When All

When silent words of nerve run dry

and those that create the sound

ask why,

I look outside my window,

peek,

then listen to green blades

that move me,

keep

the rolling rows that ne'er

run out

the simple sounds

that try to scout

Just how did you lose sight

of this

when all that mattered was

what was missed.

There are a lot of things we miss out on. Spring is just one of them.

Words that stick

I just came home from visiting a friend of my mother's. She said something that I do not want to forget.

"Prayer, thats what will keep us going."

A Good Friend

A very intelligent and insightful friend of mine took AP Latin this past school year. One of his class readings was the Aeneid by Virgil. Though we only read two books of the twelve together, I fell in love with the writing. When I finally got my hands on a copy of the book yesterday, I decided i NEEDED to read it, especially since my friend recommended it.

Just a few things about this remarkable friend. I wont name any names, as I'm sure that would be what my friend would have wanted. He was one of those people that just knew how to love. His smile is incredible because you just know its 100% genuine. I remember one time he saw me rushing to the bus stop because it was raining and he insisted I let him give me a car ride to the stop and wait inside until the bus arrived. That really touched me.

I'm Working On It

Its easy to get myopic when you let insignificant things alter your understanding of reality. These past few days I have been struggling to understand why on Earth, I decided to come home to Texas for the Summer. Indeed, there were a few compelling factors that pushed me South instead of North-East, but in light of the situation at hand I admit that there are moments in my everyday life where I tell myself, why didn't I just go to New York? Why didn't I just pursue my initial plan to spend the spring and summer in culinary classes? Why didn't I just choose to go where I felt comfortable and at home? Why didn't I go where I knew the grocery store was a block away and the subway only two? Why didn't I go where I said I would months ago, when I was convinced that everything would fall into place if I chose NY?

Well, I am still in Texas, and I am still struggling with accepting that. But in that process of accepting, that oh-so-humbling and necessary process of accepting, there are somethings I have come to know and feel and learn. I'm telling myself everyday, Nicole-- Stop asking why and start thinking when...When am I going to take Josh to the Donut shop he is always talking about? When am I going to get up on my feet and explore the beautiful town around me? When am I going to really study for my driver's permit? When am I going to call all those friends that I promised to catch up with? When am I going to stop thinking about myself?

A teacher at BYU mentioned something to me that has been at the back of my head throughout all of this minute, but in my eyes tremendous struggle. He was quoting Alvin Dyer who said, and I am paraphrasing, that, there is a difference between humility and meekness. This difference being that the later is a voluntary condition. In his words, "Voluntary Humility" is key in accepting any struggle that comes across one's way. So I am accepting that I live in town where there are no sidewalks. I am accepting that even if I learn how to drive, getting a car of my own is a 1 in a million chance. I am accepting that even though there are things i miss terribly about New York, I need to work on being happy where ever I am. I am accepting that I need to volunteer to be humble no matter what my circumstances are.

Thank-yous, and Gratitudes

I am thankful that I have a body that can walk, and talk, and learn, and see, and hear, and taste and feel.

I am thankful that when I pray I can feel someone listening and caring for every word I say, even when it seems unimportant.

I am thankful that I have felt God's endearing love for me.

I am thankful for every material thing that I have.

I am thankful that I know my family, and they love me.

I am thankful that I was taught to love.

I am thankful that laughing is the best amnesia from a hard day.

I am thankful for hard days; they make weaknesses strengths.

I am thankful for my health, and the resources available to me.

I am thankful that I can write.

I am thankful for books.

I am thankful for FOOD, and cooking and grocery stores that are filled with wonderful ingredients.

I am thankful for teachers. That means all of you that I know; you have taught me something.

I am thankful to have the knowledge that I can improve and become better if I am willing to work for it.

...so I'm working on it.

CATHARSIS

My favorite english teacher introduced this term to me in the 11th grade. We were reading the book The Great Gatsby, and he told us students that sometimes writers write in order to release feelings that would have otherwise been kept internalized and buried.

I was thinking then that that was obvious and that of course, every writer writes to make their readers feel what they feel and know what they know. However, what I didn't see was that a writer's catharsis has absolutely nothing to do with what a readers feel, but has everything to do with what a writer feel when he's writing.

So this poem, may not make any sense. It might not even read very logically. But the experience writing made me feel lighter about somethings I had on mind.

your Handkerchief

There comes a time when

Words have their end

And even when those words came out

Those very words that speak

Your heart,

They came crashing faster

Then you would have wished

And suddenly you crawl back

Hoping, praying, begging

That they weren’t said.

But they were,

And they are.

They stick like thorns

That don’t belong

And hurt.

That same hurt

You feel when

You’ve lost it all

And all that’s left

Is a soaked handkerchief

That isn’t even yours.

But when those words are

said and spoken,

You'll find, the break

was long made and broken.

