Rising Part 2

Apologies for the late post - I was too busy enjoying a view of the BIGGEST. TREES. ON. EARTH. in Sequoia National Park. Of course, with great enjoyment comes great sacrifice - I had no service or WiFi for four days.

I realize that I should finish my no-plot/no-effort/no-idea-umm-what's-going-on-guys story I started last time. It was all just an excuse to write down a cool setting and a half-hearted attempt to add plot to it.

I'm lazy. Sue me.

---

Yes, a cliff. A cliff roughly 200 feet in the air to where it met the lip of my cave, and then extended about 100 feet more above me. It was a long one-way trip to the craggy rocks the sea washed, but I had conquered my fears a long time ago. I considered myself a very rational person, and told myself I did not have a fear of heights, just a fear of falling, and time had acclimated my senses to my airy loft.

Of course, I couldn't hide away in my cave all the time. I would surely starve. The same man who helped me with my doorway curtain had built and hung a sturdy wooden platform outside the opening of the cave that I could step on. A pulley system allowed me to  lift the platform up to the top of the cliff. When it was first built, a rail had stood on the two widths and the length farthest from me, enclosing me on three sides and leaving the cliff wall to be my fourth rail, but a strong wind had blown up from the sea a couple of months ago and smashed my platform into the cliff. Luckily, I wasn't on it at the time, but the rails had broken off and I hadn't the skill needed to repair them. I reassured myself with a doubly strong grip on the ropes and continued using it.

I reached out and pulled the ropes to me, my toes still clutching the rim. The platform swung a bit as I stepped on, but I had come to enjoy the vertigo of the sheer cliffside. It was a short fifteen seconds to the top, and when the platform stopped just below the top of the cliff I had to haul myself over the edge.

By this time the sun was a good ways above the horizon and the birds were out in full force. I stood up and surveyed the flat green plains that stretched for miles in each direction. There was a small town to the east, but I avoided it whenever I could. I didn't like the stares the women there gave me, muttering about properness and civilization.

I pitied the people in the cities. There was no quiet, no privacy, no breathing room. This place was all mine. I breathed in a deep lungful of air, exhaled, and watched the smoke dissolve into the rising sun.

---

I'm bored. So much for that.

Since I spent so much time at the national park, instead of researching a cool animal/plant I'm going to regurgitate everything I can remember about Giant Sequoias from reading/learning from the park rangers.

• What I think the Latin name is: Sequoia sempivirens giganticus. What it really is: Sequoiadendron giganteum. Ah well.
• The biggest living tree IN THE WORLD is General Sherman (biggest meaning volume, not height). It's about 2,100 years old? Idk, you'll have to check that yourself. The person who discovered it named it after Sherman of the Civil War because he had served under him. However, some other socialists bought the land it was on and wanted to call it the Karl Marx Tree. In the end, since this is 'Murica, the park people went with General Sherman.
• The seeds look like flakes of oats. 
• Fire is necessary for sequoia growth, as the heat rises up and makes the cones open and drop their seeds, as well as killing harmful insects and fungi and clearing away the duff on the forest floor so the new seedlings don't have to compete with dead debris.
• The third largest tree IN THE WORLD is the General Grant (Ulysses S.) Tree. This baby is the National Christmas Tree, in case you were wondering, and also a national monument in honor of the US soldiers.
• Their bark contains tannin, the same as redwood, which is fireproof and mostly bug/fungi proof. However, unlike their redwood cousins, sequoias have soft heartwood, making them less than ideal lumber choices. This is why so many of them were eventually saved - because people couldn't make money off them.
• The National Park Service badge/insignia -
                        
  
  
  has a sequoia on it as that tall tree because 3 of the first 4 National Parks were created to protect sequoia trees.
•  The Centennial Tree was cut down in 9 days by two men (I think, I get all the days mixed up, there was another that took 13 days) in the 1800s, cross cut and cut even more into smaller pieces for shipping, and shipped over to the East Coast to show them how big the trees were in California. Their reaction? They said it was a "California Hoax" and was assembled from many different trees.

Oh yeah, and I guess it's New Year's Day. Whoops. Happy New Year's!

Last thought: My grandma got me the book I Am Malala for Christmas, and I finished it last night. The book touched on a poem that really got to me.

     First they came for the communists,
     and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.
     Then they came for the socialists,
     and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a socialist.
     Then they came for the trade unionists,
     and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.
     Then they came for the Jews,
     and I didn't speak out because I was not a Jew.
     Then they came for the Catholics, 
     and I didn't speak out because I was not a Catholic. 
     Then they came for me,
     and there was no one left to speak for me.
                          - Martin Niemöller

Niemöller had lived in Nazi Germany. Make of this scrap what you will.

See you next year.


***PUNNYPUNNYPUN SONG:*** 

The Final Countdown, by Europe

Rising

The first thing I saw when I came to consciousness was nothing. Strangely, it's what I always do first, I try to use my eyes above all other senses. I snuggled deeper into the folds of my blanket, tucked my head further under the edge, and kept my eyes closed, enjoying the warmth and security of a good comforter.

I had a long moment to use my other senses while my eyes enjoyed their prolonged break.

Next sense - touch. Not much use, I couldn't feel anything further than fabric. My hand brushed up against my face whenever I curled into fetal position, and I could feel one foot resting atop the other leg, pulling the leg of my pajamas askew. I felt my hair slanting messily across my face - I resisted the urge to blow it out of the way. With me on my side, gravity would pull it back down, and it wasn't like I was trying to see anything, so I let it be. The longer I focused on my sense of touch, the more I became aware of. Not so useless, after all.

I took in a deep breath and inhaled a lungful of crisp, clean air, the kind that's so cold it feels like it's purifying your lungs before your body temperature warms it up and expels it as a cloud of wispy smoke. The air didn't smell like anything, so I took another breath and this time detected something tangy and sharp that momentarily made my nose wrinkle up a bit. It was a smell I knew well, though, and I easily determined its source. I stuck my nose out from beneath the blankets, then quickly drew it back in. No more smells, as far as I could determine.

I couldn't taste anything other than my own saliva, which is basically tasteless since it's in your mouth all the time, so I didn't dwell too long on that sense.

