Please Don't Think Any Less of Me

Because... I did it. I switched. You can't say that you didn't see this coming. What with your ugly looking dashboard and your hard-to-personalize blog pages, it's a wonder I didn't leave earlier. And do you see how you act around other people? You're so old and inaccessible that you drive all the readers away! That's right, I said it. You're too old. I guess that's not really your fault, but it's just as well. I picked Tumblr over you, if you wanted to know. I'll have my stuff moved out by the end of the week.

Totally kidding! But yeah. I do this every couple of months. Switch blogs, I mean. I'm sure this means I have commitment issues or something, but whatever. I'll deal with that later.

The real reason is that there'd be more people reading on tumblr. It sounds vain, and really show-offy, but isn't that the point of blogging? If I wanted to write stuff that wouldn't be read, I'd keep a journal. Plus, if only a couple people read, I would be getting only a fraction of the feedback I could get. I know that there's all kind of pressures that come up with writing for an audience, as in wanting to filter what ends up online and no longer being honest. But I'll try my hardest to write what I really think, and anyone who reads can help with that. If something I write seems fake, write hate comments! No, I insist.

So here it is. All of my readers(like, 3 or 4?) who are not already on tumblr are free to start reading over there. Not that you need my permission. It's a free internet. Except where you have to pay for Wi-Fi and stuff. But who does that anymore? Your neighbors leave their connection unprotected for a reason.

Kbye.

Blogspot is a dinosaur

But it just so happens that I love dinosaurs. So all you guys can watch your precious tumblrs, which I imagine look something like giant tumbleweeds(tumblweeds?) while I ride away on my Blogspot VELOCIRAPTOR. That's right, a frickin' velociraptor.

I don't know, I'm thinking of making one just to follow other people's tumblrs, and very sneakily transitioning away from said dinosaur. Having a velociraptor sounds cool at first, but they're just too high maintenance. You have no idea how much I spend a year on dinosaur makeup and Botox.

Currently, I have two folders in my bookmarks, one called "Tumblr [Church]" and one called "Tumblr [School]", and links to everyone's tumblrs inside. Whenever I wanna check 'em, I open all of them in a bunch of tabs. Then I check, one by one, to see if anyone posted anything new. Very tedious.

Actually I'm having doubts now. Making a tumblr will make me relevant. That's a little strange, even for me. Plus, it feels like I'm cheating on Blogspot, my first love. Sooner or later, she'll figure out, and I'll have blog drama on my hands. But then again, they are websites. And this isn't Gossip Girl.

Well, I'm guessing that what I do about this doesn't really matter to you, so I'll leave it at that. I don't think that many people still read at all, let alone read my blog. So, yeah. Just a heads up.

What do you think of my food metaphor?

I've been thinking: whenever we as humans are fed a particularly juicy piece of information steak, we immediately try washing it down with junk food and soda instead of really chewing that new information. What? The food metaphor doesn't work? Alright fine.

So I usually get my epiphany moments when reading, which I prefer, because anything substantial I learn I'm able to read and reread to my heart's content. Until it really sinks in, so I can be sure that I'll be a different person closing and putting down the book from when I first picked it up.

But I'm starting to think what I do after reading is just as important as what I do during. As in, do I let my thoughts wander freely without distraction, or do I click the TV on and flip through channels? I think good thoughts, the ones that really strike us and excite us, deserve to marinate a little. If you'd allow me a final stab at the food metaphor, I'd say that new information is raw food, and it's a bad idea to eat it without letting it cook for a good while. Otherwise, we can't digest and absorb nutrients from the food we just ate, and it just goes straight through us.

Diarrhea is what I'm trying to describe. Or maybe we'll just vomit information back out at other people, showing we didn't take the time to try and understand it, and are only trying to sound smart and impress people. Either way, the food's not doing what it's supposed to be doing, which is feeding us. I think a very real example of this is when I read blogs, because a lot of very good posts show up on my browser window. But before I'm able to generate a single thought from it, I'm already back on Facebook. Effectively poking a small hole in my skull, and letting my rotting brain matter leak all over my keyboard. Facebook does that to you.

