Little Spark of Madness: A Manifesto & Tribute to Robin Williams.

As of late, I have been meaning to post something new to my blog. Many nights, I sat staring at the WordPress app on my iPhone, hoping to find some inspiration for my thoughts. Most of those nights, I simply put my phone down on my dresser and turned around to get my shut eye.

Well around 10 this morning, I was reading through my Twitter feed when I came across WordPress’s Weekly Writing Challenge, which was to write a manifesto. Ecstatic that I could possibly have something to write about, I clicked the link and read all about it.

“A declaration of the intentions, motives, or views of the issuer,” huh?

Despite the ideas given in this post, I could not rack my brain for anything that I could really write about.

I said to myself, “I have passion. I care about things. But what are those things? There has to be SOMETHING I can write about.”

Disappointed, I saved the link in my bookmarks in hopes that I could return to it later.

A few hours passed and still, nothing. So I decided to take a nap on my couch.

At about 4 in the afternoon, I finally got up and I refreshed my Twitter feed again, this time, only to find #RIPRobinWilliams on my timeline.

I was devastated.

There was no way in Heaven or Hell that this could be true.

Robin Williams, one of the greatest names known to man, found dead in his home in Tiburon in Marin County at the age of 63.

Cause of death:possible suicide by asphyxia (a condition arising when the body is deprived of oxygen, causing unconsciousness or death; suffocation).

Suicide.

Though it is still unsure that this is the reason for his passing (and I pray that it not be the case), it is a scary, and sad, irony to think about.

A man who dedicated himself to making people laugh, who seemed so happy and filled with fun, had depression and ended his own life.

…

Damn.

How cruel this world can be.

…

Celebrities, YouTubers, and common people alike tweeted about how Williams was a beautiful person, and how they would never forget their encounters with him, or the impact he made on their lives.

Lindsay Lohan: “Mr. Williams visited me the first day of filming The Parent Trap. I will never forget his kindness. What an enormous loss. My condolences.”

Tyler Oakley: “Very sad to hear about Robin Williams. From Jumanji to Aladdin, and Mrs. Doubtfire to Hook, he was a staple of my childhood. RIP.”

Even one of my colleagues from my university, who works for an Apple store in Marin, posted about meeting Williams 3 weeks ago at work. That day, she told me, he brought flowers to his wife.

Along with simple gestures like that, Robin Williams was clearly involved in charity. He founded the Windfall Foundation, supported St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, and donated his proceeds from “Weapons of Self Destruction” when an earthquake hit Canterbury in 2010.

Robin Williams was loved by all on television. He always seemed to play a character that was motivational, uplifting, and just down-to-earth. He could reach out to children and adults alike, either as Genie from Aladdin or as John Keating in Dead Poets Society (one of my personal favorites). I actually put in my DVD of Hook tonight as I was eating dinner, and I admit that there were multiple times that I teared up, just by some of his William’s facial expressions and the things he said.

The man was truly a gift.

He had his share of personal struggles with drugs and alcohol, which caused him to go to rehab at some point in his life. In March 2009, he underwent heart surgery. And from most recent news, studies say he was battling depression the last few months of his life. Yet, this did not stop him from giving. He did not cease to bring joy to others, to the point of death, and he could not save himself. But he was selfless, and the world needs more people like Robin Williams.

So as I continued to see dedications to Mr. Williams on all sorts of social media, I came across this particular quote that stood out to me:

“You’re only given one little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.”

And then it hit me.

There it was; my manifesto.

I can say that I’ve been at war with myself for a while now. And while I can’t say I have severe depression or something close to it, I have had my late night breakdowns here and there. And I’ve been trying to look past it, because I know that I have many wonderful things in my life.

And today, Robin Williams made me realize that.

I may not be rich and famous. I may not think I’m the best-looking person, but I have my attributes and I should learn to embrace those, along with my flaws. And with all that has been given to me, I should live to better myself.

