Holey Moley

I can't believe I haven't written since this past Monday--I just guess a lot has been going on. Sorry Mom for not updating :)

This week has flown by way too fast and yet at the same time, I am so exhausted--my ribs ache, my butt muscles hurt from moving like a giraffe and then like a hippo, I've read at least 2 books this week and have to read 3 or 4 more by the end of the next. A teacher almost made me cry; I've been pissed, I've been embarrassed, I've been growing--and it hurts, I've been restless (but not in a bad way), and I'm learning what beauty is.
So that's why I haven't had time to write. Plus I need to get at least 4 hours of sleep a night.

There's so much going through my mind right now that I have no idea of what to write about, so maybe I'll just tell you what I've seen this week. On Tuesday I went up to Spanish Harlem with Ashley to the museum mile where all the museums were free entry that day. Unfortunately, the museum "mile" is more like 10 so we only got to go to the city of New York Museum which was okay, I guess. We went up to the top floor where it was sweltering and everyone was fanning themselves with maps of the museum. The air was thick and because it was a museum it was musty and yellowed-smelling (do you know what I mean?). We saw some old dollhouses and then decided to leave. But the best thing about that trip wasn't the museum at all.
Outside on the pavement there were chalk drawings. Sidewalk chalk was given out freely and everyone was putting down what they had to say to the world. Kids were drawing stick figure portraits of their family, young and in love teenagers were etching their chalky names inside hearts on the street like someone might carve names into a tree. Older people were writing quotes, life lessons that they deemed worthy enough to pass on to the rest of the world. And I just looked. And walked. I should've written something, but I guess I didn't know what to say and didn't want to fill the pavement with some jumbled up quote that I just happened to have floating around in my mind. I should've though.

On the way back home I saw a man in the subway station that was doubled-over on the floor. I wanted to stop. I wanted to jump out of the spawning stream of people that was overflowing into the downtown platform. I wanted to put my hand on his back and ask him if he needed help. But I didn't. I guess the whole--you're in spanish harlem; you're 20 and female--he's a middle-aged man--fear stepped in the way. I don't ever have a lot of regrets in life. But that's something I do regret. I went down to the platform and these two kids my age were flinging their backpacks about with their caps tilted just slightly to the side--one was trying to explain to the other that up at the platform he had knocked down a man with his backpack; he was trying to justify it by the fact that the man should've gotten out of the way, it was an accident--no big deal.

but I knew that man was still up there doubled over on the floor and I did nothing.
In life you can't just stand by HOPING that someone will get up okay or that someone older, someone more inclined to help will stop by and help. You have to be that which someone is hoping for. Hope is a powerful thing--but if nothing is in action, hopes will just end up being thoughts selfishly stuck in independent minds and never taking on fruition.

it's weird, huh?
yep. but so beautiful.