When I wake up, I bet I heard my mom yelling at me for sleeping in. But then the reality takes over my dreams. Mom's not here. The reality hits like a stab in the stomach. All I can do is take it in.
My roommate greets me with a grin in the kitchen. Some Spanish show is blaring on the TV. My dishes are still in the sink. Those have been there for so long because no one has told me to do the dishes. I sigh turning on the faucet. Growing up is all about responsibilities.
It's not doing your dishes because you'll lose your access to wifi for an entire day otherwise. It's doing it because you won't have anything to eat from otherwise.
Waking up early is not about pleasing your mother and giving her a reason to let you go out. It's about running errands that your life literally depends on.
Curfews are not for your parents to stop worrying about your safety, but you worrying about yours.
Having a job is not about saving money, it's about spending it.
I curse myself for choosing to grow up so fast all the while doing my grown up responsibilities.
"Oh, I'm going out to the party tonight. You coming?" My roommate shouts to make herself audible over the noise from the TV.
"Heck, yeah," I say.
Did I mention growing up is having fun and being free?
The words I compose come from my heart. My stories define who I am and my poems tell of how I feel. My pencil is my paint brush and this blank page is my canvas; when I start painting it is a masterpiece because it holds my ambitions, my passions and my dreams.
I know it’s an addiction. Everyone tells me. But it’s to painful to let go of. It’s always there for me when nothing else is. It makes my brain feel happy again. And I feel so bad to just let go because it’s like my best friend. What’s my addiction you ask? Well it’s...
I started pedaling, inching toward my destination and enjoying the newly cool air. It was a lovely day, the first of all the days of spring, with crocuses and daisies in the neighbors garden, and white asters blooming all around. I didn't simply like nature, but rather I loved it. The trees and the flowers and the animals who lasted all around. Imagining all of nature destroyed would be like leaving my soul gasping for breath.
This old city of Prague is so young with life. It reminds me much of the older towns of my English home, the narrow streets and the buildings that have witnessed much history. There are the wide squares that remind me of Venice and Frankfurt, the architecture that brings Paris to the thoughts. Yet it is none of those places and neither does it require comparison to be thought well of, it is so very beautiful in its own right.
My journey started when I made the tiniest "bug-fix" to the way I think. For the longest time I'd seen things that were wrong and permitted the pre-programmed lazy judgemental attitudes of our era make the response instead of the real me. I started asking my empathic self to weigh in on the matter. I began by asking myself what the real cause was and how the problems could be prevented rather than simply lessening symptoms. The most loving response was surely the right one. After that, I was ready to take action with confidence. And that's how this incredible life began to unfold... one little thought at a time. That's how you end up climbing psychological mountains and find yourself living the kind of adventures you never dared to dream could be your own. That's how you start shaping your era for the better instead of being warped by it. Questioning everything, especially myself, was the smartest thing I ever did.
The ocean is my sister, a sister of watery depths and beauty. She is the soul of this world, the keeper or our oceanic brethren. She flows over mountains and to the depths of the trenches just the same, reaching around the globe in strong embrace.
The suffering of one animal can feel overwhelming, and so we struggle to imagine that magnified to the level of millions and billions. So perhaps we should stick with imagining just "Kanga and Roo" caught in wildfire, and ask ourselves then what changes are prepared to make to safeguard mother nature.
When I open my eyes and gaze at the quivering light from beneath the heavy lust of trees I find myself lost again. All the footprints that could have lead home are now smudged in the mud. My feet can still sense the moist in the grass which seems to be now parched again.The sweet fragrance of wet soil provides utmost pleasure to my nostrils. It feels as if it was just yesterday when Anna and I use to come out here and play. The echoes of our childhood laughter still surround the forest like swarm of bees around their nest.
The wooden floor was a chorus of browns; they sung together, a capella of baritone hues that rose up into vibrant soprano notes. It was a fitting place for their new studio, a place for those new sounds to soak right in and join the spirit that was already there.
The most ordinary of objects held fascination for Clara. As with the people in her life, she found immense joy in the humble splendours most raced past in their search for something more "shiny."
