Stories and Starlight

i retraced my steps today, walked circles around my younger self. here is the place where i first hugged my best friend; the place where i now stand, five years later. here is the me of fourteen years,  as i look into the mirror and see her superimposed over me. she's still there, peeking out from behind my eyes and over the rim of my glasses. a face from before: all dark eyes and frizzed curls, anxiety, naivete. now, a face that betrays my mind a million times over; angled jaw and red lipstick. here is the memory; the inside-out deja vu; as i lose my sense of direction, and turn to find it again. originally written on july 3, 2022. photo by me.

  We’re eight months away from turning twenty, and whenever something significant, or even mildly significant, happens, I keep thinking back to the past version of me who was pretty lost and raging at life — the past version of me that was you. I think you deserve a recap by now; maybe a touch of hope. (Maybe I need to remember these things too, and that’s why I’m telling you, because otherwise it would feel too silly to just tell my present self these things. Like a pep talk, but less cliché, I suppose. I hope.) I’m rediscovering my love of writing. It’s been about two years since I started writing again, and up to now it’s mostly been poetry, but I’m hoping to change that too. Fanfiction and prose and screenplays, maybe a novel someday. Definitely a memoir: it’s on my bucket list. I’m glad we’ve been keeping a diary since we were nine. We haven’t always been a consistent diarist, it’s true, but it’s helped me remember past versions of me like you more clearly.  You probably ...

friday, june 18 - saturday, june 26, 2021 --|--|--|-- || the highlights what happened that stood out This the first week I can remember in a long time when I've felt such a wide range of emotions, and I get the feeling it won't be the last.  iCon 2021 was a rollercoaster, but nevertheless a blast. One of my struggles was learning to be adaptable and working without a clear plan of what was coming next. I like to plan ahead and be prepared for possible outcomes, so I struggle a lot with  So, a little overview list: - a genuine sense of camaraderie - competing in my final tournament at the iCon 2021 International Championship - making it to showcase with our Much Ado About Nothing  OrAd and winning FIRST PLACE!! - working with the 15-18 year old student track - intern photo and video shoots - spontaneous dance parties - becoming well-acquainted with the hallway mirror, in which many selfies were taken - wildflower crowns - a really cute hat I got while exploring the neighbo...

In January, roads and journeys began and came to an end. Namely, I turned eighteen (the end of "childhood") and began Prospective Internship. I also saw some new opportunities for my acting journey. I met a professional actor, we connected, questions and advice were exchanged, and the chance of more acting training in the future was brought up. ( I feel such hope for the future I just know I've got to be on the right path, I thought.) In February, my heart was broken. For someone with no real experience in romantic relationships, I'd been struggling with my feelings for a while. That month, I wrestled with the growing realization that my romantic feelings and my real-life goals and convictions didn't align. That month, reality also slapped me in the face, and it stung. ( I hate this. But at least I know it'll serve as fuel for my poetry,  I sighed.) In March, my to-do list was filled to the seams. I had the unique experience of getting to teach a class about ...

I tried to write about love, but   everything I want to express has already been written. (a shelf weighed down by vinyl records, decades of lyricisms for love and heartbreak.) I forced myself to write about love, but  I can't remember what I saw in you the first time -- I don't even know if I want you anymore.  (a case file with faded photographs, all proof too dated and aged for the detective.) I started to write about love, but  it strained my thoughts and muddled my feelings too much to try. (a never-ending book, an unsolvable puzzle, pages and pieces scattered over the floor.) I wanted to write about love -- about you --  but (a smudged page, gray marks from words I tried to take back.)   at least I know I tried.

I. It was dinner time when I wrote him a note. Pulled out a pen and covered one, two  sky-colored sticky notes front and back with neatly printed marks. You’re a great friend to have. Stay in touch. Phrase it as a fact, write it as an order. Finally finding the courage in my quick-beating heart to  be upfront, straightforward --  a heady rush of newfound strength. To approach, but not to ask if he feels the same, and never to know what might happen if he did. (Cover it all up in friendship terms,  can’t let on,  can’t let go.) II. Sometimes he’ll give a smile, sometimes hey, how are you. Sometimes a hug. Sometimes not even a pale blue glance. Scan the room, find him, anticipation rising... and I feel the drop, the b     u         m              p                ...

hello . it's been awkward. six hours and thousands of miles but not a word was said to  bridge the gap, only a sprinkling of laughter: crumbly plastery filling,  forced lightness, because we can't seem to accept the darkness:  that cramped pretense we put up instead, a poor protection for what should be spoken, but hangs out to dry on the fine line of silence,  waiting, perhaps, for when we turn and (actually) say  hello. it's been tiring. three years and thousands of conversations but hardly a word was said to  bridge the gap, only a sprinkling of outings: flimsy sugary filling, like melting ice cream, because we can't seem to have a full meal, that duty called "quality time" by convention ,  hiding the longing for something substantial but giving in to habit just one more time, waiting, perhaps, for when we try to (really) say hello. it's been difficult. one childhood and thousands of memories but not a word I've said to bridge the gap, only a scrapb...

