Giddy

Giddy. I am giddy.

Ever since starting this blog almost 9 months ago, I have blogged about being vegan, college, and every other aspect of my life as I saw fit. I have gone on and on about not knowing what I wanted to do with my life, where I wanted to go to college, and why people do things they hate just to make an extra buck or two.

Since a little while before my birthday (when my neighbor was flabbergasted at my major choice)  I have been having constant mental breakdowns about college because I do not/ never did want to become an engineer and I was pressured into doing so by my family.

Last week at work, one of the ladies in the front office told me a very important piece of information. “I have sat at this desk 40 hours a week for the past 30 years. I hate it. And I can’t stress this enough. Do something you love and for god’s sake don’t get a desk job”

So, after having all of these mental breakdowns, cry sessions with my dog, and my parents trying to wrap their heads around what was going on inside of mine, I am a few steps closer to having a future to be proud of and happy with,

I told my dad that if all else fails I’m going to Spain to teach English to kids, I would finish college at some unbeknownst location, get my visa and move to Spain to start my job search, Yes, it’s a bit more complicated than that but I was brainstorming. Apparently this brainstorming led to my father telling my mother and she,  due to a friend from high school, was able to find the perfect job for me.

Something I have also had a longing to do has been to travel. I also love Spanish and even though I don’t want kids of my own, children love me and through my last 9 years of babysitting I think kids and I get along rather well.

There is a thing called TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) and my mom’s friend started the International TEFL Academy where you can become certified in teaching English in other countries. She is going to talk with him and find out exactly what I need to major in to be suited for that program so I, like many other lucky individuals, can travel the world and get paid for doing something we love. Ever since that night that we discussed that option, I have been looking at schools across the country with spanish, ESL, and journalism (just because) majors so that I can be on the next step to doing something I love.

It’s only been a few days since this and already a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, I am happier, smiling more, and just overall enjoying life.  At dinner tonight my mom asked if I had taken some energy drink because I literally couldn’t sit still. Was it because of my delicious kombucha and black bean burger? Quite possibly. But, is the more likely option the fact that I am finally going to be doing something that I love and my parents are on board? Absolutely.

Until my next post I will be looking for a university that I can finish up at and prepare me for an amazing chapter of my life that I cannot wait to embark on

Also, I will continue to be giddy, because for the first time in a very long time, things are looking up for me.

Alicia

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What do you want to be when you grow up?

I was babysitting for my neighbor’s kids the other day and as she got home, she asked me if I had picked my major for school. When I told her chemical engineering, her jaw almost dropped. When she finally spoke and asked why, I told her it’s because I’ve always been good with math and science and I’ll get a job easily. She then asked me if I enjoyed it. All of my extracurriculars had involved the things I liked doing (photography, writing, design, leadership) , not what I was known to be best at (math and science). So, what do I really want to be when I grow up?

We all can recall the first time we heard this question. When our teachers asked us this question, our eager 5 and 6-year-old faces lit up as boys shouted president and firefighter and girls exclaimed princess and nurse.

Sadly, I haven’t been asked what I want to do with my life recently. People just assume I will do something in the math and science field or something international (I’ve taken spanish since I was in 5th grade) because these are things I have always been known for excelling at.

In the past 3 years, no one has asked me what I want to do with my life. My aunt and uncle are both engineers, and have instilled the notion that being an engineer is the best thing for me to do because I’m good at math and science and can make a ton of money. One of their friends told their children that they can study whatever they want, after they get an engineering degree. Why? Because engineering makes you the most money.

Why don’t they ask us that when we grow up? Why don’t they ask us what we want to do when we’re choosing our college or university? Why is it, that we’re so obsessed with money and how much we will make? When did making money earn a spot above being happy and enjoying our job?

People tell me what I need to do. I couldn’t decide on a major, so I just said international business so I could put something down on my applications. I never wanted to do business, everyone around me wanted me to. Because I would make money.

