Who am I?

So, this is my third post in one night (or should I say morning, considering its 1 AM), and maybe that's because I'm really excited that I've actually decided to stick to blogging, maybe it's because I'm dreading waking up for sports practice in 7 hours, maybe it's because I'm listening to really good, new music on Pandora right now, maybe it's because I want to post as much as I can before I have to go back to school--maybe it's just...because.

Anyway, I realized I sort of threw a lot of heavy things out there about myself in my recent posts,and I decided I wanted to, on a lighter tangent, talk about my every-day hobbies, my school, my friends, sports...who knows what will come to mind? 

My alarm rings at seven-thirty on average; I rarely take time to actually take my time in the mornings, fix my hair, put on my makeup..you know, the average teenage routine. 

Getting out of bed around 7:37, I quickly rush to use the bathroom, put toothpaste on my toothbrush, and glide it across the parameters of my mouth. Quickly going through my drawers, I pick out an outfit with the help of the little light that shines through the crack in my closed door-- I can't have lights on in my room in the morning. I throw it on, unplug my phone from my charger if I haven't done so already, rush into the living room, put my UGGs on, grab my bag...and I'm out.

I get by in my first three periods, but my first real, interesting class occurs during fourth period--English. There, I never know what to expect, which is good and bad. I love the days when I walk in and am pleasantly surprised to find out that we are moving our desks into a circle for creative discussions, but I feel like they always end at the bell and go unfinished...like I have more to say and not enough time. Either way, I always manage to enjoy the class. Unless, that is, we are reading Shakespeare. Reading Macbeth was not the greatest experience for me this year.


Moving on to Social Studies, I enjoy the class itself but more so, as crazy as it sounds, I enjoy the work. I get so much satisfaction out of the AP curriculum it's ridiculous. It's vigorous, it's torturous, it will probably cause my hand the be broken by the end of the year--but for me, it's worth it.


For the first time in my life, I finally can say that science is a joke for me. I finally understand it--horray!


And as always, math is hard. I get by, though.


Rather than ramble about all the complications in my winter sport, I'm going to explain what I love. On the weekends, I love my singing lessons. Singing and writing are so amazing to me. Words can't even describe it. I take two night classes, one of them being a singing class, and as much as I have absolutely no time in my schedule to spend two hours in class at night, singing calms me down. I can't maintain my sanity without it.


I'm an aspiring journalist. Should I decide not be a journalist, I would like to be a psychologist. I've always wanted to find someone who wants to sit down and just listen to me, and I haven't, but I hope to help others and be the person to them that I wish I had.


And if I decide I don't want to do either of those, I think I want to be an interior designer. I've always wanted to have a really big house to decorate, and so I think this would make up for it and be really fun.


I'm exhausted, but the last really important thing about me is that I love spring track. I'm one of the worst runners on the team, but there's something about it that just makes me want to go every single day. It's a place for all my friends to gather, for me to just stop thinking. As a sprinter, I have no choice but to solely focus on running--how can I lower my time at all in a race that's less than 20 seconds when I'm distracted?


I'm thinking about becoming a distance runner this year because I think I need more time with myself, and running is where I get that time. A 200 yard race just doesn't suffice. I'm going to have to work hard, really hard, but I'll do whatever I can. I may be the worst one on the team in terms of athletic capabilities, but I'm definitely not the worst when it comes to determination.


Nighty night,
J

Ignorance

Pain fills my body as I read this; I almost wish I could give myself a hug. 

I just read through a letter I wrote as a middle schooler-- it was not to any given person, but more just a piece I wrote to vent about all my struggles at the time. I'm not one to forget things (I have a really good long-term memory--it's even better than my short-term) but for some reason I forgot I wrote this. Looking at it years later, my ignorance pains me and brings a horrific vibe to my entire body.

I was just so unaware of the reality of the world, and I don't know if I'm going to look back at my time in high school and feel the same way--that scares me a lot. I can't believe I spent all those years without a larger perspective of the world. Sure, I may have had an advanced perspective for my age, but it kills me that I couldn't realize how ridiculous I sounded. Not in totality-- my words were legitimate and so were my feelings, there's no denying that, but some of the things I said...it just hurts that I couldn't realize how small some of the things were in the scheme of life.

