3/12/16
Absolute truth means absolute safety, absolute victory, and absolute happiness. Building a life off of anything less will result in momentary safety, fleeting victory, and temporary happiness. There is truth, and like the North Star it will guide us to safe ports. It is constant and unfailing: absolute.
April 28, 2016
April 25, 2016
My Major
Psych Major
When I was a little boy, I would tell people I was going to be a writer. I loved stories, and I wanted to contribute my own, in time. I spent my childhood enshrouded by my imaginary worlds, adding my own adventures to the tales I loved so much.
As I grew older, my desires to participate in story telling expanded into a general love of performance. I fell head over heels for music, and now I love singing. During this time my interests grew, and I found myself wanting to be an actor, or a director, or even a news anchor! Singer and performer were dreams I held close to my chest, uncertain if I'd ever be able to come close to it.
At the same time, a wish grew in my chest. I wished to change the world, to make a real difference. Out of that wish came new options. First there was law. I legitimately thought about becoming a lawyer. And not just any lawyer, but a criminal prosecutor. I wanted to find the truth, and put away wrong doers. It was at this time that I seriously thought about becoming a politician. I was serious about making a change; but I wasn’t sure how I wanted to make one. If I chose law, my ultimate goal was to be a Justice.
I also contemplated becoming a politician, and making big changes in various offices. If I became a career politician, I fully intended to one day set my sights on the senate, and even presidency.
It was during high school that I gave psychology serious consideration. I loved my psychology class, and enjoyed figuring out how and why people feel, think, and do what they do. People always said that I was easy to talk to, and I wondered if that couldn't be put to good use.
On my mission I bounced between everything I'd ever thought of before, with new ideas flitting across my mind constantly. It wasn't until I came home, determined to pursue media arts in hopes of finding a role in storytelling, one way or another. It was a plea for volunteers from Crisis Text Line that reignited my desire to help people, and reminded me that there were very practical outlets for me to do that. And now, I feel that my best chance to make a change is in the field of psychology. I still do hope to participate in story telling, but this is the field I fully intend to study.
When I was a little boy, I would tell people I was going to be a writer. I loved stories, and I wanted to contribute my own, in time. I spent my childhood enshrouded by my imaginary worlds, adding my own adventures to the tales I loved so much.
As I grew older, my desires to participate in story telling expanded into a general love of performance. I fell head over heels for music, and now I love singing. During this time my interests grew, and I found myself wanting to be an actor, or a director, or even a news anchor! Singer and performer were dreams I held close to my chest, uncertain if I'd ever be able to come close to it.
At the same time, a wish grew in my chest. I wished to change the world, to make a real difference. Out of that wish came new options. First there was law. I legitimately thought about becoming a lawyer. And not just any lawyer, but a criminal prosecutor. I wanted to find the truth, and put away wrong doers. It was at this time that I seriously thought about becoming a politician. I was serious about making a change; but I wasn’t sure how I wanted to make one. If I chose law, my ultimate goal was to be a Justice.
I also contemplated becoming a politician, and making big changes in various offices. If I became a career politician, I fully intended to one day set my sights on the senate, and even presidency.
It was during high school that I gave psychology serious consideration. I loved my psychology class, and enjoyed figuring out how and why people feel, think, and do what they do. People always said that I was easy to talk to, and I wondered if that couldn't be put to good use.
On my mission I bounced between everything I'd ever thought of before, with new ideas flitting across my mind constantly. It wasn't until I came home, determined to pursue media arts in hopes of finding a role in storytelling, one way or another. It was a plea for volunteers from Crisis Text Line that reignited my desire to help people, and reminded me that there were very practical outlets for me to do that. And now, I feel that my best chance to make a change is in the field of psychology. I still do hope to participate in story telling, but this is the field I fully intend to study.
April 24, 2016
#Worthy of Rescue
Note Baikanon
Today marks the birth of #Worthy of Rescue! A video will be posted today; below is the transcript.
#Worthy of Rescue
Recently I listened to a speech given by President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, a member of the first presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. During his talk, he spoke of rescuing and being rescued, reaffirming our intrinsic value as human beings and warmly assuring us of our worth. He coined a phrase that has remained in my mind: He declared that, “[God] sees us worthy of rescue.” In other words, “You are worthy of rescue.”
What a beautiful statement! What a stunning assertation in the face of self-doubt and self-hatred. This has stuck in my mind and refuses to let go of my thoughts. I feel that it’s very similar to many other hashtags I’ve seen over the years, aimed at reinforcing self-worth and hope. Most of them are Twloha tags (stay tuned for more on Twloha in a later video), things like:
- I refuse to sink
- Stop the bleeding
- You are worthy
- Hope is real
- You are a story
- Help is real
- Recovery is possible
Alongside these declarations, "worthy of rescue" fits right in.
No matter where you are in life, no matter how long you’ve been lost, you are still worthy of rescue. It doesn’t matter if your life is good, bad, or anywhere in between: you are worthy of something greater. We are all worthy of rescue: rescue from doubt, from fear, from pain, from loss of hope and loss of love.
Our rescuer may be ourself; it may be a friend, a parent, a teacher. But regardless of who it is, we are worthy of their efforts. We are worthy of sacrifice, of strength, and of time. We are worthy of rescue. I am worthy of rescue. You are worthy of rescue.
