Thursday, April 30, 2009

Robert Frost rocks my face off.

I'm taking the literature SAT subject test this Saturday, and in preparation I was looking through my old file box from that fateful American literature class. (Oh, the monstrous birth and leaves of grass! Good times.) I had written up cards on literary terms, authors we studies, different periods of literature, and vocabulary words relevant to the time period. (Basically whatever Mrs. Bankston told us to make cards on. I didn't question it, I just did it.) And flipping through these, I get all the way to "S" and find a card labeled "sound of sense." This card says, "A theory of Robert Frost according to which a poem moves between the two poles of sound and sense and says something to the listener before it is understood." My note on the card says, "Wow."

For the record, I do not remember studying this at all. At all.

Which is a terrible pity that I didn't remember the literal meaning when I wrote about the imparted meaning here. Because what Frost actually meant by it was far more interesting! Mixing the sounds of words with the beat of the meter and the boundaries of the feet, how the audible and the meaning (the sound and the sense) blend to form the dual nature of a poem. SparkNotes says of it, "The words, the form of the words, and the sounds they encode are as much the subject of the poem as the subject is." And Donald Hall (yeah, I know) explains it in an even cooler way: "People used to argue about where a poem exists: on the page, or in the ear? The answer is neither. . . The ear and the eye, listening and reading, are devices for receiving signals that are dispersed throughout the body. The poem is its sounds, and its sounds are the code which allows the mind to slip back into old and poetic ways of thinking."

Do not tell me that's not fascinating. I have a whole new appreciation for Robert Frost's poetry now, recognizing how painstakingly he sought to add the auditory aspect to his poems that matched the literal message of the words. I'm going to go back to studying now. [/impulsive fangirl post]

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Melodramatic Missive

No words, no words. I usually write every day. Blog entries that never get posted, journal entries that get ripped to shreds, emails in which I spill my guts, scraps of paper that get tucked into obscurity, covered in the words that represent my thoughts and feelings. But there have been no real words since before Regionals, making me only more desperate to conjure or fabricate some. There's just nothing to write about. No thoughts, no feelings, just mushy hollowness. No expectations, no reflections, just undefined achiness. I am tired.

In the absence of words to write, I've been reading them instead. It's been so long since I've inhaled a book, and so I've had to learn the process all over again. I used to be such a speedy reader, very efficient, but now I plod slowly through and it's a chore no matter how fascinating the story is. As much as I enjoy it, reading is tiresome. And the stories! I cannot sympathize with greasy Winston Smith, I cannot care about poor Margaret Lea, I cannot be bothered with volatile Jane Studdock, and it feels blasphemous to read Against All Hope without a sense of reverence. 

The words are irrelevant to me. Since I cannot read and cannot write and cannot make up my mind to accomplish anything, instead I've been sitting at my computer writing a speech while revisiting those Relient K CDs I listened to 400 times, wow, was it five years ago? (I feel so old, things change and age, and I don't even noticed that it's happened.) I feel listless, but this is all I can do. I am counting the hours until May begins so I can procrastinate my novel to get my real work done. And yet I'm still afraid the words won't come back to me in time. I'm just so tired.

And these words are just farce. Words I don't mean. Words that aren't me. (Honestly, when have I cared this much for words? Only in the most obscure, sappy parts of my mind, the parts that I couldn't show to anyone even if I wanted to - no, this isn't me at all, but I can't seem to help it. I hate it, saying things I don't mean, but I can't seem to stop it.) Everyone gets tired. Everyone gets overwhelmed. Everyone loses motivation at some point. Suck it up. Get over it. Read your Bible, go to sleep, everything will be brighter in the morning.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

That is so sexist! Part II

It's missions month at our church, and it's been exciting to hear about how these people have devoted their lives to a specific ministry. The husbands get up and talk about how God has been working through their career, and the wives get up and talk about their opportunities to share God in the home, and instead of marveling at how good God is to use ordinary people for His work, I get hung up on the gender-specific roles in church ministry. Why can't women teach? I don't understand. Why is it the wife supports the husband's call, instead of both working towards a mutual calling? I don't get it. Is it biblical? It must be, that's how it's always been done, that's the pattern. It's a question of causation: is that the pattern because it's true, or is the pattern there because we haven't bothered about the truth? I don't know.

