Randomly Abstract

Playing with poetry

noreply@blogger.com (singer416) — Tue, 14 Sep 2010 02:06:00 +0000

Love Isn't

With meticulous, exquisite care
rip my heart to shreds.
Love is patient.

Sweet words pass through your lips
searing bitter truths across my flesh.
Love is kind.

Secrets surrendered in soft places
honed to blades embedded in my spine.
Love does not act unbecomingly.

Facets of memories like prisms refracted
throw grotesque pictures on once-clean walls.
Love keeps no record of wrongs.

Brilliant smiles hide your atrocities
as I writhe in agony on the floor.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.

A fortess of lies.
Love always protects.

An assault of excuses.
Always trusts.

Calculated manipulations.
Always hopes.

The familiar silhouette of your retreating frame.
Endures all things.

No remains of a heart obliterated.

Love never fails.

Just a little something

noreply@blogger.com (singer416) — Mon, 13 Sep 2010 22:50:00 +0000

I thought I'd post a little bit of my VSWIP(very slow work in progress). I'm thinking this will be the prologue. What do you think?

Dear God, what have I done. I'm the catalyst to the Faerie Apocolypse, thought Carlin, as she surveyed the surrounding chaos.
All around the heavy clangs of magical broadswords against enchanted armor reverberated through her body. The hissing of arrows flying through the air and the dull thuds as they found their targets in immortal flesh, punctuated every heartbeat. Her eyes met those whose eyes had seen centuries, perhaps millenia, of humankind come and go, and watched as their lights grew dim and faded to darkness.

How had it come to this?

I do believe in faeries. That's where it all started. And if I live through this,, she said to herself, I'm gonna kick that Tinker bitch's ass.

Modesty Takes a Holiday or How Sarah's Getting Her Groove Back

noreply@blogger.com (singer416) — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 05:13:00 +0000

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." From A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson

I've struggled with insecurity all of my life. My perception of myself has always been based on other people's perceptions of me. For every five compliments I received, there was always one criticism, and I would feed off that criticism for a long time afterward, until there was a new negative for me to chew on. There's not a person living today that can beat up on me better than I can on myself. I believed that I deserved all the things going wrong in my life.
That I deserved to be left multiple times because I just wasn't good enough. I deserved to feel unwanted because I wasn't pretty, thin, or desireable enough. I deserved to be lied to and humiliated because I wasn't smart enough or worth coming home to. I deserved to never be sure of someone's love because there was obviously something innately unloveable and unworthy of love about me.

Well, I'm here to tell you that that's all a crock of s#!%.

I am not that person. Not even close.

And to anyone who I may have given that impression to over the years, I apologize. My only excuse is that for a long time I saw that distorted reflection of myself and thought that it was real and unwittingly let others believe it, too.
But the truth is in the quote above.

I am brilliant.
Not just smart, mind you, but brilliant. The good people of Jeopardy and MENSA are probably on their way over right now. I am creative and have a good amount of common sense. Just because I expected the same honesty I gave to others does not make me stupid.

I am gorgeous.
And not just kind of cute, which was as far as I'd ever let myself think. The same God who created glittering expanses of jewel-toned oceans and mountains that reach up past the clouds and every fiery star in the heavens is the same one who made me.

I am talented.
In so many ways. I can sing on key and harmonize. I can write and people actually understand and connect with it. I'm funny and clever. I can take care of four kids and not go completely insane. I can smile and make someone's day.

I am fabulous.
It means incredible. Marvelous. Superb. Exceptional. I am a loving, caring and kind person. I have grace under pressure. I am brave, strong and powerful. I have been blindsided, caught off guard and blatantly lied to, and have risen from it each time. A little the worse for wear, sometimes, but stronger and wiser. I give love freely and deserve it in return.

I don't expect my life to suddenly be free of all trouble because I finally accept these things. Maybe I shouldn't want it to. How can people properly see the light God made me to be if there isn't some adversity to shine through?

And I was made to shine.

Not a soft, subtle glow like a nightlight - barely driving the shadows away, but a blinding, blazing radiance that beats back the fear and darkness.

And who knows? Perhaps by seeing my light, others will let theirs shine, too.

