Christmas

When you see or hear the word "Christmas", what do you imagine? What do you think of? Do you see Santa Claus with his gifts, elves, sleigh and reindeer? Do you see a baby Jesus with a halo, lying in a box, with images of his parents around and animals? Do you think of the snow, either with dread and disgust or with hope and joy? Family gatherings and repairing friendships? Gifts under a tree? A shopping mall crowded with people, trying to fulfill some cultural rule of gift-giving?

Many people know that Christmas is not the actual date of Jesus birth. Many know that the celebration was moved to coincide with a festival of life in death, life in winter. It's funny, society has been trying to turn Christmas into a gift-giving celebration where everybody spends lots of money. So many people don't want to bother with God, but they celebrate Christmas. The origin of the word isn't hard to find. Christ-mas. Christ Mass. Looks rather Christian to me, at the very least it's Catholic.

A friend of mine had her Facebook status saying she wanted Christmas to be here so she could get the phone her parents had bought for her. If you know what the gift is, does it really count as a gift anymore? It's more of a obstacle to be removed. Now the dinners and parties become a hindrance of something you want. You finally are handed the box, and instead of excitement, you feel impatience. You get the phone out of the packaging, set everything up, all the Facebook and twitter and such, while mumbling a few pleasantries, and then start texting your friends and asking for numbers and everything. You ignore the people who bought it for you, and move on.

I know that not everyone does this. I just think that our generation has enough trouble with impatience. And letting someone know what their gift is, doesn't help. I know some kids will be like this whether the know what the gift is or not, but it is still ridiculous and rude.

Why do children behave this way? It's like the lawsuit that's come up against McDonald's. Parents are suing them for including a toy with every Happy Meal, when the Happy Meals are so unhealthy. Parents are saying that they are forced to buy the meals for their children because the children continue to demand the toys.

Why do the parents find it so difficult to say no? They know they will be throwing the toy out in a matter of days in any case. Why not buy their children something healthier, and tell them they can't have that toy? I know that my argument might carry more weight if I had children of my own, but I do not believe it is that difficult to refuse a child something. If you simply give the child everything they ask for, you either have issues with refusing anyone, or you do not pay enough attention to your child to care.

However, despite all the mess that people have created, the younger generations are breaking through the landslide of B.S. and are learning what Christmas is supposed to be about. How to spend their Christmas in a way that leaves them feeling better about themselves and others. They volunteer with food drives, shelters, gift drives, clothing drives. Some help out with Out of the Cold. Other's try Pay it Forward. Some go and shovel a neighbor's driveway. A small gesture, and many of their neighbors could have shovelled their own driveway, but it makes them feel better about themselves and everyone else feels better too. Their neighbor feels grateful that they don't have to do it, the youth next door saved them time. The neighbor is in a better mood and will therefore treat others better. It's an amazing chain effect.

So many people worry about expensive gifts. They don't have to be expensive. If the person you are giving the gift to worries that you will give them a cheap gift, I think they need to be reminded why you are giving them a gift. A gift is a sign of friendship. It's a way to make up after an argument or disagreement. It's a way to let someone know you care and are there to be friends with them.

If you want to make a gift extra special, make it yourself. You want to give someone a necklace with a fancy symbol on it? Then buy the chain, and use wire or pilecleaner or craftpaper to build whatever you want to decorate the necklace with. If you don't want to make something, then find a gift that is special in some way. Something that reminds you both of a favourite joke, maybe a gift that has images from a vacation you took together. Think outside the box you might get from the toy store.

We all have seen the movies that retell the story and meaning of Christmas. We all have seen the pagents, plays and skits that tell us of children and old men who learn the meaning of Christmas. If you are not sure about the meaning of Christmas, then set some time aside to talk with a friend or two and talk about what it might be. Debate it. Once you figure out what you believe the true meaning of Christmas is, I would say act on it.

I wish everyone safe travels in these days of celebration. God bless you and yours, and have a Merry Christmas!

Samuel Tyler

Why does it rain?

Everyone wants to have a happy ending for their life. Everyone wants to live their days out in peace and love, in Eden. In Utopia.

I live in Canada. Much like the United States, Canada is seen to be a land of freedom and peace. For those who come from the corners of the world, burned and scarred by the wars, famine, disasters, suffering and misery, Canada is a utopia. It is a peaceful place for refugees to raise their families safely. Without fear of them going through what they went through. A place for them to make a life for themselves, to be successful.

Even in Canada, there are tears. Even in this Utopia in the North, strong and free, rain still falls. People still die. Hearts are still broken. Love is still hard to find.

