*click click click…..*

*click click click…..*

Hearing the simple sound of fingers hitting the keyboard created a rainstorm-like environment throughout the room. The silence beyond that was barely heard. Any evidence of a human voice was not found. The strokes of the little keys continued to create a story, one day to be found.

I look up to the lecture screen and back down to my little monitor. The characters appear on my white background as my fingers rush past the different buttons. A story was to be written, a story was to be heard.

Not the kind of story you could read and understand. Not the kind of story that needed a voice to get heard. Not the kind of story you would find in any storybook. It was the kind of story, where all you had to do was look.

Press the play button. Press the pause.

Press play on the thoughts in your mind, no matter how much you hate to listen. Press pause on everything else that comes from the hectic world in which you live.

I look to my left and to my right. Everyone typing out a different story. Everyone typed at a different speed. Everyone has a different history, a different past…a different wish.

The sounds of the keyboard, the sounds of some sort of song. The melody of writer’s, the melody goes on…so, so long.

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Wake up. Realize There’s More.

Wake up. Realize There’s More.

I’m sick and tired of being played. I’m sick and tired of being tortured, manipulated, used. I’m sick and tired of trying to make something meaningful, and getting bullshit in return.

To the young females and males out there, who know what it’s like and who are trying their uttermost best to change something about the worlds around them for the better:

I salute you. It doesn’t seem it matters how many times our hearts get torn out of our chests and beaten with wood. It doesn’t seem to make a difference how many strangers walk into our lives and turn it upside down. And it doesn’t matter how the world around us tells us to give up, because we all know, deep down in our hearts, that we will never stop fighting for good. Whether that battle be within ourselves, between our minds and hearts, or between those who we are supposed to be standing beside, we will not stop fighting.

But I’m getting tired. I have to admit, I’m getting sick and tired of all the hurt and the pain that comes from hoping for too much too soon and having too much faith in what’s not there.

When I see that there is potential somewhere, sometimes I jump at the opportunity to turn it into something meaningful right off the bat. When I see there is light in someone’s heart, that spark in someone’s eyes, I pray for them to be able to keep that for the rest of eternity. When I feel something, when there’s a moment in life where I wish I could replay it over and over again, I know there is still something surrounding all of us that is more than the everyday worries we all have running through our minds. There’s something more than what jobs we have, how successful we are money wise, or what kinds of opportunities for fame we missed; the friendships we have, the relationships we love, the human connections we live for…that is more than anything and everything that exists in both mind and body.

But…why do we, as a society, raise up the importance of “connections” in the business world and letter grades on courses about knowledge rather than human connections with one another as human beings and all those lovely moments we all wish to relive once again.

On the top of my head I can name a few:

  • The first time he called me ‘baby’ when I was riding in the front seat of his car.
  • The first time I won an art competition with a photograph that completely represented who I was.
  • The times he held my hand as we walked down the street talking and laughing about anything and everything that came to mind.
  • The times he said ‘forever and a day’ because it was a cute catch phrase he had way back when.
  • The times I’d find myself laughing so hard that my stomach hurt and all my friends were laughing just as loud around me.
  • The times my parents and siblings could finally cook a meal together without someone trying to eat another’s ear off.
  • The last time my mom told me she was proud of me, despite my having to ask her first.
  • The last time I simply sat with a friend and told them a bit of who I am and what I’m made of.
  • The last time I felt as if I was home when I was in someone else’s arms.
  • The last time I felt safe just with the presence of someone else I truly trusted.

Those are the moments, those are the things, those are the feelings we should be holding onto…not the trophies we won, not the certificates that just became pieces of paper, not that million dollar toilet painted yellow, not the labels we, as a society, give each other as ‘titles’ of our accomplishments as if the title means more than the knowledge itself.

I’m sick and tired of people laughing at, or joking around about, or teasing someone over how ‘sensitive’ they are to their relationships with those around them. I’m sick and tired of people making relationships sound like “decorations for Christmas” or “a center piece for the table”. It’s not the accessories that we don’t always need…it’s the structure of everything that is our lives and everything that should really mean a damn to you.

Me and My Keyboard

Me and My Keyboard

It’s easier to type my thoughts rather than say them in a coherent sentence in front of you.

It’s easier to talk through typing than trying to put my thoughts into a straight sentence while your eyes see through my soul. I feel vulnerable and I know, sometimes, it shows.

It’s easier to hear my own thoughts and know what I’m thinking when I’m not distracted by being nervous in front of you. I don’t want to make a fool out of myself, but sometimes I end up doing just that by worrying about it.

It’s easier to be descriptive when I have time to pause and feel comfortable with thinking through my words rather than trying to have “smart” words come out of my mouth at a constant rate. Who can do that? Apparently, not me.

It’s easier to tell a story when the person anticipating on what’s going to happen next isn’t staring at me all wide-eyed and intrigued (not saying that all my stories are that interesting).

There’s something about me and the keyboard that just clicks.

When it’s me and the keyboard, suddenly I can pour out my heart. When it’s me and the keyboard, suddenly being honest and blunt is the route I tend to take. When it’s me and the keyboard, suddenly being myself isn’t all too scary.

