Where's the change?

Everyone is talking about how the next administration is going to bring about great change.  I do not deny Barack Obama's ability to accomplish this.  Nor will I deny Joe Biden's ability to do so.  Both are strong men.  Both men can do big things.

But, America, change starts with you.  Change starts from within.  That is how Barack Obama won this election: he targeted the American people and reached out to them.  In order to see real change in Washington politics, we have to demand it.

The election of Barack Obama was just the beginning.  What do we want?  Yes, the economy is in shambles.  Yes, we should try to get out of Iraq as soon as we can.  But we really need to do is stop the never-ending refrain of "Never again."  I, ladies and gentlemen, am referring to the genocide going on in Darfur.

After the allied troops discovered the horrors of the Nazi concentration camps, they vowed "never again".  The same refrain was uttered after Rwanda.  Right now, in Darfur, genocide rages on.  No one is doing anything to stop it.  Peace workers who go over there get killed.  And we just watch the news, say "that's horrible" and go back to our dinners.  Of course, not everyone does this.  Some wonder what they can do, and earnestly try to do something.

I have written to my Congressmen.  But each time, I get the same stilted response: "We're doing everything we can."

No...no. Congress is not doing everything they can.  Congress is sitting still, giving tax cuts to the rich, denying people health care, while America is in Iraq fighting a war that shouldn't have been started in the first place. 

What is wrong with this picture? We need to end the Darfur genocide.  We need to care about the world and try to make it a better place.  Enough with the refrains of "Never again" once it's already happened. Do something: act, speak out, make people aware. Again, DO SOMETHING.

Write to your congressmen, start a club to raise money for the Save Darfur Coalition, write to the UN, donate to Amnesty International, write letters for Amnesty International. Do whatever you can to make a difference.

Sometimes, I wonder if I have more than bipolar disorder. I know I have anxiety. That much is true. But the thought that I may have to live my entire life dependent on medication is scary. I know some techniques to use to relieve stress. But sometimes relieving stress isn't enough. What do I do about the times when I feel I've "gone off the deep end"? I know this fear is irrational, at least for the time being.

Going to the hospital when I had the episode helped me. The staff, for the most part, were nice. That really nice lady even brought her dog in to visit us. He was a therapy dog, and he was the cutest thing. But it made me sad, seeing someone else's dog. Reminded me how much I missed my own dog. I know why I don't want to go back, just not why I am afraid of it.

I've read the horror stories. Perhaps reading "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" wasn't the best thing. Still, it was a great book. I loved it. I couldn't stop turning the pages. I haven't really expressed these fears to anyone, at least not with real emotion: only to my mother and my best friend. It wasn't easy, but I couldn't exactly stop it. Sometimes emotions come out and you have to let them. Keeping them in does more harm than good. So I vow to do my best to make myself happy. I vow to do my best in life. I've been given life, so I need to live life to it's fullest. I need to stop fearing whatever it is that I am afraid of and move on.

History 101: Don't always trust your sources

So, what is it about war that people find glorifying? Why is it that a man in uniform is a hero? I must admit, though, that some men do look rather sharp in their uniforms. But that is besides the point. War is...pointless. There is nothing redeeming about war. But war is what we were taught in school. Everything in history class is taught from war to war. In U.S History, we start with things like the French and Indian war, the War of 1812 and eventually move on to the Revolutionary War. I can't help thinking whether there was a peaceful way for America to break away from England. Did we really have to fight a goddamn war?

Imagine what that says about us. We are a country made from War. Innocent people- on both sides- lost their lives. It is hard to say what side is bad and what is good. Yet, from an early age we are taught that the bad guys are the British. The British wouldn't let the Colonies be free, so they had be evil. Seriously?  They were only trying to maintain order. And perhaps keep the Colonials from paying taxes. I highly doubt that wasn't on the agenda somewhere.

