Walking Free

Everyone has the right to walk the world without feeling threatened. Or they should. Apparently, that goes right over the heads of some people when it comes to women.

No, I am not saying that women are targeted with violence, necessarily, or that it is only women who can feel uncomfortable on the streets. However, the issue I want to tackle here is leering and cat-calling. Honking horns and shouting derogatory requests at women who are minding their own business. The main perpetrators are men, and while I understand most men refrain from this behavior, I will be using the collective “men.”

I am far from the only one who is disturbed by men dragging their eyes across me as I make my way to the library on foot. Walking the streets of any city a woman will find herself objectified through the  loudly yelled “I’d fuck you” and “blow me”.

Even state parks aren’t safe, it seems. Just the other day I was hiking, and a man basically undressed me with his eyes. No, not just a quick look. A long, draw out gaze as I rounded a bend in the trail. These instances make me uncomfortable beyond measure, and, frankly, I am fed up with it.

This constant behavior that is often exhibited by some—but not all—men nearly dehumanizes women. It objectifies them and makes them nothing more than a Barbie doll in a shop window.

Men need to get it into their heads that women do not enjoy this. It is not flattering, it is not welcome. The only fit descriptions for this practice are disrespectful, annoying, uncomfortable, and borderline threatening.

Keep your eyes, please, or I will take them out for you.

Insecurities

Freshman year, I discovered something very important about my mistakes: I made them because I believed I was going to. The one responsible for this revelation was my orchestra director, Mrs. Caballero. During playing tests for cello, I would freeze and fumble over notes, resulting in music that lacked shape and melody. My teacher helped me recognize the problem: I needed to have more confidence.

Still, acknowledging the problem didn't necessarily mean fixing it. each year, I still bombed my playing tests. I made minimal progress, and each session with my teacher led to another conversation about my confidence. I've always been shy, but showing people my abilities (or lack there of) makes me choke up. It's a paralyzing fear of not being enough.

These past few years, I have been working on boosting my confidence. I wore daring outfits, especially if I had something important like a speech to tackle. I chopped off my hair, taking on a pixie cut. I laughed loudly with my friends and ignored people who weren't worth my time. I took a creative writing course that forced me to share my writing. These motions have helped me raise my self-esteem.

However, even today I find it difficult to share simple facts about my life with friends. I can't open up about my concerns. This has even led to arguments with some of my friends, who believe I am too closed off. It is borderline impossible for me to let someone read my writing.

The other day, my mom asked to read a draft of my book that I've been working on for some time. Flattered, I gave her an ebook version. No one in my family had ever shown interest in my writing before. I was craving support from someone, anyone. I generally only have one friend and English teachers who read my writing. But now, with my mom asking me questions about it, I can't tell her anything. I feel trapped in my silly cycle once again, one where I begin to hate the product of my mind too much to even speak of it.

I am going to give this draft another sweep, and hopefully that will re-solidify my confidence.

Snipping

Here we are at the point during the summer when you know that there's time left, but you're also aware that it will pass all too quickly. It's making me nervous. Partially due to the fact that I procrastinated on important college business, and mostly because I have spent the past two weeks dead in front of my computer watching Supernatural. (I blame Margaret.) It feels like someone has snipped away all my time.

So now, I'm cramming everything into my schedule, so there are probably a few sizable mistakes in the mix that could potentially ruin my life.

Im not sure about the direction of this post. Im going to write one about supernatural when I'm done watching.

New Beginnings mean letting Endings End, I suppose

After months (and I mean a solid eight months) of procrastination, I finally went to Harper College to prepare for next year.

I'm a chronic worrier, I guess you could say. But when I am worried about something, my mind pushes it away, which often leads to a terrible case of procrastination. Putting things off really doesn't make me feel any better about them. In fact, it makes me feel much worse. As in sick-to-my-stomach-migraine-and-nightmares worse.

Still, I was surprised by how easy it was to finally just get it done. Going to my future school to get my plans sorted out made me feel so much better.

I spoke to my counselor and made a few decisions about what classes I want to register for (which I have to do soon, or else they'll all be filled up). I got my new school ID with a picture that for once I don't look so bad in. I familiarized myself with the school grounds. Overall, it was a productive visit.

Still, I couldn't help but tear up when I was leaving. Weird, okay, I know. But when I walked out of the building, I felt so much more confident. And sad. Yeah, I felt a little sad. I was always one of those kids that was a devout follower of the Peter-Pan ideology. Never grow up. And this is growing up. It was so beautiful outside. Perfect weather, glimmering lake, lush grass. And I was there alone. Somehow, I have this idea in my head that being an adult means being alone, and God I hope that isn't true. My parents always seemed so alone, and that always terrified me.

The only way to deal with that is to make sure you're not alone, so what did I do? I called up the one and only Kim and just talked. And I felt okay again.

I mean, I'm also very indecisive, which plays a huge roll in why I can't decide if I want to do this class or that one. Or join the honors program. What club should I even join to keep my scholarship? And the indecisiveness leads to more worrying. A terrible pile or worry.

But I really think I can handle it, now. I am growing up, and that's just a fact of life. And that's okay.

An Introduction: Hello!

As someone who has been writing diligently since I was twelve, I am a bit surprised by the fact that I never started a blog before. Well, I do have a tumblr, but that doesn't really count. I'm going to post something at least once a week on here, but don't expect much. The posts will consist mostly of thoughts, views, ideas, and small daily events.

A bit about me: Having just finished high school, I'm a bit nervous about college. I'm eighteen, I love to write, and I am an extreme Tolkien enthusiast. I'm spending my summer days babysitting--I suppose the word is nannying--and my nights reading and writing. I live with my mom and brother, but I have two older sisters, who are twins. I'm pretty heavily introverted, and people-watching is one of my favorite pass-times.

I just "finished" my current project, which is a book I have been working on for over two years now. (You can't really say "finished" because nothing ever really finished.) I have rewritten it twice, and I'm about to dive into the maze that is the publishing world. I'm trying to be optimistic about getting published, but I do understand how difficult it is. Just today I started looking at agents I could possibly contact. Ugh. I'm getting nervous. (I did some practice last year with sending in queries, but I was unsuccessful, as expected.)

Well, here goes! Thanks for reading!