Feeling

Sense no. 1: Feeling. (Where there are areas that go ..., that is where I decided to skip over a couple paragraphs, just so I don't ruin the book for you in case you might want to read it.)
"'...You don't have hair.' Thandi points to Liz's head which is completely bald except for the earliest sprouts of light blond growth.
Liz strokes her head with her hand, enjoying the odd smoothness of it. What hair there is feels like feathers on a newborn chick. She gets out of bed and looks at her reflection in the mirror. Liz sees a girl of about sixteen with very pale skin and greenish blue eyes. The girl, indeed, has no hair.
'That's strange', Liz says. In real life, Liz has long, straight blond hair that tangles easily.
'Didn't you know', Thandi asks.
Liz consideres Thandi's question.
...'Hey, I've got weird things, too.' Thandi raises her canopy of braids like a theater curtain. 'Ta da', she says, revealing a small but deep, still-red wound at the base of her skull.
...'How did you get that?'
'Don't remember', says Thandi, rubbing the top of her head as if she could stimulate her memory with her hands. 'It might have happened a long time ago, but it could have been yesterday, too, know what I mean?'
Liz nods. Although she doesn't think Thandi makes any sense, Liz sees no point in arguing with the crazy sorts of people one meets in a dream.
'We should go', Liz says.
On the way out, Thandi casts a cursory glance at herself in the mirror. 'You think it matters that we're both wearing pj's?', she asks.
Liz looks at Thandi's white nightbown. Liz herself is wearing white men's-style pajamas. 'Why would it matter', Liz asks, thinking it far worse to be bald than underdressed. 'Besides, Thandi, what else do you wear while you're dreaming?'
~ from Elsewhere by Gabrielle Zevin, p. 11-13

Whereabouts

Okay, so this "cleansing of my soul" thing has given me an idea of finally what to say to all of you.
I just love this picture, first of all, because it's of the ocean (a must), and second of all, this is exactly what I love to do. I'll just dip my head under the water and let the hum of the swirling water take over my thoughts, while my hands are still above water. It's weird, that wet verses dry thing, where the rest of you is cool and surrounded by liquid, yet your hands are still dry from the hot sun overhead.
So, that's where I got a blogging idea. The senses.
We use them all the time, and it's usually those five feelings we feel every minute of the day that make the best stories, and uncover the deepest of things. I mean, really, memories are the senses bundled up in a cute little care package.
You childhood? Well, it's the taste of apple juice and Cheerios, and the smell of freshly cleaned blankets wrapped around you when you're sick.
School is that feeling in your legs that makes you jittery. And don't forget the texture of school meatloaf. A classic, and a really bad stereotype.
The carnivals that we've all been to are made up of tired, sore feet from walking around all day, a dark sky lit with fireworks, and the smell of fried dough, and the whispy feeling of cotton candy, and holding onto your friend's sweaty palm on a scary ride.
The five senses are what make us human.
I have some amazing quotes that I'll be posting everyday all week long, dedicated to the five senses (touch, taste, smell, sound, and sight), and not necessarily in that order.
Hope you like it, I'm posting the first sense tomorrow!

Never Too Late

That's one thing I can never seem to figure out: Is it ever too late? If you think about it, it really all depends what you're talking about. Some things should just happen because they need to. Other things seem able to be dug up, again and again, poked at, scribbled out, and fix yet again.

... For example, my writing. That's the cool thing about writing; you can leave a story for months and then come back to it to find it still the same, perfectly preserved.

Yes, it's a second chance.

Wishing

I definetly recommend this book that I'm about to quote. Seriously, this book was funny and heartbreaking all at once. It's like no other book you've read before, I'll guarentee you that. Even though it's written from a boy's point of view, I can still relate to this story. Here you go:

"'I wish..." She starts, then shudders because she's crying. 'I wish it was the summer, Albert.'

I wish it was the summer, too.

I shake my head.

'It'll never be the summer again, Mia.'

'Can we pretend it is, just for tonight?', she asks.

I don't say anything at first, too much is going through my head, I'm confused, and it's not until I look up at her when I realize...

'Okay', I say. 'Hi, Mia.'

I try to say it cheerfully, but she frowns at me.

'That's not how you did it when we first met.'

'I don't follow.'

She raises her right hand, palm out, and stares at me gravely.

'How, Albert', she says.

I raise my hand, too.

'How, Mia.'

~ from Stop Me if You've Heard This One Before, p 372-373

Smile and Nod

Nothing much to say today.
Feel like a little kid.
I want to stay that way.
People are innocent, and life is simple.
At least, it is today.
No more thinking, please.
I just want to smile at this kitten, log out, and bundle up in a blanket in the living room with hot tea.
See you later, alligator :)
(If you're confused by my weird post, just go with it. I'm too happy and whimsical right now to think.)

