As I said to my cousin today...

"The fear of failure is a slow moving creature. It creeps into your insides and slowly smothers your dreams, choking out all hope, making you content with complacency. And before you finally realize it, you've allowed your dreams to die and you've allowed your life to be lived by your external circumstances, while you are never actually reaching for anything. A miserable life, lived as if you're inside a glass house, looking at the beauty of the outside, but never making the first step to try to experience it."

It's October!

It's already October! And it's also approximately 200 degrees outside, more or less, but it's Fall! 
I got back from Colorado late Sunday night (I will add pictures later) and it felt so good to be there. 
In honor of something that epitomizes October (Halloween), I'm going to post the first Scary Short Film I was in earlier this year! I was called on at the last minute and I mostly improved my lines (since I didn't know I'd be shooting anything until THAT first day). But it was a lot of fun to shoot. Enjoy!

Exit Jude

xoxo.

"Home."

So,
   In the two hundred thousand years since I'd last written a real entry, I made a huge decision. 
I decided to move "back home." 
Back to mama's house. Back to my room that looked like it was encapsulated in 1996 (although it was 2001/2002 when we initially moved into the house), complete with a tea set, stuffed animals, and baby pictures on my wall. Pictures of High School memories (group Valentine's day pictures, prom and homecoming pictures, pictures in class, pictures on field trips) plastered on my door. When I was much younger, I painted my room a powder blue, with one "accent" wall- which was blue, sponged over with an egg-shell white ("clouds").
   Moving back home a little over a month ago was a decision I never expected to make. I expected that after several years out of the nest, I would move from my little town (with fat-ish pockets) to a nice little apartment in a big city with a few close friends. During the week, we would all work diligently, pursuing our different career dreams. During the daytime on the weekends, we would have lattes and listen/watch live acoustic guitarists play our favorite Coldplay songs while discussing the glass ceiling. At night, we would go have dry, red wine at that really cute, cozy  little place that looks kind of like it used to belong to a blacksmith in the early 1900's. I would meet people from all walks of life and be inspired by everyone's variation of what it means to be alive. 
   But instead, I saw myself staring at those powder blue walls, trying to figure out how I was going to fit an apartment's worth of things back into the room that I first moved into when I was half my age. 
   Powder blue walls looked like defeat. I felt like the walls of my youth were mocking me. "Look at you, Paige," said the walls, "You're back here. These walls are as blue as your spirit." I stood at the doorway to my room and I felt enveloped by a flood of disappointment. How did this happen? What happened to my dream? 

   In late June, my mom came to visit me at my apartment in my little town. We sat on my red couch (RIP couch, i miss u 4real) and we talked about the dubious "future." I was working full-time at the state college I graduated from, and the bills were pouring in. Rent, hospital bills, doctor's bills (thanks Chronic Idiopathic Urticaria, nodes on my lungs and Costochondritis!), car bills, credit card bills. While I wasn't quite completely submerged underneath the pile of bills, the truth of the matter was- saving up to move was next to impossible. Based on the constant influx of bills, my paycheck would go in one hand and, by the time I turned around, it was out the other. My mom knew about all of my bills, bills, bills and she suggested that I move home. 
I gave my mom this face-

 

wat?

In my mind, there was no way on God's green, lush, beautiful Earth that I would move back home. I immediately said, "No way," without a glimpse of hesitation. She started to state her case and I will admit to not listening at all (at first). I looked at her with love and I said, "Mom, I'm not moving home." I said that, smiled at her and consciously hoped that we would change subjects. 

And then my mom said, "Just listen to what I'm saying. You don't have to make a decision now, but I just want you to think about it. It's an option."

I always knew that moving back home was an option. But you know what is also an option? Plucking out my eyelashes. Neither are options I truly considered.

My mom mentioned to me how I haven't been able to save up a dime solely based on the hospital/doctor's bills. She mentioned how, if you looked at my paychecks, they were  divided almost perfectly into paying rent, paying bills, putting gas in my car and buying groceries. Where was the saved money? Nowhere. That's where. She asked me how exactly I was planning on saving to move to a big city...and I hesitated.

How was I planning on saving? 

Savings plan-

***magic***

Although I wanted to be able to come up with something magical, I had to be honest with myself- there was no real savings plan. 

