Community Engagements Through the Arts: This I Believe Essay #5- 02/17/20

Saturday, February 15, 2020

This I Believe Essay #5- 02/17/20

Post This I Believe Essay #5 and comment on other people's

69 comments:

AnonymousFebruary 15, 2020 at 9:38 PM
I believe in roadtripping before marriage.
There’s something about being stuck in a tiny space with nothing but time on your hands that forces you to decide whether you like someone or not.
From my experience, road trips bring out the true self, and they reveal things hidden in everyday life. My boyfriend is a deeply private person, and he never talks about the past because he says he doesn’t live in it. When we’re driving to Cincinnati, though, all that goes out the window. He fills the entire drive with stories about how much he hated summer camp and how he found his love for music after being grounded in fifth grade. In several instances, conversations we have on roadtrips are the most important conversations we’ve ever had.
Of course, traveling provides new experiences through new locations, but I believe it also provides a new experience and a learning opportunity for traveling companions. On top of the long conversations car rides tend to bring forth, how someone travels reveals a lot about themselves. Are they planners or do they fly by the seat of their pants? What do they deem important when packing? Are they patient when you read the plaques or do they just want to hurry through? Do they respect other’s cultures and lifestyles?
Small spaces and long roads can bring out the best in people, but it can also bring out the worst. As disappointing as a bad road trip can be, it may be that one bad road trip lets you know a relationship isn’t right for you before it’s too late. Some people cite moving in together before marriage as a key to a good, lasting relationship, but I believe road tripping is just as important. I believe taking ourselves out of our day to day environment and routine reveals more than we think it does, and that it is key to seeing someone completely.
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AnonymousFebruary 16, 2020 at 1:50 PM
WARNING: Mention of self harm

