Silence of Being

There is no silence in which I can meditate. No silence of mind or surroundings. Sitting down to read Psalm 32, I had to always read it outloud because reading silently to myself I am distractable. What do I think about? Nothing really, I mean nothing significant. I think about the movie I just saw, or how I feel sick and want to go to bed. I think about all this random shit that doesn't matter that much. All this mundane lack of silence. My iPod and my phone keep beeping or buzzing, people talking and laughing outside my room. No silence.

But when I write, that's when my mind works. That is the only time I have control over my mind. 

Lately the theme of confession has been reoccurring in my thoughts, conversations, classes, etc. Psalm 32 says, "When I kept silent, my bones wasted away." I must acknowledge my sins before God and he will forgive them; that promise amazes me, especially when I sin repeatedly, the same way. I need to just say it. When I say it then I realize the gravity of it, especially when I say it again, every day. When I say it, I feel maybe a little more free. Silence is burdensome.

I want to find solace in silence. I wish that my thoughts would settle and I could think quietly or not think at all  without falling asleep. Whenever I try to meditate, I fall asleep. I am fascinated by the Zen Buddhist themes in J.D. Salinger's works. I want to detach myself and unlearn things and think nothing, silence in my mind. My brain is on overload sometimes, like it's spilling out of the edges, a boiling pot of water all this data no organization. I want to really know one thing well, like modern art that focuses on one idea. Or a one word poem that the deaf-mute man writes in Raise High the Roof Beam Carpenters. ("Delighted.")

I want to feel comfortable in silence. Holden Caulfield was my best friend for the few weeks I read Catcher in the Rye because we related so well. But I get the feeling that this is a common feeling among humans, the feeling of isolation and lack of placement. The reaching out with no one to grab your hand, everyone wants to be caught. If I could detach myself from the thoughts of other people. Get rid of some of the data, like what is he thinking, is this awkward, what should we talk about, are you actually interested in what I'm saying, are you listening to me, do you even like me? What time is it, I don't have money, I have to do homework, I'm tired. The overload data of meaningless thoughts.This stuff enslaves me and I'd like to unlearn it and feel the silence, soak it in, and be free in it. 

I want to be caught when I reach out. I want to feel like people understand what I'm saying. I want people to look at the details, like Jane's knights lined up on the back row. I want to be able to relate to people, and be simple. Enough of this putting on a show, everyone trying to show off who they are competition. I wish that I could be like Holden with his deaf-mute wife in the middle of nowhere content in each others company but just in a state of being. This is silence.

What does Psalm 32 mean? Silence is burdensome. That silence is a hiding fearful kind of silence. I want a being kind of silence, which frees. "You are a hiding place for me." It is in God I find myself when I hide in him, and in God I find the silence of being. There is no worry of him being dissatisfied or bored with who I am. There is no nervousness that he is judging me or that he feels awkward and would rather be somewhere else. He chose me. I am caught in him. 

I Like to Talk About Me

A few weekends ago I was in Mexico with a group of students from school. We went to an orphanage called Casa Hugar in Baja California. Over lunch on Sunday afternoon one table, the table I was sitting at, sat quietly over-looking the mountains in the distance, while the people at the other table talked loudly.

Then Justin Bleeker at my table said, "Have you ever thought about how often people say 'I' in a conversation?" 

We contemplated. Yeah, people say 'I' and other first person pronouns very often. People are obsessed with talking about themselves. Justin proposed that it is our individualistic society that encourages us to talk about ourselves so much. We want to make sure that we are known but we don't care very much about knowing other people. 

Let me talk about my self a minute :P When I was in high school I confided in my mom about my lack of conversational skills. Her response was, "Just ask people questions. People love talking about themselves. Ask questions and make the other person do all the talking, and they will like you because not many people take the time to ask questions." So as a cure to my lack of social abilities, I learned to ask people questions. 

See, some people like to talk about themselves and they don't care much to know about other people. Others, like me, would rather not talk and they also don't care very much about knowing other people. (Don't worry, this isn't an either or fallacy; I am not making a claim about all people, but I am speaking particularly to the people who fall into these categories, and I am challenging people to question if they are in these categories.)

I have tried to change my mindset. As an aspiring journalist, I want to ask people questions to sort of research them. As a historian, I want to find out where they came from, why they do what they do, think what they think. As a writer, I want to know their story and their character. 

I have tried to change my motives from curing my conversational inabilities into an actual desire to know and learn about people. This change requires a realization that people are actually fascinating; every person is. And, it still remains true that people, generally speaking, love to talk about themselves. A while ago I wrote a blog about the two sided nature of communication called "Communication is Human" and it is times like this where we can learn to love listening. 

People are unique and worth learning about so look outside yourself a minute and learn about someone today.

The Fraction

This is a summary of a conversation I had with someone.

I walked to Rite Aid before weight training and I saw this bum sitting on the sidewalk. He was asking for change, mumbling more like, with his head down as if he was ashamed to ask. People were stepping over him like he was a trash bag or something. That depressed me so much to see him like that.
I gave him what change I had, thirty cents. I offered him a cigarettes and he just said, "Sure." I asked him if he needed a light and he just said no.
I talked to my Dad about it and told him how frustrated I was. He just told me that I should tell him about a homeless shelter and take him there. But I told him that it's not like homeless shelters are in some secret place. Bums know where homeless shelters are. Is that what we do with bums? Take them to the homeless shelter like we take dogs to the pound? Too many of them on the street so we take them someplace else.
The thing is, I am no different than I bum. I beg people for change so I can buy myself a damn pack, or I beg people for cigarettes. But if that guy walked into Rite Aid people would watch him like crazy. People would be all worried, yet people trust me. Why?
Why does society treat them like they have no value, like somehow I have more value than that bum?
They are dehumanized.
I went to weight training after that and I couldn't do anything and I got really pissed off. I ran for 1:40 and I was tired. I couldn't lift anything. That's how I feel about this bum problem. I can't do anything. I am so damn powerless to change anything.
When I was in 7th grade there was this fraction that I really wanted to solve but no matter what I did I couldn't solve it. I couldn't get the right answer so I started crying. I was in 7th grade crying over a fucking math problem and everyone in the class was laughing at me. This is like the ultimate fraction for me. I don't know the answer and it frustrates the hell out of me. It makes me feel so damn pointless.
What do I do? I get an education and learn about why our system is so screwed up. Why there is poverty. And what do I do when I get out of college? I get a job and buy into the system and become a part of the machine that creates oppression. What the hell am I supposed to do? I want to do something but I don't know what the hell to do!

Communication is Human

"Everyone's a kid that no cares about.
You just gotta keep screamin' til they hear you out!"
- "Written in the Stars" by Tiney Tempah

Listening is one of the greatest ways to show your love for someone. To hang onto their every word and to believe that their opinions, thoughts, and dreams matter. To put aside your judgments, and your own words and truly hear someone out.

