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nothing was the same.

i have a lot of thoughts about a lot of things. situations i’ve been in, people i’ve known, the mountains of feelings i’ve left unsaid… there is so much i want to say, apologize for or justify and not apologize for. i want to publicly talk about things i’ve been harboring so i can cut the anchor on my writer’s block and finally be free. 

i’m not going to, though. at least, not now. not for a while. not when i still wake up some mornings and wonder will my entire day be ruined if i accidentally dwell on an old conversation or past relationship. it can still be too much sometimes. 

but. i did find this. 

arden cho, known for playing kira on teen wolf, posted this on her blog the other day and she says so much of how i feel. about myself and about people who are or have been in my life. so for now, i’ll leave it at that.

p.s. i now know every word to pretty much every song on drake’s nothing was the same album 👌🏽

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the liebster award.

it’s been a minute. okay, longer than a minute but time is relative. i’ve been fighting myself and loving myself and sharing myself and hiding her, too. happens. but amanda let me know she’s nominated me for the liebster award.

gotta admit – i thought about taking this site down. not practically, obviously. but the thought crossed my mind. much like when i think about deleting every social media account i have. what else do i possibly have to add to the conversation, every conversation, that hasn’t already been said? what if growing up publicly has stunted my ability to be private and not feel guilty about that? why not rip off the band-aid? doing that seemed better than letting my pages go dormant. but i couldn’t do that. this site is for me just as much, if not more, as it is for you. so, thank you, beautiful, for motivating me again.

ten facts about me:

  • i haven’t weighed myself in months and i love it.
  • i’ve never been fired from a job.
  • i never knew being in love was its own kind of writer’s block.
  • when i was a teenager, i loved watching girlfriends. i wanted to be lynn searcy, played by persia white, the light-skinned (biracial) black woman with tattoos and hippie clothes and who listened to alternative music. she redefined what it meant to be “black” for me. turns out, she is almost exactly who i grew up to be.
  • outside of my mom and brother, i can count on one hand how many of my friends’ birthdays i know by heart. hint: it’s only because i’ve known them since i was 11.
  • i used to pride myself in being a good, no, great friend. i still can be, but at this point in my life i’m focused on being a great me instead of a friend who’ll allow toxic behavior to continue to be the norm. and let me tell you, it’s lonely work.
  • grown women, mainly middle-aged and older, who don’t care to empathize with women in their 20s are my pet peeve. i know it gets better, but don’t invalidate my fears and feelings under the guise of advice.
  • i’m not one to be jealous, but i get major FOMO when i see people my age getting married, being pregnant, starting their families… additionally, i feel the same when people my age are neck deep in their careers. unlike me, who is trying to find that stepping stone that’s still a few steps behind me being able to do what i actually want to do.
  • i am the type of person who has a lot of initiative, but i often don’t initiate (i.e. conversations, hangouts, opportunities…)
  • use of the oxford comma is the petty hill i will die on.

amanda’s questions:

Who or what do you feel most grateful for and why?

my mom. i’ll admit i attribute a lot of my dysfunction to choices she’s made over the years, but i’m lost without her. i realized long ago that she’s human and wants to be well-intentioned, and that never ceases just because someone becomes a parent. she’s my safety net who never lets me give up. i can take a breather, but i will keep going.

What is your favorite food/dish?

two different answers, bruh. food: any kind of pasta. ramen, penne, just noodles! dish: spaghetti is my go-to. always. i’d say grilled cheese, but being lactose intolerant is a damper on that dish. i’ll still eat it, though.

Would you ever travel the world in a van or live in a tiny house?

take a look at my pinterest! i’m obsessed with tiny houses. ideally, it would just be me. i couldn’t imagine raising a family in such confined spaces – i would go bonkers.

If you were a flower, which would you be?

calla lily. gorgeous but poisonous.

Coffee or tea? What do you put in it, if anything at all?

coffee, and it all depends on how it’s made. keurig coffee always tastes burnt, so lots of cream and sugar. with grounds, i can do a little cream and one sugar. if i make it myself at home, i can drink it black but usually i like a little bit of sweetness like honey. i just want that caffeine, yo!

