Sometimes when I write on this blog, I cite a problem or frustration in my life, then sort of summarize how I plan to handle my frustration. But there comes a time when all you can do is recognize that a problem exists; there’s not always a clear solution or way for individuals to handle it, and now is one of those times.
No.Stal.Gia. Nostalgia. A beautiful word really, even if I initially didn’t think so. It’s meaning is even more beautiful: a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.
17 years old, and I’ve got nostalgia intertwined in my hair, in the spaces between my fingers, and balancing awkwardly on the bridge of my nose. It will creep up on me when I’m not looking for it, when I’m instead absentmindedly running my fingers through my hair or pushing up my glasses or clasping my hands together. Continue reading
Intense, like running a burned finger under cold tap water
Intense, like debating for 3 days straight
Intense, like the way you devote your life to something unconventional
knowing there are so many reasons for which it could fail, but holding on because of the one reason it might work out
Intense…is the way I feel about you. Continue reading
In your English class, you’re motivated by grades. There, it is essential to present a perfect canvas, concealing grammar errors and run-on sentences.
“Perfecting the personal essay is an art.”
Butt free writing constitutes a form of art in and of itself; I see nothing wrong with its public display. Spelling errors and skips in logic are flaws that serve a purpose in writing: they demonstrate authenticity.
If your goal with writing is raw emotion, there’s no reason to write your heart out and then cut all of the juicy portions away. Unless you’ve got a target audience, we shouldn’t try to restrict what is worth saying. Here on the internet, with a blog like mine, there are no academic or creative restraints. We primarily pursue innovation.
Accepting flaws is something that we should all attempt; there comes a time when your heart is saran-wrapped and perfectly packaged, but at the same time suffocating and refusing to be concealed. If our hearts are inherently scarred, a bit cracked, and fragile, why do we need to hide that?
It’s the same concept as consistently presenting yourself in a dress suit. Why not sweats? Why not ditch the earrings and pull on some fugly Ugg booties?
Or maybe I’m just being lazy today.
I won’t bother speaking about the color of her eyes, as they are irrelevant. I won’t bore you with the typical blue oceans or pools of chocolate brown, as she can’t control her eye color. I won’t bother telling you how her eyelashes are unnaturally long, or how they bat and flutter little Eskimo kisses. No, I won’t enlighten you with any of that.
Her eyes widen when you speak to her. She can look you at you straight, without breaking eye contact for over eleven seconds, as most lawyers do with their jury to establish a personal connection. Some people let their guard down in the first few moments, but quickly resume passiveness as they fight the insecurities and vulnerabilities inherent in human nature.
When she’s struggling to find the perfect word, she’ll look up and slightly to the right, sifting through her brain. When she’s skeptical, she’ll grimace with the right cheek, and there will be a crease in the eyelid as it scrunches up with incredulity.
She doesn’t like to look down when she talks with people, and she despises looking away from them as they walk towards her in the street. She hates the way people turn their faces into masks, devoid of emotion. She hates how some are utterly unable to maintain eye contact, as if the glare were so intense it burned their retinas.
She is the literal embodiment of the sun, and it’s pretty clear once you look into her endless eyes.
In the midst of all there is to feel,
are you going to let sorrow dominate?
There are dishes to wash, molars to floss,
people to hug, and movies to pause.
You’ve got emails to send, letters to write,
i want to write poetry just to verbally deliver it
i want to go to some random coffeeshop and listen to other people be really passionate about what they care about
She sits in a movie theatre and watches the main character die from the last row from the left most seat a tragic death that seems to shake the entire audience except her. The movie ends and she descends the steps one by one impassive stoic her face is dry. She comes back and sits in her bed She sits in the silence and watches another movie whose screen exists between pages of a book a spine whose binding is flimsy. sniffle sniffle She starts to cry for people she's never met whose faces she has never seen whose parents she has never met whose hands she has never held That's compassion for humanity. Her hands are bloody the skin are her nails is destroyed from stress and agitation. He holds them firmly and says I love you despite your flawed hands. hesitates, backtracks, and recants his words I love you for your flawless hands and your capricious emotions and the way you deal with your feels that your hands display the message receive the clemency. She goes back to the kitchen tea or coffee? glass or mug? pinky or no? Suddenly, she remembers the war Anguish and fury rush back to sting her Her hands are warm and she watches the color slowly disperse. Placidity counters the fury. Sympathy balances the anguish. Her hands are warm, but her heart is worn. Her mind is lethargic She lets it all go imagines it floating away this way that way out of sight, out of mind All of her efforts are spent wasted on impotence and structural barriers She wants to care, but she just can't afford to anymore. - inspired but not really much more aligned with the Daily Prompt
So, what’s crying exactly? Is it just something we do in our spare time, or is there meaning to it? Does it make us stronger, weaker, or is it just something that we do?
