Photography

The thing in my life that is most consuming to me right now is photography. Over this past year my passion for photography has grown so much. It used to be just taking some pictures of me and friends, then it grew to an occasional sunset and then it started turning in to more than just a hobby.

Photography is my passion now. I love being able to capture moments. I love seeing something unique and being able to capture it and share it with others. I love the feeling when I’m standing with my camera and ideas just fill my mind and things change around me and I see things in a different way. Being so interested in photography somehow puts a positive spin on life for me. When everything is so bad in life and all you see on the news is bad, it feels nice to stand in silence and see something beautiful; to look deeply in to the things around us that we usually take for granted.

When my friend Laurel and I were taking some funny pictures of us one day I stopped and was looking around for ideas. I didn’t really notice until Laurel started laughing and said something like oh no the photographer in you is coming out. Then I realized that I do that a lot. I had stopped and was just scanning the area around us and picturing the way I could put things together. What was really cool to me was that I had zoned everything else out. I could tune things out and tune into the world around me to see what backgrounds I could put together with what pose.

Photography is my world that makes sense. It’s like an escape. It’s a world with imagination and ideas. When I’m taking pictures it’s just up to me. I can use the things around me to make something beautiful or make something unique that other people usually wouldn’t think of to photograph; which is what I love the most.  Photography is completely unique. You can give any two people a camera and the same surroundings but they will leave with totally different pictures and ideas. One might just take a picture that anyone can take of a sunset, while the other will find something unique, something beautiful.

Another thing I love about photography is the thought that goes into it. There’s a quote “Owning a cannon camera does not make you a photographer.” I like this because it means even though anyone in the world can go by a camera it doesn’t automatically make them a photographer. Just like anyone can go buy a basketball but that doesn’t make them a basketball star. Anyone can pick up a camera and take a picture of a sunset, but it’s the thought that you put into it that makes it a unique photograph that people want to look at. Some people may not notice or they may not even care, but I see the difference in photographs that are taken using thought and feelings and a picture that was just taken because they saw something pretty. I notice it in the pictures that I’ve taken. I look at ones I took when I started to like photography to the pictures I take now and there is a huge difference, I can feel what’s going on in the picture. My sister told me once that she liked a picture that I took so much because it was different. It wasn’t just another picture. She could feel the thought that I had put into it and then it triggered different thoughts for her while she was looking at it.

Marb

Marb

                Blue, red, purple, green and yellow. To anyone else, just a stuffed bear, but to me, so much more. He became a friend to me from the moment his soft brown fur found his way into my arms. Little did I know, he wouldn’t just become a childhood memory. He wouldn’t end up in the garbage can or in some D.I. across the world; ending up in another child’s hands. He stayed in my arms; by my side each night as I doze off to sleep.

                To strangers, his floppy arms, limp body and squished nose don’t seem appealing. He wouldn’t be the new teddy bear a child looked forward to receiving. Bright unmatching colors covered him, although the bright colors have faded over time. Some consider him ugly, but to me it only makes him more unique.

                When looking into his warm brown eyes, I see the things he sees. Memories flood back, almost like a movie playing through his eyes. When feeling his soft worn ears, I hear the things he hears. Scary sounds sneaking in from outside long empty nights; arguments from the neighboring room as I held on tightly for comfort.

                A musty smell sneaks off him. So many smells are mixed into his brown fur. Smells that bring back both sad and happy memories. Smells of all the suitcases and bags he squished his way into. It reminds me of all the trips he attended with me and the many more to come. Body spray and hairspray mixed into a strong, fragrant smell; almost like being in a salon. It reminds me of the dates and long days of school. The smell of tears that have soaked his fur on so many occasions; both happy tears and sad tears. Such a strong smell; a smell that someone else might not even notice. Who knew that a smell could be a memory?

                A cuddle buddy, a comfort and a lifelong friend; my teddy bear will always be by my side, soaking in more sights to be played through his eyes, more sounds to jump through his ears, and more smells to remind me of all the things we go through together.

The Sun Coming Down on My Summer

It is the end.
That’s the only way to explain it.

The end of something beautiful.

The end of something relaxing.

The words “the end” make you sense it’s threat.

The word’s make you fear.

I don’t realize the end is so near.

It catches me off guard.

 

Life is fun; it’s complete.

Then I hear those words.

Dread fills all of my being.

The words envelope me.

I try to postpone it as much as possible.

But postponing never works.

It seems the more I postpone,

The faster it comes.

