Ah, Easter time. Before this week I don't think I really understood - or realized - even thought about how important Easter Sunday is. It is the summit of the ENTIRE CHRISTIAN FAITH! Not a little thing. It was, like in Tale of Two Cities, the best of times and the worst of times. During church, I was sitting smack dab in the middle of my family, who filled an entire pew. We were singing: I could hear my aunt and cousin beside me. When some people put their hands up in the air, my little cousin imitated them with the biggest smile you've ever seen on his face. It was one of those moments when you feel like everything is perfect. What a great day that was!
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Here is an entry from February...bear in mind that this is kind of like a diary so sometimes I get really heated about things so...yeah. Just remember that. :)
February 3, 2011
Thanks Dad... [^.^]
Is there harm in being strong in how you feel? I don’t want to seem like a marshmallow that can be pushed around and told what to do and how to feel. Maybe I am going a bit off the subject that I want to discuss, but I had to establish that. It is the key catalyst in the arguments I have with my brother; being a…male, he was born with the natural ability to possess certain traits that are superior to that of mine. That is unless I really worked at it and I don’t have the time to lift weights so I can beat him in an arm-wrestle or spend hour upon hour on a certain RPG so that I can get a better kill-streak than he can. So on top of his enormous male ego – which I have been colliding with often lately – and his lifelong quest to surpass me in everything, he has been overall unbearably arrogant lately! My father completely failed in supporting me…well, he was more trying to clear up the argument than taking sides. He explained that women were “weaker vessels” and in turn needed protection from men and not wrath. Brother dear took this idea and ran. Now I am the “weaker vessel” in everything. Sometimes I would really just like to put him on his face…but of course I don’t because that would be a childish waste of my time. Plus I’d get in trouble.
On Sensitivity
On a larger scale, the issue that I wanted to address has virtually nothing to do with my brother but with the subject of sensitivity. I despise it! If I could do away with it then I would. Sensitivity is what makes my mom and I get into fights about half the time. She is so sensitive! I’ll admit I have my moments too, especially when it comes to my brother. But with her it’s like she is a bottle. Yes, I know, bear with me on this analogy: she’s a bottle that is nearly constantly being filled with criticism and sarcastic jokes from my brother so that if I attribute so much as a exasperated sigh to the mix, it over flows and guess who gets the heat? It isn’t always me, I know. Just yesterday there was an explosion between Mommy and my brother over the things I listed above: criticism and sarcasm as well as a generous supply of poor judgment on his part. But such has been the way amongst us since the beginning: I remember always trying to be that peaceful representative between the two of them. Just a week ago, Daddy admitted he wanted me around because I acted as somewhat of a buffer from my increasingly obnoxious brother.
Brother and Sister
It is odd, my relationship with him. Even humorous. I’ve noticed that I can tell him to do something automatically without thinking of how maternally instructive it may sound and he unconsciously does it. Sometimes, though, he does notice and then comes that tired lecture of how I’m “always telling him what to do”. Actually sometimes that can be a problem. If it’s just the two of us, or if we’re alone with friends, then he may choose to disregard my warnings or blatant forbidding of him to do something that I know would get him into trouble. I don’t want to be a tattle-tell so lots of the time I just file it away in case I need it later. He’s not all bad though. We have our moments when we can be the best of friends. It takes my not being ignorant and his not being so arrogant.
Lost in the Shuffle
My family says that I don’t show emotion well, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. Sometimes I’m so moved by an act of love from someone else that I just want to jump up and down and give them a big hug. But alas, that just isn’t me. I’m physically unable to truly express how I feel in actions. In writing, it’s possible. Never in actions though. Besides, I don’t think that even if I were to accomplish it that it would be received in the manner which I wanted it to. There are times when I feel utterly disregarded. Everyone is so wrapped up in the pressures of work, the cries from the messy house, their lack of sleep, their various aches and pains of different sorts, that sometimes my affectionate expressions are lost in the shuffle. I’m not much for hugs, but I do administer them when I want to show that I really care. However, I don’t think that anyone else realizes that. OK, to be honest there are times when a friendly hug is unavoidable or I may even initiate one to avoid awkwardness, but the ones that really mean something I don’t just hand out. Even my words, especially my words, sound so fake on my tongue at times. “I really appreciate you, Mommy.” In a story, those words would be enough to get an “ahhh” or even a stray tear, but in real life it isn’t like that. The only way I feel like I have sufficiently expressed myself is when I write.
Writing and the Emotions Thereof
I love writing so much! It is just as Anne Frank said: the God-given ability allows one to express what is on one’s heart and mind in a single beautiful language (the language part was mine J). This brings me to another subject: my writing. When I create a story, I don’t just make up these people from randomness. No, I’m quite sure that in every story ever written the characters featured within are real entities! Maybe they’re not truly intelligent beings who can walk and talk and interact with humans on a regular bases, but they come to a person’s mind as a person: with a past, a present, and a future. Sometimes a writer isn’t sure about how that person’s life has, is, or is going to be like; this is widely referred to as “writer’s block”. The easy remedy for this in story-writing is to get to know the characters more. It’s amazing what one can discover about a character! For instance, right now my heroine is a stubborn teenager who doesn’t want to become queen. Flora walked into my mind one day while I was doing school and I had virtually nothing to do with the matter! It isn’t that I’m incredibly imaginative; it’s just that my mind is open wider than some. My point? Well I have strayed from it, but it is that when you discover a character and truly begin to get to know it, you become friends with it. It becomes part of you because the pen is a character’s only link from the imaginary world to the real one. Forever, a writer is bound to his or her story through this link.
Alright, now to what I've been trying to get at! I experience this bond between character and writing too. That’s how I’m able to adequately explain this happenstance. Constantly, I have those characters in my head. Sometimes they make themselves known and sometimes they’re shy and require my prompting before they’ll actually come out and play. But it all ends the same: I have a relationship with these characters. As it is with all relationships, I want them to be shared. I want my best friend to be friends with my aunt, and I want my friend’s brother to get along with my little cousin. That’s how it works. Well the same goes with my unembodied acquaintances as well (“unembodied” isn’t a word as it turns out, but it works so well in proving my point that I have to leave it). I want my parents, to be specific, to know my characters. There it is! See, I told you I’d finally get to the point.
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