Tuesday, December 18, 2012

A Girl Made of Ink

little prince
truth



I like to think that ink pulses through me. I like to think that when I walk by people they catch the scent of old, yellowed pages. I like to think that old film strips flicker behind my eyelids.

Put simply, I read to live. I read because I feel this void without books. I don't just read the "best" books. I read classics and I read teenage romance and I read science fiction and I read self-help.

If my eyes ever look dead, pass me the nearest book and watch me drink it up. I just need a little bit of literary sunlight and then I'll be filled again.

My condition isn't rare, really. There are plenty of bibliophiles in the world. We're the ones who weep at the beauty of a symbol. We're the ones who get lost for hours in a world that isn't our own. We're the ones who were grounded from books because we hid with out flashlights under our sheets because we couldn't bear to go to sleep and miss one minute that we could have spent reading.

We're not the fan girls. Fan girls come and go, fan girls obsess about one series or one character or one genre. That's not us. We'll read almost anything: romance or not, difficult words or not, happy ending or not.

Our cousins are the cinephiles. I have my cinephile tendencies. I relish movies like Citizen Kane and Shawshank Redemption, but also The Breakfast Club and The Princess Bride. The cinefiles criticize and analyze their beloved movies. They rip them apart, looking at angles, script, lighting, and fifty other elements. They don't see simply the big picture, they see them smallest pieces and connect the dots.

I have the eyes and brain of a cinephile and the mind and heart of a bibliophile.

In the words of C.S. Lewis, "we read to know we are not alone." I read to discover myself. I read to empathize. I read for that sense of catharsis. I read to escape. I read to find beauty. I read to dream. I read to experience the mere act of reading.

I'm a girl who bleeds ink. Please tell me if you do, too.





Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Letter to You on December 11th, 2012

Dear,

December 11th, 2011 was the worst day of my life. I have written in my journal every single day since I was 14, but I didn't write in my journal December 10-11th 2011. I didn't even think about writing in my journal. I just sat on my ground, laid on my bed, rested on my mom's shoulder, and cried. I felt like there was this hole inside of me, right where my heart-- no, my stomach, no, my entire torso-- should be. I felt like my ribs had been open and everything they were protecting was ripped out of me. I felt gutted.

Let me put this in perspective for you: I didn't cry at graduation, my sister's wedding, or any missionary farewells (except one: yours). But oh, how I cried December 11, 2011.

I've changed a lot in the past year. I committed to being so much better than I was before. I decided to start saying "I love you" to my family. I don't  want to take them for granted. I've tried to not sweat the smalls stuff. I try to do more service. I'm someone that I like to be.

Can I tell you something? December 11, 2011 was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. Not only what you did, but how you did it. You tore me apart. Then you ignored me for 3.5 months. You left and you took my life with you.

So I started building a new life. This time, on firmer ground.

I'm happy. A while ago I tried to wallow about something. I couldn't do it. Honestly: I had my ice cream, my TSwift, my baseball tshirt. But I couldn't do it! I liked life too much! Yes, I have my bad days. But they don't revolve around you. You don't hold me down anymore. I think you'd like that. 

See, I love you. One year later, I still do. But it does not envelope me, confine me, depress me, upset me, obsess me. I've said it before: I love you with the good kind of love. You made me a better person, even in your leaving. And maybe one day I won't love you anymore. I'll be happy when that happens, because that means my heart will have found its way back to me. That day isn't today, but I'm not going to wait for then to be happy.

There are two things I always want to say to you: 1)I'm sorry. My apologies weigh down my tongue and I try to make sure they all sail over the sea to you so you'll understand that there are only two things I regret in life and I've tried to make up for both of them the best I can. I hope one day they'll be enough. 2) Thank you. For everything. For Sunshine and Minnie and quality and cheesesteaks (that I can't eat anymore, I'm a vegetarian!) and kisses and Star Wars and LOTR and Captain America and the email I got from you on Monday. Thank you.

Oh, and, 3) I love you. But you already knew that, didn't you?

This year has been a great year. Today is December 11th, 2012, and I am happy.

Love,
Kimberly Noelle




Friday, December 7, 2012

Pegs

I'm a square peg.
Square, because I'm a goody-two-shoes.
Square, because I'm on time for virtually everything.
Square, because I kick boys out of my apartment promptly at 11 on weekdays. No exceptions.
Square, because I don't say certain totally-normal words. Like boob and fart. I feel dirty even writing them. I know they are not offensive... but I don't think they're polite, either. 

An imperfect square peg. Kind of more like a trapezoid. Or a parallelogram.
Because I'm a concertgoer-bookaddict-BBCfangirl-exballerina-llamanecklacewearer-slightlyDemocratic-treehugger-mostlyvegetarian  peg. 


But I know one thing- I am no circle. I shoot strait. I have corners. 
Too often, I try to fit in circle holes.

I squeeze myself in and I shave off my corners and my sides feel raw and I'm uncomfortable.
You know how toddlers just hit the peg against the mismatched hole again and again and again?
I feel like my head is being jammed down again and again and again.
Maybe this time it'll fit. No? Maybe this time!

And I find myself thinking "Maybe all the holes in the world are circle or triangle or star. Maybe I'll have to keep grinding bits of me to dust until I fit."

Then, I'm reminded: there are pegs like me hidden in corners. Maybe I got sorted into the wrong toy box. But somewhere, they're there.

I went to a concert. We drank fake martinis and we stared at our collective-attractiveness and we sat on bean bags and the boys had beards and we all wore sweaters but we didn't try to be edgy or ironic because we're BYU students on BYU campus and that's virtually impossible for us to do.

We didn't all match. Most of them were trying too hard, and I liked the ones that weren't trying at all. That didn't take themselves too seriously. They didn't all fit me, but they certainly weren't circles.

And then I heard these lyrics:

So where do I fit in the stories you read to me?
I need some dreams to fill up my sleep...

So I run my fingers over this ink 
as I run these pages across my wrists over the sink.
Fictitious characters don't bleed like this
and I don't know why my bloods spilling out
like so much prose
as the black white page of my tile grows
more re(a)d than the books of my childhood. 

My heart said "oh!"

And I realized the world was full of pegs like me. I've just been looking in the wrong places.




