What I was craving most in the spring, while I was inside writing and editing and researching and studying, was to be outside by the water. Last summer, swimming was everything. It was a cleansing ritual, a sort of rebirth, though less romantic and in slightly slimy water. But, being underwater is unique in that you have to be in touch with your body in a very specific sort of way, but the body itself is blurry. It isn’t until I get out of the water that I have to confront what my body and mind are demanding, at that moment. It’s interesting, how something can be a way of deflecting and a way of coming into myself.

I’m coming back to that phrase now, finding yourself. Many have told me, told others, written, preached, that your 20s are for just that– finding yourself and changing and growing but also staying true to yourself somehow? Be independent, but fall in love and think about having kids. Settle down, but go as many places as you can. Bathe in your youth, but become more mature. Don’t be financially irresponsible, but don’t be stagnant. Be exceptional, but be humble. Don’t be reckless, but don’t be overly cautious. These expectations (and a myriad of others) crush imagination, making dreaming much harder. Imagination becomes unordinary, rare.

Finding ourselves feels not only daunting, but too broad of an ask. What parts of ourselves are we meant to ‘find’? Once they are found, somehow, then what? I looked up the origins of the phrase, and found myself falling down a rabbit hole reading multiple people’s personal accounts of self-discovery. I think my main qualm with this phrase is that to find implies that something is lost. This initiates a sort of search– a journey to locate parts of ourselves that have seemingly disappeared, been stolen, or are concealed. There’s an article by Jordan Taver, an editor at Forbes, where he writes that there are three benefits to finding yourself. You feel in control of your life, life doesn’t happen to you, and you’re excited to wake up every day. Every day! Well, in that case, let’s get cooking…

I think this finding is more of a returning for me, right now. Returning to myself the last time I wasn’t a student, so maybe three or four years old? This is not a search for a lost thing, because I always hold my younger self with me. Returning to her just means being in conversation with her, paying attention to what she needs. She does not ask to be found, understood, dissected. Just to be included, seen, and a witness to the beauty, the devastation, the humor, the disappointment, the wonder, of everyday life.

This post-grad transition has felt isolating at times. But, as I write and reflect, I have come to realize that I am not alone, and that this uncertainty is not rare– rather, it is ordinary. In the change you inevitably face, where do you land? Who might be next to you, or waiting when you arrive? How might resisting transformation be a barrier to your creativity? How may grieving our pasts act as both an expansion and a sort of blockage? Food for thought, or for the journal, or maybe for the next top sheet… Only time will tell. Thanks for sticking around.

My summer reads so far:

Sunburn by Chloe Michelle Howarth ★★★★★

I Who Have Never Known Men by Jaqueline Harpman ★★★★★

Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar ★★★★★

Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson ★★★★

The Safekeep by Yael van der Wouden ★★★★★

Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters ★★★★

Great Big Beautiful Life by Emily Henry ★★★

All Our Yesterdays by Natalia Ginzburg ★★★★

Heart the Lover by Lily King ★★★

Funny Story by Emily Henry ★★★★

Current reads:

Little Alleluias by Mary Oliver

A Swim in a Pond in the Rain by George Saunders

Sister Outsider by Audre Lorde

Thanks for reading!

xoxo,

B

Telling a story is a risk– to be perceived in a way you are unsure of, to not know what your image rests on. To catch them by surprise might jeopardize the version of yourself that is so carefully curated. This is not to say that we should always be explaining our every sensation to everyone we encounter. Rather, it is to consider that saying the same thing every time we try to describe ourselves or the place we currently are is boring, and for convenience alone. To deny the ways our atmospheres and each little thing we touch, we taste, we relate to, pricks us– that is where the risk exists. By ignoring all parts of ourselves except for one while conversing and reflecting, we are telling our bodies and minds that they are only valid (or only exist at all) while in a certain place. Other than that, they are disposable, forgettable, meant to be discarded.

Since risks come with changing our minds, convenience comes from presenting in the same way, again, and again, and again. Convenience strips us of variability, uniqueness, and creativity, by convincing us that the easiest way to go about our feelings is to choose a couple, and ignore the rest. It tells us that only categorizing ourselves as one thing makes it easier to explain who we are, and makes us more digestible to others. The convenience of choosing an answer and sticking with it poses vulnerability and fluctuation as dangerous things. I propose that by discarding vulnerability, we sacrifice not only how we present, but how we move– we place limits on our own creativity, in every sense of the word. Creativity may be our savior in all of this– entering into conversations with one another through creating and innovating, using our vulnerability and our inherent moldability as people, may save us. Entering into dynamic conversations may take time, but creating in community could be the beginning.

So, New Years…maybe, from here on out, I will remind myself that I have permission to change my mind. I will embrace my constantly evolving nature within each and every interactions. Thank you for sticking with me for the past few years– this space gives me the permission to do just that.

The December REPORT!

Reading: I recently finished This is How You Lose the Time War, which my bestie/cousin gave to me annotated. I annotated it too, responding to her comments and writing my own. It was so lovely, and I would highly recommend it. I also finished Camera Lucida by Ronald Barthes yesterday, which is about photography and grief. I read this in part for my thesis, and it was lovely– it is fairly short, and highly philosophical (so it may take a while to get through), but it was wonderful nonetheless.

Eating: all the delectable things my mom has been cooking

Playing: The ipad…to be truthful and open with you all

Obsessing: Colorful outfits in the wintertime to keep spirits up!

Recommending: gifting independent magazine subscriptions!

A wonderful treat for anyone plus you will be supporting independent journalism and media which is always good. Plus who doesn’t love receiving a bit of mail every once in a while!

Some I found that look splendid;

• Stack

• Adventure Journal

• Eye

• Sidetracked

• Delayed Gratification

Treating: I was given a red leather bag for Christmas, and I absolutely love it. I can’t wait to have it as a little pop of color wherever I go. Thank you mom and dad! My first big girl bag and it feels like a very fitting year for it.

I am looking forward to what is to come in 2026! Happy year of the horse my friends

Recently, I (temporarily) lost a job. It was stressful news for a myriad of reasons, but mostly, I just miss how joyful it was. Today was the first day I truly felt the absence of routine. Sitting at home during the hours I’m usually active, times when there’s piles of clothes and basketballs and laughter and fighting all around me, was something I immediately knew I wanted to avoid. My roommate and I drove home from school, I had a quick snack, and took off immediately to go to my favorite new coffee shop within walking distance. I set down my computer, and immediately knew this space would foster my writing in a way I hadn’t found recently.

Today, I was texting with my friends from home about their Christmas break plans. Now that the four of us are at different schools, winter is the only time we are guaranteed to have a bit of crossover. This year, it might only be a few days. I read the messages in the library as they popped up on my computer. I turned notifications off, because I felt a lump in my throat, and I had tutoring. There didn’t seem like an adequate way to explain to a guy I was meeting for the first time that my eyes were watering because my favorite people are all thriving in ways that just so happen to distance us from one another. Our distance is bittersweet. My friends are in love, traveling, making plans for the future, living boldly in the present. On days I doubt myself, I think of them, because I must have been doing something right to have earned their company. On days where I doubt where my home is, I remind myself that my homes extend outside of whichever one I pick for myself.

Love doesn’t feel childish anymore, if it ever did. Love kept some of us young, and forced some of us to grow up faster than we wanted to. It reminded us that nothing can prevent the pain of heartbreak. It reminded us that nothing could transgress the permanence of our friendships, and it reminded us of how lucky we are to have loves that would never dare falter. I am in and with love, all of the time. I see love in the way the May sun illuminated the faces of my many homes, and the way the October sun bathes the faces of friends who make my life familiar, who summon safety into a place I am still learning.

October sun has a versatility I can only hope to embody. Right now, she heats my shoulders and neck exactly like she did in July. Even from indoors, she echos through the glass, imprinting on my skin, a reminder of the many summer months of dock days and evening swims. A reminder of the consistency I lost, and the unexpected sources of joy I’ve learned will come, as they do, more often than we like to admit. I go back and forth between being terrified and excited that I cannot guess what tomorrow will look like. Either way, I try to predict goodness.

Ending this with another R.e.p.o.r.t. I hope your day is wonderful and magical and we shall talk soon.

R: reading

I have been reading things for school and not much else…even though I’m sure I could carve out the time to read other things. I’m in a Brontes class right now, and so far we have read Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. I preferred Jane Eyre, but both were a bit challenging to get through (mainly because they were written in the 1800s– I’m more of a contemporary novel person, I think).

E: eating

So much good stuff. I wasn’t sure what cooking was going to look like for me when I moved into my own place for the first time because before this I’d either lived at home or had a meal plan. I’m going through at least 2-3 cans of chickpeas per week– every time I make them, I try different ratios of different spices, and soon, I’ll be able to coin my own chickpea recipe (I’ll share it as soon as I do). My roommate and I cook dinners together and for each other sometimes, and we do all of our grocery shopping together, which is a wonderful feeling. I’ve grown fond of cooking (mostly), especially as I find recipes that suit the season. Here are some of the meals we have made in our apartment thus far!

P: playing

The new Olivia Dean album has been on repeat for me. Every song is beautiful and it’s such a joy to listen to! It’s become one of those albums that I turn on and love so hard that I worry I’ll play it too much and get tired of it (but I don’t foresee that happening). I love to dance to it and sing it in the car and also lay in bed and just think about a couple of them and how they portray both the uncertainty and the gratitude I’ve been feeling lately.

O: obsessed!

Enough said

R: recommended

Dressing up like a princess. And going to get a drink with your friends, any night of the week.Also watercolors and looking for snails on rainy walks and tzatziki and taking one billion pictures of your ca

T: treating

Pie/cake/other baked goods at Lauretta Jean’s (and occasionally other places but I am loyal to Laurettas). I am not at all a pie person but I am being converted slowly, except I still don’t like fruit pies much. Yesterday, I shared one of the best cakes of my life there with a friend– it was maple pumpkin and it was perfect. I want to get married in the fall so I can have this cake at my wedding. I didn’t capture this one but just trust it was a beautiful treat for a Tuesday.

Thank you for reading bye bye bye!

This interviewee does not like a top sheet, as she cannot stand the feeling of them, but tends to add one while traveling, because of the warmth it provides. She uses a fuzzy blanket at home instead of a top sheet– although it may not be as easy to wash as a top sheet, it has a much better texture.

I first ask my dear friend about her appreciation and attentiveness to music. The passion and carefulness in which she navigates a song, an album, an artist, a playlist… her love for music seeps into different parts of her life in a way I’ve always admired. She tells me she thinks of music as her lifeline. Everything that goes into the creation of music becomes a source of fascination and curiosity. Music feels easy to hyperfixate on, in a way that includes visualizing album covers and artists, and learning a song well enough to sing and share it in its entirety. This passion started young, with Taylor Swift– knowing her discography inside and out, loving her music in such a deep way that it fueled obsessions with other artists, other songs. Music also acts as a connecting point with her father. He also has an abundance of knowledge and interest in music, and will watch live performances and send them to her. When she saw him doing this, she realized she could do the same, even without knowing quite what emotions it might evoke– but that they would be meaningful, nonetheless. From there, she learned how to create a flow between different artists, and how to set up a queue in a way that transitions between different vibes to create a certain feeling. In order to do this, she first has to understand what someone else listens to, which fosters these specific sorts of closeness and intimacy which result from exchanges and discussions of music.

We also discuss music as escapism, and the places she allows herself to go, or naturally drifts towards, while listening. These spaces, rooted in music, are essential to her existence.

Before we move to the next question, a dog ran up to us and said hello. We went off on many tangents in this talk (it would be weird for us not to) but I’ve compiled the stuff that felt ready to share.

While talking about music, I also ask about how she got into house music. She tells me she would go to the library when she was about 10 years old and check out Avicii’s album, True, because she loved “Wake Me Up”, and thought it was unlike anything she had ever heard. She also listened to Frank Ocean’s Channel Orange a lot, which was another formative album that her brother had on a lot. This is still one of her favorite albums. She also checked out Lorde’s Pure Heroine, which she thought was Lorde promoting drugs to kids (Heroine is bad everyone!).

Electronic music initially came from other people, before she kept exploring it on her own and found many artists through collaborations from her favorite artists, and playlists Spotify created. She listens to the Overmono Boiler Room often, and in case anyone needs an album recommendation… she’d like you to listen to In Colour (2015) by Jamie xx.

There’s a child wearing a safety vest on the sand near us.

I also learned during this conversation that the chiropractor has told her she has never seen hamstrings as tight as hers.

