I'm God's beautiful little girl. He is proud to call me His daughter.
And I bawled.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Another Break Down to Someone Who Doesn't Know Me
ENG120H
I totally dread writing. I dread the writing process. This semester I accidentally signed up for three writing classes. What I meant by accident is that I didn't know one of them involved so much writing and reading novels. English 120H, my only 100-level class this semester, turns out to be quite scary. And in class today, I got my paper back. I worked really hard on this paper. I mean I finished it with more than a week ahead of the due date to get it revised and stuff.
I tried really hard, because I really didn't want to believe that I sucked at writing that much. I really wanted to get through these three writing classes. I even handed the paper into the professor, believing it was an A paper. After announcing to the class that a large majority got A's, I got mine back. I slowly flipped through the pages, read through the comments on the margins and the last page, B-.
Ok, maybe you'd say B- isn't that bad. But B- meant close enough to C+. I imagine my professor writing that B with her solid red-ink pen. She probably stared at it for half a second, and added the - to the B and made it a B-. B- is an insult compared to B. It's an extra detail that says 'kinda, sorta, not so good'.
It was especially embarrassing because I really felt like I poured my heart into the paper. I felt like I would blow my professor away with my creative analogies and beautiful uses of anaphoras, jargon, parallelism, and other rhetorical devices. She said there would be absolutely no rewrites.
After class, I asked her if I could rewrite it anyway so I can know what it takes to get an A paper. She said that wouldn't be a problem and she said we could go over what I did wrong in my paper. We did, and I felt the unreasonableness in her tone. She just stuck so strongly on the things she wrote on the margins. To be honest, I don't think I deserved that B- still. I think it was at least B. Tears were running down my face and snot was just covering up my face, I felt it. "Ah, what the freakin hell" I thought in my head. "What the freaking hell. Crap." But I couldn't stop. And I spoke with that out of breath voice, where every word was interrupted by a heavy breath and a shoulder reflex going up, back, and down.
"I really appreciate your criticism, and I really want to become a better writer. Now I know what I need to work on and I will work on it."
I could tell she was grossed out by my snot and tears. I wiped myself down on the sleeves to my soft maroon jacket. She will remember those snot stains and those tears that fell like beads.
I don't think it was completely the paper that drove me to break down like that. It was just a lot of stuff building up. Lots of disappointment, grief, and stress building up. I'm really surprised my hair is still in tact sometimes.
God, wrap me in Your love. Wrap me with it like a cocoon. Wrap it on me so tightly that I loose the air in my lungs. I rather feel Your love than breathe.
I totally dread writing. I dread the writing process. This semester I accidentally signed up for three writing classes. What I meant by accident is that I didn't know one of them involved so much writing and reading novels. English 120H, my only 100-level class this semester, turns out to be quite scary. And in class today, I got my paper back. I worked really hard on this paper. I mean I finished it with more than a week ahead of the due date to get it revised and stuff.
I tried really hard, because I really didn't want to believe that I sucked at writing that much. I really wanted to get through these three writing classes. I even handed the paper into the professor, believing it was an A paper. After announcing to the class that a large majority got A's, I got mine back. I slowly flipped through the pages, read through the comments on the margins and the last page, B-.
Ok, maybe you'd say B- isn't that bad. But B- meant close enough to C+. I imagine my professor writing that B with her solid red-ink pen. She probably stared at it for half a second, and added the - to the B and made it a B-. B- is an insult compared to B. It's an extra detail that says 'kinda, sorta, not so good'.
It was especially embarrassing because I really felt like I poured my heart into the paper. I felt like I would blow my professor away with my creative analogies and beautiful uses of anaphoras, jargon, parallelism, and other rhetorical devices. She said there would be absolutely no rewrites.
After class, I asked her if I could rewrite it anyway so I can know what it takes to get an A paper. She said that wouldn't be a problem and she said we could go over what I did wrong in my paper. We did, and I felt the unreasonableness in her tone. She just stuck so strongly on the things she wrote on the margins. To be honest, I don't think I deserved that B- still. I think it was at least B. Tears were running down my face and snot was just covering up my face, I felt it. "Ah, what the freakin hell" I thought in my head. "What the freaking hell. Crap." But I couldn't stop. And I spoke with that out of breath voice, where every word was interrupted by a heavy breath and a shoulder reflex going up, back, and down.
"I really appreciate your criticism, and I really want to become a better writer. Now I know what I need to work on and I will work on it."
I could tell she was grossed out by my snot and tears. I wiped myself down on the sleeves to my soft maroon jacket. She will remember those snot stains and those tears that fell like beads.
I don't think it was completely the paper that drove me to break down like that. It was just a lot of stuff building up. Lots of disappointment, grief, and stress building up. I'm really surprised my hair is still in tact sometimes.
