All posts by emily2jane

Who am I? I will describe myself in five words or less: I am a Christian, an athlete, an artist, a geek, stubborn and shy. Never mind just five words, rules are just guidelines. But who am I? I am still undecided...

November 13, 2015 at 12:30 P.M.

I am strangely a highly competitive person. But the sad thing about it is I sometimes am competitive with myself.

Like today at lunch time I had amazing delicious Chinese food,that I had been craving for 3 weeks; but, during my meal, I was three quarters of the way done and the voice of reason said:

“Stop now, because you are content. You can finish it later if you become hungry again.” (Imagine this voice as my angelic side.)

However, there on the other shoulder sprung my highly competitive side.

“No! You want and must finish it now! So, you can proclaim your supreme accomplishment of completion!”

Sadly, I usually have these types of conversations in mind, but rarely do I speak them out loud.

It is ridiculous; I was having a competition based on food with myself.

My competitive side won the match and I finished my meal. I strangely feel like I did accomplish something and I dominated my competitor. But now I get to listen to that angel of reason laughing at me as I sit and suffer through my bloated feelings.

Why do I have to be SO competitive?

Maybe I need to exercise more…


I believe I was four, and I remember placing each Band-Aid on any visible skin possible.  The room in darkness concealing my presences and securing my hiding place.  Every box empty and its contents stuck to my soft skin.  Hundreds of wrappers covering the floor crunching beneath my feet as I wiggle my legs.  As I extend my legs then Band-Aids expand tugging at my fair hair upon my arms and legs.  I remember being extremely proud of my hard work accomplished.  Of course I began with my hands, so attempting to open the Band-Aid’s wrappers took much skill as a child.  I believed I had mad skills and a new proud talent. I remember sitting on the floor applying band-aids continuously to open areas of flesh.

Suddenly the door swings open and the light engulfs me.  I don’t remember my mother’s reaction, but I do remember me smiling back, standing confidently, and relishing in my accomplishments. The sudden opening of the door was because I supposedly had been gone far too long and I was way too quiet.  I am a Band-Aid lover and I still am to this day.  Which means my family still hides the special band aids from me; though, I am allowed to use the $1 a box band aids. My mother forever called me Mad Max. Which is perfectly fine with me, because I see myself as the Band-Aid bandit!

My Defining Memory

A defining moment in my life was the moment I stood up to my Father.  My father is verbally abusive and throughout my childhood I cowered around him and always tried to stray from his words.  As a child I was unclear about his actions and the words he would say, but as I matured I always attempted to gain praise or just avoid contact in fear of the repercussions. I remember the last night from my childhood in that house, I was ten years old and I remember waking to sobs.  My mother as strong as she is had the most abusive experience out of all of us.  That night I remember hugging my mother until I was too tired to sit up anymore. The pain and suffering from that night thankfully ended that day; we as a family left my father.  Even though the pain was still pinned to our hearts we were once again alive. Many years passed and times grew harder.   My mother had been talking with my dad, on and off again, and she hoped he had changed.  At the time we needed a place to live and everyone hoped and prayed that he might have changed.  He had changed; he had grown to be even more angry. We stayed there for about two days; because when my mother was not present he would change into a controlling monster.

I am now about fourteen years old. I remember the second day back in that house. My dad does the yard work, and on that day he purposefully ruined or destroyed half of my older sister’s plants. Sadly my older sister has gotten the harsh grief from my father for years prior to my existence.  I remember that morning, the air was crisp and bitter but the sun was shining. My eldest sister, younger brother and I went outside as he worked and moved all the undestroyed plants away from his path.  He took this as an insult that we don’t believe him, and he tried to play the victim.  Also, since the younger children were helping her move the plants, she must have brain washed us to believe he is the “bad guy”. Maybe we had been moving plants for about a minute and he started screaming at my sister. She tried to step away from him but he came towards her with a look of true hatred in his face. In that moment I found my true gift, protectiveness. He came forward and I stepped into his path, between him and her. The continuously yelling and abusing had to stop! I knew in that movement I was putting myself in danger, but I was more afraid of what he would do to her. I shouted, “BACK OFF! Leave her alone,” to his face and not breaking eye contact.  I was terrified after the words left my mouth.  I had never seen him be physically abusive but some looks from my siblings told me otherwise. As he backed away I called my mother on my phone, because I didn’t know what to do or what would happen next.  She came home quickly and watched over us as we finished our task. I know now if this would ever happen again I am allowed to call the cops, but as a teenager in fear for her siblings’ lives I knew my mother would come.  In this moment I found my true self, I am a protector of my family and anyone who threatens them will deal with me.

