Divided and Conquered

They told me I had to leave him behind. They told me I couldn't bring him with me. I didn't care. I brought him with me anyway.

He lived in my closet; I fed him secretly. At first, he only came out at night; almost every night he would work his magic, do his thing, just like he used to in the glory days. But as the days wore on, the days got busier and the nights grew colder. Things got more complicated and he wasn't able to go out as often. Days, weeks, months went by without him working, practicing, performing. He grew sluggish, unresponsive, weak. They chained him to a chair, made him sit behind a desk and told him to study, learn, grow up, be responsible, make decisions. He stopped going out altogether.

When I brought him back, he was changed. Different. The things he used to do that were second nature before felt strange and foreign to him. He felt awkward and out of place in the space he used to call home. He wasn’t the same. He was worthless. I considered abandoning him, I told him to give up; it wasn’t worth it anymore. He had had a good run but maybe now it was time to call it quits. I argued and fought with him. I gave him until the end of summer to retire, to forget the dream, to look in the mirror and come back to reality.

It was that time. Summer was over. They told me I had to leave him behind. I considered it. And then I smuggled him with me again.

This time he was bolder, showing himself during the day. He was still weak and out of practice, but he was determined to regain what he had lost. In one week, he had made good progress. And then injury.

He was devastated. I had given him a second chance, a chance to prove himself and regain my trust, and the worst had happened. He could not go on. He had to stop, recover, start over. I shoved him back into the closet, angry and upset. Every week I would check on him to see if he was ready to return. Every week the answer was the same. He remained in the closet.

I went home to see my family. I brought him with me. Everyone was happy to see him, but he was only a shadow of his former self, it was plain to see. Nothing was the same.

I was leaving home again. They told me I had to leave him behind. So I did.

Broken Mirrors

Cold, white, plastic. Rosy cheeks, a painted smile on the lips, two holes for the eyes. The mask lay on the bed. He eyed it cautiously, not wanting to make prolonged eye contact with the endless darkness in its eyes, but he knew would have to face the music. What if he didn't wear it this time? Unthinkable at first. He had worn it for so long he had forgotten would it was like to be bare-faced in public. But the more he thought about it, the more it became a possibility. A small seed of hope grew into a monster that he could not shake.

Could he do it? Was he willing to step outside and face the mob without protection? Was he really  ready to brave the harsh world outside with the angry scars that distorted his face?

Scars.

It hurt to think about it. The burn marks on his face still hurt, after all these years. He reached up to touch his face and then thought better of it. He knew what they looked like. He had tried to forget many times. The mirror that used to hang on the wall now lay smashed and shattered on the floor for a reason.

School.
Crowded halls, noisy, public, exposed. Surrounded and alone. The cold plastic chaffed his wounds. He tried to make his voice sound cheery to match the painted smile that covered his lips. Short and brief in all he said, afraid if he spoke too much, his plastic falsity would become apparent. Eyes on the floor, avoiding conversation and interaction at all costs, slipping away as soon as the introductory small-talk had been exhausted.
"Hey bro, how you doin'?"
"I'm good."
"You sure? How are things?"

Smile, eyes up, fight the tears, don't let your voice break. "Everything's good."

Drained and exhausted but he knew the end of the day brought a false hope. Home was no better.

The mirror still lay in pieces on the floor. Ten million shards of glass and tears. The countless pieces scattered across floor. Each one a memory. Each one a fault. Each one a monster. Pain, fears, nightmares; they all came flooding back. His wounds burned as the tears began to flow. Fight the tears. Stop it before it erupts. Cover your mouth. Calm down, relax, breathe; drown them quickly, quickly. Recover. Deep breath.

He had put it off as long as he could but it was time to leave. The mask lay on the bed. The bus was pulling up outside. With trembling hands, he donned the smile. He knew why he had to wear the mask.

"I'd seen that look on your face before. It's the same one I taught myself.. I figured it out too late. You gotta learn to hide the pain, and practice smiling in the mirror. It's like putting on a mask."

