Journaling

For as long as I can remember, I have always kept a journal. I have never been one to verbally express my emotions, and have always found comfort in writing. For the longest time, I even wanted to be a writer. I have an antique desk in my room that I love. It is a worn in but dark wood with these beautiful metal handles. It was my mom’s when she was a little girl, and her grandmother’s before that. Below the table that slides out on the desk is a cabinet. I always loved this part of it because there is a keyhole on the outside of the door. Although I never actually had the key, it always felt so old and secretive to me.
Every now and then, I love to sit down on the soft blue carpet of my bedroom and open the cabinet. Inside, I read the copious amount of journals that are lined up chronologically, starting from when I was five to my most recent one. Scattered in with all of my diaries from each year, are my travel journals. Every major trip, or summer at camp, I have another journal where each day I document the memories that I know I will never have again. I start out with my first one from first grade. Or maybe it was even kindergarten. It amazes me that I have all of them.
My first journal was this brown cardboard notebook, with sinusoidal designs along the cover. I remember my dad brought it home for me after a business trip when I was about six years old. I remember sitting on my parents bed, and being ecstatic seeing my dad walk through the door after his business trip. In this first one, the majority of these “entries” and written in crayon. I skip pages, and my big, messy handwriting on displays a few sentences here in there, like “I like Elliott.” Or “Ali is my best friend.”
As I move onto the next journals, I love to watch my handwriting develop and observe how my scribbled sentences evolve into entries. I write about my day at school, fights with friends, sadness, happiness, draw a picture, copy down song lyrics, or write a funny quote I found. However, from about second grade to well maybe even now, many of my entries are about one general thing-boys. I delve into my elementary school crushes, even pour out my heart after an eighth grade break up, or the details of a first kiss.
Although my writing and thoughts have evidently developed over time, one thing remains constant with all of my journals-what they do for me. Keeping a journal for two weeks was just the norm for me. I definitely go through phases where I write every day, or sometimes I don’t write for months. My past three journals are filled with quotes and song lyrics that pertain to what I am feeling. Lately, I write down quick sentence or quote about how I am feeling-just to get it out of my system. For me, once I have it on paper, and it is out, I feel like that problem has left me. My journals keep me sane.
I even write goals that I would like to obtain in them. The best part is looking back at those once they are achieved. Maybe having a dozen notebooks of my thoughts seems strange. And it’s even stranger that I have so many. But these are just about me, and help me stay in touch with my emotions, which I don’t like to verbally express. I know that I have feelings, in fact I am a very sensitive person, I just have a unique way of handling them all.

Going Green

I have always view SMU as a school that is always changing, and up to date on what is going on. However, I am not usually one to complain, but I have to say that I am pretty disappointed with our school's recycling efforts.

I know that when someone starts talking about the environment it is so easy to just turn away and think those silly tree huggers. And honestly, I used to not care about our environment at all. But after my environmental science class in high school, living in Colorado (the 2nd "greenest" state in the country), and going to a high school where we were forced to reduce, reuse, and recycle, I have become a big advocate.

So, before you stop reading here are some things to keep in mind:

* 500,000 Trees are cut down per WEEK for the Sunday paper ALONE
*The average person uses 680 pounds of paper a year
* A single plastic bottle will remain in a landfill for up to 100 years
* Styrofoam will NEVER leave a landfill- instead, it leaks toxic chemicals into the environment
*Every year we make enough plastic film to shrink-wrap Texas.


There are some bins around campus--take the extra 5 steps to put your plastic bottle of water in there.

There are recycling bins in the trash rooms. It's not that hard.

Turn out your lights when you leave.

Un-plug electronics your not using.

Turn off a dripping faucet.

Recycle paper, cans, bottles, cardboard, cereal boxes, envelopes, magazines, newspapers...the list goes on...

This is not a political issue. Do your part. :)


Here are places to find out some more facts, where some of mine came from:

http://www.oberlin.edu/recycle/facts.html
http://loveplanetearth.blogspot.com/2007/09/big-picture.html

Frats--Turned Down at the Door

I was rather surprised and startled the other day. I went to dinner with a friend from high school who also goes here. As we caught up about the new things going on in our lives, we got on the subject of if he was going to rush or not. He told me a story how he and his friends on several occasions have attempted to get into a fraternity house, and were rejected the the door for not wearing Polo or LaCoste shirts.

