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Archive for August, 2010

You know, that one. The short answer question that deviously has no choices to pick from and yet doesn’t have enough room for elaborate lies disguising lack of knowledge. I’m still trying to figure it out. Unlike “that really hard test,” I don’t have a time limit. Which is a bit of a relief and at the same time, disconcerting. Will I have to wait an eternity to find out? Guess we’ll see.

The good news for this week, though, is that I’ve done it: I’ve found that thing that I really, really love to do. That’s not to say that my time in this EMT (that’s Emergency Medical Technician, those people in the ambulances) class hasn’t been extremely exhausting: my systolic blood pressure’s gone up a solid 20 points from just a couple of weeks ago, my diet has consisted of ramen, ramen, and ramen… (though not so much more recently thanks to awesome people treating me to awesome food), and I’ve been having vivid dreams about being an EMT (my instructor was right after all). But I love it.

And it’s easy to tell — despite being one of just six girls in a class of forty-three (and you can bet we get crap for it), getting up earlier and more consistently than I ever have, and dealing with an old back injury, I am still alive and dedicated. You really can’t say that about many other things that I’ve done with my life.

Speaking of life, there’s a pretty awesome picture coming together in my head. A picture of a future that I love that maybe isn’t as far off as I had suspected. A picture of me and Jesus. The Jesus that I once upon a time didn’t know. And of me and the world. The world that I once looked upon with hopelessness.

But that’s the future. It’s hard to think about how amazing the future’s going to be when the right here, right now is kind of hard. Still young, still kind of trapped in this prison known as LA county, still trying to figure me out. And that question? It’s still sitting there, waiting to be answered. And the things that are tough linger in the air, as they tend to do.

What should I do? I’m tired and barely have any mental capacity to work on in the first place. But all these things keep flying my way. It’s frustrating, to say the least. And there’s only a week left, but I’m not sure if that’s one week before I get can rest or if that’s one week before catastrophe. The coin soars into the air, and the result is…?

Lord, guide me in all of my ways.

[Random thought: This blog is called photo in motion, but where are the photos? I guess I haven’t been picking up my camera very often. You just wait until I go to Taiwan. Pictures abound, friends. Pictures abound.]

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Calling.

A sigh of relief as I watch the clock pass midnight, as the summer doesn’t get any easier as I had hoped it would. It was, in a way, like playing Mario and getting a 1UP when you already have 18 of them. Actually, it was a lot like that.

And here I sit, wishing that I still had my comics of unknown origin that I used to read when I was little and still lived in a three story house. Meanwhile pondering the always difficult question: “What’s next?”

I’m starting to think of it as less of a question and more a condition, though. I’ve lost the sense of going through each day knowing exactly how it’s going to go down. Well, not exactly — life has its curveballs and whatnot, but I had a game plan for those 16 (give or take) hours of consciousness. But I’ve gone back to my survival modality: only one and a half more weeks until I get out of here.

But I guess plans are for when you have some inkling of what’s about to happen. Plans are made with some of predictability.

Me? I couldn’t tell you what was going to happen in the next few months if my life depended on it.

But I’ve done quite the bit of dwelling on the past recently, and maybe that just makes it harder to see the future. And at this point, it’s like everyone but me is looking forward. What’s next for you, friends? While everyone’s figuring out the rest of their lives, I’m still wondering about everything that’s behind me.

It’s almost like it’s calling out to me.

Still wishing that things would’ve happened different, still thinking that things would’ve been better off that way. But more than that, still asking why. Why do I get a great life that I didn’t do anything to deserve? Why, when there are probably millions, maybe billions of people out there who could do it way better than I ever could? Should I even be here? Do I even belong?

But I’ve made my choice. And my choice is to be here, but what does that mean?

I want the future that calls out to me, screams my name, and is perfect for me. And I know — well, maybe I’m stuck at hoping right now — that I’ll get that last part, but what I don’t want right now is the future that scares me. But lo and behold, that’s exactly what I’m getting. That future that’s as blank a slate as its ever been.

You’re weak. Yeah, I know. You’ll never make it. Probably. You’ll run. You think I don’t know that?

Then run. No. I like where I am. It’s not easy, but it gives me life. And I like the friends I’ve made. They care about me, and I know it. And, of all the crazy things, I like who I’ve become.

Why?

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Three.

No, you may ask yourself: “Why am I here?”

I ask myself that same question everyday.

The answer, or part of a much larger answer that I doubt my mind could possibly fathom, is this: to find out why things happen the way they do, why things are the way they are, and why things don’t have to be the way they are.

It’s that day again, when the world stops making sense to me. I remember a group of people happy one moment, in tragedy the next. I remember getting off an airplane. I remember sinking down onto the doorstep. I remember losing a friend.

But sometimes memories aren’t enough. Sometimes I want to go back and change those days that started everything. And yes, I know it’s not possible. That’s not as hard a reality to grasp as it was three years ago. Though I still find myself thinking that it’d be better if I’d been the one that day. But no, I was the one getting off the plane, heading home and happy to be there, not knowing what would come the next day.

Some call it a birthday, some call it a summer day, some don’t know what day it is.

I call it I-don’t-know-how-to-feel-right-now, don’t-have-any-expectations-and-you-won’t-be-disappointed, glue-that-smile-to-your-face day.

Three years. That’s how long it’s been since, to put it simply, the “who I am now” began.

And they say that everything happens in threes. But maybe this time something different, better will come soaring my way.

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