May 25

Comfort in Solitude

Being alone and being lonely is different. You can be alone but not feel lonely and yet feel lonely even when you’re with other people. Enjoying the feeling of solitude doesn’t necessarily mean I am anti-social, it is just that I enjoy the feeling of having time to myself to just laze around and watch my favorite series or read a book from time to time. Although my personality is just more inclined to be introverted rather than extroverted, there were a series of events that led to me enjoying my time alone rather than with other people. This is why I like being alone.

 

I guess it all started only a few years ago when I was still in high school. Around the start of freshman year, I realized and officially understood that not everyone sticks around. I thought going into high school that I would have the same friends the entire time, that these were my best friends. I was wrong. The people that I grew apart from ended up going down a path that I didn’t want to be a part of. Losing people can be pretty difficult, but I learned that the only person that is truly there for me, is me. The group of girls I previously associated with, complicated but typical, quickly developed pernicious influences on one another. The type of girls who give the nastiest looks and make the rudest comments… to everyone… for what reason? I have never been able to answer this question even after so many years of observing and analyzing them. These are the type of girls who say the most evil things about each other behind their back, but act like this never happens when they are with each other. I, myself, intuitive and mature, noticed this early in middle school, but it never really struck me as toxic until a cycle kept recurring. This cycle of toxicity isolated me from my “friends” and even led me to run away from them at some points or steer clear of social events. I learned the nuances of making and keeping friends, and I gained a lot of self-assurance. It was during these moments, younger me concluded that if others will not appreciate me for who I am, then I would much rather be alone than with them. 

 

I am not as alone as you may seem, though. I am a very individual, independent person that strictly lives within my own thoughts. Being caught up in my own thoughts may seem tricky and strange, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. This world is a mess and I gain enjoyment from being able to escape within my own imagination. I like to think I have always been like this as a child and it wasn’t just the terrible experiences I had in high school that made me hate almost everyone around me; but the more I spend time with myself, the more I realize that no one gets me like I do. I don’t even want to waste my time anymore on forming fake friendships or meaningless relationships, so I dream. I dream of what I could be in life, what my future could look like, what the world will come to, future relationships I wish to have, and I could go on forever. I am never not conspiring with what could be, which is why my favorite movies and novels are coming of age or romance. I dream of having what these characters and incredible actors have, a fairy tale kind of love…instead, I remain a hopeless, “lonely” romantic. 

 

As of now, you can still classify me as an introvert, but I am an incredibly socially adept introvert. I am not shy by any means nor am I afraid of speaking in front of a crowd (with the exception of a great deal of anxiety), but at the end of the day, I am still an introvert. I prefer the comfort of my pillow, my blanket, and my bed with a laptop for watching shows or reading books rather than a crowd of mindless people at a party or social gathering of strangers. I prefer the sunny, bright Sunday mornings but also the cool evening breeze it has to offer. I prefer the bright and cheerful beach, but I enjoy its cold, crisp evening counterpart too. I prefer the feeling of being alone rather than with other people because it gives me time to find comfort in myself, and to have fun and be happy without relying on other people. This is why I like being alone. 

 

Truthfully, I would never wish to change my lengthy period of solitude. I am not one for cheesy or corny statements, or fake pieces of mind, but I would encourage people to confront themselves with their own solitude. Kids today need to escape from the false realities of social media and acquaint themselves with what real living is all about, as I have started to. I believe that so many people close to my age are encompassed by the wrong things this world has to offer. It doesn’t have to be yearning for what designer items that girl has, the vacation they were on, or the party last weekend he threw. It doesn’t have to be going out every weekend, needing someone to tag along for daily tasks, or lying about appearance or materialistic things. If you are true to yourself, you will find peace as I did. I did not try to change myself for those who falsify what really goes on in their life.  We live in a world that teaches us to look for love, for happiness, for approval and validation in all the wrong places. To look for all the things that deep down inside we know we are worthy of having and of receiving, outside of us but rarely or never within ourselves. And because of that, no matter how much we are given, and no matter what we gather we never seem to have enough. We always want more, more and more.

 

Even though so many people don’t enjoy spending time alone with themselves, and even though so many people are willing to do whatever it takes to avoid solitude, it is in those moments when I am alone with myself that I can connect with my deeper side. It is in those moments of silence and solitude that I get in touch with the part of me that knows my real worth, the reason for my existence, and what I am meant to do in this world. There’s nothing frightening about spending time alone with myself, nothing frightening about spending time alone in silence. Nothing is frightening to me about knowing,  accepting, and loving myself for who I truly am. It is all within me – love, joy, happiness, abundance, and contentment – it is all within me, and the more time I spend alone with myself in silence, the more these are revealed to me. So I encourage everyone to take the time to know yourself, to be alone with yourself, and to love yourself… because there is a great deal of comfort in solitude.