To My Brother: Who Might Never Read This

This is a shout out for anyone with a younger sibling or a close friend like a brother/sister; in my case this is dedicated to my brother.

I have a baby brother, who might kill me for calling him that, who is also my best friend. I know personally he has another person he views as his best friend, and I am happy for him, but he is mine. We are almost five years apart, but we seem closer somehow. To help this claim, random girls will come up to me and ask how old my “older” brother is.  It is hilarious to see their reaction when I tell them he is seventeen.  I am perfectly fine with their comments, because this must mean I look younger, Bonus Points!!

Anyways back to brother.  Yesterday, I realized that I can always depend on him. I knew this, in the back of my head, but I didn’t register it until that moment. Basically he always has my back.

I am sure you reading this is stirring up memories of your past with a close friend or sibling.  Talking about my little bro makes me think about our childhood.  I have been told by several relatives that I used to carry him around everywhere, and when I would get tired I would plop down and hug him in my lap.  Sometimes I wish I could travel back in time and watch our bond mold. Also I wish I could travel back to tell my teenager self to listen to my mom and stop being a big sister jerk to him.  All teenagers go through this stage, don’t lie to yourself, that they are incredibly embarrassed of their family. Thankfully, my mom got through, because if I had continued with that attitude I would have never decided for him to be my best friend.

However, teenage “me” had some good reasons for being annoyed sometimes, because my little brother would make it his mission to drive me crazy!  He probably was just mimicking me, of how I used to treat our older brother. You remember those days when your sibling would make a continuous repetitive noise in your vicinity…and how you would sit there until your brain felt like it would explode.  Yes I had many of those experiences.  The only time I survived those obnoxious noises, was when I chimed in as well. My poor mother. I also have proof; we have video that my brother made, when he was littler, that he clearly says:

“Now you take this pen and throw it at your sister,”

At the time I was not aware this video was being made, but I did get hit with the yellow highlighter.

Okay, enough with memory lane, earlier I said that I had realized I could always depend on my brother in small things he did for me.  I was doing my homework and I was have trouble revising a sentence.  I turned and ask him if he could help me and without hesitation he stood up, walked over, helped me, and then returned to his own work.  Another moment was when I was making myself lunch and I decided I didn’t want all of it. I could see it in his face he didn’t really want food at the moment but he ate it.  Usually in this situation I am lucky if I get to take a bite before he uses those “puppy eyes” and I end up giving him it; he is a master of this technique. But as he ate the half of the grilled cheese for me, so I would not feel bad about wasting food, I remembered all the other times when he was there for me.

When I would have to meet new people and he would come along just in case no one wanted to talk to me. When I am sent out to do an errand for our mother, he always will come along with me. When we drive to school in the morning he will help me study for my test; I do the same for him but his smartness is different than mine.

Even though these are small simple things; it is the small simple things in life that matter the most. I am the luckiest sister in the world; because my brother, someone who will constantly be in my life, has also gained the title of friend. I would be a completely different person without him as my brother. So thank you to my mom for giving me a true friend and a brother forever. And hopefully my brother knows that I will always be there for him.  I know that he knows, that I am a bit over protective, but he is my baby brother and I love him. So, for anyone out there who has that person: sibling or friend, that you immensely enjoy their company, give them a hug, fist bump, pat on the back, or some other form of casual affection I am forgetting.  I am sure they know how you feel; but like everyone, everybody loves to receive small hints of gratitude.

So, in short, I have a younger brother and best friend all rolled into one; I for once am lucky.

A Story: Part 1

The night is cold but the sun from the morning is burned into my skin.  The harsh wind bites at my bare arms and hands wrapped around my chest.  I am finally at peace; I have no need to be afraid.  A fragrant breeze swirls my hair enveloping my face. I can smell the salty sea as it ripples around my slowly sinking feet.  The faint music trickles in as I sway to constant beat of the drums. Suddenly I hear crunching sand.  Footsteps are coming towards me slowly; however I am calm and relaxed.  Looking over my right shoulder I see the dark figure sarcastically tiptoeing forward. Giggling I turn back to wide sea and wait for the strong arms to surround me. A warm breath brushes against my neck and a face cradles itself on my shoulder.  We sigh together and stare out at the sea pausing and enjoying the harmony.

Beep!! Beep!! Beep!!

That stupid alarm clock! The pounding noise constantly disrupting my dreams.  Strange this dream was different today.  I am always on the beach but there is never anyone with me. That figure so dark and unrecognizable…

Beep! Beep! Beep!

