Long Distance Friendships

Friendships are never easy. In a friendship, you have to communicate your boundaries. To form enough of a bond to at least talk to a person... That's not something that comes easily. When that friend happens to live hundreds of miles away from you, that's even harder. It's hard to maintain the beat of a friendship. To keep up the gaps between the time and catch up between the lulls. To keep up communication despite all of the things in life that gets in the way. Time can be the greatest separator and sometimes, when you finally get to talking, you find you have nothing to talk about really.

I have been fortunate enough to maintain a friendship despite the above difficulties. I am maintaining other friendships that have been maintained solely by the Internet and Skype (two friends that I met via a friend that I have already met at camp). The latter is easy because we are able to chat with each other frequently because of the large amount of time we spend on the computer in the summertime. However the former... Not so much. She's busy, and rarely answers her phone and e-mail. It's been quite an effort to keep in touch with her and there have been times when we haven't talked in months. And yet... We had so much in common and her true colors still shone and I knew it was worth the effort.

And now I'm finally going to see her at another sleepaway camp. I've went to this one last year and I'm finally going to reunite with her. Finally.

Long distance friendships are like a tug at your heart. It doesn't feel quite real sometimes, doesn't feel quite like a full friendship. Yet every once in a while... You think of them and miss them and just want to end up connecting with them. But you can't, not easily. The person isn't as easy to connect to and be with and somehow Skype calls and phone calls don't amount to actually seeing them in person.

Sometimes, it can be so frustrating. I remember I ended up wondering why I couldn't have just met this person in school. Why does it have to be this hard to meet another person like me? Something about it almost doesn't seem fair at times and it's not. Friendships shouldn't be that hard to end up keeping up. But sometimes it is.

But oh those moments when you do talk in a long distance relationship! It's lovely.  In those moments, that's what you live for. You live for those moments when you just connect. It's like it hasn't been that long at all, but it has been so you miss her and you're finally getting your fill. You can just talk and talk and talk, reconnecting. Whenever I talked to her, I just kept wishing that I could keep talking to her all the time. Meet up with her in school or something. We both wanted to talk more, but we just couldn't find the time or the place.

Right now, I'm thrilled. I wish that I could meet all of these lovely people in one spot and just end up connecting to them, but the one from sleepaway camp... Since it's been that much harder to connect with her, I'm that much more excited to finally see her. To see all of them hopefully since I didn't get to keep in touch with them as much.

I would so much rather have it this way than to have never met these people and never have had them in my life. Because they're just that awesome. Long distance friendships are hard, but they're often worth the effort much of the time. When someone is so enriching as these people have been and so like-minded and can understand you... They're worth it. Just like everything else in life that's so great, they require a helluva lot of work. But the benefits are great.

Note: Just like before, another two-week should result. No power outages should send me home this time.

Speaking Up for Yourself

Sometimes, it's easy to feel voiceless. It's easy for one to feel like what they have to say doesn't really matter that much anyway, even when it does. Certain things have made me wonder what it really does mean to speak up. I've spoken up about so many different things but so many times I can't speak up for just me. To say I have a voice and a right to speak it.

Recently, I was inspired by a conversation that my cousin had with me about something that had happened to her when she was younger. I was amazed about the courage that she had to speak up for herself even when no one would listen to her and believe her, and to keep speaking up for herself now in a way that would end up helping so many other people. Even after it was over, I kept thinking about it.

Still, I wondered something. If she could speak up for herself with something that big, why can't I speak up over the littlest things? Why do I have to sit around and let people stomp all over me, taking other parts of me with them? If other people could end up having a backbone, why couldn't I? Of course, I imagine that my cousin had to develop that in a way that was absolutely terrible. It was developed out of absolute necessity. To compare her situation to mine would be shallow and ridiculous.

But it's not just her who has that wonderful ability, that wonderful gift. It seems to be in so many people I know, regardless of what kinds of things they had to go through. Some people just have it. While I was in the car and listening to music today, I started to think. It takes confidence to speak up for yourself, and that confidence is not always something I have. I have so much to offer to the world, but if I don't believe in myself, no one else can. If I don't learn to love myself, no one else can love me either. I want to speak up for myself and I want people to listen to me, but so far I can't have that right now. I can't.

