Hello, all!
Earlier today, my friend Laura commented on a couple of my old blogs, which brought me back here. I found myself reading some of my old posts and remembering why I loved blogging.
From 2009 to 2011, I blogged fairly regularly-- mostly during my time in France, but recorded deep within the pages of this blog is my own personal history. The thoughts, emotions, memories, rants, and dreams of a girl that had a lot to say and wasn't afraid to share. This blog was both my private story and my public outlet, and I realize that this was an important part of my life, for much longer than I acknowledge now.
I stopped blogging rather abruptly, and sometimes I think about why I made that decision. I didn't really explain it on here-- I posted once in January of 2012, but beyond that, I made the fatal blog mistake of disappearing. I'm still around on the internet-- my tumblr is pretty active, but it isn't a personal blog so much as a collection of things I like.
The thing about this blog is that it became a bit of a chore after a while-- it began to feel like something I HAD to do, rather than something I wanted to do. It became a far-too-public forum for me to feel comfortable sharing some of the experiences that I had previously written about without even thinking twice. As I get older, I become more aware that the internet is a very public thing and in most cases, there are things that really ought to be kept private. There are things that are difficult to share, and not knowing who reads my blog made me feel vulnerable.
Furthermore, this blog ceased to be about "Aly en France". It became a personal blog, for my own benefit (and the benefit of anybody that cared to read what I have to share), and the transition struck me as awkward.
It may be time to start blogging again. My distance from France does not mean that is no longer part of my identity or my lifestyle.
With that in mind, here's to a new year-- and maybe a new blog. As my tumblr states: my heart is in France, and I am here. Life is ongoing, and I may be ready to share it again.
-Aly
Showing posts with label Aly. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Aly. Show all posts
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Monday, January 9, 2012
On Resolutions & Reflections
Hello, all!
This isn't the typical start-of-a-new year post. It's a send-off to 2011 and the beautiful moments that made the year special, and it's me looking forward to this year with the only expectation being Happiness.
This isn't the typical start-of-a-new year post. It's a send-off to 2011 and the beautiful moments that made the year special, and it's me looking forward to this year with the only expectation being Happiness.
2011 was definitely an important year for me... I graduated from high school and went off to college, which is quite a life change. But this past year, I discovered friendships that I didn't realize would become so important to me. I learned about myself and had a few preconceptions be thrown out the window. I realized how important some people have been in my life and though I never actually thanked them, I realized that it's quite important to me to recognize my dependence upon others. So, to everyone that made 2011 special-- from hugs, adventures, advice, knowledge, or simply a kind word... thank you for making my year wonderful.
This year, though, I'm thinking that it's time for change.
I'm not going to make specific resolutions this year (and I realize that it's now slightly over a week into 2012, but in my defense I haven't had internet access for a while...), but I'm going based on concepts. In theory, I am not challenging myself to change who I am, but rather to try to become the person that I want to be.
For now, this means that my resolutions are the following:
- Create something beautiful
- Seek simplicity
- Make good decisions
- Have an adventure
- Fill life with happiness
- Surround myself with supportive, awesome people
These are not resolutions that necessarily have an end. I learned last year that I don't do that well with exact resolutions (with the exception of reading at least 50 books, since I was able to do that by volunteering at the library). These are not so much resolutions for the new year as they are resolutions for life, the kind that are applicable at any time of the year and ideas that could be implemented anytime.
As always, though, I'm looking forward to this year, and all the things that are ahead. Some of these resolutions are applicable to blogging, but I have some other projects that I'll be embarking on this year, and I intend to continue sharing some of these with you.
Anyway, thanks for reading as always and I hope your year has been beautiful so far. I hope that 2011 ended in happiness & joy and that this year brings you all the happiness that you deserve.
Love,
Aly
Monday, September 5, 2011
Lacking Words
Hello, all!
Lacking words to describe today, or any deep revelations to share, I leave you with a few scattered thoughts.
This weekend felt like summer, prolonged.
Repetition of familiar trails isn't always bad; the familiarity is comforting.
Sometimes the best quotes are the ones that are embarrassing.
Moments between friends when seen by an almost-stranger are incredibly awkward.
It's hard to explain some things and still sound sane.
Goodnight!
A demain.
-Aly
Lacking words to describe today, or any deep revelations to share, I leave you with a few scattered thoughts.
This weekend felt like summer, prolonged.
Repetition of familiar trails isn't always bad; the familiarity is comforting.
Sometimes the best quotes are the ones that are embarrassing.
Moments between friends when seen by an almost-stranger are incredibly awkward.
It's hard to explain some things and still sound sane.
Goodnight!
A demain.
-Aly
Sunday, September 4, 2011
New and Old
Here is where the new and the old collide. Here is where there is only the unknown, and the possibility of a shift. Here, on this treacherous crevice of choices, I hesitate and wonder if I have the courage to jump off the edge or if I will simply fall backwards and trust the solidity of solid ground.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Home
Hello, all!
So, I know it's after midnight so it's TECHNICALLY September 3rd, but so far as I'm concerned, it's still the 2nd so this is still a daily post.
I'm back home, in my even-more-empty-and-echo-y room, and I can't help but feel a bit disconnected. This is home... my room and my bed (though it now looks freakishly small after dorm beds), my house, my car. This is my town, the place I've lived for the last eight years, but part of me doesn't recognize this as "home" anymore.
Home is in the mountains, in my little dorm room with few decorations and far too much window, where the sun wakes me up cheerily every day by shining directly in my face. Where I spend a lot of time wandering aimlessly with these friends that are already like family, and where we spend a lot of time doing absolutely nothing.
The thing is, a couple of them are here for the weekend. One of them lives in town, and the other is living in my house for the weekend so that she isn't alone on campus. They're my new home, these friends, and here they are, lurking in the home I've known for years. It's a strange disconnect and a strange sense of displacement. Our friendship is almost defined by the where-- the Botanical Gardens (the Botans), the Ridges, and even the mountains themselves-- but here, far away from mountains and far less shady, our friendship remains the same sort of comfortable companionship that makes it seem like I have known them for much longer than the time I have.
Driving around my town tonight, music blaring and banter flowing freely as it always does, it strikes me that home is never a set place. Home is everywhere that you find a place to be, where you are comfortable with yourself and your surroundings. And seeing home as a sort-of-stranger only seems to make it more magical, because it is not the physical place that matters, but how you see the place.
A demain!
-Aly
So, I know it's after midnight so it's TECHNICALLY September 3rd, but so far as I'm concerned, it's still the 2nd so this is still a daily post.
I'm back home, in my even-more-empty-and-echo-y room, and I can't help but feel a bit disconnected. This is home... my room and my bed (though it now looks freakishly small after dorm beds), my house, my car. This is my town, the place I've lived for the last eight years, but part of me doesn't recognize this as "home" anymore.
Home is in the mountains, in my little dorm room with few decorations and far too much window, where the sun wakes me up cheerily every day by shining directly in my face. Where I spend a lot of time wandering aimlessly with these friends that are already like family, and where we spend a lot of time doing absolutely nothing.
The thing is, a couple of them are here for the weekend. One of them lives in town, and the other is living in my house for the weekend so that she isn't alone on campus. They're my new home, these friends, and here they are, lurking in the home I've known for years. It's a strange disconnect and a strange sense of displacement. Our friendship is almost defined by the where-- the Botanical Gardens (the Botans), the Ridges, and even the mountains themselves-- but here, far away from mountains and far less shady, our friendship remains the same sort of comfortable companionship that makes it seem like I have known them for much longer than the time I have.
Driving around my town tonight, music blaring and banter flowing freely as it always does, it strikes me that home is never a set place. Home is everywhere that you find a place to be, where you are comfortable with yourself and your surroundings. And seeing home as a sort-of-stranger only seems to make it more magical, because it is not the physical place that matters, but how you see the place.
A demain!
-Aly
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Too Many Goodbyes
Hello, all!
I'm done with high school. I've taken all my exams and finished my classes. I've started cleaning out boxes of stuff. I've been signing yearbooks, writing letters, reading notes written to me, uploading pictures to facebook. Everything is frantic, a last-ditch effort to claim ownership of a vaguely-familiar life. It's all leading to goodbye.
I hate goodbyes, I really do. And these goodbyes... well, I don't want to make most of them. I refuse to accept that this is the end, because endings can be sad more often than not.
I refuse to say goodbye to the movie nights that have characterized a seven-year-long-friendship.
I refuse to say goodbye to the stories I created when I was just beginning to write.
I won't say goodbye to the teachers that have made my high school experience wonderful, and I especially will not say goodbye to the ones that have made this year memorable and amazing.
I won't say goodbye to my unexpected friends, or the unexpected moments of beauty experienced with them.
I refuse to say goodbye to the friends with whom I found a home. Or the stories we wrote in our lives or in our minds, the ones that we never finished and the ones that we did because living is much easier than imagining, at least for now.
I won't say goodbye to these half-created plans, these fractions of thoughts and ideas that seem never to happen. I won't give up hope that they can happen, that these crazy dreams and plans and schemes are even possible-- because I want to believe that they will.
I won't say goodbye to the list of things I meant to do this year but didn't. Goals can change and shift and not accomplishing them is no reason for me to give up trying to make them happen in some form.
But mostly, I absolutely refuse to say goodbye to my life as it is now--- the people or this place or these dreams or these words, even. It is not yet gone and I am still here. And I refuse to say goodbye because I know I will return to HERE in my mind and in my future, to every aspect of this hectic existence.
Thanks for listening, as always-- sorry I've been absent, but as mentioned... frantic, crazy life. Sometimes I just need a break from my own mind, but sometimes I need to speak.
-Aly
I'm done with high school. I've taken all my exams and finished my classes. I've started cleaning out boxes of stuff. I've been signing yearbooks, writing letters, reading notes written to me, uploading pictures to facebook. Everything is frantic, a last-ditch effort to claim ownership of a vaguely-familiar life. It's all leading to goodbye.
I hate goodbyes, I really do. And these goodbyes... well, I don't want to make most of them. I refuse to accept that this is the end, because endings can be sad more often than not.
I refuse to say goodbye to the movie nights that have characterized a seven-year-long-friendship.
