February 4, 2013 • A POSITIVE PRESS PUBLICATION • VOL. 3, ISSUE 7
Long Live!
written by second year, Kristen Lemaster
May these memories break our fall.
The first time we touched was your hand suspended in mid-air, palm out, fingers spaced apart in neat little intervals more or less aligning with my own when you said, "High five!" Electricity transferred upon impact, or mere magnetism, and you asked for my name. Neodymium, I wanted to tell you: a soft, silvery metal responsible for the strongest permanent magnets. But I was only nine years old and I couldn't spell intimidated. I knew something about permanency even then, about how you would always be the impetus that made me pour myself into what I love, which unfortunately was never and would never be a "real major," like the high school asked of us. Maybe we both could have been scientists - maybe - except you never gave up on words, either, and I was so lucky to be the one to help you make them come alive. Your poetry and my prose were both kept as secretly as teenagers can possibly keep them, and even though you don't write to me anymore, sharing those images like whispers across string-and-styrofoam telephone lines still feels right. |
There’s no compass to reveal two hours away becoming two years without a phone call; they taught us energy is never lost, never destroyed, ever conserved, but it would be so nice to see you creating again. The only you I see is the you in all the photos with big sunglasses and a bigger smile, and me laughing, pink chiffon bunched in one hand and the other high-fiving yours, and I'm mesmerized by how touch can transcend time and space, and how a sunny afternoon posing in front of a backyard swing can feel like a fourth-grade classroom with the desks moved aside for square dancing. Keats thought touch had a memory, but I think it has magic, the illusion of energy being created, the motion of particles, a current that runs through the past.
"Partners," we said. You traded your pantomimed cowboy hat for a crown. We could see the city skyscrapers from the Marriott lobby and the stars through the roof of the limo, our own kingdom lights. Growing up was hard; growing apart is easy. There is something special in your |
name appearing on my Facebook
newsfeed, still something honest and pure in knowing we entered and left each other’s lives like the well-timed stage actors we were, still something alive and electric in a fading friendship that won't be erased. Taylor Swift got it right: I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you. Even after goodbye, we will be remembered. |
The Written Text
written by second-year, Taylor Tokarz
If distance burns bridges, texting builds ships. Texting is simple. It’s
convenient. Hell, ever since Auto Correct, you don’t even need to type the full word in. It’s the communication of convenience. But as great as that can be, don’t we sometimes crave something more? To show and be shown that we’re more than just convenient? After battling sleep deprivation in class and claustrophobia on the bus, my day typically ends with my body getting reacquainted with the couch. One of two things then occurs: I take a nap or, the more likely route of action, I watch Netflix. Some time later there’ll be a faint beep, a light chime that our generation has been trained, Pavlovian style, to pick up on. A text. I’ll pause the show, glance to see who dared to interrupt my Arrested Development marathon, and then a brief conversation will ensue. We will make a connection through a touchdown of words and the pinging of messages, but then inevitably, life happens and the conversation comes to a close. I’ll then resume Netflix. Two weeks ago, however, something different occurred. I get home ready to plant myself on the couch like the starchy potato I tend to be, but before I do, something catches my eye. There’s a white envelope—postage stamp and everything—resting on the kitchen table. My name and address are handwritten on the front in black ink that bled a little, but nonetheless, it’s there and begging to be opened. |
Anticipation sparks. It’s a letter. It’s an actual, handwritten letter, but more importantly, it’s from Brighton, UK.And that means one of the most important people in my life has written to me.
Hand-written letters have all but fallen into lore. They’re not of this age. As quickly as technology evolves, letters fade from existence and seemingly, so do the hours in the day. We need everything to be immediate: responses, news, gratification. There’s nothing immediate about a letter though; the writer sacrifices time. Without your knowledge they do this very simple, thankless thing, and a few days later, you receive one of the best surprises of all: a tangible remnant of a very real emotion. Words of affection are hard enough to come by, but they’re even harder to keep a hold of. Some are sent as texts but get lost in the airwaves, while other messages are deleted altogether once the sparkle of the words fade out. But with a letter, you realize that someone went out of their way for you. It’s a rare thing. It’s rare to be shown that your friendship is not one of convenience but one of gentle dedication. |
There’s something obviously moving about seeing the handwriting of someone you love. It’s like emotional osmosis. The words are meant to linger, to simmer, to
reassure us even on our bad days that we are loved and that we are liked and we have people who are thinking about us, and not just in passing. Getting that letter was in no way revolutionary or life changing, but it meant something. It meant that I had a little piece of a little moment from someone who means a great deal to me, and for that, I am thankful. |
Pay It Forward
by second-year, Sophie Frankham-Smith
I was running into Tate one afternoon. My mind was running too fast for me to fully comprehend what happened, but all I know is that when I went back to my car I couldn’t find my keys. That’s right ladies and gentlemen; I locked my keys in my car, and I was starting to go into major panic mode. How was I possibly going to fix this without being a burden on anyone?
