Fiery Passion. . . i wish:)

Johnny Depp and I go way back. In fact, I remember the first time we met. Well, I guess you wouldn’t call it a meeting considering that he doesn’t actually know me, but still. It was when I was about nine years old. I know this sounds cliché, but just for the record I liked him before he was super famous. What can I say? I guess I’m just a trend setter. Anyways, this is when I saw my first Johnny Depp movie. It was called Chocolat, and it was not very well-known at the time. It was one of his earlier movies, before he had reached extreme fame-- before Pirates of the Caribbean-- and he plays a gypsy who comes to a small town in France and falls in love with a woman who owns a chocolate shop. The whole situation is frowned upon by the rest of the community and the movie goes on from there trying to resolve the conflict. I remember my mom purchasing this movie and sitting down with me to watch it one night. The first time he stepped on to the screen I nearly fainted. His tall, dark, and handsome looks mixed with his mysterious personality lured me in and absorbed me completely. From then on every time I saw him on the screen my heart picked up speed a little, and then nearly melted. I felt complete knowing that there was someone out there in the world that was that incredibly and absolutely perfect; I felt empty knowing that realistically I would never have the chance to really know him. Even so, I was hooked. Johnny Depp was my first real crush. I was completely ignorant to all of his flaws. Even the qualities that I found disgusting in other people just seemed to make him even more irresistible. I was no longer repulsed by long hair on men because I was too busy being entranced by his dark flowing locks. My whole world was being turned upside down! To this day I am still infatuated with John Christopher Depp II, born June 9th, 1962-- sorry my obsessiveness leaks through at times subconsciously. Just by having a single conversation with me or taking one look at my room, you would be able to guess my obsession. My room contains three posters, eleven pictures, and one life-size cardboard cut-out of him. He is never far from my mind. Johnny Depp led to the start of this intense strand of passion and obsession in my life, and I believe this neurotic quality will battle within me until the day of our wedding. One can always dream.

M.A.S.H.

Names of movie stars and of my secret crushes lined up shoulder-to-shoulder on the page. Audrey’s chubby fingers, tattooed with ink, grasped the purple marker with an awkward pose. How many kids would it be? 1, 5, 8, 40? What job? Janitor, president, biologist, doctor? Sitting cross-legged on the carpet with my best friend from the 5th grade playing MASH, I allowed my future to blossom with petals of possibility and freedom. But giggling about my marriage to Leonardo DiCaprio on the top of a volcano in Hawaii and my full-time job as a skydiver, never could I have predicted who I am and will become. After graduation, I strapped my Sony HDV 1080i around my neck, stuffed minimal clothing into my twenty-pound hiking backpack, and resembling the Bactrian camels that I would discover roaming the Gobi desert in Mongolia, I took my life on my shoulders. Meditation in Tibet gave my mind a springboard into the pool of creativity. Relationships and film ideas, cultural exchange and knowledge filled my cup to the brim and then spilled over the edges. Not even the deadly rays tickling my blistering skin and violent sands of the Sonora desert could stop my determination to complete a study of Latino culture. However, the small wrinkles above my cheeks stretch their vines to the corners of my eyelids. My spine twists around my muscles upon sitting up in bed, and I arch my back into clicks and cracks to release the tension. I am not old, but I do feel my mortality. Even so, I am on my way to my greatest adventure of all. Every night I place the fluffy pillow inside my thighs to support my back. I crave peanut butter and oreo cookies. I stand naked, clothes tossed to the floor, and slowly turn my curves to the side to run my palms over my growing belly. Life bakes inside, and I can feel a new venture approaching. Love time and again has fallen under my path, but never before have I felt this flavor of affection brew inside of me. My heart flutters over and around my bulging balloon. Today marks the monthiversity of my first sonogram, dark and mysterious, but alive and radiating with being. And yes, here begins the footage of the next chapter in my life––family.

