Let's Play Pretend.

So today is the beginning of another one of those crazy weeks where the teachers decide to collaborate their assignments so that a billion tests and a billion and one worksheets are due within a span of 48 hours. Oh, throw in golf and an orchestra concert too. And SATs! But as I sat here thinking about all this crap I had to do (Chapter 33 APUSH notes being the most urgent task at hand right now) I realized that all throughout this hectic junior year, I have never thought to myself, "I hate my life."

I remember when I was little, I used to pretend I was all sorts of things. There was the classic fairytale all girls lived in, of course - being a princess. At 9:00 every night (remember when we had bedtimes?), my parents thought I had gone to sleep. What I really did was sit on my bed wide awake, making sure my imaginary tiara didn't fall off my head while the darkness around me transformed itself into a beautiful, magical castle. But there were other things I pretended to be, too - I lugged my mom's old computer keyboard into my room and clacked away on it for hours. What an efficient secretary I was! I'd even switch between jobs - one moment I was the secretary making appointments, the next I was a veterinarian tending to a stuffed animal white seal (bought it from Sea World) that the secretary had just checked in. I also remember having an obsession with Native American culture - I'd scavenge the backyard for the sharpest rocks and tie them to rubbed and smoothed sticks. (I realized just now that I never made a bow for these arrows, yet they were far too short to be spears, so I'm actually not sure what I was thinking whilst I made them...) I also saved orange peels, which I'd wrap up in dried corn leaves as if I was some kind of a herbal healer. Something less random was pretending to be a teacher; I wrote really creative notes to the parents of students who misbehaved in class. I must have thought I was super cool...

It all sounds childish, but I distinctly remember writing in my diary years ago about all the people I pretended to be. I asked myself why I enjoyed playing pretend - did I dislike reality? Was I unhappy with who I was? In all likelihood, I concluded, I was just bored. But it still makes me wonder - why don't we ever play pretend anymore? Life now is probably tougher than it was then...wouldn't now be the better time to make believe, to get away from the hellish demands of school and self expectations?

I dearly hope I have not lost the ability to dream.

Mediocrity.

After months of heater-wasting, jacket-wearing frostiness, today's heartening rays of sunlight and encouraging chirps of birds were a pleasant introduction to Spring. The feeling of my hair flipping over my shoulders as a soft breeze teasingly snatched it and the calming warmth that the sun so patiently poured across my skin aroused the athlete within me that had been sleeping quite comfortably since winter track ended. I looked at all the greenness around me and remembered that golf season begins next week.

Not gonna lie, freshman year of golf was amazing. It's a nice feeling to be good at something. Praise is delicious - wouldn't you agree? But I got cocky, and paid for it, because sophomore year was probably the worst golf I've played since...well since I last sucked that badly. One of my friends overheard my coach tell another teacher that I was his "ticket to states." Guess what? I let him down. 

I don't want that to happen this year. I want to be the best. I need to be the best...because if there's one thing I hate, it's mediocrity. I do a lot of things - I play piano and violin, I run cross country and track, I write - but I am so freaking average at it all. Maybe I'm a perfectionist, or maybe I'm just insecure - either way, I need to know that there's something I'm good at. In the words of Relient K, I need to be "a little more than useless."

So call me greedy, but I want the gold, and will settle for no less. Here's to golf season '10.

Worth.

Nobody reads this blog; nobody knows it exists. I rarely even write here; I have my diary to write in. But I realized why I like it anyways: it looks professional.

I like the way the letters are typed out neatly in a crisp, clear font. I like the way the paragraphs are lined up evenly, cropped by an invisible frame. I like the way the title is bolded as if I'm about to say something important. I like the way the date is recorded, like an officialy stamped document.

It creates a facade that makes my words almost seem worthy enough to read.

Flashforward.

For once, it's a Friday night where I don't need to worry about setting the alarm clock for a cross country meet the next morning. To satiate my boredom, I decided to watch the first two episodes of a new tv series, Flashforward, on Hulu. Halfway through the first episode, it was already my new favorite tv show.

The storyline emerges from a fateful 2 minutes on earth when every individual across the entire surface of the planet experiences what they call a "blackout" - eerie visions that feel more like memories than they do hallucinations. after chaos is restored and accounts of visions shared, it is determined that the 2 minutes witnessed during the blackout were windows into the future - flashforwards that told each person what they would be doing 6 months later. some people saw blessings -- a woman was receiving the news that she was expecting a baby girl - while others saw sins -- a faithful wife was having an affair with a man she didn't even know (yet). some saw nothing at all; 6 months into the future, they will be dead.

But this got me thinking...about fate. Is the future a reflection of determinism? Or is it free to be molded by our own free will? If you had a flashforwad, the person you saw in your vision would be the future version of the present you. However, the seeing of your future alters one in such a way that you are no longer the 'you' who corresponds with the future you saw in the flashforward; the 'you' in that flashforward never saw the future. Does this mean you have already changed your future...by seeing your future?

I don't believe in fate and determinism. Not because I have evidence, but because I don't want to; it just feels...wrong. if one person's life is already mapped out, the whole world's fate is already determined, as the fate of one person will affect that of the next, and the next, and the next. We'd be stuck, unable to break free of one's own fate without changing the fate of others. is it possible for every being on earth to be so dependent on one another? It seems too perfect to be possible.

There was more I wanted to write, and I had planned on using this free night to my full advantage, but my eyelids seem to be begging to close. good night...how horrible would it be if I woke up tomorrow morning and all my decisions were useless?

Identity.

My first blog post would probably be a good time to introduce myself, but I'm afraid that if I did, I'd start spewing lies. mind you, I'm a very honest person (lie number one?), but who I consider myself to be may not equate to who i really am. after all, what defines our identities? Our own wishful thinking, or the perceptions of others? It's been said that one is always the worst judge of oneself -- which would make the latter correct -- but my judgement is pretty faulty for more things than just myself, so for now I'll leave this question unanswered.

"So what kind of a person do you see me as?"
"You?" A furrowed brow. "I barely know you."
The smile was taunting. "That's why I'm asking."
After studying the questioner, "You're like them, always acting. So I guess I'll never know."
"Ah...you weren't listening. I asked who you saw me as, not who I am."
Raised eyebrows. "Then you admit that who you are is a fake?"
The smile widened. "Clever. I'm whoever you think I am, but that's hardly my fault."
"Well, who I think you are is someone still in search of an identity." Smug.
"Of course." A chuckle. "Isn't that why I'm asking you for an answer?"
Silence.