you make me want to write again

So this is what everyone talks about. A "summer romance". I must say, at first I was quite skeptical. Determining whether or not I felt something so cliche, could really exsist. However, knowing now, how much you can feel for someone in so little time, has reassured me. There is such a thing. But how ludicrous, people trying to define the word, "love". Trying to concoct some kind of definition for it. Trying to master the word. The truth of the matter is, there is no sole definition. No one on this planet, no matter how many people they have "loved" could even come close in helping one understand it. It is not until one experiences it for themself, and grasps the intesity with all of their heart, that they will ever come to believe it. To know it. And to have felt it. So I'm not going to try and explain it. This... "summer romance". Instead i'll just be thankful that I lived to have experienced such a beautiful thing.

life

Death has always been something that I have questionned. Something that I use to deny would ever happen within my family. However, the reality of life itself, is that death is a definite part of it. It will happen to all of us at one point or another. As human beings put on this earth, not by choice, but by some miraculous power, we truly must cherish the moments we have on this earth. We must enduge ourselves not in the extraneous things - but in our families, and in the people we love. We musn't abuse the time we have with people, because every lasting second with that person counts. We cannot live our lives wishing we would have sent that one letter in the mail, or wishing we would have taken the time to learn what that persons favourite colour was. We must take advantage of the of the time the people we love are with us here on earth. Laughing with them, or just sitting in silence enjoying one anothers company. Thats the time that counts. We must lead a life of good relationships, for we know not when they may suddenly be taken from us. I do not wish to live a life of regret, for I'd much rather be remembered as a beautiful individual. Not for what she owned or what she looked like, but because she gave even when she had nothing to give. Someone who would sacrifice, even though she did her entire life. Someone who would stay on the phone, even when there was nothing left to talk about. Someone who would feed another, even when there wasn't enough food in the fridge for herself. Someone who would be loved by all simply because of the good person she was. And the amazing woman she will always be remembered as. The mortality of human beings is what makes life so beautiful. For we have one life to live, as far as we all know. And so it is our duty, our perogative, to make this life worth living. Not only for ourselves but for those around us. We must try our very best to lead a beautiful life.

notes on a staff, and their equivalency to words on a page...

Music, is a story. Where there is a beginning, a middle, and an end. An introduction, rising action, a climax, falling action, and a conclusion. I am not referring to music by artists such as Eminem, or Rihanna, or John Mayer. But listening to real music. Music that does not require words to tell a story, for the notes on the staff tell the story themself. Music to me, without lyrics, is the best music. For it is heard, and felt. One does not have to stay within the artists creative mindframe, but can journey beyond it and become their own composer. An artist with a "blank canvas," creating their own story, and deriving from it, their own meaning. Within in many crescendos and decrescendos lay beauty. The beauty of sound. The true beauty of music.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhN7SG-H-3k

"the cove"

The Cove is an incredible movie, which opened my eyes to something I had no idea was going on. Despite being on the other side of the world, in Taiji, Japan, I believe people here in North America, and everywhere else in the world should know about what is happening. This movie immersed me into, “the little town with a really big secret.” This secret is the current environmental catastrophe of dolphin slaughtering. Besides approximately 23 000 dolphins being killed each year, other problems have also resulted. There is currently a huge crisis with mecury, the marine ecosystem is diminishing, and while all of this is happening, the government is sitting back watching the madness unfold.

Taiji, Japan is the largest dolphin supplier around the world. The Japanese keep this industry going as they profit greatly from the dolphins. Receiving $150 000 for a show dolphin, and $600 for a dead one. This all started in 1964 when a man by the name of Richard O’Barry became the most famous dolphin trainer in the world. He was one of the many responsible for creating the new dolphin “fad.” Dolphins became the stars of show, and the public eye loved it, and wanted more. This led to the creation of parks like Sea World, where animals which should be left in the wild are kept in captivity for the enjoyment of the public. There are hundreds of parks around the world, which advertise through media each and every day. A big one here in Ontario is Marine Land, “everyone loves Marine Land.” However Niagara Falls is just one of the places within our vicinity where this is occurring. The media knows they can generate revenue from keeping these animals and exploiting them. If that is what’s going to make them money, then that is exactly what they will continue to do.

