I've never been the sharing type. Not openly to people anyway, not unless they blatantly ask. It's not my style to be so bold. (See previous post on bottling up emotions :'D ) I like to write. Put pen to paper and get my thoughts out on the table for me to finally make sense of. In the absence of real privacy, I like to tap away at my laptop's keys and vent. I can save and change things then, and come back to them when I can think of a way to say what I mean. I don't like to delete and rewrite stuff I've already saved though, then I feel like I'm betraying the feelings I had in those moments. They were raw and real, and needed saying.
I've started writing a book. Well, not a real book. More like a Word document that I add to now and then. It's based on an idea I've had for ages now. I want to make something that I can give to my children, maybe on their eleventh, or twelve birthday, as a little Life Bible.
There are many methods within schools today that work to further facilitate pupil progress and maintain engagement and the motivation to learn. Though it has come far from the traditional schoolrooms of desks and chalkboards, the execution of education is an ever changing concept, with new ideas constantly being put forward and tested in attempt to improve its functionality and success. One of these being the process of experiential learning; the concept of learning through experience. However the debate of how education should be run is often in conflict as traditional ways clash with modern ideas and poses the question; "Does creativity flourish better in an informal classroom where children are responsible for much of their own work and for initiating a great deal of what goes on, or is it at its best in a more formal, structured context?" (Fontana, 1991)
I think we've all gone through a time where we've written out a message to a person we've loved after they've hurt us. A message that depicts all our deepest and darkest vulnerabilities, and says all the things that we couldn't say to their face. Why couldn't we? Who really knows. Didn't want to hurt them? Felt helpless? Like it wouldn't make a difference anyway? Who can say. For me in this particular instance, I guess I didn't really know how I felt about the whole situation until long after the window of opportunity to say anything was gone. I was eighteen and had met a guy who had completely swept me off my feet. Nothing hurts like your first love, right?
My sister is floating round high as a kite. Happy pills do not take away the problem, and if you were to take away the pills we'd still be in the same boat. It concerns me that people are perceiving her induced positivity as a cure, end of problem, that's all, folks. She was given her prescription last week, on the back of her boyfriend breaking up with her. But it's more than that, we've learned. It wasn't until after the break up that she began to open up about what really went on. She'd sit and tell me about the sexual things he's make her do and then wonder why I sat there horrified.
There is so much talk in today’s world about identity and expressing oneself, but I found that so many people forget that this extends into so many other personal aspects of ourselves that we don’t tend to think about. One aspect is the language in which we speak and feel most connected with. Something many of us take for granted, but the language(s) that we speak hold far more importance than we would first give them credit for.