Writing Poems and Ice Cream

[This post was originally part of the last one. Please, if you would, take the chance to read the previous post.]

Well, about the poem writing...it's a fun business. Therapy, for me. It helps me deal through my feelings, because I compare every minuscule detail to something else. I did that a few times this week...once, several times in one night. I was thinking about how writing poems is similar to writing songs, because we're doing that in music class. And I've found a new appreciation for songwriting.

Ice cream...I just sent an email to my friend about ice cream. We're going to have an ice cream party in our advisory next Friday. Hopefully. We're going to try doing it Coldstone style: with different kinds of ice cream and different toppings so we can mix it all together. Don't know why, but I felt the need to bring that up.

It's Sunday. I have to go to school tomorrow...I want to, though. I feel I've been home enough now. Despite that, it remains to be true, in my opinion, that weekends aren't long enough.

Monumental Poem

I wrote a poem a few days ago. It was, as I said to my friend the next day, a "monumental poem." The unfortunate thing is that now I have to go through and edit it, for every word holds symbolism which cannot be seen by the bare human eye. You've got to look through a window, and see beyond the typewritten word and dictionary definition...and use your imagination. (You'll understand the window parallel in a moment...at least I hope.)

Here it is...no stealing, please, or I'll be extremely upset. And an angry poem will, most definitely, be coming your way. You don't want that. So be good:

Window

By Mollie [last name omitted]

Window

Look

past

Panes. See

day

night

soul. You? Me?

Trees

of everything.

Leaves

slipping, letting

go a hello.

It falls in

the gutter.

It weeps for

a moment

and soon

it melts

into

the road.

Window

Look

through

glass.

You know

it’s there.

So ignore, go home eat watch TV forget and be.

Forget - deny - that

it’s glass

Not paint,

because you know it’s there.

But so do I.

And glass can be cleaned.

So look

through glass.

see

unborn smiles

holding

hands

with tired

pinched

eyes.

Of a child.

Lips cracked as

a desert sun,

beseech

ing

clouds

for

water.

See pink blue purple red green…rainbow, with peaces

turning her back

and

catching

the rays

of lights

from unborn smiles pinched eyes cracked lips…who are

searching YOU

for being.

Look

at light, don’t

squint.

See how

she

caresses

leaftops

and

lake ripples

and

snow meadows

gently.

see how

magnificent,

she.

Long for her to

stroke

you too,

For she cannot reach you

through glass panes screen frame.

Open

Window,

Where

I’m

Not

Defeated yet,

Or

Will be ever.

But light goes down crows swoop clouds cover then breeze changes and

Out your window

no trees leaves unborn smiles eyes pinched lips cracked beseeching clouds…

No longer beseeching clouds…

Since you

were

too

Late.

So

pull back

that hello before

it reaches the gutter

and cradle it in

your arms before

shouting out the world that,

“HELLO!”

And the mist

from that Hello

wipes off grime

on

his, her, their, my, and YOUR

window

so that

light can be seen coming.

And

link arms with

smiles, sparkling

eyes, stretched

lips, and

rosy cheeks to

Look past those pains

Through that glass

and

Open

That

Window.

I'm sorry about the length. That's always been an issue of mine... Anyway, overall, the poem is about not letting opportunities, specifically to help others, slip by. In the simplest terms. It's also about just opening your eyes to the real world around you and excepting that only a window separates you from the problems...or the joy, whatever it be. You've got to really look through the window and observe, and understand, and finally, when you're ready to feel the breeze, whether it be cold or warm, to open it up. And to not let that "hello" slip into the gutter. Have you ever walked by somebody in the hall, somebody you know, maybe by name or even just face, and a hello is on your lips, just about to break free...but you walk on by, silent, and it's as if there's something connecting you with that person, that person walking down the hall, because that hello was lost between you?

Well, that's what the hello part was about.

As I said, every word has symbolism, excepting those like "the" or "and." I wrote notes about the interpretations next to the poem in my notebook, but there are way too many to describe here.