I next asked her about her home, Cape Cod, and the ways it shaped her. She tells me she is a pretty versatile person– she has lots of knowledge about the ocean and sailing, but also about the land and farming. She takes pride in being able to adapt to, and begin to understand, wherever she is. She constantly feels drawn to the ocean, and has felt suffocated when landlocked. She loves being in the water, or on the water sailing. She says the Atlantic Ocean is unlike anything else, and she still thinks home is the most beautiful place she has ever been (tied with New Zealand), and expresses how grateful she is to be able to say that. She tells me about how her mom floated and waded around in the ocean when she was pregnant in the summer. Her mom told her that this is why she’s a fish (intermission, we’re distracted and on laughing and throwing pebbles into the water and talking to dogs). The Cape has also given her a deep appreciation for cities because home can feel so isolating. But, solitude was equally formative to who she is today, because it forced her to build a relationship with herself, to learn how to love herself, how to have compassion for herself.

I then shift the subject to astrology, and asked where her love of the moon and stars came from. She says that maybe it started at her all girls school, where girls would say omg! What’s your sign! But, she has always loved the stars. Her mom would tell her stories about the constellations like Cassiopeia and the Pleiades and the Big Dipper, and she would watch the moon rise with her dad through his binoculars. She loves the first moon phase after the new moon, the little fingernail. In case the people are wondering (which they are, of course)... she is a Virgo sun, Capricorn moon, and Aquarius rising. If you’re saying that makes so much sense… let us know! She sees her Virgo coming out more and more as she gets older, and is a perfectionist when it comes to her emotional state, which connects her to her Capricorn moon.

I read tarot for the two of us a few times in New Zealand. I would draw three cards– one message for the both of us, and one for each of us individually. The cards I had taken on this trip are an animal deck– in all honesty, I brought them because they’re compact, and I don’t know the deck too well, but it was fun getting to know it over the few months we spent abroad. I drew the ladybug, which symbolizes good fortune (to put it simply), for our “together” card, three days in a row. She drew the elk the first day, and I drew the kiwi. This was strange to us because outside of the meanings, there were only a handful of cards in the deck that resembled animals which lived in New Zealand. Out of maybe five, we drew two of them, one being the iconic New Zealand bird. The next day, I drew the elk, and she drew the kiwi. Each day, the ladybug, the elk, and the kiwi presented themselves to us in the same order. The internet says many different things about what this could mean, but I chose to believe that the cards were just reminding us to be in tune with the beauty that surrounded us each day of our trip.

I ask what her younger self would be surprised about when it comes to her current character. She says that younger her wouldn’t believe that she could walk confidently. She would be excited that she hasn’t grown out of her weirdness, and allows herself to embrace it (at one point, she thought she might outgrow it, but as we have discovered time and time again on this trip, you can’t grow out of your freakness). Now more than ever, she sees the importance in surrounding yourself with people who you can be playful with in order to embrace your inner child. Her younger self wouldn’t expect her to embrace her youth as much as she does. She remembers trying to run away from herself as a kid and wanting to be older, but now, a part of her resides within her younger self, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

I ask if she has any regrets, if she believes that everything happens for a reason. She says she does, but also has to trust the decisions she makes are the right ones, no matter what they might be, as long as they feel like the right decision at the moment. She also tries to let go of control after a decision. “The past can inform my present, but I don’t particularly want to live in the past.” She reminds herself that she can’t make time move any faster, and doesn’t have control over what happens at a given moment.

She’d like me to include that I just stroked her face gingerly.

Lastly, I asked her what she is most proud of herself for. She tells me she is proud of the person she is in the face of all the challenges she has faced, as well as the relationship she has built with herself. She has built a strong enough foundation that even though it is important to lean on other people, at the end of the day, she likes to be able to depend on herself.

“I would not trade the relationship I have with myself for anything. I know who I am, and I know how much I change, and it’s just my life’s work to keep figuring it out and learning about myself and growing.”

It’s hard to not see changes for a while, but when you feel yourself experiencing something differently, you suddenly feel prepared to handle more. She sees the work she puts into her relationship with herself overflowing into everything else, and its potential to be contagious.

Lemon to my lime.

Thank you for reading! I hope August is treating you well. See you soon…

My grandmother died this morning. I cried quietly for a minute, then splashed cold water on my face to get ready for a job interview. After it was over, I cleaned vigorously. I wiped down every surface, vacuumed, put trinkets in their places, and replaced dirty towels with clean ones. I sat on the couch and tried to watch a show, but it just wasn’t right. Something I expected to be mindless turned into paranoia, so I turned it off and kept cleaning. I went for a brief walk, tried to call a couple of people, but found that I had much less to say than I anticipated. After exchanging I love yous, I hung up. I walked towards the river, and hunted for signs of my grandmother and grandfather. At the entrance of the park, two bunnies sitting beside one another greeted me. When I reached into my pocket for my phone to take a picture, they separated. I continued my search for signs. It didn’t matter how vague. Two dogs ran around the grass, circling one another. They’d disappeared quickly. I picked a bench, one with a view of the park, the bridge, the dock, the houses across the water. The dogs immediately came to my bench. Just briefly, they sat together, right in front of my feet. They then ran off when called, one a bit before the other. If I could keep finding signs, maybe I could avoid accepting absence. Maybe, my imagination would hold grief in an unrecognizable way. I watch myself exist somewhere between mourning and celebration, between noise and silence, between release and relief. I watch my body and my mind go back and forth between bickering without reason, and holding each other closely. If I never give up my search for signals, will I linger forever in the in between?

I saw her a month ago. My last memories of her are in a rental car in Colorado. We took her out of the nursing home for the afternoon, on a drive. We got her a cotton candy blizzard from Dairy Queen. We played Frank Sinatra loud– she had said his name quietly when we asked who her favorite singer was. She looked at the dash whenever a new song came on. I was in the backseat opposite of her, and I watched her face closely, her hands, my father’s hand resting on top of hers while he steered with the other. I watched her look out the window, and tried to convince myself that the fresh air, the mountains, brought her some sort of joy or warmth, even if she didn’t have the energy to express it. We played Smoke Two Joints by Sublime after Frank stopped singing (and she looked appalled). I continued to read her imaginary mind, to try to summon a laugh that was foreign to me, but resting inside of her.

Her caretakers helped lift her out of the car into her wheelchair, and we said goodbye. I told her that I loved her, and that I would be back soon. That was it.

My dad and I had spent three days with her, and on the first, we sat in the dining hall with her. It was just the two of us for a second, and she rested her hand on mine, gripping lightly. It startled me at first– my hand usually reached to hers first. Our hands stayed like that until we left the nursing home. When her hand went limp and exhausted, when her fingers lost the bit of strength they had summoned to take my hand, I rested my hand on top of hers. I rubbed my thumb across her thumb, her knuckles, then her palm. She looked at me, nodded, and then shifted her gaze to my father as he returned. I thought of my grandfather’s hand resting on hers, over a decade ago. By holding her hand, I held his too. I had begun grieving her shortly after he died, when her health started to decline in ways I hadn’t noticed before. I had been searching for signs and signals of their togetherness since he passed twelve years ago. I haven’t found many– in my eyes, neither has she. But, they seem to be together everywhere now. I don’t think I’ll ever stop noticing this togetherness, or give up attempts to converse with their absences.

We took one afternoon to show her old pictures. Of her when she was young, cigarette in hand, laughing in a way that echoed through the print. Her laugh, what I imagined it to be, survives through me. Maybe, that’s what I’ve taken from her. Or rather, what she has given me. I’m not sure what else in me was rooted in her 90 years, but laughter seems enough. My identity rests in my laughter, and although I never heard her young laugh, I imagine it would be mine.

I have two of my grandmother’s charm bracelets, which she gave me when I was too young to know what to do with them. I asked her what each charm was, or meant, and wrote everything down on scrap paper. I placed the bracelets, along with their folded guides, into my purple jewelry box, and let the silver sit for nearly a decade. Now, the bracelets barely fit, but I continue to squeeze them onto my wrists, even though the little ballerina shoes and the bicycle and the stork catch on everything. Maybe, those moments could serve as reminders. If the laugh she gave me doesn’t feel too tangible some days, charms will do.

How do you memorialize someone? How do you convince yourself that you remember them as well as you’d like to? When we showed my grandmother the pictures, she remembered the names of distant cousins and friends. She lit up, for a few seconds at a time, maybe stepping into the pictures and deriving feeling from them. Knowing that her old soul was, no matter how it presented itself, the same as an even older soul. Maybe, just maybe, the pictures allowed her a glimpse into a life of masquerade parties, of holding her two children and their grandchildren, of love– all of which are stored in parts of her, all of which are confirmed by disintegrating, grayish pictures. A life she is now fully immersed in. A life that, once again, is all hers.

As always, thank you for reading. Looking forward to next time

- Bela

Today’s top sheet documents a conversation with a dear friend and neighbor. I recorded the talk in January of 2024, as I am beginning to dig into the archives of my voice notes to write up some older top sheets.

The two of us sit at a fairly noisy cafe, but quiet enough to hear one another clearly. She tells me that she does use a top sheet, and that really, it comes down to the principle of the matter. Although she sees how a top sheet could be suffocating (and feels that way herself sometimes), she likes to make her bed with a top sheet, and then ends up using it. The first word in her mind is elastic.

We grew up together in Sacramento, so I immediately want to ask her about the evolution of her relationship with the place itself. She has always had an affinity for Sacramento, and never felt like she wanted to escape. Moving away to Colorado for school only grew and deepened this love and admiration. All of her immediate and extended family live here, in Sacramento, and she has enjoyed being physically close to each of them. She also appreciates the diverse group of people within the city, and continues to find more beauty in the city each time she returns.

Her Sacramento and Colorado lives are “tragically different” as home is where she feels younger. A family to go to and hold on to, a younger mindset, natural relaxation. Colorado doesn’t have that, because she has created that home herself, and she relies solely on herself for learning about her surroundings and how she fits into that environment. Learning, in many forms, can become a job. Although elements of Colorado can be challenging for her, she still loves living there. She appreciates the easy accessibility to the outdoors, and has enjoyed immersing herself in a new space. However, she sees herself settling in Sacramento, and expresses gratitude for having a place she loves to come back to.

The two of us met in kindergarten, right after she had moved onto the street. I lived in her house for a few months while my house was getting remodeled right before she moved in, and I think it’s special that some of our earliest memories are in the same space. We even celebrated our high school graduation together in her front yard, with all of our friends and our families.

When she returns to childhood, she feels blessed to have gone through life without having to overcome anything giant– who she was around, and how she was raised, have only impacted her positively. It was fairly consistent in terms of the love and support she was surrounded by during her upbringing– the neighborhood, her church, her schools, her teams, were all communities overflowing with love. She also followed (and continues to follow) her parents’ examples of love. She discovered a love for building and creating that has stuck with her. She looks back on time with her dad building and fixing things fondly, and hopes she can incorporate more fixing and tinkering into her later years.

After choosing to go to Colorado for school, she often asked herself why she did it, crying saying goodbye to friends and family. But, she knew that she desired to place herself in the unfamiliar, wanting to be independent and alone and something. It wasn’t about the distance, but about exploring something new in herself.

Throughout our fifteen years of friendship, she has been one of the best listeners I know. She navigates conversations speaking insightfully and intelligently, and listening closely and openly.

“I love to listen to people because I love to feeling of being listened to. It completely changes your relationship with someone when you feel like you can be heard, on either side. I think that’s one of the greatest things you can give in life.”

She speaks to how much it means to her when she is heard fully, and how she tries to make everyone feel that way. She tells me she is fascinated by other people’s minds and new perspectives.

“Conversation is the most powerful thing in life! Nothing can heal or hurt you like a conversation can.”

She speaks to the importance of being alone, saying that the most formative times for her are when she reflects and processes on her own. We talk about how being alone has become such a scary idea in our generation, as we worry about what other people are thinking or how to navigate spaces on our own. She says that if everyone was forced to be alone a but more often, and had to be more conscious in doing so, people might be more confident in who they are. It is difficult to come into yourself without being completely inundated by other voices, and when you are trying to discover yourself and who you are, those other voices are very consequential. She has found that being alone is one of the most tranquil things. Learning how to make aloneness light rather than dark, and the importance in uncomfortability, being you in your own time and space.

Thank you for this wonderful conversation, my friend! I hope her words of wisdom inspire some moments of simple and restful aloneness today, and a reawakened gratitude for home. And thank you all for reading. I have a couple more conversations waiting in the archive, so I will see you soon. All my best…

Often, there is risk associated with waves. We underestimate the capacity of the still. I admire the still because it simultaneously entices sensations of peace, of want, of smallness. What is the significance of my movement within the still? I try to define whether my subconscious in itself is a disturbance to what seems so undisturbed otherwise. I wonder if the still thinks it bores me. I wonder if it's safe and passive presentation is what appeals to me. My love of the still worries me, the possibility that I am not risking enough. That not enough is “on the line.” That since the current will not take me, I’ll be stagnant forever.