Now that I have changed universities, and majors, everyone around me wants me to major in chemical engineering. Why? Because I will be a woman engineer, will get first priority on jobs, and will make money.

Since when did society decide that how much money we make in our lives is more important than how we live our lives? I never wanted to major in business. And I don’t want to major in engineering now. So, what do I do? Do I major in something that makes me happy, maybe never get a job in that field? Or do I live a miserable life of an engineer and have all the money I could ever need?

I’m not too much of a sap but I do believe that we’re here for a reason. We were not born to work 40 hours a week just to be miserable and then go home and be too tired and aggravated with our lives to be happy around our loved ones. Not saying my aunt and uncle aren’t happy. They get ample time off, sabbaticals, and have so much money that they go on multiple cruises every year.

But, why can’t I do that while doing something I love? I don’t want to have kids, hell I might not even get married. I just want it to be my dogs, maybe a goat, and myself. I want a nice house of course, and a nice car, but at the end of the day, when I’m on my deathbed, looking back on my life, am I going to remember the audi and the million dollar house that I had, or am I going to remember my job, where I spent most of my waking hours, my friends and colleagues that I met at that job, and all of the experiences outside of my house?

Shit, I want to do something I love, but the second I said I even considered switching my major to biology and them getting my masters in marine biology, my parents couldn’t have said the words “what about chemical engineering” faster. Why? They just want me to make money and be successful.

When did we define success as how much money you make at the end of the day? Why can’t success be something less materialistic? Why can’t we define success as something worth living for, something great? Something like how many friends I had, how many new places I visited, how much I enjoy my job? Why is success just money and power? When did we all agree that this is what society is going to be, and, why wasn’t I a part of this conversation?

So, what do I want to be when I grow up? Since I’ve started blogging, I have rekindled my love for writing. I love writing, being able to put all of my feelings down on paper, or on the blogosphere. It’s calming and I love seeing how my writing has progressed through time. I love animals. I would love to live on a farm with rehab animals and just help them escape lives of abuse, violence, etc. I would have farm animals, house animals, exotic animals, anything really. I would love, cherish, and care for each and every one of them. I love design. Over the summer. My life is a nonstop HGTV marathon. I love critiquing, agreeing and adding my own opinions on what I would do with each house, room, etc. I love yearbook. My entire highschool career was centered around my school’s yearbook, and although it may have caused me to turn gray early, I loved that class and I can’t imagine my life without it. And, now that I am not active in my school’s yearbook, I miss it. I love the mind. My entire life has been filled with mental illnesses and trying to understand the mind, why can’t I try to help others understand their minds as I have been trying to understand my own?If I could do any one of these things with my life, it would be grand. But, STEM is the way of the future and despite what you want/ like to do with your life, none of it matters if you can’t make money.

Everyone always tells you to never major in journalism, communications, psychology, philosophy. Basically nothing in the school of arts and letters. Major in business, major in STEM. Why? We need people in those fields, or else that major wouldn’t exist. We need biologists, we need therapists, we need writers, we need designers. Why can it be the other person. Why can’t it be me?

So, here we are. I spent countless nights crying myself to sleep because of how stressed I was, how stressed I was because I couldn’t find a major that suited me. And now, here we are, staring blankly at my ceiling wondering why I couldn’t have just picked something I enjoyed all along.

Talk to you all soon,

Alicia

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It hit me today

My high school’s prom was Friday night. As I scroll through instagram post after instagram post, admiring all of my friends’ magnificent flowing gowns and pinned back hair, I came to the realization that that will never be me again. My days of prom, homecoming, and turnabout dress shopping are long over. Now, I shop for dresses for weddings, formals, etc. I realized today that I am no longer a student of my high school, I am in college and my high school days are long gone.

