dear diary: my manifesto (of sorts)

I cannot tell you how many times I have thought about writing this post, started to write this post, stopped writing this post, came back to write this post and stopped again... I just haven't known what to say -- "hey, I'm sorry I've been gone so long" or "long time, no write." Too trite. I've done this before. I know me all too well.

It's not that I don't enjoy blogging. Quite the contrary actually. It just scares me a little. The kind of blogging I want to engage in anyway. You see, I like to write. Which in and of itself is not the problem. The problem is that I like to write what I know strictly and unadorned. I suppose I could write fiction, but every time I do, my overly deprecating self tells me it's a little too far-fetched. This is not to say those who write fiction aren't writing what they know; they're just more imaginative with the telling of it. I don't have that knack. Or if I do, it is dulled from disuse.

The point is, the things I know these days don't lend themselves to easy writing. They're heavy and somber and generally lacking in that ubiquitous escapism feel of lifestyle blogs. And so I've stayed away.

I thought about apologizing for not having much "sugar and spice and all things nice," but I'm not really sorry about it. I'm not a generally morose sort. At least I don't think so. But at this time in my life, melancholy has a certain draw on me. I mostly hate that I'm largely gloomy these days, but if I'm being completely honest I should be a tad devastated without it too. We've been together for so long.

I think it's supposed to be romantic, you know, the whole tortured, long-suffering artist thing. Mostly, though, I feel like a huge cliche for it. But at the same time I don't want to reduce my very real anxieties just to escape being branded typical. You see my dilemma.

I went back and read this post I wrote a while back when this blog was just past newly minted. I think I needed the reminder. Here's the thing (and this is more for my benefit, so pray you don't take offense): this is my space. I carved it out consciously. I cannot get hung up on keeping up appearances. All that does is stay my hand, my mind from creating, because if it isn't there, I won't fabricate it. The good, the terrible, and everything in between gets represented here. If you're still following, that's great -- I cannot adequately express how much that means -- and if not, I'm sorry to see you go but I grow tired of editing myself just to please unknowns.

I've been typing and retyping this manifesto-of-sorts for several hours now, playing this song aggressively during that whole time, and playing virtual Sudoku intermittently throughout. I should get some sleep. Thanks for reading!

yes, no, maybe?

My sissy enlisted me to help with her Sadie Hawkins dance invitation, so that's what I did tonight. It was the most productive thing I had done all day. Anyway, working on it took me back to high school, and now I'm feeling all nostalgic and whatnot.

And what's up with that anyway?! It's not as if I was particularly fond of high school. I didn't have a terrible experience or anything, but those years weren't my glory days either.
I blame it on all the introspection I've been doing lately. Growing up does that to you apparently. It turns you into a brooding mess. But I have it on good authority that it passes; you brood, you're spurred into action; sometimes you triumph. It passes.
Cam better say yes 'cause I worked very hard on that shirt. For all of 15 minutes, but still. Very hard.

happy new year!

A little belated, but all the same -- Happy New Year! The last time I was on here I was a little mopish. But no longer!

There's no rhyme or reason to the collage above. It is simply random bits and bobs I threw together to commemorate a year that was infinitely revealing. A year in which I:

attended my first college football game (it needed to be done before I graduated). consumed massive amounts of chai (even more than usual). got coaxed into joining my church's worship team (one of the rare times succumbing to peer pressure worked out for me). played fast and loose with my heart (one of the many times peer pressure did NOT work out for me). tried my hands at documentary making. became acquainted with rejection. photographed people in their sleep. took the shortest cross-country trip of my life yet (a little over 24 hours in L.A. to see Ben Howard in concert). was consistently broke (not a good time. AT ALL). became a barista. learned to cry. graduated from college...

2012 was quite the year, but 2013 promises some pretty intense self-actualization. I'm excited. Cheers!

Now Playing: My Dear Acquaintance by Regina Spektor

dear diary: sorry about the doom

On this day I was wearing my favorite red sweater and acquainting myself with this incredibly awesome-sauce vintage shop in my town. I was having the time of my life all by my lonesome (but really).

Anyway, can I be real with y'all for a bit: I graduate in exactly 10 days, and I am TERRIFIED. <-- That right there - that's putting it mildly. I'm happy about the part where I don't have to go to class or do homework or study for tests, and the fact that I've accomplished something a lot of people only dream about if at all, et cetera, et cetera.

Mostly though, I'm freaking out.

Because lately, all my best laid plans have been falling through at a rate that's just alarming. And I'm having the hardest time finding any direction at all.

Up until now, I haven't had to face rejection much. Everything huge and important that I've ever applied for or truly wanted has happened for me. I wanted to go to UGA - I got in; I needed a scholarship to fund my higher education - I got that as well and then some; I was even able to go to France for spring break all those eons ago, when by all intents and purposes I shouldn't have because it just wasn't fiscally feasible for my parents. What I'm getting at is that God has been gracious and things have mostly worked out for me.