As I write, I learn, more and more, that my love for the still is unexplainable. It’s possible that I’m overanalyzing this love, as I often do. It’s possible that in searching for all the things I love about still water, about water which comes to a steady and gradual pause, that my frustration in its vagueness increases. But, as I write this, I look out on this still water. It’s the ocean, but there’s not a single wave on this bay. This is reason for complaint– no surfing, no “authentic” ocean sights. The lack of waves does not take away in the slightest from the abundance under the still. Recently, I was lucky enough to see it. Swimming above a green sea turtle, watching it surface for air before diving back down. Octopuses, changing color, resting on the coral, the Great Barrier Reef. The coral I’ve heard about since elementary school, and the one that I skimmed across, carefully trying not to touch. A treasure.

Awe, wonder, play, vibrancy, rhythm, life… all within, all concealed by, the still. Protected by a seemingly immovable, blue beauty. Learning to breathe underwater was hard. Being able to breathe underwater felt like a fantasy.

Thank you for being patient with me. Many exciting things to come…

-B (newly home, from New Zealand)

Writing has sustained me for as long as I can remember. When I feel as though I cannot breathe, with a shaky hand, I open my notebook and begin to make language. I often write at night. When I read what I have written the next morning, I sometimes mourn the feeling of words flowing out of me in a way that feels fluid and natural, almost like water racing through a river. I worry that I will only be able to write when there are big, full emotions running through me. I worry that without them, my words will be mundane. However, I have come to realize that expression alone has become a radical expression of my identity, and sense of belonging.

I theory through poetry, I understand through poetry, I love deeply and rawly through poetry. I relearn intimacy in ways I had internalized as dramatic, as overly emotional, as exaggerated. Harmful notions of gender imprinted on me when I was younger, and I had learned that verbally expressing frustration and refusal was disrespectful or wrong or went against the things a woman was supposed to embody. I wanted to embody my gender. I began to resent my gender, as I saw it as the thing which silenced me. I later learned that my womanhood allows me to access types of power and protest which are rooted in gender, with the way I have experienced and conceptualized gender in relation to my surroundings and my heart.

I have gained some clarity on how to embody gender, since I was young. My joy emerges from sharing moments with other women, from a simple conversation or dance to venting and crying and laughing for hours and hours. I have done both this past week, in Fiji (I’d love to tell you more about this trip soon). Something I’m taking back from my week in Fiji, something I did not expect, is how much of my happiness is rooted in being a woman, and how I am partly survived by my femininity. This is a complicated notion, and one I will need to reflect on much more (and even after all of this reflection, I doubt I will have an “answer”)... but, in all honesty, it’s one I’m ecstatic to explore.

My first ideas of gender came from the women in my family, especially my mother. I loved seeing her dressed up in the mornings, suits and heels, to go to court and work, as a lawyer. I knew her confidence and her generosity in and out of our house. I could try to replicate it, but how? I began with clothes, my outfits an attempt to express my conception of myself and the person I eventually wanted to transform into. When I felt that wasn’t effective, or like my expressions and ideas of femininity were failing me, I turned to writing. When I felt my disability made me weak, I turned to poetry. I turned to knowing that nobody could take away writing.

I propose that poetry is vital. By vital, I mean a mode of survival. A way of being able to language things that didn’t seem possible to express, and that by being pushed down, cause sensations of being weighed down, of being diminished.I propose that poetry allows us to access different ways of refusing– kinds based in spirituality, in gentleness, in stubbornness, in anger, in peace. Poetry is vital because it is a materialization or verbalization of language resulting in radical expressions of vulnerability, languaging, protesting, and living.

In terms of gender, I grew up feeling conflicted about quiet. I was a very talkative child, and loved to chime in with my opinions. I laughed with my whole chest, leaving echoes (this has not changed). Talking this much, I was called annoying, dramatic, loud, bossy, among a myriad of other things. The boys I went to school with called out to each other across the field, across the parking lot, and they were courageous and strong. Languaging, in a way that felt comfortable, made me weak. It made me despise being a girl.

There were times, when I got older, that I stayed quiet in situations where things would have turned out differently, for the better, if I would have spoken up for myself. I would have been safer, more content, stronger, if I had been more outspoken, if I had advocated for what I wanted. Because of this, I was sometimes told “you should’ve just said something.” Language went from a best friend to a foe. When the men I was around were quiet, they were catered to. If somebody had upset them, it was the fault of the other. My silence made me weak. My silence made me despise being a girl.

Poetry provided (and provides) the opportunity to soak in the spaces in between, the clearings as the lovely JJJJJerome Ellis describes them (I would highly recommend reading his work– he has changed the way I write, and the way I move through the world of words) and take time to look at them, to let your image reflect in its deep, vast sea.

Though my words belong to me, I hope that they will slip out of my hands one day. I hope that they rain light on women in their darkest moments. I hope they start to heal the harm that was out of my control, but now feels movable, even if not erasable. This is for the best– wounds erased are just as dangerous. At the very least, I hope poetry is a space for caring– for ourselves, for others, for our lineages, for the language itself. It is reassuring to know that as long as I continue to write, it will return my love and loyalty.

Thank you for reading that rather lengthy section of a paper that brought me so much joy to write! Now, for the fun part…

REPORT

R- reading

I have been moving through Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler. I’ve been reading it on my little vacation, and it is definitely not a light read, so it was a bit of a funny beach read pick. I’m honestly not sure how to describe how powerful this book is. It was written in 1993, but the chapter I’m reading right now is about 2026. Butler was somewhat of a time traveler– and the aspects of predictability are eerie and read as horror, but also as affirmation in an odd way. Everyone should read something by her, she’s spectacular!

E- eating

So much good stuff. Sydney has really good food, and I have been eating a little bit of everything. Many good meals, but I added pictures of a few here. Sandwiches, grilled salmon bowl, margarita pizza, the list goes on…

P- playing

Swimming in every body of water I pass by. The ocean, lagoons, pools, waterfalls, rivers… pretending to be a fish at any chance I can. It’s a mess sometimes, when you can’t dry off for hours and everything gets all wet, but not once have I regretted jumping into the water.

O- obsessing

My February playlist! Linked below

R- recommending

Watercolors! My dear friend Maiya has a little set of watercolors that inspired me to get some. I had the perfect ones when I was younger that I’d take on trips, but I’m not sure where they are, so I’m excited to have a new palette to play around with throughout the next couple months of travel.

T- treating

Fun drinks! I loved exploring different bars and pubs in Sydney, and there was one in particular that made my heart flutter. We had bread and butter, a few glasses of wine, and hours of beautiful yapping. I wish I could take this place home with me, and I’m excited to try out more sweet bars upon returning to the states!

Thank you very much for reading– I’m already looking forward to next time. Goodbye and goodnight from Brisbane!

Hello beautiful people!

I am so sorry for the lack of writing. I wrote over 150 pages just for school this semester (about 70 of those in the last two weeks of school, during finals), which kind of burned me out as far as writing in general, writing of any form. At first, it was hard to feel like I was falling out of love with my passion. However, thanks to a wonderful professor, I was able to write in forms I never had before, but ones that I fell in love with in a completely different way. A way that allowed me to write about the writing of theorists and peers, thus reflecting on the way our emotions and thoughts are in constant exchange. I may publish some shorter excerpts of some of these essays, as some are long and heavily based on lengthy readings that are probably necessary to grasp the contents. However, I would like to share pieces and parts of this prose, so that’s right around the corner.

Tomorrow, I am leaving for a study abroad program in Australia that I have been anticipating for nearly a year. At this point, the constant wondering and uncertainty is sort of exhausting, and I think I just need to get going and be there so that I can be immersed in all of it so that I am encouraged and compelled to be present. I have not shared much about my August travels to Costa Rica thus far, but I think within those three weeks, I was the most present I have ever been. Traveling alone means that you must be immersed in every little detail so that you can make it through the day– you must decide where and when you’ll eat, what you’ll get from the grocery store that’s easy to pack and tides you over when you can’t find a restaurant, what you’ll do to fill a day when you’ll rest, where you’ll sleep. How you’ll get from place to place, and what in the world those places will be. I made an itinerary and followed it for about four days before completely changing my plans, according to what locals and other travelers recommended to me. I am incredibly glad I took the route I did, as it was the places I didn’t plan on visiting which were my favorites. I was shown daily that even though I was traveling solo, the experiences I had were completely created by the others I encountered.

Right now, there are clothes stacked all over my floor, covering the entire floor. I still have to pack everything that isn’t clothes, and I keep making excuses for that, saying that I still need a couple of things so why even start? But, I’ll be heading to the airport in about 24 hours, so my excuses are running low. I always feel bad for the clothes I leave behind in the closet, and even worse for the ones sitting in the storage unit for months. I wish I was joking but looking at them in the closet right now breaks my heart a bit which is quite silly.

Yesterday, my mom asked me what I wanted to get out of this trip. Honestly, I don’t think I am going to know until I get there. However, I do have some things I’d like to focus on this year. Without constantly reminding myself of them and of my ability to nourish myself by treasuring these wants.

I’d like to begin to stop my fears, and my instant assumption that the worst is approaching, from allowing me to try new things and take risks (safely). In other words, I hope that my fears manifest as courage.

I hope I continue to prioritize love, in all forms. While traveling and busy, it can be difficult to stay in touch with friends and family at home. However, taking care of my people and my relationships, even from across the world, is always the most important to me. I will continue to reach out, via a call, a quick message, and hopefully more letters. I would love to send more letters! It is in these trying times that I wish I had a carrier pigeon.

I’d like to go out dancing more. I’d like to be in rooms full of strangers and to be immersed in music with them without feeling insecure in my solitude. I’d like to have fun, bubbly drinks, and also maybe some more vegetables.

On the morning of January 1st, my friend and I woke up next to each other after a long night of talking, collaging, and such. She had already been up for a while and was in much better spirits than I was (I am not in the sweetest mood in the mornings). She reminded me that even though people say “This is going to be my year” or “next year is going to be my year,” every year is our year. Even if there are terrible parts, even if the entire thing feels terrible, it is (and will be) our year. It was gifted to us, and it is full of whatever we want it to be full of, to an extent, of course.

This summer taught me that the unknown shouldn’t always be associated with panic, but for me, this is hard to put into practice. I have never known less about what a year is going to look like. I know I’m studying in Australia until mid-April, and I know I’m going back to school in September. In between, I have no clue what city, or country, I’ll be spending time in. I anticipate my time being split between many different places, which is both thrilling and exhausting. I cannot wait to write about it all, to imagine based on my reality. And, I can’t wait to share it with you all! My goal for this year is at least one newsletter per month, so we shall see if it comes true…I truly have no idea quite what this study abroad program is going to look like, and how much time I will have to write. I hope to create and prioritize this prose, as it is my fuel, my provocation.

Thank you for being patient with me. I hope your year begins with care, in whatever form you would like that to take.

PS. If you enjoyed this and you’d like to follow along this year… it’s never too late to subscribe (you can do it for free!) something other than spam in your inbox, perhaps…

When asked what I do in my free time, my first answer is typically that I write. This is warmly received, sometimes with a “me too,” but usually with a smile or positive remark. I don’t have the space to tell them it’s not something I do when I have no other obligations– it may be closer to the opposite. I think about fiction while I navigate ordinary moments. I think about what has been written, what will be written, and what I will write, in moments full of chaos. Fiction based on imagination takes hold of my body in ways I cannot always anticipate, during inconvenient and seemingly perfect times. I make up stories loosely based on what I claim to know, and sometimes, I write nothing but the so-called truth. Nothing but the persimmon I ate for breakfast, yum the bike ride to the park, the way my necklace reflects light, my parents' love for each other, and my backyard at night.

I think this is the most schoolwork I have ever had, and although we are entering week eight, I am still not quite used to it. It was a bit of an abrupt transition going from a summer of doing not much thinking ahead to having to plan out every day, every week, so that everything gets at least partially done. Two months ago, I was hopping from town to town on the Nicoya Peninsula in Costa Rica. When I planned my trip, this side of the country wasn’t even on my radar, and things changed every few hours. Today, two months ago, I saw the most beautiful sunset I’d ever seen and had one of the best evenings I can remember. Recently, my therapist had me to an exercise where I wrote about a night where I felt steady and at peace, on a small piece of paper, so that I can have it with me when I need to recenter and take myself back to that moment. I wrote about the sunset, and I found myself getting sort of depressed by the exercise (I like having the piece of paper with me though). I just missed it, just as I would a person. An abrupt, but anticipated, breakup after a short but intense relationship.

