Kafka on the Shore- Hauntingly Beautiful

The title tells it all. The story really is one of a kind and unlike any book I have previously read. While depicted as a fast read, the book is not meant to only be read once. It does take multiple readings to grasp the outermost shell of Haruki Murakami's unique philosophy.

Lots of people agree that the book is confusing. I believe this too. I don't believe that the confusion was without purpose, nor was it without a point. Modern writing calls for the unconventional and the abstract. No longer can a book captivate its audience with predictable elements and straightforward themes. A reader must hunt for them. Kafka does exactly that. Each dialogue and stream of consciousness from the characters birthed a concept unlike those I witness and am a part of in reality. The book's magical realism is what makes it an excellent read.

What grips my attention the most is how devoted my attention must be onto the plot and events. The thick curtain between reality and the abstract in life are open and flood into each others dimension. In this book, an event does not happen with an explanation- it happens with three. Like a book where you pick an ending to your liking, Kafka on the Shore allows the reader to explore the plot and develop their own understanding of the characters and their relationships to one another.

This book is an excellent example of a philosophical work, but only for the type of reader that wishes to be left pleasantly confused. The ideas will linger in the readers mind and truly make them a better philosopher. With this book, each question y possesses an answer within itself.

Losing Myself

There have been many times where I found myself to be physically lost, but never had those moment compared to the times where my mental compass had escaped me and left me alone with my thoughts. Never had they come close to the panic and fear felt with losing yourself in a familiar place.

On warm summer nights, I stargaze. I love to find the constellations and track the planetary movements across the sky. Each burning dot of energy glowing millions of miles away challenges my sense of identity. What am I in this world? What purpose do I have? Why do I exist now?

I can't help but to bring those questions to mind  They linger willingly and patiently.They gently remind themselves to me with arguments of fate and destiny.My choice and no choice. Whispered secrets of life pull at my capacity to comprehend the meaning behind my existence. 

It's hard for me to believe that I can control every detail of my life. There's a nonrefundable commitment to saying that I can't. I feel lost when I think that something greater than my being drums the tempo I follow day in and day out. But I also feel lost when it is me playing the drummer to my life. 

It's not the stars pressuring feelings of inferiority or helplessness onto me that make me feel lost. It's not how everyone around me seems so well put together. It's the idea that a third realm of being exits somewhere between my mind and the universe. An invisible thread rallies messages between the two worlds and coincidentally catch on fire to my thoughts, spreading doubt like wildfire. 

I can't choose to side with fate, nor can I choose to side with creating my own path. But I can choose to get up and walk back inside of my house and have these existential thoughts wait outside my door. They can patiently wait to accompany me on yet another night, on another day.  

Advice for the "Rents"

Dearest Moms and Dads,

I cannot express in words my gratitude for all that you have done for your children. Raising a tiny human and molding them into an adult is the toughest job the earth has ever seen. It is a job as old as procreation and as confusing as the task of defining our existence. There are no definite rules engraved in stone that tell you how to bend and shape your creation. There are guidelines, but never has a person created a manual to raising your tiny bundle of joy.

You come home from the hospital carrying a complete stranger and smiling like an idiot. Years pass by. You and your child become acquaintances. More years pass by, and you reach a point where you can even call each other friends. Then a short year or two later, and you're back to living with a total stranger that you "just don't understand, God." Where did you go wrong? What sort of twisted plot is this? Why were you not given any warning?

There really is no way to explain this. It's not your fault. These kids are changing and learning their identity. They're experimenting and testing their self control. There is no such thing as making mistakes- everything happens for a reason. Your are not to blame for your child. Do not feel ashamed of how you raised them. Do not feel ashamed for who they are or how they make you look, because their satisfaction with themselves is much more important to your relationship than what other parents think.

While you do this, don't become their best friends- that will happen once they move away from you for the first time. You are responsible for them, so set boundaries and enforce them without exceptions. Children need a strong provider, so that when tough times come along, they can look to you and see a force that the mishaps of life will not break down.

Each child is special and different from the next, so learn their strengths and weaknesses and work with them. Each child also deserves alone time with their parents away from their siblings.Never pick favorites, it only causes problems within the family.

Do not amend the mistakes of your childhood by living them out through your kids. Your almost professional golf career should not be thrust upon your clueless toddler.But do appreciate your children's talents and unique qualities. Honesty is just as much of a talent as wiggling your ears.

Never. Count. Down. From. Three. To. A. Teenager. This method will only get you a nasty remark and a slammed door in your face. The only exception to this rule is if you're counting down the seconds to the New Year or if the three of you are about to skydive out of an airplane.  

