Home

Home is a loose word, I often find my mind and, in turn, my spirit in other places. Sitting wrapped in a blanket I’ll physically be here or there but, in truth, I’ll be far, far away. Henry David Thoreau once wrote, “At a certain season of our life we are accustomed to consider every spot as the possible site of a house.” House or home or somewhere in between? A trivial question when one is hunting for a place to rest one’s mind.

Photo Credit: hotelroomsearch.net

My tangible home will always be with my family in our small “faerie home,” surrounded by an unruly garden that seems to compete with the urbanity of the asphalt road and the ever shrinking street light (or perhaps I’m the one growing). Home with its boarding of white and blue, with a hand built white picket fence; home with a stylized and cohesive found object collection inside and hand painted walls of a whimsical forest land further from reality than the closest galaxy. Tangible home will be with my dad’s music blasting well above the sound threshold of his earbuds, shuffling in the Paint-Shack. Tangible home will be with my mom, picking up conversations we never started mid-way through a sentence. A home fit for part of my heart and part of my body.

But my true home, home for my mind, my spirit, the rest of my heart and body, that’s much harder to pin down. I’ve lived too many lives, I’ve walked the halls of Hogwarts and thieved the streets of Ketterdam. I have run through the Overlook Hotel and traveled the world in the Leviathan. I am inclined to call all these places my home despite the threat of horror and danger and pulse-stopping fear. But then again, I am just as inclined to call a solitary cottage at the edge of humanity surrounded by piles and piles of mugs and books my home.

When I was much younger I believed home would be among the pyramids and mummies of Egypt, studying a culture older than I could comprehend, dinosaur hunting while bouncing from continent to continent in search of the next great dinosaur find. Now I find myself lost, filled with wanderlust. Do I return to Ketterdam, Hogwarts, Brakebills? Do I follow the dust and jewels and bones of ancient history? Do I find my library tower with an endless supply of tea, coffee, pastry, and more books than I know what to do with? Do I find my corner of a city and people watch for the rest of my time?

Photo Credit: enlighten.pk

Maybe, what I’m getting at is I won’t find one home, there is no way to make that which is plural singular. I’ll always be hunting for the next city to make my heart beat faster and my lungs dance, the next country, the next world, the next universe. My home will be that glimpse of color disappearing around the corner, just slow enough for me to go skidding into the alley and see it go around the next corner. My home will be a sturdy pair of boots, one hell of a scarf, and a bag with an undetectable extension charm. My home will be that trip around the world finding the best food there is and then traveling to the Restaurant at the End of the Universe. Home will be that rare dinosaur in the middle of nowhere. Home will be Nefertiti’s tomb. Home will be finding that portal to Fillory, Hogwarts Ketterdam, Le Cirque des Rêves. Home will be the pens and paints I bring with me; home will be the countless notebooks of dreams, adventures, and future worlds.

Home will be the next great adventure. The never ending circular promise: the next place will be the place, the next place will be home. Part of me will always belong to the first home though, my little blue and white cottage in the forest of pavement and cars, but the rest of me? The rest of me is restless. Home will always be one step ahead of me, patiently waiting for me to catch up, always waiting for me to leave a little more of myself on the path.

A Letter to Past Generations

Dear people of the past,

I am one person out of millions. I may be small, but my voice will not be silenced. We will no longer be silenced by beliefs made centuries ago.

We will not be silenced by beliefs that are killing innocent lives, or by the beliefs that are discriminating against the people who are finally becoming proud of who they are.

We are the new generation. We are the millennials, the Gen. Z kids, and the generations to come, and we are proud of ourselves for the world we’re determined to create.

We may be young, and we may not know everything about the world, but we are still learning, still improving, and we are definitely still fighting.

We are strong

We are resilient.

And we are powerful.

But we aren’t defined by adjectives; we are the future. In just a few years, most of us will be given the power to vote, and we will remember when you ignored our pleas.

Photo Credit: ABC News.

You ignored our pleas for equal rights, our pleas to not feel afraid to walk into our schools, our pleas for an equal opportunity you pride your country over yet fail to fulfill.

We will remember what you refused to give us, and we will take it ourselves.

The years will come, and the world will become ours. Not just for one percent of us, but for everyone.

A world where students can walk into their schools without the fear that they’d never walk out.

A world where people are free to love who they wish to.

A world where people are judged by their personality or by what they bring to the world. Not by the color of their skin, or their preference of who they love.

So remember this

We may be young,

But we are angry.

And you can try silence us, but we will rise, and we will scream louder than ever.

