Swinging

I can very clearly remember the first time that I learned how to "pump" my legs on a swing set.

My parents had hung two blue swings underneath the porch of our house, which was high above the ground, so we could dangle from the ceiling, overlooking the hill. I still have one of the blue swings, which was plastic and had a thick yellow rope as a chain, and the other one I sold to my friend at a garage sale a few years ago. Whenever I go to her house, I look through the window and see it just hanging there, and am reminded of the hours I spent trying to swing high on that thing. I didn't get the concept of pumping, since I thought it was was so much easier to just swing without doing any work. My dad tried to convince me that it was better, but I ignored him and kept on getting pushed. Until the day I actually tried to do it...and then I soared.

The way I see it, swings are the closest that a normal human can get to flying. You don't need a plane or some heavy duty equipment or training; all you need is a rope and a place to hang it, and all of a sudden you're flying like a bird. From the moment you reach the pinnacle of your swoop, and can see for miles around, to when your feet brush the ground, scattering bark chips or dirt everywhere, to the opposite side of the arc, where you can just see over the bar and wonder if you're going to flip over the entire set, it's the most simple yet thrilling experience ever. And people have been doing it for hundreds of years. to feel the wind blowing in your face and the adrenaline pulsing through you. It's a perfect parabola, hitting zero somewhere in the middle and then completing the mirror image on the other side-living math while feeling like a bird.

For me, swings bring a new opportunity. Until my swing (one of the swings I used to have) broke off of the wimpy little tree in my backyard (I moved), I would spend hours out there, thinking and kind of talking to myself, writing and narrating stories in my head. It gave me something to do, and I would fly at the same time. Because I don't have a swing anymore, if you see me walking somewhere and talking to myself, that's why. That swing was my refuge.

It's my dream to someday move into a new house where I can have a giant forest of trees in the backyard, where I can hang all the swings I want. It hasn't happened yet. But it will.

Going to the Library

I really, really love libraries. Maybe it's just that I really, really love books, but it's also the quiet and calm atmosphere, the endless choices, and the sense that there are so many adventures you could go on, with only the flip of a page. Choose a door and go through it, and experience the world that lies beyond. Or take a few doors home with you and spend a little infinity inside of each of them.

I just got back from the library after my violin lesson, which is right across the street, and pretty much brought back a stack of books that won't really make me smarter or make me think, but books that will keep me entertained for the next few days. Because they teach you about life and are pretty funny, I got an Alice McKinley book, one from her senior year, and a few Babysitters Club books because now I'm older than the girls in those and I can look at them from a different perspective. The prize of this trip were the two John Green books, Looking For Alaska and Paper Towns. I loved The Fault In Our Stars so much, and I've heard great things about these mature but wonderful books, so this will be an interesting next couple of days.

The thing that I've noticed about rereading books over and over again is that you are never lonely. About 4/5 of the books that I mentioned above are ones that I've read before, and I either want to refresh my memory or take the trip back into that world and see what I gain from it this time. I think that's a great way to describe books. Each time you read one, you absorb the words and fall into a new reality, where you are the main character, and feel pain when he or she does, laugh along with the dialogue, and get so wrapped up that you're distrought when it's over. I read To Kill A Mockingbird this year, and plan to read it every year that I can for the rest of my life, to see what else I can learn from the text.

One great example would be Harry Potter. It may sound silly, but I will never feel lonely if I have a Harry Potter book with me. If I'm alone someplace, like at an orchestra rehearsal with a bunch of elderly adults talking about their grandchildren with each other, all I have to do is open up the book and suddenly I'm home. I've read those books hundreds of times, fallen into those worlds on so many occasions, that the words just become part of me after a while, and even though I know what's going to  happen next, they're familiar, and that's comforting in a strange but happy little way.


Just being in a library makes me want to just sit there and read forever. It's so quiet, with only little rustlings and keyboard tapping, and the occasional beep of the scanner, that all time just goes away, and you're lost in a whole new dimension, with endless possibilities stretched out in front of you, aisles and aisles of new opportunities and information waiting to be soaked up. Every time I read a book, I learn something new, and feel like a better person. Every time I write, or try to write, a book, I feel like a better person. Words are the most powerful tools that we can have, and the library is full of them.

 

Every book ever written in the English language is just different combination of 26 letters.

Gone in a Flash

And as if by some miracle, eighth grade was over.