Why do we put up with this? We have it in our power to make the world a better place. So many countries look to Canada to lead the rest of the world in the struggle to bring world peace. Organizations, citizens, refugees, and the entire world looks to us for an example. They are angry, disappointed that Canada is doing nothing. Why? Are we not one of the safest countries? Do we not have enough food to feed all the hungry in Africa? Do we not have shelter and safety from the storms that reach our shores?

This utopia, this Canada we live in, is broken. We try to portray this image, this aura of safety. But we are as hurting as the rest of you. We might not have child soldiers, but our children are just as scarred by divorce, by inter-marital fighting. We still have hungry, sick, dying, drunks, homeless, drug addicts. We are no better than the rest of the world. We have more churches than the Vatican has scandal rumours. Yet the faith in any god, in anything, is nigh none-existent. We don't believe in Jesus, Buddha, Yahweh, the Hindu pantheon, the Aesir, the Olympians, the Titans, not even money, power, family, love.

Canada may have all the material gain that the world wishes for, but our souls, minds and hearts are as empty as so many of the stomachs of children in India, China, Indonesia, Africa, Asia. We are as sickened by the rot as the people of New Orleans were by the floods, as were the people of Haiti.

Like hollow logs, we appear solid, and as long as you don't push to hard, that illusion will hold. The moment you lean on it, it splinters and disintegrates beneath your fingers. Our sorrow, our depression, our weakness is no less then your own. Like so many, we have closed up our hearts, we have set boundaries. And now we are drowning behind the walls of our hearts. We are killing ourselves in the most painful manner possible.

Why? Because we have lost hope. We are not told what the ones we love think of us. A girl will not tell a guy she loves him. Nor will a guy say to a girl that he wants to spend his life with her. He will not say that when he is with her, he feels like a child again. He feels that nothing will harm either of you. If something tries, he has faith that you will weather the storm. He will not tell her how special he feels that she notices him. Guys are supposed to be heartless, tough, logical and unwise beings. We aren't supposed to have feelings, we aren't supposed to feel like children. We aren't supposed to have faith in anything other than our physical strength. We are not supposed to be human.

Girls are supposed to be sexually active. To sleep with many guys, and cause many heartbreaks. They must be thin, and expensively dressed. They must act masculine and feminine at the same time in order to make women equal to men.

Why do we torture ourselves so? Why must tears fall so plentily that the rivers swell and flood our lives, and wash away the flimsy foundations we had?

"Why does it rain, rain, rain down on Utopia?" (Within Temptation, 'Utopia') Why does it hurt so?

I remember

Lest we forget. I remember. God bless. These words and ones like them cover my Facebook home page. During the ceremony at my school, the equipment didn't work correctly, yet no one laughed, not a sound. During the moment of silence, not one moved. A pin drop? You could hear a feather hitting the floor.

Not many people show their support of the Canadian military. Not many people scan the headlines every day, wondering what is happening in Afghanistan. Not many people listen intently in their history class, to better understand and to better learn about those Canadians who died. Not many do any of this.

Yet on one day of the year, we stand, and we spend a moment, a minute, in silence. Why? Because someone died for us. We endure the ache in our knee, the itch on our head, and we stand to remember. We stand, not proud, but humbled, by the undeniable fact that men and women have given up everything that they could have had, and went to give us the chance.

Some people don't agree with what they fought for. Some people believe they died fighting the inevitable, dying in vain. That doesn't matter. Why should it? Why should we worry about whether we believe in freedom, or control? They died for us. Anyone can go out and kill another human being. That's not hard. You can do it up close, or from a distance. It takes true courage, a strength undeniable, to stand in front of someone else, and take the bullet for them.

One of my favourite lines is this: "If you don't stand behind our troops, feel free to stand in front of them." If you have no respect for those that choose to give their life for you, you are a person, that I am afraid this world will see too many of. But if you ask the veterans, those who survived the wars, the battles, then nightmare of combat, they won't force you to respect the dead. They've done their part, and they are secure in the knowledge that without their brothers and sisters, you would not be standing in front of them, telling them you have no respect for rotting flesh.

They won't hit you. They don't need to. What they do is their job, their calling.

