Identity

Identity: the fact of being who or what a person or thing is. The condition of being oneself or itself and not another. 

Sometimes you don't know how lost you are until you are found. I myself was enjoying the scenic route as I wandered carelessly about, but it was unbeknownst to me how my path had detoured... until I found myself back where it all started. The signs on the road saying "WTF" definitely didn't catch my attention and instead gave me the completely wrong idea.

All that was felt but never spoken came tumbling to my feet when my dad said, "You know, if you really wanted to, you could transfer back."

What liberation. Really, could I? Who cares about pride, you live as you learn so what if leaving were a mistake? If music should still be a part of my undergraduate career then am I at the right place? However, Sidhartha taught me well how we humans easily believe that by doing one thing or buying something will alleviate suffering. (ex. you think buying that DVD will somehow encourage you to work out more, when really the change must come from within you). But once we obtain said object, the suffering still exists unless we face the pain head on and pull out a yoga mat. 

So transferring back will not make me happy. I miss the moments and the people but neither of them will be there if I returned. The memories cannot be relived, peers have graduated moved on, sisters have left, and my closest friends have stronger bonds with people who are strangers to me. Returning would not be the same. So uh, why did my dad's proposition excite me?

I need to get out of Moscow.

When my environmental science lab took a field trip to Granite Dam I got way too giddy for an education tour trip. As much as I love my hometown that trip confirmed it. I think I've outgrown this place. Horribly.

Along with that, I just need to graduate. My new short term goal is to just graduate and leave. I'm ready to start that wonderful thing called life and while I love school... I feel the pressures of academics and part-time jobs is to "just get by" of to "just be okay". I'm really to live a little here.

But I'm here for a reason. I left Pocatello for a reason, and I believe that everything does happen for a reason so there's no point in resisting the change. So, I'm at peace with being here in Moscow, for the time being. 

Ugh.

But I've been lost for so many reasons besides that. My dad's proposition stirred another thought of my unhappiness. I have been taking voice lessons for the past ten years of my life and abruptly, I up and quit. I don't like using that word, but here it really does fit. I quit singing. Almost altogether if it wasn't for the shows I was participating in... but even then it wasn't enough. It was kinda like missing my right ear, or arm... or something. It sucks, and kinda painful. Within my group of friends I was always the one with the voice of the music major... and not my identity has been comprised.

Bitter? Yeah, probably a little. At whom or what I'm not quite sure and life is funny that way, but placing blame isn't important compared to deciding where to go from here.

haha, so here I am! More involved with the theatre than ever and taking acting and dancing classes because quite frankly, I don't need a degree to do what I enjoy. I can seek out training anywhere. And after a long painful year without lessons, I'm back to regular weekly lessons with Kelli. Which is just as big of an adventure for her as it is for me... since I am uber rusty and she's not used to me being a high soprano. (Wow, life changes fast.) And overall, I'm really excited to sing new pieces, continue classical, and embark on some foreign musical theatre healthy-belting...

Perhaps I needed this break form singing to show myself how strongly I have always identified with it. The other day when I was at work, one of the servers who I have bonded with a lot recently, flattered me by surprise by asking me this random question, "Does it bother you to hear people sing when they totally don't know what they're doing?" I don't think she knew how much I appreciated her comment because it reassured me that even though my path has switched directions, I am still who I am... and the music bleeds through no matter what. Even with my new family at work, I am now seen as the singer (alongside Kelli of course). I've invested so much of my life into singing, and still do, that I can't let anyone compromise my passion towards it. And better yet, I'm studying the stuff I want to and learning what I need to... to better myself as a vocalist and performer for the life I believe I am meant to live and less confined to the degree that everything thinks I should pursue. 

My voice is my own.

Where you invest your love, you invest your life. 

-Mumford and Sons

Some memories from freshman year. <3 i="">

Brittany

Carson and Casey trying on my clothes in my dorm room hahah

Lakota and I at the Jason Aldean concert

(That face it all about Luke Bryan's hips!)

uh, yah. this happened.

me and Shelby!

Little Lou

Keekeyoohkee!

Megan and I for Women's choir

he hasn't changed a bit...

Spencer and Keanne lol....

Wonderfully Ordinary

**This is a long piece. Reaches 6 pages in Microsoft Word. This is my narrative essay for my English 208 class. The prompt was to write about a kitchen. I thought this was such a dull topic but after some work, I really enjoyed this topic and the theme that grew out of it. 

Wonderfully Ordinary

            After walking between crowds of families with crying children, who are also tired from the busiest of holiday travels, we finally reach the end of the maze. We sling our suitcases into the trunk of a car, too fancy to be our own, and drive the rest of the way to our final destination. Running up the concrete steps, sliding across the icy porch, I fling open the white creaky screen door.  Through the foggy glass on the door, I could see lights of blue, orange, red, and yellow shining from the Christmas tree in the living room. I excitedly knock on my grandparents’ front door as my dad trudges behind, carrying as much luggage as he can in one haul. Out of breath, he gently pushes me aside as he always did during my younger years, turns the knob, and opens the door, releasing the warmth into the winter chilled night. I now understand why this event occurred every year: either my grandparents wouldn’t have been able to hear my light rat-a-tap-taps over the Seahawks’ game, or my father didn’t feel like he had to wait to be invited into the home he himself grew up in.

            More so now than ever, I savor the memory I create when I imagine my father during his college years. A full head of thick dark brown hair, long and quite reminiscent the Beatles which is ironic since I know he listened to this band back then. His furrowing eyebrows, the ones he gave me and the same he inherited from his father, are loosened as he smiles at the sarcastic comment his mother makes. I imagine my grandmother is scrubbing the dishes from that morning while this conversation is unfolding. They both chuckle together as my father nervously attempts to bring up a new topic. Gracefully, he hops onto the kitchen counter, creating a loud crack against the bottom cupboard door as the heel of his tennies kick it. Despite the magnitude of what he wants to say, his voice sounds elated.

            “I just asked her to marry me” he said. My grandmother’s stern pursued lips break into a smile.

            “Are you talking about Debbie?” she raises her eyebrows slightly, glancing up for a moment even though she already knows the answer. He too smiles as he reaches to his left, pulls the wooden lever of the M&M dispenser and puts his other hand underneath to catch the falling chocolates. He pops the handful in his mouth, crunching delightfully.

