Nice Things

 I've been away from blogging for a little while (probably because I'm going to be at college in less than a week [!!!], and I don't want to blog about it because I will channel all that nervous energy into a blog post, which probably won't make for the best reading. I've decided to focus on happy things instead.

Over the last few weeks of my last month at home, many nice things have happened:

• I swam full laps in the pool for the first time last week. I didn't know how to swim a month ago, and now the pool looks like a welcoming place as opposed to a watery death-trap.  One of the lifeguards even congratulated me on my progress -- it also happened to be the one that looked particularly worried as I flailed my arms about in the water during my first few stints in the pool. I realize now that I bordered on becoming a  classic "distressed swimmer."  Now I'm a de-stressed swimmer!
• My family and I visited the most beautiful botanical garden in Missouri, and I took ~50,000 photos. Here are some:

A mosaic plant.

Cacti looking at their floral friends.

A golden barrel cactus.

Mystery leaves journeying on a brick path.

 

Here's what happens to artichokes when you don't eat them!

 

Two girls running from lanterns.



• We went to the Field Museum in Chicago, and in addition to finally seeing the entirety of the animal exhibits, I took a very artsy/obscure photo of an exhibit that I am inordinately proud of:

I don't know why I like this photo so much -- I think it's because of the lines and reflections on the glass. The photo is of a rhinoceros skeleton exhibit. 

• I cleaned off my desk and it looks nice and shiny. I feel accomplished.
• Our documentary  on marriage equality is COMPLETE! COMPLETE! I really love that word right now. After months of "touch-ups" and "minor edits",  it feels wonderful to say that the project is complete before I head off to college.
•  My little brother started 4th grade -- he's not so little anymore, and is on his way to becoming the picture of organizational excellence. He was one of the only students in his Spanish class who studied everyday, and he earned quite a reward: 200 "pesos" (pretend money to buy treats)
• I talked with my roommate over e-mail. She is the sweetest, and I am so excited to meet her! We have favorite colors, movie genres, and foods in common :) 

Right now, the sun is streaming through my kitchen window, and I'm looking at the rug -- piled high with Lego creations courtesy of my brother (and my younger self, of course). It feels surreal. In less than a week, I won't walk downstairs to a landmine of pointy Legos. I'll walk downstairs and see a bustling campus filled with new people. I can't wait to meet them, but for now, I'm still appreciating the niceness of home.

Where I'm Going

This summer is going by faster
than I want it to

I still haven't cleaned out my room
Or packed my clothes
Or opened the desk drawers to sort
through all the high school papers with
MLA headings and red ink

It's not hard to do it,
But something inside wants me to stop,
Wants me to forget about the place
I'm going to
even though that
place feels like magic

Where I'm going
I won't know everyone's name
and they won't know mine.

They won't know that
I am four feet and eleven inches
of mid-size university town
quiet girl
who writes
and wishes she could draw
and forgot how to dance long ago
but wants to sing

They won't know that
my first language resides in bits and pieces
in my brain
pero el español vive 
et le français aussi

They won't know
that I broke my pinky in 3rd grade playing basketball
but still joined the team five years later

They won't know that
it took me five years to calm my heartbeat
and sing a solo in chorus

They won't know that it took
me seventeen years
to realize that
liking art
and
liking science
is okay
and that
I am okay
too

They won't know that I don't feel alive unless I am writing
or laughing
or both

They won't  know who or what I left behind.

They feel so far away
and I am worried
that I cannot bring them closer
that they will fade away
or I never belonged
in the first place

They look like stars -- 1000-some stars
That shine with their new discoveries,
their marvelous, miraculous
minds

I am a speck of galactic debris
Trying to find my spark
To polish my glow
To learn what I can

But they won't know that
until I tell them

And I won't know anything
unless I string my words up
on a question mark
and ask

Waves (two flavors)

I am generally very fond of water. After all, my family, friends, and I are all comprised mostly of this lovely life-giving fluid. There is one circumstance when water and I are not happy to see each other: if said water manifests itself in the rectangular surface known as a "swimming pool".  The last time I went swimming, I was about two feet tall --  the deep end became the equivalent of the Atlantic Ocean. 

