The Battle Between My Brain & My Heart

Boys. I love them and I hate them. Not in a feminist ideology, equality-of-the-sexes way. In a "I've loved them and hated them since middle school for all the joy and pain they've brought me" way.

A handful of them have left marks on my life at different times, and undoubtedly, this has changed who I am as well as how I go about living my life afterward. I love it at the time; the excitement and the schoolgirl squeals and the butterflies in my tummy and all that jazz. But god, looking back at it, I can't help but roll my eyes and laugh. Why? Because I'm a cynic or a pessimist? No, I don't think so.

More likely it is because every time I have started with those squeals and that excitement, I have immediately imagined this perfect fantasy in my head, and once my heart is on-board with it, I am doomed. Doomed, because the actual relationship in reality has no chance of ever living up to the scenario in my head. So I laugh and roll my eyes afterward, because not a single one of those boys, just as young and inexperienced as me, had a prayer for giving me the perfection I didn't even realize I wanted.

One of the mind's favorite games to play is thinking without ever having the intention of acting. My brain loves to sit idly and fantasize about an imaginary future where everything is easy and things go perfectly according to plan. I like to dream up alternate universes where boys do exactly what I want them to do, and I have all the time and money in the world to make everything perfect. But I am a smart girl, and I know in reality, that's not how any of this works. Real life is not a Taylor Swift song. Time and money do not facilitate a perfect relationship. Manipulating others into doing what you want them to do, does not cultivate love and respect. It would be so easy if that's how things worked, but unfortunately it would not be even half as rewarding.

I have felt the highs and exciting squeals, and soon thereafter, the lows and the disappointed eye-rolls. I have played it cool and I have internally freaked out. I have played along in the game, just as I have been taught to do, and it worked out pretty well for me at first. But then my brain caught up to my heart and it metaphorically bitch-slapped it back into reality where it belongs. What am I thinking? What am I doing? This stuff is exhausting.

I am at odds with myself, and I have been for what often feels like forever; because my heart is busy painting big pictures and dancing around in the same euphoria it always demands, while my brain is scrambling to keep up as it files these grand ideals away neatly in their proper, alphabetized, places. I have always been a dreamer with a big imagination and enough ideas to never worry about coming back down to earth. That's why it has always been a less-than-graceful face-plant when I do come crashing down. I haven't ever really been bothered with the necessary planning that is required to build the steps on which I climb so high in the first place. But the existence of those steps is crucial for when the clouds of joy and excitement eventually fade away and I need something solid on which to support myself until my imagination can take off again.

I have always, for as long as I can remember, relished my individuality. I enjoyed alone time long before I ever enjoyed time spent with boys. My solitude means so much to me, that no obscene amount of money could ever compete. That's why I hate that I ever let a boy change that about me. There have been times in my life -- multiple in fact -- when I have felt myself lost, consumed almost entirely by someone else's being. Almost completely gone, I don't know if I would have been able to recognize who I am today in a mirror. It was a nightmare for someone like me, whose independent spirit demands to be recognized. I wondered how I ever allowed myself to get to that awful place. It is paramount that my individuality, my independence, remain untouched and intact, throughout every relationship with anyone that I ever have. I have known the feeling of losing myself in someone else before, and that is exactly why I now understand the importance of finding myself and never letting go again.

But it is so tough sometimes, when my dreamer's heart takes hold. It's like a kite caught by a strong northern wind, and all I can do is clutch helplessly onto the handle at the end of the string, holding on and being dragged along wherever it takes me until the wind dies down and all is calm again. My childlike heart does not care about the times it has been hurt before; it does not count the stitches in it or the scars it has collected over time. My heart has amnesia when it comes to the bruises and contusions it has suffered from all the times when I have lost myself in another. All it knows is, cute boy + possibility = grand illusions. My heart never paid attention to anything past this in math class.

My brain, on the other hand, gets it. My brain loves my independence more than almost everything else. Once the alcohol from the night before has worn off and the sunlight is streaming in through my window, my brain is awake and fully alert, demanding answers from my heart as if it is the main murder suspect sitting in an interrogation room. "What were you thinking? What were you doing? Didn't you learn anything from last time?" My brain is hesitant about making big commitments now, after what they have done to it in the past.  It understands that commitment to another person comes with the possibility of sacrificing a part of the whole person I already am. And my brain won't stand for such a betrayal of self anymore.

These two quarrel back and forth time and again, garnering experience and wisdom very slowly over time. My heart, throwing all caution to the wind and ordering just one more drink at the end of the night; and my brain chasing my heart frantically around, wagging its finger in its face like a disapproving mother. When will I learn?

I guess I will learn when I am ready to sacrifice a piece of my individuality for a piece of someone else, again. Out of unsolicited desire, rather than implied necessity. It will probably happen when the idea of taming my wild heart is no longer an option at all. Likely when someone else comes along and scoffs at the idea with the same disdain as I do. Someone who is appalled at the mere notion of me ever reigning my heartfelt ideals into the boxed-in framework of logic. I will finally know better when my brain draws a blank because my heart has already found the answers it seeks reflected in that of another.

But who knows when that day will be? Who knows what I will have to go through and experience in order to prepare myself for that opportunity? I sure as hell don't. So until that day arrives and hits me in the face like a ton of bricks, I guess I can just keep on dreamin', doing all the things that make me wonderfully myself. I can keep wearing my heart on my sleeve and gaining glorious experiences and having my hopes shattered time and again. Because really, it all adds up to the net sum of myself in the end, anyway. And none of it is so bad that it cannot eventually be overcome. I've got twenty-one-and-a-half years of empirical proof of that.

I'm not ready just yet to give up any part of myself or my freedom just because I like someone else. Yeah, I may like them, but I love myself more. This is something I have learned through experience over the years. And the way I see it, if someone is stupid enough to ask me to like them more than I like myself, well... they're just not a good fit for me. The day my brain draws a blank and doesn't know what to tell my heart to do, will be the day when someone comes along and tells me, "Don't you dare change any part of who you are for me. I love you for you, not for being a reflection of me." My brain will be perplexed by such an idea, and it won't have a file to reference. But my heart will finally understand.

Hitler, Voldemort, Fear, Love, and Terrorism

You know what I think? I think terrorists like it when countries are so occupied with fighting against themselves that they can’t work together to present a unified front for combating terrorism. I believe that they count on all of us, as individual citizens, feeling isolated, terrified, and angry. Their success depends on our failure to act cohesively against them. How do you take out one of the most powerful threats to your cause? You break them down into their individual, weakest links, and dissolve their hopeful morale so much until the unified hatred you can offer them is the best option for solace they have – from the very fear which you manufactured and instilled in them in the first place. United we stand, divided we fall.

That’s what Hitler did. He showed the German populace that the Nazi regime was a valiant cause to protect German nationalism and the best interests of the people. He told the citizens of a fearful, war-torn country that he would help pull them out of the wreckage left behind from World War I. He gave the hopeless, vulnerable people something they could believe in. Then he twisted their well-meaning faith into brainwashing and persuaded many to support a message which was contrary to his original rhetoric.