I am crossing my fingers that I will never reach the point where I feel as if I am so lost that the only solution is death. And my heart goes out to anyone that is battling depression right now, because it is a horrible mental illness that is often overlooked. And the fact that some people brush it off as nothing just makes me sick. Even to those who may have hurt me, I would never want to learn that they suffered from depression and ended up taking their own lives.

With that in mind, I hope I can make some kind of a turn in my life. With a new school year coming up, I know I will be faced with a lot of new experiences, from fun times to hard times. So I hope I can follow through with all the goals I place in front of me.

…

1. Be more kind.

I can be a bitch. I won’t lie. It’s second nature for me to be sarcastic, even if I’m purely joking, but I know some people take it seriously. Although it kind of pains me to “deal with stupidity,” I am not the only one with insecurities and I know by experience that words really can hurt. It’s good to push the pride away too.

2. Have more patience!

Ooh. This is a BIG one. I hate waiting. Lately, I feel like I deserve to have so much more than I have been receiving. Like, I’ve done volunteer work. I get good grades. I don’t get into trouble. So, why can’t I have my car? Why couldn’t I get an apartment instead of on-campus housing? Why can’t I have a significant other that loves me above all else? Why, why, why? It’s not fair. This sucks. Blah, blah, blah.

I need to realize that God has His plans for me. He is only waiting for the right moment to give me all that I need and deserve. And hey, maybe I’m not ready for all the things I want right now and He’s still fixing me up before he gives me that. Looking back, He protected me from so many occasions that could have gone wrong, and it seems like that’s what he’s still doing. So it seems that I’ll have to play the waiting game a little longer. Which kind of sucks. But thanks for being a homie, God.

3. Seize the day!

Now this seems a little counterintuitive to my last goal, but the phrase, “seize the day” or “Carpe diem” was stated by Robin William’s character, John Keating, in DPS. Additionally, Williams starred in a film called Seize the Day.

Life needs its balance. And while we must have patience for some things, we can’t just sit on our asses and expect it all to fall into place. No. If you want to go that music festival, get a job and start saving money. If you want to start a hobby, look at guides or tutorials on whatever it is you want to do, whether it be painting or rock collecting.

“Seize the day. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold and die.” ~ John Keating

4. Smile more and don’t be afraid to make new friends.

Yes, I love to laugh. I love to flash my pearly whites. Who doesn’t? But I’ve also been told that I look very stern when people first meet me because I’m quiet. I have no intention of looking unapproachable; I guess it’s just my initial demeanor because I don’t want people to think I’m too weird and totally reject my personality. But in this past year, it has become pretty clear that like attracts like and the friends I’ve made are just as weird as I am. And that’s pretty cool. Plus, smiling can be contagious.

5. Find reasons to love myself.

I struggle with self-image. People look at me and see a skinny, proportional girl with a nice tan, and I see a mess. I’m insecure about my acne. My eye bags. My small boobs, which can’t hide my tummy when I’m bloated. My thinnish hair. My round, flat nose. My annoying laugh. The list is endless.

But I guess I have a nice butt. And legs. And my eyes are pretty big. And my lips are full and my teeth are straight. And I don’t sunburn. This list is also endless.

I’m not trying to be narcissistic, oh no. But I can’t keep bashing on myself and hope that someone will accept me when I can’t accept myself. Cliché. But it’s true. And it’s not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. Because really, when you’re beautiful within, it’ll show on the outside.

6. Don’t ever let drugs become a vital source of comfort or happiness.

Just another point I never hope to get to. I pity the people who can’t go out sober. It’s sad to think that some people get drunk just to go watch a movie. Like, what?

I know people that drink daily and come up with the most profound theses on life, but most times, alcohol ends up in crying and rants and puddles of vomit.

Drugs are only a temporary source of pleasure that mess with the chemicals in your brain and the other organs in the body. How many celebrity deaths occurred because the person overdosed on pills? Or got alcohol poisoning? A lot.

And the drug culture is expanding. And not slowly, as a matter of fact.

Drugs and alcohol are “social substances” so to speak, and although I strongly believe in “living life while I’m still young,” a bottle for a few hours of fun? Shrooms? Worth it? Mmm…perhaps not.

