Anna

So I've been (and am still here) in California this winter break. And it's been quite lovely, really. We've gone around LA, and I've now been to Hollywood. (Look for me there in the near -or extremely distant- future.) Mario the tour guide was not only false on many "facts" he told us, but he also wouldn't shut up. I got to walk around 4 beautiful beaches: Venice, Santa Monica, Zuma, and Coronado. Universal Studios on Christmas day was infested with Mexicans, Indians (Namaste, brethrens) and and Chinese/Japanese/Koreans/what have you. But the highlight of my visit to SoCal was visiting one of my best friends, Anna, in the beautiful island haven of Coronado.

Let me expand on Anna for quite some time.

She is someone that once you spend a day with, you want to be exactly like. She's drop dead gorgeous naturally (I asked her. She wasn't wearing any make up when I saw her. Feel free to hate now.) She is *so* smart. Her passions are unique and the perfect fit for her. She takes amazing pictures on her cool and dandy camera. Although I don't actually know the definition of a hipster, she is most definitely a hipster. Her style is one-of-a-kind, just like her. Try to buy the same clothes as her from the random boutiques she goes to, fine. I can guarantee you that you will not look as good as her. Anna is a blonde haired blue eyed beauty.

But those are only her exterior qualities. What really makes me, and everyone who is lucky enough to encounter her ora, love her so much is her personality, her heart. Anna honestly lives every day to its fullest. Verbatim as she said it, she tries to find the good in any restriction she faces. She is a leader. You can't help but want to follow in her footsteps. She is confident. She knows what she wants in life and goes for it with her all. In the one afternoon that I was fortunate enough to spend with her, she reassured me of any flaws I have (if you know me, you know how many I have and how self conscious I am. So that much reassuring in one afternoon is quite phenomenal.) I filled her in on all the passive drama that I've experienced this year and she's told me just how to deal with it. She is a boy-problem-guru. I honestly just need her in my head 24/7 to help me.

I can tell Anna anything. She is the least judgemental person I've ever met. I can tell her that I've had anorexia without her looking at me any differently. I can tell her how much I dislike a common friend that we have without fearing that she'll think I'm a bitch. She's a human form of a journal. And she talks back to you. How awesome is she?

There's so much more to Anna than what I've said. Having to go through her moving back to California last year was one of the hardest things I've had to do. Her moving not only changed me, but it changed our whole friend group. Anna was honestly (this is probably the most factual statement that I've said in this whole post) the missing puzzle piece in our high school friend group. Everyone felt comfortable around her. Everyone *does* feel comfortable around her. She makes such an effort to keep in touch with all of her Minnie friends. I don't think I can really put Anna properly into words, even though I've written a load about her already.

If there's one person that I could say I'm jealous of, it's Anna. I don't blame you if by reading this far you are jealous too. Her life isn't perfect, but she makes it the best she can with whatever situation she's put in. That's something we can all improve on in our lives. And after seeing her again, I've decided that that's what I'm going to do.

Kudos to you for getting this far. This post is so long because: a) she needs this many and even more words to even partially put her into perspective for you, b) because I miss her more than anything and anyone right now, and c) because the traffic on freeway 5 in San Diego to LA is SO EFFING BACKED UP. DEAR GOD.

Okie, toodles.

That One Girl Who Never Does Anything Bad

I think that the reason I never try to risk anything is because I'm too fearful of the consequences.

Those of you who know me know that I don't really do anything risky... or interesting, for that matter. Sometimes I wish that I did risky things. Maybe sneak out, or go to a party that I obviously shouldn't be going to. Meet someone and befriend them, even though my parents would disapprove of it. But then I think of the effects that these choices could have on me, my life. It's not worth it to me. I'd rather stay home and watch movies or (don't hate me; don't judge me) maybe even do *gasp* homework on a Friday night instead of going to someone's house where I know everyone will be absolutely hammered. My parents disappointment, the loss of trust, risking getting kicked out of NHS and choir, none of that is worth a one night buzz.

I do think that there are times when risk is a good thing though. And I do think that I've done risky things to some extent. Putting yourself out there, showing that your vulnerable; these are all good types of risk. I open myself up emotionally every time I audition. I risk being rejected. I risk being condemned for not having a good voice. I risk being looked at as a horrid actress. I risk looking cocky. I risk looking too emotional. I put all of my being on the table in order for a judge to place a verdict on me. But it's these types of risk that I live for. The disappointment of failure doesn't even come close to the feeling of accomplishment. And this is all thanks to risk.

I guess my risk is more internal that external. I'm okay with that. Internal risk hasn't done anything to maim by being or my future. I don't need alcohol or the feeling in the pit of my stomach that what I'm doing is wrong in order to feel a rush of emotions.

