Fall: To move downward, typically rapidly and freely without control
Why is it that we “fall” in love when falling is usually thought of negatively? Shouldn’t love be perceived as a positive thing?
I would like to say that most find falling in love to be terrifying and thrilling. In order for you to fall, you have to entrust someone with little insignificant details and life secrets that you store deep down. You have to lose control of your feelings and fears and hope that your person will catch them and keep them safe. You have to let go, take the jump, and fall…
You find yourself wondering if you are worthy of such affection and admiration from such an image of perfection once you’ve fallen. You’ll remember every little detail, how they like their coffee with the exact details, the name of the small country town they grew up in, or what movie comforts them in their darkest moments. All these little moments add up when you fall.
But falling in love is worth the momentary rush of fear and thrill that overcomes you. If one is lucky enough to find themselves falling, they should enjoy the fall, for it leads to a story of love for the ages. Even if that love fades or ends, you’ll never forget the rush of the fall.
So I guess you could say, in this case, falling isn’t such a bad thing. So let yourself go, jump, skip, leap. Enjoy the fall, take a chance because you’ll never know what you missed if you don’t take a take leap of faith and fall.
I recently watched the notebook with my friend, we will call him John for now. So my friend John practically begged me to watch the notebook, and I agreed and give him the normal run down. I warned him that he will absolutely cry. So we get to the part in the movie where Noah and Allie are LITERALLY in the rain in the boat. She’s about to find out he wrote her 365 letters and that he still loves her. I’m sitting there stuffing my face with popcorn, and I start to hear the sound of logs being sawed. John is snoring. He has the audacity to fall asleep. So I do the thing any dedicated notebook fan would do and I pushed him off of the couch. The movie continues and we are at the end where they die together and I am crying, ugly crying. And I look over and John is asleep AGAIN! I asked him how he liked the movie the next day and he said that it was “alright”. And that is the story about how I stopped being friends with John.
Going back 10 years ago, a 6-year-old blonde-haired girl went into the rabbit shelter in Santa Barbara (that to this day does not exist) with a determination. As she comes into the outside rabbit room, she laid her eyes on hundreds of bunnies. She walked around the shelter saw some cute ones, but not staying more than a few seconds to thoroughly examine the rabbits until she comes upon an odd pair, two brothers one bright white with blazing red eyes and the other another jet grey. She immediately sat down as began to play with the bunnies. His mother seemed shocked because these two bunnies were not particularly young and not particularly friendly. Not more than half an hour later the little girl left with her new bunnies, chewy and sweetheart. Sweetheart, the white rabbit got his name from immediately coming up to the girl and resting his small head on her equally small foot. While the grey one simultaneously chomping on a carrot, moving his mouth in a circular motion made the child burst into laughter. As the girl began to grow, so did the bunnies. Stages of their life passed by quickly. Skipping ahead two years. The girl left her house with one of the Dork Diaries in hand and walked out to the back yard where the hutch sat. She climbed through the bunny door and sat in the wood and chicken wire cage. The bunnies would hop over to her, lay down, and not move until she got up to leave. Every day, she would read aloud to her bunnies, all the way until she graduated the fifth grade. Going into middle school the bunnies became a second priority, but she still fed them twice a day and would do monthly spa days for the rabbits, which they thoroughly enjoyed, until that next summer came and the white bunny that had glowing red eyes died. She held him in her arms for the last time before her dad took him to the bunny clinic. He had bladder stones. That night the not-so-little girl, her mom, and brother sank onto the living room carpet embracing one another in each other’s sadness. The girl had never truly lost anything to that extent before. But life went on. The girl in the fifth grade, about a year before sweetheart died, had gotten two more bunnies. Chewy lost his bother that day, and at 7 years old decided to keep living. As middle-school continued, the girl grew more distant from the bunnies, she became more interested in drama and “life”. She still took comfort in them and would visit them when she wanted to take comfort in something so innocent and that depended on her. Although she loved all of her animals, she would always hold chewy longer and give him extra carrots. She loved the way he would eat them. Although it did not make her burst into uncontrollable laughter, she smirked and watched until he finished chewing. In eighth grade she lost one of the bunnies and she buried him in her yard. She