Mara De La Rosa
Honors English 1st period
4 November 2008
Overlooking the Valley
It was raining, and my life was falling apart. I was crying outside my house when Adriana walked by. She stopped and asked me what was wrong. At first I was hesitant, considering I didn't know her very well, but we ended up walking and talking for hours. She helped me feel better about my problems. We stopped walking as we reached the top of the hill. The wind blew softly and the view of the valley was amazing. All of a sudden, a feeling that I've never felt before swept over me as I gazed my eyes on Adriana. Adriana was looking straight into my eyes, and slowly we leaned towards each other. At that moment her cell phone rang and it was her mother urging her to hurry back home. Adriana, embarrassed by the moment, blushed and ran back home. After she left, I stood at that exact spot trying to understand what had just happened
We fell in love almost instantly. I didn't have time to think about anything, nor did Adriana, but I think that that's just the way love is. It is an unstoppable force that comes unexpectedly. We were twenty-two, and her brother Jack was getting married. Adriana was allowed to bring a friend to the wedding, so I came along. No one in her family knew about us. It was exhilarating to have that one secret with her, but also difficult, because I couldn't just kiss her or hold her hand whenever I wanted. The night before the wedding we waited until it was completely quiet before we start kissing in her bedroom. We didn't want to do more than kiss because we were afraid we would get caught. However, it was past midnight, and one thing led to another so we went for it. All of a sudden her brother, along with a few of his drunken friends busted the door open in an attempt to pull a prank on Adriana. Once he saw us, his eyes widened and snatched Adriana by the hair out of the bed. She screamed but Jack put his hands over her mouth, in order to keep quiet. They took Adriana out and locked me inside the room. I could not sleep, and all I could think about was what they were doing to her.
The following day I was prepared and managed to unlock the door. I kept calm and to my surprise I found the whole family happily eating breakfast outside. Everyone smiled at me, including Jack and his friends, but there was no sign of Adriana. When I asked where she was, everyone assured me not to worry and that she was getting ready for the wedding. I did not get a good feeling so I left and looked for her. Soon after I left I received a text message from her sister Brenda, telling me that I could find Adriana behind the kitchen in the boiler room. As I walked through the kitchen and opened the boiler room my heart broke. Adriana was in the corner crying and shaking from a beating she'd received. There were bruises all over her body and dry blood around her lips. I tried giving her a hug, but she went hysterical. I started to cry, because I felt so awful and furious at what had happened. Just then, her brother came, pulled me out of the room, and before I knew it, I was stranded five miles away. It's been two months and I have not heard from her. My heart is still broken, and I don't her to ever get hurt again...
A few days after my aunt wrote this journal, her body was found on a hill overlooking the valley of our town. Howe can the world be like this? So what if my aunt loved Adriana? So what if they were both women? Love like that is hard to find, and I don't think that it's fair for me to be standing here today, giving a eulogy to my loving aunt just because she wasn't allowed to love. Love is an unstoppable force, and whoever interferes with it is crude and heartless. A week after's death was published in the newspaper Adriana committed suicide. At least now, no one can stop them from loving each other.
I'm tired of feeling hopeless and uninspired. I keep thinking negative thoughts, and end with dramatically saying, "ugh, I hate my life," or "ugh, I wanna die." I keep pushing myself through the same process and it just keeps going and going and it's the worst. I don't wanna wake up and be tired and not do anything. I wanna believe in myself.
My therapist use to tell me to talk to the younger version of myself who's been through all the 'trauma,' that's made me who I am today. I forget about her all the time. I just cry and wail and not try. I keep thinking I'll fail my family and never get married, hell never go on a proper date.
I am confident that I am lovely. But I am also confident that I don't necessarily have the best time in meeting new people. Most people call me awkward, and on some days, even a loser.
I used to think that I wanted to have invisibility as a super power, but I don't need it because I am invisible. It's a power I wish I didn't have. It's terrible for the industry that I'm mean and it's hard because all I wanna do is tell stories, but that's so hard already. I'm hoping for miracles, Santa.
This year I'd like the following for Christmas, or for 2018
I know it seems like a long list, so eve if one (anything with money) will truly help.
I love you forever and always and hope and know that we will all be okay. In the end.
I am pretty, I am beautiful, and I am worth loving. I love you.
In the end.
I roll over on my back as I feel the sunshine seep through my windows. The rays are so bright it looks like the room is foggy. I latch onto my dreams when the smell of bacon pulls me out of bed.
I walk downstairs and see my mom's feast and find my way happily to the table. I say my good mornings and mean them. I greet my mom with a kiss on the cheek, then my dad, then my grandma. We all sit together and enjoy the meal. I copy every move my dad makes, mixing in the grits, with the bacon, eggs and country style potatoes.
No school, no responsibilities, I get to do whatever I want today.