Do you really listen? So often I "listen" to others, but all the while I am just waiting for them to finish so I can talk.

That's so dehumanizing! Communication is vital to being human, that is one thing that stuck with me when taking Into to Communications this semester. As communal creatures, humans need to relate to other people and to know and be known. How can we do this if we don't listen to one another?

Furthermore, how can we grow and learn if we don't listen. Learning is also vital to being human, because knowledge brings freedom, and knowledge is a human right. Do we dismiss the words of some, thinking that they are unworthy to teach us? That they are less than us, therefore we should not have to listen to their words? What pride. Listening is a lesson in humility.

When you see a quiet person, you would do well to assume that they are waiting for someone to listen to them. Quiet people spend so much of their life listening, but people assume they don't want to talk, because if they did, they would. That's outrageous. People need to communicate, but so many are driven into silence because they have been conditioned to think that their words are meaningless and no one wants to listen.

Communication is human. Communication is a two way street. It helps us learn. It helps us love. It humbles us. It makes us human.

*This post was inspired by conversations with Karolina, and by many conversations about the evils of dehumanization while taking a class on American radical movements this semester. 

Sit Quiet for a Minute

Last week the Santa Ana winds hit Pasadena at 97mph, ripping trees from the ground, and knocking over power lines. Much of the city is still without electricity. I talked to a guy named Taiga, who is Japanese but grew up in Kenya, about the situation. He said that its such a farce to see the way people react to power outages here. He told me that at home in Kenya, this happens like every other day. Not the wind, but the power outages.

Today I will discuss the technology dependent world that we live in, which I try to escape, but cannot as I type here on my laptop using my internet. Yet I want to at least be aware of it, and use technology, but not become its slave.

Last week I deleted my Facebook and Twitter, for good. I find that I am able to study, think, and write so much easier when I don't have those distractions waving at me every time I open my lap top to do homework. I try not to carry my phone with me as much, so that I can't text people when I am in an awkward situation. Instead, I can actually talk to people, or just stare at the wall and notice something new about the room. Maybe I don't need to get that $200 ipod I want so bad.

Last week I gave a speech about why Christians should be environmentalists. One of my points is that creation was made to be enjoyed, but humans destroy it, and ignore it. In my speech I quoted Thoreau, "I was as much affected by the faint hum of the mosquito making its invisible and unimaginable tour through my apartment at earliest dawn, when I was sitting doors and windows open, as I could be by any trumpet that ever sang of fame."

Is that not beautiful? That's how we should be! Discovering the intricacies of God's creation but how can we do that when we're always texting, facebooking, tweeting, playing video games, drowning ourselves in our ipods' noise! These technologies that are supposed to bring us together instead cause us to be alone, and dull our senses.

Now don't get me wrong, I am not one of those people who hates technology, and in no way would I say it is always wrong, or a waste of time. It can be useful, for example my blog allows me to publish my own writing and share it with people. I also know Youtube helps no-name musicians, movie makers, comedians, etc to share their art with the world. I understand technology, even social media, has its place. 

I am arguing against allowing technology to over take your life. How often do you g outside and watch the sunset? Do you notice the way the light hits the trees? Do you see the spider webs' perfection? Do you hear the birds? There is so much to see and to hear and to touch and smell!

So if Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, video games, etc are your default "I'm bored" activities, then maybe you should consider getting rid of them. If you don't look at the world because you're too caught up in social media, etc, then maybe you should take a break from your addiction and check out God's creation. Or talk to people face to face instead of over a computer screen. 

Can we just sit quietly?

I have long known that I was addicted to Facebook and Twitter, but now I am free, and my mind feels so much more empty and quiet. It's wonderful. 

It's Only a Matter of Time, and We'll All Be Better Off

I am infuriated by all the stores lining Hollywood Blvd where teenagers spend a minute amount of their Daddy's paycheck buying $300 dresses at BCBG in the Hollywood and Highland shopping center. On those same streets, the homeless sleep in ragged blankets, Hollywood stars as their pillows.

These homeless who ask us for change in the subway, whom we pass off as lazy drug addicts. The same homeless whom we look at with disgust, smelling the piss and sweat on their clothes and hair.

On those same streets we eagerly spend $30 on a shirt, that was probably made in India in about 3 minutes, costing the corporation about 14 cents to make.

I am infuriated by my own hypocrisy.

I am the one who spends my meager paycheck on Forever 21 clothes that I will soon dislikes come the next trend in fashion. But the lights, the smell, the softness of the material appeal to my desire to be significant. To be luxurious. I walk past the trumpet playing hobos on Colorado Blvd, avoiding eye-contact.

Can we blame our condition on hard work? Does that mean they are lazy? Can we say that it is easy for a smelly man, with an overgrown beard, and no phone number or address to get a job in this time? But we assume he got their because of his own mistakes.

What if he did get their because of his own mistakes? Do we have no mercy?

But I want my pretty dresses and sweaters, my $5 coffee and cigarettes, more than I want to stop and talk and maybe give him my spare $20.

I am infuriated by the gap between the rich and the poor. The hyper luxury market that is booming, while dollar stores are also booming. That some people are collecting bottles and cans out of trash cans to make five cents off of them, while some are spending $100s every weekend to get wasted and leave the bottles in the streets.

I am infuriated that one person will call the stone floor of an LA metro station his bed, while another person can pick to sleep in one of the six bedrooms in his luxury mansion.

But this is just the way things are, right? The poor will always be among us, so we just can't be bothered with change.  And if we let the rich thrive, then eventually they will decide to hire the guy off the streets, and things will get better. 

It's only a matter of time. 

Two-Faced and Afraid

If I could narrow my recent thoughts to one word, it would be "Unmask". 

People complain a lot about other people not being "real", or they complain that they find it hard to be themselves around others. I struggle with this myself, and I figured that if I could simply get past my insecurities, then I could be more REAL. But it's more than that an issue of fear. It's about being honest. 

"The truth will set you free." I know this verse in context is referring to the truth of the gospel, but it can apply to being honest about yourself too. Forgetting about what others think of me, or what I think about myself, and focusing on being TRUTHFUL, has helped me a lot in my desire to be real. I was caged by fear, but being truthful has set me free. 

I lie about how I feel. I lie about what I think. I lie about what I want. I lie about what I've done. I worry people will think I'm a bad person, or a boring person, or a stupid person. But why? Lying has only caused walls to grow, it's only caused more insecurities. It's so burdening. 

This is why we should be real, even about our shot-comings. This honesty that I'm talking about especially applies to Christians who often hide their sins, and pretend to be really godly people while they are around their Christian friends. This isn't right. We're sinners, and no Christian can truly deny the presence of a sinful nature battling their new nature in Christ. This is no reason to embrace sin or advertise it, but there's also no reason to hide it and to pretend we're really holy. 