Saturday, November 24, 2012

Wait.

I'm finally beginning to understand
the splendor of waiting.
I'm beginning to understand
that we all need to slow down.
I'm beginning to understand
what makes me happy, and why it's worth waiting for.

All of my life, I've had to wait.
Being the most impatient person that I know, this is a monumental struggle for me.

Because I jumped the gun and skipped a grade, lots of my waiting comes from my age.
Wait to go to school.
                     Wait to turn 8 and be baptized.
        Wait to turn 12 and go to mutual.
                                             Wait to turn 14 and go to dances.
                               Wait to turn 16 and go on dates.
   Wait to turn 18 and be able to vote.
                                                    Wait to turn 19 and go on a mission.

Wait.

I'd get upset in the smallest instances of waiting. Waiting for my turn to do baptisms for the dead in the temple (read more here). Waiting in line at the grocery store when the next line over is moving faster. Waiting for a text, waiting for my turn in a game, waiting.

The irony of gaining patience is that to gain patience you must have patience.
The only way to be alright with waiting is to actually wait.


Can I tell you something?
Nothing is as sweet
as waiting for an hour and a half in the house of the Lord.
as listening to another instead of wanting to speak.
...as finally, finally hearing from someone that you love. 

Because if I never had to wait, I'd never see His splendor. And those five sentences he sent would never mean as much to me as they do now.


Monday, November 19, 2012

Vulnerability.

 My unsaid words are weighing me down.
I've been trying to let things go, to not worry about anything.

I though my troubles would float away like balloons.
But they don't.

 They stick to my skin and create this crust and are cutting off my air supply.

 It's true that not everything has to be said, but I'm not saying anything. My throat is clogged with the feelings I swallow.

I used to be so open. I used to be transparent. But glass is vulnerable; glass is flimsy. That's what I thought, anyway.

People often describe me as brave. Courageous. I jump of bridges and eat worms and  kill spiders, but that doesn't make me courageous.

The word "courageous" comes from the Latin word "cor" which means "heart". Being courageous involves putting your heart on the line even if it terrifies you. Courageous means following what your heart tells you. Courageous means not hiding or being ashamed of your feelings.

I'm trying so hard to not be dramatic that I'm losing my courage. I fear to say what's in my heart because I'm trying to be un-childish. Un-emotional. Un-whateverIwas.

The word "vulnerable" comes from the Latin word "vulner" which means "wound". Being vulnerable means showing your wounds, exposing your Achilles Heel. Allowing your enemies and your demons to see your soft spot.

So often we look at vulnerability as a bad thing. As something to avoid. We see vulnerability as a weakness.

But if we build our walls so thick that our enemies can't get in, neither can our friends. If we build our walls so thick that nothing can hurt us, then we can never escape ourselves.

I've been trying to hard to block up ever crack in my wall of invulnerability that I've sacrificed my courage in the process.

I'm going crazy in my self-made citadel with only myself for company.
I'm trying so hard not to care, not to sweat anything, not to feel any sadness.
I'm drowning in the feelings I've locked in.
I built a submarine to keep myself safe, but I'm running out of air and I feel a drip drip drip from the ceiling.

I've buried myself in Green Gables and Downton so that I don't have to feel my own feelings.

I've lost my vulnerability, and so I've lost my courage.

It's hard to find anything more terrifying than the loneliness that comes when I'm on my knees crying and sobbing and I discover that I've lost the ability to be honest with myself.

Your struggle is not your identity.


Be you, bravely.

Monday, November 12, 2012

Growing Pains

This post is dedicated to the 10+ started-but-never-finished blog posts sitting on my computer.

To my little sister who is ten times more stunning than me. She's beautiful.
To my other little sister who just got 100% on her spelling test. She'll be just as beautiful as her older sister.

To the boy wearing the D-Backs hat at the Creamery. Thanks for letting me stare at your head for a while.

To my cheeks. I don't think they ever stopped being chubby since I got my wisdom teeth out.
To the two times a week I give plasma. I basically sell my body for money. It's blood prostitution.

To Wednesdays, which are mission call days.
To the fact that I don't turn 19 until September. Sometimes I love that and sometimes I hate it.

But mostly, this post is dedicated to the one follower who stopped following  me today. I'm always told that numbers don't mean anything, but sometimes it feels like they do.

So this post is to the Growing Pains. To being comfortable with who I am and not needing to change for anyone else. Or to prove a boy wrong.

What I work on to make myself better is between me and my Heavenly Father. Not between an ex-boyfriend or ex-blog follower.

Simple as that.



Monday, November 5, 2012

The 29 Second Fireworks Show Inside of Me (Or, A Post I'm Proud Of)



5' 4 1/2", dark-dark brown hair, hazel eyes, 116 lbs, female, size 8 shoe.

For someone who takes up so little space in this universe, I sure do feel a lot. No more than the average person, but still a lot. Sometimes I wonder how so many emotions can fit inside of me, and then I wonder how anyone could question the actuality of God. How could you be created without Him? Go ahead and try to explain it away with evolution, but I am no accident.

And all my emotions, they seem to take up more space than I physically do. They seem to be too much for one person, but if I only had emotions exactly proportional to my size, I think I'd be less of a person than any person should ever be. Funny how that works.


In my skin pores I keep the Stress of school assignments and making sure I do all I can.

My knees keep the Silliness of creeping around campus late at night, running around on a secret mission with the likes of Agent Red Eagle and Colonel Sanders.

The Yearning for a good book is engrained to my brain. It's always been there and isn't going anywhere soon.

My tear ducts are filled with all Missing from the goodbyes to all of my boys, and I think Perspective has built up a wall blocking the waterways, because I've only cried at one Farewell. But the dry tear ducts hold the goodbyes, anyway.

My Insecurity is braided into my hair and I tried to untangle it every day. I'll get all these knots out, eventually.

The space right behind my stomach holds the Apprehension, the inevitable feeling that the Good Thing I'm planning is going to fall through.

The late night Happiness stays right in my throat, ready to come out with the laughter that accompanies arms-behind-you running, 2 a.m. screaming, and the jokes we tell right as we fall asleep.

And my heart, well, it's a human heart, so what can you expect? My heart holds more emotions than the rest of my body put together. It holds the Melancholy, the Sunshine, the Empathy, the Devotion, the Love.