The older people said that dressing up was a sign of respect. However, what if it is not someone's style to wear this preppy attire? Is it really fair to turn someone down at the door, refuse to give them a chance, simply based on what they are wearing?


By no means do I consider myself as one of those people who is greatly opposed to the Greek system or finds a way to out them, however I do find it very ironic that an organization promoting brotherhood and unity has the audacity to reject a group of people based on their clothing.

Will We Ever Grow Up?

Do you ever wonder if we actually grow up after kindergarten? I mean, of course we all physically change, however, lately I have noticed that maybe we aren’t that different after all.
Remember in Kindergarten how the class room was always separated by sex? All of the girls would giggle on one side of the rooms as we observed the boys who attempted to show off for us. But then now take my Wellness class. As college freshman you would think that we would be able to successfully integrate, however the boys and girls still sit on the opposite side of the room. Just like the playground.
I have also thought about this concept on a deeper level. And it actually helped me figure out more about where I wanted to go. If you think about it, maybe who we were when we were that young, is still the core of who we are today. But amongst all of the hectic parts of our lives, and through the hussle and bussle of daily living, it’s easy to lose sight of that pure innocent person we once were.
I realized this the summer before last, where I spent a month in Europe hiking. The walking drained the group of students that I was with so much, that as we climbed through the Alps we only had the energy to think to ourselves. And through this time to myself (which was way too much thinking time) I tried to recount for who I was when I was that kindergartener on the playground. I remember that I always loved to explore. I loved adventure and discovering the unknown. And what was I doing at the moment? Exploring. Even though I grew up in an environment where exploration was literally in my back yard, I had never acted upon it and lost sight of that part of myself.
So maybe we all aren’t that different after all. Maybe we should get back to the carefree person on the playground.

Post Secret

I have a ritual. Every Sunday, for the past two years, I eagerly log onto www.postsecret.com . (Yes, it is actually a blog!) Each week, new “secrets” are displayed. Everyday people send in their deep secrets to Frank, where on this website he posts these raw, dark, and often-humorous confessions ordinary people. I find myself so drawn into these artistic post cards where people present their secrets. Often times, I think to myself “Oh me too! I feel the same way!” when I read some of the postcards. Other times, these secrets can scare me, and I think about the people who sent them in. But even though the “secrets” can be haunting they still have something that you cannot always find; and that is the pure honesty that they portray.
This blog has even brought me closer to one of my friends. Ironically, I kept it my secret throughout high school that I read this website weekly. I mean, on the surface it does sound a little weird, right? However, on a morning coffee run together, she casually mentioned some website “Post Secret.” Evidently, I was shocked and excited that someone else read this site. We even went as far to admit that we both felt like we were the only ones who read it. As we sipped our warm lattes, we ended up talking for hours about our favorite post cards. The ones that had haunted us, or the ones that made us laugh so hard we cried. I never thought that reading random people’s secrets would draw me so close to another person. But now, she is apart of my “ritual” as well, because each Sunday when we have read that week’s secrets, I know that I will hear from the person who enjoys these confessions and the unconventional honesty that the website portrays as much as I do.

College: Summer Camp or Life?

This whole thing doesn’t seem real to me. I feel like I have been on vacation or at some academic summer camp this past month. I don’t know if it’s the abnormal heat or the southern draw that people have here, but somehow this place doesn’t quite feel like home yet. I never thought that I would end up in Texas-actually that is the last place I thought I would be. I feel like I’ve had an extended sleep over with my roommate, and shortly I will return home to my queen size bed. That’s not to say that I am not enjoying myself, in fact I love it, but I feel lost the majority of the time. I think that it’s because I have no sense of direction, and right when I think I know where I am, I am actually on the opposite side of campus. At home I always know that west is where the mountains are, therefore I generally know my way around. Speaking the mountains, that explains the title of my blog, “3-oh-3.” “303” is the area code of my hometown, but this blog is supposed to be anonymous, so I guess I’ll let you figure out where that is.