Olive Oil in my hair/Kansas City in my earbuds

Wednesday 3/22/17 11:41 am 

I’m sitting on the bathroom floor right now with a shower cap on my head and some thick sticky olive oil smothered all over my hair…

A bitch gave me lice.

I hug too many people. It’s a problem. I hug my friends, I hug my English teacher, I hug my family (sometimes). I shudder to think about how many people I’ve infected. Or how many people infected me. The ultimate question of WHO DONE IT !!?!? is impossible to answer.

Thursday 3/23/17 

I contemplated skipping school today. I know it’s paranoia and all the lice are gone (I washed my hair with QuitNit 3 times, used dishwasher soap, olive oil, an evil small comb, blow dried and straightened my hair), but my head feels itchy still. Even though there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, there. I can feel the ghosts of the dead parasites crawling on my head.

I admit. The track meet may have had a tiny, really really small, slice of a reason on the pizza of Don’t Go To School Today That’s A Good Idea.

But I did.

And I’m proud. 6:21 on the mile? Not bad for someone who’s still trying to recover from sophomore year. Freshman year I was one of the best on the team with a 6:01 mile, Sophomore year was just, well, embarrassing. This year? I’m getting there. I died a little inside on the two mile though.

My sweet friend ,Z, came to the meet. I love her. She came to my last XC race and brought me some pasta she had cooked because she knew I’d be hungry. IF THAT’S NOT TRUE FRIENDSHIP I DON’T KNOW WHAT IS.

I walked home, got frustrated at my Dad for only saying this when I came in the door (tired, sweaty, unbelievably tired):

“Go do the dishes.”

It’s never: “How’d it go?”
It’s never: “How are you?”

“How was your day?’

“Wish I could have been there!”

“Good job!”

“How was school?”

It’s either:

A) Do the dishes

B) I noticed a sock on your bedroom floor this morning

C) Get your laundry out of the dryer

He doesn’t care, and he doesn’t bother to pretend to be interesting in anything I do anyway. It’s okay. I’m over it.

Friday 3/24

I met a cat named Knives. No lie. I can imagine all sorts of fun that could be had with a cat named Knives.

(Holding Knives) “You guy’s I’ve got Knives!”

“Would you like to meet Knives?”

“I like Knives.”

“I love Knives.”

Ariel and I buried our feet in the wet sand and watched the ocean water after we had our fun with Knives. I was happy our coach sent us on a beach run. Nobody else actually went in the water but me. And when I say in I mean completely under. Everyone was worried about getting their hair wet, but I just dunked under that freezing cold water and came up for air. I feel alive in the cold. I love it as much as I love Knives.

I went to the beach a second time that day with K, J, and A. We had to cross many cliffs to get down to the water. I was wrapped up in my fuzzy red heart blanket because the wind was pretty brutal. I looked like a weird burrito type thing, but I was warm. The waves down there were a lot harder and a lot more dangerous than the ones at the other beach. We’d kneel on the sand and wait to see who’d get knocked down first by the biggest waves. We found sand crabs in the dirt. I went under the water a few times, but I was extremely cautious. The tide was high and I couldn’t see the rocks, but I knew they were around where we were.

After we got tired of this we walked 0.9 miles to StreetCar Merchants of Fried Chicken, Doughnuts & Coffee. It took us half an hour to walk 0.9 miles. That’s just sad. A and I belted out songs the whole way: “Wrecking ball”, “Don’t Stop Believing”, “Hello”, “We’re All In This Together”; J didn’t sing but K joined in. The pedestrians were highly amused, which just made us turn it up a notch.

I got a Cafe Au Lait, the only coffee I get besides a Hazelnut Latte, along with J & K. A felt like some hot chocolate (though to be honest, that girl already runs off sugar).

Saturday 3/25

I was supposed to drive up to San Francisco today with a friend, but it’s been changed to tomorrow. Gives me more time to pack though. Today at this outdoor hiking clothing store my Dad goes to to get this special grey shirt with “special buttons” (???) (even though he doesn’t even hike) the cashier man made an interesting comment. He asked us if we wanted bags, we said no (they cost 10 cents a bag, usually) and he said: “Are you sure? We have….paper bags….” (pulls out a paper bag, with flourish, and a deep voice). I blinked. He said:
“I was channeling my inner James Bond…”

Me: “This paper bag, should you choose to accept it…”

Nobody laughed.

I got another Cafe Au Lait today. I drank it at 3pm at the mall. Which explains why I’m writing all this at 1:24 am on Sunday 3/26. At 7am sharp I’m being picked up to begin the drive down to San Fran. I’m bringing my notepad to document more interesting stuff.

As of now caffeine runs in my veins, Kansas city in my ears- listen to it please. I beg of you.