I can think of another example, but not everyone will be able to relate I guess. Because at church, I have to confess, I don't remember what my pastor talked about last Sunday or Friday. Remembering specifics is hardly the point, but I have a feeling nothing that was said left any lasting impression on me. I mean, why go to class if the student isn't learning anything? I'm thinking that maybe the conversations in the hallways after the message(almost never about what was just preached) have something to do about it. Not a judgment, hopefully, but a wake-up reminder. If we don't talk about what was talked about, or acknowledge that the service ever happened, it will be as if it hadn't. Then we're wasting a lot of our weekend, aren't we?

This post will end very abruptly. I've got nothing left to say. I hope you understand.

Dumbledore's Army

I hate waking up after an unplanned nap. I take 5 minutes to realize where I am, and what I was doing last, and am always super frustrated for no apparent reason. This afternoon I woke up because it was getting too hot for comfort in my red thermal and PJ bottoms. I fell asleep because I had been reading Harry Potter all morning while lying in bed, the covers pulled up over my chest. Aren't I the coolest guy you know!?

Either I'm blinded by childhood nostalgia, or the Harry Potter series is pretty good, 'cause I'm thoroughly enjoying my rereading of the series. That said, I've had to overlook some really bad jokes, ridiculous dialogue, and some overly obvious foreshadowing. But I guess it gets better as you get to the later books.

Right now I'm in the middle of the fifth book, and to get there I had to go through chapter upon chapter of hormone-charged adolescent angst. It was honestly kind of difficult to get through. Because I felt I was experiencing all that angst. What books like Harry Potter do is provide a vague sketch of a character for the reader to project himself/herself onto. I think that's why Harry doesn't really have a personality the first couple of books. But again, it gets better in later books.

My favorite part of the books is less Harry's story, but the background story of the whole wizarding world. I love reading about magical creatures, places, and lessons at Hogwarts, and if Hogwarts, A History was a real book, I'd definitely read it. I imagine what I'd do if I was in Dumbledore's Army, the Order of the Phoenix, or even the Ministry of Magic. But as always, it's just another escape. I should be spending my time and thinking energy on much more important things, right?

It's funny because I want to be completely honest when I blog, and this is honestly all I've been thinking about recently. Besides going to an hour and a half of summer school every morning and playing video games at Aaron's house, this is all I do. I'm sure I should feel bad, but in complete honesty? I don't. I write all this to keep me aware, and out of the summer daze that threatens to suck the life out of these couple months I have off. I wonder if I'll actually do something about it.

*  *  *

That last paragraph was a lie. I'm actually writing all this because I'm dreading reading the next chapter. I'm on the one where Harry goes on the Valentine's date with Cho at Hogsmeade. I have vague memories of the event being extremely awkward. Even the chapter picture's awkward, see for yourself! And besides, every scene with him and Cho have been awkward, and my insides squirm whenever I come across them.

Well. Better get it over with.

Escape Artist Pt. 2

Wow. According to this post, the last movie I saw was Cinderella Man. I don't even remember how that one went. Oh well. Continuation of the first part!

Last time I saw a movie was Cinderella Man, in the Northwood performing arts building. It's a movie about a washed-up has-been boxer that struggles to feed his family during the Great Depression, and is given another chance to get back into boxing. Miraculously, he manages to win enough matches to make his way to the championship match, and wins that too. 80% on rotten tomatoes, nominated for a couple academy awards. By all means, a decent movie.

Escape Artist Pt. 1

I've decided to start blogging more regularly. You know, at least once a week to keep my mind from turning to flubber. Besides, it'll keep me busy when I'm not re-reading Harry Potter or playing Resident Evil 4 at Aaron's house.

Starting next week, anyway. This one I wrote wayyy back in March. Make yourself a bowl of popcorn and enjoy!       