In the hopes of lightening the mood of this post, here's a Spongebob Squarepants episode that is all about risk. (The kind that I try to abstain from.)

BIEBER FEVER

Blame my parents. They did it.

Rants About Junior Year

People have always told me that junior year is supposed to be the best year of high school.

I have yet to find reason to believe those people.

My classes got 10x harder this year than sophomore year. (To be expected. I'm not expecting any pity right at this moment.) APUSH is probably the worst class I've ever taken. We colored for 86 minutes on Thursday. You're thinking, "Really? She's exaggerating." No. I'm not. Mrs. McIntyre has a teal sheet of paper with a graveyard, mountains, a canoe, and an Indian man with moccasins next to him to prove it. I find no joy in going to this class. Reason #1 why junior year is not going down in my books as a favorite.

I seem to have misplaced my friends from freshman and sophomore year. Can you help me find them? I sometimes catch glimpses of them in the hallway, but I'm never sure if it's them. (Don't worry. I'm not friendless. I just only have theatre friends now. *I'm not complaining about having theatre friends. They're awesome.*) Reason #2 why I haven't had an epiphany of "OHMYGOD. Best year ever."

SAT/ACT/PSAT/(Insert other standardized test here that I will be taking that molds my future.) I actually prepped for the pre-SAT. That's how serious I am about these tests. The stress that I feel from these horrendous things keeps me from feeling any pleasure about this year. Reason #3.

Yes, it's December. Yes, I'm already thinking about prom. Yes, I am being a typical girl who is thinking that she won't get asked. But I have reason, and it's a fundamental problem to the idea of prom: I HAVE NO RELATIONSHIP WITH THE MALE SPECIES. If this pattern continues to go on through this year, I can just kiss the idea of wearing a beautiful dress, getting my hair all "did," and wearing pretty make-up goodbye. It'll be an extremely hard parting. Prom could maybe take up reasons #4-#10, but for the sake of you not thinking that I'm that desperate, it'll only be #4.

Reason #5: I just don't like high school. I'm ready to go to college. I'm pretty much sick of anyone that goes to Wayzata. I'm ready to open my mind to other types of people, other political viewpoints, other fascinating classes. And I'm also ready to go to a school where I can join the ISA (Indian Student Association) and then find the Indian man of my dreams and then be in a happy relationship. This has happened to pretty much any Indian college student I know. I'm just hoping that my streak of having a non-existent boyfriend is broken once I get to college. A girl can hope, right?

Speaking of college, my mother told me yesterday as we were pulling into the Super Target parking lot that I should major in music. WHAAAAA? You could say I had a DP in my mind.

Disclaimer: Okay, I don't hate everything about junior year. I've made amazing friends this year. I've found who I really am (a theatre/singing obsessed girl). I love being an upperclassmen. Especially in theatre. There are so many perks to it. I love being able to drive anywhere I want. I love the freedom that teachers give you. I love being a part of Wayzata, where academics and extra-curricular activities are accepted and encouraged. And I have great teachers that love what they are doing, which makes me encouraged to come to class every day. But I do hate some of you.

Crazy Little Thing Called Love.

     He knows I'll give him food, regardless of how I still hurt. He knows that I have to help him. It's as if he's a puppeteer with my heart, playing with its strings, controlling its every move. He knows that if he keeps coming back, I'll eventually give in to him and hand him food. And I will. That's what love does to you. It's a pain in the ass rear end, really.
     He was my first love. You always have a special place in your heart for your first love. What happened to his life I will never know. That's what you get for spending all your time in high school on girls, I guess. And I was one of those girls, those stupid girls who thought he actually meant it when he crooned, "I love you." Damn, how his lulling voice sounded to my yearning ears.
     Dear Lord. He's walking in right now. There's no one in this place except me and another middle aged woman. She must sense the tension that just infested the room, because she looks around. She focuses her sights on him. Does she see in him what I used to see? He's inside the restaurant now. Can he feel my heart pounding?
     I have food for him. Of course I do. A warm croissant, old, but not too old. It's slightly underbaked, just like he likes all his pastries. A large sized coffee cup is in my other hand. More milk added than the usual person would prefer, 3 1/2 teaspoons of sugar. I remember from all those coffee runs we spontaneously went on during our senior year. Will he think I'm still hung up over him if I remember all these details from 15 years ago? There's no turning back now: he sees me.
    All I can hear in this silent room is my heart thrashing. I try to focus on my heels. Click clack THRASH click click THRASH THRASH THRASH. Obviously that's not working. I look over at the middle aged woman, sitting silently at her table. She's looking at me curiously. Does she suspect anything? Oh god, he's right in front of me. There's so many possible things I could say, but how to say it eloquently?
    He plucks the bag and cup out of my hand, and leaves. He's gone just like that. He took my breath away just as he walked away. There's nothing more to do now than muster up the strength to click-clack back to my station. Half way there, I realize that I can't do it anymore. Hand over mouth, eyes starting to close, tears flowing down my face. My shoulders hunch up, my back curves, my knees buckle.
    He's done it again.
   

