Understanding the Film

I'm reading a book called "Understanding the Film," a very helpful book for me, despite being written in the 70's. What it ultimately is teaching is how to watch film well. And the way to do that is to begin to perceive what you are seeing. Look at each scene, each picture that is shown to you, and question why it is there, what purpose does it serve.

Thanks to the coaching this author has given me, I've taken the idea of perceiving and applied it to life. I've tried to perceive so many more things than I normally do. And it takes effort. I have to consciously remind myself to do it, and then I'm tired afterward. It's a beatdown to live well.

Here are some quotes from the book:

Hollywood will continue to produce the kinds of movies we demonstrate that we want to see unless-or until- we demand something else.

"The task I am trying to achieve is, above all, to make you see." D.W. Griffith

Film shows us what it is like to be human.

Clever Title That I Can't Come Up With At The Moment

I'll forget about you long enough
To forget why I need to.

........

I felt a part of something today. I felt like I belonged to something important, something beyond my construction, something perfect.

That something was the night strike. Around 4:45 today, I was debating with myself whether or not I wanted to even go. I felt obligated, like I was becoming unwillingly tied down and shackled to an unwanted task. Looking back, I don't know if this was an evil force working on me or if I was just fearing intimacy. Because that's what the night strikes basically are. A group of people ride around and drop off food to people, all the while saying "God bless you" and making small talk while en route. I had decided that I wasn't going to go (because I'm in college, I can decide what I do and I do not do) and hung out in Drew's dorm room for a while. Later, I looked at my phone to check the time, and I was surprised to discover that I still had enough time to make it to the strike. Realizing this gave me some sort of emotional boost, and I headed out the door.

When I arrived at Love and Care, I walked up to see a bunch of unfamiliar teenagers loitering around the entrance. I knew they were college students here in order to earn service hours, because that was what happened last week. Strangely, I saw several people I have classes with. I saw Julie packing sandwiches and Janet loading the truck. As I walked through the door, David greeted me by name, and I patted him on the shoulder. It was then that I knew. I knew that I have started to become a part of a community of people who care about the same thing I do--serving and loving the poor. And what made it better was that I knew the routine. I knew that the ice buckets will go to Momma Jo and they go in the truck in the bottom sliding doors on the left. I knew the regular procedures, and all the other kids didn't. I know this is pride, but it feels good to know how to do something that others don't. Now, I'm not saying that I know everything about the strikes--by all means. I just knew a few things that made my knowledge greater than that of the others my age.

Anyway, preparations had ended, and I thought Audrey wasn't coming this week, but suddenly she appeared, we were prayed out, and everyone loaded into the truck and van. Today marked the first time that Janet acknowledged me. And not only that, she acted friendly towards me. I view Janet as the momma bear of the operation, probably because she has the strongest will out of any of the volunteers. It was nice to hang around with her in a fun way. That whole last paragraph didn't make any sense. I realize that. It's 2:45am. Cut me some slack.

I copied how Janet interacts with the people who come to the truck, and it made me feel more comfortable because I felt like I knew what I was doing. That was nice.

Overall, I felt as though I belonged. It was wonderful. I know for sure I will be going back next week. And the week after that. I'm beginning to care about the regulars at Love and Care. I think that's special, and holy.

Blankets

"Blankets" by Craig Thompson was the book that I needed to read at this moment in my life.

I was aimlessly wandering through Paste magazine's website, not looking for anything in particular, just something to occupy my mind. I stumbled upon "The Best Books of the Decade" list, and, seeing as how I love best of lists, I jumped on it. I didn't know most of the books, and the ones I did know I hadn't read, save "The Road," which was SPOILER number 2. I don't appreciate McCarthy's style of writing. It seems starch and unapproachable. I know he's supposed to be a talented and visionary author, but I just don't see it. Anyway, the list had titles that piqued my interest. First was "Middlesex," written by the author of "The Virgin Suicides." I wanted to read it because (here comes the logic) I liked the movie "The Virgin Suicides," and I assumed that a book by the same author would be good. We'll have to see.

The book that looked most interesting was "Blankets." The sparse description of it on the list informed me that it was A) a bildungsroman (my absolute favorite type of story) and B) a graphic novel. I had never read a graphic novel before, and I assumed it would be an easy read, like the comics. So later that day I made a trip down to the Abilene Public Library, picked up the titles (along with some movies. Come on, free movies? I'm not passin' that up), and went to find a place to read.

