No Answers

Questions I asked myself on a four-hour ride home from Utah.

Am I wrong? Should I lower my standards and tolerate the world? Am I just idealistic? Does maturity have to mean tolerating images and thoughts that I was taught since I was born were wrong and/or sacred and not to be displayed? Should I tell this person whom I love how awkward and severely uncomfortable I felt? I know he knows better, and I know he's such an incredibly awesome, wonderful person, and so shouldn't I show how much I respect him by being my characteristic blunt and tell him my thoughts? Shouldn't I do my part and help him they best way I know how and explain my feelings that, even though everyone has these desires and in of themselves, they are beautiful, but they should not be entertained till the appropriate time? Am I "preachy"? Am I self-righteous? Would he be offended? Would he speak to me again? Would he still value my opinion like he has so many times before? Would he listen? What would God have me do?

Why do we hurt people we love? If we love them, why berate and make them feel small? If we see that teasing and reawakening old, painful memories hurts a person, and that person has shown us time and time again that they DON'T think it's funny, why would we do it again? And again? And again? Why do we justify cruel teasing by saying, "They laughed, to," or "See, she's smiling,"? How on earth can "You're a good sport," and "Oh, I love you," be classified as an apology?!

What's wrong with love? Why can't people just be able to tell each other how much they care for them? And why don't we show it? What is it we're afraid of? After all, isn't loving more important than being loved? Why is emotion so hard to express? What is about crying in front of others that makes us cringe? Why do we hide emotions under casual, indifferent, shrugging cloaks?

Why is forgiving oneself so much more difficult than forgiving others? Why are we all so proud? Why does it plague our souls wherever we go and whatever we do, beyond any reasoning or logic? Why is it that even when we KNOW we are so pitiful, sinning, crude creatures, we're still capable of holding our heads above the clouds?
Why?!

Two Lumps

Let's try several spoonfuls...

Joys
From least to greatest

"You Are My Sunshine"
The Song. I love it.

Asking
I want to make others think

Accomplishing a goal
Having the Will to do it, more like

Clouds
It's a long story. Many stories, actually.

Overcoming Weakness
Not on my own, actually. I'd like it more, only it's so painful, but the rewrad is worth it.

Listening
It's awfully loud, if you pay attention.

Running
Towards, not away.

Climbing
More for being closer to Up than escaping Down.

Thinking
I've got a whole world up there.

Exploring
It's like thinking, only with your arms and legs.

Smiling
Despite everything else.

Laughing
Especially when I make others do it.

Knowing
And then you only know it MORE.

Learning
The cross between Thinking and Exploring.

Hugs
More for me than most people, I think.

Letting Someone Know/Knowing Myself
And it isn't done enough, gosh darn it!

Rx

You must take your medicine before the sugar for it to be effective. So, here is my "medicine."

Fears:
From least to worst

Declining health
my body holding me back from things that I love

Being Lost-Physically
I do NOT like not knowing where I am

Loneliness
I think not loving is worse than not being loved, but only just.

Not Making A Difference
At the end of my life, I want to know some one is better off because of me.

Missed Opportunities
I have the capability, but will I be too afraid or lazy to grasp life when it's in reach?

Losing my Friends
My friends have gotten me through so much. I couldn't bare betraying their trust.

Rape
I'd prefer the slowest, most painful death.

Forgetting
If I forget the people I love or the lessons I've learned, I'd lose time and most of my identity.

Bitter-Sweet, Hold the Sweet.

This is for my sake, so if you don't want to read a teenage girl reminiscing, don't.
His name was Lucky, and he was one of my very best friends.
I believe he was sent to teach me about love and what it means to serve someone: How giving love means more than receiving it. He trusted me, and I did all in my power to not betray that trust. He was my window in the mind and heart of the Savior and his feelings toward us.
When I finally gave consent to have him put down (after he almost completely lost control of his body), I felt like part of my soul went with him and I no longer felt whole. When I thought of who I was, what made me Me, right after my belief in God, I thought of my cat Lucky. I could give a whole history of our relationship, from my third Christmas on, but that's not necessary. He lived 12.5 years. We buried him between two trees between the pond and garden. He was mine and I loved him. Goodbye, Baby. You taught me so much.

A Little Bit Louder, A Little Bit Worse

Lately I've been revisiting my childhood, and I finally realized something: My childhood was GREAT!! So, if any of you were in suspense about why I am the way I am, here are a few references that, combined, are the essence of all that is Green Gremlin.

