At 11:59 p.m., Friday, January 18th in Santa Barbara, I was still seventeen years old.
I spent the last sixty seconds of my childhood in a Lyft with all my best friends going back to my aunt’s house after just watching Escape Room and I was truly happy.
But, as the clock struck 12, I was no longer a minor. I was eighteen years old and officially an adult.
During every single birthday, my family always asks me if I feel older at all. Usually, I don’t, because there usually aren’t any changes that happen that make me feel older. I know that as a sixteen year old I was legally allowed to get a driver’s license, but I didn’t get one and I still don’t have one because I haven’t found any reason for it. At seventeen, I was able to go to a rated R movie, but I always went to those anyways.
Photo Credit: Unsplash.com
However, when I turned 18, I truly, finally felt older right away than ever before.
I know I’m a year older, but it happened only in a day. From 11:59 to 12:00, it suddenly hit me that I was a legal adult.
On my 18th birthday, I went and got a cartilage piercing and I didn’t need my parents to sign my release form. I was old enough to do it by myself. Then, I went and bought a scratcher ticket, and when they asked for my ID, I was able to satisfyingly show it to them and buy it. I didn’t win any money and I don’t plan on buying one again, but it was the experience that made me so happy because I finally can buy one if I wanted to. For the first time on my birthday, I finally felt older.
My birthday itself was amazing too. I remembered last year I was on a train up to Santa Barbara, breaking down because the mudslides kept me from having a birthday celebration with my friends. This year, I spent the whole weekend with my best friends in Santa Barbara and Santa Monica. My two worlds came together and my friends from OVS and my friend from my old school finally met for the first time. We were out until midnight laughing crazily on all the rides at Santa Monica Pier without a care in the world. My birthday weekend was also full of delicious meals, amazing desserts, and all my family and friends. My cousin was even able to come to the brunch celebration on the Sunday afterwards, she usually is never to come to those events because she’s so busy, but it was amazing.
I know my eighteenth birthday will always be one I remember and though I’m horrified about the fact that I’m no longer a minor and that I actually feel older, I’m happy about it.
Recently I got a tattoo and everyone has been wondering what it is or why I got it. I haven’t explained it to many people because I just haven’t had time to fully explain it. There are so many things someone must know to understand why I got that tattoo. It is not something simple to me. I mean I planned it for 8 years, so what can you expect?
When I was very young, around the age of 4, I took father and daughter guitar lessons with my dad. I don’t really remember the classes, but one day has always stood out to me more than others. My dad and I went to the class, then went to the fair after. We got mint chocolate chip ice cream and I just loved spending the day with my dad. The main focus of the day was music, but that was most days for us.
Another really strong memory I have with my dad is painting with watercolors. We painted together so many times that I don’t have just one day I can recall. All I remember is painting with him.
He was very artistic. In fact, I think that I got my artistic side from him. We used to always jam out to “Iron Man” by Black Sabbath in his car and look at nature together. We always talked about how beautiful nature was. Our favorite colors were green and blue because they were always in nature and we both had beautiful blue eyes.
In 2011, God decided that it was time for my dad to go home. I tried to follow him multiple times, but luckily I failed.
Photo Credit: pinterest.com
Now that I got the background information out of the way, I think I can actually explain my tattoo.
My tattoo is a black bass and treble clef that resemble a heart with blue, green, and purple watercolors behind it on my forearm. It sounds simple, but it really isn’t.
I have known since I was 10 I wanted a heart for my dad but I did not know what kind. I decided that when I saw the music heart that I knew it was perfect. I feel most connected to him through any sort of art.
The bass clef has low notes in music while the treble has high notes. This is to remind me that there are lows in life, but there are also highs.
The bass clef normally has a colon at the end, but I decided to make it a semicolon because there is a very famous project known as The Semicolon Project, which raises awareness for suicide victims and survivors. After my father passed, I thought I could not handle life without him, but I can and the semicolon is a reminder that I can.
