An Explanation I Don't Owe: A Birthday Blog

In about twenty minuets, I will have seen the 15th of November for the 24th time. I usually write about the ways my life has changed over the past year, how I feel about said changes, and maybe even throw in a few life lessons. But this year there is just too much to say.

I've noticed that as I get older, life changes all the quicker. It's a daily thing, an hourly thing, and I have given up on keeping up. Time has a way of going on whether or not you're ready and that's something I've had to come to terms with. It seems like I climb one mountain just to be met with another. They say God gives us trials to make us stronger. I guess He wants me to be a super hero.

One of my biggest changes of this year happened in the past two weeks, and I really don't want to talk about it. It isn't one of those changes I can just sit here and impart some random bit of wisdom from and move on. I have to explain why this change had to happen. It's an explanation I don't owe anyone, not really, but I'm going to give it anyway. No, I don't want to talk about it...but I need to. And more often than not, what we need and what we want are two separate deals.

Two years ago, I thought by the time I was 24 I'd be married to the person I wanted so badly to be the love of my life. I was so happy to be engaged to someone I thought was absolutely perfect for me. I thought everything was going to be so different and it killed me to watch it all fall apart so slowly that I saw it coming from a mile away. I fought it, I fought it so hard because I wanted it so bad. But what we need and what we want...well, you know the drill.

In the beginning, it was as easy as breathing. I was hurting so badly from the loss of my daddy and my relationship before him coming to an end. I felt like I was losing so much and when he came along, I gained an entire new life. It felt like everything was perfect for the first little while, or at least I wanted it so much that I ignored the warning signs. I went against my instincts, knowing that we were too young and it was all too fast. Too much. Too everything.

After a while we just stayed together because we felt like we'd be more miserable being apart. I can't speak for him, but it was slowly killing me inside. We weren't kind to each other, we both split the blame right down the middle. The day I'd finally had enough, the moment I handed him his ring back was one of the hardest things that I've ever had to do. But we deserved better.

Eat. Pray. Love. is one of my favorite books and one of my favorite movies. There is a point in the memoir/movie when Liz realizes that her relationship is over and it's all thanks to a visit to Rome. She went to the Augustiam. It's a scene that talks about ruin, brokenness, and it's a scene that I always relate to. I have always felt like something is broken inside me, something I've never been able to fix no matter how hard I've tried. I've always thought it was such a bad thing, but as I've gotten older I've come to think as Liz does, that ruin is a gift. It is the road to transformation. I am constantly changing and moving and growing and probably becoming a little more broken and a little closer to fixed with every day I draw breath.

"Both of us deserve better than to stay together because we're afraid we'll be destroyed if we don't."

People change, and sometimes we change apart instead of change together. I transformed in different ways than he did and we just couldn't be together anymore. We deserved better than the hurt we were feeling. As much as we split the blame, I don't even think it was either of our faults. Sometimes there is no one to blame, things just happen. It wasn't the we fell out of love. Our love didn't have the right kind of foundation to begin with. By the end we just stopped talking and stopped listening and stopped caring. And I just couldn't do it anymore.

I'm 24 years old now. Or at least I will be at 6:52 this evening. I'm old enough to know when to let go. It didn't kill me, it didn't break me. It was just another moment of change that I've had to live through. But I know in the very depths of my soul that we made the right choices for us.

I miss him. I will miss him for the rest of my life. And even if he decides that he cant be my friend, I will always be his. I will always want the very best for him. I hope someday he finds someone who will love him so much better than I ever could. I hope he finds someone who stirs his soul the way I feel like he deserves. It's then he'll realize she makes him feel like I never could.

My explanation was kind of drawn out, but it really is very simple: I believe in a love that most people believe only exist in novels or movies. I believe that someday I will find love, and it will be the kind of thing that people write about. I believe in it and I deserve it. And I wont settle for less than that. I wont settle for anything less than a love that can overcome even death. God has shown me how to believe in something like that, even if it is risky.

Not exactly the usual Happy Birthday blog, but eh, I'm in a melancholy mood.

Have a great day everyone, and do me a favor? Believe.

Alison

In This Town of Halloween

Since I have a few minutes before I have to leave for work, I've decided to bless all you readers (the whole one of you, love you Grady!) with my incredibly hilarious story about how I eneded my Halloween night by filling out a witness statement. Grady, you were there, so you know the story, but maybe (just maybe) someone else will actually read this and find it as entertaining as I did the night that it happened. And yes, I realize I remember an incredible amount of detail from this event, but I was paying very close attention because, frankly, I didn't want to go to jail. Alright, here goes!

So after the candy was gone and Grady and I arrived back at my house after going on a little jaunt, we watched Hocus Pocus (best. movie. ever!) with Jeremy and Justin. Justin left soon after the movie was over and we three that were left quickly became bored and unhappy at the fact that it was 10 O'clock on Halloween night and we were inside watching the Science Fiction channel. So we did what any other young people in their twenties would do; we went walking.

