I can trace a handful of defining moments back to my days in high school. Maybe it shouldn’t come as surprising, being that mixing pot of awkwardness, doubt, and a pinch of disorientation to taste. Writing, for fun, was one of them.
“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.”
― Neil Gaiman
Hey guys. How’s it been hanging?
It’s been one of those days. Eyes looking upwards, seeing the otter fur-patterned clouds and not registering some degree of contented awe. The reality? It’s been raining the whole day and the sky’s in perpetual overcast the past week. Probably a good thing though since I like the rain.
It’s worth remembering that the rut I find myself in eventually levels out, even if it’ll find me again down the road. I keep telling myself that the bad days make me stronger. I don’t know if it’s true, I mean, I’d like to believe it.
I’m just playing with words and ideas here. Perhaps it’s during these times we should reevaluate how far we’ve come and where exactly we want to go. Dreams change all the time and not all survive our equally changing perspectives as we experience what it means to be alive.
Most dreams are obtainable with dedication, or sheer stubbornness if that’s your thing. Things get real when you make them into goals otherwise all we’ll have are castles in the air. It would be an injustice to throw in the towel because of a tough couple of days if not weeks, however miserable.
Anyway, here’s to the hard times. Don’t forget all the times you spat out the dirt and kept moving. Maybe it’s in that same dirt we rise up as our better selves.
I’d like to take the time to give my heartfelt condolences for the victims of the recent school shooting at the high school in Santa Fe, Texas.
Not forgetting the Palestinian protestors who died/ were injured in the clashes with Isreal four days ago.
There isn’t much that I can do but know that I have you all in my thoughts. For what it’s worth I’ll pray and hope that you all begin to heal and grow stronger in the face of tyrany, what ever it may look like to you.
Wishing you peeps the best possible futures, and hoping you’re all safe.
via Pinterest, click to see
It was my last year of high school, there was this guy, a pastor (Mr. Fingle?) from the US had come to give us a lecture on acceptance, loving and respecting ourselves and a few other things along those lines. I can remember what seemed to be the entire fifth form seated to the front of the auditorium, quietly listening to this confident and passionate man. I think the silence had to do with him being a stranger and a foreigner, the only white man (and very pink from the heat) in the gathering of brown and ebony. Plus no one would ever want to stand up in front of everyone and given the high chance of messing up.
I remembered feeling empowered somehow, his words excluded this contagious energy that was meant to affect me. I can’t say the same for the other kids, half of whose faces are blurs in my mind today, quiet yes, but not necessarily listening. I’ve always made a point to pay attention especially to guests like Mr. Fingle, it’s not often people around here will talk about this stuff, to address these feelings we feel, why we feel them and how we think we should react to them.
I’m afraid up to now I have been vague on what were some of the things he said, mostly because I found that a lot from that day has blanked out from me probably because one particular topic he mentioned proceeded to take up my thoughts from then on. There was this guy sitting right in front of me, let’s call him Nash. Mr. F walked over and pointed to him and asked everyone, “Okay, let’s for a minute pretend that this young man happened to be gay. Which one of you would be his friend?”