Awkward and embittered, said: "Shut the door when you go."

I never imagined anything like today to happen. For a while, I have been quite immersed in the concept of a new semester, which to me would also signify an end to what I had. With all the new starts I intended to make, I would inevitably shut it all down and carry on in ways I fancifully imagined.

Upon learning the ways of life throughout my first two years of college, I met him, a bit thrown by him. I was curious, bewildered, pushy, and above all, I was softened. I am aware of my faults and that I am perpetually meant to have an eyebrow raised, just as I am perpetually meant to provoke it by my everyday speak. It was in the instance I realized what I saw him that I knew that all rules had exceptions. Being a journalist, I always knew that, but sometimes it was unclear unless it was physical. I will admit to my flooding heart, my half-open eyes, my graceful and longing sighing, my undying need to draw ever closer--and I will admit that perplexities that make this different than anything I have felt or wanted.

Today was never meant to be, just as Friday, Saturday and Sunday showed me they weren't either. Today was one of those days that wasn't supposed to exist, but because time and it's abounding steamroller nature, it had to, no matter how misfortunate it was going to turn out. My first morning hour on these days consists of what seems to be the strong foundation of my day--without it, things seem to veer off in the wrong direction, as my footing will be missed. Instead, in my disheartened state, I was a bit of a wretch and perhaps should have been more direct in my speech, as opposed to trying to play with the trickery of language. My day was a monotone gray until my third hour. In all the majesty I perceive these moments to be, I was at ease. That's the trouble with perception. It is mostly imagined and is never an indicator of what really is, what has been or what's to be.

"Shut up."

That's all the was said, for the first time ever such a strange atrocity filled the mouth of someone I worried was not like the rest of us. Yes, I worried. When I imagined to myself and when I derived from action, no matter how I wanted to pull out an opposing emotion, there seemed to be a blank. I know about these things. I know not to trust what seldom appears and what seems as though it cannot be. Because usually, it doesn't appear and never is. Either that or perhaps these things are too elite for human grasp. Still, I was intoxicated by this curious predicament and sat myself to its side for as many days as this new semester allowed. It happened perfectly every time until today. When I cowered over this concept, I cowered in joy and in worry. When I cowered today, I cowered in fear, something I vowed to never do for the likes of a seemingly godly principle ever again. I assumed all too quickly that there was one way, one soul that could not cast me into the darkness. Perhaps I am wrong.

I used to care so much about others, that despite the situation, I would love them so much that I would care more about them than the situation. Now I care too much about them, but I see the situation in a much, much larger scale than it deserves. This is what humans do to other humans.

As I left and saw him drive away in a last act of random fate, I thought I could catch him. But I was far beyond catching anyone today. As all the worst possible drivers in the world got in my way and increased the distance between us, I remembered what he said he was doing. I figured I would see him trekking north as I went south down the freeway. I wish I realized sooner that I would not be catching anything today.

Here comes the sun. It feels like years since it's been here.

I knew my time perception was way off sync! Last I posted, I was under the impression that the ed board dinner and staff luncheon were a long way away. The day after was the dinner and the day after that was the luncheon! At that point, I still could not comprehend how free I was. Even with all the chaos with the newspaper, I feel terrible that it is gone. A part of my is running off to bigger and better things just waiting for me next fall, but a part of me wonders where time went. Time moves so quickly, and when it doesn't, everyone breaks their backs trying to get it to move faster and right out of their lives. Maybe this is why I sometimes miss the guru. The guru slows and even dulls time, so that moments last forever. Too bad the guru compromises a lot of things in order to allow for that to happen. No matter; now the semester is finally, truly, coming to a close and it is too late for any of us to do anything about it. It looks like the new semester will be quite promising, with anxious journalists pounding on our newsroom door to get their word out there and spread their passion across the page just as we do. Now is the time where I may rest my wings and figure out in which way I wish to bend the world.

Today my heart is still fluttering with anticipation and unspoken words, but perhaps before Christmas, I will be so calm as to actually move forward with my persuits. After all, all the butteflies he has given me could most likely enable me to fly, even if my proverbial wings are bent back in a resting position. Oh, lovely Christmas...filled with the joy I seek throughout the year and gain only for but a month or so, with no recolection of how to get it back after the holidays are over. I enjoyed a brisk trip to the mall all by myself after ed board today. Me being an intense social butterfly when I can made lovely conversation with the mall employees and even seemed to form a connection with one. And speaking of connections, there is one still so intense like a fire that I cannot seem to pull together. My nervous demeanor mixed with the all-too-lovely ambience of the winter and holiday time somehow clashes each and every time I lay my eyes on him, speak to him and get closer to him. Maybe this winter, Christmas time will bless me with enough courage to at least get a few words in so my heart won't be so wild with curiosity and worry. I always seem to be longing for a winter romance now. Something seems to be telling me that before the Christmas bells toll and before the winter air rolls away, I will have the chance to have what I want. On a silent evening in the chill in the midst of all the festive colors and songs, maybe there will be hope for me under the lights and stars of a long winter's day.

