The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls is no new memoir.  It was published 13 years ago, in 2005.  It remained on the New York Times Bestseller List for seven years, and later, was adapted into a movie. Nevertheless, I just recently learned of this memoir. Those of you who keep up with my blog, will know that recently I read Educated by Tara Westover, which is also a memoir.  When I shared on an instagram story my review for Educated, a friend of mine replied to the story and recommended that I read The Glass Castle.  

The two books are similar and different in many ways.  Personally, I enjoyed Tara Westover’s writing style more.  It was able to reach me more deeply and I felt I was more in the mind of the writer, feeling and thinking exactly as she was in the moment.  It was almost more personal, and Westover found details and emotions to include that are relatable to everyone, regardless of how one is feeling of emotions, or the catalyst for these emotions.  She expresses and weaves these emotions into her writing seamlessly which makes for a heart-wrenching memoir about family, decisions, and perseverance.  

Meanwhile, the plot in The Glass Castle is more simple and realistic.  In a literal sense, the biggest difference between Westover and Walls, is that Walls’s family was weighed down by financial issues and her parents’ lack of motivation to work and save money.  Walls family dreamed for a better life, a life where the four kids could go to the city to work, and where they would all get an education.  In Westover’s case, her family was weighed down by extreme Mormonism. Pious practices prevented her from going to school or to even the doctor.  As a result, there are stark difference in the goals of these two women throughout their childhoods.  For Westover, her ultimate goal was to get an education and to bring together her family.  For Walls, it was about getting out of her family’s poverty and giving herself and her three siblings a new life.  

Jeannette Walls highlights defining moments in her life, and writes in what I like to call “snapshots”, where she shares only the most defining moments, giving not too much information about the before and after/impact.  For example, seeing her half painted yellow house, outsmarting some bullies with her brother in front of their house, hiding in the bathroom during lunch because she didn’t have a lunch. 

One aspect I enjoyed more about reading Walls childhood experience is the realm of it.  Her situation seems all too true for so many people, and Walls uses a greater portion of the book discussing her childhood, rather than what happened when she grew up.  The stories she wrote were more relatable to me as a reader, though I believe Westover shares a very unique background with her family.  As a reader, I noticed how many years she had skipped portraying in detail.  Westover on the other hand, portrays about 10 consecutive years of her life in detail.  

Perhaps the beauty of both these two books I read this summer is that they convinced me that memoirs can be very interesting.  I’ve never thought of myself to have an unique childhood compared to the other kids I’ve interacted with, though this is not to forget the great privilege I have growing up.  Nevertheless, I’ve come to believe hardships, difficult decisions, rebellion, and struggle make the greatest stories.  This is something both Educated and The Glass Castle share in common and they have captured my interest in memoirs.

That imaginary, perfect future

"We always overestimate the change that will occur in the next two years and underestimate the change that will occur in the next ten. Don't let yourself be lulled into inaction.” -Bill Gates

I first heard that quote a few months ago I believe at debate camp.  It’s interesting to think about.  I’m still in high school, but sometimes I try to envision my life a decade from now.  What I’ll be doing, or more what I would like to be doing and what I would like to be have accomplished.  My parents sometimes tell me not to think too far ahead, to focus my energy and concentrate more on what’s in front of me today, what is in my control, and what I can do in the present.  But I still like to think ahead of time.  To think to what I might be doing a decade from now.  For me, it’s not simply thinking too far ahead; it’s motivation.  

There are many things that I would like to accomplish between now and a decade, when I’m 25-26.  When I was 13, I wrote a post called 23, and in retrospection, I realize how substanceless, convoluted, and abstract my writing was back then.  While the syntax is one thing I can criticize, the content, and the goals I had nearly three years ago are so vastly differently from whom I want to be now.  

Bill Gates did say that we often overestimate the change that will happen in two years, but I think I’ve underestimated it.  My mindset has changed considerably, the books I enjoy reading have changed, my opinions on relaxation have changed, and even my views on family have changed.  

While it isn’t written in my poem, I remember in sixth grade I was determined to get a PhD in England.  I wanted to be a professor and part-time writer.  In seventh grade, my goals changed and I have different aspirations now.  I may not end up getting a PhD in England.  I might not be a professor either.  I’m interested in economics and I actually enjoy living in the US!  The image, the vision, of that perfect “ideal” life has evolved with such short notice and it has taken me by surprise.   

