Home:

Every door in the house had a distinct creeking open  and closing thud, and even the frames without doors, had floorboards that settled in your presence with a groan or a creak, while they welcomed you into each individual escape. 

Sometimes we forgot to shut off the stovetop. More often than not, it was because the teapot was always bubbling with a fresh pot of water. When one person turned it off, another would switch the old knob to high, and set their teacup to be filled.  Though this is in no doubt a fire hazard, someone was always in the busy house, so if a fire were to start, a dash of baking soda would quickly muffle the flames before they spread. 

There is a bell next to the screen door, that rings for dinner and dusk, and can be heard  from a block away. No one here ever yells, so in place of a dinner call, or in case of busy kids forgetting to keep track of when the streetlights turn on, the bell came in handy. 

Warm lamp light was always chosen at night over the cool-toned overhead fixtures, which complimented the worn warm colors of paperbacks and hard  bound cloth covered books on the bookshelves that stretched from the wood floor, to textured ceiling . Those shelves could tell many stories; stories of how kids grew up, and how old they’re getting. Each tick mark worn from different years, and ages displayed for any littles to compare heights to the “big kids” they’ll always look up to, even when they are “too old” or “too cool” to care.

The foundation of the house was slightly askew. All the floors tilted, and paintings could never sit on the wall perfectly straight. We didn’t really care much; as kids it just made marbles, and toy cars, a little more fun (you had to chase them across the room). We’d adjust our plans with wooden block boundaries to keep them from running too far away in the wrong direction. When we got older, it didn’t bother us; askew wasn’t considered wrong,  because it was all we knew. It was home. Looking through offset windows, searching for the moon, with tilted heads and different perspective, has always been symbolic; It wasn’t till recently that I understood how.- Looking Through Windows 

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        Life is laundry. My mother taught me how to do laundry the right way. “The right way” wasn’t universal, but she had curated a system based on each family member’s needs. I took on my own tasks willingly, I sorted, washed, and put away my own loads of whites, colors, bedding, and darks, at the age of ten. I took control, and I was proud of that.  I learned that sometimes you need to take a little off your load, sometimes you have to pile on an extra few socks and shirts, it all depends on what the situation calls for; there is no universal clothing count per load carried. You just do what you are confident you (and your machine) can handle. Sometimes you have to analyze what happened to get that musky smell, muted color or unpleasant gruff texture; then act accordingly. Maybe find away to become a little softer, a little brighter, a lot more cleansed. Sometimes you need to learn when to take the clothes out of the washer and put them into the dryer, because when the laundry is left for too long in a place that no longer serves it, it will begin to grow unpleasant tendencies, or foul organisms that corrupt the future use of that favorite pair of jeans, or memory in hand-sewn, and carefully pieced, blanket form. Sometimes you need to hang the sheets on the clothes line; give them a little scent of adventure, that lingers in the dreams of REM sleep. Never put a red sock in with the stark white, color will always transfer, and not only turn everything pink, but take the richness and unique color away from the red sock. Avoid putting your favorite fuzzy blanket, used for gentle comfort, intermingled with the gruff knitted texture of cotton blue jeans; that sweet softness will soon deteriorate, leaving no ounce of gentle comfort. Do not leave things where they do not belong, even in haste; they have a way of creating lasting damage, of becoming rough, of becoming rugged and worn. 

        Treat things like they matter, maintain proper care.  Every two weeks, work on washing the bedding, properly making the bed, then enjoy it when you crawl into the freshly-cleaned and peacefully airy caress of linen. Carefully clean your favorite jeans, right-side-in to avoid the color wearing out, you’ll want to wear them as a confidence boost, when you take that social leap. Smooth and hang your floaty  dresses; the ones that make you feel like a cottage dweller; wrinkles hinder the flow of the twirling skirts that put a smile on little kids faces as they watch you, baby’s breath in your hair. You’ll be the closest thing to a fairy they will ever see. That load of sweaters; fresh and warm out of the dryer; could soon become a sweet and comforting floral-smelling hug to someone of the brink of tears. That blanket might be crumpled within the grasp of the stubby little fingers of a bright eyed, texture-learning baby; make that texture the most pleasant one they can grasp in their tiny fists. If something is torn, fix it, sew on the button, patch the rip, and embrace the new character.  Treat things like they matter. They do.  