My first course of action as I walked back to my house in the sweltering sun was to call my Dad. My Dad was the class prankster in high school, so he had a plan. “This is what you’re going to do. All you need is a wire hanger.” Confused as I was, he then proceeded to tell me how to break into my car and unlock it using a hanger. I recruited a friend for the adventure and we returned to Tate. Picture this: two girls trying to break into a car, one of us sitting on the roof trying to put a wire hanger through the door while the other is trying to pull open the door enough to allow it. We must have looked ridiculous and crazy. Forty-five minutes and a hundred attempts later, we were about ready to give up. |
As we were about to leave, a knight in shining armour (or in our case, a frocket and Chaco’s) appeared. “Are you guys okay?” After explaining the situation, he offered us - complete strangers – his help. “You guys can use my AAA if you want.” My heart lifted with relief. How could I possibly say no to that after the afternoon we were having?
I’m sure that Jerry, our new friend, had places that he had to be instead of helping random people unlock their car on a Friday afternoon. But that’s exactly what he did, and he waited with us for almost an hour for the AAA worker to arrive. I think we all could learn, myself especially, a bit from Jerry. How often do we act out of pure, unselfish motives to truly help others? I think that life gets like that sometimes and we have our “I locked my keys in my car” moments. All you need is a helping hand, or in my case, a Jerry. Someone who will help you no matter who you are and show you true kindness. The only thing that he wanted was for me to show that kindness to someone else in return, because someone had done the same thing for him once. There are so many opportunities every day that we let pass us by to show that same kindness. Opportunities to turn someone's day around. Opportunities to pay it forward. |
Talking to Stangers
by first-year, Alexsis Skeen
Courage. When I think of the word courage, I think big. Big as in the courage David mustered up to defeat Goliath. Big as in the sort of courage that is unattainable, unimaginable, and only meant for superheroes. Why does courage seem less attainable by the average Joe but more accessible to fictitious characters? Maybe it is simply the fact that we downplay our courage. More often than not, we overlook our valiant efforts and don’t think of ourselves as being courageous.
Sometimes I look around the dining halls and see faces absorbed by the dim glow of a laptop, phone, or iPod and question why we don’t take advantage of having the opportunity to meet thousands of new people. Just by looking at this fact alone, I understand why courage has become something reserved for movies. Whatever excuses we may have, whether it be the fear of judgment, rejection, or change, the benefits of sitting with someone new outweigh all of the seemingly scary “what ifs.” I, for one, can attest to that bold statement because I decided to quit being Clark Kent and assume my role as Superman. After all, sitting with strangers became an experiment for me, a true test to see if I could really gather up the courage to step out of my comfort zone. |
To be honest, I was hesitant at first. I could only imagine what would be running through the mind of the person I sat down next to.
There I was, awkwardly making my way to a table. “Is anyone sitting here,” I asked sheepishly. With a slight nod and smile as an invitation, I took a seat next to a girl who seemed nice enough. At first, our conversation was short. We quickly went through “The List of Common Conversations Every College Student Uses:” 1.) What year are you? 2.) What’s your major? 3.) Where are you from? When I mentioned I was apartment hunting, she proceeded to give me reviews on nearly every apartment complex in Athens. By disproving rumors and offering helpful advice, she alleviated my pre-signing stresses. Without realizing it, my anticipated 20 minute lunch then proceeded to turn into an hour-long conversation. I assumed that my first encounter had to be beginner’s luck. However, my experiment really came full circle on my second encounter: a stranger actually came and sat down beside me. When going through “The List” and asking him about his major, |
I was surprised to hear his rationale for studying business. He wasn’t a business major because he was unsure what to major in or simply wanted to make a lot of money, but because he wanted to help support his father’s family-owned business. After mentioning that I am from the suburbs of Atlanta, he later explained that he hoped to someday have a large house in the suburbs with his family. Living his entire life in Athens and being the first in his family to attend college, he had a lot riding on this Business degree.
Wisdom. That is what I gained from finding the courage to sit with strangers. Whether this wisdom came in the form of advice on apartment hunting or through a humbling reminder, taking the time to meet new people and share a meal with them is one of the most valuable experiments I have conducted at The University of Georgia thus far. Courage can remain some unrealistic dream only for a movie character, or it can become something close and tangible, something that can be accomplished by talking to strangers. |
Send a Smile
written by first-year Drake Newton
College campuses are brimming with students filled with incredible dreams, chasing that long sought-after dream of “making a difference.” These dreams are often crumpled up and abandoned, like a multicolored flyer handed to you while walking through Tate Plaza, but one of those flyers happened to find its way into the pocket of a UGA freshman with a big idea. Mark Perry, a first-year finance student, noticed something missing among all of the organizations fluttering around the plaza. While numerous groups raise money for benefitting
patients suffering from both cancer and other diseases, there was not a group solely dedicated to those patients on a personal level. Mark pressed on with his new idea, Send a Smile. |
Send a Smile is an organization, still in the planning stages, that will take campus by storm in the fall of 2013. At its core, SAS is a pen pal system for students suffering from cancer, expanding their lives outside of the hospital walls. Mark plans to use texting as the primary method of communication, as well as social media avenues. The kids will each be paired with kind-hearted and motivated students through the Send a Smile program, and after some communication with the child’s parents and a profile of interests, the college students can begin serving as supportive cheerleaders for the brave children who suffer so much daily. These friendships could potentially make an unbelievable difference in these children’s lives.
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