Of Adjectives, Expectations, and Frozen Yogurt

WARNING: I'm thinking of starting all of my posts with warnings. Anyway, this is extremely long. I hadn't realized how long until I posted it. I could go edit and cut it down... but I've been editing an essay all week, so that's not happening. I would recommend skimming. Or you could just pretend you read it and move on.

Some of you might remember my epiphany in the dandelions that came last year about how all adjectives are relative. (i've since discovered that all words are relative, but this disturbers me less.) You may remember how very annoyed I was to discover that the only way I could define myself was in comparison to other people.... which totally stinks because in comparison it is mandated that someone is the loser. And, of course, that someone is me more than I'd like it to be.

Every time I tell someone I grew up in Hawaii they say, "Why didn't you go to college there?" And I say something like, "I just thought I'd never grow up if I stayed at home." Which is totally true. Like, if I hadn't gone away to college I still wouldn't know how to use a laundromat, I still wouldn't own a wallet, and I wouldn't know how much milk costs.

(ok, we'll be honest. i still don't know how much milk costs. i haven't bought it yet. i don't drink it that much. but i know i'm a grown up because i have a wallet and keys.)

What takes more time to explain is that, cliched as it sounds, I'm curious about me.

I mean, I've been living with my for eighteen years, I kind of want to get to know me a little better. You know how you'll know someone for years, at school maybe, and then when you see them somewhere else they're totally different? I thought I'd pull myself out of the context of my life and see what I was like without it. Silly of course. I haven't left behind my context at all. I find myself giving it no matter who I'm talking to. "Back home..." "In Hawaii..." "Where I grew up..."

I thought I was escaping the labels and expectations of everyone who knew me since I was six. Everyone who sat in sunday school with me and said, "she's haole," or "smart," or "weird." I thought once I was away from all of that something would blossom in my stomach and vola! Look! So that's who I was all along. Who knew?

Actually, even thousands of miles away from my context, I'm terrified of setting it down. Because who am I without it? I'm self-imposing all those expectations on myself now and I don't even have my sunday-school mates to blame for it.

This is not where I was planning on this post going. I wasn't going to really delve into identity. (though i do have a question: is there a healthy thing to base your identity on? honestly? if i think of myself as smart and then i am disillusioned out of this and just crushed, or if it stops me from doing things i'm bad at because that makes me seem less smart, then that isn't healthy. but isn't that true about basing your identity on anything and making any judgments about yourself? now i'm just confused...) I was actually going to note a few things that I've figure out about me. 

Of course they're comparative. You see, you thought I'd entirely forgot that I'd opened with my adjective thing didn't you? Nope, see, I was going somewhere for once. I know. Weird. So, from living with people who aren't my family I've come to some (comparative) conclusions about me. Nothing real earth-shaking.

I'm actually pretty clean. I don't take any responsibility for this. I think it's my mom's handy work and is probably a bit over the top right now as I try to prove to myself that where I am living is actually my home. But still. I have compulsions to do the dishes, clean the bathroom, etc. These are compulsions that my roommates do not have and do not understand. I'm mostly cool with that, but I wish they'd let me do it. I don't need them to do their dishes, I just need their dishes done. I'm good with cleaning them, but for some reason they haven't really borded that train of thought.

I go sleep early. Really. I'm going to sleep later than I used to and I still go to bed early. Yesterday was eleven thirty-ish because I had a paper due today. It felt late then and this morning it really felt late. But try complaining about a eleven-thirty bedtime to college students. See if you get away without a social stoning. I haven't really decided what I think this says about me... but I thought I'd share it. So if you happen to be my floor mate who keeps playing the ukulele at obscene hours of the morning, take pity on the poor socially awkward girl who lives across from you and stop. Or at least learn a different song.

I am socially awkward. Which does seem sort of fundamentally unfair. I shouldn't have to be physically and socially awkward. I really must have been at the back of the line when the stars were passing out skills. Because I'm a self-justifying person, though, I have come up with a perfectly plausible reason for why I'm socially awkward. The meeting new people part is because I've lived in a tiny town my whole life, so even people I didn't know knew me. Now I'm in a place where no one knows me... and I don't know what to do. Do I just walk up to people and say, "Hey. I'm Marissa. I'm a socially awkward Asian Studies major, looking for a job and craving sugar?"

Not really, right? There is some secret to this whole meeting people thing that I am just yet to discover. Right? Like a secret password.

