Anchor

Mi Ancla.

It's a song I've recently discovered, and I know and love.

I heard it one day when I was at my downlow, at my worst. It pulled me up from my misery and enveloped me in a big musical hug.
It was amazing.


I love music.

[Blip]

I really want to blog.
I really do.
But what to blog about?
How about pictures?

ISSA PUPPY. This is Baylee. She's my companion, like Rose and the Doctor (I'm still on Season 1...)

Here she is again... That's my foot off the edge of the couch.
She tends to do this a lot. Apparently I make a good chin rest. 

And one last time. Isn't she the cutest?!

Photo creds to my dad, except the first one, which I took. We took all of those up there with my mum's fancy new camera we gave her as an early Christmas present. Isn't it amazing?!?! The pictures, that is. The camera is HUGE though, and the lens is massive... but the picture turnouts are amazing.

My rings! I've lost the thin one, and gained my purity ring since then.
But I wear these every day.

I'm not going to say that these rings are a part of my identity, but they all have very special memories connected to them. And I fiddle with them when I'm bored. My purity ring is my favourite (it's not pictured above). A late 16th birthday present, the mounting of the ring is my deceased grandmother's. The pearl within, my grandmother bought for me. It's a black pearl (or a blue pearl). It's rare. We got it on their 50th anniversary trip to Hawaii.

CONVERSE.

[blip]

San Francisco from Sausalito. 

Britex Fabrics! 

These last two photos were from my October trip to San Francisco with my best friend. Britex is 4 floors of fabrics, ribbons, buttons, and scraps. It's the most amazing place EVER. But you can't take pictures inside :O 

<><><> So until next time  <><><> 

Flinch.

flinch 
/flinCH/

Verb Make a quick, nervous movement of the face or body as an instinctive reaction to fear

I've done a lot of flinching these last few days.
Flinching from Connecticut.
Flinching from fear.
Flinching from death.
Flinching from decisions.
I'm uncomfortable. Are you?



Currently, I'm sitting on a couch, in a big, warm house. I have a raging headache, and I probably shouldn't be staring at the computer screen. But I'm waiting. For something big. Something big that'll never come.
But despite the disappointment today was, and the agony this last week has been, I have a lot of things to be grateful for. I have safety, I have life. I can't ask for more.

Advent: 2nd Sunday

How silently, how silently,
the wondrous gift is given;
so God imparts to human hearts
the blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming,
but in this world of sin,
where meek souls will receive him, still
the dear Christ enters in.

I don't know what you guys do for Christmas. Do you have a countdown calendar? Do you have an advent calendar where you get a little chocolate or treat every day? Or do you do anything at all?

I don't know where you're coming from when you're reading my posts. But I will say that I am a Christian, and I believe firmly in the virgin birth of Christ and his resurrection and conquering of death. I believe in his life, his death, his miracles. I believe that he is fully God, fully man, and that Christmas is not about people, or presents, or food, but it is about his arrival in this world, and how it led to him taking away our sins and giving us the generous gift of eternal life with him in heaven as long as we accept him.

If you don't like this, please don't hate. It's what I think, it's what I believe. It's my lifestyle, it's my centre. Stop reading my blog if it bothers you. But I'm not backing off on what I say because of anything you'll say. It won't change anything.

For me and my family, each day we read these fun little cardboard books that tell the story of Jesus and his birth. Every Sunday, we sing a hymn, and then read a little lesson out of this book my mom has. It's a really thought-provoking read.

The thing that's struck me most about this Christmas season is the humility in which Jesus entered our world.
I go to a school where people walk around with $300 watches, $200 boots, and walk around with iPhones, iPads, iEverythings. In one of the richest communities in my area, it's easy to feel either poor or left out of the iCommunity.

But Jesus... Jesus was born amidst chickens, and pigs, and cows. And a donkey. He was born in less than ideal conditions, but he brought more happiness and joy on that day to complete strangers-- shepherds nonetheless. There were so many elements that were less than ideal, that weren't belonging to todays iCommunity, but that time's outcasts.

That means a lot to me. Sometimes (a lot actually), I feel like the outcast in my group of friends. I'm sitting alone at lunch, during classes, free times. But Jesus gathered up the outcasts. But not just the outcasts: He brought up that annoying popular girl, the stupid one over there, the video game nerds, the class nut, the school weirdo... He doesn't discriminate. He loves.

There was hope

Her fingers glistened over the keys as she formed the music, moulding it like a potter would his proudest work. Her breath, which brought about the music, filled the room like so much perfume, bringing with it a lingering sense of nostalgia, pure beauty, and somehow, deep sadness.

He clutched to the keyhole, the cold metal kissing his ear as her music slowly drifted towards him. He drank in every drop of the musical liquid, which soothed his body and mind as he heard this beautiful, tangible tone.

Pressing his eye to the peephole, he saw her there, his heart filling with admiration and a slight pride at hearing his beautiful girl’s playing. As his sight lingered, he saw the sound congregate on her cheek in a single, forlorn teardrop. Slowly, the music turned from bright to macabre, and somehow the tune filled him, but left a gaping hollow. Colour drained from the world around her as suddenly, her instrument glowing a soft silver in the monochromatic air.

He watched as a crack snaked down her porcelain face. She seemed so delicate, and as that crack became darker and deeper he saw a side of her that he had never had the honour or privilege to witness.

The music fell and swayed, as unpredictable as the ocean waves. It raised a wind, above his head, and caressed his cheeks, a soft and gentle butterfly, little drops of rain, green blades of grass.  The breeze created by her melody breathed colour and life back into the room, bringing cheer to a once hopeless place.

