part II: stories untold

he asked me what was wrong,

he said he was my friend.

but i sat there wondering,

what kind of friend

would do this to a friend?

// Lies People Tell //


saying goodbye is hard for me

because I watched the ones I loved,

leave,

without saying a word.

// wordless //


we’re talking

and fighting

and screaming

and crying

; pretending that we’re listening to each other’s hearts,

when we’re only really interested in our own

// we aren’t listening //


everyones laughing drunkenly outside the window at the memories they won’t be able to remember tomorrow

I wonder what is so appealing about the idea of forgettable nights and engaging with strangers who won’t exist by tomorrow morning

then I remember,

that forgetting those moments

allows us to re-live them over and over again

sometimes not remembering tells us

those moments were worth forgetting

because if we did remember what happened,

we may just decide to not live,

or at least live the way we did,

that night,

and on all the other nights we chose to forget

// Is this living? // 


you looked at my bones like gold,

and pushed my skin down

to imagine a finer distinction

pointier,

rougher,

and thinner

than my own

silently,

you showed me what you wanted

and what I was at that moment,

was not enough.

// Bones like Gold // 


80… 90….100 

miles per hour we go

you sped down the road

hands smashing onto the dashboard

with my screams turning into tears

as I gripped the side of my seat

accepting the fact that this car ride may never end,

and this seatbelt may never come off

unless I jump out the door

// Safety First // 


“pretty, pretty please Nan,

can I come back really, really soon?”

she said to me.

with tears in my eyes,

I couldn’t find the words to respond.

it had been a decade since I wished to stay somewhere

so strongly that I begged

I realized at that moment,

that I would never experience that longing again

childhood was the only time that a feeling like that existed

// Longing //


I look at her and wonder where the world went wrong

if everyone were to have the soul of a 3-year-old girl,

things may go differently

as I ponder,

she turns to me out of the blue and asks,

“Are you okay?”

I want to scream no and tell her that she’ll only be able to wonder how others feel for so long until she learns the truth,

that no one’s okay.

everyone’s pretending.

and that someday she’ll stop asking

because she’ll know the answer is a lie,

or at least not the full truth

the people who embrace her kindness and shield her youth today

are bound to be overpowered tomorrow

by the corruption

and anger

and guilt

and pain

that could overflow oceans

and hearts

and minds

during this,

all I want to do is look at her and say

“are you okay?”

because I know there will only be so many more times that

she will say yes

and really mean it without hesitation

but instead I tell her that I’m okay

because I need her to believe this half-truth

she has yet to unmask

and secretly I hope that someday

she may grow older

and still believe it

without hesitation

as I used to

before.

I think that if we all chose

to protect the hearts of 3-year-old girls,

and allowed them to bask in oblivion for just a bit longer

without exposing them to what our modern-day truth looks like

that maybe someday,

somewhere,

a little girl will create her own

and although she may have never known our version,

we gave her the chance

we hadn’t been given:

to form her own truth

without it being decided for her.

// you decide // 


back…again?

Since I haven’t blogged in months and my life has turned back into an uneventful, summer bliss I figured it was time to get back into the writing game.

Unlike sophomore year summer Emilee, junior year summer Emilee has a minimum amount of complaints about her life.

Life is good. Really good. Annoyingly good. Good enough to make me unable to write the things I used to, and process emotions the way I used to. I hate to say it, but I’ve become one of those people; a person who is annoyingly talking about the joys in her life.

My parents are great… in fact, greater than ever. We get along? I don’t know how that happened within the span of a year, but I’d like to think that my anxiety meds had a GREAT deal to do with it. Thank you Prozac, you’re the shit. Since we’re on the topic of prozac, my dog used to take it too. He died, but I’d like to think the pill made both of our lives much better. RIP Baxter, I miss you. You were also “the shit.”

My friends… now that’s a subject that seems to never drastically change throughout the years. A lot of work as usual, but luckily I have a boyfriend that gives me the power to avoid most of them 99.9 % of the time. If I could redo anything starting from the beginning of my freshman year, I would choose befriending on close manners MORE than 5 females.

The thing that’s wrong with befriending ONLY 5 females is, they also only befriend 5 females. Therefore, you have the same friends. All the time. No breaks. With more and more and more shit piling between you over the many years. And what’s even worse than your 5 female friends, is your multiple male friends. The chubby, weird, AWESOME guys I befriended back in seventh grade have now learned to think with more than their brains. Instead, they now uses their penises.

Okay, okay, but now I’ll skip back to the positives. I mentioned earlier I have a boyfriend.  I love my boyfriend. He’s better than prozac, he’s like my savior. He rubs my head and gives me back massages when I’m tense. He deals with my anxiousness and awkwardness on a daily basis and still treats me like I’m the best thing ever (I’m so not). But what am I then? LUCKY. I’m lucky that I learned what I didn’t want and finally found what I did. Someone who’s kind, adorable, attentive, and most of all imperfect. Perfect is a word meant for the oblivious and ignorant. No one will ever be perfect. But damn, he’s pretty close. But what I have learned about love is, the imperfections become your favorite parts. You love someone for all the things you actually do LOVE about them, but you also learn to love the things you hate too.  I wouldn’t change a single thing. I mean I wouldn’t change a thing other  than the fact that he’s a year older and leaving me for college next year. That’s going to be a large, large, large, large, did i mention large? BUMMER!

Lastly (for today), I think that I’ve grown up. I learned my priorities and kinda, sorta what I want from the world and people around me. No, I’m not necessarily getting it. But I do plan to, someday. My life is full of somedays. But I like somedays because they give me something to look forward to. I can’t help but hope for that big journalism career, or going to the schools that are unattainable for me. I can’t help but dream of my perfect life with my three adorable boys and beautiful, kind husband. Someday sounds pretty good to me, of course if I make it there.

 

Authenticity

I spent my MEA weekend with some great friends, and my awesome family. Usually, these trips end up in somewhat of a dramatic spin. Luckily, this one turned out with not one at all.

A large portion of our weekend was spent telling stories. These stories varied back to our childhoods, and even to our parents college years. Each one of them having some type of comedy or lesson involved.

A lot of our stories related to family, and often there were strange ones about them. But the awesome part about it was, we embraced it for how it is. Our strange (believe me) extended families are a huge part of our day to day lives, and how we view things today. I can’t, and on most days, wouldn’t change it.

After these stories, I ended up sitting with my dads best friend from college, Stacey, talking about backgrounds. What the conversation came down to was this: Backgrounds are what make us authentic.

I never had really thought of it that way until she said it. Authentic means real and genuine, and that’s exactly what I look for in people.

I’m attracted to people (friends & significants) who are real. Who embrace who they are, and have a real sense of where they came from. I love people who actually have a background and can see it for what it is. This is what makes people different, and interesting. I don’t know what could be more compelling than those two words.

What this conversation taught me was no matter what your background is, it’s authentic. It’s a part of who you are. As much as you hate, or love your family, they are a huge part of shaping who you are today.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is this:

Authenticity isn’t just something you should be noticing and looking for in objects.

Authenticity is branded into people as well.

Real and genuine are two things that have always stood as a major importance in my life. I think that’s mostly because I come from two parents who lived two very different lifestyles. I love and respect that. I think that’s something that makes people interesting.

Basically, authentic is something we should all strive to be. Whether you’re background is 100% clean, or entirely dirty, it is a always a part of you.

I rather hear the truth about someone’s story all day than a pile of bullshit. Different will always be better than boring.

Being who you are is what makes you authentic, embrace it. Wherever you came from is too, and that’s something to be acknowledged.