nbdyzangel's Xanga

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Wed, 17 Dec 2008 23:08:08 GMT

Alright, so I'm going to make good on my promise and continue to update periodically as opposed to sporadically once every blue moon ( I really hate trite sayings).

It has come to my attention that not all teenagers are liberal and some are actually radically conservative. Despite the fact that I don't particularly like my Contemporary Lit teacher, she is able to start intriguing debates and conversations in relation to the book we read. So we were up to this part in Macbeth concerning fleeing the battlefield and and she asked the question whether parents in today's world would feel shame if their child decided to abandon the war and flee in order to save himself/herself. Most people agreed that their parents would instruct them to put their best effort in and if they panic and feel the situation has grown to be detrimental to their life, if they need to leave, it would be alright. Well, everyone was in accord, until one guy decided to speak up.

"If you leave the battlefield, that's basically saying you hate America. That wouldn't really fly with my dad, let's put it that way and I would never leave the scene. I signed up for the army so why would I leave?"

Let's start off with the fact that by first impressions, this guy seems extremely liberal. That political category just fits his personality. But once a political debate ensues, expect a hardcore radical republican to unveil.

What hit me the most was his belief that leaving the battle is synonymous to hating America. Haven't we all at some point in our lives felt sure and prepared for something, but once the time came to execute, we panicked and abandoned? I know I have. So why is leaving the battle any different? Granted, it is probably not the most patriotic act to do, but I believe that most human beings have a selfish instinct instilled within them and at the end of the day, it's saving your behind over anyone else's. To those who are selfless and exhibit a sense of comradeship in situations like those, I applaud you. Honestly, I don't know what I would do if I was in an open plain with bullets whizzing past me. Most likely, I'm not going to lie, I would leave. This is not to say that I am a selfish person because I am always ready to help those in need. But in a situation like that, it would be hard for me to put the life of someone else over mine (Unless of course they have risked their own life to save mine before).

I hope a draft does not occur anytime soon because I believe that all those who enlist in the war should do so voluntarily. It is hard to expect someone to fight for a cause that they do not support or are afraid of the battlefield if they were drafted into the situation.

I don't know. I mean all I can say right now is good luck to the troops that are overseas who put their lives on the line everyday. I can't say that I would ever voluntarily enlist though.

Two more days until Chris arrives.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Wed, 10 Dec 2008 18:46:58 GMT

After months of abandonment, yet spent browsing other weblogs, I feel that I'm at a point where I should update what's going on in my life again.

I'm on the college path and more or less finished. I visited Campbell University and Chapel Hill over the summer with my parents. Yes, my dad agreed to drive us down to NC. Strange to think that two years ago the mere mention of a NC college was taboo in my house. Yet, here I am, sitting her with an acceptance letter in my hand from Campbell and I couldn't be more happy. I'm excited for this new upcoming journey. I feel like I'll get a fresh start with friends and setting. The perk of living independently from my parents is quite nice though, I must say.

I'm not going to lie though, I do feel slightly guilty about leaving my mom. But she knew that I was bound to leave someday. Maybe not this far away though.

As I sit her writing this, I think back to the initial reason why I wanted NC so badly. No, not because of the great schools. Not because of the great pharmacy market.

Him. My weasel.

And he's still here. Almost three years later, he's still a part of my life in yes, "that way." When my government teacher asked me how long we have been together I answered him and he replied, "What is monogomy like the cool thing to do as a teenager these days?"

No, it's not the "cool thing." I am happy with what I have. He's my best friend and my boyfriend. Why would I waste three years of my time on someone who I don't love? Let's be realistic here though, most teenagers don't carry on such lengthy relationships, especially into college. Yes, sometimes I wonder if I can really be with the same person I've been with since I was 15 for the rest of my life. Never dating other people. Can't kiss other guys. Can't experiment/sleep with others. It's a pretty closed off world. But why leave something great for something that maybe, sorta, kinda, i don't know, perhaps, has potential? Let me put it this way, I have a promise ring on my hand and I don't plan on taking it off anytime soon.

I want high school to be over though. It didn't exactly turn out the way I planned it would. But, I don't think anything ever does. Maybe that's why I shouldn't have such insanely high hopes for college. I've learned to take my life day by day and not plan too far ahead. It saves me a great deal of disappoint, honestly.

Frienships have changed. Relations are different. I talk to people who I never thought I would speak with and there are some people who I walk by as if we don't know each other's name, despite being close friends for a long time. People change. I've changed. You don't know me is all I can say. But yeah, some people think they have me all figured out. Maybe they should figure themselves out first. Even though you don't read this, you know who you are. At least I wish you do.

Not finished...