The last few notes lingering on his ear, and little drops resting on his open lips, he stands as she puts away the music-maker, and he wanders off, not wanting to be caught, the music trailing him like pixie dust.

Progress

Last night, I slept without my CPAP machine.
It was awful.
I want to go to sleep so I can breathe again.
I want to go to sleep so I can escape things.
I want to go to sleep to wake up rested.
I want to go to sleep. Period.

Plot Twist.

The doors rush by as his feet pound the pavement. Gasping for air, his lungs burn and ache as his feet slap the rough ground. Propelling himself forward, he vaults over a low chain-link fence which rattles as his foot clips the edge, and the hard wire bites into his hand. His foot hitting the edge has knocked him off balance and for a frightful moment he hangs, suspended in air. He crashes to the ground hard, his shoulder cracking painfully against the cobbles. Flaming agony spreads through his shoulder, up his neck, and his arm goes hotly numb. Gritting his teeth, he pulls himself to his shaky feet and forces himself to take the steps forward, clutching at his senseless arm.

Just then, the police sirens came wailing up the alleyway. He panics, and adrenaline forces his feet to take him to the end of the alley, turn and dash up the empty back streets of the dystopian city. The sirens slowly fade as his energy finally wanes and he takes three more heavy steps before he collapses on a doorstep. 


The young woman who resides in the house hears a heavy thud on the steps leading to her house. Shocked and slightly wary, she pulls the door open as far as the chain allows and peers around for the creeper that she thinks has come to her door. Instead, she sees the unconscious man on the ground. Gasping, she slams the door closed.But after hesitating, she unlatches the chain with shaking hands, and pulls the door back open again. She kneels and touches the man’s shoulder. When he doesn’t respond, she peers worriedly at his flushed face and touches it gently, hesitantly, with pale fingers. Sweat sticks to her palm, and heat radiates from his feverish face. Inhaling sharply and pulling back, she straightens and turns to go inside, grabbing her cell phone from the side table, and dialling 9-1-1, quickly giving them her information and the situation. When she comes back outside, he has returned to consciousness. She gives him a glass of water and, after asking how, if any way, she can assist him, strikes up a conversation with this strange young man who has appeared on her porch. 


The ambulance and the policemen arrive at her house at the same time, and six months later, she still visits him in jail once a week.  

Fix you

When you try your best and you don't succeed

When you get what you want, but not what you need

When you feel so tired but you can't sleep

Stuck in reverse

When the tears come streaming down your face

When you lose something you can't replace 

When you love someone but it goes to waste

Could it be worse?
~Fix You, by Coldplay

Meh. Music. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I hate it. It's like food. I love it one day and the next I can't stand it. It helps me so much sometimes but makes me depressed/sick the next.

I cried on our dining room table today and no one was witness to my agony but my textbooks, the candlesticks, and the oversized wine glasses. The festive holiday tablecloth and my oversized sweatshirt  soaked up my tears. I'm relying on God to get me through this overly long week. Stress is overcoming. The strain is overwhelming. If I make it without breaking, it will be a miracle.


Even if a day feels too long
You feel like you can wait another one
You're slowly givin' up on everything
Love is gonna find you again

Love is gonna find you, you better be ready then

You been kneelin' in the dark for far too long
You've been waitin' for that spark, but it hasn't come
Well I'm callin' to you, please, get off the floor
A good heart will find you again

A good heart will find you, just be ready then

[Hook]
Tethered to a bird of sorrow
A voice that's buried in the hollow
You've given over to self-deceivin'
Your prostrate bowed would not be leavin'
You've squandered more than you could borrow
You've bet your joys on all tomorrows
For the hope of some returnin'
While everything around just burnin'

Come on, we gotta get out, get out of this mess we made
And still for all our talk, we're both so afraid
Well will we leave this up to chance, like we do everything?
Love is gonna find us again
Love is gonna find us, we gotta be ready then
~Bird of Sorrow, Glen Hansard

Blip.

Just a little something that came flowing out of my creative juices this morning :-)

A pair of ghosts met outside the local coffee shop today.

He ran forward and swept her up into his arms, holding her close, burying her face in her long, soft hair.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, and when he set her down, she rested against his chest with a smile spread on her face

I smiled, watching them just stand and sway in the parking lot.  The waitress came over to my table and set my cappuccino on the table next to me. Looking up, I thanked her and picked up the warm mug, turning back to the lovers outside.

But they were gone.

And it made me wonder if love is a ghost.

Just like them.

Life.

Life is a blessing.
Why do so many people waste it?
Why do so many people throw it away?
Each day if a gift. We should embrace every day as a new and unique opportunity to bless someone, to love someone.
Let's embrace it.

For such a time as this...

One of my closest friends has seen more in the last 24 hours than anyone should experience in his/her sixteen years. I am shocked at what he has experienced and my heart aches for him and the family that has been affected by what they have seen.

My small group leader told me that I was placed in his life 'for such a time as this', as it is stated in the book of Esther. But what can I do? I am a mere girl, helping an older boy with struggles I haven't faced myself, sights and images that I cannot fathom coming face to face with. But I know that I am here, I am in his life for a reason, and I have a purpose in being in this situation.
But what?

It will all come clear in time.

I know it will.

I have to trust that it will.

Peace

I love those moments, stillness within loud chaos.
When everything is just perfect, and there is nothing that is stopping it.

I love them.

