Tag Archives: freedom

Time to Write Your Own Reality Check, Dear Storyteller.

13 Feb

Following someone else “Writing-Routine” isn’t going to magically fill the gaps in the story or book you’re writing.

Your experiences is what color your novel, and there’s a guarantee that no one in the world will understand your story better than you.

The answers to your problems, why it might seem unbearable to write because your writer’s block is so horrible, is in yourself.

You know what you’re going through.

If you’re anything like me, you’re great at giving other people advice. Your passion seems to be catching, and you have the habit of accidentally inspiring friends to take action while you’re talking of your own dreams. You seem to be able to inspire them, that it seems they are ruthlessly pursuing their passions. You seem to be able to talk down their dreams, to earth, to the possible plane.

You start to wonder, if you’re able to inspire people so well, to solve their own problems of self-esteem, or their “can’t-do-attitudes” why the hell are you so listless? Why are you so little motivated to move the mountains required to conquer your own dreams?

It’s you.

It’s your problem. Maybe it’s a fear of success, maybe it’s the fear or rejection, maybe it’s not fear at all, but your own complacency of failure. Instead of psychoanalyzing the people around you, seeing into their souls to see their problems… maybe it’s time for a little self-reflection.

After all, you’re the only person in the world who you can be sure is actually being honest with you, which makes great character fodder.

Look to yourself, Find out your fears, your creative blocks, and what you believe you can actually achieve and move from there.

As a writer, as a creator of worlds, you literally can shape mountains if you so please, so why in the hell are you not writing? Why in the hell can’t you finish that book? Why in the hell are you worrying so much about what happens after the book is completed rather than writing the book.

You’re a dreamer, all good storytellers are… I’m not saying deny your nature. Harvest it. If you can dream of the rewards of being an wonderfully illustrious writer… you can certainly dream up a book, with conflict, character motivation, and either a resolution or new beginning for an end.

You became, or decided you were a writer for a reason.

Maybe it was because you always enjoyed reading or being told stories as a little kid… maybe you found the nature of self-reflection calming. Maybe you wrote because you had to. It was a way to escape your little reality, and now you want to share it with the world.

Whatever your original reason was, you’ve certainly forgotten it. If you’re still looking at “successful” writers to solve your problems.

Figure it out, the you that you were, is most certainly apart of the you that you are now. The you that is having problems finding the passion, most certainly can take a page out of the book of the former you that wrote for hours, tirelessly.

Introduce the Passionate You, and the slightly-bitter-having-problems-finding-that-fire You, and let them affect each other. Let the one with their boots planted firm into the ground, reach and connect with the one in the clouds, and together allow them to make your story, the reason why you started writing, the story that you have been born to tell, rain down upon the world.

It’s that simple.

You’ve lost passion, right? Find it. You’re lost in your own story? Give yourself directions. You’re having problems with ending your story? End it, all good things come to an end, and I guarantee, that your story that’s changed you over the course of writing is good enough. Some things aren’t meant to be resolved and that’s the nature of the beast. Put a bandaid over it, and carry on.

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Confession: I desperately want to act.

27 Jan Sunrise silhoutte

Shortly after in 3rd grade I was told that I was not going to be in the gifted program, because I talked too much. I was told that in the program, you could do whatever you wanted to, and got a zillion field trips… it broke my heart.

That moment became something that defined me, that has shaped my life in so many ways.

That’s when I became shy. I was afraid of talking too much. I was afraid that my mouth would screw me over, to the point, of no-return.

I guess that would make it, my first, real, original fear.

You see, I’ve always been fearless. Before I could properly walk, my Dad tells me, I was climbing and subsequently swinging from the cupboards in our kitchen. At 4 years old, I broke my neck, and heights… sort of became a problem. But I could deal, I just got a little vertigo, and then, I’d cope. Didn’t stop me from jumping off of our roof all the time, and at the neighbor’s house we’d jump out of the 2nd story window, onto a tramp at basement level.