Because we all deserve to shine.

Not Just Another Day

noreply@blogger.com (singer416) — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 06:55:00 +0000

For many of you, today is just a regular day. Some of you will go to church, some of you will sleep in. Some of you will celebrate Father's Day, some will just kick back. And some will be fighting for their freedom. Some will mourn the loss of family members struck down in protest. Some will march, while others will find a way to let the world know of what is happening to them.

Today is not just another day for the people in Iran.

I have been following these events as they've unfolded since last week, when the Iranian president was re-elected by an 11 million vote margin. The people of Iran are demanding a recount and have been protesting the results since last Friday. However, over the past week, things in that country have been escalating. Riots, tear gas, Embassies taking in the wounded, people chanting for freedom, cries of "Allahu Akhbar--God is Great" can be heard from the rooftops.

But today, I've practically been glued to my computer, trying to get as much information as I can. Twitter, Facebook, AW, the NY Times, etc. All over the world, people have been showing their support and solidarity for the Iranian people.

But not so much here in America.

I went on Facebook to see what the people I know were saying about this situation and was surprised and discouraged to see that out of all my friends that were updating, only one had mentioned anything about it. It would seem that a lot of Americans don't understand that they are also global citizens. We all know about Jon and Kate, but how many actually know what's going on in Iran? The sad answer to these questions is not as many as should.

Many of the people here who are aware are saying disparaging things about the President's response to the situation. Others are slamming Sen. McCain for his slams against the president. This situation is NOT about us! There is no partisanship, there is no political gain to be had. There is only support for those people who are putting their lives on the line to fight for the same kind of freedoms that we fought for ourselves over 200 years ago.

You may be saying to yourself, "Why should I care? I don't know anyone over there." or "What can I do? I'm half a world away." It's simple really. Just knowing what's going on is the first step. We HAVE to realize that the world we live in is smaller than we think. The little things you do today may end up having a life changing effect on someone tomorrow. Don't close your eyes to the world around you. Just hearing a person's story means that you are now their witness. They can know that their struggle is not in vain because their voice has been heard. Don't make the mistake of thinking that you can do nothing.

Today I truly feel like a writer because I believe that my voice can help turn the tide on this part of history. Will you do the same?

Don't let today be just another day. Be someone's witness. Be a voice. Be an instrument for change.

"No one could make a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little."
Edmund Burke
(Thanks for the quote, Mac.)

What's In A Name

noreply@blogger.com (singer416) — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 18:18:00 +0000

Okay. First, a little background. I was in the Share Your Work section of AW(for those not in the know, that's where I spend most of my time online) and saw the thread for the June Challenge. One of the prompts jumped out at me right away and I immediately started writing. But now, I'm not sure what to do with it. It's not like the other pieces I've seen people post (mine is more of a monologue from the MC's viewpoint) and I haven't exactly developed that tough skin that writer's are known for, yet. So, I'm putting it here. Let me know what you think. Does it need work? Do you like it? Would you want to read more? Should I post it? Come on, people! I need feedback. (Just be nice about it. I know where a lot of you live.) ;)
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What's In A Name

You humans get so caught up with your fascination of naming things. In order for something to be real it must have a name, must it not? You give things names to shackle them and make them your prisoner. You are in control because you hold the power of its name. The line of reasoning seems to go: I see this object before me. I have named it. It is now mine. I now have power over it because I know the secret of its name. But you only think you do. The secrets of names belong only to Us.

We are the ones who have no names. Therefore, to humans, We should not exist. And yet We ruled you and your world for millennia. You tried to give Us names, tried to make Us more like you, more real. You called Us gods, since We were far above anything that you could become, but then tried to diminish Our deity by saying We were only gods of specific tasks. You tried to make Us preside over the most mundane of your chores: goddess of the hearth, god of livestock, the trickster god, the goddess of beauty. Your feeble attempts at humanizing Us didn’t work, though. You soon began to realize that as harmless as you tried to make Us, your names were not enough to keep Us from exhibiting just how far above you We were.

