Being right. When it rains. Summertime. Especially, summertime in New York City. Laughing. Singing alone and believing I sound good. Sleeping. Watching TV. Writing. Especially, writing (good) poems and personal essays. Telling jokes/making other people laugh. Cooking, but only when it’s fancy and/or tastes really good. Writing lists. Having a good cry. Traveling. Driving through L.A./on the freeway late at night. Getting all dolled up, but only sometimes. My natural, curly hair. My great-grandmother’s wedding ring. My (deceased) cat, Sparkle. Forcing my mom to cuddle with me when I’m lonely. Sitting in my car before going into the house, so I can decompress from the outside world and not bring that energy into my home. Getting my eyebrows waxed/plucked. Getting a facial. Getting a manicure/pedicure. Not having a full-time job. Teaching. Working with young people. Performing, but not necessarily acting. My father’s BBQ. My stepmom’s mashed potatoes and mac-n-cheese. My mom’s fried fish, fried chicken, and gumbo. Shopping at bougie-ass grocery stores like Sprout’s, Whole Foods, and Trader Joe’s. People watching. Sitting in an airport, waiting to go somewhere. Making lists. My grandmother’s laugh. My friends and family, but that should go without saying. Growing up and getting wiser, but also realizing how much I don’t know shit about shit. Writing people e-mails/letters. A well-crafted text/tweet/Facebook status. Reading. Making fun on people. Giving critiques. That feeling after you workout when you’re like, “Oh, damn, I just did all that with my body?” When my skin is completely clear of acne. Daydreaming. A really good glass of wine. French fries, ice cream, and soup. Eating at restaurants. Living in big cities. Going to the beach and putting my feet in the water. Drawing. Being financially independent. Being my parents’ daughter. Eating a really good meal alone. When my room is clean and all my laundry is put away.
I’ve been feeling hella nostalgic lately.
With one high school best friend’s pending nuptials next month and another high school best friend coming home early from the military last week, I just have a lot of feelings. I feel old and young at the same time. I am definitely not the same person I was seven years ago… or even a year ago. But I’m not quite sure about who I’ve become. It’s all very meta and very existential.
Last night, a big group of us got together for dinner at Downtown Disney. It was a pseudo-homecoming celebration for my friend who just got out of the Air Force. Even though he just got home, he leaves for a contract job in Afghanistan soon. Sitting around a table with people I literally grew up with as we talked about college, relationships, jobs, and traveling over beers was so surreal. I was trying to be in the moment and enjoy it all. But it was also a lot to process.
I still have very distinct memories from high school. But also, those times are not as vivid as they used to be. I can remember events and jokes and milestones. But I don’t remember details anymore. I’m starting to forget people’s names. It’s weird, this whole growing up thing. This whole memory thing. My memories are probably the most important thing to me. I attribute this to being/wanting to be a writer. My memories are a huge source of my material and inspiration.
So what happens when I stop remembering?