13 Lessons Learned From 13 Years Of Life

I am turning 13 soon. Like, very so0n. Soon as in July 17th.  Soon as in a month a handful of days. Which is soon enough for me.


The big 13. The age you turn into a teenager.

A teenager.

The day you turn 13, you are guaranteed to not be stuck at the kiddy section of a party, or be offered the kid menu any more.

 No, no. This rite of passage will assure you that the day you turn 13, you are no longer a little kid.

You can learn a lot from your 13 years of being a child. It teaches you a lot more than you thought it did.

And here are 13 things that MY 13 years of life has taught me thus far.

  1. Just because something may seem ‘uncool’, or ‘geeky’, or even ‘weird’, it’s no reason to not do it. Especially if it’s because of peer pressure.
  2. You don’t always get what you want. And it will be like this for the rest of your life.
  3. It’s okay to be different.
  4. A nice appearance does not guarantee that it’s the same inside.
  5. Life changes everyday. Instead of looking back all the time, go along for the ride. Who knows where it’ll take you?
  6. Someone’s life is always harder than yours.
  7. Your parents have every right to boss you around.
  8. Not everything you hear is true.
  9. You don’t know what true love is yet. And that’s okay.
  10. It’s okay to cry.
  11. Make new friends, just don’t forget the old.
  12. It’s never cool to be a hater.
  13. Don’t try to grow up too fast.

Of course, I have learned way more; Pre-algebra, American History, and Science-but what really matters are the things that can never be un-learned.

What have you learned?


Top Ten Things I Hate the Most About Movie Theatres

WARNING! This is a rant!

Okay, so today I went and saw Battleship. It was pretty good. I myself enjoy action movies. HOWEVER, there were some things that bugged me throughout the entire movie.

My parents and I walked in about a few minutes before the previews ended into a PACKED room. I mean, packed. Upon entering, I quickly noticed one thing that annoyed me.

You know how sometimes a group of people sit two chairs away from the next group or person? Why not just ONE, and then there is more space for two or more people? But NO, it’s too much of a hardship to scoot over.

I am now going to compile a list of some things that I hate the most about going to the theatre.

#1. People who TALK.
Come on! We all payed for the ticket to watch the MOVIE, not to listen to your talk show. You can explain the movie to your mate AFTERWARDS. And what happened last Saturday can wait. No one aside from you and your friends care if you got to third base or not. This includes cellphones! This is exactly why they warn you to turn off your phones.

#2. People who laugh obnoxiously at everything.
I myself never laugh at comedies. Not because I don’t get it, but because I’m not much of a laugher unless it’s hilarous or happened to me. And laughter is okay in theatres! Really! But please, if you are watching Saw (not that I’d ever watch it) or something, please don’t laugh at characters being sliced up! Same with relatively funny movies. Some people just laugh at every corny joke. It’s so loud, I swear, it echoes around the room.

#3. People who buy themselves a feast and eat loudly.
Hungry? Okay, buy yourself that combo or whatever. I don’t mind. Just PLEASE, respect other’s ears and keep the chewing noise to a minimum.

#4. People who bring children.
I am, depending on what your definition of a child is, still a child. But, if you bring your five year old to Inception or something, expect them to be BORED. They WILL be loud, they WILL complain, and they WILL annoy the crap out of everyone in the audience!

#5. When people sit next to you when there are tons of other seats!
Look, dude! Turn your head slightly, and you will see the other seats avaible. If you scoot over one, we both get to enjoy the movie, and both get our own armrests! How about that?

#6. People who spoil the movie.
Related to #1. If we wanted to just know the plot and not watch the movie, we would have just went on IMBD instead of paying ten dollars to watch!

#7. Annoying smells.
I hate it when people wear too much cologne or perfume to a movie. Or smell like they haven’t discovered showers yet. Or take of their shoes. Just no.

#8. Those people who kick your chair.
First time, you just ignore it. Oh, it was a mistake, right? Second time, turn around slightly and smile faintly at the person who did. Third time, you clear your throat. Fourth time, you ask them to stop. Do they keep doing it? Well, that’s the theatres for ya.

