I Want Closure

After graduating high school it’s known to most that losing friends is inevitable. It’s one of the most arduous things in life to grip to terms with. I believe it is difficult to overcome because true friends share memories. The memories you want to keep forever and the memories you wish never had happened.

My flaw is grasping onto something that is no longer there. I despise letting go of something that is far beyond repair. How can I let go of something wilted and dead when I have shared so many memories? Those memories that still make me chuckle and grin to this day…

No matter how much my heart has ached. I still grip onto the memories.

I lost a few friends during high school, probably more wearisome than after. All at the same time it was gradual and yet…abrupt. I get it, people change. That’s just as inevitable as losing friends after high school, but had I or even my “friends” change so drastically? Maybe I was too slow to comprehend what was happening. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t see that bright light at the other end of the tunnel. I had my back turned. I had my back turned before I could face the collision. What was once a wonderful friendship soured into a Mean Girls skit within a year, maybe two.

I didn’t know when I was irrational, sometimes I would forget what I had said. I honestly can’t remember how I was a few years ago. Yet, I still remain clueless how I could have let you guys leave astray. That I was an outcast, within our group of collective outcasts. That I had no longer “fit” in. I don’t know what I did to you to cause such senseless drama. We were all teenagers, drama just oozed out of our pores. Now, that we are no longer teenagers do we all inhale hatred for the other?

I have exhaled most of the hatred out. I have learned to forgive the past, because hey! It’s in the past. I don’t believe hurting each other was intentional.  

Even after all of the talking behind each other’s backs, stealing, and twisting the truth…

I forgive you.

We were all teenagers, who have grown into adults. I can be a woman and say, “I’m sorry, Ericka. I’m sorry, Audrey. I’m sorry, Keandra.”

I already know that all of you could care less to think of me, let alone acknowledge me. I just wanted to let you all know that I do think of you, I do acknowledge you. It’s inevitable not to because I dream of you, as my friends, and the dream is always bitter at the end. We fight.

I have read this in some books about dream analysis. Surprising enough, it did have dreams about friends fighting and/or lost friends. My dreams mean that I desire closure.

 Even in my unconscious mind… I want closure.

Let's Face the Music (That Thing They Use To Play On MTV)

          I still find it ironic that MTV proceeds to host the Video Music Awards (aka the VMAs) since I can’t recall the last time I’ve watched a music video on that channel. Today, when I see the abbreviation on my television I think trash reality shows (that all of America is guilty of watching). You know the ones: 16 & Pregnant, Teen Mom (1, 2, and now 3), True Life, Snooki & JWOWW, The Show With Vinny (since Jersey Shore is no longer running on the air), and much, much more. Although, I do have to give them props for concocting some television series like Awkward. and Teen Wolf (at least those shows have more of a plot). Yet, that still doesn’t loosen the fact that somewhere on that channel is making a complete idiot of themselves, such as the most recent idiot everyone on the entire World Wide Web is ranting about.  

Yep, everyone is raving about Miley Cyrus. I mention her name once more because someone broadened my closed mind just a bit.

I have to admit that I relished the fact that this ex-Disney teen star had fallen, that I giggled at a few mortifying photographs (some of which were cartoon pictures off of Pinterest), and I just had to share them because c’mon! They are hilarious! And when a volunteer I work with at the local library voiced that Miley Cyrus’ actions was actually a reaction to something, I kind of felt a sting of ignorance.

I am about as unconnected to pop culture as a…well, hermit. I don’t watch the news, I don’t read any magazines, nor would I bother to keep up with the gossip of celebrity lives. I actually didn’t even watch the VMAs; I watched Miley Cyrus’ performance fiasco on YouTube since her face polluted the internet a day after. So, I assume I was the last to know that Liam Hemsworth and Miley Cyrus broke off their engagement before she performed in the VMAs. Surprisingly, it was not after.

Anyway, the volunteer had told me that Miley Cyrus tweeted something on Twitter about her performance. Why she dressed in what she dressed, why she acted the way she acted. Her outfit in the VMAs, the nude two piece represented her insecurity (I believe). That her break up with ex-fiancé Liam made her feel insecure, or that he himself made her feel insecure. As for her caressing a hammer with her tongue in one of her more recent music videos, it represented that she loved the pain, the pain of the break up with Liam. For her wiggling her tongue out and making obscene gestures with a foam figure at the VMAs, I don’t know why she did that. Nor do I know how a celebrity could justify those actions (not even on a tragic break up). After I hear some the reasoning, I find it does make somewhat sense. Call me crazy, but as a music artist I believe she was just trying to express how she felt. True, she could have scribbled the agony into a song (like Taylor Swift does oh-so well), but for the break up that just recently happened I take back joining in on the mocking. I’m somewhat ashamed that I didn’t recognize her symbolism (yet, who could unless she explained it like she had to?). Then I remember, I’m not in the music industry to understand any bizarre music video that a singer or band produces. It’s just easier for us (the public) to not attempt to understand, and ridicule.

