The Good, the Bad, the End

Well, I guess it's nearly the end. I feel like I'm army-crawling over the finish line of this summer, but I made it. I had some awesome times, and got some awesome laughs and pictures out of it, but I'd be lying if I said it was the best.

Many people who know me are aware of my opinions about returning to Stafford every summer, due largely to the fact that the few close friends I had in high school here have moved away, and I've never been able to find a job that didn't make me miserable (except for pet-sitting- I will never stop taking care of my neighbor's big dogs whenever they ask me... and loving it). So to be frank, with some specific exceptions, this summer was lonely, tired, and sometimes downright depressing. There it is. I can't pretend it was anything otherwise. I was forced to reach out to God day by day for strength and joy, and He showed up in cool ways and (as He does) provided me with exactly what I needed, right when I needed it.

But as I'm not Him, I still don't get His methods. I don't understand why every good job opportunity I had before or during this summer fell through or didn't pan out. I don't understand why every single friend I've had here has left at one point or another, leaving only me behind. I know that suffering produces endurance, and character, and hope, and that He knows my way when I don't...but that's about as far as I've got. Maybe that's as far as I'll ever get.

Either way, I'd rather recap some of the good that did happen.

I read the entire Harry Potter series for the first time, as well as a couple other great books.

I visited my family in California, and my older brother-like cousin Anthony took me to see the giant sequoias. It was a day packed full of so many things that I love: big trees, making fun of tourists, low-level hiking, trees, ice cream, reveling in nature, amazing photography opportunities, giant trees, spending time with Anthony, and did I mention the trees?

My dear friend Madison got married, and as a result I was in my first ever wedding. It was the bomb. I met some insanely amazing girls that were easy to befriend in a weekend, and watched Madison and her beloved exchange some seriously beautiful vows at a ceremony that made me cry with joy.

I finally achieved mermaid-length hair, you guys. I did it. It's been a long and tangly road. But we made it. 

I also went to the beach a couple times, and swam in my neighbor's pool enough times to get a decent tan (which I know I will appreciate when every day in London is rainy). Madi swam with me sometimes, and we pretended to play pool basketball and laughed until we almost drowned. Then we'd go to a fair, or a Korean spa, and live it up. She is the best person to be a kid with.

My roommate and I visited a couple times, and it was so, so sweet to get some one-on-one time with her at our respective houses before we both go abroad at separate times this next year. I realized just how much I love being a girl with her, and how wonderful it is that she is so unashamed about wanting to be a couch potato. I need that in my life.

And last and best of all, I hung out with Josh. A lot. We had countless adventures(I learned croquet! We rode 15 roller coasters in one day, all in the front row!), a couple epic road trips(using no GPS, only manual mapping), and awesome, awesome talks. He became my best friend even more than he already was.

I mean, come ON

But more than anything else, the bright spot of this summer was being able to look ahead. And that's what I want to talk about now. I'm studying at the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art this fall semester (I leave in 12 days!), getting my certificate in Classical Acting, and I want to properly document my experiences living in one of the coolest cities in the world. So I'm taking this as my opportunity to officially close the door on this blog, and start a new one based around my travels this fall.

It's bittersweet. This blog has seen me through some of the best and absolute worst times in my life, and it's not exaggerating to say that writing here helped heal me many times. I've cultivated my love of writing, kept myself accountable to growth, measured important milestones, and processed deep sorrows and incredible joys on here. It will always be dear to me. But despite my deep resistance, I'm growing up, and it's time to start a new chapter. (I'm cringing just typing that.) 

If you have been reading this for most or all of these past 5 years, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Being able to hear people say that anything I wrote affected them positively was always such an encouragement, as was the knowledge that I may have been responsible for the genesis of several other blogs out there. I feel confident this little Blogspot is leaving a nice legacy behind. I will never forget the imprint this page, or you few precious readers, had on my life. 

*raises glass*

To the longest diary I ever kept. May its turmoil of emotional, heartwarming, sometimes-genuinely-mortifying ramblings always inspire me to write-and speak- the truth.