I'm back. Not really though, since I'm writing this during hiatus. Yes, hiatus was for a break from posting, not from writing. I couldn't keep myself from this keyboard even if I tried.

I've Forgotten How To Blog

And I've also lost the motivation to share things. I'm not the guy who always raises his hand in youth group friday night anymore. I just don't feel the need to anymore. I've been there and I've done that.

I think I have deeply associated sharing opinions, letting everyone know what you learned, and all that kind of stuff with trying to sound smart. God knows I've judged other people for doing that. It just killed me to see how egotistical I'd get when I compared my knowledge to other people's, and how good that made me feel. A lot of my identity and how I want other people to view me revolves around how smart I am, so I guess now I'm looking to find my worth elsewhere.

I'll have some thoughts every once in a while, that make me go "Hey I should write a blog post about that", but then later I'll be like "What's the point?". I think I'm done with the preachy sermon-type essays that I used to write. Those were fun, but what I really want to get better at is telling stories.

Without trying to sound cheesy(for my lactose intolerant readers out there!), I think stories are captivating, inspiring, and life changing. You definitely won't remember last week's sermon, but some people's stories stick with you forever. Instead of just telling you what you should know, they show you. And since it's not a perfect world we live in, they show you reality instead of some idealistic situation someone comes up with when writing a sermon by themselves.

There I go bagging on sermons. What I want to say is that we need both: educational, practical lessons as well as real life lessons. But right now I feel I need more of the life lessons. I want to be able to tell better stories, but I can't unless I start making my own story better. Not more exciting, or flashy. But better.

That's all I got right now. And guess what? It's summer break! And I have loads of free time. Honestly, I'm kinda scared. This'll be interesting.

Walk in the Park Pt. 2

I slip my Rainbows off, and dig my toes into the sand, and wrap my fingers around the chains holding the swing up. I am a kid again for an hour, or for however long I plan to stay here. It is not yet evening, and the endless chittering of birds gives the impression that spring has just arrived. But actually it is almost summer, and Southern California is bracing itself for a hot one. I have a feeling that my swing set session days are limited.

I try swinging for a bit, but the metal loops on the sides of the swings hurt when they dig into my sides. I decide to just teeter back and forth. I figure it's easier to think this way.

My thoughts wander, and never seem to linger on one topic for that long. They are like choosy bees in a field of flowers, or some other tired metaphor like that. But the first thought that comes to mind is of the girl I like. I think I've accepted that we'll never be together the way I want us to be together. That wasn't much of a surprise though. I'm not the decisive, brave-enough-to-take-action type of guy that would've asked her out anyways. But whenever she comes up in my thoughts, my heart deflates a little bit. All I can do is hope that I can manage to distract myself, so the rest of my day isn't ruined.

A cool breeze plays with the tips of my bangs(I desperately need a haircut), sending them straight into my eyes. I swipe them back into place with my fingers, and perform my trademark hair flip, for good measure. Then I take a deep breath and dive into my next thought.

How often, exactly am I supposed to think about God? I ask Him that a lot nowadays. If someone were to answer that question saying "all the time", I'd call him an idealist, and a dreamer. It's physically impossible. Whether it is because of our ADD, 15-second commercial attention span, or our brains' relatively low saturation point, that can only learn about a certain topic for around an hour before burning out. No matter how hard we try, we'll end up going back to thinking the routine, the secular, and the Godless. For me, whenever Friday or Sunday come around, I am reminded just to forget again. Oh yeah, I should've thought what God would want me to do in that situation. Next time, for sure.

At least I'm thinking about Him now, I assure myself. I'm being healed, right? This stuff takes time. Speaking of time, I should spend more of it on Him. I keep waiting for him to drop that desire right into my lap, that through divine intervention, my schedule will be cleared for Him. He could but he doesn't. It makes sense that I offer some effort on my side. I hate to steal quotes from other people, but All of me for all of You, right Jesus?

