Saturday, December 24, 2011

Today, as I'm sitting here comfortably and guiltily in Shelbie's Georgetown sweatshirt I swore I couldn't find in my house for a full year.... I have thought much about that love thing she just so recently posted.

She's right.

We all want it.

.... And this time of year makes people CRAZY. Seriously. Mentally ill.

I guess Christmas at our age has less to do with family these days and more to do with romance. I don't know who it was that got that magic-must-find-someone-to-snowball-with-at-the-Gallivan-Center ball rolling.
But they're mean and conniving.
They probably started out at Hallmark.

So here is today. A sad excuse to stay inside.

Partially because it's Christmas Eve. Partially because walking out that door would constitute de-uglifying myself in a poor attempt to contain the stench emanating from my scalp.

That was disgusting. Don't re-read that.


I'm just talking about nothing today.
As usual.

I'm a stupid girl. I have joined the girl world officially.
Complete with violent hitting, over-developed sensitivity to anger, and a constant array of screaming.

I hate myself.

If this goes on for much longer I'm going to have to ask one of you to kindly take a shovel to my forehead.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Behold, The Break of All Breaks Hath Begun


Duh. Obviously, the best word in the human language.

You know that whole "home is where the heart is" crap?....

Well.... It's true.

 — Now that I've moved out and have detached myself from the house where I grew up, I no longer feel the boiling aversion to the idea of moving. (the subject is always a talked about one in my family, do not be alarmed, it wouldn't happen overnight)

I just realized I want to be with my sisters and mom all the day long.

And by all the day long, I mean, ... not all the day long, just, part of it. let's be real, I love em, but not that much. Only <—> that much.


And I also realized that Provo is also my home.


I decided to go back to the apartment last night with Mal.... where there was nothing but empty space. The roommates were departed. The vacancy was so thick, you could cut it with an clichéd knife.

OF course, I first got in, peeped around the corner, and tentatively placed my ear to the door leading to Sade's room.... (fear pounding in my chest because heaven knows if I woke her up that would be the end of my existence... (jklolzcatz, Sade (: )) However, the fear quickly crumbled to sad when I finally got the courage up to open her door just to close it again; the sight vanishing, along with my hopes and dreams of my favorite blondie roommate being there.

And the top bunk of my room was full of nothing but Jane's forrest green cover and the classic Fuzzy Blue blanky and some dirty footprints on the wall.

Mleh. Sucky.

So. This brings us to now.

I'm glad I'm back in my house. Just because, I have my secret, other family here.

I miss my roommies.

I hope they're having a holly freaking jolly break.


What else is new? Nothing. Uncle Bob, the Floridian called. Along with the whole Other Kokol family. They're weird. I think I love them.

The sisters and I decorated our house. ("Finally," you may scoff.)

We also decided that themed Christmases are never us. We're the sort who pick out literally the most random items ever you will find and place them haphazardly on the tree.

(The tree, mind you, that was left on our doorstep a couple days ago.
We didn't even have a tree until the kindest neighbors in the world dug up the few remaining scraps of patience for the Utah Kokol family down the street and help a brotha out by chopping us down a tree.)

I think I'm smothering everyone out of cyber breath. No more words. But here are some Pictures:)! :

Santa's Little Helper...

May Your Stockings be as Full as a Pregnant Octomom.

P.S. Of course I didn't forget. Happy Hanukkah, everyone :) Elohim bless us, everyone.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

From the people who brought you finals week.

Seriously? An entire week dedicated to being kicked in the face?
Finals week isn't even over yet, and I'm "done."

One more, and I'll rage. Jokes. I have four more.

What am I even saying right now?

It's too early in the morning.

This post is completely irrelevant to the lives of many. Don't read it.

Buttttttttt, I feel totally awesome!

1 week ago today, The dawning of a melodramatic and frankly, quite clichéd day of my life has begun!

Just because I decided it would.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I realize now that I'm girly-er than I previously presumed of myself.

The other day, me and the roommies (Janethon and Saders) watched A Walk To Remember.
I didn't have to take a walk to Remember how FREAKING sad that movie is.
(try not to laugh at my strategically placed play-on words.)


Sobbing, full blown.

I want another one like that. Any suggestions?

Sunday, November 27, 2011


At times I battle the urge to speak things that should remain unmentioned.

This is probably a follow up of my previous post without me meaning to... but, I guess my life is more like a series of themes and literary devices. (Fitting, since I'm a European Studies major...)

I keep forgetting that I'm NOT allowed to just say "hey. I'm a little miffed that you're dating her, when you should be dating me."

This is so awkward. And I mean it in every sense of the word.

Gotta love friends.... So. Anyway.

I'm so ... what's the word... Thankful that Thanksgiving was just barely.
... No school for 5 whole days.

Let me re-iterate:
I didn't have to watch my mouth for 5 whole days.

It's great to be home.


I made Thanksgiving.

made it.

created it.

manhandled the turkey.

Does anybody comprehend the feat I have just accomplished? NO? remember the days when I literally lived off cereal. Literally. and Figuratively?

Gah... those were the days....

but now that I've proven my self capable of culinary competence, I can no longer return to the care-free and responsibility-vacant, nomadic nutritional lifestyle that once dominated my decisions in meals.

My mom is convinced I shall one day return to the land of the aprons...

Also known as Christmas dinner.

Heaven Help me.

What's worse:?!:
I kinda liked it.
Why didn't I take a picture of that moment in the sink when I harassed the innards out of that turkey (whom I dubbed Hank.... "Hanksgiving." haw haw New Girl Joke)

So sweeeeeettttt.

ALL day slaving away!

I'm at a fork in the road between deciding that I'm being manipulated into the life of cooking or... if I'm just happy to bike down the path of it.


Peace yo. :)

Thursday, November 10, 2011


I want to walk up to a sculpture and not just say "Is that Salvador Dalí?" What I really want to say is: "I'm quite certain that the man who created this was named Salvador Domènec Felip Jacint Dalí i Domènech, Marquis de Púbol. I want you to tell me that I'm right, and If I'm right, I want you to be impressed with my knowledge of art."


I wonder what people would do.

How would we begin to treat each other if everyone did that. If people said not only exactly what they meant, but what they expected to take place after they said it.

What would people do if intent was completely transparent?

Completely Honest.?

But no, we simply ask in hopeful, and quite frankly, apologetic tones to get the affirmation we seek.

