What is everyone thankful for?
I am thankful for my friends,
my enemies,
my home,
my iPod,
my cat and my chickens,
the food on my table, (if it tastes good)
my education,
my personality,
my country,
my allowance, (:P :) :D)
my good spirit,
my internet connection,
and last of all but not least,
the way i just seem to be lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky.
I must be, if I have so much to be grateful for.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Be yourself
Be yourself.
Love your friends.
You are who you are.
Be happy.
Life's to good to waste!
No one knows the answers to everything.
Think deeply.
There is one essential thing in life, and you need it.
Cheer people up. :)
Choose good friends.
Always have hope.
Don't be scared to do something different
6 Word Bios
It's hard to sum up life
I make stories out of everything.
I have always absolutely loved cats.
There is a story behind everything.
Magic will always be real everywhere.
Friendship makes the cold feel warmer.
I strive to be only myself.
Books are doorways to other worlds.
Nothing ever goes to my plans.
I hope to be myself forever.
Every event is worth a story.
People think about today and tomorrow.
Did almost everyone forget about yesterday?
Everyone except me most always forgets.
It's hard, being who I am.
Sometimes I don't need answers, just questions.
I make stories out of everything.
I have always absolutely loved cats.
There is a story behind everything.
Magic will always be real everywhere.
Friendship makes the cold feel warmer.
I strive to be only myself.
Books are doorways to other worlds.
Nothing ever goes to my plans.
I hope to be myself forever.
Every event is worth a story.
People think about today and tomorrow.
Did almost everyone forget about yesterday?
Everyone except me most always forgets.
It's hard, being who I am.
Sometimes I don't need answers, just questions.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
I Can Move My Spirit
I stand in the bathroom, goosebumps on my skin, towel round my body, glasses off my closed eyes, as I breathe deeply, letting the air flow through me.
I take my deepest breath yet, gathering up my being in my chest, my heart, and then, I push my spirit down and out, feeling it fall through my body. It flows outwards as it hits the floor, scattering into a thousand pieces like a broken glass that slipped through my fingers like sand. I stand there, feeling empty as a hollow snail shell, until I can't take it anymore and have to inhale, summoning my soul back again, into a whole that fits almost perfectly into my body. Some parts of me are missing. I can feel the gaps. Places where my heart went into someone or something I loved, and either I never saw them again, or my love was never returned. I have always felt my soul within me, and I do all I can to make it my own.
Sometimes I feel like I'm making magic. I'm twelve years old, yet I still own many stuffed animals. Each one has a name, a personality, a story. Whenever I look at them, I see them, and I see who I made them to be. Sometimes when I look at them, I see me. Once, as I looked at one of my favorites, a stuffed penguin, a voice said
"But this isn't really who you think he is. He's really just a toy penguin. You saw all the other ones just like him at the store. He's really no different than all those other ones. You just invented who he is. He's not really there, you just think he is."
That voice scared me a little. I could feel part of my spirit falling, sliding out of me. The bit that was all my stuffed animals identities. I struggled to hold myself together. I could feel my faith falling, slipping away. Then I looked into my penguins eyes. Pieces of his stories came rushing back. Who he was, how I had chosen him, how much I loved him. The piece of me fell back into place. I was fine.
But it scared me. I had had a Realization. Every now and then, I see the real truth, how real everything is. Sometimes they're really scary.
Once, when I was about six or seven, as I sat on the toilet, wrapped in a towel after my bath, I was quietly thinking about what would happen to me. I started to cry, I was so scared. My Dad came in, and he asked me what the matter was. Still upset, I stumbled through how scared I was feeling. He asked why I felt scared. I told him that I didn't want to die. I knew that one day, young or old, all my experiences, memories, identity, will turn to dust and be unknown, and much of myself would be forgotten when I die.I didn't know where I would go, because I didn't know if Heaven was real. And if it was, who would be able to tell us? I was just feeling lonely, I guess. My dad told me that when he was little, he felt the same way sometimes. He told me that however we look at it, someday something irreversible will happen. But life goes on, until then. I stopped crying. I relaxed a little. But every now and then, I remember, and I truly become afraid.