I have been struggling with long hours of work, and fallen back into my caffeine haze. Oat milk lattes, sometimes hot and sometimes iced, depending on the weather. Lately, it’s been mostly hot– tis the season. After staring at the computer for hours, and reading hundreds of pages all at once, running out of ink from annotating and underlining and circling and questioning, I feel I’ve forgotten everything. Everything I’ve read, everything I’ve written, everything fades away until I come back and some sort of drawing or phrase I’ve written triggers meaning, symbol, passion. Although the caffeine the headaches and the constant yearning for a good night’s sleep are exhausting, what weighs on me more heavily is feeling like I have lost some of the parts of myself that are the most integral over the past eight weeks. All of this seems very drama when I write it down, but I’m hoping parts of it resonate for you, and hopefully, all of those parts that resonate can come together to make something, anything you choose. So, shall we begin?

Writing is frustrating, always. Sometimes I think avoiding it will do me good, because deleting everything over and over and leaving unfinished pages to rot isn’t satisfying or gratifying. But writing, for me, was never meant to be either of those things, at least not all of the time. I’m not sure where my writing would end up if it were simple, and if each piece of prose I wrote came without questions, confusion, insecurity, or doubt. 

I constantly wonder about where to draw the line, or whether to draw a line, between imagination and understanding. What I imagine turns into how I navigate the world based on what I know most intimately, 

so is my imagination the center of knowledge?

Guilt follows my October writing as well, whereas it is somewhat absent from summer poetry. In October, though, there are better things to be doing. There is research to be done, there are essays to be written, and there are empty planners that need to be filled, just in case anything gets forgotten. If studying and all schoolwork is done (I’m not sure this is a possibility because of ongoing projects, but alas), writing still should not be the go-to. It should be eating, hopefully cooking, so I’m eating well and fueling my body for another day of work. It should be movement, because what, or where, is my body if it doesn’t move? When cooking and moving are finished, the last thing I want is to type another word or read another page. So, the two new books on my nightstand gather dust, as do the eight I brought from home, overly optimistic once again. Next year, my habits will be better. Next year, I will read and write instead of scrolling on social media, instead of watching the new Hulu original (no regrets) or Trader Joe’s frozen pasta reviews on YouTube (no regrets on this one, either. I know exactly where to go in the frozen section now). 

Humanities majors have no shortage of writing or reading– all of my studies are based in these two things (among research and fieldwork, which is in a sense, also based in what we read and what we end up reflecting on through formal, structured, sourced writing). All of this to say that once a day is done (and most days never are), the idea of writing another word feels unrealistic and undesirable. The things I’d like to end up doing end up staying in my mind, and rarely physically manifest, while my mind is occupied by theories and ethnographies. To clarify, I absolutely love what I study. It is rare that I doubt my decision in classes or area of study, and the things I learn do not contribute to these feelings of defeat or hesitancy. Studying something I am passionate about is something I take pride in. Still, these feelings of yearning fade in and out, taunting me and surrounding me, taking multiple forms in just a few moments. I spend time wanting, and I feel selfish for wanting, and it’s what one may call (rightfully so) a vicious cycle.

Many people have tried to explain to me how I can have a healthy balance, and I probably could if I tried hard enough. If I never crawled into bed in the middle of the day, if I studied without interruptions, if I didn’t clean to procrastinate if I had chosen to write instead of sit on my bed with a friend coloring and watching episode after episode of our show. They’re right, and so am I in being inclined to do these things rather than write. But, I doubt that all the time. I do right now, and I’m wondering if I should delete it, but I’ll leave it for now. I wish I did not have to expend so much energy in a day surrounding my schoolwork, and I wish my workload was lighter, as it was last spring, when I had the time to get everything done and work every afternoon, and somehow still made some time to be with my friends. Even though I was busy, I was someone outside of my schoolwork. I was a nanny. I was on the bus, I was in the park, I was making trail mix out of goldfish and raisins and carrots (and something sweet, on occasion). I was talking about fractions and basketball and third-grade drama for three hours a day, and I was walking, rain or shine, from school to the bus stop and back again. Simple things, even though they aren’t necessarily the things I would associate with joy or passion (but presented them anyways), kept me balanced. 

What I’m really trying to say is that it hurts to know the things you’d like to be doing and that would make you feel better (I’m not sure if better is the right word to use but I can’t find a good alternative), but not have the time, or mental capacity, to do them. It’s frustrating to re-enter the writing universe once in a while rather than being here consistently because I feel out of practice for a bit when I come back. But, after just ten or fifteen minutes, I usually know that this is where I’m meant to be, for now. It’s all so temporary, which is another thing I have to just keep reminding myself of. Classes this semester are halfway done, and in a few months, I’ll probably write to you all just raving about what I learned. For now, I’m just a bit bitter about the way my mind and body feel completely consumed by the academics of it all. 

For as long as I’ve been writing, I’ve also been writing about writing. That has become more and more apparent throughout college, as I look into my own affects and experiences. When choosing a “key” for a class, an idea to take with me through the semester, I have been interested in the concepts of imagination, otherwise possibilities, fiction, storytelling, and creative expression. I constantly want to learn more about the impact of creative expression and storytelling when it comes to the image of the self, as well as interpersonal relationships. While writing about suffering and pain for my class centered around medicine, healing, and culture, I found that creativity and imagination exist inside and outside of the body, just as pain does. Pain can cause a feeling of alienation from the body, meaning we can look at our pain from the outside in, and experiences of pain (or other sensations) can then be reflected more vividly in our expressions of self, of mind, and body. Pain, in any form, allows for us to write from two worlds– one from within the body, and one when we seem to slip out of our skin, which could be seen as an extension of the body. In this sense, I will never separate my physical sensations from language, and I’m not even sure this is possible. Writing is personable and social all at once.

I would like my writing to be moldable. The biggest and most warmly received gift my writing returns to me is the feedback of others, and the way the piece impacted them, or even just what it meant. Writing as a tool, a tool to let imagination be the glue between other worlds and the one we have been taught to accept is one reason why I continue to dedicate my mind and heart to it. Imagination is absolutely essential to resist universals and to envision a world where vulnerable perspectives can take material form. So, when I have the time, I will keep telling stories!

The R.E.P.O.R.T.

Reading

I am very slowly moving through Those who leave and those who stay, the third of the Neapolitan Novels by Elena Ferrante. I also just got two new books from Powells, but this was definitely optimistic.

Eating

Dining hall food! Yay! And lots of goodles. Also, recently tried the pumpkin ravioli from Trader Joe’s with their cacio e pepe sauce and some basil. Gorgeous! 

Playing

My October playlist! Linked below… 

Obsessing

I have been obsessed with coloring. It is all I can do. Every day, I try to find time to color and when I do schedule coloring time, I look forward to it all day. I got a set of markers and I print coloring pages out at the library. I print duplicates so when my friends color with me, we can color the same pictures. My friends’ walls and fridges are now very decorated with my coloring! I also cannot watch anything without coloring now!

Recommending

Crafting with friends! My lovely friend Will recently got a bunch of magazines and we cut out pages for our walls and smaller collages. 

Treating

Coffee and pastries at cute coffee shops around Portland!

As always, thank you so much for reading! Send this to someone you haven’t chatted with in a while, break the ice. Or just gatekeep it since one day it’ll be famous and you can say you found it first (I think you should choose the first option though). I am so grateful to you for taking the time to ingest my words and hang out for a few! I hope the rest of your week is wonderful and that you have time to imagine

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Love,

Our next contestant… likes a top sheet! He and his wife have differing opinions on what direction the top sheet should be on the bed, which I had no idea was a choice. She thinks the bottom of the top sheet is softer, so it should be flipped upside down. Thus, he now makes the bed with a reversed top sheet. He doesn’t remember having a top sheet in college. 

His word of the moment is pterodactyl. He likes flying and birds, so he combined them.

This top-sheet interviewee has been in education for decades and found motivation in the classroom while coming up with new, spontaneous ways of learning. He has always enjoyed making learning feel like a game and letting the excitement and enthusiasm of his students fuel him. He still gets this high from teaching, but not as much as when he spent time in the classroom. He finds himself missing being completely embedded in this world but does not miss the politics that come with working there. He still teaches, but it feels more managerial now– it lacks the spontaneity he once utilized, and is more adult-centered and organized. In a classroom, he typically planned out a week, then changed things as he went depending on the needs and pace of the students. Now, much of his job is prescribed, and he knows exactly what any given day will look like. There are not many surprises or things stretching his creativity, which is another thing he misses. However, toxicity is very prevalent in the public school system, and he mentions being more at peace in this sense now that he is more distant from that atmosphere. 

I asked him about nature and adventure next, since anyone who knows him will immediately associate with him with the outdoors. He embodies and becomes the wilderness and finds fulfillment in planning and living out these experiences. 

“I have gained so much from having a life full of nature, so I want to share that with as many people on the planet as possible. We all are connected from nature, we all come from nature, but we are all so disconnected from it. There is so much to gain from spending time in nature, and many people don’t understand that or the true benefit of it. I have always wanted to help people understand that importance. For me, mental health-wise, similarly to a lot of other people, nature grounds us. We understand how small we are and how little control we have, and that being as present as nature is is in our best interest. When I look at mountains that haven’t changed for thousands of years, it’s a reminder of the consistency of life. Nature is always present. Nothing in nature is thinking about the past or the future. I think we should be inspired by that.”

He mentions being careful not to sink into having a long list of regrets in his life, as there are so many things he wishes he had started earlier. He does not necessarily regret that he didn’t but wishes he had. Not starting those things earlier unintentionally led to different adventures in life, but he is still chasing many old (and new) dreams. If he would have been born twenty years earlier, he says, he would have been very engaged in the FKT (fastest known time) movement, which documents self-supported speed records for long-distance trails. He is constantly testing his body, seeing how far he can push. He begins to reflect on previous hikes, such as backpacking the Colorado Trail (486 miles) in 19 days. He says that even though it was a massive challenge, he could have done it faster if he wanted to. “What else haven’t I done? What’s the most I can do?” he asks himself. His ambition is evident and striking, and his yearning for more adventure is genuine and lasting. Some of his friends think he hikes trails too quickly or don’t slow down enough to enjoy it, but he says he is challenging himself physically in ways that feel good to him.

“I feel like I always have to have things on my calendar to look forward to and plan new and different things that stretch and challenge me emotionally, physically, and mentally. I still have a lot more room for growth, and it’s a matter of keeping a balanced life. Maybe when I retire, that will be a bigger part of what I do.” 

At the time of this interview (many months ago), he was amid “The Presence Process.” Since it is recommended that you don’t share things about the process while in it, he spoke more broadly about his mental health and well-being. He shares he has been in therapy for two years, and is very proud of that. He had pushed back against therapy for a lot of years, as he wasn’t convinced it would be effective for him. Now, he embraces and loves it. He feels he hurries through life sometimes, and being present has always been important to him. The book, The Prescense Process by Michael Brown, acts as a lifelong foundation for becoming more present in everyday experiences. He is (or was) in week two of the ten-week process, which he completed for weeks following our conversation. He has enjoyed the process, and hopes going through it once will enable him to connect dots in his life he has never been able to. From there, he can renew the process in the future, as he wants to keep slowing down rather than getting everything done as quickly as possible. 

Right in this moment, a rainbow appeared while we were driving around a mountain. He says it is a sign to be present and appreciate things, like rainbows!

After our rainbow, I ask him about his experience hiking the Appalachian Trail. He says it changed his life, as he was extremely connected to the outdoors and immersed in nature, all by himself, making every decision alone. At the same time, he left behind so many daily stresses of life. It was freeing in that way, but also the most physically demanding thing he had ever done. Before this hike, he had worked 20-hour days in Alaska, which was also very physically demanding, and greatly strengthened his mental fortitude. 

If he had been younger, or not married yet, when he hiked the AT, he might have decided to keep walking, in which case he may have never had a big career or a family. Nowadays, people choose to become outdoor enthusiasts, and when he was entering the outdoor world, it was rare to find people who led lives like this. He hiked through fourteen states he had never visited before, and met people he still keeps in contact with (six months after this, we stayed with his closest friend from the trail in Maine. The two spent hours reminiscing on their hike and the bond that resulted from walking side-by-side, a bond that could not have been duplicated anywhere else). He describes how open and vulnerable people tend to be on the trail, as they are willing to share things they might not share with others they have known for years. 