Being open about sin allows the opportunity for some to voice their self-righteous judgments, but it also allows for accountability and encouragement from fellow believers. If we never voice our struggles and sins, it will be so much harder to face them and fight them. Also, speaking our true opinions about things allows for critiques and challenges; it helps us think and learn. Being truthful about who I am has helped me to be less insecure. The truth helps us grow.

Being REAL is about facing fears, but more so about choosing to be an honest person rather than a liar. And the reason honesty is so important is because God's word is truth, and we are witnesses of the truth. How can we share the truth when we are dishonest, two-faced, and afraid? Our own honesty is a testimony to the honesty of the message we profess. 

Eva Hudson Is Alive: A Story About Magic

*This is a true story but i have changed the names of those involves to protect their identities.

Eva Hudson sat on the toilet, her shirt off, from 1-8pm mumbling to imaginary people, and sobbing occasionally. She refused food, she refused drink, and she refused company. 

I got to her house around 4pm the next day, and there she was again on the toilet after a sleepless night of manic mumbling. She hadn't showered in a week either. As caregivers we are responsible to help her with the basics of life, which include hygiene and diet. She refused help in both areas. What could we do?

The house manager, Amy, raised her voice at Eva, riding the fine line between commanding and strongly encouraging her to join us for dinner. Eva continued in her stubborness and yelled, "Leave me alone! I need space! Don't talk to me! I won't listen to you! I can't eat!" The voices wouldn't let her eat. They wouldn't let her leave the bathroom. 

"Eva Hudson died," she said, "She's dead." 

"Eva is not dead! Eva is alive and she needs to eat!" Amy said. We decided that talking to her in the third person might help. Lately she is so confused; she can't tell that "you" is her. She can't hear us over the voices, and sometimes we have to say her name three or four times loudly before she even notices that we're talking.

This continued for sometimes, and frustrated the house manager went back to the table and joined the other client and I for supper. 

An hour past before Eva left the bathroom and returned to her room. She kept repeating, "Eva died." Or she would say, "Amy you have a phone call! They're going to tell you that Eva died this morning!" She talked to her "friends" about other things too, and we listened in from the living room on the baby monitor. 

At 8pm I went to her room to offer her the 8pm meds she is prescribed. The meds are supposed to calm her, help her sleep, help lessen the psychotic behavior, maybe quiet down the voices. The pills may or may not do their the job. She refused the meds at first, but then when I offered her dinner as well, she walked with me to the kitchen and ate, and took her meds.

She asked me to do her hair after eating, and I agreed. Amy took this opportunity to tell Eva that she needs to wash her hair before I could brush it. So I washed her hair and she cooperated. The voices tell her she can't take a shower, so we had to wash it in her bathroom sink, using cups to rinse out the mess. 

Her hair was mess a of mats and dreads. I combed it as best I could, and piece by piece, picked apart the tangles until her hair was again smooth and soft like it used to be. 

This is something we say a lot about Eva, "She used to be." I never knew the original Eva, but I hear she was a lot of fun. She loved to watch baseball and sing her heart out to country music while driving. She'd make up the words if she didn't know them. She was sweet and she loved to laugh. For a woman with MR, she was very high functioning. She can read, cook, work, and budget her own money.

But last November things changed. She stopped sleeping, and she started talking to imaginary people, and she became angry and preferred isolation over the company of her staff and peers. She became verbally and physically aggressive. She had to move out of her original apartment to a new house for fear of mountain lions. She was convinced that mountain lions would eat her if she stayed in that house.

Eva rarely goes outside now, and usually she only leaves her room to eat. She loves to eat, well, until a few days ago she did. She fears the outdoors, the mountain lions.

"Eva died. She choked on a hot dog." she said, and later, "Eva died. She got bitten by a mountain lion." or "Eva died. She got stabbed in the head." 

I listened to her delusional conversations while quietly brushing her hair. Occasionally she would smile at me, as if realizing I was there. She said, "You're a nice person." And asked me to do her make-up. I did. See, we'll do anything to see the old Eva back. We'll do anything to keep her from being a hermit in her room for the rest of her days. She's in her 30s, the lady deserves some pampering, some fun, but she's troubled.

I did her nails too, a strawberry red. She cried as I clipped her nails, as if it hurt her. I was gentle, and hummed as I painted her nails. But suddenly she started crying, then she started sobbing. "Eva, what's wrong? You're okay!" I touched her shoulders, and she looked at me confused, again as if she had never seen me before. She buried her face in her shoulder and continued in tears. She wouldn't talk to me.

I finished her nails and she ate some pudding while sniffling, and then I lead her to bed. Before she would lay down however, I checked every nick and cranny to scare away the monsters. "It's safe here. I checked," I said, and she shivered but went to bed.

That night, while in bed speaking maniacally, lost in her delusional life, she repeated 56 times that Eva Hudson was dead. I was so disturbed and troubled. She’d yell at us to shut up if we said, “Eva Hudson is alive.” I cried that night for her and for my inability to help her. The next day, I prayed with her, but she was angry all day and hardly ate or spoke to me.

Then tonight happened. Tonight was magic. I can’t explain it except that I saw a glimpse of the woman others reminisce about.

All day she had been growly and upset at Amy and the other staff that was at her house. She had refused lunch too. I came at 4pm again, and around 5pm I went to her room and again she was shirtless, standing in the middle of her room staring into space. I asked her if she was hungry

“A little bit,” She said quietly.

“Well food will be ready in about a half hour, would you like to come help me cook?” I asked.

She didn’t answer me, but followed me to the kitchen. I quickly grabbed a shirt from her room, and prompted her to put it on. She did, without complaining. We ate spaghetti with chicken and we took turns stirring the chicken on the frying pan. She would smile at me sometimes and say, “I’m making good choices. Are you proud of me? No aggression.” I was very proud of her. These were baby steps.

The magic happened after her 8pm meds. She asked me again to do her hair, so I washed it in the sink, and began to brush it.

“What songs do I know?” She asked me suddenly.

“Oh, umm, well I heard you singing the national anthem the other day. You know that one.” I said, surprised.

“Oh ya I do!”

“Oh say can you see…” Together we sang, off key, missing the high notes, and she laughed. “Oh I know this one!” She said, excited. “He’s got the whole world in his hands, he’s got the whole world in his hands…” And again we sang in perfect unison.

Can anyone understand it? The feeling of seeing such a troubled girl laugh and sing? It was marvelous, and I couldn’t let it end. She didn’t want it to end either. 

“Can I listen to the radio?” she asked.

“Oh of course! Let me get it.” I tuned it to the 105.7 Cattle Country, and I didn’t know the song that played but we sang it anyway, making up words and dancing. Head banging, shaking our booties, and lifting our hands. Every time there was a commercial I would change the station and we’d dance to something else.

“You gotta keep your head up ooooh oooh! And you can’t let your head down oooh ohhh!” sang Andy Grammer. What perfect words, and our heads were high. How long had it been since she was happy, since she had thrown back her head and laughed?

