Cold Weather, Cold Wars

February is a true Aquarius, because it's determined to hang on to winter like a well-festered grudge. Happy belated President's day. Hope everyone's made good use of those sweats and wool attire in your closets; I know I did. =] But, even if the weather is more suiting for those Colonial Imperials than us Inland Imperials, Life, yet again, proves to be akin to the metro: never late, and waiting for no one. And while the mercury in my thermostat continues to shrink, the deadlines are calling their all aboard, and I'm racing into closing doors.

Even if spring's not exactly in full swing, its semester is, and after my first math exam, I am realizing just how much I have been slighted in my high school career. Oh well, live and learn--so let's learn to not trust past experiences when it comes to college algebra, shall we? At least I've found a language that I can actually enjoy: the old ASL.

My first meet is in less than 48 hours--Springboard, in case you don't know. I'd like to say that I've been waiting for this all semester, and though it'll be outdoors, I'll nail every dive, but we all know better, don't we? Between the dreaded food poisoning and the week-long flu, I'm as shaky, and as frigid, as a fawn in its first moments of life. Thank goodness I had my coach to make a crack about his being fully clothed, with a parka and a beanie to boot, against my near nakedness and wetness. =/ 

In other news, the Mt. Sac area is supposed to rain on friday, with a high of 41. Fan-flipping-tastic.

In friendship, there are Cold Wars and cold dishes. I am not proud of the way some of my relationships with my family members, as well as associates, have been chugging along. Time to flip the switchboard, and try to at least be civil with those I care about, if for nothing more than my own peace of mind. I'm not too good at being mean, not to the people who don't know why I'm ticked off at them.

But, for every waning downside, there's its waxing upside. Scholarships are ripe for the picking, and with my GPA, I can smash at least a few. A healthy pulmonary system means a strong comeback in the exercise department, and a lot of stretches, and dry runs... as well as just runs to warm up. The pining prospects of writing seem to be showing life, after all. A published writer has reviewed my best work, and ripped it a new one [I see it as a good sign], and I've been writing something for class that I may post in my long forgotten 'Anecdotes and Adages' failed spin-off blog. I'll keep you posted.

And now, for the most promising news: I went on a date. I say that, and not that "I slept with someone", because that's what it was: a date. Two people getting to know each other, and without the obligation of sex. He wasn't expecting it, and I wasn't letting it be an option. The result? He is one of the most intriguing people I've met, and I'm liking the 'preserve the mystery' tactics. Credit the increase of self-esteem.

The way we live our lives is a tell-tale sign of how we treat ourselves. Be careful karma doesn't come to haunt you when the opportunity for love comes, or you'll only have your own two arms to keep you warm this winter. 

Me? I think it's time for a little review. Until next time, my fellow Imperials. =]

HVD Cheater

Should one comfort a cheater? Should their act of betrayal, and their ensuing remorse, be met with any degree of consolation? I would suppose that we all cheated, in act, in fantasy, but never is it so real that when the words leave us, through her lips, your fingers, lying there before on an LED screen, or dying ring in the air, between two now-once lovers. It is a confession which, when one admits of their own guilt, is like bobbing for soda cans on a cloudy day. The seconds after, the anticipation that awaits the sinking in, the contortion, the furrowed, distraught brow, we are submerged.

And then, the strike of the water. The words, questions, who and how, when and what.
"Who did you do it with?"
"How could you?"
"When did you do it?"
"What did you tell me you loved me for?"

You break from the pool, face a mass of hair, water and tears drenched, spilling from your face, soaking your cotton shirt and wool zip up you didn't bother to shed in your guilty desperation. Your mouth is empty – no soda cans or apples or diamonds big enough to choke on. You cough, sputter, cry in frustration at the impossible task of redemption to atone for the unspeakable atrocity you never saw yourself capable of committing.

You know you can never undo the past. Our memory chooses what to remember or forget, but we cannot command our memory. You cannot save the relationship, can't take back the stone you had to throw to redeem yourself, the same stone you threw to absolve your loved one. The stone that shattered their rib cage and punctured their heart just when was soft enough to trust you, soft like homemade pot pie, the steam and flavor of affection almost bursting the cross. And yet, you have to pass the saucer. You had to throw the stone, for you, and for them.

