Idealist-VS-World

Goldfish

2010-08-06T20:21:00.001-07:00

My best friend and I often joke about goldfish. When one of us forgets something obvious, the other compares them to the fish that remembers only two seconds of life before forgetting again.
But it strikes me now, how terrifying the memory-span of a goldfish is. They spend their lives, trapped, swimming in a glass bowl, and never once realize that they aren't going anywhere. They can move in circles, and not notice or care. It seems almost ridiculous to humans that anything could forget so quickly, but to the goldfish, it would never register, because they could never hold onto a thought long enough to realize just how meaningless and pathetic their lives are.
So what if we're the same way? What if I'm that way? Perhaps our memories are just as comparatively short, and our lives, equally meaningless. As we can think with no greater brilliance then our own memory capacity and intelligence as a species allows, we can imagine nothing better then what we already are. So just as a goldfish cannot see that it is perpetually trapped, forever running over the same ground in a meaningless attempt to go somewhere that doesn't exist, are we not trapped in a fish bowl of our own?
For most of us, our fish bowl, our cage, is no larger than our own town or city. We have nowhere to go, and no way to get anywhere. Some people have a bigger cage: a country, or the whole planet. But even when you can fly to any country on metal wings, you are still not free. If other human beings are anything like me, than surely, you must feel the trap, sense the uselessness of our efforts, and the horror of our own limitations.
I don't want a cage, but I will always have one. And if I must have a cage, and a limit, then I want my cage to be as wide as the universe. I want to be able to go everywhere, and never be obstructed, whether by glass, or the impossible distance and immensity of space-time that we cannot yet (and possibly never will) traverse. I don't want to forget everything, and never even see the bars of my prison. I want my cage to expand, until it holds all that we know, and perhaps a little more.

2010-06-27T19:20:00.000-07:00

The G20 meetings in Toronto have resulted in unnecessary violence from both protesters and police officers. There have been riots, illegal searches, and general chaos. However, this video proves that there are still a few original people in this world. :)

Shadow

2010-06-06T18:11:00.000-07:00

November

2010-05-24T06:08:00.000-07:00

The Fake Girl

2010-05-01T11:41:00.000-07:00

The fake girl

Smiles at everyone,

And attracts strange stares,

As a reward for her boisterous antics.

The fake girl

Laughs at stupid jokes,

And clumsily carves a happy face,

Into the tender skin on her wrists.

The fake girl

Is the clown that no one laughs with:

Just at.

The fake girl

Doesn't mind being a source of entertainment.

She'll gladly sell her soul,

To keep everyone happy.

She dances in dizzy circles,

And trips over her own feet.

She grins with hollow eyes,

And wishes that she knew why,

She wanted so badly to die.

The fake girl

Is a mask.

Something cheaply made:

An artificial flavor,

That can never truly substitute for sugar.

She is the rug that you throw on the floor,

To hide the dust and stains beneath.

The fake girl

Is about to fall to pieces.

Inside, the mutant screams.

It claws at the insides of pretty plastic flesh,

And tears at the corners of the fake smile.

It puts its claws through the faux sparkly eyes,

And rips out through the brain.

Foolish creature:

It wore the mask too long.

Never will this androgynous, shapeless, heartless monster

Be accepted.

If it wanted to be seen,

It should have never hidden in the first place.

A life of real pain,

Is better than a make-believe existence.

The fake girl

Isn't so fake anymore.

She may not be much,

But she's the only thing left.

She's all you ever wanted anyway.

Isn't she.

(Note: the lack of a question mark at the end is intentional. It isn't a question: it's a statement.)

City of Steel

2010-04-27T07:53:00.000-07:00

This is the city of steel,
Where we close our hearts
And pray that no one sees us.

This is the city of steel,
Where the homeless beggars,
Make up the dominant population.

This is the city of steel,
Where broken dreams are hammered down,
And turned into the foundations of the nation.

In this place,
There are no soft edges,
Or foolish illusions of happiness.
This is a dying world,
Where even the blue skies,
Have a hard, metallic edge to them.

Hush, hush, little baby.
Be silent,
And learn to cry only in your mind.
Don't try to escape the bars of your little metal cradel,
Because it's just the same on the outside.

Hide, child,
Behind a cold stare,
And a mask of apathy and indifference.
Don't try to smile:
The ones that smile never last for long.

Our city is a place of pain,
Where we can walk by the same desolate building,
A thousand times,
But never see it.
In this place, beauty is the shine of polished glass,
And the way the light refracts off the gunmetal.

This is the city of steel,
But even steel can break
....Right?