May 25

Personal Essay

Bye Bye Birdie

At the ripe age of 11, I know that the only thing that has ever made me feel weightless, that fleeting feeling that unhappiness is impossible, is being on stage. Not just the applause and the feeling that you did well, but the comradery you have with your cast members. Unfortunately, with this realization came the understanding that while I love to be in musicals, I was not very good at it. My acting skills are debatable, but my singing is not. I am virtually tone deaf. So, I am aware that this sixth grade play, Bye Bye Birdie, would be my goodbye to the acting world. From now on, I would enjoy shows from a seat in the audience. 

I was given one line. I benefited from nepotism, given that the director really liked my siblings as students in her science class. I will say, “She’s just crying ‘cuz she’ll be too old for him when he gets out.” I am, of course, talking about Conrad Birdie’s disappointing attraction to girls much younger than him, although I did not know that at the time. I practice my line over and over. You say it right before “Put on a Happy Face,” I tell myself. I’m even due to get a microphone headset. 

There are two ensembles in this junior musical. The one with the most members, the below average and average folk, were Birdie’s Fans; the other was the School Girls. I, of course, was one of Birdie’s Fans. We were in a number of songs, all with non-complex choreography, but it was still too much for my best friend and me, who made a mockery of ourselves with our embarrassing uncoordinated tapping.

The difference in excitement, happiness, and performance between practice and a production is immeasurable. I didn’t enjoy practice – middle school teachers take these fun things a little too seriously. The performance, on the other hand, remains one of the most fun days I have had. There is something about doing things at night, in the dark, that adds to the level of enjoyment like nothing else. Walking in the school I enter every day, the smell of the linoleum floors mixed with ammonium was different. Like the custodians knew this was an important night, so they put a little ‘good luck charm’ in the common wash used for the floors. Going in through the front, and having to walk the furthest length possible to get to the auditorium is like being a new emperor of a kingdom. Seeing those once-threatening places in the dark, makes you stand straight, and allows you to breathe deeper than you ever were able to in those hallways.

The play starts and I watch from the wings. I watch these girls, who seem so old to me, sing and act their hearts out. They look like the most graceful beings in the world. My heart flutters and I get dizzy in the breaks between each scene. I enter for the first time, stumbling a little and I keep my eyes on my friends, worried I might fall off the stage if I look anywhere else. Now we face the audience, but the lights blind me. It’s a sea of black I stare into while I do my line dance. I know I look like a fool, but it’s this combined feeling of our foolishness that brings us together, that makes this experience so worth it. My line, when delivered, is quite shaky and I stutter, but it is important to me that I’ve done it. When we bow, I am still on this performance high, this wonderful feeling of being the being that those people, out there, in that sea of black, in my empire are cheering for. I only realized later that night, when the feeling had died down, that that was the last time I would rule an empire, and from now on, I will only be a wave, cheering for those in front of me.

May 25

Personal Essay

Letting Go

A rapid fluttering of delicate wings, like the drizzling remnants of a tropical storm, beat in tandem with the ever-changing pace of my heart.

As a child no older than seven, I reveled in the beauty of nature. I lived in awe at her strength to force towering evergreens to their knees, as well as her kindness to hatch new life in place of the old. For so long, I believed nature to be this constant cycle of life and death, give and take. But there is so much more to life that I failed to see at my young age, and yet, I have been a witness to it all along: within life there is change. 

I was young, too young to comprehend, when I had the privilege of bearing witness to nature’s greatest wonder. From miniscule worms in a cup to plump undulating caterpillars, I raised a brood of monarchs. I spent hours staring into their netted confinement, fascinated by their unwavering devotion to eat and grow and grow. Out of curiosity I would reach into their cage and lightly run my fingers along their velvet bodies, only to be reminded of their fragility as they wiggled away in distress. I wasn’t allowed to open their cage after that.

In the blink of an eye, a cluster of gold accented cocoons lining the roof of the cage had replaced the squirming figures of white, black, and yellow. And before I could even utter a word of surprise at this development, the cage became a whirlwind of oranges and blacks. The velvet caterpillars that once labored to crawl across the cage’s expanse, now rode effortlessly on velvet wings. Their diet of milkweed and leaves was now that of the sweetest nectar. Their lives, once bound to the ground, now has the potential to be one with the clouds and reach among the stars.

Their evolution was beautiful, but it also meant letting go. Letting go of what once was is the epitome of change, and it is the hardest to accept. Seven year old me shed tears and threw a fit at the mere concept of it all. The unfairness. The fear of losing something precious to my naïve, unscarred heart. The desire to hold on, dreading the unknown. But as I turned my tearstained face to the sky, I smiled. For the fluttering of butterflies had never looked more beautiful than in that moment, where they ascended into freedom’s embrace.

Change, no matter how fleeting, can linger in a heart that refuses to let go. Refuses to accept. A butterfly that yearns for their life as a caterpillar, will never know their true purpose is to fly. 

