I am alive.

Men will be men (ie pigs), after all.

2012-01-22T17:29:00.000-08:00

He whistled slowly as she walked by his desk, a couple of his henchmen crowded around him like frat boys.

“With that ass, it’s no wonder she’s been getting so much attention. What man in his right mind could resist a treat like that?”

She stopped walking abruptly and turned to him. “Excuse me?”

He raised an eyebrow and eyed her hungrily. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. Did you not hear me?” A man beside him chuckled.

“Well, I think I heard you correctly, but I’m having a hard time believing that even you would make a comment so misguided and offensive.”

He held out his hands to his sides, the picture of innocence. “Offensive? I was just paying you a compliment.” He tilted his head and eyed her. “A well deserved compliment.”

At this, she crossed her arms in front of her and looked him over, from his scuffed shoes and ill-fitting pants, all the way to his shiny, balding head. Taking it all in, this image of a sad man who was trying so hard to recapture his glory days, she couldn’t help but smile slightly.

Seeing her smile, he smirked, clearly thinking he had won. Flattered his way through her weak, feminine defenses. “That’s the spirit, sweetheart.” One of his cronies high-fived him, laughing.

“You know what your problem is, Ed?”

He turned to look at her, smile frozen on his face.

“You are unforgivably daft.”

Now it was his turn to look offended. “What did you say?”

He leaned forward in his chair, and it creaked under the weight of his body.

“Now, I know that this might be hard for you to understand, but the compliments that I’ve been getting on my work have nothing to do with body.”

Ed laughed, leaning his head back and putting one hand on his slight gut. She noticed that his shirt was a little tight, and found this detail to be sad. He must have been quite dashing a few years ago.

“I get it. You’re threatened. I’m, what? Ten years younger than you? I’ve been promoted three times in the last eight months, while you’ve been sitting at the same desk for the better part of the decade. And insult of all insults,” she leaned forward and raised an eyebrow, “I’m a woman.”

He scoffed, but it was half-hearted. He had lost his bravado and seemed to deflate slightly under her hard, unwavering gaze.

“Now, in the back of your head, there’s a voice that’s saying, ‘Maybe she’s smarter than you. Faster than you. Works harder than you. Maybe, just maybe, she’s better than you.’ But you can’t handle it. Your poor, fragile little ego just can’t stand the thought. So you look at my body, you look at my ass, and you think, ‘No. A woman like that — she must be sleeping her way to the top. She must be an absolute whore.’

“But let me tell you something, Ed. I’m not here because I’m pretty. I’m not here because I let men make me their play-thing. I’m here because I do my job, and I do it well.”

He stared at her, they all stared at her, wordlessly. Ed’s mouth was open, and yet he was unable to articulate the shock and rage that was so plainly written on his face.

She narrowed her eyes and took a step back, disgusted. “You know, I think your lack of ability to come up with a proper response to my tirade shows exactly why you haven’t been promoted in so long.”

He coughed and began to say something, but she held up a finger and cut him off. “I could get you for sexual harassment, you know. Go to HR right now and get you fired. Right now. But that would only give you an excuse.”

She gave him one last look as she turned away. “And I have a feeling you’re on your way out anyway.”

This is how I wish every scene in Mad Men would end.

A series of contradictions.

2012-01-16T18:55:00.000-08:00

I simultaneously:
Love and hate the human condition
Want to know and cannot stand most people
Desire to witness human history forever and would like to leave this planet immediately

Everyone is sleeping.

2012-01-16T02:16:00.000-08:00

The streets were empty. She could hear her shoes clicking softly against the pavement, and she spun slowly, arms out straight.

"Why are you so happy?" He asked, hands in his pockets, walking beside her.

She looked at him and noted that he looked pretty happy himself. "The city is ours."

He laughed. "Maybe. But it's only because no one else is crazy enough to wander around on a freezing January night."

Looking at him sideways, she narrowed her eyes a little. "You people are so soft."

"Soft?" Clearly offended.

"It is almost 50 degrees outside. I am wearing cute shoes, a light coat, and a dress. And I am perfectly content."

"You and your midwestern smugness. Just wait until summer. Then I'll get you."

She paused and thought about this reference to the future. Summer. That was four months away. Summer. Where would she be?

Concerned, and unable to deal with this concern on such a beautiful night, she pushed the thought out of her mind and smiled at the boy beside her vaguely. Thought about touching his hair and settled for looking at it for a little while. Thought about touching his lips and settled for looking at those as well. Then felt slightly creepy and looked away quickly.

And just in time. He turned to her, his cheeks red from the cold, eyes wide and expressive.

"Where are we going, exactly?"

At this question, she smiled wide and lifted her eyebrows mischievously. "Ice cream."

And she laughed loudly as he groaned, her voice echoing against the high concrete buildings that surrounded them, filling the night air with the sound of her joy.

I'm a dirty girl. ...No, no. I meant literally dirty. Sorry.

2012-01-15T19:00:00.000-08:00

Hot date. No time (motivation) to shower. Will resort to distraction tactics of a nice dress and a touch of make up. I hope it will work. Experience has taught me to reveal lack of enthusiasm about hygiene no earlier than the third date.

(You gots to trap 'em with your feminine wiles before revealing your [literally] dirty secrets, ladies)

Buzzkill.

2012-01-14T02:04:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, when I am having a conversation, you come up. It usually happens with someone I have not talked to in awhile, and they don't know. They don't know that you passed away. So they'll mention you, casually, maybe as a little bit of a joke. And I find myself going along with it. Just pretending that you're still alive. Maybe even adding a casual comment or two. Because I don't know how to tell them.

I don't know how to say it, this lump of a sentence that stops all conversation and causes them to look at me with such pity in their eyes. "Actually, he's dead."

Just don't overthink this.

2012-01-11T00:42:00.000-08:00

"Why do you always have to be so cynical?"

"Because sometimes things come. Good things. But there's no future in them."

Seeing him, walking across the street towards her, his long legs covering the distance with no effort at all, his unruly hair piled on his head, hands in his pockets, she suddenly felt the urge to take a picture. To stop the moment entirely and watch him, his hooded eyes peeking out at her, lopsided smile on his face, watch him walk toward her for the rest of her life. Or at least for the next hour or so.

But she couldn't stop time, couldn't even slow it down to admire him properly, and suddenly he was there. Standing before her and waving his left hand in a gesture of greeting.

"Hi."

"Hey."

He didn't sit, and she felt unsure of what to do. So she stood, just as he made to sit down at the table. They both paused, frozen in awkward positions, looking at each other. After a few seconds of this, his mouth partly open, her knees still slightly bent as she rose, they began to laugh. Earnestly and with a little bit of embarrassment.

In that moment, she remembered why she was here, sitting at an overpriced, outdoor patisserie on a crowded street on a windy day. She remembered why she had worn her new skirt, cinched at her waist and reaching her toes, and why she had brushed her hair out carefully in the mirror at her studio, letting it fall around her shoulders freely, as she rarely did.

Because there was something there, between them. It had been there when they had met, a week ago, in a crowded house on New Year's Eve, and it was there now. It was quieter now, in the light of day without the borrowed courage of alcohol and the rush of new beginnings, but it was still there; of that, she was sure.

Still laughing, they both sat down, smiling at each other, comfortable.

He leaned forward in the small iron chair and folded his hands on the table. "You haven't been waiting long?"

She shook her head, feeling shy about his closeness, the intensity of his stare. "No. No, not at all. I'm just -- I'm enjoying the day."

He looked out at the sky, which was a beautiful soft blue and nodded slowly. "We are pretty damn lucky, that's for sure."

"I know! This is my first winter in California, and I--"

"Wait, really?" He looked at her, head slightly tilted.

She nodded, used to this reaction. "Yeah."

"But I thought your parents..."

"It's complicated, but technically, I have only been living here since November. Before that, I was in Michigan." She shrugged her shoulders as he looked at her as most people native to California did when she revealed this news, as if they couldn't imagine a young woman such as herself having to face the atrocities that lay outside their state's borders. It was a mixture of astonishment and awe that she found endlessly amusing.

"Wow. Then yeah, I guess you really must be enjoying today," he said. And it was true. She couldn't quite get used to the weather, and had to keep reminding herself that, in spite of the fact that she was wearing a skirt and tank top, in spite of the fact that she had taken a nap in the grass a few days ago, and in spite of the fact that she had spent all of last weekend lounging in a pool, it was January. January. Her Michigan counterpart would have been decked out in snow boots, a large winter coat, and three pairs of long johns. And yet here she was, sunglasses in hand, about to have lunch outside in a very nice part of town with a very good looking man.

Life, she thought, was strange, indeed.

"What are you writing?" He gestured at the red notebook in front of her, which was open, her favorite pen lying beside it.

"Um," she looked down at the scribbles on the page and, for once, felt grateful that her handwriting was barely legible, even to her. "Nothing really." A pause. "Stupid stuff."

Looking up, she saw that he was looking at her, a wide smile on his face. "Oh yeah?" Eyebrows raised, eyes sparkling mischievously, he was beautiful, and she had to remind herself to breathe.

She laughed a little, smiling stupidly back at him. "Yeah."

Unlike most people, he did not ply for more details, grab for her notebook, or ask if he could read it. He just smiled at her and nodded, accepting her answer.

A waiter approached them then, a skinny man with a black apron tied around his waist. He handed them both slim, one page menus, took their orders for water, then walked away.

"Have you ever been here before?"

She looked over the menu, which had an array of pastries and sandwiches. "Nope."

"Me neither." Their eyes met over their menus. She smiled. "It will be an adventure, then!"

Just then, their waiter placed two glasses of water on the table before them. As soon as the waiter left, he picked one glass up and held it up to her. "To new adventures."

She held her glass to his and laughed spontaneously. "To new adventures."

First draft of the first part of something, my friends.

Ice cream trucks and empty houses.

2012-01-09T22:20:00.000-08:00

I fill my head with dreams of home until the morning light leaks slowly into my window. I peer out through the cracks in my blinds at the sky stained pink and red, and I wonder what you see. If you see me.

"I'm sure you know that I'm leaving."

2012-01-07T19:47:00.000-08:00

I was getting ready to mail something to Manifest. A little piece of writing for their annual drawing exhibit, and in doing so, I was looking through old emails. I came across a cluster of emails from you. To you. They were from a few years ago, and they were beautiful.

God, we were so young and beautiful. I loved you, bud. And you loved me. And no matter what has happened since, it happened. It happened, that glorious love. And I'm happy to have been a part of it. Because it was a pretty good time. I just wish I could let you know. That I'm glad. I'm glad we were such good friends, you and I.

I am happy, and I am me.

2012-01-07T19:29:00.000-08:00

At the beginning of every day, I like to ask myself, "If I died today, would I be happy with how I spent my time?" In college, the answer was usually, "No." Don't get me wrong. I loved college. In a lot of ways, I really did. I love learning; I love art. But I didn't love the town I was in, and I always felt like I had a lack of space, a lack of control over my life and the things in it. I felt so far away from so many people who I loved.