I read a story once, where a man is having Christmas with his family. He goes to place a bag of trash outside, and he sees a soldier, in full combat gear, standing just outside the front door. The soldier is facing away from the house, hands ready on his weapon. It being the middle of winter, the snow is falling, gently. A perfect Christmas. And this soldier is standing on the man's lawn. In the cold, blowing wind. The man asks the soldier, "Do you want to come inside? It's warmer here." The soldier shakes his head. "Go enjoy your Christmas with your family." The man stares at the soldier, then glances back inside. "Why are you out here? Why stand in the blowing cold, when you could be at home with your family?" A small smile appears on the soldier's face, "My family understands. I'm standing here, enduring everything the world is throwing at me, so that you, and your family, can enjoy your Christmas, without fear, or worry. My brethren and I chose to keep watch, against all that will try to harm you, so that you can all live free, so that you can choose how you want to live your life." The man, bows his head, awed and humbled by the weight behind the soldier's words. He looks at the soldier, opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. All he can manage is a quiet and heart-felt "Thank you." Then he goes back inside, and he enjoys his time with his family to the fullest, to honour the young soldier watching over him.

Soldiers choose to live a harsh life. They go through it, because they don't want you, your children, your friends and family, anyone else, to go through it. They travel around the world, helping others, setting the example. They see the children in Rwanda, the women in Afghanistan, the men in Iraq, and they remember why they chose to do this. Why they chose to spend time away from their families. They see the hurt, the suffering, and they try, in any way possible, to lighten the load. They do what they can, of their own free will, to make life easier for everyone else.

They don't ask for your respect. They won't ask for you to take time out of your day to remember them and those before. They don't have to. They know that others will follow, others will speak for them, because those others realize what the soldiers are doing for them. What they give up, what they offer to us.

Many people don't believe in God. They don't believe in Jesus. They don't believe that some one who's life is perfect in every way would ever step down and take the bullet. Some soldiers don't believe in God either. But believe in God or not, they are living examples of the teachings Christ and so many others left behind.

On the road to peace, there will be suffering. And until every person remembers the cost of war, there will continue to be suffering, and death. Every time someone forgets the price tag that comes from pride, theft, murder; there will be war, and death, and suffering. If every person on this planet knew the exact cost that soldiers pay for us, then war would end. Because no human being chooses that path, that cost, that life, unless they love those they protect. Deeply, intimately, and eternally.

The ultimate sign of love and devotion, is to lay your life down for another's. This, Jesus taught. This, soldiers teach. I pray to God that we will never forget this. If the day ever comes that all of human-kind forgets what those people paid, then we should all die in the most horrible way possible. Nothing else would be fair. These people gave up everything in their life, they put it all on the line, to give us the chance to make our own choices. To choose to learn, speak, read, drink, run, travel, worship, love.

Lest we forget. God bless the souls of the fallen. Hail the victorious dead. Respect those who gave up everything, for you. They died so that we may live free. They are the ultimate example of loving another. I ask that you do not disrespect them, from the bottom of my heart, I ask this of each and every one of you reading this.

To those of you who read this, and are one of those who fight for us, I thank you. From all of us Canadians, thank you. For everything you have done, and will do. Remind us why we remember.

Lest we forget.

Samuel Tyler Lubberts

My Uncle, the phoenix.

I really like my Uncle Peter. He's always been really friendly and cheerful. He was always there when I was a child, and he loomed over me in the comforting way that Uncles do. I'm the oldest of my brothers, but the child part of me knows that he'll always keep an eye on me. He's a great person. He always helpful and tried hard to be polite and kind to everyone. He knew where he stood and was certain of his beliefs. He always seemed to have this inner energy to him that lit up the air around him.

Sometimes he appeared very stern, but I knew that behind the determined stare was a powerful energy and spirit. He might scold me or my brothers for something we did wrong, but he always kept an eye out for us. I could have spat in the Devil's face, and felt safe knowing my uncle would have glared Satan down if he so much as twitched.

He's been through a lot, my uncle. He's always seemed to have a burden on his shoulders since I was old enough to sit with my dad and his brothers and listen to them talk. As long as I can remember, he's struggled with his past, trying to keep his head up and keep moving. Every now and again, I'd hear from my dad that Uncle Peter had disappeared again. He'd not answer his phone or email for a month or more and would disappear from our lives for a while. I remember praying for him, hoping he'd be ok and that he would come back safe. Then, one day, my dad would mention that my uncle had shown up and was looking for work. I'd feel like a great weight had been moved from me. Even now, if I talk to him or hear something about him I'll feel really proud that he's my uncle and I'll go through the day with my head high.

My Uncle, the phoenix. He might burn out from time to time, but each time he'll rise and blaze a trail in triumph again. He's a great man, and I'm proud to know he's my uncle. He's a guardian and a strong point, and I believe his memory will keep me going whenever I feel down. He's my inspiration and my hero.

Love you Uncle Peter! You're the best!

Broken Vessel

To fix a problem, step back from it.

Stand back, way back, and look at the whole thing.

Figure it out, that's what you do.

Solve the puzzle, determine the solution and act on it.

