Ten, Thats how many years Melanie Martinez has been making music for.

I have been listening to her soft-strong voice for almost her whole career for 9 years.

I had 8 chances to see her preform live & even get to meet her original character before she changed.

I jam out to her with 7 friends her.

I was 6 when I started listening to her, I searched YouTube for something to cure my boredom, as I clicked on a video. her voice gently tickled my ears, I could feel her voice breaking the more she sang.

I discovered 5 more songs her also hers,I searched her and instantly fell in love with every one of them. her songs showcase relatable things, the sweetness of her voice but the way she composed and manipulated her voice so well

choosing my favorite song from each of her 4 albums was harder than I thought, Mad Hatter, Lunchbox Friends, Numbers & EVIL

In less than 3 months I’ll be able to see her live for the first time. hopping to see and hear how much shes changed from the time I was just a little girl

Im going to her concert with 2 friends, we all listen to her the most.

Melanie Martinez has got to be my #1 Favorite artist

by:Sophia Smalley

       I remember the cold October morning, the darkness of my room and the little rays of sunlight shining through my white curtains. The warmth of the buttery popcorn bowl in my lap, the sound of the coca cola cracking open i’ve grown accustomed to. 

 

My attention is drawn to the eerie music of the movie intro playing. A nervous excitement in the pit of my stomach. The sweet sensation of the fizzy soda hitting my tongue and  overwhelming my taste-buds with the sugary flavor.

 

The calm quiet that surrounds me is peaceful, the only noise being the music that plays as the intro to the movie concludes.  I sink into the mattress of my bed, looking around my messy room to find no person, only clothes littering the wooden floors. I feel the warm October sunlight shining through the glass window. 

 

The calm silence broken by the cheers and laughter of the movie on the TV screen that sits on my dresser. The movie discs piled up on the side of the dresser covers part of the screen. The anticipation of what will happen is preventing me from diverting my attention. I was so focused on the movie I forgot I was holding the cold can of cola and the warm bucket of buttery popcorn. The excitement and nervousness of what the next scene will hold is making a pit of dread build in my stomach.

The cold days we once spent together left the month of love, dark and empty

At the end of the day do you wish you never met me?

Left alone the next day no where to turn

Seems like everything was just left to burn

You were the one that brought the “old” me back

Now i’m unrecognizable, not even my iphone recognizes me 

Do you think of me on the days you’re all alone?

A love that was thought to be never ending

Signs of love that were meant to be received but aren’t sending

Your presence was soft like a cloud

I would only look for you in a large crowd

From being together everyday to a complete blackout

Like the feeling as a kid being put in timeout

Do you still think of me on the days you’re all alone?

The rope tied at the end of both hearts, felt like the love from a mother

The chocolate smell in the air reminds me of each other

I woke up from what i thought was real

The love i once could feel

Ends at the end of both ropes when they burn

At the end of the day do you wish you never met me?

 

Home. In Portuguese, minha casa. A word that more closely translates to “my house”, but my house is not where nor what home is. It’s a funny concept, “home”, one that causes moments to wash over me.

 

Home is safety. Home is the space encased by the chipped walls always needing to be repainted and the somewhat empty rooms, never fully bare, but never truly finished. Home is the familiar faces, passing me by, sometimes with a greeting.

 

Home is family. Home is the echoed laughter of my loved ones, loud but lively. Home is the shock that hits me when I watch my cousins faces slowly morph into a distorted reflection of their parents every time I visit. Home is the guilty empty promises, that I’ll return sooner, but I never do.

 

Home is comfort. Home is the sweet summer breeze brushing through my hair. Home is the morning walks to the padaria for fresh baked goods and the best açai one can find. Home is the long drives to the park, with the static music playing over the old car radio.

 

Home is like a big warm hug awaiting me with open arms, calling out to me, awaiting my eventual returns.

 

Home is safety. 

Home is family. 

Home is comfort. 

 

-but home is far.

5271 Days Old

Five thousand two hundred seventy one. That’s how many days worth of memories I have to choose from. How do I pick one that’s the most memorable? 

I mean, I could write about the time I fell between the train tracks and concrete that made my family panic? I could write about the time I stayed up till 3:30 A.M talking to my friend on a school night? The time I went to Hershey Park with my friend and went on candymonium, on which we fainted? Any late night conversations with that one friend? Lunch in Ms. Virgin’s room? Waking up at 4:00 A.M. to watch the sunset? Paddleboarding? Laughing while reading and people staring at us? Going to the bay with my friends? 

I have thousands of memories. Five thousand two hundred and seventy one to be exact, but still. There are so many good and bad memories. My favorite memory may be staying up until 3 A.M. with my closest friend, on a school night, at my dad’s house. I had to keep quiet the whole night. We were on the phone, gossiping, for about 6 hours. We talked non-stop about everything and anything. I was so tired the next day, but it was worth it. It was one of the most fun and memorable nights of my life. The floorboards in my house creaked, causing me to whisper into the phone. It was dark in my room, the only source of light was the moon peeking in through the blinds. 

Five thousand two hundred and seventy one days worth of memories. I can’t seem to remember any other memory in as much detail as  I can with that late night phone call.

