When you look up the word virtue you get a definition that reads "Moral Excellence, goodness or righteousness." The word Excellence is one that sticks out to me. Excellence meaning the fact or state of excelling; superiority; eminence. We are not just to live up to expectation but to excel and to surpass the world's expectations.
Leading me to my next point that Patience is a virtue. How many of us can safely say that we have never cut someone off, have never sat in line to buy our groceries without stamping our feet or tapping our fingers or have never screamed at a sibling to hurry up because we need to leave? We are all guilty... yes come on admit it.
I think I can guess what some of you might be thinking. Well... I am not the only one who is impatient... everyone around me does exactly the same thing... so I am justified in getting upset every once in a while, after all no one is perfect. True... No one is perfect and we all have flaws.
I am not trying to say that whoever yells at the driver in front of them is going to Hell. However back to my previous statement... Patience is a virtue. Let me rephrase that... Patience is a step in achieving moral excellence. Starting to make sense?
The world might be impatient but we as a virtuous people are striving to be more excellent in our ability to demonstrate patience. President Uchtdorf, 2nd counselor in the 1st Presidency of the church of Jesus Christ said this of patience: "...Patience is not passive resignation, nor is it failing to act because of our fears. Patience means active waiting and enduring... Patience is not simply enduring; it is enduring well!..."
He goes on to say that impatience is the result of selfishness. If we are impatient with our fellow man we do not love them and we are not putting them above ourselves. We are thinking only of our own selfish desires. To be patient we have to love those around us and have the desire to serve them and understand them better.
I have learned that patience is more than simply sitting and waiting for the hard times to pass you by. To be patient you have to be "anxiously engaged in a good cause." D&C 58: 27 while you are waiting.
To me patience is simply an outward act of kindness. When you are patient with those around you you better appreciate them and treat them with the respect and love that they, as God's children, deserve.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Everyone has a Voice
From the time I was little I had a voice. As soon as I could speak I told myself stories. At first it was simply stories I already knew, based off of a book or a movie I had watched recently, adjusted to my taste and my personality. My parents could see it right away; I was not a normal child. ;) Hour after hour was spent rehearsing to myself with magazine in hand the story of characters that pervaded my mind.
Everyone has a story to tell and we are all just dying to let it out. But… in a highly competitive world full of interruptions and everyone competing for their turn in the spot light sometimes the voice you have inside of you is silenced. Or is it? Me… my voice was so strong that I let it out by telling myself my story even if no one else would listen. Personally I think that the writers of our world are those people who aren’t aggressive enough to fight for their chance to speak and yet can’t sit still without letting it all out. Before I became a writer I let it out by talking to myself. The characters that have never made it onto paper are vivid in my mind. I developed them, each unique and with a voice of their own.
I have always wanted to be unique, the kind of person who had a story unlike any other, a story that people would have to pay attention to. Although frankly my life just isn’t that exciting…
So I am left with the option of creating a life inside of my head that is more exciting, full of adventure, betrayal, intrigue and suspense. Would I really want any of the things that happen in the movies to happen to me in real life? Um…. Probably not, but that’s why it’s a story.
As a young girl I never realized just how prevalent my story was to me. It was my identity… no wonder it was screaming to get out. I write this not because I think anyone will care to read it but because I have a story that I need to get out if only for myself to read and reflect on.
If anyone were to read this, I would tell them that their story is important and that they have a voice that needs to be heard. I don’t care what the world says! I don’t care if you are black, white, yellow or purple… you are important and anyone who says otherwise is still a child of God no matter how mislead they may be.
I guess all I am saying is this… before you judge a person; learn their story, get to know them. Nothing hurts worse than having someone jump to conclusions before they read your story…
Everyone has a story to tell and we are all just dying to let it out. But… in a highly competitive world full of interruptions and everyone competing for their turn in the spot light sometimes the voice you have inside of you is silenced. Or is it? Me… my voice was so strong that I let it out by telling myself my story even if no one else would listen. Personally I think that the writers of our world are those people who aren’t aggressive enough to fight for their chance to speak and yet can’t sit still without letting it all out. Before I became a writer I let it out by talking to myself. The characters that have never made it onto paper are vivid in my mind. I developed them, each unique and with a voice of their own.
I have always wanted to be unique, the kind of person who had a story unlike any other, a story that people would have to pay attention to. Although frankly my life just isn’t that exciting…
So I am left with the option of creating a life inside of my head that is more exciting, full of adventure, betrayal, intrigue and suspense. Would I really want any of the things that happen in the movies to happen to me in real life? Um…. Probably not, but that’s why it’s a story.
As a young girl I never realized just how prevalent my story was to me. It was my identity… no wonder it was screaming to get out. I write this not because I think anyone will care to read it but because I have a story that I need to get out if only for myself to read and reflect on.
If anyone were to read this, I would tell them that their story is important and that they have a voice that needs to be heard. I don’t care what the world says! I don’t care if you are black, white, yellow or purple… you are important and anyone who says otherwise is still a child of God no matter how mislead they may be.
I guess all I am saying is this… before you judge a person; learn their story, get to know them. Nothing hurts worse than having someone jump to conclusions before they read your story…
Monday, August 2, 2010
Becoming a writer
My story- This is a story that I wrote when I was in eighth grade. I thought it would be fun for everyone to see my writing from a very early age.
“Kiara, Kiara we’re going out the door. Come on.”
“I’m coming mom” I called back. Hurriedly I grabed my shoes put them on and rushed to the door where my family was waiting. “I’m here” I announced excitedly.
“What took you so long?” My sister asked.
“I was just getting my shoes on” I answered annoyed.
“Come on lets go.” My mother said.
“Yeah lets go get something to eat.” My father announced cheerfully. So that is what we did, we went on a sunny hot day in St. George to The Chinese Bufett. The food was great and I stuffed myself with all the great foods; especially the Ice Cream. We were all eating happily when my Dad got a call on his Cell phone. In the next minute everything happened so fast; my dad put down his Cell phone then spoke something to my mother and then both my mother and father sat down looking somewhat upset. They did not eat anything after that. Althought us kids ate plenty. Me and my sister were the last ones to finish up eating and while we did two Chinese men who worked their stared and looked at us and asked us questions like how old we were and what are names were. I did nothing but tell them the truth. Then we walked out to join the rest of our family in the car.