It's alright o be afraid of letting your child grow up. It's okay for you dads to want to lock up your daughters in their rooms until they turn 45, because that way, those bad boys on the street won't be able to influence her sweetness. It's okay to want this, but don't do this.

Courtesy. Manners. Respect. Those are words in the dictionary, you know? They've become less and less visible in public places with the passing years, but that doesn't mean proper etiquette should go extinct altogether. You never know how far these skills will take them in life.

Find a medium ground between raising a brat and raising a robot. Over gratification and under gratification are both unpleasant traits to have and hard to get rid of later in life. How to find that medium balance-I don't know. But when you work it out, the reward will be sweet.

The '50s had it all wrong with parenting methods. Your standard mom n' pop n' two kids suburban family should not define what you consider family. The bonds you create with your children and the relationship you end up having with them cannot be laid out by a thirty second ad. You create the meaning and definition of family.

Whatever they wish to do, always support them. After all, you are the guiding forces in your children's search for meaning. Men and women can be mothers and fathers, but only truly special parents can be called Mommy and Daddy.

Truth is, all we really want from you is unwavering love, approval, and acceptance. All that we do, we do it for you, so throw us a bone.

Make Like It's Rumshpringa

Rumshpringa, or "Rumspringa," is a period of adolescence for some members of the Amish community, during which a youth temporarily leaves his or her community to explore and experience life in the outside world. Pop culture and media define this as a time period of massive abuse of drugs, sex, and alcohol. In a traditional context, it is an adolescent milestone, for youngins get to choose to follow Amish practice or go astray and mainstream themselves into English life (non-Amish life).

By no means am I saying it is a civic duty of every person to convert themselves to Amish practice and then walk the tight rope of legal and illegal activity. What I mean is  for people to allow themselves a break from tradition and to explore the unknown; to get to know themselves and not the identity which was thrust upon them.

What seems to be our life, our choice, our freedom, often turns over to the authority of their. "Their" can reference multiple people from whom we choose to defy or receive guidance from: a parent, older sibling, teacher, mentor, etc. Our expectations of ourselves are often times created by an outsider within the world of "I." Our self guiding steering wheels are being handed over to people who should have never been in our car in the first place.

Yes, you might be saying "but this is what college is for." And you are right, if that is how you define and experience freedom. Not everyone does.

I believe everyone should be given the right for self exploration. There are people tied to familial and work duties that won't allow them to self reflect and analyze on all which they think they understand and believe to be true. There are people who don't make college out as "me time". There are people who never go to college, yet alone never have the opportunity to do so.

You don't have to be indebted a quarter of a million dollars to an educational institution to discover yourself once, twice, or thrice over. You don't have to be included in a secret society, or a not so secret social club. Hell, you don't even have to travel to India to have "an awesome freakin' time of self revelation, maaan."

Temporarily factor out the known. Explore the unknown. Breathe in something new. I don't care how you go about doing it, so long as it gets done. It is your civil duty.

There is nothing more tragic than a lack of sensation and perception of yourself. Float your own stinkin' boat. You're the captain of that damn contraption. Own it (and give it a cool name like "Dragons Black Plunder" or "The Black Pearl").

Be the Captain Jack Sparrow of your own crummy ship, and never let a soul other than your own call it crummy.

Poverty: All the Wrong Ideas

As we all know, a society deemed as a haven for all mankind does not exist due to human error. We live in a country which relies on its impoverished citizens and exploits them for the “greater” benefit of everyone else. There can be no subdivisions of people and classifications without what is considered to be the lowest of the low.

The classification of people according to their annual income bears more weight to how people are perceived. There are cultural differences which people assume based on income and an image which they try to maintain or abandon at all costs. The initial image people recall upon hearing anything which resembles the word “poor” is that of a person or family dressed in rags, homeless, and begging on the streets like a victim of the Great Depression. In this day, this is not an accurate representation of everyone’s circumstances in such a situation. In fact, a poor American is far from that.

The standards of poor have kept up with society’s new gadgets and aids. No longer are tattered rags the standard, as they have been replaced with 21^st century necessities that some like to label as “luxuries,” such as air conditioning and cars. People in America forget that even as an impoverished citizen, they have more financial wealth than a lot of middle class citizens in other countries.  A poor American has a life which many dream and hope to receive one day.

