One year ago, I was a nothing. I was a wannabe writer with no real skill, and a lot of useless information in her head.
Repeatedly, I condemned myself to relationships (both platonic AND romantic, people!) that ended up only hurting me when I wanted to give so much more than I was really ready to handle. Have I done that this year?
Hell yeah.
But I don't cry like I used to; for no reason, angry, hurt, whatever. I've learned to deal with things in a more inward way. I've forged relationships where both members give what they've got, because others end up being all that we have. I've given up the naive nature in which I said I don't hate anyone.
You live, you learn, you love...and you hate. And that's perfectly fine. There are people who you just aren't going to like. You DO NOT have to like everyone. Just know what you're talking about. Have your evidence if someone asks why. Hating for no reason is what is morally incorrect.
Then there are the people you condemn for doing you wrong. They've done you wrong knowingly. EVERYONE has a free will. Unless there are stressed circumstances, everyone has a perception of good and evil. The line is "wuzzy," to quote Jane Goodall, but once someone has provoked your tears YOU ARE UNDER NO OBLIGATION to be nice. You shouldn't go out for revenge, but you should ignore them. It's actually as easy as giving someone the silent treatment. Only more permanent.
Of course, I'm not talking about a friend who was careless with his/her words. I mean the nasty backstabbers that you KNOW are mean. Don't hate somebody because they did better than you on a test, or a thinner, prettier, more talented at whatnot. That makes you the bad guy. Because that person has a blessing. You have yours, too.
I've learned that you can't be without ugly feelings. To deny them, is to deny the fact that you are human. Just don't let them consume you (I know; hypocritical, but I'm INFORMING. I'm blogging-legit, hoes.) and be classy about it.
Because CLASS is what will get you through life. Trust me, someone without an inkling of class is likely to be unanimously despised.
MORAL: Be classy about being a hater hoe. (And don't let people see you glare!)
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
(Listen to me, I know what I'm saying.)
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Death is Closure, Not A Reason to Hang On
"To die: to sleep, no more."
These words were said hundreds of years ago, millions of people know 'em and quote 'em before we really stop to think about what they really mean, why they are phrased in such a way, and if they are really true.
I recently suffered a devastating loss in my family and I've been repeating these words in my head for such a long time. If dying isn't an eternal slumber, what is it?
It is like lying unconscious underground as the worms try to wriggle their way into your coffin and eat away at your slowly decaying skin that's been plastered in enough foundation to smother your pores?
Is the funeral process one of closure, or simply a morbid practice? Looking at it from a purely technical standpoint: a wake is where a corpse is dressed up like a porcelain doll, covered in makeup. People stand around, supposedly mourning, but are gossiping like hens in a barnyard. People who turn funeral homes are also known for stealing jewelry off of bodies, and for ripping off families who are so vulnerable in such a confusing time. They tried to scam my family. I just wanted to say, fuck you, Hawthorne Funeral Home, for trying to take advantage of my family when we were suffering so much.
It an expensive process with a lot of loopholes and strange traditions and I've already promised my father that I wouldn't do all of that; cremation, pour him somewhere, and hold a memorial later on.
I don't think that the traditional process gives a family closure in the death of a loved one. I think that closure comes from the death itself. I knew about my grandmother's impending demise and came to terms with it, or so I thought. I gave myself a good cry the night she died, and I know that my pain would have been greatly lessened if I hadn't had to see her in the coffin. Then, have to see the coffin lying by the hole where my grandfather already was. Dropping a rose on top of it.
Some people need that. They need a tradition defined by religion because they don't have their own philosophies to fall back on. I have my own perspective; many people don't address the issue in a purely thoughtful way. That's fine; do as you please.
My plan?
Cremation, have myself divided and sprinkled anywhere I could ever want to go, all over the world. If I have money, that's what I'll have it willed to do. I hope I have some spunky grandkids.
So, I lost my original point, but it led me to my own interpretation and opinion of a very serious situation. What happens when you die defines the rules that you abided to in life. Most people are traditional and want the rules to work for them, changing themselves so they fit the mold. I say, make your own rules.
And think about what you're leaving behind.
RIP, 12/8/10♥
These words were said hundreds of years ago, millions of people know 'em and quote 'em before we really stop to think about what they really mean, why they are phrased in such a way, and if they are really true.