“There you two are.” Said mom the moment we got into the car. “We were beginning to wonder if you would ever come out of the resturant.”
I just smiled. My Mom still looked a little discouraged like she had looked after my dad recieved that strange phone call. “Mom is everything ok?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you later” was all she said.
I was very confused at these words and I wanted to ask my Mom what she meant but I thought better of it. Yet I still wondered if I would ever know what she meant.
***********
Late that day when we got back to our hotel my parents fianally told us what had been bothering them. The call that my father had recieved earlier that day had been a call from his Sergeant in the National Guard saying that his unit was to go to war. We now understood why my parents had been so upset. We all agreed that that resturant was bad luck.
*********
“Comeone guys we need to get ready for Morgans baptism.” My mom called. We all groned not wanting to get in to our sunday dresses to go to Morgan our cousins baptism. I knew that it was important for me to go and support my cousin in her descison to get baptized yet I did not want to get into a dress. “Kiara” my mother called again “we are leaving in 15 minutes.”
“Allright” I called “I’m coming.” I began to pull on my dress though I was not very pleased about it then I wrestled on my tights and finally about 5 minutes later I had them on.
“Kiara are you coming?” My sister called.
“Yeah give me a minute.” I said. A few seconds later I walked over to the door where Mauri my sister was wa•iting. “What took you so long?” My sister asked.
“You do not want to know.” I replied.
*********
When we reached the church we were greeted by my Aunt the mother of Morgan who greeted us warmly. “Hi I am very glad to see that you made it ok.”
“Yeah so are we.” My dad replied.
“I was quite upset when I heard that you had been called to go to war.” She said changing the subject. “It must be very hard for all of you. What do your children think of this or have you not told them yet?” She asked my dad.
“We’ve told them and I honestly do not know what they are thinking.” He answered. I knew what I was thinking though. I was thinking that I was going to miss my dad very much. The rest of the night was alot of fun and soon enough I forgot that my dad was going to war and just enjoyed all the refreshments. During the party I asked my mom if we would be able to stay in a choir that we did while my dad was away. She said that she did not know. I began to get the feeling that things were going to be different while my dad was away and I wondered if things would ever be the same again.
epilogue
My dad really did go to war but things did not turn out to be that bad. Like we thought that he was going to have to go to Kuwait but he did not go their he went to Washington instead we were very greatful for that and we were able to continue the choir that we were in. Now my dad is going to war again this time we are pretty sure that he will be going to Iraq but we will always pray for him. I did miss my dad when he went almost two years ago and he was only gone for 6 months. This time he will be gone for a year and a half. I have no idea what it will be like but I guess that I’m just going to have to find that out. Last time he went he came back on my birthday exactly. That was very special I will never forget that day. We went to IHOP. I am really sad that he has to go again but I know that Hevenly Father will help me through it.
the end
“Kiara, Kiara we’re going out the door. Come on.”
“I’m coming mom” I called back. Hurriedly I grabed my shoes put them on and rushed to the door where my family was waiting. “I’m here” I announced excitedly.
“What took you so long?” My sister asked.
“I was just getting my shoes on” I answered annoyed.
“Come on lets go.” My mother said.
“Yeah lets go get something to eat.” My father announced cheerfully. So that is what we did, we went on a sunny hot day in St. George to The Chinese Bufett. The food was great and I stuffed myself with all the great foods; especially the Ice Cream. We were all eating happily when my Dad got a call on his Cell phone. In the next minute everything happened so fast; my dad put down his Cell phone then spoke something to my mother and then both my mother and father sat down looking somewhat upset. They did not eat anything after that. Althought us kids ate plenty. Me and my sister were the last ones to finish up eating and while we did two Chinese men who worked their stared and looked at us and asked us questions like how old we were and what are names were. I did nothing but tell them the truth. Then we walked out to join the rest of our family in the car.
“There you two are.” Said mom the moment we got into the car. “We were beginning to wonder if you would ever come out of the resturant.”
I just smiled. My Mom still looked a little discouraged like she had looked after my dad recieved that strange phone call. “Mom is everything ok?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you later” was all she said.
I was very confused at these words and I wanted to ask my Mom what she meant but I thought better of it. Yet I still wondered if I would ever know what she meant.
***********
Late that day when we got back to our hotel my parents fianally told us what had been bothering them. The call that my father had recieved earlier that day had been a call from his Sergeant in the National Guard saying that his unit was to go to war. We now understood why my parents had been so upset. We all agreed that that resturant was bad luck.
*********
“Comeone guys we need to get ready for Morgans baptism.” My mom called. We all groned not wanting to get in to our sunday dresses to go to Morgan our cousins baptism. I knew that it was important for me to go and support my cousin in her descison to get baptized yet I did not want to get into a dress. “Kiara” my mother called again “we are leaving in 15 minutes.”
“Allright” I called “I’m coming.” I began to pull on my dress though I was not very pleased about it then I wrestled on my tights and finally about 5 minutes later I had them on.
“Kiara are you coming?” My sister called.
“Yeah give me a minute.” I said. A few seconds later I walked over to the door where Mauri my sister was wa•iting. “What took you so long?” My sister asked.
“You do not want to know.” I replied.
*********
When we reached the church we were greeted by my Aunt the mother of Morgan who greeted us warmly. “Hi I am very glad to see that you made it ok.”
“Yeah so are we.” My dad replied.
“I was quite upset when I heard that you had been called to go to war.” She said changing the subject. “It must be very hard for all of you. What do your children think of this or have you not told them yet?” She asked my dad.