            “Of course I’m talking about Debbie.”

            “You have our approval!” My grandpa chirps in from the head of the kitchen table, his back still towards the other two for he is unable to take his eyes off the Perry Mason show.

            “Dad, quite frankly, I don’t need your approval.” My father snaps back with the sarcastic tongue that seamlessly passes from generation to generation. My grandpa turns around and he too, is infected by the joyous news.

            “This is very true. You don’t need our approval. Not at all.” I wasn’t alive for this event, or to be more exact I wasn’t even thought of, but my mother shared this memory with me, just like my grandma had shared it with her.

            There were wonderful moments in my grandparents’ kitchen. The kitchen itself wasn’t anything out of the ordinary and the layout seemed typical; the main entrance to the house, the creaking stairs to the basement immediately on your left, a table with three chairs and a television on top, a telephone with a curly cord hanging on the wall with cat food bowls underneath it on the floor, a window above the sink, and a doorway into the living room. The room itself smelled of time passing, knowing the floors have endured many footsteps, the burning coils have cooked many entrées, and the cupboards have held many plates. In crevices where the wall meets the linoleum there is irremovable mildew, dirt and grime you don’t notice at first but sense with a house this old. The static hum from the television that is never off fills the space with cheery tunes wishing one and all a merry Christmas and briefly convulses as my grandma flips back to the football game, she despises commercials. She lets out a quick hoot as she tosses the remote onto the kitchen table because she’s thrilled to watch quarterback Warren Moon play for a bit. I pretended to be happy too, even though back then I’m sure I didn’t know the difference between a quarterback and all the other jerseys on the green turf.

            By far, the best aspect of that kitchen was my grandpa cooking breakfast every morning. Color blind and legally blind for the last decade of his life, he gauged when the sausage and bacon were finished by the intensity of sizzling and the mugginess of smoke in the air. To this day, I love my sausage burnt and my bacon crisp; I can’t imagine having it any other way. I blame him for making breakfast my favorite meal of every day at any time.

            I admired my grandfather to great lengths so the smell of his cooking that trickled into the living room, Christmas morning, where we cousins always slept, was one of the most blissful memories I can remember. My older brother was more devoted than I was; always awake first, helping grandpa in the kitchen even if all he was doing was keeping him company, watching morning cartoons at the kitchen table. As soon as the eggs were scrambled and the toast ejected from the toaster, the smell reached my nostrils. My eyes opened instantly, remembering who was supposed to visit my stocking as I lay fast asleep. After the shredding of ribbons, fancy gift paper, and shrieking over my new Furby, I finally sat down for the best thing besides presents; Grandpa’s breakfast.

            During this time my family did not live in the Pacific Northwest. Having been born in Georgia and moving to California when I was the age of six, the only time I saw snow was here in Cheney, Washington. Out the kitchen window hung clumps of snow upon the bare branches. The snow seemed eager to drop as soon as the winter wind blew by and I imagined the trees playing a game of spatter to see who can hit the most humans who dared to walk underneath their limbs. Moisture gathered around the edges of the window as proof that I wanted to stay inside where I couldn’t see my breath hit the air. Better yet, I stayed inside with the warmth of baked Cheerios, pretzels, nuts, and Chex mix; my grandma’s holiday treat. In a brown bowl, I sorted past all the nuts and pretzels and kept my eyes focused on the best part of the mix: the Cheerios and the Chex mix. Eventually, if all of those were gone I’d settle for the pretzels until grandma made another fresh batch.

            One year, I remember finding my mother weeping in this kitchen. The long ginger braid down her back shook with each breath while finished wiping the dishes from our festive dinner. Once grandma was unable to cook and wash the dishes, my mother naturally took over. Generally she can’t sit still for two seconds so she loves to help out in any way she can, the kitchen being one of her specialties. I never thought anything of this notion until that Christmas. Unbeknownst to the cousins, occupied by our uncles and dads who were teaching us how to play poker just like grandpa, my Aunt Sue was slowly drifting away from our family. After a long night of heated words and verbal jabs between the adults, I heard my mother tell my dad who held her by the waist soothingly, “I always do everything around here…” Their backs were towards me but I could hear the tremble in her voice as she composed herself.

            Looking back most of my memories of Aunt Sue do consist of her sitting while my mom did all the work each holiday season. That year Aunt Sue broke our tradition, swooped up her children and took them and our Uncle Tom to her parents’ house instead of staying the night with us. This was our last Christmas altogether because Sue divorced my uncle the following year. However, life was still the same at my grandparents. Every Christmas Santa still came, grandpa still burned the sausage, and the merriment of family memories still lived on.  

            It was when my grandparents passed away that everything I knew changed. Now living within driving distance of Cheney, we visited my dad’s parents more often but more notably Christmas wasn’t Christmas unless it was up there with my grandparents. We never celebrated Christmas Eve elsewhere. Consequently, when my grandparents passed within the same year of one another I didn’t know where Christmas would feel right. Even though my uncle owns the house now, he installed a new kitchen downstairs and rents the upstairs. Since my grandparents live a couple of blocks away from Eastern Washington University, he easily makes revenue on students as tenants. The door my dad freely opened without invitation is no longer an option.

            Christmas to this day will still never be the same. I will never wake up to the smell of grandpa’s breakfast, eat my grandma’s fresh batch of Chex mix, or watch my mother stand at the sink in front of the window and wash the dishes. It seems both my parents and I salvaged what we could from that kitchen. The M&M dispenser my dad grew up with is now in my parents’ kitchen, my mom continues to cook the holiday Chex mix my grandma always did, and I work at a breakfast restaurant. Even though I am not allowed to cook the bacon to my liking, crisply burnt the way grandpa infamously did, somehow the scent of the restaurant kind of makes me feel like I’m at home.

            Sometimes I have the urge to return to my grandparents’ house, to their kitchen, just to revisit a sentiment of my childhood. But I can’t. And quite frankly, for my own sake, I shouldn’t. The people who made that ordinary kitchen special are no longer there. Their lives aren’t busy at work, doing their normal routines and I don’t know why my heart believes my brain when it thinks my grandparents are still living there, on the corner of North 9th and Cedar, and I just haven’t been up to visit them in awhile. Nonetheless, I have my memories. Whether they are the ones I experienced, the ones my parents lived through, or the ones my grandparents told from generation-to-generation, these memories are plenty for me and I will treasure them. I will carry these moments with me especially as I begin to live in my own house, understanding how so many wonderful memories can unfold in the most ordinary room; the kitchen. 