I brushed her hair while Coldplay “Viva La Vida” played and she told me that I’m a nice person. “You’re a nice person too Eva.”

“Sometimes,” she said.

“You are now. This is Eva. You are nice.” I assured her. She was herself. It was like she knew then who she was and what was going on. Eva Hudson was alive.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“I don’t like to tell people how old I am. I’m a lady,” she told me.

“OH! I’m sorry that’s right! I should NEVER ask a lady her age!” she laughed again as did I.

Lady Gaga “Poker Face” came on and to my surprise she cried, “Oh I know this song! I know this song!”

And in the kitchen we rocked out again. I took a video of it, so I’d never forget the magic. Oh the power of music. The freeing power of God!

I did her make-up and told her that she looked beautiful. She wanted me to take a picture of her and I did. She could barely keep her eyes open at this point, and as she got more tired, she fell into her delusion again. Mumbling to the imaginary people, and keeping me at a distance.

But it doesn’t matter that it only lasted a little while. It matters that she was Eva Hudson for the first time in eight months! It matters that she was happy, and free, and she danced and she talked to me rationally. She understood what was going on. She was there. Eva Hudson is alive.

United We Do Not Stand

I'm flawed and I know it.
I'm fucked and I'm aware.
Oh America, you feign perfection
Feign self-confidence, but never
have I met an American
void of personal insecurities.
I can do it! we say.
I'm afraid I can't
do it. Individualism demands
your cooperation. Only you, alone.

United we stand?
All I see are cubicals of people, one
getting ahead of the other
In a race of the fittest.
America, you demand perfection,
You demand self reliance.
In me I trust, America.

I fear failure.
I fear flaws.
Society of Pharisees, and to be
an honest fool is too embarrassing
for you America. Public life is perfect
Homes are war zones.
I feel nuclear energy seeping
from these masks, these edited photos
of white-washed individuals.
I fear one day it'll explode, our cover blown
and we'll be seen as who we are-
naked, poor, blind, wretched, alone.

I'll just say it to your face America
Before this gets out of hand.
Fuck this unattainable perfection.
I can't do it. Not on my own.
A wise individual once said, "Relax,
be natural, be flawed." For,
In God we trust.


*This was inspired particularly by a conversation my sister Karolina and I shared. She is that "wise individual".*

What Do You Love?

One time Emily VD asked me what I love. Karolina said that Dr. Strauss asked this question in her aesthetics class too.

It's a good question, and one I should ponder more often. I'm very pessimistic and critical, as maybe you can see from my blog topics. Today I say, let's remember what we love, and talk about it.

Here's a current list (in no particular order):

• Huaraches
• Jacob's laugh
• The Trinity (GOD)
• My family (Dad, Mom, Karolina, Timothy and Janie)
• Bob Dylan
• Led Zeppelin
• Pink Floyd
• Carne Asada Tacos
• Smoking menthol American Spirits with friends
• Long talks about the world, and life
• Long walks in the rain, with headphones, and good music
• Mexican colours!
• The sound of Spanish
• Jacob when he sings Frank Sinatra 
• Words, their sounds and meanings
• Laughing fits
• Messy curls
• Singing in cars
• Wrinkly puppies that look like Jacob
• Sushi
• Old people long in love
• Los Angelos!
• Joni Mitchell
• Staring at the changing sky
• Incense in my hair
• Being naked
• The ocean (indescribable, my first love)
• History class
• Knowing I'm being heard
• Learning another person's story
• Full moon nights
• Walking barefoot
• Spontaneous trips, that turn into the best trips
• Dancing with hippies to the didgeridoo 
• Mangos
• Avocados
• Paintings
• Floating in water
• Clean clean teeth
• Artsyness
• Tanned skin and green eyes
• The idea of South America
• Controversy
• When I'm learning, and suddenly it all makes sense
• Changes in scenery
• Eccentric looking people
• A child's imagination
• Ecclecticity
• Feeling like I'm home
• Those times when I'm so overwhelmed I could cry, because there is so much to love.

This list will never end.

                              Feel free to comment about what you love

Keep Up the Challenge

Jacob and I were talking and he said that one of the reasons he was a cocky bastard is high school was because he was never challenged. He tutored most of his class mates and he'd sleep through school. Because of this, he said that he would like to home school his future kids because:

1. Kids can learn so much more than they do. They have spongy brains, and schools seem to underestimate them.
2. He wants to teach his kids a lot more than what average American schools teach, because when kids aren't challenged, they become arrogant.


I like both his reasons, but about the second point and going beyond the topic of home schooling, does the lack of a challenge breed arrogance? I believe it does.


One of the most humbling experiences is to realize that you don't really know that much. It's when you realize there is so much more to learn, an infinite amount of knowledge to gain. It's being told that you were wrong about something, and being taught the truth.

Of course, if only a few people are learning, there is still the problem of being more intelligent than the masses, and that obviously can breed arrogance too. So, a lack of challenge probably breeds arrogance, but being challenged won't necessarily take arrogance away.

Regardless, returning to Jacob's first point, this could apply to anyone. PEOPLE are capable of learning so much more than they do. People in general should always be challenged by others or themselves, by learning and learning and learning.

(Now you ask, what do you mean by learning, but I don't want to talk about it right now)

Safe Schools Equals Equal Education

He was only about 9 year old at the time. The other boys would chase him during recess, and granted, the boy wasn’t the fastest runner being slightly chubby. He was quiet, and he couldn’t think of what to do when the other boys didn’t understand the meaning of “stop” or “no”. They would corner him up against the chain length fence, all the while calling him names, mocking him. They’d grab his lunch pail from his cold hands, throw it on the ground and stomp on it, smashing his sandwich, cookies, juice, and banana.

He would refuse to go to school, and his mom couldn’t figure out why. She finally got some of the story out of him. There were mean boys at school, who wouldn’t leave him alone, and he was terrified to go to school anymore.

She talked to the principle, who thanked her for bringing the issue to his attention, but his actions led to no change. He talked to the boys, but not to their parents. He didn’t supervise the boys, and the bullying continued. Would his mom have to quit her job just to go to school with her son to make sure other students left him alone? Were they unable to provide a safe learning environment for all students?

Before we begin, I will define bullying as- to cause another person emotional, physical, or psychological harm by verbal, physical or sexual abuse or harassment.

If the Brown vs. Board decision was made to give equal educational opportunity for all students, then schools should be doing more to protect students from bullying so that all students can have equal educational opportunities.  Bullying creates a hostile environment for its victims that is hard to nearly impossible for them to learn in, because they are always worried for their safety. Bully victims are also victims of discrimination from other students, which is imposing on their civil rights. 

This boy from the story was my brother, and stories like his are not uncommon. I would like to focus on bullying in general, but also specifically aimed toward gays/lesbians and cognitively disabled (CD) individuals.

