April 2015
I am taking a class that my daddy teaches on Natural Landscaping. Everything I'm interested in lead me back home. Whenever I ventured to where I wanted to go, I ended up back where I started: home! Whatever I learned and whatever I am interested in, at least as a career, I learned after the fact that my parents have been doing this the whole time!!
I am in this class because I found out that my dad hates lawns too! I, through my own thinking, figured out that a yard (or any land for that matter) should be productive, not consumptive. A lawn requires so much of the land owner's energy, resources, and time to maintain. In contrast, one could have a garden or landscape to produce food, beauty, or habitat. (Can you tell I'm into horticulture?)
My dad actually teaches a class all about how to reduce the size of your lawn. He suggested that I take it, and I agreed without hesitation.
It seems strange and backwards to disappear into school everyday of my childhood to learn a bunch of irrelevant things when I don't even know what my parents do during the day. I don't know what's going on in my parents' lives, but I know the quadratic formula. I don't know my parents' passions and beliefs and how they want to better the world through their service to the community in their jobs, but I know all about the Oregon Trail. *Frustration with the American education system and the way children are brought up now*
I knew their jobs had something to do with nature, but that was about it. My mom is obsessed with birds and I've always found that annoying.
The apple does not fall far from the tree.
My dad told me a story about what life was like when I was very young. He and Mom were in Michigan in graduate school. Once both had finished their Master's degrees, my dad wanted to continue his education because he wanted to be a professor. I never thought about this before, but my dad LOVES college. He was raised on a dairy farm with four older brothers and a younger half-sister, and none of them went to college. My dad was the first person to go to college in his family. And go to college he did! He almost completed his PhD and was going to teach college! But... then he looked around at all of this professors, and none of them had families or hobbies. They didn't have time for themselves or others. They didn't even have time for their students! All they ever did was research. My dad, with a two-year-old (me) and an infant (my sister), decided he didn't want that lifestyle. So he dropped out of school and he and my mom moved back to Washington. They love their life now, where they live in a beautiful place (my mom hated Michigan) with jobs in their field they are passionate about, and that also allow them to have a life outside of it - my dad can do the things he loves, like garden, cook and play basketball; and he also has time to be present in my and my siblings' lives.
Why didn't he ever tell me that story before?! I feel like I would have been more grateful for my life had I known that. I never realized it but I have a relatively awesome life. What if my dad had chosen that path? My life would be a whole lot different. I'm telling you, I've been asleep my whole life and am just now waking up.
My parents were around for my childhood. They were very involved in my life. They came to my dance recitals, band concerts, royalty parades, etc. to support me and be a part of my life. They know me and my life, but I don't know theirs. I don't know what life was like before I was born; I don't even know what their life is like now!
Various journaling, philosophy, analysis, and essay scraps of a college student
Showing posts with label School. Show all posts
Showing posts with label School. Show all posts
My life doesn't suck.
September 2014
I realized today that my life doesn't suck. I spent the whole day at school even though I didn't have to be there until sixth period for band.
This morning I attended an information meeting for The Evergreen State College, and I confirmed that it is the perfect, ideal fit for me. It is my dream college. And they're accepting applications right now.... I can't believe I'm applying for colleges; it's surreal. I'm practically an adult. In fact, I'm going to legally be one in less than five months. I talked to my friend Brenna today, and she just turned eighteen eight days ago. She said it's terrifying. At the meeting I got this burst of confidence that I will throw together a personal statement, fill out an application, send it in, receive my assumed admission notice within a few mere weeks, and just like that I'm on my way to my future. I believe there is a moment in the college decision process where you can truly see yourself being there and have no doubt in your mind that this is the one, kind of like the special moment a bride has when picking out a dream wedding dress.
After the AP exam in literature class last year when we didn't have anything else to learn, we were assigned to write a draft of a personal statement. My idea for the topic was perfect - how naturopathic philosophies apply to other areas of my life besides health - but I wrote it and then started over and over again, not really sure where I was going. It felt like a bunch of random flimsy paragraphs, and not one rich essay. This is not acceptable: I know I can do better than that. I love to write and I have written some awesome essays before. When I started thinking more about my personal statement and how concentrated it should be and how I should feel 100% proud and confident of it, I realized that I was describing my blog. Would you look at that - this blog is like an extensive, online personal statement. I am going to take pieces from two of my entries, My College Visiting Trance and I Hate High School, to build off of the vision I imagined last spring.