... Hey, guys. Now would be a great time to let me in on the secret. Just saying.

I actually have a lot to tell you. Like I bought bubbles because I decided that I couldn't live without them. And I was walking back from blowing them on Sunday and got invited in by people I'd met that day ("hey. i'm marissa....") to eat a muffin. Which was fun. I felt intimidated though, because they were talking about politics. And I know nothing about politics. I do, however, know a lot about China, and I got into a heated discussion with a Pakistani in my ward about it. I met him, told him what I studies ("i'm a socially awkward asian studies major..."), and he leaned forward said, "Do you think Mao was a good leader?" We argued about it for twenty minutes, until he had to go talk to the Bishop.

My father has mandated that my entire family will eat sugar only once a week (with the exception of holidays recognized by hallmark) and it works well. Most of the time. Everyone once in a while I just really.... need... ICECREAM. ("looking for a job and craving sugar...") Tomorrow will be my once a week, though. I'm going to go get frozen yogurt. As a treat for me doing a whole half of the things I was supposed to this week. Because I'm responsible like that.

Over.

I'm So (Home) Sick

WARNING: Serious whining ahead. I wasn't even going to post this, but I haven't finished a post since I left Hawaii and I wanted to assure you that I'm still alive. Mostly. Read at your own risk.

I now understand why people live in their parent's basement all their lives.

Why would they leave? Why would you go away from people who love you and walk out into a world that gives you weird looks and treats you like every other person on the street? Why would you leave when you don't have to worry about how to best work things out with your roommates, what you should by at the store, and where your checks were sent? When you were comfortable and happy?

My parents say that they don't really remember saying goodbye to their family or their first couple days at college. I'm putting mine down on record: It stinks. It stinks worse than anything else. Ever since I gave my little sister that last hug I've felt hollowed out inside. I'm constantly fighting back tears. My voice sounds thick and there are these hideous, painful bags under my eyes. And even though I'm sitting here on my bed crying, my mom can't give me a hug. And she isn't going to be able to for another four months and fifteen days. No matter who else gives me a hug, it won't be the same thing at all. I hate this.

I know what my dad would say if he were here. He'd say, "Why aren't you watching that movie with your sociology class? Why aren't you going down and talking to those guys who are blasting music from their truck (as long as they're not return missionaries, because you're not allowed to talk to them)? I told you not to just sit in your room and do homework and watch Korean dramas and Doctor Who."

And he did. He told me. And I probably should have stayed up on campus to watch that movie with my class. But I was hungry, I didn't want to have to pay for food, I didn't know if it would be dark by the time we finished, and I didn't want to walk for forty minutes. And I probably should go talk to the girls who are yelling downstairs, who came in place of the music-blasting guys. I should. And maybe even could.

But I don't feel like I can. My hair isn't washed, I'm in a PE shirt and shorts, and face is all swollen up. That would be OK. I could wash my hair, change into something else and wash my face. But I don't think that I could talk to them without crying. I haven't really been able to talk to anyone today without crying. I don't even want to talk to the people passing under my window. I feel no interest in them. No sense of kindred-spiritness. I'm sure they're nice, but I don't know them. And after growing up in a town where you never have to talk to anyone you don't know, I wouldn't be comfortable with them. And all I want right now is to be comfortable. All I want is to get hugs from my family, to sleep in my bed back home, to run down to Katie's house, and complain to Sister Handcock, and make bread in my oven. And for my mom to hold me and tell me everything is alright, and that she loves me, and that I can do it.

That's it. I'm transferring back to Hawaii. There is no way I can do this for a whole year. I'd live in my parents basement if they had one, but since they don't I'll content myself with sharing Mei's room.

I probably won't. I'll probably end up liking it here, meeting friends, growing up, learning about myself and the world in general. Probably. At some point. But tonight I'm by myself and I can't think of any good solution.

Over.

Graduation and Such

Victory is mine! Victory is mine... Bring me all the finest muffins and bagels in the land? (Name that show?)

I am now all graduated.

People keep asking me how it feels and I tell them, "Like a long weekend." Remember how I was afraid of crying in the middle of graduation? Didn't happen. I think it's because it didn't hit that I was, you know, graduating. It still hasn't. Or maybe it has and I'm just handling it much better than I though I would. Maybe I really wasn't very attached to high school after all. (attached does not have a "t" in it. just so you know.)