7. Surround myself with good people.

Everyone needs friends that they can fall back on. It’s as simple as that. I’m not talking about people who are down to hang out all the time (that’s nice too), but the people who know you inside and out and are your real support system. I think it’s important to have that good balance of people who are blunt with you, but are willing to stick with you and help you through your troubles.

8. Stop living in fear.

Last one!

This sounds repetitive and can be classified in the same boat as “Carpe diem,” but everything here has to tie together at some point, so why not here?

I need to stop being scared of failure. Of rejection. Of falling for people that maybe “I shouldn’t be falling for.”

Because it’s bound to happen. I’m bound to get hurt. I’m bound to get my heart broken. Things won’t always go my way. I’ve already told myself that countless times. It would be more detrimental to let events go past me and wish that I experienced them. And after all, if I trip, I’m going to get up eventually.

I wouldn’t let myself do otherwise.

…

Now I’m not saying that when I wake up in the morning, I will be totally changed and on the right track (what right track, really?) of my young life. That is pretty impossible. I’m pretty sure I’ll still write some angsty blogs, but it’s a process. And the most important thing is that I WANT to do this.

I want to fulfill this manifesto.

And with that, I leave with three final quotes from the man himself:

“No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world.”

“You will have bad times, but they will always wake you up to the stuff you weren’t paying attention to.”

“There is still a lot to learn and there is always great stuff out there. Even mistakes can be wonderful.”

Thank you, Robin Williams for inspiring me and so many other people around the world. Thank you for being a wonderful person, despite your trials. Rest in peace. Hope you’re having fun in Neverland.

Bangarang.

July 21, 1951 – August 11, 2014.

Cup of Joe.

You are the single brown ring on my white, wooden table, leaving a mark on pure innocence, and making sure everyone can see it.
I would like to hide this scar, but something tells me it would make sense for you to leave more stains.

It burns when you touch my lips and your warmth seeps through my teeth and into my whole body, but only momentarily.
Then all that is left is the bitter taste in my mouth.

You give me the shakes because I don’t know how to control my body, nor do I have the ability to control my mind.
I’m filled with many emotions, but I don’t know what to feel until I hit the dreaded caffeine crash.

Send my regards to your addicting, black poison.

And you know what’s funny?

I don’t even drink coffee.

“Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why our ribs are cages.”

~ Unknown

“No one knew that the green-eyed monster actually wore contacts so she could hide her jealousy and make her eyes sparkle a wonderful brown.”

“The universe favors disorder.”

– Second Law of Thermodynamics.

Broken Mind

For as long as I remember I’ve associated myself with the intellectual. At a very early age, my parents made sure I knew how to read and spell. Night after night, I would curl up in the laundry basket in the closet to read Cat in the Hat or Peter Rabbit. As I proofread many essays, I was so irked, and will probably be forever irked, about spelling and grammatical errors. I was the spelling bee champ in the 5th grade, you know. Only once in my educational career through the 12th grade did I fail to reach a 4.0 GPA, getting a 3.8 in the 7th grade because I daydreamed and doodled during my Honors Pre-Algebra class. But the following year, I managed to receive a 4.0. In high school, I fluctuated from a 4.25 to a 4.16 to a 4.0 to a 4.5 to a 4.33 GPA, a feat that I remain proud of to this day.

Outside my academics, I made sure I was witty. I developed a sarcastic personality with smart alleck remarks to scoff at anyone who didn’t have common sense because my mom told me that common sense was important. She always said. “You may have all the book smarts in the world, but if you don’t have common sense, you have nothing.” When I was younger, she sometimes told me that I didn’t have any. I know that I was still a young, naïve child at the time and I still had a lot to learn, but when she told me I lacked common sense, it broke me down every time. So as I grew older, I made sure that I wouldn’t be one of those book-smart, street-stupid people and I sort of began to look down upon those people.

And I think this is partially where my pride issue stemmed from.