I've got a secret. Can you keep it?

#1: Narration
#2: Analysis
#3: Definition
#4: Proposal (Argument)
#5: Description
#6: Compare/Contrast

Shocking, I know.

That Little Green Monster Called "Jealousy"

Tell me you haven't ever been jealous. Tell me that to my face, and I will give you a strange, condemning look.

#1: The last time I was truly, genuinely jealous, was March 29th, 2011, when Concert Choir results were posted at 2:20 p.m. in the D-wing. (Are we surprised that this is about music? Not really.) Most, if not all, of my best friends had made it into our school's top choir, except me. I remember snapping at my friend during rehearsal about her making Concert, and me not. Nothing had caused this sudden outburst. Nothing, except the ferocious monster taking over my being: jealousy.

#2: Jealousy is not an arbitrary emotion. It takes thought and a considerable amount of feeling for the emotion to engulf your entire system. Usually, you feel a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach when your think of an accomplishment someone you know has made: straight A's, a lead in a musical, acceptance into a prestigous college, dating the most popular boy/girl in the school. Semblance of happiness does not work in these situations. The feeling that you might be trying to hide that is in your stomach starts spreading throughout your major body parts: your head, your heart. You feel that you should be given the same accomplishments that your friend has. You are just as good as your friend; you are better than your friend. Jealousy is not only a potent emotion, it's a disease.  

#3: Jealousy is a mental uneasiness felt when a person feels resentment against a rival (or more commonly, a friend) who has succeeded or accomplished something. It can either be felt in a miniscule way, or spread throughout a person's body until it is no longer manageable. Jealousy can be found in both sexes, in any age, and at any location. Jealousy can also lead to other mental disabilities, such as depression.


#4: I say that jealousy is a good thing in life. It creates healthy competition between family, friends, and enemies. Jealousy should not only be accepted: it should be encouraged. Without jealousy, who knows if Bill Gates and (now deceased, rest his technologically gifted soul,) Steve Jobs would have competed so viciously to create the latest and most convenient devices? Jealousy leads to success. I say that schools teach students about the causes and effects of jealousy in standard 10th grade health classes, and also inform students of how jealousy has played a fundamental part in America's history and success. Jealousy leads to competition. Competition leads to a victor. A victor is successful. A successful person has jealous enemies. The cycle not only repeats, but benefits our culture.

#5: She snaps. Just like that. She had been containing the beast inside herself for too long. It had been pounding to be released for ages, first invading her mind, wrongly telling her to yell and scream, to cry, to say, "this isn't fair! I deserve him. He was mine first!" It then swept to her heart, demanding that she have him. There is no one out there for her like he is. They are meant to be together. The girl foolishly goes along with the beast. She strides over to him and his new "friend," whose hands are entwined. They are looking into each others eyes, clearly in the first stages of puppy-love. She breaks through their grasp. And she snaps. Just like that.

#6: There is an obvious difference between being jealous of someone and being genuinely happy for someone. They can be seen as obvious opposites. But the difference between being jealous of someone and just plain hating someone have a finer line separating them. In order to be jealous, you have to actually want someone's accomplishments for yourself. If you hate someone, you just wish for all the worst to happen to your enemy. One involves wanting the best (for yourself,) and one involves wanting the worst (for your enemy.) Either one requires negative thoughts. But next time you say that you "hate" someone, make sure that it's not actually jealousy.

There My Heart Forever Lies

Once, in the highlands, the highlands of Scotland...


It only takes one show. 60 high schoolers. 4 directors. 1 group of techies. 1 pit crew. This is what creates magic. Through the exhilaration everyone feels about making a show; through two months of three hour rehearsals; through two months of angsty three hour rehearsals; through 6 hour tech rehearsals; through two weekends of pure bliss from performing; through traditions on traditions, on more traditions: this is what gets me through the day. It's mind-blowing how close you can get to a cast in such little time. We bond on so many different levels. I've made so many amazing friends from this privilege I've been given. The feeling I have when I'm around these people is a feeling that I wish everyone could experience at least once.