Genetics.

It is a scientific fact that I am compromised of my mother and fathers DNA and therefore I will have qualities resembling theirs. So, I know where I get my anxiety from. My father is one to avoid conflict, will lie awake at night worrying about my brother and the bills, and will snap at any given moment if you don't deliver your burning question in a timely fashion. He will curse over spilt hot coffee and if he's really in a bad mood, there's no point in trying to be civil because talking to a wall might be more successful. His anxiety feeds on him like a tick, sucking his hope, his clarity of mind, and his optimism day in and day out. He will tell a story and I understand his thought process, actions, and intentions for I see myself in him. I am easy to say fuck it when conflict arises against me, quick to back out when I feel the odds are against me, confident in permanently cutting ties, and full of stress specifically of the unknown. We share this chaotic anxiety. 

But he's also the strongest person I know. He has seen the darkest of days and still has the will and want to continue searching for hope. His wife, my mother, battled breast cancer twice and still has checkups to make sure it hasn't come back. He settles her nerves, calms her tears, and holds her telling her "everything will be okay." My brother, age 24 still doesn't know his purpose in life or where his life journey will take him but nonetheless, my father supports him; emotionally and monetarily if he ever is in a bind. My dad still tries to help him live a life many do not have the opportunity to while still laying awake at night hoping he makes good choices. And he is taking care of my uncle, his older brother, who is unemployed still living in my deceased grandparents basement and slowly suffering from his alcoholism. My dad gives him support and hope even when my uncle forgets to return his phone calls. 

His burden to carry day in and day out is unimaginable. I realize that we all have our turmoil, our heartaches, and tragedies. But few know of the worries that weigh him down for he's never one to complain about what really causes his anxiety. He is our family's rock. He is my rock. We are all dependent on him for so much and yet my father carries on, pushes forward when most would  say fuck it or drink themselves into a depression. I only hope that when the time comes and I am faced with the struggles that make me want to crumble and crack, say fuck it, and drink myself into a drunken stupor, genetics better be kind and give me the strength to be as strong as he is, day in and day out. 

**This was an in class assignment with the prompt specifically asking to write about one's father and have a contrasting turn around giving a different insight on this character. 

An Unexamined Morality is Not Worth Living

Disclaimer: This was written for my ethics class and abortion was an assigned topic; I scored 98% and due to a curve, 102% was the final grade.
P.S. I took my title name from good old Socrates.

           

              In our country comprised of different religions, ethnicities, philosophies, and opinions the discussion of the morality of abortion is a topic of much controversy. Abortion, the intentional termination of a human pregnancy within the first 12 weeks of the pregnancy, is a passionate debate for most individuals as they attempt to define what is wrong and right for themselves and society as a whole (Paper Topic). By applying various approaches from medical ethics to one’s faith, the beliefs of abortion seem to be a never-ending clash. Another approach worth contemplating is an ethical one, applying the philosophies of Immanuel Kant and John Stuart Mill. By exercising Kant’s ‘is ought’ distinction and the act utilitarianism sacrifice for humanity, one can remove themselves from the exhausted debate and perhaps find a refreshed perspective on this sensitive subject. If morality is based on the good will of one’s inclinations, as Kant demonstrates in his philosophy, then a woman ought to find abortion morally right. And in Mill’s philosophy, where the morality of an actor is based on the consequences she produces, then a woman can conclude abortion to be an ethical choice as well. Both philosophies are two separate ideas that greatly contradict on how to distinguish one’s morality, by actor or by the action, but by examining the Kantian ethical theory and act utilitarianism I will show how together they engage with the issue of abortion.

            The Kantian ethical theory deals with deriving one’s knowledge from reason and how we intrinsically know what it means to be ‘good’. The basis of morality comes from our own goodwill which will be ‘good’ without qualifications (RN, Oct.24). Likewise, a woman intrinsically knows what she believes is ‘good’ and does not need to justify her choices. Just as a wife intrinsically knows not to cheat on her husband, a woman may also intrinsically know that having an abortion is not right. However, since every individual reasons differently and encompasses their own goodwill, a woman may intrinsically feel different about the topic of abortion, and likewise perhaps this is why some women cheat. Kant places a lot of focus on the morality of the actor allowing women the right to choose what they find moral and immoral, but at the same time making it harder to construct an unconditional set of commands to govern society with especially concerning the topic of abortion.

            Nevertheless, when a woman finds abortion to be ‘good’ and if she possesses good inclinations, then her act is good without qualifications. Good inclinations, in my own opinion, means she doesn’t see abortion as murder and her purpose is to be responsible before having a child she may not be ready for on more levels than one. Bad inclinations could involve not thinking the decision through carefully, using abortion as birth control, or perhaps my favorite, not wanting to get fat. In class, we discussed a scenario of house sitting for a neighbor. During this discussion, it was noted that each student in the classroom knew how to be a good neighbor, thanks to apriori, knowledge derived from reason (LN Oct. 30th). In this scenario, the good neighbor turned up the heat in the house the day before his neighbor’s return only to accidently burn the house down from an unknown electrical problem. Even though it was the ‘good neighbor’ who essentially burned down the house, because he was acting in accordance with his duty and goodwill, he ought to not be found at fault (RN Oct. 31st). Likewise, a woman, who is acting in accordance to her own duty, ought to not be found immoral by committing an act when her intentions are good. If her intention isn’t to terminate a potential human being but instead to avoid a situation she isn’t emotionally and financially equipped for, then one may find abortion a morally praiseworthy action.

            In act utilitarianism, the principle of utility defines an action as ‘good’ if it produces pleasure and ‘bad’ if it produces pain (RN, Oct. 30th). When discussing abortion, one may argue how the procedure itself produces pain, emotionally and physically, and also produces pleasure for the woman may live her life without the responsibility of that baby.  While both sides may be true, when a woman chooses abortion it must mean that the amount of her pleasure, or her happiness, surpasses her pain. Therefore, the morality of her action is good. In addition, one must also address the public utility: how does having or not having this child affect the society? The public is not negatively affected by her choice of having an abortion, but could be if she chose to keep the child. The mother may have to be on welfare, or depend on the friends and family for support or not provide the best childhood experience for her child.