If you have read my previous posts, I’m pretty sure that I’ve mentioned my pride issues at least once before. But pretty much, it’s a big problem. I feel that, because my mom was so blunt toward me when I was a child, I always had to better myself. Don’t get me wrong, I love, love, LOVE my mom like crazy. But it was in some of the things that she said that brought me down that also motivated me to push myself to be better at something in life, and that something was my academic career.

I wanted to be the best. I would become frustrated at memorizing historical dates and solving complicated math problems but I always tried. My parents wanted straight A’s and at the same time, so did I. I would even compete with my best friend over grades in high school. He always scored better than me on Calculus tests because he was just one of those people born with an outright genius-boy brain. But I would always trump him in our AP Literature class. We would always go back and forth with this friendly competition.

At some point, however, I reached an academic downfall. Well, I wouldn’t really call it a downfall because the lowest grade I’ve ever had throughout elementary to high school was a B, and I can’t say that a 4.0 to a 3.0 is much of a drop. But there was a time, when I didn’t care as much and I was just trying to get through. I thought to myself, what’s the point? If I’m going to keep putting in work while other people half-ass their time here, why try? I’m trying to be one of the best, but I can’t make it. To be honest, I still think like that sometimes. However, upon reaching college I realized that everyone goes through this phase at one point and everyone things differently; it’s just a matter of really accepting it. I believe that now, I try to use my brain to help others because knowledge is something to be shared. Even though I have a pride issue that sometimes makes me want to keep it all to myself, I know that’s not how life works. It actually brings me joy to help people out.

Although I’ve grown to make the most of knowing that I’m not the best scholar, there’s still an underlying problem that eats at me, and that would be my trust issues. Damn. That’s a lot of issues. I know, haha. Allex, how do trust issues even begin to relate to your academics? Well…I trust people a lot or, at least, I used to. When I get to know someone and tell that person my deepest secrets and give that person my heart, I do so with my whole self. Which I guess, is a good and bad thing. It’s a good thing in that I’m open and I see the light in the human race. But it’s bad because I expect these feelings to be reciprocated and I end up disappointed. And then, I wonder why I was such an idiot and I tell myself that I shouldn’t trust anyone or give myself so freely like that. Because I hate being vulnerable. I hate not knowing. I have to know. And that’s why I encompass myself in my reading. In my essay writing. That’s why I make sure that I write enough notes for biology. That’s why I go to office hours so I can get an A on my chemistry exam. I tell myself that, even though there are better students out there, I have to do the best for me. It’s a sad thought, but I tell myself that when people leave me, I have my smarts. I tell myself that one day, my smarts will get me through and provide me with a good job and I’ll be successful because I studied so damn hard. And I know that’s ultimately not true because humans, as social creatures, need other people in their lives. Obviously, I’m no different. And I know that being “successful” in life with a high-paying job and a lot of money doesn’t exactly entail happiness. But for the time being, I tell myself that words will get me through. That writing with big eloquent vocabulary will impress people. That I just need to focus on school and not have fun and not get to know people as much because they’ll just disregard you, no matter how nice you are or how much you do for them. And the last thing I want is to be forgotten… Thought of as nothing… To be ignored… So I read books and do math and write more in hopes that I’ll win a Nobel Peace Prize or something. Some academic achievement award. Or to have a building named after me because I did something great, so people will know my legacy and all those who left me when I was feeling down would kick themselves for it. They would say, “I knew her,” but they didn’t know me. They didn’t know how much I suffered and cried myself to sleep holding a novel or a chemistry study guide because I felt so alone and I didn’t know what else to do. They didn’t know how broken I really was. They didn’t know me at all.

