This Is College

Well, I suppose you could say that I made it! Twelve long years of school completed, (fourteen if you count kindergarten and preschool) ...and now I'm back again for another four to six! How marvelous.

But I like it here. BYU really is a nice place to be, especially since I am so familiar with the area. It practically feels like home! And home as now become home for some 2,000+ more freshmen besides me. Granted, classes haven't started yet, and to be honest, so far it has all felt a lot like EFY all over again. But that's okay! Because EFY is awesome. And I'm not sure if I'm completely ready for classes to start. But they will, and when that time comes, I will say a prayer and dive in.

My roommate's name is Isaac, and he's from Canada. Pretty cool huh? His ethnicity is actually Turkish, and he's not a member (as of right now). He has been investigating since January though! So I hope that I will be able to answer any of the questions he may have, and that I will be able to show him the depth of my testimony through my actions. He's definitely in the right place though, surrounded by the gospel. I wish everybody could have this opportunity and be as open to learn as he is. He's such a great kid.

One of my goals for college is to be more social than I was in high school! So I plan on going to more of the events going on here than I did in college. Now, that doesn't mean I'm going to go to EVERY one, because I doubt I will ever get to that point (and frankly I really don't want to either!). I'm content being who I am, but I realize that I should step a little further out of my shell for a little bit here. I gotta work on remembering people's names! That's gonna be a big thing. I can talk to all the people I want, but if I can't remember their name, (which I usually don't...) then it won't really matter haha. So that's goal number two!

I really love how much BYU is centered in the gospel. It surrounds everything here! It's going to help me so much in preparing for a mission. One of the things that really hit me during freshman orienteering happened during a devotional we all had Friday morning. They were showing a video documentary made about the history of BYU, and one of the quotes somewhere in the middle of it stood out far above the others. I can't give it justice by just summarizing, so here is the actual quote, with the bolded part being the thing that stood out to me:

Zina Young Williams, the dean of women of the Brigham Young Academy in Provo and a daughter of Brigham Young. The academy was less than a decade old and was experiencing serious financial difficulties that, if not resolved, would mean its closing. After listening to Sister Williams’s plea for help, President Taylor took her hand “in a fatherly way” and said:

“My dear child, I have something of importance to tell you that I know will make you happy. I have been visited by your father. He came to me in the silence of the night clothed in brightness and with a face beaming with love and confidence told me things of great importance and among others that the school being taught by Brother [Karl G.] Maeser was accepted in the heavens and was a part of the great plan of life and salvation; . . . and there was a bright future in store for . . . preparing . . . the children of the covenant for future usefulness in the Kingdom of God, and that Christ himself was directing, and had a care over this school.” [Leonard J. Arrington, ed., The Presidents of the Church (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1986), pp. 108–109]

I know that that statement is true. I know the gospel of Jesus Christ is true, and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is the only church on the face of this earth that contains the fullness of God's plan, His words, and His love for His children. That is my testimony, and I'm so proud to be part of the newest class of Brigham Young University! Go Cougars!

The Boy And The Moon

He sat.

He sat outside in the starlight, gazing up at the thick clouds that covered most of the flickering lights.

They're so inconsistent, he thought to himself. The stars. He laid back into the blanket of soft grass that whispered like silk, swaying gently in the night air. One moment you think you see one, only to squint a little harder and realize that the sky was playing tricks on your eyes. The stars... He sighed. The stars are beautiful; they shimmer like dim light reflecting off old crystal in a filled ballroom. But the Moon... The Moon is beauty.

He closed his eyes and smiled slightly, the corner of his mouth curving into a satisfied curl. He loved spending his summer nights sleeping outside in the fresh air. It gave him a sense of freedom that he couldn't feel anywhere else.

The trees around him rustled suddenly as a stronger gust of wind howled through the sky. They shook for a second or two and then settled again, the noise once more being replaced with the sounds of the night. The boy listened to the chirping symphony of crickets and cicadas, the grass playing a part in the music as well. They droned out the noise of the highway only a stone throw away from where he lay. Not that the highway was quite busy at this time of night, but it comforted the boy.

Ironically, he thought, they are louder than the cars. And yet, they are silence. I hear them, but yet I do not. They are the noise of my thoughts - loud and many, yet private and unregistered. They are beautiful as well; all around me, and yet I don't see them. But they are there... they are there.

The boy opened his eyes, but the rest of his body stayed still. The night was not unpleasant, but he had experienced better.

