Tuesday, October 15, 2013


There are two things in my life thusfar that I can honestly say I have never taken for granted.

One, I cannot tell you what it is. It's not so much of a privacy issue as it is a personality issue. I would tell you, but why should I, if I've never told the person(s) it involves?

The second, however, is my ability to see.

As much as I love listening to music and being swooned by musicians on stage, I can't say that I'm artist enough to make my own music and truly understand it. What I like about music is that I can learn about the artist and why he/she produces the music they produce and what compels them and maybe their background influences. Plus, as one person pointed out, I don't always look for craft. It's like being a shallow person except for music. It doesn't mean that I don't appreciate the artistry of sound, it just means I don't like country music.

Point in case, the ability to hear is a blessing, but my appreciation runs further for my ability to see.

The thing is, I have horrible vision. Like, I mean, atrocious. 

I received my first pair of glasses when I was seven. I had poor vision probably as a result of reading in the dark, watching TV too close, and some genetics. When I was nine, I got my first pair of contacts that I was too scared to wear. I didn't try again until I was 14 and in my freshman year of high school. It changed my life. Now, I rely on it, since I never wear my glasses for more than an hour a day. In that sense, you can say I abuse my eyeballs and therefore definitely take it for granted.

But in the morning, when the air is crisp and I walk outside and stare at the yellowing trees and watch the people rush to work and watch the people leisurely walk their dogs, I can only feel a deep sense of appreciation for such clarity and beauty in ordinary things.

I've never considered myself to be a dreamer, but this makes me reconsider the truth.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank.

I truly don't want anyone to misunderstand my intentions, but I can't wait until my service is over.

I felt that I needed to get it out on my blog because I don't want anyone's ears falling off because of the volume of my shrieks prior to drowning. Maybe that's too extreme of an example.

It's not that I hate it or even dislike it. I actually love what I do and wish to replicate as much as possible what I do now to what I will do a few months from now. 

But here's the thing.

Working with dozens of volunteers on a daily basis is like being pseudo-happy and extremely patient with coworkers, which is unlikely to be the case if they really were your coworkers. Right?? So, you can't blame them for... anything.

And then the part that reminds you of your decision to dedicate an entire year to work full time for the end goal of "fighting poverty," and to hold expectations that of an employee-- but degraded like a college intern. No, ironically we are NOT treated like volunteers with the "pseudo-happy and extremely patient" thing. It's not hard for me to remember why I'm doing this, but it is hard to believe that I objectively do what I do and get paid $5 an hour-- not by the organization that I am building capacity for-- but by the government, who has no idea what exactly I'm doing and how I am being treated.

It's easy to come in starting your year motivated and super dedicated. 10 months in, I am not any less dedicated, but it is becoming increasingly difficult as I think about my own life and not other strangers who need help in Cincinnati.

To this, I feel guilty. But also to this, I want more not just for my own motivation, but for others.


Sunday, July 28, 2013

Yes, We Did.

It's true.

We finally got a dining table.

How this has changed our lives thusfar, I will tell you. We eat mindfully, we consume gracefully, and we feel civilized.

One of my favorite stories written by none other plays with the horror of being "propped up like mummies" in chairs when dining out, feeling forced by the public to talk, as we are all susceptible of voyeuristic eyes and silent judgment when we are vulnerably seated in the middle of a restaurant.

As the subject of spectacles, we're expected to talk in public. Whether you like it or not (or whether you do it or not), people watch you. This crossed my mind when at work, the ladies discussed how awful it is to see couples not talk or be distant in public. I couldn't see what was so awful about it.

Why are we forced to talk? What makes it okay to not talk in the privacy of the home, but not okay in public?

What I realized while dining in private, propped up like mummies on stools, is that, regardless of the confines of your abode, or the neverending gaze of the public, there is nothing wrong with not talking in a world that can't shut up.

Sunday, July 21, 2013

I Need Your Suggestions.

I need some good non-fiction reads!

comment below or,
i would love to hear from you via email

Saturday, July 20, 2013

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Lists, Bullets, And Indentations.

Things I desperately wish belonged to me (or was within my reach):
>An inherent mental dictionary/thesaurus- not only to make my paper-writing/blog-writing and [most especially] verbal communication a simpler experience, but also to adequately describe my valued thoughts to those in my proximity 
>A balance of (a) free time and (b) productivity- (not to be confused with "productively using my free time")
(a) my free time would be spent thinking in a cool space. It can't be too hot. It can't be too cold. The space must shed unbearably bright lights with minimalistic decor, or alternatively, lit by one or two shaded lamps with mediocre clutter in its surrounding. I would be able to do the following during my free time:
  • take beautiful photos with my nonexistent (but aim to purchase one day) camera
  • write coherently
  • drink good coffee
  • spend an indefinite amount of the time with the special person(s) in my life (2)
(b) The productivity part of it would be spent doing work. I actually like working. I liked working while attending school, and I liked that the weekdays promised me something to do: homework. I like working, and it helps when the work you do is work you want to do, but it must be balanced with this said idealistic free time

One of the most beautiful characteristics to see in people is confidence. I've been thinking about this concept for the past few days and realized the following as a cause or effect of this powerful trait:
>Confidence exudes drive
>Confidence instills the DO-YOU mentality
>Confidence ensures independence
>Confidence draws others to the aforementioned aura of self-sufficiency 

*This entry is transcribed from my notebook. In other words, it may not read cohesively to the public eye

Sunday, June 16, 2013

So They Say.

So they say people love themselves more than anyone or anything else. People attest to this observed theory, for example, when you notice that people in relationships actually kind of look like each other.

For me, it's all about relatablity, and that is a reflection of my narcissism.

I have this urge to write many, many things, but I am constantly reminded at how writing looks so much easier on the other end, where it is just being read.

I am, if you weren't aware before, utterly influenced by David Sedaris, and so it has been on my mental list to write in my diary every day-- an involuntary exercise Sedaris does on a daily basis. I haven't had the audacity to actually begin this practice. I think because I'm afraid of writing something beyond myself.

All my life in which I was able to begin writing, I've had a diary. And in that diary, it was always about me.

Although that sounds pretty normal since a diary is the only place in the world where you're allowed to be selfish and egotistical, I suppose I don't always want my diary to be about my have-nots (material things, personal insecurities, and most typically, boys) and more about my viewpoint on the ho-hums of my own life and the things that happen in it-- even if that means a page and a half about the couple who was standing in front of me and Cliff at the show this past weekend.

The best way I explain to you why I love David Sedaris so much is because I'm narcissistic.

Regardless of the reputable characteristics that make David Sedaris, David Sedaris-- passive aggressive, sensitive but simultaneously self-deprecating, gay, white, male, and in his mid-fifties-- I've never been introduced to someone's mind who could be any more similar to my own.