Every film in this post was something I watched during the fall of 2020. I talked about the first four in another post , but I pasted the reviews here anyway because I wanted to have a complete list of everything I watched and wrote about.

why couldn't it be me? every time I remember, there's a hollow in my heart and no one knows how deep it goes: not because my heart is empty but because I'm so full of desire someone's out there in a place I want to be in a role I want to play but I'm the one who prayed I'm the one who crafted the dream I'm the one who read the books and wrote character studies I'm the one who ran deep into my own ambition and all I have left are saltwater tears and a heart overfull,  over years of dreaming and nowhere to go with it. why am I here? what happened to the promises? and maybe I'm in denial, but what do I have to grieve? maybe losing these dreams is like losing lives; except these lives never existed outside of me,  so maybe a part of me is lost too. what a puzzle grief is; what a puzzle I am. worlds collide behind my eyelids  but the world outside my window leaves much to wish for, and desperation drifts into the mix. how much longer do I have to wait? Yo...

Belated stream-of-consciousness birthday post! It's a mix of what I wrote in my journal, what I posted on Instagram that day, and some other thoughts to pull it all together. Italicized lines are from the song " Crossing a Bridge " from the Anastasia  Broadway musical. I've messed around with this writing style before, although I don't think I've ever published anything like it. It was very enjoyable -- that is, once I figured out where I was going with it.

I first saw the idea of " months in review " on another blog, amid these embers (which you should definitely check out), and I really liked the concept of summarizing my month, so I decided I'd give it a try. I've created my own template inspired by the original one but with a few differences, because I wanted it be unique and not an identical copy, which would be wrong. I'm saying this so you won't give me credit for the original idea. It is not mine and I believe I should respect that. So why am I writing this post? I really, really love remembering things. I'm very nostalgic and while I have a very good memory for some things, the passage of time is not one of them. So the principal reason for doing this to record the notable things that happen in a way that lets me see more of a big-picture idea of what a certain month was like when I look back. This is my first time writing something like this, so bear with me. I tried my best to make it interesting,...

"Who I am and who I wanna be cannot connect; why? .... I know I like to preach to always be yourself / but my emotions make me feel like i am someone else Me and pride had made a pact that we don't need no help / which feels like I'm at war inside myself but I forgot the shells  I hold my issue up for all to see, like show and tell / A lot of people know me, but not a lot know me well."  from " WHY " by NF

Let me laugh for the sheer joy of laughing; laugh for the feeling of freedom that follows after a smile that can no longer contain itself. Let me cry over things both beautiful and heartbreaking; cry unashamed to shed the tears that bind us in our brokenness. Let me sing, let me shout, let me rise to great heights, unafraid of the name or the fame. With words and a pen, my voice and each choice, making this message heard, trying  to the very end. Let me see things strange in the mundane, see what You saw in a girl with great flaws, yet You called me by name. Let me cast off the fear that has shackled me, cast off the weight of the worries I carry. Let me marvel at the every wonder, at every star, at every tree, at every breath, every step, every beat of this unsteady heart. Laughing, crying, singing, sighing, trying - there's nowhere to go if I'm on my own, but with You, I will find  my identity. ______ Written: April 21, 2020

i wouldn't have known if i was alone,  i wouldn't have known  what it is  to step up  to stand up to speak up to grow up. if i was alone,  i wouldn't have known  how it feels to reach for a dream  to fail to fall into a sea of words holding me up, saying "it's not the end," "get up,"  and "try again," "fall, but fall forward." your words guide me onward. you've offered me an hand and pulled me up and now, i can't say it enough: thank God i'm not alone, because then i wouldn't have known what it means to love. _________________________ dedicated to each and every person who has been a light to me during my years in ICC (plus my mom). i think you all know who you are <3 poem: September 25, 2019 photo: January 16, 2020 at ICC's IGNITE Winter Advance, Cedine Ministries Camp, Spring City, Tennessee

I. the poem look up...  i see you crying, tired of trying thought the day would be easier than this the light stops shining, night is blinding can't find your way walking with your eyes on the ground so look up you'll never know how much goes on above you look up you'll never know how far you might reach just look up there is so much to wonder at if you only look up 'cause there's so much to wonder at, if you only look up _______________________________________________________________ II. the story  it was an early start to the day, and i was not yet over the "i'm-not-a-morning-person" blues. all of a sudden a family member (who was slightly more awake) called my attention to the ceiling. right there, clear as day, was a rainbow. not a tiny speck of color, but a real beam of visible light. my first reaction was to take a photo of it. my second reaction... "wait, where'd it come from?" somehow, the lig...

Dear me, When you’re tired, turn your thoughts into poetry. When you’re angry, rearrange your armored walls until they open again. When you’re hurt, hurry to pour it out on the blank pages of a book. When you’re dying for things to be different, dare yourself - and find a way to change it. Don’t let your ugly feelings stay that way. Don’t leave them locked away. Let them out, but make them beautiful.

When I was younger, I wrote stories all the time. I don’t know exactly why I stopped, but for a long time, I didn’t write much. My fears definitely had something to do with it, because one of those fears was that I didn’t have anything worth writing about. Anything worth telling. Earlier this year, I remembered a certain poem I’d heard before. It was about overcoming fear, and had hit me so powerfully that it almost felt like it had been written just for me. So I decided to memorize it, as inspiration. But eventually, the poem I had only planned on memorizing for fun became a speech, and the speech became a message that I shared over and over again.  And after presenting this poem, I started writing again. The poem became a part of my story. And every time I shared my story, I touched someone else’s. I hadn’t expected this. Did this happen because the story I told was mine? There is this expectation that in order to be extraordinary, you have to make yourself different f...