A Voice

As a teenager, I feel like there is constantly an adult breathing down my neck, or speaking to me in a condescending manner. I may be young but that does not make me less of a member of society.  I have an opinion, I have a voice, and it is time I’m heard.

I am a member of the next generation. I should not feel unimportant due to my age, I should be looked at with hope because I know I will make in impact in someone’s life.

Last night I continued to think about the human trafficking issue from my earlier post. I sat and thought, ok, this is bad….. Then, how can I fix this? I found an organization called the Red Thread Movement; they sell red bracelets amongst other merchandise, in which all proceeds go toward saving girls in Nepal from trafficking. When I heard about their group, I immediately got in contact with them and told them of my interest in future involvement. They asked me when I was able to start and I told them now.

I am now a proud member of the Red Thread Movement Organization. 

I have begun planning events to help raise money and I am all smiles from ear to ear.

When I die I don’t need my name down in books, I don’t need everyone to remember me from generation to generation. What I do need, however, is for one person’s life to be changed because of my voice. I don’t need everyone to remember me; I just need one person to remember my actions.

Everyone has a voice, make yours loud and heard. Not just another murmur in the crowd.

Sick to the Core.

“Atrocious Truths Regarding Sexual Abuse” angered me; this new abundance of information saddened me. Did you know 2 million children around the world are forced into prostitution every year? A lot of children are kidnapped, but a large percent of that number is due to parents actually selling their own children, their own flesh and blood…. To be sex slaves.

That right there is enough to make me feel physically sick.

How could a parent do this? Imagine this:

A little girl living in poverty comes home one day and notices a fancy car in front of her home. She walks into her small house to find a strange man there. Her parents could not support the family with the income they had so they are selling their little first grader. She is too young to understand but is told to go with the strange man. The six year old climbs into the car and waves goodbye, not knowing this is the last time she would ever see her family. She sits in the car for hours before arriving at a building. The strange man grabs her out of the car and forces her into a back bedroom. This small room is where she will spend the rest of her survival. The child, who is hardly old enough to write their own name, will stay in this small room and miss the rest of her education. She sits and begins to cry, when a 30 year old man walks into the room, he tears her clothes away and rapes her. Screaming and crying she is victimized, multiple times, every day. The small child will be raped multiple times a day until she dies. Where are the adults for this little girl? Her parents receive a check so they can pay bills, the brothel leaders get paid for exposing these children, and the people to enter her room destroy every last ounce of innocence she has.

How could this happen? How could a person know that and not feel sick to the core.

This is what evil looks like and it’s happening worldwide, even on our free soil.

Atrocious Truths Regarding Sexual Abuse.

While searching through news articles I stumbled upon an article about the Peace Corps. I planned to join the Peace Corps after college because the idea of helping the human race for a better tomorrow has always rung favorable to me.

“ABC NEWS IINVESTIGATION: Parents of Slain Volunteer Say Peace Corps Error Led to Murder.” This was the title that caught my attention. In this article, family members of Kate Puzey reveal their anger toward the Peace Corps scandal of 2009. Kate stood up for small girls who had come to her with information regarding the multiple rape cases in their village. She relayed the news to the Peace Corps office and requested confidentiality in the circumstances. The rapist was then fired from his position in the Peace Corps to preserve the original purpose of the Peace Corps, to help the world…. Not future hurt it. Despite her request, the rapist found out about her involvement in the expulsion of his indecencies. Kate was later found with her throat slit.

A woman, who is voice to young girls, is murdered and how is it dealt with? The Corps placed a box full of her items in the Puzey driveway. There was no ceremonial display, there was no apology, and there was no acknowledgement. The reason there was no acknowledgement of the Peace Corps slip of confidentiality, was because the perpetrator was still up for trial. A cardboard box was left to the parents of a brave woman.

This led me to The New York Times article, “Peace Corps Volunteers Speak Out on Rape.” This article proceeds to discuss multiple victims due to a sex crime. Jess Smochek, 23-year-old Peace Corps volunteer and rape victim says, “When she returned to the United States, the reception she received from Peace Corps officials was as devastating as the rape itself.” According to this article, upon seeking medical attention, a counselor implied that she was to blame for the attack. Between the years 2000 to 2009, more than 1,000 Peace Corps volunteers reported sexual assaults.

