hope

so, i have been sick a lot lately, and i took the time to experiment with iMovie, because i am interested in making videos. I  really liked marissa's visual argument, so i decided to make another one but a bit differently. Here you go, katrina! :)

ride

  I was in the winter of my life- and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell sleep with vision of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three year down the line of being on an endless world tour and memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times. I was a singer, not very popular one, who once has dreams of becoming a beautiful poet- but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again- sparkling and broken. But I really didn’t mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what true freedom is.

When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I had been living- they asked me why. But there’s no use in talking to people who have a home, they have no idea what its like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lied you head.

I was always an unusual girl, my mother told me that I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing me due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiviness that was as wide as wavering as the ocean. And if I said that I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying- because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one- who belonged to everyone, who had nothing- who wanted everything with a fire for every experience and an obssesion for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about- and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzlez and dizzied me.

Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people- and finally I did- on the open road. We have nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore- except to make our lives into a work of art.

LIVE FAST. DIE YOUNG. BE WILD. AND HAVE FUN.

I believe in the country America used to be. I belive in the person I want to become, I believe in the freedom of the open road. And my motto is the same as ever- *I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when I’m at war with myself- I Ride. I Just Ride.*

Who are you? Are you in touch with all your darkest fantasies?
Have you created a life for yourself where you’re free to experience them?
I Have.
I Am Fucking Crazy. But I Am Free.

SHOOT! a failure of my past

    I was never an athletic child. Even when i played sports, i never put much effort into them. Hence, i was never very good. Hence, i hated playing sports.
     I think i tried every sport in the book: lacrosse, dance, ice skating, gymnastics, soccer, etc. In high school, my dad was a superstar basketball player. He was in several newspapers, won several trophies, and had many admirers who knew just how amazing he was at basketball. Therefore, being the oldest of his kids, he put my sister and I in basketball early to fulfill his legacy.
    So it turned out basketball wasn't my sport. Just like all of them had been. My father was never disappointed in me, because unlike some he never pressured me to be as great as he was. He wasn't one of those parents who tried to make their kids perfect, as long as we put effort into it he was happy. Anyway, when i say basketball wasn't my sport, i mean i physically could not play basketball. Dribbling without my eyes locked on the ball was nearly impossible. This caused for actual running and dribbling at the same time actually impossible. I have never been an aggressive person, therefore stealing the ball away from someone was out of the question. Hitting or shoving anyone of any kind was off limits for me as well.
    I played for a couple years, and not once had i made a basket. I hadn't even been close enough to the basket in order to make a goal. But i didn't mind- i didn't care about the competitive aspect of the game. I was just in it to spend time with my friends. I'm sure my dad cringed at my lack of athleticism, but hey, he got it later with my little brother.
     During my last year of playing basketball, my series of unfortunate scoring events suddenly had hope to redeem themselves one game when one of my team mates passed me the ball as i was standing right under the basket. The game had been played really intense by my team members, and it was during the last quarter of the game my coach had finally put me in the play, just so my mom could get a couple "action shots" of me on the court. It was probably an accident the ball was passed to me in the first place. But it was, and i didn't know what to do with it, so i froze.
    I literally watched the ball land in my hand, the other team closing in on me, and my coach screaming something incoherent at the sidelines. My teammates kept pointing up at the basket, the girl guarding me got closer and closer making my heart beat soar, the basket above kept getting farther and farther away, and my father was yelling at me to "SHOOT!".
    And I didn't. I did not shoot the ball. I sat there, paralyzed with fear. Rigid. Doing nothing. Nada.
    The ball ended up getting stolen out of my hands by that darn girl who was just doing her job in guarding me. My team ended up winning the game, no thanks to me. But I think back to that moment and wish i hadn't just stood there. Why didn't i just try to make the shot? Why didn't i try to make my dad proud? Why didn't i do anything except stand there? Would i have made the shot if i had tried? Could I have won the game for my teammates?
     I will never know, because i never tried.

I'm a Gustie!

     You know those moments where everything incredibly perfect, and all the pieces fall together? Yeah, me neither. But this Friday was the closest I got to having a moment just like that.
     My friend Jane went with me down to Gustavus Adolphus College because I had my interview for admissions that afternoon around five. We arrived a little early, so i pretended to be a tour guide and showed Jane the campus- i have been there several times and pretty much know where everything is by heart. I first toured Gustavus the summer before sophomore year, and ever since the first moment i walked through the doors i knew that was the place i was going to attend college. It felt like home.
    I was sitting down in the Admissions office ten minutes early. "Are you nervous?" Jane asked me.
    "No," i replied. For some reason i had this odd sense of security and calmness within me.
   The admissions counselor came out then, shaking my hand and saying it was nice to see me again (small town, private schools are way friendlier than the big ten). Then he gave me a big smile, saying he forgot something in his office and asked me if i minded waiting for just a minute.

