What if...

Life is full of questions and pondering, "what if"s and "so what"s, and where does that leave all of us? After every emotion has been stirred up in a whirl of thoughts provoked, what if we had the answers?

What if we knew for certain that everything we're worried about today will work out fine?

What if...we had a guarantee that the problem bothering us would be worked out in the most perfect way, and at the best possible time? Furthermore, what if we knew that three years from now we'd be grateful for that problem, and its solution?

What if...we knew that even our worst fear would work out for the best?

What if...we had a guarantee that everything that's happening, and has happened, in our life was meant to be, planned just for us, and in our best interest?

What if...we had a guarantee that the people we love are experiencing exactly what they need in order to become who they're intended to become? Further, what if we had a guarantee that others can be responsible for themselves, and we don't have to control or take responsibility for them?

What if...we knew the future was going to be good, and we would have an abundance of resources and guidance to handle whatever comes our way?

What if...we knew everything was okay, and we didn't have to worry about a thing? What would we do then?

We'd be free to let go and enjoy life.

Adventures in Baking

Allow me a brief interlude in my usual style of writing, for I'm not my usual self today. Today, I let myself be swayed by a single whimsical emotion and stirring.

"Who wants to have ADVENTURES?!?!?!?!" was the sudden scream I found myself listening to this afternoon. Oh and I was the one screaming.

That's right, adventures. This all began in the midst of an intense round of cleaning the house, when suddenly I was struck by the desire to bake. And not just bake any old regular dessert or pastry. No, I wanted Hamantaschen. To be more specific, I have recently discovered a blog belonging to a linguist and food(read: dessert)lover who is prone to insanely amazing photography. www.dessertsforbreakfast.com is my recent discovery and I must say I've been wanting to try out her recipes but never had the time (or the ingredients) to bake these luscious, eye-pleasing, mouth-watering desserts.

Until today that is. Since I realized I had more or less a free day, what with everything clean and the clothes just dancing in the dryer, I decided to go ahead and have an adventure. An adventure in baking.

So I rounded up the ingredients and started preparing the dough for Hamantaschen. With the wrong type of sugar. And I put it in the fridge for an hour, like the recipe said, and waited. I set my oven to 350 degrees (which turns out to be about 45 degrees higher than my oven actually needs). I rolled the dough, cut out 3-inch circles, folded up the "edges of the circles," and pinched the edges together.

However, I folded my circles into 4 and not 3, so I ended up with squares instead of triangles. In the unnecessarily high heat, my squares (reminiscent of hollowed out pillows) crumbled and the edges fell flat. The strawberry filling bubbled over and spilled out. To be honest, the cookies didn't cook as fast as the filling and they looked atrocious. Slightly horrifying and mortifying, leaving me feeling like a failure as a woman (I know it's insane and we're all past that whole "women should all be able to cook well" thing, but I felt like a failure for a little bit).

And then I ate one. THE most delicious cookie I've ever made. Batch number two was modified and all aspects re-evaluated. Batch number two looks astoundingly better, but it's all gone without any photographic evidence except for crumbs, and I no longer feel like a failure. In fact, I feel successful. Not just as a woman, but as a person in general who can create something out of nothing. Amazing what milk and cookies can do for you. Oops, I mean Hamantaschen and milk. Definitely trying out the Hamantaschen again, hopefully with more results more visually-appealing than this:

After my most delicious adventure in baking (with minimal mess, if I may say so myself), I feel more inspired to cook and bake more often. As soon as I round up the more obscure baking ingredients and utensils.

Midnight Fight and Morning Run

Gusts of wind whipping ebony curls against my face;

my legs, moving faster than I ordered them to, whipping the pavement into submission;

tears forgotten, are they still falling? drip drop dripping, streaming, escaping against my will;

hiding, escaping, crouching, entombing myself in the darkness -

words forgotten - as I escape the now and try to reach that time:

that time which belongs only to us.

the darkness fades into light as the sun rises on a new day;

a new day bringing it's own heat to warm the ice in my chest

as I run farther and faster, making an attempt at forgetting and trying to forgive,

hoping for resolution, needing a resolution, begging for some resolution

to this never-ending struggle, this repetitious struggle...

will it ever end? How will it end? and if so.... do I want it to?