As soon as we stepped off my property, we notice this insanely large group of teenagers in the middle of the road. When they saw us, they scattered. This was the first sign that they were up to a little Halloween mischief. We three quickly realized we'd probably made a mistake in going walking on Halloween night seeing as all the delinquents were probably out egging houses and we kind of looked like likely suspects. I mean, Jeremy and I were wearing large hooded sweatshirts and Grady was in my Panda hat. We looked like delinquents.

We were headed toward Jeremy's house when I realized we were walking with a small group of kids. Grady and Jeremy both had the same reaction to the situation we found ourselves in; head down, walk faster, get out of the situation. Me being who I am had a different reaction; get a good look at the kids, talk as much as possible, and remember details.

This being said, I need to make a side note. I generally don't like narks. My parents always told me that there was nothing worse than  rat. I dunno if they were trying to prepare me for a possible future in organized crime or what, but yeah, in my home you did not rat out your fellow man. I totally understood and agreed with this point of view and would not have ratted out these kids under any circumstances, except one of these kids made a fatal mistake. Wanna know what it was? Oh I'll tell ya.

So the kid we were walking next to was about Jeremy's height, Hispanic, and had on glasses and a ball cap. He told me that he was eighteen and from the next town over. He inquired about my age and I told him I was just a few weeks shy of 24 years old. This is when the fatal mistake was made. This little moron had the nerve to look at me and say, "You're old as f***!"

O_o

Yep. He went there. Cuss word and all. What did I do, you ask? Well my first instinct was the punch the kid in the baby maker. Or, you know, throw him into someones back yard that housed a pit bull or something. But I kept my cool. I had a feeling my chance for revenge would come. And it did, in the form of a short kid in an orange hoodie and dark Justin Bieber hair.

"I'm gonna egg this house!" yelled Bieber.

"Don't you EFFING dare!" I yelled back, stopping in the middle of the road and pointing at the kid. "We three are over the age of eighteen and will get into more trouble than you are worth! Throw that egg and you WILL rue the day!"  I volleyed a few more threats his way and that's when Jeremy, Grady, and I decided to walk a little faster. The idiot was going to throw an egg at a house that's lights were on!!!!!! Why!!!!!! They're awake, eff tard!

When we got to the stop sign, that's when we heard it. CRACK! "Lets power walk!" I said, and we were gone. As Grady and I stood in Jeremy's yard waiting for him to get done inside, I watched these kids walk toward the town park. I've got pretty great eyesight (better than perfect woot!) so I could see them get into a dark car and turn it on. Jeremy came outside and we headed in the opposite direction.

"When this car drives by, lets get the plates. It's those dumbass kids. I have a feeling we're going to need this information." I thought this because while Jeremy was inside, we'd seen a cop driving around spotlighting. Someone had called the cops on these kids. Great. You bet your bottom dollar that when that car drove by, we got the first three digits of the plate.

At that point, we probably should had just given up and gone home. I mean, we KNEW the cops were gonna hassle us. But I think at that point we were so bored, we kind of welcomed it. At least I did. I was out for blood. Well, revenge at least. That a-hole called me old.

No sooner did we step onto my street did we see the mysterious car drive past us again. Behind them was a police cruiser. Instead of following the car, however, the cop put on his lights and pulled over next to us. When he opened the door to shine a large flashlight in our eyes, I pointed down the street and yelled, "They went that way!" Jeremy and Grady told me to shut up, that I sounded guilty, but I didn't want them to get away! Argh, the frustration!

"What are you guys doing?" asked Officer Buzz Cut

"Walking. Cause we're bored," I replied.

"How old are you three?"

"23, 23, 21." I noticed by this time that I was the only one talking.

"Oh!" The Officer suddenly became much nicer. "Have ya'll seen any kids running around?"

"YES!" And I quickly explained our story. I told him the break lights in the distance were the snot nosed kids who were doing the throwing of the egg, gave him the plate number, and watched him hop in his car and take off into the night.

We continued walking and not long after that, we saw lights in the distance. The cop had cauht the little buggers! We walked on in glee, but when we made it to the high school, we were once again stopped by Officer Buzz Cut. He asked us a series of questions about what we saw in which we all quickly figured out that I'd gathered more detail than my comrads. He then asked us to fill out a witness statement. We all reluctantly agreed. I wasn't too thrilled about it being on record that I was narking, but my lust for revenge meant more to me than my pride as a past fellow delinquent.

And so our night ended with us sitting in the front yard waiting for the Officer to come back around and pick up our witness statements. We talked about the evening, pondered on the fate of the eggers, and I was satisfied by the score I'd settled.