Lastly, hearing. I could hear the wind whistling, very very softly, as it blew past my front door. Beyond that, nothing. My shelter is the strongest there is - even a concrete skyscraper can make grinding noises in a tough wind. My abode was perfectly silent. Beyond the wind, I thought I detected a gentle washing noise, but I couldn't be sure. I had buried my head after all, and that created an effective sound barrier.

I sighed. Even with everything else, so much was out of context without the luxury of my eyes. I hoped I would never go blind.

Just as I thought this, a faint reddish glow appeared. I finally opened my eyes, looking through my long hair at my hands, and beyond that, the bedsheets and a rocky wall. I watched blurry lines sharpen as the sun came up behind me, throwing the crevices in the wall in sharp relief. I smiled. My favorite part was coming.

I sat up, my hair tangled and sticking up in many odd directions. Am I usually so focused on the way my hair looks? It didn't matter. I turned to my right and stared straight into the growing glow of the sunrise.

My house is the best.

I pulled my legs up until I sat cross legged on my bed and watched the sun laboriously heave itself over the rim of the ocean. Most of the sky was still indigo blue, but it brightened to green, then to what I call seashell pink as it got closer to the sun itself, which was surrounded by a halo of cream and the shade of golden maize. The stars were hanging on until at last the green expanded to take them, and they went as silently as they had come. It didn't take long for the sun to fully emerge and change the sky into a riot of scarlet, mauve, and amber streaks, with a little bit of lavender underlining the bellies of the clouds. The ocean, eager to share in the sky's glory, took on a dusky golden hue.

And to think I woke up to this every morning. I may have mentioned, my house is the best there is.

The sunrise was shedding copious amounts of light around my little room now, and I could finally use my eyes to scan the area, making sure everything was as I had left it. My room was essentially an oblong cave that was about 20 feet across, 12 feet tall and extended 40 feet back. I had situated my bed at the very back parallel to the wall (well, as parallel as I could get it along the curved face), along with a delicate wooden nightstand next to where my pillow lay. My favorite shells lay arrayed upon it. To my left and closest to me was a modest little vanity table, with precious little scattered on its surface. Further along that wall was my dining table, a little wobbly on the rocky floor but still very stout. It had a white tablecloth draped on it, and my only vase with withered wildflowers. Dammit, those weeds never lasted very long.

My right wall was dominated by my birchbark canoe. It lay face down, its paddle next to it, and was surrounded by neatly organized boxes and crates - some stacked on a shelf (it was whipped together with driftwood and 8 nails. It's a miracle it hasn't fallen apart yet) - filled with anything I could find or afford: food, clothing, rope, cutlery, dishes, and the like. One box contained my oddities, like my bright strands of ribbon or a silver pendant without a chain. Above all  this I had hung a long rope, supported by two poles in the "corners" of the room. On the rope I hung my dried garden harvest, away from the dirt on the floor. I didn't have a place to cook it in this cave, because a fire gotten out of hand could easily trap me in a heartbeat, so I had a campfire above-ground that I hid with long swatches of grass, in case a curious backpacker came by.  In the middle of my cave lay a braided cotton rug of medium size, undyed but, for some reason, still as clean and creamy as the day it was made - which was quite a while ago. Two rugs of a more modest earthy color lay in front and behind it; the second one was close enough that my feet brushed against it when I scooted forward and stood up.

I enjoyed the warmth of the sunrise as it intensified and drove away the chillingly cold breaths I enjoyed a few minutes ago. My entire cave was bathed in light, because I had chosen last night to leave the curtains pulled back from the mouth of the cave. Someone, a long time ago, had helped me hammer brackets from which to hang the pole and the curtains - a dangerous job. He was the only one who knew about this place other than me, and he had disappeared long ago.

The sky turned a brighter blue as I brushed my hair, and my cave lost its ethereal golden glow. I set the brush down, put on some proper clothes, and walked to the mouth of my cave. My toes felt for the edge and gripped the rim like a vise, to stop me from toppling as I leaned over and stared down the craggy rock face of a cliff.

-----

I will finish this little blurb next week, as I already wrote far to much for a standard blog and because, well, I just don't feel like it. I do what I want.

Question: Why does the sky turn colors during sunrise and sunset only?

No animal summary this week, also too lazy for that. Maybe I'll add one as an edit?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Can't Look Up

What are the characteristics of a bad student?

1. Doesn't do/put effort into homework.
2. Doesn't show up to class.
3. Sleeps/dozes/daydreams during most of the day.
4. Refuses to study.
5. Procrastinates constantly.
6. Rude and distractingly loud.
7. Often refuses to follow/ignores directions.
8. Sasses the teacher and laughs about it afterwards.
9. Tries to pass off a missed deadline on a lame excuse.
10. Cheats off other students.

According to my list, I am 35% bad student. Nope, nope, nope, from what I remember of freshman year I was 15% bad student. My life has gone from average student to borderline SENIORZZZ mania. It's only a few more months before I start cutting class. Oh god, never never never. I can't believe I would even think that. What is senior year doing to my mind?

But in all seriousness, my academic life has taken a nosedive and reverse engines are failing to initiate. I'm praying that I make it through my finals. I'm praying I get into a good enough college. I'm praying I make it through my finals so I stay in a good enough college. Why do I feel so much pressure to get into a good school - and not just a good school, but a good one that people have heard of? You hear what everyone says, "just because they aren't as popular doesn't mean they're not as good." Well, yes, they can be acceptable, but the whole reason that you hear about good schools is because they produce good students, and you don't hear about the "good" schools because they don't produce as many.

I would count it as a failure on my behalf if I didn't get into a reasonably well known school, and instead got into some place out in the nowheres. When people ask me where I'm applying, I don't want to feel a sense of shame listing my schools that I applied to; I want to say a reputable name instead of having to tell people in which state a college is when they ask for my list. But I can't help it, I can't tell people the name of a high-ranking college without feeling like I was being judged, like they're thinking, "Wow, that's a reach for her. I wonder why she's shooting so high for a place that's obviously going to reject her." I wasn't good enough.

It's shameful feeling like I'm the person with the lowest intelligence level in my close, immediate group of friends. The best places judge you on your grades (which is the definition of intelligence level in this case), not so much your personality, interests, dedication, so forth. Sadly, to me, those grade-oriented ones are the only universities that count.

I want so much. I wish for the day where I can be genuinely happy in my first choice college. I wish that my closest friends will get into colleges/universities close to mine, or that we stay in close contact for many years. Or that we even end up with a happy ending.