At around 6, during a particularly high-stakes game of hide-and-go-seek, I resorted to hiding in the dryer, and my little sister started the dryer, and ran off. Claustrophobia, ensued after I had to kick out the door of the dryer to get out, and avoid getting more bruised and hot than bearable. But that only lead to some slight anxiety, when I feel trapped. Most people are anxious when trapped, it’s not a debilitating fear, and it didn’t stop me from napping in our linen closet on the shelves, in a less than 1×1 foot space.

After an encounter with a teenage boy at the not-at-all-ripe age of 3 or 4, my comfort in regards to anything of sexual nature was damaged.

At 10, as a renowned tomboy who could kick ass at any sport, and literally kick anyone’s ass, I lost my guy friends because girls became “icky” and were too weak suddenly to play with. Which lead to the ultimate distrust of the opposite gender, and consequently most people. (You have to realize, these were guys I had hung out with since I was 4, and had spent the majority of my life hanging out with them, who suddenly dropped me, due to what was under my shorts.)

At 7, when I wanted to be a ballerina, and my dad finally took me to sign up for a dance class, and we left without me being in a class because it was so goddamn expensive. I resorted to my much more achievable dream of being a rock star, and wrote a million songs, only to be told that my gift was in song-writing and not singing.

I watched movies, lots of inappropriately adult movies that a girl as impressionable as me, and willing should not have been exposed to. Which led me to confessing my love of our next-door neighbor Ben, at the age of 8, who I so did not actually. Which led us to kissing a lot because that’s what people in love in the movies did.

I determined that when I grow up I was going to own a Siberian Tiger when I grew up after a trip to the zoo at 4, when I learned that siber-toothed tigers had been extinct for a long time. (My first choice of a pet, prior.)

My dream of becoming a clothing designer was dashed when my best friend at 12 Nicole, was better at sketching designs.

My dream of being a vampire, also was dashed when I reached 13, and still had no evidence that any real vampires had ever been alive, ever.

My dream of being a stuntman, is still alive, but I know that it would freak out my Dad, considering how scared he is of me using my tax return money to buy a motorcycle.

A job as an Art Director, Casting Director, or Pyrotechnic Technician is incredibly hard to come by. In Filmstudies/Filmmaking, I quickly learned that being the director, was not exactly where I belonged… or at least not when my scaredy-cat friends refused to get behind the camera, and I had to be the talent in every movie we made, as well as direct.

After every single play I’ve been in, (including 2 different versions of A Christmas Carol, oddly enough when I hate Christmas, plus rehearsals for a Christmas Play during Halloween is lame) I’ve always been inconsolably depressed, after closing night. Not only because being on stage is exhilarating and fulfilling, but because I always miss the weird in-jokes that happen during a production while waiting in the wings. As well as the queer mischievous nature that comes while working in a completely empty theater that may or may not be haunted.

Being an Actor was my older sister’s dream. Being a singer was my younger sister’s dream. Being an artist, writer, was supposed to be my dream.

It is in ways. I will always love writing, and creating art… but it is a lonely, solitary business.

All of the things above, as well as my weirdo ability to completely memorize a movie after seeing it 2x, are factors in why I want to desperately be an actor.

Being an actor, combines so many of the things that I love in this world.

I’m a dreamer. I do want to try everything out in this world. A production, it’s magical, whether it’s film or stage, you get to create something breathtaking with weird milk-water rain, clever camera angles, waving a thing of sheet metal to create thunder and lightening. You get to tell stories (which if the above doesn’t tell you about my love of stories, I don’t know what does). You get to show real, raw truth by deceit, illusion, strings and pulleys.

I can’t say there’s anything that tells more about human nature, than people pretending to be living lives, that they don’t live, loving people they don’t love in that way, pretending to be people who they aren’t. Trying to resolve a neat little problem in 3 acts or less, all while trying to possibly fit it under an umbrella overlying theme about what it means to be human.

