So, lately everyone has been showing their love for each other on the World Wide Web and quite frankly, I'm a little disturbed by the amount of attention these posts receive. . .
Since when did a WCW and MCM or a hashtag "goals" determine what love is? Like did I miss this train?
Dear anyone and everyone,
having your boyfriend or girlfriend or high school crush or best friend post something about how much they love you means absolutely nothing. No amount of favorites or likes you get on a picture dedicated to a significant other justifies a shallow relationship. Goals of big booties or chiseled abs, owning expensive vehicles (we all know is nowhere in your future, at least not nearly, sorry,) gigantic diamond rings or a girl who is constantly lifting weights and before you know it, the muscles on her fingers will be bigger than your... well, you picture.
If you're concerned because the paragraph your bf posted on a picture of you on IG isn't enough, you've got real security issues. The same goes for you dudes out there! Thinking that there must be constant interaction over social media is just silly and unappealing and honestly, childish.
This new age of technology and social media like Twitter or Instagram or yes, even the old Facebook gives people reason to believe that if your relationship status isn't "taken" or if you're not tweeting about them every single minute, your practically broken up! I'm tired of hearing about how so and so's relationship is doomed because he/she never posts about the other. Or assuming there is a feud between two friends because of a darn status update. I thought we left this kind of behavior back on our top 8 for MySpace.
Jealous? Bitter? No, just over it. I want to see passion, respect, sincerity in everyone's relationship. Even with the many battles one may come with, if you're still in it, work to make it better from the inside out. The WWW does not need to see how "happy" you two are together; the WWW needs to know absolutely nothing! Give each other some respect and instead of posting about how much you love each other, show it (and I don't mean on the internet.)
Guilty as charged, I too have posted, tweeted, shared photos of boyfriends and best girl friends...And I'm not saying completely stop. Just work toward a bigger goal than a hundred likes; before posting about how much you love somebody for all the world to know, make sure they know it, too.
Live Laugh and Love on Social Media, just don't make it to be what defines you or anyone else for that matter.
All aboard the choo choo train, next stop: real love, not hashtags!
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Home Not So Homey
As a third year college student, I'm used to moving around each year. My first year in college, I was lucky enough to spend it in the CSU Sac dorms! It was awesome (kind of.) I had no clue of who my roommate actually was until the first day we moved in--she turned out to be pretty cool, but we shared nothing in common.With my first roommate, living in a 12 ft. by 12 ft room, twin beds only about five feet away from each other, and her boyfriend practically living there too, it wasn't exactly a 10 out of 10 either. My second year in Sacramento, I decided to move in with seven Christian girls. That experience wasn't too bad since I did know two of the girls for almost a year before hand, but it did have it's mishaps. From very different P.O.V.'s to the age ranging from 24 to 19! Yep, you can probably get the picture of that situation. Nevertheless, since the beginning of my third year, I've now been living with my old hometown BFFS... We know everything about each other (which is a pro and con,) we know what makes each other upset and we know how to comfort one another as well.
In between all the moving from dorm to house to apartment, I've spent my summers at my parent's, back in my lonely hometown. When there, I live out of a suitcase and either sleep on the couch or with my little sister on her bunk bed. Pretty much, being back at home for the holidays could be ranked a 6/10.
I've yet to feel at home anywhere that I am currently living. The feeling is rare when I feel a sort of serenity, a safe haven, warmth, complete and utter happiness. If I may be honest (and I may, since this is indeed my blog,) these feelings of being home only occur when I'm around someone special. Seemingly crazy, but totally true--the way our hands intertwine and our eyes mingle remind me of a place I use to know. A place with warm honey-kissed sunsets and deep red wine roses. A place where I used to ride my bicycle up and down the streets; a place where, when the streetlights came on outside, it was curfew. A touch that reminds me of my mother's tight tuck into bed and my father's prayer at night. The voice that takes me back to the car rides to school each day, then always being there to pick me up again. A someone, and a feeling, I never want to lose.
Granted, these short instances of time in which I only feel at home don't come and stay for longer than a few days (and are gone for longer than a few months.) So, the only prescription I have until the "someday" these instances last forever, is to improve the homey-ness with adventure, food, and crafts--because, hey, I'm a crafty adventurer who loves food. I shall post some of my adventurous craft making and food eating shortly.
Here is a nice song I love.
In between all the moving from dorm to house to apartment, I've spent my summers at my parent's, back in my lonely hometown. When there, I live out of a suitcase and either sleep on the couch or with my little sister on her bunk bed. Pretty much, being back at home for the holidays could be ranked a 6/10.
I've yet to feel at home anywhere that I am currently living. The feeling is rare when I feel a sort of serenity, a safe haven, warmth, complete and utter happiness. If I may be honest (and I may, since this is indeed my blog,) these feelings of being home only occur when I'm around someone special. Seemingly crazy, but totally true--the way our hands intertwine and our eyes mingle remind me of a place I use to know. A place with warm honey-kissed sunsets and deep red wine roses. A place where I used to ride my bicycle up and down the streets; a place where, when the streetlights came on outside, it was curfew. A touch that reminds me of my mother's tight tuck into bed and my father's prayer at night. The voice that takes me back to the car rides to school each day, then always being there to pick me up again. A someone, and a feeling, I never want to lose.
Granted, these short instances of time in which I only feel at home don't come and stay for longer than a few days (and are gone for longer than a few months.) So, the only prescription I have until the "someday" these instances last forever, is to improve the homey-ness with adventure, food, and crafts--because, hey, I'm a crafty adventurer who loves food. I shall post some of my adventurous craft making and food eating shortly.