You're good with puzzles, you've helped so many.

Everybody moves on, everybody gets better.

You will find a way to fix it, you love to fix things.

How do you fix this problem?

How can you make the blind see?

The cripple can't walk, nor the lame dance.

Tears flow ever down, pain bleeds and ruins it all.

Society can't tell you how to heal. The Devil doesn't know love.

When you bleed, you're the only one who can heal it.

Others can try, but until you open the door they can't get it.

Can't force the door, some part has to give.

Why won't it move?

Tired, sick. Tears mingle with blood. Broken clay can't be remade.

Throw it away, use fresh clay. This pain is more than I can bear.

This piece of heaven slipping away, my heart torn from my soul.

I just want to hold her and be her world. But my tears mask the way.

I can't live with this anymore, but I can't find the door.

I'm Fool's Gold. Heroes turn their back on me.

The door is blocked form the other side. The cup and key are no use.

This broken vessel can't help me, I need new hope.

Why does this haunt me? Why can't I move on and live with others?

My wings are trimmed, and no angel guides my path.

I am no hero. I try to repair damage I've done, but burnt bridges don't love.

One after another, their backs are turned. Words said over cold shoulders mean little.

Ancient wisdom tries to mend me, fix me, rebuild me whole.

Can't succeed, won't succeed. I simply don't know.

Temper down, kind words and caring. I've always tried thus.

This empty husk, this shell of echoes hold no life I can see.

How do you mend a broken vessel? How can the maker see?

Why would he face this broken pottery? Just toss it out and begin anew.

Throw the ruin in the flames and be done with it, broken vessels don't mend.

Should I cut off my right hand or left? Does it matter? Just throw it all away.

No fear, just sorrow and pain and lonliness. A broken vessel, abandoned by all.

I'm standing all alone.

Lost on my own.

Knowing not which way to go,

Nor which thought is right.



I don't know who you are.

Maybe one of those I've scarred.

I'm sorry love,

I didn't mean to hurt you so.



Mayhaps I don't know you yet.

However I will not bet,

That I will find you

No matter what.



I've done so many hurtful things.

I have little self-esteem.

I try to be proud, not to be loud,

But how can the proud be humble?


I've lost a dear brother.

And then I gained another.

Is one more dear?

No, this I don't fear.


Has my god forsaken me?

I sorely wish I could tell.

Perhaps by Grace then,

I wouldn't so fear Hell.


Every time I search for you,

I lose a piece of myself.

I fear that if I find you,

I'll be too torn to tell.


I see her face everywhere I go.

Every time I look, my heart hurts so.

Is she you? How can I know?

Her face, her friendship lays me low.


She will not face me, I made her bleed.

She scorns me, shuns me for the deed.

Her hurting tears me, cuts me so.

Her crying, her bleeding, they hurt me so.


I feel so weak, so drained of will.

Something is missing. I know that.

Do I lack purpose? Cause? Drive?

What is not here? What do I need?


I sleep soundly night after night.

Yet something still drags at me.

I feel so tired though I sleep more than most.

This heaviness confuses me, my mind in a fog.


I fear her face, it follows me.

I care so deeply for her.

But everytime I see her face,

My heart quails deep within me.


My beautiful friend, dearest friend.

How can this happen to me?

What do I feel that scares me so?

Oh, how I wish to know.


I feel so lost, alone and afriad.

I don't want pity, I feel so ashamed.

Where will it end? Will it ever be right?

Jesus, dear Jesus! Lend me your light!

Here's the last journals from our Europe trip. I know they're not the best, that there's not literary purpose, and that there's errors and gaps. I don't really care about that. The reason I wrote the journals was to chronicle what I went through and to record my thoughts on events that happened while we were in Europe. In any case, here's journals 16 on. I hope you enjoy reading them.

God Bless.

Journal 15

Having so much fun over here! We went into Amsterdam today and spent most of it wandering around. I bought a Netherlands flag, but only a small one because I didn't have the 40 some euros for the full size. We wandered past some sketchy shops, the t-shirts were hilarious. Take the McDonalds golden 'm' and turn it into a pair of spread legs and add "I'm loving it." Just ridiculous. Then there was "Good boys go to heaven, bad girls go to Amsterdam." These people, I tell you. We had lunch at an American style restaurant, and took a boat tour of the canals. I would highly recommend one to any who want to visit Amsterdam. You see a lot and learn some interesting stuff too. As we headed back to the train station, we passed through part of the Red Light District. It was getting dark, so some places were open for business. It was insane the stuff you could see and purchase there. Apparently (according to a booklet I was given by a fellow Canadian) the basic package of about 1/2 an hour starts at about 50 euro. I think it contains a few minutes of fore-play along with intercourse, and the condoms are free. Prices go up from there. And the stories I've been told about mirrors and children, were either not true or didn't apply to that neighborhood. Curtis saw everything I did. Anyway, we leave for a different part of the Netherlands tomorrow. I have to remember that Holland is actually a province, not the country. And the Gelderland from the movie "A Knight's Tale" is another province. Pretty sweet!

