Literacy

I have this theory that only five people read my blog. It is steeped in deep research and lots of time. No actually I just noticed that my view count has registered exactly five views for each of my last four blog posts. So hello you five people who actually read this, I didn't realize there were so many of you.

So the other day I was discussing with some people (one an English major and the other a previous English major) about how books seem to be dwindling in real taste or goodness. It's not to say that books of today aren't good. There are thousands upon thousands of great books, but there are also thousands upon thousands of bad books. But there is a reason that I mostly love classic books, they capture a certain something that I think a lot of literature is missing today. For me it's mostly description, I'm, one of those readers that craves intimate details and drool worthy description. By drool worthy I mean something along the lines of Margaret Mitchell's description of food in Gone With the Wind. Every time I read it I just want to eat the meals she described. Or in A Tale of Two Cities Charles Dickens uses the whole first few pages to give you description of how it was both the "best of times and worst of times" on the streets of France. Things like that just pull me in as a reader, I love knowing. Immaculate and unique detail are my favorite parts of a book. We determined there were several problems with the literacy of today. First there is technology, mainly the internet. The internet makes up for a large portion of why I am no longer as avid as a reader as I used to be, say like in middle school or elementary school where the majority of my free time was spent with my nose pressed in a book. I mean, there's certainly appeal in it. Why would one want to sit down and read a book when you could be scrolling through gifs on Tumblr or watching a new episode of Dr.  Who. Not to mention books to movies, which happens so often today. Movies made from books are kind of a double edged sword. You see, the books sells of that movie also increases but there are also about twice as many people saying "If I can see the movies then why should I read the books?" And there's also laziness. I think a lot of books lack description today because people are just too lazy to read through pages upon pages of description. They just want the story, in there and out of there fast. This is also where technology comes in, because any book (besides some larger and more older ones) can be condensed into a two hour movie. And it's sad to realize this, because I still want to cling to books. I have a kindle, but I only have it for means of not having hundreds of books taking up space in my dorm. And I always prefer to read books physically than I do on my kindle. And I love the internet and how it is growing everyday. It's a wonderful thing, and it brings people together from all over. I have a lovely pen pal who I met through the internet. I can see people's Youtube Channels, blog posts, and pictures through the internet, it's a way of sharing life and I love it. But I do not think it should make people forget how wonderful it also is to cuddle up with a good book in hands. And I don't know, life is weird, but reading is amazing. And I think reading is something everyone should have, and I think that the writing of today should start to encourage reading more, deeper meaning. In short what I'm saying is that books should come back to what they used to be, not only in nature of writing but also in nature of reading as well.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading Schulz and Peanuts by David Michealis

A Lost Trip to Disney

 These are a few pictures from a lost trip to Disney World; notice that none of the pictures are ones with people. It wasn't a very people worthy trip.

In 2008 I went to Disney World with the Bryant High School Marching Band and these are the only pictures I have left from it. For someone like me, who is obsessed with pictures and videos, that is quite a sad thing. Originally there were over three hundred pictures but they are all lost now, these few scraps (mostly from Animal Kingdom) are the only survivors. Two incidents created these abandoned pictures. One was me deleting half the pictures if a fit of sadness/anger. The other was our old family computer that actually has a meltdown one night while I was playing on. Like literally, our hard drive sparked and the whole computer blacked out.  The Disney pictures were all one there, and the few ones here are ones I have been able to recover years later off of Myspace (apparently I deleted the album with all the people pictures, only find these ones). Now I really don't know where I'm going with this blog, mostly just a story of that trip and horrible it was. Anyone who knows me should know that I would never associate the words horrible and Disney together. But that's what that trip was, horrible, and it a way I'm glad I have so few pictures left of it. But at the same time I'm curious if the pictures do show my unhappiness.