Juicy Thoughts


I’m too tired right now to do anything except sip some Green Easy Cold Pressed Juice in a coffee shop (how very Californian of me), stare out the window, or pick up where I left off in “Eat, Pray, Love” . I’m the master at letting all the “important” shit wait until the very last possible minute. Tonight I’ll pack it all in: AP English, Honors Chem, Math, and I’ll watch a video on the APUSH chapter I didn’t read so I can do all the essay questions.

Productive, no?

Too many things have happened this weekend, so I have to write about it before it all slips down into the forgotten memories vortex. Then I can go back to staring out the window listening to Staligia- Heaven + Mimosas and quietly observing people in their cars.

Let’s start with Friday. I was pulled out of Track early so I could get my butt home, shower, and get ready to go on a boat with my Mom, her boyfriend, the boyfriend’s granddaughter, and the boyfriend’s daughter’s friend. My Mom advised us to dress warmly, and gave us these fluffy down jackets Steve had bought for us. Mine was red. The captain of the boat was named Brock. He looked just like my best friends older brother. Those same “italian liquid brown eyes”, the crooked nose, the tan. I almost called him Noah. Their boat looked just like Ava’s too. The deck of it was white, they had a bean bag up at the bow (is that what you call it? The front?), they had a little caved in area that had seats and cup holders and steps that led to a small little cabin inside complete with a kitchen, bathroom, and little sitting area. Steve brought fancy champagne from France for Mom and him, and sparkling apple cider for all of us other apple cider addicts. There was also little cheese, cracker, and salami plates for all of us with Italian goat cheese, Italian gouda cheese, and a bunch of Italian salami. I feel as if it was a sign that for sure Brock was an Italian-just like Ava, and Noah. (Okay so Ava isn’t really Italian. But she grew up there. And she’s got the dark eyes, dark hair, and a sense of style). My Mom was embarrassing to be around on that boat. She was really playing up the whole Australian thing. She was trying to impress Emily (the granddaughter) and Maddy (the roommate), except she just came off as arrogant and self absorbed. Steve said something along the lines of: “Australians are the kindest people”. And she went from zero to a hundred (real quick):

Yes it’s true! Us Australians are so nice. I’m so nice and kind. All my patients love me. (insert really wide smile here) In fact, after meeting me, some of my patients have actually gone to Australia just because of me! Everybody loves me! I’m so kind! I’m so nice! I’m so sweet! I was captain of the tennis team in high school! 

Yeah, okay.

Her eyelashes were extremely long that day. Steve told me he had Mom go get them done. They were practically were grazing her eyebrows. Her nails and toenails were cherry red too. Steve said he needed to “spoil her” (oh sweet pickles, is it possible for her to get any more spoiled than she already is?) Her laugh was so loud too. And she kept smiling. Really fakely at everyone. With her ultra white bleached teeth. And she called everyone: “sweetie”, “dearie”, “darling” in a really obnoxious whine. I can only take so much of my Mom in small doses.

My Mom is so thin. She looks like a stick. At the restaurant afterwards she split some Ahi stack with Steve, and that’s it. She didn’t eat any of her platter on the boat because she “had a big lunch”.  I know my Mom. A “big lunch” for her would be a grapefruit or something small and silly like that.

I know, I know. I’m ranting about my Mom. How could I do this to the women who gave birth to me? Well the woman who gave birth to me is also the women who almost killed me because she was too vain to gain weight and continued starving herself during pregnancy.

Don’t get me wrong. She’s not all bad. She has her kind moments, where she’s actually “real”, but lately I have only been seeing the fake version of her.

It was a little hard to relate to Emily and Maddy. They were both kind, southern Texas girls, and Emily had interesting stories about when she went to France, but a little of the awkwardness was there. The age difference between all of us was pretty great.

Side note: There’s a old man across the street right now with headphones on dancing at a street corner. I usually see him with the track team when we are sent on a beach run. He sings too.

I liked sitting on the bean bag though. I could look at the water all day. It may have been cold out there, but it was so beautiful too. It was a cloudy day, but my kind of day.


Mom said she couldn’t go to my end of the year Leukemia and Lymphoma Society banquet because she was too busy with Steve, Emily, and Maddy. Honestly, I was a little hurt, but I shrugged it off and told myself it didn’t matter. My Dad didn’t go either. He and my sister hit the road early in the morning to drive up to the desert and see the flowers in full bloom. It’s been the first time in twenty years that we’ve had enough rain to see them open up. He said that there was pollen everywhere-all over the bright desert flowers, in the air, and the smell. Someday I’ll see it, but I spent most of that day doing laundry, cleaning the dishes, and getting ready. I wore a dress that was grey on the top, and a cute lil black pencil skirt on the bottom. It gave me some curves. I also pulled out my high heeled shoes that lace up. Dad and Lizzy got back in time to give me a ride to the restaurant where the gala was being held.