Why is that? It all comes back to confidence. I realized my confidence has come from external sources instead of internal sources. So when those external sources turned sour and they bullied me and ignored me and left me a loner... Well, I was so angry with myself that I couldn't please them that I punished myself in ways both physical and emotional. I thought that it was my fault, that it proved that something was wrong with me. But there wasn't. My only problem was in depending on the people around me instead of depending on myself.

So if I want people to listen to me, if I want them to like me? I have to listen to me. I have to like me. Most importantly, I have to speak up for me. When I hope to attract people by groveling, by kneeling in the sand with hands clasped.... I will attract the worst and turn off the best. My delivery is all wrong.

Sometimes, people will do things I won't like. They will make mistakes because they are people and those mistakes will hurt me. I have to stand up for myself and speak because if I don't.... Well that's when all the trouble starts.

In the face of wrong, I need to be my own advocate. I need to sense my needs and indulge in them as well as the people around me. Only then will I get what I so desperately seek and only then will people come to me.

I need to stop caring about what other people think and maybe then they'll start caring about what I think.

Building confidence isn't easy. I think the first step is indulging in myself and changing the way that I think.

Speaking up for yourself is the first step. It's the step for everyone really. My cousin remained confident because she spoke the truth and didn't back down. I can't, either.

Really, it's a recipe for life. I just have to try it.

Anger Over Injustice

If I had to count all of the injustices that have happened in the world and are happening right now, I would never stop. I would live my life as an angry girl screaming at the top of my lungs, and I would feel so bitter at feeling so powerless.Anger over the injustice of this world is what makes me so much of an activist today. After watching The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas/ Pajamas yesterday (Holocaust= injustice #1) and being shown more cases of what happens when people who shouldn't have kids have them anyway (injustice #2 added to the so many injustices I can't wrap my head around them), I feel quite angry.

Sometimes, when I think about all of the injustices in the world, I want to scream. It's enough to make me want to become a misanthrope. The worst part is that as a teenager and just one teenager, I feel so powerless in the face of it all. I'm not just sitting here and bitching, at least. I volunteer, and I do so not just because I have to. On a few occasions, I've donated large sums of money to charities I support. I speak out for causes I believe in and while I don't think I've changed anyone's mind yet, I do think that I've at least made them think.

But still, there are so many things out there. Whenever I still think about the Holocaust, I think why the hell is this still going on? More importantly, why does no one care? Whenever I think about those people who shouldn't have had those kids and I just think.... How could you have been so stupid? So cruel? So selfish? Sometimes, I wonder why someone didn't call CPS on these people and/or why they got even a little bit of custody in court.

That anger is needed. Someone needs to be angry, because that's how things get done. If people didn't get angry, there wouldn't be any social changes done. Sometimes, anger is the first step even when that anger is that primitive anger that one cannot fully express. Anger is good, as long as that anger is kept in check (in other words, go Martin Luther King not Malcolm X).

In the matters I mentioned above, I am pretty much powerless. There's not much I can do about it. But still, I can do something. I can speak up and maybe get an adult to write a letter to Congress about other people. I can inform other people. I can do things not to contribute to world problems. In the case of my friend, I might not be able to get my friend to stop talking to her dad and I might not get my friend's dad to stop his abusive behavior, but I can be there for her. I am powerless in some ways, but there are still things I can do.

Sometimes, it's easy to get wrapped up in the problems of the world. Of course, I can't get too angry or else it will consume my life. At this point, I have learned how to care and feel angry without being consumed by these feelings and feeling hurt myself. For instance, I remember being in camp and we had to spend time with the people in our dorm. We had to list one good thing about our day, and one bad thing. My best friend had called and told me that when she had visited her dad, he had been verbally abusive.... again. Add that to a messy string in her parent's divorce (which, even though she was seven, is still quite an issue today), a whole story that I don't feel quite comfortable sharing here without her permission. That was my bad thing. Anyway, the counselor said it must be rough going through that at camp but.... Yeah, I felt bad a little bit and I tried to comfort her, but ultimately, I wouldn't let that affect my time at camp. So, while I am pissed off and while I do care, I can't let it affect me too much. Other times, I have to shake off my anger after I hear something to do something else (mostly, it's because people, quite frankly, either don't care that much or don't want to deal with it).