We all are hopefully aware of a term described as, “media blackout.” A media blackout is the censorship of news related to a certain topic. In regards to what is happening in Japan, the media refuses to release to its public, information about mercury. Ever since the industrial revolution, mercury levels have increased. Unfortunately mercury just doesn’t remain in the ocean; the process of bioaccumulation collects the mercury which then shows up in the bodies of fish, dolphins, and regrettably in people as well. Japanese consumers aren’t always aware of the fish they are buying. Much of the fish that the Japanese public consumes also has dolphin. The dolphin and fish have mercury in them after living and being part of a toxic ecosystem. These organisms are swimming in “toxic dumpsites.” Due to the process of biomagnification, once the poisonous fish is consumed by people the mercury levels are higher. The Government is aware of what their people are ingesting, yet they fail to do anything about it. Over time a similar tragedy could occur like what happened in Minimata. Children could start being born with diseases and deformities. In addition to the problems related to mercury, the wiping out of dolphins is affecting the ecosystem. The OPS (Oceanic Preservation Society) has noticed through close observation that there has been degradation of the ocean in the same place each year. It is evident that the decreasing number of dolphins is affecting the rest of the ocean. The marine ecosystem is in fact diminishing.

Social change comes from the passion of individuals, individuals who strive greatly for change. It is up to the Japanese whether of not the whaling industry will continue or if they will choose to put an end to it. If the Japanese would be bold enough to do something like boycott fish, it would make a clear statement that they will not sit back while the exploiting of dolphins occurs. There is a Japanese saying, “the needle that sticks out, must be pounded down.” This saying expresses the fact that it if difficult to make change. The population is “singing with the chorus,” as Michael Moore would say. I understand very well that these people have a livelihood to maintain, however there are other means than the atrocious slaughtering of dolphins. Richard O’Barry said, “I was as ignorant as I could be for as long as I could be.” By sitting back and allowing all of this to happen, we are being just as ignorant. I am curious as to when the government will put an end to this, or when Greenpeace will finally step in and do the jobs they are suppose to be doing. Is the dolphin species going to have to become extinct before somebody does something about this? I think everyone should see this film, and films like this one. Change can be made, but will require the help of all people. Just because it isn’t happening in our “backyard” doesn’t make it irrelevant. We will continue to be culprits if we allow this to happen. Everyone has to stop being so aware and interested in the extraneous things of life, and focus on what is really important.

trust: a word of the English dictionary that I'll never come to know or understand

George MacDonald says, “To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved.” I believe this to be true, for loving someone is easy but trusting them may just prove to be the hardest thing in the world. A mere five letter word has never proven to me to be so powerful… or so powerless. Beginning with the self, and being hopeful enough to find it within another. It is a word that can be solidified through action, or inaction. Forming a foundation to something beautiful, or shattering forever through one simple act. I haven’t quite decided whether or not I’ll ever come to understand the concept behind the word, or ever genuinely feel the intensity which lay within the letters t-r-u-s-t. What a strange word, trust.

just a thought...

Whether it were the big bang theory that sparked the creation of our earth, or if our faith and belief lay in the story of Adam and Eve… there still remain one question. A question that has been asked for thousands of years, and will continue to be asked – “what comes next?” No matter how many people I ask, how many books I read, or how much google-ing I do, I still have yet to come to a solid conclusion. I always find myself falling back upon this question, in hopes of determining an answer. Determining if there is some kind of “afterlife,” or whether or not there is anything at all. Maybe we are sent into space, or heaven, hell, purgatory? Maybe someday I’ll come back as a ghost, or an animal or plant. Could the journey after life be merely a state of permanent sleep? My mind is incapable of truly grasping the concept of life in all its complexities. Life is so interesting, so beautiful. There must be something more. However, it won’t be until my day comes that I will have an answer. So until then, I will be left - questions unanswered.

