It's over.
The hardest year. The longest year. The worst year of high school. The worst year of your life. All warnings I'd been given going into my Junior year of high school. Now, I'm on the other side.
I have to evaluate these titles now. The hardest year--academically, maybe. But other things were harder. The longest year--definitely. I honestly still can't believe it's summer. The worst year of high school--it's hard to beat ninth grade. I don't think so. The worst year of my life? Well, I guess that's up to me.
The school work wasn't as bad as teachers and previous students made it seem to be. This was my first year taking AP classes, and they really weren't that bad. Of course, May was hell, but that comes with the territory. Yes, there were many weeks where I felt stretched beyond my limit. But, in the back of my mind, I always knew, I'll survive. And that hope is what got me through.
As far as friends are concerned, I think it went well. I know a few more people now, came out of my shell just a little. And my two best friends at school, previously fighting, have made up. I still don't feel like a social butterfly, but I don't feel like a hermit, either.
I think I made my mark in some of my classes, too. The teachers chose me to be editor-in-chief of my school magazine for next year.It's a daunting responsibility, and sometimes when I think about it, I start to psych myself out. But no matter what, I'm going to give it my all.
In addition, I think my skills have improved--in writing, designing, and shaping stories. I would like to hope that I'm a better person than I was going into this school year.
And yet, as the year closes. I'm angry. I'm frustrated. I want to scream. In the course of this year, I've realized that there are 900 students under an administration that does not care for them. They are numbers, figures, notches on our superindendant's belt. We are not individuals to him, but a collection--each pinned to the school so he can roam the halls and admire his work. We are a "Christian school," but he is the god here. And his word is law. And we will all fall short of his glory.
Now I am fighting a battle I cannot win, other than by some merciful act of the true God. I am trying to stand up, stand out, violate his perfect order, for one class. One class that means the world to me. One class that the god of this school, in his infallible knowledge and wisdom, has decided I cannot take for my senior year. Against all my pleas and petitions. Against all my tears and cries for exception. The god has said no, and I challenge his order. If not for me, then for those I will leave behind me once I finally escape from this school. Nobody understands, and at this point I really don't care. It is a battle of wills, and I am willing to fight to the death.
We'll see what comes of next year. I know that I am going to carry a resentment that will only fester, now with this knowledge of the character of those who are in power over me. Maybe this sounds dark--it's not some sentimental note about the good times I've had this year. But, it's on the forefront of my mind, and it will be for the coming year. We'll see what happens.
Monday, May 30, 2011
It's hot.
Because the upstairs air conditioner is messed up.
Which is probably my fault.
Because I was messing with it.
Because the air up here is always too hot.
And my mom doesn't listen to me when I tell her that.
So I just mess with it myself.
And now I almost broke it.
And now my mom's mad at me.
And it's 85 degrees upstairs and I can't take my clothes off becasue my sister's boyfriend is here...
...AGAIN.
Why is he here?
It's Memorial Day.
Why is it so hot.
I hate the summer.
I hate the heat.
If I had to choose between sitting in this hot room and freezing to death...
...okay, I'd still rather sit in this hot room. But I hate the heat.
It's my least favorite thing about summer,
About North Carolina,
About the south,
About the weather channel.
If I die from heat stroke, let this be my last will and testament.
The end.
Which is probably my fault.
Because I was messing with it.
Because the air up here is always too hot.
And my mom doesn't listen to me when I tell her that.
So I just mess with it myself.
And now I almost broke it.
And now my mom's mad at me.
And it's 85 degrees upstairs and I can't take my clothes off becasue my sister's boyfriend is here...
...AGAIN.
Why is he here?
It's Memorial Day.
Why is it so hot.
I hate the summer.
I hate the heat.
If I had to choose between sitting in this hot room and freezing to death...
...okay, I'd still rather sit in this hot room. But I hate the heat.
It's my least favorite thing about summer,
About North Carolina,
About the south,
About the weather channel.
If I die from heat stroke, let this be my last will and testament.
The end.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Moving Right Along
This book blog is actually going to happen.
We've got a Facebook page, a Twitter account, and reviews already stocked up for posting. The blog account has been created, and we're in the process of fine-tuning it. The launch date is for June 17.
At this point I'm trying to think beyond just the reviews. What else can we post? What else can we do to promote? Sometimes I feel like we should just take baby steps, and sometimes I feel like we need to be buying a billboard or something.
