Tag Archive: life

Finding Myself

“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.”
― George R.R. MartinA Game of Thrones


I’m sure I’m not the only one who has ever felt a little lost. I’m at a point where I don’t know what I’m doing, and am just plain tired of the stress, worry, and everything. Ever been in that place where a lot of your day to day life seems fake? Yeah. Not going to lie, that is and has been me for a while. But in the midst of this, I’ve also been trying to figure out who I am and establish a ‘me’ that I was the best possible, and best of all, real. It’s funny how life throws you into situations that help counsel you, and guide you in the right direction, towards a path of learning and healing.

So it was perfect when my pastor began a sermon on The Identity Lie last night. Now I’m not going to get into the religious part of that, but there was one story that he shared with us that was just so powerful I can’t help but want to share it. It moved me, and really got me thinking. When I got home I did a quick internet search and found it on another wordpress blog called Writing Canvas. 

When I sailed to Kiniwata, an island in the Pacific, I took along a notebook. After I got back it was filled with descriptions of flora and fauna, native customs and costume. But the only note that still interests me is the one that says: “Johnny Lingo gave eight cows to Sarita’s father.” And I don’t need to have it in writing. I’m reminded of it every time I see a woman belittling her husband or a wife withering under her husband’s scorn. I want to say to them, “You should know why Johnny Lingo paid eight cows for his wife.”

Johnny Lingo wasn’t exactly his name. But that’s what Shenkin, the manager of the guest house on Kiniwata, called him. Shenkin was from Chicago and had a habit of Americanizing the names of the islanders. But Johnny was mentioned by many people in many connections. If I wanted to spend a few days on the neighboring island of Nurabandi, Johnny Lingo would put me up. If I wanted to fish he could show me where the biting was best. If it was pearls I sought, he would bring the best buys. The people of Kiniwata all spoke highly of Johnny Lingo. Yet when they spoke they smiled, and the smiles were slightly mocking.

“Get Johnny Lingo to help you find what you want and let him do the bargaining,” advised Shenkin.

“Johnny knows how to make a deal.”

“Johnny Lingo! A boy seated nearby hooted the name and rocked with laughter.

“What goes on?” I demanded. “everybody tells me to get in touch with Johnny Lingo and then breaks up. Let me in on the joke.”

“Oh, the people like to laugh,” Shenkin said, shruggingly. “Johnny’s the brightest, the strongest young man in the islands, And for his age, the richest.”

“But if he’s all you say, what is there to laugh about?”

“Only one thing. Five months ago, at fall festival, Johnny came to Kiniwata and found himself a wife. He paid her father eight cows!”

I knew enough about island customs to be impressed. Two or three cows would buy a fair-to-middling wife, four or five a highly satisfactory one.

“Good Lord!” I said, “Eight cows! She must have beauty that takes your breath away.”

“She’s not ugly,” he conceded, and smiled a little. “But the kindest could only call Sarita plain. Sam Karoo, her father, was afraid she’d be left on his hands.”

“But then he got eight cows for her? Isn’t that extraordinary?”

“Never been paid before.”

“Yet you call Johnny’s wife plain?”

“I said it would be kindness to call her plain. She was skinny. She walked with her shoulders hunched and her head ducked. She was scared of her own shadow.”

“Well,” I said, “I guess there’s just no accounting for love.”

“True enough,” agreed the man. “And that’s why the villagers grin when they talk about Johnny. They get special satisfaction from the fact that the sharpest trader in the islands was bested by dull old Sam Karoo.”

“But how?”

“No one knows and everyone wonders. All the cousins were urging Sam to ask for three cows and hold out for two until he was sure Johnny’d pay only one. Then Johnny came to Sam Karoo and said, ‘Father of Sarita, I offer eight cows for your daughter.’”

“Eight cows,” I murmured. “I’d like to meet this Johnny Lingo.”

“And I wanted fish. I wanted pearls. So the next afternoon I beached my boat at Nurabandi. And I noticed as I asked directions to Johnny’s house that his name brought no sly smile to the lips of his fellow Nurabandians. And when I met the slim, serious young man, when he welcomed me with grace to his home, I was glad that from his own people he had respect unmingled with mockery. We sat in his house and talked. Then he asked, “You come here from Kiniwata?”


“They speak of me on that island?”

“They say there’s nothing I might want they you can’t help me get.”

He smiled gently. “My wife is from Kiniwata.”

“Yes, I know.”

“They speak of her?”

“A little.”

“What do they say?”

“Why, just…”   The question caught me off balance. “They told me you were married at festival time.”

“Nothing more?”   The curve of his eyebrows told me he knew there had to be more.

“They also say the marriage settlement was eight cows.” I paused.

“They wonder why.”

“They ask that?” His eyes lightened with pleasure. “Everyone in Kiniwata knows about the eight cows?”

I nodded.

