When they told me I would be jumping off of a 40 foot cliff, I thought they were joking. But yet, there it was, the jagged cliffs before me. Death itself looming over my head, the boat falling in its shadow. I stood on the deck, looking at the cliffs as we passed them by to find a place to dock. I saw the people clambering about. It looked like chaos. And, yet, then, every now and then, a body would fling itself into the perilous free-fall, board straight, eyes shut tightly, and then, they would hit. Hit the water with a whoosh of water rising up as they came down, vanishing into the dark blue. I wondered how far it was, all the way down there. The motor turned off as we neared a collection of boats and people. It was going to be go time soon. I wasn't sure if I was mentally prepared for this. I'd never gone cliff-diving. No, I had never really been to any sort of large drop like this. Or, perhaps I had, but I never lingered by the edge. That didn't settle well with my phobia of heights.
I looked at Justin and Jamie and took in a deep breath before plunging in after them. Compared to the hot day, the water was a nice refresher. We lingered by the shore a few minutes before deciding to make our way up the slope. They took me up to the smallest one, only ten feet. I guess they wanted to get a bit of training in before I actually tackled the tallest of the three cliffs. Jamie told me to jump, and I watched her vanish over the stone side. I looked down, looked after her, watching the little bubbles as they rose around where she had fallen in. A few seconds later and she surfaced, long hair slicked back and her eyes looking up at me. Waiting.
And I don't think I thought much after I jumped the first time. There wasn't terribly a lot of airtime either. My feet hit the surface just as hers had. And before I knew it? I had surfaced, with the vague image of the water glaring up at me from so far below etched into my retinas.
We skipped the second tallest one because the other two were so eager. I climbed up the same slope after them, except we took a different route, past the ten footer, and up towards the higher reaches. It took a few minutes, but we got there, on the giant stone overhang, looking down at the water. And the other two told me I was first to go. I don't know what was going through my head- I can't remember. I could only look out at the sunny, clear blue sky, at the horizon where it met the shining waters. And I could look down the cliff, down at the waters that seemed a lifetime away. Peer pressure, though. That was what flung me over the side, hurtling down.
My feet left the stone and I know I heard my heart travel up somewhere next to my eardrums. Lub dub, lub dub... My eyes, shut at first, snapped open in the free-fall, and while my ears listened to the symphony of my frantic heartbeats and the whistling of wind in my ears, my eyes saw the horizon as it lay even to me, parallel and the same. I felt like I could reach out and grab the skies. But with each second, the water was rushing towards me, like an open maw waiting for food to fall in.
Why did you choose to do this?
It's all their fault, it's all their fault, it's all their fault...!
No, you're the one that jumped.
Screw it. This is too much time to think.
More like too much time to regret.
And there were moments, or perhaps something longer than just moments, that were flooded with regret. Regret for jumping, regret for climbing up the cliff in the first place, regret for everything that had led up to the eternal falling...
When I hit the water, it hurt. But the cold was paralyzing, drowning my senses and I sank- like I always do. And sometime after my eyes had shut due from impact and fear, they snapped open. Open in the murky world that surrounded me, gazing into darkness around me. It was cold, and I could feel the chilling tendrils crawl across my body, still recovering from the shock of the landing. My arms flailed in the waters, and I gazed down- down into what seemed like a never-ending abyss, an open mouth into a place I dared not to venture. And the darkness did not end, was not penetrated by the light. It seemed eerie, uncanny, how the depths of the lake could be so foreign. I didn't know what could be lurking beneath me. I didn't know what could be resting at the bottom. It was uncomfortable.
And so, I looked up.
Up at the world I knew, seemingly so far away with my weight dragging me deeper into the abyssal maw. I kicked a few times, reached upwards at the shimmering, waving image of a sun that was lifetimes away. I reached for the cliff I had plummeted off of, the heavenly light guiding me upwards and away from the shadows below. I kicked. Clawed. Scratched at the sky that grew larger, closer with each stroke. The light was a welcome sight, much nicer than the unknown below me. My lungs didn't scream for air like you see in movies. My mind didn't race as fast as you'd have expected. My heart, though, it still hammered from the fall. I need the light... I thought, my lungs beginning to twinge with the need to breathe. And I neared the surface, heart suddenly beginning to beat with something different, something new. Longing for air. Longing for sunlight. Something to brighten up the darkness around me.
And with a rush of air and water droplets bursting forth, I broke the surface.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
013- Fragmentations of the Subconscious
I'm going to tell you something not many people know about me.
I had a dream once, several years ago, probably towards the end of my 8th grade year. I like to say my dreams aren't very original, even though they're seriously weird sometimes. They like to have recurring items or themes- usually involving someone chasing me and wanting me to be captured (not dead, just captured- imprisoned) or having some abnormal ability. And these dreams come frequently, mind you. Several times a week at least, being similar in idea but with variation. I could be running through the school, I could be running through a woods, I could be driving through Edmond- it just depends. But there was once a time where I didn't dream about these things. I didn't dream about being some hunted, cornered animal, desperate to get away, desperate to be free.
I dreamed there was a world somewhere in the heart of darkness, where the only light that could be seen was fake and artificial, barely strong enough to light the streets of a devoid New York City-esque setting. And the buildings that hung overhead were a dark violet streamed with tiny red lights, and decorated with obsidian windows. And the people walking the streets were hunched over, inhuman shapes with a cloak laid over them, faces shrouded in mystery, and placid eyes an unnatural crimson glow with no pupils. And they walked- in swaying lines throughout the streets with no interaction. No words. No noise. Not even as they walked, not even as their covered feet hit the cobblestone pathways. And it was amazing how I could see this all so vividly, looking so real despite how ridiculous it all seemed. There were things, though, that I could not see, but I knew. I knew they existed, that things were happening on the far sides of the city. I knew there was a man searching for something. And another waited for something to come to him in a gothic church just down the road.
And there I was- me. Only, I knew it wasn't me, because even though I could control myself (something that rarely happens in my dreams, surprisingly enough) and what my thought process was, I was not entirely myself. I felt power at my fingertips. I felt unafraid of the shadows closing in around me. But that was before I realized that the man searching was looking for me. The man waiting was waiting for me. And the words that flashed through my mind, noiseless but ever present and strong, were the words, "I need to find him." But it wasn't talking about the one waiting for me. It wasn't talking about the searcher. I don't know who it was talking about.
I crept in the shadows, but it seemed as though my skin was illuminating in the unknown realm, the fell world I was trapped in. It was impossible to blend in with the wraiths that walked in their single-file lines, lockstep, mindless followers. Neutral as they were, I felt an immediate dislike for them- an aversion. And my footsteps fell softly in rhythm with theirs, though my pace quickened to avoid their lines, their crimson gazes, and I cast a wary look over my shoulder occasionally. Do not get caught - some unknown voice warned me in silence. It didn't take long to find the gothic cathedral, towering over the street in its ghastly glory, its spires catching the dim light and casting eerie shadows and posing as an uncanny silhouette against the horizon. I drew back in abhorrence for the supernatural aura that radiated in the air. It was asphyxiating, but I forced myself up the steps, though the steps sounded more like gunshots now, accompanied by a gentle, yet allegro-paced percussion of heartbeats. Thump-thump... Thump-thump... Thump-thump... Hand drawing open the massive doors, I let the pale light filter into the pitch-black interior of the building, a dark wind pushing against my back and my long brown hair whipping forth, slightly obstructing my view.
I walked in, the back wall littered and infested with what appeared to be darkness itself, where a cross should have been, where Christ's broken form should have hung. The mosaic windows were mold-infected and grimy. I stopped in the center of the room, the pews to my left and right shattered and broken, the wood decaying. And through the darkness, I saw his form, limber, delicate, and a small glow amidst the shadows. He stirred, from his sitting position in front of the podium, to a more up-right stance. His eyes were the color of a partially veiled sky- a pale blue-gray that haunted, his hair little auburn ringlets, and his skin by far the fairest I had seen. A halo of light circulated about him, matching his plain white attire. And yet, atop his head, he wore a golden, almost laced-together crown.
He was an angel. Or at least his outwardly appearance suggested it. There were no harps, no wings as in movies or paintings. And yet, I believed, at first, this was what he was... And yet, there was that indescribable chill in my heart that rooted my feet to the stone floor, and I watched, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. Or perhaps he was a devil in sheep's clothing. Certainly the fair skin and ringlets suggested otherwise, but the slightest traces of malicious intent seemed to decorate his knowing smile. No... More like knowing smirk, as he rose with grand confidence, and offered his hand to me. "I've been waiting for you."
"Where is he?" I demanded, fists clenched at my sides.
"He's here," he answered, voice a sickly sweet melody I wanted to drown out. "And I'll let you see him."
I've always been intuitive. I always know when there's something going on behind me... Even if I choose not to acknowledge it. I turned, though, acknowledging this- an intruder in our conversation. An armored servant of the non-angel, no doubt, staying in the shadows, reminding me that I was alone and outnumbered. I jerked my head back to the front of the church, trying to force my voice to sound more adamant, "You didn't answer my question. Where is he?" I was answered with a laugh- I always hated it when I was answered with a laugh. Because it always told me that they knew something I didn't.
He looked at me, like an adult to a child- almost in that insulting, pitying way, with his voice almost tainted with melancholy, "There is a gateway," He said, and I didn't understand what he was getting at. I listened in uncomfortable, mistrusting silence. "You will be free to go to him there... If you care enough for him." A gateway. I didn't understand why even the devil himself seemed to fear what was beyond the gate. But there wasn't much time for contemplation. I was here for one reason.
"I'll go."
"You're not scared?" His voice was like honey, though it left me with disgust. I allowed my lip to curl in displeasure as he chuckled. "You never know... What lies beyond the Gateway." That was when the capital 'G' was tokened to the name, when I understood that there was some other factor about this gate that made it unlike the lifeless objects I passed through to get here. If even demons feared this sort of paranormal, who was I to challenge it?
"It doesn't matter. I'm going after him," I was always a stubborn person. I knew it would lead to my downfall one day. And that day had to come sooner or later.
"Are you sure?"
The daunting final warning.
"I'll be back for you."
The malicious final threat.
"I'll be waiting... Eagerly," His voice was a song- mocking me. I bit back a retort and turned to leave, my back facing him. It crossed my mind that it was all a ploy to get me to lower my guard. But no move was made- not even from the silent observer ducked in the shadows of a crust-covered pillar. The doors flung open before my cold hands as I stepped out into the dim light of the dark city. Not to my surprise, I saw the lines of soul-less entities, still weaving like ants through the grass. I turned, taking a path around the far side of the cathedral, following nothing but instinct at whatever dark breeze guided my feet. And on the other side of the crumbling, cracked, gothic structure, I saw it- the four center pillars keeping up an ancient, gothic overhang. And as my feet began down the path towards what appeared to be a massive set of iron gates, I felt the fear began to stab viciously at my heart, sending doubts hurtling through my mind.
You don't even know what's on the other side.
You can't do this.
You're going to die.
And yet, I stood before the formidable set of gates- so normal, but so abnormal all at once. I reached up, traced my hand along the bars, feeling the cold, ancient metal under my fingertips, then craned my neck back to get the full image of what I was facing. If I had not passed into the heart of despair, then I knew I was bound for it- that, and who knew what else. In the aura surrounding the Gateway, I felt so much- wordless emotions that almost sent my knees to collapse and tears to formulate in my eyes. It was a land even more desolate than this- without light entirely, and perhaps more than that. Perhaps even without God and his mercy, his peace, a place where He could not even seen what was happening to one of His children.
But I couldn't think of that. I couldn't think of my fears, my hopes, my dreams, and what I was leaving behind if I should never come back. Because my right hand clasped the lock on the Gateway, and my other hand reinforced the first as I gave a sudden, ungentle tug. The lock fell away, clattering to the ground, and the creaking of doors opening accompanied a sudden gale that burst forth, drawing me closer, even as my feet did not move. It began to gape at me, its secrets still shrouded by shadows, still unknown, still so uncanny...
... And then my alarm went off.
And that was it. The end of the dream, the end of the most vivid, intense experience of my subconscious. And there were no answers- years later, even, after I thought about it, wondered if I should have controlled myself to do something else- like not open the Gateway, or perhaps opened it faster so that I could have had some sort of satisfaction. But there was nothing. No answer as to who I was looking for, no answer as to why I was there- not even a name to the face of delicate evil I had encountered in the cathedral. No reasoning for the mindless creatures that roamed the streets. Nothing. And that was the most frustrating part of the story.
I tried to think of what could have been on the other side. And no decent answer has revealed itself to me. And over four years after, I've been left unhappy with the ending- too many loose ends for my liking. The intensity of the dream was beyond anything else I'd experienced- I lived and breathed each moment of it as though it were life, were reality. It seemed so unfair that it should have ended so abruptly, where I knew there could have been the means for a decent story, a story that perhaps could've done more than entertain.
And so I wait. I wait to see what happens to my alternate universe self, the one held in limbo for many years now. I wait to see what happens on the far side of the Gateway. I wait to see who I'm looking for and why. And if I ever do come back for my vengeance- because I know I do seek vengeance against the cathedral-dweller, but I'm never told why. And perhaps that's the most meaningful part of the dream entirely. Not to say that I believe each dream has a meaning, but perhaps some do more than others.
Perhaps there was need to fear the Gateway- which is what mankind does not know.
And yet... I stormed into the heart of darkness. I stormed into the unknown that is feared- though, perhaps it is feared because it is not understood, as I could not understand the things that orbited it, the feelings that rushed through me even upon nearing the object. I could not understand, but I could understand the danger... Though the danger was quickly surpassed by the need to enter in spite of the hazards. If you wanted me to analyze it, I would tell you that it was a narrative on how mankind must throw itself into the uncertainty in order to carry on. But who can truly fathom the secrets of the subconscious?
I had a dream once, several years ago, probably towards the end of my 8th grade year. I like to say my dreams aren't very original, even though they're seriously weird sometimes. They like to have recurring items or themes- usually involving someone chasing me and wanting me to be captured (not dead, just captured- imprisoned) or having some abnormal ability. And these dreams come frequently, mind you. Several times a week at least, being similar in idea but with variation. I could be running through the school, I could be running through a woods, I could be driving through Edmond- it just depends. But there was once a time where I didn't dream about these things. I didn't dream about being some hunted, cornered animal, desperate to get away, desperate to be free.
I dreamed there was a world somewhere in the heart of darkness, where the only light that could be seen was fake and artificial, barely strong enough to light the streets of a devoid New York City-esque setting. And the buildings that hung overhead were a dark violet streamed with tiny red lights, and decorated with obsidian windows. And the people walking the streets were hunched over, inhuman shapes with a cloak laid over them, faces shrouded in mystery, and placid eyes an unnatural crimson glow with no pupils. And they walked- in swaying lines throughout the streets with no interaction. No words. No noise. Not even as they walked, not even as their covered feet hit the cobblestone pathways. And it was amazing how I could see this all so vividly, looking so real despite how ridiculous it all seemed. There were things, though, that I could not see, but I knew. I knew they existed, that things were happening on the far sides of the city. I knew there was a man searching for something. And another waited for something to come to him in a gothic church just down the road.
And there I was- me. Only, I knew it wasn't me, because even though I could control myself (something that rarely happens in my dreams, surprisingly enough) and what my thought process was, I was not entirely myself. I felt power at my fingertips. I felt unafraid of the shadows closing in around me. But that was before I realized that the man searching was looking for me. The man waiting was waiting for me. And the words that flashed through my mind, noiseless but ever present and strong, were the words, "I need to find him." But it wasn't talking about the one waiting for me. It wasn't talking about the searcher. I don't know who it was talking about.
I crept in the shadows, but it seemed as though my skin was illuminating in the unknown realm, the fell world I was trapped in. It was impossible to blend in with the wraiths that walked in their single-file lines, lockstep, mindless followers. Neutral as they were, I felt an immediate dislike for them- an aversion. And my footsteps fell softly in rhythm with theirs, though my pace quickened to avoid their lines, their crimson gazes, and I cast a wary look over my shoulder occasionally. Do not get caught - some unknown voice warned me in silence. It didn't take long to find the gothic cathedral, towering over the street in its ghastly glory, its spires catching the dim light and casting eerie shadows and posing as an uncanny silhouette against the horizon. I drew back in abhorrence for the supernatural aura that radiated in the air. It was asphyxiating, but I forced myself up the steps, though the steps sounded more like gunshots now, accompanied by a gentle, yet allegro-paced percussion of heartbeats. Thump-thump... Thump-thump... Thump-thump... Hand drawing open the massive doors, I let the pale light filter into the pitch-black interior of the building, a dark wind pushing against my back and my long brown hair whipping forth, slightly obstructing my view.
I walked in, the back wall littered and infested with what appeared to be darkness itself, where a cross should have been, where Christ's broken form should have hung. The mosaic windows were mold-infected and grimy. I stopped in the center of the room, the pews to my left and right shattered and broken, the wood decaying. And through the darkness, I saw his form, limber, delicate, and a small glow amidst the shadows. He stirred, from his sitting position in front of the podium, to a more up-right stance. His eyes were the color of a partially veiled sky- a pale blue-gray that haunted, his hair little auburn ringlets, and his skin by far the fairest I had seen. A halo of light circulated about him, matching his plain white attire. And yet, atop his head, he wore a golden, almost laced-together crown.
He was an angel. Or at least his outwardly appearance suggested it. There were no harps, no wings as in movies or paintings. And yet, I believed, at first, this was what he was... And yet, there was that indescribable chill in my heart that rooted my feet to the stone floor, and I watched, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. Or perhaps he was a devil in sheep's clothing. Certainly the fair skin and ringlets suggested otherwise, but the slightest traces of malicious intent seemed to decorate his knowing smile. No... More like knowing smirk, as he rose with grand confidence, and offered his hand to me. "I've been waiting for you."
"Where is he?" I demanded, fists clenched at my sides.
"He's here," he answered, voice a sickly sweet melody I wanted to drown out. "And I'll let you see him."
I've always been intuitive. I always know when there's something going on behind me... Even if I choose not to acknowledge it. I turned, though, acknowledging this- an intruder in our conversation. An armored servant of the non-angel, no doubt, staying in the shadows, reminding me that I was alone and outnumbered. I jerked my head back to the front of the church, trying to force my voice to sound more adamant, "You didn't answer my question. Where is he?" I was answered with a laugh- I always hated it when I was answered with a laugh. Because it always told me that they knew something I didn't.
