And I'm hungry like the wolf (pt. 2)

The alarm buzzed at 6 a.m. and I was definitely not ready for breakfast. It took another hour, right when breakfast was being served across the street at the Titan Student Union way out in the middle of Cal State Fullerton. I slowly lifted out of my bed at the Marriott, with Suzy still lying on hers. I began to consider bypassing breaksfast entirely and just showing up for the presentation of which I had to attend to participate in my first competition of the day: news writing at 8:45 a.m.

I sat in some nervous stupor as we entered the Pavillion at about 8:30 a.m. I sipped my on my coffee and shifted around, searching for some fellow Union staff. I refused some sustinance and took part in some light-hearted pre-competition humor until the Pavillion doors opened and the Union made its way to the front. Throghout the speeches and the like, my fellow competitiors and I eagerly scribbled down every last word that was said in order to take it back to the competition rooms in the hopes to slay the competition. Journalism is a lot like that, you know. Once again I found myself in a chilly competition room and the countdown began. My story ended with three pages. My next competition was immediatly after: news judgment/page layout. I was certain this would not turn out well. After all, the only reason I was entering it was because my adviser wanted me to--right? Despite the fact that I had been reassured since the morning before that I would do well in this particular competition, there was not a bone in me ready to believe it just yet.

My EIC brought me a broadsheet layout dummy page. I began sketching and selecting stories in the hopes that my schooling was serving me well. My EIC finished first with only 10 minutes to go. When I was done, I had no idea what I was stepping into. Suzy had left somewhere on foot, leaving me waiting in anticipation over if we were going to make it back to the hotel in time to check out without them charging us for another night. It smelled oddly like some, as if all the stress-filled college students charged out the Titan Student Union doors to have a cigarette. I paced. Apparently, everyone could see me through the clear glass doors of the Pavillion area of the Titan Student Union. I got a text: "Stop pacing," it said. I stifled my laughter and continued to wonder where the smell was coming from.

"Are you lost, little girl?"
Shit! Now I was in for it!

Nevermind, it was only Ivan. But what we he doing there? A fire broke out on the hillside--two of them, as a matter of fact. He was up there taking pictures. It was still not visible from behind the larger building of Cal State Fullerton by the time Suzy called and told me to start heading back over to the hotel. Our room was on the fifth floor. We pulled aside the curtain to see what was out there as if we expected to see War of the World come to life before our eyes, right outside our window. What we did see was a wave of smoke created by two separate fires intercepting each other. One could barely see the flicker of yellow and orange in the midst of the terrible black abyss that was the smoke and ash rising from the hills. In little time, the rain of ash and smoke billowed over Cal State Fullerton and the Marriott. As soon as we stepped out to prepare to go back to the TSU, we felt a burn in our faces. It had only been a half hour since we had last been outside. This was a JACC we would not soon forget! When we arrived at the TSU, it did not appear strange, even as we made it into the Pavillion. After a bit, however, we noticed the atmosphere had a red glow about everything in its wake. We made it to one last lecture before it was time to getting ready with the smell of the fire creeping in from every crack and crevice despite all efforts to calm its effects. We didn't know it yet, but the sky was turning a fiery color and altered the state of the daytime light.

We walked back in the derious sunlight and began to prepare for the awards, determined to be the fanciest school there. We admired our awkward sun and burning red sky just a bit before entering the hotel again, with the daunting scratch and burn of the smoke wrapping around us. The sun sat high like a mighty, angered God ready to commense deforesation by means of incessent fire in order to rock us out of our competitive demeanor. We monopolized the bathrooms near the pool for our vanity until Suzy and I were ready to load everything back into Filip's car. We stopped by Starbucks, myself looking like an absolute loon to most considering the elegance of my dress. It was cool in there, but it did the trick at keeping the smell of smoke out. I did my part in America's unviersal jumping on the gun and got myself a Christmas drink, a venti at that, of which I took my sweet time consuming. There was a slideshow full of images crazy students took of the fire. Then the moment of truth. The Union came away with 20 awards by the end of the night. As for me--I took third place in broadsheet layout. Imagine that!