The Indefinable "They" always say that emotions are like a roller coaster, but I think emotions are more like that fireworks show when all the fireworks went off at one time. You expect to see something understandable and orderly and predictable (at least ups where there are supposed to be ups and downs when there are supposed to be downs), but instead all you see is 29 seconds of everything all at once.

It's confusing and overwhelming and incomprehensible, but probably the best fireworks show you've ever seen.

map of love
I cannot get enough.

Friday, November 2, 2012

The Universe Does Not Owe You A Boyfriend.

This man is wonderful. 

When he speaks I'm like "....oh...... I GET IT now!"
My favorite part is when he says that if you are 100% the best you can be, you are still only  50% of what it takes to make a great relationship. So if you're not as awesome as you can be by yourself, then you're not gonna be awesome with someone else.

Just.... love.

A Note To The Reader: I did not search this video on Youtube. I did NOT type in "I need a boyfriend" into the search bar. I just love to listen to him talk, and I especially love this one.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Satisfaction. (Liebster Award!)



Guys. Indulge me for a second. I was nominated for the Liebster award from *this* lovely girl. I'm so flattered and happy! So satisfied (hence the name of this post).You all totally don't have to read this post, but I'll try to make it interesting. Sometimes it's just nice to write about yourself! Also, I'm only going to do part of it because I'm not a fan of long blog posts.

Here's how it works:
The Liebster award is given by bloggers to up and coming bloggers who have less than 200 followers.

What is a Liebster?
The meaning: Liebster is German and means sweetest, kindest, nicest, dearest, beloved, lovely, kind, pleasant, valued, cute, endearing, and welcome.
 
1. Each person much post 11 things about themselves
2. Answer the question the nominator made for you and also create 11 more questions for the blogs you nominate
3. Choose 11 people and link them to your post
4. Go to their page and tell them.
5. No tag backs!
 
Okay, #2 is the only part of the thing that I'm doing. I'm much too lazy, I guess!

-11 Questions From Ashlee-
1. What is your favorite dessert?

Anything with ginger. Gingersnaps. Gingernut cookies. Plain ginger (kidding).
2. If you won the lottery, what would be the first thing you buy?
A house. I know, boring. But it would be beautiful. I'm not really a shoe/shopping kind of girl.
3. Do you prefer sun or snow?
Sun! My Mexican blood needs it!
4. How did you meet your husband or significant other?
Interesting question. I'll let you know when it happens.
5. Do you have any kids? If no how many do you want?
Here's the thing: I haven't planned my wedding colors, dress, or future life like that. I don't plan my wedding because styles always change. I don't plan kids and such because I feel like when I make plans God says "Haha, good one, Kimberly. Never gonna happen." So I just let Him do His thing.
6. Are you more of a dog lover or a cat lover?
Elephant lover.
7. If you could re-do anything, what would it be?
November and December 2011. I'd redo those two months and my life would be different. I try not to regret anything, but I regret those months.
8. What is your biggest dream?
My biggest dream is to have big family dinners. I think I'm going to write a whole blog post about this. Stay tuned!
9. What is your best memory you have had so far?
*MLB Allstar Game 2012*. I like winning contests. Who doesn't? Don't answer that.
10. What is your favorite thing to do that is for you?
Go to museums. I would live in them if I could.
11. If you could move anywhere in the world, where would you go? 
Prague. And/or Chicago. Actually, probably Chicago. I like speaking English, ya know?

Thank you for reading. I blog because I like to have a place to write. I try not to look at blogging stats and such... but it make me really, really happy to get tagged in this chain. So thanks!

Saturday, October 20, 2012

7 Things I Wish I Knew For Freshman Year

I know that some of you readers are still in high school, so I thought I'd give you advice that I was give (or that I wish I was given) before college. For the rest of you, I hope you can be like "Yeah! That's so true!"

So,

7 Things I Wish I Knew For Freshman Year:
1. In high school, stop worrying about what school everyone else is going to. Just because it's the normal school to go to doesn't mean it's a bad school to choose. I've always wanted to be different when it came to college, but I ended up choosing the school 20 minutes away from my house. And I'm so happy that I did. It's the right school for me.

2. Being nice never hurts. Everyone is new together. Everyone is out of their comfort zone. Maybe you hit it off with people that you met on the first day, but keep in mind that your group can always grow. Look for that girl who is standing on the side with her arms folded, looking uncomfortable. Invite her in.

3. Do your homework. Guys. For real? You're in college now. Do your homework, okay? This week everyone was like "Ahhh, midterms!" and I was like "Oh, is it midterms?" I didn't have to catch up on my studying, reading, or assignments. The only test I was stressed for was the one class where I didn't put in the effort. Just do it, okay? You're growing up. It's time to be responsible.

4. Do SOMETHING! Okay, I thought that I would be running around my freshmen dorm, hanging out with boys every night, and being a social butterfly. That's not what I do, because I discovered that I don't like to do that (It's like a giant EFY here, guys). But I do what I like to do. You don't have to do everything, but do something. Join a club. Go to sporting events. Be active in your church calling. Go to concerts, plays, dances. I guarantee that the people who don't enjoy Freshmen year are the ones who complain about how it is so boring when they aren't even putting in the effort.

5. Don't get into a freshmen relationship. I mean, if you're in love... whatever. It's your choice. But know this: Practically the only people who get into relationships right away are the weird ones. Also, when you're kissing in front of your dorm building, we can all see you. And we all hate you.

6. If you're going to tell everyone you meet about how stressful your life is, keep in mind that they are stressed, too. Everyone has homework, work, and a social life. You're not the only one. Gain perspective.

7. Don't let a bad day make a bad life. This is for life in general. Lately I've been trying to learn how to be happy. So far, I think it comes down to two things. 1: Let things go. 2: Express gratitude for everything and relish the good.
Let bad days go. Let bad test scores go. Let bad moods go. Let your pain go.
Live life with your eyes open to the good. When you see it, savor it. Express your gratitude. That's the secret of how to be happy in any situation.

Any thoughts? Anything to add? Advice? Let me know.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

I Guess I've Been Hiding Myself. Who Knows.

