Trees.

When a rain storm starts, the cover beneath a tree is dry. At least, the space beneath a tree is out of the direct force of the rain. You can stand under a tree and not get wet, but after a while, after the rain storm stops, the tree has soaked up all this water. It's leaves are like little dumping vessels of rain that tilt at the slightest of breezes. It really only rains under trees when the storm has passed.

Proof.

Proof of what? Proof that I have worn pink. And barrettes. And crazy hair. And absurd sandals. And was darn cute. I used to model a lot when I was little. Scraped up quite a toy fund while I was at it. Not to mention college.

40th Post

I signed on this morning, no particular blog post in mind, and noticed that I've posted 39 times. That makes this my 40th post! I could be wrong, but I think that means that this is the most I've ever posted on any one blog. I've been loyal to my blog, despite my shady past in the blogosphere.

It's a Sunday morning on the Hill, and I've nothing to do today. That is a beautiful prospect for a boarding school student. You see, when we're not in school, like on the weekends, we like to leave campus. Go into the real world. Have fun in the city. Go to lunch with friends...all sorts of things that require planning and energy. Yesterday the juniors had PSATs, so my roommate was very busy all morning, and ballet dancers had rehearsal for the Nutcracker, so a lot of people were very tired and busy all day. I wasn't exactly dancing or cranking out standardized tests, but I was busy too. So now, on this chilly Sunday morning, I sit in my common room, finishing up this blog post and preparing to spend my morning drinking tea and read One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch. To everyone reading this: Take a mental health day! Have a good cry (I've already done that, but I chalk it up to missing my parents). Drink a good cup of coffee or tea and read a classic.

Something Wicca this way comes.

Before I start: Salem is my favorite place in the entire world.

Reasons why Salem is the best place on Earth:

1. It is adorable

2. Pumpkins adorn every porch.

3. Most every house and lawn is decorated for Halloween.

4. Witches walk around the Salem streets fully clad in black cloaks, hats, and boots.

5. An older witch, complete with a pentagram tattoo on her widow's peek, pulled me over and told me "I like your pentacle, little witch." (I had just purchased a sterling silver pentagram, which I was wearing around my neck.)

6. I had peanut butter chocolate fudge. 'Nuff said.

7. I got my first official psychic/tarot reading.

8. I thought Natick was quaint...Salem takes the cake with its cobblestone streets and apothecaries.

9. I learned the term "Leaf Peeper" on the drive up through a beautiful countryside full of fiery trees. Apparently, a Leaf Peeper is a person who drives along the North Eastern coast to watch the changing leaves. Most Leaf Peepers originate from the Carolinas, namely South Carolina. They are usually old people. Interesting stuff.

10. I've wanted to go to Salem since, I don't know, EVER!

And now that I have, I can safely say that it is my absolute favorite town ever.

Love is Louder

So, I survived my first peaceful protest. In all honesty, part of me was afraid I was going to get shot by an angry religious fanatic, or caught in a riot, or something else horrible and violent. It was not so. A huge group of kids from my school and I took the train in from our school into the city, where we walked for about thirty minutes to get to the place the counter-protest was congregating. Even walking there was magical, as we were all excited, in good moods, and dressed in pretty white clothes (the protest encouraged this, as a sign of peace).

On the way there another group of young people joined us. They were college kids, and thought we were cute and young. I suppose college students do consider us babies in the ways of the world. It's funny how such things are measured. Anyways, the crowd of happy, white-clad people grew and grew. Every orientation, gender, walk of life was there, it seemed. It was slightly ridiculous how excited we all were, and it didn't help that movie cameras and news station started to flock. Finally, we were instructed by the amazing and kind college kids organizing this to line up in rows of three. Then, we marched. We whooped and cheered and made the peace sign and signed "love" in sign language. Periodically we broke into loud chorusing chants of "Love is louder". We marched around a large city block twice before reconvening in our starting place to celebrate. People from all over the city area came to watch us. Some were happy to see us, others not so much.

At the end, just as we were dispersing, a large, white van pulled up beside our enormous group. The van's outer walls were absolutely covered in scripture quotes. I was completely freaked out at first, and then the passenger rolled down the window. We knew he was from the Church we were counter protesting against, and he was not pleased to see us. Basically, he informed us that we were all going to hell, and then held out a narrow, yellow pamphlet detailing why. So what did we do? We showed him the strongest love we could. We lined up in front of the van and chanted
"Love is louder" with smiles on our faces until they drove off and away. It was epic.

I learned many a valuable lesson yesterday, the most valuable being that positivity truly conquers all. Acceptance and compassion are palpable and strong. People can be very, very good. Even wonderful.

Love is louder.

