enter soapbox and didactic tone.

the ultimately devastating truth:
high school will suck unless you allow it to be incredible.

this is what i believe about high school, and the activities and social encounters associated with it: 
they are a blessing.
they are inherently wonderful.
if they are boring or stupid or predictable or juvenile, that is you.

yes.
things like prom are overcommerialized.
yes. you will buy an expensive dress and then shoes and then accessories and then go get your hair and nails done and ride in a limo and soon enough spend a thousand dollars on one evening.

or you won't.
and it will be even better.
you can buy a cheap dress and have a wonderful friend do your hair and possibly even create your own boutonniere out of 25 cent red felt from walmart.

it is up to you.

(does that mean you need to get asked to dances to have fun as a high school student? absolutely not. i've only been asked to two, and the times i haven't have been just as fun. the point is, though, that if you aren't asked doesn't mean you have license to bash if you otherwise would have loved to go.)

you can be a hipster that is bent upon disregarding every social aspect of teenagehood and complaining about expectations and unacceptance and the close-mindedness of utahns and spend weekends doing whatever hipsters do. (what do they do? practice the harpsichord and read r. buckminster fuller? (okay, i read fuller... i don't know what hipsters read. dead russian poets?)) scratch that. they go to cat raves.

or you won't.
you can be a real-live person who maybe doesn't enjoy the radio music they play at dances, but you go to them and dance your heart out and maybe even scream "beibs forever" just for the principle of the matter. the matter that it doesn't matter. you can go to basketball games and tell the other team to gag you with a fish and you can act exactly like a high school student and it does not take any integrity away from the intelligent and classy human being that you are.

i go to a school where everybody is friends. and everybody is lovely. and i love everyone there.
i am friends with people who are involved. i am involved. and that's why i'm happy.
if i didn't find joy in stag dances and talent shows, high school would be the most awful thing that's ever happened to me.
but i am infinitely grateful for the fact that i've found the fun in being a teenager.
it doesn't mean i am ordinary. and ordinary isn't awful. i don't think there is an ordinary.
even though i do the same things that all the "conformist people" do, does not make me a conformist. (nor them.)
i have not lost any of my uniqueness because i sit on bleachers and go to the assemblies.
and here is the kicker.
high school has been a blast.
and i am well aware that the best hasn't even come yet. i have a miraculous future ahead, full of adventure and fun and learning. it will be better than high school. but that doesn't mean high school isn't worth smiling through.

i know that quite a few of you readers are high school students or soon-to-be ones. and i just want to let you know that you have a choice. you can love high school or you can hate it. it's up to you. you may rather do other things than participate in high school activities. but you should try to be involved, really. see what you can do.

the best is yet to come, and won't that be fine.

love, hannah.

you look really good today.

1. me, hannah a, and jess twirl in the street

2. me and jake bird-watch through doughnuts

3. we practice partying under the bottle tree

4. jackson wears my hear as a mustache

hey all! so sometimes, all the time, my friends and i do awesome things. 

however, on this occasion, we actually documented it.

yes, we really do just dress up and hang out.

kidding. kelsey created and styled this fashion story, 

shelbie was our talented photographer, 

and the rest of us modeled.

check out the actual "fashion story" by clicking here.

i think you'll love it.

love, hannah.

a funny story for you.

so i have this friend named cade.
he and i bicker every time we talk.
he let's me get on my soapbox with him. that's why i like him so much.
so today he was being stressed out about prom. because he has 6 free tickets to california, which he wants to use to go to the beach for a day date. and there was just some issues with it and another boy. so he was freaking out and i said,
cade. just go to california if you want to go to california....
(i keep speaking my opinion in an animated manner)
and he says, (still in his bickering voice)
will you go to prom with me?
but i think he says,
do you have a problem with me?
so i say,
NO! i'm on your side!!
(and i keep saying this because i don't listen well sometimes)
and laura was there, and she jumps in and says,
NO! cade, she didn't hear you, and hannah, he asked if you wanted to go to prom with him!
and i said,
what?!
and then i said,
yes!
and then he said,
i'll bring you flowers or something later.


the end.