People say you never know when it will hit you. The fact that you’ll probably never see these people again. That graduation night is the last night you will all be together. People say it doesn’t hit you on graduation night. You may cry, but you’re only crying because your mom and grandma are crying. It might hit you when you say goodbye to your best friends. After spending countless hours with them over summer, trying to squeeze every last memory you possibly can in with them until you part ways for 4 months. It might hit you when you pack up your entire life into suitcases, boxes, backpacks. When your room looks foreign to you because of how barren it is. It might even hit you when your parents leave you, alone, in your dorm. When you’re left alone with a roommate that you’ve only spoken to via Facebook chat exchanging social medias and what each of you will bring.

For me, it happened in bursts. Saying goodbye to my friends, I cried. I knew we would be different people when I saw them next. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. It hit me when my sister had her first day of school and I was still in bed, because I didn’t leave for another week. It hit me, the night before I left. After leaving a friend’s house I drove around my town, driving up and down every street, passing my high school countless times, absorbing every last image of that town I had come to love. I cried. I drove around, listened to old songs and cried. I wasn’t ready and at the same time I was. I wasn’t ready to move on, but I knew that I had to. Saying goodbye to my family, I cried. I wouldn’t see them until family weekend, and I knew I would be different by that time. They weren’t ready for that. It hit me when I came home for winter break, and my room wasn’t my room. It was a bed and a desk where I would spend weeks at a time. But it wasn’t mine anymore. It was mine for so long, but not anymore. I cried my first night home. How no matter how long I lived in that house, how I knew every nook and cranny of that 3 story building, it wasn’t my house anymore. It was a place to vacation, before heading back to my new home- San Diego. My family wasn’t ready for the day that I called San Diego home. I see the hurt expression on my mom’s face every time I say, “I can’t believe I go home in ____ days.” I don’t mean to offend anyone, but it has become my home.

What no one told me is that it would hit me, a year later, scrolling through instagram and checking snapchat stories. No one told me I would miss that school. That school I dreaded going to every morning, would be a place I longed to visit one last time. I could tell you every hallway, every room number, every teacher, all of my friend’s locker numbers, the bell schedule every day of the week. No one told me I would miss it. No one told me that passing by it every break, I would lose a little piece of my high school self.

I hated high school but I loved it all the same. I hated 8am calculus but I loved the teachers and all the students. I hated the smell of the lunchroom but I loved that everyone gathered together for a time of relaxation. What no one told me is that despite how many events I went to, I wished I could eat just one more lunchroom cookie, attend just one more Shenanigans show,  or basketball game.

Personally, I think I did high school pretty well. I played 4 different sports and participated in at least one of those every year. I was on yearbook: editor in chief, business editor, and design editor. I was part of my student government. Junior class president for a year, and executive board treasurer the next. I took AP classes and studied hard, trying to make good grades, and I had a pretty great group of friends.

Some days I wish  I could do high school all over again. Be more outgoing, join different and more clubs, try out for a sport I never played my freshman year, and just redo high school knowing everything I know now.

But that’s not what high school is. High school is supposed to be big and scary. Walking into the new and inviting school painted blue and white with faces cheering and clapping for you is what it’s all about. Walking in with your best friends and out with your best friends is what high school is. Making mistakes, growing up, learning, crying, enjoying the new and foreign experiences. That’s what I did in high school.

Yes, I’ll never have the chance to go to my senior year homecoming that I missed, and I’ll never be able to go to another prom, but I did high school how you’re supposed to. I lived, I learned, and most importantly I grew into the woman I am today. I’ll never step foot into that school again as a student, but because of that school, I have blossomed into the brilliant woman that I am today.
Until next time.

Alicia

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If my House could talk

Recently, I’ve been thinking what my dog would say if she could talk.What she would say to me, my mom, my bird, etc. Mainly because I miss her and was wondering if she misses me too. Yet, I came to realize my dog, while extremely cute, is an idiot and would probably just ask for more food. My house, however, I feel like its story would be one worth listening.

