In late September of 2024, my roommate Katelyn and I went to donate plasma for the first time. Upon arrival, we were taken into separate rooms, where I found out I wasn’t able to donate plasma since I had donated blood too recently.

The donor center tech escorted me into a waiting room, composed of four eggshell-white walls and a singular mustard-yellow poster about how donating plasma saves lives. There was a crusty-old sink in the corner that dripped every ten seconds, a sound that would be drilled into the back of my mind, and an overhead light that would soon give me a raging headache.

I didn’t want to go on my phone, but I also didn’t bring a book, not knowing I would be sitting alone, so I sat there, listening to the drip-drip— my eyes honing in on the light above.

As I sat there, I thought about everything that’s happened to me ever, as one does.

I thought back to that summer when I had met someone and only truly got to know them for one day while I was traveling. At the time, I really liked them and felt like we had clicked, similar to how my old friends and I had. We didn’t talk anymore, but it popped into my mind every so often since then.

And truthfully, I had been feeling sick about this for months, romanticizing a situation in my head to build it up into something it wasn’t, but in the silence of the waiting room with only the drip-drip to fill the open air, I felt my eyes getting watery.

I called my mom and told her what I was feeling, and although my brain felt fuzzy and I no longer remember what she said as her calming voice came through the phone, I know she talked me through it.

This muddled thinking plagued my brain for the next month, still, and it didn’t help when the person had reached out to me again, too, one chilly October day on my morning walk.

But one of my friends, a girl I sat next to in a journalism class, upon telling her about my situation, said something so helpful, and something I won’t forget.

“You don’t even know them well enough to miss them,” she said. “You are just projecting your own good qualities and values onto them, so you don’t need to miss them anymore because you get to hang out with yourself every day.”

While my brain didn’t accept that information for a long while after it was said, deep down, I knew she was right, and I think this advice was honestly applicable in a lot of other areas in my life, too.

There had been people I had seen way more, friends and relationships, than this individual, who I did the same to—projecting my own qualities onto them to make them into something they weren’t. And, I was better off just letting that relationship die than being the only one to keep the fire aflame.

Who’s to say that this person in particular was good or bad, but the fact of the matter was, I just didn’t know them. Point blank.

One of my good and bad qualities is that I like to see the good in people, but sometimes, only the good, blurring the bad altogether. But people aren’t perfect, and it’s important to remember that to avoid scorning yourself down the line.

Obviously, not a single person is perfect. Not a chance. But, there’s a difference between human imperfections and being a truly bad person, and it’s important to know where you draw the line.

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One of my earliest memories is sitting on a wooden picnic bench with splinters worming their way through the cotton of my dress. My head is in my hands, and my lip is in a downward curve, frowning— my eyes glued to the ants trailing through the dew-ridden grass. My mom, dad, sister, grandma, and grandpa are in the yard, watching me, but the world around goes silent. I look up at the blue sky, with not a cloud in sight, and suddenly forget why my lip made a pout in the first place.

I am at the farmhouse, and at the farmhouse, all I can feel is unadulterated joy— a joy that would carry on for the next 20 years, and for, hopefully, all of my life.

When I first began going to the farmhouse— the quaint little home with its baby blue roof in New Hampshire’s mountains— it was only 215 years old.

I began making the 24-hour drive there at a time when fairies, mermaids, and unicorns were the core of my belief system, and my favorite toy was a neon-orange magnetic tic-tac-toe game—perfect for road trips.

And, being there, was, and still is, purely magic.

I’d play in the streams, feed the cows, run through the hay-filled fields, eat fresh ice cream in town, and write in my journal in the grass.

I’m not from a small town. I’m from a suburb in Minnesota— a quick drive to the Twin Cities.

But deep down, New Hampshire has always felt like home, especially after moving out of my childhood house, even though it's only 15 minutes away from my parents’ now. I knew it to be true the day I began listening to “Home” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros in my old wired headphones as we approached the farm— my face pressed to the window.

New Hampshire taught me to appreciate and nurture nature.

I would collect ticks in plastic bags for research. I would spend time naming the cows that were not given a title. I would dip my toes in the natural springs, watching the baby trout scatter.

And one day, I would go on to study the very environment that New Hampshire taught me to love so dearly.

New Hampshire taught me to dream.

I wrote a short story on the unfortunate fate of a girl who picked an endangered flower. I sketched mermaids in the swimming holes. I ran through the fields at dusk, crossing my fingers that a fairy would fly by.

New Hampshire taught me to be me.

I got my hands dirty, playing in the mud. I made new friends— some who have stayed to this day. I joined the circus and embraced the clown that I am.

I am New Hampshire, and New Hampshire is me.

I hope everyone, at least one day, has a place that is what New Hampshire is to me.

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For the longest time, I have had a weird relationship with TikTok and social media altogether. I’m sure I’ve written about this before, but I wanted to go more in-depth on it: I’m constantly conflicted on whether or not I want to go off the grid completely or promote myself to the heavens for my career.

Here are my reasons for why I want to go off the grid:

• I don’t like spending my time scrolling. I want to read, hike, play instruments, and try so many new things. Social media takes up so much time, and it does so under the radar until you realize 5 hours have passed, and it’s time for bed.

• As much as I try not to, I compare myself. This surely has not helped as I have become a model. I see an over abundance of girls modeling and think “I should be that way,” etc. We were never meant to see this many people as humans; it’s not healthy.

• Feeling like I need to “document everything” to be successful in the career I am pursuing takes the life out of living. I try to be mindful about staying off my phone with my loved ones, but sometimes I hear an evil voice in my head telling me to take a glance. I want that voice to be washed away.