Fighting for Life

I was looking through Hope Was Here today, just flipping through it, when I found this on the first page I started reading:
"A man shouts from across the room. 'G.T., how are you going to handle the stress of campaigning and being mayor if you're fighting for your life?'
G.T. leans against the dessert case across from the register. 'Because I'm more interested in living than in dying. And I want to bring as much healthy change into this town as I can before I go. I'm a short-order cook, Morgan. I always do more than one thing at a time.'"
~ from Hope Was Here by Joan Bauer, p. 37-38
...How inspiring is that?

Forget-Me-Nots

Jade's advice for the day:

Speak, and you won't be forgotten.

( In other words, you won't be lost in a field of forget-me-nots.)

Stella

Usually, I can't ever find something that looks like a scene I've pictured in a book. Usually, when a movie comes out that is a book, I'm always dissapointed by the scenes and the people because they're not what I pictured (unless I watch the movie first, then read the book). But this picture, this is exactly what I picture Stella's garden in The Truth About Forever looking like:

I love this garden. It reminds me of summer, and the trees with the sun poking through, ohmygod, I'm taken back to a couple years ago. Isn't it so amazing, for a picture to bring back memories, laughter, or even anger? (Someday, I'd love to try out photography... someday...)

Here's a little excerpt from The Truth About Forever, just to see what I mean about this garden:

"Everything in the garden felt so alive. From the bright white flowers that reached out like trailing fingers from dripping branches overhead all the way down the short, squat berry bushes that lined the trail like stones, it was like you could feel everything growing, right before your eyes. I kept walking, taking in clumps of zinnias, petunias, a cluster of rosebushes, their bases flecked with white speckles of eggshells. I could see the roof of the doublewide over to my right, the road to my left, but the garden seemed thick enough to have pushed them back even farther on the periphery, as if once you entered it moved in to surround you, crowding up close to hold you there."

And then here's my favorite part, the part about the owner, named Stella:

"...I found myself at the back of a sculpture. It was a woman; her arms were outstretched to the side, palms facing the sky, and lying across them were slim pieces of pipe, the ends curving downwards. I moved around it and stood in its shadow, looking up at the figure's head, which was also covered in the thin, twisted pipes, and crowned with a garland made of the same. Of course this was one of Wes's, that much was obvious. But there was something different, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Then, I realized that the sclupture's hair and those bits of pipe it was holding all ended in a washer bisected by a tiny piece of metal: every one was a flower. Looking at it from the top, where the moonlight illuminated those curling pipes, to the bottom, were the sculpture's feet met the ground, I finally got that this was Stella, the entire figure showing the evolution of that thick, loamy dirt moving through her hands to emerge in bloom after bloom after bloom."

I like to call this "The Evolution of Stella". Mostly because of the description, this is my favorite part of the book.Wouldn't you just love to walk through a dark garden only lit by the moon, in the middle of the night? Somehow, I think flowers would look more beautiful during this time than ever.

The Key to Everyone

Honesty, to me, is the key to every relationship, small or big, insignificant or important. It's what makes people come together. Trust is what makes you lean into someone, knowing they won't let you fall, like those games that we all played when we were little with our friends. It's what allows you to curl up on your bed, feet pressed up against the wall, pouring your heart out to that best friend, or to laugh so hard with them that your stomach hurts. Or vise versa. It allows you to scream at someone without feeling tense. Honesty is a key to other people. Without that, people never get to know each other.I can honestly say I'm honest with every person I meet. Some people I might tell less to, but it's all the truth. Minus white lies, but everyone does that... right? At least, I hope so. White lies are necessary, just not for the big stuff.

I have a feeling this is a Shel Silverstein poem. Why? Because Shel Silverstein books are always black and white, and the drawing looks like it's in pen, like always, and it's sketched out, not perfect. I love his poems, they're funny and simple, and not so heavy (unlike my own writing, ha ha). My dad got me a Shel Silverstein book when I was little, and it's still on my shelf. I just might pull it out tonight...

A message to HER: I'm honest, and even if you're not, I'm going to continue to be honest with you. Because that's what you're supposed to do. If you can't come around and tell me why you hate me, then I'm sorry for you. Sometimes, the truth just hurts. See ya.

Peace

Inner peace, I always thought, is feeling, well... peaceful. Shoulders slackened, eyes heavy, while in a perfect yoga pose. Well, not the last one, but you get what I mean. I've always thought that inner peace was only possible if your mind was blank. But that's impossible. That's what I've learned this weekend. Inner peace (in, ahem, Jade translation) is being able to still feel happy even through the chaos in life, and to be able to laugh even when inside you're a little weak. Being able to cope through this, I think, is inner peace. So now, my goal is to be able to take in the small things and not fall apart. Now, inner peace (or peace at all) doesn't so bad. Or scary and intimidating. Doesn't peace sometimes make you feel like that? Pressured to never mess up?I always feel like I'm going to meet this incredible person, someone that will turn my world upside down, and change my point of view and outlook on life. But really, how often does that happen? So now, I'm not going to think about this need of someone that I can tell things to. Not at all. Instead, I'm going to let the universe, or whatever else is out there, take my tiny problem into its hands instead of balancing all my worries on my own. What will be, will be. What won't, won't. And I'm almost positive that that is inner peace. (Have any suggestions for an upbeat post? Maybe I'll add some inspiring arts-y pics, or tell you random funny things about myself or inspiring things. I dunno. I need input. Thanks!)

