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Being Apart and Retrouvailles


Retrouvailles [French]

The Happiness of meeting again after a long time

There are lots of ways that people can be separated. Whether “separate” meaning ending of a relationship, friendship, or bond; or meaning separated by distance and time rather than breaking off that relationship, being apart is painful.

I’ve had friends all over the world, some which I’ve been able to see yearly or more and others that I have never seen.

I have friends I’ve grown up with that became the closest and most important people in my life graduate high school and go far away for college. It hurt to be apart from them. It hurt to lose the physical connection we had and to lose the fulfilling meetings we used to have regularly. But we had retrouvailles when we were finally able to get together during summer, winter, and spring breaks.

Separation changes relationships and changes people. Communication and visiting become more special, but also more difficult. Talking to one another can become a chore, or become monotonous because the same questions are always being asked. “How was your day?” “What did you do?” “How is everyone back home?” “How is school?” “What are your classes like?”‘How was work?”. After a while it feels like there is nothing more to say over the phone or via text.

It feels like the distance between the two of you is prying a wedge between you even more than you thought it would.

happinessisexpensive

It’s costly on everyone in many ways. Seeing friends means gas money, spending money for activities, and food. Seeing friends means a plane ticket home or to them, expenses of travel and the like.

Being apart from friends means you might make new friends and lose those friends, or the flux of new friends is whittled down to the ones that you actually like talking to you, rather than the ones which are just convenient to converse with. The difference between a study buddy and a real pal. It costs time and effort to be happy, to stay happy, and to preserve the happiness that you have with those you love most in the world.

The hardest part about these expenses, is making sure they are worth it, and remain worth it.

convenient

Something being worth your time is far from something which is just convenient. Although, convenience does assist in keeping things that are worth your time.

Convenience is having a neighbor that you can barrow things from politely and they have the same relationship with you, but you wouldn’t invite them over for a heart-to-heart about your dying uncle and the struggles of cancer in your family.

The kind of person you invite over for that serious conversation who thinks you are worth their time is the friend that maybe it isn’t all that convenient for them to see you. That’s why it is special when you see each other, because when you do, both of you have planned that chat, that cup of tea or coffee, that special meeting spot, or the favorite seats in your living room. The date’s been on your calendar and it has been something the two of you texted about for weeks. Making sure both could be there around the same time, prepared and with lots to say.

But also with this best friend, you don’t always need something to talk about. Silence can convey what you need it to as well. Because sometimes all you can say is “I’m so glad you are here,” with me because I need you and you are worth it and I love being with you because I love you. 

And you know they are thinking the same thing and don’t need to say it.

coolshit

Harmony in the those moments of retrouvailles.

