At last

A month after creating this blog (and the fabulously clever header above), I have finally had both the opportunity and motivation to post something.

Dozens of thoughts have been running through my mind lately and yet my ability to express them has waned tremendously since my Xanga days. It's hard to admit that I was far more articulate in those whiny and petty adolescent moanings than in probably any paper I've written since. Especially considering that I've now completed almost two semesters of college. Thus, this blog is absolutely necessary. For my writing skills and my sanity.

When I was asking my friend about blogging, he asked me what I wanted to blog about. I still don't know. Maybe I'll make the same trite observations I did when I was 15.

Despite the pensive and rather humorless introduction, I promise that I really am capable of "spreading seeds of happiness." In fact, I'd venture to say that I am a downright amusing person. And if no one else will testify to that, well, I still make myself laugh and that's good enough for me. It's perfectly acceptable to think highly of oneself, provided that there's not too much self-worship involved. That kind of behavior causes wars.

Today's events further led me to believe that a) I am doing far too little to really substantiate my existence, b) There are too many Americans being tragically ignored by "the system," and c) I shouldn't wear my red jacket with Tar Heel blue. The combination of colors is almost as awful and perverse as my need to make a joke while addressing a serious issue.

Anyway, I met with a class of middle schoolers during their field trip lunch at Granville Towers. The students were 6th graders from Durham County learning about college, specifically UNC. (If any college campus could encourage children to apply, I feel certain that its ours.) Rarely though have I been more cognizant of the academic division that exists between my hometown in suburbia and a suffering metropolis like Durham.

They all seemed enthusiastic when I tried to convey to them all the joys of Chapel Hill. And yet I could clearly see that some of these students had failed several times. Their grammar was atrocious (though I'm quite the critic in that regard) and it was evident that many of them were neglected by their parents. A lot of efforts have been put forth to recycle and reduce human waste, but I can't help but feel that, indeed, "the mind is (the most) terrible thing to waste."

I hate that these children have been failed by their parents, failed by their government, and more personally, failed by me. As long as I am not frozen by paralysis, I should be working to improve the lives and situations of others. I'm trying to help, but what I've done has only served as evidence that my attempts have not been nearly enough.

Speaking of which, my lame attempt to negate my disappointment with myself fed at least one homeless person this evening. After volunteering at a birthday party at Kidzu, the mother who organized the party gave me an entire box of pizza, for which I have no use considering our pathetic excuse for a fridge. So I gave it to that famous face of Franklin, the bearded old man known for his excellent guitar interpretations of Cat Stevens songs, among others.

I know, I know. A box of pizza is hardly going to tame that "Wild World" to which that man in particular is familiar. I can safely say, however, that the act left us both a littler happier. Sure, it's hard to get by just upon a smile, but it's a start.