right where you belong

[aka another post about how much I love Florida. Feel free to quit reading if you're tired of hearing about it]

Sometimes not having class until noon is actually a bad thing, as it completely justifies staying up well past three in the morning on the computer. On a completely unrelated note, I am so glad that I live in the age of blogs and Facebook, as it makes it incredibly easy to remember my life—to look back at pictures of happy times and to re-read the way I felt about my life, accompanied by tears, laughter, and some intense missing of my sister.

At this point it's safe to say that no amount of time will change or diminish my emotions. I will probably always think that last April/May/June was one of the greatest periods of my life. I will always have a special love for the people in Florida that made it so wonderful. For the houses we stayed in, the people that moved our pianos, for the hands that helped and the ears that listened. I'm sure there are explanations for this crazy love—my emotional vulnerability, my gratitude for people helping my family in ways that I couldn't, the amount of time I spent with these wonderful people, the moving date approaching so stubbornly—so many things contributed to the way I relied [in some cases still rely] on those poor people. I think I even loved the construction workers that tore everything apart and put it all back together so quickly.  Even now, a year later, I'm still astounded at how rapidly and how intensely my love grew for these people.

For those of you who may only know the latter half of the story, the first few months of 2011 were rocky. My dad left on New Year's day, which was really what triggered the move from Florida. So yes, we all should have been a tragic, sad, weepy mess. And we were some days. I suppose a good word for this time period would be "bittersweet". Except that I feel that word doesn't do the time period justice. It was mostly just sweet. And crazy and fun and wild and carefree and things like that.

I've never had so much fun in my life. True, part of this can be attributed to the lack of responsibility I had; I was stuck in this weird in-between phase, where I wasn't a kid but I wasn't an adult but I wasn't at school. My responsibilities were cooking [such a chore for me, obviously] and working at American Eagle [maybe twelve hours a week on a good week]. I think everything was more enjoyable because we knew that it was coming to an end. It made responsibilities feel like activities. It made every drive down Sunrise Boulevard a little more memorable, every rainstorm a little more beautiful, every daily routine a little more charming.

oh how I miss that little house

Don't get me wrong, not everything was peachy. There were times I sobbed on the floor of a partially packed kitchen. I distinctly remember blowing my nose into my skirt one time. Not one of my finer moments. Those months were the ones where I learned to cry—good, healthy, heaving sobs. Believe it or not, I really wasn't a crier before then. The nights were often long and sad. But the days were spent soaking up sunshine, good company, and laughter and that was what mattered. I had friends, I had adventures, and I had a wicked good tan. What else matters?

I even had Jada.

I'm sure it may be obvious to some that I get a little obsessed with anything that represents my old life, be it people or places [the beach] or things. Going back to Florida brought me so much joy as it presented a backdrop where I could recreate all the memories of the first nineteen years of my life. I'm still clinging to that part of my life and I think that's one of the things that won't change with time. In all honesty, I don't love my life now the way that I did then. I don't think I ever will again. As much as the difficulties of last year were brutal and seemingly insurmountable, I think everyone should get to experience such an outpouring of love at least once in their life. That was what made it so blissful.

And as always, I don't know how to properly convey how much that love meant to me. Even me, with all my words and all my repeated attempts to express my feelings, I don't know how to explain how or why people mean so much to me. So {and this is not limited to people in Florida; this applies to people all over the world} if you've ever done anything nice for me or said a nice word to me or even liked my status on Facebook...know that I probably love you. A lot.

 

And that you've probably made my life a lot easier, or at the very least more enjoyable.

 

And that I'll probably love you forever.

Also know that your life will never be as good as mine.

Sorry 'bout it.

[Title from Uncanny by Anberlin]

i'm not an island, i've got you

Yesterday I was deathly ill. We're talking uncontrollable vomiting and collapsing in an exhausted heap next to the toilet. Keepin' it classy. Alyssa came and rescued me, bringing me back to her apartment for safekeeping. I thought I was going to be okay. Her roommate [that I insist on calling Jessica, because that's my roommate's name and therefore should be every roommate's name] made some authentic, delicious raspberry limeade. Alyssa and I shared a cup.

 Now we're both dying.

 Our day has since been filled with saltines and spiders, the latter explaining why my sister is now on the floor.

 Alyssa and I never miss an opportunity to catch up on youtube videos

 Here's to hoping we make it through the night, and that we don't get attacked by any more spiders.

[Title from No Man is an Island by Jack's Mannequin]

colors fall like snow

I have waited my whole life to go to the Festival of Colors. This is no exaggeration at all (provided “my whole life” only applies to my college career). Despite the amounts of colored chalk I inhaled and the stains on my shirt and teeth, it absolutely lived up to my expectations.
My friends and I suited up in our whites and headed up to Salem determined to come back colorful.

We parked as close as we could [which still left us with a ten minute walk] and excitedly followed the masses toward the Krishna Temple. As we got closer we passed people leaving the festival who generously threw their leftover chalk at us. The first handful was a very big deal and the excitement of it never diminished.

Each handful of chalk was a novelty and it quickly turned into a competition to see who could get the most color from the most people. Naturally this lead us to run and fight and shove each other, sometimes in front of the near-standstill traffic.

We also quickly learned what chalk tastes like [gross] and what it feels like when it’s thrown into your open eyes [painful].

We finally reached the temple and realized that we hadn’t brought admission money. So we trekked back to the truck to fish quarters out of a bag, and returned once more with blistered feet and another layer of strangers’ chalk.
Needless to say we were pretty well covered by the time we got there.

In all honesty, the actual event wasn’t anything thrilling. A good half hour of perusing the temple grounds and barreling through clouds of colored dust was sufficient. We stayed long enough to get adequately covered in chalk, take thousands of pictures, and witness a throwing—someone with a microphone counts down from ten and everyone excitedly cheers and releases handfuls of chalk.
It looks magnificent for a second before the colors turn into a massive brown cloud and you can’t see/breathe for a solid minute.
But it’s really all fine. You’d never think you’d be so happy to be encompassed in a spontaneous hurricane.
We were giddy and completely okay with strangers throwing chalk in our faces.

Somewhere, somehow this is some sort of a religious ritual. I thought about learning about it before going, but deemed it unnecessary as the majority of attendees aren’t actually Krishna worshippers themselves. I joined the throngs of college students in shouting “Hare Krishna!” which may actually turn out to be swear words in some other language.
We left colorful, happy, and certainly more cultured. [Kidding about the cultured part…obviously…]


We were delirious and slightly hyper which meant that we shouted things at pedestrians from our car as we sped away to Wal-Mart where we skipped around getting Cadbury eggs and some strange looks.

Not only did I get my beloved color festival pictures, but we saw a sunset and a llama.


All in all I’d say the day was a success.

[Title from Rainbow Veins by Owl City]

back in love eventually

I spent a weekend in Idaho staring at stars, creating  metaphors, and mentally constructing a farm-raised version of myself.

A full day was devoted to a field and a four wheeler—just me and my iPod, carving new paths in the ground and taking jumps with way too much speed. I learned firsthand how it feels to create rushes of adrenaline, taking turns too fast and nearly rolling over.

I started out hesitantly, being cautious and careful to be safe and in control. Gradually I took sharper turns and higher jumps; I guess that confidence [or stupidity] that some people exude on motor vehicles comes with time, practice, and mistakes. I spent the day pushing my own limits a little further, getting a little riskier. It got easier the more I worked at it—less terrifying and more exhilarating.

There was a fleeting moment where I was reminded of Hawaii; just for a moment when I careened out to the middle of the field and shut off the engine, laying on the back with my hands behind my head staring at the sky. It may be a stretch, but it almost felt like I’d paddled out into the middle of the ocean and was lying on a surfboard staring at the sun.

Then I opened my eyes.

Idaho was a temporary freedom, perfectly embodied by fields that had no visible end and huge skies that made me feel small. I chased a brown, floppy eared dog through the fields, laughing yet feeling sad at how much this farm dog reminded me of my dog. I stretched out in the shade of the trees staring at the blue sky being slowly overtaken by dark clouds.

There’s an undeniable charm that lies with small towns. Sometimes when I visit them I can imagine myself living there happily for the rest of my life.

…and then people from Florida text me and I’m right back to missing the ocean and the city.

[Title from Young Blood by Naked and Famous]