Love is Louder

So, I survived my first peaceful protest. In all honesty, part of me was afraid I was going to get shot by an angry religious fanatic, or caught in a riot, or something else horrible and violent. It was not so. A huge group of kids from my school and I took the train in from our school into the city, where we walked for about thirty minutes to get to the place the counter-protest was congregating. Even walking there was magical, as we were all excited, in good moods, and dressed in pretty white clothes (the protest encouraged this, as a sign of peace).

On the way there another group of young people joined us. They were college kids, and thought we were cute and young. I suppose college students do consider us babies in the ways of the world. It's funny how such things are measured. Anyways, the crowd of happy, white-clad people grew and grew. Every orientation, gender, walk of life was there, it seemed. It was slightly ridiculous how excited we all were, and it didn't help that movie cameras and news station started to flock. Finally, we were instructed by the amazing and kind college kids organizing this to line up in rows of three. Then, we marched. We whooped and cheered and made the peace sign and signed "love" in sign language. Periodically we broke into loud chorusing chants of "Love is louder". We marched around a large city block twice before reconvening in our starting place to celebrate. People from all over the city area came to watch us. Some were happy to see us, others not so much.

At the end, just as we were dispersing, a large, white van pulled up beside our enormous group. The van's outer walls were absolutely covered in scripture quotes. I was completely freaked out at first, and then the passenger rolled down the window. We knew he was from the Church we were counter protesting against, and he was not pleased to see us. Basically, he informed us that we were all going to hell, and then held out a narrow, yellow pamphlet detailing why. So what did we do? We showed him the strongest love we could. We lined up in front of the van and chanted
"Love is louder" with smiles on our faces until they drove off and away. It was epic.

I learned many a valuable lesson yesterday, the most valuable being that positivity truly conquers all. Acceptance and compassion are palpable and strong. People can be very, very good. Even wonderful.

Love is louder.

I'm protesting tomorrow.

Tonight, my school hosted a viewing of the Larame Project. This film documented the horrific beating and death of a 21 year old gay male in Larame, Wyoming in 1998. Basically, I cried for about an hour straight. I am a firm supporter of acceptance and love, whatever gender, race, orientation, ANYTHING a person might be. Peaceful acceptance should be the focus.

Anyways, tomorrow Emerson college is putting on the play, and, wouldn't you know, a group of fanatic religious people are protesting it. Again. religious people have every right to practice their faith, but when it involves hating other people just because of the people they love, I bristle. So my people from my school as well as other students (from college) are creating a peaceful, counter-protest. We're going to march around the one of the city's commons whilst singing and showing love and support for the gay and straight communities of the world.

So, send us good vibes and love for everyone, even those who harbor hate.

Fantastical Sushi Friday

I am utterly stoked. Tonight a large group of friends and I are heading off campus to enjoy a sushi dinner. I've no doubt it will be highly Americanized and nothing like my usual sushi back in Taiwan, but I will grin and bear it. Enjoy it. Savor. Dear lord I'm hungry.

Dormitory

Like any good child of the nineties, I read Harry Potter. Like any devotee of the Wizarding world, I wanted nothing more than to live in a dorm. I'm not going to lie, the fact that my new school is a boarding school (WITH DORMS) was a definitive factor in my own choice to go. Now that I'm here, I will tell you some interesting anecdotal truths about dorm life. 1. A good roommate is everything: fortunately, I have the best roommate anyone could ask for. She is neat, punctual, solicitous, has no odd/noisy habits, does not play a musical instrument, does not talk incessantly, does not blast loud music, does not decorate her side of the room with Disney channel stars and starlets. It helps that we don't see each other at all during the day, so going "home" at night and just chatting with her is really fun and relaxing. And she's got a very dry sense of humor. Always a good thing to posses, in my book. 2. Wear flip-flops in the shower: because you just don't know who was in there before you washing with what. Granted, us B***** H*** girls are one the whole a hygienic bunch, it guards from foot fungus. Oh yes...To the girl who leaves hair and random pairs of underwear in the showers: STOP DOING IT! Please. Thank you. 3. Don't let anyone cut your hair: amazingly, one girl let another girl do this, and it turned out fine, but the prospect of another high school student, as artsy as we all are, is terrifying! 4. Study hour is anything but, at least outside our room. Study hour is this great little implementation stating that between the hours of 9 and 10 PM, all students must be in their rooms studying or reading silently. Music must be listened to with headphones, and visitors are not allowed. That being said, why, last night was Kanye West spluttering from the room across from us? I sound like the biggest prude ever, but reading Tess of the D'Urbervilles isn't fun when I've to wade through crappy lyrics. 5. Don't eat the cake sitting in plain sight in the communal refrigerator: Just because the Cheese Cake Factory box is sitting cruely open and all the chocolatey/peanutbuttery goodness is eeking from the doggy back, doesn't mean you can eat it. Food is a very big issue around here. Apparently that was a big issue last year; people taking each other's food and not reimbursing them...that sort of thing. All things said, dorm life is hilarious and good fun, even when people blast music and run up and down the hallways. It's like living with forty-odd sisters. It's great. It's crazy.

