Things that make you go hmmm.....

I was watching The View this morning, :-), and Clay Aiken was their guest co-host. He said something that really made me think, rare for me :-) Evidently they've sent out a survey to people who serve in the military to ask questions about how they would feel about Don't Ask, Don't Tell being repealed. Of course, they went back and forth, but eventually Clay Aiken said something to the effect of, if you had sent out a survey in the 60's to white students asking them if black students should be able to attend their schools (wow, "their" schools) unfortunately the majority probably would have said no. BUT that doesn't make it right. Just because the majority feels a certain way, doesn't mean it's just.
I am not in the military, which I used to think meant I was not entitled to an opinion on this. But would I have stood by and let segregation continue? Or would I have joined the fight to end it? I hope the latter.
And so I say, believing that someone's sexual orientation would effect their ability to serve in the military as much as the color of their skin, that I stand alongside those who feel it should be repealed. Revealing or not revealing your sexual orientation should be your choice. And your ability to serve in the military should be based on just that, your ability.

To first or to third...that is my current question

So I've had this character in my head for a long time now, and I've always thought of her story from first-person narrative. Naturally, when I begin to write about her, I and we and all the other first-person pronouns come out. But lately when I'm taking random notes or writing a part of her story, third-person has begun to come out. I'm very confused and not sure where I want to take it.
I like the idea that we can hear her thoughts and feelings and opinions. This is all about her and her discoveries and her history. The story is meaningless without her; the story is her. She would be first-person major :-) Meaning she is the main character.
Perhaps I could switch between first and third, if there are scenes I want the reader to know about, but she does not yet or never will...
Hmmm....it's just frustrating because I feel like I should make the decision before I write more, but I feel like I won't know for sure until I write more. I believe that's a catch-22 :-)
I guess I'll just keep writing as it comes and it may be something I have to piece together in the editing process.

Love

How can I contain this? How do I keep my chest from breaking open? The pressure, the overwhelming pressure...ironically I feel it will end me. But I know it won't. I know I can handle this. I think I can handle this...
How can the pressure still be building? It's reaching up to my eyes where the tears begin to pour out. It's reaching down into my gut. Pulling at every part of me. My soul. You are altering me completely.
How can I still be breathing? You are filling my heart so completely. There can't be enough room for this. Your face is filling my eyes...your beautiful face. Your angel blue eyes. Just when I think I can take no more I see your love for me in your eyes. I laugh. Pure joy.
The laughter frees my chest. I breathe deeply and throw my arms around your neck.

How can I be so lucky?

I don't care.

You are mine forever.

I will love you longer than forever.

*Words cannot convey my love for my husband :-)*

Admiration

As I watched the Neda video, I cried. Bawled actually. She was born the same year I was- almost my same age. But I'm so proud of her and the Iranian people. I don't know who I am, that it should matter if I'm proud, but I am. I'm so proud of them for standing up to their government and I hope that this will not quiet them. I hope they keep fighting. I hope they know how much we're rooting for them.

I will post a picture on nedaspeaks.org. I want them to know that I am one of the millions that is behind them. That I love them even though I don't know them. That I grieve with them for Neda and all those who died and are incarcerated, even though I can't imagine the depths of their pain and despair.

Keep reaching. We are with you.

Neda

Don't you want to see the best in me???

"This just in, not everyone you meet will like you. Kelly, people across the nation are shocked and outraged. Can you give us some opinions on the scene?"

"Yes Bob, we're here in front of the Supreme Court where they have just ruled in a controversial 5-4 decision that it is OKAY for people not to like each other. I have with me here Gretta, a dog walker from Tennessee, who is simply appalled. "

Gretta, in her southern drawl: I am in complete shock Kelly. Why wouldn't anyone like me? I mean, sure, I protest outside abortion clinics and if you don't believe what I believe I think you're goin' to hell, but should you really judge me? I mean, I don't judge other people. Facts are just facts."

"I'll leave you all to contemplate the irony there. Back to you Bob."

Poor Gretta. Poor us. The media has really awoken our vicious side. How many adjectives did you just come up with to describe Gretta? So quick to assume the worst of people. So hungry for it, too. When you flip on the television and turn to E! are you waiting to hear if Britney has flipped out again? Do you get excited when a celebrity has used a racial or religious slur and you can talk about them at work the next day?

