do you see it now?

People always fear the wrong thing, blindly hating something in their overwhelmed state that should be the least of their worries. For instance, we fear death while mangled bodies and silent brains scream there are far worse things. We fear enemies with guns and knives as people erode our minds with lies and false promises. Decaying individuality, murmuring as it disintegrates that there are far worse things. We fear our love being rejected while people destroy themselves for a love that is not even perceived as such, invisible hearts beating: what could be worse?

Unrequited love certainly is depressing, but it's definitely not the worst: there is a despair far greater. Spurning something takes an act of recognition, an act of acknowledgment. (Yes, I see you. No, I do not want your love.) Even indifference is preferable. The person is unaffected, but at least is aware of your intentions. Unrecognized love, on the other hand, is the opposite. (Love? Oh. Is that what this is?)

You break your back, sell your soul, make every exception, forgive anything, cut your heart out for that person. Of course, you strove so hard, did everything you could. There's a gaping hole in your chest. Your heart pulses in your palm. This person whom you respect and admire and desperately seek to please will recognize your sacrifice, if nothing else. He has to, or what have you been striving for? One smile, one nod of approval-of acknowledgment would justify all the self-inflicted torture you chose to endure.

You walk up, heart in hand. He looks up, not seeing at first, then slowly gaining awareness, but he can't see you, all you did, all you can do-would do- if he'd just look. He sees only that it's not what he expected, not the conventional mode of expression. -He doesn't even know what it is you're trying to express. Everything about it says, "This is love." Explosions of this truth ripple off empty space, echoing off silence, reverberating in the heart he's holding, but apparently, he's deaf.

So, you snatch your heart back, horrified you miscalculated so completely, so irrevocably. In a rage of hurt and anger, you throw it against a wall. His icy indifference, frosty with ignorance has made sure it will never be unbreakable again, will never feel anything again. Maybe when he finally opens his unseeing eyes, he'll see that hole in your chest and realize what it was he held. Maybe when he sees that heart shatter on the wall, sparkling flecks of former brilliance reflecting now-dead love, he'll see what you gave up for him. Not that it matters anyway; heart shattered in defiance, mind broken in shock and horror, feet planted in hostility, eyes burning with hate, a mouth cries out:

do you see it now?

-edit-
this one is in first person. i think i like it a little bit better:

People always fear the wrong thing, blindly hating something in their overwhelmed state that should be the least of their worries. For instance, we fear death while mangled bodies and silent brains scream there are far worse things. We fear enemies with guns and knives as people erode our minds with lies and false promises. Decaying individuality, murmuring as it disintegrates that there are far worse things. We fear our love being rejected while people destroy themselves for a love that is not even perceived as such, invisible hearts beating: what could be worse?

Unrequited love certainly is depressing, but it's definitely not the worst: there is a despair far greater. Spurning something takes an act of recognition, an act of acknowledgment. (Yes, I see you. No, I do not want your love.) Even indifference is preferable. The person is unaffected, but at least is aware of your intentions. Unrecognized love, on the other hand, is the opposite. (Love? Oh. Is that what this is?)

And this is how it goes: for you, I break my back, sell my soul, make every exception, forgive anything, cut my heart out. It's all for you. Of course, I strive so hard, do everything I can. Just look. There's a gaping hole in my chest. My heart pulses in my palm. I'm ready for you to have it. You, who I respect and admire and desperately seek to please will recognize this sacrifice, if nothing else. You have to, or what is all this for? What's the point? Oh, but just one smile, one nod of approval-of simple acknowledgment would justify all the self-inflicted torture I chose to endure.

So, this is it. I walk up, heart in hand. You look up, not seeing at first, then slowly gaining awareness. That's understandable. I didn't tell you I was coming; you have every right to be confused. I stand and wait, but you aren't seeing.Worse: You're incapable of seeing, all I did, all I can do-would do- if you'd just look.Of course, you only that it's not what you expected, not the conventional mode of expression. -You don't even know what it is I'm trying to express. Everything about it says, "This is love." Explosions of this truth ripple off empty space, echoing off silence, reverberating in the heart I gave you, that you're holding, but apparently, you're deaf.