"The Bite of the Mango"

As human beings, we don’t take enough time from our “busy” schedules to learn about other people. We hold no desire to learn about where they come from, their experiences, or what they have lived through. We merely look at a person and judge them by what strikes our eyes, without looking beneath the surface to find something more. As people put on this earth not only for ourselves, but for others too, it is our responsibility to look beyond what just appears before us. We need to start looking beyond economic status, and race, and religion, and culture, and finally see that as Amanda Marshall sings, “Everybody’s got a story.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HixtKJyD40g

As a high school student, my school had the opportunity today to hear Mariatu Kamara and Susan McClelland, co-authors of the book entitled, The Bite of the Mango. A story told by Mariatu and her life experiences, written by Susan McClelland. When we first became aware that we were going to be listening to Mariatu’s story, I think many of my peers were interested in the fact that she is an amputee, missing both of her hands. However, the fact that Mariatu had no hands wasn’t really my concern. I was more interested in knowing how she came to be that way. My interest laid in the story of a woman who was fortunately given the opportunity to tell us, students of Canada, what her life was like during the Civil war in Sierra Leone. The fact that Mariatu is an amputee is a mere fragment of what she came to our school to talk to us about. Of course having no hands would be a challenge, and one that I never wish to face, nonetheless, Mariatu is forced to face even tougher things each and every day. The memories which she remembers on a regular basis, pose as an even tougher difficulty than the handicap that she has. With today’s technology, a limb can be fixed, or substituted for, but there is no fixing or substituting somebody’s childhood. The memories of torture, rape, and having to witness the deaths of friends and family are memories that will forever be engraved in her mind. Mariatu said that the most traumatic of them all, was witnessing her two best friends be locked inside a house, and burn to death. She lost her hands at the age of twelve. She lost her hands, “to the hands of rebels.” Despite all of this, and more I’m sure, Mariatu still has it somewhere within herself, to come and teach us valuable lessons. Ones that we hear constantly, but I don’t think many of us really think about. My very favourite part about Mariatu’s story was when she spoke about a question somebody had asked her. Someone had asked her if she was angry with God for taking away her hands. But she replied by saying, “maybe God took away my hands so I could touch the world with my heart.” That is exactly what Mariatu is doing every day, and that is why I am writing this piece. She was my inspiration today. Mariatu stresses the importance of not taking anything for granted. Most of us have two legs, two eyes, and two arms. Ten fingers and toes, functioning organs, and lastly, a voice. I hope that someday I will play the honourable role of Susan McClelland in becoming the voice of somebody like Mariatu Kamara. I am my own voice, and will continue to be. But I too, want to be the voice of those who sit patiently awaiting their story to be told. Maybe it can't be told because they don’t have the tools such as language to be able to do so, or the resources. But I have a pen, through which I will be that voice. I will instill in them, the power to tell their story. Instilling in them a voice, like Mariatu's, that will be heard.

Writers Block

Writers block is truly a tragedy; especially when the desire lies within oneself to write. I used to face this calamity - until today. Today’s class was one that really opened my eyes, opened my eyes “to the endless possibilities.” Carnovale told us to “just go out, and get some inspiration.” So, that is exactly what I did. He gave us a half hour to leave the class, and go out. But wherever it was we were going, we were asked to look, listen, and smell, all that was going on around us. I wasn’t sure where to go, but finally, the idea struck me to go into the girl’s washroom; a place where only girls are allowed. Where their secrets would be revealed and where they face their own calamity – themselves. Sure, I heard people using the washroom, toilets flushing, and stall doors opening and shutting. But I got to hear each girl who entered, and what she had to say about herself. The highlight of my washroom experience was a girl who was unhappy with her new haircut, “we experimented on my hair... I look like ******* Lady GaGa! I’m just gonna work with it.” It’s amazing how so many girls who are so different, have so much in common. Constantly in the mirror worried about what they look like to other people. When the only thing we should be worried about while at school, is school. Although, I can’t be one to point fingers; because I too, am that girl looking at herself in the mirror with dissatisfaction. This blog entry isn’t about that though. The moral of today’s lesson was simply about getting out and experiencing. Realizing that just listening or noticing things you wouldn’t normally think twice about, can provide a solid foundation to what could potentially become a short story, or maybe just a poem. Whether or not we choose to write about what we hear or experience, is one’s own choice. The point is, that the world is waiting for us to stop, and listen. The world is waiting for our stories.

almighty, Flying Man.