So when I become friends with people now, they sometimes tell me that when we first met, they thought I was intimidating. That I looked like a smart bitch. The type that just studies and studies. That’s a lie; I’ve had a fair share of fun so far. I don’t always lock myself in my room or head down to the library to hold a study party for one. But it interests me when people tell me this… I get mixed feelings because I think, “Seriously? I’m actually a really nice person. I might be sarcastic but when it comes down to it, I’m the kind of person that would be down for you if you ever needed someone.” And it makes me sad that some people would think that I’m a mean bitch and not a boss-ass bitch like everyone wants to be. But at the same time, it makes me feel like I’m doing things right. I mean, they see me how I want to be seen. I want to be seen as an intellect. As someone who knows her shit. As someone who carries herself. Even though on the inside I’m DYING and just trying to find a stable group of people that I can really, truly trust. To know that I have friends away from home that are as down for me as I am for them. To know that I won’t be left behind anymore.

I would trade my smarts for that type of knowledge and reassurance any day…

from Maxine Hong Kingston’s “No Name Woman.”

“But perhaps [she],… caught in a slow life, let dreams grow and fade and after some months or years went toward what persisted… She looked at a man because she liked the way the hair was tucked behind his ears, or she liked the question-mark line of a torso curving at the shoulder and straight at the hip. For warm eyes or a soft voice of a slow walk – that’s all – a few hairs, a line, a brightness, a sound, a pace, she gave up family… Why, the wrong lighting could erase the dearest thing about him.”

Free to Fly

(This is just a copy of the autobiography I talked about in my last blog, if you were interested.)

Pigeons and crows: two birds that possess the inexplicably amazing ability to remember people who have mistreated them. Crows, capable of holding grudges for 5 years, are known to sometimes attack their abusers, while pigeons, on the other hand, simply choose to flee. As such, humans might react similarly to a person, thing, or situation that caused them a sense of doubt and a loss of trustworthiness.

Of course, the statistics aren’t perfect; one does not normally find a plethora of people choosing to fight someone that harassed them, nor does one find a good amount that would sprint away from such trying circumstances at first glance. Depending on the character, certain people may choose to act either aggressively or passively and, in some cases, even express both attitudes, when they encounter difficult situations throughout their lives. However, it is not in the nature of the individual to forget. Ultimately, once trust has been broken, once that bond of a relationship has been shattered, the one who has been most affected by the event, will walk away, holding onto the bittersweet memories of the past.

Not so long ago, I too experienced these pangs. Over time, I discovered that I could look back on certain occasions with ease, and quite a few of them I could recollect with intricate details. I can still recall a time in the 6th grade where I attended an orientation for my middle school and I met a boy who I later developed a crush on. The day was March 28, 2007, and that boy asked me if I was Indonesian, which I found a bit offensive because of my pride in my Filipino heritage, so I distinctly remember telling him to “shut up” because I didn’t know what else to say. So, I guess one could say I have a remarkable memory. But I’m not going to talk about that trivial Wednesday morning from 6 years ago. Rather, my story dates back to only a couple of years ago, when I entered into a relationship with someone who I considered to be a close friend. While this person and I had “history” in middle school, we drifted into acquaintanceship for 2 years, until our 3rd year in high school, when we discovered that we belonged to the small population that had the last lunch period. We spent approximately 9 weeks together in our school’s band room and, on top of that, we sat next to each other in class, providing a lot of leeway to get to know each other again after being distant for some time. And it worked; we started to text and talk often and crack ridiculous jokes and celebrate with each other as if no 2-year gap in our friendship ever existed, and in those moments I felt complete, even in such simple esteem. Then, feelings arose in the midst of January 2012, when my friend and I fell into the bustle of our school’s spring musical, Fiddler on the Roof. With even more time together, playfulness was not uncommon, and we sprung into the whimsy of sweet talk and cuddling and all the wonderful things that come with relationships. In those moments, I was filled with happiness; yet, I wanted more.

I enjoyed “the rush” and the pleasure and I found myself asking and taking, and when my friend made a small mistake in his attempts to bring me joy, I would bash on him, resulting in constant arguments over frivolous things. Surprisingly, no matter how unhealthy this connection was, I wanted to keep it, so we were always quick to forgive and forget, or, at least try to do so. But on Sunday, March 25, 2012, I received a text around 5am saying, “Hey, what exactly are we?” This troubled me deeply, especially since just the night before, on closing night of musical, things seemed content as we shared a passionate “goodnight kiss” in each other’s arms. I guess my beau couldn’t handle my antics anymore, saying that acting like friends with benefits wouldn’t work out, and that it’d be for the better to return to being “just close friends.”

