I’m a sophomore, far enough away from college, but ever since I was in the seventh grade, all anyone’s been asking me during family reunions or Christmas is college questions.
When you’re younger you feel like you have no weight on your shoulders and have your whole life to figure these things out, but now as I’m sitting in the Journalism room, staring at the college counseling books stacked on the brown shelf in front of me, varying in different sizes, holding the futures of so many students, I realize that I have no idea what I want to do. I then turn to my left and see the wheel of felt college banners shaped in a circle which are where many students go and will continue to go.
My family has all these big life plans for me, which sound great and all, but I’m not sure that’s what I want.
And everything matters now, these are the final years before adulthood, where every mistake you make, every bad test grade you receive, every thing you say and write matters; your whole life is being documented.
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This begins to make me think.
As I’m sitting in my living room staring at the French doors which open to my courtyard, filling out applications for college summer programs all over the country, I’m trying to write about myself as a student and about my life, but it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
This makes me realize how much I haven’t done in life; I’m finally transferring out of my childhood, out of my adolescence, leaving my past behind as I take on the next chapter in my life.
I watch all the movies where life seems to fall into place for so many people, and their whole life is figured out. They go on a date with their dream boy, and lie beneath the stars staring up into the heavens picturing what their life could be together, but I haven’t had that, and who knows if I ever will.
You never realize how much is passing you by, and how many opportunities you’re missing.
Sometimes I want to be a cat. Doesn’t it just seem like the perfect life?
I could spend my days strolling around, exploring the webs of roads and paths that spreads over my town, connecting my kingdom. I would find fences to sit on and trees to get stuck in. I could hunt mice and birds and lizards, and bring my trophies back home to my owner, for him to worship me, his one and only goddess.
Then, at night, we could all sit on the couch with the TV running in the background, and I could assert my dominance over that pathetic dog by snatching all the back rubs. And, maybe later, I could chase around that mysterious red dot again, listening to my humans cheer me on with their laughter.
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I would be a queen with incredibly soft paws, with a coat smoother than silk, blacker than the night sky, and eyes as striking as the stars in it.
One of my favorite things in the world is skincare. Maybe not the most deep or expected of passions but know you know. While I may not have the best skin, I do really love washing and moisturizing my face, plus all the steps in between.
I remember as a kid I never washed my face, or occasionally I snuck some of my mom’s face wash, but that was it. Then when I got older and interested in actually caring for my face, I got whatever I saw show up the most often on drugstore shelves.
The face-wash made my face feel tight enough that someone could play a snare drum solo on my face. Whatever moisturizer I mistakenly picked up was essentially a too strong concentration of salicylic acid (an effective BHA acid in small doses) suspended in a silicone cream; it left my skin sensitive and irritated.
It was a dark time that almost killed any desire I had to take care of my skin.
It was frustrating, what was supposed to help me feel good about myself was instead making me feel like I didn’t even want to try to take care of myself. Instead of feeling relaxed, my skincare was stressing me out, which in turn made my skin freak out.
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So I began to actually research skincare. I started with the products that had made me so sad and pinpointed what ingredients didn’t work for me, and ones that could.
I followed obscure internet trails into back alley articles about the difference between moisture and hydration, pressure points to take down face swelling, and that products with pearl powder are known for their brightening properties.
Now, one of my favorite parts of skincare is all the research that goes into learning about different ingredients and their uses. In fact I often become obsessive and go down rabbit holes I didn’t even realize I stumbled into.
For example, did you know that snail mucin, which is exactly what it sounds like, is great for hyper-pigmentation, and that the best way to harvest it, cruelty- free, is to pamper the snails by putting them in a dark room and avoiding stressing them out. It’s like prepping escargot but the snails live in the end.
The more research I’ve done the more quickly I’ve discovered that skincare is an extremely subjective topic; recommendations and “holy grail” items don’t apply to all. While one person could love birch sap another could hate it, plus everyone’s skin is different.
Through all my research I also learned that caring for my skin isn’t about vanity, it is about taking care of myself mentally. It has become a part of maintaining my mental health.
I look forward to it before I go to bed and when I get out of bed in the morning. I use it to decompress at the end of the day or armor up for one. Skincare to me is time I have carved out for introspection and reflection, which helps me feel less anxious and better about myself, inwardly and outwardly.
The memory of you fades more and more each day I grow older.