We are all captives of, the Flying Man. The all knowing, Flying Man. Don’t you ever doubt him – for he knows everything. He sees everything, feels everything. Sees your every flaw. And will forgive you not. He sees you approach her, looking at her up and down. She’s tall, slender, light hair, fair yet soft skin. She’s beautiful – but you don’t want her to be. You shouldn’t look at her like that. You have gone against the Flying Man’s wishes. You initiate the conversation while immersed in the deep blue eyes of the seductress. Wanting, wishing, craving her. All of her. You touch – he sees. You kiss – he sees. You touch some more – of course, he sees. A feeling comes over you, you stop. You leave. Leave the beautiful girl in confusion. Leave the memory behind. But it will never leave you, no. The guilt will hang above your head in everything you do. You will wear the shame as if it were your skin. We are all captives of, the Flying Man. The all knowing, Flying Man. It is the one thing we will always be bound to; regardless of the circumstances or consequences. Our conscience is one mere part of our minds, yet so very powerful; only ever defeated by truth itself. Don’t ever doubt him – the Flying man. You cannot escape him, for he knows everything – and will forgive you not.

tripod

Magic.

The art of supernatural powers.
A mere illusion.
Deceptive, false, misleading.
My magic isn’t David Copperfield, nor is it Criss Angel, or any Houdini.
My magic is a tripod.
Supporting, stabilizing, and creating my foundation.
Not just any tripod.
One with three heads and three pairs of legs.
Three people.
A mother, a daughter, and son.
Supporting, stabilizing, and creating each other’s foundation.
Without one, all power is lost.
No wand or black hat necessary.
No deceptions or illusions.
Simply the power of always being there for one another.
It’s magic in and of itself.
My magic, my tripod, undeniably true.

a memory that I cannot remember

I remember it all as if it were a movie. Fragments of a movie.

“Lights. Camera. Action.”

Scene one: At my best friend’s house getting ready for her birthday. It’s a cold night, the ground is covered with a blanket of snow, but we don’t care, were going downtown and were gonna look damn good. We leave our coats at home, and only remember the necessities: high heels, cell phone, and lip gloss, of course.


Scene two: Get onto the party bus and start heading downtown. A bottle of wine, some jagerbombs, and a little Rockstar vodka. I couldn’t forget to chug a half a water bottle of straight vodka though. No, can’t forget that.


Scene three: My vision starts to blur. Everyone is spinning. Everyone is having a good time.


Scene four: Things are getting really blurry now. I’m stumbling my way around the bus.


Scene five: I can hardly stand up now. What is going on? What have I done?


Scene six through twelve: I wish I could tell you this part. But I don’t quite know what happens. I don’t have a clue. I will never know.


Scene thirteen: Staring down at my hands. My hands covered in blood. Staring in confusion. Where is this blood coming from? My head?... What happened? Why is she asking me for my mom’s phone number? I’m getting really scared now.


Scene fourteen: At the hospital now. Moms finally here. She’ll make sure I’m okay. Were waiting in a white room. I’m nervous. What is going to happen?


Scene fifteen: Fifteen. The number of surgical staples that are used to repair the gaping hole that stretches across the crown of my head. My feet are wrapped, and I’m told I won’t be able to walk on them for two weeks. I have frostbite on both feet and knees.


Scene sixteen: My knees are bruised. So are my arms. So is my face. Everything is sore, and aching. My head is healing. The frostbite is worse. I would have to see a plastic surgeon in a couple days. To see if I would need skin grafts. I hope I get better soon. Why did I have to drink so much?


Scene seventeen: Seventeen. The number of years that I have been alive. The number of years I have been alive, and well. I’m getting better now. Thank God for that. Thank God I still have more years to live.




They say we fear the unknown. But I believe that the truth to what happened scenes six through twelve would be scarier than not knowing at all. January 28th, 2009, my life changed. My life was risked; all in a couple hours of just trying to “have fun.” Fun which ultimately led to the creation of a memory that I cannot remember.

a beautiful soul

She stands over her brother’s bed.

The bed he would die on.

She looks down at him...

Remembering all the beautiful times they shared.

She prays for him.

He can’t be strong anymore, God is calling.

She prays that by a miracle he will recuperate and return home.

Return to his family, where he belongs.

She doesn’t see his chest moving up and down anymore.

