The journey continues as my strength fades.

I’ve spent all this time running around my head, from station to station, topic to topic. I’ve been trying to find the cure, build a plan, box it all up and move it on out. I’ve planned, I’ve remained awake all through the night, I’ve sauntered into my imagination and plucked the reality that strains my last nerve. I’m ready, I’m moving forward… and yet, this little piece of self-doubt still opens its greedy little eyes whenever I take another step forward. I’m still failing, I’m still weakened as I do not stand tall, I’m still fading beneath the waves. I’m still making my way to the beach, still fighting furiously against the currents that only reach my knee, still sinking into the sand at every pause. The sun warms by back as I stare into the eyes of my shadow. I’ll make it there someday soon, as long as I can envision the shore.

I just finished my fourth Nicholas Sparks novel and this one actually had a great twist at the end of it.

I mean, I’ve read three of his other books and thoroughly enjoyed them all but this one had a great twist at the end. I never used to read much before, butThe Last Song caught me when I saw it in theaters. My bestfriend, at the time, had read the book so I accompanied her to the theater and a little nudge to read it and I was lost in a sea of literature. I read it in two weeks or something, which is amazing for me… probably longer then two weeks. Anyways, then I read The Guardian when I was away in Hawaii and then The Lucky One in two nights and then a few weeks to read Safe Haven. Anywho, I’ll be back in Chapters in a few days to purchase myself another imaginary world with characters that I can learn from. I’m left with a weird feeling right now, could be hunger but maybe it’s just a pit of loneliness. I suppose I’m unsure. There is alot of stress built into bricks of frustration that keep bruising me and leaving me in tears lately and I guess that I’d rather get lost in somebody else’s terror then turn around and face my own troubles. I’d rather believe in miracles, knights in tin foil, and all those cheesy quotes that roll off the tongue at the right time. I’d rather strain my eyes making sense of the words that a stranger wrote to make billions of dollars. I’d rather believe in the little things, the little things that build cities of laughter. I’d rather believe in love.

This is a photo of me and my ladies, we did the Coquitlam Crunch today. At first it was difficult because the incline was really steep but then it leveled out enough so that the burn went away and we made it to the top. We took one break to stretch and then the rest wasn’t so bad at all. I’m really proud that we did that today, we woke up at 9am and left early so that we’d have the entire day after. We got Tim Hortons and parted ways and a few hours later I was back in Coquitlam to pick up Kieren and we hit the gym for an hour and a half. After partying last night and sleeping five hours, I somehow managed to get the energy to workout for three and a half hours… so random but so epic! I’m so full of endorphins that I’m just naturally happy right now. I’m a happy, achy, noodle right now. I bench pressed 65 pounds today and I’m pretty damn proud of that, pretty stoked that Alana, Nichelle, and Kieren are going to join Amy and I for our workouts. So while I’m unemployed I can go all three times a week and build some muscle and this Saturday we’re doing The Crunch yet again. I purchased some Acai Berry pills so hopefully that makes a difference but otherwise I’m just chillin’ on the road to greatness. EPIC!

To beat a one thousand pound animal into backing away from a one hundred pound human being is tragic.

I used to not understand the rescue and why my sister was so involved, I mean I understood the saving horses ideal but not the deeper interaction. I used to ride, english saddle for four years, but that wasn’t the same thing. Those horses weren’t afraid, those horses weren’t beaten and neglected, those horses weren’t starved and deserted, they were just horses. The horses I rode had an owner that fed them, loved them, and taught them that little kids just wanted to learn how to ride them with little force. The horses I visit at J&M Acres Horse Rescue don’t understand what an apple is because they’ve never been handed a treat so sweet and juicy. Now I understand why my sister does it and why she takes it home with her everyday, because it’s no longer a volunteer position, it’s a lifestyle. What these horses have gone through is hard to think about when you see the fear in their eyes and the sadness that can’t be drained through tears. They are broken, they are broken because somebody didn’t love them and they depended on that person. Every human being in this world knows what that feels like, but the person they loved controlled if they got fed or not or how much they were beaten so they didn’t fight back. Humans beat each other man to man, but to beat a one thousand pound animal into backing away from a one hundred pound human being is tragic. Sometimes I wish these horses had fought back and broken somebody’s leg or a couple of ribs… but these horses aren’t monsters, they are just the haunted images of what human beings are capable of. Horses are much the same as dogs, much the same as children. They depend on you, they depend on us, and we let them down. I go to the rescue now by choice, I volunteer to groom them and love them because that is not a chore, that is humane. If you want to help by donating or adopting, please check out their website > http://www.jmacresrescue.com/