I got my first piercing at five years old. It was a standard ear piercing, but I hardly wore jewelry. At thirteen I got a double ear piercing, falling into the habit of wearing four earrings day and night. Two years later I got my nose pierced, and there was no stopping me. Since then I have obtained five more piercings and two tattoos.
My mothers have three tattoos between the two of them, and I always adored the way the ink stained their skin. After they got their first ones together, I remember running my fingers over the swollen lines admiring their designs. I have never doubted that I would live to be covered in ink, sketches from my life decorating my body.
As I got older, the desire for tattoos and body piercings shifted. What had once stemmed from an admiration of body art, became something much more personal. Having suffered from depression and anxiety throughout highschool, I fell victim to self harm. As I struggled to pull myself from the depths of this, I began getting more piercings, gaining a way to release pent up worries and find ownership of myself.
The week I turned eighteen I got my first tattoo. An emblem of my mother tattoed up my forearm. I had not participated in self harm in over a year. Three months later, I got my second, in a moment of darkness, and felt the elation of controlling my life and my body once again.
I believe in tattoos and piercings. While they may not be for everyone, I believe they played a part in saving me. I see the metal in my ears and the ink up my arms, and feel powerful, proud and most importantly ready to take on anything that may be thrown my way.
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AnonymousFebruary 16, 2020 at 2:35 PM
I believe that dogs really are anyone’s best friend. After hearing Kurt talk about his dog I thought I would write about how great my dog is. I got my dog when I was 10. I really only wanted a dog because all my friends had dogs. After I cried to my mom enough, I got her on board, so my dad didn’t have a say. I couldn’t think of a good name for her when we got her so I let my mom name her, since she was the one who let me have one. She chose the name Hadley, because that was going to be my name if I was a girl. As soon as we got home, I knew I had made a great decision. I didn’t think I would like a dog as much as I do, but I honestly can’t imagine my life now without Hadley. She might have torn up my shoes and peed in my room when we first got her, but I wouldn’t trade my time with my dog for anything.
Fast forward 10 years, and all she wants to do is eat, sleep, and ride around in a golf cart. My mom and I think it’s because she wants to show off to all the other dogs in the neighborhood that she gets to ride and they have to walk. She has done it 1000 times, but I still get excited whenever I go home and hear her feet trotting down the stairs to say hi to me. She brightens my day and my parents whenever we are with her. Even if she sleeps in the middle of the bed and makes me or my parents sleep hanging off the edge, it is worth it. She makes me happy, and was the best when there was food I didn’t want to eat. She always ate the bad food and never complains whenever I talk to her! I think that is what a best friend is supposed to do. I couldn’t imagine my life without a dog.
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AnonymousFebruary 16, 2020 at 2:55 PM
I believe my best friend is my soul mate.
Have you ever had a connection with someone so strong, that you know they will be in our life forever?
When you see them, you cannot help but smile.
Your heart aches when you aren’t with them.
Their laugh instantly makes me feel better.
These are just some basic signs that they are your soul mate.
When I come down with the blues, a hug from my best friend is the only cure. My best friend is the love of my life. She knows me like no one else.
I've noticed I have a different laugh when I am with her. The kind of laugh where no sound is escaping my mouth and I have no control go my breathing. The kind of laugh where I have to gasp for air and my diaphragm is pushed to its limits.
I have the kind of best friend who I want in my life. For the rest of my laugh. She will be in my wedding, I will be in hers. There is no imaginable thing that could tear us apart.
Not only do I love her, but I am in love with her. You should be in love with your best friend. If you aren’t, I think you're doing it wrong. Don’t miss interpret this as I want to get with my bff. It is different, you know?
I believe my best friend is my soulmate. I love her endlessly and I will continue to love her until the day our laughs actually cause us to stop breathing.
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AnonymousFebruary 16, 2020 at 6:13 PM
I believe in grass.
When I first moved to Lexington my freshmen year I lived in forrer hall. Forrer hall was right by downtown Lexington. It was a very old building. At the time, like every other freshman, I had to use a community bathroom, and share a room with a stranger. Although my roommate was from a place where there were more farms than stop lights, I still didn’t feel 100% comfortable where I was living. I think both of us felt the same way. Hence, we both came from a home where there was land everywhere, and tractors. Now, we were both living a small room where we heard sirens all through the night. We thought we were living in this huge city.
So, I had a really hard time adapting my freshmen year. With that being said, every time I could go home I did. The drive from Lexington to home is an hour long. With this urgency of being home whenever I could, it was when I would give off the Bloomfield exit where I saw an endless land of bright green grass. The moment I saw this, was the moment I felt I could finally breathe. Grass makes me feel like home, and at peace. Although, it is four years later and I have obviously learned to adapt to being away from home, the sight of an open field of green grass still gives me this feeling of peace, and happiness. So, I believe in green grass because it makes me feel right at home.
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AnonymousFebruary 16, 2020 at 7:20 PM
I am very socially awkward. Very introverted. Very quiet unless in small groups. I am bad at talking to new people. I am bad at opening up to people. I am bad at talking in front of people. I mix my words up. I misspeak. I draw blanks. But it does not stop there, my body turns against me when I try to speak to others that I do not know. My chest and neck turn blotchy red. Bright red and blotchy all over my chest and neck.

The first time I remember this happening was in middle school when we had to do popcorn reading. I found myself getting very nervous because I didn’t want to mess up in front of my peers. I didn’t want them to judge me. Once I noticed it happening it made me paranoid that my peers would then judge me on that.

Instances like this have occurred since then. I absolutely hate that they do, but so far I have been unable to make the blotchy redness on my neck and chest. The only thing I can do is make sure that others can’t see my chest and neck. When I know that I will be in front of other people that I don’t know I make sure that I am wearing a turtleneck so that they can’t see it. If I know that people can see the blotchy redness I then become even more blotchy and red.