Out of the Bubble

Except for one sunny beach and the Tennessee Aquariums, I had never left the protective bubble of East Cobb, Marietta. Not until December of my eighth grade year of middle school. In December, I woke up one morning to find a brightly flashing four floating in mid-air. I arrived at school to find an eerily quiet gym, filled to the brim with silent teenagers. The silence was deafening. I saw the usually serene conductor almost fall off the edge. I learned how coffee works wonders.

I fell asleep on a rickety bus to the smell of exhaust, Starbucks, Earl Grey tea, McDonald's, trail mix, Goldfish, and salami sandwiches. I learned about the strength of my stomach.

In the midst of empty airport hallways, I heard gossip, arguments, video games, and blaring MP3's. I could not hear my own thoughts, though I didn't have enough time to think, and had already begun to miss the bubble of East Cobb. Once the plane took off, I heard even more gossip traveling above the noise of jet engines, and the smell of coffee grew tenfold.

Wintry and welcoming were my first thoughts of Chicago. I had never seen such tall buildings, never heard louder street vendors, never had I watched more beautiful street performers. I had never felt more cold, lost, or out of place. I had the best time of my life. I saw clouds that blocked my view of skyscraper roofs. I felt wind whip at my face and snow fall down on my shoulders. I learned that a building has only one correct side; it all depends on the direction of the wind.

I met a Santa Claus with a real beard, a stray dog carrying a steaming hot dog, and a novice bellhop who dragged our luggage up the stairs while flirting shamelessly. I shared a room and, above all, a bathroom with three other girls. I tasted shampoo for the first and definitely not the last time during four minute showers and reminisced about my estranged hairdryer. I learned that wet hair in ten degree weather can almost freeze and easily breaks off.

I ran down thirteen flights of stairs because the elevator didn't work on our floor, barely making the bus on time. I tasted my own sweat, followed by blood trickling from my lips, because I was too stubborn to put on Chapstick.

I saw the guitars of Elvis Presley and Bon Jovi on restaurant walls. I watched our waitress dance the YMCA on our tabletop, while balloons floated down from the ceiling, adding to the oddly suggestive sight. I tasted the greasiest pizza and the thickest milkshake on the face of this planet. I have never had a better meal.

On the way to rehearsals, I tripped on snow. I met a homeless man with a spectacular singing voice. I felt comforting warmth emanating from the second and third Starbucks on the block. During our walks, my fingers bled and I resignedly put gloves on. During rehearsal, my fingers bled and my arms ached, but I happily kept playing until the giant grandfather clock struck noon. I learned that an expensive violin doesn't necessarily make a better violinist.

We went ice-skating and I felt myself glide over ice like my bow glides over my strings. I skated with one of my fellow violinists and felt a pang of jealousy at seeing all of the happy couples skating hand-in-hand while the snow softly fell on the ice. I hoped to join them someday.

I saw a saleslady with one leg in the most ornate mall I've ever set eyes on. I held a diamond necklace the weighed more than I did. I saw hundreds of shoppers pushing overloaded carts vainly hoping to finish their holiday shopping.

I played cards until two in the morning with a throng of unknown girls in our room; our nighttime friendship protected by darkness and then dissolved by daylight. As I tried to sleep, I heard piercing horns blaring and harsh men baiting women and swearing at men on the street. I missed the tranquility of the bubble of East Cobb. The screechy wheel of the maintenance lady's cart passed by our door twice every night and we feigned sleep while the lady in the next room watched Jerry Springer. I learned new words I would never use, not for years.

Though I was glad to be home where there is no wind, no curfew, and no more than one Starbucks per block, I often think back to the excitement of the windy city and the lessons it taught me. I learned that four girls and one mirror don't work well together. I learned eighty-three orchestra students and one restaurant don't mix well. I learned that if we want to experience any life other that life inside the bubble, we alone must take the first step outside.

In the years that have passed since this trip, the East Cobb bubble has been abandoned frequently for many adventures. Thinking on it now, I'd love to return to Chicago someday, to see the rest of this breath-taking country and burst through whatever bubbles I find.

Red Oak

Reliant roots, sturdy, stretching swiftly far and wide

though not too deep. Reaching out

into

my

world: entwining

myself with my surrounding family, e x pan d i ng into my community,

embracing my friends. Absorbing the best of my surroundings,

nourishing my soul and sentience.

Supporting

whoever

needs

it, lending strength

without discrimination.

Scorning the harmful advances of the unworthy.

