Finding Meaning

What does it mean to be a favorite?

Favorite shoes go worn,

holes on the bottoms and water soaking your feet.

Favorite movies are re-watched, replayed, renewed

slowly becoming scratched and no longer useful.

Favorite songs are put on repeat, danced to and memorized

the lyrics grow stale, the beat too repetitive and your feet hurt.

Favorite food is prepared, savored, saved

but soon sits in your fridge growing mold.

Favorite becomes forgotten and forgotten fades away.

I've been accused of having a favorite. But this cannot be true. Not if I will never forget him, not if I will never watch him sit in the corner and refuse to reach out my hand. He does not cause me to close my heart to those in need that surround me.

Favorite becomes forgotten and forgotten fades away.

But not love. Love will stay forever. Love obsesses and compulsively continues on. Love does not mean you wear something down until it is useless.

Love builds and creates and continues...

Love does not destroy and mold. Love does not cause harm and anguish. Love does not mean that others are left behind or forgotten, love does not allow for ignorance. Love does not exclude.

Love builds and creates and continues....

Love opens your heart further building room to welcome in the suffering, the poor, the lost. Love creates warmth and joy that invites everyone closer. Love is what connects the entire universe, every population. Love is the good that will bring this world to peace.

Love builds and creates and continues...

Mittens

The first time I remember being forgotten, I thought it was funny. My mom thought my dad was going to get me and my dad thought opposite. I didn't care who was at fault, I cared that I got home and ate dinner.

The second time I was older. I was content being alone. After three or four hours my feelings changed. My enjoyment turned to fear and my sadness to anger. What kind of parents forget their own child? Forget their only child?

My dad forgot me first. He forgot that I was human, that I existed. He replaced me first with reading material, then moved onto the computer, and later to a different life. A life that doesn't include me...except when it's time to pretend to be a family. He became a holiday father. Love can be a gift, but not if you buy it.

Although I've been forgotten by her many times, she's never forgotten me completely...but it's coming. I can feel it the way you feel the air freeze before the first snow. In the beginning there is only the slightest tinge of frost, then it comes on so quickly that the world turns to ice and you stand there frozen without your mittens. I know it's coming; but I am unprepared.

I've survived being forgotten so many times, watched as friends turned away and words faded to ash. I too have forgotten. What happens though...when the child is left behind? Turned into a distant memory, if even that? I need to know so I can be prepared.

I need to meet the cold with my mittens on.

Hello Possible Reader (Good Luck)

Hi there, it's been awhile. It's funny how the world can suddenly become so busy, not Book of Mormon funny, but more this is so funny I need a shot of Novocaine because life is hurting me so much...maybe that is BoM funny. Anyway, I suppose I should update you on my life...if anyone is actually reading this.

[Insert Daveed Diggs meme, "What'd I Miss]

I'm not actually going to include that photo. A Hamilton meme on a Broadway obsessed blog, too predictable. 

In May I graduated college and promptly started a job that in no way compliments my major. I'm living at home with my mom which means I have watched almost every show on Netflix twice and have not gone out on a Saturday night in three months. And I suppose in many ways, I'm exactly where I was when I started this blog.

Confused. Wandering. Scared. And always, hopeful.

How often these four seem to be found together. The hero is always lost, scared, confused, but has hope for a brighter future. Name any YA novel and I bet that will be the plot. Maybe we are all living our own novels and we are just searching for the strength to flip the next page.

My next page starts tomorrow; I'm going on an adventure and I'm making the next chapter of my life.

Screw the third person narrative. This is my biography and I'm going to take charge.

A Poem My Mother Will Never Read

She says she'll never forget me,
that a mother always knows.
But I've seen her lose keys, wallets, and names in seconds
I know how this routine goes.

Will she remember me when she can't find her house?
Will she still know my name when the laughter fades?
Or will I slowly become a stranger, an almost familiar face -
a person, almost to be remembered if only she could lift the shades.

Forever is an awfully long time,
especially for the forgotten.
There was hope and dreams and sadness,
but the memories soften.

Everyday is unknown, every hour a puzzle
 and every second a mystery.
What will happen next, how long does this last -
who can say how long forever can truly be.

This poem...just words, attempts to control my fear.
Rhymes and lines, dying to express how much I need you here.
Fear doesn't matter, the end is always coming, ever near.
What is most important is what I do with today
Right now, this second; this is the memory most clear.

Decisions Decisions

Every moment in our lives can be traced back to a decision. Our existence is evidence of one very important decision, although most of us don't like to think about our parents saying yes to that choice.


At first the choices are small. Which ice cream should we get for dessert? Should I wear my pink or my blue headband for school pictures? Who would make the best prom date? But eventually these decisions become life changing. Where should I go to college? What should my major be? Should I study abroad? What will I do after I graduate? I don't know about everyone else out there, but these questions make me feel like this:

And of course now I'm ashamed for using such an overused meme. On the other hand I'm so stressed out from making other life decisions that I can't waste time to find a more original description. Well, I guess there is always this interpretation:

Look, even just writing this simple blog is adding to the list of decisions I have to make!


When did it stop being so simple? My entire life I knew what I wanted. Chocolate ice cream, no headband because they hurt my head, and of course the best prom date was my best friend. Even the college and the major were simple, studying abroad was a no-brainer. But who am I now? I have this degree in one hand and a stack of bills in the other; doesn't leave a person with too many options. So what's next?