Other ones were less scary. You know how sometimes when you say a word over and over, it starts to sound funny in your mouth? Well, sometimes that would happen to me, but it would be me actually SEEING an object as if for the first time.
Another one was kind of creepy. I forgot who my little brother was. Sure, I remembered his name and what he looked like, but it was like remembering someone I had just met once. That was weird.
But the scariest one of all came, in all places, (for the third time in this collection of words) in the bathroom. I forgot who I was. My name felt funny and weird in my head and in my mouth. My body felt like someone else's, someone I was seeing for the first time. My memories, my experiences, felt like scenes from a movie I had watched. My identity felt different. It was like stepping outside of myself and actually Looking at myself for what and who I really was.
......To be continued......
I take my deepest breath yet, gathering up my being in my chest, my heart, and then, I push my spirit down and out, feeling it fall through my body. It flows outwards as it hits the floor, scattering into a thousand pieces like a broken glass that slipped through my fingers like sand. I stand there, feeling empty as a hollow snail shell, until I can't take it anymore and have to inhale, summoning my soul back again, into a whole that fits almost perfectly into my body. Some parts of me are missing. I can feel the gaps. Places where my heart went into someone or something I loved, and either I never saw them again, or my love was never returned. I have always felt my soul within me, and I do all I can to make it my own.
Sometimes I feel like I'm making magic. I'm twelve years old, yet I still own many stuffed animals. Each one has a name, a personality, a story. Whenever I look at them, I see them, and I see who I made them to be. Sometimes when I look at them, I see me. Once, as I looked at one of my favorites, a stuffed penguin, a voice said
"But this isn't really who you think he is. He's really just a toy penguin. You saw all the other ones just like him at the store. He's really no different than all those other ones. You just invented who he is. He's not really there, you just think he is."
That voice scared me a little. I could feel part of my spirit falling, sliding out of me. The bit that was all my stuffed animals identities. I struggled to hold myself together. I could feel my faith falling, slipping away. Then I looked into my penguins eyes. Pieces of his stories came rushing back. Who he was, how I had chosen him, how much I loved him. The piece of me fell back into place. I was fine.
But it scared me. I had had a Realization. Every now and then, I see the real truth, how real everything is. Sometimes they're really scary.
Once, when I was about six or seven, as I sat on the toilet, wrapped in a towel after my bath, I was quietly thinking about what would happen to me. I started to cry, I was so scared. My Dad came in, and he asked me what the matter was. Still upset, I stumbled through how scared I was feeling. He asked why I felt scared. I told him that I didn't want to die. I knew that one day, young or old, all my experiences, memories, identity, will turn to dust and be unknown, and much of myself would be forgotten when I die.I didn't know where I would go, because I didn't know if Heaven was real. And if it was, who would be able to tell us? I was just feeling lonely, I guess. My dad told me that when he was little, he felt the same way sometimes. He told me that however we look at it, someday something irreversible will happen. But life goes on, until then. I stopped crying. I relaxed a little. But every now and then, I remember, and I truly become afraid.
Other ones were less scary. You know how sometimes when you say a word over and over, it starts to sound funny in your mouth? Well, sometimes that would happen to me, but it would be me actually SEEING an object as if for the first time.
Another one was kind of creepy. I forgot who my little brother was. Sure, I remembered his name and what he looked like, but it was like remembering someone I had just met once. That was weird.
But the scariest one of all came, in all places, (for the third time in this collection of words) in the bathroom. I forgot who I was. My name felt funny and weird in my head and in my mouth. My body felt like someone else's, someone I was seeing for the first time. My memories, my experiences, felt like scenes from a movie I had watched. My identity felt different. It was like stepping outside of myself and actually Looking at myself for what and who I really was.
......To be continued......
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