It started at 4:30 but we couldn’t actually go inside till 6. So the team and I strolled around and looked at all the auction items. There were servers who had little trays of meatball and spring rolls. Ava loved the meatballs so much, it was cute. She wore the most adorable flower dress that was (3 dollars!!). Kiara wore her black homecoming dress and looked bomb. Stephanie wore a cute blue dress. There was a little tension in the group. Stephanie was leaving at 6:30, and for some reason thought Kiara was upset with her leaving. Kiara actually wasn’t and told  her so, but Stephanie pulled me aside and said: “Hey so Kiara’s giving me attitude and I don’t know what to do….”

Basically it was a big misunderstanding. I assured her that no, nobody was mad at her. Kiara showed me some texts that Stephanie had sent her that were a little sassy, but I just told both of them to just not let it get to them. Just enjoy the gala. We took pictures, Brian filmed us for Megan and I’s Create Something 2.0 project. He was the only dude on our team. I tried to make sure he felt welcome by trying to talk to him as much as possible. Anna and Natalie were there too. Amanda also was there, although to be honest she didn’t do that much for our campaign but it’s okay. After dinner all the candidates had to stand outside then we were announced one by one by an enthusiastic woman, and we’d walk back to our table. When my name was called I walked up and the woman commented: “Oh, look at that strut! Yes girl! You go!”

I didn’t realize I was strutting, but everybody was commenting about it when I got back to the table. Oops. I think it was the heels. Ava would have been proud if she had seen it. She’s trying to improve my “sassy”walk. There was one embarrassing moment when they pulled all the candidates up and we each would draw a question from a hat and answer it. The first few girls were really nervous and the woman whisper an answer to them. I drew question 10 and it was: What did you learn from this campaign?”

I kept it simple and short because I was freaked out. “It wasn’t easy.” The announcer followed up with: “Oh yeah! Like you call your grandma up asking for help with the campaign and all of a sudden you can’t get ahold of grandma anymore.” (Something along those lines ??) I just laughed and agreed.

We went into this knowing that we weren’t going to win, or get any scholarship money. But you know what? It’s okay. Our team still raised $2,500 dollars. That’s pretty good for a bunch of high schoolers. The winner was a girl in a gorgeous blue dress who raised $15,000. That’s pretty incredible. Her name was Zoe.

I went home with Kiara and Ana . We danced like a bunch of white girls with no rhythm, made some mac n cheese, and watched Split. We fell asleep on Kiara’s bed at about 1 or 2 am.


Cruel Youth- Mr. Watson

She sounds like Amy Winehouse.


Don’t mind me, just going through old Facebook messages for no reason.

Boy get outta my mind and my dreams please! Why do I keep dreaming about you? We don’t even talk anymore. We’re 8,767 km away. Smh.

Yet, there you are. You were in my dream when I was in LA. You were my entire dream last night, and last week you were there again.

Last night was a little different. You were there with your little brother. Except you were older and  a lot more colder. I mostly hung out with your brother.

God looking through my 2012 Facebook posts.. I used caps lock too much. Very excitable child.

It’s 3:30 am.

I took the SAT today. I slayed the English. The math, not so much. I hope I did okay.

I was dressed up in a little black dress tonight, with high heels-walking in the dark trying to get to a birthday party because my Dad would rather eat dinner and let his daughter walk around late at night in a dress than drive her. Thank god E picked me up. I felt really out of place at her party. I’m not close to any of the girls there except for K and C. I dropped my knife and it made a long ringing sound. C and I died a little inside. “Mr. Sir Man: can you please cut my bread?” “Oh I’m full I inhaled a big gust of wind on my way in.” “Wanna split an ice cube?”

It sucks to be the ugly friend sometimes. My skin isn’t the best. I have braces. I’m short. My hair is frizzy. I’m surrounded by my super model friends with their perfect skin, eyes, and hair. It’s an injustice.




California rolls are for the low class- Steve

My first impression of my Moms new boyfriend was that he looks like Hershel from the Walking Dead. If  Walking Dead Hershel had a southern Texas accent he would be a dead ringer for Steve.

More first impressions?

-Old enough to  be my grandpa

His house was huge. It had a whole Spanish-American look going on. Before we could even drive into the house we got checked by a security card who had to confirm our names and the exact time we were coming. I find it highly interesting that the first thing my Mom had us do when the introductions were made and we were inside was show Lizzy and I the guest bedrooms. “In case we want to spend the night.” We’ve just met the man, she’s only been going out with him for a few weeks, but it looks like she’s already planning on moving in.

He had a huge walk in closet, a cowboy style bedroom with a giant painting of two Mexican girls waiting for a bus in pastel, and he likes to collect different brands of wine from all over the world.

He also drives a Tesla.

Side note: I do not care for cares. Not really. I don’t know much besides- Truck, Jeep, Honda, Ford Focus, Mercedes, Mustang, Sports car, and Tesla.

Tesla’s drive themselves.