He conveniently provided the German people with a scapegoat for their woes; an entire group of people where they could place the blame. He focused his arguments around how these people were different from the Germans – they were “others,” they were inferior, and they were most certainly worthy of hatred. Hitler stripped the Jewish people of their humanity, and he made doing so seem so trendy, that an entire country jumped on the bandwagon. And in case they weren’t so easily convinced, he had a militant regime of weapons-yielding marionettes ready to help enforce his hatred.

Hitler preyed on the Germans’ fear; he hooked them with illusions of a better life, showed them the actions they could take to make it a reality, and then he manipulated masses of people into fighting his cause for him – his cause, of violence and bigotry, convincing the German population to turn against themselves and fight their own brothers and sisters, resulting in the most death the world has ever seen from a single war – a war which dragged nearly every country in the world into violent death and despair. A war, started out of manufactured fear, and after which, FDR eloquently pointed out, "The only thing we've got to fear is fear itself."

Hitler was a real bad guy. He actually existed, he lived and breathed, and walked among places we can still visit today. But since Hitler’s time, fictitious bad guys have been based off of some of his qualities – his authoritative leadership, his implicit coercion and explicit threats, his dependence on fear and isolation among the masses. Take for instance, Voldemort.

Voldemort did much the same thing as Hitler, though Voldemort is a fictional character in Harry Potter. The reason why so many fans love Harry Potter and its characters is because it is so relatable – Voldemort is to the wizarding world what Hitler is to ours.

There is a scene, in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, toward the end of the movie, where the always-wise and unconventional Luna Lovegood tells Harry, “If I were You-Know-Who, I'd want you to feel cut off from everyone else. Because if it's just you alone, you're not as much of a threat.” And that’s exactly it. People like Voldemort (referred to as “You-Know-Who because people feared him that much) and Hitler understand this fact better than anyone else, because it worked for them. If a dictator – a terrorist – can successfully isolate the people whom they wish to target, then it is suddenly much easier to manipulate them. How does a terrorist successfully isolate people whom they wish to target, you ask? Well, historically speaking, it seems fear tactics are a pretty good place to start.

Voldemort murdered hundreds of thousands of people needlessly; he enslaved others to do his bidding for him; he held others hostage and tortured them for information. He was a pretty bad guy, in general. But how did he get to such a position of power? Fear.

He spouted rhetoric to the Pureblood witches and wizards of the world that they were superior creatures. He provided this fictional Aryan Race with a scapegoat of their own – the Muggles, and well, anyone with a blood status less than Pureblood. He focused on how people were different, strategically ignoring (and actually not even knowing) the humanity common to all. Voldemort told the masses that these people were “others,” they were inferior, and they were most certainly worthy of hatred. Sound familiar? He also had his very own legion of loyal, militant puppets with weapons (okay, wands) ready to enforce his hatred.

Voldemort showed the Pureblood witches and wizards of the world how Half-Bloods, Muggleborns, Muggles, house elves, centaurs, and pretty much every other living creature on the planet contributed to the bane of their existence. He promised the Purebloods their lives would be better if only they could wipe out these inferior creatures – do his bidding for him – and those most loyal to him (who committed the most war crimes) felt the safest from his own dangerous power. In hurting others, they felt they were protecting themselves from becoming targets. In fact, he invoked so much fear, that people were actually afraid of even saying Voldemort's name. However, as our beloved Hermione Granger points out, "Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself."

Voldemort reduced the wizarding world to fighting against itself. He distracted great, intelligent witches and wizards from fighting the true evil – hatred, fear, and bigotry – by emphasizing differences among themselves and telling one group they were better than the rest. He robbed his scapegoats of their humanity, just as Hitler did with the Jews, and he taught the aggressors that they would finally have the power and respect they deserved, if only they could eradicate the world of its scourge of Muggles.

He did all of this by preying on the fear of Purebloods. He was able to convince one half of the population to murder the other by simply playing into the things that scared them most – losing their lives, their loved ones, their power, their reputation. Whatever the individual feared, Voldemort worked on a personal level to threaten, in order to rise to power. He did so by strategically disintegrating any remaining sense of community among witches and wizards. He made sure everyone felt alone and vulnerable, untrusting of those around them, and concerned only with protecting their own self interests. By fostering a toxic environment rife with uncertainty, fear, and hatred, Voldemort was able to manipulate full-grown adults into waging a war against themselves, against humanity.

Why is any of this relevant? Why am I sitting at my keyboard, passionately typing away in a blaze of fury about Hitler and Voldemort, drawing comparisons between the two and their fear tactics? I’ll tell you: Hitler and Voldemort were dictators, yes. They were also terrorists. They struck fear and hatred into the hearts and minds of millions. They both began wars with their respective worlds, born out of their own prejudices and bigotry. They manufactured fear in large groups of people, fear that did not exist before, and then they conveniently provided a solution to the problem they just created.

They told their audiences: “Look at how miserable you are! Aren’t you miserable? I know why. You are miserable because of this other group of people. They are different from you, and you are better than them. Your life is worth more than theirs. In fact, your life would be better if theirs ceased to exist. They are the cause of all of your problems. Hate them. Kill them. Follow me. I will help you in this cause, and together we will be happier without them.” They preyed on the fear of their audiences and brainwashed them into fighting an imaginary war which had real consequences.

This is what terrorists do. They terrorize. They create fear in others that never would have grown organically. They plant the seed of doubt in the minds of so many; and they water it occasionally, fertilizing it with hatred, bigotry, xenophobia, and transferring blame and responsibility to someone else. They tend to this garden regularly, and eventually, fear has grown to its full size. Then they harvest this fear they’ve created and nurtured from conception, and just like a vegetable, they use it to nourish themselves, to further their cause. Fear provides nutrients to terrorists. It is what they depend on to survive.

If you fear another group of people, who don’t look like you, speak like you, dress like you, or come from the same place as you, then you will likely turn to what is more familiar and comfortable to you. And what is easier and more comfortable for us than blaming someone else, who we already fear, for the problems we think we have?

Don’t let the terrorists win. They’ve already won too many battles before. Don’t let them create a feeling of fear inside of you that doesn’t need to exist. The best way to do this is by reaching out, facing that supposed fear. If you would only take a moment to recognize the humanity which resides in all of us, you would realize that people who are different from us are nothing to be feared. If you do not allow the terrorists to cultivate a shadow of doubt within you, then you will understand that we are all one common, human race; and that in hating our sisters and brothers, we are, in fact, hating ourselves.

The terrorists have planted the seed. They are encouraging it to grow. They’re counting on it for their harvest in order to survive. We can choose to believe their fear tactics and water the seed, or we can remain resilient in our faith in humanity, and resolve to be as hard to crack as the Kansas earth in the planting season.

There’s another scene in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix which comes to mind. Upon realizing the seriousness of the impending war, Harry remarks, “Even though we've got a fight ahead of us, we've got one thing that Voldemort doesn't have… Something worth fighting for.” Harry knows that unity among all is the answer, and he knows that Voldemort literally cannot feel love. That is why he strives so hard to achieve power through hatred and evil. But Harry understands that the solution for winning a war against terrorists like Voldemort is not fighting against a cause or a group of people. It's not fighting among ourselves which will win. The answer is fighting for all the things and people you love, with all of the differences between you which make up a united, differentiated front. Fear of others never had a chance to blossom inside of Harry, because he was too busy nurturing love for all.

