The Truth Project.

I started two things this week. The first is a book called "The Artist's Way." It's a book that takes you though a creative journey, searches thorough your heart to get rid of the things that make it hard to take yourself seriously as an artist. It's a book about coming to the realization that you can be an artist despite the ghosts of doubt in the back of your head. The other thing that started was The Truth Project with my college group. It's come at a perfect time because my mind has been clouded by so many questions lately. It's going to be an interesting journey.

It finally hit me

I have been rather low this past week. I really didn't know why until today. It finally hit me that my life has severely changed. Yesterday my parents were talking to Gabby about her moving into APU, orientation, her meal plan and such. I was suddenly hit with this wave of jealousy. That isn't my life anymore. APU is no longer MY campus. It's going to be part of my past now. I am sincerely sad about this. I wish that I could go back and be in the hustle and bustle of the dorms and apartments. Today I finally but a title to my sadness "I miss my friends, I miss the theatre, I miss APU." I am never going to walk from University Village to the theatre for rehearsal. I am never going to walk down Cougar Walk and look around to see if any of my friends are hanging out there. I am glad that my time there was finished off with receiving a diploma, but I miss the memories that I was continually making. Even if I wasn't doing anything in the theatre coming back to my apartment would be a memory making process. I miss those girls. I miss the girls nights filled with episodes of "Friends" and late pancakes snacks, movie nights, and girl talks that led to sleeping on the couch and complaining about back pain in the morning. Haha...Oh, those were the days. Ugh, am I really old enough to be saying that? 'Those were the days.' Oh goodness. Anyways, the point is that I miss everything over there. It will never be the same. Such is the life of a post grad.

Jennifer Carbajal May 11, 1988 - .........

A friend of mine has been feeding me books from the Anne of Green Gables series. In each book she would put tasks for me to do when I came to a certain part of the book. This act was one of the many saving graces during my depression. It gave me something to do, something to look forward to, something to make me feel like I was worth all the time that was put into it. I am now on the third book and I am enjoying doing all the little tasks in between my reading. The other day I was given this task " Go find a graveyard, the older the better, and take a journal and sit. Walk around and find three different graves that stick out to you. Journal about why they mean something to you."
I fulfilled this task the other day. And it was a very interesting experience. Josh took me. He and I had planned to hang out Sunday after church and he had left it up to me to decide what we would do. I was sure he was going to protest. Or tell me that I was weird and had issues. But he didn't. So we went to the Olive Lawn Memorial Cemetery by my house. It was a small cemetery. Not very old. But just being there felt like being part of history. But it felt like time stopped while we were there. We wondered around in silence at first. Kind of just taking in the scene before us. It was a beautiful day. The sun was out, but it wasn't too hot. There was a light breeze in the air. And the conversation was poetic. Josh and I set out to find the oldest grave there. We might have missed an older one, but we got as far back as 1851...
1851: What was going on then? How did people dress? It's amazing how much time has passed since then! So many suns and moons have passed over that grave since it was placed there. 1851. That was 100 years before my father's was born. Time...it's such a strange thing to fathom. You can't capture it. Sure you can take picture, record, post on facebook. but nothing can ever be like the real thing. No matter how much we try to recreate a moment in time, it will always be perfect when and how it happens.
The second grave I found was heartbreaking. It was a child that was born in 1947 and died in 1947. how hard would that be? To bring a child into the worked and have it taken away? Did they baby pass unexpectedly? did the parents know it was coming? Sometimes i wonder if that will happen to me. I don't know if I want to have kids but if I do I hope that everything turns out alright. I once had to play a character who miscarried. I just couldn't identify with that kind of pain. How hard it must have been for those parents to bury their child. All the time they spent waiting for their baby was shattered.
The most interesting thing that I found was a plaque on a wall in the cemetery. There were two names. One of them had a birth date and a death date under it. The other name had a birth date and then a dash. He hadn't died yet. I started to wonder what it must be like to see your name on a plaque knowing that the cemetery was just waiting to put the other date on it. It was a chilling thought. Then I started to think about how some people fear death. As soon as I thought that Josh asked me, "If you had a chance to know how you were going to die, would you want to know?" I had to think about this for a long time. On the one hand it would be nice to know because then I wouldn't be afraid to do anything because I could take chances and know that I wouldn't die. On the other hand, I would live in fear of that thing and avoid it at all costs. It might become a subconscious phobia or something like that. I decided that I wouldn't want to know. Because I wanted to be free. I wouldn't want to have anything hanging over my head for the rest of my life. I don't think I would want to know my expiration date. I would rather have the date of my birth known and have that dash hanging over my head, but I will not fear it.
That's what I learned from this escapade. Death is final, but it is beautiful. Walking around that cemetery was such a cool experience. Josh and I had a deep conversation about lots of things. Standing so close to death, literally standing there, put things into perspective.

A different perspective

Yesterday was the 4th of July. Despite being invited to several places I decided to spend it with my family. Last year I spent it with friends and the year before I was on tour with APU's Drama Ministry Team. It felt good to help my mother run about the kitchen trying to prepare our food. We had quite a feast: BBQ ribs, chicken, corn bread, bakes beans, with apple pie and lemon tarts to follow. We went to the Freedom Celebration after to enjoy some fireworks. The show was beautiful. I hadn't seen a firework show like that in quite a few years. The colors and designs were breathtaking. After the show was over my family spend the next half hour trying walking back to our car that we had to park a mile away. While we walked we could hear the distant and not so distant popping of illegal fireworks being blown up all around us. Then this thought popped in my head. We celebrate the 4th of July by setting off fireworks that symbolize the warfare that we went through for the Independence of our country right? Then it got me to thinking about what it would be like if these fireworks were REAL bombs going off. I was walking with my dad with my arms in his. So I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself in the middle of gunfire. I could smell the fumes from the explosions and hear the distant pops. I started to think of the places around the world that hear these sounds everyday, except that they aren't for pleasure. When they hear these sounds the have to duck and cover. They have to run for their life. I thought about this for the rest of the night and it opened my eyes to a different level of patriotism. Sure, I have known what it means to be grateful for those that have served our country. But I seem to always take for granted the peace that I enjoy in this country every single day. I don't have to wake up in the morning and hope that my house doesn't get bombed or raided. I don't have to worry about being caught in a crossfire walking to the grocery store. For that I am ever so grateful.