But, back to my point: We are taught at an early age to hate the British with a passion, at least in history class. In textbooks, the Redcoats are often painted as the instigators of the violence. Well, sometimes they were and sometimes they weren't. It is not right to point fingers. And most history teachers (and the school board) will probably tell you that they do no such thing. There is no hidden agenda. It's just so much a part of our culture, that's what it is. In history classes all over the country, especially the ones in elementary schools, kids are learning about the "faults" of the British and the "triumphs" of the Colonies. No small-pox infected blankets, here. 

WTF? When did history class become manifest destiny? Students learn in second, third grade that they live in the America because the Colonials fought for our right to live her. Yes, they did. But what about the Native Americans, who we forced into reservations? Honestly, not many students know about those, even high school students. It's so preposterous that the public school system paints a picture of America that they want us to see, mass produces it and then gives it to us on a silver platter. "Here: this is history for you."

World History was my favorite class in high school and for obvious reasons. While the British fought wars to protect their lands, you didn't really hear the words "manifest destiny". I am not trying to justify war on either side, or for any reason. Yet I like history more when the truth is presented. The truth, I must say, is hard to find in only one textbook or from only one class. If you have a good teacher, you learn both sides in due time. But if you really want to know history you have to learn on your own. You have to learn how to really read a high school history textbook. What your teacher probably didn't tell you was that your text book is basically "history written by the victors". If you're lucky, you get a textbook that is actually a somewhat fair portrayal of what actually happened.

Obama!

This has been one amazing week. First, on Tuesday, Obama won by a landslide. There was a huge celebration on the Residential Quad. People screamed, cheered, hollered, hugged, kissed....it was one hell of a celebration. But who could blame them? After eight years of misery, America is finally...well, almost...free.

We finally have a black president. We can now join the ranks of the rest of the world who have already surpassed us in this genre. Perhaps America is ready to overlook race and ethnicity, and bring about real change. Electing Barack Hussein Obama is definitely a start. This has been one tumultuous election. First, people claim that he doesn't have enough experience. True, he doesn't have that much. But Cheney had tons of experience, and look what he did to America. The same goes for Donald Rumsfeld.

Who cares that his middle name is Hussein? Just because he has a Muslim middle name, and one that bears resemblance to that of Saddam, doesn't mean he is a terrorist. He cares about America. He cares about the working class.

Also....what does the color of his skin have to do with anything? I voted for him. I am not black. I voted for him because I thought he was the best candidate for the job. Finally, we don't have the same person in the Oval Office- an old white guy with a receding hairline. Change. Change is good.

As Obama puts it, there is nothing wrong with hope. I wholeheartedly agree with you, Mr. Obama and I am honored to have voted for you.

I love my English class.

We write, creatively...a lot. It's so much fun.

Creative writing is the cheese to my macaroni. I write profiles, poetry, novels, stories (some of these I do on my own).

I believe I have found my calling in life.

Indeed, as I knew in 8th grade, I want to write.

But hear is my so-called plan: publish novels, produce one or two of my plays. I will have income from this. Then, become a journalist for Amnesty International. I want to make a difference, and change journalism. I will write news that needs to get an audience. I will make a difference.

Change

I am ready for change. Not just change that will come on November 4th, when we elect a new president. But change in general. I am ready to try something new. Something really, really different. I'm just not sure what it is yet.

If I get the job at P.F. Chang's it will be my first real job. You could say that my stint as a paper carrier was a job, but I beg to differ. That was just something to do on Thursday afternoons, so to speak. I barely made any money. However, getting a paycheck in the mail was very exciting. I really want the job at P.F. Chang's. I would be a hostess. My parents think I'd be a good one, and so do I. I'm people friendly, I tend to get along with everyone. Also, it doesn't hurt that they job would pay well. It's also in walking distance from my college.

I just hope that I can manage my studies AND a job. Having a job would force me to become better with time management. I really hope I become better at that. I know I am a good student, and I try to manage a lot of things. Yet I have missed a few meetings, and been a little late to appointments. I have barely been late to class, however. I take my studies VERY seriously.

