D.J.!

"I'm heeere!" D.J. cries out as he brounds down the steps and into my room. Whenever possible, D.J. makes his presence very well-known. During the entire summer D.J. and I spent a great deal of time with our friends, and because of this he's become a very good friend of mine. I first met him at work, and since that first meeting I don't think I have ever seen him truly mad. He is one of those people who, in any situation, will always look for one gleaming aspect of it and grasp it tightly. With his trademark smile and jet black hair he is always able to put a smile on even the saddest of faces. D.J. also has deep pride in who he is. Any feeling of insecurity he may experience is never present for long, because he wipes it away from his thoughts. His dad is Indian and his mother is Caribbean, and D.J. feels a lot of pride stemming from being a part of these two cultures. In joking he will often refer to himself as the 'short Indian boy' of the group, because in his opinion, as in mine, this is a very fitting name, and a name to be proud of.

My room:)

From behind my dark-blue curtains the sun slowly tries to break into my room. I refuse to grant it acess, though; it's too early in the morning and I'm much too comfortable under my covers. In an attempt to fall back asleep I roll over and close my eyes, but it's to no avail. My alarm clock will ring at any minute, so giving myself the false hope of more sleep could prove to be detrimental to my mood for the entire day. Because of this, I wonce again roll over and look about my room. Everything is shaded in a serene light by the sun; the same sun which has ignored my refusal of access and has stolden into my room by way of window. The corkboard lining one entire wall reminds me of a grainy old photograph. Everything this appears jagged and across the entire surface there are series of ridges. The poster of James Dean looks down on me, and the tagline "Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today" drips with irony. The irony comes because the man who said those fateful words didn't know at the time how unkind fate would be to him. Surrounding that poster is my collage of friends. The multitude of photos on the wall somewhat surprises me, and though I know that some are out-dated and should be taken down, the time never seems right to erase the people shown. Taking them down would not only remove them from my wall, but ultimately my life as well. Just as my gaze is averted to my bookcase my trust alarm clock goes off ina reminder that the sun has won and it's tiime for me to formally surrender. Grudgingly I do, get up to ready myself for a new day.

The Typical Sounds of Jack's Bakery

The familiar clang of the cash register continues as I head over to wash the coffee shop tables. As I bend down to pick up a forgotten cookie from the floor, I hear my co-worker Missy's monotone voice tell her customer their change. "$7.24, Sir. Tahnk you." Along with her voice the already tiresome Christmas music pumps through the speakers overhead. For what seems like the eleventh time in an hour, the Bing Crosby version of "White Christmas" is filling Jack's with it's melody. After wiping off all the tables I quickly go back behind the counter to help the next person in line. "Hello, Sir. Can I help you?" I ask a man who looks exactly as Santa would if he were to put on every-day clothing. "Yes, uh, I'd like to order a cake," he replies while his eyes dart around the store, making him look like he's searching for a mis-placed elf. "Okay, right over here," I smile and say as I try to catch his fleeting gaze. As I delve into the same-old cake order routine of day, size, type, frosting and decorational preferences I continue to listen around me for whatever other sounds the bakery may have for me to hear.

Thanks for Thanksgiving!

1) The Thanksgiving Day Parade
2) Turkey
3) Watching the football game
4) Christmas music
5) Shoppint the next morning
6) Seeing my family
7) Wrapping presents
8) Mashed potatoes
9) The turkey coloring contest in the newspaper
10) Watching Miracle on 34th Street
11) Telling old stories
12) Playing in the snow
13) Watching the snow fall
14) Sleeping in late
15) Putting up the tree
16) Breaking the wishbone
17) Felling the cold air
18) Wearing mittens
19) Making snow angels
20) Picking between the pies
21) Wearing scarves
22) Washing dishes (not!)
23) After-turkey-nap
24) Standing under the mistletoe
25) Green Bean Casserole

The First Snow

Today was no different than any other day. Okay, wait. That's a lie. Because in fact, today isn't like any other day of the year. The reasong being that oday in Thanksgiving! The one day of the year when everybody tries to put aide their stress, their work, and their family problems for something much more important: food! For a very obvious reason, however, this Thanksgiving is different. Of course, there is the turkey- the kind that looks like it could serve 20 but actually serves 8. The cookie trays, wine goblets and gravy bowls are all filled to the brim, but something is still off. In our chain of festivites, the missing like is the snow! Rather than singing "It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas," we'll be forced to sing "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Labor Day!" Seriously, does anyone want to sing that? I definitely don't. Now, just as the pumpkin pie is being passed out, it comes. The snow is falling on Thanksgiving. This snowfall will save us all from a horrible round of re-done Christmas carols! It may not be a lot of snow, but it is here, and we are thankful.

