Community Engagements Through the Arts: This I Believe Essay #6

Sunday, February 23, 2020

This I Believe Essay #6

Post and comment on other people's This I Believe Essays #6

71 comments:

AnonymousFebruary 23, 2020 at 9:36 PM
I had just turned nine. My birthday is always on or near Thanksgiving, so my family and I were visiting my dad’s mother in Lebanon, TN. My parents went into town while I stayed at home with my grandmother, but an hour later, they called and told me to come to town to meet them.

When I arrived in front of the Home Depot, my dad had his back to me, and my mom and digging through her purse in the car. When my dad turned around, he had a chihuahua puppy in his arms.

Like most chihuahua puppies, and I guess chihuahuas in general, it looked like a little rat. As soon as it saw me, its big ears perked up and its little tail wagged. I fell in love the instant I saw the ears: one big and tall, the other flopped over. He fell in love with me the instant he saw me, but I can’t answer for him as to what was so special about me.

I named him Chief. I thought it was funny he was so small and had such a powerful name.

Chief is twelve now, and he’s always been my dog, and I’ve always been his person. In his old age he’s gotten arthritis in all but one leg. Sometimes my parents call and tell me he’s so sore he doesn’t leave his bed. The moment I come home to see him, though, he’s the puppy I met 12 years ago.

People say they need dogs, but I think dogs need us too. I believe that in some ways Chief made me his emotional support person, and sometimes I feel guilty that I can’t be there for him now the way he was there for me. I fear I’ll come home and he’ll hate me for being away for so long, but he never does.

I believe a dog’s love is unconditional and everlasting. I believe they love and need us just as much, maybe even more, than we love and need them.
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AnonymousFebruary 23, 2020 at 9:38 PM
Alex Toney:
So if you’re reading this and you’re in my CETA class, you might remember the rule on the Community Guidelines that went “please let me stim (repeated actions to stimulate senses)”. If you’re not in my CETA class, then, well, you know that’s a rule now. I don’t remember if I said this initially, but I was the one who suggested that rule, and those who are unfamiliar with the topic might not see what’s so special about waving your hands back and forth or bouncing your leg or rocking in your chair, that it’s something I had to request an entire rule be made about it. So let me explain.

Stimming as a concept is almost entirely associated with neurodivergent people, especially autistic people such as me. Anyone can do it, but because of this association only a few people actually gain a lot of attention when doing it. Occasionally I’ve had people raise an arm at me and ask me to calm down when i’m rocking back and forth in my chair, afraid I would fall off, or just that I was panicking about something, and honestly I don’t blame them- anyone who has known me for a long time, such as family members, would have certainly noticed that i do that more when i’m anxious.

A lot of people who are against or made uncomfortable by stimming, such as the anti-autism support group Autism Speaks, will often try to suppress it when they find their children doing it. I honestly find this hard to understand, why someone would want to suppress something so seemingly mundane. Perhaps it’s the fear that this is someone who is different from you, who may succeed where you failed. Perhaps it’s the same in the above paragraph, but I disagree. I think we should encourage people- not just children- to stim to their heart’s content.

To explain why I’d like to point out that just because I stim when i’m anxious, that doesn’t mean i only stim when I’m anxious. Often times, if I’m very happy or excited, I will stim even more aggressively than when I am anxious. And who knows, maybe one of you has seen me do that once, I cannot say… but either way, it is true. It’s an expression of an emotion we often don’t know how to express to anyone else, intense happiness, crippling anxiety, that bursts forth in a new language very few people can speak.