            With that being stated, a woman having an abortion is an example of sacrificing oneself for the common good, which is a very prominent maxim in Mill’s philosophy. By enduring an abortion, she is minimizing the pain, burden, and stress she may be placing on society if she is truly not ready to care for a child. Another example of this could be splunking or exploring caves when the adventure suddenly becomes life threatening as water begins to fill the cave. If an individual gets stuck trying to squeeze through the only hole to freedom, it would only be expected to attach dynamite to said person and to sacrifice that person to save everyone else. Similarly, a woman is following this principle when a she chooses to have an abortion; she is producing more pleasure for the community around her therefore, her act is good (RN Oct 30th).  

            Another aspect of utilitarianism that is worth concentrating on is quality versus quantity. When a woman faces the decision of whether or not to abort a pregnancy, I would only hope that one of the key factors she considers is the quality of life she and her child would potentially have. Mill believes both quality and quantity must be considered when assessing the consequences of an action. If the woman decides to have the child, will her life have the same quality as it did previously? Furthermore, what will be the quality of the child’s life? Will her child receive the nourishment, attention, love and care it needs? And when concerning quantity, I must note how I completely understand how the gift of life in a child’s eyes is the greatest joy for a mother and that choosing abortion is denying oneself of that joy. However, I believe the constant struggle of day-to-day tasks are painful and can bleed into the lives of others developing into a never-ending cycle of lower quality. Will it become the social norm to not escape teenage pregnancy, with parents adopting their children’s children as their own? Within this cycle, there are a lot of messy emotional ties that lead me to believe the act of abortion is good because of the quantity and quality of pain that can be produced if one does choose life. And according to Mill, we should choose the greatest pleasure, not the greatest pain. Alas, only the woman who is facing this crossroads can determine which pleasure, or which pain, is superior to the rest.

            It is the case that abortion exists and many people struggle with the morality of its existence. What ‘ought’ be the case? After applying Kant’s and Mill’s theories to the issue of abortion, I would conclude that abortion ought to exist and should be accepted into a new set of norms. This would be Kant’s normative claim on “how one ought to aim” on the basis of morality I discussed earlier. If it is our duty to follow the categorical imperative, the moral law of how ‘one ought to act,’ and when we intrinsically know abortion is a good act with good intentions, then we should will abortion to be available to all who find themselves considering it. By willing this maxim, a rule or principle, to become actualized, it would then become a universal law; a law applied to all women across the nation (LN Oct. 23rd). This law would give women the right to have an abortion and still secure the rights of the women who choose not to. In addition, if we engage in Mill’s theory, we can further conclude that because the consequences produced by abortion maximizes the greatest amount of good for the public, abortion is moral as well.

            Most opinions of abortion can be easily distorted by our culture defining for us what is wrong and right opposed to each individual having the power to think and choose for themselves. Since the issue of abortion can be debated from an infinite amount of perspectives with various approaches, our society as a whole may never come to an agreeable set of norms. Yet, I find value in engaging the Kantian ethical theory and act utilitarianism to show how morality can be distinguished based off the actor’s good inclinations and consequences of one’s action.

Decisions

This entry is way past due. 09/28/2012

This last summer involved a large amount of just living and learning about life, myself, people, and bullcrap. I've been an avid learner, rolling with whatever strange things life throws at me. It's been challenging, exhilarating, painful, telling, but nonetheless... lovely.

However, there were some dark moments I had faced and as a result of that, I was forced to grow up immensely in a matter of seconds.

We make decisions every day... it's a well known fact. Apple juice or milk for breakfast? Each decision effects us for a certain duration of time depending on the magnitude of each decision. I came to a state of overwhelming cluster-thoughts of how different I could have been if I took other paths, etc. If I stuck with music, continued playing basketball, pursued optometry, or had tattoos for days... or was mormon?! Perhaps there is a Meredith out there who has committed herself to every opposite decision I have made thus far. If so, I'd love to meet her someday.

With this cluster of thoughts, I imagined paths laying in front of me, behind me, running circles, twirling, curving about the ground with infinite possibilities. Each decision, no matter how miniscule, will lead you to the next one. So choose carefully always- this is what I've concluded.

Over life's course of events, I've become more realistic than bitter, more stable than gullible... but alas, I still find truth in David Hume's philosophy: Reason should and ought to be a slave to the passions. So brace yourself because this is about to head in an abstract direction... where reason has little importance... and where I still find truth in Alfie,

"When you walk let your heart lead the way and you'll find love, any day."


Whether this 'love' is a person, a soulmate, a career, a passion, or simply a happiness-- it is very accurate to call this kind of.. my belief.  My words, my actions, my thoughts, my voice, are all my own and are organic by my nature. I never do or say anything for a desired outcome, play games, or do something because someone said I should. Even if someone suggests something, if I commit to doing something it's because I have decided that it is right. To concur with another philosopher, Sartre argued, as the atheist existentialist he is, that when you choose something-- you affirm it as valuable. Just because we as human beings exist, we have the freedom to make choices (which is wonderful and awesome!)... and the freedom to not choose something. With this freedom of choosing comes responsibility. This freedom is what gives our existence its essence... for we create what is valuable to us by choosing, by making decisions.

Screw 'i love you', 'i need you', and even 'i want you,' it would just be refreshing for someone to choose me. Haha, there is no way I could ever be demanding for my needs are so easy to please.

Anyway, I follow my instincts, or my heart, better than anyone I know. Don't associate instinct with impulse, for I think everything in and out, frontwards and back, before I act upon it. This way of functioning, 9 times out of 10, SUCKS! I can easily get burned, left vulnerable with my words hanging in the air, stabbed in the back, or any disheartening cliche you can think of... and regardless, I have yet to get permanently frightened from opening up again.

I'm good at forgiving I guess.

It is within those times that my heart seems to speak up the most, or inappropriately... but it is worse when it becomes abruptly silent when I need to hear what it wants the most. There was a moment this summer when my heart spoke up in a way I never thought possible.

I know life is all about living and losing and I certainly understand how we all get a little frustrated being compassionate when it's just another tale of someone losing someone. Mmkay, so brace yourself again because this is one of those.