Last night was one of those. So thank you so much to J.O., A.B., A.B., R.B., (It's okay, they're all related), and most especially J.P. for making last night fantastic, amazing, and memorable.

You guys are fantastic, and amazing. Don't forget.

Election.

Today is election day. It is a fact, and I will withhold my opinions on this election. Because I am only 16, I cannot vote (yet), but as a country, all we can do is pray for our future, and look forward to what lies ahead, because paradise lies await for us. What happens is not our doing or our choice. We can endure. 

(Thank you JBT for that insight today)

I've had a bad day. I'm not gonna lie to you guys. I've had people anywhere from fellow students to teachers say things these last few days that have hurt me badly and the aftereffects of it are painful. 

I'm surviving.

あなたは私にそんなに意味

11/5/2012

Loving the light at the end of the tunnel. Just wishing it was a bit closer, and a bit brighter. I just want to savour every moment, the little bits of peace that just come and transcend. 

God is good, people. And he is the best in the darkest times. 
Trust me. I know.

Hey followers :)
I'm not going to lie to you faithful people. Today was awful. 
But when you have friends, even only two or three, that actually care, it makes a huge difference.

I have amazing people. So thank you J.A., A.B., C.J.K.
You mean so much.

NaNo

The insanity has begun, y'all. I'm almost 5000 words into my novel and it's only day three! Woah!

I suppose you guys would like a snippet, eh?

FINE THEN.

Valtaseri: Alice in Dystopia

Chapter One

“I think you know the world’s gone berserk when job applications start asking you what race you are, if you’re fully human, or if you have prosthetics.” Suri Robwyn sighed. The cyborg revolution had created a fad, and now everyone wanted or had an electronic limb or something to increase their speed, sight, or strength. To be faster, stronger, better, was the trend and it became unescapable. Finding full-humans slowly became a rare occurrence, and more and more cyborg gang fights were breaking out in the deteriorating streets of Old Londinium—once known as London.

But the Stede Messenger’s Institution for Young Boys and Girls was not in support of cyborgs or inhuman beings. Well, if some stranger knocks at your door, you’d want them to be fully human too, now wouldn’t you?

The letter seemed official. The paper, thick, was of the highest quality, and the seal was real wax, not the cheap stuff at the grocery down the street. Perfumed too. Suri snorted. Pretentious rich people. But she was interested nonetheless. 

But because Allison Robwyn, who went by Suri, never had it easy. She’d been sick from the time she’d appeared on the banks of Valtameri, and her various health conditions had put her on that fine line between life and death more times than she’d care to remember or relive. The seizures hadn’t happened in months, but because they could be destructive and render her ill for days on end, many institutions, stores, and hostels had turned her down. She had gotten a job as a waitress and occasional kitchen maid at a hotel called “The Tree”, which offered temporary and permanent lodging as well as a bar and restaurant. A tall, looming, building, it was located in the middle of downtown, right by the train station, a fact she was reminded of many, many times a day. Like right at that moment. A train rattled through Londinium Station, the floor shaking, glasses and vases quivering as if a man took the cold, lower levels of The Tree hotel and rattled them up and down.

The basement of the hotel stretched far below the streets of Londinium- and right beneath the Londinium Central Train Station- the LCTS as the locals call it. Each time a train rattles through the station, the basement roars and the building shakes with the vibrations emanating from the passing train. 

Suri sighed as her cot shook and the train roared above her, the noise shaking her down to her core. She glanced over the application one last time, and put it on her nightstand. She’d have to talk with Madam about switching jobs. If the Stede Institute wanted her, they’d have to be desperate.

“Allison, darling?” Suri looked up and the sound of her name purring in silence after the aftermath of the train. She knew who it was. Only one person called her Allison anymore.

“Hello, Gracia.” Suri leaned back against the back of her cot and grinned at the other kitchen maid, a large, hispanic woman with a big heart and a kind, welcoming smile. They roomed together, sharing the small, cement basement room that was the closest to home Suri would ever get.

Gracia spotted the letter right away. “Oh, chica, what’s that?”

“A job application.”

“You’re leaving us?”

“I got asked to.”

“Asked?” Gracia sat down on her cot opposite Suri. It creaked under her weight.

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal. I don’t know if Madam will let me leave.” She picked up the letter, folded it up and tucked it in the drawer of her side table, standing. She stretched and started to pull of the waitressing uniform. She hung up the dark green blazer in the small closet and started to unbutton the blouse.

“It’s not nothing, chica. Getting an application from anywhere is a big thing for you especially. Think about it. Where’s it from?”

Suri pulled the blouse out from the skirt hem and put it on another hanger. “A messenger institute downtown.”

“The Stede Institute?” Gracia’s eyes grew wide. “That’s huge!”

“Mhmm.” Suri didn’t pay much attention, just pulled off the dark green pencil skirt and slipped on a cotton nightgown. 

“Allison! You can’t pass up this job! This is big, chica!” Gracia stood and grabbed Suri by her shoulders. “I’m serious!”

Suri sighed. “I’ll talk to Madam about it. Do they need me on the early shift?” She changed the subject, not wanting to talk about the application anymore.

Gracia nodded. “Yeah, they do. But think about it, okay chica?” 

Suri nodded and turned from Gracia, then sat at the small desk that doubled as a vanity. Pulling pins from her high bun, she set them one by one onto the vanity.  “Gracia, are you working night shift?” 