It’s because of this difficult yet beautiful language that I believe that stimming is beautiful.
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AnonymousFebruary 23, 2020 at 9:46 PM
I sit in my dorm scanning the internet for any video or picture I can find pertaining to dogs. I spend thirty minutes laughing, crying and cooing over my telephone before forcing myself to stop and return to whatever I was doing. This has become a daily ritual since I arrived at college. It doesn't matter that I'm from Lexington and can see my dogs whenever I want or that this is a huge waste of time which typically leaves me in tears. I find myself fiending to watch these goofy creatures at the end of every day.
I have had dogs since the day I was born. I can remember returning from a long day of elementary school and settling in with my dog on her bed, falling asleep against her. Or times of sadness when I buried my face in her fur and let the tears come, while her concerned cries comforted me. Returning home and receiving a warm hug from my pup is the most endearing way to end the day. My dogs are my best friends and I have no shame about it.
I took my own dogs for granted before starting college. I knew it would be hard to live without them, but had no idea just how hard. Every night I wish my pups were here to snuggle close to. Every morning I wake up ready for them to pounce on top of me. I have no qualms living alone, no dire need for human company. But when it comes to dogs, I've learned I desperately need them.
Therefore I believe in shared videos of dogs. For all the people like me who need to swoon over an animal they'll never meet in order to fill some of the longing for their own pets. Everyone whose circumstances don't allow for a dog, needs these videos to share some of the immense love they feel four our four legged friends.
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AnonymousFebruary 23, 2020 at 10:04 PM
There is a jacket that my Meemee has had since my mom was in middle school. In its prime it was bright red, but now it has faded to a red orange color. This jacket has been worn by every member of my family at one point or another. When we would go to my grandparents someone wore it every time. We all loved this jacket. There was nothing special about it in the beginning. It was a cheap jacket that my Meemee got from Walmart because it was one of the school colors.

For some reason I always loved this jacket. Maybe it was because when I was little Meemee would always wrap me up in it and it smelt like her and had tissues in the pocket, which was a token thing about her. She always had tissues. Everytime I would go to my grandparents the little red jacket was the first thing I grabbed. I wanted to be the one to wear it. The rule about the jacket was that anyone could wear it but they couldn’t take it home. If they took it home then other people wouldn’t get to wear it. Meemee wanted us all to share it.
But for my senior night I was gifted this jacket. Me. I was the chosen family member to get to keep the jacket. It was no longer something we all shared. I was honored that I was chosen.

This jacket was special to me. Now that I have had the little red jacket for years I don’t wear it as much. It isn’t a cute jacket, it looks like it needs to be thrown out, but I love it. I wear it now when I want to feel close to my Meemee. She lives in Florida so I don’t get to see her except a few months out of the year. But the other day I put the little red jacket on and I was shocked to find a tissue in the pocket. Meemee had snuck a tissue in the pocket when she was in last. I felt extra close to her when I found that. I believe in the little red jacket.
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AnonymousFebruary 23, 2020 at 10:30 PM
My friend and I went to a couple of breweries last friday night. A man came up to us and asked if we wanted to join their group in a friendly “slurring” bee competition. We both looked at each other like “should we do it?”, and then said “yes”. I lost on the word “manichaeism” and she lost on the word “macabre”. While we were waiting our turn we met three professors that teach at the University of Kentucky. They were probably in their early 30s. They were really nice, and we were blown away by their wide vocabulary. They were the finalists. As we were playing, Emily and one of the professors exchanged emails so she could email him about future job opportunities. It was beautiful to watch that conversation.
After the “slurring bee” we mingled elsewhere, running into one of our friends from Transy. When we were ready to go home her boyfriend picked us up. Throughout the night I kept asking her “are you going to my CETA event tomorrow at the plantory?”. She kept responding “yes”. I kept asking her this because she doesn’t do well with getting up before noon on a Saturday. Well, Saturday around 11:30am, we were both up and on our way to the plantory. She was grouchy like she always is in the morning, but in my head I knew she was going to have a great experience. We walked in and talked to some people and started painting. In the middle of painting we walked throughout the building. She loved the place. She talked to one of the workers there and asked if she could come back and study. When we left she told me that she had a really good experience painting, she wished she were in the class, and that she was glad I kinda forced her to go.
So, the slurring bee competition and forcing my friend to go to the plantory means that I believe in doing things that are outside of one’s habitual daily life. Get up go painting, or join a slurring bee competition at a bar. You never know what you are going to see, or who you are going to meet.
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AnonymousFebruary 23, 2020 at 10:47 PM
I believe in surprises. It doesn’t have to be a new car or anything, but a little surprise can make someone’s day, or even their week. I always wanted a surprise birthday party when I was little, and when I was 8, my mom came in clutch. It was my favorite birthday by a longshot. How can you not love a superhero themed birthday where everyone acts like they have super powers for an afternoon?
I think the feeling of giving someone a gift as a surprise is more fun than being on the receiving end. My dad went to Auburn, so for his 50th birthday, I got him tickets to the Auburn vs Alabama football game. He doesn’t cry often, but with the tickets I got him!!! It was great to see the joy in his eyes and see how excited he was because of the surprise. When we went to the game, he was surprised how close we were to the field, and after the game, we got to rush the field when Auburn won! While that experience was great, the reaction my dad gave to initially getting the tickets was just as rewarding. I know you shouldn’t give someone a gift for your enjoyment, but to actually be kind to someone you care about.
Even today, a surprise is always the highlight of my day. Yesterday, my grandma came into town and surprised me when I went to dinner with my parents. It didn’t take much to make my night, and spending time with my family is one of my favorite things to do. Surprises are tough to beat, no matter how small!
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AnonymousFebruary 23, 2020 at 11:23 PM
I do not believe in a path to success. My mother does. Recently, we have had several conversations (arguments) about this disagreement. I currently have much stress about my impending graduation, about my classes preceding my impending graduation, and about my life following my impending graduation...not uncommon topics for senior in her last semester of college...but what makes all of these worries so critical are the way they are each wrapped up into the notion of “success.”