Like whispering at a door for its admittance, instead of just knocking.

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Saturday mornings are always intended for action and adventure and copious amounts of awesomeness.

Saturday mornings, without fail, always end up being nothing but a long 53 hour break on the couch after an arduous night of sleeping. The only thing copiously awesome about today was flirting with the cash register guy.
In my pajamas.

Sunday, October 16, 2011


Sometimes, I think that I'm cool and possess more power in my jaw than I actually have and I try and rip open an OtterPop with my bare teeth.


An excess of shattered teeth on floor.


Why is it that the only think I possess is my incapability of being AWESOME when I want!?!
Fonzie could do it.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

3 times in an hour? OK Go.

Good band.

I'm suddenly obsessed with every one. Literally.
I want to be Mallory.
I want to be Hannah.
I want to be Chloe.
I want to be Amber.
I want to be.

I can't stop blogging.
I can't stop looking at everyone's blogs from the past couple months.

You are all so beautiful
I just barely got my new Paint for Macintosh download.

Hello again, wasted hours of my Childhood.


Sometimes, I not only neglect my blog, but I neglect everyone else's.

Then I read them again.

And I remember why I became friends with them in the first place.

Sometimes. I don't have many friends that care enough to call.
But when they do call, I don't think they know how much I needed that phone call.

I miss Shelbie and Sarah. They are so artistic. And funny. And pure.
And I get jealous/proud of them when I remember to de-neglectify their blogs.
I re-re-realize how incredibly good friends they were to me.

Does Gavin Degraw do to you what he does to me?
Should I follow up that question with some explanation before you take it the wrong way? YEs.

He holds a lot of the memories of mine in his voice.

He makes me kind of miss my Daddy. Back when I believed he was Superman. And we would go on the best road trips ever.

To places that ignited a requited love of nature.

And historical figures you didn't know had any importance in this country whose stories were recanted by the world's best tour guide. And you feel so grateful for things you didn't even know existed before.

Sometimes lives shatter when you realize how human your superhuman parents are.

And suddenly you have to look at them with human eyes instead of awed eyes.

Today, I get to see Shelbie.

Tonight, I get to cry over missing Sar.

Tomorrow, I get to laugh at myself for my ridiculocities of today.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Autumn is nigh


Is a place where my feet leave my signature and a blessing with every tip-toe

Where I look up and reach up and stay up. And feel up.

Where my hands conduct a symphony made up of wise leaves and child-like joy.

Where my lungs breathe in the honey that was left by a finished task
and who are in a state of flexibility.

I so long to be free.

But the chains that bind me are neither temporal nor spiritual.

They are just gray. Gray and heart-strung.

Ties that bind. Ties that break.

The ties that break may be here next Thursday night for dinner. Or may be the essay that has been prolonged. Or the shake of the head for those who can't see. Can't hear. Can't taste with me. The ties that bind only hold me in this gray, but melancholy disillusionment.

The ties that bind are in the hands of my family, my dog, the perfume of my trees in my backyard, the pothole at the end of my street to whom I always curse, the world's worst park around the corner, the world's best neighbor across the street. The sun's perfect glow on a diminishing October day.

There are few times when I miss my Fall
in my home
with my family
and my familiarity.

Friday, September 30, 2011

Tweet You all to Heck.

Why. Why . WHy? WHy. why do I twit around?

I can't handle it. Twitter is trending. And I'm bandwagoning that SUCKER!

Some people are hilarious. Some, I wish I could virtual-slap every hashtag, @ sign, and bird out there.

If one more person posts something they think is funny when it's not, one more time. So help me I'm leaving.
I don't even know why I'm ranting about it.

I'm Hypocriting. (verb?) (Is now..)

Anyway.... Can I just say that sometimes, late at night is the best time of day?
You all know me oh so well... My insomnia is just turning into a second lifestyle. Eh. #Whatareyagonnado? (crapola)

I've started a new book.
BEholdeth: it's called: wait for it: colon colon colon:

Anatomy of the Spirit.

Hook: Can we develop our own latent powers of intuition as we simultaneously cultivate our personal power and spiritual growth?!?!

Answer: Yes, Bob, Yes we can.

The idea: Body + Spirit = One entity wrapped up with powers unyielding in their divine and 6-sensical POWERS!!

I'm excited. Needless to say.

peace yo.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

More Death Cab. Apologies.

So. Now that I've found my red long, lost iPod- You know the one- I'm re-rediscovering it.

It's like when you read a book as a child and it means so much to you then, but then you read it again when you're older, and it means something completely different but also so much more than it did before because you have that back ground of it meaning to you something then. (Breathe!)

Like layers.

Anyway. Ever since the Death Cab concert, I'm so INTO them. I mean.... I can. Not. Get. Enough of them. I'm in the middle of a desert walking for miles and miles and they are the freaking oasis.

So I was listening to A Lack of Color, and I remember loving the song, but because of how it sounded. I've decided to listen to all of their albums I have, and go through them word by word, phrase by phrase.

I would post the lyrics... Well... should I ? okay I will (Also, I'm sorry that I always post lyrics... it seems like I have nothing to say of my own, but, well, Ben Gibbard always says it better than I ever will)

here they are:

And when I see you

I really see you upside down

But my brain knows better

It picks you up and turns you around

Turns you around

Turns you around

If you feel discouraged

When there's a lack of color here

Please don't worry lover

It's really bursting at the seams

Absorbing everything

The spectrum's A to Z

This is fact, not fiction

For the first time in years

All the girls in every girlie magazine

Can't make me feel any less alone

I'm reaching for the phone

To call at 7:03

And on your machine, I slur a plea

For you to come home

But I know it's too late

I should have given you a reason to stay

Given you a reason to stay

Given you a reason to stay

Given you a reason to stay

This is fact, not fiction

For the first time in years...

This is where I got confused, or lazy... I didn't know what it meant really. So this is some guys response to it.

I think it's pure genius.

Pure beauty. Okay read.

"The whole song is a study of reality through the lens of opposites: inside vs. outside, fact vs. fiction, heart vs. brain. When looking at something, which view shows the soul or the truth of the matter, and which is just a shadow or filter of the truth.

In the midst of his loneliness in the aftermath of being left, he's perfecting his idea of what he had. He's longing for a perfection that he never really had. Is he longing for fact or a fiction he's created for himself?