At the same time, ignoring problems will only make them worse. We, as a society, must look at problems and we must talk about them but as individuals, we cannot be consumed about them. There is a balance. Anger over injustice is needed, but it also needs to be balanced with rationality.

Ultimately, though, remember that change starts with you, dear reader, and me. And if we can change, maybe everyone else can change too.

Starting a Story

The start of a story is the start of a dream. Anything can set off the gears in my head and then I can expand upon it. In this case, it was a comment that somebody said combined with the current state of American government today. Those two factors happened to be the two things to get everything started for me, leaving me in awe at my random sources of inspiration.

 Of course, it can be argued that a story doesn't really start until its first word is written down. At that point, it becomes something of a novel instead of just another idea. After all, I have come across many ideas that haven't amounted to anything for whatever reason (usually major plot holes or an inability to figure out some part of the plot). Recently, I have finally started to write the story that was swimming in my head for so long.

The start of the writing of a story's first draft really is quite an interesting thing. As I'm writing this particular story, it's going by in a breeze. Right now, this story still has that new story glow so I find myself just wanting to write and write and write. Of course, considering the complex nature of this particular story, I had to stop and refigure things and see how they would work. It was nothing that I couldn't get over, though, so those particular stumbling blocks just felt like nothing to me. I know that it won't be until later that the story will lose its shine that gives me the motivation to keep going and that I won't feel like writing it sometimes. Or I'll have writer's block or be distracted or... Whatever. For now, however, those times seem so far away and a part of me almost feels like that won't happen this time.

When I wrote my first word this time, the rest came out in a gush. Experiencing that rush reminded me of why I love to write and why I even do it in the first place. Writing the first words of a story is writing at its best for me.

It's so thrilling, wondering where everything will work and how it will all work out. Part of the new story glow comes with the mystery of everything. Will it turn like crap? Get going and never stop? Of course, revision is enough to smooth things out but... Still, I usually wonder if I will be able to stay on course with the story. There’s a fear with that of course but… There’s also a sort of fun danger with it.

Luckily, most of my stories start in summertime. Summertime is perfect for me for many reasons. I have no homework, my stress is halved, I have all the time in the world… It’s the plan for perfection. Summertime is also perfect because, since I have more time, I won’t be super upset if a story doesn’t work out and I won’t beat myself up over wasted and lost time.

And if the story really doesn’t work out? There’s always that risk, too. However, I’ve found that the more I plan a story, the more likely it is to succeed. Mostly, I get in trouble when I jump in head first without a clear plan. Because of the complexity of certain subjects and the fact that I have to work so hard to make this better than a regular old dystopian, it would be easy for me to give up on this particular novel. 

Overall, writing a new story is crazy and exhilarating but ultimately something worthwhile. My only problem is doing it too frequently!   

Me in the zone xD

Going to a Bookstore

I love the bookstore. I am sure, telling from my love of books, that this is something that is rather obvious. Yet amongst book-lovers, there are two very different groups: the library-lovers and the bookstore-lovers. I happen to be in the latter group.

Logically, I should like the library better. After all, it's free. And it would probably save me a great chunk of money to just go to the library. Yet I find two things lacking in the library, even though I use it from time to time. One, its selection is limited. If I want one of my specific, obscure books, it often isn't there or is in another library. If I want a popular book, it often is out. Depending on the library exclusively would be incredibly frustrating for me. Two, it lacks that beautiful yet painful ceremony of which-books-am-I-going-to-buy-and-which-books-will-I-put-back or deciding (which I will go into further detail below) because I can just haul off a truckload of books. Three, it has a time limit and renewal is a pain in the ass because I truck away so many books to be read at one time. Four, it lacks a Starbucks. Five, it just doesn't have the same ambiance. Not that the library ambiance isn't perfectly cozy and everything, but it just isn't the local bookstore I've grown up with my whole life. Not to mention, library books just lack that new book smell. In other words, my reasoning against library books is completely irrational.