Gate’s quote refers primarily to technological developments and the evolution of society as a whole.  However, since I’ve applied it to how I look at my “ideal” personal life, I would make one minor adjustment for when it comes to humans outlook on their own lives.  I’ve met people (I’m one of them myself), who have outlined big and ambiguous plans, stating they want to do this in life, travel here and there as adults, and live in mansions, marry this type of perfect spouse, have this many kids, have these degrees, have this many pets etc. in 10 years.  The truth is, through observation, I’ve noticed when we think about our own lives, we exaggerate what we want and the limitations of what is achievable.  We set, sometimes unrealistic, expectations because we want to live this perfect life that we’ve crafted in our brains.  

We gather information.  We see things and read things in books and news.  Some of this makes us go, uhh, I hope that won’t be me, and other things make us go, wow, I want that too!  As we’re collecting this information, that’s when we start to form these imaginary lives we would like to have.  I believe imagination does wonders and for me, it affects me, as motivation but also as a burden of pressure.  

That minor adjustment I was talking about to Gate’s quote when referring to each individual’s hopes and aspirations is this:

"We always underestimate the change that will occur in the next two years and overestimate the change that will occur in the next ten.”  

I think big about how I want my life to look in the far future.  I think about where I want to live, I think about what I want my family to look like, I think about what I want to do for work.  However, I overlook how much change can occur in the near future, as I’ve noticed upon rereading a blog post I wrote three years ago.  I am someone who thinks with a huge imagination about what my “ideal” future would look like.  As my English teacher pointed out this year, it doesn’t always work out, but is more a source of inspiration and self-motivation.  

As much as I may strive for what I want, there still may be setbacks.  I may overestimate how much I can learn or my physical capabilities.  I may even overestimate how much time I have to do x.  And with each of those types of mistakes I make, I’m sure part of that perfect world will begin to fall apart.  But I still keep that ideal, perfect imaginary life in my head, just for in the case that I do manage to get there.  

I'll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara

While the 1970s can be remembered as a time Jimmy Carter was president, or the years following the Voting Rights Act of 1965, or when Elvis Presley died, after reading this book, I will probably always remember it as the beginning of the Golden State Killers series of rape and murder crimes.  How one man was able to commit 50 rapes and murdered over 10 people, terrorizing the state of California for over a decade.  This is I’ll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara, a book which tells McNamara’s own journey in trying to hunt down this serial killer who managed to elude the police for 44 years. 

--SPOILER ALERT--

Perhaps the stats of this crime, and the magnitude of the crime is more interesting than the book itself.  In fact, it wasn’t until merely four months ago that the Golden State Killer was caught this year (April 2018).  It wasn’t until then that this historical time period came into light with the increased popularity of McNamara’s book and as details of the crimes clarified with the help of the media.  

It began in the mid 70s when a series of rapes began to occur in Sacramento, California.  37 rapes occured in just Sacramento over the course of two years, all during the night.  There were many similarities and notable patterns about all the cases.  The rapist seemed to be attacking similar types of homes, ones that were single story, second from the corner, and he was reported to have stalked these homes months in advance before he made a move.  Neighbors reported seeing a man, and described him as average in build, 5’9’’-5’10’’ with blond hair.  He always wore a sky mask when he attacked, tied his victims with ligatures, and always stole a personal item from the house like rings, wedding bands, custom made cufflinks etc.  He scarred Sacramento and there he was known as the EAR, or East Area Rapist.  

Later, he was found to have traveled all the way down to Southern California where he committed more rapes.  However, due to the poor communication between the counties in California, he took on different nicknames wherever he attacked and only later, when DNA technology was introduced, did investigators realize this was the same man committing the same crimes.  In Southern California, he had the audacity to attack couples and it was during his time in Southern California that he began to murder his victims.  Yet, at the time, the police had not linked the cases in Sacramento with the cases in Southern California, and this was not made possible until DNA technology emerged.  

What I found most intriguing about this whole case, was that one man was able to outsmart 44 years worth of investigation and nearly two generations of police officers.  No DNA database found any similarities in the genetic code, and the crimes just kept rising.  As McNamara illustrates, investigators tried many ways to locate where the GSK lived and where he was from by mapping out the locations of his crime, which could show familiarity in a particular area or not.  However, after 1986, the crimes stopped.  They’d been ongoing for 12 years straight and even then, neither a face nor a name could be pinpointed.  I still wonder what made the GSK stop, and I believe it’s due to the evolution of technology.  I would guess he was getting scared of tech’s power, or maybe investigators were beginning to close the gap after DNA technology was introduced.  