I just looked out the window behind me to see an orange and white tabby cat perched on our porch rail. Not our cat. Just a frequent visitor. And there's something amazing about the fact that he's only a few feet away from me, living and breathing and seeing and smelling and moving, slinking across the rail, but I feel as if we're in different worlds. He probably doesn't even know I'm here. All because of a window.

It's crazy to think that a piece of glass can separate two beings so completely. A little scary, actually.

[Originally, I had the next post in the same post as this, but because the poem is so long and, I feel, deserving of attention, I wanted it to stand for itself.]

SAT, Ambassadors, and Spelling Bees

Lots of things have been going on lately. And I've achieved a lot in the past few weeks...yet somehow, I've focused on talking about other things on this blog, just things I've been thinking about. Just things I've been feeling. It feels good, I love it, but now the time has come to tell you what's up.

News item number one: The Friday before last, I won the school spelling bee!!! It's the third time I've won a school bee, and the second time I've gone tons of rounds with one other person.

The funny thing is, I was dreading going to this bee. I didn't want to, at all. Part of the reason, I think, was that the last two years at this school I haven't done very well, and I was getting to the point where I just didn't care about spelling bees anymore. It's true that once you go out in the world, spelling doesn't really make a whole lot of difference. At least knowing how to spell words like "logorrhea" (which the spell check on this blog doesn't even identify as a word). I didn't have to spell that, but it was the winning word for the national spelling bee one year.

However, this year, as the two of us (a seventh grade boy and myself) were going back and forth, throwing combinations of letters out there, hoping they were put together rightly, mentally crossing our fingers, arguing inside of ourselves...I realized why I love spelling bees.

They're all about words.

To tell you the truth, I realized this a long time ago. But now I realized why I should keep liking spelling bees. Because they're just part of me.

Being in a spelling bee is like running track. The only time you feel the elation is possibly during, and after the event. But before? Before, you're a nervous mess, fidgeting and heart jumping and falling all out of yourself. And during, you become like a machine - a task is set out for you, and you must do it, or you fail miserably. Nothing else is on your mind. Nothing at all. Only the letters. Only the lines of the track.

And spelling is something so inexorably wonderful that I would never give it up despite the hours of mind-tearing and stitching-up together again that occur prior to it.

The district bee is a couple of weeks from now. The same day as our middle school play. Apparently there are only six people in it.

Oh. Boy.

News item number two: I took the SAT yesterday. My second time, for practice. This year, I was there with people in my grade, so it was fun, while last year people in the grade above me were taking it at the same time. It seemed so much easier this year, and I was monumentally less apprehensive beforehand. I feel that I did extraordinarily better than I did last year, which hopefully means that I did extraordinarily well. I just spent way too long brainstorming for my essay.

And honestly, I purely enjoyed it. I thought that 4 hour test was fun. FUN. There's something extremely satisfying about taking a test, whether you're entirely sure of an answer to begin with, or you figure it out after some thinking, or even if you have absolutely no idea and you know you have absolutely no idea, and you skip it. Something about even that last one is extremely satisfying.

My mom said that my grade was a lot more energetic after the test than the kids (in the grade above me) had been last year. And that's very true. We're a pretty cool grade :D.

Afterwards, some of us went to a Chinese restaurant for lunch (which was entirely caused by my organizing) and then a few people came back with me to watch the boys' basketball game. It was our team against the team of my old school, which is still where I live. And our team was smothered. But the game was fun.

News item number three: I am now a student ambassador for my school! That means I get to tell visitors about our school and participate in some school events. I'm very excited.

Today I got to help show people around at the Open House. My friend and I got to give a boy and his mom a tour, which middle schoolers usually don't get to do. It was all very flattering, actually, when the teachers would say something like, "Oh, they can tell you all about it."

Bottom line, though, it helps me understand my experience there even better. And as I talked about things we've done, and things we've enjoyed, and opportunities I've had, I find that every single word leaving my mouth is entirely true. I'm not just saying this. I mean it with all of my heart. So it was very beneficial to me, and I certainly hope it was for the visiting families.

So there you have it - the news. Of course, there are many other things going on...but those are the ones worth sharing, for the moment. I'm tired now, very tired, and extremely relieved that all of my homework is finished! Now to go to sleep tonight...and not to wake up back up again before it's time...

