Silence

Silence. Quiet. Mute. Quietude. Still. Tranquility. Noiseless. Absence of sound.

Silence. This term is typically seen as unnerving. Why is this? Is it because our teachers silenced us when we were in trouble with a swift index finger to their lips? Or maybe because we have so much to say in such little time and we’re willing to keep noisy to let anyone and everyone hear what’s on our minds, no matter how pointless?

Society has coined the term ‘awkward silences’ to show our dismay for the state. Why is it that we need constant noise, constant interaction? Why can’t we appreciate those short spurts of quiet, alone, peace?

No children screeching in the distance, no barking animals and hissing cats. No hustle and bustle of people living. No constant buzz or bing of smart phones. No parents or friends trying to interrupt whatever it is I’m doing.

The idea of quiet, silence, scares some people. It liberates me. I love being able to curl up with a book, or a pen and paper,  sat on a sofa or chair, and the only noises I can hear are birds chirping, the current of the river, and me turning the pages as I delve deep into my novel.

I believe silence is necessary. Whether you’re alone or with people. To think, question, reflect. It’s a calming thing, silence is, and I think too many people take silence for granted.Alicia

Alicia

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383:Algebra Teacher

642 things to write about prompt: Write down everything you can remember about your algebra teacher

Geoff Geltner. He let us call him Gee-off even though his name was pronounced Jeff.  2nd-hour algebra, right after gym. During the swim unit of gym, he would always ask my friends and I if we were given swirlies and we mirrored wet dogs.  Freshman year of highschool. Every day he donned far too large khakis of either brown, beige, or olive. On top he wore polo shirts and every Friday wore jeans and a blue and white t-shirt (Spirit day). It was his first year using the smart board. One day I remarked how poor his handwriting was on the board (jokingly) and then he made me use the smart board for the entire day. My handwriting was worse. He has 2 kids, a boy and a girl I think and he talked about them a lot. He never said the word shit. He used the phrase shiitake mushrooms instead. I didn’t know what a shiitake mushroom was then… I do now. He had glasses and brown hair and was always smiling. I don’t think I ever saw him upset about anything. He would run down the halls and we never really knew why. He still remembered me, and waved and said hello even in my senior year. He called my mom on the last day of school to tell her I was the 4th best student he had out of 100+ students. He loved the phrase “and it blew away like a fart in the wind.” He gave an award for the student with the most perfect pages (pages on a test with 0 mistakes). He told us it was a “Toyota” but he really meant “Toy yoda.” he was always kind and never wanted to embarrass students or make them do things they didn’t want to. We switched seats once a quarter and for the entire week after switching, he would look around the room at least 5 times before finding the student he was in need of. He was my favorite teacher I’ve ever had.

Alicia

P.S. I have run out of goodbye gifs and that’s sad but maybe I’ll start with quotes or some other garbage. Give me ideas. ty

642 things to write about

Hi everyone.

The other day, I made a trip to Barnes and Noble, searching for a book. Not any book in particular but I came across a book called “The Girls” and picked it up. I’m almost finished with it; very good but a little NSFW for all you little readers out there.

Anywho, I was looking for a planner of sorts to keep up with eating, exercise, work, food, life, etc. and found the book “642 things to write about” and decided to purchase that as well. I have decided that I am going to begin writing posts (when I can think of nothing and have nothing significant to blog about) using these prompts. It’s going to take me a very long time to complete them all, and some I may not even do. I’ll be making a page on the blog titled “642 things to write about” and will also be tagging each prompt post with the tag #642thingstowriteabout in case any of you are interested in seeing my collection. I may do one a week, one a month or may bust out 15 in a single day. I really have no expectations for them, however, since I bought the bought and they don’t allot ample space to complete the prompts in the book, I figured I would save paper, and share them with you all.

Also, I won’t be doing them in any specific order. I’ll just open the book and choose the first one that interests me.