Here is a nice song I love.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Naked with Friends
Just finished watching a movie, it was pretty sweet. Took me back to my own, far distant high school days...
I remember going to a friend's house for a sleep over and it'd be me and few other girls--all best friends and all frequently bombarded with what the world thought to be "perfect." We all had our own demons; we all had our own problems and misadventures. It was being with each other on a Friday night that kept us tied together.
We would order Chinese or pizza, have an older brother buy us Smirnoff, lock ourselves in whosoever room and turn on the T.V.. We'd turn the channel to the pop or indie music, turn off the lights and cover the blinding light from the T.V. with a sheet. Sitting in a circle to begin with, each taking a turn and drinking a bottle of our choice of flavor. We'd end up dancing; one by one, getting in the swing of the music and start to vibe.
It didn't matter what the song was, or who was singing off key, or who drunkingly took off what. None of our problems, which looking back now were pretty insane, mattered. Nothing in our real lives mattered.
All that mattered was that us girls, the seven or six, or sometimes only two of us, were together. Together, dancing, vibing--naked.
Maybe our problems weren't as major as we thought they were and maybe we were just being childish but there is something about being with the people you love the most in the darkest rooms with the loudest music. Being naked meant nothing but being able to trust each other mentally with each secret buried within our teenage hearts.
I remember singing as loud as I could, eyes shut, moving up and down, dancing around in circles and raising up my hands--clapping and laughing and loving and living...
Living and making it out alive from high school deserves endless applause. The pressure of attention, beauty, keeping lies and promises could kill anyone. Having some other broken soul to confide in--shedding the outer layers of who you're supposed to be and not caring if anyone sees you naked--someone to share a sacred, safe moment with is what saved me. Dancing through the late hours of those Friday nights saved me.
Good night, or Good morning, or whatever.
I remember going to a friend's house for a sleep over and it'd be me and few other girls--all best friends and all frequently bombarded with what the world thought to be "perfect." We all had our own demons; we all had our own problems and misadventures. It was being with each other on a Friday night that kept us tied together.
We would order Chinese or pizza, have an older brother buy us Smirnoff, lock ourselves in whosoever room and turn on the T.V.. We'd turn the channel to the pop or indie music, turn off the lights and cover the blinding light from the T.V. with a sheet. Sitting in a circle to begin with, each taking a turn and drinking a bottle of our choice of flavor. We'd end up dancing; one by one, getting in the swing of the music and start to vibe.
It didn't matter what the song was, or who was singing off key, or who drunkingly took off what. None of our problems, which looking back now were pretty insane, mattered. Nothing in our real lives mattered.
All that mattered was that us girls, the seven or six, or sometimes only two of us, were together. Together, dancing, vibing--naked.
Maybe our problems weren't as major as we thought they were and maybe we were just being childish but there is something about being with the people you love the most in the darkest rooms with the loudest music. Being naked meant nothing but being able to trust each other mentally with each secret buried within our teenage hearts.
I remember singing as loud as I could, eyes shut, moving up and down, dancing around in circles and raising up my hands--clapping and laughing and loving and living...
Living and making it out alive from high school deserves endless applause. The pressure of attention, beauty, keeping lies and promises could kill anyone. Having some other broken soul to confide in--shedding the outer layers of who you're supposed to be and not caring if anyone sees you naked--someone to share a sacred, safe moment with is what saved me. Dancing through the late hours of those Friday nights saved me.
Good night, or Good morning, or whatever.
Friday, January 2, 2015
First Timer
Good morning world! It is currently eight minutes til noon and yes, I did just wake up. Kudos to you early risers. I couldn't have chosen a more self explanatory title--this is my first blog post (so you've been warned!) I plan to use this blog to vent, explore ideas, share my days and nights with readers (or no readers at all.) This may or may not be a NYE resolution and I will never say so, so that there is no harsh judgement.
Today I plan to design a shadow box with old roses. I've been planning to do this since my junior year in high school and I've been simultaneously saving the dead roses, too. I have roses from my junior prom, my senior prom, some from a pageant I did, and a few birthdays. I've been called a hoarder by father who simply didn't understand the full concept of my idea and my constant search for a damn shadow box. But I have prevailed! And finally, I was gifted a worn-green glass box.
What does this mean? (Besides the fact that I can finally begin the crafty project.) It means, I am finally going to showcase these mementos in an acceptable way--cut and glued nicely in a glass box. Because, like our humanely spirits and feelings, people can perceive them as clutter or trash or hoarding unnecessary memories--only accepting them, when they're trimmed and pasted and viewed from a glass box, not scattered around in empty vases.
Today I plan to design a shadow box with old roses. I've been planning to do this since my junior year in high school and I've been simultaneously saving the dead roses, too. I have roses from my junior prom, my senior prom, some from a pageant I did, and a few birthdays. I've been called a hoarder by father who simply didn't understand the full concept of my idea and my constant search for a damn shadow box. But I have prevailed! And finally, I was gifted a worn-green glass box.
What does this mean? (Besides the fact that I can finally begin the crafty project.) It means, I am finally going to showcase these mementos in an acceptable way--cut and glued nicely in a glass box. Because, like our humanely spirits and feelings, people can perceive them as clutter or trash or hoarding unnecessary memories--only accepting them, when they're trimmed and pasted and viewed from a glass box, not scattered around in empty vases.
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