Wednesday 25 March 2015

Disregard the instructor's misspelling on the board... Instead, listen to the students...






Another quarter is complete.

Each quarter, I finish English Composition off with a quote from Winston Churchill.

The words to follow are my students (taken directly from the notes on the board) with a couple puzzle pieces added to communicate their message in a unified form:


History will be kind to me for I intend to write it. -- Winston Churchill

In the beginning, take control. In order to understand what you can be, evaluate what you listen to. Live your life, and recognize it is through the process of making mistakes one creates the stories future generations will learn from.

Everyday you should challenge yourself. Challenge yourself to get along with peoples quirks. Take a breath when needed and remember some things should be left forgotten, others expanded upon to create your future and the world around you.

Knock on opportunities door instead of waiting for it to come your way. Allow yourself to be happy by letting go of the past. Have confidence in yourself: Speak loudly and proudly, capture life in anyway you can, and enjoy it--no matter what happens.

By maintaining a positive attitude you will continue on the right path. Leave the fear behind and success will be achieved. Take action to learn all you can. Who knows, by doing these things you'll be the one writing the history books.

Sunday 22 March 2015

Words Summon...

Today was a special day. For the past couple years, pen has been placed to paper in a Moleskine Classic. The blank pages allow freedom, unlike the lined notebooks that make a writer stick to uniformity. The purchase of a new journal marked the completion of the one before. It presented the notion I could leave what was written in the pages behind, start anew: fresh.

But this isn't reality. That last notebook contained many of my thoughts and ideas that I couldn't fully form into words. Secrets that continue to haunt me with their lack of clarity and structure. Ideas that never came to fruition.

As a writer, words are building blocks. Words allow the possibility to make the intangible tangible. Words provide insight and decode all that is mystic, uncertain, and difficult.

Brushing hand over binding of the journal, it mocks me. Nothing is bound, no matter how hard you try to lock the diary, the past trespasses upon the present. The words are missing. The wrapping is still smothering what I can only imagine are pristine pages. Life has become a foreign language not yet learned. All efforts to connect block to block lead to a tumbling tower, and I am left the child, sweeping the mess of LEGOs off the floor into a massive bucket. Each noun, article, and verb creating a swirl of colors. The mix intrigues me, but they are liquid with no foundation to hold them together.

And so I type. I type instead as this feels fleeting. The idea not essential to place on flesh of page.