Free write- Summer Vacation

Gibbering gibbons! It’s been awhile hasn’t it? Sorry for being quite inactive recently, but the past events has filled up my schedule quite a bit. But I’ve decided that the time is ripe for me to make another random post. This was a free write about a vacation using all the senses. Hope it’s not too bad, I was trying for a poem form but that didn’t seem to work.

Wind blowing, sun shining. Geysers all around, water shooting out of ruptures in the earth’s crust. Family road trip at Yellowstone, summer, hot, sweaty smell of sulfur. Warm fumes fill my nasal passages. Unforgettable smell, air too thick to breathe properly. In books it is often said that sulfur smells like rotten eggs and it smells horrible, but that’s only because they’ve never inhaled deep, warm sulfur, the smell of it like something ancient and powerful, wafting all around you so it’s warm, even when the sun is gone. The smell of where the crust thin, where unpredictable things happen, and the ground could explode beneath your feet. Sight, see, words can’t really describe. Photo’s don’t cut it, without all the senses you cannot really feel it. See water shooting out of holes all around you. Opaque water, heated in the belly of the earth then surfacing yet again, in a crystalline spray that catches you by surprise. Shooting high, bubbling over the rim of a hole, bursting like shattered glass. Some lie dormant for days, then erupt with shimmering liquid from the core of the earth. Volatile, violent, unpredictable, the ground could open up any second. Not just powerful geysers, also rainbow springs with a sort of delicate power. Temperature must be just right or the perfect balance and harmony of the superheated spring will be ruined. The spring is colourful, colours of all kind. Cerulean, sulfur yellow, vibrant orange, viridian. Acidic, clear water, see the deep blue of the minerals? See the mouth of the bottom? Endless deep hole, unimaginably hot, the spring is bottomless. Deep, deep endless blue going down, down, down. Hear that? Nature is not silent. The geysers explode with burbling sound. Joyful, energetic. The springs with their flat glossy surfaces are just as alive as the geysers. With their dangerous, acidic waters, the springs hiss with steam and vapour rising up, up, up, up, you can hear the water, hear the power, the heat, where the earth’s crust is thin. Feel that tingle? Feel it? The acidic water is warm but cools quickly on your much cooler skin. It stings and you flinch, the feeling of water from the centre of the earth. You can almost taste the colours of the minerals, deep, deep, deep, blue that looks so unnaturally rainbow, it comes from an alien planet, but no, it is from our very own earth. The deep, deep middle of our planet. You feel the wind, you feel the sulfur wafting around you, you feel the earth move, erupt, where the crust is thin. Can you feel the power humming beneath your feet? Can you feel the geysers, the springs, bursting a perfect balance of nature? That is the strongest feeling there is here. Not a physical mundane feeling, but the feeling of magic, wonder, power, beauty, the feeling of the mind is awakened here, here, where water bursts from the centre of our world, alien colours are found on our very own planet, on the mouth of a dormant volcano, and where the earth’s crust wears thin.

Phew! That was long to type and probably incredibly hard to read. I’ve realized that pouring ideas onto paper is a lot more tiring then I thought.

Missing: A Fuzzball

As the summer flowers begin to bloom and the delicate fresh buds root themselves upon thin branches braving the last hints and chances of cold and snow, a little prowler sits in the shadows. He has an intricate, exotic-to-all, quaint little cute face that most agree only reside on fairytale creatures. But he is no fairytale. He is most certainly real, more or so like a creature created and whisked from the domain of ancient, crumbly parchment and all-natural stone-died ink.

No one speaks of him, and he prefers it to stay that way. So today, I shall defy his wishes and inform the world of his existence.

Only two days ago, I sat upon a rock to savour the cool breeze and feel the lovely feeling of fresh-cut lawn between my bare feet. In truth, I had just finished doing the chore of pushing the grass cutter up and down the overgrown yard and I wished to rest before I moved on to weeding. I’ve always despised weeding, you see. Every time I yank one out, I feel a life draining from the very tips of the root. A life that was punished and taken for fighting the dire battle of survival.

I had just begun to accept the fact that I would have to do this horrible deed no matter my projection of it. That’s when I heard the strangest sound. I would have missed it, I won’t tell lies, if I hadn’t seen the shape of a fuzzball emanate this queer noise. Awestruck, I slowly moved closer to it. My mind raced with possibilities. An antique cuckoo clock, perhaps? It was the size of a standard soccer ball, certainly right for a clock. Maybe I could sell it to a museum… under my name! It was a dream came true, I thought momentarily, to have my name on a plaque inside the Louvre, perhaps!

That’s when I saw him in the light. Rather I step any closer, he bounced out to meet me in the warm April sun. To my embarrassment, my hopes shattered and myfirst emotion was feeling very let down. I blame it on not being able to comprehend the sight of seeing a bouncing, alive… fuzzball. Bright orange, at that.