No one likes to be labeled as poor, unless being so gives them benefits from the government. Poverty is a choice for those well off from benefits and a trapped lifestyle for those desperately trying to thrust themselves out of it. Only those who wish to work the system and are comfortable living within their means choose such a lifestyle. There are people who are not given government benefits and aid and find themselves a way into comfort, by working themselves harder than their bodies can handle. There are people sacrificing themselves because no bones were thrown their way as they were excluded by belonging to such an inclusive class. There are millions of people that would trade in their lifestyle just to be considered and part of the lower class in America.

You don’t know true poverty without understanding true sacrifice.

Here are some links to statistics about poverty

http://blog.heritage.org/2011/07/18/morning-bell-what-is-poverty-in-america/

http://www.census.gov/hhes/www/poverty/

SeparationSegregationIntegration Sandwich

Sometimes, I forget how I attend a liberal school in a liberal city in a blue state in the United States. I don’t have many experiences of meeting and talking to someone who I would not consider to be a part of the “liberal bubble” within which I find myself and most of my contacts to live in. Sure, a few comments may be slurred here and there, but seldom have I met someone who believed it down to the core of their existence.

I don’t really know what to say about Malcolm X’s idea for separation. In all honesty, I don’t feel so high and mighty to have an opinion to back him up or oppose him. If he would like to separate himself from the white people, that’s fine by me. If he would like to go up and hug every white person within a five block radius, I would find that odd but still accept his decision. (Quite a strange visual that is, imagining him running up and kissing white people on the cheek).

It seems understandable to me that everyone should have the right to decide whether they want to be a part of society or not. Sure, they may be looked at funny for their choices, but a person’s decision to do so does not offend me. I know that Malcolm X wishes to separate from the white man, and I don’t blame him. I would separate too if I had his history and ancestry woven into my identity as well.

I do note that we live fifty years after his time, where racial tensions quietly flicker in a dying fire of hate (or so people tell me). I do note that integration is very common, but I also see it being rare in Chicago, one of the most separated cities today. People still keep to their own kind, so how can I call Malcolm X a sissy or any other name when what he speaks is being practiced in the futuristically present time of 2013? I can’t yell obscenities at him or cruel words, because his idea is actually a foundation for Chicago’s layout.

And you don’t hear people yelling about their quiet separation today, now do you? We consciously or unconsciously chose the path which Malcolm X wished for the Nation of Islam in the 60s. Only those who purposefully seek out integration have the right to judge his idea.

If he wishes to separate, so be it. 

Malcolm X Does Not Wish to Be My Friend

I’ll tell you this-this book is a hefty piece of work. It’s everything but a quick read.  Preparing to read it feels like training for the Olympics- I can’t dive into it until I’m in the right frame of mind.

Every word which Mr.  X poured into this biography was written with an agenda. Because of this, I usually find myself rereading sentences and paragraphs, sometimes entire pages. This book may as well have been written in a foreign language. It’s not that I’m too ignorant to understand all which Malcolm wishes to say (safe to say, we’ve all been drilled with lessons on racial turmoil and injustice). It’s actually the fact that with each chapter, I find myself wishing with more urgency to somehow slap the people who thought it was a good idea to oppress entire continents of people.

The more Malcolm preaches in his book, the more loose ends I tie together in my mind. His commentary on the leaders who acted as parrots, his specific conclusions on historical accounts, and firsthand experiences rivet me in a mental chokehold. His enlightening perspective on the topic of race gives me a larger framework to work with when formulating my opinions. I can’t imagine the myopic perspective of history the education system taught and continues to teach to fragile minds.

This book in no way justifies my thinking and opinions, but it does give me a real perspective. The “whites and black peacefully fought for justice hand in hand” is a bullshit picture that many an educator has tried to pass off with dignity and pride. History is brutal and bloody, but most importantly an account of perspective. Malcolm X could not emphasize that enough for me.  He’s right to provide a different account of oppression and slavery. He’s as right as he thinks he is. 

SOTA- State of the Artist

There really isn’t a style of music I would turn down listening to. I love and appreciate everything from rap, rock, hip hop, blues, jazz, etc. Good music is good music is good music- a practice I like to follow. It doesn’t matter who wrote it, what their ties are to the industry, or their popularity among fellow musicgoers. Anything is game with me.

An artist I’ve been recently vibing is State of the Artist. The group is comprised of a pop-rap trio from Seattle- Parker Reddington, Hyphen8ed, and Young Thad. The group started out in 2007 and has released three albums to date with a few mix tapes in between.