I learned three things this recent All Hallows Eve: 1. Hocus Pocus is much funnier as an adult and never gets old. 2. You know you're too old for Halloween romping when you start getting kids in trouble for making mischief. and 3. I really don't like to be called old.

Hope this made you giggle a little. Cheerio!

Alison

For the Love of Fiction

Yesterday I read the latest chapter of Tite Kubo's manga Bleach, and one of my favorite characters has died. I sat here staring at the screen with tears flowing down my face, feeling as if I'd been punched in the gut, as if I'd lost a friend. Over the years I have shed tears for many a character. When someone is as passionate about the world of fiction and form the strong bonds that I do with fictional characters, you not only emphasize and feel for them as they go through the various circumstances that us writers put them through, but you also feel their absence when/if they meet their doom. I cry for them when they cry. I bleed for them when they bleed. But I truly feel as if I have lost someone important in my life if I have to say goodbye.

I wasn't the most popular kid when I was in school. I didn't really find my stride in life until I got to college and found like-minded people. Or at least people who thought my nerdiness was endearing. I had very few friends who respected me for being different. In fact, I think I had a total of, like, 4 friends who stuck  by me even though I was a total dork. And only two of those shared my dorkiness.

I digress.

So, seeing as I wasn't exactly popular, I hated going to school. I was incredibly smart (which doesn't get you any popularity points either, unless the dumb jocks ask to cheat off you) so I enjoyed the learning aspect of things, but I got picked on pretty mercilessly in the early days. By the time I was 16 the bullying stopped because I refused to be bullied. I was a nerd with a temper.

Anyway, the world of fiction allowed me an escape. I'd been reading since I was 3, but it didn't truly become my refuge until I was probably 11. That's when I discovered the wonderful world of Harry Potter and fell in love with my first character. For the next seven years, not only did my love for all things fiction grow to include not only books but movies, anime, manga, video games, anything really, but my love for Harry Potter only grew. I became attached to the characters. They became my friends, my escape from a world where I was rarely understood. And then, when I was 18 years old, I lost the character that had not only been my favorite HP character since I was 11, but was also my favorite character in existence and still is to this day. I wept for an hour over the death of Severus Snape. I felt silly because I knew he wasn't real, but then another wise character by the name of Albus Dumbledore pointed out something to Harry that hit home with me.

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?" Dumbledore's wise words explained so much for me. Yes, the worlds that I dove into were not happening in my immediate reality. I am not physically at Hogwarts, nor in Narnia, the Soul Society, or in some galaxy far far away. I can't Time-walk, date vampires, or go to Camp Half-blood. But that doesn't make these places any less real in my mind or in my heart.

The worlds I find myself in when I read or watch movies or play games are a shelter for me, a sanctuary. When this reality becomes too much, or too little, I can go find my place somewhere else. Will I ever physically go there? No. But that doesn't make the feelings I feel or the people (YES PEOPLE!) I meet any less real to me. So if you see me crying or hear me talking about being sad over a character I have grown to truly love and care for dying, don't insult me or their memories by saying that I shouldn't get so upset over something that isn't real. Because, to be honest, a lot of these characters are more real to me than most of you are.

And so this shall be a tribute to the characters who I have loved and lost and feel like I owe a thank you to. Sometimes it's the realm of fiction that has the greatest impact, and these characters have helped me through some of the greatest pain that this reality has handed to me. I don't care if you don't understand or you don't like it. All that shows me is that you don't understand me. Just remember, just because it's happening in a place you cannot physically see doesn't mean you have the right to negate it's excistance.
 

You will be missed, Kuchiki Byakuya Taicho

Looking for Alaska: the Labyrinth of Suffering

I think it's becoming a new trend for me to start doing book reviews. Of course this seemed like a natural course of action considering I'm a walking library, but I realized I have an inability to write a proper one. I've never been one who gets caught up in things like symbolism, character development, plot, etc., Don't get me wrong! As someone who has a BA in English, I can attest to you, dear reader, that all of those things and more are extremely important when writing a novel. They are due their respect. But I don't think I can write a blog about them. Can I spot them, disect them, understand them, and appreciate them? Yes. But a novel is about so much more than the mechanics.

An old friend of mine told me that I should start my own version of Sparknotes. It took me a little while to realize this old friend is a freaking genius! My book reviews will have very little to do with mechanics and all about how a certain novel made me feel. A well written story should be able to invoke several emotions simultaneously and that is what is important to me. How did this novel make me feel while I was reading, and did it stay with me long after the last page was turned? And so, welcome to AliNotes! Be prepared to read my probably useless ramblings about the adventures that a good story can take us on.