And if you don't believe me, listen to three reasons that you, and I, and us, and everybody is worthy of rescue.
#1: Dresden is a city in Germany. It was nicknamed the Jewel Box for its splendor and beauty. During World War II, Allied bombing leveled the city. Beauty that had been built up for decades was spoiled in a night. Do you know somebody like that?: a lifetime of happiness spoiled by one horrific event? Are you that person? Even if you're not, I believe that on a smaller scale, we've all experienced this. Haven't we all had a good day, only to be ruined by a negative moment?
In the rubble it can often seem like the end. But it's not over. Not by a long shot. Not for us, and not for Dresden. Somebody saw Dresden's potential for beauty. Somebody saw a vision of its potential to become more than the destruction that had overcome it. Somebody saw a bright future for the city of detritus. The city was rebuilt! It's beauty was restored, and above all, the city grew. The famous Frauenkirche Church in Dresden is a powerful symbol of the city. It was rebuilt in part using bricks that had survived the holocaust of destruction. Today, one can see blackened bricks pockmarking the building, evidence of a past struggle; scars that tell a story of restoration and triumph.
Like Dresden, we are worthy of rescue because we have a potential within us. Potential beauty, a potential future, a potential to become something more than what we are right now. We are worthy of rescue because of our potential.
#2: A shepherd will leave 99 sheep and search for the 1 that is lost. He will find it, and bring it home. He doesn't ignore it in favor of the 99 he already has; and he doesn't mark it as an acceptable loss. No, the shepherd stops at nothing to reclaim the lost one. The sheep is worthy of rescue because it is a part of a community. It is the 100th sheep; it is one of the 100 sheep. More than the lost one, it is its identity as one of the shepherd's sheep that defines it. The sheep is worthy of rescue because it is part of a set; it is the Shepherd's 100th sheep.
We too are worthy of rescue because of our place within a community. More than a lost one, we are somebody's friend. Somebody's child. Somebody's student, somebody's crush, somebody's mentor. We are something to everybody; and it is our place in the lives of others that makes us worthy of rescue.
#3: Mother Teresa spent her life battling poverty and destitution. Statistically, she accomplished nothing; but she knew that her work was with individuals. She said that, "What we do is nothing but a drop in the ocean. But if we didn't do it, the ocean would be one drop less." The poor were worthy of rescue not because they were easy to help, or simple to fix. They are worthy of rescue simply because they are. They are a drop in the ocean, and each drop is worthy of rescue.
You may tell yourself that you're nothing special, but if you weren't you -- if you weren't here -- the ocean would be one drop less than it is. You are worthy of rescue because you are breathing; you are living; you are being.
You are worthy. Worthy of love, of light, of hope! You are worthy of recovery, of progress, of bright futures and calm breaths. You are worthy of every good thing in store for you. You are worthy of your dreams. You, my friend, are worthy of rescue.
Today marks the birth of #Worthy of Rescue! A video will be posted today; below is the transcript.
#Worthy of Rescue
Recently I listened to a speech given by President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, a member of the first presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. During his talk, he spoke of rescuing and being rescued, reaffirming our intrinsic value as human beings and warmly assuring us of our worth. He coined a phrase that has remained in my mind: He declared that, “[God] sees us worthy of rescue.” In other words, “You are worthy of rescue.”
What a beautiful statement! What a stunning assertation in the face of self-doubt and self-hatred. This has stuck in my mind and refuses to let go of my thoughts. I feel that it’s very similar to many other hashtags I’ve seen over the years, aimed at reinforcing self-worth and hope. Most of them are Twloha tags (stay tuned for more on Twloha in a later video), things like:
- I refuse to sink
- Stop the bleeding
- You are worthy
- Hope is real
- You are a story
- Help is real
- Recovery is possible
Alongside these declarations, "worthy of rescue" fits right in.
No matter where you are in life, no matter how long you’ve been lost, you are still worthy of rescue. It doesn’t matter if your life is good, bad, or anywhere in between: you are worthy of something greater. We are all worthy of rescue: rescue from doubt, from fear, from pain, from loss of hope and loss of love.
Our rescuer may be ourself; it may be a friend, a parent, a teacher. But regardless of who it is, we are worthy of their efforts. We are worthy of sacrifice, of strength, and of time. We are worthy of rescue. I am worthy of rescue. You are worthy of rescue.
And if you don't believe me, listen to three reasons that you, and I, and us, and everybody is worthy of rescue.
#1: Dresden is a city in Germany. It was nicknamed the Jewel Box for its splendor and beauty. During World War II, Allied bombing leveled the city. Beauty that had been built up for decades was spoiled in a night. Do you know somebody like that?: a lifetime of happiness spoiled by one horrific event? Are you that person? Even if you're not, I believe that on a smaller scale, we've all experienced this. Haven't we all had a good day, only to be ruined by a negative moment?
In the rubble it can often seem like the end. But it's not over. Not by a long shot. Not for us, and not for Dresden. Somebody saw Dresden's potential for beauty. Somebody saw a vision of its potential to become more than the destruction that had overcome it. Somebody saw a bright future for the city of detritus. The city was rebuilt! It's beauty was restored, and above all, the city grew. The famous Frauenkirche Church in Dresden is a powerful symbol of the city. It was rebuilt in part using bricks that had survived the holocaust of destruction. Today, one can see blackened bricks pockmarking the building, evidence of a past struggle; scars that tell a story of restoration and triumph.
