The Great Hiatus

In my travels over the summer I've come to notice quite a few things I deem note worthy. In no specific order (because I'm on a plane currently and can't seem to focus my thoughts) the first would be the ladies I've had the pleasure of coming across as flight attendants. Some overly joyful at 2am reminding everyone that they are beautiful, some just giving a genuine warm smile when you say thank you, and some just being quirky human beings enjoying their job. All a little different in the way they go about their job, the way the interact with people, and the way they hold eye contact, but all.. well, old. I've yet to see a woman not so experienced in life, as a stewardess. The observation beckons me to think about the kind of pay this job gives, the hours available, the working environment, and then I come to think "what kind of person does one have to be to be a stewardess?" I ponder on how all these lovely women (two men I've seen) came to their profession. I wonder if it is in fact a dying profession, and if so- why? 

The second note worthy thought I've come across is the power of conversation with strangers. On my plane from Miami to New York, I sat next to a gentlemen sporting an Italian suit (he told me), carrying a leather briefcase, and wearing shoes that looked like pajama slippers. His appearance was quite the testament to his personality. Clean cut, profession, and then just off the wall. We talked about polo- the horse kind, politics, airport people, the lady that passed us that looked a little high, whether or not people should be allowed to drink on planes, the fact that he was a little drunk, and the wonders of Spain. The experience as a whole summed up was memorable, interesting, and refreshing. 

All in all, the great hiatus of summer is over and I'm ready to work hard this year. 

Poetry-ish Writing

I do not pride myself in my ability (or lack of) to compose poetry. I actually often wonder what defines a piece of writing to be categorized as poetry. But in any case, I passed a cemetery on my drive back from LA today and it prompted me into putting this together. It felt like a poem and I thought it half decent to share. 

When I die I want to be cremated. 

I do not want to spend eternity trapped in one place. 

And I do not want a plaque for everyone to collectively grieve at. 

I want them to go where my memory thrives. 

To the place they first met me. 

To the place we shared a first. 

To the place where I seem like I'm alive. 

Even if it's not special, even if it's just a place to everyone else. 

Because there is where I will be felt, long after I am gone. 

There is where I will be heard when I no longer am with you. 

There is where I will keep being there for you, when you need me. 

I would stay as long as anyone wanted. I would have the time I so fear I lack right now. 

When I die I want to be free, and split myself up into pieces. 

So that I can be with everyone who feels I am not with them now. 

I want to make them feel as if all my time is dedicated to them, if they do not feel that way now. 

When I die I want to be remembered clearly and individually, not in or as a blur. 

Extremely Sisterly Thoughts

When we were younger my sister would like to sleep in my bed a lot. I always found it strange that she sought comfort in me rather than my parents especially in the middle of the night, but I never questioned it. I always endured having to share the bed. Being the sporadic ball of energy she's always been, it was hard for her to fall asleep and me being the grumpy older sister wanted her to just go to sleep immediately. Without knowing it, I created a sort of "warm glass of milk" for her in which all I did was talk her to sleep and distract from the monsters under the bed. Sometimes I would get frustrated having to do so much talking and comforting, and sometimes I would wake up from a nightmare myself wanting to run to my parents room, but I stayed because I thought good big sisters stay with their little sisters even when they're afraid. 

It's been a while since she's snuck into my bed in the middle of the night, or I've talked her to sleep. But sometimes I wonder if she remembers the endless talking, or if she wakes up in the middle of the night wanting to run to my room like I sometimes wake up wanting to run to my parents room. 

I finally accepted that my little sister is now taller than me. It seems like she grew over night. It took me a while to come to terms with her being taller now because it felt like it meant I was the smallest in the family now. But reminiscing about the monsters under the bed, I know I'll always be the big sister. 

Growing up seems to be becoming more real each and every day. And all of a sudden I'm realizing everyone else is growing up too.

Endless Dice

You know those dice with 15 different sides to them? They are for those dungeon and dragons games I think. Or that die that comes with the game Scattergories with letters on it. When you pick up the die and turn it around in your hand you see some of the same letters over and over and just when you think you know all the sides to the dice, you roll it one more time and it lands on a side you could swear didn't exist a second ago. People are like those dice too, except they have a lot more sides. Just when you think you've seen all around them they turn one way and blow you away. For better or for worse, it never ceases to amaze me of the things people are capable of. The capacity to love, hate, and to feel and make others feel everything in between is just astonishing. I saw my math teacher land on a new side today when in the middle of his lecture, he saw a special education student collecting recyclable bottles, proceeded to get out of his chair and invite the kid in his classroom to help him. I think what truly made things click was the genuine happiness I saw exuding out of my math teacher as he helped the student. 