“We’ve told them and I honestly do not know what they are thinking.” He answered. I knew what I was thinking though. I was thinking that I was going to miss my dad very much. The rest of the night was alot of fun and soon enough I forgot that my dad was going to war and just enjoyed all the refreshments. During the party I asked my mom if we would be able to stay in a choir that we did while my dad was away. She said that she did not know. I began to get the feeling that things were going to be different while my dad was away and I wondered if things would ever be the same again.
epilogue
My dad really did go to war but things did not turn out to be that bad. Like we thought that he was going to have to go to Kuwait but he did not go their he went to Washington instead we were very greatful for that and we were able to continue the choir that we were in. Now my dad is going to war again this time we are pretty sure that he will be going to Iraq but we will always pray for him. I did miss my dad when he went almost two years ago and he was only gone for 6 months. This time he will be gone for a year and a half. I have no idea what it will be like but I guess that I’m just going to have to find that out. Last time he went he came back on my birthday exactly. That was very special I will never forget that day. We went to IHOP. I am really sad that he has to go again but I know that Hevenly Father will help me through it.
the end
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Two Heads are better than One
One of the adversaries greatest tools in bringing down God's children is that of division. We are more vulnerable alone than we are when we are surrounded by people who want to love and help us.
Earlier today I was reading out of the Book of Mormon in Alma chapter 4. In verse 12 it reads "Yea, he [Alma] saw great inequality among the people." I once heard that Pride is the mother of all sins. I would agree with this because pride leads to so many problems that would not occur if we all believed and saw each other equally and in the way that God our eternal father sees us.
Satan starts with pride, using it as his greatest tools to establish disunion among the people of God because he knows that if we are divided we will fall easier.
We have seen examples of this everywhere including in the animal Kingdom. When a predator wants to take down it's prey it does not attack the group as a whole but rather singles one of them out and then chases it down and kills it.
I am also reminded of the story in Alma of Amalakiah and the way in which he carefully and over time persuades an unsuspecting Lehonti to come down the mountain by himself into the midst of the wolf.
The devil is cunning and he will stop at nothing to get us on our own where he can destroy us. We should never give into those traitorous feelings of feeling like we are better on our own. I have at times felt like this. It is always better to stay in the presence of those who love us and want to take care of us.
There is a reason that God sent us down in family units. He wants us to be unified as families and in the church. The LDS church is based on this whole idea in the forms of wards, branches, stakes... etc. The Lord does not want us to be alone so he puts us with people who can help us in our life journey. Only we can distance ourselves from this safe haven and we must never allow it because our greatest enemy and adversary will snatch us up in the moment that we are alone.
Earlier today I was reading out of the Book of Mormon in Alma chapter 4. In verse 12 it reads "Yea, he [Alma] saw great inequality among the people." I once heard that Pride is the mother of all sins. I would agree with this because pride leads to so many problems that would not occur if we all believed and saw each other equally and in the way that God our eternal father sees us.
Satan starts with pride, using it as his greatest tools to establish disunion among the people of God because he knows that if we are divided we will fall easier.
We have seen examples of this everywhere including in the animal Kingdom. When a predator wants to take down it's prey it does not attack the group as a whole but rather singles one of them out and then chases it down and kills it.
I am also reminded of the story in Alma of Amalakiah and the way in which he carefully and over time persuades an unsuspecting Lehonti to come down the mountain by himself into the midst of the wolf.
The devil is cunning and he will stop at nothing to get us on our own where he can destroy us. We should never give into those traitorous feelings of feeling like we are better on our own. I have at times felt like this. It is always better to stay in the presence of those who love us and want to take care of us.
There is a reason that God sent us down in family units. He wants us to be unified as families and in the church. The LDS church is based on this whole idea in the forms of wards, branches, stakes... etc. The Lord does not want us to be alone so he puts us with people who can help us in our life journey. Only we can distance ourselves from this safe haven and we must never allow it because our greatest enemy and adversary will snatch us up in the moment that we are alone.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
"Dad, guess what? We almost Burned the House Down!"
Yesterday my dad walked in the door only to be greeted by the various outbursts of my siblings as they exclaimed "Dad you just missed it. We almost burned the house down." To this my dad replied in a sarcastically playful voice "Cool, how big was it?" Then in a more concerned voice he approached my mother and asked "what happened?" only to find that a rogue paper towel had gotten too close to the burner and had caught fire.
This experience was one in many of the kinds of things my dad hears when he comes through the door after work. More often than not there are simply delighted cries of "Dad's home!" However on occasion my dad is greeted by the triumphant cries of my brothers' and sister as they have risen up victorious over some near disaster in the home. I knew, from the moment that we could hear my dad as he turned the door knob that he would barely step through the entry way without hearing about it.
It occurred to me that these "experiences" are part of what makes up a family. I love my family because of their spontaneity and desire to just have fun with what life has to offer. We are not a perfect family and yet we make imperfect work.
Although mom often gets to join in the fun of what her kids are doing during the day, dad gets to hear all about it when he gets home. I often wonder what my dad must be thinking when he comes through the door to hear what escapades his children have undergone during the day. For me I almost find it comical, the stories that he gets to hear first hand the moment he steps through the door.
One of the things in this world that means a lot to me is when I can have pure, innocent fun with my siblings and in the process make my parents laugh. Often times my mother will just roll her eyes at us when we do random and spontaneous things, however the rolling of the eyes is just about as good as making her laugh.
I suppose it reminds me of what we truly are, family. Family members can do whatever they want and not worry about what the others will think, cuz guess what? We are stuck together forever and nothing we do will change that.
This experience was one in many of the kinds of things my dad hears when he comes through the door after work. More often than not there are simply delighted cries of "Dad's home!" However on occasion my dad is greeted by the triumphant cries of my brothers' and sister as they have risen up victorious over some near disaster in the home. I knew, from the moment that we could hear my dad as he turned the door knob that he would barely step through the entry way without hearing about it.
It occurred to me that these "experiences" are part of what makes up a family. I love my family because of their spontaneity and desire to just have fun with what life has to offer. We are not a perfect family and yet we make imperfect work.
Although mom often gets to join in the fun of what her kids are doing during the day, dad gets to hear all about it when he gets home. I often wonder what my dad must be thinking when he comes through the door to hear what escapades his children have undergone during the day. For me I almost find it comical, the stories that he gets to hear first hand the moment he steps through the door.
One of the things in this world that means a lot to me is when I can have pure, innocent fun with my siblings and in the process make my parents laugh. Often times my mother will just roll her eyes at us when we do random and spontaneous things, however the rolling of the eyes is just about as good as making her laugh.
