Readers as Writers...

This piece was written based off of the book with a title and author I don’t even remember. It was the story itself that stuck with me. I read it my freshman year and I decided to use this assignment to put my thoughts about it into words. It was basically about an overweight girl who got bullied and eventually committed suicide.  I was attracted to this book when I read it because bullying is such a serious topic now a days, and so is suicide.  After reading this book, I decided to create some new characters and kind of write an aftermath chapter.  I changed the name of the main character and came up with a single bully.  This is a writing that is the best friend standing up to the bully after her friend died.  The bully shows no remorse for his actions in my writing.  I decided to write this sequel type piece to reflect my views on bullying today. 

*not a true story. Don’t read if  you are sensitive to this kind of content*

 “You will not get away with this! This is serious and you know it.” I argued trying to talk some sense into him.

“Oh please what I did didn't change the obvious outcome one bit. All I did was speed up the process.”

“Cameron, what you did to that poor girl is called bullying. Take responsibility for your actions and stop being a coward! What you did was wrong and so messed up.”

“Stop being so melodramatic.  She had it coming. Maybe if she would have stopped eating and taken a run once in a while we wouldn't have had to do anything to make her realize she was fat.  The way I see it, we did her a favor.” He argued back, with no sympathy in his voice whatsoever.

“I was her best friend. I knew her better than anybody. She was overweight, yes. But where you’re wrong, is that she knew she was.  What she told herself everyday was ten times worse than what you and your pathetic buddies said to her.  It just became so surreal when someone else but herself said it. Don’t you get it? She is gone now because of what you said to her.  Nobody deserves to be bullied so badly that they're pushed that far to the edge. I will not let you get away with this.” I let out all these words at once, with tears streaming down my face.  I cannot believe he has the audacity to stand here and have no regret about what he did to my best friend, it is so sickening.

“Sorry honey but you can’t live on the coast where beaches and bikinis are an everyday routine and look like she did.  This town went back to its original glory when she decided to leave.”

I could not believe what I was hearing.  Cameron bullied Olivia to the breaking point and he has no grief, apologies, or even sympathy for his actions. This world lost an amazing person because of his constant torment. My best friend Olivia may not have had the sexiest body in all of the state of California, but her heart was worth more than any curves or body types. She was the most genuine and caring person I have ever known.  The way a person looks shouldn't define who they are to the people on the outside.  Unfortunately, nobody truly understands that and now nobody will ever be able to get to know the person that I knew.

6 Word Memiors

Having 
strength
 is 
half 
the 
battle.

Harris Burdick

I drifted to sleep softly, slowing down my breathing rate to the bare minimum.  Feeling my chest rise and fall as my eyes close, showing me only the darkness of the night.  The loneliness of the empty black surroundings mocked me as I lie still, my thoughts all jumbled up from the exhaustion.  The events of the day were forgotten. It’s all up to my dreams, my involuntary brain activity. 

                “Wake up honey, it’s time for breakfast,” I heard from outside my bedroom door.  I lifted my eyelids unwillingly.  This strange sense of De Ja Vu hit me. Then I realize what it was. I turn my head like an owl and glanced at my room.  There they were, the High School Musical posters in the exact same spots I had them when I was 10.  Even the one in the far corner of my room that was ripped in half by my little brother that I had basically performed surgery on it to make sure Troy’s eyeballs were evenly placed in the exact right place. 

                “What is happening” I thought as I looked at my tiny 4^th grade hands. “I’m 16 years old, why am I a little kid again?” I begin to panic.  I attempt to dig through every drawer, closet space, and cabinet searching for any signs of my teenage years.  I found nothing. No pictures of my best friends and I, no cell phone with all our conversations, no clothing or driver’s license were anywhere to be found. Am I supposed to relive the past 6 years of my life?

                I walk out of my room. Wait a second, this isn’t my house. I see the hallway my room was located in lead in the opposite direction with the restroom on the other side.  There is carpet where beautiful oak stained hardwood floors used to be. Then I remembered, I didn’t move into that house until I was 11.  This was the house where I spent my childhood in, or should I say am spending my childhood.  I think to myself, maybe this won’t be such an awful thing.  I get to start over, erase all the mistakes I’ve made and the words I’ve said.  I’ll have a heads up on what is going to happen to me that day because I have already lived through it once before.

                I see my mother in the kitchen fixing my favorite breakfast when I was a kid, French toast.

“Good morning Kala” she said to me. My mother’s hair is different than I remember.  The color is a deep brunette cut to frame her ovular face.  Her makeup is applied, with the mascara perfectly defining her soft brown eyes.  She is wearing her favorite red fleece sweatshirt and a pair of jeans.  I glance at her wedding ring. The shimmer of the perfectly cut diamond in a gold setting caught my eye. I couldn’t believe it! She found her old ring that mysteriously went missing when I was in middle school. Then it hit me, I’ve never been in middle school.

I eat my French toast in silence, having the strange urge to get up and find my phone to check twitter. Wait, what phone? What twitter account? I don’t have one.