    I won’t tell you that i’m an old soul. Because quite frankly, that would be utter ignorance of who I am. I am the youngest soul I know ;seemingly   naive and optimistic; A believer in everyday magic and new beginnings.   

     I can tell you however, that I am nostalgic.  my heart battles my brain to slip back in time, maybe even before my birth to find a place of solace. To find the peace that my heart sees as a default setting. When no peace is in sight I override, in a constant state of anxious contemplation. This all-encompassing peace I wholeheartedly believe I had in excess at some point; maybe in one of my lost reincarnations.

     I constantly search to find eyes that see wildflowers, and the gentle curves of letters written by soft spoken poets whose oxymoronic and witty written words are like broadswords in a bloody battle. 

    To find people with fine tuned ears that listen to music so intently that their heartbeat noticeably syncopates to the secure complexity of  musical rhythms.

      I rebel against technological advancement because the clank of machinery and the waves of radiation will drive me insane as they drive humanity further away from the simple gentle hearts, that have things to teach, but barely enough courage mustered to voice them, let alone scream them over the hum of a busy hive of hidden agenda. 

   This hidden agenda  stings lies and hidden truths so persistently that societies heart swells in hope, and in return callouses when the high wears off and truth unfolds from a well-spun cocoon. Society has learned to care for itself. The people are stubborn to fend for themselves, to not be tricked again, even if they can’t give themselves proper aid to heal their wounds. 

      It’s not that I have an old soul, I just have a lonely one. One that begs for depth, yet understands and finds a home in simplicity so well that anything more becomes overstimulation. I tend to understand too much, speak too little, and have a sub-par  vocabulary to encompass this idea in mediocrity . 

Quiet, is a default setting. It tends to be who I am. A silent shadow ;the dismissive friend.Overstimulation to all senses is greeted with silence. I  have never been able to talk out problems, I try to figure out  the maze that encompasses my  thoughts in a seemingly never ending  infinity loop, and eventually give in and  just let it go. My voice has never spoken out of passion, but my mind, has passionately contemplated every piece of my existence, and begs me to speak.Only to provoke a response that feels like a burning throat and a tug at my heartstrings. I cry when I’m frustrated, when I can’t properly express myself, when solace in  another human being can’t be found. T he sting of salt on my cheeks mirrors the sting in my heart. I learned how to write at an early age, to spit pure emotion and raw thoughts in black ink on a stark white page. As a child, I wrote to people more than I talked to them. My voice always failed me, written words never did. I learned about colors and lines, simple ideas  that made me feel as though the complexities of life made sense. I learned about how movement of the human body can move an  outlook on life; a movement that occasionally seems equal  to moving mountains. I learned how manipulation of light could restore my faith in beauty.                                                                                                                         I am an oxymoron, an empathetic human being that cannot properly express their own emotional tendencies ,let alone the weight of humanity’s .At least not in the traditionally acceptable ways.  Spoken words are few, but can be more  impactful when rare. Color can psychologically manipulative, and written words can be beautiful and artistic if given a proper chance.Storytelling doesn’t  have to rely on the wavering of a tongue, but rather the beating of a drum.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            I still wish my voice was strong, that my ideas and thoughts could be fully communicated  by volume and tone. I wish that my articulation moved people to activism. However, there is no strength in wishing away what I have in exchange for something that will never be. It is what it is, and I am who I have always been, and that is okay.  

    Life Goal

 "What do you want to be when you are older?" and "What are your life goals?" These are questions every teenager is asked millions of times over.  This is my response:

I aspire to be warmth. To be kindness, to give joy to the people around me. To be happy. I aspire to be the embodiment of  of a sunbathed day that smells of sunscreen and sticky cherry Popsicle.

I aspire to be the color yellow; reminiscent of sunflowers, stars, and the little, half-goofy smiley face stickers we would get as little kids when we shared with a friend, or got an A on a spelling test.

