Trust

You gotta trust SOMEONE in life. Everyone is human, everyone has their own personal motives and everyone is gonna lie. But there has to be at least one person, that you take the risk with. The risk in believeing that human harshness will be set aside, for the quality that makes us remotely functional as a soceity of animals. The quality that makes us want to look out for each other, and care about each others' well being. To believe in that quality in other people, is to trust them. Because the only time you would ever need someone else's trust, is in the protection of your own feelings, future, or material objects. Trust is either entirely emotional or forced by a feeling of morality. At that point, the person is taking care of you because of some feeling of debt to themselves or the world, and based on their own beliefs. Most people are not like this however.

Trust is a necissary part of survival. People like to trust in other people, but there tends to be a lot of wariness. There is no way to determine for sure what's going to happen. You can look at statistics of whether this person has been reported to be trustworthy, but you never know for sure - humans are unpredictable. But if you don't trust SOMEONE, you can never create relationships, and you will end up carrying a lot of weight and secrets on your own, which never ends well.

Lola

I love Lola. Lola is my dearest close friend who I miss a lot right now. Lola is the reason I haven't posted in weeks, because she is the only one who reads this, so I figured it would be a waste of time to post a bunch while she was away. Lola should be home soon, with her brother, and our friend. I miss them all. But most of all, I miss Lola.

My love and wistfulness for Lola, has inspired this blog post. Actually, I've been wanting to write this for a few days now, but I restrained myself, thinking it was just a little bit creepy. However, I can't take it anymore and this is the only way I can think to cope with the fact that she is away from me and I can't talk to her about the things on my mind and closest to my heart. Moreover, she is not here to give me my morning rant about what aggravates her today, the drug qualities found in random foods, and how her family has done her wrong. Which is equally disappointing because I have become quite fond of those rants.

So I hope that when Lola sees this, she can interpret it as a tribute of love and longing, not creepiness.

I'm not even entirely sure Lola will see this, because I'm not sure if Lola is going to keep blogging when she comes home. I know I am on the verge of creating a new blog which will be completely different from this one, in style and content. But as for Lola's plans, I am not sure. I miss you Lola. Please come home.

Love, Flower.

Alone

One of my greatest fears since I was a kid, was to be alone. In any situation, I was okay, as long as there was someone there to be with me, support me, and to prove that I wasn't doing the wrong thing. When you're alone you're three thousand times more vulnerable, and there's a silence that you can't fix as you can around others. That silence can eat you up and make your inner mind start talking for you, which can be very necessary at times, and at others it can go on to the point of danger. I'm afraid to be alone, and be sitting there unable to override the sound of silence. To have no one to bring me down to reality when I start to imagine the best and believe the worst. And when I'm alone and I cry, I know that there's not gonna be a friend who can say their one word and make me smile.

Importance

We walk by people every day, and almost as often, meet new people. New names and identities enter our consciousness, even if only for a second. They are the insignificant people in our lives, acquaintances and strangers, and then there are the main characters, friends, family, lovers, and even teachers I guess. Who present a more prominent and effective role in our lives. But really, every one of the main characters started out as one of the nobodys you passed, and didn't think much about, who you had a one word opinion about and never really looked further. Because there was no reason to look further, because they didn't ever come into contact with you, or anything you did. They existed within one random moment like an extra in a movie. Then, you wake up, and a bunch of those people are close to you now, changing your life and the way you think, taking you in all new directions and becoming important. Who would have thought, when you first glanced at this person, that they would become your best friend, or you best advisor? And this will happen again - people we may know right now, as vaguely associated with some other part of life, may come to have a starring role. Then you'll look back and see how the world can revolve and take us to people, who it would appear, were always meant to be a part of your history. I find this intensely amusing.

