The Poet


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E.B. White is one of my favorite writers. His language is so enthralling and poetic, fresh and transformative. I can get lost in his words. This is an essay I wrote hugely inspired by E.B. White’s The Essayist. What would you define in the prose of the wonderful Mr. White?

The poet is an ambitious individual, enthralled by the mysteries of human nature and convinced that it is his or her duty to figure it out, to pick apart its bones, to interrogate it as it recoils in its metal chair, all shriveled and wrung out of information. She is an observer of the complex universe humanity strives to, but can’t, have. She spends her time in thought, much like how stargazers spend their time in awe. Each new venture of the poet, each new exploration, is an added layer to the question, whatever that question might be. This enlivens the poet. Only someone with such naïve idealism can create poetry, as a poet writes to resolve.

The types of poems are as many as the types of Jelly Belly flavors, poem voices as varied and unpredictable as the disposition of a three-year-old. The poet comforts herself in her arsenal of verse, selecting her choice of shield, sword, bow, or arrow, depending on her reason for battle: love, defense, remorse, revenge, confusion, release, inspiration, denial. I love the poem. I always have. It first entered my childhood in the form of song, and its abstract layers of discovery captivated me. I threw my thoughts into the concise yet adaptable format, and to this day, it remains my weapon of choice.  But poems invite haziness, a quality I see some may find uncomfortable. The poet must be content with ambivalence if she is to imagine a solution to a problem no human can solve. One with pragmatism best not be a poet. A poet is messy, a poet is confused, and a poet creates a world in which this disarray is the fuel. Someone looking for answers would not find consolation in poetry, as poems are ongoing explorations of humanity, asking and asking, but they neverthough they get unbelievably close—get answered.

People flock to poetry for compassion; Compassion: from Latin cum “with” and passio “suffering”—the word literally means “sharing pain”, and this is what I think makes poetry so appealing. People are tired of being told how to fix their problems, and there’s a certain liberation in sharing the tumult of finding a solution. This is the glue of poetry: the unification, the use of human vulnerability to rile up the masses in a movement to figure out life. A poet has this power, and therefore, a poet can be dangerous. A poet must be wary of becoming “preachy”. She must keep a humble check and remember what drew her to the fine words of poetry in the first place.

This, of course, is a difficult balance to strike. It is human nature to want recognition, as I so often find myself wanting. In fact, I consider vanity my biggest vice. Poets are philosophical in nature, always writing and questioning in order to know more, a blessing as well as a hindrance, as questioning can lead to self-doubt. For example, I question myself in the writing of this very essay. I advise poets not to “preach”, a statement verging on hypocritical. Did I not just “preach” myself? How can I dare to instruct others if I cannot even straighten out my own doubts? Given that poetry is less about the answers than the journey of thought, perhaps I am asking the wrong questions. A poet is hazy, yes, and often gets caught up in the “why?”, as I just did. But it is this very mind-war that bolsters the compassionate verse poets produce, the war that inspires the poet to reach into her arsenal and fight through her uncertainty.

The poet is an ambitious individual, one without a sound destination—yes—but determined nonetheless. For someone to find the poets that revel in ambiguity is shocking, yet incredibly freeing. The poet recognizes the place of humanity, acknowledges that we cannot possibly know everything, and knows that the world is bigger than the people inhabiting it. I have wrestled with the idea that I cannot solve everything. Swinging in-between knowing and not, there was no concept of “figuring out” in my mind. The poet has showed me the gray areas.

And now, I can be at rest.

Soundtrack of My Life: #1 Kairos


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WOOP WOOP! New series (that I hopefully won’t abandon and feel embarrassed about later)!

I don’t know about you, but songs are like photos to me. When I hear a certain tune or lyric, I am transported to a different time and place and overcome with some sort of emotion reminiscent of that event.

I’ve always wished that my life were a musical, and hey! This is the next best thing! So here is track #1 to the Soundtrack of My Life.

#1 Kairos: Sitting on Top of the World by Delta Goodrem

I just came back from one of the most fulfilling three days of my life: the Kairos retreat. For those who do not know what that is, it is a Christian retreat all about stepping back and living in “God’s time”. I’ve met and gotten to know some amazing people, whom I’m proud to call my Kai-sisters, and I’ve learned a lot about myself, God, and people in general. This song was our “theme song”, if you will. It will forever remind me of how those moments felt: the Kai-High :).



