Reading is important, kids!

I worry.
I worry so much.
How is it that he passed?
I mean, maybe I was privileged.
Maybe I was surrounded by good teachers and good students.
He's not a bad student though.
He's not.
His grades were good.
Mostly B's and a few A's and the occasional C's.
He failed one class.
That's fine.
It was physics.
Math isn't his thing.
Neither is science really.
That's okay.
But then, now this?
He's a freshman in college.
Yet, he doesn't know a single thing about MLA.
Or writing a paper.
He doesn't.
I mean, his vocabulary is okay.
He doesn't like to read either.
It never occurred to me how important reading is...was.
I always loved it so I never thought of it as educating myself.
It was just fun.
I guess I worry too much.
He'll be successful in college.
He was good in high school.
Even though he didn't once study.
Or care.
I think he will learn to study.
Hopefully, he will.
He better.
I worry.
I can't help it.
I want to see him succeed.
Be that awesome kid I know he can be.
Academically, that is.
He's a business major.
He has to get a master's.
I don't think he knows this.
I'd rather not say yet.
I worry.
I worry so much.
He's my baby brother.
I love him.

Oh my!

I did something naughty.
I mentioned to my friend that I had a blog.
That we had a blog.
Yeah.
It slipped.
The only friend that knew was you.
I don't think she'll read it.
If she does, HI.
I hope you like it.
I hope you're able to tell when I write.
I think you might.
Maybe.
I like to believe my personality shows in my writing.
If it doesn't, that's just so sad.
My dreams of having two distinct voices in this blog would be shattered.
Like a vase made of glass hitting the floor.
CRACK!
BANG!
BOOM!
Atom bomb!
Anyway, I have many tests next week.
I hope I pass.
God help me.

Happy birthday!

Happy birthday to you from Elmo! 

(and L too!)


(PS. How funny is it that it was created by "macksexy creations"?!)

my thoughts are other people's thoughts

reflections on age

this was my last weekend as a teenager, it was done right. i usually wouldn't call high levels of intoxication right, but in this case it definitely was perfect. maybe i didn't do all the school work i should have done, but i spent the weekend with incredible friends who i don't spend enough time with or ever eat this much cake with.

my favorite thing a friend said during our late nights was:"whoa, we're all in tight clothes and drinking out of test tubes, i feel like we're at a state school, " when we were getting dressed to go to a swing dance and taking shots out of plastic technicolored tubes. another great thing i heard was when a stranger complimented me in saying "you're adorable and you have a great laugh, you'd make a perfect high buddy."

i got this horoscope a few months ago and i wrote down the questions it presented because they seemed like a useful new-years self-reflection task. birthdays are kind of like new years day. these are just some good things to think:
What would you like to leave behind from the past 12 months? What has prevented you from living up to your highest standards and being your very best self? What would you love to bring with you into the next 12 months?  Who served as a teacher for you in the past year? Were you a teacher for anyone? Is there anyone you need to forgive?  How will you go about forgiving?

i always feel weird about birthdays and the attention and special treatment that comes with them. i'm fine celebrating others' birthdays; not so much my own. the most apt quote that always comes to mind is Andrea Gibson's "We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways, but you still have to call it a birthday."

let it be known that i spent my last hours as a 19 yr old with a few friends in a 24 hour pancake and steak house, eating the most delicious pancakes that have existed as we thought of ways i would remember the end of my teenage years. of course, i came back and filled my absentee voting ballot, listened to drake and elliott smith, seriously considering the questions

do you love this shit?
are you high right now?
do you ever get nervous?
are you single?
i heard you fucked your girl, is it true?
you getting money? you think them niggas you with is with you?

and then decided to write a blog post about it.

Teenage Years,
you've been a struggle, a mystery, a grand blessing. i wonder if i can think of one thing for each year.
13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19. they all blur together in a spectrum of embarrassing/awkward moments of self-loathing to incredible highs of love and [com]passion for everyone, everything, specific people. i've had some highs and lows, here's to more of that in my twenties and beyond.
laissez les bons temps rouler.
♥ A

