The Unattainable Goddess

Her hair, that flows behind ev'ry short step

Does not turn once, nor twice, nor thrice my way.

On one occasion she did not accept

The token of my heart that breaks away.

I am the peasant in her kingdom here

Where I am not the only one that knows

The power she wields to be a puppeteer.  

But still, my love for that goddess now grows.

The distancing that has been tried just fails.

When meeting I avert the eyes of gold.

And now I follow her like dog and tail,

Just waiting for the day that love unfolds.

But in the end, the beauty that I see

Shall only be a distant dream to me.

Creon's Aftermath

I decided to take this from a post-Antigone stage for Creon. Here he reflects on his actions, attempting to make himself feel better, and feel justified, but also he sees the error in his ways, which is what happens at the end of the play. 

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        How did all of this develop? Was I, the King of Thebes, not right? Were those two sons of King Oedipus not to be valued differently? One was a hero to his country. The other, “came back from exile intending to burn and destroy his fatherland and the gods of his fatherland, to drink the blood of his kin, to make them slaves” (131). That type of despicable character cannot be honored. Yes, it was the decree of the gods to bury our people, but I ask you: How could “a man who came to burn [the god's] temples down, ransack their holy shrines, their land, and their laws” be honored by such a proclamation? “Is that the sort of man you think gods love?” (134). My actions were justified by these reasons.

        Even so, this dispute caused by a mere woman, evolved so much so that I lost both my son and his bearer. Was I ignorant of my own beliefs? Obdurate in a way? “How, if I tolerate a traitor at home, shall I rule those abroad?” (144). But, I did say once that “a king whose lips are sealed by fear, unwilling to seek advice, is damned” (131). If I had listened to my beloved son, Teiresias, or even Antigone, could this have all been avoided? It is too late, however. I must live my life in grief. I would rather be dead, going onto the next life with my kin, but I must continue, mustn't I? How could this be? That man was a traitor, but, have I been the true conspirator? Is this all ultimately my fault? 

The Babysitter

Note from the Author

I tried writing this from the perspective of a 1st or 2nd grader. It was hard to figure out where I should show more of a childish mindset, and where I should just keep it simple. So if any words sound weird, they were intentional.

                                                                              

     
     There it was again. The loud rhythmic clap that signaled us to be quiet. 
     "Snack time?" was the phrase I heard from a few people around me.
     I looked at the teacher who had made the noise, wondering if it really was time for snack. This teacher always picked something good.
     "You all need to be more quiet! Justin!" I turned to look at my leggo-buddy, "When I am talking, you need to listen, ok?" Justin stopped talking. It was scary. This person was scary. Her voice was loud and made me want to hide.
     "Ok, so if you are all ready," she said in a gentle voice, like the one my mother uses when she asks me to set the table for dinner. "Please wash your hands and sit down for snack."
     We did what we always did, some of the older kids did it slower, but we all did it. We prayed and they began handing out snack. I turned to my friend and talked about our plans for our leggo tower.
     "Here you go, sweetie." I heard and turned to see the scary teacher, smiling nicely like my class teacher, handing me my snack. I smiled back, which caused her lips to curve to an even bigger smile.
     The hallway was becoming so loud, just like recess. I wanted to go back into the room with Grace so we could finish our tower, but the big kids were yelling and throwing gold fish at each other. Big monkeys. I was never gonna get to do my tower with these big important punks acting like my little brother.
     "Hey, hey, hey!" They all were quiet. Wow. "You are all sixth graders, but you're acting like--no worse--than the kinder gardeners. We will not go inside until all of you are quiet and all the food is picked up off the floor." 
     They all started cleaning up super fast. As they did, the girl handed Grace a couple of extra gold fish and giggled. 
     The girl came and sat with us as we built our leggos. Working quietly on her own weird toy. It looked like she was making the Beyblades we would make in Kinder garden. She must not know how to build much. If it looked like we were looking for something, she would stop whatever she was doing and help us find it. One of the new first grade girls needed something off of the big shelf and before the girl could even ask, the teacher had already gotten it for her and gave it to her silently with a smile and patted the first grader on the head before she came back to sit with us, and made another Beyblade. 
     I stared at her sneakily like a ninja, not allowing her to see. She looked like she needed a nap. Or, at least, that's what her yawn told me. She rubbed her eyes and put down the leggos and looked around the room. She lazily got up and sat with a fifth grader who was playing mancala alone, taking away a fourth grader's paper airplane that he took from another boy. The teacher and the fifth grader started a game together, and the teacher became more happy and talked with a nice voice. 
     After a long long LONG time, my mom finally got me. The teacher signed me out so I could leave, and gave me a smile that made me want to smile back. She told me to have a good weekend. I held out my hand for a high-five. She laughed and hit my hand, but not too hard thankfully. I liked this side of her better.

VERY rough draft of my Personal Statement

   My heart was beating fast as my friend who had become like a little sister to me stood by my side in the green room. The room was filled with over a dozen children changing into their next stage outfits, some yelling at their mother for pulling their hair to hard while putting it into a tight bun. As we waited I went over the movements that I had been memorizing over the past few months. The music played in my head. I could see the fear and excitement play off of the girls that I had become a family with over the last three months. I knew that the same look reflected off my face.