There were three defining factors that made the trip horrible. One was that my mother and I butted heads the entire trip. You see, I am quite selfish and self-centered and so is mother, she's the one who I learned it from. And in Disney World, a place where both of us wanted different things, it was quite horrible. Another was that I had no close friends on the trip. And when it came to band the only people I associated with were usually my two best friends (Marina and Maranda). Everyone else in the band (the majority of the people on the trip) were just acquaintances, some not even that. I only knew them from practices and performing together on Friday. And I wasn't going to impose on anyone and ask to join in one their group. This was a time in my life where I truly loathed myself and I had the belief that just my presence annoyed people (and I still think this way now sometimes, five years later). So I ended up group with my mother and sister (who were both on the trip) and one of her coworkers, his husband, and their daughter who was in band. Their daughter was like every other member in the band, just someone I only associated with practices and games. And the third defining factor to ruin the trip was rain, it rained all through the trip, which I guess made since as it was the last weekend in April. Curse the science that makes "April Showers bring May Flowers" true.

Right away I could tell it wasn't going to be a good trip. My mom and her coworker (who never liked me and still to this day thinks I'm a good for nothing brat) had ideas about what they were going to do. Her husband, my sister, and the other girl were all very complacent people and didn't care at all what was to be done, they went with the flow. But no one, not one person, cared what Keshia wanted to do. My Mom was fifty-five at the time and she had never been to Disney World, a card she pulled out on me every time I was like, "I want to do this". I had been to Disney World before, she hadn't, and so it was her choice. We started off in Hollywood Studios, I remember this, and this spent the other two days in a random mish mash of Magic Kingdom and Animal Kingdom. I was frustrated in two ways, both which had to do with being in a group that I didn't enjoy and not being able to leave the group. In school functioning trips, groups are the thing.

And then there was the rain, it started the first day, pouring in these sheets, and when just had to walk in it and crowd under all the random establishments in Disney. And then it was stop and it would be hot and humid--humidity that comes with Florida and Alabama (and all other southeast states) where you literally feel the air you're walking in because it is so thick. After a good deal of torture from this the rain would return. One thing that I particularly hated about the rain was the ponchos, fucking Disney and their fucking expensive ponchos. After a bit of getting soaked I guess Mom just got tired of it because she decided we should all buy ponchos. Now here's the catch, each of us had a certain amount of spending money for souvenir money in Disney, mine was about one hundred dollars. And you want to guess how much ponchos cost in Disney World, about thirty dollars. So one portion of my money gone for a poncho I didn't even want, I was already soaked and getting a poncho wasn't going to help really at all. Not to mention it was pouring rain when we went in to get the ponchos but it literally stopped raining the moment they were in our possession. Being me, I complained, and everyone looked at me like I was some sort of disease, they just wanted me to shut up. And after the purchase of the ponchos, the rain ceased for the rest of the day. But, then our band director messaged or called all the parents. He asked us all to meet at the entry at so in so time, around five o clock I think. Once there he told us he had made the executive decisions to leave the park and not see Fantasmic (which we were all supposed to go see that night) because the seats would be wet. THE FRIGGIN SEATS WOULD BE WET! It was perhaps the only things I was looking forward to and we had to leave. And none of it made sense to me, we were all already ready, why would we care about wet seats, beside we could use our ponchos to sit on. But we left inside, back to the hotel room, which was actually about an hour away from Disney World.