Well, on that happy note...:P Review? *Puppy eyes.*

The Archie Revelation

2010-04-24T14:41:00.000-07:00

Dear, lovely followers (not that I have many...),
Today, my dad, knowing of my involvement in the gay movement, sent me a fascinating article. What was that you said? "Wait?" Oh: you must be wondering about my last comment. "Since when," you ask "Is this annoying, hyperactive teenager involved in the gay movement?" A little history, then.
I started high school last September. For the first few weeks, I stumbled through the halls in a daze, much like any other semi-unpopular grade nine student. I looked in awe and fear at the seniors, and clung to my small group of nerdy friends. Then, about a month into the first semester, I met James.
James was probably the most hyperactive male I had ever met. I recall wondering if he was mentally disabled the first time I met him, because he acted like no boy I had ever met. However, I quickly grew to like him tremendously, and we struck up a friendship. In my mind, I soon labeled him as the happiest person I had ever met, and I could always count on him to cheer me up. Always, at least, until the day he spent the entire lunch period near tears because his boyfriend had dumped him. I was shocked. Up until that point, I'd heard James mention hot guys, but I'd always assumed that he was just joking.
With James to lead me, I timidly entered my first GLBTQ meeting, Colouring Outside the Lines. I was frightened of being seen going there; frightened of the other students attending; frightened of what I was beginning to know, despite my best attempts not to--that I was not straight as I have so vehemently stated in the past. After about two months of going to the GLBTQ, I finally admitted the truth to myself: every idiot who had ever insulted me had been correct: I was bisexual. I'm not sure yet where this will take me: until I came out, I had never allowed myself to like girls, but now, I find them more attractive then boys or men. Perhaps I am bi, perhaps a lesbian. Regardless, the moment I came out, I became deeply involved in the gay rights movement.
Alright! That's the back story! Now, onward with the plot!
Today, I opened my gmail, and, low and behold, I found an exciting article that my dad had sent me. It was published in The Hamilton Spectator, and was simply the announcement that, for the first time ever, Archie comics would have a gay character. Kevin Keller (the character) will not only be the first gay character in the Archie comics, but will also remain as a prominent feature. This is a big step for a series that I previously thought of as enjoyable, but simultaneously shallow and sexist. For a long time, Archie has been stuck in the past, but now, it will begin to lead the future.
Well, that's all for now. This is the article: http://thespec.com/article/756877. I hope that you enjoy reading it, and I look forward to the coming of Kevin Keller to Riverdale!
Rock on!
-Eva

Road to Hell

2010-03-03T13:38:00.000-08:00

You ask me who I am.
What I am.
Where I come from.
Why I'm here.
I doubt you really want to know.
I could tell you,
I am a refraction of light
Gleaming in the dust,
On a black and yellow pathway.
I could say,
I am the story that haunts you.
I am your past,
Reflected in a river of blood.
I am a child,
In a generation that will continue your journey,
When you fall to your own monsters.
I killed them.
Look:
The blood is on my hands,
Along with a million pus-filled boils.
Would you care for a taste of medicine?
I'm sure it will kill you swiftly.
You look cold:
Would you like a blanket to warm you as you die?
What am I?
I am the deeds you wish you could forget.
I am a shadow in the night;
A ghost, fleeting through the woods you carelessly trample.
You must wonder why I'm here.
It was so long ago.
Can't I just let the past be the past?
No.
I am walking down the path you created.
My bare feet blister,
As the path becomes a road to hell.
We're not so different, you and I:
We both love the earth so much;
Why don't we make it our own.
A perfect world,
So beautiful, with it's blood drained out.
The dead are beautiful,
Aren't they?
Look:
The corpse of our world will feed us,
With gold.
Taste it,
Delicious, isn't it?
Now try the flesh of the savages.
I'm sure it will be equally satisfactory.
We'll have to kill them all;
They don't like us taking their land,
And giving them our wonderful tools.
What fools.
Ignore them;
They've already lost.
Have you ever smelled a flower?
I think I see one.
Never mind;
It's just a weed.
Still, it's pretty, isn't it?
So white.
So pure.
Hard to believe,
That it's capable of so much damage.
Come now,
Let's fight another war.
We have guns,
And guns will always win.
Technology is so wonderful;
With it, you can break,
Even a handful of arrows.
The broken arrows are better anyway.
The whole ones were too strong,
Too proud.
Yes:
The fallen warriors
Are better.
They can contribute to society now;
Build our skyscrapers,
And work in our
casinos.
Important roles...
Because in every society,
Someone has to be worthless.
We must never forgive anyone,
For being different.

I wrote this poem to remark upon the injustices that were done upon first natives in Canada, and anywhere were colonialism affected the people who originally inhabited a place. I wrote this poem for a contest sponsored by the Canadian government. The topic was SUPPOSED to be about how other cultures shaped the Canada we know today, but I was writing this at 12:15 AM, and I got rather pissy...This is the product! :P

Anime Club!!

2010-02-26T20:13:00.000-08:00

Today has been the happiest day in a long time: today, we had our FIRST EVER OFFICIAL ANIME CLUB MEETING!!!!!!! Being an idealistic pessimist, I never expected it to work out. I never thought things could get better for us, or that we'd ever be more then nerds, stranded at the edges of society. I'm happy to say that I was wrong: today, we met in my school, in room 207, and spent the entire lunch hour planning our first manga. The teacher who finally took us in is also in charge of the schools newspaper, and is thrilled by the amount of enthusiasm we have for manga and anime. She has promised us space in the paper for a manga strip, which will be a humor based comic about our long and arduous journey into the world of club-hood. Basically, we will write a satirical piece, where we will constantly insult the teachers who turned us down. We are all designing our own characters, based upon us. We have decided to split the work of illustrating the manga evenly, with everyone drawing their own character, and taking turns on the backgrounds.
While we are a club now, I had nothing to do with this happening. Everything we have, we owe to our president, Christina. Christina never seemed to be a leader; she was always shy, and afraid to speak out. Because of her manner and disposition, I never expected her to make anything happen. I was wrong. While I was writing dramatic letters, she was talking to people, and perusing the art teachers for their testimonials. Because of her, we have the thing we most desperately wanted, and I want to thank her here, even though she shall never read this. Thank you Christina: you did what I couldn't, and I'll always be grateful to you.