Today, I went swimming again for the first time in seven years. Despite being an eager 6-year-old swimmer at one point in my life, the only familiar thing about reentering the water was the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I flailed about in panic. Through the course of the hour-long lesson, the water began to feel less like something bent on my liquidy destruction, thanks to my understanding instructor. I even went into the deep end of the pool with minimal panic.

Watery waves and sound waves are on my agenda for this week, since I'm working on the final bits of production for a radio documentary on marriage rights, a project made even more exciting by the recent Supreme Court decision.  I've been working on this documentary with a group of students since 2013, picking interviewees in the community to talk about their experiences with marriage, writing scripts, and other productive radio things.Our documentary focuses on the historical and social parallels between interracial and same-sex marriage rights. 

It's hard to believe we're in the home stretch. I feel like I was chatting with interviewees just yesterday, hearing about their families, childhoods and marriages. Now that I hear their voices again in the immense multitrack layout, I can't help but smile. Aligning all the sound bytes so that they mesh together in harmonious succession is infinitely rewarding. It's like dragging virtual puzzle pieces into place to create a beautiful finished product -- the product of two years of hard work!

Writing for Myself

We all spend years of our lives writing, Essays, e-mails, blog posts, even text messages.  Almost everything we write, I suppose, is driven by a desire to communicate. Even as I write these words on my so-called personal blog,  I do so in the hope that someone might come across them one day.

Today, I did something I haven't done in a long time. I wrote something that has no purpose other than to exercise my own imagination, tune out of the buzzing, crawling world, and float in dreamland. I'm somewhat of a sporadic writer -- I only write when inspiration strikes, and more often than not, that inspiration takes the form of the almighty Deadline. School deadlines, contest deadlines, I-should-probably-reply-to-that-email-but-you-know-what-I-haven't-written-anything-good-in-ages pseudo-deadlines brought on by avoiding responsibilities -- you name it, I've written because of it.

But the only deadline I ran after today was the I-want-to-write deadline, which isn't exactly a deadline because I can write whenever I want. For whatever reason, that particular idea is absurdly hard for me to grasp. I think I'm finally getting the hang of it -- just in time for college, a time in my life where I definitely don't want to put writing for myself by the wayside.

While I'm making progress, I'm going to go for it and post a tidbit of what I've written here. After all , the worst thing that could possibly happen is that someone might read it.

There was something beautiful in that house at the end of road. It advertised its antiquity with shutters on the verge of unhinging, paint peeling like papery garlic skin from its once-white façade.  Vines curled through gaps in the windows glass, delicate green eyelashes. You thought you heard them whisper your name in their shuffling tendrils. 

With the moon, the vines danced in the light, turning iridescent buds toward the sky.  

You can’t find the name of the buds, even in the most comprehensive books on botany.  You tell yourself that the plants are the reason you bought the house.

Framing

Photography is an art that I have always admired from afar. To me, the photographer is the imagist of the art world, seeking to distill the universe around us in single images. I've always enjoyed taking photos -- since I was a skipping kindergartner, I've domineered the family camera on every trip, taking artsy-fartsy photos of flowers, people, food, etc. When I was nine, I broke our camera following my brother's first-ever photo smile. "Mom, he smiled for the camera! Look!" I pointed eagerly at the flickering digital display. The camera tumbled down the stairs, and my camera privileges tumbled along with it.  And so my childhood fascination with images seemingly ended.

My interest was piqued once more during a Computer Literacy course I took subbie year (8th grade in my high school)  -- we were allowed to run amok with cameras for a class period, which resulted in some goofy (and some exciting pictures). I took a picture of the school tilted at an angle, and I remember our teacher put it up on the official slideshow of pictures on the main school website. I dug through my old school files and managed to drag up some of the photos I took that day (9/16/2010 -- a long time ago)

The old alma mater (can you say that for high schools?)

A pretty tree -- I think this is the one right outside my high school

 

My 8th-grade filter-happy self did apply some effects in Photoshop, but thankfully, the impact was minimal. A few days ago, my family and I went to St. Louis. For the first time in a long time, I was in possession of a camera (a phone camera, but a camera nonetheless). After a long period of remaining cameraless, of framing pictures in my mind's eye and imagining the perfect moment and angle at which to capture a moment, I was free to snap as I pleased. 

