I know I sometimes get ahead of myself in deciding what fate has in store for me. I know that I dream big, as Juno rebutted to her step mom. But I can't help it. I have dreams for a reason.

And as I am looking at graduate schools, I am feeling that entire process into dreaming big flourishing into fruition. My mom tells me that I don't have a job to fully support me. It's not like I am planning to stay in this job. I will get one better hopefully.

But until then, I shall remain in my dreams. Because, as I recall the words of Cinderella, "They can't stop me from dreaming."

Just saying

Sometimes, I have the most random thoughts. There are times when I write them out in my journal, and once you write them in pen (ink is cleaner to an extent), you realize you wrote some pretty weird stuff.

Some have to do with what I was going through in that particular time of day, or just how that day was in general. Other times, I write fiction or creative non fiction which focuses on events that I try to recollect in my life with little help from outside sources.

I think that is one of the reasons that I write now. I feel as though by writing every event as well as I can recollect it, it helps my brain go back to that time and remind myself what I did, or what I dreamed, or how I felt. Normally, when I don't make any sense throughout the story, I know it is my way of rambling on paper. And that, although not clear to anyone, makes me conscious to know that I have something to say, but I just didn't have the proper words to say it.

Sometimes when I read my old journal entries, I get bored. Like in one of my travel journals of when I went to Mexico, I got so bored that I didn't even finish reading it, when I know that there is something that is useful. But I was bored, therefore I wrote boring entries.

Other times, I write with a fierce standpoint about a certain topic. But to write like that has been a while. I remember the last entry like that was one of an immigration reform that was going on this past year. That, I can safely say is the latest topic.

The majority of my writings are to keep myself from stopping. I don't want to stop reading or writing because it is what I love to do. I love pointing out certain emotions and going back to relate to them. I love reading how Mr. Darcy falls in love with Ms. Elizabeth and tells her straight out. I love writing about my dream that I had the previous night, and not on a computer monitor, but to myself. I am a strong advocate for writing in journals, because I feel that is when you have no one to impress but yourself. It is you with your own personal examination of how you feel that certain day, week, month or even that tiny second.

It's realistic to yourself. Why lie to yourself? It's not like you're trying to impress you. You already know that you are awesome.

A fictitious piece deserves a better title than this...

I am recently working on my story and am noticing that I am just putting together ideas. And although I have the concept of the idea intact, I still don't know how to begin this story.

From the authors that I have read countless times, they always start it at the middle of their life in time to begin the conflict, and others do it at the end and chronicle their past up until that point from which they are writing it.

I feel like doing it one way and then feel myself trying to do it another. I want to begin at the end when I haven't even started at the beginning.

I have to constantly remind myself, these pages that I am going to send out are only 25 pages. If I want to start at the beginning, I have to be able to point out the conflict as well as the beginning. But no climax would feel too much like a tease that didn't want to start the foreplay in the first place.

Still, I believe that starting from the beginning of her journey (or maybe somewhere in between) can prove it to be a better read. That way, the reader is already beginning to suspect that something is going on. A book that reminds me of this was Summer Sisters by Judy Blume, and how she began from the middle of the book and began from the very beginning. If anything, that should bring about an interest as well as a way to tell my story.

It's just these types of thoughts that stop me from going further. Where to begin?

I should begin where I feel the best way to begin.

The end of paper...

Yesterday night as everyone was getting ready for bed my niece asked me if I still write in my journals. I told her yes and made a mental note to hide them (my family comes from a long line of meddling in affairs that aren't their own; it's their way of looking out as they like to call it). She told me happily that she too still writes, just not on an actual paper journal, like this purple one imprinted with stars an a moon and an inspirational quote. She writes on her electronic device.

I know I am preaching to the choir when I talk about writing on electronic devices, but I also like to point out that I still write in my actual journals, like I mentioned before.

But here are the differences in writing in my journal vs writing on the computer.

My journal is influenced by certain feelings that relate on a more personal level, and I am not one to release certain things online like so many others. Many people will say, "that's because you aren't showing your true self; you are ashamed of who you are," to which I say no. If you wish to recount every tiny little thing that has ever happened to you and put it online for the whole world to see, that is and forever will be your business.

I feel that everyone needs that barrier of protection; to hide away some part of you is half the fun for the rest of society. They don't truly know everything there is about you to claim whether you are this person. But only when they get to know you on a more personal level, the relationship can change to where you have either common interests or your surprised by them.

What I post here are more for fun, and to practice writing. My other blog on tumblr is more or less the same thing, only for pictures.

But it is something when I write on paper and when I write about myself that I truly feel those layers deteriorate. Just like I said, it's a more personal level with yourself because you aren't going to show what you have written, it's your own handwriting, and if you make a mistake, it's not as simple as clicking the delete button anymore. It's a permanent mark, just like every decision you have made up until the end of it all.