I had never grown so close with a group of people, especially not in that short of time. I relied on them more than I had with anyone else. I needed them to help me remember how much of a plié in one part. They relied on my good memory to remind them what we had learned the week previous. It was a give and take relationship.

There was only one group before us, and then it was our turn. I could taste the last minute hair spray being frantically put on by a stage mom. My family and I went over the dance one last time before it was our turn. One of the stage managers yelled for us to be quiet as the large grey door that lead to stage left opened before us and the performers that had just performed rushed out, and we walked into the dark side of the stage as the crowd clapped.

Ever since I was young I was very independent. My mother told me that when I was ten months old and learning to walk that I would not let anyone help. She stated that if she or anyone else would come to lift me up after falling that I would turn away from their help. I really don’t know why I did that. Maybe it’s the fact that I was adopted and psychologically I didn't allow myself to become close to the people around me because I feared that they would leave me also.

That is why I don’t think I’ll ever regret the hours I spent at dance. Even though some days it interfered with singing and piano lessons, every drop of sweat was worth it. I learned that it was alright to put my trust in someone. I wouldn't fall every time that I jumped. It also got me more used to the idea of being relied on, and even teaching. I learned how to be gentle when explaining a concept to someone which helped me to see that I could be a teacher and it even made me excited by the idea. I learned so much from something that I did not think would have that much effect on me. I was happy to have been wrong.

Ashton, Britney and Paul? OH MY! & Affirmation

ISFP 

Introvert(11%)  Sensing(1%) Feeling(62%) Perceiving(22%)

          •You have slight preference of Introversion over Extraversion 

          •You have marginal or no preference of Sensing over Intuition 

          •You have distinctive preference of Feeling over Thinking  

          •You have slight preference of Perceiving over Judging  

More in touch with the reality of their senses than their INFP counterparts, ISFPs live in the here and now. Their impulses yearn to be free, and are often loosed when others least expect it. The ISFP who continually represses these impulses feels 'dead inside' and may eventually cut and run. (One ISFP friend has become nonambulatory within the past few years. He will still, on impulse, leave home in the middle of the night and go to Las Vegas or wherever, regardless of the difficulties of his physical condition.)

----I'm not completely sure if I'll interpret this right, but I see the first statement as: understanding their feeling and emotions, and how those things happen. Which I find true, especially since I actually am different from how lots of people view me, and I also know why. Also, like most students, I truly HATE being in school. I'd rather be out doing something, so the "free" aspect sounds like me. I'd rather be out doing something that I truly love. 

ISFPs may be quite charming and ingratiating on first acquaintance, flowing with compliments which may (or may not) be deserved. On other occasions, the same individual may be aloof and detached. Some ISFP males are fiercely competitive, especially in sport or table games, and may have great difficulty losing. This competitive nature, also seen in other SP types, sometimes fosters 'lucky,' 'gut' feelings and a willingness to take risks.

----I think this part also fits me. I tend to switch emotions a lot, but not in a bipolar sense if you get that. Just sometimes, I like being the center, but then at other times I'd rather just be alone and think to myself. Haha, the 50% 50%-ness of my life shows again! Also, the fiercely competitive part doesn't just apply to guys....yeah :) 

Organized education is difficult for the majority of ISFPs, and many drop out before finishing secondary education. Their interest can be held better through experiential learning, at which many excel. ISFPs will practice playing an instrument or honing a favored skill for hours on end, not so much as practice as for the joy of the experience.

----I do find "organized education" difficult, but I do not plan on dropping out. I'm too close to passing. I've been neglecting a consistent pattern of practicing guitar, piano, and singing. However, when I do sit down and play piano, or guitar, or just look at a singing piece I have for a competition, I work on it for hours. I have a tendency to do that when I should be doing homework for school... But I won't even realize that I've been playing/singing for that long. I keep working to be better at it. The process is hard, but it's fun. The same goes with my dancing. I find it fun, even if it's not truly productive, and I get lost in it. :)

People like me:

Marie Antoinette

Marilyn Monroe

Paul McCartney

Britney Spears
John Travolta
Ashton Kutcher
Donald Trump
Michael Jackson

~Affirmation~

• Passionate
• Understanding
• Caring
• Hard working
• Outgoing

Leyla is very passionate about everything that she enjoys. She is passionate about Korean, dance, singing and God. She is understanding of trials of others because she has had many trials of her own. She is caring because she wants to make people feel better when they are feeling down and she is willing to talk through issues with people because she cares. Leyla is hardworking in may ways. She is constantly working on things from school to singing to dance. She always seems to be busy with Church as well. She constantly is doing something and always tries to do her best. Leyla always seems to be able to interact with new people and she can have a flowing conversation with everyone I see her talking with. Altogether, she is an amazing person.

