high school – Page 2 – hannah ananas

Yearbooks

***Update on the ant bite: My bicep still rocks, but the bite swelled and split open this morning, only to close up, turn green in the middle again, and start swelling again… we’ll see how it looks in the morning, now! (And the coach’s bites did not turn green, he said, but one was hurting a lot.)***

We now return to regular programming.

There is a guy working with me who graduated high school with my youngest brother.

I pulled out the yearbook from their senior year today, and had a brief look through the senior photos.

I enjoyed how much hair this guy and my brother both had in their photos, and how they both have almost none now, and both keep their heads shaved (though my brother uses a razor, and the other guy only seems to buzz it as short as possible).

One thing I noted was that their service work locations seemed almost stereotypical for each of them…. interesting, perhaps.

Something bigger, however, was the other people I found in the yearbook.

I crossed names of people whose faces I knew not, but whose names I knew well from my brother – how fun to put faces to the names, even almost two decades after the fact.

And then I realized that I finally had the opportunity to look up and remember my brother’s best friend’s full name – I forgot his middle name a few years back, and haven’t recalled it since…. I just always thought it was fascinating, because he was the fourth with the name, so he had a “, IV” at the end of his legal name.

And I use the past tense here, because he died at the start of their sophomore year of college.

It was drinking and a bit of drugs at a party, and everyone thought he’d simply fallen asleep, but, of course, he hadn’t… I’ve always remembered most that my brother was invited to that same party, but chose to work on his absurd amount of homework, instead (thank you, UT Architecture program [not for the first time]).

And so J—– died at the party, and my brother spoke at the funeral, at the request of J—-‘s family, and he did a wonderful job.

My mom and I also attended the funeral, along with a lot of people.

After the funeral, since J—- had always said that he wanted to go out with pinwheels and fireworks, we (a handful of select people that happened to include my mom and me) went to an open land area across from a movie theatre, and set off a bunch of little rockets and a few big shebang fireworks (the pinwheels had decorated the casket) – it was a true party and celebration to send off J—- and to say goodbye together.

When I came across his name today, I was delighted – I finally have it(!).

And then I gave his photo a good look.

And it was almost terrifying as an experience, though terrifying just is not quite the right word…

It suddenly occurred to me that this was the first time I’d seen a photo of J— since around the time of the funeral – I’d only had mental visions of him since then.

It was weird to think that, u like my brother and that other guy, J— had not aged from this photo… maybe two years’ worth of aging, but that was little different from the boy who sat in the frame that is in front of me now.

These were posed senior portraits for the yearbook, and so they each are looking directly at the camera…, directly at the viewer of the photograph… J—- was no exception…

And it was spooky, knowing that those eyes, so true and almost penetrating in this photo, were no longer here, no longer existed.

And then, it had me wonder how many people in this book, this yearbook are no longer around?

And that was perhaps even spookier…

I had to move on to other things then, both in terms of productivity and in terms of an emotional desire to step away from the increasing discomfort and potential sadness of what sat before me, visually and mentally, at that moment, and so I closed the book, put it back in its place, and walked away.

I soon had tears in my eyes, and the feeling of hollowness just behind the bottom of my ribs was growing.

Now, hours later and many tasks and conversations later, I feel less afraid, and more aware of the fleeting aspect of life, the circumstances that allow us a promise of a chance at everything, and at a chance of it all going away at any moment, in a moment’s time…

On my way up to the house where I am housesitting tonight, I passed their church, where J—-‘s funeral had been… I think of him every time I pass it (though that doesn’t happen too often), because it’s the only thing I’ve ever attended there…

……

I don’t have anything insightful about this… I just wanted to share…

Post-a-day 2019

Photo boss

Okay, maybe “photo boss” is a bit much, but it sure sounds intense, and in the right kind of way… ;P

Anyway, so I did the senior portraits for someone the other week – remember that?

(Maybe not, but let’s continue as though you do.)