Going to the bookstore is quite the beautiful experience, though. It is as follows for my family and I.
First, I request to go to the bookstore or some pressing need to go to the bookstore goes up and I just can't resist.  Then I get out of the car, enter the store and... the magic begins. When I go to the store, I first scan the bargain books outside the entrance. Then... I walk in the store, right to the YA section. I whip out of my phone for any books on my list (often books that I chose to put back previously) for good titles and then I just peruse.

The great fun about going to the bookstore is seeing all of the new titles splayed out and combing through all of the books that Barnes and Noble's has put out on a table or on the special shelves as a sort of promotion. Avoiding all the Books-About-Things-I-Am-Absolutely-Sick-of (the topics are: paranormal romance, urban fantasy, dystopian books, zombies, vampires, visible love triangles) and hardcovers in general, I can comb through the racks and look for books that attract me in some way. Even more fun than seeing what books Barnes and Nobles will promote is the activity of looking for the little unnoticed books stuck between the shelves and looking for the authors that I've never heard of.

And then there is the deciding that I mentioned above. I have mixed feelings about that because it is both an extraordinarily fun and painful process. Which one to choose when they all look so good? Usually I decide based on how good the book looks, how likely I would be to pick it up later/ how easy it would be to find again, whether or not it's in a series (if so, how long has it been since I read the previous book?), how many times I've already put it back and if I know and like the author or not. Sometimes, I even rely on the help of my mother and sister. Today was particularly challenging for me but I ultimately ended up going from eight books to five (all paperback and YA- which DOES make a tremendous difference from hardcover and adult books).

At the end of that deciding game, when my mother (and often my sister) are stuck waiting for me, I can walk over to them with the books that made the cut and a smile on my face. Oftentimes, my run to Barnes and Nobles ends with me drinking my drink of choice, a chocolate smoothie (or, sometimes, a vanilla steamer).

To me, one cannot put a price on the bookstore. The trip, the process of going there there will be forever carved into my soul and will forever be a part of me. Sure, giving me hand-me-down books, going to independent bookstores and library books would sate my book need but it would make me feel empty without a Barnes and Noble trip.

Barnes and Noble bookstore is my childhood, my lifeline, my soul. While I am often reminded why I should not get physical books and much less buy them, I don't care. In this Barnes and Noble bookstore lifestyle, I am forever set. 

Yes, I love the bookstore. This is my final declaration.

Mixed Feelings (Ambiguity)

Mixed feelings have odd ways of carving themselves in and out of one's life. It seems they are what make feelings so complicated, and they are what makes it so hard to be a human being. For me, moments of introspection are the only things that allow me to possibly divide them and sort them out in a way that makes sense. It seems like the feelings felt even about the most mundane things and things barely felt at all add up.

I suppose in summer I should give up my thinking a little bit. I shouldn't be feeling anything but happy feelings. But then, of course, things come up that tug at my soul a little bit and pull down the covers of the emotions that I have tried so hard to stop myself from feeling. 

Mixed feelings can result from little things. When I finished another one of my novels today, I felt a feeling of both relief and of sadness at finishing something that I started. While those are a rather minor but necessary part of writing, it's still important to acknowledge it and take in all parts of what I'm feeling. If I shove my feelings down in my throat and dismiss even the tiniest of feelings, they might well up in some other way. 

And then sometimes there are the more serious mixed emotions. Sometimes, these feelings come when a cover on one of the skeletons in my closet is ripped off and I have to deal with it again. These are the feelings that are so easy to ignore and deny or only partially accept. The negative inkling in the back of that happy bliss, the grimace disguised as a smile... Those are where everything comes in. Sometimes, I deny all of these feelings because I am worried about what others might think or worried that I'm not supposed to be thinking all of the things that I am thinking.

For example, there was camp that had just happened. While I had many fun social encounters and I learned a lot, there were also many times I felt like the odd girl out when I was with certain people. I might have smiled and tried to persist in how I was going, but it was true. In many ways I was different than my dormmates and while they sometimes tried to include me in the fun, I had the distinct feeling that my train of thought was unwelcome and that I was very different from everyone else there which led to a feeling of frustration at being unable to express myself. It might have been easier to speak up and ask someone, but I didn't want to acknowledge these feelings at the time. Hence, that was where my feelings of dissatisfaction and frustration lay. If I had acknowledged these negative feelings and nipped them in the bud (or accepted them, depending on their validity), then life probably would have been easier for me. The same can be said for a variety of other social situations.