I keep waiting, anticipating you.

And so it ended. Just like that on windy and cold Wednesday night, although I didn't realize it much. I knew of it; I was plenty aware, but all I wanted was nothing more than to come home and wash it all off. Then the next day, a lovely Thursday morning, after pleseantly being able to leave class early and sit in a lonely newsroom, save for Filip and Tony to eventually follow, I knew it was really over. The last issue of the semester was officially behind us. The usual "The End is Near" notice with the remaining days all planned out as if we were going to be shipped off was taped on to every available wall in the newsroom. The hell and stress that was the smallest staff we ever weathered was done. Completely done.

The days coming were a bit of a load of stress, dampering my good mood, but suddenly, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving break came. I masterfully defeated my tests--of which I had three of (yes, one for each of the classes I take on Tuesdays and Thursdays) and I was home. I barely remember the week at all after the paper was done. It appears I have centered and kept track of my whole life based solely on the paper. Somehow, like a sundial, despite confusion that may come of it, I knew exactly how to read it the entire time and therefore was able to take hold of it as well as the rest of my life. And yet, sometimes it feels empty, as if the paper was the only clock I had to remind me of my week, what day it was, what time it was and the future to come. Still, I do have a sense of direction that has its focus on the final events this particular Union staff will face: the ed board dinner and the staff luncheon. This is the official good-bye of the semester. Strange how it always comes about a week before the true end of the semester, but nonetheless, once it's over, we will all begin shutting down until the dawn of a new staff and a new semester.

As for everything else, it feels like it hurts even though I know it doesn't. My heart cries, the stress burns and sometimes I long for a little comfort, preferably the human-type who can relieve my loneliness. Perhaps sometime before the semester ends I will feel this sort of fulfillment--in fact, I know I will. With every milestone this newspaper goes through, the feeling always resurges. Forever will I know why journalism is worth it to me. I understand that my time perception is terribly off because of the lack any more upcomming issues and nothing but finals to dull and desensitize me, but I do hope that I will still be able to skillfully play my hand and lay my cards down so carefully that I may be indulged at my whim. Perhaps I will gain more confidence in one adrenaline-induced moment. Alas, more confidence--how strange for a journalist to say! But honestly, it seems along the lines of the norm for the end of the semester to feel that sort of energy rushing at you as if you never had it before. After all, the anxiousness of it all is ensuring I will not be able to hold myself down much longer. It's time to jump.

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.

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.

Marching on 'til victory, we fight!

Oh, life. What a battlefield it is. Thus far, I have noticed that everything going on at the moment is, in essence, a brawl. Everything we could ever want is everything worth fighting for. Truth is, humans being the way we are, crave a good throwdown. Whether we are pacifists or aggressors--or not--we are bloodthirsty. Sounds contradictory, but it's not. Of course, this realization I found, comes in literal terms first and once geared for war, we start to see an epic and savage battle before us at all stages. I can hear hearts pounding. Let me commence with the adrenaline rush.

It started with the ANRA finals. It was a big pull to Bakersfield early last Saturday, with an eerie absence of cars all along the 110 freeway (and by the way, might I emphasize that California is entirely awesome because in class, to describe most phenomenon or drive a point home, we get references to major freeways because that's what most of us can relate to). I stayed up due to my stubbor desire to watch the sunrise whenever I'm up that early to make my way to a drag race. The dragster, now marked with the number "1" to show just how astoundingly my dad conquered the Nostalgia Eliminator I class from 2002-2007, had a horrible 2008 season. With the altercations to the engine being made, we encountered an influx of gremlins which devastated its performance and brought it nothing but bad luck for all races previous, putting my dad out of the running for champion this year. After the Hot Rod Reunion looked promising, my dad, uncle and grandfather took helm and really became enthused after it seemed all remaining problems were an easy fix. For time trials this race, an experiment was conducted, with the question being: What exactly needs to be done and how much nitro do we need once corrections are made?