As it stands, we have sixteen page likes on Facebook and five followers on Twitter.
We've only been promoting those pages for about a week. I don't know much about Facebook or Twitter, so I don't know how much progress that actually is. I have a feeling that more people are going to like the Facebook page than actually follow the blog. Which means we need to get the word out to more Facebookers.
If only I actually used my own Facebook account.
Well, my partner uses hers more than mine, and I have a feeling at least half of our page likes come from her friends. Still, it's something.
I can't wait to see what this is going to become. I have no idea how big it's going to get or how small it might stay--I just hope it doesn't flop. Right now I'm so burnt out with school, I can't hope for much else. Hopefully I'll recover some energy once summer break starts and be able to focus more on this blog. Until then, I have to keep daydreaming.
We've got a Facebook page, a Twitter account, and reviews already stocked up for posting. The blog account has been created, and we're in the process of fine-tuning it. The launch date is for June 17.
At this point I'm trying to think beyond just the reviews. What else can we post? What else can we do to promote? Sometimes I feel like we should just take baby steps, and sometimes I feel like we need to be buying a billboard or something.
As it stands, we have sixteen page likes on Facebook and five followers on Twitter.
We've only been promoting those pages for about a week. I don't know much about Facebook or Twitter, so I don't know how much progress that actually is. I have a feeling that more people are going to like the Facebook page than actually follow the blog. Which means we need to get the word out to more Facebookers.
If only I actually used my own Facebook account.
Well, my partner uses hers more than mine, and I have a feeling at least half of our page likes come from her friends. Still, it's something.
I can't wait to see what this is going to become. I have no idea how big it's going to get or how small it might stay--I just hope it doesn't flop. Right now I'm so burnt out with school, I can't hope for much else. Hopefully I'll recover some energy once summer break starts and be able to focus more on this blog. Until then, I have to keep daydreaming.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Phew.
Last week was a load off my shoulders. It was my second-to-last week of school, and it was one of the most stressful weeks of the school year. It was intellectually exhausting--I had three quizzes, four tests, one pop quiz, a paper, and three projects due in that one week. It was physically exhausting--I was up until midnight every night working, and I was so stressed I could hardly eat. Even the smell of food made me nauseous. It was emotionally exhausting--I had a fight with my friend, I recieved both the best and worst news of the school year within the same two hours, and my angst with authority multiplied ten million-fold, for multiple reasons. To top it all off, the world was going to end.
But now it's over. The projects and the paper were turned in on time and in one piece. I did well on all my quizzes and test (except for the pop quiz, but that's the story of my life), and I'm managed to pull some of my waning grades up (except for math, thanks to that pop quiz, which is also the story of my life). I made up with my friend, I'm working out the issues that made me so upset, and I'm eating somewhat normally again.
I have only a couple more projects left, a paper, and two tests. Five more days, one or two exams, and the hardest year of high school will be over. Over. Done. Dead. The summer is all mine, and I'm going to revel in that freedom. I'm going to soak in as much joy, hope, patience, and goodwill as my body can hold, so I can carry it with me through my senior year.
Five more days. What a year. More to come on that note. Until then.
But now it's over. The projects and the paper were turned in on time and in one piece. I did well on all my quizzes and test (except for the pop quiz, but that's the story of my life), and I'm managed to pull some of my waning grades up (except for math, thanks to that pop quiz, which is also the story of my life). I made up with my friend, I'm working out the issues that made me so upset, and I'm eating somewhat normally again.
I have only a couple more projects left, a paper, and two tests. Five more days, one or two exams, and the hardest year of high school will be over. Over. Done. Dead. The summer is all mine, and I'm going to revel in that freedom. I'm going to soak in as much joy, hope, patience, and goodwill as my body can hold, so I can carry it with me through my senior year.
Five more days. What a year. More to come on that note. Until then.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Book Review--Identical
I should start out by saying that Ellen Hopkins' books are not for the faint of heart. She gives an uncensored, first-person point-of-view on sexual abuse, drug and alcohol usage, and disorders such as bulimia, Identical being no exception. However, I think she opens up several important conversations that are often hushed in society, which is why I decided to pick up a couple of her books.