If my house could talk, it would tell me the story of my mom and I visiting it in 2004, and how much I hated it. It didn’t have the purple tree that I wanted so dearly. It would tell you that although it wasn’t our first choice because of the butterfly wallpaper in the bathroom, flower wallpaper in the kitchen, and blue carpet, it had everything we needed so we bought it.

It would tell you of the days we spent painting. My aunt, mom, sister and I took on multiple rooms of that house. Painting bedroom walls purple and yellow, and my mom tidying up the house before move in. It would tell you of my neighbors coming to the door to greet us and the song they sang to us. While neither of us can remember the words to the song, the gesture will be long remembered.

It would tell you of the day we moved in. Its walls hadn’t heard a child laugh in ages and the soft laughter of my two-year-old sister as she navigated the house made it feel young again. As I marched through the house with a sense of urgency, guiding everyone carrying boxes of toys, clothes, and furniture to where they need to go. They adorn sloppily scribbled phrases of “kitchen items” and “Alicia’s toys” written by me in sharpie. After we had put boxes in their places, made beds, and put pillows on couches, we made our way outside, used our fridge and stove for the first time and the house was finally becoming ours.

It would tell you of how I tore off that ugly butterfly wallpaper and blamed it all on my sister. It would be our little secret. It would tell you how black paint ended up all over my sister’s carpet and I actually took the blame for that one.

It would tell you the story of the day we got my dog. As my sister had gotten a bit older she had stopped screaming and crying over everything. Now we had a puppy. A crazy dog who would instead of scream, would bark at every fallen leaf and squirrel she saw. How she was afraid of ceiling fans and would chew on the door stops that we didn’t notice until there was a hole in the wall.

It would tell you of all of the friends I gained and lost in that house. Some friends would come and go but others were over every day for years and then they would be gone. It would be able to tell you of every Hannah Montana or Say Yes to the Dress marathon, to sleepovers and late night walks to the kitchen for chocolate covered pretzels.

It would tell you all of the bad things. From the hour-long fights and screaming matches that happened far too often. It would tell you of the times I snuck out of my house or got back past curfew. It would tell you of the night my mom walked out and was gone for the week. It would tell you about every tear my pillow came to know.

But most importantly it would tell you that within those 4 brick walls, a family was built, tested, and made it out alive. And if that’s not something to be proud of, I don’t know what is.

Until Thursday

Alicia

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Rainy Days

Rainy days in California are rare, and almost nonexistent.However, upon checking the forecast for the upcoming week and seeing the raindrops dance across my screen, I can’t help but smile as my roommate grimaces at the thought.

The days leading up to the what Californians may call ‘gloomy’ day, are days of anticipation for me. It’s like the week before going home before a break or before a holiday.

Coming from  a place where rain was not necessarily an everyday occurrence, but sure occurred more than most would like, to a place where rain has fallen from the sky about fie times in the past eight months, you cannot help but miss rain: the scent, the air before and after it rains, the calming noise it makes as it hits windows, trees, the glow it gives everything it graces.

Rain reminds me of home. At least once a week, winter spring summer or fall, rain washes over our city. With rain brings a new beginning. It washes away the snow of winter, brings flowers to life in spring, washes away chalk drawings of summer, and pushes the crunchy fall leaves down the road.

My midwest self had become so accustomed to the rain that the absence of it saddens me. Never did I think a day would come that I missed rain. But waking up to the pitter patter of raindrops on my ajar window and the cool breeze entering through my window,gives me a sensation that I can’t quite describe.

As the rain hits my mesh covered window, and the occasional drop pecking my face, I hum in admiration. Rain is different here. As sunny and 75 days are rare in Chicago, rainy days in California are just as rare. I admire the both of them equally. While Californians proclaim their hatred of rain, with the knowledge of drought in the back of their minds, they can;t help but smile at the necessity of rain and the thirst of the earth being quenched. Even if this just happens once a month.

