See, Judge, Speak, Kill

you think
you can see
twenty twenty you say
but you haven’t even touched
the surface

you think
you can judge
deliver your verdicts
but you haven’t even touched
the surface

you think
you can speak
your words your tiny swords
but you haven’t even touched
the surface

you think
you can kill
your scabs and scars so deep
but you haven’t even touched
the surface

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The Big Question

What change, big or small, would you like your blog to make in the world?

Okay, I’ll keep this short. Let me start by saying something I don’t often tell people on the Internet.

I’m younger than plenty of you here. As in MUCH younger. No, I’m not ten, eleven, or even twelve. Not anymore, anyway. Quite some time ago, I began my journey into the crazy, hilarious, wonderful, embarrassing, tear-inducing, beautiful time people call “teenhood”. Well, at least, call teenhood. There is no such word as teenhood.

I didn’t create this blog just because I felt like it. Well, yeah, of COURSE I felt like it, but that’s not the only reason.

I made this because I want to document things. I wanted to be able to look back and say, “Oh, I owned a blog once – think I wrote everything down there, it was quite idiotic” or something like that. I also wanted to watch myself grow along with my writing.

It may seem selfish or weird, but I made this on the off chance that people would actually look forward to reading what I write. I wanted people to realize that not all teenagers out there are always drunk or always high. I wanted people to realize, too, that teenagers have the right to be listened to, just like adults. Age is just a number.

When I made this blog, I wanted so many things, and to be honest, I still want them. I may succeed, I may fail, but it doesn’t matter. At least I could say this without lying – one sentence, two words; very simple:

“I tried.”

My posts might be simple, or long, or silly, or deep, but that’s the nice part, I guess. That’s what “teenhood” is all about. That’s what this blog is all about.

Miracles

“The only difference between a wish and a prayer is that you’re at the mercy of the universe for the first, and you’ve got some help with the second.”

Sing You Home (Jodi Picoult)

Yesterday was our dance competition. They called it an exhibition, but all the students knew it wasn’t JUST an exhibition. It was a contest. There were awards but it just so happened that some awards were better than the others.

Anyway, we’d spent the past few months preparing our routines. It took so long, even though the actual thing was only four minutes and two seconds. We needed to master it, but there were some who… well.

Needless to say, I was one of those naturally gifted with the weak side of the so-called dancing talent. Oh, who am I kidding. My inability to dance hasn’t changed in the span of twenty-four hours.

So I prayed for a miracle.

Guess what? We won. “Most Outstanding Performance” was dubbed best award by the students. And we won that, as well as “Best T-Shirt Design.” 

At lunch, there was a fifth-grader who came up to me. She held a violet hairclip in her hand, adorned with a gold ribbon. “This is for me?” I asked. She nodded, and I smiled. “Thanks!” When she left, I clipped the thing to my hair. 

When I got home, I immediately went on the internet (like I always do) even though I was dead tired. I wanted to see what people said about my class. My facebook homepage was filled with good things and I was so glad that no fight started. Then I heard about some fight on twitter.

This is why I don’t CHECK my twitter. It’s not because twitter is boring or mainstream or whatever. It has less to do with the fact that I don’t want to get into a fight with anyone than the fact that I don’t want to KNOW about a fight anyone had with anyone. Can’t people just accept whatever they got without bashing the winners? 

Moving on. A few hours into my internet marathon (a week is a long time to wait to use the internet) I received a friend request from someone who bullied me a long long long time ago. I got over it already but it was nice to get a friend request from her on facebook, even after all this time.

Four miracles. In one day. And I asked for only one. See, miracles do exist, but it’s up to you to make them happen.

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Movies or Books?

No, I’m not trying to say that I like movies better than books, or vice versa. It’s just that, contrary to what most people think, there are actually some movies that are better than their literary counterparts.

My Sister’s Keeper is a good example. Don’t take this the wrong way. I Love Jodi Picoult’s book with a capital L. Yes, it was moving. It had a wonderful plot which centered around a family in crisis. Kate was great (rhyme totally intended); Julia and Campbell were hilarious. Anna was… genuine. The characters were well-built; they weren’t one-sided unlike some other characters I needn’t mention. My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult was absolutely beautiful. But the one thing it wasn’t was tear-inducing.

I don’t cry over books or movies or media in general. But when a movie does that, then it has succeeded. The movie did just that. Although I love both the book and the movie, the movie was better, if you’re wondering. It pulled at my heartstrings. It dragged me out of my lovely recliner chair and into the story.

I can’t describe it. Every time I watch My Sister’s Keeper, I cry. Every time I read it, I keep turning the pages. I can’t explain the feeling; it’s just there. The movie is more real to me somehow.

Then again, there are also those movies that couldn’t even begin to compare with their book counterparts. Percy Jackson was one, in my opinion. The series was quite dear to me, and when I heard about a movie of the first book coming out, I felt very excited. Finally, I could see Percy in the big screen. Would he be movie-star handsome, or would he be the ordinary twelve-year-old described in The Lightning Thief? And what about Annabeth? Would she be what everyone imagined her to be–blonde, smart, with stormy gray eyes?

The questions just whirled around until the day finally came to watch it. Needless to say, the phrase I said the most that day was, “It’s not like the book.”

Percy was okay. But Annabeth? You’ve got to be KIDDING. Alexandra Daddario was pretty, but Annabeth was supposed to be twelve (and blonde), not freaking TWENTY-TWO (and brunette). Do I have to say it? I was rather disappointed.

So I guess the movie side of media has its trophies (and its I’d-rather-hide-you-behind-the-curtain movies). The same goes for the literary side. I don’t know if this makes sense, though, but nevertheless I love them both.