My fingers fly over the letters, words come out easily, and sentences are easily strung together coherently. My thoughts line up instead of acting like a thousand people trying to get out of a burning building all at once. My ideas are clear and right in front of me instead of making it seem like there are gallons of water raining down in order to block my view.

When it’s me and the keyboard, suddenly saying what I want, or need, to say suddenly becomes more natural….and, sometimes, beautiful.

A Beginning

A Beginning

When you’re so stressed you become restless and end up not sleeping,
When you are so caught up in what you need to do that you finally manage a full day with your hair tied up,
When you are so out of it and obviously overwhelmed that your classmates check up on you, while still knowing to leave you be,
When you are so on edge that you can’t remember how many times you ran your hand through your hair and sighed tiredly,
When you become agitated to the point that you can’t seem to find the correct keys on the keyboard,

When you’re so down in the dumps you end up typing a letter to yourself in attempt to give yourself a little more strength,
When you’re insanely tired to the point that you struggle to get out of bed in the morning,
When you’re out of energy to the point that the action of getting food prepared and ready to eat seems to drain you even before you can take a single bite,
When you’re out of it and end up staring at a blank word document for over an hour with complete nonsense running through your head,
When you can’t manage to hold a single conversation because all that you want to do is curl up in someone’s arms and take another nap,

When you can’t shake that gut feeling that tells you something is going to go down,
When you are restless at night worrying about what is going to take place in the morning, or even the next day,
When you can’t seem to ignore the thoughts that keep flashing in your mind about an event that you aren’t sure will even take place,
When you constantly get these “pushes” into a certain direction that you don’t know whether or not you should listen to,
When you get doubts about your instincts even though they have been awkwardly precise,

When you figure out that you typed up a blog post but are not confident about the particular direction you had in mind for it…that’s awkward…

Qualm

What is Writing to ME?

What is Writing to ME?

I write when I have something to say but no one to say it to. I write when I have something I want more than just my friends to know about. I write when have a story to tell. I write when I am frustrated, when I am disappointed, when I am proud or happy, when I have something to say, in general.

When I write, I find it easier to put my thoughts into words that another person can understand. I make things more dramatic when I feel like if I were to write it normally and calmly, it would not give my readers the same feeling as how I am experiencing it. I leave things out when they are too personal for me to be comfortable posting, when I want my readers to think of the connection on their own, when I think it’s best for some things to remain unsaid.

When I write, I have an outlet for my emotions, my thoughts, my ideas, etc. that might not always get heard by the people around me in real life. I also get the opportunity to hear back from people and discover whether I am really the only one who has experienced something or have a certain way of thinking on a certain idea or concept. I love being able to read back from you guys and see that I touched someone’s heart, that I said something they have always felt, that they felt connected to what I was saying, or that they can relate to what I have experienced.

When I write, I get my time to myself. I get some silence and get to focus on one thing, one idea, one experience, one feeling. Everything around me usually just disappears from mind. The only thing I think about is what I am doing and what I am writing about when I am at my writing desk.

Writing to me is…almost everything. It’s being able to say the words I wouldn’t have the guts to say in real life. It’s being able to express myself without having to look to someone directly in the eye and get put on the spot. It’s being able to write and rewrite my thoughts and ideas to perfection – in order to say exactly what I want to. It’s being able to reach out to more than just a couple people.

It’s being able to have time for myself.

A Story Unfinished But Loved

A Story Unfinished But Loved

A story was written nearly two weeks ago. It was never finished. It hasn’t been done. But it’s loved anyways.

I’ve started to write my own story during a short period of two days. There was nothing much that was on my head about the plot but I knew where I wanted to start and where I would like to finish at. After a page or two, I would give it to a friend to read and give feedback on. It was when I read her first piece of feedback (I remember it was about a full page long and very, very detailed.) that I remembered how lucky I was to have her there to read it.

Before I had met my friends, no one really shared my interest or even knew about my writing. There had been a few people who read my pieces when I first started, but they were never detailed. Instead they were plain sentences like “Wow! That was good!”, “I love reading this!”, “That piece was awesome!”, “You are so talented” or whatever they could come up with. 

With this one particular friend, her feedback was as detailed as I could ever wish for. She picked apart my writing from detail to detail and, in return for my story itself, she gave me feedback unlike any other.

This is when I realized I am very lucky to have her and my other friends, who have also helped me through my writing and supported me throughout the way. To someone to writes, the feedback, that is sometimes lacking, and the support from their readers and just their friends and family in general mean more than anyone else could know. All the support that they get can be their inspiration and their courage to speak out and try new things with their writing. The feedback is always helpful, because without it you wouldn’t really know where you are at from another’s point of view. It also helped with the inspiration portion as well.

This story I’ve been working on still hasn’t been finished but it’s very loved by the few friends that I let read it. It’s something new I’ve been trying out and, so far, it’s done a lot better than I would have expected. 

I’m grateful for the people who have helped me to this point, encouraged me to write more, lended the feedback I needed and just inspired to try new things with my skills. Thank you for all of you out there