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.

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!

Am I sorry your sky went black?

I led a death caravan today. Sounds out-of-the-ordinary, but if you were a spectator, it wouldn't be. I think that's how the world works sometimes. It's good at disgusing itself and as much as I'd like to blame humankind for being oblivious, I think some things are meant to be masqueraded. It's definitely not a good thing, but it's just how it happens.





Back to my story, I woke up to a gray sky, and lo and behold, it's still gray. It felt like something out of a horror movie that takes place in some misty woods with the "heroes" left to find a mansion looking very out of place or some rustic sort of groud that ultimately harbors what used to be their safety, but now has become nightmare. It was a goth metal music video and a delicious slasher brought to life. I noticed just after the light on Lomita as I was trekking down Western. I didn't notice completely, but I did confirm I was leading something by the time I passed Narbonne High. They being the enemy school back in my high school days, I found it ironic I discovered my cabaret just after passing their quarters. The misty sky was still streaching the bruises it sustained over night, with clouds colliding so softly as if falling apart over each other rather than partaking in combat. So there it was in the rearview: a giant metal snake, perhaps a metal dragon, curving along the road behind me--it slithered in a rhythmic way, with each section of its body curving at just the right time. It was silver looking like it had a tongue ready to flicker to get a taste of me. I was a few feet ahead with the asphalt a decent restricting gap behind me and it front of it. It wasn't entirely silver, it just had a silver head (which was something in a Honda or BMW) with a bit of red, black, and I believe blue connected by a single spinal column. Surprisingly, it was completely even--just the same size fragments of its body with no distortion except in color. It stayed perfectly behind me and eerily, no one stepped in my way for miles. Up until Torrance Boulevard, it twisted and slithered, getting longer with each attracted piece clinging and following. Some little parts crawled away like disoriented black beetles. Was I being attacked? Where was this giant confounding snake headed?

Perhaps the strange occurences in life of a significance in some way, but it's meant as a secret, like an ancient language or transcriptions to the dead sea scrolls. There had to be a reason I chose the scenic route. There had to be a reason no one ever passed me. There had to be a reason for the way it moved besides proper physics. There had to be a reason for all the silence. And what of the dull and morbid cabaret that allowed me to lead it so far? I turned onto Artesia, and one car kept swining back and forth in front of my little drones as if it were willing to slay me if given the chance. I stopped and its breaks stuttered, flashing on, fluttering, flashing off, fluttering then flashing on again. It was a nervous little thing that finally stopped a bit too far away from me and lost its nerve completely. One more turn onto Crenshaw with the dimness of the morning staying relentlessly painted to the sky. It could've been raining ashes and snowing all at once, but the sky was completely still. When I arrived at EC, I stepped out and actually looked up like the cliche victim of the perils of a dark sky. I could feel the air swell thick in my lungs and on my skin. Perhaps I could've held it in my hands and brought it close, but instead I trembled. I, the leader of the most deathly looking display I'd ever seen besides the obvious scenes of death and the like, trembled at the silence. Of all things, I felt a slight fear and submission toward the silence of the gray and empty parking lot. After all, all around me was a sea of cars all potential pieces of a caravan the next morning or right after class. Who were all these people, anyway? And what of those in the caravan? Why did they come together in such a way? I know it wasn't on purpose, but the sheer obscurity of it must've had a reason--or been a reason--of some sort.

The only company I had in the midst of the lot was the low and foreboading buzzing of the electric wires along the telephone poles, strung in black like the knitters at the beginning of Heart of Darkness (Joseph Conrad), who sat there knitting mindlessly, leaving a heap of black fabric to grow larger and without shape. There was this strange power as the silence was cut with the buzzing like I was about to be plucked by some force coming from above--as if I were about to be brutally slain and practically massacred until I was nothing but an accomplished red target on the asphalt. I always feared that parking lot. It's not that it was unsafe, but the scale of it and the fact that there is so many strangers...a woman can never be too sure, especially when what has been sure has not always been pleasant (and I'm speaking specifically, although I do not wish to be specific about this). Being as worn as I, I don't think I could necessarily fight off whatever any stranger threw at me. And don't mean just any stranger, but a stranger--the shadow type of stranger who comes so quickly, he is faceless and without breath and only human desire and form to be recognized, only to dissipate in the confusion. Once I was out and close to class, the silence changed and therein lied the end of it. For some reason, I doubt anything this strange will happen again in the same manner, and if it should, it shall be far away.

Wednesday never ended

I know it's Sunday. It's been exactly one week since Redondo, only with a few altercations. But despite the day, this is about Wednesday. I was tempted to write on Wednesday, then again on its tail end of which I wasn't sure what day it was. Then again on what I came to know as Friday, and again yesterday...but now I have bearings and conclusive thoughts. So this is not about all that was missed when I was dormant. This is about some possibly psycho neurotic trip without the aid of foreign substance. It's about a time where there was no real differentiation. This is about Wednesday.