“You’re a strange little one. Don’t I scare you?” He tried doing something that I assume was teeth baring, but that jovial twinkle in his lily-coloured eyes didn’t help.

I gaped for a moment, I must confess. I do not like taken by surprise and then caught acting like a fool. But I suppose my actions can be justified. After an eternity, or better known as thirty seconds, I finally found my tongue and demanded it ask this thing something.

“You… English!?” Was all it seemed to pitifully manage, letting me down and causing me extreme shame. My eyes didn’t help as they refused to stray.

The little bundle of brightly coloured and messy hair let out a wail consisting of joyous birdcalls that I assumed were laughter. “What a light you’ll add to my day!” He put in between chirps.

“You’re a type of bird?” I demanded. Quotas to my very fine questioning priority. I bit my tongue. Here was a creature that was speaking english to me, untainted and perfect, and I was asking it if it belonged to a species of feather-fluffing, walnut brained organisms. No offence, birds.

He flashed a set of fangs. “Nope.” It simply said. Then, feeling as if he hadn’t quite answered me due to the quizzical and disbelieving look on my face, he added, “I’m a type of everything.”

My head began to swim. I must be dreaming, I fervently told myself. This couldn’t be possible. No. This was unheard of, unspeakable…

“And this is the point where the few people I meet begin to think that they’re either bonkers or dreaming. So if you don’t want to hurt my feelings but that’s honestly what’s happening, I’m not offended.” The stars that wouldn’t leave his eyes only grew in size.

“Sir, pardon me for asking, but what are you?”

“Very good! You are one I like. That’s correct, I’m not ‘it’. I’m ‘him’. Why? That is for another question.”

“Well, then… Why? Why are you male in gender?”

“Mother Nature’s my girlfriend.” His eyes did not flicker, his smile did not widen. He said this as it was the most regular thing to say. “I’m planning to propose.”

I was at a loss for words. What do you say to such creature, I’d like to hear. I certainly couldn’t find anything suitable. “Good luck and congratulations, I suppose.”

“Why, thank you! That is very kind of you, mistress. I shall take that to the grave,” He added, suddenly solemn. “I will entitle that article of speech, ‘From that nice human mistress’.”

“That is certainly an honour to behold,” I managed. “I will treasure it eternally. Now, would you be so kind as to tell me how you speak english?”

He jumped back as if he’d run into a thorn bush. “How rude!” He sniffed. “Would you mind telling me why you speak english?”

“It is the language of humans, is it not? Wolves howl to speak, dogs bark, cats purr…” I hope that was an answer of enough intellect to satiate this strange being.

My hope, as I should’ve guessed, was wasted. “Just because you speak English, it is illegal for me to? You are as closed-minded as many others I’ve met and disliked!”

“I beg your forgiveness,” I said, surprised at my own agitation over angering a furry ball, “I didn’t mean that as an insult. More of… where you learned it, perhaps.”

“Well,” He started, smile returning, “Why didn’t you ask? I like watching classrooms on a dull day. It is so amusing, those pupils and their glassy eyes staring outside.”

I smiled in what I hoped was a polite manner. I was having trouble holding in my bursting emotion.

What happens after is ever so vague, I hate to inform you dear readers. I can see glimpses of scenes for what must’ve taken place. That ball of hair with its wolfish smile, the warm sun… bubbles… Bubbles?

I am yawning. I feel myself pulling my eyelids awake, limbs sticky and cramped. I am lying upon the ground, fingers splayed against the soft grass. My head is spinning and I can’t keep my memories straight. It feels as if I were born yesterday.

“Dana! Dana!” A loud, soprano sing-song voice cuts a jarring line through my messed up memories, shocking them into place. It’s my mother. I shake my head and prop myself up. I was asleep? Since when?

Laughter sounds. “Oh, only you are able to, dear. Fall asleep on the yard mid-way through your chores.” She clucks. “It’s dinnertime.”

It makes sense for you to do that you little fuzzball, have me think it’s a dream. But I’ll be watching for you.

Maybe you, dear readers, could join in the hunt.

Just a Rock

Hey! Sorry for being so inactive, other duties call. Ah well, but at least I got this really cool idea for a post again! It’s sort of like the one about the penny “A Long Journey”.  I just started a unit on the rock cycle so I decided to commemorate it with this post. Enjoy!:

Have you ever wondered about the ground beneath your feet? Have you?

Have you ever considered what makes up the world? What it’s made of?

Have your seen time pass endlessly? Have you seen the history of the world that does not affect you, and watched, watched, watched as gentle changes curved the course of the future.

Well I’m here to tell the tale.

I’ve been through time, I’ve been in existence longer than the earth. I am eternal, ageless, timeless.

