Monday, December 26, 2011

Russell is Back!

Russell got back today after visiting his family up north. I spent my morning and the beginning of the afternoon waiting for him to pull up my driveway. He eventually drove up and I wanted to jump through his car window and give him a hug. I had to settle with reaching my arms through the window and hugging his neck while he unbuckled his seat belt.

And guess who he brought with him??!

TIKI!!! In the spring, we’ll set up a little fence in the backyard so that he can have space to wander around and hopefully grow.

Later on, we went on some photo adventures and drank some tea and ate some food.


Sunday, October 16, 2011

What is happening.

What is happening. No question mark because it feels like a statement. As if there’s no answer to be sought but just a simple declaration to be uttered—what is happening.
I miss so many things. I miss so many people. But none of it seems to matter anymore. These are all statements. I miss you. No question mark because it’s merely a statement and there won’t be an answer from you. It’s just a simple utterance, anyways.
Then there are the people who seem to be angry that life is moving along, that your life has to move along, that you can’t do anything but move along with life, and they’re angry because you aren’t there (why aren’t you there.) when you should be there. But they’ve forgotten that life moved along and when you went that way because that’s where you were supposed to go, they went the other way because they chose to. Then they don’t understand why you didn’t jog after them. Why were you not there, anyways.
Then there’s the grade on the paper you received back. The creative writing paper. What is happening. Your characters weren’t developed enough. You knew this but you still turned it in because you were writing at 4 a.m. and you knew an ending had to come so you forced it to come. The characters weren’t done yet though. I mean, what were you trying to do, anyways.
Then there was the midterm. Oh gosh, let’s just forget the midterm. Why didn’t you study more, anyways.
So many unuttered non-questions. So many things at the back of your head making you question statements. And making statements into questions. (ex. You like to write. Wait, do I? Do I really like it?)
What is happening.
So, I’m sitting here typing. Wondering what words and syntax and punctuation can do. The answer: so many things. Yet, they still ask me what English majors do. What do we do. Haha, no question mark because that doesn’t deserve an answer.

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Detective Fiction

I'm reading the Sherlock Holmes mysteries right now. My detective fiction class has gotten me into mystery again. Did you know it was the Nancy Drew series that got me into reading? For the longest time I wanted to be a detective. And then I read a ton more of other books and wanted to be/do a million other things (ride horses, be a wizard, go to wayside school, have a pet fish, swim with dolphins, discover a stream with magical capabilities, dig holes, etc.) that I realized the reason these stories fascinated me so much was because they came from the imagination. It was then that I realized how powerful books can be and how words are so beautiful and creative. Then I realized I wanted to write because all these stories were given birth to by ordinary yet amazing authors. People who picked up books when they were little, who sat at libraries and bookstores reading and imagining...until one day they picked up a pen and became as amazing as the people who wrote the stories they had read and been inspired by.

Monday, September 19, 2011


(Photo Credit: Adrien)

I want to go. I want to experience the crowdedness of Paris. I want to be there this winter and I want to spend three weeks at a foreign country just for the sole purpose of learning how to write better. Or how to write at all. I want to spend all my savings from these past years of working for three weeks at an overpriced hotel because the overpriced study abroad program wanted to give us the overpriced experience. Of course they told us there is no price on experience or on wonderful opportunities. But there’s always a price; you can’t lie to English majors. They pitch us the unattainable dream, dangling it and saying it is attainable until they slam us down with reality. However, I’ll still waste all my money on it—if I somehow get more money for it just so I can apply, and then I’ll waste even more money for it—because they made it sound ideal and perfect and beautiful. I want to starve in my hotel because I won’t have enough money to buy food but I’d enjoy it anyways. It’d give me something to write about.