It was that night that was the worst part of the trip, before getting to the hotel we stopped and at, so we didn't end up getting there until around eight or nine o clock. All of the teenagers of the group noticed the hotel had an excellent pool; something massive and L-shaped with hot tubs off to the side. A lot of people made immediate plans to relax for a little bit and then go swim in the pool. I naturally wanted to join them, but I hadn't brought a bathing suit. But after relaxing for a bit my Mom suggested that we take a look at the touristy gift shops around the hotel, all of which were in walking distance. And I thought this would be awesome because I could buy a bathing suit and then go swimming. But I somehow got it in my head that the pool closed at ten, so I wanted to make it a quick trip. Mom decided on a store that was only three blocks from the hotel, and I found a bathing suit right away. But then there was an issue, because Mom wanted to continue looking around and I wanted to go back to the hotel and swim. She was adamant against me walking back to the hotel, just three blocks away, even though several other people who were part of our band were there and I could have tagged along with them as they left. This bickering went on for about fifteen minutes until Mom finally gave in and said she'd walk me back herself, and then she did, muttering the whole time about how she hardly got to look at anything and how she couldn't even enjoy herself. By the time we got back to the hotel I thoroughly hated myself and told Mom when we got back to the hotel room that I didn't even want to go swimming anymore and besides it was like nine and the pool was closing soon. She yelled at me so loud I thought she was going to hit me, she told me to "Go fucking swimming Keshia!" And so I did, I think mostly out of fear. Jeannie came with me and when we got there I saw a sign that said the pool was open twenty four hours. I wasn't there long, and left before Jeannie. In the hotel room Mom was taking a shower. I grabbed my journal and started writing, the really frustrating kind where I was shaking and scatter brained, just talking about how much I hated myself. And then I heard get out of the shower so I panicked and hid behind this chair in the corner. She got out and moved about the room, not knowing I was there. After a few minutes her coworker and fellow band parent came there. They talked about a few things and then about me, about how much of a brat I had been. And I remember Mom saying that "I was ruining her trip." It was probably the lowest point on the trip for me, and I tried to cry silently as to not reveal myself. I don't remember how I eventually came out from behind the chair; I remember Jeannie coming back and Mom's coworker leaving but not much else.

The next day the memories are distant too, we were mostly in Magic Kingdom. I do remember this, at one point I had been asking for ages to go on The Haunted Mansion, it had always been my favorite ride in Disney. But no one wanted to go, so I started crying. I was crying in the middle of Disney World, trailing along at the back of the group. And I know they knew I was crying too, but all of them pretended I wasn't. Then later on we had to meet a Disney representative outside the pirates ride. You see we were going to march in a parade at Disney (along with five other high school bands that were wondering around Disney) and the representative was there to take us backstage Disney. So we met her, and we got to go around this big wall thing. I don't remember much about the trying to walk there much, because guess what? It started to rain again. And I had left my poncho in the hotel room; I hated that thing so much. But at least everyone else was wet along with me. So then we had to get ready in these bathrooms, and I have to tell you, backstage Disney is the nastiest place ever, or at least hose bathrooms were. There were used tampons and pads thrown around, like everywhere on the floor. Some stalls were broken and there were no papers towels. There was this one awkward moment where I took off my bra. Long story short is that I was wearing a band uniform, that basically takes away all of your shape. Our majorette was wearing a lime green bra that showed up under her uniform, she asked if anyone had a nude bra she could wear. I offered mine up and when she saw it she was like, "Holy crap your boobs are huge, I think this is too big for me." She didn't wear it and I'm not aware if she found someone else's or not, but I remembering not even caring to put my bra back on because the bathrooms were so gross that I just wanted to leave. So I went braless for the parade. We had to line up, waiting for it to start, and as we were lined up, the Disney characters started lining up too. And I guess they just didn't care that we were visitors to the park or anything because they were not acting what anyone would call respectable. Snow White was smoking and Cinderella was cursing at Prince Charming. And then our clarinet section leader stepped on a live frog and killed it, and everything was just bad. And I don't even remember the parade, I can remember the physical feeling of marching and playing but I am no longer aware of what I saw during the parade.

And then in comes our band leader to ruin things again. After the parade we were supposed to stay to watch the fireworks, but now we weren't. While we were watching the parents took a vote and decided they were all too tired to stay for the fireworks (they started at midnight) and now we just had to oblige--so back to the bus and the hotel room, no fireworks for us. Apparently, though, my Mom had voted against it because as we rode back to the hotel she complained about how fucking stupid it was for us to leave and not see the fireworks.