Turning our backs on those who need help and lumping entire groups of people together as scapegoats is not only morally irresponsible, but it is playing directly into the hands of the terrorists. Fear in the hearts of the masses is the best tool they have for succeeding, and they know it. They're bloodthirsty for it. Holding love in our hearts, in place of fear, is our best weapon against them.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 29 (Your 21st Birthday)

Day 29: The night of your 21st birthday

My twenty-first birthday was not as exciting as it could have been. My birthday is on Valentine's Day and I wore a red dress on a cold night to dinner and a comedy club with some friends. I had two drinks the entire night and in total I only spent $5 to tip our Safe Ride driver for driving us home, even though we were all well below the legal limit.

I had a good night with many people who I wanted to be with. I chose an Italian restaurant to eat at and we went to watch a ventriloquist talk about why love sucks on Valentine's Day night. I had a good birthday.

However, since I turned twenty-one, just over nine months ago, I have had more experiences going out with friends and buying alcohol in general. That being said, the night of my twenty-first birthday pales a bit in comparison as far as fun, (potentially) memorable nights go. I think I would do things a bit differently now, if I were to turn twenty-one again. I'd have a bit more sloppy fun with different people. But that's not to take anything away from my birthday. I did everything I wanted to do. Now, I just think what I want to do wouldn't be the same.

The twenty-first birthday is actually only such a big deal in Western culture, anyway. The majority of countries in the world do not place such emphasis, nor waste so much money, on the "coming-of-age" moment that is being able to purchase and legally consume alcohol at twenty-one years of age. It's really just not as big of a deal anywhere else in the world as it is in America. More important is the focus on another year of life experiences and understanding gained, another year of both formal and informal education under my belt, another span of time showcasing my growth from one year ago to now. That's the stuff that really matters. Not paying $16 for a new horizontal ID that allows me to buy a beer at Applebee's.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 28 (A Phrase You Use Constantly)

Day 28: The word/phrase you use constantly

There seem to be a lot of trendy phrases in use today, and they phase in and out, changing throughout time with the seasons. But one phrase which I have used consistently in my life since I can remember is, "oh my god".

I find this to be indicative of something in our culture, although I couldn't necessarily tell you what. I am not a religious person, and I do not believe in God. At least, not the way that 95% of the rest of Kansans do. I'm not a Christian, so I find it to be funny that I use the phrase "oh my god" so often. I don't think it has any religious context to it anymore, for anyone. (Except for my super Christian eighth grade teacher who would get overly-offended if we used it in class, in our public school.)

Anyway, I don't think of it as having anything to do with religion. It's just another phrase in the evolution of language. To me, "oh my god" is something you exclaim when you are shocked or appalled about something. I use it to express a wide array of feelings: anger, annoyance, surprise, disgust, joy, pride, hunger, impatience, understanding... It is kind of a catch-all phrase for me, and I would say it serves the same purpose for many others around me, as well... Christians and non-Christians, alike.

My French friends like to tease me about how "American" I sound when I exclaim "Oh my god!" without even realizing I'm doing it. They've told me on several occasions, "The French don't say, 'oh mon Dieu!'" Which is true, and why I think it is specific only to the English-speaking culture of America (and perhaps Britain, although I have no firsthand experience by which to attest).

I say many other things constantly, like "I can't even" and "Are you kidding me?" but by and large, and for the longest amount of time, "Oh my god" has certainly been the most common.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 27 (What You Wore Today)

Day 27: What you wore today

I'm going to write this in the present tense, because it is easy and I don't want to wait until later tonight to do it. So, today I am wearing:

• Teal, long sleeve, scoop neck cotton shirt
• Black cotton weaved infinity scarf
• Off-white, brown floral and paisley print, faded skinny jeans
• Black leather boots
• Black synthetic peacoat

That's all. What an easy thing to write about.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 26 (Things You'd Say To An Ex)

Day 26: Things you'd say to an ex

First things first, I just want to say that I have never really much fancied the term "ex", because it is so obviously lacking a noun. Ex-what? To me, it sounds harsh and finite and just rough around the edges. Maybe it's because I love words so much that I choose mine so carefully, but to me, "ex" conveys something less-than. It purposely reduces a person with whom you shared something of yourself, to nothing more than a monosyllabic letter of the alphabet; a slashing sound uttered only with disdain in an attempt to distance yourself from pain.

I suppose this is a completely subjective feeling, and it probably stems from the fact that I have never had a relationship end so horribly that I have ever felt such disdain. Or perhaps I simply know that attempting to distance myself from the pain with my linguistics will not actually lead me to any closure or healing in the end. At any rate, I don't like the phrase "ex" because to me, it seems like an attempt to erase the person from the word. "Ex" is only an adjective, after all. By leaving it at that, you're eradicating everything else they ever were to you. Ex-boyfriend, ex-best friend, ex-lover, ex-confidant, ex-support system... And I suppose that thinking about all those nouns is what really does a lot of people in. That's why they stick with simply calling them an "ex". It doesn't do justice to all that the person used to be to them, and that's the point.

Anyway, now that I have said my piece about that, I will get to the point: things I would say to a former boyfriend. The list is quite short, and I am going to include both those people who wore the actual title of "boyfriend" as well as those who didn't quite get there, but who more or less filled the role. While there are certainly some specific things I would say to the boys with whom I've had relationships, there are also some things which are universal to all of them, and that I'd probably say to any future former boyfriends of  mine, too, just as the nature of who I am. So I'm going to stick to those.

1. Thank you. Thank you for the experience you allowed me to have by knowing you, and thank you for helping develop my own personal growth in doing so. I am grateful to you for embarking on this journey together with me, no matter how it turned out. We have given one another precious moments of our lives which we will never get back, and invested hours into a relationship that ultimately failed. But there are tremendous lessons to be learned from failure; more so than there will ever be from success. You trusted me with your heart and we shared things together which nobody else will ever know or understand. You invested in me just as I invested in you, and even though it ended differently than we would've once hoped, we both walked away from it better for the trouble. So thank you for this opportunity and privilege of learning and growing, both together and independently.

2. I'm sorry. I am the farthest thing from perfect, as I am sure you realized this after the honeymoon phase was over. I cry, I storm off angry, I am a master of the silent treatment. I have a temper which rivals that of a grizzly bear. I am sure we fought over some really stupid stuff. I am positive I started at least half of those fights. And I probably made you feel guilty about it afterward, too. I bet when you were busy daydreaming about me during those first few weeks, you had no idea what a nightmare I could be. I'm sorry for the times when I jumped to conclusions or picked a fight over something which really doesn't matter anymore. Now that our time is over, looking back at those fights, I wish I would've been more aware that I was wasting precious time of which we were only allotted so much.

3. I forgive you. This one is most certainly the hardest, and it undoubtedly took me the longest time to get around to doing. As terrible as I can be, you can be too. We are both human and we have both done things to one another which have left permanent scars. A few of those things were intentional, but most of them were not. Most of them were simple casualties of love; or at least, an attempt at loving one another as imperfect people held up against our own stupid standard of perfection. Sometimes you broke my heart in a million little ways, over the course of time. Other times, you broke it a one big hurrah where I questioned everything our relationship ever meant to me. Yet, the beautiful thing, and the most important thing, about love and heartbreak, is forgiveness. I could name all the ways you destroyed me. Or I could focus instead on the time, determination, and energy I put into forgiving you for all of it. You broke my heart. But in doing so, you broke it free of the cage which encased it and allowed it to spread its wings and fly toward its freedom. Once I was able to forgive you for breaking it, I was able to realize all I could do after being broken.