Not Famous

When I was little, and even sometimes now, I wanted (and still sometimes want) to be famous. I always would like to be known as this famous writer, or someone inspiring to people my age.

And then I look at my family.

My mom isn't famous, but she's one of the most important people in my life, and my grandma is the nicest person you'll ever meet. My brother is hilarious, and my dad is artistic. People before me worked hard for their food, and went through things I'd never imagine going through myself. I always catch myself looking at their pictures and just being grateful for who they are, and who my family is.

Sometimes, not being famous can be a good thing. Isn't it so scary, and so creepy, that there are so many amazing people out there that nobody knows about? I like to call this The Perks of Being Not Famous. Because they are perks. Most of you guys' (I think that's not gramatically correct. Then again, who cares?) blogs that I read are so interesting, and I really wonder why you're not famous.

All in all, it's a mixed emotion, because I'd love to be known by the world as someone influential. It's like the song Beverly Hills, because he says he wants to be famous, but deep down, he knows he doesn't belong with the celebreties. I don't want to be a celebrety, exactly, just a writer. Someone who tells stories.

...Do you want to be famous?

Small Talk

(Apparently, this is a quote from The Cure in a song called Just Like Heaven, up in the picture above. Info from: WeHearit.)

Dear You, I guess you're pretty angry at yourself, right? People just don't get you like you wish they would. And honestly, you assume it's you that's the problem. You're the different one, the person people don't understand. Why don't you change? Right?... Wrong. You're very wrong. Because if you changed yourself to be like everyone else, then it would be a crime to your soul. Lying to your own face. Trying to be someone else would be disrespecting yourself. It's like insulting the person you really are inside, hating yourself to the core. That would be the ultimate form of self-hatred. But lucky you, you're still you and still angry. Take angry any day. You'll thank yourself in the long run. Love, Your Good Old Conscience

Chamelean

The people I most love in my life are the people that I've originally hated when I first met them (not counting family, I love them always!). Weird, but true.

It happens when someone's bold, or laughing in front of me when I think they're laughing at me. Or if I think they're in love with themselves. And then afterwards, when I'm thinking about it later... I realize how wrong I am. Because that boldness? That's confidence. And the laughing? They're actually incredibly funny, so much that you have to keep yourself from laughing at everything that comes out of their mouths. And being in love with yourself... well, they have amazing self-esteem, so much they're willing to wear their hearts on their sleeves, and say what needs to be said. When I think about all of this, I start to think about how wrong I can be about someone. What do you know? Someone I first meet that I think is annoying... actually becomes one of my best friends :) My personality is somewhat like Remy from This Lullaby in a way... without the boldness (ha, ha). So far, I've misjudged (counts on fingers) at least nine people that I can think of right now. And here I am, always talking about judging people being a bad thing, when I do it all the time (hides face in shame). Have you ever misjudged someone as a bad person, when it turns out that they're really good?

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

These are the days that are perfect. It's when everything is so bright and sunny and uncovered after the winter, coming out of hiding, that makes it all so beautiful. (The title comes from the Wizard of Oz, when the Munchins are in Munchin Land, waking up in their little flower beds.)I love seeing everything for the first time after the winter; and it's funny how the memories always linger. Conversations come back to me that I've forgotten, the birds come back, the people come out.
On Friday I was itching to wear something summer-y, so I decided on a pale flowy shirt, kind of girly, not my style at all. So I decided to wear my Converse sneakers with it, and that just made it all seem more like me. It was kind of pretty, kind of not, and it was perfect. I haven't been this happy in awhile, and I swear I couldn't stop smiling just to see people walking down the street, saying hi. And talking just makes everything seem so much lighter, so much better. I only we could have school outside and near a stream, with a small blackboard for the teacher to write on, perched on a rock. We'd all be sitting on rocks, and then when lunch came around we could have a picnic. I swear, people would learn more because we'd actually be learning AND be outside.But you know what was really perfect about this weekend?
The fact that I can leave my window open at night when it's not too cold, and I can just sit on my bed and feel a cool breeze against my just-washed, still-wet hair. It reminds me of summer.
Sometimes I wonder, if spring is really my favorite season after all, and not winter.