Then thrust, and stride

and make anew, revitalize

that broken view

and build again

piece by piece

leave here to then

and look to these:

That those who stayed

are waiting still

their knees that prayed

and hearts that willed

Yes, you are not what

was behind, reach forward

and believe the line

the smallest choices that are made

opens doors to what wrongs forbade.

-Jalipa

Blue Skies

I am absolutely addicted to writing poetry, and trying to force sleep is not really working. My nightly routine has been as follows; at 10:00 its usually lights out at home so I lay in bed until about 11:00pm, keeping myself occupied with books, music and the occasional PSYCH episode. I brush my teeth, comb my hair, take my contacts out then put the glasses on for another hour or so of reading...Then come midnight my fingers start getting restless, and my thoughts start bubbling and before I know it I have crept into the unoccupied bedroom next door to mine, having turned on every light switch I pass by on my way to that very destination, which mind you is positioned less than a foot away from my bedroom door, paranoia? Possibly. Then, after sitting there for a while, I usually realize I left my laptop in my room, so I scurry back to retrieve it ------AND, yes I am literally scurrying because I have never felt comfortable quietly pacing in the dark, its far too confident when all I can see is what I can hear. When I am finally situated, and my angst is released as I am typing away, It feels so fulfilling. Its strange that sometimes I don't really think about what I'm writing. I just write.

Tonight was was one of those nights that everything came out like word vomit. It's very different from my usual style which is definitely structured and organized. I hate the idea of not having a rhyme scheme at all, but as I'm reading and rereading the poem, it feels like its just the way its supposed to be.

Disclaimer: This is a fictional poem.

Blue

Nicole’Eve Jalipa

It was when I was walking,

Walking with my father

That I could see with my eyes

the blue-print in action.

When I was three; I was sitting,

Sitting on his shoulders---

But still walking

Higher than everyone else.

He would walk to the market on Union

Where we could find an

Old man selling his petunias,

While his wife held a basket of fruit,

“A pound of berries for your daughter?”

“---Why not? After all, they are blue.”

When I was 6; I was swimming.

Swimming where the water hit my waist

But I pretended it was much deeper,

And when I wanted to be brave

I would swim to my father,

And even when his back was turned away,

He was already getting ready for me

To jump on and leech onto his back.

Then, I was crying,

Crying just because I could.

At that age it seemed like

Crying was the closest I could get

To saying sorry and showing I was blue.

And he was wiping,

Wiping my blue, blue tears

When they would steam.

Wiping,

Wiping my blue, blue sweat

When it would leak out of my

Tired pores.

But when I was walking,

Walking away from the wooden seats

Of Central Park,

Walking away from the miles of words at STRANDS,

Walking away from the rancid subway

seats stained with gum and sharpie---

I was alone.

It wasn’t three anymore when I had a shoulder to sit on.

It wasn’t six anymore when I had a back waiting, and ready to be my rescue.

And there were no tears, no sweat.

---None---

Just me, sitting, and walking, and swimming in that,

That Blue, blue sky.

Voice 123

A very unexpected work-at-home opportunity has presented it self. Though, there really aren't any promises to this job, it certainly is a fun one. I signed up at VOICE 123, a "voice marketplace" where I am able to receive information on projects that need voice-overs. I am hoping that I get the opportunity to narrate audiobooks.

Today I recorded my first audition for a voice-over project dealing with a daily horoscope reading venture. Since I am new to this, it was quite an experience to read the auditionary script (hmmm auditionary? is that really word?) in English, and Spanish, and French, and German.

My general voice demo, was recorded in all four languages as well, but-- it happened to be an ad for coffee. So big time disclaimer there! Coffee, or Cafe, or Kaffe is big no-no for me!

Dinner tonight was great. I made some Bread, Soup and Shrimp. As Josh always says in his very monotone voice, "this is good."

Back With The Fams

So, I've left Provo and moved to Fort Worth, Texas for the Spring and Summer. Coming home to be with my family is always interesting. My brother Josh, is only 11 so its great to be around someone with so much energy. Speaking of energy, thats something that seems harder to come by when I can sleep in all I want, eat all I want, and do absolutely nothing all I want. Isn't it amazing how a couple weeks without school or work can just totally reconfigure your biological time-clock?

This is why I have decided to establish a regimen that will hopefully allow me to stay up to date with my reading, work on my writing and get me ready for the beach. Instead of reading one book monthly, I've decided I have time to read four, and that with whatever time I have left I can exercise, and develop some new recipes to go into a college-cookbook I'm trying to put together. My parents are quite ambitious when it comes to healthy living, so I'm also trying to revamp my diet. Here it goes!

My First two weeks in Texas has been devoted to quite a bit of cooking... Bon Appetite!

Grandma's Pizza

Oven Roasted Chicken with Rosemary-Lemon butter glaze

Berry Bread Pudding (It was our Mother's Day breakfast)

Hopefully, I can control myself and the next meals I cook for my family will be more "figure-friendly."