Call me Miss Sunshine.

Welwitschia (Welwitschia mirabilis)

On a past post I put this as one of my favorite plants. Now you get to know why!

Take a good look at that picture. How many leaves do you see?

The answer is two.

It's generally accepted that it was named after the Austrian botanist Friedrich Welwitsch, who first documented it. An adult welwitschia consists solely of two leaves, a stem base and roots.  Its two permanent leaves are unique in the plant kingdom, because they are the original leaves from when the plant was a seedling, and they just continue to grow and are never shed. As you can see, they instead bundle up into a deceptive octopus mass. The two leaves are leathery, broad, and strap-shaped (I can't think of a better comparison word) and they lie in a heap on the ground. The leaves shred at the ends into length-wise strips, due to time/wind/etc., but it soon grows back The stem is low, woody, hollowed-out, and sturdy. It usually grows to about 500 mm in height. The welwitschia is endemic to the Kaokoveld Centre in Africa, spanning part of the coasts of Namibia and Angola.

Cool Facts:

• Informal sources refer to it as a "living fossil."
•  It is the only genus in the family Welwitschiaceae and order Welwitschiales.
• This succulent plant (SUCCULENT KAROO, LOOK IT UP, IT'S AN ACTUAL PLACE) can live up to 1,500 years.
• It's thought to be a relic from the Jurassic era. It hasn't changed much since.

I want a relaxing song tonight, since I have too much homework to stress over, so have the first Italian song I ever heard. I assume you ( the reader) speak English, so I found a video with English subtitles. If you are a native-speaker of Italian and are learning English, yay, practice! If you don't speak English at all but speak Italian, then that last phrase was completely redundant. Enjoy one of the best songs of your language.

Vivo Per Lei, by Andrea Bocelli (feat. Giorgia)

Derailing from Track to Track

Winter is finally here! At least, as close as it gets to winter in California.

Senioritis has really hit me hard. Despite the fact that every single one of my classes are AP, I have no inclination to study or do the homework, as long as it's not due the next day. A lot of stuff gets piled up last minute, and sometimes I don't even finish all of that. I just turn it in partially finished, or find a way to make it look finished. I do feel bad about that - I've never been one to easily cheat. But I'm growing fed up with school. I've been continuously waking up much to early for too many years, studying hard for subjects I will never touch again in college, and putting up with the stress of confining myself into social acceptances, as every single teenager has done at least once in their lives. Yes, First World problems. For an angsty, angry teenager, that doesn't mean they're still not problems.

It's getting too cold to go back to Roost. As much as I love it, I love the warmth of my bed and my cup of hot chocolate better - especially when it's coupled with a good book. Lately I've started more books than I can finish. I checked out a book last week, and before I could finish it, checked out another one yesterday. This doesn't include the unfinished two from months ago, or my English Lit book Frankenstein, or the book I have yet to choose for my independent reading for school. OR the many others I have on my to-read shelf on Goodreads.

I never thought I would say it, but there are too many books in my life right now.

I also wish I had the motivation to continue a small side project story that I started with my best friend at the beginning of summer. It's wonderful to work on, but unless it's started right, I'll never have the energy to finish it. This has become blatantly obvious - I haven't touched that Google Doc in over a month now. I've always known about this flaw of mine, though. It happened whenever I was given a new piano piece to start on that I wasn't super enthusiastic about, and especially now in AP Studio Art, where we have to churn out top-quality work in a mere two weeks (when we are used to having two months to produce top quality work. What are stress?) I come up with an idea, but if it starts out looking funky, I give up almost immediately on fixing it and leave it lying around until the deadline the next day.

If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me, and just forget the world?
-Snow Patrol, Chasing Cars

*As I was re-reading my post, I realized how scattered the topics are, so that explains my title. It was taken from another one of my posts, I don't know which.

Glaucus Atlanticus (It has no commonly used common name)

If this is not the most beautiful thing you have seen today, then you need to tell me right now what was more beautiful (excluding your significant other/idol/pet/yourself).

Please, have another picture. Can I just show you a bunch of beautiful G. Atlanticus pictures and not list the facts?

Okok, I'm done.

The glaucus atlanticus is a species of sea slug. And as most sea slugs are, these are poisonous - a human picking one up may receive a very painful sting. How do you feel about the picture above now? There are also serrated teeth in those appendages. Talk about the thorn within the rose.

This nudibranch can grow up to 3 cm, and lives in temperate/tropical waters, mostly around the East and South Coast of South Africa, European waters, the east coast of Australia, and Mozambique. It preys on assorted sea snails and such, and the dangerous Portuguese Man o' War (it's ability to do so lies in it's concentrated venom, which is more powerful than the Man o' War's. Also, it's immune to the Man o' War's venom, and instead takes it in and saves it in sacs for its own usage). Occasionally, given the chance, g. atlanticuses are cannibals.

Cool Facts:

• Due to it's unique feeding habits, the g. atlanticus cannot be bred or held in captivity without quickly killing it. 
• Due to a gas-filled sac in its stomach, it floats upside down on the surface tension of the ocean.
• Much like the great white shark, the g. atlanticus has counter shading, which means (since the g. atlanticus floats belly up) the stomach is a darker shade, to blend in with the ocean's surface from an aerial POV, and the back is lighter, to blend with the sunrays shooting down through the water.
• The not-common-enough names include the sea swallow, blue angel, blue glaucus, blue dragon, blue sea slug and blue ocean slug.

 Because I was talking about not being grateful about my First World status, here's an appropriate song:

You, Me, and the Bourgeoise, by The Submarines

Turkyturkyturky

This post is super late, so I will put no effort into it, other than to say the movie Frozen was absolutely amazing - possibly the best Disney movie to date because - well, no spoilers.

And Thanksgiving reminded me why I'm such an awkward introvert - I found myself hiding in my room from a cousin and his girlfriend.Yes, I hid from my own family. In my defense, I hadn't seen him in a while and his girlfriend was completely new. I'm mature, I swear.....

Don't forget to name your food babies.

Functions and Allen Wrenches

This Sunday is my school's first robotics qualifier ever. We're all like dogs, happily on the way to the vet, before we get our dreams crushed when we see what awaits us - i.e., the competition.