Journal 14

First night in Holland was pretty good. Uncle Andre and Aunt Denise arrived today, after a little mix up. They came in at one part of the train station, and since they couldn't find me and Dad, they took a taxi to our campsite. Meanwhile, Dad and I are thinking they should have been here by now, so we talked to the people at information and asked them to send a message to the station by the airport and page Uncle Andre and Aunt Denise. Then we were going to take the train to the airport to look for them in case they hadn't gotten any of our messages. Dad and I were outside checking the van for a parking ticket, when Uncle Andre pulls up in a car. Anywho, we got back and everyone was where they were supposed to be. After lunch, Mom and Aunt Denise went grocery shopping, while Dad and my brothers and I went swimming, with Uncle Andre tagging along, though he didn't want to swim, he didn't want to sleep yet. Even though he'd been awake for nearly 24 hours. The pool was warm, something you rarely find back home, though it was fairly shallow. We fooled around for a bit, playing tag and wrestling in the water. There was this one girl who kept making eye contact with me, but I didn't think she spoke English and she seemed young, so I didn't make any advances. A few minutes before we left though, one of my brothers was 'it' and was chasing me so I was dodging underwater and swimming near a couple people. The girl happened to be one of them, and I saw she was doing barrel rolls underwater, so I swam close, but avoided being hit. I managed to dodge my brother, and the girl's sister told her how close she had come to hitting me. This was apparently uproarously funny to them. Anyway, long story short, she and I made some kind of contact, but I don't think I'll ever see her again or that anything will come of it. Not sure where she was from anyway. Uncle Andre and Aunt Denise went to bed early, and Mom quickly followed. The rest of us stayed up and watched District 9, which none of us had seen before. It was a rather graphic movie, but I thought it was really good. Interesting story that I haven't seen or heard too many times before. Some familiar themes though, which helped me relate to the film. Anywho, it is Saturday night, and we leave for another part of the Netherlands on Monday. If anyone reads this, I hope you are having a good season, and God bless you.

Journal Update

I haven't posted my journals in a while. Not every place we stay at has wifi so I have to save the entry on in a Word document and then load it later. I've really enjoyed Europe and for those of you who have me on Facebook or know me personally I will upload the pictures so you can view them, or I can bring my laptop along sometime and show you then. So, here's the link to my journals 4-13. Enjoy reading!

Day 2: Bike tour and a long walk home.

Getting up today was one of those slow, lazy mornings. We had a bike tour booked to go to, but despite the fact that we had an hour to find where-ever it was, we didn't hurry. We were close, but managed to find the place on time. Stacy, our tour guide, ran us through some basic things like staying together and if one gets lost, stay put.

The bike tour was awesome, definatly recommend it to people who want to see a whole lot of Berlin in style. We went from plaza to plaza. Or, platz, as they call them here. We saw the Fathers of Communisim, Humboldt University, and a great number of churches and cathedrals. We saw the zoo, ate excellent food at the zoo's restaurant, and visited Museum Island.

After the bike tour, we walked along some of the route we had biked, looking over things again.
There was one cathedral that I can't remember the name of, but I simply couldn't stop taking pictures of it. We wanted to go in and look around, but 1. We would've had to pay 2. The guy at the desk only spoke German, no English. Honestly, you work aorund tourists and expect to get away without speaking English? 3. Because of 2, we had great difficulty figuring out the price to go in. 4. When we eventually did figure it out, we decided it was too late and moved on. We saw lots and lots of carvings. You simply don't see them at home, it's so dull. We went to the Memorial for the Murdered European Jews. It looks really dull at first, but when you think about it, it seems to fit. The museum under the memorial was a sobering visit. I'm certain they desgined the entrance to feel like walking into a mausoleum. They had photos of families that had been totally destroyed, bits and pieces of letters from the camps, stories of survivors of the forced labour camps and the "cleansings". Some of the terminology that the Nazi command used is chilling. "Cleansing" has and obvious meaning: kill/wipe out. "Relocating" was used to talk about moving Jewish prisoners from one place to another. Scary, eh?