He looked at me, like an adult to a child- almost in that insulting, pitying way, with his voice almost tainted with melancholy, "There is a gateway," He said, and I didn't understand what he was getting at. I listened in uncomfortable, mistrusting silence. "You will be free to go to him there... If you care enough for him." A gateway. I didn't understand why even the devil himself seemed to fear what was beyond the gate. But there wasn't much time for contemplation. I was here for one reason.
"I'll go."
"You're not scared?" His voice was like honey, though it left me with disgust. I allowed my lip to curl in displeasure as he chuckled. "You never know... What lies beyond the Gateway." That was when the capital 'G' was tokened to the name, when I understood that there was some other factor about this gate that made it unlike the lifeless objects I passed through to get here. If even demons feared this sort of paranormal, who was I to challenge it?
"It doesn't matter. I'm going after him," I was always a stubborn person. I knew it would lead to my downfall one day. And that day had to come sooner or later.
"Are you sure?"
The daunting final warning.
"I'll be back for you."
The malicious final threat.
"I'll be waiting... Eagerly," His voice was a song- mocking me. I bit back a retort and turned to leave, my back facing him. It crossed my mind that it was all a ploy to get me to lower my guard. But no move was made- not even from the silent observer ducked in the shadows of a crust-covered pillar. The doors flung open before my cold hands as I stepped out into the dim light of the dark city. Not to my surprise, I saw the lines of soul-less entities, still weaving like ants through the grass. I turned, taking a path around the far side of the cathedral, following nothing but instinct at whatever dark breeze guided my feet. And on the other side of the crumbling, cracked, gothic structure, I saw it- the four center pillars keeping up an ancient, gothic overhang. And as my feet began down the path towards what appeared to be a massive set of iron gates, I felt the fear began to stab viciously at my heart, sending doubts hurtling through my mind.
You don't even know what's on the other side.
You can't do this.
You're going to die.
And yet, I stood before the formidable set of gates- so normal, but so abnormal all at once. I reached up, traced my hand along the bars, feeling the cold, ancient metal under my fingertips, then craned my neck back to get the full image of what I was facing. If I had not passed into the heart of despair, then I knew I was bound for it- that, and who knew what else. In the aura surrounding the Gateway, I felt so much- wordless emotions that almost sent my knees to collapse and tears to formulate in my eyes. It was a land even more desolate than this- without light entirely, and perhaps more than that. Perhaps even without God and his mercy, his peace, a place where He could not even seen what was happening to one of His children.
But I couldn't think of that. I couldn't think of my fears, my hopes, my dreams, and what I was leaving behind if I should never come back. Because my right hand clasped the lock on the Gateway, and my other hand reinforced the first as I gave a sudden, ungentle tug. The lock fell away, clattering to the ground, and the creaking of doors opening accompanied a sudden gale that burst forth, drawing me closer, even as my feet did not move. It began to gape at me, its secrets still shrouded by shadows, still unknown, still so uncanny...
... And then my alarm went off.
And that was it. The end of the dream, the end of the most vivid, intense experience of my subconscious. And there were no answers- years later, even, after I thought about it, wondered if I should have controlled myself to do something else- like not open the Gateway, or perhaps opened it faster so that I could have had some sort of satisfaction. But there was nothing. No answer as to who I was looking for, no answer as to why I was there- not even a name to the face of delicate evil I had encountered in the cathedral. No reasoning for the mindless creatures that roamed the streets. Nothing. And that was the most frustrating part of the story.
I tried to think of what could have been on the other side. And no decent answer has revealed itself to me. And over four years after, I've been left unhappy with the ending- too many loose ends for my liking. The intensity of the dream was beyond anything else I'd experienced- I lived and breathed each moment of it as though it were life, were reality. It seemed so unfair that it should have ended so abruptly, where I knew there could have been the means for a decent story, a story that perhaps could've done more than entertain.
And so I wait. I wait to see what happens to my alternate universe self, the one held in limbo for many years now. I wait to see what happens on the far side of the Gateway. I wait to see who I'm looking for and why. And if I ever do come back for my vengeance- because I know I do seek vengeance against the cathedral-dweller, but I'm never told why. And perhaps that's the most meaningful part of the dream entirely. Not to say that I believe each dream has a meaning, but perhaps some do more than others.
Perhaps there was need to fear the Gateway- which is what mankind does not know.
And yet... I stormed into the heart of darkness. I stormed into the unknown that is feared- though, perhaps it is feared because it is not understood, as I could not understand the things that orbited it, the feelings that rushed through me even upon nearing the object. I could not understand, but I could understand the danger... Though the danger was quickly surpassed by the need to enter in spite of the hazards. If you wanted me to analyze it, I would tell you that it was a narrative on how mankind must throw itself into the uncertainty in order to carry on. But who can truly fathom the secrets of the subconscious?
012- The Hero-Villain Complex
"Some may call it a curse,
A life like mine.
But others- a blessing.
It's certainly a lonely life,
But a fulfilling one at best.
It's my cross to bear,
And I bear it gladly.
Someone has to take a stand against evil-
Why should it not be me?"
- Why Not Me by Within Temptation
If you had asked me four years ago if I was the hero or the villain, I would have answered, deliberately, that I was the hero. If you want my honest opinion, I would tell you that we're always biased towards ourselves. It's why excuses exist, we can't admit that we're ever wrong, ever corrupt, ever slipping in our lives. Mankind is stubborn, self-righteous. We always think we're the hero. We identify ourselves as the protagonist, like in literature. We want to think we're going to win and we want to think that our victory is justifiable.
In a way, we confuse protagonist with hero, because they seem alike in many aspects. Heroes are the people you see in movies, the ones that are fake, the ones that are predictable, the ones that I started not identifying with. Because how could I possibly be like that, I wondered, when I knew that the selfless archetype was not my archetype, and I would not lie to myself and say that I did not feel the burning desire of ambition in my heart.
I never understood some things about heroes, though, especially the hypocrisy. Heroes are motivated by "divine retribution", are they not, and is that not just a fancier way of saying "revenge"? And do heroes not do things out of love? Villains are similar, though, their love might be for the darker aspects of life. It's all a matter of stereotypes, in the long run...
I became a villain when I began to question what all I had believed about myself and the world. So I guess you could say I became a villain a little over a year ago, when revenge just began sounding oh-so-satisfying, when I was tired of the hero losing at everything she tried... When people pushed the little innocent, look-for-good-in-others hero over the edge. Because each wound got salt poured into it, and after awhile, salty wounds get irritable. And before long, it began to fester and burn, eating away at the skin like maggots to a carcass- every sin, every error, everything I should've said but never did. All the silences that ever haunted me, tearing into my soul like ravenous beast, and that was when I began to show little specks of corruption. It wasn't the actions, the decisions I made that led up to this change- it was the mindset, the treasonous thoughts. Murder doesn't make a villain. Thievery doesn't make a villain. It's all in their mind.
And yet, I refuse to think that they are the only dangerous ones, because anyone has the potential to be dangerous in any given situation. Villains are only the ones that accept their flaws, maybe even work with them out of ambition. And when I realized what the heroes were shutting out of their hearts, perhaps I began to hate them as any stereotypical villain would. I hated the ignorance, and yes, even the arrogance, because it stained the air and tainted the earth- disgusting me. And yet, I found such ideals everywhere I turned my head, and I wanted to merely pat the victim of ignorance on the head and tell them that their brain was merely on back-order and would be delivered soon. Because, that was when I realized that knowledge, caution, corruption- yes, that was dangerous. But so was the blaring offensive arrogance that decayed the world's ideals- the one-sided, unopened minds that were so easy to label, turn their noses up in the air, and declare their own purity. But one can even question the accuracy of the purity of arrogance and ignorance. Perhaps the latter could be forgiven, but the former not so easily.
When I became a villain, that was when my mind opened up further than before. I didn't see things as bad- I saw them as an alternate option. Something available, but not necessarily appropriate by most standards. Don't get me wrong- I understood that some things were poisonous to the heart and mind, and were contemptible. Does it mean that I never considered them? No. In fact, I considered many things, appealing towards my darker side, the one that had been oppressed for many years.
But I suppose I had to have a wake-up call eventually, and that wake up call came in the span of a few months, watching the world as it worked and turned around me. Even in the heroes, I saw corruption and the ideals of a villain. I saw people falling from grace to my left and right, and yet they still held their heads high when they ought to have joined their brethren in the shadows of night. I saw blood flow from intangible wounds that they carved into their victims. Hearts broken, faith shattered- and yet the offenders called themselves heroes. And I laughed. Bitterly. Because true villains would never call themselves a hero. They were cut from some other material, a cloth I couldn't identify, but immediately hated. Immediately wanted to destroy.
Some habits die hard, I understand. And perhaps it was the old habit of a hero wanting to save the weak that led me to begin what quest I thought God laid at my feet. Corruption poisoned lives, I understood, and, perhaps from that thought, I understood that similar poison had led me to my darkened mindset as of late. Yes- at that moment, I understood. I understood that I'd been thrown into the perspective of villainy not by self-righteous heroes or merely coincidence, but by something fell and darker than even what things I had contemplated. And I understood, then, that more lives would be poisoned as mine had if life were to continue this way, with no interference. Nothing to destroy the disease. I had to find the vaccine to this problem, I knew. No. No, I had to be the vaccine.
Because there was a handful of evil out there clawing gashes into hearts, hanging faith in the gallows of someone's mind, parading fears before fearful eyes, and walking away from it all. Unscathed. Unmarred.
And someone had to take a stand against it all.
And why should it not have been me?
A life like mine.
But others- a blessing.
It's certainly a lonely life,
But a fulfilling one at best.
It's my cross to bear,
And I bear it gladly.
Someone has to take a stand against evil-
Why should it not be me?"
- Why Not Me by Within Temptation
If you had asked me four years ago if I was the hero or the villain, I would have answered, deliberately, that I was the hero. If you want my honest opinion, I would tell you that we're always biased towards ourselves. It's why excuses exist, we can't admit that we're ever wrong, ever corrupt, ever slipping in our lives. Mankind is stubborn, self-righteous. We always think we're the hero. We identify ourselves as the protagonist, like in literature. We want to think we're going to win and we want to think that our victory is justifiable.
In a way, we confuse protagonist with hero, because they seem alike in many aspects. Heroes are the people you see in movies, the ones that are fake, the ones that are predictable, the ones that I started not identifying with. Because how could I possibly be like that, I wondered, when I knew that the selfless archetype was not my archetype, and I would not lie to myself and say that I did not feel the burning desire of ambition in my heart.
I never understood some things about heroes, though, especially the hypocrisy. Heroes are motivated by "divine retribution", are they not, and is that not just a fancier way of saying "revenge"? And do heroes not do things out of love? Villains are similar, though, their love might be for the darker aspects of life. It's all a matter of stereotypes, in the long run...
I became a villain when I began to question what all I had believed about myself and the world. So I guess you could say I became a villain a little over a year ago, when revenge just began sounding oh-so-satisfying, when I was tired of the hero losing at everything she tried... When people pushed the little innocent, look-for-good-in-others hero over the edge. Because each wound got salt poured into it, and after awhile, salty wounds get irritable. And before long, it began to fester and burn, eating away at the skin like maggots to a carcass- every sin, every error, everything I should've said but never did. All the silences that ever haunted me, tearing into my soul like ravenous beast, and that was when I began to show little specks of corruption. It wasn't the actions, the decisions I made that led up to this change- it was the mindset, the treasonous thoughts. Murder doesn't make a villain. Thievery doesn't make a villain. It's all in their mind.
And yet, I refuse to think that they are the only dangerous ones, because anyone has the potential to be dangerous in any given situation. Villains are only the ones that accept their flaws, maybe even work with them out of ambition. And when I realized what the heroes were shutting out of their hearts, perhaps I began to hate them as any stereotypical villain would. I hated the ignorance, and yes, even the arrogance, because it stained the air and tainted the earth- disgusting me. And yet, I found such ideals everywhere I turned my head, and I wanted to merely pat the victim of ignorance on the head and tell them that their brain was merely on back-order and would be delivered soon. Because, that was when I realized that knowledge, caution, corruption- yes, that was dangerous. But so was the blaring offensive arrogance that decayed the world's ideals- the one-sided, unopened minds that were so easy to label, turn their noses up in the air, and declare their own purity. But one can even question the accuracy of the purity of arrogance and ignorance. Perhaps the latter could be forgiven, but the former not so easily.
When I became a villain, that was when my mind opened up further than before. I didn't see things as bad- I saw them as an alternate option. Something available, but not necessarily appropriate by most standards. Don't get me wrong- I understood that some things were poisonous to the heart and mind, and were contemptible. Does it mean that I never considered them? No. In fact, I considered many things, appealing towards my darker side, the one that had been oppressed for many years.
But I suppose I had to have a wake-up call eventually, and that wake up call came in the span of a few months, watching the world as it worked and turned around me. Even in the heroes, I saw corruption and the ideals of a villain. I saw people falling from grace to my left and right, and yet they still held their heads high when they ought to have joined their brethren in the shadows of night. I saw blood flow from intangible wounds that they carved into their victims. Hearts broken, faith shattered- and yet the offenders called themselves heroes. And I laughed. Bitterly. Because true villains would never call themselves a hero. They were cut from some other material, a cloth I couldn't identify, but immediately hated. Immediately wanted to destroy.
Some habits die hard, I understand. And perhaps it was the old habit of a hero wanting to save the weak that led me to begin what quest I thought God laid at my feet. Corruption poisoned lives, I understood, and, perhaps from that thought, I understood that similar poison had led me to my darkened mindset as of late. Yes- at that moment, I understood. I understood that I'd been thrown into the perspective of villainy not by self-righteous heroes or merely coincidence, but by something fell and darker than even what things I had contemplated. And I understood, then, that more lives would be poisoned as mine had if life were to continue this way, with no interference. Nothing to destroy the disease. I had to find the vaccine to this problem, I knew. No. No, I had to be the vaccine.
Because there was a handful of evil out there clawing gashes into hearts, hanging faith in the gallows of someone's mind, parading fears before fearful eyes, and walking away from it all. Unscathed. Unmarred.
And someone had to take a stand against it all.
And why should it not have been me?
011- Hate
You could say I hate a lot of things, but I think most people do. I hate peas and cheese. I hate homework. I hate spiders. I hate waking up early for school. I hate being sick. But I figure most people hate things like that. You typically don't hear someone declare that they love homework or being sick. But those are trivial, common types of hatred. There are deeper kinds.
Like how the colonists hated British rule, though, I bet you didn't read this for a history lesson. People tell me that it wasn't hate that led to the Revolution. I don't think it was a spontaneous decision or a slight disagreement that led to the war. If someone's going to start a bloodbath, I'd guess that, well, maybe I would hope that there's something more than boredom fueling it. So, if you're telling me hate is bad... Does that mean you disagree with the Revolutionary War? Should we still be under the British flag because it's simply not okay to hate? I refuse to believe that the Bostonians had their tea party out of fun and I refuse to believe that Jefferson wrote the Declaration out of boredom. And I would like to think that Washington had something better to do on Christmas than cross the Delaware if this was all created from fleeting, purposeless thoughts.
Why do we search for cures and panaceas if we love our diseases? Why do we get vaccinations? To avoid death or disfigurement? Why do we do that? It's not out of love.
Where did the cures come from? Because there had to have been someone somewhere who hated the disease enough to start the journey to find the cure. And they hated it so much that they did find it. They did change fate for someone's life and they altered the world. And some of us call them heroes... But they hated.
In a world without dark, would we know what light is? Would it not just be, because there isn't one or the other, and nothing to compare the two, because there's just the one, and that's all we've ever known. So there would be no words to define them. No word to name them. Would you know what hot is if there was no cold? It would be consistency.
A speaker at Winterfest told me that he converted an entire faculty of a hotel to Christianity in the course of one night. One of his arguments was that if there was no bad in the world, we could never know what the good was. And so, hate is in this world, the same as bad, the same as cold, the same as dark. And without hate, we would never know love, because there would be no spectrum, just the one, just the consistency. There would be no intimacy, no affection. It would be the colorless world that you hear about in books like The Giver.
I'm not saying it's perfectly fine to hate, because I know that hate can be a dangerous animal. It can cause people to shoot to kill, to tear down their enemies ruthlessly- that's not the kind of hate that I speak of. That's the kind that should be condemned, not the kind that yearns for reform- to cure the disease, to forge a country away from corrupted sovereigns, something that can help measure love in someone's life. Just as with anything else you could possibly find in the world, too much of hate is never good. But I never understood why people said not to hate, because hate can be the thing that saves lives. It can be the thing that stops corruption. It can be the thing that cures cancer.
Like how the colonists hated British rule, though, I bet you didn't read this for a history lesson. People tell me that it wasn't hate that led to the Revolution. I don't think it was a spontaneous decision or a slight disagreement that led to the war. If someone's going to start a bloodbath, I'd guess that, well, maybe I would hope that there's something more than boredom fueling it. So, if you're telling me hate is bad... Does that mean you disagree with the Revolutionary War? Should we still be under the British flag because it's simply not okay to hate? I refuse to believe that the Bostonians had their tea party out of fun and I refuse to believe that Jefferson wrote the Declaration out of boredom. And I would like to think that Washington had something better to do on Christmas than cross the Delaware if this was all created from fleeting, purposeless thoughts.
Why do we search for cures and panaceas if we love our diseases? Why do we get vaccinations? To avoid death or disfigurement? Why do we do that? It's not out of love.
Where did the cures come from? Because there had to have been someone somewhere who hated the disease enough to start the journey to find the cure. And they hated it so much that they did find it. They did change fate for someone's life and they altered the world. And some of us call them heroes... But they hated.
In a world without dark, would we know what light is? Would it not just be, because there isn't one or the other, and nothing to compare the two, because there's just the one, and that's all we've ever known. So there would be no words to define them. No word to name them. Would you know what hot is if there was no cold? It would be consistency.
A speaker at Winterfest told me that he converted an entire faculty of a hotel to Christianity in the course of one night. One of his arguments was that if there was no bad in the world, we could never know what the good was. And so, hate is in this world, the same as bad, the same as cold, the same as dark. And without hate, we would never know love, because there would be no spectrum, just the one, just the consistency. There would be no intimacy, no affection. It would be the colorless world that you hear about in books like The Giver.