But now. Surprisingly, the answer is usually, "Yes." I love my job. I really do. I love the weather here. I have a studio space, a great living space, am surrounded by good company, and have plenty of time to work on my art. Yes, this situation is temporary, and I will probably be moving on in a few months. But for now, I will allow myself to savor it, each and every day.

Today, we drove back from a few days well spent in San Diego. Walking into my place, I noticed that my work table was set and ready for me, the sunlight was streaming into the windows,and that my bed looked fantastic. So I did the only thing that made sense: I opened all the windows to let the spring-like breeze stream into my room, got cozy in bed with the third book in the Eragon series, and read until I fell asleep, feeling very happy indeed.

There's no room for genuine feeling.

2011-12-29T23:55:00.000-08:00

I am remembering the reasons for forgetting in the first place.

It's like a prayer from my lips.

2011-12-28T02:09:00.000-08:00

I want to run again. I want to experience my body moving, constantly moving as my legs and feet carry me to new places, lead me to discovery, and allow me to see the world in a different light. I want to be outside. Free and invigoratingly alive. I want to be aware of the world around me and my place in it. I want to look up and marvel at the largeness of the trees, the vastness of the sky. I want to look down and be amazed at the life within the soil, the ancient rocks beneath my feet. I want to be alive and young and free, knowing that my body is capable of carrying me high into the mountains and deep into jagged valleys. I want to walk. I want to walk, and walk, and walk until my mind falls still and the only thing that I am aware of is the sound of my own breathing. I want to explore.

I want to feel better now. I want to feel better now, please?

Don't forget.

2011-12-12T00:57:00.001-08:00

Stepping out of the train, she cupped her hands over her bleary eyes, immediately blinded by a relentless Indian sun. The air was heavy with history, and she felt the dust of this long forgotten land coat her skin, working its way into her lungs as she breathed in the air of her ancestors. She blinked slowly as she looked around, feeling overwhelmed by the flat yellow land that extended in every direction, the swarms of dark bodies moving swiftly in the August heat, small houses and shops protruding haphazardly from the earth in a mess of line and color. She marveled at the sunlight, how it filtered through the sky and trickled onto the land as if through a dirty attic window, golden rays filled with enchantment.

She was surrounded by bodies; people moving around her as she stood, rooted to the ground, in her American made shoes, sweat glistening on her American grown skin, American thoughts running through her brain in an American language. She looked at the people around her as they passed, struck by how familiar these strangers looked. She saw pieces of herself everywhere, recognizing herself reflected back in the dark gold of their eyes, the black waves of their hair, the graceful length of their limbs. And yet she was alone, an anomaly in the well woven fabric of a society that she, that her family, had abandoned years ago. A cliche, searching for identity and familiarity in a land that she no longer belonged to, perhaps had never truly belonged to.

Suddenly, she was overtaken by confusion and felt, quite predictably, like crying. But just as her eyes began to fill with tears, her vision blurring softly at the edges, there came a soft breeze breaking its way through the still and burning air. It lifted her hair from her shoulders, causing it to sway gently in her face. And as it passed by her ears, it whispered three unmistakable words in a language that was all her own, “You are home; you are home; you are home.”

Nice boys in nice cars.

2011-12-06T23:25:00.001-08:00

I know I don't update this often. I've been writing in journals a lot, making art a lot, which I don't really post on this anymore, and also I don't want everyone to know about my life, I guess. It's a privilege to know what someone is doing, you know? A privilege that not everyone earns.

I will say, though, that I miss this. I know it's not a noteworthy photograph, but it captures a moment. And I miss it a lot:

(also, this is my 1300th post)

Also, I ate all of my leftover pumpkin bread and apple tart.

2011-11-25T23:28:00.001-08:00

Oh my god, my head is full of witty things today and no one to say them to. Can someone come over so I can make funny, yet biting remarks to you all night? I would say I'll make you cookies, but I probably won't.

Keep in touch, will you?

2011-11-23T13:47:00.001-08:00

"I've been trying to read the books you gave me, though I have to admit I'm finding Howard's End quite heavy-going. It's like they've been drinking the same cup of tea for two hundred pages, and I keep waiting for someone to pull a knife or an alien invasion or something, but that's not going to happen is it?"

Received a mysterious and exciting looking package from a dear friend in Brooklyn yesterday. The contents were a pre-loved and battered book called One Day and a nice card filled with caring words. The package was a little delayed getting to me, since my address has changed about ten million times since late July, when we exchanged information in North Carolina. Because of this, I had to pay the disgruntled mail man $3.17 before he would hand over the package. I tipped him eight cents for his trouble.

There's something about reading a book that has been read by someone before you, especially when said person is a dear friend you probably won't see for a long while. I can picture the journey this book must have made with this person, shoved into a bag as a subway stop came sooner than expected, coffee spilled on it in a moment of crisis when a person who looked vaguely like Hugh Jackman asked for the time, etc, etc.

And it's a beautiful book thus far. I have a feeling it will break my heart, but for now, I will just enjoy the weight of its 437 pages resting in my hands, an unbroken promise, so full of hope.

Look:

2011-11-22T20:04:00.001-08:00

You know I love you; you know I care. So just stop with this nonsense and come home.

Holding on while letting go.

2011-11-17T14:12:00.001-08:00

Full disclosure: I would not be posting this if I were not PMSing. But I am, so here we are.

I think about human connection. Our connection. Late night conversations, aching hearts thudding loudly in our quiet rooms, dealing with the distance that seemed to grow, not shrink, with time. The excitement of being in the same place, your knuckles knocking on my door at 8:13, your shoes coming off at 8:14, and your lips against my lips, bare skin pressing with urgency by 8:16. The pain of parting a mere fourteen and a half hours later, tears shed, bravery feigned, one last look and then gone. Both of us sitting in the dark, me in my room, you in your car, thinking that this was leading to something greater. Something easier and more free.

It was an accumulation of moments, of care, of love, building up to a moment when goodbyes would not be dreaded, and nights would not be spent alone. When, awakened by a nightmare, I would be comforted by the closeness of your flesh and your warm, steady fingers. It was these thoughts, this tentative promise of a future, that held us together, bound us to each other in an idealistic and all-trusting love. We were headed down a path, side by side and moving forward, waiting for a day when it would be easier. It would all be easier.

But it didn't get easier. The path that we were walking on was not one that would bring us together, but allow us to fall apart. It turns out that every painful goodbye was not leading to a time when we would no longer have to part, but rather to a time when we would no longer meet. When we would no longer care to meet, or talk, or even inquire vaguely about each other through social media.

I don't regret that we parted. It might be me synthesizing my happiness, as us humans are apt to do, but it seems inevitable now. But I do regret how we parted. The confusion, abruptness, and lack of communication throughout the whole thing. We were together. Even when we were apart, we were together. And now, we could stand side-by-side, shoulders touching, and we would be so far apart.

I do not think we will talk again. And I think about all those moments, all those beautiful moments and years, and I wonder it was for. Piled on top of each other, all those moments, all those whispered words of intimacy and care were leading up to this -- this attempt to remember and hold on to the goodness and beauty of the four years that we shared before it disappears altogether.

Someday, I'm sure, I will hear about you getting married, maybe having kids, maybe not. And I will feel a distant pang in my chest, a faint sadness in my mind. And then I will shake it off and shrug my shoulders slightly, taking a deep breath before moving on with my day. Because, really, you are just somebody, like so many others, who I used to know.

Wearing footie pj's and feelin' snug as a bug, that's all.

2011-11-03T23:07:00.000-07:00

(And that is something that I will never, ever understand)

In other news, I have been home for three days now after a very, very exciting few months of adventure. The last month in particular was so beautiful, so inspiring, and such a huge learning experience. It gave me perspective and courage and filled me with passion. I had forgotten how brave I could be in the face of my fears (of which there are many). And this road trip reminded me of those things. Of how adept I can be at handling situations which are out of my comfort zone, out of my realm of knowledge. And the simple beauty of companionship.

When I close my eyes and picture all of the breathtaking places I went, all of the wonderful roads I traveled (literally and figuratively), I do see canyons and cliffs and valleys and mountains and ocean and buildings and fields of grass -- but most of all, I see Rachel. Laughing, driving, reacting loudly to a development in The Hunger Games, sleeping (creepy much?), building a fire, searching for a rock, two steps ahead of me on an incline, giant honeycrisp apple in hand. And seeing these things in my mind, these images flashing before my eyes one after the other, I know that without that companionship, without that friendship, the trip would have been great, yes, but it would have been completely different. And I'm so glad I had a friend there with me every step of the way, although, honestly, saying "friend" doesn't really sum it up, does it?

God, I am so lucky. So, so blessed to have had all of the opportunities and experiences and adventures that I have had this summer. Since graduating in May, my life has definitely been a roller coaster. Unpredictable and full of many lows, but it seems that for the past few months, I have been going up, up, up. Higher and higher and higher -- and I don't see a peak coming anytime soon.The people that I have met, the places that I have gone, the way that I have grown -- all of these things were completely unforeseen by me in May, but look at me now. Look at me now. I'm making paper.

Just kidding. I've actually been doing the opposite of making paper for the past few months. But I am happy, and although happiness isn't very thug, it's pretty nice anyway.

When I was in Santa Barbara last week, I was able to stop and see my darling, darling friend Dan. We were only able to talk for about half an hour or so, standing in the middle of a kitchen that he is in the process of remodeling (for free, because he's just that kind of guy), but as I was telling him about some of my adventures, he looked at me and said, "You seem really happy."

I stopped talking and thought about it for a minute. Then, smile on my face, I responded, "I feel really happy." And he told me that it shows.

It does show. Because I am. I am in a place that, at the end of May, I never thought I would get. Heck, I'm at a place that's better than I ever could have imagined. It's not that I wasn't happy before May, or that I wasn't... content, because, in a lot of ways, I was. But I feel so much more... me now. That's really the only way I can say it. When I look in the mirror, I see the best and forgotten qualities of the girl I was when I was 18, mixed with the maturity and gravity of the girl I have developed into since then. I have resurrected that excitement, that confidence, that edge of rebellion and faith. I remember my dreams, my ambitions, my desire for something more than a life in the suburbs with church every Sunday.

And who knows. Maybe I will end up with a slightly different version of that same life someday (although probably [hopefully] not). But if that happens, it will be on my own terms, and it will be a long time from now. Because I might be home for the next few months, but I am still on a beautiful and awe-inspiring adventure. I am doing things that scare me and challenge me and make me feel wriggly in my clothes.

Speaking of which, did you know that it's National Novel Writing Month? Well, it is. And even though the thought of it really does make me feel wriggly in my clothes, I think I'm going to go for it. Because what's life without a little challenge? How can we grow without a little fear, a little bravery, a little success, and a little failure?

I'm not going to sit here and wait to find out. I'm going to dive in and, well, live.

#2

2011-10-18T00:16:00.000-07:00

A steady hand on my back as I cross the threshold into your warmly lit house.

"Did you get lost trying to find me?" A small smile as you accept the wine bottle from my chilled hands.

Perhaps. But weaving through these city streets, I navigated the hills while listening to the whispering of my heart and found my way.

I found my way.

