T minus June 30, 2008, but now

T minus June 30, 2008, but now

The war was isolation
Contemplation, yet inward retaliation
I trapped my tears inside, where I left my screams to hide
I walked, talked, and dreamed of a way out
That same year, I tried for my way out

Nothing came, but a day of pain
And yet, I couldn't remember the names
Faces so mashed, but a taste so potent
The fact that I hadn't yet awoken
Blurred movements, intertwined with clarity

I tried, and yet failed
Something stopped
So much so, my perfectionism hadn't lead me to the drop
Dark is where I was
I was one with the blurred moments

There was forced understanding
Blaming, and second guessing
Focus on strategic placements
And loathing for my staying
One sticky eyelid drop, sleep would make it all stop

But it never did

There still lies a war with isolation
Contemplation, yet inward retaliation
I trap my tears inside, where I leave all my screams and hide
I walk, talk, and dream of a way out
This eighth year, I didn't try for my way out

I constantly wish for clarity
Although photos wouldn't help me
Feeling, it's what removes me
Back to memories, moments and movements, where I don't want to be
One day I'll see, where I can walk, talk and dream of a peace with me

Originality, where have you gone?

I've been away from "pop culture" for awhile now.  I do not own a television, and haven't for a few months.  I also do not listen to the radio, unless it's on when I'm out in public.  So, when logging onto my Facebook, it seems like being bombarded with images and posts of what the world has been up to, and I've blocked myself away from.  Not that it's a bad thing.  But in this day and age, not knowing what's going on, besides checking the news sites and newspaper is like taking yourself away from the real world.  Not originally my interpretation.  But I'm sure it's being said somewhere.

I log onto Facebook, and there's a song/video, which apparently has been number one on some list(s) for a few weeks or so.  Nothing new there . . . And I take a listen/watch the video just to see what the hype is.  It's found here, http://music-mix.ew.com/2013/11/20/christina-aguilera-great-big-world-say-something-video/

I think the song is okay.  However the visuals?  The scenes in the video just got me thinking.  Why is it that whenever there is a song that just so happens to have ballad-like chords, ie. a piano or guitar, there is either a sappy couple, a sad looking animal, a distraught child and/or an elderly couple -- likely married -- where one is on the brink of death?  I only ask this question, because in the day and age of millions of music videos that seemingly rip off each others concepts, there truly isn't a force of originality out there.

Again, not saying the song is bad.  Or that this doesn't work . . .  But let's take away Christina Aguilera's sauntering into the room, while a piano is played.  Let's also take away the piano playing male singer, and strictly focus on the story through images.  What is being told?  What is new, which we haven't already seen?  Is there a reason why duplicating said images in most videos is done ONLY to pressure a feeling that constantly happens when people are pushed towards emotional recall?  And if that's the case, why not just let the song speak for itself?  After all, interpretation is what ties each listener to a specific song or lyric.

I love music videos -- artistic ones, and even some which I've seen done numerous times.  But when are these templates at the point of overly used?  Can't we as artists, directors, writers (also artistically driven) think beyond that same template?  Don't we have the courage to think outside the proverbial box and make our own standard.

They say "imitation is the greatest form of flattery," but I would like to think creation, coinciding with originality is where the greatest form shall lie.  I've seen it done before.  Just lately not as much.

Or maybe I should dive back into the world of social media . . . find another video, and cry along with its imagery.  Besides, that is what the director intended.  Right?
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**Yes, I do understand we've all duplicated something once.  And that there are templates for a reason.  And yes, I also understand their need and also ours when creating for the masses.  Alas, I too, have fell victim of those same practices before (in other material).  But I know when NOT to use them.  Or do I?**

Confused Much?

Sometimes we are at the top of our game -- riding these amazing adventures, and not looking down.  Other times, we are just trying to grab onto something.  Anything.  But we just can't.

It is as though we feel we aren't good enough.  Not worthy enough to make ourselves happy.  Or possibly not good enough to take in that happiness.  I know many people who feel that way.  Heck, I do, on some occasions.  And many of my past posts have been an indication of that.

But still, we keep going.  Some of us.  We keep pressing on.  Because we don't REALLY want to give up.  To not reach our potential.  Yet, those moments when nothing seems feasible, we think we can't.  Can't make it.  Can't survive what we've just gone through, or constantly been enduring.

To those people:  (as "Hallmark" as it sounds) you have to keep going.  And I know this contradicts my own thoughts.  Especially when they continue to change.  One moment I'm happy.  Thrilled to be here.  Other times?  I feel as though EVERYTHING is coming down, crashing all around me.  I don't want to be a burden with my words.  This is MY blog, so, I just thought I'd describe myself.