--END OF SPOILER--

McNamara writes in a detailed, fluent voice about her own journey through interviewing victims, and her own research.  McNamara was not an investigator herself, but rather, used a power search tool, Google, as her means for investigation.  She writes a fast-paced, riveting novel and to this day, the whole idea of the case scares me.  While I was reading about the rape scenes and the details as McNamara puts the pieces of the puzzle together, I remember I kept looking out the window of my house, and against regular intuition, pulling the drapes of the windows closed.  McNamara’s writing makes the reader feel as if they are there.  She also collaborated heavily with top investigators in the case, including Paul Holes.  Sadly, while McNamara died before having finished the book, the documents and the almost complete book she’s left behind has publicized and educated the public on one shady and underreported upon serial killer in our past. 

The singular and spectacular emotion: inspiration

In the summertime, one of my family’s favorite pastimes is taking evening walks after dinner.  There are just three places where we enjoy walking, and of those three, merely two we visit regularly.  I regularly hear my friends refer to “family traditions” they have upholded since they could remember, among those being a trip to the vineyard every August, or a huge extended family get together on the 4th of July for a barbeque.  I would say evening walks in the summer is almost as close as it gets for me. 

When my family goes on evening walks we have pretty interesting conversations.  One conversation last night stuck out to me.  I was talking to my mom about some of my friends and what they’re like.  I had a friend who was never inspired, and actually admitted to not being able to be inspired.  When I was younger, on this blog especially, I wrote a nimiety of posts on the role of inspiration in my life.  As I've gotten older, the depth and power of inspiration has evolved and continues to change with new experiences. Yet, it strikes me as interesting how at other ends, I’ve met people who can’t be inspired.  

For me, inspiration is one of the weirdest, but most singularly unique and spectacular emotion humans have the power to feel.  It’s for that odd moment, regardless of its length that I feel not just empowered, but I feel every hint of logicality and practicality elude my mind.  Inspiration is almost like irrationality in a positive light.  It’s where suddenly things that in a more rational state I would never dream of achieving become easily attainable.  Like yes, I can do this! I’m going to be just like that!  

Inspiration is that emotion I feel after reading an exceptional book and rush to the computer to start writing my own book.  It’s how I felt after recently finishing Educated by Tara Westover.  I remember going on my computer, writing the beginnings to a new story.  Inspiration has also manifested itself on the court.  During tennis matches, on the courts next to me, there are sometimes matches with higher level players.  In between points, I’ll find myself watching them play.  Oh how they elongate that backhand groundstroke and bend their knees to generate spin.  For that brief moment after, for the next point, it’s as if I feel their stroke, that precision in my backhand.  For the briefest moment, I think wow, this is all I really need to do!  And I’m able to execute and perform just a smidge better, even if only for the shortest of moments. 

I believe inspiration is an immensely healthy emotion.  It’s that emotion that defies all realities and circumstances, and tells me I can do whatever I want.  It’s an emotion that lacks a linkage to truth, but this drives me, even if just for the slightest of moments, to better myself.  

Educated by Tara Westover

There’s only one word I can think of when I finished reading this memoir: empowering.  

Coming from a girl, born into an extremely Mormon family in Idaho.  From a girl who had never stepped into a classroom until she was 17 years old, who had never been to a doctor, who lived with an abusive father and brother until she broke away to Brigham Young University, who didn’t even know her own date of birth.  Educated is a memoir about a woman who was torn between two selves.  The first of which wanted to remain loyal to her family, father, and her religion, and the second of which hindered her from doing so when she found out how blinded she had become as a result of this attachment.    

Westover writes passionately, and the beautiful thing about this memoir, is that all her feelings and memories are spilled out so vividly onto the pages it felt as if I were in her shoes, there with her, 20 years ago.  Westover writes a unique narration about her life, something most people wouldn’t relate to today, but thoughtfully weaves in pieces about family, about school, about relationships, about struggles with finances, about getting governmental support, and about rebelling making her seemingly too-unique-to-be-true memoir relatable to all in some way or form.  

For me, perhaps the most heart-wrenching moment in the book was during the time Westover was working towards her doctorate degree in history at Cambridge.  It was during this time that she and her sister had planned to tell her parents about their older brother, Shawn, abusing them when they were kids and suggesting he receive assistance before he abuses his wife.  Westover and her sister planned on telled their parents, but then her sister recklessly throws her under the bus and tells the family that Tara is crazy to think Shawn was abusive.  From then on, Tara’s relationship with her parents and all of her family becomes divisive and in a way, she is unspokenly disowned.  She tries to pull back into the family, to explain what happened, but her father has told everyone (extended family included) of Tara’s acclaimed mental instability.  She is even rejected by her own mother, who only recently regretted not playing her role as a mother.  