"Me"

I was about three when my mom and dad got divorced. Going back and forth between my parent’s houses almost every other day was a learning experience; I learned how to balance my life in between difficult circumstances. Long bike rides along the “bike path” while trying to find an activity to do or go to a friend’s house made my day. Just in case you didn’t know, the East Coast “bike paths” is a long strip blacktop that stretches about 6 miles, connecting multiple towns together. Everyone in Linwood, NJ, listened to “99.3 the buzz” on the radio; I did. I’m absolutely positive that the entire population of Linwood, NJ, went to Mainland High School football games on weekends; including me.(Mainland is the high school I would have attended if I still lived in New Jersey, but I’ll get to that story later). Because every town was very close to one another, everyone from the two adjacent towns to Linwood (Somers Point and Northfield) knew each other. Since I was a baby, my mom and dad were there for me for everything; they have always been my “rock” that I can rely on in any circumstance. I’ve definetly gotten their good genes; and yes, some-not-so-good ones, but we’re not going to talk about that. The three day periods of rain and gray skies that are notorious to New Jersey, puts almost everyone in a bad mood.
June 2004, changed my life for ever. Definitely for the better.
I believe it happened for a reason; like everything in life. We moved because my mom had an opportunity to take a wonderful job, and I had a choice to make; either move with her to Arizona or stay in New Jersey with my dad. I chose to move. This was the right choice. the first day of 8th grade in a new school in Arizona was extremely tough, but it also showed me how to adapt to new beginnings. Attending a new school showed me how to meet new friends and how to adjust to new places. It was about a week after school started that people noticed my accent. They would ask me, “where are you from?” and I would reply with “Jersey.” Everyone said that I had a specific accent when I said this, and they started to incorporate my accent with the word “Jersey.” This is where I received my nickname “Jersey”. I couldn’t be happier with this nickname. About a month into being at this new school, I met an incredible amount of new friends, but more importantly I met the friends that I would always have throughout high school and that I call my best friends. And once our family got our new house, after much searching, we were finally able to call it “home.” High school has been some of the best years of my life.
After17 years, my mom and dad have given me some of the best advice and wisdom that I will always use; take things one step at a time, take time to enjoy the little things, be positive about your life otherwise you waste your energy, and do what makes you happy.
These are the things that have made me who I am today; Tyler “Jersey” Goodwin.

Father to Son

A father is everything a boy aspires to become. Every movement of the father is under ominous vigilance by his son. He is an invincible figure and nothing can possibly bring him down. A boy’s father is the most influential thing on his innocent, malleable mind. I wonder every moment how different my life would have been if my own dad had been a part of it.

I lived with my mom and dad for about five years of my life and although I don’t remember much, the pictures of me taken then reveal I had been a very content baby. I believe I have a clear perspective on the reasoning behind my parents splitting although their age at the time of my birth appears blatantly to be the only significant argument. Leaving the cool California bay area, my grandparents bore me away to a place in a small town about an hour’s drive north of Sacramento. Here in this new town my grandfather boldly attempted to step up to be my dad.

One of the most important memories I have of growing up in Oroville is my grandpa’s skill at teaching me the most useful things to ever know. By the time I had spent five years in Oroville I could accomplish a diverse amount of tasks ranging from solder copper pipes in the plumbing to fixing my old man’s Chevy pick up. These skills he taught me will aid me tremendously when I have the opportunity to live independently. Now that I recall these memories, it seems as if I grew up in a dream. The landscape, an incomprehensible vision of trees with the deepest shades of green, shining sunlight, and roses of every color consumed all thought with wonder.

My biological dad visited me every so often. Soon my grandparents would have to drive me three hours to my mom’s house in the bay area just to so I could see him. Apparently he had taken up residence in San Francisco and did not have the gas money to drive up to see me. Due to my youthful ignorance I harbored an enormous amount of sympathy for my dad. As I matured and my own father showed no signs of re-entering my life, my sympathy slowly ebbed away. All contact had ended between us and he became nothing more than a memory.