I read Looking for Alaska by John Green almost as soon as I finished The Fault in Our Stars. I've since read another book by Green called Paper Towns, which I loved as well, though not as much as the aforementioned.  I have fallen in love with Green's writing style and immature locker room humor. I have always been a bit boyish and so I guess inappropriate jokes about body parts and crazy pranks are right up my alley. What I like the most about Green is that (in my opinion) he's an incredibly deep thinker and makes you contemplate the big questions about life, death, love, hate, and everything in-between without even realizing that you're doing it. His thoughtful and downright philosophical musings are so well woven into the paragraphs and pages that you don't catch a glimpse of them until suddenly, he hits a little close to home.

Looking for Alaska dealt with a group of teenagers away at boarding school in butthole Alabama. The three that the story focuses on is our narrator Pudge, his roommate The Colonel, and, of course, Alaska. Alaska is an impuslive, chain smoking troublemaker with deep wounds that she can never seem to heal. She is the glue that seems to keep the group together, and Pudge believes himself very much in love even though she has a boyfriend she allegedly loves very much. I mean, he is the only guy she's never cheated on. Oh, that is until a drunken make out session with Pudge. Anyway, the night of the crazy make out, in which Alaska promises to continue when they're sober, Alaska suddenly freaks out and asks the boys to help her get off campus. They distract the principal, Alaska gets in her car, and is killed in an accident. The rest of the novel is about Pudge and his friends in search of answers to what happened. What had upset Alaska so much before she drove away? Had she really been so drunk that she didn't see the cop car (lights and all) in the middle of the road? Was it suicide? The cop said she didn't even swerve.

To me, LFA is about a young person coming to terms with unanswerable questions, broken promises, and the fact that actions have consequences.

Death is one of the greatest mysteries that we humans have been trying to uncover for centuries. In LFA, Pudge is obsessed with peoples last words. He later goes on a quest trying to understand the death of his friend. It took me back to when death first touched my life and opened my eyes to the fact that I'm not ten feet tall and bullet proof, and those I love aren't always going to be by my side. We watch Pudge and The Colonel struggle with trying to understand why Alaska died. How could their healthy, beautiful friend be there one minute and suddenly gone the next. I've had death touch me in significant ways and I've wrestled with those same questions. I've also wrestled with Alaska's struggle to make it out of what she refers to as the "labyrinth of suffering." I was taken back to being a kid and seeing the world for what it was for the first time. I remember that pain, the fear of uncertainty. I remember it the moment that it dawned on me that I would definitely die someday and I'd probably never see it coming. That's what this novel is about.

Alaska's answer to the question of how to escape the labyrinth of was simple. "Hard and fast," she wrote in the margin of her favorite book. At the end of the novel, honoring Alaska's memory, Pudge's Religion teacher poses this question to them. I think it only appropriate that I answer this question for myself.

"How will you---you personally---ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering? Now that you've wrestled with three major religious traditions, apply your newly enlightened mind to Alaska's question."  

The answer is actually quite simple: I wont.

It isn't a bad thing. It's just a reality we all have to face. I believe a famous mere-cat once told us all that sometimes bad things happen and there isn't anything that you can do about it. At some point in your life, someone will betray you. Someone will break your heart, people will die, and you will make choices that come with great consequences that you have to learn to live with. When it comes to suffering, you really have two choices: let it break you, or make you. I've chosen the latter .

It's no secret that I've seen and felt my fair share of suffering. I've seen death with my own two eyes, had my heart broken more times then you would believe humanly possible, and I've screwed up in some monstrous ways. I've screamed myself hoarse and cried so much I've thrown up. Sometimes I go through times where I wonder if agony and pain is the only thing I remember how to feel. I have days where the losses I've felt press on me harder than other days and I don't even know if I'll have to strength to crawl out of bed and simply go on. But I do.

Every day I wake up knowing there are people I've lost that I'll never get back, whether that be to death or circumstance, and I have to accept that fact every time I am greeted by a new day. I have to make a decision every morning to get up, put my pants on, and live. There are scars on my heart with peoples names etched into them that will never ever fade. I can feel the empty spaces in my house where my dad should be. When I want to tell Shelley something or show her something, she isn't there for me to tell and show.

Suffering is a part of life. There isn't a way to escape it. You just have to let it bleed, because at the end of the day, it's worth it. Maybe there are people out there who truly live charmed lives and never know anything other than utter contentment. If so, I actually feel sorry for them because they will never learn to appreciate the great things about life that I have.

 Happiness is truly a fickle and fleeting emotion. You cant capture it in a jar like a lightning bug and watch the light show. Happiness comes and goes, just like suffering, just like pain. But it's worth it. Only when you have truly suffered can you be truly grateful for even just one moment of pure and unadulterated joy. I've felt that. At the end of the day, those brief spells of happiness have made all the pain worth it. I don't want out of the labyrinth if I lost the ability to drop to my knees and say thank you for even just one moment of something better.