I don't know when I started hiding myself.
I think it came somewhere in between the baggy-autumn sweaters and the three inches of hair cut off of my head.
All I know is that I fold my arms a lot more than I used to. I can feel myself shrinking sometimes. I tell myself to put my chin up, shoulders back, smile.
This is how a confident person stands. I am a confident person. Right?

It's funny, because my last post was about what I think true beauty is. I guess I haven't internalized that myself.

Three weeks ago I stood in front of a bathroom mirror with the rest of my Relief Society presidency behind me. I was so frustrated with my hair and my face and my body. They kept encouraging me, telling me to say "Dang, girl! I look hot!" I couldn't do it. The words stuck in my throat. I went home and tried again. I tried to whisper at myself. I could barely do that.

Didn't I just go through a tough breakup? Didn't I just right an essay about how much I learned and grew from that? What happened there, people? Why do I walk across campus and feel like I weigh 250 pounds?

I guess I've been tucking myself away for  long time, and I didn't even know.
So I don't really know where to look for it right now.

But here's the thing about me: I'm a fighter. I'm going to keep looking for that piece of me that I lost.

And hopefully I find much more in the process.


Friday, October 12, 2012

Radiate

Introduction:
I have a friend, and we both thrive on doing "classic age-appropriate" things.
This year, we do freshmen-in-college things.
We go down slip-n-slides covered in blue foam and I let her sleep in my room when she locks herself out of her building. (Love you, Kara!)
This week is part of the 10-Day Recapturing Beauty Campaign. The Women's Center is putting it on. It's the perfect age-appropriate activity, so obviously I'm participating. It started with yoga and ends with Zumba! Today's challenge is making our own definition of beauty and sharing it somewhere. So here it is!

Kimberly Noelle's Definition of Beauty:
The most beautiful person that I ever knew was made of light.
He was always smiling. He was always laughing. His eyes were always clear.
He radiated light, joy, hope, the spirit of Christ.
I'd look at him and I'd be stunned. He wasn't heavy or rough. He was light.

That's my definition of beauty.

Be light. Radiate light.

Beauty is not your weight. It is not your complexion. It is not your figure.
Trust me, I know it is hard to remind yourself of that truth.
You might say "Well, I know that my self-worth isn't based on how I look."
And yeah, that's nice to say, but it's really hard to actually live.
I, for one, stare at my hair every day and wish it was longer. Why did I cut it? For some reason, I feel that three inches of hair makes me more or less beautiful.
But it doesn't. My light is what makes me beautiful.

I like how "light" means two things:
1) Don't be heavy-hearted. If you see life as a chore, then it will be. If you see life as the most beautiful and inspiring thing that has even happened to you... it will be.
2) Shine. Emit rays of something good. Spread joy. Radiating means that you are giving your light to others.

How do you do that? How do you achieve this lightness?

Humility, grace, patience, and gratitude.
We shine when we let the Lord shine through us.

That's true beauty.




Sunday, September 30, 2012

This Is Making Me Beautiful

For my first college essay, I wrote about me at my absolute must vulnerable.
I wrote about the time when I grew the most, and the time that hurt the most.

The essay is sort of long, but I decided to put it up on this blog. You don't have to read it. You're under no obligation to me. But this essay explains where I've been and why I'm me. Maybe you'll see something of yourself in it, too.

*Author's Note: Names are not changed in this essay. Also, it really is truly me at my absolute most vulnerable. I'm sharing it with you all with great apprehension. Please be respectful of what this story means to me.




This Is Making Me Beautiful
            The light from the streetlamp glowed through the car window and hit Daniel's glasses, reflecting my own face back at me.  He slowly nodded, giving the answer to the question I had just forced out of my throat.
            I grimaced. "Get out of my car." My voice sounded like shards of glass.
            "Kimberly, I really want to talk about this."
            "Get out of my car." I repeated, no less harsh.
            As we both climbed out of the car and into the cold December air, I knew what I was going to do. I had received a full education from Hollywood romance movies, and I knew what I was expected to do after having just been dumped. I walked towards Daniel who stood motionless under the streetlamp. Playing the role of a broken-hearted ex-girlfriend perfectly, I slapped him straight across his face. I punched his chest. I yelled. I stormed away.
            "Kimberly, please." Daniel groaned, picking up his glasses. They had been knocked off when I slapped him and had snapped in half. "There are some things about our relationship that I need to say."
            As I heard him, my favorite person to be near, my Daniel, lay out all my flaws, I felt my heart numb as it was coated with bitterness. The words he threw out stuck to its cold exterior. Childish. Needy. Stubborn. Insecure. When I couldn't take the attack any longer, I scrambled into my car and drove away.
            During the ride home, the words seeped through my heart's defenses and I finally felt them and all their power. Childish. Needy. Stubborn. Insecure. For eight months I thought I had been doing so well; I had been satisfied with myself. There seemed no reason to change what I was doing or who I was. Someone loved me. I was fine the way I was. However, Daniel's words brought me to the time before that, a time with a different boy.
            My romance with Carter had been completely unrequited. It was one of those junior high school loves that fed itself on silly quotes and ridiculous wishes. Most of my emotions during my freshman year were controlled by my communication with Carter. If he said "Nice to see you today, Kim," I took that to mean "I wish I could see you everyday and you make me happier than anything, Kimberly." When he didn't talk to me, I was devastated. Knowing he didn't love me seemed to gnaw at my insides. For a long time, I could not look at myself in any mirror. I was ashamed of who I saw. When I glanced at myself, all that was visible to me was a girl who was unworthy to be wanted. A girl who was childish. Needy. Stubborn. Insecure. When I finally met Daniel, those troubles seemed to fade into the backdrop of my being. I could look at myself in a mirror without cringing. With Daniel, I knew I was loved and that whatever character flaws I had did not change how he felt about me. Obviously I had been wrong to think that. All I had to do to remember this was look where I was right now.
            When I finally pulled into my garage after driving home from Daniel's house, I had to will myself to get out of the car. I paused at the house door, knowing what would be behind it. After composing my  face, I opened the door and saw, sure enough, my mother sitting at the kitchen counter and waiting for me. I glanced at her concerned eyes for a split second and then I lost it. Before the first sob had fully erupted, she wrapped me in her arms and rested my head on her shoulder.
            The crying, blubbering, and gasping went on for quite a while. After I told my mom everything that happened, I whispered "He's so awful."
            "No, he's not, Kimberly. You know that." I didn't respond. She knew I understood. "You have to grow differently, that's all. Daniel helped you learn so much, and you can now do it on your own. You don't hate him."
            She was right; I didn't hate him. But that didn't make me hurt any less.
            After quite a few more tears had escaped, I trudged up to my bedroom. My bed looked so welcoming, I all wanted to do was sleep away my grief. However, I had to do something first.
            Remembering my mom's words, I closed my eyes and moved a few steps to the center of my room. Daniel had shown me the sun glowed within my chest, and now I needed to recognize it by myself. I opened my eyes and looked straight into my mirror.
            I saw my reflection staring back at me, but I did not flinch away. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks blotchy, and her eyes intensely bloodshot. Still, I did not look away. I liked this girl. I knew she had a good heart. A broken heart, but good as well. Childish. Needy. Stubborn. Insecure. The persistent and puncturing words entered my brain again. I continued looking at the reflection in the mirror. We're going to do this, I thought, We're going to get to know each other, and we're going to like us.
            Over the next few months, I practiced looking at that girl in the mirror. Many times Daniel's words would come back and loosen the stitches I was attempting to sew in my healing heart. However, I did not give up. Nothing scared me more than going back to that worthlessness I had felt with Carter. I wrote the same phrase in red pen on the palm of my right hand every day: This Is Making Me Beautiful. On awful days, I would trace over the ink multiple times until I thought I might as well have given myself a permanent tattoo. This Is Making Me Beautiful. This trial is making me beautiful. After a while, I believed it.
            My reflection and I became friends, eventually. Looking at her felt as if through a time warp; she was me when I yearned for Carter, she was me when I had Daniel, she was me in the present, and she was all of my potential. Inside of her, she held the pain of a girl who thought she could never be loved, the pride of a girl who thought she didn't need to change, and the hope of a girl who loved herself. This trial really had made me beautiful. I liked who I was; I aimed to become someone even better. Remaining stagnant and relying on someone else to hold me up no longer appealed to me. I was on my way to becoming mature. Independent. Understanding. Confident. Me.



