Years in the Life: December 15th

Years in the Life: December 15th: Dear The Media: Associating Autism, Asperger's, and other mental health conditions with violence is so extremely detrimental to so many peo...

The First Existential First World Problem Filled Crisis of This Schoolyear: a vent poem of epic failure

a free job at 

recognizable golden arches, 

free food every shift

25% off otherwise,

stomach growing, thighs

thickening,

arms hardening and 

wrists hurting

carrying fry baskets

with two hands. 

eating out of boredom

staying up until 

three in the morning,

writing about people

never existing, 

voices audible but saying little

beyond laughter and 

crude joking 

nothing nothing nothing nothing 

failing tests in the middle of

second semester

of junior year

return to college

miss a prerequisite and 

fall short of 

the beginning of a nursing degree,

leave the textbooks in your backpack, 

sketch the image of the characters, 

half-hearted reading in the morning, 

sleep in during study time. 

a day before

attend the job for brief hours

of understaffed stress

of empathy sucked away 

change the bathroom garbages 

with the bags around the neck 

pull it jokingly a minute 

and later possibly conclude that

morbid humor

alone

isn't humor 

stuffing selves some more

spending sixty dollars 

on coffee, ice cream, fast and slow food

weekly

instead of utilizing

a well-stocked home. 

blowing gas money on 

days out with friends

and the constant constant constant

humor humor humor

nothing nothing nothing

writing things that may produce wonder

or nothing at all. 

ask 

everything 

everyone

tell all

use "I" 

take blame 

consume guilt, 

what else could one 

possibly need? 

Finally again I am here again.

Obligatory apology for not posting in a long time, my readers. I do still love you, I still love God, I still love others, and myself to some extent, but there are a lot of things that should and do shake me up today. Well, mostly myself. And the idiocy I am capable of. In order to make this acknowledgment of failure easier, I will become a character in a story and there will be others. I might use my old names from the beginning of this blog to do it.

Ever-so-cavalier, Alyce opened her online chatting device and wrote to her friend that she needed to break up with her fake high school boyfriend, referring to Scott Pilgrim, to which her friend online gave her a sincere "awww". But it was an unfamiliar feeling, the satisfaction with only friendships. The disturbing emotional possession of her female friends was not unfamiliar, but the method by which she communicated with them had. The lack of real, deep, consuming attraction to males in the past several months was almost shocking. Small bits of attraction were not enough to sustain a romantic relationship, she knew, not even one that was decidedly part platonic. Yet into this, she had entered, willingly, just as decisively. In her car, in his driveway, gripping the steering wheel with the parking lights on, telling just how confusing the ambiguity she had initiated was for her. How she'd rather they  "date" than not-date, just-be-friends. But when that relationship entered the lower plane of ambiguity, when she agreed to cheesily, jokingly, change her status on Facebook with the young man beside her, she knew. She'd known the whole time. She still didn't know what she wanted. She knew his hurt was sealed with her wishy-washy heart of stone.

Perhaps she wasn't as content as she said. Perhaps the poor boy was right when he accused her of hiding behind humor, which was something common to her and those she knew. There was little to be done in the area of denial, of self-deception. But what exactly was wrong with her? She thought of her half-hearted prayers since the conclusion of the youth group trip high in July. She thought of the wonder and aw and sacrifice she'd been willing to make after that time--the depth of her relationship with her Creator, Savior, Heavenly Father, finally restored. She had grown, she'd thought so enthusiastically just the week before. Because she'd been so ambivalent with Jesus in the months before that trip.

And yet she still intentionally hurt others. But perhaps that was just that sinful, utterly fallible self she was--it was part of her humanity. But no one else should have been hurt because of her. There were only two ways to go about such a situation--acknowledge her responsibility, her mistakes, her half-truths, with humility and full honesty. Then face the consequences. Or, she could go along with her deception and string it further, make it grow like an internet myth from the scummy /b/ board of 4chan. If there was anything she was good at, it was digging graves. Especially her own and others.