When I was in Italy last year, my roommate met a man that she’s been in a relationship with ever since. She is my age, and this man is significantly older--but once you get over that peculiarity, the guy is kind of cool. He is an American who (with his wife who passed away) decided to move to Florence and start a new life. He’d already owned several lucrative businesses before he left the states, but I think his perspective, while on the surface privileged, has a lot of merit to it. The gist is that anything is possible, security is only perceived, and success ought to be defined in whatever way you desire. That is, pursuing what you want out of life and not letting yourself be derailed by the opinions of others and society are the most foundational elements of “success.” That’s how he claims to have accomplished all he has.

My mother and I have significantly different perspectives. The goal she sees set before me is finding “gainful employment” including insurance and other benefits so I can be saving for retirement. The problem I see with that goal is that then I am not living for the joy of today, I am living out of fear of tomorrow: planning for an ever-looming rainy day or hoping that one day when I retire life will finally be enjoyable. I may be young and idealistic, but being enamored with my “today” sounds like a kind of “success” I can pursue now that will still be something I’m pursuing until the day I die. So I plan to travel, within my means and responsibly, after graduation. I am going to Au pair most likely, and for at least a few months, I’ll be achieving “success” and forging my unique path like every other “successful” person before me.
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KurtFebruary 24, 2020 at 12:26 AM
Along with an embellished bird, she handed me a box and these words: “I often reference you vaguely as ‘my one friend, who was also my professor, so it doesn’t really count.’” The box held a mug made to market her business. It was one from a stack that surely once numbered in the hundreds and so, as a gift, it may not have counted. The mug held broken pieces of homemade banana bread. The box also held two teabags and a note that said, “My favorite drink.” Because both were surplus from her own stash, the tea and bread may not have counted. I thanked her on text. I said I might not drink the tea because I liked the way the un-brewed bags filled my office with the smell of cinnamon. A week later, Amazon delivered a package I didn’t order. Inside, I found a tin of the same tea. Even without a note from her, it was clearly her gift. And it definitely counted.

I added “tea” to a list of tasks and I considered, for days, how to respond thoughtfully to my friend. I moved the prompt from one day to the next until I forgot to move it and the process of accidentally overlooking the simple kindness of saying “thank you” began.

