Questions.

Why do we always question the unexplainable things?

As a small child, I was always one to ask unanswerable questions, as most children are capable of; most children grow out of this phase around the ages 6-8. However, I never lost this quality and it got me into quite a lot of trouble growing up. I was extremely cocky, spoke my mind easily and questioned anything I saw fit. Most adults overlooked my attitude because of they were so astonished with my incredible vocabulary. As long as I can remember, words have fascinated me - not words you find specifically in textbooks or in newspapers - just how they hold the world together. We speak them aloud, whisper them, breathe them, think them, read them, write them and live by them. Like the strong binding of a book, words hold everything in our lives together, and we barely recognize it. Of course, when I was younger I never realized any of these things; I only knew that words felt special to me, made me feel happier and helped me release all my problems. I used to have a lot of crazy, repetitive dreams as a child; most of them seemed important at the time, so eventually I started keeping a journal describing these dreams in as much detail as possible. I don't know, maybe it was a crazy idea, but it always made me feel a little more comforted, as if I had proof of these things that haunted me in my sleep. On a side note, I have always found memories to be the biggest part of my life; no matter how hard I try, they never go away. So even as a child, I would relive all of my strongest memories and strengthen the weakest ones before I went to sleep at night. The past is what holds me back, but also pushes me forward in life; when I find a happy medium, I think I'll be much better off. Anyways, once I started recording my dreams, it was like something clicked inside of me. I couldn't stop writing after that; I created fictional stories, many of which I never finished because so many new ideas would pop into my head before the old ones had time to be written. Around age 10, I started to keep a diary which recorded details of my life on a day-to-day basis. Now I was a very troubled, angry child, so I mostly wrote about things that had ruined my day; it was a rarity to find a happy page in the seven or so diaries that I kept over the next 4 years. Moving on, I began to write what I had hoped to be my first published novel; unable to think of a title, I simply called it "Teens" because it was about the life of troubled adolescents. I spent hours poring over my mother's old baby name book, picking names that best-suited each character; there was not one person in that book who's name did not mean something important. I realized eventually, that no one would ever think enough to notice these things, but I was still content with my hard work. In the days to come, I put all of my free time into that book, dealt with many frustrated nights of writer's block and fought the urge to trash the whole idea; I was determined to finish it. Now despite this, there were still a lot of things going on in my life that got in the way of my writing. I always had things to do around the house, a mother who always seemed to be pregnant, and five younger siblings to prove this theory. So things were pretty rough during my pre-teen years and I had a hard time focusing on anything of importance. The year I turned 14 came to be my worst year; my mother birthed a set of twins, my teenage hormones were at war with everyone and I eventually moved in with my dad to pursue my dreams of being an only child again. During all of this, any free time was precious and I continued to fill the pages of my story; I soon found that I was actually better with words during these stressful times than I had been in previous years. Finally, once things had settled down and I was sitting in a nice little house, in a new school, far away from all my previous distractions, I began to write again. Now that I was in school, it was much easier to observe actual teenager experiences other than my own troubling ones, which made writing much easier. Between homework and other activities, I still didn't have the desired amount of writing time, but that didn't stop me from typing away into all hours of the night. I didn't have many friends in high school, because regardless of my attitude as a child, I was far from a social butterfly. I sat back, picking and choosing who I saw fit to be friends with and then proceeded to make it happen. Needless to say, I was fairly wise in my friend choices and almost every one of them stuck with me throughout the rest of my 9th and 10th grade year. I had unusually poor grades my 9th grade year, because I was highly unfocused on the actual schooling - just the social aspect. Teenagers fascinated me. I understand now why adults spare very little time for the teenage mind: teenagers are whiney, needy, dramatic, annoying and all around despicable. My 9th grade class was thought to be the most disrespectful class of our generation by more than half of the school faculty, until the following 9th graders proved them wrong, which, in turn gained us 10th graders our long awaited respect. Not including my small circle of friends, I despised my fellow students. I found more enjoyment in spending time with my favorite teachers (there were few) and reading in the library, which was falling into horrible disuse. I grew up with my own personal bookcase, filled with hundreds of books that I distinctly remember reading more than twice, so I was appalled to find that others of my generation despised books almost as much as I despised the generation. Once I had this figured out and it became apparent that I wasn't welcome, my library trips became less frequent. Instead, I borrowed several books at a time and hoarded them in my locker so that I could read them in class, for all to see. I soon found out who to avoid, just by laying a book on my desk. I actually developed a slight smugness whenever someone dared to argue with me about the unimportance of books and words. My own boyfriend at the time nearly drove me over the edge with his hatred for books; words such as useless and unnecessary hit me like daggers. I don't think I had ever been so angry at him. After that, my quest to change people became a silent one, which eventually became a nonexistent one. Now, in the beginning I should have mentioned that books and written words are just a small part of my passion. The words that have been put into melody and song are my true favorites. Music has always had a far greater effect on me than anything I have ever read in a book; songs not only hold beautiful words, but also memories, which as I stated before are very important to me. Some of the greatest and happiest moments in my life were highlighted with a song and now that song will always have the ability to make me laugh or cry at the memory of that moment. Sadly, my music making skills are not as convincing as the pages I have written. Still, I found greater hope in the idea that so many people have a love for music as I do. Approaching the idea of music is much easier than bringing up the topic of a book and is also much more successful. When people hear a song, in order to understand it better they usually pay great attention to the words and meaning behind it. To make this part more bearable, it's backed up with loud guitar riffs or quiet melodies that leave the listener feeling a certain way that can't be described. In this way, music is a lot more powerful than a book. A book is very plain and simple, even with fancy pictures and a pretty cover, which scares many people away from the real pleasures that lie within the words themselves; there is nothing to persuade them, nothing to keep them occupied, for occupied they must be - and without an imagination, the book may as well have stayed on the shelf waiting for someone better suited to what it holds. Music however, has the power to hold anyone's attention; even negative attention is still enough. Most importantly, music drives people to think, to question things that don't seem right. A book also holds this power, but is directed toward the most inquisitive minds. Music teaches the rest to become inquisitive, to ask more questions and most importantly, to quit "going with the flow". The point I'm trying to get at here, is that words are powerful, more powerful than anyone can ever truly imagine and can be woven to create something beautiful. So here's the answer to the opening inquiry. We question the unexplainable because it makes us uncomfortable not knowing the definite facts. We question the unexplainable because it makes us question ourselves and once we question ourselves, our skin is not our own. Once the mind starts going, it takes everything one has to stop it from running straight for the cliff. Now, not everyone feels this uncomfortability; I personally know people, some of my closest friends, who are perfectly content with not knowing. They go through life without wondering, without question and even though I know they are content, I must say it sounds terribly boring. They live much safer lives, but I have to wonder if they are really living at all. This is where music enters the picture; it drives those who do not question to take a good look and realize what they are missing. And that is the true beauty of it.

I'm sure I've strayed off topic many, many, many times but I'm hoping I successfully tied it together in the end. You see, I myself have so many words going through my head, so fast, so many; it's hard to harness them into one. That book that I was so determined to finish never got finished. When my life settled down, I typed all of my words into a computer and when it crashed, so did my hard work. Hundreds of pages down the drain and I couldn't replicate them if I tried, because once I really got started, I found the characters resembling many of those closest to me in my life. I try to convince myself that eventually, I would have finished it, I would have published it, but I really don't know for sure. Somehow, it comforts me to wonder about it, because I know that someone will have enough courage to question me.