September.

This is always a transitional time of the year, for everyone. It's back-to-school month. In some cases, it's back-to-work month. In other cases, it's back-to-not-seeing-your-child-every-day-all-day month.

September.

I've never liked this month. I have never liked the idea of this kind of change, and it always comes so abruptly, to me anyway. Despite the fact that I look at the date every day, even in the summer time, the morning of September 1, I wake up and feel a sudden chill in the air that wasn't there before, that somehow came to be overnight. It's always been scary for me to say goodbye - even for only a short time - to summertime. I had grown so accustomed to the season of beaches and warmth, lazy afternoons and mindless, easy retail work. Then September slams into me from behind, every year, without fail.

So even though it's always a tough month for me, I have decided this year to make the best of it. It will never be as good as May, or June, or October - December, but I decided to try and make this year's at least a slightly better September than those of years past.

And it's working.

My first full week back at college, this time as a Sophomore, I stayed the weekend even though many people went home around me. Even though I saw parents driving up to campus and helping their children and my fellow peers into the cars with their laundry bags. Even though I overheard conversations between my dorm-mates and their parents - "okay, see you in a few minutes. Love you, Mom." My eyes didn't well up with tears, my smile stayed in place and didn't waver a bit, and my heart didn't begin to race.

I continued on my own path without needing to meet another's.

Is this what it feels like to be happy with where I am in my life right now?
Is this what it feels like to be a well-adjusted college student?
Is this what it feels like to be an adult - a young woman who can function on her own?

Whatever label it deserves, this feels great.
September blues - be gone!

This should not be so hard.

Well. Here we go again. I'm so sick and tired of this. Every single time it's the same exact thing. It's like this part of my life is the ultimate rerun - and not in a good way. It's so overdone. It's been seen so many times now that it's not even half-way decent. They should just cancel this episode altogether. Enough is enough.

So I know this. And I tell myself this. But nothing seems to change. It's like I'm waiting for someone to make the change for me, all the while knowing full well that only I can make this change for myself. It's my life.

And that's just it. It is my life. And I only get this one shot. So why not take a risk now and then? Why not be a little impulsive, a little spontaneous? We only live once.

On the other hand, I only get this one shot. And it is my life. How can I handle my one chance at living, something so precious and fragile, in such a way that there is always the threat of disaster hanging overhead? I can barely hang onto my own two feet, let alone a rocky cliffside. I cannot stand even the idea of putting myself in a position where I do not have complete control, or at least the illusion of it. I like safe things. I've built my world around them, and other people have built my world around them. No one puts children in an unpadded playground anymore.

I like the world that I know. Academics, to start with, are safe for me. There is a clear path to the finish line, I can see exactly how many people will be around to see me cross the finish line, and I can see how far away it is. I know where it ends. It's not unknown. Academics, even in their rigidity and structure, are like cushions to me. The same goes for my family, and the easy connection of female relationships. I've never been able to feel as unthreatened as I do when I'm with my girlfriends. It's melodious - I know that type of body and mind. It's me. Nothing there is unknown either.

Boys, however, are a different story. I don't know that body or mind. I've been told that they're fun and funny and cute and blah blah blah. And occasionally I have found this to be true for myself. I like boys, don't get me wrong. They are indeed fun and funny and cute and blah blah blah. . They're just harder than what I know. I'm good until things begin to steer in a weird direction. I'm used to steering myself. I'm the driver, and I'm damn good at it too. But suddenly, when they want to steer, I can't help but hesitate - and in some cases refuse altogether.

I don't know what to say when they want to get closer. I don't know how to react to their probing questions and declarations - no matter how minor they may be. You want to go to the park with a bunch of friends? Sure. No problem. A bike ride? Of course! I can control my own bike. But a picnic? Just us two? Maybe, maybe not. And a one-on-one, romantic, unplanned date at the lake, where I've been whisked off to, and where we spend the whole day laughing and talking and floating, watching the sun set on the horizon? Absolutely not. That is way too far out of my comfort zone. I don't like lakes. Too closed in. I like the ocean. It's way more spread out, and there are seagulls and rocks and little pools of sea creatures and walks we can take. So many easy distractions are available there. Life's handy tools, just lying around, waiting for me to use them. But the lake is different. It's too much like a Nicholas Sparks novel. And even though I love those stories, there's a big difference between reading them - when they concern other, fictional characters - and becoming them. Once they begin to merge with my everyday life, once I become the female protagonist, there's too much closeness. Too many personal boundaries that threaten to be pushed. Too much on the line. Too much of a chance that I may get hurt. It's cold out there. I like my warm cushions.

