sensational.

An odd time to be inspired to write something, especially when by "writing," I mean suffering through the trials of typing an entire Note on my iPhone.

But I need something to do, and my thoughts are spilling over again. I do this from time to time. Remember that my writing is purely sensational, though still brutally honest. As always, feedback is welcome.



It has become increasingly evident over the course of the last month that my thoughts have all had one common thread linking them all together:

Dignity. (and the lack thereof)

It took a 3.14 GPA, a trip to Nazi death camps, my father taking my car keys away, and my current relational issues to finally recognise and acknowledge that at the crux of all problems sits a lack of respect for the dignity of oneself and of others.

Let's start with the GPA. Trivial little thing.

Graduating from high school with a 4.2 was easier than finishing my first semester of college with a 3.14. Strange, yes. Logical in some sick, twisted way, maybe.

But how does this relate to dignity?

As an avid life learner of all things learnable, I've come to recognise that the ultimate impairment to my academic performance is...myself.

Food. Money. Entertainment. Boys. Social life. Shopping. Extra-curriculars.

Not everything I immerse myself in is negative, obviously. I need food to survive, money to buy the things I need, and extra-currics to get involved and spice up a résumé.

But what about the things I consume in excess? What about entertainment and boys and a social life and shopping?

The inability to control oneself, for me, represents a lack of self-respect.

Before I got to college, I was flying. I ended my high school career with a bang, my college apps were gorgeous, I was deeply involved with my many passions...

...and I still ended up at SMU.

Now I'm not particularly "religious," because I don't believe in a self-righteous man standing in front of me and telling me he knows more about me and my future than I do. But I do believe in God.

So I've gotta look at this outcome, this remarkably "unfair" (if you will; SMU is no Stanford) result, and give credit to God. That's what SHOULD have been my response.

Well I'm probably one of the most stubborn, headstrong people you'll ever meet, and I put up a massive fight to go anywhere else, anywhere BUT Southern Methodist University.

God's laughing at me, because He knew that no matter how much I resisted and fought and clawed my way into the financial aid office at WashU, that I'd still end up disgruntled and distracted at SMU.

So what did I learn from this?

That I based too much of my dignity and my self-respect in my image of myself. And I'm definitely not infallible.

Instead of putting my faith, hope, and trust in the ever-certain One, I invested it in my own decisions, which have continually proven to be half-spun and directionless.

Putting my dignity in myself was like putting water in a sifter: stupid, counter-productive, and eventually, it runs dry.

It cost me my GPA. My inability to be decisive, and to do the things God expected of me, ended up scattering me in too many directions.

I'm not going to be a Yes Girl or a Me Girl anymore. I need to focus on the things that I KNOW matter more than what I own or who's draped over my arm on any given weekend.

I'm capable of so much better. It's just a matter of owning myself as a child of the Lord, instead of as a student of the world, and especially a student of SMU.

You know, I recently returned from a trip to Poland, which I took with SMU's Human Rights programme.

To put it this way:

If God stepped down to tell me "the entire point of you going to SMU was to go on this trip," I'd be just fine with that.

Finding out about the trip was the first time this entire semester that God spoke to me. When I saw the ad, I felt a little tug in my mind, a little snag that said "it might be interesting..."

I went to the info session, and after it was over, I looked down at the front page of the informational packet, and I heard God. That same still voice that stands responsible for all my best decisions.

He said "Go."

That's it.

I was, ostensibly, a little upset. I mean, I struggle through half a silent semester, and THEN He speaks, only to tell me to drop $3500 on a Christmas break "vacation" spent touring Nazi concentration and extermination camps. Thanks, buddy. You're great.

Well I got over my indignation and decided not to argue with my Creator. I mean, if He was silent all that time, then I'd assume the moment He finally spoke would be significant.

It was.

My concept of dignity was redefined in Poland. I don't know if it was the fact that I was standing in places where thousands were robbed of their dignity years ago, or the fact that I was already internally struggling with my own inherent worth...I don't know what did it, but I do know that I walked away from Poland with a deeper understanding of what it means to be dignified.

To be dignified is...
...to hold your head up in the face of suffering, danger, and violence.
...to be unashamed of your body, and to use it for good.
...to recognise death and greet it peacefully, even when it comes violently.
...to do the right thing, even when you're the only person who goes against the societal grain.
...to know who you are inside, and to never forfeit that identity to anyone.
...to fight without fists or fire.
...to know where your soul breathes, and to carry that place with you everywhere you go.
...to die standing tall.

