How Snow Affects My Brain

Not sure if we were supposed to write about weather in general or a specific one, so I wrote the one I was most obsessive about.

For me, the purpose of a building transforms depending on the weather outside. This is most apparent to me when it snows.

When the white stuff starts falling, the building I am in suddenly turns into a warm shelter. The essence of being inside is “warmth, safety, and protection” rather than “a prison in which classes occur.”

If I am in a building away from home when it begins to snow, that building becomes a checkpoint in a journey across a snowy landscape. Suddenly my day becomes an adventure and my goal is to go from shelter to shelter until I reach home, where I can take a warm bath or shower and enjoy the fact that indoor heating exists. If I am at home when the snowing begins, I am at the start of a journey and I need to go out and experience the snow and travel to another place in which I can observe the snow. This adventuring-mindset has been present in me ever since I was a child.

Snowy days are most perfect during school, where I wake up in the morning to go to class, discover it’s snowing outside, then go on an adventure to the classroom. I greatly enjoy being both in and out of the snow. Experience and observation are equally wonderful when it’s snowing. I am at peace with the world if I am in a place where I can simply watch the snow come down or go out and have a snowball fight-which includes anywhere except rooms with no windows.

Therefore, when it snows, I get overexcited and extremely hyper because I want to take in all of the snow at once before it disappears. To avoid taking my enthusiasm too far (i.e., running around in circles and randomly yelling about snow), I must internalize all of my excitement about the weather conditions. This internalization superheats my body and I am able to go out into the snow without any form of coat- just a hat and a scarf.

If it rarely snows during a winter, the few days where snow occurs become points of extreme hyperactivity. If it snows a lot, I get a bit desensitized and am able to take the snow in more peacefully instead of feeling like I have to suck every second of enjoyment possible out of one snow day. Therefore, if yetis and abominable snowmen ever overtake the world, I won’t mind too much. That is all I have to say.

I think I am a cartoon

I have always loved escaping into fictional stories. They are a means to get away from life, which hasn't been easy for me since junior high, and put myself into not only another world but into the shoes of a character from another universe. They can also inspire me or help me act on things I believe in.

I mostly read comic books because they are visual, and the way I think is in generalizations, concepts, and images- I seldom think linguistically. In the last five or six years, the only non-comics I've read are the Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Children of the Lamp, Eragon, and Twilight (yes, I admit it) series. These worlds (Twilight, not so much) are interesting and are much more fun to reside in than mine. Apart from those series, all of the stories I read are visual. It's a lot easier for me to immerse myself in a world that I can see. I like diving deep into the character's minds, and not having to worry about imagining the world allows me to focus further on exploring their personalities. I still believe it's important to read non-comics, however, to stretch the imagination and generate ideas.

In the comics I read, I observe the characters I identify with most and often use their behavior as an excuse to act a certain way. Though I want and even strive to be unique, it is still good not to feel completely alone. For example, in a series called Lackadaisy, there is a crazy character named Rocky who always maintains a positive and jovial attitude even though on the inside he is often miserable and doesn't feel like he fits in anywhere. He sometimes jokes at inappropriate moments and makes people nervous with his awkward weirdness. I love using him as an excuse to randomly bite desks or give a creepy smile on purpose to make people laugh. One of the purposes of my life, I believe, is to entertain people (whether through art, writing, or my persona). Rocky is a great source of inspiration for this.

In another comic series called So, You're a Cartoonist, the main character (who is a parody of the writer/artist) faces the hardships of being a starving cartoonist. This includes everything from tight finances to people who assume just because you can do one form of art you can do it all (including fix-it projects like painting walls) to having obnoxious clients who want you to do art for them but are never satisfied with what you come up with. The author, even though he is an atheist, also slams the objectification of women in the comic and video game industries, which gives me hope for the world as well. This alternate personality allows me to recognize and speak up for issues I believe in.

Dealing with concepts has always been my strongest suit while reality has always been my bottom function, which is why I can connect so closely with fictional cartoon characters emotionally. They exist elsewhere, and people in their own world judge them, but i can observe and root for them from the outside. Characters from the story obviously can't judge me personally because they're fictional, so I feel safe. As long as characters help me connect with and understand myself, I will continue reading comics and books forever.

 

Rocky (left) @ lackadaisycats.com

Tom Preston @ syacartoonist.com

Dealing with a Dying Relative and Having a Supportive Dad

Stroke Prayer

One of the most wonderfully deep moments in my life occurred after my grandmother had a stroke. She was residing in a nursing home an hour away, and her mind and memory were starting to go. On her last birthday that she lived through, my family and I went to visit her. When we arrived, she started crying and said, “I have family!” Apparently she had thought that she was all alone in the world without anyone left. She had been carrying a Bible around.

After embracing her with hugs, we took her into her room. She ate cake, and there was a balloon we had brought and every time it bounced toward her, she would make a surprised face and poke it back up into the air. We all took turns visiting with her, but since her mind had well deteriorated, she would say the most adorable and random things rather than communicate well. Her word choice was slightly off when she tried to speak. I really wish I could remember some examples of things they said (they were hilarious), but my memory has more to do with generalizations than specifics.

