I don't even have to to hold unto to. It's just there, and it makes everything better. And it makes me want to write more. It makes me want to just try my best, at not only writing, but everything.

So I really love writing club.

First there's Lila, who has this amazing, spunky personality. She's not someone who you can ignore. And she's already worked so hard on her writing, already gotten some of it published. She's so passionate and involved with her characters and story that it's amazing and scary all at the same time. Scary because she has and is going to do great things. I really look up to her a lot. And then there's Jacob who writes this weird and odd and beautiful things. He's like some kind of combination of Jerry Spenelli and Edgar Allen Poe with his writing. They are very very different writers and yet somehow Jacob has managed to instill them in his own works. I also like that he just goes out of his way to creep people out, it's one of the most amusing things to watch at every meeting.Hannah is next, and she's always there to be nice and supportive. And she's always full of questions. I think that's my favorite thing about her, she's passionately curious in a way. She doesn't share that much, but when she has I've like everything she's written. She's also much funnier than she can probably ever imagine herself being, because she make me laugh all the time.And Marta Muneca is there too, whose name I really like because it has alliteration. And she writes these cool stories about cyborgs who have even cooler names. And I just really, really like her voice. She has a good, soft, and calming voice. If I ever had to hire anyone to narrate children's story or something like that, my first choice would definitely be Marta. Edwin is there sometimes too. I don't know him a lot, only that sometimes he comes and makes jokes about llamas and other furry creatures. Ben is a guy who there the first few meetings, and read a poem about a mountain, that I really enjoyed. And there's that one guy who came one time, whose name I never caught. He gave me good advice on my story but he was also kind of an unnecessary ass to Lila. So you good sir, you give me conflicts.

And that Writing Club. I really like it, and I don't really plan on leaving it.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading The View From the Seventh Layer Kevin Brockmeier

(BEDA #4) Some Pictures

I don't care about today, today has been weird. It's been full of me sleeping, and just in general ignoring life. I haven't felt good, I only went to one class and took a test (as my other was cancelled) and basically haven't left the room since (except perhaps for lunch and Creative Writing Club). But yeah, it's eleven thirty and I have yet to post in here. So here are some pictures, some of my favorite I've ever taken.

 

(BEDA #3) Jamie Nabonzy

Last Thursday I attended the anti-bullying talk with Jamie Nabozny. He's this incredible guy who was harassed in high school for being gay, and then sued the school from not properly protecting him from this harassment; it was a landmark case in LGBT rights. But throughout the presentation of the movie and the questions and answers videos there were several things I noticed, several things that really interested me in this presentation. One was that he was wearing a wedding ring, which is kind of irrelevant, but it just makes me happy to know he is happy and with someone despite what happened to him early in life. He didn't let it close him off. Second was that I really came to admire him more and more as he spoke because of what he was really saying. He dedicates his life not just to telling his story and trying to protect people part of LGBT community but also people who are being bullied everywhere. I like that he focused not only on the gay kids that were being bullied but on the straight kids as well. Because no one should feel unsafe in the school they are in. School is supposed to be a comforting and safe environment, one where you can come to learn and be with your friends. And I just think it's so horrible that some people aren't given that, some people have to come into the school full of fear everyday because of bullying. And so I think he's strong, really strong for speaking out for the people are too scared to speak out for themselves. One of the last things I noticed happened during the question and answers part, one girl from the audience asked if he was okay, if the things that happened to him in the past still hurt him. He was very honest and said that no, he's not fully better but after years of therapy he is mostly there. He gave us examples of being in a crowded school hallway and feeling uncomfortable or sometimes being scared to go to the bathroom (a majority of the assault he received took place in a bathroom) by himself. He also said he could probably never go back into the bathroom in his old high school. But what I noticed most was when he said something a long the lines of 'the pain they crated left scars that are getting better but the words they said to me made ones that will probably never go away.' I'm sure I'm just romanticizing here, but it was definitely a long those lines. Something like that, it's kind of beautiful and tragic all at the same time. There's the old phrase that 'stick and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me', and to be honest I think is an utter lie. Words will always hurt and they will always leave deeper scars than any physical scar anyone will ever know, or at least in my experience.

Overall I loved the presentation and I wish I could somehow make it possible for every school to see this, for every person just to hear someone's story, someone like Jamie, and really understand it. There is so much hate in this world, but I think there's a lot of love too. And if people just take the time to step back and see all the hate that is here then maybe they can their attitude, maybe they can see, no human being deserves to be treated inferior because of who they are attracted to.

Fin.

-Keshia

Currently Reading The View from the Seventh Layer by Kevin Brockmier

*This is a bonus assignment I has to do for my psychology class, I really didn't spend much time on it, because we're getting credit for doing it, not for making it amazing. But it was late and I hadn't posted anything today and I just want to print this off and go to sleep, blog shall be better tomorrow*

(BEDA #2) Beckie0 and Some Psychology

This is not actually the video I wanted to put up. The one I really wanted to put up is by the same girl, it's one called "Depression", where she's just sitting on a couch and listening to all these voices, voices that are telling her she is wrong and everything and the screen just gets darker, and then she just screams, 'Just stop it!'  That video, though, is not longer and Youtube and hasn't been for a bit, as Rebecca has privated it. And I completely respectably her decision in this. This video is just as beautiful, in fact, everything that she creates is beautiful. I really look up to her as a Youtuber probably more than anything else. But that one video, the one that's gone now, has always been my favorite. It was such a short, simple thing and yet it has made one of the biggest impacts on me that a video ever has made. I just really appreciate that she can take almost everything I feel and put into these beautiful marvelous creations that she has. And yet, I know she is different, every human is. But there's also a connection, a connection that is very basic and there. Pain, it's there to feel and be seen and know that you are not alone. But there's also happiness too, the happiness is great. Even if you are not happy yourself you know that some other person out there in the world is, and isn't that enough to give you hope. I have never met Rebecca in real life and I probably never will, but if for some (amazing) reason that I ever do I will just give her a hug. Because it's like this, I watch her videos and it's like a hand is reaching out and grasping mine and telling me, hey, it's okay. There has never been a person my own age that I have admired more than her.