As a woman, I know I wouldn’t be able to predict my actions as a cause of a break up with a fiancé. Everyone is different at how they respond to pain; and Miley Cyrus’ response was just different, too different for anyone to understand.

New Jargon: "Twerk" & "Ratchet"

          So, I feel lately that America has been polluted with fresh jargon words. I can only assume these words have risen because some music artist recorded it on a song. Last summer the new slang word was YOLO, an acronym meaning You Only Live Once, and it’s somewhat still used today. Now for this summer, the most popular words emerging are twerk and ratchet.  

          From what I know what “twerk” means, I’ve concluded with two. First meaning: a dance move, or shaking your butt. Second meaning: being awkward or weird in public. I’m pretty much going off from what people have stated on social media websites, even on memes and videos. I don’t know where or when this word appeared, but it’s stupid. I’m certain for the people who know the meaning of this “word” would just end up calling me stupid. Anyway, this word is used as a noun and verb.

          Onto what I know what “ratchet” means and it’s pretty clear what social media has taught best to the public. Unfortunately, it’s just another noun for slut. I have asked someone what “ratchet” meant, and when they had said that they added that it’s used in England, or whatever. I highly doubt it! I don’t believe Great Britain would sink so low. Only in North America, I swear! If anyone who ever used the word ratchet should look it up in the dictionary. The following meanings for ratchet are:

1. a toothed bar with which a pawl engages.

2. (not in tenical use) a pawl or the like used with a ratchet or ratchet wheel.

3. a mechanism consisting of such a bar or wheel with the pawl.

4. ratchet wheel.

5. a steady progression up or down: the upward ratchet of oil prices.

 

          Why can’t people just use grammar correctly? You go to school for a reason, and the reason is definitely not to be an illiterate dumbass.

Rubik's Cube

          Life is a Rubik’s cube; very few can figure out theirs quicker than others, some solve theirs in time, and the rest just don’t bother. I managed to decipher one side of my life: high school. I graduated; I didn’t falter and flunk out, or have to repeat. I have achieved one out of six parts of my life.

1.     Graduate High School

2.    Graduate College

3.    Have a Successful Career

4.    Get Engaged & Married

5.    Develop Family

6.    Relish My Fruitful Life

I observe the cube, knowing what it’s supposed to look like in the end. This puzzle meant to be resolved, but not necessarily in a particular order or time limit. I may speak of future plans, but I never really seek.

I speak of the future and it results me sharing little details. It feels like it’s too much effort to think or even talk of the future. It drains my inner being, and I don’t know why. Even typing it down makes me feel exhausted to explain.

Since I have recently switched what I want to do with my life, I had talk to the director of the library I now work at. He rambled on about the Associates, Bachelor, and Master Degrees and librarian classes that I would need to take if I wished to work on my education (towards becoming a librarian or director). Then, it came to me telling my academic advisor about me going for an Associate’s Degree, she asked if it was for general studies or if I wanted to go more towards English. Seriously, why does it have to be so complicated? Why can’t anyone just tell you what you need to do to get somewhere? A straight, direct answer. I’m begging you.

No, Life has to be a Rubik’s cube to muddle up your mind. When you believe you concluded on an answer it suddenly becomes unresolved. It’s like algebra all over again, or it’s trying to go back figuring out a side of your Rubik’s cube.

As for slowly figuring out the sides of a Rubik’s cube, I have recently spoke of one of them with someone extraordinary special. The side that I’m ever so impatient to resolve is Get Engaged & Married. I’m not certain why I want to complete it in a hurry, since I’m young. It’s more of a, “I kind of don’t want to wait five or plus years until that Disney day comes.” Since we have already discussed about it, and he planned it out after we finish our schooling. It’s understandable; it’s the puzzle, or picture, what it’s meant to look like. Then again, there is no time limit when it comes to a puzzle. I wouldn't mind waiting a year or two from now, I'm not saying right now but five years or more seems like a lifetime to me. I guess we’ll just have to wait.

Life is probably the worst thing to give to an impatient person because you always, always have to wait for an outcome. No matter what the plan, the choice, or event. I’m just grateful that I have survived past one side of my Rubik’s cube.

