Brother to Sister

Born to a family of what would eventually be seven people, I've always had a lot of input and company around me. There's my mother, my father, my older brother, my younger brother, and my two younger sisters. We have what you could call a full house.

My siblings and I, like I'm sure all others with brothers or sisters have experienced, went from friendly to perhaps vicious at times, then eventually grew out of those skins and became more or less functional, if not kindly. We all assumed our places in the Hierarchy of Siblings- my youngest sister as the stupid baby; the next oldest sister an intelligent but complaining wanna-be-but-no-longer-baby; my younger brother wanting to be as cool as my older brother, hence shunning any relationship with his sisters in thinking it'd somehow get him there; me, trying and failing to live up to my brother and always falling back into his shadow; and finally, my older brother himself, Luis, the leader type-of-kid, which is appropriate, noting the birth order.

I have a distinct memory of when it was clear he was the alpha of the pack of us all. We were in a car riding home from Duluth- what we were doing in Duluth is lost to me- and we were watching Scooby Doo. What's funny about it is that I never noticed this until much later: my three younger siblings and I only laughed when our eldest brother did. If he chuckled, we all were quick to follow. If one of us laughed and he did not, it died out quickly. It doesn't sound like anything meaningful, I'm sure, but believe me when I say it was and it is, in such a sense.

On a more recent note, I can recall that a little before Luis left for college, I realized that I would soon be the oldest of my siblings left at home. It struck me powerfully at dinner one night, when I looked at my brother sitting at the head of our side of the table, seeing that the greatest power among us was going into my inheritance; a fine amount of responsibility began to weigh heavily on my shoulders, even though it wasn't even quite there yet.

Somewhere along the transition, I began putting on my brother's air of confidence and self-like. I became more persuasive, like he had been; perhaps edging on bossy at times. He made me strive for myself- not just academically (i believe there was actually a lesser influence in that area), but socially and between myself and my family, instead of the grating I usually felt there. Once envying my brother for such easy and laid back relations with everyone, I now often share that sort of relation with, at the very least, most of my siblings (most of the time). Luis is such a likable person, and I've grown to match him for the most part.

Two years later, this is now my last year living with my family full-time. I am now ready to leave my home and find a new one- I know I couldn't have said that truthfully and comfortably without Luis. He expanded my leadership in a core way I was not aware of; I don't believe even he knows his impact on me. My brother's and my blood is the same, and though my path is different from his, I certainly carry a part of him with me, wherever I may go.

why i write (twice stolen)

i find Orwell to be my favorite of these authors that we were assigned to read recently. i think this is primarily because he covers more bases than Didon does- he builds stories around his reasoning, as well as giving a big span of time, referring from 'perhaps the age of five or six' to 'throughout the past ten years'. he expands a lot and gives detail, beyond just the 'why' of writing, even beyond why he himself writes, but applies why others write in general as well.
something i really enjoyed about both authors was how they seemed to me to be aware of their writing skills and talents; i imagine them speaking their essay with their heads held high and a confident aura, yet they still have a down-to-earth feel to them and perhaps casual air.
i myself write simply because it's what feels good to me. i've been writing about as long as i've been reading, which is practically forever, save a couple years. i write because i have some sort of purpose, many times because i have to- either i need to get something out of my head, or it's assigned. even when something is assigned to me, i take pleasure in writing it for the most part. as a general rule, i only write when i'm inspired or want to write. if not, it defeats the purpose of it; the words that come out are jumbled and inappropriate. i think most people's writing would improve greatly if that were the case, but maybe that's just me.

old poetry. test blog, i guess?

Wonderland

I reached for the sky,
But hit my head instead
On the ceiling of my world
Which then came crashing down on me-
With the rainbow tiles breaking
On the outskirts of my mind
Cracking bone and brain alike-
For we're all the same, in any case.
So leave me pondering, dear Alice
Where the broken hearts do grow
In the fields behind their rotten minds
And the oceans of their sins.
Paint the shadows of my world
With the memories of happier times
Till there's nothing left to hide behind
Except the fadings of our arrogance.
But then I fall back into THIS world
And the flat mundaniality
Throws me to comatic boredom.
So share something that stops my blood
Or I’ll bust your face in, baby;
But I’ll settle for a broken heart
If that's the only chance I get.
So dream big- but do what they say,
'Cause life's too short to have your way.

Possiunity

Installing death is one with key

never close, still holding me

standing near to feel your breath

giving me the kiss of death

But fear me not! im in control
but only of the gaping hole
now, to cut one in the crying earth
until New Possibility is birthed.
below the bubbles, under sand
come with me and take my hand
stand in shadow, now in double
for once the first was ever troubled
stand with me
or leave me be
the reaper is here
in Opportunity.