10 YEARS LATER
August 25, 2003 A+++
Today was a great day. Jackie came over. We had a lot of fun. Jackie’s mom was really nice to buy me a okay looking shirt. We ate a lot of sour cream and onion chips and doritos. The Citrus Punch was great. We played with my Bratz Dollz collection. It was fun. We also went on the computer. We had a great time on disney.com and neopets. When I signed her up, she actually admitted that neopets is cool. When my mom came, she took us to the park. Luckily the sprinkler was on we had a blast. We got drenched wet. Then this weird little kid came around tagging me and Jackie so we decided to go home. Jackie’s mom was there. While Ms. Wei and my mom were talking me and Jackie went upstairs to talk. Soon it was time for Jackie to leave. At least we’ll see each other on Friday when we watch Freaky Friday.
In 2003, I wanted to be a writer. Obsessed with documenting my life for my inevitable biography, I recorded everything in journals, from mundane things like eating chips to special events like going to the movies. I wanted no detail to go unnoticed, so I tried to describe all that surrounded me: events, people, everything I touched and saw. Even as a child, I had a terrible memory so I used writing to remember, remember ideas for future memoirs and novels. My early interest in how things looked, felt, sounded, and tasted pushed me to become an avid observer of my environment. I wrote down what my senses perceived and this translation from mind to paper allowed me to form my style and interest in words.
But when I entered high school, my priorities shifted. My leisure-time activities took a backseat as my mind was forced to focus on completing school assignments, meeting deadlines, and receiving good grades. Life became structured around academics and I had much less flexibility to develop my voice as an artist. The details that were once put into words, drawings, and music were only passively processed to allow room for knowledge that was supposedly more important for my success in life. Getting the details right became much more important than getting excited about the details.
By chance during the summer of 2013, I rediscovered the power of writing. While studying for the MCAT test in the home I have lived in for almost twenty years, the pink journal adorned with glittery stickers on the bookcase in front of me caught my attention. Before me were the chronicles of my childhood. These journals had been forgotten and untouched for almost a decade, but on that particular July day, curiosity made me open those neglected books at the very desk I wrote them at.
As my eyes slid over the careful, unnaturally neat handwriting of my nine-year-old self, I felt intensely surprised. Surprised that this was my history even though I do not remember it. Surprised that I cared about citrus punch. Surprised that these were the things that made me happy, made my day an A+++ one. Surprised that I still care about the details that are not worth remembering for others. Surprised that my words were so direct and thoughts so simple. Surprised that I missed that simplicity.
This extraordinary surprise sparked my revelation that surprised is how I want others to feel. I want people to have sudden, overpowering reactions to my words. Words are powerful triggers of emotion; they allow readers to renew old connections and to establish new ones with the author. I want my language, my style, and my content to invoke something unexpected. I want people to be surprised that I chose to write about the ordinary, that ordinary words could make ordinary things seem less ordinary, and that the ordinary is actually extraordinary. I care about the sound of a blender in action, the little hairs raspberries have, the smell of fresh laundry, the roughness of tree bark, and the sharp taste of vinegar. I want to use these everyday objects, actions, and sights to surprise people with new images and perspectives. I write to surprise.
Nine-year-old Sophia motivated me to start writing again. I want the words I write to inspire, as it did for me this year, in 2023, 2033, 2043, when I am senile and my memory fails to recollect the little things that matter. Our mind filters out most of what we sense and experience and I want to resist such diminution of our physical world. Using the moments, places, people, and ideas of today, I hope to elicit nostalgia and thought that will lead to new observations and discoveries. Progress is impossible without sharing. Many of the greatest philosophers, scientists, and leaders that changed our world became great because they drew inspiration from others, and then in turn, they shared their wisdom with us. Not that I am the best of my field or am the wisest, but I hope my ideas and interests will generate emotion and thinking that will push others to do something that matters, whether it be suddenly noticing and appreciating the sound of rustling leaves or thinking of the perfect gift idea. The things individuals do to be important do not have to cause change in large ways. Though my biggest ambition is no longer to be a writer, I still hope to affect with my words. I write in the present so that I can cause in the future.
August 25, 2013
Rendezvous at Ben’s. Swimming. Sauna. Cooking dinner together. Beer and laughter. Talking about random shit, like if we were to hold interventions for each other, what they would be for. Lounging in lawn chairs and getting 16 mosquito bites. Making fun of each other. The normal moments that are special. Enjoying the familiarity, as if nothing had changed between us. The same rhythm and feeling of comfort and ease.
