Community Engagements Through the Arts: This I Believe essay #3

Sunday, January 27, 2019

This I Believe essay #3

Post your essay here and remember to bring a printed copy to class!

39 comments:

AnonymousJanuary 28, 2019 at 2:49 PM
Mindlessly swiping on Tinder, stopped to look at your profile because your name was unique and you were very attractive. We matched. I wasn't looking for anything serious. But neither were you. I had just gone through a break-up. And the last thing I wanted was another relationship. And you just wanted to have fun. So we agreed that we’d just talk, flirt, and have fun. We did that for three months. Every single day for three months, all day long. During this time we both talked to other people as well. You had your other girls and I had my other guys. I didn’t care that you had other girls, but you didn’t like when I would hang with other guys. But then I reminded you this was just fun, nothing serious.
Then in September we finally met. I came over after a party. We laid there and talked for hours, bonding over the same sense of humor and favorite scenes of The Office. That was the only time we hung out.
The next weekend I went to parties with my girlfriends at UK and you went with your boys, but we didn’t tell each other that. Both very intoxicated ran into one another, but I didn’t see you… I flirted with your friend. I woke up the next morning with my phone blown up by you saying we were done having fun. I enjoyed the type of fun we had so I fought for you.
You weren’t able to cut me loose and I wasn’t able to let you go.
That night I met my now boyfriend. I told you I couldn't have fun with you anymore because I didn’t want to do that to him. Two weeks went by without any communication. I started to message you so many times but resisted because it wasn’t healthy for me or my new relationship.
But again you weren’t able to cut me loose and I wasn’t able to let you go.
I don’t know what it is about you but I can’t seem to let myself forget about you. Although I am very happy with my new relationship. To this day I still can’t let you go… I don’t ever message you first. I want you to want me. And every day you want me enough to message me.
I wish I could let go of you. You were supposed to just be a fling. A rebound. A summer romance. And yet it is January and you are still heavy on my mind as I am on yours. Why? I have someone that loves and cares for me, but you are fun, risky, and know what I like. We will never be together. But there's something about you that draws me in when I know I shouldn’t.
I wish you were able to cut me loose and I was able to let you go.
I believe in not being able to let go. I believe in confliction of the heart.
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AnonymousJanuary 28, 2019 at 6:53 PM
I believe generosity is the best when it’s a surprise. I refuse to tell anyone what I’ve gotten them for Christmas. Christmas is just an excuse for me to show up with a gift (or two) in hand and the words “I saw this and thought of you.”

I’m too impatient to wait for Christmas to surprise someone with a gift, though. Once, I impulse bought a mug for my roommate because it had her favorite animals on it. Another time, I memorized my best friend’s coffee order so I could bring it to him when he had a long night of studying. Last summer, I learned how to make blueberry banana bread without butter or sugar so my dieting housemate could enjoy it too. During recruitment, I wrote notes of encouragement for each sister of my sorority. Over winter break, I bought a professor a pair of humorous socks that reminded me of her indomitable spirit. I just like to let people know I think fondly about them. You never know when someone needs a little pick-me-up.

I don’t like to consider myself a material person, though the clutter in my apartment says otherwise, but I think it’s true that we love others the way we like to be loved. I still remember the gift of kind and encouraging words I unexpectedly received from a seasoned student when I was just starting out in theatre. I remember when I broke a string on my bass guitar, and three days later, a friend showed up on my doorstep with a brand-new replacement string. And I won’t forget how this past weekend, my uncle, cousin, and grandmother surprised me by making the long 7 hour drive north to see my senior recital in person. Gifts don’t have to be bought with money to mean something. Sometimes, a surprise is enough.
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KurtJanuary 28, 2019 at 11:41 PM
My grandmother whistled in her kitchen as she cut onions and Italian sausage for the weekly Sunday-night spaghetti-with-meatballs. She hummed to herself and made simple scat sounds throughout the day. Her noises were not made to accompany the music issuing from the leather-encased radio atop her fridge; they were an unconscious soundtrack signaling the passage of time.

My father hums as well and I wish I had paid attention to my grandmother’s sounds so I would know if my father’s “la di di dah” (sometimes sung, sometimes hummed) was the same string of syllables she made while putting dishes into her dishwasher before rolling it to the middle of the kitchen in order to connect it by hose to the sink faucet.