Using the money from that, I invested in a new lens I’d wanted for a while (which has a high likelihood of earning me menu for a certain kind of photography rather soon, consistently), and in a second memory card that will be extremely useful as I do more and more photo sessions, and in an external hard drive exclusively for photos (since they take up loads of space, now that I’m doing the RAW files and all).

And – possibly the best part – I still have a bit of the money to spare, even after buying myself a huge tank of gas for the truck (the vehicle a family friend has lent me, so that I can go longer distances reliably, instead of only short distances, and unreliable so).

Isn’t that great?

Oh(!).

Of course, the photos turned out totally awesome – I’m super proud!

So, yeah… I’m really happy about these steps I’m taking.

It really makes a difference to declare that I am doing this. 🙂

Post-a-day 2019

Gullible

Back in high school, there was, as is likely often the case with high schoolers, a phase of everyone telling each other that “‘gullible’ is written on the ceiling.”

In the middle of that phase of adolescence, I was hanging out one day with a couple or few friends, just outside the school theatre.

Outside the entry doors to the theatre, the building’s roof continues to the sides, creating a large concrete-based overhang/roof over the walkway immediately surrounding the theatre.

We were hanging out in this area, stage left of the entry doors.

Being my usual self, I was browsing my surroundings, including the ceiling above me.

Curiosity struck me, when I came across something unique.

“What does ‘gullible’ mean?” I asked those with me.

They paused to look at me and scoff, or something of the sort.

Having received no useful answer, I explained the reason for my question.

Pointing at the ceiling, I told them, “It’s written up there, on the ceiling.”

The irony of the event and my statement finally struck me, when I learned the definition of the word later on, but I was met with little interest in looking to where I was pointing at the time – no one trusted or believed me.

I eventually – not sure if it was almost immediately or weeks or months later – started telling people about this incident, always chuckling at the whole affair, and was usually met with disbelief and distrust – only on occasion did someone believe me and share in the hilarity of the story and situation with me.

I worked usually in vain to explain how someone could go find the very word himself or herself, always wondering if it even was still there.

Today, more than a decade later, I went back to that same area, and dropped my head back to scan the ceiling…

Over to the side, just as I remembered it, in its pencil-lead-looking ink and terrible handwriting that was likely snuck up there in a huge hurry while teachers were out of sight, was this:

(And a slightly zoomed-in version:)

Snazzy, huh? ;P

Post-a-day 2019

Fashionably late

Tonight, after all of our own family activities and general gay atmosphere hanging out, my mom and I headed to my high school boyfriend’s family’s Christmas dessert gathering/social.

I sent him a message when we actually were getting close to leaving, but received to reply, and so I called him when we actually were leaving my brothers’ dad’s house.

The party was slowing down, but we could for sure come hang with him, if everyone else was gone, he said… and so I had him verify with his mom that it was still okay for us to come over (because we live over half an hour away), and she said to come on!

And so we went… and his dad’s dad was practically walking out the door as we arrived, the final guest at the gathering.

And yet, the whole family was there to greet us happily with hugs and cheer, and then hung out with us for what turned out to be about two and a half hours of good and real chat time.

We finally walked out the door, and we were shocked to find it was just shy of one in the morning(!).

But it had truly felt like we’d received a sort of VIP treatment for the party – when other guests are present, conversations are cut short/off regularly, and often only last a minute or three at most, and often less time with the host of a party… and yet we spent two and a half hours with direct conversation with the hosts of the party.

How often does that happen during a party?

Quite rarely for me, really… it’s always only if I arrive really early or stay to the end that I get the one-on-one time with the party host.

And yet we had full attention the entire time we were there – it was certainly like special treatment for this party!

I definitely feel like this puts a whole new level/dimension to being “fashionably late” to events. 😛

Post-a-day 2018

Being remembered

I regularly feel as though I am a rather unnoticed individual, and I especially felt so throughout school… I am surprised whenever someone from high school remembers me or even knows my name.