I think we're all guilty, in some way or another, of the voyeur's pleasure. Watching and waiting for something... Just waiting for some idiot like Gretta to open her big mouth so we can pounce on her and explain to her why she's a moron and set her straight.

I have made a decision, that I know I will struggle to stick to, but darn it I'll try, that I'm going to try and assume the best of people; like Gretta. Gretta believes life begins at conception. Gretta believes that abortion is murder and that she will fight for that child's right to live if no one else will. Gretta loves you and doesn't want you to go to hell, so she will shove her beliefs in your face every damn day in the hopes she can save your soul. She believes it's why she's here. It's her purpose.

Now I might not agree with Gretta's tactics, but I have to look at her deeper reasons. I know she's a working mom, who loves her kids and her husband and volunteers on Sundays at her local homeless shelter after she's attended service at church. I might think she's crazy as a bat, but she's only doing what she thinks is right. (Now if Gretta bombs the abortion clinic, or protests at a gay person's funeral, we've got a whole set of different circumstances on our hands. There will always be extremists, and we can't judge the whole group by the extreme few. Well, you can, but I won't.)

I would want Gretta to look at me and assume the best of me. That, even though I'm a heathen who believes in gay marriage, and although I don't believe in abortion myself, would never take away a woman's right to choose, I'm a good person. And as she put her hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes to try and rescue my soul and I kindly declined her offer, she knows she tried her best and I know she really loves me. I shake my head a little as I walk away, knowing as obnoxious as I think it is, she really does care about me. She shakes her head behind me; she's worried about me and she won't give up.

Wow, am I in a fantasy world or what??? If we could all agree to disagree and respect each other's views and opinions. Imagine that. Imagine all the people...

And it's okay if Gretta and I don't agree and don't really like one another. I don't shout at her that she's a crazy, homophobic, bible thumper and she doesn't shout at me that I'm a heathenistic lost cause. (Yes, I know heathenistic isn't a word :-))

I guess when someone uses unkind words that hurt me, I don't just want to assume they're a jerk and walk away. Maybe they're very passionate about something and given the chance they would change the way they said it. It will make me feel better at the very least. And I think that's what I'm trying to protect; me. My self esteem.

I'm not good at handling criticism when given in a nonconstructive way. But if you write and put things out there it will happen. I guess I would always want people to take into account that I'm human. I have feelings. I have a husband that I love more than anything. I have a cat named Reeses that will scratch the sh** out of you if you're not careful. I have a house that has lost so much of it's value, I feel stuck for all eternity. I'm just like everyone else.

So please assume the best of me instead of the worse. And I promise I will always try to do the same for you :-)

And for those of you out there, who are so strong that words do not affect you, no matter how brutal, I don't know whether to envy you, or pity you. But I will say that just because you are that strong, don't forget that not all of us are.



*Thank you to my father. Who inspires me to think, to reach for the stars, and challenges my opinions every time we talk :-) And I love him for that.*

Hmmm....

My hands flew to cover my ears as the ripping and tearing noises became worse. I remained crouched in the corner of the cell I'd been thrown into hours before. Had it been hours? I just couldn't be sure. I was filthy and tired and sore from being tossed about. The others around me were not my people, which scared me. Where was my mother? My mother's sister? Where were the other peasants from our village? Our village priest? Anyone...

A tear trickled down my dusty cheek and I quickly wiped it away. No! I would not cry in front of these strangers. Although they were prisoners like me, I would not show weakness. I looked at them more closely then, having been trying to avert my eyes up until this point. A woman and what appeared to be her daughter were in another corner of the cramped cell. They were hanging on to each other for dear life. The daughter was weeping into her mother's shoulder and her fingers were digging into the the woman's dark brown skin. The woman clung to the small girl just as tightly. Her eyes were closed and she was rocking her back and forth, whispering words I could not hear over the horrible sounds. A prayer no doubt. Perhaps that's what I should be doing right now. My eyes continued around the room; all women. All dirty and frightened and prisoners. I pulled my feet closer to me and hugged me knees. Taking my hands away from my ears was painful, but I was getting used to the sounds now. I could decipher screaming and clashing; perhaps metal on metal? It all began to blend together again, into the background, as my eyes began to droop. So tired. I pinched my thigh to stay awake. I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and find a way out of here.