Night

As I sink my teeth in a vegan, gluten-free, sugar-free chocolate chip cookie sandwich with frosting in the middle, my entire being is submerged into a world of pleasure and chocolate. I sit by my fire, warm, and tired after a long day. Satisfied. Great.

But how is this fair?

We're reading Elie Wiesel's Night in English class right now - a startling, and true, depiction of the Holocaust from a survivor himself. We had time to read in class today...and I wasn't the same person walking out of the classroom that day than I'd been going in.

The part we read today accounts Wiesel's experience entering Auschwitz.

Babies. He sees babies being burned right in front of him. Babies. "All this could not be real," he thinks. And that's what I was thinking too. "This must be a gross exaggeration, only trying to make a point. This can't have really happened." But deep down, I know it did. I know that I'm just trying to deny the horrible truth, not willing to accept the atrocities members of our race can commit against others.

Babies.

That's what made me cry when we watched Schindler's List: the children. Being carried away in trucks. Singing...singing children's songs. Being carried away in trucks to their death. And they had no idea.

How could this happen?

Class was over. I closed the book, gathered my things, got up and pushed my chair in...began walking through the halls. But none of that was real. Not after what I had just read. I couldn't be walking through a carpeted hall, cradling my books and binders, warm and comfortable in new clothes, surrounded by friends. It simply wasn't fair.

I walked out beside my friend, and I could tell we felt the same way. But it was more than just a feeling. There was a cloud...a black cloud, enshrouding the two of us. We floated through the murmurs and shouts of our fellow middle schoolers around us, but we did not feel as fellows. We did not belong, or rather, they did not belong, the school did not belong. It couldn't, could it, when... Babies.

Everything was a blur. I didn't care what people were saying around me. The smiles on their faces, the twinkle in their eyes, was a betrayal to the truths of humanity. A betrayal to Elie Wiesel. A betrayal to the 6 million Jews who died in the Holocaust, to those in Africa going through genocide right now at this very moment, to the children sold to sex trafficking every day, to any victims of the black and smoky fire of cruelty.

A light beside me - really a sweet sound - emerged from the cloud of mutual despair, and I turned, feeling dead, to see a painful smile broken on her face - attempting to erase the words still emblazoned in her soul. I then became aware that a small boy had tripped over a stack of chairs amid the rush in the hallway...a clumsy child, being a clumsy child. An act ignored, but plainly etched across all of our paths. Something simple. Something ordinary.

And I believe the side of my mouth tilted up just a little then. That trip, stumble, clumsiness...it was an angel.

But a short-lived one.

As I collected my books for my next class, I exchanged a few words with some other students I know. I wasn't really there. It was meaningless. How could I be there when... Babies.

My friend and I met up again walking to class. We never had to say anything, during all of this. We didn't need to. We got there early. I tore a page out of my notebook...and that moment, that tear, felt so good. All I could do, at the moment, to express my anger.

And then I began to write. I wrote a little of what I've just written here. Some ideas, thoughts. Just words. And I could never write enough. No one can write enough, or say enough, or sing enough, think enough... Babies.

Of course, class had to start. Of course, I had to continue the day. It was American History class now, not English. It was time to move on. But I never could. I didn't even care, as he handed back our tests, what I got. I listened to my teacher's words diligently, but my heart wasn't in it. I could have put my heart in it, if I wanted to - I can to anything - but I couldn't ignore the hollow feeling inside.

The rest of the day I felt subdued. Like I was only half-experiencing my life. Every small thing stood out in magnanimous detail. Every gesture, word spoken or read, touch sensed. It was all a dream, while I seemed to wear a black and grey veil, carrying with me the thoughts of all humans of all times. A burden.

I remember feeling, while I read Night, similar to how I felt when we did the Underground Railroad simulation at Camp Joy. How the things we experienced there, where there was no physical pain, no real family being torn from us, and still the promise of a soft bed later in the night, were so piercing. I felt like a worthless pig after only going through that for an hour or so. I was already reduced to nothing, to no one, just a body, following the line ahead of me. I remember my heart beating furiously, running away from me. Wanting to leave. I remember that horrible feeling. But what Elie experienced was so much worse. I felt guilty, almost, that a simulation was the closest I could relate those feelings to. And even worse, when I thought about how what Elie is relaying at this point in the book is only the beginning - that there is worse to come for him.

