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Saturday, November 19, 2011

It’s all my fault

What did I do to make you hate me?

What did I do to make you scathe me?

What did I do you wrong?

What did I do to make you ignore me?

What do I do to make to you abhor me?

What did I do wrong?

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Love Stories v. Reality

In fairytales, a woman is a helpless creature who must depend on a man for her happiness. The leading lady may be cursed, trapped in a tower or flat out desperate, but this is no excuse to give up hope. However, before the right guy comes into her life, she has no self-esteem or independence. She must wait idly until the perfect male just happens to stumble across her path.

I say this view is wrong. The situation that is portrayed here is not accurate. Why must a girl wait for her prince to come? Why is he the only one who can unlock her freedom? And in the end, is she actually free?

The stories portray love as something extraordinary, something that can unlock a damsel from her distress. But what is it in real life?

In the stories, love completes us. Love is all we need to be happy. Love perfects our lives, always leads to marriage and is always the last chapter in the book.

In real life, life goes on and feelings change. Sometimes "Mr. Right" turns to be "Mr. Right Now". Sometimes Prince Charming turns out to be Prince Degenerate. Sometimes the frog is someone else's prince.

    Now I have to admit that love stories' messages are not always false. Every once in a while, a guy can make a girl speechless, change for her, search for her or save her lives, and turn out to love her past the typical "ever after." I'm not saying these situations never occur, I'm just saying they're rare.

Monday, January 31, 2011

P.S.

P.S.
I've got a whole stack of things sitting in my room just waiting to be uploaded, :)
-Kelsey

Today


Today is January 2, 2011. A lot has happened since I last evaluated my life. I used to have a room all to myself, three relatively healthy grandparents and a pretty normal life. Then, everything changed.
    On the last day of school before Thanksgiving break, I cleaned out my entire room so that my dad's mom could move into it. My grandma suffered from an illness called Parkinson's, and all the signs were signs were showing.
    (Resting tremor; slow movement; rigidity, or stiffness or inflexibility of the muscles; impaired balance and coordination; stooped posture, a tendency to lean forward; fatigue; impaired fine motor dexterity and motor coordination; poverty of movement (decreased arm swing); speech problems, such as softness of voice or slurred speech caused by lack of muscle control; loss of facial expression; small, cramped handwriting and difficulty swallowing are the most common signs of Parkinson's disease, all of which she exhibited.)
    I cried, knowing that my whole life was about to change. I finished cleaning the next day (Saturday). Mom and Grandma came home on Sunday and I had never seen Grandma look worse. She was shaking, so confused and out of place. She kept apologizing for everything that she did and for "being a burden' on our family, especially me since I had given up my room for her. It was very hard to adjust to our new "temporary" way of life.
    Grandma would just sit on the couch all day, staring at the blank TV. Then, around eight, she would start telling my siblings and I to go to bed. Around twelve she would get up to use the bathroom and lecture us about how unhealthy it was to stay up so late.
    We could never leave Grandma alone by herself, so all schedules shifted. She always worried about where everyone was and why they weren't home yet. It was forbidden in her book to go out after dark.
    Close to Christmas, Grandma got a little worse and the most often used phrase in my house was "I'm just under a lot of stress right now." It was the truth.
On the 23rd, Grandma decided she could not make the trip back to Charleston, SC where my family is from. We had to convince her it would be all right; we would take care of her.
    On the 24th, we traveled for about four of the six hours it takes to get there (making regular stops along the way) before stopping at a McDonald's. Grandma was walking fine and insisted she was okay. My dad and I were walking her in, each of us thinking the other was watching her. She tripped, fell, and had to go to the hospital nearby. We stayed there for I don't even know how many hours until the doctors released her with only a few band-aids as treatment.
    At her home in SC, she fell again. She was fine though, just off balance. We celebrated Christmas while we were there and she was okay the whole time.
    My mom's dad went into the hospital at this time with bronchitis.
    On the first, we visited Granddaddy and traveled home.
    The second was a rough day. We couldn't get my grandma out of bed, so we tried to get her to eat something in her temporary room. She was in the worst condition I had ever seen her in, and I could see the fear in her eyes.
    Later that day, when I was expecting the ambulance to come, the coroner came instead.
    The next few moments are some I will never forget. I remember feeling like it was just a bad dream, like I had to wake myself up immediately. All I could think was she was fine yesterday. She was fine yesterday.
Then, it hit me: I only have two grandparents. I was hysterical for quite some time. My mom sent me to my neighbor's house, where I had to say for the first time something I would have to say for weeks to come: "my grandma just died."
    The next few days were surreal, but not in a good way. I felt my heart had ripped out and taken part of my brain with it. I didn't understand why this had to happen to me, why at this age. Finally, something one of my church members said something that broke through to me. He said to remember only the good times, only the good memories of my grandmother and to picture her when she was happy. "She's in heaven now. You'll see her again," he said.
    After the funeral and after my life became a little less hectic, I found out that my granddad didn't just have bronchitis. He also has cancer.
    Now, I just have to take my life one step at a time, knowing that my next step is not guaranteed.

