Life is a Book

A/N: My English class is on this metaphor kick in which students write metaphors describing anything and everything. I wrote one for this past Monday, and it came out as something my inner critic didn’t deem as mediocre. So, onto WordPress it goes! 

 

Life is a book. You can’t judge it by it’s cover, because a glitzy, eye-catching front can behold a dull story just as easily as inconspicuous binding can hold together an enchantingly beautiful plot line.

The story might include some unexpected surprises. Perhaps the hero charges forward to protect his mates, but trips and falls on his face before he even has a chance to swing at the monsters. Maybe the princess will lean her face in for her first tender kiss, only to find out that her knight in shining armor is actually in a long-term, committed relationship with a girl who can destroy him in battle better than anyone. It’s even possible that the teenage drug addict who’s always bumming around school is actually just a genius with a bad case of ennui.

It may have sadness included in it’s numerous pages: the grip of wars being fought, the unfairness of death, the tragedy of star-crossed love. There are times where the book will build us up so much that we willingly give our hearts to it, expecting for everything to turn out alright. But sometimes things don’t come out the way they should.

Maybe the antagonist wins.
Maybe a character dies.
Maybe there is no happy ending, and we’re left with empty hands and a hollow heart; lost eyes staring after the too-bright truth.

But there are still people out there who believe failure will always lead up to the climax. The plot line may bumpy, jumbled and filled with complications, and there might be times where you feel like you just can’t handle it anymore, but miraculously the knots come undone, the problems are resolved, and you find yourself living out your Happily Ever After in a dreamlike daze; marveling at the sun’s glorious habit of rising every morning.

Unfortunately, this book isn’t always fair or straightforward, and it doesn’t go on forever – the protagonists of this world don’t have nearly enough time to complete their journeys. But there are those who understand that while all things must come to an end, you can always write a sequel.

We are still young – barely past the antecedent action. As such, a few of us have yet to realize that we are as much the authors of this book as we are the readers. Every day is another page in a finite set of chapters, for we are writing the story of our lives.

Check out my friend’s wonderfully candid and enlightening response, “Life is not a Book“. It’s awesome to have opposite views on a subject, because then you’re able to see both sides of the matter. So, my thanks are to her for providing such a great written contrast. 

Fangirling Over Blogging

It appears that a substantial amount of my friends (like, six! That’s a lot!) have started their own blogs here at the lovely WordPress.com. Excuse me while I squee*.

SQUUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEEE

WordPress, you’d better be grateful: I have advertised your site to death, and nagged my friends to start their own blogs so much that some of them have actually listened to me and started nagging other friends to also start a blog. Never underestimate the power of collective nagging; it moves mountains. (Or in my case, the stubbornness of friends.)

So I’m going to fangirl about blogging. Prepare yourself. Fangirling (at least to me) gets really serious. Extreme flailing may be included. Of course, it doesn’t apply to you because you can’t see me flail. So, just so you have some sort of metal image, it looks something like this.

Except I have somewhat longer hair. And I can only wish my laptop had a cupcake image on it.

Blogging is a form of self-expression. You’re probably thinking, “Well duh, you’re basically swimming in your own fandom by telling the world about your life and yourself through a series of ones and zeroes that assemble themselves onto a computer screen in the form of nonsensical scribbles that humans have somehow deigned to call language.” And you are absolutely right.

But it’s kind of more than just that. I mean, yeah, when you strip it down it’s just that, but it kind of creeps up on you and attaches itself much like the male anglerfish attaches himself parasitically (yeah, it’s not a word) to the side of the female anglerfish. (Google, stop saying that anglerfish needs to be two words. That’s how John and Hank Green spelled it so that is how I will spell it. I scoff at your attempt to defy the spelling of the Green brothers.) Sentimentality towards blogging becomes present, or at least that’s how it was for me. You’ll get used to writing on your blog, regardless if you have two followers or two thousand. It’ll begin to hold a special place in your heart.

Plus, there’s something nice about being able to swim in your own (sometimes almost nonexistent) fandom by telling the world about your life and yourself through a series of ones and zeroes that assemble themselves onto a computer screen in the form of nonsensical scribbles that humans have somehow deigned to call language. I mean, who doesn’t like talking about themselves? Nobody. We all like to blather on about ourselves, even though it is frowned upon if we do it too much. Blogging is a way to talk about ourselves and our views to the point of exhaustion, and those who are interested are free to read. We don’t have to worry about the people who aren’t.

