ENGL 224: The Love Blog

Love is a funny thing, at least for me. I’m always giving advice to friends, yet I can honestly say I’ve never been in love. I’ve been close, close enough to taste it but not close enough that I could actually understand the taste. The name of the girl isn’t important, I barely know her now. She taught me about love, how dangerous it is and how great my desire for it is.

            Funny enough, I fell for this girl while dating someone else. She was everything my girlfriend wasn’t. Smart, caring, and seemed genuinely interested in me. My girlfriend at the time always seemed preoccupied, she never really had time for “us.” My relationship with her, my ex-girlfriend, ended almost as quickly as it started. She was interested in another guy, more interested then she ever had been with me. She broke up with my over MySpace, which was probably the worst part. I felt betrayed and angry. I was the older one in the relationship, so I felt like I couldn’t take out my frustrations on her. My emotions got the better of me that day however. I’ve never been known for keeping my emotions out of sight from my friends, and everybody knew what had happened. I walked around school with my head down, my ex gave me back the hat she always used take from me. Our relationship was over; my first relationship was gone and dusted. I felt heart broken and weak. Sometimes your heart is a funny emotion to follow. While one relationship ended, that failure gave me the opportunity to move on to some thing better.

            Let’s just call this girl Alicia, which is not her real name. Alicia and I had been talking even while I was going out with my ex. Nothing dangerous or wrong, we were just getting to know each other as friends. When I broke up with my ex, I was devastated. I had never known pain like that before, even though I didn’t love my ex. Love was never a dynamic in that relationship, but my first break up took its toll on me. Alicia helped me through the pain. We became good, if not great, friends over the next couple of weeks. We would talk all day and I would usually call her on my forty-minute drive home from night school. Our relationship was much healthier than my previous fling with my ex; Alicia and I genuinely enjoyed hearing each other’s voices. Love’s warmth started to spread through my life.

            I was still older than Alicia, like I had been with my ex. We also went to different schools, which made it difficult to see her. One weekend she had a dance at her school, she didn’t invite me to go as her date. That didn’t really bug me, because as far as I knew we were still just talking. I also wasn’t about to invite myself along as her date. I had been talking to her all day, and she mentioned that she and her friends needed a ride to the dance. I saw my opportunity to make my interests known. I offered to take her, she accepted. I remember driving down to her house, nervously anticipating how amazing she would look. Even though I was not going be her date for the dance. When I got to her house I waited in the driveway.  Since I wasn’t her date, I didn’t feel the need to go inside and wait for her to finish getting ready. I fixed my hair, made sure there was nothing in my teeth and tried to imagine how suave men act in situations like this. I was clueless, but I didn’t care because I was finally going to be able to see Alicia. When here and her friends finally came outside, I saw her walking to my car. I remember how beautiful I thought she looked in her black dress, how the red lipstick she wore made me want to move mountains to have her. She got into my car. I could smell her perfume that sense took over my mind. Her perfume drifted through my car, my shoulders relaxed but hands tightened on the steering wheel. She looked stunning.

            I tried small talk on the way over, ignoring her friend’s exclamations at the texts they were receiving. Alicia was the only thing that mattered for those ten minutes in the car. She had my full attention; I don’t think she understood that. The trip to her school where the dance was held was much shorter than I wanted it to go. She said thanks, her friends said thanks and they all got out of my car. I can’t remember if she smiled at me, but I remember that my smile could last me a lifetime. She was beautiful and I was in love.

            I didn’t have anything else to do that night, I had gone out just so that I could drive Alicia to her dance. I didn’t care though because those few moments were worth it. I hung around at the skate park, and then went to the mall with some friends. Just things I normally did on a Saturday night. My friends called me and asked if I wanted to smoke some weed and see a movie. I said yes. Drugs mixed with this feeling Alicia gave me could only be a good thing. Alicia didn’t like drugs, but I probably wasn’t going to see her anymore, so once wouldn’t hurt. My night got better when Alicia called me while I was at the mall. She said she didn’t like the dance and asked if I could pick her up. I didn’t even stop to think before I was at my car and driving back to go pick her up.

            She was waiting on the curb, and her beauty still was intoxicating for me. We didn’t have a plan, so we just went and got coffee instead. We sat for an hour just talking and I was just content. I didn’t want to touch her, because I didn’t want to ruin anything. I had a hard time not trying to brush her hand though, just to see what an angel felt like. She had taken over my mind and my thoughts. I was okay with that too, because she was so much better for me than anything I had ever experienced before. I never ended smoking with my friends that night; I knew she wouldn’t want me to. I would do anything for her, and I never wanted that night to end.