“Not tonight, thank goodness. I’ll go get us some tea and I’ll be right back!” She turned and left their cement room to get the tea that they sipped together almost every night before they went to bed

Suri unwound her bun, then untied the ribbon that held it up in a ponytail. She let the blonde mass tumble about her shoulders, and taking a coarse brush, ran it through the tangled locks. The application form simmered in the back of her brain. Should she take it? Could she take it? What would they have her do? Would she be able to do it well? Would the seizures come back? Frustrated, Suri flung the brush down and buried her hands in her arms. 

What to do? What to do? 

She took a deep breath and sat up straight, picked up the brush and finished yanking it through her hair. She pushed her ribbon and the pins on one side of the vanity. She looked at her reflection, a bland face staring back. A face made thin and hollow from illness and hunger. Dark blue eyes that echoed purple—dull from overwork and exhaustion, but a spark glinted from beneath them. Too-long scraggly blonde hair. She pulled it over her shoulder and braided it for the evening, tying it off with a ribbon. She went over to her cot and gazed down on it, peeling back the covers. No scorpions tonight. Suri sighed. That was a relief. Sometimes they laid between the mattress and the sheet. They got up to 4 inches long, sometimes bigger— and could cause death from poison. She slid between the coarse sheets and  straightened out the blankets on top as Gracia walked in, carrying a tray.

“Surprise! They had extra hot chocolate tonight so I got us some!” She winked at Suri and set the tray down on her table, sliding a mug onto Suri’s nightstand. For the first time that day, she smiled and took the warm mug, half full of still-warm chocolate, and sipped the warm drink. “Oh, Gracia! It’s delicious! It’s been so long since we had good chocolate like this.” 

Together, they slowly savoured the warm drink, then put their cooled mugs on the tray. Curling up in the thin sheets, they chatted until the electricity was rationed for the night and the basement went black. Then the one immigrant woman and the one mysterious girl curled up and let sleep carry them off. 

Santa Fe

Let me go

Far away

Somewhere they won't ever find me

And tomorrow won't remind me of today

And the city's finally sleeping

And the moon looks old a grey

I get on a train that's bound for Santa Fe

And I'm gone

And I'm done

No more running, no more lying

No more fat old men denying me my pay

Just a moon so big and yellow it turns night right into day

Dreams come true

Yeah they do

In Santa Fe

What's your Santa Fe?
For Jack Kelly, a down-on-his-luck Newsy in New York City under Pulitzer (yes, that Pulitzer), Santa Fe was a dream. Between avoiding the law, lying, stealing, and basically being a liar, homeless, and basically broke, now Pulitzer is cutting their pay, leaving all of the Newsies cut off and out on the streets unable to pay for rent, and his best friend, the crip appropriately nicknamed 'Crutchie' kidnapped, off in a child's prison that Jack spent some time in years ago, Santa Fe is calling Jack more than ever.

This is from one of my favourite musicals: Newsies! But the Broadway version, not the movie with Christian Bale (as brilliant as that was, Christian Bale does not sing well). Jeremy Jordan sings this one, and oh my word, I get goosebumps every time.

AHHH goosebumps.... I know I've posted about Newsies before, but this is... this is just freaking brilliant.
Waaa~~

Anyhoo. What's your guys' Santa Fe? What's your dream city?

Wicked.

Are people born wicked, or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?

I definitely went to go see Wicked: The Broadway Musical on Friday.
Second row seats.
It was so amazing.

If you can, go see it.
Live.
Television/Youtube does not do it justice.

12:31

It's too late for me to be up, but this essay is killing me. I've been agonizing over it for the last three hours and I only have 500 words on the page, three and a half roughly written paragraphs. It's annoying me. Mind, I have had some distractions: necessary conversations, food, and teateatea and more tea. Music has been my guide, Skittles have kept me awake, and good friends have kept me (mostly) sane. I'm set up in front of a warm fireplace, I have a beautifully planned but roughly written essay in front of me, and a warm puppy asleep on my toes.
Can it get better than this?
Hard to beat when joy is holding your hand.

Joy is something I can find at 12:30 am.
Joy is something that is warm.
Joy is something that never actually leaves.
Joy is someone you love.
Joy is something that makes you happy.
Joy is my 12:31am blog post.

What is joy to you?

Essay mood.

I'm writing an essay.
It's an awful essay.
But it reminded me of one I wrote last year that I lovelovelove.
Mind if I share?

Anais Nin once said, “The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.” This is the definition of an author, of any creator, really.  The only way that authors can achieve this is by the way he or she formulates and uses their language, using metaphors and similes along with other literary devices, to shape the story and bring the words to life. Ray Bradbury, the author of Fahrenheit 451, does this well, by using rich language, filled with metaphors and similes which adds an artistic depth to the writing and makes the characters seem alive and more relatable.