Nay, I shall have faith until the very end, unless we actually qualify, in which case I say I knew we could do it all along.

...

This was a bad topic to choose to write about. Perhaps I will just edit it Sunday night to recap the events of the day.

Edit:

The competition was oh-so-slightly short of a disaster. The only thing keeping us from it was good spirit, a veteran engineer, and lots of medical tape.

Yes, medical tape.

We started out well enough at the event - we made sure our own robot was functioning (in retrospect, "functioning") and then we sauntered around looking at the rest of the robots. That's when we noticed ours was the only one with wooden parts, and a rope pully. Everyone else's were giant metal cubes in the design of war tanks, with elaborate devices and gears. 

It pretty much went as expected from there: our frail frame and misjudged program soon tipped the robot over, spooling the pulley and making it pretty much useless. We regrouped and fixed the robot, but didn't change anything about it - first mistake. I don't know why we didn't; I guess we didn't have time. Our first point was so funny - there was a revving up of "Ooooooo"s as our robot approached its target, then an outburst of wild cheering - all for a couple measly points. Watching the video, I now see how dorky and naive we were in the others' eyes. No one cheers like that at a robotics competition.

And then our robot broke.

One team member improvised a brilliant strategy: we used the first roll of tape we came across, which happened to be the event's medical tape, and created a very crude but effective scoring device. And yes, we won that round! Sadly, we didn't place high enough and didn't qualify at the very end.

 Oh well. Next time.

Hoatzin (Opisthocomus hoazin)

This bird is the only member of the genus Opisthocomus, which, in Ancient Greek, means, "wearing long hair behind." It's by itself because it doesn't have enough similar traits with other like birds. It's a tropical bird (not to be confused with the birds of paradise) that mainly populates the continent of South America, in the swampy, mangrove-y, riparian-y forests of the Amazon and the Orinoco delta.

Orinoco Flow, by Enya

They are roughly pheasant-sized, reaching about 25-26 inches in length and 1.8 pounds, with an unfeathered face of blue skin, topped by a rufous crest (now where have I heard that word before? Knowledge is awesome.) The rest of its body is a combination of black and russet-red, streaked with white along the neck and wings. The tail is composed of 10 loosely attached tail feathers. They breed in colonies, with usually 10-50 birds in just one. Their eggs are a creamy/beige white spotted with blue and violet splatters.

Cool Facts:

• It's offspring are born with two claws on the tip of both wings, which it uses to crawl around. These claws fall off by the time they are juniors.
• It's also known as the stinkbird, because of its unusual digestive system with an enlarged crop used for fermentation of vegetable matter.
• Although it has completely developed wings, it rarely flies, because of its weak pectoral muscles.
• They are exclusively herbivores.
• If you thought they look and sound like the dinosaur Archaeopteryx, then I love you. Even so, scientists know they are not descendents because the hoatzin developed claws only to cling to trees hanging over water. 
• In fact, scientists don't know when, how, or why the hoatzin evolved to be the way it is now. DNA sequencing projects are giving very mixed results.
• The hoatzin is the national bird of Guyana.

“We all live under the same sky, but we don't all have the same horizon.”
-Konrad Adenauer

Roosting

Why can't college apps finish themselves? Can't we just dictate the most important facts of our lives to a microphone and be done in a few minutes? Why must they vary?

The season is stressing me out, and I need to relax. Finding a quiet area in a busy suburb town can be difficult, to say the least, but having a nearby canyon is pretty handy. 

Other than the occasional energy bar wrappers and crushed Arizona cans, Mills Canyon is like the drought-tolerant Central Park of Burlingame. I started going there at an early age with neighborhood friends, and when I fell out with them, continued to go there alone. Pretty soon, established trails started to bore me – I think at one point I could’ve walked some paths blindfolded – so I began to pick areas adjacent to the path that weren’t covered with poison oak and simply went wading through the dried foxtails. This year, I went off the path in a new place where I hadn't thought to go before. It was through this venture that I discovered what I call Roost.

Roost is a huge boulder, perhaps 15 feet tall and 20 feet in width, that lies at the bottom of the canyon, directly next to a small creek. It partially juts out over the water, creating a small pebbly cove where I hide whenever I hear people on the trail. A tall but skinny oak tree lies between Roost and a smaller boulder a few paces away; other than that, the surrounding ground is relatively clear of foliage. On Roost’s other side, an older, taller oak tree grows nearly flush to its side. All around this clearing, dark ivy covers the banks. Oak and bay trees are more densely clustered; their canopy filters the sunlight and casts dappled patterns on every surface. When I was younger, I would pretend the wind was alive and sentient. It would tell me of the places it had been, and whenever it rose from a gentle breeze to a strong gale, I believed it was I who, through some magical force, had controlled the change. I still do believe it, sometimes.

You cannot begin to imagine the feel of wind against your uplifted face and closed eyelids unless you have actually experienced it first-hand.

Of all my sanctuaries, it was Roost who taught me to breathe. I could relax atop it, secure in the knowledge that no one below could see me, and listen to the sounds around me. I could hold on to a thick branch of the adjacent oak tree and run my thumb over its rough bark – in concentrating solely on the texture of the branch, I could drive out all other unpleasant thoughts. It is my site of meditation, my eye of the hurricane, where I can doze and let my troubles leach out of me into the granite below. Without Roost, I don’t know how I would’ve stayed calm all those years. Maybe I wouldn’t have. The thought makes me appreciate all the more what Roost means to me. It will be hard to replace in the coming years.

I'm sure the site of a haven varies wildly for other people. They may find their place of contentment in a dusty library, or perhaps in a summer house. Maybe their peaceful environment is their backyard pool, or situated among the white noise of a large city. I, I climb the highest point I can find and let the wind breathe for me.

 Sensitive Plant (Mimosa pudica)

I came across this plant ages ago, when river tubing (Is that the name? We were using inner tubes) down a river in Puerto Vallarta in Mexico. The tour guide had pointed it out where it grew along the path, and invited us to touch the leaves. What would you expect to happen?