I recently suffered a devastating loss in my family and I've been repeating these words in my head for such a long time. If dying isn't an eternal slumber, what is it?
It is like lying unconscious underground as the worms try to wriggle their way into your coffin and eat away at your slowly decaying skin that's been plastered in enough foundation to smother your pores?
Is the funeral process one of closure, or simply a morbid practice? Looking at it from a purely technical standpoint: a wake is where a corpse is dressed up like a porcelain doll, covered in makeup. People stand around, supposedly mourning, but are gossiping like hens in a barnyard. People who turn funeral homes are also known for stealing jewelry off of bodies, and for ripping off families who are so vulnerable in such a confusing time. They tried to scam my family. I just wanted to say, fuck you, Hawthorne Funeral Home, for trying to take advantage of my family when we were suffering so much.
It an expensive process with a lot of loopholes and strange traditions and I've already promised my father that I wouldn't do all of that; cremation, pour him somewhere, and hold a memorial later on.
I don't think that the traditional process gives a family closure in the death of a loved one. I think that closure comes from the death itself. I knew about my grandmother's impending demise and came to terms with it, or so I thought. I gave myself a good cry the night she died, and I know that my pain would have been greatly lessened if I hadn't had to see her in the coffin. Then, have to see the coffin lying by the hole where my grandfather already was. Dropping a rose on top of it.
Some people need that. They need a tradition defined by religion because they don't have their own philosophies to fall back on. I have my own perspective; many people don't address the issue in a purely thoughtful way. That's fine; do as you please.
My plan?
Cremation, have myself divided and sprinkled anywhere I could ever want to go, all over the world. If I have money, that's what I'll have it willed to do. I hope I have some spunky grandkids.
So, I lost my original point, but it led me to my own interpretation and opinion of a very serious situation. What happens when you die defines the rules that you abided to in life. Most people are traditional and want the rules to work for them, changing themselves so they fit the mold. I say, make your own rules.
And think about what you're leaving behind.
RIP, 12/8/10♥
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Merry Christmas!
No real post today, just wanted to wish everyone a happy holiday! My new laptop is very happy to have met the Kimja and my followers today! ;)
Much Love!
XOXOX <3
Much Love!
XOXOX <3
Thursday, December 23, 2010
HEY DRAMA CLUB
Remember a few weeks ago when I made that post about the Formspring issue?
Well, I've realized that when issues arise and there's nothing I can do to change them, I feel better when I blog because maybe the people I want to have read this will, and they'll process it.
Today, it's drama. Yep, that suckish stuff stuffed right into what should be the best club in school.
Around half of the people who auditioned got cut: TRUE
A Freshman got a lead: TRUE
Aforementioned Freshman is now destested by many: TRUE
Aforementioned Freshman ASKED for this: FALSE
Many feel screwed over: TRUE
Yes, getting cut sucks, I would know. But words have consequences. And, if you were talking shit about this poor girl, and I admit, I was upset that she got lucky enough to get a lead when I couldn't even make ensemble, then you should know, SHE knows what's been said. And it's been affecting her horribly.
Wanna see?
http://abadcupoftea.tumblr.com/
Go check that out. And if it doesn't show you that this girl is hurting, then you're the bitchy unreachable one. No human should have the power to make another hurt so badly that they want to "die"--even if that IS hyperbole, it takes alot to make someone break down like that. That, I would know as well.
Now, I'm sorry if you got cut/didn't get what you want. I really am. But, top quote somebody else:
"(She)'s been doing this for 35 years. She's not going to pick anyone who she doesn't feel will live up to the part they are given. No one was screwed over. You're either right for the part or you're not. Period. If seniors think they should get a part cause they're seniors, wrong again. Just look how it worked out. There's no business like show business. Welcome to the game. Sorry if I seem like a dick, but it's the blunt facts."
Truer words were never spoken. So, lick your wounds, stand up and face the music(al). It sucks that so many people didn't get the chance, but there's nothing else we can do about it. if you did get casted AT ALL then feel lucky to be where you are and quit bitching. It could be worse.
And apologize if you were nasty. I'll start: I'm sorry I was upset; casting is done a certain way for a reason. I'm sure everyone will do great as soon as grudges are pushed aside.
