October 4, 2017
One foot, then the other
Bare shoulders, the weight
Of her soul
Do not measure in pounds,
Not kilos or stones
Measure it by care
How much is given
How much she takes
Ribs like a cage
What use for a flightless bird?
Measure it not in stones
Measure it by laughter and grief
By her voice at the night’s
By thoughts in her private meditations
Measure it not in stones
Measure it in the weight of love,
Pathetic fallacy: the attribution of human feelings and responses to inanimate things.
In film and literature this can be witnessed as the portrayal of the character’s emotions in the weather and their surroundings. It rains on the day of his beloved’s funeral. The sun shines when our characters finally achieve happiness. The chaos of the party around the romantic pair echoes the ongoing destruction of their relationship.
“Pray don’t talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing. Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else. And that makes me quite nervous.”
And I do mean something else.
It seems the patterns of weather in these stories are easy to decipher. Bad weather follows melancholy. Clear weather follows joy. Whenever I have looked out and seen the skies blanketed with grey and the rain cascading down, others express it to be a depressing nuisance. But why? I’ve never understood this. Living in a place that has suffered drought for years (Metaphorical? Perhaps). I enjoy the cool damp smell of the earth and the chance of renewal the rain brings. It is the only time where the chatter in my head is quiet. The only time when I don’t feel I have to constantly validate my existence. I am at peace to do the things I like.
To take a rainy day off from my anxious mind.
If there is anything I’ve learned since moving to Dallas is that when it rains, it pours and I do mean that literally.
March 07, 2017: The day we finished packing up our TWO moving vans, walked through our house one last time (an empty house is so echo-y,) locked our front door for the very last time, drove off into the sunset and said hello to a new beginning.
The first month was weird. I suppose as are most new things. There were boxes upon boxes, nothing seemed to look right, and the place was always a mess. But I’m pretty sure that was bound to happen.
Mentally speaking the first month was so HARD. Like there were days where I just didn’t get out of bed. It wasn’t just the stress of moving but the past year in general and it all sorta hit me at once and rendered me incapable. This second month as been much more gracious to me. I’m getting some things accomplished. Like finally getting around to editing videos from last summer that should have been done a loooooong time ago.
We found a really great church which we became members of on April 26. And we’ve made a few acquaintances through that which has been nice.
Sophie, my older sister, has gotten a job, which will be good for her. I can’t even imagine working right now. The stress. Boy, do I sound lazy. *ahem, sara, it’s because you are*
I HAVE been looking into colleges. There are a handful of community colleges here in the Metro Plex that seem interesting. So I plan on going this fall and then after two years transfer to a bigger university. Although, I have no idea what I want to major in. The application process is stressful enough.
As for the upcoming months, I’m not sure what it holds. There is an internship at this refugee outreach that in connected to our church and I’m exciting at the idea of possibly working there is summer. (……I should probably go fill out the application for that now.)
I came across the book Century Girl. I wanted it for my coffee table, but five dollars seemed like a careless expense. I held it under my arm, I put it back.
Besides, I don’t own a coffee table.
Technically I don’t possess a living room or apartment that usually go with such a thing.
I wish I did.
I want to sit on a couch at dusk with my floral shirt unbuttoned. A steaming cup of coffee on my knee and a hand in my hair.
I want to take objects from the places I’ve been, from the people I’ve loved and put them in a place that I have made for myself.
I want to share this space with others. I can tell them to leave by nine P.M, or stay til three A.M.
I want warm lights and house plants.
March 2nd, 2017
Writing jams: Etta James
Missed my deadline with this one.
It feels odd to break the flow of all the somber imagery of my previous posts. I thought the first week in California would have me spilling out pages worth of profound thoughts and feelings. Of moving away from home for the first time. Of feeling as if I were in a film. Of all the emotions that come with trying to figure out all this coming of age shit. But so far there isn’t much to tell? My head has been pretty blank.
My friends keep asking me of all of my adventures. Well, I haven’t scaled any mountains or met any dashing strangers yet. And to my own disappointment I haven’t hit up any of the jazz clubs yet .
(if there are any in San Diego.)