The language at the beginning of the story is crucial to formulate the feelings, thoughts and struggles of the main characters as they confront people, problems and thoughts they never would have encountered or considered—along with situations they’ve only experienced in the worst of nightmares. As Bradbury builds his creation, we meet the character Clarisse, who confronts Montag with her up-front, blunt way of speaking, and as he later reflects on his feelings, thinking, “How rarely did other people’s faces take of you and throw you back to you your own expression, your own innermost trembling thought?” (11). It’s obvious that, by the way Montag is thinking and what he is feeling, he is struggling with the very thought of thought, the feeling of feeling, of the depth and realness Clarisse brought to life as he saw her, and as she really saw him. Their society has forced them into a mindset which keeps them from really thinking, really seeing and really feeling, so that when an oddity like Clarisse comes along who has blatantly refused to act like they want her to and thinks for herself, it’s an eye-opener for Montag, that people can function independently. And just as Montag transfers into his normal life just to confront his wife, unconscious from an overdose of pills, he is faced with a situation he never wanted to encounter, and his world shatters; “He felt that the stars had been pulverised by the sound of the black jets and that in the morning the earth would be covered with their dust like a strange snow. That was his idiot thought as he stood shivering in the dark, and let his lips go on moving and moving.” (14). The way Bradbury weaves his language here with a very metaphorical feeling, a very dark overlay, it brings Montag’s feelings to hit the reader straight at their heart, to feel the empty, black feeling Montag is struggling with, the inability to properly function or think (“…that was his idiot thought…and let his lips go on moving and moving…”) . The deep, dark emptiness Montag is feeling has been developed and developed to the point where the author implies—through metaphors— that Montag’s life will change and he will never view the world in the exact same way again— “…that the earth would be covered with their dust like a strange snow.” Bradbury’s wording and choice of metaphors, similes, and verbiage is so brilliantly written it strikes to the heart and into the mind of the feelings and situations the protagonist is thrown into, and it carries through the book with his wonderful similes and metaphors to shape the lives, viewpoints, and feelings of the characters.

 The way the language is crafted is very much based around metaphors and similes that shape the characters, the setting, and make it come to life in a unique and spectacular way that Ray Bradbury has mastered.  The metaphors are strong in this quote, as the author forms the image of Montag viewing his unconscious wife after she overdosed on sleeping pills; “Her face was like a snow-covered island upon which rain might fall, but it felt no rain; over which clouds might pass their moving shadows, but she felt no shadow....her eyes all glass, and breath going in and out, softly, faintly, in and out her nostrils, and her not caring whether it came or went, went or came.” (13). Other than being very descriptive and visual, he uses unique similes and metaphors, for example: “Her face was like a snow-covered island…” as simile for the blank, pale expression on her face, and “…her eyes all glass…” as a metaphor for the blank look in her eyes. This really adds to the depth of the writing and allows the reader to better visualise Mildred on her bed. Earlier, when Montag meets Clarisse, the narration, from Montag’s mind, reads as follows: “He saw himself in [Clarisse’s] eyes, suspended in two sining drops of bright water, himself dark and tiny, in fine detail…as if her eyes were two miraculous bits of violet amber that might capture and hold him intact. Her face, turned to him now, was fragile milk crystal with a soft and constant light in it. It was not the hysterical light of electricity but—what? But the strangely comfortable and rare and gently flattering light of the candle…” (7). The similes in this are strong, especially, “…as if her eyes were two miraculous bits of violet amber…”. The personification is very visual here, “It was not the hysterical light of electricity…”; light is not hysterical, people are. Usages of literary terms, personification, metaphors and similes, are all utilised here to emphasise the writing, and shape the character’s thoughts and actions.

Ray Bradbury uses his figures of speech to make the catastrophes seem more realistic and to make them seem more than just words on a page. When Montag is struck by the fact that he might lose his wife after he sees that she has overdosed on her pills, the reader experiences the following maelstrom of Guy’s feelings: “As he stood there, the sky over the house screamed. There was a tremendous ripping sound as if two giant hands had torn ten thousand miles of black lines down the seam. Montag was cut in half. He felt his chest chopped down and split apart. The jet bombers going over, going over, going over, one two, one two, one two, six of them, nine of them, twelve of them, one and one and one and another and another and another, did all the screaming for him. He opened his own mouth and let their shriek come down and out between his bared teeth.” (13-14). The repetition of words—“…going over, going over, going over, one two, one two, one two…”, —and the visuals and personifications utilised here— “..The sky over the house screamed. There was a tremendous ripping sound as if two giant hands had torn ten thousand miles of black lines down the seam…”—allow the reader to connect with Montag and have an idea of what he is thinking, to get a piece of Montag’s mind; one of the things the author does well is to put how the human brain functions as panic and havoc set in, how it slows and just repeats the words or the scene of what just happened over and over, as if that will set in the reality of what really happened. Far later in the book, Montag, along with the , are faced with a far more serious ruination, watching their city being bombed: “The concussion knocked the air across and down the river, turned the men over like dominos in a line, blew the water in lifting sprays, and blew the dust and made the trees above them mourn with a great wind… and in that instant [Montag] saw the city, instead of the bombs, in the air. They had displaced each other. For another of those impossible instants the city stood, rebuilt and unrecognisable, taller than it had ever hoped or strived to be, taller than man had built it, erected at last in grouts of shattered concrete and sparkles of torn metal into a mural hung like a reversed avalanche, a million colours, a million oddities, a door where a window should be, a top for a bottom, a side for a back, and then the city rolled over and fell down dead…The sound of it’s death came after.” (160) The personification in this section is prominent, “The sound of [the city’s] death…” or “… and made the trees above them mourn with a great wind…” and they all bring this passage to life. Not just does the personification show that it was not just the people affected, but nature too, the displacing of the river the bending (or ‘mourning’) of the trees, and the city’s displacement, in that one frozen moment in havoc when everything stands still and stands out in perfect detail, and every moment is etched into the brain, the “impossible instants,” as the narration puts it. And thus is the personification and similes shown in vivid detail in the scintillating horrors of Fahrenheit 451 and the brilliant writing of Ray Bradbury.