Writer’s Block 2.0

Writers block, what a foe. It feels like everything I could write has already been written or far too close to my heart.

I’m full of non-noteworthy thoughts: is there ice cream in the freezer? Do I really have to finish that assignment or can I avoid it a little longer? Do I have the time to watch that episode? Should I read that book or this one? Is it actually likely that I can learn that language? Is tomorrow going to be a good day or one that makes me feel like crawling into bed and never reemerging?

So what should I write about? It’s not as if there is nothing going on.

Photo Credit: fanpop.com

Anyway, it feels like I could use 700 years of sleep, I don’t seem to do anything and I’m tired anyway. Why is that? I don’t even have the motivation to do the things I enjoy, much less the things that I don’t. I love doing certain things but all it seems I’m able to muster myself to do is sit around and, for all I can tell, do nothing.

So the motivation to tell stories and write is seemingly gone. Writers block has hit hard, senioritis even harder. Ugh.

Is it bad that I’m 100% ready to crawl into bed not having done anything productive today? I wonder sometimes, if given the choice, if I would sleep in excess and just not get out of bed at all really, if I would push all other things in my life off my plate and roll over and go back to sleep.

fluttering

be sure to go slow with my heart,

it already beats too fast.

and, for me, it’s different

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

when you hold your hand in mine

or when you look at me like that.

sometimes, i’m left without breath

for no reason,

so it’s not fair

when you run your hands through your hair.

i know in any given moment

when i’m with you,

the butterflies in my stomach aren’t simply innocent.

in our sunday morning coffee dates,

it isn’t the caffeine that makes me jittery.

no, my nervous giggles aren’t your fault.

you aren’t doing anything wrong.

but, when you do all your perfect little things,

when you do everything right,

it doesn’t make breathing any easier.

and, no, i’m not ignoring you

when i go silent,

i’m just afraid of saying the wrong things

because i don’t want to come to the day

when your smile isn’t a guarantee.

It’s our hearts that make a beat

Music is one of the most important things in my life. Ever since I was a kid, waddling around my kindergarten, I’d be singing along to songs I didn’t know the lyrics to. As it turned out later, I was a horrible singer, but that didn’t matter as a child. It made me happy.

My first favorite song was “Fight for your Right to Party” by The Beastie Boys. I obviously had no idea what it meant, considering I didn’t understand a word of English at that point. But it was the energy and positivity in their voices that got me. My mom told me it was a little too aggressive for a six year-old girl to listen to, but, you know, that really didn’t bother me.

The first instrument I ever learned to play was the violin, mainly because I was obsessed with this kids TV show about young Mozart. Well, I wasn’t very good at it, and my siblings always complained about that “awful noise” whenever I practiced, so I quit after about two years.

credit: lovethispic.com

But even after that I was really into music. I’d memorize my favorite songs, film music videos with my friends and siblings, we’d perform our own version of “Mamma Mia!” to our parents- all that cringy stuff.

In tenth grade, I started playing the piano, because I wanted to be able to play all of Twenty One Pilots’ songs, since they are my absolute favorite band and I really can’t sing. Apparently, I am not musically talented at all, but, again, that doesn’t really bother me. So I started playing the ukulele. I’m pretty sure it is one of the easiest instruments to play, because even I have mastered some songs by now. And that really says something.

Being able to successfully play music, all by myself, with only a couple YouTube tutorials and UkuTabs.com (literally the most helpful website ever) I gained some confidence. So, when I got bored over last summer, I decided to take a drum lesson. The drums have always been my favorite instrument in a band, they’re so unique and mentally and physically difficult, and to be honest, my favorite celebrity is a drummer so that might have played a role in it as well… I got to use my neighbor’s drums in his basement, that was hopefully a hundred percent soundproof, because I had no idea what I was doing. But after hours and hours in that hot, stuffy basement, I at least learned how to keep a decent beat. There are few things that I’ve experienced in my life that feel better than hitting the drums as if my life depended on it.

credit: tumblr.com

When the new school year started, I joined garage band. It’s probably one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I’m so thankful, too, since there are already two really good drummers in the band, and they still accepted me, even though I’m pretty bad. But even playing a basic beat in the very back of on stage with a group of such talented others filled me with so much joy and new confidence. Also, apparently, “girl drummers are bad-a**”.

That same year I also started playing the guitar. I’m a really slow learner, and I’m still pretty bad at it, but I love music so much, everything about it. As long as I get some pretty sounds out of it, it makes me happy. As long as I’m not perfect yet, I will keep practicing. That might take a while though.