Just a small note as I sit in math. (And if you don't know, this is very much not the man I see in class daily.) If I knew a good quote about rolling the dice, I would end this post with it. 

Being Colors?

I was recently asked by a friend "If you could be a color, what color would you be?" I thought it to be a peculiar question and quite a nice twist on the generic "what's your favorite color?" Get-to-know-you questions.

 I thought for a bit and replied that I would be blue, because then I could either fly in the sky, swim in sea, be with people when they are feeling down, or just be, in all my blue glory. 

But the question stuck; it even echoed a little. If I could be any color what would I be? I continued to think of how interesting I found the question. 

I could be yellow and shine sunlight down on people and warm all the cold blooded creatures of the earth, or the uneasy light that makes drivers question whether to stop or go. 

I could be brown and the friendly and fun mud we all played in as kids, or I could be the sweet taste of chocolate tingling on someone's tongue. 

I could be the green, dewy grass on a Saturday morning perfect for a soccer game, or the green crayon used to color anything from dinosaurs to trees. 

I could be red and the blood rushing to someone's cheeks as they blush from a compliment, or an enthralling rose blossoming on a bush. 

I could be orange and the sweet juice on a hot summer day, or a shirt that stands out a little too much in a crowd. 

Or I could be purple and the brightest flower in a field, or simply frozen grapes after school. 

The possibilities seemed endless and the more I thought about the colors I could be the more I thought about what I could be in general. And again, the possibilities were endless. With my junior year (awfully) quickly coming to a close and my senior year right around the corner with college and the rest of my life just down the block, figuring out what I want to do was only stressing me out and bringing me down everytime I thought about it, but thinking about what I could be felt oddly clear. I could be anything from an engineer to a nail polish namer and something about that was really comforting. 

Short Nights

Sometimes the nights are too long, I wake up with hours of darkness to go but I'm ready to start the day. There's nothing particularly on my mind, and I'm not abnormally excited for the coming day I just slept a few hours and I guess that's enough. 

I'm up and ready to begin. What I'm up so eagerly to start, I don't know. I'm not all too sure of what I do know in cases like these. It's still so early (or late, however you perfer to see it) that I'm moderately tired enough to not really be able to sort through my own thoughts, do some heavy thinking, or really write anything of substance. I try to get up and just get moving. It's better to start the day a little too early than it is to sulk around in bed awake for a few hours. 

Writing out my thoughts helps me the most. Writing or saying any thoughts makes them seem tangible and easier to wrap my head around and work with. Though this is all just a string of whatever is coming to mind as I sit in bed at 4am, it starts to wake me up mentally. I think this state of mind between being asleep and awake is my least favorite mindset. My head is awake, up and racing- so I know there's no sleeping anymore, but my head isn't awake thinking on anything specific. It's up but not awake. Racing, but about what? 

Did you know that this average teenager's mind (I think teenager), isn't really awake until 9am? Those 7am classes are really a struggle. Looking at this bright screen is the pitch black has tired out my eyes. Maybe I can still salvage a few hours of sleep. 

Chocolate Milk

This is the third time I've tried starting this post about chocolate milk. We're just going to go with it this time. (I told you, getting started is always the hardest part)

So I have this friend, and this friend drinks chocolate milk religiously every night. I don't exactly know the deeper meaning as to why, but for now it's just because it's taste good and everyone has to feed their addiction. Anyway, when you start to hang around people a lot, you eventually pick up some of their habits. Needless to say, lately I've been craving chocolate milk. 

As I laid on my desk illegibly doing my history homework, I came to the end of my attention span (of 5 minutes) and decided to get up and go to the kitchen to do a couple things. When I got there I forgot what I went to the kitchen for (I still can't remember) but suddenly decided to make myself some chocolate milk. I spooned the chocolate power into my mug, just two small spoonfuls and looked into my mug wondering if this would be enough. Immediately my mind went back, as if the soon to be chocolate milk was a time machine. I remembered how as I kid it never seemed like enough chocolate powder to quench your chocolate thirst when the milk was poured, and how you always wanted to put three scoops in when your mom only put two.

 I didn't feel the urge to put another spoonful in my mug. 

When we mature and grow, do we gain control? Or do we simply follow the rules more? 

I thought about this for a minute. Of course there is no rule as to how much chocolate powder you can put into your glass, but it had always been just two spoonfuls for me. Did I just grow accustomed to the taste of only two spoonfuls that's I didn't crave another? Do I now follow without feeling? Or is this simply chocolate milk and I'm over thinking? I'm not sure, but there's something lost in the transition from a child to a young adult, that'd I'd like to put my finger on. Maybe it's something gained. In any case, tonight, chocolate milk seemed like the bridge. 

I put another spoonful in and mixed the milk.