on my blog title

ca·den·za
: a parenthetical flourish in an aria or other solo piece commonly just before a final or other important cadence
: a technically brilliant sometimes improvised solo passage toward the close of a concerto
: an exceptionally brilliant part of an artistic and especially a literary work

those of you who have been paying attention may have noticed that the title of my blog refers to a musical term: a cadenza. I have done what any other sane teenager would have done and googled the term so I could provide a more concise (and true) definition than that would have come from my memory. please be aware that I have no delusions of grandeur concerning my own literary talents (and/or musical talents, if either exist). with this title I am not declaring myself as creating these 'exceptionally/technically brilliant' works, but instead granting myself a place to have my own 'solo,' per se. this is my place to extend my thoughts, a place to express the 'flourish'es I wouldn't have a chance to otherwise.

(If that makes sense.)

Reminiscence

Witnessing the graduation of this year's seniors has made me start to reflect on my high school career. Though I think I realize the progress I have made during the past three years (except for the moments when I imagine I feel the same as my 14-year-old self would have), I find myself wishing for the years back. Now that I know what I can accomplish, and with my goals more defined, I feel like I could have done so much more then. Will that make me try to do more next year? I doubt it. Last time I tried to put more on my plate when I thought I could handle it, I ended up almost failing physics. I think for now I'll just take comfort in my renewed confidence in myself.

Mostly, I think I miss being a freshman because of the innocence that existed then. The world was fresh, the four final years left of my childhood were stretched out clean and unscathed before me. The flaws I would later come to realize existed at my school and in myself did not exist for me then. Perhaps that's why I look back on that year with such mixed disappointment and fondness. I know I could have done so much more then and later; I could have begun making the friendships I have now earlier and stronger, worked on my writing a lot more than I did, gotten all A's in those easy freshman classes instead of not caring and getting B's (and screwing my GPA while I was at it.) But I mostly just miss the clean slate that entering high school brought me.

Beginnings and endings

Endings and beginnings can almost be described as vague, in my opinion. One does not always receive a set beginning or end, even though it would make things a million times easier. Like friendships. Can you pinpoint the exact moment that you became friends with your best friend? When did you consciously decide that you knew them well enough to share your secrets, those moments, those little things that friends share?

I know that personally, I couldn't pinpoint those moments if I tried.

However, there are some concrete beginnings and endings that stand out for me. Like school, like band, like when we moved from our previous house. Now that I think about it, it's mostly endings that stand out. Maybe because of the happiness that has passed; when something begins, you can imagine the future but it hasn't truly, concretely ended yet.

I am a writer.

By nature, I like words: the shape and feel of the letters, the sharp contrast of dark ink against paper. The sounds they make as one reads them internally, the pauses and little nuances of sentences, of paragraphs that add a certain type of flavor. But in particular, I love writing in pen on plain, good old paper. There's a particular beauty to it that is very hard to reproduce, I think because of the combination of the sensation of pen dragging across that sort-of-rough surface, the slight spread of ink that comes with a halfway decent pen, the subtle scent that comes along with freshly out of the package leaf.

Many will agree there is no way that writing on a computer screen can compare to the traditional beauty of handwriting. But, alas, here I am.