From all of those things stems Love, and from Love do those things always grow.

Dignity is so much more than being confident, or self-assured; it's a state of being, a measure of personal worth.

It's being able to say, "you can take my clothing, my home, my friends, my family, and my rights away, but I know who I am, and you can't take that."

The Nazis didn't view the Jews as humans, so they stripped them down, and broke them into pieces they could understand, while capitalising on the knowledge that when you steal a man's dignity, you own him, and he becomes subhuman, not even worthy of a sub-par existence.

The Nazis got it, and I don't doubt most of tomorrow's corporate future get it, too. It's all just a game to some people. I never did understand that. I hope I never do, at least not empathetically or empirically.

What the Nazis did was a global presentation of the decomposition of dignity.

But who's to say smaller instances of decay don't happen all the time in our daily lives?

Recently, I struck a nerve in my father, twice in a row, all in the same five minutes. This prompted him to take my car keys away for the rest of the evening as well as the following day (which I am still VERY indignant about, by the way).

It took me a while to understand why he reacted as rashly as he did; normally, we work it out: there's an explanation, followed by an apology, and we move on like before, only with a better understanding of each other.

That's how I prefer to solve my problems. Quickly, efficiently, and honestly. I don't like to argue, I don't like to fight, I don't like to insult, and I don't like to curse. I just want peace.

But he just wasn't having it.

Upon retrospection, I realised what I had said to upset my father so, and I understood why it hurt him. My dad, who can take just about anything in stride, had his dignity bruised by some ungrateful kid with a newfound elitist attitude and a $200,000 education.

Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, hinges on our ability to respect the lives of others, and to communicate that respect lovingly.

In my lapse of communication, I bit the hand that's fed me all these years. I went for the jugular and didn't stop to think that I was attacking something three times my size and weight, both metaphorically and literally.

I think we do it to each other all the time, it just isn't always direct or obvious...

I've heard the horrible things people say about me behind my back; I'm not ignorant to the speculation. I've seen people laugh at me from down the Boulevard, I've heard people whisper things about me when they think I'm out of earshot (for the record, my LEFT ear is the bum ear, not the right one), and I've heard the sneers and giggles and mutters when I've contributed a question or an answer in class.

While unmistakably hurtful to the average youth, I'm pleased to say that on the whole, I have been unfazed; I grew up strong, and I was raised by a man and woman with no weaknesses.

But to the average kid my age, or your age, or older, or younger...those stabs at dignity can hurt. And they can change the course of everything.

I've made those jabs myself, and I've watched a loved one drift away from me and grow with stunted confidence and almost broken self-esteem.

I did that to someone. I destroyed their dignity and now I have to watch their life play out the way it's going because I'm too much of a stubborn coward to apologise.

Are you following me here? Do you see why it's important to value each other?

Our ability to value dignity in others can change everything. I could play the "what if" game all morning, but I'd rather let you use your imagination. Listen to me when I say that stabbing and twisting isn't the best way to demonstrate love or encourage growth. Listen. And do.

My final point of contention is relational. My friendships flourish much better than my relationships, and since this piece is primarily negative in retrospection, allow me to dwell on said relationships.

The danger of relationships is that nowadays, they generally entail the selling of your soul (ergo, your dignity) to the other person, in the hopes that they're watertight enough to hold you all in and keep you from spilling out. We operate on the assumption that the other person will make every effort to listen to and understand us, even when empathy is impossible.

Well I'll be the first to admit that I SUCK at relationships. There's no getting around it: I. Just. Suck.

And for all the efforts I've made to retain a little dignity in myself and to encourage and foster dignity in another, I always seem to get caught up in my own selfish interests.

Women of today's society need to understand that our dignity should be wrapped up in the things that matter, like love, peace, friendship, spiritual health, and family.

I cannot speak on behalf of dudes, but if I may, I'd like to suggest that men recognise and respect that women are much quicker to throw away their independence and self-respect than most men are. It would help if you could all stop being manipulative, selfish douchebags. We women would be more than happy to coexist harmoniously with respectful men, but in a patriarchal society, we need you to set the example. This is another writing in and of itself.

My dignity in this regard has been particularly tested this semester, as I've found myself going on numerous dates with a variety of guys, changing my habits to appeal to a select few, and flinging myself at the feet of those whom I determine I most care about.

Nothing says "desperate" like a casual fling.

Sorry. Bad pun.

In conclusion (all of my past English teachers are screaming in agony), I resolve myself to be a more dignified lady of the Lord. I've sacrificed too much of myself, seen the rape of a culture, and made shots at the dignity of others this semester. It's time to turn this life around, set it back on track.