I refuse to say goodbye to the stories I created when I was just beginning to write.
I won't say goodbye to the teachers that have made my high school experience wonderful, and I especially will not say goodbye to the ones that have made this year memorable and amazing.
I won't say goodbye to my unexpected friends, or the unexpected moments of beauty experienced with them.
I refuse to say goodbye to the friends with whom I found a home. Or the stories we wrote in our lives or in our minds, the ones that we never finished and the ones that we did because living is much easier than imagining, at least for now.
I won't say goodbye to these half-created plans, these fractions of thoughts and ideas that seem never to happen. I won't give up hope that they can happen, that these crazy dreams and plans and schemes are even possible-- because I want to believe that they will.
I won't say goodbye to the list of things I meant to do this year but didn't. Goals can change and shift and not accomplishing them is no reason for me to give up trying to make them happen in some form.
But mostly, I absolutely refuse to say goodbye to my life as it is now--- the people or this place or these dreams or these words, even. It is not yet gone and I am still here. And I refuse to say goodbye because I know I will return to HERE in my mind and in my future, to every aspect of this hectic existence.
Thanks for listening, as always-- sorry I've been absent, but as mentioned... frantic, crazy life. Sometimes I just need a break from my own mind, but sometimes I need to speak.
-Aly
Monday, April 4, 2011
Fears and Promises
Hello, all!
So this has been bothering me all day, and I'm writing about it so that I can stop thinking about it and actually focus.
I have lots of fears. Small fears, and probably irrational ones, but they're ones that continually make sense in the context of my life. Basically, I fear dramatic change that could end in me losing people that are important to me. I could elaborate much more on that, but I'd rather not.
This is partially because I'll be going to visit UNC-Asheville again on Friday, and since that's where I'll be going to college next year (unless something changes within the next month, which is unlikely but still...). Going up to Asheville again for the first of the many orientation-type sessions is like admitting to myself that high school is ending and my life is going to change very DRAMATICALLY, and much sooner than I'm prepared for.
It's scary. I mean, it's awesome and I'm excited, but I'm also terrified. The same old fears, the ones that show up every time you're thrust into a situation where you'll be meeting lots of strangers and what-if-I-make-a-fool-of-myself, what-if-nobody-likes-me, what-if-I-become-cripplingly-socially-awkward, what-if-I-get-lost... and there are so many more. Irrational fears. Silly fears, as though my brain has been transported back to the beginning of middle school or something equally traumatizing.
I can't get rid of them, though. I can't help but be anxious about these minuscule, potential problems. Because these are the small ones, the ones that I'm okay with voicing, and they don't even touch on the larger issues, being that MY LIFE IS CHANGING AND I AM WORRIED. I guess that's the easiest way to say it for now. I want to remind myself of things that I will remember to do, or at least, things I don't want myself to do. Promises, in a way, to myself, ways I want my life to be now and in the future.
I promise that I will not:
I'm giving myself the freedom to change my life whenever I want to. I'm not afraid of my fears (thanks, FDR... *nerd jokes*), and I'll try to understand myself and my choices. I'll try to embrace change and choose the best path. And if I mess up, I'm going to try my hardest to correct it, rather than dwelling on it.
I can make these promises now and hopefully I'll remember them later, and if I don't, somebody will hopefully be around to remind me. (Thanks in advance! :))
So... what are your fears? What promises do you want to make to yourself?
-Aly
P.S. Thanks for reading, as always! Even more thanks for the comments on my last post-- everybody was so encouraging and understanding. Love to all of you. <3
So this has been bothering me all day, and I'm writing about it so that I can stop thinking about it and actually focus.
I have lots of fears. Small fears, and probably irrational ones, but they're ones that continually make sense in the context of my life. Basically, I fear dramatic change that could end in me losing people that are important to me. I could elaborate much more on that, but I'd rather not.
This is partially because I'll be going to visit UNC-Asheville again on Friday, and since that's where I'll be going to college next year (unless something changes within the next month, which is unlikely but still...). Going up to Asheville again for the first of the many orientation-type sessions is like admitting to myself that high school is ending and my life is going to change very DRAMATICALLY, and much sooner than I'm prepared for.
It's scary. I mean, it's awesome and I'm excited, but I'm also terrified. The same old fears, the ones that show up every time you're thrust into a situation where you'll be meeting lots of strangers and what-if-I-make-a-fool-of-myself, what-if-nobody-likes-me, what-if-I-become-cripplingly-socially-awkward, what-if-I-get-lost... and there are so many more. Irrational fears. Silly fears, as though my brain has been transported back to the beginning of middle school or something equally traumatizing.
I can't get rid of them, though. I can't help but be anxious about these minuscule, potential problems. Because these are the small ones, the ones that I'm okay with voicing, and they don't even touch on the larger issues, being that MY LIFE IS CHANGING AND I AM WORRIED. I guess that's the easiest way to say it for now. I want to remind myself of things that I will remember to do, or at least, things I don't want myself to do. Promises, in a way, to myself, ways I want my life to be now and in the future.
I promise that I will not:
- Forget about my close friends that I have now.
- Let people think of me as an object or take advantage of me.
- Lose my morals.
- Follow blindly.
- Have a closed mind.
- Be afraid of new situations or opportunities.
- Put myself into situations that I know are dangerous.
- Abuse my body.
- Shut myself off from the world.
- Be afraid to make change in my life. (Even if it scares me.)
- Pretend to be somebody I'm not.
- Forget my dreams & ambitions.
- Be open to new friendships.
- Explore.
- Fill my life with things that make me happy.
- Focus on others, not just myself.
- Be honest with myself.
- Treat the earth with respect.
- Be kind.
- Remember how it feels to do something new and exciting.
- Be confident.
- Admit my faults... and try to change them.
- Ask forgiveness when I need to.
- Make positive decisions.
- Choose the life I want. (And not regret it.)
I'm giving myself the freedom to change my life whenever I want to. I'm not afraid of my fears (thanks, FDR... *nerd jokes*), and I'll try to understand myself and my choices. I'll try to embrace change and choose the best path. And if I mess up, I'm going to try my hardest to correct it, rather than dwelling on it.
I can make these promises now and hopefully I'll remember them later, and if I don't, somebody will hopefully be around to remind me. (Thanks in advance! :))
So... what are your fears? What promises do you want to make to yourself?
-Aly
P.S. Thanks for reading, as always! Even more thanks for the comments on my last post-- everybody was so encouraging and understanding. Love to all of you. <3
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
February Round-up!
Hello, all!
I just blogged every day for the month of February. If you missed one of the posts, here's the list here!
Feb. 1st: Return to Middle School-- musings about who I am now versus who I was in middle school & the passage of time.
Feb. 2nd: Forgotten Posts-- a list of things I had written about in the past that I had forgotten to publish.
Feb. 3rd: Guest Post: Claire on Music -- Claire talks about music and learning to play instruments.
Feb. 4th: The Seven Stages of Procrastination -- a short list about how I go about procrastination.
Feb. 5th: A Barely-Golden Sky -- a short narrative inspired by a picture.
Feb. 6th: Super Bowl Sunday -- where I reveal how I spent my day. (This one is really insignificant.)
Feb. 7th: That Kind of Day -- a day when everything felt odd and I once again retreated to the library.
Feb. 8th: Warning: (Religion) Rant Ahead -- exactly what it sounds like.
Feb. 9th: The Math Class Narrative -- where I share a narrative I wrote about my math class.
Feb. 10th: Wrock Concert -- where I reveal what I was actually doing on February 9th, and share a wizard rock song.
Feb. 11th: Five-ish Friday Links -- where I share links to sites I spend way too much time on, and things you should know about.
Feb. 12th: Secret Project! -- a short post about how I spent my day sewing, though I have yet to actually finish the video I promise in the post... whoops... (This one is insignificant, too.)
Feb. 13th: Lost Ideas -- musings about inspiration folders and ideas that we lose.
Feb. 14th: Happy I'm-Single-On-Valentine's Day -- where I talk about love, just not the romantic kind, and why I like Valentine's Day... and write a list of people ten people I love.
Feb. 15th: An Excerpt from the Locket -- I share an excerpt from my 2010 NaNoWriMo novel.
Feb. 16th: Balance -- musings about my New Year's Resolutions, how to prioritize, and my inability to do so.
Feb. 17th: Incoherent Poetry -- a short poem that describes my day.
Feb. 18th: Feminism -- where I rant about what I think feminism means.
Feb. 19th: Simplicity -- an even shorter, incredibly simple poem.
Feb. 20th: To New Readers & Old -- where I thank you for reading, and reveal that I have no idea what this blog is anymore.
Feb. 21st: The Inevitability of Death -- musings about death & our fear of it.
Feb. 22nd: The Senses -- where I talk about the senses, sight, and perception.
Feb. 23rd: Highway -- I find a poem I wrote in 2009 and share it.
Feb. 24th: An Unsurprising Confession -- where I reveal my love for Shakespeare.
Feb. 25th: 100 Happy Things -- in honor of my 100th blog post, I write a list of 100 things to be happy about.
Feb. 26th: Out of my Comfort Zone -- I blog after an awkward dance and muse about trying new things.
Feb. 27th: Mindless Reading -- where I share my shameless pleasure of reading books that don't require me to think.
Feb. 28th: Nearly March -- where I unveil the new blog design, talk about what to expect, and ask you what you want me to blog about!
Well, happy March, everybody! I'm glad you stuck around for NaBloPoMo, and if you're a blogger, you should definitely consider doing it some month-- I promise, it's not nearly as scary as NaNoWriMo!
Question for today:
- What was your favorite post from this past month? Why?
(Mine, in case you're wondering, is the 100 Happy Things.)
A demain for the FFB event! :)
-Aly
I just blogged every day for the month of February. If you missed one of the posts, here's the list here!
Feb. 1st: Return to Middle School-- musings about who I am now versus who I was in middle school & the passage of time.
Feb. 2nd: Forgotten Posts-- a list of things I had written about in the past that I had forgotten to publish.
Feb. 3rd: Guest Post: Claire on Music -- Claire talks about music and learning to play instruments.
Feb. 4th: The Seven Stages of Procrastination -- a short list about how I go about procrastination.