Why I haven’t deleted it:

• The acting industry is changing rapidly, and one thing I am hearing so often is that social media presence is important in the industry now. The other day, I booked a national commercial, and on the application, I had to list my social media and follower counts. Sure, I don’t have enough followers for it to really mean something and sway casting decisions, but the text box is still looming.

• Everyone else has it. When I deleted social media, I felt a certain disconnect in some of my circles, because I don’t understand certain references or pop culture. I wish everyone could just go off of it with me, but I know that isn’t reasonable. Even when I didn’t watch Love Island, I felt out of the loop and unsure how to stay in conversations with my peers; try the whole internet then.

• I’ve made money off of social media. Last year, I made around $2500 off of social media. Sure, it isn’t a crazy amount, but it has been a very nice supplement to my income, which makes it hard for me to let that go. If I were more established in my desired career with a higher income, I think things would be different.

I do not have an answer when it comes to this blog post. I just have conflicting feelings about social media and need to get it off my chest. What I do hope to get out of it, though, is some feedback. If anyone out there is reading this and has some words of wisdom or guidance on how they deal with the ever- evolving digital world, I would love to know. Is there a middle ground, or do we truthfully have to choose one or the other? One day, I hope I figure it out.

Celia <3

Today, I went to the gym, submitted two auditions, and now I’m here, twiddling my thumbs away on my laptop with its pink-and-grey marble case. I’m drained, but shouldn’t I feel all lively and joyful, being productive, after a week of inactivity? Meh.

This morning, during my workout—my usual 12-3-30 on the treadmill—I couldn’t stop thinking about every sensation coursing through my body. My shoulders ached, particularly my right one. My jaw was sore; it’s always popping in and out of place ever since I fainted in the 3rd grade, but for some reason, running makes it worse. And, the arches on my feet ached—a curse from my high-arch-footed father.

Today, like yesterday, and every day before, I told myself I was going to be “disciplined.” Or rather, I told myself I was going to “lock in.” For me, that looks like what I did: eat well, move my body, do the things I need to do, and find time to do the things I love. However, I was still left depleted.

Okay, well, here’s my dilemma then: do nothing —> feel horrendous. Do everything —> feel horrendous.

Does being an adult just mean never winning? If you’re older than I am, spare me the truth.

Either way, I’m unaccepting of that fate.

I’ve concluded that if you aren’t “disciplined,” or rather, pursuing your goals, in the right fashion, then it will inevitably lead to the kind of burnout that I’m facing.

No, really, Cecilia?

Why yes! And let me tell you why.

I don’t like the treadmill. It creates a hot pain in my neck and the most boredom I’ve ever known. Although I am getting a walk in, something I enjoy, it doesn’t fill my cup. I like volleyball, I like yoga, and I like being outside. When I do those things, they don’t feel like a chore but a treat.

Recently, I’ve been viewing auditions like a chore. That is probably the worst thing I could do to myself because, as an actor, that’s the main part of your job. But, when I take risks in my self tapes and put some liveliness back into them, even if they take up more physical energy, it’s replenished elsewhere.

The same goes for my blog. I choose to do this. I like writing, and I like the idea of sharing that love with someone else (hi, if you’re reading this). I don’t gain money from this; I do it because I love it. For a minute, I had been writing “BLOG” twice a week in my planner, and truthfully, that was sucking the fun out of it. Like I’ve said before, when something isn’t fun anymore, stop.

So, I think I’ve semi-reached a point in my life where I’ve achieved the discipline of adulthood, but I’m just approaching it the wrong way. Discipline doesn’t always need to be scary. Well, maybe a tiny bit scary, otherwise I probably wouldn’t do what I need to do.

Until next time!

Celia <3

Hi, lovely people! This past year has been a big one— moving out of my college home of two years, diving headfirst into the things I love, getting into a relationship after five years, meeting so many new people, and so much more. While many things this past year have been of love and joy, I’ve also experienced a lot of loss. In these times, I try to take a step back and remind myself to be grateful and gracious, although I may be suffering. I find that when I am in a dark place, I have to fake happiness until it becomes my reality. So, here are a few tips and tricks to become, once again, in love with your life.

Master the art of a nothing morning

I love being up early and productive in the morning, but sometimes, it also makes me sick. I wake up with a hustle mentality, and it spikes my adrenaline, starting my day off poorly. And when I fail to be productive early in the day, despite waking up early, it leaves me with a pit in my stomach, even though many of these deadlines are self-imposed.

So, because of that, I’ve been trying to master the art of nothing morning. I get up, with no expectations, and do what I love to do: read, sip a coffee, and sit outside. Although productivity is important to me, this has made me enjoy my mornings far more and gain further respect for this time of day.

My favorite morning routine, as of lately, is to not have one.

Learn

Whenever I learn something new, I feel both my brain and heart expanding. I am exposed to a new craft and often new people, and these new avenues that I may not have thought to explore before remind me of the possibility that comes with life. When I learn, I am reminded that I can always pivot and start anew, no matter how stressful things may get.

It also reminds me, at times, how great my current reality is, because I know I’m exactly where I meant to be when I learn something that may not be my forte.

Sometimes you need to fake confidence until it becomes your reality

There have been many moments in my life where I’ve wanted to start fresh or make a big change. This is intimidating and often requires a large amount of confidence. For a while, I struggled to conjure the confidence to make these changes in my life. But what I realized is that you must first fake confidence until it becomes real.

To gain confidence, sometimes you just need to fake it until you make it. You need to put on your big bugeye sunglasses, your wired headphones, and strut to your destination with your head up high. And eventually, the confidence will come with it.