Let me just explain how my theatre friends make me feel. As you can probably guess, these fantastic voices are, for the vast majority, in our breathtaking Concert Choir. But sadly, I didn't make it. Now, I won't go on a rant of sadness on that topic, but this has a point. My best friends are in Concert. There is a separation in these choirs, no matter how much fluff you might want to add to us (still very talented) girls that are in the lovely Bel Canto. However, when I step into rehearsal and see all my friends that are in Concert, I feel no separation. I am one with these people. We work together as one voice, to bring as much musicality and emotion into our work as we possibly can. There is no separation in theatre (for me) as there is in choir. 

Our school has so much talent, if you haven't already realized that (how could you not realize that?). I'm not just talking about our choral or musical theatre department: I'm talking about our orchestra, that makes my heart melt every time I hear it; I'm talking about our band, that honestly puts countless hours into their work that I'm sure none of us have ever endured; I'm talking about our tech department, that spends hours working on curtains, lights, sets, props, costumes, and anything else you can think of that doesn't get direct recognition. These people are bring their talents together to make art magic. 


I don't think I can properly explain the comfort I feel the millisecond I walk into the D-wing at our school. There's just something about the ambiance there that makes me feel at home. Maybe it's because it's the art wing: that would be the most obvious reason. But, I feel like it might be deeper than that. The D-wing is where I found myself again. I realized who I am, what my passions are, what kind of people I want to surround myself with. I feel sheltered when I'm in any other part of the school, like I have to pretend to be something else in order to be liked. In D-wing, I let all my guards down, and spend time with the people I care most about. The people there accept me, and I accept them. There isn't much more you could hope for than acceptance. If you're looking for it, just walk through that part of the school. I can almost guarantee that you will find it.


As you can probably see, I'm in a very sentimental mood right now. I've had the time of my life, these past few months. I don't think I could have asked for a better cast to spend those months with. Even though at the beginning of the show I had my hesitations and grudges with some people, I can honestly tell you that I left the cast party last night this morning loving every single person. 


This is called Post-Show-Depression. And it's extremely depressing. Obviously.


(Oh, by the way, I used the huge letters at the beginning of my paragraphs to make it look like a fairy tale story. I've been living in a fairy tale world, these past few months.)

Slang, Yo.

Sup, ya'll? I heard this story from my friend yesterday about this huge tool of a "boyfriend" that cheated on his girlfriend with a slut. Grody. What a douche! It makes me really angry to hear about such jacked up relationships. That boy is so donskies.
(Btdubs, this story is supes not real. I totes just made it up, my duis. DUECES.)


Okay, so maybe that's just the way we talk in P-town, but it's slang nonetheless. I can guarantee that any teenager/young adult/maybe adult? has heard at least one of these words.


To be honest, I have no idea where 99% of these words came from. But if I could hypothesize, I would assume from either a) rappers or b) Jersey Shore.


"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn," spoken by Rhett in Gone With The Wind. I have maybe said this phrase 100 times in the past week with my friend Julia. She actually told me to hurt her if she ever tries to say it again. CONNECTION TO EVERYDAY MEDIA: Plankton says it on Spongebob. "Well, that certainly was an interesting series of words that just tumbled out past your teeth and lips, but frankly, my dear sponge, I don't give a barnacle." (Spongebob's Last Stand, for you uneducated people of Bikini Bottom.) 


My friends and I always talk about what the significance of using swear-words in everyday language (don't be fooled, we swear a TON regardless of meaning.) Does, "you scared the shit out of me" even make sense? Not really. "What the hell/fuck are you doing?" I DON'T GET THE LITERAL MEANING OF THAT SENTENCE. I feel like people just throw in swear-words in their sentences to enhance their emotions. Swearing makes you feel empowered (at least for me). Swearing is awesome. Try it! 


PEACE, LOVE, & HAPPINESS!
Tootles. 
* all of the bolded words are slang words that I think we use in our language. 

To Anyone Who Read My Last Post

Don't do it.
Do not eat an Almond Joy.
It is the epitome of death by chocolate/coconut/fat/processed shit.
I just ate 8 Almond Joys.
I feel absolutely miserable.
DIE, ALMOND JOYS, DIE.

You Put The Lime In The Coconut... And Then You Eat it..

Hi.
I like coconut.
A lot.

If you give me that, I'll like you a lot.

I don't know what it is about coconut, but I've become obsessed. Last year, I discovered my addiction to Chewy bars was because there was coconut in it. I literally ate 10 Chewy bars in one day. But then I finally had a Chewy bar intervention, and made my mother stop buying them.