Signing off,

The Erdelatz Kid

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you'd like to read my new blog, by all means, do (or don't- I'm never one for self-promotion). Here it is:

https://talesfrompaddenswickroad.wordpress.com 

Summer 2016: Teaser Trailer

Well World... here I am. Again. Feeling very small and lost in the humid, heavy-trafficked purgatory of Stafford County; finally, blissfully free of deadlines and 17-hour days, while realizing that on the other hand, maybe having nothing expected of me whatsoever isn't as satisfying as I thought. I feel like I've finally cut myself free from a boat that contained a snarling tiger (like in Life of Pi) only to realize that the boat was also my only supply of food and water and I am now adrift.

I suppose I'm lucky. I get to be lost. This time in my life will conceivably never appear again, and for the most part I'll always have something expected of me, so I should be glad for this "rest," right? But I could do everything from climb Everest to carbon freeze myself for the next three months and for the most part, it wouldn't matter in the least... and that's a lot of power. Too much, you might say.

Oh, don't worry. I have plans. I mean, I'm not totally aimless. Oh, what are they? Ha. Ha. You'll see.

For instance, I'm going to unpack tomorrow. I'm going to rearrange my room. I'm going to fill out some job applications, get started on my passport renewal and maybe clean my car.

(Should I not say that? What if I don't get around to it? That seems like a big promise to keep. I should be more realistic.)

Tomorrow is unpacking day. There.

I'm trusting. I'm trusting. God can do anything, and while right now I'm desperately hoping that will entail a cool job and a new friend or two, I know it could be anything. But things are coming. I know it. Who knows? Maybe I'll actually be sad when it's time to leave for England. (Yeah right.)

*raises glass* To the last summer of The Erdelatz Kid. May it go out with the bang of a nuke.

(Oh I didn't tell you? We're ending an era, folks. Starting in the fall I'll be starting a new blog detailing my travels abroad. It's time. This one has served me well, and I shall tip my cap with gratefulness when the moment comes to retire it. So know that it's coming.)

The Latest in Warm Weather Woes

To the chivalrous and pure-hearted gentlemen out there who constantly strive to make women feel valued and beautiful no matter what they look like, let me just let you off the hook for the minute.
It's not always you.
When I spend hours upon hours scanning every website imaginable for the bathing suit that will magically form to every unique curve of my body, transforming me into a feminine beauty that's demure and sexy all at once only to come to the conclusion that I'm just a freak of nature who can't wear anything, reducing me to a teary, wilted mess in the corner of my bedroom....

it's not for you.

It's for other girls.

It's for my perfect and beautiful cousins, with California-tanned skin and volleyball-toned bodies and 57 different perfect bikinis. It's for the girls I go to school with, who like me are all trying and failing to discover the Holy Grail of attractive one-pieces and need a shining beacon of hope (aka me) to prove that yes, it exists. It's for the girls I went to high school with, who decided to choose between being hottest and being modest, who I always wanted to inspire into thinking that you can, in fact have both.

Sometimes I wonder if girls really are all that mean to each other, or if the cruelest things we hear are just our own voices, imagining what they're saying about us in their heads. I have no idea if any girl has ever judged me for wearing more modest swimwear. I just assume they do. Because somehow, some way, no matter how confident I am in how I've been created... I will always find a reason to convince myself that I am not beautiful.

So gentlemen, thank you for being kind, and please continue to do so. The battle for outer beauty seems so petty and ridiculous, I know. But let me tell you. It's hard. And cruel. Because it turns out... you were the enemy the whole time.

Neutral Gear

I like to think it's hard to surprise me. Part of this is because I've become so accustomed to things differing from my expectations in various ways. Whenever I'm about to experience a new place or situation and I catch myself dreaming up an idea of what it must be like in my head, I tell myself,
"Well, whatever it is, it's not like you think."
Then I show up and somehow, I was right. It was nothing like I expected, but the small acknowledgment beforehand adds some comfort to the uncertainty, turning it into an adventure of sorts.