Sunday, September 23, 2012

Click

I don't know where I clicked with my boys.
Maybe it was somewhere in the middle of Latin class.
Maybe it was when I came home from New Zealand and they said I no longer looked like the school floor. (Best compliment ever?)
Maybe it was when they would throw paper balls at me in Computer Technology.

Or maybe it was way before that.

Maybe we clicked when I gave Coray that mini soccer ball for the gift exchange.
Maybe we clicked when Reese and I stood on the curb in front of Big H on October 26th in the seventh grade.
Maybe we just always knew we'd be friends.
Or maybe not.

But the point is, we clicked.

It hasn't been that easy here.
There hasn't been a click.

I meet people and I go to parties and I watch boys chug milk.
But none of them have clicked.

I went on a date. Really, I did. He was nice and he was funny and he was cute [and he had bright red hair].



But I don't want him to click.
Because 18-year-old boys turn 19 and then they leave.
And the redheads, you know, they are the ones you have to look out for.
...Even if you click.






Disclaimer: I'm happy, Mom! I'm having a really, really wonderful time. Do not worry. I like to write blog posts like this for the same reasons I like to watch Finding Neverland. I just like to. Life is good. :)

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Dying

So this weird thing has been happening.
I kneel down to pray at night, and in the middle of my prayer I just get this tiny thought in the back of my head that goes like this: "You're going to die, and that's fine."

I know that sounds SO creepy. But it's not. And it's not morbid or depressing or anything like that. And don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I'm going to die any time soon. But this thought comes to me pretty much every night.

I think it comes so that I actually appreciate my life. Since I've been thinking about dying, I've been thinking about actually living.

I enjoy the color of bright red boots. I marvel when I gaze at tree canopies. I pick up green acorns and carry them with me around campus. I listen to my favorite songs on repeat. I do really bold things. I say the things I want to say. I attempt to be more grateful. I step on every crunchy leaf I see.

There is this line in the play Our Town that goes like this: "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? Every, every minute?"

That's what I'm trying to do.

I'm trying to realize life while I live it.

Every minute.




Friday, September 14, 2012

What's In A Name



My name is Kimberly.
It is not Kim.
It is not Kimmy.

I go by Kimberly.

The funny thing is--other people have my name, but they aren't Kimberly.
Some are Kim's and some are Kimmy's (bless them).

We share the same name and the same letters, but to me they mean different things.

'Kimmy' is young and flirty, but I will forever be reminded of Kimmy Gibler, the annoying friend in Full House. I have never been, nor ever will be, a Kimmy.

'Kim' is fine. Just fine. Okay, I think it sounds like a girl who was popular in 1988 or something. Kim is what I used to go by. Everyone called me Kim, and I hated it. It's what I went by but it wasn't me. Or maybe it's who I used to be. Kim is blunt, honest, sharp, and fast.

'Kimberly' is who I am on my way to becoming. Kimberly is graceful, elegant, and understanding. To me, Kimberly shows love. When someone calls me Kimberly, I know they care about me. Kimberly also holds Kim inside of her. I think I will always be at least a little bit confrontational, and I hope that I will always be honest.

I'm also Kimbie, KeeBee, Kimlan, Kimbersilly, and Kimurritto. Always, though, I'll be Kimberly.

When I was born, my parents had no problem naming me. They just knew. I was Kimberly Noelle from the start, and I'll be that girl until the end.

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet? I don't think so, Shakespeare.

 


Monday, September 10, 2012

Things I Never Knew





Things I Didn't Know Before Right Now:
1. People don't magically get good at giving peer reviews in college. "It was good..."... and this is an honors writing class. I'd like some feedback, please.
2. It's a good thing to have a big family that inhales all junk food in the span of three minutes. When you have a whole box of doughnuts to yourself, you end up being like "PLEASE take a doughnut so I don't have to eat it!"
3. When you don't have an internet curfew, you find yourself looking at facebook at midnight and nothing has changed since the last time you checked.
4. Sundays are not, in fact, a day of rest. They are a day of endless meetings.
5. I got incredibly lucky with my roommates. We're all extremely close already.
6. When you become a freshman in college, you simultaneously become a junior high school student again. I feel like I'm in eighth grade. For this reason, I steer clear of freshman parties. I'd rather not regress to being 14, thanks.
7. Three concerts in one week. Your feet start experiencing spasms and cramps. But it's worth it.
8. Learning patience sneaks up on you. It's not really something you can actively control all the time, but then suddenly you're like "Hey! I'm being patient right now!" and it's awesome.