It's not like I didn't see it coming. I saw it when I was a sixth grader, and watched the eighth graders saying good-bye to each other on the stage, when we gave them the traditional gifts to send them off. I saw it last year when my friends who were graduating left the school for the last time, and I felt like school would have no meaning anymore. It's not like it's high school graduation, and we still have a long way to go, as our principal noted at the promotion ceremony last night. But after spending the past few years in such a tight-knit school, with teachers who were best friends and the most distant classroom being just down the hall, it was hard to just leave.

It's kind of surreal to be treated just like the other kids you've watched for the past two years who graduated before you. I never knew what was running through their heads, and today I found that it was kind of nerve-wracking. I kept on having little anxiety attacks just because I was leaving, and had to go outside to calm down for a few minutes before we started the gifts ceremony. Once we did start, though, I realized what a great school I've gone to these past few years. We had the peer-nominated Apogee awards last night, and everyone in the school was nominated at least once, which is really great. I won for the best role model and something for being mathematically gifted (ironically enough), and so many kids were recognized for doing something, even the ones that most people wouldn't think would win anything. It was so weird to have the teachers saying good-bye to me, to have them giving us little notes and doughnuts just because we were leaving, and to sign yearbooks in middle school for the last time.

I'm happy that I'm moving on, but terrified at the same time. Just as I was getting used to being an eighth grader and at the top of the school, I was put back down at the bottom (even though now my grade has a name!). A lot of kids going into middle school worrying about getting lost and not knowign anyone, but after being in such a small school, I've never had to worry about that. High school will be the middle school I never had, only a lot more intense and important. At the promotion ceremony last night, I had the most fun that I'd ever had a middle school dance/social, and now I don't get to enjoy them again; instead, I've been plunged into an atmosphere of dirty dancing and claustrophobia that makes me want to never attend a high school dance, ever. But now I have so many doors opened for me, so many opportunities that I've never had before. I can enter music competitions, participate in TAG events, take challenging classes, and be treated more like an adult than ever before. As my teacher said today, "don't forget us up on the hill". (The middle school is on the hill above the high school). I think it would be impossible to forget, since it's right there, but now I can visit as an individual on my own time, without being restricted to lines and signed notes.

My friend wrote in my yearbook, "4 more years and we're free!". She can think that, but I'm going to enjoy every year as it comes. If it goes as fast as middle school, then I'll take my time. I don't want to miss anything.

And it's gonna be...fantastic.

Waiting for Better Things

This is the last language arts essay that I wrote for middle school (I still have to write one for science about giant squid). I did copy some from my earlier post Waiting, but that's only the second paragraph. The assignment was the find a song that described the school year for me, and I picked a song by Dar Williams.

 
          For my entire life, it feels like I’ve been waiting for something to come, something that will make everything better and change the way that I look at the world. I don’t know if it’s an opportunity or a natural event that will just come with life, but it’s as if I’m holding my breath, and looking forward, straining my neck to catch a glimpse at what’s yet to arrive. It’s this that keeps me going, and won’t let me give up when times are hard. I always know that there’s that one thing, whatever it is, left for me, and I can’t wait to see what it is.

          Not knowing what you're waiting for is such a wonderful thing, though. You have no idea what lies in store for you, but it's certain to be fantastic, since you're traveling along a path unknown to others, with the routes that may come along only applying to and affecting you. Maybe I'll graduate high school with honors. Maybe I'll learn how to speak Finnish. Maybe I'll survive a giant earthquake (or not). I don't see how anyone could be so sick and tired of life that it has no interest anymore. Sure, I feel tired sometimes and just want to sleep for a week, but at least there's still the hidden surprise and suspense of not knowing what happens next. Older people who think that they have no time to do anything with their remaining time are wrong-there's always time for something else. The more you do, the more you discover...maybe you'll eventually find out what you've been waiting for your entire life.

          It took a lot of soul searching for me to find this song, the one that wraps up my entire year with just a few chords and some words jumbled together. I eventually chose “Better Things”, by Dar Williams, and the theme resonates with eighth grade for me so much. Even through the toughest times, there are still better things on their way. In a sense, the process of finding the song also connected to my experience this year. I spent so much time trying to figure out who I wanted to be that I didn’t have time to fill in the gaps with what was really good for me inside.  What I really needed to do was to concentrate on the future instead of dwelling on the past.