Say yes

After graduating from college, I felt exhausted. I was always on the go and felt like I needed rest. This rest was well deserved, but also, just because I was tired didn’t mean I was going to say no to each and every opportunity coming my way.

I say yes, and I’m grateful for opportunities, but I am also more selective and weigh the pros and cons before moving forward. I consider how this opportunity will suit me. Will it bring me community, happiness, fulfillment, and more?

And, when I make these decisions, I feel far more fulfilled with the things I’m doing, because I truly care about them and know I want to be in attendance.

My grandpa told me that when he was my age, 23, he wished he had said yes more and tried new things. So, I will try new things.

These are just a few things of a comprehensive list; let me know if you would like to hear more!

Love, Celia

When I was 18, 19, 20, 21, and 22—basically all of my college years— I found myself running. Not in the literal sense, but rather in relationships. When I began dating someone I knew, it was as though there was a ticking time bomb, like the cricket in Practical Magic, counting down the days I had left with this person. However, unlike in the movie, I was the one who left.

Sometimes, the running made sense: our morals didn’t align, we didn’t click, or it wouldn’t work in the long term. But, sometimes, my feet just took off from beneath my body, carrying me far, far away.

I don’t know what sparked this. My extreme self-reliance and love of alone time? An avoidant attachment style? Fear of vulnerability? I don’t know.

But now (take this with a grain of salt), I am somewhat of a “recovering bolter.”

However, while I may be a recovering bolter in the relationship sense, I’ve found this mindset contagious, like the flu, spreading to other parts of my life.

I’ve been in Minnesota for almost six months now without leaving (we aren’t counting Wisconsin), and I’m stir crazy.

“We should go on a weekend trip to New York,” I said to my friend Lindsay the other day. “Or a fall trip to Washington Island?”

And, while I love to travel, I don’t think the simple answer—my love for traveling—is sparking this urge to run, flee, or hop on a plane.

I think it’s the need for a break in normalcy.

This is my first seven months with a full-time job, excluding internships. It’s a complete shift in any schedule I’ve ever had, which is expected. While school and university brought a regular schedule too, it still had a sense of surprise. School had new lessons every day, and college had new events every weekend, if not every weekday.

I don’t know what to make of this. You win some, you lose some?

Luckily, my full-time job is fully remote—something I am incredibly grateful for and was intentional in securing, given my recovering-bolter status.

So, you’ll probably be seeing me fleeing the Midwest for a month in the mountains come fall. And don’t worry, you’ll be hearing about it, too!

Love, Celia

Margaret

At 23, just out of two years in the Peace Corps and working to complete my undergraduate degree, I wish I had known how much more sensible it would have been to pursue a marketable degree, like nursing, rather than majoring in French (without teaching credentials).

Ed

At 23, I was learning the value of positive thinking and choosing to be optimistic. I wish that I had chosen healthier relationships. I was accepting of new friendships. You should always have something to look forward to.

Try new things, like when we tried pickleball. I suggest dance classes and definitely at least 3-4 months of martial arts.

Grandma took up Taekwondo, downhill ski racing, and scuba diving in her 50s. She was in her 40s when she completed her doctorate, did a few years of competitive pistol shooting in her 70s, so she’s a lifelong learner. You would meet active, healthy people and could share a lot of the activities with friends.

I turned 23 in 1967.

I was a senior majoring in economics at the University of Minnesota. I taught swimming to children at Lindsey School for disabled children, delivered pizza at night, and was in the Marine Corps Reserve. Grandma Mary and I got married, the state of Minnesota offered me 29 different jobs at $560/month, I graduated, we drove to Montreal for an Exposition, I started work at Prudential at $600/month, the Marines sent me to Cherry Point in August for 2 weeks training, I needed an emergency appendectomy and was gone 5 weeks, John was born October 5, 1967.

I turned 23 on October 12.

Truly my most transitional year, in the sense that the decisions I made put me on trajectories that lasted for decades.

Heidi

Ha, I can say you don’t need to be married to live together!

Dean

I got married when I was 23. I wished for a good life and happiness. I’ve had a super, super good life.

At the time, I was working at 3M company and wished I could get out of there. Then, I went to school and got out of there. You can always change your situation and pursue something new.

Ray

One is that I wish I had realized how vulnerable other people are. I realized some of this stuff, but not as much as I could’ve, but that people really want to be noticed, remembered, and known in any way. There’s an innate loneliness that I think we all share as a society. There’s something more than we can ever quite find, but we will find it later.

I think some of the closest connections you can have with someone are in a hug and when you are genuinely laughing together.

Diane

To enjoy each day not only for yourself but for others as well! Appreciation and awareness! Stay on your own path; it’s the only one you can walk.

P.S. Life is just a series of lessons to be learned!

When I was 18, I was in my first real(ish) relationship. It took longer to become “official” than we actually dated, but at 18, it was still real to me.

Throughout the entire relationship, something I’ve written about on here before, another girl was trying to worm her way into my place, which, eventually, worked. If you’ve heard “Traitor” by Olivia Rodrigo before, you get the idea.

Anyway, the whole time, for whatever reason, I was fixated on the idea that I needed to portray some “cool girl” in our relationship. When the other girl tried to weasel her way in, I shrugged it off and trusted my boyfriend.

By early October, when we had broken up, and he had quickly recoupled, my cool girl facade shed off like a snake’s skin with the changing of seasons. I, embarrassingly, continued texting with him, thinking we could be friends, all while knowing he had a new beau. It took me nearly three months until I sat on the side of my college’s volleyball court, left him on open, and tied my sneakers aggressively before marching off to play.