Like Dresden, we are worthy of rescue because we have a potential within us. Potential beauty, a potential future, a potential to become something more than what we are right now. We are worthy of rescue because of our potential.
#2: A shepherd will leave 99 sheep and search for the 1 that is lost. He will find it, and bring it home. He doesn't ignore it in favor of the 99 he already has; and he doesn't mark it as an acceptable loss. No, the shepherd stops at nothing to reclaim the lost one. The sheep is worthy of rescue because it is a part of a community. It is the 100th sheep; it is one of the 100 sheep. More than the lost one, it is its identity as one of the shepherd's sheep that defines it. The sheep is worthy of rescue because it is part of a set; it is the Shepherd's 100th sheep.
We too are worthy of rescue because of our place within a community. More than a lost one, we are somebody's friend. Somebody's child. Somebody's student, somebody's crush, somebody's mentor. We are something to everybody; and it is our place in the lives of others that makes us worthy of rescue.
#3: Mother Teresa spent her life battling poverty and destitution. Statistically, she accomplished nothing; but she knew that her work was with individuals. She said that, "What we do is nothing but a drop in the ocean. But if we didn't do it, the ocean would be one drop less." The poor were worthy of rescue not because they were easy to help, or simple to fix. They are worthy of rescue simply because they are. They are a drop in the ocean, and each drop is worthy of rescue.
You may tell yourself that you're nothing special, but if you weren't you -- if you weren't here -- the ocean would be one drop less than it is. You are worthy of rescue because you are breathing; you are living; you are being.
You are worthy. Worthy of love, of light, of hope! You are worthy of recovery, of progress, of bright futures and calm breaths. You are worthy of every good thing in store for you. You are worthy of your dreams. You, my friend, are worthy of rescue.
April 18, 2016
Closure
Looking back, I finally made a huge connection regarding the feelings I used to struggle with. I thought that I was unable to move past a romantic relationship, but I was wrong. That wasn't what I struggled with at all. Today, I finally realized something: I haven't been lovelorn; I've been friendless.
I haven't been pining for Aurora's love; I've been missing our friendship. We were really good friends -- we talked about everything and had a vested interest in what was happening in each others' lives. We had fun and got serious and shared happy and sad moments. We developed a really deep friendship that eventually blossomed into love.
Over time that love became overgrown and decayed, to the point where it was healthiest to cut it away. I always thought that the pain I've been carrying for so long is unrequited love, or something equally silly; a feeling of affection that refused to be displaced, an emotion that I beat myself up for continually harboring; something I would have literally cut out of my chest, if I could. But today I realized that what I've been missing isn't our love, or anything of that kind -- it was our friendship. It was talking about each others' lives; understanding one another, and being involved in what happens. I've been missing my best friend, and in my confusion mistakenly assumed I missed the girlfriend that came along later.
It makes sense looking back. When things first started to fall apart the emotional burden I've been carrying started to form. It crystallized under the feelings I had when i felt like I didn't know her anymore; when she was doing things I didn't understand and she wasn't interested in telling me about; when I felt like she didn't particularly want me around anymore. This almost physical illness was a symptom of losing my best friend. Yes, there were times I missed my "girlfriend" but I think I would've weathered things better if I'd had another friend who I was similarly connected with on an emotional level.
Radiohead's House of Cards says, "I don't wanna be your friend; I just wanna be your lover" but that couldn't be further from the truth. What I've been missing in my life are close friends who are as interested in me as I am in them. And now that I realize what I've been missing -- and what I want -- I feel so much lighter inside. The heaviest burden I've ever born has been misidentified this entire time; and now I know what I've been dying from in past days.
I'm free from the mystery; at liberty to pursue friendships and bonds without a pall hanging over me.
Now I know what I want, and I understand myself -- myself years ago, myself in recent days, and myself today -- all the better.
These are all things of the past, but understanding my past will help me shape a better future. I don't have to bear guilt, or be frustrated with myself anymore. I don't have to wonder at what I've felt in the past, and I know what to look out for in the present. By understanding where I was, I can now see more clearly the path I took to where I am. And by understanding the path I took, I can see the kind of man I was, and where I need to change (and maybe where I ought to stay the same). Most of all, I can love myself in a way that I denied myself before, because there is a part of me that I have discovered; and this new sensation of being complete thrills me. To know oneself is an honorable aspiration, and though I don't know everything, I believe that things will only continue to grow brighter.
I haven't been pining for Aurora's love; I've been missing our friendship. We were really good friends -- we talked about everything and had a vested interest in what was happening in each others' lives. We had fun and got serious and shared happy and sad moments. We developed a really deep friendship that eventually blossomed into love.
Over time that love became overgrown and decayed, to the point where it was healthiest to cut it away. I always thought that the pain I've been carrying for so long is unrequited love, or something equally silly; a feeling of affection that refused to be displaced, an emotion that I beat myself up for continually harboring; something I would have literally cut out of my chest, if I could. But today I realized that what I've been missing isn't our love, or anything of that kind -- it was our friendship. It was talking about each others' lives; understanding one another, and being involved in what happens. I've been missing my best friend, and in my confusion mistakenly assumed I missed the girlfriend that came along later.