In this wobbly world, strong roots make for stable footing.

Ardent heart

at the very center.

Enduring, sinewy, and steady.

Supporting what my roots

cannot, ready to cherish and

love

with al it can.

A heart strong enough to stand

on its own

against tempestuous storms

and emotions

yet

delicate

enough to be broken.

Such a sweet

strong

supportive

heart surrounded

by peculiarly hard

and protective

bark.

Particularly beautiful?

In the most conventional ways,

no.

The other trees,

they are taller and shorter, skinnier with slender arms,

they have more delicate branches,

or smooth leaves.

Those other trees are

more common and this one...

This one finds itself overlooked.

Often overlooked.

But someone would like

this individual oak

to see its own beauty,

even if only once in a while.

Those initials carved along

the oak's trunk proving an everlasting

love. Sometimes the oak can,

given enough love.

External internal

eternal beauty.

It can

see.

If only this oak could also see how tall and proud it stands:

bending away from the destructive gales of this changing world;

never yielding or breaking down, always surviving, day after day.

If only this oak would see.

Cloudy days inspire respect

In my head,

you're bold and brave:

fighting the invisible with strength unrivaled

by the ancient knights who fought and bested the dragons.

In my head,

you've been unevenly matched against an unrelenting foe,

but invigorated by your cheering fans you fight

and jump back up every time your opponent knocks you down.

I see a brave knave, struggling under heavy armor,

nobly charging into battle with every waking breath.

Constantly fighting, never given a break, and still smiling triumphantly.

Never defeated.

Long live this brave knave.

Long live, my friend, all the walls you crash through,

all the mountains you move,

all the kingdom cheers for you.

Sometimes I pray to the gods watching over us,

here on this little medieval court,

that they could let you see

what I see

in my head.

Lifetime of Love (sestina)

In your eyes and arms I always feel loved.

We may seldom each lose tempers sometime,

But above all, you let me live and laugh

Through moments when my heart would surely break.

Do I think, believe, know I love you? Yes.

I swear I will, always and forever.

Always have we been friends, on forever;

I hope you feel more loved than I feel. Loved?

As always, so confident, you say yes;

But how can I be sure? You're not sometime...

Is your heart full of love about to break?

How am I to tell if you always laugh?

O I love your eyes and smile when you laugh,

Please never stop, smile and laugh forever;

The stiff oppressive silences you break

With the ringing music I always loved

Since friends only were we ... Propose sometime?

So I, in your arms and eyes, may say yes?

Oh how I have oft dreamed of saying yes...

But for the moment I can't dream or laugh,

For we need to be serious sometime,

If we want to be as one forever,

So that we can make each other feel loved.

In love, we cannot then the silence break.

When anew we as one, morning will break,

My dreams fulfilled: to you I have said yes,

Vowed and promised you will always be loved.

Our tears cascade, trickle, come from the laugh,

The laugh echoes in our hearts forever...

Reason says we might forget it sometime,

For we both know that love too fades sometime.

Together through this fading we will break,

We vowed and promised our love forever,

Remember a wedding? We promised yes,

Sealed it night and morning break with a laugh,

Promised to make one another feel loved.

Seasoned, sometimes we forget we said yes,

But you must break the lull of old age - laugh

For I'll forever let you know you're loved.

Monday, October 18

Frustration rising to a rolling boil

bubbling under the surface of the perfect student

scalding steam escapes through exasperated sighs

tap tap tapping fingers... biting lips, click click clicking pens

seemingly omniscient teacher: the cause of my discomfort

the bane of my existence, the dreary overcast sky over my perfect day.

monotone monologues, lectures, disrespect and condescension

insipid and devoid of all interest, lethargic contemplation

and musing: just how incompetent does he think I am?

am I to be subdued, repressed, like this and just accept it?

will there really be no repercussions for his actions?

how much will everyone care if he were to... disappear...

rejoice we would, rejoice we would...

his cruel subjugation of me continues

I snap out of my reverie

the minute hand moves to the fated hour

I walk away, escaping once more

only to return again

unable to stay away

I return once more

Persistence

Oh, small buddign blade, so verdant, lively and green;

You trudge along, during the harsh, bleak, unforgiving winter,

Working your way up through the cold crumbling dirt and

The entangled webs of roots below the withering tree.

