A Poem

A few minutes ago, I had a strange feeling. It felt familiar. It was the feeling I got when I wanted to write. I was feeling quite nostalgic, but it was an unusual kind. I wasn't sad about how much I missed the past. I was more concerned about how much I might. It's really difficult to explain, so I just started writing. I haven't written a poem in a REALLY long time, but it felt good to do it again. Even if some people don't think it's that great, I think that no one should mind. I feel that poems are written to express emotion. That's what makes one really good. Or at least that's my perspective on them.

In my mind I can see

Dreams that I hope could be

Some impossible, you might say

But what if I had hope to stay

Then a concern came to me

It was a question for Reality

So I asked very quietly,

If they had room for fools like me

Les Miserables

I remember that when I would watch a really great movie, I wouldn't be able to get over it for at least three days. I'd keep thinking about a awesome it was, or how they did the stunts in it. The whole experience of this play was exactly like that, only it took me about a week to get over it. After months of practice in school, and a whole week of rehearsals, we had an amazing performance. But how did this all start?

When the school year started, there was already some news about a play. We were originally going to do Jesus Christ Superstar. But after hearing some comments about the decision, they decided to change it to Les Miserables. I was excited but still disappointed. My parents and I had to attend a wedding out of town, and we were leaving about two days before the play. After a few months of practice, a few people realized the amount of time they had left to rehearse wasn't enough. So they decided to have the actual play at around February or March, and just perform a few songs on October for something like a teaser.

Now we are quite a small community, so everyone was part of the play. This of course had a big impact on our schedules, and on our teachers too. I remember complaining that we were all going home so late, and there were some days where things just went alright. The practices stopped for a few weeks. Then came February. Most of us were nervous that we didn't get enough practice, and we only had about three weeks left. Then the week of rehearsals came. The last four days before the play. It was insane. We had to practice acting like prisoners with dirt on their faces who didn't eat for days, and changing in about four minutes into a clean outfit, curled hair, and made up face. My birthday was actually a day before the play, so I didn't plan to do anything else besides going to practice and eating dinner out with the family. Although I still thought it was an amazing birthday. The whole experience was already pretty great.

Anyway, we encountered a bunch technical glitches through the week. And the practice we had in the morning of the day of the play didn't seem that glitch-free. Many of us were worried about the timing of the curtain with the music and with the lights. After many hours, we all came back two hours before the show. We spent most of our time curling our hair, and trying to keep it that way so that it wouldn't get ruined under the hats we had to wear.

Then it was show time. We were all told to get ready, because we were going to go through the entrance anytime soon. Then they said we had to wait a little longer and stay a little more quiet. Of course, this was quite a difficult task for us. I think that because of all the intensity, most of us turned to comic relief. It was ten minutes before the show was about to start and everyone was making jokes, funny faces, weird modeling poses, and singing insane songs. We tried playing a game, first one to talk loses. But this only worked out for a few minutes. Then finally we walked outside and went in through the main entrances of the auditorium. By then we were all trying to get into character. Then, it just happened. We just gave everything we had. We performed the first song, changed as quickly as we could and got into a new character. Which was extremely different from the other. I hardly remember what happened backstage. Although I do remember going crazy with the make up for the Lovely Ladies scene.

When I found myself singing the last lines of Do You Here the People Sing, I looked up at where Sir. Dan was standing. Then the last few seconds came, and I knew what was coming. He raised up his hand then... drop! It was done. My heart stopped for a while. I couldn't believe it. It was over. Then we all realized something. A standing ovation.

It was absolutely mind blowing. After the curtain call you probably had to peel us off of each other. We kept hugging and congratulating each other. It was just unbelievable. I was so proud but slightly disappointed. I sort of wanted to do another one. After a few conversations, I realized a whole lot more wanted it too.

This play did a lot more than we expected. I think it brought a lot of people closer to each other. After spending a whole week together, you'd think we'd want a break from each other and be like "See you on Monday!" But we found ourselves seeing each other the next day for a simple party. I still find myself thinking about everything that happened. And also singing a ton of Les Miz songs in the morning.

Here are some pictures.

Unity

Last Friday, we were asked to write about what we thought we needed "to spread among our brethren to improve this country." I wrote about unity. Then I found myself typing in some negative things. I decided to delete the whole thing after I read it. I didn't like it. I felt like a complainer. Then, after a few minutes of staring into space, I tried to write again. But then I felt as if it were too personal. I tried changing the idea of unity into something else, but I liked the idea. It was true. Eventually I came up with a good essay, but it wasn't something I was extremely proud of, so I decided to write here.

Okay, so I think that our society lacks unity. Particularly with the government, or hospitals. Right now, the only way I can try to explain this is through this analogy:

Poem+tune:Good song just like

Government+corruption/greed:Evil game of Monopoly

You don't work as a team when you play monopoly. You roll the dice right so that you can buy what you want and end up with the most amount of money to win the game. You end up in jail a few times, but again, if you know how to roll the dice, you get out. Then you reach the point where there isn't much property left to buy, and you and everyone else know that you've bought most amount. Then in the end, you win. That's the thing. You did. Just you. As in the singular form of "you". But the game is over. All you can do is feel proud that you won, celebrate, and tell all your friends that you did. Then your about to go to sleep at night, and realize it was only a game.

Monopoly isn't a bad game. You really learn from it. You are able to improve your strategic mind. But when a real life situation is turned into a game of Monopoly, it doesn't necessarily have an amazing result.

So yeah. There you have it. If everyone started working as a team and not a single player, the possibilities would be endless. Well, at least that's how I see it.

