A letter? To my future self? Oh no. Okay, let's see what I come up with.
Dear 30-Year Old Self,
Hi. Nice to meet you (does that even make sense?). So I'm currently in a classroom typing up a blog post for English class. Mostly wondering what on Earth I'll even be doing in thirty years. A lot of things I guess, but I'm mostly wondering about what I'll be doing job wise. When I was kid (But you probably already know this right? Doesn't matter, I'll say it anyway.) I wanted to be a lawyer, an author, or a scientist. Not sure what I what to do at this point, honestly. But I digress.
Currently I'm in ninth grade. I just moved to Park City this summer after finishing the six (five?) month long trip. It's only December, and we came back in August, but I'm already getting the travel bug again. At the moment I really want to go to Bhutan (and manyyyyyyy other places). I saw it on an episode of a travel show (Expedition Unknown) a month or so ago, and now I reallllllllllllllllllllly want to go. It's got the cultural factors of Laos and the nature of Nepal (some of my favorite countries in Asia). Oh, look, I'm digressing again (I notice a theme).
Okay, what else do I have to tell you...um...well it's Christmas in a couple days. I asked for mostly stuff to redo my room with, like cute wall hangings and a new comforter for my bed. And...um....I also asked for candy....
Well, here's something. I still in Junior High (!!!!!). Apparently here ninth grade is part of junior high, or at least it's on that campus. STILL bitter.
I feel really stupid now. I've spent a while trying to come up with something interesting to write about, THEN I REALIZED THAT I HAVE SPENT HALF THE YEAR TRAVELING THE WORLD SO YEAH I THINK I PROBABLY HAVE AN INTERESTING STORY THERE SOMEWHERE.
Hmm.............what stressful story should I write about? Oh, I know. So about halfway through the trip, we were flying back to America for one week in order to attend my uncle's wedding. Our plan was to fly from Grenada (a town in Spain) to Paris one afternoon, and the following day to fly from Paris to Salt Lake City. Great. Well we walked into the Grenada airport and immediately saw that our Paris flight had been canceled (great).
Our parents were running around trying to find a way to get to America in time, while my brother, sister and I sat down on the airport floor (which was suspiciously wet) next to the plugs (you learn to appreciate any power charge when you are traveling 24/7--also we are spoiled twenty first century children).
In the end the five of us squeezed into a small (and I mean small) rental car and drove to Madrid. We had to wake up the next morning and catch a flight to New York. From New York we had a plane to Salt Lake City. Our travel was somewhat complicated by all the security issues we encountered though. I was flagged for extra security (apparently I'm super suspicious--unclear why) which meant I had to take the longer line, and also wait for twenty minutes while they looked through all of my possessions (when I say all, I really do mean all--remember our trip was about six months long).
More information about this little mishap can be found here. At the time, all any of us wanted was to get to America, but honestly, part of me is glad it happened. It's a fun story :)
So anyway, it's been an eventful year for me, probably one of my favorite years of my life. So yeah. Bye thirty year old me.
~Kate (age 14)
Thursday, December 20, 2018
Wednesday, December 5, 2018
The Magic of Rants (And Writing...Again)
I don't hate school as much as I could. That's not to say that I'm skipping to school every morning, but most of the time I have mostly positive feelings toward it. Of course, that changes when I have a huge project coming or something. I tend to get stressed out easily.
And there is one thing that I really hate about school. For most of my life, I've had standards based grading. If you don't know, that's a grading system some schools use instead of the traditional ABC grades. A one is the lowest grade, and a four the highest. But four is "above and beyond," while a three is grade level. For all of my schooling years, except fifth grade, I've had standards based grading.
Now when I say I hate standards based grading, I mean that one hundred percent.
Everyone acts like it's some magic remedy or something, but it's insane. I have grown up with it, so I'm not just saying this because I'm ignorant or I don't like the change. I simply find the system ridiculous and counterproductive. For one thing, it's so subjective. A four to one teacher is a three to another. Most of the students get mixed messages as to what a three even means. Is it supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing? And in the system my school uses, they translate our number grades into a percentage letter grade. So a three (which is supposed to be grade level) is a 75%, or a B. Are you telling us that grade level is 75%?? That we can only get full credit if we do more than you told us to do? It's ridiculous.
Once I got a 3.5 on a test, which is technically above grade level. One would think I'd get at least 100% for that. But no, I got an 88%, which actually brought my grade down. What?
I honestly don't understand why people think this method is so important. How is it helping? It makes me more stressed about school, rather than the other way around.
Okay, so maybe I've ranted more than strictly necessary. If you know me well at all, you know I'm a big person for rants. I rant over text, in person, and now, apparently, on a blog.
