Minty + Mango

I have had many people ask me "Why did you choose 'MintyMango' as your blog name?"
Well, as you might can tell, I've devoted this post to answering that very question.

(I also use "MiMango" because in Spanish "mi mango" means "my mango".)

    The first reason I chose to use "minty" is that I like mints. I have memories in eight grade sitting in a room with blue walls, staring out the window at the trees, sucking on a mint while trying to avoid the homework I had for the day. I spent a lot of my time day-dreaming and looking at the things around me, though I knew each object by heart. I would dream about all the conversations I thought I might have one day, though most are very unlikely to happen at all. Anyway, mints remind me of a very specific time in my life. (Peppermints are a different story, though. I still like them, but they remind me of a different memory.)

Aside from personal memories, I think of the following words when I think of mint and blogging:
-Spicy
-Flavorful
-Interesting

     These are all characteristics I hope to have throughout my blog. I want it to be thought-provoking, full of variety, and attention-getting. I know there are a few current issues that prevent it from being fully attention-getting, but I'm writing here for improvement and as a stress-reliever.

    That brings me to the last word in my blog name: Mango. I also love mangos, especially the good ones. Mangos may not be for everyone, and some people might be allergic to them (they are a cousin to poison ivy, after all.) I like the juicy, peach-textured, and non-stringy type of mango. They are very rare in the states and the ones that can be found have usually been picked green and are not as flavorful or 'meaty' as if they had been picked ripe. A good mango also reminds me of a time in the past. It was a happy time when I first started to decide who I was and one that made me more of who I am today.

   As far as what "mango" means for my blog, it is really there because it is something I like. Not everyone likes them and I understand that. Not everyone will like my blog, so I have to realize that, too. I am still proud of most of the stuff I do post. In summation, "mango" means it is personal and a little bit of who I am.

I hope finding out about my blog title has been entertaining for you.

Blessings to you, my lovely readers!