What Is Love Between a Man and a Woman

This poem is by my mother. She doesn't have a blog, so I decided to ask her if I could post it here.

What is love between a man and woman

What is that when time has passed

I know what it is not---

It refuses to be how it was in the beginning

It cannot persist to be new or fresh or innocent

When words are replaced by silence

or when silence hides behind words

When preoccupation with demands of life

stands between Love and love

Who then keeps watch on the love

This I know as true---that a man and woman

chooses to stand beyond the circle of love

Risk the whole world to fall apart

Remove the conditions that comfort

Because together they are greater than they are apart

My Very First Epilogue

I normally don't write stories, or even epilogues. If I do, it's because it's a requirement. I don't write any, because I know I'm not that good at it. I get to the point too quickly, or sometimes I get tired of writing the story. I find myself writing poems, reflections, or just blogging. But a few months ago, we were asked to make an epilogue for the Catcher in the Rye, a wonderful book. If you haven't read it, you should. I really enjoyed writing it. I read the whole book while I was on the plane. The flight was about twelve hours long, and I had a lot of time to reflect on the book. I've decided to post a part of it here, only because it's the first epilogue or story that I'm actually proud of.

The Catcher in the Rye Epilogue

So I was sent back to this sanctuary. For others it’s prison, but for me, it’s sort of like home. I spent about three years with my parents, until I broke my mothers useless, old teacup again. It was no accident. I just had to break it. I wanted to.

It’s been years since I’ve taken a walk around New York. I’m pretty sure that I’ve missed Phoebe grow up. She’s been sending me these newspapers every week with her articles on them. She’s the only one that writes to me. It’s the closest thing I get to being part of her life. She’s a pretty good writer, and she knows it.

They’re finally letting me out today. I just finished packing up, although there isn’t much to bring. They don’t really let you keep that much things with you while you’re here.

It’s been years since I was actually left completely alone. There’s always some annoying person watching whatever I do. They all thought I was going to kill myself, but I was too busy thinking about stuff to ever to do it. Besides there wasn’t anything in the room I could use to do it. I know every single part of the room, and the closest thing you get to dangerous is bumping your head on the goddamn wall.

They just dropped me off a few blocks away from the building. I decided to walk to Phoebe’s office. The sun seemed brighter than I remembered, and New York looked a lot more different than how Phoebe described it in her letters. It didn’t seem as sad as it was.

I’m right outside the window of Phoebe’s office. She looks way too into what she’s doing. She looks so grown up. She used to visit me about a year ago. But when I saw her through that window, she seemed different.

I was probably standing outside that window for about an hour and a half. Phoebe walked out off her desk a few minutes ago, but I just kept staring through the window hoping that she would go back to her desk. I was too busy doing that that I didn’t see her walk out of the building. She grabbed me by the arm and yelled my name so loud. She looked so happy.

A Little Helpless

I normally wouldn't blog today, since the 12 Days of Christmas assignment is over. But I really need to say something, or at least write it down. But I don't want to right it on my journal, or just on a random piece of paper. If I needed to take my emotions out on something, I wouldn't be doing this. But I want to say this where I might be heard by at least one or two people. So anyway, here it goes.

Right now, actually these past few months, I've been feeling helpless. I'm not depressed, or feel I keep failing again and again, okay? I'm not going through that stage where I negatively question my purpose in life. It might be exam week, and sometimes I feel like I can't get through it, but I always do, or at least I try to believe that I can. I always find myself sitting on a chair at home, reaching for the guitar, and thinking "I did it. I got through the whole week." But this thing. This thing that is making me feel helpless isn't like an exam week. It's not something that everyone encounters. You have no idea how it's going to end. You don't know when it's going to end. You're just inexperienced, upset, worried, and helpless. If I told you exactly what this was, you would probably think I've been exaggerating everything. But I'm not. I don't know what to do! I feel a little judged. I feel like if I try to fix this problem, I'll just end up like the people in movies who are so annoying because of what they do. But you know what? Thirty minutes ago, I came up with a theory. I know I'm better off just asking people instead of making my own theories. But I'm at home, and school doesn't start until tomorrow morning.

People hate to be judged right? Which is why some tend to keep quiet. They think that if they say anything people would think they're something or that they are like this or like that. You know? JUDGEMENT. The thing is, it isn't true for everyone. Not all of your family members will judge you. Hopefully your teachers won't, or your best friends, or just friends. If your in a good environment, whether it's work or school, or some random place. The thing is, not everything is the same. Ideas change. People can change. Judgements don't have to be permanent. But you can't blame anyone who's afraid to be judged. I mean we all are. I judge people. I really do. But I try to lose that judgement the moment it enters my head. I don't choose to stick to it. But I'm human. I can't get everything right. Sometimes we are so eager to help that we miss out on something. Something big. Then we figure things out. The whole problem becomes clear. You might think that it would help, but it doesn't always. Like what is happening now. I have no idea what to do. That's why I haven't been doing anything. Or at least it doesn't look like I am. But if could plug in earphones into my head and listen to what's inside, a big part of what you'll hear is me thinking of how to fix or at least deal with it. But since you can't do that, a whole new reason has been made. A very believable one. Even I would think the same thing. I could just say why, but now I know about all these boundaries, and it's so hard to work around them. But you know what? I've just decided that I'm not going to stop. I'm going to try to figure this out.

Digging up the Rocks

Here are pictures I took before we were even halfway done digging up the rocks. Which by the way, I did have permission to use my phone. But anyway, I think someone was using Kim's trowel, which is why it's just her fist. She could have used the pickaxe, but it wouldn't fit in the picture.