The sand-between-your-toes feeling has lost its novelty, and is just kinda there. Plus, it's getting really cold, and I'm getting really hungry. And besides, my hips are sore from this tiny, sad excuse for a swing. Ima head home now.

Walk in the Park Pt. 1

I can't sleep. It must've been all the iced tea I drank. I don't handle caffeine well.

                                                                                                                               
I shut my eyes for a second or two. I've been on the computer for more than an hour, and it stings my eyes to blink. The unending cycle of switching from website to website lost its excitement a while back, and now feels more like a chore than an enjoyment. At first, I couldn't wait to go online, because I had to check my dailies: Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, and visit all the blogs I read for updates. Now all I'm doing is typing random letters into the web address bar, hoping the history scrolldown box will show me where I want to go.

The dull lights of the computer screen have sucked the energy right out of me. Even my surroundings add to the sleepiness of it all. The room around me is all dark, except for some of the natural sunlight slipping in between the curtained windows. I wanna be out there, I think. But at the same time I don't really care. What's there to do outside?

For no compelling reason, I force myself outside. Last week I started taking walks around the neighborhood, and I want to start again. I slip my feet into my leathery smooth Rainbows, and head out the gate onto the sidewalk.

When you're busy doing something, usually some kind of physical activity, thought happens in short bursts. For long periods of time you can even forget you were thinking at all. I remember what I'm doing halfway down the block, and realize that I was walking at a pretty fast pace. People only walk at a fast pace if they're going somewhere, or they want to look like they are. I am neither of those, so I slow my walking to a kind of a funeral march tempo.

Last time I went on a walk, I didn't go far. Just to the little mini playground off to the side of Northwood Elementary School. I remember digging a ditch into the sand under the swing set, so that my feet wouldn't drag against the ground sitting in that swing made for 12-year olds. I just kinda swayed back and forth on it, talking aloud, as if to God, about my day, what I thought about things, and whatever else came to mind. It was remarkably therapeutic, I have to say. And I'm really glad no one was around to hear me talk to myself like a crazy person.

I must have passed 3 couples on the way to the playground today. In all three cases, they were middle aged man and wife, walking with long, quick strides, and talking while facing directly ahead, as if speaking to no one in particular. And always, one of them dominated the conversation while the other listened intently. It made me wonder what it'd be like to be middle aged and married. I'd probably have a bald spot, and wear dorky tennis shoes with khaki shorts and a work t-shirt, because that's the age when you stop caring so much about how you look. And I'd have a wife who loved me, and would go on walks with me, and take the time to listen to me talk about how work was that day.

The playground was built at the far end of a large Irvine master-planned park, complete with evenly spaced trees and surrounded on two sides with brick walls. What I like about this one is that it has a particularly large expanse of grass in the middle, big enough for playing football or catch with the dog. I reach the playground and head for the swing set. I thought for sure there would be kids hanging around, because it was a pretty popular place for the younger ones, but luckily the place is empty. I'm glad. I'm alone, and that's just how I want it to be.
                                                                                                                               
Part two will be up in the next couple of days. If not, happy Memorial day weekend! Whatever that means.

Nothing You Didn't Already Know

I've been really sucking at conversation lately. It's fine when I'm in groups, since the others can chime in to fill in the gaps of silence. But if it's just me and you, and you aren't in my small inner circle of friends, I'm desperately grasping at the small-talk straws. I... don't think I can help it. As an introvert, it just makes me uncomfortable around people that might judge me, think badly of me. And I understand it must make you feel awkward as well. Thinking about how awkward it makes you feel actually adds to my own discomfort, and it becomes even harder to think of things to say.

Some people make it look so easy. They can talk to anyone, anytime, and as if they'd been friends since elementary school. That's really intimidating to an introvert like me. So when these outgoing charismatic individuals try to talk to me, I back away. I remember deciding way back that these kinds of people can only do what they do if they look down on other people, since that's the only way they wouldn't be scared of others doing the same to them.