A few weeks later she sent me an email to ask if I had received a package, a small surprise from Amazon. Reminded of both the package and my intention to express my appreciation, I was also reminded of these things:

I lost touch with a close friend from high school because she was really good at writing letters and my desire to write her as thoughtfully as she wrote to me caused me put off writing her a letter in response. I have been waiting 16 years to write that letter.

I lost touch with my first non-Transy friend from Lexington because he moved to a different time zone, and our weekly Sunday morning phone calls could no longer work as a way for us to start that day together. It is nearly noon for me before he would wake and be ready to talk. I put off calling him until I could figure out a time that worked well for both of us. It has now been 5 years since we spoke on the phone.

Waiting until there is time to do something well sometimes causes that thing to never get done. I believe, too often, friendships are lost in the moments between knowing you want to respond thoughtfully and responding at all.
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Kremena TodorovaFebruary 24, 2020 at 9:02 AM
We called them Gypsies in English, tsigani in Bulgarian. A few years ago, the English word was declared pejorative and replaced with “Romani.” The Bulgarian word did not change. Neither did the average Bulgarian’s attitude towards tsigani. They are stigmatized in private, mocked in public, and legally discriminated against. And while the rest of Bulgaria westernized after the fall of communism 20 years ago, tsigani continue to live as they always have here: in ramshackle, unpainted brick structures on the outskirts of towns and villages. With minimal access to education and jobs, they are Bulgaria’s only beggars. “Older sister, give me some of your snack,” they call out to women, afraid to ask anything of the men.

I had never spoken to tsigani until last summer. On a sweltering July day, my husband and son were kicking a ball in the dilapidated soccer field across from the hospital where my mother gave birth to me all those years ago, while my father watched a soccer game. Last July, we had seen a crowd of people at the hospital’s main entrance. The balloons and flowers in their hands were telltale signs of relatives expecting a mother and her newborn baby to be discharged.

Five minutes into the improvised soccer game, three tsigani climbed over the shoulder-height wall surrounding the soccer field. As the sole Bulgarian speaker in my nuclear family, I became the translator, explaining makeshift soccer rules. I also offered to mind the youngest tsiganin who looked to be about 4. While a highly competitive soccer match unfolded, I found myself face to face with a scrawny tsiganin child.

I had assumed the child was a boy, but quickly decided I had been wrong. Because the Bulgarian language is gendered, the child’s gender mattered: it determined what words I would use to address her. She, however, would not respond. She stared quietly at me with big eyes, not letting on if she understood what I was saying. In that moment, I realized I had no idea if tsigani speak their own language, if this girl was likely to have ever met an outsider like me, if I was making her scared. Sitting on the edge of an unkempt soccer field, I wished the fences of hate surrounding me when I was growing up in Bulgaria had not been so tall. I also wondered if I should take the little girl’s picture.

While I deliberated, our companions left to join their relatives at the hospital. And, as it turned out, the little girl was a boy. His name was Simeon.

I still wonder if I should have photographed Simeon. I don’t believe in photographing people without first asking permission; it feels disrespectful. But Simeon was too young to give me permission. So were the two boys with him. I believe having Simeon’s picture would have reminded me of this encounter more often.

I believe there are times when breaking rules, even my own, is essential.

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Marissa PriceFebruary 24, 2020 at 9:41 AM
“I’ve learned to slam on the brake / before I even turn the key”

This line from “Waving Through a Window” from the musical Dear Evan Hansen is one that resonates with me for several reasons. It’s a great depiction of anxiety, and the musical is one with a story I adore. Without giving too much away, Dear Evan Hansen is a musical about a high school-age boy who struggles with social anxiety and depression, who then gets caught up in a lie that happens to make him more popular, which improves his life-- and you follow his life as he rides the rollercoaster that is this lie.

I first heard songs from this musical a few years ago when it was still new, but over winter break, I listened to the entire soundtrack and read about the plot to piece it together without seeing the full show (until I found that a few weeks ago on youtube.). This was when I really began to fall in love with the story.