Everyone says that rain makes them sad. How can you be sad when the earth is being given the beautiful gift of water to make the plants grow bigger, the snails emerge from they long hibernation, and the hope that a rainbow could peak out behind the clouds after it has rained all day?

I’m not sure how rain saddens people, but I am sure of one thing. Rain doesn’t sadden me. Thunder on the other hand…

Until Thursday
Alicia

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She

The feeling is one of an indescribable measure. How can you describe something where you feel so much but so little at the same time?

She washes over me a like a wave, engulfing me like a flame, bringing me down with her into that dark abyss. I can’t go back I tell her, I’ve come so far from where I once was. She doesn’t listen to me, she never does. I can never escape her, no matter how hard I try. She will always continue her chase. I try to run away but she takes my hand and drags me back down, farther back, deeper than I had ever been before.

I’m taking one step forward and five steps back. As I put on my mask of happiness for the day to cover the empty feeling writhing inside my very core, it’s back to my daily ritual. Masking my sorrow with a mask that looks almost as fake as it feels.

We all carry on with our days. People pass me by and I can’t help but wonder if they don masks too. What are they hiding? I can’t tell if I have mastered the art of hiding behind this pasted on mask or if no one cares enough to see that I’m falling apart behind it.

It’s obviously the latter she tells me. As the razor glides across my skin I look at myself and all I see is her. How did I get to this point? How did I let her envelop my very being, my entire self?

It has been years of struggle. Of letting her take me to rock bottom. This is the better life she assured me. I’m the only one who cares about you, she reiterates for the hundredth night in a row. As she caresses me every night in bed as I cry to her and tell her of my struggle, she is the only one who listens to me. She understands me, the only one who understands me. At a certain point, I start to agree with her. Maybe she’s right. Maybe she’s the only one who cares for me, understands me, loves me.

But how could that be? People say they love me. She tells me they are lying. That they feel bad for me. That she is the only one who truly cares. Day after day, I debate with what is right. Do I let her continue to love and cherish me, or do I try to get rid of her? How can I get rid of something that seems so natural, so needed. Maybe she needs me and I need her. That’s what she tells me anyway. That the two of us were went to be. And maybe she’s right.

Years of me trying to take control. Trying to loosen the grip she has on my life. Loosen the grip she has held for years. It works sometimes. Sometimes I can pry her long slender fingers from my arm and get free for a period of time. But, no matter what  I do, she always finds a way. She weasels her way back into my life. She creeps up on me when I least expect it. And she seizes me again. After I writhe in pain at her touch for a while, it becomes the norm again. She has done it again, gotten me under her spell, and despite my protests and cries for help, no one can hear me and she has total and complete control over me and my entire being.

Until next time,
Alicia

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March 20th 6:25am

6:25am As the birds chirp outside my window, signifying the first day of spring, I rise from my slumber to see the time illuminated on my phone. 6:25am it reads. Why would I be up this early on a Sunday morning. I look to my right to see my roommate’s covers pulled back as she is already getting ready for the gym and yoga to follow.

6:29 my phone now reads. The chirping of birds that I heard is replaced by the running of the faucet of those early Sunday risers. Unlocking my phone and peeking at all of my messages, I begin to realize that I may never get back to bed.

6:31 I hear a skateboard cruise along the sidewalk, only creating noise as it crosses the cracks on the sidewalk.

6:37, my door swings open, my room illuminated as my roommate steps back into the room. She grabs something unknown to me and leaves the room again, the room returning back to its dark state, the only light peaking in from under the door.

6:49 the room begins to get lighter as the sun makes its way over the parking structure adjacent to my window. The sky dances with new colors signifying the new day. The pinks, oranges, and reds of the sky casting their colors across every inch of land I can see from my small window.