The other question people keep asking is what I've been doing since I graduated. I wish I had a more impressive answer. I mostly say "sleeping," or "eating," or "watching a lot of foreign movies and documentaries and Korean dramas."

We have really got to talk about kdramas one of these days. But, once again, not today.

I've also been cleaning a lot. I'm leaving paradise for a desert in less than a week now. (you know, i always remember the difference between desert's spelling and dessert's because you always want one more dessert (thus the extra "s") but no one wants more desert. except my mom. who thinks they're pretty... we're related, really.) So I've been sorting through my clothes and books and cleaning out kitchen cupboards so that I won't be freaking out next Wednesday any more than is necessary.  I still need to clean out the closets and buy some lotion so I don't shrivel up, die, and become mummified in the lack of moisture.

I like wet air. And green vegetation. And rain. These are things I am expecting miss.

I should probably tell you that graduation went nicely. Graduation practices were actually better than bearable. I played angry birds for the first time (so addicting, stupid pigs) and got to hang out with my friends. Graduation itself went fairly smoothly. I don't remember stuttering in my speech more than once  (if I did, don't feel obligated to disillusion me). I had two favorite parts. One was right before the ceremony when one of my classmates told me I was just like Emma Thompson.

This was the other one:

After the ceremony, when we were supposed to walk calmly off the left of the stage the boys lept up from the bleachers and started doing the haka. I'm sure this wasn't completely spontaneous. My bet is that during the eternity that they spent passing out diplomas someone employed the trusted and true "pass it on" tactic. But I hadn't heard about it. And it was way awesome.

I'm going to go sleep now. Or eat. Or watch a foreign film, documentary, or kdrama.

Over.

A Not Quite Post

(Marissa)

I just wrote you a whole post. And then I deleted it. My brain isn't working today. This may have something to do with the fact that I took the SAT yesterday. (Have I mentioned I hate math?) In any case, I promise I'll get you a post soon, but in the meantime this is what you get.

Yesterday when I was in a tourist trap getting lunch (bad turkey sandwiches, good muffins, really good smelling coffee) I saw a sign that said:

"All children left unattended will be given a shot of expresso and a free puppy."

I asked my mom to leave me unattended, but no luck. I guess because I'm turning eighteen this week I don't count anymore.... Next week I can vote. And get a licence without taking drivers ed. Next week if I murder someone I'm going to be tried as an adult. Which shouldn't be a problem, but, you know, it's weird. Do we have capital punishment in this state? It never seemed important before.

Over.

Sunrise... Sunset...

(Marissa)

It's been a long time since I wrote. It's been a long week.

Full of heartbreak and happiness.

Triumph and tragedy.

Conflict and compromise.

You know, pretty much like any other week. Existentialism is depressing and makes my mind hurt, and Flickr likes Katie better than me, but these are things I'm trying to learn to live with. At the moment, they are unimportant.

Andrea is starting college tomorrow.

I think that I'm freaking out way more than she is. I met her a week ago, I swear! It hasn't been that long! It hasn't been years!

My childhood is flashing before my eyes.

Last Sunday we were horsies. Evil men wanted to lock us up in dark, scary cages, when all we wanted out of life was to be able to run freely on the prairy hills and comb our long, beautiful "tickle-me-pink" manes.

That's me.

Monday Andrea was arguing with Kelsey about who got to be the youngest when we played House. And they finally decided that they would be twins, that was fair, but then came the all important question: Which twin was born first?

Tuesday we had a water fight with that-boy-across-the-street-who's-name-no-one-can-remember and his cousin, who's name was Alonzo (maybe), but Andrea called him Lasagna, either because she couldn't pronounce his name or because she liked teasing him. And Mei hit one of them across the back side with an umbrella, which was peculiarly violent for her, but which we felt meant a definitive victory for us.

Wednesday we played mermaids in her pool. Well, Kevin and I were mer-people. Andrea was a dolphin.

Thursday morning was middle school. Around twelve high school made it's appearance.

Friday she graduated and gave her valedictorian speech with the Dr. Sues quote. Katie and I missed it because we were so sure that graduation would last four hours (like it had for the last thirty years) that we walked in an hour late, armed with note passing materials, just in time for the alma mater, closing remarks, and lei giving.

Saturday Katie, Andrea, and I threw a going away party, without once acknowledging it was such. I signed her yearbook and looked over the clothes that she wasn't taking with her in the amazing tent we'd made.