I'm not saying it's perfectly fine to hate, because I know that hate can be a dangerous animal. It can cause people to shoot to kill, to tear down their enemies ruthlessly- that's not the kind of hate that I speak of. That's the kind that should be condemned, not the kind that yearns for reform- to cure the disease, to forge a country away from corrupted sovereigns, something that can help measure love in someone's life. Just as with anything else you could possibly find in the world, too much of hate is never good. But I never understood why people said not to hate, because hate can be the thing that saves lives. It can be the thing that stops corruption. It can be the thing that cures cancer.
010- Delirious
I knew something was wrong when my music started waving at me.
Sometimes, I get stomachaches. It usually occurs after I've eaten too much something. But I realized, this time, it wasn't because I'd eaten too much of something. It was because my stomach was just angry with the world. I'll admit that my eating habits had been... Well, it would be a joke to say I had eating habits in the first place. My body hates eating sometimes, and that week had been no exception. To be frank, I hadn't been hungry for an entire week, and nothing had really bothered me about it. I was busy all the time. I was a stressed student. There was too much on my mind, and food was just another one of those things I forgot about.
So when my stomach started hurting, it didn't occur to me that I was hungry. It occurred to me that I was, once again, sick with one of those awful stomachaches that didn't go away until I napped for approximately three hours. Usually, I can manage them until the end of the school day, but this particular one was very bothersome. Over and over, I felt something inside twist and stab at me. Pain spread through my torso and I felt as though my entire body was racked in agony. But I didn't let it show- as usual. It was best if the others didn't know I felt like I was about to die. I didn't want for them to worry.
There was a gap of time that I don't exactly remember. But there was a very bright light in the white, reeling halls. I noticed they seemed brighter than usual, but my main focus was on my balance, which seemed off. I looked, saw people moving past me as blurred images. I blinked. Nothing changed. No focusing of the eyes, just the same foggy pictures. I wondered why this was so. But, somewhere in my confusion, a solid concept was clearer over everything. Something was wrong inside. Something that I knew I could not fix on my own. I needed help. Badly.
Familiar face. That was what I searched for, and I'm not exactly sure how I ran into Eric. But I found him, and that panicked part of me was desperate to make sure he didn't leave me like this. I felt my knees quaking as I stood, chills running through my limbs and my vision was disoriented. He was in and out of focus...
"Hey." I tried to sound casual, "I don't feel so good." I think I chuckled.
"I'm sure you're fine."
He didn't seem to care.
"No." I was adamant. "I think there's something wrong with me."
There's a gap of time lost here. A time where, somehow, we ended up on the other side of the hall. I just wanted to lie down- that's was all I could think about. All I could focus on. The pain was spreading across my body, the weakness echoing. It took a lot to breathe. A lot to think. I'm dying... Panic flooded everything, sweeping in and collapsing the solid pieces of my mind. I'm dying, aren't I? I knew I hadn't eaten in awhile. I knew I had skipped out on breakfast this morning.
"Did you take something?"
Did I take something? I couldn't remember... Wait. Yes. Yes, I had. My father had given me these little pink circle pills. I didn't know how many I had taken. I didn't even know how many I was supposed to have taken. All I could hear in the panicked walls of my mind were breathing. Heartbeats. And faint voices from the present.
I don't even know how Ifill got there. She just appeared out of the starry, bright world around me. I think I said something to her. I don't recall.
There was another gap in time, and I ended up in another room. I was in a chair. The orchestra room...?
There are vague faces. Mrs. Mills. Camlyn. People staring at me. I didn't like all the attention. It was embarrassing.
"Have you eaten?"
"No..."
And that's when I remembered that I hadn't eaten breakfast. Hadn't eaten dinner. Skipped lunch and breakfast the previous days. Perhaps I had dinner the day before that, but it was all very hazy now.
Eric was digging through his bag now. He was looking for something. He pulled out a granola bar, and began opening the wrapper up. I stared at him blankly. That's ridiculous. Like a little granola bar is going to help this... I thought dryly, but he handed it to me anyways. I took it, clasping it as though it was life itself, and began eating.
Somehow, during all of this, I'm told I dialed my dad's number, but I handed the phone to Eric. I'm not entirely sure how the conversation went down. All I know is that I was told my father was coming to get me. They all stood around me like I was something important, sort of doing that odd 'leaning over' stance. It reminded me of the movies, or video games- where the protagonist would awaken to find people leaning over him. I guess that always happens right before they club you over the head and drag you off to the mad scientist's lab. I'm rambling now. I couldn't think straight.
All we could do was wait. I finished off the granola bars, the world wavering around me. Waving hello, I guess, just like my music had. All we could do was wait, wait... And, sometimes, I think I would forget. And the bits of the pain and confusion, I wanted to forget. Some time later, I ended up back at my house, in my room, still partially delirious. The last thing I can remember was collapsing on my bed, absolutely exhausted.
Sometimes, I get stomachaches. It usually occurs after I've eaten too much something. But I realized, this time, it wasn't because I'd eaten too much of something. It was because my stomach was just angry with the world. I'll admit that my eating habits had been... Well, it would be a joke to say I had eating habits in the first place. My body hates eating sometimes, and that week had been no exception. To be frank, I hadn't been hungry for an entire week, and nothing had really bothered me about it. I was busy all the time. I was a stressed student. There was too much on my mind, and food was just another one of those things I forgot about.
So when my stomach started hurting, it didn't occur to me that I was hungry. It occurred to me that I was, once again, sick with one of those awful stomachaches that didn't go away until I napped for approximately three hours. Usually, I can manage them until the end of the school day, but this particular one was very bothersome. Over and over, I felt something inside twist and stab at me. Pain spread through my torso and I felt as though my entire body was racked in agony. But I didn't let it show- as usual. It was best if the others didn't know I felt like I was about to die. I didn't want for them to worry.
There was a gap of time that I don't exactly remember. But there was a very bright light in the white, reeling halls. I noticed they seemed brighter than usual, but my main focus was on my balance, which seemed off. I looked, saw people moving past me as blurred images. I blinked. Nothing changed. No focusing of the eyes, just the same foggy pictures. I wondered why this was so. But, somewhere in my confusion, a solid concept was clearer over everything. Something was wrong inside. Something that I knew I could not fix on my own. I needed help. Badly.
Familiar face. That was what I searched for, and I'm not exactly sure how I ran into Eric. But I found him, and that panicked part of me was desperate to make sure he didn't leave me like this. I felt my knees quaking as I stood, chills running through my limbs and my vision was disoriented. He was in and out of focus...
"Hey." I tried to sound casual, "I don't feel so good." I think I chuckled.
"I'm sure you're fine."
He didn't seem to care.
"No." I was adamant. "I think there's something wrong with me."
There's a gap of time lost here. A time where, somehow, we ended up on the other side of the hall. I just wanted to lie down- that's was all I could think about. All I could focus on. The pain was spreading across my body, the weakness echoing. It took a lot to breathe. A lot to think. I'm dying... Panic flooded everything, sweeping in and collapsing the solid pieces of my mind. I'm dying, aren't I? I knew I hadn't eaten in awhile. I knew I had skipped out on breakfast this morning.
"Did you take something?"
Did I take something? I couldn't remember... Wait. Yes. Yes, I had. My father had given me these little pink circle pills. I didn't know how many I had taken. I didn't even know how many I was supposed to have taken. All I could hear in the panicked walls of my mind were breathing. Heartbeats. And faint voices from the present.
I don't even know how Ifill got there. She just appeared out of the starry, bright world around me. I think I said something to her. I don't recall.
There was another gap in time, and I ended up in another room. I was in a chair. The orchestra room...?
There are vague faces. Mrs. Mills. Camlyn. People staring at me. I didn't like all the attention. It was embarrassing.
"Have you eaten?"
"No..."
And that's when I remembered that I hadn't eaten breakfast. Hadn't eaten dinner. Skipped lunch and breakfast the previous days. Perhaps I had dinner the day before that, but it was all very hazy now.
Eric was digging through his bag now. He was looking for something. He pulled out a granola bar, and began opening the wrapper up. I stared at him blankly. That's ridiculous. Like a little granola bar is going to help this... I thought dryly, but he handed it to me anyways. I took it, clasping it as though it was life itself, and began eating.
Somehow, during all of this, I'm told I dialed my dad's number, but I handed the phone to Eric. I'm not entirely sure how the conversation went down. All I know is that I was told my father was coming to get me. They all stood around me like I was something important, sort of doing that odd 'leaning over' stance. It reminded me of the movies, or video games- where the protagonist would awaken to find people leaning over him. I guess that always happens right before they club you over the head and drag you off to the mad scientist's lab. I'm rambling now. I couldn't think straight.
All we could do was wait. I finished off the granola bars, the world wavering around me. Waving hello, I guess, just like my music had. All we could do was wait, wait... And, sometimes, I think I would forget. And the bits of the pain and confusion, I wanted to forget. Some time later, I ended up back at my house, in my room, still partially delirious. The last thing I can remember was collapsing on my bed, absolutely exhausted.
009- All of My Memories
When you listen to a song, there's a story that goes along with it. The story you see is not the story the person next to you sees, because it's your story. We have this inherent need to feel as though something relates to us, we seek out familiarity. I used to do this all the time- I used to feel the connection to just about any song I heard on the radio. Now, I'm older, wiser, and, no, I don't always feel connected to music, especially if it doesn't seem remotely related to my life at all (ie- Low by Florida). But there are some songs that bring up images and memories.
I associate various stages of my life to music- specific artists and songs especially. When I lived in my first house, I see everything in the layout perfectly (I mean, after all, I pretty much spent eight years there, why wouldn't I remember it perfectly?). And if I had to tell you what music I thought of when I thought of my first house, I would easily tell you that the first artist that came to mind was 'N Sync, followed shortly by the Backstreet Boys. I was obsessed, even when I was little and all of the lyrics went over my head. And when we moved out of that house, my taste in music seemed to change more drastically. My family got into Christian music, specifically Third Day, Mercy Me, and Steven Curtis Chapman.
And when I came to Oklahoma at age 9? It stayed the same up until I hit sixth grade, then it was all about Thousand Foot Krutch, TobyMac, and Skillet. "Phenomenon" by Thousand Foot Krutch was easily my favorite song of all time at that point, but even that started to get overshadows by various other artists. I got into Linkin Park at this stage, branched off of all Christian bands, and sort of delved into artists like Breaking Benjamin and Nickleback. Seventh grade, it was Linkin Park's "Lying From You". Eight grade, it was Nickleback's "Hero". And upon entering high school, my music taste changed from rock to upbeat artists like Cascada or D.H.T. or Daft Punk. If you wanted the specific song that was very popular my freshman year, it would've been Cascada's "Everytime We Touch"- which was always, no matter what, sung on the bus going from the school to any given football game.
Music had always been a major factor in how I shaped my life. If I could have my way, there would be background music for pretty much anything I do in my life. Personally, I found that music seems to cause a greater impact on certain situations. And, I've found that my iPod likes to be particularly ironic when it's on shuffle mode.
There are songs that I can't listen to without it reminding me of something else. And, maybe even that 'something else' has made me hate the song itself. But I guess that the song is only guilty by association.
When I listen to "Party All the Time" by the Black Eyed Peas, I think of this past summer, 2010. It reminds me of shorts, running around in tank tops until our backs were sun burnt and bubbled. It reminds me of when I dyed my hair blue, when we spent the days driving all around Edmond in Ifill's car. When we lived at Orange Leaf and Buffalo Wild Wings, and we had bonfires seemingly every other week. It reminds me of the evening air, the sound of cars driving on paved roads, the sight of the sun dipping below the horizon, and my dad sending me frantic text messages around 9 to see if I was coming home.
"Without You" by 3 Doors Down reminds me of band camp my junior year- all the dirty jokes and meeting so many new people. I think it was because that year, I was home alone during that entire week and I kept listening to that song. It wasn't that I didn't mind being home alone. It got quiet, but I would always listen to music to keep the silence at bay. 3 Doors Down kept popping up on shuffle that year, and "Without You" kept getting stuck in my head.
Aerosmith in general reminds me of my mother, because she would always have their greatest hits playing in her van whenever she would pick me up from school. She would always sing along, and I swear we had that CD playing in that car on loop for two years before we took it out. Specifically, I recall sitting at the bank for thirty minutes one time in my mom's gold van, listening to songs like "The Other Side" and "Livin' on The Edge" and "Deuces Are Wild".
"Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)" by Journey played at a Sonic after one of my breakups with a boyfriend, and that song just never felt the same to me. I can't listen to it anymore. I don't even like seeing it on my iPod.
"Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen reminds me of many things, specifically my freshman year band banquet, where Jonny Cox, Woodson Garman, Andy Gibson, and Matt Polito all stood in front of the DJ at the dance and sang at the top of their lungs, arms interlocked, and swaying back and forth. And after that, I had to help carry on the tradition. Now, more clearly, I see images of doing this with Ifill, Jon, Amanda, Jeff, and Kylee in front of Orange Leaf in the parking lot. I still see the odd looks we received that summer day. I still smell the fresh air and I can still see the evening, dark blue sky.
"Smooth" by Santana and Rob Thomas will forever remind me of the cruise to Alaska, because that was the first song I heard on the ship from their band. And that continued to play that song throughout the remainder of the trip. I can hear the guitar and still see the placid, freezing ocean, the mother seals with their pups, and the icebergs that littered the great, vast blue. And I can still taste the 'All You Can Eat' free ice cream.
"Hide And Seek" by Imogean Heap will remind me of my junior year of marching season because that was the only song the people leading stretch would ever really play. And, at first, I'll admit, I was not entirely keen on this song, but it was great for meditating and thinking. And, for my sophomore year, the song they played was "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey. Particularly during OBA, we stretched in the grass, far from the rest of the bands, and we listened to the song. People passing by stared at us, but we didn't care. I personally thought we looked incredibly badass, but that was just me.
Breaking Benjamin's "Into the Nothing", reminds me of the trip to L.A. with the band. Specifically, it reminds, even torments me as I recall being forced against my will into a haunted house. They had lied when they told me it was a roller coaster. There was just no closing your eyes and waiting it out for this one. It was a danger zone. But another story for another time.
When I recall previous schemes and shenanigans, the music that plays in my mind's labyrinth (because it is very much a labyrinth), is Pink's "Trouble". And, surprisingly enough, you would find that those lyrics are incredibly accurate to portions of my lifestyle.
And there are things like "Paralyzer" by Finger Eleven and "Hey Jude" by the Beatles that I try and try to forget, but no matter what happens, I keep remembering. And it's an entire shaker of salt in a gaping wound.
And when I hear "Memories" by Within Temptation, I'm taken back two years, to the girl with long, dark brown hair that was standing in front of the mirror in a white, button-up shirt under a dark jacket and black pants. Lightly painting on crimson lipstick, feeling nothing and seeing nothing in her own, solid green eyes as she prepared herself for her mother's funeral. And even now, I feel my throat is itchy, scratchy, maybe even with a lump somewhere.
So many stories, so little time. Little bits of a puzzle, still only half-completed, and the image still unknown. But it always gets clearer when I listen to music. And who knows what will happen years from now. Or what song I'll use to define my final year of high school.
I associate various stages of my life to music- specific artists and songs especially. When I lived in my first house, I see everything in the layout perfectly (I mean, after all, I pretty much spent eight years there, why wouldn't I remember it perfectly?). And if I had to tell you what music I thought of when I thought of my first house, I would easily tell you that the first artist that came to mind was 'N Sync, followed shortly by the Backstreet Boys. I was obsessed, even when I was little and all of the lyrics went over my head. And when we moved out of that house, my taste in music seemed to change more drastically. My family got into Christian music, specifically Third Day, Mercy Me, and Steven Curtis Chapman.
And when I came to Oklahoma at age 9? It stayed the same up until I hit sixth grade, then it was all about Thousand Foot Krutch, TobyMac, and Skillet. "Phenomenon" by Thousand Foot Krutch was easily my favorite song of all time at that point, but even that started to get overshadows by various other artists. I got into Linkin Park at this stage, branched off of all Christian bands, and sort of delved into artists like Breaking Benjamin and Nickleback. Seventh grade, it was Linkin Park's "Lying From You". Eight grade, it was Nickleback's "Hero". And upon entering high school, my music taste changed from rock to upbeat artists like Cascada or D.H.T. or Daft Punk. If you wanted the specific song that was very popular my freshman year, it would've been Cascada's "Everytime We Touch"- which was always, no matter what, sung on the bus going from the school to any given football game.
Music had always been a major factor in how I shaped my life. If I could have my way, there would be background music for pretty much anything I do in my life. Personally, I found that music seems to cause a greater impact on certain situations. And, I've found that my iPod likes to be particularly ironic when it's on shuffle mode.
There are songs that I can't listen to without it reminding me of something else. And, maybe even that 'something else' has made me hate the song itself. But I guess that the song is only guilty by association.
When I listen to "Party All the Time" by the Black Eyed Peas, I think of this past summer, 2010. It reminds me of shorts, running around in tank tops until our backs were sun burnt and bubbled. It reminds me of when I dyed my hair blue, when we spent the days driving all around Edmond in Ifill's car. When we lived at Orange Leaf and Buffalo Wild Wings, and we had bonfires seemingly every other week. It reminds me of the evening air, the sound of cars driving on paved roads, the sight of the sun dipping below the horizon, and my dad sending me frantic text messages around 9 to see if I was coming home.
"Without You" by 3 Doors Down reminds me of band camp my junior year- all the dirty jokes and meeting so many new people. I think it was because that year, I was home alone during that entire week and I kept listening to that song. It wasn't that I didn't mind being home alone. It got quiet, but I would always listen to music to keep the silence at bay. 3 Doors Down kept popping up on shuffle that year, and "Without You" kept getting stuck in my head.
Aerosmith in general reminds me of my mother, because she would always have their greatest hits playing in her van whenever she would pick me up from school. She would always sing along, and I swear we had that CD playing in that car on loop for two years before we took it out. Specifically, I recall sitting at the bank for thirty minutes one time in my mom's gold van, listening to songs like "The Other Side" and "Livin' on The Edge" and "Deuces Are Wild".
"Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)" by Journey played at a Sonic after one of my breakups with a boyfriend, and that song just never felt the same to me. I can't listen to it anymore. I don't even like seeing it on my iPod.
"Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen reminds me of many things, specifically my freshman year band banquet, where Jonny Cox, Woodson Garman, Andy Gibson, and Matt Polito all stood in front of the DJ at the dance and sang at the top of their lungs, arms interlocked, and swaying back and forth. And after that, I had to help carry on the tradition. Now, more clearly, I see images of doing this with Ifill, Jon, Amanda, Jeff, and Kylee in front of Orange Leaf in the parking lot. I still see the odd looks we received that summer day. I still smell the fresh air and I can still see the evening, dark blue sky.
"Smooth" by Santana and Rob Thomas will forever remind me of the cruise to Alaska, because that was the first song I heard on the ship from their band. And that continued to play that song throughout the remainder of the trip. I can hear the guitar and still see the placid, freezing ocean, the mother seals with their pups, and the icebergs that littered the great, vast blue. And I can still taste the 'All You Can Eat' free ice cream.
"Hide And Seek" by Imogean Heap will remind me of my junior year of marching season because that was the only song the people leading stretch would ever really play. And, at first, I'll admit, I was not entirely keen on this song, but it was great for meditating and thinking. And, for my sophomore year, the song they played was "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey. Particularly during OBA, we stretched in the grass, far from the rest of the bands, and we listened to the song. People passing by stared at us, but we didn't care. I personally thought we looked incredibly badass, but that was just me.
Breaking Benjamin's "Into the Nothing", reminds me of the trip to L.A. with the band. Specifically, it reminds, even torments me as I recall being forced against my will into a haunted house. They had lied when they told me it was a roller coaster. There was just no closing your eyes and waiting it out for this one. It was a danger zone. But another story for another time.
When I recall previous schemes and shenanigans, the music that plays in my mind's labyrinth (because it is very much a labyrinth), is Pink's "Trouble". And, surprisingly enough, you would find that those lyrics are incredibly accurate to portions of my lifestyle.
And there are things like "Paralyzer" by Finger Eleven and "Hey Jude" by the Beatles that I try and try to forget, but no matter what happens, I keep remembering. And it's an entire shaker of salt in a gaping wound.
And when I hear "Memories" by Within Temptation, I'm taken back two years, to the girl with long, dark brown hair that was standing in front of the mirror in a white, button-up shirt under a dark jacket and black pants. Lightly painting on crimson lipstick, feeling nothing and seeing nothing in her own, solid green eyes as she prepared herself for her mother's funeral. And even now, I feel my throat is itchy, scratchy, maybe even with a lump somewhere.
So many stories, so little time. Little bits of a puzzle, still only half-completed, and the image still unknown. But it always gets clearer when I listen to music. And who knows what will happen years from now. Or what song I'll use to define my final year of high school.
008- Judges
I've realized a lot of humans are a lot of talk and not nearly enough walk. From the start, we're always told to treat people nicely, or to try to see things from their perspective. I've found it hard to see things from another's perspective, and I'm certain I'm not the only one. There are things engraved into our minds that never can leave, never can be understood, never can be worked around. Today, there was a dawning at approximately 4:30 p.m. today, and, for me, the world was shaded a thousand more colors than it had been. Everything was glass. Just for that split second.
My fear of spiders is irrational, and I know it is. Perhaps that's the first step of getting over that fear, but, to me, it didn't really matter if it was rational or not. I've always tried to justify why I fear them, but there's nothing. They look funny? No. I'm sure if I was scared of any other thing, I'd say that it looked funny, too. They can bite you? I live with five dogs. They could easily bite me, too. They're nasty! Yes, well, so are a lot of things in life. An hour into being locked out of my house, March 18th, 2011, I sat on Eric's couch, and the main topic of debate was the remote control spider he had- a very realistic looking one, mind you. He told me that it didn't matter because it wasn't real, yet the thing terrified the snot out of me when I saw it from a distance. I guess it makes sense that it isn't harmful- it's plastic. Colby once told me that it was cute- I didn't understand that remotely. It seems so silly to be scared of a spider, much less a fake one. Maybe it's what it symbolizes that frightens me? I digress... The conversation led to the point where I realized that the concept of not fearing a spider was just foreign to me. I didn't understand how he could look at it and not feel like running. I didn't understand how he could stand to pick it up, hold it, touch it, much less try to show it to someone else. It didn't click, couldn't click.
Today, I looked through my old music. When I was in middle school, I'd been big on getting soundtracks from movies. Not going to lie, I loved Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. I thought it was an excellent movie, and, well, anything with Matt Damon is worth watching, even if it is just his voice. I've had the soundtrack for some time now. I hadn't listened to it in years, though, and I just started to listen to the many songs- both instrumentals and songs featuring Bryan Adams. It felt like a breath of fresh air from the songs you hear on the radio nowadays- the ones about sex, drugs, hitting your girlfriend, and killing people. And there's just something about listening to a song after time has passed and your life has moved on when you realize what the song really is about. I've done this so many times. Over and over again. But something about this one hit me harder than the others did.
You Can't Take Me. I don't know why it stood out, but I've always loved this song. The imagery of fighting is definitely prominent in most of my favorite song selections- "This is War" by 30 Seconds to Mars, "Monster" by Skillet, "Unbreakable" by Fireflight, etc. "You Can't Take Me" definitely doesn't carry the blaring gore and death of modern day "fighting" songs, and perhaps that is what makes it more profound than the ones blasting on 102.7.
"Gotta fight another fight
Gotta run another night
Get it out
Check it out
I'm on my way and I don't feel right
I got to get me back
I can't be beat and that's a fact
It's okay, I'll find a way,
You ain't gonna take me down, no way."
I guess it sounds dumb, comparing myself to a song about a mustang. But there was a click, then. A dawn. An understanding, and a thought.
"Don't judge a thing until you know what's inside it,
Don't push me, I'll fight it
Never gonna give in,
Never gonna give it up, no
If you can't catch a wave,
Then you're never gonna ride it
You can't come uninvited,
Never gonna give in,
Never gonna give it up, no.
You can't take me, I'm free."
I was caught on the first line. I was so caught on the first line that the rest of the song was a blur. Don't judge a thing until you know what's inside it... And, now, sitting here with the aroma of Sex on the Beach drifting in my room, at past midnight in the wee hours of Saturday, in a cushioned chair, I have stitched the concepts together.
There's phrases we say nowadays. "Don't judge"- that's the main one I want to discuss. I find it amusing that people say not to judge them, probably more so because that invites for others to judge and that, odds are, the person who said it is very judgmental (why else would they be worried about being judged?). But, maybe there's an inkling of truth in their words, maybe society shouldn't judge. I could go on a rant about how sometimes judging is good, but, for this note's sake, we'll say that we shouldn't judge the actions of some people.
Face it, there's that one thing in life that you have done that you're worried about people knowing, people judging. And, perhaps, their judgment terrifies you and that's why you keep your secrets. I'm not one to judge- I have secrets, too, we all have secrets. But here's the idea- how could other people judge you? They don't live your life. They don't see the things you see, they haven't experienced what you have experienced. Their judgment is very askew, in other words, because they may or may not understand the situation. And perhaps, it's impossible for people to understand, fully, what others think and how others perceive things, because there's still that chance that they believe something you cannot believe, cannot even bring yourself to believe- just as how I could not believe that spiders were not scary, and were, in fact, cute.
I hate it when people ask me why I did something. "Why did you say that?" or "Why did you do that, Emily?" And then, I try to explain, and it's like the words are hitting a stone wall. And, it's funny when they get mad. Funny when they get upset. Funny when it just doesn't click. Because I tried to explain. And they can never wrap their minds around it, just as I can't wrap my mind around not wanting to scream and run at the sight of a spider. Maybe it's because mankind is too hard-headed to accept some alternative viewpoints on life (isn't that why we have so many wars?), or maybe it's that we cannot physically, mentally, or emotionally think in a way different from how God created us.
I'd suggest a fix, but I cannot see one other than trying to understand, just as we've all been trying to understand. I guess it doesn't solve much- not world peace or certainly not my phobia. The world would do well to remind itself that the experiences of individuals affect the way they perceive things. The world would do well to not judge a thing until they know what's inside it- as impossible as it is, as improbable as it ever will be that the world would ever heed the advice from an 18-year-old Texan, maybe someone would benefit from it. Maybe there would be less drama in the world. Less conflict. Less hatred. The least we can do is try to understand. Try to see things from another person's eyes.
My fear of spiders is irrational, and I know it is. Perhaps that's the first step of getting over that fear, but, to me, it didn't really matter if it was rational or not. I've always tried to justify why I fear them, but there's nothing. They look funny? No. I'm sure if I was scared of any other thing, I'd say that it looked funny, too. They can bite you? I live with five dogs. They could easily bite me, too. They're nasty! Yes, well, so are a lot of things in life. An hour into being locked out of my house, March 18th, 2011, I sat on Eric's couch, and the main topic of debate was the remote control spider he had- a very realistic looking one, mind you. He told me that it didn't matter because it wasn't real, yet the thing terrified the snot out of me when I saw it from a distance. I guess it makes sense that it isn't harmful- it's plastic. Colby once told me that it was cute- I didn't understand that remotely. It seems so silly to be scared of a spider, much less a fake one. Maybe it's what it symbolizes that frightens me? I digress... The conversation led to the point where I realized that the concept of not fearing a spider was just foreign to me. I didn't understand how he could look at it and not feel like running. I didn't understand how he could stand to pick it up, hold it, touch it, much less try to show it to someone else. It didn't click, couldn't click.
Today, I looked through my old music. When I was in middle school, I'd been big on getting soundtracks from movies. Not going to lie, I loved Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. I thought it was an excellent movie, and, well, anything with Matt Damon is worth watching, even if it is just his voice. I've had the soundtrack for some time now. I hadn't listened to it in years, though, and I just started to listen to the many songs- both instrumentals and songs featuring Bryan Adams. It felt like a breath of fresh air from the songs you hear on the radio nowadays- the ones about sex, drugs, hitting your girlfriend, and killing people. And there's just something about listening to a song after time has passed and your life has moved on when you realize what the song really is about. I've done this so many times. Over and over again. But something about this one hit me harder than the others did.
You Can't Take Me. I don't know why it stood out, but I've always loved this song. The imagery of fighting is definitely prominent in most of my favorite song selections- "This is War" by 30 Seconds to Mars, "Monster" by Skillet, "Unbreakable" by Fireflight, etc. "You Can't Take Me" definitely doesn't carry the blaring gore and death of modern day "fighting" songs, and perhaps that is what makes it more profound than the ones blasting on 102.7.
"Gotta fight another fight
Gotta run another night
Get it out
Check it out
I'm on my way and I don't feel right
I got to get me back
I can't be beat and that's a fact
It's okay, I'll find a way,
You ain't gonna take me down, no way."
I guess it sounds dumb, comparing myself to a song about a mustang. But there was a click, then. A dawn. An understanding, and a thought.
"Don't judge a thing until you know what's inside it,
Don't push me, I'll fight it
Never gonna give in,
Never gonna give it up, no
If you can't catch a wave,
Then you're never gonna ride it
You can't come uninvited,
Never gonna give in,
Never gonna give it up, no.
You can't take me, I'm free."
I was caught on the first line. I was so caught on the first line that the rest of the song was a blur. Don't judge a thing until you know what's inside it... And, now, sitting here with the aroma of Sex on the Beach drifting in my room, at past midnight in the wee hours of Saturday, in a cushioned chair, I have stitched the concepts together.
There's phrases we say nowadays. "Don't judge"- that's the main one I want to discuss. I find it amusing that people say not to judge them, probably more so because that invites for others to judge and that, odds are, the person who said it is very judgmental (why else would they be worried about being judged?). But, maybe there's an inkling of truth in their words, maybe society shouldn't judge. I could go on a rant about how sometimes judging is good, but, for this note's sake, we'll say that we shouldn't judge the actions of some people.
Face it, there's that one thing in life that you have done that you're worried about people knowing, people judging. And, perhaps, their judgment terrifies you and that's why you keep your secrets. I'm not one to judge- I have secrets, too, we all have secrets. But here's the idea- how could other people judge you? They don't live your life. They don't see the things you see, they haven't experienced what you have experienced. Their judgment is very askew, in other words, because they may or may not understand the situation. And perhaps, it's impossible for people to understand, fully, what others think and how others perceive things, because there's still that chance that they believe something you cannot believe, cannot even bring yourself to believe- just as how I could not believe that spiders were not scary, and were, in fact, cute.
I hate it when people ask me why I did something. "Why did you say that?" or "Why did you do that, Emily?" And then, I try to explain, and it's like the words are hitting a stone wall. And, it's funny when they get mad. Funny when they get upset. Funny when it just doesn't click. Because I tried to explain. And they can never wrap their minds around it, just as I can't wrap my mind around not wanting to scream and run at the sight of a spider. Maybe it's because mankind is too hard-headed to accept some alternative viewpoints on life (isn't that why we have so many wars?), or maybe it's that we cannot physically, mentally, or emotionally think in a way different from how God created us.
I'd suggest a fix, but I cannot see one other than trying to understand, just as we've all been trying to understand. I guess it doesn't solve much- not world peace or certainly not my phobia. The world would do well to remind itself that the experiences of individuals affect the way they perceive things. The world would do well to not judge a thing until they know what's inside it- as impossible as it is, as improbable as it ever will be that the world would ever heed the advice from an 18-year-old Texan, maybe someone would benefit from it. Maybe there would be less drama in the world. Less conflict. Less hatred. The least we can do is try to understand. Try to see things from another person's eyes.
007- Life Is a Comic Book And the Whole World a TV Show
When I was younger, I used to watch a lot of television. Though my appetite for television shows as dwindled recently after the ending of several of my favorite shows (namely 24, Heroes, and Lost), I still flip through the channels once a week or so- just to see what's on. I've not been able to really find something that truly captures my attention other than Glee or Big Bang Theory. I thought to try Bones or Castle. Firefly was okay. I'm only halfway through it and I can't seem to understand why it's such a big cult. In some episodes, it's very... cheesy, to put it mildly. V went boring for me. American Idol was just repetitive. And Will and Grace? I've seen every re-run they play.
Smallville, though, that was one that always intrigued me- even after the dull seasons. I haven't seen the past two seasons, mind you, but it's getting to its final season this upcoming year, I think. Or it's on its final season now. I haven't been keeping up with it for awhile, especially after- spoiler alert- they killed Doomsday and Jimmy in one dramatic finale. They took Lex Luthor off the show (no doubt because the actor was sick and tired of the same role over and over and over again... It was probably like deja-vu to him all the time), and they eventually even took Green Arrow off the show (I mean, come on, Oliver Queen was cute, funny, and had a dark past- everything a fan girl wanted in a guy!) along with Chloe Sullivan (the best sidekick character ever in television existence). The thing, though, that always intrigued me about the show was that you knew what would happen. I guess it made things no fun because you knew that Clark would end up as Superman, Lois would end up being in love with him (though she could deny it all she wanted), Lex would be a super villain, and the troubles of Superman would, seemingly, never end.
I guess that concept got me thinking: Lex is expected to go evil, so most people see him as a villain in the show- even before he actually falls to corruption. Personally, I think that pre-corrupted Lex was the best character of the series (though Oliver is a close second... maybe first... or second... or first....), but that's just an opinion. In the first seasons of the show, you see Lex as emotionally abused, backstabbed constantly, and almost assassinated probably a hundred times. His father conspires against him, drugs him, throws him in a psych ward at some point, and things just go downhill from there. And, throughout the entirety of the series, you see a transformation of a man who meant very well to a monster who was bent on vengeance and taking over the world.
And the audience expected it.
What if the world was a television show, and your life was a comic book? What if you were supposed to be Lex Luthor and you were supposed to turn into a monster? Wouldn't it be odd, if you were the villain all along? Everyone sees themselves as a protagonist, and the people that oppose you- they must be the villains. Lex was nefarious in the movies and comics- and even towards the end of Smallville. But did he ever think he was the hero?
What if the world was watching your life as it played through your high school and college years, watching the little fledgling of an adult as they slowly turned to corruption? What if the things you did were precursors to disaster later on? What if your best friend ended up being your nemesis? And what if you were destined to be in a lifelong struggle against them?
I'm an idealist. I don't like to say that there is necessarily good or evil, because, maybe there was a reason that someone did something bad, and we're just too narrow-minded to understand why. Because I know that I've done things that people could classify as "bad", and not understand the motivation. Because I've seen people try to justify actions and it never seems right to me. I think there's a standard we're all conditioned to following- holding the door open for little old ladies is good, and murdering people is bad. Perhaps evil is based off of perspective. Or perhaps it's based off something greater than the human mind can comprehend.
But wouldn't it be interesting if you were destined to be a villain? Wouldn't it be interesting if the world was waiting for you to don your tights and put on your cape and save the world? It'd be so ironic. So hilarious. So perfect, in some cases.
If it's any comfort, there are people watching your life. You might not end up as Clark Kent or Lex Luthor- you might not end up on television, but every action has a reaction, doesn't it? Even if it's not tangible, it's still there.
And these are the things that I ponder...
Smallville, though, that was one that always intrigued me- even after the dull seasons. I haven't seen the past two seasons, mind you, but it's getting to its final season this upcoming year, I think. Or it's on its final season now. I haven't been keeping up with it for awhile, especially after- spoiler alert- they killed Doomsday and Jimmy in one dramatic finale. They took Lex Luthor off the show (no doubt because the actor was sick and tired of the same role over and over and over again... It was probably like deja-vu to him all the time), and they eventually even took Green Arrow off the show (I mean, come on, Oliver Queen was cute, funny, and had a dark past- everything a fan girl wanted in a guy!) along with Chloe Sullivan (the best sidekick character ever in television existence). The thing, though, that always intrigued me about the show was that you knew what would happen. I guess it made things no fun because you knew that Clark would end up as Superman, Lois would end up being in love with him (though she could deny it all she wanted), Lex would be a super villain, and the troubles of Superman would, seemingly, never end.
I guess that concept got me thinking: Lex is expected to go evil, so most people see him as a villain in the show- even before he actually falls to corruption. Personally, I think that pre-corrupted Lex was the best character of the series (though Oliver is a close second... maybe first... or second... or first....), but that's just an opinion. In the first seasons of the show, you see Lex as emotionally abused, backstabbed constantly, and almost assassinated probably a hundred times. His father conspires against him, drugs him, throws him in a psych ward at some point, and things just go downhill from there. And, throughout the entirety of the series, you see a transformation of a man who meant very well to a monster who was bent on vengeance and taking over the world.