I’m posting this photo because it represents an amazing friendship. I met Amy (on the left) in Woman’s Studies class last semester and it all started with simply taking a seat beside her on the bench outside the Douglas College doors. We had a simple conversation and then attended class together without the knowledge that we were going to become the best of friends. We spent that entire semester discussing our lives and filling eachother in on drama and helping eachother in class. We exchanged numbers and Tims iced capps and didn’t think much of it. I thought that after that semester we’d probably drift like most people do when they’re not in the same classes but even though we have nothing together this semester, we still chill twice a week and attend the gym. We went and saw The Hunger Games together cause she read the book and when we workout we laugh till it hurts. I tell her everything and she understands, she tells me everything and I understand. Amy has become quite the friend to me and I never expected that from College, I expected parties and new friends yeah… but I never expected to trust another bestfriend the way I trust her. I am very proud to call her my friend and I look forward to every Tuesday and Thursday to workout and laugh and sing together, we have the same goal and that only brings us closer. She is fucking awesome and I am really glad that I got the opportunity to meet her. Thanks for moving to Coquitlam bestie! I love you! ♥

My mind is tangled up in the memories of yesterday, tripping over the feeling that was once all I needed.

The actions that lined up, one after the other, created the perfect scenario. These actions created a beautiful firework that was lit by blunt remarks and gentle kisses. A firework that detached in the sky, separating into singular stars of color. A majestic rainbow that glowed upon the midnight sky, a daring fireball, a man-made magic. These fireworks blew up in the darkness, making the crowds visible for miles. The audience of this scientific festival shined as if they were bathed in glitter with each shooting bundle of chemicals that shattered right above them. Colors of red, blue, orange, green, purple, yellow and pink illuminated the upper atmosphere. However short this display of ingenuity carried on for, the community never doubted its brilliance. This art-form was like paint splatter temporarily decorating the universe and people would come from all over the world just to get a glimpse. It was kinda like romance, people rushing out to the movies in order to believe in something that you cannot see. Well, I mean you can see the love in somebody's eyes and feel it in their heart as it pumps their rich blood through their body as they make love, but you cannot see love. Love is matched with fireworks because you wait and wait and wait and all of a sudden something goes off in your mind and it can be seen just as clearly as the unique colors detonating all over the world. Love is also magic, a burst of happiness that comes in many shapes and forms. It takes a courageous person to light it up for all to see, and yet, when it can be seen, that is when everybody stares in awh. When a firework is brave enough to light up the night sky, that is when it is truly beautiful. Fireworks blast for only a moment and glide down in ash, but even the fall is graceful, beautiful. The ash seeps into the ground and gets trampled as the crowds move on through to get home, but the ash also goes home. The ash dissipates among the earth and gets set to rest, and although nobody else sees it breaking down, the earth hugs it as the rain pours down and eventually... it rests in peace and another firework lights up the starry sky. Love comes and goes, and yet, even when I'm hugging the earth like ash... I still can't wait to light up like a firework once again. Love... well let's just say I'll never forget my first and never stop looking forward to my next. Love is just... well it's just a beautiful performance that I hope to set a match too once again.

I'm still here, learning how to live like everybody else, but I'm not doing it alone.