Then I met Almond Joys.*

My mother had boughten a huge pack of them to give to children (what child actually liked Almond Joys?) as little gifts** for when they came over for the Indian festival, Navaraatri. They were just sitting on the dining room table. I was having a chocolate craving, and decided to eat an Almond Joy, because I figured that I wouldn't like it, and would therefore only eat one peace of candy.

Wrong. 

I ate 13***.

UM.

Now I can't stop eating them. People are literally giving me their Almond Joys from Halloween, and I am in coconut heaven.

I'm not exactly sure what it is about coconut that I love so much. IT'S JUST SO GOOD. It's sugary, but not too sugary, and has a texture that is heaven, and is just so ?&$^!@# **** GOOD.

And there are nuts. Nuts are good. Nuts are in Almond Joys. Therefore, Almond Joys are good. (This is not a logical fallacy. This is TRUTH.) 

I don't understand why everybody seems to hate Almond Joys. What did chocolate mixed with coconut mixed with almonds ever do to you, other than try to taste delicious? But whatever, more of them for me. 

So, if you like me (or even if you don't), and you want to get rid of your Almond Joys, GIVE ME THEM. 

I <3 COCONUT.*****

* Almond Joys have coconut in them, if it wasn't already inferred.

** There were more than just Almond Joys as choices for candy. My mother isn't that oblivious to what children actually enjoy.

*** Ok, so, this entire post probably seems hypocritical to you if you read my mock proposal essay. BUT THIS IS MY POINT. If there was no candy, I wouldn't be addicted to Almond Joys, and I wouldn't have pounds of overly processed coconut (fat) mixed with trans fat (yay, more fat) in my body! AH.

**** There's a lot of words that could fit into those 7 symbols. It's the F word. 

***** Just thought I'd let you know that I have said the word "coconut" 8 times. (Not including this sentence.)

The Anti-process of Writing (and Life)

Things I do before I begin writing:

• Work out. If I'm going to be sitting in one place for hours on end writing, I might as well do something active before. 1 hour and 30 minutes gone.
• Go on Facebook. There is honestly no reason for doing this. Facebook is boring as hell, and yet I spend multiple hours on it doing absolutely nothing. 3 hours (accumulatively throughout the day) gone.
• Go on Twitter. Maybe someone else is procrastinating as much as I am? 5 minutes gone.
• Eat. And then I feel gross.
• Watch TV. No time for that in my life.
• Sing. Earbuds in my ear, music blasting, voice probably being ruined by the second by reckless notes that I probably should not be attempting to sing. 1 hour gone. (It's actually really easy to waste time by singing, if you're wondering.)
• Text anyone who will have the sincerity to respond quickly. Usually Nandu or Bridget. They're always awake. In total, probably 3 hours gone.
• That's almost 9 hours gone. Yep, seems pretty accurate. 

Things I do while writing

• Lay down on my stomach in my room, open Microsoft Word (2004 edition,) and stare at the screen for a very, very long time.
• Type out the first sentence that comes to my mind. Look at that sentence and think, "Did I actually think that would sound good?" 
• Look either at the syllabus or and example writing for help.
• Realize all hope is lost, I will fail at life, not get into college, not get a job, never find love, die alone homeless.
• Repeat everything that I did before I started writing, except working out.
• Have a meltdown in front of one of my parents. Be reassured that I will be able to write this paper, and mosey on up the stairs. 
• Lay down again. Look at Microsoft Word again. Think again. Type again. Erase again. Repeat again.
• Do this until a seemingly-mediocre paper has been written.

The process of revision:

• Write a shitty first draft.
• Think that my shitty first draft is amazing.
• Show it to my dad.
• Have my dad demolish it with corrections.
• Shamefully come back upstairs to correct.
• Come back with a less shitty, but still pretty shitty second draft.
• Look at a once-again demolished paper.
• Repeat eight times until my dad says the paper is a passing paper.
• Jump in victory.

This entire anti-process takes about 7-10 days.

It takes a lot out of ya. 

The first process is pretty much what I do before I start any type of homework. 

(I should probably change that.)

Another One of Those Music Posts

Natasha Bedingfield, aka my vocal guru. She has such a beautiful voice, and her songs connect with me on so many levels. Even though you guys all shunned her song "Wild Horses" when it was played in class, I want you to listen to it. I can (almost) guarantee that if you have gone through any hardship in your life, this song will move you. It's not a teeny-bopper pop song that has no meaning. It's emotional, deep, and has phenomenal chords in it. The piano part? Makes me tear up every time. How about that violin? Amazing. 

If you don't want to listen to that song, fine. Your loss. Listen to this one then. It might be easier for you to connect to.  Yeah, it's the song in the home insurance commercial. Don't judge it because of that. 

