On the shoulders of giants

I can't sleep.

The clock on the beside table ticks...

I can't sleep.

The room is pitch black, aside from the fluorescent screen...

I can't sleep.

The house is silent and still aside from my fingers on the keyboard...

I've been laying in my bed, I've tried a million positions, and none will give me comfort. I slept last night, but rather agitated. I fear nights like these, afraid the restlessness of thought will drive me to irrational thoughts, allowing my imagination to come to life...

So here I find myself... nestled comfortably at home, and I still can't sleep. Ironic, especially because I came home to get sleep.

Whatever.

Two weeks remain of my freshman year. Two weeks. I don't know what to make of that. Or even how I feel about it. Relieved? Yes. Stressed? Yes. Joyful? Yes. Reluctant? Yes.

All of the above.

Now that I think about it, three quarter passed by rather quickly. I hardly remember the details. If a friend were to ask me to describe a memory, I would simply smirk and respond with one word: cot. To think of it, the majority of my time was spent on the cot of the suite nextdoor.

That cot is more comfy than my bed right now. If I were there, I guarantee you, I'd be asleep by now.

Nevermind, one word to describe my year? Late nights. Give and take one word: late nights.

1. I remember vividly being assigned an entrance exam for the design program of the Ohio State University. They accept 18. We had six weeks to complete this portfolio/visual/written exam and prove to the board we were worthy of our spot. One of eighteen. I wanted it, and yet I let the weeks pass without advancing. Before I had the chance to check out the time, it was already the weekend before the due date. The project was due on the following Tuesday by 12 noon. The weekend was hopeless, I was preparing to move in to the Residence Halls, I had much to do. Prepped Saturday, Moved in Sunday, Met the floor on Sunday, and on Sunday night, I began what was given to me six weeks ago. I had two nights to complete a portfolio.

1. Large can of Rockstar.. $2.00

2. 100 pack linen paper.. $25.00

3. 10 Pack graphite drafting pencils.. $12.00

4. Beginning a long, lasting friendship with the guy nextdoor.. priceless.

Needless to say, I made a good friend, a best friend over the course of those two nights.

And... within the month, by some miraculous work of faith, I was accepted.

2. Countless times, I've stayed up late just talking. I prefer those nights over the wild party nights... I would much rather stay in, sit on the cot nextdoor, and converse with two people in particular. It's on these nights that we've gone to McDonalds, Wendy's, Eggs... so very random, yet memorable. Each night sticks in my head so vividly, I'm assured to remember these specific nights years from now. I guarantee you that.

And one specific night, I remember sitting with the friend from the previous number on the bridge across the Olentangy, talking about exactly this. The view from the bridge as the sun begins to rise... breathtaking.

3. I believe it was the first week of school... might've been a tuesday, I don't recall. I do remember walking hand in hand with one particular friend, who at the time was everything to me. I don't remember his words, but I can imagine my contentment, my internal peace as we randomly strolled along the empty streets. I was at peace. And I remember taking the bus to retrieve my car from the west campus lot... in the bus we sat parallel a black window, and in the reflection I saw two of the happiest people on earth at that exact moment. Sometimes thinking of that reflection, it brings me a certain peace I can't describe.

Sometimes alone, I sit and think... would I have it any other way?

And I prefer to think when the world around me is silent, when everyone lies motionless, and it's nothing but the lights, the sky and me.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Other memories which bring me discomfort also come to mind, memories of grief, of anger and rage, or restlessness and tears... but those nights too, I cherish.

Whoever I am, lying here in the darkness, whoever I am tomorrow as I look at my reflection in the mirror, whoever I am walking through campus, through the world, I am who I am as a result of every experience, no matter how joyful or distressing makes me who I am.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Sleep well,

Katrina

How to deal

I was taught to believe that when you love something enough, you can have it. If you have the passion, the drive and the desire, what you want will be yours.

"There is a time when a man needs to fight, and a time when he needs to accept that his destiny is lost, the ship has sailed and that only a fool will continue. The truth is, I've always been a fool."

-Edward Bloom in Big Fish.

So I ask you, and I ask myself... if you love something more than you love yourself, if you're willing to do anything for that, is it really worth it? Losing your mind, lending your heart, leaving your soul for something that may never be returned. Is it really worth losing?

The thing about love is that the majority of it is not necessarily the precious moments where both parties are mutually euphoric, but in pain, loss and grief. So why do we?

I ask myself the same question.

I have no idea.