Leda and the Swan

As I sit at my computer listening to the Indigo Girls and reveling in the fact that my writing studio homework is done, I have to ponder a certain poem. Aforesaid poem is Leda and the Swan, by William Butler Yeats.

I first read this poem in English nine honors amidst contorted faces and gasps as the swan had its way with poor Leda. We knew it was Zeus and somehow that made it more accessible, but I remember the prospect of him being in the form of a swan was absolutely disturbing to some people. In all honesty, I was incredibly irked that most of the class was hung up on the inherent sexual nature of the poem. So we spent the rest of our time with the poem discussing the weirdness of Zeus and his libido. Not to mention poor Hera. Anyways, today in Writing Studio, I got a second chance with the poem.

Let me tell you, going back to a good poem or book is like going back to a favorite movie. All of a sudden it all made sense. Helen of Troy, Leda's expectations and shock when Zeus drops her like a used rag, the stark portrayal of commandeering gods. It all fell into place. I thank my amazing verse teacher, who not only made us all bust a gut (I believe his exact phrase was, "Zeus's feathered glory"), he helped us appreciate the poem for its structure and its meaning. But I won't go off on a poetry tangent. I worry I've already lost you, reader, so I won't preach to the choir.

Oh yes, yesterday I met the 2010 Pulitzer Prize winner for fiction. You know, Paul Harding? Tinkers? Ring any bells? Even if it doesn't (I would've had no idea had I not been required to read his book for summer reading), this guy was amazing. Having done a very close out-loud reading of his book tinkers in class for the first two weeks of school, it was that much more wonderful to be able to discuss the work with its creator. he was insightful, obscure, and spoke mostly in metaphors. And he appreciated that I read his book in the boondox of the Alaskan wilderness. What a wonderful place I'm in.

City Venture

Behold...The Gypsy Children!

Yesterday the majority of the Writing & Publishing studio broke out from the school bubble (or plastic hamster ball, as it is slightly more difficult to penetrate than a bubble...I'm sorry, I'm making no sense) and went into the city. We walked for six hours, took subways, ate cake and lunch, drank coffee, shopped, discussed, sweat, and then went back to school.

The city, unbeknown to the blogosphere, is beautiful. It's bustling and hot (at the end of summer, obviously), sprawling and dense, and packed with cafes for us hipsters to sip beverages at.

My friend got carrot cake, I indulged in a slab of pumpkin spice cake. We split them. 'Twas amazing.

Shortly after this we braved the city subway to get to the Garment District, where I proceeded to buy pounds of vintage clothing and, wait for it...a pair of perfectly functional Birkenstocks for not fifty, not twenty, not ten bucks...but 30 CENTS! Yes, you read it correctly. Aside from us all being tired, hot and grouchy by the time we finally made it back to school, it was a highly satisfactory day.

Some gems from my day.

"And then the squirrel people invaded Europe!"

-My History teacher

"Feed the homonculus. She's hungry."

-Daniel Bosch (my Verse teacher)

"Because I don't have enough talent,

I depend on reality."

-Poet Takamura Kotara

"To Generalize is to be an Idiot. To Particularize is the Alone Distinction of Merit."

-William Blake

"Do you like sloths?"

-Luke Smithers

"Do you like babies?"

-Luke Smithers

Willow reeds and acorns.

It's hard to believe that it is already Friday. It's also hard to believe I haven't done a Fantastical Friday post for awhile. Because all Fridays are fantastical, especially this one, thus far. It's seven twenty in the morning here, ten minutes before I'll migrate to the dining hall. An hour ago I was trekking and exploring the early morning on campus. I've been running/ellipticaling every morning this week, and decided that my energy wanted to change it up.

Much to my roommate's probable dismay, I set my alarm for 5:45 (I only let it ring once) and then dressed for the trees. It was wonderful. The fog had yet to lift off the ground by the time I was out there (around six) and continued to rise ephemerally until 6:45, at which time I finally returned to my dorm to get ready. If one had seen me flitting around in the trees in the dead early day, they would've thought me rather crazy. I was talking to the trees as well, which adds to the potentially precieved nutsness. Speaking of nuts. There are acorns EVERYWHERE. And I mean everywhere. And they are beautiful. I found myself meditating for a long time under the willow tree, which will supply plenty of good willow reeds for Mabon (Autumn Equinox festival I plan to celebrate this year).

A very fantastical Friday morning indeed. Though, I must divulge, I wouldn't mind crawling back into bed for a few hours.

