To tour the country, or maybe the world, talking to people of all ages about religion and the bible. Educating them. Arguing and debating with them. Getting rid of the fallacies and assumptions, digging in deep to find the truth. What is religion, where is it, who is it, why does it exist?! I just want to do something I love.
It's days like this when I wonder why I'm studying Communication Disorders. Am I selling out, buying a degree for security instead of education? Is a career more important than a life?
4.28.2011
4.26.2011
Memory
Two boys, nearly men. Two young ladies. We are seated in an auditorium filled to the brim with folks who's lives have been touched by one man. A man who left us all so suddenly.
An evening of entertainment, students of past and present invade our senses with words and praises, songs and prayers. All eyes face forward. I try not to look at the empty diet coke cans or the delicately draped jacket that no longer have an owner. These images are sure to elicit tears, but I'm not certain that I have any more to give.
But I can't help it. My mind is bombarded with memories of a presence I have no more. No more pre-performance hugs, no more dinner parties playing Balderdash, no more quiet moments, just us, questioning topics like politics and religion.
I feel that tell tale prick on the back of my eyes, the lump that slowly grows like cancer in my throat. A flood of emotion that consumes my body as I try to remain still and silent in my auditorium seat. A seat that he surely sat in before me. I am gripping the armrests with all my might.
Then there is a soft touch on my hand. A gentle reassurance that life goes on. I look to my right and stare into the eyes of my friend. They are dry. His brow, however, holds immense tension, as if he is being strong for both of us. Our fingers interlock-- this is not a romantic gesture, but rather one of complete friendship and comfort. We both exhale.
Later I will discover that he has let go of his emotions in not as public a manner. The difference between me, an actress prepared for anyone to see me, and someone who's domain is in the back of the theater, leaning over a world of light created by the touch of his fingers. And what powerful fingers they are.
In that moment, I wish that I could have been there for him as well. I would have wanted to embrace him and give him the reassurance and friendship that he so generously gave me. But he wouldn't have waned it. He wasn't capable of fathoming what would happen if someone saw a crack in his iron facade. So I let it lie.
I don't remember every speech or song from that evening. What I recall is having someone who knew where I had been, who understood how I was feeling, share a moment with me. Life will go on. It has. I cherish that moment, that early summer evening, so bittersweet.
I hated the loss of my mentor for so long. I was devastated and frustrated by it-- the first time I was truly forced to grieve. But now I see that life is full of lessons and moments. I am stronger. And I was given this beautiful memory of a friendship that continues to surprise me.
An evening of entertainment, students of past and present invade our senses with words and praises, songs and prayers. All eyes face forward. I try not to look at the empty diet coke cans or the delicately draped jacket that no longer have an owner. These images are sure to elicit tears, but I'm not certain that I have any more to give.
But I can't help it. My mind is bombarded with memories of a presence I have no more. No more pre-performance hugs, no more dinner parties playing Balderdash, no more quiet moments, just us, questioning topics like politics and religion.
I feel that tell tale prick on the back of my eyes, the lump that slowly grows like cancer in my throat. A flood of emotion that consumes my body as I try to remain still and silent in my auditorium seat. A seat that he surely sat in before me. I am gripping the armrests with all my might.
Then there is a soft touch on my hand. A gentle reassurance that life goes on. I look to my right and stare into the eyes of my friend. They are dry. His brow, however, holds immense tension, as if he is being strong for both of us. Our fingers interlock-- this is not a romantic gesture, but rather one of complete friendship and comfort. We both exhale.
Later I will discover that he has let go of his emotions in not as public a manner. The difference between me, an actress prepared for anyone to see me, and someone who's domain is in the back of the theater, leaning over a world of light created by the touch of his fingers. And what powerful fingers they are.
In that moment, I wish that I could have been there for him as well. I would have wanted to embrace him and give him the reassurance and friendship that he so generously gave me. But he wouldn't have waned it. He wasn't capable of fathoming what would happen if someone saw a crack in his iron facade. So I let it lie.
I don't remember every speech or song from that evening. What I recall is having someone who knew where I had been, who understood how I was feeling, share a moment with me. Life will go on. It has. I cherish that moment, that early summer evening, so bittersweet.
I hated the loss of my mentor for so long. I was devastated and frustrated by it-- the first time I was truly forced to grieve. But now I see that life is full of lessons and moments. I am stronger. And I was given this beautiful memory of a friendship that continues to surprise me.
4.22.2011
4.16.2011
Flashdance
I feel the pulse of music.
My body succumbs to it.
My hips sway.
My head tips back.
There is a presence behind me.
"What's your name?"
He is strong, he is close.
I don't want this moment to end.
But in an instant there's a tug on my wrist.
"We have to go"
And my beautiful moment is over.
Outside my ears can't adjust to the quiet.
Am I under water?
I sink into a seat on the bus.
I push my body up the hill.
I pray that my bed will come closer.