The first stanza sets this up with the heart vs. the mind contradiction. The eye with vision (just like the heart with relationships) is the first receptor, the first judge. Because, it's first, is it closer to the original and therefore more true? or is the brain more true after it's had time to correct our eye's vision. Our brain tends to do the same thing to our heart after a while in a relationship. The brain is always catching up with our instincts.

By repeating "turns you around" several times, he's emphasizing that the brain does more than just a physical function of inverting an image, but the brain also locks onto the idea and dwells on it, dissects it, considers it over and over again and thinks it over constantly.

But is all that thinking and interpretation bringing him closer to the truth, or further from the truth. Did he really have a perfect relationship, or is he weaving a myth of perfection. Which is fact, which is fiction? The heart or the mind?

In the last lines of the song I think he realizes that he's longing for a false perfection. His reality is that he's alone now. That's the fact. The fiction is the relationship that's now over: they were together, but it couldn't work because it wasn't true. All the time they spent together was just a sham because at the heart of the matter it couldn't work."

Anyways. These are the times that I probably just don't have any original thought. Just when I think everyone else is a genius and has truth to say, because I'm a little burned out for finding it myself.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Today, We Match, America.

Today was 9/11.

Though, according to the clock, it was yesterday, For my body and brain, it's still today.

Isn't it ironic how cliché life gets?

Especially when the big moments in your life seem to match up with big moments in life itself.

America, you went through a tragedy 10 years ago. Today was a day that you had to remember it. I know you have grief and residual anger and lingering confusion as to what happened and why and who it was so we can blame them for it. Somebody has to PAY for it. Right?


And yet, life goes on. As it always did, as it always will.
People pay for it every day. We all do. By still living. That's the price we pay for life: living.

Time never was subjective, was it?

And at this same moment, I reminisced about my own personal tragedy. And re-witnessed a different form of it this weekend.

Because half of me expects the world to stop. Stop right now. How are you living, breathing, functioning, moving, repeating? when injustice continues to plague lungs and slash some hearts.

The other half of me wants to be apart of that constant transfer of energy. The jealousy of movement pangs me, because it is not time that has stopped, but my breathing. I am stopped. And I must watch the world uphold its ability to press forward while I take my slow, painful, frustratingly prolonged time getting back on that stupid horse.

And yet, life goes on. As it always did, as it always will.

We are always subjective, aren't we?

Yeah. I am.

Here's some buffalo from Wyoming. Happy trials. Whoops. I meant trails.

Side Note: My life is not as dramatic as appears in the rearview mirror.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Almost done.

Really. I am.

Tomorrow, I shall pack up my things.

Clean like a mad-woman.

Then, I'm coming home on Friday.


And I'm listening to M&S.

So. I'm freakin Happy as of now.

New word, courtesy of Danny: Quid Pro Quo.

It has nothing to do with any thing important.

But it's awesome. Say it. Aloud. Right now. It's awesome.

2:08!! One more essay to go. Deuces yo.

Friday, August 5, 2011


Wednesday is too close for comfort.

I do not want to write about this subject.

So I won't.

I do not want to deal with the millions of my's not mine.

So I won't.

I do not want my vision to be marred with water and salt.

So I'll keep my eyes closed.

I do not want to compete.

So I won't.

I do not want to say goodbye.

So I won't.

But the being of things are stationary and no amount of wishing will ever err the direction of living.

Existence keeps on existing.
Reality keeps on checking.
Thought keeps on thinking.

I hope you do not forget what I mean to you.
Because what you mean to me is irrevocable, immovable, incommensurable.

I hope, somehow, that Love keeps on Loving.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011


I've been thinking a lot about it lately...

And I've realized something interesting about myself.

I've secretly.... Never felt judged before.


I don't think that I ever have been.
Well... I'm sure I have... but what even is it?
What is judgement?

Obviously it has a negative connotation- judging someone is frowned upon in our society, yet everyone does it blah blah blah.

But I've been seriously wondering why I've never felt angry at the masses for being judged or looked at or anything.

I think it's because I've never even thought to care.

Not the whole "I don't care what anyone thinks of me" kind of deal.
I, of course, care what my mom thinks of me, what my sisters think, what my important friends think. In other words. My people.

But the particulars of judgement from them are not on how I look, how I talk, or how long(short) my legs are. Only how I present myself, the content of my speech, the way I use my legs to carry myself.
The only thing I worry about is if I am staying true to myself.

The guilt starts to build, only in the instances when I find my conduct straying from or contradicting what I've shown to "my people" as Ari Kokol.

The action part is what is important.

Edgar Degas

That is the only thing that can be measured. Compared. Judged. As it should be.

I am grateful to my mother for have read Ayn Rand before I was born.
I'm reading The Fountainhead right now so hopefully I'm not too wacked out.

But, because my mom read Atlas Shrugged three times, I can now tell that she was influenced by the correct principles Ms. Rand portrays in her books. Don't be fooled. Ayn Rand is a bit of a lunatic genius... and some of her principles stray from what I actually believe. I am not her... but I will and do take what she says that I find to be truthful.

My mother raised me to look for the good in myself first. She raised me to discern between the elation you feel when someone compliments you, and the concrete and substantial elation you feel when you know you have done well, yourself.

Your own perception of yourself matters more than the perception of others.

My perception of myself is more important than others' and yet I care what my Family and Friends perceive me to be?
Let me explain the contradiction I have just made there.

My family and my friends.... [In a way I should just say 'friends.' In my later years I see my family as friends because I have chosen them as such. I was born to that family with no choice... but you even have to choose to love your family. It's not a given to love them. I've chosen to love them because of who they are.... Digression?]
.... are somewhat an extension of my beliefs.
My friends mean something to me because they themselves do not give in to the public critique. Therefore, they only judge me based on what I physically and mentally do. Because I do the same for them. It's why they're my friends in the first place. Why I've chosen them, as they have chosen me.

This is the basis of reality for me.

Thank you, Albert Einstein, for telling us scientifically that reality is relative- it only depends on how and who looks at a rock that the rock actually is.

He solidified the idea that our perception of who we are and our world around us is based on just that- our individual perception.
That is truth. That is reality.

Example: The half-empty vs. half-full situation.