Any chance I got once classes started back, I put on the soundtrack. Getting ready in the mornings? “Alexa, play Dear Evan Hansen.” Throwing clay on the wheel? Searching Spotify for the playlist and plugging in earbuds so as not to disturb anyone in the room with me who doesn’t also love Dear Evan Hansen.

When I came home in the evenings, I put it on while making food and, for just the few minutes I have between cooking and eating and going back into doing homework, I sang along, turning my apartment into some other universe and forgetting about my own life.

I believe that singing and acting out songs from musicals in my apartment allows me to pour myself into a fictional existence for a moment, even though sometimes my voice breaks under the pressure or I hit a very wrong note.

I believe that having fictional worlds at our fingertips in the form of books or movies or musicals is such a beautiful concept.
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AnonymousFebruary 24, 2020 at 10:56 AM
I believe everything happens for a reason.
This is the best time in our lives to make impulse decisions. My entire life I’ve been a planner. I had planned every important birthday down to the types of embellishments on the cake by the time I was 12.
I hated being impulsive, but now, I am done with planning.
Living on an impulse is exciting. I was always told that college was for experimenting and was going to be best years of your life. So far, I agree. This is the time to cut loose and enjoy every second of your day. Even the seconds where you are crying over stress, or a break up, or maybe the fact that you ran out of string cheese. It happens. What ever the reason is, enjoy it. Know that everything happens for a reason and there is a reason you failed that exam, or a reason you went out last night. Know that planning leaves room for disappointment. There is no room for disappointment when there are no expectations.
It is freeing to try new things and controlling what you do when you want to do it. Being present in the actual moment you’re living in.
So live impulsively, stop planning everything, and believe everything happens for a reason.
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AnonymousFebruary 24, 2020 at 11:01 AM
When I get stressed I usually tell myself that everything will work out the way its supposed to. This is really true. Ive seen it happen in relationships, careers, opportunities. When things don't go as you planned, it is better to think of it as "that wasn't what is right. Something will come along that is right". :)
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AnonymousFebruary 24, 2020 at 11:33 AM
As the semester goes on, it can be easy to become overwhelmed with assignments, classes, and social obligations. As another week approaches, you may find yourself appalled that the weekend went by so quickly. What happened to the studying you were going to do or that paper that needed a little more work? It is Sunday, and you are almost out of time to get these things done. Not to mention, you probably have laundry to do or dishes to wash, or maybe your friend had a crisis over the weekend that demanded your attention more than your zipped up backpack on the far side of your room. The Sunday scaries are coming upon you all at once, and it is not a comfortable feeling. Maybe you spent your weekend out with friends or maybe you took a road trip; regardless, the responsibilities of the next week are upon you, and you may feel crushed with the pressure to give your all in each of your classes over the next five days, and I understand, I really do. Each weekend, I feel the pressure to get a million things accomplished in a mere 48 hours, but I rarely get around to all of the tabs open on my computer let alone the pile of clothes on my floor. This past weekend, I was able to go home. Home for me is in western Kentucky where the people talk a little slower, drive a little nicer, and the chances of you seeing someone you know while you are running errands are very high. As soon as I got off the interstate in Greenville, a wave of relief washed over me. This is what I know. I am home. I get excited at the thought of my family, my best friend, my dogs, and my mom’s good food: all of the things that I love. As I drove back to Lexington on Sunday, the scaries weren’t so bad. I’m loved. I’m rested. My belly is full, and I have on one of my high school marching band sweatshirts that comforts me. I can handle this week and whatever it brings my way. I believe in going home.
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AnonymousFebruary 24, 2020 at 11:51 AM
I believe in fairness. Growing up, my mother would always tell me that life isn’t fair. Anytime something happened that I did not agree with, she would tell me the famous phrase. I never understood why she or I couldn’t just make it fair. As I grew up, I rebelled against this phrase. Anytime I didn’t like something, I would do everything in my power to change it or remedy the situation. Once I came to college, I felt my power diminish. I had so much confidence in high school, because people would listen to me. In college, bureaucracy and time gets in the way. My past three years at Transy, I have done my best to create more fairness. Now, one cannot just create fairness, but as I have learned from my Anthropology courses, nothing is permanent and the social is created by the people. We get to define what is right and wrong, legal and illegal, and so much more. We all decide the social norms and fairness.