Describe your aesthetic. 

i really don’t know, honestly. 90s, preferably, because that decade is my ultimate jam. but i am all over the place. plaid and denim one day, floral the next. let’s just say lynn searcy mixed with dear white people’s (film and series versions) sam white with a little bit of max goof on the side. lots of thrifted clothes and pieces that are questionable together but once it’s on i’ve got the confidence to work it – at least for that day. i also always have a notebook with me, so whatever all that equals up to.

What made you want to start blogging?

an external outlet. diaries or journaling just never worked for me, but knowing i could dump my thoughts and feelings out every now and again and other people could connect with that almost instantly felt very attractive to me. high school was a very lonely period of time, both when i had friends and when i didn’t. over the years, there have been countless iterations of blogging. xanga, myspace, wordpress, tumblr, wordpress, wordpress…

What is something you are proud you have accomplished?

college, the necessary evil that it was. i hated it, i loved it, i almost killed myself for it… i’m glad it’s over and wonder what my life would’ve been like if i’d never gone, but i’m grateful still.

Is there one event or person who made you who you are today? What are characteristics you value about them?

since i mentioned my mom earlier, i’ll say nikki reed (with lin-manuel miranda as a very close second). i watched her film thirteen when i was around that age and it truly changed me. the fact that a movie like that based on her life had the public impact it did – it validated something in me. it made the fears and beliefs and wants i had as a young teenager matter. growing up i was definitely more of the tracy character, which was the one actually based on nikki, and i had intoxicating friendships like the one portrayed in the movie, yes. but what hit me was that catherine hardwick took the time to listen to this young girl’s story and together they made something out of it. not that it fixed nikki’s problems. she actually had a hard fucking life because of that movie and the criticism she shouldered alone. but she still grew to be a gracious, caring creative with a production company, an environmental and animal rights advocate, and she’s married to someone who cherishes her. plus, she’s just had a baby girl and if that’s not #lifegoals, i dunno what it.

my nominees:

naureen

jess

valentina

nikki

anna

and finally, my questions:

  1. what’s one goal you want to achieve in five years’ time?
  2. what’s your go-to pick-me-up?
  3. what album could you play on repeat forever and ever amen and not get sick of?
  4. where does your mind tend to drift when you’re bored?
  5. are you a procrastinator? if so, what do you do to delay a task?
  6. if you could recommend one tv show, what would it be?
  7. what do you do on rainy days?
  8. how do you like to spend your days off?
  9. even if you don’t regularly eat breakfast, what’s your favorite breakfast meal?
  10. how do you deal with self-doubt?

(i’d like to offer this list of questions to anyone who’d like to respond, even if you’re not one of my nominees)

you can check out information and the official rules here.

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the rules.

  • your flaws are yours. they’re weeds and perennials, prized vegetables and pollinated fruits. the neighbors can gawk but it’s your garden, your yard. yank your exes out by their roots. fertilize friends and forgive yourself when some don’t survive the winter. cross pollination happens and well-meaning can still kill a crop. tend it how you please.
  • take a road trip. alone. put your music on shuffle and sing along with the windows rolled down. travel the rural route – you know you know i-95 better than your family history. remember you need time. your me-time. to spend or waste to your heart’s content. so book the hotel room and dance out of your journey’d jeans.
  • let your phone die. some experiences are better lived fully.
  • get the tattoo. go by yourself and get to know the artist holding the gun. be moral support (or devil’s advocate) for a friend. pay for someone else’s ink at least once. yes, you will get older and lose the elasticity afforded by youth. you will gain weight and you will lose it, but have this moment. and some moments get colored over by new ones, but have it still.
  • see the girl who used to be on the disney channel in concert. drive across state lines if you must. the venue will be sticky-hot and the girl whose purse is in your back will complain about literally everything, but you’ll look at every femme with nothing but love and be fine with your spot on the side of the stage because you’re thrilled to be in the same room.

