Morning Breath

            Onions thrown in, only to mix with the wad of garlic sitting atop a sizzling pan just off center on my fire showing, gas burning stove. In a world within a suburban house where no one will ever be close enough to smell my morning breath. More garlic gets added, some onion powder too, for in this world I live, the survivors are among the few.

            The morning rituals I often take for granted, the life I often dream of leading, they’re all drowned out at the sound of olive oil begging it’s friends to release their innermost feelings as they all explode . . . and I am there to watch it. Finally on the other side of a fallout, finally on the side of safety where hot oil and even hotter breath can’t dare to touch me. And I’m here to watch the fights, not as a competitor or even an invested spectator, but simply as a girl who knows that what’s best in life is simply out of arms reach.

            Breakfast is the way to start the day, to remind us that we’re human and that another day will come. For we never think that tomorrow is too late—we simply know that tomorrow will be too late for someone else. One less person at the breakfast table, one less birthday card to remember to write—one less task at hand. So starting today, I’m embracing my morning breath, and those who dare come around with the stench of pure happiness. For tomorrow may bring something new, but I may very well bring something new to tomorrow.

Exploding Colors

Colors light up the sky and I am left sitting here, wondering why. Wondering not why an entire community feels the contractual obligation to walk within suburbia to an open grassy land. Wondering not why barbeques and flaming colors in the sky represent independence. Wondering not why I find myself partaking in these cultural rituals I condemn.

I find myself wondering what I wish to be free from. What I would sacrifice my life and the future of my family for. What would I be willing to risk, and who or what would I be willing to risk it for? Surely taking up arms and hurling yourself towards an enemy seems foreign, yet we do so everyday. Bombarding others faces with viciousness as our daggering words pierce their backs. We fight everyday, yet we think nothing of it. So if it came down to it, if the fighting became "real,", what would I want freedom from?

In all honesty, I guess I'd want freedom from myself. Freedom from my thoughts, and freedom from the memories that make sleep a fond and intangible memory from childhood. Yet as I truly ponder the thought, I find that the inner struggles combined with external pressures are what drive me. Without myself, I would be nowhere. As simply complex as that is, the trials and tribulations up to this point in my life have brought me here today.

And while I may not have necessarily taken the easisest, most direct or most logical path, I have taken my path. Many cannot say that, I can confidently say that I have taken my path, and there is nothing greater in life than exploding into the colors of yourself.

An Inconvenient Truth: 1 in 5 are forced survivors

Everyone has a body, how they choose to take care of it is their choice. Everyone has the ability to feel love, whether or not they choose to accept love is their choice. Everyone has a voice, whether or not they use it is their choice. People are blessed to be in control of so many things, things that we often take for granted.

For victims of rape/sexual assault, these basic human choices are taken away. They are no longer in control of their body, because someone physically, emotionally and mentally took that right choice away from them. Victims have difficulty accepting love, because someone shown them and their body the purest forms of hate. Their voice? It's been sucked out of them by a monster, a monster often close to them in their life, and well liked by the community. Why speak up about something you can't help but doubt yourself?

While rape is and will always be one of the most shameful truths of society, there is another side. Say you're at a party one night, and you're not thinking as clearly as you should be, you see a cute new person and well. . .things happen. The next day, this person won't talk to you, and you have absolutely no idea why they're acting so strange. You just wrecked their life last night, and you didn't even know it! But how could this be? New research has shown that the majority of rapists do not know that what they did constituted as rape.


It's scary to think that alcohol abolishes all wrong doing in the eyes of teens and adults alike. As if liquid poison denotes any crime. It's an excuse easy to make--how could you do something wrong if you can't remember anything at all?

But guess what? I remember.

Turn Away from the Truth

          Liam. Not the name itself, but the way it was spoken. As if a four letter pronoun could pronounce what no one had been willing to. Spoken from lips who dare not think of the meaning behind it. . . . spoken from lips still reeling from the nightmare, just one back break away from falling further within.

          I know what it meant, and I knew how it was heard by those who knew. A painfully dark creature that suddenly saw broad daylight, yet only glittered to those who knew his inner depths. Funny how an animal glistening in the sun has the same effect as a monster pinpointed and spotlighted by the moon.

          It’s as if it’s contagious to those who know, spreading silence wherever it goes. Because clearly this is something not worthy of being talked about. Something that needs to be kept under wraps. . .something like you.

          And it needs to be kept quiet, so as not to frighten those around. So as not to spook the children and inject fear into the adults. There’s a reason no one talks about it, and I have a chilling feeling that that reason might be me. They think I’m frail, that I can’t handle talking about it, but honestly, talking about it isn't what got me into this mess. I was told that his name wasn’t worthy of mentioning, yet I hear it every night. I was told that such a disgrace didn’t deserve thought, yet thinking isn’t what got me into this mess. I was told to forget about it, because remembering is painful, but my attempts at forgetting are what got me into this mess.