            When I took her home, we didn’t kiss. I dropped her off at her front door and said goodnight. She smiled and we shared an awkward car hug. I hate those kinds of hugs. I didn’t want to ask her to kiss me, just in case that’s not what she was looking for. In hindsight, maybe I should have. That night was the best of our relationship, mainly because we never had a relationship. Things didn’t go our way, circumstances never worked out so that we could see each other on a regular basis. The relationship we had was held together only by how much I could express my feelings through a text message, which often was enough. She moved on after a month, and when she did the pain was worse than before. When my ex before Alicia broke up with me, I was hurt. Anger and frustration were the primary emotions; I just couldn’t understand how anyone could be so heartless. When Alicia ended things between us, I was lost. My heart felt like a big chunk had been scooped out and thrown to some god-forsaken monster to devour. I couldn’t get that piece back, and as of today I still haven’t completely filled in the gap. Why was the pain so different? I can only think of one reason, one emotion that was different. That was love. I had grown to love Alicia, not in a deep way that comes with marriage and devotion. We never had the time to develop that. My love for Alicia was immature but warm. Everything about Alicia was comforting to me, and I loved her for that.

            Knowing how that love made me felt, I only want more. I want to know love deeper and more clearly. I want to share memories with someone and define my love for that girl uniquely. I know I will never love another girl like I loved Alicia. That doesn’t mean I think I will be forever alone, instead I want my love to be specific for my future spouse. I don’t want to love someone the way I loved Alicia, because I feel that it’s unfair to reuse love on somebody else. I will discover new ways to love, and new ways to care. However, I’m thankful for my time with Alicia because she taught me that I could love.

ENGL 224: The Day That Changed Everything

            It may seem odd, but I have only recently grasped the immensity of September 11, 2001. I was young and naïve that fateful day, around nine years old. My only other encounter with death before this was when one of my distant relatives passed away and I was taken to her funeral by my parents. I didn’t understand what was happening at the funeral, and death was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. My idea of death, influenced by my Christian upbringing, was one of joy. The only story of death I had ever heard was the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, and my nine year old Sabbath school teachers never went into detail of what a crucifixion actually was. As far as I knew at that time, Jesus went away for a couple days and came back with some holes in his hands. Death was just that simple to me, one minute someone was here and the next moment they weren’t. No pain, no suffering, death was clean and pure.

            On that tragic morning, I knew something was happening. The first plane didn’t hit until I was at school, but the news wasn’t relayed to the students as fast as the teachers new. I began to hear people whispering, seeing looks of deep sadness and shock, but I was never told what had happened. In fact, I spent the entire day in a blissful ignorance. Nobody ever bothered to sit me down and explain the loss of life that day. I was simply in my own bubble, happy and unaware of how quickly death can tear a nation apart. That is all I remember from the actual day of the attack, my feelings all seem so vague and disconnected to me now. I can barely remember what I was doing that day, or how everyone else was felt about the attack. My unawareness muddles the entire day for me, and that deeply disturbs me.

            My disturbance stemmed from my former inability to connect with others and empathize with my own nation. I didn’t know and I wasn’t given an explanation. The worst part is that I never bothered to find out why; I just simply was too ignorant to ask that question. For years, as each anniversary would pass, I would simply move aside. It all felt so distant to me, the signs and the flags. I never cried when I heard the national anthem, or when I saw firefighters raise an American flag. I didn’t understand why others did and I felt resentment towards myself that I wasn’t able to feel these emotions as strongly as others did.  My mom would put those yellow ribbon magnets on the back of the car, I would only sheepishly look away when she would turn and smile at me, expecting the same rush of affection for that ribbon that she no doubt had. Even when I was privileged enough to visit the memorial inside the Pentagon where another plane had hit, I didn’t understand. My respect for those who suffered loss that day was enormous, I wanted to know and feel the way did. I was just incapable.

            That changed recently, in fact my disconnectedness changed only a few months ago. My family visited New York this summer, and while I had visited Ground Zero before, I finally understood what had occurred here. That was because I finally had grasped the terrible idea of what death was, what death had done to these people. My bubble had been popped long ago with the deaths of close family and friends. I had experience a loss, while in no way comparable, that had cut straight through my heart. I had witnessed my brother stare vacantly at the wall when he heard one of his closest friends had overdosed. The memory of my dad wailing other his mother’s casket haunted me, death had finally enforced itself on my life. It was at that moment, staring through a fence at the current construction of the new building at Ground Zero, when I understood. Pain and empathy flooded through my body and soul. These people had experienced something I could never imagine, a pain so deep that it was irreparable. My understanding only grew when I visited the museum dedicated to the victims. I saw the personal effects of victims and heroes, the things they valued. I began to picture who these people were, how I probably would have enjoyed meeting most of them. The same pain I felt at Ground Zero stuck again, going deeper than before. I wanted to know these people, to bring them back. I couldn’t ask for that though. That idea that death was all joy and salvation, the one I learned in Sabbath School, was gone. The knowledge that had now replaced it was far more realistic, and terrible.

            Even now when I see videos of September 11, I continue to feel that pain I experienced this summer. It’s not a bad thing, because I finally understand what I didn’t that day back when I was nine. My sense of pride in my country, admiration for those who died trying to save others, it makes sense now. I don’t seek for those same feelings I see reflected in others, because I now share them. It can be terrible burden to have, but I would rather share it with others than not share it at all.