The engine was properly fixed and at the thrid time trial, with a 7.57 under our belt, we ran 47 percent nitro all weekend. Despite it going over the index, a racer knows how much time is needed to slow that monster down to run right on the dot, which is what my dad did. Twice. In a row. 7.60 first round and 7.60 second round. The last few rounds were no far cry either with 7.62 third round and a 7.61 final round. Seeing my dad reclaim is glory in but one race made my heart rabid with excitement and let me know he would live up to his wonderful nickname "The Terror" once again. The spark of life is burning again. The fire still burns!

Similarly, human affection and relations take quite the struggle as well. Anthony, my ex, not exactly being suitable and hardly ever the affectionate-type--with me anyway--is no longer my idea of a boyfriend, and thus forces me to say I have not been the subject for physical attention (or emotional at that!) for about three years now. I had my eye on someone, as easily noted by many of my peers, but therein lied a problem most resembling mood swings, without the violence. Even still, the blows to my heart undoubtedly left a bruise or two. I know it was unintentional, but after intensely laboring under this person's looming shadow of a woman still longed for (that is, I was there and probably wanted--but there was another woman from his past that he probably wanted more than me). Eventually, I dropped to my knees--and stupidly, I still dragged them for quite some time. Little did I know, a day would come where the final blow would knock me out, and when I awoke, I'd be on a boat elsewhere. To put it simply, an anniversary, a beautiful memory or "your" song is amazing beyond words, but not when you're no longer with the person and the person who cares for you now is sitting on the other end of it, listening to your hapless woes.

I was amiss about my duties until I stepped in the newsroom and saw my blank pages open on my desktop. "...right now, you need to focus. Sit, calm down and do your pages. It will be ok." It was then I realized that if friends/co-workers had to lay their hand on my shoulder and referee these little heartbreaks when they weren't even directly involved, that it was getting too chaotic to continue on with them. I do wish I could have waited longer because the anonymous man in question is still intelligent, kind and quite a friend--but my beating heart could no longer take it and the underhanded "rejection" (which probably wasn't really rejection, but that is what it always felt like) was sending me into the ground. Maybe someday that path could lead somewhere, but at the moment, I was in a dark patch of woods; I needed a new road to go down. I felt down on my luck, and suddenly, I am still picking up my feet and following someone new. I finally feel that light and ethereal feeling I felt when I first started liking the anonymous man--and to my surprise, it really does feel great. I suppose I had just forgotten how it's really supposed to feel. Even in my casual, normal worries of losing this one, I have this vigorousness like that of a wolf, ready to sprint and spring on any possible enemies lurking in my territory, and I'm willing to sever any shortcomings before they bloom. If I were to look within my heart in a literal sense, I think I would be amazed at how it is still so vibrant and how its temerity is serving it a wonderful justice. I suppose I have learned how to tend to my heart, soul and spirit properly. Maybe with the pain I recieved, I was giving it reasons to be as it was. The fire still burns!

My current quest is that of my college newspaper. Upon us is JACC, Journalism Association of Community Colleges, a state competition in which we put out the greatest newspaper possible, making sure that no matter how heavily we bleed all over this paper, it comes up clean and perfect for the judges. Lovely? Why, yes, it is.

The issue comes out next Thursday and already I am embedded in stress and turmoil. Monday is my first deadline for pages--as I am news editor now, and boy was tears and hair-pulling not what I signed up for. Despite a miniscule staff, we have pulled out six issues so far. I should be proud, and believe you me, I am, but last issue was the greatest disaster than perhaps the San Francisco fire. Not to downplay a tragedy, but I say so to show just how terrible and sickly our publication looked last week. Lucky us that wasn't the JACC issue, because if it was, we would be in a world of hell at the competition. Things like that don't make for award-winning papers. It was a collaborative failure on everyone's behalf. I don't have much to say about this issue, which is a horrible thing! I should have lots to talk about--as in, which stories turned out well and which were terrible. But I only have one story in. And yet, I am passionately putting my hands in a plateau of great danger without a care in the world. Give me competition, and I am a wild animal in a race for some raw meat to tear through. I may have been in submission after the issue previous, but I will seek and destroy if I must to be able to commandingly put my foot down on the skulls of others in animalistic euphoria over victory along with my fellow editors. It seems like we are doomed if you were to see it at face-value, but I have never known the Union staff to turn over and die. The fire still burns!

How can we let the sky tumble down?

You better keep a good eye out.