To be honest, this post was an excuse to say one thing: I never knew a 'please' and a 'promise' could hurt so badly. I feel like the Amazing Spiderman. I'm making a promise that I do not want to keep at all.

The last thing I didn't know before right now... being vague is hard to do when you're a very open-book-type person.

In Nostalgic Mood by tangyauhoongSo don't do it.




Thursday, September 6, 2012

Here's To

18 candles stuck out of my peach cobbler. Exactly 18. Two of them were the numbers1 and 8, but they were arranged to show "81". Yep, I reached adulthood and became an old woman.

"Make a wish!"

For the first time in my entire life, I didn't know what to wish for. I wanted to yell "Wait! Sing the song again! I haven't had time to think of a wish!". But I didn't, and I hastily blew out the candles with a pulled-out-of-the-air wish.

Because here's the thing: My life isn't perfect, but I'm liking it too much to yearn for some big something.

I am happy. I am learning. I am growing.

So here's to my classes that I love.
Here's to my Fantastic Four, who will always be with me.
Here's to my roommates, who are already some of my closest friends.
Here's to the endless stack of food-presents I was given. I've gained like 5 pounds already.
Here's to new experiences, like wakeboarding and being a vegetarian (two months!).
To my calling, which is going to chasten me and help me grow.
To every attractive RM I speak to. I want to marry all of you, but I've got a few years in front of me before I do.

Here's to moving on. To leaving the corner of my heart that I've been inhabiting in for a long, long time.

A couple months ago my parents asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I had already assigned my presents (Mulan, Beatles book, 10 dollars for a vinyl sticker, and a license plate cover that says "My Other Car Is The Millennium Falcon") and I told them I wanted a Hope Chest.

I wanted a place where I could document my past and hope for my future.

So thank you, everyone. For filling my  heart so much that I didn't even need to make an earnest wish this year.

My hope chest might as well be full to the brim.




Wednesday, August 29, 2012

I. Love. Failure.

I love Failure.

Failure says you tried.
Failure says you went out of your comfort zone.
Failure says you did something scary.

Failing with grace says you've grown.

Failure makes you count your blessings.
Failure reminds you that the things you're actually good at are talents and aren't supposed to be wasted.

The only awful like of failure is when you don't even try.

I'd rather try and fail ten times out of ten than not try at all.

Because sometimes, things work out. Sometimes tender mercies come.
And when you fail?

...Well, that's a tender mercy too.


P.S. Thank you for all of your support! College is wonderful-- I love school!

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Tea Lights

I'm really blessed.
Why is it hard to remember that?
I'm waiting for someone to say "Okay, go home now! Growing up was all a huge joke. I can't believe you fell for it!"

I feel like I'm eleven and entering the seventh grade all over again.

Everything worthwhile is hard in the beginning, right?
Right?
That's what they say.

"What's your name? Where are you from? What's your major? Where are you living? Why did you come to BYU?"
Will one of these people actually stick? Will they be more than a passing face?

I was so excited. So ready.
I don't want to go home, but I don't want to be here.

All I know is the only things that's made me happy are my tea lights and my picture collage.

It'll get better.
IhavefaithIhavefaithIhavefaith.


Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Thank Goodness



Thank Goodness all of our wishes don't come true. Thank Goodness that almost all my wishes on stars fell through. If they didn't, I'd be married to Alex Giles from the third grade, Christian Graf from the fifth, and Mark Chamberlin from the seventh. It'd just be really awkward, being married to all those boys.

Thank Goodness I don't get everything I want. If I did, I'd be much worse off. I'd be like that blonde girl in the Princess and the Frog, except probably much chubbier (I've wished for a lot of funnel cake in my life).

Thank Goodness 11:11 wishes mostly fail. They've taught me something about myself. I don't care how many times my wishes don't come true. I'll keep wishing at 11:11, on birthday candles, on eyelashes, on stars, dandelions, wishing wells, and Disneyland fireworks. Doing so inspires me to voice my deepest wishes, and then I know I have to go out and fight for them to come true.

Thank goodness wishes often are forgotten and hardly ever come to fruition, because it makes it so much sweeter when they actually come true.


Stars stars stars

Wishes

Thursday, August 16, 2012

We, As Humans, Defy Reason



Our hearts defy reason.

It's common sense that if you give something away, then you have less. 5-1=4, and 5-1 will never equal more than 5. It's simple math. It's something we're taught from the time our hands are big enough to hold No. 2 pencils. It's a lie.

Because sometimes you give your love away, and your heart gets bigger. And you grow more love. And then you give that love away, and your heart gets even bigger!

I mean, I know this isn't a new concept. I know that this phenomenon has been observed for centuries. It still baffles me.

It baffles me that one of my absolute best friends is leaving me in less than two weeks, and I won't see him for two years. It baffles me that my Harry his leaving his Hermione. And most of all it baffles me that the more I see him and hug him and try to communicate how much he means to me, the less I'm able to even begin to tell him. He's like my brother, and it baffles me that my love for him has never stopped growing.

It baffles me that I can love my ex-boyfriends family more than I ever did when I was dating him. That I can visit them and they are my friends, regardless of my 'ex' status. It baffles me that when I thought they could fill no more of my heart, they prove me wrong.

5-1= Infinity.

Our hearts defy reason.


:)

P.S. Some of you told me that blogger wouldn't let you post a comment. I  think I removed the problem, so just let me know if it's still not working.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Cocoon

...the next morning she woke up, and did it with a smile on her face. She felt the sun kiss her eyelashes and caress her prickly legs and run its sunbeam fingers through her tangled hair. She smiled at the stranger with the familiar face and basked in his similarities to someone far away. She recounted memories and felt no pain, longing, or remorse. Just the memory itself.