Eccentric...Different

People are weird. I am silent.
I'm so sorry for not blogging more, it's just... sometimes, I feel like I'm always saying the same things all the time. And lately, I haven't really had anything to say. But I will say this:
Eccentric means odd, peculiar. It's one of my vocab words this week, and I can't stop thinking about it. I mean, I feel like that's what I'm like in a way. Not how I look, but how I think and act. A lot of people my age don't get along with me (not agressively, or anything). It's more of a passive thing. If I'm talking to someone, and they don't like my personality, they'll smile too much or talk to me like I'm five, their voices too cheery and forced. If someone does like me, though, they'll stay quiet, or become slightly sarcastic with me, only showing genuine smiles now and then. Because I love sarcasm, and even if someone's being sarcastic with someone else, and not me, I might laugh to myself. Because, really, I love dark, evil humor.
So, yeah, I might be eccentric because I love 60's rock and antique finds and celtic things. Or because I believe that everything happens for a reason. Or because I like learning but hate school. Or that I hate perfect, cliche moments, and crave that cute quirkiness in a person. Maybe it's my face, or no, my facial expressions.
But, whatever it is, I have eccentric qualities. But I'm not eccentric. I just like eccentric things. Or different things. Wow, now I'm confused. Forget it, forget I said anything. There, I'm different. Period.

Count?

Last night, I had a dream I was watching these two guys out my window. I was automatically intrigued in them, the way they walked, their smiles, the way they were walking right past my house. Normally (as in, being awake), I would have just watched them go, and then be done with it. But instead, in this dream, I ran outside and across the yard to meet both of them. I remember my heartbeat in my chest, rough. I remember feeling unbeleviably happy to see them. And I remember embracing them, and then walking along with them.
Now, why can't I be like that in real life? The one that counts.

A Perfect Pair

I feel like I've known these new friends of mine for years, all of us huddled around one big table in class. Every one of us is completely different, but we all fit together perfectly, like a puzzle.
The girl next to me, curly-haired, tall, and skinny, is like an old soul, someone who sees potential in everything and everyone around her, reaching out to take you in. She's kind of serious, kind of quirky, and she's one of the most real people I've ever met.
There's another girl across from me, dark-haired with a bubbly personality and a wide smile. She's the kind of girl who gets her nails done prefessionally and carrys around metallic-colored purses, with her dark cat-eye makeup. But she's also stubborn and sarcastic, nowhere near sweet. More like me.
And then the girl diagonal from me, the quietest of all of us, is the one I'm most fascinated with. Her appearance is striking, with bright red skinny jeans and jet black hair that clashes with her fale white skin. She's very thin, as well as tall, almost as if she were a model. But she's hidden and shy, and hates how she looks. She feels as if people are constantly looking at her, like she was ugly. But she's just the opposite. Her eyes are wide and a dark brown, and her skin is smooth, and her features are well defined and suited for her face. Today was the first time she spoke to me, but then again, actions speak louder than words, right?
All four of us, huddled around our one big table, were meant to be. Somehow, it all works out.

Dark Brown Locks

Out in the rain, in thick, wet sheets that make the hairs on your arms stand up, he leans over the porch, staring out into the dark, cold afternoon. His face is unusually flushed from the cold, and his hands are intertwined in one another, as he leans foward, staring out into that dark, cold afternoon. His hair is matted down and dark, a lot longer than usual, the strands drooping in his eyes, but he doesn't fix them. His eyes are heavy, lined with memories, on that dark rainy afternoon, and he doesn't want anybody to know they're there, but I can see through that, all his pain, hidden behind dark locks of deep brown hair. That's what he doesn't know.

Still Here

I've been thinking about a lot of things lately.
(...She looks motherly, yet like she's still breathtaking. That is beauty. It's not something you can apply to your face...)

I've been thinking a lot about my family, and the women in my family especially. I just wish I could have known them longer (or at all), talked to them about her life. Because it's not the same hearing stories without their own points of view, and insight. Isn't it wierd, that people go through their lives keeping secrets, or memories, and never getting around to sharing them?

I've been thinking about me personally, about my writing. I mean, seriously, I want to be a writer so badly, that when I hear someone tell me otherwise, I just want to scream.

I've been thinking about friends, and what it means to be one.

I've been thinking about love, and what it means to love someone. It's all so vague. Do I treat my family and friends well, or not?

I've been thinking about the "Real World", and how I can make it a place that doesn't give me wrinkles when I'm old. I don't want to tell people otherwise when I'm older; I really think that work and life can be beautiful if that's what you want to make it.

I need to study

to talk

to read

to write

to hug someone

to cry.

Yet, I'm still not doing any of those things. I'm still thinking.