I can't tell if I'm being stubborn in not wanting to yield to God's plan or if I'm right to struggle with this idea. Or maybe the conflict is something I merely fabricated. I don't know why it matters so much to me. It's not like I want to be a pastor. It's not like I'd have issues following a husband where God calls him. It's not like I'm be deprived of the right to vote. Arg, so why does this matter to me? Maybe fear that all my ambitions only matter if I never marry? Maybe knowledge of the widespread domestic abuse, even in the church? Maybe social conditioning from Susan B. Anthony and the feminist's cause? Maybe teenage rebellion against pre-set notions of a woman's role in the church? Those are all silly or misattributed reasons. I don't want to be a rebel with a pointless cause, I just want to understand what I'm supposed to be.

(There was so much I wanted to say on this topic, but it doesn't matter because I just don't know. Maybe it doesn't matter. I can read all these books on egalitarianism and complimentarianism, and I can talk to all these people, and I can search the Scriptures, but maybe I'll never have my questions answered. Maybe that's okay.)

Thursday, April 23, 2009

The Joy Luck Club

I love Amy Tan. 

Which is a little bewildering to me, because I knew I loved Amy Tan even before I'd ready any of her work, or before I knew much about her. I just sort of decided I loved her. That's how I come to love most things: I decide to. Once all the impromptu quotes (gratis Dr. Welton) were from Amy Tan books, and once I read an excerpt from The Joy Luck Club in my American literature anthology, and you know, Amy Tan is an INFP and a member of The Rock Bottom Remainders. I guess that was the extent of my knowledge about her, but it was enough that I finally decided to screw my reading list and order The Joy Luck Club from the library.

I am not Asian-American. Before this year of NCFCA I didn't even personally know many Asians. (Heheh.) Is being Asian any different than being Scottish or Hispanic or Cape Verdian? I have no idea. But considering my ignorance of the whole "Eastern culture" or "1st generation American" thing, I really enjoyed this book. I read it during layovers and on the plane to and from Indiana. And when I got home from Regionals last night I read some more. And before I even read my ballots (actually, still haven't read those, what am I so afraid of?!) I finished the novel. Ah, so good! And not just because I decided it would be good, although that may have happened too, but because it truly was a good book. 

And you know what, we're not that different. People are people, and even though the book centered on the conflicts between American culture and Chinese culture, what it ended up showing was that the real conflict is between mothers and daughters. The characters hid behind their Chinese traditions or the American progressions, mothers blaming daughters and daughters blaming mother for foolishness, but it's just people being people. How their stories fit together was sheer literary genius, and the alternating sincerity and sarcasm, tragedy and irony, mother and daughter. There were no philosophical undertones, no characters worthy of adoration, just simple stories: some happy, some sad, all interesting. 

I'd say, it's a favorite.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Social fail!

This is what happened: Hayley goes to party. Hayley eats pizza, talks about debate, attempts to dance, and stands alone in the corner for fifteen minutes before deciding to blow the joint. Hayley see kid at the piano, and being a sucker for piano music, stands and listens. Hayley barely speaks more than two words, just smiles a lot, sings a little, and leaves when they start talking Halo. Hayley sits in hotel room all alone, tired and feeling like a social failure.

I just really don't know what's wrong with me. I like people, I like "dancing," I like hanging out. I used to like meeting people, but maybe I spent so much time with people I already knew that I've forgotten how it's done? Was it a crisis of confidence, a bout of insecurity, fear of being judged? Perhaps it's my vanity, that I feel like I have something to prove, that I can't stand the thought of not being liked. I could analyze it away, say it's the introvert in me, or that I'm just passive, or that I wasn't feeling well, but the truth is, this should be easy for me, and I can't understand why it wasn't.