There was always the right thing, and it was displayed right in front of her eyes. Her massive record of making the wrong choice was displayed in the eyes of her mind. It would do well, to begin to make the right decision. Sometime she had to.

---
So I realize there are more important things in life. That I am fundamentally self-centered, and I either overthink or think too little when I do anything of significance. Like last night, when I chilled myself over my mom's inquiry of my search for a new nursing-related course to replace the Ethics course I discovered I was unqualified to take yesterday at school. When I chewed her out, when I saw that part of myself that had been eliminated almost entirely after my youth group's trip to an amazing, Holy Spirit-moving conference in New Orleans. Regression sucks. Poor decisions suck. I'm still full of arrogance and air and selfishness. I wish I could make my decisions purely utilitarian as my ethics book described--for the most good for the most people. But I pick things in the moment, what makes me feel good now, only to regret those things later. And God (literally) knows what that comes down to in the long run. I hate learning lessons and coming of age and having to be responsible--I really don't hate those things, they're good for me, but it's uncomfortable, it's guilt-inducing, it's apology-slathering, it's difficult. But dear Lord, if I don't learn now, where the hell am I going to be ten years from now? Note how I've written a lot of sentences starting with "I". I was trying not to do that for the longest time, to make conversations and relationships about other people--about us, not me. Creating meaning, significance, kindness, mutual interest and respect. Instead of a one-sided lengthy rant from my end being partially responded to on the other side. I've been terrifically horrible at that recently as well.

Is this a laundry list of ridiculousness? Some sort of twisted self-pitying, pathetic little piece of awful I've written now? Probably. It's still honest, this is still my blog, but I'd probably look better if I would just write of my ire about terribly unjust circumstances in the real world and not the little ball of stupid I roll around in everyday. I'll try to make one of those good posts next time. Anyway, I hope there's something anyone can get out of this mess. God bless, everyone. He loves you. Perfectly. I can't, but I will try to show His love somehow, when I'm not being this. 

The Happenings Of My Mind: So earlier, I was watching some national news repo...

The Happenings Of My Mind: So earlier, I was watching some national news repo...: So earlier, I was watching some national news report today. They, of course, had a bit about the recent CO shooting. The whole bit with Holm...

(from my friend Lizzie's blog.)

My friend is in the hospital...

Unimportant things occurred today as much as significant events. Then I read a friend's mother's Facebook status saying that this friend was in the hospital and "not doing good".

I haven't really spoken to this friend in a long time; far too long. We've never had anything against one another, nothing lasting anyway, but it had just been so utterly long. And I read this, in the midst of reading less important things, and I was stricken.

I think I'm recommitting myself to Christ now. I didn't last night at the concert, because I felt so certain of God and his presence, but I know how I've been living and the ways I haven't been acknowledging him and how far behind in spiritual maturity I have become. I commit myself back to Christ; He has my entire life. This life has never been for me.

And so I choose to love Him with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength--and love my neighbor as myself.

I don't know how this friend is doing. Her mother has not yet updated. But I admit, the moment I read it, I was terrified. I was full of questions and a million thoughts, trying to figure out everything about the situation, but the whole point is, that I don't know what's going to happen to my friend, but nor does her family nor the rest of her friends. All I know is that I must and we must pray. That's all that can be done. I hate not knowing, but that's all I can do. God knows what's going to happen, and I believe He is orchestrating or allowing everything that is going to happen and is happening in her life. I pray and pray and pray that she is alright.

I would appreciate if whoever reads this would also pray for my friend. 

The thing about hearts is that that want to keep beating.