The sensitive plant has a most amazing defense mechanism: it withers and folds in on itself whenever it is touched, or otherwise warmed, blown upon, or shaken. They reopen minutes later (so you can touch them again and watch them fold... and again... and again... unconscious hypnosis). They also close during the night, and open again during the day. There are about 10-26 leaflets per pinna (leaf stem thingymajigger, I don't know. Context, man). Their seeds are contained in brown pods and are mainly pollinated by insects. They produce round flower heads that range from pink to pale lavender. Have a picture, I can't describe the shape: 

They are most commonly found in South and Central America

If you have taken Biology, hopefully you know what turgid means. If you don't, here's my best explanation: The reason plants are usually so crispy (think of the base of a romanian lettuce leaf) is because the spare space in their cells is filled with water. If our cells were like that, they would burst under pressure, but because of the strong cell walls that plant cells possess, they merely swell up but keep their shape. This is part of the reason why plants can remain upright without a skeleton-like system (I think... it makes sense, right?).

Knowing this, when a sensitive plant is touched, specific cells release chemicals like potassium that force the water out of the cells and cause them to lose their turgidity - i.e., they become soft and wilted. As the signals go away, the chemicals are no longer released and the plant resumes its natural form.

This is so cool I can't even handle it. Why bother with a Cool Facts list?

Cough, cough.

Cool Facts:

• The sudden movement might also serve to dislodge harmful insects.
• It's other common names include humble plant, shameful plant, sleeping grass, touch-me-not, chuimui (that which dies upon touch), pickerweed, and ant-plant. There are a lot more cool names in different languages.
•  Aqueous extracts of the roots have been adept at neutralizing the effects of the venom of the monocled cobra.
• They are used as groundcover by some landscapers. I don't comprehend why, but ok.
• It is one of the world's worst invasive weeds.

This song has been bothering me as of late, because of how strongly I connect with it. Or rather, how I think its theme must have connected with someone I used to know. Our relationship has perhaps been one of the biggest regrets of my life, and I wish we could have mended ourselves before they left. I wish that I would be able to at least see them again - alas, most likely, I never will.

Say Something, by A Great Big World :

Reflections

Everything is catching up.

My schoolwork, my artwork, all the clubs, my friendships, my self-consciousness...

Not to mention college...

I tried playing the piano yesterday for the first time in a couple months. To my immense surprise - for I was surprised - I couldn't play any of my old pieces straight off the bat. I'm not used to forgetting piano like this, as I have been playing for nearly 12 years now. I've taken 2 and even 3 week breaks, and gone back playing everything perfectly. What's happening? At least I still remember how to play "Here I Am," from the movie Spirit.

Oh yes. Still a child at heart.

I've been convinced that I am no longer as much as a shy secluded introvert as I used to be at the start of high school. I've surrounded myself with company that I enjoy, and am reasonably confident that they enjoy my company too (which is a big thing for me; I'm not confident in anything other than my knowledge of Harry Potter trivia). But yesterday evening, when I went out with some other friends, I felt like a third wheel for the first time in a long time. I don't know if I'm just being overreactive, as the last time I thought one of my close friends was annoyed with me, it was just a misunderstanding (so I hope). But it seemed that when they walked - on paths big enough for at most six people side by side - I was constantly walking behind them, horribly aware of what people might be thinking. "Aw, that poor girl, I feel so bad for her, booted behind her friends like that. How awkward."

On reflection, I can't really believe that they would do that on purpose - if I was shunted to the side, I believe they are all nice enough people to not have done it consciously. After all, two of them were my best friends in elementary school, and the other is my only familiar face in a class, and I hers.

On a less depressing note, I found out that a sophomore who was a drama buddy for the play I was briefly involved in last year, and is in my art class, refers to me as her sister. Warm fuzzies. Some underclassmen are so endearingly adorable (no condescension - I mean it in the best possible way). I wonder if I ever appeared that way to some juniors and seniors when I was an underclassman? Doubtful.

Rufous Hummingbird (Selasphorus rufus) 

They are said to live in the area I do, but I don't know - the hummingbirds I see are dark green with iridescent red throats - the ruby-throated hummingbird. I've never seen hummingbirds IRL that are this rusty color. Oh well. I trust you, Internet, to know where these birds live... at least, the majority. 

These guys are pretty ferocious - even for a hummingbird (background - pretty much all hummingbirds are super aggressive - my grandma once found a dead cat with a hummingbird bill lodged in it's skull. Yes, gross and morbid. You're welcome for that image). They are pretty small with a short, nearly straight bill and small wings that don't reach their tails when folded. "In good light, male Rufous Hummingbirds glow like coals: bright orange on the back and belly, with a vivid iridescent-red throat" (allaboutbirds.org). I love that description. Females are more green in places, though they still have patches of orange.

As I said, these birds are "pugnacious." They chase away other birds, sometimes birds that are more than twice their size, even when passing through territory when migrating. Basically, they defend turf that isn't even theirs. Their habitat ranges along the west coast through the Rocky Mountains of the U.S., and extends down into Mexico and up into the west coast of Canada into the bottom-most part of Alaska. Along with sipping nectar, they also catch small insects.

Cool Facts: 

• They've been seen chasing chipmunks away from their nests. 
•  The wingbeat frequency of Rufous Hummingbirds has been recorded at 52–62 wingbeats per second. 
• The Rufous Hummingbird makes one of the longest migratory journeys of any bird in the world, as measured by body size.   
• The female builds the nest alone using soft plant down held together with spider web.

Because it's so late and I'm in the mood for sleep, here's a song I listed in my last post: 

Rain by Priscilla Ahn. 

Enjoy.

Inspirare, Espirare

 I just submitted my first college application yesterday - i.e., I had my first panic attack/mental breakdown yesterday. It's a silly phobia, but one would have to be extremely arrogant to believe they will get into every school they apply to. And in this case, I am definitely not arrogant.

But now that I've really got to work on schoolwork, college apps, and studio art stuff, I find my time's being used up on serious things, and this is something I'm not used to. I'm accustomed to learning and finishing chores/homework fast and having plenty of time afterward to spend on YouTube or Tumblr or whatever. What, I have to work around the clock now? I have to manage my time? I have to be responsible? What? What? What?

Ergo, I've been interested in stuff that helps me relax - I focus even worse than normal when I am under semi-pressure - full on last-minute panic always works wonders for me, though it's probably not a smart thing to do regularly. So far, music has been my destressinator. Even before art, because now art projects have two week deadlines I have to meet, and that's something that's not so good for perfectionist me. Reading also doesn't work anymore, because when I read, I'm constantly panicking about the stuff I should be doing instead.