On November 19, 1969 Pete Conrad became the third person to walk on the moon, 4 months after Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin’s historic visit. As he stepped from the lunar module to the moon, Conrad commented, “Whopee! Man, that may have been a small one for Neil, but that’s a long one for me.” With this exclamation Conrad won a $500 bet with an Italian journalist about whether or not NASA scripted astronaut comments. He then walked about the surface of the moon punctuating his verbal transmissions with “dum de dum dum dum,” “dum do do do, do do,” and other sounds of vocalized humming, sounds that match the noises my father makes and those of my grandmother before him.

Though he won the bet, Pete Conrad never collected his $500. Perhaps the Italian journalist knew he was hypnotized for the entire duration of his flight to and his walk on the moon. When an earlier astronaut looked out the window of Apollo 10, spotted a large crater on the moon and broadcast to the world “I’ve got Censorinus right here, bigger than shit,” NASA began a program of hypnosis. Pete Conrad, a man known for his colorful language, was hypnotized to hum whenever he was compelled to swear.

Without hypnosis, my grandmother may have sworn like a sailor. Instead she exclaimed like an astronaut. I believe in humming.
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AnonymousJanuary 29, 2019 at 12:13 AM
People talked about me bad. So bad. People spread rumors about me, people knew I was gay before I even talked to anyone else except for you. I didn’t even care that they tried to out me because I was with you.
I often go through our old messages and reminisce. I mostly find good times or times where I’ve over exaggerated and then I wonder... was it you or was it genuinely me? I’m trying to push back all of the things you did but I can’t. They happened a lot but were so small. We were on and off for 3 years... one day you were so “in love with me”, then the next day you stopped replying even though I kept trying. You never just entertained me. Whenever you’d see me in public we’d be “off” and you’d just ignore me. Except once and that’s because we were right back on soon.
I let you know I was available and you took advantage of it the way I made it easy to. I think you’re over coming back to me when you knew I’d let you in and I don’t know why but, I’m waiting for it because I’d let you back in right about now. I miss you. So much. I used to cry and pray that you wouldn’t leave me... again. I prayed that even though you left me again, you’d come right back. I haven’t prayed and you haven’t come back.
I try to do people how you did me but I can’t. I wish I could. Maybe I’d stop getting hurt, maybe I’d know how to no longer be dumb. Be dumb for people. So maybe I should fully let go. I believe I have to let go.
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Marissa PriceJanuary 29, 2019 at 12:19 AM
A list of things I know to be true about myself:

I am usually relatively good at keeping up with things and remembering the things I need to get before I leave somewhere. More than a year ago, I settled into a habit of mentally (scratch that-- verbally) going down the list the things I have to have once out of my room and checking them off.

I am a major night owl, and I rarely ever go to sleep sooner than 1 or 2 a.m. Even later over breaks. Something about nighttime is just more peaceful to me than mornings.

I don’t like watching TV shows when I have work due soon and I don’t know how long it will take to do.

I occasionally experience nocturnal panic attacks. They began a year ago, persisted for about a week, and now seem to only happen every now and again. In certain situations, they’ll happen in the daytime, too.

So,

on days in which I get flustered and forget simple things, like my keys, and don't notice until after I've already closed the door,

on days in which I feel like I need to just give up on the day and retire to bed before midnight,

on days in which I feel like I have to stop what I'm doing and just watch something on Netflix or do something fun because I'm so anxious about wanting my work to turn out well that I'm no longer thinking in a way that allows me to be productive,

on nights in which I wake up full of fear and breathing too quickly and I go to my usual walk-off-the-adrenaline technique that seems to help, before finally turning the lights back out and returning to sleep,

and on days where absolutely none of these things happen,

I believe in paying attention to my mental health. And I believe in talking about it openly.
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Kremena TodorovaJanuary 29, 2019 at 10:06 AM
Kremena
January 28, 2019

I am known for fast decision-making. I don’t remember the first time I realized if I didn’t decide right away, my friends would spend an hour deliberating. I know it must have happened because it continues to this day: a group of friends taking forever to determine where to go for an after-work happy hour. Given that because of work, children, husbands, etc., we haven’t seen each other in months, where we go doesn’t matter. Being together is the true miracle. I am unwilling to spend many minutes determining inessentials. So I produce quick answers. (If someone really wants to know, Corto Lima is my preferred after-work happy-hour place. I love their spicy margaritas.)

I make quick decisions about most things: places to visit (one place is as good as another, why overthink it), days of the week my kids are allowed dessert (there’s no rule, only split-second judgments), changing my mind (I don’t mind it), and editing others’ writing. I approach decision making as if it were a matter of muscle memory: the more you use your deciding muscles, the faster they get.