The only other time I’ve seen one is at the mall. Dad and I sat in one and thought about how damn expensive and freaking cool they were.

The car drove itself to the Sushi restaurant.

I was sort of freaking out the whole way. It steered, it stopped, it was so quiet and smooth. I never would have ever dreamed of sitting in something like that.

For some reason Mom told Steve that I was interested in journalism and so Steve talked to me a lot about this granddaughter who is studying journalism and spent a semester abroad in Paris. I said: “That’s great, but I actually want to be a nurse practitioner, not a journalist.” The granddaughter and a friend are coming up on Thursday, and he offered in a few Fridays to take us all out on a Yacht.

I’ve never been on a Yacht before either.

Clearly my Mom has a type: rich old white guys. I’m okay with it though. He’s nice, and kind. Even if I have a feeling that my Mom is mostly in on it for the money. Money is a biiiiiigggg deal to her. The whole time I was giving him questioning looks and in my head thinking can’t you see that my Mom really really likes money? That she’s self absorbed, vain, and spoiled? Maybe he was too wrapped up in her Australian accent. He talked about how wonderful the Australian people were-as business men. He went on about how sweet and kind my Mom is and how they had a connection and how she is a role model. If only he knew her like I did. Yes my Mom can be kind, considerate, sweet, and generous. She’s also crazy.

He’s been to Japan a lot and he told us some stories. He was once driving to a hotel and he saw a vending machine in the middle of nowhere. He had them stop (and at the time he didn’t realize) if they were late than the taxi man would lose his job. He saw the vending machine was full of beer and wine. Loose money was in there too. He asked the man why loose money was in the vending machine, and the Japanese man responded with: Oh. It gives too much change.

Too much change. So the people put back the extra they were given so that they have the right amount.

Who does that? People in America would take that extra money, they would take the entire vending machine, but these people would never even think about doing that.

The legal drinking age is 18 in Japan. There is no card or identification on those vending machines either so Steve asked how they kept underage kids from drinking. The Japanese man looked at him like he was crazy and said: Why would they drink? They’re not 18.

Apparently though the Japanese like to put unborn baby eels in your food to see how the “round eyes” will react to it. Steve kept his cool and earned mad respect, while his other “round eyes” found it disgusting.

As we walked into the Sushi restaurant Steve remarked that California rolls were for the low class. I love California rolls. I guess I’m trash then. I didn’t take it seriously though. We had Bluefin, Monk fish liver, and a very fine piece of salmon from the belly. Green tea ice cream too. It was good.

I think Steve liked my sister a lot more than me. She’s smaller than me and more child like. I’m more quiet and thoughtful.

Steve makes cabinets. Mom’s old ex made cabinets too. I couldn’t help but think of him and wonder how he was doing. He was kind, a little arrogant, but in a different kind of way. Steve talked about how he was with a billion dollar company. something like that, he’s met George Lucas, Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones-he’s super well connected. It struck me kind of then that when men talk about success- how intelligent they are, how much money they make- it doesn’t sound like bragging. It’s impressive. But when woman do it then we sound conceited. Maybe I’ve got it wrong though? I don’t know. Just something I’ve noticed.

I hope to travel someday. Get out and see things for myself. One piece of advice to myself:

Don’t be afraid of the light, bb.

Milk & Bone- Coconut Water


I’m the second child in my family. I feel like today was the day that the realization of: holy shit I am the unvalued one hit me. Mostly, from my Dad. It’s the way he spoke. He praised my sister high and low and spoke very little of me. He described her as a baby, her first words, what time she was born, but with me-nothing. Doesn’t remember what I first said or when I was born, there were no cutesy little baby stories about Katherine. I find it slightly frustrating that someone who does worse in school than me, mostly just Netflixs, never does anything, is a nervous wreck, is twenty years old and just learned how to drive, still cries on the freeway, still lives at home/stays at home, is given a better rep than me. I know, I know, I sound jealous. Maybe I am a little. It’s just no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, my Dad could care less. I run Varsity on Cross Country for two years and my Dad never went to any of my Cross Country matches. Not one. He went to my sisters, and she walked all the time and eventually quit. I’m campaigning for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, my Dad won’t help me out financially when I’m trying to set up events, all the money comes out of my pocket and I don’t have a job. If my sister was doing it, he would definitely help her out. He bought her a car for her eighteenth birthday, a new one, before she even learned how to drive. I’m trying to learn how to drive and he’s refusing to pay for my insurance and obviously isn’t interesting in teaching me. I’m getting my Moms old car. I get all As in school and it’s “Okay. Good job.” My sister gets some As, a couple Bs, and a few Cs and he’s all: “Very good!”

He doesn’t push me. It frustrates the hell out of me. It’s like: come on, give me something. I’m trying here.

It doesn’t help when my Mom reminds me: Your father didn’t even want another baby. He only wanted one. 

Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.