This blotchy redness in my opinion has hindered my confidence when meeting people or having attention on me. I hate that it happens, but I am tired of being embarrassed that it does. I don’t want to feel embarrassed anymore because I have no control over it. I believe in embracing me for me.
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AnonymousFebruary 16, 2020 at 7:31 PM
Sarah Metcalfe

One of my biggest pet peeves is the belief that tattoos should have meanings. Of my five tattoos, only one of them has a “real” meaning behind it, a tribute to my late grandfather. The rest are silly stick & pokes done with a sewing needle by my best friend when we were sixteen. Even though they are fading and poorly done, I love them just as much as my professional one. Every time I see the sun that kinda looks like a donut on my hip or the oddly-shaped balloon on my side, I think of my best friend (and the long nights that probably shouldn’t have been spent tattooing each other, but oh well). Most of my tattoos may lack meaning, but they make up for it in memories.

At the end of the day, YOU get to decide what you put on your body. If you want tattoos that have deep, sincere meanings behind each one, go for it. If you want a tattoo simply because you think it’s pretty, great. If you want silly, fun tattoos, that’s cool, too! It’s your body, therefore your choice. Life is short; too short to worry about what people say you should and shouldn’t decorate your body with. So, with that in mind, set forth unto the world and do whatever the fuck you’d like!
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AnonymousFebruary 16, 2020 at 8:31 PM
I believe in sleep. It is the most healing thing that I can ever do. When I am in just generally feeling bad or stressed sleep always seems to help me. During my senior year of high school there was so much drama surrounding my friend group, so when I got home from school I was so tired I would just fall asleep. What started out as a coping mechanism has turned into a much positive thing. It’s hard for me to believe in a time where I couldn’t sleep or hated sleep. Sleep is very beneficial according to verywellhealth.com, it can even help avoid the risk of depression.“Sleep impacts many of the chemicals in your body, including serotonin. People with serotonin deficiencies are more likely to suffer from depression. You can help to prevent depression by making sure you are getting the right amount of sleep: between 7 and 9 hours each night.”

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AnonymousFebruary 16, 2020 at 9:41 PM
I believe in medals. I love them...especially when I get them. Yesterday, I got one.

"For what?" you ask. One random word. Bowling. But not just any bowling. This was the Special Olympics conference championship. Every year, the schools in our athletic conference partner with Special Olympics bowling teams in their town, and a delegation of student-athletes travel with them to compete in the championship. I was one of six Transy students to go this year. We played in three divisions, in teams of four: two student-athletes and two Special Olympians each. Cory, Casie, Kelli, and me. For three games of bowling we tried our darnedest to knock those honory white pins down. As engaged as I was with my teammates, I don't remember their scores. I only remember my game. I remember a manageably mediocre first round, a personal record second round, and a third round that slipped out of my hands as quickly as the PR had come upon me. It was truly tragic. Gutter ball after gutter ball. I couldn't have rolled the ball like that again if I'd tried. Yet, somehow, I still earned a medal.

In my life, I've earned few medals. That's the tricky part about medals--you have to earn them. Participatory or merit-based, you have to put effort forth to have a third party endow you with a such a badge. I wasn't the only one to earn a medal. Our whole team got one. We earned it together. Despite my bad round, the others picked up my slack and we came out well enough to place in our division. No matter how much shame and regret and gut-twisting frustration I have about the low moments, I cannot deny the positive moments because I have this medal around my neck. It validates the effort I put forth. And that validation is what I believe we all crave just a little.
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Kremena TodorovaFebruary 16, 2020 at 10:06 PM
Once a year, I travel to Bulgaria to visit my parents. With some prompting, they share bits of family stories. Some of the tales involve me as a minor character. Some do not. But these days, I am hungry for any scrap of family history, so I seize any opportunity to ask questions.

This summer, my mother tells me how her parents met. Her father was born in the small village of Asenovets. He became Asenovets’ mayor in 1945, after the war ended and Bulgaria began building Communism. Some time after, my grandmother arrived to work as a teacher at the village’s new school. She had a high-school diploma and had been accepted at Veliko Tarnovo University, one of the nation’s best. She was bright and hard-working, the first woman in her family to go to university. But my grandma didn’t make it even to the opening day of classes because a few days earlier her uncle was prosecuted by the People’s Court. He was declared a traitor to Communism. Because she had a traitor in her family, my grandmother wasn’t allowed to attend university. She was, instead, assigned the position of a high-school teacher in the village of Asenovets. I wonder if this felt like punishment to her mother’s twenty-year-old self.

