“Will liked to live so that no one could find fault with him, and to do that he had to live as nearly like other people as possible.”
In there, his silent words lived and breathed as stories. They could think and seek and grow and give off heat.
~Haruki Murakami The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
Over the eucalyptus and behind the moon, the stars like silver pomegranates glimmered before an infinity of darkness. No wonder the angels had picked a place like this to exist.
~Helena Maria Viramontes Under the Feet of Jesus
Today, Make the Welkin Dance turns one!
Unfortunately, Denny’s only gives a free birthday grand slam breakfast to living, breathing human beings with I.D. cards. Sigh…
But at least I have all of you to celebrate with! (And now you have a viable excuse for eating ice cream cake today! Woo-hoo!)
One year of blogging might not sound like much, but I think it’s important to celebrate the little victories in life. When I started this blog a year ago, I didn’t realize how much I would experiment with form, humor, storytelling, and playing off authors I’m currently reading. And I’m excited to continue doing so! Ain’t that great.
For me, the joy of writing is never complete without an audience. My words can only come alive in your mind’s eye (that is, until I write a book and Hollywood knocks on my door). I hope this blog has been a delight to you as much as it has been for me. Thank you for reading and commenting on my posts! It seriously means so much to me! (so don’t stop.)
Today, I’m re-posting my very first blog post. Last year, I spent a lot of time fussing over what to name this blog. I’m glad I’m still a fan of what I chose, and I hope you are too after reading the story behind it.
But first… a little toast…
Here’s to recalling late night adventures in Buenos Aires (I Can Still Hear Them Chanting).
Here’s to thinking deeply and laughing often.
Here’s to making the welkin dance.
Omnes vulnerant, ultima necat.
Every hour wounds. The last one kills. —Popular Latin inscription on sundials.
She woke up with a pounding headache, and slowly, the memories from her dreams the night before start trickling in.
A woman on her deathbed. Her eyes are bleak, and her skin clings to her bones. An eerie, gargle-like sound escapes her lips—the “death rattle,” they call it.
You are graduating from college. That means that this is the first day of the last day of your life. No, that’s wrong. This is the last day of the first day of school. Nope, that’s worse. This is a day.
Since I recently wrote about my college apartment by the cemetery and my current “noisy neighbor” (who is still singing every night, by the way), I thought of an infamous college dorm I lived in my junior spring. Enjoy!
I arrived late at night. I pulled my luggage through the snow and ice, the cold air hurting my eyes. Spring break in New England—delightful.
I stood in front of the white, shabby two-story building that would be my home for the spring quarter. The dormitory resembled a two-star motel, the kind you might invest in bedsheets from a local Walmart before spending the night. As I stared in disapproval, I promised right at that moment, that if I ever became a rich alumna, I would donate a whole bunch of money to tear this building down, build a beautiful new dorm, and slap my name across the front.
“Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.”
Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
-2 Corinthians 4: 16-18 (NIV)
I don’t know how to write this post.
I’ve thought it through multiple times, but I still don’t know how to capture the last few weeks of my life. Surreal, overwhelming, life-changing—are words that instantly come to mind, but they fall short. It’s not that “there are no words,” but more like there’s too much to say. From making important career decisions to coping with loss and mourning, I have a lot to process. A whole cocktail of emotions—too incomprehensible, terrible, and wonderful for a 800 word blog post. This is real life.
There are things I can’t write. Things too painful, too raw, too close to home. Things that weigh heavy on my soul, yet are also so much bigger than me. Even so, I feel compelled to write because I don’t want to forget. And aren’t these the things worth writing about?
“The simplest questions are the most profound. Where were you born? Where is your home? Where are you going? What are you doing? Think about these once in a while, and watch your answers change….”
A couple days ago, I was digging through some old boxes when I came across my middle school burn book. Awkward.
Most of the pages are covered in magazine pictures, surrounded by comments written in bright markers. While at first glance the overfilled composition notebook resembles a “burn book” a la Mean Girls, that’s not actually what it is. The notebook is a friendship journal. Back in 2007, two of my 7th grade friends and I shared a journal. Each day someone different would take it home and write an entry. The entries were typically pictures, quizzes, and stories we cut out from magazines. We used code names (which were pointless because at the end we put pictures of ourselves and labeled who was who) and wrote small comments about our lives. It’s a fine cultural artifact, really. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day the journal ends up in a museum or special collections library, where you will need to use gloves to flip through the pages.
Okay, I’ll start off by saying that the title to to this blog post is very misleading (a trend in a lot of my titles). I was a bookworm and a nerd in high school (not much has changed tbh). Let me put it this way, one of my favorite high school memories was representing Iran in Model UN. My friend and I even founded the Model UN club at our school. Yeah, I think that sums it up quite well.
Last week, I wrote about my frustrations keeping up with the news. That post reminded me of the time I spread fake news before it was cool…
Love the giver more than the gift. –Brigham Young
Happy Birthday!!! -The last words I heard before everyone went crazy.
For a long time, I put off starting a blog because I was paranoid. I feared that one day my little personal blog might get me fired from a job or some stalker would like me a bit too much and kill me in my sleep. Even today, I’m weary of writing about topics I deem “too personal” or publishing posts that might come back to haunt me.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t careful enough. I didn’t adequately analyze all the risks, nor foresee all the possible consequences of starting a blog. Fellow bloggers (and people on the fence about starting a blog), take note.
I regard romantic comedies as a subgenre of sci-fi, in which the world operates according to different rules than my regular human world.
Are you ready to be the leading lady of your love life? Do you want to begin your “happily ever after” starting tomorrow?
With this handy new guide, NOW YOU CAN! For a limited time Valentine’s Day offer, I’m releasing a free excerpt of my forthcoming self-help book, From Plucky Comic Relief to Main Romantic Interest in 30 Days (Pre-ordering available soon). I’ve dedicated half of my life to exploring how Hollywood has provided all the answers to life’s hardest questions about love: “What should I wear?” “Will he like me?” and even the classic, “Should I bring a burger in my purse in case the line at the restaurant is 2 miles long because it’s Valentine’s Day?” Fret no longer. Below, I’ve compiled some of the best nuggets of wisdom romantic films have taught us over the years. You’ll have him saying, “As you wish” like Westley before you know it.
Write it on your heart
that every day is the best day in the year.
He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day
who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
Week 1 of 2017 is officially done.
I’m still thinking a lot about what this year has in store for me. 2017 is full of unknowns, which is exciting and nerve-racking all at once. However, sometimes waiting gets old. Sometimes I want to know now what my future holds. This whole “figuring-life-out” thing is not nearly as glamorous and romantic as in the movies. Can I at least have my meet cute already?