Elizabeth Scott, I certainly wish that paraphrased quote of your novel Living Dead Girl was true. Tonight, I finished one of my last online literature class assignments. Here is an excerpt from it:


"2. Losing your faith may seem logical or illogical, occur subtly or suddenly, simply or complexly. Some see the loss of faith in God or the divine as deadly, or tragic, or condemning, and find the loss of faith in humanity or the world as acceptable. Some see the loss of faith in humanity or the potential or good of humanity or the world as being part of the path to bitterness and the loss of faith in a deity as logical. Others see such in other ways. Losing one’s faith in anything is never just one thing or another. The divine consequences of doing so could be debated forever, and I know what I believe as true, but I think so many times, we lose sight of the many subtleties of such a loss. I recognize how awfully overrun I felt after reading Night the first time, and the days I barely spoke a word when I heard about certain individuals’ deaths even when those individuals were people I did not know. I know I would not do very well without my faith in God, and the salvation I believe I have received, but I also recognize that such faith is not always necessary for an individual’s happiness or sense of peace. Wiesel’s loss of faith seems to make sense. Many who have experienced such unspeakable horrors or even more speakable, but still awful situations, who lose faith, seem to have great reasons why. It seems that when humans commit evil, humans are not always held responsible for that evil. Both in a legal sense, and a philosophical, spiritual sense. Regardless, one has to think back to the introduction of the story, when a solid, seemingly religious/Christian man interviews Elie Wiesel, and the man is at a loss for words, for assurance for this man: so he simply embraces and cries with him. I feel as though that may be one of the most important responses we can have in the face of others’ many great losses.
3. Cruelty comes in many forms. The knowing causing of distress toward others appears almost everywhere one can look. Genocide is one form, huge and glaring, awful and earthshaking. Bullying is another, much more subtle when it first occurs, in hallways and text messages on just a few phones, but equally earthshaking, especially when it leads to the same results as genocide. I would say that this is yet another issue we should never allow again, but I have to wonder if it is possible to never permit cruelty. I’d like it to be, but there is something beneath the surface of every one of us, a capacity to commit acts of cruelty, whether “large” or “small”, and that destroying that nature altogether may be impossible. Perhaps we cannot change natures or the darker depths within, but we can likely take the steps necessary to shift our world. This may sound inconsistent, but I would say, regarding humanity, I believe in our ability and capacity for good just as much as our capacity and ability for cruelty/evil.
4. Antisemitism is absolutely, entirely wrong. Antisemitism and all actions of discrimination, prejudice, or violence against a human being, especially for an inherent characteristic of theirs (race, ethnicity, religion, etc.), is absolutely, entirely wrong. In our region, it seems that other forms of racism/discrimination pervade, but regardless of such, it is simply not right for we as human beings to determine others as less than ourselves. At many times, we should perhaps emphasize our similarities in the diverse community of the world in which we live. We are all human: for better and for worse, for whatever such a title may imply, for whatever we define ourselves by, and whatever “being human” may mean. Each and every one of us is significant; how can we ever consider one as better than another?... 


...I must acknowledge my own human tendencies, and frailties, come clean, and destroy any hypocrisy in me. I often fear for my future and the rightness and wrongness of my own thoughts, sometimes to the point of feeling totally lost in my own life, which seems scarier during those times than any dangerous situation I have ever potentially experienced.

I am a frail and weak creature, but I think that we all are in some ways, as much as we are healthy and strong. Above all, we should take in the world as it is, for all its horror, but understand that hope still exists, and that we should be doing all we can to promote this hope, and give it to those who feel they have lost it." 



Last week, a 13-year-old girl killed herself presumably because of bullying. A few days ago, in the even-closer city, another young man did the same, for presumably the same reasons. A pastor in California died of a brain tumor, leaving behind a huge congregation, a wife, and two young children. Friends and families are in mourning all around me. I thought I'd be at a loss for thought and word, for everything except criticizing God for his passiveness in these matters. At the same time, I'm praying desperately for healing.

Like I wrote just last year about other terrible situations, I say again, it would be easy. But still the same, God has not changed. People, horribly, have not changed. Some have, some haven't; it would be inaccurate to say that all have remained or regressed into worse versions of themselves since the times that have passed. But death is just everywhere. Death and wounding and brokenness and broken hearts and broken people. I'll get out my one stupid indulgence in guilt over not realizing or recognizing or stepping up, but I'll say it now, I don't deserve it. I don't even deserve to agonize over such things because I will have blood on my hands if I don't try my best to support and stand up for those who struggle. I. Will. Have. Blood. All of us who stand by will be just as responsible as the ones who attack others. It makes me recall an Elie Wiesel quote:

"I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented."