#1

2011-10-18T00:10:00.001-07:00

Tonight
I found a piece of what I was looking for.
And it wasn't you.

No, it wasn't you.

Road trip updates aren't really my style, turns out.

2011-10-13T23:31:00.000-07:00

I am exploring. I am climbing mountains and descending into canyons. Bundling up in layers, only to shed them as I ascend, one foot in front of the other, pack full of sustenance strapped to my back. I am sleeping under stars and in unknown parking lots. Meeting kind strangers and being reminded of distant friends.

I am exploring. I have given up on my road trip updates, because I am bad at them. And they are nothing more than a summary of an itinerary that says nothing about how I feel. And also, this is the first time I have had internet in a week.

I am exploring. Driving and stopping and getting out of the car and gasping as I take a turn around the mountain and end up in a completely different place than where I started that morning. I am not writing enough or taking enough pictures. That would be impossible. But I am a sponge. A large and thirsty sponge, soaking in the cloudy Wyoming sky, the vast Arizona desert.

I am exploring, and I am brave. Proud and brave and happy. Because this world, this world, it is beautiful. And with every new horizon that I see, every new landscape that I explore, I learn and expand, the beauty residing in me like a flower and causing me to bloom.

But right now, this screen is swimming before my tired eyes, and I am, for once, warm and indoors. This is a rarity, and it is luxurious. So I will close my eyes and sleep. But come tomorrow, do you know what I will do? I will explore.

And that is exactly what I will do.

2011-10-09T18:38:00.001-07:00

"Observe, for that too is important. See, hear, taste, feel, and absorb everything around you. Art cannot feed off itself. It needs life to sustain it. So go and live life."

- Anita Nair, Mistress

Road Trip Update Two: From Phoenix to the Grand Canyon

2011-10-04T17:57:00.001-07:00

Hi friends! I am currently sitting in The Canyon Cafe, which, despite having a name that conjures images of wooden fireplaces, large mugs of hot chocolate and cozy couches, is actually just a glorified and overpriced cafeteria. But it does have wi-fi, so here I am!

Since we last spoke (unless you're my mom, who insists on talking to me twice a day), a lot has happened in a short amount of time! We left Kyle's apartment, and while trying to locate the San Diego Book Arts Center, we stumbled across Balboa Park. It was a beautiful and sunny Sunday, and we couldn't resist parking and exploring the park in the limited time that we had. We made friends with some really nice trees, observed many adults taking part in a scavenger hunt and walked through the Botanical Center. All in all, it was an afternoon well spent.

After that, we headed to Craig's place in Phoenix, stopping on the way at Dateland, AZ, where we sampled some of their homemade date ice cream and alternated going to the bathroom a few times. Apparently our road trip schedule doesn't sit too well with our digestive systems (That may be TMI, but if you know me at all, you should have expected it, reader). And although we got to Craig's place late and left early (After a wonderful, calorie loaded breakfast at Black Bear Diner), we enjoyed our visit thoroughly. Our favorite detail about Craig's place was the "Welcome!" that he had written on his white board, with cute stars and all.

Yesterday, we drove up to the Grand Canyon, stopping in Sedona, AZ spontaneously for a wonderful hike to Cathedral Rock. It was a short but "strenuous" hike, and was actually more rock climbing than hiking at some points. The view from the top was beautiful, and we gyrated our hips with joy (Now a tradition).

I realize that this post is kind of boring and would be much improved by pictures, but predictably, I cannot find my card reader right now. Even more predictably, I think I may have entirely forgotten to pack it. And you know, my forgetfulness used to really aggravate me, and it still does sometimes, but right now, I'm going to ignore the inconveniences of this personality trait and pretend that it's endearing. Okay?

We got to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon pretty late last night (I may or may not have gotten us lost)(Not endearing at all), camped in Nathan's snug two person tent (Thanks Nathan!), and hiked into the Canyon today. Unfortunately, we got kind of a late start (about 10:30 or so), and were only able to hike down 3 miles. It was especially unfortunate because, honestly, after those 3 miles, which take you basically to the bottom of the canyon, the path becomes pretty level and takes you through a beautiful valley of trees and into a beautiful vantage point in what seems like the center of the canyon. But by the time we got to the bottom, it was about 1:00, so we decided to be smart and start heading up. We made great time hiking up, and made it out of there around 3:15. They say it should take you double the time to go up as it does to go down (which is why we started ascending so early), but we must have really been booking it going up or going really slow going down (I think maybe a little bit of both).

Now, we are resting a little bit and preparing for a cold night. It's been chillier than we expected, and the low today is 30 degrees, I think, so we better bundle up! Tomorrow, we are headed off to Bryce Canyon! I really appreciate all the texts, calls, messages and emails from everyone and will try to return as many as possible. But the new blogger interface tells me that almost 100 people looked at my last post, so to those of you who are silently reading, don't be shy! Give us pointers and tips! Tell us places we must absolutely see or absolutely avoid. Or just say, "Hi!" We'd love to hear from you!

Here we go.

2011-10-02T12:55:00.000-07:00

Well, friends. It is officially road trip season. Actually, I think fall/winter is the end of road trip season for most productive citizens who actually contribute to society, but since I am definitely not one of those people, for me, it is officially the start of road trip season!

Last Tuesday, Rachel flew out to LAX, which was only about a week after she got back from Israel (because she's a world traveler, that one). And yesterday, after a lot of moving and not as much planning as we needed, we finally started our trip.

This map is our rough plan for the month (except we didn't put in the Grand Tetons, which we have now decided to see):

I don't really know how often I will have internet. Today, we are in San Diego, and tomorrow we will be in Phoenix, but after that, we start our "wilderness retreat," which will last a couple of weeks. In that time, we plan on going to the Grand Canyon, Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, the Grand Tetons, Salt Lake City, and Moab.

Well, I will try to update this blog while we are on the road, but honestly, it probably won't happen very much. If anyone has any suggestions about what we should see/do while we are gone, let us know. Our goal is to get to LA by Halloween to go to Boo-Over, but other than that, we are pretty open to exploration.

Off to Phoenix!

All of the above.

2011-09-26T22:55:00.000-07:00

Look, Satpreet. Make up your freakin' mind. Which do you want?

a) Nikon d7000

b) New killer tripod, some lighting equipment, an SB-600 to replace the one that got stolen/you lost in LA

c) A 4x5 view camera with a new killer tripod and a ton of film

d) A new battery for your laptop (way overdue), a great awesome new hiking backpack, and saving the rest for other random camping stuff you're going to need that you can't think of right now

or e) None of the above because you're broke and touring the country for the next month, remember?

I wish someone would give me a photography/road trip grant, and then I wouldn't have this problem. THEN I COULD BUY EVERYTHING AND BE HAPPY FOREVER. Except I'm pretty sure that's not how happiness works. But maybe that's just what the rich people tell you so you don't steal their money.

You will never read this.

2011-09-26T20:46:00.000-07:00

Why don't you do what you dream?
Why don't you do what you dream?
Why don't you do what you dream?

Don't you feel sad, when you sit in
your bed, at the end of the day, and
think about how nothing has changed?
Don't you feel sad, when you wake
up in the morning, and realize that
nothing is going to change, unless
you (just you) (it needs to be you)
gather. the. strength. to change. it?

I ask, but I never get a straight answer.

2011-09-22T16:13:00.000-07:00

She couldn't get used to it. The instinctive smile that landed on her face every time she saw him. It didn't matter if his brows were furrowed, lips set in a scowl, which they so often were. There was something about him, his unruly hair piled on top of his head, his large, expressive eyes, slight slouch as he walked, hands in his pockets. She couldn't get used to it, and she most certainly couldn't help it. But no matter where, no matter how often she saw him, she smiled. She couldn't help but smile.

And every so often, her insistence, her persistence, her gentle teasing and her smile won her the response that she was always looking for. Shaking his head, he would look at her, head bowed. And he would smile back. It changed his face every time, like a cloud passing from in front of the sun -- he radiated a warmth and beauty that he hid so often from the world.

She couldn't help but wonder what had happened that made him so sad.

I can close my eyes and smell it.

2011-09-20T20:32:00.000-07:00

Even if it didn't last, who can deny the beauty of what once existed between two people?

Not me. Certainly not me.

A play date would be great, thanks.

2011-09-17T21:00:00.000-07:00

(sources unknown)

May we all be friends, please? I can make you really yummy cookies. Both of the healthy and unhealthy variety. And I can dance a silly dance for you! Yeah! ... Or not. I can not dance, too. I'm actually really good at not dancing, when the situation calls for it.

Do you remember that documentary?

2011-09-12T23:25:00.001-07:00

For the past week, I've only been able to open my mouth about 3/4 of an inch. I feel like that kid who wouldn't come out of the bathroom, and his mom had to figure out all the foods that would fit under the door when she went grocery shopping.

Everyday I'm shufflin'.

2011-09-12T23:06:00.000-07:00

She was dancing. As she had done for years in her own home, and as she had recently begun to do in hoards of undulating bodies, she was dancing. Not to look cute, not to get play, not to impress these sweating strangers. She danced because this feeling, as her limbs moved and her body swayed and her hair fell, a black river down her back, this feeling was beautiful. She smiled without thinking, lifted her arms above her head, and she danced.

When she wasn't closing her eyes, she could see friends in the distance, acquaintances near by, holding up drinks, smiling and nodding their heads. She turned her body in a spiral and dug herself deeper into the crowd, avoiding guys touching her hips, giving her the eye. Most of them saw her large, effortless movements and complicated twists and didn't even try to approach her. A few of them would come close and ask her questions, try to hold her hand, and she would only smile while shaking her head and move rhythmically away, escaping their requests, their expectations, their aggressive lips and awkward bodies.

She was on a date with the rhythms and beats that filled this dark room, flirting with the energy that came off of every living body, drunk on nothing but the waves flowing through her body, telling her to move, to glide, to give in to the night and to the feeling of her very own existence.

Pure, unadulterated joy rippled through her limbs, and she could feel small explosions go off in her body, a thousand Pop Rocks at once, as she listened to the beat. She felt no need to talk. She felt no need to find someone she knew. With this crowd of heads and shoulders and limbs, she was having a conversation. She was telling her story as she shook her hips and bent her legs and kicked up her feet. Like whispers, the air around her moved with her body, following her movements and filling the room with all the things she could not say with words.

Release. With every beat vibrating through the floor and into her skin, she let go, just a little bit, of all the weight she had carried with her for so long. With every upward motion of her arms, she felt her past leave her and she was lifted up with the immensity of her joy. The immensity of her freedom and happiness and confidence. And hope.

As the music flowed through her, as her fists pumped the air and as she looked around her and saw all the bobbing heads and moving bodies that filled the room, she felt hope. The universe was full of people just like her, looking for life and love and themselves. She had been forced to join their journey, shoved from the smug sidelines where she had become so comfortable, so sure.

And once she had stopped trying to get away, once she had accepted her fate and pushed her hair back from her face, wiped her tears and looked around, she had been surprised. She found fun where before she only saw stupidity, kindness where she had expected none, earnestness and validity in every face, in every encounter. She had stumbled, so easily, into a journey that was long, but one that was beautiful and kind and lined with amazing people from all forms of life.