What am I? You may ask. I ask that to myself too. What am I? 

I am a rock.

But I am so much more than that.

The earth, the planet, the world you live on is made up of my kind. Rock that is.

Once perhaps, all rock was one. But time and the forces of nature has split us apart.

But through all this time, rock has remained the same, for I am immortal, in a sense.

Go outside, look for a rock. It will not take long to find one. Look at the rock you hold in your hand, imagine one there. It could be an interesting looking one with bits of quartz in it. But then again, isn’t quartz rock too? Coal, metal, precious stones, it’s all just rock in the end.

See that rock in your hand right now? That piece of insignificant, mundane, perfectly normal rock is as old as existence.

That piece of rock might have been formed from years of being sculpted by the wind, or shaped by cool water. It might once have been nothing more than dust.

Rocks are formed by water, heat and pressure. Perhaps the rock in your mind’s eye right now was once liquid, formed by lava dripping over the lip of an angry volcano. Many rocks are liquid at least once in their lifetime. Formed by molten lava, a fire that cools and hardens to rock.

The rock you are holding in your hand right now could even be a metamorphic rock, and has gone through change, which changed the original rock. You’ll be amazed at how much pressure can change a rock.

Maybe you already know of this and I am boring you. That’s all right. Rocks do bore people. Nobody bothers to look beneath the surface, the crust (see? Even rocks can make jokes, albeit not very good ones.). Perhaps you already know of… what do humans call it, the rock cycle. Yes. Do you?

If you do then you will know how my kind has been heated and re-heated, broken down, mixed, layered, pressured, and put back together again to rise to the surface and be the stone still (ha-ha, I’m a very humorous rock you know) ordinary rocks all around you.

Do you think rocks have significance? From the boring, gray and black speckled rocks and lie broken and inanimate on the gravel walk, to the shimmering, polished and cut gems with crystal (get it? Crystal, gem?) clarity, that shine pieces of starlight, and cast glittering reflections to the eye, each rock has its own story.

Mine is a simple one. I have no beginning, middle or end. Or even a problem. And yet it is an amazing story that is a journey through all that has ever been.

Once I watched the world begin, I didn’t know of it really, I didn’t affect it in any way. I was just there. I existed. That is all. I just… was.

Once upon a time, this planet teeming with life and intelligence, was as still and lifeless as that pebble on the pavement. Once the world was molten, and life did not exist. It was a turbulent, rocky (Rock-y?) time, and the earth collided often with other celestial bodies. Stability did not yet exist.

But, oh I was there all right. When all this happened. When leftover bits and pieces, gases and solids from the sun formed the amazing world we live on today. Yes, I was not in the same form, and never will be, but I had begun, and now I existed. In liquid, true, but still, I was there.

I changed over time though. When cosmic collisions ceased, the world cooled and a crust formed over the top of the earth, covering the once fiery planet with a blanket of rock. This is where I come in with my current form. As rock. Below the surface of course, the earth still bubbles and boils, shifting and creating more  rock with what once was rock too.

Have you ever seen a feat like that?

Persistently, water and wind can erode and wear away rock too. It eventually turns into sand, which can then be hardened and turned back to rock again. Or the sand can turn into soil, which nurtures all life. So you see now how important rock is? I am not to be ignored. I am important you see, not as insignificant as ignorant humans believe.

I existed as gases in the atmosphere condensed and collected to water. I was there when the planet was ready to accept life on it.

I could have formed a planet other than this. One without life, and wholly different from this one. How astronomical (Get it? Space, sun, planets, astronomical…) it is that the leftover pieces from the formation of the sun created a planet at a suitable distance from the sun. Any further would be too cold for life to exist. And closer, and it would be too hot. This is rare enough an occurrence already, but too have just the right gases, just the right proportions of solid land and liquid water… the odds are monumentally minuscule.

Once upon a time, I was liquid rock, molten lava bursting from a hole in the earth’s crust, a volcano.

Once upon a time, I was part of a mountain that towered above everything.

Once upon a time I was huge boulder no man could lift.

One day, I will be a grain of sand, with only infinitesimal amounts of significance.

One day, I will be put on display in a prestigious museum because of all the minerals I hold.

One day I will be a sparkling diamond, birthed at the heart of a volcano.

But now, I’m just another pebble on the sidewalk being kicked to the side by an indifferent human.

But now, I’m just an irrelevant stone lying immobile, and of no consequence or matter.

Even with the immeasurable time and history I have been through, and changes I have and will undergo, I am nothing to a human. You are unaware of me, for I matter not in your world.

But now, I’m just a rock.

Kony 2012 – The Final verdict. Is it worth your time?

Hey guys! I hope you had a comical April Fool’s Day and will have a lovely Easter. I will continue my long delayed delve into my opinion of Kony 2012.