Blog

I've been thinking. That after all this time of writing these posts about my latest discovery, or venting about my latest emotion, or the poetry that I wrote in my school notebooks... I've been thinking about where this is going. I've been running this blog for the past year and a half, and next year I'll be off to high school. I'll be around all different people, a whole new place, a whole new dynamic, and I won't be the twelve year old that started this blog. So this is my proposition: I've considered running this blog until either graduation, or until the end of the summer. I'll keep going the way I've been going, and then when I end it, I'll start a new one. The format would be more of a journal type thing, except I wouldn't keep it like I keep my written one. It would just highlight certain moments of my day, and I'd tell it almost like an excerpt from a book. I also thought that it would be a good way to let the people I won't be seeing as much anymore, know about what's going on in my life. I'm also kind of bored of the way I write here. In conclusion; I feel I will need to start an entirely new blog soon, for my own peace of mind, and for my friends. But what do you think?

Paths

I somehow realized, that we are each individuals, with personal stories that are going on right now, even when I'm not around them. I only come into contact with their stories when my own path crosses theirs. But when I walk away, every one else's story keeps going. And even those who you are close to, your friends, are entirely different beings than yourself. Sometimes, I lose the sense of who people really are, and start to fill in things about them, which are pretty much fictional and based on my own impressions. So I have to wake up and realize how far apart I am from everyone. You can't live in anyone's head. And misunderstandings/miscommunication alone can create that huge distance. Once accepting the fact that we are entirely different and independant, when stories do come to interact and meet, it seems like a miracle. That people that could be running around on entirely different paths of life, somehow find each other for split seconds in time, and let their stories touch.

Want

What is it about humanity that wants more when it has everything? Why do we strive for the most difficult goals and dismiss the simply gained ones? When you were seven years old, what did you dream about for your future? And now that you've reached some higher place, now that life is practically perfect - what's wrong? There is always a flaw in the picture, that no matter what else you try to surround it with, there's still that hole isnt there? There's still that thing in your life you would fix if you could, there's still that reason you'll be sad tonight, or tomorrow, or eventually. Living in a cloud of happiness is a lie... and even if you really, really do feel 100% happy, there's a lie to that too. We would not be human if there wasn't some gap to be filled by the mysterious key. Remember me talking about this key? This key is different. This key is EVERYONE'S key, and how are we ever going to find it? My frustration is with one thing, simply: living with the constant distraction of wanting with all your heart, the one thing you cannot have. Why can't other things in life make up for it? Why can't you fill the space with an alternate substance? Why is human desire so specific and impossible to satisfy?

Different

You're different. You are not the same person you were... you've lost yourself. How can I track my own progression into airheadeness, if I am me? They say, no, you're still you, you're just different. You've been gone for a while hon, and we're just waiting for you to come back. But how can you say that? How can you tell me that I have departed, entirely from the world, that I'm running around being someone I'm not? I can't tell you who I am, where the old me went, or when or why. But I look in the mirror, and I must agree. That person is not me. Just because I figured out that this is a new world and I am evolving like a weakling to it... but I can't do much about it. I can try and touch worlds with what it was like before... but I can't remember. All I know is that there was a longing, and now it's gone. What did I talk about? Who was I? I'm a stranger in my own life, dropped into a world and now you're all telling me how to play my character.
The music reminds me of a time beforehand, reminds me of a past life, and i listen with every bit of my soul, reaching out to grasp moments that made up who I was. Lost thoughts. The days were together and alone, sweet and dreamlike, thirteen was a land so far ahead and magical, like the beginning of my life. When I said my life had restarted, I was being symbolic. Or not. I don't want to lose who I was, nor do I want to drop out of the new world I've discovered. Is there a compromise? And can I find myself, those fragments of my own existance everyone insists are there? Please, just stop looking at me like I know what I've done and I could fix it willingly. Because I may try, and think I'm pulling it off, yet you say, I'm still different, not who I was. So what am I to do?