You fight the icy blasts of rain and unrelenting wind

While others, looking just like you, will begin to grow during spring showers,

Under the warming sun, among blooming showers,

Stretching beneath the softly-caressing winds, among young saplings

Whose roots do not impede their ascension

And giants will not trample over them as they grow.

But they are not you, oh small budding blade, for they take the easy way out:

Budding at conventional times and then withering before the autumnal parade of colors,

Never to see the first snowflake float down through the sky.

You, little blade, too eager to wait; you grow now

Before all the others, among the fallen autumn leaves, before the snow falls.

All alone, bold and brave, by your own accord,

You fight for your life and the chance to live it;

And there you are, a mere inch above the limits of the ground,

So verdant, lively, and green.

Trudge along,

Trudge along,

Trudge along.

Sonnet 004

Only five days left until he arrives

The little boy I knew so well before

Only four days left until the big surprise

Now a man, it is I who he adores.

Slowly the hours go by, I am patient

Not frantic, not queasy, but excited

To see the boy to whom my heart I lent

And then we will once again be parted.

I struggle to think straight, only three days

Until we meet again, star-crossed lovers...

Two years since I last saw him, two days,

Here he'll be, impatience I discovered.

But faithfully I await, just one day,

Hours pass, here he comes and there he goes.

Undated and Un-named

the passerby's and the silhouettes

the shadows- paintings in the sky

they move, they dance, il baile d'amore on weightless wings

the vibrant hues and the leaves in the wind

the clouds- all colors in the sky

floating, falling, feeling, flowing, and those crazy things:

smells and sights dancing in the sky

invisible music resounds

raindrops sway in the breeze

gently dropping to the ground

Pink Petals

cherry blossoms petals floating to the ground

around you, as you stand beneath the tree,

your eyes twinkling, your smile widening

watching me, you say exactly what you feel:

speaking tender words of love, you hold me,

whispering in my ear as the petals float,

gently floating down, the cherry blossoms fall

Monday Morning

My eyes forced open once more

by the rising sun...

d r a g g i n g myself out of bed,

why has it come once again?

Slip into a shirt, slither into jeans,

can hardly stay awake for

I stayed up late

thinking of you

my eyes close one me,

my thoughts unclear,

I need to sleep

but monday morning is here

The Damned Disease (Part 5.... took me some time to finish...)

A monster, an unfeeling cruel abomination of all that is good and pure in this world. I am darkness, cold eternal damnation. I am the very thing I have feared. Loathed. Detested. I am cursed, damned to hell. I am neither here nor there, I belong to no one, I belong to nowhere. My heart is as frigid as the north, as empty as the south. It is as black as coal, crumbling under the weight of regret, grief, and pain. I feel the disease stabbing at my brain, my eyes burn and my chest aches. Part of me wants to lay myself down upon the ground and resign myself to the beast, feel the poison burn my blood, just give up, give in, the battle is lost. Yes... but the war is far from over. I will not give up! I will not give in! I will fight! With every staggered breath, I will hold out. The disease will not take me. Do you hear me? You can not have me! For now I am whole, strong, resistant. But for how long.... I am only human, we all die in the end. When is my end? Tomorrow? I fear I do not know the answer but while my burning lungs draw in another precious breath I turn to the sky. A smile, sickly sweet. You can not have me today, today I fight! Today I live, disease free.

Musings of a rainy day

Voy a dejar que mi poema diga lo que yo no se expresar por mi

extrañando tu sonrisa, me cuesta un mundo respirar,

es que no tenerte aqui ya me hace mal,

me sigue rodeando la sombra de ti, la memoria y el sueño de ti,

estoy pensando solo en ti, siempre en ti

mis dias sin ti son tan... oscuros y grises, absurdos y duros

no tienen noche y es inutil dormir, un derroche completo

mis dias sin ti son.... tan faltos de aire,

llenos de nada, como un cielo sin rastro del sol,

solo un echo, siempre repitiendo la misma cancion,

mi vida sin ti... extrañando tus cariños en mi piel, tus ojos con los mios

no puedo estar contiguo, mi mundo no me deja, pero no puedo estar sin ti

porque solo tu sabes quien soy, parte de eso es la razon porque es tuyo mi corazon

si me pusieran en cargo, yo fuera adonde to fueras y quieras

como el mar nunca perdera el sabor a sal, te lo digo y lo creo

que nadie mas te amara asi como lo hago yo

confia en mi, amor, estoy pensando en ti

quiero ser todo tu mundo y crear el mundo para ti

darte el mundo de tus sueño y hacer tus sueños realidad

porque tu eres todos mis sueños, mi heroe, mi alma, mi amor...