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 00:57:05 GMT

10 Random Facts About Me
10. I brush my hair only when I'm in the shower.
9. I make random noises at random times...a lot.
8. I almost never wash my make-up off before I go to bed.
7. I sleep with two bears every night; one small one from the BF and a big one from when I was 8.
6. My favorite color is purple, hence the purple walls in my room.
5. I'm addicted to chapstick.
4. ChrisJohnIrinaAlexTomeSofiaIgor....'nuff said.
3. I sing a lot when I'm home by myself.
2. I keep ticket stubs from every movie date I've gone on with him.
1. I prefer one-on-one hangouts as opposed to large group settings.

9 Places I Want to See Before I Die
9. Spain
8. Greece
7. California
6. England
5. France
4. Hawaii
3. Brazil
2. Germany
1. Italy

8 Bands That I Love
8. Death Cab for Cutie
7. Killswitch Engage
6. Children of Bodom
5. Metallica
4. Trivium
3. Breaking Benjamin
2. ACDC
1. System of a Down

7 States I Have Visited
7. Pennsylvania
6. New Jersey
5. Virginia
4. Connecticut
3. Florida
2. North Carolina
1. New York

6 Hopes For the Future
6. Successful Career
5. Meet great new people
4. House
3. See the world
2. Have kids
1. Get married

5 Goals for Summer
5. Volunteer
4. Write college essays
3. Beach/pool more often
2. Work out
1. Driver's Ed

4

Sunday, March 09, 2008

Sun, 09 Mar 2008 21:03:57 GMT

A Dose of Clarity

Each breath cuts at my lungs as if the oxygen is filled with shards of glass. To inhale is to suck in the dirt and dust that the world has to offer me. To exhale is to release a dose of clarity, showing that my insides are not pure and are in fact, tainted.

“Stop breathing.”

Things aren’t the same anymore and the laughter that filled all the right voids and vacancies has found a new habitat, one that does not reside in me. It’s like a dream that refuses to take me back to the time when our relationship was normal and we were just that, normal.

“Don’t wake up.”

Lately, the elephant in the room won’t budge and I am left on the other side, unable to reach you. An anchor weighs me down and my attempts at salvation are futile. Salvation, that is, for myself and more importantly, for our friendship.

“Cut the rope.”

We’re playing for keeps in the game of chance, but continue to lose as snake eyes stare blatantly at us. With each roll, we lose more and the hope of rekindling our faith in each other dwindles.

“Quit playing.”

I don’t have much to say to you these days. It kills me to say that, and even less, to write that. Despite my desperate search for a cure for this malady, no magic pill is to be found. A bitter feeling walks beside me from day to day and I can’t seem to shed the shadow. Perhaps someday a new light will fall on us.

“Keep trying.”

Creative Writing Paper

Sat, 08 Mar 2008 19:42:12 GMT

DROPS

Sweat trickles down your forehead as the heat continues to pound on your sun kissed face. The glow of red on your flushed cheeks continues to grow a shade darker as your hyperventilation persists, trying desperately to catch an at eased breath. Mouth open, hands on knees, exhaustion and fatigue set in. It is a different morale, a new world. The heaving of your chest and the pain within it becomes the focus of your attention. A conflagration stirs within, a foreshadowing of the soreness to be felt later. The body is suffering from what seems to be a debilitating effect. Hands are jittering, trying to cease the tremor, but no such luck. Looking for an antidote, you take a swig of water with hopes of easing the trembling and quenching the thirst that has kept your mouth so parched for what seems like an eternity. Nothing occurs and the dryness is still there. The cycle starts anew as your feet pump and the soles of your sneakers pummel the ground. Sweat trickles down your forehead as the heat continues to pound on your sun kissed face.

My teacher told me to write a reaction paper to Robert's response

Mon, 14 Jan 2008 23:01:01 GMT

It Isn’t Normal

“I’m supposed to ask you what my best trait is,” I said to Robert.

He looked at me for a couple of seconds with squinted eyes. I was close to telling him to spare me the pensiveness of it all and just tell me something so that I could write it down and move on.

“You’re unique,” he answered.

If only he had stopped there.

“You don’t dress normal. You don’t come in with just a T-shirt and jeans like most people do. It’s just out of the ordinary. It isn’t normal. Take it as a compliment though. I like that about you.”

I was taken aback. How was I supposed to react to something like that? All this time I felt like I fit the mold. I was not one to wear flashy garments or clothing splattered with designer names all over. Every day I got up, threw something on, and went on my way. Little did I know, what I wore apparently was not deemed “normal.”

It didn’t occur to me that I looked different. I felt as though all I ever really wore was, “just a T-shirt and jeans like most people do.” So what was it that Robert saw in me that I was not able to see in myself when I looked into the mirror?