I thought this way because if there was nothing wrong with them, and that being friendly and talkative to everyone is normal, then that only leaves one possibility. That there is something wrong with me.

This self-deprecating explanation is easy to believe, actually. Because when I'm at school, church, or wherever, all I ever see are people in their comfort zones, who are, naturally, with the people they are comfortable with. Most of the time, people aren't starting up conversations with people they barely know, or people that are known to be awkward or not cool. It's hard, and I completely understand why it doesn't happen a lot. I say this not to condemn anyone, but to show that after seeing only conversations that came easily, I started to convince myself that my difficulty was exclusive to me.

A girl would be the loudest, funniest, most spastic person at her old table, but when she moved to mine, she barely talked. I tried. I began to think it was my fault. For not thinking fast enough. Not being witty enough. For being too much of this, and not enough of that. You can imagine I went home feeling pretty depressed.

                                                            

I think I know what you're thinking. That we all go through these feelings and insecurities, and it's all about learning to overcome them. Or maybe it just comes naturally to you, and all you can do is empathize. I don't know.

I think it needed to be said, though. If I'm going to tell you guys to stop pretending like you have it all together, I should try too. So here I am. The awkward, conversationally challenged boy you know from school/church. Who doesn't have it all together.

I Know What You're Thinking

Joseph hasn't been posting a lot recently. But that's probably because AP tests are this week, and he's probably busy studying.

Wait, what!? Is this the same Joseph that would take all his finals cold(no studying) without any second thought about what it would do to his grade? Has he, in his epic battle against the forces of unthinking conformity, lost and gave in to the powers that be?


Response: Iono. I think it's because I don't really feel creative right now.

That, and my computer crashes every 5 seconds.

The Gospel According to Art

A black-and-white faith would be so much easier, you know? I would go down a certain path, look down at my feet, and either see a pure, blameless white or a relentless, piercing black. To say that everything is actually shades of gray would be cliche, though.

I like to think of it as a massive mural on a building wall in a back alley somewhere. And God's got this plan for this beautiful, larger-than-life painting. The picture's in His head, with a little room for artistic freedom here and there    but he doesn't pick up the brush. He lays out every color imaginable, every shade of every intensity of every texture of paint. From luscious reds to soaring blues to dignified greens. Then He sets brushes of every size and bristle type before the wall.

He goes out to the street and invites a couple of the neighborhood kids playing hopscotch and tag to come see the mural. He sits them down and He explains to these boys and girls, who've never heard of Van Gogh or Da Vinci why He loved art, in down-to-earth terms, in a way that they'd understand. He explained how you didn't have to have taken classes or be trained, just passionate and sincere to create something beautiful.

Then He stands up, picks out a few choice brushes and paints, starts painting one of the bottom corners of the wall. All the while the neighborhood kids are following the man's every brush stroke, and his every color choice. Amazed, they witnessed art being created before their very eyes. Before He can even set his brushes down, the kids run off to tell everyone the news. But by the time they return with all their friends and families, the man is gone.

Many witnesses of the small painted area of the mural insulted the unintelligible mixture of paints. There were rules and proportions that had been broken. What this man painted wasn't art, they said. But the kids wouldn't listen. They had heard the passion in the man's voice, and the gracefulness and skill of his painting. All they cared about was finishing the painting, and filling others with the same passion they now felt.

                                                                                                             
I remember hearing someone calling the Bible "our instruction manual". I think that is by far the worst label you could ever give it. Sure, there are parts of the Old Testament books that are just laws for the Jewish people to follow, and parts of Paul's letters that also sound like long to-do lists. But how boring and limiting is that analogy?

The last time I read an instruction manual was for installing the new computer monitor I got. It didn't inspire me. It didn't show me beautiful stories of how a broken people tried to live in a dark and menacing world. And it definitely didn't make me want to love God and other people more. The Bible is so much more, yet it has been diluted to the point where it is compared to a book of rules.