Probably the most important things I lost in the fire last winter were my guitar, my ukulele, and the school’s drum set. Whenever I felt down or needed distraction, I’d listen to music, and whenever I really needed to feel better, I’d play it on those instruments.

This sounds like such a cliché, but music has always been there for me. I’ve always had great friends in my life, and a sister whom I could tell almost everything. But there are some times where I don’t want to talk to anyone, and don’t want to hear anything, except the tune of my favorite songs.

The Truth About Horseback Riding

When you were little did any of you ever dream of becoming a movie star or professional athlete, but later figured out you can’t amount to either of these things unless you have millions of dollars? And, speaking from experience, the percentage of little girls who dream to own and show a horse in the Olympics is very large, I’d say about 99.9% of them do.

But, later the harsh reality of life kicks in, and the kids, as well as their parents, learn that the cost of showing, owning, and maintaining a horse of that stature is much more than the average American earns a year. Even the cost to purchase this caliber of horse can range from $100,000-millions of dollars. The thing is, the rich-and-famous stereotype is completely true. The cost of showing a horse on the international circuit can exceed $200,000 a year. Riders often will have more than one horse to compete in each of three different classes, which include jumpers, hunters, and equitation.

It’s the epitome of a luxury good.

Alongside that, the classes in which you compete are judged on how nice of a horse you own, even in the walk trot divisions with four-year-old girls and their ponies. The collegiate level, along with the other levels, in horseback riding are judged unfairly because of the imbalance of wealth.

The wealth indifference lights up in the average person’s face saying, “Only the rich make it.”

“No wonder the elite equestriennes gracing this month’s Town & Country are all billionaire princesses.”

The connection between horses and wealth began a millennia ago.

In fact, the first people who were known to commend hierarchies of power and believe variations of wealth were vital to their society were also the first people to own and ride horses.

Picture a movie based in the renaissance period. You can imagine the king riding into the shot on his noble steed, while the peasants walk in on foot; this is because of the imbalance of wealth between the king and his subjects. Now, take the millionaires and billionaires in the world and insert them into the king’s spot, and the rest of the world into the peasant’s spot. The rich have the privilege to trot around on their fancy horses while the rest of us travel in our subpar cars to work and school.

Do you think this is fair?

Horseback riding is a dubious sport when an animal of great value is involved; the person competing in the sport vanishes, showcasing your wealth through the one thing being judged, your horse.

Photo Credit: globalchampionstour.com

In a division known as hunters, the judge is only allowed to judge the horse, and not acknowledge the rider upon its back. Because of this, the wealth difference between riders is highlighted and becomes very clear about who will take the win home.

Amongst the 5,000 horses and 2,800 riders at the equestrian festival near Palm Beach, Florida lies many of the world’s elite. Let’s say you are competing at this festival, and while you’re scrolling through the list of people you are competing against, you come across the last name that rings a bell in many people’s minds: Gates.

Jennifer Gates, also known as Bill Gates’, “the richest man in America,” daughter, is competing in your division. By seeing this name, you automatically know you stand no chance of beating her. Her dad is willing to spend millions of dollars on horses, which many families are not able to do, despite how much they want to.

“The billionaires are funding their daughters through the circuits and through life.”

Jennifer Gates, Charlotte Casiragni, Georgina Bloomberg, and Reed Kessler rise to the top of their divisions, as they prance around on their dreamworthy horses. At 18 years old, Reed Kessler became the youngest rider in show jumping history to ever compete at the Olympic Games. Her parents, being the multimillionaires (possibly billionaires) they are, could afford to buy and pay Reed top of the line horses and trainers.

Imagine a world full of horse shows that don’t judge the horse’s length of stride or merely on the way they look. A world where it is equal; as Thomas Jefferson once said, “All men are created equal.” If this is the rule we are truly supposed to live by, why doesn’t it apply?

We are not judged fairly, we are not given equal opportunities to prove ourselves to the judges, and we are most certainly not all of the same wealth. A new and upcoming way of competing has blossomed from the roots of riding.

It’s called the Interscholastic Equestrian Association or IEA for short. It is a show where all the competitors are taken to a barn and given horses of the same caliber to ride. With all of them being equal, and it not being the rider’s personal horse, the judge is finally only allowed to judge the rider and not the horse. If this becomes as popular as regular horse shows, it would finally give the people of average wealth in the US a chance to enjoy the sport they love.