It makes sense looking back. When things first started to fall apart the emotional burden I've been carrying started to form. It crystallized under the feelings I had when i felt like I didn't know her anymore; when she was doing things I didn't understand and she wasn't interested in telling me about; when I felt like she didn't particularly want me around anymore. This almost physical illness was a symptom of losing my best friend. Yes, there were times I missed my "girlfriend" but I think I would've weathered things better if I'd had another friend who I was similarly connected with on an emotional level.
Radiohead's House of Cards says, "I don't wanna be your friend; I just wanna be your lover" but that couldn't be further from the truth. What I've been missing in my life are close friends who are as interested in me as I am in them. And now that I realize what I've been missing -- and what I want -- I feel so much lighter inside. The heaviest burden I've ever born has been misidentified this entire time; and now I know what I've been dying from in past days.
I'm free from the mystery; at liberty to pursue friendships and bonds without a pall hanging over me.
Now I know what I want, and I understand myself -- myself years ago, myself in recent days, and myself today -- all the better.
These are all things of the past, but understanding my past will help me shape a better future. I don't have to bear guilt, or be frustrated with myself anymore. I don't have to wonder at what I've felt in the past, and I know what to look out for in the present. By understanding where I was, I can now see more clearly the path I took to where I am. And by understanding the path I took, I can see the kind of man I was, and where I need to change (and maybe where I ought to stay the same). Most of all, I can love myself in a way that I denied myself before, because there is a part of me that I have discovered; and this new sensation of being complete thrills me. To know oneself is an honorable aspiration, and though I don't know everything, I believe that things will only continue to grow brighter.
April 16, 2016
First Kiss
First Kiss
Every day I walked her home. We were breathless and starstruck; caught up in the thrill of loving somebody. Only a few weeks ago -- or was it months? Time blurs when you're in love -- we had decided to hold hands (after a short conversation). We talked about everything. I had been so nervous, so excited that it seemed like the rapture had come when our fingers locked. I was thrilled; I'd never experienced physical connection like that before. I only nodded when she explained that she preferred to have her arm behind mine; it was all so new to me. I could barely wrap my mind around it. It wasn't anything special, certainly. Just hands. Us. Holding them. And yet, that meant the world to me, and that simple action grabbed my heart and held it captive.
Every day after that first time, we held hands. We held hands and laughed and talked and hoped that time would stand still for us. We held hands and marveled at the silent connection. We held hands and loved every second of it. We held hands and only let go to hug each other goodbye.
Every day emotions bubbled in the pit of my stomach when we bid each other farewell. For the briefest of moments, we embrace and murmur those words that meant so much. However long we hug, it'll always seem like the blink of an eye when we let go of each other and return to the world. The embrace never lasts long enough; just when I begin to comprehend the love blossoming between us I have to walk away. Every day I walked away, laughing or wearing a bittersweet grin. I loved her, but I hated leaving. I loved being by her but I loathed turning away.
Meet after school. Smile from ear to ear. Look down at our feet. Walk. Hold hands. Embrace; whisper a confession. That was the pattern we held too; until one day, it wasn't.
Just like every other day we had hugged, affirmed our love for each other, then torn ourselves apart. I walked away with a heart heavy with love and longing. The brief walk we shared was never enough time. Except that day, I didn't just walk away. She called my name out softly, and I stopped. Turning back towards her, I wasn't sure what to expect. This was out of the ordinary; my mind was blank and for some reason was having a hard time getting started. I'd blame that on how she always took my breath away. She took a few steps towards me, silently closing the distance my disheartened trudge had formed between us. She looked up at me and for a second we gazed into each other's eyes. Despite all the cliches her eyes were unreadable: they were vibrant, full of... Something. In spite of how close we were, I had no idea what she was. Thinking -- or feeling. Then, without any warning and without a moment's hesitation she leaned on her toes and quickly kissed me on the lips, cocking her head ever so slightly to the side as she squeezed her eyes shut. She kissed me. We kissed.
My first kiss.
Like many things in my life, it was over before I could react. It passed before I could even think. I was shocked, standing in the middle of the street staring at her. She smiled, said goodbye again and turned around, walking away.
I walked home.
We talked about it later (we talked about everything) and I got a glimpse of what it was like from her perspective. She said that when she told me to turn around, I had a look on my face that was "half confused, half hopeful, and the rest was just begging me to do it."
Every day we kissed goodbye and hugged and walked and whispered "I love you" and held hands and were teenagers in love. Until one day we weren't.
Nowadays I keep my mind and heart open, doing my best to be my best, while on the lookout for somebody to watch dumb dramas with, share kooky songs, and send sappy quotes.
"Sometimes I'm a loser; I'll stump you and confuse you about things you cannot fix; sometimes I'm amazing, I will blow your mind baby, and that's why you'll stick to me." (Gregory and the Hawk, Loser)
Every day I walked her home. We were breathless and starstruck; caught up in the thrill of loving somebody. Only a few weeks ago -- or was it months? Time blurs when you're in love -- we had decided to hold hands (after a short conversation). We talked about everything. I had been so nervous, so excited that it seemed like the rapture had come when our fingers locked. I was thrilled; I'd never experienced physical connection like that before. I only nodded when she explained that she preferred to have her arm behind mine; it was all so new to me. I could barely wrap my mind around it. It wasn't anything special, certainly. Just hands. Us. Holding them. And yet, that meant the world to me, and that simple action grabbed my heart and held it captive.