(I also DK why I'm keeping people anon. We all know who I'm talking about, who I'm quoting, and who "she" is. I'm just holding onto some respect. So be bro, dudes.)
Well, I've realized that when issues arise and there's nothing I can do to change them, I feel better when I blog because maybe the people I want to have read this will, and they'll process it.
Today, it's drama. Yep, that suckish stuff stuffed right into what should be the best club in school.
Around half of the people who auditioned got cut: TRUE
A Freshman got a lead: TRUE
Aforementioned Freshman is now destested by many: TRUE
Aforementioned Freshman ASKED for this: FALSE
Many feel screwed over: TRUE
Yes, getting cut sucks, I would know. But words have consequences. And, if you were talking shit about this poor girl, and I admit, I was upset that she got lucky enough to get a lead when I couldn't even make ensemble, then you should know, SHE knows what's been said. And it's been affecting her horribly.
Wanna see?
http://abadcupoftea.tumblr.com/
Go check that out. And if it doesn't show you that this girl is hurting, then you're the bitchy unreachable one. No human should have the power to make another hurt so badly that they want to "die"--even if that IS hyperbole, it takes alot to make someone break down like that. That, I would know as well.
Now, I'm sorry if you got cut/didn't get what you want. I really am. But, top quote somebody else:
"(She)'s been doing this for 35 years. She's not going to pick anyone who she doesn't feel will live up to the part they are given. No one was screwed over. You're either right for the part or you're not. Period. If seniors think they should get a part cause they're seniors, wrong again. Just look how it worked out. There's no business like show business. Welcome to the game. Sorry if I seem like a dick, but it's the blunt facts."
Truer words were never spoken. So, lick your wounds, stand up and face the music(al). It sucks that so many people didn't get the chance, but there's nothing else we can do about it. if you did get casted AT ALL then feel lucky to be where you are and quit bitching. It could be worse.
And apologize if you were nasty. I'll start: I'm sorry I was upset; casting is done a certain way for a reason. I'm sure everyone will do great as soon as grudges are pushed aside.
(I also DK why I'm keeping people anon. We all know who I'm talking about, who I'm quoting, and who "she" is. I'm just holding onto some respect. So be bro, dudes.)
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
A Little Bit O' English HW, Because I'm English Now
Remember these guys? I'm changing the POV back to Ethan later...
She stood, half-concealed by the darkness that flooded the house. Her fingers traced the tender bruise on her arm, and she winced. Lights shone from cars as they drove past, but none of them stopped. She looked around, not seeing anything, hoping her parents wouldn’t hear. Then, a light flickered on and off one, two, three times, and Diana knew to step out of the house. She picked up her bag and flung it over her shoulder, stepped outside, and closed the door so lightly that it would be entirely undetected.
Once the interior of the house was insulated from any noise, she ran, sprinted for her life across the frozen grass to the car. She flung the car door open and sat inside, throwing her bag into the backseat, on top of another large duffel.
She looked at Ethan, in the driver’s seat. “Are you sure you wanna do this,” she asked, terrified he would end up kicking her out, to go back into her cold, black, abusive home.
“Oh my God,” Ethan whispered, his hand tracing along the edge of her face. “What the hell happened, Di?”
She ripped his warm hand from her cheek and out it to her lips. “I came home past curfew last night, remember?” They had been plotting this hazardous escape the night before, keeping Diana from making it home on time. She shuddered as she remembered the screaming, the red faces. She relived the vase being thrown through the air, and hitting her face in her mind, the split skin aching even more in her memory.
They had paused too long, and as she turned to put on her seatbelt, she saw a face through the window. Her father’s deranged face stared at her, as he cracked his knuckles. She hit the lock on Ethan’s ancient car with her fist and screamed.
“Damn it, Ethan! Drive!”
“Diana! Get back here, you worthless brat! Listen to me, now. After you get back into the house I don’t want to see you with this boy again; now come and get your ass inside or I’ll make you,” he threatened.
Ethan shouted back at the man, a lifetime of pent-up frustration, in a series of vulgarities that shocked the man enough so that he stepped back, hands lifted, palms out.
He fumbled as he put the car in drive, and stepped on the gas. Diana’s father began screaming, cursing at the couple as Ethan maneuvered his way off her street, without colliding into him, no matter how much he wanted to.
He gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Taking his eyes off the wintry road, he looked at his bruised, broken girlfriend beside him, her knees curled up into the fetal position. He knew, as he drove recklessly, that he was capable of hatred. The scratch wasn’t very long, but it was deep and very painful-looking. They were only two teenagers, running from their fears, but he knew that they were better on their own, than watching her be torn, standing helplessly to the side.
He slowed as they reached the train station. He pulled into the grocery store, across the street and walked out of the car. He opened the door for Diana and she giggled, “Why, thank you.” Her exaggerated gratefulness only equaled a small part of the gratitude she felt inside. He gave up a whole future to save her from the monstrosities she had to go through. It was priceless.
He grabbed both of their bags, until she playfully beat him to get hers back. “Come on! I owe you enough. At least let me carry my bag!”
Ethan tried to remain chivalrous, but eventually relented, passing the bag to Diana, who had begun shivering as snowdrops began to sprinkle all over her. He held her arm, and they began to speed-walk across the street.
They climbed up the stairs in the station and bought two one-way tickets to New York, where no one could find them, without extensive traveling. They waited by the gap, Diana shuffling on her toes nervously. Would they get caught? What would her father do? What hadn’t he done, anyway? And did it even matter?
The train pulled in, sending her hair flying. The aching in her face was finally beginning to be numbed, and without feeling the reminder of her familial evil on her face, she felt a soothing sense of relief fluttering through her body. When the doors opened, she jumped over the gap, with Ethan following closely behind, showing more reservation in his footing. The train was nearly empty and she picked an open three-person seat. Ethan sat beside her, and she whispered what held them together.
“I love you.”
She stood, half-concealed by the darkness that flooded the house. Her fingers traced the tender bruise on her arm, and she winced. Lights shone from cars as they drove past, but none of them stopped. She looked around, not seeing anything, hoping her parents wouldn’t hear. Then, a light flickered on and off one, two, three times, and Diana knew to step out of the house. She picked up her bag and flung it over her shoulder, stepped outside, and closed the door so lightly that it would be entirely undetected.
Once the interior of the house was insulated from any noise, she ran, sprinted for her life across the frozen grass to the car. She flung the car door open and sat inside, throwing her bag into the backseat, on top of another large duffel.
She looked at Ethan, in the driver’s seat. “Are you sure you wanna do this,” she asked, terrified he would end up kicking her out, to go back into her cold, black, abusive home.
“Oh my God,” Ethan whispered, his hand tracing along the edge of her face. “What the hell happened, Di?”
She ripped his warm hand from her cheek and out it to her lips. “I came home past curfew last night, remember?” They had been plotting this hazardous escape the night before, keeping Diana from making it home on time. She shuddered as she remembered the screaming, the red faces. She relived the vase being thrown through the air, and hitting her face in her mind, the split skin aching even more in her memory.
They had paused too long, and as she turned to put on her seatbelt, she saw a face through the window. Her father’s deranged face stared at her, as he cracked his knuckles. She hit the lock on Ethan’s ancient car with her fist and screamed.
“Damn it, Ethan! Drive!”
“Diana! Get back here, you worthless brat! Listen to me, now. After you get back into the house I don’t want to see you with this boy again; now come and get your ass inside or I’ll make you,” he threatened.
Ethan shouted back at the man, a lifetime of pent-up frustration, in a series of vulgarities that shocked the man enough so that he stepped back, hands lifted, palms out.
He fumbled as he put the car in drive, and stepped on the gas. Diana’s father began screaming, cursing at the couple as Ethan maneuvered his way off her street, without colliding into him, no matter how much he wanted to.
He gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Taking his eyes off the wintry road, he looked at his bruised, broken girlfriend beside him, her knees curled up into the fetal position. He knew, as he drove recklessly, that he was capable of hatred. The scratch wasn’t very long, but it was deep and very painful-looking. They were only two teenagers, running from their fears, but he knew that they were better on their own, than watching her be torn, standing helplessly to the side.
He slowed as they reached the train station. He pulled into the grocery store, across the street and walked out of the car. He opened the door for Diana and she giggled, “Why, thank you.” Her exaggerated gratefulness only equaled a small part of the gratitude she felt inside. He gave up a whole future to save her from the monstrosities she had to go through. It was priceless.