I've always had the sense that everything will be OK. I'll be fine. I'm safe. But I'm sure he felt that too. My life could turn around too. I could be somewhere like there, seeing those babies.

How would I even begin to grapple with those emotions?

I don't think I'll ever be the same. I still wear that veil. But I can't forget this. I can't let things be. I can live, live to the fullest, and live my own life.

"Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, that turned my life into one long night seven times sealed.

Never shall I forget that smoke.

Never shall I forget the small faces of the children whose bodies I saw transformed into smoke under a silent sky.

Never shall I forget those flames that consumed my faith forever.

Never shall I forget the nocturnal silence that deprived me for all eternity of the desire to live.

Never shall I forget those moments that murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to ashes.

Never shall I forget those things, even were I condemned to live as long as God Himself.

Never."

-from Night, by Elie Wiesel, page 52 of the Night Trilogy

And never shall I forget those words.

So good night, world of words. Live through the black cloud. Lift up the veil. But remember. Never forget the words of night.

Art

I was in a sort of gallery today, waiting for my parents to be finished with something, and I looked at all the art. There wasn't much - it's just one circular room with its walls almost covered with art from various local artists.

I love art. I love looking at it, and making it. And it takes a lot to impress me - the piece has to be original, and unique, not something anyone could do. If I feel like I could make something just as good myself - my interest is lost. And at museums, I don't like to linger. I look at something, appreciate it, try to understand why and possibly how the artist made it, and what it could mean, and move on. I try to do all of these things, but if the art isn't compelling enough, then I won't. But today, I had time to kill. So I resolved to really look at the art, every single piece, and try to give them equal attention and credit. The ones I didn't like as much, I looked at more, and tried to understand. Tried to see why they were hanging up on this wall, with a name and a painter's name and a price, when they weren't that good.

The thing about art is that it's a kind of therapy. And it's a great therapy - believe me, I know. In fact, my mom has a degree in art therapy. But if you're going to make art professionally, and sell it, and let that be your job, then you've got to separate that from therapy. Or else be extremely creative and original and precise in your therapy time. It's great, preferable, to be doing the kind of art you like, a piece you're inspired to do, something that your heart is in - but decide if it's for yourself or for art.

I realized today that art is a way of letting go. When you're making art, you think of nothing but the art. And when you see art, when you really delve into it, you think of nothing but the art. You can become completely absorbed into a flower petal or a tree or a little child's face painted on a canvas, and everything else is just...erased. Gone. For the moment.

Two Hour Delay

NOT! We should have one. In fact, 218 closings/delays have been reported, according to WHIO. My dad and the other parents in our carpool group are still debating about whether to implement our own two hour delay. And all I can do is sit here and wait. And now leave!

The Fire, Books, Chairs...and Soup

Above is pretty much what my day has consisted of.

Okay, a lot more than that, but those are just the first things that come to mind. Snow, too. How could that be forgotten?

So here's what I'm thinking about right now:

1.) The fact that I'm writing a blog. (Okay, that was extremely unnecessary, but it's true. And it's kinda cool too really. Okay stop.)

2.) Snow is such a wonderful thing. I've also got to give a shout-out to Weather, and Clouds, and Temperature...Roads too, because if it weren't for these things I wouldn't have a snow day. And if it weren't for a snow day I wouldn't be doing this now.

3.) Well actually I might. Because now school would be over... Man, I enjoy snow days more when it's still during normal school time. More fun that way...anyway.

4.) I absolutely love our wood-burning stove. I can look up from my computer screen and see a blazing hot, dancing fire across the room from me, which just happens to be keeping me warm. And I'm in no danger of getting burned. I'll admit, I do even enjoy getting wood for it and making the fire. It gives me a satisfied feeling, to know that I'm doing all those things to keep myself and my family well.

5.) I made soup for my mom today. She's sick, and wanted something soothing. It consisted of broth, some vegetables, and a few noodles - wasn't particularly flavorful, but achieved its purpose. It felt good making something for her, so she could feel better.