Maybe that's why young Christians today leave their Bibles on their bookshelves, to collect dust. Maybe that's why they treat Sunday sermons as a sort of religious "pill", to fulfill a moral obligation and to avoid feeling like they're going to hell. It's because the Bible we are pitching them is a Bible of rules and regulations that only serves to ruin their fun.

This is not the Bible that I've read. The Bible I read is full of beautiful, awe-inspiring stories and difficult, heart-wrenching situations. I think that's why Jesus rarely gives straight laws to people, but chooses to tell parables     stories that show, rather than tell. The greatest parable ever told was the one Jesus showed by living out his own life. Jesus is the epitome of why the Bible is not just a really long self help book. In coming down out of Heaven's neighborhood and becoming flesh, our God also wrapped flesh around the Scriptures, making them living and active. That we might want to be like the man who conquered death, and who loved even wretches like us.

The man, like the one in my story, who inspires by example.
                                                                                                            
Started 3/8/10

Do Not Feed the Ego

I'm thinking there should be a sign outside of my cage. It would say

Do not feed the Ego. Overfeeding the Ego will lead to a dependence on compliments and flattery, a diet that is known to cause narcissism and unnecessary pride. The owner prefers that the Ego be kept in a state of constant starvation and weakness, as to keep it from causing problems. Thank you for your consideration.

                                                                       


Reading back, I'm realizing that my previous posts are really dry. Even I have trouble reading them. So I guess I'll try not to complicate things, and write with more of my emotion than my intellect.

(The above should be read as: "I'm sorry for trying to sound smart. I'll stop trying to sound smart now.")

Oh Deep Down Down

I have seen myself progress, in recent months, mentally into a state of constant vigilance, in trying to regulate the topic of my thoughts. Everyday, I find myself teetering on the edge of two thought extremes: deep and shallow. And upon realizing I had delved too long in the shallow region, I would force shame upon myself, and indulge in the inherent hypocrisy of what I said not lining up with what I really thought.

Deep, in the sense I think of it, concerns thoughts that demonstrate a clearer understanding of all facets of a topic, and are focused on topics that are of greater significance to humans than other shallower ones. These 'shallower ones', then, are thoughts focused on the immediate and the selfish, and often demonstrate a lack of understanding. I confess that I believed the two to be opposites, that you were either the one wrote books and gave speeches, or the one whose greatest fear was a B in Spanish, and who only ever wanted to watch movies and party.

Of course, my version of deep thinking was centered around a Christian perspective, and the 'greater significance' I just wrote about related to what God called me to be, and what it meant and looked like to follow Jesus. To think of shallower things would just serve to distract from Him, meaning they would be nothing more than idols. With this spiritual mandate to remember Jesus in everything, to have his Spirit guide me in all my actions and thoughts, I was considerably harsher on myself. Because apparently, it wasn't just myself I was disappointing, but my Heavenly Father.

In a moment of introspection, I decided to take a look at the words themselves. Shallow and Deep. The words themselves imply a metaphor of physical depth. More specifically, they can be applied to water. There is the shallow of tidepools and beaches, and then there is the immeasurable depth of the open ocean. The metaphor applies because the shallows take much less effort to access, but the deeps will yield treasures untold, if one knows where to look.

I'd like, then, to compare the human situation to that of a diver's. And on deep sea dives, he knows that he can't stay down for very long. Something about bubbles forming in the blood. I think, as naturally as a diver must come up for air, we also must return to the shallower things. I also think God understands these limits of the human body, but encourages us to continue, to go for longer stretches and go deeper than we've ever been before.

In the Christian faith, there is no room for shame or lasting guilt. I believe that part of our lives, poisonous and stress-inducing, is taken up when we traded our yoke with Christ, who took it with Him to the cross. Shame and guilt are then replaced with conviction    a call to action instead of a call to self-pity. And the healing process happens to take time. While I am being rescued from the monotonous cycle of focusing on idols, feeling shameful is only going to slow that process down.