An interesting agate in the St. Louis Science Center

One of the wrought-iron wheel-things that adorn the railing of a gazebo in Tower Grove Park. My favorite thing about this photo is how some of the bushes are nestled happily in the top quarter of the wheel.

This is a picture of bread pudding that my mom and I made together a week ago (at home, not in St. Louis). I really liked how the picture came out, so I wanted to put it here. It makes me hungry just looking at it.

 

Last but not least, some lovely turtles and a duck from the pond at the St. Louis Zoo. I love this photo, even though (or maybe because) it  looks like the cover of a "Best Friends Forever" greeting card.

 

Looking at my old photos and the photos I took over the vacation (or in the summer thus far), I don't think my eye has changed much -- except I seem slightly less fascinated with strange camera angles. I think I'm focusing more on the moment I want to capture, rather than how exactly I capture it.

 

Now that I have a phone with a decent-quality camera, I'm excited to take more pictures (and share them)!

 

 

 

Just Keep Going Strong

Despite my whirlwind relationship with music, one thing has remained important to me over my many years of listening: the lyrics. As someone who enjoys writing, there is nothing better than well-crafted and clever lyrics, no matter the musical genre. I keep a "song journal" of sorts, listing the songs that mark each period of my life (usually by school year).  One group in particular has been in particularly good attendance: Metric. The lyrics and musical style of this band have helped me through many a tough time. I kept the song "Twilight Galaxy" on repeat for an entire month because of its helpful reminder that "there's no glitter in the gutter/there's no twilight galaxy". I took this image as advice against putting undue pressure on myself in a futile pursuit of abstract "perfection."

A few days ago, Metric released a new song. Although the music pulsated with an electronic sound I hadn't noted in their earlier music, the lyrics still spoke to me.

One particular bit stood out, especially in the wake of all the stress I faced last year and continue to face as college nears:

Just keep going strong

With whatever it is

That's compelling you on

 

Naturally, it didn't hurt that this piece was repeated a good five to seven times. The sentiment itself is often repeated in a variety of contexts, but hearing those words in music struck a chord.  The fact that this group is becoming active again just as I  begin a new chapter of my life is a nice feeling.  I can take a new chapter of theirs along with me as I leave home.

 

 

 



 

 

Last Day

Today I submitted my last high school assignment -- I'm really done.
Last week was too riddled with stress for me to let it sink in, but I can't believe I'm leaving this place.
It would be an understatement to say I'll miss it.

 I had five major assignments due that week -- a math exam, five biology papers, a philosophy debate, a Shakespeare project, and a philosophy project. Not to mention senior obligations -- such as Senior Supper, a night filled with thank-yous, humorous apologies, and the warmth that comes from toasting each other with non-alcoholic beverages. I don't regret going, even though it resulted in a frenzied all-nighter.

I pulled my first  (and last) high school all-nighter the night before my last day. There's a first time for everything, isn't there? 

The Last Day of School: Class by Class
Memory is a funny thing -- remembering things makes my grammar fly out the window, so here is an apology in advance for anyone trying  to read this. This is just me trying to remember everything I can.

May 15, 2015

1st hour: Philosophy debate
I represented Simone De Beauvoir in a sleep-deprived state. Surprisingly, I stayed awake long enough to respond to my colleagues Judith Butler and Helene Cixous in a manner I am proud of. Topics discussed included Beyoncé's "Partition" video, drag, and the being of woman. My last time feeling nervous and light-headed in philosophy class, and miraculously the first time I managed to say something pseudo-intelligent.

1st hour: Statistics
The last time I'll be Lucie's Stats buddy, spent freaking out because I hadn't  yet finished the Shakespeare and Philosophy projects. Lucie is the sweetest, and I will miss her dearly. Monday marked my last high school stats exam. No more pink flamingo textbook for me.