Every day after that first time, we held hands. We held hands and laughed and talked and hoped that time would stand still for us. We held hands and marveled at the silent connection. We held hands and loved every second of it. We held hands and only let go to hug each other goodbye.
Every day emotions bubbled in the pit of my stomach when we bid each other farewell. For the briefest of moments, we embrace and murmur those words that meant so much. However long we hug, it'll always seem like the blink of an eye when we let go of each other and return to the world. The embrace never lasts long enough; just when I begin to comprehend the love blossoming between us I have to walk away. Every day I walked away, laughing or wearing a bittersweet grin. I loved her, but I hated leaving. I loved being by her but I loathed turning away.
Meet after school. Smile from ear to ear. Look down at our feet. Walk. Hold hands. Embrace; whisper a confession. That was the pattern we held too; until one day, it wasn't.
Just like every other day we had hugged, affirmed our love for each other, then torn ourselves apart. I walked away with a heart heavy with love and longing. The brief walk we shared was never enough time. Except that day, I didn't just walk away. She called my name out softly, and I stopped. Turning back towards her, I wasn't sure what to expect. This was out of the ordinary; my mind was blank and for some reason was having a hard time getting started. I'd blame that on how she always took my breath away. She took a few steps towards me, silently closing the distance my disheartened trudge had formed between us. She looked up at me and for a second we gazed into each other's eyes. Despite all the cliches her eyes were unreadable: they were vibrant, full of... Something. In spite of how close we were, I had no idea what she was. Thinking -- or feeling. Then, without any warning and without a moment's hesitation she leaned on her toes and quickly kissed me on the lips, cocking her head ever so slightly to the side as she squeezed her eyes shut. She kissed me. We kissed.
My first kiss.
Like many things in my life, it was over before I could react. It passed before I could even think. I was shocked, standing in the middle of the street staring at her. She smiled, said goodbye again and turned around, walking away.
I walked home.
We talked about it later (we talked about everything) and I got a glimpse of what it was like from her perspective. She said that when she told me to turn around, I had a look on my face that was "half confused, half hopeful, and the rest was just begging me to do it."
Every day we kissed goodbye and hugged and walked and whispered "I love you" and held hands and were teenagers in love. Until one day we weren't.
Nowadays I keep my mind and heart open, doing my best to be my best, while on the lookout for somebody to watch dumb dramas with, share kooky songs, and send sappy quotes.
"Sometimes I'm a loser; I'll stump you and confuse you about things you cannot fix; sometimes I'm amazing, I will blow your mind baby, and that's why you'll stick to me." (Gregory and the Hawk, Loser)
Hybrid-8 (Legacy post)
Note Baikanon
Here's another legacy post; this comes from a small notepad I had stashed away with other stories. Of course, it's just the nucleus of an idea, but one that had me tickled pink for a while, if I remember correctly (I mean, it's only been a few years).
Hybrid-8
In the distant future, the human race is in a unique position. Earth is inhabited by 8 sentient species, each with unique gifts. Human beings have a tenacity and strength of will unmatched in any other species. This strength is desirable to the other 7 species inhabiting earth, because it amplifies their natural abilities. Being... human, they can't compete with gifted beings. In time, humans were subjugated and made to be like breeding stock, only producing powerful hybrids. As a race, humanity is fractured.
Races and abilities
Human: will
August: telekinesis
Gideon: strength
Nimro: healing
Kindner: electricity
Quarry: temperature
Ros: phasing
Macef: telepathy
The August are the dominant race, having lived on New Earth the second-longest and having forged the Earth Agreements. The Agreements placed regulations on the human courting trade, human science habitation projects, restricts aliens from Earth, and limits race ability usage. The Agreements ended an era of war, particularly over Earth and humans.
Earth scientists, desperate to learn more about these aliens and their cultures, essentially marry into research positions. Nowadays, any human wishing to leave Earth must be willing to marry and bear children. The other 7 are all genetically incompatible amongst themselves, so marriages between them are frowned upon, as they'll never bear children.
The main character's mother is a scientist. The mother marries her first husband, and the daughter is born. The father dies, and The mother remarries to an alien and a son is born. The son is a powerful hybrid, while the daughter is a regular human.
The story would focus on the battle between the seemingly-superior hybrids, and whether or not strength of will can overcome natural powers and abilities. The hybrids don't want to be weapons, the humans don't want to be walking wombs for producing weapons, and the aliens bristle at always playing second fiddle to genetic mutts.
Here's another legacy post; this comes from a small notepad I had stashed away with other stories. Of course, it's just the nucleus of an idea, but one that had me tickled pink for a while, if I remember correctly (I mean, it's only been a few years).
Hybrid-8
In the distant future, the human race is in a unique position. Earth is inhabited by 8 sentient species, each with unique gifts. Human beings have a tenacity and strength of will unmatched in any other species. This strength is desirable to the other 7 species inhabiting earth, because it amplifies their natural abilities. Being... human, they can't compete with gifted beings. In time, humans were subjugated and made to be like breeding stock, only producing powerful hybrids. As a race, humanity is fractured.
Races and abilities
Human: will
August: telekinesis
Gideon: strength
Nimro: healing
Kindner: electricity
Quarry: temperature
Ros: phasing
Macef: telepathy
The August are the dominant race, having lived on New Earth the second-longest and having forged the Earth Agreements. The Agreements placed regulations on the human courting trade, human science habitation projects, restricts aliens from Earth, and limits race ability usage. The Agreements ended an era of war, particularly over Earth and humans.
