August 4, 2011: “The Sandcastle”

He built a sandcastle. The grains of importance were placed meticulously, patted gently. The others were clumsily, hurriedly packed into place. The sun beat down on his exposed skin; the wind occasionally whipping his work apart, carelessly tossing it into his face. Periodically he rose to gather water, each journey longer, more treacherous than the last. The hours wore on, he grew weary, his hands grew weak from exhaustion. Still he built; the base was sturdy, the delicate intricacies of the top overlooked by the passers-by. When at last his creation matched that of his vision he stopped to gaze upon it. Time passed as he stared; the tide began to rise. He watched as the battlements crumbled, the turrets trembled, and the moat was washed away. The water continued to rise, the waves continued to crash, the boy continued to watch as his castle was swept away. As the tide again began to recede, the boy stood. Today he built a sandcastle; tomorrow he will build his life.

(Original work, DiffEq, 8/4/11)

March 3, 2011: “I See You”

I read through your History sometimes, when you leave me alone in your room. I just like to see what you’re up to, what you think about. I realize this is sort of like spying. It doesn’t tell me much, really. I see all the sites you normally visit, or the few I’ve visited on your computer, or the few we visit together. But sometimes, sometimes I find things that stick out, like this blog for example. This was in your history.

You told me once that you stumbled on it, and that you’d never read it again. But you know something? I don’t mind. Mostly these are things I would’ve told you but couldn’t or didn’t. Things I didn’t want to hurt you with of things I didn’t think I should be bothering you with. These are some of the things I whisper to you in the middle of the night when you should be asleep but I know you’re half-awake. And some of these things are just what I do before class when I’m bored.

It’s sunny out today, I may have lied when I told you it would rain but you never know. You’re making me pancakes all by yourself; you have no idea what that means to me. I do love you. You’re my best friend. Thanks for the pancakes, sweetheart. I’ll stop nosing around on your computer. I’m sorry. But I love you, it’s what I do.

February 6, 2011: “Rainbow Jelly Beans”

I feel like I’m stuck, like I’m helpless. Though I know I’m not. I’m having issues adjusting to this lifestyle of schooling. I don’t do well with no homework and just lectures. I don’t do well with just final exams and not being able to overload and monopolize my time. And I definitely don’t do well when I’m scared to death that this is just going to ruin my plan for school and I won’t be able to graduate on time (which was planned for a year late to begin with), or I won’t be able to work this summer (I need that money). I don’t do well being stressed and not having a starting point to fix that stress. I supposed that’s why I cracked; I broke down the other day, cried for a good half-hour at least, and just let Tom hold me.

I’m not sure where I’d be without Tom… Well, actually I’d probably be the same place I am now only a lot less happy. I wouldn’t have my best friend, my confident, my lover. I would be hopelessly and utterly alone. He really does mean the world to me. We may not have that spraks-flying, firework chemistry, but we have the strongest friendship I’ve ever known. We can tell each other anything and everything; it’s honest and it’s real. And living with him this past month? I really do love him. We make dinner together every night, we get to sleep in the same bed every night. It’s those little things that mean the world to me because they show me that he really is the one. When he steps up to cook, when he doesn’t complain dragging 5 bags back from the grocery store every week, when he leaves me to shop by myself for a bit, when he cuddles up to me in the middle of the night, when he adventures with me and we just walk in the chilly air for hours on end and he smiles down at me, that’s when I know he’s it. He’s the one. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

I could try to leave him if I felt like it, I could try to run to someone else. And sure, I could have fun; but it wouldn’t be the same. I will always run back to Tom. I will always go back to him. And thus, there’s no point in trying to leave him. It’s him. It’s always been him and it will always be him. I never believed her when she told me I’d forget about Tyler, but she was right; I look at it now as a point in my life when I loved someone that just wasn’t right for me. And Keith? Never would have lasted even if we’d tried. And Steven? Well, I think I’ll always love him. He was my best friend for a solid year or so, and he was the reason I had opened my heart to Tom in the first place. But when I say I’ll always love him, I’m not in love with him, I was at one point in my life. That point has passed, now he’s simply what I would consider a good friend, who was there for me when no one else could be. And that’s it. There is no one else. Sure, there are other guys I care about, but that’s it. And caring about them doesn’t even begin to compare to what Tom and I have.

