Slow Down

I hate rushing. I love taking my time, being meticulous, and doing things to the best of my ability. Like when I cook slowly, plating the dish perfectly. I’m writing this blog post slowly, ensuring the words sound right. It’s time-consuming, but it’s undeniably satisfying.

I think we have an overcomplicated life because even as a 16-year-old my schedule is packed. I don’t have the time to be a perfectionist and that makes me sad. Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t give my 100% to everything, but at the same time, I hate the pace at which I’m forced to live.

My second-semester junior year burn-out has inspired me to write about this, because never have I felt the time crunch more. I procrastinate too, which as you can imagine, only forces me to rush more as deadlines approach.

Thank god summer is on its way. For the first two weeks, I will rest, relax, and move through my days in slow motion, soaking up every minute.

PC: https://i.pinimg.com/564x/80/19/a7/8019a7c4ce0d25a67b1900f3b5f533a8.jpg

AnOtHeR BLoG POsT

Oi Vey! Here we go again. For someone who dislikes writing these nuisances, I very much enjoy reading them. Except for that one dude who wrote about the way women smell like that’s pretty weird dog. Elizabeth, I think your bad luck might have to do with the fact that you had a drink on your piano, I’m pretty sure that’s sacrilegious or something. Alula be careful expecting this summer to be the best ever, high expectations have a tendency to let us down I recommend trying to just go with the flow rather than assuming what the future will be. I liked your Journey w/ Journalism post. I wish Mr. Alaverez mandated that we all wrote these like even the Journalism 2 students. honestly, I wish the whole school had to do them. I think the way people write in casual circumstances is a great view of their personality. Not that it’s a complete view of who they are but writing without revisions is like a way to see how people think and I find that super interesting. I wonder what people think of me and my writing, I definitely don’t put as much thought into these as other people do but I still think that they provide a view of me. I think the discussion about movies was my favorite Journalism class ever. It was probably one of the first things that made me think about how I’ll miss OVS. Last night, we were talking about how even though OVS is small and we often consider that a bad thing, it really forces you to interact with people you normally wouldn’t and I think that is fantastic. Like, and I’ve said this before, but there’s really nobody at the school I wouldn’t be absolutely opposed to hang out with outside of school. We really have an amazing collection of individuals here.

Two down Three to go

How did I even get this far behind on blog posts this is crazy. Steely Dan is so fire. I mean Do It Again is just such a head bopper, how does one even create something so in tune with the human spirit? Not to mention the other songs on that album, I can’t remember the name right now but you know the songs I’m talking about. Speaking of music, I really wish I could consume more of it, I actually would like to be able to absorb it, like through my skin, idk I feel like it never sounds high quality enough. I want my body just like be the music. When I die I just want to be a sound frequency, probably of a Steely Dan song, well not really, I definitely would take a while to decide what song I want to be after this life. Maybe A Milli by Lil Wayne that song is excellent. Or White Ferrari which is actually like a mid-song but the way it looks on the oscilloscope makes up for all the averageness of the track itself. Ok, I’d say that’s about one hundred and fifty words so I’ll stop just talking nonsense.

My new PS4

I picked up a new PS4 2 weeks ago, Throughout the last week and a half I’ve been spending too much time and money on this device. It’s been over two years since I had my last one, so I’ve been catching up on everything that I missed. Fifa has got to be one of my favorite games at the moment, I play it almost every day. Before almost every soccer match, I play a game of Fifa and envision myself doing the same thing I do in the game. I’ve also been playing a game called Overwatch, which I played for most of my childhood. This game was recently revised and now it is Overwatch 2 which has gotten some criticism because people loved the Original version. At first, I was opposed to the new game as I missed the nostalgic feeling that I got from the original Overwatch, however, as I play the game more I begin to appreciate the game more.