The watercolors in the back are not just cool colors to me. Whenever I see blue and green together, I always think of my dad so I thought they were the only fitting colors to have. I added purple as a sort of transition color.
The reason I am calling them watercolors is because they look like splashes of watercolors. The reason I added them was not just for a pop of color. It was because some of the best memories I have of him are when we were painting together and most the time we used watercolors.
The placement is not random either. I know to some people it is dumb to have a tattoo so visible, but I do not care. It is visible in most dresses, but I want it that way. My father cannot walk me down the aisle so having the tattoo on my arm out in the open is the closest I will ever get.
I’m thankful for my feet and for all of the blisters and calluses they’ve endured, simply because they’ve kept me grounded.
I’m thankful for my legs, because even though sometimes I think they are too short, they are strong. My legs have carried me across miles, mountains, and everything in between.
I’m thankful for my stomach, my back. I am thankful for my chest, because it protects my lungs and my heart.
I’m thankful for my arms, no matter how much I hate the way they look in tank tops, because they help me lift myself back up.
I’m thankful for my shoulders, the same ones that I used to think were too broad and boyish, for always keeping my head up.
And lastly, I’m thankful for my head. Although it isn’t always level, it houses my brain and all of the thoughts that are constantly buzzing around in it.
We spend too much time hating our bodies. It is easier to find things we don’t like about ourselves than it is to find things we do like. We can’t control the way we look, but we can control how we feel about ourselves.
And even though it’s hard sometimes, I think we should all try to thank our bodies every once in a while.
We need to be kinder to ourselves, kinder to our bodies. We deserve that.
My body isn’t perfect, but it has gotten me this far. And I’m so thankful for that.
I knew you before, but we had never talked. I knew of you.
It was just recently that I met you. When you looked at me, I blushed. I felt something I couldn’t describe.
You had my number from a while back and you texted me that night… You told me how we had this connection that was rare and beautiful.
You said that you wanted to get to know me better. I said I wanted to too.
I had heard bad things about you, but I didn’t believe it. And in the end, it wasn’t you who was at fault, it was me.
You made me feel special, loved, happy.
We talked for hours. I told you my insecurities, you told me your secrets too.
But, apparently, I scared you off.
I remember saying “I’m scared that if you get to know me, you won’t like me anymore.”
You promised that would never happen, that I could never scare you away.
Well, you lied. In less than a day, you got distant. I got scared; I reached out.
You went from saying things that made me feel adored, to saying nothing at all.
I couldn’t stand it, I knew I should have let you be, but I couldn’t.
“Do you still like me?” I asked.
“Yes, but your feelings are kind of suffocating right now,” he replied.
“I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”
“Thank you,” you said.
Suffocating…
You had told me you wanted something that would last, you told me to be clingy, you told me you wanted to be with me for a long time,
Yet in two days of talking, you call me suffocating.
How can you say you still like me but you want me to leave you alone?
How can you have said that I was the perfect girl for you, then turn me away the next day?
I’m suffocating…
It’s hard to breathe the absence of love. It’s not that I loved you, I guess I just loved the thought of you. I thought you were perfect.
“Love’s like oxygen. You get too much you get to high, not enough and you’re going to die.”
You built me up, maybe it was part of your manipulating trick. You built me up so much, made me feel so special, then stripped it all away.
We’ve only known each other for three days, it’s almost impressive how you manage to hurt me this bad.
I can’t breathe, I feel empty.
Like a void, a wound, a puncture in my chest.
I’m gasping for air, yet I’m still suffocating.
Photo Credit: pinterest.com
They warned me about you, told me how your kindness was just a way of manipulating me into getting what you wanted.
But the sad part is, I went a long with it, I feel so hard for you that I would have given you what you wanted.
I’ve cried, I’ve stayed in bed for almost a day… all of this for you. My spirit builds up so high when I get a notification on my phone. Maybe it’s you. It never is.
You broke me.
And yet you say you’re the one suffocating.