And, of course, rain helps. Because good old soothing rain is probably the most relaxing thing to listen to.

So I made another (reference) list!

List of Songs That Go Best With RainyMood (not in order)
1. Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol
2. Rain - Priscilla Ahn
3. Weightless - Marconi Union
4. Brielle - Sky Sailing
5. Intro - The XX
6. Oceandust - Hands Like Houses
7. Pieces -Red
8. Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley
9. Stable Song - Death Cab for Cutie
10. Violet Hill - Coldplay

Also, I mentally cringed and facepalmed today when I reread my "Stuck in Subpar" post. Wow. Sleep deprivation and a session of self reflection can really do things to you. So, I've decided to actually do something to better the way I look at myself! My, it's so nice being proactive!

I want to spend each week researching one plant or animal, so as to expand my knowledge about nature in general. I'll summarize what I learn, and then add on all the crazy random facts associated with each plant or animal.

I'm starting close to home: the coastal redwood tree (sequoia sempervirens).

It's the tallest tree species in the world (the tallest one measured was 379.1 ft - 6 stories higher than the Statue of Liberty. It's name is Hyperion - fitting). It's an evergreen tree, and their native habitats are only in coastal California and in mountainous slopes in China (where they were previously thought to be extinct). Their distant relatives date back to dinosaur times, and have migrated since then rather than adapted through the ages. That's why their native habitats are so narrow.

They do not rely on fog to survive, much like a lot of other evergreen trees, but it does help. The way it helps is that the fog condenses on the flat needle groups and drips down, like airborne drip irrigation. Usually 1-2% of the 100-200 seeds per cone ever germinate. Seedlings can survive for decades and even centuries in the understory, before the canopy opens enough for them to really grow. However, most new redwoods sprout from the burls at the base of the redwoods

Crazy Facts:

• It holds the record for the most biomass ever recorded - one tree has a stem biomass of 1,544 tons/acre.
• Oldest confirmed redwood is 2,200 years old - that's around the freaking Ancient Grecian times. Some are thought to be even older.
• The bark of a redwood is very thick, and can be up to a foot in places. Also, it chars into a heat shield when exposed to heat - a.k.a., the redwood is practically fireproof.
• The bark secretes some sort of distasteful chemical that prevents bugs and stuff from burrowing. So buildings use redwood on the outside of houses to prevent termites. Also, there's no resin in redwood bark.
•  The redwood has 6 sets of chromosomes  - we only have two.
• And to make you feel sad - of the nearly 2 million acres of the primeval forest, approximately 95% has been logged in the past 200 years. Today, less than 5 percent of the ancient trees survive.

 And another song I've recently rediscovered: More Than It Seems, by Kutless

I Am

A human, firstly, obviously.  But I think even my shallow self can go a bit deeper than that.

Colleges essays are adding more and more pressure as the deadlines come ever closer, and the topics were, to say the least, dull. Perhaps UChicago's were interesting: "'History is everything they are not telling us' - who are 'they' and what are they not telling us?" "You are you and your ______." but then again, UChicago is rather infamous for their interesting essay topics.

But constant revision on my essays with topics like, "What is your best trait?" and "What has affected you the most?" has actually made me reconsider the depth of such prompts. Yes, they're still dull and somewhat boring to answer, but they do bring to mind questions I've never really considered before, simply because the topic was never thought to be important enough to give time to. Now, I feel that I order to answer these topics in a unique and truthful way was to - you know it - create lists of everything about myself. At first, they were about stuff that would actually matter to the colleges: age, interests, grades, etc. etc. but then I got a bit carried away with all the smaller bits of my interests.

Where to begin?

I am homo sapiens (not so sure about the sapiens part all the time), of the cryptic female gender. I am at a typical about-to-graduate age, with two eyes that cannot agree on what ethnicity I am - pick white or Asian, eyes, and stop compromising. I am right-handed, size 6 1/2 shoe size (though they used to be size 7 - no, both those sizes are women's - my feet literally shrunk) and 5' 4" (I also swear I used to be 5'5"). I am an ordinary student, who could be extraordinary if I put in the time, and a documentator of the movie reels in my head.

I am the singer of the shower, the blanket of all couches, and the climber of (mostly) all trees. I am the avid reader, the dedicated artist, the sufferer of perfectionism, an ostrich when I sleep, and a laugher of lame jokes. I am a teasing flirt with my best friends (if you are reading this, "person," you know who you are), a hater of the Twilight movies, a lover of all things Harry Potter, and a group-triggered chameleon.

I am a girl who has fallen out with her Oriental side (but still knows enough to recite the Chinese zodiac - in English and Chinese. Ha!). I am lazy when allowed to be so, but wildly passionate and loud when with best friends. I am somewhat clam-like, though I won't go so far as to say that I am a pearl inside. I am mostly conservative with clothes (death to skirts) and I dislike standing out on a daily basis. 

I am a soccer player (AYSO) and have been a horse rider since I was two. I started lessons when I was three, quit after a year due to moving, and then started again in 6th grade. I am now the lessor of a beautiful but sassy horse named Fancy Dancer, who listens to whatever I say, provided she's either tied up or I have treats in my hand (but Big Mama (she's a mama!) does have her moments - she enjoys head-hugging). I am a volunteer at my local Humane Society, a piano player, a Chinese tutor, and a victim of many, many tickle attacks. 

I am a Gryffindor, of Poseidon, a Hoot Owl, a part of the Cumbercollective, of District 4, an elf, and a Sherlock-without-the-intelligence, but with all the awkwardness. I am a naturalist, a gelato-lover, a heavy sleeper, a self-proclaimed water elemental, a gossiper, and "the blue in your back alley view, where the horizon and the rooftops meet."

I am the fire rat, the fox, the willow, a K'ank'in, a diamond, the falcon, a Mesha, the tiger, Osiris, the kangaroo, the honeysuckle, an Aries, and many more, if only I could find more zodiacs. I am loyal, a curious cat (sometimes the proverbial one), respectful, and at times I am unable to voice what I want to say. I am blunt, honest, bluntly honest, an easy smiler, and a person who is constantly derailing from track to track. Can you tell?

I am independent.

I am observant.

I am transparent.

But not by the dictionary definition. If anything, I am the opposite of transparent in that way.