I open the garage door and everything is as meticulous as can be, the cars happily sitting, and a bike awaiting for my arrival. I ride around the neighborhood, going in circles, cruising until I get to the park. I play around the slides, jungle bars, and swings. I play and walk around the grass and take in the happy children and parents.
The children look content enough as they jump and leap through the playground through death defying stunts. The parents smile nervously at their kids' every move. I see something a bit off putting in their eyes, sadness, maybe even death. Death of life, death of happiness.
I stop what I'm doing and frown due to the familiarity of the feeling. I keep looking at the eye of one father in particular. He looks up from his phone and stares at his child on the jungle bars. He looks at me and we latch gazes, we find comfort in the mutual death and sadness that has now overcome my body. I keep looking at him as the freshness and crisp smell of the air fades away. The aroma turns stuffy and a tad overwhelming.
I blink. I blink, and I'm staring at a price tag $12.99 for a box of grits. The same box of grits I used to enjoy so much. I don't need it, I move on down the grocery aisle.
I briefly make eye contact with a homeless woman galavanting wildly down the aisle screaming non-sense riding her high, high.
Why the fuck can't I afford grits?!
I wake up the next day, like a zombie forgetting what feelings feel like and constantly feeling tired. I keep telling myself that all this is worth something someday and that soon I'll be living my dreams. But as the days fade away and adulthood becomes more of a reality, what the fuck are my dreams?
I have to drive. I have to do laundry. I have to cook. I have to shower. I have to pay bills. I have to be responsible. I have to go to the doctors. I have to live. I have to change my oils. I have to vote. I have to protest. I have to go to the pharmacy. I have to talk to friends. I have to talk to family. I have to love. I have to get married? I have to find love? I have to start a family? No more school girl crushes, I have to put my big girl pants on. I can't be sad, what the hell is life insurance?
What is daydreaming anymore? I've become a robot. I don't hate it, but it does break my heart. It does make me horny. Very horny, so horny that that's the only thing that helps me feel.
That and mother-fucking coffee that fuels my movements as my soul lies paralyzed inside my body.
To sit in solemn silence in a dull dark dock.
I remember being in my body and not really feeling like I belonged. Not in my body-body, but in the new town I was living in. There were these beautifully shiny kids looking back at me with such grim curiosity. The teachers didn't really know what to do with me. At first, I thought, it was because they were disgusted. Now that I look back I think that glare was caused by fear. People were as beautiful as they were intimidating, I wish I was able to explain myself and my actions but my language was as foreign to them as theirs was as foreign to me. Disneyland wasn't around the corner, buildings weren't as tall as the sky, instead I was surrounded by an endless un-enchanted forrest--America wasn't what I thought it would be.
I remember feeling like a turtle and analyzing every little thing that was going on around me. I may not have known exactly what was going on, but I made assumptions. I slowly started picking up on the language, the culture, the way the other kids interacted with each other, and the way the teachers interacted with everyone else. I think racism only hurt me in the short term of my childhood, because it definitely prepared for the world I'm living in today. I understand where people come from, and why they think what they think. I may not always agree, but lately I'm starting to feel like I'm racist myself. Racist against the Whites.
I had a dream of being in this open field and watching the bullies I went to school with and watching their every move and thinking "God, that's such a White thing to do." It still happens today. White people problems or white jokes or I don't know White culture things. It all roots back to the bullying because as much as that scarred me, it made me strong. I was called a boy because of the way I dressed (I wore jean shorts and a colorful t-shirt from Old Navy), and people would just pick on me for no reason. Granted I am weird and quiet, but I never did anything to them to prompt such flare of childish emotions. The girls were like catty bitches who could smell the fear off of me. I didn't know how to respond to it. I just took it all in. But now every time I experience some sort of prejudice against me, I just forgive them cause they're White. I forgive the circumstances because they're White. They're all already being punished today, so I thought I'd take it easy on them. But see THAT makes me uncomfortable, because I am fighting for equality, I am fighting for diversity, and I will make a difference. I look back at my bullies and their community college/substance addiction/early motherhood/stuck in that small town life. I hate myself for loving that, since life is so hard, but I guess that's what I do when I run into 'emotional' points in my life.
My life is ran with as much fear as it is with as much courage. I try to let courage wins but sometimes the White People Anxiety is too real. I'm not against White people at all, it was just one of those wrong place, bad time kind of moment.
"It (Doesn't) Go Down In My Insta"
Hello again my beautiful friends. Before we begin on this new chapter I want to re-iterate the point of these blogs. It's not a cry for help, it's not to bring attention to myself, it's about sharing my experiences as a plain Jane living in Los Angeles. Take from it what you will, but I'm sharing my stories simply because I'm a storyteller eager to share the voice of the unheard.