“And in Nurabandi everyone knows it too.” His chest expanded with satisfaction. “Always and forever, when they speak of marriage settlements, it will be remembered that Johnny Lingo paid eight cows for Sarita.”

So that’s the answer, I thought: vanity.

And then I saw her. I watched her enter the room to place flowers on the table. She stood still a moment to smile at the young man beside me. Then she went swiftly out again. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The lift of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin the sparkle of her eyes all spelled a pride to which no one could deny her the right. I turned back to Johnny Lingo and found him looking at me.

“You admire her?” he murmured.

“She…she’s glorious. But she’s not Sarita from Kiniwata,” I said.

“There’s only one Sarita. Perhaps she does not look the way they say she looked in Kiniwata.”

“She doesn’t. I heard she was homely. They all make fun of you because you let yourself be cheated by Sam Karoo.”

“You think eight cows were too many?”

A smile slid over his lips. “No. But how can she be so different?”

“Do you ever think,” he asked, “what it must mean to a woman to know that her husband has settled on the lowest price for which she can be bought? And then later, when the women talk, they boast of what their husbands paid for them. One says four cows, another maybe six. How does she feel, the woman who was sold for one or two? This could not happen to my Sarita.”

“Then you did this just to make your wife happy?”

“I wanted Sarita to be happy, yes. But I wanted more than that. You say she is different This is true. Many things can change a woman. Things that happen inside, things that happen outside. But the thing that matters most is what she thinks about herself. In Kiniwata, Sarita believed she was worth nothing. Now she knows she is worth more than any other woman in the islands.”

“Then you wanted -”

“I wanted to marry Sarita. I loved her and no other woman.”

“But —” I was close to understanding.

“But,” he finished softly, “I wanted an eight-cow wife.”
Tell me that didn’t at least elicit an ‘awww’ from you. 🙂 That, along with the message of the service set me up for a long night of thinking of identity and perception. This morning in my sociology class my teacher brought up the concept of a looking glass self. This basically says that our definition of self derives from how we believe others perceive us.  That’s a bit of a confusing concept. What we think of ourselves is directly based upon how we think others think of us… Never the less, I can’t help but feel that this is true. My mind drifted back to the Johnny Lingo story. How clearer can such a point be made.
In another thought I was brought to a book a read last December Every You, Every Me by David Levithan, The basis of his beautifully crafted, and slightly weird plot was how every person around us knows a different ‘you’. That may sound odd, but isn’t there at least some truth to it? Think of how you act with your best friend. Now, move to your family, other friends, acquaintances, co-workers, boss, and crush/significant other.  Don’t you try to project a different persona with each of these? Are any of them less you? No, of course not. But your actions with them affect their perception of you. The culmination of all these ‘yous’, plus whoever you are when you are alone, are held within you and you must deal with all of them.
So these are my thoughts on the matter. If you made it all the way through this post of thought puke, bless you. I’m still working through this myself. From what I have gathered thus far, I can’t help but come to the conclusion that if you tell yourself that you are an ‘eight cow wife’ then you will become one inside and to those around you. What are your thoughts on the matter? How do you identify yourself?


Through My Eyes

Well that’s all for now guys, So until next time, Keep on Dreaming &*)



A Humble Hello

The most sacred place dwells within our heart, where dreams are born and secrets sleep, a mystical refuge of darkness and light, fear and conquest, adventure and discovery, challenge and transformation. Our heart speaks for our soul every moment while we are alive. Listen… as the whispering beat repeats: be…gin, be…gin, be…gin. It’s really that simple. Just begin… again.
Royce Addington 


I come to you, dear readers, if there are any of you left, to begin once again this process of blogging. I’m a terrible blogger, I know. For a while there I was doing so well, and there were so many stories I would have loved to share with the world. Trust me, I’m in desperate need of a venting resource. So why did I cease my awesome blogging streak back in June?  Well my computer died.

Rest In Peace little darling.

How did this tragic turn of events occur? What can I say, I am a serial technology killer. Seriously. Anything that even remotely revolves around technology might as well be granted a death certificate when it first touches my hands. My computer? Well, it lost the ability to eat power. If it was just the charger, I would have been back a lot sooner. No, it’s anorexic ways were not caused from a faulty power source, but from the area where said power was consumed. In other words, it was shot.

Hope was not fully lost however, for my beautiful Virus Trap laid in waiting, ready to be of service. Great, right? Wrong.  The lovely contraption was fraught with chronic Narcolepsy. It fell asleep/died literally every five minutes. As you can imagine, after about the fifth time of restarting the thing in a thirty minute period, one begins to become overly irritated. Not precisely a great tool for writing. Not to mention it’s utter hate for youtube, Microsoft Word, and basically every website and program that I enjoy. Needless to say, the situation needed correction.

