at some point
the new(ish) weezer album makes me happy inside :]
as weezer always does.
anyways
college essay
i have one that i like and a lot of people i've showed it to like as well
xxx
Imagine being trapped in the smallest room of a tiny condominium in the middle of the Southern California desert. No, you haven’t been kidnapped by a cult intent on brainwashing you and you’re not being held for ransom by motorcycle-riding pirates. In fact, the door doesn’t even have a lock, so in theory you can leave the room any time you please. But somehow, even though you’ve had to pee for the last hour and a half, there is nothing in either this world or the next that will make you leave this cramped little dungeon. Why? Because this is Thanksgiving 2007, and on other side of the thin wooden slab are seven or so children, pounding on the door in attempts to break into the safe haven, banshee shrieks ripping out of their lungs and mouths as they hit the apexes of their sugar highs.
So there I am with the other older kids, Chris and Jake, as well as Val, a friend my parents have let me bring along in a show of mercy. Val tells me my family is crazy as the boys lean against the door. When I give her my told-you-so face, she insists she thought I was “over exaggerating.”
Then the boys fall forward, landing on their faces, as a gaggle of hyperactive children stand proudly in the now-open doorway for a minute before rushing in to continue their reign of terror. And I, at the end of my patience, snapped. Putting on my “scary mask,” I shouted a few harsh words at the kids, who clearly didn’t appreciate the shift in power as they retreated, looking almost like puppies with their tails tucked between their legs.
And that’s when I had my Woman’s Epiphany: I had turned into my mother. Not in a superficial way, like how we’re both voracious readers or how we both have a predilection for wacky clothes, but a similarity that derived from some potent mixture of nature and nurture. When reprimanding the little kids, I had sounded just like her. When I had finished shouting, I felt an eerie calm settle over me as my eyes fell into a hard glare, just like her. My anger had flared up quickly then burned out in a flash, just like her.
It was frightening. It’s not like my mother is a horrible woman, but ask any fifteen-year-old girl, and she will tell you that the prospect of becoming her mother is enough to make her gut boil as her stomach acid eats through her organs and dissolves her soul. Melodramatic? Yes. But it’s a fairly accurate description of the horror.
After the “I’ve become my mother” ego blow, I stopped thinking of myself as a girl and started thinking of myself as a woman. This was huge for me, as I had always been somewhat resentful of my sex, seeing it as a detriment. Girls had always seemed catty and vicious, a belief affirmed by the countless petty, senseless arguments I’d gotten myself into over the years. In truth, I had wanted to be a boy, simply because it seemed easier: I never saw two guys fighting or heard about them refusing to speak to each other. I don’t know why I never just ditched the girls and went tomboy, though. Perhaps I still thought the boys had cooties. Or maybe it was just that I really didn’t like soccer (most of the boys just played soccer every recess, every day). Maybe it was something else. All I can remember in complete accuracy was that I had always been uncomfortable in my own skin.
After the shock of my epiphany, I started to study my mom, trying to find something in her that I wanted to be. It wasn’t hard. She’s strong, confident, smart, brave, and proud. After that, it was easy to just let go and finally be my own person (even if that person happens to be remarkably, frighteningly similar to my mother). In doing this, I have become all those things I admire in her. I tapped into a strength I never knew I had and used that newfound confidence, which felt so new and exhilarating even though it had always been there, to just be myself. Best of all, I became proud of my femininity. I have accepted the part of me that has always seemed like the root of my problems, and in doing so I abandoned the frightened little girl I had been and I have earned the right to call myself a woman.
xxx
hee hee
december 2009
also, as "luck" would have it, i'm having a ridculously hard time coming up with essays, but miss tamora pierce [tammypierce]'s books are making my fiction writing so much easier.
soooooo.... yay?
as weezer always does.
anyways
college essay
i have one that i like and a lot of people i've showed it to like as well
xxx
Imagine being trapped in the smallest room of a tiny condominium in the middle of the Southern California desert. No, you haven’t been kidnapped by a cult intent on brainwashing you and you’re not being held for ransom by motorcycle-riding pirates. In fact, the door doesn’t even have a lock, so in theory you can leave the room any time you please. But somehow, even though you’ve had to pee for the last hour and a half, there is nothing in either this world or the next that will make you leave this cramped little dungeon. Why? Because this is Thanksgiving 2007, and on other side of the thin wooden slab are seven or so children, pounding on the door in attempts to break into the safe haven, banshee shrieks ripping out of their lungs and mouths as they hit the apexes of their sugar highs.
So there I am with the other older kids, Chris and Jake, as well as Val, a friend my parents have let me bring along in a show of mercy. Val tells me my family is crazy as the boys lean against the door. When I give her my told-you-so face, she insists she thought I was “over exaggerating.”
Then the boys fall forward, landing on their faces, as a gaggle of hyperactive children stand proudly in the now-open doorway for a minute before rushing in to continue their reign of terror. And I, at the end of my patience, snapped. Putting on my “scary mask,” I shouted a few harsh words at the kids, who clearly didn’t appreciate the shift in power as they retreated, looking almost like puppies with their tails tucked between their legs.
And that’s when I had my Woman’s Epiphany: I had turned into my mother. Not in a superficial way, like how we’re both voracious readers or how we both have a predilection for wacky clothes, but a similarity that derived from some potent mixture of nature and nurture. When reprimanding the little kids, I had sounded just like her. When I had finished shouting, I felt an eerie calm settle over me as my eyes fell into a hard glare, just like her. My anger had flared up quickly then burned out in a flash, just like her.
It was frightening. It’s not like my mother is a horrible woman, but ask any fifteen-year-old girl, and she will tell you that the prospect of becoming her mother is enough to make her gut boil as her stomach acid eats through her organs and dissolves her soul. Melodramatic? Yes. But it’s a fairly accurate description of the horror.
After the “I’ve become my mother” ego blow, I stopped thinking of myself as a girl and started thinking of myself as a woman. This was huge for me, as I had always been somewhat resentful of my sex, seeing it as a detriment. Girls had always seemed catty and vicious, a belief affirmed by the countless petty, senseless arguments I’d gotten myself into over the years. In truth, I had wanted to be a boy, simply because it seemed easier: I never saw two guys fighting or heard about them refusing to speak to each other. I don’t know why I never just ditched the girls and went tomboy, though. Perhaps I still thought the boys had cooties. Or maybe it was just that I really didn’t like soccer (most of the boys just played soccer every recess, every day). Maybe it was something else. All I can remember in complete accuracy was that I had always been uncomfortable in my own skin.
After the shock of my epiphany, I started to study my mom, trying to find something in her that I wanted to be. It wasn’t hard. She’s strong, confident, smart, brave, and proud. After that, it was easy to just let go and finally be my own person (even if that person happens to be remarkably, frighteningly similar to my mother). In doing this, I have become all those things I admire in her. I tapped into a strength I never knew I had and used that newfound confidence, which felt so new and exhilarating even though it had always been there, to just be myself. Best of all, I became proud of my femininity. I have accepted the part of me that has always seemed like the root of my problems, and in doing so I abandoned the frightened little girl I had been and I have earned the right to call myself a woman.
xxx
hee hee
december 2009
also, as "luck" would have it, i'm having a ridculously hard time coming up with essays, but miss tamora pierce [tammypierce]'s books are making my fiction writing so much easier.
soooooo.... yay?