Anya's Evocative Mind Palace

A site where the depths of my brain are exposed beyond belief


July 2016

I Choose to Live

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been stuck in a perpetual state of longing. Being possessed by a fiery passion to launch myself into a different situation, varying scenarios that just HAD to be better than the moments I was in. I’ve always just wanted more. More adventure, more discussion, more happiness, more depth, more humor. It’s a cycle of unhappiness and disappointment- the reality of situations will never compare to fantasies in my head, due to the simple fact that they are dreams. Fallacies I’ve created that are inevitably holding me back. Well, frankly I am over this cycle. Am I gaining anything positive from my thinking? No. Therefore an evolution is needed, and I am completely willing to change. I suppose what is needed is a different approach at existence: instead of being alive, I simply am choosing to live.

Everyone reading this post is alive (or so I assume.) We have blood pumping through our veins, a heart that is beating in our chests, and a brain that is functioning. We are breathing in Oxygen and releasing Carbon Dioxide. By the definition of the word- we are alive. However, upon further speculation, I have come to the completely biased opinion that we may not all be living. To live is to appreciate. To be thankful for what we have, to look at things in different perspectives, varying lights. To bask in the feeling that arises when the sun gently kisses your skin and you feel connected to not only the beings around you but to the world as a whole. Living is loving. The flutter in your heart and the butterflies zooming around in your stomach when your eyes “accidentally” make contact with that one beautiful, handsome, soul-awakening, fire-starting person across the room. Living is traveling- exploring new places, understanding other cultures, taking every opportunity to walk in another’s shoes.   Living is passion that cannot be contained, fear with the power to petrify, jet lag that makes you stay awake until the sun rises and sleep until dusk sets in. To live is to cry until you no longer can and to smile so much your cheeks hurt.

I suppose above all the process of being alive and living can be distinguished between fairly easily. To be alive is to be contained-to be simplified and plain. Being alive is the first level of a video game or the preliminary course you take before you move on to the much, MUCH, more interesting content. In contrast, to live is to be free. To live is to take a path of your own choice, to feel EVERYTHING and ANYTHING with no limits except those you set for yourself. I have made my choice in full confidence- I choose to experience, to love fully and to laugh with all of my being. I choose to not only be alive, but to live. What do you choose?


I cannot fathom the lack of humanity existent in some people in the world today. The attack on Nice, France has burdened the hearts of not only the French, but also the rest of the world. My heart can no longer bear this. How can a person get to a point where they are willing to kill a mass amount of people for little to gain? The truck driver who drove his semi filled to the brim with guns and grenades into a crowd of multiple people must not have possessed a heart that beat with the rythm of compassion. No person who loves deeply can take the life of those around them. Not when those corpses are children- little people too young to experience all that life has to offer, so new to the world they have not even dipped a toe into their potential- these kids are lying dead in a street. It is atrocious. It is disheartening. It is an event that makes me, even the least emotional person, weep for the families who lost their loved ones, sob for the possibilities they will never get to tap into, cry for the orphans and the fear coursing through people’s veins as they stroll through the streets which used to feel safe and routine, and beg for the world to value love more than hate. 

To Nice, France:  I am so sorry for all of your losses. May comfort and strength be found even in the darkest of times.

Love will prevailšŸ’•

The Inevitablility of My Cracked PhonesĀ 

Hi my name is Evocative Mind Palace and I suffer from Phone-Shattering Syndrome. No matter what I do- I can buy a protective case and get a screen protector- yet my phone inevitably cracks. *gestures wildly and accidentally knocks phone off of table* *drops to knees and looks to the skies while wailing, “COME ON MAN!” Hereis one of the times I’ve indirectly caused my electronic’s screens to ungracefully split into itty bitty shards.

