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.
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