 

 

First Love, True Love

I’m sure most, if not all, people have heard the cliché phrase of, “You never forget your first love.” Although cliché, it doesn’t make it any less true. It’s that one person, whether they’re in your life or not, somehow in some way aren’t completely buried in your lost memories. My first love just happened to be a cliché tale of boy meets girl, girl meets boy in the midst of high school. You know the high school sweetheart kind of deal. It was something as simple as just going to an extracurricular activity after school. 

          For a first-time relationship, we lasted a year. It had sped by, and I felt on our first year anniversary it wasn’t just yesterday that I started dating this guy. We never fought, maybe had a few small disagreements, but we despised conflict so much that it wouldn’t have been considered anything at all. It was high school, we had no worries. I recall telling him a bunch of times that I loved him, yet I suppose I didn’t really know what love was until he decided that he wanted to break it off a few days after our first year anniversary.

          Then, I never knew what misery was. I was the epitome of the word; I was the epitome of every dismal adjective and word. I would have put Romeo and Juliet’s poetic prose of sorrow to shame with how I felt. I just had the uttermost certainty that I wouldn’t feel the same, that I wouldn’t love the same, with another person. Like precious glass china set of dishes that a great, great grandmother painted and a cat tipped it over as it was leaping off the opened display cabinet. It could not be replaced…

          He moved to Alabama that summer with his family. While he was gone for months and months, I attempted to forget he ever existed. My conscious mind was able to forget, but my unconscious mind was fighting for him in my dreams. I would randomly dream of him during the long months that he was gone, and my unconscious mind eventually had my conscious mind to think of the memories. The memories I tried so hard to erase. I eventually had a dream of him coming back to Indiana, and within a few months later he appeared in the hallways at the high school one day. Once he had turned eighteen, he traveled back up to Indiana to live with his aunt and uncle just so he could finish his high school career at Tippecanoe Valley.

          We somewhat reconnected by the end of the school year, but that chance wasn’t meant to last since he was in the process of dealing with a family member’s death. I didn’t understand at the time for his actions, all I knew was that he had changed that year. After he graduated, we no longer were in contact. I didn’t know what he was doing, and he didn’t know what I was doing. The only thing I caught word from was a friend of mine who had with to Tippecanoe Valley, and she found out that he was engaged to someone. It was unreal to me, like it was impossible to dig that finger coated in salt into the shotgun wound over my heart.

          I soon tried to forget, but he insisted on popping into my life. Even when I had deleted his number from my phone, deleted and blocked him for all social network. He had created a new account on a social network and messaged me; I didn’t bother to message him back. Yet, his fiancée at the time felt no shame in messaging me, claiming he wanted to make amends...along with jabbing at me about that she was engaged to my first love. Deleted and blocked them out of my life, once again… when I was trying to expel the viruses from my life.

          It wasn’t until another year passed that I received a text message at random. It was someone saying that a friend of theirs had changed the names in their phone. It was a hunch I had, I knew it was him. In my heart, I knew…I was hoping, I was praying. And it definitely was.

          We texted each other for a couple of months, that was the only way of being able to contact each other at the time. I wanted to talk to him 24/7; it felt like it did years ago. Love.

          It wasn’t until my last few days of being a senior in high school where I could meet up with him in person. My last day of being a senior, he made it the best day of my life. We spent the day just talking and walking. We had strolled through a wooden path near a pond, which were sprinkled with ducks floating on the water. One of my Disney Princess Moments: sitting on the ground, being held by him and watching the ducks stream by.

   

          A month later we decided to put a label on it, be boyfriend and girlfriend. And now, as we’re just a couple of months from our first year anniversary I definitely can say this. I love him as much as I did then as I do now, if not more. Out of all of the world, stars and heavens…God created this being just for me. I would literally take a bullet, stab, any form of harm just for him. I want us to go very far in life, so far that we develop wrinkles our faces and hands. I want to spend all of my days, especially the end of my days, with him. He isn’t just my first love, but he is my true love.

                                               Robert & Me

 

 

 

Comparing The Then and Now

This spring semester of college has truly been the most exhausting I have ever dealt with. Well, it was much more of a hassle than the fall semester. The fall semester I was still working at McDonald’s and I was only scheduled ten hours or less a week. So, I actually had a lot of free time to do…nothing. Once the spring semester began, I finally was hired at the library. I’m scheduled up to twenty-two hours a week. Definitely a dramatic change, but I absolutely love my job at the library. It’s just stressful going to college part-time and working part-time, I never realized how challenging it would be.

          Now that I am enrolled into college and working, you’d think my parents would know my schedule. I have even written down my hours that I work on paper and stick it on the refrigerator so they can see, but they still ask when I have class and when I work. Every. Damn. Day. It’s beyond annoying!