The problem is, it doesn’t matter where you are in the world, a woman has a chance of getting raped, or sexually assaulted in various other ways. On average, every two minutes, someone in the United States is getting raped. The Peace Corps are not the only group to hold victims, however, the response given to the victims provided self-blame, self-loathing, shame, and silence.

Silence when it comes to rape makes it okay for the offender to do it to someone else. The victims of many rapes decided to provide a strong voice for other victims. The Peace Corps has made significant changes to help victims, by providing counseling, medical attention, and safer places.

The Peace Corps is not the issue however, it’s the world. There are more rapes than suspects arrested according to the Los Angeles Police Department. There are also more unknown rapes than there are reported rapes.

This needs to stop. More voices need to be heard.

Not Your Baby Momma.

I dated someone a while ago who has recently blessed me with a phone call. The term blessed, in the previous sentence, was used with a chimerical abundance of sarcasm. The conversation was basically about how he got some girl pregnant and is having a hard time paying for himself, the guy that lives off him, and of course the girl and her womb population.  I felt apathetic toward his speech until he decided to end it with saying that he missed me and saw us getting back together.

You are kidding right?

If I were to somehow get back together with him my future would look like this:

Me walking around a trailer with a bunch of little midgets running around screaming, “Mommy, I’m hungry.”, and me making them some Kraft mac and cheese. No way.

1^st I’m not your mommy.

2^nd If it didn’t come from my vagina, I’m not feeding it. I’ll just look at them and tell them to tell their real mommy about it. I’m a teenager I’m not anyone’s momma. Nope. I don’t want kids for another few years. Plus, I am not trying to work hard to support an idiot and their posse. Why on Earth would I leave all the positive things I have for that kind of future? I would have had to lost my mind. The caterwaul of another woman’s child will not be my responsibility to assess.

No thanks. I’m good.

The Stain

Rather than using the traditional categorization of people into their normal high school cliques, I prefer to use a more original system of categorizing. Instead of using the original hierarchy of “popular” to “nerds”, I like to break people up into a different type of grouping.

Using this method of classification, a person can belong to multiple different groups and fit snuggly. I have previously, and will always, refer to the “popular” girls as CLONES. They are clones because they all look the exact same and act the same, in the sheer efforts of remaining better than everyone else in their own minds.

Now, everywhere you go there will always be that girl, the one who is the most annoying thing in the room. My new category is called

The Stain.

A stain as we all know is annoying and no matter what you do you cannot get rid of them. They are always there!

Luckily I have the opportunity to observe the stain members on a daily basis. I have multiple stains in my composition class. Some find the need to comment on every single word that falls out of the teacher’s mouth, they answer the teacher with anecdotes even when there was no question, or even real reason to speak. Some find it necessary to cling around a group of people (unwantedly), like a little puppy that has no clue that they are really not needed in every situation. Some feel it imperative that they are the main focus in every conversation…. Good work, you are now the focus of this post. You have captured my attention; we are now all talking about you…. It’s just not good.  

The wonderful thing about this new hierarchy is that you can belong to multiple groups rather than just one. A Clone may very well be a stain.

These stains need bleached out.

Why Are You Famous? #1

I would love to start this new series with this statement:

Being the dumbest, most obnoxious, and/or  most irresponsible  person in the room, should NOT qualify you to be famous.

I would like to start this post with a statement that has grown close to my heart, especially over the last few days:

Taylor Swift may possibly be the WORST thing to have ever happened to country music.

Yes, I said it. She is the worst. All of the songs are the same.

If I am forced to hear "we are never ever ever, like ever getting back together" again, you better warn traffic control because I will begin stomping around downtown like Godzilla. Swatting down planes, and tipping buildings, in sheer rage.
You can not tell me that that horrific display of "talent" was anywhere close to being an actual song.

Dear T. Swift(ly kicked in the face),
 It is time for you to put on your big girl pants and deal with a breakup like a normal person. You are an adult! An immature teenage girl would talk to her friends and maybe throw a facebook status out there, you, an adult, decide to "sing" about it....
Of course you aren't getting back together. Your crazy, stalker attitude probably pushing the male species away. If an ex wrote an entire song saying 'we are never ever ever like ever getting back together", along with 10's of other songs, why on Earth would they even try to get back together?  You are psycotic. Do you really find it neseccary to annoy the rest of society with your issues?
Why are you famous? How did this happen? I know for a fact that you did not get there from your "talent"?