Jump

Today I was painting in art, blending my blues and whites together to make everything look smooth and softened in the light. And then I see the girl next to me, watching me, smiling. She had been doodling in her notebook, but now her pencil was on the table, and she and another girl close by were watching me blend my colors together, as I now moved to black, darkening things, moving along, my hand speaking a language that only it knew best.
"What?", I had said, smiling at her.
She shook her head, watching with big brown eyes as I made swift movements with the paintbrush, almost like painting little feathers, or clouds.
"You're fearless when it comes to painting. You don't seem to need to make sketches or plan ahead. You just trust yourself at that moment, and keep going. I don't do that, I don't think I could. I'm always going slow around the edges, getting the details just right. That's why I like watching you paint. You're just in the moment."
I didn't tell her this, or anyone, but kept smiling as I bent my head down again to my work. But secretly, I'm a perfectionest, with my hair and skin, as well as my writing and school work and art. I analyze everything, agonize if I'm doing something right. But, funny... I guess I don't look like that. It made me feel secure, confident, that everyone else thought I was cool, calm, and collected when it was just the opposite.
But I'm not going to tell anyone that. Instead, I'm going to really try to be fearless, and just jump.

Facade

Why is it that adults think the "smart, bubbly" kids are always the best ones to hang around with? Is it because they look socially acceptable by society? Or is it because everyone else does, so they must be good kids?
Because, really, adults must be blind. It's all about how someone looks, or talks, or dresses. We all take at least five seconds to make a judgement, just by habit, and most of the time, I'm always wrong. Because the girl in class that sits in front of me is the sweetest girl you'd ever meet, not materialistic, and stuck-up, like people think. Or what I automatically thought.
A girl in my class with a wreckless, rocker attitude is really just missunderstood, and that her parents aren't the greatest ones out there.
The girl with the big smile and good grades? She's just nasty, insulting people behind their backs and desperately trying to rebel against her mom (cliche, anyone?)
Another one, all cheery and happy, really has to put a mask on, because her parents are going through an ugly divorce that's just tearing her apart.
A girl down the street from me, is sweet as vomit, and has a truly ugly inside as well.
And that guy that smiles at me? He's just angry, but can't let it out.
It's all a lie, that if you look good and approachable, then you are. Because that's not true. Maybe those "punks" have to deal with something else entirely behind closed doors, that nobody could ever have thought of, or known. First impressions aren't always true.
Not even close.

Then and Now

I write down things that happen everyday. Not like a diary, just a list of what I did, what I thought was funny, etc. And you know what?Someday I'll be wondering what I used to do when I was a teenager, how I thought. Someday I might want to tell people how my story went, day by day. Maybe someone will find all these journals I keep, and look back and be spooked. Or maybe, just maybe, they'll find an answer. It's wierd, I love writing so much, and it's like me writing down my -our, as in, my family's- story everyday.And then, I know, I'll always be known to everyone.

So far, I've been recording my life since August of 2009. Sometimes I wonder, what was I doing on this day excactly a year ago? And now I can look, and I swear, it gives me the chills. My stories dance among the pages wildly at night, and sometimes the memories take me by storm, flooding over me and Now.

Wind Chimes

When I start to want wearing yellows and greens and pinks, and I find myself dressing up in summer clothes just for fun in the mirror, that's when I want spring to come. My neighborhood is big into get-togethers and cookouts, and everyone knows everybody, good and bad, and sometimes it's just fun to see everyone. I just miss taking walks around the block, and lake breezes and wind chimes. Out of all the things in spring, I think it's the wind chimes that steal me over. Because it's like sweet music clanking together, so delicate but loud at the same time. I also like the little lime green leaves that pop in contrast to a bright blue sky. Winter has been too quiet, too cold, and too vast and lonely. I need warmth. Wind chimes, can't you play your little song for me? Just once?

When Life Begins for You

You know, I really hate vacation weeks. Weekends are different. On the weekend, your parents have it off, too, so you can actually go places (to those who can't drive yet, like me). I'd even settle for the grocery store right now. Or the bank. I just need to get out of the house.
I just do not like routine things (although getting out of them can be a transition, if that makes sense). I change my routine a lot, and I don't like change, but want it, and need it, or I'll go insane. I can't explain it. Like, I don't know how people can just do the same thing day in and day out. I mean, instead of going to the store in the morning that you always go to, why not change it and listen to music and sing and dance while doing the dishes, or folding the laundry, then go to a different store instead of the same one every time? You know? I mean, change is good for you. And seriously, there might be something better than what you already have. I always tell myself this.
Like yesterday, my mom had planned to do errands, so I went with her, but instead got pulled to the little shops in town. We basically just walked around in the bright sunny morning and spent some money on ourselves (and told nobody else!). We went to Barnes & Nobles, and took pictures with our cell phones of funny pictures in the books, sending them to my brother. It was nice.
Speaking of getting out of routine, I just filled up my schedule with two art classes and dropped two studies. I know, I know. Most people would kill for a study, but I don't know. Ever since art ended last semester, I've been restless and frustrated, feeling like I did nothing all day. So, what the heck. I got rid of my studies, and only have one now every other day. But I think it's worth it. And besides, my new friend is in the class, and she let me sit at her table with two other girls, filling me in on everything (because I came into the class late). The other girl is super nice, so I think it's a good thing that I chose art.
I just might find something better. And also, which would you rather have?:
a) No homework, but nothing to do
b) Homework, but knowing you just had a day filled with art and friends
You decide.