It's confusing.  I know.  These moments confuse me too.  Just earlier, I was happy, smiling and thinking of the future.  And then . . . out of nowhere, something clicked.  Like an autopilot switch.  One that constantly is in between, but more so on the off position.

You become entranced in thoughts.  But those thoughts are blank.  Weird, eh?  Blank thoughts, which then turn into memories.  Ones that are in fact actually you -- in that moment -- in that space -- as though time were standing still, and you were just observing.  But it's not an observation.  It's you.  It's me.

We are the same.  We are what forces one another to not give in to our forced wants.  Because quick fixes are indeed not the solution.  We are the same.  Pushing one to fight until we cannot stand to go any further.

And then -- click.  We're back in the same situation.

Glue

It's another Friday, and I'm sitting inside my room.  Nice weather.  It's mid afternoon.  And the blinds remain closed.  I want to travel outside, and feel the air.  But instead, I sit here, beside my three fans.  And let the modified breeze take over.  I don't think of things to do -- fun, exciting, young adult, or 20 something things to do -- because that's just not who I am.  Although, I could be wrong.  I could be that person, wanting to dance the night away.  Going for a drink in a sports bar, while cheering on my favorite team.  I don't know . . . I never really knew, because I let myself stay in too much.  I've become accustomed to taking chances, professionally, and educationally -- more so than personally.  Not that I think of myself as afraid to try.  Just afraid of failure.  And what's to be afraid of, anyway?  

Each day continues to play out the same way.  And I'm drained each morning, thinking of the never changing cycle.  At times though, my focus changes, but not on the positive.  Not on going out and trying something new.  No, instead, my focus switches to daydreaming about a new life.  A new journey.  One that's not on this earth.  You see, I can force myself to think ahead -- way  ahead -- as if nothing matters.  But that's only when EVERYTHING matters.  And when everything is drowning me.  

I'm stuck.  I'm at the point in my life where either I should be out exploring (especially in the city I live in), and having fun.  But I can't.  I don't know why.  I don't understand how I can feel the need for a change, but just can't do it.  

I work hard.  I stay focused.  Big deal -- most people do.  And I put extreme amounts of perfectionist pressure on myself.  Big deal -- again, most people do.  I've had the same mentality of never feeling good enough, ever since I was young.  That, I know, will never go away.  So, I push it aside, not thinking about it, and stay focused.  I continue working hard, never letting myself think of what I could be doing.

And then I take a break -- because someone says, "relax, you've been working too hard.  You need sleep, or to just get away from what you're doing for a little while.  Then go back to it."  So I take their advice, and breathe.  But that's when I feel my throat closing.  When I feel I'm losing control.  Each time I take a break, I'm never really relaxed.  I remain focused on what still hasn't been done.  What needs to be accomplished.  What I haven't gotten right.  And what I know I messed up on.  I can't take the break.

The only break, which comes from me, hyperventilating, is what sends me to cringe.  I break.  This isn't something new.  Or fascinating.  Most people reach their boiling point.  And I do the same.  I control it, to the point nobody knows.  So that I can't make them worry.  You see, I worry about other people reacting to what I'm doing.  

Perfectionist.  That's me.  Always wanting the best -- especially for others.  And when I feel pressure piling up, I hide it.  "No worries," I tell people, who ask how I'm doing.  "Everything's great," I push out of my typing, to those who send me a message to check in.  I don't like speaking on what I'm going through.  Unless it's positive.  Not that I don't think people would want to know, and help.  But, I've always found it difficult to ask for that.  To proclaim I cannot do something.  That I'm not adequate enough.  Even when I do think that, most times -- I can't say it to someone else.  

And as the time continues to change, I continue to sit.  In the same spot I was when I woke up.  I'm taking a break.  A mental break.  And one I'm too familiar with, which breaks me even more.  

It's not every day.  But most days, when I feel drained.  Yet I keep going.  But in the back of my mind, I know I want to stop.  Stop it all.  So, I pretend (to myself) I'm alright.  My self knows better, but it goes with it, anyhow.  On those days, when all I can see is taking another route -- a one way journey, I force myself to continue.  

I don't know how long I'll be able to keep it up.  But for now, I'm still trying.  And although my mind drifts back and forth, between being up and down, I remain upbeat for those I love.  Even when at times, I can't feel the same towards myself.  I'm stuck.  Wanting to get away from it all, on most days.  And feeling nothing, on others.  