I love memorizing lines, I love pretending to be someone and experiencing things that I’ll probably never experience in my real life. I love that I get the chance to go into the woods to escape my mother (who isn’t actually my mother) who locked me away in a tower, and meet my brother who’s trying to help his wife conceive a child by finding a cow white as milk, a cape as red as blood, hair as yellow as corn,and a slipper as pure as gold.

It’s the stuff that dreams are made of. It’s what my dreams are made of.

I realized this last semester when I was working 50 hours a week, signed up for 18 credit hours, and still wanted to audition for my school’s production of a space-age version of Romeo and Juliet (I was hoping for the part of Mercutio, because he’s the only one I liked.), and was heartbroken when I was too busy to do it.

I miss acting. Like writing, it’s an outlet, it’s a dream, and just a little unrealistic. But good things happen. It makes me happy, no matter what little parts I get. I want to do it. Plus, I seem to be pretty good at it.

I haven’t told anyone, the extent of how much I want to strike out in California and join a wonderful community of artists, and creative types… but right now, I don’t see many other options in my dream future.  For someone who has a pretty hard times limiting their options. That’s a pretty freaking big deal.

Good always Triumphs Over Evil

7 Jan

So I got to talk about some crap, because it might make me feel a little less angry….

 

I was one of those children that came from an abusive home. The abuser happened to be my mother. Sadly enough, any major issue with a life event can be traced directly to her.

My weird inability to accept imperfections came from her telling me to scrub for hours.  My hatred and distrustfulness of new people  stems from her screwing me over and then, proving it again by my dad being desperate enough to marry another crazy woman (who luckily is mostly out of the picture now…)

My poverty, the reason in me being a semester late in college was caused by her, stealing my childhood home from my father the breadwinner and the only one with a job. My belief that hospitals are basically obsolete stem from staying too long in them… from her hypochondriac ways.

She’s screwed over my entire family and ripped me from many of the people I care about.

She’s literally, clinically insane. She has quite a few problems with her, and from the moment that my father tried to get her help, she’s been plotting how she would ruin his life.

She has.

Amazingly enough, my Dad has the ability to brush it off and pretend like he’s got a shot at retiring.

Her contribution to my collection of emotional scars has been unprecedented. Ranging from my brother being whipped, for stopping her from nearly killing me, to causing us to basically starve for a couple weeks.

There isn’t a person that deserves to be killed more than her, in my eyes.

My fear of being published (Which is a terrible fear for one who means to be a writer) comes from her trying to track me down and hitch a ride on a rode to fame… taking credit for raising me.

I’ve sworn to myself that if it ever happened, I’d smear her name so horribly that her remaining loved ones couldn’t look her in the eye, let alone strangers.

She’s found me on almost every site I’ve joined. I’ve had to block out things, lie about things to try and hide from her. If anything happens to make my family’s presence known… like a wedding, or a visit from someone on her side of the family… she comes. She has her new husband spy on the house and take pictures and messages or calls us nonstop. Calling my Dad names so awful that only she’s so evil to say such things about such a good man.

My grandma had to get a restraining order because she tried to knock her car off the road.

I don’t want to see this woman in my life, or connected in anyway. I avoid seeing her, not because I’m afraid, but because I don’t want to do jail time.

She deserves jail time at the very least for what she’s done to us. Unfortunately because children don’t have a voice in the U.S. she’ll never do any time.

There’s a reason why I’ll never let my voice go unheard.

She sent my little sister a message, through someone else’s profile and I plan on making sure she learns not to come into contact with us, ever again.

She cannot harm us any longer.

-Aspiringtobesomeone

I’m out of my head…

13 Sep

I have no idea where I’m going in my life. As I can consider myself (at least slightly) Bohemian. There’s nothing wrong with that, in fact, in many ways that’s where I want to be. I don’t want to plan things out anymore… I don’t want to plan out my life and be disappointed when things don’t turn out the way I envisioned them.

