Sense

Water. A compound. A necessity. A significant part of chemistry, yet so insightfully cleansing. What is it about water? That yearn and need we get for it when our mouths are dry. Why is that once we start to desperately drink from that cup or bottle holding this simple coumpound we exhale deeply and feel relief? Why is it that it's capable of washing away dirt, grime, blemishes, blood, almost anything? Why is it that, for the most part, many of us like to stand under it because it feels so good? Is it it's warmth? Or it's cooling effect? I don't think I'll ever know, but there's something about this compound that makes me feel...just feel. For a second, everything washes away. All those intangible things. For a good second, I exhale to the point where I feel I'm truly breathing again. Water.

I've noticed that many people do admit they love standing under a water source, whether it be the shower, a cascade, a trickle from a hose. Maybe it's because for a second we feel rejuvenated.

Has there ever been a case in your life where you wish that you could stand under your showerhead and believe that once you were done your problem or pain would be gone? I know that feeling. I know what it is to want something to be over and done with, that time isn't passing fast enough to heal you. Time passes. It does. But at that time, it just trods along. And when I stand under my showerhead, the trodding stops. It's as if I'm controlling time. It's as if my thoughts are prefectly organized and are running on my time. The world disappears. Time becomes mine. We wish so much sometimes that time was ours. It's either going by too fast or too slow. Never at the right pace. We have our highs and we feel "time is on our side"; we feel invincible. But for the most part we wonder...why is time this way? Why is time an extremist? Why is time too fast? Why is too slow? Until...we feel water. This liquid, that as natural humans we feel that it cleanses. It washes away these preoccupations. It's something that can truly relax us. It slows down our body when we're overactive, giving it a break.

* * *

Feeling water, feeling its effects, feeling what it does is really just so powerful because our senses are so acute at those moments. The moments when we concentrate on ourself, on our well being, our senses are heightened. Just like when you truly concentrate, at least for myself, you hear everything. You feel it all. Our senses give us breaks yet they add to our burdens. Sometimes noise kills us, a touch burns us, and the fact having to pull through it pains our heart.

* * *

Our senses. We live through life taking them for granted, not realizing they have shaped us. We go on through life hearing good news, watching tragedy, and feeling at your highest when everything is at its lowest, giving us a bittersweet emotion. In the eyes of those old and wise, you see how years have shaped them, how pain has consumed their feeble bodies, how accomplishments and their times of being well have given them a perfect smile. And their hearts...they have been the strongest of all, enduring life.

High School Chronicles Vol. 2 (Ch. 1)

My last entry was a while back, almost a year. I am now in a new grade in high school. I've changed, but for the most part I'm still the same. My last entry I still agree with and I have more to add to it, but that's another topic. Something has been made very apparent to me over this year: sex.





Not to long ago, I had a talk about sex with mom (precautions and promises I made because of my long term boyfriend at the time). I guess she came to accept I'm not too "innocent" when it comes to the subject. I've realized more of its need in our society. I'm not against it, but I have observed it's different aspects. It's a tough subject: not many people talk about it.





I personally disagree with that. There's a huge difference between the vulgarity people bring upon the subject and the maturity within the matter.





I've been watching this new series; it really has captured my attention in a way the others have not. The main character is peculiar: empty yet good at making himself look like he's seemingly normal. He's a serial killer who works with forensics blood work. He lives by a code to save himself and to attempt feeding his hunger. He puts his effort on seeming normal for the sake of his true self.





This series takes place in where I live. Sex is a pretty big thing here. Our Latin background brings forth passion and drive for heat and exhilaration. The angles of the camera and what it films captures that pretty well. Of course like any show, sometimes it's just for the hell of it. Viewers like it. More ratings. More money. Anyway, that's besides the point.





My mother until this point in my life has always told me to shut my eyes or has covered them for me every time there is a sex scene when we watch something (I guess I'm extremely sheltered in that sense). She probably realized that it's inevitable for the topic to follow me throughout my journey through life and is also aware of my love for crime scene/forensic-based series.





She asked me, "Do you know why people have sex?". My response was, "If it isn't for procreating, people do it for pleasure. People get married for the wrong reasons at time and do it to have kids or they abuse of their freedom and enjoy the endless hours of pleasure without thinking of any consequence". I saw how she comprehended that I was aware of the topic. Ever since that question, I've pondered upon the subject of sex.





I was aware that it's a huge thing in everyone's life. If you don't want it, it's because you've had it. If you want it, it's because once you tried it and love it. It's what makes breaking up so much harder. It's what makes people criminals at times. It's an intimacy, more than just physical.





What makes the series so interesting is that the main character is empty, feels nothing. He doesn't even desire sex. However, he reaches a point in which he cracks (barely) and decides to have sex suddenly with his girlfriend one night (she's unaware he doesn't care for it, he uses the excuse of whenever she's ready).





