I am

The world is moving, everything is wrong

Maybe not bad; but it's changing and has been for long

And only when everything is how it's meant--

will my heart and I feel content.

This is there and that is here

There is you and me and us and we're

moving and going and breathing and dreaming

and living and hoping and trying and being.

Some are lost, so lost, but I am found

The strings have loosened from where I was bound

And I'm comfortable by myself but never feel alone;

I am happy

I am healthy

I am here, and

I am home.

I got by with a little help from my friends.

Me, Mia & Bud as high schoolers.

When I entered sophomore year of high school I fell apart.

But that's not what I want to talk about. I've talked about it plenty and that drama in my life is very far behind me.

I'd prefer to talk about being put back together.

As far as my personal history goes, the events leading up to and following tenth grade were very important to my growth as an individual. I learned to rely more on myself and less on other people. I learned what really mattered to me, what should have always mattered to me. I learned who was worth my time.

But I know that I didn't do this alone. There is not an ungrateful bone in my body for my 'siblings,' my saviors, my best friends: The Tonelli Twins.

When I talk to Mia and Bud about that time, they say they remember me as being very vulnerable. That I was under a lot of scrutiny and had to deal with bullying for no reason. But that the whole awful experience strengthened our friendship, and of course made me a stronger person.

There's no "right" versions of these events. Nothing about them was right. But our accounts are similar nonetheless. I was very transparent with my feelings, so we remember most everything the same.

But Mia reminds me of a time I forgot about. It was the end of sophomore year and we had just found out her family was moving away. The thought of having to lose the people who were keeping me together was unbearable. I apparently wanted to switch schools.

Mia told me the, "It's just two more years. Two more years then we'll be in college."

And now we're here. In college. 

The satisfaction in this for me (for us) is more than can ever be described.

Mia lives two doors down from me. Bud lives in the room below me.

We made it through all the shit and shitty people to come to a place where we can learn and be happy.

And we're here together.

Me, Mia & Bud as college students. Essentially the same (but dressed better).

Let me come Home

I never thought I'd have to actually come home to feel homesick.

But now that I'm home-- my real mom and dad and sister and cats home-- I feel pretty far from home. 

That's not to say that my dorm is my home. Even though my little slice of Johnson Hall is very comforting, it's not my home, at least not really.

So I've been forced to ask myself:

Where is my home?

When am I home?

What is my home?

The answers to these questions constantly vary. So I realize it's not the where/when/what that matters. Those things hardly ever matter.

So I've come to a conclusion. My home is in different parts of several people. 

My home is never in one place at once.

For example, at this moment, my home is at Johnson Hall, and with my mom and sister and North Carolina and with my best friend Tim in California and with my other best friends at their homes across Virginia or back in Richmond, and with my dad downstairs, and my kitten on my lap. And a lot of other places too.

There are pros and cons to this, my ubiquitous home. The main being that I feel at home often, but I'm also frequently homesick.

The give and take makes sense though. To me at least-- the push and pull makes me feel at home, ironic as that may be.

They heard! They suspected! They knew!

     Walking into to Mr. Baker's classroom this afternoon, I am transported back to my eighth grade self. He is teaching the class about Edgar Allen Poe's "Tell Tale Heart." His enthusiasm for the story has not wavered in the five years since I first sat here and heard him read it aloud.

     Now I'm not sitting at a student desk though. I am not part of the class. I am an outside observer. Sitting at Mr. Baker's desk I look to my left and on the wall I see a quote from Longfellow's "A Psalm of Life" blown up on a poster and mounted to the wall-- just like the time I first saw it. It stuck with me then, and obviously (see the name of my blog) it still sticks with me.

     When I arrived at the school this afternoon, I was issued a very official visitor pass. Seeing my name next to the word "visitor" and looking back on my time here I feel old. But no doubt I will look back on how young I was today and feel old. Hell, I remember being the age of these kids and feeling so old. 

     Watching Mr. Baker teach and interact with these pint-sized people, I assert silently to myself that his talent as an educator is wasted on a middle school classroom. Because surely his lecture is worthy of a college audience, as opposed to little kids who can't fully grasp his teachings.

     But then I remember when I was one of those little kids. And I listened and hung on every word. And how while sitting in this classroom, my outlook on English and school in general was changed forever. If I hadn't had Mr. Baker till college, I would have still greatly appreciated and learned from his class. 

     But now I'm in college, having already learned from his class.

     And I'm a better student because of it.

Oh Hey There, Mr. Opportunity

My parents didn't want me to major in film. They didn't think it was practical. They thought it was a fleeting interest. The only way they even allowed me to come to VCUarts, after weeks of pleading and arguments, was the promise that I would double major in English, which was practical. 

I can't imagine doing anything else besides this. I'm a grateful every day that I'm here that I am studying something that interests me and that I genuinely love. I am even more grateful that I'm in a program that allows me to start doing right away, instead of just sitting in a lecture hall listening and observing.