 

Photo Credit: Chornofhorse.com

 

Well, I guess to wrap up my rant about the unfairness of the various judging techniques, people eventually get adjusted to it and just accept that it will be hard as heck to rise to the top because the wealthy are favored. The wealthy people all around the world maintain control over the scoring; they mostly win and we mostly lose. Sports are supposed to be judged on how much time you dedicate and how much effort you are willing to put in; but instead this, it is based on how much money you’re willing to spend. But in the end, the elite equestrians “may be young, rich, and beautiful, but it takes more than fresh looks and a bank account to ride at the Olympic level.”

I Don’t Know

With SATs only a couple days away, only one question has constantly tainted my mind.

Where do I want to go to college?

These last several months I thought I was certain that NYU was the only school for me. I would apply early decision, and then I’d wait to see whether I’d be accepted to the university of my dreams. There, I’d immerse myself into the greatest city in the world. I’d study journalism or political science on a pre-law track. I’d study in artsy coffee shops with a group of my best friends during early mornings, and I’d go to Times Square during late nights. I couldn’t imagine a better city to spend the next several years of my life.

It’s been my dream since I was a little girl.

But the more I thought about it, was that really what I wanted? Yes… Well, maybe. I thought so.

I thought I was ready to leave all my friends and family on the west coast.

I thought I was ready to leave my horses behind while I blindly chased my dreams in the biggest city in the world. I never wanted anything more in my life. My horse would be waiting for me when I came back. He’d understand. I have dreams I need to follow.

But was I ready to go from the small towns I’ve known my whole life to the crowded, noise deafening streets of NYC? I dream about it every night. I dream about never being bored; never running out of exciting ways to spend my nights, even in the most minimalistic ways.

Was I ready to move from a small, rural school with only 120 students, to a large university with over 20,000 students? Yes. I want to walk onto my campus and see a new face I’ve never seen before. I want to meet a new person with a completely different life than mine, and I want to learn from them. I want to be in a place so large I can meet a new person everyday, where I can learn a new thing about a new topic from a new person everyday. I want to be another face in the crowd, but I also want the outlet where I can become a memorable face in that same crowd I merely pass through.

But was I ready to give up everything I’ve known my whole life? The only thing I’ve known my whole life? I don’t know.

Photo Credit: bgia.bard.edu

I thought I knew. I always liked being the one in my friend group who could proudly say I had my whole future planned out, but now I don’t know. I can’t tell if I’m willing to settle for FaceTiming my friends instead of seeing them face to face. How could I possibly give up horseback riding for months at a time? The one passion that has made me excited for the end of the day. The passion I have put hours of tears, sweat, and money into in return for infinite feelings of happiness and an invaluable bond with another animal.

I thought I had the answers to all the questions I’m asking myself right now, but I realized I don’t, and there’s still so many questions that I haven’t even started comprehending yet.

What I do know is that I’m ready for college. As much as I love OVS for shaping me into the person I am today, I’m ready for a new chapter in my life. I may only be a junior, but I’m ready to go out on my own and find out my purpose in this world. Maybe I’ll find out NYU won’t be the school for me, or maybe I’ll find out that there’s no better match, but I’ll find that out sooner or later.

Dearth

“Fight fire with fire.”

Despite everything that is going on in the US lately, I highly doubt this phrase was ever supposed to refer to gunfire.

There have been over 30 mass shootings in the US since the beginning of 2018. There have been at least 12 school shootings within the past two months. That means, on average, about 1.5 times a week this year children had to literally fear for their life, run, hide, and not make one noise because that could mean their death. Over 20 people have died from school shootings. More than 60 people overall were killed from mass shootings this year. More than 60 souls.

And you still want to convince me that we need guns to protect ourselves? I understand that the second amendment allows Americans to bear arms, and it is in your patriotic pride to protect that right. But until 1865, slavery wasn’t against the law either, and we managed to change that, too. Times change, bad things happen, that’s how we’re supposed to learn.

In 1999 the Columbine shooting happened. We still talk about it, we study it in school, we still send our prayers and wishes to the victims’ families and friends, but god forbid we actually do anything about it, god forbid we learn from our mistakes.

Nineteen years later, no rules have changed, the same tragedy keeps happening, over and over again. February 14th, Valentines day, Florida. 17 people were killed. Prayers were sent. Nothing happened.

Photo Credit: Don Juan Moore/Getty Images

Now, a “brilliant” idea to arm the teachers has come about. Because that makes more sense than not making guns accessible to literally anyone and everyone? “If you want to give a gun to your son or daughter or you want to sell it to your neighbors and friends, there is no background check required,” said Sen. Jon Tester, D-Mont., during the Senate floor debate. Anyone, really anyone, can easily access a deadly weapons these days, and  still, many don’t see the flaws in gun laws.