I don't know why my instincts were so strong that morning or why I got up as early as I did. Besides a run and an easy shift at work, I had nothing to do that day. But as I came downstairs, I found my dad sitting on the floor comforting Ernie, our family dog, as he returned from another seizure of running, puking, and peeing. My dad had just gotten back from a business trip so we were all relieved to have him home since no one understand Ernie as well has he did. I had presumed his duties, picking up his dog messes, feeding him his meds, picking him off the ground when his hindquarters gave out... it was rough. Ernie was an old man who loved life and didn't want to let go. It was almost like he didn't want to lay down at times as if sleep would help death catch him. Once he returned to a conscious state, the dreaded questions arose.

Without thinking, "I can't stand to watch him go through this for one more day."

We made the appointment at the vet and it almost as if Ernie knew. He was calm as we carried him, our 120lb collie-husky-lab mix like a baby to the pick up. He laid so still as my dad took comfort in the vets words: "I really think you're making the right decision today."

Decisions.

This was my decision, my choice, to take the life of a friend whom yes, even in miserable pain, I would still love to spend another day with. Where is the line that determines the good and evil? Right and wrong? Is it selfish to want him to stay alive with his pain of heartless to end his life to be rid of his pain?
I knew the answer as I wrestled with these thoughts until I found the root of all my frustration with this decision.

I could never take it back. This decision wasn't refundable, changeable... Just because I chose to put Ernie down, I felt as if I should too have the power to take it back- but I don't. When people pass it hurts, and sometimes to get rid of the pain we want to reverse decisions of change the situation... and in natural situations, one doesn't have a choice with death.
And yet, I did.
This dialogue isn't meant to question whether or not I made the right decision. Ernie did not have the option of avoiding death. His day was coming eventually. It's just that this was my first time dealing with such a magnitude in one decision and coping with the responsibilities... the pain. My dad didn't make the decision. I did. In fact, he confessed that he probably wouldn't have done it without me even though he too, knew it was time.

And there's more.

As the vets took Ernie into the building, my dad turned to me and said, "They asked if we wanted to be with him, but I said no. I figured you didn't. I don't." I got into the pick up quietly as my heart suddenly spoke up.

He figured wrong.

My dad is my rock in my life in so many wonderful ways. I knew his soft heart could never handle watching this and he was scared, in need of a strong ale. And even though I too was hurting, there was something wrong with driving away at that moment.

If you know me at all- I fear a lot of things. These fears used to greatly dictate my life decisions, generally subconscious, and my biggest fear being the unknown. Haha, I'm working on it. Likewise, I was scared shitless to go back into the vet all by myself, not knowing what to expect.

One may scoff at this, proclaiming that Ernie was just a pet etc and he wouldn't have been competent to process whether or not he was without family in his last moments. Regardless, he was a huge part of our family and there was no way I could let him die alone. It was comforting to see how the vet handled him loved him, and comforted him in his last moments. I wouldn't have known this if I hadn't stayed with him.
Alas, it was peaceful and painless; he was so cooperative and relaxed as if he knew what was coming and I can only hope that he was accepting. As I kissed him on the head to say goodbye and walked back to the pick up to find my dad standing, waiting-- and he thanked me. My brother phoned soon after and he too thanked me.

"I didn't do it for you."

In this world full of shit and yet beautiful things, the majority of people are lonely. Even in a crowded room, a  marriage, a strong friendship-- we all have our moments of complete and utter emptiness, loneliness. A hole I hope to continue patching up on my own and hopefully one day find someone who will continue to patch it up with me, and likewise me to him. Until then, sometimes loneliness will catch up with me and all I can do is welcome it in, sit it down, and offer it a beer. But when someone's time comes, they should not be lonely.

No one should die alone. 

And perhaps, that is one of my own fears.

A good friend once told me that the good people are always the ones stuck with the short stick. Ha, he said this stating me as one of those good persons. He said the ones with the big hearts will constantly put themselves out there and sometimes we're the ones who get loaded with all the pain, the work, the bull. Agreeing with his statement, I still can't imagine living my life any other way. I will continue to live how I deem it virtuous even if I'm the one coping with the heavy responsibilities and others around me fail to see me for all that I am.

I still miss him everyday. Every time I walk into my parent's house his absence is startling even though he passed a few months back. When Ernie passed he took my childhood with him. I wasn't expecting that. Every memory growing up- he was there. From me crying over my chewed tennies to running around the front yard with him in the rain... he was there. I am incredibly thankful for that.

When the beginning of the end came, I was there for him. The first night when he didn't have the strength to make it up the stairs I grabbed some pillows and blankets and camped out on the living room floor beside him. If I had the strength to carry him up the stairs I would have, but there was something rejuvenating in pretending we were young again... almost like building a fort.

Some decisions are permanent. In this strange life full of changes, cycles, peaks and troughs-- some things never really end or leave: even the people you cut out of your life have a way of coming back, finding a way to fit into your life again, starting anew... even if you were sure the paths you took and the decisions you made burned the bridge to cross again. But death is the final cause. The only way the cycles end and have no way of changing again.

Ernie was an obnoxious life lover. He had a loud bark to greet each visitor with, a hard head, a dangerously happy tail, the sweetest hello when arriving home, the dearest eyes of a genuine beggar which were the prettiest blue I'll ever see. He was gentile, a bed hog, eager for five am walks, a softy for the cats, and he had the heart of a child. He never really did grow up; always seeking more attention, more love, table scraps, and always anticipating someone to come home.

Still miss his blue eyes, everyday. 

Rest in peace my friend. 

Thank God for Rosemary

Character study and character development is generally an on-going process. There's moments when I'm walking to class, driving in my car, observing in rehearsals, or even sleeping is when something new emerges and hits me like a semi. Ah-ha! or sometimes an "ohhhhh..." And sometimes the director has to slap me in the face with the scene because for some reason the dialogue wasn't obvious. I take things at face value nine times out of ten soooo sometimes I need someone to help me find the underlying message even if I should have known better from my acting classes haha. Eh. I'm still learning. I can go over her motives a million times and still find something new.  Or develop her humor more. Before one of our first shows I shared a joke to everyone who was waiting in the elevator with me: "my boyfriend is just like a trampoline... I don't have a trampoline."

Alas, Rosemary gradually became alive and I think the reason it took me so long to develop her is because she is more like me than I wanted to admit.