And how cool is it to say to someone, “I blog. And no, it’s not a Tumblr blog.” Because while Tumblr is awesome and stuff, with WordPress you actually have to write** – with words that you’ve pulled out from somewhere inside you that you maybe didn’t even know existed. To find that part of yourself, to revel in the sheer fact that yes, you can write*** (and realize the fact that some people actually enjoy reading what you’ve written), is something to make anyone love blogging.

So, a welcome to my friend who has just recently started blogging, and a belated welcome to all my other friends who have joined before. I hope you will love or are loving the feel of blogging, and that you’ll continue doing it. How else are we ( the collective we, mua ha ha ha) supposed to stalk you and fangirl over your writing?

Oh, and for my friends who read the blogs but don’t blog (I know you’re out there), I beckon you to join us. Jooooiiiiiin us. (Imagine that being spoken in the voice of Gollum. If that and this post aren’t enough to make you start a blog, I don’t know what is.)

So many asterisks:

 

*Squee: Noun. A noise primarily made by an over-excited fangirl. If you’re curious, sound it out. Just don’t do it too loudly at nighttime. Trust me.

 

**Wordpress isn’t just for writing. We have wonderful artists, musicians, and photographers here too, to name a few. So if you’re more of a photographer or an artist than a writer, you can still come and share your creations with the interwebs. 

 

***A lot of people realize that they can write before they start blogging. I guess it just depends on how much you write pre-blog. I however didn’t write much before this, which is why I had this moment of glorious revelation (angel chorus, heavenly light and all) a few posts in.  

Grade Rep Elections, and Leaders

My brain is working better now, so I decided to write an something that more or less makes sense to make up for yesterday. I have a certain agreement with a friend of mine to write at least once a a week, so this is me upholding my end of the deal. She’d better do the same. *nudgenudgewinkwink*

 

All of this past week, posters have been slapped onto the walls of my high school in preparation of the grade representative elections. They (the posters, I mean) were a plethora of strange pictures accompanied with the ever-present, “Vote for me!” One team even wore T-shirts to help their campaign along, while another candidate had photos of him wearing a mustache. (Hey, a shout out to steeshes.com! They feature pictures of mustaches all the time. I mean, all the time.)

When it was the official day of the elections, the candidates gathered in the gym and read their speeches to their peers. One of my friends opened her speech with a quote from Harry Potter; something about how it takes a great deal of courage to stand up in front of someone, or something like that. (I wasn’t actually there, so I can’t recall it perfectly.) And Dumbledore was right.

Every one of those people who stood up and presented their best are incredibly brave. In running for grade rep, they tried their hardest but also opened themselves up to rejection. It’s easy to play it safe and not go out there, but they stuck their necks out for a chance to be leaders.  And when you think about it, being a leader is a scary thing. What if you don’t do a good job? What if you don’t have the makings? What if something goes wrong and it’s ultimately up to you to fix it? You’ll have people counting on you and expecting you to know what to do, but what if you don’t know? And what if you do, but the answer you come up with is something that not everyone likes? So, the very fact that there are people vying for a position of leadership (despite the possible implications) is pretty great in itself, even without the public speaking and option of rejection.

All in all, everyone did amazing; both those who won, and those who didn’t. The way I see it, the very fact that they could put themselves out there is an achievement.

You go, guys.

Reading Windows for Everyone

I’ve written three drafts today in hopes of publishing one of them.

It’s not going to happen.

So instead, I’m going to give you this picture.

Isn’t it glorious?

It’s a window that has seats built into it. They’re normally found in older houses, and people use them to read.

Do you think that if everyone had one of these installed, more people would read?

I know I’d be here for most of my time at home if I had one of these at my disposal.

Yup.

“Love is All You Need?”