This is hopefully the last majorly personal blog I will write. I'm not even this open in real life - I guess it's the false sense of security the Internet gives me. After this, reader, you will know practically all there is to know about me.

Except, of course, everything else that is of actual importance that I didn't put on here. 

“Who are you?"
"No one of consequence."
"I must know."
"Get used to disappointment.”
― William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Blind Eyes Wide Mind

I don't usually like personal organization. I have one folder threatening to fall apart because of all the Econ stuff I've filled it with, and a cluttered desk with multiple stacks of  binders and papers at least 1 foot high (and yet I still manage to remember in which stack I put my ACT confirmation sheet - take that, organization). Possibly the most impressive example is my horizontal closet strewn across my bedroom floor. I deem to clean it once every two weeks, but in the meanwhile, I just kick a clear path to my bed and remain satisfied.

But projects - God forbid one aspect is out of place. If I emulate some artist's painting, like I am right now with Delacroix's Lady Liberty Leading the People, I must grid my sheet and the copy to perfectly trace the outlines. Each line must be straight down to the last millimeter, lest the squares be wider at the top more so than the bottom and skew all my proportions. Posters and presentations must be carefully planned out - not only the content of text, but color scheme, division of information, font size, chronology, alphabetization, general balance, etc. etc.

I suppose I am a perfectionist after all, albeit a little lacking in will and uniformity at times... which I guess means I'm not really a perfectionist... but I still worry over the smallest of things... I'm not going to over-think this. I'm a quasi-perfectionist.

So whenever my organized side takes over (rarely as that happens), I do enjoy the opportunity to look at myself and iron out the little pieces of me that hide, hidden for the most part, in the folds. Basically, I create lists. I create lists of things I like, things I don't like, favorite music, blah blah blah, best Halloween costume ideas, ranking peers in order of importance, the best peeled fruits compared to their unpeeled counterparts (grapes win, hands down, even though it's such a pain getting the skins off. Oranges and bananas don't count, really). It's nice to know there are some certainties in life.

(none of these are in order of importance)
And so, List I:

Things I Like:
1. Sitting high up in spacious trees.
2. Listening to music that has such a powerful beat I can feel my chest vibrating/sub woofers.
3. Good friends who laugh when I do awkward things instead of looking at me askance.
4. Food.
5. Eyes without a uniform color (coughgreeneyesarebesteyescough).
6. Harry Potter EVERYTHING.
7. Hugging someone who's wearing a squishy sweater.
8. Riding cantering horses with arms outstretched (horses give you wings, not RedBull).
9. Books of the fiction genre.
10. Singing as loudly and as off-key as I can when no one's home (and around certain friends).

Things I Don't Like: 
1. Conspiracy theories.
2. Stepping on seaweed in the ocean.
3. The nickname "J-Money."
4. Butter that is cut away in wedges or at the corners instead of in a straight vertical line that preserves its shortening rectangular shape.
5. Men who insist on sitting with their legs spread wide like they've got something there.
6. People who laugh obnoxiously loud when trying to look cool, but end up sounding like braying donkeys.
7. Writhing maggots (if you get this I love you - C&H).
8. People who text during the best part of my favorite movie/show.
9. Crying babies and children in general.
10. Drivers who don't use a turn signal.

Obligatory likes/dislikes out of the way. Now lets see...

Favorite Snacks: 
1. Goldfish
2. Nutella
3. Strawberries and sugar.
4. Popsicles.
5. Those Asian jello-things with bits of aloe cubes.
6. Chips - doesn't matter what flavor as long as it's not Original (usually).
7. Tea with buttloads of sugar is totally a snack.
8. Ice cream.
9. Various dry cereal.
10. Toast.

Prettiest/Most Interesting Plants: 
1. Jasmine (bonus for smelling so good).
2. Tree of a Thousand Stars (look up serissa foetida)
3. Baobab
4. Hibiscus
5. Black Bat Flower
6. Bleeding Heart
7. Welwitschia Mirabilis (I had to look it up to spell it)
8. Waterlily.
9. Oxalis
10. Green Jade Flower

Best Books: 
1. Harry Potter.
2. A Wrinkle in Time.
3. Tales from Outer Suburbia.
4. Percy Jackson anything.
5. Eragon - first book only.
6. Call of the Wild/White Fang.
7. The Fault in Our Stars.
8. The Hunger Games (I finally caved, it is pretty good).
9. The Mists of Avalon.
10. Zoobiquity.
(11. The Little Prince - I had to add it on)

Best Random Trivia:
1. The world's termites outweigh the world's humans 10 to 1.
2. Pope John Paul II was named an honorary Harlem Globetrotter in 2000.
3."Queue" is the only English word where you can remove the last four letters and have it still sound the same.
4. Pinocchio is Italian for pine eye (Pino is Italian for pine, Occhio is Italian for eye). Mindblown.
5. Cat urine glows under a blacklight.
6. There are 293 ways to make change for a dollar.
7. There are 366 dimples on a regulation golf ball.
8. Polish is the only word in the English language that has two completely different meanings based on whether the first letter is capitalized or not.
9. The microwave was invented after a researcher walked by a radar tube and a chocolate bar melted in his pocket.
10. "Benkinersophobia" is the fear of never receiving your Hogwarts acceptance letter.

Best Songs (I'm definitely leaving out a lot here, and this list fluctuates constantly):
1. Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen
2. Wake Me Up - Avicii
3. The Lightning Strike - Snow Patrol
4. You Need Me, I Don't Need You - Ed Sheeran (mainly because of the last lyric)
5. Charlie Brown - Coldplay
6. Rain - Priscilla Ahn
7. Sailboats - Sky Sailing
8. If My Heart Was a House - Owl City
9. Some Nights - Fun
10. How I Became the Sea - Owl City
11. Bonus - Someone Like Me - Ylvis. Because I had to, that song cracks me up every time.

Let me just say that there are so many other Owl City songs that I didn't put here. I restricted it to two, otherwise the whole list would be Owl City, and/or Snow Patrol.

The Most Useless Inventions:
1. Glow in the dark sunglasses.
2. Pedal-powered wheelchair.
3. Double sided playing cards.
4. Portable chin rest.
5. Two-person sweatshirt
6. Butter in a chapstick-like container - a "Butterstick."
7. Picnic pants.
8. Small portable fan that attaches to your chopsticks and cools your noodles as you eat them.
9. Revolving ice cream cone.
10. Dehydrated water.