Anime

2010-02-20T14:17:00.000-08:00

Dear members of the school board:
My name is ******* ***, and I am a member of the Anime Club. At this moment, I am sure that you are scratching your head. You don't know what club I'm talking about, do you? The club I am referring to, dear friends, is the one which you denied a club status earlier this week. We are the group you rejected. We are nonexistent in your eyes. To you, we are nothing.
Because you do not know about us, I shall have to explain what has happened up until today, and I will have to do it here.
Just before the Christmas holidays, I joyfully walked to the meeting room of the Anime Club with my friends, only to be told that we were no longer allowed to meet there. My friends and I went to the office, where you told us that we could not be a club without a teacher advisor. You suggested that we ask one of the art teachers to facilitate us.
We did as you told us, and went directly to the art department. As we had already spoken to two of the three teachers, we approached the only one left--Mr Shipman. When we found him, I explained our predicament; how we couldn't meet without a teacher to oversee us, and how the office had recommended that we speak to an art teacher. He didn't even allow me to finish speaking. He laughed uproariously, and then said the following (paraphrased): "No way. I don't like anime; it's the stupidest thing ever, and the worst thing an art student can get into. It's a waste of time." With due respect to Mr Shipman, I think that his reaction was cruel and hurtful. Without foundation, he called something that we dearly love stupid. He is entitled to his opinion, but he never even attempted to give a reasonable and coherent explanation for it.
Obviously, Mr Shipman was uninterested in our group, and we could do nothing to change his mind. We left, and proceeded to contact another teacher, Mr Bear.
Mr Bear agreed to let us use his room to meet. However, he told us that he would not officially be our teacher advisor, because he had no interest in anime. We accepted this, and the Thursday of the second week after the Christmas break, we met there for the first time. It was a wonderful and positive environment--A chance for people with a shared passion to meet each other, and express their feelings to people who would understand them. There was never a second meeting.
Because many of us were not free on Thursday, we decided to reschedule to Friday. On Friday, I was told by our president that we were not allowed to meet as a club anymore. From what I have been told, I gather that the school will not let us meet without an official advisor, and will not allow us to have one until we can bring in notes from the teachers in the art department, saying that they refused to take us in.
Naturally, we still meet. I will not tell you where, because you would likely try to stop us. We are a group of friends, and we feel just as strongly about manga and anime hiding in the corners of the school as we would as an official group, but we still want to be recognized as a group, and given a meeting place.
While we may do exactly the same things we would do as a club, independently, until you give us status, we are not a club. We can never work with the school to organize trips; we cannot recruit new members by posting signs; we cannot be recognized as more then nerds who are not even deserving of a table in the cafeteria. I believe this to be unjust.
By telling us that we must have a teacher advisor, you insinuate that we are not capable of taking care of ourselves. However, you expect us to work out our problems with the art department, and it's teachers, on our own. This is an contradiction, and a double message, because if you do not believe us to be old enough to work independently, we should not have to bring notes from the people who scorned us.
As our superiors, you have the right to deny us the right to be a club. But as human beings, I am asking you to respect us, and acknowledge the love we feel for anime. I am not asking you to love anime. I know that if you dislike it, nothing I say can make you see differently. I don't care what you think about our unofficial club; but you don't have to see eye to eye with me, I am simply requesting that you either give us an advisor, or allow us to meet without one.
We may not be as important as Colour Outside the Lines, or Students Bridging Boarders, but we are still people with a common love. You would never have dreamed of denying a human rights club--like those listed above--a meeting place and a status. In your eyes, we are undoubtedly just a bunch of pathetic teenagers with no ambition; perhaps you are correct, and what we love is as unimportant as most of the world would say it is, but it is still WHAT WE LOVE. We are not Neo Nazi's: we are not hurting anyone, or insulting their ideals; we just want to meet, and be official in your eyes.
I am a member of the Anime Club, and I am acting alone. I cannot speak for the others in this letter, but I hope that you will reconsider your position and give us a fair chance. If you wish to speak to me, you may page me over the intercom, and we will sit down and speak as equals.
Yours sincerely,
-******* ***

Flightless Birds

2010-02-20T09:59:00.000-08:00

I love you.
I hate you.
I need you.
Just go away.
God, I wish I weren't so contrary.
I would pull you in,
But I'm afraid of being pushed away.
I want you,
But who could ever love me?
Stupid little girl,
In too big clothes.
Am I as lost in this world,
As my thin body is lost,
In thick black fabric?
There is a veil between us.
Like a one way mirror:
I can see you,
But I am invisible.
A veil...
Or are you just ignoring me?
I wouldn't blame you.
I love you,
And I hate you.
If I had you,
I would probably destroy you.
Break you.
Crush your wings,
And make you like me.
Beautiful bird:
How this ugly duckling envies you.
If I could, I would tear you apart.
I would take your golden plumage,
And cover myself in your bloody feathers.
Please, stay at a distance.
Because a flightless bird like me,
Will only seek to hurt you.
Oh, but how I would love to have you.
Lock you in chains,
And put up walls around you.
Why not?
They did it to me.
Come to me,
And we'll kill each other.
And forget,
That the real enemies,
Are watching us,
And laughing
At our foolish war.
Two broken, flightless birds.
Perhaps, wingless though we are,
We can sing,
And fly on the cracked music,
Of our choking, broken voices.
You were a songbird once,
Weren't you?

Disturbing, isn't it? I know, you're shocked...TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY!!!! Really?! EVA?!?! Oh well...I had this up on deviant art, and I thought I'd just post it here...:P

The Brightest Star

2010-02-20T09:06:00.000-08:00

In my own, masochistic way,
I envy your pain:
It has made you stronger,
Then I can ever be.
Your eyes,
So bright and clear:
I could burn them,
Stab them out,
And obliterate their light,
But they would still be brighter,
Then my own.
Your smile is sad,
But it is real.
Much as I try,
I can only muster,
A half grin.
Or a scowl.
Or a bitter tear.
Your tears are so gentle.
Soft, and lonely.
I can't even bring myself to cry.
While you sob,
I laugh hysterically,
At the pain that I don't know.
Your imperfections
Are so beautiful.
Your pains and joys,
So acute.
My feelings are never so sharp.
I don't know who or what I am.
I don't know what I think of you.
Or why.
All I know for sure,
Is the hatred I feel,
For the things I almost love.
I wish my life,
Were as brutal as yours.
You are almost dead;
Drowned in your agony.
But while you truly lived,
You were the brightest star in the sky.
And I am not a star at all.