Ruling over you was so much fun. Plagues, famines, wars. And the sacrifices! Those were good times. But gradually you seemed upset that We were not more benevolent towards you. So, some of Us decided that We would try a little experiment to see how you would react if your gods were kinder. Well, at least some of the time. You seemed to like the idea quite a bit. Temples were built to honor Us. Festivals commenced to celebrate Our greatness. Orders were created to be sure that Our will was carried out amongst you. We quite liked that. What being doesn’t take delight in absolute worship? But these developments led to some of Us developing more of an affinity towards you than others of Our kind thought wise. There were even some who began to defend and protect you.

These misfits began answering to the names you had given Them. When those who worshipped Them were in danger, They would answer your pathetic cries for help. When one of Us would amuse Ourselves with you humans, They would intervene. We decided to leave you to your own devices –it was only a matter of time before you did something stupid and blew the planet to pieces, anyway- but those of Us who had grown attached to humanity refused to leave. . You, with your frail bodies and dim minds, corrupted Our pure natures and divided what before could never have been separated. And then, after We departed, you tossed aside the names of Those who had stayed behind for you, letting Their memories be lost to time forever. Abandoning those who would have cared for and protected you.

We could not just let that happen, now could We?

So, We set in motion a plan that, for Our kind, would be carried out swiftly. But for your kind, it would never be noticed because of your linear thinking and your gnat-like life spans. Your punishment would be fitting. Those who have no names decided that We would name you. When a human names something, they only think they control it. Whereas, We who are outside time and thought, actually do wield such power. For when We name something, We are masters over its very essence. And once that is captured, there is no escape.

So as you flit about in your meaningless little lives, the gods of your past lost to myth and legend, We wait. The time is coming when We shall call your name and your world will be torn apart as We were. For mankind has been named The Damned.

Happy Memorial Day

noreply@blogger.com (singer416) — Wed, 27 May 2009 05:21:00 +0000

Yes, I am a day late and I am always a dollar short, but here it goes any way: Memorial Day! The day we take time to remember and thank those who served our country in both the past and the present. I'll be honest with you, most of the time, for me, Memorial Day is just a day where everyone gets together and barbecues and the people I love finally get a Monday off.

But this year was different. I found myself over the weekend really thinking about how much is owed to the men and women who have, and continue to, protect us and serve our country. My Grandad was in the Navy in WWII and my Dad was a radio tech in the Air Force after WWII. (From what I understand, there wasn't any fighting going on and he spent a lot of the time finding primo spots to ski.) I've also known a few people who have served a few terms(I know thats the wrong word, but the correct one is eluding me at the moment) in Iraq. All these people were going through my mind this weeekend, when I happened to come across a movie called Taking Chance. Here is the synopsis from HBO's website:

In April 2004, Lieutenant Colonel Michael Strobl, USMC, came across the name of 19-year-old Lance Corporal Chance Phelps, a young Marine who had been killed by hostile fire in Al Anbar Province, Iraq. Strobl, a Desert Storm veteran with 17 years of military service, requested that he be assigned for military escort duty to accompany Chance's remains to his family in Dubois, Wyo.

Witnessing the spontaneous outpouring of support and respect for the fallen Marine - from the groundskeepers he passed along the road to the cargo handlers at the airport - Strobl was moved to capture the experience in his personal journal. His first-person account, which began as an official trip report, gives an insight into the military's policy of providing a uniformed escort for all casualties. The story became an Internet phenomenon when it was widely circulated throughout the military community and eventually reached the mainstream media.

'Taking Chance' chronicles one of the silent, virtually unseen journeys that takes place every day across the country, bearing witness to the fallen and all those who, literally and figuratively, carry them home. A uniquely non-political film about the war in Iraq, the film pays tribute to all of the men and women who have given their lives in military service as well as their families.

I get teary just reading the synopsis. The movie is that good. I tried to tell my Mom about this movie and got choked up just trying to describe it to her over the phone. I repeat, it's that good. To truly remember the fallen heroes of our nation, we must all act as witnesses to their bravery and their sacrifice.

The next time you see someone in the military or someone who is a veteran, please, take the time to thank them for their service. You don't have to agree with the politics that make wars happen or continue, but you must still respect those people who have laid it all on the line so that you can be able to voice your different ideas and opinions about the subject.

Happy Belated Memorial Day everybody!

