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.