I can handle the nevers. I can handle the almosts. I can handle the maybes. And even though I really want what lies beyond all that, I cannot seem to handle anything past it. Once I step over those lines, the clear, lighted pathway to the finish line disappears. I'm just alone on that cliff again, at night. And -- Oh my god, was that a coyote I just heard howling?! One more step, and it could mean I'd fall to my death. If I don't move, that coyote will find me at some point.

But what's worse? What's easier to handle in reality? Is there any real difference? Maybe I'll just stick to my cushions... I can handle the maybes.

The emotional roller-coaster continues.

I can't believe my first year of college is over!

It just flew right by, before I could stop to smell the freshly-planted flowers all around campus. I'm glad to be done with it, in a way. It was a lot to handle. But for the most part I miss it so much. I've only been back home for a few days and I feel ridiculously home-sick for what has become a home away from home. I love my college, and I really miss the people I got to know there. It's difficult to just transition myself so completely - I haven't been home for longer than a weekend in months!

I can't believe that so little time has passed, and yet so much has happened. I have changed so much, in a hundred little ways. I can't believe that a few months ago I was, admittedly, crying because I didn't want to leave my home, and my family, and my friends - all that I've ever known. But now I find myself crying because I want to go back.

I miss the old antique-y buildings of my school. I miss being able to lie out on the lawn with other people, enjoying free campus concerts and talking with new friends. I miss the birds and the trees all over the place. I miss the small, community feel of campus. I miss being able to get food when I wanted with friends every day. I miss the view from my dorm room. I miss feeling completely independent and secure in my routine, surrounded by other people my own age who felt the same way. I miss being enclosed in a space full of intellectually stimulating thoughts and discussions. I miss the memories I made this past year.

I miss being able to do things my way, on my own time.
I miss being on my own.

It is so silly, though. Just a few months ago, I was totally freaking out and was even contemplating taking a year off before continuing with school. The thought of that makes me laugh - think of all that I would have missed out on!

I never would have been closer to realizing who I am, or who I want to be.

I never would have made so much progress on the road to discovering who I can become.

How to describe it ...

I don't even know how to start this.

My cat has cancer. She is going to die.

Just seeing the words outside of my head is enough to make me sick.

Is it strange that I feel so strongly about this? After all, it's not like she is human. Even so, she is a part of my family. I love her and I don't want to let her go. She's my baby.

I was six years old when we went to the shelter to pick out a kitten. I immediately thought she was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. She had the smallest nose, half black and half white. She was mine as soon as I saw her.

We picked her up and brought her home. For a while, she was so small and scared of us that she hid inside my father's shoes -- shoes that even to me at the time seemed so large. I can't remember everything from that time, but I can remember how she would come out at night sometimes, softly mewing. And I can remember how I had to reach down and lift her up to cuddle with me on my bed.

She grew up, and she began to fit into our family as though she really were a person. Looking back, I guess it was completely appropriate that I named her Emily, a person's name, and not a typical pet-name like Fluffy. She had this special personality that made us laugh at her and love her. If we went away on vacation for a week, when we got back she would actually pout and make sure we all knew she had felt abandoned. She would sit on the sofa, blocking our view of the TV, every now and again glancing back at us with a sly look and a flick of her tail. But then she would come around and let us pet her again. If I was sick or sad, she knew it -- she would come over to me and sit by my head, purring and licking my hand.

Eventually, I no longer needed a night-light, because hearing her purring and feeling her warm body under my arm would help me to fall asleep. It was easier to drift into dreams when I knew I wasn't alone in the dark.

I have had her for 13 years. She's been here with me for my entire life. I knew that she was getting older, but I figured she had at least a few more years left, not a few months, if that. I'm not ready to say goodbye. I keep trying to hold in my tears, and my stomach feels tight and it's difficult for me to eat. But I force myself to do both. I knew she would be gone some day, but I never thought that day would come so suddenly... so soon. I guess it doesn't matter -- no matter when that day came it would always seem too sudden, too soon.

I don't have any experience with this. I try to look at the situation from a detatched point of view. Distance is safe. But then something as small as the sound of the bell on my bracelet reminds me of the bell on her collar, tinkling around her little neck as she would come running toward my voice as I called her, and the wave of sorrow hits me again.

How am I supposed to feel like I'm really home when she isn't there by the door to greet me as I walk into the house?

Why do my arms ache so much?

Raising Love.

He grew up elsewhere; some people had their qualms about this, their two-cents to put in. But it didn't matter to her; they were in love then, and they are in love now. And nothing is ever going to change that.