I ended up in the downstairs of the ACU library, in a secluded spot behind rows of shelves, a place where I can cease to exist to the rest of the world for a while and just read. I cracked open the book and before I knew it, I had read 50 pages. Graphic novels are easy to read.

I found that I saw my problems in the problems of the main character, Craig. While I don't share the experience of being bullied at school and church like he was, we both have overbearingly religious parents, both experience the same problems with religion, and both have loved and lost. It's strange how much of his experience in love was exactly like mine. I mean, come on--the girl he loved was named Raina!

Anyway, it felt so good to read a story about someone who went through what I am going through, to see the pain I feel in someone else's eyes. And, most importantly, to see how he survives, how he moves on. That was probably the most rewarding part of the book. To see what he does that helps him cope. He loved her so much, and yet found a way to handle the bombarding repetition of those feelings and live, painfully at first. That's important--it didn't end all at once. He had to go through thinking about her, yet knowing that he can't be with her. And finally, finally, he let's go.

"How satisfying it is to leave a mark on a blank surface. To make a map of my movement--no matter how temporary."

Years from now, if I want to remember how I felt today, I'll read this book again.

Landslide

Oh my god. That's it. I get it. I understand "Landslide." At least, the song perfectly aligns with what I think.

The landslide is life--people moving away, leaving each other, going to Florence, getting a job in Boston, you missing your chance, not seeing each other at a reunion, buying a new car, reading a book, all the things that make up the pragmatic, unflinching, ruthless, cold event of change, the subtle, unnoticeable, unalarming drifter that weaves in and out until the patters of our lives are no longer woven the same way.

She has been on the journey. She has finished the task. She "took [her] love and took it down," removed it from the high pedestal it was on. It no longer is the center of existence. She "climbed a mountain and turned around," she has complete the cycle of love and loss. She saw what she loved in the snow-covered hills, but life--the landslide-- brought it down. It turned the crystal-clear reflection of love into a shambled, crumbled mess of nothing.

And now she's looking back, seeing how she was "afraid of changing, because [she] built [her] life around you," a love. The singer has said this song is about her decision to leave a band--I think it is about someone moving on from love and encouraging the other to do the same. In this way, this double meaning, it is art.

She couldn't change, she was unable to make herself do it for so long, "but time makes you bolder, even children get older," she says. "I'm getting older, too." She is realizing that she has gained the ability to say goodbye.

And now, she turns to him. "Take my love, and take it down." Let go of what we had. Learn to live-- "climb a mountain and turn around." Go through the struggle, the pain of loving then having to let go. "And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills," she tells him, "the landslide will bring it down." Life will help you heal. If you still love me, it will fade. This is not an angry message or bitterness--this is the wisdom of one talking to a person she cares about and will always want the best for. And now, the best thing to do is let go.

I have never understood this song the many times I have listened to it. But today, for the first time, it all made sense.

Abilene Life

I spent the day walking around Abilene with my uncle's old film camera. This is what it produced. Enjoy.

Oh Man

God, being bold scares the shit out of you.

A Long December

Today I spent the day with Drew, and I found that my loneliness disappeared.

We planned to spend the whole day together, so I got to his house around 10 am. No sooner had I pulled up that I found a lanky, tall, joyful kid running to meet me from his house. We hugged, I said hi to his dad, we got into the car and drove around. We were looking for something to do, and our friend Ben didn't get out of football practice until 1, who we had planned on picking up. But we picked up Cassi instead (not saying she's a replacement) and went to see Sarah at her job.

I feel like today I played a greatest hits of my life.

Sarah works at Jamba Juice. I ordered a wheatgrass shot and we mulled around talking aimlessly but mostly loving seeing each other. After a while, we said goodbye and walked around. Somehow we ended up on a hill overlooking the freeway, and I took a picture of Cassi walking away from us.


The hill was more like a cliff, seeing as there was a sharp drop into a steep slope scattered with rocks and dandelions. We talked about God and art and the difference between paths and roads.

Then we picked up Ben, the most peculiar sophomore in high school in that he seems like he is our age and should be in college. I think his deep voice helps that. We drove back to Drew's house and chilled for a while, then Ben had to go to church at 4, so Drew and Cassi took him. I went home and slept for a while.

At 6, the dinner at Drew's was scheduled to begin. I arrived to find a few people on his sister's balcony, laughing and wanting to climb the room. As more people arrived then stopped arriving, we found that everyone was here, so we started to eat.

