Walk This World
With The Light In Our Eyes
Underwater, sounds are different.
Dull.
Soft.
Distant.
Even violent screams are gentle whispers.
Calm.
Tranquil.
Clear.
Just like the water, the water around her body, over her face, covering the eyes which flutter open and the hands that quickly grasp the arms holding down her shoulders. The water breaks around the boy as he moves through it, his mouth meeting hers. A transfer of air and he’s back at the surface. She’s smiling in the fountain, glad to have a few more moments away from the harsh reality. But then he comes, and her dream is over.
Broken.
Finished.
Bygone.
Her name is – was – Sara Gino and she traveled. She never arrived and never left, she only moved. A part of her was present over the surface of the whole planet. She wasn’t the memorable type, but no one ever forgot her. Not the butcher who gave her his bacon, not the seamstress who gave her his tarps, and certainly not the writer, who gave him her story.
Account.
Tale.
Allegory.
She wasn’t his love or his pride, she was his pet. Where he went, she followed and what he said, she did. We saw her for the first time in the hoop show. With a mound of gold curls piled on her head and tufts of pink lace flowing round her legs, she and her hoop were a sight. We all saw her, still do, sitting by the edge of the ring perched on a simple stool. There were others on both sides of her, but Sara was the only one anyone saw.
Observed.
Noticed.
Watched.
Word is, she dreamt. And in the dream, she was blind and woke up to her reflection in the mirror. The once-blind eyes glowed with a light she’d never seen and she ran.
Escaped.
Fled.
Gone.
He found her there with the glow still in her eyes and he took her with him. He put her on the wire, he gave her a hoop, he taught her to dance. She was his and his alone. We don’t know who he was, or perhaps what. But he was their leader. And they all knew it. Nobody minded. He had the brains for it. They gave him respect. She gave him reason.
Life.
Time.
Sense.
She didn’t speak much. We never heard her voice, but we hear it now, sweetly echoing in our ears, ringing with the joy and laughter we know she wanted to show. He never let her, but Matty did.
The actor.
The artist.
The acrobat.
He had too much joy in his life, it was what brought him down. He wasn’t with her, he watched her. He tried to join her, but all he got was a brief one-sided conversation with her under the bleachers when the show ended. His eyes, too, shone with starlight when we saw him next. That was her purity at work. She couldn’t do much but express her life.
Share.
Give.
Teach.
She dreams about mirrors that show her without eyes. Wakes up with a light that glows where they used to be and runs away.
Gone.
It was one day. One act. One simple twirl of the hoop.
We didn’t know her, but she knew us.
We never heard her, but she spoke to us.
We couldn’t reach her, but she taught us.
And now it is us, we, who move with the light in our eyes.
Born to Fly
What is it about airplanes, about flight, that makes people so afraid? Go to any airport and I guarantee you’ll find that over half of the passengers admit to being at least a little bit scared. Why? Statistics show that you’re more likely to be struck by lightening twice than to die in a plane crash, that you could fly every day for 26,000 years before there’s an accident. So why, then, is everyone so afraid?
Airline travel is one of the safest means of transportation: From 1982 through 2001, an average of only 120 people per year have died from airline travel. That’s the DAILY average for autombile deaths. So again – why is everyone so scared?
It’s the law of probability. If your car crashes, you can be saved. Rarely do people survive plane crashes. Cars are more dangerous, yes, but you have a better survival rate. I don’t have a statistic, but I’d be willing to guess that you’re less than 5% likely to live through a plane crash.
And that’s what scares people.
(not a real post)
You Don’t Have To Worry
This is copy/pasted from my livejournal, hence the informality of it. I just wanted to fill everyone at wordpress in on what’s been happening to me:
So! I haven’t updated all week. Missed me? ::bats eyelashes:: Prepare for a long entry with no cuts because I’m too inconsiderate 
PART ONE Big snowfall last weekend, we got about a foot and a half, which is I know less than some of you got, but we haven’t had much snow all season. So Monday rolls around and since I only had one class, I didn’t go. Monday afternoon, I got really cold and laid down in my mom’s bed because she has a heated blanket. After an hour or two, I got really hot and went downstairs. My mom asked if I felt ok, I didn’t look good. I said I was fine and went back upstairs. But of course, now that she had said it, I suddenly didn’t feel well at all. Around dinner time, I took my temperature and it was about 101 degrees.
The fever stayed around 101, 102 through the rest of the night and I barely slept at all. At 5:40, I got up to go to the bathroom, get some cold water, and take some Advil. So after a potty-break, I went downstairs and poured myself a glass of ice water. I was feeling really weird the whole time, but shrugged it off and figured it was because I hadn’t had medicine in a while combined with how tired and hot I was. I opened up the cabinet to get the Advil and the whole room was just moving all over the place. Next thing I know, I’m hitting the ground with my elbow.