I'll take this break, and then I'll get back to being focused.  I need this break, and yet when I'm on it, I'm not really.  But, I'll try and keep going.  I'll try, because I know I'm working towards something I want.  And the perfectionist side of me, won't stop until I make it.  So, I have to make it.  I have to force myself to NOT break.  

Because if I do, I'll never get to feel the real breeze.   

My fantastic week has already begun . . .

Well, if watching an amazing Oscars 2013, wasn't great enough -- I recently received an e-mail about being part of something that has already changed my life, and it doesn't even take place until tomorrow evening. Growing up there were only a few non Disney or Nickelodeon television shows I was intoxicated with:  My So-Called Life, Vicar of Dibley, and 7th Heaven.  The other show being Degrassi.  I would have to say that show made such an impact with me and my outlook on life.  Though My So-Called Life (MSCL) was a close second to being that defiant show for me, it related more towards my older two siblings.  I was watching a show that I was invested in, yet because of the age gap (my sisters and the show itself), I needed to find something more relateable.  Thus, Degrassi.  I can't lie and say I was enamored by the old Degrassi Junior High or Degrassi High seasons as I was and am still with Degrassi The Next Generation (DTNG) and now, Degrassi.  I was a fan, but when DTNG made its rounds to my television screen, I was perplexed with why it had been so long for American viewers to realize what substance they were missing.  Yes, MSCL was amazing, but it only lasted one season, and not a complete one at that.  It was, in my opinion, American shows had been lacking important material that touched the core of its audiences, and for me it took a non-American show to reach my core.  Seems to still be that way.  I still watch Degrassi.  I'm even proud to say, I will continue to support the show and watch it, until it goes off air (which I hope won't be for a while).

My exciting news needed a preface, which is what I briefly discussed, above.  That being said, tomorrow is a major deal for me!  I will be partaking in a Google+ Live Hangout session with both Degrassi Producer, Stefan Brogren (aka Mr. Simpson) and Degrassi writer, Ramona Barckert (most notably for season 12's suicide storyline -- " Bitter Sweet Symphony Parts 1 &2).  I am tremendously excited, nervous and just filled with glee.  My family, high school, undergraduate and graduate buddies all know how connected and borderline obsessed I am of the show, so tomorrow will be more than a big deal.

Tomorrow, either before or after the session, I will return with a new blog, letting everyone know how it turned out.  But for now, I'm going to exit this blog, and get back to writing my questions that I would LOVE to get answered.  I mean, this type of Amazeballz opportunity doesn't happen to just everyone.  And it doesn't just happen everyday.  But since it's happening tomorrow, and to me, I need to focus.  Preparedness Meets Opportunity, right?  Hey, anything could happen!  ;-)

Adios, vatos.

~Kyra C.

Time Passes (Dear Mariska Hargitay)

This letter was written almost 2 years ago, but took longer to compose.  It was sent to Mariska, and until now, it has never been seen anywhere else.  This is yet another look into what makes me, me.  And the stories NEVER told.  *Picture was taken between years of memory and loss.  It was added later*

Dear Mariska Hargitay,

I am writing this letter to express how much I admire your support to the causes in today’s world, that touch so many lives.  From your Philanthropies to charities and your ability to portray such a convincing character as Detective Olivia Benson on Law & Order:  SVU, you always show such authority, conviction and truth to every facet that you tend to.

My name is Kyra.  I am 23 and a Senior at Michigan State University, majoring in English with a Concentration in Creative Writing.  I am also President of Sigma Alpha Iota International Music Fraternity’s Alpha Lambda Collegiate Chapter (here at MSU) and an actor/director/producer/set designer/playwright for Michigan State University’s Tunnel Of Oppression, which is very dear to me as well as the other positions that I hold.

I will be graduating this May and going into another area; without taking courses and that sometimes frightens me:  the thought of leaving such a beautiful and helpful community.  I guess what I’m trying to get at is, this university has been a great tool for me in my entire university career.  It helped give me a chance to thrive academically and personally.  It made resources possible, even when I didn't want them at the time.

My fright, it comes from suppressing anger and feelings, because I have always been that person that helps everyone and talks them through their problems, never discussing my own.

I am the youngest child of 17 girls and five boys (two sisters from my mom, whom I grew up with and the rest are half siblings), which means everyone is older.  Therefore most of their children were older . . . When I was young, maybe around 4 or 5, I began getting molested by one of my older nephews, and at the time, the only thing I knew was that I was uncomfortable.  They lived next door and somehow I knew I wouldn't get away from him.  This happened for a while.  A long while, and after time, I just put everything out of my mind and blocked it out.