She knew that sometimes she would fall, sometimes she would cry and feel disheartened and alone. Sometimes, she would wake up in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar horizon and feel so far from home. But she would stand tall. Lift her chin and find within her a deep love for herself, for her neighbors, for the strangers who she would encounter throughout the day, and for the world. And at the end of each day, when the evening tucked the sun away and the stars came out and music started pumping, she would dance. No matter what, she would keep on dancing.

I've come so far from where I've been.

2011-09-09T17:40:00.000-07:00

Look. There are no "right" answers. There are no "right" jobs or "right" cities or "right" significant others. There are a million good ones and just as many crappy ones. What I've taken away from this summer (which is a lot, by the way), is we're all heading somewhere. It's impossible to know where, it's impossible to know when we'll get "there." So you can either sit in your room, twiddle your thumbs and hope that your next choice is the "right" one, or you can step outside your door and just, I don't know, do something.

And trust me. Once you start making decisions, you'll realize that the process isn't as scary as it is cracked up to be. And with this knowledge, you can stop letting fear dictate your life and start letting your happiness and experiences and the multitude of beauty in the world start dictating it.

(I realize this isn't well-written. Stream of consciousness while drugged up on antibodies)

And so what do you do? Run? Yeah, you run.

2011-09-01T23:45:00.000-07:00

"Because when someone you care about is mad at you, it’s like they’ve seen the ugliest part of you that you know exists, but no one else was ever meant to see. It’s your darkness and your capacity to hurt that you take such care to hide. And now someone knows that you’re ugly. They know that terrible, small part of you that makes you hate yourself in your most alone moments. It’s humiliating."

-Gaby Dunn

She did not know.

2011-08-31T19:31:00.000-07:00

"But you trust me, right?"

He looked at her, expectantly. She looked at her lap, her hands, her fingers -- intertwined, a web. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him. The least she could do was look at him.

At the pause, he raised one eyebrow and then shook his head, letting out an exasperated noise. "I thought we were on the same page."

She shrugged, finding it impossible to say what he wanted to hear. "I have nothing to give you. I told you. I have nothing to offer."

He closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. She heard the leather move under his weight. She looked at his jawline, his stubble, the soft street light illuminating just his nose, lips and chin.

"This has nothing to do with you." She said it softly, unsure.

He turned to her, head still leaned back. Opened his eyes slightly, one hand on the steering wheel. "It feels like it does."

"I know." A pause. "But it doesn't. It has everything to do with me. With my past."

She raised her hands and touched both sides of her head. "It just feels so... so close. I mean, it is so close. It is so close, and it's suffocating. But I'm trying. I'm trying; I'm trying."

He leaned forward, touched her hands, pulled so that they rested between them. "Are you?"

She looked at him, alarmed. Offended. And then, clarity. She laughed a little laugh. She wasn't. She was trying to try, and she was failing.

As if following her every thought, he smiled. One sad smile. Shrugged.

"I just guess I'm not ready." He dropped her hands at those words. "I'm not even ready to try."

"And that's okay." His eyes, big, were understanding. "It's okay, and it's understandable. But I can't do this if you can't."

He paused, one last effort to coax the words out of her. This time, she smiled.

"I can't."

He exhaled, running one hand through his hair. "Yeah. I figured."
She undid her seat belt and put her hand on the door. "I'm sorry." As she opened the door, she looked at his profile in the light. Shook her head at her own stupidity.

With a small wave, she stepped onto the sidewalk and started walking, not turning to look back until she heard him start the car and drive away. As his car turned the corner and disappeared, she dropped her head into her hands, barely breathing.
A lone figure standing in the shadows of the quiet street, she waited. For a long, long time, she stood there, waiting. For what, she did not know.

High freaking five.

2011-08-31T11:14:00.001-07:00

A four mile run and 15 grams of protein in my breakfast?
Grand Canyon, here I come.

Who's the coward now, Preet?

2011-08-30T17:29:00.000-07:00

"I was scared. You made me feel things."
Bahaha. When did I become this person?

And so I did. And I have yet to stop.

2011-08-28T01:03:00.000-07:00

I found some reasons to cry,
And then I found some reasons to laugh.

I found that laughing was nicer,
Felt nicer, sounded nicer, looked nicer
And that once I started laughing,
There were so many reasons,
Floating out of the ground,
Drifting down from the sky,
Finding their way through my window,
So many reasons
To keep laughing.

Missed connection. Dang.

2011-08-27T21:04:00.000-07:00

Landshark Lager in hand, with classic unruly surfer boy hair, a longish nose and a killer smile, I got a call at the most inopportune moment and was not able to return your shy advances.

And then you were gone. Return to me, Landshark!

Or I'll come and find you.

2011-08-26T19:13:00.000-07:00

I want to put up pictures, but I forgot my camera in Chicago. I want to scan prints, but I left them in Detroit. I want to update my iPod, but it is in Asheville. I want to say something meaningful, but I'm pretty sure I left my heart in Penland. So instead I give you this, which is something I made before I went to Penland, but something that still resonates deeply within my being. Because I am looking for something, something, something. I'm not sure what, but it might be myself. Yeah. I'm pretty sure I'm searching, desperately, for myself.

All little gems, lined up in a row.

2011-08-25T16:17:00.000-07:00

"Standing next to you, I could sense your design." -Zenna Syeda

Do you know that feeling? That feeling, reverberating through every bone in your body, echoing in every ounce of blood flowing through your veins, of being connected. Somehow, somehow you had found this person, and despite your different backgrounds, despite your contrasting upbringings, you were connected. Looking over at them, standing beside you, you could sense it. The maze of their mind, so distinctly unique, somehow met up with yours, the dreams of their heart, so personal, so ornately detailed, somehow reflected your own.

That feeling, that feeling, that feeling. It's pure poetry. It's pure magic. It's unspeakably beautiful. That feeling.

There are so many wonderful people in the world. And I keep, keep, keep meeting more.

2011-08-17T23:21:00.001-07:00

It's crazy how fast a place can start feeling like home, as long as you open your heart and let yourself believe.

In the meantime, let's go for a hike and collect rocks.

2011-08-16T18:43:00.000-07:00

The state of my affairs is very much in flux. As it has been for awhile. As it will continue to be for quite a bit of time. Hopefully. A little bit (or a lot of bit) of flux is good for the heart. Good for the soul. Good for the brain.

Settling down at 22 sounds like a dreadful bore.

Like a cocoon, this mountain held me close.

2011-08-13T22:57:00.000-07:00

"Farewell to all my friends, who I (may) never see again;

You have made me who I am, and I will try hard not to forget you.

"It is perfectly unclear where I will be this time next year.

Let's fight fire with my fear, then run away."

(Photographs courtesy of Katherine Kitfield)

"Come down from the mountain; you have been gone too long."

2011-08-06T06:23:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry I've been MIA. I'm also sorry I'm not M.I.A., the artist. Although I can drop a mean beat from time to time. Remember my Santa Barbara rap? Mitch actually put it down to a beat and recorded it. It's pretty funny. Someday, I'll figure out how to post it here, and everyone can marvel at his late-night, I'm-bored-and-got-nothing-else-to-do talent.

So. Life and stuff. It's been pretty good. Pretty great. Slept under the stars on a grassy knoll last night. Gee was on the outside and was afraid he would roll down. But he didn't. And none of us got eaten by a bear. Although maybe I was the only one who was afraid of that.

After everyone was asleep, I saw two shooting stars and realized that I didn't feel the need to wish for anything. I cried a few despondent tears, cried quite a few more happy tears and counted my blessings, lost count at 859309 and fell asleep.

But first, I'm kind of hungry. Pizza, anyone?

2011-07-21T01:20:00.000-07:00

Behold darling friends, the mandatory all-night-Satpreet-packing-party. Anytime I am about to get on a plane, which seems very often lately, it happens. And how does it happen, you ask? Well, the existence of these pictures and this blog entry are a prime example of exactly why it happens. Procrastination, denial, the vehement delaying of the inevitable. It's ridiculous. But it's a lifestyle I have adhered to and become somewhat accustomed to. So here it is: presented to you in all it's messy, dark and lackadaisical glory.

It doesn't help that I am packing up my belongings after being at my parent's house for, what feels like, three hours. But, that is neither here nor there. I am going. Inevitably, the sun will rise, and in 24 hours, I will be in North Carolina. Well, I will be spending the night in a North Carolina airport before taking a $250 taxi (I don't want to talk about it) to the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains. That, I must admit, has got me a little bit worried. You know, the whole spending from 9:30pm - 10:00am in an airport I have never set foot in before. But it will be an adventure! I have packed snacks, books, Cocoa, a pillow, and my journals. Well, I haven't packed them yet. But I will.

Which reminds me. I should get back to packing.

Well, hello freedom.

2011-07-18T09:47:00.000-07:00

Wait. What's that? We can go on a road trip, and we can go right now? A spontaneous and middle of the night kind of road trip with good music blasting and a ton of snacks?

Sweet obedience ain't really that sweet, bud.

2011-07-17T11:11:00.000-07:00

(I feel kind of shy putting these pictures up)

Trying to locate this part of me again. These pictures were taken in the midst of finals week, when I had been averaging 3 hours of sleep a night for over a month. I was stressed out, and I had about three emotional breakdowns a week. But I was happy. I was happy and content and looking forward to my future.

I'm getting closer to this part of me. I am. I feel it, everyday. With every new experience I have, every new meaningful conversation that I have, with every new opportunity that presents itself to me. Even in moments when I am driving in the car with my family, when I am sitting with my brother and talking about his daily adventures, I feel it. I feel it.

It is getting closer, and this time, it won't rely on someone else. This time, my happiness will not be about anyone but myself, anything but my life. And this is the life that I am building for myself right now. I want it to be full of a happiness that comes from the core, that comes from me being me, that comes from me chasing my dreams and finding fulfillment from being myself.

This kind of happiness, although harder to find, more of a struggle and more frustrating, is ultimately a richer happiness. A deeper and more real happiness. It is a happiness that will stick with me and will, hopefully, be reflected in everything that I do. It is a happiness that will allow me to live a more fulfilled life.

I don't want to be the type of person who needs to be in a relationship to feel "happy." I've never been that person, and I don't want to start now. Someday, I will be a part of a relationship, but it will be when I know that I don't need that person to be happy. I lost sight of that in the last four years,;I lost my independence and my strength. A lot of things happened at the same time that I had a hard time recovering from, but I'm better now. I'm better and stronger and know more about myself and what I want out of a relationship than I ever have before.

And I'm excited. To be myself someday (soon). To go out into the world and live my dreams out loud. To accomplish the things that I have always wanted to accomplish, but was slowly giving up to fit someone else's image of what my life should be (not that I was being forced, in any way. It was my choice). I don't want to get married, and in ten years, look at my life and see a series of missed opportunities and unfulfilled dreams.

I don't know. This is it. This is the beginning of something really great. This is the beginning of something that I don't ever want to lose sight of again. And would you look at that? It's 11:11 again. And I wish for this. This feeling, that I have right now, to last. And for the wisdom and strength to carry on. Carry on with my head held high.