Monday, May 17, 2010

You and Me

We should get jerseys,

'Cause we make a good team

But yours would look better than mine,

'Cause you're out of my league.

I knew when we collided,

You're the one I have decided.

You see, I can be myself now—

Finally.

In fact, there's nothing I can't be—

When I'm with you.

We'll run away together;

We'll spend some time forever.

Best Friend


Brilliant

Exciting

Smart

Thoughtful

Fun

Random

Iconic

Everlasting

Nice

Diligent

CHRIS


Cool

Happy

Right-handed

Intelligent

Sweet

Sunday, May 16, 2010

The Perfect Parasailing Day

While I stood on the grey shell-scattered shore, the seemingly endless ocean called my name. The waves crashed; the seagulls soared. Everything was pleasant there. The giant jellyfish bobbed their way through life, clueless of the world around them. The electric eels slithered in mid-sea, defying gravity. The dolphins played and laughed aloud, enjoying their own vivacity. The turquoise and tangerine sky offset the cobalt ocean. Countless velutinous clouds scattered the stratosphere, decorating the candy-colored scene. The day I went parasailing was perfect.

I had always wondered what it would be like to fly, to see everything from a bird's eye view. I had always wanted to float, to defy gravity. I've never flown in a plane; I've never climbed a rock wall. I've never been skydiving; I've never been base jumping. Parasailing was my chance to have an amazing adventure, so I seized the opportunity.

Anticipation engulfed me as I strapped on a lemon-colored life jacket and boarded the banana boat. The boat bounced its way through the breaking waves, tossing unsuspecting passengers overboard. When the banana boat finally finished its long journey over the low tide, I took a leap of faith onto the powerboat to begin my long-awaited parasailing journey.

I entertained none of the instructor's directions as he buckled a parachute tightly around my soaking wet body. I readied myself for takeoff as the safety cord was being attached to my parachute harness. A feeling of tranquility came over me as I ascended into midair above the beautiful beach. The ocean's mystery beckoned me as I took a look at the delicate driftwood on the beach. A gently blowing breeze lifted my sprits as I admired the never-ending serenity of pure nature. I reached out and tasted the cotton candy clouds. I looked down just in time to notice a sea turtle wink at me and plunge underwater. From a seagull's eye view, I could see every creature in the ocean. The stingrays shuffled along the shore; the crabs crawled among the sand. The fish flew through the water; the birds bolted through the sky. The shark danced his silent ballet; all the fish ran away. A clownfish poked his head out of his anemone; a velvet flatworm went out for a stroll. All the animated animals only added to the perfect peace of that day.

I found out just how birds view people: like busy little ants, oblivious of the overwhelming awesomeness of the air. A family noticed me, but went along on their way. A dog barked, but his owner dragged him onward. A child looked up and saw me, but got distracted again by his intricate sandcastle. While I wondered if he would also like to fly, I was awestruck by a fellow parasailer across the beach. I marveled at this sight, and contemplated whether or not she was thinking about the same things I was. I finally got the chance to be a kite for a day, and in the middle of the sky, attached to reality by just a parachute, I had never felt safer.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

The Difference between Love and Infatuation


The words love and infatuation are commonly confused. Infatuation is like obsession or liking from a distance. The dictionary defines infatuate as "to affect with a seemingly great passion or attraction that… will pass quickly." In other words, infatuation is childish or immature. Some different words and phrases we use to describe infatuation are "puppy love" and "crush." When someone has a crush on someone else, they may not even know this person personally. Infatuation is really like admiration, a feeling of wonder, pleasure or approval you could get from something or someone. We become infatuated with a person when we admire them.