I did go to the aquarium.
Saw a little bit of Balboa Park, but I must see more.
I also went to the Thursday Market in Oceanside. I was told that the one they set up in the evening is far more exciting. I will remember that for next time.
I’ve had a lot of free time. I thought I would utilize it by focusing on writing and sitting in coffee shops. Zero coffee shops. And minimal writing. That will change soon though. So until next time.
Thanks for reading. Bye guys.
February 20th, 2017
Writing jams: Grace FMA, Lauryn Hill, Ed Sheeran
Hey there, it’s Tina.
I managed to get this post done on time. Even though I have to deal with paperwork, packing, cleaning, and the general low key panic that I’m moving in a few days… I have forfeit my title as Queen of Procrastination and am trying to stay on top of things. I expected myself to be undesirably busy my last week at home and not have time for anything. But in reality I have just been alternating between chores and watching Friends (yes, all week).
It’s probably because I spent the last few months preparing, so now I don’t have as many belongs to box up as I thought. I wondered how I was going to compartmentalize my life into a suitcase without the vanilla scented candles and favorite books. I packed my suitcase and weighed it on the bathroom scale. It was over fifty pounds. I packed it three more times. There’s a minimalist somewhere in my soul. I brought her out and put things away. I think deep down I wanted to bring objects and clothes that felt like a part of me. So people the new people would be able to see what type of person I was just by looking at them. I quickly realized I shouldn’t try to project myself into inanimate objects. I’m a whole person, people will be able to see me.
It’s mostly full of clothes now, with a few things to make me feel at home, because it is a five month long endeavor. I will probably end up packing it one more time.
I tried to see all my close friends, because I don’t plan on being back for long periods of time in the future (hopefully ever). Isn’t it strange that we only visit people when we plan on leaving? I was able to visit some that I knew when I was younger. Now we are all older making lives for yourselves. I always love when you can resume conversations after time apart. Mutual humor. And a warmth of feeling at home with people. I missed that.
Saturday night I was on the hour and a half drive home from seeing everyone. The weather decided not to be winter anymore and the night air was cool and fresh like spring. The day had been spent with irreplaceable people and good food. There was no weight to my tiredness. And I realized that my favorite feeling is those times of quiet. Right after or before everything is going to happen. I love moments like those long drives. The late summer nights with all the windows open. Those grey Sunday mornings. There’s a great sense of peace. I think because nothing can go wrong in those moments. It’s a pocket of reflection and wondering (usually set to your favorite music). No matter what happens in my life, I always feel happiest in those.
My flight leaves early on the morning of the 22nd. I’m anxious, of course. But everything has gone smoothly so far, and I really have to take time away from everything to appreciate that God has done that for me.
Thanks for reading, my next post will be written with a new backdrop behind me.
I’ll see you there.
“You’re an inanimate fucking object.”
February 14th, 2017
There are two stages of my creative process.
The first. Exploring.
Going out. I have to taste new adventures and collect fragments of other’s humanity. Find out their pursuits and inner most thoughts. Understand how it impacts others. Understand my own feelings when interacting with the world.
The second. Detachment.
I lock myself away from the world. To actually create something from the emotions, the snapshots, and the words I’ve collected.
It is has been once said that our minds are like gardens. There are seasons of blossoms and seasons of grey weather. Meaning it’s impossible to create and grow constantly.
I’ve had the drive to create. I’ve had ideas. Blog posts and videos alike. But I can’t bring them together. I thought I wasn’t pushing myself enough, and this may play a part. But I believe most of the trouble is from a stagnate environment. The same drag, day in, day out. It’s hard to make something new when everything around you has a layer of dust. When the people around you still think you’re the same person from five years ago. The dull sandy color of fields around my house. The vast empty skies. There’s no life in it.
I’ve been working on projects constantly, and I still have nothing to show for it.
The good news: my environment is changing soon. And to me that marks the beginning. I want to document that and share it with you.
This is the first post in my new blog series called “Entry”. I will be updating it every week. Which is a ballsy move, and frankly I’m a bit scared. But I hope you enjoy reading it. See you next week.