Sweating Tea

I don't know if it comes with a passion for writing, but the entire writing studio(myself included!) drinks tea like the apocalypse in imminent. In on of the corners of the room, by the wall of windows looking out onto the field, we have a cabinet. In this cabinet, we have cups and bowls and an oddity of utensils. Upon the cabinet is a microwave, should we want to genetically modify our foods' cells (but that's a different story). On top of the microwave is a black wicker basket. In said basket, is tea. Bags, and bags, and splenda, and bags of tea. And it's wonderful. We also have espresso roast, but thus far we've all been too lazy to make a pot. Aside from the fact that I have to pee every fifteen minutes, it's lovely. It's relaxing, and I can only hope all this green tea is bolstering my immune system and not just squeezing my bladder every quarter of an hour.

In fact, I am writing this from a Writing Studio laptop with a steaming mug of organic herbal tea. Good fun.

The trees are not dying.

They are losing their leaves. It's called Fall. Oh, right, Fall. I don't have many clear memories of fall, other than when I was about two and I was in my front yard in Alaska with my dad. I have some baby pictures in which I'm eating crackled crimson leaves, but nothing concrete in my mind. So now, in New England, I'm learning about Fall and all the acclimation and assimilation that comes with it. Last night we had an enormous, cold thunderstorm. This morning it is cloudless and brisk. And, perhaps the best thing of all: I can leave my dormitory and go to breakfast (walking, I may add) and not end up drenched in sweat. What a world.

I don't even know

why I haven't been updating my blog. But now I'm back, so all is well.

The first week of school has been the first sprinting leg of a ninth month marathon. A good sprint, but rather tiring nonetheless. I've realized that I am functional away from my parents, aside from a wee moment of damp-eyes when my friend played my mom's favor

ite Norah Jones song (oh jeez, here I go again). But I am functional. I can eat, exercise, shower, brush my teeth, do homework all without someone telling me. Simple as it may be, it's comforting to know that for some reason.

Yesterday was the school's annual Harbor Cruise. Honestly, I haven't spent much time on boats. I've romanticized them and told myself I'd be a great...er...boat person. I know your probably expecting a story about me vomiting off the port side for four hours, but it wasn't so! I was able to keep my sea legs under me the entire ride, except for a slight bought of nausea at the very beginning (and after I ate an entire cup of fondue chocolate, but that's another story).

And the dancing helped as well. Okay, people at my school can dance. Not just ballet dance and coreography dance. But dance. Even I danced, though not nearly as well and with that awkwardness known specifically to white females who get excited because everyone else is dancing and they want to too and end up looking like an awkward white person. But I had fun. Lots of it. It was four hours of dancing and friends and other such happy things.

My dad wrote me a very touching email yesterday. During my skype session with my parents, I related to them how much I missed them. I always do, but I guess I really did sound pitiful. So a little while later, my dad wrote me a message about the importance of routine in combating home sickness. Taking out the trash, running, going for a walk, doing dishes, doing homework and so on are all good routines to have. I'd been doing those, but on automatic. If I can see that I'm doing that to stay happy and sane (as humans go), I think I'll have much fewer Nora Jones incidences. But it's been great here. The people are great, the teachers are great, and the vegetarian selection is tres bien.

Alors, I must go and start another beautiful fall day.

In the Moment.

I shall not even begin to pretend that this is an original title for a blog post.

It fits with my thoughts at the moment, so I'll ask you to bear with the cliche. I realized that what strikes me about the people here is their present oriented existence. Almost everything is in the moment, or pertaining to the moment. We sit out under acorn trees and weeping willows with our writing, or our violins or our dance steps or a song to belt across the field and we enjoy the moment. We perform and create endlessly and without sweat in most cases. We appreciate each other's art, in the moment of its birth and every moment it laces the air until it fades away. Then we clap and hoot and joke and enjoy being young people doing what we love.

Thanks you cosmos.

In good company.

That I am.

Last night, after an ice-cream sunday social with the entire school, six of us gravitated towards the field and proceeded to enjoy two hours of conversation under the stars.

The level of reflection and maturty of the people here is startling. I've not had such an insightful talk with people my own age in, well, ever. And the best thing about it is, we know we're young. We know that over half of what we say will sound like ingenuous drivel in twenty years, but we play anyway. We weren't afraid to play with our minds, and the outcome was amazing.

This morning I skyped with my beloved mom and dad, who are turning out to be quite the honeymooners with their empty nest and all. It is such a relief that they're happy, healthy, and peaceful. As I said before, it would be next to impossible emotionally for me if one or both of them was against this whole shabang. Today we're going to the enormous mall to do some serious shopping. I hope to find some sort of winter coat and some cooler weather styles. On monday we're off to target to buy things for our dorm rooms. I am greatly looking forward to that. Schedules also come out on Monday night, and classes on Tuesday. I can honestly say I have never been more excited for the start of academic classes in mye ntire life. What a world.

Happily Here.