Finals Week Check List


1. Some how reacquaint myself with Alejandro

2. Get more people to accidentally flirt with

3. Cuddle with everyone

4. Fail an audition

5. Environmental Science class is still not accomplishing anything

6.English Composition II is still not accomplishing anything

7. Be annoyed by my ENG II teacher

8. Talk to Dr. Teacher

9. Send love notes

10. Get rejected

11. Cry pitifully to oneself during class

12. Throw papers manically.

13. Throw oneself onto couch in desparity

14. Devise evil plans

15. Watch stupid videos

16. Facebook too much

17. Listen to depressing music

18. Argue with That Pirate Kid

19. Get Married

20. Disappoint my father

21. Dont drive

22. Drink a lot of tea

23. Microwave a lot of tea and meals

24. Eat alone

25. SHIT TON OF MOISTURIZER

26. LIP BALM

27. Have cold hands

28. Play guitar till my fingers almost bleed and my hand falls asleep.

29. Count

30. Try to forget

31. Get depressed by the holidays

32. Cancel New Year’s Eve Party because I hate everyone

33. Unfriend a lot of people on facebook like a pro

34. Go shopping.

35. Video game therapy.

36. Block people on Xbox

37. Make new friends

38. Scrap four blog posts.

39. Pretend to do work .

40. Write long lists.

41. Go to Church

42. Send this link to people

My College Applications


My dreaded, and also exciting, search for colleges and now applying for them has been so exhausting in so many ways. The horrors of touring giant colleges with my crazy parents who never get along has been very real. My first campus tour last spring at UMass Amherst wasn’t totally a disaster but it was rough, and at the end of the day all I wanted to do was call my boyfriend and cry all night. So I did, while sitting in the empty tub of the hotel while my brother played video games on the bed. I didn’t particularly like the college. My mother had attended there for 8 years, and she hadn’t even visited the college before throwing herself into the application process, she had just wanted to get out. But the cement covered valley with its high risers that stuck out harshly against the barren landscape didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t want this ginormous campus to be my home, it felt too much like a evil institution like in all those dystopian movies I watch. I felt incredibly alone in the crowd and lost in all the commotion of schedules and 100 kid lecture halls. Even though the tour guides said the only 100 person classes they had  ever taken were their first semester ones, it didn’t assure me that I would find my place at UMass. No, this place wasn’t for me.

I toured one other college that I got infatuated with, Hampshire College, or as my parents called it while going to UMass: “Hamster College” since all the weirdos went there. I felt like the curriculum was really me. Yet again though, I found that the barren fields, and awkward buildings that I was getting lost in were making me feel unwelcome. But mostly it was my tour guide telling me to “Get off my high horse and realize you aren’t special.” That was a very big blow to all my philosophical beliefs.  He recommended I read a bunch of books about the insignificance of my existence and people’s lack of ability to be different from one another. I looked down onto my pin that I got from the college. It had a picture of a sheep and an red x across it. Don’t be a sheep. Don’t follow. Be a leader. Be a world Changer. Be different. Be special. That was the college’s motto, and I wondered how a person could go to a college with that motto but come out saying “No one is special.” It made me doubt some credibility. I still like Hampshire, but I have some philosophical wars going on.

Next stop was Salem State University. It was smaller and sweeter and newer than UMass. The library was way cooler and the facilities rocked. Even the dorms were better than UMass Amherst’s. I was impressed with the peppiness of the guides and welcomer’s and the enthusiasm and honestly of the admissions adviser who spoke to us. Then we went to another lecture for the “undecided”. This was a disaster. Absolute cacophony of horridness. The man speaking to us must have been having a mid life crisis of some kind since he just ranted about politics and when he was actually on topic I asked a question about something and announced I was home schooled. He said. “Well, college will be a culture shock.” and a few other comments of similar views. I was so insulted I almost left the room. I simply do not understand how a college professor could be that ignorant. Educate thyself and read some Socrates.

I’ve toured BC, Suffolk, Merrimack, and Bowdoin since then. Bowdoin was another catastrophe, but the college was pretty. I won’t tell this story since it was such a strange day. I also hate the person I liked at the time. (I wrote another post about him, but it got deleted accidentally) Now I am applying to an arts and communication school, Emerson. I’m applying for Writing, Literature, and Publishing, crossing my fingers they accept me!!!

Here are my college essays: 

Q: Discuss an accomplishment or event, formal or informal, that marked your transition from childhood to adulthood within your culture, community, or family Settling down on a name was hard for my parents before I was born. My mom wanted something interesting, different, not the Sarah, Emily, and Elizabeth’s of the world kind of name, she wanted it to be a creative and interpretive thing. My dad wanted exactly what my mother didn’t. He wanted tradition continuing to honor ancestors. I was going to be Alice Marie, May Eddie, or Willamina. Don’t get me wrong, Alice Marie, May Eddie, and Willamina are beautiful names, but I am not an Alice, nor May, and even more so, I am not a Willamina. Samantha suited me for a while, but it felt uncomfortable. I felt like it was a whiny, nasally noise people were yelling at me across the baseball field, up at bat, and then when I got hit with the ball a thousand times it was cooed out by my couch and that silly Tyler boy who still is lovesick for me today. “Samantha, are you OK? You get to walk.” That’s all I was doing, walking through the pitches, taking the hits, never swinging into a ball and hitting a home run then racing across the field for a winning game. I was standing in the outfield, waiting around, picking boogers, and staring into the sun, asking it, “Why do they call me Samantha? Who gave them the right to call me something I never signed up to be called?” As I grew up I liked to play make believe, and I would take on my make believe names for years. I was Mike (4-5 years old), Isabelle (6-7), Amber (7-8), Crystal (9-10), Landia (10-11), and then I found something I fell in love with. Zanthia. I wanted that to be me. Zanthia was beautiful, Zanthia was complex, Zanthia didn’t whine, Zanthia didn’t sit in the outfield, Zanthia hit home runs, Zanthia was a good friend and team player, and Zanthia was a Queen. But also, Zanthia wasn’t a stuck up girl, she was a transforming butterfly, she was becoming something she didn’t even know could be. Zanthia was ready to take on the world, or what she’d like to call her fairy kingdom. I decided to be Zanthia. Just like in the Bible when Saul realizes he was wrong about life and turns to God and is renamed Paul, Sarai and Abram realize they are called for something more and are changed to Sarah and Abraham, I was changed from Samantha the listener to Zanthia the fair haired. I claimed myself as my own, more than just claiming my body and personality, I made my identity. My parents may have needed to have a starting basis on what to call me, but I knew Samantha wasn’t a tattoo that was going to last forever on me. Samantha was little leagues. Samantha was playground talk. I was now the Queen of the Fairy Kingdom and Queen of Me. Zanthia.

