Tiny Little Flower

Tiny Little Flower

“Who would have thought it possible that a tiny little flower could preoccupy a person so completely, that there simply wasn’t room for any other thought.” – Sophie Scholl


Am I Really Free?

Me: “I have finally become confident in myself that I can now go and enjoy seeing a movie, walking in the park, driving to a city alone.”

Him: “Do you mean alone with (my boyfriend) or you mean by yourself?”

Me: “Alone. By myself.”

Him: “But you are so vulnerable.”

Me: “Isn’t that the concern for every woman?”

Him: “That’s why they go places together.”

Me: “But it’s okay for men to go and enjoy places alone?”


Shouters of Change

We are the Lost. The Dark. The Wishful. The Wondering, Aspiring. Intellectual.

We are the Weaker Sex.

We are the Kitchen Dwellers, the Vacuum Queens, the Baby Makers.

I must feel a connection to wonderful, beautiful, intelligent women of the past that way. Women who were looked down upon for even having the slightest sliver of radicalized progression in the morose days of which they lived.

So-called radical women, although humanitarian, who only wanted a voice of their own.

The Whispers of History.

Joan of Arc. Elizabeth I. Marie Curie. Sacajawea. Mother Theresa. Dorothea Dix. Annie Oakley. Emily Dickinson. Frida Kahlo. Susan B. Anthony. Sojourner Truth. Amelia Earhart. Georgia O’Keeffe. Eleanor Roosevelt. Helen Keller. Maya Angelou. Harriet Tubman. Marilyn Monroe. Sylvia Plath. Rosa Parks. Sophie Scholl. Anne Frank. Kasturba Gandhi. Margaret Thatcher. Malala Yousafzai.

And many, many others.


To all the Rosie the Riveters.

To all the Hermi0nes.

To all the Little Lulus.

To all the Julias.


To all the ones who was told You Can’t Because…

You Shouldn’t Because…

Weak. Irrational. Emotional. Sensitive. Naive. Soft. Sexy. Critical. Ditzy. Hormonal. Complicated.

Don’t ever give a damn

For you are the Shouters of Change.


*Julias: A reference to the free-spirited character from George Orwell’s 1984.

It’s Your Life

‘A new year, a new me’ right?

If that is what inspires you, who am I to take that quote away from you and tell you whether or not it is cliche? 

However, why plan the time when it is best for you to change yourself for the better? Why put off transforming yourself into a better person (especially when you have ideas on how to do so)? The time is always now. The time to blossom into the next uplifting phase of your life is always now.

Don’t wait your life away on that one perfect “moment.” That one “perfect” time of the year. I know, I remember stating in a previous entry that one of the reasons I love fall is because it makes me feel I can start over again…but, think about it. You start off the new part of the year thinking to yourself, “Oh yes, now I can start all over again, and I will get it right this time!” Then you start to feel overwhelmed. You start to feel dissatisfied with your goals that you had set up for yourself the month before. You start to change your perspective on things, and you start to find new goals. “Oh, well, I can start those new goals next spring.” Next winter. Next year. Next. Next. Next.

No, if you are evolving as a person, and you want to take on new inspirations, new dreams, goals, whatever, the time to do so is now.

Why rely on a blasted time-frame, a year, to find the content and happiness for yourself? Our lives are short, especially when you factor in unsuspecting circumstances such as accidents or sickness. We are so fragile. Our time is so fragile. 

I do not have room to speak. I have had this mindset for as long as I can remember, and I even felt this way back in good ol’ 2013. I’ll stop eating so much once 2014 gets here. I am now trying to change – mentally – on how to live life to the fullest as I can. I don’t have time to wait, and neither do you. 

My goals – to start right now – is to become healthier, to eat less fast-food and processed foods. To read poems and literature that I have not yet read or material I have never even heard of. To travel to places I have never been before…even if they are only forty-five minutes away. To paint my dreams, to sketch more. To organize my life, my priorities. 

What are your goals for yourself? Do you feel that you have been putting off those goals and improvements for your life? What are they?

“Every day I discover more and more beautiful things. It’s enough to drive one mad. I have such a desire to do everything, my head is bursting with it.” – Claude Monet

Just Ordinary

When I look at my short life, and I evaluate it comparatively to those who have made something of their names, I do not see any legitimate comparison at all. I find myself to be quite dull and lacking in all aspects of my life. Sure, I have had a few successes, but do they really mean anything? To me, perhaps. To my parents, sure. But to the world? They haven’t even a clue as to who I am. To God? I am quite sure that it means everything to Him. However, I also want to make a name for myself, and I’m sure He understands that.

I have my heroes and heroins; those of who I look up to and can’t help but delve my time and spirit into reading about their glorious little lives. As much as I shouldn’t, I evaluate my life, my struggles, my successes, and yet I come back empty-handed. I should be proud, shouldn’t I? Yet, I feel there is something in my past that is missing.

I was never a straight-A student, yet if I applied myself the way that I should have I may have surprised myself. I never considered myself to have extraordinary gifts. I’m an artist, yes. I have gained reputation in school and to others of my talent, but is that enough? I don’t see myself as anything special, yet I yearn from my soul to be known and to make some sort of difference in this cold, yet beautiful world. I have never been considered brilliant, yet I desire to become so.