I meant to post en route...it was even going to be titled "En Route", but I was distracted by the plethora of stores and other stimuli. Anyways, I am safely in Boston. I am on cloud nine. The campus is b-e-a-utiful and filled with trees and oxygen. The flights went well and I even slept eight out of the eleven hours from Taipei to San Francisco, and then absolutely nothing on the San Fran Boston flight. But it's alright, because I was awake and alert to watch a flight attendant bawl out many a person for holding their bags in their laps, or milling about the cabin, or not knowing how to operate the emergency exit down to the nub. Granted, I want someone who knows their stuff sitting in the emergency exits, but I don't expect a thesis out of them. But, I digress, again. I use that phrase far too much on this blog.

The people here are amazing. I already have friends. They are all incredibly mature and hilarious. Right now, as I try to write this, we are chillaxing in my dorm room with my roomate (who is quite amazing herself), and two other dorm mates. Right, so, here are some pictures of my journey. I promise to post more of the campus and my room after I decorate a little more. It's amazing to be following a dream and to be following that dream at a place like my new school. Thank you cosmos.

I think I'll go to boarding school today.

Right after I...

1. Wake up and bustle about the house with mom and dad.

2. Eat Huevos Rancheros with mom at our favorite Friday breakfast place.

3. Walk Louise.4. Blog this post.

5. Carry three bottles of water up five flights of stairs for my parents.

6. Run to curb some of my excitement.

7. Get my nails done.

8. Try not to cry at all the people and things I am going to miss.

9. Cry anyway because it's healthy and I know I'll be back all too soon.

10. Take a shower and shave my legs.

11. Watch "Deadliest Catch" with my dad. (We are so Alaskan)

12. Dust and vacuum so that my parents have a clean house to mope around in.

13. Eat Thai food with my crazy, wonderful parents.
14. And FINALLY, I will go to boarding school.

It's bound to be a very fantastical Friday.

TOMORROW! TOMORROW!

I love ya, tomorrow! You're only a daaaaaaay aaaaaawaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy...

Enough said.

Khan Academy

Not only does this tutorial web database instruct and cover a myriad of topics, it also keeps at bay any boredom I may have whilst at home before school.

Here's a link to the site:
http://www.khanacademy.org/

I highly recommend it. Thus far I've watched a lot of the algebra videos and a few of the biology ones because I'm taking both of those this year. I just think it's genius that this guy can teach in four minuets what classroom teachers teach in a week of classes. Learning does not need to be painful or daunting. It all depends on how you get the information. A lot of young people assume that because they don't get math the first time every time, that they're stupid or bad at math. They write themselves off as math haters and rightbrainers. I divulge, I used to be the epitome of a math hater. I claimed it just didn't settle with me and that my brain didn't work like that. Of course, a lot of my eighth grade math was spent by me writing my novel under the desk, but that's a different story.

Anyways, I've always thought I "sucked" at math. That is, until I was homeschooled and was able to take math at my own speed on a one to one level. I excelled. As soon as I went back to school, I went headfirst into a math class and came out at the top of the class with straight A's. It's not because I took a math pill, or went to a gazillion summer camps or highered a tutor. It was because I allowed myself to think about math at my own pace and ask as many questions as I needed. Now, as I watch these videos on algebra at the Kahn Academy site, I find myself understanding most everything with ease and eagerness.

If you let yourself be good at something, then you will be good at it. And you will surprise yourself. Well, that's my soapbox session for this morning.

Let's give her something to blog about...

...because, quite honestly, I have nothing. I suppose it's a tribute to the peace and sanctimony of my life that extreme things don't happen every day. Anything I blog about today would be very similar to what I blogged yesterday. Still am I excited about school (4 DAYS!). Still will I miss home. It is raining. And today is my last day of ballet at TAS.

Maybe I'll just go write.

Cinque Jours.

The countdown is on, folks. There are currently five days standing between my departure and me. On one end of the spectrum, that is a very long time. On the other, it is a heartbeat. We'll see which perspective holds over when Friday gets here.

'Twas a joyous morning of hugs, kisses, and stories as my dad returned from San Diego! He got home earlier than expected so he got to spend time with my mom and I before she went to work. He looks great, sounds great, and smells like an airplane. The conference went well, and I expect that we'll have a very long, amusing story session one of these nights. Although, he said in one of his emails that it would take more than one evening to tell them all. He brought us bars of soap made en Francais. Alors, c'est bien!

My good friend here in Taiwan told me that she has a friend at my school in the ballet program. Being the skilled facebook stalker that I am, I looked her up and befriended her. She is incredibly nice, sweet, and eager to be friends and help out. If everyone is half as nice as she is, I am in for an amazing three years at boarding school! This weekend my mom bought me a new green suitcase for my travels. I've heard horror stories about people bringing six to eight bags to college and high school, so I am going relatively lightly with a green suitcase and a duffle. I don't think the gravity of my leaving has really settled on me yet. Of course it has about my parents. We've had our teary moments. I'm just glad that both my parents are as excited as I am. It would really put a damper on things if one or both of them didn't want me to go or had reservations. Not these two. They are as spasmodically excited as I am and I thank my lucky stars every day.
And I promise my posts will get more interesting once I'm acually at school. At the moment it's all about the lead up. Once the journey commences things are going to get interesting.