Sometimes we're willing the endure the pain, to suffer through tears just for a couple moments. And other times, it is only returned to us, pieces missing, pieces torn, pieces lost forever. Love is not in the happy moments, but it is also those times when we need to let go. To realize that holding on is only hurting you. Yes, you love more than you love yourself, you give yourself up, you let yourself go, but in the end, is it really worth it?

Sometimes it seems that it's worth all the pain. When everything is perfect, there is no greater feeling, there is no measure of happiness. And the little memories flutter around your head, and you find yourself smiling at the smallest raccoon, a sandwich wrapper, a bendy straw, the little things. And when they reciprocate, you know you've made a difference, that you mean the world to them and for once in your life, you are everything and everything you are is embraced by someone else. You are the world to me.

And other times, it's not worth it. Love is not worth the multiple nights you lie in bed, eyes wide open with thoughts running endlessly, it's not worth the puffy red eyes you see in the morning it's not worth the times you've gone to bed sobbing on a wet pillow and it's not worth losing yourself over. You fight and you fight and you fight more, only to have it thrown back at you in shambles. Your body is nothing but a lifeless crumple on the pavement.

Although it may seem hard, love is worth those horrid times...

without grief, how do we understand the presence of love? Without pain, how do we appreciate the small moments when for a single point in time, both of you were breathing in unison? Without loss, how to we embrace what we have in our grasp right now?

And beside all that, when all that is said and done, you learn that you do have the strength to carry on.

You learn that you are stronger than you thought, and happiness is not based on what you got in return, but what you gave, and how you could take misfortune, grief, loss, pain and rise from the ashes.

That's worth the pain.

Knowing full well that you can handle the toughest of times, witness the bottom of the abyss, feel the most painful sorrow, but swim to the surface and float on top of the sea.

And after all that,

you come out a new person

stronger

refined

experienced

passionate

and someone worth more, will deserve you. Not the soul-sucking dementor who left you in ruins, but the prince charming who is worthy of your perfection.

All my love,

Katrina

Bad Timing

I hate that this came up at such an important time: I have a midterm tomorrow in which I must do all the studying I can fit into 24 hours... I have no time, yet this is important as well.

I talked to an old friend today.

...I feel like everything begins with that. But why should this be any different?

You know that friend that you don't see often, but when you do, it doesn't matter how much time has passed since you last saw them, or what happened or how you both changed with the passing of time.. you're still the same person, they're still the same person, and between you things are exactly the same.

Over the past couple weeks, months, even the entire year, I've been stooped on relationships, friendships for the fear of becoming so close to one singular person, only to have them leave you. I recall doing a post on this topic not too long ago.. I still fear that one day, I won't know your name and you will leave my life as I've only grown to love you, care for you, be with you.

It makes me sick to my stomach... the thought of losing someone so important, so influential to your life, to mine. And it worries me, it haunts me, it sends chills...

and then you talk with an old friend who tells you that people come and go. You have no control over what people do, but you have the power to either let them pass you by, or hold on to them. Sure, holding on gives a little part of you up, but that in itself is love. And when you let yourself go, give them a little part of you, they give something back.

and it doesn't matter how much they give back, or even IF they give back...

they made an impact on your life.

you are who you are as a result, and for that, your love was not in vain.

Sure, you may grow apart as time passes, but both of you definitely remember who you were, and what you felt... and that is enough. More than enough to still rejoice in the inevitable reunion. You can only hope that you influenced them in the same way they impacted your life.

You'd be lucky if they told you, showed you what you meant to them. As if your existence, everything about you and who you are made an impact, and in the same way you loved them, they felt it and reciprocated. To simply feel their love, appreciation for you is more than anyone could ever ask for.

you've made a positive impact in my life. I can only hope I did the same for you.

all my love.

Decline

We spend an awful lot of time on the computer, most of the time on networking sites such as myspace, facebook, twitter, blogger, tumblr, wordpress, xanga... so many synonymous names. If you think about it now, it's amazing that you can be close friends with people all over the world. An old friend in Australia? Facebook. A client in Tokyo? Twitter. A few minutes from downtown Columbus? Blogger.

You can develop relationships and never see a person face to face.

And to think, people would travel for months to send a letter to a dear friend across the states when we can simply type a few sentences, and press a button. If we're unlucky, they'll receive it ten minutes too late. It's amazing. Really it is.

Yet while we're following three hundred twitter-ers (?) and be followed by three hundred more, what does that say about us? Centuries ago, handwriting was beautiful and artistic in itself, and now we take great discomfort in writing in pencil, as opposed to typing. Think about it, a handwritten letter is more heartfelt than monotonous black text against a stark white background. In pen, we can see where the strokes become heavier, then lighter, as if to breathe through words,

as if they were in front of you.