It has everything to love about music- inventive melodies, a bluesy beat, and chill/soulful vocals. The group doesn’t sing, but their rap definitely sets the mood for the songs they create. It’s a band like SOTA that always makes their music sound fresh with every listen. There’s a particular subtlety to their songs that never seems to die out. The groups strong approach to lyricism and steady flow loop through different variations of pace and rhythm. Each MC has his own style and the constant back and forth between each other plays on the ears differently than other experimental hip-hop artists do.

My favorite song by SOTA is” I Try” from their mix tape “Shapeshifters.” The steady conversation between the electric and bass guitar in the beginning of the song remedy and relax the mind with ease. The song is playful yet mature. The instruments layer over each other with each impending segment of the song and take the listener from door to door, showing the variety of creative elements within hip-hop.  SOTA make this song an inventive explosion of instruments and beats. Just as the song seems to be approaching a peak, it takes one step back and settles down, thus starting the innovation of their music all over again. Every second is live in anticipation of what’s to come next. Their songs are addicting and stimulating, they way music ought to be.

Another great song by SOTA is "My Shine" from their "Hank Moody  EP." It keeps with the groups vibe while exploring news ways to communicate with their audience using a different stylistic approach. 

SOTA is taking new age hip-hop in a new direction and bringing back the essence of what it should be. With this group, it’s not just about witty lyrics or popular melodies. Everything they do is unique to their genre and doesn’t lose my interest. This up and coming group has the right luster to catch the ears of more fans to come. Nothing beats the excitement of catching a band within their beginning experiment phase. 

The Solitary One

There are times when I can be in a room full of people, and the only thing I want to do is keep to myself- stay quiet, lie low, and melt into the floorboards and escape between their cracks into soft soil.

Alone is not a physical thing for me- I can be content with just my thoughts and personal space. Solitude is what is truly unpleasant; when I’m no longer able to express myself to anyone.

There are people in my life that mean a great deal to me and I would give up anything for them, but none of them can truly understand the intentions of my thoughts and my reasoning. The ideas which make sense in my head seem to explode into confusion when I try to talk them out. What I imagine to be a coherent thought simply shifts into gibberish. Sometimes it’s like I’m speaking in a completely different language. Yet, that’s usually how it goes with thoughts.

How can you relate to someone if you’re too afraid to tell them what you really mean? How can you connect when what you’re holding back is the poison to your relationship?

The remedy which I seek for solitude does not exist. Like the fountain of youth, it is only passed on as a rumor by morning talk show hosts, lifestyle magazines, and hopeful dopes. 

It’s impossible to question life- I am not an expert. No one is. It’s a thing much older than I am and has been around longer than anyone can count (yes, even scientists can’t determine its creation). It seems strange to me that we are given the gift and the curse of other people’s presence. But then again, this strangeness is nothing new. After all, the demons we believe come with isolation are only the pets of our imagination.

We come into this machine of life alone, and the same way we shall exit. 

I Am Refusing This Assignment of “This Means Something”

Above this writing, is a blank space. An irksome void. 

The way people cling to find meaning is like the way they try to fill this space. Doodling. Writing lyrics. Pasting a picture. Whatever they wish.  

All this really is, is an empty space. It is nothing more than that.

This space holds no meaning. It is not a place to store dreams. It is not an inspiration for success. It is not a sad promise of failure. It is what it is- a blank space on a blog entry of some girl in a high school philosophy class.

There is no such thing as some thing that I know means something. There never has been. People can over complicate life as much as they want to and run laps around the idea of trying, but they do so only because accepting the lack of organization and purpose of life is too simple of an idea for them to burden. 

Class Direction

Being that each student signed up for this class, I assume that everyone wants to learn and explore the ideas of philosophy. When applying my philosophy on how the class should be directed, I think that there really doesn't need to be a specific way of teaching the class.

Ideas are meant to bounce around the room, opinions are meant to be vocalized, and frustration can be guranteed for some, if not, most students. With 30 different individuals running the class, it is near impossible to not have conflicitng points of view. It is true, that certain students will talk at the highest volume possible before the conversations turns into shouting, but that's a good thing- it means that students are listening (or pretending to listen) to each other and using their brains. Philosophy has everything to do with the brain, so this class is a good check up that makes sure we use it from time to time.

Yes, I and many others can get upset or perplexed with certain topics, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't dive deeper and find the real meaning behind them. It was from our class discussions that I learned to think beyond what I know, and to explore the unknown terrains of life. Personally, these class discussions fascinate me. It's a time where I can trully inspect the differences of people and enrich my understanding of foreign opinions.

