I think that I’ve finally done something good. Now, I don’t mean something truly good. I mean something selfishly good. Something good for me and only me. I was taking a break for my psychology homework and saw something relating to Kurt Vonnegut. I read his book Slaughterhouse Five last year as my choice novel in my English class. I retained almost none of it, (except for the phrase so it goes and the image evoked in my brain by the last few chapters which comes to me often for no particular reason.) just like everything else in that class. The teacher was lovable and made me think deeper about cultures, literature, and the instruments at work in the universe, but actually sustaining knowledge on American Literature was nearly impossible for me, because the class was more a giant pit of jokes and philosophical discussions than an English class. Anyways I saw a letter that Vonnegut had written back in 2006 to a class, and it was about practicing and using artistic abilities no matter how awful you were at them. I’ve hear this advice millions of times before, mostly coming out of my own mouth. I kept trying to persuade myself that I must write because I love it, not because I need to for a living. A little while after I read that letter, I was just thinking to myself and this feeling of immense satisfaction swept over me. I finally did it. I came to terms with the idea of only writing to tell a story, and not worrying about who will read it or who will love it one day. I’m sure this feeling will subside and I will once again long to be remember as an influential and spectacular writer (neither of which have been demonstrated by my abilities) but for now I feel very content to be a literary nobody. If I write a story and the only one who will ever read it is me, so be it.
So it’s only wednesday and I am already exhausted in every way. It hasn’t even been a very strenuous week. It’s the first week back after spring break, maybe that’s why. But I feel like I already need another week off.
In track (but mostly field) related news, we can finally throw outside! I forgot how much I missed discus and I remembered how much I suck at throwing both shot-put and discus. I keep adding weight to my squats and bench presses, maybe I’ll actually get stronger this season! I’m trying a lot harder. I’m focusing on form and practicing the more complicated techniques as well as looking up videos of throws. Hopefully it will all pay off!
In yoga related news, I finally can get my head a significant two inches off the ground in my wheel! I can’t hold it for very long but I’m super excited to see what else I can do!
In school related news, I lettered in drama! Technically I shouldn’t have since I was only the publicist (unless of course they increased the points the publicist earns) and on the props crew, but often at practices I would do a lot of the jobs the stage managers and house manager would do and I worked nearly every day during my open hour on play related matters. So all that hard work paid off! I’ve finally lettered in something! I probably would have lettered in track last year or freshman year but there was a lot of paperwork I had to fill out plus I switched from JV to varsity so much I couldn’t keep track.
Anyways I should probably stop procrastinating studying for my math test tomorrow. This really isn’t the most interesting or insightful post but it’s just a little update on my life. So I’ll leave you with a unrelated quote,
Reality exists in the human mind and nowhere else. – George Orwell
In English we studied a piece written by Franz Kafka, we examined how it used deconstructionism to examine society and values of those within it and what truly makes one human. Maybe try and deconstruct your reality, and see things in a fresh and surprising (possibly shocking) way.
I follow a blogger on tumblr who posts her handstands everyday. She has a series of 365 days of handstands. The first thing I thought when I found her blog and photo series, was wow that’s quite the commitment, and then I thought wow she can actually do a handstand and look graceful doing it AND hold it long enough to take a photograph. I recently started a 30 day yoga challenge. For 30 days, I’ll receive emails with 20 minute yoga videos attached, which is just dandy. Today I did my video then explored the online yoga world for another hour or so, trying out various poses, wishing I could actually do them. I realized something after I filmed my wheel pose just to see where I was at: I’m pretty weak and inflexible. It got me thinking. How could I improve not only my ability but also my dedication? I could try to practice a pose everyday for a certain number of days. It didn’t have to be 365, it could be 100 or 75 or even 50.
For 50 days I will practice a pose or two, let’s see if I can actually make my goal. I think I’ll practice wheel, (since wow that was embarrassing to see how bad I was) crow and/or standing fold. And on the 51st day hopefully I’ll be able to say that I’ve improved and grown.
Gosh I hope I stick with it!
Hey there! It’s friday finally, the first day of my spring break. This break is very very very very much needed, especially following this week. Not only was it a stressful, frustrating, and suffocating experience, but it was a learning one as well! Don’t worry I’m not going to bore you with a rant about school. I’m not quite sure where to start… I’ll just list some things and then describe them later.