So, that’s all for now. Just a quick little intro post. Be on the lookout for the page on my blog menu and for some interesting posts headed your way

Alicia

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July 4th, 10:06am

10:06 am, the first firework has been heard.Seated on the porch of my grandpa’s house, shoes off, reading a novel, and there it is. It is officially the 4th of July, America’s birthday.

On this day, we celebrate freedom, pride, and the ability to light fireworkds, hoping to not blow off a child’s leg.

Yet, why is it, that just a few homes down, confederate flags are still hung high? Why is it that people are killed everyday because of our lack of gun control? Why is it that the term Democrat or Republican will determine who we can be civil with? Why is it that the term home of the free is stated across the country but when someone wants to be free to use the bathroom they identify with, they can’t? When did the term “freedom and justce for all” become “fredom and justice for those who can afford it”? When did celebrating the birth of the free nation become a day to wallow in beer and see who can blow off the biggest firewroks without having the cops called on them?

America has a lot of issues, but their biggest is being a hypocrite. We wanted a country where every citizen could have religious freedom, political freedom, a freedom of speech, etc. Yet, unless you are a devout, weekly church going Christian, you’re looked down upon. You can’t speak of your political views without some shit pile calling you out and saying everything you believe in is wrong and you’re an idiot for having beliefs. Speaking your mind is basically walking on eggshells because you can’t say anything without half of your facebook friends getting offended.

Everyone says how much they love America, one day a year. The other 364 days a year we bicker, fight, and hate on everyone in the enire country. We can’t get along, we never have. We are still just as divided as we were during the days of the Civil War. And, as far as I can see, nothing is going to change any time soon.

It just infuraites me that we can have so much love for a country, one day a year, and then every other day act as if we aren’t citizens of the same country. As a country that some call the “melting pot,” we really should be called “picky child’s plate who throws what she doesn’ like on the ground” because in all honesty, that’s what we are. And I don’t know about everyone else, but I for one, hate it.

But, Happy 4th of July everyone. Glad we’re all civil today, can’t wait for every Republican and 2nd ammendment enforcer to go back to hating me in a mere 9 hours.

Alicia

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June 12th, 1997 7:21am

At that minute on this day I was born. Crazy isn’t it. How 19 years ago I was merely a crying, pooping, and eating small ball of human and now, 19 years later, I am a crying, pooping, and eating large human.

Birthdays to me are the weirdest thing. Why do we celebrate them? For so many people, June 12th is only National Peanut Butter Cookie Day, but for those I know, and others with this birthday it is a day to celebrate our birth.

Why do we celebrate birthdays? Like it’s just one more orbit around the sun I’ve had. One more school year, one year closer to becoming an adult, one year closer to death. For the longest time I haven’t really found the need for birthdays. And celebrating them. I mean, yeah it’s nice when friends from high school send you a quick text or something to show they were thinking of you, but does it really matter? What about the 100 people that post on your facebook wall? Do some of them care about you? Yeah of course all of my aunts and uncles who can’t work phones but can navigate facebook do. But does that girl who sat across from me in Spanish freshman year?

Is your worth and how many people care about you determined by how many people wish you a happy birthday?

Sometimes people forget. Like I forgot to text one of my best friends on his birthday this year. I haven’t been using my phone that much this summer and work has been absolutely killing me so I forgot. But at the end of the day, I still care about him 365 days of the year and one measly birthday text I didn’t send won’t change that. There are some people I’m close with who didn’t text me happy birthday. Could be for a number of reasons. They forgot, they don’t know my birthday, or whatever it may be.

Do we celebrate them for the gifts? When I was younger we had birthday parties and got tons of gifts. Now, that I’m 19 I really just want some sleep, an edible arrangement, and some new leggings. I’m not that hard to please.

Why do people have to have one special day? Why can’t we cherish and praise everyone year round. We should always let people know they are special and loved and needed, and not just shoot them a text on their birthday reminding them of this.I think everyday should be a celebration of everyone. You’re alive? Great. You’re breathing? Amazing. When we give people special days all to themselves either they shoot up their expectations too high and don’t get what they wanted or we get the show My ultimate Sweet 16 party or whatever it’s called.