And I can pretend this is an isolated incident of social ineptness, but this feeling is kind of a familiar one. Rationally I know I have nothing to be afraid of, but in feeling and practice large groups of people I don't know scare me. I guess they scare a lot of people. But I wish they didn't. And even though I'm tempted to think, "So what, I'm never going to see these people again, why should I bother cultivating casual relationships with them," that's a selfish, unloving attitude. And all the more reason to push past my feelings of inferiority, and get to know these people, not for my sake, but to love on them. And what is the root of love? It's not about me, and tonight I guess I forgot that. God is good.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Romans 6:22

I wish I could be everything I wanted to be.

Ah, but there's the trick, right? I can be, so long as what I want to be aligns with who Christ is making me to be. We all have, what was that, infinite potential.

So why is it that I am not what I want to be? Am I too lazy or selfish or apathetic or careless or foolish or hollow or base? Am I doing something wrong?

Ay, there's the rub, right? Burdened by failures and fears, losing sight of the goal and misunderstanding the way to get there. The presence of sin making us forget that we're free.

This is the race. Run not for your life but for a kind of freedom you can't yet understand. The things holding us back are not really there, they don't own us anymore.

Romans 6:22

Monday, April 13, 2009

In the figure above . . .

"Note: Figure not drawn to scale."

In other words, the figure looks nothing like the one drawn.

A test to test logic and reasoning skills is inherently flawed in its base assumption. That logic can be tested. At SePA last year I had an awesome conversation with Bekah DiSipio about the logic course she was taking in college, that logic is just a form of reasoning that conforms to certain rules. The rules of the game of logic must be assumed. But there are so many different rules that can be established, with or without justification, that there can be no real "wrong" logic, just bad logic. Bad logic, of course, being based on bad rules. And even that just depends on your point of view. 

This is something I've heard the dude on Life Changing Radio talk about sometimes, with the rise of post modernism, that logic is dying. He talks a lot about the contrast of Western logic and Eastern logic, and now that logic is dying (or just generally disregarded in its credibility) those differences doesn't matter and Christians can meet non-believers on the heart level. Regardless of the validity of these statements, I think it demonstrates that logic is just a faculty we assign to reason, and not something that applies to everyone. Some people just reason differently. Logic is less useful in light of this fact.

I'm not a logic junkie. I wouldn't know. But it seems to me a test to test logic and reasoning is the most pointless test in the world. I resent the pressure to get a good score, that I am automatically defined by how well I do on a certain stupid test. I regret that there is no easier and more beneficial way to process prospective students on their actual worth, not just the number that's pulled out of the air by Collegeboard. I hate that intelligence is equivocated to logical reasoning. Logical is not my default setting, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid.

I'm not denying logic is useful - I'm homeschooled, I've been beaten over the head with the importance of learning logic since I was six years old. I just hate that logic doesn't come easily to me. And I kind of hate the SAT for no good reason. 

I'll stop whining and get back to studying now.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

I discovered City and Colour today.

Music is collaborative. 

I'd like to think I'm individual when it comes to music, but that's such a lie. My music library is a delicate mesh of my dad's music, KLove music, Sarah's music, Hannah's music, Michael's music, Jacob's music, Laura's music, and the music that rocks the soundtrack of House, Lie to Me, and Ignite. Good music is like a good recipe or an epic movie, it's just better when there's someone to share it with, so we pass it around.

From my dad I learned to love ballads and story songs. From Jacob I learned that songs can be punk and still have strong piano. From Michael I learned that long intros can enhance songs. From Sarah I learned it's okay for songs to be silly. From Hannah I learned that Canada makes amazing music. From Laura I learned that weird music can still be good music. From the Ingite playlist I learned it's okay to like hip-hop and phunk.

Music is connecting.