I love Tom. I absolutely love him. And I’m impatient. Impatient because I’ve made up my mind. I’ve decided. I’m going to marry Tom. And I’m impatient to make that official. I’m impatient because I want to be engaged to Tom. But I don’t want to propose; I’m stubborn, I want a classic proposal with my father’s permission and a ring. But I know it’s impractical, I know he doesn’t have the money for it right now. But I think I’m more afraid that he’s not ready for that just yet, and that’s why it hasn’t happened yet. I’m afraid that I’ve settled on him and he hasn’t settled on me. And I’m probably just being irrational, but that’s what happens when I have too much time to think. I just want a ring… and some more Cranberry & Apple jelly beans would be nice, too, because I already have the rainbow jelly beans <3

January 27, 2011: “Being”

If humans were meant to fly, we would have been graced with wings. If humans were meant to swim, I would have grown flippers by now. So why is it that looking out a window on the sixth floor of a building I have an almost blinding urge to jump? Why do I desperately seek that feeling of falling, that feeling of floating, that feeling of absolutely nothing at all?

I think that really is the ultimate goal, after all, the feeling that isn’t a feeling. The feeling that jolts your stomach when gravity suddenly gives way and there is no up or down or left or right, no pressure, no push, no pull. There is nothing, it is a pure nothingness, as if the world itself had evaporated from beneath you. You simply exist, no up, no down, no right, no wrong. It is a peaceful existence. And then you crash.

You crash to the floor under what feels like twice your weight. The floor that thirty seconds ago did not exist is now your worst enemy. The pressure becomes almost unbearable, it becomes difficult to breathe, to even lift your hand, impossible to lift your head. Your mind focusses on breathing, forcing the stale air in and out of your lungs. You focus on survival, everything else is blank. All that matters is breathing, all that matters is surviving.

Do not faint, do not get sick, do not move. Keep calm, keep still, and breathe; it is the only way to get through the pressure. If you make it through the pressure, if you survive the crash, after what feels like eons of agony you will be released. You are released into the nothingness once more. Allowed to exist in the non-existence. You are floating freely. It is a feeling only known once; it is not a feeling at all.

It is being.

January 17, 2011: “Eternal Dusk”

It’s as if daylight doesn’t exist. It is something akin to eternal dusk. As if that dream-like state between asleep and wakefulness had manifested itself in reality. A cool mist covers the ground as if dementors had taken up permanent residence in Scotland. The sun may peek through briefly, but the clouds will soon cover, allowing the world to spiral back to a surreal state again.

November 7 2010: “The Pressure at Sea Level”

It’s November, it’s Buffalo, and it’s cold. What more do you expect? Well, I would expect that my ice-scraper would be under the front seat in my truck, but apparently I forgot to move it from the bed. It made for a delayed ride home tonight, that’s for sure. I spent the better part of my weekend nursing Tom, who started with a sore throat and has now moved to severe congestion. We did, however, get quite a bit of things sorted out for Glasgow. Yes, we’re going to Glasgow come January, woo! As exciting as that is, it also is time-consuming and certainly not effortless. There is so much to do before we leave, and so much to take care of to make sure that our stay there and our studies there run smoothly. And that’s where I’m at right now, juggling a 21-credit curriculum, study abroad preparations for two, a relationship, nursing a sickling that is half of said relationship, and trying to find some time to squeeze in for sleeping, music, and blogs.

It always makes me wonder how I’m supposed to be everything all at once. I can’t speak for men, I don’t know the pressures they undergo, and I am by no means a feminist (much at all, really), but being a young woman is full of pressure. When I say pressure, I am mostly referring to social pressure, but academic applies as well. Think about it, during a typical day, what is expected of a young woman?

It is expected that you’re a perfect (or near-perfect) student. After all, Honors Colleges don’t just accept anyone, do they? And they will kick you out if your GPA drops down, it’s part of the deal. And even ignoring the Honors aspect, what about all the Engineering classes? Those classes are 80-90% male. Males have an advantage, they have a majority in those classes. In order for you to be taken seriously, you have to be just as good and mostly better than the boys. Competition dominates the air academically, and if you can’t keep up, if you can’t exert the effort, you lose. You flat-out lose.

It is expected that you’re the perfect, loving, goodie-two-shoes daughter. They’re paying for your education, they raised you, they’ve protected you, they’re trying to learn how to let you go out on your own, they’re trying not to worry about you, but they’re your parents. They love you, they miss you, and you’re their baby girl. They still see you as five-years-old and needed a kiss when you fall down. Leaving you alone at college tears them to pieces and they cherish every phone call because it tells them you’re okay. They simply couldn’t bear it if you let them down. Their only wishes for you are that you get your degree and that you’re happy. You can’t let them down, you couldn’t possibly explain a party to them, and there’s no way you’re having the sexually active talk. The pressure from your parents is to be pure, to be good, to take care of yourself. If you can’t do that, you’ve let them down.

It is expected that you’re that girl, the college girl. You’re supposed to be just like the media portrays people your age, you’re supposed to fit in with your peers. Your hair is supposed to be flat, your make-up (not that I actually believe in make-up) is supposed to be flawless, your body is supposed to be toned, your skin is supposed to be silky smooth, and your fashion is supposed to be enviable. T-shirts and jeans are supposedly for weekends, and heels are fine to walk across campus. It’s the pressure to be the girl you’ve never been, just to fit in. It’s the pressure to have perfect skin, even if it rebels no matter how hard you try to control it. It’s the pressure to get up an hour earlier to do something with your hair. It’s the pressure to be confident, stylish, and sexy. And if you believe that’s not true, if you believe it’s only on tv, walk around a college campus. Count the “slutty” outfits, there’s quite a few, and they’re completely socially acceptable. If you can’t conform, you don’t fit in.

It is expected that you are the perfect, beautiful, loving girlfriend, always. Granted, this job was the only one I remember consciously choosing, so it’s a bit different. But the pressures are still there, and they don’t necessarily come from him, but from my attachment to him, what I feel are my obligations to him. When you’re committed, when you’re devoted, you don’t necessarily think about these things, you just do them because that’s what you do. You take care of him when he’s sick, wait on him hand and foot. You clean his room when he’s not looking, and sometimes when he is. You hold his hand only sometimes, because you know he likes to walk alone. You refrain from talking to him when he’s angry because that’s what he wants, even though it breaks your heart that you can’t help him. You try your hardest not to boss him around, even though you only want what’s best for him. You keep him happy, you treat him to ice cream and games and sex. You dress up for him, you try to be beautiful for him, and you try to be sexy for him (because let’s face it, once you become a teenager, those thoughts are in your head). You pay attention to football because you know he likes to talk about it. The pressure is in you trying to be his perfect, dream woman, taking care of him and loving him all at once. If you can’t be there for him through everything, he’s gone.

It’s a lot of conflicting pressure for a little girl. I say little girl because that’s what I feel like. I also feel like I’m in a losing battle with the universe at the moment, but that’s besides the point. I’m tired right now. And it’s tough to know which way is up, or down, or left, or more importantly, which way is right. Sometimes it makes me sad that I’ll be 20 in a little more than a month, because then I can’t complain of my teenage melodrama anymore. I will have to buck up and complain of real drama, like war. One of these days I will find the inspiration to write about war. But alas, that day is not today, which by now is actually tomorrow. Hello new week, may you bring sunshine and snow.

November 1 2010:”Not Enthalpy, Empathy”

Occasionally when I try to say empathy, I end up saying enthalpy. And of course I believe in enthalpy; I am an Engineering student after all. But empathy, now that is something I simply believe does not exist. I do not believe in empathy. Of course, I don’t believe I have any sympathy either, but that certainly does exist. And everything depends on how you define the word. In this case, though, it would depend on how you define empathy and sympathy, as these two words are so closely related and so often confused. Asking Google to define sympathy, it spits back “Sympathy is a social affinity in which one person stands with another person, closely understanding his or her feelings” (which, of course, comes straight from wiki). When asked to define empathy, the answer is “Empathy, which literally translates as in feeling, is the capability to share another being’s emotions and feelings.” It’s a subtle, yet extremely important difference.

Closely understanding someone else’s feelings is perfectly possible; we are all human, we all share basic emotions. But the ability to share someone else’s emotions and feelings? How would that be even remotely possible? There is no way two beings could share one emotion or feeling. The complexity behind one human emotion is unfathomable. I’m not talking basic emotions here, we are all capable of feeling some sort of anger or sadness, I’m talking about the real emotions we feel every day. The root of one human emotion is ridiculously detailed. Without the reasoning behind the emotion fully known, there is no way to duplicate that exact emotion. Hence, there is no way to share an emotion with someone because, although similar, the emotion will never come from the same place, it will never be exactly the same.

I understand that this is completely arguable and that some psychologist or psychoanalyst somewhere can probably present evidence to prove me wrong. All I know is that I am not capable of empathizing. I cannot fathom what it is to feel the hunger of days without food. I cannot imagine the pain of a natural childbirth. I cannot comprehend the strength of a child with cancer. I do not know the stress of a physiology exam. I do not feel the emotional stress of being bullied for who I am. Who could, but those who have lived through it? And of those, none experienced the exact same thing, none had the exact same attitude, and none had the same emotion, none the same mix of feelings. None will ever empathize with me, as I will never empathize with them. I do not believe in empathy.

And that encompasses the heat of my reaction to empathy.