#1: Curse of Monkey Island:
No. 3 in the Monkey Island saga, it's by far the best in animation (till no. 5 came out on the Wii), Storyline, casting, depiction of Elaine, and humor. Brief synopsis:
Guybrush Threepwood one day washed ashore Malay Island, where he fell in love with its Governor, The beautiful red head Elaine Marley. She was also the Apple of the eye of the evil Zombie Pirate, LeChuck. For a recap, you can just watch the beginning of CMI:











#2: Peter Pan
There will be no web clip of this, seeing as I've never found a depiction of Peter, or any of the characters, that I'm satisfied with (Though, I'd have to say that Disney's was the best).
When I was little, and even when I wasn't so little, me and my sister would climb into our older sister's bed, where she'd read us a chapter out of Peter Pan, the ORIGINAL novel by J.M. Barrie, every night. So far no one has ever captured Peter the way I see him; one of the reasons for that being is that no movie has ever even tried to depict Neverland as the Island of Children's imagination, where all their games take place. They never mention that everyone has their own different island. They show the ties between Mr. Darling and Captain Hook (Both are seeming antagonistic characters, traditionally played by the same man) Captain Hook wants to destroy Peter, the symbol of all things "gay and innocent and heartless," that ties over to Mr. Darling and his roughness towards Nanna and the children's gaiety. Proving my point:
Captain J.A.S. Hook: "Smee, no child loves me!"
Mr. Darling: "Oh, sure, cuddle Nanna. No one ever cuddles me!"
But worst of all: most movies of Peter Pan depict two very, VERY wrong things:
1) Peter is too old. my point from the book:
Wendy was "every inch a woman, though there weren't very many inches" (she's short)
And peter is her same size, meaning he can't be very tall either. They are both YOUNG. Peter Pan is supposed to still have all his baby teeth.
2) The Peter-Wendy Romance. Ugh. They are only eight-years-old. Tops! Maybe there are crushes, but never to the extreme that people try to pin them down with and hardly at all in the book.
Peter Pan represents all that is Gay and Innocent and Heartless. "When a child dies, a little piece of [Peter] goes with them so they will not be afraid.
Peter Pan is that magical place under bed covers and behind bedroom doors where you went as a child, that place "Second star to the right and straight on till morning." You remember. Every child has one.

#3: Harry Potter, Heartbeat, Ella Enchanted, Phantom Toll Booth, and all Diana Wynne Jones

Books are things very dear to my heart. There are many, and I can't name them all, that really shaped my as a child--I can honestly say I wouldn't be the same without them. So be careful, all you young-adult writers out there. You are shaping children in small, secret ways that they themselves do not at first notice.

#4: Clouds, trees, birds, and those little squirmy things in water
I believe it is important for every child to have adventures. Times when the house is just out of sight and parents long gone, when you are on Safari, and discoveries for the benefit of the little world that is your mind are found. When I was still living in California (3-7 years old), I used to imagine running away and living like Robin Hood--specifically like Robin Hood. Not because I was angry at my parents and that I did something wrong and didn't want to face the consequences; I just wanted to be on my own, just because I thought I could. I never did run away, of course. I knew I'd get lost, starve, be kidnapped, but that never deterred me from dreaming about it.

#5: Disney/Pixar
This is one I don't feel I have to explain, since this is part of everyone's life, but I wanted to pay homage to it all the same. I can't help but feel that if it weren't for Disney, all the classic Fairy tales would be lost in our culture forever. Disney, I think, was necessary for us when we were children. Kids need to believe in Right and Wrong, and that Right always comes out on top. They need to believe in doing the right thing because it's right. They need to believe that things turn out all right in the end, no matter how bad things get. Also, I think the world needs places like Disneyland/world/etc. Clean, safe, happy places where we can revisit our childhoods shamelessly.

#6: Cats, the musical
It's very easy to believe that I watched this show at least three times a day. And I did. It's also easy to believe that after watching it, I would turn it off and roam the house, pretending to be a cat. Even as a child, Memory made me cry. That show spurred my imagination and I fantasized nonstop about not only cats, but mystical places of mystery and stealth.

I had a great childhood!

13 Personality Types

1. The proclaimed Optimist: "The glass is half full."

2. The Real Optimist: "I think it's actually more than half way, and I'm sure I can fill up the rest."

3. The Proclaimed Pessimist: "The glass is half empty."

4. The Real Pessimist: "It's less than half full, and eventually it'll evaporate totally away and we'll all die of thirst."