Fact of the matter is: plans fall through. Almost anything that I’ve planned out a week in advance hasn’t happened. Anything I plan out 30 minutes prior to actually doing it, does. So why should I plan out my life? What college I’m going to, what my major is, what my profession will be, if I’m going to get married, if I’ll have kids, if I’ll be a skank who makes any lucky son of gun who gets me for a night wear a condom? There’s too many unknowns in life to plan.

I don’t know what’s going to happen in the 12 hours before I go to sleep…. We could be hit by a tornado and be homeless by then. People change their views, their opinions, their selves all based on what happens to them. I don’t know the future me, and I don’t know if that ‘me’ is going to appreciate any choices I make for her, now… I know who I want to be. So far, I just haven’t been that. So far, everything I’ve planned out seems to go to pieces. Even when it comes down to myself.

You think I wanted to grow-up to be a cynical, pessimist that is too afraid to share her opinion, because she’s afraid that when people disagree (and they will) it will start a fight… and then she’ll turn into something that she can’t control?

Naw, I wanted to be somebody that people would listen to, I wanted to be the line between right and wrong, a guiding star. I wanted to be someone that actually matters in this world.

I chose the rule of invisible myself. I chose for all the kids in my school to not even notice me, so they couldn’t get in the way of my life. I’ve also trapped myself into this role. Maybe, after graduation, I’ll move somewhere… where nobody knows me, and I can be my literal self, and maybe I’ll even go to my high school reunions, and people may not even have an idea who I am, or maybe they will, and they’ll think, ‘she’s changed.’ The fact would be, I haven’t, not one bit.

School is either chilling out now, or I’m getting used to it, whichever. Either way, it’s not as hard as it was last week. I feel better about it. However, I can feel myself blinking onto everyone’s radar. I don’t know how I feel about that. In one way I’m happy because then everyone will know what kind of person I really am.

In another way, I love being anonymous, in the crowd just enough to know what’s going on, but apart enough that I can observe without bias. I think I might be sad to know that I won’t have it again, here. People remember you, you can’t change fact, once you’re noticed, there’s no going back. You just exist. You become known, and all those little things that you used to get away with, are spread and heard and seen. There goes your anonymity, with it, your freedom. Not that it was ever that free, not that you’ll be less free with your discovery, it’s just which freedoms are important to you?

I don’t know, I’m in a philosophical mood, it might be the storm that’s coming… it might be that I haven’t worked on my book since school started… it might be that I haven’t eaten anything yet. Who knows? I still feel it’s important to go into your life… and move a few things around, see if your perspective changes with it.

I feel alone in anonymity, alone in my unplanned life… alone in all my views… singular. Like there’s only one of me. Uniqueness and Singularity are worlds apart. One, you’re in common with at least something, part of something… with Singularity, it’s just you. Sometimes that’s a good thing, sometimes it’s a bad thing.

I’m not saying I’m depressed or lonely or anything… just alone. It feels nice right now… and yet, I wish I did have a future that I believe I can just map out… like my peers…. I wish I could have that undeniable optimism that for once, things were going to go my way. I can’t.

I’ve lost my expectations to many things in life, with each major, life-changing event… I’ve lost 3, 4 sometimes… Now I have none. It’s weird to not expect anything, no loss…. yet an emptiness lingers.

If I were going to write about someone without a soul, I think that last paragraph is the closest you could get to it.

Well, good night fellas… sleep tight, plan well.
Truly,
♥Aspiringtobesomeone

Trust in the Universe and Reap the Benefits.

16 Aug

So a lot has happened since we last talked. Yeah, been so busy that I haven’t had the time to sit down and type up a blog….

So Friday, my Dad got into a fight with his boss about policy and his boss told him he was fired. He told me by Monday. (I thought he just got off early and took Monday off). Which sucks. I admit I was really scared and was already coming up with all the ways we could help my Dad out… especially in staying where we live now. By Thursday his work called him up and told him to come to a meeting and said that he’d better come or he was really fired. (Ordinarily Dad wouldn’t even be freaked out because he has 28 years seniority… heck the CEO was hired the same time… he could literally have any job in the place)

So he came and he got his job back… unfortunately he’s not getting paid vacation for those 4 and 1/2 days that he wasn’t there…. So there goes school fees and such… if you don’t realize the extent of missing a week… it means that My Dad gets at least $700 less dollars… So it’s going to be tight…. but much better than it could’ve been I’m happy.

