Anna: Jack's Lament

The Nightmare Before Christmas soundtrack is remedial, and that's all there is to it.

I mean, this morning I was frustrated because my World Lit teacher isn't as intelligent as Mr. Huth and doesn't teach the same way as Mr. Huth and doesn't have the same sense of humor as Mr. Huth. And I had trouble getting into my building, which was just grand.

I had no breakfast and no lunch because I had Sustainability half an hour after World Literature. Cooking rice to eat made me late to that class. My mentored inquiry session ran overtime because I was completing a faulty survey. I finally ate my rice at 3:30 today, which means I won't be hungry for dinner, which means I'll be hungry in the middle of the night again.

I have three-ish chapters to read in World Lit, and then some. And three chapters exactly in Sustainability, and a revision. And my Sight Singing class is not even worth mentioning. I paid $78 for a book for a class that I'll hate.

But coming back to my dorm room and having Jack sing into my ear of his adventurous longings that so mirror my own makes it all bearable.

Zach: The Uneventful Event

So I have been at school for about a month, just like two days over or so, and today was the first day that I have thought to myself that I want to do nothing. Every day I have done something, or wanted to do something, or just been having fun in general. Today was different. I still love my school, it wasn't like I thought I missed Californian and want to go back, although I do want to hangout with all the people that were left behind when I came here, but I just wanted to do nothing today.

There is a room in our cafeteria place(Goudy) that is basically a sun room, and although it was raining today, which made me immeasurably happy while it lasted, I would have been more than content to have just sat in that room all day, looking out the windows.

I also had four classes today, a test in one and an assignment due in all the rest, which all went well enough. I turned everything in and I would be surprised if I didn't get a B on that test I took today. I even finished my homework for tomorrow, but I have felt like doing nothing would be the best thing for today.

I played with my rubix cube, listened to music, and ate amazing bread. I went to a concert(Which was basically amazing and I kinda want to take harp lessons now) and talked to Yvette (Yay Yvette, we are coke buddies) and I played several rounds of settlers of catan online.

My day isn't even over yet, I still have fire dancing later tonight.

I miss my dizi terribly and will have to bring it back with me after the christmas break, and hopefully I can borrow a flute from the school because I miss that too and I didn't bring mine.

I feel like I am rambling now, but I think I have said what I needed to say. I love my school, it is amazing, but I felt like doing nothing today, all day, which has been rather depressing for no reason whatsoever, maybe tomorrow will be better, seeing as how I only have two classes tomorrow. Let's hope so.

Off to dance with fire, missing you guys, and still feeling like doing nothing. :/

Lexi: Love of Life

I don't write about myself a lot.

By myself, I mean the tangles of emotions that inhabit and inhibit me on a daily basis. To publicize my emotions directly can be dastardly, as observed from personal past experiences. The explanation could be my masculine personality, or simply because I avoid confrontation at many costs. I do write; I write ideas.

But I think I will attempt to describe my emotions. Once. Twice. Maybe three times. But most likely, once. I intend not to trap a fly in my web of personality.

I will start off explaining this obstruction of self-expression.

For years I've pursued the communication known as art, the visual medium. This pursuit has experienced its spikes and troughs throughout the years of my life... and never before these months have I collapsed into such a valley; nay, a hole. For weeks, a picture of my own creation has neglected to show itself on paper or screen. Is it because I have sought other activities to keep me busy? Is it because of school? Is it because art is no longer my niche?

There is no doubt a core to this happenstance. The latter half of my elementary years was the time I sincerely adopted the pastime of drawing. For hours, I would sketch fantasy creatures, both preexistent or created by me and Celeste, both inside the classroom and outside the classroom. Art was simultaneously a defense mechanism and a mental escape: among the harassment I would receive by peers on a daily basis, compliments on my talent seemed to balance this out. If homework was taxing on my composure, drawing would release the stress. This continued through my junior high years, up and through high school. As high school progressed, the frequency of pieces created by me gradually decreased. Recently, it has nearly flatlined.

Taking the "core" into consideration, I mention once again that the reason I began to take drawing seriously was to please others around me, and to provide a means of abandoning reality. Comparing this to my modern-day situation and personality, I persist both on the appeasement toward my fellow humans, but I stand more firm on the ground of reality than ever before. So now I seek the answer as to how this perspective has shifted my artistic habits: because I gravitate toward reality more, I resort to fantasy less. Because I have never taken other people out of the picture, reality is now the central motive of my art.