Only after the long, arduous relocation to Tucson, did I at last come to realize my father would never become an important person to me. All the successes in school, day-to-day activities, and victories in fights are all solely due to my grandparents. Even as my thought dwells on the notion of me living with my mother and father, I question whether they could care for me as well as my grandparents did. Without any of their help I’d be back in the Stone Age. I swear, when I graduate medical school I’m going to send my grandparents off to the most breathtaking cruises every day until they pass away.

The Epic of Arshad

It is true that all myths have their roots in reality, and that all legends have their roots in a man. I know such a man. His day starts before the cock’s cry, when the night is at its darkest just before dawn. He hurdles out of bed, but then he proceeds to walk slowly to my room. For one week I was a part of my uncle’s fitness routine, and I expected daily to be lifted out of bed with one arm, carried to the shower, and then introduced to the cold water in my pajamas. Usually the first two steps of the wake up routine would not work, so I would be in the middle of a dream in which I am resting under the spring sky, trying to make shapes out of the clouds with some attractive female by my side when something would bite me, and then the cold water sprayed my face. I asked myself why I even had the audacity to think that I could survive a week of my uncle’s daily routine.

Unaware of my uncle following close behind, I stepped out of the tub, wiped my face, and waddled over to my room again. As soon as I saw the bed, I dove for it with my eyes shut, hoping that the sheets were still warm. But after a second I felt no such sensation. I opened my eyes and found that I was actually hovering over the bed, instead of in it. My uncle set me down. Afterwards he told me to stop goofing off, and get changed before the sun came up.

I fought with sleep as I put on my shorts and joggers, and dragged myself down the stairs. As I reached the kitchen my jaw dropped in awe and inspiration, kind of in the same way people look at a magic trick. My shirtless uncle ripped a lemon in half, and then used its juice as eye drops, and then poured that same juice into what seemed like a recent gash across his chest and shoulder. I assumed that since he lived in the White Mountains of Arizona, and had a wolf with one crystal blue eye for a pet, he had simply been engaged in a recent battle to the death with some ferocious mountain animal, probably a man-eating puma-bear. I decided it would be best not to ask. He glanced at me and said, “Now, I’m ready!” as he began his slow march towards the door.

On my way down the stairs I noticed that it was snowing out, and simply assumed that my uncle did not need a jacket, or shirt for that matter, for the early morning run. His husky frame and naked chest made me quite uncomfortable; however, it was impressive that he was over forty and still had the physique of a Spartan. I had heard rumors that his chest was so hard that if it was struck with a flint stone it could burn down the forest in his backyard. Also I noticed that the amount of chest and facial hair he had made Chuck Norris look like a newborn baby.

Behind his house there was mini-mountain so steep that it almost turned into a vertical line, and that was the hill that we conquered everyday for a week. Atop that hill Arshad uncle told me all of his outlooks on life, and all of the things that he would do over again. From him I learned that it is only people and moments that put you in awe. It was then that I realized that my epic uncle’s boot camp ended up building my brain as well as my body.

Friday Afternoon At Park Place

The rays of the sun beat upon my head as heat radiates off the asphalt. The air is overwhelmed with the scent of exhaust, and a puddle of gasoline rests beneath a truck. A horn blares, and a door slams. A woman bustles across the street as a pigeon strikes the ground over and over with its beak. A teenager etches into a tree. Another jumps over a wall. A woman rushes in while a man shuffles out. Palm trees sway in the breeze as a hawk soars with ease. A couple link arms and stroll past while a man flings a penny into a fountain. A mother grasps her child's hand and guides him through a scattered crowd. A Hummer and a slug bud compete for a parking spot. The hummer fails. A lady lugs her bags into her trunk. A man watches as he slurps his drink. A crow inspects the medians for scraps. A child spooks the crow and races to catch up with his father. The scent of gasoline dissipates as the smell of the food court invades the air around me. A girl, eyes pinned to the screen of her phone, crosses the street without a glance. An engine revs and tires screech. The clamor of the mall swarms around me.

