It was cliche, really. I was sitting on the most beautiful beach, in the most perfect sunshine, toes in the sand. It was one of those I live where people vacation moments us San Diegians have to struggle through every now and then. I had just gotten coffee with, and was now sitting next to, one of my best friends. Twelve hours earlier I was on a date with a cute boy. Um, hi, perfect weekend.
I sat there, and couldn’t shake the news of Philando Castile ruling that filled my Twitter feed that morning. The Cosby mistrial. The – let’s be honest – shit show that is America’s government at the moment. I sat trying to come to terms with these two extremes: my seemingly perfect life and the heart breaking world we live in. I don’t know whether to mourn or be furious. I don’t know whether to start the charge or throw up my hands in defeat. I don’t know how to make sense of it.
Justice seems like something so far out of our grasp. Peace feels like a pipe dream. Read More
I lost a lot of weight this year.
Which feels funny to type, as it’s currently the holiday season and my clothes are fitting a biiiiiit tight. It’s also a week after my birthday (I have a whole 7 days of being 25 under my belt!) and a few days after my party. And I’ve been reflecting on how different I’m feeling than this time last year.
24 started out rough for me. It’s been a healing year, thankfully. But the healing came after the pain – old wounds, reopened, in order to heal properly this time around. Sometimes the surgeons have to go back in, to re-fix the same old problem. Sometimes wounds get infected, without proper care. Sometimes the sickness just keeps coming back, no matter how many remedies you’ve tried. But the good news? Healing is possible. Healing is worth fighting for. Read More
I recently sprained my back.
“How?!” is the first thing that immediately pops out of people’s mouths when they hear that. And “…how old are you??” (Some people only think this in their heads; some people say it out loud.) I’m 24 going on 85, thank you very much. And I have no clue how I did it. No. Clue.
What started off as my back being a bit sore as I was at the grocery store quickly turned into me clutching my back in my kitchen, confusedly telling my roommates I had no idea what was going on. Fast forward a week and a half – including a morning text to my boss of “currently can’t move or get dressed, TBD if I can make it in today”, traveling around with my heated blanket that I was using as a makeshift heating pad, a fun 4 day road trip (OUCH), and more Tiger’s Balm than I knew was possible to put on one body – I was sitting in the doctor’s office hearing the strange diagnosis. “Well, you definitely sprained it.” Add that to my list of fun health problems. Read More
I unlocked my car – bwoop bwoop – and instantly wanted to cry. I stopped in my tracks, about 5 yards away from my parking spot, and took a deep breath. It was one of those Fridays-from-hell after an already long work week, so that may have contributed to my emotional state. But I took a look at my Life is Good tire cover, my faded and peeling LA sticker, my embarrassing license plate holder from high school (not telling what it says) – my insanely dirty car in all its glory. I blinked back tears, because it would never be in this parking lot again.
I left work, and my check engine light went from “on” to “angrily blinking at me”. My car shook – enough so that my arms were involuntarily jumping – at every red light I came to. I was doing my new normal: praying that my car would make it to my destination. I was on the official countdown: less than 24 hours! In less than 24 hours, my beat up CR-V would be dropped of at our family mechanic – hopefully to be fixed but at this point who knows – and I would be picking up my shiny new (to me) CR-V that was simultaneously saving my life and draining my bank account. I should have been ecstatic – within a week of my car getting a death wish, I miraculously found exactly what I was looking for, exactly in my price range, with lower miles than I expected (thank you, random family moving to the Netherlands). Instead, I was heart broken. Read More
“But what actually happened?”
“You know… I wish I knew,” I told him.
It was a question I often get asked, a story I often avoid going into. But for the first time, it was a person asking who would truly understand. It was someone I felt safe to unpack it with, and, even more, wanted to unpack it with. I wanted some insight, I wanted understanding. But I didn’t even know where to begin, because I still don’t know. I don’t even know.
I walked into church Sunday night exhausted. Exhausted doesn’t even come close to describing it, really. Is there a word for “every time I stop moving my body wants to fall asleep”, “there’s more things on my to-do list than minutes in a day”, “I almost cried in the aisle of Target because they were out of bananas”? Let me know.
A few hours earlier, I had to say goodbye to a friend as he heads back to Malawi. A friend that two weeks ago I never expected to see anytime soon, and yet his departure ripped a hole inside me. His surprise presence in my life over the last week has been such a source of joy. And such a source of challenge. It’s brought memories of good times and hard times. It’s brought about conversations that seem to flow so effortlessly with some people, and yet seem impossible with others. It’s brought a reminder of a person I used to be, a season come and now gone.
It was a peaceful Sunday afternoon. Cliche, really. I was sprawled out on my bed, finishing up Jen Hatmaker’s For the Love (soo good, you guys!), when I heard it – a weird, giant sucking noise, followed by a loud gurgle. Um, what?! That’s strange, I thought. Maybe if I pretend it didn’t happen, I won’t have to deal with it, I thought (Maturity 101). No other noises came. On with my book. I was a happy camper.
Until, of course, I walked into my bathroom maybe 10 minutes later and saw nasty, dirty water seeping up out of my shower drain. Caught between “This is so GROSS” and “Oh my gosh, what if it fills the entire shower and leaks over onto the bathroom floor?!”, I did what any other 24 year old does and called my dad, freaking out.