Does This Coffin Make Me Look Thin?

noreply@blogger.com (singer416) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 20:40:00 +0000

I just finished reading an article on Reuters.com about a beauty contestant in Australia being criticized by the media and the general public for being too thin in a pageant promoting "healthy, proportioned bodies". Now, I understand that there are people out there who are naturally thin, I actually know a few of them (granted, the majority of the ones I'm acquainted with are men, but, I digress) and they truly can't do much of anything about their weight. But the young woman in question, a model, is 5'11" and 108lbs.!! Her body mass index is 15.1. 18 is considered malnutrition. The pageant director said that the contestant's corpse-like, I mean, svelte body, is due to her Macedonian heritage.

"They have long, lithe bodies and small bones. It is their body type, just like Asian girls tend to be small," [Pageant director Deborah]Miller said.

Wow. Is this person serious? Three points below what's considered malnutrition and it's her ancestry that's to blame? Come on. The thin people I know look thin, not like they're going to collapse at any given moment! Even models from Ethiopia, who are notorious for their lean bodies, still manage to look like they aren't going to break if you breathe on them. This woman looks like there is an effort being made to be that thin and I would want to see medical documentation that she is healthy before I would even consider that it's just genetics to blame.

The first thing I thought when I read this article and saw the accompanying picture, was, Holy Cow! That girl is a skeleton with the skin still on! I must have actually said something to this effect out loud, because my seven year old daughter said, "What? I wanna see!" Which then led me to my second thought, which was, Do I really want to let my impressionable child see this? It took me a minute before I decided to show her, and then proceeded to explain that the young lady in the picture was in a beauty contest, but people were concerned for her because she looked way too thin. The people in that country were trying to decide if they should make a rule that contestants had to be at least a certain BMI (yes, I had to explain that too) in order to participate in the contest from now on. My daughter looked at the picture again and said "She's too skinny. Why do people like that?" to which I answered that some people think that THAT is what's pretty. "Her face is pretty, but her body looks scary." was her retort, and then she went off to find something else to do. From the mouths of babes...

I know that the world of modeling had a very similar debate when a model ended up dead from complications of her eating disorder. Many European runways have a BMI cutoff to hopefully curb the onslaught of emaciated models. They don't want to have that kind of stigma hanging over them.

When will we decide that beauty isn't worth anything if you're dead or in a hospital. As far as I know, there isn't a competition for prettiest cadaver. The only thing I feel I can do about it is to keep voicing my opinion that this "dying to be prettiest" mindset is wrong and to keep telling my kids to find their own definitions of what beauty really is.

Keepin It Real

noreply@blogger.com (singer416) — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 00:24:00 +0000

Let me start out by saying that, although I'm not a gangsta or a thug, I enjoy listening to rap and hip hop every now and then. That being said...

WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO RAP MUSIC?!?

I mean I can't stand rap music now. And apparently, a lot of people agree with me. As of 2005, hip hop sales were falling so much that TIME magazine felt compelled to ask the question of whether or not hip hop was "dying". Some of the theories floating around are: that some young people are tired of the violence, degrading imagery and lyrics.(not likely) Another theory is that falling sales are due to illegal downloading and P2P networks.(that's possible) Or perhaps it's because of the lack of lyrical content and "sampling" by newer artists.(maybe)
However, I don't subscribe to any of those theories. They all seem to have a hint of truth to them, but I think that the people who came up with those theories have overlooked one monumental idea that links them all together.

Today's rappers have SOLD OUT!!!!

There I said it.
Now before anyone decides to pop a cap in my, well, you know...let me just explain what I mean. When rap began back in the 1970's, all the way up until the late 1990's, people loved it because they could relate to it somehow. It spoke of poverty, crime, hard times, difficult situations, hopelessness and hope; it told the life stories of those who felt like no one ever listened or cared. Sometimes it was humorous, oftentimes it was violent, but it always seemed to SAY something, even if not everyone liked what they heard. The "old skool" rap could be thought of as an anthem for a whole group of people who needed an outlet; a voice.