But the floor just felt so nice – it’s tile, aka, always freezing cold – so I stayed there sprawled out. I’d been trying to open the bottle when I fell, so there were pills all over the floor and I’d managed to knock over a plastic thing of brownies too. I picked myself up into a seated position and leaned back against the cabinets, keeping my arms and legs touching the tile. Then my dad came in and saw me all ‘oh no what happened’ and stuff. I told him I fell down and he went to get my mom, then came back and started picking up the Advil.
When my mom got down, she felt my head and told me I was on fire, then she and my dad each grabbed and arm and lifted me onto one of the kitchen chairs because I was literally too weak to move myself. For almost half an hour, we just sat there with cold compresses on my head and neck, taking my temperature and drinking cold water. Eventually, I’m feeling a bit better and go back to sleep in my mom’s bed because she was worried about me and didn’t want me alone in my own room.
Unfortunately, the whole passing-out thing made my mom schedule a doctor’s appointment. XP I hate doctors. phht So we get there and I’m shivering like a … something that shivers. I dunno. Finally get into an exam room and my fever’s 103. The doctor came in and he had a med student with him, which was weird. Dunno why, it just struck me as funny LOL Anyway, did the whole patient thing. Got a blood test, peed in a cup, had an EKG. The doctor told the student that I was the most normal patient that he’d ever see, hahaha. Then I told him about my ear thing and he said “nevermind, I take it back” which was funny.
Anyway, moving on. Nothing spectacular there. By around 9:00 Tuesday night, I was feeling much better, fever was back down around 98. Then around 9:30, all of a sudden, it came back. I had three blankets, couldn’t stop shivering. Fever spiked at 104. So I sat there through Boston Legal (which is another entry, rant about how DEK annoys the crap out of me) with icy-cold towels on my head turning into hot towels in under a minute because of how hot my skin was.
By the time the show was over, the fever had gone back down, which was good, and I was able to sleep. Yaaaay sleep. Didn’t have a fever all day Wednesday, but I still didn’t feel too great. Went back to school on Thursday, even though I put up quite a fight with my mom because I didn’t want to go. But I did. Friday rolls around and now that I’m finally just about healthy, guess who’s favourite visitor decides to pop up? Yeah. *snort* After class, my mom and I went shopping and when I got home, I spent the rest of the day on the couch because my stomach was hurting pretty badly. But that’s beside the point. (what point?)
Then we get to today. Got out of bed at 9:00 and saw my mom cleaning. Which is never a good side. Asked her if everything was all right and got a rant. Fun. All day today, she kept reminding me of what a disappointment I am to her. She’s been doing that a lot lately – reminding me of how much money I’m costing everyone, how I’m the most un-independent person in the world, how I have no friends, how no one will ever love me, etc etc etc. She usually only gets like that once in a while, but it’s been really frequent lately, like a few times a week. Which I really can’t stand. Seriously, I can’t remember the last time she was happy with something I did.
PART TWO Now that we have what I’ve been doing all week out of the way, I can move on to some of the rants I’ve wanted to write over the past few days. We’ll start with Oprah, because I can’t remember any of the other ones. Ok. I’ve always hated her, but now, I really can’t stand her. Because of the whole James Frey thing. It bugged me when I saw it because she was treating him horribly. It wasn’t an interview, it was an attack. And it made him look so bad in the eyes of people watching who didn’t know anything else. For example, NOBODY, and I mean NOBODY, tells 100% truth in their memoir. It’s not possible. Secondly, he’d originally marketed the book to publishers as fiction because, even though it was mostly true to his life, he thought it would sell better.
So that was one thing that got me fired up. But then she has Dave Chappelle on her show and treats him like he’s the king of the world. DUDE!! After crucifying James Frey for something totally insignificant (his “huge lies” were things like ‘there were 2 people with me, not 3′), she ignores the fact that Chappelle turned down millions of dollars and went to Africa and wouldn’t say why. She was totally unfair. And you know why? It’s because James Frey is white and Dave Chappelle is black. If their races were reversed, she would have been sweet to Frey and awful to Chappelle. DOn’t believe me? It’s true. I hate to say it like this, but a huge percentage of the black entertainers are like that and she’s one of the worst. I can’t stand her.
But thank God for Bruce Willis, right? (there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say) Her’es a copy/paste just because it was so awesome what he said: “Look at what happened to James Frey in the last two weeks,” says Willis. “That’s a great book and so is the follow up book. And just because his publisher chose to say that these were memoirs, it took it out of being a work of fiction, a great work of fiction and very well written to this guy having to go be sucker punched on OPRAH by one of the most powerful women in television just to grind her own axe about it. ‘Hey, Oprah. You had President Clinton on your show and if this prick didn’t lie about a couple of things I’m going to set myself on fire right now.’ James Frey is a writer, okay? He can write whatever he wants. It’s fiction, and it’s just hard, it’s just shameful how he was treated in some of these things.”