Though he had held leadership positions in the Communist Party, my grandfather didn’t apply to become a certified Anti-Fascist Fighter. Certified Anti-Fascist Fighters had special privileges, such as access to jobs, education opportunities, and goods not available to the rest of the population. My grandfather’s hesitation to benefit from the privileges Communism afforded became a family issue when my mother applied to medical school. Though she studied hard for a year, she ended up missing a fraction of a point to be able to study pharmacy, her dream subject. She would have had much more than the fraction she needed, had her father registered as an Anti-Fascist Fighter. Though my grandmother begged my grandfather to get his Anti-Fascist-Fighter credentials so my mother could get into pharmacy school, he would not do it. He believed children should get into their chosen university program based on their own efforts.

But my mother had already given up on studying pharmacy. Instead, she enrolled in a program her grades were good enough for: chemical engineering. She met my father in her third year in university. He, too, was studying chemical engineering.

I believe my existence was made possible by Communism’ system of rewards and punishments. I believe I am the offspring of two generations of people failed by Communism.

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KurtFebruary 17, 2020 at 1:20 AM
Calloused from a lifetime of choosing work over rest, my mother’s hands hold her paintbrush with the grace of a bat caught in flypaper adhesive. Her ring finger locks in an arthritic fold until her other hand pries it open again.

Scouring marks from copper kettles and soured milk stuck to the inside of glass jugs when I was young, these hands cleaned everything around me. They scrubbed the red stains soaked into our reused yellow plastic peanut-butter tubs each time we filled them with wild strawberries. Inside, the tubs always looked new. 31 years later, the one I have in my office still looks new on the inside. The pictures printed on the outside are nearly washed away by scrubbing.

Sanding spindles on a Glen Avenue staircase to remove years of paint, these hands were smoothed of fingerprints by the rough paper. The work hardened my mother’s hands like the crusted donuts from Schneider’s down the street. 31 years later, her donuts come from Doughdaddys while she sands emoji for a project I am working on with students, a lifetime away from Glen Avenue.

Stripping paper from sponge-soaked and sagging plaster walls in the house where a minister lived, these hands pushed a putty knife through the most stubborn areas. My mother shaved every spot of paper from the wall and while doing so reshaped her bones. 31 years later, her index finger still folds to the left at her first knuckle. It looks painful. But the wallpaper she hangs in my bathroom while I am at work rolls beautifully into the corners.

Despite the fact that I am troubled by the appearance of a bat caught in flypaper adhesive, I believe in my mother’s hands.
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Marissa PriceFebruary 17, 2020 at 9:25 AM
Marissa Price

A list of several different beliefs, because I have some that have accumulated that never reach 300 words:

Although sometimes I use them as though they are, I believe that "where I'm from" and "home" are not totally synonymous. I feel so much more at home here in Lexington than I ever did in my hometown. And sometimes home is people and not a place.

I believe in eating brownies instead of cake on my birthday because, since I was a kid, I’ve hated the way-too-sweet flavor of most cake icings. On my birthday, I always asked my mother to make homemade icing instead of store-bought because it helped, but eventually I realized I just don’t like most icings. It doesn’t hurt that the alliteration of “birthday brownie” sounds better, too.

I believe that making food that takes longer to cook than to eat is, at times, obnoxious, even though that’s the case with pretty much any meal. I like cooking sometimes but it requires a lot of energy and dishes and sometimes I wish everything were as convenient as microwave meals.

In turn, I believe that peanut butter and jelly sandwiches can be dinner if you’re really tired of cooking and really tired of every other food you know how to make.