Chocolate chip heaven

The tasty cookies my grandmother was able to create seemingly whenever she wanted to were special to her. They had been made for generations before her, and are now being made by the generations beyond her. Because of this, the cookies, to my family, taste like home. When the world is on our back and stress is banging at the door, the cookies can always send us back to a memory of my grandmother. The chocolate chips were always evenly spaced throughout the cookie, so it didn't matter if you were eating the edge or the center, it was a fact that at least one morsel of chocolate would melt on your tongue. When still warm out of the oven, a cookie is heaven on earth. While the chips melted, the rest of the dough would stay around a little bit longer, to make sure their presence was known after the chocolate was gone. There was never a time when both weren't appreciated by us, just as there will never be a time when my grandmother won't be loved by us. No matter where we go, there is always a part of her inside, just waiting for the time when we will bake up a batch of cookies!

Nutmeg Memories

The aroma filling the room reached my nose the instant I entered. It grabbed ahold of my every emotion and took away every ounce of comfort and peace I had created inside of myself. All the walls were torn down instantly, and in their place memories flooded in and settled down. The scent of nutmeg will forever be my most tangible memory of my gradmother. She's passed on, but whenever the familiar scent is around me I always go back to the time when she was here on Earth with us. It exuded from her, and it was always there, no matter where or when it was. By simply waling past her a person would get a whiff of the fragrance and by hugging her ones senses would be overtaken by the sharp smell from her perfume. The kitchen was the room where it was the most noticeable, because just from being in a kitchen our senses for smell are always more perceptive. For anyone who knew my grandmother, the kitchen would also make them experience a yearning for her chocolate chip cookies.

What's the point?

What's the point of standing strong
When everyone else gives in?
What's the point of sharing a smile
When others do nothing but frown?
What's the point of lending a hand
When others simply point and laugh?
What's the point of giving your all
When others will settle for less?
What's the point of looking up
When everyone else stares down?
What's the point of being proud
When everyone else is full of shame?
The point is living life to the most,
Of allowing yourself to be happy
When the wind is on your face.
The point is knowing that life goes on,
Even when the road is long.
The point is loving yourself enough
To not let your life be just a
Failed attempt.

To Be Nice

Everyone in life has some point in their lives when another person truly affects them. A lot of people are affected in negative ways, but if you are lucky you can have your eyes opened by someone doing something very kind for you. The nicest thing that has happened to me in a long time happened just a few short months ago. I had been going through a lot of things that were really bringing me down. I was extremely frustrated, nervous and just all around stressed out. People had been doing things that were starting to make me look at the world negatively, like I was wearing dark sunglasses to see it rather than my normal pink, happy glasses.
I work at Jack's Bakery in Brooklyn Park, and along the same time that all of these things were going wrong, my boss decided I was able to take cake orders. Now, taking cake orders doesn't seem like it would be a very difficult thing, but if you mess something up it could mean a very unhappy customer and a cake decorator staying late. Well, that's exactly what I did. I put an order in for a cake that was nothing like how it should have been- it wasn't even the right shape! So one Saturday the woman whose cake it was came to pick it up, and just looked at the cake with shock. She simply said, "This isn't the cake that I ordered. This isn't what I wanted," and I knew I had made a very large error.
Because I was stressed to the breaking point, I could do nothing but ask the cake decorator to make another cake before I started to cry. In order to hide myself from the customers, I went into the back of the bakery. The new clean up boy was there mopping our floors, and when I went back there he just looked at me with his mouth agape. Then he did something I never would have expected: he walked over to me and gave me a hug. All the people who I had worked with for a year and were in the front with me had just laughed when they saw I messed up my cake order. But he didn't, he just put down the mop and hugged me. This may not seem like a very important thing, and it probably isn't. It won't change the world, but it did change my world. Because someone who I didn't know was willing to be there for me and help me, I got some of my rosiness back. My life-glasses weren't dark anymore, they were going towards being pink.

So there it is- the nicest thing someone's done for me. He put my faith back in people; that there are very good people out there, and I'll forever be grateful that he did that for me.

The lights went down...

I had driven to the stadium a half hour before, and was now sitting in my seat. Section 107, row 19, seat 12. All around me were die-hard country music fans, waiting in sweet anticipation for the time when the lights would go down. Quickly the seats were filling up, and then onto the stage came the K102 Morning Crew. They started speaking to the entire crowd about the upcoming act, and then introduced the first opening act: Julie Roberts. I hadn't known before coming to the concert who was opening, so this declaration made me very happy. Julie Roberts is one of my favorite artists, so seeing her was like the icing on the already wonderful cake. Just as she started into her first song I wrote a message to my friend Jason: "Don't you wish you were here tonight??" Within 2 minutes of pressing send I got a reply, with a word that would make his mother's ears ring: "F*** you! Are you having fun??" Then she started in on her first single, Break Down Here. For Jason and I this song has some memories involved, so I called him and let him listen to it through the connection of our cell phones. Eventually she finished her set, as did Chris Cagle, who held the stage after she did.

Then the lights went on, and the crew went to work to prepare the stage for the main group of the night: Rascal Flatts. After a good 10 or 15 minute wait, the the music for "Here's To You" started, and the lights went down...

And the rest, as they say, is history.

To Remember William...