The rappers of today still hold true to certain aspects of the "old skool": they still speak of "smackin' their b@*ch up" and other acts of violence; they still grossly overuse profanity. The difference seems to be that their target audience is no longer the disenfranchised masses, it's themselves. Or the upper classes.

Put away the gat, I'm still explaining!

Almost anytime you hear a hip hop song on the radio today, it's like listening to someone read the store directory out of VOGUE magazine. Lyrics are inundated with references to Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, and countless others. Most of which are spelled wrong in the lyrics! These people are shopping for jewelry and bling at places like Tiffany and Cartier. While drinking Courvoisier and Cristal.
What regular person can do that? I can't. The people in my neighborhood can't and I would like to think that my neighborhood is a step or two above the ghetto and they certainly can't unless they're doing something shady on the side. How are the rest of us listening to these rappers supposed to make any kind of connection to what they're talking about? That was the beauty of rap to begin with! That the person in front of the beat knew where you were coming from. can they really do that from Rodeo Drive?

So, the next time one of you "new skool" rappers are rolling down the street in your pimped-out Escalade, wearing your yearly salary's worth of ice around your neck or on your teeth, and your D&G clothes and Prada shoes, listening to the radio and hear your new track drop, when you turn your Gucci sunglasses to look around you, know this:
The people in the minivan behind you and the beat up Toyota next to you, just turned off that same station and are now listening to someone who really understood us. Someone who kept it real. Kept it simple. Like Run DMC. Or Vanilla Ice.
Peace, I'm out!

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall

noreply@blogger.com (singer416) — Sat, 24 Jan 2009 06:29:00 +0000

Most of us grew up hearing the classic fairy tales: Cinderella, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White. While most boys listened and then went off to play with their cars and action figures, the majority of us girls dreamed of being princesses and happily ever afters. Not once did it ever occur to us that Cinderella had eleven toes on her tiny feet; that Rapunzel got hair extensions to make her ladder of lovely locks; that Sleeping Beauty was actually snoozing at a private hospital in Switzerland getting cosmetic surgery to "preserve" her looks until her prince came along. And I never in a million years thought that Snow White, when coming across the Magic Mirror, would ask, "Do I look fat?".

These scenarios sound ridiculous, right? But these are the very things that we as individuals, and as a society, are searing into our children's maleable, little psyches. Right about now you're probably saying, "I would never tell my kids something like that". But take a look at the shows and movies you're watching while they play nearby. Skim through the magazines you leave laying around for tiny eyes to peruse. Listen to the criticism you heap on yourself when you don't think they're listening. And they're always listening, especially when you think they aren't. Now, maybe you can see what I mean.

I mentioned recently that I like to read fashion magazines( I said stop snickering!). Now, I could lie to you and say that I "just read them for the articles", but I won't. Truthfully, I read them for the whole package: the clothes, the makeup, the shoes, the current events, advice, health articles; all of it. The one thing I DON'T read them for is to see the skeletal remains of women encased in haute couture that they call "models". The very act of writing about them gives me shivers. What are they considered "models" of? The feminine form at it's best? Are you kidding me? These girl's look as if they were to stumble on the runway, that they would shatter into a million pieces! And it's not just "models" in magazines. The celebrities on TV and in movies look like stick figures, too. The mature Oscar winner right down to the young ingénue. Not only that, but younger and younger women are getting cosmetic surgery. Botox, implants; a lift here, a tuck there. When did we decide that looking half starved and in a constant state of surprise was the epitome of beauty?

Up until the early part of the twentieth century, the ideal female form was considered to be shapely, curvacious, soft. Artists like Cezanne, Degas, Klimt, and Renoir are just some examples of those who took up their brushes to proclaim that very idea. Not in any of their paintings would you be able to count a woman's ribs or think that she had her nose done. What they saw was so beautiful that they felt compelled to immortalize it on canvas.

Now, we immortalize things digitally and photoshop or airbrush away what is considered undesireable. We tell our little girls how pretty they are and then go out and buy them dolls with tons of makeup and minimal clothing and show them what pretty is "supposed" to look like, effectively negating any praise we've just given them. Where does it end? When will we decide that it's better to pass down a healthy respect for ourselves and the way we look, instead of our neuroses about an unachievable, and ultimately damaging, standard set by a silent consensus.