I had a moment in band where I felt this feeling of joy and it was foreign and strange. I sit next to my sophomore sister in band and we talk and laugh daily like best friends. I missed her. We haven't been friends since we were 14 and 12. We went through a super rough patch in our relationship. I spent three years smack dab in the middle of my teen years without the moral company of my sister. It's such a shame. The bond of sisters is an irreplaceable companionship. If there's one thing essential to my well-being, it's companionship. I love her.
In band I had a blast. Mr. Fosket wasn't there and we had a substitute teacher, so the Drum Majors conducted and lead class: Mikaele and Eric, both very awkward and funny boys, lead us in rehearsing pep band songs. I felt so comfortable and like I belonged. Hilary made comments about Eric's miniature mustache (in her words his "lip caterpillar") and she said he reminded her of the cucumber from Veggie Tales. There is something so completing about giggling to fellow girls about boys, regardless of whether or not we like them. There is a fundamental spiritual bond between girls, especially sisters.
After school I said a cheerful, confident hi to the people I knew whom I walked passed. I was in a fabulous mood. I was wearing a really cute outfit and got some compliments, and I gave out some as well. Danica, a girl on the JV cheer team, walked by and I had a brief exchange with her about her shoes (I have the same ones).
During first lunch I saw the new kid, Blake, lately to whom I've been regularly talking. He has been kind of rude though and refused to spend lunch with me. You know you're happy if you have a strong base on which to stand, so that you are able to withstand minuscule disappointments. I have other joys in my life to fall back on.
Speaking of which, during second lunch I hung out with my boyfriend of two days. I met him last Friday at the away football game at which I cheerleaded and he played, and I am so happy with how uphill this change in my life is going. It is about time and I am more than ready. I know myself enough and deep down have always known that to be complete I must be connected with a significant other. There is nothing weak or shameful about that: it is love, it is belonging.
After school I attended a Gay-Straight-Alliance Club meeting and since I had to drive my little brother Erik home I just kind of dragged him there with me. He is a very mature sixth grader. Afterwards on the drive home we had a very intelligent conversation about stereotypes, which extended into the next hour we were home. I am so proud of my brother; he's way beyond his almost twelve years. I have the same kinds of conversations with him as I would with someone my own age.
My mother and I went to Senior Parent Night at the high school in the evening. I learned about the Scholarship Notebook of achievements that college-bound students submit in order to receive scholarships and recognition from the community at the annual Scholarship Award Ceremony at the end of the year. Some thing I have learned this summer is that I should own everything in my life, including academics. When I was little, my notebooks and binders for school were plain and boring, but my journals and stationary for personal use were decorative and intentional (my idol was Lisa Frank). My scholastic and design existed in two separate worlds. In theory, my education is for me; I should pursue it with the same deliberateness as that of my creative life. An exception was when I was in middle school I had my own pretty day planner that I liked to use by choice, in lieu of the generic planners they gave out for free that no one really used. Lately, I have envisioned myself at Evergreen State College using the sentimental, beautiful type of journals I treasure, but as class notebooks.
Anyway, today it registered that, just like with the personal statement, I could have lots of fun with making my scholarship notebook. After all, it is kind of like a more formal version of a scrapbook. I have wanted to make a scrapbook for a long time: I even bought several varieties of paper, stickers, and other supplies. But alas, scrapbooking is a LOT more difficult than it seems. So much respect for those who have mastered that art. The hardest step is the first one. This scholarship notebook task gives me an excuse - and a motivation - to finally make one.
The things I have already been doing have ended up being the things that I have to do anyway during my senior year. Things are falling into place. I am beginning to live deliberately: the key to living a wholesome lifestyle I want to someday achieve in every corner of life.
I realized today that my life doesn't suck. I spent the whole day at school even though I didn't have to be there until sixth period for band.