With my long arms, I will gather you all and hold you close.

2011-07-16T11:11:00.000-07:00

It is easy to feel sad, to feel bad, to wake up and think, "Why, why, why?"

Not "Why did we break up?" because that question is no longer relevant, but rather, "Why is he treating me like I broke up with him/cheated on him/treated him poorly?" It's easy to go back through the years and slowly convince myself that, yes, I was crazy. I was mean and rude and unkind and unloving. I was selfish and boring and just not, not, not worth being nice to anymore.

And then I wake up to a beautiful message from a wonderful acquaintance who I have not seen since May, and I feel okay. I feel like crying, because I think to myself, "No. I am not that bad. I am not unkind. I am worth being nice to. I am." And it's such a relief.

"You posting that reminded me of how interesting you always were. I have always loved all of your work and now reading your blog I realize what a wonderful soul you have. Never have I seen such a perfect example of an all around artist. You breath speak create and exude beauty. Sending some positive thoughts your way and hoping happiness doesn't desert you again."

Although I believe this message reflects more the goodness and kindness of the sender than it does any beauty that I may exude, it was wonderful to read a few days ago, when I really needed it. There's something so selfless about sending a kind message/email/letter or calling someone just to let them know that you are thinking about them, and you are there. There is something very genuine about this act that reflects how wonderful that person is. Especially when you haven't talked to them in awhile. Especially if you only had one class with them and never talked to them that much anyway.

So thank you, all you wonderful people with your kind and caring words. You inspire me to be a better person, a more selfless person. I don't know how you think so highly of me, but I am so honored to be in your lives.

Also, it's 11:11.

I'm just kidding. I'm not actually very hip.

2011-07-13T10:19:00.001-07:00

By the way, I snagged satpreet.tumblr.com. Obvz the hippest "Satpreet" on the internet.

On a more serious note:

As much as I appreciate everyone's support on my post "The world is ours...," I would really like to move on from the anonymous comment and focus on the positivity of the post. Maybe the anonymous poster regrets what they said? Maybe it was a rash decision in a heated moment? Who knows. And maybe it wasn't. Maybe the anonymous poster is kind of a mean head. Either way, let's not let it cloud the message of the post, which is, ultimately that life is good, life is beautiful, and life is full of beautiful, wonderful people.

Also, I don't really want to criticize anyone's beliefs or Christianity. Everyone has their flaws, their moments, their weaknesses. It's no secret that I have more than my share of all of these things. Like I've always said, although I am not a Christian, nor am I religious, I appreciate religion for all the good it inspires in people.

At the same time, religion is often used as a tool for promoting exclusion, fear and the superiority of a specific group of people. This saddens me. I'd like to think it saddens god, too. Just because someone is Christian or Muslim or Sikh does not make them morally superior to anyone else. I believe in my goodness and my strength and my desire to know god. These things are not contingent on whether I have been baptized or not. And if, after knowing me and seeing me for so many years, a person cannot see past the fact that I do not take communion to see that I am a wonderful person worth knowing, worth being in their family, then that's on that person -- it's not on me.

Ugh. But I regress. I regress; I regress; I regress.

Really, what I am trying to say is, some people go to church three times a week, but then get caught up in petty actions. So their weakness is in their surroundings, but by voluntarily going to church three times a week , they show a desire to know god. And that is to be admired.

And if someone is good, is kind, and tries very hard to be positive, but doesn't go to church -- then perhaps their weakness is in their confusion, and in their inability to have absolute faith. But through their search and effort, they show resilience and strength. And that, too, is to be admired.

We are all flawed, but we are all beautiful. We are all different, but at the end of the day, we are all the same. And isn't that wonderful?

I trusted you.

2011-07-13T01:11:00.000-07:00

Why do people lie so much? Why do people lie? It hurts. It hurts, and I trusted him. I trusted him so deeply. With everything.

For four years, he lied. To my face. When I asked him point blank. And then for two years, he betrayed me. I've been lied to my whole life. Betrayed by so many male figures in my life who I trusted. And this person, this person who I thought was different, who I looked at, breath bated, marveling at his beauty and kindness, this person turned out to be just like the others. In a less extreme way, yes. But the principal is the same: No self control. No matter how much it hurts the people they love, the people who trust them, they cannot control themselves. They cannot control their most basic desire.

God, I don't understand. I don't understand men at all. And I don't care to anymore.

The world is beautiful, and it is ours. All we have to do is reach out and touch it.

2011-07-09T21:55:00.003-07:00

This is something that I have wanted to write for the past few of days, but I wanted to make sure that it was not a fading moment of optimism, not an insane thought that would quickly fade. So far, it doesn't seem like it. So here it is, in a very unorganized and stream of consciousness format -- my epiphany:

The time that I have been given now is a gift. A precious and wonderful gift. For seventeen years, I lived with my parents, following their rules, and thinking about life through their terms. Then, I went to college. But instead of living life for myself, I lived it for myself and for James. Making decisions that were based on what both of us wanted, planning my life for him as much as for myself.

And now, for the first time, I can look at the world, look at my life, look at my passion and my ambition and my dreams, and say: "What do I want to do? Just for me. What do I want to do?" And for the first few weeks after James and I broke up, this was overwhelming. Straight up scary, actually. The world did seem big, the numbers of people unimaginable, but it was frightening. The thought of facing such a huge and unknown world by myself made me want to cry. I did not know if I could do it. Especially after becoming accustomed to the companionship and intimacy that I had with James, facing my life and all of the unknowns by myself was so intimidating.

That's how I felt for the first few weeks. And I still feel like that sometimes. I'm sure I will, in moments, for a long time. But those moments are more and more rare. Everyday they decrease in frequency, and instead, I find myself, in particularly good moments, smiling uncontrollably from the excitement of the many opportunities that this vast, beautiful world holds for me. The world has opened up to me. It feels like a great and oppressive fog has cleared, and here it is: an unending blue sky, a vast and rolling landscape, a softly curving horizon. It is mine to explore; it is mine to discover.

Yes, I want companionship. Yes, I want to find love. Eventually. But, for now, I don't feel rushed. I don't feel desperate. Because, for now, I am going to take the time to love myself. To love the world and to dedicate myself to the things that I want to accomplish. For me.

Think about it. The average life span for a woman living in the United States is 80 years. So that gives me 58 more years to live my life. Well, I could die tomorrow, or in the next five years, but I also might live until I am a hundred, so whatever. Let's just say that I have an expected 58 more years to live.

Even if I don't find love until I am 30, I will have 50 years to love and live for that person and our children. 50 years is a long time. And if this is the case, if I don't find that love until I am 30, that gives me only eight years to live life for myself.

In the big picture, eight years is nothing. Compared to the 72 years that I will have spent, at the end of my life, considering the feelings and thoughts of so many other people, eight years is really nothing (And, to be honest, I don't think it's going to take me that long to find someone I want to spend the rest of my life with). Before this realization, I was thinking about being alone, about finding someone to love, and felt so exhausted just by the thought of searching for someone. The thought of getting to know someone, dating someone, that failing, starting the search all over, etc, etc, freaking etc. But now I realize that these next few years don't have to be about a search for anyone but myself, anything but happiness. They don't have to be, and I'm not going to let them be. I am making that decision today, and hopefully I will make it every morning for the next few years. I am taking this time to love myself, to think about myself, and to live my life for myself.

Now, this doesn't mean that I will live my life selfishly or greedily. I plan on volunteering and working for non-profits and all these things, but I will do it because I want to. But because someone else thinks I should. All of my decisions, where I live, where I work, what I do every day, these things will be my decisions -- they will be my choices to make for myself. And this idea is exciting. It is exhilarating and refreshing and beautiful. Sure, I will get lonely sometimes. Sure, I will long for that companionship and love. But I will also know that when I find it, I will go into it knowing more about myself and the world than I previously could have ever imagined. I will go into my next relationship being the best and most whole me that I ever could be. And that's a beautiful thought. Because the person who is willing to love me deserves that "me." He deserves a more intelligent, more self-aware, more stable and confident me. A "me" who has taken the time to discover the world and its opportunities on her own.

For most of my life, many of the things that I did on a day-to-day basis were things that were decided for me. Placed before me on a wonderful platter, arranged with love by the people who care most about me in the world. And I appreciate these things, these opportunities, these traditions and rituals. But I am ready to make my own decisions, arrange my own days.

I am ready. Right now, I could feasibly be spending the next year in Chile, in Pittsburgh, in Santa Barbara, in Detroit, in New York, in North Carolina or in Chicago. These are all feasible and within reach opportunities that I have been looking into. Right now, I feel exhilarated by the world and the many things that have been revealed to me in the past month and a half. I feel blessed and lucky and happy.

Yes, I have moments of doubt. Yes, I have moments of deep sadness (as was witnessed by my last post). Yes, these moments will continue to happen for a long time, probably, because I am Satpreet, after all, for the rest of my life. But my life, my happiness and my excitement is no longer overshadowed by these moments, these doubts. For the most part, I wake up happy and go to sleep happy.

I am happy, happy, happy. And I am excited, excited, excited. What more can I say than that?

First draft.

2011-07-04T18:02:00.004-07:00

Stepping into the dressing room, she self-consciously glanced at herself in the mirror. Setting down the bathing suits, the dresses and the shirts, she faced herself, resolved. She looked at her hair, which was being surprisingly well-behaved despite not being cut for two years. She looked at her face, which was so familiar, she could not help but like it -- a welcome friend in a world that had become so suddenly foreign. She looked at her body, which was long and thin -- too thin, according to her mother. She couldn't help but agree. Having lost eight pounds in the last month (not eating could do that to you), she saw her disappearing flesh as a sign of weakness -- a reminder of what he had done, how he had made her feel.

But still. It was not even her loose shirt, her sagging shorts that made her wince when she caught her reflection in the mirror. It was what lay beneath her shirt that scared her, saddened her, made her wish desperately for a magic pill that would make her pain go away. She touched the spot right above her chest tentatively, and then removed her shirt. Lifting it up and over her head slowly, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, bracing herself. Opening her eyes, she couldn't help but see it. Feel it. A shadowy concave in her chest. She touched it, feeling its downward curve into her body. Then, she tapped it, lightly. She felt a ringing reverberate through her body, tingling her rib cage, causing a slight tremble in her toes. Hollow. She tapped again, just to make sure. The unmistakable echo of a hollow, a wretched hollow that had lodged itself into her body. Right in the place where her heart used to hurt from the swelling of love and care. Where he used to rest his head and listen, listen to the movement of her blood through her veins.

This hollow. It had appeared, a small, preliminary version of itself, a week after he had left, driving away from her at three in the morning, tears in his eyes, his hands shaking. And since then, it had grown. She had tried not to notice it, tried to pretend it did not exist. But now it was unavoidable, much bigger, a shadowy curve existing as if a baseball had permanently dented her chest. Last week, she had resigned herself to just wearing high necked t-shirts that fit loosely (which, luckily, most of her shirts did now). But the problem was getting out of hand.