I don't remember the third day much at all, only that it was mostly in Animal Kingdom and I took the most pictures that day because with animals there don't have to be people. It's funny how I feel the most disconnect with this day and yet it's the only day of the trip that I have pictures surviving of.  And so that was the Disney Trip, that horrible trip. There was only one happy moment during the entire thing and it was this; the night in the pool. I was feeling terribly guilty about my mom in the hotel room while I swam and in general being the introverted person that I am. I watched my classmates play games and push each other in; I stayed in the corner and observed. It was around eleven and I was about to go in, when it started to rain, just like it had that day, in pouring sheets. And for some reason everyone found it entertaining, that we were in a pool and it was pouring rain. I don't know how to describe it. Everyone else was jumping around and going crazy, rain on a friggin swimming pool. And I wasn't part of the happiness but I felt it.

This was a long blog, congrats to you if you made it through the whole thing, because I'm sure you didn't.

Fin.

-Keshia

Currently Reading Shulz and Peanuts by David Michealis

LizzieBennetDairies (Lydia)

The newest episode of the Lizzie Bennet Diairies.

A little bit of a back story, TheLizzieBennetDiaries is a modern adaptation of Pride and Prejudice through means of video blogs by the grad student Lizzie Bennet. Lydia, her younger sister, and Gigi Darcy have also made videos to accompany the main videos as well. The series has been going on for quite a while now (started in April 2012) and I can only say that it's been brilliant, it has only made me love Pride and Prejudice more. The adaptation is amazing and the acting/casting is very grand. Plus the script, written by Hank Green and Bernie Su amazes me every episode with its wit and charm. But it is not just the wit; it is the realness of it all. Anyone who had read Pride and Prejuduic will know a huge part of the plot is Lydia Bennet eloping with George Whickam. In this modern adaptation (where Lydia makes her own videos as well) the writers have updated the scandal. Instead of eloping, Lydia ends up in a sex tape with George, one which will apparently be posted on the internet soon. The only catch to it, Lydia had no idea at all until the last episode. And then, there was this episode, the newest one. It ripped my heart out. The acting, the scripting, and the everything…it's all so brilliant and true, it hurts so much.

There are one moment in this episode that really get me. One is where Lydia looks at the camera and tells Lizzie her viewers don't want her there, citing instances when they have commented "Lydia you're being too overdramatic" or "Lydia you took Lizzie away from Gigi and Darcy where she was happy". Lizzie tells Lydia she is not at fault at all, and that it is all George. But Lydia refuses to hear it, saying she was the one who let him film them having sex. And if he's the one who is bad, the one who is a monster, and then what does that say of her? How pathetic does that make her if the one who is so bad doesn't even care for her? It was a really powerful moment, and I think Mary Kate Wiles (the actress who plays Lydia) pulled it off so well. It's so hard to believe when things go wrong that anyone who said they loved you no longer love you. You become worthless. And people tell you the other person is wrong, not you. But they are so wrong and even they can't love you? It's a hard thing, and God, I can relate to Lydia in this episode so much. She felt like no one really cared about her except for George, and so she clung desperately to the affection he gave her and would do anything to keep it. It's understandable. When you are so desperate for even one person to care, you can often cling to the ones who aren't right to you. It's happened too much in my life and I've seen it happen in other people's life--and now represented by a fictional world. And it's a constant mistake too, because when you're down and you feel unloved you don't think about what happened before or consider the people around you. Someone shows you even a little bit of care and that small amount of care, no matter how twisted it is or could become, is what makes your life. Because when no one cares or loves you, it is hard to love yourself. And so you don't, you hate yourself, you're not good enough for anyone and when you do feel good enough for someone, that person becomes your life. It's always the saddest thing ever when that person leaves you, because what is there left for you that even if someone like them cannot love you. The episode ended with Lydia sobbing in Lizzie's arms asking "Why didn't he love me? I love him so much!" and Lizzie trying to assure Lydia that she is there, that she loves here. The only thing is, it's going to be so hard for Lydia to believe that.

And I know this is just a fictional world, but it's a bloody brilliant one. I admire Jane Austen and the writers of this show so much because they take this story and make it so relevant to life and it touches people in so many ways, it's incredible. I can't help but say I'm so happy that I'm going through my life with the intent of being a writer when I see something like that. I'll be able to create beauty like that. The Lizzie Bennet Dairies really are beautiful, and I can't wait to see more.

