evitae.net

It’s true, there is always hope. I am not a particularly religious person, but I had a remarkable spiritual experience between my previous post and today. I feel as though the little prayer closing that one has been answered, and in as little as a few hours. Maybe it’s the budding poet in me. Or maybe I have always had faith, and I underestimate just how strong it is sometimes.

I didn’t realize that my frustration has been showing through to people, or at least to those that care to take notice. One of my professors pulled me aside after class today and asked me if anything was wrong, that I seemed tensed and stressed, particularly last week. It would be the poet that would notice the subtleties in her students’ personalities and the minor shifts, even in knowing them for so little time. I was shocked and absolutely touched that she actually cares. It made me realize just how lucky I am to be at an institution like this where people even have the energy and capacity to do that. It truly is remarkable.

She’s like something of a sage. Other people sometimes make her out to be this crazy old poet lady, but there is really a lot of caring, insight, and interest in her words, and I haven’t felt that in a long time. It made me realize just how much I miss my parents. It’s not enough to talk to them over the phone. I haven’t seen them since early June. What is that, four months? It’s kind of ridiculous. I felt the professor was projecting her previous experience with seniors on to me a little, but her caring is ultimately the most important thing about this particular moment. In the little bit of time it took her to talk to me, I suddenly feel renewed.

She advised that I visit another professor whose class I’ve been struggling with, and I am so glad I took her advice, even though I was afraid to at first. It was refreshing to have him tell me things, though I already knew them, because sometimes I just need a push. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed after having to do this for myself for so long. I’m not saying I didn’t always have the support available to me, but it has long been a great source of pride to me that I am typically so resourceful on my own. I guess it’s important that I finally recognize and own up to the fact that … well, as trite as it may sound, we all need somebody to lean on.

I can’t believe how cold its gotten over night. I am not really prepared because a lot of my warmer clothing is still stored away. But it was kind of refreshing to enjoy the wind on my skin, especially since I usually bundle up for even the smallest amount of cold. I was watching the way the trees sway in the wind. It kind of has the same serenity of the ocean. It’s constant and yet not at the same time. I don’t have the words to really describe it right now. That will be a task for a future poetry assignment. I am inspired. It will take some time to catch up, but I am well on my way. Thanks, God. n_n

I think it’s kind of funny that a word for foreign money also means desire. What does that say about us, about the language? Who coined the term? (No pun intended.) Did they have some secret desire related to Japan, or it’s money? (Or did someone misspell yearn because they thought it looked too much like yarn?) I guess it makes sense though. Money goes hand in hand with desire, and avarice. No wonder it’s the root of all evil, then.

But does that make me evil to have so much to aspire to? Some would say yes. There are so many people in this world with much less than I have, and yet I complain daily about the measliest things, like how the monitor I’m staring at right now has randomly colored (CMY) lines strewn about vertically, thus making me want to discard an otherwise perfectly functioning laptop. I hate to admit it, but I too am materialistic, greedy.

Is dreaming a kind of greed? Should I regret all these wants and needs, or is it simply how I go about attaining them that should affect whether I regret them? I really don’t know sometimes. But the fact of the matter is, dreams are the threads of yarn that make up the fabric of this world. What would this world be if someone didn’t dream up a purpose for it? I know there are many dreams that perhaps we could have done without, but for better or worse, they help shape this world, and thus our lives. A life without dreams seems meaningless.

So now I will offer you some insight as to what has given my life purpose. I dream of drawing with the same fervor as I used to, of knowing the joy of lead or ink or paint or wax on paper again. I dream of making my parents proud, of repaying them and everyone else that’s ever lent a hand to me. I dream of finishing school alive and well enough to make a decent living, of disallowing another generation of this family to know the suffering of any degree of poverty or shame. But above all, I dream of love, one so fulfilling that for a moment, I can forget everything, myself and my dreams altogether.

The more I think about it, the more it seems I’ve already fulfilled these dreams, or at the very least, I am in an inch of doing so. I used to believe that when you finished fulfilling your dreams, that life had no purpose. But do you ever really stop dreaming? I believe that life, dreams, purpose, and love are inseparable entities. A loveless life is very much the same thing as one without meaning, or dreams. After all, love seems to be only a kinder form of avarice, of consumption. What is it but love that you need?

So, what do you yen for?