What do I think? It’s not to say that I do not support this cause, that I do not think that it is a great act of humanity to be doing this, that I think this is the wrong course of action. This is something you may imply further on in this article. I simply do not acknowledge that this is the correct course.

Kony 2012 is the fantasized idea of capturing Joseph Kony in order to stop the flow of child soldiers. These children have been aptly named ‘Invisible Children’, or so to speak. They are hardly out of the field of vision now that they have been featured in a Youtube video gone viral. The only problem with exposing these children is well… It pushes other ‘Invisible Children’ into the shadows.

The public must grasp the idea that Kony is not and will not be the only one in history to have committed this act against my peers. Right now, the LRA (Lord’s Resistance Army) is being put in the spot, and while it is a notable cause to start with this ‘monster’, as he is portrayed, we must remember that there are many more out there and not everybody can just dedicate their lives to the causes of these less fortunate children. Just think of all the other causes that we still fight for today; child slavery, poverty in the Africas, uneducated youngsters all over the world… just to name a few broad ones.

The American government is placed in an abyss of hot water in this 30 minute long ‘phenomenon’. They are depicted as mean and selfish, uncaring and unjust. You see protestors lining the walls of the White House yelling for justice. I do not intent to be rude, but get this. The US Government is currently a katrillion dollars in debt (For the States, any number that means ‘bigger’ and ‘biggest’ is a number), runs the centre of the trading world, and has many of its own poverty problems right inside their own dwelling. It’s almost unthinkable to see such a thing – protestors getting ready to barge into the White House for Africa’s dead-knot problems when the homeless sit nearby.

Of course the government would’ve had to have given in once this video went viral, as this could create even more loss and god forbid, riots. But if there was anything justifiable to riot for, why not those starving bellies belonging to that person who sits on the crowded streets of Manhattan, hands cupped for change?

Final thing that I will close this off with – and that would be the social aspect of this video. I do believe this video would have enjoyed the same amount of success if not more, if they had omitted the FaceBook feature. I do not believe that Facebook was meant to be a social networking site where we solved other nation’s problems. It does not contain much sensible reasoning for me and it is certainly misleading.

Enough of the shadowy side of this – I must say, the number of views this managed to rack up certainly says enough about it – Kony 2012 will be worth your thirty minutes. The simplistic, honest air that the video conveys seems to be enough for many to fall head over heels into.

Bananas

Nope. This isn’t like my post about apples. This is another one of those wisdom thingies that I write when no ideas come to me. New novel chapter soon, I realize I’ve sort of been edging away from the novels category, and short stories too. Not too many ideas, sorry.

So… bananas. We all peel them in different ways. Some of us peel them by pulling back the stem. Some of us use our fingernails and peel them at the bottom. Some of us (like me, for example) have no idea whatsoever how to peel a banana, and can never manage to do it in a casual, but successful and nonchalant manner. Why do bananas have two sides?

Maybe they represent choices. Yes, no, maybe so, or simply a fork in the path. Two decisions.

Peeling a banana doesn’t seem like such a big deal, and it isn’t. But maybe the fruit has a little symbolic metaphor in it.

Bananas are a extremely popular fruit. And you can just take one, peel it, and eat it, without bothering about washing, peeling with a knife, juice dribbling on to your favourite shirt, or seeds. The perfect fruit.

But choices, choices, which way to peel it? Which way will not squeeze the banana into an unappetizing sauce (it happens too much with me, the end of the banana refuses to be peeled, instead crushing the banana so the gunk squeezes out of the split I have managed to make)?

It’s up to you to decide.

There is no right or wrong answer, and nobody can really teach you how to peel a banana.

Like nobody can really teach you, tutor you, practice you, in how to make choices.

Usually, you have to make them yourself.

There may be a way that most people do it, there may be a more popular way. But does that mean it’s the right way?

Perhaps someone can guide you along. Give you a tip, drop a hint. Sometimes they will make the choice for you, when you pass the responsibility to someone else who can.

There really is no right or wrong. One way or another. For each banana, every circumstance, it is different. Perhaps you have a nice stiff banana that you can split at the stem, easily and quickly. Efficient too, when the situation/banana is still fresh. Perhaps you have a bit of an overdue problem/banana and you’ll have to work harder and split it at the bottom nub. Maybe you’ll just give up and peel it with your teeth. Quick, but a little messy of a solution. Perhaps you will have to cut it in half first. Deal with the problem separately.

There is only the best way, maybe the way you prefer, maybe it depends on what kind of situation you’re in.

Peeling a banana. Which end.

What’s your choice?

Kony 2012

In the midst of London’s busy-but-jovial streets, a lovely young girl perched atop a beautiful antique bench.