I think that's part of the reason I like writing so much. It's like a ranting canvas. Even if I'm not the one saying the words, a character I've made is. I've noticed over the years that things that annoy me tend to become themes in my stories.
The thing I'm realizing as I write this blog, is that I have very few hobbies (well, at least it's an eye opener, right?). I read and write, but what about when I'm really stressed out? I play with my dog, Rugby. Or try to get my family to play a board game or something. I talk to my friends. I listen to music, maybe go for a run.
I think maybe the thing I really take refuge in is writing after all. It's not like my stories are going anywhere, and very few people have ever read them. But it's kind of a great feeling, having a world in your head. I get to make up events, characters, whatever. I know I talk about writing a lot, but I guess that's because it's pretty much my only hobby. Whenever someone gives me an opportunity to talk about them I launch in, talking non-stop. I suppose I take pride in them after all. There's satisfaction in pulling everything together, weaving storylines and finishing a story or series. When I'm not in a very good mood, I'll admit that I pull one of my stories up on my phone and start to read.
Is that silly? Maybe. Probably. I don't know. But I like it. Even though sometimes a poorly written line makes me groan, there's always pride in knowing that I typed every word. I crafted every person and line of dialogue.
And there is one thing that I really hate about school. For most of my life, I've had standards based grading. If you don't know, that's a grading system some schools use instead of the traditional ABC grades. A one is the lowest grade, and a four the highest. But four is "above and beyond," while a three is grade level. For all of my schooling years, except fifth grade, I've had standards based grading.
Now when I say I hate standards based grading, I mean that one hundred percent.
Everyone acts like it's some magic remedy or something, but it's insane. I have grown up with it, so I'm not just saying this because I'm ignorant or I don't like the change. I simply find the system ridiculous and counterproductive. For one thing, it's so subjective. A four to one teacher is a three to another. Most of the students get mixed messages as to what a three even means. Is it supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing? And in the system my school uses, they translate our number grades into a percentage letter grade. So a three (which is supposed to be grade level) is a 75%, or a B. Are you telling us that grade level is 75%?? That we can only get full credit if we do more than you told us to do? It's ridiculous.
Once I got a 3.5 on a test, which is technically above grade level. One would think I'd get at least 100% for that. But no, I got an 88%, which actually brought my grade down. What?
I honestly don't understand why people think this method is so important. How is it helping? It makes me more stressed about school, rather than the other way around.
Okay, so maybe I've ranted more than strictly necessary. If you know me well at all, you know I'm a big person for rants. I rant over text, in person, and now, apparently, on a blog.
I think that's part of the reason I like writing so much. It's like a ranting canvas. Even if I'm not the one saying the words, a character I've made is. I've noticed over the years that things that annoy me tend to become themes in my stories.
The thing I'm realizing as I write this blog, is that I have very few hobbies (well, at least it's an eye opener, right?). I read and write, but what about when I'm really stressed out? I play with my dog, Rugby. Or try to get my family to play a board game or something. I talk to my friends. I listen to music, maybe go for a run.
I think maybe the thing I really take refuge in is writing after all. It's not like my stories are going anywhere, and very few people have ever read them. But it's kind of a great feeling, having a world in your head. I get to make up events, characters, whatever. I know I talk about writing a lot, but I guess that's because it's pretty much my only hobby. Whenever someone gives me an opportunity to talk about them I launch in, talking non-stop. I suppose I take pride in them after all. There's satisfaction in pulling everything together, weaving storylines and finishing a story or series. When I'm not in a very good mood, I'll admit that I pull one of my stories up on my phone and start to read.
Is that silly? Maybe. Probably. I don't know. But I like it. Even though sometimes a poorly written line makes me groan, there's always pride in knowing that I typed every word. I crafted every person and line of dialogue.
Saturday, November 10, 2018
The Agonizings of a Young Writer
I'm not a school sports person. I'm certainly not a drawing person. That's not to say that I haven't tried these things. Friends have tried to teach me how to draw, and I've spent a lot of my life playing soccer or softball. But they're not my passions.
Writing probably isn't a very fun pastime for a lot of people. And believe me, I've had my stretches where I hate writing and I just want to watch TV and do nothing. Yet at the same time, I always come back to it. Honestly, maybe the thing that drew me into writing was getting to share my stories with other people. If you know me well, odds are I've ranted about them to you once or twice. Or five times. Or, if you're my brother, around fifty times.
Recently I've spent a lot of time writing. Just a few days ago something happened that made me feel almost proud of my stories. One of my friends sent me a text asking for help with writing a story. Now, I've read some of her stories before. She writes a little too. But this was the first time she had sent me a message, not asking me to read her story, but help on how to write a certain kind of scene. Maybe that was the first time that I really realized that she thought my advice on writing was helpful. It was a kind of validation, after pouring who knew how many hours into this passion of mine.