My sophomore year at Transy, I made a resolution that SGA had to vote on to take a stance on our need for female DPS officers. It made its way to President Carey and he approved and two female DPS officers were hired by the end of the year. This felt like such a huge win! But, in reality it isn’t, Transy is still not fair. I am ‘friends’ with all the powerful faculty on campus, but yet, they won’t change the things they don’t agree with. Diversity is not important, rather the ability to have freedom of hate speech is. There are so many things wrong or unjust, but I have lost my motivation to fight for Transy or for myself. At times, this class inspires me to fight for fairness. Because the amount of time dedicated to this class is not fair; the jobs are not fair, so many things. I believe that Transy isn’t fair, and it is up to the staff and faculty to listen to the students.
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UnknownFebruary 24, 2020 at 11:58 AM
I believe in Karma. You ever hear the phrase “what goes around comes around?” I am a firm believer that your actions will have consequences 7 fold whether they are good or bad. I also believe that if you work in silence, only then will your actions be compensated. People who do nice things for others and then announce it to the world are being more selfish than selfless there for in my eyes, those actions have no value. It shows true character to sacrifice for someone else then not tell anyone about it. Only then does the gesture show true kindness. For example if someone where to donate a lot of money to charity and then announce to the world about how much they are helping the need; that person is more concerned about their self image rather than focusing on the importance of the needy. For someone to donate a lot of money to a charity and take no credit for it, to me, shows more value and the universe would compensate that person more than the other.
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UnknownFebruary 24, 2020 at 11:58 AM
^^^ Emon Daneshmand
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AnonymousFebruary 24, 2020 at 12:25 PM
I believe in coffee.
When I was growing up, I was constantly surrounded by the warm and welcoming aroma of coffee. Whether it was at 6 am when my father was leaving for work or at 9 pm whenever my mom was reading her book and just wanted something warm. In 5th grade, I decided I was ready to find out what was so exciting about this dark, hot drink.
I climbed up onto the counter because I wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the mug shelf, picked myself out my favorite cup, climbed back down, and walked over to the silver pot. As I poured it, I felt myself age ten years and decided I could see myself being my mom drinking coffee from dawn to dark or my dad, chugging it before he had to go perform a surgery. It made me feel grown up and powerful. I finally took a sip. It was not very good. It was bitter and so hot that it burnt my tongue. I sat my cup down, kind of disappointed that I wasn’t immediately in love with it.
I decided I wasn’t ready to give up just yet, so I added some of the milk I always saw my mom add, a couple ice cubes just like my dad did, and for extra measure, an entire table spoon of sugar to make sure that the bitter taste wouldn't get me again. I took my second sip of coffee and was amazed. The sugar and milk completely transformed the bitter cup to a warm and sweet treat.
Ever since that day, I never stopped drinking coffee. Thankfully over the years, my taste changed to like that bitter bite and I no longer require an entire table spoon of sugar. But coffee has become one of my favorite things, not because of the caffeine it gives me but rather the memories it has brought me. Drinking iced coffee on a summer day by the pool with my friends, curled up on the couch watching a movie at Christmas with my entire family, consuming an entire pot the night before a hard final. I believe in coffee not because it wakes me up, but because it helps me to remember.
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AnonymousFebruary 24, 2020 at 12:25 PM
When I was a child I loved to walk in my room and see everything in the perfect place, now I walk into my dorm room and see my clothes and books scattered all over the place and I feel at peace and at home. I believe that the mess of my dorm room shows who I am the crooked posters, tickets, and postcards of art and various things I’ve experienced and places I’ve been. I’m confident that when you see my room it is easier to understand who I am and what I believe in. For example, on my wall there is a newspaper that is from the women’s march when Trump was elected that says “We the People are Greater than Fear” then on my desk there are flowers and books and clothes. Somehow no matter how much time I spend putting clothes away it still feels like there are clothes everywhere. On my wall there are also multiple tickets to art museums that I went to this summer, which are possibly my favorite thing on my wall because I love art museums so much.
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AnonymousFebruary 24, 2020 at 12:55 PM
It started as a bit of teenage rebellion. I would sneak into my nana’s nightstand and pull just one out. Then, I would wait until my friends could get together and we would go on a walk with it, smoking, laughing, and pretending we were way older than we were. At first, I would only steal one. But soon I was stealing multiple at a time, smoking them by myself in the backyard in the dead of night or on walks around my neighborhood.

