Thursday, April 29, 2010

I want to map a world of you.

There has always been and will always be that question of whether or not we can go back. Memories beg for our attention, and our feet refuse. In our innocence, we are so certain that long ago was our best. We yearn for things to be the way they were, but those ways have left us, and they're never coming back. We long for what's behind, ignoring what's ahead. Why do we wish for what was known and gone when the unknown will always be there for us? The past has left. Though tomorrow is not a promise, the unknown is guaranteed to never leave us. At least that companionship is something we can always count on.
"I feel the distance of the journey yet walked, even though a few steps of it have been taken...just a few. Still, along the way, Heaven has dropped a few articles in my backpack of a heart- Polaroids of faces I've met on my travels, confetti from former celebrations, dust from different corners of the globe, laughter kept in jars from loved ones, prayers on paper, ashes from deep grieving and loss, cages too small to live in any further...unresolved questions that lounge around like loose change at the bottom of my bag. And as I rummage through it all, I am thankful...curious...continually humbled...forever a student on this earth. I am still so stubborn, so impatient, so young... and yet so grateful for the chance to continue learning on this journey...I am standing on tip toe to see what else God's got up His divine sleeve, what else will find it's way into my backpack along the way..." -Joy Williams

So inexperienced, yet sometimes I feel so old. Sometimes I wonder if I lived in Eden whether or not my eyes would be as acquainted as they are with all these things. I know I was never meant to know the grief and pain I have known, and I can only imagine what true innocence is.


My yearning for better life has stretched me. My journeys through these uncharted territories have met me with you. I have found my love in your face that is stained with the bruises of your own stories. I have found my place in your hand as we jump over the hurdles and fall down on the other side. I have seen myself reflected in your eyes too. And knowing that I can call you and hear you say the same things makes my weak arms and feeble knees think that maybe they can go a little longer.
And hearing you laugh revives my heart and my tired head. Thanks for being with me. Thanks for being my friends.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Are you happy? Someone should tell your face.

There was a volcanic eruption in Iceland?

I want to talk about my pet peeves.

One is the current popular hair part for women. Not that part in itself. I am glad we've moved away from the butt parts. But sometimes your part goes so far on the other side that it's literally on the side of your head. Again, not a bad thing in itself. Unless you have really long hair in which case you feel the need to walk with your head sideways because if you don't, then your hair will get in your face. And no one wants hair in their faces. But please, how do you see? How do you keep from running into things? Is it that hard to pull your hair back or put your "bangs" in a clip? I know you have long hair so that people can see how pretty it is, but believe me, when you walk with your head sideways, no one's looking at your hair.

Second, people who can't park. Do you think the lines are there so you can center your car over them? And yes, I am talking to you who go to my church. Yes, you. And the other half of Columbus' resident drivers. I know you own the road, you've established that, but no one said anything about letting you have the parking lot, so BACK OFF and let me park without having to be intimidated by your sucky skills trying to take over my space. My car may not be that big, but I can still cause a sizable dent in yours. I have witnesses.

Third, girls who come to the cafeteria and sit in the booth right behind me to talk about your guy problems. I don't want to hear about how he keeps texting you and hanging out with you but won't ask you out. I don't want to hear about how he was TOTALLY flirting with that other girl from chorale and how you're heartbroken because he's now dating her. I don't care and I really just want to eat my french toast sticks in peace.

Fourth, loud people.

Fifth, messy people. Did your mama raise you right? Or did she do everything for you? You're a big boy/girl now, you should have become well acquainted with the real world in which you will not have people following you around and washing your dishes and taking out the trash. You're going to have to learn to pick up your own pieces. I can only do that for so long.

Also, I have urticaria, and I'm on steroids.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Pitter-pat, the angel on my shoulder is haunting me tonight.

The story of today.
I sat at this desk two hours ago to write a two-page response paper on one of my favorite poems (I know that doesn't narrow it down) and I have succeeded at just now reaching my third paragraph. I have also accomplished an empty glass of Pepsi as well as the disappearance of two cookies and a mug of cappuccino along with a change in wardrobe and the addition of socks on my feet. I wish I could impress you more by saying I did it all without leaving my chair.

It has been fifteen minutes and I have finished the paper.

If only I could have also finished the cleaning of my room, a trip to the gym, a shower, the cleaning of my bathroom, the washing/vacuuming of my car, the filling of gas in my car, my Gryffindor scarf, my book for Nonfiction Writing, all my reading assignments, my six-page seminar paper, my personality profile of JK Rowling, and the basic decluttering of all aspects of my life.
In my dream I am waiting to board a train from Greece to Prague with a blue suitcase that doesn't have any stickers on it because that's tacky. I meet someone who interests me and we begin a conversation with coffee. We are so enthralled with each other that we miss our train. We therefore decide to travel with no map and make up our own, and I have found my best friend.

In my dream I have an accent and I always wear a scarf from Pakistan. In my dream I am someone who has learned to appreciate the fact that life should be sticky and adventurous instead of plastic and ordinary. In my dream I can love people as they need and not as they deserve. Because in my dream I am my definition of perfect.

This is the mess of where dreams cross with reality. And truly, I don't believe that is ever supposed to happen. Because dreams are not meant to be reality. Even when they do, supposedly become so, it is never as we dreamed. It is either better or worse, but never the same. And if we could spend our time loving what is given, perhaps we could let our dreams be just what they are and nothing more.

I do believe in dreaming. I believe in dreaming big. But I also believe in living small. And I believe that dreams are gifts. But I also believe that small things are gifts. A dream may come true, but we must be sure to know the difference between what is now dream and what is now reality and quit comparing. Make sense? I hope so because I surely don't understand it.
Also, feast your eyes on this --

This is what happens when one searches "feet" on Google images.

Friday, April 2, 2010

I miss you, my farewell friend

I logged into Myspace this morning, which is something I haven't done in a long time. I found on my profile a picture collage that I forgot was there. As I stared at each one that went by, I found myself once again missing something: my past, or more specifically, my senior year into my freshman year. And then I'm wowed when I remember that I'm a junior. And even that title is about to run out with only 19 days of school left.

I saw the smiles of myself and all those around me. I seemed happy then. Content. Now, I certainly didn't feel that way at the time. If I were to stare long enough I would remember that I was sick in that picture. I was worrying about a test in that one. And in that one I was very mad at my sister. If I stared long enough to remember the circumstances. But most of the time, all I see is happy. And most of the time, that's all I remember.

The thing is, I used to always do this. Look back. Look back and miss. The natural answer is, of course, "well time goes by fast, better soak it all up, live and love in the present, don't think ahead too much, don't miss what's in front of you." Yes, yes, all true. But I used to always do this. And I haven't in a long time. I haven't in a long time really contemplated and pondered my past and the people I knew and what I gained at that time and why it's important to me now. Am I moving too fast? I can argue that I'm not. I have thoroughly enjoyed every age and season of my life so far, and I think the fact that I have such fond and vivid memories of those ages proves it. But why is there still that feeling of loss?

I know that people come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime, but is the ache of missing those people and times supposed to be there? Is that how we're supposed to remember them? Is that ache the proof we're left with to show us that it really did happen and we really did know them? I always wonder. I wonder if when I get to heaven all these questions will be answered. That would be nice.

Questions are good. I fully support them. But I really just want to soak up the sun in my skin and the laughter in my ears and the flowers in my nose and the blue sky in my eyes, and coffee on my tongue. I want to absorb you, all my friends, and let you love me. Freedom. No hiding.