For the most part, there was a calm air about everyone. It was incredible that such a small staff prevailed so greatly. A staff of only five writers and only eight of the nine editorial board spots filled took on the competition and came away with an award in almost every catagory. We hopped on the 91, me encouraging Filip to race Miyu down the freeway. And there, long conversation ensued about practically everything. It was calming to sit back and watch the road go by, leaving the fires behind us, and calmly expressing what seemed like everything I could ever say. Finally, in what seemed like one heartbreaking moment, Filip and I arrived at my house. It was a moment in which I wished time could go backward and I could relive the entire weekend. Jouralism opened new doors to me that weekend and showed me how much higher than the clouds it was. It was meant to be--the people there were all my exact clones when it comes to personality. The ideas, the innovations, the conceptual prowess was all meant for me. Journalism was all mine that weekend. And with its comforts, as well as the comforts of my staff, I knew I was meant for it all. For the love of journalism.

And I'm hungry like the wolf (pt. 1)

Friday morning I was all ready for JACC with enough time to spare. With too much clothes in my suitcase and not enough money for the hotel in my wallet, I was off with a couple of friends. Soon enough, the payment for the hotel was done and over with and we were soon on the third floor of University Hall at Cal State Fullerton, looking over the buildings that even towered it. It was nice to see everyone together. Not to mention, that by lunch, we had already been such networking freaks that the student-worker at the Roundtable Pizza they have on campus gave us a free personal pizza. Not to mention, the girls who were there looked awesome.

It seems my whole day of workshops and walking back and forth from CSU Fullerton to the Marriott across the street lead up to my copy editing competition at 9 p.m. That is, after the welcome reception, in which we all met as a complete group for the last time away from the (sometimes) prison that is the newsroom. After the sports boys left for their competition--sports writers wrote about the Fullerton women's basketball game and the sports photographers took pictures--it was only two long hours to go until my competition. The room was cold and quiet, with nothing but the frantic rustling of people turning pages in their Stylebook. It was done. I was pretty confident, so after a satisfying dinner, I waited until midnight when my roommate came in from her critical review competition. There was still much stress in the air for the day to come, but now that I had been in competition mode, exposed to what the surroundings would be like--there was nothing to do but wake up ready to fight. For the love of journalism.

I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say

Everything went sour last night, or so it seems. I was on edge because of all the holes left on my page and 9 p.m. inevitably coming. I hissed once at the agitating business of what seemed like looking over my shoulder began. I would sooner have expected to be spanked or put in a time out before the night was done than to have any compliance with all of it--but I did. Because I care about the feelings of others far too much. I cannot help but see everyone as a distorted reflection of me. We may all be off in a myriad of ways, but everyone still feels and thinks, as do I. So I said nothing despite the eminent headache, which did pounce on me that night, although I did not act on it. Early on, I had massive amounts of coffee and everyone had the usual laugh--and yes, I am telling this story backward, I will flash forward soon. So there was that and a shakey jolt in my hands in an attempt to dull the onslaught I knew we were all in for. I took precautions for that, simple ones that I won't bother to mention. And maybe I shouldn't have smoked that cigarette earlier that day. At least someone cared to notice.

In any case, production night finally ended with a disgusting feeling of failure in my stomach. It was then in my humbling state that I took a moment to remember the morning. I have a good bunch of people on my side, even in the middle of my pained thoughts in which I seriously considered leaving next semester: A thought that continued well into this morning. There may not have been any phyiscal contact as I have been wishing from anyone since years ago, but that morning was quite calm, even in my frenzy to locate my writers and the articles they were writing. In my advanced pace and racing mind, I was hushed. I know it, because as I think about it, I could have very well destroyed anything that could be clenched in my hands, but I didn't. The morning was actually one of the last times I smiled the whole day. I understand that in my moments where I am completely uncollected, no female on this planet likes me, but I did not need approval from one group of people. I had my own, in a strange non-destructive way. I believe it's called self-esteem. I think butterflies have it. That is why they fly so freely and elegantly.

The night, that is, the one after the newspaper production, was one the likes of which I have not seen in a while. I believe it was freezing cold, but I did not notice. I was too content in my own endeavors and so immaculately impressed by other things that not even Mother Nature could speak to me. I just yammered on and on, most likely incoherently, much like I do in the confines of the newsroom, but this was different. I suppose every night is different for me, but I'm talking about a different kind of--well, different. This kind of different was the things I thought I understood years ago. It is the kind that made me realize the things I thought I wanted were only pieces of the puzzle and that I really wanted something entirely different, and that something had a good way of disguising itself as other things. This is the kind of different in which I noticed the stars and every little twinkle and glow, instead of just the sky. After the paper was out last night, I felt more like a human and less like a creature. It was one of those colder nights that still feel warm regardless. I think I finally know what I am doing.