What is it in our lives, in our being that predetermines what kind of affect we are going to have on the rest of the world? To inspire people. There are those who walk day-by-day to work, to school, through life, yet hardly anyone knows their name. There are those who have tried and tried, and yet hardly anyone knows their name. What makes a person a scholar, a poet, an artist, a scientist, a name that is on every wall of every aspiring college student who wants to make a name of their own? A name whose quotes are flittering through the minds and hearts of intellectuals and the gifted. A name you see on billboards to remind the oncoming drivers or passengers that they have the chance to change their own lives?

I can’t help but think about the destinies of man and of the fates of each person I come into contact with. Who are they going to become? Where are they going to end up? Why are some of us born with tremendously high IQs, yet some of us are born with very low IQs? Sometimes I wonder of those who even though they have low IQs, are they not ingenious because they can use what they have obtained to the best of their advantage? I have known of people who have been born with mental handicaps, yet they are much more clever than even some geniuses. This also pertains to those with physical handicaps as well, as it always amazes me how people who have been born differently or who were in an accident ingeniously adapts to human society. Then it occurs to me, that maybe the reason why some of us are predestined to inspire millions of other people is because we have used what is given to us to the full, if not overflowing, capacity.

By all means, use what you have. You never know where it’s going to take you.


“God, how I ricochet between certainties and doubts.” – Sylvia Plath

Soul Murderer Pt. 2

I’m depressed.

I know, my blog started out somewhat uplifting, didn’t it? I think at the time I wrote my first blog post, my soul was crying out for some way to cope with the stresses and the slow downfall of my spirits. My brain needed to write down its innermost thoughts and successes. A cry for help to organize its chaos. Writing is a way for me to discover who I am. It’s a way for me to realize the feelings I have inside me. 

It’s like this: One moment, I will feel somewhat alright, content. I will be happy for just a little while, and that is when I feel the beauty of the world. I will breathe the air and enjoy the moment…for just a little while. The next moment, the smallest of things will hit me in the chest and leave me breathless and weak. Always have I been a sensitive person, but even more now than ever. It’s like I can’t even handle constructive criticism like I was once becoming accustomed to in my maturity. The loudest of noises feels personal to me. Life’s little disadvantages makes me feel like a complete failure, and that I should just accept it. I feel like sleeping for most of the day, and in the mornings, I feel there is no reason for me to even get up. For the most part, I feel sadness and anger more than I feel joyful and full of life. Laziness has taken over me completely, and the effortless of tasks leave me so exhausted. The things I once loved to do or felt excited about leave me thinking, “What’s the point?” or, “Why should I even try?” It’s the most horrible thing to feel. I push loved ones and friends away, and I feel that they are doing the same thing to me. I hate being hugged because as silly as this sounds, it takes me away from my thoughts. I sadly feel so distant from everyone, but yet…I want to be distant from everyone. It just doesn’t make any sense.

Frustrated. Angry. Sad. Unaccomplished. Lazy. Irrational. Uninspired. Exhausted. Stressed. Conflicted.

Also, I have always had high levels of anxiety. Never have I been able to manage it, and once, I even went to the emergency room thinking that I was having some sort of heart problem (I had heart surgery when I was four) only to find that I was probably having an anxiety attack. Well, why don’t you try to get help? Why don’t you talk to a therapist? The conflict is this: I really want to speak to someone who can help me understand why I feel the way I do. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s just a silly chemical imbalance. However, not only can I not afford to go see a therapist, I also feel weak. I feel like I should be able to handle my moods, anxiety, and depression myself. I have always been that way, it’s not just a societal issue. When I was having urges to do terrible things a couple of years ago (although I never wanted to do them, mind you), I tried my hardest to think of other things or do tasks in order to preoccupy my mind. That was a scary time for me. Sometimes I still have those urges, but they tend to go away after some of my “training.” Even then I didn’t really want to see a therapist. I felt I could handle it on my own. 

I don’t want to create a pity-party because that is the last thing I want you, my dear reader, to take from this post. My blog is like my diary, but I also want my readers to have something to relate to. It’s always uplifting to me to read that someone else understands. It makes me feel as if I’m not absolutely crazy and that I have their words to hold on to for inspiration. I don’t expect you to comment or to make me feel any better. I just need someone to listen… I know I should pray…but I don’t believe I deserve His mercy. 

Thank you for reading,


Soul Murderer

If there is one thing that you really should not do to someone who is depressed, is to put the blame of their own depression on them.

“You are the one causing your own depression. Just stop feeling so sorry for yourself.”

It’s not like we don’t already blame ourselves for everything else that is wrong in the world or in our lives. It’s like, “Well, there’s another thing that I screwed up. I have failed to even make myself happy.”

Damn it.



What Is Your Source of Inspiration?

Is it music? Is it art? Is it nature?

Is it the way a delicate vine curls itself innocently around the cold, hard, black bar of a guarding iron fence? Is it the way the white sunlight twinkles along the ripples of the turquoise lake? Is it the way a silently graceful ballerina contorts her body in an artistic array of angles and space as she twirls? Is it the musty scent of an old, loosened book whose tattered pages have been turned many times before to the point of frailty?