What I remember is the crashing waves against the sandy coast lines of Malibu.
The wind blowing into my hair from the rolled down windows.
The blinding sun shimmering in my eyes, and I’d squint hoping it’d go away, unaware of how I’d long for the feeling again in the near future.
The bright blue sky in the distance.
The cheeseburgers that somehow always tasted better near the ocean
The laughter in my heart, and my squeaking voice as I’d sing off key to my favorite Abba songs with you and Rachel.
There wasn’t a care in a world during those moments, but they never lasted long anyways.
I remembered the endless nights just as clearly as the endless days.
The hours of screaming. The hours of crying.
The secondhand cigarette smoke and uncleaned bedrooms.
The weekends moving from your place to dad’s.
Child support money being gambled away on lottery tickets, and gas money for late night drives when I’d rather be sleeping.
One day I was pulled out of school early. I said goodbye to my friends, to my crush, and to my teacher, unaware that I’d never see them again.
Unaware that I’d never step into a school building again until fifth grade.
Unaware that I’d never live the life I longed to have until you weren’t there to experience it with me.
I never said goodbye. May 14th you made a promise to get better, but you never kept that promise for me or my sister. You left me, and never came back. Sometimes I see you in the crows that’d never leave me alone, and they’ve always annoyed me, but I’d take their beauty for granted because I never knew what it meant.
I blame you for leaving me. I blame you for worrying about the relationships in your life that constantly broke your fragile heart more than your own daughters who loved you more.
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I hate you for never being the mother I always wanted to have.
I was ten years old. I’ll never have a mother to help do my hair for my senior prom. Instead, you chopped it off to my ears when I was nine, and left a curse on me so it’d never grow back.
You left me.
I’d never have a mom to meet my first boyfriend, to move me into college, to watch me go to law school and take on the world I always craved to explore. I have aunts, but is that really the same?
It’s been six years. All you are to me is a faint memory. A small memory, similar to a memory of passing smoke in the air. The same smoke that’d leave your lips. The same smoke from a habit you never really broke.
But you, my mother, are everything I loved and hated at the same time.
You are the sound of my favorite band, and the warmth I felt when I finally hugged them for the first time. You are the stars in the galaxy; the ones I don’t look at enough, but I know they’re always there. You’re the scent of oceans on a summer day, and the sweetness of my favorite cookies.
But you’re also the sound of terrifying police sirens coming to get me when I know I’m safe in my bed. The vision of snarling fangs glowing from a beast growling under their breath. The thought of betrayal; when those I love most don’t love me back, but you did.
At least I thought you did. You’ve told me so many times, but did I believe you? I always wanted to, but love is such a frightening concept to me that I can’t recognize even when it’s right in front of me. I can’t appreciate it like other people do when they love their own family, boyfriends, or best friends.
You’ve made me into who I am today. You’ve lit the match that sparked the fire in my soul. You made me appreciate music. You made me curious about the world. You gave me happiness in the smallest ways even when we didn’t have much.
But you also ruined me. You isolated me from the world, and when I returned to it I was fearful. It took me so long to learn how to communicate again, how to express myself, and even then I’m not sure if I’ll ever have the same, fiery spirit I had when I was a kid full of happiness and innocence. You made me closed off, and I might never forgive you for it. I can never fully place my trust into someone else’s hands, because it’s already been destroyed by yours.
But I thank you, Mother. You gave me life, though a part of it died with you.
But even then, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Do I miss you? No. Do I miss the thought of what you could’ve been? The thought of having a mother to watch me grow up? I miss that everyday.
So, Mom, I hope you’re happy up in Heaven. I never really believed in God, but I know you did, and I hope you’re happy there if that’s where you wished to be. Because after all the pain, the sadness, the tragedies, and heartbreaks you’ve been through, all I wish for you is happiness.
I know who the love of my life is. But I haven’t met him yet.
I know that he will love music and maybe play the guitar and we’ll both know how to speak Spanish. He will want to travel the world and he will care about conserving resources and the environment.
He’ll be intelligent and insightful and probably a democrat.
My parents will love him and he will get along with my brothers.
When I ask him to go on a road trip at 2 P.M. on a Saturday he will pack a bag and we’ll be driving by 3. He’ll like being outside. He’ll be good at climbing trees.
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We will have long discussions about the fate of the world and we’ll never get bored. He’ll know exactly what to say and exactly what not to say.