We all wander through life trying to find our niche, where we are meant to belong. We ponder our past, present, and future trying to discover where the missing piece is, why we lack the urge to stay where we presently stand. It’s this lifelong quest to create peace of mind, to fulfill the inner box and feel completely whole. The need to belong is international and yet sometimes we discover how far away it can turn out to be. However, sometimes when you take the time to look around, really look, you tend to see things that didn’t register before. I looked around today, as I comfortably sat around the table at The Keg, and I found a sense of belonging that didn’t occur to me before. I found a sense of self, a sense of moving on, a sense of bliss. I belong, right here, in the center of a growing family full of unique characters and different last names. I belong with the Thompson grandparents and the Northern cousins. I am proud to be a Lizee. I love my family and all the last names that connect to it. Tonight was a beautiful, heartwarming reflection on the familiar faces that surround me with laughter and love. I felt peace for the first time in a long time and I’m beginning to realize that I have choices and that I’m not just stuck with a specific handful of people or one path to walk. I’m allowed to wander between groups of friends and boys and stick out the rough patches alone if I feel like it. I’m getting back into the groove of doing homework and not being so anti-social when I get invited out. I’m just another teenage girl learning how to live life as best as she can. I’m making mistakes and drinking too much and I’m just enjoying the ride. Things happen, things change, things keep happening and things keep changing. Sometimes, you just have to live. Just let go and fucking live. I’m slowly learning how to do that and maybe one day I’ll figure it out but I know that I’m not doing it alone. I have my big, heartwarming family full of personality and excitement and friends come and go and lovers shouldn’t be temporary. I’m a Lizee and I’m going to be alright.

You know that feeling? Where you're so hungry you could eat a cow?

Well I pretty much did and I don't feel so bad myself. Probably just gained ten pounds at The Keg but that's life :P

I am human… what else is there?

Where we are in life, where we stand. This is something that always changes, something that’s endlessly moving. A world this big rotates constantly on it’s axis, nearly rocking us to sleep. Sometimes, the majority of us, are rocked to sleep. We enter a conscious coma from the same day to day routines that knock us into the world’s axis, glaze our eyes, and release us as mechanical puppets. My routine is always jumbled up and thrown apart, like puzzle pieces once connected, and yet I still find myself mimicking a zombie.

I have wandered into the sub-stage of life, where you can live contently as long as you don’t desire the pounding of a heartbeat. The sub-stage where you calmly sit yourself down and plan your life out on a mass scale To-Do List, in the hopes of finally feeling alive again someday. The sub-stage could also be considered “the planning stage,” because it’s the quiet, solitary place you retire to when a few too many bumps in the road destroyed your first concrete plan. I know that I’ve retreated back to this stage, lying in wait, because it’s safer here. It’s like taking the sidewalk instead of the dirt road, it’ll take you longer but with less obstacles. I’ve been wavering in this stage so long that I stopped planning.

I began staying up late, smoking, and keeping people at a distance. I did whatever I had to in order to stay here, preserved within a sea of numbness. I was drowning in doubt and failed promises, staring outside the glass window, screaming inside a voiceless room. The rays of warmth from the sun could not connect with me here, they could not lay upon me, they could not heal me. I thought I was too far gone. I’d blocked my feelings from myself to the point where they were so scrambled that I couldn’t even listen to the real ones. I knew what I was expected to feel, but what was I actually feeling?

I was shut-off, walls built, closed down. I continually reminded myself that I didn’t care, that it was too much, that I needed to focus on myself, that I needed to be alone. My emotions were understood when a tear fell every now and again or when my anger broke through… but I didn’t fully understand what I cared about, or why. My priorities had shifted, led by a stiff heart and blind eyes, the lack of love repressed my will to go on. The absence of real, genuine enchantment. The weakness for yearning; a longing for infatuation. I couldn’t say the words and mean them anymore, “I love you” was only a phrase people said to make somebody else feel important now. Wasn’t I important enough to hear it? I blocked it out as if I could survive in solitary forever, blocked from reality and clouded by fear. I wasn’t sure exactly what the problem was, puzzled, I searched on.

I attempted to drift away from the fog and sharpen my view upon myself. What did I need? A few months back I brainstormed some reoccurring pressure points and developed a plan. I needed to lose weight by working out more, I needed to pay off my debt and get another job, and I needed to forge a future career from what College offered. I perceived health, financial, and education to be of social acceptance and decided that I needed that. That’s what we grow up to learn, isn’t it? Isn’t that the socially accepted way of finding happiness? I think the true feeling of happiness is imprinted in one’s glow, that warm, tenderly roasted spark, that engages in a dance with a kindled flame. That comforting sensation that grows like a wildfire within your belly. It’s the balance of love, forgiveness, faith, and the proud smile you wear once you make your dreams come true.