Except what about when my worst fears come true, after all?

In the weeks leading up to summer break I pictured myself spending a lot of time alone in my room, isolated and bored from the utter friendlessness and mind-numbing suburbia of Stafford. And no matter how many lists of creative things to do alone I made, guess what? That's exactly what happened. I wasn't prepared for that reality.

I of all people can tell you that solitude does not mean loneliness. I thrive off of quiet walks, a good book, a noiseless night of Netflix and nail polish, some undisturbed ukulele (all of which apparently causes aimless alliteration), and some good old fashioned alone time. But willful solitude is one thing, and my current state of affairs is another entirely.

Make no mistake. I love my family. I love my new car. I love the people in my life that I have the ability to see in person right now.

But can I be honest?

Few times in my life have I felt this kind of lonely.

It's reminding me of the difference between like-minded and like-hearted people. If I looked hard enough, I'm sure I would have no shortage of like-minded people with which to spend my days. But I'm aching for someone who's like-hearted to just... even spend a few hours of conversation with, and the emptiness is filling me to the brim and draining the rest of me out, and I end my days tired even though I didn't do anything.
Every day is like trying to swim through syrup: I could exhaust myself and travel two inches, or I could just float numbly in the warmth and hope someone eventually pulls me out.

I....

I'm okay. But that's it. Every day is just okay. It terrifies me.

April's Foreboding Showers

Everyone around me is complaining about how strenuous their nights of not studying for finals are, wearing Birkenstock sandals, and asking each other every five minutes "how excited" they are for summer to start. No one every says what exactly summer holds that make it so enticing... I think they're just ecstatic about concept.

I'm all for warm weather and adventures, but pretending that I'm "so ready to be out of here" with everyone else is draining. Because I'm not. Ready. I like it here. Why is everyone so ready to leave? We just got here. Some people are leaving for good, because they're graduating. Is no one else bummed about that? If I were those seniors I'd be terrified.

When I wake up here each morning, I know what will happen. I know exactly what's expected of me and there are people each day that I'm excited to talk to and it's all very comfortable and familiar. I don't want that to change. I think I'm putting off hunting for cardboard boxes because the thought of packing up my dorm room is just too overwhelming. I don't want to wake up in a room that isn't this one, with nothing to look forward to each day.

I don't want to hunt for a boring, fluorescent-lit, minimum wage job that will drain my sunny days and will to live. I don't want to scour used car lots for an aged car with personality that I can give people rides in with pride only to get stuck with a smelly, beige Toyota that I despise. I don't want to have to wait for weekly phone calls to hear the voices of the people here that I love instead of sauntering over to their bedroom. I don't want to be bored and lonely and stressed for two months. Why would I?

So to answer your question: no, I'm not excited for finals either, but not for the reason you think.

Bald Eagles and Bugs

If anyone's wondering why I haven't posted in two weeks or so (or maybe no one reads this and actually I'm being silly...or whatever), it's because I've just spent the last 12 days fighting mosquitos and sore muscles in the Adirondack mountains with some of the most awesome girls I've yet to meet in an outdoor education program with my college called La Vida.

The experiences and spiritual epiphanies are far too meaningful to sum up in a blog post (which I knew even before I embarked), so I decided to write down one thing every day that summed up the day's challenges. I put them in the form of packing tips, so if any of you lovely readers (imaginary or otherwise) decide to try a survival expedition of your own, you'll be well-prepared.

Day 1: Invest in a small camping pillow!
(My neck became rather sore after resting on hard ground or a rolled up piece of clothing at night)

Day 2: Headlamps are invaluable. 
(vs. flashlights, which are not hands-free)

Day 3: Quick-drying clothes ONLY.
(When it pours for the first 48 hours and even the sleeping bag inside your tent is damp, you want your t-shirts and cargo pants to be dry after only 30 minutes on a line)

Day 4: Sneakers should be narrow with excellent tread.
(If you're rock-climbing, whether or not your toe can fit into that minuscule crack makes all the difference.)

