2011-2012

2011. My Personal Year. of. suck.

There were great times, and there were bad times. Heart wrenching things happened. Not for better or worse, they just happened.
I've been told, "Well, it's a new year, none of that stuff matters anymore." I want to ask them, "Who do you think you are?"
I know. It's rude of me.
"Sophie, you shouldn't get so caught up in it all."
"Sophia, you're so strong, you never worry."
"Sophia, why do you even let it bother you?"
"It's just one year, in the long run it doesn't matter."
These are the things I get told so often. I shove those words away because, while they are trying to comfort me, it doesn't help. I almost find it insulting. What do you mean I shouldn't get caught up in it all? It's my life, my family. These are problems that I can't ignore.
I'm not going to say I'm not strong. I know I am. But If I am so strong, why is it never put out of my head? I worry all the time. I've met you like..twice[the person who's said that that to me], so how could you know if I am worry free?
This last one, while partly true, is baloney. Yes in the long run, one year's activities won't be remembered forever. But to say that it doesn't matter? You're kidding yourself.
Every year, month, week, day, second matter of your life. Whether its' a glace at a stranger, a meal with friends, a meal by yourself, a laugh, a cry, scream or a shout, it all matters. Don't tell me that when my parent's get a divorce it doesn't matter. So far it's the biggest thing that's happened in my life.
It might hurt, but it's not something I'll ever try to forget. It's been half a year since my parents split and I've already learned so much about myself that I didn't know before. If my parent's hadn't broken up, I wouldn't be this same girl.  2011 mattered, even in the long run.

2012 is going to be a full year. Not full as in busy, but full of life. This coming year will be difficult. We'll all get angry, and we'll all be excited. We'll be sad, and joyful, friendly, and distant throughout the year.

This year I am going to make New years resolutions and a Bucket list. I'm going to find awesome music and I won't stop listening to it. It makes me happy. I'm going to write like crazy, and paint lots. I'm going to do what I like to do, and just live more. I'm 14 years old, but I'm ready to live. It doesn't matter your age. This year, I challenge you to live.

So, go out and have a marvelous New Year. And a very full year.

Finding Joy

This happened a while ago, but I'm still really inspired by it. :) I posted it on my other blog, So Write, a few weeks ago.

Today I went to school. I was expecting the usual; being bored out of my mind, avoiding tripping over the other students in the crammed hallways, teachers yelling to get our attention. I didn't know we were having a guest speaker talk to us about the Columbine Highschool Incident in '99.
I hadn't ever heard the story before, and it was unbelievable. By the end of the 2 hour presentation, everyone was in tears. I don't want to get into it, because I've only heard the story once, I'm afraid I might get it wrong. But I'll leave a few links on where you can find out more about what happened, and the story of Rachel Joy Scott's life.
There are a few guys at our school who act super tough. They're the ones who pick on people the most. They were the ones who were touched the most by Rachel's story. It was an incredible experience.
I was also nominated in my advisory to go to an extra session with two other people from each of the advisories at the school. There were about 60 people crammed in the library, after the main assembly. The speaker didn't focus so much on the violence, but more on Rachel's life story. How she affected those around her-the ones who didn't treat her with respect, the ones she met once, the ones she didn't know, the one's who were her close friends and family-all of them. They were all affected by Rachel's story.
In the smaller session, we had a few students stand up and share with the rest of us their personal story. Lots of people were crying, lots of people were silent. Everyone was thinking about Rachel.
Rachel was all about being kind, and reaching out to others.
By the end of the day, we all walked to our last classes feeling more confident, with more goals, with more self knowledge, and more joy. It seems odd that I could've found joy from her story. But I did. Her way of life was so amazing. She wanted to know people, and help people. And she didn't just want to do it, she did do it. Every minute of every day that's what she did. It was so inspiring. And the stories that my fellow classmates told were so touching. We all felt safe crying together, no one was laughing at us for doing so. We were comforting each other, and being each other's Rachel's.
It was amazing.
I've just finished making cupcakes, because I am happy, and baking makes my happiness last, I've found. I'll post a picture eventually, but I don't have it on my computer at the moment.
Click the links, and read up on Rachel Scott, and Rachel's Challenge. It will change your life. I promise.
http://rachelschallenge.org/
http://www.facebook.com/pages/In-Memory-of-Rachel-Joy-Scott/189023856889?sk=wall
http://www.facebook.com/rachelschallenge
http://twitter.com/#!/RachelsChalleng