 After discussing a compilation of the varying themes of life, I discovered that the only reason we have not shown up to class dressed as our favorite philosophers and shouting at the top of our lungs the views they portrayed, is because CPS has regulations and teachers have mouths to feed (this idea seems pretty fascinating, maybe we can call it "Philosopher Showdown" or something cheesy like that. Actually, we should do this. I'd love to see kids show up to class in togas and Renaissance-like attire, yelling from beneath graying beards and thick, handlebar mustaches.)

Though the class can be disruptive to Mr. McCarthy's lesson plan, and we also can get a bit rowdy with our adolescent habbits, I think the little quirks of the class are only natural and aide us in building knowledge and understanding.

Who Will Win the Election: A "Multiple" Party System

Voltaire and Camus, both great thinkers, would not vote for the standard democrat/republican. These men see beyond the stereotypical candidates and are drawn to ideas not many men wish to dwell upon.

Voltaire, a man of double entendres, risked his life to point out the flaws of society. He would not vote for a Mitt Romney, as his views on the government are extreme and he wants consistency and strength in a leader- not some indecisive wimp. He would not vote for a democrat either, as democracy seems as close to socialism more than any other party. Voltaire, would most likely sleep in on the election day, tend to his "garden", and read The Onion (a popular satirical newspaper.) He would get many a good chuckle out of their articles.

Camus was an absurdist, and believed that humans exist in a meaningless and irrational world. Whoever he voted for would not really matter, as life has no meaning. If given the choice not to vote, he would sleep in and enjoy a pack of cigarettes. If forced to vote on a candidate, he would close his eyes, hum Eenie-Meenie-Minie-Mo and vote for whoever his finger landed on on the ballot.  He would find no pleasure in doing so, coolly step out of the voting booth, and take a long walk in nature with his environmentally unfriendly cigarettes. Ron Paul and his libertarian views would suit Camus the most, but Camus wouldn't care enough to look into political party views.

The Meaning of Life

All of the things which occur inside of my head are meaningful. My opinions, ideas, creations, and discoveries-all which my brain encodes and stores within- create purpose in my life. Discovering new information, questioning the ideas around me, and forming conclusions provides and incentive for me to move on, to take life day by day, and to mature to my best potential.

The opinions of others,  although  meaningful to most people and an important influence in life, do not necessarily matter. They only impact the person who is willing to believe that they do. Life is not meant to be lived by the standards of others- ideally you are the only one who can create a standard or achieve the perfection you desire in life.

I can not tell you the purpose behind living- I can only share what keeps me going. You can answer this question as vaguely or in as much detail as you please, but the size of the view for this matter doesn't change anything.

We each have a different purpose, a different pursuit, and a unique destination. The things which we encounter along the way can only be deemed important by us. We give ourselves importance. We give meaning to an action or object. We manifest our own meaning to life.

Candide and his Crime

The only fair in life I know is the bus fare.

Every experience which Candide has lived through can only be blamed on his own doings-he has had so many chances to prove himself a worthy thinker, and yet, he chose his ignorance over decent analytical skills. If punishing him for his lack of intelligence is what “the universe” or some other entity has dished out, then he deserves it. He may never understand why, but if he ever does, then he may be less dimwitted than I thought him to be.

It really does suck to not get away with something, to almost squeeze by with luck. Things do happen for a reason, and like a chain of events, our past catches up with us and snowballs into whatever we are meant to face in the future. You can get lucky only so many times, but once luck runs out, then all which is left are the outlines of our actions.

Eventually, we pay for our mistakes in some form or another. Physical punishment is just the same as mental punishment, if not, an easier sentence. 

Where was his conscious throughout the craziness of his life? 

Questioning the Question of How We Know What We Know

To be fair and honest, I don’t quite know how we know what we know. We seem to think so highly of ourselves because of our heightened awareness, yet even the largest universe or the smallest atom have the questionable power to make us doubt the rules of knowledge. 

A scientist will argue with microscopes and telescopes; a teacher with sources and documents; a theologian with principles and faith- but how much of what we collectively know takes part in how much I, the individual, know?

 Why must we give our senses the credit of knowledge? The brain is really what handles the dirty work of human functioning.What my brain signals to me as the almighty truth is nothing more than connections made by neurotransmitters. These little “messengers” tell all of my other senses what to do and how to do it, with death being the answer to their pestering whys.

 Knowledge is not matter- you can’t touch it. Nor is it an emotion- you can’t feel it. Knowledge is a scrapbook of answers, which will never be connected, no matter how hard we glue the pages together.