  1. The Ricochet Incident: Picture this- an unsuspecting teenager walking down the brick hallway of her school, having an admittedly hilarious conversation with her mother. On both sides of the corridor there are 2 benches- all of which people routinely run into, resulting in painful cries echoing through the school as their thighs bruise. I, as innocent as ever, am a very animated person in regards to my gestures during conversations. I talk with my hands- I always have. That was my first mistake. My phone- new and shiny- is clutched in my right hand. I turn to tell an extremely funny and dramatic story to my mom. And as my hand flies up at full speed, the phone flies. It flies like it was born with wings or rocket fuel attached to its bottom. In fact, I apparently throw it with so much strength that the phone not only hits the bench on one side of the hall- it flies ACROSS THE CORRIDOR TO THE OTHER BENCH AND RICOCHETS OFF OF THAT! Finally the trauma is done- or so I think. I pick my phone up off of the cobblestone ground. Please don’t be cracked, please don’t be cracked, please don’t be cra-it’s not cracked- It’s shattered. Go me! 

More of these earth shattering stories of my life told in completely over dramatic ways to be heard later. 

This post was inspired my the Daily Post Prompt: Glass

      Escaping Expectation

      We all have expectations. Expectations for ourselves, expectations for others. Subconscious ideas of what we SHOULD be doing versus what we ARE doing. It’s an endless circle and I for one am caught up in it. 

      When I glance into my slightly-dirtier-than-expected-mirror I see a girl who at 5 foot 2 and 3/4 inches is quite a few inches too short and just a few pounds too heavy. I ignore the fact that I am healthy, muscular, intelligent, deep, comical and a free soul- I push those facts away and replace them with my doubts. I succumb to mine and society’s expectations of who I should be. The idea that the my muscular thighs are too thick or my unavoidable stretch marks are disgusting. 
      But in the back of my mind I know that my stretch marks are not hideous. They are natural. I know that I am the one judging myself harshly- no one else cares nearly as much as I do. That they may notice how short I am- but they don’t think of it as a terribly sealed fate like I do. 

      I suppose we all have expectations. Judgements hidden in the depths of our minds, nagging at us as we try to live our lives. My goal is to block out these expectations- of my self specifically. Replace them with positive thoughts- knowledge of my intelligence, my positive vibes, my easy going nature. I am beautiful. I am funny. I can’t afford to be clouded with expectations. In fact, I will not be clouded by them. I will escape- slowly, steadily, from the depths of my mind palace and allow the world to see me as all that I am. Plainly. Simply. Lovely. 


      If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 14 years of life it is this- nothing is as simple as it first seems. In fact, nothing is simple at all. I used to look at people I met- on the road, at parties, in restaurants- and believe that my first impressions of them HAD to be right. There was absolutely no way their personality was more complex than I believed. No one had substance. No one had depth. Everyone was simple. Obviously I was wrong. Upon further consideration- and many years of growth (both physically and mentally)- I have come to the long awaited realization that complicated personalities and story lines are an inevitable part of life.

      About 2 months ago I wrote a 3 page research paper on the forgotten victims of the Holocaust. I highlighted the fact that although a large percentage of those persecuted were Jewish, a large population were not. There were political dissenters, communists, twins, homosexuals, the mentally challenged, Roma/Sinti Gypsies and dozens of other groups whom Hitler deemed unworthy of existing in his society. I’m not trying to say that these other groups received no mention in the after effects of the Holocaust or that they were blatantly cut out from the fabric of history- they were not. However, it is fair to state that they receive much less recognition than the Jewish population. I believe this is due to the eternal battle of over simplification. We want to make people, events, entire time periods easy to understand, effortless to digest. We are a society that takes tragic events that can’t possibly be encapsulated into a singular time line and do just that. And in turn we forget other important things- like how they sodomized homosexuals in prison and how the Roma and Sinti gypsies were shunned and forced to relocate. In our attempt to see things as simple we shave away the layers- the vital layers that cannot afford to be ignored.

      So in retrospect I was one of the MANY people who suffer from over simplification syndrome (yes I made that up, however I totally dig the name.) But now I have improved my perception and I know that things are invariably complicated. And unfortunately I will hereby be forced to dig through the layers in search of the hidden truths in everything we do routinely. {insert a slow groan at the amount of effort that will take.}

      This prompt was given by the daily post.Ā gracias


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