To all the people who for some odd and miraculous reason read this journal- the end is coming! *laugh* No, no, I don’t mean that end. I mean the school year. There’s only one year left of school and it’s so deeply saddening! That is, what I’m trying to say is, I enjoy being at school. While I dislike the stress of loads of class work, studies, and tests I like being in school. It’s odd, almost hard to explain. There are a lot of “ugly” things about being in a place filled with different people- words that people say that hold powerful and hurtful influence, smiles that are insincere and disappear once the person of interest has left the room. So many people struggling to find themselves, so many faking who they are to be accepted, and far too many people who live their lives shallowly and ignorant, and are happy to be that way.

Being in a place with so many people, and so many decisions, it’s all so easy to submit yourself to someone’s power, all you have to do is tell them something of worth, and it can be held over your head forever. While a part of me still wants to believe in the best in people, I’ve come to find that I am hesitant to fully trust others. Kindness, however, and trust are two very different things.

But even so, I’m fond of this place. All these people, even the ones who carry such impure motives and thoughts, have become precious to me- even if I have yet to speak to any of them. Aside from my friends, the people in the background are so…important! They fill the building, and carry on with their lives, and so we are all made different, and yet connected. Because, in a way, we all know each other- even if it has to be as a friend of friend of friend.

Knowing that everyone has their own mindset, and individual ideals, and seeing how we vary so greatly, I can freely walk through the halls and think to myself: yes, this is where I want to be. Amongst all these people, I’m making my own way, and my footprints will forever remain on these floors. Beause, if you come to think about it, aren’t empty buildings, empty houses, empty rooms, so sad? Inhabitant, rendered useless, don’t you think they just cry out for someone to occupy them?

Ah, I’m sure what you’re thinking. “Whoa, there, girl, you’re getting a little out of hand there with all this sappy, sentimental stuff!” I know I am. But these words, and being able to write them, make me happy. Letting you, whoever you are, into my world, is just an amazing feeling. It’s so pleasing and calming, and makes me so appreciative to be here. Is that odd? I’m sure it is, but that doesn’t change how I feel. I want to be able to share these feelings and these thoughts with everyone. Maybe that’s why I play the violin, too. Maybe, to some extent, I play it because I want to reach others with the notes I play. My mother says that emotions can’t be picked up through music. Is that true? I don’t want to believe it. Is it just me, then? When I listen to things, I do feel things. I feel happy, or sad, or peaceful, or fidgety- are all these things just me, or are the emotions that the composer felt conveying to me?

Maybe I’m too sentimental. Maybe you don’t, and I, because of how sappy I am, feel these things. But even so, I want to cherish those feelings and moments, and I don’t want to believe that what goes through my mind are only frivolous ideals.

I doubt I will ever play the violin in school. No matter what I feel, no matter how much I want to send my feelings to the people who hear me, I don’t think I ever can. There far too many mistakes I can make, and so much room for improvement. And there are so many people who, I’m sure, will not understand what I’m trying to say through my song.

When I was a little girl, I always looked up to a narrow pathway, aligned with statues, hidden amongst the trees in a nearby community college. I would look up from my car window, as my mom would drive by, and want to see that place for my very eyes. Recently, I’ve been going there every day after my music classes. While I wait for the person who works for my mother to come pick me up, I walk through the construction sight of the community college where I take my lessons and go inside that open-air hall. The black gate reads, “Enter with joy that those within have lived,” and inside are dozens of busts of great and amazing people who changed the world.

There, I set my violin case down, and play for all those people. Thanking them for all they done, for the invention of the printing press, for the first air suspended flight, for whatever grand thing they have done, I play my violin. I slide the bow across the strings and play whatever comes to mind, making songs that I will probably never play again. One-time melodies that will never be hear again, and are felt and gone like the passing breeze.

That in itself is enough for me. I want to cherish those moments, and these days, in my youth and in this school for the rest of my life. I feel nostalgic, even though I’m experiencing this all for the first time, because I know these things will pass. Because no one can stop the passage of time, because you never live through the same second twice, maybe that’s why these things are so precious, because you can never for back.

So, how should I treat this? What should I say? When I play a song, should I say “Thank you” or “Good bye?”