He grabbed both of their bags, until she playfully beat him to get hers back. “Come on! I owe you enough. At least let me carry my bag!”
Ethan tried to remain chivalrous, but eventually relented, passing the bag to Diana, who had begun shivering as snowdrops began to sprinkle all over her. He held her arm, and they began to speed-walk across the street.
They climbed up the stairs in the station and bought two one-way tickets to New York, where no one could find them, without extensive traveling. They waited by the gap, Diana shuffling on her toes nervously. Would they get caught? What would her father do? What hadn’t he done, anyway? And did it even matter?
The train pulled in, sending her hair flying. The aching in her face was finally beginning to be numbed, and without feeling the reminder of her familial evil on her face, she felt a soothing sense of relief fluttering through her body. When the doors opened, she jumped over the gap, with Ethan following closely behind, showing more reservation in his footing. The train was nearly empty and she picked an open three-person seat. Ethan sat beside her, and she whispered what held them together.
“I love you.”
Monday, December 20, 2010
KIMJA FTW
I'm late, I know, but please, DO forgive me. I've been too in my head lately. I've been freaking about about presents... I just wrote my best friend a Shakespearean sonnet, in almost perfect iambic pentameter. (I'm VERY proud, by the way...)
And my boyfriend's present? It's amazing. And Morgen decided what it should, and did all of the work involved as I handed over the cash to support her project. Ahh, I love her!
But, I wouldn like to state that Kinja has been around for over a year. It started with repetitive posts of poetry my BFFL Jon and I wrote together. Then, I moved on to silly posts about nothing, and most recently I've posted alot of fictional prose I've been doing. When Kimja was started, prose scared me to death, so I hid behind the meaningful/less words of my poetry, which has always been very abstract and elegant.
I've halfway completed a novel, entitled CRAVED and currently am working on another work, my stab at the ridiculous world of romantic YA literature, lossely based on Capote's BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S. Because that's my favorite book. Besides A THOUSAND SPLENDID SUNS. WOOT.
The point of this? Nonexistent. I just wanted to celebrate trying to keep up with Kimja. I haven't, I'm sorry. I promise, after my auditions for the musical (Yup, like last year at this time, LOL.) I will come with one of my deepest posts yet, I've been through something kind of terrible recently, and I'm sick of bottling up my feelings.
I just set "anniversary" as a post for this and remembered to say. CONOR REMEMBERED OUR THREE-MONTH. I MADE A BET HE WOULDN'T. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT BOY? Oh, wait, he's with me. Nevermind...
And my boyfriend's present? It's amazing. And Morgen decided what it should, and did all of the work involved as I handed over the cash to support her project. Ahh, I love her!
But, I wouldn like to state that Kinja has been around for over a year. It started with repetitive posts of poetry my BFFL Jon and I wrote together. Then, I moved on to silly posts about nothing, and most recently I've posted alot of fictional prose I've been doing. When Kimja was started, prose scared me to death, so I hid behind the meaningful/less words of my poetry, which has always been very abstract and elegant.
I've halfway completed a novel, entitled CRAVED and currently am working on another work, my stab at the ridiculous world of romantic YA literature, lossely based on Capote's BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S. Because that's my favorite book. Besides A THOUSAND SPLENDID SUNS. WOOT.
The point of this? Nonexistent. I just wanted to celebrate trying to keep up with Kimja. I haven't, I'm sorry. I promise, after my auditions for the musical (Yup, like last year at this time, LOL.) I will come with one of my deepest posts yet, I've been through something kind of terrible recently, and I'm sick of bottling up my feelings.
I just set "anniversary" as a post for this and remembered to say. CONOR REMEMBERED OUR THREE-MONTH. I MADE A BET HE WOULDN'T. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT BOY? Oh, wait, he's with me. Nevermind...
Friday, December 3, 2010
Because I Decided to Write a More "Normal" Story... From a GUY'S POV
She lowered her cigarette as I walked over, and smiled in my direction. Lowering myself onto the bench next to her, I grimaced at her. “Why do you smoke those things?”
Smiling, she turned her back to me, swinging her legs over the arm of the wicker loveseat, and laid her head in my lap. “Maybe I feel glamorous,” she blew a small stream of smoke into my face. “Maybe it relieves my stress.” After taking one last drag, “Maybe, Ethan, I just plain like it.” With that, she blew the rest of the smoke into my face.