If you could title your life anything what would it be? : I consider my life a building work of art. The hardest part of being an artist is naming your art. Sometimes stories are easily explained in a banner (headline) phrase: “Don’t Do Me Wrong”, “Love Me Do,” and “Good Girls, Bad Boys”, but some stories need more of a lead-like or thesis title, which a lot of punk rock songs use: “This isn’t a fashion statement it’s a deathwish”, “This mirror isn’t big enough for the two of us”, “Here’s that song you wanted”, or “Where can I stab myself in the ears”. The only reason I do not name my songs like the untitled versions of Shakespearean sonnets is because I am simply not allowed to. As a singer songwriter I’ve been forced to take my beautifully self titled songs like “I Really Shouldn’t Be Doing This”, or “My Soul’s Seasons of Drought”, and “Build Yourself A Home Inside My Heart” to be cut down to “Home” which does it no justice to what the song is actually about and is easily confused with the famous country song. At certain points in my life, namely ages 11-14, I would’ve liked to title my life: “Sometimes I Scream Aloud”, “Failure to Assimilate”, and “Would It Be Weird If”. Now I am almost 18 and many things have changed since my preadolescence and I can say that “The Uselessness of Trying To Be Human” is among my top three titles. The other two are: “My Reputation: An Apology” and “I Tried The Best I Could To Write You Songs.”

Totally doesn’t apply to this post, but I like this gif ALOT: I love you Roozbeh <3;)

The Most Sad Blog Post That Ever Will Be


These past weeks have really sucked. Not because nothing good happened, but because all the good things were spoiled by disappointments, and disaster took ever shining moment into a tainted crimson version of what it could’ve been. Which was a nice sepia, but that’s not what these weeks look like now, they are sad.

Lyrics that I relate to right now: (Here With Me by Dido)

Oh I am what I am
I’ll do what I want
But I can’t hide
I won’t go
I won’t sleep
I can’t breathe
Until you’re resting here with me
I won’t leave
I can’t hide
I cannot be
Until you’re resting here with me

Fell in love with a nice boy, he said he wanted a commitment. I told him even though that was hard for me, I’d do it for him. A day later he ended things making excuses about not knowing what the future held and being not ready for it.
Two days later he is making out with his best friend’s girl.
So honestly…
Rough knows what’s up.
“Let’s still be friends.”

Ha. You’re funny. 

Extroverts


Are you an extrovert?

Why yes. I am.

The list of things on this page is very true… I do come on very strong. When I get really excited about something when I’m talking about an issue, people think I’m angry. The truth is I am just very fired up about a lot subjects.

I also hate doing nothing. It makes me feel exceedingly tired, drained, upset, and anxious.

I’ll get restless and go running around the neighborhood in a formal dress screaming. Seriously, I’ve done it.

Sometimes if I really have nothing to do, I’ll get my 50’s baby pram and drive it around with all my stuffed animals inside. I’ll wear a black and white full length gown with elbow long gloves. I go all out.

I devise plans to go to the movie theaters with my friend’s when we know we will be the only one’s in the theater, just so we can run up and down the isles, throw popcorn at the screen and scream a lot.

Sometimes we will go to different stores just to bother people we know who work there. McDonalds get’s popular after 10:30 pm.

