#writtenthought

[xxwrittenthoughtsxx]

Your eyes can outshine an entire galaxy.

[asunada]

Artistry

I've always wanted to be an artist. I wanted to be able to create, to paint pictures, take pictures, to draw something, anything really. 

My lines would always bend off and create grotesque formations that would make any drawing look as if it were either done in five minutes or by the hands of an elementary school child. 

I'm not a illustrator. 

After coming to the realization that drawing wasn't my forte, nor would it ever be I remember taking up a brush. Colors always fascinated me and maybe the bristles of a brush would be more forgiving than the pens and markers of my past. 

The paintings that I created were hardly worthy of the designation. I had created splotches that hardly represented anything worth looking at. Even the most eloquent arguments could find very little meaning in what I had created. 

I'm not a painter. 

The delicate and intricate work required of painting and drawing were too much for my fingers and hands. So, I figured the world of photography would be a wise alternative. 

Just point and shoot, right?

Of course, if you've ever picked up a camera you know better. Taking pictures is so much more than pointing and shooting. In a day and age where there a million different photo editing software, the task has become even more difficult. 

Colors and composition. Angles and light. Depth of field. Rule of thirds. 

I'm not a photographer. 

So, where does that leave me?

It leaves me here; writing once in a long while trying my hardest to be some kind of artist, to evoke an emotional response to the things that I can, with some skill, utilize. 

I write. 

I'm not a "writer" by trade. I'm a computer tech, not that I will be forever or particularly hate it. But I write. 

I write hoping that someone, somewhere will appreciate the order in which I've put the words and that maybe, just maybe you'll enjoy what I've written. 

I try my hardest to paint pictures with my words. I want to draw contrasts and subtly shade in the details. 

i remember the first time i had crab. well, not the first time, but the really the only time. i never understood the appeal.

crab had always tasted fishy to me, like the garbage rotting on the beach kind of fishy. it tasted like that smelled, just disgusting. 

this place was supposed to be different. so i ordered it. 

traditionally, i believe, you consume crab with some sort of melted butter, but there was none of that served here. just a large crab looking up at me smelling of a handful of different asian spices. 

the aroma was immediately intoxicating, but didn't deter me from my initial plight of bad crab taste in my mind. 

i had seen friends and family crack up legs enough times to be able to re-create it. the break was sent another scent gently wafting up in to my senses. it was sweet and light. this was new. 

the first pieces of crab lacked the many herbs and spices that could be found on the shell. were these smells just for show? the pristine white meat of the crab touched my tongue for the first time.

magic.

a wonderful mix of sweet, light crab meat danced upon my taste buds saying, "this is what God made me to be."

every aroma somehow came through and then the, once thought absent, butter came through. where had it been hiding?

immediately i broke more and more legs. trying my best, i cracked claw and leg alike trying to pull out more and more meat that resembled my first pristine crack. 

no words were spoken. 

a groan here. i sigh there. 

but no words. 

that's when food hits you. when there are no words, just feelings of ecstasy. when you know you've found something right. 

it doesn't happen often, but when it does you know. 

That's how I art now. With words. 

If you read this in its entirety you just read two posts in one.

Thanks

[asunada]

One of Many Reasons to Hate Hugs

In all honesty they look really similar from behind. 

In order to better understand my story you have to understand where I'm coming from. I've been dating the same girl for five years and she's had to put up with my uneasiness about being touched. Hand holding, hugging, and the like are all things that I don't readily enjoy. She, on the other hand, enjoys them thoroughly. 

While we're not with other people it's easier to succumb. No one is watching and I feel a sense of safety. I don't like bringing attention upon myself and PDA-ing is one of those things that brings a lot of attention. Other couples have made me uncomfortable. Why should I do that to others?

Anyway, top a penchant to not PDA with a room full of people who are iffy, at best, about you and you would probably not want to hug anyone either. 

So, back to my story.

They looked really similar from behind. 

Long dark brown hair cascaded down similar frames. 

She needed it. Her father had been chastising her in front of anyone and she needed some kind of comforting.

I'm a team player and the rarity of an Andrew hug makes it mean that much more when it happens. This was the moment.