This experience has really taught me something… (more than to make sure that I have more than 6 months pay saved up just in case I ever get fired in the middle of a crappy economy) It’s taught me that I need to trust in the universe. I’ve been talking about all the possibilities I have and how I haven’t gone for any of them (besides writing). Fact of the matter is, I just need to get out there in the world…. and than I’ll find out what I’ll do when I get there.

With every oppression comes the ability of freedom, with every freedom comes choices, with choices come the world.

I’m not claiming that I’m an expert on oppression or anything. I just have to let  you folks know something about my past. That may help you realize how I could understand this stuff. 

I had a mom that was deadset on a stepford family… and decided to use less than kosher means to achieve it. Fact is: I was beaten as a child.

I learned lessons about life that many people will never learn. I learned diplomacy and patience through these crazy happenings. But I also learned, that with every that opresses comes with something to undo it.

I had an awesome Dad… I didn’t know him until after my mother left… mostly because she insisted on doing the finances and was stealing money from my father… enough that she convinced my Dad that he needed to work 2 full-time jobs… He only had 6 hours a day and those were for sleep…. I admit that I put more weight on my Dad than I have ever put on a person.

He was the key, he could get us away from my mother… he was going to save us. (Realize that at the time I knew nothing about him… except that when I was having growing pains he’d let me sleep in their room.) He had to.

So we took a chance… when they were trying to settle the divorce after my mother had claimed that my father had beaten her…. Ironic isn’t that? We testified… well my older brother testified because he was the only one who was legally old enough to testify…  but we testified against her and hoped that the system would allow us to be set free.

My mother was oddly sweet during that time… sucking up to us. My Dad (although he was kicked out and wasn’t allowed to see us… I later found out, that he was sending my mother money to pay for all of the bills… to make sure that we got taken care of) was also nice… but a legitimate niceness… the kind where it’s literally just because the person is only nice because they’re that good of a person. We were put into fantastic hands.

But the point is, we were oppressed. (I do realize that some kids must have had worse childhoods than we did… and I sincerely pity the heck out of those kids because… although I got it through the last time and was even optimistic after… I don’t think I could do it ever again and come out whole… much less if it were worse.) and we were given a key that would free us… if we just used it. (There’s something weird about being abused… you’re embarrassed about it… and cops never believe children… that’s one thing that I know for sure now.) We were allowed to choose my Father, who luckily was awesome… I don’t know what we would’ve done if he sucked too. Probably go to an Aunt or to our Grandma.

Anyways you can trust in the universe to give you something to achieve anything that maybe related to your happiness. So go out and do something! I promise you, there is a way to anything that you are meant to do. You can always decide on the meaning of your life.

Wow, that blog went into an entirely different direction than I was hoping.

So I was busy with worrying and changing my philosophies and such to post a blog.

Not to mention Warped Tour which although we had to leave before bouncing souls (who had came to our town afterall) it was awesome. I met Big D and the Kids’ table… all of them really down to earth and we got to talk to them and they gave us their autographs. Their show was by far, the best of the day. I went into the ginormous skanking pit. So much fun. They played most of my favorite songs, “LAX, Shining On, Hell on Earth, Noise Complain…etc”. I did not get hurt one little bit… or even fall in the mosh pits (which I admit I was a bit afraid of) unfortunately I was too shy to ask the singer something that I’ve been wondering for a while… if he had ever been in drama because he sure acts like it. But anyways… it was awesome… I did get another sunburn… I really ought to just avoid the sun before I get skin cancer. BTW: Bathing your sunburn in Vingar… makes it go away stat.