So far in my life, I have been very lucky to have the kind of relationships which have ended in mutual respect, amicability, and a basic understanding that the rights of each of us as individuals come before any obligation to another. In my mere 21 years of life and love, I have begun to understand the adage "if you love something, let it go". To truly want someone who you love so deeply to be happy, means understanding the sacrifice you will be making if their happiness does not include you. That is a lesson which can only be learned through painstaking experience. It is inexplicable to someone who has never felt it.

I'd say many more things to the boys who have been known a temporary residence inside of my heart, but to do so would be disrespectful of the peace which I have attained with each of them. Love hurts us more often than it does not, but part of the journey to our own happiness is following our heart, even when it drags us through some of the worst pain we've ever known. Through this deeply personal pain, we gain a kind of clarity which we didn't have before; which teaches us lessons in all sorts of things, but especially in gratitude, forgiveness, and acceptance. I believe it would be foolish of us to succumb to the desire to avoid our pain, and allow ourselves to forget the very people who offered us the opportunities to learn so much about ourselves in the first place. After all, an important part of knowing where you're going, is understanding where it is you're coming from.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 25 (Four Weird Traits You Have)

Day 25: Four weird traits you have

I don't really know what qualifies as a weird trait, but I can certainly think of four traits that I do have, regardless of their weirdness level.

1. I pop my body all the time. Knuckles, neck, back, hips, ankles, wrists... Pretty much every joint I have, I pop. I know I shouldn't. Everybody tells me that, including my chiropractor. But I still do.

2. I like eating pickles with applesauce. This came about from USD 470 serving dill pickle spears alongside applesauce and cinnamon rolls on chili day. I don't remember what compelled me to pick up that first pickle and dip it in the applesauce, but I have loved them paired together ever since.

3. I will stop what I am doing to clip a hang nail if I see one. Oftentimes, this is probably more a product of my own intense procrastination than anything else, but I suppose it could also have something to do with my desire to fix a problem right away when I notice it, rather than letting it sit. Especially if it is one which is literally right at my fingertips.

4. It's hard for me to go to sleep without first applying any Chapstick. Again, I'm unsure of when this tick came about, but for as long as I can remember, I have felt weird without anything on my lips, particularly on my way to sleep.

There you have it. Those are the first four weird traits I can think of.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 24 (Something You Miss)

Day 24: Something you miss

I miss France. I miss France so terribly. I miss the loved ones I have there and the culture as a whole. I miss the language, the fashion, the food, the music, the art, and all of the beautiful people. I miss the country so rich in history that they have wines older than America. I miss walking through small cobblestone streets and hearing French small talk among the natives and smelling bread everywhere. I miss the weather which necessitates an umbrella on your person at all times, and the sun seeming to rise earlier and set later than it does in the Western Hemisphere. I miss volets and having open windows always, but especially when I sleep. I miss the picturesque beaches and ordering fruits de mer from a menu to eat some of the best food in my life. I miss ending words in -erie to simply mean a store specializing in whatever the prefix may be. I miss seeing boys with clearly European facial features and body hair with scarves and handbags, all over the place. I miss the tiny, almost unnoticeable, linguistic idiosyncrasies that you will only hear coming out of a French person, like a sigh with "alors" or the elongated "euh..." between catching their breath in a long-winded story. I miss the moment of proud epiphany when I understand a slang phrase like "Che pas" and how it translates to what I learned in a classroom years before as "Je ne sais pas". I miss not being carded for ordering a glass of wine with my dinner or a beer on a Friday night. I miss wearing dresses everywhere, all the time, and receiving less that one-tenth of the disgusting, leering looks from male passersby as in America. I miss ordering a meal, any meal, and it automatically arriving with a side dish of baguette. I miss chocolate everything. I miss all of the coffee. I miss fast public transportation and not driving a car for weeks.

I miss many things about France, but more than everything else, I miss my family there. I miss the little girls whose baby French voices I could hear floating up the stairs from breakfast as I woke up in the mornings. I miss learning playground songs and clapping games from two beautiful children with chocolate brown eyes, and experiencing their adorable French frustration when I still couldn't understand them after asking them to repeat themselves several times. I miss my international host parents who were experts in four cultures and five languages between the two of them. I miss grocery shopping in giant French hypermarches with them weekly and still being culture-shocked by something new every single time.

I miss the culture and I miss my family. But mostly, I guess I just miss feeling so much at home, so far away from where I was born.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 23 (A Family Member You Dislike)

Day 23: A family member you dislike

Oh, this one could get interesting. There have been many family members I've disliked during my lifetime, in varying degrees, for different periods of time, and for many reasons. I have always looked at it like this: You can't help being related to someone, but you can sure help who you associate with. It's important to remember that while we can't choose our family, we can choose our battles.

I would like to preface this blog entry by saying that, believe it or not, I do try to refrain from actively disliking things or people. I make an effort not to harbor negativity in my heart, and certainly not to let heavy things like hate burden my peace-seeking soul. Of course, I am human and I am not perfect. Ask anyone who really knows me, and they will be able to confirm: I am quite capable of dislike.

The first family member who comes to mind when I think of those I dislike is one who I have known since my childhood. This person is someone who is related to me by blood, but who most certainly does not behave in a manner similar to my own. The reasons why I dislike this particular family member come from many sources of irritation, misunderstanding, and hurt. In my life experience with them, I have witnessed this person exhibit a lack of responsibility for many things, most of all for their own actions which have continually hurt others. This person is someone who has an extremely difficult time with the idea that others do not live their lives in exactly the same manner as they do. They are someone who has absolutely no tolerance for dissenting opinions or opposition.

Yes, I do dislike this person and I have often questioned how it is possible we share the same bloodline. But that being said, it does not mean I wish them any harm or that I do not forgive them for their ignorance and love them equally as a fellow human being on this planet with me. You see, it is absolutely possible to dislike someone and wholeheartedly disagree with their actions, but to evade the pitfall of hate completely. Hate hurts only the person who harbors it, and frankly, I simply don't like this person enough to give them that kind of power over me.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 22 (Your Morning Routine)

Day 22: Your morning routine

Well, today I ran a little behind schedule so I didn't really stick to my routine. Instead, I will describe what usually happens:

• Hit snooze several times
• Get out of bed
• Shower
• Get dressed
• Turn on music
• Make a cup of tea
• Do my makeup
• Do my hair (it's important to do makeup before hair since I cut my bangs and they now cover my forehead)
• Brush my teeth
• Spray perfume
• Put on hand lotion
• Put on jacket/coat
• Leave for the bus to class

That's about it. On the days when I don't have class, I sleep in until my body wakes me up because either my stomach growls or my bladder is full. There's generally very little routine to those mornings.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 21 (Your Horoscope & If It Fits You)

Day 21: Your zodiac/horoscope and whether you think it fits you

Oh goodness. My mother is gonna love this one, because she is big into horoscopes. Personally, I think they're just a bunch vague, slightly-differentiated blanket statements used to make people ohh and ahh over their lives. But anyway, I did a Google search for "Aquarius horoscope for today" and here's what Astrology.com had to say about me on November 10:

"You might be wishing that you could escape the headaches in your life right now, but even if you could fly away from the earth like a bird, you would have to come back down to earth eventually -- and these issues would be right there waiting for you. So you need to be more grounded right now -- it's necessary for you to face up to your responsibilities and do what needs to be done. If you try too hard to avoid things, you are only delaying the inevitable."