Fear

Fear is overwhelming.
I'm not afraid of heights or the darkness.
I'm not afraid of flying in airplanes or water.
I'm afraid of animals.
I'm so afraid.
I found a cockroach in my room today.
I couldn't handle it.
I freak out if it's outside of my room.
But I can try to kill it.
I will scream a little but try.
I just couldn't handle the fact that it was in my room.
In my sanctum.
My inner sanctum.
I didn't know what to do.
I just screamed for my brother.
Screamed like my life depended on it.
It did.
I thought it did.
It's not rational.
I know.
It's such a small insect and I'm so much bigger.
I just got scared.
I just did.
I started crying because it ran away and it hid.
I can't sleep in the same room.
It might crawl into my bed.
Walk all over me with its tiny insect legs.
I can't deal with that.
I screamed and screamed.
I wanted to throw up.
It's so irrational but it was in my room and I didn't know where.
I couldn't respond to its attack until it would have been too late.
I screamed and screamed.
My brother got exasperated.
He threw me things everywhere.
He was desperate to shut me up by finding it.
Finally, he found it.
He found it and he killed it.
He killed it and flushed it away.
He killed it and I was scared.
I was so scared.
I'm so scared.

Red Lipstick

Well, here's the thing.
Red lipstick?
It makes you feel sexy.
I am not even kidding.
I have a friend who uses red lipstick everyday.
I think it's because it makes her feel sexy.
Sexy is power.
Everyone likes power.
I wore red lipstick Saturday night and let me tell you.
I liked it.
It made me feel good.
My friend also wore red lipstick.
You could tell she enjoyed it too.
I love it.
However, I am more of a pink lipstick type of girl.
I wear dark pink lipstick everyday.
I want it to stain my lips.
It makes my lips look good.
My lips are my favorite part of my body.
I love the shape of them.
They're very nicely shaped.
I wish people would notice them more.
I do.
Anyway, that's it.
I'm done.

there's something to be said about this week's postsecrets

Eye Can See It Now

I have an eye exam tomorrow.
I'm scared my eyesight is getting worse.
I don't want to go blind.

Update:
My prescription went up significantly.
This bothers me.

My brother...

...came over and showed me the notebooks he had bought for his college classes (which start tomorrow). He asked, "did I buy the right ones?" I answered, "yeah." He then said, "well, yeah, I thought they were right. They're college-ruled."

Hair, hair, hair!

I cut my hair.
And I feel free.
I feel so free.
I feel free and I like it.
Yes, it is not a pixie cut.
Or a bob.
It is mid length but it is not awkward.
I cut my hair and I like it.
I have shaved off two years off my face.
Meaning that I now look 14.
I don't care.
I want to embrace my cuteness.
My adorableness.
There is no conventional sexiness in me.
My cuteness and how I embrace it makes me sexy.
I can't look seductive and shit.
It's OK.
I love that about myself.
I think girls need to stop trying to seem like they're not innocent when they are.
Be what you are.
Don't pretend to be something you are not.
It's not attractive and people can see right through.
Esse Quam Videri, people.
To be, rather than to seem to be.
Don't try to prove to people you aren't innocent.
Let people think what they like.
It doesn't change who you are.
I like my short hair.
I am as free as my hair.

p-town summers

"i think everyone should stay in Portland for a summer, just to see our college from a different angle." she said to me.
though she had left town before i got here, i knew what she meant when i saw the sunset on that first friday.

the pacific northwest sunsets are the most beautiful things i have ever witnessed. the golden honey, vibrant purple, and burnt orange hues, the wispy clouds. it's so surreal. every time.

the dripping popsicles that we share on the balconies as our tongues and teeth turn unsightly tones of magenta. the sweet red and purple imprints left on our hands and lips after we've picked and eaten our fill of strawberries and blueberries.

the laughters that echo in the quad. especially when we're running through sprinklers at midnight. the unpredictable twists and turns of your car rides. singing our hearts out in the car, getting out of the car to dance dance dance.

Portland and my friends here have such a special place in heart. when i try to think of how i feel about being here, blessed is the best answer i can come up with.

Hair Three Times

Yes, I know.

I'm talking about hair for God knows for how much again.

It doesn't matter.

I am cutting my hair.

Short.

No pixie because I can handle that right now. 

But short.

Tomorrow at 9:30 AM.

It is going down. 

Like Donkey Kong.

Damn right. 

secret

there are three postsecrets that really resonate with me this week and i want to post them here:

1. 

i really have to stop pushing people away/finding excuses for why i can't date otherwise nice boys

2. 

the front of this one says "Bikram is the only thing keeping me from totally losing my shit" and it's stamped from Portland, OR. which is absolutely fitting. Ok, maybe bikram yoga doesn't totally apply in my case, but i definitely feel that way about zen meditation. it's weird to say because i never thought i'd be that type of person, yet it's true.