          Just today my mom had asked me when my last days of classes were. I told her that they would be over in two weeks (May 9^th), then I expressed how I can’t wait for them to be done and over with. Somehow, this transpires into a “Chanelle” moment (Chanelle being my mom). If only people knew the true side to my mom.

          She ranted about how she worked two jobs, went to college, and had me. She definitely was exaggerating to the fullest. She may have been pregnant while going to college and working two jobs (maybe), but she was twenty-two. I just turned twenty last month. That is like her saying she needs to eat her soup with a fork. It’s a different spectrum, and times have definitely changed.

          I wish my parents would be grateful enough to acknowledge that I am just at the starting line on Life. That I am doing everything right, what I am suppose to do in life. I’m going to college (paying for the classes out of my own pocket) and have a job that is giving me great hours, and willing to work with my school schedule. I’m not pregnant (and probably won’t be for a very, very, very long time if I decide to have children). What more could they possibly as for from a child?

          On top of that, a week before I turned twenty my dad decided to lecture me about what I planned on doing within the next year. Pretty much, he was hinting or implying that I needed to move out within this year. It’s like he thinks I want to live with him and mom forever. Then, he decides to do just the same thing as mom did today. Talk about what he did when he was “around my age”. He claimed to have had a bought a house when he was twenty.

          My father’s life consisted of growing up at a young age. His mother committed suicide when he was just at the mere at of fourteen. The day after his mother’s death, his father sat him and his brother down saying that if they got into trouble (with the law) he wasn’t going to bail either of them out. From that day on, my dad and my uncle had to fend for themselves. True, they still were living in the house with their father, but they had to cook their own food, do their laundry, and do chores. I’m sure my dad had to get a job at an earlier age than I did, hence why he claimed he had bought a house at twenty years old. I’m certain he was paid more, and stuff was much cheaper then than it is now.

          I really don’t understand why they insist on continuing comparing their lives to mine. It’s not going to help me earn more money, buy a house… I am still too young to do it all on my own. True, they did their job as parents at raising me, but I still need help figuring out what to do and how to do it so I don’t screw it all up.

          I would move out and move into my grandmother’s, but she lives in Kokomo practically. I want to keep my job at the library here in Rochester and take as many classes as I can here, but I know it will have to change since the classes I now have to take for the next semester will have to be in either Logansport or Kokomo. I honestly don’t feel like driving to either one, plus I feel that will just cut into me working and I need the money. Yet, I have to ask myself… Is money more important than education right now?

         

The Tell-Tales of High School

            High school is most likely the largest pit where jealousy and hatred manifests itself among teenagers. It’s much like the infamous Greek goddess of discord Eris tossed her golden apple into to, just so the all sorts of anger would swell into an epidemic. The judgment, lies, and rumors clasp on someone’s tongue; within contact with anyone, they catch the illness. The judgment, lies, and rumors clasp their tongue as well and it continues to repeat itself. You eventually hear the judgment, lies, and rumors about others as well as about you. At first, maybe you were in a seething rage. “How could anyone, especially ____ say that about me?” But after so many tell-tales, you eventually seize the acknowledgement and emotion. Maybe even begin to question yourself as a person…

          It’s probably just me, but I still get surprised when I catch someone talking about me or when someone tells me what someone else has said about me. It’s more like, “Wow, people talk about me? I’m that interesting to discuss about?” Whether it is negative or positive feedback, I’m still shocked regardless. Yet, I have faced people telling me what others have said in a negative point of view. The labels that people brand you with, I swear. I have heard three main words to describe me as: Emo, Anorexic, and Fat.

          Sure, I was somewhat suicidal in my early high school career. Most teenagers (if not all) sometimes have those thoughts, some harm themselves in some way. I did harm myself in grief, but what can I say? I guess I was just a troubled girl, trying to figure out this mathematical problem called Life. As for the word Anorexic, I lost weight rapidly my last year of middle school, but I have slowly gained my weight back within time (I’m certain many of you have noticed). I don’t like discussing my weight, it’s just a number. Why is my weight such an issue for you or anyone else? I’m a person and I am always going to grow and change in many different ways, just like you will within time. Everyone changes within time, both appearance and mind. The Fat word is about the same as I just explained with the Anorexic word.

          I’m certain I have been called worse, for that I don’t wish to know. It honestly does me no favor to know, that is why I rather block out the people hovering near discussing about me in depth. People that I know have always said, “If you have something to say about me, say it to my face.” I’m the one out of that category, muttering to myself, “I’d rather not know.” I use to end up questioning myself and personality just because a person has classified me as a certain label. Am I that girl? Am I that word?

