Huh, I haven’t been here in a while.

Wonder if it’s worth coming back to. =p

Just trying out Instagram for the first time. A close up of my teddy bear, Cocoa. =) (Taken with instagram)
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Just trying out Instagram for the first time. A close up of my teddy bear, Cocoa. =) (Taken with instagram)

In my attempt to actually make stuff happen, I am officially announcing that I will be learning Spanish, Japanese, and Tagalog.

Writing will resume as well, but I’m not making any promises on that as reading (for school) and learning in general are taking up a lot of my time. I really want to promise I’ll do it on a more regular basis, but I won’t ‘til I’ve gotten into my language-learning habit. On a slightly related note, I’ve been writing in a journal each night again, so my writing habit should be able to branch off of that fact!

I was in 4th grade that year. My teacher, Mrs. Hussen, and the teacher next door, Mrs. Marshall, essentially taught our classes together, and on that day we all gathered sitting on the floor in front of the sofa where the teachers sat. The exact words are lost to memory, something like, There’s been an accident in New York, some of your parents may not be back in time to pick you up… Whether they’d failed to mention New York City specifically or if I didn’t know my dad worked in upstate New York and not the city I can’t quite remember. I recall worrying that my dad would not be able to get home. I worried, aware of the air of seriousness about my teachers’ voices, but I wouldn’t have grasped the enormity of what happened without them telling me. In my young mind, it was a matter of how bad the traffic must be if our parents might have trouble getting home. I’m not sure how long it took for the school day to end after that. I just remember that when we were dismissed that day, I saw my dad standing outside next to my mom and feeling so happy, so glad my dad was not stuck as a result of the accident that occurred that day. The image of my teachers’ smiling to see me happy to see him is in my mind, but I’m not sure now whether it’s a fabrication of how they might’ve reacted or if I’d seen him from our classroom windows before going down and seeing him. I just know in that moment, hugging my dad, the worst of that day was over for me. How I wish it were the same for everyone on 9/11, for their troubles to have been as minor as worrying about traffic keeping their parents away. 9/11, never forget. Prompt/Image: yeahwriters: Write about your memory of 9/11.
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I was in 4th grade that year. My teacher, Mrs. Hussen, and the teacher next door, Mrs. Marshall, essentially taught our classes together, and on that day we all gathered sitting on the floor in front of the sofa where the teachers sat.

The exact words are lost to memory, something like, There’s been an accident in New York, some of your parents may not be back in time to pick you up…

Whether they’d failed to mention New York City specifically or if I didn’t know my dad worked in upstate New York and not the city I can’t quite remember. I recall worrying that my dad would not be able to get home. I worried, aware of the air of seriousness about my teachers’ voices, but I wouldn’t have grasped the enormity of what happened without them telling me. In my young mind, it was a matter of how bad the traffic must be if our parents might have trouble getting home.

I’m not sure how long it took for the school day to end after that. I just remember that when we were dismissed that day, I saw my dad standing outside next to my mom and feeling so happy, so glad my dad was not stuck as a result of the accident that occurred that day. The image of my teachers’ smiling to see me happy to see him is in my mind, but I’m not sure now whether it’s a fabrication of how they might’ve reacted or if I’d seen him from our classroom windows before going down and seeing him.

I just know in that moment, hugging my dad, the worst of that day was over for me. How I wish it were the same for everyone on 9/11, for their troubles to have been as minor as worrying about traffic keeping their parents away.

9/11, never forget.

Prompt/Image:

yeahwriters:

Write about your memory of 9/11.

10 Distinctive Traits of A Writer Who Speaks From Their Heart

the-write-idea:

By Miranda Jane

  • They are aware of the world around them—the sounds, faces, colors, and smells.
  • They take joy in simplicity. A hot cup of tea, a sunny morning, or a smile from a stranger.
  • They remember that when they feel “blocked” in life or writing that this really is an opportunity to pause and think.
  • They know love is the point of it all. If you aren’t doing it for love, why are you doing it in the first place?
  • They take baby steps toward speaking from their heart. They know nothing happens overnight.
  • They are not afraid to make mistakes when trying to speak from the heart—they know nothing is ever permanent. Life constantly shifts. Writing can be revised and edited.
  • They let themselves feel whatever they are feeling and capture it in writing.
  • They don’t shy away from the truth, even if it seems black and ugly. They know that the truth can be liberating.
  • They use memories as inspiration. They stumble through their past for moments that speak to them.
  • They remember that speaking from their heart is brave, that writing is brave, and that they are brave.

I feel a lot of these points reflect on me, but not all. I don’t stop nearly as often as I should to “stop and think,” I am quite afraid of making mistakes, and I don’t believe I am brave. Then again, I’ve hardly had time to write, so I probably have little room to call myself a writer at this point. Hopefully I can change that.

I’m afraid to think I’m getting over it ‘cause it hurts too much if I’m wrong and cry to you again.

Sometimes I think what’s hindering me the most is that there’s too much I want to do.

On the topic of the (Japanese) company my dad works for, Fujitsu

  • Dad: I'm gonna go in and submit my idea for our new slogan.
  • Mom: What's the slogan?
  • Dad: "Fujitsu, we put the F-U in FUN!"
  • Me: "Fujitsu" doesn't even mean something flattering in Japanese, it's weird.
  • Dad: Yeah, right? I don't remember what it means...
  • Megan: I'll look it up! *looks it up in my Japanese/English dictionary* Unfaithful, insincere, fake...
  • Mom: Why would they call a company that?
  • Dad: Hey, the checks they send keep clearing so the company can be as fake as they want!
I want him or at least to pet him, gah! So cute! discoverynews: Meet George, the Great Dane who is the world’s largest dog. He’s terrified of water and, of course, a gentle, sweet giant. He’s listed the Guinness Book of World Records as the world’s tallest living dog (43 inches from paw to shoulder, that’s over 3 feet) as well as the tallest dog ever. Here’s a look at George through the years, along with a photoblog of his various trips. He loves NYC!
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I want him or at least to pet him, gah! So cute!

discoverynews:

Meet George, the Great Dane who is the world’s largest dog. He’s terrified of water and, of course, a gentle, sweet giant.

He’s listed the Guinness Book of World Records as the world’s tallest living dog (43 inches from paw to shoulder, that’s over 3 feet) as well as the tallest dog ever.

Here’s a look at George through the years, along with a photoblog of his various trips. He loves NYC!

Forget the Best: Part 1

The hospital room finally quieted. His friends and family had poured in, lingered, and repeated how grateful they were that it hadn’t been worse. A hard knock on the head, scratches and bruises abound and a broken arm were the worst of Noel’s injuries. He was grateful it hadn’t been worse, too, but he couldn’t remember the accident. He hadn’t asked about it either, and so he wasn’t told. All the flowers made him sniffle; it seemed that in remembering he loved sweets, people forgot he was allergic. At least the colors are nice, he thought.

There was a knock on the door and a nurse walked in. “Hi, Noel, are you up for one more visitor?”

Noel sat up in the hospital bed. “Sure.”

The woman offered him a tired smile and left. In a few minutes, a girl walked in, smiling. She carried a grocery bag and sat on the edge of his bed. “Hey. How are ya feeling?”

“Alright as I can feel.” Noel edged slightly away from her. Is she the one who hit me or something?

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