3. 

every once in a while i save a good/inspiring/heartwarming sunday postsecret to my computer. i thought i'd share this quality one with our blog today.

rii: gloomy nights

i understand.

i want to say everyone goes through the same thing, but i know that not everyone does. or rather, not everyone recognizes it because our society has some fucked up idea that it's not ok to be sad--even if that's what you're feeling. bullshit.

it's weird being a psych major when things like this come up because i start thinking about neurochemical circuits and imbalance and release and uptake. then i always have to take a step back and remind myself of the bigger picture. the person behind the brain. the brain is behind the person.

i go through the same ups and downs. my highs are infinitely high, and my lows always feel like i've reached new depths. when i'm at a low, though, i think of the high points and write the sadness away. mint tea and sad novels help too. sometimes a good cry does the trick. that's just me though.

the take home message is that we all deal with "gloomy nights" in different ways. some people ignore the feeling and surround themselves with others. some people take alone time to process and cleanse. at some point you get better at dealing with it all. at some point you begin to wonder if you're having a quarter life crisis. at some point you have to remind yourself that you're not alone in this experience, that this too shall pass, that you have to let go and let God.

camp for the real world

i want to write a blog post
to get things out, to make things beautiful and memorable
but the words aren't coming.
i can't find the poetic words to describe my long, arduous days at camp
to describe the visual structures we created, the activities we fought to get to, the events we struggled leaving (pool), and the joyous laughs we shared at night on that rocking chair porch.
southern nights, rocked away, the sounds of heavy rainfall, the hot rolling fog that would rise from the ground following rain showers.
the weekends when we'd leave camp grounds, exploring the hip city
no making plans, but letting the night carry us through;
walking into album release parties for the experimental arts,
running through private gardens in the dead of the night with the buzz of gin in our souls & love in our hearts.
coming back to a different porch, spilling our stories. having kale, cornbread, and more gin.
unexpected drives to faraway towns, along beautiful, winding stretches of road and mountain.
the blue ridge parkway.
dancing: contra on thursdays, feeling like we were southern belles, spinning spinning spinning, from one man's arms to another's. the club, or "gaybar" as Ginny would say, on the weekends that let us get it all out. the drum circles where we'd move with the crowd, making new friends along the way.
the people we did it all for: our campers.
their smiles, their tears, their hugs and other forms of affection.
the moment B gave me an award for being the person he loved very much. when B and N would fight over me in the pool, they each wanted to kidnap me to their secret lair, but would settle on hugging me tightly. angry birds and listening to the waves splashing to the music (adagio or allegro?)
the radio show i'd put on with R outside the pool. Radio start: down by the bay, my mother would say, you're under arrest, that great big moose. Radio stop. busy time.
R and his pokemon schedule. running around the field, protecting our kickball team like zoroarc.
the first B and singing baby bumblebee, and pushing yellow, green, red wagons.
A and her "dammit alice in wonderland, are you listening to me?"
love love love the campers and their gifts. love my co-workers.
love people, they're what matters.

Eye See It Now

Another night, another post.

A few weeks ago I started noticing that one of my eyes is smaller that the other.

I freaked out.

This is my eye.

My eye that lets me see.

My eye.

So, I show my parents.

They look at me and say, "you, daughter, are crazy."

I knew they were wrong.

I see my eye.

This freaks me out.

I am very blind.

Myopia.

I have that.

-8.00 prescription in each eye. 

I am always scared it is going to get worse.

I don't want to be blind.

I love seeing things.

Beautiful things, ugly things.

So, I tell my friend and she says that I am crazy.

That everyones face is not symmetrical.

I wasn't listening. 

My eye is smaller and I was freaking out.

Later, my mom looks at me and says, "oh wow! Your eye IS smaller! I......maybe....uh, we should see a doctor."

So, I'm freaking out more.

You see this face has to get me a husband.

Husbands don't go for freaks with small eyes.

At least, well, you know.

I'm 21.

Anyway, this is in the back of my mind.

My friends think I'm crazy.

They think I'm crazy.

Well, they were right.

I looked at my passport photo.

The one that was taken when I was younger.

My little eye is still there.

I just noticed at 21.

I can deal with it.