I was sort of hoping that-

a. Monies would fall from the sky

b. I would win the lottery

z. My bills would vanish

c. I would get a raise at work

  Living in my little town was perfect, if I wanted to live there forever.

But I didn't. And being there was starting to become depressing. So, I started to actually consider the inconsiderable. 

The option turned into a consideration which hatched into a plan.

I applied for jobs back home and got a few interviews not too long after the application process. 

I got a job offer, with the exact pay I wanted, the same day I interviewed.  So, I accepted the position.

And I moved. 

But, just to clarify, I moved in order to move. I moved so that I can be in my desired big city. I moved so that the money doesn't just drain through my fingers like a really good sink. I gave myself a deadline and a plan and I told my mom that I will be back out in the proverbial "real world" again, soon enough. 

To be honest, about 5 out of 7 days a week, I feel like a failure (I try not to feel like a failure on the weekends). But I have to remind myself that I am in a transitory state. This is not forever. As long as I don't become complacent, I don't have to be here for a long time. 

belee dat.

So, I'm *trying* to embrace being home. I enjoy my mom's company and, since she was by herself for a couple of years after my little brother left for college, I know she enjoys mine. Like I said, I oftentimes feel like a failure, but I'm taking things in stride. I would be lying to you if I said that moving back home was easy, but it is where I am and where, I believe, is best for me right now.

Actually, since I like making lists, I'm going to make a list to close this thing out.

What to expect when moving back home (to your parent's house):

1. Expect to lose some of your independence. 

"Where are you going?"

"Who are you going with?"

"When should I expect you back?"

"Who is that?"

(I'm not sure if that is common for all cultures, but my family is Jamaican, so...)

2. Expect to have some pointless arguments about finances, friends and chores.

"You got home 10 minutes before me, I thought the dishes would be washed!"

Sigh.

3. Expect for people who haven't seen you since you were 18 to treat you like you're still 18 (or younger).

"There goes the college girl!"

"Oh, you work there? Nice! You've got your first big girl job!" (Let's ignore the fact that I've had a full-time, "big girl job" for the past 5 years)

"Are you in your first or second year of college?" (I'd be in year seven right now, but okay)

"Look at you, looking so 'mature.'" *winks* (Thank you so much)

"Is that wine you're drinking? Oh, wait, you're probably 21 now...right?" (I mean, I turned 21 a few years ago, but I'll just nod)

basically

4. Expect to not really want to have anyone over your house.

This one is interesting, because my mom is truly an absolutely wonderful person. She has a phenomenal personality and she's pretty funny. I just don't want anyone to come over. I am so used to having my apartment as my "space," and having  people over would be very "chill." They could come by whenever, they could leave whenever (or just decide to stay over) they could kick off their shoes and get whatever from my fridge. I know my mom would be fine with my friends coming by, I just don't want to get that "I'm inconveniencing my mom" or "My mom definitely wants to be sleeping right now" feeling.

5. Expect for your parents to make plans for you.

"We're going to visit ________ on Friday."

"I know you needed your eyes checked, so you have an appointment on Thursday at 5:30."

"Saturday night we're going to meet up with ___________ for __________"

(Luckily, my mom has begun accepting that I might say, "Sorry, I've already made plans" or "I don't really know if I want to go." But I will try to go to some of the things she's planned, out of respect for her, if she's really expecting me to be there)

6. Expect for people (aka: your parent's friends) to give you unsolicited life advice.

"Well, you should look into getting married while you're still young." (Mmm, true, true. I'll just call up the marriage fairy and ask her to find me a man. Finding a husband is my #1 priority)

"Maybe you should look into working _______. They have so many opportunities to move up the ladder." (Great. But no, thank you. Because, like I'm sure I already told you, I don't want to stay here for long)

"Have you thought of going back to school? There are a lot of schools locally! You could look into a program there. What was your GPA? Do you mind if I look at your transcripts?" (Yes, this happened. Um, auf wiedersehen)

"I don't think that God is happy with your decision to move back here." (TRUE STORY)

Sigh....I'm taking it in stride.

It gets easier to answer (ignore) the questions/advice as time goes on. I think my defense mechanism is to just smile and nod. People like to hear themselves speak, anyway.