The best tool for forging relationships is common threads. When you feel like you're understood by someone, you instantly have a connection. And music is one such common thread, something that is a part of everyone, whether they listen to Taylor Swift in the car or play cello in an orchestra. Music is something that connects the brain and the mind and the heart and the soul, and can translate to another human being. We all get it. Music is by definition common ground.

Last summer I met this girl named Julie at the beach. When we started talking I was freaking out inside because I lack the ability to carry a one-on-one conversation with even a close friend for more than three minutes. And she was a complete stranger. I turned to every teen's default conversation starter, "So what bands are you into?" And I crossed my fingers she didn't like rap. We ended up spending the entire afternoon talking about the evolution of rock music. 

I'm kind of thankful for music today. 

Philosophical Honesty - David Hume

There are 40 points, some ridiculous, but stick with it.

1. I am philosophical.

2. Being philosophical is a way of being oriented to the world. (Imagine seeing the world as a very honest person does. Compare this with the world of the habitual -- or even casual -- liar.)

3. Doing philosophy honestly means having a certain approach to the discipline, and a certain approach to the world -- like, for instance skepticism, phenomenology, or analytic philosophy. Unlike these examples, doing philosophy honestly should not be looked upon as a 'school' of philosophy; it is instead characterized by its free-play amongst the divisions in the discipline. 

4. Doing philosophy honestly means asking genuine questions. This also means it is having the ability to receive genuine questions.

5. Genuine questions reveal both the ability to ask for help and the ability to offer help. They are intended to build understanding, though are often the most difficult to ask. (The student who, after having a concept repeatedly explained to him, still manages to say: "I still don't get this.")

6. Genuine questions emerge out of deep puzzlement. They reflect a serious commitment to the problem at hand.

7. Doing philosophy honestly entails risking vulnerability. It entails a willingness to expose one's self to reproach or ridicule, to seem foolish, to fall flat on one's face. It entails a willingness to try.

8. In philosophy, this vulnerability exposes the way one thinks.

9. In risking vulnerability, fears arise.

10. I fear being wrong.

11. I fear having nothing useful to say.

12. I fear appearing incompetent.

13. I fear loss.

14. Pride, in this case, underlies all my fears. It is a clinging to an image of myself. Humility is a kind of letting go.

15. Honesty is part of letting go. It is seeing the need to let go. (The desire for humility comes from admitting that one is prideful.)

16. Knowledge and understanding are better sought once one begins to overcome pride. Once can then approach problems unencumbered, from any direction.

17. Courage is necessary to muster the will to overcome my fears and thus my pride. Courage is therefore necessary for doing philosophy honestly.

18. Doing philosophy honestly requires that I see myself in a new light.

19. It is necessary to doing philosophy honestly that our philosophical investigations involve one's identity, one's sense of self. This should come as no surprise, since philosophy in the Western European tradition has always been heavily inflected by introspection -- Socrates' emphasis on "knowing himself," Augustine's Confessions, Descartes' cogito, Kant's apperception.

20. Epistemology, too, is concerned with identity. To ask the question, "Can I have knowledge of the world?" is to point to a relationship between 'the world' and the 'I'. For my current purposes, what is interesting is traditional philosophy's tendency to reify this 'I' as a sponge (or a tabula rasa) -- the self seems merely to absorb experience. Such reification ignores the importance of personality, temperament or lived experience in how we come to know the world. To do philosophy while ignoring these things is, on the view I am pushing, philosophical dishonesty.

21. Doing philosophy honestly requires that one recognize and involve oneself in knowing the world. This means acknowledging the philosophical usefulness of intuition, emotion, and lived experience, and bringing them to bear on my knowledge of the world in concert with logic, rationality and skepticism. Doing so will broaden and deepen my understanding of it, and make me a better philosopher. (Compare drawing water from a well with a bucket to drawing water with a teacup.)

22. Identity and selfhood, however, are not constituted in isolation -- they come to be through our relationships. (Merleau-Ponty, Levinas, Freud.)