Westover is confused by her own thoughts.  Perhaps everyone in her family is correct in casting her aside as she studies across the Atlantic.  She works through memories, and thoughts, trying to find some thread to prove to herself that everything she has said about Shawn is true, and to prove to herself that she isn’t crazy as everyone now believes her to be.   It is in this moment when her third brother, who inspired her to go to college and is a doctor himself, connects with her and confirms the abuse from Shawn and Westover finds her linkage to sanity. Then her youngest brother, Richard, who was at the time working on a PhD in chemistry calls and confirms the statement and they becomes Tara’s allies in a family with seven children divided simply by who had a doctorates degree and who didn’t have a high school diploma. 

Tara Westover’s story is indubitably unique, but she writes in a heart-wrenching touching manner that makes every moment of it come to life beautifully.  Earlier, I wrote that the word I would use to describe my feelings after reading Educated was empowering.  Empowering, because here was a girl who came from nothing, who was given nothing, and who wasn’t allowed to achieve anything besides her predestined life on a farm, who took what little education, opportunity, resources, money she had been given, and made a better life out of it.  As a reader, I felt every success, failure, and emotion Westover went through as described in the memoir and while it was a bit of a slow start, the lessons I’ve read about and the way the book made me reflect upon my own life when I finished it, made it well worth the read.  

True confidence

As kids we’re always told, believe in yourself! You can do it! In general, I would say I’m a fairly confident person.  At school, when I work on projects and new ideas, I push for what I want to happen and I’m not afraid of a little setback.  I had a tennis tournament today, and while it’s certainly not the first match I’ve played, it occurred to me how easily my confidence can be shattered on the courts.  

We’re playing two set matches and it’s my second match of the day. I win the first set 6-2, but the second set, I get bogged down and the match goes back and forth between my opponent and I.  She has a lead, 0-2.  Then I catch up to 2-2, but she pulls ahead 4-2, and we eventually even out at 5-5.  I barely pull off the second set 7-5. 

When I reflected on my playing with my dad, I thought about how much more easily the first set came then that second set.  Perhaps it was because of natural elements; the increasing heat, the sun getting higher in the sky, my increasing fatigue.  But my dad argues differently.  He noticed how I messed up about three shots consecutively in the second set and right off the bat, my confidence began to deteriorate with each mistake.  But how wouldn’t?  It’s a pretty natural phenomenon, when we think we’ve locked down on the point, when we think we’ve set up the next shot with the utmost perfection in timing and position, only to be utterly defeated when we make an unforced error on the shot that was supposed to win the point, the shot we’d set up so meticulously.  

I’ve noticed how it only gets on my nerves when I’m the one who makes the mistake.  For some reason, when my opponent successfully executes a winner or a dropshot, it doesn’t nag at my confidence as much.  I almost just move and say, eh, it was a good shot! But when it’s me making the mistake, me hitting it long, or me missing the net because my arm stiffened, it drags at my confidence the most.  It’s as if I don’t trust my own abilities to play, which leads to my strokes shortening and I am unable to bring out my best game or play how I usually play.  

It happens.  But the best of players don’t let it get on their nerves and perhaps this is the greatest difference between the good player and the best player.  The good player will start off with the upper hand, leading and dominating the point, but after a few consecutive points in a row of error, their confidence fails and they are often unable to bring themselves back to the skill level they were playing at before.  I realize now that the better player will accept these mistakes and even while they may pull at the scorecards, the better player knows that they cannot let it affect their ability to bring out the best in their game.  I believe this is true confidence.

Life's moving conveyor belt

Human behavior intrigues me.  This post may just be a series of questions, but it’s something that’s been on my mind lately.  In my previous post, I wrote about how I met an array of people at camp.  I met the types of kids I wouldn’t find at any school I’ve been to.  That got me wondering, do we behave differently around different people.  

I’ve written about my two selves before.  There’s the side of me that is serious, the down-to-business side of me, but there’s also that side of me that my family and my close friends know of.  The side that is lighter, the side that doesn’t care what others think, a.k.a., my more outgoing side.  At camp, even though I was surrounded by people I’d known for barely two weeks, I found my second side manifest with a magnitude it doesn’t even reveal at school with people I’ve known for months.  