 It doesn't matter how it ended, it only matters that it happened. I have wished on stars and seen those wishes come to fruition. I have had a first kiss that will stay with me for the rest of my life. It doesn't matter how badly it ended or how my heart bled. Nothing can take the memories away from me. They're mine and no amount of sadness I felt afterward can taint the happiness I felt in those moments. No one and nothing can take that away from me. That moments may have had a heavy price attached, but I'd pay them every time. I wouldn't take back not one second, even if I'd known how it would have turned out later. I wouldn't have loved or fought or smiled any less.

Think back to a moment in time where you were happy. I don't mean "I got chocolate cake!" happy. I mean the kind where you turn your face to the star clad sky and you are so overcome with emotion that you can barely choke out a whispered thanks. I remember every single one of those moments. I remember thinking, "so this is what it feels like. This is passion. This is joy. This is love." It wont last forever. Nothing does. But neither will pain. Hold on to the joy and let go of the rest, because there isn't anything you can do to change it. And if it made you that happy at the time, you shouldn't. You can't really hate someone or something that once caused you so much joy, even if they did deal you a heavy wound. Send them light and love every time you think of them. Be grateful to them. They taught you how to survive. They showed you how to smile.
They helped you learn how to love.


I will never escape the labyrinth of suffering for inside the labyrinth is "the great perhaps." Inside of suffering is all the possibilities that life has to offer me. Where there is pain, there is love. Where there is love, there is hope. And where there is hope, there is the possibility of a life that not even death can claim.

Happiness-The Fray

The Fault in Our Stars

At 3 O'clock yesterday morning, I finished the second book of the All Souls Trilogy. This series is opening my eyes in many splendid ways, but that is not what this blog post is about. As soon as I sat down Shadow of Night (which I own in book form) I picked up my kindle and started a book that I finished some 4 hours later, tears coursing down my face, and with new ponderings about life and death zooming around in my head. I laid on my back in my messy bed, watched the sun peek through my blinds, and stared at the glow in the dark stars I still have stuck on my ceiling (remnants of my 16 year old self) with the last words of said novel bouncing around in my head. "I do, Augustus. I do." 

By the way, beware, for ahead there be the beast called Spoiler. 

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green is a novel that, to the unobservant, seems to be about kids who are dying (or being blinded because) of cancer. As most who read this blog know (okay, lets face it, only, like, one person reads this blog) my father died two years ago of said disease, so I've had some up-close and personal experience with the process of dying. But as I read the book, I realized this book had very little to do with death and mostly to do with life and living. 

Dying is a messy business. I have read the sentence, "He/She died peacefully in their home," more times than I have cared to, and when I read it in my own father's obituary, I have never read a more blatant lie in my entire twenty-four (nearly) years of life. I was there when Dad took his last breath in this world and let me tell you, there was nothing peaceful about it. Perhaps that isn't very comforting for the people who loved him. But, well, I was his kid, so kick rocks. I still selfishly stand by the fact that if anyone needed comforting in that moment, it was me, but I was robbed of that because I had a front row seat. My dad didn't go out kicking and screaming because he was in a coma, not because he was peacefully accepting death. 

Cancer eats you from the inside out. I appreciate John Green more than I can express because he gave us an honest portrayal of what it is like to die of cancer. Cancer isn't pretty, fun, peaceful, or exclusive. This story is narrated by a 16 year old girl named Hazel whose diagnosis came three months after she got her first period. "Like: Congratulations! You're a woman. Now die." Hazel frequents a support group in a church where she meets Augustus Waters (our gorgeous one-legged hero) who begins to worm his way into her turmoil filled heart. She'd been content to simply sit at home watch America's Next Top Model and wait for death to finally knock on her door. She wanted to leave as less damage as possible when the inevitable happened and the miracle drug that had saved her would stop working. She didn't exactly have aspirations of having her name written in history books. She simply didn't want to cause anymore damage than was absolutely necessary by her impending doom.

And then enters Augustus Waters. Gus is an incredibly handsome, intelligent, and alive young man. Hazel doesn't want to get too close because she doesn't want to hurt him,  but she's drawn to him regardless. She lets him in, lets him lover her, and most importantly lets herself love him. THIS IS WHERE SPOILERS START. STOP READING IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW!!!!!!

And then he dies.

John Green didn't write a book about dying. Through his character Augustus Waters, he illustrated the point that it isn't in the losing but the living of the life you were given. August and Hazel felt a love for one another that many people twice their age never find. A favorite quote of mine from the book is, "You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful." This brought me back to Sarah Dessen's book The Truth About Forever, which I believe also changed my life for the better. What these two novels have in common is the concept of what "forever" really means. Perhaps my forever will end years from now and yours tomorrow. But the permanence of your situation, dear reader (seriously, the one)  isn't what's important. It the effect you have on someone else and their forever that matters. It's what you do with the life you have, not the way you die.