Basically, we just shared love with each other. We told stories and laughed and Jake put out a match with his mouth and was then dosed with water. I saw Mihir and Stephen and Matt Ryan and Jake and Drew and Cassi and Sarah and Ben Goff around a table, and I felt as though I was around people I knew. People I loved. People who knew me, even though I think I'm different.
These people hold as much of my past as I do. And it felt good to share a meal together.

Later, people left and we started to watch a movie, but we were interrupted when Drew's sister and friends came home from a volleyball trip. I saw Drew see his sister for the first time after being away several months, and now I think about the first time I saw my sister after she went to A&M. Separation makes people want to see those they cannot, and when they finally do, the moment is beautiful.

The group still at the house gathered around for what seems like now a grand finale to the day: Drew and I played several songs on the piano and guitar, respectively. "Landslide" was the first, and at least from my perspective, it was magical. We dimmed the lights so everyone was no one and the music was our only concern, and it was a beauty. I think God conducted my fingers along the steel strings, allowing me to play for everyone a song that holds magic within its melody. It was in the moment that I lost consciousness of all else that I found myself at home, among those I love and care for, no longer lonely.

Now, the others are gone. Everyone has left to attend to the duties that demand attention. Only Drew and I are left. He is reading a book beside me, unaware of how much peace I feel. I feel at home around him. I guess that's what it means to have a best friend, to be able to be with one another without saying anything, but knowing that being together is more than enough.

I have heard people talk about hearing a sermon they needed to hear, or read a book that spoke to them, and I never understood until now. I needed to be here today. And today, being with my best friend, made me not feel broken. I can only assume that God is here, sitting in the distance between me and Drew, showing us that this type of love and brotherhood and friendship is what was meant to be all along.

We listened to "A Long December" all day. It was perfect for the cool weather and the sunny drives. It was perfect for today.

The ACU Connection

This is exactly what I didn't want to happen.

I'm in math class, and my teacher said 'Ben, I know something about you. I played bingo with your aunt the other night, and my husband went to the church your mother's family went to growing up.'

Basically, I know your whole family, so now I know who you're supposed to be!

Damn it.

Love and Care

Yesterday, I went on my first Wednesday night strike with Love and Care Ministries. And although I felt awkward at the beginning (what's new), towards the end, I found that I felt more comfortable with the people I was with than I had in a long time.

A night strike is when a group of volunteers take sandwiches, cookies, drinks, and chips (all together in recycled bread bags) to homeless people. I know, sounds like service that's too good to be true. But it is real. It's simple, and it's real.

I arrived at the Love and Care Ministries headquarters around 5:20, not knowing what to do or where to go. When I walked in the building, a middle aged couple was stuffing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into bags. Immediately I stereotyped them. The woman looked like every other upper middle class woman with her large hoop earrings and bedazzled belt. The man looked like the husband of that type of woman, just an average Joe who probably works for a bank or something. Anyway, I walked up, we introduced ourselves, and I started to help bagging. We started talking about where we were from, what school I go to, what church they go to, that sort of thing. All the while, a few other people trickled through the kitchen where we were working, loading things into a large moving truck. We finished bagging and started putting the boxes of food into the truck. While doing so, the couple and I began to talk about movies, because I told them that that's what I wanted to do. I found out that the couple loves old movies, but also watches recent, good films like I do, mainly because of the woman. Preparations wrapped up, and after sitting on the truck for about ten minutes, we had our group in a circle. There was a woman who looked 50-ish, had multiple piercings and tattoos, was tall and skinny. A man dressed like a full cowboy, complete with the hat, long white hair, beard, and boots and his (strangely) normal looking wife were talking with a man who was were what looked like a mechanic's uniform. I soon found out he was the truck driver. Then there was three girls that looked my age, one with braided hair, topped with a red raider hat. She reminded me of someone, but I cannot remember now who.

Anyway, we said a prayer, loaded up into the back of the truck (which reminded me of a rhote dang from Thailand, except bigger) and drove. We went to several different housing complexes and handed out food to people. That's it. We would ask their names, and the others in the group would ask if there was anything they could pray about for them. We went to a place under a bridge where 5 homeless people were, and some of the people in our group, the veterans I suppose, knew them by name. There was a lady with a dog whose name was the word for best friend in french; a man who claimed to be a part of the House of Yahweh; a man who kept reminding us that being homeless wasn't his thing, he was only in this situation for a short time; and two men who seemed normal as anyone else.