          I am guilty for being swept up in the rumor pool, believing what I hear from just one person. Then again, I was in high school. I was dumb and naïve like most kids are at that age. I am doing my absolute best not to get caught in the net and spill any sort of judgment. Yet, just because I am no longer in high school doesn’t mean I don’t hear it in adult settings. Such as at work, especially at the Rochester McDonald’s (a.k.a. Drama Central) since a bunch of middle-aged women have nothing better to do than to talk about someone to another who happens to be right beside them. Now that is not saying all of the women there that I worked with snickered and cackled about others, don’t get me wrong. I’m just saying a majority of them did.

          If someone decides to talk about you and you catch their word by another, just not acknowledge the existence of that rumor. People are going to believe what they hear from one-side of the story, many (if not all) concoct these ridiculous tales just to see how you’ll react to it. If your friends think you should hear what someone else has said, tell them, “I appreciate you being my friend and letting me know this, but I’d rather not know. It’s no value to me.”  (That is unless you do want to know, it’s completely your decision). As for me, I am living perfectly fine without knowing this and that said about me.

 

10 Things About Me

1.      I had surgery on my tongue when I was thirteen years old. I was born tongue-tied, which is when you have an extra piece of skin attached to the bottom of the tongue and the bottom of the floor of the mouth. It’s genetic on my father’s side since my brother Devin was tongue-tied as well. Yet, he had his surgery when he was four years old. I was absent from school for a week not just because of the pain, but from not being able to speak with stitches in my mouth. I could only eat non-solids, such as jell-o, milkshakes, ice cream, broth, etc. I craved steak on my third day after surgery. I definitely felt like I was starving that whole week!

 

2.      I’m pretty much a diabetic. If I eat something really sugary my insulin spikes really high. I definitely need to work on my diet, such as cutting out soda. I did for a little bit, but then I caved. Will-power? Hardly!

 

 

3.      In middle school all I would listen to for music was ‘80s music. I knew my mother was a disc jockey (DJ) in the early ‘90s (she still could play the amazingly awesome ‘80s on the station, which was U93) and she would play ‘80s music all the time at the house. On MTV they use to (I don’t know if they still play this) show Rock Fest, which consisted of music videos back in the ‘80s. I remember the very first music video and song that hooked me and that was Poison by Alice Cooper. I noticed that I have major crushes on some lead singers from bands in the ‘80s, such was the Joe Elliott (Def Leppard), Bret Michaels (Poison), Jon Bon Jovi (Bon Jovi), etc. Pretty much, if they had the long-ish hair and tight pants… you get the picture.

 

4.      Since my junior year in high school, my music tastes have changed quite a bit. I still love the ‘80s, but my friend Sheldon introduced me to a completely different band. I was listening to the radio one day in the car and the song Blackout was playing. I didn’t know the name of it then or the band until I told him about it. He told me it was Breathe Carolina and leaded me his CD, which was Breathe Carolina’s album Hell Is What You Make It. Every beat, melody, harmony, lyric, chorus was extraordinary, especially the voices that sang the lyrics, which are David Schmitt (lead singer) and Kyle Green. They are the combination of techno and scream-o, kind of an alternative rock even. I don’t have a favorite song by them because they simply have too many magnificent ones. I know many may not like the combination of Breathe Carolina, but I can say they give me goose bumps every time I listen to them.

 

5.      I love learning about murderers and serial killers. I find it fascinating because some are so insane that they’re impeccably genius in covering their tracks. Trying to understand how their mind processes is like a 1,000 + piece puzzle. So many attributes are contributed to them committing these crimes on why they do it. My favorite serial killer is The Zodiac, which was back in the late 1960s and 1970s. He/She or they were never caught since retrieving evidence then was very difficult. In the 1980s is when the scientific evidence was able to take effect, such as DNA. Then again, it would be months or years until they would receive results. Anyway, The Zodiac sent letters to three newspaper companies and even called them, confessing to the murders. He covered his tracks well, even though it was so easy to get away with murder then if you knew how to do it right.

 

6.      If anyone can’t already tell, I love Disney. Disney is the very essence of my childhood. My favorite movie is The Little Mermaid, obviously. I remember it was the very first movie I saw in theaters with my grandmother. Ever since then I have grown up wanting to be a mermaid and to have gorgeous fire-engine red hair. This movie is also probably the reason why I love mermaid mythology, even. I don’t know, but the tales about mermaids and sirens are just enchanting.