Ok, so that last list I had a bit of help from the internet. But see? Crazy lists of random things to prove I'm organized - not a waste of time! I limited all these to just 10 per list, otherwise this would be going on forever. Usually they are much longer; it was so hard choosing which ones I liked the best, especially for the songs.

If you're wondering what the title of this post is, and thinking it doesn't relate, the context actually makes sense - just think about it. There is meaning behind it, and it's not just a pretty and mysterious caption. I don't think I'm the kind of person who tries to hide behind misleading veils.

And because I was extra unproductive yesterday, I have two videos to share today. The better one is last, but that doesn't mean the first song isn't also really cool. It's just because the feeling the second one leaves you with is much like saving the tastiest part of dinner for last - you can walk around for a long time afterwards, still tasting it on your tongue.

That was the best analogy I've ever made.

Calling the Maker, by Aimee Allen

Contre Temps (a short film)

Synthetic Constellations

It was the wind in winter's ribbons that took me up with the roman candle. I shielded my wide eyes from stinging iridescent lights, my neck craning and stretching back. Colored stars - golden, violet, crimson - fell shining like cosmic palm fronds, rushing for the silver mirror below, flashing, crackling before winking out and fading into smoke. Each firework was my chariot, each burst my burning waterfall, each roar of the cannons my wild laughter. My breath came in time with the sparks above. My heart was shaken into rhythm by the tremors, like a tremendous pulsing sub woofer.

Imagination grew wings, flippers and legs all at once. The fire, well, it consumed - drew everything together in once blazed moment.

[inhale] Boom.

A steep precipice falls away beneath my feet, golden brown and crumbling. Dry, cracked fingernails scrabble behind me for purchase, toes gripping the edge like a vise. Nothing much above but a sky the color of someone's eyes, clutching a precious nugget. The cliff opposite, streaked with dusty rust and plum shades, fades in and out of focus - a tree growing and bursting into boulders that went raining down - the side swelling slowly as some force tunneled from the inside - a set of jagged cracks speeding in outline until it crumbles, inside out, releasing a [exhale] red-tailed hawk. Dark wings stretched, growing in span, becoming Mother Nature's Blanket of Night, peppered with hummingbird holes. One flight feather, falling away from a limb, spiraling down, buffeted, slowly swirling in elongated fashion towards me. My head feels light, as though gravity decided it no longer wants me. It's getting closer. Boy, you could knock me over with a -

I go tumbling down with the boulders, that innocent barred feather swinging back and forth after me.

[inhale] Boom.

I sit at the end of the long line. We are crammed against the wall in a bleak carpeted waiting room, with gray pencil cacti placed unceremoniously in three corners of the room. The only source of light is an unshaded fluorescent bulb, hanging from the ceiling. Its harsh light cast shadows on our [inhale] taunt, drawn faces. In the last corner there is an unassuming steel door. We all start as the doorknob shifts and a nurse enters the room. She scans a long checklist, looks up, and calls out my name.

I follow the woman through the door into a [exhale] stainless steel room. Varied instruments lie on a sleek silver tray. A man with a dark shock of hair greets me with, what seems to me, false cordiality. He shakes my hand and guides me to a chair. He eyes me calculatingly as he pulls out a small syringe. I think, I hate needles. The man smiles icily, and tells me not to worry - a sharp, jabbing pain; he had stuck me in the arm with that needle, and my vision swims. 

I wake up in a shifting, ethereal world. I can't make out the glimmering lights around me, though they hover just out of reach. I try to blink, and discover [inhale] I can’t. My peripheral vision tunnels, as I move what felt like my head all the way around to see. It was dark, the space reaching outwards, and I start to feel a sense of claustrophobia when a beautiful French door - false gold gilt - appears in front of me. I desperately clutch at the handle and stagger through. 

The door slams shut with a snap, and I am suddenly hovering uncertainly over a roiling, tumbling mass. Everything in black and white. I turned my head with painful slowness, and saw that a craggy black rock looms in front of me. It seems to exude light through its blackness, feeding the small fig tree clinging to the surface. I am drawn to that pathetic tree, but the longing scares me. I turn, [exhale] urgently sweeping my eyes left and right, trying to find an exit out of this horrid place, but that small tree, glorious in its uselessness, follows me. I run, somewhere, anywhere, but that tree keeps following me. I can’t stand it.

[inhale] Bo[exhale]om.

A vast expanse of blue grassland extends to the horizon, dotted here and there with gnarled trees and bushes. Clumps of dark heather bends before the night wind, sending their whispering voices along with the breeze as it moves between the leaning stems. Above the grassland, stars twinkle coldly down from high in the heavens. Their hazy bed of indigo velvet stretches across the roof of the world; everything beneath it bears its color. The full moon [inhale] silvers the edges of  indistinct objects, so that the whole of the grassland looks as though it has been brushed across the top with shimmering dust. Everything is silent, save for the blithe wind, who continues to tumble its way across the dark grass, rustling the heather as it goes.

                 

At the farthermost edge of the horizon, I watch silently as [exhale] a slight purple glow appears, steadily arching its back to fill the indigo sky with a crescent streak of violet. The crescent pulls up a slight line of green as it ascends, who in turn drags with it the muted colors of pastel orange and red. The new colors gaze out across the blue and silver grass, shake out their bright robes, and toss them across the sky. They paint over the shadowy grass with streaks of pink and orange, reaching out with their arms until the sky is a glorious blaze of golden and crimson rays, heralding the way for the sun. It's not until I feel its warmth that I realize I'm shivering.

[inhale] Boom. 

[exhale]

The great finale starts, a ricocheting mass of gold fountains, green sparklers and screeching rockets. I shake the hair out of my eyes, cheering with everyone else. Whatever force possessed me slips away, my images dissolving like morning dreams before I remember they even existed. Does this happen a lot? Do others experience this mental flight? I can't remember; my heart's still vibrating, beating in time to the synthetic constellations above .

[inhale]

Let me light the last fuse.

--

 

Just a song that's been stuck in my head a lot as of late. Explicit - i.e. one F-Bomb. Just in case though, if you care.

Human After All, by Twin Atlantic.

You do not know how hard it was to not choose "Fireworks" by Katy Perry. 

[exhale]