I am also too quick to judge those I deem 'shallow'. Judging in any sense is something to avoid, but I guess this gives extra perspective on it. If I decide not to be so harsh on myself, then I should do the same for others.
We are, after all, all in the same boat here.

Another Feeling

 
This one's a long one.

 Feeling #7
                        
News first hits. Time slows down, and heart rate speeds up. Somewhere in your brain, it is decided that the gravity of the situation is too much to handle at the moment. So it lets it leak in little by little. You walk away, and time picks up its pace, but heart keeps its momentum. From the outside, its beats could be mistaken for happy or excited. But each heartbeat, instead of energizing and uplifting, just kind of echoes.

Life continues. But you are kept detached. How can everything go on as it should be, when inside my world is falling apart? You don't think your friends notice, but every pause in conversation you catch yourself staring out, lost in thought. You find the sick impulse to laugh. At everything, at exactly how it turned out. Maybe you are going insane.

You look back, and can't remember when. But you know it's finally dawned on you. You couldn't even call it pain, because pain brings clarity. Sometimes realization. First you try numbness. Grabbing onto anything that might bring the sweet relief of distraction. But while they used to work, that was before. Now nothing can stop your thoughts from tossing and turning.

Next you try wishful thinking. It's damn near impossible, but maybe it'll turn out this way. Or this way. You start taking the little things and distorting them, so that they'll somehow lead to something less devastating. This part's dangerous. Because you know that when it doesn't turn out that way, it will hurt that much more. Hope sets you up for a harder fall. But you can't help it.

Here is where you use your own unique coping mechanism. The burden on your back is inescapable, but you find a way. You get creative. And it always almost works.

Somewhere down the line from there is acceptance. Getting over it by finding that there are things much more valuable to live for. That to wallow in the past is a waste of life and energy.
At least I think so. I actually wouldn't know.

I'm not there yet.

Also Written 3/12/10

  
Ugh I hate this. NO ONE IS BLOGGING.

I'm not talking about picture blogging, or summaries of today's events, or shallow complaints. It's not like there's anything wrong with them, I'm just hungry for something with a little more substance. I'm talking about the desperate need to find some outlet for deep personal or empathetic pain, and coming to grips with the flaws of humanity, and our own ignorance, prejudice, and brokenness. I want to be let in, I want to attempt to carry a burden far too heavy for anyone to hold alone without crushing themselves.

I want people to give up this stupid idea of putting up a front to convince everyone they have everything together. In a way I want to prove to myself I'm not the only one whose breaking on the inside. Whose tired of setting up these walls, distancing myself from anyone and anything that could potentially hurt me.

I don't think that's selfish of me to want. Because its not 'satisfying' to me when I read these, it doesn't make me feel better about myself. Twelve times out of thirteen, problems and issues are left open-ended, and I'm left with an uneasy tension deep down in my chest. I'd much rather have that feeling than this one. The feeling of separation and shallow talk. Like being on the outside looking in.

Please tell me you feel the same.

Written 3/12/10

                   
The first of my hiatus-written posts! Enjoy.
                             
I have no idea when I'll post this, so it might be a while since I got grounded from going to church on Fridays for getting a D on my progress report. But right now, I'm sitting home alone on a Friday night. Pouting.

In all honesty, I was pretty pissed. You've read all the posts from my last blog documenting my personal vendetta against super-studying-no-lifers that are all-too-common in school today. Or maybe all that resentment was really directed towards myself. Maybe I was really scared that I was wasting my school years, so I desperately needed this excuse to reassure myself that I was doing okay. Maybe.

Back to the present. What gave her the right? Why didn't she understand that school wasn't worth the stress, and that grades are just the flawed system that keeps us reaching for something that is, ultimately, completely unrelated to test and essay scores?

[Yes, I do know how pretentious I sound. Work with me for a bit.]