And as for emails? They pile up in your inbox... you create an alternate electronic email account to send the "important" mail, and eventually, that takes over as your trash mail, and you create yet another for "important" mail... I have over a hundred unread emails, but am too lazy to sort through what should be trashed, and what should be read.

There's an intimacy I find myself missing... a large part of me wishes to see your face as we're emailing back and forth, as we sent instant messages over aim, as we send a short text on our cellular phone. I want to see your smirk at my comment, I want to see you laugh when I crack a joke, I want to hear your voice, see you sigh as the conversation lulls, see your eyes light up when I tell you I love you, I want to see your cheeks rush red when I talk about how amazing you look, I want to feel your breath when you whisper something secret, or hear you scream at my ignorance and once the conversation is over, I want to hug you as if I'm never going to see you again, to feel as if I belong in someones life, because surely, you can't receive that over a text message.

Text someone "I love you."

Now look someone in the eye and say to them "I love you."

Do you see the difference?

You can just say that I'm being stubborn, or impossible and ignorant. It's just my preference. Sure, call me, text me, email me.. I will still receive your word, I will hear my own voice saying your words,

but i dont want that.

I want to hear you say your words to me.

----

It's ironic how I just "bashed" written messages as opposed to verbal words as I switch to something amazing that happened today where written messages were necessary.

I spent the late/early hours in my bed, first: reading, then trying to sleep, then texting, then listening to music, then watching a movie, then sleeping again.. but while I sat underneath my soft white duvet, my father knocked on the door and walked in.

At first, I was annoyed. The immediate spilling of light in my dark room was unappreciated, but I saw him tape a message on my nightstand. Waiting until he left the room, I got up and read:

"For all the TIME you listened to our nonsense comments, corny jokes and complaints." In small print after this comment was typed: Eya's Den.

a scavenger hunt if you didn't quite understand.

sure, we don't need a singular date to remember we have a mother. What we do need, is one day to go out of our way, to escape from the normal day's task, to release the monotonous routine from our daily lives to illustrate in spectacular ways that we appreciate every small act. It's not everyday we set scavenger hunts for our mothers to wake up to, and honestly, they need one day just to feel our open arms.

One day to be a queen, a princess, to escape from the role of being a mother.

My mother loves more than anyone I've ever known.

For that? She deserves everyday to hear me say "I love you." To have the dishes done, our beds made, the food ready for her return at the end of the day, a goodnight kiss before she falls asleep at 9 in the evening.

To tell you the truth, I need one day to remember I have a mother, because I often forget to do the small things at the end of the day to show my appreciation. I often take her for granted. I think the world needs it too.

for the oatmeal she'd make for me every morning

for not being upset with my unmade bed

for eating the leftovers while the rest of us eat the new, fresh food steaming as it just came out of the oven.. hers steaming from the microwave heat

for organizing and cleaning my room the week I was out of the country

for driving me to school every morning

for waking up to the sound of my sobs, wiping my tears and stroking my hair until I forget about the pain in my heart and fall asleep for the night

for teaching me to greet my friends' parents as I walk through their front door

for encouraging me after receiving a C on my first test

for listening to my frequent complaining

for making me practice piano rather than sitting in front of the television

for crying everytime I leave her sight

I can only hope to love half as much as she loved me. That is enough to love the world and everyone in it. If I'm lucky, I'll love as much as she did.

Happy Mothers Day

I love College?

As a freshman in college, it is almost necessary to attend at least one party. Yeah, the ones with a fridge filled with nothing but Natty-lite, Cough syrup-tasting "Jungle Juice," and a dance floor where the humidity is at least 75%...

I spent my first couple weeks attending these. For what reason? I have no idea. I guess it is part of the experience, it's intriguing, the entire scene:

purple chunks in the bathroom sink,

vertical baby-making against the wall of the dance-floor,

hearing the crunch of a ping-pong ball underneath your feet,

the nauseating stench of beer on the breath of your friend,

and the immediate need for a nice hot shower to wash off the sweat from your back.

Honestly? Now that I look back on it, I really dislike it. Sure, I'll admit that I had fun the first couple times, but in the end... I'm not really having fun. I'd lie to myself and say that it's alright when you can just dance, no drinking necessary... but think about it, grinding your rear end against.. need I say more?