And even now I realize myself doing that--my obsession of some of my classes, for example, that I know will never affect me in the scheme of life. I'm glad I see it now, though, rather than after the time has passed and I regret it. I'm going to work on it; I know we are all ignorant due to lack of experience, but if I can help it, I'd like to prove that I can go beyond what I am expected to know and look back on this time and be content with my decisions.

Songs of the Week!

A few weeks ago, a famous author named Nicole Krauss (author of History of Love and Great House if anyone knows them) came to my school to talk about her writing and answer any questions. A social studies teacher in my school who happens to be one of the most brilliant and intellectual people I have met in my lifetime, decided to ask her the role that music plays in her writing. For me, I always listen to music while I write; I can't think without it. But Krauss's answer was so interesting to me, for she responded by explaining that music can sway and change her writing as music can change the mood, and her mood obviously affects her writing. Saying that, Krauss it justified her decision not to listen to music as she put her best efforts into.

Sure, it may work for her, but I seem to need music because although it may sway my mood, sometimes I need something to sway my writing. Sometimes I'll listen to upbeat music, sometimes just the opposite, but I think music is the only way I can really produce my best writing.

So, with that, I've decided to try to start a tradition on my blog: every week, not so sure what day yet, I'm going to post my favorite ten songs of the week. Music is inspiring and sitting in a room with music can make anyone feel a little better, even if the music is sad and makes you cry; crying isn't always something that should be associated with negative emotions.


TOP TEN SONGS OF THE WEEK OF DECEMBER 26, 2011
(in no particular order!)


1. A Drop in the Ocean--Ron Pope
2. Bitter Sweet Symphony-- The Verve
3. Iris--Goo Goo Dolls
4. Grey Street-- Dave Matthews Band
5. Free Fallin'-- John Mayer
6. Crash Into Me--Dave Matthews Band
7. Landslide-- Fleetwood Mac
8. New Soul--Yael Naim
9. Put Your Records On--Corinne Bailey Rae
10. Us--Regina Spector

Sorry that the majority of these songs are really depressing, shout out to my friend Nicole for that...she showed me all these sad songs and I fell in love with them. If you find yourself up until 2 am listening to them when you have a test the next day, it's not my fault. I'm warning you.

love, j

A Battle Worth Fighting: Think for Yourself and Enter

This is sort of heavy as a beginning post, but I just need to take a relieving exhale and dive into this. I can't spend my life holding back.

Here's a piece I'm really proud of about my struggle with creative writing. Although creative writing used to be what I did best, for the past two years I've drifted away from it, feeling like I can't do it anymore. I don't know what it is, but I need my writing back, and I've decided I'm going to do whatever it takes to get it.

This gift I speak of, by the way, is of course hypothetical. I'm just using the word "gift" for a lack of a better word to describe it; I don't know what it is, but it's a perspective I'm so grateful for.

Here I go...

I'm not sure that I will ever be able to indulge myself into a land of fantasies, at least until I am civil with the state of reality. Every time I attempt, yet again, to explore what one may call an imaginary world, I am forced to regard reality as a mere spec. But without coping with the land of reality, a wall obstructs my path into this world; a world I so desperately desire to gain entry to.

Times when I am ever so close to gaining full entry into this utopia, I seem to abuse it when I'm about half of the way in. But in these moments it seems I have no control; with all the thoughts from reality conquering the pure, fantasist thoughts I attempt to have, I simply have no choice but to succumb to the nature of these thoughts and give up.

Or, should I feel hope, I may not surrender to these thoughts so fast; instead, I may attempt to modify them and somewhat merge them with my thoughts as a fantasist. But even then, I am still abusing its beauty—I should not engage in the happenings of this utopia without being aligned with my realist self, for that is the basis of a potential success in this fantasist world.

Then again poses another problem: the problem of defining success. I rarely take the time to contemplate the reality of succeeding in a realistic fashion; we all have so many different ways of succeeding, making it seem that there cannot be one key answer. Yet, so many of us have determined a clear-cut definition of success, blurring the line that defines the separation between one’s version of success and another’s version of success. In turn, this causes us to feel pressured to conform to the set standard that society convinces us to comply with in order to have the satisfactory feeling of success.