They are both true. The pessimism and the optimism.
But who is to say the other is wrong? Who is to say the other is right? It depends on who looks at it- and that is still the truth. You may go about your day seeing every person on the street looking at you and feeling self-conscious because you are sure they are all shaking their heads, tilting their noses back, averting their eyes, and smiling with contempt for your existence.
You can walk down the street and see people going a
bout their business, walking straight ahead, glancing at you just because you were there, living their lives, for heaven's sake.

Which is true? Obviously by how I wrote that, it's easy to see my subjected opinion. Nonetheless, It is only true to how you look at it. Because either way, you are affected by your own perception of the street down which you walk. No one else's. Not even mine.

How about discernment.

Can you tell who a person is by their nose? No.
Can you guess who a person is by what clothes they wore that day?

Why do I say that?

Guess who had a part, a decision, an action in both rhetorical queries? The second one.
There is no decision in a nose. There is an action, a choice, however, to be made in how you dress.

These are minuscule examples of a larger scale I'm attempting to say, here.

Start to look at the decisions of your life. The diminutive, seemingly insignificant choices you make every day are those nonetheless- choices.
Choices are a completely valid way to judge a person, whether you like it or not.
It's hypocritical to say that they cannot do as they please by passing judgment on you if you expect to be able to do what you please without being assessed.

You, of course, do not have to take into account what another person deems of you.

Which brings me back to the whole "live and let live" schpiel.

Most of you know me to always express my dissent in the expression "don't judge me."
Finally, I can put into words why.
It is a contradiction in and of itself.
By telling someone "not to judge" you take away their ability and right to discern and to make a choice themselves because they did not agree with a decision you made on your own.

If you did not care what anyone thought, if you honestly did not want anyone to judge you- you would not give them the satisfaction of being angry about their judgement.

On some level, I feel that those who verbally express their dissent for the public analysis actually crave public analyisis. They thrive, secretly, on what others think of them.

The truth of the matter: It connotes and portrays an ambience of victimhood, when in reality it is a desperate cry for the opposite of what it condemns: Contempt for humankind.
They crave it and hate it at the same time- because they need it to thrive, because they give it power. They let others take away their power and th
ey hate it. They cannot live without the approval of another so they verbally express the hatred of the approval of another.

I love humankind.
Dorothea Lange

Not because I'm supposed to, but because I really believe that after this whole "world" thing turns horribly wrong, after the wars and blood and tears and injustice and the Constitution is hanging on a thread stuff happens...
People will decide on what and who they are. That is, they are doers. We are those who make decisions and don't look back. We were meant for this to happen. Those of us who can look past the shame and guilt of the victims that tie us down, who can see reality in its truest form... Will be the strong ones. Those who will keep standing. Keep believing. Keep living.
We will end the internal war we have in ourselves between victim and hero. The hero part will win, if we let it.
It's inevitable.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011


Sometimes I go on a musical excersion. Because. You know. I don't have many friends, except CNN, YouTube, and Reddit.

This is what I listened to today. Sometimes you just need good stuff to fill your time/life/soul...

Liam Bailey:

Sondre Lerche:

Also, mother mother is a little emo.... which is usually not my style. However, they're kinda awesome, i'll be honest. They've got fantastic harmonies- Chicago/R.E.M.-esque. O Well.. .here's a go..

Mother Mother:

Today, was a great day:)
Got out an hour early from class. Actually went to dinner with people from around here. Met a dude! Super funny.

I'm going to miss Helaman... (but maybe I'm only saying that because I know it's coming to an end... like when you love your job a week before you quite..)

Also, I think today was especially good because I had incredible people visit me yesterday.

Cece and Chloe Mehr took me to lunch. They have no idea how much they enlivened me.

It felt so good to see people from home. As it usually does. But my home ward for sure..

There is something about those people. I'm so glad that I never took them for granted. Something that makes them stand out above all the rest.

I think it's because they have a lot of trust in themselves and hope in others. They just live. Really live. And it immediately liberates others from their own self-doubt or hopelessness.

Also. Chloe. Thank you for that huge compliment of a Blog Award.
I've never felt so honored.


I love people.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011


I kick butt at school! YEAH.
Okay... so .... maybe there is not that much butt-kicking. BUT i'm not failing. Not even close!! I'm so proud of myself.
Today, I received a compliment. Out of the blue. Does anyone know how FAR those things can go?
I'm overjoyed because some person said a tiny thing that she probably forgot by now, but my self-esteem has been set fire to, and I'm starting to believe it.
That's the best part of a compliment. Not the part where someone else said it, or whatever, but because you start to believe it. Then you start to become it, live up to it.

I had a bishop once tell me, "Decide on what kind of person you like and then become it. Just do it."
Well... Along those lines... But basically, I cherished them forever.
I want to be that compliment she gave me SO BAD. Of course I'm not that all the time. In fact, I'm not even that most of the time. But now... She gave me some courage to try.

I must say, my recalcitrance in this school/city/people took a toll...
I believed what I wanted.
Oh, The downward spiral of belief and its systems. How petty it is, how well it portrays the human existence.
I supposed what I wanted, first, and then searched everywhere for the oddities as to add to my assumptions.
I have a plan, however.
How to Stay on the Right Track Healthily:
1: Stop second-guessing yourself. You're never as wrong as you think you are.
2: Never stop checking yourself with Him. You're never as concrete as you think you are.
3: Be grateful of all.

So.... Here is a gift to myself.

To you who lost faith in me, to you who laughed in my face, Thank you.
To you who said I could not do it,
who shook your head and sighed, I thank you.
To you who was reluctant to let me be happy, who did not want to see me go, who held on tightly and ironically ran away from the things you held dear, Thank you.
For discouragement, frustration, disbelief, and fear, you have my deepest regards.

For with out you, me, you would not have come to realize that you have control over your beliefs about yourself. Neither would you have doubted yourself in the first place. But that's the beauty of it, isn't it?
The Ying-Yang of life always makes things clear and obvious.

It is quite liberating, actually, to be released from the clutches of yourself.
Of course, this won't be the last time, I take myself hostage in my character doubt...

But for now, I feel free. I know it. I'm alive. and that's all I can do right now. Just to know that I live and breathe... and still love despite those who hurt.

There will be those who will always be a mystery to me. An infuriating, miserable, ridiculous mystery. For I do not know why the ability to make up a mind is so beyond the bounds of possibility for so many. Nor do I understand how when a decision is made, others that are consequential to you are not involved.