Anyone who has ever been to school, whether it be public or private, has experienced bullying, either aimed toward himself, or at his peers. I honestly don’t think that bullying is anything that will ever go away. It is a result of sin and corruption that lies inside of every human. However, I do believe it should be considered a crime. My goal here is to make people more aware of bullying in schools, to give a few examples of bullying, and possible solutions to make it less common.

Recently I heard a story on NPR which inspired me to write about bullying (unfortunately I could not find the transcript anywhere on their website and I do not remember the names.) A mother told her son’s story. I forget his age, but I believe he was a freshman in high school in Massachusetts. He was a “mamma’s boy” and he had always been very loving and sweet. However, when he began high school his mother noticed that he began distancing himself from her, and he became unnecessarily rough with his little siblings. He mentioned a few times that the kids at school called him a “fag”. 

One day he came home from school because he had gotten in a fight with a girl who had been taunting him. The principal decided that the students would either be suspended or they would have to sit together at lunch for the rest of the year. He didn’t want to be suspended because he was always a straight A student, and he never got in trouble, so he agreed to sit with her. He came home and informed his mom what had happened. She was infuriated, and she hadn’t realized how bad the bullying had become. She told him that she would go talk to the principal. She was infuriated that the school had not even called her. That night her son hung himself. This is one in hundreds of stories of gay/lesbians being harassed to death by their peers.

Many CD clients I have worked with, or that my mother has worked with, have dropped out of school or been afraid to go because of bullying. One young boy was called retarded, and he was chased and pinned against a fence. He couldn’t cry out for help or tell them no, because his disabilities make it hard for him to communicate. Another man, when he was in high school, he was mocked because of his high pitched voice, and his inability to socialize “normally” due to his asparagus. He was a very smart boy, but he eventually dropped out to avoid the mockery.

According to a report by the National Center on Secondary Education and Transition, “The number of complaint and consultation calls to OCR and OSERS demonstrates steadily increasing allegations and proven situations of disability harassment.” 

There are hundreds of other stories that have come to the attention of the press that I could recall, but I won’t. Although not exclusively, bullies usually go after people who are different, or vulnerable, which is why many of the targets are people perceived to be gay, or those who have disabilities.

Although almost all states have laws that force public schools to prohibit bullying, it seems that they aren’t doing a very good job. The National Center on Secondary Education and Transition found that 25% of teachers do not think bullying is a big deal, and two-thirds of students feel that adults do not help them deal with bullies. Often times, bullying is seen as just a fact of life that kids, and some adults, deal with and people have to learn to live and grow stronger from it. As far as I know, bullying itself is not a crime, so too many students get away with it. 

This is ridiculous. Bullying ruins people’s self-confidence and feeds them the lie that they are pathetic and worthless. It drives people to depression, aggression, suicide, etc. It gives bullies a false sense of confidence and importance. It should be considered a crime because it infringes on other people's right to life. 

But what should be done? Here are a few suggestions.

In light that so many of the victims of bullying are gay/lesbian or disabled, first, I suggest that all students be educated on civil rights. Why do we learn so much in school about the civil rights movement, but we only talk about Blacks and other ethnic minorities? All people are created equal, regardless of their sexual orientation or the disabilities they may have. Schools should be teaching students to be kind and tolerant. It is scary if students are not learning these characteristics in school, because they spend more of their childhood in school than in their home.

In addition to educating students, I believe that the consequences for bullying should be much more severe than simple suspension or grounding. Bullying should be considered a crime, so the bully should be prosecuted. Parents of both parties should be notified, and maybe both the victim and the bully should receive counseling.

Finally, students who are being bullied should be made well aware of their rights, and of help that they can receive. On this note, students who are being bullied should actually have help readily available for them in the form of a school counselor and some kind of security to keep the bully away from his victim. Students and teachers who witness or suspect bullying should be strongly encouraged to report it, even if anonymously. 

Bullying has always been around but it has come more into the spotlight in the past decade with the many stories published by the press about the consequences bullying has on lives. In order for all students to receive equal education, all students must be safe in school. Hostilities that cause emotional, psychological or physical harm will make it harder for students experiencing this to learn. So, in the spirit of Brown Vs Board, states and schools need to make schools safe from bullying, through prevention programs and stricter consequences.

Caregivers Are Like Windows

I feel like such a grown up lately because I talk about my job a lot, but working is pretty much the extent of my social life right now, so it's on my mind often. My job is great because my co-workers are not just in it for the money, and we're all working together to make life more enjoyable for cognitively disabled (CD) people in the community. As caregivers, our goal is to make life as normal as possible for these individuals. We are the clients window to the world.

The clients live in group homes, which hold two people per home, with at least one caregiver on duty at all times. Most clients wake up at about 7am. They eat breakfast and dress, then are driven over to the Resource room at the office where they meet for the day program. Some clients will drink coffee or smoke when they arrive, and others will chat or just sit there. Every day the company has a planned activity, like going to the movies (today we saw Kung Fu Panda 2), bowling, going on a picnic, a scavenger hunt, etc. Almost all clients also have to walk for 30 minutes a day to maintain their health, so we may go to trails, parks, Wal-Mart or the mall to do this. In the evening, they return home to eat dinner, watch TV, and chill until bed time, and the routine begins again.

Sometimes I wonder if they get really bored doing the same type of thing every day, but most of them really like routine. They get stressed and anxious if plans change suddenly, so it is best to plan ahead, and inform them of any changes at least a few days in advance.

Helping these people can be unpleasant at times, especially when they lash out at me in anger. My second day working, a girl cussed me out, punched me, and hit me in the face with her hat. I learned to keep my distance from her, but I also learned that clients don't just get angry because they're mean and ungrateful. Often times they are upset about something, but they can't express to me what it is that is bothering them, and then the anger just escalates from there. I can't imagine not being able to express myself. Many of them understand a lot more than they can express, so it is also the job of the caregiver to learn how they communicate, and to listen carefully.

The thing that's great about this job as opposed to food service, where I have worked before, is that the job we do here is more permanent. Even if they do get angry sometimes, I don't get as frustrated because I know that my job is about more than just one incident.  Whereas in the food industry, people will flip a bitch if there are tomatoes on their sandwich when they asked for none, or if they have to wait too long to be served, when honestly, it won't even matter in the long run. Caregiving is about helping people with life skills. It's about today, next month, and twenty years from now. The impact we make affects every part of their life, not just what they eat. So even when work gets unpleasant, it is good to know that the clients need us and we're doing more than just filling impatient people's stomachs.

We are the clients window to the world. We are an example of what it means to be "normal". That is a hard term to use, but it is something CD clients long for. The ones I work with are 20+ years old, so they have had their share of high school mockery and bullying. They know that they are not like everyone else and they want to be. Caregivers allow them to experience the community in a safe way. Then through the day program and peer interaction, they are able to create their own community. They are no longer just individuals who feel weird and isolated, but they hang out with people like themselves. Then they have caregivers to help them experience the broader community.