23. To have a relationship is to have a connection.

24. Doing philosophy honestly means having a relationship and thus a connection to the world -- the notion of love in 'Philosophy,' eros in Lilburn.

25. What draws in this commitment is the aesthetic.

26. 'Aesthetic,' in its original Greek sense means, "of or having to do with perception and the senses." Aesthetic experiences, in my view, are those of heightened awareness. They are deep experiences of a connection, of a relationship to our surroundings.

27. Honesty is demanded from me when I engage with the world in this way. This closeness to the world is a kind of intimacy. In human relationships, intimacy is created when someone is honest.

28. Doing philosophy honestly means being aware that we are embodied. We are only aesthetically aware if we feel as well as think, only if we are in the world. To do philosophy honestly is to dissolve any notion of a genuine and permanent dichotomy between thinking and feeling. Thinking and feeling involve one another on this model. They are integrated.

29. This integration is honest because it is recognition that a philosopher is a human being. No one is wholly rational; no one is wholly emotional.

30. Doing philosophy honestly doesn't mean you have to tell everyone your life story, though it might help. We will be more capable of understanding you if we understand what events have shaped your life and thought; similarly, we will more capable of understanding you if we understand how your thought has shaped the events of your life. (Thus the importance of biography: St. Augustine, Ludwig Wittgenstein, Muhammad Ali, Jesus Christ).

31. Doing philosophy honestly means letting your life change your thoughts.

32. Doing philosophy honestly means letting your thoughts change your life.

33. When one does philosophy honestly, arguments are no longer matters of ego (i.e., matters of who wins and who loses), but are matters of education, of learning.

34. Paradoxically, if you approach arguments as a means of learning, it is amazing how many more arguments you win. This is because doing philosophy honestly means listening -- the ability to receive genuine questions.

35. Doing philosophy honestly means assuming that all questions and statements are genuine -- the principle of charity.

36. Dishonest philosophy is done with a rigidly enforced agenda in mind -- any view contrary to or different from its own is simply dismissed, or ridiculed as inconsequential.

37. Under the pretence of pursuing truth, dishonest philosophy rants and raves, shakes its fingers and cuts down arguments wherever it passes. Its behaviour is destructive, and never considerate. (Imagine someone deliberately smashing an ugly but sentimentally kept piece of pottery, bellowing, "Now! I've done you a favour! Clean up the mess!" and then leaving.)

38. Dishonest philosophy has no interest in affecting the way we live our lives. It only wants to look smart.

39. Doing philosophy honestly means just wanting to know -- its motivation is pure, its method is simple.

40. Philosophy, after all, is about Truth. But what good is Truth if we can't first be true to ourselves?

Naturally, I don't agree with every point, but is it not interesting?

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Where am I this morning, cos now it's really pouring!

At the risk of sounding like a broken record . . .

I am sitting by the window, and it is gray outside, and it is raining. The rain is hitting the deck and the windows and the roof, making three different noises, and the falling falling of water whizzing to the ground from the sky, it's the best sound to love the world by.

God gave the rainbow as a symbol of His love and forgiveness, but the basic truth is you need rain for a rainbow. And how can one forget God's love when we have rain to remind us?

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Car Rides

In the car is a unique experience. We're all in our little enclosures, ignorant of the people mere feet away. Talking animatedly, attempting to sleep, or rocking out to KJ-52. But when you glance out the window, you see so much more.

Scenery, rolling hills, buildings, bridges, all with the backdrop of the setting sun. "You know what the shoes on the power lines mean?" Graffiti, grass. "Is that the Empire State Building?" Reading, roadkill.

The poetry was less in the landscape, but in the people whizzing by. Because are the people more than part of the landscape? The blonde tween with her chin propped up on her hand, gazing absent-mindedly at the landscape. The shaggy-haired college student juggling a cellphone with the steering wheel, frowning as he swerves. The old man sitting solidly in the back seat, staring straight ahead expressionlessly. The couple peering down at the cars from the overpass.