What rubbed me wrong about her immediately is the fact that she continues to chase Finch as he continues to shut her down time after time. I guess, he doesn't necessarily shut her down, but if you take the scene out of the 1960's and put it into 2012, there is no way I'd be chasing Finch. OR anyone for that matter, haha. He doesn't give her much to work with in the way of reciprocating any affections but yet here she is waiting patiently and pursuing him. It's inspiring in a lime light of sorts, but also pathetic. With all the people in the world who are out and about searching for their certain someone; why would she stick with the 'helpless adorable window-washer' who just randomly walks into her work one day? Why him? How would Rosemary know they are even compatible? Dogs/cats/kids/God ... all very important conversations to have first and here she is eager go to lunch with him. Eager to keep his dinner warm. Eager to marry him.

I couldn't fathom this motive for I am very much in favor of a mutual chase and progression at a reasonable rate. Its give and take people: its absurd for a guy to do all the hard work and stupid for a girl to think he should. Likewise, for Rosemary to do all the hard work while Finch completely ignores her without paying her a little bit of attention' is not ideal. Being chased and chasing are the upmost wonderful things about a new fling... and Rosemary just gets the excitement of getting proposed to OUT OF THE BLUE while she thinks he's hooking up with another secretary. And to make matters worse, Finch is so focused on moving up in the world that he genuinely does ignore Rosemary--- even if he's essentially moving up to better their lives together, thinking mostly of her. But she doesn't know this. How does she not get discouraged, pack up her pride, and walk away? that's what girls do in this day in age. what is right in this situation?

Ah-ha! In fact, what really changes the situation is when he chases her. It changes everything. The moments are quick in the script, but they are there. She threatens to leave countless times when talking with her girlfriends but only tells Finch this twice... and the two times she does; he chases her. Once with a "I need you" and then with a "... you're going to be Mrs. Finch..." His chasing her really does justify all her silly giddiness and her chasing him. It does! And I believe this is also true in this day in age. I still probably wouldn't find myself in Rosemary's specific situation but being chased qualifies everything. It's just not as common in the current dating realm since we have all these pre-conceived notions of how a guy and girl should act in a given situation and less importance of how one 'ought' to act. Here let me distinguish the two: the girl should not text/call... let him text you. Ugh, I am very much someone who believes reason ought to be a slave to the passion at all times... so if you want to text him-- do it. Of course there are lines, but don't let a rule hold you back from doing what you want. If it blows up, good-- better now than later down the line when you're more invested... better to just be, act, and feel what you feel naturally.

It was quite interesting playing a character in the confusing dating realm of 1962 when I can barely understand the dating realm in the time period I am in. The parallels are remarkable and likewise, discouraging. And since I am still in the process of figuring out my own dating realm, I really have no solid concept to build on. Ah, and let's face it, every dating realm is confusing. I ended up watching Mad Men so I could at least get a feel for the time period... and the true joy of being content to 'keep his dinner warm'... but  for some reason, Rosemary still wasn't alive to me.

I was afraid that my own personal pessimistic views on relationships was impacting Rosemary, but after a scene discussion with our assistant stage director I finally found the trait that linked Rosemary and I.

We're both vulnerable.

Anybody that has had acting training knows that the word vulnerable has such a deeper meaning than the negative connotations it implies: weak, insecure, pathetic, awkward, crying, zero-confidence, fragile, etc. In this case, I mean vulnerable in the sense that she is constantly putting herself out there, in front of Finch, even if the odds are against her.

That's what I do too.

I don't let a guy walk all over me, but I take chances, even if reason tells me not too. And I have continued to put myself out there, even though I have been hurt, abused, taken advantage of, had promises broken, and really have had every reason to give up and go lesbian... but I haven't. I don't have a choice. From my own goodwill, I am hardwired to hope, to give.

And thats inspiring to see in Rosemary as well, not only because it works out for her 'happy ever after' but because I do find beauty in her philosophy and constant faith. She's relentlessly. She literally says I love you and is completely ignored, and somehow finds a way to be positive- 'Oh, to be loved, by a man with a goal...' I wish I didn't get discouraged as easily, but you live and learn.

 I guess I'm very old-fashioned in a lot of ways and at the same time, very independent. When things go south, I don't do the girl-hate-guy bash routine but yet I won't get all mushy and I'm-never-going-to-find-anyone. Those extremes are usually the most typical. I just give zero fucks. Life happens like that. I mean, I have feelings, don't get me wrong haha, but I keep them to myself... for the most part. Or I guess the more accurate description is that I process what I'm thinking and feeling.. and then I write them down. Haha. Ask McKay, somedays are weekly coffee dates are filled with hefty discussions as I quickly jot down my concepts and his additions.

I have a lot of respect for Rosemary now, because I don't think I could have traveled the path she did unless the chemistry between her and Finch was so overpowering-- you couldn't not feel it. A connection like that takes time to develop, unlike the ten minutes it took Rosemary to decide she was going to marry Finch, and the two weeks or so it took Finch to decide he was going to marry Rosemary. Alas, they both risked a lot based on their chemistry knowing they wanted to be together... and I guess I'm just going to blame that bit on theatre magic. For I have a caveat...

I have found love before. I know how to make it work, to last, to keep it alive, exciting... but there's no point in being in love and loving someone when the sentiment isn't returned. As Sinatra states perfectly, "when somebody loves you, its no good unless they love you, all the way." I have been loved in return, but I guess in the end, it wasn't enough. It's not that I'm demanding, perhaps its more that I give too much, and the difference is too great not too notice. Or another approach is maybe there are certain ways to love someone and maybe one isn't always capable of loving you the way you need to be. And just like you can't make someone care, you can't make them love you... or love you more. It must be organic. And if you could make someone love you, would it still be a love worth celebrating... one that was forced? Life is funny like that and there's no point in getting upset about it, this is just how it is. Why is never the question, its where do we go from here. So even though I do believe in Rosemary and Finch's love... who can say it will last...

"without true love we just exist. until you find the love you've missed, you're nothing, alfie." 

I want my first marriage to be my only marriage. Acknowledging that I have little control over the actual outcome of this but the control I do have, I am taking full reins of. Fate will do its fate-like thing while I continue to strive for something spectacular. For whenever that happens. I might not know within ten minutes like Rosemary did, but she's given me faith to keep my eyes open, continue being vulnerable, even if my past experiences, day-to-day set backs, and cynical outlook tempts me to close my eyes and walk away.