I will live and die standing tall.

m.

haunted.

It's 1:23 in the morning as I begin to write this.

Poland will not let me sleep.

My dreams since the trip have been plagued with sadness. Not fear, not anxiety, not even depression. Just sadness. It feels heavy, but not entirely suffocating. Like maybe there's still a way out, a way to get back into the light.

I can't sleep anymore. My parents wonder why I sleep so much on vacation; as it is, I already don't sleep enough at college. Compounded with my recent experiences abroad, it's no wonder I try to sleep as much as possible, in the hopes that quantity will compensate for quality.

In a misguided attempt to come to terms with my sadness, as well as do what I should've done last week, I've started putting my pictures from Poland up on Facebook. I'm quite excited to hear people's feedback on my "work," but even more than that, I'm excited for questions. For now, they're in private, for-my-eyes-only albums until I get them all up and get the captions sorted out. I can't wait to launch them sometime later this week.

I feel suffocated, not because of my shadowy dreams, but because of how lonely it is, to have these experiences bottled up inside.

I'm long-winded, and when I start talking darkness and sensationalism, I see people's eyes glaze over as they feign interest. It feels like talking to a robot that is programmed to nod and sigh and ask empty questions like "really?" and "is that so?" to make it seem like it's paying attention.

I don't want polite indifference. I want empathy. It's frustrating, so frustrating, to have these personally revolutionary feelings putting pressure on my heart and my mind, but to also have no place to put them. I simply can't do it on paper.

Does anybody understand? Anyone at all?

I need tea. And a sleeping pill.

Or something.

m.

delayed.

I haven't written in this thing in over two months.

Boohoo. I've had finals.

Updates to come.

I have a LOT to write about. Especially as of late.

unstoppable.

I guess it's a natural, normal thing to feel claustrophobic. But to this degree? It's unreasonable. And I'm starting to worry it's unhealthy.

The more I think about myself (something I don't like to do often), the more I come to realise...that I was never intended to be still.

When I started college at SMU this past August, I was literally quaking with anticipation. I was ready to discover the big city, to get lost in the alleys and the airwaves, to stand on the wide street corners, to feel the traffic drift by. I was ready to be submerged in movement. My desire to be in motion was always conceptual to me; I had never put words to it, or identified it as a love of movement for the sake of motion. I just liked to be doing something with my time.

I have come to realise that I am completely, irrevocably, unfathomably in love with velocity.

It's been gnawing at me for the past few weeks. I have always been a competitive, high-octane person. I was always the first to bite off more than I could chew, then learn how to choke with grace. I never asked for help until I was drowning. It's in my nature to be go-go-going. And until now, I've always balanced it well. There was never a conflict of interests.

But lately, my ability to balance and my desire to move...well, they've been fighting like a married couple.

So much of what I want to do with my life revolves around my personal perspective, how I see the world. My only goal in life is to give of myself, and I don't find it unreasonable at all. My best guess as to why this is suddenly problematic is this:

Because my plans revolve around my perspective, I feel the need to broaden that perspective as much as I make possible. I want to expand it, modify it, supplement it. Travel anywhere, everywhere. Try everything. Meet everyone. Be everything. Be everyone.

Unfortunately, this impatience doesn't bode well for my relationships with people. My desire to continually uproot myself could be detrimental to my ability to connect with people on a deeper level; what's the point of getting involved and invested if you're just going to leave?

It's something I've been mentally chewing on for weeks.

And it's still just a half-masticated thought.

On the one hand, I am in love with movement. I don't care where I'm going, I just need to be moving. I adore walking, cycling, driving, riding buses, riding trains, flying planes. I adore feeling a sense of purpose, reaching a destination, revelling in the suspense of aimless adventure. All I need in life are some wheels, some feet, or some wings. On every level, I connect best with myself, and with God, when I am moving. It's not so much about getting from Point A to Point B; rather, it's about the line in between.

But on the other hand, I am in love with people. All people. I am in love with souls, and individual beauty. The stuff that can't be quantified or put into words. The invisible thread that weaves between us as we form new connections and strengthen old ones. I am intrigued by the thought of seven billion hearts, seven billion minds, seven billion souls. I wake up every morning and fall in love with humanity all over again. My heart breaks, and is healed, and breaks, and is healed, as God reminds me that we are not the sum of our mistakes or our flaws, but rather, the sum of everything it means to be created in His image. I am in love with the inherent value of Creation, and with what that value could be if we put it all together.

