Lost and Found

"[F]or this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!"
Luke 15:11

I know, biblical quote, but trust me, this won't be a religious post. At least, I don't think so. I had a peculiar experience today. I attended the first meeting of a group called "After God's Heart," a young adult youth group started by those involved in the Residence Life Association and Campus Ministry in order to foster a sense of community involvement and a place where those who were lost could be found, by their peers.

Not gonna lie, at first, I was skeptical. More than skeptical, I was thinking of how I could get out of attending because at first, one of the only reasons I was attending was because of the fact that my friend (a very religious to-be postulant of the Franciscan Sisters of the Renewal) was running the event and had asked me to attend. I told her, frankly, that my past experiences with youth groups were not what I had dreamt them to be, ergo my doubts about attending, but I yielded and told her I'd come anyway.

I don't regret that decision for a second.

We're such a large group of people. There are those who have been and are still very religious. There's our leader, who is fearless and zealous in her belief, for which I admire her for. There are people who have no faith and are searching to find purpose and meaning, and there are people like me, who are in between, raised with strong faith and yet struggling to own that faith and find it a place in their own lives.

Don't dump on new things because you might enjoy them. Lesson learned.

Homesick or home sick?

I guess you can say I'm a little bit of both, quite honestly. I don't really know how I got this sick or why I'm this sick, but truth be told, I'm as sick as a dog right now and I don't really quite know what to do with myself. Ergo, another blogpost, because I figure, why not?

In my last update, we were talking about school and let me tell you, school has become a whole 'nother world of crazy. I think I'm working myself to the bone, which is probably not helping with my health, but I love what I do and therefore do it gladly, so I guess I really can't complain. Eight classes a semester is ridiculous, but it's definitely a lot of fun, especially since the themes of my class vary from science to art, with my majors being in nursing and music performance. It's quite an interesting albeit jam-packed day, so it's difficult, but I don't mind so much.

When did I get sick? It started on Wednesday, when I couldn't breathe because of the congestion when I woke up that morning. Me being me, I was convinced it would soon go away as morning congestion is sometimes a simple part of my daily living, but alas, not only did the congestion stay constant, a cough developed and after choir rehearsal that evening, I was dead from exhaustion and my throat was raw. Ridiculousness. It got increasingly worse as the days went by and thankfully, on Friday, I was able to come home to my own bed and attempt to get some sleep.

So far, so good. I've been napping, taking NyQuil and DayQuil as well as Zyrtec-D (all medications I would swear by even though I only take them when I'm really sick), and I feel a little bad, but the sleep is definitely helping.

Here's to you and me and a not-so-sick-at-all rest of the year.

Moments of Euphoria

Only in moments of euphoria does everything seem clear. Only in these moments, do the words come simply, flowing slowly from my brain to my arms to the tips of my fingers to be typed out onto a word processor, a shadow of my beating heart and rushing blood.

Only in moments of euphoria, do I realize that there’s something more to life than this.

“This” being all those early mornings that I laid awake wondering “what if?”

What if we had stayed together?

What if you were still here?

What if I still fell asleep to the sound of your voice?

“This” being all those days that almost appeared normal when I walked to class and then went to work, when I checked my phone for a text only to realize that it would never come or when the little red notification symbol made my heart leap with joy, only to be deflated when I realized that it would never again be you. “This” being all those nights that I laid in bed, pretending to be asleep, hugging a pillow and crying into a pretend shoulder because I had a broken heart and I didn’t know what else to do.

Only in moments of euphoria do I ever think that I’m better off without you because I get to do the things that I want to do. I get to smile at everyone and make them all happy. I get to not worry about whether or not I’m calling you too much, or if you’ll think I’ve gained to much weight. I get to go out at night without the little voice inside my head repeating over and over again that you’ll be upset that I missed our nightly call.

Only in moments of euphoria, do I stop to think about the big picture, forgetting about the little jokes and snide comments and the petty arguments that have kept me from friends and me from them for years. Only in moments of euphoria do I realize that everything has been worth it, that this singular piece of good news is better than all the bad news put together and that this one piece of good news can keep me satisfied for weeks to come because unlike what you led me to believe, I can be happy without you and being happy without you is okay.

I’m. Okay.