Horrified at my mistake, stupidly thinking you could love, I snatch my heart back. I'm amazed at how fast love can die. Truly, all of it is gone, never to come back. I'll make sure of that. In a rage of hurt and anger, I throw my heart against a wall, the one I saved for you, the one I gave to you. I suppose it's irrelevant now. Your icy indifference, frosty with ignorance has made sure it will never be unbreakable again, will never feel anything again. Congratulations. Maybe when you finally open your unseeing eyes, you'll see this hole in my chest and realize what it was you held. Maybe when you that heart shatter on the wall, sparkling flecks of former brilliance reflecting now-dead love, you'll see what I offered you. Not that it matters anyway; heart shattered in defiance, mind broken in shock and horror, feet planted in hostility, eyes burning with hate, a mouth cries out:

do you see it now?

just that it exists

sometimes, i'm randomly overcome with emotion. this is not to say that i experience emotions without cause, but that sometimes the feeling is so great and i'm overwhelmed by it and don't care at all where it came from. sometimes i'm so incandescently happy to be alive and can do nothing but rejoice in the fact that God saw fit to create me and bless me with existence. i love being alive. i love the fact that i can do things and create things and generally rejoice in the world as it is now and in the fact that i will create one as a tribute to the One who can make something from nothing where i must start with what He created. in any case, i have a small idea of where this suddenly came from. the sky tonight was beautiful, cloud-filled and moonlit and generally breathtaking and then i was driving in my car and the streetlights were all on and working and everything was beautiful. light created by God for us and our response an attempt to match that, falling miserably short, but a gesture of that futile desire to create worth from emptiness. i think life is beautiful. i think that God is beautiful. i think that everything i do is an act of worship of that singular perfection that is God's alone. it's everything that i want to be, my goal, my end. i can achieve it because God is giving it to me daily and it will be complete when i reach that glorious life everlasting. perhaps what God meant when he said that he who loves his life shall lose it, is that he who loves his life without God as his end, without perfection, truth, justice, hope, life as his end, will lose it (perhaps because at that point he wouldn't deserve it). that is to say, that he who loves his life without morality without any foreseeable goals, only random whims and misguided deeds, will lose his life. i hope this is the truth, otherwise my life is lost, gone, forgotten, but it's alright, i can accept that just as long as i know that the absolute truth does exist, just that Christ lived and died, just that pure light, pure perfection, all-encompassing goodness does exist. even if i will never see it or know it because i have such a hopelessly desperate love of life, just that it exists is enough for me to live and to love every minute of it.

consider the switch flipped.

the sky was dark and light today. does it mean that good was battling evil or that i read too much into things? i'd say both are true, but i suppose good is always battling evil and i will always overthink things. when i write my book, i'll have a scene when the sun is shining but the sky is dark. speaking of this, as i walked to my car, the sun was behind me so it was very light, but all i could see before me was grey and dark and ominous. i thought, 'i should remember this. this has meaning. perhaps, the worst is yet to come.' i like to look for foreshadowing in life; it's quite exciting and not as obscure as one would think. at any rate, it goes with a belief that i hold: 'everything is something' it's from atlas shrugged. i think it's important, though i don't think i'm using it in the same way rand was. i think that everything has meaning, but i also think that it's i who gives it that meaning. i'm getting off topic.

i never had a topic.

in conclusion, i think that people should not ask questions or point out things that could end badly. for example, why are we still together? or yea, cut out the middle man. save a buck[when he is the middle man]. all this to say, that i consider the switch flipped. meaning quite simply, that i deal in absolutes: either we are friends or we are not, we talk or we don't, we like each other or not. i'm pretty sure i'm past pretending although many things i do are open for interpretation; that's intentional. people who know me will understand and those who don't won't. this is something that i am quite okay with. the only people who i feel it necessary to associate with are those who understand me and such and everyone else truly doesn't matter to me, general indifference. i've never felt the need to have a lot of friends. lie: i have and it never worked out. i'm not made for lots of people. i'm made for a few. basically, i don't like to share in general, so i certainly don't share myself. while i would like this of my friends and am horribly jealous, i wouldn't make them this way. i like thinking what i think and hate when people try to force other beliefs on me, [certainly share them, and i will listen, but that does not guarantee a conversion and as such, don't try to force me] so i don't force my ideas on them. in any case, this is a long way from where i started.

college essays: number 5

this is my last college essay. it's also due on the 1st, so if you could read it and correct it, that would be awesome. it's also a little long, so if you notice something to cut out that'd be great too. in any case, here it is.

prompt: What do you believe is the most important issue that will face your generation in the coming years?