Feb. 5th: A Barely-Golden Sky -- a short narrative inspired by a picture.
Feb. 6th: Super Bowl Sunday -- where I reveal how I spent my day. (This one is really insignificant.)
Feb. 7th: That Kind of Day -- a day when everything felt odd and I once again retreated to the library.
Feb. 8th: Warning: (Religion) Rant Ahead -- exactly what it sounds like.
Feb. 9th: The Math Class Narrative -- where I share a narrative I wrote about my math class.
Feb. 10th: Wrock Concert -- where I reveal what I was actually doing on February 9th, and share a wizard rock song.
Feb. 11th: Five-ish Friday Links -- where I share links to sites I spend way too much time on, and things you should know about.
Feb. 12th: Secret Project! -- a short post about how I spent my day sewing, though I have yet to actually finish the video I promise in the post... whoops... (This one is insignificant, too.)
Feb. 13th: Lost Ideas -- musings about inspiration folders and ideas that we lose.
Feb. 14th: Happy I'm-Single-On-Valentine's Day -- where I talk about love, just not the romantic kind, and why I like Valentine's Day... and write a list of people ten people I love.
Feb. 15th: An Excerpt from the Locket -- I share an excerpt from my 2010 NaNoWriMo novel.
Feb. 16th: Balance -- musings about my New Year's Resolutions, how to prioritize, and my inability to do so.
Feb. 17th: Incoherent Poetry -- a short poem that describes my day.
Feb. 18th: Feminism -- where I rant about what I think feminism means.
Feb. 19th: Simplicity -- an even shorter, incredibly simple poem.
Feb. 20th: To New Readers & Old -- where I thank you for reading, and reveal that I have no idea what this blog is anymore.
Feb. 21st: The Inevitability of Death -- musings about death & our fear of it.
Feb. 22nd: The Senses -- where I talk about the senses, sight, and perception.
Feb. 23rd: Highway -- I find a poem I wrote in 2009 and share it.
Feb. 24th: An Unsurprising Confession -- where I reveal my love for Shakespeare.
Feb. 25th: 100 Happy Things -- in honor of my 100th blog post, I write a list of 100 things to be happy about.
Feb. 26th: Out of my Comfort Zone -- I blog after an awkward dance and muse about trying new things.
Feb. 27th: Mindless Reading -- where I share my shameless pleasure of reading books that don't require me to think.
Feb. 28th: Nearly March -- where I unveil the new blog design, talk about what to expect, and ask you what you want me to blog about!
Well, happy March, everybody! I'm glad you stuck around for NaBloPoMo, and if you're a blogger, you should definitely consider doing it some month-- I promise, it's not nearly as scary as NaNoWriMo!
Question for today:
- What was your favorite post from this past month? Why?
(Mine, in case you're wondering, is the 100 Happy Things.)
A demain for the FFB event! :)
-Aly
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Mindless Reading
Hello, all!
So, today is the second-to-last day of daily blogging! And I really did nothing of interest today. I wen to the library and re-shelved books for a while (volunteering is FUN.), and then I wandered down to the YA section to see if they had any of the books I've been wanting to read.
After yesterday, I was just thinking too much about too many things, which seems to be the norm for this month, so I purposefully sought out books by authors I like and some of the silly, mindless chick-lit that I gravitate towards when I am reading with the express purpose of NOT thinking too hard.
I hate to be a stereotypical teenage girl here, but... it's like Chick Flicks. A shameful secret, but I do kind of adore the sensation of engrossing myself in a cutesy-vaguely-romantic story, even if the writing is awful. Also, I'm completely okay with books that I can read quickly and not have to dwell on for long after. It's exhausting to have to analyze everything in a book, sometimes.
So today I picked up The Boyfriend List by E. Lockhart (I keep seeing it at the used bookstore that I love, but I didn't think it was worth spending money on...) and Kiss & Blog by Alyson Noel (I've read another of her books before, and I wondered if this was any better. And I admit, I kind of love books that have a main character that blogs, because I wonder if I can relate.) I got exactly what I bargained for: crappy teen romances with little substance. Kiss and Blog was particularly poorly-written and frustrating, and I'll probably be reviewing it on Goodreads later.
I don't feel bad about wasting several hours of my day on these books. It's nice to read for fun. But at the same time, some of the issues I found in the books are ones that rile up the feminist part of me and I wonder about the quality of literature and of female characters, and even the validity of "chick lit". What an awful name, too-- chick lit-- as though it's somehow inferior to other literature. (Though in this case, it was... I mean...)
I'll be participating in an FFB (Feminist Fashion Bloggers) event in a few days, so look for that. But I think that I could definitely write about Chick Lit and female protagonists sometime, but since today is my day of mindless reading, I am not going to go into a rant that requires actual brain power.
What do you do when you don't WANT to think? Do you have any shameful pleasures that you usually don't share?
(Also, if you know what goodreads is, you are AWESOME.)
A demain!
-Aly
So, today is the second-to-last day of daily blogging! And I really did nothing of interest today. I wen to the library and re-shelved books for a while (volunteering is FUN.), and then I wandered down to the YA section to see if they had any of the books I've been wanting to read.
After yesterday, I was just thinking too much about too many things, which seems to be the norm for this month, so I purposefully sought out books by authors I like and some of the silly, mindless chick-lit that I gravitate towards when I am reading with the express purpose of NOT thinking too hard.
I hate to be a stereotypical teenage girl here, but... it's like Chick Flicks. A shameful secret, but I do kind of adore the sensation of engrossing myself in a cutesy-vaguely-romantic story, even if the writing is awful. Also, I'm completely okay with books that I can read quickly and not have to dwell on for long after. It's exhausting to have to analyze everything in a book, sometimes.
So today I picked up The Boyfriend List by E. Lockhart (I keep seeing it at the used bookstore that I love, but I didn't think it was worth spending money on...) and Kiss & Blog by Alyson Noel (I've read another of her books before, and I wondered if this was any better. And I admit, I kind of love books that have a main character that blogs, because I wonder if I can relate.) I got exactly what I bargained for: crappy teen romances with little substance. Kiss and Blog was particularly poorly-written and frustrating, and I'll probably be reviewing it on Goodreads later.
I don't feel bad about wasting several hours of my day on these books. It's nice to read for fun. But at the same time, some of the issues I found in the books are ones that rile up the feminist part of me and I wonder about the quality of literature and of female characters, and even the validity of "chick lit". What an awful name, too-- chick lit-- as though it's somehow inferior to other literature. (Though in this case, it was... I mean...)
I'll be participating in an FFB (Feminist Fashion Bloggers) event in a few days, so look for that. But I think that I could definitely write about Chick Lit and female protagonists sometime, but since today is my day of mindless reading, I am not going to go into a rant that requires actual brain power.
What do you do when you don't WANT to think? Do you have any shameful pleasures that you usually don't share?
(Also, if you know what goodreads is, you are AWESOME.)
A demain!
-Aly
Thursday, February 24, 2011
An Unsurprising Confession
Hello, all!
I'm not sure what to write about today. This is my 99th post and all I can think about is how today was just a good day. Not a memorable day, but just a good day-- or at least good enough that I feel good right now.
I have a confession to make. Nothing bad.
Tomorrow, I have to turn in the title to an essay I have to write for my Shakespeare class that is due in 4th quarter. I only had one idea-- the role of women in Shakespeare, particularly Ophelia in Hamlet and Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing. They're two VERY different characters, and it's kind of along the lines of feminism (which I've been thinking about MORE lately since I joined FFB). However, over the course of a quick conversation with my teacher, my new topic will be Sociology in Shakespeare, as in how does Shakespeare represent societal issues, stereotypes, and ideas in his works? Like antisemitism in the Merchant of Venice, religion in Hamlet, women in any of his plays (but particularly Taming of the Shrew), racism in Othello... I'm already really excited about writing it, though I wonder how I will fit all that I could find to say into a four or five page paper.
I'm sure it's obvious by now, my confession is that I'm a bit of a Shakespeare nerd. It's completely unsurprising, actually; I've talked about my Shakespeare class a lot over many posts, and I love spending time at the bookstore looking for books that are inspired by some of his works. I find his sonnets to be beautiful, his plays to be wonderfully complex, and his language to be enchanting. I love his characters, and they're written so well that I can't help but marvel at his mastery. I mean, granted, some of his characters annoy me to no end, but I think that's a good thing-- they're so real, enough that I respond emotionally to their stories.
Earlier this year, I had never read Shakespeare before (my education has been lacking; usually freshmen read Romeo and Juliet but my class didn't). I had only heard about the class from some of my friends over the years (all positive reviews), but I've also heard bad things about Shakespeare's works-- how it's confusing and complicated and overwhelming and the language is dull or hard to understand. My mom is particularly fond of informing me that she couldn't make it through three weeks of Shakespeare in high school and she thinks I'm insane because I love it.
The thing is, I wanted to learn Shakespeare. I wanted to take this class, if anything just to read classic literature (I love most classics); as a writer, I figured learning the stories that are ingrained into our culture would only help me. But taking this class has been one of the best decisions I've made in high school. I doubt that I could have started reading Shakespeare on my own, and I doubt that I would have loved it as much if I had just read that one play as a freshman; I fear that my view of it would be skewed by the opinions of my classmates and a general reluctance to understand. But as I spent time in France (and had to read a bit of Shakespeare to French class... in English...), I thought about how sad it was that I had never read anything of his. How sad it was that I was missing out on such an important part of English literature. So I signed up for Shakespeare 101 and 102, which turns a semester class into a two-semester class and I have enjoyed every second of it.
At the beginning of the year, my teacher asked us if we had read Shakespeare before-- most had read Romeo and Juliet-- and if we had a favorite. The answer was no, we didn't have a favorite, due to lack of exposure.
I still don't know what my favorite would be. I still can't choose. I love his comedies (we read the Taming of the Shrew and Much Ado about Nothing)-- the puns and insults are hilarious! The Tempest (one of his romances) was powerful and there's that one speech... The Merchant of Venice forced me to think and sparked incredibly interesting debates in my class. Henry V is a history, but the tale transcends generations (also, comparing the movies was fun). We spent too much time on Hamlet, but I really didn't mind because I still love it despite the fact that I spent 9 weeks working on it in English and in Shakespeare 101. And now we're reading Othello and there are mysteries to be solved in each character of the play. I'm intrigued. The point is, I don't know if I will ever be able to choose a favorite.
