Heroic

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.

Oh Gus, Where Art Thou

Dear Public,

While Sol was murdering my beloved car, Gus, I was busy murdering my facade of intelligence.

Sol crashed my car last weak.

"Why was he in the driver's seat in the first place, Ari??" you may ask. The answer is simple. I'm an idiot who lets other idiots drive my car.

Mostly because I'm a pushover/awesomely nice person. (which is how all pushovers describe themselves as)

I WISH. SLAP. ( haw haw haw, Sarah.)

So, anyway. Sam, my car guy (a.k.a. Sarah's weird brother) told me I need a new wheel. A wheel only found at the mystical land of Springville. Of course, me not having a car = somebody needs to drive me to Springydale.

Which brings us to my real point.

Laura drove me there :)

A whole 2 hours with one of my best buddies = I am now feeling so much better. (this post is in abundance of Mathematics)

She's the best. Completely non-judgemental. Never makes me feel like an idiot. and just accepts the ugliness that is my emotions with open arms and a grounded smile.

Anyways. I just love her. She reminds me of who I am and who I can be, and of the people that I forgot to remember to love. (?)

Auf VViedersehen

P.S. WE CREAMED pleasant grove. In their own town. Which was awesome. And I saw a guy there that basically makes my stomach want to escape the confines of my ribcage.

Alas, this is a story for another day, possibly never, on this public domain.

P.S.S.: : : Gus is back. With a new wheel... now he just needs new tires. I need a job. Somebody get me one, having nothing to do with food, please. Thank you, public.

Check, Check.

Hello, I'm Reality,

hahahahhhaah > you look absurd when you try and dismantle my absoluteness, successors of the earth.

Scroogish

You know those rekindled friendships you didn't realize needed rekindling?

I remembered to rekindle some.

You know those new friends that you feel a little too comfortable around, but it doesn't matter because it's like they're old ones?

I got to meet one.

You know when you get so angry at life because there is way too much injustice and wrong in the world to be real but you can't do ANYTHING except sit there and be angry?

I received the opportunity to witness selfless love.

I'm happy me and my rekindled friendship are friends again:)

I'm overjoyed that I got to meet Emily, Laura's cousin. I even sang in front of her. I HATE singing in front of people (consciously), but I felt totally okay with it. Also, Shelbie never lets me down, she's my safety net.

But, I think my Christmas Season has now officially started, because I was present at a miracle. A miracle that I had somehow had managed to forget existed.

Caroling.

I will admit I was completely against to the idea of having a group of strangers awkwardly sing at a family in the cold where they probably thought it was dumb and awkward and patronizing.

But it was none of that.

As I stood toward the back, I watched this broken family with grinning faces and welcoming eyes watching back. There was real gratitude and real love.

This was coming from a family who lost a daughter and a father, and a son who looked in a great deal of physical pain with his crutches and one of his eyes welded shut.

But somehow they were happy to see us. All of them. Taking pictures and smiling.

smiling?

smiling.

That right there is Christmas.

It's weird, but I'd forgotten that feeling of generous love. Not realizing I'd forgotten it until I felt it again at a stranger's home.

And if you know my family, it's pretty embarrassing that I forgot, considering the love our neighbors have shown us in the past.

Anyway. I've been a Scrooge for a while. Hoarding love as if I've never felt it for fear of it slipping away, when in reality that is how love dies. By not being shared. By covering it up and hiding it away. Because love is meant to be shared, like a fire, so it can grow and give warmth.

Merry Almost Christmas.

LLammaaa

Sarah left this morning.

It was the spoiled icing on my cake of let-downs and departures and dejection this week.

ha. ha. ha.

oh the drama of my blog.

Have you felt that things are impersonal, lately?

Or is it just me?

Books, movies, music. Nothing feels unique and just Ari anymore.

Maybe it's because I talk to much. Probably.

I should just stop talking. Then nobody will take what's mine away from me anymore.

haha SELFISHNESS. sweet. Try it sometime. It's really awesome. It makes you feel this big -------->"."

Remember that one time where I'm bi-polar?
Yeah.
Well. I think I hate the winter funk as much as I guiltily embrace it.
I think I'll sit through this winter vacation with as much enthusiasm as a marshmallow on a stick, pre-roasted.

This analogy literally took me 7 whole minutes.

And this is why the winter funk bites. I can't even make up a decent analogy to prove an unprovable point.

Pathiticism:
Ari Kokol



Today, I had a good talk with the Park man. It seems like we haven't even been friends for a while because we haven't gotten a chance to speak to each other like we used to. Always something/one coming up.
He's one of my best friends. Ever since sophomore English class. We joked about blogging about him. So I think I'll blog about him. (let it be reminded of the world who appreciated his talents and humor first). He makes me laugh. a lot. And reminds me to not take life so seriously. Which is ironic, considering where this post is going. or has briefly covered.
And also, he hates people as much as I do. Misery loves company.
Then I hung out at Smoothie King for. an hour?
Good old Martin. He's another funny man. I LIKE FUNNY/ANGRY people. Martin and Parker will be seeing a lot more of me. They don't P.M.S.
ehh. Is this a diary?
Should I start Anne Franking my Blog posts?
Dear Kitty....
I hate the world.
love,
Angsty teenager.


Train of thought. definitely gone off track. What was the track in the first place? I dunno.
I think I'll go Google a picture to make your eyes less hurty.
Pretty pictures. Of fruit maybe? or a baby giraffe.? or Dog the Bounty hunter. Or. an embarrassing photo of Spongebob at last years' Christmas Party, in honor of the Christmas season. ANd/or Shelbie Shill.
Send in your ideas for googled images! You could get the chance to be a contestant on my reality t.v. show and possibly be one of 3 maybe winners. (only on specially marked posts.)

Cold

It's begun.
I realize I'm feeding it.
It=the funk.
The winter funk we all seem to be consumed by every year.
The lack of sun sucks our souls and caring and empathy away.

I feel kinda bad at how ornery we become.
And I'm the worst of them all.



Because really, I'd rather just mope and wallow in my own self pity, than actually be responsible for the choices I'm bound to make.

It's so easy to be indifferent to the problems of others.
So easy to justify why I have "other" things to worry about, instead of your things.
Crazy simple

Amazing Grace:
There's no time to be indifferent.
In English, we're reading a book (refer to above italicized predecessor of the colon). About those whose eyes have seen more rated R content in one MINUTE than mine have in a lifetime.

Curse you, Jonathon Kozol, for forcing us to acknowledge our responsibilty to our opinions.



What I'm saying is: This might be a public apology for my scoffing behavior the last couple of weeks. Due to my realization that I am apart of the epidemic of teenage apathy.