6.) Why do people need to use profanity? It's so...dull. Yes, maybe it makes whatever you're trying to say seem more...intense, but we should be using intelligent words to do that, not bad ones! Besides, who's to say that those words are really bad...how is that determined? Society. Meanings, sort of...but "crap" isn't necessarily considered to be a bad word. At least by most of the people I know.

The snow is blowing peacefully off the tree branches outside. I can hear the shovel scraping on the cement outside as my dad clears off the driveway. The fire crackles every now and then, and the keyboard clicks away as my fingers work busily. The solid plastic under my fingers feels comforting somehow - personal. This computer is my own little world, no one else's. This chair is my own world, this room, this house. Those trees outside. Others may experience it, but not the same way I do. Mine is my own world.

And with that, I think I'll do some writing. Make some progress...not that I haven't already. But snow days are days to make progress for progress's sake, not for necessity's.

Snow Day!

YES. We finally have a snow day, the first official one of the year. And it's been snowing all day - I'd say at least two inches have already built up.

It's wonderful having these days. Even though you're not with your friends, not doing what you planned, pretty much stuck in your house, it's like you're all experiencing it together. It's a mutual feeling.

I've been quite lazy today. Well, when I first got up I was pretty industrious. Made the fire, got wood, fed my rabbit some "Critical Care" bunny mix thing that smells heavenly...pretty good start. Then, while drinking some tea and an episode later eating an apple for breakfast, I watched three or four episodes of the show "Friends" with my parents. But, might I add, while enjoying that and relaxing, I was practicing some mandarin characters. And then I got on the computer...and chatted with some friends. But while I was doing that I did some spelling bee practice. (How do they expect me to know how to spell Japanese and German and Hawaiian words? I mean really! Are we ever going to use them? No! Not unless we move to those places, which I am not planning on doing! It's a national spelling bee...meaning it's for this country. Urgh, unfairness... Oh, by the way I'm not going to the national. I won the class bee, which means I go to the school one...with twelve people. Whatever, I already have enough spelling bees under my belt to put on my resume.)

Just goes to show my productive nature. And how nice it is to write things down...see, now I feel as if I've done a lot today! Woohoo! Go me! I think I'd really like to make some cake.... (GOSH, what is with this cake obsession??)

But hey, this is what snow days are for, aren't they?

More later. Something...thoughtful. (Right now I'm just dying to get UP, and move around.)

Friday and the Truth

It's Friday. And I am soo glad. Well, what a surprise. I'm so tired, and my body aches all over, yet it's only been a four day week. Well, I'll get back in the swing of things before too long.

Okay, now that we're done with that whole whoop-de-doo, to the real juicy stuff. When I got home from school today, I read some of George Orwell's 1984. It's a very...disturbing book, I suppose you could say. Thought-provoking. Mind-bending.

I'll try to explain this without giving away too much of the plot: A man is trying to explain to the main character Winston that the Party (which is essentially the controlling totalitarian government) can manipulate the truth. He shows Winston four fingers and asks him how many he's holding up. When Winston replies "four", the man turns a dial that gives Winston some kind of super-painful seizure. Not unless he answers "five" will the man stop inflicting punishment. According to him, Winston is a "slow learner", because he holds firm to the belief that four is four. So he explains to him why he must be taught that four is four.

He explains that the Party will not accept martyrs. They will force people to confess (wholeheartedly believing in that confession), then bend people's will and make them become one of the Party, and then kill them. He says that the Nazis were more successful than past totalitarian controls because they stole their victim's dignity before killing them, but that eventually their "degradation was forgotten." He blames this for the fact that the confessions they were forced to make were "obviously extorted and untrue." Then he says, "All the confessions that are uttered here are true. We make them true."