That's why I was saddened to hear the fact that my niece is writing on her iPod touch. Sure there is still that sense of privacy, but it is no longer something that is delicate or your mistakes to be shown. It is simply monotone in characteristic. There is no more hand writing.

And that is what truly makes me sad. But again, I am preaching to the choir, but I still hope you that read this take this post into consideration, and think about how much you depend on your technology to help you out with your feelings.

All you need is love?

Can there ever be too much of love in something?

I would like to go back to the book Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis, a book review that I made earlier in this blog about the story. After discussing it in class I realized there was more depth to the story than I believed there to be.

There is the whole topic of faith and how one is to view it and whether or not one should be bullied into not believing their true faith, but that bastard Lewis added so much more than just a Christian viewpoint.

He talked about love throughout the entire book and I was completely oblivious to it.

For one, you see the love that Orual the sister, has for her younger and more beautiful sister, Psyche. Possibly like me, you have seen the love as something along the lines of a maternal love, never truly seeing that this love that she has for her sister is a possessive type of love. Throughout the book you see the adoration Orual had for her sister and it is understandable, she is a true beauty. But it got to the point in which Orual would claim she was doing what she did it of love for her sister.

Throughout the rest of the book (this claim being that she has done all she did for the love of Psyche), you see the veil that Orual covered herself with slowly begin to come off her face, truly distinguishing that she in fact isn't just ugly on the outside, but on the inside as well. And that one "good thing" that she kept saying she did for Psyche, that last piece of herself to hold onto her "good" demeanor is the last thing she realizes before it comes off. She was naturally ugly inside and out.

I couldn't help but look at the book from a different standpoint. There is no going back to thinking that Orual was just bad for breaking her sisters belief. It extends to much more.

It extends to the point of love, and how far one will claim to have done what they did for love, something that neither sister could have believed.

A great read that is often overlooked by C.S. Lewis fans, mainly because it was his last piece of work. And dedicated to his wife no doubt.

The Muslim Next Door

I recently read an excerpt from a book called the Muslim Next Door and believe me, I did not expect to be so sucked in as easily as I was.

The small few pages that I read had to do with how people from the West have viewed Muslims throughout the years since the terrorist attack on 9/11. And let me be the first to say I have no qualms with people of other religions and respect those that are of a religious faith. Well, more than me at least.

The author, Sumbul Ali-Karamali stresses how people of the Western world can never truly follow or understand the Qur'ran because it has to be studied in Arabic, which is its native language. That did not offend me in any way. It just made me realize that we have done wrong by translating our Bible so that everyone can read it for themselves back in the old days. It's come to the point where we have millions of translations and therefore millions of ways to interpret the Bible. Although there is no definite translation for the Bible, other than the native tongue it was written in Hebrew, thousands of people still plan to read it for their own enjoyment and of course, to try and shove their beliefs down another soul's throat.

I have lost count on how many people have tried to pick an argument with me over religion, and demanding me to explain why my beliefs are better than theirs. I had a friend in high school (while I was talking about my Catholic religion because Lent was coming up) get into a heated argument with me about how the Virgin Mary was anything but a Virgin. It's not the fact that she was offending my religion that offended me. It was the fact that she was wanting to pick a fight with me over the topic of religion.

The reason I don't like fighting over certain topics like religion is simply this: I DO NOT CARE WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN. I have my beliefs and you have yours. Simply respecting my beliefs the way that I am respecting yours should not stop us from being friends.

That was also a problem for the author of the Muslim Next Door, among other things. And I understand that some people are very religious, that it is all they think about and even sleep with a Bible next to their bed stand. I however, do not. And just because I am not a "Jesus Freak" doesn't make me a bad person. God is still close to my heart, and I give praise when I feel like it. That doesn't give anyone a right to brand me as a sinner.

But now I am getting further away from the topic that I was intending to write about. To return to the excerpt, I loved how Karamali was explaining how daft and dumb we Americans have become, further showing off our jack-assery on 60 minutes and picking and choosing certain verses from the Qur'ran to begin a feud with Islam and the West.

For those that don't know, the Qur'ran is anything but a topic of warfare. It is a topic of peace and forgiveness. But many people overlook that with the constant blaring of warfare brought on by the news as they are glued to the television in their living room. If you don't believe me read it for yourself and see. Don't just take a person's word for it, although I will admit Karamali's argument was flawless enough to convince me, or I should say, her examples of the Qur'ran convinced me.

Till We Have Faces

I have never thoroughly enjoyed a Clive Staples Lewis book, as much as I have with Till We Have Faces.

I know that C.S. Lewis is best known for his Christian and allegorical novels such as Narnia, the Space Trilogy and the Screwtape Letters, all of which hold stunning merit based on faith. But Till We Have Faces doesn't live up to a Christian reputation. In fact, the subject of religion is not expressed throughout this tale as much as faith is expressed.

