Why I Write

I'm gonna be completely honest here.

I started writing because I was playing World of Warcraft and some people I had just met asked if I wanted to roleplay with them-- which is sort of like co-writing a constant, on-going story until your character is dead. I found it intriguing and I was awful at first; I was just 11. I had no idea how it worked. But I roleplayed on and off until very recently-- until November of 2015. I'd been roleplaying for about six years, though closer to five if you take out the breaks from roleplaying that I took.

Now, I write simply because I enjoy it. It helps me understand myself, It helps me vent. It helps me sort out my feelings before I talk about them with other people. It's a creative outlet that I need, like painting or drawing, but writing is more from the heart than visual art, for me.

I write to show love. I'm a very physical person, meaning I show love through affection, and I don't like to touch or be touched unless I am comfortable with the person. I am also very verbal; I like to tell people they're appreciated. While I think you should show your love, you should also say it. It's nice to get that verbal confirmation that you matter. That you're cared for. That you're missed. For me, simply being shown isn't enough. I need to be told.

I write because there are some thoughts I can't share with others. Like mean thoughts. Thoughts that I KNOW are irrational. Thoughts that I don't want to be real, so I don't say it to someone. Thoughts that can't be heard by others, because my notebook won't tell my secrets.

I write to understand. I write to be understood. I write to love. I write to be loved. I write to express. I write to tell secrets. I write so that others can read my work and think, "She wrote what I was thinking."
I write because it is art.

Final E-mail

Dear Reader,

I apologize for the generic e-mail. Next Thursday, May the 4th, I graduate from high school. After that, I will be working a majority of the time, visiting France in June, and then moving out of my parents' home in the late summer. I will be fairly busy so I don't want to get your hopes up. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to e-mail, if at all. You can e-mail me regardless, and I will respond whenever possible. But don't expect a response super soon.

Your friend, Caitlyn Kittrell

Scavenger Hunt

The top left picture is a picture of the park from a sidewalk near Parkview. I've always loved the park, and I used to visit Fassnight on the reg.
The one below it is a picture of angel rays, taken at Nathaniel Green park. ... I really love parks.
The one to the right of the angel rays is the stone stairs near Parkview and Fassnight. This is my "weird angle."
The one above it is a fountain. I just thought it was cute.
The one to the right of the fountain is a picture of myself and Zach. Zach is my best friend and has become one of the most important people in my life. I adore him and he constantly motivates to me to be a better version of myself. I've been tempted to make a blog post about him for a while.
The picture of the pile of rocks is my cat's grave marker. She passed away on March 31st. I like this picture because there's a heart-shaped rock on the top.
The last three pictures are just pictures that I took and enjoy looking at.

Visit From MSU Exchange Students

Liam and I were in a group with Ren and Zhenzhen (pronounced Jingjing).
I forgot how to write my adjective in pinyin, but my adjective was "stressed."
We talked about what American high school was like (the classes and how credits work) and we asked them a little bit about college. Both of us added them on WeChat!
We took them to the cafeteria, the foreign language hallway, the gymnasium, a couple of art rooms, and a couple of science rooms. They took a lot of pictures!
I felt like it was a very fun class period. It was a lot of fun to teach people about stuff that was mundane to us, because people don't really consider that things that are mundane to them are extraordinary to others. I hope it was enlightening and educational for them!

Wife Swap Response

I feel like the whole Wife Swap ordeal was more difficult for Maryanne. I would not have been able to put up with Scott disrespecting me; I could have handled Maryanne's children disrespecting me, because that behavior is more easily changed than a grown man's behavior, but I grew up in the type of household where, if the woman is a stay-at-home mother, she took care of the cooking and cleaning, and the husband works full-time and does odd jobs around the house, like fixing the plumbing or building things.

That's not how I want to live though. I want to have kids but I also want my own career. With my ideal career, I will be able to have a flexible schedule, so that I can build it around my children, but I intend on my future husband also helping around the house. That's just how I am; I'm independent but I expect help with things. It's a partnership for a reason, to me.

I was appalled that Maryanne didn't let Leo cut his hair; I plan on letting my kids have their hair the way that they want. If I don't let them do anything to physically express themselves, like dress the way they want or have their hair the way they want, then when they're older they're going to be dying to do all these crazy things to themselves. I'd rather let them do what they want with their self-expression so that they know how they like things (their hair, clothing style) by the time they're young adults.

There's a lot more I could say, but I don't want this to be an essay on gender roles.

China Email Exchange

I have two pen pals. One is Cathy and the other is Seven. Cathy is very athletic, and her significant object piece was about her cell phone. I'm not so sure if Seven sent an object piece, but he may have written about antiques and a bracelet he designed.

Both are very friendly, and I enjoy emailing them quite a lot.

That's about it.

Favorite Book Excerpt

My favorite book is The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. It is a coming of age story written in letter form by Charlie; it begins as Charlie starts high school.

The excerpt that I chose is a poem written by an anonymous 15-year-old in the 1960s, two years before he killed himself. While Chbosky did not write it himself, it was the first time I read the poem, and I thought he wrote it until I did some research on it. 

Santa Claus and Little Sisters

"Once,

On yellow paper, with green lines, he wrote a poem,

And called it "Chops",

Because that was the name of his dog,

And that’s what it was all about.

And the teacher gave him an "A"

And a gold star,

And his mother hung it on the kitchen door,

And read it to all his aunts.

That was the year his sister was born,

With tiny toenails and no hair,

And Father Tracy took them to the zoo

And let them sing on the bus.

And his mother and father kissed a lot

And the girl around the corner sent him a Christmas card

Signed with a row of x's.

And his father always tucked him in at night,

And he was always there to do it.

Once,

On white paper, with blue lines, he wrote another poem.

And he called it "Autumn"

Because that was the name of a season,

And that’s what it was all about.

And the teacher gave him an "A"

And told him to write more clearly.

And his mother didn’t hang it on the kitchen door

Because the door

Had just been painted.

That was the year his sister got glasses,

With black frames and thick lenses.

And the kids told him why father and mother

Kissed a lot,

And that Father Tracy smoked cigars

And left butts on the pews,

And the girl around the block laughed

When he went to see Santa Claus at Macy’s.

And his father stopped tucking him in bed at night,

And got mad when he cried for him to.

Once,

On paper torn from his notebook, he wrote another poem,

And he called it "Question Marked Innocence",

Because that was the name of his grief

And that’s what it was all about.

And the professor gave him an "A"

And a strange and steady look.

And his mother never hung it on the door

Because he never let her see it.

That year he found his sister necking on the back porch

And his parents never kissed, or even smiled.

And he forgot how the end of the "Apostle’s Creed" went,

And Father Tracy died.

And the girl around the block wore too much make-up

That made him cough when he kissed her,

But he kissed her anyway.

Once,

At 3 a.m., he tucked himself in bed,

His father snoring soundly.

He tried another poem, on the back of a pack of matches,

And he called it "absolutely nothing"

Because that’s what it was all about.

And he gave himself an "A"

And a slash on each damp wrist,

And hung it on the bathroom door,

Because he couldn’t reach the kitchen."

I don't know why I like it, honestly. Maybe because it's morbid; maybe because I relate to it, in the way that the author of the poem wrote about how he was praised for his work and later on, things changed. He stopped getting validation from his parents to the point he didn't show anyone his work.

It also hits close to home because there were people in my life that I was close to and they committed suicide. 

That's all I have to say.