Love is something else entirely. Love is bonding; love is everlasting. Love is a feeling you can't quite describe. Love gives you peace, patience, and joy when you never think it's possible. When you love someone, something crazy happens. Love in itself is crazy. "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered; it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves."(1 Corinthians 13:4-7) In order to love someone, you must know him or her intimately. You must not only know this person, but also trust them enough to give them your heart and your future.

Love is for real; love is forever. Infatuation is pointless in a sense; it only lasts a while. Both infatuation and love can cause people to do some insane things. Some people would die for love; others would kill for it. Infatuation is the same way—fans kill their idols sometimes. I will never understand the actions these emotions make people commit.

My Life as the Internet


I'm quite bipolar, I must say.

I speed up,

I slow down.
 

Sometimes I do what you ask

And other times I just freeze.

I can make you very happy;

I can make you very sad.
 

I'll show you anything you want to see,

And even things you don't.

Sometimes I crash,

But don't blame me.

I remember everything.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Axe

Whenever I smell 
Axe cologne,
It is late summer,
And I'm with my boyfriend,
Holding hands
And looking into his eyes.

The wind blows
And he holds me closer
We'll be lost in each other's eyes forever.

But this is not my story. My story is
Running away, hiding from
Him for as long as I can.
The bruises from the last time
Still sting my arms.

Memoirs of a Night Dweller

My name is Saul Goldztein, and I am 17 years old. I lived peacefully in my hometown of Prague with my mother, father and three younger sisters. I was violently captured one year ago and brought to Terezin, a model concentration camp. Here, Hitler's followers punish us simply for our race: Jew. Never did I know that a person's most true identity could be the near death of him. We are treated like filthy worthless animals here, being devoured by the vicious wolves. I have seen infants, mothers and elders burned alive.

I lay awake on the floor trying so hard to find a hidden strand of hope somewhere in this thick quilt of despair. Yet as optimistic as I pride myself to be, I can never find even one follicle of truth alluding to the fact that life could actually be good. It feels almost criminal to imagine that this situation, this living Hell, this pit of desperation, could be considered the least bit good. It is dark now. Night, I guess that’s what most would call it. But everything seems like one vague blur to me now. What makes night and day so drastically different? The sun rises and the sun sets. However, in this camp, the sun hasn’t risen since the day of capture and it won’t set until the day of liberation.

Liberation. This humble thought of hope eludes most here at the camp. They are counting the days, wishing the end of these derogatory ways would come faster. Better to go ahead and end this pain than to slowly suffer to their own despair. I, myself, am torn; to wish for liberation is too much to covet, but to be tortured is no way to leave this place. This Hell on earth has left a dark flame in place of my soul, it burns within me day by day, or night by night; it is all the same to me now. I see things I once thought appeared only in the darkest men’s souls. This world I am trapped in has become my greatest fear. Hitler’s wrath engulfs all, and with it takes with it their conscience, their integrity, and most important, their humanity. I have witnessed sons killing fathers, brothers killing brothers, and ravenous fighting within the camp. I close my eyes and try to recall happier days, before this torturous life. I try to remember that feeling of happiness, which I used to know so well. But I can recall nothing. All I feel is the heat from the flame that burns within me and the cold of the night that splits my skin.

Everyday more and more is lost, all in the name of what? Life? Equality? Hitler? All humanity is lost here, for we are barely human anymore. I've gone a week without food, a month without sleep, and a year without seeing my family. Every day I think about the easy way to end this torture, but then I realize there's no point to killing myself after making it this far. I try to be optimistic, to think about the past, the future, anytime but now. But it is extremely difficult to smile and reminisce while being beaten by a Nazi.

Mother’s warm voice is overshadowed by the harsh ruff scratched voices of the SS guards. The giggle of my sister forever lost to the piercing sound of my Kapo’s whistle. My father’s face has left me. The faces of my fellow prisoners have stolen my precious memories. I am basked in a darkness that seems everlasting. Dark thoughts of ending the hazy days and nights cross my mind frequently. Throw yourself on that fence. End your pain. Hit that guard. Get yourself shot. Leave this place. Die. My mind fights off the voice telling me to give up. I have to. Yes, the light of hope seems far away, but it is there. I know it is. God seems silent right now, but He will deliver his people from this spell of darkness.

Thought

Okay, so I've decided to start posting classwork (essays, poems and such) on here.  This is just a side project for now...

Friday, March 5, 2010

Hola! Como estas? I just got a blog so this should be interesting:)
-Kae