Bola

Okay. Let’s try writing down some pertinent essay-thoughts. There are two very different but somewhat equally viable approaches to this. I could do exactly what everyone else is presumably doing and simply write a standard, boring, bland, mundane, drivelous piece of drivel that takes the same tried and true method of essay writing to heart….but then that would just be so high school, don’t you think? On the other hand, I could do, for lack of a more down-to-earth phrase, what I want. I could speak directly to my audience, namely you, and answer the prompts, biased as they are towards a certain answer, in a more direct manner, a more creative manner, and a more fun manner. Personally, I think that makes for much better reading, but as a mere college freshman, it can hardly be my place to voice such a modern opinion, until that is, you take another look at the aforementioned prompt.

I daresay I have your attention now, haven’t I?

Call it presumptuous, call it arrogant, call it bold, call it grammatically incorrect, call it utterly foolhardy foolishness, or just call it what I have to teach you, dear agéd reader. You are a tad older than I, correct? Then, what is it I am teaching you, exactly? The most obvious is likely that I believe, in the right contexts, casual banter can be far more effective at message conveyance than stuffy speech built on overly formalized walls of words that evoke a veritable wall of Z’s in their weary victims. The second most obvious is likely arrogance, but I prefer to call it bravado. You see, the hubris of the elders derives itself naturally from all of those pent up years of experience with no other means of expressing themselves, while that of the youth arises from our perceived limitless potential for that same venerated wisdom. So, it is only logical that we mutually benefit each other by, at the very least, teaching the other about the sort of nonsense that he seems to lack.

Got you there, didn’t I?

Anyways, back to the main point of this self-serving tirade, I do believe that professors should listen to a beginner, that I can bring wisdom to this university, that my mind is in a constant state of Zen, that I am trustworthy for another eleven years, that I have no folly to speak of in place of wisdom because I am a young man, and that I shall lead the animal kingdom into a new era of prosperity brought on by a mysterious case of carnivore confusion. How, you ask? First and foremost, I believe I can bring tasty and fresh knowledge to the table because all four of the essay prompts told me I can. It seems almost suicidal to any prospect of earning the scholarship to even consider thinking of attempting an essay geared towards proving the youth of today have absolutely nothing to teach anybody remotely older than themselves when every single clue is clearly pointing in the opposite direction. So, as ingenious as it might be to write an essay about something I do not believe will ever be true simply because nobody else should will write it, I’ve already stated why I won’t. Honestly, it’s possible to glean any sort of knowledge, pretentious or otherwise, from any sort of being. Take, for example, the humble blade of grass. Take a break from reading this nonsense and go outside and observe a field of them in all their emerald majesty. Now that you’re back, the lesson here is simple: never stop reaching for the sky, for your dreams, no matter much you get cut down. Now, ask yourself a question. Is such an idea really so cliché if so few people can really take it to heart? Or, if you still don’t believe me, take dolphins, or other such mammalian sea-dwellers. No matter how deeply you wish to immerse yourself in something, you must always come up for air at some point. Such is the way of nature, and of life.


Now, the bait is set. Despite the fact that this style may go against everything the public education system of Texas has taught me (which I doubt you have a high opinion of anyway), you, dear reader, cannot simply cast it aside. After all, is this not the entire point of the prompt? This is my lesson. These are my lessons… and now, it is your turn.

Topic A

To say that he changed my life is a bit of an understatement. He quite literally grasped hold of it, unconsciously molded it into a more refined form, and set it moving down a new path, my new path, into a wholly new future. He taught me more about human bonds, values, and truths than my fifteen years of life ever had up to that point, through typed words on a page, mere stories and mental blurbs that he had seen fit to share with those who found out where to look. We have never met face to face, yet both know each other as few know us. He is a mystery and a mentor. He is the Notemaker.