And the audience expected it.
What if the world was a television show, and your life was a comic book? What if you were supposed to be Lex Luthor and you were supposed to turn into a monster? Wouldn't it be odd, if you were the villain all along? Everyone sees themselves as a protagonist, and the people that oppose you- they must be the villains. Lex was nefarious in the movies and comics- and even towards the end of Smallville. But did he ever think he was the hero?
What if the world was watching your life as it played through your high school and college years, watching the little fledgling of an adult as they slowly turned to corruption? What if the things you did were precursors to disaster later on? What if your best friend ended up being your nemesis? And what if you were destined to be in a lifelong struggle against them?
I'm an idealist. I don't like to say that there is necessarily good or evil, because, maybe there was a reason that someone did something bad, and we're just too narrow-minded to understand why. Because I know that I've done things that people could classify as "bad", and not understand the motivation. Because I've seen people try to justify actions and it never seems right to me. I think there's a standard we're all conditioned to following- holding the door open for little old ladies is good, and murdering people is bad. Perhaps evil is based off of perspective. Or perhaps it's based off something greater than the human mind can comprehend.
But wouldn't it be interesting if you were destined to be a villain? Wouldn't it be interesting if the world was waiting for you to don your tights and put on your cape and save the world? It'd be so ironic. So hilarious. So perfect, in some cases.
If it's any comfort, there are people watching your life. You might not end up as Clark Kent or Lex Luthor- you might not end up on television, but every action has a reaction, doesn't it? Even if it's not tangible, it's still there.
And these are the things that I ponder...
006- The Light/Dark Concept
I'd been here before. So many times, over and over in my head. It was that scenario that I had prayed to God would stay in my nightmares. But slowly, it clawed its way from the figments in my imagination, dominating and overpowering the rest of my thoughts until it was born into reality. Born into life itself. It wasn't a hard, tiring labor, either. It took moments. Mere moments. And mere moments turned the world upside-down.
The room was warm. It's always been cold, but, now, it seemed warm. Maybe it was because my blood was rushing so fast. But my thoughts were ignorant of the situation. You could have even called them happy. Blissful. There was a bounce in my step. A laugh in my voice. When things got dark, they always got better. Better... I had found the light, I thought. I had found it at last.
"I'm leaving," I said. And I explained why.
"Oh..."
Something was amiss in her voice. But it didn't take a rocket scientist or a psychiatrist to understand that. There was confusion in her eyes. Perhaps shock. Yes. Shock. She was shocked about something? I tried to review what said. It didn't make sense. The puzzle piece didn't fit there. I frowned, cocked an eyebrow, tilted my head to the side. I don't understand. And, ironically enough, even after the event, I still didn't understand. I didn't understand where I had slipped and I had fallen into the proverbial river of "being screwed over". I didn't understand, though, and it angered me to even think about it, why I had expected anything other than what had happened.
"Sorry."
Why is she apologizing?
The warm air faded. And it grew cold, but I knew it was all in my mind. Even though my heart was racing, it was the arctic. It tore at me and destroyed everything it touched inside. And the fatal words had not even been spoken yet. Perhaps it was because a part of me had the strangest suspicion as to what was about to come next.
"It was me."
The harmony was shattered. The silence in my head overbearing. I saw flashes of things I'd never seen before. Dots and patterns, as though someone had bludgeoned me in the head. I blinked and they began to fade, leaving behind the perfect image of the now frigid room. Her words continued, but I merely stood there, rooted and stunned.
And oddly enough, I don't know why betrayal comes as a surprise every time. Often, as readers, movie-watchers, video-game players, and just citizens in life, we see it. In every piece of grand work, there's a character that turns his/her back on the protagonist. Brutus betrays Caesar. Anakin betrays Obi-Wan and the Jedi. Benedict Arnold betrays Washington. Fernand Mondengo betrays Edmond Dantès. And even Judas betrays Jesus. And yet, I wondered if it was for thirty pieces, or for something more. God. I hoped it was for something more.
When her words rang in my ears, my blood lost its warmth, my heart lost its beat- for that split second of time, I was dead, but the rush in my skull told me I was alive. I was more alive than ever. And the world spun for a moment, flushed and draped in tendrils of blinding light that was all in my mind.
"What?"
I didn't know if the words were in my mind or were actually spoken. It was the final words of the pious innocent, the victim. And, in some lost compartment of the soul, something died, decayed, and was left as dust in some empty shelf of the spirit. Maybe, on its way into its demise, it dragged a few more things down to Hell with it. It left when the nightmare was born. Clawing. Scraping. Biting. A disgusting, animalistic departure. And, I felt something stab at my heart- stronger than anything else that I could've fathomed.
Why are you surprised? Didn't you see this coming? Some sarcastic part of me sneered. But my mind couldn't wrap around it for those first few moments, so crucial and blinding. I backed a step, though my bones and joints felt as stiff as a cadaver's. But I suppose that metaphor was not too far from the truth, because, my mind was slowly accepting something, something very numbing and chilling. I was dead. I was dead to the world for that moment, possibly permanently dead in the near future.
No... No, no, part of you isn't surprised, I cautioned myself, almost throwing in one of those insane chuckles. Just to reassure myself. No. You saw this coming from the beginning, didn't you? You saw it all in your head. Even maybe a bit in your heart. You knew... You knew, you knew, you knew... I wanted to slam my fist into the traitor's face and demand a decent reasoning. But my blood ran cold, and I was dead to the world, a victim to that elaborate sensation of shock.
You're dead now.
I was dead before then, wasn't I?
Well, you're certainly dead now.
So many concepts were running through my mind. I saw images. I heard voices of what could happen. What they could say. What reasoning they could give, but there was no reason to give. No explanation. There was just that feeling of death. The shattering of something intangible between us as it fell like pieces on the floor of my memories. And I couldn't believe it- yet I had to. I forced myself to. I forced my feet to move, though they were cemented to the earth, and everything surrounding us seemed to fade into some gray veil that didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but us. Nothing but what had happened. Nothing in the world but us.
I halfway expected some grand battle music to begin, something akin to Uematsu's One Winged Angel (preferably the Advent Children version), but nothing. Nothing but the silence ringing in my skull. The sound of my own mind wasting away in panic. The drumming of my heart as it trembled in my chest. The inhale-exhale of someone who felt very much like a convict being spotted by the police helicopters. The rage that fired up my freezing veins, jump-started my thoughts.
No. Not dead. Not dead yet.
My mouth was opened, but there were no words. The concepts that scattered my mind were too strong to be put into words yet. My feet shuffled backwards, just like in the movies. Somewhere, there was a cry in the chaos, demanding why this had happened. But there was nothing. No words. Nothing that came out except horrified gasps of air. I think that was the first moment I had ever hated something so strongly. And it wasn't even tangible. I couldn't hit it, couldn't kill it, couldn't even make it bleed. But I loathed it with every fiber of my being, the word 'betrayal' a sickening collection of syllables on my tongue.
So... What are you going to do now?
The only thing my heart could tell me to do was run. And so, with as much haste as I could muster, I ran. Not literally. But, in a way, I was spiritually running, and definitely emotionally and mentally running. And, perhaps I wasn't physically bleeding, but my emotions were gashed open and flooding the room with red. I backed up. I fumbled some excuse and left, a few biting tears stinging my eyes. Run? But where are you running to? The sardonic voice was as persistent as the feeling of wanting to faint. I stumbled and scrambled away. Away. I just need to get away. I always knew my fight or flight instincts were very sensitive. I just didn't know how much.
Out of the frying pan and into the oven. I knew that phrase so well, but this was the only time I'd ever actually experienced jumping straight into the oven. So much for a leap of faith, I thought bitterly, climbing the stairs with a hasty, almost paranoid tossed look over the shoulder. Already my mind was formulating some way to figure a loophole in the enemy's movements and schemes. It was like chess. Only, she was about to declare checkmate and I felt- and knew- that I could do nothing to stop it.
Don't think like that. There's always a way out.
Always a way- always a way... I knew I had to calm down. It took some breathing. Some classical staring into the mirror and gazing into the despairing green eyes that didn't seem akin to my own. And, the words of something reeled through my mind, so familiar and bitter that it almost warranted a chuckle.
"Under the spreading chestnut tree
I sold you and you sold me.
There they lie, and here lie we.
I sold you and you sold me."
It was from 1984, and I couldn't think of anything more appropriate. Except, then I laughed because I had never sold her. And she had sold me. Like some antique lamp or piece of crusted jewelry, she had sold me. As if there were no attachments. Nothing. Cold as death itself. I never sold you... My thoughts were jumbled again. ... You sold me. I never sold you.
That's when I realized they were all statistics. Each and every one that had come before and had followed. Like little grains forming bread. Like birds of the same flock. Numbers in the charts that only seemed to show how my life had been. Numbers in the charts that made me realize- and maybe even laugh- at all of what had happened. At everything in general. All of the lies we had been telling each other, all of the secrets we had kept in the dark. We'd done so many things to damage each other, it was ridiculous. And yet, as much as I told myself none of it could be true, and I'd snap out of whatever nightmare I was living, my heart knew it was all reality. My mind knew it was all reality.
This was the game I had been introduced, deadly and perilous. It was the game that I'd been playing all this time, except, it never occurred to me how real this game was. It wasn't like Sorry, where you could start all over again. It wasn't like Clue, where the evidence always pointed to one specific person. It wasn't like Monopoly- you didn't collect cash when you passed Go, you just kept going until what you had done faded behind you. It was the game that killed. The game that was merciless. The game where you were out against the world, like some bloody free-for-all that just didn't care how long you lasted. It tore at your conscience until you forgot what it meant to have one of those. It murdered your faith in others, destroyed your trust. And, just as those words did, it killed a part of you. A part that could never be brought back into life.
And, through the ones that would follow, the ones that would lie, and cheat, and fire more bullets into my chest, I came to one of those ironic epiphanies. All of the people that had come before, I knew without a doubt, that had played this game had died. They had lost, inevitably, and I knew that I was no exception. There would be a downfall. But not until fate allowed there to be a downfall. And my plan and mindset was certain. Until the downfall came, I was an adamant contender. All I could do was wait for the challenger to appear, and stubbornly fight back the urge to sink to my knees and despairingly succumb to the final blow of the knife. The blow that would end the game for me, and everything that had related to the game. The blow wielded by a hand that was not mine, but by someone who didn't understand why this had all fallen into place to begin with. Knowledge would be felled by ignorance.
And, in my heart, I knew whose hand it would be.
The room was warm. It's always been cold, but, now, it seemed warm. Maybe it was because my blood was rushing so fast. But my thoughts were ignorant of the situation. You could have even called them happy. Blissful. There was a bounce in my step. A laugh in my voice. When things got dark, they always got better. Better... I had found the light, I thought. I had found it at last.
"I'm leaving," I said. And I explained why.
"Oh..."
Something was amiss in her voice. But it didn't take a rocket scientist or a psychiatrist to understand that. There was confusion in her eyes. Perhaps shock. Yes. Shock. She was shocked about something? I tried to review what said. It didn't make sense. The puzzle piece didn't fit there. I frowned, cocked an eyebrow, tilted my head to the side. I don't understand. And, ironically enough, even after the event, I still didn't understand. I didn't understand where I had slipped and I had fallen into the proverbial river of "being screwed over". I didn't understand, though, and it angered me to even think about it, why I had expected anything other than what had happened.
"Sorry."
Why is she apologizing?
The warm air faded. And it grew cold, but I knew it was all in my mind. Even though my heart was racing, it was the arctic. It tore at me and destroyed everything it touched inside. And the fatal words had not even been spoken yet. Perhaps it was because a part of me had the strangest suspicion as to what was about to come next.
"It was me."
The harmony was shattered. The silence in my head overbearing. I saw flashes of things I'd never seen before. Dots and patterns, as though someone had bludgeoned me in the head. I blinked and they began to fade, leaving behind the perfect image of the now frigid room. Her words continued, but I merely stood there, rooted and stunned.
And oddly enough, I don't know why betrayal comes as a surprise every time. Often, as readers, movie-watchers, video-game players, and just citizens in life, we see it. In every piece of grand work, there's a character that turns his/her back on the protagonist. Brutus betrays Caesar. Anakin betrays Obi-Wan and the Jedi. Benedict Arnold betrays Washington. Fernand Mondengo betrays Edmond Dantès. And even Judas betrays Jesus. And yet, I wondered if it was for thirty pieces, or for something more. God. I hoped it was for something more.
When her words rang in my ears, my blood lost its warmth, my heart lost its beat- for that split second of time, I was dead, but the rush in my skull told me I was alive. I was more alive than ever. And the world spun for a moment, flushed and draped in tendrils of blinding light that was all in my mind.
"What?"
I didn't know if the words were in my mind or were actually spoken. It was the final words of the pious innocent, the victim. And, in some lost compartment of the soul, something died, decayed, and was left as dust in some empty shelf of the spirit. Maybe, on its way into its demise, it dragged a few more things down to Hell with it. It left when the nightmare was born. Clawing. Scraping. Biting. A disgusting, animalistic departure. And, I felt something stab at my heart- stronger than anything else that I could've fathomed.
Why are you surprised? Didn't you see this coming? Some sarcastic part of me sneered. But my mind couldn't wrap around it for those first few moments, so crucial and blinding. I backed a step, though my bones and joints felt as stiff as a cadaver's. But I suppose that metaphor was not too far from the truth, because, my mind was slowly accepting something, something very numbing and chilling. I was dead. I was dead to the world for that moment, possibly permanently dead in the near future.
No... No, no, part of you isn't surprised, I cautioned myself, almost throwing in one of those insane chuckles. Just to reassure myself. No. You saw this coming from the beginning, didn't you? You saw it all in your head. Even maybe a bit in your heart. You knew... You knew, you knew, you knew... I wanted to slam my fist into the traitor's face and demand a decent reasoning. But my blood ran cold, and I was dead to the world, a victim to that elaborate sensation of shock.
You're dead now.
I was dead before then, wasn't I?
Well, you're certainly dead now.
So many concepts were running through my mind. I saw images. I heard voices of what could happen. What they could say. What reasoning they could give, but there was no reason to give. No explanation. There was just that feeling of death. The shattering of something intangible between us as it fell like pieces on the floor of my memories. And I couldn't believe it- yet I had to. I forced myself to. I forced my feet to move, though they were cemented to the earth, and everything surrounding us seemed to fade into some gray veil that didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but us. Nothing but what had happened. Nothing in the world but us.
I halfway expected some grand battle music to begin, something akin to Uematsu's One Winged Angel (preferably the Advent Children version), but nothing. Nothing but the silence ringing in my skull. The sound of my own mind wasting away in panic. The drumming of my heart as it trembled in my chest. The inhale-exhale of someone who felt very much like a convict being spotted by the police helicopters. The rage that fired up my freezing veins, jump-started my thoughts.
No. Not dead. Not dead yet.
My mouth was opened, but there were no words. The concepts that scattered my mind were too strong to be put into words yet. My feet shuffled backwards, just like in the movies. Somewhere, there was a cry in the chaos, demanding why this had happened. But there was nothing. No words. Nothing that came out except horrified gasps of air. I think that was the first moment I had ever hated something so strongly. And it wasn't even tangible. I couldn't hit it, couldn't kill it, couldn't even make it bleed. But I loathed it with every fiber of my being, the word 'betrayal' a sickening collection of syllables on my tongue.
So... What are you going to do now?
The only thing my heart could tell me to do was run. And so, with as much haste as I could muster, I ran. Not literally. But, in a way, I was spiritually running, and definitely emotionally and mentally running. And, perhaps I wasn't physically bleeding, but my emotions were gashed open and flooding the room with red. I backed up. I fumbled some excuse and left, a few biting tears stinging my eyes. Run? But where are you running to? The sardonic voice was as persistent as the feeling of wanting to faint. I stumbled and scrambled away. Away. I just need to get away. I always knew my fight or flight instincts were very sensitive. I just didn't know how much.
Out of the frying pan and into the oven. I knew that phrase so well, but this was the only time I'd ever actually experienced jumping straight into the oven. So much for a leap of faith, I thought bitterly, climbing the stairs with a hasty, almost paranoid tossed look over the shoulder. Already my mind was formulating some way to figure a loophole in the enemy's movements and schemes. It was like chess. Only, she was about to declare checkmate and I felt- and knew- that I could do nothing to stop it.
Don't think like that. There's always a way out.
Always a way- always a way... I knew I had to calm down. It took some breathing. Some classical staring into the mirror and gazing into the despairing green eyes that didn't seem akin to my own. And, the words of something reeled through my mind, so familiar and bitter that it almost warranted a chuckle.
"Under the spreading chestnut tree
I sold you and you sold me.
There they lie, and here lie we.
I sold you and you sold me."
It was from 1984, and I couldn't think of anything more appropriate. Except, then I laughed because I had never sold her. And she had sold me. Like some antique lamp or piece of crusted jewelry, she had sold me. As if there were no attachments. Nothing. Cold as death itself. I never sold you... My thoughts were jumbled again. ... You sold me. I never sold you.
That's when I realized they were all statistics. Each and every one that had come before and had followed. Like little grains forming bread. Like birds of the same flock. Numbers in the charts that only seemed to show how my life had been. Numbers in the charts that made me realize- and maybe even laugh- at all of what had happened. At everything in general. All of the lies we had been telling each other, all of the secrets we had kept in the dark. We'd done so many things to damage each other, it was ridiculous. And yet, as much as I told myself none of it could be true, and I'd snap out of whatever nightmare I was living, my heart knew it was all reality. My mind knew it was all reality.
This was the game I had been introduced, deadly and perilous. It was the game that I'd been playing all this time, except, it never occurred to me how real this game was. It wasn't like Sorry, where you could start all over again. It wasn't like Clue, where the evidence always pointed to one specific person. It wasn't like Monopoly- you didn't collect cash when you passed Go, you just kept going until what you had done faded behind you. It was the game that killed. The game that was merciless. The game where you were out against the world, like some bloody free-for-all that just didn't care how long you lasted. It tore at your conscience until you forgot what it meant to have one of those. It murdered your faith in others, destroyed your trust. And, just as those words did, it killed a part of you. A part that could never be brought back into life.