No one was watching and I walked slowly behind her as to not tip her off that I was there. The surprise was going to make it that much better.

As I walked closer and closer I felt off. Something was amiss and it didn't make sense. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, but I pressed on.

She's going to be so happy about this hug. Boyfriend points for sure!

I'm now right behind her and I see Christina across the room talking to her aunt. 

Christina? What are you doing over there? We're about to hug over here. Unless...

.

..

...

..

.

Oh. My. God. 

ABORT ANDREW ABORT!

I mustered everything I had ever learned about stealth from my many sessions of Assassin's Creed and tiptoed away. No one had seen me almost hug my girlfriend's cousin, right?

Can you imagine?! I don't give hugs. I didn't even really have a close relationship with Claire at that point (yes, it was Claire. no, she doesn't know and yes, one of you will probably tell her to read this.). Oh my goodness, it would've been bad and creepy and terrible. 

I sat alone for a long time after contemplating the consequences of my all most fail. Christina looked at my concerned and asked if I was okay. I briefly nodded and went back to thinking. 

Later in the car ride home, I told Christina. 

"YOU WHAT?!!?!"

"But I didn't..."

Then it was a continuous laugh for about 15 minutes. She couldn't breath and started coughing she was laughing so hard. 

"I'm glad my pain amuses you..."

"I just can't believe...you almost...HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

This is why I don't give hugs. It just gets you into trouble or almost trouble or hypothetical trouble or laughed at by your girlfriend. 

---------------

I wanted to write something tonight and maybe there'll be more posts following this one.

The prompt I followed was, "Tell the story of one of your most embarrassing moments"

. 

[infinitelyexpanding]

Do tedious assignments that really dont teach anything, pass exams. Rinse repeat for four years til you can frame a piece of paper with a fancy signature and gold seal on it. Then apply for a job that doesn't even mention grades with hundreds of other people who have the same fancy framed paper. Only when you get to the interview and they ask what sets you apart from the other hundreds, you can't reply grades...because it turns out those don't matter. Accomplishing tedious tasks can't go on a resume and you've put so much time into studying impractical ideas you don't have much to offer. But wait what about everything you've learned ? Unfortunately those impractical ideas don't really cut it in the world of today and you leave the interview asking yourself what went wrong? You skim through your resume only to notice the skills section is empty, the accomplishments listed only talk about pieces of paper. Then it hits you...school isn't everything. Life is about experiences, creativity and living. But more doubts fill your head as you wait for the bus arrive. What about those other kids who went on to do great things with their pieces of paper? The harder you think, the more you realize that those who went on had something you didn't have. They enjoyed what they did, they didn't just write the papers, they took those papers and expanded on them. They took in the knowledge and made something out of it. You try not to let it bother you while you wait silently at the bus stop. You laugh under your breathe as you continue to wait, you laugh at the thought that any monkey can do a task that has all the aspects outlined for him. But then your mental tone quickly changes because you realize you're that monkey. You choose "knowledge" over experiences, you thought a cozy desk job would keep you happy. The only problem is to get that desk job you have to be different, but unfortunately your dedication to get the paper was stronger than your dedication to get paper as means of living, to offer yourself a promising career by putting in real effort and real thought. The bus arrives and you get on. You walk to the back so you can quickly lean against the back window. But before the bus starts to move you have one more epiphany. You've been leaning on something your whole life. Whether it be parents, the diploma, the do nothing job and the hope you can just get by doing the bare minimum. You quickly sit up straight as the the bus hits a bump and look up at one of those cheesy bus ads advertising a trade college. Instead of jumping blindly into thinking a trade is an easy solution to your problem you sit back and think of a solution you want. You disregard the opinion of the outside world. You ask yourself about what you love to do, what did you love to see and most importantly what made you happy? Whatever that thought was, you begin to brainstorm about how can you make that dream a reality. The rest of the story goes however you take it....thats pretty much the moral of the story. Don't let the guidelines of others you have internalized guide the reality you live in. This is the future that scares me personally the most, because it's a future where I didn't try. The bare minimum is nothing more or less than the bare minimum.