Isn't her voice beautiful? If you like these songs, I like you better than I probably did before. She really deserves more popularity than she has in the United States. (If you don't like these more serious songs, she also has happier, pop-ier songs.) 

Oh, and she's British. Which makes her naturally awesome.

Ok, this isn't an artist, but it's SO MOVING. Click this and be prepared to cry. Our own Concert Choir sang this last year at Moment in Time. Need I say more about how great the song is? The movie is amazing as well. Probably the only reason I know who Moses is... (don't judge me.) 

SHE IS GOD. I LOVE BEYONCE. GOD. GOD. GOD. GOD. GOD. 

Which one of her songs aren't good? That's right: none. Who can deny that she has one of the loveliest voices of our generation? Correct again: no one. Who disagrees that her and Jay Z's child will be a prodigy of life? NOBODY. I can't even choose a top favorite of her numerous songs, but this one makes me happy.  Beyonce is pretty much a quadruple threat: she sings, dances, acts, and is probably one of the hottest females ever.

On a completely different topic, if I could make myself a mixture of any group of notable people, I would have Beyonce's voice, Emma Watson's accent, my brother's brain (ok, so he's not a famous person, whatever) and Selena Gomez's body/looks. How great of a person would that be?  

I am a happy camper. Unless you do one of the following:

• Cheat on a quiz and/or test. And do better than me.
• Say, "that's so gay!" or "that's so retarded!" I will yell at and hit you.
• Don't challenge yourself in school.
• Get into exclusive clubs without doing anything special.
• Are a teacher that obviously should not be a teacher. (Don't worry, Mrs. Cardona, you definitely should be a teacher.)
• Don't do you homework, and ask me incessantly for answers. 
• Obsess over brand names. I can assure you that even though you are wearing a Vera Bradley backpack, it was still probably made in a sweat shop that makes Jansport backpacks.
• Are in a group project with me and don't do shit. (Sorry, language. But this could be one of my top pet peeves.)
• Are a smelly bathroom.
• Are a teacher that doesn't let me pee, eat, or drink in class.
• Eat my food that I was obviously going to eat.
• Don't trust me to make good choices.
• Don't let me drive my car at night.
• Don't let me listen to the radio while driving.
• Buy a bunch of junk food and don't except me to eat it.
• Praise athletics more than academics. *****WAYZATA*****
• Manipulate children into thinking that candy is minutely nutritious. It's not. 
• Act like a FOB.
• Say, "you have no idea," when I actually do, because I am going through the same thing as you.
• Rub your nails against a bed comforter. (Quilts are OK, but not any other sheet.)
• Are flat on a note. I can relatively handle sharp. But NOT being flat. I will make faces at you until you are not flat anymore.
• You eat crap and still are thin. C'MON, MAN.
• You don't try at all, but still get better grades than me.
• Are a 10th grade history teacher that teaches students that Hindus believe in over 1,000 different Gods. ...We don't. I will personally explain this to you if you want me to.

I'm a happy person.

I am Indian, read my pride.

     2 Million Minutes. Every post I've read about it seems to hate the fact that it portrays Indians (REPRESENT,) and Chinese as more diligent than Americans. But, c'mon, people. It's true. We spend our Friday nights watching high school boys try to assault other boys [football]. The highlight of our years are when we are far, far away from Peony Lane. I know multiple kids who failed everyday math one. There is an obvious difference between the attitude toward school here and the attitude towards it in other countries.
     Ok, I have a partial opinion. Get at me. But I've seen how focused (voluntarily or not,) children are about school in India. They go to school. They go to tuitions. They go home. They do more homework. They sleep. Repeat. They don't hate school. Why is it that they can do so much more work than us, yet not be so negative about it? Because they know that education will take them somewhere.
     Both times that I've watched this documentary, I can't help but feel awesome. Yeah, I'm not that smart, but my association of background, I'm awesome. (logical fallacy. But really, I am awesome.) 2 Million Minutes makes me feel so much respect and awe-ness for my dad, who got accepted into IIT--if you didn't pay attention during that part of the movie(shame on you) it is the most prestigious school in India. Which makes him awesome. Which makes me even more awesome.
     Now I'm going to be angry at you for your response to the two Indian students in the movie. STOP LAUGHING AT THE BOY FOR HAVING A MUSTACHE. STOP LAUGHING AT THE GIRL'S FAMILY FOR EATING WITH THEIR HANDS. IT'S NOT WEIRD, PEOPLE. IT'S NORMAL. JUST BECAUSE YOU DON'T DO SOMETHING DOESN'T MEAN THAT IT'S NOT NORMAL OR COOL. AMERICANS AREN'T RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING.
     Rage over. I like you again.
     Time for being American. The movie does make us look bad. But it does summarize the attitudes of many fellow students I know.
     That is all the American-ism I have right now.