“Where are Charlie and Cocoa?” I ask my mother.

“Who?” She replied.

“Our dogs, where are they?” and then once again reality set in, we haven’t adopted my dogs yet.

“Kala-bayla you must have had a crazy dream last night. We’ve never owned any dogs.”

I feel like I’m going to be sick.  I excuse myself from the table and tell myself I’m going for a walk outside.

“You can’t go by yourself Mikala.  Wait until I’m finished cleaning up and I will come with you.”

“Mom I’m old enough to walk outside by myself.” I snapped. With that, I was gone.  I ran out the back door and sprinted out to the back retention ditch and snuck through the barbed-wire fence. I walked barefoot through the dew covered grass, feeling some blades stick to my skin.  In the distance I hear my mother calling my name. I know she must be worried but I don’t really care.  I make my way to the field behind my Old Catholic school.  It is so weird being back here as a kid. I remember all the memories that felt like years ago, but really only happened days or weeks before this. 

I plop down on the softball diamond at the school where I practiced for my softball team.  I could not believe what was happening to me. Living the next 6 years in the life of de ja vu is not what I was wanting to do.  I don’t want to make friends with the people who already were my friends just the day before.  I don’t want to have to retake that physics final my freshman year or go through losing my grandmother for the second time.  I can’t live with knowing exactly when and where everything is going to happen and what the people in my life are going to do to me. I know I said this wouldn’t be so bad, because I get a second chance but then I realized something. I don’t want a second chance. I want to keep moving forward with my life, but now I can’t do that. 

I remove myself from my thoughts and look at the ground next to me.  I see two little caterpillars playing together near my feet.  I pick them up and hold them in my 10 year old hands. These caterpillars are my friends, I thought to myself.  I decided to name them Oscar and Alphosne. I sat there for at least an hour just talking to my new friends about how messed up everything is.  Then in the distance, I spot my mother crying out my name in a desperate worried tone. 

I knew it was time to send them back.  The caterpillars softly wiggles in her hand, spelling out “goodbye.” Goodbye to life as she knew it.

Suddenly, I opened my eyes.  I heard country music playing from my alarm clock.  I look around, and it’s my room! My light green walls are there, my pictures of all my friends are plastered in every inch of them. My phone vibrates, my group chat between me and my two best friends has been going on. I can’t help but smile.  It was all a dream. 

Quotes to Live By

 Finding my strength, knowing my best friends will always be there for me, and remembering what I have before I lose it are the things I think about every day of my life. I attempt to use my struggles to build the strength and confidence in myself.  I think about my best friends and tell myself that no matter how much we fight, I know they’re the people who will never leave me alone.  I think about the things and people I have lost, but also how I want to use that feeling to make sure I don’t take anyone or anything I have for granted, in fear of not having them anymore.

                Quotes and relateable posts are something I look at every day.  In almost every one I find, I can find something in my life that I can relate it too. That’s what I find so interesting about them.  If I see someone post a quote, it gives me a better idea of who they are and what they think about instead of what they’re showing on the outside.  I was hoping we would eventually have an assignment with quotes because just looking up quotes and reading all the wise words people say, write down, and share with the world, gives me perspective.  Whether it’s from a well-known author or writer, or unaccredited, there is still so much wisdom and depth to some of the writings, it’s truly incredible to me.

                Most of these quotes are unaccredited so I don’t have an individual person to thank for sharing their wise words with me.  I use the power in these quotes every day of my life.  There are honestly so many other quotes out there I have fallen in love with, but I can obviously only post a couple.  I decided to share these.

Follow your heart. Create peace.  Fall in love.  Show gratitude.  Discover your passion. Be spontaneous. Believe in yourself.  Your life is NOW.

The Sky is Everywhere Passage

"I drop my back on the bed, panting and sweating. How will I survive this missing? How do others do it? People die all the time.   Every day. Every hour. There are families all over the world staring at beds that are no longer slept in, and shoes that are no longer worn. Families that no longer have to buy a particular cereal or kind of shampoo.  There are people everywhere standing in line at the movies, buying curtains, walking dogs, while inside their hearts are ripping to shreds. For years.  For their whole lives.  I don’t believe time heals. I don’t want it too. If I heal, doesn’t that mean I’ve accepted the world without her?"

I read The Sky is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson my freshman year, and this passage has stood out to me ever since then.  I loved feeling how the main character felt. I guess I just totally got what the author was trying to say in the passage and i admire the words being said.  The depth in what was written made me love this passage.  I have yet to find words in a book that spoke to me like this passage has for the past 2 and a half years.

Writers As Readers

Will I ever write a book? That’s easy, yes that is my ultimate goal. Ever since 1^st grade when

we were given blank hardback books where we could write, draw, or say anything, I was hooked.  Even as a kid I loved the freedom writing gave.  It was the kind of freedom 5 year old will never have. Even if I wrote about my brother and me making a band and eventually getting famous, it wasn't really about that. I got to share it, share an unrealistic dream (at that age), and put down my thoughts on paper. Nobody could say it was wrong or not good enough, because I knew in my heart, even at that age, that my writing could never be wrong. It was my voice.  It was the words I knew I’d never be able to say out loud. It was the emotions I took out on the paper instead of on something else.  Now obviously, I found that out later in life, but that doesn't mean I didn't know I had it in me at a young age.