The story of Cupid and Psyche is as follows: A king has to sacrifice his youngest and most beautiful daughter to a hideous monster  so Aphrodite can bless his lands (Aphrodite is envious of young Psyche and her beauty and good nature). When she does, she sends her son Cupid to make her fall in love with the first ugly monster that she sees but falls in love with Psyche instead and rescues her from sacrifice, marrying her and giving her happiness under one rule: she should never see his face. When her two sisters come to visit, they see the life that Psyche is blessed with and are instantly jealous of her. For revenge, they devise a plot to end said happiness by telling their gullible sister that she needs to know who she is really married to, convincing her that she married the monster that she was going to be sacrificed to. When Psyche goes with a candle to her husband's room and sees Cupid, she is shocked to see that she is actually married to a God and feels ashamed for breaking her husbands trust. Cupid wakes up and sees what Psyche has done and leaves her heartbroken. Determined to get Cupid back she goes to Aphrodite, asking for help and Aphrodite sets her out to four tasks, each one more incredulous than the rest. Upon the final task, Psyche finishes and Cupid reunites with her, asking the Gods to make her immortal, pleasing Aphrodite and they live happily ever after. For once, it is a happy ending to a mortal.

In the novel by C.S. Lewis, they events are similar, in which there is a Psyche, and two older sisters. The way that it is presented however, is entirely different. Told from the sister's perspective, you see the way that some people are possessive and determined to bring a person back even if it means their happiness is less important than yours. Upon realizing the demand that Psyche's sister is asking of her, Psyche still disobeys her husband and still is left destitute. Psyche's sister Oruole as she is called (Maia by Psyche) is torn apart from her sister on something that she did.

As time passes, Oruole goes on with her life, trying to forget about her sister and the injustice that she feels that the Gods put on her. It is a blindsided perspective that Oruole has been seeing all these years and stays in that denial until her final revelations that she encounters in the second book.

Her revelations are that just because someone cannot see something does not mean that it isn't there. And trying to keep someone, even though they were never yours to begin with shouldn't mean that you want to destroy their happiness either.

The other revelation that she comes to terms with was that she was just as demanding as the Gods that she has forsaken for all these years, but Psyche, being determined to her faith in her husband, persevered. It was a beautiful retelling of being strong and dedicated to faith, never questioning what you have and what you believe above all else to be true. And to not be the ones to disuade what you believe in versus what others believe in. Keep with your faith and let others practice theirs.

Correction, I have six journals

This Sunday is the last Sunday before I have to go back to school for three more weeks until I take my finals and prepare either to hibernate for winter break or get everything packed up for Mexico. I can easily say I am looking forward much more into one over the other. And for those reading they already know which one that is exactly.

Anyways, on my break, I decided to troll around my different websites: this blog, twitter, and my Facebook, just to see what I can do after I finished reading Till we Have Faces by C.S. Lewis, a great retelling of the Greek myth Psyche told in the sisters perspective. In one of my notes that I posted on my Facebook, it said I had three journals that I actively keep up to date and in order. I found six that I write in (both randomly and actively) and two that I have never raped with a pen. Three of them are filled, as in there are two to three pages left or have no more room worth writing in, and the rest I have yet to complete. I don't remember much of what I was writing in these books, but after peeking in I found some vague matters of severe depression and paranoia surrounding my so called love life, the changes and different perspectives I have overcome that I would like to reflect on it here, vaguely.


Number one: more often than not I actually started with the dark blue journal with the purple flower encased with an orange portrait. I actually began writing in that one explaining simple fairy tale fantasies of a love struck girl that was contemplating returning to an old flame or not, further transforming to an ardent and unrequited love that actually made me question love in general to a love that was in no way ideal, and haunted me throughout the rest of my journals.

Number 2: two certain males that have affected my love life are written continuously throughout all six of these journals, making me realize I spent too much time with them and what I wanted from them. I needed to move on, but up to this point in my life, nothing good came along to change my views of love or who I should love. In other words, I am still somewhat stuck, and still take in what I feel for them in an affectionate tone towards anything romantic that I write to this day.

Number 3: dramatic indeed! Nothing in the majority of these journals was happy, or nice for that matter. I was a depressed young one, and never really gave it much thought. But I do have to admit, what I experienced in high school was so dramatic, it was begging for its own reality TV show on Vh1.

Number 4: there are some potential ideas that I haven't revisited in years. All these journals began comforting me in my freshman year of high school, and have followed me throughout the years as I continue on in college, still being filled, although I am mostly focusing on the big grey one.

As I conclude, I would like to say that I would love to write out everything in chronological order that is in my journals, showcasing my writings and what I want to do once I begin a career in writing. But in the end I am always and forever just a shy and protective girl. Like I told a friend, there are some things that you should remain a secret, because that's what can make you so irresistible. Plus, some of my friends already know the majority of these works, but they don't really know the truth of my emotions that I have over these certain events. They just know the façade that I have kept up to this day. Why would I want to change my mind now, when that drama happened too long ago?

I am beautiful.... Most of the time

There are times when I look into the mirror and think to myself, "don't you look ugly today?"