Once I was no longer blinded by the gray smoke, I plucked the white stick out of her fingers, dropped it on the floor, and put it out with my foot.
Diana glared at me. She sat up and when her eyes dropped, I lifted her chin, my hands shaking. She looked back into my eyes, hers an impossibly dark navy blue. I ran my index finger along her eyelashes, over clumps of mascara. I rubbed the excess makeup between that finger and my thumb, wondering why she bothered with that crap. I had seen her without makeup a million times, and still she had to hide behind it.
She walked away. I stood up, perplexed until she turned around and gestured for me to walk with her. I walked quickly to catch up with her, and then she started to run away. I ran after her, and we twisted through the park. She stopped at the edge of the pond. The moon reflected into the water, which reflected onto her, turning her hair and eerie black-green.
I made my final lunge and grabbed her hips from behind. She shrieked, twisted from me. She ended up spinning away from me and falling to the ground in a fit of laughter. She sat in the grass, trying to subdue her laughter. I sat with her, watching as her laughter made her cry. Hyperventilating, she looked up at me, and I ran my fist under her eyes, trapping the little drops of hysteria. She looked at me, and I grabbed her hands, stood up and pulled her to her feet. When she was up I wrapped my arm around her waist and we walked home.
We were silent. She stared at the pavement and I stared at her. Her legs were bare and scratched. I worried, but kept my suspicions to myself. Then, she turned her head to look at me and said, “Can I stay over your house?”
My eyes, still on her destroyed legs, said, “Yes.”
I looked back into her eyes, as deep, and about as dark as the sky. “Thanks, Ethan. You’re pretty great, you know. I hope your parents don’t mind.”
I shook my head. “They won’t, you know that.”
“Phew… If I was any other girl, they’d hate me.”
This time, I let my eyes pierce hers. A moment of declaration. “But you aren’t any other girl.”
Hey guys! I’m really falling in love with Ethan and Di, so, tell me, do you like them? I think you should.
Smiling, she turned her back to me, swinging her legs over the arm of the wicker loveseat, and laid her head in my lap. “Maybe I feel glamorous,” she blew a small stream of smoke into my face. “Maybe it relieves my stress.” After taking one last drag, “Maybe, Ethan, I just plain like it.” With that, she blew the rest of the smoke into my face.
Once I was no longer blinded by the gray smoke, I plucked the white stick out of her fingers, dropped it on the floor, and put it out with my foot.
Diana glared at me. She sat up and when her eyes dropped, I lifted her chin, my hands shaking. She looked back into my eyes, hers an impossibly dark navy blue. I ran my index finger along her eyelashes, over clumps of mascara. I rubbed the excess makeup between that finger and my thumb, wondering why she bothered with that crap. I had seen her without makeup a million times, and still she had to hide behind it.
She walked away. I stood up, perplexed until she turned around and gestured for me to walk with her. I walked quickly to catch up with her, and then she started to run away. I ran after her, and we twisted through the park. She stopped at the edge of the pond. The moon reflected into the water, which reflected onto her, turning her hair and eerie black-green.
I made my final lunge and grabbed her hips from behind. She shrieked, twisted from me. She ended up spinning away from me and falling to the ground in a fit of laughter. She sat in the grass, trying to subdue her laughter. I sat with her, watching as her laughter made her cry. Hyperventilating, she looked up at me, and I ran my fist under her eyes, trapping the little drops of hysteria. She looked at me, and I grabbed her hands, stood up and pulled her to her feet. When she was up I wrapped my arm around her waist and we walked home.
We were silent. She stared at the pavement and I stared at her. Her legs were bare and scratched. I worried, but kept my suspicions to myself. Then, she turned her head to look at me and said, “Can I stay over your house?”
My eyes, still on her destroyed legs, said, “Yes.”
I looked back into her eyes, as deep, and about as dark as the sky. “Thanks, Ethan. You’re pretty great, you know. I hope your parents don’t mind.”
I shook my head. “They won’t, you know that.”
“Phew… If I was any other girl, they’d hate me.”
This time, I let my eyes pierce hers. A moment of declaration. “But you aren’t any other girl.”
Hey guys! I’m really falling in love with Ethan and Di, so, tell me, do you like them? I think you should.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
What Are We Coming to, People?