We moved on to his childhood. He tells me there weren’t many hopes and dreams in his family growing up– they weren’t even mentioned, much less fostered. Nobody asked him what he wanted to do, even career-wise. He felt lost as a little kid since he had no idea what he wanted to do and wasn’t exposed to much culture, either (except for many musicals– ”a lot of culture there I guess”). It wasn’t until he started going to summer camp on his own, for nine weeks each year starting when he was eleven, that he was able to figure out who he was and who he wanted to be, as well as what he was passionate about. His camp experience connected him to nature and to working with kids, since as he got older, he learned to love being a camp counselor. When he returned home, he was a different person than he was at camp, slipping back into his other life. 

He decided to be a business major– his father and uncle told him he should be, and it was the safe thing to do. It had no connection to anything he was interested in, but he didn’t know there were things to study connected to the outdoors or education. At that point, he did not dare to change his major or entirely change direction. He didn’t enjoy his classes much, except for some general ed. He would sit in on his girlfriend’s (now wife) film class and watch the films with her, and he was fascinated by that, but never truly considered changing directions. He went into retail after college, which he didn’t need his degree for. He has used parts of his degree throughout his life, but never really went into business (which he is glad about). He mentions that it is sad in a way that he spent four years studying something he didn’t want to do, but his experiences at camp and in Alaska gave him the courage to finally change directions. He ended up going back to school to get his teaching credential and started all over again, which was the right choice, but scary. Those experiences on his own shaped who he is today, even though it took a while for him to act on things. He needed to go through it all to be where he is now, but some things were harder than they should have been. He is excited that the current generation is more equipped and confident, and will be able to make more educated decisions about their futures. 

When I ask him about his relationship of thirty-five years, he speaks on the importance of being able to change with someone, listen, forgive, and apologize (and mean it, from the heart). He speaks on learning most of what he knows now about love from his partner, as he didn’t grow up in a family who embraced unconditional love, and the conditionality of love imprinted on him. He says that having a child helped him understand and give unconditional love, as he never wanted his child to feel conditional love. He and his wife are much different people than when they first met as twenty-year-olds. They have grown parallelly, and though this hasn’t been a straight path, their growth as individuals has complemented one another. He feels lucky to have grown with her and says some of this is hard work, and a little bit of luck. 

“This is where I want to be and who I want to be with forever,” he says, smiling.

I ask him when he knew she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. 

“I knew pretty early on, earlier than she did. I think I knew within the first couple of months- I was 20 years old, and I had been in some other relationships, but she was different. Part of what was different was the unconditional aspects of her caring- she’s a very loving person, and it is very unconditional. She has the capacity to forgive, one far greater than most people on this Earth. She can express herself in a vulnerable way. I wanted to encompass these things myself, and I was attracted to her in these ways. I respected and admired her right away, I trusted her quickly. Why would you not want to spend your life with someone like that? I felt like I had lucked out and didn’t want to screw things up and lose her. It was early on that I couldn’t imagine not being with her forever.” 

The word he is thinking of is “chademo”, a fast charging system for electric vehicles. We ended our talk while pulling into a charging station before driving the rest of the way home.

Thank you all so much for reading! Your words of encouragement are everything. I can’t wait to share stories from my latest adventure (and first solo travel) to the beautiful Costa Rica! I hope you have a restful and rejuvenating weekend. Talk soon

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A little over half of July was dedicated to travel. I haven’t spent much time on the east coast, so being there and seeing places I have heard about for my whole life was very cool. Vermont was just as I imagined it to be, in the best way. Green, peaceful, woodsy, tranquil compared to most states I have visited. There was a certain freshness in the air, it tasted different than it did here. Moving through various spaces reminds me more of the commonalities between places instead of their differences. There is so much excitement in being somewhere new, even if it’s just new for the moment. But, the world is recognizable. I think in a few years when I have (hopefully) been to way more places, I might say something different. But wherever I have traveled so far, there has been more familiar than foreign. For me, beauty and sadness exist within this realization, which seems more “mature” and distant from what people describe as some kind of childlike wonder, where everything we breathe, see, touch, and feel is new and enchanting. Gaining knowledge fuels us and inspires power, but makes it more difficult to embrace tiny aspects of newness. I don’t think ignorance is bliss. I think ignorance evokes nostalgia sometimes, and I think although people resist nostalgia much of the time to appear stronger or more grounded, we’d go to great lengths to feel it. I’m still not exactly sure how to define nostalgia, and I think that’s a separate newsletter, but it’s something I think about a lot being home from school. The vast majority of my experiences here, now, are grounded in some form of nostalgia. Is sentimentality enough of a reason to stay?

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Along the same lines, I recently watched Past Lives for the first time (and then again 24 hours later with my parents). It is, without a doubt, the best film I have seen so far in 2024, and one of my favorites of all time. If someone asked me to name a bittersweet story, it would be this one. Without spoiling the plot (because your first move after reading this should be watching it, or at least adding it to your watchlist), it will tear you apart and confuse you while also being warm, sensitive, and simple. I have never seen such a touching love story, and I have read many touching, creative reviews on the film since watching it (there are lots on Substack if you just look up Past Lives) but beware of spoilers! 

I wrote a little poem on the plane out of Boston about a week ago. I haven’t come up with the right title for it yet, so I’m just going to leave it as is:

Before, the biggest risk you’d take was breathing underwater

Until you turned inside out just to impress someone’s daughter

A once lively room neglected when you went to nurture her

Upon returning, fish were floating, dinner spoiled, breakfast served

You once were taken care of, still could be if you asked

But your skin sheds already, only your love was made to last

You dig to find her roots before you ask about your own

Save everything for her and when she hangs up, curse the phone

You both are tangled up in something bruised black and blue

Your home is her theater, your movements to her cue

You are somebody’s child and your dog misses you

It’s not funny anymore, and you miss underwater blue 

I was a part of an after-school writing program in fifth grade. There was a guest speaker, and we could each choose one of our poems/short stories for him to read and give us feedback on. I chose the poem I was proudest of, and I remember him calling me into the hall and being so nervous for his critique, as he was pretty blunt. The first thing he said about my poem was that it was “dark,” which I was surprised by, as that wasn’t what I was going for. He seemed surprised about these elements of depth and darkness he identified, and said he thought I was meant to write sad things (I don’t think he used the word sad, but something along those lines. It was fifth grade so). At first, I was proud of myself for surprising him with my talent and being able to draw some sort of emotion out of this dry, self-deprecating, judgemental local author. But the more I thought about it, the more upset I was. I didn’t want to just write “dark” things. I was a very happy, upbeat kid writing devastating poems, which was fine, but I worried that my writing and my person would morph. As much as I wanted to become one with the products of my creativity, I didn’t want to be the face of sadness or gore. I still think about that sometimes when I write, but writing bliss almost feels more vulnerable. Anyways, time for the REPORT!

July’s R.E.P.O.R.T.

Reading

Eating

Playing

Obsessing

Recommending

Treating

I don’t remember what it felt like

To float in the pool, in the dark

A thin layer of chlorine on my lips and teeth

Drops slid down my insides like a lemon being juiced, like a boy crying into my mouth

There’s the big dipper, the rest I make up

One looks like a branch with one lone leaf

Another like a skeleton, a departed friend

There was only a moment I wished someone was there

Selfish for taking all the joy of empty water for myself

For the stars and sky from an underwater eye, for inhaled condensation and splashes on the concrete

I watched myself float, stomach sinking, ears submerged, I can still hear you

Reminding me it is almost time to head back and to bed

I try to drink but I’m nauseous before I start

I watch videos of other people making things up and being in love

With the chlorine dissipated, the stars went too

The ceiling fan and I both knew we would rather be outside

The REPORT!

Reading

Since we last talked, I finished The Memory Police by Yōko Ogawa and My Body by Emily Ratajkowski. The Memory Police was an easy 5 stars for me, and My Body was a 3.5. Overall, I enjoyed them both and I am excited about my next book, My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante.

★★★★★★★

Eating

Nectarines from the tree in my parent’s front yard! This is the first year the fruit has gone crazy and I believe I am made entirely of nectarines now.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Playing

Fidgets! Recently I acquired the NeeDoh Nice Cube after much anticipation. It has come with me everywhere ever since, and I officially understand the excitement.

As far as music, I have been listening to BRAT by Charli XCX, and that is kind of all. When I’m not listening to it, I am thinking about when I’ll listen to it next. I have been listening to a few other songs though, so here they are.

★★★★★★★

Obsessing

Poppi! I think I need to be an ambassador at this point because I have been drinking at least one per day. I’m usually not a big fan of sparkling water but for some reason, this one is worth walking in the 110 heat to the store for.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Recommending

I have had three craft nights with friends just in the last couple of weeks, and it is the perfect way to catch up and have a little canvas or jewelry to remember the gathering.

★★★★★★★

Treating

Cake!! There has been a lot of celebrating in June, and I’ve been lucky to eat and make many a cake.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Thank you very much for reading this little newsletter! Can’t wait to talk soon

This interviewee is one of my oldest friends, and we have had a very eventful friendship (luckily, it has calmed as our brains have begun to develop). We met in third grade, and have been in each other’s lives in some capacity since. Top sheet’s next interviewee has not used a top sheet since elementary school, but he used a top sheet the night before the interview for this article. It ended up falling off his bed. He has not thought about top sheets since the fifth grade, until recently, when the idea of an interview for my “top sheet” series was proposed. He had to use three comforters in addition to his top sheet the night before our interview, as there was no heat in the house he was staying at. The word on his mind was cat.

I wanted to ask him about some current hyper fixations, including but not limited to Ariana Grande. He said he had loved her music all his life (since seventh grade) and was hooked after hearing her music on the radio. At the time of this interview, she hadn’t released anything in four years, and he was looking forward to the new album (the album was released March 8, and unfortunately, this interview occurred long before that… sorry for the delay). At this point, he says that if I expected a deep interview, I wouldn’t get it. In my opinion, I proved him wrong. Our next conversation about the Barbie Movie may not be the best example. We had seen the Barbie movie together in the theater, it was my first time seeing it and his second. He loves the soundtrack and describes the movie as an important event. He talked about being impressed by how director Greta Gerwig could make a very entertaining piece of work, which also has a lot of meaning and depth, and fits it into a 90-minute movie. We ventured into a talk about one of my favorite movies that I introduced him to, a fellow Greta Gerwig film, Little Women (we had a Greta Gerwig marathon and rated them, which was controversial), and how not many movies are set up to have a woman end up on her own at the end. In Little Women, Jo ended up with someone who had very little screen time, all of which was very intentional. We spent a good five minutes obsessing over Greta.

When I asked him about his favorite movie of all time, he said Happy Gilmore. When I asked why, he told me that it’s nobody’s favorite movie, which is why it’s his go-to, as he doesn’t have a favorite. But, he remembers watching it when he was young and enjoying it. 

I asked if he enjoyed growing up in Sacramento, and he said he has always felt sort of neutral about it since he never felt particularly proud of growing up here. He says that leaving has given him a new perspective, and he has enjoyed returning and remembering that this is his home. The way he talks about home now that he spends most of his time away in Berkeley is different, as he has used the term “home” for both Berkeley and Sacramento, and they’re kind of interchangeable in that way.  When I asked how his childhood influenced his present self, he responded by saying he didn’t feel old enough to answer that, as he feels like he is still in his childhood. He hasn’t had enough experience to know how his childhood has made him the person he is.

At this point in the conversation, we entered into our 40-minute discussion debriefing our friendship, from third grade to the present. I procrastinated writing this particular top sheet because I loved this conversation but wasn’t sure how much drama to include, especially since we used legal names throughout our conversations and the internet never ends! Fortunately, I have decided to include almost all the drama. Enjoy! 

He remembers us meeting in third grade, but we weren’t close until the fourth grade. Unfortunately, I have no recollection of him being in my third-grade class (I think I’m losing my memory), and he has many more memories from our ten years of friendship than I do, which I’m a little jealous about. We were both in the school newspaper (I laughed about this and he was not very happy about it), and he talked about being in fourth grade and bossing around sixth graders, which probably boosted his ego. He remembers us being “besties” (I agree with this term I just had to put it in quotes because of the spellcheck) in fourth and fifth grade, and remembers being close with me and one of my closest friends at the time, and it being fun. Sixth grade was rough, and we decided we could probably talk about it for another 22 minutes (we were 22 minutes in at this point). The experience of having an elementary school girlfriend likely shaped the person he is today. It lasted a long month and a half and put things into perspective for him. His girlfriend, let’s call her Pam, taught him that if he’s in a bad position, it can only get worse. I had a crush on him while he was dating Pam, and Pam was very mad and didn’t want me talking to him. He also described sixth grade as our “golden age.” We went to the market every Friday, we’d get Snapples and go to the park with lots of friends, and proceed to do whatever sixth graders do. He broke up with Pam twice over text this year, since they ended up getting back together after two weeks. He also remembers my identity crisis in sixth grade– going from Isabela to Izie to Bela in two years. I have finally settled, and still sometimes question my decision on a name. 