Ava gets how I feel at home. She told me: “I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’re kinda on your own in stuff. My Mom will totally help you out though if you need anything.” Which is a sweet offer, but I won’t take it. I don’t want to impose on another family that has their own children to take care of.

When it comes to college Dad’s all: “I’m only paying X amount. (It’s not enough for four years at any college). So you can go to a community college for two years and live a home, then transfer to a university for your last two years, and live at home.”

Hell no. I’ve been waiting to get out of here since I was in the seventh grade. I am not staying at my house when I’m eighteen. I just can’t. I’m so tied down here. This house is toxic. My family is toxic. Thinking about wasting two more years of my life here makes me want to cry. I can’t, I can’t I can’t. I need to go out and be my own person. To live. That’s NOT going to happen here. Ava understands it, why can’t my Dad see it? Why can’t he understand the importance of leaving the nest and going off on my own. Figuring out who I really am. Really really am. Too many bad things have happened here. I need to start fresh and as always, alone.

After thrifting with Ava, Camille, Anna, and Jessica I went to Uncle Richards 80th birthday party. All the second and third cousins that I’d never met or even heard of were there. I think  I was allergic to the chicken shiskabobs because when I had a bit my whole face started to just heat up. Uncle Richard and Aunt Wanda are our only relatives where we live, strangely I’ve seen more of my family in Australia and Alaska than I’ve seen of them. There was a four week old baby named Colette. I guess she’s my third cousin. I don’t know what it is with me and babies but they usually cry in my presence. She was so cute and small. Her eyelashes were incredibly long. I didn’t hold her. I don’t know much about babies. I was studying Uncle Richard’s house and I noticed just how cozy and family oriented it was. There were pictures all over the house- wedding photos and baby photos. Our house only has baby photos of my sister. I have one photo in the house, and it was taken in 8th grade. My heart broke just looking at there wall. Everything screamed family that actually loves each other ! Yeah, that’s not how things fly between me, my Dad, and Lizzy. Uncle Richard has had a hard life, but he’s one of the kindest men that I know. When he was seven he lost his Dad, and when he was thirteen he witnessed his Mom run over by a drunk driver. He lived alone as an orphan when he was seventeen and joined the Navy. He loves to build model boats and planes. He described our grandpa (we never met him, he died before Lizzy was born) as a kind man who took him under his wing for a little while after his Mom’s death. Being with family just made me shut up and retreat within myself even more. I just felt more empty. Sorry, I’m not trying to be depressing. Just honest. I don’t even know what I mean or how I’m feeling most of the time so goodnight.

Everything that’s wrong with me

My friends threw me a surprise early birthday party today.

I never even suspected it, though maybe I should have. Anna kept asking me in French what I liked, what my favorite movies were, favorite foods, stuff like that. Leslie asked me if it was my birthday today, little things like that. Ava wanted to get Boba after school and we spent some time at the Thai place before going to my house to “watch a movie”.

When I came through the door Zarinna hid under the table. I only saw a grayish shape and was wondering if it was one of my sisters friends trying to scare me, but it was Megan, Kiara, Zarinna and Ava.

They’d set up balloons, glow sticks, little paper red hearts everywhere (technically…my sister set it up, but…they organized it). It was the sweetest thing.

I should have known though. My Dad agreed too easily to me bringing Ava over to “watch a movie” usually he gives me grief for being so “last minute” (okay it’s true. I am. So what).

We danced a lot. We played Dancing Queen of course: only seventeen… 

Some trap music was played.

Some twerking happened.

Not from me though.

I can’t really dance I just sorta flap around.

And in the midst of all of it: I wasn’t happy and I wasn’t sad either.

Here’s whats wrong with me:

I never feel anything. Ever. Never. I feel hurt of course, disappointment, ect, all the bad things, but I cannot recall a time I felt a warm glowing happiness in my chest. I say “I am happy,” when I don’t even know what that even really truly feels like.

How shitty is that?

To be surrounded with loving, happy friends and to feel..absolutely nothing. Nothing!

We went to the beach for a bonfire. Ava’s boyfriend Trevor was there, he invited some of his friends over. Her boyfriend is a little distant. I don’t really think he likes me at all. I think he thinks I’m really stupid and annoying. Just silly and a waste of space. He thinks I don’t like him, probably because I get so so distant around guys. When Trevor’s friends came I just went into awkward silent mode. Around boys I don’t know I shut down. It’s my thing. I don’t know why I do it. It’s purely instinctual. I feel bad. I offered them nothing, barely talked to them, and didn’t sit with them either. They probably thought I hated them. When we were all dancing in a circle I feel like I was dancing really really badly and that they were laughing at me. I kept seeing them looking at me, and one of them kept going to Ryan (who was playing the music) and saying, “This is awkward to look at.” Megan, Ava, Pat, and everyone else are good dancers, I never know what to do with my feet or anything. I just sorta…I don’t know? So I felt awkward. And I felt like they were laughing at me.