I never enjoyed English. Like so many others, the slightest hint of an essay assignment of any sort caused me to groan aloud. Writing was a tedious chore at best, and one that never seemed to have much merit. Sure, I could tell you how to build a snowman, or persuade you to buy me a new puppy, or analyze the rhetoric that a lawyer wielded in a closing argument, or closely read a poem for minute changes in tone that were just so important, but what was the point? There were other pursuits much more worthy of my attention, subjects that granted immediate benefits that I could plainly understand. I was giving attention to just such a subject, browsing an internet forum I frequent, when I skimmed over a new topic. Another member, known as dominic peters, was plugging a blog he had recently started, claiming it was not quite a blog, but instead merely a collection of his mental processes in written form. Literally having nothing better to do, I decided to give it a glance. A phrase greeted my eyes on that front page that I shall not ever forget: “Man has already achieved immortality. It has simply been abused, forgotten, and renamed writing.” Those words alone sparked a feeling in me that had faded long ago, a sense of dreaming romanticism, the belief that really, anything was indeed possible. I continued reading. Essays, short stories, one-liners, dreaded poetry, simplistic blurbs, complex theses; all these were devoured by my eyes and mind, and gradually, my heart. I was amazed, plainly and simply. Public education had never shown me this side of the English language, had never caused me to appreciate it in such a way, had never taught me that it could even be used in such a manner. Hours ticked away, and my eyes grew tired, but still I could not stop reading. As I finally reached his very first entry, it dawned on me. Dom is only a couple of years older than me. I could do it too. I had to do it too. He had messages, many of them, which he wanted to spread to all the world, even if only through one person at a time. He knew that progress would be slow, mired in the stubbornness of people to change, but he pressed on anyway, entering word by impassioned word as they came to mind. Sometimes he expressed frustration at the self-perceived lack of quality in his work, but shrugged it off anyway. Nothing is ever wonderful the first time. Sometimes he would be stumped for a topic, only to take something completely random and transform it into a philosophical masterpiece. All of which he inadvertently passed down to me.

I immediately started my own blog, started writing, of all things, for the fun of it. I woke up from a horribly muted slumber into a bright new world of expression. Mathematics could never change the world, or people’s preconceptions, or a saddened heart into a bright one in quite the same way poetry could. Science could never hope to make one feel the very same as prose. There was at last a way to try and fix all the problems a teenager such as myself felt needed fixing. I had simply never seen it before. I can, and will change the world, one letter at a time.

On Syrma

Syrma
(n.)
A long dress, trailing on the floor, worn by tragic actors in Greek and Roman theaters.

A name chosen to reflect the human attraction to tragedy, how we as human beings take delight in reading or hearing or seeing of the misfortunes of other people. No calamity can ever be so catastrophic as those revolving around ourselves, but in discovering them, we can take solace in the fact that they have not happened to us. We do not enjoy them because we enjoy suffering, no. We are just thankful that we are not the characters in that play, the bits in the horror story, the victims in the car crash. We drag along behind such tragedies, staying as close as we possibly can, immersing ourselves as much as possible, without actually becoming involved. The dangerous proximity just adds to the thrill, we say. That could happen to us, we say. We hope it does not, we pray. Is that the truth?

A moniker selected to push through the facade of everyday tragedy, acted out as convincingly as possible, to garner the largest audience we can. Human beings constantly thirst for an audience, attention, and so may, every once in a blue moon (we say), exaggerate a recount of what was surely just as terrible and emotional as our words make it seem. No catastrophe could ever be so calamitous as what happened to me!, we think, and in this thought, we allow others to comfort themselves in our supposed misery. All we wanted was some comfort, some proof that though cosmic forces may spit on our shadows, human beings still care for our well-being. It is not as though we are really acting, really pretending to bear suffering, we say.



A pseudonym
picked at random
because I liked how it sounded.

The end.

Conversing

I want to write

Then write...?

But...I can't...

Oh? And why not?

Because...

Because...?

I don't know

Oh come now. You must have a reason

Um...I've been busy..?

That...is a blatant lie.

That's not true!

Hum. You spend more time texting than reading tropes, more time reading tropes than playing games, more time playing games than being on Facebook, more time on Facebook than doing your homework, and more time doing your homework than writing

So what am I doing now?

Writing...in the dark. You can't even see this!

Well. I like it.

You prefer writing in the pitch, unable to see a letter, to typing on a brightly lit computer screen?

I do believe so

Preposterous.

Do you even know what that means?

Well...erm..take out the pre...you have posterous...looks like posterior...

Which is exactly what you sound like, trying to help me this way

Prepostero-oh, damn it.

I'm so relieved to know I've been reduced to verbal slapstick

In the dark.

Oh, give it a rest. It's more fun this way.