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Photo Cred: What Hi-If

Summer

Something is special about summer, it’s probably the almost total lack of responsibility but I like to think about the subtler parts like the way everything is always bright like an overexposed photograph. I love the way the sun casts shadows in the summer and how leaves perfectly block the suns beating rays making glowing green arrows that flutter in the wind. I love how the heat overwhelms you and forces you to jump in a pool or the ocean or maybe close the windows turn on the ac and watch a movie. I love eating snacks with friends and doing things too energetic for the stresses of the school year. I loved last summer when we went to the beach in the morning and started the day at the beach, or, after a hot day jumping into the cool seawater as the sun set or when it was pitch dark out yet the sand still held the sun warmth from the previous day. I loved the summer of covid. I’d sneak out for a ‘bike ride’ only to lounge at the river preserve for hours on end. I loved 8th-grade summer, that warm night in woodland hill sleeping on the living room floor with my dad, or the night after seeing my whole life packed into boxes in the foreign garage I now know so well. I’m glad I was here for summers, playing GTA and eating those sour candies, late nights in the RAV with the AC on, or learning to surf on the shitty red board. I’m scared about losing summer—being so caught up in my life that I forget to enjoy it. Still thinking about school, work, and money all while the sun glistens down and the tree makes its perfect shade. Im scared to be like my parents, unaware of how beautiful it is outside. Lost in my own head never letting out that final sigh, that feeling of needing nothing more and wanting nothing less. Im scared I was going to never have summer again. I don’t want to lose something special about summer.

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stories

I’ve been thinking about doing more creative story writing, I probably won’t, but, here’s an idea for one:

There’s a person in a village/town of some sort in a cold somewhat barren landscape. Some bushes and plants grow but for the most part, there’s just not much life. But there is a lot of ice, specifically a large glacier. He’s lived in the same house his whole life on the edge of the town. When this man was just a child the glacier was miles above the town but slowly the hundred-foot wall of ice crept up toward the village. Now, while the town does have history there, the fact that this glacier is going to wipe it all out was well known for years beforehand, people could watch it over a year travel a few hundred feet, over a decade travel a mile, and so the town moved everything except for the building out of the glaciers path. Everyone has a new house not far from the original town but kind of live between the two. Until the last few months, the man has been fine to leave with only some memories attached to the shabby old town, but in the months before he notices a plant growing just beyond the confines of his backyard. He becomes attached to the little sprout, and then the plant, and then the small bush, and as it’s growing his attachment to it is growing. He becomes almost obsessive sitting next to it all day watching the wall of ice get closer to destroying this little thing that he loves (I think there’s an element of him being alone I want to explore in the beginning) and then the wall is 10 feet away from this little plant, and then its three and then one. And on his last day with the plant he watches as this wall gets inches away from everything he loves and then it’s getting pushed to the side and finally it’s gone mixed together with everything else that the glacier has picked up.

Idk just what I’ve been thinking about the last few days

<< Childhood

I miss being little. Everything was so much easier then. I had no significant responsibilities, no pressure, and no school stress. 

My days consisted of barefoot cartwheels in the grass, sweet mango lassies, and swimming lessons in the fading afternoon light.

I fell asleep cuddling my mom under mosquito net canopies, or listening to “Quelqu’un m’a dit’ if my parents were out for date night. I took baths in a red bucket just big enough for a petite 6-year-old with her knees folded to her chest (the shower was too scary). I collected shards of shattered glass behind the school gymnasium, which my friend and I called our secret treasures. I read stories on our yellow balcony overlooking a sea of rice paddies. I accompanied my dad to the grocery store just to get a Chupa-Chups lollipop at the register.

PC: https://i.pinimg.com/564x/13/00/8b/13008b1ed60cb04d439612a649da70b3.jpg

These were the simplest of times. Back then, my greatest challenge was pulling a comb through my tangled hair or remembering my times tables. How quickly things changed.

The Woman in the Window

When I was the age of 9, or maybe 10, I lived in a little bungalow on Montgomery St. It had wooden floors, no AC, and a backyard littered with spiky oak leaves. I would sweep these leaves off my trampoline before jumping to the sky. Bounce, squeak, bounce, squeak. Flinging my limbs into various shapes, I would flip and glide through the air.