I am not saying this in a depressing tone, I am saying this in an uneventful tone. I hold no objections to times when I don't feel pretty, but I am one to recognize that sometimes I put no effort into looking glamorous.

I think it has to do with the fact that I am lazy, and whenever I am on vacation I stay home and leave myself in my room away from society. I don't look forward sometimes "dressing up."

Maybe it's not a bad thing to keep myself ugly from time to time. Keeps the boys away from the yard.

Mexico

I don't know how I feel about going to Mexico this year. Actually, I was making it a habit of staying home with the sisters and staying comfortable with books and laughter as we opened christmas presents under our roof or my sister's roof. It's been almost 4 years since I went to Mexico.

What has changed? What will be different? Will the people that I befriended so long ago still be there? Will they even remember me?

I don't look that different, I'll admit because I still have the same face, the same body.

But I feel different enough that I won't fit in. If anything, I will go on the fact that I want to take in all that surrounds me. Catch dialogue, feel the ground under my feet. What does it feel like to have the street rattle beneath me.

I guess I can count this as a blessing in disguise, going back to a home land that I have not set foot in for almost 4 years.

It still doesn't change that fact that I am scared to go, with all the drug wars going on.

I'll have to watch myself if I want to stay safe.

The first day

This is the first day in a long day where it is 8 something in the morning and I am still at home, reading Sylvia Plath while I think about nothing.

I am in complete silence. The only thing you can hear is the whirring of the fridge.

I am loving it.

Unfortunately, my time is cut short. As much as I would like to call in sick to work, I have to go. I just think of it as payday will look ever so sweetly once I am done this week.

Lazyness

I think one of the things that happens to a person as they get older, is their sudden zest for wanting to get out and actually having fun.

I no longer have that drive of wanting to go out. I would rather stay indoors with my mom watching television.

It's sad and shocking to hear that I would rather stay indoors. But I also blame the whether.

That and comfy pajamas like these fuzzy ones that I received last Christmas. They are are deep sea blue with pink poorly drawn hearts. I wear them especially for the winter seasons because, well, it's winter. And I need something to keep me warm.

Plus, I have two mini papers to write, and being home I can work on it while Glee is on commercials.

Oh the simple words I am writing does not deter the fact that I am incredibly lazy.

A few slaps on the wrist

The first time that I ever got in trouble in a classroom was when I stabbed my best friend Danielle in kindergarten. From what I remember, Mrs. Bradshaw scolded me and I remember crying into her chest, knowing that I did a bad thing. The second time that I remember getting in trouble was when I wrote "bad words" on a note and my teacher from sixth grade got a hold of it. She sent it to my mother that same day (or called her, I don't remember, but I do know that she got the message) and I cried then too. There was another time when I was in high school, and my English teacher caught me passing notes. From what my friends tell me, I turned a bright shade of red that would make roses jealous. Now, in my senior year of college, I got in trouble again. But only this time I didn't cry, or turn red, or displayed any type of emotion. I honestly didn't care. Therefore I answered that I honestly didn't know. It made me realize that as you get older, nothing really matters when it comes to getting into trouble. They won't do anything to harm you. It's just a slap on the wrist. Trust me, the redness will fade.

Inception Style

Last night I had a dream within a dream. And the only reason that I knew that I was dreaming was because too many things were out of place for it to be reality.

It scared me to the point that I wanted to wake up but I couldn't do it. I struggled against my mind to allow me to open my eyes and it struck me down like the hand of God.

Eventually when I did wake up at 4 in the morning, I felt I should blog this so I could remember my dream because it was just dreamt.

I didn't, unfortunately, so now I will never know what it was that I was dreaming about, and why that scared the crap out of me.

I guess I'm better off not remembering.

After posting my last post, I decided to go and look for that previous post I said I did. And I found it. Needless to say, I am no longer bitter. But this did refresh my memory somewhat. I didn't remember the room number, forgot that I did not indeed touch her, and yes I will still admit that I cried as hard as the time my dad spanked me. 

Now that I think about it, she did suffer more than she needed to. But I still don't blame God for anything. I was actually happy that he gave her more time with us.

Current mood:crappy

I really couldnt believe that the phone call to my mom was the final notice.
MI TIA ROSALIA PEREZ
died on the 3rd of Febuary today in the morning.
it was shocking but i couldnt really feel anything when they called my mom. it wasnt until that i walked through the corridor, white walls with painted numbers.
Number 414, the number that will haunt me for while. she looked so uneasy when i went in to see her, and i knew that she suffered even to her last breathe. she was never given the mercy that she so desired. i couldnt even touch her, i thought i was gonna have my own panic attack when i got closer to her. i wont be afraid to admit it, i cried. i cried hard because i realize that i will never talk to her again, i will never see her outside watering her plants and yelling to me "Chulada!" the way she always did. i hate it that things went this way, but its God's plan and who am i to be selfish about it? i dont feel bitter, i dont feel angry, i truly do feel relieved that her suffering is over, and thats shes gone to a better place.
I miss you tia, and you know i will.