But while I bash the scene I vehemently dislike, I will admit to my sympathy. Before college, before the parties, before the crazy nights, I held immediate judgement against people who drank. To the point where my opinion of a friend would change if they consumed alcohol. I can say that now, I do not hold any prejudgement against college students drinking. Merely, I sympathize.

I'm starting to think I'm weird... I prefer sitting on a comfy couch with Scrubs, or Friends, or That 70s Show running on the tv, and a good friend at my side. There are countless times that I think I'm weird.. not normal because I prefer certain things over others, and that I think certain ways and do things in a particular manner, and that I keep and cherish specific things. I like laying low, being chill, having nothing to think or worry about, and I love talking. I've realized that. I love talking with people. Yeah, I'm an introvert, but with my few real good friends... I can talk the entire night, if only sleep wasn't necessary.

If I had a choice on how I would spend my friday night, I would describe it this way:

Tim Burton or David Fincher film on the tv

Bloc Party/Coldplay/Jack Johnson/Red Hot Chili Peppers/Muse playing lightly on my laptop

The company of a few friends, preferably less than 5

Crunchy Munchies and a sweet iced tea within arms reach

A Fluffy pillow in preparation for dozing off

and you know it's great when even after the movie, you're spending the early morning hours talking about everything and nothing.

everything and nothing.

2:47pm

Here I sit, on the common-room cot of the room nextdoor. Pretty much, no one lays on this cot but me. You know those people that walk into the starbucks on their streetcorner, look the vendor in the eye and say "the usual"

this is my usual.

This is weird, because one, it's not even MY common-room cot, two, it's a male suite, three, I spend more time here than in my own room.

For some odd reason I find contentment through the declining state of my education. I cannot even begin to understand why that is.

In the past two weeks, I have slept through my classes, I have been sleeping at 4, and I haven't been keeping up with my homework. Surely, my grade is declining as I sit here on this cot. Could there be a correlation between the time I spend on this cot and the fall of my grade point average?

It's frightening to realize that I've developed an apathy, most especially towards school. And what's more frightening is that I do not know what has lead to this downfall. Correcting it is way too much work, more than I plan to do, and frankly, at the last stretch of the year... who gives?

But why am I particularly happy? I can list ten things that in a whole, have made my first year college experience...

1. Skipping all the 2nd quarter of History of Art, and receiving a 100% on the final exam and a total of an A as a class average that I probably skipped 80% of.

2. Spontaneously getting Jimmy Johns for dinner, eating at Mirror Lake and finding a friend in a nearby raccoon.

3. Most recently, the random and spontaneous decision to get McDonalds at 3am in the morning for Apple Pie and m&m McFlurries.

4. Sneaking into Pomerene Hall into the basement to see the abandoned small 2-lane lap pool, then walking on Mirror Lake in the snow.

5. Noodle and Co. every week.

6. The First Day of School.

7. Mexican parties ay ay ay ay ay and definitely the asian frat high-ighter party.

8. 14 hour dance marathon, party after, passing out in an old friend's bed.

9. Walking from North Campus to South campus in the rain. It's an odd coincidence that each time I make this walk in the rain, I wear the exact same pair of jeans.

10. The cot.

When you find a place where you fit right in... where your company is preferred... where people find confidence in you and you in them... when they prove to you that you are worth something afterall...

nothing else matters.

I'll miss this.

On Love

I tend to classify love into several categories, each vastly different than the others..

1. Friendly love: a level of mutual love, casual yet not in the "hook up" sort of manner. A friendly love exists between friends, and is what makes the difference between friends and best friends. This may be shared with members of the same sex, or different and with this level comes a shared comfortability in sharing each thought. My theory.. everyone needs to love their best friend, and truly, there's only one. A friend told me that one is perfect enough, so that you may devote all your time, all your heart to one person knowing they will understand you and hopefully may return the favor back. And what makes this special? Significant? Unique? It lasts longer than any romantic relationship. Sure, there are hardships and things happen, but there is certain happiness in the conquering of these tribulations.

2. Love for a night: there come those moments, and living in this world, it just so happens that at times, we need someone to physically display affection to make us feel loved. Sure, there are no feelings toward said subject, but there is the human need for company, for just the night, for just a couple hours. Spending the late hours interlocked within another persons arms is comforting and gives the feeling of contentment, knowing that to someone, you mean the world. Whoever that may be, for one night we all need somebody to care for us, and make us feel loved, even if the feelings are completely mutual.