I babysat the night before until like 1 a.m…. hadn’t slept the night before that.. and woke up at 7:30… (Because if we didn’t come on time we wouldn’t get in for free) and bought a Big D Patch, Micky Ds (Because we had vendor passes and could leave anytime we wanted and come back) and a shirt (Skate 4 Cancer… it was a cool shirt and I thought it was a good cause) for $10. Not half bad, eh? But yeah, by the end… although I was loving it… I was tired, thirsty, sunburned, and my arms really hurt. Can I just say I didn’t believe anything about musicians drinking a butt load? I do now… we got this one sack of glass bottles (luckily it was a heavy duty bag) and I had to carry it across the fairgrounds and I think moving a body would’ve been easier.. it was only from one band too. I definitely got some new muscles because of it.

I’ve also babysat a buttload in the past little while… (Especially considering that I have like $50 and on average only get 10 bucks)

But yeah, it’s been super swell. Don’t forget that the universe will take care of you, if you take the chances it gives you.

Yours Truly,
♥Aspiringtobesomeone

Crazy Aspirations are a Waste of Time.

20 Jul

It’s the 48th day of summer. Not that I’m counting (I’m really not… I was curious how much time I’ve wasted). That’s just it. It’s the summer before my senior year, and this is probably the last shot I have at completely wasting my time on stupid things. However, I don’t really want to waste my time… I feel like I should be doing something… Well I know what I feel like I should be doing…

I should be writing.. not “Blog-writing” I should be working on my book. Honestly, it’s a book that’s been in planning before Stephanie Meyer even got published. I’ve always wanted to write a vampire book… I was a horror fan, before I ever heard my first ghost story… I was in love with the genre before even hearing the proper term. I was looking for the unabridged version of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, since 6th grade.. when I was finally able to find one, I stayed up until four A.M. reading it (even though I had school in the morning and had to wake up at 5:30 am to be on time) I reread it until I had to return it. I felt like I could honestly say I was a horror fan after.

Naturally when I decided I want to be a writer, I want to contribute to my favorite genre, in specific, vampires. I know there’s tons of vampire books out there… especially ones that were written after twilight.

I personally don’t like twilight. I am biased, I admit it. Mostly, because I am a horror fan, and do not like a romance novel being considered horror.  I realize that vampires are freakishly trendy right now and I want to avoid being thrust into the crowd.. I believe that my take on vampires is as original as Anne Rice’s.

I refuse to compare myself to twilight… mostly because it isn’t original… anybody who’s read the Vampire Chronicles has to be admit the freakish similarities going all the way down to names… Maybe Stephanie Meyer didn’t write the Twilight Books without reading any vampire fiction before… who knows? But my book, cannot even be submitted (without being compared to Twilight) until 10 years later (at least, considering the movies will keep it alive longer no doubt.) So, I’m writing a book that literally can’t be seen until much later and I admit I have no motivation right now in finishing it.

I love the characters… I love writing it. But I feel like I’m doing a whole bunch of short stories that involve the same people.

I want to start something different. If it goes well I might give it a category in this blog and you can just read it here. and maybe I’ll feel better about things know that something of mine is out there, being seen and read….My idea, isn’t what ‘sells’ (meaning: it appeals  to a very limited audience). I don’t know I’m just babbling.

My dad is bummed out, I know he feels like he’s not getting anywhere in his life… because all that’s happening is he goes to work, comes home, maybe watches tv for a while and goes to sleep. I feel bad for it, I know he’s getting frustrated and there’s nothing that I can do. I’m cleaning out the fridge today, maybe doing the dishes… making sure the house is clean for him. It’s basically all that I can do. I feel like taking him out for a movie… or maybe we’ll all go camping like he said he wanted to this summer.

I’m just worried. When he wasn’t getting satisfaction out of his life… he turned to strange woman to get it. (Not saying that my Dad had affairs or anything… he’s happily divorced) I mean, he dumped this lady that was stalking him (Finally!) and three months later he tells us he’s engaged to her. They actually got married and she trapped him into a relationship by cohorted all his money and finally he saves up just enough to move out again and begins to be happy in his freedom… he even treated us better (not that you could really improve much on how he treats us).