Hello, dear readers! :) Well, this poem was written with the character Envy, from Fullmetal Alchemist, in mind. Originally, it was supposed to be about him, but I ended up making it partially about me...I dunno...:P Anyway, you can find me on deviant art at http://roymustangizlife.deviantart.com/ if you want to read all my poems, and see some of my art! <3

Shallow.

2010-02-16T09:12:00.000-08:00

We grin.
We talk of shallow, happy things.
Manga characters,
and movies we haven't seen.
So foolish.
So carefree.
You are my friend,
but I will never confide in you.
You are far too innocent;
if I allowed you to penetrate my mind,
you would run, screaming.
Then, yesterday in the hallway
You were different.
You were so quiet,
so withdrawn.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
Your tone caused me to stop and stare.
Was it you, behind that mask of angry defiance,
or was it myself?
I tried to confront you;
you walked away.
It was later,
that you finally cried.
I watched as another girl comforted you.
All I could do,
was pat your shoulder awkwardly.
When the tears abetted,
you hugged me.
I thought for a moment, then,
that everything had changed.
Perhaps we would talk about the things that mattered,
and share our pain together.
But the moment passed,
and the next day
we sat together.
So close.
So far.
"How are you?"
"Good."
We sit,
close enough to touch,
and yet separated,
by an impenetrable wall.
We sit.
We grin.
And talk about shallow, happy things.
Without ever touching what truly matters.

I wrote this about an experience I shared with one of my friends at school. She is nice, and we have a lot of common interests, but we never delve beneath the surface. I wish I could say that it was her fault, but it's not; we're both to blame. The truth is, trust is the hardest thing to build, and it always takes me years to make true friends, no matter how wonderful all the people in my life are.

Comfortably Numb

2010-01-25T11:49:00.000-08:00

There is no pain, you are receding
A distant ship, smoke on the horizon
You are only coming through in waves
Your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying.
When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye
I turned to look, but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child has grown, the dream has gone.
I have become, comfortably numb.

-Pink Floyd. The Wall, disc 2. Comfortably Numb.

Today, I lay, stretched out upon my bed, listening to Pink Floyd. I was mostly just trying to gear down after my art exam, but I felt too sick to rest: I have a bad cold, and as a result, I'm having trouble breathing. People think that I'm healthier then I really am, because I always smile, and hold in my coughs. I don't like to show my weaknesses. Even as I try to explain how ill I feel, I hold back the hoarseness of my voice, and force myself to be as vibrant as I am when at my best. Sometimes, though, I feel as if I'm fading out. When I'm tired, and I wish I could die, I always see swirls of blue and green behind my eyelids. It annoys me, in a way, because it sounds like a cliche; blue and green swirls. But it's true. I don't know if I'm the only person who sees the swirls; perhaps everyone could if they looked for them. You have to look so hard; stare at the backs of your eyelids, and focus. Forget the world. Between our world and oblivion is peace. The swirling reminds me of Pink Floyd's music. The way the guitar soars, seeming to fly high above the music. The way the notes seem so lonely. More then anything, my half world recalls to me the song Comfortably Numb. In my opinion, it's the most beautiful song they've ever written. It gives me the sensation of floating away on my back in a gentle current. There is no world outside of my body; just the feeling of drifting, as a bird calls piercingly from somewhere high above. If the bird is the guitar, gliding and diving and climbing upon the air, then I am the piano; holding the rest of the music up, but never taking wing. If there is one thing I know, it is that I will never fly like the bird; I will drift along beneath it, like a leaf carried on the water. The bird will sing, and feel the wildness of the wind upon it's feathers, while I drift through time, unaffected by my own life. I am not the hero of my story, I'm just a bystander. This may sound sad, but to me, it's alright. I'm at peace with this fact about myself. Once--maybe it was yesterday?--I would have wanted to join the bird. I would have made wings from wax, and followed it. I wanted to be a star, once. Now, I know I won't be. I can't lead, and I can't follow. So I will write down the stories of others, and be content with who I am. Do not pity me. I have no wings, but in my own way, I will fly. Even in my darkest hour, I will continue to float. I feel no pain; I am comfortably numb.

Test Corrections (How to get in trouble for protecting the environment).