Social media has become a platform for millions of people across the world to have a voice. It is a marketing platform that's very useful, but also very toxic. It's become a medium that allows literally anyone in the world to say whatever it is they're thinking of, (ahem like me). Social media has given us a bad case of the FOMO (fear of missing out). I don't need to give you the full breakdown on how social media has impacted our daily lives, but as a living millennial who tries to make her life look great, I've realized something very dreadful (well not like super dreadful but kinda sad). In comparison to the 'cool kid's' Instagram, mine is very different. It's not as artistic or poetic or glamorous, and I think that's the reason why I'm not more included in other accounts.
I like feeling pretty, but I don't like all the effort that goes into it. No matter who you are or what your beliefs are, a compliment is always good for the soul. However, I become more aware and self-conscious whenever I'm not included in a picture or in a snapchat. Think about it, what do you focus on when you take these kinds of photos/videos? For me, it's about the audience, whether it's genuinely sharing my experience or just trying to show my mildly exciting day. And I understand it's the same for everyone. They're marketing whatever it is they're marketing. I just have a bad case of FOMO. Call me crazy but it adds onto the feeling invisible issue.
I used to think that if I could have any super power in the world it would be to be invisible. But when I found out that I didn't need a magic cloak to be invisible, I realized it's so damn lonely and not that exciting. I guess for anyone out there who's feeling the same tragic feels I do, well then put a little more effort, find your light, smize and take your pictures loud and proud. There's no point in feeling sorry for ourselves because if you dwell on nothing, nothing will happen. Ya feel me?
Alright beauties keep your head held high and your spirits strong.
Until next time,
Before I start journaling my experience as what is deemed a "plain Jane," I would like to admit something. I know that I am beautiful, and I know that my flaws are only flaws because society says so. I know that I have health flaws and I know that you may be worried about my state of mind, but I'm only really sharing this because there aren't enough articles out there from the "ugly" girl's perspective. ***
I walk into a comedy club and I'm nervous as hell, I've never done stand up for a big-ish crowd before. It must have been silly of me to think so, but I thought the hosts at the comedy club would have been better at showing me what to do upon my arrival. One of the girls who was bored and standing by the door decided to show me where the green room was. After walking through the kitchen and the haunted halls of the backstage area, I was a little nervous to be left alone in the green room, which was actually green by the way. We speak a little here and there until she gets bored again and leaves me completely alone. I look at the monitor, which shows the stand up currently performing on stage. I hear my heart beat louder and faster. I start to play with my phone and turn to social media for distraction, maybe even a little attention. I snapchat that I am frightnened. Why am I here trying to be funny?!
Right then a not-so-average girl walks in and joins me in the waiting room. She's real pretty, but young so she's still got time to figure out how to put herself together "properly." Let's call her Sally because I forgot her real name. Sally sits across from me and we briefly do a whole intro and covered the "where-are-you-from" questions. The third comic walks in, James. He's kind of awkward, but his eyes light up when he starts talking to Sally. He sees me and he looks almost frightened with an expression that says "oh no." I don't know why but men look at me like that all the time. Are they scared? Am I horrifying to look at? Or do they feel obligated to talk to the sad looking girl???
Then after little to no talking the MC, Sharon, walks in. She takes a gander at the room and cracks a couple jokes before sitting down. Just to paint the picture a little more, I'm sitting on a large couch, Sally is sitting on a smaller couch across the way and James is sitting in the corner all alone. Sharon decides to wobble over next to Sally instead of sitting next to me. She may have a drinking problem. Or well, she could be just drunk but I mean she's drinking on a Tuesday night, MC'ng a show at a comedy club in Burbank, little money, doing stand up etc. etc. HENCE maybe a drinking problem. I sort of like her though, she's got spunk and she knows what it's like to suffer.
Anyway back on track. The headliner of the night decide to grace us with his presence. I'm going to call him Dick. Dick walks in looking fresh and clean and proper. But he was also a straight up douche bag. I mean he's got a right to be right? He's HEADLINING a show, he's big fucking deal. He continues to sit next to Sally ask her the who, what, where, when, why questions and completely ignore everyone else. Sally manages to bring me up and talk about how this is my first time doing stand up, but all he did was look me up and down, nodded and moved on. I can't help but feel a little hurt at this point because there are four people in this tiny room and not one person wanted to sit next to me. I felt fat and ugly, and for certain I know that I am indeed fat. I felt even more fat because a) no one felt like they could fit and sit next to me (which wasn't true I know) b) I'm probably too ugly to sit next to.
Finally the last comic, Tim, comes in and introduces himself. He looked so disappointed because he had no choice but to sit next to me! I felt kinda bad too because no one wanted to do it in that room, but he had to. I mean sure this experience adds character and what not but I felt pretty empty at that point. Sure I was able to live tweet my sad experience to my 120 followers but even that proves I'm kinda 'sad.' As the show started people seemed to care less and continued to talk. It felt like I was the only one who actually cared this was going on. I had to leave the room, ask the servers in the kitchen about where to go, and finally went out and performed.