Certainly, I am blessed to live the life I do with the family have in the house I inhabit. However, I am not so content as to think this is the end of the road, that no progress is possible. I plan to make far greater things and run forward on a road that never ends. However, it seems that many in my generation have been blinded by the glow of the present and become content to let the future fall into darkness. The complacency is everywhere. We are content to let everything fade into worthlessness because we forget how to reach, how to hold while still moving forward. We just shrug, letting everything fall with our expectations. Abandoning forward motion, we become apathetic, killing first our relationships.
Friendship once meant two people were completely in each others good graces, trusting as fully as two people can. It meant commitment, loyalty, love. Now, people have hundreds of friends on Facebook and Myspace. Friends who may have seen them from behind in a crowded hallway or who knows someone who heard someone say something complimentary once. True friendship is now synonymous with acquaintance; it’s meaning completely lost in the blend of opposites. However, no one complains because to comment on pictures and notice status changes is now all that is required of a friend. Knowledge of a person’s heart and mind fall by the wayside and we’re content to let this downgrade happen.
Marriage once meant in sickness and in health and till death do you part. Now people can be married for months, weeks even and no one is surprised or worried or even concerned. Such is the way of the world. Forever has been distorted, meaning little more than until we’re bored or until we have to work for this. Forever is gone. Marriage means dating with a party first; they’re equally transient. No one seems to notice. No one screams that something is very wrong in all of this, that this is not the way things should be, that this is a step backward, not forward.
Parenting once meant nurturing, training, loving, serving, providing. Now people sit their children in front of a television and call it watching. The Spanish the kids learn from Dora is a testament to their superb teaching. They’re raising globally minded children. Parents buy their children a wide variety of junk and call that providing. No one notices that parents have no idea what is going on in the lives of their kids or that teens are hopelessly maladjusted. How could it be any other way? Parents are busy providing and kids are just incessantly going through a phase. It has nothing to do with the fact that there should be a relationship other than living in the same house, a bare minimum that is not being reached.
It’s like this: decay comes after death. Decayed relationships everywhere point to the death of progress and the triumph of complacency, the living death. Complacency kills everything with permission. Everything has been sanctioned by the victims, allowed to happen because of apathy. Life is a matter of perspective: good, bad, purposeful, hopeless. A whole generation is convinced that this is as good it gets. How do you fight an state of mind? How do you kill an idea? How do you wake a person who thinks he’s awake? For all the complaints about America’s school system, very little has been done in the way of improvement. For all the worry and fear caused by the energy crisis, next to nothing is being done to correct the circumstances. For all the panic generated by the economy, few solutions have been presented. Why can’t we see that these are not the problem, that the problem is with us and our hopelessly obvious case of complacency?

college essays: number 4

this is probably my least favorite, but what are you going do? can't win'em all. at any rate, this one is specifically for washington and lee and that's the last one i'm writing. comments are always lovely.

prompt: What is the best advice you ever received? Did you follow it?

To me, the best advice has never been those obscure facts that may never be used. The poison of a small scorpion is more potent. Roll down your windows if your car falls into a body of water, so the water comes in slowly. Frozen rubber bands last longer. Certainly facts like these have a place and could potentially be life savers, but they just aren’t applicable on a daily basis. To me, the best advice has always been those trite little phrases people recite almost mechanically at a moments notice. Worn down to essential truth as if a river had been running over them polishing them, perfecting them. People often forget the beauty of the simplistic, the comfort of the familiar.
Six on one hand; half dozen on the other. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. The wool of a black sheep is just as warm. All generally have the same meaning: there’s more than one to do just about everything, with neither way better, just different. Or, my way is not (always) the only way, and quite frequently, it’s not even the best way.
Some people actually prefer to talk about their feelings rather than write them down and move on. I must say the idea is so foreign to me that for years, I could not understand why week after week my Sunday school class turned into a mass share session. We would sit down, start the lesson, and somewhere along the way we’d veer off topic and everyone would have a turn to rant about their parents or their boyfriends or school or just their lives in general. They shared very personal things, secrets by my reckoning, without giving any concern to the fact that they were talking to people who might just tell everyone they know. At any rate, I suppose they wondered about the girl who never ranted and carried around a worn out notebook. Now, I can see that we were doing the same thing, using different means to the same end. During this though, I could not stop getting agitated. It all seemed so very off-topic and unnecessary and generally annoying. They could just write all of their problems and spare us all. The wool of the black sheep was just not cutting it.
Then my parents decided to foster a little girl and Mari, a six month old baby came to stay with us. All of a sudden, I could not stop talking to everyone about everything that was going on. I rambled on about how beautiful Mari was, about how she got all the attention, about how nothing was final and she might still get taken away and adopted by someone else. When we actually started the path to adoption, the outpouring of everything I thought and felt did not stop. Everyone I knew was praying for her and the family and me. My Sunday school class listening with rapt attention and for the first time, I did the same for them. I cared about their feelings and was glad to hear them. I was glad to have them care about mine. Of course a notebook is great, but to talk about problems with people who actually care to hear them, is great in a wholly different kind of way. This way of dealing with all the changes in my family was just as satisfying as writing about them. Finally, I understood: the wool of a black sheep is just as warm.
There’s more to that phrase than can be caught on first glance. It wouldn’t matter about the black wool’s warmth if white wool was required nor would it matter if the white wool was prettier if there were only black sheep to be found. In that instance, I needed to get my feelings and worries out, but also to know that other people cared and were doing what they could to help. I needed the benefits that only talking to other people could give. I suppose that’s the beauty of advice, of most things really, that no matter how many times you hear some proverbial piece of wisdom or tell it to someone else just because it’s been nicely wrapped in a fortune cookie statement, there is always something useful, always something profoundly true in it that can never be completely understood until it’s been experienced on a personal level.