It would be unreasonable to forbid gun ownership entirely, that’s not my point. But I don’t understand why there are barely any qualifications for purchasing an object that is literally designed to kill. I don’t understand why we have to watch shooting after shooting, watch children fear for their lives when going to school, watch families mourn after their dead brothers and sisters, and still decide to keep everything the way it is, just because that is how it’s always been.

There are many things in this world that I don’t quite understand. But this. I don’t understand a bit of it.

Judah and the Lion

It had been five hours since we started our drive, but my sister and I were just as energetic and excited as we were the second we got into the car.

“In two hours we’ll meet them. Isn’t that weird?”

I think about what my sister just said, and yes, that is so weird, so exciting, so incredibly exciting. In two hours we’ll be talking to the members of one of my favorite bands, Judah and the Lion. Two more hours, and then our exhausting weekend trip will be more than worth it.

“I can’t wait! The show is gonna be so amazing!” I said, anticipating the rush you get from when the first beat drops at a concert, kicking off the screaming and cheering in the crowd. “Look! I’m shaking!” my hands were actually trembling, aside from being shaken on the bumpy highway.

Isn’t that weird though? Imagine being famous. People would pay to watch you play music, to talk to you, and maybe get a picture and a signature. It’s so unnatural if you think about it. But so amazing, not gonna lie.

Once we arrived at our hotel, we checked in, got ready, and rushed straight to the venue, to find a pretty long line before the entrance. But that didn’t matter, because my sister got us VIP tickets for my birthday, which was honestly one of the best presents I have ever gotten.

After a little time, we were let in. We went up those beautiful stairs within those carefully embellished walls, ending up in a small room with cozy lighting, and a bunch of banjos and guitars on one side. My sister and I sat down on the floor in the front, so did everyone else.

Then the band walked out, and there was a general awe in the air, cut by the clapping and excited chattering of the people.

“Thank you for coming!”

Ahh! Wow. No, thank you!! I was so. Excited.

They played a song, a mix of folk and rock and hip hop. Then we asked them questions, and they asked us questions, and it was all so fake and wonderful.

After that, we all took pictures with them.

via upload.vikimedia.org

As I walked up to them, one of them introduced himself.

“Hey, I’m Brian!”

“I know!” I said. Of course I know.

We all hugged, and took the picture, and apparently they figured by my accent that I wasn’t from here.

“Where are you from?”

“I’m from Germany!” I said, in disbelief that Judah just actually talked to me. Wow….!!

They actually asked me a couple things, until the photographer told them it was time to keep the line moving. Dammit!

My sister and I were both stunned, and we spent the next hour talking about what just happened, and defending our spot by the barricade, of course.

The venue was so beautiful, with a gigantic chandelier and wooden floors. The opening bands were amazing. But nothing even came close to the actual show. I mean, a band that has nine banjos on stage has to be good.

I knew every single word. Almost, at least. I yelled along to the lyrics the entire time, and, I must say, it really made me lose my voice and it still kind of hurts to talk, and though the ringing in my ears persisted for hours after the show, and though we had another six hour drive ahead of us the next day, it was all more than worth it, and I will never forget the time I got to meet Judah and the Lion.

 

via i.ticketweb.com

Plenty of fish

Photo via thumbs.dreamtime.com

Statistically speaking, how likely is it that anyone will ever find their soulmate?

Sure, it’s probably possible, but just how possible? There are what, like, seven billion people on the planet? Most of which are living in completely different parts of the world and who you will most likely never meet.

So really, is it feasible that somehow you and your “soulmate” would end up in the same place at the same time, and then go on to fall in love forever? Is that even a thing?

Is there really a way that two people could be destined for only each other?

Maybe this seems like a pessimistic outlook on things, but I like to think of it as an abstractly optimistic approach.

Think about it this way: if there are billions of people in the world, the chances of finding your one perfect person are extremely small. But that also goes to show that the chances of finding someone to fall in love with are just as large.

Love and relationships are all about compatibility, right? So, seeing just how many humans there are, there could be thousands of people out there who are potentially compatible with you.

So, even if it seems hopeless, there really are plenty of fish in the sea. Seven billion fish, to be exact.

But hey, what do I know? This is coming from somehow who looks forward to the day after Valentine’s day because of the discounted chocolate prices.