DISCLAIMER if reading about anxiety or body image is triggering for you please leave this page and go do something happy! Coloring books and crayons can help (as childish as it seems) or dancing to fun music or going for a walk in the sunshine, just smile my friend and I hope you are alright.
– I had a two day crush. TWO DAYS. That has to be some kind of record.
– I wrote one of my most pretentious pieces of writing.
– I found out I admire a commonly hated teacher.
– I (possibly) had an anxiety attack at practice but had to stay for another 20 minutes because I was so freaked out I couldn’t tell anyone what was happening to me.
– I actually added weight to my squat!
– My face is breaking out for no reason.
– One of the worst body image weeks of my life
Other than that it was a pretty normal week, and by normal I mean as awful as usual. (I’m not a pessimist, I’m just a junior in high school who can’t cope well with anything.)
Let’s start with the track related items. This week’s practice was an utter waste of time. My coach isn’t usual unreliable but this week he didn’t show up on time once. He had us waiting until 4:30 or 5 to even get started. Monday and Tuesday I left at 4:30. Wednesday he came, and we practiced throws and it was good, until I found myself obsessively staring at the clock and unable to catch my breath, soon I felt like I couldn’t breathe at all. I told my coach I was feeling dizzy, but in reality I feel like I was suffocating and the noise around me was wavering, suddenly loud or suddenly quiet. I had to stay and roll back the shot-put for one of the new throwers. I felt like I was going to die or throw up or collapse. I started crying but since I was at least 30 feet away from most people no one noticed, which I was thankful for. I’m not sure if it was an anxiety attack. I’ve had panic attacks many times, even once at school which was fucking terrifying. But I’ve never felt like this before, but it had a lot of the symptoms I get when I get overwhelmed or anxious, for example, not being able to breathe. So after that I skipped out on lifting because I could barely stand. Skipping made me feel even worse. It was hell but at least this time I wasn’t in the middle of a crowded hallway surrounded by my friends and peers and I wasn’t uncontrollably sobbing and gaspingly loudly for breath. (this time it was quieter gasps.) But I’m incredibly proud of myself for going back to practice the day after. And even more taking initiative and working while my coach was no where to be found. I did ten rounds of stairs and around 20 minutes of abs, then squatted with weight and benched. It was a pretty successful practice and *cliche warning* it taught me that no matter how bad your day has been, the next can be better.
Another event of the week was my school’s version of J-term. I had two classes that participated this year so I had two new classes. My first hour was Flash Fiction. This class was so fun and helpful with my writing, but for an assignment we had to turn in a piece of writing based on a photograph. One of the requirements was to have a “once” moment in it. We had to have a paragraph on the past in the middle, to add depth and entice the reader. When I was writing I blanked on what I could possible use as a memory for this story, so I wrote some crap about weaving oneself into the day, and personifying “days,” I said I wanted my days to dance with events. Then after a few overly dramatic sentences I wrote about a crappy car ride memory. It felt quite forced and ridiculous. My other class was taught by a teacher who I’d heard so much about, unfortunately not good things. She was pretty intense but she was also so insanely passionate about her ideas. She had this brilliant idea that we could send help to Albinos in Tanzania. It was an amazing cause but it got shut down. I felt so bad about it. She was discouraged but she didn’t give up! She was going to keep helping on her own and was going to send our cards and the few items we had donated to a camp in Tanzania. She’s an incredible person, and I’m glad I got to form my own opinion about her instead of hopping on the bandwagon and hating her for no reason. You should always think for yourself, and not just agree with everyone else. Sometimes they can be dead wrong.
This is a really long post oh my. I’m sorry you probably don’t care as much about my week as I do, but whatever there’s only about ten of you guys. (Thanks for following me btw!)