He will love the beach and will make me laugh until I cry.
We will listen to each other. He will dance with me in the living room, even if there’s no music.
I don’t know his name and I don’t know exactly what he looks like.
But I know he’s out there. I just hope he finds me, and that I’m the one he’s looking for.
It feels like just yesterday when my childhood friends and I were placing graham crackers in our kindergarten cubbies for our Thumbelina dolls to eat, or sitting under the big, protective oak tree, hiding acorns from the boys in our class.
Flash-forward ten years and here we are today, possibly closer than ever, but yet there is a division between us, and secrets hiding underneath the smiles flashed to each other.
We sit down at the plastic lunch tables, and pretend to laugh at jokes we don’t get. We then walk away, our group separates, and we don’t see each other until the next class.
It’s weird to think we would hide anything from each other but maybe I did something that changed that. It’s hard to not always blame yourself, for things you know aren’t your fault, but maybe someone else thinks they are.
You try to confide in people who you once would, but things are uncomfortable, so you tuck your feelings away. And at last, your childhood friends are falling into different groups, and, finally, your group is divided.
You’re probably the single most important person in my life and we have an expiration date. I tear up whenever I think about losing you, and I drown in tears each time I realize that it is inevitable.
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I will miss you. I will miss your beautiful bright smile from across the room, all your jokes (that are horrid by the way, but still better than mine), your amazing eyes when I simply need someone to stare at me with so much love and make me feel wanted, your stained soul that matches mine, all the warmth you can give me with a single hug, I don’t think there’s one thing I won’t miss.
You’re so sweet, you’re so romantic, you’re so good, you’re mine. I am so lucky to call you mine.
I want things to stay the way they are, I want to hold on to you forever, to the 251 days since I began to fall in love with you. That is not enough time for me to love you the way you deserve to be loved, and not nearly enough time for me to get sick of you in any way. I can’t even imagine that. I can’t imagine leaving you. We deserve more time.
At the end of the day, we’re going to be fine. We will live, and at one point we will move on. I just wish we didn’t have to. And who knows, maybe our lucky paths will meet again.
The audience hushes as the red, velvet curtains slowly open. There is only a single, shining light poised on a girl. Her tight ringlets framing her face fall out of her rigid ballerina bun. Her soft, lilac dress glistens in the beam. Her big, green eyes glitter.
With a fast, sharp note from a hidden violin, the girl raises, kicking her leg straight in the air, while rotating her pointed foot, still on the ground. Her pointe shoes move in a flurry, fluttering left and right across the stage.
A minute later, her feet finally meet in a plié, as she bows and scurries off the stage. I am the first to stand up and cheer for the girl, my daughter. I meet her smiling face in the hallway, after the performance, bringing her into a warm embrace and handing her an outrageous bouquet of white roses. My eyes well up at the sight of her. I snap a picture to remember this moment.
My pride and joy. My little girl. My partner in crime. My little ball of sunshine.
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I cannot see into the future, see what job I’ll have, see where I’ll call home. My crystal ball is currently out of order. However, I’ve never seen my life without a child, without a family. I can’t see all the holidays, filled with scrumptious meals and plenty of presents, without a husband and daughter; the winter days with warm sugar cookies fresh out of the oven; crudely-drawn crayon masterpieces covering the fridge and the Polaroids of every little moment lining the hallways.
I dream of my son asking someone to go to prom, my daughter’s soccer team going to play-offs. I can see my son going on tippy-toes to shove a bundle of Christmas cards into the mail, snow falling on his button nose, turning his skin pink. I want to help my daughter learn to walk in heels, laughing as she trips over her own feet.
I see this future as I write letters to my future children, as I jot down names in my phone. I see it in the pride in my uncle’s eyes as he saw his daughter graduate college. I see my future in the plethora of Facebook posts from my aunt.
So, I don’t know what my future holds, nor do I want to. Maybe I’ll score a job as an astronaut or an author, but I do know that what I want, more than anything, is a family of my own that I can celebrate the news with.
The day before yesterday, we arrived at school after the weekend and were all drearily ready to start the day. The kind of smiles were flashed to each other saying “Hey, I don’t really know you but I don’t want to come off as rude,” as everyone walked to their first period.