She sat down, cross-legged on the carpet of the fitting room, and stared at herself. Her breath was rattly, and she could feel it move in the spaces between her bones, the hollow spaces that made up so much of her body now. She leaned her head so that it rested on the glass of the mirror, closing her eyes and letting her body relax. For the life of her, she did not know what to do. For the life of her, she still did not understand what had happened. What had caused him to not only stop caring, but to shut her out of his life entirely. She did not know why he was so mad. Why he was so mean. All she had done was love him. And maybe sometimes she did not do it very well, but she had tried. She had tried so hard. But here she was. Alone.

There was a knock on the door. "Satpreet. Are you almost done?"

She lifted her head and looked at the reflection of the feet that were on the other side of the door. A concerned friend, coming to make sure that she was okay.

"What?" She did not know why she said this. She had heard her perfectly fine.

"How are things going?"

She rested her head back on the glass. Poorly, she thought. Things are going poorly. No matter how much she tried to pretend, how much she laughed or smiled in a day, at night, she felt the hollow and knew, knew that things were not okay. She fingered it now and cried quietly. She did not know what she could do to feel better. To make this go away.

"Satpreet?"

She sighed and let out a quiet, "I'm fine."

"SP. He's not worth it." This was said softly, voice full of concern.

She knew that. She knew that. The way that he had treated her since this had all happened was evidence of this fact. He was not worth it. He was not worth it.

But she could not forget. She could not forget, as he seemed to have forgotten, the last four years. She could not replace him, as he had so quickly replaced her. It made her sick. It made her angry and sad and so, so sick.

Feeling trapped, feeling helpless and feeling scared, she pressed her forehead against the glass. Hard and fast she pushed, tears falling to the ground, her hands clenched in small fists. She pushed and cried. And suddenly, she felt herself fall. The mirror gave way, opening itself to her, and she felt her entire body tip forward and fall. Opening her eyes, she saw the darkness, the hollow abyss that reflected the empty space inside her chest, and she allowed herself to go. Fall into it and fade away.

You should have asked me two months ago.

2011-07-03T15:57:00.002-07:00

"Do you believe that love conquers all?"
"Mmm... Nope. I can honestly say, 'No.'"

Stupid boys.

2011-07-03T10:00:00.000-07:00

Oh, shut up. I know better than to believe the things that come out of your mouth. "Forever" apparently doesn't mean shit.

Mmhmm, oh yeah. Mmhmm, oh yeah, oh yeah.

2011-07-02T11:35:00.000-07:00

Pretty sure that this is what the first dance at my wedding is going to look like.

Bare feet and all.

I will be dictated by love, by life, by conviction -- not by fear.

2011-07-02T09:23:00.002-07:00

"The most often repeated commandment in the Bible is, 'Do not fear.' It's in there over two hundred times. That means a couple of things, if you think about it. It means we are going to be afraid, and it means we shouldn't let fear boss us around. Before I realized we are supposed to fight fear, I thought of fear as a subtle suggestion in our subconscious designed to keep us safe, or more importantly, to keep us from getting humiliated. And I guess it serves that purpose. But fear isn't only a guide to keep us safe; it's also a manipulative emotion that can trick us into living a boring life." -Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

And that is only one of the many reasons that I fight for what I want, for what I believe, in my heart of hearts, is the right thing, no matter how scary it is. And that is why I do not regret telling my mom, telling my dad, calling him and emailing him, writing him letters. Because I do not let fear, fear of humiliation, of injured pride, fear of my family or fear of having to try hard (pathetic) stop me from doing what I think is right. And that's an aspect of my character that I do not wish to change. It's a part of me that I love. And it's a fundamental difference between me and the person I used to love. I know that now. I know it loud and clear.

Excuse me, kind men. May I join you for a stroll? (Please say yes)

2011-07-02T09:13:00.002-07:00

Roald Dahl and Ernest Hemingway, London 1944

The man who defined the way I thought about the world and my imagination growing up, and the man who changed the way I thought about literature and writing ten years later, just hangin' out and shootin' the breeze and stuff. I want to be your friend; I want to be your friend. Please?

Let's talk about something real.

2011-07-02T09:06:00.001-07:00

Being able to go and pass out fresh produce to about 35 low-income families in Santa Barbara was such an enriching experience. Knowing that those kids are going to be able to go home and eat something other than just frozen food and Lunchables, that they will have the opportunity to have a healthy, well-balanced meal -- that's beautiful.

Then I think about the many families in the United States who could afford fresh fruits and vegetables, but who choose instead to eat frozen food all the time. And I feel sad for them. I feel sad for the children who were raised to think that that is okay. The children who grow up to be adults who move out of the house and eat nothing but frozen food, TV dinners, meals out of boxes. And then teach their children those same habits. Help them lead those same unhealthy lives. And then they develop problems like high cholesterol, high blood pressure, obesity, diabetes, and they don't understand why. Why is it so hard for people to understand that the food they put into their mouths affects their bodies? I mean, come on. When did we forget that? When did we forget?

My friends will come and lift me up and out of myself.

2011-07-01T15:31:00.000-07:00

"You're floating in space,
But these are your friends.
They'll be your star-map home.

"Everybody needs some help sometimes."

Oh, shut up. Stupid brain.

2011-07-01T09:05:00.002-07:00

"I know I have a fickle heart and a bitterness,
And a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head.

"But don't you remember, don't you remember?
The reason you loved me before.

"When was the last time you thought of me?
Or have you completely erased me from your memories?"

"Turned my sorrow into treasured gold... You reap just what you sow."

2011-06-30T18:00:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes, yes. It's official. I am making the transition to video. As much as I love the stop motions I have been making, I feel ready. And what better place to try it than on a 7000 acre ranch/farm in the mountains? At what better time than camping with new friends?

I knew you were low, man. But the truth is, I was shocked.

2011-06-30T09:19:00.001-07:00

"To think I used to pity you. To think I used to pity you, it's true.
To think I used to talk to you. To think I used to talk to you, it's true."

It was true after all: Mama's boy.

2011-06-29T13:12:00.004-07:00

And I just need to remind myself that a person who can tell his friend, "I don't know what to do. My family is really pressuring me to date her," and mean it at the age of 24 (after being out of a four year relationship for fewer than two weeks, no less) is not anyone worth missing.

I miss you so much, Beth.

2011-06-27T10:15:00.004-07:00

"I think I miss you more than I even realize. I had a bad dream this morning that involved you getting physically hurt and somehow I couldn't ever see you again. I woke up at 6:45 and couldn't sleep again, because when I closed my eyes, I replayed the dream. Then I read on Facebook that you'd been in an accident, which was just an eerie coincidence."

Connected. We are all connected. As a Bokononist would say, "Busy, busy, busy."

"And when, at last, I find you, your song will fill the air."

2011-06-27T09:52:00.002-07:00

He looked at her and held out his hand, his eyes shining in the light of the setting Sun.

"I won't make you jump alone."

Looking at him, looking at the sky, in that moment, she chose to believe. She chose to believe in life; she chose to believe in love. She grabbed his hand, and she lept.

Useless and mediocre poem. I'm sorry.

2011-06-25T11:10:00.000-07:00

A tug of the heart, a pang in my chest
As I wait,
So long, it seems,
For the sun to rise
For the birds to start singing to me again.

I watch as yellow curtains
Float in the breeze
But I find myself dreaming
Of a place where they were
White and blue.

The soft moon light
Uncovers, with time
All of the secrets that I hid
All of the pain that I shed
And tells me, gently
Not to run.

My chest rattles as I breath,
Hollow spaces that were once filled
With love,
And I must close my eyes
And acknowledge
That I do not know you anymore.

--

"Try as I might, I cannot explain the complexities of this man's collapse. His death clangs around in my head." -Gregory Spencer, Awakening the Quieter Virtues

She's sleeping next to me and Cocoa right now. Wearing Pete's demin jacket.

2011-06-24T23:38:00.001-07:00

Wrote a guest post on Deb's blog, which can be found here: Santa Farmbra. I think she was hoping for something a bit more articulate/serious, but I thought a rap would sum up the day a little bit better. She's leaving Santa Barbara soon (which, without her, is more like Santa Barblllaahh), and I've been trying to convince her to stay, but with no luck. It doesn't help that Mitch keeps sending her nice, hand drawn cards, cute messages, texts and voicemails. Who wouldn't want to go home to that kind of love?

If you never try, you'll never know just what you're worth.

2011-06-24T11:59:00.002-07:00

I woke up this morning, and this is what the sunshine whispered to me: "Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you."

(In actuality, I woke up, got dressed and went to Dan's wood shop, where Pecos was building Katie's desk and listening to that song. But still)

I got some dirt on my shoulder; would you brush it off for me?

2011-06-23T18:42:00.001-07:00

Okay. Let's regress for a moment as I type out an excerpt from my journal from May 1st: "When James said that he wanted to propose sooner rather than later, I was a little worried. But he brought it up yesterday, and an airport proposal is something that he thought about and then ruled out. Which is good. Too many types of dramatic and cliche in one sitting, I think. He says he has a few ideas in mind. I tried to weasel some hints out of him, but unfortunately, he is much better at keeping secrets than I am."

May 1st. Of this year. As in, less than two months ago. And people change their minds. People realize that they don't want certain things. I understand that. What I don't understand is the lack of communication. What I don't understand is the lack of understanding when, come two weeks after that discussion about marriage, you want to break up. How could you not understand why I would be confused? How could you then sit there and say, "I don't feel like this is that abrupt"?

All I wanted was patience. That's all. Patience and understanding as I tried to understand. Instead, you answered my phone calls only two times. Even now, we have only talked three times since you initially broke up with me. And that is not from a lack of effort on my part.

At this point, I don't care. I truly do not want to talk to you. But I want you to understand how unfair you were. How unfair it is for your friend to text me and tell me I'm being "ridiculous" because I posted a few angry posts on my blog. Four years of a relationship, three years where we were actively discussing getting married (which you brought up first, I might add), and then you drop me, so suddenly, and expect me to understand after one night? You get frustrated and yell when I ask you "Why?" a week later, when you finally pick up my phone call?

Reading through my journals, reading through emails that you sent me two days before you broke up with, listening (and deleting, don't worry. I'm being healthy about this) to voice mails that you sent me the day before we broke up reminds me that I am not crazy. That I was not crazy to be confused, shocked and altogether thrown.

Because those things that you said, all those things that you said about getting married and spending our lives together, those were things that I believed. And if you never believed them, you shouldn't have said them. Bottom freaking line.

I have embraced my emotions and my past. And I cry. But I am happy, and I am proud.

2011-06-22T11:58:00.004-07:00

I dreamt of us last night. But this time, I was not punching you over and over again, or asking you interview questions, or watching you be pulled into dark and ferocious waves. Nor was I dreaming your dream, the one of us on the swings in the trees, where in my version, you watched me fall without trying to catch me at all. No. Last night, I dreamt of us as we used to be. We were lying on a bed, our noses touching, smile lines out. I was touching the smooth part of your cheek above your beard, and you were intermittently tickling me.