Following the breakup was a rollercoaster of emotions and for at least 2 weeks, we tried to disregard whatever happened. We attempted to create closure and continued to text and flirt over spring break, but what disconcerted me most was the amount of care we still had for each other. It puzzled me: What was the point of breaking up if we were still going to act this way? Was this the aftermath that my friends talked about when they went through splits? Did this mean we would get back together? I would reminisce on our experiences and was driven to even more confusion and insecurity with each waking day, until I decided to confront this person I called my best friend.
“Do you still have feelings for me?”
“No… Why? Do you? Because… If you do, we can’t be best friends, not even friends. I don’t want to go through something like that again.”
Those harsh words struck me dumb and struck me down. How could anyone say that? What kind of best friend would do this and generalize another friend because of a past experience? It was unfair, it was so shallow, and it infuriated me. These resentful feelings lasted for the remainder of the school year and, for me at least, throughout that summer. As hard as I struggled, I could not rid myself of flashbacks, of broken promises, of being called childish when the immaturity was double-sided. And as much as I told myself I was “over it,” I knew I was scarred, and I constantly wore myself out with thoughts about how much this person hurt me. But there was a turn of events when we hit senior year; we reconnected and, in short, the same cycle we withstood just a few months before, became reincarnated in our last year in high school. Only this time, the symptoms of our relationship worsened. We may have communicated more, but we also bickered more frequently. He would always bring up things from the past, which made me uncomfortable since I thought I was supposed to be the one with a freakishly detailed memory. He would support me at my choir concerts and text me “good morning” and “goodnight” and call me “love,” “baby and “dear,” which perplexed me. Even when I tried to avoid him, he was always there, and my desire and interest always managed to pull me back into this poisonous loop of the idea of “fight and breakup, kiss, and makeup” that comes with liaisons. Just as I had done before, I clung to this comfort zone despite all the mixed signals and exasperation, not wanting it to take a turn for a worse but, in the end, history managed to repeat itself. After a long year of trying to repair what had been broken, it all seemed to be waste.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t waste. But first let me return to the subject of birds; I was a crow, begrudging of the agony I experienced, I would not release my burdens and I would constantly peck at every detail of suffering I could remember. And as a crow can hold a grudge for a decent period of time, I too felt encompassed by my situation, watching for what was going on around me, looking for the right time to avenge myself. Then I realized something about holding on to the past: You can hold the days of yore with you, but you must take them as lessons to better yourself as a person, or else you will lead to your own demise. This thought came to me on Friday, May 17, 2013, when I decided to eliminate the emotions that had been bothering me; I decided to write him a letter. In that letter, I told my friend that I was sorry for all the times I hurt him, that I forgave him for the times he hurt me as well, and, with graduation approaching, I felt it was time for me to start on a clean slate and to take the lessons we learned from each other with us as we went our separate ways. I resolved that, even if he didn’t share the same feelings I had, I would choose to live that way regardless.

As time elapsed, I was able to push away most of the hostility I held against my ex-friend, and I can say I’ve reached a pretty stable state of contentment. I will admit that it has been difficult to keep all my snide remarks and subtweets on Twitter to a minimum, but for the most part, I constantly strive to use my experiences from the past couple of years to grow as a person.

It is in the nature of the individual to hold on to what he or she believes in, but it is equally important for that person to be able to grasp new opportunities to learn and discover when they appear, no matter how painful. In doing so, it becomes possible for one to gain wing strength and wing span through his or her trials, and achieve flight. Now by flight I don’t mean the timid running away that pigeons partake in, but the capacity for one to live with herself and continue to inch toward inner peace.

Recollection.

I don’t enjoy remembering things that I shouldn’t be reminiscing on, that I should have left behind.

But, then again, who does?