Sorry, rant over. Also, I’m 19 how weird is that. Last year of being a teen and one year until I beat the teen pregnancy stereotype. Holla.

Alicia

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Leaving my phone at home: The chronicle

5:10am the sound of the radar ringtone courses through my room as my head leaves my pillow searching for my phone to end that obnoxious sound.

5:15am After checking my phone for any texts and Kim Kardashian game notifications, I emerge from my room, shielding my eyes from the light glowing from downsairs. I make my way to my kitchen to have a quick bowl of cereal.

5:45am after exiting the shower, I move to my bed to check my phone, still on the charger.

5:57am By the time I check the time it is 5:57. My bed is drenched, I am not dressed, and I have less than 15 minutes to do everything I have to do.

6:12am I am in the car on the way to work. I start to doze off and hope I had remembered to do everything I needed.

6:37am As we make our first stop of the day, I rummage through my purse looking for my brush, eyebrow pencil, chapstick, and phone. I can only find the first 3. As panick courses through my veins as I open every pocket in purse, check the pocket on the side of the door, under my seat. Nothing. What ever will I do with no phone??

8:30am My first break of the day and the opportunity to use my phone. Oh wait. Instead of being on my phone for the short 10 minutes, I talk to people. Such a concept. I learn about Maria’s chile she is having for lunch, Blanca’s tattoos, and so much more.

11:30am Lunch time. Another 20 minute opportunity for phone usage. I grab my lunch and head into my dad’s office. I sit with him and talk to him, about his day, about everything that’s beem annoying him, and to everyone who walks into his office during those 20 minutes.

2:00pm Last break before I am done for the day. I sit with my dad again and the break goes by all too quickly. Learning about how a truck had to be sent back for the second time, and how everyone is annoying him

3:00pm I am done for the day but I still about 45 minutes until my father is done. I sit in his office talking to everyone who comes in, and him as well.

5:00pm We just arrived home and I throw my stuff in my room and don’t even grab my phone. Turns out a day with no phone wouldn’t be as bad I thought.
Alicia

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The life of an extroverted introvert

Wanting to do absolutely everything and absolutely nothing all at the same time. Have a weekend free from work, homework, and obligations, and not being able to decide whether or not I should lie in bed for the entire 48 hours or see as many friends as I possibly could.

Why am I like this I wonder. Why is it, that despite wanting to see my friends and spend time with them and use every valuable ounce of time I have available to see them, I somehow still manage to retreat to my bedroom and stair at the ceiling while listening to my music on shuffle.

It’s strange too. When I choose to leave the solace of my room to spend time with others, I also seem to be wishing I was back home in bed, and that I’d never even left bed that day. Yet, when I stay in bed all day and I see my friends hanging out with other friends, I tend to wish I had accepted their invitations all too often.

Somedays I wish I could be one of those people who sees 5 or more friends in a day and has a party while doing it. Some days I wish I would be content with staying curled up in my room all day. Yet, I am tragically blessed that I get to live the life of both of these people, making me truly and extroverted introvert.

Alicia

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The Real World

Achy. I am achy. Standing for 8 hours moving cardboard and building cardboard and moving product and stocking product, with 3 hours in between breaks. It’s only been 2 days and already the pain courses through my entire body with every step I take. The short walk to the break room is still far too long and I barely make it before collapsing on the plastic chair.I am achy.

Exhausted. I am exhausted. Waking up at 530 every morning and being out the door by 6 was never something I imagined I would have to do. Alas, here I am, doing just that. Waking up before the birds, and working until my droopy eyes struggle to stay open. Barely making my way to the car before passing out in the passenger seat. I am exhausted.

Stiff. I am stiff. Continuously standing for hours on end, not being able to move around because the task at hand requires no movement whatsoever. When I finally am able to walk around, my knees can hardly bend and my back tries desperately to budge from the 45-degree angle it was in for the past 8 hours. I am stiff.
Opulent. I am opulent. Not quite, but my wallet is squealing with excitement every hour that passes and every piece of cardboard that I touch. It hasn’t even been a week but it feels like a lifetime. I am (not quite) opulent.