We went into a neighborhood, and as the wife of the cowboy prayed with one lady, another lady sprinted out of her house screaming "I need some of that too!", referring to prayer. A few of us intertwined arms and prayed for her, and cowboy's wife was positively stirred by this experience.

We brought food to a man named Mr. Jones, and while we were en route when his name was mentioned for the first time, I obviously sang the chorus of the song with the same name by Counting Crows. It was then that I discovered that Counting Crows were the bedazzled wife's favorite band. My respect for them grew.

All in all, as the sun set, I found myself at home with these people. We talked about small things that are inconsequential, but it didn't matter because we were doing exactly what Jesus told us to. I'm going back next week.

Perfect Blue Buildings

It's 2:26 am on a Sunday. It doesn't get much worse than this. Feeling lonely not because of someone but because of everyone. Because I am existing in this body alone. Because I cannot share space with anyone. We have to attempt to understand each other from a minimum of inches apart. And then we say goodbye, put our clothes on, hang up the phone, drive away, go to sleep. I don't feel lonely when I run, but I can't run always. And I think everyone has a lonely bone in their body that breaks over and over, but we submerge the pain in music and other people and fast cars and kisses and drinks and the Bible and cigarettes and anything that takes our mind away from the pain of a bone that cannot be reset quickly. My bone has broken. I think I'll be fine.

To recognize loneliness is to treat a sickness with medicine. It unmasks the power hidden beneath the uncertainty. I'm sorry if I have teenage angst. I don't know how to handle the possibility of God and all the implications with my overwhelming apathy. I haven't gotten used to the way life decides to get up and leave and I'm running down the driveway screaming because the suitcase of my memories and happiness is in the back seat, riding away. Yes, everyone goes through this. That doesn't make this less painful. I sit alone in my dorm room, wanting to go to bed or heaven or the spring of my freshman year. Life goes, and I have no one and everyone that shares my broken bone.

God, if you are alive and working, I know I don't have it rough. Fuck it, I passed the limit of humility and downplaying my problem. I am lonely. And what do I do about a god who comes and goes, and I am left with a book and people whose beliefs I don't trust, what do I do now? I will not love you out of guilt. I don't know how to love you. Why would you create people that have the capacity to be this lonely? I'm starting to think that I wouldn't believe in you even if you sent an angel or Jesus or some sign. I'm doubting my capacity to believe.

God, every church phrase makes me cringe inside because they are all so cliche. Instead of asking to melt a heart of stone, I'll try this: God, I don't feel anything in regards to you. I have hatred and annoyance with traditions that are associated with you, but I have no idea what you look like. I don't believe that the churches I've been a part of are anywhere close to portraying an honest picture of you. I'm so confused. And I don't have any motivation to go find you. How's that? I don't want to find you because I was told to. Fuck. It's true. And I don't like the image of whatever it is that I was told to find.

It doesn't seem like life gets better than this, or so I'm told. I'm really doubting that life can be abundant, or at least that abundant life is worth its reputation. What were humans made for? What is our purpose? Our own enjoyment? The helping of others? Giving until we have nothing left? Taking until we can no longer take? Neither of these sound satisfying.

All I know is that I never want to be part of Christian culture. I won't be able to stand the next time I hear someone say that we keep our minds pure by not watching "bad" movies, listening to "bad" music, reading "bad" books. Fuck that.

Why do I have all this inner rage? Where does it root? I guess it roots in my parents and their suffocation of my identity with Christianity. Each person must choose, but I wasn't allowed to. So now I'm running away from the thing they think will save me.

I think counseling or therapy would help me. Yeah.

Baby. Baby. Baby. Oh.

Sometimes I take an inventory on the current popular music, and to do this, I had to add one view to Justin Bieber's "Baby" music video on Youtube.

I regret that decision.

First off, I felt embarressed for the guy (kid, kid, he's a kid), because it seems that he's being used by the masses and will one day be rejected with such speed that he won't have any reputation or credibility to rely on. Not that he does anyway. I mean come on-- the lyrics to the chorus are "baby, oh." The general public doesn't demand any higher entertainment than that? And from his other songs that I've heard, I've seen the over use of cliches, as in one after the other. Justin Bieber doesn't know what he's singing. Okay, maybe he had a first love. But his life essentially stopped after he became famous. He will be unable to have a normal adolescence/transition to adulthood, possibly even life. So what is he supposed to sing about if he can't have any experiences other than having people scream with joy when they see him and people wanting to know him for what he can do for them? I feel bad for him because he's a boy. He's not old. He has a pleasant voice, I'll give him that, but its prepubescent. When his rocks drop, his fan base, his record deal, everything will be gone.