Rut

Every day, Ms. M glares at us and tells us to go downstairs. We smile at her because we know this is our routine greeting, at 12:40pm. So we go down and we go to the pizza place, our pizza place, where we live. And the little mexican guys know that she gets a plain slice, and to skip over us, 'cause we're with her. We grab our seats at the booth, the two of us on one side, her on the other. To even switch places would be too daring. We have the usual conversation, the usual raiding of each other's food, the usual taunting of the the newbies, and with our memorable moment of brillant humor and friendship, the days go on the same. The pizza place is like our home to crash at, and the Convinience Store Not A Deli is our best friend. We wander in there, to debate over what kind of candy we want that day, and how much is too much, and how to win a smile from the indian guys at the counter. And after countless crunch bars and 5 cent mints, we reach our final destination of the benches outside the school, where we three pounce, trying to win a spot in the desired middle. One of our beautiful quirks is our obession with being in the middle. So we sit, with our other friends, with whom we meet up with at this spot. We hug and dance and enjoy our little routine, until one-thirty when the routine is played out.

Thus, we are stuck in a rut. I see from where they come saying this, we have a way of life that we stick to... daily, and while it is comforting, and enjoyable, after a while, you realize, this happens every day. Why does it happen every day? Why doesn't something different happen? Well now, apparently, I have pulled us out of a rut. Apparently, I am the driving force, my life which happened before my eyes, has become this rope to pull us out of the norm, and into a more unexplainable, unusual place, because of something that none of us saw coming. Out of the rut my friends. Except, I don't even care about the rut anymore. Let the run be, to catch me when I fall. And let my life live, because I love it.

Sympathy

Wondering how to tell the difference between kindness and sympathy. Kindness: the quality of being friendly, generous and considerate. Sympathy: feelings of pity and sorrow for someone ele's misfortune.

But how exactly do you know if one's actions are from sympathy or from kindness, if both make sense? Couldn't one's kindness invoke a higher sense of sympathy, that even though used for good purposes, is disorienting? Just in a general sense. Sympathy can either be greatly appreciated, or embarassing and insulting. I mean, it tends to imply, you're in a bad situation, and the other one isn't. But if that sympathy is the kind that accentuates differences and status, it is a horrible trait. It's not "oh, you broke your arm, how horrible" kind of sympathy. Nonetheless, it may be the sweet humaine sympathy that it is, and on a cold October afternoon it can be quite the chicken soup.

Hey

Hey. Wats up. Nothing much, just contemplating every word I hear. Yeah. That's cool. I hear you are constantly confused. That's right. It sucks. Be right back. I'm back, lets talk. About what? Anything. Who are you mad at? You. As usual. Not true! So true. At who? Either one of you; the world. You make no sense. That's okay. Okay? It's great. You realize this is a dream anyway? I get it! Me too! Congrats. Ditto. 8:37pm.

FICTION.

Silent

Of all things to say, this is one of them, that I probably should. I usually do. But with so many problems concerning this one subject, who can i tell? I can only tell the people who don't care, or who won't get involved. Or have the sweet treasure of not having to. Benificiary One: He is of good and general approval including mine. Problem Ten Thousand: What if he knows or i cant do anything about it and its too good for me or if she finds out then she will be mad even though it has little to do with her it has a lot to do with her always because it's her personality and then my dear amica, she does not deserve for me to do this even though it wasn't my choice and what if that alone brings this all down?

Sorry about that. Love has returned to the Mounatin Spirit. Or Petrified Flower. However you address me online.

Camp

Now I'm going to do what people normally do on their blogs: talk about life.

I guess it's everything I've been doing at my camp, that makes me not think. No social epiphanies, no broken hearts, just russian ballet training. I mean, with the different cliques inside the studio, there are people to talk to and to stimulate your mind. But not quite as hellish as junior high school; I'm also too tired to blog when I get home.

Regardless, I love camp. I love the fact that all I have to do is go and take class, and 85% of the time, class is fun. It's especially fun because there is no stress for shows, and its SUMMERTIME so everyone is happy. I get to see my camp friends. Even though it's a day camp and not a sleepaway like most people, I still have a whole separate group of close friends for the summer. Every summer, we spend four weeks doing everything together, in my little group of four. It's great to reconnect with them, and to remember how much we love each other. It's miraculous, and carefree, to just run around with them all day and not really worry about the world outside of pointe shoes.