This could easily be true for me on any given day of the year, but especially now since I am beginning to feel the end-of-the-semester crunch. All my group projects are coming due soon, with the first presentation being this Thursday (in two days). I procrastinate my homework and waste too much money. I don't eat the healthiest foods and I only exercise once a week. My co-workers get on my nerves and my teachers assign busywork. I am bombarded daily with the question about what I'm doing after graduation and I don't get as much sleep as I would like. You're darn right, I absolutely want to "escape the headaches in my life". But you know what? That's life (more specifically, college) and though I don't really like it, I accept it. These times will be over soon enough, and I will not be feeling so stressed out anymore. This too, shall pass.

Do I think this horoscope fits me? Yes. And several other people, including non-Aquariuses. Which is usually how I feel about horoscopes in general. People are so anxious to highlight and capitalize on our differences -- often disguised as what makes us "unique" -- but really, we are all so much more alike than we are taught to believe. We're all human and we all have hopes, dreams, fears, insecurities, and even "headaches in life" which we'd like to escape. We are all in this together, and it would do all of us some good to remember it.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 20 (3 Songs on Shuffle)

Day 20: Put your music player on shuffle and write the first 3 songs that play and what your initial thought is

I listen to music on all different platforms, so I decided that perhaps the best chance I would have of getting results I really love would be by shuffling my music library on my phone. (If it's on my phone, it means I've purchased the physical album.) Here goes.


1. Back to December by Taylor Swift. 
Oh, this song. Classic T-Swift anguished love song. I loved it from the first time I heard it when Speak Now came out back in high school. I love it even more now. I think it's funny how the same old songs can bring old memories rushing back to you clear as day, yet just as easily they can shower you in new understanding after so many years.

2. Looking for the Holes by Ani DiFranco. 
One of my very favorite teachers from high school and my first feminist role model introduced me to this song. She gave me a burned CD of Ani DiFranco's music at the beginning of college when I was struggling with a boy being mean to me about feminism. I still have that CD. I'm so glad she gave it to me.

3. You Remind Me of You by Jack Johnson.
I listen to this album (From Here To Now To You) when I need to relax and get my mind off serious things. I remember the summer this album came out. It wasn't that long ago. For months, I listened to it on repeat while I was driving. Jack Johnson soothes my hippie heart with his lyrics and lighthearted guitar picking.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 19 (Five Fears You Have)

Day 19: Five fears that you have

This one might be a little tough, because I don't really go around thinking about my fears very often. I don't know that I really have a lot of them, at least not from examining my thoughts on the surface. But I know fear is nothing more than an emotion, and I've got a full range of those, so I will do the best I can.

1. Being alone. Like in the creepy way when you walk into a place like a large house or a shopping center that is normally noisy and full of life, but it's actually empty and silent now. The kind of alone that scares me is when I am physically alone, and I can hear every small creak of a wooden floor or draft whistling through the crack between the door and its frame. I don't like it because I have watched entirely too much television and read way too many books, and my imagination goes wild with ideas of serial killers and seventy-year-old ghosts, and suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck are on edge and a simple gust of wind gives me a heart attack.

2. Being shot. You may laugh at this one, but it is very real. There have been times when I am walking somewhere in a very open, public space and a car drives past me and I think, "I would be really easy to gun down right now." I know that sounds awful, that I think about things like that... But is it really so awful that I think about it, or is it awful that other people actually do it? I have a strong enough dislike for guns in the hands of everyone, that I fear them. I spend most of my time on a college campus located in the middle of one of the most under-served, poverty-stricken, urban areas of the largest city (the only city) in Kansas. When I read national headlines on a regular basis about shootings in movie theaters, on college campuses, and in elementary schools, I start to get scared. Even more so when the state government announces a plan to make carrying guns on campus perfectly legal for everyone. (No lie. Google it.)

3. Losing a loved one. This one is pretty self-explanatory, I think. I have always been afraid of loving my loved ones since I can remember waking up from a nightmare at a young age and fighting back tears to tell my mom I had a dream that she died. (Analyze that for what it's worth.) I think as soon as my childlike brain was able to comprehend the adult idea of never seeing someone again, I realized that it could happen -- that it was in fact, going to happen -- to people I know and love. And that's a tough pill to swallow; one that I don't know if anyone ever really learns to get over.

4. Being left. That's a pretty real fear that I think most people have, but they are too afraid to admit it, or maybe they just can't articulate it because they don't even consciously realize it. The thing is, for many serial monogamists, or even for someone whose parent accidentally forgot them at the grocery store once, being left by someone you care about is frightening. It's frightening because it is such a real possibility; because you know, deep down, that it has a chance of actually happening... again. Not to get too terribly spiritual, but one of the main lessons of Buddhism is that "attachment leads to suffering". That's the whole game of life. You can't get hurt if you don't get attached. But, like so many others in the world, I get attached. It's only human to do so, after all. Getting attached is literally what makes us human. (That, and opposable thumbs.) Getting attached can be a beautiful thing! But like most other beautiful things, it also deserves respect for the danger of hurting you that it carries with it. Being left scares me because it has happened to me more than once before, and I know it will probably happen again. But that's okay. It cuts deep and it makes you examine yourself at the core of your being. And my goodness, do you ever grow from facing that fear.

5. Failure. Not the baby kind of failure, like getting an F on a midterm and crying about it then eating junk food all weekend long. That kind of failure I've experienced and I have recovered from before. I accept that that kind of failure happens on occasion. I mean the kind of failure where you grossly disappoint someone you admire, like your parents, your friends, your mentor, or yourself. I am afraid of the kind of failure where you have nothing to show for your effort except for a tough lesson learned and some scarring life experience. Failure like "I dropped out of college because I just couldn't be bothered to try," or "I moved halfway across the country and couldn't find a job that would hire me after graduation, so now I have nowhere to stay". I think everyone is a little bit afraid of failure, because like it or not, avoiding it is often what keeps you motivated to succeed. I am fairly confident in my ability to succeed, through whatever resourceful means are necessary, though, so I don't know that this fear is very realistic for me. It's more like encountering a serial killer: the chances that it'll happen are slim, but dire, and the only way to survive is to use what's around you to get out alive.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 18 (Your Favorite Color and Why)

Day 18: Your favorite color and why

Purple is my very favorite color. Several things I own are purple: my phone case, a few of my picture frames, the chair in my room, the big fuzzy pillow on that chair, the rug in my bathroom, my bath towels, and my old laptop which I just recently replaced was also purple. The window pane color on my new laptop is purple now. Several of my shirts, dresses, scarves, shorts, socks, and underwear are also purple. It's definitely my favorite.