I know that this was incredibly (and unnecessarily) long, but I felt like I needed to transcribe a thorough update.

I'm in a new (old) place (MUCH has changed around here, by the way, so in many ways it does feel like a new place). I'm trying to go with the flow and appreciate the opportunity I have to save money and recoup in a safe environment. In approximately 10 months, I will NO LONGER BE HERE (please, Jesus).

I hope everything is good in your neck of the woods! I still have various things I still want to discuss (not about myself, don't worry), so stay tuned for more updates.

Au revoir.

xoxo.

Sigh.

Ten things the internet wrote about my rape.

P.S: I miss writing here! I have so much to write about and so little time. I will eventually write about nine hundred entries in two days (more or less).

xoxo

xoxo.

“I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat.” 

-Rebecca West (1892-1983)

'Apartmental.'

Here is the TV Pilot 'Apartmental,' one of the projects I had the wonderful privilege of working on this year. 
Many, many thanks to everyone at Novel Concept Films for letting me join their fantastic and creative company because of this Pilot (everyone there is basically my soulmate/spirit animal and I love 'em all). 
Enjoy!  

xoxo.

“I have an apple that thinks its a pear. And a bun that thinks it’s a cat. And a lettuce that thinks its a lettuce."
"It’s a clever lettuce, then."
"Hardly," she said with a delicate snort. "Why would anything clever think it’s a lettuce?"
"Even if it is a lettuce?" I asked.
"Especially then," she said. "Bad enough to be a lettuce. How awful to think you are a lettuce too.” 
― Patrick Rothfuss

I never do this but...

Last night I made a thing. 
And it was a yummy thing. 
And I'm going to share how I made the thing.

Stuffed Yellow Pepper

Ingredients:

1 yellow bell pepper (the bigger the better)
1/2 cup of quinoa (uncooked)
1/4 cup of beans (black or pinto!)
1/2 of a...handful??? of diced tomatoes
2 eggs
2 slices of fresh mozzarella 
Seasoning (I used garlic salt, ground black pepper, crushed red pepper and table salt, all to taste)

Step 1:
Prep:
Cut the yellow bell pepper in half and take out all of the seedy bits so that the two halves appear to be two oddly shaped bowls. Take a tomato, cut it in half, cut that half in half...Dice it!

Step 2:
Cook quinoa until it is ready. The best way to cook quinoa is- for every cup of quinoa, cook it in 2 cups of water. (So...1/2 cup of quinoa to 1 cup of water, for you math wizards) Sometimes you may need to add a smidge more water...because quinoa is weird. I cooked my quinoa with some of the seasonings. And just cook it on medium-high heat until all of the water is absorbed (which could take a while, FYI).

Step 3: 
(While the quinoa is cooking) Fry two eggs sprinkled with salt and black pepper. I like mine over-easy, so that's how I fried them last night. I also used the remaining oil to heat up the tomatoes.

Step 4:
Heat the beans up (microwaving them for, like, 45 seconds will do the trick)! And then, when the quinoa is cooked, mix the two (beans + quinoa) together. At this time, you can also preheat the oven to about 375° (F)

Step 5:
Stuff the peppas! 
I lined the bottom of the peppers with the diced tomatoes and then I spooned in the quionoa/bean mix and then I topped it with the egg and then I topped the egg with the slice of mozerella. *MAKE SURE* that when  you spoon in the quinoa/bean mix, you leave a little bit of space for the egg and mozzarella so that it's not just pouring over...unless you just like living on the edge.

Step 6:
Put the stuffed bell pepper halves on a metal pan and pop it in the oven for about 7 minutes. Just enough time for the cheese to get nice and melty and for the pepper to get a nice grilled taste.

Step 7:
Ruthlessly consume the deliciousness that you just made (it may be hot, though...so maybe you should be sort of careful).

Step 8:
Blog about it and then feel really awkward about blogging about it because you never write down recipes.

Bon appétit!

xoxo.

Werk.

ACTING

The DREAM.

I know I've said this before, but I'll reiterate---> I WANT TO BE AN ACTRESS.

These past several months, I've been working on building my portfolio. 

