“Learn to light a candle in the darkest moments of someone’s life. Be the light that helps others see; it is what gives life its deepest significance.” – Roy T. Bennet

Archive for August, 2011

Ramblings of the Camera-Shy

I hate cameras. I know I’m not photogenic, and no matter what people tell me, I will always know this.

I will be having a perfectly good time eating…laughing…jumping around like a crazy person…but the second someone whips out a camera, I’m deflated, like a balloon when it touches the freshly mown lawn.

No one seems to understand my fear. And if I am to ever attempt to explain my feelings, they always laugh and say, “You looked fine in the picture.”

Living in the Dominican Republic, though, has shown me what most won’t show me in America: the courtesy of being completely forward with me. If I look bad in a picture, they will tell me. And oh, have they told me.

So, if you dare to think that there is no point in this phobia, you are misguided in the extremest sense anyone could ever imagine.

But, I do know that this phobia is simply a form of vanity. With every single person in the world on Facebook, who can blame me for ducking behind everyone during photo time? If they end up nasty, I can never erase them, or redo them, or fix them up…and I will always dread the next week when all those wonderful photos are tagged with my name.

We should create the Non-Photogenics Anonymous (NPA). I’ll most likely be the only attendee, but at least it’s a start. First step: swear off Facebook for the rest of my life (it really has no point, it’s only there to make use of the scroll down). This way, I won’t have to worry about being tagged.

Yet…when I think about it…this means others will be viewing these horrible pictures of me, and I wouldn’t know! I would live in fear of unknown, my emotions would be a mess! On second thought, I’ll keep the Facebook, and just de-friend anyone that dared to tag me in a less-than-seemly photo.

But wait, then they would be able to post these photos, and once again, I’m be in that rut, in that fear of NOT KNOWING. There really is no solving this issue, is there?

Ha! I shall become a hermit! I shall go high up in the mountains where nobody wielding those evil machines of devil can find me! I will live of fruits and nuts and wild boar, I will grow my beard as long as I wish, and I won’t have to shave my legs, and my teeth can rot away and..I…SHALL….BE…..FREE! Mwahahahaha!

But how boring that would be…

*sigh*

Dreams – A Poem

There was a time when all I heard

Were my own thoughts and

I’d spin around without a clue

Of where I’d go

Even the streets with all the lights

They never blinded

I was lost inside my soul

And so it came

The age of fear and many problems

I never thought I’d be in need of hope

But now I stand a little shocked

At my surroundings

The differences of my abode

I  wander the towns in search of what

My heart’s desiring

Whatever need that strives to waken my demise

I said sorry to the dreamer and magician

That carries far the weightless lies

Many memories, pens, pencils on a paper

All that sighed and left from me

To become  known

Because what is life when everyone is sleeping?

On this I ponder

Walking home

The Dream Last Night

I had a dream I was my brother, Samuel. On my (his) eighteenth birthday, I invited a bunch of people over. For some reason, my dad was this random drunk stranger, and he was asleep.

So all these people snuck into my house, and we had cake and soda and presents. It was pretty normal. But there was this girl (please remember that, although I am a girl, in my dream I was a boy, and so this makes perfect sense). She was beautiful. I fell instantly in love with her, and I wrote her a letter saying so. She rejected me.

But I wouldn’t stop, and I wrote another letter. This time she replied, saying that she loved me, but her dad was in leagues with my “dad” and they wanted to keep us apart.

My “dad” found out about the letters, and so we were both locked up in separate cages, unable to see each other. We had a friend passing letters back and forth between us, so we were able to tell each other how much we were in love.

Then we broke free and ran away to Paris.

Not really, I don’t remember the rest of the dream.

 

Hide and Seek (Memories of My Childhood)

i was playing in the sandbox

building castles that fell too quickly

i was humming to myself

and i heard a voice saying

“ready or not, here i come”

~

i am guilty of building my castles

when there you were, counting away

here i am, caught out in the open

no time to run

to my usual hiding place

~

can’t you see? i wasn’t ready

now go back home and count again

but fair is fair, you say to me

i’ve won where you have lost

and i want to play another game

~

disappointed i shake my fists

but sit down on the grass anyway

i swallow back my bitterness

and subject my hands

to a halfhearted patty cake 

I Really Like Lists

After hours of sitting and thinking and drooling, I came up with a list of my all-time favorite foods.

 

1. Dried apricots. Not just apricots, but dried apricots.

2. Animal crackers. The original ones. None of that fake stuff.

3. Coconut. It’s perfect. You can eat it, wear it, carve it, smell it,…yeah, you read me.

4. Top Ramen. Pretty much the only soup I like.

5. Pepperoni. Plain old pepperoni. So good.

6. Fig Newton bars. Oh, that gooey, sticky bite of sunshine. That melt-in-your-mouth, wonderful, amazing…thing.

7. Garlic bread. I like garlic bread.

8. Vanilla bean yogurt. Because it’s beautiful.

9. Honey Nut Cheerios. With 1% milk. That the perfect percent, you know. Number 1.

10. Dark chocolate. Don’t even get me started.

 

By the way, the above list is in no particular order.

 

 

I Can’t

My little brother Silas is spoiled. We realized a little late that it’s not always good to give a crying kid what he wants.

So now, if he doesn’t get his way, he’ll scream and throw himself on the floor, or he’ll deny himself things, thinking that, if he can’t have his own way, then everyone will sympathize and give in.

Of course, he has his moments. Sometimes, he’ll come up to me, grab my arm, and start kissing it like a crazy person.

But, he still has issues. When it comes to brushing his own teeth, he starts screaming and yelling, “I can’t, I can’t!”

He can, obviously. He’s seven years old. He can brush his teeth.

(This is going to turn into some random life metaphor, I know it.)

Another thing, when we mentioned making him go without snacks for a week, once again, he started screaming, “I can’t, I can’t!”

These words cross my mind many times, are you kidding me?

I really don’t know where I’m going with all this, but, needless to say,

My first child better be a girl.

I Don’t Know What To Call It :\

be wise and step softly

count every footprint

the trees are quiet today

look up and see

the skies all the grimmer

and the dark too thick to penetrate

and we wished for it

yeah we called the storm

regretting it

oh we regret

and all of me

was soaking wet

i was soaking wet

forget the silence

the rainfall is louder

my voice goes unheard amongst the noise

but a heart beats and frightens

the thunder away

so sudden with all it has to say

and we wished for it

yeah we called the storm

regretting it

oh we regret

and all of me

was soaking wet

i was soaking wet

be wise and step softly

count every footprint

the trees are quiet today

look up and see

the skies all the grimmer

and the dark too thick to penetrate

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