 I want to remind people of those days when noses would be pink and numb from playing in the snow, then become warm and tingly  through laughter, and  a mug of hot cocoa in a heavily mitten-ed hand.

I want to be complete understanding and empathy to everyone I meet. The person to go to when you just want to be listened to, or to be accepted without question.

I want to learn for the sake of learning; new languages, new instruments, new philosophical viewpoints, and new skills for life. I want to be well-rounded and well-minded.

I want to be a wildflower. Wild, unapologetic and  authentic, yet  the source of the sweetest honey. Surrounded by a hundred bees, hard working and resilient.

 I aspire to be a muse, for myself and my ideas, or to help  other's artistic endeavors. A character in a novel, an idea for a poem, a personality for a painting; The reason for paint splattered clothing, a smile, and  creative growth.


I aspire to be starlight on a frigid winter night. The calm warmth that can be spotted through a million icy miles.

 I aspire to be an old photograph; Faded blurred lines, but crystal clear recognizable personality, humanity, and morality.

This is my Life goal; To be warmth, to be happy, and to be kind.  









 

     "If you want to learn what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph." This quote's author is unknown, yet hundreds of people have found truth in this singular statement. I am one of those people.

    The thing is however, that I photograph every bit of my world. 
My little broken down car, the moon, flowers,leaves, snow, raindrops; busy little bumblebees, shadows and landscapes. Worn out shoes, cozy places, and  handwritten notes on little bits of torn paper. The seemingly insignificant (but significant) parts of my world. 

  
   I've noticed   that the one subject  that I take pictures of most frequently, is people. I don't mean the photos where the shot is  perfectly composed, and the people are  positioned "just right".  I'm not the proudest  of my  posed pictures, They always seem too in-genuine . I like imperfect, messy, pictures. Sometimes they are a little blurry, sometimes they are a lot blurry; Usually they don't turn out how I wanted to capture them. That doesn't matter to me. Though I am a perfectionist in almost everything in my life, I know that life isn't perfect. I like the imperfect photos the best.

  The too-dark photos, the taken too soon Polaroids,and the over exposed-over excited pictures of a moment that you "just wanted to capture".
  I like personality that shines through. I like sparkling eyes, sharp glares, and pools of gray,emerald, and amber sadness. I like the light catching someones face to form  bands of dark shadow across their face, yet catch and hold the sunlight  in their eyes in a way that turns each eye a different hue of color. I love to see a natural habitat, calm and comfort in ones surroundings.I try and understand each person's perspective on everything around them;their world.

     I treasure being able to hold a flimsy, unassuming,  version of a moment of existence. Something I can remember perfectly, Simply by seeing what used to be  a brief piece of my  world.  Because once it's in my hands, physically existing, It is then part of my life that I can keep close to me forever. Another thing I don't want to lose. Another thing to be photographed. It's a never-ending cycle.

   I guess what I am attempting to say, Is that I don't want to lose people; I don't want to lose the ability to see those things in people.

     I want to forever be able to see the love that I have lived, and the things that I have adored.
I wish that we will  all be able to say, at least someday, "Veni,Vidi, Amavi,"- "We came, we saw, we loved."

-Thoughts from a Teenage Girl
    

     When we were young, we were told not to do things by our parents. They were usually right. The desperate shouts of "don't touch that" or "wait for me to help you" were a constant (usually needed)  reminder to our little minds to be careful about what we were doing.
   We were learning how things worked. Absorbing the ins and outs, and  do's  and don'ts   of our busy young lives. We had a guide. most of us had multiple ones, in the form of adults that cared,( and still do care )about us.We lived in clear, Open Sans ,  black-n-white prints. With the occasional faded cartoon snoopy mixed in.  

   One thing that I see in our generation, is confusion. We are older now, and it has been hinted at us a thousand times, that maybe we are suddenly supposed to be our own guide; make our own,what seems like  uber-uninformed decisions.  Adults still care;  they give us advice, and all the information we need, but we still feel unprepared, and indecisive about life as a whole.
   There is no black-n-white anymore. No clear statements, and no bold fonts. Its all hues of purple, and yellow ; Blue, green, auburn, and orange. Its like taking off a pair of glasses, only seeing blurred lines. Now it's almost impossible to read the fine print.  We are beautiful, but confusing, and for some of us, we  never know how distinguish the warm to the cool; right to the wrong.

