I'm feeling more and more like Los Angeles isn't the place I want to be. Which is crazy. And stupid. I'm closer to my family. I can call them and talk to them, and even see them if I really needed to. It's pretty much the opposite of London in that respect.
And in others too. LA is a much newer city than London. And I kind of have a thing about cities.
I don't like them.
That's pretty much it.
I like a sense of community. And I don't feel that in cities. But I did in London. Even though it's the largest city in Europe, I still felt like there was a sense of community there. Even though I got way more up close and personal with people on the Tube whose names I will probably never know, I still felt like I was a part of it, I wasn't just some new kid who would never really fit in. And that's how I feel about LA. That I can live here forever, but I'll never be a part of it.
I also think that an older city has had so much time to get things wrong. And they have an amazing ability to get things right. Eventually. Like the guys who clean up the streets of London. It creates jobs and keeps the city looking great. Also, the carts they have seem the best way to do what they do. And I love that. Like transportation. I realize that putting a lot of underground tubing throughout the city of Los Angeles might be a bit hazardous (due to small things like earthquakes, and the number of fault lines there are out here), but transportation here is legen-wait for it-dary-ily AWFUL! I can now verify that. It really is horrible. It can take 30 minutes to get 3 miles. It's so bad it's painful. There have been more instances than I care to think where I have either wanted to, or actually started hitting my head on my steering wheel while I'm stuck in some of the worst (read the WORST. EVER.) traffic I've ever seen. Even on weekends. Which stuns me.
I think I thought LA would be different. But I don't know what I thought it would be different from. Maybe from other cities. I've never really been a big fan of big cities. And maybe because it was in California, it wouldn't feel like a big city. On that, I was most painfully wrong. It's like a big city, but spread out - Cali-style. Which makes it even worse. It's just a city. A big, spread out, ugly city with a smog problem.
Maybe from where I've lived. Where I live in NorCal, and before that, Texas, and even in upstate New York, they're all small cities. Like REALLY SMALL. And in that, I guess I was right.
I think mostly I thought that what would be different was... me. And how I would feel about all of it. But I'm not. I'm exactly who I thought I was. I'm a girl who feels out of place in a big city, just the same as I do in town in the middle of nowhere. And I'm just trying to find the place where I don't.
Sunday, 26 August 2012
Saturday, 18 August 2012
Thoughts on Los Angeles: This Wonderful World
I'm a writer. I'd like to be a screenwriter. Someday. I like to think of myself as an artist. As a creator. Someone who makes things that someone else can see and relate to. That's the kind of movies I'd like to make.
I'm in Los Angeles now. In Hollywood. That's where the magic happens. Where movies happen.
Right? That's what everyone says. And by sheer majority, they have to be... well... right. Don't they?
My roommate, Daisy, and I were talking about it, and the world, our world here, it's a lot smaller than you would think. Like how our program chair said he's good friends with costume designer for Daisy's favorite show, where she's interning now. It's a freaking small world. And it's the world I need to be a part of, if I want to do... what I want to do. To write, and to make movies. I need to be here. And I am here. So it's perfect.
Right?
As I get settled here though, I start to wonder if it's a world I want to be a part of... The high-stress world of who-knows-who and who's-seen-doing-what. Maybe that's just the stars. And maybe I can't judge it yet. I've only just gotten here.
But I've always found my own way of doing things. I'm starting to wonder if that's what I'm meant to do with the rest of my life.
I'm in Los Angeles now. In Hollywood. That's where the magic happens. Where movies happen.
Right? That's what everyone says. And by sheer majority, they have to be... well... right. Don't they?
My roommate, Daisy, and I were talking about it, and the world, our world here, it's a lot smaller than you would think. Like how our program chair said he's good friends with costume designer for Daisy's favorite show, where she's interning now. It's a freaking small world. And it's the world I need to be a part of, if I want to do... what I want to do. To write, and to make movies. I need to be here. And I am here. So it's perfect.
Right?
As I get settled here though, I start to wonder if it's a world I want to be a part of... The high-stress world of who-knows-who and who's-seen-doing-what. Maybe that's just the stars. And maybe I can't judge it yet. I've only just gotten here.
But I've always found my own way of doing things. I'm starting to wonder if that's what I'm meant to do with the rest of my life.
Wednesday, 1 August 2012
London, Part 1: Leaving for London
This spring, I studied in London. It was an incredible experience. But is was an experience that I can't just sum up in a few stories, or blog posts. it was wonderful, and terrifying, and completely maddening sometimes, and awful, and so many things I can't even describe. But there were some things I can tell you simply.