And here's the cupcake recipe: http://betweenfactandfiction.blogspot.com/2011/08/happy-writers-lime-cupcakes-for.html

On a Rainy Day

I wrote this a few days ago and posted it on my other blog, So Write. Now I'm sharing it with you. 

Right this second I want to be somewhere rainy, and cold, and Far Far Far away from this town, and my life.
I want to make tea for myself, and get out my journal and my computer and have time to myself to write.


I don't want to have to go to school tomorrow. Running a mile is not something I feel like doing at this time. Doing math does not sound appealing. Studying mnemonics does seem boring and uninteresting.
What I want to do is go somewhere I've never been, and write. I could write anything right now, but I'd really love to finish my book. I know I'm not yet half way done with the first draft, but once I'm finished with it, I'll feel so much better.



I told someone this, and they said, "You're just depressed."
No, I'm not depressed. I'm fed up. At this moment, It's time for me to have a little while to myself without having discussions about astrology, geometry, weight lifting, or solfege notes.

Right now, I need to be somewhere where It's quiet, and peaceful, and I don't have to worry about having an awkward conversation about how long I'll stay at each parent's house.


I want to be somewhere wet, clean, and alone. To get away from my life for a while, and just WRITE.
I desire a different setting right now. That is all.

I'm Not Taking My Own Advice In This Post....

Just catching you up. I posted this a while ago on my other blog, So Write.

Tonight, I am going to an art show. The Confluence Art Walk to be exact. I've never heard of them, but a friend of mine is hosting, and so we are going. I can't wait! Every time I see any art, I get a sense of respect for....everything. I'm making it sound corny, which is not my intention.
It's like I realize that they spent so long  on that piece of work.
A lot of artists think it's not just right, that it's not good enough, and we'll work and work to get it the way we want. Not everyone will like our finished products. A lot will. But we don't let that get in our way.
We keep sculpting, or painting, or writing or what ever it is we do and don't let others' opinions define us. This doesn't mean we don't care what other people think, it just means we know what makes us happy, and how we like to express our emotions.
I honesty believe that everyone is an artist(If my sister is reading this, Naomi, I apologize for the corniness. At least it's not as bad as Beauty and the Beast) no matter what they do it. If they're a constructor, a painter, a designer, a knitter, a baker, a writer, or really anything, it's a form of art.
And as if this cheesy enough, here's what I'm trying to get at.
You are wonderful. You're talented. You don't have to care what the other people think about you, as long as you know who you are, and what do what you love. Don't go the extra mile just to please other people. If you do something you really love, someone out there will really love it, just like you.
“Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one’s definition of your life. Define yourself.” ~Harvey Fierstein

What 'Home' Means to Me

This is one of my journal entries that I wrote a few months ago while visiting my grandparents. My parent's had been split up less than a month, I think. So, I'm just catching you up. I posted this a while ago on my other blog, So Write.

