Small Things

I always find a way to whine about not having time in whatever I do. If I'm having a conversation, there's always an "I never have time to sleep" line. If I'm writing, there's usually a "this has been a hectic week" comment; that I positioned strategically just so it's not too obvious that I'm whining (or maybe I have the illusion that it isn't. Shame on me).

But the thing is, even though when my play time (parties, BBQs, Time to Relax, etc) is limited, that doesn't mean that I don't have time to:

• smile to the cashier at the store.


• greet when I walk into a room.


• hold the door open for the person that is coming behind me.


• offer my assistance to those who claim that they need help with their schoolwork.


• make small chat on a line (cafeteria, bookstore, etc).


• give way to the car that's trying to get on my lane.


• And more. . .
  

I know we're all busy but I can assure you, that the things above take less than a minute and you can make A HUGE DIFFERENCE IN A PERSON'S LIFE.

Maybe the cashier at the store is losing faith on people because every customer he/she had to take care of that morning were rude, and here you come with a smile- perhaps the cashier will get some joy out of your kindness. Or maybe the guy in front of you has been waiting in line for a while and really needs to talk about something that happened to him earlier.

These things are really small things but they can always lead to bigger things. See that stranger a few feet away from you? He/she can be your friend with just a smile or a hi. Maybe he/she needs some assurance from you or maybe you will get that from him/her. Or maybe it will just be a nice conversation- but it's only in your hands to make it happen.

The small things you do CAN provide happiness and they cost you nothing- if anything, you'll benefit too. So, will you make time to make a difference today?

Photo taken from http://www.martincreed.com/exhibitions/small_things/MC_SmallThings_03A.jpg

Let's Try Something

One of my gifts (well not really but just roll with it for a second*) is my ability to keep an open mind when trying new things. I don't like it too much when things change and that change is out of my control, but when I'm the one making the change, that's a different story.

My brother and I fought a lot when we were little. I said "fought" because there was always some sort of physical contact involved and trust me if I could have avoided that somehow, I would have. However, there are two things my brother and I will always have in common (maybe more but I'm too tired to think straight), we're both Steelers' fans, and we like ping pong (or table tennis, if you like the fancier term). Actually, it's more like we like to play against each other. Ping pong was just one of those one-on-one games where we could prove who was better. Although the game was pretty even most of the time.

One day though, I decided to do things differently- attempt to spin the ball (like the really good players did it on T.V.), maybe move differently and so on and on. With some time, I got fairly good at the game- to be precise, I had gotten better than him (in your face, big bro!).

Today I had some sort of instruction on the game. Even though I've never played seriously (other people may think this, but my bro and I were pretty serious about our games), I can do things people that have never been instructed can't. Why? Simply because I gave it a try.

Don't sit on your couch to watch T.V. tomorrow, make plans to try something new. Invite a friend, a relative, or just yourself. Use your days wisely because you don't know how many you got left.

I'll be volunteering tomorrow**, what will you be trying?

*Not sure if that's a gift.

**I'm not new to volunteer work but I am to what I'll be doing tomorrow in particular.

The Writer

Yes, I'm a cheater. Bear with me, crazy week. This a post I wrote a few months back. Enjoy!

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It feels like a miracle- making it through the week. Once Thursday shines on the other side of my window, I know the weekend is coming and so are the homework and due papers. But soon enough, it will be Monday all over again.

I had enough time the other day to do some blogging. I came all excited to express my ideas but at the end of my entry, I hadn't said what I initially wanted to say. I wanted to cancel my entry and write it again but I was already three minutes late for class.

"Luck Story" (The almost canceled entry) stayed in my mind for the rest of the day. I could not understand why I hadn't been able to write what I initially wanted to, and instead ended up with an entry that seemed useless at the time.

Later on, in the quietness of an empty break room, as I was doing some reading, I realized that in order to write what I initially wanted to write, I first had to write "Luck Story" so I could actually make my point.

Am I The Writer Of My Writing?

