The First Job I Ever Had

The very first job I ever had was something I built for myself back in elementary school. I confess that It’s not something I can ever put on my resume. In fact, I was actually threatened with arrest at one point during the height of my business success.

The tail-end of my elementary school years changed my entire life for the better. This was around the time when I decided I would try writing more and that I would pursue a career in the arts. I picked up the pen, went through dozens of sketchbooks, notepads, journals, and paper that I stole out of the large recycling bin on campus, and started writing and drawing. This was also the time that my crazy ideas began to have more of an impact on the lives of me and everyone around me.

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Creative Writing

college books
  • I would give them no choice in the matter, and just picked them up and took them somewhere. Especially, the friends who came from that tiny rural town.
  • I paused for a moment and glanced up to see if I would need to dodge any more animals falling from the sky. I was already 13 miles into the 17-mile hike I had planned to do the day before my trek. ‘Damn. I really am out here,’ I thought to myself.
  • I went to see a therapist about my anxiety, and it helped. I started rolling out my yoga mat again and practicing mindfulness meditation. I began paying closer attention to the advice from people I trusted, and while I worked to help educate others and help uplift the voices of the minority, I also worked […]
  • I was already halfway up the mountain when I briefly thought about turning back in my head that made no sense. I was already here on the mountain. I quickly and confidently checked my bag for my throwing knives and figured that I would be alright. I was already in the middle of doing something […]
  • It seems like every year around this time; I take off to help or visit someone. This is the second time I spontaneously decided to drive to Texas, planned a trip overnight, and then flawlessly executed it without skipping a beat.
  • I realized through exploring historical literature from people from all walks of life that there are so many sides to a story. None of them are completely right because each account is told with an inherent bias. No one news source can give you the full picture, and no one person can tell you what […]
  • After 23 years of memories and conversations I decided to end a very one-sided friendship.
  • Something changes in you when you lose a loved one out of the blue so suddenly. You can’t be there to say goodbye. Say Something while people are alive.
  • Fear is just a lack of knowledge. The second you understand something is the second you stop fearing it. Through understanding, you find room to grow and begin to share love and kindness.
  • I’m an introvert, but I love working and collaborating with smart groups of people. You end up creating better things by building off of everyone’s ideas. You end up becoming an idea factory. However, when you are working from home in quarantine during an ongoing global pandemic, to make this amazing experience work, you end […]

Significance In The Boring

An Artist on the ‘Magical Importance’ of a 15-Year-Old Tea Bag

I stumbled onto an article the other day from The New York Times Magazine. I, occasionally, sift through the pieces that get buried on the back end of the site and saw a series of articles from the author of “Worn Stories,” T, Emily Spivack, who conducted interviews with creative types who spoke about their most prized possessions. It was in the article, An Artist on the ‘Magical Importance’ of a 15-Year-Old Tea Bag, where I learned about Turner Prize-winning artist, Laure Prouvost, and how tea has influenced her work and life by way of a 15-year-old tea bag once used by her grandparents. Continue reading “Significance In The Boring”

The Moon by Camille Elston

CamilleCamille Elston, is a friend of mine who recently performed in Lake Elsinore, California at the Live Wired music festival put on by Bradstock.

Elston is a sports photographer and a Graphic Designer at Cal Poly Pomona. She’s a ridiculously cool musician who sings, plays guitar in genres spanning from Alternative to Pop, Indie and Electronica.

With a voice like Elston’s, you can create a wide variety of interesting songs that everyone can fall in love with, and it only helps that you can hear an intense sense of passion emanating from behind the beautiful words in her lyrical stories. Camille is also part of the band, Camille and the Eclectic Sound. The band formed in August, 2013 out of Pomona, California and they consist of Camille on guitar and lead vocals, Corinne Weston on bass and Elliot D’Antin on drums.

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Beyond the Shock Wave

Beyond the Shock WaveMy heart was pounding so hard that I could feel the echoing vibrations far beyond my chest. My breathing was heavy, my mind was racing, and I couldn’t help but wonder what I had just done. I realized, as I was driving away from the house, that I had no clue as to where I was going or how I would get back on the 5. Continue reading “Beyond the Shock Wave”

A Labyrinth of Weathered Book Pages

I find the way humans use language so incredibly amazing and wonderful. The fact that words and symbols take the place of sounds and emotions is daunting if you really think about it. Having a name for something so abstract, or even being able to describe an unnamed entity with a combination of expressive phrases, is just so amazing.