Earth scientists, desperate to learn more about these aliens and their cultures, essentially marry into research positions. Nowadays, any human wishing to leave Earth must be willing to marry and bear children. The other 7 are all genetically incompatible amongst themselves, so marriages between them are frowned upon, as they'll never bear children.
The main character's mother is a scientist. The mother marries her first husband, and the daughter is born. The father dies, and The mother remarries to an alien and a son is born. The son is a powerful hybrid, while the daughter is a regular human.
The story would focus on the battle between the seemingly-superior hybrids, and whether or not strength of will can overcome natural powers and abilities. The hybrids don't want to be weapons, the humans don't want to be walking wombs for producing weapons, and the aliens bristle at always playing second fiddle to genetic mutts.
A Month-Long Cold and a Lifelong Sickness
Note Baikanon:
This is the raw draft I sent in as a submission to TWLOHA!
I had been sick for an entire month.
It was just a cold; brought on by abruptly lower temperatures after a balmy summer. I should’ve been over it in a few days.
It had been a month.
I was living in Korea, doing humanitarian work. It was fulfilling, and I felt better about what I was doing with my life than I had in a long time. At the same time, foreign food helped me lose weight, which raised my spirits even more. I experienced an emotional high every time I saw lower numbers on our scale. More than poor photos and fake compliments, a scale’s number was something I could rely on to know if I was ugly or not. After all, if I was fat I looked bad, and if I could lose weight than I’d be on the first step towards actually being physically attractive. I was never the muscular type, and in my head that meant I needed to be dangerously thin instead. You’re either muscular or emaciated — otherwise you’re chunky. That was typical of the self-defeating logic I’d fallen victim to.
Every time I saw the Korean people I worked with, I beamed inwardly. They would all comment on my lost weight, always approving. I relished the rush that come from that positive reinforcement — it was so much better than the typically Korean blunt comments I’d received a couple of months ago when I first came to Korea. I never wanted to be referred to as “the fat one” again. I didn’t want my appearance to become my identity.
And so, ironically, I let my appearance become my identity in a different way.
The work we did was exhaustive, but I was able to successfully shrink my appetite until I only ate a small serving of rice with a dumpling to feel satisfied. Eating that way was easier: with a partner by my side and two other roommates, other blatantly unhealthy forms of weight loss were off the table. Since I was still eating, I was still healthy; I was still doing good. And to be honest, I was proud of my small portions. They were like miniature medals, awarding me for my self-control and marking my progress towards victory over how not-handsome I was. Besides; I was a guy, and everybody knew that guys eat too much in the first place anyways. It’s girls that need to worry about their food. They’re the ones in danger from vulnerable egos and fragile psyches. At least, that’s the defense that buzzed in my skull throughout the month.
One month with a common cold, and my best friend couldn’t stand it anymore. I had finished doing the dishes and was going to bed early when he looked at me and made a simple statement that opened my eyes.
“You’re still sick because you’re not eating enough.”
I hadn’t connected the two before. But as soon as I looked at his face, I knew it was true. I had starved my body of its strength, and was keeping it weak and vulnerable. By basing my own worth off of other peoples arbitrary comments, I’d done the same thing to my spirit. I wanted to be free of being ugly but really I’d just enslaved myself to fear.
So, what happened?
I had friends who cared. I had friends who understood what I wanted, and who showed me healthy alternatives to the self-destructive easy fix-its I was reaching for. They didn’t try to push me back to who I was before I worried so much about calories and kilograms, but they didn’t leave me in that pit either. They helped me climb out and be somebody new.
I’m still conscious of my eating choices and I worry a little too much about exercise. But that’s alright — I’m becoming more comfortable in my skin. There are growing pains and relapses and binges and moments where I want to give up but it’s all worth it because I can look myself in the mirror and decide, “Not so bad, today.” And one day I’ll be able to smile and think to myself, “Hey, good looking. Do you come here often?”
This is the raw draft I sent in as a submission to TWLOHA!
I had been sick for an entire month.
It was just a cold; brought on by abruptly lower temperatures after a balmy summer. I should’ve been over it in a few days.
It had been a month.
I was living in Korea, doing humanitarian work. It was fulfilling, and I felt better about what I was doing with my life than I had in a long time. At the same time, foreign food helped me lose weight, which raised my spirits even more. I experienced an emotional high every time I saw lower numbers on our scale. More than poor photos and fake compliments, a scale’s number was something I could rely on to know if I was ugly or not. After all, if I was fat I looked bad, and if I could lose weight than I’d be on the first step towards actually being physically attractive. I was never the muscular type, and in my head that meant I needed to be dangerously thin instead. You’re either muscular or emaciated — otherwise you’re chunky. That was typical of the self-defeating logic I’d fallen victim to.
Every time I saw the Korean people I worked with, I beamed inwardly. They would all comment on my lost weight, always approving. I relished the rush that come from that positive reinforcement — it was so much better than the typically Korean blunt comments I’d received a couple of months ago when I first came to Korea. I never wanted to be referred to as “the fat one” again. I didn’t want my appearance to become my identity.
And so, ironically, I let my appearance become my identity in a different way.