I am also known as a fast drinker, whether it’s plain Bulgarian seltzer or a specialty cocktail. I also eat fast, as do my children. We slow down for a good story, but even then it’s only the story-teller who isn’t done eating by the end of the tale. I am a fast talker too. When I was young, my mother asked me to slow down so she could follow my stories told at top speed. I tried. It didn’t become a habit. I still unleash torrents of words when I have a story to tell. I have many stories.

I believe in living at top speed.

That said, I am able to slow down once a year for my mother.

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AnonymousJanuary 29, 2019 at 12:03 PM
I learned when I was young that love is something people invoke when they hurt you, to explain that hurting you was right and necessary. From a Steve Carrell movie whose title I don’t know, I learned when I was fourteen that love is not a feeling, but an ability.

From my first long-term girlfriend, I learned that love obligates you always, that it does not contradict misery. From God I learned that love is when you hate yourself, because you stuck your fingers in your long-term girlfriend. From Christ, I learned that love is given freely, constantly, without exception, even at the cost of your own life.

From my grandfather I learned that love can be withheld, if it hurts more than it gives.

From a woman with whom I was fervidly obsessed, I learned first that love is when you take amphetamines and demand to psychoanalyze the person you love, and then that it is not.

From the Buddha I learned that love of people born of desire, and not of gratitude, is violent.

I learned from a cat that love is when you offer warmth, but not kindness. I learned from a professor that love is when you give a student an F, but months later, you give them reading lists and hugs. Some have argued love is the exchange of whispers and soft bites. Others it’s the opposite of pity, pure exultance.

From Ender’s Game I learned that to love is to understand completely.

I believe that love is unexpected grapes and a spicy grilled cheese.
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Heath StiltnerJanuary 29, 2019 at 12:22 PM
Heath Stiltner
CETA 2019

The summer I turned 6 my dad and I went for a drive. It was something we often did on Saturday mornings or afternoons, the sun sweltering through the windshield of his old Nissan pickup. I sat in the front seat—the only seat—with an arm outstretched trying to catch the wind as my arm rose and fell like a hawk in the breeze. The narrow gravel road that connected our holler to the rest of our small mountain town crunched under tire, leaving a trail of dust in our wake. I laid my head on the windowsill, wind filling my nose and blowing my blonde bowl cut in a thousand different directions.

My dad had worked evenings as a coal miner, but for now he was working in construction building the palatial homes of doctors in Pikeville. For me, that meant more time with him. Fishing, playing basketball, and building an unnecessarily large treehouse—my own pediatric palace retreat. On days like this, steamy and slow, we would drive to the local one-pump fill station—Jot ‘em Down.

Two of the simplest joys of my childhood came in the form round, pink coconut-flaked chocolate mounds of cake. Two snowball cakes packaged perfectly in cellophane. My dad talked to me over the loud hum of the truck driving home over the gravel of Beefhide Road. Between the serenity of a mouthful of snowball cakes and the breeze on my face I heard my dad say in his thick Appalachian Spanish, “Comprende?”

From the passenger side, I managed to utter a short, ‘Mhm, cupcake.’

I believe it’s the hardest I ever heard my dad laugh. Youth, chocolate, and loud gravel being pounded by the thick rubber tires. A laugh on the wind, and a mutual understanding, made eternal.
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AnonymousJanuary 29, 2019 at 12:41 PM
I believe that there are times in a person’s life where it feels like the oxygen was sucked out of the room. Time stands eerily still and your heartbeat is the only noise you hear in a crowded room. I felt this feeling on Thursday,September 10, 2015.

I sat in third period History actively taking notes. My teacher left class and went to the hallway to talk to the principal. She was crying when she came back in. The class was confused by her actions. Why was she crying? An announcement came over the intercom. Taylor Martin has sadly passed away in a car accident this morning, counselling is available if you need it in the library.

I felt frozen in time, I couldn’t fathom what I just heard. My cousin had just been killed in a car accident. Class was dismissed and many people began to cry. I stood up and began walking to lunch. I hated crying in front of other people, but I could not hold back the stinging tears in my eyes. I called my mom and asked her to pick me up from school, I could not stand to be there any longer.

In the car ride home my mind was flooded with memories of her. Taylor and I grew up together, she was a senior that year as I was a junior. We used to go on family vacations together to Florida and have the best time of our lives. Taylor was the first person to reach out and talk to me in high school, I would never forget her kindness.