The next morning, I flew home to Minnesota for Thanksgiving and listened to “All Too Well: Ten Minute Version” by Taylor Swift on the flight. The next day, I listened to the same song while running through my neighborhood—and the following day, driving dramatically through my hometown.

And, although I was listening to such a gut-wrenching song, for some reason, I still thought it was going to be us.

Near the end of my Thanksgiving break, my three best friends and I were driving through town doing our usual errands: Walmart, TJ Maxx, Goodwill, and Target. As we drove toward Walmart, I conveniently turned my head toward Applebee’s, a spot we used to go. Inside, he sat with his friends and a girl with dark brown hair.

I felt like I needed to do one of those cartoon-esque movements, rubbing my eyes dramatically to see straight. Is that what I think it was? Yes. Yes, it was.

And, you’d think that that moment would’ve solidified in my mind that he didn’t care about me and that it was never going to be us. But, for some reason, in the back of my head, a dumb little voice— one that completely disagreed with every other part of my body— told me we would be together once again.

I held that grip, that invisible string, and a smidge of hope for years, although I didn’t even know him anymore.

And, when he came back, all those years later, telling me that what he did was the “worst mistake of his life,” it was funny, cause I felt nothing. The only thing I felt was my stomach drop at the thought of trying to trust him again.

Now, I’m 23— an awkward, weird age, but I’m doing it, and I’m happy.

I wish I had loosened my grip sooner and let go of something that everything but that little voice in my head told me to avoid. As I have loosened my grip, half a decade later, I’ve noticed everything aligning just the way it’s meant to be.

Opportunities roll my way like waves crashing on the gritty sand. New friends come into my life with the seasons, entering my life both when I need them and when I’m ready. Grief comes in a non-linear pattern, but I’m not alone, like I once thought I was.

It’s weird because I like to tell myself that I need to work hard and fight for my dreams, but sometimes a new perspective makes you realize that you might not always be fighting for the right things. And, when you loosen your grip, in comes that perspective.

Love, Celia

When I was little, my grandma told me about how she used to babysit J.D. Salinger’s children. He resided in the same small New Hampshire town as her— the one I began visiting at a very young age. I was in awe at this news, although I had yet to read The Catcher in the Rye.

One summer, when I was 15, my friend Izzy, my grandma, grandpa, and I took a tour of the rural town. Unfortunately, I do not remember the specifics of what the tour guide had to say. However, being the 15-year-old dreamer that I was, my memories include looking off into the distance as we walked through the tall prairie grass, imagining what it would be like to be an author, secluded in nature, writing the tales of my heart’s desire. I smiled faintly at this thought.

“One day I’ll be an author in my little farmhouse, writing next to the trout-filled creeks, between the green mountains,” I thought to myself. What a great dream to have.

Flash forward to now, I am 23, and very much not a recluse author.

The other day, though, I was lying on my bedroom floor, zoning out, looking at my bookshelf. As my eyes gained clarity, they focused in on The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. I thought back to my grandma‘s days of babysitting the author‘s children and how everyone in the small New Hampshire town kept his address a secret, protecting his privacy.

And as I thought about this, I realized this dream, of being a recluse author, telling tales from a land unknown to the general public, is virtually impossible nowadays.

If I were to gain the same notability as Salinger in 2026, cameras would be flashing outside my bedroom window, and fans would be on my front lawn. Sure, I don’t live in the same small New England town, but still, people would find me there someway, somehow.

And, I think there’s something magical about that recluse aspect. There’s a certain mystery and respect for the people who are content with their seclusion, however still willing to share their art with the rest of the world. But, in the writing world nowadays, you are almost forced to promote yourself to the social media zeitgeist that is modern-day society.

I think that saddens me a little bit, although I am not actively pursuing a career as an author. There is something beautiful about art, unscathed by the digital world, that I wish I could be a part of. Sure, I could be involved in creating this art, but I think there is a certain push and pull component to that— whether or not I want my creations to be viewed by a broader audience.

I love art nowadays, but it’s definitely different, and sometimes, I don’t know how to feel about it.

Celia <3

A question I’ve been asking myself recently is whether I should move to New York or Los Angeles. I want to dive deeper into acting and modeling, and I know that those are the places to be— and Atlanta, I suppose— but anyway, the issue is, New York is the place that calls to me and always has. However, I’ve always heard that, for television acting, Los Angeles is the place to be. I digress.

I asked my acting teacher what she thought, and she said there are great opportunities in both cities for television and film, which left me feeling even more conflicted.

This confusion has put me at a standstill. I’m working and studying acting in my current city, but I feel like I could be doing more. I want to be on a TV show and another feature film. I want to be hustling from set to set and have long 16-hour days. It’s long, and it’s grueling, but it’s my dream.

Today, I saw a video where a girl told people how to get unstuck.

“If you’re trying to make a decision, make one even if it’s wrong,” she said.

That really resonated with me. Rather than sitting here waiting for the answer to find me, it’s better to go off and find it myself. If Los Angeles isn’t my city, then we know what is.

Obviously, there are factors that I, and many others, would need to take into account, like money, but regardless, I think it’s important to take that leap. If one city isn’t my place, I’ll stay there until the funds fill back up, and I can relocate once again.

Recently, there have been moments where I’ve paused and just thought, “Wow, life is so short.” My great uncle passed away from cancer this month, which the majority of my family didn’t even know he had, and a week later, my cousin was killed by a drunk driver. And that’s why I think it’s so important to take those leaps and experience the things we want to experience, although they may be scary. Our time is so limited, whether we know it or not.

So, see you in LA, or New York— who knows?

Love, Celia

Note: This article was originally written for the Roseville Reporter. This edition is a rough draft (I was too excited to not share it).