“Maybe it was just Robert,” I began to ponder. However, Robert wasn’t the only one to suggest this. Troubled by this, I asked a friend of mine later during the day.

“Do you think I dress ‘normal’?” I inquired.

“No, you definitely don’t. You don’t dress badly, but it’s definitely not normal,” she confirmed.

My worries were not subsided. On my way home, my wardrobe began to flash through my mind. What was it that set me apart? I certainly did not spend ridiculous sums of money on my attire nor did I have an extremely large accumulation of it either. You wouldn’t find any Hollister hoodies or Abercrombie jeans in my closet. No Armani or Gucci shirts. No Louis Vuitton bags. At first glance, it all seemed rather prosaic and ordinary. It didn’t initially strike me as to what Robert was trying to get at.

That is when I realized it. It is because I didn’t have Uggs on my feet or a Juicy sweat suit that set me apart. I was I. Yes, I shop at Forever 21 and I am proud to say that the shirt I am wearing now cost me only $17.95. (Would you look at that? The decimal point is after the tens place and not the hundreds spot.) It doesn’t bother me that I don’t shop in fancy boutiques and I am fairly content with how I dress myself.

Perhaps it was my “uncanny” choice of garb that caused Robert to say that it is not “normal.” Now I understand why he told me to take it as a compliment.

Thanks Robert, I needed that.

I need a title =/ (yet another creative writing paper)

Tue, 27 Nov 2007 00:13:45 GMT

Even from upstairs, I could hear the television set blaring in the living room. The voice of Pat Sajak and the spinning of the wheel became a habit to hear from 7:30 to eight everyday. Maybe mom is in a good mood today. Dad was working late again. I guess the assumption that the lovely blonde he called his secretary was going to work some overtime too, if you know what I mean.

Dad seldom came home early from work. It is hard to say if that is for the better or if it just makes the current situation in the Carter household even worse. Dad’s frequent overtime at the office led mom to the glass bottle that represented her life, which too was glass. This bottle on the outside is very fragile. One slip and it will break. On the inside is a monster, itching to be unleashed.

“Could you open Daddy’s special cabinet for me. I seem to have misplaced the key,” she yells at me from downstairs.

I don’t want to do it, but I fear that it will be much worse if I don’t. So I get her a bottle of bourbon and watch as she smiles at me and tells me to go finish up my business upstairs.

It’s hard to watch your mother drink until she passes out. I call up Jake and ask him to swing by. Within minutes, his red pick-up truck is in my driveway and I’m out the front door. Chances are dad won’t be home when I get back and mom will be in the same position she was in when I left her, but the program on the TV will be different.

Jake takes me to the parking lot behind the local deli. If you’re looking for bonfires, booze, cigarettes, drugs, or girls, this was the place to be. I was looking for none of those, just an escape.

“Want a pull, man?” asked some random druggie.

He looked just like them. They all looked the same. Bloodshot eyes. Slurred speech. The same idiotic laughter that only further lowered my appreciation and tolerance of their company.

“Um, no thanks.” I passed the blunt to the next guy who gladly took it.

I was engulfed by a cloud of smoke that seemed to never cease. I noticed Jake was holding a bottle of Bud, his usual beer of choice. Typical Jake. Always drinking. Always joking. Always living life as if there’s no tomorrow. I don’t know if I should envy that. Well anyway, there goes my ride home.

I started to make my way across the parking lot and into the deli to grab a soda. And there she was. Ellen. If you ask me, Ellen was far too plain of a name for her. The ethereal beauty she possessed surpassed that of anyone else I had ever bestowed my eyes upon. She was intelligent, much unlike the other airhead chicks that unfortunately populated my school. The ones who felt the need to pop gum in your face and twirl a cigarette between two fingers because you know, it gives them that “edgy” appeal. Go figure. In my mind, she was Katherine, a name that radiated exquisiteness, charm, and appeal.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw me. Squinting to make sure it was I, she paused and then slowly a smile spread across her rosy lips.

“Hi, Brandon!” she cheerily yelled.

“Wave back, you idiot! Don’t just stand there,” I thought to myself.

I sheepishly smiled and missed my opportunity to talk to her as she climbed back into the driver’s seat of her little Punch Buggy and drove away.

Only after she had left the parking lot did I realize that I could have asked for a ride home. With her friendly nature, she would’ve said yes to anyone. Even the tripped out losers standing a mere 20 feet away from me. Too late now, I guess.

I made my walk home and thought about Katherine. I imagined telling her about what her real name is. I told her about how much I envied her grace and airy nature. Then I would tell her how much I longed to be with her for all these years. How she had one day caught me off guard in English class, challenging me to think for myself, something I wasn’t used to doing. I guess that was probably the moment I fell in love with her. She was the only one who ever told me to be myself.