This phrase struck me as particularly horrifying - "We make them true." I tried to read on, to understand the whole concept more, hoping that I would come to some conclusion within myself that would settle my thoughts as I kept reading, but after a couple pages I could take it no longer. I stopped, got out my writing notebook, and began to write. Truth, primarily, was the topic. Here's a rough transcript:

"What is truth? Why is 2+2 four? Because it can be proven. Then how do you prove that 2 is 2, or 1 one? Only the very origin of the facts can determine what is true; and it's only the truth because someone says it to be. Then who is the someone we should listen to? Great philosophers? World leaders? Political leaders? God? If the latter, then why must we argue over religion, because everyone's God could be different. And if the truth of the nature of God comes from God, and yours is different from mine, then we believe different truths because they are both true since our someone tells us they are. IS THERE A TRUTH? Then are there lies? Why do I refer to "truth" as singular and "lies" as plural? Does that mean there is only one truth? If there is no truth, then how is there crime? How can we convict someone of an act involving lies when no one can deny the fact that they don't know the truth? Because we've come to accept a truth, that of the law, that tells us what is right and wrong, but only according to our standards, what we believe, our truth. However, we feel the law is unethical in some places; but is it not because their God, their someone, told them the truth to be that and that was all they had to cling on to? But sometimes the unethical nature is due to misinterpretation or ignorance. So how do we determine when this is the case? Because the law, the truth, someone tells us it is. And how do we even know what "misinterpretation" and "ignorance" are, when at this point we can't depend on simply what we were taught or what it says in the dictionary? In another language a word can have a totally different meaning. Yet both are true.

Truth. Someone. WHAT IS IT? And we're back to the beginning."

So the basic just of it: The truth is the truth because we have learned that it is the truth, and that is most likely because someone told us to, just as 2+2=4 and not 5 because we learned that in school. But if someone were to come up to you, hold up 4 fingers, and tell you that was 5, you would think them insane. And they may think you insane. So everybody's truth could be different. Meaning there can be no truth. Which makes me wonder how the world has not turned to complete chaos...and how do we know it hasn't?

I was so bothered by all of these things that I had to talk them through with my mother (who, by the way, is a wonderful talker-througher-with of things. She nodded, and listened, and added to my thoughts, telling me present-day examples of some of the things I mentioned, such as the religion issue. Religion was, upon taking my pencil to paper this night, not something I intended at all to focus on, but what became a huge question. I don't think about religion much - I'm not at a point in life where I really need it. But religion is affecting the whole world a lot right now, and it seems to be playing into quite a few conflicts. While talking with my mom, I came to a comforting conclusion: religion, spiritual practice, following a spiritual path...it's all about believing. I mentioned that if people were so devoted to someone that embodied their religion, and they said to do something that seems totally outlandish to us, they would, because it would be the truth to them. (I'm starting to feel that there isn't really a truth - that it's sort of an empty term.) As she talked about some of her beliefs, I realized that at the heart of religion is having the faith to completely give yourself up and just BELIEVE something without having any actual proof. This is totally different from something being the truth. The terms - belief and truth - are just as related as a bumble bee and my toothbrush: entirely incomparable and not correlated. This calmed me, and I was able to write the word "BELIEVE" at the end of my long written paragraph on the notebook page, and move on with my evening. These thoughts still haunted me, especially since we watched a movie involving someone's identity being stolen (which certainly puts the whole truth at stake), but I was able to give myself up and just believe that I would be fine, and need not worry about these things. Still, could too much simply "believing" be harmful? And the question remains: what is the truth?

I don't think I'll ever find the answers to these questions. However, I'll try to find the most I can. I'll strive to understand, at least, some level of all this complexity.

English Essay and Exhausted

This MUST be short. I am too tired to go to sleep tonight - I hate that feeling, because I feel like I should be asleep, like I am inside, actually... Anyway.

Some things I realized about myself today...concretely (meaning I knew them before but have officially decided that they are a part of me and unavoidable at the moment but hopefully fixable):

1.) (After getting frustrated writing an introduction for an English essay.) I don't like living to other's constraints.

2.) I must must MUST sleep, or I will be muddled-muddled (much more muddled than muddled), exhausted, cranky, and easily frustrated. (Okay, this one I realized a LONG time ago, but I have to keep reminding myself. As I should be now.)

There was something else I thought about in English class today too...wrote it down in my assignment book...definitely deserved a thoughtful post. And not a tired one. Therefore I won't discuss it now.

Good night. Please get some rest.

