External Journey

  My external journey consisted of publications on a blog I created. Reflections of readings and events composed most of my blog. In contrast to the inner journey, which consisted only of personal daily writings in line-less papers, the blog posts were open to anyone and must present themselves as well-organized thoughts.

   No longer free to write however I pleased, I was made more conscious of my grammar, my spelling, and more importantly, the vocabulary utilized as I tried to construct a more colorful post and not bore the reader with identical terms. A monotonous tone was not one I sought. "How can I not make my posts boring?" I would often think. With not much time to plot any elaborate scheme on my blog's structure, I wrote as I always have.  A nice introduction with hints of the details contained in the expository paragraphs was always the beginning to any post . Even though following a specific order proved a bit constraining at times, it would often serve as practice for essay and story writing.

My external and inner journey definitely differ. It's as if it was not the same individual undertaking both journeys.

As part of the conclusion  to my external journey in my Literature class, I would like to share a stanza taken from one of my poems. The title is  of the poem in its entirety is Black Butterfly. 

My haven under the sleepless moon

embrace me with your coarse wings,

 carriers of sweet serenity

 and whisperers of beautiful sorrow 

Reflection on Wednesday's Award Ceremony

This past Wednesday, April 9, I attended the Literary Contest Awards Ceremony along with friends and classmates.

 The day started with not much nervousness until I saw time advancing and the anticipation of the ceremony crept up on me. "Will I be able to speak in front of an audience?" I endlessly thought to myself. It was of some comfort having my long-time friend, Mario, and my childhood friend, Gabriela, by my side. With a source of familiarity, invasive thoughts penetrating my mind cold now take a rest.
The ceremony started a bit later than the announced time, which would only prove torturous  to my restless state.

I am not proficient in the art of public speaking. It is foreign to my nature and causes great restlessness that overpowers my body and mind. Restlessness and anxiety become all that I know as my thoughts race over the possibility of failing. "Why must I be this way? Why do others do it so easily." I recall thinking. Unfamiliar faces full of expectations soon became a mass that overwhelmed the amphitheater 4 in DMN. With no form of escape, the time came to speak I from of the audience. Unsure of myself and intimidated by the other winners'  entries, I timidly climbed onto the small stage. With check in hand the exchange of congratulatory handshakes existing in moments past, I adjusted the microphone to my stature and proceeded to read what was already prepared.

I never stopped stopped nervous and I could only loosely control the jitters. Painfully did the words make their way out of my mouth and slowly did each each second pass. Attentive were the ones sitting in the first row. No signs of distractions or disinterest were evident in their expressions or gestures. Could they have felt every word, welcomed  them into their psyche? Perhaps particles belonging to the mix of the gingerbread cookies had escaped the text and invited itself into our world, pervading our every space.

The talk was successful and the event ended harmoniously. I am very much interested in taking an honors English or Creative Writing course. I love to write. No. I love to be no longer bound byte slings of donut and insecurity. To express much of what is taboo and take on an identity not pertaining to mine is the reward found in materializing emotions that wail cries of agony when suppressed by the repressed mind.

Furthermore, I desire ever so dearly to make known some of my writings. Why not? Why not become active in the literary community and eventually publish my works?



Last Wednesday was definitely a potential turning point in my young life.

Inner Journey

          My inner journey consists of 40 journal entries written on a line-less notebook. With no restrictions or rules over the manner in which I express my thoughts into visible words, chains that once bound such conveyances are now loose and no longer an obstacle.

   Upon the commencement of the journal, words did not flow easily and I found it hard to just keep on writing without stopping. " This isn't even natural," I endlessly and thought to myself. I eventually became tired of thinking and just wrote. There are countless of awkwardly composed sentences composing the first half of my journal, of which many of them were written when I was not able to obtain freedom myself. Perhaps as time progressed, and me with it, writing became easier and effortless as I found comfort in myself instead of criticism and self-judgement.

Although the vocabulary in my journal is not as colorful as other works I've written, the entires produced carry a different sort of value and meaning. By the month of March, I can see a change in how I proceed to follow each sentence. I am no longer searching for the right words to start my sentences. Instead, I notice, through the sloppiness of my penmanship, my efforts to try to contain the overflow of words trying to escape my mind and creep their way onto the paper.

Last week, there were various moments of complete self-liberation. I composed three 4-verse poems out of the emotions felt during those days. They may not be of high quality, but it is a step i most certainly wanted to take without having to push myself towards it.

In regards to my future goals, it would be desirable to continue to develop any writing abilities I may possess in my being. Writing is another love of mine. Why abandon it?