Fin.

-Keshia

Currently Reading The Fates Will Find Their Way by Hannah Pittard

College Night 2013

On Saturday night I stood on Palmer Stage, looking out at the crowd, a wave of PV signs raised all around me. Ashley Lowe, our SGA President, came on stage and started talking. She spoke of tradition and leaders, the unique idea of College Night itself. And it was all so strange, a feeling that’s hard to put into words. I was surrounded by a group or people, all dressed in shades or purple and white. We had a put on a whole production, a musical that a mere month ago had simply been words and notes on paper. I knew some of the people in the crowd, I had gotten close to them during the process, and others I hadn’t even spoken one word to. But we were all there, we were all Purples.

I kept looking back at Dyllon. Dyllon was the only person on the stage I have known for years. I kept having flashes of us when we were younger, particularly being in marching band and drama together. There was this one performance in band my sophomore year (his freshman) where we pause in the middle of a song, the band going up in a leveled crescendo and a sudden pause and them bam, we were playing again, loud and proud. During this one performance the crowd went crazy at the sharpness of the pause, at all the flag girls catching their toss in unison, and our majorette lighting up flaming batons. When the crowd went crazy I was overcome with a surge of, I don’t know, happiness…nervousness. I can’t tell you what it was only that I didn’t want to be anywhere else but there in that moment. There were other times too, like during my freshman year performing Suessical, we all came to the edge of the stage and sang, and audience stood up, beaming at us—a standing ovation. Another time was my senior year of high school, during Midsummer Night’s Dream. I was playing Tatiana and I was giving it all I had, and the audience was laughing at every funny line I delivered. How could I not be happy?    That feeling is few and far in between in my life. Sometimes I wish I could package a moment up as it happening, neatly and in a box. And then in the moments I’m sad I can open the box again and feel a little bit of the magic. But Saturday Night, I looked back out front, the glow of the stage lights (one of my favorite things about theatre) shining down all the PV’s, and I knew I had it again. The feeling, the crazy out of this world happiness, where your heart is beating like mad and your body doesn’t feel really inside of itself. You are everywhere, you are so much more. And Ashley was still talking, talking about our attitude at Montevallo, and my heart was racing. I felt like I was only just my heart, beating rapidly and madly. And then she said it, “A Triple Shot at Victory”—the Golds had won. I think, for a moment, I was confused; I was looking at the Palmer staff running away and newspapers being thrown around. But then I knew, but then I knew, I really knew.

Their response was instantaneous, and so was ours. Some people put their PV’s down, I kept mine up. And people were crying, and then I realized my eyes were burning too. And I thought, not now Keshia, do not cry here. I was lucky enough to listen to myself. But then there was talking, there was the older Purple (whose name I do not know but who I have admired since I’ve seen her in Heidi Chronicles) who was yelling at us. I only caught a few words, but they were something along the lines like “We are enough, we put on great show! It wasn’t racist!” Behind me Dyllon shouted a Purple proposal to Sam and someone started to sing the Victory Song, in an attitude all too solemn for my liking. People hugged and I looked over to the Gold crowd in hopes of seeing my friend Ben, who designed the set for Gold, and who I wanted to congratulate, but I was kind of horrified. A few of the Golds were tearing up the newspapers, waving the shredded bits above their heads and all I could think was that “You know it’s praising you, right? Why are you tearing it up?”

And then we got in the circle, pushing the Golds to the side just for a moment. I looked around, there were more people crying then I expected, and more people smiling too. A girl beside me (who I believe was Lydia Clements) was crying and smiling, and kept saying “I love all of you!” And then Riley and Mia spoke and it was only in their talking that I realized, I wasn’t really sad at all, I don’t even think my heart dropped one bit when they announced the Gold’s win. I was still happy. I couldn’t help but wanting to mimic Lydia (I think) beside me, with telling everyone I loved them. I wanted to say thank you, thank you for giving me this. Thank you making me feel this way Purple Side, and thank you for letting me have a family. And then we were singing, and it was brilliant, and I wanted to jump around yelling about the Purple Victory. Because I had to know, had to know that was where my happiness came from, because it’s always a Purple Victory.  