2009-11-02T14:44:00.000-08:00

Today, in French class, my friend Ariel* and I were sent to the hall for trying to help the environment.
It was a boring Monday morning, and most of the class was sitting with their heads on books, or else texting on their cellphones under their desks. I myself, being done with my official class work, was alternating between writing a chapter for my novel and doodling. The teacher, seeing our idleness, immediately jumped in with a sharp "stop doodling Ava," pronouncing my name wrong as usual. As I was writing at the time, not doodling, I responded with "I'm not doodling right now, I'm writing a chapter for my novel, the one where Lion gets his eyes burned out." She glared slightly, but let it go.
"Alright, everyone, when I call your name, you come up to the front of the class and get your tests back," Mme P. said, beginning to call names. I won't say what marks anyone got, but I will tell you that neither me nor Ariel failed, at least.
When everyone had received their tests, Mme P. informed us that our grades were extremely disappointing. After several minutes of telling us why, she proceeded to test corrections.
We, the class, took turns writing the correct answers on the board, then, Mme P. told us to write the answers out on a separate sheet of paper, copy down the corrections for the things we'd gotten wrong three times, staple the paper to our tests, and put them in our binders, ready to be marked for neatness out of ten. (I'll rant about Binder Checks another time.)
Everyone groaned at the workload, but complied; that was when Ariel chimed in with a suggestion.
"Why don't we write on the back of our tests to save paper?" She questioned. The idea hit a note with me, so I decided to voice my opinion to the room at large.
"Hey, yeah! That's a great idea!"
Both Ariel and I got straight to work, writing on the back of our papers; Mme P. was quick to correct us.
"I didn't say to write on the back of your tests, I said to write on a separate sheet of paper!"
"But that's bad for the environment!" This, from Ariel.
"Yeah! We should be saving paper! Every bit helps!" I added.
"This isn't about saving paper; this is my classroom, and you have to follow my rules," Mme P. retorted, obviously annoyed, "Now copy your work down again on a separate sheet of paper."
"But--"
I don't want to hear it Ava," Was the incorrectly pronounced response.
"And what about the poor paper clip?" Was Alice's take on things, a voice piping in from the other side of the room. The whole class smirked about the paper clip comment, including Ariel and myself.
"That's it, why don't you and Ariel go to the hall?" Said Mme P., losing her temper.
I complied, as did Ariel, and not without a small feeling of pride. I made a 'rock-on' sign for to my friend Connor, and rolled my eyes, luckily not in Mme P.'s line of sight.
In the hall, me and Ariel waited. I was bored, so I went to my locker--conveniently situated directly beside the classroom--and dug out my intermediate Royal Conservatory piano theory book. Just as I was closing my locker, Mme P. entered the hall and spared a few seconds to tell me off for going to my locker. That aside, she proceeded to attack the values and beliefs of both Ariel and I for at least 4 solid minutes. Every time we tried to explain our reasoning, she interrupted us, saying that she didn't want to hear it, and telling us not to talk back. In the end, she told me to stay after class on account of my protests against the ethics of binder checks (I said I'll tell you another time, didn't I?), and we were sent back to class to finish the corrections.
Ariel told me she hadn't felt so angry in a long time, and my hand shook slightly as I wrote on the half piece of paper that Ariel and I had torn and shared as a compromise.
As you may have gathered from reading this post thus far, the whole incident was idiotic. Ariel and I wanted to save paper, Mme P. felt that we were being rude, and we were punished. Why? Ariel made a good suggestion; in an ideal world, shouldn't she have been rewarded, not punished for her initiative? What was so wrong with a simple suggestion; with upholding ones ethical beliefs? It was a small thing; a few pieces of lined paper, but isn't even something that small worth saving if it is at all possible to save? In this time of global warming, depleting natural resources, and impending disaster, we should all be doing whatever we can to protect the environment...right?
Well, no matter who's right, I still feel angry; I don't see how what Ariel and I believe is wrong, and I'm not going to back down just because one backwards teacher tells me to.
If I come home late, it's because I'm in detention.

-Eva, not Ava

Socialism?

2009-10-31T08:02:00.000-07:00

"Hey Grandpa, what is your opinion of socialism?"
"I've never heard of a socialist system not turning into communism."
"But don't you believe that we, as humans could do better: share the worlds riches; distribute wealth equally? Isn't giving up a few comforts worth knowing that no one is living out on the streets?"
"I believe that the world works the way it is: it couldn't succeed any other way. I worked hard to get to where I am in life, and I'm not about to give it all up. I think I deserve what I have."
This was a small portion of a conversation I had with my grandfather several months ago.
I love my grandpa, but at times, he can be more stubbornly pigheaded then I can, and-in my opinion-about all the wrong things. He sniffs disapprovingly when I come to family get-together's dressed in baggy t-shirts and camouflage pants. He becomes annoyed when I explain earnestly why he doesn't need two cars in his driveway. On the topic of socialism, his response to my ideals was no different.

Personally, I think that socialism, while flawed, is a better option then the money grubbing, capitalistic world in which I currently dwell. I will pause to take a deep breath as I prepare to say something incredibly cheesy: I don't want money. I will give you a moment to wipe the tears of admiration from your eyes. Yes, that sounds stupid, but no, I'm not lying. I know I need to have some money to survive, but I don't want to live in a big house in the suburbs, or drive an SUV. It is my dream to live in an apartment in some large city. I don't want to be rich; I don't know how to be. I'm not rich now, and not always having enough money to buy an Ipod Touch may seem like the worst thing on earth, but it's a lot better to come home to your small, lively pigsty of a home then to live in a huge house that echoes when you call out at night.
Oh dear, I seem to have drifted off topic; back then, to socialism.
Ms G., whom, as many of you may know, was my teacher last year, was the one who first explained the constructs of socialism to me.
As she told me and my classmates of what a world with a socialistic economy might be, I was far from convinced; I wanted to succeed, I wanted to be rich, and I knew that with my grades, succeeding would be a simple matter. That was when Ms G used an example that changed my mind.
"If Matt and Eva both have the same jobs," She said, grabbing my classmate and myself at random, "And both work the same hours, but Matt works extremely hard, yet struggles to do his work, whereas Eva is lazy, but does an exceptional job at everything and constantly gets promoted, is that fair?"
Matt didn't think so, and on contemplation, neither did I. Ms G. had grabbed to students at random, but for me, it struck deeply. In truth, I am lazy. I don't do my homework, yet I excel in every subject (except French). I've never had a grade lower then an "A" (except in French). I have friends who study for hours every night, stay late after school to get help from the teacher, pay a tutor, and still barely pass with a C-. I sit around drawing and reading, while they work their asses off: is that fair? According to Capitalism, I suppose it is. According to Capitalistic ideals, of course, those who fail in life were lazy; I must work harder then they, to achieve my grades, to find my place in society.
Grandpa clearly believes himself to be more deserving of his station in life, because he worked hard to accumulate wealth. In his mind, those who are poor are slime, because they brought their poverty upon themselves; I disagree. Yes, some people are lazy, but poverty isn't a choice; our society is set so that there are only enough jobs for 90% of the population. This insures that there will always be people willing to take even the worst of jobs, endangering their lives in dangerous working conditions for terrible pay. Is that fair? What you answer to that question makes the difference between socialism and capitalism.