Resolutions and the Last Day of Winter Break

Yes. It's the last day of winter break 2010 (mostly), my eighth grade and last day year of middle school. It's been one of the best breaks ever - I've managed to get a lot done, relax, and enjoy myself, while celebrating the holidays and spending lots of time with my family and friends. This morning my father woke me up at nine, making me quite disgruntled because I immediately realized that I had a doctor appointment at 10:00...and in no way did I want to jump right out of bed and start getting ready. Luckily, we did the appointment via Skype, so I didn't have to leave the house. I finished it about 45 minutes ago, and it went very well.

This hasn't been so interesting so far. I just wanted to mention my activities so far on this last day of winter break, as winter break seems rather monumental in the year and my personal perception of the year (for my birthday occurs during it), and this particular one seemed special as it is my last in middle school. (Tear, tear...seriously, it's sad that I'm almost done with middle school, although I'm thoroughly excited for high school...I'm excited for everything! Which can get frustrating sometimes, because I can't decide which thing I'm excited about that I want to do...overall, though, it's a very positive outlook, and I'm grateful for it. I'm a very glass half full person, in figurative and literal terms, because I alway like to have food or drink left in a bowl or cup... I can't help but experience a momentary melancholy when my dinnerware is empty.)

As for the other subject of this post : New Year's Resolutions. It's the third day of 2011, and our resolutions should still be at the new, exciting point in their development, going great. I, being a thoughtful, caring, and correcting person would of course have made one, if not many, new year's resolutions, correct?

Wrong. I confess that at no time during December 31st, 2010, or January 1st, 2011 did the thought of a resolution even cross my mind. I admit it, my guilt having passed in my confidence of the following conclusion.

The New Year - its celebration and some seemingly classic traditions that go along with it - has never held particular significance to me or my family. We usually stay home, enjoy a nice dinner together, and talk about what we've done in the previous year and what we'd like to do or are looking forward to in the year to come, along with staying up past midnight simply because it seems right. The symbolism of celebrating the New Year is what I hold important - starting anew, beginning the next cycle. However, chronologically, it still comes after the day before, when it was the previous year. If you started an activity - like cleaning your room, for instance - on Dec. 31st, it would still be left to be completed the next day, Jan. 1st. Yes, calendar-wise, it's the next year. Date-wise, everything's different because you have to become accustomed to writing "2011" instead of "2010". But it's not like there's suddenly a complete reorientation that happens at 12 midnight Dec. 31st. Things are still the same. People choose this time to change, to make resolutions, decisions, to kiss, to start something new...because the changing of the chronological year gives us an easy structure to do these things. However, it would be better to do them when they are needed. It would be better to get a job when one loses their old one. It would be better to go on a diet as soon as one realizes that they are not a satisfactory weight. It would be better to improve some aspect of yourself when you see fit. Better then, than at the marking of the New Year.

So in terms of resolutions, here's what I've realized: when I resolve to do something, I resolve to do it because I need or want to do it. Not because the calendar tells me to. (This is not to say that I don't go to piano lessons or play practice when it is scheduled - that, I let the calendar decide.) In fact, every day, I resolve to get things done - to practice piano, to brush my rabbit, to read, to write, to eat good food... If there is something new that I discover, I might resolve to start that or look into it more. Every day, I resolve, in the simplest and most complex terms, to be, thoroughly, ME. Being me entails doing all sorts of things that being you may not entail, because you and me are different people. For me, however, being me includes making resolutions when I need to, and deciding within myself something...yet I don't necessarily write them down. I don't stand up and declare to the world, "My resolution is...". I might go to my mom (as she is the most accessible person around when I wake up in the morning) and say, "I'm going to eat very healthily today," or, "I really need to get some exercise today". But that's it.

I simply resolve.

I have goals for the next year - but those goals are set at all times of the year. I set goals every day - that's how I get through my day. "When I finish this page, even though I just want to drop the book on my bed and go to sleep, I'm going to get myself out of bed and go to the bathroom because otherwise I know I won't be able to sleep." "After I finish drinking this cup of tea (you're probably noticing by now that I very much like to drink tea), I'm going outside to feed my rabbit." And as I finish one task, I am already formulating in my mind what I'll do next.