I think the most ironic thing about this experience was that I had a bit in my routine about me being the invisible girl. I didn't expect to experience it right before going on stage.
Until next time,
Full Disclosure: I've recently come upon a journal from a man named Peter, a stage manager for theater. The following is written by Peter for Peter. Enjoy.
It's great seeing everyone back from Thanksgiving. Everyone seems to be in a chipper mood even though the last rehearsal left the lead actor, Shane, in a splint because the lead actress, Bianca, threw a temper tantrum. I love the theater but boy do I hate actors. If I were able to have the power or courage to talk to them ass bags and say exactly what I was thinking I'd give them a piece of my mind. For example, why do you think you're the most important thing in the world? Why do you think you're the most important aspect of this production? Why don't you respect people who make this production possible? Alas, Bianca pushed our director, Jim, to the limit and I can do nothing but feel bad for the guy. I feel bad for directors, I can't hate them because for some reason they're stuck being the most important person on a production. They have the most to lose, and most times they have little control over when they get to direct and what they get to direct. In a town filled with amateurs trying to be somebody's I'm just glad I didn't catch the bug and am content stage managing.
Anyway where was I? Oh yeah, so we're gearing up for tech and everyone is surprisingly calm right now which is great for when things get intense later. I'm right where I'm comfortable, in a small and cold and dark booth. Most people probably hate being in small, enclosed, dark spaces but it's actually kind of a turn on for me. I've never really thought about this but I go through such mixture of emotions when I'm up here. First, I get horny, then I get gassy like mad gassy, then bored. But all while I go through those emotions I'm feeling the very panic that this show may blow up and not happen. Anyway Jim's on his way up here, catch you on the flip side while I air out the room. Don't want it to be smelly.
I hate flowers because they end up dying. It's like being burdened with another living object, which you have to take care of but will eventually die. If you think about it flowers are already half-dead anyway. You receive a half-dead object, and put it up for display. Humans are savages. Anyway, I don't really know where I've been but I feel like I've been hiding lately. I haven't had a muse in over a year and I'm forgetting what it's like to be inspired. The only kind of inspiration I'm feeling is one from my anxieties. I look at love and think nothing, I go to bed at night and think of no one. I have grand ideas, but I go about them mindlessly.
They say love comes when you least expect it, and this time it hit me like a cliche. I didn't really know this would happen, but it did. Well, this isn't really love, but you inspired me enough to write about you. I listen to people talk and all I hear is nothingness, sadness and loneliness. But when you started talking, my heart started fluttering, I couldn't stop myself from smiling even though you looked stressed. I don't know if we would work out at all, even if you did like me back. I don't know much of anything, just that your smile melts away my anxiety. Just like the rest of my love stories, this one ends up happily never after, but that's okay for now, at least the thought of you brings me back to a place where I didn't think I belonged to anymore.
Is this too much for people to read? Would they care? I don't know, I don't care. I want you, I think. I want to hold your hand and kiss your cheek.
And see you smile.
[Insert a Shakespeare sonnet here]
some cheesy bitch
I invite you to do something with me. I need you to take a moment and just try and clear your mind. Do it before you keep reading...
Now think of a person that's very dear to your heart. Could be a family member, a significant other, a co-worker, it doesn't matter. It could also be someone who you met on the street and made a small but good impact on your day.
Think about a memory with this person.
Now imagine waking up one day and finding out that person is dead. Not just dead, but murdered. Not just murdered by a bad person, but by terrorists. Now what's your first instinct?
Your world is falling apart, you're angry, you're drained, you keep replaying the events in your head. How could it have happened? How can I reverse the tragedy?
There are people being murdered by terrorist every day, and people's loved ones are dying. But we are more focused on ourselves and on criticizing each other for not doing "enough." What is enough? What are we really doing? Does donating $5 or praying make one person better than the other? I don't believe there is a difference. I think the key difference is that in that moment of helping others we finally aren't thinking of ourselves. If we manage to donate time, money, clothes, love--without thinking of how good we are for doing it, then we've done the job. Even if YOU take a few minutes out of your day and look at the news, CNN, read an article, take a minute and just pray, or hope and/or ask for peace. I'm not trying to make you do anything you don't want to do, I just think there are so many ways to help, it's as simple as: paying attention.
The problem with terror is too big and it's not one person's job to fix it. It's a job for all of us to come together and start focusing on others and start doing things for the good of others. I don't expect instant change or instant solutions because society will never be perfect. I just hope that those people, those people that kill and terrorize, I hope they don't ever experience the pain they've put upon on so many others. There's no worst feeling in the world than losing the people you love, because in the short amount of time we have on this Earth, the only thing we really have is love.
I write, you read, we friends.