Day 5: Bring thick, high-SPF sunscreen AND a face stick. Oh, and a sturdy 32 oz. water bottle. 
(Apparently the tips of your ears can, in fact, get burned when you're in a canoe.)

Day 6: Your bug spray should coat you well and have the potency to kill anything within 5 feet of you.
(Spray it on any exposed skin. Wipe it on your face. Spray it on the brim of your hat. Spray it on your thermal underwear, which they will bite through. It won't keep them from biting you, but it'll repel them... for a while. Also: sleep with a bug net over your head if you have to. *shudder*)

Day 7: Bring layers that cover your arms without heating you up too much (aka bug protection), and ones that zip are easier than pullovers. Also, the bug spray thing again. 
(Bonus: Mosquitos can't bite through a raincoat!)

Day 8: You need 3 pairs of shoes: hiking boots, water shoes, and easy slip-on ones that will ALWAYS be dry.
(If you're too lazy to lace up the boots all the time, you can wear socks around a campsite, but they will get filthy and you can still step on twigs.)

Day 9: Shorts should have liners, and bandanas work better than bobby pins.
(When you only have room for 4 pairs of underwear, you need ways to cheat. And a bandana tied like a headband is actually kind of cute- and the only accessory you'll probably do.)

Day 10: There is no such thing as too many pairs of socks.
(If you walk around the forest in them or a surprise thunderstorm shows up right as you put those great blue ones on, you'll be glad.)

Day 11: Your sleeping bag better be warm AND waterproof.
(Apparently, a tarp stretched across some trees is not foolproof protection when it decides to pour for two solid hours right before bed. Also: rain in the mountains is not refreshing, but freezing.)

Day 12: Never underestimate how cold it can get in the morning. Bring gloves AND a hat, even in the summer. Sleep in them if you have to.
(You think just because it's July 4th it won't be 45 degrees? Haha. Think again.)

Jokes aside, it was an amazing trip, regardless of uncomfortable weather/bug/clothing conditions. How can you focus on something silly like the sweaty smell of your dri-fit shirt when you're looking at this?

Modest Is Almost Hottest, Maybe

As various seasons come rolling around, I always find myself remembering little things about how to properly navigate life during those seasons that I'd forgotten. For instance, with summer comes issues dealing with, among other things: finding a good waking-up time, awkward tanline navigation, social scheduling frustration, and by no means the least... bathing suit morality issues.

Being a girl who actually cares about modesty (physical or otherwise) has so many layers of difficulty. The phrase "modest is hottest" is much easier said than done. I firmly believe that just because it may be more "ladylike" to wear a short-sleeved shirt than a cropped spaghetti-strap tank, if it makes you feel less beautiful, it's not necessarily better. Not to say a girl should wear skimpy clothes and suits just because she "feels hotter," but what are you proving by wearing a bathing suit made for a 40-year-old?

My philosophy when it comes to bathing suits is: people should be looking at me, but not at my body. So even though I want to feel decently covered (and not stressed about flashing people when I do a dive), I want to feel like I could still walk past a group of people in slow motion because of how awesome I look.

So here's where the whole conundrum part comes in: I'm confident enough in my physical beauty to feel like I look good in a one-piece and a tiny bikini. Problem is, I own both. So standing in front of my mirror this morning, trying to decide which one to wear to the senior picnic, was the hardest thing ever.

*tries on bikini*
Wow, I look like a skank.
But gosh, my bod is rockin'. 
This will probably be the last chance to see some people worth impressing. 
No, no. Stop. You don't want that kind of attention. 
Wow, I look hot. 
You're not wearing this.
My tan isn't even enough, or else I might. 
We both know you're not going to.

*tries on one-piece*
This is cute. I kind of look like Audrey Hepburn.
It's so much less hot. 
Ugh, pleats, stop making my stomach do that.
Okay, this is fine. You still look good.
No, you don't. 
Yes, you do.
We both know you're wearing this one.