But, it is because of these vexations why I know who I am, and how life is meant to be lived. or how it's not meant to be lived, and by default.... well.... how it's meant to be lived. :)

So, again, Thank you, opposition. Thank you, self. Thank you, void. Thank you, hurt.
Because of your abbhorance, the exhilarating taste of existence is that much sweeter.

P.S. That was good ole Andy Warhol. Those "Silver Clouds" he did just sort remind me of curiosity and the power it has to create a sense of freedom and breathability. Enjoy!

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Mint Condish

In honor of my newish life, I've opted for a newish look for my blog:)
I love changing it, I'm going to be honest. I take great pleasure in the layout and look of where I sometimes write. I even took that picture all by myself.
Speaking of Honesty...

I think I'm about to honestly say what I think of this place: I have no clue what I'm doing here yet.

My roommate is awesome. The academics are engaging. The professors are helpful. But am not in love. Yet?

I'm in a type of culture shock. Even coming from a place where the populace is overwhelmingly LDS and maybe even a mini-me of Provo, it at least seemed like Earth.
Not... a cloud.

BUT. That's only the sad part of this place. (other than the fact that every time I get on Facebook, I feel an incessant impulse to draw blood from my skin, revert to Tourette's, and end my account's life in a whirl of anguish and despair to compensate for my torment at not ever being involved in the joy and fun and awesomeness occurring at home)
. . .
The good news is that I'm at college and am admittedly having fun .. sometimes.. TOO!

Though at first I thought they would be the death of me, the girls here in my hall are spectacular!! Every single one of them is hilarious.

Also, the campus itself is beautiful.
Every day, I walk up a hill of trees and glory and beauty.

I'll post pictures later probs.

Saturday, June 11, 2011


So, I'm listening to Dave Matthews right now

Does anyone appreciate musicians anymore?
I don't know.

But, he's mindblowing.

Anyway, I'm glad I finally found him in my 16th year of life.
He's like cheese and wine.

Better with age, baby. Better. With. Age.

Now, I'm not sure to whom whose age I am referring (mine or his).... BUT He definitely grows on you.

I'll send you a link to a fantastic song I was just listening to, if you want : If you appreciate Jazz and the ability of keeping Rhythm in a band, you'll definitely appreciate him. Link to Save Me

Anywayyyy(s): TOmorrrrow. Whitney, Cole, Ari, Parker, Emily, Cami, Jackson, Jenoa, Megan, and Jake will be a-drivin' down to the good ole George who was Sainted (may he live forever.)

I'm excited to watch the couple escapades. Maybe Parks will give me some time of day. Since it's he and I who are not realtionshipping currently. (me for forever...)

Prepare ye, after our return, you will not recognize the late Ari Kokol.
Instead, a peeling tomato will probably return in her place.

Skin Cancer anyone? Naaah. SPF 305.

Breakfast at Hannany's

Once, I was really happy to see the people I loved gathered in a tent watching HilDuff.

Twice, I laughed.

Thrice, ..... ? (what things happen three times?)

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Oh, The Tides...

I've decided to come back to this. Dangit.
I blame Sar.
Mostly because it is her leaving that has really started to get the ball rolling. The ball that is rolling is also called my emotions. They've been dormant for a couple weeks now....

Sarah. Elizabeth. Barrus.

If nothing good at all came out of this year, Sarah did.
When she came to live with me, it was a dream come true. People asked how we could even handle living together, how we could handle being with each other for that many months.
I never hesitated once. I told them all that it was the best thing that ever happened to me.

We've always been best friends. Probably since we were 3 and 4, never has there been a beat missed or a tear left undried or a hug left too early between us. It's amazing to have friends at all walks of life, but Sarah has been the one constant in every step of mine.

I miss her.
I miss her more than is thought possible.

It's interesting how in control of my emotions I am lately. I rarely cry.
But the day after graduation, her absence became way too apparent, way too unavoidable.

So here I am. Just sitting. Thinking about her. Because I realize who she is in my life. What she means to me.

She is Home to me.

And I'm leaving for college.
My friends are slowly disappearing.
My family will be away.
My view of the world has altered.
And Sarah is gone.

I'm resisting the urge to make a soap-opera joke or a drama joke right now, because even on this stupid blog of a blaring screen, I feel that vulnerability.

So, for once. I'll just let it be.
Sarah always said that.
Just. Let it be.

Monday, June 6, 2011

The beginning of the end of the beginning of the end of the beginning of the endless circle of an existence

The end of an era as commenced.
And thus the beginning of my life Saga has also.

It's one in the morning, hopefully sufficiently late enough so that this post seems completely unimportant enough for my standards.

Today, I clicked on my notes in Facey.
There were only two there. One was a poem my mom wrote (no one knows why I put that there), the other one of those twenty-five things about yourself crap writings.

So, of course, I read what I had written as a Sophomore.
I deemed the situation appropriate, since graduation ensued a moment ago.

The point of my musings is that I realized who I was back then:
Kind of obnoxious. (I always seem to be shouting, even in written text). A little naive. (I sound like a crazy child.)

But most importantly I knew exactly what I wanted. Life, school, preferences, people.

Unfortunately, some of those aspirations have since turned into what-if's, and whatever's.
My biggest dream was about college. Go figure.

Here I am, BYU. I'm right here.
Where did that enthusiasm go?
For anything... ?
It's weird how, the older I get, the more tired I become. I'm sure there is laughter at the irony of Ari Kokol using words like "older" and "tired." To some, I seem a bottomless pit of neverending, frequently loud-mouthed snide remarks, and high energy.
(when I say "some," I mostly just mean my mom.)
I hope it's just a phase. The parasitic effects of ole Senioritis must be trying to hold on, for one more week.

In a way, I kind of want to get back to that old self. Full of enthusiasm. Scourged with ambition.

Random thought (thinking about enthusiasm and ambition): I love Matthew Maddix. What was said about him at graduation by Spencer, hit it right on the money.
He makes everyone feel important. He genuinely takes an interest into every soul he sees. The best part is- he actively seeks out those souls. American Fork was a better place because it knew him Its walls were basked in his ever life-fulfilling smile, to that we're all grateful.

Saturday, May 28, 2011



We played at Cavestock our Senior year.

Courtesy of Chloe Ann Mehr. We've it documented.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Breathing Some Eyre

Today, we tried out for good ole Cavestock
To answer your question, I have no idea. Really I don't.

