excerpts #2

so how come things move on, how come cars don’t slow
and we swore on that night we’d be friends til we die
but the changing of winds, and the way waters flow
life as short as the falling of snow

I’ve never broken up with anyone. I’ve never been in a romantic relationship, so there’s never been a need to. You don’t break up with your friends, or so I’ve always thought.

I’ve had friendships end, of course. People drift apart, or switch schools, or move away, or stop getting along, or have a huge fight that destroys their relationship. I’m familiar enough with the ebbs and flows of friendships, the tides that bring them into my life and then sweep them away. But I’ve never felt quite the way I do now. It’s foreign and strange to me to end a good friendship. One that’s been solid and strong for several years. I didn’t realize that even some good friendships have their expiration dates. Is it normal to feel this way?

I draw comparisons to a romantic relationship because there’s nothing inherently wrong with this friendship; I’m just not satisfied anymore. I don’t feel like I’m drawing much from interacting and it seems that one person is growing and the other is not. Change can certainly alter friendships, but this is different. It’s as though the relationship has come full circle; I don’t feel like I need it anymore. I feel like it will only weigh me down in the future, as I head off to college and try to juggle and balance and enjoy the many facets of my new adult life. I feel ready to let go, ready to move on. To leave her and our friendship behind. Not because it’s bad, but because it’s no longer enhancing my life. There is no bitterness, no anger, no hard feelings on my part. I don’t dislike or resent her. I am simply ready to move forward, to have adventures and explore the world and try to be a more well-rounded person, while she is content to remain the same, to live in her sheltered bubble. I think change is challenging, yet we challenge ourselves by changing. By broadening our minds and perspectives and branching out. By trying new things and exploring new ideas. By leaving our bubbles of comfort and sameness. I don’t want to fault people for their choices, but I find it sad and stifling and boring to remain the same. To be around people who remain the same. Growth and change are part of what makes us human; they are two of the blessings of mortality. It’s a shame not to embrace them. To ignore them and let the possibilities and opportunities they bring pass you by.

I wonder whether she’s thinking about these things too, whether she feels the same way about our friendship or whether she’s upset at all or whether she’s entirely oblivious. Whether she resents me for changing, or whether she even notices. I wonder, but I won’t ask. I won’t end it, tell her it’s over. Because this isn’t a breakup; it’s a step forward.

Somehow, though, it feels like both.

xx. Until Next Time.



excerpts #1

A cardboard box of make believe
Empty pockets full of dreams
And you are everything I need

Do you ever feel too small, too constricted, too inside your own body to contain everything you feel? Lately, I’ve been feeling so much. So many emotions, longings, dreams, all built up inside of me until I feel as though I’m about to burst. There’s no release either, because I can’t just jump on a plane and take off somewhere. I can’t drive and drive to an unknown destination just for the heck of it. I can’t not go to college, put off four more years of school and testing, rules and expectations, just to get out there. To see the world, to explore, to have adventures. I love to learn, I really do, but I’ve felt stifled lately and although I don’t affirmatively not want to go to college, I don’t completely want to go, either. The trouble is, I think, that I could do all these things. I’m eighteen now and adulthood brings about many more legal liberties. But this sense of liberation has bound me in an unexpected way, because part of me wants to be young and reckless, yet I just can’t do it. I can’t turn my back on the expectations, on the sense of duty, on my planning for the future. I can’t make my parents worry, or miss exams, or… Anything.

I have the AP Statistics exam tomorrow and I can’t remember ever feeling less prepared for an exam in my life. I am the queen of preparation, of overthinking, of double-checking everything and then double-checking it all again. But the truth is, statistics is an incredibly dull subject for me, I don’t know what to study, and I don’t want to be prepared enough to force myself to do it. Perhaps that’s where the root of my anxiety lies this time around: not in the possibility of failing, but in worrying about why I don’t care so much about it and knowing that I probably should. Care more, that is.

Back to feeling though. I go back and forth like a pendulum between two extremes, between feeling so much that it hurts and not feeling much at all. I used to be really sensitive to the world, to its pain and injustices. I remember going to a pet store as a young child and seeing a group of crayfish attacking a little pink fish in one of the tanks. They ripped its feathery fins apart and I begged my mom to help it, to let me help it, to tell the manager to keep the creatures separated. I remember crying on a pink beanbag later that night and asking to visit the pet store again, just so I could make sure that little pink fish was okay.

Yet I could be incredibly cruel, as well. A few years later, I had a purple beta fish named Lilac. I had wanted a pet so badly when I was younger and my dad finally caved and won me a fish at a golf tournament. I took care of Lilac for over a year. Until she (or he, we never really knew) stopped eating regularly. And I, the curious, cruel, beastly little thing I was, decided to stop feeding my fish altogether. Because I wanted to see how long it would take. For my pet. To die.

I hate myself for that. That I could be so… Disgustingly sadistic. So unfeeling. That story reminds me of Victor Frankenstein, and I don’t tell it often. Yes, Lilac was on her way out. She was losing coloration, she was old, and she wasn’t eating much. But to withhold sustenance from a creature, especially one so entirely at my mercy… It was awful. And I felt absolutely horrific when, about a week or two later, Lilac really did die.

Overall though, with a few glaring exceptions, I felt a lot when I was younger. I felt a lot until high school, when, in many ways, I decided to stop feeling. I used to pour everything I had into my friendships and it hurt so much when I finally, finally realized that my friends just didn’t care. They either didn’t notice the sacrifices I made, the kindnesses I did for them, or they’d become so accustomed to them that they meant little to nothing. But what killed me the most was that I needed kindness, needed someone to check in on me and ask how I was doing. And my friends weren’t there.

Fortunately, I have really good friends now. Ones who, to be completely honest, I probably don’t deserve. Friends who, unlike my old friend group, are better friends to me than I am to them. And I love them for it, for bearing with me, as I try to work myself out and find a balance between giving everything and giving nothing at all. Regardless of my friends, however, I definitely have trust issues. Especially with males.

xx. Until Next Time.


Stream of Consciousness

Today in my English class, my teacher had us do an eight minute writing exercise where we wrote in stream-of-consciousness style (in literature, this method of narration describes, in words, the flow of thoughts in the minds of characters). I had never done such an exercise before and I really enjoyed it; I found it therapeutic and fascinating. So I thought I’d share what I wrote here, exactly as I wrote it originally.

What is the deal with men and apologies? Why is it so hard for them to come out and say it – out loud and proud – when they’ve done something wrong, or even when they think they’ve done something wrong? I’m admiring the colors around me, the green of the grass in the brilliant sunlight, the neon yellow of my sneakers, covered in months and months worth of dirt stains. I want to take about 12 different classes next year I need a time-turner like Hermione but where would I get one I can’t decide I wish I could write poetry or make music or create some form of art that could change people inspire people but being a walking almanac isn’t much good for that maybe we are all walking living history books but maybe not if history isn’t your thing maybe we’re all science experiments it all depends on perspective I’m running out of room on this paper and I’m worried time will be called before I can get out a new sheet maybe I won’t need it anyway I just heard the squeak of a door and I’m not sure I spelled squeak right is it two e’s or an ea I think ea which means I was correct (hopefully). Oh no, running out of room I’ll write smaller stop giggling and whispering, please added as an afterthought what’s so funny I’m on a new paper the architecture of the front of the school is interesting I’ve never really paid attention before b/c I usually don’t come in or out this way but what is it w/ men and apologies?

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