[asunada]

How I Met Your Mother

She was uncharacteristically upset. She would march into the living room of her newly rented house and then back into her bedroom. 

"It's not fair!"

The television was non-existent at that point and all that occupied the place along the wall was a lone stand that longed for its purpose to be complete, to hold up something that would get all the attention, while receiving none for itself. 

I just watched as she stormed in and out of the living room. She would look at me and then rush back into her bedroom and let out an exasperated sigh. Maybe the right words lingered in her bedroom, or maybe she left the wrong ones there. I don't know. 

"Are you okay?" I asked as she made her rounds once again. 

"No," she quickly responded as she retreated back to the bedroom. 

"Alright, I'll wait."

And I did.

You see, my girlfriend lost her mother before we met. It was cancer and it left her family more broken than they probably realized at the time. I was never able to meet, because Christina and I wouldn't meet till about 5 months later. 

It's always been something that's bothered her. She would tell me things would be so much easier if her mom was still alive. I can't even count the times Christina has said something like "she would've loved you" or "my mom would've made things so much easier for us". 

To be completely frank, I can't remember exactly how the yelling, stomping around, and frustration started, but it was rooted in my not getting to meet her mom. 

In the midst of waiting for the next tirade in the living room I prayed. 

Hey God, 

It's me again. But you already know what I'm going to ask you for, huh? Well, I'm here. I lack the proper words to speak and give peace to Christina. I don't even know if that's what you want from me. Just help me here, would ya? 

She's right to be frustrated and upset at the fact that I never got to meet the person that has meant the most to her in her life. The catalyst for the greatest growing experience you've put her through and I never met her. 

I don't know what to say here God. In fact, I never know what to say. But you've both silenced me and given me the words to speak in the past. 

I just ask for clarity now. What do I do? What do I say? How should I say it?

I'll follow your lead. 

Amen.

When she returned into the living room she seemed more tired than her previous laps. She slumped down onto the couch next to me and rested her head on my shoulder. 

"I just want you to have met her and know who she was."

"I know."

"It hurts sometimes that you guys never got to meet."

"I know."

"It's not fair."

"I know."

She sighed a deep breath and slowly looked up at me. Her eyes were on the verge of tears and that's when words started pouring out of me. 

"But I have met her," I said. Immediately I wondered where that statement was coming from. Jesus was speaking. It was time for Andrew to get out of the way. 

She looked at me confused and maybe a little annoyed that I might be making a joke out of the whole ordeal. 

"I've met her," I assured her. 

"I look at you and see a woman of God who's been formed through tragedy and pain, a living testament of the grace of God. I see a woman who cares deeply for those that are around her, who seeks to know people for more than superficial characteristics and shallow friendships."

She begins to get up, her head is no longer on my shoulder but looking straight at me.

"I see a woman who stands firm in her convictions, but listens to those that might view things differently. I've come to know a woman who isn't afraid to share how she's feeling at any given moment and expresses her hurts, pains, triumphs, and victories. I've met this woman who cooks, cleans, drives, and does a million other things she doesn't have to for the people that she loves. Does that woman sound familiar to you?"

I take a deep breath because my thoughts are coming to a close.

"I never got to meet your mom or taste her cooking or receive a hug, BUT I have gotten to know one of the people that she cared the most about, one of the people she poured the most into and that tells me more than just meeting her once. Christina, you're a reflection of the woman your mother was, whether or not I got to physically meet her doesn't really matter to me, because she made you, she molded you, she loved you. You're her in so many ways. Your mom she loved Jesus first and foremost, and so yeah, I didn't get to hear your mom's voice or get driven around by her, but the things she did were all rooted in a faith in Jesus Christ. The same faith she had, she passed down to you. I've met your mom, and she did a fantastic job."

My attempts to halt her crying failed. Her face is buried in my shirt and I can feel it dampening. So I hold her till she stops and she can smile. 

"Are you okay now?"

"Yeah, but you made me cry."

"Girls tend to do that when I'm around."

  You say I never write you anything so I wrote you this. Happy 25th Birthday, Christina!