Pass the Message Backward

It's amazing what you can dig up from when you got through files long forgotten. I know I write a lot and have written a lot. There are many highlights. Many stories I'd like to continue. But the sheer number of essays I've written, when I think about it is amazing for a girl of 21. I don't mean I've written so much more than the average 21 year old. I've always loved words and yes, have had more than my fair share of writing, be it from scratch or an edited version of something other wrote and needed help with. But just going through all the stuff I've written and can't even remember writing---it just amazes me who stares back from those yellowed pages. Writing is a mirror for me, so to speak. It's also a photo album of my mind. But, did you ever get that feeling when looking at your pictures and just thinking "I looked like that?!" This phrase is often accompanied by feelings of embarrassment, amazement or longing. We either wish tobe back in those old days with that fresh skin or are relieved that we got through those ugly duckling stages. Well, it's kind of the same with writing. I make it a point to preserve what I can when it comes to that. Hard and soft copies. I'm a sentimental pack rat especially for stuff I made. When it comes to writing, I am especially meticulous. Not only do these works torturously show me how bad I was, but they also reveal parts of me I've long forgotten. Sometimes we need to find those dwarfed versions of ourselves. If only to bring out the kid in us or jsut remind us where we came from. That's why I keep as much as I can of my writings. But like all pack rats, I hide them away so long i forget their mere existence. Then on nights like these I stumble accross them and it's like relearning those lessons all over again. What amazes me most is the wisdom I find in what I wrote so many years ago. It's not the kind of wisdom you get from some experience or some wise older person who's experienced it all. It's the wisdom from a kid, who's got a different perspective form you because of the simple fact that she is in the thick of a situation, you got through. It just brings you down to the ground again and reminds you of those dreams you once had.

Since we're on that topic, I won't allow you to jump to the conclusion that I'm a preemptive writer, just blabbing on and on about one thing without even a decent example to show for my point. So here's a little piece of my past. It's an interesting little piece I can't even remember writing. According to the file, it's from Aug. 29 2007. It's titled Emerging Chaos. Which makes me suspect it was some assignment for a class I had in 2nd Yr college. Clearly a major subject as it's so related to communication. But not bad for a sophomore. But then that's just me. So without further ado, here's a little piece of my past:

Have you ever played that game called “Chinese Whisper”? To others it is known simply as Pass the Message. Yet the former name seems to be more explicatory and implies the outcome of the game. Simply put, when you play the game the reason for the name is quite obvious. And though, perhaps in application to media or communication “Pass the Message” is more appropriate, when we discussed gate keeping in our classes I was reminded of how my friends and I would sit in a circle and whisper intangible words to each other during our free time when I was in high school. And how, when the message reached the last person and turned totally different from the original, we would burst into a pandemonium of laughter. And I suppose that only proves how much the dissemination of information can be the cause of so much chaos.

Memory Lanes

Blog post on Nov 16, '09 11:43 AM

(Orange words edited on Nov. 20, '09 9:57 am)

Don't feel like writing but I think I should. Because that's what writing's for. Giving me the words when there are none. I just finished chatting with a friend and digging up old memories he forgot but were somehow hidden somewhere deep within me. I am also listening to old songs from not so long ago but a different phase of my life nontheless. It's funny what these memories bring back. Or likewise what triggers those memories. Like a line from a song or a poem began and pulled out 'til you find yourself singing the whole thing even if you hadn't heard it in a long time. You find these memories are just locked deep withing you. But then the latch opens with a click of something, an old scent maybe, or a conversation with a friend--and then you find yourself unfurling memories still intact. You know them well of course, but only generally, vaugley. But just one tug and all the details, the feelings come back.

Sometimes I wish I had power over Time. To turn it back or move it forward. But sometimes all it takes is power over your memories to have power over Time. You get stuck it the past but in retrospect you see how your future turned out to be what you know as your present. Suddenly it all looks different from where you stand. And you realize, "Those low notes and high notes made a good song after all..."