Hell, if anything, I'll stick a toothpick to hold my eyelid up.

That'll get them. 

Gloomy Nights

Here I find myself again.

Sad for no reason.

I've had an unproductive weekend, yes.

It was out of choice. 

I chose it to be an unproductive weekend.

A weekend of laziness.

But I am sad.

I am so sad.

I don't know why. 

My mom calls it the melancholy part of my personality. 

It's true.

This isn't the worst episode.

It's not.

That prize goes to the episode in Colombia during Christmas break.

I spent a whole day crying and being absolutely miserable for no reason at all.

I just felt so sad.

Like my life depended on me being sad.

I couldn't help but just feel like that day wasn't worth it.

Like I was never going to come out of it.

I knew that there was no reason for my sadness.

Which drove me into more sadness.

And the hole became deeper.

I felt that crying would control it, make go away.

The thing with crying is that everyone can see it.

Especially, when you're staying in an overcrowded house.

Overcrowded because of my family.

Because my family was visiting. 

I've had episodes before that but my parents hadn't witnessed them.

My dad didn't understand; my mom did.

She knew and it worried her.

I feel a teensy bit like that tonight.

I'm hoping writing will make it go away.

I don't think I'm depressive.

I sure hope I am not.

Not everyone understands. 

One of my closest friends doesn't get it.

I want her to understand.

The sadness doesn't come out of boredom.

Doing "fun" things will not make it go away.

It goes away by itself. 

It just goes away. 

un angel de los santos

the heavy silence had set in once more, despite the Z100 tunes and the roaring of the car engine in the background. we were leaving that house in the city, the one where she and I grew up, the one that had been in the family for almost 25 years now. it was always a safe haven amongst the hustle and bustle of the city. the little brick house in Queens that has seen more changes in us, in structure, in community--more than any one of us ever thought possible. i had always thought of the house as the one place where i could turn, but not on this day. on july 3rd we fled, far away, to a relative's house outside the city. we found ourselves in the woods.

 this isn't how i thought it would happen, but i guess things like this can't ever be planned. my grandfather passed away on tuesday and though we all knew it was coming, i was shaken. one hundred and four: that's how old we believe he was. you can't ever trust birth documents in a country that is constantly losing files to natural disasters, so his age was determined by word of mouth, tracking down his past and matching it to other relatives' accounts.

my last memory of him was the night before as we said goodnight at the hospital: he was curled up in a white blanket, with a white cloth over his head. he looked like a newborn infant, innocent and ready to be introduced to the world. so weak he could no longer speak, swallow, eat. hadn't done so for days. but he would still stroke his head, just like he always had. that's not how i want to remember him though...
 my favorite memory of him was when my cousins and i were around nine years old and gathered around a new video game in the little brick house. we believed we were home alone. we were hypnotized by the game on the screen when we hear the approaching heavy footsteps of a man. he's six foot one, has a built frame, and darkened mustache and eyebrows. who is this intruder? we all scream and frantically run around, he's definitely out to kill us like those zombies in the video game. then he speaks, and his voice is gentle. it has that soothing quality we all know and that boyish chuckle we recognize. it's our grandfather with newly dyed facial hair. in an attempt to look younger, he fooled us all into thinking he was a stranger.
 then there were the countless times he would chase us around the rose garden, right outside the little brick house. he'd have at least three rubber bands on his wrist, and one wrapped around his fingers. a perfect slingshot aimed at us. i remember hiding behind derek, my shield against those menacing rubber bands. my heart would race whenever i'd see them; when he didn't have them out though, i'd beg for him to bring them out. it was always our game. 
there's also the countless summer afternoons when we would sit on the steps of the little brick house and sip semi-frozen coke and munch on cheeto's. i don't think i've ever seen anyone have such a great look of satisfaction as they lick the remains of cheeto's off their fingers. the puffy ones always remind me of him.

whatever the memory is, it's surely tied to either that brick house in Queens or the orange house in la Republica Dominicana. and so on that day, we fled the city and took a trip. we went far, far, far. no cellphone service, no internet, no city skyscrapers, no nosy neighbors. just family. she broke the heavy silence in the car when she turned to me and said, "you know, i feel at peace now knowing that he's moved on. that he's no longer suffering." though we shed our fair amount of tears and said our prayers, i feel at peace too. knowing that he's on to greater and better things and that he served such a wonderful purpose while he was with us. i'm blessed to have had an abuelo who was such an ever present part of my life. 
and now, as i'm back in the little brick house, writing this up, i'm flooded with memories of being six years old and hiding from my parents in this corner (i can see my old house from this window and would watch them cross the street to pick me up). i have memories of being eight years old and playing with dolls in this corner. of being thirteen and painting my nails in this corner. i love this little brick house, i love the memories it keeps, i love my family, i love my abuelo. 