Tomorrow is JACC. I will be writing, as I assume I will be feeling, seeing and thinking more than usual. Last night and yesterday morning are things that come by so quickly, but will transcend the days to come. I owe a lot of it to particular people. They will recieve much from me in all forms henceforth. I am following the course.

Go ask Alice when she's 10 feet tall

Yesterday, as Pearl and I called it, was a useless Monday. Went in to the newsroom on our day off to work on the paper and only about three other people did so in return. A writer walked out on my story and all I had was a blank page. Our adviser was right--we are burnt out. Later I sat with the guru for the first time in ages. I think I may have thrown off a few people by it, but I was too immersed in everything. Pearl and I shared a meal, too, and talked about things we never get the chance to in the company of others. I went home and pulled out my Twilight Zone box set and sat in its strange wonders and almost intergalactic theme song. I heard Rod Serling, clear and close in my ear. I lied back afterward, after noticing how long everything took and sank into some Pink Floyd while I still had the chance. After my moment, my very long moment, I was no longer watching all the world with silence and patience. Not that I burst into speech. Actually, I was quite numb in the tongue, with this feeling of film all over and heavy grip on my jaw. My tongue seemed dead as it tickled tiny feelings of numbness throughout. My own silence does everyone some good.

Today was one pain after another. No one is anything at all like the guru. I felt like I belonged too much perhaps as everyone seemed to slowly be throwing in the towel on this evening. I wish I could have driven in the peace just like yesterday, where I was not concerned about the slowing traffic or how long everything was taking. And even though I noticed everything takes such a long time, I long for the times where I don't even notice it. Perhaps this weekend, in the midst of competition and the like, time will pass slowly by itself, but gracefully over me. If only tonight could be a bit number, a bit quieter, without the thought of who is doing what and how I'm ever going to finish and what I plan on doing about anything. Time is always too fast when you don't want it to be, even when the hours drag the way they do. Until tomorrow, I suppose. Until the next time I can relinquish the time I have for something more soothing will I remember what I have said here.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

It gets dark earlier in these parts. California hit darkness at about 5 p.m. yesterday, so my usual drive to the mall on the weekends was unusually empty as my headlights creeped around in the night. It was a more peaceful drive with the softness of Led Zeppelin on the airwaves as I started my car. Once it was over, I scraped the night with some Dragonforce, although this time I kept the volume low.

It was a nice walk around the mall for about a half hour while I waited for Nikki to get off work. I searched for dresses I could wear to JACC, fidning one at Windsor that I went back and snagged today. Everything else was so overly glamorous, but they did attract my eye perhaps because of the angelic Christmas music in the background. By about 7 p.m., Nikki was out and we walked over to Wahoo's in the dark. It was quiet in there, with the surfer-esque atmosphere relaxing the mood. At that point, it was all conversation about men and women and all the like. We would pause for certain songs and talk about ourselves and how we always imagine our own music video for songs of which reflected on our lives. We dream of musicals of sorts, I suppose.

Coffee Bean--that was a warming comfort of me long-craved cafe mocha to my lips. It was more men, more women as the air chilled outside and the winds began tussling as though we were from the midwest, not Southern California. Nikki had quite the time talking about her boyfriend, who treats her well. I thought about my prospect--thought about him, talked about him, made Nikki smile at the thought. And of course, us being the ultimate compilation and dynamic duo, we laughed at all the same things, no matter how ridiculous. While we may not have recieved complaints, I could almost hear the annoyance of the other customers at our offensive language and sexual innuendos. But still, we almost kept it silent. It was just those kinds of nights.

Barnes and Noble was full of hilarious books and I pined to buy every single book in the whole store as usual. Some day I will own a whole collection--a library! And I will read them all at my own pace. I will have time. All things willing, it won't become a Twilight Zone moment in which my house burns down or I become a bitter senile old bat and cannot grasp my love of books any longer. On another note, I never realized how much bad news could be made hilarious through baby animals.

Nikki and I created more walking music videos with the power of the opera songs playing among us. And even when things could have turned in another direction, he stole my thoughts. I could almost hate him. I could dare to say I could kill him for this--but then what fun would life be? In all my previous confusion and coming out seeing clearly even in the darkest of nights of which I had long forgotten could come so early, this was my moment. These are my nights to hold again.

I know who I want to take me home.