If you say so. You're the one talking to himself.

Oh? What are you doing?

The same. But! You started it.

Another level down! We're really making, nay, crafting an elegantly picturesque contraction of the lower calf in the most definitely not incorrect facing, on the y-axis, that shall be sung of in the ballads of gallant troubadours, reenacted by all theatrical hopefuls, enshrined in the memorials of history's heroes, for all glistening eternity.

Don't you mean z..? Ugh. Cut with the purple. You're awful at it anyway.

Then what color should I write in?

Oh! That is a fun idea! Let's write in a rainbow of styles!

You mean make up arbitrary writing facades to go with our own preconceptions of what a color should mean

Well...when you put it that way, yes.

Sounds good. Tomorrow?

Second period?

Excellent

Doubly so. We already have purple.

Quite. Hm.

Hm?

Should we do Indigo?

A Day in the Life of a Teenager

First you're like -_-

then you're like -_o

then you're like x_x

then you're like -_-

then you're like -_- again

then you're like -_- some more

then you're like o_o finally

then you're like >_>

then you're like ,_,

then you're like ¬_¬

then you're like -_-

then you're like o_-

then you're like ~_~

then you're like @_@

then you're like ¬_¬

then you're like o_o

then you're like $_$

then you're like ^_^

then you're like O_O

then you're like x_x

then you're like ;_;

then you're like v_v

then you're like ._.

then you're like ._.

then you're like ¬_¬

then you're like ._.

then you're like -_-

then you're like -_o

then you're like -_-.

An Irish Blessing

May the warmth forever envelope us
and never leave us wanting.
May the chill only keep us sharp
and bring us closer to each other.
May the earth ever rise up
to meet your own two feet,
and carry you always.
May the winds blow gently
to fill your heart's wings,
and lift you into the sky.
May light eternally shine upon us
and bless us with its embrace.
May darkness enshroud our sadness
and never seep into our hearts.
May time tick slowly only for us
and allow every moment to be savored.
And may happiness abound for you
and all you may ever meet.

Games

Games, by their very nature, are meant to be fun, right? A quick rifling through dictionary.com asserts that the word itself indeed originated from the antiquated gamen, which meant joy, amusement, and fun. So one naturally assumes that humans invent and participate in games because it is enjoyable to do so. This innate positivity has resulted in games gaining other roles aside from simple entertainment. Children can learn and internalize basic but crucial skills such as reading and mathematics under the pretense of playing a fun game. As people grow, they may also refine and perfect their own skills through games, and boost their self-confidence through victory. People may place material items on the line in a game, sometimes even betting their futures on an unknown outcome. People receive entertainment from participating in such pasttimes, surely enough. Of course, people can receive this joy from a myriad of other activities, such as ruining the lives of others.

People lie and people cheat and people manipulate. We play games with others in order to outwit them, to prove our own superiority, to reap some inane benefit, or merely because we feel like it. We will pierce someone's limbs, string them up on a stage, and watch them dance entirely on a whim. For amusement. We, sometimes for no reason and sometimes for less than a reason, will play games with people's hearts as easily as we roll the dice.

One could say I have a slight problem, an issue, if you will, with this recurrence in human behavior. That would be an understatement.

Alice and Bob are longtime friends with undeniable romantic tension lurking beneath the surface. Bob had a bad day at work and wants to feel better about himself. He tells Alice he loves her, to see how she will react. Alice is overjoyed. Bob does not truly love her.

Already, at my tender age of eighteen, have I witnessed these games being played out. Not all quite so horrible as Bob's gambit, others even worse. I'll admit, I have toyed with others as well, for no particularly good reason. People become cracked and splintered after repeated abuse, just as our game pieces do, so why do we continue? I am still in high school. I, and my fellows, should be surrounded by a positive environment of strong moral convictions, not exposed daily to poisonous moral decay. Maybe I am exaggerating my own circumstances. Perhaps my home is not as bad as it could be, relatively. That is hardly the point.

Why do people, fellow human beings, persist in acting this way? I understand that I am young and trapped within the sheltered bubble of my home suburb. Perhaps I just don't understand how the "real world" works for the complex minds adults possess. However, call me naive, and I'll call you a liar, and you can't deny that. Why can't people just try to be a little more honest with each other?