Anyway, now you know. I'm a Shakespeare nerd.
Confession time is fun. Any confessions about nerdy pursuits? I'd love to hear them, especially if you share my love for Shakespeare!
I'm not sure what to write about today. This is my 99th post and all I can think about is how today was just a good day. Not a memorable day, but just a good day-- or at least good enough that I feel good right now.
I have a confession to make. Nothing bad.
Tomorrow, I have to turn in the title to an essay I have to write for my Shakespeare class that is due in 4th quarter. I only had one idea-- the role of women in Shakespeare, particularly Ophelia in Hamlet and Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing. They're two VERY different characters, and it's kind of along the lines of feminism (which I've been thinking about MORE lately since I joined FFB). However, over the course of a quick conversation with my teacher, my new topic will be Sociology in Shakespeare, as in how does Shakespeare represent societal issues, stereotypes, and ideas in his works? Like antisemitism in the Merchant of Venice, religion in Hamlet, women in any of his plays (but particularly Taming of the Shrew), racism in Othello... I'm already really excited about writing it, though I wonder how I will fit all that I could find to say into a four or five page paper.
I'm sure it's obvious by now, my confession is that I'm a bit of a Shakespeare nerd. It's completely unsurprising, actually; I've talked about my Shakespeare class a lot over many posts, and I love spending time at the bookstore looking for books that are inspired by some of his works. I find his sonnets to be beautiful, his plays to be wonderfully complex, and his language to be enchanting. I love his characters, and they're written so well that I can't help but marvel at his mastery. I mean, granted, some of his characters annoy me to no end, but I think that's a good thing-- they're so real, enough that I respond emotionally to their stories.
Earlier this year, I had never read Shakespeare before (my education has been lacking; usually freshmen read Romeo and Juliet but my class didn't). I had only heard about the class from some of my friends over the years (all positive reviews), but I've also heard bad things about Shakespeare's works-- how it's confusing and complicated and overwhelming and the language is dull or hard to understand. My mom is particularly fond of informing me that she couldn't make it through three weeks of Shakespeare in high school and she thinks I'm insane because I love it.
The thing is, I wanted to learn Shakespeare. I wanted to take this class, if anything just to read classic literature (I love most classics); as a writer, I figured learning the stories that are ingrained into our culture would only help me. But taking this class has been one of the best decisions I've made in high school. I doubt that I could have started reading Shakespeare on my own, and I doubt that I would have loved it as much if I had just read that one play as a freshman; I fear that my view of it would be skewed by the opinions of my classmates and a general reluctance to understand. But as I spent time in France (and had to read a bit of Shakespeare to French class... in English...), I thought about how sad it was that I had never read anything of his. How sad it was that I was missing out on such an important part of English literature. So I signed up for Shakespeare 101 and 102, which turns a semester class into a two-semester class and I have enjoyed every second of it.
At the beginning of the year, my teacher asked us if we had read Shakespeare before-- most had read Romeo and Juliet-- and if we had a favorite. The answer was no, we didn't have a favorite, due to lack of exposure.
I still don't know what my favorite would be. I still can't choose. I love his comedies (we read the Taming of the Shrew and Much Ado about Nothing)-- the puns and insults are hilarious! The Tempest (one of his romances) was powerful and there's that one speech... The Merchant of Venice forced me to think and sparked incredibly interesting debates in my class. Henry V is a history, but the tale transcends generations (also, comparing the movies was fun). We spent too much time on Hamlet, but I really didn't mind because I still love it despite the fact that I spent 9 weeks working on it in English and in Shakespeare 101. And now we're reading Othello and there are mysteries to be solved in each character of the play. I'm intrigued. The point is, I don't know if I will ever be able to choose a favorite.
Anyway, now you know. I'm a Shakespeare nerd.
Confession time is fun. Any confessions about nerdy pursuits? I'd love to hear them, especially if you share my love for Shakespeare!
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Highway
Hello, all!
I was looking for unused journals the other day--- I have loads of those-- and I found the writing notebook I was keeping in 2009. It's a notebook from a friend; every so often a quote or lyrics from a song interrupt the still-blank pages, but this notebook holds poems (I don't remember what they're about) and the list I was keeping of Things I Learned in 2009. I never completed the list, mostly because I forgot the notebook at home when I went to France, which bothered me while I was there. Anyway, I apparently wrote this poem on January 18th of 2009 while riding in a car. (Because travel inspires me.) I'm going to type it up as it's written; nothing is altered.
The fading light
turns the dried dead
treetops
into branches
of red
reaching for the sky.
The indigo and peach
clouds
hover just
out of range,
untouchable
to me.
I so love
the pink hue
joining the two-tone
condensation rainbow.
Framed by shadowed
mountains
in this grassy valley
split by grey lanes
and yellow lines.
Trapeze wires
above suffocating
caged people
too distracted
to notice the
winged creatures
waiting for the
sunset.
The line of trees
sit
so bare
on the highest ridge
and a path
cuts in between
unwalked
by bared feet
in cold winter
mud deepened
by two days of
shadows and snow.
(Side note... unwalked? Not a word.)
Also, this is post number 98. The 100th post has already been written, and it's set up to publish on the 25th.
What do you think of my early 2009 poetry?
... I just found a different poem that works perfectly with a story idea I had in 2010. Wow. That's exciting!
A demain!
-Aly
P.S. Thank you for all the comments lately! I wish that blogger had threaded comments so that I could reply to each and it still make sense!
I was looking for unused journals the other day--- I have loads of those-- and I found the writing notebook I was keeping in 2009. It's a notebook from a friend; every so often a quote or lyrics from a song interrupt the still-blank pages, but this notebook holds poems (I don't remember what they're about) and the list I was keeping of Things I Learned in 2009. I never completed the list, mostly because I forgot the notebook at home when I went to France, which bothered me while I was there. Anyway, I apparently wrote this poem on January 18th of 2009 while riding in a car. (Because travel inspires me.) I'm going to type it up as it's written; nothing is altered.
The fading light
turns the dried dead
treetops
into branches
of red
reaching for the sky.
The indigo and peach
clouds
hover just
out of range,
untouchable
to me.
I so love
the pink hue
joining the two-tone
condensation rainbow.
Framed by shadowed
mountains
in this grassy valley
split by grey lanes
and yellow lines.
Trapeze wires
above suffocating
caged people
too distracted
to notice the
winged creatures
waiting for the
sunset.
The line of trees
sit
so bare
on the highest ridge
and a path
cuts in between
unwalked
by bared feet
in cold winter
mud deepened
by two days of
shadows and snow.
(Side note... unwalked? Not a word.)
Also, this is post number 98. The 100th post has already been written, and it's set up to publish on the 25th.
What do you think of my early 2009 poetry?
... I just found a different poem that works perfectly with a story idea I had in 2010. Wow. That's exciting!
A demain!
-Aly
P.S. Thank you for all the comments lately! I wish that blogger had threaded comments so that I could reply to each and it still make sense!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
The Senses
Hello, all!
I went to the hospital today to visit a friend that was recently in a car crash and is now recovering. He's partially blind in one eye now, and I can't help but think about sight. Not just the physical ability to see, but to "see" as in to understand, and of course the different ways in which we see each other.
Has anybody ever asked you which you would prefer-- to be blind or to be unable to hear? What about speaking? I still don't know how to answer that. I rely on my eyes; beautiful images inspire me, but I love music and the sound of voices. And honestly, I talk too much.
It's weird though, to think about how we take such things for granted-- the senses that build our world. I can't imagine living without one or the other; it is hard to imagine how my vision of the world would change with my ability to experience it in so many different ways. How would it be to be deprived of one of those senses? Would the world change dramatically? Would you miss the sense that you lost? Would your perception of yourself change?
That's the other question I have about sight. We all see the world differently, of course, but literally-- what is the difference? We don't have a way to tell. Do you ever wonder about how other people see you? Or the ways that you see other people? Do you see them clearly? Are the colors the same, the faces? How does that differ from how we see ourselves? I mean, not just physically-- when we are looking at others, do we perceive them as their physical selves or as something else? Do we see them through rose-tinted glass?
Are we capable of viewing people objectively?
I always wonder how people see me. I know well enough how I see myself and though I shouldn't care about what others think, I'm honestly curious about the way they perceive me. What am I to the people around me? To friends, acquaintances, family...?
Are our perceptions of people locked or do they change?
I think our perceptions can change, as our eyesight does. But as our eyes grow weaker with age, do we see better or worse than we did when we were younger, at least in the figurative sense? How would we perceive others if we could only "see" them through a certain sense?
Do we associate particular senses with particular people? Like, when we think of friends, or we notice something about somebody that is customary to somebody else, how do we associate it? (That didn't make sense. ... ha, punny.) For example, do you associate the scent of a person most with them or their voice? How do all of the senses come into play when we "see" somebody?
I wonder sometimes if I am seeing the world in a way that is clear-- do I see the people around me as blurry lines, or do I see them like I would characters in a novel? How does my perception of people interact with their reality and their perception of me?
I guess I'm trying to say that sight is complicated. "Seeing" physically and perceiving are different from each other, and even then, everything is skewed. Our senses allow us to "see" people, but we could be misunderstanding.
Sorry about the fifty million questions in this. If you have your own answer for any of them, I'd love to hear! (HA.)
Also, sorry about all the puns. :)
A demain!
-Aly
I went to the hospital today to visit a friend that was recently in a car crash and is now recovering. He's partially blind in one eye now, and I can't help but think about sight. Not just the physical ability to see, but to "see" as in to understand, and of course the different ways in which we see each other.
Has anybody ever asked you which you would prefer-- to be blind or to be unable to hear? What about speaking? I still don't know how to answer that. I rely on my eyes; beautiful images inspire me, but I love music and the sound of voices. And honestly, I talk too much.
It's weird though, to think about how we take such things for granted-- the senses that build our world. I can't imagine living without one or the other; it is hard to imagine how my vision of the world would change with my ability to experience it in so many different ways. How would it be to be deprived of one of those senses? Would the world change dramatically? Would you miss the sense that you lost? Would your perception of yourself change?