And, through the ones that would follow, the ones that would lie, and cheat, and fire more bullets into my chest, I came to one of those ironic epiphanies. All of the people that had come before, I knew without a doubt, that had played this game had died. They had lost, inevitably, and I knew that I was no exception. There would be a downfall. But not until fate allowed there to be a downfall. And my plan and mindset was certain. Until the downfall came, I was an adamant contender. All I could do was wait for the challenger to appear, and stubbornly fight back the urge to sink to my knees and despairingly succumb to the final blow of the knife. The blow that would end the game for me, and everything that had related to the game. The blow wielded by a hand that was not mine, but by someone who didn't understand why this had all fallen into place to begin with. Knowledge would be felled by ignorance.
And, in my heart, I knew whose hand it would be.
005- Words and No Words
If you could break down language, would it be defined by words? In this world, we have so many languages, spoken by so many diverse people. But is language defined by sounds or by something else- a deeper meaning than words could ever describe? And are there such things in this life that have yet to be named? We have so many words that sometimes, we think it's better to have two words for some meanings, but no words for the even more passionate things- the sort of things that you feel within the basin of your heart, that drifts within every fiber of your being, so powerful that it no doubt exists, but yet, so deep that it should almost have too much of a meaning for a single word to describe. Do you understand?
I guess if we could name everything that was unnamed, there would be more words to write down in dictionaries, and more words to come up with. And I guess that would expand languages even more, since mankind feels the need to make at least two words per meaning. And if they're special enough (based on someone in some high place's opinion, I guess), they get maybe three or four words.
But have you ever felt something that held no words? It's a stirring somewhere in your chest. As if you could feel the ocean inside moving, and the world seems very tranquil, and yet, your blood is on fire, burning with some unknown strength that materialized from no where? It's almost as if it defies all of the laws of science, that matter cannot be destroyed or created, but re-assembled into smaller pieces or larger pieces. It stretches out with its warming tendrils, coursing through your limbs like blood, but so much stronger than that.
Have you ever looked into someone's eyes and needed no words? Because what you had to say, there were no words in any language to convey your message? And have they understood perfectly what you meant? And even if there were words to say to them, a mere look could tell them more about your thoughts and your mind. And, in return, you know that they understand. You know it in the silence, in the very core of your self, that they understand everything that just crossed your mind. They can see it, too- the images. And they can feel it, too- the emotions.
And have you ever met something to someone, so strong that you can't describe it? It's some form of attachment, but it's more powerful than the word 'friend'. It's that connection that's deep enough to where the other person rubs off on you. And you're so close that you're so associated with them that it would seem odd to not be associated with them, borderline wrong.
There are people I can merely look at and I can tell what they're thinking. And there are people that know what I'm thinking, seemingly even when I don't even know what I'm thinking.
But there are things in this world that need no words. And there are sometimes, no need for words to begin with.
There are things in life you just know and can feel in your heart- and those are the things you believe in without a doubt.
My sophomore year began with tragedy, survived tragedy, and almost ended on a positive note. Almost. Some of us know the stories, and some don't. There are a few unsung tales, though, of that dark school year.
It was unbearable hot that day- a Saturday that was cloudless, perfect, and sometime in October. It seemed so unnatural that October should be so warm, but that entire summer and autumn had been unexpectedly warm. It started with the car rolling up on the stony driveway, and me looking out of the window in the back of the car, like I always do. My dad and my mom looked back at me and my little sister, said something I could never remember (along the lines of "We're here") and I pulled the door open. Hopping out, I shoved my hands into the pockets of a very dark blue set of jeans, and looked up at the sky. My hair was short but growing- a medium shade of very natural brown with brief little blonde streaks. No bangs. Braces. And I barely wore make up back then.
I hadn't been back here in a long time. It was the house of the dog breeder's. The last time I'd been here, it had been to pick out a puppy over the summer. Ironically enough, here I was. Again. Looking at puppies. It'd been going on three months since Hiro died. That was the first pup I'd ever owned. He'd been a pretty dog. Young, barely losing any of his pup-fluff. It'd started off with his back legs not being able to function. And slowly, it progressed. He would fall down, and barely be able to get up just to fall again. And before long, he could not walk. And the doctors never could find what was wrong. I'd held him when they put him to sleep. And that had been the hardest day of my life. My interest in getting another dog had waned since then. I'd had Trey since I was two, but he was old and never really wanted to play. He was also, as my sister called him, a robot. Not very emotional, if at all. He was socially awkward. Later on, I wondered if he maybe had some mental disorder that just made him function differently. My dad had told me I could get a puppy provided I could take care of it, and I had tried so hard with Hiro. I had tried.
But in October, I had gotten over the spell I'd fallen into, where it was even hard to talk about that day when we'd taken Hiro to the vet's office the last time. Because, I knew that something good had to happen. And there was never in harm in trying again, even if I was scared that it would end poorly.
And so, that hot day, I had my brown Casting Crowns jacket tucked under my arm, wearing a green and blue tank top and casting my gaze back at the lake, shielding my eyes from the sunlight that reflected off the surface. There were two dogs to choose from. Two puppies that needed a home. I knew my parents were worried about me, but I never liked showing my emotions to them. I still don't. If anything, I was excited and dreading this moment. Because I would have to choose and I hoped I didn't choose the wrong one.
The lady that gave us Hiro is the same lady who gave us Beau, Rose, and Summer. I'd known her since I was in sixth grade- in a way, we were close to the point we were like family. When the door opened, the dogs began pouring out by two's. There was Wendy and Gigi. And Mimi. And Denise. And Lily. And Sable. And Tango. And there the other two were. One stuck out like a sore thumb among the rest. He was a year old already, long-legged, scruffy with a wide blaze and dark eyes. His fur was tri-colored with very expressive eyebrows- almost like they were furrowed constantly. His name was Lindy. He had no home and he was just being watched by the dog breeders. There was another home he could go to if I didn't choose him.
I watched them go, barking, yapping, greeting our dogs. I stayed silent when I watched the dogs pour out of the house. I had caught sight of Lindy immediately, but in the mob of brown and white, I couldn't tell which one was the other option.
I had met this 'other option' before. Actually, I remember the day he was born, because the breeders had called us, excited they had gotten a phalene in their litter (phalenes being a variation of papillons with floppy ears). When I had seen him, his ears had been floppy, indeed. He was a mess. Fluffy, with some cynical smirk on his face. Out of all of the pups, he was the one to go missing all the time. He was the one that got stung by the scorpion under the couch. He was the one that tried to dig a hole in the yard. His name, the breeder said, was Bernard, because, before his ears had eventually stood up, he had resembled a St. Bernard pup.
I hadn't seen him in awhile, and I didn't even recognize him as he came hurtling by. It took one of the breeders, Pierre, to point him out in the crowd, "And there goes Bernard!" Of course, I smiled and nodded even though I had no clue which one he was. But as all the dogs were called back onto the porch, I caught a glimpse of the pup, very much a runt among the other dogs with his shorter legs and almost mousier face. He looked up at me, and I felt my heart melt instantly, unlike the more aloof Lindy, who lingered away from the rest of the dogs.
At that moment, my eyes locked with that little dog- Bernard- and I knew. It was something like love at first sight, only confirmed as we walked in and the puppy refused to leave me alone. When he sat in my lap all on his own, the deal was sealed in my mind. But it had been sealed when I saw him. It had been that thing without the words. The breeders weren't going to keep him if he wasn't a phalene. He needed a home as much as I needed a dog. And I saw it in his eyes- he was the last of his litter to get a home. Before him, I had owned his brother. Both of his sisters had been adopted already into nice homes.
And it was just for that moment that I wasn't scared that I was going to make the wrong decision. Because when I held that dog in my arms, I just knew. He was perfect. He was a homeless, hyperactive whelp that had that gleam in his eye. The gleam I knew so well. We matched each other in deviousness, in energy. And when the time came for me to choose, I merely held him, defensively, as if the money had already been handed over to the breeders and he belonged to me already. Hiro wouldn't have wanted his runt of a brother to be a hobo. And I knew I certainly didn't want such a spirited little dog to have no home.
"Daddy... I want this one," I said firmly, glancing from the little scraggly whelp to my father. And that was that. No further questions asked. I wondered if he had suspected that I would pick Hiro's brother. Somehow, I knew, though, that he had been the right one the entire time. And in a matter of minutes, I was leaving the little border town between Oklahoma and Arkansas, and I was headed home, an energetic puppy in my lap (which is never a pleasant thing, mind you).
After that, I'd like to say Bernard became a legend among my friends- the Dog Who Had A Tongue Too Long For His Face. And if you wanted a fun fact, I never tokened the nickname 'Nard'. I tried, so very hard, for the first few weeks to call him 'Bernie'. I tried so hard... And yet, the first time my dad called him 'Nard', there was an immediate response from him. I suppose it was meant to be that his name would be synonymous for... Well. Let's not go into that.
As the weeks became months and the months became a year, then two years, I realized that Nard became that thing that I would never have to talk to, because he just always knew. He knew when I was upset. When I was happy. When to give me space and when to sit on my face and then stare at me when I protested. And I don't mean to say that it's the most profound relationship in my life, or that this story is the sole example in my life where things simply fell into place through one action, one stirring of the heart and emotions. Because, this is only one story. One of many.
And though it seems so silly for a little girl to love a little dog so much, it never was silly for me. Because Nard and I, after 2 solid years of being owner and companion, still maintain that bond- a look or simple gesture was all we ever needed, and all we ever would need. I can't possibly explain how many times that dog has known when I've been upset, how many times that dog has cheered me up when I needed to be cheered up. Maybe we never needed words because he can't speak English. Or maybe it was just meant to be that way.
I guess if we could name everything that was unnamed, there would be more words to write down in dictionaries, and more words to come up with. And I guess that would expand languages even more, since mankind feels the need to make at least two words per meaning. And if they're special enough (based on someone in some high place's opinion, I guess), they get maybe three or four words.
But have you ever felt something that held no words? It's a stirring somewhere in your chest. As if you could feel the ocean inside moving, and the world seems very tranquil, and yet, your blood is on fire, burning with some unknown strength that materialized from no where? It's almost as if it defies all of the laws of science, that matter cannot be destroyed or created, but re-assembled into smaller pieces or larger pieces. It stretches out with its warming tendrils, coursing through your limbs like blood, but so much stronger than that.
Have you ever looked into someone's eyes and needed no words? Because what you had to say, there were no words in any language to convey your message? And have they understood perfectly what you meant? And even if there were words to say to them, a mere look could tell them more about your thoughts and your mind. And, in return, you know that they understand. You know it in the silence, in the very core of your self, that they understand everything that just crossed your mind. They can see it, too- the images. And they can feel it, too- the emotions.
And have you ever met something to someone, so strong that you can't describe it? It's some form of attachment, but it's more powerful than the word 'friend'. It's that connection that's deep enough to where the other person rubs off on you. And you're so close that you're so associated with them that it would seem odd to not be associated with them, borderline wrong.
There are people I can merely look at and I can tell what they're thinking. And there are people that know what I'm thinking, seemingly even when I don't even know what I'm thinking.
But there are things in this world that need no words. And there are sometimes, no need for words to begin with.
There are things in life you just know and can feel in your heart- and those are the things you believe in without a doubt.
My sophomore year began with tragedy, survived tragedy, and almost ended on a positive note. Almost. Some of us know the stories, and some don't. There are a few unsung tales, though, of that dark school year.
It was unbearable hot that day- a Saturday that was cloudless, perfect, and sometime in October. It seemed so unnatural that October should be so warm, but that entire summer and autumn had been unexpectedly warm. It started with the car rolling up on the stony driveway, and me looking out of the window in the back of the car, like I always do. My dad and my mom looked back at me and my little sister, said something I could never remember (along the lines of "We're here") and I pulled the door open. Hopping out, I shoved my hands into the pockets of a very dark blue set of jeans, and looked up at the sky. My hair was short but growing- a medium shade of very natural brown with brief little blonde streaks. No bangs. Braces. And I barely wore make up back then.
I hadn't been back here in a long time. It was the house of the dog breeder's. The last time I'd been here, it had been to pick out a puppy over the summer. Ironically enough, here I was. Again. Looking at puppies. It'd been going on three months since Hiro died. That was the first pup I'd ever owned. He'd been a pretty dog. Young, barely losing any of his pup-fluff. It'd started off with his back legs not being able to function. And slowly, it progressed. He would fall down, and barely be able to get up just to fall again. And before long, he could not walk. And the doctors never could find what was wrong. I'd held him when they put him to sleep. And that had been the hardest day of my life. My interest in getting another dog had waned since then. I'd had Trey since I was two, but he was old and never really wanted to play. He was also, as my sister called him, a robot. Not very emotional, if at all. He was socially awkward. Later on, I wondered if he maybe had some mental disorder that just made him function differently. My dad had told me I could get a puppy provided I could take care of it, and I had tried so hard with Hiro. I had tried.
But in October, I had gotten over the spell I'd fallen into, where it was even hard to talk about that day when we'd taken Hiro to the vet's office the last time. Because, I knew that something good had to happen. And there was never in harm in trying again, even if I was scared that it would end poorly.
And so, that hot day, I had my brown Casting Crowns jacket tucked under my arm, wearing a green and blue tank top and casting my gaze back at the lake, shielding my eyes from the sunlight that reflected off the surface. There were two dogs to choose from. Two puppies that needed a home. I knew my parents were worried about me, but I never liked showing my emotions to them. I still don't. If anything, I was excited and dreading this moment. Because I would have to choose and I hoped I didn't choose the wrong one.
The lady that gave us Hiro is the same lady who gave us Beau, Rose, and Summer. I'd known her since I was in sixth grade- in a way, we were close to the point we were like family. When the door opened, the dogs began pouring out by two's. There was Wendy and Gigi. And Mimi. And Denise. And Lily. And Sable. And Tango. And there the other two were. One stuck out like a sore thumb among the rest. He was a year old already, long-legged, scruffy with a wide blaze and dark eyes. His fur was tri-colored with very expressive eyebrows- almost like they were furrowed constantly. His name was Lindy. He had no home and he was just being watched by the dog breeders. There was another home he could go to if I didn't choose him.
I watched them go, barking, yapping, greeting our dogs. I stayed silent when I watched the dogs pour out of the house. I had caught sight of Lindy immediately, but in the mob of brown and white, I couldn't tell which one was the other option.
I had met this 'other option' before. Actually, I remember the day he was born, because the breeders had called us, excited they had gotten a phalene in their litter (phalenes being a variation of papillons with floppy ears). When I had seen him, his ears had been floppy, indeed. He was a mess. Fluffy, with some cynical smirk on his face. Out of all of the pups, he was the one to go missing all the time. He was the one that got stung by the scorpion under the couch. He was the one that tried to dig a hole in the yard. His name, the breeder said, was Bernard, because, before his ears had eventually stood up, he had resembled a St. Bernard pup.
I hadn't seen him in awhile, and I didn't even recognize him as he came hurtling by. It took one of the breeders, Pierre, to point him out in the crowd, "And there goes Bernard!" Of course, I smiled and nodded even though I had no clue which one he was. But as all the dogs were called back onto the porch, I caught a glimpse of the pup, very much a runt among the other dogs with his shorter legs and almost mousier face. He looked up at me, and I felt my heart melt instantly, unlike the more aloof Lindy, who lingered away from the rest of the dogs.
At that moment, my eyes locked with that little dog- Bernard- and I knew. It was something like love at first sight, only confirmed as we walked in and the puppy refused to leave me alone. When he sat in my lap all on his own, the deal was sealed in my mind. But it had been sealed when I saw him. It had been that thing without the words. The breeders weren't going to keep him if he wasn't a phalene. He needed a home as much as I needed a dog. And I saw it in his eyes- he was the last of his litter to get a home. Before him, I had owned his brother. Both of his sisters had been adopted already into nice homes.
And it was just for that moment that I wasn't scared that I was going to make the wrong decision. Because when I held that dog in my arms, I just knew. He was perfect. He was a homeless, hyperactive whelp that had that gleam in his eye. The gleam I knew so well. We matched each other in deviousness, in energy. And when the time came for me to choose, I merely held him, defensively, as if the money had already been handed over to the breeders and he belonged to me already. Hiro wouldn't have wanted his runt of a brother to be a hobo. And I knew I certainly didn't want such a spirited little dog to have no home.
"Daddy... I want this one," I said firmly, glancing from the little scraggly whelp to my father. And that was that. No further questions asked. I wondered if he had suspected that I would pick Hiro's brother. Somehow, I knew, though, that he had been the right one the entire time. And in a matter of minutes, I was leaving the little border town between Oklahoma and Arkansas, and I was headed home, an energetic puppy in my lap (which is never a pleasant thing, mind you).
After that, I'd like to say Bernard became a legend among my friends- the Dog Who Had A Tongue Too Long For His Face. And if you wanted a fun fact, I never tokened the nickname 'Nard'. I tried, so very hard, for the first few weeks to call him 'Bernie'. I tried so hard... And yet, the first time my dad called him 'Nard', there was an immediate response from him. I suppose it was meant to be that his name would be synonymous for... Well. Let's not go into that.
As the weeks became months and the months became a year, then two years, I realized that Nard became that thing that I would never have to talk to, because he just always knew. He knew when I was upset. When I was happy. When to give me space and when to sit on my face and then stare at me when I protested. And I don't mean to say that it's the most profound relationship in my life, or that this story is the sole example in my life where things simply fell into place through one action, one stirring of the heart and emotions. Because, this is only one story. One of many.
And though it seems so silly for a little girl to love a little dog so much, it never was silly for me. Because Nard and I, after 2 solid years of being owner and companion, still maintain that bond- a look or simple gesture was all we ever needed, and all we ever would need. I can't possibly explain how many times that dog has known when I've been upset, how many times that dog has cheered me up when I needed to be cheered up. Maybe we never needed words because he can't speak English. Or maybe it was just meant to be that way.
004- The Strangers You Know
Humans, I am convinced, cannot live without daily routines. Maybe that's why schools always have strict schedules. Mr. Chase once commented that it was funny. Funny that we have pretty much the same amount of different schedules as we do different times of day. And these schedules all just seem like odd and awkward variations of each other, but they're still schedules. Still concrete. Still solid and worshipped as ever. And yes, I do say they're worshipped. Because everything seems to revolve around them, like they're the sun. "Kids, please look at your *insert name here* schedule for *insert amount of days here*." or "Please disregard the old schedule; here, have a new one".