He shivered.

Another breeze snuck through the air, making the trees sing again, adding harmonies of frail tones to the orchestra of the night, as if to announce the presence of their guest of honor.

A cloud shifted.

The Moon appeared, revealing herself in a dreamy ribbon of silvery light. She gazed down from the sky and found herself looking directly into the eyes of the boy.

"Hello Moon," said the boy, letting his eyes take in her beauty. "You look magnificent tonight."

"Of course I do," replied the Moon. "When do I not?"

"I cannot answer that," said the boy, closing his eyes again.

"I thought not," laughed the Moon, sending out beams of light into the hazy clouds nearby.

"Tell me," said the boy, "Do you ever grow weary?"

"Oh no," said she. "Not I."

"Of course not, of course not," replied the boy with a wave. "Forgive me." He sat up suddenly and leaned his back on a nearby tree, his legs crossed in front of him. "But I must ask, why do you wear a mask?"

The Moon looked curiously at the boy.

"What I mean is, why do you hide your beauty for a month, only revealing yourself completely on only one night out of thirty?"

"I fear you are mistaken," replied the Moon. "Am I not always this wonderful? I wear no mask - I have no need for one."

"I see," sighed the boy, sinking back down the tree trunk to lie down once more.

"I am always shining, boy," said she. "Whether or not you can see my beauty is not my problem." And she focused her attention elsewhere.

"Indeed," the boy said quietly, and looked away. "Indeed it is not. But the Sun never made such excuses..."

"What was that?" snapped the Moon, immediately focusing back on the boy.

"Oh nothing," said the boy, closing his eyes once more. "But you have no reason to be jealous of the Sun. You're much easier on the eyes, and one could stare at you all night and never grow tired."

"That certainly is true," huffed the Moon. "But don't believe for a second that I am jealous of the Sun, oh no!"

"Oh no," repeated the boy to himself. Then, softer than the moon could hear, he whispered, "Though if I was only a reflection of another's glory, I wouldn't feel beautiful, I'd feel cheap. Tainted. No, I would rather make something of myself that others could admire fully every day, and not just on nights when the moon is full and the stars are covered."

"What on earth are you mumbling about?" questioned the Moon. The boy chucked at her unintended pun.

"Do not worry yourself over it," said the boy.

The wind rustled the trees again and the boy shivered. There was a long silence before the boy spoke again.

"Moon, do you ever grow lonely?"

He waited for an answer, but all that replied were the crickets and cicadas. After a long time, the boy questioned again.

"Moon?"

The boy opened his eyes, but the moon had disappeared again behind the veil of clouds that blanketed the sky.

How I Became The Sea

June was the lobster shell I dug by hand; a haven that hid me well beneath the sand

The white, windy waves washed in, but I stayed dry. The great breakers broke again as I nodded off inside. And then, when the empress ran aground and my eyes turned blue and green, I heard a gorgeous sound, and that's when it became a dream. When the sky fell in, when the hurricanes came for me - I could finally crash again.

And that's how I became the sea.

I wrenched the engines off and drank them down, the depths turned the iron soft as they swiftly drowned. And I brought the ocean side to its' rusty knees, as I felt the eventide deepen my shallowed dreams.

And Then

When the empress ran aground, and my eyes turned blue and green, I heard a gorgeous sound.

And that's when it became a dream

When the sky fell in.

When the hurricanes came for me, I could finally crash again.

And that's how I became the sea...

Dream

Dream

I swear I saw a castle

Hidden by the hills

Sunken by the passing time

Frozen in its frills

The amber gates were firebrick red

The towering spires white

The shady hue was tinted blue

All colors of a kite

The countryside was picturesque

With fertile lands to sow

Mountains rising far behind

Laced with ice and snow

I swear I saw a castle

Fair as I've ever seen

I swear I saw that castle

But it may have been just a dream

~Trevor Howell

The Epic Story of Awesomeness

    Parker walked in. “Hey everybody!” He shouted. “Time to get crazayzay!” Nobody really knew what that word meant, but they all cheered and threw up their hands and started dancing. They were at a dinner festival with the best food around. The year was 2043, and everybody had superpowers because in 2038, the new government, the S.U.S.A. (Semi-United States of America) decided it would be totally awesome to start human experimentation zo that everybody else could benefit from new, engineered genes. When they had succeeded, they handed out superpowers like candy on Halloween night to everybody that wanted them, except for people with a criminal record, for obvious reasons. Naturally, a good majority of the S.U.S.A. wanted superpowers, so they practically broke down the Grey House doors to get them. We hear stories about back in the day when democracy was still alive that it used to be called the White House, but now, covered in ashes and soot form the ruins and craters surrounding it, it is anything but white.