So she moves in closer to hear his breath.

But its absent.

She cries.

His heart and soul belong to God now.

He isn’t in pain anymore.

But this doesn’t take away from the hurt, it hurts more than anything.

It’s time to tell the rest of the family.

How is his mother going to handle the news?

Like any mother would, horrifically.

Everyone hurts.

Anyone who has ever known him.

Anyone who knows the family.

They just want him back.

Selfishness fills their hearts – God can’t have him yet, not now.

But he is gone.

He may not be on our earth, but he still lives with us.

Lives in our memories.

He lives in our hearts.

He lives through people.

Through his poetry.

Through his art.

Evelio Arturo Cardozo.

A man that wouldn’t dare hurt any soul.

We can’t be selfish or angry at God anymore.

God has taken him for a reason.

Taken a beautiful man to watch over his family and keep them safe.

He doesn’t suffer anymore.

He is not hurting.

He is smiling.

Smiling down at all of us.

He isn’t alone.

He’s found his father.

He’s found his brother.

They are together again.

All smiling.

All smiling down at us.

They are enjoying their time together someplace else.

A place called heaven.

A beautiful place.

May he rest, in peace.

a little girl

I still remember you know. I remember that day as if it were happening again this morning. I could re-enact you everything because I remember every detail of that day, the day you finally left us. It wasn’t a surprise though. But I really wish you would have left earlier. Because then, I probably wouldn’t remember this day. The day my life would change forever. It was an awfully beautiful Sunday morning. Beautiful because I was awaken to the sweet aroma of moms famous pancakes, yet so awful because we all knew today was the day you’d walk out on us forever. I don’t know how mom even had it in her to wake up and make pancakes after such a night. But that’s another poem. The night before was one of the worst fights I ever had to listen to. Instead of counting sheep I counted how many times my brother would beg you to stop. I wasn’t like most kids. I didn’t listen to lullabies; my “lullaby” was Mom crying, you screaming at the top of your lungs until you just couldn’t anymore. And to think, all I wanted to do was sleep; to drift to a place where none of this madness of my reality would haunt me. Maybe that was just too much to ask. But maybe not. I slipped into my footsie pyjamas and grabbed my favourite blanket, before heading downstairs. And there you were. Tall and handsome. Standing as strong as you always did. You already had your coat on, and sported a suitcase in each hand. All packed and ready to go. To escape your madness. Your madness that would ironically cause mine. You hugged your son, and kissed my forehead. Before walking out forever, you shot mom just one last look of disgust, and then you left. And that was it, it was the last time I ever saw you. No words were even spoken that day you left. Actually, we haven’t ever spoken of that day. Why? Because none of that ever happened in my childhood. No, my childhood was a beautiful one.

a true original

It's amazing how well you think you know somebody. You like them, so you get to know them a little more bit more. And before you know it, you’re spending every waking moment thinking about that person. You'd do anything for them, and only hope they'd do the same in return. But I guess you never really find out who that person is, what they really think of you, or the things they do when they aren’t with you. But this doesn’t matter; you continue this new experience, with some “bumps along the way,” while at the same time experiencing what some people consider, "the best feeling in the world." But along the ride you have a certain doubt about this person which lurks in the back of your mind. A feeling that just doesn't sit right. But, you just shrug it off considering you've fallen so hard. Soon enough you come to find out that that feeling, the one that just didn't sit right, was a reality. Under all those, "you're amazing," "you're beautiful," "I love you's" was really only lies, betrayal, and hurt. Not everything is what it seems. But it's not about mourning on the past or feeling sorry for yourself. What's important is learning from your experience and moving forward. Learning, and having better judgment for the next time around. Although you took one thing from me, you haven't taken the ME out of who I know I was then, am now, and who I aspire to be in the future. With that I can hold my head high, and move forward from here. So I guess that I wouldn't do "just anything" for you today, but I can say that I would never speak wrong of you, or judge for mistakes made. After all, we all do make them. Sure, they say people come and go in our lives, but it's those who are willing, and have the desire to stick around for a while who truly have an impact on who we are. It's those people who teach us valuable lessons.

So with that, I’ve come to realize...

how amazing it is, how well you think you know somebody. . .