The other day I ran into my friend's sister's blog. As I was reading entry after entry, I felt like I was getting to know the girl who wrote those entries. Ever read someone's blog and felt connected to them? Ever thought of what they were doing while writing the blog? (Eating, watching T.V. . .) Ever wondered what their writing place looked like? (An office, bedroom, library, park. . .) Well I usually do, but aside from those things I also wondered how much true there is fixed in our blogs.

When we talk, we have limited time to think about what we're saying. If I'm writing something, I can work on the same sentence over and over again. I can start a draft in the morning and come back to it later. I can even edit the whole thing after it's been posted!!! But all of this was just a thought and I really didn't know how to explore it further. And that's when "Luck Story" came along-

To summarize, my previous blog tells the story of the first time I was ever selected to receive something free. But there's also another story about how unlucky I was as a child. What could this blog possibly say to you? That I was remembering my childhood? That I saw a colored bird and it reminded me of a traumatized memory? That I was wondering why I love reading so much?

Truth be told, neither of the above things apply. I was just sitting here, waiting to go to class, wondering if what I say to you here nearly gives you an idea of who I am. Now maybe I'm over thinking this a little too much, or perhaps I just can't go on one day without coming up with a weird question, but

CAN YOU TELL WHAT SOMEONE IS LIKE FROM THEIR WRITING?

Scusi, Parla Italiano?

It sure feels nice to be home. I miss my friend and it hurt like hell to leave, but it's nice to come back and do all those things I know how to do- this blog being one of them.

Italian was my first college class ever. When I was in high school, I really wanted to learn Italian but the nearest place was about three hours away- there was no way on earth that we could afford that trip twice a week. So when I stumbled across an Italian class near to where I live now, it was a no brainer for me to take the class. At the time I had no hopes of going to college (no money or time) but being able to go to this class made me fairly happy.

I don't know what is it about languages but I always thought it'd be so cool if I could just go up to someone who spoke a different language and start a conversation. I mean, it made sense, most problems happen out miscommunication anyway- I still think I can somehow end that.

About two days ago, I received a call. I had signed up on a soccer website, announcing myself as an available player looking to join a team on an adult league. The guy was calling me to see if I was interested. The funny part is that when he called, he apologized for his poor English. Don Luciano was his name. Scusi, parla italiano? (Excuse me, do you speak Italian?) I said, and we were having a conversation.

I made mistakes, said a few words wrong, couldn't remember others but it sure was nice to have that conversation. With a little bit of struggle, we agreed that he'd come by my house to talk to me personally, and let me try on some jerseys. It was working, this whole time studying this language and it finally paid off (well, it'd be nicer when my mistakes become minimal but I'm not complaining).

It really makes a difference, to know that you are able to do something you really want to do. Oh and I think Don Luciano was happy to run into someone that spoke his language. Maybe I found a team to play with, but if I'm lucky, someone to practice my Italian with also.

Luck Story

I really am getting used to writing daily but I am visiting my friend in Northern California and even being here right now writing this bit, I feel guilty for taking up some of her time to post something.

The friend I'm visiting is certainly a friend I wish I could see daily but thanks to a 400-something-miles distance, that is not quite possible- So I'll do a little bit of cheating and post something I previously wrote.

I will always attribute my love for reading to that one lady who randomly selected me to give me a book. As a kid, I rarely ever felt lucky. If anything, I used to think I had bad luck. And this wasn't a state of mind, it was a reality.

One day I went with my family to some sort of festival. In the crowded place, I found a booth advertised as "Colored Pets." I walked over to the man that seemed to be the one in charge of the booth and he showed me a cage filled with birds of all sorts of colors. "You can buy one for five dollars, or try to pick the blue ball," he said as he reached for a box with a circular opening on top of it, "out of this box for one dollar, for each time you try." I quickly searched through my pockets and found five dollars that I was given minutes earlier to wander around with. The way I saw it at my short age, was that if I'd play my odds well, maybe I could get three blue balls out of the five chances I'd have with the whole five dollars, instead of just buying one bird- "This way I won't have one lonely bird," I thought.

