for Evan

With the hurricane, going home and school starting, I didn't have time to blog. I still don't really, but I have to take some time to say a few words about Evan Giradi, whose 1st anniversary is tomorrow.




Evan and I studied abroad in Rome together in Spring 2010. I found him a bit shy, but noticed how when he did speak, it was so earnest. He spoke of his family, friends and sisters at home with a lot of love, and this made me want to be his friend. Aside from joking around in classes and going out in big groups, I didn't get to know Evan until there was a month left in the trip, when 10 or so of us went to Alghero in Sardegna. That weekend was spent at the beach, making dinners together, and hanging out in our sweats. I don't think anyone that was there will ever forget that trip. We almost got stuck there due to the volcanic ash, and I won't lie- we were a little disappointed our flight was still running when we got to the airport.

A few weeks later, we all went back to the U.S. I saw everyone for our friend Camille's birthday over the summer, and that was it. On Labor Day weekend, just as classes were starting at Loyola, where half the program was from, Evan passed away unexpectedly. My friend Abby and I dropped everything the night we found out and drove up to Baltimore, to our abroad family. The majority of us stayed up until 6am consoling each other. I like to think had it been any of us, we would have acted the same. We had all experienced the fullness of life together, with so many unrivaled memories, in such a short amount of time. To lose someone so quickly after really gave us perspective on how short life is.

Most of the kids from the program have since graduated and moved away. I really only keep in good contact with one or two people. But I know all of us took a piece of Evan wherever we went. His friends from home made bracelets that say, "there's more to the story." I know there is. All of us who were able to spend time with Evan know that life gives you these opportunities with reason: to treasure them. I know each time I hesitate to try something new, or talk to a new person, I think of how Evan made sure to live a full life in his 20 years. And so each time I push myself, it's for Evan. Thanks fucker. I'm doing a tongue wag for ya.

I haven't written here in a bit because I've mostly been in isolation since about Thursday. Lexi, my roommate and extra limb, moved out, got food poisoning and went home to Georgia. Most other friends were out of town or busy, I had no internet, and my apartment was in ruins. I had not felt such panic in awhile, the promise of days upon days of loneliness made my hands shake. I was dramatic and scared. Most of all, I was shocked I felt this way.

The majority of my teenage memories take place in my room on Lawrence Place. There, I would collage magazine clipping and lyrics while blasting Transatlanticism or Chutes Too Narrow, forming feelings I easily access when I hear these songs played today. I was alone, but I felt like a whole person. I was young and in touch with my innocence and emotions, expressing it in the only ways I knew how: redecorating my room, writing poetry to put on LiveJournal, or singing and crying to Tiny Vessels. I created a person who had secrets and who had ideas.

This week, I had realized that I was starting to lose that person. This realization happens to coincide with my family moving out of that ranch house, but I can't chalk it up to just that. I was terrified to spend more than a few hours with myself. To just be. I pat myself on the back when I do yoga because I feel in union with my higher being, and here I was, unable to be alone.

And so, painfully at first, I began to experience what it was like to be some place by myself. I kept waiting for someone to come into the apartment, to call me to hang out, to get an internet connection. I had no responsibilities except for two babysitting gigs. Since college began, I've defined myself with school, my responsibilities to others, my friendships, my internet presence. I have become more of a reflection of others than of myself.

Then, as I was creating my new room, listening to music for hours and arranging this new space, I was overcome with that sense of wholeness I used to have. It was in this creation that I realized again who I am, what I like and value, and who I aspire to be. It stayed with me all weekend, this desire to express. It had fallen out of me onto college textbooks, schedules, and Facebook statuses. But this weekend alone re-instilled the hole in my perception- an awareness of myself.

I feel a self-consciousness writing this out, but I don't want to lose this feeling. The summer is about to end and as I look back I realize how much I have changed as a person, all the while finding myself again. I am so grateful to have this weekend alone. And I want to remember what it feels like to be this way, and not to lose it again.

I keep thinking of this poem by Derek Walcott, "Love After Love:"

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.




I am again loving that stranger.

two posts in one day?

I just got back from a great luncheon & adventure in Olney.