I wore the one-piece. And it looked good, I guess. But I kept seeing girls walk by in really cute-but-skimpy things- even girls that I knew were relatively modest- and wishing I'd worn the other suit. Wishing I could walk by the swim team and have them all stare at me. Because even as I sit here, hours later, realizing that in my heart of hearts I do not want guys eyeing me like a piece of meat, it's impossible to deny that attention feels good. [Confession: as a compromise, I wore shorts that made my legs look really good, and honestly, it made me feel better about myself.]

But you know what? At the end of the afternoon, I still had a great time. I did two spectacular dives off the diving board which I would have not been able to do wearing anything else, or I would have been showing way more than my dive form. I played ultimate frisbee and ate Cheetos and laughed with my friends and that's what people will remember. Me. Not my body.

It's hard. Ladies, don't let anyone tell you it isn't. But it's worth it.

I'm getting there. Right now, modest is... relatively attractive, but someday it will be hottest.

Serenity in Black and Red Nylon

In, out
Gentle sway allows just enough movement
for the sun to wink from behind a leaf
and brighten the dimness behind closed eyelids

In, out
Gleeful shouts slowly quiet 
as the mind finds its own sounds
namely a soft piano
and swallows

In, out
Pretend not to hear the tittering whispers above 
or sense the shadows above the hammock
and camera shutters discreetly clicking away moments
that were never meant to be seen
only remembered

In, out
A patch of sunlight on one leg
warmer than the rest
but time has run too far
since tired muscles have felt this peace
Don't break the stillness, they say

In, out
A thick volume, still open
but for the moment neglected
cradled below sweaty palms
its words dancing through the air
floating above heads
unseen, but felt
by the whispers of the leaves
and by the militant lines of ants on the rock
and by the rippled waters of the lake
and by the stag
who is likewise unseen
but felt

In, out

Gravel and Breeze

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Slight apologies for the long-ish post below, but it's worth reading. I think.

Last summer, I was introduced to this wonderful dirt trail that runs along the Ripon Country Club Golf Course, behind a large almond orchard, under some huge overhanging trees, and back beside the cartpath somewhere near what must be the 11th hole or something.

It enchanted me. And ever since...well. *holds up hands* First thing you should know about me. I am the hugest sucker for secret hideaways. Little places that only I know about. If they're tucked away on some lonely outdoor path? Psh. Even better.

And ever since I've been aching to come back. Oh, it's fun to see my cousins and swim in my uncle's luxury pool and all those lovely, normal human things. But I have not been able to get that glorious path from my mind.

(Also, I'm not athletic. So biking is just about the only thing I can do that could possibly qualify as "working out", ergo, I love love biking.)

So this morning, I jerked myself awake at the lovely hour of 6:00am. Sheets flailing (I'm not kidding), I stumbled over to my iPod, irritated that it hadn't woken me early enough, only to find that my internal clock had woken me a full 45 minutes early.

Well, I thought. Better now than ever.

(You see, in Ripon, it heats up fast. It was supposed to be in the 90's by nine. But right now, as the sun was just coming up, it was a balmy 72, which happens to be my favorite temperature.)

So I tugged on some shorts and kept my 49er's t-shirt on from bed because, hey, I wasn't going to see anyone worth impressing. I stuck my iPod, sunglasses, and phone in a tiny messenger bag over my shoulder and chugged a glass of water in the kitchen. I spent a few minutes pumping up the tires in my cousin's bike, pinching myself accidentally in the process. And then, per the norm, I started the musical selections for the morning with a quiet film sountrack coming through my earbuds that was perfect for, say, pretending like you're sneaking out.
Dork.

And I was off.

And oh, what a morning it was. There were streaming rays of sunlight coming through trees everywhere. It made me wish someone was making a movie of the whole thing because the lighting was so perfect. There was a soft breeze from my moderate speed wisping my bangs back from my forehead. It was warm, but not dripping-with-perspiration-while-suffocating hot, as it would be in a few hours.