TU Chulada,

Kathy

 

 

On Writing about Illnesses

I just wrote about my aunt being diagnosed with liver complications. Sad to believe that was what killed her, and can possibly kill me if I am not careful with my diet.

It's been a long time since then. Almost 4 years.

And it still hurts to remember the last days of my aunt.

I'm pretty sure I wrote on somewhere (I think it might be myspace) where I talked about my aunt and the last day I saw her.

If anything I am sad because I still remember the last time that I saw her alive. She looked frail like she was going to die and I just shrugged it off and told her she'd be fine. Then I ran home and started watching television I think.

I don't even remember why I went over there in the first place.

Then when I saw her lying on the white hospital bed with tubes up her nose and through her mouth and I really cried. I sobbed uncontrollably like a blubbering fool because I realized she will no longer be here to ask me to come outside and just talk.

She would always invite me to go outside and talk with her, about anything.

She would also tell me stories of people that live in Chilchota, whom she expected me to know and I would nod my head assuring her that I did but I secretly didn't. Often times, when she would tell me about them I would try to block her out and not think about anything.

I miss her tremendously. I hate that she passed away. She didn't get to see me or her son or Jorgie graduate high school. She didn't see me graduate college. Hell, I miss her simply walking over and just asking me to sit outside with her, as if we are going to be just taking a siesta outside when the sun touches our skin to the point that it didn't burn anymore. Where we just sit and we don't even have to talk about anything, we are just keeping each other company.

I guess that's enough being nostalgic. I just felt like reflecting because someone asked me about illness and God, and how I come to question it.

No better example than my aunt.

X marks the Spot!

A funny lil picture I decided to take when I went to buy my brother In N Out.

It was either this or dive into his animal style fries.

I feel as though I made the right decision. ;)

why must things be so tempting to buy?

I went on a splurge to say the least today. Bought me an eyeliner, a shirt that says I like big books and I cannot lie, and a very beautiful smelling perfume from Forever 21.

Not to mention that I spent 20 dollars on me and my brother to eat some fast food. Give or take a total of 50 dollars is out of my wallet.

What is wrong with me?!?!

It's not that I don't have the money to spend (I just got paid this Friday) but I feel as though I have done nothing to deserve this sudden binge. If you get to buy stuff its because you should be rewarding yourself. But instead I just bought it because I had the money, I went to the mall, and I spent.

I can't get enough of that Forever 21 smell. Smells innocent and intoxicating all at the same time. I keep smelling my wrists where I sprayed some on.

I lost my train of thought.

Be right back, I'm going to smell my wrists for another hour while watching The Walking Dead.

My carelessness is bound to get me in trouble

So I decided to doodle on my left hand, just to see what it would look like if I did get a tattoo. I love it!



Not really what I would think about getting but there would be letters on my wrist. I think that would add some class to it versus a picture of something. I would probably get a favorite quote or something. Probably will have to look at some poetry from Sylvia Plath or look through my favorite books.



I would definitely want something branching into something else if I got a tattoo here. Like a feather (poorly drawn by yours truly) branching out to birds or something transforming into something else.

I will probably have my brother draw something on my ankle and take a picture of that to see how it would look. If not I'll just write love in different languages around my ankle. ;)

Tattooooooossssssssss

I have gotten the sudden craving for getting a tattoo.

I keep looking at pictures of girls and guys with their tattoos and I am just like, "I want one too."

But the thing with me (other than the fact that my parents will kill me if I get one while I am still living with them in their house) is where I would want one.

I keep telling myself that I would want it in four or five different areas:
Back shoulders, ankle, wrist, foot, or the side of my wrist.

Any of those areas I think that's the most prettiest place (for a girl).

But then I think of the future job that I am bound to get (possibly in the government or something weird like that or teaching at a Sunday school... no not a Sunday school, just public high school) and I tell myself, "It can't be so obvious that they will take a look at you and say no you can't work here because you are one of them.

One of who you may ask? Oh you know, the hooligans that are slowly growing up that will soon take over this country.

Hooligans that have done crazy stuff in their past lives, assemble!

Book Reviews?

I was recently looking through some blogs on blogger again, and I recently found one that was entitled fingers and prose. It was a blog dedicated to book reviews.

And then I was on my Tumblr and found out my favorite YouTuber sxePhil is no longer going to do a movie club.

I tried doing the whole video book reviews. I even uploaded a video about a book review on the Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley, a great book to read if you like ancient mythology, and something that I myself am passionate about.

I kind of want to stretch out and do this. A combination of movie and novel and distinguish between them. I would like to also see how many films have been remade by the petty idealism of Hollywood and trying to grab the tween's attention. Hell, they are coming out with Breaking Dawn aren't they?

Enough said.

Waiting

This is the second week the good dr. Has kept me waiting. I'm as patient as the next patient gal but this is just ridiculous.

Maybe an email would have been a smarter choice.

