Innocence

After spending the weekend with two little girls I had a cliche but fascinating realization...the realization of childhood innocence. We had been playing a game of "Would you rather." Here I was, expecting them to ask silly questions like, "Would you rather eat brains or smell dog poop?" But instead, they began asking quite scary questions like "Would you rather die by falling off a cliff or being nailed to a pole?" Now you may be saying, "That's anything but innocent!" But isn't it? I could see in their faces they weren't bothered by these statements. In fact they almost found them funny. And I could tell that the reason was because they don't associate death with reality. To them, death is something of fantasy, something to be joked about, something so far from themselves. And as I layed in their pink room that night, that smelled of baby powder and had butterflies covering the walls, I thought of all they don't know. Death, suicide, self-injury, rape, depression, loss, terrorism, poverty, despair, slavery, guilt, prostitution, complete and utter loneliness and desperation...and it saddened me that they'd later have to deal with the reality of it all. I hope they never have to encounter any of the horrors of this world personally...they don't deserve that. But, then again, no one really does.

I tried to remember when I lost this innocence, and I can't really think of a day or a time..."Maybe when..." I thought, but then I realized that truly, with life-experience comes a loss of innocence and it's a reality we all unfortunately have to face, some sooner rather than later. I don't know which way is easier.

But I try to reclaim a little of my lost innocence when I can, through childhood books and stories, movies and fantasies, pictures and memories. And I know, deep down, I'll always be a child lost in that bubblegum world. I'll deal with reality as it comes.

picture is from...

http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb125/Cheeriotown/innocence.jpg&imgrefurl=http://face-photography.blogspot.com/2008/01/photograph-innocence.html&usg=___1g9727NcVbsmEVHkRu9bqXY-Cs=&h=700&w=467&sz=70&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=MM9VFyBEcbo1JM:&tbnh=118&tbnw=92&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dinnocence%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26rlz%3D1T4ADRA_enUS333US333%26biw%3D1419%26bih%3D604%26tbs%3Disch:1&um=1&itbs=1&iact=rc&dur=468&ei=wU4FTcS2KcT68AbQ-eTvDg&oei=wU4FTcS2KcT68AbQ-eTvDg&esq=1&page=1&ndsp=30&ved=1t:429,r:2,s:0&tx=80&ty=79

The Shock Factor

I remember exactly when and why I fell in love with fashion. In about fifth or sixth grade, I started to feel like I would never be able to worm my way out of the label everyone had placed on me..."The Shy Girl." Ugh! Everyday, someone, a teacher, a friend, whoever, would be describing me or perhaps defending me saying things like "Oh she's just shy," or " Ashley? She's really nice and sweet, but she's super quiet." Argh! I wanted to rip my hair out! It was like there was nothing more to me then shy. I wasn't a person, I certainly wasn't interesting. No one bothered (sans my friends) to look past that, to try to get to know me and my insanely lame sense of humor. No one cared that I loved books, or that I was a good listener, or that I liked to write and do arts and crafts. So that's when I decided. I would give them something to talk about. Something to make them see me for me. I would wear my personality on my sleave, (literally...hehehe punny). I started small. I'd wear my favorite charm bracelet, or a colorful clip in my hair. Then it got bigger. On non-uniform days I'd wear a spastic-looking purple scrunchie, or I'd spray my hair blue (much to the dismay of my teachers.) And I'd get complements. And it was nice to know people saw that I actually had a personality. But after awhile, I started to like fashion more and more, just for the fashion. No strings attached. I'd see a pair of shoes and I'd think they were cute, and I'd wear them to school for no other reason than that I liked them. From then on, it was less about the shock factor and more about what I liked and what I wanted. If I wanted those guitar earrings because they reminded me of my favorite band, then I'd get them. If I liked that leather jacket and that pink skirt, I'd get them. Heck I'd wear them together! If someone thought that I looked stupid, or if they payed no mind to me at all, I wouldn't really care. Fashion was suddenly a lot less stressful, and a lot more fun.

To this day, I still shock. Which, sometimes, is hilarious, especially since my fashion sense is a lot like my personality...random, fascinating, and confusing. But I honestly could care less whether on not anyone acknowledges what shoes I'm wearing or the color of my nail polish. I straightened my hair because I wanted to. Case closed. I wear my leather boots and white, fluffy sweaters with pride, fashion taboos be damned. It makes my life just that much more fun (though with my family and friends, it's pretty freaking crazy to begin with.)

http://www.lostateminor.com/2009/08/11/trash-fashion/

Dance...simple title, but it makes sense...

I am a dancer. You only have to know me for a day or two to find this out. I love to talk about it. It just fascinates me to know end. The costumes, the lights, the bizarre movements and make-up...amazing.  Dance has become a considerable part of my life; I literally can't imagine my life without some aspect of dance in it. Now, I'm not saying I'm amazing at it or that I'm better than anyone else at my level; actually, there are many, many people better than me. I don't even do it competitivelly, though I'd love to. But...I just love it. That's all there is to it.

I've always thought that some of the appeal to it was the sense of being able to "get out of my own skin." A lot of actor's use this cliche, but as I am shy and can barely open my mouth in regular conversation, I very much doubt I can do it on a stage. (I've tried to sing in front of people on a stage...ok when I was 4, panic attack when I was 12.)