Who is to blame?

I am.

You are.

Everytime one of us looks in a mirror and sees what isn't there, instead of the amazing things that are, we put another nail in our own glass coffin. Everytime we look for approval between the pages of a glossy magazine; everytime we envy that celebrity who is starving herself and working out manically just to keep her job; everytime we search for self-worth through the eyes of a nation of surgically altered, over-beautified lemmings, we help to dig our own idealized graves. And we teach our girl's to do the same.
So what do we do to stop this vicious cycle?

Well, for starters, we need to stop letting the media tell us who we are and what we should look like.
Don't let them tell you that a size 8 is plus size.
Don't let them make you think that since you're preternaturally thin, you need to have a rack full of C-cups.
Don't let them tell you that your nose needs to look like a button, that your lips need to look like a swarm of bees attacked them, or that your eyebrows need to be up in your hairline.
Stop allowing them to manipulate what our standards of beauty should be.

If you have a gap in your teeth, smile all the wider.
If you have a big nose, know that sculptors revered women like you.
If you have wrinkles, know that every one of them tells a story of joy or sorrow.
If you have a flat chest, throw your shoulders back and stand proud.
If you've got curves, show the world that they are dangerous and sexy.

It's said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. No one beholding you is perfect. Doesn't it stand to reason, then, that beauty isn't perfect?
Embrace your imperfection.

And the next time you walk past a mirror, magic or otherwise, tell it to go crack itself.
You already know who's the fairest one here.

Snowflakes

noreply@blogger.com (singer416) — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 16:03:00 +0000

In our society, you are told as a young child that you are unique. You are an individual. There is no one like you. You are a snowflake. A tiny, crystalline figure with a pretty, perfect pattern floating in your very own patch of sky. And I bet that for a while you actually believed that. I know I did. For a very long time I thought of myself as mysterious, an enigma. No one could really know all about me. I was intriguing. Unique.

A snowflake.

Then I was given a book called The Way They Learn by Cynthia Ulrich Tobias. It was given as an effort to help me better understand my kids and "the way they learn". Now, let me just take a second to tell you how much I absolutely loathe reading child rearing and self-help books. I'd rather get my advice from a real, live person that I know has experienced what I'm going through, rather than read about it. Even if it is based on some group study by a guy who has a PhD in the given area. I prefer personalized attention. I am, afterall, unique. So, needless to say when I received the book, I had my hesitations about it. But since the giver of the book held it in high regard (and I knew she would ask me what I thought about it), I decided to at least try and skim through it. What I found inside was both illuminating and slightly disconcerting.

This book knew me.

It said that people perceive things in two dominant ways: concrete and abstract. Concrete was what could be immediately perceived through the five senses; it was tangible; the key phrase being "It is what it is". Abstract used intuition, intellect, imagination; looking beyond what is; the key phrase being "It's not always what it seems". That abstract thing sounded kind of like me. Next it spoke of how we use the information we perceive as either sequential ("follow the steps") or random ("just get it done"). Then it listed the four possible combinations of these learning styles. When I read the description of the Abstract Random learner, I had to pause. It was describing me. Nine out of every ten descriptions of an AR fit me to a "T". (Where does that phrase come from, anyway?) The book went on to tell how people remember things ( I'm primarily auditory) and how they understand information (analytic or global- I'm global and prefer to get the gist of things and paraphrase).

I finished reading the book and although now well informed, I felt a bit deflated. If I'm so unique, how could this book so easily throw me into one of four categories? Well, I decided to file that information in my mind. I was still a snowflake, there just happened to be some slightly similar snowflakes in my patch of sky now.

Then I found out about the Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman.

As I listened to the counselor describe how everyone experienced love by either: physical touch, quality time (those two are me, by the way. Apparently I'm "bilingual"), words of affirmation, acts of service or gifts, I had that sinking feeling again that my snowflake was again being blown towards another large group and my individuality was quickly disappearing. But, yet again, I did learn something about myself and going through everyone I know and figuring out their "language" was kind of fun. So, once more I saved the information and filed it away in the back of my mind.