Absurd Mental Snapshot

I was two at the time, and someone I have no recollection who, had placed me thoughtfully to side of the living room in the hard wood floor. I lifted my miniature white spoon and scooped up the clumpy, cottage cheese carelessly, putting the spoon in my mouth. I was not adept at eating, so instead of putting the cottage cheese in my mouth, the clumpy white paste ended up on my nose and on my chest. I did not notice the mess because when I looked up, I watched as huge, beer bellied, men walked down the hall, straining to carry our piano out the door. My house was empty; my family and strange men were carrying boxes and furniture. Before this day I did not realize that furniture could even move, and more importantly, I had no clue why we would want to move it. I was certainly confused about the purpose of the bare house. Why was my mother mopping the space where the cough should be? The smell of pinesol disinfectant tickled my nose. I had the nervous feeling like I was in the doctor's office, so I stayed sitting on the floor waiting for a shot. 

I believe...

I believe that people don’t actually know who they are or what they actually stand for. I do, however, believe in life and living it to the fullest. What exactly is life? And how do you accomplish living life to the fullest? What does living life to the fullest entail? I believe that people take advantage of what they are given in life. Not everybody, but a lot of people do so without realizing what they are doing (or not doing). I believe that there is too much to handle and manage in life to be able to live life to the fullest. I believe that everyone was brought to life with a purpose. However, I’m not sure that anyone really knows what his or her purpose is. I believe that there is no paved out road in life. I believe the road in life changes with every step you take and every person you talk to. I believe in inspiration. I believe in passion. I believe that no one person is the same day to day. I believe that everything I think of is thought of for a reason. I believe in religion. I believe in pluralism and in peace. I believe that this world is broken in many forms, but with the help of all it can be glued back together, someday. I believe that individual hands must glue it back together. I believe that volunteering is an awesome way to live a healthy life. I believe that this world has gone out of control, has too much to deal with, and doesn’t know where to begin. Where do I even begin?

Uneasy Peace

Like the desert sun
Disrupted unevenly
By a low breeze
Just
Temporary relief,
Nothing complete.
The green graceful slope
Of the graveyard like
A swelling sigh that never
Fully exhales,
Caught in the balance
Without full repose.
Heaviness
Hugging and lightness
Gently tugging
At my stomach.

"Balls Can Need Frames"

The black, featureless frame perches upon her face, assisting her eyes--eyes that would perceive the world in a blurred perspective if it weren’t for them. After exiting the classroom into the harsh heat, the sun began to scorch the crown of her head, sending her body the message, “ It is time to maintain homeostasis.” The salty mixture comes between her frame and face, causing them to glide south on her nose. With the hoist of a hand and the force of a finger, the slick black, frame is back in place.

Description of Myself

Brown and blonde alternate in the hair that falls just to the shoulder-no farther. The wide blue eyes screen the inside of her lids, as if expecting the answer to life to be within her. The fingernails are scratched up and vary -- bitten, unbitten -- as though there is a pattern to the nerves. The back of the left hand is adorned with first a stick-on tattoo then an orange outlining of the fake moon, smiling in sleep. Both wrists are covered in woven bracelets that were taught in elementary school and hair ties in case inspiration strikes. The middle finger of the left hand wears a rusting skull ring, crowned king of the dead. The too-long arms hang the equally long fingers to the middle of the thighs. The torso seems improperly proportioned in comparison to the mile-long legs that are muscled for a long-distance runner. Both legs are covered in scratched-at bug bites, the right adorned with a long scar, the left with a slight indentation from a girl scouts incident. The toenails are covered in black nail polish, almost obsessively. The large toes have long nails, while the others are cut short. The right ankle clutches to two string anklets, woven like the bracelets, made of red, grey, white, yellow, pink, and green. The green anklet is more worn and larger than the red one, as though older. The pinky toe is decorated with a ring on special occasions. The posture is as though the string that should be held taught has been left on vacation. Her body is concealed with a purple tank top and jeans, her comfy clothes that make it out of the house and into school. Her feet are clad in either clunky black shoes or boots. Her face wears a smile, contradicting her macabre clothing.

Fall Posting

This year's class is finally in the process of uploading their first posts. Stay tuned!