Does anyone still listen to NSYNC? Billy Gillman? 98 Degrees? Not a chance, because these bands were erected for an audience whose preferences change rapidly. Not only that, but the audience then labels their previous tastes as childish, annoying, or stupid. I don't understand this. How can you throw your emotional and monetary state at an artist for a solid year, then simply move on to another one? Maybe it has something to do with hating the insecure, childish person you were then, and the music is a direct representation of that time.

All I know is that Justin Bieber is going to crash hard. I hope he doesn't.

I Think, Therefore I Am Right

It's embarrassing how college kids think they know things because a thought comes into their heads. "We should help the poor, but we shouldn't give everything, just the stuff we can." What if we were called to give everything? Hm? Oh no, God wouldn't do that, because he gave us stuff and will never make us give it up. "Jesus wasn't violent? Didn't he overturn the tables in the temple?" Does turning tables over in rage qualify someone as a violent person, or just having committed a violent act?

Man. I hate college kids.

Truth

Today I began to think about truth, which I guess means I started to think about God, or gods. I tried to define what truth is (a hard task), and I concluded that a truth is something that motives my actions. I act based on what I believe is truth. I tried to make a list, but I stopped after a while after running out of ideas. I started general, then moved to specific.

1. Nicolas Sparks will make women cry.
2. Lemonade is the best drink.
3. Running makes me not feel lonely.
4. To fall asleep, I have to turn on my left side, then roll to my right, then back to the middle.
5. I love my sister.
6. I want to be an individual, or at least my perception of an individual.
7. I get nervous around people who I think are cooler than me.
8. Talking about important, deep topics gives me joy.
9. I will die.

Now, I think numbers 3, 4, 6, and 7 are the ones that dictate my daily actions, mostly subconsciously. I'm not aware that I want to eat alone because I want to be secure in myself. It just feels right. I did realize that I mostly wander aimlessly through the weeks, searching for something to entertain me, something to remind me that I'm wasting time not doing anything significant. However, sometimes I do things that I think are significant, like writing on this blog, making short films, reading. I grasp at expressions of life, but the majority of my time is spent living, but not being alive.

Scaffolding 2

Here is my worldview, revisited. Also known as the second part of a paper I have to write for Core class. Enjoy, you curious folk.

The way I view the world is rapidly changing, especially lately, so that it seems like the entire world is changing. However, the only different thing is my understanding of a world that has existed all the while. Now, I know the world itself changes, but several important characteristics have prevailed throughout history (albeit in different variations). There are both positive characteristics like love, community, and hope; and negative ones like poverty, injustice, and hate. With each week that passes, I am more acutely aware of what these characteristics meant to me when I was younger, and what they mean to me now. This is my worldview.

When I was young, life was good. I mean, really good. I was raised in an affluent, white, Christian home, which means that the only persecution I ever experienced growing up was a kid calling me fat in the 4th grade. Although it hurt, I think the pain of racial discrimination, monetary insufficiency, or educational deprivation, had I experienced any of these, would have been much deeper and longer lasting. I went to a private school, the highest form of elite education available, and all my classmates were white. We listened to pop music, wore the same clothes, and lived in the same neighborhoods. My church had an arcade room, ping-pong tables, and a concession stand, all existing for the purpose of outreach, even though I never brought anyone to church because all my friends went there already. All this to say, I grew up with people who I thought were just like me.

Now what does this upbringing do to someone? It makes them see everyone they meet with the perspective that they are the same. So in high school, when I became best friends with a girl who had immigrated to America illegally, I overlooked it. I simply saw her as a girl who goes to my school, so we must have similar upbringings, home lives, and motivations. I look back at this and am horrified at my naiveté. I assumed that everyone was just like me, and therefore, I could not empathize with people, feel their pain, help them through their struggles. Poverty existed in a third world country somewhere; racial and gender discrimination ended in the 60's; and people's problems weren't any different than mine.