I say it to myself, silently, over and over again. My silent mantra turning into a whisper, and from a whisper into spoken word, and from that, a joyful proclamation because it is here that this single moment of euphoria turns into something else.

Only in moments of pure bliss do I realize that sweating the small stuff, as they say, is more trouble than it’s worth and I?

Well, I’m worth more trouble than that.

Home Again

So after only a few days at school, I traveled back home for the celebration of my younger brother's birthday. We have, of course, decided to celebrate at our favorite sushi place in town and are all quite excited about the prospect of being able to eat our fill and share in some birthday spirit as well. He was quite happy with his birthday haul this year, it being a wonderful hoodie (from yours truly), joke boxers from my sister, a game and tshirts (Minecraft-themed, of course) from our parents, and iTunes gift cards from an aunt and uncle. Overall, a well-rounded and beautifully executed birthday gift-giving. We win.

I'm currently burning a CD of pictures to take with me to college, hanging them on my piano wall in my dorm room. It's funny, looking through all these old things and trying to figure out which pictures to take with you. Very fun, actually and also very interesting. How things have changed. People I once considered necessities to my wall of remembrance, I'm now finding them absent, subconsciously, if anything. A year changes so much and honestly, some of the changes are welcome and others are not-so-welcome. Two things I learned last year:

Qué sera, sera and c'est la vie.

On the First Day of Classes, My True Love Gave to Me...

Absolutely nothing because I haven't exactly found mine yet!

And even with that despondent and slightly sobering beginning, I can't even begin to tell you how excited I am for this school year. I got a phone call yesterday from one of the faculty priests here are my college and they delightfully informed me that I was one of four students chosen to go on a two-week trip to Italy! The best part is... it's sponsored by the school! I don't have to pay a cent--that's the best part!

So other than that delightfully good news, today we've got Statistics (ew), Core 200 Honors aka Culture and Diversity (sociology is sometimes interesting) and Music Theory (double ew). The mix of nursing and music classes isn't super apparent in today's list of classes, but it is tomorrow, when I've got Health Assessment and Applied Music (also known as my piano lesson). Interesting stuff, it is.

I can't even believe that classes are starting and I'm dressed to go get breakfast in the cafeteria and everything is just slightly ridiculous right now. Not even going to lie. It's hard for me to imagine that by this time next year, I'll be a junior and more than halfway done with my college career. When they say time flies, I guess they really do mean it. For now, I'll stop thinking about that and amuse myself with the fact that my suitemates all have to be in class by 10am and are only just getting up to take showers. I guess early birds don't really get the worm, but at least I got the longest shower time :)

A beautiful day to all of you.

Next Up on the Docket? An Academic Year.

So here we are.

We are on the verge of beginning a brand new academic year. For some, it is their first, for others, they are veterans, already having been through the platitudes and complaints of elementary school, the drama of middle school, the heightened glorification of high school, and are now in the throes of college, studying not so that their homework grade will be high enough to bring them to the next level, but in the hopes that their work will allow them to obtain a singular document that attests to their skill, work ethic, and qualification to make it in the real world.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is college.

I can't begin to tell you why I love the institution of higher education so much. Perhaps it's my classes, and as a double major in nursing/premed and music, I will tell you that I take a lot of classes. Perhaps it's the people, my five suitemates are among the greatest people I've ever met and they're welcoming, kind, and understanding and academic situation (i.e. being so busy that I can't go out to dinner, but not so busy that I can't indulge in a few games of Jenga at the end of a day). College is great, but always is the looming sense overhead that there is something greater than this and our last days of childhood are already at an end, if not only because we're working towards something bigger--bigger than anything we've ever worked of before.

On the morning of the beginning of this new academic year, then, I tell you this and only this: don't forget to smile. The work, the pressure, and the obnoxiousness and difficulty of unwelcome (and welcome) change are difficult enough to handle. Smiling makes it all better and that's the truth.

Attraversiamo.

I first discovered this term when I was reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love. It's an Italian word, meaning "let's cross over," usually indicating the need to cross the street, so an indirect more accurate translation would simply be "let's cross." In Italian, however, the direct translation is "let's cross over" and that is what made me believe that this word was extraordinary.