The Magician

Anticipation gathered in the theater.
He could hear the nervous whispering and applause right before the announcer billowed his name as if the people in the plush, red seats had no idea whose show they had paid for not five minutes before.
He took a deep breath and tucked the tricks further into his sleeves. He raised his head and marched from behind the curtain and out onto the stage. He met the excited applause and the blinding spotlights with routine enthusiasm.
He was a preforming magician and this was just another performance on what he thought would be just another night.
Starting with the Chinese linking trick, he preformed a variety of enticing illusions. He was entertaining and joyful, so each audience member was focused on his practiced movements.
The whole show was some type of illusion: the position of the lights, the hidden compartments, or a flick of the fingers.
It was all going smoothly, at least, until he called for a volunteer.
The boy he called upon looked average enough: brown curly hair, sparkling eyes, and a blue jacket with a gold pendant of what looked like a dragon.
"What's your name, son?" he asked after the boy climbed up the stairs.
"Damarius," the boy shakily replied into the microphone held out to him. He looked nervous, though he knew something the preforming magician didn't.
"Okay, Damarius, come over to this table and have a seat. As you can see, I have a regular deck of cards. Look through them to make sure that's true." He paused while Damarius sat down and quickly looked through the deck and confirmed it was a regular deck. "Okay, now I want you to pick a number between one and ten. What's the number?"
"Four."
"Four? Great! Okay, now I want you to take the deck and count out four cards from the top and lay them down one at a time, like this." The preforming magician counted out four cards from the top of the deck and continued, "When you're done, pick up the top card and remember it, but don't let me see it." He put the cards back on the deck and handed it to Damarius.
Damarius counted out four cards and held up the last card to let the audience see the five of clubs.
"Can I shuffle it back in?" Damarius asked.
"Yes, do that. You remember the card?"
"Yes."
"Was it black?"
"Yeah."
"Was it a club?"
"Yeah."
"Was it the five of clubs?"
"Yes, it was." Damarius chuckled and set the cards on the table.
"Alright, folks, give it up for Damarius! You can head back to your seat now, boy."
Damarius didn't move but stared pensively at the deck he had just set down. "I have been practicing magic for a few years." He hesitated, "My instructor says I'm doing quite well. Would you mind if I tried a quick trick?"
The preforming magician blinked, considering briefly this possibility. He opened his mouth to deny the boy precious minutes from his showtime, but found himself assuring the boy that one trick would be allowed.  
A big grin crossed the boy's face. He rose from his chair and gestured for the illusionist to take a seat. "Thank you, sir."  The boy spoke evenly with no microphone, yet, everyone in the audience was able to hear him clearly.
"From the deck, please pick a card and don't show it to me."  The boy turned away from the table and took a few steps toward the center of the stage. "Memorize the card and give it to someone in the audience. I'll turn my back and close my eyes. Tap me on the shoulder when you're done."
The illusionist drew a deep breath then picked out a card and followed the young man's instructions. He pulled out the five of clubs. He then got up, walked off the stage, and gave it to an elderly woman one-third of the way down the fourth row. He walked back up onto the stage and tapped the boy twice.
"Alright. Stand here beside me and look at the remaining deck over there on the table. Stare at it, but think about the person you gave your card to."
The illusionist rolled his eyes as he turned to stare at the deck and think of the lady's peppered gray hair, bright green shirt and rimmed glasses.
The boy raised a hand toward the illusionist. All eyes were on the boy who closed his own eyes.  The audience could see the illusionist swaying slightly as a warm feeling came over him. He thought he was smelling peppermint.
"Don't forget to breathe." Said a voice in his head. He jumped, startled. The illusionist realized that his chest was tight and there was pressure in his head. Was the boy reading his mind?
"Breathe and focus on her. I almost could make her out. Come on, stop thinking about your grandfather. Did he smell like peppermint? Okay, I see the image clearer so that must be it. Now, I need you to focus and think about who you gave the card to." The illusionist blinked and tried to recall what the lady had looked like. The boy was reading his mind. "You're doing great," said the boy's voice in his head. The smell of peppermint faded as the boy lowered his hand and opened his eyes, which were searching the audience.
   The boy spotted her, jumped off the stage in the energy appropriate for a boy his age and raced to stand by the row that the lady watched from. He stared at her expressionlessly. She continued to stare at the table on the stage with a slight gleam in her bright eyes, pretending to be unaware of the card's location. She held the card between her finger and thumb of her left hand at her side, opposite the boy.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blurry, white image rise from her side. Her smile faded, replaced by an astonished look. The illusionist on stage watched as the boy had pointed a finger in the direction of the lady. He watched as the card he had given the lady rose and blocked the lower part of her face from his vision. He couldn't believe this trick., but this was not the end.
  The boy curled his finger and the card flew into his other awaiting hand. After catching it, he ran onto stage holding the card for the audience to see as they applauded fiercely. Damarius continued to smile as he gave the speechless illusionist a bow. He turned toward the the audience and gave a second bow. The people whistled and cheered as they still failed to reason exactly what had just happened right before their eyes.
The boy waved and tossed the card into the air. The illusionist and audience was suddenly aware of the smell of peppermint. As the card came down, the boy snapped his fingers and it turned into red and white confetti, concealing the magician's escape.

Pictures of Rose Flowers

As you may have noticed, this is not a regular post. I just wanted to take a break from writing and show my readers some of the pictures I've taken. Also, I don't have any of my many projects publishing-ready yet. Yes, most of the pictures below are rose flowers (thanks to the last post I wrote). You may recognize some images from other spots on my website. I thought it was time to present them properly for once. Enjoy!

Resplendent Rose

One Among Millions

Stiff Dragon Guard

Unique

Wrinkles in the Wake (of Memory)

(The hand in this one is my Grandfather's.)

That concludes it for this month. Shout out to Gibbs Gardens for letting the public view and photograph their landscape. Thanks for reading! 

Lonely & Loved #NoCommonRose

The land wide with flowers,
With a need to be ours.
But some are sticks who's
Petals are nothing but tricks.

#NoCommonRose

Loneliness has been a constant, ever-residing pain for me. It's something I struggle to fight.

Thoughts of insignificance are burning into my heart daily. It's a deep and dark place.

*    *     *    *    *

It is so easy to get caught up in comparisons and look at what others have.  Somehow, we get caught up thinking "the grass is greener on the other side". 