I believe in having many tabs open on my computer at once (at this moment I have fifteen) but in keeping the number of unread emails in my inbox to a minimum (I mark emails as unread even after I’ve read them if they are important but I don’t want to or can’t reply at that time.)

I do not believe in making phone calls to people I don’t know well. Something about not being able to see the person’s face throws me off and I struggle with convincing myself to hit the call button.

I believe in small joys like pb&j and brownies interrupting daily responsibilities and almost never answering phone numbers I don’t recognize.
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Kremena TodorovaFebruary 17, 2020 at 10:05 AM
I love your list of shorter-than-300-words beliefs, Marissa. I myself have been thinking about a reflection about where "home" is for me. Like you, I don't believe home is where I was born. It hasn't been for years. This is a belief I want to cultivate to 300 words :)
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AnonymousFebruary 17, 2020 at 11:12 AM
I believe in reading.
My entire life, books have served me as teachers, friends, an escape, and a method for me to understand and cherish the world. As young as 3rd grade, I learned how passion, sadness and exploration can be so easily encapsulated inside of those paper walls. When we began our AR point journey in elementary school, I was not very excited. Why would I want to spend my free time doing more reading after I just spent 7 hours at school being forced to read. But as we were walked to the library and told to pick out any book we wanted, I stumbled onto the book Little Women, the kid version with a simplified story line and the occasional picture.
I read the entire book in 3 days. I couldn’t put it down. When I wasn’t reading it, I was thinking about reading it and wondering what Jo was going to do next or if Beth was going to get better. I felt the emotions of the characters inside the book, I cried when they did, I laughed along with them, and I even fell in love alongside them.
Little Women was the first time that I truly realized how amazing a book could be. Ever since then, books have filled a void in my life that as I look back now I truly can’t imagine what else could have grown me into the person that I am. They taught me how to not be afraid to follow my heart, that it's okay to not be okay, and how to feel the type of happiness that completely envelops you. Books also taught me that weird loneliness that you get whenever you don’t have that paper world to escape to anymore and those characters to listen to after their story has ended. They taught me how to turn my own life into a book and follow my own adventure. I believe in reading.
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AnonymousFebruary 17, 2020 at 11:16 AM
When the latest and finale installation of BoJack Horseman was made public, I watched in joy and terror as the show concluded, following intense themes of addiction and abuse and love. The writers chose the main character to be an abused and abusive horse-man, selfish and without coping methods. They tell his growths, his failures, and most importantly to me, his relationships with others.

Without spoiling aspects of the story, BoJack’s pattern of toxicity is revealed to many individuals and groups on varying levels and time frames. Everybody responds differently because, of course, every character is unique. Some people cut him off permanently, others for a period of time, and others set up hard boundaries.

The display of those he abused or manipulated as equally complex characters is radical. Some behaved as victims, others as survivors. Some did not identify themselves in relation to BoJack or his abuse at all. They showed people justifiably hating him, feeling bound to him, liking him. They gave nearly all people at the other end of abuse representation, whether healthy or no, through all the stages of abuse, even when the abuser makes attempts to change. These bouts of growth or anxiety to grow are not used to grant him a redemption arc. They are more describable as stages in his life and cycles.