What caught me by surprise is that Hopkins writes completely in free verse (or sometimes concrete) poems. Although sometimes getting from line to line is a bit confusing, it's a unique style that creates a certain blunt atmosphere that you couldn't otherwise achieve through regular prose. Hopkins writes in first person, switching between the protagonist twins, Kaeleigh and Raeanne, an easy transition that occurs within the length of a typical chapter. Each twin has a distinct verse--I can't recall ever forgetting which perspective I was reading in. Altogether, it was an interesting and well-written style that I will enjoy seeing more of in the future.
The focus of most if not all of the character development falls on the main characters, the Gardella family. Each of the four family members is dissected and explored thoroughly, leaving no loose ends as to their personality or the motives behind what they do. The twins contrast each other nicely, and the family dynamics feel real, despite unbelievable circumstances. The handful of other characters are not nearly explored so thoroughly, and maintain a surface-level status-quo through most of the book. However, it is clear that those characters are not in any way the focus of the story, and are in-fact outsiders to the Gardellas and their personal lives. The believability of these supporting characters are not compromised due to their lack of exploration.
The plot is suspenseful and often intense. At times, you have to set the book aside and let the contents sink in. At other times, you can't stop turning the pages. It can be emotionally exhausting, simply because of the gravity of its contents. Still, Hopkins spins an artfully told, heart-gripping story. There are no grand adventures or quests to fulfill. It is simply a glimpse into the day-to-day life of a shattered family. Of course, there is still a build, a climax, and resolution, and the day-by-day story-telling is by no means tedious. I feel I can't say much more, other than the story draws you in and causes you to imagine yourself in the family's shoes. Also, it causes you to think. What more could you ask from a book?
Identical is an incredible novel, although not for those with weak constitutions. For the strong-willed though, it is a wonderful way to start a dialogue about a silent epidemic that is becoming more prevalent. Unfortunately, Hopkins' novel might become more and more relevant as time goes on. But then, hopefully, it will shine as a beacon of hope and courage for all who stumble upon it.
What caught me by surprise is that Hopkins writes completely in free verse (or sometimes concrete) poems. Although sometimes getting from line to line is a bit confusing, it's a unique style that creates a certain blunt atmosphere that you couldn't otherwise achieve through regular prose. Hopkins writes in first person, switching between the protagonist twins, Kaeleigh and Raeanne, an easy transition that occurs within the length of a typical chapter. Each twin has a distinct verse--I can't recall ever forgetting which perspective I was reading in. Altogether, it was an interesting and well-written style that I will enjoy seeing more of in the future.
The focus of most if not all of the character development falls on the main characters, the Gardella family. Each of the four family members is dissected and explored thoroughly, leaving no loose ends as to their personality or the motives behind what they do. The twins contrast each other nicely, and the family dynamics feel real, despite unbelievable circumstances. The handful of other characters are not nearly explored so thoroughly, and maintain a surface-level status-quo through most of the book. However, it is clear that those characters are not in any way the focus of the story, and are in-fact outsiders to the Gardellas and their personal lives. The believability of these supporting characters are not compromised due to their lack of exploration.
The plot is suspenseful and often intense. At times, you have to set the book aside and let the contents sink in. At other times, you can't stop turning the pages. It can be emotionally exhausting, simply because of the gravity of its contents. Still, Hopkins spins an artfully told, heart-gripping story. There are no grand adventures or quests to fulfill. It is simply a glimpse into the day-to-day life of a shattered family. Of course, there is still a build, a climax, and resolution, and the day-by-day story-telling is by no means tedious. I feel I can't say much more, other than the story draws you in and causes you to imagine yourself in the family's shoes. Also, it causes you to think. What more could you ask from a book?
Identical is an incredible novel, although not for those with weak constitutions. For the strong-willed though, it is a wonderful way to start a dialogue about a silent epidemic that is becoming more prevalent. Unfortunately, Hopkins' novel might become more and more relevant as time goes on. But then, hopefully, it will shine as a beacon of hope and courage for all who stumble upon it.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Maybe this "Teen Paranormal Romance Section" isn't such a bad idea...
...Now I can skip all the crap and get straight to the good stuff, and I'm serious when I say that.
The typical plight for me as a fan of (good) YA Lit is searching through the mounds upon mounds of rehashed, formulaic, Twilight knock-offs for something decent to read. I was getting pretty good at sifting the chaff from the wheat (the cover art is always your first clue to the contents of a book, followed by the description, but that's a blog for another day), but it was still a tedious, time-consuming task that often left me empty-handed. The harder I tried, the more vampire vomit flooded the shelves.