And lovely she was, you would agree. She had a pale face coloured ivory that was smooth and unmarked. Identical patches of rosy pink had pasted themselves upon her pallid cheeks. It would’ve made any model cry in jealousy. Her slight features, soft and gentle, were very pretty. A violet bonnet pulled her mousy brown hair back, yet shielded her face from the sun.

More people probably would’ve noticed her if her lips hadn’t been stretched in a thin, hard line. The young girl’s posture was stiff and stoic, drawing all attention away from her lovely face. The fact that she was wearing a modest dress, dull and gray, was probably not helping either.

Under the bench, if you cared to study her that far was a suitcase. It was just the type in a movie. Anne of Green Gables, if you cared to name a few. A girl with a suitcase, how peculiar, how interesting.

But the story I have to tell you about this remarkable young girl might change your mind. Just a little, mind you. But a little should be enough.

***

“Jessamine! What’ve you got to say for yourself and this horrendous behaviour?”

The female in question, Jessamine, was tiredly strewn across her lacy bedspread. She seriously debated whether or not she should answer. “Nothing, auntie, absolutely nothing. I don’t believe I’ve done anything horrendous, and I beg your forgiveness if I have.”

“You beg my forgiveness? You definitely should, you miserable girl. What is this? You march into my house, kick your shoes off to the side, and make yourself at home without a word!”

Jessamine allowed herself a slight smile, which stretched her plump lips into a perfect line. “Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you at all.” After a moments’ pause, Jessamine threw in a few more words into the mixture. “You seem like a very busy woman, Auntie M.”

“That’s Lady Madeline to you!” Replied the cross voice, though Jessamine could tell it was laced with pleasure. “Did you know, my dear, that Auntie M was a horrid character! You’ve heard of Medusa, the crazy haired woman, haven’t you?”

Jessamine could hardly hide a giggle. How fitting, she silently remarked to herself, while she carefully composed her face again. “No I haven’t, dearest Auntie. Why would I call you such a outrageous if I did.”

“Hmm.” Came the only reply.

***

Jessamine realized in silent despair that she had nothing fitting to wear for the first day of school. Velvet silk with flowered embroidery? Of course not. A minty green with a strange, swirly pattern in the corner? What would they think of her if she wore such an atrocity?

She spent the good part of her morning desolately going through her entire wardrobe, and by the time she sat down at the breakfast table, she was five minutes late and in a very bad mood.

“What’s the glum expression?” Aunt, or, Lady Madeline quipped crossly. “You’re late!” She snapped. When Madeline noticed the dejected young girl’s dress, she snorted. “What is that you’re wearing? You’re going to school, not the Duke’s wedding ceremony, for heaven’s sake!”

It was then that Jessamine burst into tears. “Oh, auntie, do you think it’s that frightful? It is really over the top? I couldn’t find anything to wear! How my new classmates will laugh so!” She sniffed, poking her toast with a butter knife.

Madeline’s expression softened, but her voice did not. “Dear annoying child, I do not understand why you fuss over the slightest things. No one is going to hate you if you dress as a country girl!”

Jessamine sighed in reply, before she used the most pitiful voice. “I didn’t want to be seen as a country girl, Aunt- Lady Madeline,” She paused, reaching for a napkin, “I wanted to be seen as the rich and sophisticated.”

Madeline rolled her eyes to the ceiling, muttered something about fussy teenaged girls, but said not a word more.

***

Madeline was true to her word when she promised to drop her off at the front doors but not accompany her any further. “It makes me feel like an old granny to walk among such misbehaved brats,” She’d said. Jessamine could not have been more pleased; after all, her aunt didn’t take off her apron when they’d left for school and continued to wear it for the entire ride there. Mortally embarrassing, not only to herself, but to Jessamine as well.

But now Jessamine was repenting her decision to agree. As the children stood and chatted with laid-back moods, Jessamine was feeling ever so lonely. She was alone… in a see of children her age.

Sighing, she set down her bag in the far corner of the courtyard and removed a book from the contents. It was a typical trick – pretend to read and people were bound to notice and come to inspect- maybe even talk – to you.

Meanwhile, her eyes strayed afar to study the building. It was not unlike all of the other buildings in London – colossal and majestic. She marvelled at the beauty of the intricate stone carvings, the breath-taking gargoyle stone statuettes, even the-

“Hello?” Jessamine nearly dropped her book in surprise as she looked up to see a curious face stare down at her. She blushed. Oh, how embarrassing!

“I- I’m sorry.” She stammered, “I’m new.”

The girl winked, flashing honey-hazel eyes. “I figured as much. First, because I’ve never seen you before, and second, I doubt you’re actually reading that book.”