The day after that I started writing a new story. Well, when I say new, it's story I've written down before, but its been in the works for months. My first real fantasy story. A lot of the characters in it are from failed stories I've written before. I've been combining all my past failed attempt into this trilogy. Characters from a idea for a musical (I cringe just to think of that now), from a story about conformity, and even from the very first series I ever wrote. Combined into one story. Weaving different strands together to make a dark fantasy story. Trying to use those characters from feeble plots and reconstructing them.
I don't kid myself that my writing itself is particularly good. There are stretches that I'm proud of, but the writing style in general is not my pride. But I do love making characters, crafting plots. Adding foreshadowing, placing careful easter eggs. Writing is also a way to trace my life. As I've grown older, my stories have gotten darker and more theme than plot. When I was much younger, maybe seven or eight, I had an idea for a a story, about a warrior princess. Typical, and now it seems ever so dull. I revisited that idea recently, and transformed it into a series of short stories about betrayal and secrets. Now its some of my favorite writing I've ever done, and much more interesting than a princess who never loses a battle.
One of the hardest things for me about writing is the patience. I hate writing the boring scenes, where nothing happens except introspection. I often cut out a lot of the depth of the story in order to get to the fun scenes. The ones with the arguments and the fights.
I also go in phases, times where I'm obsessed with one story or another. Mostly I write long trilogies. Well, I say write. I haven't yet ever finished one, but my first trilogy is only a few pages away from completion. Even though it will be a huge achievement, it makes me a little sad to think of having finished it.
For me, writing is my hobby. It's rather slow and for most people probably not exciting. But it's something that I've always loved to do.
Writing probably isn't a very fun pastime for a lot of people. And believe me, I've had my stretches where I hate writing and I just want to watch TV and do nothing. Yet at the same time, I always come back to it. Honestly, maybe the thing that drew me into writing was getting to share my stories with other people. If you know me well, odds are I've ranted about them to you once or twice. Or five times. Or, if you're my brother, around fifty times.
Recently I've spent a lot of time writing. Just a few days ago something happened that made me feel almost proud of my stories. One of my friends sent me a text asking for help with writing a story. Now, I've read some of her stories before. She writes a little too. But this was the first time she had sent me a message, not asking me to read her story, but help on how to write a certain kind of scene. Maybe that was the first time that I really realized that she thought my advice on writing was helpful. It was a kind of validation, after pouring who knew how many hours into this passion of mine.
The day after that I started writing a new story. Well, when I say new, it's story I've written down before, but its been in the works for months. My first real fantasy story. A lot of the characters in it are from failed stories I've written before. I've been combining all my past failed attempt into this trilogy. Characters from a idea for a musical (I cringe just to think of that now), from a story about conformity, and even from the very first series I ever wrote. Combined into one story. Weaving different strands together to make a dark fantasy story. Trying to use those characters from feeble plots and reconstructing them.
I don't kid myself that my writing itself is particularly good. There are stretches that I'm proud of, but the writing style in general is not my pride. But I do love making characters, crafting plots. Adding foreshadowing, placing careful easter eggs. Writing is also a way to trace my life. As I've grown older, my stories have gotten darker and more theme than plot. When I was much younger, maybe seven or eight, I had an idea for a a story, about a warrior princess. Typical, and now it seems ever so dull. I revisited that idea recently, and transformed it into a series of short stories about betrayal and secrets. Now its some of my favorite writing I've ever done, and much more interesting than a princess who never loses a battle.
One of the hardest things for me about writing is the patience. I hate writing the boring scenes, where nothing happens except introspection. I often cut out a lot of the depth of the story in order to get to the fun scenes. The ones with the arguments and the fights.
I also go in phases, times where I'm obsessed with one story or another. Mostly I write long trilogies. Well, I say write. I haven't yet ever finished one, but my first trilogy is only a few pages away from completion. Even though it will be a huge achievement, it makes me a little sad to think of having finished it.
For me, writing is my hobby. It's rather slow and for most people probably not exciting. But it's something that I've always loved to do.
Tuesday, October 16, 2018
Social Media
Look, I'm not a social media person. For most of my life I've actively avoided it. Maybe a little too much. Still, I've never wanted to be that person, so sucked into their online lives that they didn't live a life outside it.
