By Casey, Witney, and Keelege
I am sitting in the Extended Hours study room in the Park Library. It’s pretty silent, with the natural sound of stress that comes around this time of year. Tired sighs, the printer racing to spit out paper, fingers typing furiously away at papers sometimes described as “bull shit.” I see two girls ending their long evening, and I feel happy for them. They whisper to each other as they slip on their jackets and bags, and hastily exit. It is a relief to see tables emptying. The man across from me is listening to music quite loudly on his headphones. I don’t blame him. It’s nice to drown out the world and zone into your work. Many people have a hand to their face, either twirling their hair, resting their chin, or stroking their beards. There are dozens of coffee cups in this room. The sky is black outside, the moon clouded over by rain. Quite a few cars are driving by, their lights shining into the window, giving me a headache. Some people are talking rather loudly, a giggle from a boy talking to a girl. If anyone walks, they walk with purpose: to the printer, to Java City across the hall, or for a bathroom break. I am happy to see no computers bogged with Facebook or Twitter. Everyone is here to do work. It is 9 PM and we are all here to get ahead.
I realized this blog is specifically for educational purposes, but there is something about how secluded I feel when I come here to write that is very appealing on this evening.
After hours of conversation with my best friend, discussing a variety of daily and life-long struggles (most of them laughable), she is passed out asleep now, and I’m left here with many untied thoughts.
I have no specific vision for my future. In my mind, it involves packing my things up and leaving with someone who really understands me, or at least tries to.
Someone who makes me understand things, too. Not just about himself, but about the world, about myself, about everything I have ever wondered.
I don’t need that person to be happy, but that is the vague sight I see when I think about “what I want to be.” I just want to be happy, and I’d really like someone to be there to share my happiness with.
Someone to watch any kind of movie with, someone to enhance my musical library, and someone to completely stimulate my mind, soul, and body. Not one or the other.
I have faith that it will happen for me, some day. There are, as society likes to reiterate, “plenty of fish in the sea.” Some of those fish may already be “hooked,” and some of those fish may be too different of a species, but low and behold, there is one (probably more than one) that will really suit your fancy.
I hope I find him, or he finds me, or we happen to find each other. And as awfully cheesy as it sounds, I hope we can both help each other achieve our dreams. That’s what love is, isn’t it?
In a selective private school in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, Maria Haugen had a different high school experience than many kids who attended public schools. She attended Detroit Country Day School, and graduated with just 192 fellow students.
While public schools allowed more freedom of how students spent their free time, Maria was constantly busy keeping up with the extra tough curriculum, as well as her dance and soccer team, the two required sports she chose to play.The uniforms were strict, as well: girls wore skirts, button up shirts, knee-high socks, and close-toed formal shoes.
From the 6th grade and up, laptops were a requirement. Instead of recess, DCDS allowed an hour for “computer time” for the students to effectively learn how to use technology. Maria said she would have rather just have had a choice to go outside if she wanted to, but since she was required to play two sports, she still felt like she got enough physical activity and “outdoor time”.
With so much to keep up with in school, Maria didn’t have very much time or energy for social activities. “I had time to go out about once every weekend, but most of the time I just wanted to sleep and relax.”
The work was tough, but in Maria’s eyes it was all completely worth it. When it came down to choosing which college to go to, many of her peers wanted to go to bigger schools, like Michigan State University. Maria, however, liked the sound of Central Michigan University. A smaller, public college, would feel more like home, and wasn’t too big for her taste.
Now a sophomore at Central, she is grateful to have learned time management and specific study skills, things that many public school students struggle with. Although the going got tough at times, Maria kept a strong head on her shoulders and pushed through, and now college life at CMU seems almost easy while she is taking 18 credits to be in Advertising.
“Country Day prepared me for college better than a public school setting would. They exposed me to diversity, athletics, and community which allows me to excel at Central.”
I have never met one person with the same kind of obsession with New England and horror novels as I have. I can partly thank my mother for my unique obsession, but even further, I can thank the one author who I’ve grown up on.
At age eleven I read my first King novel that goes by the title of Pet Sematary. Perhaps I was so in love with it because I had also grown up with the movie, but nevertheless, I became hooked. I have vowed to myself to read each and every one of his books before I die. If not by then, maybe in my afterlife. As of now, I have given myself a good start (I think I have read about 30 novels, now).
It’s difficult to describe what it is that I love so much about his writing. Admittedly it is no kind of Shakespeare, and the language can be somewhat vulgar in certain cases. Maybe that is what I fell in love with – the rawness of it, but also the reality of it. He was trying to impress no one, and would write exactly what he wanted to, even if it might make his own mother cringe.
Through him I started to realize I might enjoy being a writer, and probably more of a horror or drama writer, like he is. Even in his most ridiculous plots, there is always some kind of message to be told, and I as a reader am held responsible to figure out what that message is. His books are not just about a scary clown or a telekinetic prom queen. There is always an underlying truth to them, no matter how fictional they may seem.
That is the goal I have developed as a writer, because of him: to write about whatever I want and as creatively as I want, but to still give it some base from which to build upon. I want to be a writer because I have things that I think are worth communicating to the world, but I know I can do it better through fiction, because that is the only way for me to release every unexplainable idea I’ve ever had.