Death isn't pretty, not in my experience anyway. All of the people who were close to me that have died have done so pretty horribly. Their deaths left scars on me,  but their lives...their lives left me with a beautiful and colorful portrait of a life that had been worth living and lived well. Their death's were sad, tragic, and I miss them, but the fact that they're gone shouldn't be the only thing I think about when I remember them.

I'm not particularly scared of death. I don't remember ever being, to be honest. At an early age, I understood that anything living must once day cease. I've always understood my mortality and the fact that someday I would go into the great Somewhere (Heaven, for me) and the thought doesn't strike me with fear. The dying part doesn't seem very pleasant (from what I've encountered) but I'm more concerned about the middle bit between birth and death.

I've got lots of scars and I've left my fair share as well. I've felt pain (as it demands to be felt, as Augustus says) and I've given as good as I've gotten. Hazel had to learn that no matter what you do, your life and death will effect those around you, whether you successfully shut them out of not. Maybe she wouldn't go down in history, but she would go down in someone's history. As long as you impact even just one person in any kind of way, you will be remembered. Augustus left Hazel with a forever kind of love, even if they were only granted a certain amount of days together.

All of us are going to die and some of us wont get to accomplish what we want to. Some of us will never reach our dreams. Shakespeare said (and John Green made great use of this) "The fault is not in our stars, but in ourselves." What I take away from this is the fact that you can be mad at God, the universe, and your circumstances all day long, but it isn't their fault. Sometimes it isn't anyone's fault, it's just life and you accept it and move on. Easier said than done, but I've done it and so can you.

If I write just one novel that impacts one person the way The Fault in Our Stars impacted me, I will be satisfied. But I accept the fact that I could get hit by a bus tomorrow and my forever would drift away. I might just be one of those people who never get to reach their dreams because death isn't exclusive. But I'm going to die trying. I don't regret my scars. I find them well worth it. I hope I leave a few worthwhile scars behind when it's my turn to go Somewhere. I'll keep living or die trying.

I'm sorry this is so random, long, and disjointed. Perhaps I'll write a more coherent post about all I took away from this splendid novel (when I haven't taken benadryll) but for now you'll have to deal with this.

John Green, on the off chance that you ever read this, I just want to say thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my scarred heart for understanding that when you get cancer, sometimes you piss the bed. Thank you for not over-romanticizing death. Thank you for understanding that cancer is a horrible way to go. Thank you for being a nerdfighter and understanding Harry Potter is the bomb. And most of all, thank you for writing a book about living well opposed to dying well, because I'm not sure if there is such a thing.

Thank you.

Signed, a fellow Green & Nerdfighter.

For some reason, this makes me think of Hazel and Augustus.

Seeing Stars

I feel like I've been sitting in silence for the better part of a year. My last semester of college was a blur of homework and trying to have a good time. Since graduation, life has been a blur of fear and uncertainty and I guess I didn't know what to say about any of it. I still don't, to be honest, but I do have something to say finally, so here it goes.

Tuesday is trash day. It's one of the few constants in my ever changing life. Today when I got off of work I walked to the front to bring the trashcan to the backyard. While I was walking from my car to the front yard, I inhaled the crisp cool air and looked over at my front yard and I was taken back to a different time and place . Scent is one of our main memory sensors. A certain scent can trigger a dozen or more memories all at once, and that's what happened to me today. 

All of the sudden I could smell summer's retreat and the steady creep of fall. The kiss of a breeze whispered a promise of cooler weather and suddenly, I was 16 again. It was a Friday night and the whole town was over at the school watching the Gladiators battle it out with the opposing team. I was laughing and walking around with my best friends without a care in the world. Then we'd walk to my house and stay up all night outside when we weren't supposed to, never getting caught but always liking the thrill of knowing we might. Then the memory changes and I'm laying down in my front yard looking at the stars, talking on the phone to that special someone and relishing in the fact that somehow, without me noticing, he'd become my best friend. 

And then I blink and I'm in college. I'm out in my friends pasture with a bonfire blazing in front of us. I no longer go to football games or talk to that person on the phone. I have a whole new set of friends and a  new certain someone. We're laughing and dancing to my iPod and some of them are a little tipsy. I feel safe for the first time in along time. The Crew makes me feel wanted and supported and capable. They give me strength. 

And now here I am without the Crew, school, football games, or wishing on stars with the boy I liked half my life. Everything is different and I've let go of those parts of my life that I know I can't get back. Some parts I don't want back. But even though it's over, those memories are as much a part of me as the color of my eyes and the sound of my voice. That one breeze on some random Tuesday made me trace the strands that form the tapestry of my life and briefly see how each of these events have somehow become part of my identity. Without each of those memories, each of those strands, I wouldn't be who I am at this moment. 