It's this need to try and feel something other than the reality of things, an escape. A need to find more. A need to forget. A need to make it last. A need...





Euphoria. (and not just sex, just happiness, manic in general)





High school students look for euphoria. Period. We want to feel well, happy, content. We want to feel whole. We want to feel normal "again". We want to undo our wrongs and make more of them along the way as well. We want to experience and know, and once we do, we do it again or wish that we didn't in the first place or wish we hadn't the second time either.





We feel our boyfriend will love us more if we instill euphoria but we know that we want it too...because we need it. We feel our girlfriend will stay if you feed her euphoria at all the right times. We feel our classmate will pay attention if we offer euphoria. We wish someone would offer it to us. We begin to yearn for it and need it.





Many of us want this. We want to replicate what we see on the screen in between sheets giving off heat that we wish would only remain. We want to be held in these tough, gentle clutches of someone we feel connected to. We want for a moment to feel...good, to feel happy.



We have times where we feel so low, we need someone, we need ourselves, our happiness. We want to feel good, feel those highs again.

That is what sex is and has been. That is what I've seen sex become, or replace. That's my opinion for now.

High School Chronicles Vol. I (Chapter 1)

March 16th...9:40 PM

When you're in high school, I guess you can call it the stage of growing up. It's all about choices. Like many people say, your choices can either make you or break you. Sometimes you have so many options, so many things surrounding you, that it tends to feel like it isn't about choice anymore, it can get so out of control (it may seem that way) that there's nothing to do but just take it. Roll with the punches. Go with the flow. Take the blows. And usually that can hurt more than doing something about it. Sometimes it can be more work than when you get off your butt and do something...but what can you do you're just a high school student?

It's already March 16th and a little late in the school year to be making entries like the ones I will post (daily, if possible). I guess I have always had this secret promise, which I made to myself, that I would record these types of things just to look back on them. I really enjoy contemplating, I prefer to be thoughtful than vapid (which to me seems like a sort of trend in my school). Of course, there are a handful of people who aren't so vapid and are actually quite a good intellectual contribution to society but their only downfall is that they fit into the stereotype I would expect them to be part of.

I don't judge people, who am I to judge? I'm talkative, but I'm extremely observant. I've realized that even if I'm talking I usually tend to notice things that most people don't. Maybe they do, who knows, but usually when I point out something deeply observative they aren't shocked but ponder upon it as if they never realized. Henceforth, when I'm quiet I observe a whole lot more, bringing me to what I'm trying to point out. I observe those who surround me, like most, if not all, humans do. My observations are different because obviously I am not a replica of someone else; I am my own person. But I have this habit. When I look at someone, depending on their body language, the way they speak, and the way the dress, I make an "assumption" or a sort of "judgment" on who they are, what type of person they may be. When I'm right about the "stereotype to which they belong", I'm disappointed. Maybe it's because I'm in high school and I search for more than someone my age should, maybe it's because there isn't a huge variety of people like there is in college or where you work, or maybe it's because you have been surrounded by the same people, if not similar characteristics, your entire life. Things can seem pretty predictable then.

Now, I'm not saying I'm some type of omnipotent psychic that can fortell the horrors of this place we call "home", but what I am saying is that sometimes what you expect out of someone, you receive it. And it really does hit you hard when you see it coming but disregard it for whatever the reason may be. Sometimes it's just better to get a bad experience unexpectedly...you learn better and become stronger that way.

What I'm trying to say is the following: sometimes high school is exactly what you expectedly didn't want.


(...to be continued...)

Unwanted Nightmare 1

Worst thing to happen to me, as a writer, is to lose the muse. It's utterly frustrating when you want to write but you're so overly critical that you believe the idea is too much. Henceforth, prohibiting you to write at all. Many things inspire me: music, art, experiences. I have been sitting here for about 15 minutes now, listening to song after song. Classical music, believe it or not, has this certain effect on me. Well, technically, instrumentals alone. I can sit there listening to Debussy or Vivaldi and imagine up a story just because I hear the piece. The instruments speaking, portraying a story the composers themselves never spoke about, a mere depiction of memories through musical notes. As though classical music opens up the senses of my imagination, "modern" music does the same at times. Listening to the words and the beat along with it. Imagining the story the artist is saying through his/her words. All in all the point is that music inspired me to sit here and just open up. Sounds funny how I'm saying what you should expect when I'm trying the best I can to be coy about it. Makes no sense so far, does it? Open your mind, close your eyes, just imagine.



