Category Archives: Quotes

I am…

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“Astronaut John Glenn says a standard test for astronaut candidates was to have them give twenty answers to the question ‘Who am I?’ ‘The first few answers,’ he said, ‘were easy. After that, it got harder.'”- from Challenge: A Daily Meditation Program Based on ‘The Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatius by Mark Link, S.J.

This is same question that I was given as my first creative nonfiction prompt. I think it is, in essence, what the genre is all about: self-identity. Also, it explores how humans can turn into monsters and just generally what it means to be human. But before I get off topic…

John Glenn is right. It does get harder after the first few. Believe me, I tried. After the first five, I started to struggle with how else to describe myself. Somehow, it would be much easier if I used metaphorical language. For example: I am purple (it is not only my favorite color, but has always meant ‘passion for survival). But in plain speak, in regular old English, it is much harder.

Here are a few that I came up with:

I am a human

I am a human with strengths and weakness.

I am an observer.

I am an eavesdropper.

I am the daughter of two amazing parents.

I could have added that I am a child of God and a player of Bananagrams and a night owl, but I didn’t think of those options this time. But that’s the beauty of this prompt: It is always changing. If I sat down and did it tomorrow, it might be different. I’m excited to do it in a year or two and see how differently I see myself.

I ended this list with “I am a complicated person,” mostly because I couldn’t think of anything else to write, but also because it is very true. I don’t like the fact that I’m complicated, but it reassures me to think that other people are as complicated as me.

All of descriptions on my list are from myself. They are about how I see me as a person. However, I know that my list might be altered either dramatically or subtly if it was made by my family and friends.

A related quote that I would like to leave you with is: “If I saw myself as my friends and other people see me, I would need an introduction.

That flighty temptress, adventure

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“And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.” -Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

Once again, I find myself preparing for another semester of college. Although I have become accustomed to life at a university, it is always challenging to go back and deal with the swells of homework.

I like new things. I like new books. I love new ideas, such as my idea for A Little Mermaid adaptation. I like my new apartment with a walking trail in my backyard.

But I like old things too. I don’t cling onto them like Gatsby clings onto Daisy in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel, but I do like looking at birthday cards from the past, letters from friends and family, books that have tape on the bindings and that distinct old paper smell.

As far as adventures go, I’m not exactly the one for them. Like Bilbo Baggins, in a way. I have been on a sailboat once before and my stomach told me that it wasn’t for me, but I love rafting, especially when there are rapids involved. And the one time I was on a cruise, I preferred going on the excursions rather than staying on the ship. And when I tell people that I don’t ski, even though I’m a native Coloradoan,  they are shocked. But I tell them that it’s way too expensive. And also it doesn’t really appeal to me. Give me a sled or hiking shoes or  a tent and I’m happy as a bear eating blackberries.

But adventures don’t have to be big. Actually I think the best of them are small and not monumental. I would count driving around just for the fun of it under this category, as well as going to restaurant with kinds of foods that you’ve never even thought of trying before (For example, I once had a carrot shake with ginger. It was delicious).

School is an adventure for me, even though I’ve been going to school for most of my life. Every day can be an adventure. And if every day is an adventure, can you ever really get bored?

 

An Act of Caring

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“Never doubt the power of a smile, a touch, a kind word, or any act of caring. All have the potential to turn a life around.” – unknown

Last year I was walking to my on-campus apartment when a small, silver car pulled up beside me and a girl jumped out. She was holding a red rose, which she gave to me with a smile. She didn’t say anything to me, just hopped back into the passenger’s seat. I waved at her and the driver and they drove away.

The rose was attached to a poem that I honestly can’t remember right now. I do remember that it was printed on a slip of paper with railroad tracks. I thought it was somewhat sappy, but also meaningful to have a picture of railroad tracks tied to a rose.

Because life is a journey. And every once in a while, we need kindness from strangers.

I was not having a bad day, but when I became stressed later that week, I just looked at the tiny rose that I was drying in my window and felt a little better.

I told my roommate about the random act of kindness that was given to me. She suggested that I should give the note along with chocolate or some small gift to someone on campus the next day.