BUT it was fun:) I always always always love playing with Shelb and Adam.

Secret Talent.

So, on Saturday, I went with my beautiful mother to the movies.
We saw Jane Eyre. Casted perfectly. Captured brilliantly. Directed beautifully.
It is my favorite book. I'm so pleased with its creativity without betraying the accuracy.

Jane Eyre is one of the most beautiful characters ever written. Her firm grasp on reality, in life, and in herself is peculiarly paralleled with her quiet nature.
She is the most interesting persona to me.
A walking contradiction. You would not expect her to be the resilient woman she is....
And yet....
She is who she is.
No apologies.
No regrets.
She deals with pain in the most logical way, not letting anyone get in the way of who she knows she is meant to be.

She doesn't let her emotions control her without forgetting to attend to them.

Her perfections lies in her accepting of her imperfections, her contradictions, and her peculiarities as strengths, as defining qualities.

I bring it up, because I forget every time why I love the book. Until I read it again, or, in this case, I'm reminded of it by a beautiful adaptation for film.

I'm not a feminist or anything...(?) but for the time period, and even for our day, she proves to women and to men, that independence is crucial to the growth and success of any individual.

She is the heroine of the book, not because she saved anyone, but because saved herself. She gave up all of her wants, maybe even her needs, to preserve the most sacred thing to her- that being her independence.
She won because she decided she would.

For every crossroads, for every storm (allegorical as well as literal), for every beating, whipping, and shunning, she never lost sight of who she was/is/will be.
Was, Is, and Will Be are all the same anyway. A form of Being, right?

That's why I love her. She just. Is.
She is not afraid to just Be.

Don't even get me started about Mr. Rochester.
He loves freely. He appreciates the free spirit. He understands the need for the spirit to be connected before love becomes a reality.

Also. He has his opinions, and sticks to them. Again, without apologies or regrets like Jane. He doesn't shove them down people's throats, nor does he shut away anyone else's.

He is completely confident and can pierce your soul with his eyes. He's just a man's man. Rugged. Awesome. Smart. He and Jane are intellectual equals.

Both he and Jane are walking contradictions. Or it's just how the world labels them anyway.

Maybe, we as humans are supposed to be ostensibly contradictory, but the opposites work together to reinforce our strengths. To uphold the seeming incompatible truths of our characters.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

As Much As I Hate To Admit, Birthdays Are Freakin' Great.

April 27, 1993.
A very intriguing girl was born.
Her eyes wide open, her hair in mats.
A star shined brightly for one who could ..... skat.?

That was a poem I just wrote about myself.
Totally awkward, yet surprisingly necessary.

My morning started off great-
My eyes drifted open on their own, and when my mind realized it was conscious, I did a little dance, albeit still under the covers.
Sarah gave me the best gift ever- a Fedora and a freakin sweet necklace.
She threw it to me in a plastic bag.
I've never been more happy.

On time (somehow) to school, I was wished and wished and wished Happy Birthday! by many a folk.
Mikelle gave me the best gift ever- a Barbie bag enclosing a GORGEOUS scarf, accompanied by the most well-written, sincere card that only Mikelle and a few others can whip out of their pens. Also, her sister hand made the card. It was adorable.

Later, in Journalism, Chloe gave me the best gift ever- A tin full of yellow-frosted cupcakes for the class to share. :) they were ridiculously delicious, as only Chloe can make the best cupcakes ever.
Except for Steve,
Fifteen minutes later,
had come in bearing an equally scrumptious cupcake:) (only not to share, though I did later, with Martin.)
They sang Happy Birthday to me.:) :) :) suuuper awkward.

Mrs. Dougher gave me some candy.

At lunch.
At lunch, Cami and Whitney summoned me.... where I was sort of dragged into the dreaded atmosphere of ... dread.(?)

Presented to me was a cake, blinding-white, with blue frosting on the edges and a GIANT STAR OF DAVID made of yellow, in the very center.
Handed to me were pink, white, and black balloons, the biggest one saying, and I quote, "fabulous, flirty, and thirty!"

18 seconds later, I see Parker and his huge mouth. The entire school lunch-room sang, maybe at the top of their lungs, yet again, the awkward birthday song.

I really don't think my face could have gotten redder.
Or hot.
(and ornery.)<-----(haha SJS and LAC)

Then, we ate cake. and Shelbie gave me the best gift ever- NandNorah's Infinite Playlist. I watched it later in the night.

What a splendidly awkward but totally necessary day.

Sunday, April 24, 2011


Best weekend ever. Really. Want to know why? Well, that's too bad, because I'm not spilling any Deets!!!
Just know, that sometimes, after years and years of waiting and groaning and running and mumbling and just wanting to take a blessed walk in the park away from all that is and was.... Well. You get what you need.

Saturday. April 23. You must admit, it was a beautiful, blessed Saturday.

Today, however, I taught my first lesson in Primary! (I now teach the eleven-year-olds namely Meghan, Jasmine, Courtney, Caitlyn, Emily, and beautiful Adi Jensen)
They are hilarious. / they are not funny, but they somehow thing everything that comes out of my mouth is intended as a joke. .. Maybe it's the hair? I dunno.
But they really are a joy.
We talked about Easter today.

We talked about Resurrection.

We talked about the tradition of an egg and where the devil it comes from . (If you wanted to know, it's French and the Egg is a symbol of the Stone that had to be overturned by the Angel Elias)

But most importantly we spoke of hope.
The Original Hope.

Hope is a funny thing. (As my girls would probably burst out laughing at this point...)
It drives us to attempt the impossible. It drives us to surrender any doubts, fears, insecurities and to bound into the seemingly dark, desolate, empty space. Hoping that someone is there to catch us, feel us, understand us, love us, vouch for us.

In a way the only hope that is actually real, that actually works, is the hope that is somewhat knowledge.
It's an action.
We put that hope to action, plug it into the equation, set that hope on fire and watch it take of running, watch the solution appear from the sea of division signs and square roots, watch it conflagrate.

And even if that hope burns and dies, there is still the satisfaction of actually trying.
Failing is never the end, It's just the time where you learn you cannot fly, but maybe you can ride a scooter, instead. Then maybe one day, you'll try and fly again, and you never know....
Maybe hope is just an experiment you try over and over until it becomes reality.
Keep hoping, keep trying, until that hope is who you are: a hoper--> a doer--> a seeker--> a finder.