PART THREE I’m pretty much done with everything I wanted to write in here. Other than: I watched Magnolia tonight! I’d been wanting to see that movie for probably a good two years and finally did. It was so ! Seriously, that was pathetic, but there really were no words for it. The frog scene was just… INTENSE. Capital letters necessary. Maybe even bold. INTENSE. I knew all along about that scene, but it ws *nothing* how I expected it. When that first one fell and the THUD I just jumped out of my seat! It was so violent… INTENSE My heart was racing. I knew there were a lot of them, but I didn’t know they were so big or that they smeared on the cars or made such horrible scary sounds or broke windows or any of that stuff! Cheeses it was INTENSE. And now I sense I’ve said that too much.
There’s nothing else I wanted to say, I don’t think, and I’ve been typing for quite a while, so I’ma stop now. 
I’ve already taken up enough room on all your friends pages.
Congratulations if you made it through this whole entry! *proud*
Human Behavior
I haven’t updated in a few days. The reason is fairly simple. I haven’t been alone except for when I was asleep. That sounds odd, I know, but I have image and control issues. I guess it’s good that I know it because they say the first step in overcoming an obstacle is admitting there’s a problem. Of course, I don’t see it as a problem. It’s just the way I’ve always been. Over the past few years, I’ve definitely become more of an elitist, but it all stemmed from the control and image issues.
See, the thing is this. I’m very introspective and reserved. I don’t like voicing my opinions and thoughts out loud where people can hear them. (or even when people *can’t* hear them, I’m not big on talking to myself) That’s not to say I’m quiet or shy. Not at all! I can be a total attention whore. I love being in the spotlight, always have, it’s why I got into theatre. I like the feeling of everyone looking at me and admiring whatever it is that I’m doing. I love being an entertainer and making people laugh. Slapstick, of course, is my favourite humour to perform, but you know, I take what I can get.
I digress. The point I’m trying to make is that 1 – I don’t put my thoughts out there because of the way people will think of me and 2 – I like to be in people’s minds. The key that ties them together is simple. I have to be able to control how people see me. I always say the generic ‘I don’t care what anyone thinks about me’ and on most levels, it’s true. But only if I consciously do something that won’t matter. For example, I don’t mind getting up in front of a group of people and acting like a fool. I enjoy it because I’m in control. And even if they hate what I’m doing, I’m still putting a certain impression of which I’m aware. It’s when I can’t control how people look at me that I get into trouble.
…which is why I’m always at the center of internet drama.
Anway, back on track. The control-issue thing is what kept me from updating. I can’t make myself type more than a word or two if there are people around. Unless I know that no one can walk by, hear the keyboard, and come in to ask what I’m typing, I won’t write anything in my blog(s). I’ve always been sort of like that. Since I got my computer (I think I was around 11 or 12 (don’t worry, I’m not a spoiled brat, my dad’s job has always centered around computers so we were the first in our neighborhood to have a PC and later, to have internet access)), I’ve always minimized my window when someone approached the room. Can’t help it. If they see what I’m doing, they’ll start asking questions that I may not be able to answer and then they’ll have an idea in their head that I didn’t put there.
Please don’t get the wrong idea here, I don’t manipulate people (ok, sometimes I do) in that way, I just get very unnerved if I’m not in control of how I’m being portrayed. There’s a big difference between pratfalling in a crowded room and being tripped by someone in front of the same people. And strangely, I don’t mind falling by accident, I’ve done it a few times and then just got up and laughed. It’s only when someone else is involved and keeping me from knowing my exact image.
Did that make any sense at all? I’m sure at least one person who reads this will understand what I mean. It is human nature, after all, to want those things.
I think.
No matter, I’m going to bed.
Men Are Like Shoes
They are, but that’s not really the issue at hand.
Shoes. I don’t know what it is about them, but they just fascinate me. I’m not the most feminine person, everyone knows that, but when it comes to shoes and handbags, well, I’m worse than the most girly. I base outfits around the accessories. All my handbags have a pair of shoes that match them and all my pants have a pair of shoes to match. If I don’t have a certain colour, I go on a quest. Right now, I’m attempting to find an olive drab bag that isn’t frumpy.
I don’t know why I like them so much, but shoes are just something special, I think. My mom and I go shoe shopping when we want to get away from all the bad things in our lives. And when you’re wearing a great pair of shoes? All your troubles just fall away. Put a matching handbag with it and everything is perfect.