Change for me also comes in the form of pre-registration. I pick my classes for Spring Semester. Next semester will be at the same school, but with a completely different course schedule. I find that exciting. It's also a little strange, too. In high school, I would have had the same class for a year, not a semester. So studying in college is more important than it was in high school, you could say. There is more information to process. I am lucky, however. My school is known to have small class sizes. And teachers are always willing to work with you outside of class.

Change could represent my writing life. Next semester I will (probably) take my first creative writing class. I am ecstatic. Writing is my life. When I am not writing, I do not exactly mope around, but writing is how I express myself. I do, however, express myself in other ways, such as acting and drawing. My drawings are getting better.

Change will (hopefully) come this Summer in the form of a trip to Berlin. There is a three week study abroad course there. The program is called "Film in Berlin". I looked into the "Multicultural London" trip, but fell head over heels in love with the Berlin trip. I saw the word Film, and I was sold. I was leaning toward the London trip because I thought I'd have to know German in order to go to Berlin. Luckily, the entire trip is in English. The most awesome part about it, is that each student gets a $1200 voucher toward their study abroad trip, one that they can use a trip of their choice. This voucher takes care of nearly half the tuition. Also, if I get the job at P.F. Changs, I can help pay for my airfare, and can also take care of most of the spending money that I will take to Germany with me.

I think I will get accepted into the trip. I am doing well in school. I have a 75 in Math, and that is my lowest grade. I know I have at least an A- in English and my other classes. Perhaps a B in Spanish. I am doing well, however. There isn't really anything for me to worry about.

Just Breathe

So, this is a PostSecret (sorry, Melanie. I know this was your idea, but I really liked this one.) This one has a lot of emotions in it, at least for me.  There are memories in this image. The fact that someone actually made it means that I am not alone. It exudes hope.

No, I was not raped.

But I did go through a rather traumatic experience my Junior year.  "Being able to survive it", as the image proclaims, "doesn't mean that it was ever ok..."

I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.  I know I am lucky. I do get that.  Some go to hell and back to sort things out, to get on the right meds or make their lives livable.  Bipolar disorder, when not under control, is not a pretty thing.  It can get ugly.

Imagine: your mind, which normally runs fast, seems to be faster than a speeding bullet. Faster than Superman, if that's even possible. You are normally a fast thinker.  But now, you can barely live with your own thoughts because they won't let you be.  You start one projects, then three pop up, and a fourth.  There are so many things that you have to do.

Imagine: You have so much energy that you go to bed at 12 and wake up 3.  You aren't even tired.  In fact, you feel as if you have had 8 full hours of sleep.  You are like the Energizer Bunny.

Imagine: You have hallucinations.  You haven't done drugs at all, not even once in your lifetime.  And yet you trip.  You see your favorite actor in the Er (not that I am complaining much about this.)  There are other actors in the ER, too.  Some of them I like, others, not so much.  There is music playing.  You begin to dance.  No one around you can hear what you hear.  It is like you have a special gift to hear this rock and roll.  God made this rock music just for you.

Imagine: You have more hallucinations, these ones are not so nice.  There is no God-given music.  In fact, it is as if God has turned on you.  You hear the voice of Hitler blaming you for the Holocaust.  "Why'd you make me do it, you little bitch?"  I sit there, frozen with fear.  I hadn't done anything.  I was your average American teenager, going to school everyday, counting down the days until graduation. I didn't deserve this. What had I ever done?  Sure, I had my mishaps: everyone does.

Being able to survive doesn't mean that it was okay.  What I mean by that, is...that, sometimes, it still hurts. I wonder what happened.  I wonder if the story is complete. What else happened? Does anyone think I am crazy? For the most part, I have gotten over it. I have gotten help.

Help. This could mean a lot of things. It could mean, to some, that I've been committed to a Psychiatric Hospital. I did stay in an adolescent Psych ward for a little while.  But I came back to my senses sooner than they thought I would.

Usually, I tell myself to just breathe.  Things normally turn out okay.  The Apocalypse is not about to happen, so there is time.