     Now comes the (relatively) impartial Shreya. Let's just agree that your education can be ruined either by your teacher sucking, our your work ethic sucking even more. It's give and take, people. You have to give your energy into education if you want to take the benefits of going to school. "For Once, Blame the Students," is right. Once again, American students suck. (just kidding) I know what it's like to be eager to do well in a class and have the teacher be horrible at their job. I also have witnessed what it's like to have an awesome teacher get stuck with an un-awesome student who refuses to work. Both situations are hard. Both situations can't really be avoided.

I feel like I sound really anti-American-student here. 

I <3 AMREECA 

 

Once Upon a Time, There Was a Girl Who Wanted to be a Star ★

How many people can that title fit to?

Millions. 

I used to want to audition for American Idol when I turned 16.

Then I realized how much of a joke American Idol actually is.

Now I just resort to singing publicly whenever someone will let me. 

Music is my life. 

Don't be sold by my preppy facade. Along with being obsessed with Glee, Beyonce, Adele, the Script, and Natasha Bedingfield, I listen to hard core rap. 

Yesterday I sang two verses of 'Wild Horses' to my American Lit class. Someone told me to audition for Wayzata Idol after I finished. That was the best statement I could ever hear.

I've realized that the only thing I actually do during my free time is hide in my bedroom with my ear buds in and belt to music. It's actually the best stress reliever you could ask for.

Isn't music amazing?

Way back when (aka, last year,) I couldn't ever sing in front of anybody. My body physically would not let me. But now I sing in front of anyone who asks. 

All it took was a bus riding merrily along in St. Louis, MO.

Yay for confidence! 

What wannabe-famous-person doesn't have a YouTube account of them singing?

Not me.

Click this or feel my wrath

Ok, maybe click on that once Bridget and I actually upload a video of us singing.

Which will happen...someday

Speaking of singing and music, come to Brigadoon! (the Fall musical, for all you kiddos that are not in tune with/refuse to acknowledge the theatre department). I have to sell 24 tickets by next week, so if you want one, come find me. 

Here's my plea as a thriving singer/star:

1) make me a star

2) if you can't physically make me a star, become physically able, and then make me a star

3) if neither of those are applicable to you, find someone who is physically capable of making me a star, and then tell them to make me a star

4) if 1-3 are not in your hands of coming true, come to Brigadoon

5) otherwise, you can actually just cut a star out, and say that you made me a star. 

I would laugh if you actually did that.

★☆

Yes We Can.

     Regardless of your political views, let's just agree that Barack Obama is a phenomenal public speaker.  He epitomizes every component of a successful speaker.
     Firstly, his appearance: Obama was looking sharp in neutral colors.  Both his soft gray suit and striped gray and white tie gave him a relaxed look.  His tie especially gave off a relaxed and informal look, which was good for this specific situation, since he was speaking at a high school.
     Secondly, President Obama has a way with words.  His use of colloquial diction was perfect for his setting.  Students all around the country would be capable of understanding every single word Obama used.  This is good for the purpose of this 'Back to School' speech, because if a student doesn't understand what the president was saying, the speech would have no effect on the child (which is bad).  Yet even with the use of everyday words, President Obama was still able to give the speech a bit of formality.  He is a speaking genius.
     Obama knows who his target audience is, and how to reel them in.  He starts the speech off with a light mood by making the audience laugh.  Obama uses humor periodically throughout his entire speech.  This keeps his speech interesting to the normal viewer.  His use of personal experiences and personal life also keep the student audience in tune.  By using his own stories as a student who didn't receive perfect grades during his school years, Obama establishes his character as a relatable person who understands the stress and importance of education.
     President Obama also establishes his character by placing himself with the audience.  In many of his sentences, he uses the pronouns "us," "we," and "we're."  This shows that he cares for his country just as much as anyone else does.
     When Obama uses pathos in his speech, he really uses pathos. "You're this country's future." "I have no doubt that America's best days are still ahead of us, because I know the potential that lies in each of you." "Your country is depending on you."

PATHOS. PATHOS. PATHOS. PATHOS. PATHOS. PATHOS. PATHOS. PATHOS. PATHOS. 

     This speech riles up students enough to get them motivated for the school year, but not too much so that people start chanting Obama's words down the school hallway.  Basically, it's perfect. 

In Obama we trust.

(Until November of next year, if someone else gets elected. Then, in (insert president of 2012-2016 here,) we (hopefully, if the person is relatively competent,) trust (unless he/she is not trustworthy at all). 