    “Attention everybody,” spoke Parker. “We have a problem. The S.U.S.A. has become too corrupt and therefore must be overthrown.” Everybody quieted down as they comprehended his words. “I’ve found startling evidence that the government has implanted within each superhuman gene a mind control switch. All they have to do is press the big red button and BAM! You’re under their control.” A cry of alarm went through the crowd, and one of the guests spontaneously burst into flames. People around him screamed, but he soon extinguished himself. That was his superpower.

    “I will take three of you with me to carry out this secret mission we must accomplish if we are to gain peace once again. I want Ezreal, Elise, and Ryze all to join me.” The three of them stepped forward, or rather, Ezreal teleported forward. The other two walked like normal. “Let’s go.”

    They were at the Capitol within seconds, due to Ezreal’s teleportation.

    “It’s going to be tricky,” cautioned Ryze. “We should make a plan.”

    “Naw,” yawned Elise, and she stood up. “Let’s just get this over with.” Ryze gave her a glare and she apathetically sat back down.

    “Here’s a blueprint of the Grey House,” said Parker, pulling out a holographic card. “We’ll enter from here,” he suggested, pointing at the balcony.

    “It’s cold out here,” complained Elise, wrapping herself up in her jacket. “I hate the wind.”

    “Then let’s get inside!” said Ezreal with a smirk, and he vanished in a puff of dull golden light. Three seconds later he was back. “You guys coming? Sheesh. Slow-pokes.” They all grabbed on to him and suddenly they were on the balcony. Ryze looked around and noticed a piano. How odd. They cautiously crept inside, sending Elise to scout ahead.

    “It’s just because I’m small, isn’t it?” she complained, and transformed into a spider. The other three waited insolence until she returned thirty minutes later. “What exactly was I looking for?” she asked. Ryze lost his patience.

    “The big red button, you flawed little spider!” he raged. “We have to disable it!”

    “Ah,” she said. “I found that, but there were a lot of people around it, so I just pushed it.”

    “YOU WHAT?!” they all exclaimed.

    Suddenly, Ryze’s and Ezreal’s eyes turned white, and they stared blankly at Elise. She laughed. “Now you are all mine! You will all bow to the Spider Queen!” She tossed her head back and cackled evilly, while a clap of thunder conveniently echoed in the background, and it randomly started to rain. As she stopped laughing and let down her head, she noticed that Parker was looking at her with a different expression.

    “You fiend!” exclaimed Parker. “You witch! It was all for honey! It was you all along! You fed me this information just so that I would bring you here and you could control everybody!” Elise laughed again, but then realized that Parker’s eyes weren’t white, and he had complete control of himself. It was too late, Parker was already running at her, and tackled her to the ground. He wasn’t exactly sure what he hoped to accomplish by doing this, but he wrestled with her as it began to rain harder, and lighting flashed all around. Finally Parker subdued her by pinning her against a wall with a knife to her throat.

    “How… Why are you not under… the spell?” Elise gasped.

    “Because I wasn’t a fool,” shouted Parker over the raging storm. “I didn’t trust that the government had good intentions when they handed out superpowers. Good thing I never took one!” And with that, he stabbed Elise.

    …Right in the arm. She squealed. “Ow! Ow that hurts! Cut it out! I won’t be bad anymore, I promise!”

    “Okay,” Parker said, and let her go. “Let’s go back inside and disable that big red button so that everybody will be normal again.”

    “Alright,” she whimpered, holding her arm tenderly, and they went inside as the rain suddenly stopped and the sun came out.

    And so, the world was saved by Parker Skousen, because he had the guts to stand up for what was right. Not everybody can be super, but those who are given the chance for power and turn it down are the real superheroes. This concludes The Epic Story of Awesomeness.