But I know the heart of life is good...

'Tis photo time! Yesterday my dear mother and I had a wonderous night on the town. We dined out at an Italian restaurant nearby that was surprisingly delicious. We split a large bowl of smoked salmon linguine and later had Coldstones. It's nights like these I'll miss with fervor. My dad comes home tomorrow morning from his conference! He's been emailing my mom and I diligently and he's been having a wonderful time. Totally worth it. In other news, I leave for school in SIX DAYS! And that's counting today. So if you're really picky, five days. Ohdearlordohmygodboofreakingyah. Oh yes, the pictures.

Poetry from my past.

I've always been a bit of a poetry nut. Here are a few fun ones from two or three years ago I just dug out of my stack of notebooks:

If ever you find a sea of blue,
In golden valleys laid of light,
Look to the left and you'll find two,
to hold your gaze and watch all night.

A ligneous seat below your frame,
Less comfortable than mother's embrace,
Engulfing joy you try not tame,
But garlanded all with wooden lace.

Topaz throws an amber glow,
The halo rests upon the crown,
By diamond's alabaster show,
To breath and free your blood, you know,
She pulls you up so you don't drown.

And...

The moons are through, the sun's gone down
the wind and snow are gone,
with every minute spent and logged,
from twilight's haze to dawn

all rivers flown, and mountains topped,
most dales and valleys worn,
quiet garden lost of roses,
petal, stem, and thorn.

Since all's been used, and used again,
o'er years of day and night,
I wonder now, and wonder long
of what else I could write.

Still more...

Have a day. Take two, they're small.
Remember though, they're followed by two nights.
Ao have a night, or four!
They're small too.
You take because you need,
like air and mild and bread.
You grow with these, small but plentiful
essentials. But they're small.
And you are told to be, want, give, work,
lie, lay, see
Big.
Take another, take some more.
And give.
Big.
Not so long your days outnumber your needs.
Big
you are crushed and flattened in the assembly
line of big.
But you don't dare to be, want, give, work, lie, lay, see small.
Because you are Big. Big. Big.

One more...

Dare you fathom?
Fathom what?
That what is it!
What is indeed.
Indeed...what?
My point, you see.
I see what point?
Exactly.
What?
Dare you fathom?
Fathom what?
That.
I see.

The Novelists Nouveaux Society

In a week's time, I will be departing for the U.S of A. In seven sleeps, I will be off to boarding school. That is both incredibly invigorating and utterly daunting. As long as I have my iPod and my books, I will be alright. Note to self: Try not to bawl too loudly at the airport.

To explain my title...My school has a relatively open policy regarding student clubs. Their website says that any student can start an organization, as long as there is no hazing involved. That will not be a problem. I've never been much of a club starter, rather the one that shied away from any institution led by people of my own age. Again, I'm not saying that young people can't lead successful clubs and such, I've just never been turned on by any of them. Sorry to digress. Since I am going to my school for the amazing writing program it offers, I think it would be fitting that I start a young writers society. Thanks to my friend Emma, I realized that the name of said group should involve society. With my mom last night, we came up with the Novelists Nouveaux Society. It's a play on The Dead Poet's Society and Art Nouveaux.It would be for young writers and aspiring novelists to get together once or twice a month over coffee (or any other beverage) and discuss their writing. I'll let the blogosphere know if I can get it started up and if it goes anywhere. I doubt I'll start it right away. First I'll get settled, then I'll put up fliers.

A word on teenagerdom.

I am aware that I am a teenager, so by writing this post I am essentially throwing my kind under the bus. But, I highly doubt many, if any, teenagers read this blog. So, here it goes:

We take ourselves too seriously. My writing of this blog is probably taking myself and my writing too seriously, but at least I do it with good vocabulary. The teenage ego is a monumental, impetuous thing that grows and grows and grows until it can't grow anymore, and then, around twenty two, I think it deflates. When we turn thirteen, we leave the human race and become some oddly evolved sub-species of crazy. Adults refer to us as hormonal, when what they really should be saying, is off our rockers. I'm not exactly sure when we return to the race of humans. If I'm still blogging by the time I figure it out I'll be sure to write about it. I would love to shout worldwide to all my fellow teenagers and tell them that no, not everyone is watching them. If they want to do well in school if it means missing this or that social get-together, then so be it. If they want to write a book and not care what their friends quip about it, by all means, go for it! This is not to say I haven't my own insecurities. Though I have a nice singing voice, I hate singing around my friends for fear of judgment. Singing around adults? No problem. Adults have developed that foreign attribute called empathy. Teenagers are, most of the time, apathetic or brutal.