At first I was appalled when I walked into Barnes and Noble and found that the Teen section had been segregated, in essence, by how close each book came to resembling Twilight. What a disgusting idea, I thought. What is this world coming to? Once again, I left the store without a book. I couldn't wrap my mind around what possessed some evil marketers to do such a sleazy thing. The next couple of times I went to the bookstore, I just stared despondantly at the massive new section until it was time t go.
Yesterday, however, was a different story. I went to pick up a book for a project in English, and my sister and I decided we might as well explore the teen section while we were there. Maybe the shock had finally worn off, or maybe it was the pressure I felt from the Pre-Calculus work awaiting me at home, but I breezed right by the "Teen Paranormal Romance" section and straight to the smaller shelves labeled simply "Teen Fiction."
In about fifteen minutes, I had more success at finding good titles than I've had searching for an hour or more.
I'm not putting a hex on every book that resides in the "Teen Paranormal Romance" section. In fact, there are several books that I enjoy that have wound up there (for what I think is a total stretch of the definition "paranormal"). Still, my favorite books are sitting snug in the"Teen Fiction" section, and I suspect that it will be much easier from now on to add more favorites from these humble, half-sized shelves.
The typical plight for me as a fan of (good) YA Lit is searching through the mounds upon mounds of rehashed, formulaic, Twilight knock-offs for something decent to read. I was getting pretty good at sifting the chaff from the wheat (the cover art is always your first clue to the contents of a book, followed by the description, but that's a blog for another day), but it was still a tedious, time-consuming task that often left me empty-handed. The harder I tried, the more vampire vomit flooded the shelves.
At first I was appalled when I walked into Barnes and Noble and found that the Teen section had been segregated, in essence, by how close each book came to resembling Twilight. What a disgusting idea, I thought. What is this world coming to? Once again, I left the store without a book. I couldn't wrap my mind around what possessed some evil marketers to do such a sleazy thing. The next couple of times I went to the bookstore, I just stared despondantly at the massive new section until it was time t go.
Yesterday, however, was a different story. I went to pick up a book for a project in English, and my sister and I decided we might as well explore the teen section while we were there. Maybe the shock had finally worn off, or maybe it was the pressure I felt from the Pre-Calculus work awaiting me at home, but I breezed right by the "Teen Paranormal Romance" section and straight to the smaller shelves labeled simply "Teen Fiction."
In about fifteen minutes, I had more success at finding good titles than I've had searching for an hour or more.
I'm not putting a hex on every book that resides in the "Teen Paranormal Romance" section. In fact, there are several books that I enjoy that have wound up there (for what I think is a total stretch of the definition "paranormal"). Still, my favorite books are sitting snug in the"Teen Fiction" section, and I suspect that it will be much easier from now on to add more favorites from these humble, half-sized shelves.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
We were together again...
...for the first time
In a long time.
Just you and me.
Nobody else there to distract you,
Nobody to compete with.
Just the two of us.
And we talked.
For a long time.
Or at least it felt that way.
It felt like forever,
And that's a good thing.
We talked about some stupid stuff,
Funny stuff.
Like my goldfish dying and your church's geese dilemma.
We laughed.
You made me laugh,
And I made you laugh.
I love to make you laugh.
But then we talked about plans for the summer,
And college,
And careers,
And other miscellaneous plans for the future.
And for just a moment we brushed upon each other's dreams.
While you talked I couldn't help but stare at your eyes,
Such a beautiful,
Beautiful color.
And I thought of how silly it was
That you used to wear colored contacts over them.
But you decided to stop using them because you wanted to look like your birth mother.
And I thought that was tender.
So we talked,
And laughed.
And the conversation was only a little bit awkward.
Sometimes it would take a few seconds to bring up a new topic,
But only a few.
And that's remarkable, considering how it used to be.
When we were so far about we had nothing to say to each other.
The tide is pulling us together once more.
The current is weak, and it might not last.
It probably won't.
But still, I can feel it,
Ever so gentle,
Ever so hopeful.
And as you talked on,
And I stared at your eyes,
I said to myself:
I think I love you.
Then, the conversation began to turn.
You mentioned your girlfriend
One too many times.
And was it just me,
Or were we both uncomfortable every time you said her name?
Did your voice soften,
As if in apology,
Or am I delusional?
Then you got a call.
I thought it was your mom.
You didn't say,
But I think it was her.
So we walked towards the parking lot together.
And we parted ways.