And she realized, she was free. She had pleaded, cried, ignored her way out of her own heart, or at least she had tried to. How could she had escaped from her favorite thing, her memory? How could she have abandoned the prison warden that she loved so dearly? So she had given up. She had turned to her memories and kissed them firmly on the mouth. She carried them with her and whispered them like they were her own personal fairy stories. And that act had set her free.

Age-old Time had not let her down; indeed, his wrinkled hands had healed all her wounds. The scars she thought would never leave became beautiful to her. Her sweet recollections held no bitter aftertaste.

At night she stretched herself out as wide as she possibly could, fingers and toes spread out, knees locked, neck elongated. Even in her dark room with her ceiling fan whirring above her, she could feel the sun, and she was determined to soak in as much of its light as she could. She fell in love with a memory yet to be, and she was happy to wait as long as it took to find it in actuality.

As she closed her eyes, she finally realized what had changed. She had woken up and left her cocoon behind, not even knowing it had been enveloping her in the first place.



Thursday, August 2, 2012

Fun Facts

Fun Fact-- I used to be funny. What happened there? Oops.

Fun Fact-- I finally got through Pottermore to the point where I was sorted. GRYFFINDOR FOR LIFE! Also, the core of my wand is dragon heartstring... same as Hermione's.

Related Fun Fact-- I'm basically Hermione Granger. We're the same person. I know there are lots of girls who feel that way, and that's fine. We can share her. Her brains, her annoying habits, her big teeth, her love of rules, not to mention her love of redheads.... we're the same person.

Fun Fact-- I got my wisdom teeth out today.

Fun Fact To Go With Previous Fun Fact-- Lortab has no effect on me. Maybe it's helping with the pain... but I feel exactly the same from before I took it. I am not drowsy or inhibited in any way. Take THAT, drugs!

Fun Fact-- I'm assigning my birthday presents this year. I used to just say "Surprise me", but then I was disappointed. I've taken matters into my own hands. People get a present based on price and their relation to me. Holler back, Type A personalities!

Another Related Fun Fact-- I'm not really a huge Type A personality. For proof, please view my bedroom. Just kidding. Don't see my bedroom. It's embarrassingly gross right now.

And The Final Fun Fact-- I'm planning on going on a mission. I'm so excited! Only 3 years and one month until I can go!

Sunday, July 29, 2012

How to Win Contests

You may recall that I WON a trip to the MLB All Star game.

Reaction from acquaintances: "No way!! That's amazing!!!!"
Reaction from friends: "Of course you did. Who is even surprised."

My friends are used to it. Because, well, my family wins. Quite a lot, actually.

My first memory of winning something is when I was four years old. I was at my friend's birthday party and I guessed the exact number of jelly beans in a jar. Not only did I do it, but I did it twice. Two different jars, hundreds of jelly beans in both. I got both of the numbers right. On my first guesses.

But pretty much the radio is our domain.

I've won  tickets to multiple concerts.
My dad... well, it's amazing. He's won countless CD's, giveaways, concert tickets, (lots of) money. He's won a trip to Disneyland and a trip to New York City (plus Broadway tickets). One of my favorite memories with my dad  was when he came to my school and told me he had won Coldplay tickets for me. It was magic.

How do we do it? How do we win all this stuff?

A lot of it has to do with the phone you're using, or natural ability, or luck.

Here's the secret, though: (and I hesitate to even tell you this...)
You try.

For every contest we've won, we've lost hundreds. For every time the radio station picks up our call, we've seriously called countless times. For every prize we've won, there are dozens that we haven't.

You will lose. You will fail. But you get back up, and you try again. And again. And again. You pull out your phone at every single cue-to-call. You make videos even if you feel stupid.

So for your enjoyment, here is the video that I submitted to win a trip to Kansas City.
It's not good, really. I had never made a video before. The sound is kind of poorly done. I did the video all by myself I snuck around my house and yard. I filmed myself driving. It was a complete secret. Actually, I'm kind of embarrassed to show it to you. But hey, it got me to the All Star game!

This imperfect video won. I tried, and this one pulled through.
Just try. Every single time.


Wednesday, July 25, 2012

For Aurora, Colorado

I cannot begin to explain how I felt and how I feel.
I cannot tell you how my heart aches for those victims.
I cannot put a number on how much time I've spent thinking and reading about it.

I cannot tell you
                          the shock
                                          the horror
                                                           the heartache
that plays through my mind daily.

And I knew no one in that movie theater. I can only imagine the pain of family and friends.

The media is already moving on. Tragedy only sells papers for so long. "Let's get back to the celebrities, the election, the humor."

No.

I know that it's hard to pin down reasons. I know investigations take time. I know that killer might never be fully convicted for what he did.

Maybe he did have mental issues. I bet he did. But that does not take away from the disgusting fact that we glorify violence.

Did you know that Warner Bros. had a trailer before The Dark Knight Rises where the characters are shooting into a crowded movie theater? Did you know that they took the commercial out of the previews because now it's too disturbing? Why weren't we hurt by it before?

Why did it take a tragedy to wake us up, and how long until we fall back asleep?

I cannot see The Dark Knight Rises any time soon. Not because I'm scared for my life, oh please. Policemen in movie theaters won't make me feel better (they'll be gone soon, anyway).
I can't see it because I would see screaming people behind my eyelids. I'd see girls pushing the dead bodies of their boyfriends off of them. I'd see a calm man with one hundred magazines shooting and shooting and shooting.

Terror just became all too real for me and I can't watch it glorified on a screen, no matter how "fantastic" the movie is. No.




But I want to thank the heroes.
I want to thank the people that tried to drag other victims out of the theater, even when their own life was in danger.
I want to thank the movie star who visited the hospitals.
I want to thank the community that is staying strong.
You don't need to go to superhero movies for you've become your own heroes.

I don't really know where I'm going from here, but I do know that this changed me. The ground underneath me seems to have shifted.

Aurora, Colorado... I will always remember you.

strength...

Friday, July 20, 2012

What To Do When Your Favorite Book Hurls Itself Off Your Nightstand

Sometimes...
How do I say this?

Sometimes...
Okay, it's like this:

You really, really like a book. You love it. This book is practically your other Bible. You know every sentence in it by heart. You'd rather read it all day every day than go outside and do something else. This book takes you to magical places and makes you become something better than you ever imagined. It makes you happy.