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    bad advice.

    drink the rest of what’s left of the bottle of sangria.

    sure, pour a glass of that pineapple wine, too. no, not a tv show/movie pour. they only do that so they can stave off their protagonist’s burgeoning alcoholism that’ll come into play at the eleventh hour. pour a hearty glass. a glass that won’t have you pouring a second. 

    cry. 

    it’s easier when you’re drunk. you think you can hold it off like when you’re sober, but you can’t. one lyric in that one kehlani song will have you sobbing into your pink carpet and five minutes later you’ll get over it. not the thing that had you crying in the first place. but the crying. it will come and go as easy as breathing. or maybe hiccups. 

    text them. 

    forget that they haven’t responded to your last message. tell them whatever you’ve left unsaid. whatever has been weighing you down. maybe they won’t answer you for an hour or more. maybe they won’t ever answer you. but say it anyway.

    paper street

    that thing you wish you could say goodbye to

    forgive the sentence ending preposition, but it’s time i ‘fess up.

    i wanted to do this series differently. have articles of varying points of view lined up. share and promote the voices of women i love and care about. crack open the door to vulnerability and show you are not the only person in that dark room. however…

    in the span of about six, seven months, my life fell apart. all because of a dream. it’s not so much as i gave up on my dream, but rather it gave up on me…? however you dice it, a piece of my heart broke and i’m having the damndest time mending it.

    i grew up in san antonio, texas. as a military brat, i tend toward the idea of having no home. of being a vagabond. but for my formative years, i spent a great deal of critical periods of development in texas. ages 4-11, if you must. my childhood has its share of traumas. many things i, to this very day, do not remember and my mom is never in a rush to trigger a resurgence. here and there i hear tale of this taking place or that being done, but my baby mind either did away with them or has them locked away in a very faraway corner. those “troubles” were a person, not a place.

    still, the deepest part of me longs for san antonio. it has every single day since we moved in 2002. so, my new year’s resolution for 2k16 was preparation. do everything i needed to do in order to make my way there. i’d gotten through the harsh years of middle school, high school, and the somehow harsher years of college. i’d formulated a career path that just needed a little bit of experience to forge. i’d recognized and realized my life would stall and stop if i stayed in my small town in south carolina any longer than absolutely necessary. i’m very much a believer in timing and do the best with what you have where you are while you’re there, but it was time to put it into gear.

    i wanted to be practical about it. i saved up money, investing in a FOF (fuck-off fund). i made plans. i would need a u-haul – or a trailer to hitch to my truck. my resume was in severe need of updating. i would have to prepare to tell loved ones, ones who would make it very hard to leave them. i worked on how to tell my bosses at both of my jobs at the time. i pro and con’d all the things, people i’d leave behind me. i set aside a week to make my first visit since 2005, simply to apply to jobs in person and look into apartments.

    i made lists. i would need a deposit for a place and three months’ worth rent in the off chance it took a while to get a job. i’d need gas for the moving trip there. i-95 south to i-20 w until i got to tx, and then all the way down to the alamo is an 18 hour drive, so save up gas money and room for a hotel. probably in (*shudders*) alabama. a young, black female traveling through the american south by herself? i even contemplated getting my concealed weapons permit for the just in case.

    it was happening. i was ready. i was fucking ecstatic.

    and then my car died.

    not oh, get a new fuel pump here or transmission there. i’m talking no amount of new parts could have me driving my ’98 gmc jimmy halfway across the country in one piece. i was suddenly out of a very crucial part of my plan, the plan.

    with the rapid demise of my truck came another chink in the armor. a new car, yes, but guess what cars cost? money. attempting to band-aid my baby had sucked dry my FOF and a new car meant monthly payments and insurance, the former i’d been without for years and the latter had been taken care of.

    whoosh. there went deposits and rental fees and gas money. but i was optimistic. okay, this pushes me from january to maybe july. no biggie. texas was now on the back burner but it was still cooking.

    since purchasing my new car, which i love, at the end of july, it’d been hard enough to pay my present bills let alone make a bank account draining, life changing decision. and for months, i tortured myself with stories of people who moved to los angeles or new york with 300 dollars in their pockets and, yeah, they struggled for a minute, but now they live comfortably in manhattan as they blog full-time from home and get mimosas with their besties every sunday. i made every concession i could think of and still i was stuck in neutral.