Middle school was rough. We didn’t have classes together, so there was a period when we weren’t very close. We had a lot of non-ideal things in middle school (instigated by me having no idea how to deal with my emotions). In sum, he would make nice gestures when we liked each other, and I would be very dismissive of them even though I felt the same way. We ended eighth grade on a good note but didn’t talk much through high school. Apparently, he was just a bad texter and not mad (I believe him but I would have been quite frustrated). He talked about having a math teacher in high school who didn’t like him and kept failing him, which meant he got his phone taken away a lot. We started talking a little more during quarantine when I instigated a conversation about Taylor Swift. 

Of course, we pivot again into a Taylor Swift talk, when he reveals that he didn’t like her at the time, so apparently, he lied about telling me he did (groundbreaking). He said that maybe he was manifesting it into existence, since now he loves her album folklore. His favorite song from folklore is the 1, and he enjoyed watching the eras tour documentary and explaining the fictional love story that takes place in folklore to his mom. He coaches debate and uses the love triangle example for the high schoolers he works with. From what I understood, the strategy has to do with reading lots of arguments, but in the last speech, you only talked about one. It would be hard to explain how this connects to the album if you aren’t familiar, so I won’t attempt it, but the Taylor Swift/debate crossover was very enlightening. 

Going back to high school, we agreed to hang out many times and it never happened, which he admits was probably on him. However, I am persistent, so I’d keep texting him even though he wasn’t responding very quickly (this seems to be a common theme throughout our friendship after finding some fifth-grade texts on my first phone). We somehow ended up in a conversation about maritime international treaties after this. So far, this is the longest top-sheet conversation in the books. 

When I asked if he had any regrets, he said there were little things, like not responding to me more in high school (guys I’m not making this up I promise he said it). When applying to colleges, he would apply to better ones, since he got into schools he didn’t think he would. Overall, he doesn’t have any significant regrets, as he’s content with his life. There are things he could have potentially done or changed to be a happier person, but right now, he’s happy enough. In general, he is optimistic about his future and where he is right now.

“I’m proud of the fact that I can consider my life and know that the thing I will be most proud of is something that hasn’t happened yet.”

The word he is thinking of now is Christmas (he was very stressed coming up with this answer).

Thank you for reading lovely people! I cannot wait to keep interviewing and writing and learning more about the lives of old friends and new friends. I will see you this weekend for some new fun stuff… 

Cheers,

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I have been reading Stephen King’s On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft on and off for months. I’m never particularly inspired to pick it up, as sometimes, our perspectives don’t align. When this happens, I feel a bit silly, as Stephen is one of the most successful writers alive and I am… bug Bela!! However, some of what he writes resonates in a way I wish it wouldn’t. He brings writing back to reality, which is part of why I avoid picking up the book sometimes. He doesn’t allow for excuses or lost time and encourages productivity and consistency, things I don’t yet possess when it comes to writing. This isn’t for a lack of passion, but rather, due to the absence of clarity. I am not unique in preferring to do things I feel come naturally to me or ones I excel at. However, I have gotten better at straying away from comfortability and going into the unknown (as Elsa, one of my inspirations, would say). My bones are full of creativity. It streams through my blood and brain every hour, especially since I have been making a more conscious effort to tune into creativity, a trait each of us possesses. This brings me to another book I’ve been reading on and off, but that I am breezing through more quickly. The Creative Act by Rick Rubin is an investigation into creativity. 

Beginning to write is harder than it should be, but once the starting is done, stopping feels far away. I have nightmares about never being able to write a story, a novel, a collection of poetry, or even one poem, ever again. I have the same nightmares about writing constantly, for my whole life, and never saying what I want to. In the end, nothing is that serious, and writing with a more intense mindset usually restricts my writing in a way that weakens it. I happen to agree with Oscar on this one! Low stakes mean more consistent production of art, art I will admire in the future. Basically, nothing is that deep, and it never has been. Art is fun, and when it’s not, I take a break! I think that’s where Stephen and I differ (also since writing is not my primary source of employment… nor my secondary). 

Since I’ve had this newsletter for over a year, I can look back and read things my nineteen-year-old self wrote a year ago! Woah! Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve changed much, but I don’t think that’s bad. The pressure to constantly be changing and evolving can be paralyzing, and I’m okay with having stayed consistent the past year or so. I dance in the afternoons once I’m done with work, which feels pretty standard, and I take more naps than I did. I have fewer nightmares, or maybe just fewer dreams. I spend most of my nights with friends or family, but I enjoy my solo nights too. I wear sandals less and opt for sneakers instead, but I still don’t feel whole without rings and necklaces. I have gone through things I couldn’t have imagined, or that felt so painful that I refused to imagine them. But mostly, I sleep, imagine, read, and dance less than I’d like to.

Being home from college is stranger than it was the first time around. It’s hard to establish new habits in a place where your old ones still linger. I still consider this home, and I always will even though parts of me feel completely distant from this city now. Regardless, my love for Sacramento probably increased when I left. I remember returning for the first time, for Thanksgiving break. Even though I’d only been away for a couple of months, fall felt more vibrant than it ever had. Something was soothing about it, even if I had just romanticized it while being away– it didn’t matter why it felt calm, it just did. It feels like a mix of comfortability and claustrophobia, and though it is nice to be back, I am looking forward to summer travels more than anything else! 

Time to find a summer fling and have a dramatic love story that has to come to a close when I go back to school even though we are both heartbroken about it. I need a crush, reach out with suggestions! 

I know this newsletter was a bit short, but more is coming soon… it may have to do with beds and possibly sheets, or even bug museums. Only time will tell. 

Now, for the most highly anticipated section of the newsletter… 

The R.E.P.O.R.T.

R- reading

I recently finished Seven Days in June by Tia Williams, which was a fun summer read! I recommend it if you’re looking for a romance story that is much more than just that. Both characters are complex, and the plot's development is very satisfying.

I am currently reading The Memory Police by Yōko Ogawa. I am only about 75 pages in, but the writing is incredible and I already have a feeling it will be a five-star novel. It has magical realism and fantasy elements since it is a dystopian novel, but it reads more like fiction. The concept of objects, and the memories associated with those objects, being lost is so powerful. I always love a book about books and writing too. Mainly, Ogawa is just a gorgeous writer.

I am also slowly moving through The Creative Process by Rick Rubin, which I won’t talk about more, but I’d recommend it! It could be a quick read, but I enjoy reading it in little snippets when I yearn for inspiration. 

E- eating

Trader Joe’s plantain chips! The perfect snack for any occasion. Also, many a grilled cheese with avocado, and many lattes (oat or almond milk, of course). 

P- playing

I love too many songs to keep track of, but some artists/albums on repeat lately have been:

Albums: Don’t Forget Me- Maggie Rogers. Blue- Joni Mitchell. Wisecrack- Haley Blias. Bright Future- Adrienne Lenker. HIT ME HARD AND SOFT- Billie Eilish. Feeding Seahorses- Billie Marten. 

Artists: Courtney Barnett, Ryan Beatty, Alice Phoebe Lou Chappell Roan, Lake Street Dive, Remi Wolf, The 1975, The Sundays, The Japanese House, Maya Hawke. Dojaaaaaa

O- obsessing

A good kale Caesar salad with vegan Caesar dressing. I made a pretty good one the other day but I am working on improving my recipe to make the perfect vegan Caesar this summer, stay tuned. 

R- recommending

Spells and potions… (I can’t tell if this is serious or not). I learned an un-hexing spell from my friend Lily and I’m pretty sure it worked so if anyone needs it let me know! 

T- treating

Frozen yogurt! Ice cream! It is the season of cold treats once again, but isn’t it always?

Thank you so much for reading! I look forward to a summer full of stories, reminiscings, and top sheets.

I play typing games and take out the trash, even though it’s only halfway full. I organize my sock drawer, and then fold my shirts again, knowing they’ll be perfectly sorted for less than a day. I find ways to postpone, ways to neglect, ways to forget. Only when I stop moving for just a second, only when there is nothing in front of me but paper and pen, can I attempt some sort of anatomy on what I perceive to be shortcomings. Only in the absence of motion can I give away so much, just to be my own worst antagonist. I used to think that this absence was my favorite way to exist. I thought I could only imagine intelligently and write eloquently in the quiet. I still can exist in lone settings without feeling lonely, and I can dance it out on my own and lay on the carpet with music blaring in my ears. I love to change twelve times in the morning and leave clothes coating the floor. I love to wake up slowly, make strange snacks in the afternoon, and not have to explain my movements and activities to anyone. 

This is the first time I have lived in my own space. I had my room back home, but it was right next to my parents, and there was never a sense of loneliness there. Even though I am an only child, I never felt complete control of any space. That feeling, though, never took away from my creative freedom and very stubborn interior design visions, from when I was a little kid– my lovely parents helped me change my walls from pink to purple to grey to white, all within eighteen years. I painted and drew on the walls, painted furniture, and frequently rotated out duvet covers and decorations. 

In my freshman year of college, I lived with three roommates. decorating our space together was a lovely outward expression of who we were. I miss that room and living with my friends, but ultimately, I knew that I needed my own space. Now, I sleep in the quiet, and I come home to everything in the same place I left it, the room the same temperature, the mess the same. After hours sitting in a room that is sometimes dimly lit, and rarely flooded with sunlight, I look forward to spending time with my friends, in any capacity. Whether someone comes over to borrow a shirt and vent, or we decide to sit in the sun go to the movies, or walk around town, they are the ones who remind me of what it feels like to be full.

Conversations are messy and tangled and fantastical and tangible, and I admire the way they speak with eloquence and humor, with confidence and with vulnerability. I see how someone can always pick up on when another isn’t their normal self, even if this change is barely discernable. Not only is my joy more real externally when I am around my friends (it always has been), but that joy takes shape in a way that feels like it matters. I knew this back home when I found the people I know I’ll spend the rest of my life with and realized that no relationship could compare to the friendships that are my roots, the ones who are the reason I cannot wait to return to my first home. It’s all coming back to me now. There’s nothing like a day of mundane, of work and class and time alone in my room. Not because of the time I spent alone, but because of the feeling I get running to a friend’s room in the dark, which oftentimes, is already full of people I love. Relationships are more nuanced than the light and volume that they convey. But, with the end of the school year one week away, I cannot help but focus on anything about these people outside of the good we have done for one another over the past few months. 

Sometimes, their confidence and talent are intimidating. I wonder if I will have the same capacity for creativity they do, I reflect on the sounds of their music and the ways they speak. I declare writing as my ‘thing’ and when I read theirs, I wonder if I should have claimed this art as mine. At the same time, I think about how lucky I am to be surrounded by people so good, so creative, so ambitious, that I envy them sometimes. Each of my friends, scattered across of the country, are insightful and charismatic people. My admiration for them is immovable. 

When I look in the mirror, when I am alone with my body with the urge to criticize every inch of it, I remind myself of who is looking back at me. Because of those who know my mind and soul, I can exist in renderings of myself I have yet to acknowledge. 

As always, thank you for reading, and for your patience. Sweet dreams!

I’m sitting in an undecorated house, blank walls and empty shelves. On one, a “forest winter” candle, a screwdriver, Neutrogena sunscreen, a can of light eggshell paint, and a Better Homes & Gardens magazine. On the opposite shelf, about eight Diary of a Wimpy Kid books, fifteen picture books, Trivial Pursuit (kid-friendly version), and what the kids call “the internet” (router), and a National Geographic mega crystal growing lab. There is nothing on the walls but the air conditioning and heat controls, the lights, and a coat rack overflowing with rain jackets, sweatshirts, and a couple more formal jackets. The walls are a weird shade of white, one that I can’t decide is actually pale yellow. The family is moving, so I’m sure the walls were fuller before, but it’s more unsettling than I would have imagined. It reminds me of how much I dislike the Kardashian modern aesthetic, blank white walls and grey appliances. I want a house full of color, hand-painted tiles, yellow cupboards, raw wood storage and a piano (I will learn one day), and windows all over the walls. I want mismatched chairs around a huge dining table for dinner parties, framed postcards and letters, photographs and posters covering the walls, the frames all different, all old. Nearly everything will be second-hand, but I’ve always dreamed of having a brand-new couch. Maybe a funky hanging light too, and maybe a plaid, or better yet, hand-stitched tablecloth made by a friend. As you can tell, I’ve barely thought about this at all. Being a homeowner feels like a pipe dream, but it’s one of my pipe dreams, which in my mind, means it is only a dream. 