                                             Sincerely, Every person above the age of 12.

I will never ever ever like ever enjoy your "talent".

Intersection Kisses

I am aware that a multitude of my posts have been towards people, Guys specifically, who have screwed me over. Believe it or not my dearest readers, I have found a guy who is.... indescribable really. He is enticing, mirthful, and understanding. We have had a bit of a complicated summer but now that those complications are gone, we are great. I honestly do not remember a time when I've been this happy.

Over the summer we saw each other nearly everyday. One night he gave me the most romantic kiss of my whole life.

At about two a.m. one morning we were hanging out with some friends in a field. Dakota and I decided to go on a walk together down some old country road. We were looking for orange flowers in the dark but mostly just enjoying each others company. Before we left for our walk we were laying in the truck bed looking at shooting stars. He knows more about astronomy than I do so he was explaining the stars to me.

On our walk we approached an intersection with two red flashing lights hanging there. He took me to the middle of that intersection, right under the lights and the stars, with little white flowers poking out of my back pocket.

Under the stars and the red lights he wrapped his arms around me and told me he loved me.

He kissed me, and it was perfect.

I'm not sure it is possible to be happier.

I told him I loved him, and I meant it.

Slightly Less Average Than My Typically Awkward Day

This morning, so far, has been anything but normal. Not to say that my typical day is anywhere close to normal.  This morning I woke up an hour and forty minutes late, apparently my alarm clock took a sick day today….. So upon waking to the unfamiliar morning sun, I did gymnastics to exit my oh-so-comfortable bed.  I did an incredibly awkward flip out of bed in a panic and immediately thought “At least three- tenths deduction for the execution, hopefully I can stick the landing.” (I miss the Olympics)

I spent three minutes trying to decipher if I had enough time to take a shower before school.  While giving my best Lady Antebellum impersonation, I slipped…. and sure as hell stuck that landing… Got out of the shower and of course, slipped again… When I hit the ground I looked around to see if anyone saw (as if there would somehow be some kind of audience).

After getting myself ready I ran downstairs to find my mom standing in the kitchen. She had made scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast. When I told her I didn’t have time to eat, she yelled at me. A quick argument later, I tossed the remaining scraps of bacon and a mound of scrambled eggs between slices of bread and called it a sandwich.  I stuffed everything into my backpack and grabbed my super special lunch box and snatched my sneakers. When I put my backpack on…. It broke…. Everything flew everywhere…. I grabbed a new bag and started striding toward my driveway. With everything in hand, a rabbit jumped out from the bush and I about had a heart attack. I jumped and shook my sandwich so viciously that chunks of scrambled eggs exploded in the air like egg fireworks around my “sandwich”.  Sara was watching from the car and had a good laugh at me. Since she decided to laugh, I decided to play along. As I got to the car I began acting like Elmer Fud. I looked around like the hunting cartoon and said “its wabbit season.” She laughed.

When we approached the never-ending stop light in front of the school, a chunk of egg rolled onto the floor. I had my window down and decided to pick it up and make a friend. I held the chunk out the window toward the lady in the car next to us. She looked over and I asked if she wanted some eggs. She was all sorts of confused and said no thank you. I kept a straight face and persisted, claiming the value of the egg. I told her it had cheese and pepper and was made with my mom’s love. She rolled her window up and kept looking at us…. So I began to dance. Sara and I giggled a bit as the light turned green.

Nothing really happened until lunch time. I was on my way to lunch with my very special lunch box and some underclassmen called me a stupid freshman. I said, “Actually I’m a senior, and this lunch box is the key to happiness.” They said, “Oh did your mommy pack it for you?” I said “Yes actually, comes equipped with a pudding cup, a sandwich with a stamp that says ‘I love you’, and a note from my mom also expressing her love.” Then I walked away swinging my lunch box like a kindergartener.  I showed everyone at lunch my cool sandwich…. They thought it was pretty cool.   

My typical Thursday? It’s not even noon…..

Head up. Eyes forward. Stand Out.

My life is average.