I went to an all-girls high school and I loved it, mostly because it wasn’t unusual for a girl you had never seen before to stop you in the hallway to say hi or leave a note on your locker. It was a loving environment. Turns out that it is harder to give something to a complete stranger on a co-ed campus.

I managed to give a girl who looked just a little stressed a small bag of gummy bears attached to the poem that the girls had given me. On the back of the poem, I briefly explained how the railroad tracks had gotten to me and explained that by giving this present, I wanted to start a chain reaction of sorts. A chain of kindness.

I don’t know if she passed it on like I suggested or if she even saw the note. I would get it if she threw it away because strangers are scary. We have been taught to not to talk to strangers. And for a good reason. Not all strangers are kind.

But some strangers are the nicest, gentlest, most humble people you will ever meet. Like the guy that called security when I broke my leg and then stayed around until the paramedics came, the paramedics themselves, a man at the grocery store who picked up dropped cream cheese when my hands were too full, and the tow truck guy who let me sit in his truck to get warm and helped me find a tire company on New Year’s Day.

Actions don’t have to be big to mean a lot. They don’t always come with a new TV or a refurbished house. Meaningful actions can be as small as smiles, holding open doors, or pressing the button for your floor on the elevator. I don’t want to be sappy, but please be kind.

 

 

Currently Reading

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Happy New Year!

As we greet a new year, I look at a book that reflects on the past.

This book is Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys. It should not be confused with Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James.

Sepetys’ beautiful novel features Lina Vilkas, a fifteen year girl from Lithuania who is deported with her mother and younger brother to Siberia under Stalin’s regime. Lina is an artist and secretly draws portraits of everyone around her and writes descriptions of everything that happens. She hopes that these pictures will somehow reach her father who was separated from his family.

On the back of my copy of the book is a review by Susan Campbell Bartoletti, the Newberry Honor-winning author of Hitler Youth. She writes that she feels grateful “for a writer… who bravely tells the hard story of what happens to the innocent when world leaders and their minions choose hate and oppression.”

Bartoletti’s review is incredibly apt as when the year “1941” is spoken or read, people think of the Holocaust and Hitler. Typically, they do not think of Stalin. And if they do think of him, he is somehow separated from Hitler in their minds. I get this because I do it too. And there aren’t many, if any, survival stories. Unlike the Holocaust. It is quite clear in the book, however, that these two events are happening at the same time because every once in a while, someone will mention news about the ghettos, the concentration camps, or the progress of the war.

Even though this book is a work of fiction, I believe that it is quite good at capturing the despair, the chaos, and the dehumanizing nature of the situation. This is possible because fiction, I believe, always holds a glimmer, or perhaps a whole sun, of truth. It also captures the random and uplifting moments of humor and joy that always seem to pervade throughout dark times.

The style of Septys’ writing is simple and clear. It does not make the horrific events, like shooting a young mother because she was grieving over her dead newborn, more or less dramatic. They just simply happen. Like most novels, it has chapters. They are shorter than your average chapters and sometimes break up the narrative. This clearly has not disrupted me because I have had a hard time putting it down, even when it is midnight and I know I have work in just a few hours.

While reading it, a quote from another book, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, popped into my head: “I am haunted by humans.”  I, a human, find myself thinking I am haunted by humans because of the events portrayed in  Between Fifty Shades of Gray. I am haunted by their ability to do evil. I am haunted by their ability to be good and kind amongst all odds like Lina’s mother is. But mostly I am haunted by their ability to love and survive when hopelessness abounds.

I Hope You Dance

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This weekend, I saw a little boy, maybe about three or four, stand up on his pew and dance. Maybe he shouldn’t have been standing up on it, especially during church, but I couldn’t help think that we should all be dancing like that kid without any idea of what we look like or if it’s wrong.

Dancing seems to be reserved for those special occasions such as weddings and proms or reserved for dance studios or shows like “So You Think You Can Dance” and “Dancing with the Stars.” But really, we should dance whenever we get a good grade, when we’ve accomplished something difficult, when we’ve secured a job, when we feel happy. We should dance like the hard-working moms and grandmas in Mamma Mia who leave their tasks and skip down the path just because they want to.