Day 1: Berlin & Bremen, Germany or Plane, Passport, Scissors

Going to the Toronto airport wasn't so bad, but getting on the plane and finding a seat took a fair amount of effort. The flight was pretty good. Minor turbulence with a side of stomach rolling went well with the meals. The food was suprisingly good, and in the time we flew from Toronto to Amsterdam, I managed to watch Clash of the Titans and Law-Abiding citizen. Two movies I have been meaning to watch for a long time.

Oh, for those of you wondering about the scissor comments between us and Ben, I'll explain. Our brilliant brother apparently forgot to empty his school backpack of school supplies before loading his travelling gear. Result: Toronto's airport security went through his bag until they found the scissors that this witty terrorist had hidden so cunningly inside.

Anywho, we arrived in Amsterdam without many mishaps, and then took a short cityhopper flight to Bremen, where I am writing this journal. We aquired a vehicle after my parents sorted out a misunderstanding where the rental company believed we were showing up on July 4, not July 5. So naturally, they gave the vehivle away and we had to get a different one. Our ride is a cool, shadow blue, VW Caddy Maxi. Small, but nice. Took Dad a few wrong turns to figure out the directions, but we got on our way to Berlin fairly quickly. However, the ride was a nightmare. For some reason, jet lag combined with my difficulty of sleeping during the day to create an irritating conundrum. I would start to fall asleep, but just as I was about to drift off, each time my body would do one of those weird jerky feelings and I would be wrenched back from the gates to Lala Land.

A few breaks later, where we streched and tried to wake ourselves up for the next leg of the journey, we arrived in Berlin. Berlin is awesome. That is the best way to describe this city. It's like walking into America's past and making everybody speak German. The architecture is incredibly similar, as is the art style and the fashion sense. I believe the current style of dress in this area is that of the lower-middle class, tattered clothing and converse. Classy, in it's own sort of way. I know a ocuple of people that would love it here. The restaurant we went to for supper was fantastic, even though the wait time was like emerg back home.

The weather is hot and sticky and muggy, but everybody is friendly and patient with our lack of German speaking skills. Lucky for us someone decided to encourage English as the major business language of the world, so most people in the stores know some, at least enough to understand us and help us out.

I think we only spend another day or so in Berlin. I'm looking forward to the bike tour.

In the Company of Friends or Fools? A Rambling.

It's funny how words can make fools out of the best of people. Usually the one that first pops into people's minds is love, or maybe faith or religion. I discovered another last night: prom. 2010's Elmira District Secondary School graduates got together to celebrate the times they'd shared and the times ahead. Now, I know my fellow graduates and I know that few of us have a stellar reputation. I know I don't. Yet, I was still surprised at some of the things I saw. I've heard that people get drunk at prom, and I've heard about the dancing style that parents get nightmares about.

Well, I learned quickly, through trial and error, how to tell the drunk ones from the ones who are just nuts and having a good time. I also learned not to pay too much attention to couples who were dancing as a couple. I know many people at parties have dates, but when they're going out with their date, or they're one of the people who has a "f*** buddy"-for lack of a better term-and is planning on getting laid, you learn quickly to avert your eyes. Unless you happen to have arranged that particular couple, like many matchmaking ladies have done, or you're one of those people who get your kicks watching others make out or dry hump each other. The former, are ok. It's fine to be proud of yourself and your friends. The latter, I'm sorry, that's just weird.

Now, I'm not much of a dancer. In fact, the only time I've actually tried dancing was at prom. Lucky for me, I've been keeping my eyes open and have a bit of an idea of what I do and don't want to do when dancing. So I didn't make as much of a fool of myself as I expected. But then again, if my amateur guess is anything to go by, not many people there have danced more often than I have.

So, we have people drunk, others who may as well be in the bedroom, and those who don't know how to dance, doing their best to learn fast. Now, Elmira isn't the most sensible place ever, but we're all rather reserved. This being so, why are so many people acting so crazy?

My guess? The graduates of EDSS have been pushing themselves hard with courses since grade 10, and have always been striving to fit in to a clique, a club that expresses who they want to be. And on July 29, 2010 that group was straight out of Rock and Roll history.

For today's kids, the Rock and Roll era appears to be one of music, freedom of speech and opinion, and sex. Well, with Rock and Roll being this year's theme, that image seemed to fit. The music wasn't quite what your parents would tell you they grew up with, but it was certainly out there. The conversation was free and flowing, with a few friendly drunks to keep people talking and offer casual chatter. Standing with the different groups of teens, it wasn't hard to pick up opinions on music, class, university and college options, views on friends, couples and dancing styles. Tell you the truth, it was rather hilarious to listen to. As for the sex...well, it wasn't hard to find. If about three or more songs in a row had a steady, hard beat, then you could easily find couples glued together in one position or another. Grinding is a common dance move to this generation, and a lot of couples seem to enjoy it. No matter what their upbringing.