A time then came where I was a little lost and couldn't figure out what I was really good for. An identity crisis. ( Being around kids 24/7 and becoming known only as _____'s mom will do that to you sometimes.) Sure I could slaughter at Trivial Pursuit, talk about why Aang is sad that he's the last airbender and read a 400 page book in a day, but how could any of that be used as a contribution to society?
Cue another friend with yet another book, Strengthsfinder 2.0 by Tim Roth. THIS book had you take a test online and then told you what your top five strengths were. The website even went so far as to give you an action plan and show you what occupations people who shared your strengths tended to excel at.

This book was the last straw.

After taking the 30 minute test online, it showed that my top five strengths were: Input (a craving to know more and file and archive interesting information- evident in my insatiable reading and my habit of filing things away in my head), Empathy ( sensing the feelings of others by imagining myself in their place or situation), Intellection (an appreciation for introspection and intellectual discussions), Ideation (my fascination with ideas and finding connections between things), and Individualization (being intrigued by the unique qualities of each person). It was amazing to learn that things I took for granted and thought of as just quirks in my nature, were actually strengths; qualities that others looked for and admired. I felt good. I held my head a little higher.

Then I was struck by the fact that I had once again been put into a group. A category. My pristine snowflake was just part of a huge, dirty snowdrift by the side of the road.

DANG IT!!

After wallowing in those thoughts for a while, I came to a realization.

An epiphany, if you will.

I didn't really care about being mysterious, anymore. I'd rather understand why I do things a certain way; why I crave certain kinds of attention rather than others. I would rather know that my thinking isn't scattered, it's just how I interpret information; that memorizing my social security number by making up a song for it isn't weird, it's auditory. Who wants to be an emigma when you can empathize with another person and try to understand what they're going through?

My individuality wasn't erased by the fact that I could be categorized. It helped to enhance it. It emphasized how different I was by connecting all the things that I learned about myself. That I'm still learning about myself.

I am a snowflake.

A global-abstract-random-auditory-touching-quality time-empathetic-individualizing-input-ideation-intellectual snowflake.

I think I'm okay with that.

Pink Ladies

noreply@blogger.com (singer416) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 06:25:00 +0000

I read an article last week in one of my fashion mags (stop snickering!) about a group of women in India known as the Gulabi(pink) gang, after the bright pink saris they wear as their uniform. They are a group of vigilantes started by a 47 year old mother of five, whose friend was being beaten by her alcoholic husband. When they sought help from the local police, they were told that nothing would be done. So the woman gathered dozens of neighboring women and taught them to fight back. Armed with traditional fighting sticks, these women, part of the "untouchable" caste, have beaten up accused rapists, corrupt officials, and abandoning husbands. Now numbering in the hundreds, these women don't need to resort to violence anymore to get their point across. Just the sight of their bright pink saris and the knowledge that they are coming is enough.
Reading this article made me want to go out and buy a pink sari myself. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that vigilantism is the answer to everyone's problems, but I think that solidarity is definitely a step in the right direction. Violence among women is a huge epidemic in all across the globe. The strange thing is though, that women outnumber men the world over.
But there is strength in numbers. Armies throughout history have made sure to look their fiercest and make a good showing of their size to allow the mere sight of them to strike fear into their enemies. So maybe if we just learned to stand together when we see someone, man or woman, being beaten down, like those women in India, the sheer sight of us would be enough to make anyone think twice before they ever tried to hurt someone again.
Of course, carrying a big stick might help, too.

The Beginning

noreply@blogger.com (singer416) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 03:05:00 +0000

Well, here it is. My first post. What should I talk about? I guess we'll start with my title, Randomly Abstract. Abstract-random happens to be my learning style, according to the book I read. I'll find the book and tell you more about that later.
I should also let you know that, although I have four small children, this blog will NOT be about them, or their doctor's appointment, or where I had to take them today. Promise.
This blog is for important issues: like the new president that is about to be inaugurated; the situation of violence against women in developing nations. Or the absurdity of having to pay $700+ for a pair of Christian Louboutin pumps (even if they do border on the divine), and why we feel a certain affinity for Dexter and are willing to forgive the fact that he's a serial killer.
This blog is exactly as the title suggests: it's abstract. It's random. It's this and that about everything.
And it's just the beginning.