We can be jealous with even the non-material things people have. More attention, talent, and affection are some of the more common things I find myself wishing I had.

It's hard not be jealous sometimes. 

That is part of where my loneliness comes from. I get caught up thinking: if I only had a stylish wardrobe, if I only had their attitude about life, or if I only had someone who cared for me all the time, life would be better and more people would love me. Thinking that what I have and how I'm loved are determined by the same source is stupid, but it is a real struggle. 

Trying to blame my loneliness on something I don't have is easy, but it's wrong.

When the feelings of being unlovable creep into my heart I feel utterly alone.

*    *    *    *    *

I can hold everything, but my own heart

I keep leaning it onto someone else

But that, my friend, is an awkward weight 

that no one wishes to bear.

Heavy heart.

*    *    *    *    *

That got deep so let's talk science for a minute. Did you know everything that has matter has a certain rate at which the particles in the object moves? Each object has certain wave frequencies.  If another wave has the same frequency as an object, the object starts moving about visibly. (There are videos of wind matching the frequencies of bridges, which are pretty epic. I recommend looking them up after you finish reading this.)
I imagine people are like that too. Our frequencies could be based on personality, experiences, and tendencies.  When you find someone with your frequency, you get along well, you bring out the best in the other person, and you encourage each other.  There are many people looking for someone to match their frequency, someone to be there through the ups and downs. 

Often, I try to think about things I have been blessed with, and, people who do still love me to avoid a night of sobbing ugliness. When I think about the blessings I have, it doesn't make the loneliness go away, but it reminds me of what is really important.

God is love in the 

fullest way possible

and we were made 

to be loved by Him.

*   *   *   *   *

Loving someone fully is hard. I have lately been thinking about what it would be like to be married to somebody: to always come back to them at the end of the day, to not be irritated with their little quirks after the thousandth occurrence, and to see all their flaws and love them regardless. Though these are only a few things required in order to maintain a long-term relationship, I started to wonder if I could love someone through these instances. Then, I looked at my life and realized that there are things I do that I don't like about myself. 
I have habits that I do that annoy myself. I struggle to be proud of myself when am aware of how flawed I am. I am messy.
"To love others you have to first love yourself," is a common phrase I have never understood until recently.  It is important to see value in your own life before you can see true and all-encompassing value in someone else.

I do not always like myself and the actions I choose to take. Sometimes it is the regret and weight of my bad choices that bring me further into depression and self-pity because I buy into the false idea that I need to be perfect to be loved.  

I have now realized if I can't find a way to love who I am even with these quirks, how am I supposed to love someone else with similar quirks? 

*    *    *    *    *

Self-improvement can be difficult, especially when someone else is doing a better job at the task you have set for yourself.  However, lately I have learned that the grass is greener where you water it. 

There is a native american legend that speaks to this effect: 

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life.
"A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy. 

"It's a terrible fight between two wolves. 

One is evil. He is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed,
arrogance, 

self-pity, guilt, pride and resentment."
He continued, "The other is good. He is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, 
kindness, benevolence, truth, compassion, and faith.' 

'The same fight is going on inside you and inside every other person, too." 
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, 

"Which wolf will win?"
The old Cherokee simply replied, 

"The one you feed."

(Reference: http://www.virtuesforlife.com/two-wolves/)

I like this analogy because it reflects how we struggle with the two sides to our nature. One side is the flesh and sinful side, the other is the side made in the image of God, meant to glorify Him by our actions. It is very important to make sure that you encourage your good choices, and work to eliminate your bad choices. I know it is a long, hard, tedious and, sometimes, never-ending process. There are many things I need to work on with myself, but we all must realize that God loves us through the times when we give into our sinful side. (True, He hates the impurity of sin and there are repercussions of our actions, but He is a Holy and caring God who loves us on an incomprehensible level.)

*    *    *    *    *

To give you a small peek into why you are so treasured by God, realize that you are special and do not have to be like someone else to be invaluable. Have you ever thought about the fact that you are the only one with your exact experiences?  Your point of view on the world is different than anyone else's. Though we may live through similar situations, we are all unique. Dr Seuss says, "Today you are you, that is truer than true. There's no one alive who is you-er than you!"