I like plenty of other colors, too; don't get me wrong. I love teal and coral, especially when paired together in an outfit or fingernail polish choices. I also find black is a common staple of my wardrobe. I've noticed bright neon green is a great complement for anything purple, as well. I love bright, colorful things in all shapes and sizes.

As for why purple happens to be my favorite color in particular? I really have no idea. I just remember it has been for a very long time. I guess I could say it comes from some deeply subconscious, underlying connection to royalty and my joy of being fancy and getting all dressed up. But that'd just be a big crock of bull. I guess I like purple because it's a softer color and although it is secondary, it goes well as a solid base color with a lot of things. I don't know. It's one of the few things I am really unable to put a finger on a reason for liking it the way I do.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 17 (A Quote You Try To Live By)

Day 17: A quote you try to live by

The first thing that came to mind when I thought about this was something I will always be able to hear my mother saying to me. The first memory I have of it comes from a very long time ago in my childhood, when I was probably only four or five years old. "Just do the best you can. That's all anyone can ask of you."

I have since heard her say this phrase on countless occasions to not only me, but also both of my siblings, my nephews, and probably several other people who I have forgotten about. When you're young, you don't really think about stuff like that or how it is going to shape you for the rest of your life. But looking back, it's easy to see how it has.

I always do the best I can, even to the point of groaning begrudgingly but carrying on when I just don't want to try anymore or I am exhausted past the point of caring. I always seem to be able to hear my mom saying, "Just do the best you can!" Not in a condescending or authoritative way, but in a genuinely helpful and supportive way; letting me know that my best will always be good enough.

The second part of that quote is the part that has helped me the most in getting through my adolescence, as well as my college education. I think that somehow inherently knowing that all anyone can ask of me is that I do my best has actually helped me learn how to create and maintain healthy boundaries and perspective as an adult.

If a person -- no matter who it is -- asks me to do something, and I have legitimately tried my best and still fallen short, then I have no problem whatsoever in being at peace knowing that I did all I could do. No amount of guilt tripping or shaming me will make me feel bad about not being good enough or not doing well enough. All that trying to make me feel bad will accomplish at that point is make me very angry at the source of the attempted guilt or shame. This translates over into my interpersonal relationships, as well. I am capable of loving a person with all that I have, but if all that I have is not good enough, that's too bad.

Similarly, through college, I have come to learn that I am a B-average kind of student. All throughout my academic career up to this point, I have always been an A student. Yeah, I got the occasional B in a hard math class; but again, my best in math was a B and I was okay with that. However, in the senior year of my baccalaureate program, I can say, getting more B's than A's is totally no big deal to me. Even now, some of my peers gasp at the horror of that idea. I don't care.

My parents never pressured me to be a straight-A student, and both of them always told me that I am incredibly intelligent and capable of doing anything. They supported me in whatever academic endeavors I dreamed up, and they still do. What the educational system does not recognize as A-student material, I acknowledge as being immeasurable on a grading scale. I have done my best, and that's all anyone can ask of me. 

Essentially, my mother instilled in me at an early age self-confidence and acceptance of the fact that my best is good enough. As long as I am really doing my best, then that's all I'm capable of offering. That is really all there is to it. It would be impossible for me to do anymore than I already have. So don't expect me to do the impossible.

I guess I never realized it until now when I actually sat down to think about it, but hearing my mom tell me those things over and over again as a young, impressionable child really helped instill good self-worth in my psyche. I don't think I actively try to live by that quote all of the time, but it is certainly always there in the back of my mind for me to fall back on when I need it. It has subconsciously shaped my life, teaching me how to be consciously aware that no matter what I do, when I have given my all, it will always be good enough.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 16 (Bullet Your Entire Day)

Day 16: Bullet Your Entire Day

Well, my day isn't quite over yet, but I've currently got about 15 minutes to kill before The Daily Show comes on, and after I watch it, I'll be going to bed. So this is as close as it's gonna get.

• Forced myself to get out of bed in the cold morning air
• Took a shower and soaked up the hot water
• Got out and got dressed for work
• Turned on my One Direction playlist
• Did my hair and makeup for the day
• Caught the bus to campus for class
• Went to class and discussed our Euro Disney case study (which was pretty interesting to me)
• Went to breakfast in the cafeteria
• Read today's issue of the school newspaper
• Went to work (for almost two hours longer than I intended)
• Caught the bus home while Skyping my little brother on my phone
• Laid down for about five minutes, which was long enough to start to doze off
• Got up and went to dinner in the cafeteria
• Stuck around after dinner to socialize with some friends for about an hour
• Left the cafeteria and drove to campus to attend a Spectrum meeting
• In the meeting, we played LGBT Trivial Pursuit and laughed quite a bit
• Left the meeting ten minutes early to come home and catch the new episode of Scandal
• Watched Scandal and managed to fall asleep once during a commercial break
• Crept through social media for fifteen minutes straight before I realized what I was doing
• Took off my makeup and took out my contacts
• Made myself a cup of tea
• Sat down to write this blog entry

That's a day in the life of Alyssa!

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 15 (Three Pet Peeves)

Day 15: Three Pet Peeves

1. Slow Walkers. God, I get so irritated when I get stuck behind a slow walker. Or worse, a group of them. Whether they're just totally engrossed in their cell phones, chattering together like a group of clucking chickens, or just appear to be a slow person in general, I don't like getting stuck behind them. Especially when they don't walk single file down the sidewalk and it is impossible for me to pass them and get on my way. Even more so when I need to be somewhere on time. In fact, that's the only time when I notice it. Other times, when I'm not in a hurry, I don't mind slow walkers so much. But when I have somewhere to be, I prefer it when people move out of my way.

2. Loud Chewers. When it is otherwise quiet and I can hear someone smacking their food in their mouth, it often takes a lot of restraint for me not to tell them to please chew with their mouth closed. I don't know if it's a habit they just don't realize they've picked up, or if they're aware of it and nobody has ever told them how awful it is to be around someone who is audibly consuming their food. Either way, I'm uncomfortable with listening to your saliva smack against your mouth and coat everything inside of it. Please stop.

3. Tailgaters. I live in the Midwest. We drive everywhere, all the time. That is why it is amazing to me that there still seem to be so many people who aren't good at it. I brake-check tailgaters frequently, without shame. If you are driving so close to the back end of my car that my gentle tapping on the brakes causes you to rear-end me, I assure you both insurance companies as well as the police will find you to be the guilty party. Back up off me, bro!

Likewise, when we're stopped at a red light, don't stop within a foot and a half of my tail lights. When I was learning to drive, I was taught that when stopping at a red light, I should stop far enough away that I can see the back tires of the car in front of me on the ground. That usually equates to about five feet away from the back bumper of that car. Why? So that if someone rear-ends me, I am less likely to rear-end the car in front of me in a domino effect, thus mitigating the damage as well as my liability. I think I must have been one of maybe 100 people in all of Kansas who were taught this. I will intentionally drive slower or wait a half-second longer to begin moving again in this situation, just to spite the close-driver.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 14 (Your Life in 7 Years)

Day 14: Your life in 7 years

Good grief. I can't even picture my life in seven months, let alone seven years. It could be anything -- literally.

Let's see, it will be 2022 in seven years, and I will be 28 years old. I already don't like the sound of this. Where will I be living? What will I be doing? Who will be in my life? This is stressful.