I never told my family about those times, because I had tried blocking it so much.  Many times I would forget what happened during those years, until something triggered it.  When I was 12, the summer before entering high school, I went to visit my half siblings and their family at their house and I couldn't remember why I didn't want to be there, but my family went, and so did I.

I went to the basement to play board games and look at bikes with my younger nephews.  And as everyone left, I felt at peace - Alone, without feeling suffocated.  My older nephew came downstairs, quietly, and came up behind me and . . . It happened again, but this time I told.  I told my mom and two sisters and they became upset.  They approached my older half sister about her son.  She said he was never there.  She covered for him.  His younger brother had to tell his mom he was there AND  in the basement.  Ever since, I couldn't trust them, nor ever wanted to be around that side of the family.  And although I had told my family, it was buried and never again talked about.  Maybe it was because I was embarrassed (mostly that), or that family secrets are just that, “family secrets.”  Whatever the reason, I never mention it and always avoid conversations about those years.  Or those people.

Progressing . . .

Third Semester of Grad School;  MFA Life of a Creative Writing Major; Revising Stage and Screenplays.  This is what Wednesday multitasking entails:  Serious note taking, and revisions of previously revised material.  Let's just say, hitting SEND is deadly!  :-p  This week I managed to get a multitude of work completed.  So I am extremely ecstatic!  Next up, revisions of what I just sent.  :-o

Melting Silence

I'm back, once more, to free my thoughts -- this time there are no WARNING nor SPOILER additives.  Just a poem and a picture that I created, in order to find peace in the nature which surrounds me.  I LOVE nature, and am glad I was raised in a way that values it.  

 

Melting Silence                       

 

We see, in the distance             

A tree that takes us,                 

A leaf that separated                

A moment of swaying              

 

Air dances from our lungs        

Ice forms on our eyelids           

        Patterns of tiny trapped squirrel feet

Push it's way towards the edge

  

 

 

 Quietly walking forward              

 Kneeling down to breathe, again

 A broken shard --                        

 Ice melting                                  

  One whoosh, and SILENCE        

Ending with trees                       

And a sky once frozen               

 

 Frozen as a lakes heartbeat,        

 Waiting for the melt                    

 Awaiting a shatter                      

 To freely dance                          

 Never pacing its glide                

 Into a spiral of shadows             

 Pushing from within                  

 



 

Stripping Down (Dancing in the Sun)

"Unplugged . . ."  "Bare . . ."  "Stripped down . . ."  These words all describe what happens when I write a song.  Or any piece of writing for that matter.  I decide on going into the vault of memories -- some others, but mostly mine -- and take a piece of what I can (remember), in order to find the reality.

I never understood why it was, or is easy for me to be that way on stage (present), but in person I can't be.  I never understood  until I really listened to my own music.  And my Go-To-Music that gets me into writing mode.  Most of is what some may call "emo," "alt-rock/pop," or classical -- but what I'd like to call, real life through song.

I get inspiration to continue writing and to dig deeper into my thoughts -- after I've set a playlist that becomes more emotional recall than easy listening.  I begin to write.  Yet most of my thoughts would never see the light of day (to some -- I guess I'm not a writer then).  I continue to write, until I'm immersed into that world, and I can actually feel life inside the words.  Strange, eh?  But that to me is Stripping Down.  

I imagine how it would be, if I could take that same writers confidence and utilize it as I converse with people.  Don't get me wrong, I can be social -- I've been part of many social organizations and activities (even being head chair in most of them) -- but when it's just me . . . and no mention of organizations, jobs, music -- the go-to discussions, I'm lost.  I'm beyond stage fright, and I'm not even performing.  Or am I?

I guess, looking at life, that's somewhat a performance too.  Some of us have to fake it till we make it.  Some of us have to bare it.  And then some of us just write -- sing -- live through our music -- because that's the only way we can really strip down.



                   

Reminders

*Spoiler Alert - The picture below may not be suitable for everyone*

So many things can make you dredge up the past:  faces, a smell, a picture, a sound . . . a thought.  And when you come face-to-face with that emotion, it can often be too difficult to erase.  Been there, done that.  Reminders are more than just an alert from a calender -- telling you it's the anniversary of something you'd rather forget.  Maybe the reminder is to try and forget -- putting your energy into something else more time consuming.  Whatever it is, reminders can also be a trigger.  

I must say, placing this picture (taken a while back) in my blog was beyond one of the most impacting, yet extremely terrifying moments I've had to overcome.  Just as the following poem that leads after (will be posted soon). 