7:30 The sun is up completely. The brightness causing me to close my blinds slightly as my sleep filled eyes aren’t yet used to all of this light. From across the room I can hear my roommate shuffle across the floor to put her shoes on. She thinks I’m still asleep so she tip-toes across the room collecting her belongings before silently embarking on her walk to the gym.

7:32 As the door closes softly, I am left with myself, the chirping birds, and the sun. I roll over in bed and the next time I check my phone it reads 9:17am.

Until Thursday

Alicia

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P.S. Apparently my last post was my 50th post on this blog. That’s so exciting for me to have posted 50 things on here that people actually read and I can’t wait to post even more.

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Dear Body…

Dear body,
You know this already, but I have rekindled my love for exercise and eating healthy and taking care of myself. Due to this, I have also recently realized that all of my years of hating you has taken its toll.

I have spent the past 10 years hating you. I have spent the last 10 years pinching and poking at you, as if my fingers possessed some sort of magic power, granting me the ability to make you smaller and fit society’s ideals. I have spent 10 years hating what I saw in the mirror looking back at me. I have spent the last 10 years telling my mom, dad, friends etc that I did put sunscreen on when in fact I didn’t but I wanted to change the eggshell coating I was given to obtain that longed after sun kissed glow. I have spent 10 years paging through magazines, looking in awe of actresses, singers, Victoria Secret models, and other celebrities near and far, asking myself why don’t you look like them. It has come to my attention that all of this negative energy, and poking, prodding, hating, it has harmed you.

At age 14, I started counting calories. After everyone had told me you were too big, too unhealthy. After my doctor had told me your size had skyrocketed. After people had told me than you needed to be sucked in, hid under clothes, changed, tampered with, etc. Because of all of this, I only allowed 1200 calories for you every day.I did this, hoping to make you smaller, more appealing, more loved, more accepted. When in reality I was harming you, depriving you of all you needed. All you needed to keep me functioning. What I would fill you with was 1200 calories of horrible, processed garbage. I was harming you. I was eating so little and not giving you the proper nutrients for a little girl to grow, flourish, thrive. I was trying to make you smaller, prettier, tanner. I was trying to make you the complete opposite of what you were. I would always leave you wanting more, my stomach grumbling with starvation, and for a while I would not give in.

Alas, these 1200 calorie days were not feasible. So I started bingeing. I would eat a carrot for breakfast. 30 calories for the most important meal of the day. Skipping lunch and then working out trying to burn as many calories as possible. When 3pm hit, and you were sick of being empty, I would fill you with any processed foods I could get my hands on from cookies, cakes, crackers, ice cream… anything to fill up my sad and grumbling stomach. I would do this constantly and then hate myself and you for letting this happen to me.

Everything I would do to you was out of hatred. Every blade to slice open my skin, every suicidal thought, every time I would starve myself to make you more appealing, every time I would binge, was out of hatred to you. When all this time, after all of the years I hated you, you did nothing but love me. You, you were the only one to love me unconditionally after all I had been through. After everything I did to you, you continued to love me.

I never realized all you have done for me. Every day and night for 19 years you have struggles keeping me alive… Struggled keeping me healthy, sane, thriving. Trying so hard to manage on the food I was putting into you, and it was hard. It has been so hard. And I’m so sorry. Every time I put the razor to my skin because I hated  you so much, you would also try to fix yourself. Every part of my body adorned with scars show me this. Every time I would starve myself and not eat despite how many times your grumbles crying out for me to eat, you wouldn’t get mad at me. You still love me, despite everything I have done to you.

Every hateful word I have said and every harsh thing I have done to you, you have continued to love me unconditionally and keep me alive on this world. All I Have to say is that I am sorry. I am sorry for harming you. I am sorry for not loving you. I am sorry for not seeing all you have done and continue to do for me.

I am trying, body. I am trying to love you. I am trying to love you and myself. However, it’s been so hard. But I’m working on it. Nothing but good food has entered you since January 16th. My last binge was January 13th. The last time a razor touched you was September 3rd, 2015. I am working, and I am trying. Thank you for not giving up on me, despite all of the times I have given up on you. I love you.