The work we did was exhaustive, but I was able to successfully shrink my appetite until I only ate a small serving of rice with a dumpling to feel satisfied. Eating that way was easier: with a partner by my side and two other roommates, other blatantly unhealthy forms of weight loss were off the table. Since I was still eating, I was still healthy; I was still doing good. And to be honest, I was proud of my small portions. They were like miniature medals, awarding me for my self-control and marking my progress towards victory over how not-handsome I was. Besides; I was a guy, and everybody knew that guys eat too much in the first place anyways. It’s girls that need to worry about their food. They’re the ones in danger from vulnerable egos and fragile psyches. At least, that’s the defense that buzzed in my skull throughout the month.
One month with a common cold, and my best friend couldn’t stand it anymore. I had finished doing the dishes and was going to bed early when he looked at me and made a simple statement that opened my eyes.
“You’re still sick because you’re not eating enough.”
I hadn’t connected the two before. But as soon as I looked at his face, I knew it was true. I had starved my body of its strength, and was keeping it weak and vulnerable. By basing my own worth off of other peoples arbitrary comments, I’d done the same thing to my spirit. I wanted to be free of being ugly but really I’d just enslaved myself to fear.
So, what happened?
I had friends who cared. I had friends who understood what I wanted, and who showed me healthy alternatives to the self-destructive easy fix-its I was reaching for. They didn’t try to push me back to who I was before I worried so much about calories and kilograms, but they didn’t leave me in that pit either. They helped me climb out and be somebody new.
I’m still conscious of my eating choices and I worry a little too much about exercise. But that’s alright — I’m becoming more comfortable in my skin. There are growing pains and relapses and binges and moments where I want to give up but it’s all worth it because I can look myself in the mirror and decide, “Not so bad, today.” And one day I’ll be able to smile and think to myself, “Hey, good looking. Do you come here often?”
April 12, 2016
The Sight of My Name (Legacy post)
Note Baikanon
Another old note, from years ago. I had just seen the criminally under-rated "The Way, Way Back" with my good friend Alena, and was reading her blog post summarizing our night together. I suppose this was my reaction at the time (I do still think Austin would make a nice name for a girl).
Thoughts
Another old note, from years ago. I had just seen the criminally under-rated "The Way, Way Back" with my good friend Alena, and was reading her blog post summarizing our night together. I suppose this was my reaction at the time (I do still think Austin would make a nice name for a girl).
Thoughts
Prompted by Alena's blog post.
I'm not used to seeing my name written. Especially when it really does mean me. It excites me! Weird. I'm just not involved in other people's lives that much, I suppose. I don't make much of an impact. That's why it's neat to see my name. It symbolizes my life in somebody else's. I'm honestly not crazy about my name right now. I actually like it as more of a girl's name.
What I Learned on 8/4/13 (Legacy post)
Note Baikanon
Looks like I was in the midst of watching Star Trek: The Next Generation with my family when I recorded this note on my old phone...
What I Learned Today (8/4/13 Edition)
Looks like I was in the midst of watching Star Trek: The Next Generation with my family when I recorded this note on my old phone...
What I Learned Today (8/4/13 Edition)
Each generation has the potential to overcome the previous one, but only if they strive to be the best they can be... We are one ever-improving loop of generations.
“It is the struggle itself that is most important. We must strive to be more than we are. It does not matter that we will not reach our ultimate goal. The effort itself yields its own reward.”
- Gene Roddenberry, delivered by Brent Spiner as "Data"
Corrolary: JST Matt., 5:50: "Ye are therefore commanded to be perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect." Even if we can't reach true perfection in this life, our efforts towards an impossible goal will reward us, and will enable us to achieve this goal in the life after this one.
I Will Always Love You (Legacy Post)
Note Baikanon:
I found this while trawling through old files I'd saved before my mission! Here is a declaration of platonic love, raw, unedited form it's pre-2014 glory, complete with a photo that's inspired me for years, and must've been in part behind this declaration.
I Will Always Love You
I found this while trawling through old files I'd saved before my mission! Here is a declaration of platonic love, raw, unedited form it's pre-2014 glory, complete with a photo that's inspired me for years, and must've been in part behind this declaration.
I Will Always Love You
When I was younger (ironic, how quickly that phrase becomes a staple, even at my age) I don't think I really had a solid definition of love. It was murky, at best. A vague notion. I don't think that's weird, per-say. It's just the way it was. I think if I defined it then, I would speak about wanting and liking and caring and spending time with someone. It's certainly one of the ways I viewed my love for you. That was all there was to it - I like you, I want to be around you, I care about you, etc. It was simple like that... like me. In my childish naivety I declared "I Will Always Love You."
As our relationship continued, it grew darker and more stressed, as a general rule. My internal definition of love warped to something like "prevent pain, alleviate hurts and loneliness, or at least share it." This was incredibly unhealthy, and led to mutual cutting, one taking responsibility for the other's happiness, etc. While empathy is important, hurting yourself for somebody is a twisted, perverse way to show love. Despite any personal reservations I may have had (I doubt there were any) my definition of love changed. Through tears and blood I whispered "I Will Always Love You..."