I'm such an enclosed person, that I never discuss my own emotions -- never wanting to be bothersome.  Most of my friends come to me to vent, but I never let it go the other way.  I'm there -- a bouncing board of ideas as to what to do -- how to stay calm -- how to breathe -- how to be positive.  Why hasn't that worked for me?  Why, now, must I write about the past?  Well, because it just seems to continue bringing its way back into my present being.  And I'm secretly hoping it never makes it to my future.  

Yes, I've tried to kick the habit of being my own psychiatrist -- prescribing my own remedies for unwanted thoughts -- Still trying.  Yes, I've gone days, weeks, months even, without resorting to those habits.  But just as one small whiff of odor can set one into a tail spin, so can one unblocked and blurry image.  

Moment by moment -- that's what happens.  I don't see myself as a person venting.  However, now, I see myself as a person FINALLY being able to speak.  And I hope that in time, I can speak about other moments.

"No more maybe's"

I watched her.  

I watched from inside.  

Peered from above.  

And listened intently, because I knew something would protrude its way from under her staccato'd breathing. 
But it didn't.  

Maybe she never saw me.  

Maybe the daze caught her for too long.  

Took away her capabilities, just like it took mine.  

I watched her.  

She never moved.  

Never.  

Not once.  

And I listened.  

She said nothing.  

I wondered when her actions would take place, but they didn't.  

When those sharp pains subsided, she looked up, at me.  

Still, nothing.  

So, I watched, again.  

Those once sharp pains, didn't seem like anything anymore.  

The jabs were like clock work, and were persistent.  

I wondered if she felt anything anymore.  

Maybe she had disappeared . . . 

I wanted her to disappear -- from the outside, just as she did on the inside.  

Maybe then my hovering would fall into one.  

And she'd move.  

Watch me.  

Feel something.  

Or maybe she knew how to control it.  

That moment.  

Those minutes, which went on for too long.  

Or just maybe, as her daze sunk in deeper, she fell further.  

And maybe she wondered too --  why my eyes were open and yet I never saw it happening.  

Because if I did, why didn't I catch her?

~Kyra C.

"Nowhere To Run"

Sitting and listening to Caleb and Sol's Nowhere To Run, and realizing how simple I always thought it was, to do just that.  It's amazing how many times this semester I've felt like running away . . . anywhere . . . although I knew there wasn't a real destination to go.  The fascination with trying to be everything and do everything, just won't release its hold upon me.  Learning how to cope with more regret, drama, and let down -- done by myself, is what pushes me -- that want to prove I can get to the other side.

And as Caleb and Sol's gutsy lyrics stir their way through my speakers, singing "there's nowhere to run to . . . nowhere to turn to . . . nowhere to run . . . nowhere to hide, and nowhere to go," I'm yet complicated with the notion to relieve myself from feeling as though I have any control over the matter at hand.  Even if I know my actions are because of the notions I choose to react from, I am still learning . . .

So, instead of reverting back to old habits, that I seemed to shake, until later in the semester -- alas, I will go for a run, to the gym, to the river, around the school . . . wherever there's a blank space, which can only come alive with deep understanding, made from taking in the peace that surrounds me, everyday.  I mustn't try and run from the evil around me . . . I mustn't try and control every move.  I need to just live.

Because, "there's nowhere to run to . . . nowhere to turn to . . . nowhere to run . . . nowhere to hide, and nowhere to go."  And I'm still learning . . .

~Kyra C.

"My Way"

So, I'm still at the computer, avoiding my tasks -- which are finishing these assignments and sending them off . . . I get that once I've completed everything, I'll have more time to break and relax, however for some odd reason, I just can't get myself to write . . . I mean, it's not like there's too much of writers block going on.  The only sort of explanation I can give to myself is, procrastination is taking over.  And that's most certainly not a good thing.

I've made lists,  started the aforementioned assignments -- even went as far as having the notes that I wrote out, lying next to the computer . . . Still, nothing.  I'm not finished.  I'm nowhere near finished, and this is driving me insane.  *Speak of the devil -- I get a phone call, which I have to pick up -- but I shouldn't have . . .*

I wish I could -- You know what, I think I'll make myself another vow . . . One that always worked as an undergrad.  I'm going to chillax, once more (for one hour), then I'm going to write in isolation, until EVERYTHING is complete, revised, again, and sent off (by the deadline).  Then and only then, will I need to take another nap, or gosh forbid, sleep.  Yeah, I'm planning on pulling my first Grad School All-Nighter!!  So, wish me luck . . . :-p

Peace Out Dudes and I'll check in later -- Much!

~Kyra C.