And I woke up happy. Because that is the person who I will remember, and those are the memories that I will cherish as I move forward with my life. You told me that you had changed. I just refused to believe how much. Now, faced with the reality of everything you've done in the last month immediately after dreaming such a beautiful dream that was our reality for four years, I see how drastic the change has been. Because that person, that person who was tickling me, gently, on my side, is not the same person who has treated me as you, in your current state, have.

I am human. I have emotions; I have dreams; I have feelings. The person who I loved for four years would have recognized that. The person who I loved for four years would have treated me the same way that he treated the girl who dumped him numerous times and cheated on him when he met me. Gently, and with respect. If not out of love, then out of concern and care for another human being. For a friend.

I am human. I have emotions; I have dreams; I have feelings. And my only crime was that they were tied to you. And for that, I refuse to apologize.

"What's gonna happen to you? You have grown up too soon."

2011-06-21T16:08:00.001-07:00

Little boy: (in reference to his play) It's just a bit of silliness, really.

JM Barrie: I sure hope so.

That's all I could hope for out of my life. A whole lot of silliness. I don't want to be bored. I don't want to settle. I don't want to live my life in fear. I want to explore the world in all of its depths, meet new people, go to new places, and do it all while dancing a little jig.

If some people want to grow up, that's fine. Personally, I'm going to continue to eat Nutella out of this spoon, then sit out by the pool, and then go and watch a Dodgers game from some really great seats with my friends. And I'm not going to grow up one bit. Because, "I wanna dance; I wanna dance; I wanna dance."

Unfriending all of my friends didn't work as well as you expected.

2011-06-20T13:17:00.000-07:00

I haven't cried yet. I will, eventually. But for now, I will reflect on all of the new people I've met, all of the new experiences I've had, and all of the love that I have been giving, and all of the love that has been given to me -- and I will feel happy. Because you fell out of love with me, and, in turn, I fell in love with the world.

I didn't know I could feel this way.

2011-06-16T15:32:00.002-07:00

Dear friends,

This question is not rhetorical:

If you had one week left to live,

how would you spend it?

Where would you spend it?

Who would you spend it with?

If not through comments, please respond through email, messages, phone calls.
(Or surprise visits to my front door)
Thank you.

Never thought that I could bite hard enough.

2011-06-16T15:16:00.002-07:00

"How's it feel to disappear? Seriously just disappear?"

This man is in my head, thinking my thoughts. For real.

2011-06-16T11:00:00.001-07:00

A different message from a different friend that seriously articulates what I am so, so afraid of:

"Is all of love just a duel? Shoot before the other person does? But what happens when you internalize that? And all of the other people in the world who've been hurt do the same? And then at the first sign that reminds you of the time it hurt the worst, you pull that trigger and shoot before they do, because you're bound and determined to never let that happen again.

"And then you realize you shot the heart out of someone who only wanted to love you."

I gave until it hurt. And I want to do it again.

2011-06-15T12:51:00.007-07:00

Throughout this process, many people have told me that, now that I am single, I can take the time to be more selfish. To think about myself and do things for myself. And I understand where they are coming from. I really do. But the thing is, I really love to care for other people. It's something I learned from a four year relationship where both people had to give so much. I like making dinner, writing letters, giving massages, giving small surprises, and making someone laugh. I like to know that I can improve someone's day, even if it is by doing something as simple as buying a surprise pack of K-Cups with my food stamps.

Ultimately, it is selfish, because caring for others makes me happy. And in the past few weeks, I have been internalizing some of those instincts and focusing on making myself happier. Collecting care and comfort from the people around me, allowing myself to be taken care of, even if it is hard sometimes. It's been good for me, undoubtedly. But I don't want to live my life, or even the next few months, like this. I want to live for myself, but also for others. I want to give, give and give at least as much as I have taken in.

I think this quote by Francis Chan, who actually gives sermons close by in Simi Valley, really sums it up, "And like our Savior, who poured out His life and blood so we have reason to rejoice, we were made to lay down our lives and give until it hurts. We are most alive when we are loving and actively giving of ourselves, because we were made to do these things. It is when we live like this that the Spirit of God moves and acts in and through us in ways that, on our own, we are not capable of. This is our purpose of living. This is our hope."

Full disclosure, for those of you who might not know, I am not writing this from a Christian perspective. But I do respect Jesus Christ, what he did, the message that he brought, and the goodness that he inspires in people all over the world

Cat Fish. Not the food, but the person.

2011-06-15T09:59:00.000-07:00

Morning is the hardest time for me. I wake up with an acute pain in my chest, a deep sense of loss that can only come from losing something that was once so precious and beautiful. But along with that pain, I also wake up to messages, texts and emails that say things like this:

"For some reason, I feel more personally connected to you than we are in reality. It's as if I can feel a distant echo of what you're feeling—quieter, softer, but still deeply painful. Maybe that sounds crazy, but it doesn't feel crazy. It feels perfectly natural and logical that I feel my chest tighten painfully in reaction to discovering what has happened to you. I don't know the whole story, but I know how much you loved him. And my only response to that is a long, warm hug, which I can't give you. So please accept this email as a very insufficient version of a hug."

And I realize that there are more people who care for me and want the best for me than I ever could have dreamt of. I realize, I realize, I realize that love is everywhere. That compassion is everywhere. And it's a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Thank you, to everyone who has sent me words or thoughts or funny pictures of encouragement. It means so much more to me than I could possibly express (and I'm pretty articulate, remember?).

The triangle headed boy I dream of becoming someday.

2011-06-14T11:09:00.002-07:00

Hey blog readers! I know what I'm going to do today!

There was a puppy there, too.

2011-06-13T22:21:00.000-07:00

There is dirt under my fingernails right now. Do you know why? If you answered, "Because you are just generally kind of dirty, Satpreet," well then, you are partly right. But another reason that I have dirt under my fingernails is because I went to a farm today! I planted seeds! I dug up weeds! I took pictures of strawberries and broccoli and lots of other plants! I even ate fennel from a hiking trail. Well, first I ate something that was supposed to be fennel but wasn't. At all. But then I ate fennel!

It was fun, in case you were wondering. It was real fun.

Santa Barbara #2.

2011-06-13T11:11:00.001-07:00

And as she leaned her head back and laughed, she noticed his sideways smirk of quiet satisfaction. His hands were around his glass carelessly, finger tips leaving small marks in the condensation. Solid hands with the long, curving fingers of a musician.

In the dim light, she saw him shift slightly, angling himself to her, his knee barely touching hers as he readjusted, still keeping his eyes on his friends across the table. A subtle move, but one that did not go unnoticed. She was not so out of practice that she did not remember this game, this delicate dance of limbs and laughter.

Not sure if she was ready to play the game herself, but not strong enough to resist the temptation, she leaned in slightly, reaching to the bottle at the center of the table, pouring herself a little more of its rich, dark contents. She preferred water, but her water glass was sitting right beside her, requiring no leaning whatsoever. As she placed the bottle back in the center of the table, she smelled him, faintly. A soft, tumbling scent of laundry intermingled with the sharper, cooler scent of aftershave.

She looked around the room, searching for familiar faces in the dim red lighting. She saw two, the only two she recognized in this vast, sprawling city, and she smiled. Did a little wave, hooking her hand underneath her chin, forgetting altogether that she was currently engaged in a game where she was supposed to pretend to be mysterious and sophisticated. She wrinkled her nose. She kind of hated this game.

Turning back to the table, she fingered the stem of her glass, eyeing the golden elephants that lined her wrist on a chain as they moved up and down, slowly, with her movements.

"I like your bracelet."

Her breath caught in her throat as he reached out and touched it, tentative, with one finger. She pulled away, instinctively, just a little. Felt nervous as she realized he was looking at her.

"Thanks."

He had noticed her pull away, his smile frozen on his face, unsure. She closed her eyes, briefly. Opened them. Looked right at him and smiled.

She could do this. "It's good luck."

He tilted his head. She leaned forward just a little, not wanting to yell over the din of the bar, but also searching for that soft, cool scent.

She touched the bracelet. Moved the elephants around and around her wrist.

"There are seven elephants, all with their trunks pointing up."

She looked at his face as he watched her fingers, the elephants, the slight curve of her wrist.

"In Indian culture, elephants with their trunks pointing up are considered good luck."

He looked up. Caught her watching him. Smiled that same sideways smile.

One of his friends, who must have been listening, laughed. "And if there are seven, that's a bunch of good luck!" She smiled a small smile, startled at the presence of someone else so close to where they were sitting. Could he not see that they were in the middle of a game? And that she was doing surprisingly well?

He looked up at his friend, not turning his face away from her. "It's not really fair to call them a bunch, when they are clearly a herd."

She smiled, big this time. Nodded her head in approval. Felt his knee against hers, this time more than just barely. He was clearly much better at this game than she was.

He looked at her arm, her wrist, her hand, set on the table, palm up, long fingers slightly bent. After giving her a quick, sideways glance, he reached out and touched an elephant. One finger, two fingers, he pushed it across her wrist gently, skin brushing against skin.

She watched him, barely breathing. She looked at the side of his face, this unfamiliar jaw line, dark hair set against bright eyes, a sideways smile more mischevious than she was used to. She watched him, confused.

But she did not pull away.

Santa Barbara #1.

2011-06-13T10:30:00.000-07:00

And every time her car stopped whining from effort, and she finally crested a sloping California mountain, her heart expanded a little bit more at the sight of what lie before her. A vast and unending blanket of winking lights and rolling fog, beckoning her forward like a beautifully bound book waiting to be read.

She didn't want to blink, in fear of missing even one second of this newly found world. It was calling her to it, and she was going -- now driving downhill into the fog, into the mist, into the lights and their friendly, shining faces. She was being propelled forward, so ready to explore the depths of this city, eager to find what was tucked in its nooks, hidden in its crannies.

As her car disappeared into the fog, still going downhill, the book seemed to open, just a little bit, and its first words were whispered into her mind, as if on repeat: "You are free. You are free. You are free."

Oh, my darling talking bird.

2011-06-13T10:22:00.000-07:00

And one more bird song, just because:

"It's hard to see your way out,
When you live in a house in a house.
'Cause you don't realize,
That the windows were open the whole time."

Two birds. One might as well be a worm for all the use he's making of his wings.

2011-06-13T10:17:00.000-07:00

Kudos to Katherine for telling me that this song was about me and James about a year ago.

Kudos to me for listening to my heart and denying this,

But not kudos to my heart for being wrong, wrong, wrong.

"Two birds of a feather,

Say that they're always gonna stay together.

"But one is never going to let go of that wire,

He says that he will,

But he's just a liar."

2011-06-09T18:09:00.000-07:00

You were the lion in the man,
And now you are back to being the man inside the lion.

"Can you hear me?"

2011-06-09T10:52:00.001-07:00

Finally, the fog has dissipated. And it must be such a relief. Here it is: a solution. After four years of not having a solution, not being able to know where you were going to live, here it is. A solution. Your family approves, Jesus approves, she approves of you. And you don't dislike her. In fact, she's kind of funny and nice and doesn't ask too many questions or expect very much out of you.

Sure, she doesn't make you want to "chase a dream" or anything, but she's here, isn't she? She's here, and she's looking at you as if you're the best guy in the world, and, what the heck. You could pretend. Because it's so much easier this way.