But at the root of it all, it’s not you at fault.
You gave me a chance; I blew it.
I came on too strong maybe? I tried to talk to you too much maybe?
I’m sorry I made you feel suffocated.
If only I could have been better. If only I could be better.
you are some type of artist- any kind whether it be you’re a musician, film-maker, painter, writer, or dancer. it doesn’t matter what type of art but you create it, it’s ok even if you only show me.
you do extraordinary things, things you don’t even tell me about. i want to know you’re doing big things even if i don’t see you. big things can really be as small as you want. long story short, i just want to know you’re do good things you don’t feel the need to tell me about. i just want to know you’re always being kind.
i need you to have an open mind- i want you to be able to be open to the possibility of anything and everything? you say you hate pop music but you really mean you hate bubblegum pop which i stand behind.
you need to be better than me. tell me to stop being mean! encourage me to learn! teach me things! tell me to stop being mean, tell me to stop being mean, tell me to stop being MEAN! teach me things!
i need you to make me laugh. i want to look at each other when we overhear something we weren’t supposed to and start cracking up. i want to look at my texts and see that you thought of me when that kid on a skateboard with a beanie on was playing Ode to Viceroy by Mac Demarco on repeat because… well, we know why.
make me scared to lose you. you have to make me feel like i could never lose you or else i would lose my whole heart too. you will accomplish this by not being too clingy; don’t always touch me and make me feel clustered, so it feels special when you hold my hand. don’t love me any less, though. please don’t play games with me or else i might get insecure and end things before you can finish your sentence.
dependent, we can not be too dependent on each other because that’s toxic, we must find a balance.
you’re brilliant. it doesn’t have to be conventional. you don’t have to have a 4.0 or even a 3.5. you probably think the school system sucks and i probably agree. grades do not determine how intelligent you are! you can be smart in the way you think, the way you speak, your ideas, or the way you project your mind. there are so many ways to have a beautiful mind; i know you will have one.
you’re loving/lovable. you don’t care that sometimes i’m distant when i’m sad and you only try to bring me closer. somehow you will break that barrier between us and i’m sorry it’s going to be hard to do and god can only hope it’s possible, but i know you will (even though it’s going to be scary). you don’t care about how i look when i cry even though my face gets really red. you love me for everything i do and probably much more than i love myself. and i love you too.
i haven’t met you yet, or maybe I have, but i don’t know you well enough to be able to tell. one day, i will fall in love with you and hopefully you fall in love with me too. god, i hope it’s soon, but if it’s not that’s ok too.
(this is a blog about how i used to have absolutely NO standard. i took anything/everything i could because i did not value myself. i am growing into myself and now am setting some standards, because i am wonderful! i am meaningful! i am appreciated! no matter how much i don’t believe it, i know in some way or form it is true. i value myself too much to continue to “give” myself to people who are irrelevant in my life. not to say everyone i have ever talked to other than platonically is irrelevant in any way, but i have talked to some people who are irrelevant in my own life, but are going to be the most meaningful in someones else’s. i’m going into 2019 with expectations! for myself and the people i surround myself with not only romantically!)
Over Thanksgiving break, I had to make so many goodbyes.
To my childhood stuffed animals, the ones I didn’t want to let go, but the ones I knew I wouldn’t really take anywhere with me. So, I gave them away instead.
To the pajama shorts my mom bought for me at Walmart in third grade, the ones that surprisingly fit me all the way to twelfth grade. Even though they still fit, it was time to throw them out when they were ripping away at their fragile seams.
To the room I spent weekends in at my grandparents’ house growing up, Now, it’s being remodeled. Things that meant so much to me back then are meaningless now, packed away in stacked boxes.
But there was one goodbye I haven’t made yet, because I’m too scared to accept the fact that now might be the time I need to say goodbye.