My parents have starting singing a different tune. They see how happy I am here, and they know we made the right decision. And they're proud of me.

I was talking to my mom yesterday, telling her about the different opportunities I was getting here. I was on  the bus on my way back from the production office for an independent film company that is shooting a feature length film in Richmond for the next couple months. I'm going to be an (unpaid) production assistant a few times a week.

She said, "I forgot how capable my girl was."

I asked her what she meant. 

She said that she used to be focused on the fact that I would have my English degree to fall back on. But that she realized I wouldn't need it. That when I want something I do it. And I do it well. She gets that I want this.

And I want this.

I want to be successful in this field so much it aches. 

And I will be.

The moral of this story is: when you want to do something, do it. Don't wait till you're old enough or till you're wise enough or till your parents care enough. Opportunities are all around us. Maybe they're not knocking, but we can't expect them to. They're most likely idling quietly outside waiting for you to open the door and let them in.

In Defense of Teachers' Pets

Here's the thing, for as long as I've been in school I've always strived to be on my teachers's good sides. Some people call me a suck-up, a brown-noser, and most of all a teacher's pet. I used to get upset by this term, as it was frequently used in a derogatory sense. But I've come to a realization:


There is nothing wrong with being a teacher's pet.


In fact, there are endless benefits. If your teachers like you as a person they will most like treat you with more respect. Teachers appreciate students who take extra initiative in their classes, and going that extra brown-nosing mile will result in an excellent grade. Plus, if you build a good relationship with your teachers, then you have more adults in your life to go to and depend on.


Sure if you decide to be a teacher's pet it won't be easy. Your friends will make fun of you and some of your classmates may hate you. But it's worth it in the long run. People who are teacher's pets in school are 10 times more likely to succeed in their careers (totally false statistic, made up by myself, but it's probably true anyways).


People who get angry or frustrated with teachers' pets are simply jealous that they cannot perform as well in the classroom. I just hope that the negative attitudes of the hopeless underachievers won't deter teacher's pets on their path to success-- as if that were possible.

Browsing through the Bookstore- Fiction

I love bookstores. My favorites are the used ones, where you find the most random and exciting books. I love the scrawls in the margins, the smells, the prices.

I was browsing through my favorite bookstore today, not looking for anything that specific, when I saw it. I couldn't believe such a book would be written let alone sold. I was offended, outraged even.

"How to be a Terrible Roommate"

I asked myself why anyone would ever need to know these things. Still, I was intrigued. I flipped to the table of contents briefly and noticed there were sections on snoring cycle, lack of hygiene, nakedness, excessive overnight guests, etc. It was awful. Simply awful.

To set out to put your innocent roommate through such hell is something that is unfathomable to me. Moving into a college dorm can be stressful enough as it is without having to deal with the uncomfortable, disturbing or grotesque dramas of a terrible roommate.

I was a staute in the bookstore. I couldn't just leave it there for someone to purchase and use for evil. What if someone bought it then became my roommate later in life? This "book" had to be stopped. I couldn't bring myself to purchase it though. And burning it, though effective, would probably prohibit be from coming back to the store I loved.

The only weapon I had was a pen. I crouched down on the ground next to the bookshelf and opened the front flap of the book. I wrote:

"If you want to buy this book call 242-0910. And I'll tell you at least 100 other things better worth your 7 dollars."

Feeling satisfied, I tucked the book behind a few others, and walked out of the store triumphantly. I smiled the smile of someone who had just done the world a justice. Because, trust me, I had.

Art Freak of the Week 3- Kim

Quick Facts

Name: Kim Porazzo

Age: 19

Born: New York

Raised: Florida and New Jersey

Favorite Color: Purple

Favorite Artists: Alphonse Mucha and Jim Warren

Kim Porazzo is a freshman Art Foundation major living in the artist colony. When you first meet her, you might be fooled into thinking she's quiet or shy. But she's not. Kim is very free-spirited, active, and fantastically creative. Yeah, she's blonde. But she will whoop pretty much any guy's ass when it comes to video games. If you can't find Kim she's probably doing yoga, belly dancing, drawing (of course) or playing Kingdom Heats. This pint-sized artist is just shrugging off stereotypes on her way to shaking up the art world.

My Interview with Kim:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3tIDVo8RWAw

Kim's Deviant Art Site:

http://sabelle22.deviantart.com

Kim's Self-Portrait

"Gentle Beast"

"Flower Girl"

"Pink and Butterflies"

Three Shrinks At A Bar

Teresa: All right guys, whoever has the worst bad story has to buy the next round.

Elise: Deal. Kate you go first.

Kate: Okay, so I have this patient named Stu.

Teresa: Cheater! You used him last week.

Kate: But then he only had two personalities. I met a new one today. Samantha.

Teresa: No!

Kate: Yes. So for the longest 45 minutes of my life I had to listen to St-- I mean Samantha talk about sex life. In detail.