Teenage girls, for example, assume that everyone, and I mean everyone is constantly critiquing them. We wander around like little adults, except, I'm pretty sure most adults don't live in constant fear of peer-critique. Granted, not all teens are like this, and I will have to be most careful over the next few days in case a teenager did read this and is now hunting my head.

And there you have it. My vent on teenagers is over, and I can more comfortably walk among my kind and accept my fate for the next five odd years.

So many, so great.

Lying in my bed last night, my laptop open beside me and a book on my chest, I realized just how many wonderful writers there are and have been. I knew this before, but reading Annie Dillard's The Writing Life, the made the fact even more clear to me. Annie Dillard, my current favorite authoria, is a prime example. My mother actually turned me onto her books, and my dad agreed that I should read them. Being young and dead set on filling my brain with "young adult literature" (namely the Twilight Saga, Harry Potter 1-7, and various other series). So I held off on Annie for a long while. In the mean time I started develpoing a taste for classics and better writers (John Steinbeck, William Faulkner, Homer, Stephen King). To my happiness, my writing improved. I strayed farther away from contrived plots and dry characters. Writing became a practice more so than a hobby.

If only I had known what gems lie in Annie Dillards prose. I would have read her much sooner. I feel like I should be writing down every other sentence, posting her quips and sayings on my facebook status, and memorizing for later use. I have a feeling that as I age I will develop profligacy with literature. I can see myself as an old woman taking long morning walks in the brisk New England fall and then returning to a surfeit of books. But no cats. I'm allergic.

ambivalent at best

is my latest working title. Granted, I start and abandon many projects, poem, would-be novels. This time, however, I am taking a more planned out approach. I have been working on an outline and I've started writing a few "practice" scenes. I'll keep you updated. Whoever you are.

Hopefully they will let us work on our own projects at my new school. Anyways, I'm not feeling much like posting today. I am chomping at the bit to write, and while the blog is usually a good warm up, I am lacking patience as of this morning. Oh yes, and the black hair is still going well.

Les Cheveux Noirs

Before:

Apres:

I couldn't be happier.

Slumming with my Mother.

I have most amazing parents. Since my dear dad is having a blast in San Diego (body surfing, attending a cool seminar, leaning how to play Sudoku from random people on the plane), my mom and I are toiling away the hours in a most enjoyable manner. She's the kind of mom who is perfectly happy just sitting and reading with me. She watches all my favorite movies that I get from blockbuster, even though she has a) seen them or b) hasn't seen them and has better things to do.

Yeterday we went to the world cup volleyball tournament with her fellow coach and some of her team. I am not one to go out of my way to watch sports, but it was very fun. The players (all women) were absurdley tall and gorgeous. Think modelesque amazon women. We watched for a couple of hours in mesmerized happiness, and then went out for Mexican food. And my guts seemed to have settled nicely with the paella dish I had, so I am pleased. Today I think mom and I are going to brunch/coffee (we are quite the enabling pair of caffiene addicts, and then go for a run. All and all a great day to be had, provided we don't melt into slushy puddles of human when the Taiwan sun beats down on us for too long.

Also...FEED THE MODELS!

This is sort of a sub-post having nothing to do with the initial title or purpose of today's blog. I opened up my web browser this morning and saw a story on Tyra Banks condoning alarmingly thin models in the newest cycle of America's Next Top Model. Now, I watch the show, and Tyra seems very supportive of plus sized models and happy to promote health and wellness. She doesn't outrightly say that models that strive to unhealthy lengths to be thin are bad, but she seems to be health oriented enough. Furthermore, she is a big name in a swim-or-sink industry. She has to be diplomatic, even if it is to the eating disorder promoting modeling agents.

I myself have experienced the brutal expectations of the modeling industry. When I was about fifteen, I got a call from my agent for a casting. Happily, I went. To my slight dismay, the clients and casting agents were snappy and impatient, and barked at all the models, then rebuked me for not having the right shoes ('tis always good to have heels for runway castings!), and so on and so forth. So, I was in a small, narrow room with three tired, crotchety agents, three tall, emaciated Russian models, and two male models who would not speak to me (though they were American). We were asked to do our runway walks. They called me up first (of course) and I walked. Upon completing my walk I heard the woman casting agent say rathed loudly to her companions that I was Tai ai, tai pang. Keep in mind, we are in Taiwan. I know Chinese, so I was shocked to hear her say that I was Too short, too fat. Granted, I am thin, even thinner then. So, I got the pleasure of sitting and waiting for all the death bed models to slump down the 'aisle' with their hungry shuffles while I conte,plated being "tai ai, tai pang". All and all, not a very wholesome industry. Fortunately, I pulled out of it not long after the runway incident. At least writers have more liberty with their looks.