“I’m gonna kill you,” as I hurl it at the wall; I try to enjoy the last few moments of bliss.  But instead…Bleep! Blerp…Blrrp…the dying alarm clock still attempts to ruin my morning. I sweep back the covers pulling myself up, as the clock is finally dead.  Hallelujah! Collapsing back and staring at my bland ceiling there are pounding steps coming up the stairs.

My heart races as I hold my breath hoping those steps keep moving. I perch myself on the bed while beads of sweat trickle down my face; I am ready to act if need be.

The steps hesitate outside my door…

“One…Two…Three…” hoping the steps continue on as I count to 10 in my head.

The shadow seeping in from over the door seems to soak into the floor boards trying to enter.

“Six…Seven…” I can feel my face ready to explode because lack of oxygen…

The steps walk past my door and continues on to the next room.  I release my breath and gasp for more air, still perched in case the steps come back.

As the steps continue to stop outside each door you hear a knob squeal. It must be at least four doors down.  I know the child inside that room is whimpering, because I have been that child.  The door squeaks open and then closed; suddenly a chilling scream fills the hall.

I have been that child at least I know the child is still alive.  If there had been no screams that would have meant death.  Least with a scream it means they have taken the child’s only precious possession…

His dreams.

A Story: Part 2

See It Through Your Mind



            Dismaland draws the intrigued to its entrance.  You enter through the winding roped off line; to guide yourself through a puzzle to the entrance.  You cross the threshold of reality into art, cloaked in a theme of gray uncertainties.  You glide along the cracked stone pavement. Inhaling dust as you kick it up into the air with your feet.  The bare but busy landscape, is laid out with hints of nature but mostly metal.  You draw near to a blue and white stripped booth.  The starch material hanging so stiffly, if you touched it would feel like a wall. The words above the opening reads, Information, but no one inhabits the dark space. However, there are many cultures surrounding you all the same.  While drifting through a contemporary composition of art exposing every detail to the beautiful confusion.

            Continuing towards the towering red Ferris wheel in the background.  You pass by a couple eating at a table.  The fragrance of coffee lingers under your nose as you leave them.  You follow the wide arch in the pavement.  You stop and gaze at the police van perched in the middle of the pond.  The van is being contained by the water, like its own motionless chaos.  Farther in the distance a sculptured horse, appears like it will gallop away into the clouds.  The standstill Ferris wheel is almost humming like it is alive, wanting to move. Rust, moss, and dirt hovers under your nose as you lean you head back.  Shadowing your eyes, looking upwards, you cannot see the farthest seat. Only a brief moment of hesitation that there even is one.  You follow the trees that outline the pond. Coming to three large wide steps, in front of you stands the greying relics of the castle.  The incomplete architecture shows the bones of the walls and the inner workings of the mechanics.  This park is not incomplete; it leaves you with the chance to finish the details in your mind. Dismaland gives you mixed emotions as you complete your journey and return the way you came.  Relaxed, calm, because of the effortless experience.  Leaving you wanting more, like you missed something.

Concert in the Park


photo by. Emily2Jane- “Sunset in the Park”

I recently went to the Cal Phil Featival on the Green at the Santa Anita Race Track, and listened to some great music. It was by the Cal Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Victor Vener . It was amazing; I had a great time with friends. They played the Imperial March, the Jurassic park theme, a romantic tango, Russin music decribed to us like ” a grizzly bear on point.” For the Russin piece I kept imaging the Fantasia hippo scene, but with a grizzly bear instead.

The lead violinist was amazing!! He was creating art with just his fingers; he changed the way I see and hear instrumental music.  Now I see colors and hear figures dancing through the notes. I want to try listening to instrumental music and have a blank canvas and see what I come up with. Art comes in all different forms. Like drawing, painting, sculpture, dancing, creating music, doing digital art, and singing. I can do five of the seven. The other two will come with time.

Well while the music was going on I was creating digital art.  I have an attention problem. I tend to forget what I am listening to or my mind will wonder into a dream like wonderland. So to help myself, and like many other artists do, I doodle or create art as I listen. It helps me focus. So I was taking pictures and the changing the effects to create art. I will in the future paint from these prints because they are my own. But my inspiration comes from the amazing music by the Cal Philharmonic Orchestra. Thank you.

One of my pictures

photo by Emily2Jane- “Crystalized Candles”


Cuddling With A….