I kept wondering why I allowed myself to open up so easily, and also why other people in my camp also were able to open up in ways they were surprised about as well.  On the last day, there was a talent show and one of my friends was indecisive about whether she wanted to perform.  After some thought, she said she would.  I asked her what drew her to that side of the dilemma.  She said, “I’m never gonna see these people again, so it doesn’t matter”.   I’m never gonna see these people again, so it doesn’t matter.  

I wonder whether people really do act differently if they know they’ll never see anyone from a particular crowd/group of people again.  To what extent?  Is it a matter of reputation protection when we choose to show only self one?  Is this why I was able to show self 2 with people whom I barely knew but knew I’d never see again?  I suppose a lot of what is factored into decision making is outcomes.  Perhaps we balance things on a scale in our heads and think, if I do this, I could be temporarily famous, and if I mess up, I know I’ll never see these people again. 

But then, I stopped and thought about that idea of never seeing certain people again.  In school, part of the reason I only show my self 1 is because I know I will encounter this people again.  I realized I was wrong.  I believe in this world, there’s really only one group of people whom most people will see consistently.  Sad as it is, most people whom we meet on the streets, sit next to on the plane, even go to school with, we will never encounter again.  After high school, I will probably never see the majority of the kids in my grade.  We will all be off to different colleges, different jobs, and lead expectedly different lives.  Family, and people who I consider close friends are probably the only people I will ever see consistently in my life.  

That makes me question the morality of the human lifestyle.  We seem to just go through and through with things, especially in the 21st century.  We’re ceaselessly leaving things behind, picking new things up, trying new things out, and then leaving those to pursue new hobbies and likings. The people we meet in our lives are often just the same.  We leave behind old friends and meet new ones.  We work with new people and then move on.  My english teacher this year described life as a moving conveyor belt, where we’re just constantly moving, rarely stopping, all heading towards the ultimate moment in our lives with every passing second.  Perhaps he’s right.  

Harvard Debate Camp

I completed two weeks at the Harvard Debate Camp yesterday.  While the first week of the camp was focused on public speaking, this second week was about debate and argumentation.  We learned a very formal debate format and we argued the resolution: the benefits of open borders outweigh the harms. 

Debate.  There’s actually a personality called “The Debater” on the 16 personalities test, though I’m not one myself.  An additional quality about me is that I usually just take for granted what people tell me.  My brief introduction to debate has taught me how to challenge what people tell me so that I am capable of forming my own opinions and beliefs.  When people tell me X is bad, I can now ask myself, Great, but how could X also have a positive effect? How could this statement actually be false? I’m beginning to challenge ideas, rather than eat up whatever information people feed me. 

I’ve never done a formal debate, though I’ve been in casual class debates in history.  This week was enlightening, I received a quick introduction to debate and argumentation, and I’ve learned multitudinous debate terms, like resolved, affirmative, refutation, and contention.  When I first walked into the second week, I thought the hardest part of the debate would be constructing a rock solid case that was impossible to take down by my opponent.  I was mistaken, building my own case was actually not the hardest part.   The hardest part of the debate was also not taking down my opponent’s case.  The hardest part of debate for me was keeping organized.  

One of key components that I’ve learned through participating in this debate tournament at camp, is that everything that is mentioned or said must have an argument, defense, or attack.  I made the mistake of leaving my opponent’s rebuttal to one of my three contentions untouched, in which case, he took as factual and that I supported the claim even though I didn’t.  For that purpose, we were taught to flow, which is to chart where the conversation goes, that way, all contentions that are touched upon can be tracked.  

While at this camp I was able to learn debate skills and hone my public speaking skills, at this camp I was being able to interact with different types of people.  I didn’t realize this before, but at school, people get along very well in almost all circumstances and personalities are very compatible.  Perhaps it is because we are in school, everyone is tired, people are stressed, but there’s a particular aura of sternness that makes everyone so similar.  This year, I was also the youngest in the school, which is why I may have felt like everyone around me was so mature. 

Perhaps it is also because the people at school are older, but at camp, I met an impressive array of people.  There were people who were very hyper all the time, people who loved to be a part of drama, people who never stopped talking, people who could get on anyones nerves, people who were shy etc.  It amazes me to reflect on how many different kinds of people I met at camp.  Perhaps these same people who were hyper all the time, are mellow during the school year, or the ones that enjoyed causing drama are actually unconcerned at school.  Regardless of who they may be at school, in retrospect, I encountered and met an array of different kinds of people, with different personalities.  I learned how to talk, how to work, and how to interact with different kinds of people, different from the people at school. In fact, I’ve never met anyone like some of the kids I’ve met at this camp and it was a true pleasure being able to learn from them. 