Bitter Serendipity

Some days aren't good, or bad, but a mixture of both. Today wasn't a completly bad day, but it also wasn't perfect. These are the days that leave me wondering: which one is it?Two periods before we got out of school, one of my sort-of-friends smiles at me, and says, "You know, you look so pretty with your hair up, and that color shirt. Because of both those things, you look twice as pretty as usual." I swear, I couldn't stop smiling. Because nobody knows that I'm self-consious about my hair being up, that I think I don't look good. Like it a message to me, that yes, I actually do look good the way I am. Isn't it funny how we don't see ourselves how others see us, and that the way others see us are a lot better than our own perspective?
When I got home, it felt actually nice out, so I sat on the porch and just closed my eyes, pretending that I was actually sitting on the beach, and not at my house with the snow still on the ground. And then, after that, I went in and... I don't know. I felt pulled in two directions, with this decision that I had to make that second. I'm not great at split-second thinking, and I constantly go back and forth with what I might want, so this automatically overwhelmed me. Then, he came over, and I just felt mortified, as I stood there, practically crying. I was yelled at, and then when everyone left, I just sat on the porch in silence, staring straight ahead.
But after that, something pulled me to coming back inside. I dunno, call it a gut feeling, but my little kitten was at the door, waiting for me. Like she just knew.
So... I picked her up (her automatically purring, her warm body vibrating against my chest) and took her into my room, to sit down and play with her. I put my decoration pillows on the floor and piled them up like big towers, and lifted up my comforter so she could explore inside it. All the while she kept nuzzling me and following me around. I'm a huge softy when it comes to animals, so she just put me in a better mood.
I love cats. They just look so lithe, and lanky, and elegant.

So, what do you think? Overall, it felt okay, this day. But now I'll stop talking about it. I don't want to miss another second of the still-light, ocean-feeling day.

For You

Before reading this post, consider the following:
Lots of people celebrate 100th posts in lots of different ways. Some say it flat out: Happy 100th post! Others make lists. Or post pictures. Well, along the population of lots of different people, I have my own method of story telling. Lyrics. Lyrics that I wish I could wear around my neck, or gush about, or tattoo on my wrists. I'm a sucker for symbolic things, and these bits and pieces of amazing songs are symbolic to me, and who I am. Thanks for listening :)

***

"Time is never time at all
You can never ever leave
Without leaving a piece of youth
And our lives are forever changed."
~ The Smashing Pumpkins in Tonight
Fate is like a snowflake. It is never the same each time around, yet it is always fragile and impossibly, painfully delicate and beautiful. However, when you try to touch it, reach out for it, not because you deserve it, but because you want it, you cannot have it. Forever changed, it's gone. "An old mother dies
Her intentions
Fall to the floor
The angel closes her eyes,
The confusion that was hers
Belongs now,
To the baby down the hall."
~ Pearl Jam in I Can Feel it Coming Back Again
By fate, I was given a strong-willed mother, with us as her only intentions to protect, and love. By fate, my father is subsiding, easy to persuade, intense, his love as fierce as an earthquake. This, is what I am made up of, I can feel it in my molecules. I believe that there is a reason to everything, and that everything is important, no matter how small. I was given all those names for a reason. Because... I am me."Flaxin hair blown out in the breeze
It is time for the geese to head south
I have come with my mustard seed
I cannot accept that she will be taken from me."
~ Tori Amos in The Beekeeper
My young, strong mother made a shelter, and kept us safe from the lightening above. And the monsters. But soon, I lost trust in everyone, and they were all mosters. Until...
...I met a boy with a kind face and dancing eyes one fatefull day, a day that could have gone any way, and never before have I met wild blue eyes that dance. But now I believe all those people that claim that they do exist.
"There's a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
'Cause you know
Sometimes words have
Two meanings."
~ Led Zeppelin in Stairway to Heaven
Exhaustion, pulsing through my veins. There's a slight warm feeling to it, slightly static, soaring through my fingertips. Heavy eyelids, slackened shoulders. Being able to allow myself to dream without thinking. That, my friend, is incredible, something that I now can appreciate everyday. No longer isomnic, I sleep through nights that would normally leave me shreiking and shivering inside.
All because of two people.
"Can you feel it, see it, hear it today?
If you can't, it doesn't matter anyway
You will never understand it
'Cause it happens too fast
And it feels so good, it's like walking on glass."
~ Faith No More in EpicYou showed me beauty, you showed me hatred. But somehow, within all of that, I found something even more beautiful. Memories.
"Some call it slums
Some call it nice
I wanna take you through a wasteland
I like to call my home
Welcome to paradise."
~ Green Day in Welcome to Paradise"Dreaming's just another word for
Nothing left to loose."
~ Janis Joplin in (I don't know the title of the song, sorry!)
When you're in dreamland, there are no boundaries. Only miles of ocean to search in, digging, stripping off all the secrets that I've known as shelter. All my secrets are out, and I'm just simply picking up the pieces.