Jessamine felt her cheeks turn into red-hot pokers. “What? How would you-”

“It’s okay,” The girl laughed, a lovely but extremely irritating sound. “I know what it’s like to be new. It’s just… Not many British read “The Scarlet Letter”. It’s strictly American. Not that it’s a bad book.”

Jessamine couldn’t have disagreed more, but she kept her mouth shut. “Yes,” She finally replied, “I wasn’t actually reading it.”

The girl held out her doll-like hands and flashed a set of childish, crooked teeth. “No matter. Welcome to London. My name would be Rosalyn.” Rosalyn curtsied, a comical but very sweet gesture. Jessamine did her very best to keep a straight face. “Nice to meet you,” Jessamine nodded, “I’m Jessamine.”

“I know. It’s embroidered on the hem of your dress. You come from the country, I take it? Not many city lasses have their names embroidered on their dresses, but it is certainly very nice.”

Jessamine bit her lip and stopped a sigh in its tracks. “Yes,” She said softly, “I do come from the country, I admit. I’d hoped that you’d-”

“See you as a sophisticated city girl?” Rosalyn winked again, a gesture that was really starting to annoy Jessamine. “I know. I was new before too, remember?” With a quick flick of her strawberry-blonde tresses, Rosalyn was gone. Her “See you around, Jessie” Still echoed in Jessamine’s shocked brain.

Jessamine arrived home in a shell-shocked, joy-derived state. Madeline was of course, not very happy with her.

“For heaven’s sake, little lady! Wipe that frown off your ugly face!”

Jessamine pouted, frown growing more prominent. “Auntie-”

“Stop! I don’t want to hear all this drama about how horrible your first day. I will, however, say one thing. And that is ‘I told you so’.”

Jessamine so wanted something snappy to sting her aunt for a change, but as usual, the words wouldn’t find her tongue. “So you did.” She was not going allow her aunt to win!

As if Madeline had read her mind, she chuckled right on cue. “I know your a hot-headed lassie, and your pride won’t let the words sink in. So do what you want, but just know that you can’t always be right.”

Ouch. Jessamine had to admit that remark hurt.

***

“Mr. Thomas, may I share something with the class?”

Mr. Thomas was a kind teacher, but old and not the easiest to get to. His large and rather peculiar looking eyes glanced down at her behind oblong spectacles. “And why would you like to do that, Maiden…”

She sighed. “Jessamine Hilary.” Jessamine hated her last name. It was so… Ordinary.

“Well then, Maiden Hilary, may you please explain to me what it is you want to share?” He glanced at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. “Aren’t you… the new young lady?”

Jessamine nodded politely. “Yes, sir, that would be me.”

He sighed heavily. “I’m reluctant to listen to a story about living in the Colonies.”

“No, no. It has nothing to do with my past life. Strictly non-personal. It’s… A global issue.”

Mr. Thomas put down his papers and studied her intently for the longest time. Jessamine really was about to turn away and thank him for offering absolutely nothing.

“Young lady. Maiden Hilary.”

Jessamine turned, not expecting much. “Yes?”

“I will make time for you to share whatever you wish today. Be prepared.”

Jessamine’s heart leapt. “Thank you so much, sir, I won’t disappoint you.”

“It is true. I am new here.” Jessamine glanced across the sea of uninterested faces. “I did not grow up here, but I have something to share that I’m sure will affect us all.”

Silence met her words like a raging war. A war that Jessamine was sure she was losing. The slouched postures said one thing – “Hurry up and get this over with.”

“I’d like all who know of the Invisible Children to raise their hands.”

Backs stayed slouched, eyes stayed glossy and shiny. A pitiful amount of hands waved in the air. Some people even started yawning. A few “No, cause we don’t care about darn annoying Americans” penetrated the audience. But Jessamine was unperturbed.

“This was expected. To be honest with you, Invisible Children is African. Ugandan, to be precise. And believe it or not, this has something to do with you. Invisible Children are our peers.”

Interest levels still did not perk. Even the teachers were busying themselves doing other things. Jessamine was starting to feel a little strange. What was she thinking, trying to talk to a school of children that she did not know? Or worse, a school of children that did not know her except for the fact that she was new? Jessamine launched into her story almost muttering.

By the time she had finished, it was as if nothing had happened. Jessamine was silent, and feeling extremely awkward. The glassy eyes had not matted.

“So… Than-” Jessamine’s appreciation was lost in the screaming of the silver ringing of the petite but extremely loud bell.

***

Jessamine currently lives thinking that her speech has no meaning to the school of children whatsoever. But you can change that. I’m sure you have heard of Kony 2012, and I’m sure it has triggered something within you. If not, go here at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4MnpzG5Sqc.

In my next article, I will feature Kony 2012 once more. But right now I will stop at this.

 

*Jessamine is a fictional character, but her story is real. This girl is truly new and she has touched my heart with her bravery. This, in turn, is dedicated to her. This is her story, told by me.