That's the other question I have about sight. We all see the world differently, of course, but literally-- what is the difference? We don't have a way to tell. Do you ever wonder about how other people see you? Or the ways that you see other people? Do you see them clearly? Are the colors the same, the faces? How does that differ from how we see ourselves? I mean, not just physically-- when we are looking at others, do we perceive them as their physical selves or as something else? Do we see them through rose-tinted glass?
Are we capable of viewing people objectively?
I always wonder how people see me. I know well enough how I see myself and though I shouldn't care about what others think, I'm honestly curious about the way they perceive me. What am I to the people around me? To friends, acquaintances, family...?
Are our perceptions of people locked or do they change?
I think our perceptions can change, as our eyesight does. But as our eyes grow weaker with age, do we see better or worse than we did when we were younger, at least in the figurative sense? How would we perceive others if we could only "see" them through a certain sense?
Do we associate particular senses with particular people? Like, when we think of friends, or we notice something about somebody that is customary to somebody else, how do we associate it? (That didn't make sense. ... ha, punny.) For example, do you associate the scent of a person most with them or their voice? How do all of the senses come into play when we "see" somebody?
I wonder sometimes if I am seeing the world in a way that is clear-- do I see the people around me as blurry lines, or do I see them like I would characters in a novel? How does my perception of people interact with their reality and their perception of me?
I guess I'm trying to say that sight is complicated. "Seeing" physically and perceiving are different from each other, and even then, everything is skewed. Our senses allow us to "see" people, but we could be misunderstanding.
Sorry about the fifty million questions in this. If you have your own answer for any of them, I'd love to hear! (HA.)
Also, sorry about all the puns. :)
A demain!
-Aly
Monday, February 21, 2011
The Inevitability of Death
Hello, all!
I have lots of thoughts in my head again today. I have songs that are reminding me of emotions and provoking thoughts, images that are causing me to dream, videos that are making me think, words that are spilling from crevices in my brain.
Did you ever realize how many poems and books are dedicated to the message that death is inevitable? Why is it?
I can only imagine that our fascination with death comes from our fear of it. Death is terrifying, the idea that all things end is an unpleasant truth. It's hard to think of loss, the void created by losing friends or losing yourself-- of everything you are familiar with coming to an end. There are so many things about death to be afraid of and to wonder about. The afterlife or lack thereof; what is it like, if it exists? How will we each die? What will our legacy be?
The other day my friend Kimm said, "In the end, the dates on your headstone will not be what matters-- the dash between them will be." If you take that literally, then it really says nothing important, but I understand what Kimm is trying to say: it isn't our death that matters, but the span of our lives. Even if our lives are cut short by one thing or another (there are far too many possibilities), what matters most is what we did with that life.
I think we're foolish to dwell on death the way we do. Death is coming, yes; everything is in the process of dying. It's depressing and overwhelming, but true. I think our problem (if it's even a problem at all) is that we only KNOW life. I mean, we know it as much as something unpredictable and illogical, but we enjoy LIVING.
I keep thinking about how many characters in literature seem to have this same fascination with death and dying. Think of Hamlet and Frankenstein. Voldemort. Classics and modern literature alike, characters frequently seem preoccupied with death-- or how to avoid it. How to become immortal in some way. Immortality is our poison, our addiction: the idea of living forever. Maybe it is because we think immortality is the same as power, or maybe we are just obsessed with the idea that we can avoid the Great Perhaps of death. (Looking for Alaska reference)
Maybe when we think about death, we think of how we aren't ready for death. What if we're NEVER ready? What then? Will we be okay with letting go of life?
I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing-- to be frightened by death. I think the reason it's so present in literature is because we can all relate; we know what it is like to think about it and to want to avoid it or to wonder about the value of our own lives. It's humbling and it's terrifying, but it reminds us to live-- to seek out whatever it is in life that will make us feel like our time here is valuable. One day we will seek a Great Perhaps, even if we're reluctant. But life is our first adventure.
Once again, I deviated from my point. I'm getting really bad about that...
(On the bright side, it's sort of relevant to the theme of character! :) )
A demain!
-Aly
I have lots of thoughts in my head again today. I have songs that are reminding me of emotions and provoking thoughts, images that are causing me to dream, videos that are making me think, words that are spilling from crevices in my brain.
Did you ever realize how many poems and books are dedicated to the message that death is inevitable? Why is it?
I can only imagine that our fascination with death comes from our fear of it. Death is terrifying, the idea that all things end is an unpleasant truth. It's hard to think of loss, the void created by losing friends or losing yourself-- of everything you are familiar with coming to an end. There are so many things about death to be afraid of and to wonder about. The afterlife or lack thereof; what is it like, if it exists? How will we each die? What will our legacy be?
The other day my friend Kimm said, "In the end, the dates on your headstone will not be what matters-- the dash between them will be." If you take that literally, then it really says nothing important, but I understand what Kimm is trying to say: it isn't our death that matters, but the span of our lives. Even if our lives are cut short by one thing or another (there are far too many possibilities), what matters most is what we did with that life.
I think we're foolish to dwell on death the way we do. Death is coming, yes; everything is in the process of dying. It's depressing and overwhelming, but true. I think our problem (if it's even a problem at all) is that we only KNOW life. I mean, we know it as much as something unpredictable and illogical, but we enjoy LIVING.
I keep thinking about how many characters in literature seem to have this same fascination with death and dying. Think of Hamlet and Frankenstein. Voldemort. Classics and modern literature alike, characters frequently seem preoccupied with death-- or how to avoid it. How to become immortal in some way. Immortality is our poison, our addiction: the idea of living forever. Maybe it is because we think immortality is the same as power, or maybe we are just obsessed with the idea that we can avoid the Great Perhaps of death. (Looking for Alaska reference)
Maybe when we think about death, we think of how we aren't ready for death. What if we're NEVER ready? What then? Will we be okay with letting go of life?
I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing-- to be frightened by death. I think the reason it's so present in literature is because we can all relate; we know what it is like to think about it and to want to avoid it or to wonder about the value of our own lives. It's humbling and it's terrifying, but it reminds us to live-- to seek out whatever it is in life that will make us feel like our time here is valuable. One day we will seek a Great Perhaps, even if we're reluctant. But life is our first adventure.
Once again, I deviated from my point. I'm getting really bad about that...
(On the bright side, it's sort of relevant to the theme of character! :) )
A demain!
-Aly
Sunday, February 20, 2011
To New Readers & Old
Hello, all!
So... I really didn't know what to say today. Last week was a week of posts with quite a bit of content. That's exhausting to do, and honestly, for most of this weekend, I have been insanely busy. Nonetheless, I thought about my blog for a lot of the weekend.
For those of you new readers/followers (hello! Thank you, Olivia, for sending so many people over!), thank you SO MUCH for reading and commenting! Seeing so many views and comments on my post about Feminism was fantastic. I just wanted to acknowledge that I read all of your comments and I hope you find something here worth sticking around for!
The thing is, this blog is called "Aly en France" because I am obsessed with France, and I went there for 7 months last year. It used to be a blog about that experience and France-related things. Kind of like a journal of my thoughts and adventures while I was there, and I expected that when I came back, it would be largely France-related. Well, last NaBloPoMo (that really occurred over 4 weeks rather than one month), I just wrote food-named posts that were largely related to what was going on in my life at the time, with the exception of this post about a vacation I took in June while in France. None of it was really of high quality, but this time around, when I'm actually blogging every day for one month, my posts are changing quite a bit.
I'd like to think they're much better quality now. They're longer, but they're not as focused. I've been focusing on things that have been on my mind and things I've written, but I have strayed a lot from what I thought this blog would be. I really have NO IDEA what my blog is now. I'm not sure where it's going or what other posts I'll be writing. I've been touching on slightly more controversial topics (feminism, religion...) than I did before, and sharing some of my writing (an excerpt from my novel, a narrative about math class, and this...). It's still my blog though, and there's a fair amount of me just talking about my day or whatever. I like the more interesting/content-heavy posts better, to be honest. They're fun to write and I'm learning so much about how I write.
Either way, I have no idea what my blog IS any more. I don't know what purpose it is serving or what you guys are expecting from it. Thanks for reading, though, and I hope you'll enjoy whatever this blog turns into!
A demain!
-Aly
So... I really didn't know what to say today. Last week was a week of posts with quite a bit of content. That's exhausting to do, and honestly, for most of this weekend, I have been insanely busy. Nonetheless, I thought about my blog for a lot of the weekend.
For those of you new readers/followers (hello! Thank you, Olivia, for sending so many people over!), thank you SO MUCH for reading and commenting! Seeing so many views and comments on my post about Feminism was fantastic. I just wanted to acknowledge that I read all of your comments and I hope you find something here worth sticking around for!
The thing is, this blog is called "Aly en France" because I am obsessed with France, and I went there for 7 months last year. It used to be a blog about that experience and France-related things. Kind of like a journal of my thoughts and adventures while I was there, and I expected that when I came back, it would be largely France-related. Well, last NaBloPoMo (that really occurred over 4 weeks rather than one month), I just wrote food-named posts that were largely related to what was going on in my life at the time, with the exception of this post about a vacation I took in June while in France. None of it was really of high quality, but this time around, when I'm actually blogging every day for one month, my posts are changing quite a bit.
I'd like to think they're much better quality now. They're longer, but they're not as focused. I've been focusing on things that have been on my mind and things I've written, but I have strayed a lot from what I thought this blog would be. I really have NO IDEA what my blog is now. I'm not sure where it's going or what other posts I'll be writing. I've been touching on slightly more controversial topics (feminism, religion...) than I did before, and sharing some of my writing (an excerpt from my novel, a narrative about math class, and this...). It's still my blog though, and there's a fair amount of me just talking about my day or whatever. I like the more interesting/content-heavy posts better, to be honest. They're fun to write and I'm learning so much about how I write.
Either way, I have no idea what my blog IS any more. I don't know what purpose it is serving or what you guys are expecting from it. Thanks for reading, though, and I hope you'll enjoy whatever this blog turns into!
A demain!
-Aly
Friday, February 18, 2011
Feminism
Hello, all!