Looks like I'll be coming again tomorrow. ;(

I recently noticed that on Yahoo! news that Justin Bieber has been accused of fathering a child.

For one, that woman is crazy and should face charges of allegations and slander.

For two, as I scrolled down the comments section, I kept seeing the same thing: how can he father anything? Isn't he a girl?

Now, I as much as the next person do not like Justin Bieber. I don't like his music, but I don't know him enough as a person to say that I don't like him personally. Which is the same thing that I can say for the other people calling him gay and fag and what not. He, like the rest of us 7 billion (wow that is a lot of people) are just living out their lives. He just has to deal with more drama than others. In the matter of this 19 year old saying that they got busy in a public restroom at the Staples Center is just pathetic, and she, like the rest of the poor idiots out there are just looking for a quick 15 seconds of fame.

Justin, just take the paternity test and move on, showing that even though I don't like your music you are still gonna be passionate about it. Don't fall into the hype.

I can't believe that I just defended the tween heartthrob. But I would rather defend him than stupid fame whores.

Demands

Today, I was demanded by my professors to type up paragraph after paragraph about three pages that I had to read. You know, there is just so much that a person can actually b.s. throughout the quarter. I just feel about tuckered out.

Not to mention the fact that I am cramping up from stapling too much. Oh the demands are great but the fact that I am blessed with a job, as Max Weber would claim is being a good Protestant, I have to pull it off.

Working keeps me happy, because there is money going into my wallet and bank accounts. I could especially use the money now because I have just spent 25 dollars for my brother. But then again, I got a really cool necklace out of it.

Sic Parvis Magna: Greatness comes from Small Beginnings. For the Uncharted lovers out there, you know what I am talking about.

Jesus and moms

I have come to notice that there are a lot of Jesus loving blogs on this blogger account. Like there is a mature feeling of spirituality. Then comes the mommy blogs, or the blogs that pertain to family or blogs dedicated to their little bundle of joy.

I don't have a bundle wrapped up, nor do I have a strong attachment to the lord. I just write. I just belong to writing. That and food, and reading. And maybe some good television if the occasion calls for it.

Although I do feel as though I should bring myself closer to Jesus and God, but given the agnostic viewpoints that I have grown up with (even though I was raised Catholic and go to a Seventh Day Adventist school), I have never truly opened up and studied a bible. Even my brother, who is recently trying to study Buddhism, has tried to get into a certain religion that he feels comfortable practicing.

I still need to find that religion which brings me a spiritual understanding to bring me closer to God. I mean, He has done so much for me, and has taught me well (to be good I mean). I am indebted to His service. But I still feel that distance between God and myself. I am just not comfortable to fully commit myself to servicing God, but I still pray from time to time.

I pray to Jesus and God to keep me safe, grant me certain wishes, but more than anything I pray for my family and loved ones, even though I selfishly do so. I never give thanks for all that He has given me, but I know deep down he understands. It's still not time for me to get into that spiritual funk. For now, I'll just pray.

Praying is still praying isn't it?

I have irks and pet peeves

I was just looking over some of my agendas for class assignments and I couldn't find the one for Religion in Three Cultures. The charming Dr. Teel and charismatic Dr. Jones failed to upload their lesson plans online.

Nobody cares to know how much of a perfectionist I have become, but I would like to point out that when and if I need a lesson plan to at least scan my schedule for the week, I would like to know that it is reachable. And by reachable, I mean posting it on Blackboard like all the other competent professors do.

I have also come to think that this blogging is a good outlet to give into a sudden charge for inspiration. Already I want to type about insufficient and inexperienced professors, and promoting their in-competencies, but that would probably me label me as a villain, and these poor individuals have a hard time enough as it is, reading through papers that they have assigned to us.

Perhaps they were better off not teaching.

I'm sorry, I have said too much, and the anger just spewed over, if one would call this anger. Now that I am looking back and giving it my usual once over to see that I have not made a grammatical error, I guess I should not be as hard on them.

Besides, I can always just go home and get the lesson plan there. I'm just having a little fit for no reason, other than the fact that I just felt like typing up a problem. A problem which in itself can be fixed.

Ciao

A word to the wise for those that like to blog on the go from their mobile devices and have this app called the BlogPress app: do not define anything. It just crashed on me as I was trying to see if rebuke would have been an appropriate term in a certain sentence (which totally would have, now that I think about it) and now I have to start again from scratch. Luckily for me, I don't remember what I wrote so I get to retype everything as if it never was! (did you note the sarcasm?)

I was talking about my service learning (community service that is involuntary voluntary) and about the man that I am working with for my service learning, a Cuban born Spaniard I called him, which makes me agreeable to the witty use of ethnicities (born in Spain, raised in Cuba, just giving out a clarification).

I gave a little detail into his life and how well he has been off career wise, family wise, education wise. To say that he is a well rounded 80 year old is putting it delicately.