So then he came here, and it took some getting used to. Changes always take some getting used to. Her parents almost scared him back onto the plane, but he survived. More than that: he thrived. There were some downs, but mostly there were ups. And that's what counts.

Then they were born; first it was a "her," and second it was a "him." And on the rust-colored rug they played: the three of them; he and his two, while she watched and warned about broken bones and being too rough. "Horsey," it was called; and they loved him for it.

He was their hero.

Then they all got older, and the game had to stop. But other games and non-games began to take its place, so there was no real loss in the end. As there really never is, in the end. They all went to meets, games; more meets than games, but the love was the same. It was the kind of love that gives in so many different ways; forever growing and taking new form; teaching all in various ways at various times.

And his first saved some experiences for him, like watching movies only when he could watch them too, until she learned later she didn't have to. He might experience it through her later, in words (she could never stop the flow of words). Or they might both just experience it another time. Together. The movies are another link between them, between his first and him -- love for X-Men (especially Wolverine, on her part); love for Superman; love for Batman; love for Spider-Man. Love for each other.

There were many jokes. Some didn't work so well, because he was always a little terrible at telling them. Oh, sorry -- "my bag" -- he was REALLY terrible at telling them. But that was okay; it made it funnier, it made it a new joke that they could keep between them all. So really, his jokes did work well, but not in the way one might expect. In a different way, a way that grew with them all, one that took different forms and peeked out from behind the corner every now and then. It had to do with the love that fed them all, and so it's hard to explain to people on the outside.

One joke was that he could be a ninja. He could be a sort of superhero, just like Superman and Batman and Spider-Man. He laughed about it, and so did they. But his first saw something else: in the shameless, yet bashfully and sheepish laughter and grins; in the statements said between such laughter -- "you guys always make fun of me!" Maybe it was because of her overly-analytical mind, always working itself into new conclusions. Maybe it was because there really was some truth to what she saw, to what she heard. In her eyes, it was as though he yearned to be able to fly, to have laser-vision, to jump from building to building. "The world is my gym!" He yearned to be a real-life superhero.

But what he didn't see, what his first saw, was that he is a superhero already, but a different kind. Like their love and like his jokes, he is a kind one might not expect. He didn't seem to know it; or maybe he knew once, but had forgotten as they got older. He is a superhero that is even better than all the others that they saw, on the films and in the books. He could do things that no one else could, things that were better -- cooler -- than jumping from building to building. Things that mattered just as much as saving the whole world in two hours. (Or even "24" hours, depending on how you define "superhero.") In fact, he was faster. He could save the world of his first in a matter of minutes, with just a few words; with just a conversation; with just a simple look. With just a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

He is the best superhero in the world. He is something no one else could ever be.

He is her father.

Forget.

I wish I could just forget you already. I wish other people would just forget you already. I'm ready. I know it's time.

I watched you leave, but at the time I thought you'd be back. It was before I knew it was goodbye for good. For the greater good. For the both of us. For the better.

Maybe I should have been better. But they said I shouldn't put this on myself. They said you should have treated me better -- you should have shown more interest, let me be the girl. Do your friends say this about me, to you, minus the girl part? Well, it doesn't matter.

Because now you are minus the girl part.

But that's not why you still keep me up at nights, sometimes. That's not why your face appears, behind my closed lids, while I try to let darkness wrap me up like woolen blankets, to soothe the day away. Because sometimes you are there too, in the day. But in the night, your face eats up the blackness of the night. Behind my lids. I wish I could just put a lid on the jar of you, store you in the back of the pantry. But I can't seem to figure out how. So your face appears, and even then you seem to wait for me to do something, instead of doing something yourself. What did I even want you to do? Nothing. It's easier this way.

But not really. You just hover there, looking at me. Last night you did this again. A gain -- that's also what they told me, before. They said you would be good for me, would help me gain something. What was it? Who cares. It didn't work, did it?

But it still hurts -- you were an almost. And almosts leave room for guessing, for imagining. And that is a killer.

Why are you here, another time, frozen in the shaky corners of my mind? Of this piece of my mind, this piece of me. Why am I afraid that one night the blackness of the dark behind my lids will soon eat you up instead? "Don't you forget about me..." Do I regret anything, despite what they said? Does it matter? No, not really. "Don't don't don't don't .... Don't you forget about me."

What's with this stupid song?

Anyway that's not why you keep me up some nights. It's because I never had the chance to love you. You never let me; I never let myself. Whatever. Same difference, right? No. So what. But even that isn't so important, isn't the real reason.

Honestly, I just love to lie to myself.

You didn't give me a chance to love you, but you gave me a chance for something else. You gave me a chance to love lying to myself even more.

Thanks for that.