Upon recommendation of a friend, I recently watched the short film “Love is All You Need?”. Here’s the film’s bio:

“Love is All You Need?” tells the story of Ashley, a young teen who is raised in the picture perfect all-American family with two moms, two grandpas, two uncles, and a little brother. But Ashley has a problem: she has a crush on a boy at school, which is against everything this world has ever taught her. This undeniable attraction to the opposite sex causes her to be the constant target of verbal and physical abuse until she is driven to a tragic end. This film hopes to shed light onto the highly controversial issue of human and equal rights in the LGBT community, and also raise awareness in our current world as to the obstacles that this community faces.

After watching, I researched a little and found a lot of mixed responses to the video. Some hated it, some loved it, some were using it to justify heterophobia while others were raving about how it was a call for equality. I’m someone who loved it, though I do wish it had a happier ending. But I guess that if it did, it wouldn’t be as dynamic as it was.

I am not exaggerating when I say that this film, short as it was, is one of the most powerful I’ve ever watched. It creates a world in which heterosexuality is the minority, making it so that people who are straight are tormented (heterophobia) because of their orientation – much like many LGBT people were and still are today.

This film is impacting because it is told from the perspective of a straight person who is being bullied, making so that it is easier for the majority of people today to relate to Ashley. It puts the audience in her shoes, and instead of feeling detached sympathy for a homosexual protagonist, you think, “That could be me, if the world were really like that.” The film’s portrayal is so vivid that you somewhat become Ashley, following her through everything that happens up to the end and feeling what she feels.

Watching this really put everything into perspective for me; especially the stigma and quiet disapproval of homosexuality that has been a part of society for so long, that most of us have unconsciously accepted it. Seeing a world where you’re expected to like a person of the same gender brings a sense of, “Whoa, this is weird,” and the realization that one inexplicably sees heterosexuality as “normal”. You could even be an ally who is totally for the legalization of gay marriage and everything, but you might still see girls liking boys as the norm. (Which, mind you, is not unforgivably horrible, it’s just something that’s pointed out while you watch it.)

On the other hand, in the midst of all the love I’m giving, there is one point I didn’t like: family dynamics. The film still has the very stereotypical mother-father scheme firmly set in place: one of Ashley’s mothers acts more ‘motherly’ toward her, while the other has more of a ‘tough love’ act about her and is clearly supposed to represent the father. That implies that same-sex marriages are still dependent on heterosexual roles, when they are not. But the way I see it, it’s a small blip that doesn’t overly affect the experience of the film.

Slight fan-girl digression: Lexi DiBenedetto, the teen actress who plays Ashley, is flippin’ incredible. If there’s something the director wants you to feel while watching this, she will darn well make you feel it. One notable example is sadness. This film will make you sad, unless you’re one of those people who are impervious to feeling sadness from watching/reading fictional material. If you aren’t one of those people and you don’t like sad, then you don’t have to watch it. But for those of you who can stand a tear-jerker, it’s a wonderful thing to watch and totally worth it. Plus, you can look up funny YouTube videos afterwards to cheer yourself up.

This all being said, I’ll give you the link and let your own opinions form. I’ll have to warn you though, there’s violence, self-harm, suicide, and bullying triggers in it. Be careful out there.

If Everyone Cared

“Compassion is a feeling from deep in the heart that you cannot bear someone else’s suffering without taking steps to relieve it.”

We, as living things, are naturally inclined to participate in the ever-popular action of self-preservation. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure most of us enjoy being alive. (It’s the only way to enjoy chocolate, after all.) So, if you’re standing in the middle of the street and you see a bus coming, you’re going to move out of the way. There’s nothing wrong with that; in fact, I encourage continuing to step out of the way of oncoming vehicles.

But say you see someone in a position where they’re about to be hit by a metaphorical bus, and it is possible for you to prevent that from happening; you just need to exert some effort on your part (you won’t get hit by the bus), you help them . . . right?

Some say “yes” and do help, and it’s truly amazing to see what a person can accomplish when given a cause to fight for. I could name a whole bunch of people who have done great things for the rest of us, but chances are that you probably have a list formulating in your head right now. The fact that you can recall these people is pretty awesome in itself, because it shows how much the world cares about the folks who seem to care as much (or maybe even more) for others as they do for themselves.