This job teaches me to view disabled people as more than just this other type of human being that we are here to assist. They are pleasant, smart, funny, and kind people. The more I get to know some individuals, the more I grow to like them. We are different, but then again, all humans are different from each other. It is important to find our areas of commonality and I'm constantly realizing I have a lot in common with many clients. My job has been a learning experience, even just these first three weeks, and I'm blessed that God gave me this job and not any other.

I Agree, It's Great to Be Fine

This is my favorite quote from Dr. Strangelove where the President of the U.S. is calling the Premier of the USSR to explain that one of his soldiers who was a little "funny in the head" did a "silly thing" and launched a nuclear attack on Russia. This is how the conversation begins.

 ‎"Yes. Fine, I can hear you now, Dimitri. Clear and plain and coming through fine. I'm coming through fine too, eh? Good, then. Well then as you say we're both coming through fine. Good. Well it's good that you're fine and I'm fine. I agree with you. It's great to be fine." (-Mr. President)

I love this quote because of how casually the president is talking considering the circumstances. Also it seems to make fun of small talk, and I am all about making fun of small talk. I had a conversation today that was very similar to this one. It went like this:

"Hey Marissa how are you?"

"Pretty good!"

Jacob how are you?"

"Ya pretty good."

*nod nod*

"Good."

How are you?"

"Oh I'm good too."

"Good."

*shift shift*

"Ya, uh, have a good day."

I feel rude to walk away saying nothing, but I feel incredibly awkward having conversations like this. They are hilarious, but so pointless and stupid. Small talk should be abolished because it's better to say nothing at all then to have conversations like this. So if I ever just say "Hey" and walk away, then don't be offended. I'd like to eat lunch with you or something maybe and talk, but when I'm walking to class or to work or my room, I don't really want to know what's up or how you are. 

Treat All Girls Like Dudes Day

On Facebook I was invited to an event on March 31st called "Treat all Girls Like Dudes Day". The creators of the event don't want guys to use this as a ticket to be assholes to girls, but they do want it to be a day where girls get no special treatment for being girls. They want to see if girls can handle a day where a guy doesn't open the door for her, or let her get out of a speeding ticket because she starts crying, or is really cute. They want girls and guys to be treated the same.

I really like this idea, but their motives are kind of weird. They are angry about the “BS”, meaning, the unfair special treatment. It’s weird because for most of history of western civilization woman have been treated as inferior to men. In my American history class we have been studying the Cold War era where there was a revival of domesticity for woman during the baby-boom era after the two world wars.

Woman in this post-war/ Cold War era were expected and very strongly encouraged to find a good husband, have children and be a professional homemaker. The home was seen as a sacred and safe place for woman to be content in, and the world of work was dangerous, and tough, and therefore restricted to mainly men. Wages and opportunities were less than for men, which forced women to be dependent on men. People did not think it was possible for a woman to have  both a career and have a family. If women were not content in their vocation in the home,they were seen as having something psychologically wrong with them. Their daughters however rebelled in the 60’s and 70’s during the feminist movement. Since then, it is not unusual for women to go to college and pursue careers, as well as a family, or for women not to get married at all.

Feminists challenged the idea that a woman’s only calling is to be a wife and a mother. They challenged the idea that woman are weaker than men, and therefore are unfit for the workplace. They challenged the idea that men are to be in authority over them.

I see some problems with the feminist movement. Abortion and birth control came with a desire to be independent from men. Woman wanted to be like men in that they did not need to take the physical responsibility of their desire for sexual freedom. They wanted to be able to have sex without being married or having children. This desire for sexual immorality has caused the genocide of millions of babies. However, it is also unfair that men have always been sexually free. It was okay for men to have sex with woman, but if a woman was not a virgin, it would be near impossible for her to find a husband, or a job.  If she got pregnant outside of marriage, she would suffer huge consequences while the father of her child would probably have no consequences. This was ridiculous (and unfortunately still happens in many societies). It is equally immoral for men or women to have sex outside of marriage, and it was unfair that only woman bore the consequences. However, murder is not an alternative to bearing the consequences of one’s actions, even if one must bear it alone, but this is unfortunately something the feminist movement spurred.

Feminism also becomes a problem when woman are so obsessed with their careers that they neglect their families, and often times this will result in divorce. People often point to women being outside the home when they see the torn up families in our nation. They blame this on the fact that women have abandoned the home. They forget however, that these children also have a father who is equally responsible to raise his children and keep his family together. Parenting and marital relationships require the efforts of both the husband and the wife. Blaming divorce rates on woman being in the workplace rather than the home is making things much simpler than they are. Both husbands and wives should not let their work become more important than their marital relationship, and raising their children. Feminism may have encouraged women to abandon their homes in many cases, but we can in an equal number of cases blame fathers for abandoning their homes.

Still, pastors will often point to the Titus 2:4-5 where it says that women are to love their husbands and children, and work in the home. I always thought, with disappointment, that this meant that I was biblically required to be a stay-home mother and wife, if I was going to be a godly woman. However, in Proverbs 31;10-31, we see a seeming contradiction to the Titus passage. The virtuous wife in Proverbs works outside the home, buying land and selling and buying merchandise. She is also said to have “strong arms”, meaning she is not weak and frail. She is a hard worker, both in the home and outside of it, and her husband and children praise her and respect her for it.

Culturally, we think that Titus 2 must means that women are meant to be restricted to the home, especially for people who come from the Cold War era. This is not biblical. A virtuous wife is not a weak person, completely dependent on her husband, and working at home cooking and cleaning and tucking the kids into bed every day. She has freedom. She loves her family, and is diligent to them, but there is no where that says that she is only to be in the home. We also have to realize that before the industrial revolution, work was almost always done at home. Titus 2 corresponds perfectly with Proverbs 31 because it is saying that wives are to be hard workers at whatever they do, and to love their families.

Now, in our society, not so much now as in the past, but many people still think that women are supposed to be submissive to men in general. In the past it was always assumed that at work a woman would not be the boss of a man. It was also assumed that women couldn’t speak in church, but men could. These ideas were thought to be biblical and moral.

We learn God’s requirements of a husband-wife relationship in Ephesians 5:22-33. Women are supposed to be submissive and respectful of their husbands, while men are supposed to love their wives as Christ loves his church. Both are supposed to love each other as their own body, because they are one body. Some people may assume that because the wife is submissive, she must be inferior to the man. This is false. A wife has a different role than her husband, but she is still his equal (Gal. 3:28). I have heard several people compare this to the trinity: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. They are three persons, who are equally God; they are one God. Husband and wives are two persons, and they are one. The Son submits to the Father, and the Spirit submits to the Son, but all three persons of the trinity are equally God; they just have different roles. This is similar to the relationship between a husband and a wife. This being said, a wife is submissive to her husband. This does not mean she is submissive to all men, because all men are not her husband.