And the trail. Gah. I almost cried. Being by myself, doing whatever I want, in some beautiful setting, can literally make me happier than almost anything in the world. Gravel was softly crunching under the tires, I had these brilliant songs playing, and I could even indulge my photography-loving side to snap top-notch pictures with my phone, while moving, no less. *brushes off shoulder*

But I digress. The point is...

Well, the point is that I'm happy. This morning made me so happy. I don't get that happy much. My plans that I make, to do something, to be somewhere...they almost never work. I was half expecting to get stopped by golfers as I passed the NO TRESPASSING sign. I was half expecting my mom to say it was too early for me to go out by myself, but when I came back, the rest of the house was still sleeping.

(I'd like to take a detour here to say that if anyone reading this has never done something that involves coming back before the rest of your world has woken up, it's a marvelous feeling. Try it sometime.)

And now I'm sitting here, typing on my grandparent's ancient, clacky, awesome keyboard. My 49er's t-shirt is now a purple tank top. My thick, slightly sweaty ponytail is now a (relatively) neat side braid. But I'm still smiling.

Am I going back next year?

What do you think.

Freeze Frame

This afternoon was the annual onslaught of the Erdelatz extended family, including Aunt Heidi and her seven, count 'em, seven young kids.

Granted, the crowd was a bit smaller this year, what with Megan in college, Ryan and Jimmy working, and Dani and Alex in Lake Tahoe. But in keeping with tradition, we all plunged into Uncle Eddie's deliciously nature-inspired saltwater pool (complete with spa and waterfalls) and splashed around.

And in betweeen diving contests, splash fights, and stealing a moment away from the gleeful screaming to hide in the hot tub, I rested on a rock in the deep end and had a thought as I watched six-year-old Andy giggle and dogpaddle his way around.

Someday he and his twin sister Mary Kate will be in high school. They'll be my age, and have cars and phones and significant others and I won't have to coax them into a hug every year.

But suddenly, I didn't want anything to change.

I want Maddie to always be the redheaded, rosy-cheeked 13-year-old she is now, because isn't that how it's always been? Headstrong Mali should never age past her confident age of 9, and Emmy should remain bubbly, carefree and 7. Bobby should always be his fiery, loud 10-year-old self, and the twins should always, always be just old enough to plunge into the pool without arm floaties, but young enough to need time to warm up to me again every year when I visit.

That's how it should stay, because I can't remember a time when it hasn't been this way.

But it's not. I'm going to be coming home from college soon, and Maddie will have her first kiss, and Emmy and the twins will be in the torrential waters of middle school, and before we know it, we'll all be married with kids while the twins are applying to colleges.

I got so overwhelmed with the speed of time, and the need to keep this picture in front of me the same just swelled up inside me, and I almost cried right there in the deep end.

Because unlike last summer, this time, for a moment, I was truly happy. At that moment, just being there with everyone the age they should be, I was so happy and full of, okay, love.

I was.

Sunburnt Shoulders

It's that time of the year again.
Summer.

As usual, mine is never quiet, nor does it suffer from lack of activity. But the quiet moments of happiness sometimes mean more in the midst of chaos.

Like the relaxing ferryboat ride to dinner, accompanied by a soft breeze.

Like a much-needed phone call after a long and wet day.

And a late night game of Truth-Or-Dare.

Those things make me smile even wider this week.

Dear Girl Who Holds My Memories,

I kept the moments that we were in,

and I hoped in my heart

 you'd come back to me, my friend

and now I've got you...

Words can't express how happy I am that you're back to stay. 

The afternoon of prom, when you surprised me by coming to visit and helping me get ready before we said goodbye (for the third time in our childhoods, it seemed), it was bittersweet because I was mentally preparing myself to really never see you again. 

And when I got home that night, and quickly changed for after-prom, the note you left me on my pillow had me in heartbreaking tears for a good twenty minutes because I thought I was losing my other half.

But you're back! 

And you'll be here for good. 