Next I’ll talk about one of the shortest crushes of my life. Actually, that may not be true. I’m not one to “like” people and when I do it’s usually for a very brief amount time. I did used to sort of like this guy, so maybe it was dormant? But I hadn’t talked to him in a while and we started talking again this week so my brain said “hey hey hey you’re talking to a boy hey hey think about that boy all the time now.” and I was like “shut up brain gosh you’re so lame you’re embarrassing me.” So after 48 hours of my brain saying “wow he’s so cute and nice” it started saying “yeah you have enough things to think about. Do you really want to spend energy thinking about a boy who gives you a millisecond of his day???” I kind of hate how I do that. It would be fun to like someone and not be lazy and actually do something about it. It would also be fun to like someone and not start talking myself out of it the second I realize I like someone. (I said “like someone” too many times in those sentences…) Maybe in college I’ll put forth effort to advance my love life.
I’ll guess the last point will be the most depressing one. My body image was so awful this week. Thoughts about how fat I am started to consume me and it wasn’t even when I was alone. I’d be in the middle of class and would start obsessing over how fat I looked and fidget like crazy, trying to find a position that didn’t make me look like a sack of lard. It got so bad that even when I was having a conversation I could only think about what they could possibly see. If someone looked somewhere other than my eyes I felt as if I was exploding, my stomach expanding, my arms swelling, my face bloating and the number of chins growing. It was horrible and it got really hard to just sit in class, trying to think about something other than my body. It gets hard sometimes but I know I’ll be okay eventually.
So this week was definitely a roller coaster. I’m glad it’s over. I grew this week. I learned that I could take initiative. I learned that I could push myself and accomplish what I wanted. I learned that I don’t have to listen to what everybody says and I can form my own opinions. But I think the best thing is that I learned is I can have a horrible, terrible, dreadful day but the next day always has the potential to be a good, hopeful, wonderful day. That reminds me of something Winston Churchill once said,
If you’re going through hell, keep going.
Don’t give up guys! Even if it’s the worst day of your life. If it is truly the worse day ever, tomorrow is guaranteed to be better. That’s just how superlatives work.
PS: I think I’m going to try and start a “quote-of-the-day-or-week-or-random-days-per-month” post series. It will get me to post more often plus I LOVE QUOTES SO FRICKING MUCH.
I’m writing this as I avoid joining in on my parents’ conversation about scheduling college visits over break. I have this tendency to get super scream-y and emotional anytime I try and fill out the visit application. “Oh my god she’s going to cry.” is a common phrase uttered by my sister.
Sometimes I like to think about all the possibilities that college has to offer, and then I think about all the talents I don’t have to offer and I get kind of sad. I try and take a step forward towards adulthood and I end up taking two steps back. For example, there’s been a tab open on my laptop for two hours as I debate whether or not to go to an engineering and physics camp at St. Olaf College this summer. I know it would be good for me, but I’m too terrified to even finish the application.
New experiences have never been my forte. At my school we have this week off of english classes (I feel like I’ve written about this before???) and we take new, “fun” and “interesting” classes. I actually like one of mine this year. *GASP* Kita enjoys a new situation?!?! It’s a class called “Flash Fiction” and surprise, surprise as I was signing up for it my stomach was doing summersaults because I knew that I was going to have to put myself out there, take a class by myself, learn something new, and actually write something decent. When I initially entered the classroom, I turned around and walked out. There was barely more than six people and they were all freshmen. I lurked in the hallway looking for anybody I recognized to enter the room and finally gave up and walked back in. Two of my classmates from my english class walked in after me.
The second the teacher started talking I knew I would love the class. She seemed so excited about words. Not just stories, but words. I also love words and language super duper much. *rolls eyes at my word choice to express my love of word choice* She asked our class if any of us wrote fiction or poetry. Almost everyone raised their hands. I felt my shoulders tense and my eyes twitch.
I guess you can say I’ve never been good at sharing, I wasn’t one of those kids who screamed MINE every time someone else touched something they were interested in, but I did stew about it and vow silence vengeance. When I comes to writing I’m no different. To quote the over-quoted and over-romanticized Sylvia Plath, “I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who ski better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I.” And I am very jealous and very selfish when it comes to writing. I know there’s billions of people better at writing, I just refuse to acknowledge that fact. Don’t look at me like that! We’ve already established that I am a horrible person. Now, back to the previously scheduled unnecessary story.