I used to get angry with myself, or embarrassed, when I found myself thinking of you. After all, I was over you! I had reached catharsis, and wasn't desperate for you any longer. I had come to terms with our going separate ways. But I realized... I still love you. Don't misunderstand - I don't want to date you. I don't want to marry you - no offense. But I understand now, that love is more than that. Love IS compassion. Empathy. But it's also so much more, in ways I can't describe, and will always continue to learn more about. Most importantly, it's healthy. It leads to kindness and good deeds. It leads to concern for well-being, and pride in happiness. And now, calmly and with peace of mind, full of compassion, understanding, and acceptance, I can simply state "I Will Always Love You," now and forever!
April 10, 2016
Lamentations of Jeremiah
The Lamentations of Jeremiah
Last Friday, I substituted for Sister Holly Hacking and taught early morning seminary. Our topic was "Lamentations." This book from the Old Testament is actually a beautiful, somber work of poetry written by the prophet Jeremiah after the fall of Jerusalem. Jeremiah had struggled and suffered, pleaded and preached, fought and feared, all in behalf of his God and his people, striving to turn the people back to God.
Jeremiah knew that as soon as his people returned to God, the Lord would forgive them and rescue them from their enemies. However, it seemed that the day of grace had passed with the ancient Israelites. They ignored his warnings, mocked his prophecies, and persecuted their advocate with God. Because they refused to change their ways, Jerusalem was sacked, and its people sold, scattered, and slaughtered. It was the calamity Jeremiah had predicted, the darkest hour for him and his people.
Jeremiah was a survivor of a broken people, and he chronicled his pain for the fallen and lost. The pages of Lamentations are stained with his grief, but beneath the grief he expresses lies a glimmer of something else: hope. I am bolstered by the hope Jeremiah expresses, even as his sadnesses washes over him like a tsunami; his very surroundings a painful reminder of the absolute devastation and destruction that had befallen those he had tried to save.
Jeremiah understood through personal experience, through his life among the people of Judah, that they deserved their disaster. But despite that, he had hope that they would mend their ways, and turn back to their Jehovah. And in that day, the Lord God would accept his penitent people and bless them again.
How I love this statement: "This I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope."
What is it that Jeremiah recalls to his mind, what is the secret to this hope eternal?
"It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning".
The Lord's compassion never fails; we are His children, and as our Father He will never give up on us. He will not force us to heaven, but He will certainly wait for us, like the father in the story of the prodigal son. Just like that faithful parent, I am certain that the Lord is waiting for us, and "while [we are] yet a great way off, [our] father [will see us], and [have] compassion, and [run], and [fall] on [our] neck, and [kiss us]."
The Lord's compassions, like His love, never fail. I shared this passage from a general conference address with my children, my friends, my brothers and sisters that morning, and I share it again here:
"Angels and ministers of grace to defend us? They are all about us, and their holy sovereign, the Father of us all, is divinely anxious to bless us this very moment. Mercy is his mission, and love is his only labor. John Donne said once: “We ask our daily bread, and God never says, ‘You should have come yesterday.’ … [No, he says,] ‘Today if you will hear [my] voice, today I will hear yours.’ … If thou hast been benighted till now, wintered and frozen, clouded and eclipsed, damp and benumbed, smothered and stupefied till now, God yet comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, … but as the sun at [full] noon, to banish all shadows” (Collected Sermons).
Alma taught that truth to his son, Helaman, entreating him to put his trust in God. He said that God was “quick to hear the cries of his people, and [quick] to answer their prayers.” Out of very personal experience, Alma testified, “I have been supported [in] trials and troubles [and afflictions] of every kind, … God has delivered me. … I do put my trust in him, and he will still deliver me” (Alma 9:26; Alma 36:27).
My witness this morning is that he will deliver all the rest of us, too, that he will deliver the entire human family, if we will but “take care of sacred things,” if we will “look to God and live.”
The greatest affirmation of that promise ever given in this world was the gift of God’s perfect and precious Firstborn Son, a gift given not in condemnation of the world, but to soothe and save and make the world secure: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16; emphasis added)."
God is eager to see us succeed, eager for us to find happiness, and eager to love us. We love him, because he first loved us. If we will allow him -- if we give him permission through our choices, our thoughts, and our hearts -- our Heavenly Father will perform miracles in our lives and "fill the hungry with good things." He loves us, now and forever!
If we look to God and live, we will live the abundant life. We will be truly happy, both now and in the future. I shared this quote with the kids, highlighting one of Satan's tactics: "The adversary has been successful in planting a great myth in the minds of many people. He and his emissaries declare that the real choice we have is between happiness and pleasure now in this life and happiness in a life to come (which the adversary asserts may not exist). This myth is a false choice, but it is very seductive."
I assert that this is not the choice we are faced with. If we see things as they really are, we are choosing to either diminish our future to gain a brief spark of pleasure, or we are choosing to bridle our passions, to control ourselves, to make an investment in ourselves, which will pay off both in the short and long term. Whatever momentary pleasure you sacrifice to obey and follow God will more than be made up for by the peace, love, and joy He will bless us with throughout our lives. There will no guilty conscience, no negative side effects, and no regrets. We can have it all: if we take it in the right order -- in God's order. Nothing good will be held back from those that love God, and serve Him.
I too have many Lamentations regarding my people and my society, but like Jeremiah I have hope. I have hope that we can, will, and are turning to God, and that because His compassion, His charity, never fails, He will take us in like a hen gathering her chicks beneath her wings. He loves us, and I love the Lord!
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