Everyone is entitled to there opinion, and this is mine:
No; it isn't fair. No one should ever have to starve to death on the streets, while others eat caviar and drive multiple cars. No; I don't think that your quality can or should be measured by the money in your pocket. No; it isn't okay to believe you deserve the things you have in life, and take them for granted. I believe that socialism can work, if we all understand that giving up on having more is worth it if everyone has enough.

Idealistic socialistic high school kid signing out,

-Eva

PS. Hey grandpa, I hope you're not reading this, because I have a feeling you won't give me any birthday presents if you do! Sorry to use you, but you make for such interesting topics! (Grandma! MAKE HIM GIVE ME BIRTHDAY PRESENTS!)

HATS!

2009-10-22T19:24:00.000-07:00

I'm sure you, my readers, looked at the topic and groaned. "What's wrong with this kid?" You asked yourselves. "Has she finally cracked?" Maybe.
When I started my first year of high school this fall, I entered my homeroom classroom with some trepidation. The reason: my homeroom class was French! I have a fairly high academic level, but French is my greatest weakness. For this reason, I opted to take French at an applied level this year. Unfortunately, my teacher doesn't appreciate the lax attitude with which my class behaves.
When I walked in, the first person I saw was an acquaintance of mine Alice*, with whom I had attended a science camp several years previously. The two of us, coupled with another, had been the only girls there, and as a result, we were happy to be reunited. Alice, being a girl with attitude, had opted to wear baggy sweat pants, a brightly coloured tank-top, and a black and white baseball cap, adorned with loud buttons.
As the seat beside her was taken, I chose to sit behind her so as to converse throughout the class.
The bell rang, and in marched our teacher Mme P.*
The moment Mme P. walked in, I predicted a fight: she had a grouchy, bossy expression, and obviously didn't wish to be in the room at all.
"Everyone take out your notebooks," said Mme P., with an air of contempt. Her eyes fell upon Alice. "Hat's off," she added impatiently.
"No," Retorted Alice, causing our teacher to look around sharply. She was clearly not accustomed to having her will contested.
"I said take your hat off," Mme P. repeated.
"Why?"
"Because it's school policy."
Now, I knew that this wasn't exactly correct, and I immediately raised my hand to say so.
"Yes?" Said my teacher angrily, noticing my raised hand.
"That's incorrect," I replied, being a know-it-all, "It says in the school dress code and decorum policy that the hats rule is at the discretion of the teacher."
"Well, I'm the teacher, and I say no hats," She retorted. "And as I said," She continued, repeating herself, "I'm upholding school policy."
"Okay..." Was my doubtful reply.
Alice refused to take of her hat, and was sent to the office. Since that day, she's been suspended from class two times, and has had to spend her school days in the office. The severity of the punishment begs a question; what the hell is wrong with wearing a hat?
According to my middle school teacher, Ms. G., taking off ones hat upon entering a building is an old tradition, and follows the rules of the middle class. "The middle class?" You ask? By middle class, I mean the halfway point in society; a level of wealth that is not rich, but most resoundingly not poor.
As a member of the "creative class" (A fancy word for in-between dirt poor, and middle class.), I see no reason as to why I should conform to an archaic social norm. Taking off your hat was once a sign of respect, but in this day and age, why do we continue to slave at the feet of the cruel slave-driver that is tradition?
I don't know why Alice didn't want to take off her hat; perhaps it was special to her, maybe she considered it an act of defiance; she might have simply seen no reason to comply to our bossy teacher's rules. Who knows? Not me. Whatever the reason, I don't see a problem with wearing a baseball cap. (If you think otherwise, I'd be happy to hear your opinions!)

Hats off to you,
-Eva

Violence?

2009-10-22T19:06:00.000-07:00

"Is violence ever justified?" Asked my former teacher Ms G.*

"Sometimes," I replied positively. "If someone attacked you, and you needed to defend yourself, it would be okay."
"Really? Do you really think that?" Asked Ms G.
"Yeah!" Was my vehement response.
"I don't believe that violence is ever acceptable. If someone hurt me, I would allow them to."
"But why?"
"If someone attacks you, they can damage your body, perhaps your mind, but on the inside, you'll still be okay. If you hurt someone, it destroys your soul. If somebody hurt me, I think it would damage them more then me."
"Uh...I guess so..."
That was the end of all conversation on the topic. On the inside however, my mind continued to churn, mulling over the idea. Is violence ever justified? Is it ever okay to hurt someone? I had heard what Ms G. had to say, but I still didn't agree.

I won't lie: I'm selfish. I don't care about being pure or whole. I don't want to be good; I want to live, and if I have to use violence, I will do so.
Maybe Ms G. was right, but I'm not one to passively allow someone to hurt me. Perhaps it will hurt them more then me, but I don't have to courage to find out.
I hope that one day, I will be as strong and brave as my teacher, but I'm just a thirteen year old girl, struggling to survive; gasping for air like a fish out of water.
I hope one day, I learn to breath.

Until that day, selfish teenager signing out,
-Eva

*Yeah, it's nothing personal, but I don't use people's real names on my blog, and we-my class, all called her Ms G. anyway! :) Also, I'm not sure I succeeded in memorizing the conversation perfectly, but the rough idea can be found in this post.

Last Chance

2009-08-07T06:02:00.000-07:00

"We're all going to die: we've taken too long to come up with the answer, and like the dinosaurs, we will all die."
Those are the words I uttered to my littlest sister Bella*, as we sat in the library, writing in our respective notebooks.
"What? When?!" Was her response.
"I don't know, but soon. There's no way a species that's made such a mess of things will survive," I responded.
"How do you know?" She challenged.
"We can't breath our air, we're fighting wars over the most basic human necessity; water. We're cutting down trees like there's no tomorrow, and every single species on earth is in decline. I'd give us to about year 3000." I said, choosing the year partially to insult the Jonas Brother's song I'd had to endure for the past 2 years, and partially because I honestly believed it would all be over by then.
"Well, I'll be dead by then," She responded, face full of smug satisfaction at having retorted to her big sisters 'the end is nigh' proclamations.
"Yeah, and so will everyone else." I growled, my volume earing glares from the nearest librarians.
Bella rolled her eyes and returned to her diary.