How to Tie a Tie

Yes.

I am a woman.

I don't wear ties.

Not that trendy. 

I would look ridiculous! 

I would.

However, I am learning how to tie ties.

I have my favorite knots.

The half Windsor and the Pratt knot.

The prettiest ones. 

They're the neatest knots.

There's the 4 in hand knot is crooked.

The Windsor knot is too wide.

I hope some sad dude doesn't know how to tie a tie and says, "¡oh! ¿Quien podra ayudarme?"

I jump out and say, "¡yo,La maestra de las corbatas!"

Save the day with my awesome tie tying skills.

Oh yeah.

I can picture it now. 

I don't know what other useless skills I can learn.

It's really awesome.

Tying ties.

Try it.

I dare you.

You will love it. 

Insecurities

It hasn't being even a week since I made my resolution and I am scared.
It's not even going to happen until a year from now!
I can't help it though.
Everything is coming to my head.
Making me nervous.
I'm both super excited and scared shit less.
I am so scared.
Burr.
I want to do it.
I want to cut my hair.
But would I be able to pull it off?
Will be a part of me?
Will I own it?
Or will it own me?
I have a boyish figure.
Not so many curves.
I'm scared I am going to look like a boy.
I'm scared that I am going to look like a boy.
I like boys.
I want boys to like me.
But if I look like one of them they won't like me.
Is that terrible?
I know I'm being insecure.
I know this.
Can't be helped though.
It's impossible for me to imagine my hair that short.
It just not possible.
I'm so scared.
I want to do it though.
I might do it.
I might do it before.
Even if I want to die after.
I'm still going to do it.
I will.
I promise.

Hair: Part Deux

I've written about hair before.
How it was the frame of the face and shit.
I mentioned that I have always wanted a pixie cut.
Like Twiggy above.
I've made a resolution.
A resolution i am going to keep.
I'm going to stop being afraid.
Afraid of the unknown.
You see, I don't know how I would look like without my long hair.
My very long hair.
Almost to my ass.
Ass ass ass.
My resolution is the following:
I am going to cut my hair like Twiggy after my graduation.
I am going to do.
I'm so excited!
I cannot wait.
Dasss righttt.

integrity and shit

So I'm sitting in the boston airport after a week at a leadership conference with sixtytwo other collge students and five adult facilitators; i feel like I'm leaving here empty hand but so fulfilled at the same time. In a week I opened myself up to people in ways I'd never done, I thought about my vision of the future for at least three scheduled hours a day, and I effectively actively listened as others did the same. It was wonderful to be in a room with people my age who have great visions for the future, who want to challenge and change the system. I'm excited to go out there and do cool shit. This was a great start to his summer; it has made me so pumped for north Carolina!

Getting Schooled

Well, I'm making this blog my bitch.
Oh no! You say.
Profanity!
Oh but isn't this supposed to be a family oriented blog?!
Well, let me tell you, my dear reader, that I have no idea where you got that from.
So, as I was saying, I'm making this blog my bitch.
At least for today.
I have yet to meet a boy/man that I feel any type of attraction to.
At least long lasting.
Yes, I've had little crushes.
Some have been for a long time.
This was only because I never really got to know the guy.
I get really bored VERY fast.
Speedy freaking Gonzalez fast.
I don't know why.
In recent times, there has been a few guys.
One was Venezuelan and fucking annoying.
Yes, the curse word is necessary.
It emphasizes the annoyingness.
He is good looking but man, I can't stand more than 5 minutes with him.
Then, there's my friend that I met at a conference.
Great body.
OK face.
But so boring.
We have nothing in common but our major.
Plus, he's been my college frustration.
He shows a LIL' bit of interest and then, KAPOW! He runs away.
No.
He needs to not run away.
It wouldn't b anything serious.
I couldn't deal with serious with him.
Anyway.
My other friend.
Physically? Meh.
Personality? AWESOME.
Just. Awesome.
He has a girlfriend though.
Stops our friendship from growing.
I hate it.
So much.
Whatever.
So that's about...OH WAIT.
WOW.
I was forgetting my other friend.
Oh, wow.
I guess not much of a friend if I was forgetting him.
You see, I met him at a party.
Cute enough.
Flirty.
Started talking and getting to know each other.
Dates, hanging out.
I thought it would go somewhere.
But then, I realized that there was something in his personality that just...stopped me from liking him completely.
I just stopped liking him.
I thought he understood when I wasn't eager to see him or making plans.
He didn't.
He hasn't.
Even though, I called him "friend" repeatedly.
I told him we are not dating.
I thought he understood.
I'm not so sure.
I'm still figuring that out.
So now I am left with no one.
And I am not happy about this.
I don't know what this makes me.
Never had a boyfriend.
I am abnormal.
I am.
I am and I feel OK with that.
I just.
Hmm, I don't want a boyfriend- don't get me wrong.
Hmm, actually I'm perfectly OK with where I am and what I have in that sense.
Damn, this blog made me its bitch.
I got schooled yo.
Peaceee.