 

Alicia

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What do you want to be when you grow up?

I was babysitting for my neighbor’s kids the other day and as she got home, she asked me if I had picked my major for school. When I told her chemical engineering, her jaw almost dropped. When she finally spoke and asked why, I told her it’s because I’ve always been good with math and science and I’ll get a job easily. She then asked me if I enjoyed it. All of my extracurriculars had involved the things I liked doing (photography, writing, design, leadership) , not what I was known to be best at (math and science). So, what do I really want to be when I grow up?

We all can recall the first time we heard this question. When our teachers asked us this question, our eager 5 and 6-year-old faces lit up as boys shouted president and firefighter and girls exclaimed princess and nurse.

Sadly, I haven’t been asked what I want to do with my life recently. People just assume I will do something in the math and science field or something international (I’ve taken spanish since I was in 5th grade) because these are things I have always been known for excelling at.

In the past 3 years, no one has asked me what I want to do with my life. My aunt and uncle are both engineers, and have instilled the notion that being an engineer is the best thing for me to do because I’m good at math and science and can make a ton of money. One of their friends told their children that they can study whatever they want, after they get an engineering degree. Why? Because engineering makes you the most money.

Why don’t they ask us that when we grow up? Why don’t they ask us what we want to do when we’re choosing our college or university? Why is it, that we’re so obsessed with money and how much we will make? When did making money earn a spot above being happy and enjoying our job?

People tell me what I need to do. I couldn’t decide on a major, so I just said international business so I could put something down on my applications. I never wanted to do business, everyone around me wanted me to. Because I would make money.

Now that I have changed universities, and majors, everyone around me wants me to major in chemical engineering. Why? Because I will be a woman engineer, will get first priority on jobs, and will make money.

Since when did society decide that how much money we make in our lives is more important than how we live our lives? I never wanted to major in business. And I don’t want to major in engineering now. So, what do I do? Do I major in something that makes me happy, maybe never get a job in that field? Or do I live a miserable life of an engineer and have all the money I could ever need?

I’m not too much of a sap but I do believe that we’re here for a reason. We were not born to work 40 hours a week just to be miserable and then go home and be too tired and aggravated with our lives to be happy around our loved ones. Not saying my aunt and uncle aren’t happy. They get ample time off, sabbaticals, and have so much money that they go on multiple cruises every year.

But, why can’t I do that while doing something I love? I don’t want to have kids, hell I might not even get married. I just want it to be my dogs, maybe a goat, and myself. I want a nice house of course, and a nice car, but at the end of the day, when I’m on my deathbed, looking back on my life, am I going to remember the audi and the million dollar house that I had, or am I going to remember my job, where I spent most of my waking hours, my friends and colleagues that I met at that job, and all of the experiences outside of my house?

Shit, I want to do something I love, but the second I said I even considered switching my major to biology and them getting my masters in marine biology, my parents couldn’t have said the words “what about chemical engineering” faster. Why? They just want me to make money and be successful.

When did we define success as how much money you make at the end of the day? Why can’t success be something less materialistic? Why can’t we define success as something worth living for, something great? Something like how many friends I had, how many new places I visited, how much I enjoy my job? Why is success just money and power? When did we all agree that this is what society is going to be, and, why wasn’t I a part of this conversation?

So, what do I want to be when I grow up? Since I’ve started blogging, I have rekindled my love for writing. I love writing, being able to put all of my feelings down on paper, or on the blogosphere. It’s calming and I love seeing how my writing has progressed through time. I love animals. I would love to live on a farm with rehab animals and just help them escape lives of abuse, violence, etc. I would have farm animals, house animals, exotic animals, anything really. I would love, cherish, and care for each and every one of them. I love design. Over the summer. My life is a nonstop HGTV marathon. I love critiquing, agreeing and adding my own opinions on what I would do with each house, room, etc. I love yearbook. My entire highschool career was centered around my school’s yearbook, and although it may have caused me to turn gray early, I loved that class and I can’t imagine my life without it. And, now that I am not active in my school’s yearbook, I miss it. I love the mind. My entire life has been filled with mental illnesses and trying to understand the mind, why can’t I try to help others understand their minds as I have been trying to understand my own?If I could do any one of these things with my life, it would be grand. But, STEM is the way of the future and despite what you want/ like to do with your life, none of it matters if you can’t make money.