Well, I don’t really know.
But it’s 2:30 AM and I just finished “crying” of laughter, and “crying” of happiness. Yet, at the same time, I’ve cried of sadness, cried of sorrow. What can we really take out of such an activity?
There are infinite reasons for appreciating a song. In my experience, I’ve liked songs simply because of who it reminds me of, who suggested it to me, where I heard it, or who I heard singing it. I might enjoy just the heavy beat, the interesting music video, or the contagious and infectious catchiness.
Music represents an endless amount of ideas, and there exists a song for every mod. It can immediately add emotion and drama to any situation; it has the tendency to sooth or anger, relax or excite.
Everyone has a unique music taste of their own. You wouldn’t be able to distinguish my particular music taste just from listening to one song on my playlist, simply because I don’t think I can be defined accurately and completely with just a single song.
Music reminds me of my childhood, because there are honestly some songs out there that Ilike, but don’t know why. There are other songs that have never truly left my “favorites queue,” that I have yet to tire of.
You can dance to music; you can jump around and sing to it.
Music is used to promote, and to advertise. We use it to get revenge on others through lyrics, to express emotion, and to connect with other people of similar appreciative tastes and opinions.
What’s in an orchestra? A band, a chorus? A violin, an electric guitar, or a triangle? We wouldn’t have some of our greatest role models if instruments and music groups hadn’t been conceptualized and created over people’s mutual love of music.
Some people are just natural born performers, while others should be confined to their shower.
It’s as if you’ve taken your favorite lines of poetry, set them to a beat, and added a tune, et voila, you have a song.
It blows my mind to imagine music as an inspiration for a revolution. Of course, no one has ever stood on a podium and yelled to a crowd, “FOR THE LOVE OF DUBSTEP!” and started a massive mindset shift towards electronic dance music. What I mean by this is that some pieces have been for influential and moving that people become motivated to fight for what they believe in, and what they want. Astounding to me is the influence that people like Justin Bieber and Harry Styles can hold, because…yeah.
On the other hand, look to the Haiti earthquake in 2010. The remake of “We are the world” raised awareness of the destruction, and motivation to make donations and do service work.
In 2011, a devastating tsunami struck Japan, and a charity compilation album, “Songs for Japan,” raised over five million dollars.
Live performances are a great way for people to congregate and bond over mutual interests, because the performer knows the music backwards and forwards, sweating and crying whilst giving their best performance. It’s as if you are looking the artist/composer/singer/performer full in the face; they can’t hide behind the studio window, buried under hours of remixing and auto-tuning.
One of many of my favorite music genres is dubstep*. It’s music centered around the bass, which draws on many musical influences such as techno and reggae. Quality dubstep is just phenomenal, because no one looks cooler than someone with a big pair of headphones, dramatically bobbing their head up and down as they listen to the epic bass drum of dubstep. Whilst listening to said “dubstep,” you can’t just turn the volume down to “barely audible” and expect to receive the whole experience of what my love of dubstep is founded upon.
I used to think that I would be able to sleep to dubstep, and I did for a while. My daydreams mutated into bizarre hallucinations during the day hours, and my night dreams transformed into extraordinary illusions. The experience was…surreal.
I dramatically nod my head up and down with an obnoxiously big set of headphones, with dubstep banging in my eardrums like a raging animal. The entire experience is complete.
Ear buds are just ho-hum; if you want the full dubstep experience, you need to chuck those little ear buds out and go get yourself a quality pair of headphones.
*Warning: this recently emerged music genre is NOT for the light of heart.