To show all these types of reactions and to follow abusive behavior and cast all participants as so very human (human-animals?) does a lot for the conversation about abuse. To me, the representation of an abuser as a person, nothing more and nothing less, helps toxic people identify the things in themselves they need to change and the people that have been or are being hurt to identify abuse, no matter how utterly human their abuser is. To show those living with and around people like Bojack as individuals helps people find ways to deal with abuse in their life and rethink their interactions. So I believe in this media representation of abusers as humans. When they are elevated into something more, something inhuman, they cannot be identified and dealt with healthily.
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UnknownFebruary 17, 2020 at 11:50 AM
I believe in being present.
Ever heard of the phrase “time flies”? People can easily lose track of time in their lives whenever they get too comfortable with the situation and next thing you know, days, weeks, and then years go by. When I say the phrase “too comfortable”, I am talking about how as humans, we are wired to get ourselves in a day-to-day routines so we can make it to the end of a work week and just live for the weekends. The problem with this is that people get so caught up on the past or “cant wait for the future” that it takes their soul away from whats actually happening in front of them in their current state. To avoid this from happening, I would suggest that whenever you feel as if you are getting too comfortable, just take a few moments to stop whatever it is you are doing and just be mindful of whats going on around you. Try to focus on all of your senses so you can be well connected with your surroundings. What do you see? What do you hear? How do you feel? Take it all in and with a little bit of mindfulness you will see that you are much more connected with your surroundings than before and will be able to get the most value out of your time.
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AnonymousFebruary 17, 2020 at 12:56 PM
I believe in friendship. One day in high school, a girl I was ‘kind of’ friends with told me “you’re friends with ugly people.” A couple years later, another girl I was ‘kind of’ friends with told me “it’s really hard to be your friend.” Friends were really hard for me in high school. It took me years to learn that I’m not a bad person. When I am truly comfortable with someone, I can act like myself which can be pretty chaotic. I’ve gone through a lot of friends. Coming into college, I tried to act like someone I wasn’t in order to gain “a better friend group.” I ended up crashing and burning; I felt like I had been chewed up and spat back out. But, I’ve been through so many different friend groups, trying to adapt to find the perfect set of friends. I’ve let people walk all over me and let them take anything they could from me. The care and relationship that comes from a close friendship is something I’ve always wanted. I’ve always strived for the perfect best friend. So, I was willing to overlook any red flags. Over time, as I’ve gone through friends and acquaintances, I’ve learned how to find friends, but I’ve also learned how to let go of friends. Letting go of the people that aren’t good for me or my mental health. I have my standard for friendship now, defined by myself instead of others, and I hold my friends to that standard. Friendship is hard, but worth it. I believe in caring for others and having others care for you.
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AnonymousFebruary 17, 2020 at 1:05 PM
تخونني الكلمات ... ويُشلُّ لساني عن التّعبير ...وتخنُقني عبراتي كلما رأيتُ خطوط العمر تُزيِّنُ وجنتيكِ ....وكلما رأيتُ تعب السّنين يُلقي بكاهلهِ ليُوشّح رأسكِ ....يا أُمّي ...يا منبع سعادتي ...ضُمّيني إليكِ ...فأنتِ الصّدر الوحيد الذي يُريحني من عبأ سنيني ... يا أُمّي المسي بيديكِ وجنتيّ ... فيدُكِ المباركةُ هي الكفُّ الوحيد الذي أتمنّى أنّ أُلقي برأسي عليها كلَّما ضاقت بي دُنيتي ...وصدركِ الملاذُ الوحيد الذي يُجرِّدُني من همومي ...سرِّحي بيديكِ شعري ...فأنا أشتاقُ لدفءِ الشّوقِ في صدركِ ...أشتاقُ للمساتكِ وحنانكِ ... ...يا أُمّي قُصِّي لي حكايةً وغنِّي لي بصوتكِ العذب الحنون ... فأنا كلما رأيتكُ أشتاق لطفولتي ...ومهما كبرتُ فأنا طفلكِ المُدلَّل الذي يرفض أن يكبر يوماً. ...
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AnonymousFebruary 17, 2020 at 1:12 PM