So, I've been meaning to write this post for a week or so, but I needed time to put my thoughts in order first. (Read: procrastination)
Franca wrote a blog post a while back about what feminism means to her, (which I thought was brilliant), so I decided that I should write a similar post myself, especially since I'm blogging every day this month and this is a topic I have a lot to say about.
Last month a woman came into our Shakespeare class-- she's one of the English teacher's daughters, and she's directing a modernized version of The Taming of the Shrew in April-- and one of the first things she said was, "I don't consider myself a "feminist", but as a woman in the 21st century, I am." Everybody smiled and laughed, because "feminist" to many people still seems to mean bra-burning and excessive body hair, which isn't necessarily true. I loved that a really awesome grad student was proclaiming herself a feminist, but not in the way that people automatically assume.
I consider myself a feminist, at least in the way that I see world. My fascination with sociology means that I spend a lot of time thinking about the way society affects individuals; how we are poked, prodded, molded into one thing or another at the bidding of the world around us. It's not as though we don't have a choice in the matter, but for the most part, it seems like individuals can be powerless. I think feminism is a necessity in our society: there are still barriers to overcome, issues to discuss, stereotypes to change. That's what I think feminism is.
I consider myself a feminist because I look at the way I see myself-- and the way other women see themselves and I see how fragile we are. Not because we aren't strong-- on the contrary, most women I know are incredibly strong individuals-- but because we aren't always allowed to see ourselves as strong or beautiful or smart or any number of things.
We are told to be a certain way (thin, pretty, etc.) and then we're told that we're not enough of one thing or another.
We're supposed to be strong and independent but we are told that we need to be looked after because we don't know how to handle ourselves (coughTwilightcough). We're supposed to be talkative, loud, and outgoing-- but only if what we are saying is mindless or unimportant. Otherwise we should be quiet.
We should be studious/good at sports (but not the Dangerous Ones, the ones reserved for boys)/ be confident/be humble/give time to charity and family and friends.
We're supposed to be helpful/volunteer/dedicated to a particular goal, so long as it is Good.
We should be interested in fashion/skinny/not have an eating disorder/wear makeup/try harder.
If we're single, we're not good enough/need to wait for boys to ask us out/hopeless/unattractive/too much of one thing or another and guys are idiots/jerks/can't think, yet we shouldn't be able to live without them/should want a boyfriend/should date by the time we're in high school/have a perfect first kiss/not have sex until we're married/be flirty but not suggestive and we aren't allowed to make stupid mistakes.
Basically, there are lines and expectations and limits everywhere. For some, the lines are thicker or more faded than others, but the restrictions and stereotypes are everywhere. To me, feminism is seeing these things and making an effort to change them. Defying stereotypes or allowing yourself to see not through the eyes of society, but through your own eyes. I think feminism is thinking of yourself as strong and capable of more than is expected and recognizing that you do not have to be what people think you should be.
I think being a feminist is hearing people say things like "make me a sandwich!" and getting angry at the insult (it may be in jest, but it still perpetuates the idea that women should STAY IN THE KITCHEN, where they "belong"). It's learning how to respond to statements like that and accepting or denying the implications. It's taking control over your own life and ideas, supporting other women.
I consider myself a feminist because I want to change how women are viewed and the expectations society has of us. I believe I can be anything I want to be and I will not allow myself to be restrained by what I should be. I will make choices out of what is best for me, rather than what the proper reaction would be.
I am a feminist because I know that women are so much more than society wants us to be.
...Well, that didn't turn out quite as thoughtful as intended (or philosophical), but that's okay. I just started writing and this is what happened.
A demain!
-Aly
So, I've been meaning to write this post for a week or so, but I needed time to put my thoughts in order first. (Read: procrastination)
Franca wrote a blog post a while back about what feminism means to her, (which I thought was brilliant), so I decided that I should write a similar post myself, especially since I'm blogging every day this month and this is a topic I have a lot to say about.
Last month a woman came into our Shakespeare class-- she's one of the English teacher's daughters, and she's directing a modernized version of The Taming of the Shrew in April-- and one of the first things she said was, "I don't consider myself a "feminist", but as a woman in the 21st century, I am." Everybody smiled and laughed, because "feminist" to many people still seems to mean bra-burning and excessive body hair, which isn't necessarily true. I loved that a really awesome grad student was proclaiming herself a feminist, but not in the way that people automatically assume.
I consider myself a feminist, at least in the way that I see world. My fascination with sociology means that I spend a lot of time thinking about the way society affects individuals; how we are poked, prodded, molded into one thing or another at the bidding of the world around us. It's not as though we don't have a choice in the matter, but for the most part, it seems like individuals can be powerless. I think feminism is a necessity in our society: there are still barriers to overcome, issues to discuss, stereotypes to change. That's what I think feminism is.
I consider myself a feminist because I look at the way I see myself-- and the way other women see themselves and I see how fragile we are. Not because we aren't strong-- on the contrary, most women I know are incredibly strong individuals-- but because we aren't always allowed to see ourselves as strong or beautiful or smart or any number of things.
We are told to be a certain way (thin, pretty, etc.) and then we're told that we're not enough of one thing or another.
We're supposed to be strong and independent but we are told that we need to be looked after because we don't know how to handle ourselves (coughTwilightcough). We're supposed to be talkative, loud, and outgoing-- but only if what we are saying is mindless or unimportant. Otherwise we should be quiet.
We should be studious/good at sports (but not the Dangerous Ones, the ones reserved for boys)/ be confident/be humble/give time to charity and family and friends.
We're supposed to be helpful/volunteer/dedicated to a particular goal, so long as it is Good.
We should be interested in fashion/skinny/not have an eating disorder/wear makeup/try harder.
If we're single, we're not good enough/need to wait for boys to ask us out/hopeless/unattractive/too much of one thing or another and guys are idiots/jerks/can't think, yet we shouldn't be able to live without them/should want a boyfriend/should date by the time we're in high school/have a perfect first kiss/not have sex until we're married/be flirty but not suggestive and we aren't allowed to make stupid mistakes.
Basically, there are lines and expectations and limits everywhere. For some, the lines are thicker or more faded than others, but the restrictions and stereotypes are everywhere. To me, feminism is seeing these things and making an effort to change them. Defying stereotypes or allowing yourself to see not through the eyes of society, but through your own eyes. I think feminism is thinking of yourself as strong and capable of more than is expected and recognizing that you do not have to be what people think you should be.
I think being a feminist is hearing people say things like "make me a sandwich!" and getting angry at the insult (it may be in jest, but it still perpetuates the idea that women should STAY IN THE KITCHEN, where they "belong"). It's learning how to respond to statements like that and accepting or denying the implications. It's taking control over your own life and ideas, supporting other women.
I consider myself a feminist because I want to change how women are viewed and the expectations society has of us. I believe I can be anything I want to be and I will not allow myself to be restrained by what I should be. I will make choices out of what is best for me, rather than what the proper reaction would be.
I am a feminist because I know that women are so much more than society wants us to be.
...Well, that didn't turn out quite as thoughtful as intended (or philosophical), but that's okay. I just started writing and this is what happened.
A demain!
-Aly
Monday, February 14, 2011
Happy I'm-Single-On-Valentine's Day
Hello, all!
Happy Valentine's Day, for those of you that find such holidays important. I like it for the chocolate, and all the lovey-dovey stuff is cute, if sometimes excessive. Oh well.
Happy Valentine's Day, for those of you that find such holidays important. I like it for the chocolate, and all the lovey-dovey stuff is cute, if sometimes excessive. Oh well.
Valentine’s Day is a day where we honor love. The thing is, we sometimes forget that love isn’t just the romantic kind of love. It’s the love you have for your best friends, for your family… and we lose that sometimes.
So, yeah. I’m single on Valentine’s Day, but that doesn’t mean that I’m without love. I have friends and family that care about me, people that I really don’t know what I would do without. There are people that have given me valentines today, even though I didn’t expect it and they did it as friends. They get it. They see that Valentine’s Day is just a day of love. And although the argument could be made that Valentine’s day is a purely corporate holiday that manipulates people into spending money on worthless things (I definitely agree with your point, I mean… all the hearts have been all over the place since after Christmas…), but I like it. (I especially like the abundance of chocolate.)
I don’t really care if I’m single on Valentine’s Day. I’ve all of my life being single (except of that month-and-some and those silly “relationships” when I was really young), and I don’t wish for a Valentine. I’m okay with spending today with friends (even if that means that we complain a bit about the single-on-Valentine’s thing) because there are much bigger things to worry about than whether or not I’m “in love” or whatever. I’m not rushed to fall in love. But I like the sentiment of Valentine’s day, at least in the understanding of an appreciate for love.
Maybe it’s just because I’m a romantic. I think love is beautiful, but at the same time… I think all kinds and forms of love are beautiful (though not the creepy-stalker/Edward Cullen kind).
My main complaint with this day is that we have a tendency to categorize it as only a thing for couples. So, if you’re single on Valentine’s Day, well… me too. And plenty of other people are in the same boat. Tell the people you love that you love them (you should do that most days anyway), and enjoy the one day of the year dedicated to a beautiful emotion.
And finally, because it’s Valentine’s Day… a list! Ten people I love (without names, because I don't want anybody to be offended if they're not on the list. It doesn't mean I don't love you!). (Because I’m sappy.)
-
(La Bande) Vous etiez mes mellieurs amis quand j’etais en France. Je pense souvent a vous, de nos jours passee sous le soliel a midi, a Ville Aurelienne, en centre-ville et dans les cours. Je pense de nos blagues, les chansons (et les danses!), tous mes memoires de vous. Je reflechis sur mon temps en France et je realise, si je n’avais pas les amis comme vous, je n’aurais jamais survivrais. Sans vous, je suis deconnecte sur MSN et je parle jamais en francais. Vous me manquez. <3
-
You would probably be surprised if you knew you were on this list. The good news is that you rarely read my blog. I think you’re an incredibly interesting person, and I’m very lucky to know you (even if I don’t always understand you). I’m glad that you trust me, because though I don’t talk to you often on a regular basis, I still consider you one of my best friends. I try to remind you every now and again that I care about you (not in a romantic way), but I think you forget. Try to remember that I’m here for you, and that I am a friend, even if I’m sometimes distant.