That's not to say He isn't now. It's just been kind of bewildering and humbling lately with the amount of rejection I've been facing. I don't think I'm equipped to handle any of it as is evidenced by the fact that I've completely retreated from my own life. I'm in a perma-limbo state. I feel insulated and detached from my reality. Everything is so unreal and kind of awful. I feel like every fear I've ever harbored about my potential and capacity for succeeding at life is being realized.

I CANNOT become a deadbeat, and yet... I don't know, I feel myself becoming one. I'm moving back in with my parents. I'll be living in their basement (and I don't mean that figuratively; it's a fact). No one's offered me a job yet. I can't even find a sub-leaser for my apartment. It all seems a little too... Bleak. Or maybe I'm crying wolf and not all is as grim as I'm making it out to be. I honestly don't know.

But I'm sorry about the doom. This self-pity, it needed to come out somehow. And because of my little problem of being generally uncommunicative with the real people in my life, y'all are the unfortunate listeners to my sob story (assuming you've read all of this). I'll come back when I'm a little less woeful.

dear diary: sensible black girls

This photo has absolutely nothing to do with the post, but it was a pretty sunset that day. And even with the large, obnoxious crane in the foreground, I still enjoy it, so...

Anyway, school's out now (queue excited hand-clapping and body flailing), but before it was out I had to do this thing for one of my literature classes called a Capstone presentation. Basically, during Capstones, seniors (of which I am one) present to the class their aspirations, hopes, dreams, and (if you're one of the lucky ones) plans that are no longer mere objectives but concrete things happening for you presently. You also place those hopes etc. in concert with your idea of what you perceive literature to be and specifically how that particular class has guided or not guided those perceptions.

For my Capstone, I read an entry from my journal that I felt was representative of some of my feelings about myself, about my major, but ultimately about my race. I'm gonna share an excerpt here:

Up until I was about three my name was Catherine after my dad’s elder sister. But then my dad got into an argument with her, and whatever it was they disagreed on must have been very important and/or very intense, because my dad had my name legally changed to Karen. It wasn’t that much of a leap, since firstly I wasn’t too attached to the name Catherine considering my very young age, and secondly and more technically Karen and Catherine mean essentially the same thing – Pure.  

Except I don’t and have never considered myself pure. And I don’t mean pure in the sense of faultlessness or sinlessness; I mean the kind of pure that connotes a freedom from discordant qualities, but isn't necessarily metaphysical. Like when people talk about pure gold or a pure tone in music without any kind of extraneous or inappropriate elements taking away from the experience of that tone. So then, a musical kind of pure, if you will.

I am not a musical kind of pure. I am electronic and unplugged all at once. I am amplified. I am muted. I harbor too many contradictions to really and truly qualify the meaning of my name. And I think that’s why I have such an affinity for literature – or at the very least literature, as I understand it: Literature as all encompassing and inclusive; Literature as rigid and specialized; Literature as open and transcendent; Literature as elusive and insular. 

I have often considered what my future will look like; lately those considerations have tripled in occurrence, and are markedly more frantic now that graduation is nearly upon me and the prospect of the “real” world is made more tangible daily. These considerations consistently leave me feeling claustrophobic. I mean that they elicit a sort of strange, frenzied, oftentimes hysterical feeling that I am unable to articulate as yet. I wouldn’t call it terror although it does have the makings for that particular emotion. But more and more, I have come to think of it as the ultimate side effect of my gross indecision complex. Because I am grossly indecisive. 

I want to live on an isolated sheep farm in the French Alps with a whole slew of my own barefoot, underfoot children; I want to be a very capable food critic living in a charming, little, Seattle apartment with a cherry red front door; I want to be the flamboyant, artistic wife of an impressively bearded fisherman and live on an island off of the coast of Maine; I want to be a much beloved primary schoolteacher in a quaint European village; I want to tour the world over as an accordion player in a band that I shall call The Beard and the Trapezoid; but mostly I just want to be an eccentric and brilliant professor of Literature at a university – and I won’t even mind on which continent it is. 

I can’t imagine what some of these dreams seem like to people who aren’t me, because to me they make perfect sense. But I find that I have to defend my aspirations constantly to people who, during my entire explanation, maintain the same incredulous, almost pitying expression. Because sensible black girls aspire to sensible careers. Sensible black girls grow up to be doctors and lawyers and engineers and chief editors and computer programmers, and (if you absolutely must push the envelope) fashion designers. 

They know better than to gamble their futures on the success of bands that play obscure instruments like the accordion. They certainly know to stay away from places where the chances of them being the only one of their kind are invariably guaranteed. And every sensible black girl is well aware that fishing is no kind of life to live regardless of how impressive your potential lobsterman’s beard is. So, what to do when you’re a sensible black girl who practically avoids all the sensible things you ought to be chasing…?

Now Playing: Late Bloomer by Allie Moss 

LOVE has won!

Last night was incredible!! It was totally worth turning my paper in late and risking a lower grade as opposed to if I had stayed put and finished it before time. I went to the Good Friday concert/service at the Passion City Church in Atlanta with my friends, Erin and Seth (they're married and so cute!), and I came away so blessed and rejuvenated in my faith. I had been struggling with feelings of such extreme guilt were my relationship with my Savior was concerned. But last night all of that just melted away. In retrospect I can't believe that I ever even considered I could possibly be an embarrassment to Jesus. I mean, nothing I do surprises Him so how could I discomfit Him with any of it. I needed reminding that Jesus paid it all for me, that there was nothing I could do to save myself -- I was spiritually decayed until He came along and raised this life out of death. His Love has won and I'm done fighting it.

