mylovelylifeinquotations:

This sentence has five words.

iridially:

This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals–sounds that say listen to this, it is important.

Gary Provost

(Source: sweethesound, via wheneeyoremetbelle)

doctormccoy:

our school held the national day of silence today, although it’s technically supposed to be tomorrow. i’ve been doing this since middle school, and i’ve developed a routine of jotting down personal reflections as the day progresses. here are some accounts from today’s day of silence.

——

before first period:

i get that i’ve done this for a while, but honestly, this is the first time the day has started off terribly before it’s even, well, started. i’m seething, there’s a giant cut in my left palm, and i can’t even voice how furious i am right now.

you know those cute rainbow pins we all get when we sign up for a silence card? they’re beautiful, really. i put one on my bag before i got into the car on the way to school- my mistake, since mom immediately saw it.

“what is that?” she hissed, her glare switching between the little pin and my stoic expression. “what is it? why are you wearing that?”

you know damn well what it is, i thought venomously. come on, let’s hear you say it out loud.

“well? well? take it off! don’t you dare put that on! what do you think you’re doing?”

i slowly took the pin off and pocketed it, refusing to meet her eyes or even acknowledge her presence. we drove in silence, and i slammed the car door shut as i left. i imagine i would have put it back on if it’d happened a few years earlier- but i kept it in my pocket, letting the sharp point sink into my hand.

after all, if you can’t outwardly express your feelings, you have no choice but to internalize them instead. i’ll wait until after grad school to tell my parents, but if they can’t accept it within a year of coming out, i’m not going to bother anymore. because it’ll have been fifteen years since i’ve first realized i was bisexual, and hell if i’m staying silent any longer than that. i’m tired. i’m done.

——

before seventh period:

navie and i are close friends, to the point where a lot of people assume we’re in a romantic relationship. everyone seems to be okay with it. the only ones who’ve ever complained were people who were romantically interested in one of us and saw the other as a threat. it’s not an actual issue.

so the scene is pretty standard: we’re both wearing green silence cards, holding hands as i walk her to her next class. she pauses before the classroom door, and i open it and let her walk in first. as i’m closing the door, a derisive male voice booms from the hallway, harsh and distinct over the murmur of people walking past: “what are you, a bunch of lesbians?”

navie and i stare at each other, completely at a loss for words. that couldn’t have actually happened, i think. it’s like middle school all over again, keep your head down and no one will hurt you. but she mouths, was he talking to us? and i’m back to being eighteen years old and furious. i open the door and flip him off without looking, knowing that he’s probably already passed onward.

navie is heterosexual and has an awesome boyfriend. i’m queer, and i’ve had my eye on a guy since september. not that it matters, or that it’s ever mattered. this is a peaceful demonstration. but hell, a part of me wants to take navie, hunt this guy down, and scream in his face:hey, sweetheart, guess what? this bunch of lesbians will happily kick your fucking ass.

——

terrible, right? but here’s the thing: i witness negative reactions to the day of silence all the time. people will mock it every year, and it feels awful every time i see it.

but i still stay silent, and so do a lot of my fellow classmates. because there are a lot of closeted queer folk in our school, way more than you’d ever imagine. there are people who haven’t let on a single hint that they might be anything other than heterosexual. there are people who haven’t realized it yet, but it’ll dawn on them in a year or three or five or twenty, and it’ll hit them like a ton of bricks. and those people need to see that, even among all the jeering and taunts, there are plenty more people who are willing to see them as equals- regardless of who they are or whom they love.

if you’re still skeptical and would rather not participate in the day of silence, that’s absolutely fine. you do what feels right for you. but don’t tell me that it’s pointless or that i shouldn’t be doing it. because for every person who makes fun of the event, i see five more people who smile at me or give me the thumbs up as we quietly pass each other in the halls. for every person who makes a homophobic remark, i see five more people who are silently nodding and smiling at each other in the universal sign for i’m okay, you’re okay, let’s do this. and for every person who thinks it’s okay to look down upon others for something they can’t control, i see five more people who are willing to band together and say: that guy doesn’t have your back, but we’ve got yours.

and if you think that’s pointless, then you’re not getting the point. period.

doctormccoy:

i’ve been learning japanese for the past six years. since seventh grade, i’ve had the same classmates. we were always a small class, and now we’ve really dwindled down- there are fourteen students in the combined AP japanese year I and II class. only seven of them are seniors.

but it’s never been a bad thing for us. seeing the same few faces in the same setting every single year has a real effect on the classroom dynamic. i see my fellow japanese students in a different light than my other classmates. we are a little ragtag family of teenagers all struggling to master kanji and develop a fluent accent, even though we’ve got six years of practice and studying underneath our respective hachimaki. we tease each other, play pranks, have impromptu singing sessions, openly discuss how difficult the exams are as we’re taking them. some of us are a little better at writing or speaking or kanji, but no one actually minds; it’s general knowledge that, regardless of grades, we’ve all been on the same ground before.

 the glue that keeps us together, the head of the household and light of the family- that’s our sensei. we’ve all had her since we first started taking a foreign language. there was one solitary year when our class had a different teacher in middle school, and it was disastrous. everyone was relieved to have our sensei back afterwards, and she’s been our constant ever since. 

sensei is beautiful. on rare occasions, she’ll poke fun at herself about how she’s getting older or gaining weight, but honestly, the only thing that’s changed about her in six years is her hairstyle. but her beauty isn’t what makes her amazing. she’s sweet and kind, patient no matter how rowdy we get, constantly looking out for us and our protection. she’s always polite, too- but once in a blue moon, she’ll say something in japanese that’s so uncharacteristically sassy and hilarious, and the rest of us can’t help but crack up when it happens. sensei talks to us about everything, from japanese culture and current events to philosophical discussions about life and death. 

she’s always been more than a teacher to us, and it shows. even when no one does the homework or gets a good grade on a test, there’s always an unspoken rule in place: don’t upset sensei, don’t cause her trouble, don’t disappoint her. there are a few teachers that i deeply care about at school, but i don’t consider sensei as a teacher at all. she’s more of a second mother to all of us. we don’t try our best because we actually care about getting a good grade- we try our best to make her proud, to see her smile. her happiness is what keeps us going and grounded.

what i’m trying to say is: we love her.

we’re watching a video of messages to japan from all over the world. they’re written in japanese, and sensei pauses every few seconds to explain what each one says to us. her voice falters every now and then, and navie and i exchange looks of concern.

“everyone’s really being so polite, helping each other out,” sensei tells us. “no one’s looting the stores. people don’t honk at each other when there’s traffic. old men are giving up their seats for- for pregnant women-” and she crumples, letting out one broken sob and shaking in her seat.

the room is silent, stricken. a beat.

alana quietly gets up, crosses the room, and wraps her arms around sensei. “group hug,” i call out, already walking over to her side. four other people immediately join us, and arms and hands silently figure out how to cross each other and reach her. sensei sobs, laughs, sobs again- “no, please, don’t do this, thank you, i’ll cry even more now,” and we all tighten our hold. 

we sit back down and finish the video. sensei smiles shakily, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a borrowed tissue. i catch aaron trading wide grins with everyone else. in front of me, navie wordlessly reaches back and clasps my hand. i look at her pale, thin fingers interlaced with mine and think: 希望.