Maybe a bunch of people were just stressed out from all the projects and the workload. For others, relationships may have added to the strain, or perhaps the expectations of friends and family were the problem. Whatever the cause, the graduating class found more than enough ways to drop the stress and relax.

Friends, fools, drunks and those who I have never known, good luck with life, and maybe we'll all see each other at the next reunion.

A poem in need of a tune. A mournful dirge.

I don't remember where the idea came from, I just started writing. It might have come from a dream I had, or a conversation with a close friend. Whoever it was, I thank you for the gift that this has become. The poem, or song, I'm not sure which yet, took me a while to write. I wrote the first verse or two one night, the rest I wrote the night I posted this. Not there/ I go is, in my opinion, still a work in progress. If anyone reads it and has an idea for a tune, please comment and let me know. A heads up, as the title of this post suggests, the work is rather mournful, perhaps a dirge of some kind. In any case, enjoy and know that you are reading a piece of my life from this year.

A Single Candle

One small flame burning bright,
Boldly holding off the night.
One solitary beacon, lone and warm,
Bravely holding off the swarm
Of Shadows.

One flickering flame, small and weak,
Buring down, oh so meek.
One tiny glow in a sea of black,
Simply cannot light the track
We walk.

One puny light, not bright
Enough to hold off the night.
One pathetic ghost of flame,
Striving to rid itself of shame
And sorrow.

Still burning. Alone.

Forgiveness

This is something that can be really hard to come by. Some people go their whole lives without getting it. A lot of people want it, others need it and don't get it, and then there's the ones that need it but don't admit to needing it. I've been through each at some point in my life. I've wanted forgiveness for things that I actually didn't need forgiveness for. Right now I'm wishing two people I care about a lot would forgive me for a bunch of mistakes I've made. I've met some people who, to me, need forgiveness. They beat themselves down and treat themselves like trash. Often they don't need another's forgiveness though, they need their own.

A lot of people live by the words "forgive and forget". More people should, it makes living with each other easier. I know some people have trouble forgiving, much less forgetting. If someone wrongs you , you often want to ignore them or get back at them in some way. The problem with that is that you only hurt each other and cause problems. It's not always the case, but some of those people you hear about in the news; the ones who go into schools and shoot students, the ones who take their dad's gun and shoot several people on the street, they often haven't been forgiven. They got into an argument with someone and were hurt and wanted revenge. They got teased by someone who needed to forgive someone themselves. They were rejected, scorned, burned, thrown aside. Sometimes they did over-react, but I think a lot of the time they just needed to forgive and forget.

A friend of mine who I hurt a while ago forgave me recently for what I did. I'm not sure I deserve their forgiveness, but I am grateful. Being ignored by one of your best and closest friends in not something I would recommend. Getting someone to forgive you is one of the hardest things you'll ever do. Often words won't cut it, sometimes you have to wait. I don't know about you, but I hate waiting. Yet I've often been forced to. I realize that talking with someone only makes things worse, and then when I finally settle myself with the idea that I have to wait, I find they usually have forgiven me.

I think the first step to being forgiven is admitting you wronged the other person. This is going to be hard for those who have a large ego and great pride. Keep in mind, you are not admitting this to the other person, you are admitting this to yourself! The second is apologizing to the other person. This is the part where words might help you, but I've found it's best to speak plainly and simply. Admit you were wrong and explain to the person that you still want to be friends and that you are sorry. This is the part I have trouble with. A lot of people often don't believe me when I say I'm sorry. Step three, waiting. Once you've said sorry to the other person, you are stuck waiting for them to forgive you. Sometimes this happens quickly, sometimes not.

Everyone needs forgiveness. If you start being more free with forgiving people who have hurt you, then you're more likely to be forgiven. If someone hurts you or makes you angry, find out why they did it and forgive them. The faster you sort things out between the two of you, the faster you can go back to being friends. Forget how many times you've hurt each other, and work on being good friends.

Random Poetry

I've been composing snatches of poetry every few days. I'll be sitting at home, on the computer, in bed in the evening, listening to the radio, and an idea pops into my head. Sometimes I'll write it down, if I think it's going somewhere. I've had some one-liners leap at me, but I don't usually write them down.

Came up with this one while on Facebook. I think if I get a few more, I'll make a collection of them and put it on here.

This one is called "Falling".

Falling, falling, falling into the dark. It stalks me, it hunts me, it chases me down. Where is the light? Why does it hide? I need a trail, something to follow.