I stayed for four months - 9 January to 30 April.
Our school has a campus there, so I never had to transfer or anything.
I took classes - Drama and the London Theatre, Intro to British Styles of Acting, Stage Combat, and Victorian Art & Society.
We don't have housing there, we had to find our own flat.
I got an internship in Soho at a small digital media/post production company - TC Soho.
I spent a weekend in Dublin, a week in Spain, and another weekend in Stratford-upon-Avon.
I drank.
I fell in love with the language (yes, it's different), the transportation system, the money, and the city.
Mostly I can tell you that I went with two good friends, and came back with four great ones.
Other than that, I can't just list off facts and stories all willy nilly. It wasn't just a vacation I can give you the highlights from. It was four months. And it was our life.
We lived there, all of us. Not just my flat, but others too, the 120 other students who took the same semester we did, but had completely different experiences. And all 120 of us were Londoners.
But if I'm going to start anywhere (and I think I better be starting somewhere, you've read all this way expecting something, and I better hop to it), I might as well start at the beginning:
My brother drove me to the airport. I normally fly out of this airport, and it's one of my favorites in the US (and maybe the world). But it was strange this time. First, it was daytime – I'm never that lucky with flights, I'm always leaving at some ungodly hour, and usually getting in at another ungodly hour, much to my family's dismay. Second, it was the international terminal. With international flights, and international shops, and international security. Overwhelming doesn't even cover it. It's nicer than the rest of the airport, not that it's bad, international is just that, said with a bit of posh and usually represented in stainless steel. Third, I was leaving for London, not just across the country. And that was weird. Strange, and weird, and overwhelming, and something you just have to do and keep doing because if you freak out, you're going to miss your flight, and maybe that's what you want, or think you want, but if you do, you've just wasted an awful lot of money on the plane ticket...
So no matter what I thought, I got on the plane. And 12 hours, 2 terrible plane meals, an awful night's sleep, and one terribly long wait at the gate, I was in London.
Actually that's a pretty interesting tid-bit: we had to wait at the gate for FOREVER (and it wasn't really that long, but after a VERY long plane ride, it seemed to be a very, very long time...) because, for some reason, they didn't have a jet bridge for us, and they needed to find stairs for us to de-board (or is it 'de-plane... whatever. We had to get off the plane) and they brought over at least two sets of stairs that weren't the right height. I had a window on the left side of the plane, so I got to watch all the insanity. It also ended up being the largest set of stairs on wheels I've ever seen. But really.
Thanks for reading <3
I stayed for four months - 9 January to 30 April.
Our school has a campus there, so I never had to transfer or anything.
I took classes - Drama and the London Theatre, Intro to British Styles of Acting, Stage Combat, and Victorian Art & Society.
We don't have housing there, we had to find our own flat.
I got an internship in Soho at a small digital media/post production company - TC Soho.
I spent a weekend in Dublin, a week in Spain, and another weekend in Stratford-upon-Avon.
I drank.
I fell in love with the language (yes, it's different), the transportation system, the money, and the city.
Mostly I can tell you that I went with two good friends, and came back with four great ones.
Other than that, I can't just list off facts and stories all willy nilly. It wasn't just a vacation I can give you the highlights from. It was four months. And it was our life.
We lived there, all of us. Not just my flat, but others too, the 120 other students who took the same semester we did, but had completely different experiences. And all 120 of us were Londoners.
But if I'm going to start anywhere (and I think I better be starting somewhere, you've read all this way expecting something, and I better hop to it), I might as well start at the beginning:
My brother drove me to the airport. I normally fly out of this airport, and it's one of my favorites in the US (and maybe the world). But it was strange this time. First, it was daytime – I'm never that lucky with flights, I'm always leaving at some ungodly hour, and usually getting in at another ungodly hour, much to my family's dismay. Second, it was the international terminal. With international flights, and international shops, and international security. Overwhelming doesn't even cover it. It's nicer than the rest of the airport, not that it's bad, international is just that, said with a bit of posh and usually represented in stainless steel. Third, I was leaving for London, not just across the country. And that was weird. Strange, and weird, and overwhelming, and something you just have to do and keep doing because if you freak out, you're going to miss your flight, and maybe that's what you want, or think you want, but if you do, you've just wasted an awful lot of money on the plane ticket...
So no matter what I thought, I got on the plane. And 12 hours, 2 terrible plane meals, an awful night's sleep, and one terribly long wait at the gate, I was in London.