The shining moon outside my window becomes you. Only for me.

After brief hidden encounters, I saw you again,

no longer hidden by clouds and confusion,

there once again, shining your beautiful beacon,

shinning through the darkness and lighting up my life,

inspiring thoughts and making my heart light,

floating feather of silver, hiding that mythical facade

is it so or has it just been so long that you've been hidden from me?

I sit under the stars, looking at you,

wondering if I'm really here with you,

so near- so close- pulling me closer, I am under your control

like the tide, the swaying tide, pulled closer yet held back,

grounded here under the stars below you.

After these brief hidden encounters, I saw you again,

extendedly so, and your powers swayed me

like you do the tide, sweet silver moon over swaying tide.

Like Diana over Neptune, only you are the hunter-

I am the prey-

playing dangerous games with a powerful hunter...

I enjoy toying with you though you are no toy, all too real

and in dreams you come, invading my mind

when I am powerless to resist,

but this- this encounter- is all too real:

the smell of your shoulder pervading everything

in this sweet embrace, the curve of shoulder meeting neck,

such powerful tension and so delicate,

my head perfectly fitting here, where chest and shoulder

meet the creamy skin of your neck;

the smooth muscles powerful like a cheetah,

waiting under the surface,

I can feel them when I am in your arms, all those muscles

on the cusp of moving when we stand still in love's embrace;

how soft your hair feels against my cheek, in my hands,

between my fingers as I run my hands through such soft hair

aromas wafting towards me, reminiscent of smiles and favorite days,

intoxicating aromas and memories intertwined,

burying my face in a mane of recalled days and scents

would never be enough so I run my hands through it,

thinking and receptive to much more than I show;

intense eyes, reflecting my own, burning with passion!

laughing in open happiness, beautiful eyes, soft eyes

loving orbs of honey-brown burning deeper into me

shining brighter than any star, I promise,

for you are the moon lighting up my sky

outshining any falling star and comet;

smooth hands cradling my body,

sweetly against you, fitting so perfectly,

like the moon in my childhood legends

cradling scared children that wake in the night

from dreams not at all like the ones

in which you come to me so often,

comforting hands so warm and drawing

sweetest of sensations from my body,

poised on the edge of emotions,

skilled hands in their craft and novice attempts,

words could never suffice my attraction

to those loving hands;

so many more features,

each separately perfect and special,

requiring attention, admiration, praise,

examination, caresses, and love,

innumerable features all separately breath-taking,

but together?

together, oh together they are so much more

than when individually pondered,

together they comprise a marvel of creation,

a dream walking in reality,

moonbeams shining through clouds and

illuminating moments in time,

calming storms and adding beauty

to a storm weathered sky.

Meddling Universe

Perhaps the universe is trying to remind me that Walton was my home for so many precious years since I started running every morning at the Lassiter track.

Let me explain: I wake up early in an effort to realign my internal clock and I sorta fast-walk to Lassiter and run their track for an hour and do various exercises and then I sorta fast-walk back to my house. I've been doing this for over a week and the universe has noticed.

For example: today the Walton football team was on the track when I got there, they were practicing and continued to do so very obviously and loudly while I tried to not die in the muggy heat; after that I went to a birthday party at Chuck E Cheese's and the lady at the door was a girl I knew from Walton (I was Jimmy's wing-man when he tried to talk to her and ended up running away when she smiled at him), she and I spoke for about twenty minutes and she told me all about band camp and all the things I'd missed learning about the band's program for this year and then the girl in charge of our "party" was a girl from the Walton Orchestra who I'd spent a lot of time with in the past three years; after that we drove home and passed by Lassiter to skip some lights and the football games were still going on so we decided to drop by and THERE in all their splendid WALTON BLUE glory was the Walton football team, the crowd chanting Walton spirit songs I learned about four years ago and chanted for so long.

That was just today, just today, and it's happened before too. It happens almost daily since I began running on the Lassiter track almost two months ago, I swear the universe has noticed and is trying to mend things by reminding me of my oh so Walton blue home.