2011

Growing up I have made many attempts to organize myself into a personal spreadsheet, a sort of bulletin board of myself. But all of it has spilled over, and now my room is a little hole in the world of Kaela. It's kind of lost all cohesiveness, but at the same time has gained a sense of balance and "togetherness." Which is weird and ironic, but also common to life.

An antique jewelry case; typed and written poems stashed in folders; origami, sketches and paintings; documented days in diaries; room decorations and renovations; snippets of paint colors that I can't get enough of ....  It's just important to me to have some of my past and present collected so that I can plan for my future. And then once I have reached that future, if I captured myself well enough, I can reflect and plan for the next future, and the next, and so on.

On my desk, under a clear desk mat, I have stored a bunch of this collection. Strips of wrapping paper I have loved from Christmases past; ticket stubs from movies I saw; notes from and photos of friends who have helped me to create the best memories I have for my whole life; a photograph of my three-year-old self kissing my newborn baby brother; pieces of fabrics, patterns and colors that spoke to me.

Every now and again, I look down at this and think of the girl I used to be, and how she compares with the young woman I am now. Sometimes I can feel a significant difference, other times I think I haven't really changed at all.

♥♥♥

This year, I want to make another plan for my future. I want (in no particular order) ...

1) to achieve something worthwhile
2) to smell something fresh and let it surge through me, all the way down to my toes
3) to let something good linger
4) to be comfortable and sophisticated
5) to completely and forever accept my curls
6) to see the color in everything (even the wind)
7) to take a camera back to Little Italy in NYC with my best friends, and to take a photo of ourselves in that little threshold we sat in with gelato dripping down our arms.
8) to feel warm in the cold
9) to find the perfect pair of shoes



Happy New Year!

Boxes Are For Squares.

It's time for arts and crafts. On small tables are rolls of ribbon; googly-eyes; glue; pads of construction paper; and little scissors with a mutlitude of colored handles. Everyone dives right in, eyes glinting with joy and minds already picturing a masterpiece, just waiting to be brought to life by little hands. One girl has drawn Mommy and Daddy on either side of herself, each holding one of her hands. Another has drawn a pretty princess in a castle. A boy has designed a blue frog in a forest of red leaves. They all show each other what they have created. Eyes bulge with interest and perhaps a smidge of jealousy as they see what their classmates have come up with, but then it is their turn to show what they have done. At once, any trace of jealousy leaves their faces, and each child eagerly presents their own jewels. By this time, they've all been trained well.

That's it. Simple and perfect. A feeling exists, but then it doesn't; envy of another is replaced with pride of the self. We are taught from the time we are in kindergarten to notice and to appreciate others, while simultaneously never losing sight of what makes us special individuals.

I've been told more than once that you never truly forget anything once you've learned it.

So. When did it become okay to stop appreciating others? When did it become acceptable to build a box, put a person inside of it, and sit on top until the prisoner has learned that being different is undesirable and bad?

Oh wait -- that's right!

It didn't.

The laws of that long-ago era still apply. You still have to abide by the basic rules of kindergarten: differences are good and should be cherished. That's what makes us special, unique individuals. So stop building your boxes, and stop putting me inside. I'm going to break out of them; I'm not going to learn your twisted lessons.

I'm never going to be exactly who or how you want me to be, but you should learn to appreciate that. Being me is awesome, just like being you is equally awesome! Don't be so hateful -- embrace it.

Life is too short to forget what you were taught when you were five.

A Mission.

So I haven't stayed on campus yet. It's been about a month and a half now since I've been in college, but every single weekend I've gone home. And I haven't regretted it, because I believe that everyone has to adjust to new circumstances at their own pace. There is no set standard -- how can there be one, when there is no set standard for human nature? Everything is relative.

Nevertheless, this weekend will be different. This weekend, I'm staying here. People say it's boring because most students go home, but I'm going to un-bore my time. I am excited to experience this, excited to really separate myself and thus establish a new life that is all mine.

I know now that beginning this separation, and completing it, doesn't mean I simultaneously must sever ties with those I love most. It just means that I will be adding another layer on top of the tie, bonding us all closer still. There will be a change, but it will not have the black, murky result I initially thought it might. It will be an approachable, embracable bright yellow, glowing with happiness and health.

I'll make sure of it.

Put on the Music.

I felt like I was sinking quietly early this morning, lost in an empty space that spilled all over my mind like a fallen inkpot.

