Time for spring break. What does that mean? It means... this year of school is over. It means... senior year is over. It means... no more high school? It's hard to believe.
I have finally heard from the last of my schools, and the end result is better than I could have ever imagined. But as I take a step back, nostalgia gets the best of me. We're actually going to college! And while I'm quite excited about that, I am also quite sad about that. Lexington has been my home for 17 years, where my closest friends, family, and memories reside. I am anxiously awaiting the exciting, fascinating, enriching experiences ahead of bigger cities, new people, and an amazing education. Yet... I am leaving behind just as much as I am gaining.
We're finally here. This moment we have looked forward to from the very beginning, and it's actually here. Do we feel as excited as we thought we would? Is it as awesome as we thought it would be?
Relief. That's what I feel. But it's bittersweet-- theme of the year. Saying goodbye isn't always easy, but it's something I'll have to do in a few short months. Time is flying away from us, but maybe we should feel as good about that. High school will not last forever!
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Thursday, March 21, 2013
fleeting youth
Let it be known that we are adults/ almost adults. Is that scary?
This thought crossed my mind upon reading Bryan Borland's "Chasing Fireflies," a rather sad depiction of the loss accompanying the transition from childhood to adulthood. Do you still remember those nights "where [you] were content to run in circles, / arms outstretched, / chasing fireflies [?]" That kind of feeling of real freedom, the kind you can taste as a kid who didn't really have anything to worry about. As we cross the boundary from kid to no-longer-a-kid, will we see what Borland saw? Where life "has raised her mask and / revealed her face to be / the unexpected, / where even her smile / might be interpreted / as cold or callous." Have we already begun to see what Borland sees?
The fact of the matter is, we are growing older, and a growing age calls for growing responsibilities. It is sad to think that the wonder, imagination, and magic of childhood may only be a faint memory, when the complexities of life begin to really slap us in the face. We won't have faithful guardians for much longer, those loving parents who have, for 18 years, shielded us from the worst. Will we change in the face of the evil that inevitably pervades this world? Will we have the "the heart to seal their fate / inside a mason jar [?]" Things changed for Borland. Things will change. That's the sadness of the fleeting youth.
This thought crossed my mind upon reading Bryan Borland's "Chasing Fireflies," a rather sad depiction of the loss accompanying the transition from childhood to adulthood. Do you still remember those nights "where [you] were content to run in circles, / arms outstretched, / chasing fireflies [?]" That kind of feeling of real freedom, the kind you can taste as a kid who didn't really have anything to worry about. As we cross the boundary from kid to no-longer-a-kid, will we see what Borland saw? Where life "has raised her mask and / revealed her face to be / the unexpected, / where even her smile / might be interpreted / as cold or callous." Have we already begun to see what Borland sees?
The fact of the matter is, we are growing older, and a growing age calls for growing responsibilities. It is sad to think that the wonder, imagination, and magic of childhood may only be a faint memory, when the complexities of life begin to really slap us in the face. We won't have faithful guardians for much longer, those loving parents who have, for 18 years, shielded us from the worst. Will we change in the face of the evil that inevitably pervades this world? Will we have the "the heart to seal their fate / inside a mason jar [?]" Things changed for Borland. Things will change. That's the sadness of the fleeting youth.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
poems
"Poetry is what gets lost in translation." - Robert Frost
Have you ever thought of the transition between the words on the page and the person reading them? Does the entire intention really get through? Does anything get lost in translation?
The more I think about this, the more I believe in a divide, a certain amount of depth eliminated with the jump from words to mind. Every time I write a word, commit a thought to paper, does my reader really understand what I was thinking, what I'm trying to convey? Prose can be clear and illuminating but can also be limiting in a way, losing that sense of depth, emotion, poignancy, or intention that is ultimately lost in translation.
Poetry can be different, though, and for this reason, it is what gets lost in translation. The freedom allowed in the form of poetry is precisely what allows for the expression of thoughts, ideas, and feelings that usually remain untouched in the prose of the conventional nature. Poetry captures the imagination, states the relatable in a way that is understandable. The jump from paper to thought is manageable, eliminating that ordinary cost of transition. Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
Have you ever thought of the transition between the words on the page and the person reading them? Does the entire intention really get through? Does anything get lost in translation?
The more I think about this, the more I believe in a divide, a certain amount of depth eliminated with the jump from words to mind. Every time I write a word, commit a thought to paper, does my reader really understand what I was thinking, what I'm trying to convey? Prose can be clear and illuminating but can also be limiting in a way, losing that sense of depth, emotion, poignancy, or intention that is ultimately lost in translation.
Poetry can be different, though, and for this reason, it is what gets lost in translation. The freedom allowed in the form of poetry is precisely what allows for the expression of thoughts, ideas, and feelings that usually remain untouched in the prose of the conventional nature. Poetry captures the imagination, states the relatable in a way that is understandable. The jump from paper to thought is manageable, eliminating that ordinary cost of transition. Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
literate lexington
http://www.usatoday.com/story/life/books/2013/02/06/most-literate-city-washington/1894511/
Check it out. Lexington, KY is the 24th most literate city in the United States. Find this a little surprising? I do, as well. Lexington tops the literate list amongst the likes of Baltimore, New York, Boston, and New Orleans--large cities known for high-end education. The study conducted was based on the number of bookstores, library resources, newspaper circulation, Internet resources and educational levels (the goal was to shift the focus away from reading scores and more on how much people are actually reading)-- factors that are most attributed to bustling cities with high populations. How interesting that a small city in the southern state of Kentucky should be among the most literate cities.
I do feel a certain amount of pride in Lexington for this surprising feat, for we are are mighty city of readers able to compare with the largest cities in the nation. We have a wonderfully efficient public library system and a rather dependable newspaper source-- strong public schools and apparently a good number of bookstores to boot. Way to go Lexington!