After waiting five years for a new Spider-Man film, “Spider-Man: Brand New Day” hit theaters on July 31, 2026.

The last film, “Spider-Man: No Way Home,” left fans on a cliffhanger. Peter Parker, also known as Spider-Man and played by Tom Holland, wiped the memories of his best friends Ned, played by Jacob Batalon, and MJ, played by Zendaya, with the help of Doctor Strange to protect them from villains who were trying to hurt them.

While he thought it was the right thing, following the death of his Aunt May, it left Peter alone in his spiderweb-ridden New York City apartment, looking at his friends’ lives from an outside view. Paired with music like “Loser” by Tame Impala, viewers could feel the palpable loneliness of the superhero oozing out of the screen during the first half of the film.

After being alone for four years, apart from his partial friendship with Detective Jean DeWolff, played by Liza Colón-Zayas, Peter thought this isolation was maintainable. That was, until his spider senses became overloaded and his hormones surged from extreme emotional stress, also known as missing MJ and Ned.

The timing for this imbalance in Peter’s spider senses was anything but convenient, with a villain on the loose, with the capability of inhabiting everyone’s minds but Peter’s. This villain was none other than the mind controller, Jean Grey, played by “Stranger Things,’” Sadie Sink—something Marvel had tried to keep under wraps for over 16 months.

After playing Max Mayfield, who was possessed by Vecna in “Stranger Things,” Sink had no problem playing an adjacent character who had similar capabilities. She had a great performance, portraying the villain, until, close to the end, the audience realized that she was not the villain overall.

The true antagonist was an organization called the Department of Damage Control (DODC), which Peter had been assisting while believing they were the good guys. He later came to find out that they hunted and killed Jean Grey’s sister for being a mind controller or “different” and planned to do the same to her.

With the help of Frank Castle, played by Jon Bernthal, Peter took down DODC; however, not without receiving a few battle scars in the process.

While alone for the majority of the film, Bernthal and Holland’s character portrayals provided comic relief and an unexpected friendship as Peter was estranged from his two high school buddies—arguably a favorite part of the film.

After defeating the true villain, DODC, the movie was still unresolved—Peter’s two best friends still had no memory of him before their encounters with him throughout the film. That was, until Peter entered the Peter Pan Donut and Pastry Shop, where MJ used to work, to see Ned sitting at a table. Peter approached him, reintroduced himself, and began doing their best-friend handshake. After the handshake, Ned looked up, recognition in his eyes, and exclaimed, “Peter!”, providing the exact resolution the film needed and fans demanded.

The movie ultimately concluded with Marvel’s classic end-credit scene. The short clip showed “Spidey Tracker,” an app Ned developed. In the app, Spider-Man’s location slowly shifts from New York City to space, ending with “Spider-Man will return,” and after being on the edge of my seat for two hours and 25 minutes, I sure hope he does.

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Today, I went to a coffee shop and ordered its version of a vanilla bean frappuccino from Starbucks— my 7th-grade staple. It had whipped cream on top, so it was naturally a success (that was my favorite part of the drink anyway).

Hours before, I wrapped a short film that I spent five days on set for as a lead. It was honestly one of my favorite sets yet. The cast was huge as it took place in a K-12 school, so I made many friends, both from the cast and crew. Eventually, it will be a feature film with the original cast returning, which I also cannot wait for. The film follows multiple students and their stories, standing against gun violence in America, and I’m so proud to be a part of it.

I’ve been on a lot of sets at this point in my acting career, and what this set really taught me is the importance of connection, or rather, an unspoken language between your team. When framing, acting, etc., didn’t work, it was as though our team spoke telepathically and quickly figured it out. We were also able to keep on schedule, although many of us became great friends, which made it difficult at times to act instead of yapping for hours straight.

I also suffered a big loss during this production, and although I didn’t share with the group, it was my fellow cast members’ upbeat spirit that kept me going throughout the process.

Life feels so cool right now, and you’re so cool if you’re reading this.

Love,

Celia <3

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Sometimes, when people finally get to know me, they tell me, “I thought you were going to be really mean.” I don’t know when I started to get this comment because I never got it at a young age, but one day it just began. Maybe it was time that solidified my resting bitch face as the excessive joy of childhood dissolved, or maybe it was the way my face changed as I shifted into adulthood (or the bangs). Who knows!

But one thing I know is that I’m a nice person, or that I try to be, so it always shocks me when people approach me thinking otherwise.

Recently, on a short film set, a little girl said to me, “Are you a real cheerleader?”

“No, I’m not,” I said. “I was when I was little, though.”

“Oh,” she said, scanning my body up and down. “‘Cause you look like one!”

I laughed, but she continued before I could respond, “Are you a mean girl? Cause you look like one too!”

Sometimes I worry that deep down I’m not a good person— that this little girl, with the purest of hearts, could sniff out my evil like a German shepherd at work. I think back to the times when people have treated me poorly, as though I had done them dirty, when in fact, we didn’t know each other at all.

Despite these invasive thoughts, I know I’m good, although sometimes it’s hard to believe it.

It makes me sad that some people enter knowing and interacting with someone with the opposite of a clean slate. This preconceived idea of how someone is as an individual destroys so many potential relationships. Is it jealousy, implicit biases, or what?

And, I don’t know. I wish I did, but it’s subjective.

So, next time you find yourself in the seat of judgment, rather than jumping to conclusions, take a moment and look a little deeper.

Celia <3

Like many twenty-somethings, I have a fig tree– a large array of interests and careers I want to pursue. And, within my tree lies both journalism and acting.