Just last week, my chiropractor was making small talk with me and, knowing I'll soon be graduating with an IB degree, he asked me which country I want to live in when I grow up. My knee-jerk reaction was to say France or Britain. But, I told him, I would also be fine staying in this country (for now) as long as I can move to another state. I told him about Boston and I think he could see the stars in my eyes. But for the moment, any permanent decision remains to be made.

I haven't the foggiest idea what I'll be doing at 28 years old. Will I be writing? Will I be a digital content manager? Will I work at McDonald's? Will I own a company? (God, I hope not.) I don't know. But that's kind of the terrifying beauty of it. I don't know what I will be doing seven years from now, any more than I know what I'll be doing seven hours from now. (Sleeping, I hope.) Whatever I'm doing, I know I'll be happy.

Who will be in my life? That question is yet another amorphous blob of mystery. The people who are in my life now may stay or go, and certainly there will be others I've yet to meet who come along as well. Will I be married? (I certainly hope not.) Will I have children? (No.) Will all my friends and family still be alive and available for me to call on the telephone? (Fingers crossed!) But we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

I think back on my life seven years ago, and that's how I know there is no way of knowing the future seven years from now. Seven years ago, I was 14 years old. It was 2008, Obama was just about to win his first Presidential election, the US economy was almost ready to tank due to the housing bubble, and The Black Eyed Peas had just dropped "Boom Boom Pow" on the radio. I was a freshman in high school (oh how I wouldn't relive those days) and I had no idea I was in for a long and bumpy road of school, homework, bad teachers, late nights, early mornings, boyfriends, heartbreak, best friends, questionable haircuts, hard work, international travel, a feminist awakening, and even becoming a big sister.

There is no possible way that if I were able to go back in time to 14-year-old Alyssa right now and tell her everything she has in store, that past Alyssa would believe it. Who I was then and who I am now are two different people, entirely. The damage and the growth alike are irreparable and irreversible.

So, as for my life in seven years, the only thing I can say at the moment with any clear certainty is: I don't know.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 13 (Your Commute To and From Work/School)

Day 13: Your commute to and from work/school

I live and work on campus, so I don't have much of a commute to either location. However, since the addition of the shuttle buses last year, I will say the commute has become much easier for me than it used to be (when the buses are running as they're supposed to).

On Mondays and Wednesdays, I catch the 9:15 bus to campus and ride it three stops to go to class in Clinton at 9:30. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I catch the 7:45 bus and ride it the same distance for class in Clinton at 8:00. On both days, I leave class and walk less than five minutes from the building my class is in to the building where I work.

My commute home is even simpler. I walk across campus about ten minutes to the last bus stop before the one at the dorms where I live and ride the shuttle for about five minutes to get across the busy intersection. The time at which I return home differs from day to day. I don't have class or work on Fridays, so I usually don't make any commute to campus.

I recognize how convenient this commute is for me, even in comparison to the commute I had when I worked a summer job a few months ago. Even living in a city the size of Wichita, I still had to drive 20-30 minutes each way. I know bigger cities require a much longer commute, and that both excites and inconveniences me. (What a privileged problem that is to have.)

While I was in Boston for less than a week this summer, my commute from the city's center to my Airbnb house was about an hour, requiring I change trains twice and then ride the bus to one of the last stops before walking another two blocks to get home. I liked it and disliked it at the same time, but regardless, I've certainly improved at navigating public transportation.

I remember my French host dad telling me that when my host family lived in Paris, he used to have to ride the métro an hour to and from work every day. The métro terrified me the handful of times I used it, and it was always overflowing with sweaty strangers, packed in tightly like a few hundred French sardines.

For now, I've got a commute which is extremely easy, and I'm careful not to take it for granted. But at the same time, I welcome new and exciting changes with open arms.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 12 (Two Phrases That Make You Laugh)

Day 12: Two words/phrases that make you laugh

I'm honestly having a little trouble thinking of words or phrases that make me laugh. There are plenty of words and phrases that intrigue me, that anger me, that sadden me. But that make me laugh? I am almost at a loss.

After thinking about it for a few minutes, I've decided that English is boring and that there is no such word or phrase in the language that really makes me laugh. So, instead I thought about words and phrases I know in French, and now I have a few more colorful ideas.

"C'est quoi ce bordel?" This one is bad, and it is not a phrase which is meant to be used in a polite setting, certainly. It is a curse word, and if you are exclaiming it at someone, don't expect them to respond happily. I've heard many a French person demand an answer to this question before, and each time it is hilarious to me. Essentially, it's the equivalent of asking someone "what the f***?" in English. Though to translate it literally, it means "what is this mess?" This phrase makes me laugh for a few reasons. First of all, I learned the phrase in a bar in France one night when my fellow drunk American friends and I asked the bartender to teach us bad words. I still have the Post-It note on which he scribbled it. I've never picked up rough slang in a more straightforward manner. Secondly, this phrase makes me laugh because it is something which an unknowing student could read and translate quite literally, without realizing the cultural connotation it holds. You'd think you are simply asking, "what is this mess?" and you'd have no idea what you had actually just done. And while that seems unlikely, it is actually pretty common to commit such a faux pas, and you never really learn how to gracefully bounce back from a situation like that.

"Coup de foudre" The translation and figurative meaning of this phrase is innocent enough, but that's not what makes me laugh about it. It literally translates to "a strike of lightning" and figuratively, it means "love at first sight". As in, when you meet someone and you are so taken by them that it hits you like a strike of lightning. I learned this phrase in a formal setting some years ago during one of my very first college French courses. However, it was not until a few years later that I would learn a phrase so similar in sound yet different in meaning, that a slight slip of the untrained American tongue would mean a lot of laughter and embarrassment for any person so careless. The reason this particular phrase makes me laugh is because "coup de foudre" is 100 percent pure and innocent. However, a lazy non-native French speaker accidentally adding extra emphasis to the last syllable could easily result in other people understanding "coup de foutre" and that one tiny letter change makes a world of difference. This phrase is totally sexual and should not be used in any social circle more formal than with your drinking buddies. I will let you Google the phrase for yourself and discover what it means. Let's just say, mastering the slight difference between the "-dre" and "-tre" sounds en français is extremely important in this instance, lest you give someone the wrong idea about how exactly you fell in love at first sight.

There are many other much more profound words and phrases in English, French, and many other languages as well that intrigue and captivate me with their etymology. But these two phrases in particular? Well, just thinking about their situational uses makes me giggle.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 11 (Your Current Relationship)

Day 11: Your current relationship; if single, discuss that too

I am single. God, I am so single; and I am basking in all of its do-what-I-want-and-talk-to-whom-I-please glory. I can go out with many different people, drinking and dancing until after midnight, and I can come home, take off my makeup, and sleep diagonally in my giant bed until 2:00 the following afternoon. I can text and talk to whomever I please (or whomever I don't) and spend my money on nothing but new clothes for myself. I don't have to plan my weekends around anyone else and if someone flirts with me, I do not feel the least bit bad.

I am single, and I can make solo plans for myself months in advance (just like I did for Boston). When I eat out at a restaurant, I only ever have to worry about paying for myself. I don't shave my legs unless I really want to, and  I can wear the same ratty old clothes to bed for a week (not that this differs much from how I ever was in a relationship).