Actually that's a pretty interesting tid-bit: we had to wait at the gate for FOREVER (and it wasn't really that long, but after a VERY long plane ride, it seemed to be a very, very long time...) because, for some reason, they didn't have a jet bridge for us, and they needed to find stairs for us to de-board (or is it 'de-plane... whatever. We had to get off the plane) and they brought over at least two sets of stairs that weren't the right height. I had a window on the left side of the plane, so I got to watch all the insanity. It also ended up being the largest set of stairs on wheels I've ever seen. But really.
Thanks for reading <3
How I Got Into College
As I close my eyes, Miss Leadingham tells us to envision our lives next year. I see myself in Ithaca's forms, waking up early to get a practice room before my first class. Quietly, I creep into the soundproof room and close the door, even though no one can hear me. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, a ritual now, savoring every moment I have here. This is where I'm meant to be, to live and breathe and learn, I think to myself. I love that I have been given the opportunity to come here, what I can accomplish, who I can become in the next phase of my life. Studying English, and writing, and music, and film and everything I can, I love it here. I'll love it there. I'm scared, of course, I won't know anyone, and I have never made friends with ease, but I know I'll love it at Ithaca, despite those fears.
I have found solace in words, but I can't find 500 of them, or even 1,000 that describe those feelings enough to make you fall in love with my application. How can you expect any high school senior to write the essay that really describes who she is to people who don't even know her – in 500 words? I want to make a good first impression, to tell you all about my life, the events taht have made me who I am today, how learning my brother does drugs, actually brought us closer together, even though it tore my family apart; how finding Ithaca had the academic programs i needed and the extracurricular activities I wanted made me certain of the next step; how breaking my ankle and starting high school on crutches ended my hopes of a gymnastics career; how finding writing and what it could do for me, helped me find myself; how music is the most emotional experience in my life on a daily basis; how I felt connected to Ithaca and its musical history in an instant. But I can't. I can't tell you all about myself, or even one life changing moment, because some of those are times in my life I don't care to relive. I can tell you about the defining moments that I cherish because I love who I am now, because of them, but am also afraid to describe to people who can't see life the way I do. I wish I could tell you how all of that feels in 1,000 words because even more than that, I can't describe to you how the quiet little town of Ithaca made me feel like I was home, in a place that I had never imagined existed.
My defining moments are those that happen inside my head, where others can't see and judge and compare me to anyone else. For years I wanted to be a gymnast, and a chemist, and a veteranarian, and then a writer.
"You may begin the test now," the proctor tells us. Already bored out of my skyll, I flip to the first page of the 9th grade math standardized state test. Forty-six questions later and no less bored, a phrase flows into my head while I'm avoiding thinking about the quadratic formula. "He held my heart." Not knowing what these words are, but loving the flow and the repeated "he" sound, I am compelled to write another. This one flows just as smoothly into my head, "He made it crack." Furiously I scribble them down on the empty space on the test – I don't want to lose them. I return to the quadratic formula, and question 47, but I have the unquenchable urge to keep writing. Ten minutes later, 12 more lines, yet no farther along in the test, I feel satisfied – finished.
I am skilled at using words to show people a life and a reality that they might not be able to imagine. I found writing, not the script, but within myself, and finding that buried so deep, I found myself. When asked, I say with pride, "I'm a writer," a simple statement that I have no doubt about, that strikes a chord of peace within me. Writing is a constant, a constant effort, a constant source of joy – but that doesn't mean it's all I do, or all I am.
Being a musician is in my soul, part of my fate, a part that I continue to work towards. I know I'm supposed to tell you that I've worked so hard, come so hard, and that I believe I've become the best musician I can be. I don't want to. I'm a liar, so often, so easily, but not right now, for this purpose, I don't feel like lying. That might be the worst idea, but at least I'm trying to be honest. I'm lazy, I don't always practice although I know I should and I have the time. I may not always live up to my fullest potential, but I do live with passion and a love for music that is rivaled only by my love of love, and love of writing.
I didn't always know I would study music in college, not the way I did writing. Grant, my flute teacher, mentioned one week that he was a performer. He could get up on a stange and love it – every time. As he said this, I realised I wasnt' the performer he was, that I was a more behind-the-scenes girl. The feeling that flooded through me a sI thought of this was one of sincere truth. I said then, "I want to make it. Make music." I knew then that if I didn't study music for the rest of my life, seriously study it, I would not be living up to the person that I am meant to be. Like writing, theis is what I know I want to do with the rest o fmy life. I love it, the way I love my writing, and how my room feels entirely me. It's who I am, and it's who I dream of being.