Pat came a little late. Anna, Megan, Kiara and I ran over to him at the park. For a while we all went on the swings and down the slide and stuff. Just kid stuff. It was nice. He got me “Milk and Honey” and Cheezits (because I love Cheezits and hardly get them). Kiara bought me a gallon mason jar filled with Cheezits, so if that doesn’t tell you how much I love them I don’t know what does.

I feel bad because Trevor left early, and I feel like he was pissed off, and I felt like it was directed at me. Is that selfish? I always feel like anything bad is my fault. Ava and him looked like they were arguing when he said he was going to leave. I feel like it’s my fault, like maybe he felt like I was excluding him and had gotten exasperated or just wasn’t having any fun. Just…if it had been my girl friends I would have been so much more comfortable. I feel bad for the boys who came tonight. They kind of had to for “protection” (Ava’s mom’s idea).

I think I’m depressed. Because all I want to do is cry. And I feel like it was terrible, nobody had any fun, I was making a big deal out of nothing, I’m being too paranoid, or I’m completely right and all those boys hate my guts, or I was too rude, too cold, too distant, they all think I’m a bitch. I don’t know. Why am I ruining something so perfect?

Taking Things Too Personally + Wanting To Travel The World

What’s the truth?

Give me something

Take me down a road I believe in

Lost the way

Lost all reason

Give me something

Search the past for redemption

Broken glass

No reflection

Take me to a place

I believe in

Lost my way

Lost all reason

Through the ruins

Trying to save it

Before I fall out

Show me somehow

I can make it

All that we gain

Was it wasted ?

Falling down broke

Holding on hope

That you’ll make it

Give me something

Give me something

Give me something

To hold onto

I’ve got nothing

Since I lost you

Seafret- Give Me Something. It gave me the feels.

I gave out presents today. Stuff that was important to me, that sorta was just…not appreciated I guess? I gave my teacher a cigar box (a box that was sent to me after my Uncle quit smoking) with a kaleidoscope in it. When I was little I thought there were real diamonds in there. There was a perfect sand dollar I found at the beach years ago buried in the sand, it was in the box. There was a heart locket with a clock on it, half broken, also in the musty box, along with a two dollar coin from Hong Kong. I know what you’re thinking. Why would you give your AP English teacher such random things? Well it was a sort of thank you gift for her letting us put a fundraising box in her room for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society that my friends and I are campaigning. I wrote a little note in there explaining the stuff, and what it meant to me, and that I wanted her to have it.

I also wrote her a little card.

I know she read the card. I don’t know if she’s even looked in the box. I don’t think she has. Or maybe if she did maybe she’s really confused and doesn’t want my junk. Maybe I shouldn’t have given it to her. She probably doesn’t even like it.

I also gave Megan a bear that was given to me when I was younger, during my parents divorce. It’s a big bear. It’s white with red spots. A Valentines bear for my Valentines birthday. My Dad bought it for me. She was crying yesterday, and couldn’t talk about it. So I thought it would be a good idea to give her the bear. She was surprised in math. In English though she said, “I don’t know how to hide this bear. Everybody’s going to be asking me about it.” (A lot of people asked if it was her birthday). She left it in the class and said it could be Period 3’s “Mascot Bear”. That’s fine, but it made me kinda sad that she didn’t want to take it. I mean it was supposed to be for her. I carried it to school along with other goodies. And she just left it behind. I can get it if she didn’t want it, but I don’t know…I thought it would make her feel better.

All I can think about right now is college looming over me. I’m a junior. I graduate NEXT FREAKING YEAR.

I want to go to a college out of this country. Belgium would be so nice. Anywhere in Europe would be so nice. It’s cheaper…more beautiful…the farther away from home the better :). But I can’t afford it. Also my Dad is super against me leaving the country. He doesn’t think it makes any sense. I don’t expect him to get it. He hates traveling, yet he travels as a part of his job. Me on the other hand, I would love to travel and lose myself in as many different languages and cultures as I can.

Maybe I’ll try to get citizenship in Australia (should be easy access since my Mom was an Australian citizen when I was born) and go to the University of Sydney or something like that. Only downside is I don’t know how things work over there, and I have my heart set on Germany or Belgium or Switzerland or anywhere…different. I’ve lived in California my whole life. It’s beautiful, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life here. The other downside to Australia is my Mom wants to go with me. The whole point of going to a far away college is to get away from the crazy in my life, not take it with me.

Leukemia and Lymphoma +Refugees + Pink Nails +Suddenly I am a Christian (?)

My nails are pink right now. I don’t paint my nails pink. The last time my nails were this pink was way back in fifth grade-the only time I went with my Mom to get them done (she got her’s done every week back then despite claiming how she was so “poor” and couldn’t “afford anything”). I picked out dark purple nail polish, but the  Asian woman shook her head at me when I presented it to her and said: “No, no. Not your color. Too dark. Pink your color.”