"So take the photographs
and still frames in your mind,
Hnag them on a shelf in good health
And good time,
Tattoos and memories and
Dead skin on trial,
For what it's worth, it was
Worth all the while."
~ Green Day in Good Riddance
You know what? It hurts to be left, to be pushed aside, to decieve, to persuade otherwise. But it also hurts even more to have fate slip me a pass, give me a second chance, only to be hurt again. Sometimes, though, trust brings you great things, people you could never imagine living without. That's what happened to me. Thank you.
"Your head is humming
And it won't let go
In case you don't know
The piper's calling you to
Join him."
~ Led Zeppelin in Stairway to Heaven

Who's amazed me:
"You write amazing Jade, you will make your mark." ~ Joy
"...I think, though, that some people, may confuse this with a diary blog, but those people, would be wrong. It's not a diary blog at all! It's an artistic expression, and that's why I like it." ~ Sophia
"I love how you always share small pieces of your life. It leaves me having to put them together like a puzzle, trying to figure you out." ~ Francesca
"...And I love how you just did that. How you just described that so cooly. You do know you'd be the most amazing writer someday, right?" ~ Cassidy
"I wish a lot more girls would realize this, because maybe... just maybe things would be different." ~ Talia
"I love this poem!! It makes the word "aurora" sound like rainwater seeping through the insulation in your house... I like it!" ~ That Blond Guy
"Don't change yourself for anyone else. Just be you. Do what you think is right." ~ Anonymous
"Wow, to think one little tree inspired another amazing post. Thank you, TREE!" ~ xoxo, Hannah.
"Your blog is always a good place to come if I want a little piece of insight on something... you have this special way of seeing everything. Not just seeing it, but really seeing it." ~ Francesca

Honestly, there are so many incredible things to say, so many great things to post. But that would take an eternity to write, and to read. But I will say this: thank you so much for giving me the will power to write all of this. This is for you guys :) You're my inspiration.
Fate is indeed magic.

Staying Gold

"...But I didn't just write The Outsiders, I lived it. Looking back, I realize how important it was for me to have another life at that time. To be someone else. To deal with problems I had to face, and write my way to some sort of understanding and coping. This is all hindsight. At the time, I was mad about the social situation in my high school. I desperately wanted something to read that dealt realistically with teen-age life.
I knew I was going to be a writer."
~ S. E. Hinton

She is my role model, along with J. K. Rowling. While J. K. Rowling shows the world that you can come from nothing and be one of the most influential people out there, S. E. Hinton really makes her mark as one of the greatest teenage writers of her time. It's crazy; one day, she was angry and started writing a short story about a boy that gets beat up by "nice and popular" kids on his way home from the movies. At age fifteen. On the day of her graduation, she got her publishing contract. That's insane. And I want to be just that.
I want to make my mark.

Jargon

It's like liquid, my mind. Jargon floating throughout my head, swirling through everything. There are no exceptions, no borderlines etched in stone to where my thoughts stop. They keep coming, pounding through my head, coursing through my eyelids and arms and legs and hands. And then, one thing -a scratch on the wood floors, a thud against a box- and it's gone. My eyes are vivid now, and my dreams are pooling at the bottoms of my subconsious for good, until we meet again.
My dreams are always with me, and I can't stop thinking about them. They're so beautiful. I never want to forget.

7 Things I Bet You Didn't Know About Me

1. A couple years ago, I wore one pair of sneakers for the whole year and all of the summer until one day my mom noticed huge holes in the heel exposing my socks.

2. I love brussel sprouts.

3. Someday I would like to have an all-white room in my house, with purple accents.

4. This year I stopped chewing gum completely. I don't even want to chew it anymore.

5. Right now, I am loving the color green.

6. The best time I write at is around 6:00-8:30 in the morning. For some reason, when the rest of the house is asleep, and everything's quiet, I work the best.

7. Flowers and dreams are really inspiring to me right now.

Better Places

I sometimes wish that I was as athetic as her.
But I have two left feet, slow reflexes, and hands that stay firmly at my sides in protest against anything risky.
She runs gym class.
She acts like it's a second skin for her, walking around like she knows exactly what she's doing.
She doesn't blush, or cringe.
Or stay planted in one spot, too paralyzed to take a risk.
She tells people how she feels.
What she thinks.
What your place is.
And I hate her for that.
But then I think about who I'd like to be in this world, and who went against all odds and the accepted mold of society ...Green Day, The Grateful Dead, Lady Gaga, to name a few... and then I can't help but smile.
She doesn't have a funky haircut.
Or sarcasm.
Or enough will not to let jealousy taint her voice.
She can't write.
Or sing along to punk rock.
Or quote Led Zeppelin.
Or think as deeply as me.
I am not Sydney Carton (from A Tale of Two Cities).
No.
I'm someone in my own shoes, proudly wearing them on my feet.
And flaunting them.
I can't help but look at her head-on, knowing something that nobody else does.