#9. People who makes unnessacary noises or movements.
I have Misophonia. I hate when people tap their foot or shake it, or shake the ice in their cup. I hate when they are sick,  but insist on coming anyways, and hacking up their lungs, potentionally getting everyone in a mile radius sick.

#10.  When people keep glancing on you/putting their feet up on your chair.
I grouped these together because they are more minor things, but still annoy me anyway. First of all, do I have a damn rat sitting on my head? Stop staring at me! Secondly, my chair is NOT a foot rest. You are in public, so please, refrain from putting your nasty shoes that have walked on strange surfaces above my head!

Thanks for reading my rant! Do you have any movie theatre pet peeves?

Writer’s Block

The worst enemy of any writer or blogger.

Writer’s block. 

How do you get rid of it? There are many ways, you just need to get inspired. But, where do I get inspiration from?, you may be asking.



Your body is thirsting for physical activity. Take a quick jog, walk your dogs, do some yoga. Just get off your butt. Trust me, physical activity can spark your inspiration. Be sure to bring your journal everywhere you go so as not to forget any ideas that may come to in a moment of inspiration.

Read. Go on, do it. Get yourself to the nearest library or bookstore, and read a book. It will help you think of ideas of your own.

Ever heard that saying that TV will rot your brain? Not if you use it for inspiration. With so much shows and movies on TV, you’re bound to find something that will spark an idea in you.

Get outside. Smell the flowers, feel the grass, bask in the sun. If it’s winter, go on, play in the snow. Nature can shed light on places in your mind you’ve never been before. It can help you uncover inspiration.

Meditate, or do yoga. It calms the body, mind, and soul. The recipe for success to finding great inspiration.

I hope this little post has helped in some way. Writer’s block is an arch-enemy to all writers, famous or not, but it can be eliminated.

Good luck to all writers!

Nothing Is I

I am nothing

And nothing is I

I speak for no one

And no one speaks for me

I have not adjusted to living

And life has not adjusted to me

Love is a game

A game I do not play

Crying is for the weak

The weak is not I

Laughter is for children

Do I look like a child?

Friends are fakes and leave you in the end

I am fake, I’ll leave you first

Life is a waste

Why waste your time?

Death is horrible

But so am I

I am nothing

And nothing is I

Devoid of Emotion

A girl is sitting on the cold seat of a swing in a school playground, slowly swinging back and forth, her feet scraping a gravel. It is a cold Autumn day, but the only garments she is wearing are shorts and a long sleeved shirt, tattered and stained with something dark red. “Paint?”, you think. She is looking down at her lap, her bangs covering the side of her face. The wind whistles an eerie, familar tune, cutting through the trees’ branches, tearing off the last of Autumn’s leaves. A newspaper article drifts slowly over to the girl, and it lands in her lap.

She cocks her head to the side slightly, and picks up the article. Silence. Then, the girl laughs, sweeping her bangs from the side of her face. She notices you, and glances up.

Her eyes are cold, black, and empty-devoid of emotion. Her fingers let go of their grasp on the article, and her pale hand raises and turns it’s bloody palm to you. She waves, which sends the article fluttering off again to the mercy of the wind.

Suddenly, she slides off the seat. It flies back, hitting the metal bars up righting the swing set. Clink, clink.

She starts to run toward you, a dishonest smile plastered on her grimy face. You notice she isn’t wearing shoes, and her long black hair is unkempt. The girl stops running, and is standing just a few feet away from you. “Hi. Wanna play a game with me?” she asks, rubbing her bloody hands on her shorts, already caked in layers of dirt and blood. Speechless, you shake your head. She shrugs, and skips off to the school’s back entrance.

The article from before floats by a few feet a way, before gently landing in front of your feet. Cautiously, you pick it up. The girl giggles, and slams the door shut behind her.

BLOODY MURDER AT THE HUNTINGTON HOUSE, the article states, in bold, black letters.

