Dear 9-year-old self,
I know this will sound weird. I know that you're still just a kid, and you might not understand. But just hear me out, for five minutes, and someday you will.
You've probably just started writing by now. You'll fall in love with it, if you haven't already. You're going to be passionate, you're going to be driven, and you are going to be so, so confident.
Please don't lose that. I know you're not going to get what I'm trying to say, but just stop for a moment. Remember this feeling. Memorize every little detail, and write it all down. You will be so, so grateful for it later.
And whatever you do...don't stop.
Love,
- 20-year-old Justyne
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Thursday, September 11, 2014
On Writing (When You Just Don't Have Time) (BEDS #11)
Writing every day is important--vital, even, to achieving progress in any sort of writing project. Even if you write just a few hundred words a day, that's a few hundred words closer to your target than you were yesterday.
But life doesn't always appreciate our writing goals. Sometimes, life even seems to resent us for it. Because sometimes, life's circumstances just won't allow us to set aside a few measly minutes to write.
And you know what? That's okay.
The last few days have been hectic, with boxes littering every spare inch of space, rushed blog posts thrown together late at night, and emotions running wild. I've been stressed, exhausted, and if I'm being completely honest, I didn't feel like I had the time OR energy to settle down and write.
And y'know what? That's okay.
We all need a break sometimes, and this was mine. Now, as I settle into my new home (let's ignore the fact that 80% of my things are still packed away in boxes), I feel like this break is coming to an end. I'm ready--eager, even--to jump back in.
Until later,
- Justyne
And y'know what? That's okay.
We all need a break sometimes, and this was mine. Now, as I settle into my new home (let's ignore the fact that 80% of my things are still packed away in boxes), I feel like this break is coming to an end. I'm ready--eager, even--to jump back in.
Until later,
- Justyne
New Beginnings (BEDS #10)
I've always been someone who is consciously aware of when a big change is happening in my life. I hype myself up for it, and build this momentous occasion up in my mind as a big, huge deal--sometimes bigger than is actually warranted. It's what I did when I graduated high school, when I left home to attend school in PEI, and today, when I moved out of my parents' house and into a brand-new one in the city.
As per usual, so much build up beforehand leads to a slightly disappointing aftermath. Here I am, sitting in the basement of my new house, consciously aware that this is a huge step and the start of a new chapter of my life, and I feel...no different than I did yesterday. It's like back when I was a kid, and I spent all summer waiting for my birthday to come around, expecting to suddenly feel "grown up", or in some way different, when the day finally hit. But as it turns out, being 11 feels about the same as being 10.
I think I spend so much time building up to these events, the ones that I know are supposed to be a big deal, that I forget that sometimes, the biggest events are the ones I don't notice. They're the ones that seem little, or even completely uneventful, at the time--only to show their true importance months later. It's kind of funny, actually, how one mundane event can change the course of your life forever.
Back in the ninth grade, for example. I had very few friends, none of whom attended my high school. I was the shy and quiet kid, who always had her nose in a book and spent her lunches alone, writing her own. I was lonely, yes, but not unhappy--just content.
I barely remember the day it happened--that's how mundane and ordinary it truly was. I don't remember the morning leading up to it, or what followed for the remainder of the afternoon. Those, I think, stayed the same, which is why I may have dismissed the event as truly important.
All I remember, really, is panic. Panic over walking into my English classroom, only to find that my teacher had rearranged the desks.
It's not that I was attached to my seat in question. I never spoke to the people around me, anyway, so really, it didn't matter. But at least before, it was routine. Now, with the desks arranged in groups of four, whose set would I complete? Whose group would I join, if I had spoken to no one?
It was a split second decision, really, as one only has so much time to stand in the doorway and stare before others start to question it. So, I picked a desk. I picked a group of three other girls, who I vaguely recognized from other classes.
I'm not kidding when I'm saying that that decision changed my life. Almost every friend I made in high school can be traced back to those original three, and I am so, so grateful that I met them, and that they're still in my life now.
So yes, maybe what I'm going through now is supposed to be a big deal. Maybe it'll live up to the hype. Maybe it won't. I'm not sure what happens now, really. All I know is that there's bound to be another split-second decision to make, somewhere down the road.
It's scary. But I think I'm alright with that.
Until later,
- Justyne
As per usual, so much build up beforehand leads to a slightly disappointing aftermath. Here I am, sitting in the basement of my new house, consciously aware that this is a huge step and the start of a new chapter of my life, and I feel...no different than I did yesterday. It's like back when I was a kid, and I spent all summer waiting for my birthday to come around, expecting to suddenly feel "grown up", or in some way different, when the day finally hit. But as it turns out, being 11 feels about the same as being 10.