We communicate all of our thoughts and feelings to one another with a range of building blocks that we arrange into larger systems of words and terms and then again into complex sentences and expressions. I fall in love with the English language all over again when I pick up a book and dive deep into my imagination filled with new worlds, interesting people, and strange universes populated with wonder and awe, and thinking back on it, this is probably the reason why I got lost in a labyrinth of weathered book pages at the mall. Continue reading “A Labyrinth of Weathered Book Pages”

Epic Procrastination

The ancient (and untrue) tale of a procrastinator.

I sit fumbling through the scribbled pages of my notes, and as I am beginning to highlight the already densely bolded words in my text book, I decided that I should take a break. I started stretching, and as I was walking around the room I noticed my trash can was half full. I procrastinated longer by tossing out the trash in the dumpster outside, and then attempted to head back inside to my studies. But naturally, on the way back in, I saw an old friend passing by. And so, not wanting to be rude, we conversed remembering the days when we used to hang out together. And when the conversation ended, I made my way back indoors. I went straight for my room hoping I wouldn’t encompass anymore distractions, but then I decided that I was sort of hungry and stopped by the fridge for a snack.

I stared blankly at the contents of my refrigerator knowing plainly that I was just standing there to waste time. And after five minutes of peering deeply at my milk carton, I gently closed the door and walked away. Immediately after I glanced down at my wristwatch and noticed that my short break melted into a lost hour. I ran back to my desk and began reading my textbook like mad. So madly in fact, I ended up reading a single sentence repeatedly for ten minutes. I really need to focus, I thought frantically to myself. But something about procrastination just seems more enticing.

So I shut my book and I began to take another short break when I noticed something lying on the floor. I picked up the piece of trash and went to throw it away. And naturally, I decided, what the heck, I’ll just vacuum the whole floor while I’m at it. And so after vacuuming the remaining area of my floor, I dumped the contents of the vacuum’s dust collector in the trash. And then I pondered to myself, should I vacuum the rest of the apartment? It’s quite dirty anyways… Why not? And so I continued vacuuming the rest of the apartment, getting every square inch as I partook in the task, and when I was done and tucked the vacuum away in its place, I realized that the dishes needed washing. I couldn’t vacuum the floor without leaving the dishes could I? And when I was done with that I moved on to the rest of the kitchen. Why not clean the windows while I’m at it?

Hours passed and all I had accomplished was cleaning the apartment. Not a single mention of philosophy had I come across today. I looked to my watch again to only realize that my final exam would take place in three hours. Should I spend it studying or should I get some sleep seeing that it is now 5:00 am? I pondered the dilemma for a moment. I’m just a slave to procrastination anyways. I might as well be rested when I fail my test.

Like Bright Scratches of Paint

like bright scratches of paint

I sit here in my room with my hands covered in the dark and dripping ink of my fountain pen, like the bloodied murderous hands of a lunatic. Scrawling of words fall to the page below, like the bright scratches of transferred paint left on a dark-colored sports car, and the words that define us, describe us and uplift us take the time to dance together in various harmonious melodies.

They trip out of my head through my hands and end up in the minds of those willing to receive their wondrous power, and in doing so, I realize that the words here on this page are also filled with amazing power that has stopped those, who are reading this now from whatever they were doing before, and kept their attention long enough to finish listening to what I have to say.

Because of this, I feel as though these writers with their leaky pens and worn keyboards hold some sort of major influence on the world—although secretly of course, because everyone is busy wrapped up in the story on the page, which somehow became part of the audience’s thoughts, to remember that the writers were the ones who created it.

Upon this knowledge that I have obtained, however, I realized that I have a lot more to learn in this world from all the knowledge and experience that I have attained in these years that I have lived on this earth, and I know this because I will never stop learning or writing it all down to help me make sense of it all, like the bright scratches of transferred paint left on a dark-colored sports car.