Lately I feel like I'm dangling from one of those strands. I have no direction and no idea what I am going to do with myself in the future. I used to think that I'd cut all of the ties that bound me to a past so out of my reach, but I can't. I will never be able to be rid of it simply because the past helped form the whole picture. Without those events, without that life, I'd be a blank or incomplete canvas. I simply need to learn how to add to the painting. I need to mix new colors. 

Those snapshots or strands of string all helped build the home I now find myself a residence. I feel the future knocking on my door and I don't know what will be on the other side of the door when I finally figure out how to open it. But when I look back on all the places I've been and things that I've gone through, I know I'll  be okay eventually. 

I can't go back to those Friday nights and long phone calls. I don't want to. But one thing that hasn't changed since I was 16 years old is my belief that I am meant for something more. I'm not bound by the anger and hurt from my past. I choose to look at the good times as well as bad and appreciate them for what they were. 

Because of you from my past, I still go stand in my yard from time to time to see the stars. Thank you. Without you, I wouldn't understand the power and wonder of the nighttime sky. I wouldn't still be wishing on stars.

Seeing Stars

Lets Get Lost

I can't believe I'm here again. Only this time, it's different. The next step isn't just another step in rapid succession. Now it's like every step means something more. I feel like I'm actually moving forward. 

That was me when I was 17 or 18. I'd just started taking college classes full time. I was still brokenhearted and blaming every male on the planet for it. I was just hitting my stride when it came to finding some confidence. I actually felt almost pretty. I was hanging out with people I'd met at Navarro as well as my best friends from high school. I hung out with Shelley a lot in those days. Shelley, Grady, Colin and Dillon formed a group we called the Zombie Hunter Ripoffs. We would take walks at midnight pretending like we were Zombie Hunters. We ran from skunks and laughed until we woke up my Dad . We lived at each others houses. I cried and clung to Shelley on my front porch as we said goodbye before she moved to Dallas.  I never imagined Shelley would be dead within two year. I met a guy at Navarro who fell in love with me but I didn't feel the same, or so I made myself believe. I still don't know what was wrong with me. He became my best friend. I never thought that six or so years later, I wouldn't even know his number. 

Here I am at 19. I thought black hair would make me seem daring. It only made me seem pale. Dad freaked out and yelled at me when he saw it. I thought he was being unreasonable and oppressive. He was just trying to save me from feeling super stupid about it later, which I did. I started dating this guy and my Dad didn't like him. He tried to tell me it was a waste of time; the guy had the I.Q. of a paperweight. The relationship only last five months. I also became a part of a family of friends that made so much noise in the lounge at Navarro that we got put in our own classroom, just to hang out. We made spaghetti in crock pots in the hallway and gave the Dean of Students slices of "better than sex" cake. We played video games, held kangaroo court, and I fell in love with Taylor. I got my heartbroken over and over by the same person. I slid head first into a washing machine and gave myself a concussion. I never thought those days would come to a quick and abrupt end. I never thought those friends, The Crew, would turn on each other. We all made mistakes we can't take back.

Here I am again at 19. I dyed my hair purple after Taylor dumped me. He dumped me a lot. This was only the first time. I could fake a smile really well in those days. I never thought I would really miss my purple hair.

This is me at 20. I started dating Taylor again. I was at my most confident. All the guys in our group liked me. I still don't know why, but I felt pretty. I wasn't afraid to do the chicken dance in front of fifty strangers. I wasn't afraid to speak my mind, unless it was to Taylor. I started dressing like a girl. I loved being in a dress. We had a party every weekend. I had the tightest group of friends. I still do, just not with the same people. Drama started. People were jealous of me for the first time in my life. But why me?

I'm still 20. Dad had a took that fell out, but the wound wouldn't close. He went to the doctor and they did a biopsy. He had cancer. A whirlwind of doctor visits discovered two kinda. He sat with me and Mom on the back porch and they told me. I cried and screamed and told him I couldn't lose him. He cried and told me something I'll never forget. "I'm not afraid to die, baby. But I'm not ready yet." He wanted to walk me down the aisle someday. To hold my babies. I knew I'd lose my parents. God willing, they would go first because that's how it's supposed to be. Parents shouldn't bury their children. Taylor dumped me again. Dad started chemo and got really sick. I called Taylor over and over one week because he was my best friend and my Dad wasn't doing good. He ignored me because he was with his ex girlfriend at the beach. I never truly got over that one, even when we got back together. Shelley died. She was murdered. I screamed. I had nightmares. I was filled with rage. I remember her funeral vividly. I saw and spoke to people I hadn't in years. I hugged someone I hadn't in a long time. I forgave him. There was more important things in life than the guy that broke my heart when I was sixteen. 