God, wrap me in Your love. Wrap me with it like a cocoon. Wrap it on me so tightly that I loose the air in my lungs. I rather feel Your love than breathe.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
It disgusts me when people complain about being poor and they do nothing about it. They still eat out when they have meal plans. They buy stuff like soda, gum, and candy. They buy even more things they don't need. It disgusts me, because I am jealous. If they complain that they are poor, why are their sacrifices not even as small as mine? How dare they pay to eat at the student center and still complain about being poor? How dare they? Are they mocking the people who are actually poor?
I hate reckless spending, but I bet I am guilty of it too. I bet if I spent even a day volunteering at a homeless shelter, even an evening, I'd realize how materially wealthy I am. I'd realize how spoiled I am. How obnoxious for judging other people, how hypocritical for calling myself poor. I can still afford to be in school, to live, to walk in shoes, to have clean water. How dare I say that I am poor and mock those who have even less than me? How dare I?
I hate reckless spending, but I bet I am guilty of it too. I bet if I spent even a day volunteering at a homeless shelter, even an evening, I'd realize how materially wealthy I am. I'd realize how spoiled I am. How obnoxious for judging other people, how hypocritical for calling myself poor. I can still afford to be in school, to live, to walk in shoes, to have clean water. How dare I say that I am poor and mock those who have even less than me? How dare I?
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Had I known
Had I known his last words for me were "Hi Tori!" and my last words for him were "Hi Tom!"
I love him so much.
I love him so much.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
My Roommate
Sometimes I feel really bad for her. Sometimes she's so blunt and seemingly carefree, I forget about all the terrible things that have happened to her several months ago. I forget her perspective. I forget what she might be going through. I forget to pray for her. I forget. Although I am not allowed to complain in our room, she has given me a lot of comfort on many occasions.
43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor[i] and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. 46 If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? 47 And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? 48 Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
My God is so awesome.
43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor[i] and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. 46 If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? 47 And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? 48 Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
My God is so awesome.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Chicago
Chicago, I never longed for it so much in such a sad and nostalgic way. Coming back at night time, my train glided past condominiums downtown, and through the gigantic glass windows, I saw people. I saw a woman sitting in her office, a man in his living room on his laptop, and a family cooking dinner. I thought, "they have no idea how lucky they are." It was my first time missing Chicago since my parents dropped me off. Perhaps it was my realization that Chicago will only be my hometown from now on.
I could tell that my parents really missed me. They way my mom sprang out, way past her usual bed time, at 10pm get my luggage. The way they were fretting about making me liquid food post-wisdom-teeth-surgery. The way my mom sounded when she realized I was leaving Sunday at 8am and not Sunday at 8pm. I am so blessed. It's my first time missing being a baby since my parents dropped me off. Bleh, so much to talk about.
Overall, I am super glad my wisdom teeth got yanked out. I'm really really glad I got my insurance long enough for that surgery. I am so blessed. I should have held back on eating solid foods though. I guess I am paying for that now with my chipmunk face and my swollen gums.
I could tell that my parents really missed me. They way my mom sprang out, way past her usual bed time, at 10pm get my luggage. The way they were fretting about making me liquid food post-wisdom-teeth-surgery. The way my mom sounded when she realized I was leaving Sunday at 8am and not Sunday at 8pm. I am so blessed. It's my first time missing being a baby since my parents dropped me off. Bleh, so much to talk about.
Overall, I am super glad my wisdom teeth got yanked out. I'm really really glad I got my insurance long enough for that surgery. I am so blessed. I should have held back on eating solid foods though. I guess I am paying for that now with my chipmunk face and my swollen gums.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Discouragement
"So that was the last straw"
This week, things have really been building up. Commitments with groups, events, and people. Responsibilities with groups, school, and home. For all the time I've been at Carbondale, I don't think I have ever cried as hard as I did today.
I called my insurance company, which was public health care and free until I turned 19. I called them because I needed the monthly insurance card by the time I got back to Chicago this weekend to get my wisdom teeth out. I called and told them I haven't received it yet and I would be 18 for two more weeks.
They put me on hold for a good two minutes to tell me I don't get insurance anymore. That was the last straw. In question form, I repeated what the woman over the phone had just said to me. 'Yes', she said, 'you no longer have insurance' 'Oh.' I said with a long pause 'Thanks' and we both hung up. That was the last straw. I stood there, supposing to breath, but it was like someone punched my solar plexus and I was hysterical. I called my dad. "Hello, tori?" I couldn't say it. I couldn't say anything. "Tori?"
"Dad, I don't have insurance anymore"
He didn't say much, but it was obvious I was crying. "We'll just pay for it then"
"Dad. It's $300 per tooth"
"We'll just pay"
We hung up, and I just cried and cried. I felt out of breath, like there wasn't enough oxygen at some points. There was another guy standing behind me while all that happened. He was probably scared and confused. It went something like, phone call, talk talk talk, cry, phone call, talk talk talk in another language, cry, couldn't breath, cry.