I found the more open I was with Rosemary, the more at ease I felt with her onstage and the more positive response I received from my director. I made drastic choices, took risks, and quite frankly, expressed myself in a way I typically don't. There is a side to Meredith that only those close to me get to see but a lot of that side is becoming more prominent lately. With Rosemary I got to be the stupid silly naive girl who is mesmerized when a certain boy walks in the room and glances her way. Not only was I able to be that girl, I was able to feel that way, and it be okay... and share my feelings with an audience. I got the wind knocked out of me when he started singing to me and got to stand up a desk in joy. 

Real life? Not really. Scary? Scary as shit. 

All of those fantastic sensations I got to experience... and express as myself through Rosemary. 

This has probably been one of the most personal character developments I have yet to endure and share with others. Seeing Rosemary is a lot like seeing a side of me that has been non-existent these past couple of months... having her back is nice. I find acting very therapeutic. Don't worry, it won't become an addiction. 

 As much as I will miss the world of wickets and secretaries, I am ready to resume real-life. Academics are back to being my number one priority as well as having a life. A life where I can go back to running or biking everyday, cooking dinner, and hopefully finding time to breathe. Breathing is always a good thing.

Overall, Rosemary has taught me a lot. It took a lot of growing up on my part, letting go of some of my own perceptions, coming to terms with past relationships and even current ones, and good god... I learned a lot. About myself, my acting, my beliefs and struggles, her beliefs and struggles, what I stand for, and of course, our beautiful vulnerability.

Separate the ones that know you from the ones who couldn't bother to see you for all that you are. 

Let me at the Truth which will refresh my Broken Mind.

When I saw this doctor up in Spokane four years ago to be evaluated after meningitis (just a check point to make sure there wasn't anything that needed attention etc) my doctor, Frank was his name, said something I've carried with me since.

"All humans are struggling. And we're all compensating."

To decrease the randomness of his statement, he was a therapeutic doctor of sorts (the kind my dad calls witch craft or something) and he was massaging my limbs checking for blood flow etc... essentially saying that if I am in pain in one place, it is a high chance that I'm hurting elsewhere. If a joint is off kilter, something might be off too... This compensation is common.. to counteract, to support, to get by...

In an every day situation, such compensations aren't easily identifiable and some simply are. It's interesting how we humans act the way we do.

I've felt a giant switch of gears this last summer and at last I feel I have settled into a natural traffic of my own stop and go's.

I like it. And it's hard to almost function in another manner or result back to old habits. But these last couple of months I know I was compensating in many ways... and I guess at this point, I hope I'm past it all. I feel like I am. I definitely compensated by being excessively social (developing the "afraid to miss the party" syndrome with lots of sleep deprivation and drinking) and by trying various new things.
I've now gone through many anew cycle with coping to being on my own. I say being on my own in the sense that not only have I not been single for the past five years of my life but also living by myself. (Both which I thoroughly enjoy, I must add). All of that is a huge change for me. But being on my own wasn't the hard part-- why was I struggling? what was causing my pain?
The very trick to finding true relief would only come from determining were the majority of the pain was coming from and facing that head on, and letting go of temporary reliefs such as compensating and finding momentarily distractions. And my friends, I figured it out.

I've always been independent, never telling a girl-friend I'm going pee so she'd join me but to actually let her know I'm not ditching ha... And I remember in high school, I was always the friend who people loved telling the crazy stories too because I was never there- always off busy with a project, a show, out of town for a music gig... I participated as socially as I could but life literally happened while I was busy being busy. If that makes any sense. No regrets here. It is just fact, and more or less evidence that I am not relationship-dependent. I don't need or necessarily want someone like that in my life... that's just how my life has played out thus far. I'm that friend growing up who always had a boyfriend. Coincidence that the majority of my closest friends are guys? I'm not sure. But not only was I always in a relationship... the shortest relationship I think I've ever had was eight months. I don't mess around. When I'm in, I'm all in. Regardless of the risk. So, as a result, I'm just accustomed to having someone there... to sharing my life with... so having the space and time to not put forth on someone else is different...its just change. By nature, I think I just share anyway. But this shouldn't be root of all my suffering.

And it's not.

I was compensating for a loss that I didn't know existed until I found myself in a relationship (good god, if you would even call it that) where I was disrespected and treated like... dirt. Or, shall I say, a Moscow princess? whatever that may be.. anyway. The loss I was coping with wasn't a person or a part of my life I wanted back... or a friendship even. It was my faith. My faith in people, relationships, what love is versus what it is supposed to be, promises... I'd lost all faith in those ideals. SO I was okay from being treated like dirt. I didn't expect anything. Or demand what I thought I deserved. I was settling for what I thought was the only form of connection left between two people romantically speaking. Soon after that realization I discovered the underlying root to my conflict. I struggle with the metaphysical aspect of life and relationships. If everything is constantly changing... how can it stay the same? If we as natural human beings are also changing and yet staying the same all at once... how can one stay the same and change with someone else? Change is wonderful when you are in pain and the eventual arrival of change is liberating in that specific instance but in terms of people and relationships... we are constantly changing so how can we stay the same with just one individual? How can one promise something now that will indefinitely change in the future? Do we just ignore these changes? avoid them? Hide them? Change with them?! When do we confront our fears head on and be honest about them? When is it okay to change with someone? Do we as individuals experience different rates of change and perhaps will one day reach a point where our changes are so miniscule that being in a relationship is ideal?

All of this is overwhelming.

 I'm simply just acknowledging my short-comings to seek truth and live justly. Changing with someone scares me- for how do you know that you are evolving into the individual you are meant to be regardless of who is in your life at this point in time? Are we sacrificing parts of ourselves when we are in relationships that we aren't ready for? Or are the partners actually helping us evolve? Perhaps free will needs to be discussed here. All in all, do note that I am not discrediting other's relationships- I am talking of my own personal experiences. I do believe that some are simplest the luckiest of us all and not that I find their love ignorant.

I cannot have faith in something that I don't believe has the foundation that it used to. It is more than just cracks between my feet; it's me reaching for the ledge. I am very much an actions speak louder than words person... and I'm done with talking, I'm done with bullshit. I'm waiting for someone or something or some discovery within myself to prove to me that this is just a transitional state of life... and that one day my faith will be restored.. But who really knows... and besides the metaphor, I sincerely hate falling from great heights I think I've had my fair share of them.