So I don't bore you with details, I'll just post screenshots/shots on set instead. I feel like I never really post pictures of what I'm working on, so I'm just going to post them here...all at once (well, not "all," but, most). Hopefully I'll have more things developing soon!

Here are some of the projects I've worked on (as always, click to enlarge)-

1. Apartmental (in post-production).

2. Bent On Conquest.

 3. Doritos commercial (contest entry).

 4. Exit Jude.

 5. The Walking Hippies.

 6. K.O.L.D.

 7. You Only Live Juance (in post-production).

 8. Puppy Farm (Bloodbath) (still in production).

 I have some potential projects lined up and I just wrapped a (very) short film on Saturday (I also didn't post any pictures from the play I was in, because I don't have the DVD with me). I'm so excited about being able to act a bit more this year, and I just wanted to share some of this with everyone. Let's hope that the latter half of 2014 and then all of 2015 is nothing but productive (for us all!). 

Dream big, my friends. 

Werk.

xoxo.

**Edit (7/11/14): They posted pictures from the play!

9. Table for two:

 This one was taken before dress rehearsal

** Edit (8/14/2014): The rough edit for 'Puppy Farm' has been released! They are still working on the final project, but here are some (kinda grainy, sorry) screenshots :)

xoxo.

I am taking a moment from my usual feminist ranting to rant about my (semi-usual) nerd stuffs.

OKAY, 
DIAGON ALLEY IS OPEN AT UNIVERSAL STUDIOS...
BUT, LIKE, ONLY FOR WIZARDS APPARENTLY, BECAUSE US MUGGLES CAN'T GO THERE YET. 

But everyone is there (Bellatrix Lestrange, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy, the Weasley Twins). Okay, everyone except Harry, Ron and Hermoine. But Neville is a hero so he counts tenfold. 
And I'm sad. I want to mingle with the Harry Potter peeps.
I know that the series is over (R.I.P Childhood), but ever since the first movie, I just wanted to BE on set for like 5 minutes (I know I can do a studio tour, but it's not the SAME!--- I will be doing a studio tour though, and I will look like a kid in a candy shop- if the candy was laced with cocaine, because I'll be high on life).  

Diagon Alley will be opened for wizards, mudbloods and muggles alike on July 8th, supposedly (which is approximately...too far from now).
AND, and, you can take the Hogwarts express from Diagon Alley to Hogsmead (I've been to Hogsmead like 3 times, and it IS my version of Cinderella's castle).

*Harry Potter opening music plays*

That's me and I have butterbeer in my hands.

This is my brother inside of Hogwarts. 

My brother is the quintessential Harry Potter

nerd. So...you see dat awe?

Anyway, basically, I want to be at Diagon Alley. But...today. Now. At this very moment. So that I can meet everyone from Harry Potter (and I will call them by their character's names, because that is WHO THEY ARE).

Here are some amazing and depressing pictures that I saw online today from the Diagon Alley preview/premiere (click to enlarge)-

do you hate yourself yet?

God bless J.K Rowling.

I can't wait to visit!

xoxo.

We still live in a world where women are being targeted for being women. 

It doesn't matter that it may not be as prevalent in your country. 
If you are a woman, if you are a man, this should bother you. Women should never be regarded as second class citizens, because we are not second class citizens. I am grateful to live in a country in which I have the freedom to wear, do and say whatever I please (though not always without consequence, due to the underlying rape culture). But I do understand that this is a luxury for some women. Our fight for equality can't just be local. We should advocate for women everywhere. My equality issues here in the United States feel like they pale in comparison to the issues that so many women are facing in countries in Africa, Asia and the Middle East. 
I don't want to make light of the issues that the women here face, but I do want more women  and men to rally together to support freedom and equality on a global scale.
I was disheartened an inspired to write this short entry after watching the following video by Afghan recording artist Aryana Sayeed:

She has received death threats because of her outspokenness, but she hasn't let that stop her.

I hope and pray that I will live to see freedom for women in countries like Afghanistan.

Until that time, I believe I need to spread awareness and advocate for equality as much as I possibly can.

xoxo.

Because of THIS, I felt the need to repost THIS:

(via: imgur. artist source)

There are SEVERAL other things I could add and rant about, but I'm going to leave it at this for now (at least while I gather my thoughts).