-han

a call to pens.

hey my very own writing book. (i just got new film developed.)

'sup, inhabitants of blog world?

 my purpose here is to make a request of sorts.

you see, in the summertime, i was the champion of letter-writing. i had eleven pen pals or so. but that has since failed, mostly because all have failed to write me back as of late. 

but i have been pleased with the recent correspondence that i have shared with jenna.

and therefore have been inspired to get to know more of you lovely lovely people. 

so the question is this. 

would you like to be my pen pal?

if the answer is yes. please say so. 

email me at hannah.mallory1@gmail.com.

we will exchange residence information.

and you will soon recieve a colorful piece of paper in your mailbox. 

deal?

thanks.

p.s.

all you who didn't write me back....

write me back.

love, hannah.

Violence could be the answer...

I have the divine right to express my anger across the world wide web.

I mean, if you weren't interested in it to begin with, you wouldn't be reading this. Right?

Right.

Anyway. I just decided to take the opportunity to be slightly morbid.

(Deep down, we're all morbid.) 

I am quite the artist lately, so I made some art work. It was a theraputic experience, which helped me cope with my anger toward a few particular humans, and I came out of it a better person, I think.

I decided to share my art work with you.

Tell me how I'm doing on the whole "express yourself" idea.

Also, these may be inappropriate for young or innocent eyes.

Viewer discretion is advised.

This is a picture of me cutting off their heads, limbs, and other essential body parts.

Well, actually, this picture is post-cutting-off-heads-and-limbs.

But. You get the idea.

This is me eating them. Quite frankly, I would imagine human number four (the one closest to me in the photo) to be the only one that would maybe taste good. I don't know why, but I think he'd taste the best out of all four of them. Human number two has some potential, as well. Anyway, the point is for them to pass away in the process of all of this, so it doesn't really matter how they taste.

This is me, asking them if they have any last words.

Also, have you ever noticed that all the cool people with guns wear sunglasses in movies and things?

Those are my favorite part of the picture.

I. LOOK. AWESOME.

This is me, stepping on them.

If human number one makes a quick run for it, he may make it out of this one alive.

He owes me a "thank you" for giving him such an opportunity.

And now that all my anger is out,

this is me, turning them into balloons, and letting go.

Because, in the end, it's best to just let go of things.

I'm not angry.

Just misunderstood.

-Mallory

the eye of the beholder.

all the great questions of life.

who are you?
whoever you think you are.

what is your purpose?
whatever you think it is.

what is art?
whatever makes you feel understood.

what is music?
whatever makes your ears happy.

what is beauty?
whatever makes you smile.

what is your future?
whatever you want it to be.

isn't it incredible that the entire world lies in the eyes of it's beholder?


love, hannah.
photos by me.

Monster or Man

Sometimes you have to spend a Sunday afternoon eating Ben & Jerry's, and watching the greatest film to ever exist (The Hunchback of Notre Dame) with the person who allows you to be yourself more than anyone else.
These are the moment's I'll remember.


I drew you a picture of us:

NOTE: Earlier, I drew a picture of this on the back of my AP Language quiz as a depiction of "what I did this weekend," and Kevin pointed out to me that it's "God HELP the outcasts," not "bless." But I drew "Bless" anyway because I wanted to relive the mistake.
I'm into making mistakes these days.
It feels good.

Also, we're making "sad" faces in the picture, but they aren't meant to be sad. They are faces that are soaking up the beauty of a phenomenal Disney movie. Seriously, that movie is art. I love it so much.



Happy exactly-one-month-until-I-turn-eighteen day!



With love,
Mallory.
Mallory Elizabeth.

the blessing of emotion.

 

lately i have been feeling numb.

like i am simply navigating the line of tasks ahead of me. one at a time.

this week i have felt unusually touchy. sometimes i felt like crying. and sometimes i felt like dancing. 

it's called pms, actually.

but this time i like it. because i'm feeling things.

today i was walking with one of my very good friends. (as much as he drives me absolutely crazy, i really do love him.)

and he asked me to tell him my story.

