i hope my words are strange and wondrous,

like kisses that quiet all things superfluous,

so that we can all stop and

listen

book three is closed, and it sits on the couch beside my mac,

old, yellowed, a taped up spine and a disintegrating cover.

to think closely, really, this is most definitely one of those books that pointed my development in a specific direction.

my favorite book, being "An Old Fashioned Girl" by Louisa May Alcott, triumphs this book only in that it stands alone, not in the context of a series, and yet offers the same impact.

but then again, there's something remarkably delicious about a series.

i feel frivolous on this lazy lazy day.

and i've been self-judging for ever so long, and still cannot reconcile the two camps of thoughts that have formed and oppose each other in my mind.

on one hand, i've discovered that im gradually learning to love myself for who i am. regardless of my faults.

on the other hand, i can't help but wish i wasn't who i was. because my ideal for myself is so far-flung from the person i greet in the mirror every morning.

how i wish i had a nobler heart, a lesser vanity, a great humility.

how i envy women of grace, of quiet composure, ladies of elegance and poise.

and yet, somehow i feel that my own clumsy tripping, uncontrollable laughter, random chatter and straightforward opinions are befitting, and i love them despite the many grievances they cause me.

and inside i know still, that there's a little girl still, with an imagination that will ruin her some day, and a heart that loves beauty like nothing else, for beauty reminds her of God.

and i know this little girl is still there covered up by petty grudges, by a flare-up die-down temper, an active, spunky ex-tomboy.

but how i wish i wasn't.

how hard it is to write all this down in words...

if "kindred spirits" do exist, why then, do i not seem to be able to properly express this without feeling a strange disconnect, my usual eloquence fails me, leaving me quite dissatisfied with the direction of the conversation.

will i ever become the person i want to be,

will my life ever be an inspiration to the people around me,

or do people think contrary thoughts behind their smiles

and secretly are making silent commentary on my foolishness, my pride and my shortcomings.

as i turn the pages again and again, having read from cover to cover at least 15 times, i love this book all the more for its age, its tattered condition than i could ever love a new, storebought crisp, sentimental-less version.

at time like these, all my other aspirations seem to fade and shrink to insignificance.

trying to live the life i want to live is such a struggle when the distractions of this day and age overwhelm me.

and even in afternoons of nice simple silence,

i cant help but hear the busy sounds of life,

that is a good thing,

but there is also a loss of a good thing.

now how is that? why is that?

i think however, that God is equipping me well for a second year in college,

maybe when i turn twenty, i'll have reached another milestone, on this journey to become a woman i won't be ashamed of being.

imperfection is beautiful,

but only when the heart within it is aspiring for a higher standard,

a standard of perfection.

to end off, i must quote from this book, naturally,

i admit i learn more from reading this novel than sometimes a year of experience does.

yet a year of experience coupled with a reading

seems to be the best way of learning there is,

and new things push themselves to the surface every time,

for i guess whenever i reopen the covers, my legs have already moved me out of where i used to be, and thus i am newly vulnerable, and doubly experienced in the things of this world. =/

three quotations by three lovable characters,

three amazing lessons i am reminded of,

and my favorite,

truly that is what life is, the way God intended for it to be.

this is my prayer, one i hope to not forget.