Tellin' mother nature about you and me

Sometimes there are things only certain people know how to do and they do it at exactly the right time. But really, it's extremely rare. In fact, I care to say animals know how to do things like that better than us humans do. On some days when I'm especially worn, tired or dreamy-eyed, my dearest Ginger will look up at me as I am bent over saying hello to her, and touch her nose to mine and give me a single dog kiss wherever she sees fit. And some days when I come to the backyard to cry or mope around in the outside air, I will get a nibble at my fingertips. And some days where I am lazy or lonely, she will share her toys with me and raise a paw to me. Somehow, all of this means more to me than anything any human could ever do.

She is my little genius, who knows how to pick apples from high up by pushing off on a wall and sees no challenge in any "mentally stimulating" doggy toy. She's my little sweetheart who loves me and misses me every day of her life. She's my little blanket and shoulder to cry on who sits patiently as I wrap my arms around her and let a few hot tears touch her fur. She's my inspiration who gets me writing my greatest work. My love for her got me to write the piece that allowed me to be the columnist for my college's newspaper. She's my little darling who still gives me puppy eyes even when she is a 7-year-old German Shepherd. She's my sleepyhead who sleeps curled in strange positions, but still manages to get up and greet me with her half-open eyes when I go outside after a long day. She's my noble protector who still bellows her deep and commanding bark, strong and proud, and who will still protect the house with all her power because of her human-like sense of family and pride. She's my gorgeous little thing, still elegant, poised and stunningly beautiful despite her years. She is my life and love for everything she could give me and more. She is worth more than most humans could ever hope to be their entire lives.

Imagine all the people, sharing all the world

And suddenly...there was a wave of silence and peace. Obama won the election and all the world seemed quiet with hope.

I went to my polling place early, intent on voting before school. The first part of production night for the JACC issue was on that Tuesday and no one had the faintest of when any of us would be home. I skirted through the puddles from the early morning rain and went through the chain link gates of the San Pedro Science Center--and trust me, it's not as epic as it sounds. There was a line reaching far, far out the door, but I was determined to wait, even if it meant being terribly late to class. Good thing there were two tables, and my table was empty, so I bypassed the line. The first page asked me to choose to president. I inked a dot. Hard. For Barack Obama.

I was still late to class. I didn't care. I was making a difference. I could already feel it. The newsroom carried its usual demeanor, with an air of laughter and companionship. Every few moments, we pulled up CNN.com or Yahoo! to check on electoral votes. When Kentucky became the first to announce, McCain was ahead and of course some people had to try to start a ruckus by making it seem as though McCain had Obama by the throat. By the end of production night, Obama had 226 electoral votes and McCain had 89. We left for home certain the race was over.

The first thing I saw when going to my computer was The First Black President! blaring from my screen. It was then I knew we did it, and it wasn't just an ambition anymore. It was happening. The house never seemed so quiet as I watched the news stations going in circles about the election. There were a few tears from me. I know now that change is possible. It was always a hope, but in the humility amid the peace that come from the hushed pride and joy of America and all the world, I saw it with my own eyes and felt it in my heart.


Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

And I will stand in the rain on the corner

I think finally realized how light I am when it comes to these things. This whole world could be flooding and I would be above the water. I love the rain, but even as it poured on Saturday, I thought only of him and each little patter and pound was another thought of him or a bit of my imagination running wild all over the whole thing.I was happy to not be driving; it gave me time to think because for some reason, my head is clearer when cloudy, gray skies are present. It felt like my heart was sending my blood in a loop, in and out of my heart like it was fluttering in the breeze along with the scarce leaf which tumbled down from the sky or sloshed in a puddle, damp and slightly a mess.

I had money in my pocket and a warm hand to my lips, musing. What was better, however, was the knowing. I may have normally been happy knowing I had money, knowing it was the weekend or knowing the weather was a change of pace, but that wasn't it at all. All my excitement coursed inside of me because I knew he would be near there. I have driven by the place so many times my whole life, and yet it never even mattered until I knew he was there. Now any outing in the area will never be the same. Every time I drive by, my heart will settle, yet overflow. It has become just a little more special. Christmas time is coming, too, and I will probably be driving passed more often through the white and gray sky, with a chilly frost--as far as Southern California goes. Then with every rattle of the shivering palm trees and every sparkling red holiday decoration and every frigid and strong gust of wind, one of my thoughts will reach to the sky. And they will all be of him. Even in the pouring rain, it will never feel so right as to think of him.