#thoughtspastmidnight

The day that is one week away from today holds my last responsibilities as a student of the national education system I was thrown into at birth. However, I have to continue to remind myself that it is not the last day of my identity as one who is a student of life. 

What is in store from me here on out? What makes me happy? Can I achieve my dreams in spite of the debt I have accrued for myself these past 5 years? These thoughts are the ones that keep me up at night. 

I can't remember the last time I uploaded something on Tumblr that wasn't just linked to my Instagram. 

Though I thoroughly appreciate the little squares of color through which we share our stories and lives, there will be nothing as telling of a person's thoughts (or lack thereof) than his or her writing. A picture is worth a thousand words, or so the maxim goes. But this is based on the assumption that the picture and the words are describing the same thing, holding onto the same feeling, grasping at the same nuances. 

Sometimes, I think, these pictures and words are totally disparate. 

I'm in a geology class this semester to fulfill a requirement in the College called Physical World. I am unexpectedly enjoying it so far, but I'm crediting this to the fact that we are covering the solar system (I always did have a romanticized liking for constellations and stars) and only beginning to explore smaller, less important rocks which don't take on the names of our planets. 

Studying the universe, literally examining the entirety of what exists out there, in space, in the vastness of our galaxy which is really trifling in size when compared to the rest of infinity -- it makes you wonder. Our problems are so slight; our crusades that frontline them so big. When did humans ever decide one group was more indispensable than the next, or that lives -- palpable, emotional, real -- could be so easily discarded?

It is mind-boggling to even begin to wrap your head around the theories that exist surrounding our forever-elusive outer space. 

Planet Earth is so simply intricate; was it all thanks to an auspicious series of events? How many times will we be left awestruck at Mother Nature before we realize a painter's hand has taken his time to stroke her and all of her colors with immaculate detail? 

My eyes are closing so I will end with the unfailingly eloquent C.S. Lewis:

In bed with a cup of earl grey & headphones & this on repeat. One of those covers-that-are-better-than-the-actual-thing kind of songs. 

Random thoughts:

Did you know that Earl Grey is a dude. A real person, though. THIS IS SO COOL. It makes perfect sense but here I was thinking my favorite tea was called Earl Grey just because. Must make it my life goal to meet him. Except my Twinings tea box says he is the sixth Earl Grey so not the real Earl Grey who made Earl Grey a thing but I'd still like to meet him to thank him for allowing such a wonderful tea to stay in the world.

I would like to run a half marathon. But I would probably end up only running 1/13 of it and walking the rest of the way. Is this even legal in the world of half marathons?

Wishing it stayed 64 degrees for the rest of the week. Weather is so fickle. When my cousin and I were flying back from Nicaragua we were looking at the clouds in awe and wondering what it would be like to touch one, and how they stay afloat in such wispy states, and if they ever got bored up there, watching ant-sized people go about their days in oblivion. Things you could maybe look up on the Internet but would rather speculate over and leave half of it up to your imagination.

I should spend more time reading or writing poetry. I used to actually make time for chewing on other people's words and digesting their thoughts and mulling over their emotions. Now I feel like I'm swallowing everything I intake -- articles for school, snippets of social media, outdoor signs indicating blocked roadways. Everything is a brief summation or a secondhand glance. Nothing is careful learning or a thoughtful study.

Which reminds me, being thoughtful > full of thoughts.

Crazy to think that looking back at my New York summer posts they're dated with "3 months ago." I've been slacking on the virtual world of blogging and have instead resorted to physically writing in my Le Petit Prince limited edition Moleskine journal that I was so lovingly gifted on my 19th birthday. Every time I write in its pages I flashback and am subliminally reminded of how blessed I am to be surrounded by such caring and genuine people in my life.

Flash forward and it's less than two weeks until I turn twenty. It feels at once surreal and natural to finally be leaving my teen years behind me. As it does every year, age creeps up on us with such short notice. It materializes like fog on a rainy day's window -- silently, almost unexpectedly but equally expectedly; always too slowly but just quickly enough for the turn of the head to notice its unresisting presence.

Age is a mold we slide ourselves into with the passing of time, a mold that only hardens completely after a year's worth of experiences, sorrows, fulfillments, endeavors, risks, and insecurities have wrapped themselves into shape, deconstructing exclusively at time's concession.

And we allow ourselves to be molded again, for another fifty-two weeks, in hopes that this time our cast will hold stronger and thicker, golder and brighter.