Late night strolls in the empty town park, spinning in the dark. Going on long aimless car rides blasting the dumbest music and keeping the windows down.

The energy that we have is seemly infinite.

Then I get home after all of this and throw myself on the yellow linoleum floor of the kitchen that I’ve always hated and stare at the ceiling. I’ll stay there for an hour or so until I have to pick myself up and actually go to bed. Only after finding a snack.

Extroverted in an introvert social world.

If you think about it, extroverts are always the entertainers, but never the people you really think: “They got a lot to them.” That’s only because I don’t believe there is such thing as a secret.

Yesterday, I was sitting with 2 other girls that I’ve known all my life. We’ve been best friends for years. I wouldn’t tell them who I had hung with the last Thursday they saw me, and the Beez Neez was upset, but The Queen nodded and understood. Beez Neez wouldn’t stop, but I looked at The Queen and we had a silent understanding. She told me something she couldn’t tell BN, and I told her something I couldn’t tell many others. I also knew a secret BN had never told either of us.

The thing about secrets is that the person with the secret always tells at least 2 people, and that means those two people probably told 2 other people and so on. This means, that everyone secretly knows the secret. But it’s not a secret anymore if everyone so secretly knows is it?

Hence why I dont think that secrets exist.

This is also an extrovert trait. We supposedly have no secrets, we are open books. Which is true. I dont think I have any secrets any more. Not TRUE secrets. Well, maybe one. But I think everyone already secretly knows. It doesn’t matter then.

Communication


Kids these days.

We dont speak in normal sentences anymore, or in paragraphs really.

Poetry doesn’t always cut it, neither does song, or even a small note…

We speak in symbols.

Short phrase and moving pixels.

Small words and imagines that carry meaning farther than we probably know sometimes.

Mentality:

1377245_225258667641577_1299248709_n

 

Adventure:

 

doepicshit

 

Emotion:

 

 

 

ilovedallofyou

 

Problems:

 

sorryforbeingfuckeduo

 

Anger:

heywowfuckyou

 

and :

Congrats! You're An Asshole

 

Reactions:

doneanimeAlways wanted to use that one.

More reactions:

lilopillowLots of feels.

 

 

And then true sentiments:

Nothing

This one holds true for me so much… the less good you do the less good you feel, so the less good people do, the less good everything this….

supposedtobefun

 

This applies specifically to me most the time because I find human interaction hard. I cant talk to people like I used to be able to. I mean, there are a select few I can actually communicate effectively with, but even them…. it’s hard.

Finding and keeping friends… I know the ones that are real are the ones that call me back though, even if we are angry with each other. We always call back .

idontknowwhy

 

 

 

 

A Special Message To Complainers


On any given day, people complain about being unloved, alone, sad, unsatisfied and lonely. On Valentine’s day this is increased 1000000000x fold. People in a relationship either complain about their significant other or they gloat about all the things they did and stuff they received. These rants  can be prolonged starting from the beginning of February to a week after the 14th. I am realizing now how much I hate people that complain. Especially this one kid in my Political Science class that never shuts up.

exhalesloudly

Yet, here I am complaining about complainers. Wonderful.

foxy

Then there are the complainers that project their ideas of what should happen on to you like so:

“I got a special ticket to a special event and an extra one for the guest of my choice! Guess who I will dress up as?”

Some dude: “*A very sexy lady that is his favorite character*”

me: “No… *some other chick*” 

Some dude: “U mean the one I could be the other half too? Is that what the other ticket is for?”

me: “………………………………………… just wow.”

everyonehereverystoned(dat James Marsters tho)

This never ends for me.

What I want to do allllll the time:

silverlingingplaybookfu

And then say not so politely in 5 words:

tumblr_n01lsvLX6p1tpinpgo1_500

Well… Valentine’s day was a nice. I gave gifts to friends and it was nice, although I didn’t receive any except for one yesterday that was fine with me. I got plenty of good cupcakes from friends.

and I am 17 now. It doesn’t sit right with me really. But, I realize that now isn’t about now, now is about getting to R, and until at R, now is just whats happening. Get thee to a NunneRRRRRy, me, before Hamlet cries himself a river of blood and I gotta drown in it.

But until then,

don’t you forget about me.

breakfastclub