           Seventh grade was much harder for me than eighth grade in so many ways. I was trying to deal with my friends who were a year older than me and also with the woes and troubles of my friends my own age. I wasn’t challenged enough in some ways, but other things were the most difficult things I had ever attempted to do, whether or not they had anything to do with school. When I got to eighth grade, though, it was like a door had been opened for me, to a huge new world with so many possibilities. All of a sudden I was in better classes, and found more of a passion for music. Here's hoping all the days ahead won’t be as bitter as the ones behind you/Be an optimist instead, and hope that happiness will find you/Forget what happened yesterday, I know that better things are on their way, the lyrics say. As long as you forget what horrible things have happened in your past, goodness will eventually find you without any outside help. Why would you give up on yourself with so much left in store?

             There’s a saying on my math teacher’s wall that I get to look at every day in math, that always gives me another reminding jolt in my mind when I read it. Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. I went through so many great experiences this year, and had no idea what I was going to do with myself once they were over. Every time, though, I thought of the quote, and it really did make me smile. If something like that happen once, it can definitely happen again, and next time it will be even better. I know you've got a lot of good things happening up ahead/The past is gone, it’s all been said/So here’s to what the future brings/I hope tomorrow you find better things.

             It’s true that I’ve had my share of troubles in middle school, but my eighth grade year has been mostly filled with fear and anticipation about the year that will change how I look at school forever-my new life down at the high school. Everything that I do now seems to impact what will happen there, whether it’s passing a test or writing a simple essay. When I went to graduation at the high school this year, however, the commencement speaker told everyone in the room, no matter what age, to consider life to be starting "tomorrow". Today you are just beginning, he said, and nothing that you have done for the first bit of your life matters, but tomorrow everything will fall into place. This bit of his speech really made me realize that it’s true about me, and really goes along with the song as well: It’s really good to see you rocking out and having fun/Living like you’ve just begun/Accept your life and what it brings/I hope tomorrow you find better things.

             Although the entire song seems to fit in with my personality and view on life this year, it is the beginning that really makes me feel that this piece and these lyrics describe my eighth grade year so well. Emerging out of the bring introduction, the beginning lyrics are what sum up the entire song, and send out the message that I believe is crucial to life-don’t get up, because you have to so much to live for. Here’s wishing you the bluest sky/And hoping something better comes tomorrow/Hoping all the verses rhyme/and all the very best of choruses too/Follow all the doubt and sadness/I know that better things are on their way.

              
          No matter how tough things were before, there are still things in store that will change my life forever. There will be storms, of course, and even hurricanes that threaten to rip apart any form of happiness, but there will also be blue skies and calm seas that stretch on endlessly for miles and miles.  I might be leaving something behind, but I’m on to explore something new and brighter.

Everything Must End

Jane, the little girl who had to live with her nasty aunties and was forced to work long hours in the long, stretched yards of the English property, has flown away on her giant peach and will never return. Apparently they landed in New York and are still living there to do this day, telling their stories to all of the eager passerby. But they will never again appear on our stage, the same way, with the same story behind them. That's part of the past now. Never again.

When Seven Brides for Seven Brothers ended a few months ago, I was devastated. That was back before I had a blog, when I was still thirteen, back when I was still a second year pit orchestra member (okay, technically I still am one). But even though we had twice as many shows as this performance, and I had a much bigger role, I still felt relieved, even happy, that this one was over. With Seven for Seven, it was like my world was falling apart, and I didn't know what I was going to do with my life. When I look at it critically, though, I realize that that show made me feel so much better about myself, while this one was close to making me feel worse.

The people in pit orchestra was the reason I loved it so much, I think. It was also the music, obviously, and I grew considerablyin skill after each year in the pit. But it was mostly the nerds, the ones who accepted me, and made jokes and talked about Harry Potter, rather than wallowing in self pity, who made me feel welcome. They were all older than me, in high school and beyond, but were the nicest group of people I knew. There was the bassoonist, with her awesome shirts and sonic screwdriver key chain, who had been drum major as a senior the year before and was now going to community college. There was the trombonist, who I had known forever but never really talked to, or appreciated how funny she was. There was the piano player, a legendary musician in the area, who, at the age of fiteen, was the best young pianist I knew, and through witty jokes, we became friends. There was our conductor, my best friend's older brother, a genius who had no appreciated for Doctor Who but pretended he did, and his dad, the best math teacher in the school, who not only could play the trumpet but could also pull off a sweater vest. Through the pit, I became part of the music community, and that was a great thing.


Don't get me wrong, I love dance. I've done it for several years, and get better every year, but four hours or more a week can get very tiring, especially when we're staying until almost midnight every night two weeks before the show and then the two weeks during. It's true that a lot of my friends are in dance as well, but they were just a reminder of my real life, while pit orchestra was just a dream. All they did was compliment each other, and even though it didn't really bother me that much, I was always left out of that bit. A sixth grader told me that "my pimples were cute" (and her skin really isn't the nicest thing in the world, if I do say so myself). All there was was competition and pity parties, and I really got sick of it after a while. I don't need to be in a dressing room with a fourth grader who throws temper tantrums every night.