And then your book burns. Or gets thrown out the window. Or decides "You know what? This reader isn't worthwhile anymore." and then stops letting you turn its pages. It jumps from its spot on your bedside table and commits a sort of book suicide.

But you've got the book memorized. You don't even need to read it to still know every word. Your love prevails because there has seriously been nothing good as this book.

Then you go to the bookstore and you see all the brand new, beautiful books. And you think "I don't want them." You know you should want them, but you don't. For Pete's sake, your book LEFT you. Of course it won't ever show up at your door and be like "Jokes! Love me again!" Nope! So just love the other books already!

But you don't love them.

And it has been eight months since your book left you two weeks before Christmas. You should stop reciting your favorite passages. Your friends no longer want to hear them.

You keep reading the backs of all the other books but you keep on looking for the same storyline: The Beatles, baseball, red hair, and glasses. You become so ashamed that you can't move on after eight whole months that you box up everything that reminds you of your book. This, you think, is the end.

You find that you don't have the book as memorized as you thought. Instead of quoting a scene word for word, you can only recall vague images. The book has become an idea and an ideal.

So what do you do when your life is like this?

1) Remind yourself (yet again) to stop saying the title of the book out loud or in your head.

2) Smile. Your life is beautiful.

3) Be patient. Because you're 17. You're stupid. Really, you are. Get over yourself. Also, realize how pathetic you are. This is a big step.

4) Don't go to the bookstore anytime soon. You're not ready, obviously. (Okay, go to the actual in-real-life bookstore. That's okay to go to.)

5) Think of hideous similes for how you feel. Like this one. Then you can laugh at yourself. That's the best advice: Laugh at yourself.

6) Read Harry Potter. Try not to get upset whenever it mentions the Weasleys. Or Ron. Or Hermione. But read Harry Potter anyway, because it's magical.



And pray. Actually, that's step number 1: Pray.

Friday, July 13, 2012

MLB Allstar Game. I went. (Updates and Thoughts)

I wish I could find that perfect balance between a "Here's an Update With My Life" blog and a "Here's a Really Poignant Thought" blog, but that's really hard to do.

Here's my attempt at it.


An Update:
I made a short video and entered it in a contest to learn to drive stick-shift with Chevy and then go to the MLB Allstar game in Kansas City, Missouri.
A Thought:
You miss 100% of the shots you don't take. I had never made a video before, but I took a chance and it payed off.

An Update:
The trip was all-expenses paid. I flew first class and got shuttled everywhere and slept at a nice hotel.
A Thought:
It's so easy to slide into the life of luxury. It's also incredibly easy to slide into having a big head because of the said life. Don't do that.

(This was my meal. They gave me couscous. On a plane. And my own salt and pepper shakers!)

An Update:
The Home Run Derby and the Allstar game were absolute dreams come true. It was a piece of heaven.
A Thought:
We focus so much on not being disappointed when plans fall through. Can we rejoice for a second on how great it is when they don't? On the overwhelming joy of experiencing my first Seventh-Inning-Stretch?





An Update:
As I flew in the airplane, I looked out the window and saw a quilt of fields.
Many Thoughts:
Flying in airplanes makes me sentimental.
You don't miss mountains until they're gone.
Objects and places mean nothing until you have a relationship with them.
There are so, so, so many people. So many. We get so involved in our own worlds that we forget that. We forget how incomprehensible and beautiful it is that we're all individually loved by a loving Heavenly Father.


I'm so grateful for the trip and for my mom and for Kansas City BBQ and for kind people and for temples all over the world and for baseball and for memories and for... and for life. That's what I'm grateful for the most.  Life. My life is full of people and experiences and emotions. My mom said something to me while we were in Missouri. "Kimberly, when you like something, you like it all the way. You don't just like something. You love it."
And it's true. I live life fully by loving everything with all I have.

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Forgetting.

My favorite things I possess are my memories.
I recall useless facts about the Inca civilization, sign language I was taught in first grade, the exact spot I met some of my closest friends.

And I fear forgetting.

I've kept a journal noting everyday for four years, but it's not enough. How many tiny memories slip through? Will I remember how it smells like the sea when it rains? Will I remember my daily walk to work? Will I remember how I felt July 3rd or 4th or 5th?

I don't want to forget. It terrifies me.

Please, let me never forget how I screamed hearing The Beach Boys sing in concert or how the hot asphalt felt on my feet or what it feels like to be kissed.

I've almost forgotten that one already.



Take a moment.

Friday, June 29, 2012

I've Forgotten the Point of Blogs.

Work is boring. Campus is dead.To pass the time, I started clicking through randomly selected blogs.

And... there is no point to blogging.
Everyone sees the world through their own eyes and we all collectively seem to forget that the world is too big to see through two pupils.
We try to compartmentalize, categorize, un-realize. Our worlds are all so small and unconnected. Everyone has their own tiny universe.

In this day and age, we call it a blog.

I've forgotten the point of blogging. All I see are the numbers, the drafts, the obligations.

I'd rather eat really good Indian food than blog. I think I'll do that.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

The Underdog

I don't think I'll ever understand why people love the obvious bet, the best team statistically, the well-known beasts.

Why there are Yankees fans in the world, I'll never know.

I root for the underdog almost 100% of the time.

Because nothing feels better than the little victories.

If you like the Underdog, then you are used to the losses and relish every single victory.

I knew this had always been my philosophy when it came to sports, but only lately did I realize that it's my philosophy when it comes to basically everything.

Boys? I choose The Underdog.
Reality TV shows? I choose The Underdog.
Music? I choose The Underdog. Or, you know, Indie bands. None of this Top 40.
Movie characters? I choose The Underdog.
           (........this usually leads me to rooting for the villain at the end of a movie. I cried for Syndrome in The Incredibles.)


Favorite Super Hero? Underdog. (Just kidding. Not really.)
Captain America. Not because of his looks, but because even when he was the little guy he never backed down from doing what was right. 

So it makes sense that I like to be the Underdog. I like to fight for things that seem out of my reach. I like to be the weaker school in a rivalry, the least experienced dancer in a dance class, the girl with the smallest mouth to stuff a doughnut into.

You don't think I can do it? Watch me.

what defies us

never.

keep it up