The overwhelming feeling of happiness makes you vulnerable, vulnerable in ways that are easy to explain. It seems that being happy gives you alot to lose. You gain more fear and anxiety because the nightmares you create could possibly come true, you could be left with nothing if you shuffle the board too much. I begin to wonder if I prevent myself from being happy out of fear, of if there is simply a missing puzzle piece that will connect a steady flow of rainbows someday. A part of me thinks that I need a boyfriend in order to be happy because I get that tingling warmth from within when I notice, even an inkling, of romance within a story. It could be in a book, a movie, or even tidbits within my own personal surroundings. I wish I could find the ideal path to happiness before the pavement crumbles beneath my feet, but I have yet to find a paved road.

I started working out at the gym, I paid off my debt by emptying some bank accounts, and my mother found me a tourism course. As I tried and failed and tried and failed at completing these points on my road to happiness, I started to wonder why a gym partner was so crucial to my fitness plan. My partner keeps me motivated, but most of all provides me with company that reminds me that I am not alone. Is that why I desired a boyfriend so strongly? Was it because I longed for a life partner so that I didn’t have to go about it alone? … Why can’t friends fill that void for me, like my gym partner does in the hour we confront our weight struggles? I suspect that it’s because in order to feel like you are not completely alone in this world, you need physical touch. You need skin on skin, a kiss of warmth so you can digest the bad days and a tender hug to dismiss the long nights.

Secondly, I questioned my reasons for getting out of debt. I was happier with money, but mostly because I could buy things for other people. Was this gap unmistakably about my need to help others? I certainly wasn’t any happier when I got the phone of my dreams, a GPS for my car, and tickets to my favorite concert. All those “free” gifts only changed my emotions slightly. It soon dawns on me that maybe I need to consider the job aspect of money, that maybe I just need routine. Routine is comfortable, steady. Scheduled shifts and a paycheck every two weeks on Friday kinda routine. Maybe it is as clear as day; maybe it’s not so complicated after all.

Thirdly, I thought that a smooth educational direction would lead me to peace of mind. Did these College courses have more to offer than strict credit orthodox? I got the feeling that I was the only one questioning it. Anyways, my mom poked at my interest in tourism and found a one year course that would benefit me with a certificate in tourism. Does a certificate mean that much more?

I ponder my life, a little too much. I contemplate what I need and the perception that maybe if I dissect it enough, the answer will reveal itself. I want a stable, balanced life with meaning. I want a steady income, to enjoy my future career, and to be loved through and through by somebody to whom I return the feelings.

I am human… what else is there?

Perspective worthy of poetry.

Every human being thinks they’re better off alone, that the damage we do in numbers is colossal, but the silent immense pain we bring upon ourselves is the real war that occurs each and everyday. The pain that lingers from the past and the fear that emits because of the future. It’s the haunting memories and damaged capabilities. The change in our behavior, beliefs, and backgrounds. It’s the unthinkable actions that lead us to discover who we really are and the faded advice that drowns with the next bottle of booze. It’s the lives that ultimately change through experience and the reality that things break and sometimes moving on is easier. The piercing heartache that sometimes goodbyes do mean forever and forever is a lie.

Anthropology class makes me think...

Some things happen for a reason, while others just happen. Sometimes we wait for things to happen and other times we make them happen. Truth is we never know when something is going to happen, good or bad, and we won’t realize what that moment meant until it’s a proven lesson later on. The simple things like riding a bike seem mechanically straight forward and yet they teach us to never give up because nearly everything we think of is possible and we shouldn’t give up just because we fall a couple times or scrape our knees. Life is so tightly paired with these lessons because it’s within those experiences that we learn to live, it’s those moments that teach us everything. Those moments need reason, maybe to teach us a lesson, improve a skill, or punish us for our mistakes, but our psychological minds need to search the depths for some measure of understanding in order to be comforted by a random mishap.