It is especially painful to try to wring out the old events and old emotions of the past, so if it so agonizing, why do I bring this subject up?

Two words: general education.

One of the GEs I am required to take as a college student is a class called Expository Writing. Sad to say, despite my love of English literature and expressive writing, this is NOT one of my favorite classes. My professor, an older woman with a monotonous voice, blabs on and on for an hour and 15 minutes about topics I learned my senior year in AP Lit & Comp and, in all honesty, a lot of things she says flow into one ear and out the other. Since this is an English class, it’s a given that there will be a lot of writing (hence, the name of the course) and my teacher informed us that we would write a series of essays throughout the semester.

Well isn’t that something new?

I scoffed at this. Obviously, we would be writing a multitude of works over the next few months and I thought to myself, “Damn, this is going to be nothing.” I seriously believed that, at this point, I would be able to float through the class with the knowledge that I already had and that nothing could possibly interest me, but I was taken by surprise when my professor announced the topic of the first essay: an autobiographical narrative.

So basically, we had to address the nature of an individual (although I’d rather think of it as human nature in general), present a situation from our lives that related to the topic, and tie it altogether into a philosophical standpoint about the meaning of life.

An autobiographical narrative. A life lesson.

SERIOUSLY?

There’s something about having to write about yourself for a grade that sounds unpleasant. For one, you can’t rant endlessly about your whole life. Two, you can’t be as vulgar as you please. Not that there’s a lot of dirty words here. And three, you have to follow a certain structure in trying to complete your essay, so there’s a lot of limitations there.

But I don’t think I had too many problems with those hurdles.

I think my main reason for struggling with this assignment was the fact that I knew EXACTLY what I wanted to write about, which is contradictory because, why would I have trouble writing about a subject that I know so well? That just sounds bizarre. But if you’ve read the rest of my blog, you’d know why. The first thing that popped into my head was my rollercoaster of a relationship from the past 2 years and how much I’ve grown from it all. In my essay, I wrote about how it is not in the nature of humans to forget and how we tend to hold on to the past, whether we show it or not. Ironically enough, I COULD NOT REMEMBER MY STORY. My first draft was due on Thursday morning, and I burdened myself by starting it on Tuesday night because initially, it didn’t seem like a hard task. But in order for me to fully grasp the history and meaning and to thoroughly do it justice, I had a friend take notes as I spoke while I played Elvis Presley and Taylor Swift songs and looked back on old pictures, text messages, and diary entries. It was only then that I was able to get on track with myself. But I HATED remembering; I cringed when I saw the messages and wondered to myself, “What the hell was I doing?” I was disgusted by the way we communicated, by the way I acted, by the way I spent my nights going insane, and it was just uncomfortable trying to revisit all the things I tried to put past me. I can’t emphasize how much tension was running through my body as I shoved memories back into my brain.

But something funny happened.

As I started on the last couple of paragraphs of my essay, I started to feel more relieved. It was almost over, I was almost done writing about all the pain and hurt and awkwardness and it was the most exhilarating feeling ever. Because at this point, I was talking about becoming stronger and being able to free yourself from the trials of life and it was so wonderful. I made a reference to birds in my writing, and here I felt like a bird taking flight. When I printed my paper in my friend’s room, I felt proud of how I condensed my emotions into a 4 & 1/2-page paper. And after having a few classmates peer-edit in class, turning in my draft was one of the most lifting feelings.

So “recollecting” is funny.

I talk about forgetting and how I don’t ever want to think about this relationship and how I never want to go through something like this but I am thankful for the occasions when I turn around and look at my life and how it was before. When I reestablish the strain and the stress, I gain another opportunity to release those feelings and I feel more fresh and alive than I did a few days, hours, minutes, seconds ago.

And that’s why I’m writing this blog.

And that’s why I wrote those other blogs.

And that’s why I’ll continue these blogs.

 

 

en·tro·py

/ˈentrəpē/

Noun

Lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder.

This word seems that this definition seems to be the subconscious mindset of many who are going off to college soon, including yours truly.