3rd hour: P.E.
My last P.E. class -- and last P.E. fitness tests -- height and weight.
The last time I will have my P.E. locker -- #141. I will miss you, old friend, we had a great 5 years together. Thanks for holding all my sweaty clothes.
Our P.E. teachers let me (and other seniors) out early to work on our plethora of assignments.
I ran up to the PC lab to finish my bio papers. I feverishly wrote to the sound of "Something Good" by Alt-J. Note to self: don't choose excessively advanced articles as topics for bio papers again.

End of 3rd hour/4th hour:
Working on Bio paper. Finding out about an angry letter left on lockers of Unique magazine senior and junior editors (including the nicest subbie around!), since someone didn't get their poems  published (and didn't respond to revision requests). I don't mind getting threatening notes on my locker, but it was unfair to put such a mean note on Hannah's locker, especially when she had nothing to do with it! I encountered Ms. M. in the hallway earlier that day, who told me about Hannah.
--Went back downstairs to my locker sometime that day (maybe after lunch), and Darren was kind enough to crumple up the note and throw it away, before I read its hurtful contents.

5th hour:  Last day of chorus, spent singing our favorites -- Phantom of the Opera, Beatles songs, "Skye Boat", etc.  Last day singing with Esther, Lucie, and Celia. Luckily, Celia's not going to be too far from me in college!

Lunch: Working on papers -- finished papers! Handed in to a wonderful teacher, who proceeded to say, "Don't leave me!" One assignment down, two to go. Ran downstairs to see if special lunch for seniors had any leftovers. Thanks to Donna's generosity, I received a burrito.

6th hour: Physics. We had a food party, complete with  store-bought cake, pretzel M&Ms, and a lone burrito. Some people hooked up speakers to their phones and played mariachi music (on different devices at different times -- a round of phone-iachi music!).
Obligatory group photos were taken.
Last time I would see Jackie's lovely chalk art. I wish I had taken a picture.

 7th hour: Mr. G created a lovely array of fruits and French cheeses in celebration. Le Grand Concours results were received. By a stroke of luck, I somehow achieved a perfect score (I have never done that on any standardized exam, ever.)
French class was my favorite this year -- I love the French language, as well as the many minutes I spent listening to Mr. G. wax poetic on food and French culture.

8th hour: Stressing out while people presented their Shakespeare projects . Mine wasn't done yet. Mr. R was kind enough to lend me an extension until Monday (today)

Awards Ceremony:
 Clapping and sitting, per usual. Watching some of my favorite people light up with delight upon receiving awards and being recognized for the spectacular people that they are.  Receiving some awards of my own.

Mr. R (math teacher, not Shakespeare) came up to me beforehand  and warned me against being too hard on myself in college. "Just relax and enjoy yourself -- it'll be the best time of your life."

~Last Bell~
Crying. Hugs. Fizzy drinks (apple juice -- this is high school). Silly string. We did it.

I'll never forget Donna hugging me and saying " I love you. You're so freaking*  amazing. I hope you find someone as freaking* amazing as you in college."

The next two hours or so were spent painting our handprints on the wall, in the halls we had walked through countless times. I put mine next to Immanuel's and Jackie's. Celia reserved a spot for her sister with a star. Someone (Carmen or Grace, I think)  turned their handprint into an ice cream cone. Eric smeared red paint above his locker, an eerie handprint that somehow captured his essence perfectly.  "The Jazz Boys" painted themselves a crest.

 Sometime into painting, Jackson shouted, "I GOT INTO COLLEGE!" , and his moment of victory was shared by all in a resounding cheer

This is the kind of moment that I will miss most -- being in a group of people and feeling completely at home, completely supported.

~~

Finishing this exercise in rapid recall makes me incredibly sad and incredibly happy. Nostalgia has taken its hold.

I don't want to leave this place, but I'm going to a new place that is so wonderful, a place I hope to love just as much.

WeekEND

Last weekend, I went to college.

Well, an admitted students' weekend. The not-so-little visitor's badge I had remains one of the few tangible tokens of the surreal experience. I don't think I've gotten over the fact that I was accepted, and sitting in an auditorium with the largest amount of teenagers I've ever seen in one place was slightly frightening. I'm only used to about 50 of them at a time -- my little not-even-5-foot self was overwhelmed.