No.

NO.

No thinking.

No speaking.

No acting.

No eating.

No marrying.

No bus riding.

No schooling.

No jailing.

No peeing.

No reading.

No bathing.

No hospitalizing.

No gaming.

No haircutting.

No sporting.

No drinking.

No housing.

No entering.

No defending.

No watching.

No calling.

No waiting.

No thinking.

No loving.

No believing.

No nothing.

Be yourself, because you can't be anything other than that. Oh wait. You can't even be that, because no one likes you for who you are, because you're black.  So basically:

Be nothing.

PS. "Hindu" is a religion, not a race. C'mon, Arizona.

A little story made me have a lot of thoughts

These five stories make me a) wish I had a more interesting life worth writing about, and b) feel even worse about my already-lame literacy essay. How do these people remember such specific things in their life? Granted, the events are pretty monumental. I wish I had as good of a memory as them.

William Kennedy's story stuck out to me even after reading the other authors' memories. He must be an awesome person if he can make a great story out of eggs. But in all seriousness, his story was memorable. He had an attention getting first paragraph (the first sentence wasn't very interesting, but when I read the proceeding sentence, it stuck out to me). Kennedy's dialogue with his father made me smile; I still wonder how he remembers that entire conversation. The subject was so different and unique that I couldn't help but not forget it. WHY CAN'T I WRITE LIKE HIM? Actually, I hope that when I'm 18 I can write something better than a story about eggs. I'll keep that as my goal.

 In honor of liking eggs.

Why I Write

     Why do I write? 

     I've never thought about this before. It's always seemed natural for me to write down how I'm feeling, whether it be in a journal, in poem, or in lyrics. Writing makes me feel free inside. I can express any emotions I'm feeling without fear of being judged. If I can't talk to someone about a problem I'm having, I turn to writing it down. I never have to worry about someone disagreeing with how I feel when I write
     Orwell was write (ha, writing pun,) when he said writers are self-centered. I guess I only write for myself. For my piece of mind. To know that I can leave my miniscule mark in the world.
 

I need to welcome my new followers.

Hello, fellow AP Compers.

If you've taken a moment to look at my previous posts, you probably have an idea of what kind of situations I write about. 

I write when I need to vent about something that I feel no one else will understand.

I write because it is one of the most therapeutic things I can do. (Besides singing)

I write because it cleans my soul of any grime the everyday world has left.

I write for me.

I write for you.

(I suppose I also write for a grade now.)

I need to be grateful.

This summer I spent a good amount of time catching up on what is going on in the world.
     I didn't like what I learned.
There is so much violence, hatred, and suffering taking place in so many countries. It breaks my heart to read on CNN that 29,000 estimated children have perished from malnutrition and parchment in Somalia. Learning about riots throughout Britain makes me question my love for the country. Hearing about the everlasting war in Islamic countries makes my blood boil. The declining economy of the United States leaves me feeling uncertain about my future. Deaths due to arbitrary reasons are engulfing my personal life. Taking life day by day is now how I function. Never expect to put something important off until some other day; no one is guaranteed tomorrow.

All of this makes me so grateful for what I have. I've come to not only accept, but embrace my parents overprotectiveness. I no longer find fault in them wanting me constantly under their radar. Staying out late, drinking, unnecessarily breaking rules: none of this appeals to me. I appreciate their way of wanting me to invest in my education now. This summer it really hit home for me that not every person is given the opportunities that I am given.
My parents support me in whatever I do. They've been my backbone for pursuing my vocal talents, educational goals, and advancing in tennis. I am so fortunate to have the life I have. We are all lucky to live the good lives.
     Although I might have not gone out and partied my heart out as I could have done, this summer was still memorable for me.
I learned to embrace the life I live.
I learned to appreciate anything thrown my way.
I learned to accept some major flaws in my life.
I learned to be independent.
I learned to no longer take living the first-world life for granted.
I learned that I need to be grateful.

I need to Let It Be.

     Tonight was an eye-opening experience for me.

I had done something that I usually wouldn't do: I had put myself out into the world. I let myself act on heart; on impulse, ready to embrace the consequences of my actions. 

     Tonight I felt those consequences.

If I could go back in time, would I choose to take the same action? Maybe. Would I prepare myself more for the pain I am feeling? Of course. Would I have shown my true personality more than I had in the past? Undeniably, yes. 

But would I have stopped feeling the way I did for one moment? Absolutely not. Do I regret setting myself up for this type of failure? No. 

Can I change anything about what is already done; in the past? No, sir. I cannot.

I need to learn.

To learn to just let it be.