As we were about to leave, grandma asked if we could all pray together. We wondered what she would say, as she had made just about as much sense as a 5-year old child all day. We sat down with her anyways and she said a wonderful prayer. It was beautiful. The entire prayer was actually structured and made complete sense. The only specific phrase I remembered her saying in the prayer was “please keep David all happy and rosy.” (David is her son and my half-uncle.) After we left, I felt like God was still connected to her even when she was losing her mind. I felt like she was in good hands.


Too Bad it's not Father's Day

At the moment, I have trouble thinking of a specific event with either of my parents to write about. Because I love to generalize, I would love to describe my dad and how, even though he wasn’t a good father, I feel he was the best dad I could have had.

Whenever it was my siblings’ or my birthday, Dad always threw large, fun parties for us with tons of our friends. Every single night when I was young, he came into my room to tell my sister and me a bedtime story. He made up a completely new story every single night. He eventually adopted several motifs that would recur during some of the stories. They were so much fun.

I also feel like my dad is the only person on earth who truly accepts me for who I am. Though both he and my mom trained me and brought me up very well and he recognizes my faults (or not!) he is why I am so confident as myself. He never criticized what I wore (even when I wore things like socks with sandals, boy’s cargo shorts, and graphic T-shirts). He never told me to dress prettier and never pressured me to be more girly.

He always encouraged my art and talked to as many people as he could about it whenever he got the chance. He bragged about it to everyone, and even sold a couple of my pieces by doing so.

Even though he is a huge dog person, he let me and my siblings get a cat because we wanted one, and he helped us take care of it. I feel like he actually cared about that fat thing.

No matter what decision I made, my dad always supported me and made me feel valuable. I have always loved him for it and will continue to do so forever.

Dealing with Selfishness and Death as a Kid

My entry for Tech and Indiv Writing class has to do with childhood memories.

It took a bit of effort to find an appropriate memory of mine to release to the world. My earliest memory is the discovery of the difference between boy and girl anatomy. The next earliest memory involves my toilet training.

Nobody wants to hear that.

....Well, nobody should hear that.

Rather, I will record my experience of my friend finding a lizard on the Colorado National Monument.


Lizard Memory


One glorious Sunday, my church had a picnic and devotional up in the red rocks of Colorado. The weather was sunny and warm, and a few small, scraggly, green trees with thite trunks dotted the rocky landscape. The sky could not have been bluer.

In contrast to the nice weather, a few of my friends and I experienced a small conflict. During the picnic, my friend Josh had caught a beautiful blue and green lizard. He refused to share the lizard with any of his friends. We all attempted to touch it or look at it, never having observed a lizard that closely before, but Josh tugged it away violently every time.

Justifiably upset, several of my friends told his mother about his selfish behavior. During the devotional, she had a talk with him, and afterwards Josh was a lot more open with sharing his lizard, even offering it to others unprompted. Unfortunately, by this time, my friends and I had moved our interest to climbing on the rocks, and soon after, leaving for home.

I learned a lesson from this: other small children have short attention spans; therefore, as a kid, your popularity won’t last, so milk it as much as you can while you have it.

I mean, um.. share?


Dead Cat Memory


My next earliest sharable memory involves a deep connection to my best friend whose cat died.

In 4th grade I had a best friend named Matthew. We enjoyed doing everything together and shared many interests: particularly, our affinity for cats. I had not met any other boys who shared my love of cats. I had been to Matt’s house and met his cat, Patrinka, who was a shy, fluffy, tan cat who blended in with the rocks she explored. Patrinka was very much loved by her family.

One morning at my elementary school, I awaited Matthew’s arrival in the gym. As the start of school drew nearer, I began to wonder where he was. Soon after, I looked behind me, and Matt arrived in the room, in tears. I hurried over and asked what was wrong. Trying to keep his composure, he explained that his cat was run over by a car. I could sense his deep feeling of loss from within myself, and I started crying too. I knew that cats maintained a deep connection with the humans they tolerate, as they won’t just love anybody; you have to earn their trust. In addition, the thought of his sweet, shy, fluffy kitty as a road pancake horrified me. Thoughts of destruction of an innocent animal haunted my mind as well. (Is anything safe?)

I kept crying for the first few hours of school, even when Matthew stopped crying. The teacher had to take me out of the classroom eventually due to my sobbing. She ended up retrieving Matt’s older sister and took her, Matt, and me to an office in which we prayed for comfort together. After that, the day went better.

I know Matt appreciated my sympathy in the end, though I believe I may have been a little too empathetic, having possibly felt a broader spectrum of misery than he.

And now I feel like posting a cat quote....

And a picture of my own kitties...

"Authors like cats because they are such quiet, lovable, wise creatures, and cats like authors for the same reasons."

     --Robertson Davies