You can see the tears in my eyes. 

   He came back with a gold envelope, which he handed to me and told me i could open it right there. I broke the seal and pulled out the first piece of paper. The top read: Congratulations! You've been accepted into the class of 2017 at Gustavus Adolphus College...
    I didn't read anything else. My mouth dropped and I looked up at Bob (the counselor) and blurted out, "Really?!"
    He smiled. "Yes. You don't even need an interview. We accepted you a couple days ago."
    My eyes automatically started tearing up and it literally took everything in me not to start balling right then and there. "Thank you, thank you so much!" was all i could say. He laughed and congratulated me. My friend jane had to grab my arm and guide me outside. As soon as we were out of view from the  important adults in the office i broke down in joyful sobs, half crying half wailing. It was the best kind of crying i had ever experienced in my whole life. Jane just grabbed me into a big hug and it took me five minutes to get me all out.
   I think the reason i was so emotional about it is because i had been picturing that moment for two years. Not to mention the complete spontaneity in the situation. Here i thought i was going to have my interview, when instead i got accepted.
    My dream has finally come true, and my future is more real to me now than it ever has been.

       See you in a year, Gustavus!

I'm going to college!

    

visual essay- influences of media

nana

    First of all, my grandmother hates it when i call her "grandmother" or "grandma". It has to be nana, otherwise she doesn't feel special enough to us. I don't quite understand her logic, because nana is Italian and my grandmother is french.
    She is a short woman who is never seen without her makeup, the most important being her bright red lipstick. For as long as i can remember she has worn her hair up in a bun. When i was a kid, she always made up stories about her hair. My siblings and i would sit in the back seat of my grandparents mini van on our way home from our weekly dinners with them, and the whole ride she would create a fantasy of how a family of spiders lived in her hair. Then her hair turned grey, we children grew up, and those stories stopped.
    Unfortunately she still thinks I am a little girl. Every time i see her i am always greeted with a big loud kiss smack dab on my lips, and it is quite embarrassing. Her next door neighbor used to have this large, yellow lab that we would love to play with whenever we went to visit. Too often she would clutch her neck at the sight of him walking over. She would tell us to be careful because she didn't want us to get hurt. Her voice is fooling too, because she talks with a high pitched, innocent tone that makes it seem like she is cooing over a baby. And boy, does she talk.
    She talks about anything and everything.
    "I saw a bear the other day in the woods, and you'll never guess what he was doing! Yes, he was eating berries off a tree. It was the neatest thing, i tell you." Nana lives in a thick wooded area, and her conversations about nature are never ending.
    "Obama is the best president we have ever had." She is very democratic.
     "I saw this story on the news where a man killed his two daughters after attacking their mother!" Sometimes i don't know how to respond to the things she says, so i let my mother do it.
    
      For my 16th birthday my Nana and grandpa took my sister and i out to shop; it's our annual birthday celebrations, a trip to the mall. Nana usually picks up a piece of clothing, checks the price, and either sets it down slowly without a word, or exclaims "Ooohh, this would look so good on you." I always feel bad letting them pay for me because i know they don't have much. So i nod my head and agree, yes it would look good on me.
     When i went over my limit of spending money the year i turned 13, my grandma told my grandpa i didn't then turned to give me a wink. She smiled to herself and i couldn't help but smile back, because she was so happy she had a secret with me.

    For christmas, it's different. She assembles intricately decorated gift baskets for each of us, all filled with random crap that we would never think of using in a million years. They are very extravagant- just like the numerous decorations in her living room, her homemade card that probably took her hours to make, and the amount of spices she puts on top of every dish she ever makes. One year i got a tin sign with "twilight" printed on the front. I also got a coiled cross with pearls on the end. It's things like this- things i would never use- that she always gets me. My mom said she has this ideal world in her head of what all of us want. For instance, since i am a teenage girl i would love to get sparkly lip balm or tangerine shampoo.