I don’t know who is going to read this, but if you’re there and you’re a Purple, thank you, really. You made my first College Night something I will never forget.

Fin.

-Keshia

Currently Reading Mansfield Park by Jane Austen.

 

Cloud of Something

There has always been this odd feeling I get with fog. It happens all the time, and it never ceases to amaze me. You see, fog fascinates me. It's like being in the dark but not in the dark because the world is brighter within itself that there is fog present. And fog is just so odd. Essentially fog is a cloud. And it's odd how I look up at clouds and wonder how it will be to walk among them, they seems like there should be something solid to them. But they are not. They are gaseous things, and fog is a cloud, one that you can never catch. Have you ever noticed that when its night and you're driving down the road and there looks like there is thick patch of fog ahead but once you reach that point it no longer there, but you notice there is some more up ahead. But driving further only garners the same results, you are always chasing after fog.

The other night, as I was wondering around campus trying to figure out in which building we were going to have rehearsal I noticed how foggy it is. It is not a rare occurrence; it tends to be foggy here in Montevallo a lot. But there is a difference between it being foggy here and it being foggy somewhere else. I'm not sure what it is about it, maybe it's the red brick streets or the lights that glow between the fog in orbs of thickness, not breaking through but reflecting it. I'm not sure, as with a lot of my thoughts. I have them, yet I can't explain them. But Montevallo fog, it's strange, when I'm walking through it I feel like I'm being wrapped in some cool arms. And I can't help but think of the mystery of it all and how there could be anything in the fog. If I think of ghosts then I see them in the fog, dancing around in reflections and shadows, but mere mortals never really seeing them because they use the fog as their cover. Or I think of other people, real true living people and how from up ahead they can be black silhouettes, painted distinctly in the brightness of the fog but dark themselves. They would laugh or jump around, all things full of joy. And I could see them but not be a part of them because they are part of the fog. And like the fog they will always run away when I get near.

Meh. This is rambling.

Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading The Elements of Style by Willian Strunk and E.B White

 

 

Replies for Caitie.

Above is a video that I feel like anyone who considers themselves an introvert should see. It's beautiful; it captures my exact feelings on being an introvert.

Okay, so what is this? This is me responding to something my pen pal and I wrote about in one her previous letters. For some reason I had this idea about addressing it in my blog post because it is something I talk about often in her. On being an introvert.

 

Sometimes I think the world would be so much nicer if we were awake at night and during the day. We could awake to a sunset and it would be beautiful. And then we would be in the dark, reaching out for each other. We would be each others light and there would be shadows, people who needed the shadows could have them. And we would always have the stars, those beautiful stars there to star at us.

Caitie, you talked about how to find comfort in solitude and I can definitely agree with that. There is a certain magic to solitude, right. It's not just that you can do so many things we're you're alone but it's just that you're alone. And it's so wonderful to be alone; there is not anyone there to bother you. And I feel the isolation too, in big crowds. It's kind of scared how harsh it is. But it's there. Even when I'm with, say, a group of friends who I feel like really care about me, I feel isolated in so many ways. And I feel isolated when I'm alone too. And I miss people and I want them, but when I want to be alone, I want to be alone and that is that. I see no problem with my completely introverted behavior and I really don't think you should find fault in yours either. But it's so odd, because I miss people and want to be with them and at the same time I want to be alone. And when I am with people I don't want to feel isolated. I think sometimes maybe that's why I make myself more alone than with people, because the feeling of being lonely with people is far worse than the feeling of being lonely when alone, at least it is too me. But it far more complicated than that because I'm not just lonely when I'm alone. Loneliness and solitude are two completely different things and it's hard for most people to see that. And I isolate myself a lot because people think I am lonely or I make myself needlessly lonely. It's like I'm sitting there and I'm already feeling lonely, and I'm told that I'm lonely because I always make myself alone. And in this thought there are pillows around me, all around me, and because I'm being told I'm lonely I gather all the pillows and put them around myself until I'm stuck inside of some little cocoon of being alone, trapped in my own loneliness. But it's so hard to see that sometimes that it what helps me, because I am away from the world and I come to accept being alone doesn't always mean being lonely or isolated. And for that I emerge feeling better about being alone than I ever was. Does that make any sense at all, I'm really just babbling. And I don't feel as though that is a fair explanation to you, but it all gets so complicated in my head that it's hard to put it into words. It's like I'm spinning a web around myself and before I know it I'm stuck in it all and can't get myself out. But mostly what I'm trying to say Caitie is that I understand you, or at least think I do. I hope you see me as understanding and in that you find less isolation. I know you make me feel less isolated, all the time, your letters are these little drops of pure magic to me. They let me know that even being so far away from someone I can still have parts of me understood. If that makes sense, it probably doesn’t. Nothing I ever think in my head comes out how I mean it in words. I think we can have adventures Caitie, I really do. I hope for that one day, and to make sense of everything we feel.