My peers are amazing. Just reading some of the things they have said on the discussion board just gives me a little bit of hope in humanity. Even though I didn't reread Night as assigned (yet), I still recall the effect Wiesel's account had on me and see what it has done to others. I have likely never read a wiser, more incredible author's retelling of his own life. I feel as though I need to reread it soon, regardless of what happens. I can never forget the things which we have done to each other as human beings. I need the perspective. The potential each of us has for both unspeakable evil and near-unbelievable good and certain individuals' astonishing strength. We are capable of succumbing to horrific circumstances and capable of surviving horrific circumstances. Amazing.

And as much as it sometimes pains me, I must worship the creator of such beings. I must worship this Creator because He is the Creator and He is Savior and God of Love and Prince of Peace, as much as I feel that we sometimes see contradictions. Just like one of my favorite musical artists of this time says, "In God we trust, even when he seems like the enemy..." (Derek Webb, "In God We Trust").

I realize this post is biased as it captures emotions and struggles through the eyes of I, a mere bystander and observer; as much as my heart is broken for these families and friends of those who currently grieve, I have not yet even gotten the slightest inkling of the pain which they endure. I am praying. I will always be praying. I request that others who read this also pray. And I also pray for our strength and compassion during our lives. That we don't forget everyone's humanity. And God's sovereignty, as hard as it is to maintain such faith. But he still loves. And calls us to love. All my readers, whoever you are, no matter what you believe, don't forget to love: love in the compassionate sense, the patient, kind, non-boastful kind of love. We all must give this love to others. We are not the judges of our peers. We are simply human beings living in a place with other human beings. Reach out. Do not fear, for perfect love casts that out. We are alive and compassion gives hope.

Thank you.

Yet another ramble about reading and writing stories about the more difficult things in life.

For those of you who know me, really know me, or at least, about me, you may have noticed my frequent selection of sad books to read. Or surprising knowledge of a few serious subjects. Or that I happen to write about people who happen to feel quite bad about themselves who have self-destructive tendencies. You might notice that the majority of the little sketches of people I draw aren't usually smiling, or that their eyes are unhappy. Perhaps you noticed this a lot when I was younger.

Ha, I'm quite narcissistic today; there's a high likelihood you never noticed these things. Why should I expect you to pay that much attention to me? I'm not the important one in your life, really. I wish I had been pointing to God more during the time such things consumed my life.

But in all honesty, those things sort of do still consume my life. I once read those sad fiction novels in order to understand peers and future peers who do and would deal with similar things. Never really for myself. I shunned "escapism" that I judged to be found in fantasy novels, embraced the darkness of young adult realistic fiction, embraced the terrible fear and possible reality of YA science fiction. I was wrong about fantasy, I'm sure. Yet when I ran into YA realistic fiction that I felt I could relate to, I put it away. I had always been afraid of facing myself, I suppose. I wanted to help others; I didn't read the books like they would be relevant to my life, only lives that I was  hoping to be a part of.

And now I still read sad books, but some of them feature real people. I follow the lives of people in real life who face real tragedy as they go through it, even (well, more like especially) when I don't personally know them, which could be/likely is somewhat unethical and probably unsettling and the slightest bit wrong. I don't do read real life to gawk. I read real-life stories of life's many difficulties in order to understand people more, as I have using fiction for the longest time. But I like to hear people's voices as they actually are, also. There is credibility in their voices, there is honesty I don't find in the people that I see everyday. I read to learn, to understand. And I suppose, to face my own frailty and mortality before it becomes necessary.

I write, hoping I convey life as it is, even though fiction can never be fully "realistic". And yet, more often than not, my stories are not. There may be something fundamentally wrong with me. I want to glorify God more than ever, and all truth is his truth, all light comes from him, even if the source doesn't seem quite so clear in fiction. So I try to tell the truth with my stories, but I find them riddled with lies. There is so much of me that still doesn't understand. I hope to, one day. 