I was alone in my room for once (a rare instance when you have four other roommates) and I realized that, since it was just me, it didn't have to be so quiet. I started out softly, just easing myself back into my old routine of singing out loudly. First, it was some of Celine Dion's older, more relaxed sounds. But the feelings of rejuvination and life began to grow inside my heart, trickling down into my lungs and fueling me with happiness that soon I could no longer contain myself! Finally, I was able to crank Muse and Adam Lambert out of my speakers, singing at the top of my lungs. Another piece of my self come back and stitched itself to my soul with every breath I drew. Soon, my throat was dry and class was only 15 minutes away, so I calmed down with some ABBA and Fleetwood Mac. But it was enough for now. It was enough for me to remember.

So I felt like I was sinking quietly today. But then I remembered that the empty spaces that I sometimes feel between my toes don't always have to creep their way up to my heart. They don't have to be so threatening. I can control the tides and stop them from overtaking me. I don't have to drown today or tomorrow, or the day after.

Just put on some music, get up and jam!

Oh, but to Breathe.

When I was younger, I used to think I could breathe underwater. If I just closed my eyes, stayed submerged for long enough, and really willed myself to do it, I was convinced that it was possible. And for some reason, even after I broke the surface in a spluttering mess, I would dive back down a few minutes later. Again and again. And one day, I swore it worked! One day, I thought I actually took a breath from underneath the serene waves. I remember hesitating for a second, and then bursting out of the water in gleeful astonishment. And for a long string of months after the event, I believed that I had, in the most fleeting of moments, become a real live fish, and taken a breath underwater.

Didn't we all do and believe in silly things like this as children, thinking that it could be real as long as we kept trying? There must be something you can think of that you used to believe was possible.

Ah, the pure persistence of a child -- to conquer what defies the laws of nature so that dreams might turn into realities. But is that only applicable to a child's mind? If someone was to have maintained this mentality, someone who is not a child but has, say, just turned eighteen ... might it still be called happy, child-like naievete? Or is it muddled by experience, so that it's now just plain stupidity?

Nowadays, sitting at our desks with overwhelming piles of books and work before us, it takes some effort to sit back, relax for a second -- and remember to breathe.

Sometimes, like now, I stop and remember when I used to think I could transform myself into a creature who could do anything, even if it meant defying my nature and breathing underwater.

I don't remember when I stopped believing that was possible.

Maybe it was when I stopped remembering to sit back, relax for a second -- and remember to breathe.

Everything I Do.

"I heard that you like the bad girls. Honey is that true?"

-- Lana Del Rey's "Video Games"

Why is it that no matter what I do,

you just keep on coming

back to me

for more?

New Beginnings.

I'm still trying to get used to living away from home, to meeting new people basically every day, and trying my hardest to redefine myself.

Until now, among other things I have been a leader and a swimmer. I was the singer, the reader. The writer. Now, I have to reinvent myself.

Or maybe I should say now I have the chance to reinvent myself. I have the chance to embrace a whole new world with brand new faces. The chance to relinquish my past and set free the other sides of myself, some of which have been bursting and threatening to collapse my mind from the inside out -- and it's now mine for the taking. I owe it to those who have nurtured me and held my hand thus far. I owe it to myself.

Something like this should be exciting -- the chance for a fresh breath of brand new air! To fill my lungs with something other than memories of the way I was reflected in other peoples' eyes is, at times, mind-boggling. This is a time for growth, to take those leaps I have been dreaming of, for once to mold myself into whomever I choose. It's the time for falling and making mistakes, but then getting right back up again -- on my own. It's the opportunity of a lifetime!

But why is it also so scary?

We Are Artists.

Girl: It's nothing great... Just a quick drawing from a long while ago.
Boy: It's cool. You should take more pride in your work.
Girl: Well. .. thanks I guess. Haven't drawn much lately. ... but I want to.
Boy: You should.
Girl: I mean, it's not like I'm a real artist or anything.
Boy: But that's just it - you can be if you want to.
Girl: Yeah. I guess.

A Fresh Breeze.

There is something so special about the change of seasons, don't you think?

Waking up in the dark might not seem fun. But then, feeling snuggly under the covers again as the chilly morning air floats through the open windows and seems to swallow the room whole is a beautiful thing. It's so much better than kicking the blankets off in the common, sticky frustration of summer.

People say that Spring is the season for birth and renewal. All those ideas of purity. But really it's Winter that cleanses everything. At least, everything around here.

What is more rejuvenating than the blanket of white slumber that comes with the season of frost, covering what used to be the world? Who doesn't want to see the pollution and corruption of our society buried under a pile of soft snow and cold?

Come on now -- don't kid yourself. Would you rather continue in a world of sludge and muck, when you can instead fall and drown in icy, crystalized secrets that are bound to consume you inevitably?

There is nothing quite like it.