Imagine this:

It’s late at night and you are terribly tired but you can’t sleep. So you turn your light on, at the foot of the bed, so that you are not in full darkness. You decide to watch a tv show until you can drift into sleep. You feel something on your leg, but you assume it cannot be anything so you kick it off with your foot. Again this thing drifts up to your knee, but again it must just be some dust flittering through the air caused by the fans. You are slowly drifting off, but still cannot quite manage to sleep. This time you feel the “dust” on your face just above your eye brow. You swat it away with the your hand because it tickles.  Still sweet slumber does not come so you decide to change tactics. Maybe playing bejeweled on your phone will change the outcome, because you know it will be within minutes. You sit up and put your iPad away, reach down to turn off your light, and stop. There chilling on your calf is a…cockroach.

I jumped from bed screaming. I had been cuddling with a cockroach!! Remember time has gone by, it is now like 12:30 a.m. My sister had maybe been asleep for ten minutes  and she jolts awake to find me standing stiff and out of my bed. I cannot believe I had a cockroach running up and down my legs and on my face. She leans out over the bar looks down at me, and I explained my problem. She gets two looks on her face, one is eww! and the the other comes when I say I am going to go sleep in the living room. This look is, “don’t leave, because then it will come to me instead!” This whole time the cockroach is just chilling on my pillow; mental note change that pillow case.

I leave for a minute and bring back a wad of paper towels…enough to cover my hand and give myself enough cushion, so I don’t feel the cockroach crush under my palm. Then the chase begins, I charge at it on my bed, and it scurries away under my dresser. So, I kick at my shoes, and it scurries out and under our chair. Next, I try to get at it, and it FLIES at my face! My sister screams! from up in her bed though; I almost tumble over backwards. The thing makes its way over to my sisters dresser. It decides to snuggle under one of her shirts. To myself I try and decide what is best thing to do. If I just squish it with the shirt it will surely die; but I might also, because my sister will be angry. But if I lift up the shirt it will probably fly at my face again. I turn to my sister to beg for permission…and all she says is, “DON’T YOU DARE”. And she is still hiding in bed…so it’s option two. I find a stance that will let me move quickly enough to lift the shirt and hopefully squish it. I lift the shirt……..and it stays put and I do not waste one second. I punch the cockroach repeatedly. Every time I feel it’s body crush beneath my fist, but just to make sure, I do five more punches. Thankfully my sister was in bed, because of the mess it made, I am so happy it happened in front of her dresser. I clean up as best I can, and scoop up the cockroach within the paper towels. Then just to be safe I take it to the outside trash can.

I was so relieved, that I came back inside to go to sleep, and remembered  that usually cockroaches live in  groups.  I do not want to sleep in my bed if there are more under the bed; and now it’s 1:15 a.m. I just want to sleep. Now my sister, after the danger is gone, decides to come down and help me take everything out from under the bed, and make sure nothing is there.  So together we slowly pull everything out one by one making sure nothing flies out. We got everything out, and we found about a dozen….pairs of my socks. Cool! After we pulled it all out, we put it all back. I finally felt safe enough to sleep in my bed, and I had a feeling my sister was happy I was staying; because, if the cockroaches came back I would be their first target. By now it was 2:00 a.m. and I could not sleep again. My mind was still too wired. So I got out my phone and played bejeweled for about fifteen minutes, and then drifted into my sweet sweet slumber.

So there are lessons from this story


2) fortify your room with these roach traps and make it impossible for them to get to you. I almost used an entire pack on just our room. It comes with 12…

If you are unable to purchase theses amazing traps…

1) do not eat food in your bed

2) if you feel something on you, check and make sure it’s not something.

3) clean out from under your bed about every 2-3 weeks. You might find something you lost…

4) invest some money into buying these traps. They will save you sleep and stress.


I don’t know what I want this blog to be. Today it is a way to put my thoughts on a page:

I am usually the girl who will sit and listen to a conversation, but hardly ever chiming in. I like to listen to other people discuss, argue, or just chat about different topics. With my family it usually consists on politics, books, actors/actress, science theories, or math equations; interesting topics just they tend to loudly discuss them. So I tend to sit at the table with my pen and paper. Doodling and listening learning a lot about my family’s opinions.

Back to the beginning of this post…even though I am quiet and shy; I love learning new things. I am discovering how to clean up a house. Our house is pretty much, slowly falling apart. So my mother told me I could figure out how to repaint everything in the house. The process of scraping the old paint off, sanding it down, cleaning, primer, and then paint. It is an interesting process, which she says I get to do the inside and outside. However, I think she is getting the better half of this deal; repaired house for free. But I also get to figure this out without a boss hovering over me. I am slowly going to fix the house up until you can’t recognize it.

Psalm 3:1-8