college essays: number 3

this one was written specifically for notre dame.
prompt: The Rev. John I. Jenkins, C.S.C., President of the University of Notre Dame, said in his Inaugural Address that, "If we are afraid to be different from the world, how can we make a difference in the world?" In what way do you feel you are different from your peers, and how will this shape your contribution to the Notre Dame community?


Life is not fair. Bad things happen to good people; good things happen to bad people. No one can control the actions of another person. People make their choices, cast their dice which fall without a second thought to the hand that threw them. People still resent this though. Even after centuries of philosophical musings and studying the Bible and listening intently to the voices of scholars, people are no closer to accepting this simply fact: there are things beyond man's control. Certainly, many do reach this conclusion, but more simply stew in anger, boiling over with the unfairness of it all, never acting.
Personally, I've given up, and I'm certain I'm not completely alone. The beauty of it all though, is that in this, I have not admitted defeat. I have not conceded the battle to the forces that want the world to remain angry at God, angry at other people, angry at the world. In this, I have proclaimed victory, a triumph over hatred and anger. I have accepted the fact that there are things I cannot control, things I cannot understand, and moreso, that being angry at these things for being what they are, solves nothing. I'm no more angry at the world than a mother is at her child who falls and scrapes his knee, no more angry than a doctor is at his patients. Why should I be? The world has become this way on the course of God's plan; I wouldn't dare question His judgement.
These people who walk around, cursing their existence and the one who gave it to them need only to be shown that feelings never solved anything. Conditions don't change because people will them away, they change because people change themselves or those around them just enough, so that these loathesome conditions can't exist. This is all I can offer: that I will change, that those whom I'm now in a position to influence will change and that in this, what little part of evil, what little area of discontent it's in our power to defeat will not darken another day. All I can promise is that the bright hope for the future that I carry more proudly than many others will make one little aspect of ugliness a tad less potent, a tad more conquerable. All I can hope is that the void in me where anger and confusion should be residing has been replaced with actions and words that can inspire a person, a school, a country, a world to stop sitting idly by when there is so much work that should be done, that can still be done.

college essays: number 2

this is the second essay i wrote. i generally like it and am glad i wrote it
prompt: someone who has influenced you