A little refugee girl did my nails. Her name is Azula. She’s six. I did her nails too in the same bright purple-red shade. J and I played tag with her and her little brother Issac, we threw paper planes, we played hot potato, and then their numbers were called so they went to the store to buy clothes. Everybody there had a certain number and only when it was called could they go to the store. I met a little boy named Axel who demanded that I make him 3 paper planes, there was a girl I met who’s name I forgot. She’s from Africa and she told me that she’s in seventh grade, she doesn’t like her school because there are a lot of fights there, her brother is in a gang, all kinds of things-I did her nails too. J and I played Guess with a little Hispanic boy, except we didn’t really know how to play so we just asked him: “Can you find Puddles?” “Can you find Bebop?”.  His mom told us that he wanted to be an engineer and he proudly said as he poured pink glitter on his plane: “I’m really smart.” (He also taught me how to make paper planes, I haven’t done it in years). There was this dark boy who looked like he was about ten. I asked him if he wanted to make a paper plane. I don’t think he understood me. He just looked at me. So I held up plane and he made one in about a minute, showed it to me, flew it around, decorated it, then left it with me.

It was a bit overwhelming at the refugee center. It was crowded. There were tons of kids on bikes going up and down the mini hill, there were tons of parents sitting around on tables speaking Spanish or Swahili or whatever their native language was, the older boys were playing soccer and basketball, the little kids were either swinging on the swings or climbing up the monkey bars or playing with barbies or coloring, and some of the older teenage girls were texting or watching their siblings. J and I didn’t know what we werereally getting into at first. We just showed up, the white woman who ran the whole “house” showed us around. Her name is Sherry.

I’ve never really been in a situation where I’m one of only few white people. I felt a tad uncomfortable about it. Some people were sort of staring at me, and I sort of stared back.

I want to come back there. It’s chaos, but I have this intense need to know these people.


My Leukemia and Lymphoma Society campaign officially kicked off yesterday. So far we haven’t raised anything. I have a heart sinking feeling that we are only going to raise a small amount of money…. I’ve sent out an email blast, my team members haven’t really gotten many contacts in, and I can tell that I’m going to have to be the one to take over most of the campaign even though it’s supposed to be a “team” thing. Maybe the school events will pull through. I don’t know. I’m just worried we won’t raise a significant amount and I’m worried that we won’t win (I’ve accepted this though). I just want to do well. My Mom isn’t going to help me much….neither is my Dad…or my grandparents…or anybody really in my family…. I just want to do well. I want to raise a significant amount of money for cancer and help fund research.

It’s so hard to have to be focusing on this campaign that’s already starting off bad, SAT’s coming up, finals that have just passed, school, and life in general. College…..college….college….how the hell am I going to pay for that?

That’s another reason I’m stressed. I’m in this campaign to help, but I also really need the scholarship money, badly. I can already tell though we won’t pull through as winners. And I know it’s not about the money, it’s about the help. But still…I don’t have enough money for college. This wouldn’t hurt.

A lot of my friends are letting me down about it too. They were all: Oh I’ll totally help you with this campaign! I’ll send out emails and give you my contact list! I have 21 members on my “team” only 6 of them have done everything that was needed to be done. The rest just haven’t gotten back to us. It’s disappointing how much people don’t care about this.

Oh wait the Christian thing. Almost forgot. This elderly woman at the refugee center was teaching the Swahili kids about Jesus and stuff. She saw me looking at them and pulled me over there, asked me if I believe in God (Me: I don’t know. Her: We will make you believe). She had us read bible versus and say prayers and at the end of it all she told us that we were all Christians now then had Sherry go get me a bible and everybody was like Congratulations! because the old woman kept telling everybody I was a new convert to the religion. I’ll be honest. I’m not. I’ll read that Bible just to know, but I don’t think I’m religious. I sort of went along with it because I couldn’t get myself out of it. I keep thinking about what we said though:

“Jesus I accept you in my heart.”

I did say the words, I told the old woman I believed and told her I’d go to church with J. Maybe that was deceptive of me, because I don’t think I will and I don’t know if I am….I don’t know if God is out there or anything. I find it a little crazy how she kept telling us that he loves us and he knows us and he’s been waiting for “today” the day we “convert”. I could tell the African refugees felt stuck there too. But they went along with it too. That was the second time I’d prayed in my entire life, and it all happened today. Well I guess I’ve technically prayed before in my head when I’ve been like: God give me strength. God, why? Are you even there right now? Please God if I get an A on this test I’ll…..

I’m just confused.

Still your girl

I wasn’t made to have fancy tea parties. The mini spoons and forks don’t cut it for me, or my sister.

Today we had morning tea with Poppy’s cousin Kim and her new…husband? Fiancee? Boyfriend? I don’t know.