That was the end of the discussion.
But not the end of the reality.
Will we die? Maybe, maybe not.
Perhaps we'll survive, but what is survival? Take away our clothing, our homes, our inventions-modern necessities-and what do you have left? Without the things that we have created, what are we but animals, not as powerful as we had once assumed, naked in the big world. Could we ever start from scratch, with so few resources left to exploit?
Perhaps we will all die. Scientists constantly talk about the tipping point, giving us long term solutions. But maybe we've already reached that point. We plan to cut our carbon emissions by half by 2050? We're burning fossil fuels so fast, we won't have anything left to use half of in 41 years! Everything's a mess, and we're not stepping up to prevent it.

Everything's a mess; but just because we don't think we can survive, doesn't mean we can't try to.
This isn't an excuse to say "It's hopeless anyway. Why does it matter whether I drive across the road to get gum from the convenience store?" This is a chance to fight.
It's too late to screw in your energy saving lightbulbs and shower heads. It's too late for you to feel warm and fuzzy just because you went to church for an environmental workshop. Stop driving, turn of your air conditioner, and stand up on your own two feet. This is our last chance: don't waste it.

-Eva
(As usual, names are not used. Perhaps my post sounds outrageous? It's not.
My family hasn't had a car since I was 2. We use ceiling fans, instead of central airconditioning, and we walk, bike, canoe or bus nearly everywhere. Maybe where you live, this isn't an option, but at the very least, you can carpool. Please, just try: we really are on our last chance.)

You Will Never Have It

2009-08-01T17:08:00.000-07:00

I wrote this poem some time ago, and have never gone anywhere far with it. I've definitely written better, but anything by me in the way of poetry actually worth reading has already been published, meaning I can't post said work here.
Well, enough of my bitter complaints: without further ado, the poem.

You see a flower

You want it

You want it's beauty

You want it for your own

You want to be beautiful

You pluck the flower

Hold its radiance in your cupped hands

Its beauty will fade in death

You can pluck it from the earth

Tear its petals from the steam

But you will never have it

Its beauty is for itself

To share with whom it will

You can kill the flower

But you cannot have it

You will never have it

You can never truly take what isn't yours

When you try to take the light of another

You only turn to darker night

You will bear the flower forever

And will never obtain its beauty

For the flowers beauty is its own light

You will never have it

You see a flower

You want its beauty to shine inside you

But pluck it from the earth

And it will reflect back

Only the ugliness

Of your heart.

Well, that's the poem in its entirety. Thank you for taking time to read it.

-Eva

"Society"?

2009-07-31T19:16:00.000-07:00

"Hey Eva, are you a lesbian?"
It's Scott* again. We're sitting in homeroom, waiting for the teacher to return, and he's asked me the question a billion times.
"Sure Scott!" I yell, letting my sarcastic side do the talking. "That's why I have a GIANT CRUSH ON ROY MUSTANG FROM FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST YOU IDIOT!" My outburst is met by blank stares, with the exception of my friends Jake*, Cameron* Alana*, and Justin*, who laugh and applaud: they all know of my obsession with Roy, and tease me constantly for it.
Scott doesn't get it.
"So you are gay?" he asks, causing me to practically jump through the ceiling as I leap to my feet to retort.
"NO! I'M NOT! YOU'VE ASKED ME A GAZILLION TIMES, AND THE ANSWER'S NOT GOING TO CHANGE!!!!!!!"
Now everyone's staring.
"You always wear boys clothes though! Why don't you wear some pink?"
"Cuz you're wearing it all!" I growl. It's true: he's wearing a pink t-shirt. My friends laugh, and the conversation ends, but it leaves me confused and hurt.
Why, based solely on my clothing, do people assume I must be homosexual. Why is pink associated with femininity, and why is it so wrong to like people of the same gender anyway?

Society has given us stereotypes of how we're supposed to look, think and feel, but what never seems clear is, well, exactly what is "Society"?
It's easy for murderers to say, "It wasn't my fault, I'm the product of society," but what is society?
Society is us.

We, not some unspecified Other, decided that girls should wear pink, like shopping, and be good at cooking, whereas our male counterparts should wear blue (black, camouflage, etc), like football, and fight wars.
Everywhere, people fight to conform to "societies" norms.

But these norms change all the time!
Before World War II, pink was considered a boy colour, because it was brighter, and therefore stronger, while females were supposed to look delicate and pretty in blue.

Now days, if you're not skinny, you are likely to be jeered at for your size and weight, but in the 1800's, the ideal was to look plump and well fed.

If you go to the beach, you'll see tons of men, women, and even children, flopped out in the sun, intent upon nothing but burning their skin a darker shade, yet looking back a few hundred years, one would find a tan to be a sign of poverty, with all the upperclass doing their best to stay pale.

All these examples prove that our ideals are nothing but constantly changing fads.
This is both disturbing and hopeful.

We have created a world that shuns anyone out of the "ordinary", and idolizes only one type of beauty. We have made a place where who you love can be considered sinful.
But it doesn't have to be that way!

Throughout history, we've proven that a cultural shift isn't only possible, but probable. We don't have to be discriminatory; we can choose to accept everyone.

So don't make excuses about why you won't talk to the transgendered boy in the school cafeteria, or refuse to befriend a lesbian in your workplace. Stop believing that a girl wearing baggy camoflauge pants and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt cannot be straight.
We need to see past our narrowminded beliefs and respect everyone, no matter how they dress, who they love, what their skin colour is, or how much money they earn per hour. It's time to prove that we can do better then our ancestors. It's time to take responsibility for society.