Now for pathos.

It is now I realize, reality should NEVER be a motive for art. Art is meant to transcend the concept of reality. If I keep looking through the scope of reality to create, the motive will be empty. Art should not be a business until someone has found their place in their realm. I have not found my place... I have not a single idea what my style is anymore. For hours, I will sit with the photoshop program up and running in front of me, and nothing will have appeared on the wretched screen. It's building up... there's so much backed up inside of my mind, and there's this constipation of expression. All the music I've listened to and come to appreciate, all the pictures I see, all the books I've read, all the fruitful lectures I've experienced at MJC, and how do I show it all off if I can't even draw for myself anymore? Six or seven people throughout these months have told me that I should become a tattoo artist, and everytime they tell me such a thing, it kills me a little bit on the inside because I know I could never become one in my current state... I don't know who I am anymore. I haven't a clue what my artistic identity is. So many requests to finish... people love my art, but I don't know why they do if I not even I love it anymore... where has it gone? Certainly not home.

My art is dying...

Jessica(AJ): The lost and the found

A shout of "Hurray!" for Anna, Irene, and Heaven who have just moved into their dorms. I hope you guys really enjoy it.
Meanwhile, I've almost been at Berkeley for a month. It's a pretty exciting month; there have been some amazing things. I found that our Chem lab has " Snape has not betrayed us" written in crayon, the squirrels are friendly and very good tour guides, Taekwando and Wushu are a very tiring but fun combination, and the dorms are pretty comfy. Then I've also experienced getting lost, my first midterm with more to come, five fire alarms, and I currently have very sore limbs from all the martial arts.
Friday, this Friday began as it began for every Friday these last four weeks. Chemistry at 9, then I was free to find my lunch and work on homework and distract myself for the rest of the day. I met up with a couple of friends, searching for a schedule to fall into, the perfect way to spend a Friday, a plan. Class, eat, study, eat, rush to Wushu, boba tea, run to dorms, take a shower, fall asleep. That was the plan anyways.
It was fine until "rush to Wushu", where in my absentmindedness, I forgot my keys in the room. I was stuck, my roommates had left for home and I was locked out. Priorities first, I had to get to Wushu for three hours of running, kicking, stretching, and stances. I anticipated underlying worry throughout practice, constantly calling my roommates in hopes of finding an open door to my room, a whole night of uneasiness because of my stupid forgetfulness. But as my ESPM professor says- there is a predisposition, but that is never the prediction for the future.
Wushu began with me dreading the painful stretches and in fear of being locked out. But what is the use of worry when there is nothing in my control? If my next three hours were to be devoted to Wushu, I was to be thinking of Wushu, and perfecting my drop stance and blocks. So that was that.
Boba tea? We got that at 10:30, and by the time we returned to the dorms, my roommate was still not back to open the doors for me. So began, 1 hour of recreational piano in the lounge for anyone who walks by. My "Fur Elise" even got a compliment from a drunken dormmate. In the end, the RA had to be paged to open my door for me. Then, searching for music in my friend's room turned into a full out Wicked sing-a-thon in the dorm kitchen. When we got out kicked out of the kitchen, we sought to continue our singing in my now open dorm room. Which unexpected turned into a sleep over in which had my laptop, and my two friends and I lying on my bed, still unchanged from our workout clothes, watching Weird Al's "Amish Paradise" on youtube at 4 am in the morning. Which then turned into an extended Wushu demo complete with swords until we finally all dispersed at 5 am Saturday morning. Plans? They went out the window hours ago. We can plan out every second of our day, but in the end, you know what will happen.
5 am- I finally took that much needed shower. I found a cell phone in the shower, only to forget my charm necklace in the shower, the irony. Today, got my necklace back. I'm relieved.
Thursday, our school is planning a Walk Out in protest of the school's budget cuts. Of course the protest would start here, at Berkeley. I have 2 classes planning to walk out and in one, I'm having a midterm. It's lovely.
To the Underworld with plans, sometimes it's so much more fun without them.

