I think it was the clichè

Stark white. A clean slate. Undisturbed paper. It's so beautiful. Having the time to grab a pencil and draw couldn't fill my heart with anymore happiness. I see it as the one time that I can come forward wholly and completely as me. For the most part, I act without any pretenses around people; however, in front of a blank piece of paper I can translate the mind to something tangible. Maybe I can't grasp any understanding of what I drew, but I know that I translated something raw. Something me.
I can't make sense of what I just typed out, but it works for me.

Why is it that what's important to me has to be put on the backburner? Why is it that I can't work to become better at what's important to me? Instead, I must push--strain--myself to accomplish what everyone else wants, what the world deems as important. And why is it that I seem to fail at everything that is so important to everyone else, letting them down; I feel something akin to dirt and one more insecurity surfaces.
not enough as a daughter
not enough as a student
not enough as a friend
not enough as a sister
not enough as person
Always, "Why" is being thrown at me. Why didn't you listen to me. Why didn't you talk to me. Why are you acting that way. Why are you taking this class. Why did you get that grade. Why. Why. Why. ...Now I ask the "why" this time. Why can't I be human; why can't I be me?

the reflection stares back
warped to an underwater image.
it used to be clear,
the picture in front of me,
but now blurred with:
uncertainty, insufficiency, insignificance.
the smile forgotten with the passion with which it was fueled.
the blank stare overtaken with which overtook the passion
numb.

feeling

http://www.purevolume.com/heiswe

lay awake at night
cry, you know it's not alright
to feel like you're falling into nothing
you can learn to fly.
just call his name, just call his name.


where do we go?
call out his name.
lift up our hands,
completely ashamed.
give it all up,
dropping our pride
rip us apart,
change us on the inside.


(we cry hard to you, we fall on our knees)
now changes now.

no, no, no

What's thrown at me, I can't do anything about. I might as well suck it up and forge through it, smile and bear it. That's the only way to live life, isn't it? It has to be bittersweet, or it's not life at all.

As I sit here, listening to the Beach Boys perpetually spin around on the record player, a bout of melancholy consumes me. I've grown up watching my mother sacrifice for my sister, for my brother, for me. I see it as something she's happy to do and wouldn't do anything else, but it's tinged with a sort of sadness I never quite understood.

I understand now. I've grown up to be someone like my mother, always sacrificing. Except now, I'm sacrificing for my mother. I'm happy to do it for her, really, I am happy. But that melancholy feeling...

I've grown myself up too fast, I think. Too fast.

the warmth is still spreading

I went down to Skid row again, not this past Sunday, but the last.
It was a completely different experience than the first, but still just as gratifying. As I think about it, even more so than the first. My friend Amy came down this time and we set off together with a boy named Josh for our safety. Neither of us knew Josh, but it seemed as though we've met before by doing this trip together. Walking up to the weathered and worn faces of each person, sharing food and a friendly "Hello, how are you?" filled the hours, among other things.
I received this award worthy word picture of my name from a man who goes by "The Artist". As we stood there at 12:00 in the morning, as he sketched Amy's profile, he handed off pieces of advice because he cared.

"Never shake hands. The way to do it is a fist bump. That's shaking hands
down here."
"Hugs? No way! You want to catch some kind of disease? Fleas? Lice?"
"When you get home, strip off those clothes and wash 'em right
away...bleach 'em!"
"It's dangerous down here, if you get in something, I'm only a call away. I
gave your man my number. I'm just a breath away, always. I care."

I 'learned' at the beginning of the night from a crazy, lost man, I'm young and I don't know much. It's true. I haven't lived much. I haven't experienced much. Upon meeting an amazing man named Philippe, I got something I never thought I'd receive down there. For a good one and a half hours I sat and I listened to what Philippe had to say:

"Don't skip out on life now. Yeah, it seems like
it's gonna last a long time, but listen to me. It's short. It really
is."
"If you come back to me, and I see you've given up,
I won't stand for it. You see where I am right now? I praise God for it everday.
He's been with me through it all. But I don't want to see you here with
me."
"Ya'll are young. If I could go back, I'd be doing
what you're doing right now. It means so much that you young ones actually care
for this world. That's what this world needs. You really are the future of this
world."

Yikes, that was something I'll take away forever. I hope I see this man in heaven. He was something special. I wasn't expecting to be encouraged when I went down there, but to encourage in some way. I don't go down with expectations anymore. I go down with anticipation and excitement to see what's going to happen.
The warmth isn't just spreading anymore; it's been reciprocated.

day 3, the end

I have three hours left of this fast. I never expected to learn so much from just not eating. This is something I'll be looking back on and will be happy that I did it.
I'm extremely hungry right now. I have a plan on what I'm going to eat as soon as I can. It's really exciting for me, actually. But at the same time, I can't help but think that the people that have to live like this everyday, they can't plan on what they're eating later. Instead they're wondering when the next time will be when they eat. That's sad. I can't do anything directly about it now, but I'll always be conscious about it. Like I said before, I don't want to waste food...
I hope to see the pain in others and not discount it, but try to be empathatic in some way. Once again, I'm so thankful that I did this.
That's all I have to say for now. This is me signing off from my fast.

day 2

Letting the blood rush to my head, I lie upside down tracing the ribs along my stomach. Each one, my fingers grazed; with each one, I saw another face. One human, one person, one someone, has to live like this everyday, without the food filling their stomach. Forever seeing the bones protrude from the skin, forever wondering when the food will come.
From the constant reminder of hunger, I'm learning how precious food really is. I would have never known how much food keeps you going through the day. I would have never known the empty feeling craving for a tiny bit of sustenance.
I walked through the kitchen after my brother ate dinner and I casually cast my eyes upon the leftovers. When it registered what was left on the plate, I had an emotional response. It wasn't disgusting anymore. Instead I saw the food as edible and completely wasted. Before I knew it, my mom was dumping it down the trash. That is what disgusted me.
I'm no longer taking food for granted. If I don't want to finish it, I'm saving it. I can't hop on a plane and feed everyone right now, but I can at least do this.