Well there's trying I guess. I'll try to find a job. I'll try to find a grad school that I can afford and find interest in, but until then? Who knows. It'd be ideal to have time and find out who I am, but I can't exactly take my father's place in the army and defeat the Huns....loans don't defer for that. This is the moment I wish dispel some hopeful wisdom about the next step, however, I am still on the journey myself. If you, dear reader, have any ideas or words of wisdom or inspirational quotes post them in the comment section! Until then dear one,

Because puppies don't lie.



A quick note to the reader

I never meant for this blog to become a poetry blog, I guess I thought I had other ways to express myself. Turns out, I really don't. At least not at this time.




Right now I'm preparing for a big transition. I'm graduating college, I'm going to finally find out what it is other people do with their lives from 9-5 when they don't have school, and as you may have realized I'm FREAKING OUT! Everyone around me seems normal and prepared, yet here I sit the lonely kernel seed among fluffy, buttery goodness. Hello world, this is me, the uncooked, hard to chew food that you'd rather throw away than put in the microwave for a little bit longer. I apologize for being an inconvenience. But hey, on the plus side I've had mad inspiration lately; yay anxious writing.


Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that hopefully someday my blog will look less like the creepy basement corner where the water heater sits waiting to devour your soul and more like the cotton candy, rainbow filled place that the go-kart game is in in Wreck It Ralph.

(This One!)

Tell Us More

Can I admit something? I'm scared.


I'm scared that I'm 22 and still unsure of what I want to be when I grow up.
I'm scared that I'm doing this blog and no one cares - - not even me.
I'm scared that one day, I'll be looking at this diploma I'm about to receive,
the debt I'm ignoring,
and the family I hope to have, and I'll wonder -
was any of it worth it?


Did you know? I'm afraid.


I'm afraid that I will put myself out there a thousand times and be shot down a thousand and one.
I'm afraid that the person I think I am,  the person I think I like, won't be good enough.
I'm afraid that the time I've wasted,
the days I spent in the sun and not in the library,
and the hearts I've broken will accumulate, and me?
I'll be left alone.


And underneath all of that? I'm worried.


I'm worried that like my family before me and theirs before them, I will go crazy.
I'm worried that at some point I will lose myself and become just another number.
I'm worried that eventually the words will leave,
the friendships I've had fall apart,
and the only comfort, the only ground that resembles solid will fall through -
as I slip through the cracks.


Tell us more.
Tell us who you are, help create a picture.


I tell you I'm petrified to grow old.
I tell you I'm off put by the idea of leaving.
But you say it's normal. You say everyone feels like this.
Then why should I tell you more?


What more is there if everyone feels the same?








A letter to my Anxiety

As the description of this blog so nicely points out, this is a place for me to not only share my opinion on movies, music, etc., but also to share my thoughts. Today I was in class, when the teacher called on me and as usual my anxiety gained control of my brain and made me look pretty foolish. As I was reflecting on the five minute failure I found myself getting more and more angry. I put my pen to paper (which was supposed to be used for notes, but oh well) and wrote this:


cut these strings
let me walk alone
I can stand without you
no need to watch over my shoulder
no need to whisper in my ear
Do not tell me when I am wrong
Do not pull me and twist me
to show that you rule over me.


cut these strings
I'm not your puppet
I can make a choice
I can be imperfect
humans make mistakes
humans move on
Do not make me repeat the pain
Do not hold me in shame
to relive the flush and anguish.


cut these strings
let me walk alone
I can be confident
I can bounce back
drop the controls
give me a chance to be on my own
Do not throw me down in anger
Do not walk me, trip me,
to prove I cannot do it.


cut these strings.

Finding Your Voice

Finding Your Voice

Creating Yourself in the Blog World

I suppose, since this is my first ever blog post for the public world I should introduce myself to you. Which leaves me staring at the keyboard for an hour repeating the question: "Who am I now that I have a blog?"

According to my media writing course my voice should be a portrayal of the company I am working for, which is currently me. Therefore I suppose my voice for this blog will involve many puns and musical theater references (proof of this last one is found above). However, I am not only my puns, I am also a lover of young adult fiction, bad romantic comedies, and a creative writer. Once again, who am I?

Starting to think the identity crisis is over, I'm secretly prisoner 24601 from Victor Hugo's Les Miserablés. On the one hand this has been helpful, this will not be a blog with a serious tone. While I may address serious topics, I'll probably throw in some dark humor and use way too many gifs. Yes! Mission accomplished, I have an idea of tone for this blog.

Now that the crisis is over I shall finally introduce myself. My name is Anastasia Pauluk and I am a graduating senior at the College of Saint Benedict (thank you, thank you so much). I am a Communication major, English and Theology double minor with an intense love for music. Bassoon playing, reading obsessively, watching too much Netflix, and singing power ballads are only a few of my past times, I'm hoping to add blogging to the list.

By this point of the post you're probably wondering why I made this blog. I want to put my thoughts and ideas out into the world and expand my portfolio (sometimes you have to admit you really are just padding your resume). I hope that this will be an enjoyable experience for me and maybe for you as well dear reader. Now let's all collectively roll our eyes at that last sentence and get on with our lives.