Anna: The Second Task

Sending this from my dorm room: Broadway 0371, at 5:14 in the evening. I have nothing to do. My side of the room is spic and span, unnaturally so for anyone who knows me, and I'm just waiting for dinner. "I Just Can't Wait To Be King" is stuck in my head.... and I'm slightly disappointed that people aren't more willing to randomly introduce themselves in the dorms. But maybe I'm simply expecting too much on the first day. I love my view. I'm looking out at a hill, with trees everywhere, and the constantly changing Portland skyline. There's a small park across the street that I'm planning on visiting.

So basically I'm here with Sylvia Plath, rambling about how depressed/not depressed she is. Its a lonely day. But I'm not unhappy. I've finally come to that milestone that I've been striving for for four years. In the old stories, the heros always seem to have to complete three tasks....my first task is finished: childhood. I am no longer a child, nor am I quite yet an adult. This second task, which I am naming Higher Education is predictably more challenging than my previous one. But I have no choice but to succeed. To fail is to lose everything I have worked for. It is to lose the reward that is waiting for me beyond all the colossal obstacles: happiness. Maybe. Perhaps I am striving for something else all together.

This is the start of the second task. The second novel of my trilogy life. I have been separated from my comrades, and we must fight our own battles now. And when we reunite, we will have made and lost more comrades, and won and lost different battles, and conquered small evils. I look forward to that day. But for now, I must sit and wait for my adventure to resume.

???: Hijack

Don't worry, you don't need to change the password. I just happened to come across this and I decided I'd write a quick hello to all of you, and hope that you don't find out who I am right away.

Don't you wonder what your life would be like if you were born blind?

Heaven: Mutlu olacaksın.

I keep fragments. Fragments of poems that I have written through the years in a folder on my desktop called, "HE GIVES ME DRUGS." Occasionally, I read through these sentences in hopes that one will inspire me to write a decent poem, which I haven't done in quite some time. They inspire me, but I never write. Tonight, I was reading through some of the lines and one inspired me to write this blog, so here goes.

I have nightmares. I have always had nightmares, since I was a small child. The first dream that I can remember was a dream that I had in second grade, and it was a nightmare that my family left me in the future, left me to be murdered by a masked stranger. For a time, I had no dreams-- only nightmares. For months and months they continued. Waking up in fits. Talking in my sleep. Lying awake for hours in the middle of the night, afraid to get up because I do not know who or what is in my room with me. Hovering above me. Outside my window. No angels. Just the whites of his eyes.

I have had nightmares for the past four days in a row, but three nights ago, I had a nightmare that I will never forget. Before I describe the nightmare, here is the piece of poem that inspired me to tell you this nonsense anyway. It reads:

"if i could fix the things i've done
you know i would, boy, cause you're the one
that i want to hold when we grow old."

Amateur. This line is amateur. I am no great poet, no Poet Laureate of the United States. I am not a poet. I am just a girl that puts my thoughts and observations on paper in twistedupmixedup ways.

Ian never liked my poetry. He didn't understand it, and when he did, he would grow angry about the content. When he could read through the metaphors, when he could see Cullen and Ryan and Jack inside my heart, he did not like it. He did not like me. And now I am without, as I have been. But in my dreams, I relive breakup after breakup, always different, but always the same.

Three nights ago, I had another breakup nightmare. Though the nightmare had several different scenes, to save on space and time, I will only tell you that, indoors or out, we were fighting. Fighting fighting fighting as we always did. Running from one another, physically emotionally mentally. Finally, we end up at Crowell School, and I am chasing after Ian, from the playground down the hallways. Running next to me are all his ex-girlfriends and his new girlfriend, and they are all insulting me. Telling me I do not deserve him, telling me I am nothing. His new girlfriend tells me that I am worthless and she will get him from me. She will take him. He will leave me, and he will be hers. We all get to Ian at the same time and his new girlfriend continues to massacre me with her words. I am crying and pleading silently with Ian, but he nods the affirmative. It is true, he is leaving. But then she (the new girlfriend) says something about time, meant to be an insult toward me, but Ian and I both look at eachother and say, "More like ten." And then we both smile and laugh.