I'm 21 now. Dad is recovering from chemo and the tumor in his lung shrank half it's size. He's considered a cancer survivor because his mouth cancer is gone. He gets a purple tshirt and gives it to me. He always gives me tshirst to sleep in. I start at SAGU and the divide between me and my old life at Navarro grows. The gap between Taylor and I grows wider still. I was super lonely that first semester. I made a friend named Sam. He was cooler than he'll ever give himself credit for. I think about transferring. People aren't always nice to the Baptist in a Pentecostal school. Chapel freaks me out because people dance, lift their hands, and speak in tongues. I was taught differently. I don't care about fitting in as much as following my own heart. I felt God move in me. He drew me to a passage. "Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh,"-Luke 6: 21. Who knew that, come summertime, I would cling to those words like a lifeline? 

I'm still 21. My Dad is dying. The cancer came back in his liver and is growing fast. Chemo isn't working. Taylor isn't helping. I asked God for a miracle while I was working in the library one day. I gave up and gave it all to Him. Then the door to the library opens and Zach walks in. I smile, he smiles, and I help him find a book. I didn't know then that was the start of something. I didn't want to hurt Taylor, but he kept hurting me. So I dumped him this time. I wasn't a doormat. I was free. I fell in love. Truly, this time. It was different. This was real. Dad died. I was there. In the same room. I watched him take his last breath. My best friend Emily listened to his last heartbeat through her stethoscope. I found out I'm strong. I freaked out, and then I stopped. I dealt with it. Who knew that I really am my father's daughter?

I'm 22. Dad's gone and I'm engaged. I can't believe this. I meet two people who would become two of my greatest friends, Majken and Elizabeth. They keep me sane. They accept me, crap and all. Mrs. George becomes my second mother/sister/mentor/friend. She and Dr. Amy become my support system. They love me and I don't know why. I am hurting, but I am also healing. I'm moving toward being in a good place. My "friends" from Navarro stab me in the back three months after I lose my Dad. But I move past it with ease. I have Zach. I have my Mom. I have Majken and Elizabeth and the rest of the English department. I can do this. 

Hey, that's me a few weeks ago. I'm 23 now and I'm happier than I have been in a long time. I'm engaged to the greatest person on the planet. I miss Daddy and Shelley everyday, but I can think about them and smile. They loved me. I loved them. How lucky am I? To have known these wonderful amazing people? To have the memories I do? How blessed I am! I am still healing. I have my bad days. Emily, Majken, Elizabeth, Justin, and Zach help. Jessica, Lindsay, Tabitha, Erin, Megan have become some of the greatest friends I have as well. Mrs. George still rocks. I feel like I have the respect of my teachers. I have the love of a great man.  I have a greater love of an amazing God who enabled me to understand that, no matter how many tears I shed, there will always be laughter. Life is taking the bad with the good. Thank God for my imperfect humanity.

In a little under five months I will be taking a few more steps toward my future. I will reach out and not only grasp the future, but a diploma! I'm freaked out, but I'm ready for whatever life has left to throw at me. I've been at the bottom, in the middle, back to the bottom, and on top. I am not afraid to fail. I don't fear failure. I'm not scared to die. I'm ready to laugh in the face of danger and grad school! I've accepted the fact that everyone dies. But I've also learned that not everyone truly lives. 

Life isn't about pursuing only pleasure. It isn't only about seeking the divine. It's a balancing act. Nothing is going to go the way you think it will. Not everyone is going to think like you do. Most people aren't going to care how you feel. And you will never know everything. Maybe you'll never know anything. That's okay too. I don't know that I know anything either.

If I could go back, maybe I would do things differently. Maybe not, though. I probably would have given Dad more credit than I did. Him and Mom knew their stuff. I'd probably give the guy with the I.Q. of a flobberworm (if you get the reference, I'll kiss you) a swift kick in the jacobs.  I'd punch that one girl in the face. I'd definitely tell Daddy how proud I was and am to be his daughter. I'd tell Shelley that she was an inspiration. I'd go back in time and save her if I could. 

I think I'm ready to get lost in this big ole' world. I'm glad I wont be alone.

In five months, I'm sure I'll have more to say about the future. But for now, here are some lessons I've learned  about life and about growing up. 

Don't let anyone tell you that you aren't beautiful,

God made you, God loves you, so love yourself.

Don't cry because it's over, 

Smile because it happened.

Live life the best you can,

Because you have to live the life you choose.

If you love someone, for pete's sake, tell them! 

There is always that chance they wont be here tomorrow.

Pray every day, as often as you need to,

and don't care what people say about it. 

Listen to your music as loud as you can,

and dance like you're absolutely insane. 

Do everything they told you that you'd never do,

and smile while you do it. 

And after you've done all this to find yourself, 

Lose yourself. 

Let go everything you think is you, because it isn't,

It's God. 

Love, 

Ali