And yet, it doesn't matter if it's 10:30 or 12:30 before we switch classes. We still see people in the halls. The same ones, mind you. Every day. And you might not necessarily know who they are, but you just see them. You see them, you might even come up with a clever little nickname for them. And I guess we sort of just do this to amuse ourselves. Because I think that sometimes, we need to have names for things so we know exactly what to call them, so they're not a drifting image in our head. Or a concept. Names give people something more concrete and real, almost as though they weren't a person before you gave them that name.
I have food for thought (though the notion of spoon-feeding my brain is an awkward one indeed... I always image that I'm spoon-feeding my brain baby food. Which is nasty because it's usually mashed up peas or gross stuff like that). Do you ever wonder if you're one of those people that people see and give nicknames to? Well, I suppose it's a silly thought; of course people see you and of course they acknowledge your existence. That's why some of them might even step aside to let you by in the hall, or glare at you when you're too impatient to wait for them to step aside.
I think it's funny that we see people, we label them on their appearance or what they're doing at the time, and then we continue on. As if it's no big deal. Do you ever wonder, though, if you're one of those strangers that people see, and people wonder about?
If you put it that way, it just makes the world seem very odd, doesn't it? I suppose, though, some people have always kept this in mind. There's this whole thing about 'looking normal' thing that teenagers go through. So some people are focused on how they come across to others... Me? I don't think I personally give a care about that little dweeb that passes me in the hall and sees me shouting something rather explicit or random. Because, odds are, I probably won't interact with him.
This message will be short. But I hope it's at least effective.
I don't tell you try to be that perfect little person that says their Sunday prayers and makes all A's in school. I'm telling you to wonder how people perceive you. Because that thought is very entertaining to entertain.
Wonder about those people you see each day.
Wonder if they have as many blessings, as many curses in their life as you do.
And, perhaps, every now and then, venture out onto a limb and talk to that person you see, you know, but you never actually knew.
Because I think they would surprise you.
I know they would surprise me.
And yet, it doesn't matter if it's 10:30 or 12:30 before we switch classes. We still see people in the halls. The same ones, mind you. Every day. And you might not necessarily know who they are, but you just see them. You see them, you might even come up with a clever little nickname for them. And I guess we sort of just do this to amuse ourselves. Because I think that sometimes, we need to have names for things so we know exactly what to call them, so they're not a drifting image in our head. Or a concept. Names give people something more concrete and real, almost as though they weren't a person before you gave them that name.
I have food for thought (though the notion of spoon-feeding my brain is an awkward one indeed... I always image that I'm spoon-feeding my brain baby food. Which is nasty because it's usually mashed up peas or gross stuff like that). Do you ever wonder if you're one of those people that people see and give nicknames to? Well, I suppose it's a silly thought; of course people see you and of course they acknowledge your existence. That's why some of them might even step aside to let you by in the hall, or glare at you when you're too impatient to wait for them to step aside.
I think it's funny that we see people, we label them on their appearance or what they're doing at the time, and then we continue on. As if it's no big deal. Do you ever wonder, though, if you're one of those strangers that people see, and people wonder about?
If you put it that way, it just makes the world seem very odd, doesn't it? I suppose, though, some people have always kept this in mind. There's this whole thing about 'looking normal' thing that teenagers go through. So some people are focused on how they come across to others... Me? I don't think I personally give a care about that little dweeb that passes me in the hall and sees me shouting something rather explicit or random. Because, odds are, I probably won't interact with him.
This message will be short. But I hope it's at least effective.
I don't tell you try to be that perfect little person that says their Sunday prayers and makes all A's in school. I'm telling you to wonder how people perceive you. Because that thought is very entertaining to entertain.
Wonder about those people you see each day.
Wonder if they have as many blessings, as many curses in their life as you do.
And, perhaps, every now and then, venture out onto a limb and talk to that person you see, you know, but you never actually knew.
Because I think they would surprise you.
I know they would surprise me.
003- Be Careful What You Do 'Cause God Is Watching Your Every Move
I can't describe the mood I get in sometimes when I know things are going poorly. And when I say 'poorly', I'm referring to my mental state. Because there's only so much a soul can take before they just need their designated time to think. And this time, it was the people I was with that almost threw me over the edge of a boat in the middle of a squall. If you catch my drift. I don't know what it is about high school that just makes people want to fight, maim, and destroy each other. It's like lazer tag; you forge teams, but you still end up either getting shot in the back or shooting your ally in the back. I don't understand why we even come up with the concept of being allied if all we're going to do is be allied for a few fleeting moments.
Needed to think. And so, I left. I drove, hidden behind my aviator sunglasses. I have this obsession with wanting people not to know when I'm upset. So, I drove my car, auto-pilot for home even though I didn't want to go there. I knew there'd be someone to pester me. My dad. My sisters. Sometimes, I swear, they didn't understand the concept of wanting some alone time to sort out your thoughts. But I digress.
My first angry thought was that I was tired of being sick all of the time. I hadn't had another one of those awful spells in awhile, but right before my performance at solo and ensemble, I felt as though I was going to see my green tea latte again. And I wondered if it'd be as green as it was the first time.
My second angry thought was that I was tired of being torn into pieces by people. Wanting me to be on 'their side', but not on another person's side. And if I saw where the other person was coming from, then I clearly wasn't their friend. And then, there was the other thought that linked onto this one, and that was when I realized that I invested too much of my emotions and myself into these people. And it clearly wasn't healthy. I guess I understood why I did that. It dated back. Back two years ago. When I knew my family was crumbling apart because my mom had passed away. It was sort of funny how everything that happens now relates to something from long ago. Something I did. Something someone else did. Something I wish I had done. And that was when I realized that I invested too much into these people because, two years ago, I had to in order to keep myself sane.
But it was funny now. Because I realized that was going insane because I kept investing. I just kept on investing and investing and I wondered what the results had come from it? There were people I had invested in that had only attempt to invest in me to take whatever they could and leave me there with nothing. There were people I had invested in, and they'd done nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I realized that, perhaps I had wasted a lot of my time after all. A lot of time hoping for things that would never happen. A lot of time waiting for people to 'get it' finally. And they never would. I wanted to head-desk my steering wheel. I couldn't go home now. I had a lot to think about. Too much to think about...
I don't know why I ended up at the park, but it always seemed like the perfect place to be when you just needed awhile to sit and contemplate where you were going in life. And things began hitting me then. College was on my doorstep. Knocking, knocking, knocking, and hand-in-hand with my future, which, I realized, would be probably far from the people that always hung me out to dry in the end. That thought was comforting. Senior year, after all, was supposed to be that year that I was going to 'finish things perfectly'. At the moment, it seemed so far from perfect. Failing relationships galore with friends. Every day was a struggle just dealing with the amount of drama that went on. It felt like I hadn't actually talked to someone in ages. And I asked myself why it seemed that way. And it was either they- the ones I had tried talking to before- were just gone. Gone, gone, gone in the wind. And I wasn't so sure anymore if they were like boomerangs or not.
I remained there, in my car, changed out of my dress into jeans, tights (for extra-warmth because I knew that I'd get out and walk), a plaid shirt, and my green TOMS. I pulled on a heavy black hoodie, and kept my sunglasses on as I walked out. Stuffing my bag under my seat, I took only my phone, my car keys, and my iPod. I plugged in my earphones, put my iPod on shuffle, and I began to walk. And it was then that I realized that I was actually doing this- taking a walk like I probably should've done a long time ago to get more acquainted with my situation in life. I buried my hands into the pockets of my jacket, and I kept moving. I didn't know where I was going. But I just let my feet do the moving and my mind do the thinking. And the first thing I asked, was not to myself, but to God. I asked him why people had to be so dumb sometimes. I asked him why he couldn't give me something exciting in my life. I asked him why he made me like this- especially with a stomach that hated everything I gave to it.
I'll admit that I was angry when I was doing all of this. Very angry indeed. I missed the summer. I missed the warmth. I missed everyone not hating each other's guts then wanting me to pick sides. I missed the old versions of people that I had once had faith in. The ones that had died sometime ago- leaving behind some empty husk that just made me feel even worse when I saw them. But I supposed I had changed, too. I guess it would be weird if we all stayed the same.
My feet picked paths I'd never gone down before. Or, at least it'd been awhile. I ended up at an overlook in Mitch Park, staring at craggy pieces of red dirt and long grass. Taking the small path down, off the paved road, I lifted my hood on my jacket, definitely acknowledging the fact that this made me look like a creeper. I didn't care though. With the baggy jacket and the sunglasses, no one would recognize me. And if they did, it wouldn't really matter, would it?
My iPod picked very ironic songs. The first started off with a very light tune: Welcome to the Black Parade.
"When I was a young boy,
My father took me into the city,
To see a marching band.
He said, "Son, when you grow up
Would you be the savior of the broken,
The beaten, and the damned?"
My TOMS were perfect for this trek. Light, quick, and easy to climb in. I moved rock from rock, my eyes gazing across the quiet, absolutely deserted park. It was perfect, wasn't it? No one around. I did caution myself that people had gotten kidnapped here before. I'm sure I looked like more of a kidnapper than a kidnapee with the hoodie and such. But I told myself to be careful and check my surroundings every now and then.
"He said, "Will you defeat them?
Your demons and all the non-believers,
The plans that they have made?
Because one day, I'll leave you
A phantom to lead you in the summer
And join the Black Parade"."
I don't know what sparked my interest about the creek. It was small. Dry. But I have this thing about when I see a trail, I feel like it must be followed. It'd been a few weeks since I'd done this- follow a trail to see where it went. The last time, I'd been with Colby, trying to find the little collection of puddles and cliffs known as the Overlord's Sanctum- somewhere beyond his backyard fence. But this time, there was no snow to hamper my travels. Just the biting wind to make me want to nestle myself back into my hoodie. I kept moving, though, my feet hooking into niches in the stone, balancing on tree branches and trunks laying discarded on the earth to avoid little cold puddles of water, decorated with fallen leaves. Perhaps the creek got wider as it went- or, I know it did, because the jump to move from one side to the other got more and more difficult. And soon enough, I came to a few 'drop points', where I'd climb down further into the basin of the would-be stream, and I would dance around the sloshy pits of mud and clear pools of water. A few times did my feet touch the burgundy colored mud, but I merely trekked on. I still didn't even know where I was going.
More songs came and went on my iPod: Into the Ocean by Blue October. In the End by Linkin Park. Sin with a Grin by Shinedown. 21 Guns by Green Day. There were others, but these stood out to me above the rest. I threw myself over the widening ditch, grasping the wall of leaves, roots, and tree trunks. My fingers wrapped themselves around a particularly strong root, and I shuffled my way to a flatter piece of land, glancing down at where there was actually a bit of an amount of water. Soon enough, I noticed that the ditch was leading up to a very evident, very steep drop. I clambered out of the creek, and I pulled myself onto the shore.
I guess at this point, I realized my focus had been more on discovery than the actual reason I was out here- to clear my mind of all the negativity in the first place. The land had gotten more hilly as the trek had gone on. Occasionally, I swore I heard a dog bark someplace far off, but I didn't see anything. I felt as though I was truly in the middle of nowhere. But it didn't concern me. Not in the slightest. The path led up a hill, where the trees thinned out and I found myself overlooking what seemed like a dwarf crater in the pits of the woods, a sheer drop off where the creek still had trickles and chuckles of water that flowed, cascading and gurgling down the side of the mossy stone wall of a drop-off. But the walls surrounding this area, which led down to a pool that reminded me of the one Rafiki shows Simba in the Lion King, were curved as if to protect and preserve it. Something about the clear water- where I could see leaves and stones clutter the bottom- and the entire atmosphere of being alone in nature made me want to enter the depths of this place. It was a challenge. And it would make me feel like I had accomplished something by trekking down here, so I began along the trail after a moment's reprieve, looking for a way down. Sure enough, I found a path that led to the water, and I leapt over the water to a large slab of stone in the center of the placid creek. The trickling of water was much louder in the basin that seemed to make the Overlord's Sanctum seem like some midget or laughable joke. I craned my neck back, gazing up at the walls of dirt, compact mud, and stone that surrounded me, leading out only behind me to continue the trail where a creek had once been.
I approached the waters, first observing that there were a few rocks right at the edge of the water that were very flat and would be easy to stand or sit on. My eyes glanced over the terrain, impressed and intrigued that it seemed so out of the way, yet so close to the paved road just several yards up a very treacherous climb out of the ravine. But, I suppose the peace was short-lived.
I'm going to blend in two concepts to accurately describe what was going through my mind, so bear with me. The first concept was that strange flicker of familiarity- almost like deja-vu, but it wasn't something you'd lived through before. It was a sensation of 'Oh, that happens in the movies a lot', but at the same time, I was startled when I heard the first few barks from the hound. The footsteps echoing that only made the entire experience seem uncannily like something from a movie. Here, I thought, was when the good guy got busted by the bad guy.
And yet, at the same time, the next concept that went through my mind was that this was some grand heralding. I've often proclaimed myself a nerd, and this would probably only confirm it. For me, it crossed my mind that this was the same as Link being summoned by the Deku Tree, or the Keyblade appearing in Sora's hand. Or Fox McCloud drawing Krystal's staff from the ground. Or even Frodo being left the Ring of Power. It felt the same, for that moment. That brief moment. And, oddly enough, the footsteps thundered- louder and louder. I wasn't scared. Instead, I heard them stop. I heard the dog bay a few more times, then I looked up, at the very crest on the ridge where I had sat to overlook the huge pool. Staring down at me was a man. It crossed my mind that I wasn't entirely sure where in the park I had strayed. I hoped it hadn't been out of the park's limits, but that seemed very ridiculous. It also crossed my mind, again, that people had gotten kidnapped here before, but I doubted kidnappers would be so bold as to trek through the place on a sunny day.
"Hello fellow hiker!" He called.
I pulled my sunglasses off and looked at him, my hood lowered and I waved. There was a woman and some girl with them. And their little pet beagle. We exchanged a few words. Mostly a, "Hi!" and "It's pretty down here!" and that was about it. They were on their way soon enough. And, oddly enough, I felt a bit of a sinking in my chest. It would've made a better story if they had been kidnappers and I had defeated them single-handedly, I thought with a snort to myself. I turned my attention back to the water, and that's when I saw it.
It was orange. I thought it was a body at first, and horror coursed through my veins faster than my heart could pump blood. Drawing back, I stared, wide-eyed at the orange phantom as it hung so limp and lifeless in the pool. My second guess was that it was a backpack that had been lost some time ago. My third guess was correct- a torn in half hoodie that looked like it had been burned to shreds. I had to investigate, you must understand. I'm inquisitive by nature, and it seemed so wrong leaving it there, in the heart of nature, wrecking the harmony with its nasty, burnt self. I tried to use a stick to reach it, but it was not long enough. I tried climbing onto a ledge to reach it, but I still could not. Finally, I came up with the next idea, which I knew from the start was a very, very bad idea.
At this point, my anger was forgotten. All of my frustrations had been released by curiosity for this... this thing. An enigma. A mystery. I wondered how it had gotten there. What had shredded it. Who had left it. And why they had never come back for it. It was just there. It'd have been in perfect condition in that water- clear as a crystal and, as far as I could tell, uninhabited by any water animals. It was at this time that Colby made the first call. I had sent him a picture of the place through a text message. My ring tone, specialized for him only, broke the natural music from the woods, starting off with the first few chords of Lady Gaga's Bad Romance.
"Hello?" I answered, holding the phone up to my ear.
"Emily Caroline Fortenberry, ARE YOU IN MY BACKYARD?" Colby's response did receive a priceless grin. Admittingly, I had thought about breaking into his backyard. The Overlord's Sanctum was a nice enough place to sit at and contemplate the many wonders of life, but this was far more exciting.
"No. You're not gonna believe where I am," I replied with a smile- even though he couldn't even see it, really.
"Where ARE you?" Colby asked cluelessly.
"Mitch Park. I found this place off the paved road. It's pretty cool! You should come see it," I answered excitedly.
"Mitch Park? What are you doing there?" Colby asked. I wasn't sure how to answer that question. It required too much explanation, so I abbreviated it. More or less.
"I was having... Bad thoughts," I was very well aware that I sounded like a two-year-old. "So I needed just to sit and think about things. So I went exploring. And I found this place."
The conversation was very short from there on. I told him I would take him there sometime, and I added that I was going to retrieve a little hoodie from the depths of this massive pool at the base of a small trickle of creek water. After the phone call was finished, I sat my phone and iPod down on one of the flat stones. Cautiously, I grabbed onto the stone wall of the basin, looking at the hoodie in sheer determination. Dang you, I WILL get you! I swore to myself. One hand grappling with a set of very untidy looking roots, I climbed very slowly, my TOMS digging straight into the muddy red stone. I worked my way and found that, still, the hoodie was out of reach. But I was this far. I was determined.
I don't quite remember how it happened. I just remember one leg plunging down and then it was cold. Very cold. A hand grabbing the roots kept my head above the freezing water. My lungs shrieked in such fear at the sudden temperature change that I was surprised a cry did not escape my gaping mouth. I had fallen in! It seemed too cruel to be true on that bitter cold day. And yet, there I was- waist-deep in the pool of water. And, ironically enough to myself, a secret sadistic part of my mind laughed. Just like TOS. Though, I doubt you have superpowers now.
Since I was already in the water, I went ahead and grabbed the hoodie, though I noticed that another portion of the hoodie was deeper in the water. Clenching my teeth, I thrust my arm into the chilly depths, the surface of the pool coming up just to the rim of the top of my grey jeans. With success, I pulled out the hoodie, dragging it with me towards the shoreline, by the phone and iPod. I recalled that my car keys were still in my pocket and I cussed silently. But I merely dropped the jacket on a nearby rock, climbed out, and thanked the Lord there were no snakes or really unpleasant looking, man-eating fish in that pool. Huffily, I grabbed my phone, feeling the chill of the wind on my legs. The tights had done nothing to protect me from the water. I wasn't surprised. I called Colby.
"Hello?" he asked on the other end of the phone.
"Guess what just happened?" I asked him, not even trying to hide my frustration in my voice.
"What?" Colby asked.
"I fell in. The pool," I responded grudgingly.
"YOU FELL IN!?" Colby sounded a mixture of horrified and amused at the same time. I did not share his amusement... Well. Not at first.