I suppose it reminds me of what we truly are, family. Family members can do whatever they want and not worry about what the others will think, cuz guess what? We are stuck together forever and nothing we do will change that.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
A Never Ending Road
I stare straight ahead into the unknown. The road goes on for miles and miles. I feel a surge of pleasure, of purpose. I follow the road; where it will take me I do not know, and strangely enough I do not care. I just hope it will not end. My thoughts batter around in my head fighting to receive acknowledgment. Each one wishing to be examined and analyzed. My head is clear; I feel emotion and it's OK. I do not have to hold it back here. It is my place of security. No distractions, no putting on the face, hiding from people the turmoil that ravages inside. I am alone, just me and a never ending road.
I smile; I am running, I am leaving my problems behind. I am invincible, nothing will stop me now. The road goes on for miles. I don't have to face anything but the road ahead and another sunset. I drive towards the sunset but I know I will never reach it. The road goes on and on, the sun set never getting closer. It is like a painting, a picture of perfectness. It is beautiful because I can see it and yet it is not my destination. I have no destination.
The tears flow freely, a mixture of sobs and laughter. I remember the pain and yet I know that I am leaving it all behind, and there is joy. My speedometer reaches 90 miles per hour. I am invincible, nothing will stop me. Just me and the miles ahead on my road that has no destination.
I feel free, more free then I have felt in a very long time. I take a deep breath and relax. This is going to be a long trip. I sigh contentedly, resting my head against the seat. I have purpose and yet I do not have a destination. There is nothing to stop me, nothing that I have to do. I am free and I am leaving it all behind.
There are fields on either side of me, fields that run for miles in both directions, as far as the eye can see. The sky above is a light shade of gray mixed with pink from the sun as it drifts behind the mountains. Soon it will be dark, but time does not matter anymore. I have nowhere to be, nothing I must get done. I have all the time in the world and a road that does not end. I am now at 110, the landscape flies past. No... I fly past, I am flying. I am free.
The thoughts nag at me, something is missing. I look back, longing for something I don't remember. The speedometer drops; the road goes on for miles and miles. I am at 50... 40....30, I can't do it anymore. 20....15...10....5... I stop. My hands caress the steering wheel. I stare at the road, the road that has no destination. Never is an awfully long time, I think to myself.
My head is clear, the thoughts cascading around in my head, free... free to think and feel. The sun is almost gone.
I turn the car around... night falls. I reach 65, there is no hurry. I follow the road... I have a purpose. Tears stream down my face, this time there is no pain; there is nothing but joy and love. The love I feel for those who care about me, the ones I left behind.
I am relaxed, a peaceful serenity enveloping me into it's warm embrace.
I sigh in contentment as I follow the road...the road that will take me home.
...I stare ahead into the unknown. The road goes on for miles and miles. I feel a surge of pleasure, of purpose...
I smile; I am running, I am leaving my problems behind. I am invincible, nothing will stop me now. The road goes on for miles. I don't have to face anything but the road ahead and another sunset. I drive towards the sunset but I know I will never reach it. The road goes on and on, the sun set never getting closer. It is like a painting, a picture of perfectness. It is beautiful because I can see it and yet it is not my destination. I have no destination.
The tears flow freely, a mixture of sobs and laughter. I remember the pain and yet I know that I am leaving it all behind, and there is joy. My speedometer reaches 90 miles per hour. I am invincible, nothing will stop me. Just me and the miles ahead on my road that has no destination.
I feel free, more free then I have felt in a very long time. I take a deep breath and relax. This is going to be a long trip. I sigh contentedly, resting my head against the seat. I have purpose and yet I do not have a destination. There is nothing to stop me, nothing that I have to do. I am free and I am leaving it all behind.
There are fields on either side of me, fields that run for miles in both directions, as far as the eye can see. The sky above is a light shade of gray mixed with pink from the sun as it drifts behind the mountains. Soon it will be dark, but time does not matter anymore. I have nowhere to be, nothing I must get done. I have all the time in the world and a road that does not end. I am now at 110, the landscape flies past. No... I fly past, I am flying. I am free.
The thoughts nag at me, something is missing. I look back, longing for something I don't remember. The speedometer drops; the road goes on for miles and miles. I am at 50... 40....30, I can't do it anymore. 20....15...10....5... I stop. My hands caress the steering wheel. I stare at the road, the road that has no destination. Never is an awfully long time, I think to myself.
My head is clear, the thoughts cascading around in my head, free... free to think and feel. The sun is almost gone.
I turn the car around... night falls. I reach 65, there is no hurry. I follow the road... I have a purpose. Tears stream down my face, this time there is no pain; there is nothing but joy and love. The love I feel for those who care about me, the ones I left behind.
I am relaxed, a peaceful serenity enveloping me into it's warm embrace.
I sigh in contentment as I follow the road...the road that will take me home.
...I stare ahead into the unknown. The road goes on for miles and miles. I feel a surge of pleasure, of purpose...
Friday, January 29, 2010
Part Two- Take one and... action!
This is the first chapter in the story after the prologue. Hopefully you guys will enjoy this too.
Chapter 1
It was dark when I woke up. Images clouded my mind. I could still see my mother, streams of black from her smeared mascara running down her cheeks. The phone crashing to the floor, my mother’s dazed look as she fumbled towards the living room. I closed my eyes trying to shut the memories of my dream away, but the pictures only became more vivid. I took a deep breath, sitting up, realizing that I was soaked. My fingers brushed against my pillow, damp. I knew I had been crying again. I looked over at the alarm clock on my night stand. 5:30, school didn’t start for three hours.
Slowly I dragged myself towards the bathroom, decided that it was impossible to go back to sleep. I turned on the faucet, grateful for the noise as I tried to shut out the sound in my head of my mother choking on open sobs. As I waited for the tub to fill I stared at myself in the mirror. My hair, plastered to my face, was practically standing on end in some spots and there were streaks of black around my eyes as I had forgotten to remove my makeup the night before.
I suddenly realized I was freezing. Every inch of my body was drenched from sweat. It was as if I had slept in a pool of water, but rather than feeling refreshed I felt grimy and sticky as if my whole body had been layered in syrup. With a shudder I walked over to the tub and stuck my hand in the water to make certain that it was hot. It was. It was like a current of electricity as the heat from the water ran from the tips of my fingers to every end of my body.