He is proficient in his piano skills and wishes to teach me, as something to remember him by he says. I am willing to learn from anyone at this point. I always wanted to learn, but due to a families lack of understanding in the arts, this has proven to be difficult. They sure appreciate it, but they don't have that strong want to greater understand it.

I have been waiting for at least half hour, and plan to wait just a few minutes more before that febreeze wannabe contraption to my right squirts again, making me jump more than when the elevator dings that it has reached the 16th floor and my head props up from whatever I am typing to see if the person that pops out is Dr. Morales.

Still dings, still nothing.

Just 20 more minutes.

Sylvia Plath

Where has she been all my life? Her novel is flawless. I barely read into the first five chapters and already I feel as though she knows who I am as a person. She has conveyed a character that is literally anti social, secluded, has a hard time getting along with people, knows how to smartly over come educational purposes and is a big time eater.

She has made a character that is me. And I am both flattered and intrigued.

Change is good

I decided to work somethings around on my blog. I changed the title, worked the layout a bit. Gave it a nice blue instead of the mustard yellow with orange. It makes it look more sedated. I also decided to be a little bit more descriptive in what I loved. I didn't notice that I was so blah about it. Like if I didn't care much for the things that I loved. Almost as if I was bunching up a ton of things instead of giving each one an original category. Besides being too bland about it, I was too impersonal, as if I didn't care, as far as having hobbies and priorities go. I will admit that I am secretive about certain areas in my life (kind of like how every naked woman covers the private parts but lets the breasts hang out provocatively). But you need to give enough of yourself to show that you are not just average; just enough to keep the company happy. In the event of changing things around, I celebrate and declare to have the finest yet cheapest wine and pour it out into a elegant cup.

You know what they say, people like change. I am a person which is by definition a single people, so I also love change. Hopefully, there will be more changes in my life that I am awaiting. :)

I believe this to be true.

If you have an ounce of confidence, you can do anything. I just finished typing up a book report without reading a book. I just browsed through people's review pages and whatnot. Trust me, if there was a wiki page that would have been the first that I would have searched and scratched.
I wish I would have had time to read it though. In the reviews they talk about the fascination of the south and how Campbell (the author) and his brother Joe are trying to make a living after the war breaking out and just overcoming the Great Depression. I'm never going to deny a book that it is good without actually reading them (Do not get me started on those Twilight books).
I think it must have been fascinating to go through the ups and down the reviews say that Will and Joe underwent. And maybe when it's vacation time I will grab the urge to read it. But, what I was trying to get to is, be confident in writing. I have to much of it thanks to the primping of the writing classes that they have here at school. But I have to say, I no longer use words like probably, kind of, supposedly, and more than anything ALMOST, unless I must.
You have no idea the strength that can come from a person's mouth (or from a mind if you are not speaking) that can demonstrate the ability of being superior in writing just by eliminating simple and unecessary words.
Okay, that's enough of that. Time to edit that book report.

“How does one identify love, lust, and desire?.. For sake of structure, let’s set out to define all three terms. Lust if straightforward sex. Great sex. It’s a chemical energy fused with unavoidable attraction that makes cheeks flush and panties moisten. Love happens when great sex finds best friend, when compatibility and passion lock in stalemate. But desire? Desire is a tricky, fickle, little bastard influenced by a vast array of things such as competitive nature, insecurity, and power struggles. Desire is a misery wrapped into a furious moment of flashing eyes and frustrating patience.”

Just a random quote I found.

Today was such a slow day. And that's saying that I went to swim at 7 in the morning, rushing to school to get i to warm water or freeze in my bathing suit above ground.

I mean to say it was boring in the workplace. I had nothing to do all day that ended up propping my iPad into a horizontal position and started watching inception. The whole concept of the dream within a dream brings such fascination to few.

I tried focusing my attention in class and I ended up almost sleeping every time. It wasn't until we got into the philosophical point of view of religion and science that I began to pay attention.

I decided to go back to work just to see if there was something to do. And there was. Looks like my work is ready for me tomorrow, after an hour swim.

Oh the hard workings just to earn a dollar a day...

Do not get me wrong. I love my job. Switching from being a tutor supervisor to an actual office assistant has to be the best change I have made since the beginning of my senior year.

The ability to actually feel useful (and by useful I mean knowing what I need to do versus trying to go around math problems that I had no clue of solving) puts me into a great mood. It's sort of like when a person finds their calling and all that the body says to you is this is what you have been called to do.

I'm not saying I would like to be an office assistant until I retire. I would much rather call the shots and have people work beneath while I take on more of the responsibility. It just feels right that instead of waiting to feel needed I am actually needed. I am needed to file papers, organize folders, cover the front desk (which I have to say it's not hard unless I get stumped by a question that a caller gives me. Women need to learn to appreciate a desk job in my opinion).

I love my job so far. And I love how it is going to prepare me for what new jobs lie ahead for me.

Second day went....

Well in the workforce and classes (so excited for screenwriting class!). But the one thing that I had trouble with was my friend Michelle. She is a beautiful person but her punctuality is a little off.