The boys and I are watching Back to the Outback, a 2021 animated film about a group of animals that humans see as dangerous, like poisonous reptiles, planning to escape from the zoo. They just escaped, but are being chased by many officers and a koala is being framed as dead, by rabies of course. I stayed in Portland for spring break after being offered a babysitting job Monday-Thursday, for eight hours a day. I needed the money, and although I wanted to see my friends, I have been dreading going home. I am not convinced that my house without my dog will feel so much like home. I have not been at home without her yet, as she passed right after I came back to school after winter break. I know once I get back, I will fall back into old habits, expecting her to be lying below my feet when I wake up and leaving my door open at night so that she can enter and exit as she pleases. I’m not sure if I want to close the door fully, even now. But, I am glad I stayed (for the most part). I was able to go to a cabin in Hoodsport, Washington, right outside Olympic National Park, with friends last weekend. We were only there for two nights, but it was incredibly peaceful and I came back feeling rejuvenated, but also sad to return to reality after having sleepovers with some of my closest friends and seeing deer right outside the deck and standing by the water, water bluer than I have seen in months and months, and eating omelets and toast while gossiping at one of the only diners for miles. 

Since turning 20 a few days ago, I have been thinking frequently about expectations and societal norms for the decade ahead. Finding the career you are passionate about and comfortable in, finding a partner, and starting a family, are all of the things that should begin, or at least be a concern, by the end of one’s twenties. All of it according to books and films and any sorts of media, to the point where it feels incredibly difficult to internalize anything else. The hardest part to come to terms with for me, which I know is inevitable, is growing away from some friends, either physically or emotionally. I am already preparing to be away from my closest friends for months, separated by oceans and time. I know in the next decade, I will give speeches at my best friends’ weddings in beautiful dresses I’ll only wear once, and fall in love with them and their love. I will sit in hospital waiting rooms to meet their babies, ready to spoil them with second-hand clothes, takeout food, and trips to the mountains and the beach. I will mourn family members, and sit with friends on our beds as they mourn theirs. I will try new things, some of which I will give up within the year, and I will cry and mourn my teenage years and listen to songs I can no longer relate to. There are things I’d like to learn, like how to ask for help and to understand my worth and potential, as well as my limits, and how to play piano. Growth and an expansion of knowledge are the only things I know to be true. 

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I ended my nineteenth year with one of the best days I can remember. One of my best friends from home came to Portland, and I spent the day exploring with her and another close friend, showing her around, drinking smoothies and coffee and wandering around Powells and various thrift stores (I only bought two pairs of Baggu socks plus food on the entire outing and I’m very proud of myself, although I did just order clothes online so not too proud). We ended in Sellwood, where my friends were waiting at my favorite ramen place to have dinner all together. We got back to school, and they organized a party for me, where we made fun drinks (no alcohol duh), danced, and ate cupcakes. It was the perfect reminder of the love and good energy I am surrounded by, which does not falter even when things get complicated and difficult and exhaustingly repetitive. Even when they are exhausted with just a couple of days until spring break, they plan a lovely evening to celebrate my twentieth. These people are my people, and I cannot wait to see where life takes every one of them, no matter how we may grow apart, no matter how different our lives, inevitably, will be. I find a certain joy in knowing that most likely, we will all go completely different ways, because it means we are being true to ourselves. 

I was going to write about some things I learned during my last teenage year, but I think this is a separate newsletter. So instead, back by semi-popular demand, last but not least… 

the R.E.P.O.R.T. 

R- reading 

I just read Dolly Alderton’s Everything I Know About Love. ⭑⭑⭑⭑ It was a beautiful memoir about love in your twenties, but really, the things we can derive from platonic love, which in many ways is so much more valuable. It is also about how watching your friends fall in love and get married while you’re not there yet, or vice versa, is always going to be difficult. Anything where you are in a different phase of your life. This book is funny and intelligent and serious all at once, and incredibly special. I want to come back to it in a few years, because I think I may have been a little too young to fully appreciate/relate to it.

E- eating

Pasta again, pasta always. This time, spaghetti and vodka sauce. 

P- playing

My friends and I played Trivial Pursuit when we went to the cabin last weekend, it was my first time playing, and a very fun game that I would love to play again. Very fun little obscure questions (some are very simple and some I’m convinced are nearly impossible)! I love learning! 

As far as music, Adrianne Lenker’s new album is so beautiful. I can’t listen to it too much though because it is heart shattering! I have also been listening to lots of Alice Phoebe Lou, Adele, and Joni Mitchell since she is back on Spotify yay!

O- obsessing

Floor time with friends. Chatting up a storm is always enhanced by sitting/laying on the floor while you do so. None of us vacuum very much and that is okay!

R- recommending

This focaccia/pizza from Montelupo. They have a market in Sellwood (and a restaurant which I haven’t been to yet). It had been on my list for a long time and when my parents visited, we finally went and it was so very good. It is reasonably priced and well worth it, probably the best focaccia I have ever had!

T- treating

Rimsky’s in Portland! Such good desserts and drinks, also pretty reasonable prices (7 dollar desserts!). It is one of the sweetest little places ever, there’s live music sometimes and there’s always a wait because everyone loves to go with friends or on dates or for any occasion ever. My friends and I went to celebrate being accepted to our study abroad programs! I want to try every dessert and drink there, so I guess I’m obligated to return many times– tragic. This time, I had hot cider and affogato. Coffee at 9 may have not been the best choice but I didn’t have class the next morning, so everything turned out okay. 

Thank you all very much for reading, and for being patient with me as I find the courage to write more. I haven’t been writing much, so publishing has been rare, but there will be a top sheet and I think it may be a fun one… coming soon so keep an eye out probably. See you soon and have a beautiful Wednesday and end of the week, hopefully in the sun. If not, the sun is right around the corner!

This week’s interviewee loves a top sheet! She says that if you don't have a top sheet, whatever you put on your face at night (cream or some type of lotion, for example) will go onto the comforter. If your sheets are touching your face instead, you can just wash them, and then they’re clean, and everything is much simpler.

The first question I asked her was about her favorite childhood memory. She told me about when she was twelve, and her dad bought her a horse, a horse they named Sassy. She would go out and go horseback riding with her friend Tom, and when they would leave the gate open to clean the stall, they would find her in the open field across the street, eating all the grass. She describes Sassy running away with her one time, and falling off mid-ride. She didn’t know at the time that she had broken her hip, and it took twenty more years to find out. It wasn’t until after some tests that doctors told her she had a fracture in her left hip, which has led to some problems walking as she has grown older, and sometimes, hemmed pants to accommodate her slightly shorter leg. 

I then asked her what her favorite part of having five children was. She talked about how sweet her kids are. “There were just a bunch of them, and we had a good time. Everyone was an individual and they all did their own thing.” She does not go without reminding me that things were tough sometimes, and that some children (some of whom are reading- hello!) were slightly harder to raise than others. She reminisces on ice skating on the pond near their house, in the wintertime, and swimming in their clubhouse pool during the summer. 

While she was growing up, she lived with her family in Arizona. She remembers the food fondly, the homemade sausages and Sicilian pizzas. Her mother was a great cook, she says, and they always had homemade sauce and pasta. Noodles were a common food group, with lentils, with broccoli, always fresh. She still has the stone her mother crushed garlic with. Her father was sweet, but had a temper when he was young, especially when she came home too late. Her mother saved her many times, as she would tell her to not make any noise when she came inside, to just go to sleep. At seventeen, she started smoking cigarettes, because her boyfriend, and the man she would go on to marry, smoked. She had a chair and desk facing a purple mirror, and she would smoke there. Her father grew very thoughtful in his older years, and gave all of his children funds worth thousands, which he had accumulated from his investments in the stock market. She described her parents as simple. Her mother was never interested in jewelry, and her father said he would never need a fancy meal in a restaurant. Homemade lasagna and meatballs for dinners was always enough. While her own children were growing up, they were all mostly vegetarian. When she ended up in Vegas around 21, she ordered a pastrami sandwich, and it was full of grease and completely unappealing to her. After this, she decided to not eat meat. 

The first time she ate meat after this was in Mexico, where her and her family frequently went for vacation. They stayed in a casita with a kitchen and fireplace, and a big living area. Her three year old daughter ran around with pink ribbons in her hair, and she would always find ribbons scattered around the house. Goat feet reintroduced her to meat, at the baptism of the child of those who owned the casita they stayed in.  While she was pregnant, they lived in a small hippie town, and they had a store on the main drag. She would sew clothes, and other girls would make clothes, too. The street had a meditation room, beautiful art and paintings, incense, tapestries, everything of that sort. Her family lived down the road, near some older homes, where the hippies had taken over the area. Before she gave birth, the family rented a place in a Ajijic right on Lake Chapala (which her second daughter was later named after), and the house they stayed in was owned by a Russian ballerina. The ballerina and her brother were both dancers, and they had come to Mexico to dance in plays and things. Her second daughter was born the fifth of July, and her oldest daughter’s birthday was a few days later, for which they made a clay piñata. They would go to the mercado in Guadalajara, which had everything a household could need. She would dress her oldest in dresses, and people would just grab her hand in the market and show her off to their families. The locals told her that they couldn’t believe she had just had a baby, and was already moving around with ease. 

I made sure to ask her what she values in a romantic partner. She told me it is always important to have someone who listens, someone who you have things in common with but not everything in common, especially during this point of her life. When you have both lived long lives already, she says, you come into the relationship with such different things. She talks about her partner, who she has been with for fourteen years. He is calm, and doesn’t let much upset him, more even-keeled. They can be combative, as they are both strong in their opinions, she says. He has a history, and it is one she has loved learning about. 

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In high school, she met the man who she would marry and have children with. They met when he sat in front of her in the driver's ed. She describes him as a pretty boy, like Rob Lowe, handsome and sincere. She used to talk to him, and her driver’s ed teacher, who was also the football coach, would tell her he hoped she wasn’t liking him too much. He was always sweet when she met him, kind of shy in school. They had a pottery class together, and that’s how she got to know him. She would talk to him about wanting to go to Europe after graduating high school with her friend Nancy. “He told us we would never go, and I said yes, we’re going. He bet us $100 we wouldn’t go, and that was like our incentive,” she said. They went to Europe a few months later. To go to Europe for fifty days in 1963 was $1000. They took the Queen Mary over, the Queen Elizabeth back. She was eighteen, and the boat there was all college kids from all over the country. She and her friend went to wine cellars in Germany, they saw castles, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, everywhere you hear about. She loved Switzerland, and they ate loads of chocolate and apple strudel. They had dinner at the hotels every night, they threw coins in the Trevi fountain. 

You never know what life has in store for you, or what it will bring you, she reminds me. You have to have faith, and listen to the little voice inside yourself.

“I used to get angry about things, I used to get angry and hold those things in me, carry them inside. I don’t get angry very much anymore, it really takes something to make me mad. It’s such a waste of energy, it drains you. All things pass. All problems you have, everything gets solved. It might be frightening at first, or horrid, but it always works out. You just have to have patience.”

And with those wise words, I leave you to your evening. I hope your week brings unexpected joys!

Love,

My next participant is an immensely talented fellow substacker (subscribe to Grandma Training!) (just realized that this interviewee has been revealed but it is worth it for the plug) and former bookstore employee, which is where we met! We went to the same middle school, and lived in the same neighborhood for pretty much our entire childhoods, but didn’t meet until we both got hired at a local bookstore. The rest is history, as they like to say.

We spent the first 10-15 seconds of the interview laughing about something (unclear) and then began our talk, which lasted about forty minutes. This interviewee is a very active sleeper, and invested in a weighted blanket to “smash her like an anvil.” Top sheets always seemed to strangle her, so she now sleeps on top of a fitted sheet, and under a comforter. She is content with this life. 

The first word she thought of was green. Possibly because it was one syllable? We were eating gummy worms while talking, so I sort of thought it would be worm, but she’s way too creative for such an obvious answer. She is currently watching The Bear, which is different for her, as she hasn’t felt like she has had a show for a while, and isn’t usually someone who consistently sticks to one show. As of lately, she has been struck with the need to watch The Bear, as it seems everyone is watching it. When she’s out in the world, she can return to her room and open her laptop, which has become a device meant for fun rather than just work. Thanks to Jeremy Allen White, the way she looks at her computer has changed. Her dad compared Jeremy Allen White to her grandnana, saying they had the same eyes, and her mom agreed, saying not only did they have the same eyes but the same face. She seems to be a nepo baby in disguise…

She has just started reading “Gift From the Sea” by Anne Morrow Lindbergh, first published in 1955. She has learned a lot from this woman, who goes to a cottage to be by herself for several weeks, and imparts a lot of wisdom. 