Alicia

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San Diego Power Outage 2016

Good evening. I seem to have been a little unaware that I had no previous post written and in the queue for Thursday, and noticed Thursday night. I would say it won’t happen again, but we both know it will. I’m only human.

The power is out on campus at the moment, and has been for the past 2 hours actually. Upon returning from retrieving some dinner for my roommate (the power went out whilst microwaving hers) and me attempting to use the backup lights in the hallways to get homework done, I figured I would blog.

Electricity is truly something we take for granted. It is always working and always there for us, but suddenly gone in the blink of an eye. I never realized how truly dependent we are on electricity. I say as I type on my laptop, which has a mere 47% battery left and no word on when the power will be back on.

After the power flickering on and off multiple times, and it not returning on after it had left the final time, my roommate and I peeked into the hallways to see that the backup hallways lights illuminated the otherwise dim building. Screams were heard outside of our building and inside as well. I heard many things but the most prevalent ones were “HOW WILL I CHARGE MY PHONE” and “I HAVE AN ESSAY DUE AT MIDNIGHT,” an essay that I will presume they have yet to even start or simply look at what it is on. This got me thinking.

We use electricity for virtually everything. From cooking dinner, lighting our houses (or dorms) to using our phones and computers. The human race is ever so dependent on electricity. And the fact that people were more concerned with how they would charge their phones rather than “will my food in my fridge last until the morning” or how will I be able to get filtered water if the filter isn’t working properly.

My roommate was livid. She’s from a decently wealthy background and couldn’t understand why this school, where she lives, isn’t equipped with the finest backup generators that California can provide. She couldn’t wait a mere 30 minutes to see if the power was back on before ordering about $20.00 worth of food from a vegan restaurant about 20 minutes away from campus. She had me accompany her to pick up her food, driving slowly enough so that her phone would charge above the 60% that she had upon leaving the dorm.

Personally I didn’t care. Honestly, yeah it would be great if my phone was charged and I could bring it to the gym in the morning to listen to my music, however the gym does have a pretty decent playlist so not having my phone wouldn’t be the end of the world. Honestly my number one concern was whether or not the gym would have power in the morning and if the showers would have hot water, post gym trip. It seems as if I was the only one concerned with these things. Things to keep me clean, healthy, and safe. Rather than my roommate and many others who actually had the audacity to ask if we were able to use the elevators and if they were working or not. I live on the 4th floor of my building and the trek of 3 flights of stairs for one night will not kill you. I made that ‘journey’ multiple times every day. Thank you fitbit for motivating me to go 10 flights of stairs everyday.

It’s funny too, how people were turning their laptops on, to see if the wifi was working, much to  their dismay, it wasn’t. So, instead of just being content with no electricity and technology for a few hours, they logged onto their iTunes accounts to watch whatever movie they had downloaded when they were younger or to see if they had something to watch on their phones, while turning low power mode on just in case the power wasn’t on in the next 3 hours.

I do agree that electricity and technology have their benefits- weather, news, traffic, light, microwaves and fridges, etc. However, if I had to pinpoint the fall of humanity, the answer would also lie in technology. I’ll discuss that in another post.

For now, based upon the light that just flickered on above my head, and the jumping and screaming for joy heard outside my window, the electricity crisis of 2016 has come to an end and the San Diego State community will finally be able to continue on with their lives just as if the power outage had never happened

Talk to you all tomorrow (hopefully)
Alicia

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home again home again jiggity jig