Pressing the play button on my CD player I let the sounds of rock and roll pervade my ears and remove all memories of the dream. I then shut the water off and removing my drenched and sticky PJ’s, sank with gratitude into the warm water, its welcoming embrace enveloping me.
I opened my eyes to the sound of someone knocking. With a jolt I realized I had dozed off while in the water.
“Emma? Are you in there?” I paused, realizing that it was my aunt calling me. What time was it? I wondered to myself. How long had I been in the bath?
“Just a second” I called back. I got up reaching for a towel.
“It’s almost seven thirty.” Seven thirty I thought. Two hours? I had been sitting in the tub for two hours. “I have breakfast ready. Just wanted to make sure you were up and going.”
“Yeah…I’ll be down in a second.” I ran the towel through my damp hair. I hadn’t even shampooed it yet. Oh well… too late for that. I had a half hour to get ready. Wrapping myself in the towel I went back to my room and rummaged through my drawers trying to find something suitable to wear. I settled on a pair of dark blue jeans and a brown sweater. I looked out the window; it was raining again. What a surprise? I thought to myself sarcastically. That was one of the many things I hated about living in the state of Washington. It was green and pretty yes, but it never stopped raining. I longed for the sun. I wanted to go home, California. That was where I belonged and that was where I knew I would go back some day. As soon as I hit 18, the age I would officially become my own guardian, I was out of there.
I pulled my still slightly damp hair into a messy bun and stared at my reflection. As always, this was as good as it was going to get. I hurried back to my room. 7:55, the bus would be here any minute.
“Emma?” I heard my aunt call up the stairs. “Emma. You are going to miss the bus if you don’t get down here right now.” I grabbed my school bag and ran to the stairs taking them two at a time. “There you are. Here… eat this bagel on the way out.” I grabbed the bagel and began stuffing my face. “Hurry, your cousins just walked out the door.”
“Thanks Aunt Joanie.” I said as I ran for the door. I opened the door and ran out into the on pour of rain, pulling my hood up over my head as I did so. I rounded the corner and saw my cousins ahead getting on the bus. I ran, reaching the bus just as the doors were beginning to close. They stopped, opening for me. I climbed on, at the same time getting a rather stern look from the bus driver.
“I keep my stops to exactly five minutes. Not a second longer. Got it?” I nodded and began to make my way down the aisle.
“What took you so long?” I looked over at my cousin, Britnee, the youngest of my aunt’s three daughters.
“She probably overslept…again.” The oldest, Sherice, was looking at a portable mirror, touching up her make up as she always did. Sherice was a tall blonde, quite popular among the guys at school, who delighted in dolling herself up. She always had a mirror and some extra make up with her wherever she went and had a habit of often checking herself in the mirror. She looked up for a moment, a slight smirk on her face, and then turned back, rubbing some extra blush into her cheeks.
Britnee, seeming satisfied at the answer given by her older sister, turned back to her other sister, Leanne, my Aunt Joanie’s second daughter, and began complaining about a math assignment she had forgotten to do the night previous. I continued walking and noticing my friend Alyssa waving from the back went and sat next to her.
“Hi” she said. Her brown curls bobbing slightly as she did so. “You don’t look so good. You feeling ok?”
“Hmm…? Oh yeah. I am fine, just had a long night.”
“It wasn’t another night mare was it?” I stared back at my friend wondering if I should tell her the truth. I decided against it.
“No, I just couldn’t sleep for some reason.” I knew that she was unconvinced but she turned towards the front anyway. I wanted to keep talking to her, to shut out the memories that haunted me, and yet I had no idea what to say. What could I say? I had never been strong in my ability to trust people, no matter who they were. I had learned at a very young age that people, in general, could not be trusted; eventually they would stab you in the back. Companionship had never been one of my strong suits either. I had always lived in constant fear that the people I grew close to would either disappear or do something to hurt me. Such had been the story of my life. Everyone I had ever cared about had been lost to me; and so I had stopped trusting and I had stopped caring, that is until I met Alyssa. She was my best friend in the whole world and the most likely person on the planet who could understand me or who wouldn’t be taken aback by my….gift. And yet I could not trust her, not completely…
I couldn’t think straight. It was just so loud. I put my hands up to my head trying to shut it all out. I hated being in a location with lots of people, I preferred to be on my own. I had always been that way, only at first I had never understood why.
“Are you sure you are ok?” I realized that I had been clenching my jaw, and my hands were pressing against the side of my head, my fingers moving in slow circular motions, massaging my temples. I stopped, relaxing my jaw.
“Just a slight head ache, I will be fine.” It was one of the many things I loved about my friend. Alyssa was one of the most calm, relaxed people I had ever known. I think that was what had drawn me to her in the first place. She didn’t give me a head ache the way other people did. With her I didn’t hear the buzzing, the constant rage in my head that always occurred when I was around a group of people. It was part of my “gift.” Or curse, depending on how you looked at it.
I was different, unlike any other person on the face of the whole earth; or at least as I far as I knew. I had often wondered if there were others like me. I remembered when I was little, how I had hoped, how I had dreamed that Alyssa might be another of my kind. She and only she had managed to understand me better than any other person. And so I had hoped…
But the fact is there are only about .01% of the entire world populations, people who are like me. That is if they are still alive.
“Hey, did you finish that paper for English yet?” Alyssa pulled me out of my silent reverie, the buzzing less prominent.
“No, not quite; when is it due again?”
“I think this Friday. I am not entirely sure, I hope it is Friday. I finished mine but it would be nice to have a few more days… just to tie up the loose ends.” I smiled, that was my friend Alyssa. She had always wanted to be a writer and she took every English assignment very seriously as if it were going to be published. Everything had to be perfect. She had the highest grade of anybody in English and was praised and admired by everyone in the department. I had often used her to help me on my own assignments and papers. She was the only reason I was even passing English.
“How far have you gotten on yours?” She asked innocently. We had arrived at the school. We got to our feet, some of the younger ones pushing and shoving to get to the front.