I had a blast singing "way down in the valley" while listening to Coach Imperial and Coach Nichols cuss out the players who tripped while Suttle sat under the rotating fans. I missed those Friday nights and it felt weird to be sitting on Lassiter bleachers instead of my home bleachers. I felt like a traitor, but Merlin I had a blast and if this is the universe's way of reminding me of things then I'm fine with it. I shall keep running, but the football team better stay off my track tomorrow, they messed up my work-out. :P

Random Thoughts inspired by Pandora

I'm listening to Pandora, it usually knows exactly what I need, but for the past months it's been .... well I'm listening to this song and I absolutely hate the song. I can't stand it. So I listen to some others, and they all sound the same, but by the 5th song or so I'm starting to like this kind of song. And why is this??? Because society's music is manipulating me to like their songs!! It's been months of the same ordeal with Pandora and radio stations and music videos in the morning: I hate it, so I change it, hate that one, that one sort of sounds ok and has a good beat, oh no!!!!! My foot is tapping, no no no, bad Ana, resist it. They WANT me to like their style of music, so they do that style over and over again until they brainwash me into liking it. Which is terrible because I (and we as a whole generation of brainwashed people) deserve better!!!!!! I (and we) dont need this trashy, no brainer music that just has a good beat. I mean... at the same time you kind of like it....but inside you know you deserve much better!!! Lyrics like Jason Mraz or that song I've been replaying about 50 times a day and any other song that makes you read between the lines and THINK, but Public Affair by Jessica Simpson? What the hell is that?? I admit I listen to it and ... I kind of like it...BUT STILL!!!! People make out for half of the video, and the rest of the songs mention the phrase "all night long" at least in one stanza of their music. It just drives me crazy and yet ... it's so catchy.... Dave Matthews Band would be disappointed in me for admitting this and for it being true.... (they're true musicians music, just so you know)

By the way, I have a feeling that the "5 second rule" doesnt quite work on the rug.

Anyways, WHERE IS THE MUSIC THAT MAKES YOU THINK? CHANGES YOUR MOOD? It's so rare now, defeated and shadowed by "songs with good beats that are surprisingly addicting but we're trying to resist it. Or at least I am"

Chocolate craving time: I am calming my chocolate cravings with protein bars, actually one protein bar that I snuck from the pantry while my dad wasn't looking, it's covered in chocolate and is very delicious. This is the third one I've snuck in three days, the wrappers in my desk-drawer smell good. They smell oh so faintly of chocolate. I wouldn't have to sneak them if there was chocolate in this house, or if I felt like dealing with him knowing I'm eating what's become known as "his" food. I'm a hormonally-imbalanced pms-ing teenage girl. I. Need. Chocolate. and I will get it, don't bother me with the consequences. It makes me feel better, and cravings need to be assuaged, otherwise one begins to feel all sorts of awful.

There are the only two things I've ever craved for: chocolate and chinese food. I know people say they get cravings for certain foods and feel like they must eat them, but they're so diverse with their cravings, making me think that they just "want" them instead of "craving" them. I know when I crave chocolate because it's a physical feeling as well as mental. I feel kind of sick, like I was before I unwrapped that precious protein bar and smelled the chocolate... yummy chocolate... now I'm happy again. Until a few days from now, then all the chocolate in the world won't fix anything and Morgana help those who dare oppose me or cross me. I admit I'm not the nicest person during those days, if only people had more tact and just let me be. There are days during the month when I don't want to socialize and that should be a perfectly good reason for me not to fake politeness when I'm fighting some of the worst discomfort unknown to men.

Cleaning out my feelings

Having recently scourged my room of all unnecessary items, I have begun to feel a rather strange feeling of loneliness. I know I'm surrounded every minute of every day by people, connections, conversations, first meetings, and such ... but I feel lonely.

I've just disposed of a giant black bag which weighs more than I do or did, I've lost weight since the last time I checked, and said bag contained quite a few things. First of all, all scrap pieces of paper and quizzes and tests and things I no longer need or won't help me ever again, for example my Honors Biology binder that was bursting at the seam, all that hard work and information pounded into my brain had memories attached to it and now it's gone. Only because I now have much more extensive and exhaustive materials from AP Biology to cover for all that I threw away. But all those little notes and drawings and small poems... well those were a part of me too and now .... now they're being recycled.