I discovered that the cashier at the gas station next to my school wouldn’t card if you flirted with him. Not long after that, my addiction became full blown. It became a habit to chain smoke on the way to school and after school at the coffee shop where I did homework. At my peak, I was at a pack a day. My teeth and nails were yellowed, my stomach always hurt, my lungs felt like they were on fire half the time, and I smelled like a walking ashtray.

My addiction evolved with the times. As juuls and vapes gained popularity, I slowed down my smoking and transitioned to juuls. I thought I could break my addiction, but in actuality, I made it worse. I started hitting it just to hit it. At school and family functions, I’d go to the bathroom just to feel the vapor in my body. It didn’t even give me a buzz anymore, just comfort; it was basically an electronic thumb.

I have been addicted to nicotine since I was 14, and for what? For a slight head rush? For an increased heart rate? For an eternally empty pocket? Nicotine has given me nothing good, yet I still battle my addiction. I have tried to quit an uncountable amount of times, but I always fall back into her arms. Nicotine has caused me an absurd amount of problems, both personal and financial. I used to believe in nicotine, but not anymore.
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AnonymousFebruary 24, 2020 at 1:02 PM
Back in 2015 summer I her and we exchanged our favorite books in a book store cafe and sipped on iced tea.
We had conversations that I always desired and the whole time I smiled.
I believed that was romantic happiness.
Last night,
We met again and we had wine and pizza. We exchanged books and spoke about fun things.
I smiled throughout and laughed so much that my cheeks hurt by the end of it.
I was wrong.
Such is not romantic happiness.
Such is happiness.
These feelings of excitement and great conversations and things that mean something…they are not the monopoly of romance.
Great company, genuine connections, favorite books, delicious food and living in the moment is happiness.
External yes, but I do believe it adds to one’s capability to achieve internal satisfaction.
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AnonymousFebruary 24, 2020 at 2:07 PM
I believe in video games

Video games have been a part of my life since childhood. On the weekends I always played Disney Racing on the PlayStation 1 with my older sister. She always beat me… I remember having so much fun and being extremely competitive.

I’m my middle school years I fell in love with the game, Skyrim. I was so enamored by the world building and the amazing quests you could do. I spent hours leveling up my character and completing the quest lines. Some of my favorite memories from middle school are from playing this game.

In high school I spent a majority of my after school time playing Grand Theft Auto V online with my friends. We would goof around and talk about all of our school drama. It was the best stress reliever I could ask for.

In college my time spent playing video games dwindled. School, work, and obligations have taken up almost all of my time. This year I have finally found time in my schedule to play video games. After I get my homework done, I head over to my friend's apartment and we play Minecraft. We laugh and listen to music all while exploring and building on our world. It feels great..

The time I have spent playing video games either by myself or with friends is held close in my heart. I have made special memories over the years and hope to make many more.

I believe in video games

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Community Engagements Through the Arts

CETA 2020: Our first 2 emojis (of hundreds)

Sunday, February 23, 2020

This I Believe Essay #6

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