In elementary school, I was always a car rider. I know there are memes about “you were a car rider and it shows,” but I loved being picked up by grandparents from school each day. When my mammaw and granddad would pick me up, we would always go back to their house to see what adventure would await me that day. When the weather was nice, I would ride my bike in their driveway or ride the fourwheeler around the yard, and sometimes, at the beginning of the school year, I would get home with them and help them pick tomatoes or cucumbers from their garden. In the colder months, I would go inside and watch The Little House on the Prairie with my mammaw while she made me a snack. While these visits seemed simple and routine at the time, my college self longs for an afternoon at my grandparent’s house, and I think of them often when I get back to my house from a long day of class. The special thing about their house is that it is right next to our county’s school bus garage. When giving directions to their house, the simplest thing to say is “the last house before the bus garage,” and from their driveway, you can see the big industrial building and all of the yellow buses parked around it. Each day spent playing outside at their house after school was accompanied by the school buses returning to the garage after dropping students off for the day. Shortly after the buses began to file in, my mom would pick me up, and my nightly routine would begin at home with my parents. Last night, while running some errands with my housemate, we were driving down Liberty Rd; I looked up from the passenger window, and to my right was a bus garage. The sun had already set for the day, and all of the buses were parked next to each other. I smiled to myself, and my heart ached for one more afternoon after school at my grandparents house. I believe in the school bus garage.
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AnonymousFebruary 17, 2020 at 1:53 PM
I spent my childhood afternoons at my mammaws house. I would get off the bus at the side of the street and walk through the yard to get to her porch. She always welcomed me with a hug and would take my backpack off. After I got my afternoon snack ( a strawberry shortcake roll), I would search under the kitchen cabinet to find my mammaw's large metal mixing bowl. All of my great outdoor adventures began with that mixing bowl.

Mixing bowl in hand I zoomed out the back door to play in the extensive backyard. I would imagine that I was a wilderness explorer who is scavenging for food. I would pick handfuls of grass and put it in the bowl. I searched around the house for my favorite ingredient: wild strawberries. I liked them as they added a pop of color to the large bowl of green. The next ingredient would be rocks. A great wilderness explorer knows that rocks are a staple in a person's diet. The last ingredient is a couple of cups of water. I would use the garden hose to fill the bowl up enough where I could mix the ingredients. At last, this decadent meal was complete.

I never ate the “meal” I created, I always snuck the bowl back inside to pour it down the sink. Reflecting back on this part of my childhood I wonder why I poured this mixture down the sink? Granted I was seven years old, but I still can’t fathom why I thought that was a good idea. I thought I was sneaky putting the mixture down the sink, but yet I was eventually caught by my mammaw. After a stern talking to I learned that I could still be creative and play as long as my “meal” didn’t go down the sink.

I am glad that my mammaw still let me play with her mixing bowl even after I ruined the sinks plumbing. Her kindness and love showed no bounds and that I am thankful for.

I believe in mixing things in bowls

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UnknownFebruary 18, 2020 at 10:13 AM
Alex:
A while ago I talked to my therapist about how happy I was that the sun had finally come out. It had been several weeks of cold and rain, and when the clouds finally parted, it was like the world had opened up again. That was one of my best days that week, probably fueled by a preciously tiny amount of vitamin D and the ability to not fall asleep in the middle of class.

This wasn’t my original plan for this week’s essay, but mental illness sucks. I have an especially bad time in the winter because of it, because i’m not getting any sunlight and it’s oppressively cold outside so I just wanna stay huddled up in bed all day. I truly do envy bears for their ability to just skip it, but I digress.

Truth to be told, despite all this winter is my favorite season. There’s a certain tranquil beauty to the soft colors that I can’t really describe, and I can tell that it’s incredibly ecologically important as time for seeds to incubate and for the soil to become fertile again. And yet, it’s so hard to get through, so depressing to have to push through it. I don’t know what makes it so difficult, and I have no plans to answer.

If you’re reading or listening to this, I hope you understand that all struggles pass eventually. You’re going to pass around a corner and find a beautiful and successful part of your life waiting for you, I assure you. And if you don’t? You haven’t checked the next corner. I know things are hard, but keep going. You’ll find the sun eventually.
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Kremena TodorovaFebruary 20, 2020 at 9:11 AM
Winter is NOT my favorite season. Like you, I miss the sun. I also miss the heat of long summer days. I miss feeling unburdened by layers of clothing, a puffy jacket, hat, gloves, and more. Thankfully, the summer is just around the corner from the winter :)
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