There is no way to stop it form coming.

I regret each day that I wasted.

It quietly lurks.

Waiting to catch me when I least expect it.

Then it’s there.

The end.

Giving in is my only choice.

I must go back.

I am helpless.

I am defenseless

I fall back into the routine.

The routine that had felt so good to leave behind.

The beautifulness and warmness is gone.

Replaced with cold and crowded spaces.

There is no way to escape.

I must stay strong.

The days eat at me.

Only two weeks in.

Panic fills my soul.

How can I survive the months to come?

This is torture.

It seems impossible.

Procrastination sets in.

It’s so hard to battle.

Two days is not a long enough break.

I need more time.

I need help.

I need sleep.

In past years it wasn’t so threatening.

The end didn’t scare me.

But this year was different.

I’d heard the horrors this year would bring.

Everyone of them was true.

They expect so much.

My brain holds so little.

It only wants sleep.

But there are no excuses.

No story to back me up.

It must be done.

No matter what.

But I have no choice.

I must hold strong.

I’ll count down the days.

Until the relaxing end.

Me As A Writer

I don’t remember the day I learned to write, or even how I learned to write. In my mind I’ve just always been able to write. I never put thought into the fact that I had to learn before I could have gotten to where I am now in my writing. Although I cannot remember how or when I learned to write, I do remember experiences that helped my writing ability grow to where it is today.

In my second grade elementary class writing was a big part of our curriculum. Each day my teacher would have a subject on the board that we were to write about in our journals. Most days, writing was my favorite part of the day. The subjects could range from something very serious, to something fun and silly. They could be something that required you to use imagination, or something just based on facts. Each day was something different; something new to explore. In the past I’ve found my second grade journal and read through subjects I got to write about. Although now my stories seem silly and incomplete to me, I know then I thought they were great creations.

One writing memory that sticks out to me the most in that class, is when older kids came in and were paired up with us younger kids. We spent time with our partner getting to know them, and then the older partner wrote a story for the younger one. I remember how excited I was the day I got my story. The were even bound up like books. It was a story about a little, shy, mouse, by the name of Keyara. I read it over and over, and couldn’t wait until I was old enough to write my own books.

I have always liked writing and to this day I still enjoy it very much. I have been in some great language arts classes that have helped me become a better writer. The classes have also taught me fun ways of writing. In my ninth grade honors language arts class I learned so many different types of writing. One of my favorite papers in that class was one that I got to use my imagination in. We got to write something like a fairy tale, or a tall tale. I wrote mine on how lip gloss came to be. It was such a fun experience to be able to just let my imagination flow and write something so fun. To this day it is my most favorite paper I have ever written.

Another thing that stuck out to me in that class, was when my teacher, Mrs. Card, gave a list of subjects to choose from to write on. I chose to write on an experience that changed my life. Mrs. Card told the class that there probably wouldn’t be very many students that would write on that subject because most of us hadn’t experienced something life changing at such a young age. Writing that paper was an awesome experience. Being able to tell the whole story and being able to put so much of my voice into it. Throughout writing the paper I learned more about putting voice into something you write. I also learned how much putting your voice into a paper can change the paper entirely. Anyone could have written on that subject or maybe could have had a similar experience as me, but writing a paper with your voice is what makes it unique. It was awesome to me to be able to learn that much about writing just through one paper.

Writing in or for a classroom setting has helped my writing capabilities and learning experience grow. I think I do better writing for an audience than I would if I were to just write for myself. I put more thought and work into the paper when I know someone will be reading it; especially teachers. I’ve never had a problem writing for teachers because I like being critiqued and given advice. If I just wrote the paper, handed it in and never saw it again, I would never learn anything. My teachers have helped me learn more about my writing just by correcting my papers. Sometimes, I may be a little disappointed when something I write comes back with marks all over it, but I know that the teacher is just trying to help me, then I can go home and work on whatever has been suggested and fix it before handing it in for a final draft. That way, I know when I turn it in for a final, I know that at least it is better than when I first started. Having peers check it also helps my writing because when the subject is something that relates to all of us as students, it helps to have a students opinion on it.

My writing capabilities have definitely grown over the years; although, they are nowhere near perfect now. My capabilities have not only grown from the help of teachers and students, but from my willingness to learn more about writing. I still have a great willingness to learn all I can about writing and I hope that not only this year, but for the rest of my life that my writing knowledge can grow and I can keep learning to become a better writer.