A wife being submissive to her husband does not mean that she becomes his slave, or that he should not listen to anything she has to say. We cannot take the analogy of the husband being like Christ and the woman like the church to the extent that the husband becomes divine. We also remember that Christ washed his disciples’ feet, and he gave his life for believers. Love is self-sacrifice (John 15:13), so it is necessary for a loving wife and husband to be servants of each other and to want what is best for the other. Also, a wife needs to submit to her husband, but this does not mean that she cannot have discussions with him about his decisions, and this also does not mean that he should not respect her opinions and arguments.

The other area where woman have different roles than men is in the church. Women are not to be elders or pastors. In Titus 1:5-6, Paul tells Titus to appoint an elder who is “above reproach, the husband of one wife, and his children are believers and not open to the charge of debauchery or insubordination.” He clearly says that elders in the church are to be husbands, meaning men. Then in 1 Timothy, Paul is warning against false teachers, then he says in 1:12 that women aren’t to be overseers of men. In the next chapter, he gives qualification of overseers. It is clear from the context that he is talking about church leadership. So it is not right for women to be church leaders (elders or pastors), but Paul is not saying that women cannot be leaders of men in general. The reason men are church leaders is because they are also Christ-like figures in the church. They shepard the church like Christ sheparded his disciples. Another aspect to be pointed out is that a man who is not an elder has just as little right to be teaching and leading in church as does a woman. 

So, thanks to Dr. McCllhenny (my history professor) and his wife, Becky, I have rethought my views about what it means to be a godly woman. I can be strong and educated and have a career, as well as be a wife and mother. Of course, my family has to come first before my career, but this principle is the same for whoever my husband will be. Love is self-giving, not selfish. To wrap this up, every day should be a day where guys and girls are treated the same. I don’t like that my friends are calling March 31^st a day where girls are treated like guys, because that presupposed that they are supposed to be treated differently. We should love our neighbor as ourselves, regardless of their sex, race, age, etc. All people should be treated equally.

Just Pretty

A magazine clipping on the mirror tells me

That I am the “Girl of the Moment.”

Which moment? This moment?

This blinking of my eyelids

As I stare into my drooping blood shot eyes?

Most of my pants are too tight now

And my face is pallid, and graying under the eyes.

I critique the girl in the mirror.

This girl,

In moments past, was told that flat abs

And protruding collar bones

And provocative dress

And eyes outlined black,

Face powdered to perfection-

This was the way to get noticed

By a boy.

In this moment she has rebelled.

She wears a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and crew sweatpants

No eyeliner, no powder.

She hasn’t worked out in six months

She doesn’t give a shit.

The magazine clipping that is taped to the mirror

That says, “Girl of the Moment”

Comes from a world of dolled up angels,

With beautiful faces, bodies and attire.

But this girl in this moment doesn’t understand

Why if she’s pretty,

Why she tries so hard to be pretty.

Why if a boy is pretty, he is just pretty.

She’d like to be like the flying man

On her Led Zeppelin T-shirt,

Naked and Liberated,

Pure and unmasked. 

Conversation With Loyal

One night, I went for a walk because I was angry, and I ran into one of the security guards named Loyal who asked me if I wanted a ride. I said no, and told him I was just walking, but then we began conversing. I forget how the conversation went, as it happened a while ago, but we began talking about his church (All Nations Community Church) and God.

He grew up in the Micronesian islands and he always kind of knew about Christianity, since the islands had been brought the gospel by white missionaries when it was colonized by the British Empire. However, the religion was mixed with the native religions and Christianity to them was more about liturgy than knowing God or anything about him.

He moved me to Hawaii, if I remember correctly, when he was in high school and it was there that he learned about the Christian God. His uncle brought him to a Bible study, and he came in while they were going through a series about Revelation. This is a confusing book to begin with, since he had never read the Bible before, but it’s fascinating what he discovered from it.

Revelation 19 talks about Jesus, the rider on a white horse. Loyal said that in Micronesia they have an ancient legend about a king who came to the Islands on a white horse, dressed all in white, with a tattoo on his thigh saying that he was the greatest king. Revelation 19:16 says, “On his robe and on his thigh, he has a name written, ‘King of kings and Lord of lords.” I asked if this legend came about after the British conquest, and he said no. The story had been around for thousands of years, and the chiefs on the islands have traditionally tattooed their thighs to show their greatness and authority.

As he continued to study the Bible, Loyal saw great similarities between his country's belief in a Great Spirit, or the creator, and the God of the Bible described. The island has many gods, but above all the other Gods is the Great Spirit, who created the gods and the universe. However this God is so great that no one can reach out to him. He is transcendent. But as he studied the Bible, he began to realize that if the God of the Bible was the same as the Great Spirit, then he was reachable through Christ.

The All Nations Community Church, which is primarily made up of Micronesians, has a ministry to Native American tribes (including Navajos in Arizona). Loyal said that they also have an understanding of the Great Spirit. I learned about this in my Religion in America class as well, the common religious belief of native Americans is their belief in the Great Spirit.

Romans 1 says that everyone has a knowledge of God in their hearts, and some suppress it or they create a god that is not the true God. This was made even clearer to me from my conversation with Loyal. Even before the Micronesians were “Christianized”, they had a knowledge of the Great Spirit, and they understood that there was something separating them from this God. 

A knowledge like this is not saving knowledge though. Since we are separated from God because of our sin, we must have faith in Jesus who covers our sin to bring us into communion with God. John 17:3 says, “This is eternal life,that they know you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.”

You Kiss Your Mother With That Mouth?

Today my brother asked me if I thought saying the "F" word is morally wrong. We had watched In Bruges the night before, and that movie says the "F" word probably in every scene. Jacob, Karolina, my brother and I all found the movie hysterical. Maybe my brother felt a bit guilty for laughing at that type of humor. Maybe that's why he asked.

I answered that cussing is only as wrong as you make it. Fuck, damn, shit, etc- these are just words. They have dictionary meanings and then they have the meanings we give them when we use the words as cuss words. In themselves, these words are not wrong.

Galatians 5:20 includes fits of anger in its list of "works of the flesh", or sins which are natural to fallen man. So if one curses in a fit of unrighteous anger, then yes that is wrong. Most of the time people do bark out these words in selfish anger, but really, I say that the anger is wrong, not the words. I could call someone an imbecile out of anger, and that would be just as wrong as calling him a shit head. It's the force that drives the words that is wrong. 

I find that when I say these words, most of the time I am at most, annoyed. I don't use the words to insult people. Most of the time I use the words humorously, around people who also find it humorous. Really, it's connected to the humor in sarcasm. People tend to be jokingly hyperbolic, and they may use a curse word to this effect. If I use the words to insult someone who has angered me, then I am wrong. If I use the word in a derogatory and disrespectful way, then I am wrong. If I use the words around someone who is offended by my use of them, then I am wrong. Christians are called to be peace makers, and to love others. However, I do not believe that Christians are under legalistic list of laws. We walk in the Spirit and are not under the law. We use discernment, wisdom, in making decisions about our words. 