I hid away and called for cell phone prayer. This surgery took 6months to get. A lot of emailing professors and paying extra train fare and changing things around just to make it work. And I just felt screwed. Like life just played a nasty prank on me. And I cried and cried.
I went back to my dorm after an hour of calming down. I ended up taking the elevator with some floormates, and I had some baby tears left unwept. And they thought I cried because of a bad flight. Being the guys that they were, they were scared and didn't know what to do, so the sent another girl to comfort me, haha. I did have a bad flight, it was a terrible flight. It was disgusting. It was like I was worse than before I started. Like I didn't learn anything ever. It really was that bad. But I am blessed with an instructor that didn't scream at me or tell me to quit flight. I am blessed with an instructor that told me to not get discouraged, to have a good weekend.
It's like my progress is going backwards and downhill from where I started, as if that were ever meant to be possible. At Aviation Management Society, the guest speaker from Delta shared his experience with a very bad co-pilot "Some people just aren't born to be pilots. I'm not sure how he passed, but that's what CFI's are for" I'm pretty sure he caught a glance at me, and I'm pretty sure my face had despair all over it, like he was narrating my future. How did I pass 201A? Wasn't it just all by grace? I know it was all by grace. I shouldn't have passed. They felt bad for me. It was the last day before break began. There was a time crunch. How did I pass 201A with my dangerous landings?
God, I wish I was good at flying. I wish it came easy to me. I wish it came at me at a normal pace and not this reversing one. God, I wish I could fly all day without it costing me so much, so I could get better. God, I wish I were already better, so my parents wouldn't have to pay so much extra. Will I ever even get there? How long will it take?
God, should I sell my hair? I suddenly want to do that, and to sell my blood plasma. But how can I do that? How can I try so hard to seek comfort by the number in my bank account? I'm gonna cut off my hair, and donate it.
This week, things have really been building up. Commitments with groups, events, and people. Responsibilities with groups, school, and home. For all the time I've been at Carbondale, I don't think I have ever cried as hard as I did today.
I called my insurance company, which was public health care and free until I turned 19. I called them because I needed the monthly insurance card by the time I got back to Chicago this weekend to get my wisdom teeth out. I called and told them I haven't received it yet and I would be 18 for two more weeks.
They put me on hold for a good two minutes to tell me I don't get insurance anymore. That was the last straw. In question form, I repeated what the woman over the phone had just said to me. 'Yes', she said, 'you no longer have insurance' 'Oh.' I said with a long pause 'Thanks' and we both hung up. That was the last straw. I stood there, supposing to breath, but it was like someone punched my solar plexus and I was hysterical. I called my dad. "Hello, tori?" I couldn't say it. I couldn't say anything. "Tori?"
"Dad, I don't have insurance anymore"
He didn't say much, but it was obvious I was crying. "We'll just pay for it then"
"Dad. It's $300 per tooth"
"We'll just pay"
We hung up, and I just cried and cried. I felt out of breath, like there wasn't enough oxygen at some points. There was another guy standing behind me while all that happened. He was probably scared and confused. It went something like, phone call, talk talk talk, cry, phone call, talk talk talk in another language, cry, couldn't breath, cry.
I hid away and called for cell phone prayer. This surgery took 6months to get. A lot of emailing professors and paying extra train fare and changing things around just to make it work. And I just felt screwed. Like life just played a nasty prank on me. And I cried and cried.
I went back to my dorm after an hour of calming down. I ended up taking the elevator with some floormates, and I had some baby tears left unwept. And they thought I cried because of a bad flight. Being the guys that they were, they were scared and didn't know what to do, so the sent another girl to comfort me, haha. I did have a bad flight, it was a terrible flight. It was disgusting. It was like I was worse than before I started. Like I didn't learn anything ever. It really was that bad. But I am blessed with an instructor that didn't scream at me or tell me to quit flight. I am blessed with an instructor that told me to not get discouraged, to have a good weekend.
It's like my progress is going backwards and downhill from where I started, as if that were ever meant to be possible. At Aviation Management Society, the guest speaker from Delta shared his experience with a very bad co-pilot "Some people just aren't born to be pilots. I'm not sure how he passed, but that's what CFI's are for" I'm pretty sure he caught a glance at me, and I'm pretty sure my face had despair all over it, like he was narrating my future. How did I pass 201A? Wasn't it just all by grace? I know it was all by grace. I shouldn't have passed. They felt bad for me. It was the last day before break began. There was a time crunch. How did I pass 201A with my dangerous landings?
God, I wish I was good at flying. I wish it came easy to me. I wish it came at me at a normal pace and not this reversing one. God, I wish I could fly all day without it costing me so much, so I could get better. God, I wish I were already better, so my parents wouldn't have to pay so much extra. Will I ever even get there? How long will it take?
God, should I sell my hair? I suddenly want to do that, and to sell my blood plasma. But how can I do that? How can I try so hard to seek comfort by the number in my bank account? I'm gonna cut off my hair, and donate it.
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