Mere Christianity: Like in the Movie

        "[A] notion we get from novels and plays is that 'falling in love' is something quite irresistible; something that just happens to one, like measles. And because they believe this, some married people throw up the sponge and give in when they find themselves attracted by a new acquaintance. But I am inclined to think that these irresistible passions are much rarer in real life than in books, at any rate when one is grown up. When we meet someone beautiful and clever and sympathetic of course we ought, in one sense, to admire and love these good qualities. But is it not very largely in our own choice whether this love shall, or shall not, turn into what we call 'being in love'? No doubt, if our minds are full of novels and plays and sentimental songs, and our bodies full of alcohol, we shall turn any love we feel into that kind of love: just as if you have a rut in your path all the rainwater will run into that rut, and if you wear blue spectacles everything you see will turn blue. But that will be our own fault."

        Stories and tales have been around for a long time, right? So obviously, we are not the first generations to have read a romantically inclined novel. However, we allowed our culture to become that. We all enjoy fairy tales and happy endings and all that, but that is not how life truly works. There are so many movies where a married woman sees some man she loved from her teenage years or something, and has a fling with him and they end up falling in love, and then in the end everything works out. HELLO that is NOT how life works. If you cheat, or whatever, then it's not going to work out like in fairy tales and Hollywood Blockbusters. 

        I believe that being attracted to someone, and being in LOVE with someone are two completely different things. Anyone can think that another person is attractive, but you can't love them until you get to know them and understand them. I also think that you can't truly love someone until you know their flaws and can look past them. To me, that is true love. When you are able to look past the annoyances or quirks that your partner has. Oh look.... I'm rambling... I'm trying to make a different point... 

        Ok, so when you're with someone, you are going to fight. It's only natural. No relationship is perfect. But because of the way some people have grown up, they think that just one fight, whether small or large, means that "it just wasn't meant to be". People think that life has to be all rainbows and cupcakes. Or, they just want it to be that. And even though I wish it was, that's not how life works. No, wait. I don't wish life was easy. I wish it was easier but I don't wish it was easy. When we go through struggles with people we love, we become closer to them when we work it out. We begin to understand the person in a whole new way that we wouldn't have been able to see in any other occasion. I think people need to be more patient. More understanding. Or at least, not act so "life or death" in little things. Our lives are not like movies. A director won't stop everything and say "no no, lets switch this scene here and wait a little longer so that we can end with the sunset in the background." We have to make our own happy endings even if there's some scenes we wish we could cut or have a "Take 2", we just have to take what we're given. 

Broken Mirror

Have you ever broken a mirror and looked at your reflection?

       So many different paths are put before me. On the right is a party with blaring music. On the left is a computer with a blank word document. I turn back to the right and in place of the party was a war scene within my living room. I shudder and turn away, hearing a crack. Looking to the left again I see my friends, waving for me to join them, but I hear a voice from the right call my name. I turn to see, and as I do I hear another crack. A giant monster is staring at me with red eyes, enraged, holding a test in his hands. I cringe and hide away in my closet. I hear another crack as I shut the door.

       After years and years, I open the door. I see rainbows and puppies. My old swing-set. I sit on it and begin to swing. As I go forward, I see my best friend, my first pet, my only dog, lying on the ground dying. *crack* I swing back, tears streaming. I continue swinging, and with every push, I hear words being yelled at me. Lies. *crack* I hear the monster yelling at his companion, causing her to begin leaving. *crack* I lean back as much as I can, feeling the wind against me grow stronger, and I try to hold on to the ropes, but I can’t. I fall. I hear an earth shattering crack.

       I sit up after years and years. There in front of me is a Prince. More beautiful than anything. He is holding in his hands the broken pieces of a mirror. He begins putting it together like a puzzle. He is smiling gently, sending a calming feeling throughout every part of my body. He looks up and smiles at me and tells me to look. “It’s not finished yet.” I say, confused. There were missing pieces to the mirror. He laughed gently to himself, “Look at the reflection.” I shook my head, refusing to do so. “Look and see what I see.” I looked. I saw beauty. But only parts of it. “The parts to finish my art are not here yet. They will develop over time. Until then, we can only see this beauty.”



Litany Rewrite: My Music

You are the wake up call and the wake up.

You are the happiness and the shower.

You are the car ride on the way to school

and the sound coming from the birds.

You are the sheet to the pianist

and the bow to the violinist.

However, you are not the homework given by a teacher,

the essay due on Wednesday,

or the dead grass outside.

You are definitely not the barking of dogs outside.

There is no way at all that you are the barking of dogs outside.

It is quite possible that you are the distraction in my head,

maybe even the interruption of this poem,

but you are not anywhere near

to being the late night tears.

And a quick look at the phone will show

that you are not the text message in the chatbox

or the cat sleeping at my feet.

It might interest you to know,

since we are talking about this,

that I am the crying in the closet.

I am also the child typing away,

the pathetic mess on the floor

and the late night cleaning of the room.

I am the one shouting along, too

and the stress of life.

But don’t fret, I am not the wake up call and the wake up.

You are still the wake up call and the wake up.

You will always be the wake up call and the wake up,

not to mention the happiness and--just because-- the shower.