Today was a great day. Jackie came over. We had a lot of fun. Jackie’s mom was really nice to buy me a okay looking shirt. We ate a lot of sour cream and onion chips and doritos. The Citrus Punch was great. We played with my Bratz Dollz collection. It was fun. We also went on the computer. We had a great time on disney.com and neopets. When I signed her up, she actually admitted that neopets is cool. When my mom came, she took us to the park. Luckily the sprinkler was on we had a blast. We got drenched wet. Then this weird little kid came around tagging me and Jackie so we decided to go home. Jackie’s mom was there. While Ms. Wei and my mom were talking me and Jackie went upstairs to talk. Soon it was time for Jackie to leave. At least we’ll see each other on Friday when we watch Freaky Friday.
In 2003, I wanted to be a writer. Obsessed with documenting my life for my inevitable biography, I recorded everything in journals, from mundane things like eating chips to special events like going to the movies. I wanted no detail to go unnoticed, so I tried to describe all that surrounded me: events, people, everything I touched and saw. Even as a child, I had a terrible memory so I used writing to remember, remember ideas for future memoirs and novels. My early interest in how things looked, felt, sounded, and tasted pushed me to become an avid observer of my environment. I wrote down what my senses perceived and this translation from mind to paper allowed me to form my style and interest in words.
But when I entered high school, my priorities shifted. My leisure-time activities took a backseat as my mind was forced to focus on completing school assignments, meeting deadlines, and receiving good grades. Life became structured around academics and I had much less flexibility to develop my voice as an artist. The details that were once put into words, drawings, and music were only passively processed to allow room for knowledge that was supposedly more important for my success in life. Getting the details right became much more important than getting excited about the details.
By chance during the summer of 2013, I rediscovered the power of writing. While studying for the MCAT test in the home I have lived in for almost twenty years, the pink journal adorned with glittery stickers on the bookcase in front of me caught my attention. Before me were the chronicles of my childhood. These journals had been forgotten and untouched for almost a decade, but on that particular July day, curiosity made me open those neglected books at the very desk I wrote them at.
As my eyes slid over the careful, unnaturally neat handwriting of my nine-year-old self, I felt intensely surprised. Surprised that this was my history even though I do not remember it. Surprised that I cared about citrus punch. Surprised that these were the things that made me happy, made my day an A+++ one. Surprised that I still care about the details that are not worth remembering for others. Surprised that my words were so direct and thoughts so simple. Surprised that I missed that simplicity.
This extraordinary surprise sparked my revelation that surprised is how I want others to feel. I want people to have sudden, overpowering reactions to my words. Words are powerful triggers of emotion; they allow readers to renew old connections and to establish new ones with the author. I want my language, my style, and my content to invoke something unexpected. I want people to be surprised that I chose to write about the ordinary, that ordinary words could make ordinary things seem less ordinary, and that the ordinary is actually extraordinary. I care about the sound of a blender in action, the little hairs raspberries have, the smell of fresh laundry, the roughness of tree bark, and the sharp taste of vinegar. I want to use these everyday objects, actions, and sights to surprise people with new images and perspectives. I write to surprise.
Nine-year-old Sophia motivated me to start writing again. I want the words I write to inspire, as it did for me this year, in 2023, 2033, 2043, when I am senile and my memory fails to recollect the little things that matter. Our mind filters out most of what we sense and experience and I want to resist such diminution of our physical world. Using the moments, places, people, and ideas of today, I hope to elicit nostalgia and thought that will lead to new observations and discoveries. Progress is impossible without sharing. Many of the greatest philosophers, scientists, and leaders that changed our world became great because they drew inspiration from others, and then in turn, they shared their wisdom with us. Not that I am the best of my field or am the wisest, but I hope my ideas and interests will generate emotion and thinking that will push others to do something that matters, whether it be suddenly noticing and appreciating the sound of rustling leaves or thinking of the perfect gift idea. The things individuals do to be important do not have to cause change in large ways. Though my biggest ambition is no longer to be a writer, I still hope to affect with my words. I write in the present so that I can cause in the future.
August 25, 2013
Rendezvous at Ben’s. Swimming. Sauna. Cooking dinner together. Beer and laughter. Talking about random shit, like if we were to hold interventions for each other, what they would be for. Lounging in lawn chairs and getting 16 mosquito bites. Making fun of each other. The normal moments that are special. Enjoying the familiarity, as if nothing had changed between us. The same rhythm and feeling of comfort and ease.