One day, one bounce, I spotted a face. Over the fence, in the window of the old people’s home next door, a woman sat watching. She was old with a face creased like tissue paper and a fierce black mane of hair. We held eye contact for the second I hung suspended in the air. Bounce, I smiled. Squeak. Bounce, I waved. Squeak. Bounce, she smiled back. Squeak.

PC: https://www.westend61.de/images/0001194761pw/pensive-mixed-race-older-woman-looking-out-window-BLEF05671.jpg

Her eyes remained sad though, and even as I lay in my bed that night with trampoline-skinned knees, I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman in the window.

The following morning, I got out a thick black sharpie and several sheets of blank paper. I headed outside and, with resolve, started tracing out big letters. “Hello,” I wrote. “My name is…” I climbed up the ledge of the fence, and sure enough, the woman in the window spotted my paper messages.

I felt as if I had made a friend.

I don’t remember when it was that I first noticed the blind in the next-door window had been drawn. I was used to regular ambulance sirens outside the old people’s homes, but when my friend’s room was left empty, it affected me personally. Wherever she was now, I hoped her sad eyes had regained a spark of joy.

dravin

Everyone has that one person who propels you forward, who supports you when times get tough and it seems like you are drowning. To me, that person is Dravin. She has been my life preserve, my oxygen mask. I do not think she knows how much she has changed my life, how much she means to me.

Dravin helped me when no one did. She helped that young 10-year-old who thought life was not worth it and made it her mission to make sure it was. She helped that twelve-year-old girl who almost let the bullies win. She helped that fourteen-year-old who moved away because she knew it was best for herself. She helped that sixteen-year-old try and gather the pieces of a broken relationship. She helped that almost eighteen-year-old with her first breakup and told her that life will go on even if it does not feel like it right now.

From the beginning, she was the most understanding soul. She would give me paint and crayons and tell me to “create masterpieces for me,” so that my mind was at ease. She knew how hard it was for me to express my feelings, so she distracted me. She created this safe space for me. A place where I could speak freely without any judgment. A place where I could have a shoulder to cry on. Even when she was with her family, she would take my calls and help me with my breathing.

Dravin saved me. I owe my life to her, but I know that she would just say that she is doing her job.

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pc: me

Poetry Pt. 2

A collection of unrelated poems of mine:

to be perfect

i’ve always liked numbers, the way they add up perfectly

with only one answer, one solution. i used to wish all things were as perfectly

organized. i wished i were organized as perfectly,

wish i looked it, dressed it, acted it.

wished all my problems could be solved perfectly.

set equal to zero and isolate the x: a mechanical

procedure taught from a textbook. perfectly

scoring academic tests is easy enough

but answers in life don’t add up as perfectly.

people don’t work like 1, 2, 3, experiences aren’t

scored alphabetically, and i can’t live this perfectly,

because i am not.

i am not perfect or close to it. but i am perfectly –

imperfect.

summer rain 

i take her hand,

bare feet slipping on the soaken grass.

we watch the rain as it falls 

and speckles the pool surface.

“one, two, three”

interlaced fingers and shrieks of laughter 

as we fall with the raindrops.

two skinny bodies in polka dot underwear

crashing through the water.

together, we tilt our heads towards the clouds

and drink in the summer rain –

nothing has ever tasted so good.

untitled i

you kept me afloat for so long,

        when you drifted away

     i forgot how to swim.

untitled ii

i wonder if being

in love

will make me feel any less

incomplete.

untitled iii

i think it’s strange 

no one likes a caterpillar

but everyone likes a butterfly.

PC: https://media.istockphoto.com/id/89288958/photo/monarch-and-caterpillar-on-milkweed-plant.jpg?s=612×612&w=0&k=20&c=ID3GSnp161j8jHkye0GQhkOk1etXnlJktqOxsj-xhfw=