I pick up the satin pointe ballet shoes I've had for a couple of years now. All tattered and torn but I keep them. The ivory keys begin to be gently pressed downward, a velvety tune begins to bring forth the rest of the instruments. Strings being carefully plucked by a bow, everything sounding smooth. A variety of sounds, divisions amongst the single most beautiful thing to hear. The divisions hold no hostilities, so they're in complete harmony. None over powering the other. I close my eyes, my thin body begins to sway. The tip of my feet perfectly pointed. My feet resembling a child tip-toeing on Christmas eve to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus. I begin to be carried toward the world I created. I'm alone surrounded by mirrors, a laminate wood flooring under my feet. My skin-tight, light rose colored leotard hugging me simultaneously as my tights do the same. The ribbons which I tie around my ankles hold my shoes in place. Little divisions as one, a single thing harmonized. No fear at all. I start to feel tired, weighty; I decided that I was done for the day...I leave the world I love.



When I can't write I feel dissatisfied. I leave the world I love. Writing, with the addition of music playing, makes me feel comforted. I feel weighty when the muse is gone.



I'm having a major writer's block now. It's difficult to keep on going when you don't have much to say at the moment.



I continued a walk to nowhere that I never finished. I climbed a hill today, sat there overlooking the sea. I wondered why I'm not able to write lately. Am I running out of ideas? Is my creativity diminishing? As I did all this, I was listening to my iPod. I felt I was in a scene of a movie, I'm guessing the movie of my own life. "I feel so melodramatic", I whispered with a chuckle. It is extremely difficult to write when you can't find the reason or the areas in which you should elaborate. I walked back home, took a well-deserved nap just to find myself in an unwanted nightmare.

Morning Slumber (Part 1)

My head rattled with so many thoughts, none of them mine. I felt as if my head were to explode. It was 12:53 in the morning and though I could not sleep, I was drowsy and felt as if everything was spinning. This was not unusual but rather quite normal, it happened every morning without failing to occur or cease until exactly 5:07 AM. Even my own dog wouldn't mind, she had completely adapted to my morning rustling and knocking things over. I would get up from bed to reach the balcony which had a lovely view of the sea. The waves would crash against ragged rocks, the air was crisp and cool and had the smell of salt and I could feel cold droplets land on my face. Once I had gone through this routine as I have done many a night before, I would weep. I sobbed til it calmed my rather frustrated mind. The weeping helped each night, that's all I could do to express myself.

Every morning I would follow the same steps. I not only suffered from OCD, but I forced myself to become that way. Why? Well, I was alone and hated what I did every single day. I despised how I couldn't speak, how I felt. I disliked most of all how I always felt that people were easily annoyed by me, that I was rather pushy, not very pleasant. So, I became aloof to a long extent.

But today, now today was different. One of my executives hired a rather good-looking man. I thought he looked too good to be in the corporate world. Too charming to work in an office. His records impeccable, his speech perfect to say the least. When he smiled everyone noticed, even me. For some odd reason, during lunch he invited me to a swanky restaurant. I thought he was just trying to impress his new boss. And boy was I wrong! He showed me what I had to do. We talked about nonsense and how the economy needs to rebuild and such. Topics, to be sincere, that I found dull and that is a compliment compared to how I really feel. He told me I looked too kind to work in a hugely successful office, that the business made me hard and cold. He was right. I only joined the company because I felt compelled to do so.

My mother, quite admirable she was, worked in a big office. She was quite successful and I felt I should follow in her footsteps. She looked so happy, with not only her job but our family as well. My dad worked in the same type of area as her, but he had his own company so worked from home in the office he built. I felt that was my destiny. It was right, everyone was happy. I wanted that happiness, so I didn't bother looking further than that. I didn't explore any of my interests, I basically dived into the business world. But I digress. This young man did not know me yet could see through my phony passion for business and for it to prosper.

"Don't leave the office, I have no right to say that. But find yourself, and when the time is right I know you'll do what you please. I used to be a model for magazines and dated many gorgeous women, who were too thin for my taste I might add, but I left that business. I joined the real world and so far it has been what I wanted, even with all of it's kicks in my ass," he told me with an honest smile. "Why are you saying this? You barely know who I am," I said as politely as I could. "But I know who I am and I can see in your face what I saw each day when I woke up for yet ANOTHER dreadful photo shoot," he said with such regret yet no hate was detected. He was a rather young and nice man to hate anything in this world. He did what he pleased whether it was difficult or simple. I admired his character. He did what made him happy and that...that was enough. Enough to actually live life.

Because of this young man, I found myself. I still work at the office but I didn't have my migraine this morning nor will I follow my routine. I will break my cycle of tears and regret, I will shatter my self-induced OCD. In the last decade of my life or so I have had those head pains, and now tonight I will have a well deserved, longingly awaited morning slumber.

Life's too short to not do what you please, but too long to drag on day after day with regret. No wonder the world thinks that they're ugly! Happiness and laughter makes us beautiful, I'm in the midst of taking a chance and look forward to dive into new things. To discover myself, my interests. Life is for someone to live it, why let it go to waste? Isn't that right girl? I think Coco thinks so too.