I have come to the conclusion that I would actually really like living alone after university.
Being extroverted I have always loved surrounding myself with people and talking with others and that has not changed, nor do I think it ever will.
However I have thought about the idea of having an entire home to myself doing whatever I please.
Just imagine it: No one would be around to disturb you, meaning that you would not be disturbing anyone by having sing-alongs to 80s Smash Hits or hour-long thinking out loud sessions. You would have all this space to think and grow.
All the rooms are yours, to fill with whatever you please. No having to share with a sibling or compromise with anyone else. You could even have a room filled with mirrors or movie posters for fun and it would be up to you.
Having to do everything for yourself may be what some consider a nuisance, coming from a family that helped you out whenever needed. However you come to realize that you can function just fine.
You can actually even do more with your newfound creativity and independence, living by yourself.
I have been pretty busy lately due to projects and assignments from class as 2017 is coming close to an end. The break is sorely needed at this point in the school year and thankfully only one week away!
Last weekend I decided to film while I was attempting to study and work on assignments which resulted in the video below.
When people ask me what my favourite colour is, I never know what to answer with. I cannot possibly just pick one colour.
I do not just like colours because they are pretty, but because of what they symbolize and remind me of. That makes each of them special to me.
If I am made to choose, I tend to go with blue. Not a standard blue but cerulean or navy, something rich and dark or darker. Blue reminds of the ocean, of the salty breeze in the air and the lapping of the waves on the sand. It also reminds me of my mom as it is one of her favourite colours which she incorporates into her art. The colour blue is special to me because it is special to her as well.
Grey is a dull colour according to many, (including my mom) but it reminds me of clouds, and days inside. I love rainy days and the bursts of creativity they bring with them, which the colour grey reminds me of.
White is a very modern colour that goes with just about anything. Everything in my room is the colour white, which gives it somewhat of an empty look if you were to take everything out of it. However the colour allows me to fill up the room with my own colourful creativity which stands on the milky coloured walls.
The colour red is a one that I actually do not know how I feel about, but am including nonetheless. Red to me is such a passionate colour, and a colour I used to hate with a passion. Recently it has been creeping into my life in little ways and I have grown to like it, as I have become passionate about a few things myself.
Here is my answer.
Poetry is magical.
Just a few choice words are able to paint murals in the minds of millions, taking readers on emotion-filled adventures. Poems can take ugly truths, big ideas and even mundane daily activities, turning them into something of beauty. Writers are able use words and literary devices to illustrate their ideas, requiring reading between the lines and thinking outside the box to decipher the author’s intent and message. It is able to give humans a sense of fulfillment in whatever lacking, and answers to some of life’s many mysteries.
However, more often than not, poems leave you with even more questions than when you first started reading. More mysteries than when you first opened that dust covered book on a Saturday afternoon, the papers rustling with whispers of merriment.
I remember when an eraser was my best friend. With a few strokes, that unplanned line was long gone, or a misspelled word had vanished from my page.
I loved writing in pencil because nothing was “set in stone”. You had unlimited do overs, infinite lives.
Now, note the past tense, loved. Because while I used to bask in the idea of erasing it all away, I learned that (figuratively and literally), mistakes can be good.
I now write in pen, for most of what I do. I love seeing where I started with something, versus where I end up.
Mistakes and ideas can be built upon and turned into something beautiful, even better. Not everything has to be picture perfect, so don’t hide your mistakes.
Why do I love fall?
I love fall because of the sound the leaves make as I walk down my street, crunching under my worn-in black vans.
I love fall because of the cool crisp breeze that is pushing at my back as a step onto the bus, heading downtown. The breeze that allows me to retire all my shorts and t-shirts, breaking out beloved sweaters from the depths of my closet.
I love fall because as I sit down in my seat, it is “socially acceptable” to whip out my headphones from my backpack, and play jams such as “September” and “Sweater Weather” on repeat, without getting sick of the season-related tunes.
I love fall because as I walk into the coffee shop I am embraced by the sweet smells of pumpkin, cinnamon as well as other spices. Soft chatter of university students back in town surrounds me, greeting friends while clutching coffees with bright smiles on their faces.
A similar smile lights up on my own face, when I see my friends waiting for me in the corner of the store, ready to study for our first test of the year.
The corner where the light shines the brightest, lit up by the Halloween-inspired fairy lights hanging on the wall.
Recently I have not been writing that much poetry, but the other day I had a little burst of creativity and wrote whatever you would call the collection of words below me. Since it was a first time in a while that I had written something I thought I would share. Here is a bit of writing that you could probably call a poem that is very much a work-in-progress.
I see like a camera.
The little things catch your eye.
Naturally normal, borderline boring.
Then, a change in perspective.
An idea in focus.
Suddenly the leaves on the trees
are not what they are
but what they could be.
The bright wall splattered with paint is
an escape from reality.
The people walking by are not simply that,
but the stars of short stories
captured in RAW format.
A flick of a wrist,
a hint of a smile.
Red scarf in the wind,
Converse on her feet,
a look of wonder and fear
both trying to compete.
Someone’s movement and magic
captured in time,
ready to keep going
if we use our mind’s eye.