Maya Angelou once said to “trust life a little bit” and this quote goes against our psychological reasoning because we find it nearly impossible to just sit back and take a breather. My mother believes that you need to “live and let live” which is a common phrase defined as “allowing other people to live their lives however they desire”. So whether you believe one or the other, eventually you will begin to question who you are and why you do things the way you do. These moments that randomly occur mold you whether you are blind to it or not, whether everything is random or planned… things are always happening. Each and everyday millions of people steadily bulldoze through life without experiencing true passion or discovering their niche, and that seems to create a pointless society mended together with eight hour shifts and mountains of homework.

What do you think of life? Is it really worth living? Is there anything in life worth dying for, and if so, would you really fight to live so you could die fighting? I focus so much on the random moments because what else is there? I’m in College and day to day I struggle through homework and sway from job to job in a constant war to claim my place in this chaotic world we call home. What is my niche? Who needs me? I believe that we all question our government, family, and the mold we are forced in, but maybe I can’t simply float along in this pretend bubble like everybody else. I might not know why I’m here but I know deep down that I was never meant to be another carbon copy. Maybe this is why I question so much, because I know my experiences aren’t leading me to get shaped by some socially acceptable cookie cutter. Lately I think alot about what my niche will turn out to be, but in reality, I’m dreaming up a moment. I figure that either something happens and something clicks so I’m sure of a career or I dedicate my time to deciding and build a passion from manual discovery.

I am different, aren’t we all? Our niches shouldn’t be stripped down to choices of art, business, or a steady trade job. It seems that these choices between A + B lock up the capabilities of each person as individual. It makes me wonder how many talented individuals give up when they can’t find the course they want to take on a University website. To be a brilliant dancer we are told that you have to be the best, which usually means starting at a very young age… but what if you didn’t know until eighteen? Our society is going to destroy thousands in the hopes of improving a few and creating champions, but in the end you only get a few douche-bags with trophies and a world full of so called “losers”. What do we become than? Stronger? No. That smaller talent that’s not seemingly good enough for the big leagues can be built up and instead of weeding them out we can use them in the blueprints of a wonderful city.

It just makes me wonder how many people experience a moment that transfers their life from dust to gold and how many people spend their lives working towards a moment they never get to experience? I hope the little people that hide within the city walls question who they are and where they are going because it’s the unsure population that deserves to be.

I have faith in Maya Angelou’s quote “trust life a little bit” but sometimes it takes a bit of courage and the creation of our own moments in order to fully develop a life with reason. I, for one, pray that one day it all makes sense.

There is this knot in my stomach, this brutal feeling of wrong.

This twisted decision in this small soul that can barely contain all the past betrayal. I feel the tears swelling up in my eyes and I’m helpless as they fall. Lately things have been so difficult as I hurt people without laying a hand on them, pierced through hearts without even being close enough to hear them beat… hitting people with walls that were built with the guilt of thousands. All this heartache, all these complicated scenarios that should have never been. The words that I’ve been saying lately, these complicated, imperfect sentences that are like thorns slicing through delicate flesh. I sit here in ruins and yet I’m on a throne, a throne of denial and conceded self-worth. Everything has changed and I’m left here with barbed wire as a gut and aching sores around my heart. I am hurt, I am wounded… I was left behind. I’m not sure what to do with these upcoming days and I feel as though I should be locked up like the secrets behind the safe. However, my life shines in the lives of other’s and I cannot bail, I shall not fall, I refuse to run away. This is how it is now, this household of smiles finally burned to the ground and yet these ashes dance around as though they were born to be famous. These ashes made from ruins, made from tears, made from scars that’ll never fade or be hidden in public. They are invisible and yet they perform as though they stare into the eyes of an endless audience. I will never give up, I will never stand down. I am ashes, I am born again… and again. I handle the shade as though I was born in the night and the night will always be my place of refuge. I was born to endure, to communicate, to lead. I was born to shelter, born to fight, born to stand tall and walk up the highest mountains this Earth gave birth to. I am the daughter of darkness and nobody, I repeat, nobody will slow me down.