And as I sank into my steaming car,
I said to myself:
I don't think I love you.
Love.
I've never experienced it before,
So I'm terrified of it.
To even speak its name,
To give away that first, "I love you."
I'm terrfied to be hurt.
To be jaded.
To turn love into a joke.
A sick joke,
Where no one ends up laughing.
I don't know how I feel about you,
But I'm terrified to call it love.
Because sometimes I feel it,
And sometimes,
That feeling turns cold.
Adults say all the time,
"Love's not just a feeling!"
And that's what I keep telling myself,
When I cling to you.
To the hope that one day
You might finally see me.
But I'm beginning to lose hope again.
Even though that current pulled us
For just a few moments,
It fizzled away again.
And I'm treading water again.
Water.
Why is that my analogy for us?
The survivors of a great storm,
Now slowy drifting apart,
In an endless, grey ocean.
Treading water.
With my heart strings still attatched to yours,
Pulling and hurting,
Sometimes going numb.
Like now.
Even after that blissful moment
When my heart felt good again.
I didn't even feel the pain this time.
It just went straight to numb.
Does that mean something?
Am I done with you?
So many times, I've been tempted to cut the strings.
To be free from this endless,
Fruitless hope.
But when I think of my ideal man,
I can only see you.
Okay, well maybe a little bit taller.
But that's beside the point.
So I guess my question is
What do I do now?
In a long time.
Just you and me.
Nobody else there to distract you,
Nobody to compete with.
Just the two of us.
And we talked.
For a long time.
Or at least it felt that way.
It felt like forever,
And that's a good thing.
We talked about some stupid stuff,
Funny stuff.
Like my goldfish dying and your church's geese dilemma.
We laughed.
You made me laugh,
And I made you laugh.
I love to make you laugh.
But then we talked about plans for the summer,
And college,
And careers,
And other miscellaneous plans for the future.
And for just a moment we brushed upon each other's dreams.
While you talked I couldn't help but stare at your eyes,
Such a beautiful,
Beautiful color.
And I thought of how silly it was
That you used to wear colored contacts over them.
But you decided to stop using them because you wanted to look like your birth mother.
And I thought that was tender.
So we talked,
And laughed.
And the conversation was only a little bit awkward.
Sometimes it would take a few seconds to bring up a new topic,
But only a few.
And that's remarkable, considering how it used to be.
When we were so far about we had nothing to say to each other.
The tide is pulling us together once more.
The current is weak, and it might not last.
It probably won't.
But still, I can feel it,
Ever so gentle,
Ever so hopeful.
And as you talked on,
And I stared at your eyes,
I said to myself:
I think I love you.
Then, the conversation began to turn.
You mentioned your girlfriend
One too many times.
And was it just me,
Or were we both uncomfortable every time you said her name?
Did your voice soften,
As if in apology,
Or am I delusional?
Then you got a call.
I thought it was your mom.
You didn't say,
But I think it was her.
So we walked towards the parking lot together.
And we parted ways.
And as I sank into my steaming car,
I said to myself:
I don't think I love you.
Love.
I've never experienced it before,
So I'm terrified of it.
To even speak its name,
To give away that first, "I love you."
I'm terrfied to be hurt.
To be jaded.
To turn love into a joke.
A sick joke,
Where no one ends up laughing.
I don't know how I feel about you,
But I'm terrified to call it love.
Because sometimes I feel it,
And sometimes,
That feeling turns cold.
Adults say all the time,
"Love's not just a feeling!"
And that's what I keep telling myself,
When I cling to you.
To the hope that one day
You might finally see me.
But I'm beginning to lose hope again.
Even though that current pulled us
For just a few moments,
It fizzled away again.
And I'm treading water again.
Water.
Why is that my analogy for us?
The survivors of a great storm,
Now slowy drifting apart,
In an endless, grey ocean.
Treading water.
With my heart strings still attatched to yours,
Pulling and hurting,
Sometimes going numb.
Like now.
Even after that blissful moment
When my heart felt good again.
I didn't even feel the pain this time.
It just went straight to numb.
Does that mean something?
Am I done with you?
So many times, I've been tempted to cut the strings.
To be free from this endless,
Fruitless hope.
But when I think of my ideal man,
I can only see you.
Okay, well maybe a little bit taller.
But that's beside the point.
So I guess my question is
What do I do now?