I stayed with a senior chemistry-biology double major in a women's living group outside of campus. It was a homey place with a restaurant-quality kitchen and a giant teddy bear. Even though she had a physics problem set to do, my host took the time to talk to me about her day and life, and so did her wonderful roommate. There were plenty of wacky events to do all around campus, but I didn't really participate in too many of them (the wackiest thing I did was participate in a Sporcle tournament on the last morning-- guess who knew the names of all the Shakespeare's plays that started with the letter "M?" [that was a proud moment, and made up significantly for the fact that I forgot the capital of my own state]). 

I spent most of my time talking with people, an activity encouraged by the friendly dinners that the living group cooked every night. Just at dinner alone, there were so many amazing people! I met a French exchange student (and she said I pronounced her name kind of correctly), a materials science major who heard my "What to do you want to study?" answer ten times because I hung out in the dining room for three hours as other prefrosh went in and out, an Earth and Planetary Sciences major who helped me make origami earrings, a computer science major with cute Pokémon stickers on her laptop who told me about her prom in a science museum,  a quiet girl with a (stuffed animal) sheep named Cauli who asserted that biology is "very qualitative", and many, many excellent cooks! They were all different, and helped me understand what life at my favorite college was really like, aside from excitement and wacky events -- the not-so-fun stuff as well as the amazing stuff .

Outside of the living group, I went to a  women's leadership tea event, with dainty little desserts on fancy platters. There I met a bioengineering major whose family lived right outside campus, and who did some really cool work for an organization called GlobeMed. She was also kind enough to walk me where I needed to go the next morning, since walking alone is not something I enjoy, especially in a new place with many corridors and bustling crowds. Two nights prior (my first night), I had walked back to the group building in the dark, a trip made less scary by the company of another student, who commended my attitude towards safety when asked her to accompany me. One of the best "events" I  went to was a genetics class. I was actually able to follow along, and a student shared her handout with me. (They were starting a new unit on population genetics, and the good old Hardy-Weinberg equation). After meeting students, and  being welcomed by them , I am glad to know that I can count on people and feel safe, especially since going to college will be the farthest I have been from home in the last 10 years.

 Meeting everyone was exciting, and I made so many friends, but while talking to people about interests, school, life, television, and other things, the fact that I will be leaving a part of myself behind to go to college began to sink in. I've lived in the same place my entire life, and I will lose the comfort of my hometown when I go to college. Of course, everyone has to go someplace new sometime -- and the excitement and anticipation of starting anew is one that I treasure.  

Something Wonderful Happened

Two posts in one day?

I'm here again to say two things:

1. I suppose the universe took pity on me and my recent defeat, because on this lovely magical Pi day, I received some glorious news. I got into the school of my dreams! I couldn't sleep at all last night -- I tossed and turned, overanalyzing poetry performances and worrying about what the morning would bring.

The decision was supposed to come out 9:26 a.m. (we need as many digits of Pi as we can get) , which was 8:26 a.m. in my house. I stumbled out of bed at 8:25, logged onto the portal -- no decision available. 8:30 -- same thing. I took a deep breath and waited (that is, I panicked).

I waited until 9:25, for a whole agonizing hour, and tried again. There it was, those beautiful words -- "We are pleased to ..."  As of 9:25, I have checked my decision a total of 5 times, but nothing has changed. This was the school that I almost didn't apply to, even though I loved it dearly.  I was afraid that being myself wouldn't be enough, that there was no way I would meet the standards for admission.

 This was the school on whose application I was the most honest -- I was myself in the truest sense -- and it paid off.

2. Happy Pi Day! This is, without a doubt, the best Pi Day I have ever had :) I wish you all a lovely Pi Day!

Defeat

Yesterday afternoon, I was sitting on the edge of a  red velvet seat, awaiting the names of the top 5 Poetry Out Loud finalists at the state competition, those who would take part in the final round -- those who might get the chance to go to nationals in Washington, D.C.

For all my nervousness, I severely regretted wearing several layers of clothing. Then the announcer began speaking. His booming voice filled the auditorium. "It was a difficult decision for the judges," he began, and out came the names (in alphabetical order).