Fin.

-Keshia

Currently Reading Confessions of a Philosopher by Bryan Magee

 

On Being (And Babble)

“Dear God," she prayed, "let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry...have too much to eat. Let me be ragged or well dressed. Let me be sincere - be deceitful. Let me be truthful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost.” 

Above is perhaps one of my favorite quotes from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Betty Smith was a genius and she captured life so eloquently that sometimes after re-reading this book I just have to sit there in amazement. Amazement that the world, the exact way I feel on things, can be put down into words and presented in a story. It's wondrous really, and it's so hard to describe to people who cannot see the power of the written word. Writing it great but moving on…

As like Francie I hope to always be something. Life is so hard and good, and yet, it's hard to know during the bad parts whether you want to life to be there are not. One of my favorite phrases to say, particularly when I'm really depressed, it to say "I just wish I could not exist." It would be so easy, to fade away into nothing, to not be. And I get sad, I really do. And I think about being a human, really being, and the existence. In times of sadness I only know that I'm horrible, horrible about being. But the thing is about being, is that is always going to be there. Even in death I do not think a person cannot cease to be, particularly if they left parts of themselves behind, like say in writing. But it's hard to me, and I imagine everyone else, to know what being is even in the though times. Being is life, and always being there. Francie wants to always be something, because life is so precious and short. And humans, we're always so infinitely young, even in our oldest age, and we can not be, we have to be. It is so great to wish to be, and be more than just a human, to live in every moment, even the sadness. Because being really is more than just existing, it's actually living, and experiencing every drop of life that is squeezed out of that lemon for you.

There is this one phrase that I found once online, it really stirred something in me, so much so that I'm even considering having it tattooed on me one day, but it's still a long way in the thinking process. It's a phrase that says this more, less/ being, human. Only it lines up so that the more falls exactly beside the being and the less, stacked below, is aligned with the human. I feel like people don't get it, because when I try to explain how important that concept is to me, the words fall through the cracks. It really is hard to see. I only this, that with that phrase in mind that I was always to be more, I will always try to be. More than just a human, a simple human that is less than being. It's really not all that hard to grasp, at least not in my mind, but I guess it's all in a matter of perspective.

 

Now what else? I'm reading this book for My English Composition class, called White Privilege. It's actually really interesting, a collection of complicated essays that present racism and in a unique and interesting way. But not racism as it is normally thought, but racism from the other side, not that whites are oppressed but the natural oppression that radiates from people by just being white. One I find most interesting is that it says how many people never think about the natural racism that is whiteness itself. But it is seen all over the place all the time. People or color or separate races are always labeled, how pictures in the book always say "A young black male," or "an elderly Asian woman." But the pictures of white people, they do not have the label white put upon them. And I know this is not the case of all things, and this book may be a bit outdated (2005) but it's just an odd concept. Being white is our label of "normalcy".

 This was all…a babbling blog.

 Fin.

-Keshia

Currently Reading White Privilege by Paula S. Rothenberg