3. Familial Love: The love that exists between close friends and family.. the comfortability yet also the undermining of the power of familial love. We tend to overlook those who still think of us, maybe not on a daily basis, but when support is needed, they support you and you know they support you. They will always remain there, sure, you may not converse often, but you know there is a mutual consistency in support. A state of mind in which you trust the other person trusts you and vice versa. And being flawed human beings, we focus on significant others that we forget to credit those who stand 24-7 behind our back, carrying our burdens with us.

4. Superficial Love: Existing as a passion, "ganas" if you will, a striving for a certain specific role, way of life, object, subject... whatever this may be, we find this as one singular sensation we use in our daily lives to keep motivation forward. As a designer, I live and breathe design, I see art, I smell the paint or the rubber cement, I feel intensity of the crimson red... and I love it. You'll find people who are motivated simply by their infinite passion. Often, they are seen as obsessed, but I disagree, as it is a form of love for something that provides purpose to some underlying message, theme or motif. A purpose in life other than human or interaction, but an alternate reason for living bigger than human achievement.

5. Lust: Lust is enough to drive the human logic from our minds and switch our mental process to an animalistic, immature and automatic setting where our hunger to meet physical needs become our priority. Let's face it, we are humans and as humans, we have flaws. Need I say more? Often mistaken for love, this is merely obsession, infatuation for a physical desire and cured only by physical acts. There is no love, only the body's craving or longing or maybe even a release of emotion.

6. Love: The mutual understanding between two people that no other being may complete their existence. Simply, the realization that one person in the world loves you more than anything else, that they are willing to give up their lives, their souls, their hearts to you for all time, knowing full well you return the favor. An expression for need, not only as a partner, but a companion and a contentment of being as they make you feel good about who you are, make you feel worthwhile, and make you want to be a better person. Love is sacrifice, willing to be vulnerable, but putting everything aside for one person, putting your life in their hands knowing they will hold it close, warming it in their palm and keeping it always.

7. Unrequited Love: Most common, love is unrequited, unreturned. It hurts, it stings because you were vulnerable, you sacrificed your emotion, your life, your heart for someone, yet they did not recognize the significance, the importance, and the difficulty and only took without reciprocation, without return. And although they seem vain, they may not even know how to love back, or maybe it's just not right, because returning love is vulnerability, it is the loss of self which is valued at a price higher than any amount of money can buy.

Sometimes I wonder why we do? Why do we love if it means hurting? Why do we love if we know we will be hurt? Why do we love, knowing full well it may not be returned? Why do we love?

An advocate for unrequited love, I can tell you that it is something to live for. What is life without a little give and a little take? For a brief moment, happiness comes in a simple thing as a longing hug, a lingering kiss, a heartfelt embrace. We love because for only a short moment, we feel happiness that cannot be measured by dollars, pounds, inches, ounces... through love we gain a glimpse of bliss.

And through love, we lose... lose only to feel what true happiness really means. It may not be returned, but it is something to hold on to that we know exists because we feel it. Sure, it cannot be held, but it can be felt and that is enough to put us through hardships.

And I love, sometimes too much, sometimes not enough, sometimes for a second, sometimes for 2 months... sometimes I cry myself to sleep for weeks at a time, and sometimes while I'm walking to class, I smile as I reminisce. Yeah, it hurts, but what is happiness without pain?

Why do we fall?

So we can learn to pick ourselves up.

(And there goes my fantastic idea of sleeping at 2:30... it's now 3:30)

And once again, I find myself within the comforts of my own dorm. The time reads 3:42, which I consider early... sad.

Things I love:

-Laughing so hard it hurts to laugh more, but you do so anyways.

-Seeing someone's face light up as you walk into a room, and they don't have to say they missed you, you just see it, you feel it.

-Collecting quotes and writing them down in my own journal for me to remember, read and reflect.

-Staying up late every night just to talk to one person and one person only.

-Being the confidante, the one someone trusts with everything, who knows more than anyone else.

-By means of coincidence, seeing a familiar face smile back at you as he passes by the store window.

-Closing your eyes as the sun warms your skin, the grass cushions your back and the wind gently sweeps the warmth.

-The joy of knowing you did something wonderful for someone else without any expectation of return.

-Talking so intensely, so excitedly that you don't realize that it's 6 in the morning and you have class in 3 hours.

-Being appreciated.

-When someone goes out of their way, out of their comfort zone just to make you smile.

-Being in love.

I love where I am. I can't say it any other way. I love where I am, location-wise, personality-wise, everything-wise... everything I need is just 2 seconds away: a friend, a confidante, comic relief, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, and a friendly smile.

sweet dreams.