14 August 2013

Today is the kind of day I miss you. There’s a briskness in the air that would’ve had us running to the car to take a drive anywhere; there was something about driving to the middle of nowhere that appealed to us and I think it’s the thing I miss most about NJ as a whole. By pure coincidence, it made me think of this photo we took together and when I looked at the date on it, I was a little stunned to see it was taken on August 14th, 2008. I guess maybe it’s just the date I think of you most on. Maybe I’m a little bit crazy (well, we already knew that).

I don’t miss high school, but I miss the experiences of high school. I miss the friends, the fun, the endless possibilities for the future. I miss 1 am frisbee in the high school parking lot, late night Wendy’s runs with a car packed with our friends, walking through rainstorms for fun, the pool parties, the carefully thought-out photo shoots that never ended up as good as we *knew* they would, the impromptu trips to the beach, the desperation to find something fun to do in suburbia, etc. I don’t have contact with most people from high school and my friends now are all married or engaged. They’re moving on and starting their families. Why am I not? Why am I holding on to something that’s passed me by?

I’ve come a long way since high school and I don’t miss where I was mentally back then. I’ve learned who I am and how to accept that. I guess I wish I could just relive the times with my current understanding of life. Doesn’t everyone? Don’t we all wish we could go back and make the wrongs right? It’s silly and unfeasible, but it’s the strongest desire I have.

My world doesn’t make sense the way I hoped it would by now. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m happy in life right now; I’m so incredibly blessed and I’m thankful every day for it. There’s just this part of me that chases the past. I don’t think it’ll ever go away, either. It comes around this time of year, when the school year is about to begin and the weather starts getting cooler. Everything elicits a bittersweet memory — the puffy white clouds, the breeze, the smell in the air — and it makes me want to jump in a car and drive to New Hope. It makes me long for the days I could show up at my best friend’s house and just walk in her front door like I lived there. Little things like that which I can’t have back. It’s silly, I know.

It’s funny because I started this blog in hopes that it would bring me closure. I’m realizing now closure is a farce. We never get over things, we just tuck them away and try to write over them with new garbage. We don’t forget the past, even if the present is wonderful. The past is what makes the present what it is and it’s silly to think otherwise. Every person who has been in my life, whether it be for years or for hours, has made me exactly who I am right now. I don’t want to forget that. I don’t want to have closure. I’ll think of the past and I’ll smile and my heart will hurt a little, but that’s just a wonderful part of being alive.

25 April 2013

George Washington Bridge

Oh New York. All my years growing up spending the weekends in Brooklyn with family, I never imagined I would actually get to live in New York City. I never thought I’d get to experience the complete sensory overload that is this city on a daily basis. I’ve been around the world and seen some amazing places, but all of them still pale in comparison.

Over 66 blocks of park on the Hudson. 51 blocks of park in the center of the city. A dense area of buildings you get dizzy from looking up at downtown. Bridges all around with construction and histories that you can marvel at. You can almost travel the world just by walking maybe 15 blocks. And just by walking out your front door, you can meet people from all walks of life, all spots on the political spectrum, and from countries you may never have even known existed. It’s incredible.

August will make 3 full years I’ve lived in the city. I may not live here forever, but I’ll enjoy every minute of it while I do.

10 March 2013 (Day 57)

————————————

I remember being a little girl and spending hours admiring the way the sun filtered through a window and danced on the walls or the wood floors. I’d trace the shadows with my finger and I’d sway with the shadows of the trees.

There was this huge sycamore tree next to my bedroom window in the house I grew up in. The sun would set behind it and peak through all the leaves, creating a brilliant show of fluttering shadows on my walls. It didn’t matter what I was doing, I had to run up to my room when I could see the sun was setting. I had to be there for that magical half hour or so every night.

Living in a high-rise building in NYC, I don’t get shadows of the leaves on my walls anymore. This picture is from my parents’ apartment. I was hanging out there and got a headache, so my mom said I should lie down. I took a little nap and when I woke up, I saw the way the hedges on the terrace were casting shadows on the window and it just brought me back to my childhood.