My dad is the senior manager at AMC Deerbrook. He is great at what he does (it's probably the years of practice), but he doesn't enjoy it at all: he hates it. He works all the major holidays because his job also includes providing entertainment for people who have forgotten how to interact with each other, and he works ridiculous hours, 9 in the morning to 1 the next ridiculous. I, of course, benefit from this horrible take-take relationship he is in. I receive a house to live in and money to spend and more free movies than I have time to watch. However, seeing my dad for five minutes before I go to school or ten minutes when he drives me to work does take its toll, though, I’ve never told him this. I’m sure on some level he knows and that it makes him feel guilty. For that reason, I've never wanted to rub salt in the wound, by pointing out that he missed an award ceremony or a cross country meet. He works to support us and I would be very selfish indeed not to appreciate that. His influence has led me down a seldomly travelled path that never seems to be fully understood. I understand though, and following in his footsteps is not the half of it.
Alana, my thirteen year old sister, affirms Dad by writing poems and graciously spending any money that happens to make it into her hands. Items and words are affection's manifestations, the tokens given to illustrate a lifetime of influence. Mari, the three year old, is adorable. She grabs his head with her tiny hands and touches it to her own. Every now and again, she may even say, "I lub you." Vs are really tricky, apparently, but the message still gets through. Touch is the reciprocation his influence receives. My choice demonstration is to simply reflect.
I watch football with my dad, and sincerely believe in his favorite team: the Redskins and shamelessly mock their rivals: the Cowboys who are certainly not referred to as “America’s Team” in our house. To be a somewhat educated viewer, I've learned more about the game than would be expected of a typical girl and occasionally remind him by throwing out the names of lesser known players and commenting on the effectiveness of various linemen. I also go to the weight room with Dad and do all the horrible chest, shoulder, and arm exercises men are so fond of, though I'd much rather do the leg exercises that come much more easily to me. For him, I played basketball, and him teach me how to dribble and shoot and do spin moves to shake other players. I ran cross country and track and used his advice to improve. I watched the presidential debates with my dad, even though it will another four years before I earn the right to vote. He commented, criticized, critiqued and I listened earnestly to everything he said. Few people realize how golden he is: he has fixed the economy and restored America to its former glory, taught people to be good again and guarded against any mishaps with priceless words of wisdom, and I heard it all, only me.
I have willingly become his insurance plan, protecting him from the abyss of non-remembrance. This is his influence acted out in me, I am everything in him that must not be lost, plus that from myself that must be found. This is the gift I give in a futile attempt to repay everything he has done for me, to ease the triple-death of his family name, to know that everything he stands for will not be lost, to give him confidence that his line of honor and integrity will continue in deed and fact. This is my gift: I am my father's daughter carrying out all the duties of his deserved, but not granted son.

college essays: number 1

this is the first college essay i wrote. it's also probably my favorite one. it's a little rand-ish i must say, but that's life. :D anyway, comment and such.
prompt: topic of your choice :D

I sit down with my notebook in the glass enclosed library at my school. I type in my research topic and look at the lengthy list of books. I write down the initials and numbers and make my way through the aisles of books to the ones I need today. I check out my selections with the satisfied air that only comes from inhaling the scent of dusty books with yellowed pages and knowing that knowledge is held within.
Let's see a computer do that.
Knowledge received at the click of a button is worthless except of course on gameshows. It's a collection of bland facts obtained without any searching, simply offered up on a silver platter with no enticement to dig deeper. In spite of this, everyone seems bent on garnering these instantaneous facts, stuffing his brain with inanities. Understanding, true knowledge, the ability to see the past and create the future, has once again taken a backseat to facts: classic quantity over quality. Perhaps, I am old-fashioned, turning to books instead of embracing websites. Or, maybe, I'm completely addicted to challenges: I live for them.
While this is true, challenge as an end to itself is meaningless. Going out of my way to do a simple task in the most difficult way imaginable is either inefficient or masochistic, neither of which betters me. Only when the journey is worth as much as the destination should the challenge be accepted. For example, churning my own butter and pleasing everyone in my life would be difficult to say the least. However, neither is worth it: sore arms for a little flavor? No identity for a little acceptance? These challenges lead not to greatness, but to mundane trivialities, not worth the thought, let alone the effort and sacrifice.
School, or better knowledge, on the other hand deserves every ounce of my effort. Many of those studious types enjoy school, but why? Scoring A's? Getting into the best schools? Exhausting every detail of those subjects that interest them? What about knowledge for the sake of knowledge, knowing and understanding everything? I feel the whole world turn against me when I say that. Apparently, I'm the only person to think it's possible to understand everything. Obviously, to comprehend the universe would be a hefty task, but that is no reason not to try or to deem it impossible. Perhaps, I am conceited, but that which everyone calls impossible (without basis in natural law, of course) is the only challenge worthy of me and people in general and the cognitive capabilities bestowed on us that pale all others in nature.
To know and understand the world, I take the hardest classes and stay up late to read textbooks and literature and try everything that I can. Time does not bind me. Difficulty does not scare me. Fear does not stop me. I am focused, though not on one aspect of life, one tiny facet of existence, but the universe, my world- I will not wait for it to be offered: I do not need to. I am a human being, the crown of creation; the world is mine already.
Now, the true challenge: understanding everything I've been given.

remember who you are

well, as much as i try to think of everything by myself, i'm sometimes inspired by things that other people do. at any rate, ashley ridel, my bff of old, did this note on facebook entitled: things i want you to know, so here's my version. this is just a lovely list of things i've noticed about myself in recent months and i'm sure it will be wildly informative.