People I couldn't even begin to speculate about, people reminding me that we are all so different and all so very much the same. Making me wish I could know everyone in the world.

Singing Keith Green songs after listening to missionary stories. Discussing theology and disagreeing civilly. Marveling at God's wonder. From the safety of our little enclosure whizzing through cities and farmlands? Learning, thinking, laughing, reflecting.

I think I like car rides.

Friday, April 3, 2009

A lesson from my mom

My mom has had a hard day. She's stressed out, not feeling well, and cold. And her remedy? Bubble baths! Mothers like bubble baths, I do not know why. But she comes downstairs and promptly informs me, "Well, that was a failure." And this was the story she related to me. 

She started filling the bathtub and noticed the water was kind of yellow. But that wasn't about to alter her bubble bath plans. She pours the bath salts in the water and turns on the jets. And the water starts bubbling - but the bubbles were brown! And my mom was grossed out. She had to clean the tub and wash the jets out with bleach, and her plans for a bubble bath were thwarted. And after she relayed this depressing story to me, I thought she was done.

But no.

She continues, "And so I though, my evening was ruined! But then I though, the bubble were kind of like sin." Before she could lose me, she explained that when the brown bubbles started coming to the surface she was initially grossed out, depressed that the yucky brown bubbles had ruined her plans for a bubble bath. But then, she realized if the brown bubbles had never come to light, she wouldn't have known the bath tub needed cleaning. Instead she was able to deal with it. And while it wasn't the ideal ending to her evening, my mother can take joy in knowing her tub is clean. She's a clean freak like that.

When confronted with our sin, it can be discouraging. We are repulsed by our own filth and we despair our failures. But when the sin comes to the surface, we should count it a blessing. Now we know our short-comings, and God has given us all we need to be clean, to deal with the sin. What seems like a failure is an opportunity for us to have victory. And ultimately we're cleaner than when we thought everything was hunky dory. 

I was like, "Mom, you should be a Christian living columnist." And she said, "Yah, maybe I'll start a blog." But my mom doesn't have time for a blog. 

I've been to the zoo, Mister!

Me: I was wondering, at eight o'clock, or when I finish writing my negative case--
Sarah: Whichever comes first.
Me: Yes, if you feel so inclined, would you watch LOST with me, pending parental approval?
Sarah: I love the way you phrase things. Who says "pending parental approval"?
Me: Your mom. So, LOST?
Sarah: Sure! (In my head she said "You got it, babe!" But she didn't say that in real life.)

And in between writing my negative case and talking with Sarah, I realized I like writing. It doesn't matter if what I write is complete dross, I just, I really like it. Stringing words together, whether or not they actually say much of anything, is just something I like doing. And that is such an incurably selfish mindset, it's rather sad and sobering. Because most of the time I don't have anything terribly important to say. I just like the act of saying things, and half the time it doesn't matter to me what those things are. 

If language is a tool, what am I using it for? Words are powerful, but words fall short. Either way, I use them to carelessly sometimes. What worth can there be in saying something just for the sake of saying something? But then, how can you know if there's someone to hear what you're saying? (Did Anne Frank know her diary would touch the lives of so many people.) And from there, how can you know what words are meaningful and what words are meaningless? (When Shakespeare wrote his plays, did it matter to him if he made a statement or was mere entertainment his main goal.)

As much as I hated Edward Albee's The Zoo Story, the fact of the matter is, no word is meaningless, no story is bankrupt of meaning, and maybe there is something worth in just exercising the tool of language for the sake of itself. 

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Love is clockworks and cold steel

When I was thinking about love last night (part of me wants to roll my eyes at that statement, but the other half of me is solemnly critiquing the fact that I don't think about love enough) I had quite a confusing conversation of myself. Last June was a time of love redefinition for me, one of those times when the way you think about things is permanently altered, and I feel like this sudden thought I had last night might be another love redefinition. I don't know, we'll see.