I sat down in Spanish class on the cold plastic seats and wished I had worn jeans that day. I pulled out my binder and homework, and began to listen to the Spanish words that came out of Mr. Risser’s mouth, talking about how our weekends were, and giving us the “Refran of the week.”
The day continued as normal and finally, it came to an end, ending in a hardy soccer practice in the cold, and as night snuck up on us over the mountaintops, engulfing the players in the immense darkness.
I rode the bus home as normal and we were laughing and talking more than normal, but finally, sleep caught up to us and the bus went silent.
I returned home and started on my Chemistry homework. I started getting calls from some of the dormers, as well as, day students. I first declined them all thinking they just were asking homework questions, but this was not the case.
I finally figured out about the fire when my friend, messaged me saying “THERE IS A FIRE.” I immediately responded, and my heart dropped as the words, “It’s at school” appeared on my screen.
The whole night phone calls were made and I could not stop constantly checking up on the status of the fire.
The power went out around nine that night and even though it suddenly became dead quiet I heard voices dancing around in my head reminding me of the worst, which turned this deafening silence into the loudest noise I have ever heard.
I was driving myself mad, and I couldn’t handle it anymore so I shut my phone off and tried to sleep, but the noises continued and I laid awake for a long period of time thinking about the future of the school.
The next day, the fire had reached Ventura, my hometown, and the air became heavy and filled with dense black smoke. The water became contaminated, and the entire town seemed as if a zombie apocalypse had started.
Masks were being worn everywhere, and no sounds were being made. Inhaling the air was the same level of toxicity as smoking cigarettes, so every crack where the air could have crept into my home was plugged up with towels and plastic.
I went to my friend’s house to seek refuge, while my home was full of the co-workers of both of my parents and my brother’s friends. We called many of the dormers and alerted everyone still on campus at the Lower School that our houses were open to them.
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Ojai was on fire; the hills were blazing and lit up like a Christmas tree. The sky was filled one way with giant puffs of blindingly red smoke, and the other with jet-black smoke, converging in the middle and creating a great divide. More than half of Ojai fled to relative’s houses and the small town felt emptier than ever.
My heart wouldn’t stop beating out of my chest because no words of the fire affecting the school had been said until around one in the afternoon when a heartbreaking, mouth quaking, tear-bringing picture was released.
It showed the science and technology building burned to the ground with flames rising up over the remains. When this picture was sent to me and my friend, we sat in silence not sure what to say or do because now we knew that the fire was right on top of our school, our home.
The next day, I went to the barn to get out of the smoke. Looking in the direction of Ventura all you could see was a thick cloud of black smoke covering the town like a baby with a blanket.
The air was so static and dry, and the wind blew fiercely through the canyon, knocking the jumps down and blowing huge ashes through the air and landing on the ground making a sort of white snow upon the ground.
The day went by quickly, the only thing that was slowing it down was the consistent check-ups from my mother and my friends about the school and the towns.
The fire had blown through Ventura bringing down hundreds of structures including houses of very close family friends and was still burning up top the “Two Trees Hill” and making its way to the beautiful town of Santa Barbara.
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That night I laid in bed, thinking about what happened and how quickly things can change. Experiences like this make one think about how much you take for granted, and how little you think about natural disasters like this affecting your home and your life.
I have always seen natural disasters and tradgedies happening around the world from watching the news, but never did I think that I would be stuck in the middle of one of them.
2017 has been a year of disasters, deaths, and controversy all over the world, this fire was just another thing on the list that if someone outside of the lstate saw on the news would probably pay attention to but wouldn’t really care about, or go on thinking about, or wouldn’t have it racing through the back of their mind for the rest of the year and probably the next year as well.
It would have little to zero effect on them because it doesn’t affect them personally, but that would also be me if I had seen an incident such as this on the news happening in a far-off state such as Oklahoma or Texas.
But one thing, and probably the most important thing I have learned from the fire, which was just contained two days ago, after spreading over more than 440 square miles, is to not take anything for granted anymore; because at least once in your life something will be happening to you and it won’t be just be something you saw in the news, it will be something you saw with your own eyes and something that you felt with your own heart.
It will leave you thinking about it for the rest of your years on this planet. That is what life is, a bunch of things that you would never expect to happen, and things you never thought could happen to you because you feel safe as though you are in a glass box, safe from everything, but one day that will not be the case. And that is the day that everything changes and, hopefully, for the better.
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