Time for another breakdown and I'm not even going to bring up the one I had on Thursday (3/27/08). Just know there was a lot of bizarre and deft movements ultimately resulting in what felt like destroying a paper doll. I never realized how fragile I was. I always sort of had the fear that my body could very well betray me despite the fact that its served me well aside from the fact that I was small. How strange that when it gave in, I was the only one who had a hand in it. I betrayed myself.



Onward sweep.



Friday (3/28/08): Haha, yes. Yes. That was one Friday that will go down in the books for anyone who witnessed it. As for me, I'm not sure if you can say I witnessed it. Granted, I remember it almost vividly except for a few mild-mannered things that probably no one else in the waking day would remember anyway. I don't care to go into it. All I know is that something in this night sparked something I never expected. I'm suddenly appreciated and regarded as a thing of beauty. I suppose, however, that I have many forms. People happen to fall in love with my open (and open-ended) side that comes at the most awkward of times. It's the form I assume is most like a goddess--it's one that is open to the people, instead of just doing things passionately by almost sleight of hand. In this state, I speak and laugh and break through somehow. But it's a form I keep quiet because of all the atrocities in the waking life. The only thing about it that I can't quell is my sensitivty and compassion for other humans. Even still, no matter what I was that night, I just can't understand it. As much as I want to, I don't see what caused this uprise in desire for me.

Saturday (3/29/08): Happy birthday to Cristian. I woke up at Berenice's house, a little bit ailing from being the goddess the night before (and sleeping on the floor). It was, surprisingly, one of the more quieter mornings of my life. It felt as if what I had was real. All that remained was an empty room and four friends reminicing, laughing, hurting and sharing. It wasn't at all like a movie, and yet it was because while everything seemed real--the feat seemed impossible. It was then I got to know earthly Nancy. The night before, she slipped passed me as the night grew old. We ended up at Norm's on Hawthorne Boulevard, possibly the worst street in existance with each business location at a more random spot than the next. Hawthorne is like a desert. It may seem fitting since supposedly California is a desert, but this is Southern California. This is the end all be all. At least give Hawthorne some dignity. Despite its quiet near-beauty, it's a rat's nest for traffic. But no matter, it still got us where we needed to be. After that, that was the end of my weekend with the few of them. On to Jannette's party later that day.
That started with Lazy Dog Cafe, which translates to great restaurant with the most anal customers ever, which is beyond me since that place is louder than reason. But of course when we clapped for Jannette's birthday consolation dessert, despite the fact that we couldn't even hear ourselves sing, some arrogant bastards probably in their 20's (not much older than us, yet they must've felt themselves of royalty. Or as though their putird excretions do not smell) felt it appropriate to "tell us off" with a rude snot-nosed "exucse me." Well, they certainly were excused. Let's move on. There was another real moment at Jannette's house where all of us, now made 13 by Jannette's unexplained house guests, were talking and trying to fit on two couches and a coffee table. Sooner than we knew it, which is common for us, we were midnight bowling. Even as the hours took a toll on us, it went by so fast all I really remember was bowling poorly as usual and dancing to classic rock. What a time it was.

Flash forward.

Perhaps the entire week that came after was notable, but all that really came of it was more musings from the bottom of my mind. Although I did have a nice time with my family on my dad's birthday and although my best cousin and I saw each other for the first time in months yesterday, I feel the need to hush. If I wanted to say anything more, it would be on politics, but considering my worry for my ever-weakening aunt, I will say nothing more than what needs to be until tomorrow.
That being, if one takes the time to do things opposite their nature, or buried within their nature, it will seem as though the world is not around them at all. And if one stares into the sky, especially at night, it will seem as though they don't exist and yet they're exactly where they need to be. And if one takes the time to read or look into their own surrounding life, they will see what exactly needs to be said and what needs to be done. And if one takes it a step further, they can come to terms with their humanity and recognize what is beyond their power and how much faith and effort they need to possibly make a move on it. And if one knows where they stand, they can stave off the unexpected failure and see exactly how they move through life. And if one sees how the world around them moves through them, they can accept the terms they've come to and appreciate what their hands can do and even what they cannot. We're all human and we need to see it. Not everything can come of our hands, but knowing can sometimes be enough. With knowledge there is respect and a sense of freedom. And by keeping faith and moving toward anything, no matter how unattainable, we can at least have something worth craving all to ourselves. Unfortunate as it is, we're all not getting anywhere near it at all. We're futile beings.




Look alive.