At the Castle in the Air

     "You must never feel badly about making mistakes," explained Reason quietly, "as long as you take the trouble to learn from them. For you often learn more by being wrong for the right reasons than you do by being right for the wrong reasons."
     "But there's so much to learn," Milo said, with a thoughtful frown.
     "Yes, that's true," admitted Rhyme, "but it's not just learning things that's important. It's learning what to do with what you learn and learning why you learn things at all that matters."

[The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster]

bleach + caramel

I was spending my Tuesday afternoon cleaning the sink in my dorm room, causing my hands to smell profusely of clorox. Naturally, after all my hard work, I sat down to enjoy a Dulce de Leche scratch cupcake. I took one bite and—

             BANG.

I'm eleven years old, sitting on a big, super-hot cement block next to the baby pool outside Ames High with Mary Schliesman. The sun is shining on my face, with the scent of pool water wafting through the humid air and a caramel apple pop stuck to my molars. 

____________________________________

Except it's -2 outside, I haven't seen Mary in 6 months, and I can't remember the last time I had a caramel apple pop. What is it about tastes and smells? I haven't thought about our summer escapades in years, yet the combination of bleach and caramel triggered the strongest flashback I've ever experienced. The human brain is such a mysterious, marvelous thing.

courtesy of xkcd.com

If it be true, I conclude something huge.

But in the end, God doesn't need a defense.

He is who He is.

Amen.

THAT kid.

I sat in the back row of an early-morning Humanities III class, trying to keep a low profile. Most of the 35 students looked as though this was the last place in the world they wanted to be.
     "Have any of you read Frankenstein?" our professor asked us expectantly. Myself and three others raised our hands.
     "Only four?" He blinked at us enthusiastically, allotting an awkward silence before gushing about modern day allusions to Mary Shelley's novel. He then held up a copy of the Communist Manifesto.
     "I bet even fewer have read this one... Anybody? Anybody?" I'm probably going to need more coffee to keep up with this guy, I thought to myself, raising my hand along with one other student. He grinned at us.
     "What high school did you go to?" he asked me. Thirty-five heads turned my way.
     "Ames," I replied quietly, trying to suppress any part of my personality that might resemble Hermione Granger.
     "Ah, yes. Well, a bigger high school would emphasize great literature..." Okay, he is putting unnecessary amounts of effort into making me sound like a pretentious snob. As he began to enlighten us on the cultural relevance and criticisms of Marxism, I hoped silently that the next book would be new to me. When he inquired about 1984, I may have grimaced before putting my hand in the air once again.
     "What did you think? Was it a happy book?" he asked, giving me uncomfortably extended eye contact.
     "Interesting, but not happy," I responded. He got a chuckle out of that, which annoyed me a little because I was trying my best to be humorless. A discussion with the rest of the class of utopian and dystopian societies followed and I thought I was out of the woods.
     "Now, I would guess that most of you have never even heard of this book. I'm the only Humanities professor that uses it... A Sand County Almanac!" He began to share with us the merits of this book, which Mr.Schuck, my 7th grade science teacher, read to us in its entirety. I gladly remained silent. As he didn't technically ask if we had read it— and I wouldn't technically say that I had— I was spared confirming everyone's suspicions that I am, in fact, THAT kid.

it's a bloody mess

"Well, today I found out that there are about 150 empty dorms on campus," my dad says.

I respond: "That seems like a lot... Do that many people just quit school?"

"It's a small percentage of 30,000."

"Wait," says my brother, "I actually thought the drop out rate was higher than that."

"It probably is, but not all of them live on campus."
"I know a kid who dropped out of college recently." I add, "Pretty sure he's in prison now... But hey, I guess there are a lot of different—"

My words catch in my throat.

The list of reasons people don't finish school doesn't need to be discussed tonight.

I drop my gaze from my brother
as the reminder of his friend's fatal car accident sears yet another hole in my heart.

There are so many now, it's amazing I still have a pulse;
That cardiac muscle of mine is beginning to resemble swiss cheese.

As my blood pressure drops, I try to scream.
It comes out hollow, weak and unconvincing, falling on deaf ears.

But I need them to understand.
I need them to realize that life can be cut short in the blink of an eye—
that their YOLO world view doesn't cut it—
that their lives are worth more than that—
worth more than they could ever know.

The blood of God has been spilt willingly on our account.
So what am I worth?
What are any of us worth?

"Worth, value, and beauty are not determined by some innate quality,
but by the length for which the owner would go to posses them.
And broken and ugly things like us are stamped excellent
with ink tapped in wells of divine veins—
a system of redemption that could only be described as perfect." 

[Propaganda]