If anything, writing is an art. It is a gift that some people use well, but some people do not. Ray Bradbury, author of Fahrenheit 451, utilises in such an artistic way, it brings thoughts to the reader’s mind, metaphors and similes to definition, and vivify catastrophes, feelings and situations. Creators have done this with their own mediums, if it is film, writing, or drawings. It’s evident in movies, can be read in books, and viewed in paintings. It’s done in the most wonderful way in Fahrenheit 451, with the words forming the story in the reader’s mind and bringing the words on the page to tangibility, to a realness that few authors can equal. It is a fantastic story, a wondrous tale, brought to life through words, and the language Ray Bradbury uses, that shapes the characters, their feelings, thoughts and situations, and makes the story both thought-provoking and believable. 

Hope you guys enjoyed!! Have a great night and good luck to my sophomores on their LotF essay! :-*

Honour.

There are some things I really really respect, and want when I decide to date. If I ever date.

I want him to treat me like a princess, not an object to be used.

I want him to love me for who I am, not for who I was.

I want him to see me for who I really am, not a flesh-and-blood person.

I want him to love God for his grace and mercy, not just as a 'religion'.

I want him to love my parents for who they are, not just as 'my girlfriend's parents'.

I want him to put God as their priority, not me or themselves, because God should always be first.

I want him to honour our country and respect it, not just because they live in it.

I want him to be kind, not just superficially but honestly, deep down inside.

I want him to be truthful, not to hide anything from me.

I want him to be genuine, not to put on facades to make me happy.

I want him to be funny, not just to make me laugh, but to lighten my days.

I want him to be a gentleman, not just a man or a boy.

I want him to have integrity, and have me be his one and only girl.

I want him to give me his jacket when I'm cold.

I want him to open the door for me.

I want him to do silly things with me.

I don't want him to be a liar.

I don't want him to be a cheater.

Now these are high stakes. But I know that if I lower my standards, no good can or will come from it. So I'll set my standards high, and hope that in time, if the right man comes along, I will know, and God will make it clear who it is, and when (if) I'm ready.

Anyway. Just some thoughts been bouncing around in my little head lately. I am happy single and will be for a long while now. :)

Oh, this page has had over 1000 page views so THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU loyal fans one and all :D 

Anyway, OUT

Peace.

~Me

rah.

waa~
I have wonderful friends, you know that?
I turned 16 this week, right? So I'm getting awesome people together tonight. We're gonna take pictures and eat fondue until we're sick.
And then go to school tomorrow.
So thanks for the people who are going to show up.
Ahead of time. :D

I should probably like. Get ready.
So.
LATER, folks!

Nothing

I'm insane. I don't have anything to write about, and that's sad.
Sigh.
So sorry for the lack of subject. But I gots nothin'.

Dieciseis

Sixteen.

Today is my birthday! I'm sixteen! WHAT.

Today was fantastic. From cake to balloons in my locker to swing dancing lessons and roses, it was a glorious, glorious day. Today just happened to be the one day this week where it was warm and sunny and beautiful, and I was able to steep myself in wonderful friendship in an otherwise boring day. Despite testing in the morning (dull) and a boorish english period (also dull), the times in between were fun, and filled with laughter and pure blessings.

Oh, and I'm going to go see "Wicked".
So, be jealous.

(Thanks to Abi, Zacraigory my bro, Janelle, Josiah, Mackenzie, Keiko, Abbie, Jennifer and everyone else who posted on my facebook wall for making my birthday wonderful!)

Homecoming roses! Thanks Joe :D

I'm the King of New York.

I'm a sucker for musicals.
One of my favourites is Newsies (*cough*Jennifer*cough*). I've seen it oh... a dozen times? It's so good. The original movie stars Christian Bale and, while he isn't the best singer, he sure is fantastic at acting.
Recently, they've created a Broadway musical that looks SO GOOD. If you watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade last year, you probably saw them perform "King of New York", one of their hits. (See, it's right down there!!) ^.^

The girl in the middle at one point sings, "So let's get drunk!" The rest of the boys hollah in agreement, but she follows it up with, "Not with liquor, fame works quicker, when you're king of New York!"

While it's amusing, it brings a poignant truth to mind that's all to apparent in the whole movie with Pulitzer, and that other newspaper guy Pulitzer is going against. Their fame has lead them to be drunk.
With power.

It's an interesting thought to keep in mind, something poignant to understand. There are times when we get power: be it a good grade, a compliment, or whatever, the power goes to your head. And you get drunk with the power.

Just keep that in mind ;)
Totes guilty.

Poetry

thirteen ways of looking at fire

by me

1.

Coals glow red

Reflecting on the sweat of the captive’s

Face.

The captive who is very

Lost.

And facing his last

Moment.

2.

We throw handfuls of sawdust on the fire.

Watch them ignite.

Explode.

A cloud like a mushroom in miniature.

And heat washes our faces.

3.

A man, standing. 

Smoke trailing from his burning cigarette.

As a fight rages on inside.

A fight he is too frightened to face.

4.

Standing at the grave

A family

Hurt

Harmed

Torn

By the loss

Of one in the fire.

5.

The girls curl up in their sleeping bags 

Around the dying fire

And as they sleep,

The fire dies

And the silence is comforting.

6.

The fire crushes

The small town

Like a wave

Overcomes the shore

7.

charred ruins 

a young couple 

crying 

over their 

once 

beautiful 

house

8.

An embrace.

From shocked husband 

to teary wife.

From enraged fire 

to unsuspecting wood.

9.

Eating up the forests

Consuming trees as

A murmur spreads

Through a crowd

Of frightened

onlookers

10.