May 25

An Extremely Bad Storm

I remember waking up that morning. August 4, 2020. There had been a crazy storm overnight, but I still felt well-rested. I had slept in. It was summer vacation. I remember lying in bed, on my phone, and my biggest concern was about what I would eat. I opened my door and I saw my mom. Her scared expression, panicked and alarmed, informed me that something was wrong. She told me that my grandma and uncle’s house collapsed, and she wanted me to go with her. 

When my mom told me, I was picturing a sinkhole in the house. I imagined the worst. I got in the car, still in my pajamas. They live close, so it was only a few minute drive. When we went outside, it was raining a lot harder than I imagined. My dad was already over there. The second it happened, my uncle called him, and my dad came rushing over. He brought a tarp. My uncle laughed. A whole side of the basement had caved. 

When I got there, I saw fire trucks. I heard voices. There wasn’t much they could do, because it was still raining. My dad and my uncle went downstairs to salvage some items, but they heard a bang and saw another wall come down. They ran back upstairs. Meanwhile, we brought my grandma to our house. I was still in my pajamas, and I could feel my clothes soaked in rainwater. Dripping wet, I got changed and tried to help as best I could. We got my grandma set up in my bedroom. I was shaking and hadn’t fully processed the situation, but I wanted to make her as comfortable as possible. My uncle came over later, after gathering some clothes and electronics. He set up in the guest room. 

Soon after they arrived at our house, we lost power. I remember standing in the garage, holding the flashlight, as my dad started the generator. I was smelling gasoline but looking at the rain. Everyone was frantic, trying to help as best they could. Between moments of chaos, it felt like we were visiting. It reminded me of when they would visit and we would play games. But with every bit of thunder, everyone jumped. They imagined the house collapsing all over again. 

May 25

Tribute to My Sisters

Tribute to my Sisters

I am the third of four children. All girls, chaotic, silly, and loud. Samantha is the oldest, funny and talented. When I was three we were spinning in a circle together and then all of a sudden I rammed into a corner. She ran to tell my dad and then we drove to the emergency room. Even though the pain of my forehead splitting and the prick of the needle still echoes in my mind, the only thing I can remember from those moments was thinking, “I want Sami to be with me.” My sister brings me comfort, a comfort that can’t be found when you’re alone. But her only talent isn’t being a wonderful sister: her voice is a beautiful talent, it is like honey. When she sings, everyone stops what they’re doing. It’s warm and envelopes you. She is the essence of music. 

Mara is the second, kind and smart. Mara is always up to date on all the celebrity’s dramas, especially Taylor Swift’s. She drove me around a lot. We would get in the car and drive with no real destination and listen to music. We’d roll down the windows and belt out songs together. The wind would rush past my ears and it sounded like the ocean when you put a seashell to your ear. She always knew how to make me laugh. We’d go to Lily Asian Cuisine and she would get sushi, while I would get a bento box. The teriyaki sauce was sweet and tickled my tongue. When I was with her, I felt safe. Nothing could stop those few moments of bliss. 

I am next, quiet and nervous. I am a reader and a movie watcher. If you can’t find me, I’m probably off somewhere wrapped in a blanket reading. My best friend is my mom. I could sit for hours watching her make dinner. We talk and talk and never run out of things to say. The kitchen in our house is simple: granite countertops, yellowish hardwood floors, white cabinets, and a stove that is about to give up helping my mom make dinner. In my mind, it’s perfect. It never mattered to me that we didn’t have a brand new renovated house because of the feeling. It smells like warm bread and feels like a sanctuary. When you walk in you can’t help but let go of all your worries. 

Brynna B is fourth. She is the silliest sister. Not a day goes by that we don’t laugh at something she says or does. She is also incredibly smart. She knows much more than I do even though I’m in ninth grade and she’s in sixth. She is constantly saying things that take us all by surprise. Most days I ask myself, “How does she even know about these things?” Her vocabulary surpassed mine about two years ago. She is also an athlete. Her long legs can cross any size field in a matter of seconds. As that one old man said when watching her run: “She’s the Steph Curry of lacrosse!”

Us girls are a blend of the other. I have the same coloring as Sami but the same face shape as Mara. Mara and Brynna have the same coloring, but Sami and Brynna have the exact same features. Brynna is long and thin. We’re all tall, but Brynna is almost taller than me even while being two and a half years younger than me. Our personalities are very different but Sami, Mara, and Brynna have the same sense of humor. I’m the only one who can’t crack a joke every two minutes without having to think about what I’m going to say beforehand. When you look at us you see only long limbs and smiles.  

All of us are different but we all love each other. We argue like all siblings, but care about each other more than most. We trust each other dearly and never leave each other to fend for ourselves. When Samantha got married, we realized that we had never really been a part. We were always together but now we had to adjust, and it was hard. We learn from each other everyday and also talk constantly. There is never a dull moment when there are four girls making mistakes, tripping over each other, laughing, talking, and loving each other.