Ambiguity is a part of life. It just is. As a human being, I will feel a variety of emotions throughout my life. To deny any of those is unhealthy and wrong and will probably come out in various ways later.

I am learning to accept how I feel and not to dismiss myself so easily. A part of this needs to come in accepting every part of me and just loving who I am. Only then will things possibly work out from me.

The ambiguity in life is what makes it so beautiful for me. It is those shades of gray that make things so beautifully complex.

The Beauty of Electricity

Electricity is the rush of electron, the conversion of energy for our convenience. It's a rather recent phenomenon, though it is one that gripped the nation and hasn't let it go since. Though I said that I wouldn't be writing on this blog for two weeks, it has only been a week since I have posted something. I am home from camp now a week early after two days of hell without power. Am I missing camp? Yes. I'm also relieved though, and currently suffering from Post- Electrical Deficiency Disorder. 

In case the reader hasn't heard, three million people are left without power after a storm with winds equivalent to the winds of an F1 tornado. Just as easily as power was given, power was taken away by... More power. This time it was power of the natural sort. Unfortunately, I happened to be in the way of this storm at camp. The following is my Facebook status, which I think explains my situation quite well:
"This was how camp ended and why I'm home. My last night, by the way:
No air-conditioning and the dorms were even hotter than the outside. We have to eat grilled food because the food in the cafeteria was limited in food (they had a backup generator, which was something). I slept on a floor last night because they moved us out of the dorms because of how hot it was, dealing with random alarm bells in the middle of the night, boy's jeers from the other side and random kids going on on [sic] stretchers (who passed out). I couldn't even lay out all of the way because they needed a lane for the kids on stretchers and counselors so fetal position for me. Disaster."

I left out, of course, the terrifying random alarm that happened earlier that night that left us in lockdown (it was dark, hot and there was no way of talking to our parents). It turned out it was a false alarm, but we were not told what was going on. Due to the variety of unsafe conditions the power outage caused (and the fact that the power company had no idea when the power would come back on), we were sent home short-notice.

Anyway, I'm back home in Pennsylvania, where everything is safe and I'm alright now. I have more electricity than I need and so much to waste. However, this experience has taught me quite a lot about my reliance on electricity and technology.

Electricity fuels so much. Through air-conditioning, it makes places safer and through refridgeration, it also allows food to stay cold and not rot. It burns fires for us so that we can cook and stay warm (in winter). It lets us sleep comfortably and complete a variety of tasks in a way that is much safer than ever before. Of course, it also lets us travel in the dark so that we don't bump into things and so we can do things in the night that require light (like reading and things of that nature. Light is necessary in both of them. Let's just say that during the time with no power I desperately wished that I could learn Braille somehow).

Also, electricity gives me a variety of things to choose from in terms of food and transportation, and I'm not nearly as limited in choices. Through it, we have running water and running water is safe. In a way, it  also gives us the Internet and cell service and both of those things give me a way to communicate from far distances and that makes so much difference. Not to mention, electricity pretty much provides all of the entertainment that we now have.

It's amazing how desperate I felt when both my laptop and cell phone finally died. It felt terrible to write down on paper rather than the computer and to feel at mercy to hand cramps and lack of light. I had no way to contact anyone at all. Not to mention, I was so much more bored without either of those things.

Without electricity, our civilization would crumble. There would be panic attacks and murder/suicide attempts and completions all across the nation because people would go insane (and they would become lost). In essence, it is pretty much a safety blanket and it is something that we are addicted to as a society. Electricity is integral to our current state of survival, comfort, and our way of living.

It's funny now that I have an idea for a book that takes place in wilderness. Let's just say that this adds a whole different perspective to it and an appreciation to electricity in general. I will empathize with my characters like never before.

This blog post is an ode to electricity and everything it provides. No electricity meant no phone, no laptop, no camp, no everything. It separates us from Neanderthals. Electricity, I realized, fuels my world and almost everything else within it. Without it, I would be screwed and so would everyone else.

As I write, I bask in electricity and everything it has given me and I will now do so as long as I live.