Today, I look at the world through different eyes. Back then, I found purpose and satisfaction in other people, so that by being outgoing, funny, and hyper, I could be pervasively happy. It never occurred to me that everyone didn't like uber-excited, superficial, outgoing youngsters. I didn't even recognize my motivation. All I knew is that the people around me liked me when I made them laugh. Today, I eschew that type of behavior for myself. I am not outgoing in most social situations, which in turn makes me look for others like me. I search for the outsiders, the marginalized, the ones who don't fit in. Also, poverty is no longer across national boundaries but down the street, embodied and living. Poverty now has a face, faces. And I can no longer turn the music up louder or watch more television, because the problem is in a place where it cannot be avoided--my heart. I see my purpose as a Christian to help the least of these, a term that Jesus used to refer to the poor, the blind, the needy, the sick. Everything else I do now seems pointless. Why do I play ping-pong when people need help rebuilding their homes? Why do I do homework when someone is crying for a listening ear? Does helping the poor require a four-year education? Why am I spending $30,000 a year when there are people across the street who are having basic needs go unmet?

Essentially, my worldview has changed from content to dissatisfied. I am dissatisfied with the world as it is for the sake of others, not myself. The world is not right, and I have been on the side of those who have made the world not right. Whereas when I was younger, I enjoyed the benefits without considering where they came from; now, I am beginning to see who have wealth and security, who have poverty and need, and that my purpose is to help those who have not. I used to take freely; now, I must give generously.

At The Point

The best $10 I ever spent on the iTunes music store is buying the "At The Point" concert album by Matt Nathanson. I can listen to this album over and over and enjoy it more each time. His conversations with the audience are priceless, and his songs are so in tune with intimate human emotions and thoughts that I find satisfaction in his music. His 12 string guitar makes a beautiful noise. How can one person and a guitar evoke so much emotion within me? Along with Adam Duritz and William Fitzsimmons, I want to write Matt Nathanson a letter and tell him that I both enjoy his music and am sorry about all the pain he's gone through in his life.

I Give...

As much as I abhor the fist pound exchange, I have decided that I will never reject a person's attempt if it is sincere. I can live with myself fist pounding a ethnically confused/socially insecure individual, because I don't want to further their problems.

I Ran Forever

As a runner, I have heard of people who run unbelievable distances. A marathon, 100 miles, even more. I have had a desire to run a marathon for a while, but the furthest I've ever run at one time is probably 4 miles. So last night, I was wondering, how far can I go? How far can I run until my body shuts down? I set out running at 8:30ish around the Lunsford trail (which is 1.9 miles), planning to run two laps.

I was feeling great, because I was taking my time and enjoying the run. I came to love the feeling of my feet pounding against the pavement, a pure physical enjoyment that I think most runners overlook while their iPods play in their ears. Oh yeah, that's something I should mention--I don't run with an iPod. I think using an iPod makes running a means to an end, not the end itself. So no music for me, just the sound of cars passing, people talking, and my heart pounding.

After two laps, I wondered, why not another one? So I ran another lap. By this time, I had come into a relationship with the Lunsford trail and its parts. The part on Campus Court I call The Straight-ful Dead, because it is a dead line all the way from the old theater to Ambler. Once you make the right turn, you're on the Ambling Judge, a twisting, short side of the run. You make it to University Park, and you're at the Landslide, the portion that runs all the way to College Drive, past the fountain, past the Bible and Business buildings, and past the WPAC. It gets its name from the mound of stacked but disorganized rocks at the beginning, but also because it contains the only hill on the run. I unkindly nicknamed this portion "The Bitch," because it plays mind games with you. You think you're almost done when you finish the Landslide, but no, you still have a long way to go. Thus, the Bitch. The next portion I haven't named yet, namely because I haven't come up with an appropriate, witty nickname. It's the part that runs by all the girl's dorms. This part is probably the easiest part of the run.

Anyway, back to yesterday. So I ran three laps, totally to roughly 6 miles, and I was feeling surprisingly strong. However, I experiencing pain in an awkward place because I had worn boxers, not spandex. So when I ran by Mabee, I dashed into my room, changed clothes, grabbed a quick spoonful of peanut butter and hit the road again. The peanut butter was important because the only other thing I had eaten all day was a sausage, egg, and cheese bagel from "Einstein's Bros.", and a caramel macchiato at 2pm. In hindsight, it probably would have been a good idea to eat something, but I didn't plan this running free for all, so I just had to deal with it.