My love for acting came early. As a child, like many other performers I know, I’d self-produce shows for my family. Sometimes it was just singing songs on my iCarly-branded microphone; other times, it was a day-long rehearsal. My most iconic performance was "Tik Tok" by Kesha on the 4th of July with my cousin when we were seven—we had no idea what the lyrics meant.

And for journalism, I’ve always loved writing, but I didn’t realize my love for telling other people’s stories until university. I became enthralled by the brave reporters who traveled and put themselves at risk for the pursuit of truth. I realized that one day, I wanted to do the same, but with an environmental focus.

As my love for both of these occupations has grown, I’ve come to realize not only their importance but also how they overlap.

They tell a story: journalism is the truth, and acting can be both truth and fiction. They are both simply exploring the human experience and life itself and sharing the findings with others.

When I was young and would miss the bus, my mom would drive me to school. On the way there, there was one steep, windy road that I would cross my fingers on in the winter, scared our car wouldn’t make it up. And, for some reason, on this same road, when I was in elementary school, I would also question the meaning of life. An odd way to start my day, but I was, and still am, a weird kid. As I did so, my mind would transform into a blank sheet of paper, nothingness filling my thoughts. However, as I discovered acting and journalism further into my elementary years, this blank sheet transformed into an array of colors and understanding.

Acting and journalism are something I love and am deeply passionate about, but they also bring me a sense of comfort in a world of the unknown, although some stories are more positive than others to tell. I’m grateful we found each other, and while these forms of art/storytelling may be at risk right now, I’ll do everything in my power to protect them.

Celia <3

When I was 10 years old, my uncle died. It was abrupt, a shock, and scary— feelings I was familiar with after my grandma’s passing the year prior. But grief is not uniform or linear, so just like the year before, time was the only medicine for my broken heart until the wave of loss eventually came to a plateau, with the occasional rock in the road.

When I heard the news, it was Valentine’s Day. I was curled up on the couch in my family’s kitchen, holding a box full of hard candies and lollipops from school, when my mom came downstairs. On the TV, Good Luck Charlie played. I chuckled as Gabe played yet another prank on PJ, shoving Twix into my mouth as the TV blared.

When she sat down, holding my hand as she told me what happened, my mind went blank. It was as though I was picturing a plain sheet of paper, vast nothingness filling my mind.

The days following were a blur. My life felt like a montage of me moving between different locations in my purple-and-blue-themed room. I was tucked underneath my 1,000 stuffed animals, lying upside down, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling, and curled up in a blanket pile on the floor, watching every episode of Marvin Marvin— one of those shows I swear no one, but me, has seen.

Time inevitably passed, but the ache of loss never left as the clock ticked by, even 13 years later. It got easier, but I still cry on Valentine’s Day, get nostalgic when I see a sea horse, and grow weepy at the movie Yogi Bear— all reminders of him.

In November of 2024, I attended a week-long series on the importance of becoming “grief-informed” at the University of St. Thomas.

“Some people cope by staying busy, while there are also people who need to share those stories,” Stacy S. Remke, an instructor at the University of Minnesota School of Social Work, said.

I found that I was one who copes through both. When I grieve, I fill my schedule to the brim, where I don’t even have time to think or get teary-eyed, but as time goes on, I find that, to make my heart full once again, stories bring me peace.

I once was afraid of grief. I didn’t want to talk about my emotions and felt ashamed when I couldn’t get over something in a self-allotted period of time. But now, I know it’s an inevitable part of the human experience and not something we need to experience alone.

Grief is weird, confusing, and non-linear. But now, when the inescapable passing of a loved one comes again one day—god forbid— rather than hiding in my room, listening to Marvin the alien on my Kindle, I’ll share my stories and try to bask in my luck, for I was lucky to even have known them.

Celia <3

When I was in 3rd grade, I was in a musical version of Hansel and Gretel. I had just transferred schools and dreamed of being Gretel. But, as the little, new-to-acting nine-year-old, I was cast as one of the witch’s evil henchmen. Although I was slightly bummed because

1. My ensemble role was a grubby henchman with a ripped-up Hanes t-shirt for a costume, instead of a gingerbread man, like all of my friends

2. My 3rd-grade crush was Hansel

I was still excited just to act, regardless of the part. So, when the show rolled around, I put my ripped Hanes t-shirt and tan linen pants on with pride, ready for curtain call.

“I hope we get to keep our costumes,” I said to my friend backstage, before heading to our places. “I want to wear this for Halloween.”

The musical went by in the blink of an eye. Hansel and Gretel meet the witch, the witch tricks them, Hansel and Gretel try to escape, blah, blah, blah— you know the rest. Then came our bows. Each character ran to the stage and took their bow as the audience applauded. I felt on top of the world. It was my first time truly being in a musical, apart from the ones my elementary school had put together. I couldn’t get enough.

Once the curtains finally closed, it was time to greet our families and read our “cards” on the wall, where people wrote nice notes to us about our performance. As I approached the wall, a boy my age, with a bigger part than me, shoved me out of the way. As he did so, he said something along the lines of “I’m the star, move over.” Third-grade-me was definitely shocked in the moment, so I forgot what he said exactly.

Later, after talking to some of my friends who were also in the ensemble, I learned that they had also received mean comments from him throughout the production.

This got me thinking about how important it is not to mistake your presence for the event. And, this applies to more than just show business, but to events with friends and more, too.

Sure, you might be thinking that this was just a 10-year-old boy, but I think this misconception translates into our big adult age, too. I’ve met plenty of people at 23 who think they’re the star of the show in different settings and treat those around them less for it.

And, although I would’ve rather not had a 3rd-grade bully, as this boy is someone I’ve written about in previous articles, I think it taught me an important lesson going forward as I’ve progressed in my acting career.