I had a giant box and an entire shelf from my bookshelf devoted to all my schoolstuff, binders and notebooks and folders of paper, stacks and stacks of paper that I went through one by one to see if I should keep it or not. Records and report cards, awards and letters, and books. All my books, assigned or not, were dusted and carefully rearranged now that I have more room. Twenty or so will be donated, books I was forced to read that hold no use to me, books I loathed even if I appreciated any vague literary value they may or may not have had. Sorry, but I don't read essays for fun, I don't read history textbooks disguised as summer reading "novels" or tv series/cowboy western/historical reference "novels," I'm sorry, I just don't. But some other person might, maybe the books will enjoy the store shelves more than the cardboard box...

Now, I just have the lower shelf and, to be honest, it looks pitiful. I feel a little pitiful, I threw away parts of me and my memories, things I never thought about but when I looked at them again, I saw it all. There were old love-notes and poems and a three-page long essay to ask if I like him, things I never threw away, I felt bubbling anger and resentment when I re-read them. I shredded them and lit some on fire, to remove those old pains, hopefully there are some people out there now with scorched burns and ripped wounds because I utterly loved getting rid of it all. Even the stuffed animals, they were tossed in the black abyss of the black bag, dying now somewhere in a landfill under the scorching sun.

My closet is emptier as well. It makes me sad, I pulled out everything I own, all the club and class t-shirts, each one with several memories and moments in my past. Some had holes or the sneaky chlorine stains from work, those were slipped silently into the black bag, some with brand-spanking-new tear-stains. Shirts and pants and shorts and pajama-things that no longer fit or that I never wore.... sigh .... in the bag. I know I don't wear them and that they don't fit, but they were mine anyways and now they're not. Now they belong to someone else, or they will, perhaps they won't and will forever remain in the donation center.

Little baubles and trinkets, small gifts half-broken and dust-covered , all rose from the depths of my "memory box" and some went into the black bag, some fell out of my hands and crashed into a million pieces, some I kept. All those little hats and shirts and ticket stubs and wrist bands and jewelry... it's sorta gone now.

I made the list of what I have and what I need, all because I will soon have to pack it all up and go somewhere new with it, not all of it, but it. That list of things I need kept growing as I threw out socks with holes, broken pencils and leaking pens, strangely twisted binders and notebooks, etc.

I felt tired after the second and last day of this and went running instead of napping. I walked the twenty or so minutes to the track and ran, fast and unthinking, faster until I couldn't run anymore so I walked. I walked for a good long while, talking to some lady who kept meeting my pace, but I felt very disconnected from her. As I have been feeling since I threw the bag away, it hasn't been that long, but I've been feeling it long before I started the ransacking and scouring of my room.

With this loneliness comes burst of excitement and happiness that last for days at a time. I'm so bubbly and jumpy with this new adventure on which I will embark. New people and new things to learn, new experiences and new places, new foods and clothes and books and things I'll love, things I'll like, things I'll tolerate.... I can't wait for it, I want it to be here so intensely, this new chapter of my life, this new horizon, whatever the metaphor, I'M EXCITED.

I wanna know who my roommate is, I want to move into my dorm, I want honors orientation to begin, I want to go to my first psychology of religion class, I want to eat my first actual meal there, I want to use that gym and jump into that pool, I want to meet everyone, I want to decorate my room and put all my things away there instead of back where they always have been, I want to unpack and not have a box left, I want to sleep in that new bed and jump on it, I want to see who will be the first to be thrown in the fountain, I want to go kayaking in the river nearby, I want to attend my first biology lab and spend all those hours working away and when I finish I'll head to dinner and enjoy eating while talking of dissections or microscope issues, I want to sit down to my computer and NOT have either of my siblings there to ask me what I'm doing or why I'm doing it, I want to go somewhere without my parents asking who what when where why every thirty minutes, I want to read without my siblings and/or parents fighting in the background, I want to have POTO sing-alongs while playing Scrabble with people and not be thought weird by anyone who walks by, I want to go out and explore the town without my parents calling to check where I am if I'm not within sight or yell at me if I don't take my cellphone with me if I'm walking-distance from somewhere, I want to share the mirror with three other people and not kill them for ownership of it :P

There's a lot I want and boy am I excited for it, because very very soon I'll be leaving this complicated house of mine and moving into my dorm for the next year. Asbury Hall, Third Floor, with an unknown room-mate and unknown suite-mates, an unfinished schedule, and several friendships already formed.