Right before burying myself under the covers-
My dresser shakes with vibrations.
A text from he who shall not be named.
He has his own life now.
I needn't be reminded of my emptiness.
Of that welcome presence I cannot keep.
I am always being tugged away,
Or pushed.
My body succumbs to it.
My hips sway.
My head tips back.
There is a presence behind me.
"What's your name?"
He is strong, he is close.
I don't want this moment to end.
But in an instant there's a tug on my wrist.
"We have to go"
And my beautiful moment is over.
Outside my ears can't adjust to the quiet.
Am I under water?
I sink into a seat on the bus.
I push my body up the hill.
I pray that my bed will come closer.
Right before burying myself under the covers-
My dresser shakes with vibrations.
A text from he who shall not be named.
He has his own life now.
I needn't be reminded of my emptiness.
Of that welcome presence I cannot keep.
I am always being tugged away,
Or pushed.
4.11.2011
Lines...
Just listened to all of my saved voice mails from the last three years... way too many affectionate messages that no longer hold value. I feel like I just found an expired coupon.
After digging through these unwanted memories I found the gem I was looking for. At the end of all the messages (many of them have since been deleted, thank goodness) I was greeted by Rip's voice. Rip is a man in his mid- forties. He lives in the Chelmsford area, and he has a great appreciation for theater.
Rip has just offered me the part of Rose in the play he is directing. I wish I could tell you the exact title, it's something to do with Marvin Gardens. The play will go up at the end of June, and I have to say that I am beyond thrilled. The most exciting part of the whole experience is that I will be in the show with my mother! She is playing an eccentric food critic. I very much look forward to the whole experience. :-)
After digging through these unwanted memories I found the gem I was looking for. At the end of all the messages (many of them have since been deleted, thank goodness) I was greeted by Rip's voice. Rip is a man in his mid- forties. He lives in the Chelmsford area, and he has a great appreciation for theater.
Rip has just offered me the part of Rose in the play he is directing. I wish I could tell you the exact title, it's something to do with Marvin Gardens. The play will go up at the end of June, and I have to say that I am beyond thrilled. The most exciting part of the whole experience is that I will be in the show with my mother! She is playing an eccentric food critic. I very much look forward to the whole experience. :-)
4.10.2011
Something to Look Forward to
This morning I met Alex at Sweets and Java to catch up. I haven't seen him since December so it was so awesome to see him again. I reluctantly admit that I was a little apprehensive about seeing him-- what if it was awkward, what if we couldn't think of things to say...
But it was so refreshing, and not at all uncomfortable. It was perfect, talking about college and high school, new friends and old, and what's up for the summer. I can't wait for the end of the year to be reunited with some of my good friends from the past. Spending afternoons with Sam and Laura, and hopefully working on a new film with Alex!!!!
I am a whole new person now. I have had new experiences and I have made some really awesome new friends. But it's nice to know that come summer I will have people who care about me, people who make me feel right at home.
But it was so refreshing, and not at all uncomfortable. It was perfect, talking about college and high school, new friends and old, and what's up for the summer. I can't wait for the end of the year to be reunited with some of my good friends from the past. Spending afternoons with Sam and Laura, and hopefully working on a new film with Alex!!!!
I am a whole new person now. I have had new experiences and I have made some really awesome new friends. But it's nice to know that come summer I will have people who care about me, people who make me feel right at home.
4.05.2011
Alone
I have that feeling again.
Burning a whole in my stomach.
Pricking the back of my eyes.
I want to be happy.
I want to be full of laughter.
Why can't I just be content on my own?
Burning a whole in my stomach.
Pricking the back of my eyes.
I want to be happy.
I want to be full of laughter.
Why can't I just be content on my own?
4.02.2011
Diva's
Those are my faded x's. Despite some scrubbing both last night upon coming home and this morning in the shower, I am still marked. I cannot deny that I am a mere nineteen years old, still too young to buy booze at Diva's Night Club.
Last night Jessie, Amber, and I ventured into Northampton in search of this nighttime hot spot. What we found was an evening full of dancing, laughing, boys, and fun. I am so entirely thrilled with how well the evening went that I cannot help but reminisce and smile.
The one thing that I gained from my brief experience with the poster boy was confidence. I was reassured that yes indeed I can be found attractive by my male counterparts. This came in handy last night.
When leaving the club we ran into a guy that Jessie had met on the bus to Noho (she was really friendly on the bus). He and I talked the whole way to the bus stop back, at least a ten or fifteen minute walk; we talked for the forty-five minute bus ride to UMass, and then he came to Butterfield and we sat in the lounge and talked for at least another hour. Even as I'm typing this my lips are turning up at the corners.
Whether I see him again or not, I am glad that I'm a little bit back in the game. A lot of girls are so good at living the single life and flirting with confidence. This is not one of the skills that I have mastered as of yet, but I am getting better. I think that I will have to make another appearance at Diva's some time soon.
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