Dreaming of the places in my mind, finding somewhere to belong, to study, and meet people and do extraordinary things, Ithaca drifts through my mind. The scenerey I found there, and the beautiful architecture of hte music building, a place I could feel at home – surrounded by strangers – any time. I feel at peave with what I find there, a place I've discovered that found me; a place wher I can be the one of a kind, shy, outspoken person that I have become; a place that I feel inexplicably drawn to; a place where I'm meant to be, meant to create words that change lives and make music that inspires souls.
I know it's kind of lame, but these words were the ones that changed my life. This is how I got into college. How do you really say no to this?
Thanks for reading <3
I have found solace in words, but I can't find 500 of them, or even 1,000 that describe those feelings enough to make you fall in love with my application. How can you expect any high school senior to write the essay that really describes who she is to people who don't even know her – in 500 words? I want to make a good first impression, to tell you all about my life, the events taht have made me who I am today, how learning my brother does drugs, actually brought us closer together, even though it tore my family apart; how finding Ithaca had the academic programs i needed and the extracurricular activities I wanted made me certain of the next step; how breaking my ankle and starting high school on crutches ended my hopes of a gymnastics career; how finding writing and what it could do for me, helped me find myself; how music is the most emotional experience in my life on a daily basis; how I felt connected to Ithaca and its musical history in an instant. But I can't. I can't tell you all about myself, or even one life changing moment, because some of those are times in my life I don't care to relive. I can tell you about the defining moments that I cherish because I love who I am now, because of them, but am also afraid to describe to people who can't see life the way I do. I wish I could tell you how all of that feels in 1,000 words because even more than that, I can't describe to you how the quiet little town of Ithaca made me feel like I was home, in a place that I had never imagined existed.
My defining moments are those that happen inside my head, where others can't see and judge and compare me to anyone else. For years I wanted to be a gymnast, and a chemist, and a veteranarian, and then a writer.
"You may begin the test now," the proctor tells us. Already bored out of my skyll, I flip to the first page of the 9th grade math standardized state test. Forty-six questions later and no less bored, a phrase flows into my head while I'm avoiding thinking about the quadratic formula. "He held my heart." Not knowing what these words are, but loving the flow and the repeated "he" sound, I am compelled to write another. This one flows just as smoothly into my head, "He made it crack." Furiously I scribble them down on the empty space on the test – I don't want to lose them. I return to the quadratic formula, and question 47, but I have the unquenchable urge to keep writing. Ten minutes later, 12 more lines, yet no farther along in the test, I feel satisfied – finished.
I am skilled at using words to show people a life and a reality that they might not be able to imagine. I found writing, not the script, but within myself, and finding that buried so deep, I found myself. When asked, I say with pride, "I'm a writer," a simple statement that I have no doubt about, that strikes a chord of peace within me. Writing is a constant, a constant effort, a constant source of joy – but that doesn't mean it's all I do, or all I am.
Being a musician is in my soul, part of my fate, a part that I continue to work towards. I know I'm supposed to tell you that I've worked so hard, come so hard, and that I believe I've become the best musician I can be. I don't want to. I'm a liar, so often, so easily, but not right now, for this purpose, I don't feel like lying. That might be the worst idea, but at least I'm trying to be honest. I'm lazy, I don't always practice although I know I should and I have the time. I may not always live up to my fullest potential, but I do live with passion and a love for music that is rivaled only by my love of love, and love of writing.
I didn't always know I would study music in college, not the way I did writing. Grant, my flute teacher, mentioned one week that he was a performer. He could get up on a stange and love it – every time. As he said this, I realised I wasnt' the performer he was, that I was a more behind-the-scenes girl. The feeling that flooded through me a sI thought of this was one of sincere truth. I said then, "I want to make it. Make music." I knew then that if I didn't study music for the rest of my life, seriously study it, I would not be living up to the person that I am meant to be. Like writing, theis is what I know I want to do with the rest o fmy life. I love it, the way I love my writing, and how my room feels entirely me. It's who I am, and it's who I dream of being.
Dreaming of the places in my mind, finding somewhere to belong, to study, and meet people and do extraordinary things, Ithaca drifts through my mind. The scenerey I found there, and the beautiful architecture of hte music building, a place I could feel at home – surrounded by strangers – any time. I feel at peave with what I find there, a place I've discovered that found me; a place wher I can be the one of a kind, shy, outspoken person that I have become; a place that I feel inexplicably drawn to; a place where I'm meant to be, meant to create words that change lives and make music that inspires souls.
I know it's kind of lame, but these words were the ones that changed my life. This is how I got into college. How do you really say no to this?
Thanks for reading <3
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)