At the age of seventeen she was gone. I feel guilty when I pass a milestone in my life she never made it to. The gym I graduated in, was the same one her casket laid open in for visitation. She was going to WKU in the fall, but that opportunity was taken from her. As I sit in a college classroom and write about this, I can’t help but think what her life would be like if this didn't happen.
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AnonymousJanuary 29, 2019 at 12:57 PM
One of the most stressful times in a person’s life is when he/she/they or a loved one gets sick. There are many beliefs, theories, and options when it comes to healthcare. Once a treatment plan is devised, you then have to follow all the recommended procedures to ensure treatment will be successful. Any kind of illness, long-term or short-term, causes changes and repercussions in the lives of the sick person, as well as their, family, friends, and co-workers. The last thing you want to worry about is the burden of paying for medical bills.
After living in Palestine for four years, I am able to compare their system of nationalized insurance to America’s employee based/private insurance. I have been medically treated under both types of insurances and believe America should adopt a plan similar to Palestine’s insurance system.
Palestine’s insurance plan is universal and everyone participates. There is no such thing as a pre-existing condition and you are able to choose the doctor of your choice. All doctors are a part of a network so you have the freedom to choose who you want to treat you medically. Moreover, Palestine is a proactive advocate of preventative health. This means they remind and schedule their citizens for routine examinations and physicals. A citizen of Palestine will never feel deprived of quality healthcare while living there.
While living in America, there have been times when my family members haven’t had health insurance. One particular instance occurred when my cousin broke his arm. He was forced to self treat it by wrapping it and laying it close to his body for protection. This issue could have been avoided with a healthcare system such as Palestine’s, along with most other countries in the world. America is one of 43 countries that does not offer universal health care and that needs to change. I believe everyone is entitled to free healthcare, just as we are afforded an education.
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AnonymousJanuary 29, 2019 at 1:51 PM
Have you ever been lost in amusement park for three hours with no way of contacting anyone for three hours? I have. The summer before I entered sixth grade I went on a vacation with my best friend's family. They decided to go to Dollywood in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. It is an amusement park spanning 150 acres with 40 rides, country music, entertainment, and food. On Saturday we decided to spend the whole day there and got there right when the park opened and were going to stay until the park closed. There was an agreed upon meeting space where we would all meet up with at the end of the day. I was very excited as I hadn’t been to a theme park since Disney World.
When we got there we immediately split into kids and adults. The kids had two walkie talkies and the adults had one to guarantee we wouldn’t loose contact. Her brothers took one and went off with their friends. My friend and I were left to our own devices. I decided that I wanted to ride one of the bigger rides and my friend didn’t. This of course sparked a fight, however, it was agreed that she would wait for me while I rode the ride. When I got out of the ride she was no where to be found.
I was freaked. She had the walkie talkie and I couldn’t find her. It was still early in the day. For the next, what I assume, couple hours I wandered the park trying to decide if I should ride the rides I wanted to ride and then go to the meeting spot and spend the rest of the day there. However, after a while I began to panic. I was in a place I didn't know alone. Finally, an older woman stopped to talk to me and ask me what was wrong. She sat down and talked with me for a while. She then called the parents of my friend to come find me. I was able to reunite with them and we found my friend who was also looking for me. I believe in the kindness of strangers.
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EmilyJanuary 29, 2019 at 2:45 PM
I don’t remember my first panic attack. After a while they all blur together into a hodgepodge of rational and irrational fears and traumas that would probably look like an abstract expressionist painting if I could commission Jackson Pollock to tell my story.

And, before today, I can count on one hand the number of people on this earth who know I’ve even had a single panic attack. I have flattened them out and folded them away like a crinkled dollar bill. This secret place where my old dollar bills and I hang out is very safe and very lonely. But at least we have each other.

Psychologists say we’re born with two fears: the fear of falling and the fear of loud sounds. About a third of Americans are afraid of snakes (and I am one of them). I am afraid of spiders and of failure and of growing old unhappy and complacent. These fears are rational. They do not captivate my life, but I feel very reasonable saying that if I see a snake, I will not run up to it and pet it.

I feel completely unreasonable trying to explain why there have been so many times in my life where my throat closed up and my palms sweat and my body shook and the nausea didn’t go away for hours, but nothing in the tangible world caused any of that.

I am a snow globe. The outside world is unchanging, but my little bits of snow jump around and fill my sphere until I realize I’m okay, and they can settle back to the ground. Every time I am 100% sure death is near, and 100% of the time I have been wrong (so far).

I think that makes me a survivor—not of a violent crime or a near-death car accident or a terminal illness, but from the lies my fucked up brain has made me believe. But a survivor nonetheless. I believe in myself.
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Community Engagements Through the Arts

CETA 2020: Our first 2 emojis (of hundreds)

Sunday, January 27, 2019

This I Believe essay #3

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