“I…uh…got a page?” I said tentatively. Another thing about Alyssa, she was very mature for her age. She acted as a mother to most, getting after us for not doing assignments or for forgetting to wash our hands before lunch or whatever else she thought we could do better. But she was a friend to everyone and people looked up to and trusted her, even some of the seniors would come to her for advice.
“A page? Come on Em. We both know you are better than that. Don’t make me come over tonight. You do realize that the assignment is due in a few days and you need at least three to four pages.” She said it as a statement not a question. I smiled at her gentle chastisement. Some would find it annoying. I enjoyed it; it was another thing to distract me from the chaos that enveloped everywhere else. She was my one chance to escape.
“Come on or we’ll be late.” I suddenly realized that I hadn’t moved. I stared at Alyssa a few feet ahead. “Are you coming?” she asked.
“Yeah, sorry I was just thinking about something.” I turned and followed, the quiet peace gone. I frowned as we headed down the hall to geometry. I hated geometry, I hated math in general but there was something about shapes and angles that made everything far worse. We entered the classroom just as the bell rang.
“Ladies, thank you for joining us. Please take your seats.” Mr. Turner gestured to the class motioning for us to sit. I walked to my seat, sitting next to Alyssa.
“Alright settle down, you’re under my watch now. Let’s not waste my time or yours, especially not mine.” It was the way Mr. Turner always began class. “Now if you will please take out your homework from yesterday.” It had begun; I laid my head down on the desk, trying to ignore the buzzing.
Chapter 1
It was dark when I woke up. Images clouded my mind. I could still see my mother, streams of black from her smeared mascara running down her cheeks. The phone crashing to the floor, my mother’s dazed look as she fumbled towards the living room. I closed my eyes trying to shut the memories of my dream away, but the pictures only became more vivid. I took a deep breath, sitting up, realizing that I was soaked. My fingers brushed against my pillow, damp. I knew I had been crying again. I looked over at the alarm clock on my night stand. 5:30, school didn’t start for three hours.
Slowly I dragged myself towards the bathroom, decided that it was impossible to go back to sleep. I turned on the faucet, grateful for the noise as I tried to shut out the sound in my head of my mother choking on open sobs. As I waited for the tub to fill I stared at myself in the mirror. My hair, plastered to my face, was practically standing on end in some spots and there were streaks of black around my eyes as I had forgotten to remove my makeup the night before.
I suddenly realized I was freezing. Every inch of my body was drenched from sweat. It was as if I had slept in a pool of water, but rather than feeling refreshed I felt grimy and sticky as if my whole body had been layered in syrup. With a shudder I walked over to the tub and stuck my hand in the water to make certain that it was hot. It was. It was like a current of electricity as the heat from the water ran from the tips of my fingers to every end of my body.
Pressing the play button on my CD player I let the sounds of rock and roll pervade my ears and remove all memories of the dream. I then shut the water off and removing my drenched and sticky PJ’s, sank with gratitude into the warm water, its welcoming embrace enveloping me.
I opened my eyes to the sound of someone knocking. With a jolt I realized I had dozed off while in the water.
“Emma? Are you in there?” I paused, realizing that it was my aunt calling me. What time was it? I wondered to myself. How long had I been in the bath?
“Just a second” I called back. I got up reaching for a towel.
“It’s almost seven thirty.” Seven thirty I thought. Two hours? I had been sitting in the tub for two hours. “I have breakfast ready. Just wanted to make sure you were up and going.”
“Yeah…I’ll be down in a second.” I ran the towel through my damp hair. I hadn’t even shampooed it yet. Oh well… too late for that. I had a half hour to get ready. Wrapping myself in the towel I went back to my room and rummaged through my drawers trying to find something suitable to wear. I settled on a pair of dark blue jeans and a brown sweater. I looked out the window; it was raining again. What a surprise? I thought to myself sarcastically. That was one of the many things I hated about living in the state of Washington. It was green and pretty yes, but it never stopped raining. I longed for the sun. I wanted to go home, California. That was where I belonged and that was where I knew I would go back some day. As soon as I hit 18, the age I would officially become my own guardian, I was out of there.
I pulled my still slightly damp hair into a messy bun and stared at my reflection. As always, this was as good as it was going to get. I hurried back to my room. 7:55, the bus would be here any minute.
“Emma?” I heard my aunt call up the stairs. “Emma. You are going to miss the bus if you don’t get down here right now.” I grabbed my school bag and ran to the stairs taking them two at a time. “There you are. Here… eat this bagel on the way out.” I grabbed the bagel and began stuffing my face. “Hurry, your cousins just walked out the door.”
“Thanks Aunt Joanie.” I said as I ran for the door. I opened the door and ran out into the on pour of rain, pulling my hood up over my head as I did so. I rounded the corner and saw my cousins ahead getting on the bus. I ran, reaching the bus just as the doors were beginning to close. They stopped, opening for me. I climbed on, at the same time getting a rather stern look from the bus driver.
“I keep my stops to exactly five minutes. Not a second longer. Got it?” I nodded and began to make my way down the aisle.
“What took you so long?” I looked over at my cousin, Britnee, the youngest of my aunt’s three daughters.
“She probably overslept…again.” The oldest, Sherice, was looking at a portable mirror, touching up her make up as she always did. Sherice was a tall blonde, quite popular among the guys at school, who delighted in dolling herself up. She always had a mirror and some extra make up with her wherever she went and had a habit of often checking herself in the mirror. She looked up for a moment, a slight smirk on her face, and then turned back, rubbing some extra blush into her cheeks.
Britnee, seeming satisfied at the answer given by her older sister, turned back to her other sister, Leanne, my Aunt Joanie’s second daughter, and began complaining about a math assignment she had forgotten to do the night previous. I continued walking and noticing my friend Alyssa waving from the back went and sat next to her.
“Hi” she said. Her brown curls bobbing slightly as she did so. “You don’t look so good. You feeling ok?”
“Hmm…? Oh yeah. I am fine, just had a long night.”
“It wasn’t another night mare was it?” I stared back at my friend wondering if I should tell her the truth. I decided against it.