Being social.  For me that may be one of the most critical areas of development.  I admire people who are able to start and sustain conversations with everyone, and I’m not going to lie, I’ve met many of these kinds of people.  I agree that I’m able to start conversations, but the array of people I’m able to have these conversations with is not as scopious as I would hope. School is definitely a place where I try to reach out and get to know people and their interests.  This camp threw me off by surprise when I realized how many different kinds of people there were.  Being more sociable with more types of people will be an ongoing goal of mine, but at least I was given some practice these past two weeks:)

When I learned what advocacy was

I just completed my first week of Harvard Debate Camp.  I'm taking the public speaking and argumentation course and yesterday we presented our advocacy speeches.  I spoke about student loan debts in the US, their effect on the economy, and more importantly (the advocacy part) what we can do about the ever increasing amount of debt.

This past week, I was a part of one very important lecture where I learned what makes for an advocacy speech?  And to a greater extent, what is advocacy.  My instructor described it better than the dictionary, and her definition requires that all parts be met.  

Advocacy is any act of public risk-taking that demands a change to the status quo. 

 If there's no risk, it's not advocacy.  If it's not public, it's not advocacy.  If it doesn't demand change, it's not advocacy.  My instructor changed my views on advocacy.  I see it differently now, and what I once thought was me being an "advocate", I no longer think.  Posting messages of love on Facebook in support of a recent natural disaster is no longer what I consider advocacy because there's no risk.  Thinking about things I care about in my head but that never leave my brain no longer count as something I "advocate" for because it's not public.  

This week, I stood up in public, in Harvard Yard.  I was the first person in my group to present my speech on student loan debts, so there was no pre-established audience.  One of my jobs as the first speaker was to attract an audience from the general audience.  So  I stood in the shade, under one big oak tree, on top of a rickety green lawn chair.  And I began to speak…more like shout.  I caught the attention of people hundreds of feet away, some waiting in line to touch the left foot of the John Harvard statue, some walking on the paths around where I was standing.  And I recited an abridged version of my speech and demanded for action.  It was nerve wracking and by the end, my voice hurt.  No, it wasn’t just sore…it hurt from all the shouting I’d done to get attention and draw an audience.  Since I was the first person to present, there was no audience, but slowly after people began to see what my peers were doing, an audience gathered.  I went again for the second time at the end of all the speeches.  This time, I had a small audience of about 30 people.  I tried as clearly as I could to articulate my solutions…my “call to actions” as they call in public speaking.  I’ve misperceived advocacy up until now.  I simply said I was an advocate for something, not really knowing what advocacy should encompass.  Now I know that what my peers and I did in Harvard Yard, in public, on a hot summer day, this was advocacy.

How social media became an icebreaker

It’s been a little over a year now since I got social media.  First it was Facebook.  Then Instagram followed.  Now I have Pinterest…and a second Instagram account for my photography.  In middle school, when all of my friends had social media and I didn’t, it was because I was afraid I would become so distracted with the feeds that I wouldn’t spend time studying or using my time productively.  A year later, my feelings about social media and its power has changed and is continuing to evolve. 

When I first got media, it was more about keeping up with friends and where they were traveling and what they were doing over the summer.  Now that my accounts have grown, I see social media almost as a way to form conversations and gateways to friendships with people whom I always see in school but never talk to.  It’s that weird feeling I sometimes get.  Maybe it’s that person I see in the gym frequently.  Or the person who I always walk by in the library but never talk to.  The common thing is that these are people who I want to start a conversation with, but can’t find a way to.  I still prefer to talk to people in person, but sometimes it can be awkward or I may not come off correctly.  I don't want to come off as weird and I certainly would not want to take the person by surprise.  As an alternative, social media has become an exemplary icebreaker for these sorts of relationships…the kinds where you see people around enough so that you know them but can’t fixate upon the first words. It's a pretty relaxed environment, where people generally like each others posts regardless of whether they've talked to them. Whether someone uploads a post, or sends a story, I’ve found that commenting or replying to them is a wonderful way to extend a conversation.  

It starts off with a simple comment.  It’a a simple word, phrase, or sentence.  And that’s all one needs for that icebreaker, because before I know it, there’s a conversation going back and forth over the social media.  The comment on the post expands to different topics and before I’m aware, there’s already 10 messages sent back and forth.  And the beauty of it is that now, not only do I have someone who I can say hi to and perhaps approach in person, but that one post or story could be that icebreaker in real life.