The police are investigating a gruesome family murder that was found out earlier today. The slaughtered remains of the two twin five year old girls, mother, and father, have no evidence on them, Detective Hardy says. The only survivor of this horrible group murder is third child, Mary Huntington, 13, who is currently missing.

Your eyes drift down to a picture of the Huntington family, all sitting on a picnic blanket underneath a tree. The twins are holding ice cream cones, and the mother is in her husband’s arms, laughing. The father is looking at the twins, smiling. But Mary is sitting off in a corner, her eyes slightly off the direction of the camera, staring at the camera man.

Her eyes are cold, black, and empty-devoid of emotion.

Lover to Ashes

From lover to ashes,
my lover goes
Once a being that could breathe
until he let go
Lovely things he used to say,
that came from the heart,
a poet to be,
right from the start
but then the day came,
that his heart stopped
they gave me a vase,
that held his remnants,
but how would I know?
ashes are ashes,
they’re all the same
on the day
we joined to grieve,
i sprinkled his ashes,
and they floated over the trees,
now you’re in the air,
leaving behind,
the faint smell of smoke,
and tears in our eyes

Sleeping Beauty

Outside, the sky is plastered with stars and a full moon on a dark canvas. There is a quite a commotion going on at the Gerald Mansion.

“What a pity,” a hooded man wearing a long black cloak is saying humorously, as if he is reciting a joke at a cocktail party. “Such a beautiful girl, going to waste.” He takes a long drag on his cigarette before dropping it and crushing it with his heel.

“Ple-please,” a red-haired woman begs, dangling in mid-air, her fingers fighting to seize the rails of a balcony. She is slipping slowly, her grasp on the rails loosening. The man chuckles softly, and saunters over to the rail. He crouches down, and takes a hold of her hands. The woman looks up at the general direction where his eyes should be, silently pleading. A few moments pass, and it seems the man has changed his mind. He hasn’t.

“Good-bye,” the faceless man whispers, before letting go of her limp fingers.

The woman does not scream. She does not whimper. She down not even shed a tear. But her eyes do not bother to hide the look of hatred and betrayal.

A second passes. Only two, three, more seconds pass, but time creeps along like dripping molasses. The woman hits the concrete with a sickening thud, and what sounds like green branches breaking in half is heard. A malicious laugh erupts from the man standing on the balcony. He examines his handy work, leaning on the rails.

She is still alive.

Twitching, the girl spits out a trickle of blood, and her fingers unwrap slowly. Blood slowly stains the ground, a tremendous amount spilling from her body. Pain floods as she takes a sharp, quick, intake of breath. She exhales, her heart pounding viciously. Shocks of agony seize her limbs as she painfully crawls onto her hands, before failing, and losing the fight with gravity. The shock of hitting the cold, bloody pond on the concrete floor sends her through worldly torture.

Her limbs shake, and her rib cage rattles. Short, quick gaps of breath involuntarily escape her body, once again causing aches. She curls up into the fetal position, and her mouth fills up with the metallic, distinct, taste of blood. She weakly opens her mouth, and it floods over, sending streams down her cheeks.

Her chest heaves up and down, her blood-red lips parting slowly and softly exhaling away her life. Her once rosy cheeks and fair complexion is now pale and stained with blood, dripping from her eyes like tears. Her eyes flutter every now and then, and the heart pounding against her rib cage, wanting to be free of this tortured body, starts to beat slower.

The girl can see her life evaporating into the air around her, her soul leaving her body as she closes her eyes. The breathing slows so that she only takes a weak intake of air every few seconds. Finally, with her last exhale, her limbs go, and her head flops to her side. Her red hair, concealing with the pool of blood around her, sticks to her sweat layered forehead.

Slowly, slowly, the last trickle of blood escapes from the corner of her mouth, and creeps down. Her skin is starting to show the bruises, the patches of once untouched skin losing it’s perfection. Her green, vibrant eyes grow dull underneath the eyelids, and her skin is as pale as ever.

She was the real life sleeping beauty, and will now be the never awoken beauty.

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