     Nana was the only person who tried to teach me to sew. She bought me my first (and only) sewing kit with numerous amounts of thread colors and a tomato needle carrier. I sat on her couch watching Beetlejuice and trying to copy what she did with her needle and thread. My sewing days didn't last long, but i still use my sewing kid sometimes to re-patch holes.
    Whenever i see my nana she let's me know of the many compliments she gets about me. "I showed my friends a picture of you from homecoming and they told me i had the most gorgeous granddaughters in the world. I agreed with them." When her mother was dying and placed in a nursing home, Nana made her an entire bulletin board collage with pictures of her five grandchildren on it. Our faces were everywhere in my great-grandmothers sick room.
    I think that bulletin board is in Nana's living room now.

thanksgiving observations

    Just my luck, I claimed the pumpkin pie and my sister got the pecan. Every year my sister and I are in charge of the pies (well, apparently this is true. See, we don't remember ever making pies before. This year, for example, we stood in the kitchen just staring at the ingredients my mom had laid out on the counter for us, not knowing what to do with them. "You always do the pies, girls," my mom replied to our quizzical stares. Sometimes my sister and i think she lies just to get away with less work. But then again i do have a terrible memory, so maybe we did the pies last year after all.)
     I woke up on Thanksgiving on my own clock. No one shoved my shoulders, banged impatiently on my door, or coincidentally happened to vacuum right outside my door. It was nice waking up at 10:30. When i came downstairs a nice "egg-baked" brunch was being prepared by my mom. We sat down at the table and she plopped a pan of a thick combination of eggs, sausage, tomatoes, and chives. She sat down a platter of small pastries next to it, and a bowl of cut up strawberries next to me. I told myself i wouldn't eat the pastries but i did. I ate two.
     Then my sister and i made the pies. I called the pumpkin because i thought it would be easier to make. My sister helped me assemble the ingredients and we pretty much laughed the whole time because no matter how much we want to be good bakers/cooks, we are not. "Sydney, that's a tablespoon, not a teaspoon." You see what i mean? But i wanted to prove to my mother i could do it because lately she has had a bad habit of underestimating us soon-to-be-eighteen-year-olds. She would linger in the kitchen and i would tell her, "mom, leave me alone i can do this."
     "I just want to make sure you don't screw it up. You have a tendency to not pay attention to the directions."
     Unfortunately this was after the tablespoon incident so my refuting comment didn't have much strength as i would have hoped. I told my mom to just leave the kitchen. Just leave please. This whole fiasco reinforces our behavior the past several months. I think it's due to the attachment problems my mom has to us. She tries to make us feel incapable of doing things by ourselves so that we will stay close for college. What she doesn't realize is i am already staying close for college, and her comments only add to my worries and self-doubts.
      So the pie turned out fine. Originally I was very worried because the directions said it would only take 40-50 minutes and i take directions very literally. Well i take everything literally, i noticed. When the timer rang i would do the "checking" process and stick a knife in the middle of the pie. It always came back with goop on it. I would only add 2-3 minutes each time i checked it to make sure. After being in the oven for 60 minutes i finally just took it out and prayed it would be okay. It had to, because my sister and i had already made a competition of whose pie would be the best. I don't get competitive very often but with her i do because she is my twin and i have this unrelenting need to be better than her in most things.
     We arrived at my aunt and uncles house when the sky was just beginning to get dark. By this time i had already seen numerous instagram photos of my friends thanksgiving meals they had already eaten. Usually my family likes to host gatherings during the holidays because it feels more special that way. I love being a hostess. But unfortunately our floors were scheduled for being redone on friday. The carpenters actually called us a couple days ago and announced they wouldn't be able to make it until Tuesday. By then the plans were already made for my aunt and uncles house thought. But I wasn't too upset- they're better than my other uncles house, who one year served us frozen pizza at Christmas dinner.
    I am always the first to be out of the car and into the house because of my excitement (and- since it's a known fact everyone has to bring in at least one item- i always go for the things that are in bags so i don't have to take the time to take the food from the back seat. Call me lazy.)
   Whenever i enter their house i always remember to open the door slowly and small at first because they have two small parti yorkies that never run out of energy and are always sitting by the door in anticipation of the guests arriving. My grandparents have a regular yorkie the same age, so there were actually three dogs bombarding me at the door, squeaking up a storm and jumping up my legs.