Although being 5 years old and writing “books” of course, the content wasn't going to be very fulfilling. I kept diaries all throughout my life.  I still go through and read them to this day.  I find it interesting seeing the growth in what I had written year by year. I remember in second grade writing about how I was sad because my best friend was mad at me.  She was mad because after I gave her my webkinz password, I changed it because I regretted giving it to her.  Seeing myself grow as a writer from pointless elementary playground drama, to high school stress triggers and emotions, it makes me wonder what kind of writer I’ll be as an adult, living in adult experiences and writing adult work. I’d like to see though.

                I attempt to never write something that’s meaningless.  In every piece that’s come from my brain, it has had some underlying truth and emotion, sometimes good, sometimes bad. I don’t necessarily think that’s wrong though. I believe to make good writing, it has to have depth, content that people find interesting and relate able.  That’s what I try to do when I write. I don’t think exaggerating some of the details is all that wrong either. There is hardly a moment in anybody’s life that is worth recording word for word, exactly how it happened, with some exceptions.  All writers do is make that moment something others would find themselves wanting to indulge in the reality of the character. Which brings me to the main reason I would love to write a book, escaping reality.

                There is always a point in our lives where we wish we could escape our bodies and live in someone else’s life. Writing gives us that. A writer is able to put there whole selves into an alternate reality, where they can control the beginning, middle, and end.  In my opinion, that’s the ultimate reward. Nothing gives a person more confidence than having control of an outcome or situation.  Writing a book with 500-600 pages can give an author months to years to basically become whoever they want to be in this fantasy world they’re typing on their computer.  It totally sounds weird and pathetic, I know.  To me, I’ve never felt more joy than when I am sitting on the couch in my room making up stories and writing them down, forgetting about everything else.

                To wrap this up, I have never wanted anything more than to write books.  I've given up everything else that I described myself as.  I quit swimming, the one sport I was good at.  I stopped playing the viola, another thing I was talented at, but had no passion for. The one thing I have never stopped doing was writing, and I never plan too.  Sure, my grammar might not be up to par, or my vocabulary could be expanded, but none of that is important when I know I love doing it as much as I do.  I feel like some of the things I've written, but never showed anyone, could possibly have the heart and the right things people can relate too. One day I hope to write multiple books, books that will inspire. 
That is my goal.

Explain it to me...

I don’t know why it still hurts

Seeing you with someone else

Pretending I never meant anything to you.

Pretending our friendship wasn't worth keeping.

I shouldn't care, but i do.

I guess I’m just disappointed

That you left me behind in the crowd

And walked away with her.

Again.

And again

And again

I always knew the feelings weren't returned

But I never knew that I was that easy to leave behind.

                                                    

I don’t know what I ever did

To make you not want me.

Explain it to me.

Dreaming of Being a Kid Again (Dream Thread)

In your dreams, anything is possible. I had an amazing childhood. My mom and dad were happy together and spend every second of everyday trying to give my siblings and I the best lives possible.  I was never bored at my house. We didn’t have cable or video games or cell phones, all we had was our imaginations. My brother and I spent our days finding new and fun things to do.  I remember in particular, we pretended our play set outside was a space ship.  We had to fend off aliens that were coming to destroy earth.  We also dressed up as superheroes and ran around the house in costumes, giggling and smiling. Getting into trouble was our favorite hobby. We painted the kitchen table with our finger paint, we used an entire box of band aids and stuck them on my brother, and we rode down the stairs in laundry baskets. My childhood was exciting and always fun and I guess I never really realized it until recently.

                I have a reoccurring dream where all the gravity is gone in my house and I wake up floating.  I am a kid again, about the age of 7 or 8.  It is set at my old house across town, the place I grew up in.  All the furniture was floating I was doing flips off the walls. I remember a certain point when I jump all the way down the stairs in the air and then I go in the basement and jump around on the furniture.

                Part of me thinks I dream that dream all the time because I remember how amazing my childhood was and I wish I could go back.  It was so much more fun staying home and playing games and joking around than doing homework all the time and stressing out about everything. I remember all those memories from my old house, before I met new people and changed my whole life.  As happy as I am with my amazing friends and school, sometimes I think what my life would’ve been like if I never moved out of that house.  I don’t regret how my life turned out, sometimes I just wonder. I wonder that if I still had something from my childhood still in my life, if I’d be a better person.  If I thought more about how grateful I am for the life I have, if I’d be happier and more content.  I truly believe that I dream about myself being a little kids again because part of me misses it.  I miss being that child who smiled at a new box of crayons.  Even if I could go back for a day to remember where I came from, I think my whole attitude about my life today might be different.  I long for my childhood back sometimes, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing.