A few lemons from old lady advice

Five months later, and I'm starting to feel more at home here. Regardless of the fact that my bedroom looks like I moved in yesterday, as I use boxes piled onto each other as shelves where a dresser should be. For the summer, my excuse was I didn't have the time. Which was true, then! But now, with a steady 40(ish) hour work week, I have evenings and weekends. What's stopping me from buying furniture and settling in? I can tell you exactly what's holding me back: My two biggest issues, 1) spending money and 2) commitment. It might just be a couple drawers and shelves from IKEA, but for some reason it feels like a big deal. Even signing my apartment lease felt like marrying the place. I love this apartment, but is it The One for me long-term? Have I always been this way or am I already buying into the NYC truth universally acknowledged that one must always be on the hunt for a better apartment, job, and date?

What's a year in the grand scheme of things? It will fly by, friends say, and I know they're right.

I suppose in the back of my mind I still haven't digested the thought of this move being forever. It doesn't feel like a forever move. I guess I don't know if anything ever will feel like Forever, because nothing is forever, ultimately, right? Good or bad, things change. That's both an enormous relief and intensely scary.

Back in July, I sat on the porch of a former NYPIRG donor in the suburbs. She was elderly and would repeat herself and get distracted, but she was very clearly excited to be chatting with me. I sat for a while as she told me about her years as a nurse at the local hospital and interrogated me about my own life plans. She asked, "Have you gotten a degree? English? Why? When are you getting your next one? What are you doing? What do you WANT to be doing?" Before she'd let me get back to work she made me promise I'd go back to school, insisting that if I didn't do it now, life would get in the way. "Something will come along and distract you. You'll end up married with babies and you'll wish you went back. Do it while you're young. Don't wait." I'm summarizing, but it was surreal -- straight out of a made for TV movie. It was a endearing moment, it was sweet that this stranger wanted to give advice. She didn't mean to be judgmental and pushy, I'm sure it came from a good place. And what do I know about life?

She isn't wrong, what am I waiting for? A master's degree won't just happen to me, out of the blue. Much like a knock at the door from a canvasser: the perfect time for it will never come. You've got to make it happen. I don't know when I'll go back to school or what kinds of different jobs I might do or where I may live over the course of my life. I can say with certainty, however, when I am older and wiser, if a young female activist ever knocks on my door I am going to give her lemonade and life advice. Guaranteed.

CECE IN THE CITY: pt. 2 - HOMESICK

One thing I haven't had much experience with is the feeling of homesickness. Until now.

When I went away to college, I missed home, of course, but it was never a state of being for me. It would come and go, lingering for maybe an hour or so at night when the world was quiet and I felt far away. But then I would sleep it off or someone would burst into my room and pull me back into the present and I was fine. Sometimes I feel like I'm so physically consumed by homesickness my chest might BURST. It's only week four and I'm still a fresh NYC infant so I know it will fade. I will adapt! But for now, sometimes it's all I can do to just call my mom and desperately seek an ounce of normalcy.

It's not a complete surprise. I had a feeling this move would be different, but it's still a shock to the system. This move is different because I'm different and so is my family. After so much death and drama my mother, my grandfather, and I became far too codependent. We were living on top of each other, each feeling responsible for taking care of one another, for over a year. It was time to move out and step out of my comfort zone again...but I was extremely comfortable, so it hasn't been as smooth a transition as it was in the past. I'd insert a metaphor here comparing the situation to throwing myself into a pot of boiling water but I actually got second degree burns last week and it's too fresh. Also, it's been really cold in my apartment, so it just isn't accurate. 

The other night it got so cold that I piled on my layers and got under my covers and thought...why did I do this to myself? Why did I choose to leave a beautiful, warm home with infinite sweaters and blankets and pillows and a fireplace and a dog and a fridge full of food for this?!?!? I have one sweater, one blanket, and six packs of ramen -- no hoodie, no comforter, no dog, no fireplace, no food. What am I doing?!?!?! I imagined being home again and I cried myself to sleep. Occasionally I'll be on the phone with my grandpa and I'll just burst into tears. I've never been like this before! What's happening to me? Am I progressing backwards? I was a wild-eyed 18-year-old ready to take on the world! I moved to Europe alone for four months and never spent more than a passing moment missing home! At 24, aren't I supposed to be at peak adventure-ing age?

There must be many reasons why I'm struggling. One being that grief changes family forever. And depression, mental illness, physical illness, more death...It was a lot to handle and it really made me a softer person at my core. I've always been afraid of death. For my entire life, I've hated goodbyes and endings and death. I didn't even see death first hand until I was 22-years-old! Regardless, the concept has haunted me since childhood. Part of me hoped once I experienced it directly I wouldn't be so afraid anymore...But no. To this day, I hate goodbyes and endings and death and I've seen much more of it than I'd like. That's one of the many bags I have to take to therapy to unpack, but this blog is much cheaper than my co-pay.

Am I uniquely homesick because there's no end date for this move? It isn't simply a trip, theoretically it could be forever. I've never moved out forever before. I don't know if this move will work out, I don't know what will happen in the future, but I am making a major move as an adult that could result in me never living at home again. Which is exactly what is supposed to happen, right?! It's the culmination of my entire childhood getting me to the point where I can leave the nest and live on my own. But it's still sad and I am an extremely nostalgic person. Also, I really grew so, so fond of living with my grandfather. He's the sweetest man on the planet and I miss his breakfasts and his TV shows and his hugs. Did I mention the fridge is always full and overflowing? The fireplace is ready for a fire AT ALL TIMES?! I never once saw a wild rat in Brooklyn, OH but they are everywhere here and this is the place I've chosen to be. Who knows why?!

(I do. I know why. It's NYC.)

CECE IN THE CITY pt. 1

I always imagined moving to New York City as a glamorous and brave thing to do. It is, but it's also something lots of people do all the time! It's what the city's known for. People have been doing it for hundreds of years. You could do it too! So I did. What I didn't anticipate, however, is how much time I'm spending trying to figure out how to portray this life change with friends, family, and of course, on social media. How do I strike a balance between displaying all of the magic that I'm feeling without hiding the less aesthetically pleasing realities of the situation? Nothing in life is all positive without negative -- how do I showcase the good and the bad? That's what I'm working through right now on this blog I haven't touched in years, indulge me.

Real quick, let me set the current scene.

I'm on my college laptop that I haven't used since graduation, no exaggeration. It's running on half a hard drive (or something technical along those lines, according to the apple store gurus) but running better than I expected when I turned it on this morning. I cannot stress hard enough how strange it is that my fingers have not brushed against these keys in TWO. ENTIRE. YEARS. I feel reunited with a past relationship. A real love, deep and unconditional. This laptop love got me through four years of essays, poems, abandoned projects, readings, an exhaustive capstone, social media stalking of human loves. We've got so much history! And just like a novel, we've reconnected (to the free wifi) in this cozy french cafe in Brooklyn, NY of all places. The romance! We still know our way around each other perfectly. It feels right again.

It feels the same way with this blog. Blogger feels like a writing home to me and I've finally found my way back; ironically enough I had to move away from home in order to get back here. Opening these drafts are where my words pour out almost effortlessly. I've never been disciplined enough for much training of any kind, but there's something in my body that knows this is where writing happens and magically enough...I write. It's unlike any other format. Google docs, Word docs, the Notes app...nothing gets me going like Blogger. I'm so happy to be here, regardless of what comes of it.

That's also a good summation for my attitude towards moving to NYC. I've got to be honest: I have no idea what I'm doing. I would say this move was spontaneous but it also feels like the most anticipated thing I've ever done, after going to college. I've known this is something I wanted to do for almost as long as I can remember. I hated talking about it because I couldn't bear the thought of  being the type of person who talks and talks and talks about doing something without ever being able to do it. Of course now that I've done it, I can't shut up about it. "What are you going to do there?" People asked. "How is it?" People ask. Two questions I really don't know how to answer. How much detail do they really want? These are polite questions, like a passing, "How are you?" If we're not close, do they really care? If we are close, how much time do they have? How do I convey how I am in a few bullet points? I've always been an over-sharer. One of the many reasons I could never be cool and mysterious, even in one of the coolest and most mysterious places on Earth. 

What am I going to do? The same things I did at home: live life, go to work, eat, sleep, make friends, have fun.

How is it? Great! Sometimes not great? Sometimes it feels like I'm not in the center of the universe and it feels spectacularly normal and average. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of Manhattan and it takes my breath away. I feel at home surrounded by the skyscrapers and the crowds along the sidewalks. Sometimes I find I've wandered too far north on foot and the thought of an hour+ subway ride home makes me anxious. I'm slowly getting fewer anxiety attacks on the train, I was surprised by how much my body initially resisted this primary mode of transportation. Yes, things are expensive, but not everything and I was raised on getting creative with a small budget. 

Overall, it is a major adjustment.

In my wildest dreams I envisioned myself living in the city, feeling energized and motivated all day, every day. I would JUMP out of bed in the morning, naturally caffeinated by the fact that I'M IN NYC! I would be creating constantly. I would know my purpose and know my direction and I would follow through. Unfortunately, and obviously, that's not how it works. But we've all got to start somewhere. Maybe I stayed away from writing for so long because I felt uninspired. Maybe it was the grief and the depression that held me back. Maybe I just felt like I had to do something big in order to have something to say. Regardless, I'm writing again and it feels like I've been under water and finally reached the surface for air. Are there enough metaphors in this post? I'm trying to make up for lost time here. 

A good portion of the last three weeks here hasn't felt at all like how I imagined. Sitting in a cafe by a window, typing away until I pause to admire the dogs that walks past, however, is exactly how I've always wanted to spend my time here. I don't know where I'm going to get my next job or where I'm going to get my next apartment, but I do know that there will be more cafes and more windows and more writing. In some ways, that's enough for now. I'm gonna call that a win and run with it. 

Post-Grad Passion and Fear

“I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing that I wanted to do.” — Georgia O’Keeffe

"If you don't care about pollution then there won't be anywhere for tigers to LIVE!" I whined aggressively to my tiger-loving friend amidst my eco-friendly phase in full swing. How could she not GET IT? We have to care about the planet first and foremost because without that, it doesn't matter if the tigers are taken care of or children receive comprehensive sex education! The world will end if we don't do something about global warming! I would run around and unplug everything in the house and yell at everyone for not caring enough.

That phase didn't last too long.

I'm still just as full of raging passion as my hormonal 14-year-old self, but I'm definitely infinitely more preoccupied with comprehensive sex education than I am with eco-issues. I'm sorry, planet, I should be better.

Occasionally -- like in the wake of such a devastating election -- the world feels shaken and unstable, in desperate need of endless work and care. It can feel overwhelming because there are too many injustices in the world that need to be handled, and so little time! Though there is only so much one person can do, only so much work one person can take on. I want to consciously make better and healthier decisions for both my body and the well-being of our planet, but unfortunately for spunky younger Cece, my passion in life is just not global warming. It is instead all things written word and woman. Gender, sexuality, reproduction, health, education, sex, female, justice.

Cultivating my life's passion has been the most amazing and beautiful feeling, but even still: I don't know what I'm doing -- Just a straight-forward, general statement about me.

Specifically, I don't know what I'm doing after college. (Although recently, writer and tweeter extraordinaire Dana Schwartz addressed a desperate [mildly pathetic] cry for help of mine, very kindly and considerately; It was helpful! Somehow it didn't magically sort out my future for me though, I still have to do that myself. Lame.)

I have no idea what the next stage of my life will look like, and that's terrifying. There was a time when thoughts of post-grad life conjured nothing but a black void of empty darkness...But I have matured since high school, I now know I can envision a lot more irrational late-night decision-making and subsequent crying in bed with a tub of half-melted soy ice cream. I can picture a lot of hours TV show-binging and taco bell-eating. I can at least picture a lot of normal, everyday life stuff. Life still exists, it doesn't end with my current academic career like I once thought it might. I can imagine myself in different professional positions, but I have no idea what I could end up actually doing. This is interesting and exciting, sure, (I could never be a financial advisor person, whatever that is, for example), but it's also CRAZY and SCARY. Even more so when it constantly feels like I'm just not doing enough.

I'm petrified of what may lie beyond Graduation Day this May, but I've compiled a list of things I do know I want to do for the rest of my life:

• I want to affect the individual lives of my friends by being supportive and encouraging and loving whenever I possibly can.
• I want to positively influence my community by getting involved in local issues like voting and journalism and volunteering.
• I want to have an impact on the national conversation around women's rights and reproductive justice; I want to have a hand in these movements working towards a better reality for women everywhere.
• I want to talk about sex and health more openly and casually, private and publicly. I want to encourage comprehensive sex education at every level of our society, from kindergartens to nursing homes to our daily lives. Fuck the stigma around our bodies and natural sexual desires.
• I want to do the same thing for abortion -- de-stigmatizing abortion is a matter of discussing it alongside any other modern medical procedure. It's normal, healthy, and a completely valid choice for any person with a uterus to make.
• I want to constantly strive to further educate and check myself; the more thoughts I expose myself to of people who know more than I do, the better.
• I want to grow, and learn, and try new things, and see as much of the world as possible
• I want to forgive myself for all I can't do and push myself to do all I can.

Originally Posted: 12/12/16.

My Space: Not the Website

“Any woman who chooses to behave like a full human being should be warned that the armies of the status quo will treat her as something of a dirty joke . . . She will need her sisterhood.” - Gloria Steinem

It's very frustrating to realize that all of history has strategized to create a society in which men feel absolutely entitled to my space.

I went out to the bar with a friend -- I'd been having a fantastic evening and I was jazzed to have a beer, dance, hang out. But all night long I encountered the same problem...Extremely forward men. I don't know if it was worse than normal, or if I was just more aware of it, but I ended up feeling uncomfortable the majority of the night until I ended up home early with a stomach ache unrelated to the singular beer I consumed but completely tied to the way I was treated by random men.

It was several different things, beginning with the Aggressive Staring across the bar that is like, theoretically harmless except undeniably threatening and violating nevertheless. All I can do to avoid potentially dangerous confrontation is try my best to ignore them, avoid their eye-line, and pretend that dancing under their gaze doesn't make me feel like I exist to entertain them. That's not my job. (If you want to watch me like that you really should be paying me, I'm just saying.) I could not possibly care less how a random man in a bar -- or anywhere -- perceives me; why do they feel the need to wink and wave like I should be grateful for their approval when I've CLEARLY spent all evening grimacing at their advances and distinctly shifting away from their approaches?

That's one thing...Then there's the Cornering.

It happens literally out of no where: two grown-ass men will swoop in together and all of a sudden, there's one in front and one beside and only one way out. It happened twice in one night! At one bar! In the same general area! Four different men! What is this?! I'm very small, but I'm not invisible...even if they aren't making eye contact (????????? what is this about ??????) I know that they see me. I've been dancing in this spot for an hour. Back yourself up. But no, I have to grab my stuff from the spot beside me and shimmy down the bar, the bar that is entirely empty on either side because it is 12:30 on a Tuesday night, and re-establish a position over there. Amazingly enough, a minute later the men decide they aren't so attached to that specific spot anymore and leave. Shocking. What made that particular spot so appealing just a moment before?

That move must be totally unrelated to my presence, though, right? Am I making this all about me? Am I being self-centered? Except then I sit on the wall, an elevated shelf there, and I'm just minding my own business, casually swaying to Lil Wayne and watching Betty White inexplicably on TV. Then BAM! In the blink of an eye, there's a man directly blocking my left and an even larger man blocking my front -- completely barring me from being able to hop down to the floor without confrontation. But they won't look at me! They're both literally UP AGAINST MY KNEES!!!!!!! But they won't actually make eye contact! (I mean, I definitely don't want to make eye contact with them, that can turn aggressive too quickly. It's just such a strange sitaution. It's like they're ignoring me from directly on top of me. Why?) I stare in stunned disbelief, and heave a sigh. I'm appalled. I throw my hands up and pull my legs onto the bar instead of jumping down; I step over the pile of coats and scarves and bags and sit on the other end of the entirely. empty. bar. AKA: where they could have gone to set up in the first place instead of forcing me to move. Then (NOTICING PATTERNS) they leave. As soon as it registers that I'm gone, they evaporate into thin air. Unbelievable.

It is an entirely empty bar, but they choose to stand in my lap. When it happens twice within an hour, it's not a coincidence or merely oblivious drunk dudes...it's a problem with an utter disrespect for women's personal space.

The cherry on top, the complete trifecta of Awful Interactions With Men, was the Verbal Attack in the form of a man directly pointing out my physical disadvantage to him. My friend and I had decided to finish the night at another bar, ran into the rain and across the street, but of course it's crazy to think that two young, attractive females could hope to exist in a bar undisturbed. While I had been annoyed originally, pissed off by the second intrusion, it was the third instance when I knew the night was over.

Let me break it down for you: There's a giant problem when a drunk man at the bar leans into my face, staring unseeing and uncaring at my disgusted expression, and points out repeatedly that I would be unable to fight him off. That is literally what I had to deal with and I'm expected not to pepper spray him just for saying such a thing. Thank you for needlessly pointing out our size difference! Thank you for senselessly disregarding the fact that I am ignoring you and just continue to repeat the phrase, "You have no bows!!!! You have NO BOWS!" in reference to my lack of muscle mass over and over and OVER again until I literally throw my weight into the elbow I do possess an inch from your face and I want nothing more than to obliterate your nose right then and there. He continues, "I'm like, 250 pounds. You've got nothing. That's weak. That's weak."

I could vomit right now just remembering hearing that.

This is not flirting. This is not cute. This is threatening. I am aware I am very much half your size, male person, I am reminded of this every second of every day in every situation I am ever in. The fact that the idea of my inability to defend myself was something this man fixated on so passionately...It makes me sick. "That's comforting, thank you," I replied. There was no life in his eyes and he couldn't see me, let alone imagine me as fully human. A friend of a friend I just met two seconds previous and with no relevance or provocation whatsoever he began screaming that I "have no bows." It wasn't even like we were cracking jokes about play fighting or something weird and dumb and casual; I didn't say more than "Hi, yeah, I'm friends with so-and-so," when all of a sudden he was obsessed with my elbows and stature.

What a magnificent time to be had by all. Once again, after only being in the bar for five minutes, I couldn't do it anymore and left.

I feel like there's so little I can do in response to these things! That's the most frustrating part. Is there a Best Way To React? I'm forced to leave the environment that they've now claimed as their own because I am small and helpless and "a bitch" if I say something.

Forget that.

Originally Posted: 2/24/16.

The Planned Parenthood Generation

As the president of my college campus's Generation Action chapter, I and the rest of the exec. board (my lovely friends Michaela, Kayla, and Emily) were invited to Washington, D.C. for Planned Parenthood's Generation Action national youth conference.

It was incredible and inspiring, empowering and enlightening, to be surrounded by over 400 activists and leaders who are all concerned with same issue -- reproductive justice -- and all the many, many facets related to such a complex issue. The conference spanned four days, with activities ranging from guest speakers (such as Sen. Elizabeth freaking Warren!!!!) to workshops (such as, "Beyond Choice: Reproductive Justice 101" and "The Importance of Public Policy and Advocacy: Advancing the Issues You Care About") to a day spent lobbying with each state's senators and representatives.

Zoe Ridolfi-Starr, one of the co-creators of the Carry That Weight movement on the Columbia University campus, led a discussion on the issue of sexual assault on college campuses nationwide and how we can most effectively utilize social media in bringing about awareness and affecting change at a specific dinner centered on strategizing with peers. It was just so definitively cool to be able to talk with girls from all over the country on how our experiences differ along our fight for the same thing. I knew I'd come away from the conference with ideas, but I couldn't take notes fast enough as we exchanged stories about different events held and actions taken that we can share from campus to campus.

It was sometime in my high school career that I first went to my local Planned Parenthood for a check up; my regular doctor isn't a gynecologist and I just felt like I needed some specific questions answered. I was struck by how pleasant the experience was over all, how friendly and helpful the staff was -- it was comfortable, from the waiting room to the check out desk, the entire facility felt accepting and reassuring. Every time I've ever visited a clinic has been a positive experience -- I've even had direct responses from the Planned Parenthood account on twitter before the social media importance push that now has every company with interns specifically dedicated to replying to all tweets, all day. This is a company that has always been there for me and to be encouraged by them as a young leader in my community means the world to me.

The Generation Action conference invigorated me; there are students all over the country taking action in their lives and on their campuses and I can't wait to get to work alongside them. Our generation will make up 40% of the voting population in 2020 -- that is a lot of power. It means a great deal that Planned Parenthood has invested so much in supporting young people because we are the future and we can get shit done. Start conversation! Support your local women's health center! I've really realized the importance of making your voice heard, whether your deal is rallying on campus or lobbying state government. Speaking out makes a difference.

Originally Posted: 7/14/15.

Sport!

“Document the moments you feel most in love with yourself - what you’re wearing, who you’re around, what you’re doing." - Warsan Shire

I went windsurfing!

Four years ago I took Freshman Advice very seriously; I threw myself into new waters, diving into a new school, town, environment, chapter of my life on my own and determinedly forced myself to talk to anyone and everyone that happened to be within earshot. This is one thing that hasn't changed over the course of my collegiate experience: when in doubt, I'll chat it up. (Though honestly it is always more fear [fear of loneliness, fear of missing out] than confidence that pushes me to this, but the end result is the same, either way.) That same instinct was put to good use again as I embarked on this term and one of the reasons why I chased after a man on the street because of his hoodie.

"Excuse me!" I called out, tailing a tall dude in wave-emblazened black. "What's your hoodie about?" He was clearly taken aback but politely and enthusiastically told me about windsurfing, anyway. They go every Wednesday, beginners welcome. Sign me up. It took two weeks to get to it, but I managed to recruit my housemates and thus four American amateurs threw themselves into the freezing waters of a Welsh lake. Literally. We threw our bodies into the lake over and over and over again. Turns out windsurfing takes a lot more muscle than anticipated -- I never envisioned how the sail got upright, in my mind it always just was...but, no, you have to pull it up yourself. Then you have to hang on real tight and steady or the wind betrays you and everything goes tits up from there.*

I loved it, though, at least with all the parts of my body that hadn't gone numb from the cold. (My toes weren't a big fan but they'll get over it. "No one's ever lost an appendage doing this, right?" I asked the crew that was corralling us all back to shore via a small motor boat. "We have had people missing a few fingers do it!" They replied, taking a suspiciously long time to confirm it wasn't during windsurfing that the loss of fingers occurred...) During the few precious moments of standing upright, shoulders back, and gripping the angled sail without immediately losing balance I forced myself to take a deep breath and gaze ahead at the horizon. The sky was a clouded grey, thankfully dry, but smeared like dirty paintbrush water. Just above the tree line was a bright white as the sun began its descent, contrasting the forest green trees in a way almost prettier than on sunny days. The ocean lay just beyond the trees and behind me sat a small castle on a hill, as they often do in Wales.

It's these fleeting moments of serenity that I often try to solidify in my memory, "This is my life. I'm 22 in Wales and I'm windsurfing." Somehow stating the facts quietly to myself and blinking really hard and purposefully brings me fully into the present. I keep these small snapshots of myself at various ages (normally high peaks of emotion because obviously those are the most poignant, but really any moment can be infused with emotion and isn't that cool!?!?: passionately sobbing at 11, watching the sunrise at 14, clinging to my best friends at 17) in hopes of remembering at least snippets of what it felt like to be me at that age. I want to fully be able to respect my past and present self by preserving her as best as I can at least in my own mind. The fear of a failing memory is definitely one of the many reasons I'm so drawn to journaling, and even blogging. Maybe it's narcissistic -- what's so worth preserving? But fuck that, we should be important to ourselves. We're the only self we've got to know and love and enjoy and remember for our lives. Especially as constantly changing individuals we're all interesting AS HECK. Honestly, I generally love people's thoughts and feelings. I want to get to know you like I want to get to know myself. Being a person is pretty inherently interesting, everything else only adds to it.

I guess the goal is to be eighty and still be able to feel the Welsh wind on my face that I felt at twenty-two while windsurfing.

*Actual charming quote from a girl in my Medieval to Postmodern Lit class, referring to The Lais of Marie de France but it works here, as well, I think!

Originally Posted: 10/24/16.

Iberia!

Last Wednesday saw me in my professor's office on the first week of school. I was there to anxiously inform him that, however amped I was to study Dylan Thomas, I would be missing the first two lectures of the term...because I was taking a week off to galavant through Portugal and Spain...because I'm an uncultured American who's never been anywhere and a girl whose life mottos are sometimes too heavily influenced by Hilary Duff...

"Enjoy Iberia!" He exclaimed as I left, relieved he'd been so understanding. I smiled and thanked him and perhaps threw a 'thumbs up' at him because for some reason Europe's done that to me?? It wasn't until I was on the other side of the door I realized it wouldn't have been ridiculous for me to ask him what "Iberia" was instead of contemplating on my own the word I'd never heard before. It's nice that even though I've yet to have a class with him, the prof's still managed to teach me something (with a lil help from Google.)

My Iberian adventure was unbelievable.

I bought myself a bottle of wine (rose, not the normal plane size bottle -- imagine a toddler size bottle rather than the teeny tiny baby kind) on the flight in while the man next to me taught me a few key Portuguese phrases. The airport shuttle ride was me and five middle aged vacationers who I informed, very excitedly, that it was my 22nd birthday in one hour, can you believe it?! The hour long ride from Faro to Armação de Pêra soundtracked by a night club kind of Portuguese/Late 2000s hits mix and I was in awe of Portugal at every turn. They dropped me off in front of a cyber cafe/convenient store (yes...for real) when I realized I had no idea what the actual apartment number was...Also I was apparently in the wrong place entirely...After an anxious 10 minutes the sight of Alexa and Gwen running towards me from the down the street, while the two kind Portuguese store clerks looked on in amusement at the wild American girls hugging and yelling, filled me relief and elation.

Birthday excitement flowing through my veins it wasn't even that difficult to get out of bed for a beach sunrise. The serenity of a deserted oceanfront at daybreak, soft sand, warm water, everything awash in oranges, pinks, blues, yellows; I've never known colors that vibrant. It was the perfect start to an absolutely perfect day.

Drinks In The Ocean

We returned to the beach a few hours later properly packed to settle in for the day, equipped with enough wine, beer, and snacks for the afternoon...Not enough sunscreen, however, I literally emptied my bottle right then and there, which left all of us burnt in unfortunate and strange patterns across our bodies.

It was six hours of laughing, bonding with new friends, catching up with old ones, discussing the future and the past, eating everything, briefly going topless because we could. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and I didn't have a care in the world. (This is not a normal feeling for me, a constant ball of anxiety.) It was the most relaxed I've ever been in my life.

I treated myself to a birthday steak dinner, obviously, and extremely overpriced Sangria, then we hit Albufeira for the night clubs. As the area's a tourist spot, the bars were mostly middle aged Brits on holiday (seriously Brits get to go on SO MANY HOLIDAYS; jobs here just let people have time off...all the time. Like, every year. It's bonkers. Get that together, America), but one club played "Gasolina" followed by "Jai Ho" and then Shakira's anthem "Waka Waka" and it was the highlight of my night.

happy girls

The next day took us to Lisbon, where we stayed at the world's greatest (medium-sized) hostel, according to HostelWorld and according to ME out of all the hostels I've stayed in so far. It's literally called HOME, it's cozy AS HECK, with a patio, living room, and full-experience three course home-cooked meals every night made by the owner Mamma for only 10 EURO. She literally takes everyone's personal dietary restrictions into consideration. It was incomparable. We saw Lisbon's open-air church and museum, the Castle of St. Jorge, and unreal views from a couple of the cities' miradouros. One of Portugal's 'things' is free shots upon welcoming someone and with every dinner and it is one of my favorite countries in the world, so far. Portugal and Ireland have absolutely stolen my heart.

Cheetah Girl's 2 gave me high hopes for Barcelona, and it met them, but October in Iberia means winter's coming and that means rain season. It absolutely poured straight through our first day in Spain, the kind of storm that doesn't allow for great exploration. I managed to see a lot of the Gothic Quarter though, and honestly, it was some of the most incredible and oldest architecture I've ever experienced, so, cool. I ate patatas bravas either with or in substitute of every meal and mixed a lot of wine and cerveza.

The overcast skies didn't deter us from what I came to Barcelona determined to do: Monserrat. It's a serrated mountain ridge, with an old church and abbey built into it, and Spain's first National Park. Astonishing doesn't begin to describe the entire impact of being there. It was by far the peak of the trip and potentially my entire life -- Four years in private Catholic school, forced to go to church at least once a week, and I've never felt closer to religion than literally above the clouds, sitting atop a Spanish mountain.

Gwen, Ashley, and I then braved the extremely aggressive club promoters of La Rambla and Plaça Reial and spent the night bumpin' and grindin' in an undeniably hip but small, sweaty basement. I'm pretty sure we left around 2/2:30, but the club showed no signs of slowing down. At all. The clubs literally stay open until the party dies and sometimes the Barcelona party don't stop until, like, 7 AM. I was busing to the airport Saturday morning at 7 and actually watched hoards of drunk people crawling from clubs to cabs with the sunrise. It was honestly kind of beautiful.

The third day was finally sunny and warm and we hit the dry pavement, covering over half the width of the surprisingly large city, passing by Gaudí's Sagrada Família and spending the afternoon wandering Park Güell. It's been hard to say goodbye to every city so far, but the end of a trip is always a confusing co-mingling of relieved exhaustion, disappointment that it's over, and excitement to move on to what's next.

Swansea welcomed me home again with clear skies and a huge group hug from my lovely new Swan friends.

Originally Posted: 10/19/16.

Poetry!

"The most wasted of all days is one without laughter."

-- ee cummings

Live from Tuesday night at a coffee shop, it's poetry night! Also, it's National Poetry Month, so that's cool.

I've always had a strange relationship with poetry. It was middle school internet-exploration that initially sparked my interest in poems; "To the Virgins" caught my attention and stuck with me -- mostly because of *sex* but also because even then I was rolling my 8th grade eyes at the (weak) lengths horny men would go to in attempts to get some. It is beautifully written though, and basically the inspiration for modern classics such as this Drake masterpiece. I embarrassed myself in front of my high school freshman year english teacher I had a hopeless crush on during the poetry section of the year. (Oh, god, it was awful...But it was fun.) More recently, I've put myself on stage during open mic poetry nights and read work by other authors (I've read this because it's held a spot on my desktop for over a year and yes I found it on Tumblr, but whatever, I like it a lot. It's very Gryffindor and I can get behind that), though I've never read one of my own because I definitely do not feel as close to writing poetry as I do to reading it.

I could read and analyze beautiful lines of poetic art endlessly, but writing it is not an area I feel comfortable in, yet. My phone is full of works in progress, my notebook margins are black with illegibly scribbled lines, even this blog holds private drafts of poems started up to three or four years ago. Sharing work is a crucial part of being a writer, but poetry feels different, ultimately far more personal and, because it can be so free form, I don't have an outline to follow -- which means my writing stands totally on its own, bare to judgement. Which is SCARY. (Criticism is not my jam. I'm working on it. It's a life long process, I'm sure.) 

The first time I came to poetry night here, it was almost religious. I ordered the legendary Honey and Lavender Latte for the first time, the room was practically standing room only, and a girl with enormous talent got up and read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, a poem that has always touched me ever since a boy I liked in high school mentioned it in passing and I looked it up to further get a sense of him and happened to find a part of myself there, too. Currently, sitting at a well-worn wooden table waiting for another wave of talented peers to take the stage in front of me, I'm writing this in lieu of finishing the massive final paper due tomorrow for my African American Lit class. This is all relevant, though, because Third Girl from the Left is about three generations of women and their relationships to art; one character, Tamara, specifically says at one point: "I thought about what pictures could do. What they could do if you weren't afraid." Replace "pictures" with "words" and wow! What an applicable contribution to this topic! 

Being afraid and doing it anyway, whatever it is, is hugely important. Art wields incredible power and the world is better for having more of it. I'm beyond grateful to have this time every week to celebrate artistic expression in an immediate and personal way; every night should be poetry night! Every month should be poetry month! It'd be crazy awesome if anyone that has taken the time to read this hot mess would take another extra minute share one of their favorite poems. Like, I'm begging you. I live for that stuff.

Originally Posted: 4/7/15.

VOTE!

"On November 9, we will have to become a unified country again," - Dana Schwartz.

The election is tomorrow but the ordeal is far from over.

It's the only thing we've been hearing about for two years now, it felt so far off when once upon a time it was announced that an actual personified joke would be running for President of the United States. But no one's laughing on Election Eve.

It's the first thing anyone mentions at the sound of my accent, right after they ask if I own any guns: "Who're you voting for?"

It's on BBC daily in the student center. It's mentioned in every lecture. It's on everyone's minds.

The world is watching and I'm afraid.

"It's a big one..." the postal employee says, her eyes wide when I request an envelope to send home my US ballot. She's shaking her head, generally astonished.

"I know, it's been CRAZY. Definitely more dramatic than any election I've seen so far." She says she's never seen anything like it...I hope out loud we never see one this awful again. (Although, with our parameter for awful-ness now set so high, I shudder to imagine how it could get worse.)

Either way the results come in, whoever wins in the end, can anyone predict what happens next? I haven't the faintest idea. I can't picture the next move; it's all just a black intimidating abyss. I remember the relative easing in of the Obama administration, nothing changed at first -- it was a slow two months until he was sworn in, from what I remember (I wasn't paying as much attention the first Obama term, because I was young [I couldn't vote until his second]). It honestly felt a little anti-climactic, even with crossing the milestone of electing the first black president.

The whole world knows this election with be anything but anticlimactic. No matter who wins, the aftermath is still so up in the air, unclear, ready to explode. I'm nervous about watching it unfold from afar. I'm scared that this Presidency could do a lot of damage, both foreign and domestic.

It has been the global sentiment I've encountered so far: US politics affects everyone, everywhere. This is baffling to think about considering the small number of people that actually have a say in who wins US elections -- The US voter population is so vastly dwarfed by the reach of our political impact. Further more, we have the most ridiculous thing in the world called the Electoral College and they get to decide who wins the presidency, anyway, potentially regardless of the popular vote.

All that matters is you vote, regardless of the system. We have to work with what we've got and make our voices heard -- especially women and people of color. Countless people have given their lives to make sure that people who aren't white males have access to this system in the first place. Disenfranchised voices are the ones that need to be heard the most! There are powerful people working all over the country in a myriad of ways to make voting harder for people whose voices they don't want to hear, even still in 2016. If that doesn't make you pissed enough to vote, then I hope you can find something that does motivate you to vote, anyway.

The election ends tomorrow night but this is just the beginning of the next four years. And also the rest of forever. But no pressure.

Originally Posted: 11/7/16.

Thicke Headed (and Seriously Messed Up)

Robin Thicke strikes again! His latest single "Get Her Back" is a sort of promising attack on his ex-wife that he wants her back, and he gets what he wants.*

**

Love is about respect. If someone doesn't want to be with you, you have to respect that. It'd be a different story if this song were a lament about how he missed her and felt bad for how things happened etc. but this is clearly a plea to "Get Her Back"---of course, who would expect Robin Thicke (of all people) to have any respect for what a woman wants? Paula Patton, the woman he's prepositiong, and every other person on the planet, get to decide for themselves who they do or do not want to be with. Just because you want someone doesn't mean you should force yourself onto them. With an intimidating show of blood and violence, this video clearly demonstrates force.

When a relationship ends, I'd presume ESPECIALLY a marriage, the two people must grieve and process on their own in order to adjust and move forward. When one person refuses to leave the other person alone, that is not only disrespectful, it is abusive. It's stalking and harassment behavior. Not to mention that taking all of this private relationship drama and dragging it into the public eye is extremely manipulative. He's attempting to show the world how worthy he is of her (this actually has nothing to do with her) and make the world feel sorry for him---if the public sympathizes with him (because look at how "vulnerable" he is! He's so genuine! This album -- totally crafted and controlled by him -- truly gives us a look into what kind of person he is and how his relationship was!!!!) then why shouldn't she?! Now he's turned her into a monster that broke his heart and refuses to accept his sincerest apologies. Which is an entirely bullshit strategy.

There is nothing sweet or romantic about threatening: "This is only the beginning." She's obvioulsy made it clear that "It's too soon" and she's done because he "ruined everything" but he just won't leave her alone. Because he wants her back and what he wants is what's really important here, clearly.

As usual, it bears repeating that this "artist" is 100% in control of what he says/does/releases and he gets to choose how he comes across within his music. Just because he wants to appear vulnerable and genuine doesn't mean he's actual making himself vulnerable or being genuine. Unless making himself vulnerable to being on the receiving end of a restraining order counts. Thicke is not the first musician to take this route regarding his pursuit of a lover and, unfortunately, I'm sure he won't be the last. That doesn't make it ok and I say we, as a society, refuse to accept this pathetic romanticized stalking into our hearts or our music charts.

*just typing that made me feel slimy, very reminiscent of
**lyrics if you'd rather not watch for whatever reason, one being the fact that watching contributes to views which contributes to him/his ego/his bank account/his perceived popularity etc. but I did watch and it was gross and disturbing the entire time so I basically wish I hadn't

Originally Posted: 6/26/14.