There is more to a word than what it means, I like to think. When you speak any language, you not only think of words that relay the proper meaning, but also the proper emotion and whenever I hear attraversiamo, I feel light, as if burdens have been temporarily lifted off my shoulders and I am free to fly in whichever direction I choose. This is why I believe that attraversiamo means more than crossing the street on a busy traffic day. It's taking steps together--whether it be through traffic, over a hurdle, or side-by-side through whatever obstacles life throws at you...

Attraversiamo.

And the Search Continues

I don't know who I am.

Startling thought, isn't it? I'm find that I'm plagued by it more often now, especially during the times when I feel like I'm most alone. My mom told me earlier that she can see and feel how lonely I am; that makes me sad, that someone else can see how lonely and depressed I am. You'd think that'd be a good thing, but I don't think so. I think when someone can see and feel how lonely you are, it's a problem.

I an safely say though, that it has been almost a year since I've suffered from brokenheartedness and emotional breakdowns, but it hasn't really gotten any easier. At this point, I feel like I'm over the boy in question, but I am not, however, "over" any of the memories. Nostalgia overtakes me a lot, and it's difficult for me to put things in perspective sometimes, especially with a mother who's convinced that I'm the lesser daughter (maybe that's in my head, but I think not) and with parents who both think that I'm still just a little bit too chubby to be attractive.

It's not so much that I miss him, though. It's more that I miss who he was, if that makes any sense. It was very clear after we broke up (rather, after he dumped me on my tiny hiney) that he is not the guy that I fell head-over-heels in love with, so in many ways, I've been "over" him for quite some time. I think what bothers me most is the fact that I miss the past. I miss the moments. When I get hit with a memory sometimes, I realize that it's not his smile, or his kiss, or his touch that I miss. Rather, I miss how exuberantly happy I felt in that exact moment. I missed the unadultered joy that I used to feel when I was with him, but not him. I wish I could take myself and transplant myself back into these special moments to feel the way I felt before, but I don't wish I could feel them with him. The only reason I would want him there is because I've never felt it with anyone else before, and everyone knows that's stupid.

Maybe I'm not one of those girls who will marry her high school sweetheart, but I do know that I'll at least know someone who will. And that's enough for me, I think. Because right now, I'm not looking to be married or to fall in love again or to find someone to mend my broken heart.

All I want to do is be able to look in the mirror and say: "Hey, see that girl? Yup, she's beautiful in every way. And yes, that's me."

What Hurricane Irene Taught Me

He's more like my brother than anything, really. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I can't pinpoint an exact moment when we became close. We always just were, in my brain. I know it happened somewhere in between sophomore year and junior year of high school, but other than that? Nothing. Nothing at all, only that since that point in time--whenever it was--my life has been very much changed.

Today, we talked about a lot of things. We usually do when we have conversations because you see, our conversations are sparse. I started a tradition of sending him a message once a day, just to say hello. At first it was always in the morning, but as time went on, it became more difficult for me to maintain consistent daily messages, and so they became more sporadic. Nevertheless, I try to send him a message, just so he knows that I'm around. And in my heart--so that I know he hasn't forgotten me and that it's unlikely he ever will.

There's strength in friendship, true, but there is also solidarity. And that's what I value most.

The Number Four Tree

That's what we've always called it, "The Number Four Tree," as if it held some sort of elevated position in our household. I don't think it does, really. It's just called that because we weren't very creative when we were youngsters and the tree is shaped like the number four when written on a piece of paper. It's a cute tree, kind of like the five-year-old God was practicing his numbers before deciding that trees should be large and majestic, instead of shaped like numbers themselves. He gave us paper for that.

It is a special tree, shaped so that it's unique to our family in this town. We've each claimed it as our own tree, after each one of us turned four, but I always like to think of it as a family tree. So much happened (and never happened) within its reach.

I hope it stays steadfast and untainted. I don't know what I would do if someone tainted it with their sadness, their death or their despair. Likely, I would want it to be torn down, no monument to commemorate a memory of a departed soul, no matter how dear to me the soul is. No memorial to one taken too young, perhaps by his or her own hand. No reminder of how, if something ever were to taint the memory of this tree, I would be alone in this world with no one to hold on to.

Not even the Number Four Tree to welcome me into its warm, leafy embrace.