On the other hand, a lot of us are just stuck in a apathetic mindset. We’ll see the path through for ourselves and maybe our family, nobody else. We’ll say, “It’s not my problem” and “It’s not my fight”, but isn’t it? Isn’t it all our fight?

Life is tough, and I get that. What I don’t get is self-survival and just looking out for yourself while not paying mind to the people around you. It is all our responsibility to help others, because if we don’t, who will? As various teachers might say, “You can’t live life always expecting someone else to step up.”

No matter what the circumstance, there will be reason to show kindness – or at the very least, tolerance. If we find we can’t help others, the least we can do is refrain from hurting them. Why?

Because at the most primal level, we all just want to be happy. That’s it. Anything anyone does or says is to make themselves happy. Some think fame, wealth or success is the key to happiness, others will have other definitions of what makes them happy, but in the end we’re all the same in our quest. When you remember that, it’s somehow a lot easier to forgive and look past imperfections.

I’m tired of being told to not worry and not try. I’m tired of telling other people that. I’m tired of it being an unspoken rule, something we just accept. Why can’t we all just help each other?

Everyone deserves to be happy, peaceful, and safe; so this is my challenge for you: if you’re happy but someone else isn’t, it’s up to you to help them in any way you can (as long as you’re not being killed in the process or something). Just by making someone’s day brighter, you can change the world – one person at a time.

“Whether we like it or not, we’re all connected, and it is unthinkable to be happy all by oneself.”

I, being naive and idealistic, still believe in a world where everyone looks out for everyone else. Ideally, that’d be a reality. But the world isn’t ideal, and maybe the older, wiser souls will say that only in looking out for yourself do you truly survive in this world. Still, I can’t deny how even the smallest part of myself becomes excited when thinking about what it would look like if everyone cared.

“If everyone cared and nobody cried,
If everyone loved and nobody lied,
If everyone shared and swallowed their pride,
Then we’d reach the day where nobody died.” – Nickelback

The truth is that we probably won’t start dropping things to help each other anytime in the near future, but there’ll always be people who try their best anyways. Because of them, there’s always kindness, and caring, and helping, and sharing. They are, in my opinion, the superheroes of reality.

I’m going to try to be one of those people. I hope you’ll try too.

The Memories We’ll Keep

A/N: This post isn’t very coherent, probably because I wrote it under the premise of procrastination. It was supposed to be longer and more “flowy”, buuut it didn’t. Also, I didn’t like how I concluded this one. Usually I have some kind of passable conclusion to make you, the reader, feel all warm and fuzzy or something; but this one just kind of . . . ends. Seeing as how I’m planning to stick with the whole Friday posting scheme though, I’ll just throw caution to the wind and put this on here. 

 

I don’t know if you know this (but seeing as the majority of my followers are friends I see in real life, you probably do), but I recently went to Edmonton for a band trip. Along with shopping (though it was more like eating), we had the chance to attend two concerts that featured bands and choirs from the Alberta area. Besides bombing our performance, we had a great time filled with Italian accents and sleep-deprivation. (Did you know a bus full of giggly, narcoleptic teenagers makes for beautiful pictures?) There will doubtless be memories that all of us will carry for a while yet – something that’ll be cherished more than anything else.

I love memories, which was why I was taking pictures like some paparazzi photographer who was hopped up on Red Bull. Because my memory only goes back so far, I rely on photo albums to accomplish what my mind cannot: remembering the things I saw, the music I heard, the friends I laughed with and the inside jokes that were born. Trips are great for making memories; I found that out at the beginning of the school year, when a large portion of my friends went on a hiking trip. Judging by the detail and little things they can recall even now, I can safely say it must have been one heck of a trip. And one they’ll remember for years to come.

We’re (presumably) all going to graduate, taking with us important knowledge of quadratic equations and literary devices. Some of us are going to cry, not wanting to leave the friends and the experiences, because we’re all going to go our separate ways. We’ll find our calling and our path in life, and we’re going to make a name for ourselves. Some of us might move away; whether it’s to another school, another part of the country, or even another continent. Others will stay here for the rest of our lives. Some will drift away, bidden by new experiences and new people; some will remain as close as we all are now. But one thing is for sure: we will always look back on what once was. Because people and situations change, but memories fortunately don’t. Whether it was sitting around a campfire under the stars, fangirling about jazz music, or even just having lunch together, we’re going to remember. And often, it’s the little things we remember that make us smile the most. (No matter how cliche that sounds.)