I think I spend so much time building up to these events, the ones that I know are supposed to be a big deal, that I forget that sometimes, the biggest events are the ones I don't notice. They're the ones that seem little, or even completely uneventful, at the time--only to show their true importance months later. It's kind of funny, actually, how one mundane event can change the course of your life forever.
Back in the ninth grade, for example. I had very few friends, none of whom attended my high school. I was the shy and quiet kid, who always had her nose in a book and spent her lunches alone, writing her own. I was lonely, yes, but not unhappy--just content.
I barely remember the day it happened--that's how mundane and ordinary it truly was. I don't remember the morning leading up to it, or what followed for the remainder of the afternoon. Those, I think, stayed the same, which is why I may have dismissed the event as truly important.
All I remember, really, is panic. Panic over walking into my English classroom, only to find that my teacher had rearranged the desks.
It's not that I was attached to my seat in question. I never spoke to the people around me, anyway, so really, it didn't matter. But at least before, it was routine. Now, with the desks arranged in groups of four, whose set would I complete? Whose group would I join, if I had spoken to no one?
It was a split second decision, really, as one only has so much time to stand in the doorway and stare before others start to question it. So, I picked a desk. I picked a group of three other girls, who I vaguely recognized from other classes.
I'm not kidding when I'm saying that that decision changed my life. Almost every friend I made in high school can be traced back to those original three, and I am so, so grateful that I met them, and that they're still in my life now.
So yes, maybe what I'm going through now is supposed to be a big deal. Maybe it'll live up to the hype. Maybe it won't. I'm not sure what happens now, really. All I know is that there's bound to be another split-second decision to make, somewhere down the road.
It's scary. But I think I'm alright with that.
Until later,
- Justyne
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Falling into Autumn (BEDS #9)
The title was so cringe worthy that I had to use it.
Now I know that, according to the calendar, it's still technically summer. And I know that, in some places, it still feels like summer.
But here, it does not. Today, it was 11 degrees (Celsius), and cloudly, and overall about as far from summer as you can get without adding multi-colourful leaves and six feet of snow piled on the ground. It was cold, and miserable, and all in all not the day I would typically enjoy.
Maybe it's because I just got back from Florida, where it's a humid 40 degrees every day and 95% of my time was spent outdoors, but for once, I welcomed this lower temperature. I love summer, always have and always will. I adore winter, too. But I always forget how much I appreciate fall until it comes around.
Again, I love summer. I love the heat, and eating ice cream and drinking iced capps. I love wearing tank tops and shorts and sundresses and flip flops--my cutest outfits are made for summer. Even now, when I'm not in school, there's this special feeling about summer that I can't help but love, even though the humidity makes my curly hair go crazy.
Winter, on the other hand, is magical. The snow is absolutely beautiful--especially in December, when everyone has their multi-coloured Christmas lights up and they sparkle against the snow with the street lights. I love the excitement of the first snow fall, how I still run out to taste the fresh flakes on my tongue in the middle of the street. I love curling up inside, with sweaters and blankets and hot chocolate. I love surrounding myself with a zillion blankets at night, and taking a nice, hot shower in the morning. Just the very thought of winter makes me happy, even though I look terrible in hats and the wind makes my face go numb after being outside for ten minutes.
Fall is always the season I overlook. I always view it as an "in-between" season, along with spring. I never liked spring, because the snow melts and makes everything wet and muddy and thus hard to walk around in. Whenever I think about fall in the heat of summer, it always makes me depressed--no matter how much I love winter (and Christmas), I still never want summer to end. The idea that the days will grow shorter (they're already short enough, thank-you-very-much) and the temperature will drop is significantly less than appealing.
But fall is almost a comfort. Fall feels like new beginnings--it's when school starts up again (even though I may no longer be attending), and when all of the television shows kick back up for a new season, with brand new ones joining in alongside them. It's new pencils and new notebooks and new stories and a new year--January will never feel as fresh or as new as September does to me.
So although I hope that Manitoba still has a few warm days left in store, I will be content with my sweatpants and hoodies and big fluffy socks. I will turn off my fan and curl up under my covers, and spend an extra five minutes in the shower because holy moly do I love hot showers. I will enjoy this.
It is, after all, just a new beginning.
QUESTION OF THE DAY: what's your favourite season? Comment down below!
Until later,
- Justyne
Now I know that, according to the calendar, it's still technically summer. And I know that, in some places, it still feels like summer.
But here, it does not. Today, it was 11 degrees (Celsius), and cloudly, and overall about as far from summer as you can get without adding multi-colourful leaves and six feet of snow piled on the ground. It was cold, and miserable, and all in all not the day I would typically enjoy.
Maybe it's because I just got back from Florida, where it's a humid 40 degrees every day and 95% of my time was spent outdoors, but for once, I welcomed this lower temperature. I love summer, always have and always will. I adore winter, too. But I always forget how much I appreciate fall until it comes around.