I am single, and if someone approaches me in a romantic way and I don't reciprocate at all, I don't feel bad for kindly telling them so. I don't need to use the patriarchy-appeasing excuse of "I have a boyfriend" to ward off the weirdos, because I can confidently say to them, "hey, I'm just doing my own thing right now, thanks." And strangely enough, that simple fact brings me much joy.

I am single, and I have learned so much more about myself during my singledom than I ever have while I have been one-half of a relationship. I have learned a lot about other people, too. All in all, being single has been a greater learning experience for me at this stage of my life, than anything else I've ever experienced. The way people (mis)treat a single woman, the confidence it takes to teach yourself to walk into a room and sit at a table by yourself, and the patience it requires to see others around you engrossed in their relationships, all come with time and experience in growing into being single. The single most defining, pivotal moment in singledom comes when you realize the significant difference between being lonely and being alone. You don't have to be single to be lonely. And you don't have to be lonely to be alone. I have seen some of the most lonely people, invested in marriage for decades, without even the smallest amount of love. I've seen people living their lives quite happily alone, with more friends and close confidants than the most social of relationship-prone butterflies.

I am single, and I am grateful. Grateful, for this time of great learning about myself, as well as others. Grateful, for this time of great learning about love; both the kind involving others, and the deeper kind involving only myself.

I am single, and there is not a doubt in my mind that my life is meant to be this way at this time for many reasons. I don't have regrets, and I don't pity myself or lament my being single. I have no "better half," because I am already one whole person. A fact many non-single people quickly forget.

I am single, and for the first time in my life, I have a crystal clear vision of what it really means to be happy, without the influence of anyone else.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 10 (A Fruit You Dislike and Why)

Day 10: A fruit you dislike and why

I don't really think there is a fruit I dislike. Although, I do remember the time when I discovered I am allergic to grapefruit. And I haven't eaten it since.

I was staying at my Dad's house one summer sometime around the beginning of high school and I remember going grocery shopping with him when I first arrived. We bought all kinds of food for us to eat over the next week and some supplies to have a fish fry after we spent some time on the lake over the next few days.

I have always been a juice-drinker in the morning and breakfast has always been my favorite meal of the day. However, Dad is allergic to oranges, and that includes and kind of real orange juice, other than Sunny D. It makes his throat swell shut if he drinks it. (Or so I'd been told, thankfully I have never actually witnessed it.) So bearing this in mind, I chose a gallon of fruit juice for us to drink in the mornings which had no oranges in it. I don't remember exactly what brand or what all the ingredients were, but I do remember it was made up largely of grapefruit juice.

The next morning, we woke up and Dad made his coffee, and I poured myself a glass of juice. I took a few drinks of it, and the next thing I knew, I had this strange tingly sensation in both of my lips, unlike anything I had ever felt before. I didn't really think anything of it though, and I continued to drink my juice as I woke up. I remember walking into the bathroom a short time after that, and when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, a sense of panic struck my heart. My lips were swollen and huge! I looked like I had a serious case of horse-mouth.

I ran out of the bathroom and found Dad and I didn't even have to say a word. I just looked at him. His face was screwed up like he was trying to stifle his laughter when he saw me, and he kind of chuckled when he asked me if I was okay. (Clearly I was not okay!) I remember him saying something along the lines of, "well I guess you're allergic to grapefruit." I asked him if he thought my throat was going to swell shut like his does with oranges. He said, "well, I hope not" and gave me a Benadryl. I drank some water and laid down in bed while I waited for the swelling to subside. I was still a little panicked and I think I even texted my Mom telling her about my new accidental discovery.

The Benadryl must've done the trick, because the next thing I remember is waking up a few hours later, and my mouth looked normal again. I don't really have an opinion either way about grapefruit itself as a fruit, because I've never experienced it aside from that time. I don't even honestly know what it tastes like. But I have never been brave enough to pick one up and try it again, after what happened to me the first time. I'm sure if I did now, years later, I'd probably be fine, But I'll let you know how it goes some day when I'm feeling really brave.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 9 (Your Feelings on Ageism)

Day 9: Your feelings on ageism

The first thing that pops into my head when I think of ageism is probably pretty common: discrimination against old people. But, when I thought of it a little more before preparing to write this, I thought about how it might affect my own life.

Due to the fact that I am only 21 years old, ageism hasn't personally affected me much, at least not in the way that I imagine it might affect a person well over 70. However, if ageism is simply defined as being a form of discrimination against someone based on their age, then that would mean anyone is vulnerable, right? If that's the case, then I think I can speak about the times when I've been "too young" for something.

The most common way I've been affected is when people in my mother's generation or older talk about "the good ol' days" and "how it was back then" and in doing so, they almost always prefer "those days" to these days. Having a personal preference and opinion about something is fine, and it's totally within every person's rights to do so. But where it gets a little iffy is when it's applied directly to another person, in a way that presents them as being wrong for disagreeing. It's a little hard to explain. Let me give you some examples, instead:

• "When I was a kid, we didn't have cell phones. You actually had to talk to the people next to you."
• "We didn't have the Internet. If you wanted to know something, you had to go to the library and look it up. Do you even know how to use a card catalog?"
• "When we went on road trips, we didn't have Google Maps. We actually had to use a map to find our way."
• "We didn't have all this high-tech video game stuff when we were kids. We had an Atari and all we played was Pong. It was two sticks and a ball and it was a classic."
• "I never stayed inside all day on a computer as a child. I'd play outside all day with the neighbor kids and only come back when the street lights came on or Mom called out for dinner."

See, these are about the only examples I can think of in which ageism has even remotely affected my life. People tend to believe this way are missing an important point, though. It's not like any of us young'uns had any control over when we were born or what technology was available to us in our upbringing. You act like I had any choice in the matter. You're dang right I'm choosing to use Google over the card catalog because it's faster, more thorough, and easier to maneuver. And why wouldn't I? The technology is available to me and it is the direction in which the world will continue to move. So my electing to use outdated tools benefits myself and others in no way whatsoever. If you ask me, when people say things like this, it shows a tiny bit of bitterness and resentment toward the present day, because "they didn't have it back then".

Similarly, I've heard my fellow Millennials comment with some disdain on even younger generations about how "my parents didn't get me a cell phone until I was 13. Why does a six-year-old even need one?" The answer to that question aside, it doesn't matter. First of all, it's likely none of your business; and secondly, the difference in cell phone technology and widespread availability between the time when we were six and now are worlds apart. As the environment changes, so too, will the standards by which we live. The same is true for all things.

Basically, my feelings on ageism are this: It definitely exists. There's no denying it's a real thing. Although I have not yet experienced workplace discrimination on the basis of my age, I do not doubt that it happens to other people. As for the ageism I have witnessed in my life, I think it's best for everyone to practice not pushing their own preferences on those who are different from them, just as it is with anything else.

I can't help being born when I was, and I can't help being socialized to behave the way present day society has conditioned me to. I am sure the summer of '69 was a wonderful time. But I can in no way truly appreciate that, because all the events in the universe had not yet culminated to result in my birth. However, I happen to remember the summer of '09 vividly, and for me, it was wonderful. Different from your summer, certainly. But every bit as valid of an experience to me as yours is to you.