Fish Bowl

Isn't it incredible finding something new and incredible in your neighborhood, especially if you've lived there your whole life. It's crazy, never knowing that there was an undiscovered paradise right down the street, tucked away on a vacant road, or a hidden field with plenty of trees to sit on in quiet. Maybe someone amazing lives right next door to you, and you don't even know, or that mean old man really has a kind heart an an interesting past behind his rickety old fence and bare house. It's like discovering written letters that someone in your family had left for someone to look for; they're all around you, and without looking, you'd never even have found them. More and more and more, furiously fighting for your attention, until finally, fate cuts the strings for you. Then everything changes. It makes you sometimes wonder, How could I have ever lived without this?

By Candlelight

Funny, that's what his face looks like when he laughs. He bends his head low and close to mine. I'm not nervous around him like other people. I can tell him more than a lot of people, and not just on a sappy love scale. I miss this, and yesterday, I was in tears because of it, just crying in my bed. He wasn't -isn't- just someone I happen to love. He used to be my friend.

Bite my lip, close my eyes, inhale, exhale everything I've been holding back.

Sticky Notes in A Bathroom Stall

Yeah, this title has significance. I've always wanted to take a pad of colorful Post-Its and cover a bathroom stall in my school with them. With messages. Little blurbs here and there. Just to leave my mark in a way that nobody else would know was done by me, you know?
I was tagged by Cassidy (The saga of Another American Tweenager) to play Would You Rather? And it's funny, 'cause I love what ifs. It's, like, another language I'm fluent in :) So, here I go...

Fabulous dancer or amazing singer? Singer. I'd love to scream some rage into a microphone, if I knew how to.
Potato or carrot? Potatoes are my favorite food, so a potato.
Window or a door? Window. There are endless possibilities you can do with a door. Open it. Look out it. Smash it. They, like I said before, are keys to other people, and that is incredible.
Glue gun or a roll of duct tape? Well, duct tape smells nasty, so a glue gun.
Guitar or drums? I'd rather be a guitar, because they make "the heart fly away, sharing the music of magical love".
Spoiled brat or a homeless person? Spoiled brat.
Truck driver or sailor? Sailor. The ocean is something I couldn't live without.
Dog or cat? Cat, because they're sly, lanky, and have an option to sun bathe all day long. Lithe and elegant creatures.
Motorcycle or car? Car. Well, a truck actually.
Super popular but cliche person or an unpopular but better person? Unpopular, quirky, and a mystery any day. Shallow girls turn into dust when high school's over, in my opinion.
Tooth or toenail? Toenail. They can be painted. True personality.
Stuffed animal or action figure? I'd rather be a stuffed animal, because bear hugs in the middle of the night when someone's scared are always nice.
Cell phone or credit card? Cell phone. I love gossip, even though I don't spread it.
Famous actress or artist? Artist. No question.

Okay, I'm doing this differently, but I'm tagging everyone that reads this. So here you go :)

Now, I decided to create my own questions for a tag. Here they are, you can all copy and paste them and tag whoever.
1. What is your all-time favorite song and why? What makes it so amazing?
2. Have you ever been in love? What do you think makes someone in love with someone else?
3. Have you ever thought/dreamt about someone and saw them the next day somewhere random?
4. Where is your haven?
5. Do you believe in fate/karma?
6. If you were to get a tattoo, what would it be of and why?
7. Have you ever lit a candle to wish for something?
8. What is the craziest thing you've ever eaten? (It can be ANYTHING.)
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10. What will you do differently with your life than what your own parents did?

Forever

I'm almost finished with my story, and it's kinda scaring me. I mean, what will I do with myself when it's all over, everything written our for me to look at and see? I love all my characters like the sisters I've never had, and just loosing them all is terrifying, leaving their stories undone, hanging in suspense. Forever. I know that I'm not going to actually loose them, but... what if I need to add something when it's all over?
I've always been the kind of girl that feels like my identity is uncertain. Like my first post, titled, Who Am I? I used to ask myself that all the time. And I still sometimes do, because like Francesca says, we're always growing, always changing. Forever is not etched in stone. Forever is forever changing, always taking on a new identity.
I'll miss my friends that I've grown with, though.

Sea

Last night I was swallowed up by the sea. And it was beautiful. It's when incredible things feel totally real, and you can swallow, smell, and live in that moment of time. I can gulp down memories of hatred, love, happiness, and simpleness. All in one breath.

I almost told him that I loved him. We were laughing, like old times, and I could hear the words ringing in my throat, longing to come out. I love you. Almost. And then I was pulled under again, coming up from the foamy salt bath gasping for air, my stomach twisted all around. Even though it wasn't real, just my imagination, it left me wondering: Do I really? Last night I was swallowed by the sea, and today... I saw him, smiling at me. My ears have never rang louder.