Again, I love summer. I love the heat, and eating ice cream and drinking iced capps. I love wearing tank tops and shorts and sundresses and flip flops--my cutest outfits are made for summer. Even now, when I'm not in school, there's this special feeling about summer that I can't help but love, even though the humidity makes my curly hair go crazy.
Winter, on the other hand, is magical. The snow is absolutely beautiful--especially in December, when everyone has their multi-coloured Christmas lights up and they sparkle against the snow with the street lights. I love the excitement of the first snow fall, how I still run out to taste the fresh flakes on my tongue in the middle of the street. I love curling up inside, with sweaters and blankets and hot chocolate. I love surrounding myself with a zillion blankets at night, and taking a nice, hot shower in the morning. Just the very thought of winter makes me happy, even though I look terrible in hats and the wind makes my face go numb after being outside for ten minutes.
Fall is always the season I overlook. I always view it as an "in-between" season, along with spring. I never liked spring, because the snow melts and makes everything wet and muddy and thus hard to walk around in. Whenever I think about fall in the heat of summer, it always makes me depressed--no matter how much I love winter (and Christmas), I still never want summer to end. The idea that the days will grow shorter (they're already short enough, thank-you-very-much) and the temperature will drop is significantly less than appealing.
But fall is almost a comfort. Fall feels like new beginnings--it's when school starts up again (even though I may no longer be attending), and when all of the television shows kick back up for a new season, with brand new ones joining in alongside them. It's new pencils and new notebooks and new stories and a new year--January will never feel as fresh or as new as September does to me.
So although I hope that Manitoba still has a few warm days left in store, I will be content with my sweatpants and hoodies and big fluffy socks. I will turn off my fan and curl up under my covers, and spend an extra five minutes in the shower because holy moly do I love hot showers. I will enjoy this.
It is, after all, just a new beginning.
QUESTION OF THE DAY: what's your favourite season? Comment down below!
Until later,
- Justyne
Easy (Micro-Fiction Monday) (BEDS #8)
I hate
the way they fly. The way they soar high in the sky, tumbling and twirling through
the clouds. I hate them because I’m jealous—I’m willing to admit it. It’s not
like it changes anything.
I can
feel their eyes digging into my back, constantly, every day. Stop it! I want to scream. I’m just like you!
But I’m
not. I used to be. I used to belong with them, I used to soar with them. But I
don’t.
Not anymore.
Everything
I used to love about the wings now angers me. The fluffy feathers that fall
from the sky, tickling against my skin on contact. The speed at which young
flyers zoom past my head, creating winds that send my hair flying. The white
glow of their colour.
My parents
won’t let me cut my wings off. They hide sharp objects carefully, now, thinking
I won’t notice.
They’ll get better. Just have patience.
Easy
for them to say, when they aren’t haunted by dark shadows in their mirrors.
Easy for them to say, when their feathers aren’t rough and torn, scratching painfully
against their skin. Easy for them to say, when the thing they love most is
ripped away from them, with no explanation why.
Easy
for them to say. They don’t know what it’s like for your wings to fall apart
around you, turning from beautiful to hideous in the blink of an eye.
~~
Until later,
- Justyne
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Disney World Adventures (BEDS #7)
So I just got back from Disney World a couple days ago. It was my second time going, and honestly...
I loved it. I loved it so, so, sooo much.
Some of the fantastic highlights include, but are not limited to:
I loved it. I loved it so, so, sooo much.
Some of the fantastic highlights include, but are not limited to:
- Eating chocolate cake
- Meeting Woody and Buzz from Toy Story
- Meeting Anna and Elsa from Frozen
- Meeting Tiana and Naveen from The Princess and the Frog (do you see a running trend here?)
- Eating sushi and shopping at the Japan pavilion in Epcot
- Going through the Animation Academy in Hollywood Studios 100000000 times and learning to draw Olaf, Rapunzel, Lewis and Genie
- Buying stuffed animals
- Going to see shows like the Beauty and the Beast show in Hollywood Studios and the Festival of the Lion King in Animal Kingdom
- Scaring friends with creepy stuffed monkeys
- Dancing to the Macarena and YMCA in Downtown Disney
- Also in Downtown Disney: Earl of Sandwich (oh, hallelujah)
- Wearing one of the cutest dresses EVER on my birthday
- Taking pictures in front of Cinderella Castle in Magic Kingdom
- Going on Spaceship Earth a zillion times in Epcot
- Watching the fireworks above the castle in Magic Kingdom
I'm gonna stop there, because listing all of the fantastic stuff we did would take waaaaaay too long! Just know that it was wonderful and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Since my pictures are still on my camera somewhere, I'll hold off on sharing pictures. (For now.)
I can't WAIT to go again!