Elise: Okay well you think that's bad? I've got this 9-year-old named Ethan. Huge anger management issues. Now his parents are divorcing so they're getting even worse.

Teresa: Yawn. Nothing we haven't seen before.

Elise: He bit me. Look!

Kate: Holy crap!

Teresa: Are those stitches?

Elise: Yes they are, five. Little brat. So Teresa, you have anyone to bring to the table?

Teresa: Ah, not really. I mean, nothing like you guys have.

Kate: Well you better think of something or you have to buy the drinks.

Teresa; Well there is this one girl. Her name's Alaina. She's been my patient for almost 10 years.

Elise: I don't think you've ever mentioned her before.

Teresa: It's because I haven't.

Kate: Well why haven't you?

Teresa: I guess it was because, she was so normal. Just your run of the mill depression. Nothing exciting. But I really got to know her. I watched her grow up, or not really grow up. I thought I was helping her. But she never seemed that bad. I mean I have patients who are so worse off. Elise has patients biting her for god sakes!

Kate: Granted, she's a child psychiatrist.

Teresa: It just makes me wonder how we're making a difference, if all we spend our time on are the patients who are so badly off, how can we not ignore or more 'normal' patients?

Elise: It's about balance I guess.

Kate: Oh the way we balance our personal lives? We only ever go out with each other and we're all shrinks!

Elise: It's so we can let off steam.

Teresa: Balance.

Kate: What?

Teresa: Elise said it was about balance. But how do we achieve it? It's not like that taught us this in school.

Kate: But we do the best we can, or else we'd be out of our jobs.

Elise: Exactly. Did you read that medical journal article about multiple personalities that came out last week?

Kate: Yeah, I didn't really get the hype. I probably could have written a better one.

Elise: Ha! If you had that kind of time.

Kate: Well maybe I'll find that kind of time, after I balance out my personal life, of course.

Teresa: Of course.

Elise: So Teresa, why did you bring up that girl Alaina anyway? You never said.

Teresa: Oh, well she committed suicide this morning.

Kate: I think I'll get the next round.

Getting Over The Hump

Hump day.

Everybody has one. The day in the week that you dread, but know if you can just get through it everything will be better.

For most people that day is Wednesday, and I am no exception.

Ever since I arrived at VCU, Wednesday has been known to me as a few different things, such as:
- Hump Day
- Murphy's Law 
- Comedy of Errors
- Excessive First Aid Kit Usage
- Ouch *Expletive, Expletive, Expletive*


Let me explain. A typical hump day goes like this:
9:00-- Wake up, shower, get ready. (Unless I've slept through my alarm)
10:00-- Breakfast
11ish-- Leave for Cinema. Trip on the sidewalk, bruise or bleed. (Always the same sidewalk)
11:30-2:30-- Cinema. My favorite class, but very busy and sometimes stressful. Plus, we always go way over time.
2:35 (or later)-- Run to 7-Eleven next to Oliver Hall. Purchase 2 Red Bull and a snack.
2:45ish-- Inhale snack on bench outside of Oliver Hall. Normally get some of it in my hair. Chug red bull #1.
3:00-3:50-- Spanish. Enough said.
4:00-- Back to Johnson for a minute to switch out books.
4:15-- Finish Stats homework with my friend. Chug red bull #2.
5:00-- Quick group dinner. Everyone laughs at my fresh cuts and bumps.
6:00-6:50-- Statistics Lecture. Once again, enough said. (I have no interest in GenEd classes)
7:00-- Head back to Johnson to start homework or see friends. Trip on the stairs to my room.
8:00-- Something terrible has happened by now. (i.e. my room is completely flooded, I've lost power, been electrocuted, hit by a car, etc.) (All of these have happened to me since being her, in case you're wondering.)
12:00-- Get to bed, hopefully. After dealing with whatever unfortunate event, and thanking the sweet stars that it is Thursday.


However, this week was different. Hump day was fantastic. I woke up early to find out I earned an A on my Cinema short script. Had a relaxing breakfast, then went to class. Didn't fall or trip. Got to direct an awesome script in class (cough, Emily Knapp, cough). Found out my script is being filmed next week. Class went over so much that I didn't go to Spanish. Had actual downtime to hang out with my friends. Got an A on my Stats quiz. Went to a Cinema Screening then had Chinese food for dinner and watched an awesome movie with my friend. The entire day, never reaching for a band-aid. Overall, very successful. 


But trust me, I don't expect it to last. By nature, I am a clumsy, unlucky, and accident-prone person. Traits which hump day only magnifies. But I know how to prepare myself now (i.e. 'walking' sandals, no dresses, portable first-aid kit). 

Maybe it's not right, maybe it makes absolutely no sense. 

But hump day is just a part of my life, and I'd probably be lost without it. 

(Less beaten up maybe, but lost nonetheless.)

I guess I've just gotten used to getting over the hump.