Obviously societal expectations do take a large toll in my life, as it does in everyone’s, but it seems that my ability to have an understanding of these expectations is the saddest part of it all, considering that I have done nothing about it. I feel I have a gift, one that not everyone has received; a gift that gives me the ability to have an understanding of the greater concept of the world. Again, I am faced with the problem of appreciating the gift and using it, and just as with the entry to the fantastical world I strive to immerse myself in, I abuse my understanding of this gift.

            This gift I have, which I feel is the key to my entry into this fantastical utopia, repeatedly tells me that I must strip myself of all superficial feelings; that I must not force myself into compliance with anyone else’s standards but my own. But in a world where very few people can understand this concept, I am unable to determine whether complying with the “rules” of this gift is feasible.

            With that, it is not to say that there are not those who in contact with this deep understanding of reality, an understanding I pride my entire existence on. I pride myself on my ability to notice those who have the gift of this understanding, and on my ability to take them in and make them feel welcome, no matter how much they probably believe that I am not at this level of understanding.

            There are others however, as I mentioned before, who are at this extreme level of understanding, but are unable to view others who have such a similar, strong ability. While I find that their existence is extremely unique, as is every, but this to a much higher degree in my mind, I wish I could explain to them that there are others with who pride themselves by the same morale and great understanding that they do.

            And all of this is so essential to explain, for it plays a large role in the explanation for the deterrence of my success in this fantasy. I have spent the majority of my time trying to jump into a fantasy, when in fact it seems I may have only been doing so in order to run away from these thoughts that haunt me as I sit in reality.

            What I have realized, just by living a few years out of many to come, is that nature of this fantasist world is not to serve as a replacement of reality. Instead, it is meant to serve as an alternative—a temporary alternative. Sure, it is an escape, a utopia even, but this fantasist world is meant to be used to alleviate the pressure from, literally, the reality of reality.

            There are some parallels between the two worlds, which convinces me that I am right when I say it is not supposed to replace reality, because one needs to understand one to understand the other. Both worlds expect one to better him or herself; to be honest with him or herself no matter what he or she is doing.

            It is clear that no one is going to hand me, or anyone else, the keys to this fantastical world, and I’ve realized from the parallels of the two that I have to first learn to come to peace with the world I live in in order to move forward into this world I wish to live in. It won’t be easy, but I must conquer my fears if I ever want to get to this place that, if and when I get there, will define the success of my existence.

            So maybe it isn’t a fantasy after all; instead, maybe it’s just where I'm meant to go because of my understanding and desire of it. But to me, nothing could be better, and I refuse to cease this battle. I shall defeat the forces of reality that so quietly but so significantly prevent me from reporting to this world as soon as possible, and I shall make it there. Someone else may not find it to be a fantasy, but it is for me, and the first thing I need to do starting now is to advocate for my side of the battle. 

-J

Show Me Your Shadow?

Alright, it's true. I'm pathetic. No, not because I am sitting here on a blog talking to myself, but because I actually gave up on a blog and haven't written in two months. So what if I'm talking to myself? Writing is something you do for personal pleasure and then work to expand it to bring pleasure to others.

So, it's 12:16 AM on December 28th, 2011. And for some reason, at this very moment, I feel compelled to explain my blog name.

Out of all the emotional battles I'm struggling with right now, my biggest one is learning how to be myself. As insecure as that makes me sound, you probably would never know it unless you were pretty fancy with psychologically detecting things. I am beautiful. I am smart. I am amazing. I am all of these things, whether I want to admit it or not.

Well, that yet again makes me sound conceded; like someone I'm not--or is this who I am?

The other day in my English class my teacher told us to a writing exercise where we would just write whatever came to mind. She gave us two prompts: I am a talker; I am a listener. I wrote about how I am a talker, how I wish to enlighten people with my words although I always feel as if I have failed.

And somewhere along the way, I realized, this is my shadow.

Living in a world full of societal expectations, it's not easy for us to give in to other's standards. In fact, it's quite easy. But what's not easy for some of us is giving in to our own standards, listening to who we are. We need to Identify Ourselves. We need to be our own people and not let others get to us. But how do we know who we are when we're mixed in with everyone else?

Our shadow.

No matter how much makeup we're wearing, no matter how fake we're acting, our true identity is in our shadow.

So, show me your shadow. Show me that I'm not alone, and that we all have a beautiful shadow.

Love,
Justine