Long time no blog. This post is a few days overdue but here it is. I am back in San Diego and very happy about that. It’s weird though. Both times I have left Chicago for San Diego, I have gotten a weird feeling the night before and the entire morning up until getting on the plane. I can’t quite explain what that exact feeling is. Perhaps not one, but a mixture. Perhaps this swirl of emotions is a combination of excitement, anxiety, fear, anticipation, exhaustion, and confusion. Of course I’m excited to be back in San digeo, my new home because of the people and things to do/ see. I’m anxious that I could have possibly forgotten something at home or forgot to see someone. I’m fearful that I did these as well and fear that I could miss my flight or my friends wouldn’t return 2nd semester. Anticipation to be back in my comfy cozy dorm, exhaustion because I got a solid 2 hours of sleep the night before I left due to all of these emotions, and finally confusion. Confusion because of these emotions and why the mere sight of my dog that morning caused me to cry.

Leaving home, my solace throughout the last 10 years is weird. Not bad weird, because leaving is a sign of moving on… but good weird. Weird isn’t the proper term. Surreal is. Going to school and then having a tease of a month that seems like you never left in the first place. Surreal is the only way to describe. Waking up in my dorm this morning with my roommate getting ready for the gym was surreal. The fact that I can’t wake up at 11 or 2 and then just lay around my house with my dog all day. Surreal. All of it. Leaving my dog, sister, friends, and family.I don’t mind it. I’ll be back in the groove of things within a week and it’ll seem as though break and never happened.

Going to college 2500 miles from home and only being able to go home a select number of times throughout the year has taught my many times. One, that time goes by fast and these breaks while they seem as though they never happened, will give me everlasting memories and that I must appreciate the time I have with them. From Christmas festivities, New Years Parties, late night Denny’s run, or even just dinner with my grandparents. I have learned to appreciate time and that I won’t remember every little detail of break or use my time wisely every day (staying up until 6am and waking up at 3pm) I have learned to appreciate time because I won’t always be living in Chicago. As much as I love it there and the people and everything to do I would prefer to not be a human popsicle in the winter.

Anyway, back to this surreal feeling. Besides the mix of emotions, it may also be a feeling of growing up, or maybe leaving a place where I hated initially but have grown to love, or maybe leaving the familiarity of a place. Despite it, it completely disappears when I sit down at my gate alone at the airport.

Then comes excitement. The excitement that I can leave my house with wet hair and not become a walking icicle, Excitement about 2nd semester, and seeing my roommate, and all of my friends, and just being able to explore a new place again (Just because I can tell you every coffee shop in a 20 mile radius doesn’t mean I know San Diego completely haha).

After getting off of the plane I get a feeling of relief. Relief that the guy next to me on the plane was hot, didn’t smell, and talked to me abut his life and asked me about mine for a good portion of the flight. Relief that I didn’t die on the plane. Relief that soon my backpack and luggage that is crammed full with books, clothes, food, etc., made it to San Diego safely, and that it didn’t burst despite all of my thoughts and that I made my sister sit on both of my suitcases so I could zip them. Relief that after a short uber ride I would be in my dorm and would be able to relax, unpack, and wait for the arrival of my roommate

Upon arriving to my dorm, exhaustion hits. It’s only 1 San Diego time but I woke up at 330 in the morning San Diego time. And after only 2 hours of sleep and a series o short naps on the plane, exhaustion probably isn’t a harsh enough word. Exhaustion from lugging my bags all over the place and my back hurting from all of the textbooks in it. Exhaustion from traveling and being yelled at by TSA people and just exhaustion from being uncomfortable on the plane. All I want to do is sleep but my 2 suitcases that are bursting at the seams are crying out, “Alicia, unpack us please” I know I have to do so much but my bed looks so comfortable. I push forth and unpack my bags. Once all of my things have been put away neatly, and my suitcases are back under my bed awaiting for spring break, content is the only thing I feel. I’m content that I am in San Diego. Content with my neat room and that I have nothing left to pack. Content that I can sprawl out in my bed and not me crammed in a plane. Content that the only thing on my agenda is telling people  I made it to the dorm safely. I am content with me. I am content. I am content with being content.

Talk to you all soon

Alicia

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