So let me set up the scene a bit. Dad comes upstairs and asks to talk to me    a foreboding sign in itself from the man who is only ever sleeping or watching TV. I generalize for dramatic effect. He talks to me about how he got the email for the first of the second semester progress reports, and how he is worried that I am losing my 'balance'. A mischievous thought materializes in the back of my mind, matter-of-factly mentioning that he's never before shown any interest in my grades at school, and that this was a last-minute opportunistic attempt at showing he cared. I suppress that thought.

My mom, in the other room, overhears that magic letter, and demands an explanation. Upon hearing said explanation, she explodes into loud-and-in-your-face insults and multiple variations on 'you're not working hard enough'. I also exaggerate for dramatic effect. She ends by saying something along the lines of 'if you can't get your priorities straight, I don't think you can go on Fridays to have fun.' My heart falls like a rock. I hold back some very angry words that are on the verge of spewing out and making things worse. I storm my way upstairs in typical angsty teenager fashion.

You can't do this. You can't mess with the schedule. Everything was going well. The system was working. You can't just change these things. You can't.

So this is where I am right now. On this new course, just a little ways off from this unwelcome change. And, as if to further emphasize the change, I feel busy for the first time. Too many things to prepare for, too many dates to remember. Even worse, I might have to start studying for AP Bio. However will I survive!?
                                                                                                                
But really, it's not that I'm resentful. In some ways it was preventable, in others it was bound to happen. And it's not that I'm feeling this steadfast confidence and faith in God's divine plan.
I'm just kind of here.

It's Been a While

                                               
All around I sense a phenomenon that I definitely also see in myself. An emotional callousness, a general unfeeling. A people that used to be brimming with passion, are now at a loss of what to do with themselves. It might be that the trend started just recently. Or, the explanation I think more likely, that it's been going on for a while and I've only just realized. Because I've finally begun to peek my eyes over the giant mirror I've used to separate me from everyone else. In simpler terms, I'm starting to get over myself.

They say trials and hard times are the times when character is truly tested. Like a storm or an earthquake testing the foundation of that house you just built. My storm, however, is a silent one. I think I would actually prefer one that was more visible, more catastrophic. Then I might be able to complain, to gather sympathy from my peers. Or with a less negative spin, share some of the problems I'm going through with friends, and maybe get support and advice from them.

By silent, I mean its not disastrous or anything. My issue is specific to spring break, since I now have hours of free time. And I have problems figuring out what to do during that time. The first impulse I get upon waking up is to get on the computer, and waste entire days on things too nerdy and embarrassing to admit. It doesn't seem like anything worth complaining about, since no one's getting hurt but myself, and the only thing lost is time.

But to me, it's a serious issue. I go to bed at night with tired eyes and a tired mind, and am forced to confront what I've done. My everything, my all the time, has been promised to God. Following Christ is an all-consuming pursuit, and is not to be set aside, to be picked up again after I'm finished doing what I want for a while.

That is why spending all this time watching videos or playing games transforms from a harmless past time, into a grievous offense. He loves and trusts me enough to plant a little of Himself in me, His passion, His plan, His Spirit. I accepted that, and then ignored them by trying to distract myself for hours at a time. I wasted Time, which isn't something I can claim to be my own, but is a gift. And it isn't something we should be afraid of running out on us, but rather of wasting it. There's so many things I could've done during this past week, but are now just unchangeable "what-ifs" of the past. I could also have just done nothing, resting from work and avoiding distraction, and the time wouldn't be wasted.

I honestly suck at being alone, because that's where I start making terrible decisions. But in the past, writing blogs became an alternative to some of the other crap I would get sucked into. So I guess I'm back. As a sort of attempt to keep my alone self in check. It's funny, because while most people struggle with being too busy, I struggle with too much free time.

Well, I'm glad to be back. I'm honestly excited to return to this creative medium I've set up. I ended the last blog a little too dramatically, so I hope I can start being more real with myself. Plus, I've got some stuff I wrote during my hiatus ready to publish, so expect new stuff soon! We'll see where I go from here.