While I was running, I would see people that I had seen on the earlier laps. For example, there was a group of three, a girl and two guys, who ran basically as long as I did. There was several couples who walked for a portion of my run, and there were a handful of loners, chugging along like I was. During the later laps, I wished I could see someone I knew, someone to cheer me on. I understood the importance of cheering people on the sidelines of marathons. It fuels in a way that food and Gatorade just can't.

On the fourth lap, the pain started. I began to feel slight discomfort in my knees, both on the insides and outsides. Also, I had hunger pains. But I kept going. I think it was at the end of this lap that I saw a guy in my Core class named Dylan who was preparing to run. I offered to run with him, until he took off at a blazing speed, propelled by his iPod, then I decided to let him go. No, it must have been the end of the 3rd lap. Oh well, not very important.

Lap 5 was alright, lap 6 less than, and on lap 7 I reached my breaking point. On the last three laps I found that the balls of my feet hurt so much that I couldn't run on the pavement anymore. I found comfort in the grass, but I made sure to watch my step because I knew if I stepped into a hole or even a sharp incline, I'd break something because my body was so fragile. I had to intentionally bend my legs so I wasn't standing straight up. And I found that relaxing my arms and letting them hang lower than normal saves energy.

So after 7 laps (roughly 13.3) miles, I called it quits. I was proud of myself, to say the least. However, the entire time I was running, I was asking God what He wanted to show me. That sounds weird, but let me explain. I'm reading "Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger" by Ronald Sider for Bible, and he talks frequently about prosperous people who think they achieved affluence on their own, without giving praise to God. I assumed that I could run this far for some purpose (although it is still unknown to me). So I made sure to recognize that I was running not on my own power, but for some purpose that is bigger than me.

Something else I realized, and probably the most important, was that when I run, I don't feel lonely. It was strange. I tried to bring up the most lonely thoughts I could think of, and nothing worked. It was as if I couldn't focus on the pain because my body was going through physical pain at the same time, and the physical pain trumped the emotional and mental pain. This revelation will probably be the one thing that brings me back to running. Whenever I feel utterly alone or sad, I'll just strap into my Vibram's and head out.

I took a half mile cool down walk and found that my knees hurt more when I wasn't running than when I was. And this was only the beginning of the pain. I went into the dorm and showered without much pain. Then I drove to Taco Bueno and got food, but I couldn't eat it. The moment I swallowed the first bite of the chicken quesadilla, a violent unsettling arose in my stomach. So I parked in a fury and ran into the restaurant's restroom. After ten minutes of pain, I emerged and drove back home, feeling as though I would pass out the entire way.

I made it up the stairs and into my room, but the food was no longer appetizing. So I told Mihir he could have it and flopped into bed. Looking back, the comfort I found that night in bed makes me more grateful for a bed than I ever have been. I was asleep within five minutes, when the stomach pains subsided slightly. The pain caused me to flash-back to the basketball camp when I decided to fast. However, I didn't regret this experience.

I woke up at four in the morning, feeling completely rested. Then I realized it was four in the morning and I couldn't do anything or go anywhere, so I heated up what was left of the quesadilla in the microwave. I took it out into the hall, walked around and wondered if I was really the only person awake, and then, when I had finished, headed back to bed.

As for today, going down stairs hurts pretty badly. But this running experience, this seeing how far I could go until I broke down, was worth any pain I endured. I learned about myself. I call this run the "Atlas Shrugged" run in my mind, because in the summer after my junior year, I decided to read that book for summer reading because it had over 1,000 pages. What reading that book did for me is that now, I measure every other book length against it, and it makes it seem short. I know I can read almost any other book because I've read one longer than it before. It's the same with this run. I will now be able to run up to 14 miles because I've done it before. It was worth it.

Declaration

I cannot create anything new or original. I can only put to paper the thoughts in my head which have been shaped by my society, my world, my surroundings and hope that one of the many sounds different to someone, and that they relate to it, and it touches them in a way that they remember. Remember something that makes them happy. Something that makes them want to live life in a way that they see as better. Something that comes from a place within them that only they know, yet they rarely acknowledge, a place that makes them feel alive.

I hope my thoughts inspire people to live, however it is that they need to.

I'm trying as hard as I can to emerge from conformity into individuality; I hope through this struggle I catch the eye of people who are still bound, and I hope they can see that their chains can be broken if they want freedom enough.