This isn't exactly for random readers on the web. (But you are more than welcome to stay' I think I'll have a good moral here.) It's more to be posted on my Facebook as a huge slap in the face for some of the kids in my school.
Recently, anyone in my grade would know, our Formspring newsfeeds have been clogged with hate. Mostly between two girls, by people who probably shouldn't have a say in the whole situation. But that isn't it. There are people who continuously call an amzing friend of mine gay, much to the utter....infuriation of another bestie. I have an amazing friend who gets bashed for being friendly, and another who did nothing but get a really nice boyfriend who just so happens to be older. I had my own influx of hate for something entirely private about a month ago that got me nearly forty questions in about a week.
Now, I'm fortunate that a good split of those forty were support from my friends. But I know other people aren't so lucky.
WHATEVER. I have one, yes. Am I asking for hate? Maybe I am. Do I appreciate anonymous hate? No. If I have left an anonymous message, it was a GUESS WHO. If you're gonna say something, even if it's through a computer screen, get some guts and let them know who you are. Maybe there are some personality flaws they'd like to inform you of, too. Because we all have some. And, if someone wants you to inbox them, honey, they're letting you reach out to them. If you care enough to wonder about someone's sex life or why they may or may not hate you, you should bother to respond. Because no one can be friends with just 170 characters.
To drag this shit on because our town has no manners, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all. This is a rule we are taught from infancy onward. We live in a community that is very fortunate, and we need to all encourage each other because we have some amazing oppurtunities.
Also, if you are messing with any of my friends and your identity becomes unconcealed, I will make sure you understand the dificulties they go through on a daily basis. Because very few of my friends are people with amazing lives. Many of them suffer alot on a daily basis.
You have the power to kill someones self-esteem. People who hate, and kill hope and joy in people are the reasons there are so many people with eating disorders, mental "craziness" and self-injury problems. If you tell someone to kill him/herself then they just may. Just because you said it. Do you really wanna let someone else's coffin rest on your conscience.
Love, the weird girl that hits really high notes because she gets bored <33
PS: I do not follow people for trouble. If I follow, I genuinely like you/want to know you better. You are all beautiful people, inside and out, no matter what these immature losers say. Mmkayyy? kthanxbaii
Recently, anyone in my grade would know, our Formspring newsfeeds have been clogged with hate. Mostly between two girls, by people who probably shouldn't have a say in the whole situation. But that isn't it. There are people who continuously call an amzing friend of mine gay, much to the utter....infuriation of another bestie. I have an amazing friend who gets bashed for being friendly, and another who did nothing but get a really nice boyfriend who just so happens to be older. I had my own influx of hate for something entirely private about a month ago that got me nearly forty questions in about a week.
Now, I'm fortunate that a good split of those forty were support from my friends. But I know other people aren't so lucky.
WHATEVER. I have one, yes. Am I asking for hate? Maybe I am. Do I appreciate anonymous hate? No. If I have left an anonymous message, it was a GUESS WHO. If you're gonna say something, even if it's through a computer screen, get some guts and let them know who you are. Maybe there are some personality flaws they'd like to inform you of, too. Because we all have some. And, if someone wants you to inbox them, honey, they're letting you reach out to them. If you care enough to wonder about someone's sex life or why they may or may not hate you, you should bother to respond. Because no one can be friends with just 170 characters.
To drag this shit on because our town has no manners, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all. This is a rule we are taught from infancy onward. We live in a community that is very fortunate, and we need to all encourage each other because we have some amazing oppurtunities.
Also, if you are messing with any of my friends and your identity becomes unconcealed, I will make sure you understand the dificulties they go through on a daily basis. Because very few of my friends are people with amazing lives. Many of them suffer alot on a daily basis.
You have the power to kill someones self-esteem. People who hate, and kill hope and joy in people are the reasons there are so many people with eating disorders, mental "craziness" and self-injury problems. If you tell someone to kill him/herself then they just may. Just because you said it. Do you really wanna let someone else's coffin rest on your conscience.
Love, the weird girl that hits really high notes because she gets bored <33
PS: I do not follow people for trouble. If I follow, I genuinely like you/want to know you better. You are all beautiful people, inside and out, no matter what these immature losers say. Mmkayyy? kthanxbaii
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