Wednesday, May 30, 2012

The End

The end of high school.
Therefore, the end of almost everything I've ever known for my entire life.

The end of someone doing my laundry.
The end of dinner made for me every night.
The end of free gasoline.
The end of school from 6 a.m. to 2 p.m.

The end of curfews.
The end of silly rules.
The end of not being an adult.

I had a really good ending. If high school was a book, it would be on my favorites list.
There were casualties. I dislike books where everyone lives happily ever after with no significant loss or opportunity for growth, simple as that.
Friends were lost, hearts were broken, and tears cried. That happens to every teenage girl, and I was no exception. But it was a book that changed me. Made me better than I was.

When I was twelve years old, I was at Thanksgiving dinner and two of my aunts told me "You're gonna wish you could go back to high school. You're gonna see everything you miss. It'll go by so fast. You're not gonna do everything you can."

So I said, "Watch me."

I went to the dances, the games, the events. I didn't want to be one of those people that thought they were too cool to do anything high school related. You only live once, and I was determined to live my high school years well.

And I did.

Senior Sluff Day:



Monday, May 21, 2012

One Word

I have a lot to say, but it comes down to one word.
And I won't say it.

Sometimes I'm writing a sentence and the word slips out and then I erase it.

Sometimes the word fills up my mouth because I hold it back too much. It doesn't spill out, instead it seeps into my cheeks and enters my bloodstream. The word pumps through me and I, in essence, become the word.

And I think there cannot be a better word in the English language. But then maybe I'd think "bubbly" was the best before I heard "effervescent" or "picky" before "persnickety" came along. "Brunette" before "Ginger".

Maybe I haven't heard my perfect word. Maybe it's on a page in a book I've never read because I'm too busy rereading my favorite. Maybe I've read the word six hundred times; I've just never spoken it out loud and it has never rolled off my tongue. Maybe the word is in the Amazon right now, or maybe Germany or maybe Pleasant Grove.

But I'm not searching for that word.
Because I like my word too much.
It makes the corners of my mouth turn up whenever I say it and it makes my voice sound like music.

So I'll keep singing it.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012


I pulled out last year's yearbook.
I knew I shouldn't, but I did anyway. I wanted to look at faces.
Well, one face.
But I looked at other faces too.
And I read the autographs.

I saw the 50 "Make Out" messages written on practically every signature page by the boy who shaves his legs.
I saw the page scrawled across boy a boy who claimed he had no idea what to say but wanted me to know how it felt, who wanted me to know he loved me from Day One.
I saw promises for dates and a million "Let's hang out this summer, mmkay?"s.
I saw people's names and words claiming that I was amazing and a wonderful friend.
....people I don't even talk to anymore.

And it struck me: How much changes in a year? The people that meant so much to me, the people I'd call first on the weekend.... only a handful remain.

I looked at the pictures of me.
My smile is the same. My cheeks puff out in the same way and my eyes crinkle a tiny amount.
But I'm not that girl anymore. I wear her clothes and I share her voice, but that girl is not me.

People change, jokes fade, and time always always always keeps moving forward.

The past is to be remembered but not lived in.

I know where I've come from last year, and now I am going to figure out where I'm going from here.

Next year I'll look at my senior yearbook and see the faces of boys who will then be all over the world. I'll see "Oh my goodness, I love you so much!" exclamations from people I will have not talked to in months. And it will all be a memory.

And I'll be a different girl then. Another year will have ticked by.

Time always always always moves forward, and leaves only the memories in its wake. Leaving Yearbooks to collect dust in our cardboard boxes.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Fenway (Boston: Part 2)

Fenway Park.
I was in love.
I cannot even tell you.

My redhead gave me a love of baseball, I can say that much.

I pretty much could have died in that park and been completely fine with it.

I wish I had some really deep thought to share with you. To have thought something poignant that will change your life. But I don't.

I guess I'll just say this: Sometimes the best way to remember someone is to live your life fully. To go to ballparks. To laugh. To take pictures and smile. Don't let your memories bring you down. Let them make your life full. Let them take you to empty ballparks and fill them with love.

 This wall has been standing since 1912. I almost kissed it.

 The first view. See that giant green wall? Keep that in mind.

 Here we go..... On top of the Green Monster. Yes yes yes yes yesyesyesyesyessss.

 View from the press box.
Furthest home run ever hit inside the park. 508 feet. Ted Williams is a man.

Fenway. That's really all I can say.

Sunday, May 6, 2012


"Happiness"  is the smell of lilacs, the feeling of my baseball apparel, the taste of frozen lemonade, the sound of Indie music, the sight of a name in black ink.

"Disappointment" is the smell of egg sandwiches, the feeling of 4th period, the taste of overcooked corn-beef, the sound of my own whining, the sight of empty things.

"Apathy" is the smell of old shampoo, the feeling of unstretched muscles, the taste of peanut butter, the sound of pop music, the sight of empty pages and unopened books.

"Sadness" is the smell of my t-shirts, the feeling of my dad's beard, the taste of watermelon sour candies, the sound of an old video, the sight of crowded airports.

"Joy" is the smell of salsa chicken, the feeling of sore toes, the taste of fresh peaches, the sound of a six year old, the sight of the temple.

Why do we try to give concrete definitions to feelings that are meant to be understood with the senses?

Wednesday, May 2, 2012


When I was four years old, I'd dance in front of my fireplace. My grandpa was not allowed to read the newspaper or even cough and my grandma would be promptly scolded if she looked away once. They were the first audience I remember, and from that time forward I dreamed of being a ballerina.

But dreams are hard to keep alive and so easy to let fall away.
It's so easy to skip classes and give up and take for granted the dance I used to love.
So I quit at age eleven. I was done.

Six years later and thanks to the support of family and friends (especially lovely Katherine), I finally started again.

I danced.
And I failed.
Honestly, I was awful. I'm still not great, but I'm much better than I was.

But I came to love failing! I love saying "Yes, I did that terribly, but I was trying. Watch me get better. Watch me perfect this. Just watch me."

Just Watch.

Yesterday, May 1st 2012, I completed a dream that I made when I was five.

I danced in pointe shoes for the first time.

I have a long way to go, but I cannot tell you how good it feels to have gotten as far as I have.

Hard work pays off.
And how sweet it is.

P.S. It's been a year since I started blogging! Bless my heart, I used colored fonts. I'm glad I grew up, at least a little.  I count the chance to grow up as one of my greatest blessings.