Mister, I find your arrogance strangely attractive.


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Long time no see! It’s so nice to have some time among busy school, work, and theatre schedules to sit down and do some nice, hearty blogging.

I’ve always been a fan of Pride and Prejudice. The book, the movies, the fanfiction, the young adult spin-off novels. Yup. I went there.

So when I found out that Hank Green of the Vlogbrothers was creating a modern-day adaptation of the story in–wait for it–VIDEO BLOG FORM, I totally flipped.

The show has now since ended *bawls in a corner*, but the best thing about that is if you’re new to the show, you don’t have to agonizingly wait for new episodes!

Here it is, my friends! The Lizzie Bennet Diaries!

Enjoy, laugh, and cry,
Trish 🙂

P.S. Also, I challenge you to get into all the other facets of the LBD universe. There are twitters, spin-off channels, blogs, and more. It’s so darn easy to get sucked into their world, but so darn fun!



Uh. Hello…

So, I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Trish… and uh. So I write things on this blog here.

*hides away to a distant corner in deep deep deep shame*

Oh my flapper jacker. I know it has been a while–a looong while– and I could try to make up some excuse of me being kidnapped by Peter Pan and living with the Lost Boys for the past few months and learning how to use fairy dust, but even that would be insufficient (as amazing as that adventure sounds).

The boring truth is that–uh– I’ve been busy. Man, I hate that excuse, mainly because I say it all the time. The monster that is school, work, and other activities has gobbled up almost all of my blogging time. And for that, I am deeply sorry.

BUT! I do have some adventures coming up, which I will definitely be writing about. That’ll make me feel better 🙂

Sorry for this boring letter of sorry-ness, and happy holiday season! Words will come in the near future.

Song of the Fortnight (plus a week…): “Behind that weathered door, I thought it would be safest…”


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This beautiful song popped up on my Pandora playlist a few days ago, and I fell in love.

It’s called Get Up, Get Up, Get Up by Barcelona. There’s something about vulnerability that is so beautiful to me, and I think this song captures that perfectly, not just in the lyrics, but the in ethereal softness of the song’s sound.

Have a great life ya’ll.

Song of the Week: “I will never believe in anything again!”


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The song for today is a live version of (Coffee’s For Closers) by Fall Out Boy. This is probably my favorite song of theirs and definitely my favorite song off their last album.

Man, this performance is so pristine (maybe a bit too pristine? Autotune, anyone?). But autotune or not, I love this song and how it sounds. I absolutely love live versions of songs because the personality of the band truly comes out. It makes me cry how passionate some of these musicians get.

And that little dance Pete and Patrick do at the end? Adorbs.


Poetry is Like Pooping…


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Here’s what I like to tell people: Poetry is like pooping. If there’s a poem in you, it has to come out. Sometimes it comes out easily, sometimes it takes a great deal of effort and takes longer than you want it to. But it needs to come out. And you can quote me on that.

                                                     ~Sarah Kay

Good Lord I love Sarah Kay. For me, she’s right up there with my top 3 favorite spoken word poets. If you haven’t already seen it, I strongly urge you to watch her TED talk. It’s beautiful, insightful, funny, cute, and eep…



Song of the Fortnight: “I’m in love with your honor…”


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Hello :). Today’s song is actually a beautifully arranged Bon Iver Medley covered by the ultra-talented Mree.

Bah. It’s so good. I’m kinda out of words.

Like most everything else I do, the music I listen to is largely influenced by how I feel (I know, probably not the smartest way to go about life). As if Bon Iver’s music is not romantically tragic on its own, Mree adds this tinge of sweetness to the songs that perfectly hits my current wave of summer nostalgia.

Have a great one!

The Sea


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I went to the summer rock on the bend
I caught your heart and it broke my hand
It twinkled like stars and said, “My friend,
You won’t be alone. Just pretend.”

He was eighteen and far from home
With God-worn hands and words tall as the sun
He said, “Don’t wait for me, time will come
When I’ll come sailing home.”

I’ll walk with you to the edge of the shore
To the East and back like never before
Just wait by the sea and sing some more
I’ll come sailing with treasures of lore

We went to the summer rock on the hill
We threw our hearts out into the sea
So that yours and ours may swim free
We’ll twinkle like stars and light up the sea