The Rice Bowl

Learn To Sing.

This place seems to have run away from me.  I once had a very clear vision of what The Rice Bowl should be; a place for me to write what I write.  The problem quickly became that I was not comfortable sharing what I write.  My writing often feels entirely personal, yet at other times completely foreign.  In both cases, I seem to come face to face with the perpetual fear of sharing it.

It's time to grow up now.

As someone who wants to become a writer (published or not), I need to come to blows with the fact that my writing is there to be read.  A fact that I realised with sudden clarity when I was sitting in my Creative Non Fiction class and I suddenly found my pen-name staring back at me on the roster.  The possessed ink in my pen some how made its way out in the form of a name, foreign to my own, yet familiar to my head.

It's time for me to take my rightful place as writer.

So this is what it will be.  It will be me writing the things that write in a moment on the bus, in the cafeteria, in the middle of class, in the middle of my room, on the park bench in the middle of the city.  This is me, rough and raw.  Ready to meet the uncensored me?

I'm nervous.

Don't Slow Down

There's a box where I keep every letter I've received.  Underneath it is a pile of letters I've written to no one in particular, they've never been sent.  They're waiting, sealed in silence, their secrets kept tight in their adhesive.  The box is covered in words.  Words that speak, to me.  "This is where.Make your mark.Planes, trains, and chasing cars.Tell a captivating story.Beginnings.Blog.Reclaim the girl you left behind.Love notes.Music.Discontent.Visionary.Welcome to the jungle.Lost.Daisy.Smart.Secret Life. When you're smiling.Style.Touch.Trouble.London Calling.Morning Rescue.Never Hide."

Never Hide.

Every word is a part of me.  But "Never Hide", its an affirmation.  It's a reminder.  It's a lesson and a lecture.  One day, maybe I won't need the words on a box to affirm this in me, daily.

Once, I read a letter that I had written, years ago, in complete reckless abandon to what my heart felt could be love.  It was stupid.  It was sweet.  It was beautiful and heartbreaking.  It was like watching the replay of a car crash, where everyone miraculously lives, in slow motion.  It was beautiful, even the destruction.  In retrospect it was.  During, it was...horribly broken.  It was nice to know that I was capable of silly girlish love though.  Maybe I'll find that again?

Tomorrow I turn a year older.  Magically.  Like someone snapped their fingers and it just happened.  I'm always filled with thoughts about life, plans, loves.  This year, I think about my parents.  My two best friends.  The two people who have been there to stand up for me.  The two people that dealt with my tears over falling off a bicycle, a broken teddy bear, mean girls in the neighbourhood, a jealous boy, impossible loads of homework and countless cups of coffee, broken hearts, and leaving home.  Where would I be without them?  I would definitely not be me.  I got lucky.  I feel like I won the DNA lottery with my parents.  My only struggle this year is finding any words at all (are there even any?) to express my gratitude to them for being, not only the best role models, but the closest friends I could ever ask for.

A year older.  365 days older.  7665 days of life (give or take).  Wow.  They've been good ones.  Ones filled with more thoughts than you can imagine.  Ones filled with more insane experiences, good and bad, than most receive in a lifetime.  I wouldn't trade any of it for the world.  I'm busting open the champagne and celebrating every triumph, trial, and failure with a smile and a toast.  But most of all, I'm celebrating with a hope, a wish, a dream, that one day, I might figure out a little more about me, or someone else might and be able to share it with me.

If I've learned anything in this life, it is this: I am not my own.

So now, more than ever, as I face another year, the words are clear.  Never hide.  Never hide, because that's how you miss things.  Things that define who you are.  People who help you find what defines you.

21, you're going to be a good year.

As I Search For The Resolution

I'd post resolutions for the new year, but I feel like that would be so cliché and I'm not feeling very cliché at the moment.  So, thus far, 8 days into 2009, nine months away from a ridiculous birthday, I feel like this is going to be a year full of good intentions and sentimental feelings.  All signs have pointed this way.

When I left home on the 2nd, it was one of the hardest partings I've had to endure.  It definitely made top three.  It's going to be a long while before I see the parents again, and that will never get easy for me.  Being in Oregon makes me miss my parents and brother, but not in Oregon.  It's a place that we all fought hard to make the most of, watched it all fall apart, and then made plans to become something more.  Being here reminds me of that.  But, in a good way, it's making me make plans to do more, something that both my parents and I are excited about.

In essence, the only goal I have really set out for 2009 is to lose weight (duh and cliché).  But all the goals and 'resolutions' I have are not worthy simply for 2009.  They're things that I need to make happen, so I'm not marring them as NYRs and watching them dissipate into good intentions by March.

I keep finding myself in an awkward grey area of life.  With friends finding relationships, engagements, careers, graduations, marriages, houses; I'm starting to feel like I'm lagging behind.  No, it's not that I want every single one of those things, but there are things that I want to see myself accomplish before all those things land at my feet.  I need to do so much more before I find a place to put my roots down.  I'm learning about the things I love.  I'm discovering poetry and falling in love with Robert Frost and Robert Browning, again.  I'm figuring out who Elenor Rigby is and I'm letting her go away from me, because I've kept her in my mind for far too long.  I'm learning about books and the voices that I love.  I'm discovering the genius of Tolstoy and following the tragic life of Anna Karenina.  I've rediscovered my French and how much I really love speaking the language of romance.  The part of me that has wanted to wander the streets of Paris on cool Autumn days has re-awoken.

So, I don't have any resolutions.  Good intentions and sentiments for this year.  But I have plans for more than a year.  I'm making plans for more than this year.  I'm finding ways to see those plans out into something bigger than I could have expected.  I think that that's more than enough to be excited for the next year...plus four.