-Eva

Cellphones

2009-07-31T18:28:00.000-07:00

"OMG! Have you seen the new Razor..."
It seems that everywhere I turn, there's a cellphone.
First off, let's get something straight: I'm 13. This fall, I'll start my first year of high school, and yes, I think owning a cellphone could be useful, but why are they the topic of so much conversation?
Cellphones are personal communication devices, but somehow, they've also become the definition of a cool, social teenager. I, as a teen, find this insulting: I don't own a cellphone, and neither do a lot of my friends, but somehow, Sarah's* sleek pink Iphone still manages to be the biggest attention grabber in my grade 8 classroom when she runs into the room on a Wednesday morning, eyes bright with excitement. Even my geeky guy pals take the time to admire the lightning quick Internet services, in favor of discussing our favorite books.
Another example of the power the cellphone has over our society can be found one sleepy day in late April, in the grade 8 core French class.

"...Now, we've been studying various careers for some time, but you all have yet to choose your preference," Chirps the assistant French teacher, "So today you will all take a multiple intelligence quiz, to determine whether you are Logical-Mathematical, Verbal-Linguistic, Visual, Natural, Intra-personal, Interpersonal..." I tune her out. I already know the answer: everything and anything but social.

I take my copy of the test when it comes to me, politely passing the rest of the papers to Scott*, who sits directly behind me.
"When everyone has a paper, you can all start writing. The test is in French, but you may answer in English." The teacher stops talking.
It's my first year in school, so my French is woefully inadequate, but deciphering the meaning is easy enough. The first few questions are very routine: "Your favorite classes are English, History, and French" is obviously for Verbal-Linguistic, and "You like to spend time alone to sort out your thoughts", intra-personal.
But then I reach question number 7, and my pencil freezes in mid air.
"You constantly talk to friends on your cellphone."

"Excuse me," I say, raising my hand as courteously as possible,"I don't have a cellphone, what should I put for question number 7?"

The teacher rolls her eyes. "Just don't check it!" She exclaims, as if this should have been obvious.

The fact that a question on a multiple intelligence would require you to own a cellphone in order to be a social person deeply disturbs me.

As I've already said, I'm not a very social person. I have plenty of friends, but I don't talk to them much outside of school: I've never felt the need, but on the other hand, I have friends like Lily* who spend all their time chatting with friends, but don't own cellphones. Not everyone can afford them, and that doesn't mean they aren't social, or prefer to be alone!

Yet the cellphone has become such an icon of teen popularity, it seems unthinkable even to a middle-school teacher that a 13 year old could enjoy company and conversation without owning a mobile phone.

Cellphones cause cancer, kill bees, and generally, cause misery for anyone who happens to be on public transit during someone elses loudmouthed conversation (That's another story), and now they give you a multiple intelligence quiz that says you cannot succeed in any career involving people skills, solely based on the fact that, for whatever reason, you don't own a Samsung.

I as a teenager, wish to reserve the right to live in a world where I am not associated with a small hunk of plastic and metal.

I don't believe that people don't have the right to use cellphones, I'm just saying that I want the right not to.

Thanks for listening to my rants,

-Eva

*For the sake of my friends' privacy, I've changed everyones names.
Also, no copyright infringement intended in the use of product names. I was just using them to make a point!

Pro Choice

2009-07-31T13:08:00.000-07:00

On March 10th, 2009, I opened my gmail account, sighing as I saw the 50 plus emails from friends I had yet to respond to. Idly, I opened one from a e-pal of mine, who, for privacy, I will call Marie. The email was a forward with the title

FW: Red Envelope Day, no, it's not Feb, 14th, It's March 31st

This was what I found upon reading it:

When: March 31st, 2009

Get a red envelope. You can buy them at Kinkos, Staples, or at party supply stores. On the front, address it to

President Barack Obama
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW
Washington , D.C. 20500

On the back, write the following message.

This envelope represents one child who died because of an abortion.
It is empty because the life that was taken is now unable to be a part of our world.

We will mail the envelopes out March 31st, 2009.

Put it in the mail, and send it. Then forward this event to every one of your friends who you think would send one too. I wish we could send 50 million red envelopes, one for every child who died [in the U.S. ] before having a chance to live.

It may seem that those who believe abortion is wrong are in a minority. It may seem like we have no voice and it's shameful to even bring it up. Let us show our President and the world that the voices of those of us who do not believe abortion is acceptable are not silent and must be heard.

Together we can change the heart of The President and save the lives of millions of children.

Marie is a born and bred Catholic. She is also 13 years old. Already, she has an ingrained belief that abortion is evil in its truest form, and that anyone to receive an abortion is committing the most terrible sin.
Personally, I don't think she had the right to decide such things: it's easy for people living with all the privileges and protection of an upper-class Western lifestyle to condemn other women for choosing not to give birth, but is it fair?
Sure, a lot of people get pregnant because of carelessness, but many others are raped. Should the victims of sexual assault be denied the right to abort, based on a snobbish value system?
More then our clothing, language, history, architecture and art, the thing that makes humans different from all other life on earth is our ability to make our own choices, and sometimes-many times-that includes the freedom to make the wrong ones. Choice is a beautiful and terrible thing, and we as a species usually use it to destroy, but that doesn't mean we should give up thinking and share a brain!

So maybe abortion is wrong, but that doesn't give Marie the right to decide that for the world.
Safe abortion should be an option given to all women, everywhere in the world. Until that becomes a reality, how can we boast about freedom?
Please; before you condemn someone for their choices, try to think What would I do in their place? And forgive them.

Thanks for reading my first ever blog post.
-Eva