Much Ado About Shakespeare and English Class

It just sank in for me that I am done with Shakespeare. I’ve been living with it looming over my head for about the past two months or so, but it has finally run it’s course. Even if it’s only for the remainder of the school year, I am done.

Don’t get me wrong, Shakespeare was a genius and all hats were probably thrown off to him. I was frequently amused by how excited my English teacher became while we were interpreting Julius Caesar line by painful line, especially when there was killing and/or dying involved. In fact, the most excited I remember her was when she was talking about infants being quartered . . . But maybe the problem lies with my mind and how that one situation is the strongest memory I have. If I’m correct, she was also pretty excited about Antony’s speech.

Instead of throwing my hat to him, I wanted to throw my hat at him. I dislike Shakespeare simply for the reason that I cannot read his plays. 

Well, technically I can, but it’s not like reading a normal book. (Sarcastic me says, “No chiz, genius.”) I had as much trouble with Jane Austen’s works as it were, so to read Shakespeare I would basically block out everything and just scribble down whatever sounded somewhat intelligent – subsequently, that was how I wrote each Shakespeare exam this term. On top of the whole non-understanding, I had to deal with the stress of those exams. Really anything you are being tested on feels a bit anxiety-producing, if you ask me.

If Shakespeare was written in plain English, I’d probably have no trouble finishing the book. However, his long, flowy, eloquent sentences wrap around my brain and make me wonder how anyone could ever write something like this. Observe:

“There is a tide in the affairs of men
which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune
omitted, all the voyage of their lives
are bound in shallows and in miseries.”

I’ve finished writing multiple tests on the play, and I still am not entirely sure of that excerpt’s meaning.

Lots of times I’ve dreaded going to my English class in the mornings and dissecting his works, however fantastic they are deemed by the English teachers of our time. To be frank,  English as a subject has never gotten me very excited academic-wise. (I like reading, but I don’t like writing essays, practicing proper parallel form, using clever consonance, or inserting irony.) Sometimes my only motivation for English class was hearing my teacher go all fan-girl-mode on us. She would read aloud from the book sometimes, and you could just see how passionate she is about Shakespeare. Actually, about English in general.

If there’s one thing I dislike about school (besides having to drag myself out of sleep each morning, but that’s just collateral), it’s teachers who are monotonous and show no excitement or passion for what they’re teaching. Fortunately, Ms. T is pretty much the opposite. While she has her faults (who doesn’t?), at least she shows love for what she does. And in doing so, she makes her students love what they do too. Isn’t that one of the main goals of every teacher?

Of course, maybe not all of my peers feel the same way I do. In fact, I believe most dread the class because it provides their lowest average out of all their other classes. I know I was tempted to slam my head against my locker in frustration during the early days, before we all had gotten used to how she grades. I wouldn’t be surprised if I started having nightmares about graded essays handed back with more red on them than black and and white. (Sadly, it has been a reality far too many times.)

On the other hand, there’s lots of stuff that I’ve liked from the beginning. Take my fellow literature enthusiasts (read: classmates). We have our own inside jokes, and though we still separate into our own friend groups we’re all pretty familiar with each other. Even in biology class, I naturally gravitate towards the people who I also attend English with. To sum it up, we’ve bonded over the beauty of literature (and how much we complain about it).

The best part is, I know I’ll see most of these people through the rest of high school and its future English classes. This over-achieving, sometimes whiny, procrastinating group of English students will keep tackling one essay after another, together. It’s the only class in which I know every name, the only class in which I can present without shaking like a leaf, and the only class where I don’t feel so socially awkward. (I bear the curse in which I am inept at making friends with other people unless they are also socially awkward to some extent. Or else they enjoy hanging out with crazy people. *shrug*)

So, English isn’t my best subject (yet neither is it my worst, I suppose), but I enjoy the class.

I guess you wouldn’t be able to tell that I’ve improved much in writing though, especially with how “all-over-the-place” this post is. But what’s the worst that can happen?

(. . . Ms. T finds this and uses it as an example of not sticking to one subject. That would be pretty bad. But what are the chances?)