P.S. In case you wondered, the next to last photo is me. Erin was adamant about getting at least one picture of me, and I'm glad I relented because I actually really like this photo. That rarely happens.

P.P.S. Check out this cause that's all about stopping human trafficking all over the world.

Now Playing: White Flag by Chris Tomlin

(If you've never listened to any of the songs I include at the end of each post, make an exception and listen to this one -- it's truly great!)

Happy Easter, everyone!!

happy new year!

I'm still a little bewildered by how fast 2011 came and went. On the one hand, so much occurred this year, but (to be honest) I was a bit numb to most of it that it feels as if not much happened at all. Still -- for the parts that I was sensitive to -- it was a nice, solid year. Taught me much about myself -- about my character; what I'm capable of, and consequently not capable of; where I want to go, and what I want to be up to... It was a good year for self-actualizing. And I hope to do some more of that next year too.

A few of my resolutions (because keeping them to myself is a sure guarantee that I won't get any of them done):

1. Make my relationship with God my number one priority. I hope that before this new year ends I'm able to actively share my faith in a sensible, reasonable, logical way with someone else. And the only way I can accomplish this is by growing in my relationship with Him.
2. Be a bit more frugal; it's exhausting stressing about money constantly, because I pretty much squander it (albeit on two very enriching things: books and music) when I have it -- tsk tsk.
3. Procrastinate a little less each day. Seriously, my brand of procrastination is completely out of hand and just awful. It's got to a point where unless I'm being constrained by a really near deadline every time, the job will not get done.
4. Take delicate care of myself -- that means working out consistently. I also plan on participating in some kind of charity run before the year is over.
5. Lastly, foster my creativity. This involves completing at least one knitted project each month (because with the exception of the hat I knitted for my brother for Christmas, I have yet to complete any of the 99 -- slight exaggeration -- projects I have begun since taking up knitting about a year ago); enhancing my painting skills; and finally, finally learning to play the guitar.

Happy New Year, everyone!! I wish you every warm wish, and pray that you're infinitely blessed this year. And thanks so much for reading.

Now Playing: Something Good Can Work by Two Door Cinema Club.

knowing me, knowing you

This is me (or if we're being very technical, my shoe-encased feet).

At this moment I'm supposed to be working on my 5-page French paper due tomorrow morning at 8. Instead I'm listening to ABBA and de-cluttering my Reader. I have a real problem with procrastination.

I'm sitting under a vent, which means I'm insanely cold (even with my pea coat on). But I'm too lazy to switch spots. Besides, I'm fairly convinced that my spot is the only remaining one close enough to an electrical outlet. And I need that outlet.

I like the student learning center (which is where I am presently). It makes me feel productive... even now, when I'm not actually being productive. Maybe it's all the other students around me looking very hard at work and being eerily quiet. Regardless, I'm always insulated to my slackness in this place. Maybe that's not such a good thing...

Pictures of myself mildly freak me out, so there are very, very few of them in existence (there is, however, an overabundance of photos starring my feet). Also, recordings of myself unnerve me to no end, which is really funny because I'm constantly (read: every once in a long while) doing voice-overs for friends' film projects.

So yeah, this is me (in case you wondered).

dear diary: an exercise in transparency

"I'm a very private person." That's the excuse I use for keeping people out. It works like a charm, because there's virtually no way of misunderstanding a statement like that. Except, I wish people wouldn't back off after hearing it; I wish they would pry, and continue to pry until I loosen up and open myself up. But can I really blame them for letting me be when all signs point to the notion that isolation is what I'm after?

My interest was piqued the very first time I heard about blogging. I thought it would be my salvation, because I could finally tell about myself, about what I'm thinking, what I'm going through to someone who isn't me. So I started one, and things were going well for a while until my inhibitions caught up to me and reminded me that transparency was something I am (as yet) afraid of. So I deleted it, and deleted the next one after that, and the next one, and... well, you can guess how the rest of it goes. But now, I'm full to bursting with all the things I'm not saying.

It's awful talking to people, living with people, eating with people, doing any number of things with people and not being able to allow anyone in. It's especially awful when you permit those people to think they know a thing or two about you, but you're fully aware that in actuality they know next to nothing, because you don't know how to let them in. It's awful being alone.

So, today I came to a sort of epiphany as I was writing in my journal: as long as I am my only audience, I will continue to wilt until I shrivel up completely and die (metaphorically speaking, of course). Another epiphany followed soon after: for my own sanity, I need a space where I can exercise my potential for candidness, and sincerity, and transparency. This space presented itself in my mind, and now here I am -- hoping against all hope that something is different this time. That I won't turn tail and go back to hiding in that shadowed, especial recess in my mind where all my unspoken thoughts lurk. That I won't, once again, hit the delete button. Because, gosh-flaming-darn-it, I can no longer afford to wilt or explode (whichever comes first).