And correction it got… after over two months of work with people I couldn’t stand and a boss and bitch dream team that tried to get me fired at every turn, I earned enough to buy myself a new laptop. I ordered it off an online deal from a trustworthy source. Now, I have never been a strong believer in the great power that is the postal service and I’ve been wronged by them too many times to count, so why on earth would I ever be stupid enough to trust them with something so valuable that I had worked so hard to receive? Heaven only knows.

The day of the predicted delivery came, and I spent the day stuck at home and anxiously awaiting its arrival. And when we got antsy about the lack of technological presence, we checked my email to see that it had supposedly been delivered an hour before. Insert mad string of cuss words here. After another two hours, several furious phone calls to the shipping company, the accusation of stealing, a visit from an arrogant cop who basically told me to get over it, some angry pacing in the driveway, and a kindhearted delivery man rushing over during his free time and knocking on our neighbors doors until alas he found the missing property, I finally held my new computer in my hands. All was well.

Or so I thought. Remember that trustworthy source from which I bought my computer? Yeah, well they called the next morning saying in essence that, oops we sent you a computer that’s worth two hundred dollars less than the one you ordered which actually happens to be sold out now so would you like us to send you a fifty dollar rebate to make up for it?  As if that wasn’t a hundred and fifty dollars less than what I had been jipped out of. I was pissed. My father bargained with them, getting me another computer equal to the one I thought I had. But we had to buy that one too and then return the one I had to get our money back. Thank goodness for parents, because Lord knows I didn’t have the money to pay for a second computer.

Two weeks later I came into the possession of a laptop that was kind of similar to the one I had wanted. Yup. If you did the math for a timeline here, then you know that this excuse only accounts for the days until about August 29th. So why didn’t I make this post at anytime during the last month? I don’t have a good reason. Excusing school starting and a line up of classes that are going to be the death of me, as well as wrapping up my seasonal job and my recent inability to even think, there is absolutely no good reason for my absence. I forgot. I’m sorry.

So, I’m extending a hand, waving a white flag of surrender, and hoping for a peaceful return. I can’t promise that I will post everyday, but I will try to at least frequent more than once every three months. I want to do this. I do. But I fail at being a blogger. Heck, sometimes I think I fail at life, no matter how much one of my classmates labels me as over dramatic when I vocalized this thought the other day. I’m at a weird place in life right now. My mind isn’t functioning properly and my emotions are going haywire. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. None the less, I want to make this work. It’s not going to be easy, but I’m willing to try. Please forgive me. And if you have stuck around and read this after my absence, thank you. 🙂




Through My Eyes


Well that’s all for now guys, So until next time, Keep on Dreaming &*)


“Life isn’t about the destination but the journey that gets us there”
Guys… I’m not even sure where to begin this post. I am a sincerely bad blogger; I can’t believe it’s been over a year since I’ve visited my little blog ((or more so, the fact that there are still people visiting it after all this time. That is beyond amazing guys <3)) I feel as though I have been simply tripping through life these past several months. Life is going by in a blur, and I have so many great, blogable stories that are just far too outdated to tell now. *sighs* So I guess I will just summarize the last couple of months the best I can.

First off, I was in another play; this one with a much smaller part in a much wider known /musical/ entitled ‘Once upon a Mattress’. I was just in the ensemble, but it was so much fun, and /so/ much work that I was undoubtedly grateful for the role I received.(especially since the guy I like was also in the play) I put so much time and energy into this performance that afterward my day to day life seemed…. as though it was missing a major piece, even as my schedule has been crammed and I feel as though I’m running a mile a minute.
I’ve been working a lot lately on a newish novel which takes a lot of back story writing, research, drowning in depressing music, and slowly scratching of pieces of my soul to envelope my words in. I will post more about this novel in another post (oh looky there, silly little me promising another post. I hope I can hold up to that) but this story truly means a lot to me, and I feel as though I must write it.

I have, somewhat stupidly and quite crazily, volunteered to write the screen play for the historical musical my US history teacher is putting together. I don’t know why I thought I’d have time to do this, or could handle the stress, but it’s all too late now. I’m knee deep and waist high in my own insanity. Way to go Rosey.

I’m in the middle of preparing to for all my finals that’ll be coming up here in the next few weeks. This being said, mostly what I’m doing, aside from studying, is trying to prep my brain for the inevitable mush that it will be turning into soon *nodnod*

In June I will begin my second bout of Camp Nano and be writing my little heart out on said forely mentioned novel. On top of this, I’ve been growing closer to some of my Nano friends, expanding to chatsites, facebook, and the great possibility of a vlogbrothers style youtube collaboration, which should be fun and exciting. We’ll see.

And last, but certainly not least, we have what I was doing today, which was my very first interview for a job at my local pool. I have no idea how that went but I keep replaying every mistake in my head over and over. I stumbled over words, said stupid things that took too long for me to think of, and was shaking through most of the cross examination. Still, I should find out soon whether or not I got the job. I’m quite anxious to see.

Well folks, that’s all for now, so until next time, Keep on dreaming &*)