Winning Entry

The insanely long and weird prompt:

Imagine you are a participant on the popular television show “Survivor.” The format of the series is simple: a group of diverse people are sequestered on a remote island and presented with numerous challenges. At the end of each day, the “tribe” votes certain members off the island during a torch-lit ceremony, and the remaining individuals vie to be the winning sole survivor. Here is your challenge for your honors essay. There are five members of your tribe: 1) you, 2) a person majoring in the sciences [e.g. biology, physics], 3) a person majoring in the fine arts [e.g. art, music, dance], 4) a person majoring in the humanities [e.g. literature, history, religion], 5) a person majoring in the social sciences [e.g. psychology, sociology]. The time has come for eliminations. You all sit down in the “circle of torches” as the host approaches. Justify your existence on the island. What distinguishes you from your peers? What useful qualities make you a valuable member of an engaged learning community, a survivor deserving of a place on that beach? Why should your torch not be extinguished?

My response/essay:

Sitting on the edge of my seat, my eyes wander around the circle and I cannot help but wonder who will be voted off tonight. To my right is a brilliant member of the tribe who is majoring in the sciences and to my left is a talented member majoring in the humanities; across from me sits a gifted fine arts major; next to that member is another valuable and nervous member, a social sciences major. We are all different, we all have distinctive abilities and qualities that make us valuable members of the tribe; additionally we are all nervous and wanting to stay even if for just one more night. However, the members on my right, to my left, and in front of me are strikingly similar versions of me.

I myself am double majoring in the sciences and in the humanities; more specifically I am majoring in biology and literature. Like the science major to my right, I am inquisitive, motivated, and driven to find the answers to existing questions and those that arise in my own mind. Both of us willing to take risks in order to those answers. I enjoy challenges and always strive to overcome them, a quality which is key to any member of this tribe and of any learning community such as the one I find in Columbia College. Paralleling the humanities major on my left, I am creative, thoughtful, quietly reflective, insightful, and appreciative of points of views other than my own. Being open-minded and holding strong convictions is not a commonly found quality, but I see it clearly in my fellow tribe member and humanities major, but also I see it in myself. In order to be a valuable member of this tribe and of an engaged learning community, one has to be open-minded to the views and ideas of others because they might have insightful input to share, but one must also not be easily swayed from the convictions which we hold. They are too similar to me not to be mirror images or connected halves of myself, their torches burning brightly like mine.

Looking across the circle, I see the fine arts major sitting in front of a brightly shining torch. This is a talented, quirky, passionate, committed to excellence, and unique individual unable to see a cut-and-dry black and white world. Although I'm not majoring in the fine arts, I've been seriously involved in the fine arts for the vast majority of my life: I play the violin, guitar, and piano; I compose and study music of all genres, which I could not live without; I am a dancer at heart and love to learn and experience the dances of different cultures; I appreciate the arts on various levels that most people around me do not. I am intrigued by how similar this tribe member and I are, how our qualities are easily distinguishable from the others, and how useful people find our creative ideas. Sitting nervously next to the fine arts major is the social sciences major, a strong individual with a particular sense of self and community. As a tribe member, the social science major is always involved and posing new questions, and we are very alike. This social science major is reflective and motivated, paralleling my own personality and usefulness to our community and tribe.

As the host approaches, I panic briefly, thinking "if I am so similar to these tribe members then surely I will be eliminated tonight." However, I remind myself, that even though I possess all the qualities I see in my fellow tribe members, I am all of them in one person and I have even more to offer because I am so eclectic. What distinguishes me from these tribe members and from my peers is my confidence in myself; a sense of duty, honor, and commitment; personal strength; a caring and compassionate character; and a willingness to help and further others as well as myself. Hoping these qualities I see in myself are enough for the host and the members of the tribe to pull me through on more elimination round, I cross my fingers and wait. I know I am an extremely valuable member of society through my willingness and drive to get involved, I am passionate about helping others; I know I love to learn new things and this thirst for more knowledge in all areas of life make me a non-expendable member of an engaged learning community such as Columbia College and this dwindling tribe.

Our slow-walking host eventually reaches our nervous circle of tribe members and tells us about our day and who is the unlucky member that is sadly leaving our tribe. We had all just learned more about each other, friendships and alliances formed. I shall not tell you who it was that was voted off the island and out of the tribe, only this: my torch remains unextinguished and even if I had been voted off, no one could extinguish the flame that burns within me.