This morning I attended an information meeting for The Evergreen State College, and I confirmed that it is the perfect, ideal fit for me. It is my dream college. And they're accepting applications right now.... I can't believe I'm applying for colleges; it's surreal. I'm practically an adult. In fact, I'm going to legally be one in less than five months. I talked to my friend Brenna today, and she just turned eighteen eight days ago. She said it's terrifying. At the meeting I got this burst of confidence that I will throw together a personal statement, fill out an application, send it in, receive my assumed admission notice within a few mere weeks, and just like that I'm on my way to my future. I believe there is a moment in the college decision process where you can truly see yourself being there and have no doubt in your mind that this is the one, kind of like the special moment a bride has when picking out a dream wedding dress.
After the AP exam in literature class last year when we didn't have anything else to learn, we were assigned to write a draft of a personal statement. My idea for the topic was perfect - how naturopathic philosophies apply to other areas of my life besides health - but I wrote it and then started over and over again, not really sure where I was going. It felt like a bunch of random flimsy paragraphs, and not one rich essay. This is not acceptable: I know I can do better than that. I love to write and I have written some awesome essays before. When I started thinking more about my personal statement and how concentrated it should be and how I should feel 100% proud and confident of it, I realized that I was describing my blog. Would you look at that - this blog is like an extensive, online personal statement. I am going to take pieces from two of my entries, My College Visiting Trance and I Hate High School, to build off of the vision I imagined last spring.
I had a moment in band where I felt this feeling of joy and it was foreign and strange. I sit next to my sophomore sister in band and we talk and laugh daily like best friends. I missed her. We haven't been friends since we were 14 and 12. We went through a super rough patch in our relationship. I spent three years smack dab in the middle of my teen years without the moral company of my sister. It's such a shame. The bond of sisters is an irreplaceable companionship. If there's one thing essential to my well-being, it's companionship. I love her.
In band I had a blast. Mr. Fosket wasn't there and we had a substitute teacher, so the Drum Majors conducted and lead class: Mikaele and Eric, both very awkward and funny boys, lead us in rehearsing pep band songs. I felt so comfortable and like I belonged. Hilary made comments about Eric's miniature mustache (in her words his "lip caterpillar") and she said he reminded her of the cucumber from Veggie Tales. There is something so completing about giggling to fellow girls about boys, regardless of whether or not we like them. There is a fundamental spiritual bond between girls, especially sisters.
After school I said a cheerful, confident hi to the people I knew whom I walked passed. I was in a fabulous mood. I was wearing a really cute outfit and got some compliments, and I gave out some as well. Danica, a girl on the JV cheer team, walked by and I had a brief exchange with her about her shoes (I have the same ones).
During first lunch I saw the new kid, Blake, lately to whom I've been regularly talking. He has been kind of rude though and refused to spend lunch with me. You know you're happy if you have a strong base on which to stand, so that you are able to withstand minuscule disappointments. I have other joys in my life to fall back on.
Speaking of which, during second lunch I hung out with my boyfriend of two days. I met him last Friday at the away football game at which I cheerleaded and he played, and I am so happy with how uphill this change in my life is going. It is about time and I am more than ready. I know myself enough and deep down have always known that to be complete I must be connected with a significant other. There is nothing weak or shameful about that: it is love, it is belonging.
After school I attended a Gay-Straight-Alliance Club meeting and since I had to drive my little brother Erik home I just kind of dragged him there with me. He is a very mature sixth grader. Afterwards on the drive home we had a very intelligent conversation about stereotypes, which extended into the next hour we were home. I am so proud of my brother; he's way beyond his almost twelve years. I have the same kinds of conversations with him as I would with someone my own age.
My mother and I went to Senior Parent Night at the high school in the evening. I learned about the Scholarship Notebook of achievements that college-bound students submit in order to receive scholarships and recognition from the community at the annual Scholarship Award Ceremony at the end of the year. Some thing I have learned this summer is that I should own everything in my life, including academics. When I was little, my notebooks and binders for school were plain and boring, but my journals and stationary for personal use were decorative and intentional (my idol was Lisa Frank). My scholastic and design existed in two separate worlds. In theory, my education is for me; I should pursue it with the same deliberateness as that of my creative life. An exception was when I was in middle school I had my own pretty day planner that I liked to use by choice, in lieu of the generic planners they gave out for free that no one really used. Lately, I have envisioned myself at Evergreen State College using the sentimental, beautiful type of journals I treasure, but as class notebooks.
