You gave me a purpose
when I didn’t believe.
You pulled me from the dirt,
kissed me, and forgave me.
You taught me to feel
and you stuck around
when no one would.
I guess you’ve been here all along.
You pushed me off; I thought I died.
But I didn’t.
I learned to fly.
I was just afraid of heights.
The time came; I was ready.
I smiled crying,
sank to my knees,
and forgave the hands that hurt me.
“Leap For Joy” by Emily Olson
This Love is like the moon: the guiding light
The guiding light that is taking me home
The moon hangs on the flowers as we roam
The brilliant moon Illuminates the night
The moon watches new flowers bloom with delight
A tale as old as time, take me back to Rome
The guiding light that dims in the unknown
This love and the moon fell victim to fright
Going on, there are wounds that we must mend
Eventually, the story must end
An eclipse veiled the moon just as we feared
It’s hell on earth and the cities on fire
The serenity of the moon has tired
Just like the moon, this love has disappeared
It is strange the way that we associate music with memories.
It is like a strong perfume that is impossible to disassociate with an era.
There are songs I cannot listen to because I was sad during the month it was in my playlist, or even because I feel that I have moved on from that time period. I now listen to a song knowing that one day, likely very soon, I will have grown out of this small era and will associate the song with the general mood of the month.
Small things in life change rapidly, including the clothes you choose, the breakfast you eat, your daily routine, the people you talk to, and the music you hear. Listening to music from a different era of mine often makes me feel uncomfortable, even if it was a good era, simply because I am not there anymore. It reminds me that times have changed, even if it is month to month.
Sometimes I regret listening to the same four songs day after day on my drive to school because I know what I am building. It will be a memory for my future self to listen to and reflect.
The automatic association of music and memories is hard to shake. They are not implicit memories, it is the general tone of the era that went unrecognized until you hear the songs and realize the moment has passed.
As i begin my journey to follow this road
This is not Cormac’s Road, nor the road that you may know
i must realize this, before i choose to go
This is a road that only i am on.
You are taking your own road,
But perhaps i’ll see you when we get there
I will follow the road as the bluejay follows the wind
Great and unknowing, this road is
Little do you know where you are headed
But that is the magic of this road
We are all on the pursuit of happiness
A new age
Welcome to the rest of your life, they say
Heaven belongs to you
When you reach the bump in the road
Hit it in stride
Take pride
When you reach the end up the road,
i urge you to look back and enjoy the view of the past
As you are on your way, and i am on mine
i wish you to drive safe
But enjoy the ride
Because time flies quicker than you know
Before you know it,
We’ll be saying goodbye
In another lifetime
You know that feeling.
Like when you sense something move in the cool stagnant water
underneath the surface,
where it shouldn’t,
it is.
Like being away,
the opposite of home,
and even as you jerk your leg away
you can feel it cramp,
ripping hot.
You can feel the vessels crimp;
doubled,
twisted,
restricting you,
keeping you just within reach,
within reach of the cool,
the cool of the bottom of the pool
where the water doesn’t move
or isn’t supposed to.
Each year, spring seems to be the most overwhelming season. School begins to speed up as we are faced with tasks each day.
Now that the pandemic is slowly returning to normalcy as more students come onto campus, we are catching up on what we missed. This, however, results in the cramming of a years’ worth of experience into a single month. It is enjoyable in its little moments, though when I look at my planner, the words begin to blend into each other as the pages are smeared with hastily placed pencil marks. I return to my planner hourly, adding both academic assignments and extracurricular events. It is covered with reminders, such as bring my costume for the musical, or drop off a scholarship application.
I enjoy each day thoroughly, though looking ahead can be overwhelming. The tasks for one day are manageable, though skimming the multiple notes and plans for the week can feel as though it all must be done that day.
Perspective is vital to managing a planner. I always note that I am living in only one of the days on the page, and it is not yet time to manage the others. This spring may be busy, though it is my last opportunity to experience high school. I plan to enjoy every day, as they are my final moments on this campus.
Journalism can be strange. It is a new way of facilitating my love for writing, yet with emphasis on the most important element – storytelling. Instead of researching my topics online, I now must go into the world and obtain information from people.
The reactions differ – some are more than happy to tell their story. Others, however, remain reserved as you push your way into their schedule. I enjoy the social element of journalism. I have an intriguing conversation with at least one person per week.
Journalism has taught me how to reach out to people, even if you don’t know them. I understand the format of an interview request email, and how to conduct a conversation where I get the other person to say all the right things. In journalism, I am but the message man, bringing other people’s stories into the limelight. I have enjoyed this experience as it has shifted me away from academic writing, improved my social skills, and made me a better storyteller.