Anyway. I love those girls. They're beautiful. They're at the stage where they don't know what it's like to doubt. Not anything. Not their looks, or their grades, or their peers, or the world, or themselves. They have so much hope for things. Not anything like the Jr. High and High School kids who worry too much, who "know" the world is harmful and cruel, and who "know" that they are not good enough.

And guess who is the happiest out of all the world?

What's needed most is sometimes the reassurance that your hope is not in vain.
Who is the person to assure you that it's not?
It's yourself. (+2 others)

To need=to make a commitment.

Happy Easter, Everyone.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


There is one good thing about my life: My Life in New York.
and It's reminiscent of Mal and Mik. Don't worry, you two, I've not forgotten you.

It is hilarious to watch the new two, a.k.a. Laura and Shelbie gawk, squak, and oogle over the yellow lights, smelly hobos, and every single cab maybe or maybe not being the cash cab.

I love sharing this part of my life with others. It's surreal. Like two twins separated at birth, (just now meeting int their late thirties who discovered that the other had a similar life including a cat, an ex-husband, and an obsession with David Bowie), my two loves/lives are once again meeting. :)

Sitting here. Watching Those Two stare out the window of my father's apartment, enthralled. Typing semi-furiously on this ancient laptop of Laura's. I've not been so happy in a long time.

Shelb pointed out that this is something we three have needed. To escape into a world of bigger and better, into a breath of fresh air, is something we have subconsciously been craving. I think we all need a little oxygen. I'm beyond grateful to be getting that good ole O2 with Laur and Shelb in the good ole NYC.

P.S. My father is and will always be the same- the best tour guide in the country with a mouth and a nose.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Fuel for Fire

You know those girls who write names over and over and over again? and then one more time for good measure. and after about 4 minutes and 39 seconds, the page is covered in that name, and the curly letters with hearts all around it make the page look like somebody puked a cupid on it.


It's stupid. That's all I have to say about it.

Another thing..... I've been trying to listen to this band that basically everybody I talk to SWEARS BY.
And. I must admit.
I hate it. It's the worst. ever. I have a weird reaction/retaliation to its "musicality"/ it sounds like a freakin steamroller attempting the height of a pitch much like unto a tween girl happening upon her long-lost b.f.f. from, like, furevur ago.

>..? "3 in the mornin, better get some sleepin soon" - from said "band." (if you could call it that)


Almost done with DANG online classes!!! Hopefully Wheetneey will help me with health.

oh my gosh. this band sucks. I'm trying. I'm trying.

okay. next topic:
They are symbolic.
As usual.
But sometimes, I like when people sing about it.

It's like music to my ears (no literal pun intended) after listening to rubbish.

P.S. I will never tell you the sucky band. On account of, I feel bad gossiping about them... (in case they hear me...)

GOOD NOTE: The Kooks are moving up on my list of FAV'S. (fav's? really, Ari?)

go on... listen to Naive. It's beautiful.

P.S.S. This is what is known as a puke post. Learn to lovem.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Financial Blit.

This is the main point I learned in Financial Lit today:

and I quote, "If you're alive, you are at risk at something." (visit this link if you don't believe me)

I basically laughed out loud when I read it.
Then... I thought about it.
And, even though it's the most ridiculous claim ever stated, the truth of it is hard to ignore.

Riskkk. The game of Life.

Best news ever:
age does not affect the matters of the heart.

P.S.S I"m changing my name to Hannah, Jolene, Sarah, Meg, or (if worse comes to worst) You.
Then he can sing to me. And my name will be in there somewhere. Even if it is "I could hold You in my aaaarms," in which case I still win.

Ray is a real man. Beard. Voice. Guitar. EYES. MANE.
He's a lion to me. And I've never actually told anyone this before, but lions are sort of my thing. Yay for posted secrets. ... (...p.s.s.s(s?.) One day I will tell you all about my deal with lions..)

I'm done for.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Just sometimes need a push.

FRiday Night.
HOLY cow. (no reference to my previous post)

Thursday and Friday night was the talent show.
AMERican Fork HIGh school. GAHH.

how am I supposed to post if I have no words to use/!?

I will start with my gratitude. Having the opportunity to be surrounded by some of the most amazing musical people is a dream in and of itself. I'm just also ridiculously happy to have gotten a part of my self back that comes with a confidence I had lost.

Can I post some lyrics?.... k.

All This Time by Maria Mena

you self destructive
little girl
pick yourself up
don't blame the world
so you screwed up
but your gonna be ok
now call your boyfriend
and apologise
you pushed him pretty
far away last night
he really loves you
you just don't always love yourself.

all this time
all this time
you have had it in you
you just sometimes need a push

all this time
all this time
you have had it in you
you just sometimes need a push

think all the mean girls
that pulled your hair
are barefoot now and
pregnant there
and you write pop songs
and get to travel
round the world

all this time
all this time
you have had it in you
you just sometimes need a push
all this time
all this time
you have had it in you
you just sometimes need a push

so you've had some detours
some stupid men
now we know what not
to do again
besides you lucked out

all this time
all this time
you have had it in you
you just sometimes need a push
all this time
all this time
you have had it in you
you just sometimes need a push


To my pushes: Shelbie, Laura, Sarah, Mikelle, Han, Chloe.
You are the reasons for everything. You're my pick-me-ups. You're my back. You're my right hand (just pretend i'm an Octopus).
But most importantly you listen. You understand that I understand and are willing to take my words with either a grain of salt or a take to heart.
I know I screw up a lot. A lot. And I'm being extremely hypocritical by making this post kind of Diary-esque.... but Honestly. I don't know who I'd be with out you. (Same goes to you other readers who know who you are, but I'm not mentioning your name.)

Although I might have screwed up these last months of our post-childhood pre-life, I'm so grateful for those surprising life-changing experiences. (Aren't they always surprising?)

I know for scientific fact (I'm a scientist) that if you look for the worst things in your life that affirm your worst expectations, your life will miserable. Full of those "duh's" that make true your belief system.

But, if you look for the best things in your life, suddenly your life becomes its best. You become who you always were. You remember what you always knew. You transform into your best self- which is the self that is infinitely growing, changing, learning, healing, coping, becoming entirely real. good and bad. all of it.

Feel free to eat some grapes with the cheese I just threw at you.