Adventures with Emma.

Emma and I make quite an odd pair. In fact, we are the two oddest people I know.

Exhibit A: We both have a fascination with medicine and odd maladies.

This morning, when any normal pair of teenage girls would have been shopping, or watching movies, or discussing boys and bodies, Emma and I explored a hospital. I am aware that this is a questionable activity, seeing as hospitals are places of illness, vulnerability, and healing. The idea sprung upon us last night, whilst eating Thai food. We agreed that we both have a slightly morbid fascination with sick people. Emma is very interested in being a specialist doctor, while I am interested in psychology. But I digress. So, seeing as it was a nice Saturday morning,w e decided to visit the hospital in our neighborhood. Now, here comes the slightly controversial part. Emma had a pair of dark sunglasses with her, and not wanting to look like two brainless teens trolling the hospital hallways, we decided that she would feign blindness, and I would be her guide. I must say, as awful as some people might see this, it worked. Emma is a very convincing blind person. We walked the halls and wards, from Nephrology, to pediatric surgery, to OBGYN, to the NICU. We even had a run in with the infectious disease ward, though we didn't linger long. And it smelled awful on that floor. The elevators were slightly creepy, and the hallways were most silent, save for the occsaional passing orderly or patient.

It rather reminded me of the scene from SPEAK, when Melinda Sordino camps out in a hospital bed to have a "rest". We didn't find any hospital beds. After spending about an hour walking around, we decided it was best not to push our luck, and we left without incidence. I was pleased, because we got to visit the psychology department, though it was down a long twisting, creepy corridor. We didn't spend much time there.

I realize there are many "Exhibits", likr our late night tendencies, and much more, though I have limited time to post today. To close, I think that this is what friendship is about. It's about having adventures, trusting each other (she even let me lead her down a neverending stairwell when we tired of waiting for rickety hospital elevators, with her eyes closed!), and celebrating those mutual quirks that make us who we are. Love you Emma, you made my weekend!

Fantastical Friday.

I here by declare all Fridays, Fantastical. They truly are. All the prior days of the semaine drip by with no inkling of letting up, and then all of a sudden, it's Friday. Not only is it reprieve from school and/or work, it breaks the cyclical monotony of the seven day cycle we meander through. And quite honestly, I'm glad there is only one such day. 'Tis special because of it.

My Friday has consisted thus far of plenty of magical happenings. For one, Louise (my chihuahua) pooped quite promptly of leaving the house for her morning walk. Second, the pimples irksomely adorning my face have somewhat faded away! Thirdly, I have managed to make it without coffee since nine o'clock this morning. It is presently ten o'clock. I am holding off because I am going to brunch with my mom, where coffee will undoubtedly be consumed.

Also, I have been very strange and vivid dreams. Last night, par example, I was a supernatural being of sorts caught up in a life or death game. I was trying to get past an ice covered pond, but when I stepped out to cross it, a jumble of people slid out before me, cracking the already thin ice. Lo and behold, the ice crumbled beneath us and we fell into the water. And it wouldn't be a dream pond without sharks. For what felt like the next hour, I was ripping apart massive tiger sharks as they made to bite me. Very exhausting. There was much more, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I am the only one who acually thinks the dreams are that cool.

Well, a bientot for now, readers, I must go brunch. And have some coffee.

Inventory.

Just to get a picture of where I'm at on this day, August 19:

Days before I leave for school: 15

Books read over summer: 9 1/2

Days my dad is in San Diego: 11

Days my mom and I will miss him: 11

40 lb bottles of water I must carry up five stories: 3

Hours of sleep last night: 9 1/2

Suitcases I'm bringing to boarding school: 2

Miles to go before I sleep: Unknown

Well, there you have it folks. My life in numbers.

We take our art VERY seriously.

Most of the time...

Ils me manquent.

I will miss them. Them, who?

My hilarious awesome OCD sweet supportive parents:

The weather and beautiful walking places:

The hiking trails in abundance(though I hear there are a lot of trails where I'm going):
My friends (of course):
REAL Chinese food (No, Panda Express does not constitute as Chinese Food):And now, perhaps the thing I will miss most...the cause of my most bitter tears...
Uli's Mashed Potatoes:

In retrospect, I realize how much of the 12 years I've been in Taiwan I spent bemoaning it. For some reason, I felt unfortunate to have missed out growing up in the States. Don't get me wrong, I've always loved it here. It is my second home to Alaska. My first and most dear home, in some ways. In the past couple months, on the brink of my departure, I realize how very lucky I am. Taiwan is a wonderful, safe, cultural, crazy, crazy-hot country. I love it. Mayhap I've just matured that last iota to make me see the truth in my fortune. Go figure it would happen in my last few months here. There are many more things I hold dear and will miss dearly, but I'd better give my blog a break for the night. Until next post.