October 14 2010: “Tomorrow”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Study Abroad decision tomorrow. It wouldn’t be such an issue if I weren’t relying on two decisions being the same. That’s what really scares me; I’m afraid the decisions will be different and we’ll have to figure out what to do. Sure, I’m going to have a hell of a weekend if we don’t get accepted. I’ll have to figure out a schedule for Buffalo for Spring, which is not how the Plan was supposed to go. But, if one of us gets accepted and one doesn’t… what do we do? How does that work? I don’t know and that’s what makes me so anxious. I just got him back. I’m getting used to the stability; I don’t want to lose it. So whatever the decisions may be, I can only pray that they’re the same. And that anxiety will at least let me sleep through the night. I just need to make it through tomorrow.

September 29 2010: “Skating Through the System”

I understand that Statics is important. I even understand most of the Statics I’ve been taught so far. And I understand that going to class helps me learn Statics; therefore going to class is important. But right about now I’d give anything to be able to rationalize walking back to my dorm and curling up for a disproportionately long nap. Ironically, as I age, I retreat further into the world I had previously run from. My biggest issue with my dreams used to be that they were becoming their own reality, interfering with my reality. Now that is what I long for.

I’m not sure if anyone realizes how truly weak and lazy I am. Everything works out for me, but that’s not a conscious decision. I’m lucky, that’s all. I don’t try, I don’t do anything. I never had to do anything. Anytime I was challenged I failed, I shied away. It’s in my music, in my Physics grades, in my SAT scores; I can see it. But can anyone else see that? Probably not; I can get by with just natural talent. I understand that that may be construed as conceited, but I honestly believe it. I don’t do anything.

What kind of system produces a child like me? What kind of school rewards the least hardworking kid? I’m not entirely sure. As much as I loved my school and my teachers, and even my professors here aren’t half-bad, no one ever pushed me or encouraged me. I had no reason, no incentive, to try and so I didn’t. I let myself be one of those kids that just skates by. Except I’m not one of those kids that just skates by, I’m an honor student. By no fault of my own, I’m an honor student.

How many people are just like me, skating through with wasted potential? It’s impossible to tell. With the amount of people in this world, one on one is hard to find. And who would ever think that the honors students need encouragement? Who would think to push the honors students? They’re already out-performing their peers, who’s to say they could or should do more? But shouldn’t they? Isn’t that what honors programs are for; to challenge and inspire the faster learners?

But challenging and inspiring 300+ kids simultaneously is, by definition, impossible. Besides, they’re already doing what’s expected of them. Who expects more? No one. No one expects more when they assume that you’re working your hardest to pull those grades. Everyone assumes that the system is working when in reality you’re working the system. It’s not hard, it’s about test skills, self-restraint, and a few intrapersonal skills.

But more about that some other day. On a side note, fire drills stink.

September 26 2010: “Happiness is the Heart’s Desire”

I’m not sure what it is. I don’t know that it’s stress or a mild depression or what, but I’m not happy. And there is absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t be happy. My life is, as I’ve said, perfect. Except when it’s not. School work will soon become overwhelming as my desire to do it dwindles into nothing. My family is like a dream. I call home every week, but rarely do I speak to my brothers. They’re all becoming distant; it’s as if they’re an elaborate creation of my imagination. My friends are far enough away that they too are drifting into the land of nothingness. And Tom? I think I broke him.

It’s funny, really. The day before Tom and I decided to take a break, he was looking at rings. That’s right, engagement rings. He was planning to propose in Scotland, just like I’d fantasized about. Lord knows that plan’s shot now. Our relationship has been rocky ever since I decided I’d rather have a fling than an amazing boyfriend. And now, even though we’re back together, even though I haven’t talked to the guy in a month, even though Tom and I spend every meal and every weekend night together, something is still off-balance. I don’t know that it’s me or it’s him or that it’s both of us. All I know is I’m not the same girl he wanted to marry, and I’m not entirely sure he’s too interested in marrying me anymore. And I don’t even think it’s a conscious decision. It’s just the feeling of guilt and embarassment that I get when I look into his eyes. But a proposal in Scotland was more of a fantasy, anyway.

Speaking of Scotland, I’m hoping that Tom and I are able to go. Not that we know anyone in Buffalo either, or ever see our families, but it will be nice to get away for awhile. And I do want to get away with him. I’m hoping that the drastic change in scenery will help us sort things out and clear the air. And who am I kidding? I’m hoping that moving myself that far away will give me some kind of happiness. I’m hoping to find some kind of fulfillment. All I really want, all anyone really wants I think, is to be happy. I just want to find some place in the world where I don’t want to cry; somewhere where I don’t reflect on every mistake I’ve made. I just want to be happy; is that too much to ask?