I never finished that last post and I probably will not.

At the end of the night, essentially, I realized, as I always do now, at the end of a treacherous drive (which for me, is every single one), that God wants me to live right now. That He's holding onto me, and I'm not dead and my friends aren't dead from my driving because he wants us hear, in (relatively) good health, glorifying Him. Living for Him.

---
And that was the end of that night. It was a terrifying night, it was. I learned of the awful, endless, pointless, "freedom" of having a driver's license as an adolescent with a single friend in the car, and how it feels to near-miss every near-critical point when a car or a pole or a curb or a ditch gets just a little too close for comfort.

You know, I could write about driving forever, and all of its "metaphorical resonance" (there is much of this in driving, for me at least), however, I believe I will just write this.

There is so much more to this life than the tiny things I'm doing with it. More than pondering what I should do and whether I should do this or that. I should keep wondering if I'm doing right, but only if it makes me do what is right. And it is about that continuous striving. That continual prayer.

I went to mass tonight with my friend and her boyfriend, and I realized jst how much dedication people have. To God. To each other. It wasn't a huge event or anything. But I just realized, how much authenticity there can be, in the reciting of words each week that never really lose their meaning when said anew every time. When one looks to God and prays silently and aloud and all sorts of ways.

And outside of this, I was with my friend at her boyfriend's house, and I think now, just how much of an impact we as human beings have on one another. No new insight, but, it's still something I think we should think about sometimes. I feel like I negatively impacted quite a few people tonight. And I think about the gratitude I feel after the terrifying experience of driving home everyday.

I'm here for a reason. You're here for a reason. God put us here for a reason.

Sunday school this morning. I just think about how, now, I can see these people in the Bible not just as figures, as images to be painted and gazed upon and analyzed for their immense beauty, but human beings who lived and once existed on this earth and now exist in the further realm, truly with God, and the things they did that were absolutely human and absolutely sinful and how God still forgave them and counted their faith as righteousness.

I cannot really collect my thoughts right now, but I think this sums it up. God bless, good friends. Much love to you all.

When I realized the infinity between 1 and 2. (God and best friendship and sisterhood and life and love and independence and dependence all such things.) part 1

Note-y note thing: (The long title is absolutely necessary. Also, the infinity thing doens't really work. I just made a reference to Hazel Grace Lancaster's misinterpretation of infinity and such things.)It is somewhat late, after today's events. But I feel that I must write my reflections tonight, though I could wait a while, but I want not to taint this memory with time, though memory will do what it pleases in the future. So this may be the first chapter in a memoir which does not yet exist, or simply just a recording of what occurred tonight. It'll be a lot of me remembering things and being emotional, but it'll also be my attempt to record the actual events of this night, because I can be reflective and be emotional whenever I want, and to be entirely honest, I definitely will be.

So here it goes. (With as few backspaces as I can possibly survive.)

This night, February 3rd, 2012, I very nearly killed my best human friend who lives upon the earth with me. As we know, driving often turns out to be a rather fatal activity. Or an extremely efficient one. Or simply just transportation. Or a destroyer of the earth. Whichever (and actually, driving is all of those things, and more than that), and regardless, I did nearly kill my friend tonight. Many times. And myself as well. It seemed that every stoplight and intersection and exit and lane change was a disaster waiting, very patiently and very calculated-ly, to happen. To laugh evilly in the face of our good time gone awry.

Fortunately, we both made it home, safe and sound. Indeed, this dear friend of mine is likely reveling in her security, asleep right now. But I am not.

It began when I gazed this morning, upon the poster which advertised for the free showing of a locally-grown short film featuring Rochester youth, "The Perspective of Love", showing at 7 o'clock at my humble part-time college, at its lovely Hill Theatre. I saw that it was playing that night, the very night of the very day I was just beginning to take part in. I texted this friend (Leah, if you haven't figured it out, readers. Oh readers. How pretentious am I?! Sorry, guys. I love you all. Readers.) of mine, to find if she could attend. She has unfortunately necesitated surgery upon her wrist, as of a recent encounter with an awful man at a skating rink who left her ligament torn, and so was in a soft cast and just entering school again for the first time in a few days, and the first full day of her new semester, and so, to be entirely honest, I wasn't sure if she would feel up to what we were doing, as I hadn't seen her since I visited her the day of her surgery, which was... I believe, Tuesday? Regardless, she had been up to pranking me with her boyfriend, a rather obnoxious and quite entertaining (and far-too-frequent occurence for me, the ever-gullible) activity, the night before.

Her response was affirmative. I texted my mother, because apparently, I am incapable of actual speaking any longer due the long fingers of technology, creeping into our communication. (Not really. But I could've just called her, really. Class hadn't started yet. Granted, I did have a lovely and fascinating conversation with a fellow aspiring author [who is BEYOND aspiring, mind you; she sends her story to publishers. and knowsprettymuchexactlywhatshewantstodowithherlife. But I think I could make an entirely different post about that...) about life and Econ class and our brothers and such. Let us then skip to what is relevant.

So, at approximately 5:something PM, I walked out the door, keys in hand, ready to take Peter Van Houten (my vehicle's name as of... two weeks ago? I named him. He's a he. He's a very [SPOILERSFORTHEFAULTINOURSTARSWATCHOUTSKIPTHISPARTDIRECTLYAFTERTHISBRACKETYPART] drunken Dutch author with a penchant for the philosophical and eloquent.) on his first adventure with me that didn't involve driving directly to my school at approximately 7:30something AM. I picked up Leah. And thus began the insanity.

We had planned our adventure to take place at the mall as well, as Hunger Games merchandise has FINALLY been reinstated at the lovely Hot Topic, and I absolutely needed (yes, exaggeration. But it's close.) to get her a copy of The Fault in Our Stars, not that I didn't have enough people hooked, not that there wasn't a big enough internet fandom (AKA, the entirety of Nerdfighteria, I would assume), not that there were two people holding my two signed copies and reading them this very weekend already, no, I needed Leah to read the book. Yes, it's obsessive, it's obnoxious, and she's heard me speak of it so highly so very much, too awfully much, and I promised her a copy...

Regardless, we ate some delicious Arby's fries and decided to hold hands and test the mall's policy on same-gendered hand-holding, which I heard is an awful policy of potentially being kicked out of the mall, which is a horrible thing to do for simply holding another's hand. I realized later that I had her only free hand, really, which must have been somewhat frustrating, so, Leah, if you're reading, I apologize again for the many things I did this night that were obnoxious/extremely dangerous. Anyway, we went to Icing after our food consumption and we found the most incredible fake glasses and she found the most incredible sunglasses (involving a very large shape and the likeness of handcuffs. theyarereally,really,legitimate), and I finally bought the pair of floral fake glasses I'd been eyeing for a while (they were $5), and that was probably my fiftieth (in sequence) poor financial decision today, and I realize now that I probably seem like I quite enjoy frivolity and irresponsibility, and I will say that I enjoy the former, and don't exactly enjoy the latter, but I do often practice it, which is something I'm very much ashamed of. In spite of such, she and I did these things. I believe we went to Hot Topic first, however. Or perhaps next? I don't recall. Regardless, we went there, my favorite manager there and I squealed about the Hunger Games merch (it was a wonderful time! :D), and then observed all the t-shirts. I would assign some totally obnoxious and somewhat stereotypical English-teacher meaning to the t-shirt browsing, but I think we were just browsing t-shirts. There isn't much I could assign to that.

Afterwards, we went to Barnes and Noble, and purchased some unfortunately Barnes and Noble-Starbucks borrowed drinks (essentially, Leah's gift card could not be used there.). Which set us up for something incredibly ridiculous to come.

I just realized that very much happened tonight, and I think I should perhaps sleep like my much-wiser partner in crime. So tomorrow, friends, I will continue this ridiculous entry. Good night, much love, and God bless you all.

Thank you, God.

Thank you.

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green (slightly informal review)

I highly recommend The Fault in Our Stars, both to those searching for meaningful literature with a heart for honest, human characters, and those who have never yet felt a deep, personal connection to a novel. If you haven't a copy now, I'd recommend borrowing/buying one immediately.

(And if you know me personally, I should have two signed copies by January 18th.)

The Fault in Our Stars is John Green's (of YouTube's vlogbrothers) fourth solo work, following protagonist Hazel Grace Lancaster, a sardonic and literary teen with stage IV cancer in her thyroid and lungs, who begins begrudgingly attending a terribly depressing support group with a single redeeming presence (this presence being a young man by the name of Isaac, who has "fantastically improbable eye cancer"). Although content to reread her favorite novel, (the unfortunately fictional, as it seems it would beautifully follow the reading of this novel) An Imperial Affliction by Peter Van Houten in her room with little social interaction, Isaac's accompanying guest to support group, an immensely attractive young man by the name of Augustus Waters.

Overall, I have found little to criticize in The Fault in Our Stars. Some may find the characterization of a particular author in the novel (no spoilers) to be over-eccentric or contrived, but I would say to such arguments, that eccentric, angry, recluses existed before they were ever written into novels. As potentially unlikely as this character's inclusion may seem, his presence is not entirely impossible.

It's hard to write this review without giving spoilers. To say the least, I do not doubt for a second that TFiOS has the ability to make the most calculating and skeptical reader break down sobbing. If one has read any of John Green's work prior to this novel, one understands his incredible ability to create beautiful, witty, and brilliant characters. This incredible piece of literature is arguably his best work; Hazel and Augustus do not live simply within the pages of the novel, but are seated beside you throughout, narrating and conversing so honestly and so close, that the story is less like reading a book, but eavesdropping on your best friends. Their insights, on life, death, and love, are not the slightest bit contrived nor unoriginal, but raw, real, and wrought with philosophical depth.

I read the book in its entirety on the day which I received it, yet I would almost recommend taking a few days and a couple of "breathers" while reading, so as to take as much out of the experience of the book. It may only be a personal preference, but I feel as though taking longer to read a beautiful novel like this will produce a more powerful mark on one's thoughts, as Hazel, Augustus, Isaac, and their stories deserve.

How to reconcile the stupid things I do and everything else.

It seems I've lost the self-awareness that I once had. Or, perhaps, I am still self-aware, but my awareness lingers on the negative things I do, or, perhaps, my awareness has transferred to... well, I can't say a lot else. I'm still the same selfish, fallen, person I have always been. Yet I am older, but none the wiser, which I find highly unfortunate.

So again, I question myself. Why did I speak with whom I spoke to today? Do I truly long for friendship as I've ventured to attempt with the opposite gender? Or do I do what I do to satisfy some lesser need?

My meaning in life is to glorify God. And I know he wants us to be social. And I know these things are connected, even if it isn't always as simple as it should be to find the connection. So therein lies the question.

Do I intend to harm this person?

Absolutely not.

Will I harm him?

To be determined.

I feel a slight bit of harmful self-loathing and trapped feeling in this horrific cycle of selfishness, and I know the only solution is to focus on Christ. Perhaps His relationship with us. How sacrificial, how incredible, intense, true, loving, compassionate, graceful... My Lord, He did not live without meaning. He never sinned. He never hurt a human being.

And He still saved us, who have. Very much.

Me, who has. Very much. And to think, He sees us all as pure.

That's incredible.

I'm not. In the slightest. So I ask His forgiveness, and I know it's already been given. And I know I will change. I will. I'm not going to say "I can" or "I might". I have to be sure, now.

Tomorrow, at 8:30 PM, I will be someone with more love in my heart. I will. I will honor my Lord in all things that I do.

Just a thought about skylines.