1. i love to read. now, i've always known that it's something that i enjoy, but recently with my personal discovery of ayn rand and brief stint with twilight, reading has really become my time-waster of choice. it's like taking a break from my ideas and immersing myself completely in those of someone else until of course i finish the page, chapter, book and let all my thoughts rush forward. it's lovely.

2. i could run forever. really, there's nothing that a good run doesn't solve. again it's a break from thought. lie. it's like putting my thoughts to music. i think in time with my run and that keeps my mind organized and manageable.

3. i think way too much! oh my goodness. i have ideas about everything though i sometimes lie and say i have no opinion on a subject when 9 times out of 10, i actually do. i over complicate things and dwell on things for longer than i should. it's pretty typical of me to stop talking to everyone and just think, not daydream, just think. also, i typically don't think in pictures.

4. all the guys i know, i pretty much want to fall madly in love with me. yes, i realize this is both improbable and irrational and just a little weird. at any rate, it's something that i want and am slowly working to not want. in any case, i've decided i relate better with guys or at least the guys i've chosen to associate with that is trent, matt, phi and hudson [listed in reverse order of favoritism]. they're super cool and are pretty much great for conversation and random fun.

5. i become nearly best friends with people very quickly. i don't even know how it happens, but it does. one day, i vaguely talk with the person and the next, i'm inviting him to be on my flag football team. whatever, it's pretty cool with me.

6. i'm beginning to realize that emotions are super pointless. anger is useless, as is pain, guilt, worry. other emotions like happiness and hope are not as useless but thoroughly enjoyable and therefore tolerable. using emotions as fuel is also pointless, it's not very efficient at all and quickly people will forget why they started something if it's simply based in emotion.

7. i'm hopelessly predictable. i really don't deviate from my norms ever. basically, you just have to find out how i work and then everything i do will become painfully obvious. however, i'm very okay with this.

8. i love to find the answers to questions for no other reason than to know them. i probably love learning more than any other single thing in existence. i think that knowledge is power as cliche as that is, but i never try to flaunt my knowledge except in the presence of people as smart or smarter than me. i like to be a secret puppet master. :D

originally written 11.11.08

through corrective lenses

wow, it has been quite a while since i have written something on here. honestly, i can't say i've particularly noticed: i've just been writing in my notebook-love. school has been great. i've read so much ayn rand that i'm pretty much her protege. i love love love her style and topics and general message. it's great. i could read her books forever. what i singularly admire though is that they have explained me, to me. it's weird. it's like in 1984 when winston reads the book and it just tells him things he knows already. everything she says i have always thought, but have gone through various phases of trying to not to think it while hiding the fact that i do. it's funny to read my old writing because i'm forever talking about my lack of self-confidence. i know now, i'm probably one of the most confident people you will ever meet however i tried/try to hide this because it's kind of weird to talk to people with absolute confidence. also, though no character's are like this, i only do things that i think could be challenging. i suppose that's like roark in the lines where she says something like "he's too strong to find a challenge but so strong that he needs one" or something along those lines. typically i've stopped doing things that i'm very good at or could become good at quickly: piano, running, singing. i'm convinced that if i started today and devoted myself to one of these endeavors, i would be the best. i suppose that's conceit, but i think that's just the gift God has given. the gift of absolute confidence and absolute faith in the future, because i make it and then even if i relinquish control, God makes it, and that's even better. the present typically doesn't matter to me because bad things can happen now, but not in the future: the future is waiting to be made perfect; it is not set in stone nor do bad things have to dominate it. events more glorious than i can imagine are the future. like i said, the future is perfect. writing though, is something i've always had a profound affection for. i cannot exist without it. seriously, these are things that deserve to be preserved, the innermost workings of a brain i mean, that should not exist only in the memories of the people, but should exist concretely for everyone to see. i still firmly believe that people are their ideas, mind over matter in the extreme. therefore, putting my ideas on paper is putting myself on paper locking myself in the presents of everyone after me. i'm glad i have finally realized this. i'm glad i have finally written this. it needed to be said.