August 2nd, 2011            Current Age--13

Home.
Some people don't realize how strong this word is. I sometimes say, "I've got to go home," when I am actually referring to the house in which I live in. Just because it is my house, doesn't make it my home. In my family, things are occurring, that will make me and my siblings have two houses. For me, neither of them will completely my home.
I have lived in many houses. Lots of them were completely 'Home'. In fact, all of them, except for the two most recent houses have been 'home'.
For a year, I lived in a house that my family was renting. We shared the house with my mom's parents, which was nice. Oliver, my brother, and I shared a room. It was okay that we were sharing. I had always had a bedroom buddy, so I didn't know that I was missing out. It was a good house to live in, but we all knew it wouldn't be home.
Now I'm living in a house with my own bedroom. I've decorated it to my liking, and I have plenty of space to spread out. It is the first house I've ever lived in, where I had my own bedroom. The house is nice. Pretty big, and a nice yard, but something about it just hasn't been quite 'home'. And now, with the arrangement between my parents, it will only be one of mine.
When I think 'home', I think about the house that my dad grew up in. A cozy little place in Centralia. My Grandma, and Grandpa are still living in it, and we go to visit them from time to time.
A few days ago, Oliver and I decided we wanted to stay with them for a week. We were both excited until my mom drove away.
I've never been homesick before. Even when I was a really little kid, I never missed my family.
But as soon as my mom got in the car and started to drive back, I regretted coming. It was wonderful to see my grandparents, but I just wanted to be with my family.
For the rest of the day, I would hover around the bathroom, convincing myself not to cry. Something about being back in that house, was bringing out all of my unspoken emotions. I wanted to be in MY house. In MY town. Being there made me realize, that there can be more that one 'home'. This house was my home. And Chelan, was my home.
Just when I thought I had overcome my homesickness, I went to the living room and lay down on the couch. And too late, I realized my mistake. This couch was a hide-a-bed, and whenever my family was visiting, this was where my parents slept. As soon as I lay down on the couch, all of my feelings came flooding to me.
Tears were running down my cheeks, and I couldn't stop them, though I tried.  I think I was so homesick because of everything that's been going on with my family. Laying in the same place my parents did so many times, was like having them present, when they were together.
This house was reminding me of all the old times that we probably won't see again. When all together, the five of us, were a Home, no matter where we were.
I know it sounds corny, but this is Life, As Written by a Nobody.

The Importance of Keeping a Journal

Just catching you up. :) This is something I wrote for my other blog, So Write.

Hello! I hAve been keeping a journal. With things the way they are here(crazy), it's inspired me to write about what's happening in my life. So later on, I can look back at the journal and say, "Wow. That was quite an eventful time. I would have forgotten parts of how I felt then, if I hadn't written the journal." Plus, journalism, as far as I've heard, is the best way to practice writing-no matter what subject your writing is.
So, this post is about the importance of keeping a journal. That has two meanings. 1) Write about the events in your life, no matter how unimportant they seem. They will be important later, while you are reading through your journals, trying to remember bits of your past. Not everything will be extremely important, but everything is worth writing about. And 2)It's really, really, really important to keep a journal. Keep every bit of paper that you wrote on. It's not being a pack rat. It's being a memory keeper. I'm only 13, and I already regret recycling some of my old journals. Because now I don't remember everything I did when I was 9. What I did at sleep overs, how I felt about arguments I was in, and many other things. It helps so much to keep your journals for many reasons. To remember your life, and also, learning new ways of writing and remembering the old ways of writing.
I now keep every journal I fill up. Because someday I am going to look through them and I am going to appreciate what I did and how I felt even more. Plus, not only is it good practice to write about your life, but it is also a ton of fun.
Happy writing!!

Welcome!

This is a place where I will share my thoughts. For a while I wrote about my thoughts on my other blog, which I decided I'm only going to use for my actual writing.
On this blog, I will post things mostly involving my parent's separation.
I'm not the kind of person who likes to talk to other people about heavy stuff. I've actually only talked to three people about it(outside of my family) in person. When I write it down, it's so much easier for me to grasp what my actual emotions are. When I'm talking to my friends I'm afraid of being judged. It's like...I don't know how to put it into words....All I know is that when I'm writing, it just flows out from my head onto the journal where I can look at it, and understand what I am feeling, and put it into vocal words.
SO, this is a place where I am going to post my journal entries. I'm not looking for critiquing. Not really even looking for sympathy. Mostly I'm just speaking my mind, and sharing my experience with other kids who are going through the same thing. Letting them know that they're not the only ones. I'm stating facts, that may not be true to anyone but me.
Now, without further ado, I welcome you to my mind. Please, get a comfortable seat; It's most likely going to be a bumpy ride.