The 13th

February 13, the date I stood outside letting the cold sharp air hit my skin as I waited in line.  I can hear upbeat music playing and the chatter of people.  Laughs surround me, side conversations, and the occasional drunk goers.  The smell of fried food and popcorn hit my nose as I passed security.  My mouth watered at the thought of food in my empty stomach – my nerves kept me from eating all day.

We walk around the entire Wells Fargo Center looking for sections to find our seats.  Once we found it, we entered, and my jaw flew to the ground.  The sound of cheers, the darkness compared to outside, and the number of people in one place.  That sonder feeling hit me over and over again.  Was this happening?  Was I in the same room as THE Billie Eilish?  

After waiting for what felt like a century, the lights turned off.  The suspense of it all made me jump with excitement.  Gleaming white strobe lights flash before the room goes dark again.  The first song starts to play, making the entire stadium shake.  Billie Eilish appears and the entire night goes by in a blur as I enter another dimension filled with laughter, tears, rage, and thousands of blurry videos.

  Never in my life would I have thought hearing someone sing would make me cry.  It wasn’t like it was my first time listening to this song but her angelic voice wraps me like a hug that I desperately needed.  “Halley’s Comet”, the song that brought warm tears down my face and so much comfort.  If only she knew how much it meant to me.  

Walking out, I didn’t care how cold it was.  I didn’t care that my feet were sore from standing in shoes that were not broken in.  I didn’t care that my voice was raspy.  Or, the fact that I had school the next day.  I did care that I was able to check off  “Go To Concert” on my life bucket list.  I did care that a core memory was made on a single date that I would look back to, time and time again.  February 13th was the date I went to my first concert and on the same day, I lost my voice from screaming too long.  

Covid the year of…. 

Driving Dad’s lawn mower around the backyard until it ran out of gas

Riding bikes from sunrise to sunset with my best friends 

Laying in the middle of the night watching the stars

Back when we went to the creek to swim with our meals packed in our backpacks 

Manhunt at 11 on a Monday night 

No stressors or responsibilities except trying to not log out of class early

Playing dress up at the age of 13 because there was nothing better to do

Rib sticking down the biggest hill in the neighborhood with bruises all over our legs and arms

The Neighborhood friend group that got close because we only had each other 

Screaming music on the trampoline and talking about the world ending

All different age gaps but just as immature as everyone else

Movies on the projector in the backyard on a starry night 

Matching your mask to your outfit when we finally got back into school

Sanitizing groceries after going to the grocery store in the driveway

Old people having to wear masks in their own cars

Learning tik tok dances from Charlie Dmelo hours on end

Sleeping in till 11 

Careless eating without gaining any weight

Shorts and T-shirts everywhere we go 

Online shopping for clothes

Sneaking out to the hay fields to take pictures

Sleepover streaks and pulling all-nighters nights on end

Buying a Jeep just to drive around 

Hikes with family for miles down a back road

Watching church on the tv

Streaks on Snapchat being the connection with school friends

Drive by birthdays with posters handing out the windows 

Beaten up bikes as only transportation 

Logging off Zoom class early to go outside

Special days doing school with friends

Outdoor dinners with grandparents on the back porch with masks 

On a bright and exciting day in 2023 –the very day in fact, I saw my favorite artist in concert. 

Ella arrives at my house. We get ready together then head to Philadelphia for the concert. There was traffic getting into the city but we still made it in time. We wait in line eating pizza, killing time as we wait to get inside the theater. The line finally starts moving and we finally make it in. We run trying to get as close as possible to the front of the stage. We took pictures and talked while waiting for her to come on stage. Finally – there she was. Gracie Abrams. My favorite artist. 

I never thought she was actually real. She started singing and we were screaming, singing, dancing, and clapping. We sang so loud and danced so much ,we lost our voices the next day and could barely get out of bed. Being there knowing that I’ve been able to relate to Gracie Abrams ever since she released her first song made it feel like even more of a staggering experience. Her music, her voice, and her lyrics are very special to me and I was so happy I got to experience it all in person with one of the only people I look up to and have been through everything with – Ella. At that moment, I felt so safe. 

Then she walked off the stage and we walked out of the venue, so slow. We made an excuse to wait in line for merch even though we knew they were sold out, trying to stay in that room as long as possible. We eventually got outside. We just stood there. In the middle of the street. Staring at the sign that says “Gracie Abrams”, hoping I will never lose the sense of calmness and joy she brings me. Not wanting to leave, I asked “Where do we go now?”

My life is like

Flowers

To represent memories

Emotions

Life, death, envy, 

Forgiveness

 

Daffodils in the garden

Hardy, punctual, and graceful.

 

Forget-me-nots running along the creek beds in summer, 

Whirling, curling, like the smoke of a cigarette

 

Lilies in the pond

Dandelions in the long vein like cracks, forcing open the asphalt

Lilacs in the road

 

Tulips under the porch,

Under the porch is

Bruised knees, 

Its moss,

It’s the mud

 

Its life, its death

It’s a hawk, it’s a dove

It’s the promise of spring

 

Flowers wrapped up in twine

Under the porch.

Its cigarette butts

Its a beer can

It’s the steps in the hall

 

It’s a muddy, mess of flowers,

Wrapped up in twine,

Forgotten Under the porch.