Alas, I refuse to fall for a while to come. There is always that moment... when you have control of your emotions and your rationality is in full swing... and finally if you choose to give in... whether it is a moment of weakness, curiosity, or love... whatever. I refuse to lose control because I either need to regain my faith in relationships before doing so or perhaps find myself in a stronger state of stability with hopefully more gradual changes and less life altering ones.. 

As you can see, I am not the hopeless romantic I have previously been. I do believe in love itself and I feel like love is the one of the most beautiful aspects in life that should never be mediocre. Love of all forms, not just romantic. And I know it exists because I've felt it before, and I hope to one day find it again opposed to settling with someone who you can tolerate best.

A friend whom I just recently became acquainted with said it best, "Aren't we all just players until we meet the one?"

Not quite, bro. I'd like to think we all just kind of run around with our walls up and armed until we are old enough, mature enough, and done with the drastic changes in our lives that we are ready and willing to let someone climb over our walls. I guess I'm putting up more walls than China, friends. And I'm totally okay with that.

Last but not least.
I think it's silly one someone declares how they love the single life and how they are not looking for anything more. The grass is never really greener on the single side unless you're truly not happy in the relationship you are in. Aristotle defined four causes that he found monumental to life and living- the fourth one being how our aim in life, the end result, is to be happy. This made him a teleologist.
Okay, folks. Unless you're sick, everyone wants to find happiness and that my friends, is dating! a relationship! love! a commitment! So lets all be real and admit that we aren't mature for a serious union, too damaged from the past, hung up on someone else, or simply put: not interested.
Let's uncomplicate life and be the caring creatures we are hardwired to be.
here's to living and learning.

Disclaimer: apologizes for the gushy ending. Didn't see it coming myself. 

what rushes into my heart and skull, I can't control.

Change appears to always be a difficult aspect of life even if it is for the better. I am one who is generally quite resistant to change for I love the familiar and find comfort in the life I know. Most people can relate. I am fond of gradual change; slowly changing so I don't feel the direct impact. It errks me how I cannot just accept change at face value and move forward. I feel like I am down to earth enough to not cling on to what was and let things happen as they need to. But why am I still unsettled and sensitive when I sense, or know, a change is about to take place?

After some self examination, I've narrowed it down. It's the transition of change. I only have major friction as I transition into a new phase. So instead of hating on the letting go/moving on/here comes change/I'm going to be an emotional blob, I can instead look forward to what's coming and roll with it better. I'm not sure if all of that makes sense but I don't like being an unstable sensitive let my thoughts eat me alive freak... and that's what these transitions have done to me thus far. I question why they are happening, what is their purpose, did I do anything to initiate it, was it avoidable? And now, having acknowledged my personal friction with just the transition and not the change itself, I can say F-it and quickly quiet my thoughts. Why worry when everything happens for a reason? Why think when it's all in your head and not necessarily so in reality? Do the Mormon thing and just 'Turn it Off'. (Reference to the musical, not the religion itself). Now I know how to cope. My thoughts will probably still eat at me... but I at least will have more stability and sanity. 

Change can be scary. But also liberating. Having the power to change something you don't like... trusting that things will change for the better, knowing change will take place and make life interesting again. It's peaks and troughs, folks. Change is constant. The only issue I have with change is promises. Hence the relationship dilemma. Don't make promises you can't keep and don't believe full-heartedly-no-feet-underneath-you in someone's promise. Time has a way of changing things and no one can be held accountable for how they used to feel or what they promised previously. Change happens... people change. And that is okay.  Nothing is guaranteed in the future. So enjoy it while is lasts. Live day to day.

Even if it doesn't last, fill in your own blank to what this 'it' can be, I understand why people still go for it. It's worth the while. It's worth the try. You may have a million reasons of why you shouldn't but if there is one reason of why you should go for it... then more power to you. Do it! I'm just not at a point where I am willing. I see the end result and consequently will not let myself become illogical with the temporary happiness. I feel like I have done my fair share of dating; I know what I want, I know what I'm looking for... and I guess I'm a little bitter from getting burned. But ultimately, I am not ready to get married... so why date? If marriage is the end result... besides getting burned again... why date if the idea of marriage makes me scoff? So perhaps I'll date in about ten years when I'm ready to tie the knot! Haha. Realizing however, that marriage doesn't necessarily mean forever... but I would want it to be. I would never marry just for marriage sake. I'm going to love the bejesus out of the man. It will be fantastic. Love isn't ever something to just settle for and I guess I'm more than willing to wait for the right man to come around. I just hope I'm not fed up with all the wrong ones that I'm too bitter to take the chance. 

Lastly, I realize more than ever how I really need to do me. I have been doing 'me' these last few months but now, I'm ready to spoil myself in a new manner. Discipline. Being out with friends, making new ones, drinking at the bars, staying up 'til the sun comes up... it's been a blast. But I'm ready to make some changes (see changes are exciting). I need to gear up for the school year, I want to be a morning person before going to work or school, so I need to go to bed. I want to get into a routine, I want to drink less, save more money, be more loving to my body and what I put in it... I want to read more, learn more, plan ahead, workout on days I work, have time by myself... these things are about to happen and it will be rough at first because it will be changing my current habits and it will take a lot of self-discipline... but by disciplining myself I am spoiling myself. Focus on the end result. :)

Before I go to bed, I want to clarify something... a new way of thinking of things.. applicable to all areas of life. Don't bark, if you're not going to bite. Your bark doesn't mean anything if you don't bite. In a more, romantic fashion... here is a My Fair Lady version: 

Don't talk of stars Burning above; If you're in love, 
Show me! Tell me no dreams 
Filled with desire. If you're on fire, 
Show me! Here we are together in the middle of the night! 
Don't talk of spring! Just hold me tight! 
Anyone who's ever been in love'll tell you that 
This is no time for a chat! Haven't your lips 
Longed for my touch? Don't say how much, 
Show me! Show me! Don't talk of love lasting through time. 
Make me no undying vow. Show me now! 
Sing me no song! Read me no rhyme!
Don't waste my time, Show me! 

Take the romance out of it and this saying is still incredibly useful. Actions speak louder than words. Haha, you can't cover up your actions with bullshit words.