But now, he’s starting to chill out with his ex-wife almost every night and I can’t help but be afraid that he’ll go back to her. Not only did she treat us like crap but she used my Dad and treated him like dirt. It’s not healthly for him. I just want him to be happy and let him feel satisfied. I feel bad for venting on all you people… but I just can’t not think about it.

He’s really worried about his retirement because my birthmother (who is remarried and honestly I think owes my Dad a buttload considering that she got the house and all of the possessions that were worth something) gets half of it. If it weren’t for her, he’d be able to retire at 55.  Now he’s worrying that he’s going to need to work until the day he dies. I always tell him, he’ll always be welcome at my house (of the future, considering that I’m 17.) He always says that once I get a guy and have kids, I won’t want him there. Honestly, I don’t plan on getting married. I don’t want to have kids myself… right now if there’s any kids in my future… I’ll take orphans or kids that were abused… who are older and potty-trained and need someone to guide them… that understands what it’s like to be abused. That’s it.

I would be fine with my Dad in any setting anyways. I think he’s refusing himself to take it from any of us because he feels like it’s a handout. I don’t see it as a handout. I owe him more than you could owe anybody. He gave up his life to raise some kids he didn’t even know. (My birthmother forced him to work two full-time jobs where he could only be at home for 4 hours and that was reserved for sleep… believe me… I saw it. Basically until I was 10. I’m the fourth out of six… so my older siblings were 17, 15, and 13… about the time that childhood evaporates.) He’s in a dead-end job that’s so specialized that basically no other industry will take him… he’s tried. The government is slowly liquidating his job… and who knows what’ll happen than. He has some college education but he went college 30 years ago.

Who can blame the guy for having a bleak outlook? I want to help him out. I want to calm his fears… and just let him relax or party if he feels like it.

My Dad is one of the sweetest guys you’ll ever know… he’ll help out anybody…even if it feels like it’s going to take out a chuck of his only possessions in this world. I mean the guy will be running late to a wedding, or baby blessing or whatever… and he’ll stop on the highway for whoever’s car didn’t seem to work out today. He’ll give strangers rides… he’ll talk to someone who’s headlight went out and follow them home (if they want it) just so they can make it home okay.

My Dad is the prime example of what people should be striving for. He is perfectly supportive of everything we do. He genuinely hurts when people around him are hurting. I remember one time he bought a candybar (A little sneaking around for the guilty pleasure of having chocolate) saw me and broke it in half and when I refused saying that he needs to let him have his own stuff and that he shares too excessively (which is true… almost every penny of his paycheck goes to the wellbeing of others… house payment included) and he replied, “I’m a father. I’m supposed to be a provider… sharing is my job.” That’s the attitude he has about everything! Anybody could learn something about kindness by watching my Dad. I’m not saying that my dad is perfect or holy or anything.. (to be frank his obsession with model airplanes, cars, and robots is a bit excessive). He’s just a good man. A very rare type of man, nowadays.

I just don’t know what else I can do for him.

I mean I pride myself on my ability to help others, as my Dad does… and what does it mean when I can’t even help my own father? I feel like I can’t do anything. I just want the people around me happy… than I’ll be happy.

Which is my problem… my happiness depends on the happiness of others around me… I’m perfectly willing to conform into whatever they need me to be. That’s what it means for me when I say, “Aspiring to be someone.” I am noone. I have no likes, or dislikes… I have no personality except the one the people need who’re around me. I’m literally just learning who I am myself. I want the ability to know myself, and to be selfish with things (besides the occasional candybar) I want to see how it feels to live life normally… (like how other people do… instead of literally trying to please everyone).

I don’t know… it’s been a couple of crazy days… I don’t know what I’m saying or what I’m feeling… but thank you for tuning in, and allowing me to vent.

Yours Truly,
-Aspiringtobesomeone