I question everything and how well I really know these points in my life. The more I try to rationalize with myself   and simply state to my brain, “This must be true because I had a firsthand account or was told of one”, the more I wonder how real these sensations are.

I like to think that there is nothing more to life than just what I can connect in my head, but somehow, I can’t. The possibilities of what I don’t know are infinite.

Knowledge is tempting and fairly easy to acquire, but understanding myself and how life's points are linked, is one grain of knowledge truly worth searching for

I thought this was funny. Really wanted to post this up

The Value of the Unexamined Life/ The Modern Day Gadfly

I disagree with the statement Socrates made that, "the unexamined life is not worth living." 

To examine life is a curse we chose upon ourselves. We are followed by the mocking shadows of our consciousness, the streams of our thoughts, and the awareness of ourselves and our surroundings. Examination goes beyond the instinct of self preservation and extends into the realms of trivial aspects of our lives. The core principle of our being is to survive another day, live to see the break of daylight, avoid death; however you choose to phrase it. Once you push aside the policies and ways of life we invented for ourselves, humanity comes down to animalistic behaviors. The only things we must do-things which preserve humanity-are the same things which any other organism does.

We never realize how burdened we are by examination. Too much or too little of a dose is lethal- if you do it incorrectly, then the outcome and effects can be damaging upon life itself. Examination is constantly stressed as growth- but why is not light shone upon the ways in which it deteriorates the human psyche?  

People have traumatic experiences and push those memories away as a means of self preservation. Reflection has been advertised as cleansing, but it also has a way of tending to the strongly rooted weeds of difficulties and struggles. Will my life be more complete if I reflect upon haunting experiences, even if they cripple my sense of security and trust? Will questioning the random paths of life and the preselected circumstances I am born into give me peace of mind?

Society pressures us to think beyond our instincts and beyond what we know to be absolute. Selfishness is what has kept the human race in existence for so many years. We are but another species inhabiting the Earth, and once the time comes when we enter into the realm of extinction, then what can we say about examination and its contribution to our existence? Life of other sorts goes on with or without us- nature is not hindered by our inability to continue our race. 

To me, an example of a modern day Gadfly would be Stephen Colbert. I've watched many of his episodes and noted that he relies on his intuition to ask the questions we all want to ask-the ones which extend beyond the line of "thinking" and "doing." He is very perceptive of present issues and knows how to stimulate the viewers minds. He knows how to control any interview, and enjoys doing so. Even through his humorous news updates, sketches, and segments, he always gives a clue away as to what issue he is trying to point out.   

Eulogy

Hello everyone, and welcome.

We are all gathered here today to remeber and honor the memory of Justyna. She was a beloved daughter, sister, and friend to us all.

Justyna was a remarkable young woman blessed with talents and intuition. She was a terrific piano player as well as a singer. I remember her musical discovery at the age of 8 when she decided to learn to play the piano because her best friend did. A year later, she told her father and me that she wanted to also sign up at her music school to learn to play the violin. From then on, she continued her musical journey and signed up for choir both at her elementary and high school.  My husband was truly proud of her and in awe at her musical pursuit and curiosity, as the musical genes run in his family and not in mine.

My daughter Justyna was also a closet writer. She could not be labeled as a poet, journalist, novelist, or lyricist, as all of those categories equally described her. After she passed away, I found her journals and random scraps of paper stashed away behind a shelf of books in her room. When I found then, I reminded myself of the few times she showed me her written pieces. With my sons I was unable to connect with them on an expressive level, but with her, my poetry writing found a willing ear that always listened and helped me to unfold the context within my poems.

She was a great listener and the peace maker whenever a conflict arose. Having an older and younger brother meant that she was always stuck in the middle of their teenage angst and coming of age phases. From them, she learned quickly and became a mediator for friends and family conflicts. She was also a very silly and happy girl. Her jokes might have caused my jaw to drop a few times, but I always reminded myself of the kind heart she possessed. She was planning on going to the Peace Corp. after college. I wish I could have told her how proud of her I was for making such an important decision in life and for willingly helping others in need.

Justyna was also academically gifted. She was reading before all of her classmates and always expressed curiosity in school. Multiple times, her teachers recommended that she skip a grade and advance herself academically. I was always scared that she would not fit in with the kids older than her and that I would have one less year with my daughter before going off to college. She was only a year away from graduating high school before her tragic accident took away a beautiful life.

She will always remain with us in our hearts, spirits and minds. We will always remember the beautiful person that my daughter Justyna was. Thank you.