But truely, I think I love dance just for the thrill I get from it. There's a sense of pride to it. That feeling of " Hey look audience! I can do this...can you?" There's that sense of beauty. Every move I make feels good, physically and in a deeper sense. I love being part of a bigger unit, all working together to create one story, one piece of art. If I mess up, the whole piece looks bad; I love that responsibility, that purpose, that adrenaline. As an adrenaline junkie, I have to say that is the best feeling I've yet to experience.

And so every practice, I work for the performance. Nearly a year of practice, for 2 performances. All that work for that one feeling. But I do it. For many years now, I've done it.

Does anything give you this feeling? This adrenaline, this love, this meaning. Follow that passion, and trust me, you won't regret it.

Duct Tape/ Cardboard

Disclaimer: These poems are completely original. They are works of fiction and, if they are ever based on my life, it is VERY loosely.

Duct tape

The walls are made of paper, ready to cave in.

The dirt is made of ink and it’s bleeding into my shoes.

I hold my eyes open and pray it stays real.

Pray that the rain won’t wash my world away.

The clouds are only cotton and the floors only cardboard.

Don’t melt, don’t drown my world away.

Don’t tear, don’t rip my shelter.

Don’t burn it with your flames of fury.

Don’t melt the glue I applied so quickly.

Don’t wash away the hand-painted smiles.

Don’t cut down the string, holding up my walls.

Please just let it be.

It’s secured just so haphazardly.

...Wactcha think? Let me know! Oh, and this MAY be continued, based mostly on my patience level, and how much my friend Jen pesters me...so there you are. Love, Ash/ Ashley P.L./ or perhaps Just Plain Ashley.

Why Stereotypes Suck

Stereotypes suck. It's a lot of pressure to try to fit  all the requirements of one stereotype, don't you think? I, for one, most certainly don't fit in a stereotype sort of group, though I'm guilty of trying to make myself fit one. And even if I did fit in one stereotype, it seems like a lot of pressure to say to a person, "You want to try out for the softball team? Nah, you can't, you're emo! Go hate the world or something kid, you with your super-straight bangs and neon purple clothing. You're not wanted here." Who the heck is to say a Hollister-wearing girl can't go into Hot Topic? Or that someone in band can't also be a cheerleader? And why can't we say "Oh yeah, that girl that's super sweet?" rather than "That black girl?" And what if you just don't fit a stereoype? For example, if I were to describe myself in one sentence,, it would sound something like this, "A shy, hyper-active dancer, who listens to hard rock, plays volleyball, and loves fashion and dark fantasy novels." What, do I have to make my own catergory now? Because that's one heck of a group name. Perhaps I'll shorten it to The S.H.D.W.L.H.R.P.V.L.F.D.F.N. Club...catchy, right? Not so much.
So folks, my point is this: Stereotypes suck. Don't put that sort of pressure on yourself. Friends like you for who you are, so don't change yourself to fit into a group. Trust me, my "group" is anything but stereotypical. But if you do fit into a stereotype, don't label yourself. Who knows, basketball players of the world,...maybe one day you'll take up drama. With emphasis, Ash

An Escape in Art and Fantasy

Anyone who knows me knows I'm shy. For me, that feeling of panic that takes hold whenever I have to attend a large gatherings of strangers compares to nothing else. It's a very individual, distinct nausiating feeling, much different from the feeling of nerves when about to go on a roller coaster, but very similar (though not the same) to the feeling of stepping onto a brightly lit stage (which I do suprisingly often...) But I'm not a hermit and I try very hard to conquer said feelings (which I obviously can do, as I do have friends.) Now what does art have to do with this? I've found art (though not usually of the painting and drawing kind) to be a lovely escape for me. When I find myself lost in a wonderful work of literature,or engrossed in a fantastic movie, or am flipping through fashion magazines, or perhaps writing a story of my very own, I get lost in a world away from the pressures of everyday life, away from due dates and social calls and practices and stress, stress, stress. The girls in the magazines worry only for their hair. Harry has no worry for school, and only for adventure. Alice could care less about parties. Bella cares for nothing but love. And Seth spends his days surrounded by love, and chaos, and art. So why can't I be these"people" a while, with their fairy troubles, and dragons, and strange creatures of the night? I want to be a different shy, like a fairy is shy. I want these troubles, because the grass does look greener on the other side.

The True Beauty Of A Messy Room

I, personally, think that there is a lot to be said for a messy room. There is something raw and true about it. It's almost as if you can know the person just by looking around the room at what they eat, the music they listen to, their taste in clothes, and the books they read. By the bent corner of a paperback, or the thousands of scuff marks on a pair of converse or even a pair of break-neck heels, you can feel what they love, how they live. In a clean room, you can't feel this kind of energy. The beat-up converse and the white, stained frock dress are put safetly away in a closet, hidden from the world. The empty cofffee cups or old coke bottles are hidden away in the kitchen. "Who is this person?" you may ask. But really, what is to be said about that person with the white walls, brown loveseat, and book on fishing on their coffee table? Maybe something, but we'll never know. But this isn't to be taken as me saying we should all  go and trash our bedrooms, (in fact, I cleaned mine today), but it is me saying a home, or even just a bedroom, should look lived in. It should have that energy, that style. And trust me,  my room is almost overflowing with 'energy.' With Joy, Ashley P.L.