ENGL 224: The Color of My Life

The color red is a color valor, of blood, of grit and loyalty. Red has and continues to be associated with a fight, red is the color you see in your own eyes when an all-natural aggression takes control of your body. Red is honor and beauty as well. A red rose given to one you love, love has always been associated with red. That is why red is my favorite color, deep and passionate much like my personality. I will always wear my heart on my sleeve, and I am not ashamed to show my emotions or follow my heart when it comes to making decisions. Red goes deep, it holds so many emotions in its many different hues. Many of my favorite sports teams are represented by the color red in some way; Arsenal Football club wears a red home uniform, UNM uses a version of red called cherry in their uniforms, and the United States Soccer team also has a red uniform to represent the red stripes on our flag. My dedication to following my sports teams always makes a color hold even more valuable to me, since red is represented by so many teams I support it becomes clear why red is my favorite color. However, red has more value to me then just sports teams. A red rose was my grandma’s favorite flower, so when I think of a love that never fails I think of my grandma and her rose. Red is the color of sacrifice and blood. My faith in God and what His sacrifice means to me is unsurpassable by anything else on this earth. Blood is not something that makes me uncomfortable or squeamish, instead I feel that the deep red color of blood signifies the ultimate act of unselfishness.

            My love for red is not just because a red tie goes good with a suit, or that Arsenal FC has red jerseys. Red holds so many characteristics I look for in myself; love, sacrifice and selflessness. When I wear red I hope that I can represent all that it means to me, and not just because it is my favorite color.

ENGL 224: My Diva

There was not always a role model in my life, a figure that dominated the aspirations of what I wanted to become and how I would get there. That changed quickly for me during my senior year in high school, a year that I became obsessed with soccer and the culture that surrounded it. Arsene Wenger manages my favorite team located in North London, Arsenal FC. The club is known for its class, both on and off the pitch, as well as its highly effective and efficient way of managing players during their development. Wenger embodies this philosophy and more, but he is not just great at what he does professionally; he is a revolutionary in a business that does not always accept change kindly.

Arsene Wenger is quietly brilliant, never arrogant about his success both on and off the pitch. He understands people; he has a degree in economics (not coincidentally my major study in college) and has the insatiable desire for success that is found only in the most successful of men. What is most incredible about the Frenchman is his willingness to embrace new ideas and use his desire to transform ideas into accomplishments. My personality has always been the opposite of the success of Wenger, shy and not bold enough to make a major impact in anything I did. My schooling career was always the dim example of how little I did when I could have done more. High school was only moderately successful for me, I did enough to pass and that was simply all I did. Never was I courageous enough to take on big projects or ideas with the passionate vigor that was able to meet my high standards of what I thought success was. I was never satisfied with my efforts, and throughout life I have always sought a figure that could inspire me to reach beyond what I thought was good enough. Wenger has become that for me, by simply personifying excellence through his body of work in soccer. Wenger is more than a businessman, more than a visionary; he possesses a kind spirit and gentle way of dealing with people that causes so many of players past and present to label him a father figure. I always wondered when I was growing up if my kindness was a weakness, if my willingness to always look for the good in others would hold me back from attainting a prominent position in a business or maybe even a law firm. The caring for others often ran so deep in me I would be willing to over work myself in order to help others become successful, this kind of ethic did not seem to have any kind of correlation to what I saw as triumph.

 When I needed someone to inspire me, Arsene Wenger provided me a perfect lesson in something I could relate to.

Arsene Wenger is the only manager to successfully manage an English League team through an entire season without losing a game. In simple terms, Wenger is the only manager to create a team good enough to be called perfect. With a standard that high, losing has never been an option. Even though Wenger refuses to let himself, or his team lose he does not motivate through anger or fear tactics. That is not his personality and that is the way I find myself most inspired my Wenger. Wenger has achieved perfection, and he achieved that perfection without having to step on and over others to get there. I have and never will be ruthless in that sense, but Wenger’s perfection allows me to believe that I can reach any goal I set for myself, regardless of whether I possess that “killer instinct.”

Arsene Wenger’s theory’s dealing with football: that youth should be raised believing in a team with a core philosophy of playing the game correctly and that there should not be an over reliance on star power deemed important by the tabloids, allowed me to be more free with my personality. Wenger did not believe that cut throat tactics was the only way to succeed, even when the media deemed his ideas over philosophical. Success is not a destination reached only by the most vicious or arrogant, often times one is able to achieve victory through a humble and determined desire coupled with an appreciation for others. Time after time my friends would say I am to nice, that I should toughen up in order to make getting what I want easier. I was never comfortable with that, I experimented with being rude and obnoxious; it just did not fit with the most core beliefs of my person. Wenger provides a hero for me to look up to in my time of need. When I am lost, wondering if my caring does not allow me to attain goals I set, I just take time to look at what he has done. Not just what he has done either, but how he has done it.