...Because sometimes pictures are prettier than words.

Dear internet users, please don't steal my art.

This bridge could destroy the masonry of even the largest of writer's blocks.

This photo won 3rd place at the Jack and Jill of America Southwest Regional Teen Conference Photography Competition.

These shoes have travelled with me to 3 continents, 7+ countries, and 20+ states. They have seen and touched so many things with me. I'll probably patch up the holes on the side, but won't ever throw them away. They mean too much.

Funny places, diners.

Wartime is love time. My great uncle wrote this to his wife during WWII. This photo won 1st place at the Jack and Jill of America Southwest Regional Teen Conference Photography Competition.

"Do you want to go to the seaside? I'm not trying to say that everybody wants to go. I fell in love at the seaside. I handled my charm with time and slight of hand." -The Kooks

Everyone wants to go west. Let's take some time off from life and go.

"To every man, woman, and child, we want an end to the glamorization of negativity in the media. We want an end to status symbols dictating our worth as individuals"- Lupe Fiasco

Amen.

"We want substance in the place of popularity... We want love not lies. We want an end to all wars foreign and domestic violence. We want an end to the processed culture of exploitation, over-consumption and waste. We want knowledge, understanding and peace. We will not lose because we are not losers, we are lasers. Lasers are the opposite of losers. Lasers are shining beams of light that burn through the darkness of ignorance. Lasers shed light on injustice and inequality. Losers stand by and let things happen. Lasers act and shape their own destinies." Preach it, Lupe. I am a laser. And this is where I shine my beams.

-ZMar

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Weak at the knees

I'm starting to think about endings. I'm getting that cliched, nostalgic feeling all seniors get. SIXTEEN. 16. ONE-SIX. My final day of high school is May 16th and I can't stop thinking about it. I don't know what it means, really. Aside from the obvious meaning, of course. I'll soon enter the awkward space between final school day and graduation. I'll become a "college 8th grader" I suppose? When you're no longer a senior in high school, but not quite yet a college freshman, what are you? And how are you supposed to know how to feel? It doesn't make sense to feel nostalgic so soon because no one's even left yet.

It seems like adulthood is peeling toward me at 150mph with its high beams on, fire blazing from the tailpipes. And I'm just standing there, confused and scared, thinking- hoping- it's a dream. I stand there because I don't know what else to do. Because every adult I know keeps telling me, "it will be fine". "Change is good".

I've been telling myself that forever. I like change. But not the kind of change that suddenly appears on the horizon of your childhood, the field that seemed to stretch on forever. The change charging straight toward you, blood thirsty, ready to transform your life. How does anyone know how to face that? Not even your past sass thursdays and usual confidence can help you. Frankly, I don't know any other way to handle it other than to stand there with nothing but your nostalgia and your yearbook in hand. Scared and defenseless. Hoping you don't pass out before it reaches you. And maybe, just before it does, find the possibility in it, that thing that gleams off its shiny red paint when the sunlight hits it just right. In that moment, it hits your stomach, like a playful breeze or the gentle beat of butterfly wings. The feeling you get just before a first kiss or a dive into cold water. Or before going to college and realizing this was the best collision of your life.

-ZMar

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JB

I'm dog sitting for a friend while she's out of the country, and her dog has been an amazing source of entertainment for the last few days. Just now, he rolled around on the rug and when he heard me pouring honey nut cheerios into a bowl, he flipped up, ready to charge toward the table. But just before he ran as swiftly as his tiny dog legs would take him, his hair flipped over his face in an odd arrangement that made him look like Justin Bieber. After overcoming my impulse to put him outside for the day and send a letter to Canada, demanding they take JB back, I laughed. Because Justin Bieber looks like my friend's dog. Bieber = dog. And the entire pre-pubescent world has "Bieber fever". The hilarity of this situation is incredible.

Canada makes me feel better about my purchases when I see that I'm paying 75 cents less on my books. They bring pleasure to my mornings when I use half a bottle of their syrup on my pancakes. Their bacon is great. But now, Canada is just spoiling me. They produced a little boy that looks like a Maltese, and I can't stop laughing. Thank you, Canada.

America, step it up.

-ZMar

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Identity

As I was logging into Blogger, trying to remember which of my 3 (absurdly similar) gmail accounts is my username, I started thinking about identity.

Does anyone ever really think about identity? I mean, besides those identity theft prevention commercials. You've seen them- they're shot at odd camera angles, filled with cheesy horror movie music that fills your living room with pseudo suspense. Some guy in a hoodie sneaks up behind an average looking woman at the checkout counter at Macy's and quite obviously takes a photo of her credit card information with his camera phone. Or a different man (still in a hoodie) pick pockets some man on the street and steals his American Express. If these scenarios actually play out like this, I imagine it would suck. I mean, hoodie guy will spend thousands of dollars at Home Depot, Whataburger, and Best Buy. You don't see it coming, like a harddrive crash. ...Or maybe you know that your pockets are easily pickable but fail to act because you put too much faith in society. I don't know. It doesn't really matter. Identity thieves (?), robbers of identities, the hamburger bandits of credit cards or whatever we call them, are well, a word that's probably a bad idea to write on this blog since I still want to get into college.

But that's aside from the point. The point of me bringing up identity was to get you to consider, what's the difference between identity and identification? Do you know the difference between the way you identify yourself and the way others identify you? Are you okay with that difference? Those are the questions I was asking myself as I logged in today. Honestly, I haven't quite finished answering, so don't feel rushed. Take your time.

-ZMar

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Shoot

I want to get my face behind a camera. I want to glue my eyes to the view finder and snap away. Set the shutter speed to a million shots a second and go crazy. I want to put this glittering ocean on film. Maybe if I take enough pictures of it, and plaster my walls at home with them, it'll be as if I never left. There's something so humbling and hopeful about looking at the ocean. It reminds me that I am about as significant as one grain of sand on the floor of this vast sea of blue. That is, life will always move forward, forever undulating like these waves, whether I'm laying here or not. I can stand here, resistant, but the waves will smash into my back over and over again. And they'll always win. Eventually life will sweep me away, and carry me on forever, until I reach that point when sea meets sky and no one can see me anymore, not even me. Until I essentially no longer exist. And the waves will keep smashing. And children will still bury each other and make castles with moats that will have vanished by the evening tide. It's the facts of the ocean, of life. The question I suppose then is, do I stand here and watch or swim out to sea?

-ZMar

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Sand

I'm lying on the beach in Maui right now and am blown away by all that I'm seeing and smelling and feeling. Beautiful seems like a disgustingly hideous word compared to all that is here. It feels wrong trying to describe this experience in words, but I'm going to make an attempt anyway.

The sand beneath the pads of my feet feels like a million massage balls exploding under my touch and it's incredible. The wind sweeping over my skin reminds me of when my mom used to rub my arms and squeeze my hand before bed in lower school. Somehow the smell of the sky and ocean here can make you feel cleansed, as if you're inhaling something more than air, but something else. Something that you've needed for so long. For the first time in a while, I am acknowledging that I'm breathing, tasting every breath and savoring the pleasant beach after taste left behind.

It's easy to get lost in all this simplicity. You breathe and sit and eat the world with your eyes and feel everything, and your skin feels electric. Like a static current just above your body; close enough to make every inch of your skin hyper aware of the world. So when the sun bends down to kiss your toes, you feel like you can kiss it gently back, then lay down in the sand and let the wind brush your hair smooth.

I wish so much I could bring this to you, whomever is reading this. I want you to feel this with me, and share it with everyone else you know. Because everyone deserves to feel this peace.

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