Even now, I don’t know how I got to have so many, but I literally have about 60 pairs of shoes. My dad suggested I get rid of the ones I don’t wear on a daily basis and I laughed in his face. The shoes that don’t fit on the floor of my closet are squished into my suitcase in the corner of the closet. And the ones that don’t fit in there are in my mom’s closet. The ones that aren’t there are in the crawlspace.
This picture contains 35 and a half pairs of shoes. Since it was taken, I’ve bought at least 15 or 20 more. (as well as stolen a few from my mom) It’s too wide for wordpress, so drag it to the address bar or something.
I would like to put up a picture of my handbags, but I don’t have one and I don’t plan on taking them all out to photograph. Oh well.
Just as a side note, this isn’t really what I’d meant to be blogging about this morning. I’ve had an entry in my head for several days and when I sat down at the computer, I just didn’t have it in me to write it. So I picked shoes instead. I go shopping for shoes when my life is too depressing and I write about shoes when my blog is too depressing.
You’ll be in my heart
No matter how much we try to stop it, we always lose the things we love. People always say ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ But did you ever notice – the ones saying that are the ones who:
A- Never loved.
B- Never lost.
C- Didn’t love someone enough for it to hurt when they lost that person.
Personally, I think it’s all a load of crap. Yes, I do agree that it is good to have had happiness in the past even if you don’t have it in the present, but that still doesn’t justify that quote. The reason is this: When you are in love with someone (or even something), you are just that – in love. Losing that love can be either a slow or fast process. It can fade away over time or it can vanish in the blink of an eye. And unfortunately, the latter is more frequent.
I’m going through a period of loss right now. If this were my regular journal, I’d say “I don’t want to talk about it” and then save the entry. But I made this new blog to say all those things. Please bear with me, I’m not used to doing it.
My dad sold my car. No, not my car. My Fred. No, I don’t have a license, but he’s still MY CAR. FRED. I’ve had him for two years and ever since we bought him, my dad’s been saying he was going to sell him no matter how much I begged him not to. You see, I loved this car. It was ugly and dying, yeah, but I loved him. Every time he nearly broke beyond repair, I spent hours crying and praying for him to be fixed. The other day, when my dad said that he had someone seriously interested in buying him, I scream-sobbed at him for the entire night, just begging him not to.
After he finally kicked me out of the room, I ran into my bedroom and gathered all of the money I’d been saving. I had enough for the registration/inspection plus three months of insurance. This was Monday. I wish I’d thought enough to give it to him that night, because when I got home yesterday, Fred was gone. I didn’t notice right away, because I assumed my dad had taken it to work, but when I got home today… My dad was standing in the driveway with Betty (his car). I turned to my mom and said ‘Where’s Fred?’ and, smug and joyous as she could be, she exclaimed, ‘Sold! He’s outta here!’ When I stared at her, she just went, ‘Oh don’t gimme that.’
And that was it.
I ran into the house and shut myself up in my room to watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (one of my favourite movies). When I had to be around her or my dad, I mumbled, didn’t look either of them in the eye. They know I’m upset, but they don’t care. And what bothers me almost as much as the fact that Fred is gone is that my dad didn’t even tell me he sold it. He picked me up from school yesterday all in a good mood and stuff, but I didn’t think anything of it. I should have. He’s never in a good mood.
This probably seems like such a spoiled-child entry, but I honestly loved that car more than anything else I’ve ever owned. And to lose it just like that? Without being told? And when I was ready to pay over 400 hard-earned dollars (500, if he’d waited a week more for me to get paid at work, 600 if he’d waited two weeks for my paycheck to come in from the other job – and keep in mind, he only spent $700 for the car) that I’d been saving for months just to keep it around a little bit longer? It really hurt me.
August 2004
Made to Heal
Life is a funny thing. You think you know where it’s headed, what you want, how it works, and then bam! it all changes. Change is a funny thing, too. Most people fear it, after all, who wants to have everything familiar ripped out of their life and replaced with something strange and foreign? Very few people want that. But even so, it is a necessary part of life. There’s nothing to prevent it and nothing to reverse it. When it happens, we can only accept it and move on.
This blog is an attempt to do just that. The internet has a way of changing your perceptions on life, as well as changing the way you yourself are perceived by others. This blog is an attempt to live through that change. There comes a time in everyone’s life when one must give up and start over, find a problem and fix it, see an end and accept it.
I’ve never been good at change until recently, when I realized that I hated almost everything about myself and my life and decided that I had to become something different. With any luck, this blog will help me down that road. It will become a space where I can write what’s truly in my heart and mind, rather than what I feel like letting people know. There have been great moments in my past, and there have also been struggles and failures. But I have faith enough to believe that I’ll get past them.
Why?
Because I am human. I am in repair. And I am made to heal.