     Why? I honestly don't know.  We live in a crazy world. We are all intelligent. Everyone is individually talented and worthwhile.  Historically speaking we are  "the most educated and informed generation in society up to this point in time". However, I see people pretending to be dumb. Pretending that they have no potential. Thinking that they aren't worthwhile. It baffles me.
 
     What makes our generation so much more different than the rest? I don't think we are. We see the past as a time without problems.Yes, maybe social issues were less common seeing as there wasn't a constant platform and worldwide access to all sides of a story, but personal and emotional issues have always been around.  Like Stephen Chbosky wrote in The Perks Of Being A Wallflower -"Old pictures always seem so rugged, and young, and the people in the photographs always seem a lot happier than you are."  We see old society, as happy and young, because that's how its usually portrayed.We see activities and style, rather than people and emotion.

     To round this up.  We are all trying to figure things out. We get fed up with not knowing who we are and what we are doing with our lives. Sometimes it feels like life is rushing by, and we aren't doing anything. We are desperate to get out. To do things, before time catches up. However, we are too young to do a plethora of  things alone still. We have more freedom, but not enough to take on the world alone quite yet. Maybe that's why teenagers drive continuously,in circles, with no destination. It's an unspoken metaphor for their colorful,  messed up,"kinda-but-not-really independent", and still learning, psyche.


            -Thoughts From a Teenage girl
    

   I am indecisive about most things.  I "don't know" most of the time,but I do know that I am indecisive. You can ask me what I want to watch,or eat, and I will remind you that I never know, that I will continue to not know, and that you should choose for me.

  However, I do know what I don't want. I don't want to let my grades drop further than I can raise them back up. I do know that I can be smart, that I need to keep learning in order  understand the life and inner workings of the undeniably interesting planet that we call "earth" or the little piece of moving space rock revolving  around the sun that we call "home".

    I do know   That perspective has multiple intertwined, interconnected,and overwhelming points of view.
 I know that humanoids can be  rude ego -ruled  people. Then, there are those of us who are  imperfect, those of us who are human, and those of us that " have our own stuff going on". If you look closely, you'll see that those two groups are usually the same people, just expressing different emotions towards different people at different times.


   I "don't know"  the simplistic, unnecessary, and unimportant decisions of everyday life. However,  I do know my personal and unique perspective of  my life. I know that I want to be an artist of life, and a lifelong learner.
  -Thoughts

   She wasn't boy crazy,  swoony,or downright the average teen.

   

      She was full of sarcasm,wit and spunk. Yet when her eyes shone with fire, and her cheeks flushed with joy. No one told her she was beautiful, no one smiled to themselves, thinking that "she was the most adorable creature to roam the earth".

  Her emotions were mixed just like the swirling thoughts throughout her mind everyday. She was ready to grow up, for that is when adventure begins, but she was also afraid to leave the comfort of her childish, innocent,nature. 

She constantly was told how " grown up she has gotten" by adults, and how she "needs to grow up" by the generation she was living in. She couldn't help but think to herself how ignorant the young human race was of the trouble they were launching themselves into.

   She's okay for now, she'll just figure it all out later...

 See the people around you and know their personalities.
See the girl over on the (hypothetical) park bench? She talks about the injustice of pluto's cosmic differentiation as if she is talking about herself, and maybe she is in a roud about way.
See the kid on the swings? He is nervous about something.His feet are bobbing up and down in a rythm of nervousness. It's like a song playing in his head with the beat of his heart.
There is a little girl by the slides. She's wandering around in awe that the world can be so beautiful, the joy she finds in gathering a boquet of dandelions is radiating into the chilly spring air around her.
  There is an old lady walking by, seemingly chattering on to herself. She has been around a lot longer than most people, and she wishes that everything could go back to the times people would visit her,not just call once a week.
     Even your bestfriend, who is sitting beside you has something on her mind. She is completely  silent, but every once in awhile she gets a confused look on her face. Its up to you to figure out why...
   People need to talk. Don't just sit there.