I sometimes find it hard to actually have the urge to open up my macbook pro from its sleep mode and begin typing about my day, because it is very unproductive at the moment. I have only finals to think about.
But as I am procrastinating again on three edits that are due tomorrow in the morning, along with revision narratives one page each, I decided to reflect a bit and look back on my years.
My freshman year was less exciting than most. Where many were having fun and trying to get out, I was lucky enough to get a ride that first quarter because I didn't get my license over the summer. I luckily received it in october and began driving the car left and right. That habit died very quickly, as my parents constantly remind me.
On top of being in classes, I was unsure of the major that I was pursuing. I didn't know that I wanted to be a social worker. And the remedial English classes were deterring me from doing anything special with English. But I got good grades in my research papers, and teachers were praising me for the work I put into my English papers. And even more so, when it came to identifying the premise behind the story and not being corrected like I used to back in high gave me more incentive to venture into the world of English. By the end of my freshman year, I was getting enrolled in English.
Sophomore year had to have been the most dull that I can remember, because I was focusing a ton on my religious studies as well as a bit of writing classes. I took a religion class that both my advisor and I thought would help me but in the end I had to take a few additional religion classes, to which I am thankful for, because it helped me figure out where my true beliefs lie. I am not saying that I was converted. But I did feel more at ease with my spiritual and religious philosophies. I no longer stood petrified at the thought of life after death, and I simply just began living out what I have been calling life.
Junior year was a butt load of writing and English lit classes. I felt as though my popping out of story after story was proving to be uninterested, and started making me want to challenge my writing, and begin an outlet for creative non-fiction, which I loved. I still decided to write some fiction pieces, but without a thought I would have careless tossed in the trash bin where they belong. By junior year was also the time that I found a stable job that had specific hours to comply with, and I had people working under me and also working with me. Plus, it was on campus so that was also nice; I was saving up the gas.
Until finally, my senior year. I recall good memories and bad. I recall changing my position as a tutor towards an office assistant. I watched plays with friends and laughed when we talked about our stories in humor writing. I wrote with purpose again because I wanted to go for a humorous appeal while also contemplating what I would want to publish later on in my life. I studied an epic poem that further made me philosophically question my position in this world. I started a writing group which I intend to follow through in the summer as we collaborate and critique works. I have a checklist of books that are waiting for me to hop into bed with them, while the drawer light encompasses and gives me eyes I need due to my lack of night vision. I want to camp, go to the beach, run again, build up my knee strength to have it work again. But most importantly...
I need to find a job to pay my phone bill. *sigh*
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Monday, March 05, 2012
I had a dream last night.
I can't say that it was a happier time, because the life that I am currently living is fun and happy too. But it did make me feel nostalgic. Nostalgic because it was how it used to be when I was a freshman in college, up to where I was a junior.
It was during those times because I was talking with people that I have not seen since that time. Believe me it was interesting to see those faces again.
It was my birthday party and we were celebrating in the garage like we always do. Everyone of my friends that were close to me were there. There was the one that didn't have a baby yet, one that wasn't pregnant. The ones that were still talking to each other, and the underage drinking going around.
When my other two friends came over, I knew I was dreaming. These two have not talked to each other in years. That's how I knew that I was dreaming. He was smiling and holding a poorly gift wrapped object while the other one smiled somberly and handed me a smaller present. The happiness upon seeing both of them still talking was the last thing I remember.
It made me reminisce about the old times, when I would tell people, "Hey, movie night at my place you in?" and everyone would be running down the street or driving up in their cars getting ready to veg out on the couch and just enjoy a movie.
My only question is, where did that urge to hang out go? Where did the friendship go? Is this what happens when you grow up?
It makes me sad more than anything, because I really do love hosting movie nights and seeing old faces. I just miss that.
I can't say that it was a happier time, because the life that I am currently living is fun and happy too. But it did make me feel nostalgic. Nostalgic because it was how it used to be when I was a freshman in college, up to where I was a junior.
It was during those times because I was talking with people that I have not seen since that time. Believe me it was interesting to see those faces again.
It was my birthday party and we were celebrating in the garage like we always do. Everyone of my friends that were close to me were there. There was the one that didn't have a baby yet, one that wasn't pregnant. The ones that were still talking to each other, and the underage drinking going around.
When my other two friends came over, I knew I was dreaming. These two have not talked to each other in years. That's how I knew that I was dreaming. He was smiling and holding a poorly gift wrapped object while the other one smiled somberly and handed me a smaller present. The happiness upon seeing both of them still talking was the last thing I remember.
It made me reminisce about the old times, when I would tell people, "Hey, movie night at my place you in?" and everyone would be running down the street or driving up in their cars getting ready to veg out on the couch and just enjoy a movie.
My only question is, where did that urge to hang out go? Where did the friendship go? Is this what happens when you grow up?
It makes me sad more than anything, because I really do love hosting movie nights and seeing old faces. I just miss that.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
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."
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."
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
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?
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?
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)