But in the end, the quest for a book $5 less than the price and annotated for me will be a good investment... At least I hope it was.

First day of school

The first day of school had been a hectic one. I started my job as an office assistant while also going back to the old one as a tutor supervisor to make sure everything was going well without a hitch. My new tutor supervisor was appropriate in presenting the students with syllabi and I found that I finish everyday at 6 in the afternoon, leaving my afternoons free as the cloudless sky!

If there is one thing that I was going crazy over, it was setting up the schedules for math tutors. But it was all resolved and by the end of the day I had a happy boss.

So far so good, now I just have to see how the rest of the week turns out. ;)

Friends

I think I have pissed off a friend.

He invited me to go with him to Los Angeles to attend the museum of tolerance which I wanted to go to, I just didn't have a ride.

I guess he misinterpreted that as "I would love to go with you come pick me up!"

I meant to say was, "If I could I would go with you but I probably won't be able to."

There are other things that I have to do tomorrow and I found out today that I wouldn't be able to go. I didn't even ask for permission to go.

What friends need to understand that I am a recluse. Especially during the summer. I don't like seeing the light of day. I would rather be stuck inside an air conditioned room opening a book and smelling crisp pages as I turn to continue the voyage of completing the story.

To my friend I am sorry that I confused you into thinking I was gonna go. I didn't mean to.

Bad day

This is the second day of the month that I broke down and cried. The first time that I did was when my brother didn't let me borrow $20 dollars at the swap meet to buy some useless games that I would've gotten over in a few days. Today was because my mom said my sister was planning to come over.

It's not that I hate my sister, it's because i haven't had any (and by any I mean NO) time to myself. Time to musket includes: NO children, NO bed to myself, NO channels and tv to myself, NO peace to myself.

Yes I am acting selfish but for good reason. I LOVE being a selfish person at times.

Please nobody that is family or friends come over. Please... I just might snap your necks off.

Palm Springs

Here is a view of beauty just as sunset is winking goodbye.

I had to stop to take the picture, trying to take a different picture in the process. But mom was right. It was better to look and tackle the sunset rather than settle for a silver medal.

I just started scrolling through Tumblr again...

I clicked a tag on the right hand side of the website. This one was labeled as degrassi.

I do find the tagged items to be a bit of awesome because I can type in a search for a tag and boom I can find it 99% of the time. It truly is awesome.

But like I said, there is no originality.

Just two or three words. No paragraphs, no insight to something. Its like updating a Facebook status mixed with Twitter, but nobody that truly cares.

Because let's face it: nobody is gonna be looking at your history of Tumblr, looking at what you posted. You are just letting people know how you feel in that moment.

At least in here I can feel as though I am letting emotions go out. Almost like a grownup. :P

Whew!

That Tumblr sure is addicting. Too addicting in fact, that it made me completely forget all about this blog and its contents.

Its like that new girl/boy at school that you know is gonna be cool, but after spending so much time with him/her, and after ditching your other friends, do you realize, "I liked it better when it was simple."

I like simplistic lifestyles, with an edge to creativity but still in the lines of organization. I feel that Blogger does that for me. I can just write and write and write on this site because that is all I am entitled to do. I accomplish in this blogger by practicing writing instead of going through tags, looking at gifs, spoilers to shows. Its like a twitter gone crazy where all the cool kids (or wannabes at least) are coming to play because that is where everyone else is at.

There is no humanization of people's minds. Very rarely.

All I see through the dashboard is ship wars, gossip, pictures (both nude and beautiful and sometimes a little bit of both), and some bits and pieces of advice.

But the creativity is stolen from me in Tumblr. I don't have the will to write like I would in this blog because that is all that I can do in this blog. But I like it that way.

The challenge of thinking as I type (even though I am better off just writing away in my journal due my obsessive need to be secretive), the simple distraction of just slamming my fingers against the keyboard; I can't find nothing like that on Tumblr.

Its probably just the underage kids who want to fight online that's making me want to blow it all off. Maybe it's too much glam for me. Maybe its that I have finally decided that I should grow up and continue writing, away from distractions that are found on that site.

I am not banning Tumblr from my life, I just have to make it less obsessive. I check that thing every morning I wake up, up to eight times during the day and before I go to sleep. Like I said, ADDICTING. It's another Facebook and Twitter for me.

There's the want for followers and to have people like your posts, when here it didn't bother me if people read this or not. This was my tale with or without comments. My emotions that would run amok with no views or with a million of people looking at it. I was happy with what I was publishing on this blog; there was no obsession with wanting to be liked, because I already liked myself.

Blogger, thanks for allowing me to come back after such a long absence. I haven't felt like writing in a while, and finding out that even after deleting you from my bookmarks, you still had me signed in on the dashboard, patiently waiting to say, "I told you so," reverberates like a melodious call that even the sirens from Homer's the Odyssey would become hypnotized to.

That you did. That you did.