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?