——————————————————

Also, today makes TWO MONTHS that I’ve done an entry a day! What a challenge and adventure. It’s been mostly photographs for a while now as I juggle a million things and find it easier to use photography since I can do it all on my phone while on the go. I’ve enjoyed the challenge of trying to find things to photograph that might be interesting. It’s even more of a challenge than drawing or doing something similar. I’ve enjoyed each and every day so far and hope I can continue this for much longer!

7 March 2013 (Day 54)

————————————————-

Most people don’t even think of it, but the supermarket is an artist’s playground. So many colors and textures. Millions of inspirations, from the stand full of lemons to the counter full of meats. I’d like to set up a little easel in the produce section and spend my day painting mountains of broccoli and fields of spinach.

18 January 2013 (Day 6)

Dear You,

It’s been a couple of years since that night we went driving through Philly. It was cold as hell out, but we had the windows down and the radio playing. I miss that. I miss you.

We ate dinner at some dinky little place in West Philly. It was dimly lit and we were the only ones there. We talked about politics and art and life while sipping red wine. You rambled on and on about something you were working on and all I could think of was how nice and straight your teeth were. Then you’d ask me a question and listen intently as I spoke, your head tilted slightly to the side. You’d nod and squint a little, deeply intrenched in my words. I felt bad I couldn’t focus as well when you spoke, but I was more interested in studying your face.

Your hair was cropped but still had a slight curl to it. Your eyes were as clear a blue as the sky beyond my window right now. They shimmered a little, like a stereotypical image of Santa with a glimmering eye. Your lips were thin, but sprung to life as you talked passionately about your projects. I observed every bend, curve, and fold in your face for that hour we sat there together. I committed it to memory as if it were the last time I would ever see you. My eyes left no freckle unnoticed, no eyelash unattended. You were wearing a grey t-shirt and some blue jeans under an enormous black winter puffer coat that you slung on the empty chair next to you.

After dinner we got in your car and set out on a trip with no destination. We were deep into the city in the places no one else goes when I felt it. The world could end right now and I would die happy I thought to myself. It was an odd thing to think, maybe even a little dramatic, but I couldn’t help but feel it. I felt happy and sad and loved. You would touch my hand when we stopped at red lights and it was like no other feeling I had ever experienced.

The last time we spoke was a month after that night. A piece of me has been missing since then. I moved here, you stayed there, and we figured it was best to part ways. I have no idea what your life is like now. Sometimes, on a lonely night, my mind wanders and I think of you sitting in that little restaurant reading a book and drinking a glass of wine. Maybe you’ve gotten married now and someone out there is getting to study your face instead of me. Maybe they’ve noticed the constellation of freckles on your face or the way you scrunch your nose when you’re thinking deeply about something.

I’m letting you go now. You’re free of me. Maybe you were free of me the day we parted ways. Maybe I’m the one that needs freeing. Either way, I’m going to stop thinking about you and that night or any other night we were together. I’ll let your face fade from my memory. I’ll feel happy for having known you, but not sad for having lost you.

Thank you for loving me in a time I can only imagine I was close to unlovable. Goodbye.

17 January 2013 (Day 5)

collage of colored construction paper with an ink drawing on top

———————————————————-

I am the person who watches the clouds float through the sky. I am the person who watches the grass rustle and the trees sway. I notice patterns in tree bark, step over cracks in sidewalks, and marvel at straight edges in buildings. I can stare at a tree all day long and never tire of it. I listen to the gentle lapping of water and feel soothed. Sand in my toes or dirt on my hands feels natural. I can close my eyes, imagine a flower, and be overcome by the smell of it though it’s not in front of me. Birds soaring in the sky is a marvelous sight to me and open fields make my heart skip a beat. Snow falling on my face is an indescribable joy. As a kid, I played in streams and rolled around in the grass. I wish I could still do that.

I am part of nature. I may live in a big city with sheltering walls and artificial means of heat, but I am of and from nature. The science behind what makes the sky blue is of no concern to me. All I care about is that the sky is blue and what a beautiful blue it is today.