There was something in this Wednesday that made everyone feel a little bit better about everything. Truth be told, it ended on a rough note, but nevertheless it was enjoyable. Enjoyable isn't always the word we'd like to use when describing Wednesday, especially on the newspaper staff. Interesting, maybe, but not enjoyable. That was the first bit of forshadowing that I was in for something. It was nice to see everyone look more animated and in full-color as opposed to ready to drop. Maybe it was John making pencils penetrate the ceiling or maybe it was just that we were all on a roll with our humor that day, but we were happy. Yes, happy. The simplest of all defining terms of euphoria, but it was just that. It was almost as if we were young again. Everything was funny, everyone had something random to say or do, time went by almost too fast and we were all pleased just to have the company. In the end, the paper looked pretty good and we were off at 9:30 p.m., the earliest I've ever seen and it wasn't so bad. Of course, we were all tired. That's always a given, even if there's an element of fun. After turning myself around dropping off Cristian and Robert at Cristian's car, I had fun curving around Prairie Avenue to get myself on the right path home. I considered taking a drive through the PV hills before making my way back, but I decided against it after realizing how late I'd get home and my slight uncertainty of where the exact route I wanted to take was. In addition, I wanted to get home as early as possible (as far as Wednesday nights go) so to ensure my last night with tia Ney was a great one. And what of my sour note on production night? It was nothing so great that it could've created a significant imbalance in me, but it was quite the irritation (and sometimes still is, but not so much now). I got talked down that ledge by two good people. While it is in my guilt to say they became unwittingly involved (and I was unwitting myself as I got the news that someone believed them to be proprieters of whatever misery they claim to have experienced). I ended my night earlier than I wished as I was preparing to get up at 4 a.m. the next morning.

The night came and showed no mercy on me until 2 a.m. leaving me only two hours to compose myself and get ready for tia Ney's take-off.

It was in those two hours where something interconnected. I woke up at 4 a.m. and realized it was still Wednesday. Crazy? No, it was exactly right. Everything from earlier was so clear as if there was no pause between them. I don't necessarily believe there was. We left when it was still dark, but for some reason it's always brighter at LAX. There were still some clouds of indigo blue as we got there and unloaded the suitcases and began descending upon what appeared to be the right section of the Tom Bradley Terminal. For those of you not from L.A., first thing, I feel sorry for you, and secondly, the Tom Bradley Terminal is exclusively for international flights and is perhaps one of the better terminals at LAX with its giant schedule board with extravagant names on them rooting from both the coutries and the airlines. After looking around the initial level for the Mexicana ticketing counter only to find gray and lonely terminals, we were about to step outside and hope for the best when we ran into a single woman vacuuming the mats in front of the doorway.

"Esta alla abajo. Puedes usar las escaleras."
What does that mean, you ask? "It's downstairs. You can use the stairs."
So that's exactly what we did. We dragged the suitcases all the way downstairs and all the way to the very end of the terminal. After that it was mostly quiet and I felt my eyes begin to drag a bit. At about 5 a.m., we decided to see if the McDonald's above Tom Bradley's initial floor was open as we didn't check in the midst of our search. Of course, like I said, everything was open. It was dim and we even mentioned the minimal lights to one another, but I liked it. I stared out the window and watched the planes land in the distance as they belted through the indigo sky made all the more epic by the enormous windows that touch from top to bottom, with each panel perhaps the size of a standard window, on either end of the top floor. Until about 6:15, we talked about the newspaper and exchanged last minute information until I finally had to let her go. We walked her down to her gate and in a matter of seconds, it was as if she was already back in Mexico.


We stepped back outside and the sky was almost as blue as it usually was. But it was that beautiful blue that's a bit on the periwinkle side. It was the kind of blue that comes just before the sun breaks away. It's the kind of blue that's under the complete control of the sky--no sun, no other element except the sky and its own accord. There's something in a sunrise that makes someone see and feel so much, and there's even more to a sunrise at LAX. It may seem as if the modernization may be a damper, but the only real damper is knowing someone, or perhaps yourself, is leaving. While I'm not particularly upset when I take off for somewhere else, I do think of everyone else who is leaving behind someone for a good while. I'm one for travel, but the airport isn't always designed for that. The airport is just that--an airport. It has planes to take people to other destinations, but nowhere in its description does it say it has to be amusing. So it was that Wednesday continuation (that I couldn't necessarily call Thursday because it just didn't feel like the past had fully ended) that made me feel for everyone leaving their own ground into some place full of life, but not their own. But taking a moment to stop in front of the terminal gates and look up into the sky, there's a calm demeanor to it, even more so than when looking out the window in one's own house. It's inexplicable, but somehow in a place catering to voyages to new and familiar places give its own unique sunrise as if the sun it presents is one completely different from that of which we see every day.

I passed El Camino on the way back. I didn't pass it directly because we were on the freeway, but I knew in a few hours I was to go back the way I just came, only this time, I wouldn't get to go by LAX. Tia Ney wasn't coming back. It was an okay day when I got there a few hours later. I couldn't fall asleep in English because we were prepping for debates and by the time Verge's class rolled around, I was suddenly wide awake. I was getting hungry around 9 a.m. because I ate at 5, but after forgetting about it, I suddenly wasn't hungry. Even when faced with food directly, I was suddenly "too full" to eat it. I did manage to meet Deborah Chesher, a rock n roll photographer in the 70's and she was outstanding. I came home expecting to tumble down, but I just couldn't do it until 6 p.m. I even got hungry before I got tired again and I felt like perhaps I was in some sort of realistic Twilight Zone. Perhaps I was caught in two realms and suddenly Wednesday was finally becoming Thursday. I haven't the least of what I was feeling, but now I know for sure the day would be so much more interesting with just a few more hours added on. I napped until 8 p.m. and found I couldn't get to sleep by the time night rolled around, so I stayed up for a shorter time than I imagined. Tia Ney was home safe by then and I was star gazing as usual.








The night was mine.