    (who are these magic women and why won’t they teach me their witchcraft?)

    while i experienced this decline in my resolve, many things were happening at once. my anxiety and depression had reached its peak. i’m talking ithreatenedtoquitmyjobduringapanicattack bad. the election i never, ever want to talk about again ever took its toll on me – as i’m sure it did on everyone. suddenly people whose opinions i held in the highest esteem were lumping my perspective in with literally anyone whose mindset did not match their own. i was getting to know a guy who i liked while i became distant from a friend (well, friends) i loved. admittedly, every year around july to september, i get busy and i get stressed but this was different. this was DEFCON 5.

    i fast went into self-care mode. i’m talking social media blackout, medications because it’d become very necessary, the whole nine yards. selah went into recluse mode to preserve herself and her connection to the outside world. i had to get it together and i hoped others would understand.

    it turns out age 26 is a liminal space. here i thought it was time for me to go, go, go, and yet i found myself standing stiller than i ever had before. i let my friends move on with their lives without me and was met with resentment. i dealt with a medical emergency that one can’t quite bounce back from like, say, tonsilitis. my future looks a lot different than i thought or hoped or even dreamed it would, and i’m having a hard time reconciling that with what i want. what i believe i deserved.

    right now, at this very moment, i know texas isn’t happening. not now, not in five years, and with the way the world is going, who knows who or where i’ll be in ten years. there is a misery in me that i’ve vowed to bring to term, but i don’t know if i’ll ever be over this. in tangled, one of the characters asserts “find a new dream”, but that is hard when a failed dream was your stepping stone to the rest of them.

    but – it’s not impossible. it’s a one day at a time kind of thing, and each day has reasons to get better, do better. so i’m starting with that.


    google defines “paper street” as a road that may appear on a map but doesn’t actually exist. i’ve always found a strange comfort in the phrase. who we are on paper doesn’t earnestly represent who we are in reality. yet, as writers, paper has been, is, and will always be our greatest medium. so came the thought –

    why not showcase the parts of me and the people i know that live beyond the page?

     • paper street is a recurring series consisting of personal and guest posts meant to showcase the varying degrees of experiences we all share •

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    f•r•i•e•n•d•s

    god never gave me a sister. or, rather my mom’s unfortunate repetitive unions with my father (and the ephemeral presence of two step-fathers) never afforded me one. i used to be real surly about this obvious lacking. 

    i wanted bonding at midnight with cereal and home videos. someone who i wouldn’t have to explain why i’m this way or that, why i don’t want my father in my life, why i’m weird about affection – bursting with it but all dammed up. someone made to hold my secrets and me, hers. blood sisters without the bloodletting.

    perhaps it’s my oldest child syndrome. i’m the baby of me and my brother, but his autism had me taking the lead. being handed reins and never really getting a say in where or when i steered. i guess i wanted the real thing. a baby sister. if i must be the responsible sibling, have the childish bits of my childhood sliced away, i wanted all that meant. diapers and waking in the middle of the night with my mom for feedings. babysitting to show i was more than capable of being left alone at home like the other latch key-ers and her not coming back to MPs reprimanding her and not the vindictive albeit snoozing father in the other room. 

    i never got that. 

    i am, however, the oldest of most of my friends. the small, eclectic, slacker with more stories before she turned fifteen than most have their whole lives is technically the mama bear. designated driver and giver of sage advice. keeper of deepest secrets – probably because my memory is shit. supporter of all those bad choices because it’s your life but always the one to make sure you pace your drinks with water and don’t drink on an empty stomach. i drive the getaway car but won’t shift out of park if your seatbelt isn’t on. i beg you to dump his ass but i understand when you stay. 

    on the flip side, they get me to try new things like fly to see bands i’ve never heard of and paint while drunk despite the perfectionist i know i am. i get encouraged to problem solve in a time crunch and a room full of doll parts. hotel room walls hear confessions i can’t decide are sins or proverbs. i’m chastised for being safe but you got home alive and with all your fingers, didn’t you?

    and somehow i kind of got what i wanted. no judgment when i lived away from home and tried my damndest to flunk out of college. watching heathers at two in the morning and not having eyes rolled at me for having a wealth of trivia about the film in my arsenal. those who check on me when i’m quiet and don’t shush me when i’m loud. we may not talk for months or see each other for a year or so, but we’re making plans before the date is over.

    to boast a fifteen year friendship, be loved and supported even though i’m a horrible student to tutor math, and know exactly who to call to witness me eloping because her and her soon to be husband are exactly who i’d want to get ribs with afterward…it’s a special feeling i wouldn’t trade for anything. so thank you for making me laugh and basket carrying me to the guest room when i drank too much tequila, hugged the toilet like a pillow, and passed out in the half bath.


    and to every connection i’ve made with another female whether we share a love for tv show, art, or pettiness, i love you and thank you.