Between Clever Lines

I am on a bus right now. What an interesting transient community. I am sitting next to someone who has lived at the same university as me for two and a half months. We have never met. Isn't that peculiar?  I was thinking of that earlier. Last Friday as I was leaving my Chemistry lab at around 5:00, one of my classmates was heading in the same direction as I was. We walked together, exchanging casual remarks about the weather and music and our lives. I'd never met him before. I'm not sure I would have been able to pick him out as a Brandeis student in a crowd. But we just kept talking and it was nice.  Our paths were about to split when I realized I had no idea what his name was. We yelled introductions as our paths diverged. It was a backwards sort of friendship. I didn't see him again all week, until the next lab. It turns out we've been in the same lab group for two and a half months now. Even then, I didn't talk to him during that lab. We left at differen...

Most of you know that I am now in the middle of the monstrosity known as NaNoWriMo .  I'm keeping up pretty well, and I'm actually really into my story, which is nice.  A huge part of my writing is music, so I figured I'd put some of the songs in my playlist here.  Enjoy! NB: I'm a big believer in the order mattering for mixes, but I haven't made my official NaNo mix.  These songs are in no particular order. "If We Can Land a Man On the Moon, Surely I Can Win Your Heart" (Beulah) "Wishing Well" (The Airborne Toxic Event) "Loneliest Generation" (Harper Blynn) "All is Love" (Karen O. & The Kids) "Turn Off Your Phone" (Andy Glover) "I'm Right Here" (Mike Lombardo) "The Debt" (Julia Nunes) "Blue Eyes" (Mika) "Drop Down" (Mike Falzone) "Around You" (Sherwood) "Roll Away Your Stone" (Mumford and Sons) "This is Why We Fight" (The Decemberists) ...

            I want to dye my hair again.  I think maybe turquoise this time.  I’ve had the turquoise dye under my cabinet for forever, but there’re a few reasons I haven’t dyed it yet.  For one, I don’t want to be that girl, the one who dyes her hair just because she’s heading off to school and can reinvent herself.  I also didn’t want to have dyed hair during the high holidays while I was at synagogue.             But I had a conversation with Cece today about what’s probably the real reason: The Manic Pixie Mythos.  When I had purple hair, people looked at me differently.  They thought I was quirky, interesting.  Just because of the color of the tips of my hair.  Isn’t that odd?  And I didn’t want people to think I was a manic pixie.  I didn’t want to feel like I had to live up to my hair.          ...

Here's the conclusion I've come to. Living your life afraid to get hurt? Isn't worth it. You miss out on all of the good things doing that.  What you have to do is take the times he called you beautiful, that time she put her arms around you and danced to your favourite song, the roses he bought you for your birthday, and you need to put those memories somewhere no one can touch them, not even the people who created them. And you need to remember that once, you were loved. You were loved so much that one person couldn't handle all of the love and it had to be shared between two people. And you deserved that love.  And when she leaves or he says he regrets it, you protect the good memories and lose the rest. You deserve the beautiful memories, but you never deserve the slamming door or the click at the other end of the phone line. So you make as many good memories as you can, and then you save them. And that's all you can do. 

             Once, when I was in fourth or fifth grade, for the last week in November and the beginning of December, my parents wouldn’t let me go into the guest bedroom.   I figured that was just where they were keeping the Hannukah presents, and I don’t like ruining surprises, so I kept out.             At 4:30 one morning in early December, my lights flicked on.   My father was holding a camera and wearing a sombrero.   My mother had just put some mariachi music into the stereo by my bed.   Get up and pack whatever you want to read on the plane ride , they said.   We’re leaving for Mexico in twenty minutes .             I hadn’t been allowed in the guest bedroom because that was where the suitcases were.   My parents had been planning this for months and just decided to keep it a secret.   I do...

            Sometimes, I get so involved in the lives of others that I forget how to live on my own.  I share my hurts with my friends, but I forget to let myself actually feel them, to just sit still and breathe and acknowledge that yes, this hurts.  Very much, in fact.  But that’s okay.  That hurt means I’m alive and it means that I had something that I cared about enough to miss.  And I’m lucky because not everyone ever has something that important to lose.             I need to learn to be my own person, even when I’d rather be have someone else around.  I need to realize that it’s okay to be in my own headspace sometimes.  I don’t need another voice around at all times to tell me I’m okay.  I’m making that time for me to be alone.  Well, alone with Taylor Swift and Ben and Jerry.  Hey, a girl has to have her ways of coping, right?  ...

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the power of a name.  I spend so much time talking to my friends on skype.  We’re almost constantly connected.  From the time I turn on my computer to the time I turn it off at night, I am talking to someone.  It struck me the other day that I hardly ever hear (or rather read) my name. We are conditioned to love hearing our name.  So much so, in fact, that our brain rewards us for just hearing the syllables that we use to identify ourselves.  And yet I’m surprised and happy every time I read the six letters of my name typed by someone else. Why don’t we use our names more often?  Maybe we feel like it’s weird to continue to say the names of people we’ve known for months or years.  Maybe we feel like they should know that we know who they are by now.  But it doesn’t hurt to remind them occasionally. I guess what I’m really saying is say my name, say my name .

And maybe if you had someone to come home to, You'd fight harder to come home alive, She says, Then looks at me.  Like I'm worth coming back for.  Like I'm worth living for.  And I'm afraid in equal measure That I'd be that person,  And that I wouldn't be enough. 

I’ve been absent from the internet deliberately today.  I checked twitter once or twice.  I talked to a few friends on Skype.  I sent messages to friends on facebook because, as much as today is an anniversary of a horrific event, there were people born today, too. I don’t have a TV here, so I didn’t watch programs with pretentious people pretending to understand what it’s like to have someone you care about die saving innocent lives.  I didn’t read interview after interview.  I didn’t RT any articles on twitter or photos on tumblr.  I didn’t watch any videos on YouTube or tell people over and over how proud I am to be an American. I am, though. What I’m most proud of is that there are people in America who sacrificed their lives doing what they believed was right.  People who continue to defend our country not from an entire race or religion, but from the individual people who mean us harm.  And I’m proud that I live in a country where ...

I haven’t written in a long time, and honestly, I don’t have a great excuse.   I’ve just been busy with a lot of work and writing, and I honestly don’t have the initiative to blog very often.   I’m doing it now just to talk about this new album thing that I have.   You could get it, if you want. http://amandasternklar.bandcamp.com Also, I just realized I have callouses from playing ukulele.   It’s odd, but I’m almost proud of that fact.   I like that I care about something so much that I play it enough that it has physically changed me.   Does that make sense?   I’ve never really had that feeling before.   But I like that I have something that I can just go to when I’m upset and I know it will make me feel better.   I like having a thing .   That is my blog entry for today. I should probably sleep more. [rockets&dinosaurs] ~Amanda

I feel like a puppy is as good a way to start off a blog as any.  This is my dog, Thaddeus, at just a few months. Hello!  My name is Amanda, but if you're reading this blog, I've probably finally gotten around to making a video or a twitter post about it, and you probably already know that.  Whatever.  I like introducing myself.  I'm 17.  I'm not very good at blogging consistently. Lately, I've been thinking a lot, partially as a function of having graduation less than a month away.  I have some angst-y rants that I want to get through.  I also just occasionally have things I want to vlog about that I just don't have the time or capability to film, or I don't want to clog subscription boxes.  Also, there are some awesome people on here who need following, so... Is that what you call it on blogspot?  Following?   I don't know. I'm Amanda.  I like to take photographs.  I'm a bit mad.  I love new friends. Friend...