The song is "Blackbird" by The Beatles.
I always think when I am in a bit of a rut. Perhaps it's a poor quality, perhaps it an advantageous one, but it's simply one I have. I think of others, and while they may deal with being in ruts by thinking of optimistic and happy things, absolute distractions from whatever dilemmas they may possess, I contemplate those who are less fortunate. I mull over my stance and predicament, only to compare it to those without homes, those who know no one to call their family, and those who seemingly have no future.
I think of how their burdens are much more important than the trivial matters of my own, how I can simply remedy mine. Instead of doing so, however, I resolve to make a way - directly or indirectly - to fix it. It's seemingly and readily deemed impossible to do such a thing; to fix another individual's problems from the other side of the world, when these people are complete strangers, when it is uncertain whether the prospective conditions are even valid - yet nothing is impossible. We do not know what tomorrow has yet to bring, so how can we be so certain that things will not fall in our favor?
I'm not saying my attempts at making the world a better place, as minuscule and insignificant as they may seem presently, are righteous and in all the ambitions of a pure-heart - only of a right conscience.
And, with the right conscience, one can take a simple and personal experience to heart. It can be spread to blanket over the entirety of the public and relate to the many specific instances of individuals both familiar and completely recondite. We may not know these people or the individual who started it all, but we know someone in our lives who's experienced such a thing, and our compassion automatically kicks in. We then would have an inclination and desire to make a change, a beneficial difference for not just one person we know, but for as many people as we can.
It can be for the selfish acknowledgement of a purpose and intent for your life, or it could just as well be for the simple, selfless good.
My school participated in the March for Life. There were approximately nineteen students who had gone and I've heard extraordinary response of them. The number of people, while it was unfathomable to imagine all in one place for one purpose and higher than the projected number of attendees, is still magnificently impressive. And it will only continue to increase as interest in humanities are increasing. I would have loved to have gone, to be able to explain to you what the site was like, but my friend had said more than enough:
"We got to the top of the hill, having finished the entire march, and we looked behind us. There were still people marching the entire thing. It was amazing."
A march for life. Showing an active practice of the importance and doing it in such an inclusive way is something remarkable, I'll say.
Life.
Life is sacred. It is cherished and, while we may joke with superficial words that barely dive into our core and essence or argue of the controversial matters regarding one's life-choices, we are all aware of the crucial necessity of life. We are intimidated by the concept of departing from our present lives and environment because of many reasons, which completely envelop who we are as a person. If we understand what we need to, our directions will become clear, our obligatory aspirations distinguished.
I heard a new friend of mine during rehearsal speak of a youtube video. It is called "99 Balloons", and it's a very touching video of a miracle of life.
Thank you, Gina.
It may not be your cup of tea - whether you believe in a particular deity or not in one at all - but it's most certainly not easy to say that there wasn't something supernatural about the family's experience. The child, as most are, was a godsend to his parents. They loved him just as much as any other child would. The only thing, I believe, that set him apart from the rest of us individuals was that he showed, while it wasn't entirely his choice, that he was more than capable of surpassing the expectations of humans, that it was capable to do something impossible.
I admire Eliot and his parents. Each day, they celebrated a birthday - something we now would much rather forget with our passing years - celebrating another day of life, another day of surviving and being with those who loved him.
In case you didn't care to finish watching the video, an abstract from the video's detail explained his life challenge:
"Eliot was born with an undeveloped lung, a heart with a hole in it and DNA that placed faulty information into each and every cell of his body."
- IgniterMedia, Youtube Channel
And, of course, whether you believe in an afterlife or not is completely pointless. You should not live to reach whatever pleasantries or deterring incentives that are on "the other side". You should focus on "this side", the present, what is around you now. Take what you can control and set it before you. Maintain your path of choice and adhere to it fully. Make your life and the lives of those around you as magnificent as your right judgment justifies.