Awkward Moment + Thoughts
For our final project in AP Language and Comp., our teacher is letting us pick any classic novel on which we will do a report and presentation. To get our brains thinking, he gave us a list of options, and briefly described each novel. Many of the ladies in class seemed intersted in the The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. Our teacher told us to go home and think about it, and to try to choose one within the next few days.
He presented the project to us yesterday, and sure enough, many students researched the books that most intrigued them. Today, as I sat down at my desk and began preparing my mind for molding, the girl who sits in front of me came racing into the room with a cringing grin.
"So I looked up that book The Handmaid's Tale..." at which point she had to pause and take several scandalized breaths while she groped for the right words. "And it's all about women and sex and sexual exploitation." Her tight grin became accompanied with wide eyes, "It was so bad. I mean, it's all about..." She srunched up like an accordian and barely whispered the "S-E-X" word.
"Oh..." was all I could say. May I remind you that I go to a Christian school with some of the sweetest, most sheltered people you will ever meet, this girl (and probably myself as well) among those numbers. All I could do was raise my eyebrows in mock-surprise as she went on about how hedenistic the book sounded, and how it wasn't something she could even bring herself to read.
Of course, I didn't disclose any comments, because I'm sure it would have horrified her. The truth is, I want to become a pyschologist specialized in the field of human sexuality. That fact, combined with my love of reading, should tell you that I am intensely interested in any novel that explores sexuality, particularly sexual abuse, which is one of the areas I'm most passionate about. I am currently reading three novels focused on teen sexual abuse.
So, I just kept the conversation at, "....Yeah.."
Sometimes I feel strange for wanting to pursue this particular field, the discussion of which is often taboo, especially within fragile Christian bubbles (the other area of human sexuality that I'm most interested in is sexual orientation, so you can just imagine). Already, I'm feeling consciencious, because I know my Creative Writing teacher is going to read this as part of my blog project. What will she think? What will my parents think when I finally muster up the courage to tell them all this? What will the Christian community think if I ever step into the public arena with this topic(Dr. Phil gets enough crap just for having homosexuals on his show!)?
Of course, one of my biggest flaws is that I'm too worried about other people's opinions of me. Whenever these doubts creep in, I remind myself that I want to be one of the few Christians out there who actually stands up and adresses these issues.
Anyways, I should probably stop now before I roll out any "Christ Cliches." Just an incident that happened today, accompanied by a few thoughts. That is all.
He presented the project to us yesterday, and sure enough, many students researched the books that most intrigued them. Today, as I sat down at my desk and began preparing my mind for molding, the girl who sits in front of me came racing into the room with a cringing grin.
"So I looked up that book The Handmaid's Tale..." at which point she had to pause and take several scandalized breaths while she groped for the right words. "And it's all about women and sex and sexual exploitation." Her tight grin became accompanied with wide eyes, "It was so bad. I mean, it's all about..." She srunched up like an accordian and barely whispered the "S-E-X" word.
"Oh..." was all I could say. May I remind you that I go to a Christian school with some of the sweetest, most sheltered people you will ever meet, this girl (and probably myself as well) among those numbers. All I could do was raise my eyebrows in mock-surprise as she went on about how hedenistic the book sounded, and how it wasn't something she could even bring herself to read.
Of course, I didn't disclose any comments, because I'm sure it would have horrified her. The truth is, I want to become a pyschologist specialized in the field of human sexuality. That fact, combined with my love of reading, should tell you that I am intensely interested in any novel that explores sexuality, particularly sexual abuse, which is one of the areas I'm most passionate about. I am currently reading three novels focused on teen sexual abuse.
So, I just kept the conversation at, "....Yeah.."
Sometimes I feel strange for wanting to pursue this particular field, the discussion of which is often taboo, especially within fragile Christian bubbles (the other area of human sexuality that I'm most interested in is sexual orientation, so you can just imagine). Already, I'm feeling consciencious, because I know my Creative Writing teacher is going to read this as part of my blog project. What will she think? What will my parents think when I finally muster up the courage to tell them all this? What will the Christian community think if I ever step into the public arena with this topic(Dr. Phil gets enough crap just for having homosexuals on his show!)?
Of course, one of my biggest flaws is that I'm too worried about other people's opinions of me. Whenever these doubts creep in, I remind myself that I want to be one of the few Christians out there who actually stands up and adresses these issues.
Anyways, I should probably stop now before I roll out any "Christ Cliches." Just an incident that happened today, accompanied by a few thoughts. That is all.
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