Every year, I don't know how I will do without dance for three months, and without the show. But come September, the show is just a lost memory, and by May, I don't remember it or really care that much at all. And maybe by that time I'll be ready to do dance again.

Through the Eyes

What if everything that I see is seen by everybody else in a different way?

There are apparently normal feelings-if I stub my toe, it's apparently a mutual feeling that all human experience, that it will hurt in this certain way. But what if everyone feels in is some other way? My house looks one way to me, but maybe not to others. Maybe I'm crazy, or maybe everyone else is, too. All I know is that this world is not black and white.

I was about seven when we first toured the house that I live in now, and I remember looking at it in a totally different way. It's so hard to explain with words, but everything just looked different to me, and if I really think about it, I can picture it like that again. After a while, I started to see things in the house the way I do now, and that's the way it stayed.

A few years ago, my family went back to the area I used to live in, and we visited the science center where my mom worked. It probably has to do with perspective, since I was six the last time I was there, but everything looked strange and out of place. Is this really how it looked? Is this really where this was?

Nobody will ever know, because nobody can see inside someone else's head. We'll all just live on not knowing whether or not we're crazy.


P.S. Sorry this post is so lame.

Caps and Gowns

So today I went to graduation.

It was a band thing, nothing more. Every year since third grade, I wanted to go, but never knew anyone well enough to go and just sit in the audience. Luckily, my band teacher needed me to play with the concert band for the opening music and the march, so I pretty much got a free pass to sit there and watch what I'd never gotten to see before. And fortunately, I knew several of the seniors.

My friend's dad is a math teacher at the high school, and he gave the commencement address. In his speech, he talked about how graduation is a surreal moment, and how the graduates should savor every moment of it before the night is over, because tomorrow is when they actually start living for the first time. It's probably just because I've never been to a graduation before, but the whole thing seemed surreal to me as well. It was like I was in sixth grade again, and sitting at the eighth grade promotion ceremony, looking at the faces in the slideshow and thinking about how I wouldn't really see them anymore. That will be my face on the slideshow in nine days. But in high school, they really are leaving. Middle school is just gearing you up for the end, the big bang.

Some of those seniors used to be our helpers in dance when I was seven, and they were only in sixth grade. I can still remember looking up at the face of one of the twins, who walked down the procession together, and hearing her tell me that if I could see the audience, the audience could see me. Her twin sister is the lead in our dance show, which closes tomorrow, her last show with us ever. The other helper is one of my favorite high schoolers, who always talked to me in pit orchestra, made me laugh, and gave me someone to look up to. This afternoon she gave the most wonderful speech ever, smiling the whole time at both her classmates and the hundreds of people in the audience. My neighbor friend's brother, a nerdy and wonderful kid who use to play with us when they first moved here when he was fourteen, and organized a bike club for us, walked down the aisle and gave a speech of his own. My friend (the daughter of the math teacher) and her older brother were sitting with me, and even though her brother was complaining about how long and tedious everything was, he'll be up there next year, too. And it was only a little while ago that he was in eighth grade and I was a little fifth grader.

When the seniors got up from the rest of the band after playing a few songs to go get ready, it was a mixture between giddyness and overwhelming sadness. We all clasped hands with them, and our drum major/lead saxophonist looked at his stand partner and simply said, "that was the last piece I ever played in concert band". The two lead flutes, who have kept us sane for as long as I can remember, both walked off, beaming but holding back tears, leaving a freshman and an eighth grader at the head of the section. It might have been the emptyy chairs, but we didn't feel complete without them anymore. Ten members missing, and it felt like it was just an ensemble of lone instruments, with big gaping holes in obvious places. Needless to say, we cheered exceptionally loud for each of them when they went up to get their diplomas. My hands still hurt from clapping.


When I get really wrapped up in myself, all I can think about is how I'll be a senior and gone soon. My friend and I made plans to walk in the procession together, and for me to hand her her diploma after I get mine. But while it might seem like these seniors were my age not that long ago, I was also young and naiive back then, and have grown so much since then that it's impossible for it to have been less than five years. I still have a long, long career of high school ahead of me, full of hurricanes and calm seas, and even though three years ago, sixth grade, can seem like a lifetime in some perpesctives and a quick trip in others, I still have a while. Hopefully, by 2017, I will have made the most of it.