After she established that anyone who could hold a pencil has an abundant and unique universe inside of them that they’re dying to share, she told us what this class had in store. We were going to “play with words” and I had to put forth a great amount of effort to not manically grin. WORDS ARE SO MUCH FUN. The rest of the period consisted of us generating words, writing down whatever. Then we took a lap around the school and wrote down any word that came to mind. The strangest one on my list was probably bagpipes.
The cool thing about flash fiction is that it’s short and powerful. Like a flash of a camera or a bolt of lightening that lingers in your sight, flash fiction does the same to your mind. It can tell an elaborate story in very few words. I encourage you to explore the world of flash fiction and play around with words. I promise it’s fun!
In October 2013, my grandmother died. She was a wonderful woman, she was kind, selfless, and strong. I didn’t know her as well as I wanted to, and I feel guilty about that nearly everyday. I thought that I had more time left, that I could leave getting close to her to when I was an adult. Her death was a bit of a wake up call, for me and my entire family. I’ve experienced death before, and death of all kinds, suicide, cancer, heart attacks. All were horrible, but my grandmother’s cause of death sticks to me, and will for a long time. My grandmother was a very independent woman. She was also extremely active for an 84 year old, practicing yoga, hiking, biking and many other physical activities. We even switched bikes with each other a few years back. But she was a contradiction in her physical health. She was active, but she struggled with severe scoliosis. She was also the oldest anorexia survivor in Mayo Clinic history, well, documented at least. She has an interview in a book somewhere, I really want to read it. Anyways, since she was so independent, when she fell, she didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Well, ignoring it was detrimental, and her health declined rapidly in 2013. Except it wasn’t rapid, it came quickly but slowly and she was aware of every moment of it. She would become frustrated in the forgetfulness that her receding health brought, but even more frustrated with the dependency she developed. Everyone had to help her do everything. And that devastated her. Her death was horrible in it’s slowness, in the way she knew she would never be the same as she once was, and in the pain she felt. She just wanted to be comfortable in the end. I remember visiting her in the hospital. I remember seeing dried tears on every one of my family members faces. I remember seeing my grandfather with both his hands clamped tight around her bony and tiny left hand, as she lied there drifting between brief moments of relief and excruciating periods of thrashing and mumbling incoherently. I remember shaking, and silently wondering why, and how unfair it all was. And selfishly I remember losing 6 pounds in a week due to the stress of school and the uncomfortable lack of my father’s presence who spent all his time at the hospital or at my grandfather’s. I remember watching my father age ten years in ten weeks. But I also remember the smile my grandma had on her face when she saw me and my sister visit her, and the nurse and my parents remarking how we had gotten her to smile so big.
I miss her still. I think about her death still. But in December of 2013 something wonderful happened. I started a yoga practice. As I said before my grandmother practiced yoga often, and my practice helps me feel closer to her. Yesterday I held my first crow pose. It was for a very short second but I was off the ground. I was holding my entire body up with my hands. It was magical and exciting and I thought of my grandmother. I, of course, had rushed downstairs to tell my mom that I had attempt and sort of succeeded at my first arm balance, and she told me that it was impressive but then she said, “I bet grandma Dorothy would be proud of you, she’s happy someone in this family starting doing yoga.” And I really hope that’s true. I have this silly little theory that she passed her love of yoga on to me, since it was around her death I got my interest and only two months later I started. So I want to thank her, it’s one of the most amazing parts of my life at the moment and I’m exciting to see where the practice takes me.
As for my grandmother, I miss her, and my family does too. This is the first time I’ve been able to put my thoughts down about her. I hope she’s having an adventure wherever she is.
Typical young adult authors have filled my head with such bullshit. Sometimes I marvel at it.
So instead of making any progress on the avalanche of schoolwork that’s crashing into me, I think I’ll make a list. Of course this list will be naive and hold no intellectual value – in fact you’ll probably find it ignorant – but hey! Why else do you follow my blog? (literally I look at this blog as you might look at a diary from the fourth grade) causally attempts to lower your standards for what’s to come because I’m insecure about my opinions and my writing ability.