Here are some things I'd like to do: write a book, continue getting good grades, play squash and lacrosse, go to China, go to CTD at Northwestern University, spend time with my friends and keep building relationships, help people (the most likely possibility is, namely, some girls in Nepal that are in danger of human trafficking, and are at a school run by some Buddhist nuns that I have met, and know through one of my mother's friends)...among others. In short, I want to make a difference in the world. (I wish there were some other way to say that, for that term, as are so many others, is used so much that it's true meaning seems less important. I suppose I want to affect the world and the people in it in a positive manner...yes, that sounds about right.) But I'll always want to make a difference. I'll always want to make myself known. There are certain rungs on this ladder of success that can be climbed in the following year, so those can be my goals for the year. But my resolution has, and always will remain to be, to make a difference in some way.

When I notice that there's something I need to improve about myself, I go about doing it. I study a certain way or take more notes or notes in a certain way, I read books that I want to read more, I spend more time with my rabbit, I write regularly, I am kind to my parents and friends, especially if I know I've recently done something insensitive...but I do all of these things naturally, without even thinking about it. So instead of putting it in the material perspective (or so it seems to me, for I mean no offense to the many that don't share this belief) of the label, a "Resolution", I will keep doing things the way I do them.

If I were required to make a New Year's Resolution, here's what it would be:

Be MySeLf

For, as I have mentioned, myself is so many wonderful things, and includes my natural tendency to change what I need to change, I am quite satisfied with me.

Happy Monday, January 3rd, 2011, world. If we're to say "Happy" on other days determined by some long-ago decision-makers as holidays, which many times don't live up to be as happy as our expectations tell us they should be, then why not wish people "happy" on every day?

Some Thinking and a Cup of Tea

I wrote this last night and sent it in an email to my friend and my parents so I could share my thoughts. She - my friend, who is much like me in some ways - commented that it would make "an AMAZING blog post", and asked me the URL for this blog. (Which, I'm sorry to say, I had forgotten about...my apologies. I'll make it up to you... Do you like chocolate??)

As I contemplated whether or not to add a minimal or a thoroughly enjoyable amount of honey to my tea, I began to think about the meaning of life (although that term is so generic and often used that I'd rather refer to what I was thinking about as my purpose).

It's nighttime, I'll be going to sleep soon, and I don't actually need to drink of cup of tea. It's not necessary to my existence or my welfare. (Yes, if it's tea with antioxidants that would be helpful, or if it helps with my digestive system, which even if it doesn't in fact, it does in feel.) But I want it. I dreadfully want to drink a cup of tea...so why shouldn't I? There's nothing harmful about it - except for the ingestion of a few more calories and substance into my stomach, neither of which are things I feel need to be foregone by avoiding a cup of pleasant tea. However, there are many people in places close and far away who don't even have an acceptable amount of food in a day, so why should I indulge myself. I have the opportunity, that's why. Instead of living on the edge, holding myself back from small luxuries, why don't I take advantage of the fact that I can have them? This is the thought I carry on my shoulders as I walk away from the kitchen holding my newly brewed cup of steaming strawberry pomegranate tea. With a moderate amount of honey.

So therefore, I'm enjoying myself. The question is: should I enjoy myself and take advantage of the pleasures made possible to me by my situation in life, or make do with the least I can, abstaining from little seemingly meaningless things while just trying to help others and do all I can with my life?

When I enjoy small pleasures, I am more likely to be successful and reach out to others, socially and charitably, as I will be excessively happy due to these treats (among other things), and have the ability to easily focus my attention on matters that may be not quite as likable or naturally done. The fact remains that it doesn't seem fair that I can enjoy these things, and have the choice whether or not to, while too many others cannot.

Just a little cup of ideas to think about. Hopefully this one does aid you and pleasure you. Hopefully you glance up at it with gleaming eyes as you read your other emails, wishing you didn't have to wait to take a sip of the thoughtful richness. It's food for thought, as some may say; but in this case I would call it: Tea for Thought.

Thank you for reading. Good night, sleep tight, and I hope you have pleasant, memorable dreams.