I thought about how lovely she looked tonight under the dim light of the street lamp beneath the starless sky. You don’t get too many stars here being so close to the city and all. I guess that’s probably why we’re all so hopeless. There’s nothing to wish upon.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Sat, 24 Nov 2007 04:17:09 GMT

Assignment: Are you giving it your all?

I cannot hide myself, nor do I want to do so. There is something about writing that speaks truth despite the fact that creativity allows you to input wherever your imagination takes you. I feel as though no matter how much you hinder yourself in your writing or how often you keep yourself in the shadows with your thoughts and emotions, once that pen hits that paper there's no stopping it. Watch it as it flows across the lined pages so smoothly, so quickly. It's a natural rhythm. One that is established in your mind just bursting to be set free. Your thoughts are jumbled. Your heart is confused. Yet, that pen understands everything. It understands your problems and the life you lead that could easily be in shambles right about now. The pen does not judge. It listens and responds. Words composed of ink stains leave the writing utensil and remain on that paper. Perhaps someday you will lose that paper. Or maybe someone wont' like it. But you'll always remember writing it. You'll always know how you felt when that pen touched that paper for the first time. You know, the time when the pen said what you felt you could never say out loud in front of everyone.

Sunday, November 04, 2007

Sun, 04 Nov 2007 14:42:14 GMT

I Carry Your Heart With Me
E.E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me

(i carry it in my heart)

i am never without it

(anywhere i go you go, my dear; and

whatever is done by only me is your doing,

my darling)

I fear no fate

(for you are my fate, my sweet)

i want no world

(for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has

always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and

the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;

which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping

the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Tue, 30 Oct 2007 00:47:01 GMT

I’m Sorry, That’s Not For Me to Decide

There is that thing about people having choices. Oh, you don’t want to eat your vegetables. Fine by me. Just shuffle them around your plate and make it look like you attempted a taste test. Red’s not your color? Well then just try that sweater in black if you think that suits you more.

You think you have all this freedom. Just picking and choosing to your liking. Here’s a newsflash for you. You’re wrong.

“Michael, why didn’t you do your homework?” inquired the ominous creature at the front of the room.

“Yeah I’m sorry about that. I had so many things to do yesterday. It was too late. I didn’t feel up to it,” he honestly replied.

“Hmmm, well then I’m just going to have to see if I ‘feel’ like passing you this term,” the ogre sneered.

DE-NIED! And so this ambiguous case of freedom and choice suddenly becomes very clear. You don’t have the right to choose everything you want to do. Especially when it comes to school.

“What do you think you’re doing running down that hallway?!”

“That late bell ran 3 seconds ago, young lady. Sign the late book now!”

Pretty common phrases to hear for a high school student. Oh, and it gets even better when it comes to the home life.

“You missed curfew by half an hour! I hope you don’t plan on going out anywhere for the next 2 weekends.”

“Look at your room. It’s a pig sty. You better clean this mess up right now or consider your computer and TV privileges gone.”

It seems like the most important things in a teenagers’ life is out of their control. Our hectic and yes, I’ll admit it, our somewhat disorganized lives are running on a New York Minute pace.

No time for sleep. Gotta finish that AP homework my teacher assigned. Oh right, test in math tomorrow. *makes memo to study for that* It is times like these when we finally understand the meaning of “there aren’t enough hours in the day.” Twenty-four hours just doesn’t seem sufficient at all and running on four hours of sleep becomes a regular habit for the hungry student that is craving that 98 average. Apparently, sleep and free time are not part of the daily menu.

It’s probably very trite of a teenager to say that adults just don’t understand and that it was different for them “back in the day.” But you know what? It really was. Colleges are becoming more and more demanding. The workload is increasing daily and we’re overrun with extracurricular activities, volunteering, and sports. It’s almost as if our teen years (supposedly some of the best years of our life) are being blended in with our 20s, 30s, and so on.

All we really want is a sense of control over our choices. The ability to freely choose what we want to do with our lives.

The girl with the stethoscope and scalpel in her hands stares longingly at the paint set near her window that she hasn’t used in so long.

“Artist? What kind of career is that? Forget about that, you’ll be a doctor. That’s where the real money is.”

The boy who wants to play the lead in the school play. Oh, you should hear how he sings.

“Guess what, son? I got you a spot on the football team. What are you a fairy or something? Why would you wanna be in a play?”

So much for the right to choose, eh? We go about our daily lives almost as if we are planning out every minute of our day, week, and year. Planners and calendars become a necessity in order to keep track of everything.

Maybe all we need is an opportunity. An opportunity to decide something for ourselves on our own.