(This picture doesn't even come close to showing how fantastic this tent was. We strung the sheets from the ceiling fan, which made my mom a little nervous because it was tipping significantly to the left. "I hope it doesn't kill you in your sleep," she said. Optimism, Mom. We covered the floor with pillows and quilts and blocked out the night with cloth and clothes pins, just like we used to when we were six. It was genius. Almost cream puff level.)

Yesterday we made crepes together and played Apples to Apples and laughed and told stories about that kid in Utah who smuggled a penguin out of the zoo in his backpack and who's parents found out when he was playing with it in the bath. We turned off the lights at two.

And tomorrow Andrea is going to college.

Can someone get me a wheelchair please?

I feel old.

Over.

I Don't Want To Grow Up

(Marissa)

I've been sick for four days now. I'd tell you about it, but I love you too much for that. Hey, guess how many West Wing episodes I watched this weekend?

Never mind. You don't want to know. It'd be disturbing. And your opinion of me would drop off a cliff.

You'll have to be patient, you guys. I'm still learning how to blog. I don't want to give you a laundry list of my week. I did this and this and this. I brushed my teeth and then I washed my face and... I was brainwashed out of that by a english teacher, Mrs. Jackson.

(Thanks, Jackson. You're baby is really cute, by the way. I can't wait for you to be my culinary teacher. Right now we're doing worksheets in there. My teacher says we'll be doing worksheets until second quarter. When you get there, will we keep doing those worksheets?)

I hope you stick around while I figure all of this out, but I won't be offended if you don't. Mostly because I won't know. My grandma and my mom (Hi Grandma! Hi Mom!) are the only ones I know are reading this, and I'm pretty sure they'd both keep it up even if I gave you a detailed explanation of flossing.

In other news I had an emotional break down Thursday. I cried and then I went to bed and all of my tears and other bodily fluids that had made their appearance glibly slid down to my throat and chest, rendering me incapable of breathing, singing, speaking or thinking the next morning. This substantially cut down my list of usual activities. I was paralyzed emotionally, physically and intellectually all weekend. Thus the West Wing marathon.

When I can't think about the things that normally occupy my brain like piano scales, the SAT/ACT, essays and quizzes (everyone just take a minute and admire the word "quizzes." Doesn't it look cool? Hiss it under your breath. Doesn't it sound amazing?) my brain finds itself in a yellow wood, forced to take the road less traveled by. I think about what Great Balls of Fire is actually talking about, whether or not there are mermaids on Neptune (they have seas), and why my emotions occasionally make my body deteriorate into a puddle of goo. The answer (to the last question) is Peter Pan. I completely blame Peter Pan.

I have always had a thing for Peter Pan. Always. Even back when this was Peter Pan.

And then this was Peter Pan.

Then I was a believer.

There are a couple of reasons that I find Peter Pan beyond amazing. The first is he can fly. I've had dreams where I can fly. I swim through the sky. I soar across a lake, a perfect, placid lake the reflects the night sky like a mirror and I'm caught between stars. My fingers can touch them. They feel soft and cold. My fingers ripple them. Suffice it to say, if Peter came and asked me if I wanted to fly, I would have no trouble coming up with happy thoughts.

The second reason is that he is cocky. On TV, at least, cockiness is incredibly endearing to me. I think this is a really bad sign for my future relationships, but I have more pressing concerns than my (lack of a) love life right now, so this doesn't bother me a whole lot.

The third reason, and the one that I actually want to talk about today, is that Peter Pan doesn't grow up. Ever. He is forever a happy little boy who can fly around with fairies and sword fight with pirates. He never has to confront hormones--

--well, not often anyway. He never freaks out about grades or scholarships. He knows everything he needs to know. He is content. He has nothing to worry about, except the pirates that want to kill him,

and they're easily handled.

Peter Pan doesn't grow up. I don't want to grow up. I am not sure, but I think that was the core of my emotional break down this week. I am so tired of worrying about things. And it exhausts me to think of worrying for the rest of my life. I don't want to go away to school and have to remember to cook my own food and do my own laundry. I don't want to have to deal with homesickness or bills. I never want to have to think about money. And taxes? What are taxes? I have taken fairly advanced math and no one has ever taught me how to do taxes. Or budgeting. Does that mean I can't go blow it on books and Starbucks and hot chocolate? Why?

I want to go to Never Land and fight pirates and dance with fairies and eat those clouds that look like cotton candy. And Peter Pan tells me that I can.

Peter Pan is a liar. But I love him anyway.

It's the smile.

Over.