If you mistake your presence for the event, you sacrifice community and potential friendship.

Also, it’s quite stupid to act like anyone is better than anyone else in a production because films and shows are like a puzzle. You need all of the pieces to make a whole.

Celia <3

Every summer, I visit my grandma’s farmhouse in New Hampshire. When I’m there, I feel at peace. I could be chopping wood, digging a fire pit, or running errands, and, nonetheless, I’d be joyful.

The first time I visited, I was a baby. I’m sure I don’t actually remember the trip, but sometimes I convince myself that I do because I think visiting the farmhouse for the first time was monumental in carving who I was and have become. I picture my newborn eyes, looking up at the bright blue sky with grand Eastern White Pines poking into my peripheral. I remember sitting in a car seat on our family’s picnic table, eating spoonfuls of baby food underneath the August sun.

When I was three and visited for my, perhaps, fourth time, I knew those memories were real. I wore a grey and black polka dot dress and threw a tantrum about who knows what, and sat with a pouty lip and arms crossed on that same picnic table. There were photos to document the tantrum—my iconic frown when I didn’t get my way.

As I grew older, I inevitably became more independent. I’d have sleepovers, attend camp, go to the swimming holes, and later, I’d invite my friends from home to join me.

When my three best friends came, when we could finally drive, we’d make an excursion to the deli—the closest spot to grab a dish of ice cream. Our orders did not vary—each of us had a large dish of the “confusion” ice cream, a jumble of crushed candies, cookie dough, and syrups.

We’d sit on a bench behind the deli, admiring trout swimming through a stream, while inhaling our five dollars of dessert. Once we had finished, we’d throw our dishes away and head home, all too often to do it again the next day and repeat the process the following summer.

When August rolled around the summer of 2022, I was ready for my confusion ice cream, something that I could only eat in New Hampshire. It felt like my friends and I raced straight from the airport; we were so excited for it.

When we got to the deli, we read the sign for the ice cream flavors. “Cookies and cream, vanilla, chocolate, and cookie dough,” the messy chalk writing said.

“Excuse me,” my friend Emma said, waving to get a worker’s attention. “Do you have confusion ice cream?”

The worker, who was likely a 15-year-old kid, stared at her in confusion (haha, get it?). “We have cookies and cream, vanilla, chocolate, and cookie dough,” he said timidly before heading back to the hot food bar.

Emma turned back to us, her mouth agape.

Cookies and cream it was, I guess.

In the fall, I returned with my family, and still, no confusion.

In the summer of 2023, we returned, and still no confusion.

In the summer of 2024, we called before making the trip, and still, no confusion.

And, in the summer of 2025, my friends did not return out east with me.

I had no confusion ice cream, only the confusion of how time and obligations changed so fast that I would be left to head out east alone.

I missed my friends, I missed when I was young, and I missed the stupid thick ice cream that was more cookie dough than anything.

I still saw my friends that summer, but it was different. Not necessarily bad different, although we were all quite busy, but just different.

Once we graduated from university, I felt not only the change from college life to post-grad but the shift in our relationship, something that I knew was a long time coming. We all, whether we liked it or not, had to turn our attention inward. Where would we be working, living, etc.?

And, it was sad—no other way to put it.

In the fall of 2025, we gathered for a sleepover at Emma’s parents’ house—the same place we spent all of our Friday nights in high school, guzzling Dr. Pepper and watching the most outlandish movies. At this sleepover, however, we decided it was about time that we made our own confusion.

We went on a Target field trip and gathered our supplies before cramming them in Emma’s mom’s cherry red KitchenAid mixer. In about 15 minutes, our creation was born.

We sat at Emma’s kitchen table, scarfing the sweets down, the same way we did back at the deli brook.

“Maybe a bit more cookie dough?” Emma said.

“Yeah, I think so,” Izzy said, nodding.

Within five minutes, we were all leaning back in our chairs, rubbing our distended bellies, happy and full.

This moment, smiling and laughing with my three best friends, felt bittersweet.

Sure, we didn’t make our annual New Hampshire trip together that year—what often felt like the culmination of summer. But, rather, we still, despite our busy lives, found the time to sit down and make this silly dessert that we all cherished and do so in each other’s company.

And, honestly, I think that’s a true representation of what adult friendships look like and what I aspire to maintain as I age.

Sometimes, what you want might not be feasible. But when friendships are strong, the love is there, and there’s ice cream at stake, you make it work.

Celia <3

p.s. I love my friends

p.p.s. meriden deli please bring back confusion ice cream

I began this article over a year ago, but stopped. I stopped because I realized it was laughable for a girl who never stops to write about how not to burn out. Because, frankly, all the things I was doing were fuel for just that. I would go from job one to job two, wash my teary-eyed face, and go to bed, all to repeat it the next day, so who was I to tell someone else how to sit down and take a break? Now, a year later, I wouldn’t say I’m perfect in the burnout Olympics— I’m far from it— but I’m better and more conscious of what does and doesn’t serve me. So, now, after stepping away from this piece for a year, I’m here to tell you what I’ve actually learned.

June 2025 – The Draft

If I had to choose a word to describe this past week, I’d choose tired. Three times this week, I slept through my alarms – something I have only done one other time in my life. I’ve been working, seeing friends, engaging in my hobbies, and more, all things I enjoy, but it’s drained my physical and mental energy.

The times I have spent in my own home have been solely for sleeping, meaning leisure has been limited. And, honestly, I’ve never been one who…

Our free time is finite. We should spend it doing things that bring joy or enhance our lives.