Everyone always tells you to never major in journalism, communications, psychology, philosophy. Basically nothing in the school of arts and letters. Major in business, major in STEM. Why? We need people in those fields, or else that major wouldn’t exist. We need biologists, we need therapists, we need writers, we need designers. Why can it be the other person. Why can’t it be me?

So, here we are. I spent countless nights crying myself to sleep because of how stressed I was, how stressed I was because I couldn’t find a major that suited me. And now, here we are, staring blankly at my ceiling wondering why I couldn’t have just picked something I enjoyed all along.

Talk to you all soon,

Alicia

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To my brother…

It’s 12:04 am. I retreated to my bed over an hour ago, after receiving this news. I’m laying in bed, thinking of you. I won’t be getting to sleep anytime soon, no matter how long I count sheep or how long I paint pictures of us on my ceiling. I just stare at the ceiling, thinking of you.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How we think we know so much, but in reality we know so little? For my entire 19 years in this planet, It’s been my sister and I, well at least since she was born. I never knew you existed until today. Intriguing, right? I always thought the whole long lost sibling concept kept its place in the box of the television, but here I am, finding out after 19 years of life, I’ve had this older brother all along, and had no idea.

Everyone else knew. Well, not everyone. However, almost all of the adults I spend ample time with knew, yet somehow my sister and I were kept in this bubble of unknowingness for so long.

We sat there, my sister and I, mouths agape, as my our mom told us about you. Our half-brother, who grew up less than 45 minutes from where we live, and somehow we had no idea you existed.

12:09 now. I’m numb, still cozy in bed, still thinking about you. You know I exist, you’ve seen pictures of me. What do you think of me? Did you want two sisters? I always wanted an older brother. I nagged constantly to my mom that I wished I had been born second and that I had an older brother. And I do.

My Our mom showed me your instagram today. You look almost identical to my uncle, Jim, so I know we’re related. You’re my brother. I have a brother. Sorry if I keep saying that. Truth is, the facts haven’t sunk in yet.

As many times as scroll through your pictures, trying to absorb as much as I can through those square photos of your friends, family and 2 cats, I can’t wrap my head around it. How did I not know? How did I not know I had a brother? I have a brother.

12:12 and I’m upright, still trying to process how this happened. How you exist. How I never knew. How everyone kept this a secret from my sister and I for so long. Neither of us can. How did you never come up in conversation? How did your name never slip out?

I want to cry, buy why? What’s the point? I have a brother, and I didn’t know. I think it’s because I always wanted one. I always wanted a brother to look up to, to show me the ropes, to make sure no one picked on me, make sure mom and dad never gave me too hard of a time.

You were 11 when I was born. You had no idea I existed then. That my mom existed. You lived less than 40 minutes away from me but we had no idea. Crazy.

My mom told my sister and I about 6 hours ago now. We were in the living room, I was checking twitter and my sister was eating. She said she had something to tell us that she didn’t know how to say.

Immediately thinking the worst, I assumed someone had died. But really, someone was born, not really but born into my world, anyway.

There isn’t much to say about you. I don’t know you… I may never. I know nothing about you, but you’re my brother.

You were born on June 22nd, 1986 at 2:13 am. Your name is Evan. You have 2 cats. You live in Los Angeles. And I hope you want to meet me. I really do. Because you have two younger sisters that want to meet their big brother.

I love you already, even if you don’t know it yet.
Alicia

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P.S. Sorry I haven’t posted in a while, with finals and getting home a few days ago and then this news I haven’t had much time to do anything.