Anyway, today it registered that, just like with the personal statement, I could have lots of fun with making my scholarship notebook. After all, it is kind of like a more formal version of a scrapbook. I have wanted to make a scrapbook for a long time: I even bought several varieties of paper, stickers, and other supplies. But alas, scrapbooking is a LOT more difficult than it seems. So much respect for those who have mastered that art. The hardest step is the first one. This scholarship notebook task gives me an excuse - and a motivation - to finally make one.
The things I have already been doing have ended up being the things that I have to do anyway during my senior year. Things are falling into place. I am beginning to live deliberately: the key to living a wholesome lifestyle I want to someday achieve in every corner of life.
I Hate High School
August 2014
Every summer I get this excitement about going back to school. I would idealistically and foolishly imagine myself getting perfect grades, having fun with friends and accomplishing great things. And every year school would start and within a few months I wondered why on earth I had thought that. And yet school would get out and the cycle would repeat. Even last summer I sometimes caught myself feeling little sparks of hopeful and excited, after the traumatizing spring of soul-crushing bullies, dry raw loneliness, and harshly difficult schooling on top of all of it. I naively had a brief quixotic vision of there is still a chance of redeeming myself. Don't worry, I quickly reality-checked myself and assured myself that being exposed to that will be terrifying and unbearable. (Which it was, and then some.)
This summer I noticed that I didn't get that feeling whatsoever. In fact, if anything I am horribly anxious. One day in particular triggered paralyzing flashbacks: I went to my friend Brenna's house to work on our labs for our summer chemistry course, and she reluctantly told me that a few months ago when we were in school she had to stand up to two boys from school because they were talking about me behind my back and saying mean things about me. Both of these boys I have had major crushes on in the past; one openly admittedly hates me, has bullied me for two years and can still sleep at night, and the other in front of whom I have just made a fool out myself countless times. When Brenna told me this, everything came flooding back: I was back at high school, that weak loner girl who didn't fit no matter where she turned.
But it doesn't end there. That evening, I attended my first Sequim City Band rehearsal and my fellow flute-playing "friend" told me that there was a band officer meeting earlier, completely oblivious of my feelings. The previous spring I ran for officer and apparently no one had bothered to tell me that I didn't win the vote. I spent all year thinking that I would be an officer for my senior year. I actually started crying during practice. That day I learned that I was not very well liked among the band members. I knew that there were many who weren't fond of me but I didn't think those who didn't like me outnumbered those who did or where indifferent put together. Believe it or not, this sort of newsflash has happened an obnoxiously excessive amount of times.
If there's anything I concluded on that day, it's that I DON'T want to go back to high school. I actually started crying as I wrote this entry at the thought of my previous experiences in a public high school--my peers either hating or not caring about me, the school administration treating me like anything but a human being, living in the shadow of my younger sister, my parents not only being indifferent to my misery but actually blaming me and disciplining me for it. I can still see their furious faces glaring into my eyes.... My high school experience could be accurately summed up with the image of me flailing my arms in the air as if attempting to get someone's attention, and saying "um, hello?" but getting no response.
Imagine violently submerging deep underwater and then painfully, slowly resurfacing. Even when you finally reemerge, you are cold, uncomfortable, scared, and out of energy. Spring of 2013 was the plunge, and last summer was the drowsy, torturous resurfacing, desperately gasping for air that wasn't there. Last year's release from school was more like a demanding, exhausting sprint race... sweat dripping off of every part of you, heart beating so fast it can barely keep up, blood frantically scrambling to go from limb to limb, you feel it vigorously pumping in every one of your battered, exasperated muscles... and finally getting to the end and your steps get quicker and smaller as you try to stop, but the powerful force of inertia strains your legs so much that you are flung and fall. I crashed into summer at full speed--and then, after a lot of crazy shit, stood up, sore, and collected myself.
This year I am a senior--it is my last year of school until college. This summer I experienced living my life for ME. Not for my parents, not for the school. I experienced not being terrified to go to school at seven every day, not being exhausted, bored, excluded, confused, frustrated, silenced, snapped back into place if I tried to speak up or do something for myself.... I realized how wonderful it is to be freed from that. That is why I decided early on last year that I would do Running Start for my senior year: a program where I take classes at the local community college in lieu of high school courses. As much as I would like to, I can't concur the all-powerful furious giant that is high school. There is a point when it is okay to give up. Besides, I was robbed of my dignity a long time ago: throwing in the towel and walking away from that mess is a dignified step towards rekindling my life and my happiness.