And it's a solution. It's a solution, and what a relief.

Dealbreaker #2

2011-06-09T10:35:00.001-07:00

Despite the fact that he is 24 years old, your boyfriend still lives at home and has a curfew.

Dealbreaker!

Dealbreaker #1

2011-06-09T10:34:00.000-07:00

You leave the house after finding out that your boyfriend has pretty much been emotionally cheating on you with skanky girls for two years, wearing no shoes and with your phone off, and you are gone for an hour and half. When you return, he is sleeping on the couch, seemingly unconcerned about your whereabouts.

Dealbreaker!

2011-06-09T09:14:00.001-07:00

You are a tragic, tragic hero.
But I am still rooting for you
(Unless, of course, you're already dead)

Sometimes, lyrics are the only things that make sense.

2011-06-09T09:09:00.000-07:00

"When I gave you my hand,
You promised me I'd live again,
So I believe you are the only one for me.

"Will we be able to stay,
Like we did when you were sane?
And I believe you are the only one for me.

"And I'll be good to you.
Will you be good to me?"

2011-06-09T09:06:00.003-07:00

"I,
I will watch over you,
I know your heart is true,
Little mountain of mine."

Why did you not tell me then that you were not sure?

2011-06-08T08:40:00.003-07:00

She remembered. As she climbed up the stairs and caught sight of a crescent moon hanging low, she remembered. How, less than a year ago, she had walked and walked along these streets at night, staring at the moon, her feet bare, her phone off, letting it guide her. She was going to tell her dad. She was going to tell her dad, and she did not know what to do. That night, she walked for two hours, talking to no one but the moon, listening to nothing but the sound of the wind moving through the desert mountains.

She felt so scared. She felt so scared, so unsure. She looked into her future and saw nothing but fog. Where would she live? What would she do? Fog, fog, fog. And then, emerging from the fog came a familiar face, a smiling and supportive face. She looked at this face, seeing it in the sky, perched next to the moon, and she still wasn't sure. What if this was a mistake? What if this was a mistake?

For a floating face was not enough to stop the trembling in her fingers, the racing of her mind. But then she remembered the strong hands that were linked to that floating face, the steady heart that was beating 2,000 miles away, in a chest that she longed to rest her head on. And she knew. That although the future was unclear, the fog almost overwhelming, this was something that she would do. This was something that she had to do.

Not only for that face, those hands and that heart -- but for herself. She didn't know much else, but she knew that, no matter what that fog revealed in time, no matter what the future hold, she wanted to witness it while looking at that smiling face, while holding those strong hands, and while listening to that steady heart. That was what she wanted.

So she walked on home, with her back turned to the silent moon, fear and fog still causing her hands to tremble, but with the image of his beautiful face comforting her and calling her forward. She walked home, went up the stairs, and she told her dad. Because she knew what she wanted, and she knew that it was right.

(And even now, I do not regret it)

One question: Why are you always wearing the white v-neck that I bought you?

2011-06-07T22:49:00.000-07:00

I see peace growing from between my fingertips
Blooming in the spaces between my sadness.

And then I remember you,
Closing my eyes,
I look at the space between my finger and my nail
And I remember you.

I look through old pictures,
And feel so tender, so soft
When I see your smiling face,
Your dopey smile,
The way you learned to look straight through the camera
And at me.

I think about seeing you,
Two days ago,
And how you looked different,
Felt different,
The air around you colder,
Sadder,
Confused.

When I look at these pictures,
And look at your face through the
panes of glass that line my mind,
Seeing you as you were two days ago--
I think that I am seeing two different people

And it settles on my bones,
In my hair,
On my tongue:
You are gone.

And there is a stranger in your body.

"Nahin samne, ye alag baat hai."

2011-06-07T20:49:00.001-07:00

She looks at me from across the couch, nothing but concern and love in her eyes. I smile at her in return.
"I'm fine. Really."
She does not believe me, and I tilt my head.
"Mom." I raise my eyebrows.
Not one to be outdone, she raises her eyebrows right back at me.
"Mom. I know. But seriously. I'm fine."
"Come here." She makes a noise as she purses her lips together, beckoning me to her.
I turn my body on the couch so that my head rests in her lap, her hands on my head, one brushing back my hair, the other on my forehead, pressing gently.
I look up at her. She looks down at me.
"What is life? Really? It's just... struggle."
I smile again. Halfway.
"Mom. It's this."
"What?"
I motion to her. To me. On this couch.
"It's this."
She nods her head slowly.
"Yeah."

Because I'm fine. I love myself, and I'm not running. I'm fine.

2011-06-07T19:09:00.000-07:00

This happened. On May 14th, this happened. Fickle, fickle, fickle, fickle. Say what you want now; right here, right now, in this moment captured, you felt it. And the fact that you are trying, trying to feel it again, so soon, so soon after this photo was taken, with someone else, makes me sad. A little for me, but more for you. It makes me so sad for you.

Also, I'm pretty sure I was seated next to the imaginary friend of a grown man. But that's another story.

2011-06-07T12:49:00.000-07:00

After getting to the airport in an almost completely silent car, with no PB&J sandwich made with slightly unskilled, but loving hands, dragging my two suitcases, heavy backpack and shoulder bag down the long line all by myself, having to pay $50 extra because my suitcase was 3 lbs overweight, and no one was there to say, "Here. I'll take that sweater and those flippers home with me," walking through security by myself (including that evil naked x ray machine), looking back instinctively, over and over again, and seeing no one standing, watching and smiling at me until I was out of sight, getting in the plane behind a newly engaged young couple, finding no children to keep me company, and sleeping sitting up because I forgot to bring a pillow, I turned to face the window and cried quietly to myself.

I awoke a little while later to an announcement from the pilot, an announcement that I've been waiting to hear over dozens of flights that span four years: "Ladies and gentlemen, we are currently flying over the Grand Canyon."

Golden, as if on fire, it spread below us, welcoming us into its wide, gentle arms. The water of the river winked at me, its currents moving endlessly, endlessly. These currents, with their vast power and unending determination, carving and carving away at the rock that was determined not to feel, determined not to change. Carving and carving away, these currents documented their journey, documented their history with the undulating lines of every eroded surface, all of that glimmering orange and red, laid out before me like a long and ancient tale.

I was in awe. Here it was, presented to me again in such unmistakable terms: my smallness, my insignificance, and my hopelessness at ever creating anything close to as beautiful as the world that already exists all around me. And with a surge of gratitude that I could barely contain, I thanked the universe, I thanked god, and I thanked that blessed pilot who had woken me up with his announcement. I thanked that river for its ceaseless determination, and I thanked the rock for having the courage to change.

I felt full, full, full. And I fought the urge, fought the urge, closed my eyes and fought the urge to jump.

Don't fool yourself; it was sudden.

2011-06-04T05:04:00.002-07:00

I am mourning what feels like the death of my best friend. The person who was always in my corner, the person who made me laugh when no one else could, the person who taught me the overwhelming capacity of my own love.

I have searched, and I have searched. Under beds, behind curtains, in the backseat of my car. I have looked everywhere, asked everyone, "Have you seen my best friend?" and they all shake their heads sadly and shrug. They have not seen him. And when they ask me where I saw him last, I say, "Through bleary eyes in the back of my car, when I lifted my head, unlocked the door and said, 'Hey bud. Good morning,' watched him drop off his GPS, kiss me, smile and then drive away." If only I had known, if only I had known that that would be the last time that I would see him, the last time that I would open my eyes and see his beautiful, kind face. I would have run after him. Jumped out of my car in my bare feet and chased him before he could drive away.

Now, in place of his presence, there is a deep well of sadness within my heart. It extends to my lungs, which are heavy and constricted, to my ribs, which are hollow and rattle when I breath, to my stomach, which is empty, always empty, and always rejecting sustenance, to my arms, my legs, my fingers, and my toes, all of which are tired of this fruitless search, this exhausting one-sided struggle. This sadness fills me up and overflows from my eyes in the form of tears, my mouth in the form of breathless questions with no answers, my fingers in the form of words that make no difference. It fills me up and does not allow me to sleep, does not allow me to rest.

I am mourning. Because my best friend is gone, my best friend is gone. And I am starting to accept that I will never see him again.

Erasing it and ignoring it won't make it go away.

2011-06-04T04:53:00.002-07:00

The guilt opened up like a well and swallowed him whole. And even then, he denied it. He looked around at his new surroundings and noticed bright spots of light, tainted with guilt and confusion, spread aimlessly about his new home. Startled, he ran around, uprooting the bright spots and burying them, by the dozen, in corners of his mind, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach, the aching in his heart. He did not want to be reminded. Could not be reminded if this was ever going to work. For hours, for days, he ran around, uprooting, burying and trying desperately to forget. Yes, there was happiness, but there was also shame and guilt and worthlessness. There was also doubt and questioning and exhaustion. He was confused. He was so, so confused. And if there was one thing he hated, it was confusion. He could not deal with confusion. Instead, he pretended that it didn't exist. That the reasons for his confusion did not exist. That these bright spots, with their guilt and confusion, but also with their happiness and love, had never existed at all. So he ran around and around, burying, burying, burying his own past, his own feelings -- all the things that he had known and felt.

Finally, after 14 days, it seemed that he had gotten most, if not all of the bright spots. Now, he could sit in his darkness and not even see his own hands before him. Not even hear the beating of his own heart. And in this darkness, he found comfort. No more bright spots throbbing before him, no more whispers of a past he was now too weak to bear. He still felt the guilt, the shame, the confusion, sometimes still remembered, with a pang, the intense happiness -- but if he sat still enough, closed his eyes and barely breathed, he could begin to pretend he had never done what he had done, that he had never felt what he had felt, that it had all never really existed at all.

One public post

2011-06-03T05:15:00.005-07:00

"When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long." -Psalms 32:3

It's a matter of respect.

2011-06-02T08:27:00.000-07:00

You can tell lies to yourself if you want, but please don't tell lies about me.

It hurts more every time.

2011-06-02T05:41:00.000-07:00

Had a dream that we were in love. Woke up, devastated, in my old house in Chicago, in the bed where my grandma used to sleep. Woke up from the dream and immediately called you. In the background, I could hear Katherine and Will and Ricky. Confused, I got out of bed and immediately stumbled into the hallway. The whole band was standing in the hallway, but Will didn't look like Will. No one looked like anyone except for you.

"Are we still not talking?" I asked the general hallway group (Katherine and Lauren and other people were there, too)

"No. He's agreed to talk to you." That was Danny, but not really Danny.

We walked into my parents old room. I immediately started crying, and you just looked around, looking at everything but me. I wanted to hug you so badly. To hold your hand. To touch your hair. Anything.

"Why, James? Why?" I knew everyone could hear me. I didn't care.

"I don't know. I don't know." You still refused to look at me.

"But James, please." I was begging again. I was begging again, and I knew that it wouldn't make a difference.

"It's not worth it. It was never worth it."

I woke up, again, this time here, in real life, on this tiny, itchy couch, crying. But I didn't call you.

I will not call you.

Because I am so tired of hearing that I'm not worth it anymore.