Trading Up

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Over coffee in a popular part of town in downtown Arcadia, Madison told me a story that touched on an aspect of dating which those of us who have been around the dating game for a bit could probably relate to. This story revolved around another friend of hers named Abby, who we viewed as a successful person (or at least as successful as you can be for someone who just graduated college). She, like so many of us, was looking for the love of her life. At some point, she was going out with someone by the name of Jonathon. From the looks of everything, it seemed as if they got along great; their personalities seemed to match, and they enjoyed being around one another. In terms of the relationship itself, or at least how they talked to and behaved around one another, it seemed like they didn’t have any problems.

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Blogging as Art

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Writing has been really frustrating to me lately. Writing ideas (at least for the past few months) have been difficult to come by, and putting a writing idea into words just seemed to hard. But a few weeks ago I wanted to get back into creative writing again, so I just stopped making excuses and just started writing. I needed to fight the feeling to just lay down and not put any effort into writing anymore, which gets worse the longer I stay lying down, which makes the act of writing even harder than before. But pretty soon I realized that sometimes I just need to get up and just write, regardless of the quality; otherwise, I might as well pack my bags and stop blogging altogether.

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Family

A few weeks ago I had dinner with a few friends, most of whom I haven’t seen in a long while. To put into context: I used to see them at least once a week, and this time around I haven’t seen them in a couple of months. I missed them very much. They were practically my family when I was in college.

 

 The idea of what a family means has always been interesting, in the sense that it implies so much: love and responsibility, affection towards one another. Parents. Perhaps children. And we hold the ideal of a family like a shield against everything else; that is to say, we assume that family members are not capable of hating one another, or not be responsible, or that it requires two parents instead of just one, right along a lot of other notions that we associate with the word “family”. So many people are surprised, or even angry, when a family does not resemble their ideals. A family is supposed to look like this you say, because families just are supposed to be like this. People say this as if all families are supposed to be cut from the same cloth. People say this like families cannot be as different as the people who make them.

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Open Letter to a Friend

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I don’t remember how we met. It was definitely in elementary school, but other than faded memories of you running around at school, but other than that, I don’t remember much else. You had long golden hair, much longer than it is now, which always seemed to get in your face when you ran from one classroom to the next. From what I remember, you were a bit arrogant. Even at five years old, you knew your self worth.
I don’t think we were friends back then, though we would tell people we were because our parents told us to be nice. I was extremely reserved, and you were extremely outgoing. Sure, we talked to each other occasionally, and probably played together, but we were never “friends”. At the time, I don’t think it could have worked anyway, we were too different.

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My Philosophy

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As many of you may know, I’ve been visiting a lot of blogs lately. To be honest this experience has been both interesting and harrowing in its own way. I see people who are depressed, happy, or more often a bit of both. Most of these posts are boring, mainly because I can somehow feel that this person was not being true to the audience. That they were somehow lying to their audience.


With the year (about) that I have been blog-hopping, I have discovered something cool. Every blog is different  in its own special way, but there is one main ideology behind each successful one. The way to really connect with someone is to really be honest in how you feel. The more you connect to the reader, the more they will enjoy reading your post, no matter what. 

 

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Why You Should Date a Writer

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“Why would I date a writer?”, you ask. You should date a writer because she will write about everything. She’ll write about the things that you did together, or the things that she wishes you’ve done. She will write about the time you held her hand at Starbucks, and how warm she felt for the rest of the day. She will write about how, during a mellow summer evening when the two of you just started dating, you asked her to reach for something in the cabinet, and when she gave it to you, you looked at her with such intensity. And that’s when she realized she had already fallen in love with you.

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Loneliness

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One morning I was sitting alone in a Starbucks, eating a doughnut with a frappuccino with too much whipped cream on it (just as I liked it). I watched cars move on the street, my eyes passing over the top of my drink and onto the parking lot. Pretty soon, my mind wanders to random thoughts, and my mental direction goes to places that are usually reserved for when I’m engaged with people I enjoy talking to. Tired after finishing finals but at the same time buzzing with the energy provided by caffeine, my thoughts were allowed to roam freely, and the end result usually happen to be both unusual and surprising.
It is at times like these where I don’t understand why most people are afraid to be alone. It’s in moments like these, perhaps, when they are forced to confront themselves in conversation, that they also have to confront something in their lives that they do not want to face. Believe me, I have several parts of my life that I would not like to confront, but that does not stop me from enjoying moments like these. For others, maybe loneliness is an emotion that they feel like they must overcome by making scheduled appointments with everyone else in their life, faked enthusiasm for events they have no interest in, all in the name of trying not to be alone. Maybe they are afraid because they equate loneliness with darkness.
But in my experience, this darkness can also be a friend. It’s not always like that, sometimes this darkness can try to bury you and it can be very hard to find your way back to the light. But I’m always grateful for the moments where I can engage in moments with myself that usually cannot happen until we have dealt with our loneliness. Through this feeling, I’ve discovered so much of myself that I would not have discovered otherwise.

Heartbreak

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It was 5 years ago when I found myself staring at my phone at a contact that I both did and did not want to reach out to. I was lying in bed in my dorm room, with the only light coming from my phone shining on my face. I remember my gut clenching and my heart racing, and the small voice in my head telling me that I should just turn off my phone, and that a conversation would not end well for either one of us.
I should have listened to myself. But against my better judgement, I didn’t. I didn’t know what I was feeling, just that I wanted to be with you more than I wanted anything. In the back of my mind, I knew that I couldn’t have you, no matter how hard I tried. But I had hoped that I was wrong, that somehow, we would work out.

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Musings

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The first time Steph told me she loved me, I told her that she didn’t know what she was saying. It was too soon to say things like that, I thought, and I was afraid that she didn’t realize the full extent of what she said, or of the commitment that this implied. I told her that maybe she made a mistake, and that she didn’t really mean it. I gave her an opening to take back her words.

The next day, I told her I loved her too. I truly loved her then, and whether or not she felt the same wasn’t the problem. It was the truth for me and I had to say it. I thought she loved me, but more than that, I realized that my feelings were a small price to pay for the love that I thought I had.

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