“No, I just couldn’t sleep for some reason.” I knew that she was unconvinced but she turned towards the front anyway. I wanted to keep talking to her, to shut out the memories that haunted me, and yet I had no idea what to say. What could I say? I had never been strong in my ability to trust people, no matter who they were. I had learned at a very young age that people, in general, could not be trusted; eventually they would stab you in the back. Companionship had never been one of my strong suits either. I had always lived in constant fear that the people I grew close to would either disappear or do something to hurt me. Such had been the story of my life. Everyone I had ever cared about had been lost to me; and so I had stopped trusting and I had stopped caring, that is until I met Alyssa. She was my best friend in the whole world and the most likely person on the planet who could understand me or who wouldn’t be taken aback by my….gift. And yet I could not trust her, not completely…
I couldn’t think straight. It was just so loud. I put my hands up to my head trying to shut it all out. I hated being in a location with lots of people, I preferred to be on my own. I had always been that way, only at first I had never understood why.
“Are you sure you are ok?” I realized that I had been clenching my jaw, and my hands were pressing against the side of my head, my fingers moving in slow circular motions, massaging my temples. I stopped, relaxing my jaw.
“Just a slight head ache, I will be fine.” It was one of the many things I loved about my friend. Alyssa was one of the most calm, relaxed people I had ever known. I think that was what had drawn me to her in the first place. She didn’t give me a head ache the way other people did. With her I didn’t hear the buzzing, the constant rage in my head that always occurred when I was around a group of people. It was part of my “gift.” Or curse, depending on how you looked at it.
I was different, unlike any other person on the face of the whole earth; or at least as I far as I knew. I had often wondered if there were others like me. I remembered when I was little, how I had hoped, how I had dreamed that Alyssa might be another of my kind. She and only she had managed to understand me better than any other person. And so I had hoped…
But the fact is there are only about .01% of the entire world populations, people who are like me. That is if they are still alive.
“Hey, did you finish that paper for English yet?” Alyssa pulled me out of my silent reverie, the buzzing less prominent.
“No, not quite; when is it due again?”
“I think this Friday. I am not entirely sure, I hope it is Friday. I finished mine but it would be nice to have a few more days… just to tie up the loose ends.” I smiled, that was my friend Alyssa. She had always wanted to be a writer and she took every English assignment very seriously as if it were going to be published. Everything had to be perfect. She had the highest grade of anybody in English and was praised and admired by everyone in the department. I had often used her to help me on my own assignments and papers. She was the only reason I was even passing English.
“How far have you gotten on yours?” She asked innocently. We had arrived at the school. We got to our feet, some of the younger ones pushing and shoving to get to the front.
“I…uh…got a page?” I said tentatively. Another thing about Alyssa, she was very mature for her age. She acted as a mother to most, getting after us for not doing assignments or for forgetting to wash our hands before lunch or whatever else she thought we could do better. But she was a friend to everyone and people looked up to and trusted her, even some of the seniors would come to her for advice.
“A page? Come on Em. We both know you are better than that. Don’t make me come over tonight. You do realize that the assignment is due in a few days and you need at least three to four pages.” She said it as a statement not a question. I smiled at her gentle chastisement. Some would find it annoying. I enjoyed it; it was another thing to distract me from the chaos that enveloped everywhere else. She was my one chance to escape.
“Come on or we’ll be late.” I suddenly realized that I hadn’t moved. I stared at Alyssa a few feet ahead. “Are you coming?” she asked.
“Yeah, sorry I was just thinking about something.” I turned and followed, the quiet peace gone. I frowned as we headed down the hall to geometry. I hated geometry, I hated math in general but there was something about shapes and angles that made everything far worse. We entered the classroom just as the bell rang.
“Ladies, thank you for joining us. Please take your seats.” Mr. Turner gestured to the class motioning for us to sit. I walked to my seat, sitting next to Alyssa.
“Alright settle down, you’re under my watch now. Let’s not waste my time or yours, especially not mine.” It was the way Mr. Turner always began class. “Now if you will please take out your homework from yesterday.” It had begun; I laid my head down on the desk, trying to ignore the buzzing.
Wisdom Teeth: Where's the Wisdom in that?
So there I was, waiting for my mouth to go numb and suddenly I had the sudden realization that I was not really in control of my situation anymore. I was afraid to move, almost afraid to even breathe for fear that I might swallow my own tongue. It was a very weird experience as I had not had my mouth numbed for quite some time. I couldn't help the thought that I wasn't the one in control anymore. There was no going back and I had no choice but to trust the dentist as he dug into my gums to retrieve the unwanted tooth. I had been worried all night before that something might go wrong. How did I know for sure that they weren't making a mistake and that the tooth was even in there? It had never bothered me before and I could feel nothing to signify that the tooth was even trying to come up. I started to doubt that it was there and I hoped and prayed that the dentist had been right and that I wouldn't have to undergo such an ordeal for no reason.
Such were my thoughts all that morning as I anticipated the inevitable. I told myself that it wouldn't be so bad, I only had one wisdom tooth and very soon it would all be over. It wasn't so bad at first, and I remember thinking after it was over, how fast it had been. I could hardly talk as half of my face was out of commission, but it was over! I bit onto the gauze as it soaked up the remains of the still oozing blood, hoping that I was biting onto that rather than my own cheek. How could I tell the difference? My cheek had no feeling.
Then the numbing started to wear off and I decided that, as annoying as it was to be numb, I would rather not feel anymore. That was when I first felt the pain of what I had just gone through and I wanted to cry. I took some medicine and held the ice pack to my cheek. How lucky I was to have only one wisdom tooth. Eventually the pain began to sooth and I was able to drink some orange juice through the left corner of my mouth.
Eventually I could actually start eating some food and I began to feel slightly better although it still hurt to move my mouth up and down. Hopefully I never have to go through that again. This will hopefully be the last time I have to tell this story...
I used to hate doctors, dentists, whatever. They were all associated with one thing, shots. Very unpleasant. I think a part of me hated going to the doctor or the dentist because I didn't really know or understand what they were going to do with me. It's just that when you do go to the doctor you sort of just have to trust that they know what they are doing. It's sort of like saying..."OK take care of me but please don't mess up. This is my body we are talking about."
Well, I am very pleased to say that everything is fine. There was definitely a tooth back there and it is now out. The dentist didn't mess up and I am great, despite a little trauma to the mouth. Or at least I hope so...