Now, for those who know me, you know that this is something I still need to live by. I need to stand behind my words and honor them.

So, this blog post is a manifestation of how I am going to treat tasks going forward.

When something isn’t serving me anymore, I need to consider its purpose in my life.

We need to honor our lives but not get in our own way.

A year later, I’d say this manifestation is half-baked, partially accomplished. I allow myself to sit in silence and bask in my free time— something I hadn’t experienced since I was young—, but I could always improve.

It wasn’t easy to do so first— relax—, being a girl who feels the need to accept every opportunity ever, but with wise words from my mom, I’ve been able to do so.

I’ve always been a person who loves sweets. I could eat an entire pan of brownies and more without batting an eye. However, this obviously isn’t something that serves my body— I suppose I should probably eat vegetables—, and something I talked to my mom about a long time ago.

When I told her about my only wanting to eat sweets, she told me that what she likes to consider is what makes that treat so special. Have I never had it before? Is it my favorite kind of sweet (anything cookies and cream flavored)? Is it homemade? And, sometimes, when you ask yourselves these questions, you realize that you actually don’t want the sweet and are just eating to eat. So, you wait for the right treat to announce itself—a brownie Oreo cupfection would absolutely fall under this category.

As I got older, with the help of my mom, I translated this same idea into a thought process, surrounding my passions and career options.

First, I determined my ultimate goal— if I could do anything, what would that be?

Similar to the brownie Oreo cupfection being my champion dessert, being an actress would be my career equivalent.

So, I ask myself now, when opportunities arise, if they would serve or align with my ultimate goal.

Would getting another waitress job, even though I already have two jobs, help my acting career? No. Would taking an acting class strengthen my skills? Yes.

Obviously, there are outliers to the brownie Oreo cupfection equation, but it’s worked for the most part. Now, I find myself able to sit down and read, touch grass, and be comfortable in my own silence. And I hope I can continue to do so while pursuing my dreams.

Celia <3

One of my favorite summer reads this year so far is “Our Perfect Storm” by Carley Fortune. In the novel, the main character, Frankie, jumps between the present and the past when she and her best friend were kids. In doing so, she connects the dots between their dreams and their, now, reality, which has made me reflect on what 13-year-old me would love about my life now, or rather, even not believe.

1. I’m still best friends with the same girls, ten years later

   1. 10 years later, and I’m still best friends with the same girls, which isn’t a surprise, but something I’m grateful for every day. It’s such a privilege to be so close with the girls I grew up with while making even more friends along the way. I’ll never take it for granted.

2. I graduated (twice?!)

   1. When I was 12, I was convinced I wouldn’t complete college or high school. Why? I was going to be acting all the time by then—obviously. However, I am incredibly grateful that I received two degrees. I am far more well-rounded for it and wouldn’t have such a strong circle without the experience, too.

3. I’ve discovered my personal style

   1. 13-year-old me’s fashion sense was struggling. Hand-me-downs were my go-to, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but the way I paired them was particularly questionable. Now, I love shopping secondhand and experimenting with pieces I would’ve ignored before. Fashion and styling fun outfits is a big part of what makes me me now.

4. I was in my first movie and commercial

   1. Considering I thought I was going to be a high school dropout for acting, 13-year-old me would be over the moon to hear that I’ve been in my first movie and commercial. I can’t wait to be a part of more creative projects and keep making little me proud.

5. I’m a published writer

   1. Growing up, I wrote about anything and everything, and clearly, I still do. So, for 13-year-old me to know that I’ve been published for my environmental writing, reporting, short stories, and more would be a dream come true (and it still is at 23).

These are just a few things that I think 13-year-old me would love about my life now, but I know there are so many more to name. I’m grateful for what has happened and what is to come. And, if you haven’t read “Our Perfect Storm” by yet, you better—it’s the perfect summer romance (and references Little Women, so it’s a must).

Celia <3

One night, when I was 17, going on 18, I was curled up in the corner of my bed, scrolling on YouTube.

“How do you know what you want to be when you grow up?” I typed into my keyboard with shaky fingers, half from anger at my indecisiveness and half from fear of the future.

Upon searching, I came across a 40-minute video that was supposedly going to tell me my career path—finally, some clarity.

Well, shocker— it did not provide that.

Instead, I hastily, with tear-filled eyes, typed a note on my phone.

“Things I don’t want to be when I grow up,” I wrote.

1. Police officer

2. Plastic surgeon

3. Any surgeon (shaky hands)

Progress, right? Three things knocked off the never-ending list of professions.

I remember back in my AP Language and Composition class during my junior year, when we took a similar test to determine what we might want to do with our futures. Mine was split evenly across the board. Although one profession, which was never included in these tests, always lingered in the back of my mind: being an actress. My school didn’t promote the arts as a livelihood (unless you were my lovely drama teacher), so it didn’t feel like a possibility.

But recently, I’ve been reflecting on what being an actress means to me, how it makes me who I am today, and why I wish I had dedicated more of myself to it sooner.

I have so many interests: environmental protection, writing, acting, making art, reading, volleyball— the list goes on and on. Some of these feel more impactful to me than others (not to say these things all do not hold value).

For example, when I write an environmental article, spreading resources about protecting the land around us, I feel like I’m doing a service for my community and my planet. The sad thing is, though, I don’t always feel like I have the energy to do so when there is already so much on my plate.

But when I’m acting and on a stage, it’s like I can physically feel my cup being filled and my energy recharging. Acting, doing something I love, gives me the fuel to cater to the other parts of my life.

As much as I’ve dedicated time to other hobbies/career paths in my life, I always find myself coming back to acting, and when I do, I know I’m better for it.

Celia <3