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.

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.

Stocked.

Yesterday,

We played at Cavestock our Senior year.

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

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.

anyway.

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.

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,

Who,

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.

Oy.

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.

Really.

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.

LIFE!!!!!!

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.

NUEVOyork?

HELLO. I SUCK AT POSTING.

BUt.

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.

Gah.

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.