This was the salad I created from Roots Market (yes that is vegan potato salad.)


This is a blurry Lindsay Dyer sorting people into Hogwarts houses. (We're obviously both Hufflepuffs, and Lexi a Ravenclaw.)


These are trees.

fool for school

~~selfish academic reflection time

School is about to start up again, and to be honest, I've been feeling a little frustrated. My favorite professor was teaching my senior seminar, and overlooking my thesis. However, she's now relocating to California- good for her but bad for me. The nerd I am, I cried when I found out the instructor and topic were changing. I discussed still writing about the original topic with my department chair, but after a thoughtful e-mail from her, it's made me re-think my decision. She says it best:

"I do realize that it seems a door has closed for you, but, as I see it, another one has opened. Taking a senior seminar with Dr. _______ is actually a rare opportunity! Embrace it. Whatever projects/topics you choose for *any* of your courses in the next year, aim to broaden your knowledge base while moving towards your own goal. You just never know what may come of exploration of new areas. You'll have plenty of time to focus your interests in grad school, and you'll likely look back at your undergrad experience and wish you had some of the freedom the liberal arts curriculum once offered you."


That made me feel better, and grateful I have such wonderful people who encourage and care about my academics. But then, they cancelled the Documentary class I was also enrolled in. Another door closed. I was livid.

Thankfully, I have had the opportunity to intern at Women In Film and Video this summer, and they have asked me to continue into the fall. So, as long as my department allows it, I will take four classes and intern at WIFV for credit. I really do think this is going to be the best arrangement. I'll be able to continue my projects for the National Film Registry, the Oral History project and ScriptDC. My other classes are Organization of Information (Library Science class), Dynamics of Christian Spirituality, and A Modern Look at Freudian Psychology. I think I'm going to enjoy myself.

I have to write about school because a student truly is who I am August to May. And I love it too much. The thought of it ever ending causes me to have a panic attack, lolz.

Okay off to Olney, MD to visit my friend Lindsay Dyer for a few hours. It's already 1pm!

Here's a cute picture of Chelsea and I Friday night at The Pug.

the first

With a new camera in hand and idle summer days passing by, I'm starting this blog to document my life as I approach my final year of college and potentially my last year of living in Washington, D.C. I used to have a LiveJournal from the ages of 13 to 18, but I've let so much pass by since I left Wantagh for a new city. I think about the time I spent in Rome in Spring 2010 and wish I had kept better track of my days there. I miss being able to relive all those time-sensitive thoughts, feelings and observations. So, as perhaps a way for my friends and family to know what I'm up to, but more for my own personal reflection, I'm making a promise to myself to start and keep this blog.

Where to start? How about right now? I'd say the present is what is inspiring me to start this blog. I've been sitting on my bed with my best friend Chelsea for about 3 hours. We're reveling in the wake of a great night- there was sangria, jazz, loving and friends. And although the city is at our fingertips, Chelsea is a University of Maryland alumna, so we're perfectly content chilling hard. In any case, our activities have been aimed towards self-improvement. So far, we have perfected a bomb résumé for me, she's applied to jobs, I organized all of my bookmarks on my browser, I had a good cry, and we've had a supportive discussion about where we want to see our lives going. For me, this includes blogging.



I'm blessed to have a friend like Chelsea. We became friends when I was in 7th grade because we were both on the Cross Country team, and used to talk about anything and everything on AIM (her screen name was fishin4corn, mine was applejax6290). In her I have a friend who is loyal and the best listener. She analyzes everything to no end, which is both harmful and beneficial. But what I appreciate most about her is that she always perceives me as the best person I can be. Meaning, she is able to remind me of my core values and what makes me who I am. One of those things is a writer. After a day like today, writing seems like something I have to return to. And so I dedicate this post to Chelsea.



Tonight, we're going to my favorite restaurant in D.C., Zorba's in Dupont Circle. I've been going at least once a fortnight, but I can't help when the food is excellent and the owner comps my roommates and I carafes of wine. After that, we'll head to the H St. Corridor for our friend Mike's surprise going away party.

Welp, here's to this blog.

One more thing- a mix called "Namaste, Motherfuqqer."