Today, cross-legged on my bed, bouncing around excitedly as we caught each other up on noteworthy happenings,

and giggling over little things I would never in a thousand years laugh about with many others,

and squeezing in a hammock in wet hair and bathing suits as the smell of grilling burgers perfumed the air,

I felt like we were ten-year-olds on your trampoline all over again.

I feel like my whole heart just took a deep breath of fresh air. 

The Modesty Clause

Shopping for bathing suits has never been so irritating.

If you know me at all, you know I prefer not to wear the shortest skirts, tightest tops, or even the highest heels. This applies to bathing suits. I didn't really wear bikinis until a few years ago, and even though I do wear them now, I still don't wear string ones. It just seems to me that if people are going to be looking at me in a swimsuit, it should be because I look good without having to show everything.

Plus, I don't want to look like a... well, you know.

So this year I decided to opt for a one-piece in addition to my regular swim wardrobe. One that was attractive, but not to revealing. Classy. Girly. (But not too girly. No ruffles.) I went online. I searched. I scrolled. I clicked. For. Ever.

First of all, the grand total of 7 one-pieces I found on one website was nothing compared to the 200 results I got for bikinis, most of which were fluorescent eyepatches connected by elastic string. That alone bothered me. Are there no other girls out there who want to buy something that's attractive without being immodest?

I found one on Old Navy, though, that was pretty much perfect. It came today.... and didn't fit.

But part of the reason it didn't fit was because there were pillows of padding in the chest, which made the top part bulge weirdly and sit all wrong.

And I just got so frustrated. It bothers me that the world seems to think that no teenage girl would want to look attractive on a beach in a swimsuit without flaunting everything about her body that she can. I wanted to yell at Old Navy, "I can look good on my own! I don't need your padding!"

Society seems to have hammered the message into the minds of adolescent girls that if we can't get a guy to drool over us, we'd better make sure we do. We shake our heads at stars who expose everything on live TV, but when all we provide to wear are the same kinds of things, what are we telling thirteen-year-olds going through puberty? That this is all there is?

One afternoon several years ago, my mom and I were shopping at a department store. I had gone to get another size in something, and when I returned my mom asked me if I'd heard the conversation two or three dressing rooms down. Another mother-daughter duo was trying on clothes. I said no.

Apparently a skirt or something was being debated, and the daughter didn't like it because it was too short, too tight, etc. It made her feel uncomfortable. Naked. Her mom (her mom!) had said something like, "Do you want boys to like you? Do you want them to think you're pretty? This is what you have to wear. This what girls your age need to wear."

It saddens me that this is the only message we're getting now. And maybe this is the way it's going to stay, partially because they don't make attractive and modest bathing suits anymore.

Oh sure, I have a couple bandeau tops. They're cute. They still cover me well enough. But for once, I'd like to show up in California this summer, in the midst of all my cousins and their friends wearing tiny swimsuits, and look just as hot without feeling nearly naked. Is it too much to ask for a girl blessed with a small waist and natural curves to be able to wear something attractive and modest?

I don't think so.

Precursory

Thus far in Virginia, these things have come to my attention.

1. I have met a grand total of 0 people.
2. Any woods that might beg exploring have No Trespassing signs on them.
3. My new school is freezing.
4. There's an "Asia Grocery". Hi-Chews, soba noodles, and curry mixes. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.
5. A frozen yogurt joint called the Sweet Frog is the American equivalent of Yogurt Land.
6. It's still hot, minus humidity. This means good things for my hair.
7. Our house gets hotter the higher up you go. (Hence: I'll be sleeping in the cool basement.)
8. I need a job.
9. I have the earth's weight in summer homework.
10. I'm lacking in school clothes/supplies.

Did I mention I'd rather not be on the Western Hemisphere?

Everything's Okay For a Minute

Somehow the silence seemed to connect us

in a way that words never coud...



Dear Ginger From the Boathouse,

I was wondering which of us would be the first to say something that didn't concern the wooden fish I was decorating for my 8-year-old cousin while she abandoned the table for a nearby hula hoop.

"So are you from around here?"

You won.