Also. Girls. Let's stop blog warring, okay? I'm disappointed in the justification of it all.
Even though I know you are not horrible people, you are not being very tactful. It's blogging, not slandering.

Know this: there is a lot of love out there.. But only if you are willing to look for it, give it, and accept it.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Parking Lot Fiasco/ TIPS FOR MEN.

How many Thank-You's to Codename: RaChelle Stwarto do you think will suffice for yesterday's hilariousness??
Story time?

It all began on a perfectly humdrum, after-school day in the school parking lot. (A.K.A. The pink ticket's favorite place to kick it.) When, from the corner of my eye, I beheld a red car trying to make it over the concrete where... you know... you're not supposed to try and drive a car over.
Sure enough, "RaChelle" had managed to unwittingly high-center her car with the wheels on either side of the forbidden concrete hump. Much like unto this heifer---------------------->-------------->--------->----->

If you're ever bored and want to boost the macho morale of some hot Mexicans and a Korean...... Here's how a few tips....


STEP 1. Hunt for the beautiful, half-witted-decision-making girl with car in a pickle (in this case ON a pickle)
STEP 2.Stand around in a giant group surveying the damage.
STEP 2b. disregard any cops around who think they are helping but they are not.

STEP 3. Take orders from said beautiful, yet accident-prone girl.

STEP 4. After minutes pass, finally lift car off ground using brute strength and grunt a lot ....(I'll leave this one up to your imagination)

STEP 5.Watch wistfully as they drive away in somewhat altered car in blissful admiration at the manly man work you have done.

What a great. day.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Thank you, Presidents.

For giving us an absolutely pointless holiday/ best idea ever.

Here's a list of pointless things in honor of the pointless holiday. (I really hope the Gov gov doesn't liquidate my assets for being a quote unquote national threat/ disgruntled citizen)

1. Woke up as pissed as my cat.
2. Pet the cat.
3. Started reading Emma.
4. Contacted a fellow citizen about Emma; we're book clubbing it(!).
5. Epically battled the cat. (cat won... idonwannatalkabouit)
6. Ate some toast.
7. Watched sweet documentaries about the symbols and secret organizationsof our country (to be somewhat patriotic/just in case the gov was listening...)
8. Told myself I wasn't schizophrenic.
9. MATH. -+=XX (If you get this math joke, you're a dweeb. Join me in my dweebiness.)

I did not have a 10enth thing.
But I DID have a tenth finger in which to use my backspace with.
Caps lock was also used, just not as much as backspace. TO CAPS, I APOLOGIZE.

Also, I literally have not been to a single scholastic class period in over a week.
Hopefully my eyes remember how to feign awake when I'm in the back of my evil child development class.
I swear, the reason it's called Child Development is because the children in there are developing at an INCONCEIVABLY slow rate. (caps lock discretion no longer acknowledged).
They're like monkeys.
Fellow classmates of C.D..------------>

Even a few of them seem to compliment monkeys.

Speaking of animals. My dog tried to get up the steps... but he just fell down.
He definitely got eaten by 6 or 7 steps worth of gravity.
Poor boy.

These are words.

Friday, January 21, 2011


As I've been sitting here for the past week and 8 minutes, struggling to find the right words to explain that my life was altered on Friday, I realized that I cannot tell you how.
I can not tell you how Spencer Nelson literally handed my life back to me in an envelope
or how it was that my self was restored by a question Janine Paulson asked me,
or how it happened that my being was recovered and reminded by Michael Gray.

It is too sacred to me to expose the how's and wh
y's; to tell background stories.
But I am willing to explain the foreground stories. The story of our futures, or what we can see of it anyway.

Pictures courtesy of Chloe Ann Mehr

Struggle: To make forceful or violent efforts to get free of restraint or constriction.

On Friday, January 21, 2011, every person who attended the Hero Assembly came out with an assurance. Assurance that there are heroes sitting next to us, not because of a logo and a cape, but because of a heart and a mind. Because those sitting in the auditorium realized that they themselves have the potential, no, the incredibly likely fact that they can become heroes. If only they so choose.

Courtesy of Chloe

SO many names upon the walls, not just the people spotlighted, but ones nominated, the names that were submitted.
Meaning: kids in our school took the time to grab a piece of paper, deliberate on a name that represents somebody who was HEROIC to them, write that name down, walk over to the locker, and turn it in.

People took time to do that for a lot of other people.
Names written down representing those people who have helped by some unknown, irreversible, and deep-seated ways.

Names that represent people who have struggled and have broken free.

Breaking free? What even is that?
It's an inner battle.
It's a struggle with something on the outside that is only the facade of a true battle.
The real battle is within. The battle to do good over bad. The battle to decide who you are, what you want, who you'll become, who you'll change over who others tell you you are, what you want, who you'll disintegrate into.

The battle is of who you really are in retaliation to who dictates what you are.
It maybe your family, friends, poverty, drugs, lying, underestimating, denying, running. or even your own self.
Winning the battle equals breaking free. Winning the battle against everything and everyone who tries to tell you who you're NOT.

"breaking free" is just another way of saying that The person who you ARE has finally decided to choose the good, to choose the right. Breaking free is the final act of winning the battle within and seeing the light.

Saturday, I was with one of the greatest boys this world
He doesn't believe the depth he possesses, therefore unable to believe in the being that he is.
I can't believe I felt the same as he did just barely.
I can't believe he cannot see himself the way I see him.

Yesterday I was with one of the greatest girls in this world.
She doesn't believe in the being that she is, therefore unable to believe in the potential that she owns.
I can't believe she cannot see herself the way I see her.

All of these people, all of these inner battles, all of these names, running around on this earth trying to find themselves, scrummaging for any hope, any remnant of a trace of themselves, desperate for a mirage of who they think they are in all of the dysfunction and confusion of the world.
When all we had to do was look inside ourselves to find ourselves.

Alexandre Dumas, one of my favorite writers, once said, "There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state to another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die, that we may appreciate the enjoyments of life."

It is by our own standards that we dictate what our happiness is. No one else's. It is, in fact, impossible to determine our lives based on another's. Who is the world to say what joy means to you?

Happiness, then, our own responsibility.
Responsibility scares people.

Friday was a beautiful day in so many ways unseeable.
I'm grateful to you, all of you!
I hope I'm better prepared for the next struggles I'm bound to face in this lifetime. But the next time, it won't be about finding who I am. It'll be about finding who I'll become.