I worry that the two loves can't be balanced.

I want deep, personal connections with people. I want to know their stories, passions, hobbies, ideas, opinions, struggles, talents...EVERYTHING. I want to be reminded again and again that we all just want the same two things in life: to love and be loved. I want to be reminded that purity and innocence do still exist, and that courage and honour are not outdated concepts. I want to feel the vibrancy of friendship and affection, and the sincerity of truth and wisdom. I want to remember what it means to be human, and alive.

I just don't know if I can do that, if I live the selfish, ever-moving lifestyle I desperately crave. What good is it to meet the entire global population, but walk away just as alone as you were when you started? I am only human; I can't keep seven billion pen-pals. I can't even keep seven. How can you really connect with so many people on a meaningful level?

I feel like this is what God is challenging me to understand.

I live my life with an underlying sense of urgency. I take advantage of opportunities, I chase the things I am passionate about, and I don't abandon my dreams. I don't change who I am to fit in, I don't say what people want me to say, and I don't stand by and watch pain exist. I have a problem with being told what is and isn't possible.

That being said...I move too fast for myself sometimes. It's like I don't breathe enough. Like my lungs weren't made for so much corrosive living and breathing.

The water here tastes funny, and it takes me back to the dripping faucet in Ataros, the only source of water aside from the river. The grass is unnaturally green, and it takes me back to the English countryside, with its lonely trees and peaceful sheep. The air here is suffocating, and it takes me back to Chicago's open skyscraper maze. I've walked on grass, concrete, cobblestone, sand, dirt, glass, metal.

Cabo is Boston is Chicago is Dallas is Ataros is Bentonville is St. Louis is Leeds is Oxford is Cuautotola is York is London is ME.

I've seen disease, starvation, poverty, under-education, anger, hatred, violence, and loneliness. I've also seen patience, and kindness, and generosity, and sincerity, and truth, and light, and love.

She is you. You are me. I am him. He is her. We are ours.

Do you see and understand my dilemma? Have you ever been in the same place? Lost in transit, but somehow not in transit at all? Forced to reevaluate how fast you really want to be moving through life, and forced to decide where it is that you're going?

I am here, I know who I am, and I am ready! Come on world! Hit me with your best shot!

But no matter how big of a city I live in, my life can still easily feel like a fishbowl. I don't want to be here for four years. I don't want to be here for four DAYS. I want out. I feel like I'm clawing at the walls of my mind, trying to find a way to fling myself back into motion. From someone who's never once taken a physics class:

Everything retains a constant velocity (or a constant state of rest), unless and until it is acted upon by an external force. Newton's First Law of Motion. Inertia. An object in motion stays in motion. It takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place. Alice in Wonderland.

I am in uniform motion. I am acted upon by the societal collegiate requirement to "succeed." I am stuck. My momentum is significantly altered. Newton's Third Law of Motion. The forces of action and reaction are equal and opposite in direction. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object. The Dark Knight.

I am small in the grand scheme of things. So when I get hit, I get hit hard. And it changes everything. My momentum changes completely, depending on if I'm impacted positively or negatively. Newton's Third Law of Motion. If you think you're too small to have an impact, try going to bed with a mosquito. Anita Roddick.

I don't know. I shouldn't be allowed a keyboard when I'm alone late at night. I can't seem to convey the depth of what I feel. The immersion in, and the distance from, humanity. The simultaneous push and pull of personal tidal waves. Does that sound stupid? I feel like it does. Most true inner feelings do.

I can't explain how big and small I feel. My lack of articulation upsets me. I wish I could pull out this piece of my mind and show you what it looks like; I imagine it's a very busy, constantly shifting piece of grey matter, with deep wrinkles from thoughts and memories carved into its surface. My blood must operate at a temperature of 250, because there's no way I'm not the most frictional person who ever existed. Cutting and wedging and shoving and side-stepping and sprinting and passing and changing lanes through life.

My even MORE long-term concern is that this desire to pack up and go at any moment will hurt my potential career and family life.

I've always known that I would work in a field of service to others, whether through a professional or social service job. But I never stopped to consider that to do what I'm planning on doing, I will have to commit to staying still and developing a reputation as someone people can trust. How will I be able to travel, and GO, if I have to settle, and STAY?

And for the first time in a long time, I've found myself wanting a family. A real family. A stable family. It's deeper than the desire to have people to take care of, or to have people who take care of me. It's much more of a desire to belong to something bigger than myself. To be taken from, day after day, yet never feel empty. This is why I love my Father so: because even when I feel like I've given more than I've got, I still feel fulfilled.