It's too bad that you're a Gators fan, but you made up for it by complimenting my ability to draw a flower and sympathizing with me about the misery of moving to somewhere that's practically nowheresville. As I study the multicolored surface of my wooden creation, I can retrace the path of our conversation by what I was coloring at the time. 

I wouldn't mind if you found me on Facebook.

Sincerely, 

The Girl Who Kept Coming Back For Markers

Oh You,

I can hardly wait for our encounter. However far away it may be, I eagerly anticipate the moment when the distance between ourselves and our adventures has been shortened until we are right in the middle of them, laughing as if no time at all is the same as forever, and both have passed in our absence.

Until then, as your nightly encounters with Steve Carell, Rainn Wilson, and the gang play out, I hope you seek out some new ventures to pursue. My introspective moments under the branches make me think of you and the song I have yet to pen about street corners and salads. New music and wonderings keep me occupied, but I worry about you, and I hope you'll find my newest ideas interesting. Maybe even inspiring.
Pale watercolors are impossible for me to master. The bright explosion of the colors just draws me in and I can't help myself when a brilliant streak glides onto the paper when I meant for it to be subdued. Maybe you'll have better luck than I. Anything is possible. I hope you have exceptional skill at imagery and personification...and that you're not afraid of heights.

Until then, comrade. I know you can't see me, but I'm there. 

Love,
Equally,
Awkwardly,
Great

Interrupted Boredom

Today, the same-ness of my situation became unbearable.

The same smell of chlorine in my hair, the same sound of a million bickering cousins, the same heavy stickiness on my face of eyeliner that wasn't mine, the same taste of Mexican food that I secretly hated, and so forth.

Luckily, I encountered a grandmotherly force that prodded through my melancholy stubborness.

Instead of honoring my pledge to spend the day in morose drudgery, I was forced to give my pride a proverbial kick in the teeth and allow my 21-year-old, electra-pumping, cap-wearing, mouth-farting partner-in-crime of a cousin step in and drag me out of my fog of pure and undiluted hatred for the planet and everyone in it.

In retrospect, a much better decision.

Instead of decaying on a couch alone, I spent the afternoon choking on Vietnamese spring rolls and immersing myself in my first Barnes and Noble of 3+ years. I read a children's book about a pole, written by Steven Colbert, and became fascinated by the creative writing excercizes found in The 3AM Epiphany. I pretended to read a 2013 weekly planner while really eavesdropping on the intense discussion between an extremely overweight latino and a longhaired, gangly 30-year-old, both of whom knew more about drones and motherships than most of us ever will.

Thank you ever so much, cousin. This is why you exist. For those of us with lives so interesting they get annoyingly stupid. Ironically enough, you make them seem boring. So thanks.

Home Again

And just like that, here I am in Ripon, CA again. Swimming in my uncle's luxury pool and having my cousins do my eyeliner and introduce me to their attractive friends, who all wonder why I'm not Asian.

It's great to be home.

And yet I was crying into the pillows last night, hoping I wouldn't wake my bedmates. Why is that?

 Maybe this isn't my only home after all.

The Next 3 Days

I seem to be into movie titles lately. I'm losing my originality. Ick.

Anyways. The next 3 days are the ones leading up to that horrible moment when I'll say goodbye to everything that's familiar and close to me and depart into the great unknown with little to no hope of return. 

I wish I could say that's an exaggeration.

As the time gets wound tighter and tighter together, precious moments I have failed to grasp one last time are slipping between my fingertips one by one. Faces are trying to fade, and I'm trying to recall them to my memory before they're gone. Each time I see a place, or a person, I can't help but wonder if it's the last time. If I need to stand still a moment longer, etch every detail into my mind and savor the memories I have with this street corner, this building, this close friend. And each time, the helpless, frightened feeling in the pit of my soul grows heavier and heavier. 

People ask me if I'm ready to go, but I don't get why something like this could be getting easier as I get closer. 

It's just becoming more impossible. 

How am I supposed to do this? 

There's no way I can do this.