   Something you should know: my grandparents spend more time at my aunt and uncles house than their actual house in Wisconsin. It's because they have a special bond with their youngest son they never had with my mother. So naturally they were already there when i walked because they had actually spent the night there before. My grandma was busying herself in the kitchen, running from station to station adding an excessive amount of different herbs and spices to everything she could get her hands on. (She literally dumps a ton of that stuff on everything she makes and sometimes it makes my eyes water).
    As soon as she sees me my grandmother drops her victimized salad and gives me a look that suggests  i am the lost puppy she lost years ago that was already proclaimed dead. She rushes over to me with outstretched arms and fingers (much like a toddler begging for food from his or her high chair) and kisses me... on the lips. I know, it's embarrassing and i always forget to brace myself for it even though it happens every time. It wouldn't be as embarrassing, except for the fact that i am almost eighteen and don't kiss anyone on the lips, ever. Also- not an entire factor but important nonetheless- she always wears bright red lipstick, so the evidence of her affection is all over my face when she lets go of me. Sometimes i think of telling her to tone down the babying. i know if i did she would take it very offensively, however, so i pretend to be happy with it to save her sanity (and my mothers ear).
     My grandpa is next, but i like him. He is a short man (but still an inch taller than me) with a skinny frame and a plump stomach. While he hugs me he pats my back. I don't have to worry about him because my grandfather doesn't kiss anyone. Ever.
     I run over to my aunt and kiss each of her cheeks while she does the same to me. We are both obsessed with france and so it's normal for us to give each other the traditional french greeting. My uncle Steve is preoccupied fulfilling his bar tending job and creating new alcoholic drinks that my parents wouldn't let me try (even though all i asked for was one sip!)
    I look over and see my grandma has finished kissing the rest of my siblings. I know she is about to ask me about my life to engage me in a long conversation so she can point out how amazing i am. Anticipating this i blurt, "Rachel has a boyfriend!" Instant attention diverter.
    And seriously that line worked the whole night. My grandparents have this weird notion in their head that my sister and i always have boyfriends that we never tell them about. When my other aunt and uncle came over with my cousins i blurted it out again and they instantly asked her a bazillion questions. Nobody wants to hear how single you are.
     I was actually thankful when i told my grandma i was single, and expected the usual line: "you are such a catch i'm sure the boys are just lining up at your door. Grandpa, get the stick!"
    During dinner my grandma brought up politics and i looked at my sister with wide eyes. It ended up being a two hour conversation between my parents and grandparents debating the wonderful/horrible acts of Obama. Needless to say they cleared the room quickly because the rest of us saved ourselves by slipping away to the kitchen. Later my dad said there was no point talking to my grandma about it because he didn't accomplish anything except a headache.
    When my aunt kathy took her kids to visit her mom, my uncle mark stayed behind and watched tv downstairs, alone.
     My dogs (they are five years old) were always escaping the wraths of the little, younger dogs. They chase my dogs around constantly and never understand when my dog Ana snips at them ferociously that she doesn't like them.
     My sister said she didn't want any pie, but then when i got my piece she ended up eating half of mine anyway.
      My brother ate the leftover pumpkin pie that was equal to four full pieces.
      My grandpa didn't understand how whipped cream could be homemade despite my mom and aunt describing in detail how they just whipped the liquid whipping cream.
      The music playing was Justin Hines and it was simply perfect. He is an artist that my aunt and uncle introduced to us last year and since then he has been one of our favorites.
      My cousins only ate three bites total of their already small meal.
      My aunt Kathy ate a piece of pie despite my uncle glaring at her and telling her it was unhealthy. I smiled at her.
      My sister's phone was constantly ringing with text messages from her boyfriend. I checked mine ten times and the only action i had were messages that weren't even aimed at me because they were in a group chat, and a couple snap chats from this one guy who used to be in my AP US History class. I never looked at them because he was creepy.
      When i was talking to my uncle and grandpa about this guy i like my uncle told me not to text him first. My grandpa agreed, saying, "Your grandmother and i have been married 50 years and I still have to chase her."
      My aunt Pam would constantly give my sister and i side comments about the use of our cell phones. We know she doesn't like it when we have our phones out all the time. Later that night when we were sitting right next to each other, my aunt texted both of us girls and we had a whole conversation on our phones. It's her way of being funny, but the conversation went on for more than an hour.
      My grandma made two kinds of salads because one was Asian and she didn't know how people would take it. but nobody ate either salad anyway because they know just as much as i do how many spices she puts on them.
      Mark was in charge of the potatoes and they actually tasted decent.
      My family said the pecan pie was the best pecan pie they had ever had. My sister then proclaimed that she will always make the pecan pie from here on. Everyone told me they thought the pumpkin was very good as well, just the pecan was amazing compared to other pecans.