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.