So You stare at the place where your loved once stood, and not where the knife rests in your bosom, as you wrapped your right hand over the handle and place your left on the tender wound. Count to three, hold your breath, it'll be better once you pull it out, once you forgive yourself.

Saying a prayer for the desperate hearts tonight…

This has been a difficult time for some of my friends. Some people have been going through quite an ordeal with family, loved ones, and themselves. This post is dedicated to you. It's dedicated to your pain, your loss, and your  frustrations.
My Friends, I pray for you. I know it is difficult. Trials have come, and they have beat you down. Some of you have lost loved ones, both physically and emotionally. Some of you must say goodbye to relationships. Some of you must say goodbye to yourself. Sometimes, we think the best thing to do is to bury ourselves what we know. We think it is best to put more walls between us and the world, to submerge ourselves in our own world real, imaginary, steeped in myth or even steeped in the physical plane.sometimes we think it is best to forget about everything we thought was good in the past, in order to save ourselves. We pull away from those around us, those who love us, those who can help us, because we don't want to deal with it anymore. Out of sight, out of mind.

The thing is, it never truly goes out of our minds. It is like a seed, taking root in our minds. We are unaware, most of the time, it is even there.we convince ourselves we are fine, deceive ourselves whatever way we can in or to believe that we are fine. We pretend that everyone is like this: that the world is evil. Pretty soon, we figure out that our only goal is self-preservation. Nothing could be worse than self preservation for a goal.

Should self-preservation be the goal, ambition dies. Community dies. Family dies. Instead of man helping one another, man seeks to help himself, and when man seeks to help only himself, he signed his own death warrant.

To live on this earth is to interact. To live on this earth is to experience fellow man in addition to nature: human or mother. Life is rough: you never know what hit you with, or for how long, or if you'll even be the same person afterwards. But you must have faith that you will come out of it. You must be able to believe that it will not beat you, that you are made of stronger stuff.

Last night, I saw the show on the Oprah Winfrey Network, titled Master Class. The concept was that socially prominent figures in American society sat down and spoke about their lives. The episode I saw was on one of the greatest writers of all time: Maya Angelou. I've known nothing about this woman, or at least next to nothing. The episode was amazing, and the reason why I thought it was so amazing was because this woman, who I think may have actually been younger than my grandmother, held within her a presence that I had long imagined, but never witnessed. Her voice was as deep as a canyon, and the amount of wisdom she had filled that canyon. Perhaps, one of the most interesting things was that she had voiced many principles my beloved friends had said to me. One of the things Maya Angelou talked about was that there have been so many dark times, so many "clouds", as she called them, that had come into her life, but she said there were so many rainbows. That is what she called them: "rainbows". "Every time my life filled with clouds," she said. "There was always a rainbow. Sometimes, we have clouds in our lives, so that we can be a rainbow in another's life." Ms. Angelou was saying that trials are not without their merit. Hardships are not without their gain.

Some people believe that the Bible alludes to the same answer as well. People ask why God put them through certain trials and certain tragedies. Sometimes, the answer is so we may identify with those who hurt later of a similar ailment. Believers who endure tragedies and come out leaders are more equipped to identify and encourage others who are enduring their trials and their tragedies. They know the pain. They know the suffering. They know where your heart is. They can help. They can be your rainbow.

My dear friends, I say a prayer for the desperate hearts tonight. I pray that you will have peace in your sleep. I pray that you will wake up with new strength for the day. I pray that you so they open with the world. I pray that the world, in turn, opens to you. I pray that you take this experience, learn from it, look at it, and all of  its ugliness and beauty, and that you come out all the stronger, the more faithful, the more optimistic, and more driven because of it. Such is the gift of human determination. Such is the lesson of life.

More Creative endeavors Underway

Hello all...

I am writing because I've been mulling over what I should do about some bit of information I read in my creative writing class. It compared writing to music, saying that it needed to be practiced everyday. For some reason or another, I never made the connection between the two in the sense that something so natural to me as writing needed to be kept up and made out of habit. And therein lied my problem: I waited for the inspiration to come to me out of the blue, instead of chasing it out.

And so, I've resolved to write at least a poem a day, either in my journal or otherwise, and share them here.

Back to math, but look forward for more writing!