Why Motorcycles are the Best

Today a car got stuck in the middle of a road and began to block traffic. It looked quite hopeless for our huge van to pass through until two motorcyclists slowed down just enough to stick one of their feet on both ends of the car. They continued driving down the road while simultaneously pushing the car out of the intersection. So funny. 

Airport 101

Only at an airport:

- Will you pay $11 for a sandwich that you don't like but it's the closest thing to what you do like.
- Will people share the queerest things with strangers.
- Do you not feel weird staring intently at people.
- Does watching people run with their luggage become the funniest thing in the world.
- Do people prove that they actually do read from time to time.
- Can you clearly discern between the jerks and true gentlemen in the world.
- Does sarcasm become a federal offense.
- Do you ride on a horizontal escalator. 

My First Short Story

Red Bobber

I didn’t expect the line to snap when I wound the handle faster. One might suggest it was out of my own eagerness or impatience that caused the acceleration in my hand to strain the wire beyond its limit. I didn’t even expect to catch anything, but there I was, standing on the pond’s bank thrusting my entire body backward while vigorously reigning in my prize, when the line snapped.

My grandpa said it was not my fault, that sometimes lines just break. Besides, the fish isn’t going to live much longer now that the bobber keeps him near the surface.  I listened to my grandpa in his attempt to ease my sorrow as I watched the bright red bobber, that deadly tracking device, bounce across the surface of the pond. Was he surprised that the line snapped as well? Did his fears match my own when we were both suddenly dragged into a spirited game of tug and war? Is he too saddened that no one won the match, that in the end both sides lost? Does he also lament the pain of defeat represented in that red flag of truce that repeatedly undulates in the water?

The rattling of trinkets breaks the forest’s murmur as my grandpa fails to find another bobber. Perhaps another day, he says. And so, I regretfully follow my grandpa back to the truck, turning my back on the red buoy that continues circling the outskirts of the pond. 

The Funeral Home

Today was the day I moved into the funeral home— my new humble abode for the next three weeks. 

There has really been not much to tell since I have arrived. The house is loudly silent, which seems impossible but I tell you it is most certainly true. Above my own footsteps, no other sound in the house is heard. I open the front door as a truck is barreling down the road but no sooner do I shut it then that same truck is nonexistent, deathly muted, as if the house lives on a different level of frequency. The house is as quiet as the grave (no pun intended).

However, the stillness is enormously loud, so much so that it has enveloped even the floorboard creaks and the refrigerator groans. Its hush infiltrates every room, every hallway, every crevice of this place. The house is so quiet in fact that I dare not stop treading my bare feet across the kitchen floor lest the silence overtake me. I dare not cease voicing my thoughts aloud lest my tongue grow numb and stop moving altogether. I dare not stop lest I too become a victim of this curse.

I can tell you all the perks about this house such as a large kitchen, the large collection of DVD’s at my leisure, or the comfy chair I am currently lounging on. But I could also tell you the multiple drawbacks as well, like the fact that the downstairs once housed the dead or that the bathroom light flickers only at night. I could tell you about how the back room leads into a dark garage-like basement with a door that cannot be closed. I could tell you about the spider I found frozen in an ice cube tray or the multiple bugs I found crawling in my bed. I could even tell you about the corpse half buried in the backyard that I named Charlie. 


But I don’t want to freak you out, because despite these things, the place is great.

One Race

Why do we need to have racial tension? What is it about us that hates people that are different? Perhaps it is that we construct our own lens in which we think the world works, and so anyone who does not fit our stereotypic, self-centered mindset is considered "different."

We must be reminded that diversity is the one true thing we have in common. Therefore, celebrate it every day. 

Twitterpatted

Spring is here, and love is in the air. The birds chase each other, flirting by showing off their colorful wings. The bucks are butting their antlers against one another for their lady doe. And close friends are hooking up, showing off their ring. It is the season of love. Me? Am I in love? I am indeed. I am in love with my Creator who has specifically designed me for a purpose. I am in love with my Savior who died for me so that I might be included in the family photos. And He loves me in return. 

A real man though? Am I at this moment falling for someone after all this time healing from my past break up? Could someone fall for a man that she barely knows? Animals do it all the time. But what about heartbreak? I don't want to get hurt again but yet another duchsbag. I don't need that. But this man...is different. He seems to really care. Unfortunately, he lives far away from where I am. Although, that isn't stopping him from coming up to stay with me for a weekend. I don't know how to make out what I am feeling. I don't know if it is right to like him so. Perhaps my lonely, broken heart is eager to attach itself to the first man that shows any sort of affection for me. Perhaps I am not ready to feel love again after so much pain. Perhaps I am not ready to trust another man with my heart. But am I falling for a man in this spring season? Am I twitterpatted? 

I believe I am. 

Expanding Abyss Between Us....

I am writing this to a man I love. My best friend. My lover. This is for you.

Long ago, you were my best friend and I fell for your charm. We got closer and began dating. We sometimes went to the movies or ate in restaurants together. I thought I would never be happier in my whole life. But life suddenly grew two heads. It seemed that our relationship became simple, yet confusing. Calm, but chaotic. Happy, yet sorrowful. And the more fights that arose, the more tightly I held on to you, because I didn't want to lose you! I wanted to be all you wanted.

But you left me. I suddenly found myself abandoned with a broken and bitter heart in my bloody hands. I had lost my best friend and the man I loved. I do not understand all of your reasons for erasing yourself out of my life the way you did. I feel as if the abyss between us grows larger with each passing day. But I am learning to live without you somehow. Time heals wounds. I accept the fact that we were not made to be lovers. I accept that you do not want to have anything more to do with me, although I do not know why you hate me so. In public, you pretend that I am invisible to you- do I disgust you that much? You don't want to talk. You don't want to be friends. And even though it kills me, I accept it. However, I still want to be your friend if at all possible.

So if there is ever a time that you think of me. If there is ever even a time that you remember and check my blog. I want you to know that I forgive you. I forgive you, dear friend.