 

7.      I played percussion in band back in middle school for three years. I wish I would have continued being in band once I entered high school. I honestly don’t know why I quit playing. I guess it could have been that I thought I wasn’t going to get better at playing or reading music? I really wish I never gave it up… because the rush I would get after every performance in front of an audience was worth practicing for months and months.

 

8.      I have had 4 written works published in a book called A Celebration of Poets. The company that published my work is called Creative Communications. Their website is http://www.poeticpower.com/ if you wish to visit their site. It’s elevating to see something of mine in a book. I’m hoping I will have more of my works published into print in the future.

 

9.      Besides writing and reading, I like to paint and craft things. I kind of like the paint-by-numbers kits since I’m not really that artistic with paint. Just following the numbers on the picture and on the paint is so simple. It’s also relaxing for me.

 

10.  Compared to everyone else my age, they know what they want to do as a career or they already know what they want out of life. I still don’t know what I want as my career. I feel like I’m stuck in the limbo of attending college part-time and working at the library part-time. Honestly, I feel I’m going to be stuck in Rochester, IN and in my parents’ home forever. My father says I have potential, but I don’t feel the potential in the least. I’m just an average girl, living an average life.

Manners Matter

The Princess Diaries (Julia Andrews)

 

Alright, so I have this pet peeve. I would like to give all the credit to my family, who has always taught me to say “please”, “thank you”, and “excuse me”. This ultimate pet peeve of mine is when people refuse to use manners! I suppose many have not been taught to use some manners since I have faced it when working with the public.

If you have or do work in a fast food restaurant, retail store, or any other possible pit of Hell work place, I feel your distress. My last job was at a McDonald’s and I dealt with ludicrous people on a weekly basis (maybe even a daily basis). Most of the people were just strangers, some were regulars who came in everyday, and there were a few people who were “Oh, God, not them again!”

The few people who were “Oh, God, not them again!” were the type who were disrespectful and rude would cause anyone to stun them silent as a monk. At least, they would with me. After all, it was my job to do or give whatever the customer wanted. I couldn’t “back talk” since it would be a definite termination. These people wouldn’t even bother to say “hello” in return if you greeted them, they would ignore you and just say what they wanted to order. Or even utter the word “thank you” when they received their food.

Another thing that enrages me to no end is when I ask someone how they are and they reply, not bothering to ask how you are. My logic is: If I asked you how you are, took the time to actually be kind and considerate, you could at least ask how I am. Now, I know certain people have this thought in their head about if they ask someone how they are they’ll hear a lot of extra baggage they don’t want to hear, which is true with a few people I have met. Well, I can’t think of a few, but I can think of one person.

Since I live and work in a teeny town called Rochester, everyone tends to bump into each other and recognize faces. When I was still working at McDonald’s there was this one middle-aged man who was somewhat of a regular. He’s of average height, has a gut, and always wears a cap to shield his already balding head. Not to mention that he reeks and can cloud an area with his odd stench. I would greet him whenever he strolled in and he would always (and still does) greet me in return, adding on “How are you?” I would (and still always) reply with a simple “good” and then in return ask how he is.

I tell you, this man never ever fails to whine about his life. He’s mentioned how he doesn’t really have any family left, how he’s so isolated and depressed. I feel this is his way to receive attention, the sympathetic attention since he doesn’t get much. Yet, you can only take listening inventively for so long. Well, for me at least…

Now that I work at the library, that man does come in often like he would at McDonald’s. I only greet him with a “hello” now, but he still greets in return and asks how I am. I still listen to his sob stories, but I don’t bother to respond much to it. With him always asking how I am, I will always ask him how he is simply because it’s polite and I was raised that way. He takes the time to ask me how I am; I should take the time to ask how he is. (It doesn’t necessarily mean I have to listen, though)! That’s cruel to do and say, but at least he believes I’m listening.

I’m sure a lot of people don’t realize how they can dramatically make someone’s day just by being kind by asking how they are or telling them to have a nice day. It certainly makes my day superb whenever I tell a patron to have a nice day and they reply with, “Thank you, you too!” Sometimes people will even beat me from saying it first.

I realize a lot of people could care less about how a stranger feels. You don’t know if that stranger is going through a rough patch, you don’t know if they are strolling through life like a breeze. People think that what they say won’t matter, but it does. Your words matter. Words can have a tiny effect or a major effect on anyone, if not everyone. I know I just can’t be the only one content with a stranger asking me how I am or to tell me to have a great day.

Lastly, when someone holds open the door for you it’s polite to say, “Thank you.” It is also polite to hold a door open for someone if they’re right beyond you or just going in. If they fail to say “Thank you”, remark on their rude manner with a, “You’re welcome.”

Down With Slut Shaming!