Now, was, later.

At this stage of our lives, we make a decision. We decide who we want to be, what we want to be, what we want to believe, and so on. According to some theories, there are three options for us.

1. We choose another's identity and copy it.

2. We create our own identity.

3. We cannot decide on who we are and end up sliding backwards and end up stuck in a loop until we figure it out.

At the moment, I'm having trouble choosing. I don't know who I want to be. I have ideas, but no solutions. Being confused and not knowing what else to do, I decided to write a poem. I've had the idea to write one for a while, but I hadn't quite figured out what I wanted to say. I think this poem, Who I am, who I was, who I will be is a fair description of how I feel right now.

A time to work, and a time to play.

I'm writing this for the benefit of those who will read it. If you know me, you will know I often am a very serious person. I smile, but I usually worry about work first.

Work takes many forms. It can be labour, where you work for payment of some kind, usually money or a credit. It can be exercise, where you work to get in shape or stay fit. It can be intellectual, you can try to think of a solution to an abstract or material problem.

My work often consists of emotional effort. I try to be there for friends when they need me. For whatever reason, my friends have found me to be one to whom they can turn for advice; or even just a listening ear. I've often stayed up late to talk with a friend who's going through some rough times.

Many people, however, prefer to consider work as boring, and they want to play all day. A friend of mine advised me in my psychology class today that I should smile more. I responded, "When the work is done."

I don't mind smiling from time to time. I often will just to see if my face still remembers how. Often though, I won't smile because I'm concentrating on the work at hand. I devote all my effort to getting through the day so I can be there for someone else. Some people might argue that others can handle their own issues. My response would be, "That's true. But every now and again, we all need a little help."

Others might argue that there are people who are paid to help them, or that they have other friends, let them do the work so you do't have so much to do. The people who are paid to help others often can help more because of some course they've taken, but they don't have the personal advantage that I do. I know the people who I'm helping, so I can sort better through solutions and can often work better with other people's schedules. As for the arguement that they have other friends to be there for them, if this is so then why are they coming to me?

I love my friends. I'd do almost anything for them. Some of them don't like me for various reasons. Some reasons I know, some I don't. Even so, they're family to me and I love them. So, I will smile. But I will wait til the work is done, or at least diminished, before I do.

Avatar

I haven't seen the movie Avatar yet, but I definately plan to. The story line is incredible and the visuals themselves are fantastic. Put them together and there is only one word that sums them up: EPIC. Considered to be the most expensive movie ever, Avatar is also said to be the longest. With a running time of about 2-2 1/2 hours, it tops most of the movies I've ever seen. I can't wait to see it!

I'm reposting a poem I put on my blog a while back. It was from a Writer's Craft experiment we did in the poetry unit. We took a spirit journey somewhat like that of the Native Americans. With Ms. Stronach's help, I've titled it now as The Forests of Life. Enjoy!

Memories and Werewolves

So, for Writer's Craft we had the opportunity to write our own novels. My novel was similar in subject matter to a couple of others in the class. Possibly because of the Twilight series (retch) a few of us wrote stories that involved shapeshifters, specifically lycanthropes. My novel was the story of someone named Taylor, who was bitten by a werewolf. I've decided to refer to werewolves as "Hounds" in this novel. It's not finished, but I have a small piece of it done and I decided to share it.

The other thing we've been doing is memoirs. We've had to right three so far, maybe I'll eventually write more. The one I'll post is titled Memory is our Time Machine and is about some loves of mine, and is more reminiscent than a memoir.

2010

My first post of the new year. I wonder if I'm alone when I say that I don't really notice the years passing. The holidays come and go, and I know that after certain events (ie. holidays), then other events will occur and there will be some changes. The seasons are more noticeable to me than a year's passing.

I have hopes for the new year. Two friends of mine started a new relationship on midnight of the Eve and I wish them the best of luck. Exams are approaching fast, and the first semester is nearly done. I'll miss the classes I've had since September.

Writer's Craft was really fun. I think I might take the novel writing course next year, just to see how it goes. Math was actually enjoyable this year. Those of you who know me will know that I hate math class with a passion. But dropping to college level and having classmates I know well and can laugh with, as well as a good-no excellent-teacher, really makes a difference. English has been fun too. My class isn't too dull, and we try to make things interesting with Ms. Knapp's help.

With the new year comes a new play. This year's SEARS competition promises to be interesting at least. We have some new people, along with a number of familiar favourites.

I enter the new year with anticipation, not just regret. My courses for the second semester will be great, I know it.

To those of you reading, I hope you had an enjoyable Christmas and a wonderful New Year's Eve.

Best of luck in the new year!