Good and Evil

Okay, a friend told me this story, and they said they got it from a novel… somewhere. I believe it is A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness, very interesting read, or so I am told.

So I don’t own this story. The main plot line anyways. But I think it has a lot of wisdom and will make you think for a second. (Oh, and this story is being told to a boy by a yew tree. I’m not sure why, but that’s how it was told to me. So the yew tree is telling the story. I believe that there is a spirit of some kind in the yew tree or something.)

There once was a kingdom, where ruled a fair king and his people, and the land was peaceful, unless it was attacked by another kingdom, in which case, the kingdom’s people would have to defend their beloved home. The king had 3 sons who sadly perished in battle. He had only one direct heir, a grandson. The king married another woman and for a time, it seemed that things were peaceful. However, the king died shortly after this and it was the grandson who was in line to inherit the throne. However, the queen enjoyed her power, and didn’t want to relinquish it so soon. She devised a plot to kill the young prince, but luckily the prince found out about the plot, and ran away from his kingdom, accompanied by his lover. They find a refuge and rest in sleep under me [that is to say, the yew tree.]. In the morning however, it is revealed that the prince’s lover was murdered in the night. A bloody knife was in the prince’s hand. The prince said that he was innocent of this crime, and this was the queen’s doing, for she wanted him dead, and so framed him for murder of his lover. The people of the kingdom believed him and arrested the queen for murder of the prince’s lover. They carried her off to be burned at the stake, but just before the fire reached her flesh, I saved her and took her to a quiet, secluded island where she could live in peace alone. The prince, of course became king of his kingdom and ruled his land as justly and peacefully as his grandfather.

The boy [the one the story is being told to] is confused. “But why did you save the queen? She was evil, she killed the prince’s lover.” The boy asks.

The yew tree replies, ” I did not say that the queen killed the prince’s lover. I simply said that the prince claimed that the queen killed his lover.”

“So… the prince killed his lover?” says the boy.

“Yes, so he could frame the queen for it, and have an excuse to kill her.” answers the yew tree.

“Then the queen was innocent! She was good.” said the still confused boy.

“No. She was not good.”

“But she wasn’t evil either.” 

“Yes.”

“So was the prince evil? Because he murdered his lover and framed the queen.”

“No, the prince was not evil. He wanted to save his kingdom from the ruthless queen and the possible crimes she could’ve committed. So he killed his lover to rid the kingdom of her.”

“Then the prince was good!”

“No he was not. Were you not listening? He murdered someone. His intentions may have been for good, but he killed someone. Is that a good deed?”

“What about the queen then? She did nothing!”

“Ah, but she had evil intentions for the future. She had not killed anybody, yet. But she was probably planning to.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“You see, I saved the queen because she was not guilty of the crime she was condemned for. The prince may have committed murder, but that was because he wanted peace for his kingdom. Neither of the two were good or evil. You cannot judge people of being good or bad. There is not always a good and evil when judging people. Most of them are just in between.”

So there you have it. The story. Think about it. Take some easily despised character from history. Say… Josef Stalin.

Was he good, or evil?

Many of us now, and even subtle hints in a history textbook would suggest that Stalin is evil.

Perhaps. Many have died under his power and he has been known to be heartless. I forget the complete quote, but something about the more people who are killed the better, since then they are only remembered as a number, instead of as individuals.

So he may be mostly evil.

But it is undeniable that he was a powerful and strong, if not good, leader and helped to pull Russia out of crisis.

Hm. That rebuke sounds a little weak.

But the point is, whether your intentions are of good or evil, and how you perform your deeds, almost no one is quite as easy to be defined as purely good or evil.

Think about that before you let a bias get the better of you.

Where is the Writing Hiding?

I can answer that question. And follow that with a really guilty apology.

Okay, everything’s been hiding in my computer. Lately I found that I never had time to sit down and finish what I wrote and consequently, you guys had to sit there in front of your computer listening to me rant. Okay, I’m not the nicest person for letting you do that.

I did have another point for this post, though, so I hope you have been able to bear with me for this long. I decided that you might want to take something away from this post as I certainly did. I am trying my hardest to be open-minded and such, but sometimes it’s a little hard.

Here’s a quick little life lesson you may want to consider – Don’t ever, ever, ever, even if it kills you, ever, bring an obnoxious younger sibling to a wedding. It’s not like I’ve been to a wedding, but I’m certain that if my younger sibling couldn’t make it past a music recital, well… Let’s just stop at “He’s probably not ready for a wedding.”

Most people would walk away guilty if they performed the various acts of extreme childishness that my so-called ‘brother’ did, but he walked out laughing saying, “That was fun!” And as most of you may already know – Siblings are all cross-species of devils and angles. They have one parent’s looks (The angel side) but the other’s deviousness and sense of morality (Which, we all know, is not present at all.)