I'd much rather hear a man lived his years passing on advice and wearing a gentle smile than an individual who had made poor choices all their life and held so many regrets before they were able to redeem and resolve.
There have been a few students in my school who have been struggling, battling the crippling ailments that science and faith have collectively yet to completely conquer and push to extinction. One in particular, who I've grown into a friendship with and have called him Q despite his initial ambiguity of the nickname [ he's accepted it because he knows I would call him nothing other than such a thing ], has reminded me that, even if our own communities and schools, the feat of impressive strength coming from within and outside of ourselves is prevalent. I don't know too much of his status, but he's made a recovery and was well enough to stop in and visit us today. I was more than elated to see him, and he most certainly was looking very healthy.
He was jokingly [ I hope, haha ] upset with me because I had woken him a bit earlier than he anticipated to get up. But, upon a quick recovery, everything was alright. I admire Q and I think that a lot of people could learn something from him, even if he has nothing to say.
Glorify every person. It does not make any person less important or more significant, but it does show that each person is special to you for one reason or another. They may even be special for more than one reason - and, better yet, if not to you, then to someone else.
All the more reason for "Everybody to Love Everybody".
Lastly, I'd like to acknowledge one of my professors. He is quite the chivalrous man. The golden knight of our school, for certain. I revere this man in any and all aspects, for he is intelligent, charismatic, genial, and a great singer to boot. He's always walked through our hallways with a bright and lively smile on his face, greeting all the students he instructed and even the colleagues whom he jutted his elbows into, delivering a not-so-grand punchline to a superbly-predictable joke.
Yet, somehow, they were still just as funny in his mind as they were in ours, I'm sure.
Everyone admires him. It's nothing short of the truth to say that we all love Mr. Thomas Boniello. As intense as our school community is to embrace a filial atmosphere, it is hard to ostracize Mr. B in any regard. As soon as my classmates in math and I inquired of Mr. B's early departure from school when we saw him in the parking lot today, we had assembled with our bits and pieces of knowledge that he was tending to family matters. He was visiting his father in the hospital, we concluded, and our collective remarks of Mr. B's family's safety and blessings soon pooled together.
I instantly put down my pencil and prayed for his family.
My good friend, who I'm sure you're relatively familiar with at this moment, Alex Quow, spoke of how he noticed some kind of irregular vibes from Mr. B this morning. He came in to work, composed and relatively comfortable, I'm sure, and showed no signs of anything being wrong. Hence our astonishment and worrying when we gathered the news of his father. What's more was, at lunch, Alex mentioned how he would be sure to send the great man an e-mail later, expressing our concern and hoping and blessings. I took it upon myself to send the e-mail at that moment, from the both of us.
He replied a bit later, thanking us for our kind words and how the school family is such a welcoming and embracing and gracious place. Tears came to my eyes as I read on. Today, on this Tuesday, the 24th of January, 2012, his father passed away. Mr. B said that his father enjoyed his last days by watching his favorite football team, The New York Giants, win the NFC Championship, and having dinner with his family on Monday.
It's a sad time when we mourn over the departure of an individual we know. Even more so when those particular persons are people who are family members, who were people very near and dear to us. However, as the age-old response of merit to that is to rejoice of their lives and they good they've done goes, it is more reasonable and better to do so. Surely, they will be missed, but they are not gone. Not now, and not forever.
Mr. B, just know that we are all in your heart as your father watches over you. We may not have been familiar with the man, but he must have been a great individual to have raised such an exuberant and exemplary gentleman as yourself.
I, personally, thank him for everything he's done, as I am grateful for knowing you and experiencing your magnificent tutelage and friendship. May all of the readers and non-readers, students of yours gone or come, or not to cross paths with you at all and their blessings be with you and your family. We all know very well that you, of all people, deserve the most love and comfort you need - and even more.
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
All your life,
You were only waiting for this moment to arrive."
- The Beatles, "Blackbird"
<3 ~ Monty.
=]
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