After my five tries, I was empty handed. No money but no bird either. Somehow I managed to pick the white ball every single time. Now I can't help but question if there was a blue ball at all, but that's off the subject. Because I didn't want to give up in taking a bird home, so I went over to my mom to ask her for money. When I told her what it was for, she simply answered: "It's not right to keep a bird captive. Your dad is the one that does that kind of things." (My parents are divorced and my dad DOES have birds 'til this day). So I never got the bird.

But that one day when my second grade class was receiving a visit from a new editorial company that wanted to do business with the school, my odds suddenly changed. The lady from the editorial walked in and was going to give away a copy of the book they were trying to sell the school. Everyone around me quickly raised their hands and yelled "me, me, pick me" in what it seemed like a chorus but I just put my head down, knowingly that there was no way in earth someone as unlucky as me would get the book.

Maybe it was the fact that I didn't ask for it that the lady decided to pick me and give me the book. But I chose to think that she somehow overheard my thoughts and how badly I wanted to be chosen that she decided to give it to me.

Once home with the book, I read it that same day. Then got another one, and another one. And another one. Perhaps it's some sort of celebration to my first glimpse of luck, or maybe books are just so damn good. Whatever it was this event marked the beginning.

This I Believe

This I believe, that although you are different from me, I receive you as an equal. That as an individual I have rights, but as a part of a community, I have responsibilities. That we can love, understand and cooperate with each other. That we can make a difference- but we have to be active and work towards that goal united.

Have you ever been in a crowd of people but somehow felt lonely? Like you were just too different to fit in? I'm guessing you probably have, and I have too- and let me tell you something, at least WE ALL have that feeling in common.

In any way, if you've ever wanted to find out if there was someone out there who believed in the same things you did, now there's an approach you can take, the "This I Believe" project.

As gathered from their website info, This I Believe is an international project engaging people in writing and sharing essays describing the core values that guide their daily lives. Over 60,000 of these essays, written by people from all walks of life, are archived here on our website, heard on public radio, chronicled through our books and television programming, and featured in weekly podcasts. The project is based on the popular 1950s radio series of the same name hosted by Edward R. Murrow.

Now, you may not be able to make contact with a person that shares the same believes as you do, but at least you'll know you're not alone. Or you can always stick to blogger because you may run into a blog as amazing as this one- I mean, I'm just saying.

But really, this place has pretty cool essays that date as far back as the 1950's (from their radio counterpart) and most of them (if not all of them) discuss pretty inspiring things. You can listen or read, or even shop for books that they've published. And they have all sorts of themes to narrow down your search (i.e. Citizenship, race, etc.).

AND if you're in the mood to share with the world (and generations to come) what you believe in, you will find guidelines to submit your own entry!

So, what do you believe in?

So Damn Vulnerable

The knock on the door surprised me. I wasn't expecting anybody and I was hoping no one would come either. I didn't have any plans other than to sleep maybe. I just didn't want to see anybody- myself was enough company for the day.

When I opened the door, she stood there in tears. Before I could say a word, she reached for my torso and the next thing I felt was the wetness of her tears on my shoulder. I've never been really good at this kind of situations but I just stood there and held her.

When she let go, her makeup was just a blur in her face, and I was sure part of it was now on my shirt; but that wasn't a concern at the moment. She didn't look good. I felt sorry for her- I looked at her and I wanted to protect her like she were my little sister but whatever I needed to do, I was too late for it.

"Would you have a beer with me?" she said in the middle of a sob. I nodded and followed her to the kitchen.

When we were finally sitting, I sipped my beer quietly, hoping I'd know what to do when my time to do something would come. But what could have hurt so much for her to be like this? A break up? Someone close died? But that didn't make sense. She wouldn't come to me for that. We were never really that close. Not as much as we were right there.

"I was raped," she said. I think I almost felt the beer making its way back from my stomach. She was sitting there, in front of me. So damn vulnerable.

It's so hard to write this without feeling guilty in a way. I try so hard to tell my friends to do good, to take care of themselves, to be careful, to choose wisely and when something like this happens, I wonder if I didn't try hard enough.