While I was scrolling through random pictures on Pinterest in the humor category, I came across this one photo of a girl. This girl named Laci Green.

I never knew about this girl until I clicked on this picture. I automatically opened a new tab to Youtube just to watch Laci Green’s videos. This girl has spun my views differently. As I sat on the spinning wheel, she swung me around from viewing the playground to seeing the open field. Although most of her videos have her just teaching about sex and contraceptives, she does do a few videos that are based on how most of society thinks nowadays. One of Laci’s videos has her talking about society set on this craze called “Slut Shaming”.

 “Slut is a derogatory term used to degrade women’s sexuality.”  

Yes, I have called girls sluts many before. I was young and stupid (I still am, but I’ve grown a little since then… I think?). It still doesn’t make it right, though. I shouldn’t judge another on their sex life choices. I mean, why should I have to be worried about their sex life? It’s none of my business if they have one or not, or who they choose to have it with. How Laci defines “Slut Shaming” best is when she has a response to a Jenna Marbles video (a famous Youtuber). The video link: http://youtu.be/CCw2MzKjpoo

“Slut shaming is when we insult a woman because she expresses her sexuality in the way we don’t like or approve of.”

I love the definition because it’s so true to every single word. Anyone can express their sexuality in many ways, such as clothing, make-up and hair. I would like to emphasize about how some women are perceive just by what they wear (even men as well, only they wouldn’t be seen as “sluts”). If a woman chooses to wear an outfit that shows a bit more flesh than the average conservative would, some people automatically deem the woman to be “loose” or a “slut”. You don’t know how many partners she has had, if she even had any!

I wish society would learn to stop judging the image on the outside rather than on the inside. A person is more than just their sexuality, and if they choose to express their sexuality they shouldn’t have to be degraded for it.

(Laci Green has a bunch of awesome videos for teenagers to understand more about their bodies and their sexual health. I would recommend her videos to anyone because they have truly helped me understand more about myself and my body).

 

You Got To Fight For Your Right (To Stay Young)

I have recently pondered about a certain decade within the ages that I feel many over look or don’t acknowledge. The Roaring Twenties (1920s) in the culture of the United States is recognized for its lovely women flappers and suave gang members during the Prohibition, as well as the Immigration Act of 1924 and the Scopes Trial. Some even think of how baseball was so popular then, too. (Give some credit to Babe Ruth for that). Yet, it seems a lot of people forget what marked this era right from the beginning.

On August 26^th of 1920, the Secretary of State Bainbridge Colby signed the law that granted women’s right to vote, which was the 19^th Amendment of the Constitution. A major event that was indented to the United States timeline, and I’m certain many feminists admire Susan B. Anthony for her courage that made it happen. For those young women who don’t identify themselves as feminists, does it ever cross their mind at how fortunate they are to have this freedom now?

Sure, voting is one thing but look at the much larger picture. The voting was just a small step stone to the rose garden to finally be equal to our fellow male counterparts. To be equal meant to have a better, more fruitful life. A woman could achieve whatever she wished, beyond being a stay at home wife and mother. Unfortunately, a lot of young women my age choose to be that wife and/or mother.

I graduated from high school last year in June. It seemed every year in high school, more and more girls my age (even younger) were becoming pregnant. I don’t understand the fascination with becoming pregnant at such a young age, but for some reason girls just gush about it like it’s more important than prom. It seems a lot of girls at a young age actually plan their pregnancy more than they would ever with prom. Now, I realize teen mothers did not all purposely become pregnant. Some have used protection and have it fail, I know it happens. What I can’t process is that with all the knowledge we have access to such as protection (contraceptives), why wouldn’t some young women ever invest in it? They couldn’t have possibly believed the pull-out method would work every single time. Unless they were that uneducated about sex health, for which I blame parents for if they never really spoke with their children about sex. Then again, you can find information on the internet and at the library nowadays.

This is possibly the worst thing to ever think, but I believe if a girl chooses to become pregnant in high school it’s metaphorically suicide. This is how my thought process works: a girl is intentionally giving up all of her hopes and dreams so she can raise another life. A baby is definitely a roadblock in the journey of discovering yourself.

One thing that really just upsets me to the core is when a girl makes the statement, “My baby saved my life. If it wasn’t for him/her I’d be dead. I would be nothing.”

I understand their viewpoint if they dabbled in drugs or alcohol, it’s magnificent that they found something to halt their addiction—but! Is it worth it? They couldn’t take care of their bodies themselves, but once a baby was in the picture they could automatically transform their habits? It makes no sense to me whatsoever. Essentially I think if someone honestly believes their life wasn’t worth living, why try to raise another?