The Joys of Being a Hermit

Since it’s Easter break right now, some would expect my teenager self to be frolicking outside with the birds, Snow White-style. Or maybe going to the mall with friends, or even some other cliché teenager activity.

But instead of frolicking or shopping, I’m sitting at home. Why, do you ask?

1. There’s the obvious reason: I need to watch my younger brother so he doesn’t “burn down the house or get kidnapped”, in my parents words. Which I myself don’t mind, but he does, because it means I get to continue tutoring him. (*insert evil laugh here*) As my family says, “holidays can’t get in the way of learning!” (We don’t actually say that, but I’m pretty sure it’s implied in my household.)
2. There’s only so much social interaction a person can stand.

I don’t know about you, but I find a form of comfort in the fact that my sketch pad is getting more attention at the moment than most of my friends. I have no homework this break (something I still don’t quite believe) so there’s no stress, and with the lack of excitement from human interaction I float from room to room in a state of dreamlike euphoria. There’s absolutely no need to get out of pajamas, look presentable, or put on any polite mannerisms that is expected of us when we venture into public.

Indeed, with my disheveled appearance and apathetic approach to going outside and communicating with other walks of life, I largely resemble a hermit.

Some would resent the life of a hermit, but I embrace this lifestyle with open arms. It’s not that I don’t like seeing my friends (I love hanging out with them), there’s just something nice about being alone with one’s thoughts. A quiet, almost poetic serenity fills the air of my hermit dwelling, and when you inhale you are overtaken by something that can only be described as a sort of nirvana. It almost makes you want to meditate. Om. . .

Or, you know, maybe it’s just me and my really liking the indoor life at the moment. I have friends who love being with large groups of people almost every minute of their free time, and doubtless there are benefits to doing that as well. But I consider just relaxing at home as something special, especially in a world of deadlines and strict time-management.

So whether you’re still on your Easter break or it’s already over, I hope you had some time to embrace your inner hermit. If you didn’t, try making some time or wait until the next holiday. People need to experience the sheer joy of loafing around in pajamas, in my opinion.

Going to Lands Far, Far Away

You know, it occurred to me that I probably should elaborate the countdown in more detail. I briefly explained it a little while ago, but I’ll go more in-depth here. Otherwise everyone might be confused and say “What? Anna’s going somewhere? What’s going on here? What will we possibly do without her un-funniness and fluff?!”

Fear not, faithful reader. (Unless you just stumbled onto this blog, making you not a faithful reader at all, heh.) An explanation is on the way! You see, I am going for the sole reason of purchasing as many Jaffa Cakes as possible. My motive is a story I’d rather not tell (“for it would scar your minds and possibly leave you traumatized”, as a certain friend would say), but the fate of the world depends on me. If I don’t get those Jaffa Cakes back to Canada, horrors untold will be unleashed on the bulk of mankind. (Cue terrified screaming)

This is all that stands between a dystopia and us.

I alone shall save this planet, even if it means buying obnoxiously. But just because the world depends on me doesn’t mean I can’t play tourist!

Along the way, I intend to meet a magical leprechaun, pluck some four-leaf clovers, sing in the rain on the streets of London, fangirl where Harry Potter was filmed (!!!!!), and perhaps even pick up an accent. Or maybe I’ll just rock the Canadian accent, proudly representing my country. (I should say “Eh” a lot! And talk about how we ride around on polar bears and save up snow in the winter so we can still build our igloos in the summer! Mua ha ha ha ha!)

Oh, and I’ll be singing lots, as I’m travelling with a bunch of other girls who share my dream of life transforming into a musical. We’ll probably flashmob the airport. And the airplane. And every restaurant we go to (because heaven forbid we eat somewhere without singing grace first. That’s how we roll).

Wish us luck in preparing, as we’ll be competing.  There’s not much time left to get our singing and – ulp - dancing together, so the next few months are going to be a little crazy. (They’re nagging me to buy some stone coloured bottoms. I quote, “Stone, not beige.” Yeah lady, like I can tell the difference while at the store. Plus, do you realize the faces the staff give me when I ask for stone coloured stuff?)

Ahem. If you need me, I’ll be shopping.