Not exactly sure. . .

I feel like I should write. Though, I’m not exactly sure what to write about. I suppose I should write you a long, romantic story about a young girl who discovered herself amidst turmoil and heart ache. A coming of age story filled with details and tears and an incredibly satisfying and happy ending. I find books and such stories to be an incredibly interesting phenomenon. People have been telling stories and writing books and weaving words since the beginning of time. Whether it was around a fire pit or a fire place; or a small lit up screen they are calling a kindle these days. All these stories seem to have a nice little conclusion—some wrapped up finishing finale. The end. El fin. They all lived happily ever after. But what is that? Life doesn’t have an ending. Even if these bodies we live in do. Why do we love the big finish on a story? Why is it so satisfying to the human psychi to know that everything ended up okay or that it all just ended when surely, it doesn't. It doesn't end. The story will never end. Should never end. And that’s the beauty of it all, right? I believe in a higher power. In eternal life. In a heaven and life beyond living upon this earth and in this body. So as I read my written, personal stories and other stories, I can’t help but feel a bit curious. Will there ever be a last page on humanity? On anything? On everything? Or won’t there always be something? Some kind of energy. I always thought of life made up of millions of little experiences. Even now, I will think of this time of me writing at my laptop separate from whatever happens in the next hour or so. But isn’t life just one continuing experience? As long as I live, I breathe, I laugh, and feel, dream and see—isn’t it all just part of one human experience? What other experiences await when this one is finished. What will they be like, I wonder. Life is so strange. So many things that matter to me now, I will have forgotten in a year or so and will be filled with new worries and new knowledge.  And time? What is that? We keep track of it by the rotation of the earth and the aging of the body.  Did we invent time? What is time to God, I muse.  What is a day in God’s life. With so many people to look after, I wonder if He is kept very busy or if He has time to sit down and think and wonder. Does God wonder? He knows everything. But does he wonder about all that He knows? I wonder about the knowledge I have. About the truth I’ve been given and the lies I’ve believed. Sometimes it is with wondering awe. Sometimes it is with the curiosity of a child I hope to never lose. And we as humans, we write down all this truth and we spew out what we believe to other humans. Always trying to make a point. I don’t understand sometimes. Why are we always trying to make a point to others? This makes me think of the men on the corner here in Provo on Sunday. They held giant crosses, yelling at all of us Mormon college students walking home from church. They yelled out things about Jesus the Christ being the savior and Redeemer of the world. They were being vulgar, screaming in our faces about concepts and truth our church is built upon. In ignorance, they spewed out truth we already knew. In ignorance, they screamed about how horrible we were for not believing in Christ—when in fact we are the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I suppose I just don’t understand to what end they were hoping to accomplish. As to why they would waste a beautiful day standing on a street corner in the hot sun hassling college kids.  Were they hoping for a fight? Were they truly concerned for our seemingly damned, Mormon souls? Did they truly believe that what they were doing was right or were they just doing it, just because.  People are so complicated, so hard to understand. I find even myself, ridiculously hard to understand. It’s because I am constantly changing though. A slave to this thing called time, which wears and tears at my body, expands my ideas and knowledge and brings forth new obstacles to face and conquer.  And right now, I’m perplexed about the tears I find running down my face. Why am I crying? I know sorrow and I know physical pain. These tears are not caused by either of these feelings. What are they? A sense of hopelessness perhaps. A sense of how humans are so unreasonable. And that so much has changed. Maybe I’m crying because I miss the simplicity of ignorance. I almost miss being so clouded in vanity and self-righteous beliefs, for though a foolish child, I was a carefree child. I miss feeling like I was invincible and believing that everyone I loved was invincible. Perhaps I’m crying for humanity and the uncertainty of the future. Or maybe I’m just crying, just to cry. I’m so human.  So vulnerable. And yet I am strong. Why? Why am I so strong? And why do I feel so weak at the same time? So insecure and yet, so sure. I pride myself in being independent and happy yet so much of my happiness is dependent upon those I love. Would I be happy if I were truly alone on this Earth? I’m grateful I don’t have to know the answer to that question by way of experiencing it firsthand. And again, strangely I feel so frustrated towards people. So connected and dependent on technology my peers are. Always plugged into their iPods or texting on their cell phones. I watched some television today as I ate lunch and felt anger when a commercial came on about some little touch-screen, take anywhere television or maybe it was a phone—something. It showed people standing in amazing places outdoors, watching a tv show. Have we really come so far that the need to constantly be entertained is so great? Have we really adapted into these creatures who cannot be alone with their own thoughts for a while? Is this stifling creativity or encouraging it as these products seem to claim? And then, I think. Am I a hypocrite? Using Facebook and my blog as an outlet to feel connected with all those around me.  Aiiieee……I don’t know yet if I’ll post this on my blog or not. .. .

Cheers to being human, right?