My last name is at the end of the alphabet, so I leaned back slightly in my seat. But name after name was called, and the final name -- it wasn't mine. My dad and I had driven 30 miles, my lovely English teacher had spent hours practicing poems with me, and I fell flat on my face. I had done my best. I went up on that stage and performed my heart out. I loved,  and still love, those poems, but I was the only one in the room without a drop of theatrical training. Maybe that would have helped? I can't say for sure.

I'm naturally a subtle person, and I wanted to showcase the words of the poem, not my hand motions. Maybe I needed more stage presence? There's no way for me to know. I thought of the performances of the five finalists -- two of them would go to nationals. They blew me away with their voices, their poems, their movements. Clearly they loved their poems, too. Maybe I didn't love mine enough. I know that isn't true, but it hurts that being myself didn't propel me to victory like it did a month ago.

At least I learned a new poem -- "The Origin of Order" by Pattiann Rogers:

Stellar dust has settled.

It is green underwater now in the leaves

Of the yellow crowfoot. Its vacancies are gathered together

Under pine litter as emerging flower of the pink arbutus.

It has gained the power to make itself again

In the bone-filled egg of osprey and teal.

One could say this toothpick grasshopper

Is a cloud of decayed nebula congealed and perching

On his female mating. The tortoise beetle,

Leaving the stripped veins of morning glory vines

Like licked bones, is a straw-colored swirl

Of clever gases.

At this moment there are dead stars seeing

Themselves as marsh and forest in the eyes

Of muskrat and shrew, disintegrated suns

Making songs all night long in the throats

Of crawfish frogs, in the rubbings and gratings

Of the red-legged locust. There are spirits of orbiting

Rock in the shells of pointed winkles

And apple snails, ghosts of extinct comets caught

In the leap of darting hare and bobcat, revolutions

Of rushing stone contained in the sound of these words.

The paths of the Pleiades and Coma clusters

Have been compelled to mathematics by the mind

Contemplating the nature of itself

In the motions of stars. The patterns

Of any starry summer night might be identical

To the summer heavens circling inside the skull.

I can feel time speeding now in all directions

Deeper and deeper into the black oblivion

Of the electrons directly behind my eyes.

Flesh of the sky, child of the sky, the mind

Has been obligated from the beginning

To create an ordered universe

As the only possible proof of its own inheritance.

 

I want to write poems like this one day, and I regret not being able to perform it in the third round, but at least it's still mine. It and the other poems are mine, intertwined and collected in the fibers of my mind, and that's what truly matters in the grand scheme of things.

Crashing into Writing (and Teaching)

Public speaking is by no means my forte, but the idea of talking to a small group of my peers that I am supposed to teach makes public speaking look like a cakewalk.  I've taught 2nd graders, but high schoolers are a unique animal. Luckily, I had one of my favorite things and one of my favorite people to help me out.

This week, my friend and I taught a Creative Writing Crash Course as part of Agora Days, a school wide tradition where students, faculty, and other members of the school community can teach classes on any topic they wish. 

Many of my friends (and favorite writers) ended up signing for the class, and so when my fellow teacher and I walked in the classroom on Tuesday morning, we were greeted by a (very tiny) sea of familiar faces. One very nice thing about teaching a creative writing class is that when your students are writing in class, you can also write. I didn't realize this on the first day, so I scrounged up a green colored pencil and wrote some things in the back of my Biology notebook. I also had an excellent excuse to share a beloved website responsible for 100 hours of exceedingly productive time (iwritelike.com).

A short short story (originally in green colored pencil):

 

The Road Tripper's Nightmare

Garage door left open -- instant menagerie

Teaching wasn't nearly as difficult as I imagined it to be, especially since I spent a ridiculous amount of time planning classes out. I even wrote a diagnostic survey asking each student to discuss their familiarity with/preferences regarding creative writing and planned lessons accordingly . My favorite activities were all the group writing ones, including a  poem we wrote together as a class (one line per person):

She laughs citrus at clouds in the sky

She listens for drops of sweet rain in the dim light

they fall purple, concentric rings of lilac fading into plum

They gleam and wink at her eye

Sounds come together, vibrating somewhere behind her eyes, buzzing, a dull ache:

the thunder and clang of the northern pacific

the whistle of merciless gulf streams

waves endlessly breaking upon the shore, within her skull:

eroding, always eroding.