5. The Proclaimed 'Realist': "It's both half full, and half empty."

6. The Real Realist: "It's not 'full' until I fill it, and it's not 'empty' until it's totally gone. It could go both ways."

7. The Scientist: "Fifty percent of the volume (LxWxH) of that cylinder is H2O, and the other fifty is 70% Nitrogen, about 20% oxygen, and 10% other various gases."

8. The Psychiatrist: "It's half empty because I never got a full glass as a child."

9. The Philosopher: "What is half full to some is half empty to others, but is that what really matters?"

10. The Dyslexic: "The empty is half glass."

11. The Paranoid: "Why do YOU care about how full/empty my glass is?"

12. The Stalker: "Her glass is half empty. Believe me, I know."

13. The Fence Sitter: "Um... isn't there a third option?"

Once upon a land, in a time far, far away...

Why do humans tell stories? Sure, the historical ones are to understand why things are the way they are today politically and culturally and to help ensure that we don't make the same mistakes as our progenitors (though it doesn't always work out that way, does it?). But why novels? Why weave stories in galaxies far, far away and spin tales of adventure in far distant lands? Why make tell of something so detached from us that it can hardly relate to our own day-to-day occurrences?
Perhaps we want to escape. We think this life is boring. Daily routines and dull safety and surety make us naively long for some excitement. But what is life to be boring? Should we be entertained by our surroundings? Why not take a break from trying to find excitement elsewhere and create our own here? The world isn't entertaining enough for you? Try entertaining the world. Could that be why we create stories?
Or perhaps we like stories because they have problems that, more often than not, get resolved. The future to us worldly mortals is terrifyingly unsure. We are faced with conflicts and decisions and so many "other hands" to get on! We're afraid of looking back and realizing our choice was wrong. So then a story, all orderly written out, gives us assurance that things will turn out alright. Perhaps they give us hope that our own little climaxes will eventually resolve and we, too, can live live "happily ever after."
Then again, it might be the newness of a fleshly woven tale that captures us: new possibilities and never-before-thought thoughts. I believe we, as sapient beings, are alive in order to learn. It's possible we love stories because they offer the chance of a new experience, the opportunity to learn of an artificially experience in distant lands with unfamiliar cultures and ideas. Maybe if this life isn't teaching us enough, then we need some breath of fresh air to reawaken our yearnings to learn something new.
Maybe we write stories because we hope to teach others. We want to convey a truth with a fictional weaving, the "Moral or the story". Maybe we create characters who experience something or act in some way in extreme, vibrantly colored settings to make our point obvious in order to teach people: make them learn a lesson that is too monochromatic in this real life is for them to see it clearly.
Or maybe fictional stories are really shields we use to fend off the real world. We're so dissatisfied with--even afraid of--own problems or mistakes that we'd much rather listen or read of some one else's woes totally removed from our own. Or it could work the other way. Could stories be more like pillows than total shields, meant to soften the harsh realities of this all too real world? If we could just see a fictitious person handle a conflict successfully, we can then use the character as as our crash-test dummy and feel out the possibilities in how to confront a sort of problem and maybe save some face, too.
Which ever the reason certain people decide to compose a work of fiction and for whatever reason people decide to listen to them, I think stories are good and did not write this rhetoric to slam the classic tales (though maybe the writers and readers a little). This is merely my recorded train of thought. But whatever category you or I fall into, I want you, dear reader of aimless blogs, to know that I love stories. One of my own personal philosophies is that the entire world--nay, universe is made of stories, from the shortest of short stories, to the most eloquent of novels, to the utmost dull of tomes, to the most exciting of epics. I refuse to believe that we humans have imaginations for no eternal purpose.
For now, as far as I can tell, I read and write stories because they help me learn about myself and comprehend how I look at the world (I'm not yet totally sure) and how I think of other people. I think my characters are really only pieces of myself, cut and stretched into seemingly different people. I read and write stories because they are an escape, a little, and padding so I can safely experiment on Life's Great Unknown. They let my push the boundaries, both outward and inward. And yes, I write because it is fun. Nothing is funner--and yes, I said FUNNER--than taking a small, seemingly unimportant thought and spinning it into a full-fledged adventure on the spot. It's fun for me, and I hope it's fun for whoever my audience chances to be at the moment. Which is you. I hope you liked it.