Is it the thoughtful expression on a stranger’s face as they’re contemplating a silent, but powerful idea in their mind.

Or the way an accomplished athlete stands strong as the curves of their muscles paint their body, and the sweat tracing along their jawline.

For me, my source of inspiration comes from the tiny details of life to the wonderful masterpieces of human intelligence – a variety of things, so to speak. I seek inspiration in the use of color, pattern, and emotion in various works of art. The way the rain looks on the surface of a window. The way I can actually feel when a certain part of a song captures my soul and flows through my veins, taking me to a part of myself that I wish I could reside in forever. That one romantic ballad. That one powerful guitar riff.

The way a spooky ghost story makes me feel like running or looking all around me in hope that I am not alone, and that there are instances of the unexplained. The sound of a hooting owl among the trees. The way silk feels on bare skin. The warm, rising steam as it swirls away from the surface of a cup of tea. Photographs of our wondrous anatomy; cardiac vines, cephalic hills and valleys, the twists and turns of the tunnels of the Viscera. The artistic genius behind the making of the colors of nature – God. 

Certain colors: aquamarine, emerald green, midnight blue, lavender, blood red, rosette mauve – jewel colors. 

The luxuriously strong, yet warm smell of coffee, a pinch of cinnamon. Twinkling of stars, millions of miles away in space unknown. That wonderful sound in one’s voice as they are describing something they’re passionate about; or even yet, the sound of one’s voice when they take an honest interest in what you are saying. A light, perfumed scent of a summer rose. A microscopic, individual design of a winter snowflake. Gothic spires, Romanesque arches, Second-Empire mansards. Swing dancing: so fun and so spirited. The light, reverberating purrs of a contented cat. My all-time favorite: The little melodies of various songbirds in the spring time.

Life is ugly. Life is also beautiful.  

What inspires you? What things in life are you thankful for that deserve your celebration? What helps you go to the place in your mind in which you feel happiest, away from the dark corners of the world? 

Isn’t it a riddle . . . and awe-inspiring, that everything is so beautiful? Despite the horror. Lately I’ve noticed something grand and mysterious peering through my sheer joy in all that is beautiful, a sense of its creator . . . Only man can be truly ugly, because he has the free will to estrange himself from this song of praise. It often seems that he’ll manage to drown out this hymn with his cannon thunder, curses and blasphemy. But during this past spring it has dawned upon me that he won’t be able to do this. And so I want to try and throw myself on the side of the victor.” – Sophie Scholl


A Break Is Needed

I’ve been awake since about three, and although I am incredibly exhausted, I am also very much awake.

I need to reevaluate my life. I need to reevaluate my priorities. I need to reevaluate myself as a person.

I try to formulate myself into someone I’m not, I’m afraid. Someone who is not me at the present (nor was in the past), but someone who I would like to become. However, much as I want to be my ideal self, I become bored and lazy and unmotivated, and so I get myself into the mess that I am in now. I see myself as a knowledgeable, cultured, other-worldly, “walking encyclopedia” kind of person in the future. With in mind of the goal person I emulate myself to be, there comes many challenges. For starters, ever since I was a child I have always had a hard time keeping still. My mind was everywhere, and I wanted to do everything and be everywhere. Teachers insisted that my parents take me to be checked for ADHD, to which they refused. I can never stay focused on the task at hand, and I become bored very easily. One day I’ll say, “I want to learn all about trees and be able to identify all of the leaves!” to which I will read about them…for about a day or so. Then I will become bored, and turn my attention to something else entirely – which makes me feel as if I didn’t finish what I wanted to do.

This lead to problems in school, naturally. I would get bored with the homework and the assignments and drift off to dream-land – sketching whenever I could. I didn’t study as much as I should have, and I never could grasp an efficient strategy on doing so without getting immediately distracted. This may be a reason why I was never very good at math. However, as a twenty-two year old, I should be able to concentrate on what I have been told to do, no questions asked. However, that is still a very difficult thing for me to do, and it infuriates me (toward myself) that I have let things get out of hand. There are days when I feel so exhausted from my efforts and petty anxieties, that my mind becomes so befuddled to the point of vegetation.

“Just stick with it! Don’t give up! Things will get better.” Easier said than done. I don’t really need advice, and I don’t need pep-talk. I need someone to listen unquestionably and to let me know that I’m not alone. In all honesty, I would have to make the opinion that “pep-talk” is just wishful, empty conversation from someone who has nothing else to say. Stop. I don’t need mindless pep-talk. I don’t need obtrusive, overbearing advice either. I just want to know that you are a human being just like I am, and that I am not alone.

I feel the best thing for me to do is to take a break from things. To recuperate. I’m not quitting. My future is too important for me to quit, but I also feel that my future depends on my mind taking somewhat of a vacation as well. Also, prayer wouldn’t hurt in the least. I must do that more often.


My life didn’t please me, so I created my life.” – Coco Chanel


Anxiety and self-doubt is always behind me. Image credit to John “Don” Kenn