(you see, he's a talker, and i usually just listen to him. he doesn't know much about me, despite the fact that we've been friends for quite some time.)

first of all, i don't easily talk. i'm good at responding to questions, but i can't usually just lay it all out there without being requested to. 

second of all, it kind of surprised me that he asked.

third of all, i was very surprised with how much i just said. i just talked. and talked. 

i told him the story, minus a lot of details. the bare bones of it really.

i took big breaths as i spoke. because all the emptiness i used to feel came back.
i haven't talked about any of that for a very long time. but it's still very real.
and he listened and he said goodbye.
i got in my car to drive home and i listened to damien rice's album 'o'.
it's very full of emotion too.
i drove home and i felt empty and sad. and it hurt. but i felt so grateful to be able to feel it.
to feel my heart moving all throughout my body. and my heavy eyelids. and deep breaths.
i have never felt so grateful to be sad.
it wasn't a teary kind of sad.
those of you who have experienced loss understand.
it's a simultaneous emptiness and fullness of heart.
the familiarity of grief. but the closeness of love.
and then yesterday i talked with two other friends. about the same thing, but about my feelings about it. and even though this boy doesn't know the details of my story like the first does, he knows how i feel about it. he already knows me better than a lot of people.
and this is when a realized a truth. an important one.
you can tell somebody facts and stories all you want. but they will never really know you until they know how you feel about it.
emotion is a blessing because it means we're alive.
it's not something we should be afraid of sharing with people.
no one will ever know us unless we show it. we are human because we feel, and our relationships are based on the connection of emotions.
every once in a while you find someone who either understands how you feel or is able to accept how you feel.
i know nearly every small fact about the first friend i talked to. and i know nearly nothing about the other. it's very surprising that the second knows me much better than the first now.
in this world where faux friendships have blurred the line of trust and love, there are very few people who really know us. i think it's important to allow people that experience, and to allow it to yourself as well.
sometimes it's easy to use stoicism as a shield.
but i think that the only way to heal is to feel.

fear is a friend that's misunderstood, but i know the heart of life is good.

love, hannah.

Reputation Shmeputation.

There are days when things happen.
There are days where you change, or your reputation changes, or something happens and you're just a little bit different than you were yesterday.

I recently had one of those days.

I walked into the school building and things automatically felt different.
I got vibes from people that made me uncomfortable, like I was naked, or like the entire student body had just read my journal. Or my mind.
I just carried on. People have a general dislike for me. I'm scary or something? That's just what I hear.
I guess it's fine. I don't actually care what they think or say or do. Or I thought I didn't.
Anyway, as the day proceeded, I understood what all the silent chatter was about.
And my heart sunk. Sunk entirely. And I nearly melted away.

I escaped. I ran. Because, well, that's what I do. I run.

In a single moment, as I sat in the corner of the school library, having an anxiety attack, it hit me.
My reputation.

I have an awful reputation.
I suppose it's deserved.
I knew I was viewed as an awful person with an awful past, an awful present, and a predicted awful future.

In explaining this to one of my dearest friends over text message, she sent me some words of wisdom.
"Mallory. Sing this with me now. 'I don't give a damn about my bad reputation.' That needs to be your theme song."
If you've ever seen the movie Shrek, think back on the part where Shrek and Donkey are smashing Farquad's men with chairs. Remember the song playing in the background, and how everytime you'd hear the word "damn" in it, your ears would perk up? That's the song we're talking about.

I laughed outloud when I invisioned myself smashing people with chairs in the middle of a castle courtyard.

But I was eased. And my head perked up. And I was okay.
Because, let's be truthful for a moment, these people simply do not matter. And as beautiful as every individual is, the opinions of people who are too terrified of me to even introduce themselves are as insignificant to me as the dust particles on my grandmothers book shelf.


I do wish that people didn't think me to be a bad person.
But, hey. Welcome to the world.
Where people feed off of gossip and drama.

I am what I am, and that is a person with a bad reputation.

A reputation is nothing but a silly judgement made by the outside world that doesn't know you at all.






New York, NY
I took this outside a window in the mall in April, 2010



Someday, I'll run off to New York, and my little Utah Valley reputation will no longer matter.
As for now, we stick it out and move along.


Love, Mallory.