Things they have subliminally etched in my brain:
Some lanky boy with messy hair, who’s either A. popular beyond belief or B. just as misunderstood as me, will enter into my life and save and complete me. This unnecessary plot device drives me incredibly insane. I personally don’t believe that people are incomplete. Imagine it: I fell in love now HOLY SHIT I JUST GREW AN EXTRA LIMB. WHAT SOMEONE WANTS TO DATE ME??? MY HEART JUST NOW MY HEART HAS ANOTHER CHAMBER. WHOA I HAVE A THIRD EYE NOW THAT I’VE BEEN ASKED TO HOMECOMING.
You need to be crazy/suffering/special/lonely/unattainable to be interesting to a boy. If you’ve ever heard of something called the Manic Pixie Dream Girl, you may have stumbled upon one of my biggest -and I mean mountain sized- literary peeves. (Also can be found in every other type of storytelling) If I hear/read “you’re not like other girls” one more time I might stab myself with the quirky personality of your female love interest.
Apparently you have to be magical to get laid. What the hell is up with teenage girls and supernatural powers? It’s even more irksome when they themselves don’t even hold the powers and the boy of interest has them. It’s as if the author feels that a plain human girl isn’t enough to satisfy the audience of plain human people so they add superpowers or make them undead in order to make up for the author not being able to add depth to a character. (that was a little harsh sorry!)
Depression and other mental disorders are romanticized. Judging by personal experience, whenever I’m having a panic attack or feeling like I’m less worthless than dirt – because at least dirt can grow flowers – I’m not thinking “Oh I wonder what type of boy can get me out of this fix?” Although due to the abundance of this theme of “Once I find love my mental health is completely restored!” I have thought about it at times. And I do feel ashamed of wondering if a boy or girl will find me more interesting because of my problems.
I will add to this later but for now I think I’ve made enough cynical generalizations for one evening.
I’m grateful for my life, I’m grateful that I’m healthy. I’m grateful for my parents. I’m grateful for my mother’s hugs, for my dad’s jokes. I’m grateful for the way she stays up with me when I’m finishing my homework. I’m grateful for his kind heart. I’m grateful for my sister and everything she is. I’m grateful for knowledge and being able to learn. I’m grateful for earth and for having a home. Im grateful and thankful for a lot of things that I know I do not deserve
I spend the majority of my free time, which I barely have any of, on tumblr. While I’m mindless scrolling down my dash I’ll come across a quote that I absolutely fall in love with it. I’ve always loved quotes, probably because I’ve always loved words. And I love the perfectly crafted combinations of words that are so bold that they stand out to thousands of people through several generations. Quotes prove how powerful words can be, whether written or spoken they demonstrate the artfulness of humanity. Many of the quotes I’ve stumbled upon on the internet evoke different feelings and thoughts and concepts. Some make me want to write a novel based on that one sentence. Some fit perfectly to a feeling. So I decided to start a list of all the quotes that have caught my eye, and maybe in the future write a reflection on the quote based on how the quote made me feel. Maybe I’ll post a few of them here!
I’ve failed at keeping up this blog. Maybe it’s because I’m not a blogger, I’m barely a writer. Maybe it’s because I’m too lazy to type up my thoughts. Whatever the reason, my hobby as a blogger hasn’t been very successful and I think I know why. I lack passion. At least, I lack a passion for writing angst-y posts about wishing away my teenage years.
You probably know the feeling of someone mentioning something you’re passionate about and your heart starts fluttering and blood rushes to your face as you try to contain your excitement about that particular subject. It’s happened to me numerous times and I love that feeling, because it feels so right. The subject of my feelings changes day by day and yours may too, or you may not have encountered it yet and have no idea what I’m talking about. Anyways, this feeling is a great feeling, you want to feel it. You want to feel passion and excitement and intrigue and butterflies and purpose. It’s feels natural.
The point I’m trying to make is, I’m not passionate about complaining about school work or trying to discover meaning in my life. (the latter probably explains why I’m having so much trouble with school….) I’m passionate about…. well lots of things. Specifically, I’m not quite sure yet, and maybe that’s what this blog should be. Or maybe this blog should just be a kind of a diary, a diary of my deepest (but not really) thoughts that I can only share with the internet. But I doubt it will be either of those.
So I guess the point of this rambling and repetitive post is, Hi. I’m starting over. And I want to let you know that this blog has no direction, and it has no specific subject. Hope that’s okay with you!