The rain begins to fall finally

leaving droplets behind on the window

she glances outside very quickly

and pulls back upon seeing the shadow

Fingers pale, blood like moonshine circulating

Greasy with pollen claret, botanic blood and floral gore

and as the drops of water race down her back passenger window

similar drops fall from her eyes, though not consciously at first

they stick to her lashes, golden like

crystallized honey, her eye a tiger lily's

coffin.

Luck Has Something to Do with It

Last night, I stood on a Poetry-Out-Loud-sponsored stage, in front of  a café-like setup of tables and chairs. The lights weren't blinding enough, and though I was reassured by my English teacher's smile, the judges off to my right and competitors two feet away were not as comforting. The previous performer was tall (at least taller than me, which is not hard to accomplish), and so much microphone adjusting was required.

"'The Lake Isle of Innisfree' by William Butler Yeats," I began, and I breathed the poem out. The judges faded away. I was not on a stage. I floated away; I was with Yeats, going to Innisfree. Midnight was "all a glimmer," "noon just a glow" -- I heard it "in my deep heart's core."

Ten minutes later, I was back up there, only this time with "Sheltered Garden," by H. D., my tried-and-true performance poem. The poem is beautiful (albeit kind of long), and I felt every word pulsating as I spoke the poem aloud. Once again, the audience dissolved -- it was just me and the poem. As I made my way back to my seat, my teacher whispered, "One of the judges gave you a thumbs-up."

There was an interlude of snacks and score-crunching, and then the moment of truth. There were only four competitors (one school's performers were unable to come to the competition), so numerically, I had a good shot at being one of the top two placers (and go to state competition!). However, reason didn't prevent me from trembling as the announcer read off the names. "First runner-up..." Not me.

"The regional winner..." I heard my name, and it was surreal. I felt so lucky in that moment -- lucky that I had the support of my English teacher, lucky that my little brother was willing to listen to poetry practices for hours on end, lucky that the numbers had worked out in my favor. After four years of being invested in poetry performance, I had something to show for it. And the best part of it was that I loved my poems, and the judges were able to see that.

Renewal

I meant to jump back on the blog-wagon earlier, but winter break (aka the grand frenzy of college applications) got in the way. My poor computer and I were so taxed after that ordeal we practically fell into hibernation. I should probably clarify that I started this blog as a class project, and along the way decided that blogging for myself would be a good idea. I've always wanted to keep a blog -- I guess I needed a little push to get that going. I'm much more comfortable sharing my writing now than I was a few years ago, so that helps too.

Anyway, many things have happened since the dawn of the new year. I'll list a few here:

• I'm taking two classes I've been waiting to take for four years: Genetics and Shakespeare. I actually told my biology teacher on the first day of class how long I've waited to take Genetics, and from the look on his face  ("I'll have to work extra hard, then!"), I'm still not sure if that was the best idea (He was the one who asked, though -- my overly excited comments must have given something away). In my eagerness, I made the same mistake during Shakespeare class as well. The first play we're reading  is the Merchant of Venice
•  Today I took my school stage for the third time (and unfortunately, the last time) to recite poetry in our Poetry Out Loud contest. Last year, I was planning to do the same poem ("Sheltered Garden" by H.D.) , but the stress of standardized testing knocked the wind out of my sails, and I thought it best to take a break.
• Update: Look, an email alert -- I won my school contest! This is amazing, and not what I expected at all, given the many beautiful recitations of my peers and classmates. There is something nice about winning after years of learning and performing poetry, especially since this is my last shot at Poetry Out Loud in high school.
•  There is something magical about hearing poetry aloud  -- it just feels right. Performing poetry feels even better, like you and poet are one, like the poem has assimilated itself into your being, blossoming out through your voice in a whirlwind of words. I wonder how it would feel to perform my own poetry, but I don't think I'm quite that comfortable with my writing just yet.