That's the beauty of the family I'll never have if I choose to live my life like a world tour. It's a depressing thought, but it's something I supposedly have time to figure out. I have so much potential, a huge gap between who I am and who I could be. If only I could find that magical path to enlightenment, that secret stairway to self-justification.

I can only solve so many problems from a 9-to-5 desk job. I can only learn so much from a handful of people. I can only grow so much from a pot on someone's windowsill.

And I can only live so much from the limitations of my mind.

xx m.

fake.

I wrote this in some spare time between meetings, sitting outside the Student Senate office in Hughes-Trigg. It wasn't written as poetry; I just reformatted it here to keep it interesting. I was really just rambling; you can definitely tell. There is no linearity of thought.

The bottom line is that I miss Arkansas...not the people, but rather, the environment. Arkansas has four fresh seasons; the leaves are changing and falling right now, and I'm missing it for the first time in years. The temperatures there are dropping, and the skies are cloudless. The air is crisp, the animals are busy, and the natural sounds aren't interrupted by sirens and traffic and the giggling of vapid girls.

I miss my home. This nature is not real. SMU feels so small and...frozen in time. I can't really describe it. I just know that this place is not authentic.

And it makes me very, very nervous.

ON "NATURE."

It's inorganic.

Manicured.

That which should never have been tamed has become

a project,

a daily task.

Itemised.

Subsidised.

Compartmentalised.

Every leaf has its assigned place.
Every tree has its roots mapped out into a network of tired labourers,

constantly limited,
thirsty, and
breaking the ground

to survive.

Sometimes even the sunlight tastes pre-packaged.
Little photons designed to maintain a constant feel of permanence.
The temperature is regulated according to the demands of the student body's wardrobe.

The sun rises.

...

The sun sets.

And so every bite-size day melts in your mouth,
and leaves a lingering taste of dissatisfaction.
The flavour of

non-fulfilling,

fat-free,

zero-cal,

zero-carb

"living."

Nature does as it's told,
and it never asks questions
or second-guesses the mandates handed down from them.

The same ones who govern nature are the same ones who exploit it and destroy it.

Natural is unnatural.

Best if used by immediately.

Keep away from small children.

Not intended for individual resale.

We aren't raised by nature anymore; nature is raised by us.

When nature isn't natural enough,
we manufacture it,

make immortal representations,

and bring them into our homes as

sick silk and polyester substitutes.

I hope one day,

The sun makes the choice to sleep in.

I hope one day,

The clouds show up unannounced and uninvited.

Ruin all the dresses and suit jackets.

Gate crash the most attended party in history.
Seven billion guests and counting.
They come kicking in and go sleeping out.

I hope one day,

The trees smash their arms through the red-brick walls that keep them contained.

I hope one day,

Nature is loud and unstoppable;

an absolute riot.

I want to hear

the chaos of life

and the cries of freedom,

and the breaking of barriers.

When we try to engineer nature, nature fights the design.

It's just biding its time...

...for now.

We really shouldn't be surprised when it arrives.
Maybe if we're peaceful and apologetic, we'll catch a break.

And maybe some extra rays.

Surf's up.

But I wouldn't count on it.
Nothing with so much positive energy can be kept still and repressed.

We are

nature,

and we are

very much

alive.

noncommittal.

I have seven drafts in the works right now.
SEVEN.

I have serious commitment issues.
Sorry.

lyrical.

Planning a sick piano beat for this. Rough draft ONLY.

Who cares about the nameless?

Why bother with the faceless?

At the end of the day,

I have my money in the bank.

It isn't my problem.

No, never, no no,

Not my problem.

Should it matter they're infected?

Did I die when they disconnected?

On the other end of the line,

I'm just another kid that tried.

It isn't your problem.

No, never, no no,

Not your problem.

The politician's got beautiful eyes,

And he tells believable lies,

So at the turn of the century,

He can't really blame me.

It isn't his problem.

No, never, no no,

Not his problem.

She saw what loving did to them,

And turned away from what they'd been,

When they told her she was battered,

She took a look and said it didn't matter.

It isn't her problem.

No, never, no no,

Not her problem.

The nameless go silently, the faceless go quietly, the infected die lonely.

And the disconnected don't come back.

The beautiful eyes look away, the beautiful lies let suffering stay.

Love is the only way to put healing on the fast track.

Yours, mine, his, hers,

Bad news we've all heard.