And yet, the other night, I was delightfully* accosted by a gorgeous girl from my high school, who declared that I went to that high school, class of ’08, right?.. no, not ’08…, but I went there, right?

I told her that I had, and we exchanged names, unsure as to how she recognized me so easily, knew my face so well…

She pointed out her husband, who was in school with us, and I told her how that made so much sense, since I had known he looked familiar, when I’d seen him earlier.

Up close, I discovered that he had an amazing tie covered in penguins.

It was a great few minutes of the event.

The funny part, though, was that I had no recollection of her face whatsoever… her name was vaguely familiar, but nothing else.

(And we really didn’t discover anything that would have linked us back in high school, so it made sense that I wouldn’t know her in the first place.)

How totally odd to be on the opposite end of the remembering… for the first time in my life, I wasn’t the person calling out someone who had no idea who I was. 😛

It was weird, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it – disappointed that I had ‘let her down’ by not remembering her, flattered that I was remembered by someone so distantly connected to me, or something else altogether…

Whatever the case, it was nice to visit the other side and to see how it is on that end for once… perhaps people are as excited when I approach them as I was at the initial encounter with this girl… perhaps so…

*As is in true fashion of graduates from my high school

Post-a-day 2018

Days we’ll remember forever

My housemate and I were flipping through our senior yearbook tonight (instead of getting ready for bed), looking for the last name of a certain girl who’d come up in conversation.

I was amazed at how few people she seemed to remember (or even to know in the first place) – I felt as though I had specific memories of each and every girl whose picture we crossed, all 200 of them (including myself, that is).

Maybe I really do just remember more than the average person…, and maybe I take note of more in the first place…

Post-a-day 2018

High school crushes

It seems that I have a sort of high school crush. That is to say, if I were in high school right now, I would have a total crush on this musical theatre guy. For whatever reason, I noticed his photo and name in a program a few years ago, and have remembered him ever since, always recognizing his face and name, both in the program and actually up on the stage. (I think I overheard some family members of his once, and so checked the program to see whom they were talking about doing so well in his musical theatre goals. That sounds familiar.)

Anyway, it’s been so long and it has happened so gradually, I didn’t even notice when I started getting excited any time I saw him in a program. Fast forward to tonight, and I was actually a bit giddy when I saw his picture and name. I had a casual fan girl moment when he passed me as I walked to the bathroom during intermission. And it was not actual freak-out or anything – I merely smiled and considered how I would have freaked out and jumped up and down and all if I actually had been in high school, and if this were a real crush.

Nonetheless, I am delighted for this guy and his obviously progressing career in musical theatre – and his obviously progressing muscle mass – and it is exciting to recognize someone in all of these shows, even if I haven’t met him and I don’t actually know him. Just his name and his talent…

Plus, it’s quite likely that he is gay, making it all the more like my old high school crushes – the best and most desireable guys always seemed to be gay back then. (And I’m not so sure that that has changed much since then, actually…)

Post-a-day 2018

Getting in touch with nature naturally…-ish

One of my favorite memories from my time in high school is the day where one of my best friends and I spent some time with nature during lunch. In the front of our school, between two of the branches of buildings that stick out to the parking lot, there is an outdoor passageway/walkway. It is like a courtyard, but that it only has buildings on three sides of it. That being the case, it wasn’t exactly an ‘allowed’ place for having lunch. However, the building on one side of it was brand new, and so no precedent was in place regarding it. Essentially, I didn’t tell anyone that I went there for lunch, and I kept myself out of eyeshot while out there, whenever I went.

I only went on days when I felt really stranded inside the buildings. Sometimes the whole artificial box and lighting can really get one down, and that is often the case for me. Since the school had removed carpets from most hallways, while it was fancier-looking, it felt even more industrial and anti-nature. So, while I had lunch in the actual courtyard most days, I occasionally snuck out to this walkway, because 1) it was rather isolated from people and buildings, and 2) it was filled with green, green grass (something of which the courtyard had almost none).