I was feeling nostalgic as I stared at the skyline of Rochester, Minnesota this morning, and thinking about just how few buildings actually shone in the almost-sunrise, and how Los Angeles and San Diego seemed to go on forever in strings of light. Then I realized the majority of Rochester's morning lights were streetlights, lining the road, illuminating the path of the morning commuters to their destination. The streetlights showed evidence of people just as much as the buildings... people who cared, people who saw in the same, soft light, as they each took their individual journeys, together on one road.

Christmas 2011: Note.

I'm gonna write a series of entries based on/about a real vacation I just went on, and it's going to be done by the end of this week. It's a goal now, on to p of all the more important things I need to do. It might be posted here, or my story blog. Feel free to get on my case about it. Thanks, everyone.

Muddled Perspective[s?] (identity crisis #1 of 2012; disorganized entry, be warned.)

Hey, it's 2012. Happy New Year's.

It's time to start reflecting again. I think I was just so... deflective, trying to channel all my emotions into writing a terribly depressing and hopeless story that I gave no redemptive light. By all means, that one's going to change. The story's still in my heart, but it's going to be different next time around. My goal of one full draft by September of this year still stands. Regardless, I have a lot to write about, in a narrative fashion, but also in a reflective manner. I need to put my thoughts on something that I can look at, give to the internet, or better, on a page. But of course, technology makes me think this is faster, but clearly not more worthwhile. Yet I love all of you who read this blog, who think my thoughts count, who read and are genuinely interested in this indvidual who puts these thoughts up. Who are invested in me as a person, met, or unmet.

So thank  you for this.

I went on a fairly life-changing vacation of visiting my family in San Diego, CA over the past week, and I could write about that for so long. I don't want to put that off for long, but I do have some things I just need to put down here.

My life's been off-track for quite a while. I am a firm believer in Christ, I tried to follow him, but I was slipping up. I was starting to give into the lie that God could not possibly want me, that I was totally incapable of doing anything good for Him (which I am, but He is stronger and He is the one who leads me). I was bubbling with questions about everything, and wondering if/wishing that everything could just be true so I could go to sleep at night without knowing hell existed and that people I know and love and people I don't know and love in "Christian" way would be there. I was wondering if I could just open up my mind a little bit and let in some of these other philosophies mix in with the one I already took when I was four and five and eight.

I'd presume that certain Christians would say no, if it meant altering the Gospel and the core teaching of the Bible; I'd presume others might say there's nothing wrong with it. And I also wondered if there was a real right or wrong other than the socially defined.

So yes, those I know from church, perhaps psychology and sociology contributed to questions, but I thought they were good. See, I always lean on that idea that questions and doubts are good if they cause you to dig to find the truth. But I wasn't doing enough digging. Or perhaps not the right kind of digging. And I asked in my head and heart the question of the problem of suffering almost every week, if not more than that, and I arrogantly talked to my God. I read Orson Scott Card's first and second and a half of the third book of his "Ender" series, and questioned if I was Qing-Jao or Ender in how I saw God and approached him. I wondered right and wrong over and over and over.

I went on that trip, and came home and decided not to stress. And it could just be sleep-deprivation, but I definitely did stress. Rather than letting go, the questions I'd asked but put off just kind of piled in about an hour ago. And while I was on the phone with the ministry leader of the student ministry, Catalyst, that I wanted to start at my school, called me, he gave me the perspective I needed again. He asked me important questions.

What three words do I want to define me?

And so I try to do this now:

Christlike, Compassionate, Listener.

That's for this year. It does say a lot, I think, about me. And I don't want to compartmentalize my life. Everything in it affects everything else. I know that we take on roles and we act differently for each, but now I need to reconcile all those roles. Sociologically, you could say my "master status" is Christ-follower. Not for religion, but for what defines my whole self. Next, come the general roles of daughter, sister, friend, cousin, organization member... etc. Writer. Artist. I want to understand so much. And there's just so much to take in. And I don't want to end up thinking and not ever doing. So that, I suppose are some of my goals for the year. Reconcile the roles, the statuses, the actions, the thoughts behind them. Follow Christ above all.