Such were my thoughts all that morning as I anticipated the inevitable. I told myself that it wouldn't be so bad, I only had one wisdom tooth and very soon it would all be over. It wasn't so bad at first, and I remember thinking after it was over, how fast it had been. I could hardly talk as half of my face was out of commission, but it was over! I bit onto the gauze as it soaked up the remains of the still oozing blood, hoping that I was biting onto that rather than my own cheek. How could I tell the difference? My cheek had no feeling.
Then the numbing started to wear off and I decided that, as annoying as it was to be numb, I would rather not feel anymore. That was when I first felt the pain of what I had just gone through and I wanted to cry. I took some medicine and held the ice pack to my cheek. How lucky I was to have only one wisdom tooth. Eventually the pain began to sooth and I was able to drink some orange juice through the left corner of my mouth.
Eventually I could actually start eating some food and I began to feel slightly better although it still hurt to move my mouth up and down. Hopefully I never have to go through that again. This will hopefully be the last time I have to tell this story...
I used to hate doctors, dentists, whatever. They were all associated with one thing, shots. Very unpleasant. I think a part of me hated going to the doctor or the dentist because I didn't really know or understand what they were going to do with me. It's just that when you do go to the doctor you sort of just have to trust that they know what they are doing. It's sort of like saying..."OK take care of me but please don't mess up. This is my body we are talking about."
Well, I am very pleased to say that everything is fine. There was definitely a tooth back there and it is now out. The dentist didn't mess up and I am great, despite a little trauma to the mouth. Or at least I hope so...
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Is this any good?
OK so I am working on starting a book, so far I have the prologue. I would appreciate any comments that you might have on whether or not it grabs the attention and if you felt like it was worth reading. Thanks :)
Prologue
The sun shone down, baking the city of Las Angeles with its heated rays. The hustle and bustle of the large city had quieted in the late, July afternoon, as the temperature had reached a scorching 115 degrees. A large granite building occupied a good portion of the street, its 100 foot walls towering to the sky, casting a large shadow in all directions. In front of the building lay a large square. In the exact center of the square was a fountain; the gurgling water the only sound that disrupted the still afternoon. A large arch encased the glass doors at the entrance. The label on the façade of the building, lining the arch, read in gold lettering: Harrington Enterprises.
A single man stood in front of the square. The man’s face was weather beaten and worn with age. He wore a dark blue suit, his shoes polished with care as if they were brand new. He turned his eyes, squinting, to look at the sun, mopping the back of his neck with a handkerchief as he did so. Sweat beaded down the man’s face in large drops as he anticipated the task ahead. He was used to the scorching heat having been born and raised in LA. On any other day he would hardly have noticed the temperature; but today was different, and he couldn’t help the nervous knot that was beginning to tie up his stomach. Pulling the handkerchief out once again he wiped his face and licked his dry lips turning to face the doors on the opposite end of the square. Taking a deep breath he walked toward the doors pulling from the back of his trousers a shiny revolver.
Prologue
The sun shone down, baking the city of Las Angeles with its heated rays. The hustle and bustle of the large city had quieted in the late, July afternoon, as the temperature had reached a scorching 115 degrees. A large granite building occupied a good portion of the street, its 100 foot walls towering to the sky, casting a large shadow in all directions. In front of the building lay a large square. In the exact center of the square was a fountain; the gurgling water the only sound that disrupted the still afternoon. A large arch encased the glass doors at the entrance. The label on the façade of the building, lining the arch, read in gold lettering: Harrington Enterprises.
A single man stood in front of the square. The man’s face was weather beaten and worn with age. He wore a dark blue suit, his shoes polished with care as if they were brand new. He turned his eyes, squinting, to look at the sun, mopping the back of his neck with a handkerchief as he did so. Sweat beaded down the man’s face in large drops as he anticipated the task ahead. He was used to the scorching heat having been born and raised in LA. On any other day he would hardly have noticed the temperature; but today was different, and he couldn’t help the nervous knot that was beginning to tie up his stomach. Pulling the handkerchief out once again he wiped his face and licked his dry lips turning to face the doors on the opposite end of the square. Taking a deep breath he walked toward the doors pulling from the back of his trousers a shiny revolver.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Is English just about Grammar?
An interesting point was brought up in a discussion that I read on face book. One individual seemed to think that English was all about grammar and vocabulary and nothing else. He basically said that it's ok to read books that are not grammatically correct as long as it's not for an English class. What?... Ok slow down and back up. Who says that literature that doesn't have perfect grammar and big words is not worth anything in the English classroom? What about the style of writing? Since when did English become all about structure? What happened to expressing yourself and learning to see the way others express themselves? In my English class, my senior year of high school we focused primarily on reading different pieces of literature and then analyzing those works. We did occasionally focus on expanding the vocabulary and learning the correct grammar because that part is just as important, but it is not all of it.
My favorite part about English is being able to write and express myself. Part of that love came from reading and seeing how other people expressed themselves. I know that writing is not for everyone but at least for me, it sparked something that made me want to be a writer. I had a voice and I wanted to share it. I am sharing it right now and nothing gives me greater pleasure.
I am not saying that grammar is useless and should be thrown at the window. I don't think it should. Grammar is essential to making a writer sound credible. However I don't feel that English should be all about grammar. If the only reason we read in English is to better our grammatical skills and anything else is out, then I think there is a slight problem. You can accomplish just as much for an English class with reading and analyzing a person's voice and opinion as you can memorizing rules and structure.
My favorite part about English is being able to write and express myself. Part of that love came from reading and seeing how other people expressed themselves. I know that writing is not for everyone but at least for me, it sparked something that made me want to be a writer. I had a voice and I wanted to share it. I am sharing it right now and nothing gives me greater pleasure.
I am not saying that grammar is useless and should be thrown at the window. I don't think it should. Grammar is essential to making a writer sound credible. However I don't feel that English should be all about grammar. If the only reason we read in English is to better our grammatical skills and anything else is out, then I think there is a slight problem. You can accomplish just as much for an English class with reading and analyzing a person's voice and opinion as you can memorizing rules and structure.
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