Until later,
- Justyne
Creative Nonfiction (BEDS #6)
The sky is my favourite. It's that shade of blue, my favourite blue, the kind I remember staring up at from the pool in our backyard back home. The only time I ever really liked to swim was when I wasn't swimming at all.
~~
I have a confession: my life is a little boring. Very boring, actually, which really shouldn't be surprising, considering how much time I spend alone in my room. There are only so many adventures you can have in seclusion.
This is why I sometimes have trouble blogging, actually. When I have no advice to give, no unique contribution to make to what the other writing-themed blogs have already said, I find that my mundane life provides very little blogging material. It's easy, in theory, to talk about what's going on in your life. The reality of it can be true, as well...but that goes more for friendly chats and less for blogging on the internet.
My audience may be small, but I'm sure you don't want to hear me complain about my sister taking my clothes again.
That's why I never even considered writing creative nonfiction before. Or why I never thought that I'd even pen an autobiography, because my story is a short and repetitive one. It's not exciting, nor is it really inspiring. People won't really take anything away from it. Even my own personal and private journals / diaries have been this way for almost as long as I can remember:
"Dear Diary,
This happened, then that happened. I feel like this.
The End."
How did I even get into this whole writing business?
But the other day, I tried something different. On the way back from my vacation, while I was sitting on the plane, airborn for Winnipeg, I stared out the window. That small action in and of itself really wasn't new at all, but it was the things I was thinking about, and the way I was thinking about them, that motivated me to pull out my journal.
Normally, I'd write another mundane entry. Normally, I'd write the date, and say something along the lines of, "I like staring out the window and thinking about stuff." (No, really. That right there is practically a direct quote.) But this time, I stopped, and I opted for something different:
The wall of the plane is cold. I can lean against it more comfortably than in the train I was on earlier in the summer; back when the days were still growing and the imminent change that is now so close, didn't seem so imminent. But even though my seat is arranged in such a way that I could easily rest my head against the heavy structure and fall asleep, I shift carefully away from it. The cold is shocking to my skin--I can only imagine what it's like out there.
There's a reason I never enjoyed writing about my life, even in the private confines of my journal--it was boring. It was boring and dull and I'm sure that in twenty years I will not be interested in reading about the toys I got for Christmas when I was 11.
This, though...this was different. I had never written about my life this way before--not without changing some major detail, or falsifying my life in a way that would make things more interesting to the non-existent reader.
This was interesting. It was fun.
Maybe someday I'll share the full piece with you. But for now, I think I might write some more.
Until later,
- Justyne
~~
I have a confession: my life is a little boring. Very boring, actually, which really shouldn't be surprising, considering how much time I spend alone in my room. There are only so many adventures you can have in seclusion.
This is why I sometimes have trouble blogging, actually. When I have no advice to give, no unique contribution to make to what the other writing-themed blogs have already said, I find that my mundane life provides very little blogging material. It's easy, in theory, to talk about what's going on in your life. The reality of it can be true, as well...but that goes more for friendly chats and less for blogging on the internet.
My audience may be small, but I'm sure you don't want to hear me complain about my sister taking my clothes again.
That's why I never even considered writing creative nonfiction before. Or why I never thought that I'd even pen an autobiography, because my story is a short and repetitive one. It's not exciting, nor is it really inspiring. People won't really take anything away from it. Even my own personal and private journals / diaries have been this way for almost as long as I can remember:
"Dear Diary,
This happened, then that happened. I feel like this.
The End."
How did I even get into this whole writing business?
But the other day, I tried something different. On the way back from my vacation, while I was sitting on the plane, airborn for Winnipeg, I stared out the window. That small action in and of itself really wasn't new at all, but it was the things I was thinking about, and the way I was thinking about them, that motivated me to pull out my journal.
Normally, I'd write another mundane entry. Normally, I'd write the date, and say something along the lines of, "I like staring out the window and thinking about stuff." (No, really. That right there is practically a direct quote.) But this time, I stopped, and I opted for something different:
The wall of the plane is cold. I can lean against it more comfortably than in the train I was on earlier in the summer; back when the days were still growing and the imminent change that is now so close, didn't seem so imminent. But even though my seat is arranged in such a way that I could easily rest my head against the heavy structure and fall asleep, I shift carefully away from it. The cold is shocking to my skin--I can only imagine what it's like out there.
There's a reason I never enjoyed writing about my life, even in the private confines of my journal--it was boring. It was boring and dull and I'm sure that in twenty years I will not be interested in reading about the toys I got for Christmas when I was 11.
This, though...this was different. I had never written about my life this way before--not without changing some major detail, or falsifying my life in a way that would make things more interesting to the non-existent reader.
This was interesting. It was fun.
Maybe someday I'll share the full piece with you. But for now, I think I might write some more.
Until later,
- Justyne
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