She is happy to be back home, on break from school at UC Berkeley. In her college life, the idea of playing basketball (not actually playing) has been exciting. Her roommates and her were all going through a sort of funk and hard time, and one by one started watching basketball highlights independently. They all made a basketball playlist and tried to InstaCart a basketball (unsuccessful). Her roommate got them all a ball, and they all played, and it was beautiful. The first time they tried to play, they spent longer finding the court than playing. Her roommate and her embarked on another journey to the court, but she says there was a sort of Great British Baking Show tent over the court, and they got scared and decided it wasn’t their moment to play. She says she has never been very into watching sports, but watching basketball felt kind of mindless and since it isn’t intuitive for her, she has to think very hard if she wants to understand what is happening. She has also been eating frozen blueberries and honey with yogurt, as well as Vitamin C tablets, which are the best things she eats. She wakes up earlier than all of her roommates, so can’t open the windows. Now that she’s home, she can throw open the curtains and air out the room right when she wakes up. 

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She says she loved growing up in Sacramento, and didn’t realize until she went to other places how much of an anomaly and how rare it is to be here. “We moved here in 2010, and then we moved again, but we have always been revolving around this park. Every place in this park has some memory attached to it.”

She lived in Rhode Island before moving to Sacramento, but doesn’t quite remember because she was five when they left. She learned to love running at this park (we are sitting in the park while talking), and some of her favorite runs have been here. 

She talks about having a fraught relationship with her Girl Scout troop leader’s daughter, and having to carpool to elementary school with her, arguing all the time, and quitting the debate team because of her. After a long period of seeing each other almost every day and going to each other's houses for Girl Scouts, they decided to bike to Old Sac on a Saturday at 9 in the morning. Almost every week since, they have done the same, or something similar to that. She loves to see Sacramento through a tourist’s eyes. 

She talks about liking Berkeley, but not loving it more than her life in Sacramento. She loves the comfort of being here. She talks about the weird aspects of living in a college town surrounded by people who all are your age. You never see any children, and children are so wise! They are smart, and have investigative ways. We are so withered and jaded now, she says. One of her first memories in this park was when her family came here right after they first moved, and she was wearing a little striped knit dress. She was swinging around a pole, and proceeded to fall into some goose poop. 

Her favorite thing at college right now is her philosophy class. She says her professor was born to be a professor and really cares about what students have to say, and if someone has a question, she will always make an effort to answer articulately. The class is called individual morality and social justice, so they talk about what people owe to each other, and what we can do to live morally, asking how we are obligated to one another. There is a paper she enjoyed called “Happiness and Meaning” by Susan Wolf, which is about the elements of a good life, Wolf’s catch phrase being “active engagement in projects of worth.”

“If you’re a brain surgeon but you don’t really care about it, you’re doing meaningful work but you’re not happy. And if you’re picking blades of grass passionately, you’re not happy. It’s about being passionately engaged in something that is also helping the world,” she says.

She thinks being a professor would be really wonderful, because then you get to keep a finger on the pulse of young ideas, and stay young! She knows she wants to write in the future, and is also interested in urban planning, and the way we live in cities which seem detrimental to our health. She is also interested in researching public transportation. She plans on majoring in English and political science. She was doing a good amount of writing, but fell off. It is still incredibly evident, however, that she is deeply passionate about writing and literature. 

At this point in our talk, she presented me with a gummy ring. 

She talks about the concept of intergenerational housing and how intriguing it is, but reminds me this may just be her way of saying she wants to come home and move back in with her parents. She wants to live in nature in the future, but does not want to be a hermit. Ideally, she would have a nice house, but easy access to bodies of water and forest and all of the natural things. She can see herself staying in California because there are so many different climates here. Somewhere she can hang from a tree branch or plunge into the water, none of this gross city stuff! She also mentions how she has started taking cold showers in the mornings. She saw a girl say her dad takes cold showers and has never gotten sick, and since of course everyone should believe everything on the internet, she has been doing it for one whole week. I am happy to report that she has not gotten sick!

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She would really like to go on a backpacking trip, and mentions the Pacific Crest Trail, knowing she wants to do more camping and outdoor stuff in general. She participated in a Belgian exchange program the summer before her senior year of high school. Her eighth grade teacher, who she loves and has taught her many life skills, her wife leads the program. Over spring break, Belgians come here, and over the summer, they go to Belgium. She says a lot of the Belgians were very boisterous and party-inclined, but her Belgian was the total antithesis of that, very polite, prim, and proper. The experience of being in Belgium was interesting because the neighborhood felt like it lacked character– all of the houses were similar, they all had the same sculpted bushes, and it was always cloudy. But, being with friends in a foreign place was special, and the day they all went to Paris was one of the best days she can remember. Somehow while they were in Paris, she got separated from her friends, and ended up hanging out with three guys she didn’t really know. They all went to lunch, and she got some beautiful strawberries she thinks about all of the time. Then, they gave her covid, and she had to quarantine forever in her Belgian prison. Regardless, she expresses much gratitude, as many people never get to go to those places, much less at such a young age. 

She says she has some “micro regrets,” things she could have done or said differently, but more than being a regretful person, she is very nostalgic. She says all the time that she’s scared she’s not funny anymore. She told one of her closest friends this the other day, who reminded her she said the same thing every three months. She worries sometimes that she has lost her spark, that she peaked at 16. She no longer has freckles, which feels oddly  emblematic to her, as if she has turned away from the sun. But, her hair is curly again, she is back in Sacramento, she found her old glasses, and things are looking up. 

She is proud of the things she was able to do through Girl Scouts, as she received mentorship and care she never would have otherwise. Growing up with people so close to you, including her old nemesis who she made snickerdoodle cookies with this morning, is a uniquely special thing. She also participated in leading a mental health group, and was able to talk to people that way, too. She thinks the experience of being a very bookish kid was also formative, the way she always carried a book with her (and still tries to). She wants to read more, but feels like everyone says that, since you can’t really read too much. 

The new word on her mind is barf. Maybe green barf from the green earlier on? One-syllable words are her savior today.

PS. Thank you for reading all the way to the end! I am grateful for each and every one of you and hope your weekend is restful, forgiving, and everything else you want it to be.

Love,

Hi friends. I am writing to you in a state of deep sadness, and also a heart overflowing with love and gratitude. Growing older has taught me not only the importance of feeling emotions that are seemingly “bad” (Inside Out taught me that in all honesty), but also in the ways your heart can split into so many different physical sensations. Right now, my heart is burning with love and gratitude, after a two hour talk with friends sitting on a bed and reminding each other to take advice from the planets, to remember the universe, the beautiful universe, which has a reason for every moment and emotion and event we experience. The universe, which reminds us of the meaning on earth, but also causes us to crumble in hopelessness and immense worry. A world that tries so hard to define us by our possessions, our physical presentations, our clothes, our shoes, our socks. A society that discourages introspection and encourages distraction, and a universe which provides us opportunity to do just the opposite. To look as deeply as we can into ourselves, to the point of uncomfortability and hurt, to the rawness and the pink and red and all of the gory. One that reminds us to define ourselves by our core, and provides us time and grace to uncover what our insides may represent, what we want to be and, maybe more importantly, what we are. 

This week, I lost my childhood dog. I’ve written about her a couple of times, and the story of growing up with her is documented here (which I’m very happy about). In this piece, I write that I cannot envision a life without her, and that I am not sure if I can do it. The time has come, and I still cannot envision my life without her. I cannot imagine going home to a room without a dog bed right next to mine, to falling asleep without the sound of dog snores and dreams. I cannot imagine not hearing her yawns and watching her sleep, or laying on her stomach and listening to her heart. I cannot imagine opening the door to let her inside, and her not being there. Now when I go to sleep, I’ll close my door, because as odd as it sounds, I’ve never closed my door while I sleep, in case she wants to come in and out. My parents would come in the morning, turning off the light I had fallen asleep with while reading, and closing the door. This twelve year ritual will end, as many others have for my parents, home for the first time in over a decade without her. I am a mess here, and I try not to think about how I will feel once I return home. Part of me never wants to, because my home was never without her. She was, and always will be, home. To think that I will never be home again ruins me. 

She had been sick for some time before she passed. I flew home in November because my parents were sure she was going to pass. When I got home, she seemed strong again. When I was home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, she seemed to be doing well. She had a few rough days, and I could tell she was exhausted. I’m not sure if she was in pain, because she never complained, but I knew she was tired. The last picture I took of her was the day I left, and you could tell she was ready. Five days after I left home for school, she was gone. I facetimed my parents while I watched a woman inject some kind of poison into her that caused her to pant heavily before drifting to sleep. When the woman arrived at our house, Tenaya looked so excited. She was given treats and love, and she was happy and moving well. For a moment, I wondered if we were making a mistake. Fifteen minutes later, she was gone, and I watched my sobbing parents pet her long after she had died. I hung up and cried for hours, and then I went to watch a movie with my friends without telling them. There was, and is, this resounding pain I have never experienced before. It is so much more physical than I expected, more numb, too. I have cried and I have journaled and I have tried to distract myself, but no matter what I do, she doesn’t leave my mind. Even while I sleep, I dream about her. Today, I realized my heart hurts because a part of it is gone, and it is desperately trying to close an open wound, one that will never quite heal. 

She was so incredibly strong, and if she was in pain, she never showed it. She never cried, and didn’t slow down when she didn’t want to. She stayed the entire time I was home, and died without me there to comfort her. The guilt of not sitting next to her in her last minutes has not begun to dissipate. The whole thing was unsettling. I received a google calendar invite to her death (this is kind of funny) and I counted down the minutes until the call, the hardest call of my life. I went to lunch, but couldn’t stomach anything, and remember it pouring rain, thinking to myself that the rain was almost too cliche for a day like this. I scrolled through instagram while I waited for the call, and had a headache from dehydration, but just stared at my empty water bottle. I wore clothes I didn’t feel attached to, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to wear them again for a while. I put on mascara, even though I knew I would cry it off, and I made a playlist to listen to in anticipation of her death. For some reason, I worried about missing things, like time with friends or responding to emails or working on applications and resumes. I took my fleece off, and I answered the call. 

My friends are an absolute blessing. They have checked on me and distracted me and called me and held space for me, and I truly could not ask for more. 

As far as the universe, the moon is in Cancer now. This means we should take time for observation and introspection, for intentionally recognizing and acknowledging our feelings, our fears, and our memories. We may feel more emotional than usual, more sensitive to our surroundings. This time of year gives us the space to practice creating a nurturing and healing energy for ourselves. Let the Mars in Capricorn allow you to continue moving forward with a sense of determination, knowing the meaning and importance of working towards your goals, even if this work pushes you out of your comfort zone. At the same time, let the Venus in Sagittarius allow you to practice some spontaneity and generosity, dance in your room, and spin through the hallways. The Sun in Aquarius will keep you free and independent, without diminishing the warmth spilling out of your limbs, felt by those around you. 

I would like to end this on a more fun note! This influencer https://linktr.ee/dakotawarren has this series called r.e.p.o.r.t. and each letter stands for something, and I want to start doing it! So here we go

R- Reading

Last book I finished was One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. It was some of the most beautiful prose I have ever read, and such a beautiful story of generational cycles and trauma, love, suffering, all of it. The way Márquez writes is just insane, this is the second book I have read by him and I need to read more already. He is one of those authors I would just love to have dinner with and talk to about his writing process and all that jazz (he died in 2014 though so I guess no dinner). Highly recommend to anyone who enjoys and appreciates good writing

E- Eating

Pasta. Loads and loads of pasta. That is kind of all, and I haven’t gotten sick of it yet. I got three bags of pasta at Trader Joes and some sauce for less than $10, and that will be a solid 5-6 meals, which probably explains why this is my favorite college meal! It’s also delicious which is convenient 

P- Playing

My mango fidget. It comes everywhere with me. I looked it up on Amazon and I think this is the right one, and I highly recommend it. It smells like mango too, but mine has worn off I believe. If they have more fruits maybe I should collect them… no!!! No more consumerism!!! Mango

O- Obsessing

Baggu (as always). I accidentally took a picture of me packing that happened to feature an embarrassing number of Baggu items I’ve collected over time! I think they should sponsor me

R- Recommending

Dressing up just to dress up! It’s so fun and special and it just came to mind randomly, has not happened since New Years but I want to find a reason to dress up again sometime soon maybe

T- Treating 

Trader joe’s lemon curd always

PS. Top sheets are coming back soon! I apologize to everyone I have interviewed who has not been featured yet- I have not been writing and I am backlogged as far as interviews I need to write, and sometimes it takes a while. I promise, they are coming, and I am quite excited to write them 

Thank you all for reading, it has been a pleasure as always! I will see you next week