And that’s to my dog. When I was in first grade and my mom went to pick me up from school, she told me she had a surprise for my sister and I. The first thing that came to my mind was candy, but when she was opening the back door to the car, I was not expecting my sister to be holding a six-month-old, Rhodesian Ridgeback-German Shepherd mix puppy rescued from the pound.
Now, twelve years later, that dog is still in my life, but so much has changed.
It started with him being by my side every single day.
Then, when I moved away, I could only visit on weekends.
Then, life went on and visits turned into rare occasions when I’d go to my grandparents house. When I’d enter the house, he’d come running up to me, barking, and wagging his tail.
Now, he’s still there, but he’s older. He doesn’t run, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t. He still follows me around the house, though, his tail still wagging. It’s still wagging even when he lies down, but the pain is still there. It’s obvious and it hurts me knowing it hurts him.
Having pets is one of the most joyful and painful parts about life. Because they bring so much joy, so many happy memories, but, also, so much pain when they’re gone.
But, he fought so hard for so long and I know that it’d be selfish to hold on longer. That if he needs to go and it’s his time, then he should. He should know that he was the best dog I’ve ever had the privilege to have.
I didn’t say goodbye. I gave millions of kisses and hugs, but my goodbye was temporary. It held a promise that I’d be back to see him again, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep that promise. I don’t know how long he’ll be around and I don’t know how long it’ll be until I visit again.
I’m so scared to say goodbye, so I won’t. I’ll say I love my dog. I’ll say I’m thankful that he lived with me throughout my life and that he is so strong for fighting though he doesn’t have to. And that he’ll always be the best dog, my dog, no matter what happens.
“At a certain season of our life we are accustomed to consider every spot as the possible site of a house.” (Thoreau) Write a description of your “home” or your many “homes.” You may write about the home you have or the home you dream of having in your future.
Photo Credit: afterorangecounty.com
I’ve lived in one house for my entire life, nestled in between two mountain peaks that form the Ojai valley. There are only seven houses on my street, but it was an entire world to explore for my neighbors and me when we were five. We used to walk down to the end of the street and admire the sunset illuminating the overgrown grass and painted white fences. Home, to me, is the smell of the pepper trees that lined the end of the road, forming a green and red arch, as if to welcome me to the end of the cul-de-sac. Sometimes I wish I could go back to those days, when time passed so much slower, when it felt like summer all year long.
For as long as I can remember, the ocean is where I find peace. I can’t exactly describe why, but Solimar Beach is a magical place. Home, to me, is poking my toe in the center of a sea anemone, giggling as it squirts water back at me, as its turquoise and bright green tentacles stick to my skin. Home is my dad lifting me up onto his shoulders, then scouring the tidepools, searching for different creatures. As we wade further out into the shallow water, he teaches me about the tides, then we stop for a while to watch the sun sink below the horizon. Solimar is the place I will always want to return to for the rest of my life.
I like to think that, someday, I will make a home everywhere. I’ll sit on the balcony of my tiny apartment in Madrid or Barcelona, peering through my neighbors’ laundry, hung up to dry on clothes lines, down at the bustling city below. I’ll enjoy the morning sun as I sip coffee with condensed milk – a flavor that I despise now, but I think, someday, I’ll come to enjoy. I will smile, knowing that I’m there alone. I’m not sure how long I will be there for, probably not more than a year. After that, I’ll move on to somewhere new. I’ll live in a rainy forest along the Oregon coast, then I’ll go work at a school in Argentina or Chile. I’ll work on a ranch in Mexico, outside of a small fishing town. I don’t really care where I go; I just want to see the world.
It is true that home is where the heart is, but my heart is everywhere, I think. Growing up in a tiny town has made me appreciate the things that are routine. I love the fact that I could probably draw a map of my hometown purely from memory. It’s incredibly comforting to know a place so well that it becomes a part of you. But it has also instilled in me a desire to leave what is comfortable, to explore and to experience every place, culture, and way of life that is different from mine. A home is a place where you can come back to time and time again, and know that you belong, where you would go to without any hesitation. I’m lucky to have places like these.
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