One thing I don't think people understand enough about me, no matter how much I tell them or try to show them, I believe every negative thing that someone says about me. I can't help it, if you tell me I'm wrong and bad and pathetic I'll believe you. And I know it makes me weak, I really know it does. Most of the time it's the same people who tell me that I'm wrong that are telling me that I'm weak for being upset with it. Another thing you know is that it's not really people, it's not, because I don't have people in my life. It can just be one person, one person from any point or time in my life. I remember what they said and it's just like this building of all things, layer upon layer, upon layer. I remember every bad thing that has ever been said to me and they just happen, like lightening, and they get heavier and heavier. And if it's not enough, my mind tends to exaggerate them, make them a little more painful. Remember the words in a way that the knife just pushes a little deeper. And I know it's bad, it's bad, it's bad. I know. I know. I know. I am wrong. The most recent insult that has been tossed upon me is "stupid bitch" and for the past week or so my favorite way to beat myself up is to call myself a stupid bitch. Because that's what I am right? Or what they see of me.

In my Psychology class today we went over a chart of things called 'Irrational Beliefs' and just, wow, I believe in almost all those things. And so I'm irrational? But I just think about it in this way. The number one Irrational Belief is this, "You must have sincere love and approval almost all the time from the people who are important to you." And yes, yes, yes....I really do believe that. And not just people who are important, just people in general. I want people to like me, I really do. The professor then said people who have irrational beliefs often make themselves depressed because none of their irrational beliefs really come true. And I just though, you're preaching to the choir teacher, you really are. And I do believe that, only I don't see why it's so irrational to want to be well liked. Okay, well that was a lie, I do. Because when you're not well liked and you belief you must be, then it can hurt you. Not physically but mentally. It really hurts not to have your beliefs really be true.

But the thing is, I am happy too. I'm just not just some big ball of depression running rampant everywhere. I see it like this, I am a balloon. I know, an odd comparison, but just go with it. I am a balloon filled with water and a crack in it, a piece of crack that has tape over it. And as the solid and whole balloon I am happy. I can smile, I can dance, I can not worry. But then something happens, someone says a mean comment or I make a bad grade on a test--the pieces of the tape are ripped off. And just everything that I am, all the water inside, comes spilling out. And so I have to work to fill myself back up again, fill myself back up with happiness and confidence. But once you're broken first it's really hard to repair. Because while you're trying to fix the crack things keep pulling on the tape. And sometimes it's good, because you're almost there, but then the pulling gets harder. It just take time, you know, time to get better. And I am happy, but also sad, and I'm fixing myself.

Fin.
Keshia

*Taking a small break from books, because my reading just hasn't been that good lately, I can't get myself into books, I can't find a story to catch me. But i'm taking a fresh trip to the library tomorrow. Hopefully something will come up*

(BEDA #1) Good Enough

So, writing a blog post everyday in April, here we go.

I want to be a good student. I want to be a better person. I want, I want, I want. You know I want a lot of things. But I don't really do, sad  pathetic person that I am. But I really want to be good--and I know how to fall into my own standards of good but I don't really know if I'll ever feel good. I just, I don't know if I'll ever be good enough for myself and honestly that really, really scares me. Because I'm afraid of going through life and never being good enough. Even if I meet some miraculous person (and I say miraculous because said person will probably never exist) who thinks I am good enough in every aspect, I still won't feel good enough. And that's hard because I'm so hypocritical in ways. I, in general, listen to what people tell me, whether good or bad, whether they are calling me right or wrong. And yet if that miracle person called me good, I wouldn't believe them. Because I am not good, I an just not. And I think that's such a tragic and wonderful thing about being a human being, I can never be fully formed.

I really think even with my dying breath I'll be learning more, seeing more, just experiencing more. And I love that, I really do think it's one of the most incredible things. But it;s also horrible at the same time, because bear in mind, I think human beings are never fully formed, never really finished. For me, and people like me, who have confidence in themselves, what will ever be good? And yet I'm told, I do it to myself, I can have confidence if I want to, I am making myself not have confidence. You know what you don't tell someone who have confidence--that they are doing it to themselves. How could that help them at all?

One thing I've always obsessed with in the "pursuit of happiness" line in the Declaration of Independence. All human beings have that right, the right to "pursue" happiness. So what if happiness for me is being what I consider a good person? Can I only pursue that Mr. Jefferson? Can I never actually achieve that? Why aren't humans being endowed with the right to happiness, only the right to pursue it? I don't really know. I don't know how to be a good person. I mean, I have these standards set in my head of what it is to be good and I know if I tried I could mostly fit in with them. But I can never really see myself being good enough.

This really went all over the place.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading The Book Thief by Mark Zusak