With the variety of identification options we have today, it is important to be genuine and to find your identity in Christ because He is the only being who sees us for who we genuinely are.

I know many people say, "Find your identity in Christ." But what does that look like?  I've found that to be like God is to love others, because God is love. God loves you. He loves the you that you are right now!  But He also wants you to show others the same kind of love He has shown us. 

Let's consider the flowers. There are many types of flowers in the world: roses, carnations, daisies, lilies, etc... Many individual buds world-wide within those types, even.  I assure you that no one flower is identical, just like people. What a good thing, too! How boring would it be to see everyone with the exact same outfits? Also, if everyone enjoyed turtle tracks ice cream, there would be less of it for the world. (Let's not let that happen.) At the end of it all, be you and be the best you possible.

If you fall into the trap of comparison or into the pit of despair like I find myself in often, realize in the end it will be okay as long as you constantly remember you are unconditionally loved, that you are created for a purpose, and that you can continue to grow from this muck, because:

You are no common rose!

Author in the Woods

Here beside the ongoing babble of the brook,

Beneath the bridge that reminds me of falling leaves

Both a beautiful red, yet also decaying,

I wrote a verse, a poem, if you will.

It flowed like the stream I could feel tickling my toes,

With words as piercing to the soul as a bird's call to the ear.

Upon this creek-side rock I sat with pen upon paper,

A slight drizzle like the falling of snow.

It was a perfect fit to the mellowness of the mood.

Mountain People & Contra

   People of the mountains are among some of my favorite to watch, especially when they are dancing. Swirling on the dance floor is a strange combination of somber attitudes and energetic movements.

  Each have an unspoken unity of pride in the mountains, which belong to no man, yet claimed by all.

  Mountain women seem stern and firm, but when they swivel between the seemingly unorganized patterns of people, to the listening eye, there can be spotted a hidden joy revealed in the corners of her eyes. The prettiest thing to see is the long handmade skirts bearing earthy designs that tickle to life at the edge of a twirl.
  Time-worn, wrinkly fingers, that look fragile and frail yet feel strong and rough, grasp five tender fingers to allemande left. The kind of fingers that have seen not yet half of the years the prior had.
  On stage, the fiddle, the dulcimer, and banjo play a tone that these mountain folk have accepted as their own second heart beat. The mumble of the caller causing occasional rhythmic interruptions to the sounds of the mountain people stomping in long lines. A holler goes up as these people march back and forth. It sings of freedom, joy, and, pride.
  Everyone finishes the song with one last spinning of their partners only to applaud the musicians  for the gift of one last dance before the long, hard day of work begins again.

  It is clear to me these mountain people love their folk.

Shattered

There once was a girl as normal as you and I,
She studied and thought and played all with heart.
She looked up from her studies one day and exclaimed,
"Why haven't I seen you before? and from where have you come?
He looked at her and said, "Nowhere and no matter," with the cutest of smiles.
"But come with me now to a world full of windows and castles."
With a twinkle in his deep, wonderful eyes he reached for her hand.

Right then she sighed.

She was startled, not by touch nor by embrace,
But only the memory held in its place.
She sighed once again and put down her books,
Then stared out the window with the most longing of looks.
She saw the usual: trees and such
Then she saw an old couple, the man on a crutch.
They laughed and talked along their stroll.
To find a friend like that would surely be luck.
There's still time she thought as she pulled back her books.

Turning up the music, she laughed
Why do I worry? Why do I care?
If I am who I am, then there is nothing to fear.
What, then, is this we girls put ourselves through?
Is it not better to wait for the day before its coming?
Not to dream about him, nor dream about that,
But rather be thankful that nothing, save dreams, have shattered.


*This is a poem I wrote a couple years ago. Today I found, edited, and have (obviously) published it. I don't normally like to describe my poems, but this one begs for it. I wrote it after I realized my high school crush didn't like me back, the reality I had built up in my own mind was a fairy tale, and, that I wanted a longer-lasting relationship that that one could ever have grown into. For now, I am content to grow in my Christ-centered identity and wait for The Master of the Universe to carry out my life, whichever path that might be. Also, I am currently working on a non-love story piece (for a change, Ha!), so be on the lookout later on this month!