Dread fills her stomach

Smoke lines the sky

There is danger ahead

She is sure

11.

The soldier looks over the valley

He has decimated 

With fire

And he is called 

Conqueror

And the people

Out of fear

Have run

12.

Holding the punk up to the sparkler

Mesmerised by the colours

As it slowly burns towards your innocent fingers

Threatening to spark them alight

13.

It leaps into the air

Casting its orangey fingers about for the right grasp

It lives.

Grateful.

I'm a klutz. I always have been, really. Tonight, I was sitting at Red Robin with my dad, minding my own business (meaning shaking the almost-empty catsup bottle to get the last bit out for my fries) when I knocked my tray and dropped a chicken tender on the floor.
Needless to say, both my dad and I just cracked up, and a really nice waiter came over and picked it up and said, "Here, I'll remake this for you," and came back five minutes later with a freshly made chicken finger.

It was a bright spot in an otherwise miserable day.
The rain that makes my city infamous has returned, and as much as I love it, being stuck outside in 40 degree weather for an hour or so while your dad is stuck in traffic will make your toes numb and dampen your spirits. Literally and figuratively. And some stuff at school wasn't going too well. I was frustrated and sick all day, angry at people and schoolwork, but a nice warm dinner with my dad that was made better by my klutziness really topped it off well.

And now I just want to curl up in front of a fire with a good book.
Oh wait, I am!

Now to see if I can sleep tonight... O_O

I know the feel, bro.

"And I know you're my friends
And I know it's the end
And I know it's the end, yeah.
So twinkle, lightly
Please twinkle, lighty
And I offer you my wings
and I'm offering
all of me.
And then you fly away with all your sins
and then all of your friends
and then all of your friends...
So please twinkle, lightly
Please twinkle lightly"
~Twinkle Lightly by Talain Rayne

For some strange reason, I'm obsessed with this song.
Don't ask me why, I just am.

There are strange things going on in my life today. I'm gaining and losing so much all at once. It's hard to bear, hard to take in, hard to handle. It's impossible.

But I know I can make it.
Somehow.

I know hope seems futile sometimes, like smoke.
But it's far more tangible than lots of us give it credit for. It's always there, we just need to look for it. And once we start searching, it becomes as clear as the nose in front of your face.
Or that door I just broke my finger on. (ow)

So there's my stupid hopes for today. I just hope the hopeless hopes will give my hopeless day hope.

So twinkle, lightly.

Purpose

My youth pastor once said that if you have a pulse, God has a plan.
In other words, you're breathing, you're here for a reason.

This is a ring I have. I found it randomly (don't ask...).

It looks like a pulse, like a heartbeat. I have a pulse, right? I have a reason to be here. I have a plan set out for me, for my life.

That should bring comfort. And it does.


I've been struggling with purpose.
Kind of trying to understand why I'm put in places or through specific trials. I know it's for a reason. But why? Why me?

I know I have a purpose. We all do.  God loves us all, and we are put through these situations for a reason, a purpose.
Purpose:
Noun:
The reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists


So what's our purpose? What does God want us to take away from what we did today?
I dare you to go out tomorrow and find God's purpose for Monday, October 15th 2012. Because there'll be one there.
I'll take that dare.
Will you?

NaNoWriMo

NaNo has been a topic I've been more than eager to avoid these last few months. Last year's NaNo for me was a flop, and I've been hesitant to plan out a novel because of my busy days and that I've found a ne, different approach to writing that wouldn't fold out well in a novel.
Because, last time I checked, poetry is hard to make a 50 thousand word story out of.

But here I am, typing out a synopsis for an Alice in Wonderland or, Alice in Dystopia. It's an interesting concept I've been humouring for awhile- what would be different if Alice lived in a different time, a different place? What if she was different altogether?
Out of this came Suri Robwyn- my Alice in Dystopia.

It’s 3997, and it’s time for Suri Robwyn to turn her life around. In the broken down dystopia she lives in, jobs for seventeen year old girls are scarce and hard to find— doubly as tough for Suri. She’s chronically ill, and though her seizures are starting to become less and less frequent, no one will hire her. But with a new millenium approaching and technology skyrocketing, she knows that some day there will be an affordable solution for her problem.

But when the application form for the Stede Messenger Institute for Boys and Girls shows up, she sees a new way to get out of the shabby hotel she works in, and a whole new way to see the city: to become a messenger. 

But this is harder than she realises, and before long, she’ll discover even more dangers with the menacing Red Queen, the shady, insane Hatter, and the mysterious disappearing cat from Cheshire. 

So? Your thoughts? It need a lot more research, a lot more thought, and some serious cyborg planning, but otherwise, I think it'll be great.

And if I don't finish it in November, I'll finish it later on :)

Misery.

Today, I am in misery. (Did anyone else get the Maroon 5 song stuck in their heads? Just me? Okay then. Awk.)
Well, I'm not really.


But fall has fell.
And that means two things:
Sick season
My birthday

Both of which are imminent. A nasty cold has hit me hard today. My dad was sweet enough to go get me some DayQuil to survive the work day (thanks daddy!!) and a little tea will do wonders. My head is stuffy though, and my nose is running like crazy :P

And my birthday is on Wednesday.
 So yeah :D

Lifeline.

"He gives strength to the weary and increases power to the weak...those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." Isaiah 40: 29, 31

This was my lifeline today.
Because.
Today, I got sick. Really sick. 
As in, blood-sugar-crashing-shaking-so-hard-I-can't-write-I'm-going-to-pass-out sick. It was bad. 
It's only happened to me a few times before, and never this awfully. It was frightening. 