Purpose

"I hold my words deep within, keeping them hidden in darkness, away from the light, in the hopes that they will ferment in my mind; that they would begin to brew and mature, transforming themselves into something entirely different than I had originally thought; something smooth, sweet and pleasant; or maybe something strong, burning and distinct; splashing against the vast, white fields of the blank page, to be consumed and digested by all who read the words, in the hope that those words would paint a picture in their minds, and plant a seed of action in their hearts."

Turkey Day or Giving Thanks?

Thanksgiving has yet again come and gone. Four days ago, (as I write this) millions of families gathered together on Thursday evening to enjoy each others company (hopefully), eat too much turkey (probably) and other wonderful foods, and watch multiple football games.

I enjoy Thanksgiving; it’s one of the few times a year that my entire family gets together under one roof and the only time when it’s perfectly normal and socially acceptable to eat food like there’s no tomorrow. I love going to Grandma’s house and chilling with my extended family, it’s awesome. I’ve learned to appreciate it more in that last couple of years now that my grandparents are beginning to dwindle in health and in number, and because I get to travel home from school after being away for three months. I am very thankful for the opportunity to celebrate Thanksgiving with my family.

That being said, there are several things that I dislike about this particular holiday (here comes the rant). I hate how Thanksgiving is just not that memorable anymore. The day goes by very quickly, mostly because the day is spent preparing food, eating way too much, watching football and then sleeping off the inevitable food-coma that ensues. “Don’t forget to eat dinner early because Black Friday deals at Wal-Mart starts at 7pm.” Sleep in, catch the end of the Macy's parade, eat a lot, and watch TV. Thanksgivings tend to blur together for me. I couldn’t tell you what made last year’s turkey day different from this year’s (except that a certain cousin was home from Boston last year) because they’re all the same. I wish Thanksgiving was a unique event but it’s really not. The exact same thing happens every year and I find myself taking this holiday for granted.

You remember the circumstances of the original Thanksgiving right? Yeah, yeah, you say, we all learned about that in the fourth grade. Good, I’m not going to recount that history lesson again. I feel that Thanksgiving has fallen very far from what it was originally intended to be, like so many other things in this American culture. Thanksgiving today is simply another stepping stone in the calendar to get to Christmas and the official start of the holiday shopping season. Even then, Christmas shopping is starting earlier and earlier every year; stores are putting up decorations the day after Halloween and radio stations are playing Christmas music weeks before Thanksgiving in an attempt to prepare people for the holidays sooner and elongate the shopping season.

Just like every other major holiday, Thanksgiving has been commercialized so much so that it no longer carries the value that it used to. Thanksgiving is no longer about family or being together or truly being thankful for the ones we loves and the things we have. It's an excuse to watch football, over-eat, and then shop all night into the morning and the rest of the following day. I don't know what your particular family does for Thanksgiving; maybe you guys do it different. But for me and other people I know, this is most definitely the case. Thanksgiving is now acceptable gluttony (don't even get me started on the atrocities of Black Friday). I too am guilty of this sin. We all are.

"But Thanksgiving is more than eating, Chuck. You heard what Linus was saying out there. Those early Pilgrims were thankful for what had happened to them, and we should be thankful, too. We should just be thankful for being together. I think that's what they mean by 'Thanksgiving,' Charlie Brown."

Nothing like some Charlie Brown to remind us of the real reason for the season.

Introduction

Brains on the Page.

Pink flesh smashed and splattered across white pieces of paper may come to mind. Not quite? Almost. This blog will essentially be an expression of my thoughts and my feelings. Don't worry, it won't be a "Dear Diary" type of thing; I'll try to make it a bit more interesting than that. This is basically an experiment for me (not just because I'm required to do this for a class); I want to experiment with several styles of writing, I want to become a better writer, starting with the most basic subject: my own thoughts. My brains is what is going to be splattered across the white pages of this blog for you, the reader, to dissect and enjoy (I remember dissecting brains in high school; that was fairly gross and somewhat monotonous, but this will not be that way I promise). 

Thanks for coming,

Jordan