spent the rest of that day with chewy and the other bunny. Chewy looked happy as ever. His jet grey coat was sprinkled with white. His eyelids dropped slightly but his eyes sparkled the same that they did nine years ago when she got him. Now, skipping ahead to the present day. At 10:13 on November 22d, 2020. The girl’s mom comes in and says that something is wrong with chewy. Immediately the girl, who has turned into a young woman, begins to sob. Running outside she sees chewy laying on his side. Shaking. His head hung low as he tries to stand. She picks up chewy as he lays on his side. Turning him over she sees that he has an infection. Putting him down gently and stroking him in hopes to provide comfort to him as he had done for her. Her mom and her get into the car with Chewy. They decided that the best thing to do is to end his suffering. Knowing that a piece of your childhood is dying is something hard to face. Arriving at the 24-hour clinic, she carries the box to the front door. Her mom fills out paperwork as she sinks into a patio chair looking at Chewy. As a man approaches the door to the clinic, she opens the box and gently strokes chewy’s back and says goodbye for the last time. Standing up. Not being able to stop the tears, she hands the box to the doctor. And at 10:55 pm, Chewy and the girl are separated forever. Turning to her mom embracing each other like they had done so many years before with Sweetheart, they drive home. Sinking into a coma of emptiness, the girl thanks Chewy and wishing him the best where ever he may be going. She hopes that he finds peace and that he is relieved of all pain that he felt.
Thank you Chewy for all that you have done for me. You will be remembered and loved forever.
So I found myself looking deep in the eyes of a green eyed boy with dark hair and an illuminating smile and felt the corners of my moth turn upwards on their own.
What is this feeling? I tend to know what feelings rush through my body, but this human has created a new, different, unusual feeling. There is no sort of nervous fear or butterflies, there is just this comfortable glow surrounding the green eyed boy.
Am I finding myself falling…?
Falling for what you ask? Well simply put, I do not know. The only thing I can relate to the feeling of the green eyed boy is falling.
It is not a bad sort of falling, but rather a floating or soaring, but weightless none the less.
I think I am okay with this new feeling entering my body, but I am still very perplexed by the unknown sense that looking into the green eyes of the boy with the dark brown hair and illuminating smile brings to me.
I bought a train ticket to her town. In days I will see her again, after 4 months of involuntary separation because of school and life, I finally get to see her face. It almost feels like I’ve been in space for an awfully long time, and now, I’m given a chance to breath.
In space, there is literally nothing. No sound, no touch, no smell, except for the glowing stars in your sight. You see the colors of the stars, but fail to touch any. A long distance relationship isn’t easy, it’s just as hard as breathing in space.
It’s an odd feeling. Does it create more bond? There had to a better way than this bitter approach. I don’t think anyone chose to be long distance lovers, and I think all of them are chance-takers. Whenever they see a chance, they jump for it without second thought.
I feel like something will break in me when I see her again. I doubt anything will change in me dramatically, but like standing in the ocean, you could sense the current about to rush onto your body. You know it’s the fruit of the bittersweet that yield only rarely.
The hands that choke me are about to be released from my throat. Will I cry when I see her again?
If you are under the guidance and surveillance of parents, then I’m telling you: they are really inexperienced.
All parents are parents for the first time in their lives. What do they know? From reading a book about parenting? Let’s say if they did read a book about parenting and knows how to handle you when you were born, but what if you came out to be a troublemaker that caused all kinds of bizarre situations for your poor guardians… well, now they just have to improvise a way to get you to 18.
Why are parents looking into their kids’ diaries and phones? Is taking a peek into their children’s lives that satisfying? Yes, you may not believe it, but if they love you and support you without dropping you by the orphanage, they are deadly worried about you whenever they get a chance.
I asked my mother, who raised me up all by herself for my father’s absence about the reasons for the odd actions of parents, and she told me nothing I could put on this blog. She can’t explain it either. But I know the reasons.
If life were a tortuous road to Rome, if you were destined to walk for 1000 miles to finally reach the destination, your parents would want you to walk 900 less so you could reach that goal in an easier, safer and faster manner. They want you to surpass them, want you to be better than them. (That is, if you’re not an orphan)
So walk slower, because you only walk to Rome once, and who knows how much longer you’ll have a GPS in life?