Now. 

Remember my 'Crabby' post? And how we all need that 'Schroeder' person to kick our butts? When we're in moods, we need that one Bible verse to kick our butts back. And that verse was my strengthening. Not really a kick in the butt, but more like a, 'let me take your hand and pull you back up again', verse. 

And it was wonderful.

And I survived.

So from now on, I'm not going to run on 2 hours of sleep and 12 hours of no food (because I didn't have a big dinner, was up late, and didn't have breakfast this morning. Because I'm smart) and that was bad.

You don't do it either, okay?

Okay. 

Everything's gonna be okay.

Oh yeah, and working on a new short story. I'll post it up here soon, k? :-)

Wordz

"You may have nerves of steel, but you do not know the breadth of this world."
~President Bradley, FullMetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Episode 2

This would be truth.
Lots of people are brave on the outside. They can show off and flaunt and brag. But no matter what they say or do... they will never know the 'breadth of this world'. They never know what's going to happen next. No one does. The breadth of this world is unmeasurable. No one knows it excepting God. And I think we all have to deal with that.

This is from one of my favourite books ever, The Book Thief by Markus Zuzak. A shocking, brilliantly written novel about the Holocaust told from the perspective of what we fear most and what is most prominent in those dark days: Death himself.  'Such gallantry' can get us into all sorts of fixes. It's the old, "Pride comes before the fall," situation that shows itself in such tangible ways.

Anyhoo.

All done here. :D

Night y'all!!

Stiff upper lip and all that, wot?

When I was younger, I would read. Well, that's kind of all I do anyway, but practically the only books that I would read were the Redwall series by the now deceased Brian Jaques. I've read (and own) practically every book in the series.
Because that's what I do.
Read like insanity.
I think there are nigh on twenty books published, and I still take them out from time to time to read. They're fun and nostalgic and enjoyable. They make me smile when I'm feeling down, and bring back all sorts of memories. I can pick up Rakkety Tam and still sing all the songs from the audiobook. I can remember the nightmares Loamhedge gave me the first time, then the happiness the end brought. Those books are the echoes of a childhood well loved, like a book well read and worn through, the cracked glue binding, dog-eared pages, the smell of must and childhood and ink on paper.

When I read these books, I was anywhere from third to seventh grade. My homeschooling years, and the first few years at the school I currently attend. I read those books for the reason why most people (and I say most people, not all), pick up books to read.
To lose themselves in another fantasy.
But I did that too much, too often, and when real life smacked me in the face, it hurt more, because I had put my heart and soul into that little abbey in Mossflower, the talking mice and otters and moles and hares, fearlessly fighting ferocious terrors like ferrets and weasels and rats and foxes.


You see? I was finding happiness in the wrong place. I was setting it on something unreliable, something temporary. And when your happiness relies on something unreliable for so long and it crumbles, and it isn't there... well, frankly, you're screwed. Your heart will break, there will be pain, there will be tears and suddenly your life is a living hell.
No one wants that.
That's why there's only one thing that is reliable.
My God and Saviour. And there's no way I'm letting him go.

Dog.

This is for you.
This is Baylee.
W00T

She's my dog. We got her last year in September, and she's just about a year old now. She's awesome.

Late nights and Funnies

"GR. lsdjfoaiwhefnldfgj"

"Oh, I use that word all the time!!"

"Yeah, ikr?! So great."

"Mhm. But seriously, what?"


I swear. I have some of the best friends ever.

We travel together, we make memories together. I kind of wish some of those times would come back to relive them.

These are from our dance last December. It kind of sucked. But the memories I took away from it were awesome.

The group I went with. Like, all of my friends.

We decided to link arms instead of hold hands. Because there were guys and it would be totes awk to hold hands. Obvi.

So yeah. I've had some great late night chats with some people, especially lately. (You know who you are. If you do, you're awesome. You people frequent this blog.)

One of which (not really 'late night') was the convo above. (Yeah you. You're awesome.) They go from anywhere from deep deep to me falling off the chair I'm laughing so hard.  

So yeah. You guys rock. All of you.

<3

Arrival.

As you (hopefully) know, I was in San Francisco this last week, Thursday through yesterday evening. 

It was fun! Really fun :D

So here's some pics.

SKYLINE. I love skylines. And San Francisco has a gorgeous one! That's the bay bridge on the right and I think Alcatraz is in there somewhere but... hm... I don't think so. Yeah. Not in there. This picture was taken from Sausalito. Which I thought was an island, because you take a ferry there, but apparently not. It's off of a peninsula. 

Awk.

ANYHOO.

Me and my friend. We got these legit sunglasses. Be jelly.

The hotel we stayed at. It doesn't look like much, eh? But it is so much more! It was hipster-y and art-deco-y and like. Epic. Yup. And they have awesome fire escapes so. #winning

A sunset. Right behind us was Ghirardelli Square. We didn't actually go to the square, but whatever. We were waiting for a cable car to take us back to the hotel. 

It was fun, but I'm glad to be home. I like being home. Being gone is fun, but honestly, there's nothing nicer than getting home. And I'm glad I'm back.

When I fly on planes, which is ridiculously often, my favourite part is the arrival, landing, especially if it's a nighttime flight or a flight at dusk, because the sunsets are SO PRETTY :D 

That one's from Texas, not an aeroplane. But it's just as pretty. 

Anyhoo. Sorry for the lag. See y'all later!!