My very first experiences with an online social media account was when I turned twelve. I had promised my sister I would get a Snapchat account, and so I reluctantly obliged. When I got it, I hid the app in the very back of my "Other" folder app. My sister immediately friended me, which I accepted and friended her back. A little later, her best friend also sent friend request, which I accepted. Then I let it lay dormant. I sent streaks to them everyday, but I never tried to get any more friends. Part of it was because I didn't want anyone to know that I had finally succumbed to the peer pressure. I purposefully kept the app hidden in my folder so no one would no it was there. The other things was, Snapchat didn't make me happy. I didn't care what I posted. Most of the time I sent the same plant outside my school everyday. Snapchat was just there, part of my everyday routine in an effort to please my older sister.
After time my sister said it was okay if I deleted it. I was relieved. Far from making me happy, Snapchat was just a drain and one more thing to do each day that brought me no pleasure.
It was much later that I felt like I might want to try social media again. During the second half of eight grade, when I was almost fourteen, my family left on a six month trip around the world. (For more information, see our family blog here.) We were in Bangkok, Thailand one night, and I was desperately missing my friends. Not just my close friends, the people who I barely knew. I wanted people to know what I was doing. So I made an Instagram account in a small restaurant in Thailand.
I accumulated followers after my sister posted about me on her story. It made me smile as the numbers piled up, but I also felt anxiety wondering who to let follow me. I posted about meeting the Elephants in Laos. I wasn't particularly pretty in that picture--sharing fancy pictures of me had never been my goal--but I liked it anyway,
My next post was less down to Earth and a little more glamorous. My sister loved photography, and I was often her subject. We had a photoshoot in our beautiful Bangkok hotel, and I looked more fake and pretty than my normal anxious self.
I didn't post very often, not even finally arriving at Everest Base Camp after our long trek, something I had intended to post about, but never really came down to it. Worrying about posting made me anxious, and I discovered that Instagram brought me more stress than joy. I felt happy when I got a lot of likes, but when I didn't I was much less cheerful.
When we got back to America, I deleted the app from my phone, but not the account. Every once and a while I get emails reminding me of my dormant account. Each are accompanied by an uncomfortable feeling.
I'm still not a social media person. It's brought me more than enough worry in my already stress strewn life. Still though, sometimes I'm sad because I can't share my life with the people I left behind in California. I suppose that's part of the brilliance of social media. My opinion about having an Instagram account could still change, which is part of the reason I've kept my account. But for now, I'm content without the app on my phone.
My very first experiences with an online social media account was when I turned twelve. I had promised my sister I would get a Snapchat account, and so I reluctantly obliged. When I got it, I hid the app in the very back of my "Other" folder app. My sister immediately friended me, which I accepted and friended her back. A little later, her best friend also sent friend request, which I accepted. Then I let it lay dormant. I sent streaks to them everyday, but I never tried to get any more friends. Part of it was because I didn't want anyone to know that I had finally succumbed to the peer pressure. I purposefully kept the app hidden in my folder so no one would no it was there. The other things was, Snapchat didn't make me happy. I didn't care what I posted. Most of the time I sent the same plant outside my school everyday. Snapchat was just there, part of my everyday routine in an effort to please my older sister.
After time my sister said it was okay if I deleted it. I was relieved. Far from making me happy, Snapchat was just a drain and one more thing to do each day that brought me no pleasure.
It was much later that I felt like I might want to try social media again. During the second half of eight grade, when I was almost fourteen, my family left on a six month trip around the world. (For more information, see our family blog here.) We were in Bangkok, Thailand one night, and I was desperately missing my friends. Not just my close friends, the people who I barely knew. I wanted people to know what I was doing. So I made an Instagram account in a small restaurant in Thailand.
I accumulated followers after my sister posted about me on her story. It made me smile as the numbers piled up, but I also felt anxiety wondering who to let follow me. I posted about meeting the Elephants in Laos. I wasn't particularly pretty in that picture--sharing fancy pictures of me had never been my goal--but I liked it anyway,
My next post was less down to Earth and a little more glamorous. My sister loved photography, and I was often her subject. We had a photoshoot in our beautiful Bangkok hotel, and I looked more fake and pretty than my normal anxious self.
I didn't post very often, not even finally arriving at Everest Base Camp after our long trek, something I had intended to post about, but never really came down to it. Worrying about posting made me anxious, and I discovered that Instagram brought me more stress than joy. I felt happy when I got a lot of likes, but when I didn't I was much less cheerful.
When we got back to America, I deleted the app from my phone, but not the account. Every once and a while I get emails reminding me of my dormant account. Each are accompanied by an uncomfortable feeling.
I'm still not a social media person. It's brought me more than enough worry in my already stress strewn life. Still though, sometimes I'm sad because I can't share my life with the people I left behind in California. I suppose that's part of the brilliance of social media. My opinion about having an Instagram account could still change, which is part of the reason I've kept my account. But for now, I'm content without the app on my phone.
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