Story of My Life

Often times when I'm working hard on homework I have, my dad will ask "Homework? Story of your life, eh?" This is quite comical to me, because I see everything as a story, and enjoy stories immensely. When I listen to a song, I don't care so much about the beat as much as I do about the message, the lyrical content. The mystery and depth of words, happenings, and emotions intrigue me more than anything else. I love how things seem to come together somehow when I read a story, especially a mystery or suspense/thriller novel. It fascinates me that we are all living our own story; we each have our own destiny and legacy, and each thing we encounter, each person we meet, is another character or event in the great "story of our lives." I've always thought I was a little odd, a little different, because I see things this way, but I suppose I'm just observant in my own quirky way. But doesn't it seem monumental that we can write our own story by all the things we do? All the choices we make? I'm sure excited! So, start writing your story (well, continue doing it) today, and even though that sounds totally cliche, it is very much happening all around us, and we must be the author of our lives, even if we believe in a divine author.

Master's Craft

A day to remember, is a day of the master's craft, when finally the beauty is bestowed upon the image; the flourishing splendor of color or music or talent is burst out into the world. When finally the master and his artwork may be reunited, and the music or artistry is revealed, both master and instrument may be at ease. Such as is a violin's player, or a novel's writer; everything goes together just perfectly to begin the chain of art in that which we call music or literature, theater or sport, entertainment or leisure. I've found that the master who knows his craft may be impressive to others around him, and the knowledge that the master has obtained or obtains, whether massive or measly, makes their craft even more renowned and revered. Seeing the delight and determination of a musician on stage lights a certain fire in an enthusiast, such as myself, and the audience holds onto the animated face of the master. I have found myself marveling at the very tethers of music and art, and wish to know more, no matter how much information I may already have under my belt. My one question is, if a master has his craft, and knows that, what should he do to make it his own, and what exactly can a "craft" be described as?

All in a Line

I noticed just last night that the way certain people organize things is rather funny. Glasses in three straight lines like Terra-Cotta warriors ready for battle (or thirst-quenching); long lines of people, slightly zigzagged in formation, but nonetheless organized; and the organization of we, the people. It's funny to think that we live so much in lines, whether they be straight, curvy, dashed, or broken, but when you think about it, lines are everywhere. So what does a line really represent? A prescribed path that we must follow, or a way we may go, that we may choose? Sometimes it seems that the lines are blurry, and we must splay our hands in front of us to try to "see" through the fog. But no matter what kind of lines we face, we are parallel on one thing that is certain: they are everywhere, so get in line.

In the Quiet

As I sit here alone in my dining room, I start to realize just what is going on around me. Being an inherently quiet individual, I tend to notice sounds and objects sometimes better than most; such as in a hushed environment, with the sound of a clicked mouse reverberating around the walls, shattering the simple silence that once rent the air. I come to realize that each key that surrenders to the weight of my fingers causes a tension to be released in the heavy, silent atmosphere. Why do I notice this just now? Because, it is at times like these where I find myself wondering why all of my inner dialogue stays inside my head. What I have to say may not always be accepted, but many a person has come out and said something, was not accepted for it, and yet made history. Take Rosa Parks: she spoke up for her color, and was thrown off the bus for it. But what that bus driver failed to realize was that she was about to make history, by standing up to society's order. So, maybe that's just what I need to do. Stand up to the order of how things seem to be prescribed for us nowadays. Muddle it over in your brain, or toss it away, but the idea that we should take a stand for the things we believe in isn't just a one-time question on a test or a simple, trivial answer. It is who we are as a people and what we believe in. And thus, I will do my best to struggle to my feet and speak up, be heard. Will you?

Chapter 7 Alicia's Dream

Alicia explained that the doll she had given me was called Rori, after me. I guessed that she had gotten this doll recently…probably from Jordan. She had another doll named Savannah, and she said that they were both tired, so we should rock them in our arms. Jordan came in as we were doing this, and chuckled at the sight of me with a baby-doll moving slowly back and forth in my arms. I smiled, but blushed a little. It was one thing to have your boyfriend’s sister naming a doll after you, a whole other thing to actually have him watching you rock it! About ten minutes later, Ms. Lykes came home from work( I thought it was pretty crazy that she had to work on a Saturday, but I guess some people do) and grabbed Alicia, explaining to us that Alicia needed a check-up. Jordan hugged his mom and Alicia, and wished her a good visit, and I sat on the floor, stroking Tootsie’s fuzzy little head. Jordan came back to the floor when they had left, and he smiled at me.
“What?”
“Nothing, I just didn’t think that you liked cats.”
“Oh, well, I do.”
“So, who’s your favorite Disney princess?”
“That’s kind of a weird question, coming from you, Jordan.”
“I know, but I still want to know.”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Umm…well I guess I’d have to go with Belle. She falls in love with a beast, I mean, how much worse can love get?”
“Oh cool. I thought you’d be more of a Cinderella type.”
“Why?”
“Well, because…” he hung his head a little so that I couldn’t see his eyes, then said,” You’re beautiful, but you don’t really have a good…or good looking family.”
“Aww, Jordan! Thanks!” I leaned over, and hugged him, holding him close.
“Well, do you want to know anything weird about me, then?”
“Yea, actually, I do,” I said, as I sat back up straight from the hug.
“What is it?”
“Well, I kinda wondered what you thought of you and me…you know, together.”
“Well, I guess I’d consider you my girlfriend, if you’d like.”
“Well, I guess I’d consider you my boyfriend, if you’d like.”
“Yea, I’d like that.” We both cracked up, though I’m not entirely sure why, and fell back together. Jordan checked his watch, then said, “Hey, will you come with me to do something?”
“Sure.”

Chapter 7 Alicia's Dream

Jordan stood beside me, with a wet cloth hanging limply from his hands, a worried, and almost pained look on his face. He turned to me, and in a quiet voice, asked, “Is she okay?” Then he turned to Alicia, and looked her over once before hugging her tight, then going back to what he had been doing previously. I decided to spend a little time with Alicia; she reminded me of Destiny in the way she talked, and played, and I liked that. I would still have to get used to this family that didn’t really feel like my own. We talked a little about our excursion to Disney World. It’s not exciting enough to put into print, so I will only mention the important parts. Alicia brought up Disney princesses, and said that her favorite was Ariel, or the Little Mermaid. She said she liked Ariel because she was pretty and that she did what was right. I complimented her saying, “Well, then, Alicia, she’s a lot like you.” She giggled and gave me one of her baby dolls to play with. I actually hadn’t ever played with dolls; the Black’s had never given me any toys when I was younger, and the little they did give me had been Chris’s old He-Man figures or toy cars that had only two or three wheels.

Chapter 7 Alicia's Dream

I left the room, and just as I was about to go to the bathroom, I heard a scream. I ran to the source of where I thought the scream might be coming from, and saw Alicia sitting in the middle of the living room floor, staring at her finger. It was pulsating and gyrating quite rapidly; almost as though she were having a really bad muscle spasm. It nearly scared me, and must have scared her, but a minute after it had started, it stopped. I sat down next to her, and said, “Alicia, how did your finger do that?” She stared at me as though I had just asked her to stick her hand in the microwave. She continued to stare at me until she realized that it no longer hurt, and then she replied in a voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t know. I was playing with Tootsie,” she rubbed the back of the Lykes’s cat Tootsie’s head, “And all of a sudden my finger went cwazy.” I examined her finger, checking for any hint at all that something had gone wrong with it, but found nothing but her tiny little forefinger, intact and the same as it had always been, at least the same as it had always been over the few days I had known her.