Regardless of Obama’s true intention, I don’t believe he will be able to help or change our country, afterall, he is one person. Nothing can be done to change our direction unless the whole country (or even world) stands up together. This oil “hemorrhage,” as jakluk4 on YouTube calls it, isn’t going to be solved by anger towards BP.

We shouldn’t be looking at the government, BP or any other private organization to clean this up. Private means that it will be kept from the public. This needs to be made known so that change can occur.

Here is a video link to help enlighten you. Who’s They”

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I’m finally going to see my dad this summer. I haven’t seen him in three years. I am so excited, yet I am still filled with pain. I had an opportunity to see my family again to attend my cousin’s funeral. He died February 19th, 2008 at the age of 13. The weekend of his funeral I had a powerlifting meet. I chose to go to the competition. It was a hard decision. At the time I didn’t feel pain, but felt obligated to go for my family’s sake, yet I couldn’t resist going to the powerlifting meet.
I have never experienced the kind of focus I had in powerlifting. I’ve always been determined to make good grades, but even then they weren’t as satisfying as a powerlifting meet. I tried volleyball in middle school, yet I have always been a nervous wreck in public, so despite actually being somewhat good at the sport, I never did well during games. I was always looking at the audience, and worried what they thought of me, and always worried I would fail.
Powerlifting was so much different for me. Naturally, I was nervous during my first meet. But once I got up to the squat platform, I completely forgot about the audience. It wasn’t a focus I had to work on, it was natural. I was completely focused on my lift, my spotters and the judges who were directing me. The nervousness, the excitement, the adrenaline – it was great. I learned how to use my anxiety along with determination to get each lift. I’ve never had so much fun in my life, and I was just as passionate about it as writing.
So when it came to skipping a meet, especially the meet that would determine whether I went to Regionals, was a decision I could not make. I went to the meet, made it to Regionals, and placed 9th. I missed my cousin’s funeral. It was a hard decision. And even though I have now learned I was hiding my pain from myself, I still don’t find myself regretting my decision. The only reason I wanted to go was because I felt obligated. Even with the pain, I find it very hard to attend funerals. What I dislike most is open-casket funerals. My brother thinks I am rude when I talk of graves, bodies, and such, but I don’t think he gets what I am trying to say. It is hard to explain. I just don’t like seeing bodies that no longer have spirit and soul in them. It is creepy, and I find that disrespectful.
The main reason for this blog is that recently I have realized that I have been holding in mourning for his death. I never knew him that well, I always thought it didn’t affect me and that it was because of that – that I didn’t know him. Yet, now I realize I had started to hide my true emotions around this age. I couldn’t face them, and I was lying to myself all the time. I thought crying was weak, and that I was strong and didn’t cry over something so natural and insignificant as death. I was wrong – so wrong. Death is natural, but not insignificant. That is like saying life is insignificant. Both should be cherished and experienced. That is the cycle – death and rebirth, endings and beginnings. Both transitions are necessary, or the one would not go after the other.
While I have learned that crying isn’t weak, lately, even after this strong desire to cry – to just bawl – I don’t feel comfortable crying at home. I am afraid I would make noise and my mom would want to know what is wrong. It isn’t really anything I want or need to talk to her about – at least concerning the death of my cousin. I just want the freedom to let loose my pain without interruption or nosy, unwanted questions.

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