Self-indulgent parenthetical: I have a thing about randomly assigning milestones. Am I so OCD I need to organize the timeline of my life, too? Arg! I just, I want to remember.

God loves us. Not for who we are, but because of who He is. If we love God, we are called to love others, not for who they are, but because God does. And last night I had the though, "Well, that must stink." It was just my silly pride, of course, resenting the fact that I am not supposed to be loved because I am smart or funny or anything remotely lovable. But that realization just opened a whole new can of worms: what place does validation and encouragement have in a love that is not based on merit but on God? How does one show their love when love really has nothing to do with said person and everything to do with God? Is it not true that our relationships with people are supposed to mirror our relationship with God? I'm not sure I can even fully explain my thought process, it was so confusing to me.

Then, whilest dusting a mahogany dresser at my neighbor's house this morning, things sharpened in their focus the slightest bit. God is love. He is the very definition. Want to know love? Know God. He will teach us to walk the walk. More concisely, however, love is patient. Love is kind. Love forgives, protects, trusts, hopes, and defends. And I wonder what that is supposed to look like in my love for people. I think love is less about, "I think you are pretty amazing" and more about "I will stand up for you, I will comfort you, I will serve you." Flattery is easy. Affirmation is simple. Love is much riskier, much harder. Love is not what I thought it was, and it's strange to relearn this same lesson, but in a different language. Love is much deeper than I ever could have dreamed. 

I wish I knew, I wish I understood! I think love must be God's greatest invention. I know so little and it frustrates me sometimes, but the little glimpses I see, love must be so important, so much more important than we think it is. Love saved us, love changed us, love made us whole. God is pushing us towards this conclusion, I think He must be, I think love really must change everything. And we think we know what love is, but He says, look to Me! Not to the world! Not to each other! When we say, "I wish I knew what love was," what we really mean is, "I wish I knew God better." God is spectacular, don't you think?

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Poker? I hardly know her!

Who are you?

I really want to know. Because I know I don't know you. It doesn't matter how often we've talked, what we've talked of, how long we've known each other, or what understandings we have between ourselves. I don't know you, and I'd really like to. If that's okay. 

There are too many people I've known forever, people I've grown up with, and yet somehow never became friends with. It doesn't matter how badly I wanted to be friends, it never happened. And I kind of wonder why, if it was just that they didn't like me, or if I didn't risk enough, or if it somehow cosmically wasn't meant to be. 

There are too many people I've been friends with forever, people who I see weekly, with whom I laugh and joke and pass the time. But we were never more than pals. And I kind of wonder why, if it was okay that we were expendable, or if we were just too afraid of getting closer, or if our friendship just wasn't meant to be more than casual.

There are too many people I'd count dear to me, people called friends in the honest sense, and yet sometimes I think I don't know the most basic things about them. And I kind of wonder why, if it's because I just haven't really wanted to know, or if they just didn't care to share, or if I just never asked, or if perhaps it just wasn't important in the grand scheme.

And I'm not completely sure what I want to know or why I want to know it, just that I do want to know. Who do you say you are, what are the pieces that make up you, who are you, really?

April showers

Yay, April! That means crocuses and forsythia and daffodils. That means lots of drizzly days. That means April vacation. That means national poetry appreciation, autism awareness, donate life month. That means my very favorite holiday. But apparently it also means there's no end to the tournament madness. I thought March was the crazy month, with three tournaments to battle through. But there are still three more to go. Which makes me happy, but also makes me sad. And tired. And after that madness is over, I have one month to finish school for the year.


Yay April! And I can only find the heart to say that now because the rain is pounding down on the deck outside with window near my head, and everything is a muted shade of green or blue or gray or brown. It's all very comforting. March was the month of the great thaw. April is the month of the great growing. And I like winter, I do very much, and I've always thought spring was a little overrated, but it's heartening to be in the in-between. In-between winter and summer, in-between the start and the end, in-between hibernation and energy. Awakening.

Yay April!