I am France.
One of these days I will share my writing with you all.
Today is not that day.
Friday, September 2, 2016
Hello everyone and welcome to another edition of Me Talking. When I arrived home from school a feeling of melancholy washed over me for some reason. I’ve been feeling like this every Friday evening for as long as I can remember. I don’t really know how to describe the feeling. I get home, I take off my shoes and set my book bag to the floor. If I’m not working I go upstairs to put on some comfortable clothes, and if I do work I go upstairs to put on my work clothes. If I find myself not going to work, I put on my leisure clothes and make my slow way down the stairs. When I come down I am usually greeted by my parents and about 50 questions about my day or what I did the day before. Beyond the typical words of encouragement that I can do it “if I tried harder” speech is the slow descent into the harsh reflection of my week. I begin to question and overthink every achievement and defeat. Did I really do everything I wanted to do this week? Was that feeling of praise and power and self-fulfillment really warranted with my “achievements” of the week? I look over to the dinner table. It’s set for a candlelight dinner, like many Fridays as the weather begins to get colder, and the leaves begin to fall from the trees. I would message my girlfriend, but she’s at her cross country practice so she won’t answer. I don’t want to overwhelm her with my petty overthinking, so I’ll message her later when she gets out. My mother calls me from the kitchen asking me what I’m doing, and I answer “nothing”. Nothing. That’s a typical response I give when I know she’s going to tell me to help her. She begins to tell me in a raised voice to come help her with the dinner. I begin to wonder whether or not I was actually doing nothing just then. Nothing, like many things in life, is all perspective. The smallest thing can mean the world and more to someone, while the world and more can mean the smallest thing to others. She’s yelling now. The smell of roast chicken and garlic fill the air, and I know dinner is ready to be served. It’s ready to be served, and I will help serve it. I get up now and go into the kitchen. My mother is putting chicken, potatoes, and a salad on a porcelain plate in even proportions. I look at the plates as I set them at each of our seats, and I realize I’m pretty hungry. When we talk at the dinner table, we will disagree on the topic at hand, no matter what it may be. That’s just what happens when you live with six other people. This feeling is isn’t losable. Rather, I just learn to live with it. It has to pass at some point, and it does, but only for a moment.
*Sorry for the lack of content once again, I'm still getting back into the swing of things. But don't follow your dreams, follow me instead
Thursday, September 1, 2016
By: Rodolfo Perez
I just need to clear my mind now,
It’s been racing since the summer time.
I’ve been holding a cup for too long,
A once cold beverage is body temperature.
The music has stopped playing,
The summer is over.
The summer is over.
The summer has been over.
It’s on to the late nights without the party.
The quick meals without the conversation.
But there is someone who keeps me going.
She remains to celebrate the victories,
And comfort me in my defeats.
Suddenly autumn becomes my favorite season.