Jonas Brothers - Burnin' Up

Even on the bus we would get on our toes for that part :)

gonna make it

this song is so empowering. makes me feel good in every way and helps me get through these finals! 

kelly clarkson + t-swift = reading/finals week success.

ahhh this time next year i will be in paris! so elated with this news
i've missed this blog, i have a feeling i'll be writing more in it this summer.

Birds! Y u no sleep?

I am a loving person.
No, really I am.
I love nature.
I do.
I'm not some tree hugger.
But I do think that our environment and its creatures should be safe guarded.
I'm not going to think your puppy is cute.
I'm not.
Neither will I find your cat precious.
I'm allergic.
Plus, they're like little lions.
This equates to dangerous.
So, no, I won't like your cat.
I used to like birds.
They fly.
They're not usually scary.
This has changed.
It has.
My room is next to a tree.
This tree is riddled with birds.
I haven't been able to sleep for 2 nights.
I'm going crazy.
I love sleeping.
These stupid, stupid birds.
I want to shoot them.
I do.
I don't feel bad saying that.
Nope.
No, remorse.
I don't know what to do.
My dad's getting inch thick styrofoam sheets.
These will cover my windows.
Maybe I can sleep then.
Hopefully.
I love sleeping.

32A

Yes, that is my bra size.
No, I am not ashamed.
Embarrassed.
I am not.
I used to be.
Back in high school and middle school.
I didn't have anything!
I still don't.
I just stopped comparing.
Not in middle school.
Six and seventh grade, I wore sports bras.
It was normal to me.
Until that one day.
My friend, the one that laughed at my poem, said to me (in a mean streak), "it's like Laura! EVERYONE can tell you still wear training bras!"
I thought nobody could tell.
Everyone did.
I didn't even want to wear a bra in the first place.
It all started in the fifth grade when I started noticing that girls were wearing training bras.
I was perplexed!
Weren't we too young for it?
I wasn't growing anything.
Were they?
They were.
So, I joined them.
Only so if my shirt moved, you would see the strap.
So people would know I was cool too.
I wanted to fit in.
So, in seventh grade when my friend said that I freaked.
I needed a real bra.
So, I got a real bra.
It was very padded.
It felt like a pillow.
I was so embarrassed.
My biggest fear was someone brushing against it and noticing the amount of padding!
What would I say?
It was horrible.
But then, high school came.
I became a bra advocate.
Yes.
I did.
Everyone had boobs.
Big tetas.
If I wanted boys, I need big tetas.
Solution?
PUSH UP BRAS.
A flat girl's best friend!
All my bras were push up.
I had to.
Even my bathing suit.
I even admonished my friend for not wearing bras.
I told her bras are needed.
They help make boobs healthy so that when we are 40 our boobs don't sag.
Gravity is a bitch.
I was a bra advocate.
Up until last semester.
The process of me loving my small boobs was gradual.
It started after high school.
I became OK with them.
But my bra hatred came last semester.
Last semester changed it all.
I, Laura, went bra less.
And I loved it.
I love it!
It is so freeing.
Nobody notices because I'm so flat chested.
It's great!
I feel girly without a bra.
Like I can conquer anything.
I love it.
I wear sports bras all the time now.
Or no bra.
You should try it.
Be free.
Unless you have big tetas.
Then, please don't.
Nobody wants to see that.
I love my boobies.
I do.
SO MUCH.
32A.
Flat and proud.