And in honor of Thanksgiving coming up, we should dance for what we are thankful for. We should dance for the food in our belly. We should dance in remembrance of people and times gone and we should dance for forgiveness. We should dance for love. We should dance.

When I was little, the priest in my church always invited the kids to dance down the aisle with him. I didn’t always join the group, but when I did, I felt my heart lift a little bit for a least a small amount of time. Back then, I danced because I loved it. When I was part of a dance studio, I danced for an audience as well as myself.

But now, I dance for myself in the living room and the kitchen. I dance for joy when something good happens. I dance to make me feel better. When I dance, I try to suspend that moment and try not to think about the homework or the work that I have to do. I try to dance like that kid on the pew.

I hope you dance. Because “Life is not waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”

“Real” books

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Sorry its been a fairly long time since I’ve posted. Its been a crazy two weeks finishing up my summer class.

Recently I saw this quote by Laurie Halse Anderson, the author of Speak:

“You can tell a book is real when it makes your heart beat faster. Real books make you sweat. Cry, if no one is looking. Real books help you make sense of your crazy life. Real books tell it true, don’t hold back, and make you stronger. But most of all, real books give you hope. Because it’s not always going to be like this and books – the good ones, the real ones – show you how to make it better. Now.”

This got me thinking about books that I’ve read that have done these things for me. In a way, all books have done this for me, but some have been forgettable while some have stood out in my memory for a variety of reasons. And then some of them have changed my life or at least my way of thinking.

10 “real” books that I’ve discovered:

1. Just Listen by Sarah Dessen

2. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

3. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

4.The Storyteller’s Daughter by Cameron Dokey

5.Send by Patty Blount

6. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

7.Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke

8.Darkness Visible by William Styron

9. Green Angel by Alice Hoffman

10. Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher

There are so many “real” books that have devoured me. These are just the ones (excepting The Bell Jar) that I have on my bookshelf.

What “real” books have you read?

“Whatever you are, be a good one.”

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This quote, often attributed to Abraham Lincoln, is currently hanging above my sink to look at whenever the dishes are piled too high.  Whether it was actually said by the 16th president or not, nobody knows, but as in some things (but certainly not all), the author of the statement matters less than its meaning.

If the statement had said “whoever,” it wouldn’t be as remarkably unique. Instead, it starts with the word “whatever.”  “Whatever is a word that has been infamously used by teenagers to annoy adults, usually parents and sometimes teachers. But when applied to a person, it becomes intriguing and somewhat confounding.

“Who” I am can be answered in facts like my name, my date of birth, my marital status. “What” I am is harder to answer. For the first five years of my life, I was something then for the next five or so, I was something else. Each year since then, I’ve been trying to become something more like me. But the trouble is… I didn’t know exactly what “me” was.

As I enter into my twenties, I think I know more about what “me” is:

1.a daughter

2.a sister

3.a roommate

4.a writer

5. a thinker

But aren’t these things facts as well? I am a daughter. I am a sister to my older siblings. I am all those other things. But facts are solid and don’t generally change. The words I have come up with to describe myself are always changing.

The daughter and sister that I was when I was six is dramatically different, I hope, than the daughter and sister I am. And since my roommate situation has changed over the semesters, I have changed as a roommate. I have always been a thinker, but it hasn’t been until the last few years that I’ve considered myself a writer.

“Whatever you are, be a good one.”

The quote charges us to be a good one of whatever we are. So… I should not only strive to be a writer, I should be the best I can be. That may not necessarily mean that my products will be good or that they will touch people as long or profoundly as Shakespeare, C.S. Lewis, Jane Austen, or Emily Dickinson, but will be good enough. Of course that extends to every other “what” that I am.

My aim is to be a good daughter, sister, roommate, and eventually wife and mother. But then there’s the question of what “good” is.

I think I’ll leave that for another rainy, snowy, or otherwise  lazy day.