I realize I’ve forgotten about my daily planner. It’s been sitting in my desk for the past couple of weeks, leaving me to keep track of all my assignments in my head. Without it, academics have felt like one big game of whack-a-mole. I’ve been barely holding on, about to turn the lights out for the night before I realize an assignment is due tomorrow.
It can feel annoying writing every assignment down as its given. However, without an organized book to keep track of my assignments, I have felt like I’ve tuned out of academics.
Today I wrote down everything I needed to do. It’s not too much when you look at it on paper. When it’s all in your head, however, it can feel overwhelming. Just when you think you’ve cleared your agenda, another task appears. When I write down my assignments or meetings, however, I can accomplish things in a more mentally civilised way.
It is important for me to not let my own head be in charge of keeping track of things. Not everyone works the same way, but for me, writing down my responsibilities is the best way to get them done, and erasing them is very rewarding.
i hate peonies
peonies represent something I wish I could be
they push through the harsh conditions of their life
for me
sometimes its just easier to give up
although,
i hate giving up
it makes me feel less of a person
less of someone who deserves what they have
when someone says im too scared for something
or when I feel scared of something
I try to go farther than I have to
and do more than what was asked
I hate being scared
I hate giving up
I hate turning down a challenge
while some might call it
toxic masculinity
I thinks its different from that
Its not that I dont like being scared because Im a man
its because if Im scared
then i cant move forward.
peonies,
they arent scared
they survive the harshest of enviorments they are given
they are true warriors
thats why i hate them
i hate how a flower is stronger than me
photo credit: sunset.com
To whoever called me a bigot on instagram,
I understand where you are coming from, I must seem pretty awful to you. I am sorry you feel that way, I wish it wasn’t so. I wish I didn’t mess up too. But I really want to talk about your point because I feel like we can all benefit from thinking more deeply about what your words mean to people like me. So, I thought maybe I should propose a little thought experiment:
So, lets presume for a second that I am a bigot, that I am intolerant of other cultures, of races that arent white (although I am brown,) of gay people, of transgender folk, and of women. And I was trying to adjust my image so some college would admit me, would it be a good thing to reprimand me for trying to seem less intolerant? Presumably showing me that there is no way I can fit into a society that you live in. Maybe I would feel hurt and I would confide in communities which tell me that my bigotry is okay. Is that what you want? Or, on the other hand, would it be better to tell me, a bigot, that I had improved and that I am a better person, to offer me acceptance and forgiveness, which would probably encourage me to continue on a path that would eventually lead me to abandon my bigoted views and instead embrace diversity and inclusion.
Now, presume for just a moment that I am not, in fact, a bigot. That I am someone who genuinely has learned from my mistakes. I am someone who has been educated and now has an understanding of both sides of the story, I am someone who is trying to make a difference in this world, to teach other people that don’t understand the impacts of their actions the importance of forethought and understanding of other peoples. Would it be a good idea to tell this person that they are a bigot? Showing them that maybe despite their 180º that no one will ever accept them within a diverse community. Showing them that they are permanently canceled and they may never be able to rejoin your part of society. Maybe I would internalize this and come to the conclusion that no longer should I try in vain to be a good person and instead sink back into my past. Into the uneducation that led me to make my mistakes in the first place. Is this the impact you want to have with your post?
I think you intend to do good by calling me out. I really do. I think you are trying to do something to benefit communities which I hurt. To defend them in some way, by not letting me return to society easily. But I think you need to think more deeply about the repercussions of your actions.
Luckily, I know I am not a bigot, I know that the pain I caused my peers at —— was a result of my uneducation, not of prejudice. I know I posted those things in satire. I know that the mistakes I made were not because of hatred but because of stupidity. And I also know that the people in my life who I respect and love are of the same opinion. So I won’t seep into the recesses of hatred and intolerance, I will continue to do my best to make this world a better place. But that is luck. If I didn’t know any of that, your words could have done real harm. Real harm to communities that you think you are helping by calling me out. So, once again, in the best interest of the communities you think you are defending, don’t call me a bigot.
I am not one.
P.S.
I tried to frame this argument as objectively as I could, but I still feel like I need to address my feelings a little bit. You really hurt me by calling me a bigot. I feel like someone who has tried my best to not only try to learn from my mistakes but to actively try to make others not fall into the mistakes that I made. I know that the actions I have taken after ——— have done good in this world and in the communities that I am a part of. And for that to be met with your post and comment really hurts me, I know that is probably not worth much in your eyes but I still felt like my feelings needed to be acknowledged.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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