And then I woke up. If only I could remember what she had said to make us react like that. It is the only break-up dream I have had that has ended... well, happily. And now I have noticed that I called it a dream. Was it a nightmare, or was it a dream, or can nightmares suddenly change into dreams by the way they end? At first, I felt horrible. I have endured break-up after break-up after break-up... but then I thought about it for a moment. I woke up. We were smiling and laughing. We were separating, but somehow, we both knew that it was for the best, that we would both be okay without one another. And then I was alone.

And I am still alone, in that sense. But am I lonely?

For a long time, I have contemplated whether it is possible to be happy alone. Many I have asked tell me that it is not... we all need some form of human contact to be truly happy. I agree, sometimes, that I need the sound smell sight touch of people, of Family, of friends. But I am also happy with my memories. The bad tends to overpower the good, but in this case, the light has prevailed. To seek out the good in my memories. To forgive the wrongs of the past. To not dwell in the shallows, but to dive deep, to see the bright morning sunshine penetrate the darkest trenches. To be optimistic. I want to be this. I want to be.

I am alone, but I am not lonely.

--Thou wilt be happy.

Anna: My Somewhat Bildungsroman

So I've come to the conclusion that I need to grow up. I'm still seventeen years old (technically not even an adult yet), but I'm about to start college. I'll have to manage my own money, remind myself to do my homework, do my own washing, wake myself up in the morning. Now I have to keep careful track of all my bank account dealings and make sure my debit card doesn't mysteriously run out on a sudden shopping spree. I'll half to find work soon, and find a way to come up with $10,000 dollars so that I can pay for winter and spring term of school.

In short, I'll have to take care of myself.

This conclusion came to me in the most unlikely instance, as well. Yesterday, I went down into Oregon City with my aunt and her boyfriend to do a little amateur birdwatching. Apparently, some swiffs are migrating south from Alaska, and they like to stop in chimneys along the way. So we drove down there and waited on the side of a road for 20 minutes to a half hour before the first of them started to emerge from over the hill, across the Willamette River. At first, there weren't that many. It was difficult to point them out in the sky- they're real tiny things. Hummingbird sized, or maybe even smaller. But gradually, very gradually, more and more flew over the river to join the rest of the flock. We could hear their small chirp chirps as they flew in random patterns over us.

It was like an airshow. My neck hurt from craning upwards so much, but I didn't mind. I kept watching as more and more swiffs joined the flock. They wove through each other, pretzeling around in the air. In the end, there must have been hundreds of them circling the city, waiting to take residence in the designated chimney for the night. There was a hawk waiting at said chimney, planning to catch its evening meal when it tried to escape into the dark brick structure.

The swiffs were wary, and consequentially refused to rest for the night. Over and over, again and again, they whirled around the chimney in a vortex, every so often unwinding like a fine ribbon or a delicate French pastry. I was mesmerized. I just stood there like an idiot, watching then wind and unwind, daringly swooping closer to the chimney only to ascend once more.

But it couldn't last. The hawk triumphed. I consider myself lucky that I didn't see the actual kill. I had averted my attention to the stragglers, the swiffs who flew uncertainly outside of the vortex, slightly breaking formation. But when I heard the distressed chirp chirping of a swiff, I swivelled my head back. The hawk was flying away, a swiff desperately chirping its last, as its fellow swiffs swarmed and chased the hawk away in rage. There was much agitation in the air at that moment. After the hawk escaped with its conquest, the swiffs swarmed around in confusion. It wasn't long before opportunity reared its head, however, and then suddenly the airshow was over. The vortez turned into a twister and the massive cloud began to descend into the chimney. Within minutes, it was over. They were safely inside, and the sun had descended beneath the horizon.

To resurrect my point from several paragraphs ago, it was at this time I told myself, "Anna, just grow up." I'm not going to make any poetic metephors about the swiffs, or spin any beautiful lies about how I was struck to the core and turned my life around from that point. Simple. "Anna, just grow up." Then I got back in the car, went back to my grandma's house and continued working on my Sudoku puzzle.

I don't really know what I'm trying to say. I just need to grow up. I don't know why I realized it when I saw the swiffs, but I did. So now I would like to ask a favor of all of you. If you ever hear me complaining again, unless its for something really important (and I mean really important, like financially crippling important or something) just tell me to shut up and grow up. Because I can't do what I have to do if I'm always relying on someone else to pat my head and tell me sweet words about how its okay, when I really just need to get something done by myself. So please just do that for me. Tell me to grow up.