FIN

An Inverted Desire

In every kind of literature, be it books, newspapers, or even the internet, there is always conflict of some sort. Conflict between two characters, or two nations, it's all the same. We read all the time about conspiracies, murders, accidents, and gossip, not because we desire that to happen to ourselves, but because it's interesting to read. No NBC news story is going to cover the twelve thousand year history of the Aspen Tree, nor will any full length novel describe how people weave baskets for a full 800+ pages, and expect anybody to honestly pay attention or listen to them. (Even though English teachers have a knack for finding incredibly dull books and making them required reading) No, what people want to read about is war. The dirty secrets of kings and queens. The intricate details of a murder plot, to either be foiled or carried out. I can't quite explain this desire we have as a human race, the need to devour information concerning disruption from normality, but it's imbedded in our very personalities.

And this is why it's so hard to put down a good book after it has ended.

Think to yourself, you've had that time in your life where you were completely engrossed in a series of books, and since there were so many of them, and each one was over 500 pages in length, you had this subconscious thought process that the story would never end. You thought it would be infinite.
And then you reached the end.

And then this all-consuming rage welled up inside of you, and you considered writing angry inquiry notes to the author, begging him to tell you what happens after the series ended. But alas, that cannot be, because authors are masters at their craft. To write ideas down is no large accomplishment, and to create a story from your imagination isn't all that difficult either. The real challenge, and that which makes authors so good, is where they choose to end their tale. Because they realize, even though their readers have become incredibly attached to these characters, through the adventures and dangers they've traversed, that if they continue the story too long after all of the action has died down, the readers will lose their interest, and the magic of the book dies.

Thus, our inverted desire.

We desire to know what happens to Harry Potter's children as they grow up, and experience the magical world. We desire to know what becomes of Frodo after he leaves Middle Earth. But the reality is, we really don't. As I said before, if a book continues too long after the adventure has ended, the thrill of the book ends with it, and all that's left is peaceful, uneventful times. And unless you're an English teacher, you don't want to read about the dull, unexciting events of normal life. We experience that ourselves, therefore what purpose does it serve if what we read is a parallel to our day to day routines? Nothing. It serves us nothing, and makes us lose interest.

Authors walk a fine line when choosing how to end a book, I'm sure. They must fret about it every day, unless they already have a clear ending in mind. Because, no matter how well the story was in the middle, endings can ruin books if they're done wrong. All too often have I heard people rant and rant about a book because of its ending, and usually the ones I've heard aren't the only ones upset. Take the Hunger Games series, for example. Out of the many people I have talked to, I have only come across one person who said that he didn't mind the final book. Everybody else, myself included, have hated it, for a variety of different reasons.

Nobody likes the end of a good series, but there is a significant difference between a bad ending, and an un-likeable ending, purely because it was the end of something you love. But I am of the opinion that if you find yourself in the second description when reaching the end of the book, then the author has done his job well. Though curiosity inevitably remains, concerning what becomes of the characters after the last page in the book, the author knows about this inverted desire. And while I'm sure it is harder for the author than anyone else, he must end the story, for fear of doing it injustice.
Our inverted desire is what keeps balance to curiosity and actuality.

And so, I offer this blog post to those who may read it, as a source of comfort, in a way. This is why we cannot know what happens after all has been written that should be. Though it may take a day or two to come back to reality after the end of your series, once you do, you will be able to understand this inverted desire, and the reason the author ended his or her book in the way they did.

And hopefully, this too will bring you peace.

From Dust to Dust

I imagine it to be quiet there, and peaceful.

Kind of like the end of a long day with friends, working in the coal mines as the darkness suffocates your lungs as much as the dust around you. But all you find are diamonds.

There are colors we've never seen, and scents we've never smelled; some foreign mixture of dreams and the violet hue in your grandmother's blueberry pie. The golden crust crumbles like the stars in the sky, appearing as clearly in the day as they do in the night, backed in a canopy of blueish purple. The water would always be glass - a million similar crystals bound in the earth that sustains life and beauty. Grass would grow everywhere, and no one would fear walking barefoot, for the carpeted ground would feel as though you were walking on the clouds in the sky. The sun would constantly be shining, but not in an overbearing way, rather the perfect temperature for each individual person.

There would be peace everywhere. No fighting, no lying, no famine, and no ingratitude. No secrets, only mysteries yet to be revealed.

The green eyes would be truthful. The long hair would flow as sand between fingers - elusive, yet ever present. The brown shoulders would sustain any amount of weight charged to them. The scarlet ears would hear all, from the wings of the hawks, to the gills of the fish; from the breeze in the air to the rhythm of a cricket.

I long to be there.

But I must wait until my day is done, and I have polished and presented the diamonds I have found.