As we make decisions about our words, it is important to be creative. Words are fantastic, and there are so many of them. In my life, I know I am not nearly as creative as I could be with my use of words. As we communicate in colloquial language or artistically, we should try and use words that are interesting. It gets monotonous hearing people use the same few words to describe everything. This is one way in which cursing can be, not wrong, but just annoying. When people use these cuss words as an adjective for everything. The world is much more complex than that- so we should use interesting language to describe this complex place and everything in it. 

But words are words. I concluded to my brother that it is the motivation behind your use of these words that can be morally wrong. As words are powerful, we should be careful and creative with our use of them. I am not offended by casual use of curse words, but when people curse to insult, or out of selfish anger, this is when I find it most offensive and morally wrong. 

In the case of In Bruges, they mostly use the words to be over the top, and therefore funny. Also, "fuck" is not nearly as offensive in Europe as it is in the States, so I have heard. So given American cultural contexts, I am not promoting an excessive use of curse words, since you will offend people in that way. I don't want you to be unnecessarily offensive. I am saying that we shouldn't be prohibited from using the words sometimes, because they are not wrong in themselves.

P.S.- If you have not watched In Bruges and you enjoy dark comedy, watch it as soon as possible!

Strange People

People on the metro sit with glazed eyes, checking out strangers, zoned out. We'll be in the train car only two feet from each other, trying to avoid eye contact. We don't talk, as if we are far too different to say anything. Then I think about all the different lives on the train, and how I don't know any of them at all. We make up a diverse group I'm sure.

I see a girl with fake eye lashes glued to her eye lids, and snake bites sticking out of her lips. She has long black hair and she wears a black shirt, a grey skirt, grey tights and black leather boots. I think how she could be prettier if her face wasn't pounded with foundation, but I guess people should just do what they think looks right. I don't know her at all. She probably thinks I'm creepy for staring at her, and maybe I am a creeper.

I stare at a family too. They're young and Hispanic. The baby is crying and throwing his toy shovel at his Dad, but then his Dad grabs it from him and sits the baby on his lap. The baby wears a plaid button up shirt that's unbuttoned with a tank top underneath, and he has a chain necklace on. I laugh to myself because his Dad is dressed the exact same way. The Dad holds the baby gently and he surrenders to his Daddy and slides into a drooling sleep, leaning on his chest.

The Mom is quiet; she has snake bites in her lips too, and she wears an extra large hoody and jeans. Once in a while she will look to the parallel row where her other son sits next to an old lady. The other boy stares wide eyed out the window and often comments on his surroundings. He sympathizes with me, because every time I try to take a picture of the clouds, we pass a wall and the sky hides.

In the station a girl with dreaded hair, soppy make-up and drained eyes asked me for spare change. She wore tight faded jeans and a zip up hoody that looked like something from Pac-Sun. But she was dirty, like she hadn't showered in weeks, or slept. Next to her in a stroller was a little white baby, pure and fresh compared to her messy completion. The baby was sleeping in perfect soundness amidst the bustle of union station.
"I just need some money, to buy a hamburger or something."
"I only have like 35 cents," I said.
"Any thing helps!" she said back.
I handed her my spare change, and she blessed me. I wanted to ask her for her name, but I thought of that as I was already beginning to walk away. Instinctively, I wondered if she was a fake, and if the baby was a prop. But I didn't want to take that chance with her. Maybe she does drugs, and maybe she has a really fucked up life, but keeping my spare laundry change wouldn't have changed that.

I enjoyed this outfit idea.

Krista and I walked to a thrift store and I forget the name of it. I noticed that they do not segregate clothing into guy and girl sections, which is very liberal of them. I wondered what makes girl clothes or guy clothes distinctly belong to a particular sex. It's fine though, because I found an amazing leather Harley Davidson jacket in the jacket section.  It was obviously meant for men, but it fit me comfortably. It was $65, and I had no money. Vintage shops like that inspire me to dress more artistically, imaginatively. College has made me quite aesthetically boring, and that should change.

We're back on the metro, and strangers come and go, and we just listen to the rhythm of steel on steel, and the blast of air conditioning. We just stare at each other awkwardly sometimes, or we purposefully day dream, and glaze over to avoid awkwardness. Some have ear buds blasting music into the scene, like Krista. She stares out the window at the clouds, or in the case of the subway, she stairs at the window at her own reflection.

Therapeutic rhythm puts me to sleep. It's the same there, night and day, day and night. The trains come and go, to the same places, and strangers do the same. And we don't know about any of our lives, but we stare at each other and contemplate, and then we never see each other again.

I still find it funny, that we're all just people.

Why Cigarettes Makes Things More Interesting

Maybe you have noticed that much of my poetry/writing contains references to smoking cigarettes.
 In truth, I like the idea of cigarettes much more than I like a cigarette in itself.

Cigarettes make my throat and head hurt. If I smoke too much in one day, I will wake up in the morning with a headache, sneezing ridiculously. It leaves a nasty coat of flem in throat and lungs and I can't sing. When I think of what smoking is, inhaling little particles of ash into my body, it grosses me out. When I think of my heightened potential for cancer because of smoking, it scares me a bit.

I imagine myself in the future as a leathery old woman with trashy bleach-blonde hair, long fingernails painted scarlet with a deep scratchy voice and a cigarette in my right hand. I'm browsing the internet or maybe reading a book.

Cigarettes are good in the moment. I like the fuzziness it leaves in my head, where I feel like I'm floating, and I relax. (Though if I get too light-headed, I get nauseous).

However, the reason I add cigarettes into my writing is because, in certain contexts, I think that they have a wonderful aesthetic quality to them.

They symbolize a multitude of things: loneliness, dependence, apathy, a free-spirit, good conversations, good reads, good music, stress, rebellion, boredom...This is a short list; you can add more of your associations in a comment.

Cigarettes can potentially make any dull scene more interesting. You see a bunch of hip kids sitting on a wall by a sidewalk, neither speaking nor moving.
You add a cigarettes to them, and suddenly there's a story there. They aren't just waiting around doing nothing, or maybe they are. Maybe they're a bunch of rebellious teenagers ditching school. Maybe they are such good friends that they don't need to talk; they just know each other so well. Maybe they are angry about something and they needed cigarettes to relieve their stress. Maybe from where you're standing you can't see the ear-buds blasting music into their ears.
The point is, the cigarettes make the story worthier of another's attention.

Even in regular life, this could be true. If I were one of the kids on the wall, I would want a cigarette too.

Now besides the aesthetic quality smoking makes things more interesting because it is a form of consumption. When people are together socially, they nearly always are either engaged in an activity, or they are consuming something: food, coffee, tea, beer or a cigarette.

So, smoking is not good for me, yet I write about it or do it for aesthetic purposes, and to have something to do when I'm sitting on a sidewalk looking like a hip kid.