On the day of this beloved memory, I had told this friend of my intentions to go be one with nature during lunchtime. She elected to join me. And so, as I walked barefoot in the grass as part of my usual routine of grounding myself back to nature on these days, she walked alongside me. I may even have lay down in the grass, or just sat in it, while she walked around and back and forth in it with the same goal in mind. However, for whatever reason, while I was barefoot to feel the ground physically, she was getting in touch with nature while in her tennis shoes.

Gosh, I loved that silly lunchtime event, and still treasure it. 😛

Floor Hockey Rockstars

I had forgotten until recently that I used to play street hockey with one of my brothers. We just would rollerblade together and pass the ball or puck to each other, or practice rollerblading with the sticks as fast as we could and then with the sticks and ball/puck. It was fun. And, you see, I remembered this, because I was trying to figure out how I had been so good at floor hockey in gym class in ninth grade, even though I had never done it in school before then. And I thought of that memory, because I saw at the YMCA the other girl in that freshman gym/health class who was really good at floor hockey (and definitely more intense about it than anyone else), which had been our first sport of the school year. Her name is Kristina. It was really good having someone else in that class who enjoyed sports for the sport of them, and who was naturally good at most sports, and who didn’t get an attitude about any of it. We didn’t really become friends outside of that class, but she’s always held a little sweet space in my heart and memory because of our initial floor hockey awesomeness bond. 😛

Post-a-day 2018

Mortification after Consideration

While on a summer symposium in high school, I had a very upsetting and memorable experience. See, we had a presentation-turned-almost-meeting one day with a man who had done highly valued things with his life so far, – it was a world youth leadership symposium – and he started off the presentation by asking us as a group, ‘Who are you?’ I was near the back of the room, and that was how the trouble occurred for me.

The first kids answered by the standard social behavior of giving his name, etc. I instantly commented mentally that he hadn’t answered the question. The man had asked who he was, not what his name was or where he lived. The talking went along, one by one, around the seats in the room, heading back towards me. Occasionally, the man repeated his question, asking who people were, but not always. No one strayed from the name-giving routine. I grew anxious about how to answer. Was the man being the way so many people seemed to be, unaware of the actual words he was using, really only want to know our names and ages, and a bit of our backgrounds? Or did he mean what he was asking? Was he genuinely asking who we each were?

Considering how everyone else had responded and reacted to his question, I was leaning toward the former. Taking into account that my mother and I were not exactly normal, and that we would have meant what we’d asked with such a question, I leaned even more towards the former. I determined that I would answer his question, should he ask it to me directly. ‘Who are you?’ he would ask, and I would reply nervously with an honest, ‘I don’t know.’

My turn arrived. I waited a few moments before speaking, waiting for his question. But it didn’t come. Thrown, I faltered and defaulted, stumblingly, to my name. However, I was very specific with my words. Rather than everyone else’s phrase of, “I’m [insert name here],” I said, “My name is Hannah.” No, it was not an answer to the original question, but it seemed to be the expectation. And I had answered honestly and consciously. I was not carelessly declaring that my name was who I was, but consciously stating that my name was, in fact, my name. I didn’t want to be any more isolated than I had already felt in the group of the symposium, by giving an odd answer. And especially when the person asking the question hadn’t wanted such an answer.

I never liked my answer, nonetheless.

After we finished going around the room with the lame (in my opinion) introductions, the man took up speaking again. He stated how it was interesting that he as asked us ‘who we are,’ but everyone had automatically answered with their names, as though he had asked their names – we had all unconsciously answered a question that wasn’t even asked, but assumed, instead of answering the question asked.

I still feel a huge sob within me, whenever I think about it, actually. I was simultaneously inwardly mortified and furious. I had made the incorrect assessment of the situation for one thing, and my conscious care of words had gone seemingly unnoticed. I felt scolded, and angry, and I just wanted to spit at his assumption and leave. And I still respected him and his work. I just hated how he had tied me to being unconscious. I’m not sure I have ever been unconscious about such things…

The things that stick with us…

Post-a-day 2017