Are you interested in finding out what he did now? Please do continue scrolling.

1. When the MC (Master of Ceremony) started talking, he rolled up into a fetal position and screamed, “Oh, it’s those voices again!”

2. He brought bouncy balls and in the middle of a performance, he dropped them on the floor and yelled, “I choose you, Pikachu!”

3. He crept along the chair and occasionally stuck his head up. When one asked him what he was doing, he replied, “World War 3 is here. Be prepared.”

4. After the performance, my mother asked him how he could possibly, in his right mind, do such things. He said, “I was being possessed. The 16 things to do at Wal-mart rules said I had to do these things.

Make it in a wedding? I don’t think so.

 

Random!

Free write time.

Sometimes you need to just write randomly. I’m going to try a new style of writing. Simple, free-verse poetry! Here goes:

 

The sway of the river beneath my feet,

The song of the stars in the sky,

Look out over the glass surface,

To see a river full of stars.

 

 

Hm. That might have sounded better if it rhymed. I’m not sure what this style of poetry is called, but it does follow a certain form. The language used in it is the simplest, so it’s pretty hard to make it sound poetic. But the simplicity is pretty cool. For every two verses, the order of words is the same.

 

The… [verb changed to noun, eg. swayed, sway, sing, song] of the… [noun, object]… [noun, position]… [noun, place, where it is]

(That would be the form of the first two verses.)

[Form of using eyes, verb?]… [noun, phrase]

(For the second two verses.)

 

I don’t think I quite did justice on that. Now, I’m going to try to make it rhyme. And still try to follow form.

 

The sway of the river beneath my feet,

The song of the moon afar,

Look out over the wind so discreet,

To see a river full of stars.

 

Huh. Better? It sounds better with a beat to it, but the 3rd line isn’t the greatest. It doesn’t really follow form. But I think I did better. I’ll keep practicing. Working on that poetic part of me. It was interesting to try writing different. Don’t always write what you want to, try some other things too.

 

Hope you try this too,

Dana

Hope

This is an odd post. I’m usually a bit of a pessimist really. But I had to do this. Natural phenomenons… inspired me, I suppose.

It was any normal day. Whatever. But when I was just coming in the door, I noticed that there was a rainbow behind me. Yeah, big deal right? I don’t know why, but this rainbow looked… different. Maybe I’ve just never seen a rainbow that big. It stretched across the sky, so I couldn’t see the end, but I could see something else. Another rainbow. So… I guess that’s a double rainbow. Pretty cool in itself.

The thing is, I think I’ve just realized that rainbows aren’t a fantasy. They aren’t a badly drawn block of solid primary colours. They don’t have anything to do with unicorns.

But one thing stereotypes have got right is that rainbows are the universal sign of peace and hope.

Do we have that in this world?

We may have rainbows, a spectrum of glorious colours playing across the sky, created by the simplicity of light fragmented through moisture, but do we have peace and hope?

Maybe not.

We could have peace in our own small communities, in our private lives. We can have hope for small things, that you’ll ace a test, that your library book isn’t overdue.

I’m not sure I can believe we can have peace and hope in the whole world.

Sure, we can all settle down and not have wars for awhile, but the world is always changing.

Will life ever be as perfect as a rainbow?

Colourful, individual (a rainbow is unique to every person who sees it! Cool!), calm, beautiful, crystalline, perfect.

There is a chance slimmer than paper that life will ever be like that.

But we can hope for it.

What would life we without hope, without a single rainbow in our lives?

I think I’ve always been looking at the downside of a few things (prepare for the worst, right?) and I’ve sort of been ignoring some of the little things to appreciate. Being too caught up in the cynicism of growing up can be a damper on things.

The thing is, hope is something we can’t go on without. I mean, without hope we’re not about to go on. We’re not going to be happy about tiny things in life that are beautiful. Maybe we all need to see a shimmering rainbow once in a while, to renew hope.

Because, hey, I just found out that this thing I used to think was shallow and unimportant just gave me some important enlightenment.

Rainbows... so delicate, and colourful. They have no substance they are simply light. Yet a spectrum of colour bursts forward. Translucent, yet with enough colour to paint life and hope into the sky and your world.

A curve arching across the sky. A creation that you can only wonder about. One of life's tiny phenomenons, little wonders of the world. How does fragmented light create a burst of colour? Just a bit of nature's joy, lighting up your life and making you wonder. To wonder is to think, and to think is to know.

(In the second picture you can sort of see the other rainbow on the right, but if you don’t, I apologize. The camera messed up the colours, the rainbow was a lot brighter and cooler. I think the first picture is pretty accurate though, even if it didn’t quite capture the shimmer.)