300

My grandma died on Wednesday.
I don't like saying "passed away."
I only use it so people don't think I'm insensitive.
Euphemisms don't make her come back.
She's dead and that's that.
I loved my grandma.
I used to call her "Abue."
Short for "Abuela."
I capitalize because that was her name.
Her name to me.
She was a beautiful person.
She didn't have an easy life but she had a nice elderly life.
Her ending is what counted.
She was healthy.
She was healthy until 4 p.m. Tuesday afternoon.
When she had a stroke.
12 hours later, she was dead.
I'm going to miss her.
She never saw me have a boyfriend.
She didn't see my brother graduate high school.
She won't be at my wedding.
Not that I expected her to.
She was 84 years old.
Who knows when I'm getting married?
It could be 10, 20, never years.
She wouldn't have lived anyway.
I always used to say, "my grandma is visiting. I need to spend all my time with her."
People would ask, "but why?"
I would answer, "because she is old and she might die any minute."
I was right.
I knew it was coming.
It's just always very hard.
I'm going to miss her.
My brother and I.
We loved her.
We showed her we loved her.
We kissed her and we hugged her.
We won't be able to do that anymore.
I'll be fine.
God wanted her.
He reclaimed her.
I understand that.
I just have to fully comprehend that I won't get to see her again.
I guess, get used to the idea.
Understand completely.
I'm glad she never found out 2 of her granddaughters were lesbians.
That would have probably killed her.
I'm glad she didn't.
She probably knew but never accepted it.
I'm so glad.
I'm also happy she died without suffering.
She remembered me when she died.
I know it.
Her memory was better than mine.
It was.
I kid you not.
She was the last of my grandparents.
The only one I actually knew.
I'm going to miss her.
I don't think we are having a funeral for her.
I think this is good.
Even if we were, I wouldn't go.
I don't want that to be my last memory.
I want my last memory to be when I saw her last.
In her old lady nightgown.
All sad because her visit was over.
But happy because she was going to see her best friend.
Funerals don't work for me.
I'll be OK.
I'm in the middle of a campaign.
I'm in the middle of a test week.
I'll be fine.
I'll just focus on that.
It works.
I love my grandma.
I do.
Always.

welcome to the real world

sometimes this is what i feel like. so upset with the system/society/the academic world. please don't unpack that statement or explain the implications of senseless, senseless theories. just let me be and i'll find my way.

man you must think i'm a joke, i ain't gonna be part of the system.

*if i hear one more person talk about the gender binary (or lack thereof) or that colors do not exist in the physical world i will snap.

Long, long hair and change

My friend de mi corazon is thinking of leaving.

This is such a very sad thing.

I see her all the time.

She's my week, my weekend.

She's so special to me.

My friend with the long, long hair.

All my friends are but I've mourned their moves.

I have accepted the fact that they left.

I understand they will come visit.

Summers, winter breaks, spring breaks, Thanksgivings.

I understand.

I figured I still had my friend here.

The one that stayed.

Now she is thinking of leaving.

Leaving.

Woe is me.

What will I do?

When I'm having a mental breakdown, who will I call?

Who will come and take me for ice cream?

Make me laugh instead of cry?

Listen to my horrible stories and crack a smile?

Be there when I quote every single line from "shit single girls say"?

Not because I've watched the video repeatedly but because they truly come from my heart.

Who will be there to say that she understands and believes she will be a cat lady?

I don't even know what I'm going to do.

I don't even know.

Happy 2012

I haven't written in such a long time. I don't really know why. I guess I've been uninspired.

This past semester was a very different one for me. Even though I had seven classes, it was without a doubt one of the least stressful semesters yet. I only stressed twice this semester and it was only for my hard class. This semester I learned to be with the boys. My girlfriends aren't studying what I am, so I learned to deal with boys. I guess I had always felt scared of them. I don't know why but I guess that was my aura before. Sort of like, "I'm scared of you, please don't speak to me". This turned me into a girl magnet, which was broken this semester. I liked it. I did.

Anyway, that was just this semester that passed. This year was equally as different. I took my first summer class. My first internship/job. My little. So many things that I've forgotten. I truly am blessed with this past year. I thank God for it because it was so great. I cannot wait for this new year to come.
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