"I er... Yeah. Yeah, pretty much. I'm drenched," I replied. Would he think that I would LIE about that!? I wondered to myself. Yeah. Pretty much at that moment, I realized there was no way in Heaven, Hell, OR Earth that I would lie about falling in a pool... Creek... Thing. Now that I thought about it, I wasn't even sure what to call it.
"Oh my gosh, ARE YOU OKAY!?" Colby asked, voice borderline shrill. Borderline.
"Yeah, I'm fine... Just really wet. And really cold. I just wanted to tell you so you could make fun of me later," I said in a semi-sardonic, semi-sweet tone of voice.
"I er... I er uh... Well... Get dry?" Colby suggested.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that," I replied with a chuckle.
"Well... Why did you fall in?" he asked in curiosity.
"There was a jacket in the water. And... I wanted to get it," I explained sheepishly.
"Well... Did you find anything in the pockets? LOOT IT, EMILY! LOOT THE JACKET!" Colby cried out in excitement. As I patted it down, I couldn't find anything. Nothing at all...
"Nothing's here. Just a shredded jacket. Lame..." I replied. "I guess I'll see you later, okay? Good luck this afternoon with your show."
The conversation ended and I began my trek up the slope, towards the paved road that ran not far from the little basin- the New Sanctum, as I would call it. I cradled the little hoodie in my arms like it was a baby. I didn't run into anyone on my way back to the car. I plopped the jacket I had fallen in the pool for in the back of my car. I figured there was no sense in just leaving it in the woods anyways. If I couldn't salvage it, I could at least throw it away- like some respectable citizen would. Getting in my car, I sat in the seat, my jeans and TOMS absolutely soaked. I pulled my jacket off and threw it in the back, suppressing a shiver from the chill. At least I'd gotten my mind off of things and my spirits had been lifted temporarily.
But as I drove out of Mitch Park, I couldn't help but laugh at the entire situation- how dumb, pointless, and trivial it had all been. And yet, it had seemed like a grand adventure at the time. Just something to keep my mind entertained. Something that didn't seem like reality. And I laughed because I had become aware that this was God's way of getting back at me for before. For getting angry with Him. I guess He had thought it'd be funny, making me fall into a pool and looking like some idiot. But I accepted it. I accepted it because I knew that it was justice for my traitorous thoughts before. And so, with laughter abound, I drove myself back home. Spirits lifted.
Needed to think. And so, I left. I drove, hidden behind my aviator sunglasses. I have this obsession with wanting people not to know when I'm upset. So, I drove my car, auto-pilot for home even though I didn't want to go there. I knew there'd be someone to pester me. My dad. My sisters. Sometimes, I swear, they didn't understand the concept of wanting some alone time to sort out your thoughts. But I digress.
My first angry thought was that I was tired of being sick all of the time. I hadn't had another one of those awful spells in awhile, but right before my performance at solo and ensemble, I felt as though I was going to see my green tea latte again. And I wondered if it'd be as green as it was the first time.
My second angry thought was that I was tired of being torn into pieces by people. Wanting me to be on 'their side', but not on another person's side. And if I saw where the other person was coming from, then I clearly wasn't their friend. And then, there was the other thought that linked onto this one, and that was when I realized that I invested too much of my emotions and myself into these people. And it clearly wasn't healthy. I guess I understood why I did that. It dated back. Back two years ago. When I knew my family was crumbling apart because my mom had passed away. It was sort of funny how everything that happens now relates to something from long ago. Something I did. Something someone else did. Something I wish I had done. And that was when I realized that I invested too much into these people because, two years ago, I had to in order to keep myself sane.
But it was funny now. Because I realized that was going insane because I kept investing. I just kept on investing and investing and I wondered what the results had come from it? There were people I had invested in that had only attempt to invest in me to take whatever they could and leave me there with nothing. There were people I had invested in, and they'd done nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I realized that, perhaps I had wasted a lot of my time after all. A lot of time hoping for things that would never happen. A lot of time waiting for people to 'get it' finally. And they never would. I wanted to head-desk my steering wheel. I couldn't go home now. I had a lot to think about. Too much to think about...
I don't know why I ended up at the park, but it always seemed like the perfect place to be when you just needed awhile to sit and contemplate where you were going in life. And things began hitting me then. College was on my doorstep. Knocking, knocking, knocking, and hand-in-hand with my future, which, I realized, would be probably far from the people that always hung me out to dry in the end. That thought was comforting. Senior year, after all, was supposed to be that year that I was going to 'finish things perfectly'. At the moment, it seemed so far from perfect. Failing relationships galore with friends. Every day was a struggle just dealing with the amount of drama that went on. It felt like I hadn't actually talked to someone in ages. And I asked myself why it seemed that way. And it was either they- the ones I had tried talking to before- were just gone. Gone, gone, gone in the wind. And I wasn't so sure anymore if they were like boomerangs or not.
I remained there, in my car, changed out of my dress into jeans, tights (for extra-warmth because I knew that I'd get out and walk), a plaid shirt, and my green TOMS. I pulled on a heavy black hoodie, and kept my sunglasses on as I walked out. Stuffing my bag under my seat, I took only my phone, my car keys, and my iPod. I plugged in my earphones, put my iPod on shuffle, and I began to walk. And it was then that I realized that I was actually doing this- taking a walk like I probably should've done a long time ago to get more acquainted with my situation in life. I buried my hands into the pockets of my jacket, and I kept moving. I didn't know where I was going. But I just let my feet do the moving and my mind do the thinking. And the first thing I asked, was not to myself, but to God. I asked him why people had to be so dumb sometimes. I asked him why he couldn't give me something exciting in my life. I asked him why he made me like this- especially with a stomach that hated everything I gave to it.
I'll admit that I was angry when I was doing all of this. Very angry indeed. I missed the summer. I missed the warmth. I missed everyone not hating each other's guts then wanting me to pick sides. I missed the old versions of people that I had once had faith in. The ones that had died sometime ago- leaving behind some empty husk that just made me feel even worse when I saw them. But I supposed I had changed, too. I guess it would be weird if we all stayed the same.
My feet picked paths I'd never gone down before. Or, at least it'd been awhile. I ended up at an overlook in Mitch Park, staring at craggy pieces of red dirt and long grass. Taking the small path down, off the paved road, I lifted my hood on my jacket, definitely acknowledging the fact that this made me look like a creeper. I didn't care though. With the baggy jacket and the sunglasses, no one would recognize me. And if they did, it wouldn't really matter, would it?
My iPod picked very ironic songs. The first started off with a very light tune: Welcome to the Black Parade.
"When I was a young boy,
My father took me into the city,
To see a marching band.
He said, "Son, when you grow up
Would you be the savior of the broken,
The beaten, and the damned?"
My TOMS were perfect for this trek. Light, quick, and easy to climb in. I moved rock from rock, my eyes gazing across the quiet, absolutely deserted park. It was perfect, wasn't it? No one around. I did caution myself that people had gotten kidnapped here before. I'm sure I looked like more of a kidnapper than a kidnapee with the hoodie and such. But I told myself to be careful and check my surroundings every now and then.
"He said, "Will you defeat them?
Your demons and all the non-believers,
The plans that they have made?
Because one day, I'll leave you
A phantom to lead you in the summer
And join the Black Parade"."
I don't know what sparked my interest about the creek. It was small. Dry. But I have this thing about when I see a trail, I feel like it must be followed. It'd been a few weeks since I'd done this- follow a trail to see where it went. The last time, I'd been with Colby, trying to find the little collection of puddles and cliffs known as the Overlord's Sanctum- somewhere beyond his backyard fence. But this time, there was no snow to hamper my travels. Just the biting wind to make me want to nestle myself back into my hoodie. I kept moving, though, my feet hooking into niches in the stone, balancing on tree branches and trunks laying discarded on the earth to avoid little cold puddles of water, decorated with fallen leaves. Perhaps the creek got wider as it went- or, I know it did, because the jump to move from one side to the other got more and more difficult. And soon enough, I came to a few 'drop points', where I'd climb down further into the basin of the would-be stream, and I would dance around the sloshy pits of mud and clear pools of water. A few times did my feet touch the burgundy colored mud, but I merely trekked on. I still didn't even know where I was going.
More songs came and went on my iPod: Into the Ocean by Blue October. In the End by Linkin Park. Sin with a Grin by Shinedown. 21 Guns by Green Day. There were others, but these stood out to me above the rest. I threw myself over the widening ditch, grasping the wall of leaves, roots, and tree trunks. My fingers wrapped themselves around a particularly strong root, and I shuffled my way to a flatter piece of land, glancing down at where there was actually a bit of an amount of water. Soon enough, I noticed that the ditch was leading up to a very evident, very steep drop. I clambered out of the creek, and I pulled myself onto the shore.
I guess at this point, I realized my focus had been more on discovery than the actual reason I was out here- to clear my mind of all the negativity in the first place. The land had gotten more hilly as the trek had gone on. Occasionally, I swore I heard a dog bark someplace far off, but I didn't see anything. I felt as though I was truly in the middle of nowhere. But it didn't concern me. Not in the slightest. The path led up a hill, where the trees thinned out and I found myself overlooking what seemed like a dwarf crater in the pits of the woods, a sheer drop off where the creek still had trickles and chuckles of water that flowed, cascading and gurgling down the side of the mossy stone wall of a drop-off. But the walls surrounding this area, which led down to a pool that reminded me of the one Rafiki shows Simba in the Lion King, were curved as if to protect and preserve it. Something about the clear water- where I could see leaves and stones clutter the bottom- and the entire atmosphere of being alone in nature made me want to enter the depths of this place. It was a challenge. And it would make me feel like I had accomplished something by trekking down here, so I began along the trail after a moment's reprieve, looking for a way down. Sure enough, I found a path that led to the water, and I leapt over the water to a large slab of stone in the center of the placid creek. The trickling of water was much louder in the basin that seemed to make the Overlord's Sanctum seem like some midget or laughable joke. I craned my neck back, gazing up at the walls of dirt, compact mud, and stone that surrounded me, leading out only behind me to continue the trail where a creek had once been.
I approached the waters, first observing that there were a few rocks right at the edge of the water that were very flat and would be easy to stand or sit on. My eyes glanced over the terrain, impressed and intrigued that it seemed so out of the way, yet so close to the paved road just several yards up a very treacherous climb out of the ravine. But, I suppose the peace was short-lived.
I'm going to blend in two concepts to accurately describe what was going through my mind, so bear with me. The first concept was that strange flicker of familiarity- almost like deja-vu, but it wasn't something you'd lived through before. It was a sensation of 'Oh, that happens in the movies a lot', but at the same time, I was startled when I heard the first few barks from the hound. The footsteps echoing that only made the entire experience seem uncannily like something from a movie. Here, I thought, was when the good guy got busted by the bad guy.
And yet, at the same time, the next concept that went through my mind was that this was some grand heralding. I've often proclaimed myself a nerd, and this would probably only confirm it. For me, it crossed my mind that this was the same as Link being summoned by the Deku Tree, or the Keyblade appearing in Sora's hand. Or Fox McCloud drawing Krystal's staff from the ground. Or even Frodo being left the Ring of Power. It felt the same, for that moment. That brief moment. And, oddly enough, the footsteps thundered- louder and louder. I wasn't scared. Instead, I heard them stop. I heard the dog bay a few more times, then I looked up, at the very crest on the ridge where I had sat to overlook the huge pool. Staring down at me was a man. It crossed my mind that I wasn't entirely sure where in the park I had strayed. I hoped it hadn't been out of the park's limits, but that seemed very ridiculous. It also crossed my mind, again, that people had gotten kidnapped here before, but I doubted kidnappers would be so bold as to trek through the place on a sunny day.
"Hello fellow hiker!" He called.
I pulled my sunglasses off and looked at him, my hood lowered and I waved. There was a woman and some girl with them. And their little pet beagle. We exchanged a few words. Mostly a, "Hi!" and "It's pretty down here!" and that was about it. They were on their way soon enough. And, oddly enough, I felt a bit of a sinking in my chest. It would've made a better story if they had been kidnappers and I had defeated them single-handedly, I thought with a snort to myself. I turned my attention back to the water, and that's when I saw it.
It was orange. I thought it was a body at first, and horror coursed through my veins faster than my heart could pump blood. Drawing back, I stared, wide-eyed at the orange phantom as it hung so limp and lifeless in the pool. My second guess was that it was a backpack that had been lost some time ago. My third guess was correct- a torn in half hoodie that looked like it had been burned to shreds. I had to investigate, you must understand. I'm inquisitive by nature, and it seemed so wrong leaving it there, in the heart of nature, wrecking the harmony with its nasty, burnt self. I tried to use a stick to reach it, but it was not long enough. I tried climbing onto a ledge to reach it, but I still could not. Finally, I came up with the next idea, which I knew from the start was a very, very bad idea.
At this point, my anger was forgotten. All of my frustrations had been released by curiosity for this... this thing. An enigma. A mystery. I wondered how it had gotten there. What had shredded it. Who had left it. And why they had never come back for it. It was just there. It'd have been in perfect condition in that water- clear as a crystal and, as far as I could tell, uninhabited by any water animals. It was at this time that Colby made the first call. I had sent him a picture of the place through a text message. My ring tone, specialized for him only, broke the natural music from the woods, starting off with the first few chords of Lady Gaga's Bad Romance.
"Hello?" I answered, holding the phone up to my ear.
"Emily Caroline Fortenberry, ARE YOU IN MY BACKYARD?" Colby's response did receive a priceless grin. Admittingly, I had thought about breaking into his backyard. The Overlord's Sanctum was a nice enough place to sit at and contemplate the many wonders of life, but this was far more exciting.
"No. You're not gonna believe where I am," I replied with a smile- even though he couldn't even see it, really.
"Where ARE you?" Colby asked cluelessly.
"Mitch Park. I found this place off the paved road. It's pretty cool! You should come see it," I answered excitedly.
"Mitch Park? What are you doing there?" Colby asked. I wasn't sure how to answer that question. It required too much explanation, so I abbreviated it. More or less.
"I was having... Bad thoughts," I was very well aware that I sounded like a two-year-old. "So I needed just to sit and think about things. So I went exploring. And I found this place."
The conversation was very short from there on. I told him I would take him there sometime, and I added that I was going to retrieve a little hoodie from the depths of this massive pool at the base of a small trickle of creek water. After the phone call was finished, I sat my phone and iPod down on one of the flat stones. Cautiously, I grabbed onto the stone wall of the basin, looking at the hoodie in sheer determination. Dang you, I WILL get you! I swore to myself. One hand grappling with a set of very untidy looking roots, I climbed very slowly, my TOMS digging straight into the muddy red stone. I worked my way and found that, still, the hoodie was out of reach. But I was this far. I was determined.
I don't quite remember how it happened. I just remember one leg plunging down and then it was cold. Very cold. A hand grabbing the roots kept my head above the freezing water. My lungs shrieked in such fear at the sudden temperature change that I was surprised a cry did not escape my gaping mouth. I had fallen in! It seemed too cruel to be true on that bitter cold day. And yet, there I was- waist-deep in the pool of water. And, ironically enough to myself, a secret sadistic part of my mind laughed. Just like TOS. Though, I doubt you have superpowers now.
Since I was already in the water, I went ahead and grabbed the hoodie, though I noticed that another portion of the hoodie was deeper in the water. Clenching my teeth, I thrust my arm into the chilly depths, the surface of the pool coming up just to the rim of the top of my grey jeans. With success, I pulled out the hoodie, dragging it with me towards the shoreline, by the phone and iPod. I recalled that my car keys were still in my pocket and I cussed silently. But I merely dropped the jacket on a nearby rock, climbed out, and thanked the Lord there were no snakes or really unpleasant looking, man-eating fish in that pool. Huffily, I grabbed my phone, feeling the chill of the wind on my legs. The tights had done nothing to protect me from the water. I wasn't surprised. I called Colby.
"Hello?" he asked on the other end of the phone.
"Guess what just happened?" I asked him, not even trying to hide my frustration in my voice.
"What?" Colby asked.
"I fell in. The pool," I responded grudgingly.
"YOU FELL IN!?" Colby sounded a mixture of horrified and amused at the same time. I did not share his amusement... Well. Not at first.
"I er... Yeah. Yeah, pretty much. I'm drenched," I replied. Would he think that I would LIE about that!? I wondered to myself. Yeah. Pretty much at that moment, I realized there was no way in Heaven, Hell, OR Earth that I would lie about falling in a pool... Creek... Thing. Now that I thought about it, I wasn't even sure what to call it.
"Oh my gosh, ARE YOU OKAY!?" Colby asked, voice borderline shrill. Borderline.
"Yeah, I'm fine... Just really wet. And really cold. I just wanted to tell you so you could make fun of me later," I said in a semi-sardonic, semi-sweet tone of voice.
"I er... I er uh... Well... Get dry?" Colby suggested.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that," I replied with a chuckle.
"Well... Why did you fall in?" he asked in curiosity.
"There was a jacket in the water. And... I wanted to get it," I explained sheepishly.
"Well... Did you find anything in the pockets? LOOT IT, EMILY! LOOT THE JACKET!" Colby cried out in excitement. As I patted it down, I couldn't find anything. Nothing at all...
"Nothing's here. Just a shredded jacket. Lame..." I replied. "I guess I'll see you later, okay? Good luck this afternoon with your show."
The conversation ended and I began my trek up the slope, towards the paved road that ran not far from the little basin- the New Sanctum, as I would call it. I cradled the little hoodie in my arms like it was a baby. I didn't run into anyone on my way back to the car. I plopped the jacket I had fallen in the pool for in the back of my car. I figured there was no sense in just leaving it in the woods anyways. If I couldn't salvage it, I could at least throw it away- like some respectable citizen would. Getting in my car, I sat in the seat, my jeans and TOMS absolutely soaked. I pulled my jacket off and threw it in the back, suppressing a shiver from the chill. At least I'd gotten my mind off of things and my spirits had been lifted temporarily.
But as I drove out of Mitch Park, I couldn't help but laugh at the entire situation- how dumb, pointless, and trivial it had all been. And yet, it had seemed like a grand adventure at the time. Just something to keep my mind entertained. Something that didn't seem like reality. And I laughed because I had become aware that this was God's way of getting back at me for before. For getting angry with Him. I guess He had thought it'd be funny, making me fall into a pool and looking like some idiot. But I accepted it. I accepted it because I knew that it was justice for my traitorous thoughts before. And so, with laughter abound, I drove myself back home. Spirits lifted.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)