Trapped Between Reality and Imagination

A Backwards Suicide

As the funeral procession begins to carry the casket backwards, the family and friends dressed in black with their heads hung low slowly walk in reverse to their cars.  The cars of people with tear-stained cheeks drive backwards the way they came.  When they returned to the funeral home, the casket with the young boy inside, was already open for the viewing.  The people stopped hugging and the crying ceased as people gathered their coats and drove backwards to their homes.  The beautiful arrangement of flowers were returned to the florist, rather to be sold to young lovers for weddings, anniversaries, and happy, romantic gestures. 
News of the funeral was sent from recipients back to the boy's family.  The seemingly never-ending overflow of water rolled back up the boy's mother's cheeks and into her tear ducts.  The phone, with the coroner on the line, shot up from the floor back to the mother's trembling hand and the announcement of her son's suicide rolled back into his throat. The phone returned to its holder with its rings rewinded as the mother returned to her place beside the window, watching the glimmering lights from the skyscrapers in the city, which she called home.
Meanwhile, on a sidewalk a few streets away, the splattered body of her depressed son flew backward in the air.  Flying towards the roof of the towering skyscraper from which he had jumped, his body reformed and he was alive again, contemplating his death.  His tears ran up his cheeks and he walked backwards home.
The months of endless harassment that led him to stand on the edge were reversed.  The bullets telling him he was ugly, stupid, useless, a failure, and so on, were never spoken.  Punches and kicks turned into smiles and hugs.  The demons in his head filling his mind with dark thoughts and screaming he was worthless and deserved to die were replaced with hope and faith.
The recovered boy went on to become a scientist who developed cures for cancers and saved millions of lives for generations to come.  The world can be cruel, but with acts of simple kindness a suicide can be prevented and turn someone into a hero.

Christmas Magic Through the Years

           Christmas has always been labeled the most wonderful time of the year because it seems to bring out the best in everyone.  December is when everything is glimmering with Christmas lights and joy gleams through brighter eyes and wider smiles.  It’s the time of year when endless calories are consumed while filling the house with the sweet, warm aroma of homemade cookies being baked for Santa Claus.  Christmas is a time for cuddling by the crackling fire with hot cocoa while watching the wind scatter snowflakes like confetti over the pure white wonderland that seems to somehow reflect the pure joy and serenity of the advent season.  It’s about family traditions such as bundling up in countless layers to pick a Christmas tree that will be decorated with ornaments that boast cherished memories and topped with an angel or star to bless us as we remember the true meaning of Christmas. 

            All my life Christmas never disappoints with its joyful memories and comfort that makes everything feel warm and fuzzy inside.  It’s like a hug for your heart and soul.  When I was little, Christmas was always my favorite time of the year because of all the fun!  I felt like I was on a rollercoaster during the exhilarating sled rides of December, back when I thought the hill behind my house was an expert-level ski slope.  I can still feel the cookie crumbs on my hands as I stuffed my face with mommy’s cookies, but I always remembered to leave plenty for Santa Claus.  I’ll never forget the excited butterflies in my stomach on Christmas Eve, when my brother and I would track Santa Claus’s whereabouts online and anticipate when he would come to our house.  I remember dressing up for Christmas mass, walking in and seeing how crowded the church was from all the people who I’d never seen at any of the other Sunday masses.  It reminded me of how Christmas was a special time for reasons bigger than a fat, old St. Nicholas.  I still feel my soft bed with blankets wrapped tight around me as I listened, with my teddy bear clutched close to my beating heart, to my mom read “Twas the Night Before Christmas”, just like she did every Christmas Eve before bed when I was a kid.

            Now that I’m older and have a busy schedule, I feel like it is much harder to get in the Christmas spirit.  December isn’t as fun as it used to be with the long lines and obnoxious crowds at stores, the annoying advertisements of businesses that just want your money, the never escaping traffic, not to mention the struggles of trying to think of and buy the perfect Christmas gifts for all my friends and family.  At sixteen I’ve long since stopped believing in Santa Claus, but even though I know he isn’t real, I often miss the magic and innocence in believing in fantasies like flying reindeer.  Now I’m old enough to read “T’was the Night Before Christmas” to myself, as my mom does Santa’s job downstairs.  Although since I am older, I understand the true meaning of Christmas, which is a miracle that beats any old Frosty the Snowman or red-nosed reindeer named Rudolph.  I treasure the bright eyes and impressed smiles, when people unwrap the gifts I picked for them.  Through the crazy schedule of the holidays, I always find time to help my mom decorate the Christmas tree and I still help bake cookies for a Santa I know doesn’t exist.  Perhaps the busy schedule makes the holidays better because it helps me appreciate the infinite blessings of Christmas.  Now I value the peaceful simplicity of staying in with the family and just watching the snow fall to the ground in silence.  Now I understand how giving is equally, if not more, fun as receiving.  Now I understand the true miracle of Jesus’s birthday, and can celebrate and rejoice because I may be older, but I understand the magic behind Christmas and for this my eyes shine as bright as the North Star shining through a stable in Bethlehem on that first Christmas night.

A canvas board is a common tool used by artists all over the world to create an image.  The easel is used to support the canvas and give it something to lean on, so it can stand upright.  To an artist, having a blank canvas board or sheet of paper can be one of the most intimidating things.  Perhaps it is because we are too scared to make a mistake, or maybe even frightened by our own ability for fear that we may never be satisfied with our best efforts.
Growing up, my life feels like that blank canvas, with those who love me acting like the easel holding me up, and me as the artist.  The canvas can present limitless opportunities to paint my life how I want, or an endless sea of white with nothing extraordinary or special.  What if I use sharpie to fill it in and make a permanent mistake?  What if I try to paint over it, but the sharpie still shows like a never fading scar?   What if I paint myself a picture, but decide I hate it when it's done?  The artist is almost always most critical of his/her work, just like I am most critical of myself.
What if the easel snaps and seizes to support me?  Will I be strong enough to hold my canvas up?  Or do we all need a strong easel to lean on?  Part of life is deciding who to trust and which of my "friends" are trying to crack my easel or ruin my picture.
The hardest part at this stage of my life is deciding how to start painting and what I want to paint.  Perhaps I started painting my life a long time ago and I just don't know it yet.  Maybe life is just a Paint-By-Numbers and God decides when to present us with each number for us to fill in how we choose.
Life doesn't simply give a second canvas, everyone gets one and we're all expected to make it beautiful despite the mistakes.  Perhaps we will never be truly satisfied and the real challenge is to keep painting and learn from the errors along the way.  Maybe the real strength is in the artist who doesn't need an easel, canvas or paintbrushes; the only thing an artist needs is creativity to achieve endless possibilities.

Introduction

       Starting a blog for anyone to see is a scary risk because of unknown criticism and judgment; however, it is comforting that hiding behind a computer screen can act like an invisibility cloak from criticism.  Being in high school I feel like there are a lot of pressures that make it harder to walk the road of self discovery.  I kept my blog title simple because despite the pressures of growing up, I feel like I am simply trying to live my life to the fullest and figure out who I am and who I want to be.  In trying to decide what I should do with my life, all I really know is I love listening to music, laughing, and having fun with family and friends.  With college around the corner, there's constant talk about the future, but I'd rather just enjoy the time I have as a teen and indulge in the simple pleasures.  High school is also very competitive with academics, sports, friends, etc., and I prefer to just try my best at it all rather than focus on the competition and what others may think.  In this competition, doing what makes you happy and being your own person is the most important thing, and people should always be accepting of people's differences.  Living isn't always easy, there are many ups and downs; however, all I wish to do is whatever makes me happy, in spite of what society says I should be doing.