She’s 61, same age as Dad. She wore cool red/purple glasses, and a big fancy glittery necklace she had beaded herself, with matching emails. I definitely got a cool, hipster, old Mom vibe from her. Her…boo looked a lot older than her. A lot older. He was talking about a back surgery he was going to have soon, Poppy actually recently had the same surgery. Poppy is going to be 90 on his next birthday, this guy looks like he could be either 80 or maybe even older.

Anyways Nana had made a gluten free vanilla cake, scones, Christmas cake, and she’d brewed green tea and coffee. My sister and I served it to everyone.

I drank some tea, ate a scone, quietly listened.

Kim’s a headmistress at a school, she’s traveled to Japan many times with her students which is pretty cool.

Poppy just came in to the office. He said:

“I don’t know if I should tell you this or not, but a few years I made an offer that if you would come live over here in Australia that I would pay for your private education and University, all for free. I was just wondering if you knew about it?”

I’d tensed when at the words: I don’t know if I should tell you this or not… because it could literally, be anything.

I nodded my head. I remember Mom telling me about Poppy’s offer, way back in 7th grade. She wanted me to go. That hurt me, really bad. She immediately was like: You need to go. Let’s just not tell your Dad. In that moment I felt rejected by my own Mother. She just wanted to get me out the house so she wouldn’t have to pay for me anymore. It’s always about money with her. And I wasn’t  ready to leave my family, and my friends. Even though I was hurting real bad in seventh grade. That was a hard year for me.

Poppy said: “Well okay. I got an email from your mother saying your offer has been rejected. You can imagine how I felt about that.” Then he turned to go.

My stomach tightened and I said: “Oh Poppy-”

But he muttered: “No, no,” and sort of waved his hands as he walked out the door.

Now I have tears in my eyes as I type. I didn’t mean to hurt him. But I was only twelve at the time. And Mom was telling me that I couldn’t say a word to Dad or he wouldn’t let me go: I just had to go, poof, without saying anything. I couldn’t do that to Dad. He was going through a rough time too. I’d have loved to live in Australia, go to a good school here, and University. It just couldn’t happen under the circumstances. It would have broken my heart, Dad’s heart, and Lizzy’s heart if I had just left them like Mom had.

I’m going to go now. I’ll write about tea later, or maybe not. I leave early tomorrow morning. I don’t think I’ll ever see Nana or Poppy again. This is breaking my heart. I hate saying goodbye. I love them both so much. I don’t even know if I’ll ever come back to Australia again. I don’t want to think about how the last time I saw my grandparents Nana made us tacos, we played Rummikub- I almost won but Poppy moved a tile I needed, and Nana won of course-she’s the champion, we swam in the pool, or Nana, Lizzy and I swam while Poppy sort of paced in the water because of his knee, we had cookies and cream ice cream, we talked about travel, accents, and Bundi- talking about him brought tears to Poppy’s eyes. I don’t want this all to be the last “day”, I don’t want this to be the last “time”. I pray that I get to see them again.

Is there anybody out there?

It’s raining right now. A miracle.

There is a jar of Nutella is the fridge, it is taking every ounce of self control to not run over there, grab a spoon, and happily stuff my face.

I should be doing APUSH right now. I should be writing essays for scholarships, right now.

Instead I’ve been doing something really stupid.

For the past thirty minutes, I’ve been looking at Facebook, clicking on everybody’s profile that I know, reading all about their good times, looking at all their photos were they are having fun with their friends, and feeling overwhelmingly lonely.

I have friends, but not many people that I would call family. I don’t have an entire group of people that I can count on. I’m always kind of hanging on the edge, sort of the forgotten and left out one. Of course there are a few friends I have that I’m obviously close with: Z, Oni, Soph, Em, K, and J. Everybody just feels so far away right now. Granted, I’m in Australia and their all in California right now. It’s a Monday night over here, and an extremely early Monday morning over there.

I guess what I’m getting out (Truth Tea Lesson #2) is that I have people I’m close with, but not close with. I have friends, but I also have a lot of I’m-sorta-kinda-not-really-your-friend friends. I wish I had that tight knit family that I know that I could always count on, but I don’t have that. I don’t think I ever will to be honest.

If I’m really being honest here then I’ll just say it: I’m so extremely jealous of those happy go lucky people at school who are beautiful and glowing, surrounded by friends that love and trust them back.

I can’t help but feel like I’m always going to be alone. I’ve never really had a boyfriend; I’ve had guys who have wanted to get with me, but I’d always push them away or turn them down. I had my reasons. Either it was because it was complicated in some way, or I simply just felt like I didn’t deserve them.

I’m disgustingly full of self pity tonight.

Last night I threw a message in a bottle into my grandparent’s lake. With the way the wind was blowing, it’s probably next door, but I like to think that it got farther than that. I like to think that somebody found my message in an Apple Juice bottle.