-
I’ve only truly become close to you this year, and I realize how unfortunate that is. I love hanging out with you and going on random adventures (even if they don’t always end well), and I’m glad that we’ve been making a point to hang out more. I’m glad that I can call you friend, and that you understand my weird obsessions and listen to my unnecessarily long rants. Your nearly-constant Skype presence always seems to ensure I’ll have somebody to talk to. Also, thanks for the poem. You’re the best.
-
I have no idea when you became one of my best friends. I really have no clue. It’s like you just appeared in my life and BOOM! We were friends. It’s only been this year that we’ve gotten fairly close and you’ve shared some of your secrets with me. I worry about you, probably unnecessarily (you know how to take care of yourself), but I can’t help it. It’s hard to see that you’re struggling, but I hope you realize that you have somebody around that cares.
-
Sometimes I think I don’t get you at all anymore. You’ve fallen almost completely out of my life, except for those brief moments where we fall back into old habits. We’ve long since broken those habits, but it’s nice to pretend for a moment that I tell you everything and our conversation will never end. And even though I’m sometimes mean to you for no apparent reason, I hope you realize that I do miss having you around. We really need to follow through on the plans we keep trying and failing to make, because I haven’t talked to you in far too long.
-
I know you only hear from me periodically, but I promise it’s nothing planned. I just forget. I get carried away by the internet and life and everything that is going on here. You live so far away that it’s almost too easy to forget about you, to get caught up in HERE rather than ask about your life. I know I’m going to regret it, not saying enough as often as I should, but I hope you know that despite my silence, I’m incredibly grateful for everything you’ve done for me over the years and that I love you.
-
Sometimes I think that I’ve lost you completely. I mean, that’s not entirely a bad thing—being independent of others is good, right?—but I do miss having you around CONSTANTLY. It’s kind of strange to be here and you NOT being around. I keep expecting that you will just be there at any moment and always have the answer to whatever it is that’s on my mind. And although we’ve lost some of our closeness, I know that it is impossible for me to lose you. You’ll always understand me incredibly well, even if you don’t always understand me best.
-
I know what you think of me. I know what you expect from me and who you think I am, but I don’t always agree. I can’t be who you want me to be, and I don’t expect you to fulfill a role that you can’t fulfill, either. That wouldn’t be fair. The thing is, despite our frequent disagreements on far too many topics, I still love you. I’m incredibly thankful for all the things you’ve done for me and I hope that you remember that when we’re arguing about something pointless again. You’ve influenced my life more than I want you to believe.
-
This list wouldn’t be complete without you on it. I mean, seriously. I may not talk to you as often as I like (that seems to be the case with a lot of people), but you know very well that leaving you off this list would be ignoring one of the people I care about most. Our conversations are the best, if less frequent than they used to be. I listen to what you have to say and I value your advice. You may be family, but you’re a friend, too. I’m glad I can trust you with as much as I do, and only wish that I lived closer to you so I could see you more often. There are so many adventures we should have, and I hope that we have a chance to have those adventures sometime. In the meantime, I’m just thankful that you care so much about me, too.
You’ve felt the full force of my sappy/rambly-ness before and seriously... I could probably top my own record. I love our random trips to Starbucks and the entirely ridiculous conversations we have. I think you’re brilliant, if insane (no offense, but you know it’s true). I never see you in the hallways, and our habitual hangouts have almost entirely died out. I know that you were probably annoyed about Valentine’s Day and being single (again), but once again, we prove that our lives are freakishly parallel. Thanks for listening and understanding my psycho-babble.
Well, as I finished THAT list, I realized that I could go on basically forever. I love so many people, and I realize that many of those could go for several people. Choose whichever one you want for yourself, and pretend I’m writing it to you. It’s possible that I am.
Anyway, to all the people I love (on this list or otherwise), thank you so much for everything. You’re amazing and I love you. Also, we should hang out/catch up/have adventures/make plans/send emails/etc. soon!
:)
A demain!
-Aly
P.S. A SONG. Which kind of inspired this. Well, this and John's vlogbrothers video (yes. I do spend too much time on youtube.)Sunday, February 13, 2011
Lost Ideas
Hello, all!
Well, yesterday's post was pretty much a fail. I'm working on additions to it right now, though, so video/pictures will be added in relatively soon.
Earlier, I was poking through my inspiration folder on my computer and through the inspiration notebooks that I have (yes. PLURAL.), and I realized that I have wayyyy too many half-baked ideas and random scraps of possibly-somethings that I really don't know what to do with them. I think they'll have a role at some point in SOMETHING I write, but what if they don't? I already have two unfinished novels that have at least 50,000 words to them, and quite a few others that never even made it to 2o pages. What of those? Are all those ideas lost because I never actually do anything with them?
Do you remember that awesome idea I had for a story a long while ago? The one where I started a blog for it and then wrote a few entries that were part of this bigger story and then promptly deleted because I felt idiotic? You probably don't. I kept it a secret.
Sometimes, I have these ideas for a story, or these thoughts that pop into my head but I really can't make sense of them. I don't know where they came from, or who said them, these random snatches of narrative and dialogue that I scribble down in the margins of papers and then later type or add to the notebook. I never know what will come of them, if anything at all. I just save them now, because far too many times I've had a story idea come to me and then I'd promise myself that I most definitely would remember it. But over the course of a day, those get lost. They wander from my brain, tumbling from my mind like Humpty Dumpty from his wall (... that was a strange analogy. I'm not very poetic today.).
They're all scraps. These words are scraps, these phrases of no more meaning than the paper cutouts children save, the ripped pieces of scribblings from coloring books or magazines or books. They're the unfiltered ramblings of my imagination. Sometimes I wonder if I'm right to save them, but most of the time, I delight in their unassuming nonsense. They mean nothing until I give them a place amongst other words. They are only words until I make them into a story, only inspirations until they form a true idea.
I really love collecting all the random babblings of my mind, to be honest. I love looking over things that I thought of but don't remember (see how that works?), the brain crack (phrase stolen from Hank Green) that I never follow through on. In the same way, I love collecting ideas and grand schemes for things that I can't do, or haven't yet done for some ridiculous reason. What is holding me back from them? Why can't I just DO whatever it is that I come up with? I mean, I'm good at excuses. That question was rhetorical.
Once again, I really don't know where I was going with this. Ideas. Inspirations. I collect them and seek them out, on the internet and real life, but sometimes they just... exist.
So... tell me, what ideas do you have? What ideas have you forgotten about? What are you going to do about them?
(Because I have an idea for what to do with some of these snatches of ideas. You'll see. Maybe. Hopefully. :) )
A demain!
-Aly
Well, yesterday's post was pretty much a fail. I'm working on additions to it right now, though, so video/pictures will be added in relatively soon.
Earlier, I was poking through my inspiration folder on my computer and through the inspiration notebooks that I have (yes. PLURAL.), and I realized that I have wayyyy too many half-baked ideas and random scraps of possibly-somethings that I really don't know what to do with them. I think they'll have a role at some point in SOMETHING I write, but what if they don't? I already have two unfinished novels that have at least 50,000 words to them, and quite a few others that never even made it to 2o pages. What of those? Are all those ideas lost because I never actually do anything with them?
Do you remember that awesome idea I had for a story a long while ago? The one where I started a blog for it and then wrote a few entries that were part of this bigger story and then promptly deleted because I felt idiotic? You probably don't. I kept it a secret.
Sometimes, I have these ideas for a story, or these thoughts that pop into my head but I really can't make sense of them. I don't know where they came from, or who said them, these random snatches of narrative and dialogue that I scribble down in the margins of papers and then later type or add to the notebook. I never know what will come of them, if anything at all. I just save them now, because far too many times I've had a story idea come to me and then I'd promise myself that I most definitely would remember it. But over the course of a day, those get lost. They wander from my brain, tumbling from my mind like Humpty Dumpty from his wall (... that was a strange analogy. I'm not very poetic today.).
They're all scraps. These words are scraps, these phrases of no more meaning than the paper cutouts children save, the ripped pieces of scribblings from coloring books or magazines or books. They're the unfiltered ramblings of my imagination. Sometimes I wonder if I'm right to save them, but most of the time, I delight in their unassuming nonsense. They mean nothing until I give them a place amongst other words. They are only words until I make them into a story, only inspirations until they form a true idea.
I really love collecting all the random babblings of my mind, to be honest. I love looking over things that I thought of but don't remember (see how that works?), the brain crack (phrase stolen from Hank Green) that I never follow through on. In the same way, I love collecting ideas and grand schemes for things that I can't do, or haven't yet done for some ridiculous reason. What is holding me back from them? Why can't I just DO whatever it is that I come up with? I mean, I'm good at excuses. That question was rhetorical.
Once again, I really don't know where I was going with this. Ideas. Inspirations. I collect them and seek them out, on the internet and real life, but sometimes they just... exist.
So... tell me, what ideas do you have? What ideas have you forgotten about? What are you going to do about them?
(Because I have an idea for what to do with some of these snatches of ideas. You'll see. Maybe. Hopefully. :) )
A demain!
-Aly
Friday, February 11, 2011
Five-ish Friday Links
Hello, all!
Another day of blogging that I really don't want to do. I really having nothing interesting to say today so I'll steal Jackson Pearce's Friday Five idea and Sally McGraw's Lovely Links and combine them into Five Friday Links. Except mine might be more-than-five and will probably be more link-y than anything.
1. I've been going through New Dress A Day to get inspiration for me and Claire's not-that-secret-anymore project (which involves sewing).
2. Melinda is awesome-- she's vlogging EVERY day for a year, which is insanity. My favorite of her videos is this one:
(Coincidentally, it kind of works in relation to my post about Religion from a few days ago...)
3. Yes And Yes has been one of my favorite blogs for a very long time, and this remains true. Sarah Von is basically the most epic person that exists, and she's TRAVELLING in Asia right now, which means that her posts about her trip are fuelling my wanderlust...
4. ...Due to said wanderlust, I spend way too much time reading articles/blogs on Lonely Planet, which is also connected to Natalie Tran/Communitychannel (on Youtube) as she travels around the world. I'm jealous.