It’s hard not to be frustrated beyond belief that no one will speak of what happens—if a crime is happening in broad daylight, wouldn’t you stop it? Well what if the ones who saw were the ones who turned away? And what if a frightened girl—what if I—was the one to turn first?

         

Blogging Around: What Is Love?

 What is love? Do any of us really know? At sixteen, can we even claim to know the vast depths of a supposed emotion we have yet to admit exists? In Aaron Ach's blog, he posted about his ideals of love, concluding that all we really know about love is it's uncertainty. He explored the ideals of the topic itself, and questioned what it all meant. My response to his compelling blog is below.

Bravo, Aaron. You have taken one of the most complex ideas (especially at our age) and have been able to transform it into what it is--the joy in uncertainty. While I would agree that love itself rarely comes "wrapped in a bow" I do believe that the notion behind that idea is still necessary.
For many, the idea that love transcends any and everything is important, which is why I respect what you wrote all the more. I couldn't agree with you more--love is unpredictable and it's meaning will always continue to change.
As our lives change--as we ourselves change--so will the meaning of love.

A peer of mine, David Zakhodin, recently offered his opinion on the same subject. While I agreed almost 100% with Mr. Ach's blog, I found myself disagreeing continually with Mr. Zakhodin's take on the subject. Mr. Zakhodin concluded that if love is painful, it tends to be best to walk away. We simply need to look out for ourselves and realize that love is pain. While I agree with some of his ideals, I found myself disagreeing yet enjoying the majority of his blog. His intriguing post is below.

I really enjoyed reading your perspective on all of this, David. While I agree that love (if you believe it exists) is painful and unpredictable, I don't necessarily think we should handle the loss of it like the characters in "Once" and "Jane Eyre" do. Maybe it's just me, but if I ever fell in love, I don't think I'd be able to simply let them go. If you've given a person your love, heart and soul, how can you act like these characters and simply walk away? Don't get me wrong, walking away is sometimes necessary and is painful regardless of what end you're on, but could you really give up that which means the most to you?
"Love" is many things, but I don't think painful is one. I believe it's the absence of this hypothetical emotion that causes the pain we see all too often in movies. Your take on these pieces of art and "love" are very interesting, and I enjoyed getting to wrestle with them and contemplate them. Thank you, bravo.

Dialectics: The Matrix--Locating Love

The Matrix is based upon the concept of two worlds being able to co-exist with one another, or rather the clash between the "real" aspect to one another. In this film of opposites and contradictory sides, everything clashes and seems different. . . .Everything except for the concept of love.

While the movie portrays the idea of love as "lust" in the Matrix and "love" in the real world, both are portrayed in both worlds. The opposing concepts of "love only exists in an alternate universe" and "love exists all around us" are supposedly clashing, yet in this movie, they seem to gel together. The main character, Neo, falls in love with the woman who can transcend both words--and that gets to the core of my argument.

Love doesn't play by the rules, I think we've all learned that. And whether or not love exists is still a question up for grabs. But what we do know is that love supposedly can transcend all barriers, all worlds and nearly everything. It can turn even the coldest of hearts and become a companion to the lonely. The Matrix is all about pointing out the controversial differences and personal choices that one must make in their life, yet I don't think the minds behind this movie left the question of love up to us.

The minds behind the movie specifically leave the concept of love pretty vague and un-talked about, because love transcends even the most complicated of concepts. If anything can cross all boundaries and unite one another, it's love. Whether that be a love for ourselves, friends or even that special someone, love is able to go through boundaries and walls we never even knew existed.

So in a world of feuds and war-waging sides, it's important to remember one thing: whether we believe it or not, love will always locate us, no matter what direction or dimension we might currently be in.

Metacognition: Jane Eyre Mashup

Dad is jeering. Mom is crying. Mind is cheering. Heart is dying. And I? . . encompass them all.

When I started my mashup, I didn't really know where it would lead. I just hoped that the meaning of love I had yet to discover for myself would magically appear in an assignment due in less than a week. I tried. . .and failed. And again, I tried. . .and failed. Yet it was only once I saw these failures for what they were that I truly was able to begin my mashup. They were not failures. They were steps that I needed to take in order to get to my final destination.

And my my final destination? In all honesty, it's a place that I don't find solace in. It's a place cold, dark and one I walk into praying that I'll soon leave. Love no longer holds meaning with me. It simply doesn't exist. I no longer can force myself to believe the lies. I refuse to believe that there is such a thing as a "soul mate" or a "prince charming".

The characters in my life will blame my change of heart on the villain. The readers will claim love was "stolen" and that they swear a happy ending is soon to come. But they're forgetting one simple thing--I am the narrator. I am responsible for adding in characters and writing them out of my story.

Yet as I'm writing, I'm realizing that there are chapters I want to leave out. I'm lucky enough to still hold the pen, but as I've learned with this mashup, the hand behind it all isn't always my own.