The senior year has been passing by much too quickly. It seems as if it's still the first week of school, and yet we're already 2 weeks into the second quarter. Between homework, work and finding time to have a social life, this year has been slipping into the past much too quickly. So last night I decided to take a break. I refused to do any homework at all once I came home, I made sure that I didn't have to work, and I got ready to go and see the Rebel's football team at State. My group of 7 or 8 friends met at my house, and then we drove to the Metrodome. When we got there we sat in section 106, and sitting just a few rows back were Matt and William. By the middle of the game we had all moved seats and sections around a bit, and it ended up that Will was sitting behind me and over one seat. About halfway into the 3rd quarter of the game, something from around that area caught my eye. I turned around to inspect it a little more closely, but all I could see was Matt watching the game and Will drinking some soda pop. Then it came- somewhere in Will something happened, and whether he was laughing, coughing or sneezing I may never know. What I do know, though, is the fact that his pop ended up all over my face. I instantaneously jumped out of my seat and started wiping at my face harder than I can remember doing in my entire life. Anung, who was sitting beside me at the time, ended up on the floor because she was laughing so hard and also because I jumped up so quickly.

So there it is; my reason for never forgetting Mr. Will. It may not be a good reason, but it's there. So thanks for the memory- even if I wish it hadn't happened:)

The picnic:)

Nobody here likes a wet dog...
So towards the grill
We all quickly jog
The whole family wants
To taste their hot dog.
My cousin Andy eats first;
It's well-known he's the hog.
My uncle Scott is a vegan,
So he sits on a nearby log.
It's all because nobody here
Likes a wet dog.

Okay, it's 11 lines. oops! hehe.

I wish....

I wish I knew where I was going to college.
I wish that was in California.
I wish there was life on other planets.
I wish Kevin makes it home from Iraq.
I wish we win on Friday.
I wish I graduate from college without any dept.
I wish I hadn't taken Reading For the College Bound.
I wish it would snow.
I wish I knew how to ride a unicycle.
I wish Stephanie could meet Hilary Duff.
I wish there was no such thing as abuse.
I wish people used their turning signals.
I wish people were more open minded.
I wish I could make a difference in this world.
I wish anyone I hurt knows I didn't want to.
I wish there were no children starving.
I wish there were no more blonde jokes.(they get quite old)
I wish people weren't condescending.
I wish no one had died in Iraq.
I wish my wishes were as eloquent as some peoples'.
I wish our government never becomes as George Orwell predicted it.
I wish I had a tree that grew money.
I wish I never go to sleep with a heavy heart.
I wish all of my friends never go to sleep with a heavy heart.
I wish everyone in CP also have very happy, fulfilling lives.
I wish everyone in CIS has very happy, fulfilling lives.
I wish everyone in CIS knows that this last wish was true:)

My first attempt...

The promise of tomorrow lies deeply hidden in the reality of today.

When the lights went out that night, I felt I was doomed. It seemed to be just yesterday that I had truly started to live, and now it was all going to be swept out from under my feet before I had the chance to savor it. I had spent all day in the arms of the world, and when the housekey went in the lock of my front door I was still examining the brochure from the museum I had just left. The art that is made outside of the US is amazing; emotions are shown without any veil, so they come across as real, deep, cutting. Out of all of the pieces on display, my preferred one was in a back corner of a seemingly forgotten room. The lights were dimmed, and the painting of an old woman doing her daily chores was cast in a serene glow that brought her to life. By just glancing at the picture, it was easy to get caught in it; by looking over your shoulder at it you're transformed to that time, when women would hang their familys' clothes in the yard to be dried by the natural wind.
I filled my coffee mug with hot water and a slice of lemon and sat down on the futon in the living room to be again transported to another world. I was the actor, and my stage was the book I held in my hands. As I read, I understood. As I understood, I believed. I believed what all the great thinkers and writers have always said: living cannot be a solitary act.

First Journal Entry

The importance of my writing is immeasurable in terms of how it has helped me. Though I don't write ever day or even very consistently, I do write quite frequently. Whenever my muse takes me by the hand and makes me write something rather than speak about it is when I write. I mainly write either fragments of poems or stories about what's going on in my life. By writing these two things, I've found, I've been able to make the most noticeable difference in both my attitude and point of view, when compared to other types of writing. The thing that keeps me connected to writing is my overall feeling as I'm doing it and when I've finished. It lets me sort out things that I'm either too emotional about or too uncomfortable with to actually talk about. The negative thing about writing, in my opinion, is just how much you have to be willing to let down your guard. Anyone who reads it can pretty much look straight through your words to the emotional package that's contained within them, and that's a difficult thing to swallow. Wheter or not this sounds conceited, I mainly write about myself. This is the topic that I know the most about and am the most connected to, so it's what comes naturally to me. I have never had one specific profound experience with writing. I have come to find, through the process, many things about myself which I had never before thought of or realized, though, so the whole process of re-knowing myself is probably my most profound experience. There is really no one in my family that writes; I'm about it. I think this may be one of my weaknesses: I don't have a lot of experience with dealing with writing. I'm not used to looking at and digesting the writing of people I know. My major strength, I believe, is simply my willingness. I think writing opens parts of myself that have long been closed, and I am always trying to explore these new areas of myself.