As for marriage, I’m just trying to figure out why everyone my age is trying to rush into things right after high school is let out. To me, marriage is not just some legal document. I will value the sanctity of marriage when I am ready, and I believe that is all thanks to my biological parents who have been married for eighteen years.

Young people really need to stop cropping the photo and look at it as a whole. I wonder if they ever really thought about their partner, if they truly can see themselves with this person for years and years. In time everyone will change, no matter what. Technically, the body and mind isn’t fully developed until the age of twenty-five through twenty-nine. By twenty-five, someone may have already finished their college degree and I’m sure that person has transformed over the years since high school.

Some people just need to try and stay being a teenager or young adult as long as they can. I definitely don’t want to grow up anymore than I can. I’m relishing life with my freedom of spending time with my friends and family, and these are the times I want to remember most. I’m also earning an education like Susan B. Anthony and many other women fought for. They wanted more for women as a whole, and I’m making certain their efforts don’t go to waste.

Trichotillomania

 

Pull.

Pull.

Pull.

I was in the fray of playing tug-of-war with an eyelash. I had the urge and I needed a release. I had that ‘certain feeling’. That right moment of when my eyelash root was ripe for the plucking. Between my middle finger and thumb was the one imperfection I needed to yank out.

Hair is one of the universal images of beauty. The type of hair that flows out from the scalp and the type of hair that flutters out from the eyes. The longer and fuller the hair is, the more society will glorify it. This ritual of plucking my eyelashes is not because I don’t adore them. I desperately want to stop the habit, but… I can’t. It’s like being oblivious to a deep itch tingling on the arm.

I tugged as the eyelash strained. I felt the root ache more and more as I pulled. Then, finally, I felt the relief. With the eyelash still between my fingers, I studied the follicle to see if it was black or white. It was white, fully developed. I’m not certain why I do this myself, but I find it fascinating to think about how the root slips out of the socket of the eyelid.

At first, I don’t have a sense of regret. It is until I examine my eyelid in the mirror to see how it looks without that one eyelash. It may appear normal to everyone else, but to me the eyelashes aligned are uneven in length. There have been times where I have had a bald spot on an eyelid from consistently plucking. I make a fail attempt to swish my mascara wand to guide the eyelashes to cover the bald spot.

I have even guided my fingers up to my eyebrows to pluck. Most of the time it doesn’t so much hurt, the hair simply comes out with a soft tug. More than one fine hair falls out. When I was just beginning high school, I would brush my eyebrows back the opposite direction because I would have that same ‘certain feeling’ that I had with my eyelashes.

The outcome of losing my eyebrow hair was it to be less thick than before. It isn’t much of a big deal as it is with my eyelashes since my eyebrows are a tad thick. I view my eyebrow pulling ritual to be a part of my grooming. I don’t do it as often as bathing or brushing my teeth, but as often as shaving my legs (every few days or so).

I thought I was odd—more unusual than any other teenager in their awkward stage of life. I felt I was the only one having weird sensations with my hair. Of course, I never thought much about it since I would have my rituals in private. Always, whenever I was alone. Whenever I was in the midst of reading a book (even if I was engrossed in it), trying to study or do homework, the rituals would happen. If something wasn’t occupying my mind enough, I would tug.

About a year ago, I randomly typed “eyelash pulling” into Google’s search bar. I didn’t expect this habit to be a diagnosis, nor did I ever would have thought there would be a name for it. I didn’t realize many people suffer with the same exact thing as I do. Some people twist and yank out their hair from the scalp, or even from their pelvis. Pretty much, anywhere there is hair some people will pull if they have Trichotillomania. Some even ingest the follicle of the hair, which I have never had the urge to do, but it made me acknowledge that I’m not the only one.

As for the cause of Trichotillomania, many websites describe it as it being much like someone cutting themselves. I know that sounds a tad dramatic, but once you focus on it it does make sense. Whenever someone is depressed or stressed, they result to harming themselves in some way. The blood and lymph vessels are tucked in the root of the follicle (any hair follicle). As anyone would imagine, there will be a slight pinch of pain since the vessels are attached. Pulling out hair or cutting the skin both deal with releasing endorphins. Interesting how both can be seen as self-mutilating, even though one over the other causes much more of a life risk. One is less messy than the other. One leaves marks and scares, while the other has the possibility of not having anything to grow back whatsoever.

Yet, they are most common during the teenage years and to eventually space out during time; much like growing out of it as you grow more mature. I have noticed that the secluded rituals I use to have constantly, now happen on rare occasions of stress. For that, I hope the rituals will eventually seize.