So maybe I will have an epiphany later.

Show

The first most horrifying thing is the smell of the theatre when you first walk in. Early in the morning, smelling like air conditioner, lysol, and traces of make up. As you descend into the dressing rooms of backstage, the outside world draws away. You have entered your dungeon. But it's not a dungeon yet, because it is till cool and spacious. Only a few of your friends are there, enough to keep you company. Locate your spot, claim your territory and don't let the little kids mess with you. In ten minutes, you're organized. Hairspray, water-spray, hair-gel, random crap in a bottle, hairbrushes, hair ties, pins, nets... and that's just the hair. Eyeliner: liquid, black and brown. Lipstick, three different shades. Light blush, dark blush, from white to brown to blue green and pink eyeshadow. Make up kits that are 1' by 2', lined in rows. Light bulbs wrap around the mirrors, and burn the room out; "It's like a sauna in here!" 

But on the stage, it's cold as hell (oxymoron, if you think hell is hot). A rainbow of warmups, leg warmers, sweatshirts, socks, slippers, leotard sleeves, and happiness. Jumping around on the stage like maniacs, and snapping pictures while you're at it. Counting reserved seats, loosing tambourines, organizing quick changes. Ten in the morning till four. Dress rehearsal. Break.

FREEDOM!!! Outside! The world! For the first time in hours! Out from the hot lights, and stifling dressing room. It's raining. Feels cool on the skin. Starbucks. Double chocolate chip frapp. Sugar. Oh so bad, but good. Dinner time. Sandwich. More pictures. All together now, laugh, smile, "VKDCNY 2009!" Six is curtain call. Out of warm ups, into costume. Panic. Ten minutes. A bag of pretzels passed around. Show. Applause. Cry.

Friends

My friend Melli blogged about labels in the terms of best friends, and I would like to respond to that.

If you read her entry, she says some things about calling best friends 'best friend'. I disagree. I think that best friends, become your best friend, because they are meant to be your best friend because you are alike. Then, you become closer and closer to that person, and automatically, you are "BFFs". Then, you might see that closeness, and call yourselves best friends. But the label itself shouldn't be made beforehand, or it is false. Thus, it is meaningless. And as for the label breaking up a friendship, if something as simple as the words 'best friend' can destroy a friendship, don't you think you're better out of such a friendship anyway?

In addition, I would like to restate, the fact that 'best friend' is not a contract, or ever-lasting marriage proposal. It is a fact of life, and like life, is apt and available to change. Friendship is much like a swing set. Your friends are everyone on the swings and each of you are going at your own pace of life. Sometimes, you happen to swing at exactly the same pace, and then because the wind is no longer cutting out your words as you cross, you talk. You become closer. This is your best friend. 

But then one of you starts swinging higher than the other and your paths are off track for that moment, and maybe you will be at the same pace as another. But this other friend is not any less because you are swinging differently, they are just not close. And if she learns how to swing really high, you can both swing together and be best friends again? It all depends on your changing personalities. Not that best friends or any friend is something to be flaky about. They are just subject to change. Within reason. Vale amicae!

Kindness

Kindness is something I really wish I thought about a whole lot more. I really wish that I was one of those magical angels that my relatives always seem to be. Always thinking about what is going to help each other, and a little less selfish. Being moral, and I'm not exactly trying to say my cousins and etc. are really that amazing, 'cause they ARE human. But wouldn't it be great if I could actually give a damn about someone else's feelings for more than a minute or two every day. What if almost every action I did was relating to how this could benefit someone ELSE? I mean, that would be great! Especially for me, 'cause I am the most amazingly selfish person on earth. It's so sad. This just hit me this morning, as I was making breakfast for myself. I thought of my little brother, and how I was supposed to take care of him, and how disconnected I was from the feeling of care and love. It then hit me, that perhaps I was supposed to actually be that kind of person, and I was totally missing out on something that came naturally to everyone else. So I have renewed my attempt to be a better person.