Check it out. Lexington, KY is the 24th most literate city in the United States. Find this a little surprising? I do, as well. Lexington tops the literate list amongst the likes of Baltimore, New York, Boston, and New Orleans--large cities known for high-end education. The study conducted was based on the number of bookstores, library resources, newspaper circulation, Internet resources and educational levels (the goal was to shift the focus away from reading scores and more on how much people are actually reading)-- factors that are most attributed to bustling cities with high populations. How interesting that a small city in the southern state of Kentucky should be among the most literate cities.
I do feel a certain amount of pride in Lexington for this surprising feat, for we are are mighty city of readers able to compare with the largest cities in the nation. We have a wonderfully efficient public library system and a rather dependable newspaper source-- strong public schools and apparently a good number of bookstores to boot. Way to go Lexington!
Thursday, February 28, 2013
an open letter to my iphone
Dearest iPhone,
I have a problem. And it's not that I can't iMessage my best friends, message them on Facebook, or tweet at them. It's not that I can't call up my best friend to gossip. It's not that I can't snapchat bizarre faces to my equally bizarre comrades or instagram my beautiful pictures. It's not that I can't use the wonderfully fast LTE network to surf the web, check my email, or find out the latest news, not that I can't check the weather about the incoming winter blast or see the forecast for the next week, that I can't use Wikipedia to remember a fact I can't remember. Not that I can't use maps to find directions back home, check movie times on Yahoo, not that I can't ask Siri how to factor (x^3 - y^3), not that I can't talk to Siri like she's a friend. Not that I can't kill time with Tiny Wings, Temple Run, or Angry Birds. Not that I can't challenge my friends to a game of Ruzzle or Words with Friends. Not that I can't listen to my favorite music on Pandora or Spotify. Not that I can't look up funny cat videos on YouTube, check my grades on Infinite Campus, pin a picture onto Pinterest. Not that I can't do all of things. No, that's not the problem.
The problem is that I can do all those things. #sleepdeprivediphoneaddictedteenager
Jessie
Thursday, February 21, 2013
reckless lovin'
Beloved is, in many ways, a case study of love and all its implications. The story centers around a mother's uncompromisable and reckless love for her children, a kind of emotional attachment so strong that it has twisted her sense of logic and rationality to the point where she would kill her children rather than allow them to suffer.
As the romantic I am, the notion of love is magical and enchanting, a kind of unforced bond formed regardless of intention. A mother is certainly inclined to love her children. Children are certainly inclined to love their mother. This is not intentional. In Sethe's case, loving in that way is dangerous and unhealthy, a love that is "too thick." But it is not intentional, and that fact renders her love uncontrollable. Reckless, yes. But controllable-- not likely. Even the desire to control such emotions would likely only be a fruitless quest.
Sethe is a dramatic and extreme example. But how much far removed is she really from real life? Human beings are inherently inclined to love and inherently inclined to desire meaningful love. The inevitable and uncompromisable desire to find it and have it-- that is what, at the simplest level, is unhealthy in itself. It is not intentional, and certainly impossible to control.
As the romantic I am, the notion of love is magical and enchanting, a kind of unforced bond formed regardless of intention. A mother is certainly inclined to love her children. Children are certainly inclined to love their mother. This is not intentional. In Sethe's case, loving in that way is dangerous and unhealthy, a love that is "too thick." But it is not intentional, and that fact renders her love uncontrollable. Reckless, yes. But controllable-- not likely. Even the desire to control such emotions would likely only be a fruitless quest.
Sethe is a dramatic and extreme example. But how much far removed is she really from real life? Human beings are inherently inclined to love and inherently inclined to desire meaningful love. The inevitable and uncompromisable desire to find it and have it-- that is what, at the simplest level, is unhealthy in itself. It is not intentional, and certainly impossible to control.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
letters!
There are many wonderful things in this world. But there aren't many things much better than a nice, handwritten letter.
Well... that may have been a slight exaggeration. But there is hardly another gift as heartwarming to me as a lengthy letter written in the familiar handwriting of a wonderful friend. Nothing says "I care about you" like the time dedicated to putting thoughts to paper-- not just blankly typing but truly writing, with meaning and consideration.
I truly do relish the pleasure of reading words thought out for me in a font of personality, not the typefont of computerized images. I keep letters sent to me in a drawer, for another wonderful part of handwritten letters is the ability to take them out time and time again to experience the enjoyment all over again.
I know how much I enjoy letters and long, written-out birthday cards. And that is why I am a passionate birthday-card-writer (all of my birthday cards are novels. No empty space. None.) The birthday cards I write to my friends are the fruits of my labor as an author of heartfelt words, and it is through my handwritten masterpiece that I can share the joy of handwritten glory with a friend.
So why are handwritten letters important? Because they can make people happy, people like me.
Well... that may have been a slight exaggeration. But there is hardly another gift as heartwarming to me as a lengthy letter written in the familiar handwriting of a wonderful friend. Nothing says "I care about you" like the time dedicated to putting thoughts to paper-- not just blankly typing but truly writing, with meaning and consideration.
I truly do relish the pleasure of reading words thought out for me in a font of personality, not the typefont of computerized images. I keep letters sent to me in a drawer, for another wonderful part of handwritten letters is the ability to take them out time and time again to experience the enjoyment all over again.
I know how much I enjoy letters and long, written-out birthday cards. And that is why I am a passionate birthday-card-writer (all of my birthday cards are novels. No empty space. None.) The birthday cards I write to my friends are the fruits of my labor as an author of heartfelt words, and it is through my handwritten masterpiece that I can share the joy of handwritten glory with a friend.
So why are handwritten letters important? Because they can make people happy, people like me.
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