#YesAllWomen #NotAllMen

xoxo

Not in that way.

xoxo.

Sweetheart, what have you done to us?

xoxo.

Bring Back Our Girls.

   I will interrupt my incessant chatter about myself to post about the HUGELY important and extremely devastating situation involving the almost 300 girls kidnapped from school in Nigeria.

   The gist of what happened is-Boko Haram fighters (terrorist organization) kidnapped these precious girls as they were at their boarding school in Northern Nigeria. Boko Haram kidnapped the girls (many Islamist terrorist organizations are against women being educated) and have since "converted" the girls to Islam, holding them at an unknown location. These girls have been without their families for a month, May 14th (today) making it an exact month from the date they were initially kidnapped. According to this article from CNN, Boko Haram fighters will "negotiate" a release of these young girls if their terrorist brothers are released from prison. What a ridiculous trade. Precious lives of young girls who stood to be educated in exchange for terrorists who are where they should be (prison). Terrorists threatening the lives of young girls who are trying to be educated, a story similar to that of Malala Yousafzai who I wrote about previously (and I'm sure that less publicized stories on a smaller scale are happening more often than we even know).This is devastating, this is infuriating, this is something that we can't stop talking about. Not until they release our girls. 

   Just so you know, the girls who were kidnapped from school represented a group of individuals who are not always a part of the norm. Here are some stats about Nigeria and education from GirlRising.com-

(Reminds me of the book "I am Nujood Ali, Age 10 and Divorced")

The stats have it. This is happening in this world. Our world. We have a right to protect these children, these girls. Don't let the fight die down and fizzle out of social media. These girls are still not home with their parents. #Bringbackourgirls

Malala Yousafzai

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." 

-Martin Luther King Jr.

xoxo.

Joy's Poem

I told my cousin, Joy, that in my frustration I was going to write a poem (see entry below). She wrote a brief poem and told me to make sure to thank her. 

Thank you, Joy ;) 

Here is Joy's Poem:

"My eyeballs sunk

 like a scene from Titanic.

Peacefully we wait

for our hearts to freeze."

That girl is a poet! 

xoxo.

Poem.

  I write so much poetry but my biggest fear is publishing it. 
I'd show my poetry to...my cousin, basically. Maybe my best friend Sakiyna. But that's pretty much it.
I took a poetry course last semester and that helped me to come out of my skin a bit. I love writing poetry, but for the most part I keep it to myself because it's more therapeutic than anything. 
Here's one poem, though (this is absolutely terrifying, but, #YOLO, I'm facing my fears anyway). I just feel like I should post at least one since I have this blog. I wrote this one today:

Dear God.

Blood pours out of my heart

overflowing into the

crevasses

of my lungs.

I’m

coughing up the

coagulated clots,

attempting to spew out

the hardened

bloody spheres.

A painful buildup of my

innermost parts,

lodged in my throat

I gag on my ownness.

The pain of suffocating…

is talking to you.

It hurts.

I believe you’d hear my words

as they don’t fall on

hearing impaired ears

but

I can’t seem to

formulate the sentences.

A pythagorean theorem

of words and syllables,

grunts

groans.

I’m cognizant of the solution,

but I cannot digest the problem.

I attempt a hyperbolic trajectory

of dialogue.

But the gravitational pull on

my life’s dissertation

is likened to a black hole.

A mutilated conversation.

A crimson stained regurgitation.

Beads of anxious sweat

form a river

deep enough to tread

but I’m shackled to an anchor

submerged beneath

the anxiety

drowning in questions.

A relentless grip on

life’s problems.

I grasp inexorably

as if it would

soften the calloused factors,

as if I can mold them like clay

into defectless sculptures of

my own creation.

I have not the capability.

I cannot lament to you

as I am still choking,

as I am still drowning.

Are all of the answers

in a catechism?

In anguish

a whisper dipped in blood

escapes pursed lips.

A question,

the sum

of the anxious sea of inquiries-

Dear God,

Why?

© Paige Parnell, May 2014

(I write depressing poetry, sorry ya'll. My innermost being is clearly mangled, but that's probably how I balance being happy on the outside.)

xoxo.