For the record, in the future I will homeschool my four presumed children (maybe someday I'll write a less personal and more philosophical post elaborating on why I would choose to do that). At this point there is no room for hope: high school is miserable, period.
Every summer I get this excitement about going back to school. I would idealistically and foolishly imagine myself getting perfect grades, having fun with friends and accomplishing great things. And every year school would start and within a few months I wondered why on earth I had thought that. And yet school would get out and the cycle would repeat. Even last summer I sometimes caught myself feeling little sparks of hopeful and excited, after the traumatizing spring of soul-crushing bullies, dry raw loneliness, and harshly difficult schooling on top of all of it. I naively had a brief quixotic vision of there is still a chance of redeeming myself. Don't worry, I quickly reality-checked myself and assured myself that being exposed to that will be terrifying and unbearable. (Which it was, and then some.)
This summer I noticed that I didn't get that feeling whatsoever. In fact, if anything I am horribly anxious. One day in particular triggered paralyzing flashbacks: I went to my friend Brenna's house to work on our labs for our summer chemistry course, and she reluctantly told me that a few months ago when we were in school she had to stand up to two boys from school because they were talking about me behind my back and saying mean things about me. Both of these boys I have had major crushes on in the past; one openly admittedly hates me, has bullied me for two years and can still sleep at night, and the other in front of whom I have just made a fool out myself countless times. When Brenna told me this, everything came flooding back: I was back at high school, that weak loner girl who didn't fit no matter where she turned.
But it doesn't end there. That evening, I attended my first Sequim City Band rehearsal and my fellow flute-playing "friend" told me that there was a band officer meeting earlier, completely oblivious of my feelings. The previous spring I ran for officer and apparently no one had bothered to tell me that I didn't win the vote. I spent all year thinking that I would be an officer for my senior year. I actually started crying during practice. That day I learned that I was not very well liked among the band members. I knew that there were many who weren't fond of me but I didn't think those who didn't like me outnumbered those who did or where indifferent put together. Believe it or not, this sort of newsflash has happened an obnoxiously excessive amount of times.
If there's anything I concluded on that day, it's that I DON'T want to go back to high school. I actually started crying as I wrote this entry at the thought of my previous experiences in a public high school--my peers either hating or not caring about me, the school administration treating me like anything but a human being, living in the shadow of my younger sister, my parents not only being indifferent to my misery but actually blaming me and disciplining me for it. I can still see their furious faces glaring into my eyes.... My high school experience could be accurately summed up with the image of me flailing my arms in the air as if attempting to get someone's attention, and saying "um, hello?" but getting no response.
Imagine violently submerging deep underwater and then painfully, slowly resurfacing. Even when you finally reemerge, you are cold, uncomfortable, scared, and out of energy. Spring of 2013 was the plunge, and last summer was the drowsy, torturous resurfacing, desperately gasping for air that wasn't there. Last year's release from school was more like a demanding, exhausting sprint race... sweat dripping off of every part of you, heart beating so fast it can barely keep up, blood frantically scrambling to go from limb to limb, you feel it vigorously pumping in every one of your battered, exasperated muscles... and finally getting to the end and your steps get quicker and smaller as you try to stop, but the powerful force of inertia strains your legs so much that you are flung and fall. I crashed into summer at full speed--and then, after a lot of crazy shit, stood up, sore, and collected myself.
This year I am a senior--it is my last year of school until college. This summer I experienced living my life for ME. Not for my parents, not for the school. I experienced not being terrified to go to school at seven every day, not being exhausted, bored, excluded, confused, frustrated, silenced, snapped back into place if I tried to speak up or do something for myself.... I realized how wonderful it is to be freed from that. That is why I decided early on last year that I would do Running Start for my senior year: a program where I take classes at the local community college in lieu of high school courses. As much as I would like to, I can't concur the all-powerful furious giant that is high school. There is a point when it is okay to give up. Besides, I was robbed of my dignity a long time ago: throwing in the towel and walking away from that mess is a dignified step towards rekindling my life and my happiness.
For the record, in the future I will homeschool my four presumed children (maybe someday I'll write a less personal and more philosophical post elaborating on why I would choose to do that). At this point there is no room for hope: high school is miserable, period.
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