5. And number five, my shameful love of pointless games... OMGPOP. I'm pretty dang good at Balloono, unless I happen to be doing other things simultaneously, like watching Buffy...
Speaking of, back to Netflix! :D
A demain!
-Aly
Another day of blogging that I really don't want to do. I really having nothing interesting to say today so I'll steal Jackson Pearce's Friday Five idea and Sally McGraw's Lovely Links and combine them into Five Friday Links. Except mine might be more-than-five and will probably be more link-y than anything.
1. I've been going through New Dress A Day to get inspiration for me and Claire's not-that-secret-anymore project (which involves sewing).
2. Melinda is awesome-- she's vlogging EVERY day for a year, which is insanity. My favorite of her videos is this one:
(Coincidentally, it kind of works in relation to my post about Religion from a few days ago...)
3. Yes And Yes has been one of my favorite blogs for a very long time, and this remains true. Sarah Von is basically the most epic person that exists, and she's TRAVELLING in Asia right now, which means that her posts about her trip are fuelling my wanderlust...
4. ...Due to said wanderlust, I spend way too much time reading articles/blogs on Lonely Planet, which is also connected to Natalie Tran/Communitychannel (on Youtube) as she travels around the world. I'm jealous.
5. And number five, my shameful love of pointless games... OMGPOP. I'm pretty dang good at Balloono, unless I happen to be doing other things simultaneously, like watching Buffy...
Speaking of, back to Netflix! :D
A demain!
-Aly
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The Math Class Narrative
I think there's something about this room.
I come in here smiling, usually having just laughed about something or other-- the subject is unimportant in the scheme of things-- and I take a deep breath, trying to hold on to that lightheartedness.
I sit down, waiting for the third bell to ring (the first announced the end of one period, the second announced 1 minute left to get to class, the final began class). I fidget a bit, nervous, but then grow still as the clock ticks closer and closer to my hour of impending doom.
The bell rings, echoing down the hallways and drowning out the raised voices of the students still dawdling outside the door.
I pull out my binder, catching my fingers in the metal ring to tug it from the overly crowded confines of my backpack. The plastic covering scratches as it slides across my desk and I reach into the pocket of my bag, fingers searching for the cool plastic of cheap pencils, a carefully cultivated collection of unextraordinary plastic, easily forgotten by other students until I claimed them as my own ad dropped them into this pocket.
My body is still awkwardly stretched into the aisle as my teacher finally enters, snapping the door shut behind him and locking us into this cinder block room. It's supposed to be a safety measure-- you can't come in here unless you're supposed to be here-- but, for the most part, that is entirely ignored. People wander in and out all the time, whether from tardiness, reluctance to be here, or the always-inconvenient call of nature. But me, I stay here. Exactly as I am, every day.
The teacher begins talking and I open my binder and reach for my agenda. The homework from yesterday has already been scratched out and a partially-filled page holds the promise of homework for tonight, too. I scribble the pages in, labeling it neatly with the class as though the contrasting handwriting styles balance out into the ideally-imperfect scrawl.
I close the agenda again, dropping it into my backpack to be forgotten until the next class. There is a rustling around the room as a few others begin to take out their materials for the class. Overly-stuffed binder, agenda, and pencil if you care enough, and a calculator if you retain hope of using it in this particular class, where archaic methods of actual "learning" defy the use of technology. It's a burden to think, of course; few of us know how to function without the comforting bulk of the calculator on our desk. I am one such person, but I have long since given up on the endlessly useful technology.
The teacher launches into class and I settle back in my seat, the connected desk allowing me to slouch, hoping that the teacher will not call on me for answers as he goes over the homework. His awful habit of making us think is largely centered on the front row and I am stationed here, my wish to be able to see overcoming my automatic tendency to settle into the back of the room where I can go unnoticed. He doesn't though, and I am temporarily saved. Part of me is annoyed, though. I had actually done the homework this time, but my crumpled sheet of paper is marked by the tiny question marks that indicate my confusion and the tell-tale remnants of wrong answers that I had erased. Of course he wouldn't check it today, the day I actually cared enough to struggle through the twenty problems we had for homework. I sigh and push the homework into the binder, where it will be forgotten until the next test and my confusion will be tripled by time and forgetfulness.
Homework questions are now irrelevant as class begins. I listen and copy down the notes dutifully, already feeling the twinges of confusion. Some (very) small part of me is interested in learning this, but for the most part, the part of me that is uncomfortable and unsure of this new topic is already winning the battle in my mind. Again.
During a moment given to work on the practice problems written on the board that I am still hopeless to understand, I turn to the friend that sits next to me, asking in a whisper if she understands what is going on. She is talking to herself quietly as she writes out numbers quickly and then smiles softly, proud of her work, before moving to the next question.
I sigh, my eyes flicking to the clock, counting seconds, and the inattentive murmurings of my classmates becomes louder. The teacher gives up his hopeless quest to shove inexpliquably complicated mathematical concepts into our heads and the period of math dissolves into a brief respite of social life when we should be working on the twenty-something homework problems for tonight.
At last, the teacher announces that he has our tests from two weeks ago. He calls our name and we shuffle forward to claim our own piece of failure.
My body freezes and I cross my fingers, wishing for an A. My name is called and my pounding heart is sufficiently masked by the din of the class. My fingers are clammy, trembling as I reach forward to take my last test from my teacher. I return to my seat with the paper facedown, all too aware of the expectant looks of my three friends that share my corner of the room. I sit, for a moment closing my eyes as I will for the grade to be decent.
I open my eyes and flip over the paper. An F, again.
I bite my lip, holding back the sound of despair by a hair and thinking about how much of a failure I am.
As I tuck the test into my artfully disorganized bakpack to be forgotten, I hope that my halfhearted ignorance of my failure will allow me to perform better the next time around.
But all I can think about is that this room is a trap, and I am trapped here, composing drawn-out odes to the class that always makes me cringe.
I come in here smiling, usually having just laughed about something or other-- the subject is unimportant in the scheme of things-- and I take a deep breath, trying to hold on to that lightheartedness.
I sit down, waiting for the third bell to ring (the first announced the end of one period, the second announced 1 minute left to get to class, the final began class). I fidget a bit, nervous, but then grow still as the clock ticks closer and closer to my hour of impending doom.
The bell rings, echoing down the hallways and drowning out the raised voices of the students still dawdling outside the door.
I pull out my binder, catching my fingers in the metal ring to tug it from the overly crowded confines of my backpack. The plastic covering scratches as it slides across my desk and I reach into the pocket of my bag, fingers searching for the cool plastic of cheap pencils, a carefully cultivated collection of unextraordinary plastic, easily forgotten by other students until I claimed them as my own ad dropped them into this pocket.
My body is still awkwardly stretched into the aisle as my teacher finally enters, snapping the door shut behind him and locking us into this cinder block room. It's supposed to be a safety measure-- you can't come in here unless you're supposed to be here-- but, for the most part, that is entirely ignored. People wander in and out all the time, whether from tardiness, reluctance to be here, or the always-inconvenient call of nature. But me, I stay here. Exactly as I am, every day.
The teacher begins talking and I open my binder and reach for my agenda. The homework from yesterday has already been scratched out and a partially-filled page holds the promise of homework for tonight, too. I scribble the pages in, labeling it neatly with the class as though the contrasting handwriting styles balance out into the ideally-imperfect scrawl.
I close the agenda again, dropping it into my backpack to be forgotten until the next class. There is a rustling around the room as a few others begin to take out their materials for the class. Overly-stuffed binder, agenda, and pencil if you care enough, and a calculator if you retain hope of using it in this particular class, where archaic methods of actual "learning" defy the use of technology. It's a burden to think, of course; few of us know how to function without the comforting bulk of the calculator on our desk. I am one such person, but I have long since given up on the endlessly useful technology.
The teacher launches into class and I settle back in my seat, the connected desk allowing me to slouch, hoping that the teacher will not call on me for answers as he goes over the homework. His awful habit of making us think is largely centered on the front row and I am stationed here, my wish to be able to see overcoming my automatic tendency to settle into the back of the room where I can go unnoticed. He doesn't though, and I am temporarily saved. Part of me is annoyed, though. I had actually done the homework this time, but my crumpled sheet of paper is marked by the tiny question marks that indicate my confusion and the tell-tale remnants of wrong answers that I had erased. Of course he wouldn't check it today, the day I actually cared enough to struggle through the twenty problems we had for homework. I sigh and push the homework into the binder, where it will be forgotten until the next test and my confusion will be tripled by time and forgetfulness.
Homework questions are now irrelevant as class begins. I listen and copy down the notes dutifully, already feeling the twinges of confusion. Some (very) small part of me is interested in learning this, but for the most part, the part of me that is uncomfortable and unsure of this new topic is already winning the battle in my mind. Again.
During a moment given to work on the practice problems written on the board that I am still hopeless to understand, I turn to the friend that sits next to me, asking in a whisper if she understands what is going on. She is talking to herself quietly as she writes out numbers quickly and then smiles softly, proud of her work, before moving to the next question.
I sigh, my eyes flicking to the clock, counting seconds, and the inattentive murmurings of my classmates becomes louder. The teacher gives up his hopeless quest to shove inexpliquably complicated mathematical concepts into our heads and the period of math dissolves into a brief respite of social life when we should be working on the twenty-something homework problems for tonight.
At last, the teacher announces that he has our tests from two weeks ago. He calls our name and we shuffle forward to claim our own piece of failure.
My body freezes and I cross my fingers, wishing for an A. My name is called and my pounding heart is sufficiently masked by the din of the class. My fingers are clammy, trembling as I reach forward to take my last test from my teacher. I return to my seat with the paper facedown, all too aware of the expectant looks of my three friends that share my corner of the room. I sit, for a moment closing my eyes as I will for the grade to be decent.
I open my eyes and flip over the paper. An F, again.
I bite my lip, holding back the sound of despair by a hair and thinking about how much of a failure I am.
As I tuck the test into my artfully disorganized bakpack to be forgotten, I hope that my halfhearted ignorance of my failure will allow me to perform better the next time around.
But all I can think about is that this room is a trap, and I am trapped here, composing drawn-out odes to the class that always makes me cringe.
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