Well. Here concludes my first Abbey weekend, I guess.
I meant to write this post like three days ago (my bad....) but it appears I'd run out of time and energy.
So here I am.
Yesterday (Saturday, the 19th) was an interesting day. To kick it off, I handed in my first ever Overview for APUSH. That was a helluva relief.
After classes, Bray-Bray decided to cancel play practice, so that was awesome. I pretended like I was gonna do homework, but we all know that didn't happen. Sooner or later, I ended up in the Wing, where Abar decided to pop outta nowhere and make an appearance. It was really fun seeing him again :)
We went to dinner, where we met up with Claire, Brandt, Max, and the others. Eventually, Claire and I decided to head back to the dorm, except on the way, we bumped into a cozy little circle of people sitting out on the lawn, singing.
Now, this was weird. It was weird because it didn't consist of my little crew of favorite human beings. It wasn't our crew. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure this little group was full of lovely people, but the fact of the matter is they weren't my people.
They were a bunch of freshman and sophomores surrounding this one girl, Rory, who happens to be the younger sister of someone in my grade. Bottom line, her voice was insane. And by insane, I mean killer. And by killer, I mean she gave me chills.
And yes, I will admit—and I know y'all are gonna scold me for thinking like this so, I'm already ahead of you there—hearing her sing was a definite blow to the ego.
Her pipes were raspy, and unique, and loud, and those are all qualities I've struggled for years to try and learn to work on or live without.
Needless to say, I packed up my backpack and marched all the way back to the Wing, to sing until I felt better about myself.
I practiced EHX songs, I practiced my voice lesson songs, I tried learning a couple new songs by ear, I sang things to widen my range, I tried singing my favorites, I tried singing classics, I sang contemporary, I tried everything. In the end, I had a headache and some extremely sore vocal chords.
And yet, somehow I still felt overshadowed by this one, singular voice. A fucking beautiful voice, at that.
It wasn't until I couldn't feel my throat anymore and I was walking down the path back to my dorm, that I started to feel a little bit better.
I remembered this book I read when I was in kindergarten. It was about crayons.
Now, hear me out before you go ahead and skip reading this part.
It was about all the colors in the crayon box. And how all of them were beautiful.
Except no one ever wanted to use the white crayon. Cuz you can't use white crayons on white paper, duh (unless you're water coloring but that wasn't the point of this book.)
Spoiler alert: some kindergartener decides to draw on a black piece of paper that day and reaches for the white crayon. Oh, boy, did that crayon feel special.
I know, random anecdote of Maya's childhood literary choices, but my point is, this little story somehow felt more comforting than four hours of singing till my voice cracked like a 13-year-old boy's.
Despite having rushed to the Wing in a jolt of low self-esteem, I began to contemplate how much that basement of rooms means to me.
It's my little corner of the world. My space to do as I please and sing to my heart's content. Granted, I can only belt when the Wing is empty, so as not to disturb the peace, but that's besides the point.
I was on my way back to the dorm and by now the sky had gone pitch black.
Mr. Baron spoke to us earlier that day (or the day before) about not wasting moments.
Now, moments are curious. They come and go in flashes and just as we're about to grasp them, they disappear.
In that particular moment, I found myself sore, and cold, and in a bit of a sulky mood. So, instead of taking the easy way out, I decided to take a risk by leaving myself to my own thoughts. And nature. Mainly nature.
I made sure to walk reaaaaaaaallly slowly. And if you actually know me, you'd find that very hard to believe. But yes, I decided to consciously walk slowly for once.
Making my way down past Martin's, I made sure to look at every tree, notice how tall each lamppost was—sulk at my comparative height—listen to every chirp or bug around. And as I began to listen, the night sounds seemed to grow louder.
So loud, until I couldn't even hear myself think anymore. And that's not a bad thing.
There were crickets, and cicadas, and who knows whatever else was out there. Nonetheless, I found myself in complete awe at their combined sound. I had to stop for a moment, just by the edge of the road, to actually feel the vibration of sound, resonating within the ground and within me.
A few mosquitos found their way to my ankles, ruining the moment.
Fucking mosquitos.
Deciding I did not like bugs anymore, I walked further down the road, almost near Manor, where I stood atop Mike's favorite rock: one found just between a little cluster of trees. There, I had a perfect view of the bay, and the sky, and the stars, and the still earth beneath me.
I let my gaze rest on Orion's belt—the only constellation I know by heart—and sighed at just how brilliant it was. The whole thing.
I could hear the distant rolling of waves lapping at the shore, though the tide seemed quite calm, and I'd be lying if I told you I hadn't lost it for a moment.
Truth is, I had, in fact, completely lost myself in a trance of stars and flowers and constellations. The sky stood brilliantly before me, and I let it envelope me in its almost chilling embrace. Yeah, the wind was rough that night.
Eventually, the same damn mosquitos found their way back to me, forcing me out of my own beloved peace of mind.
Cursing the darned things, I made my way back to Benets, allowing the full fatigue of the day to finally catch up to me.
What happened later was fun, I will admit, but didn't seem to matter nearly as much.
I met up with CJS and took a walk before stopping by the admin building and sitting by the front benches. We talked and goofed around and joked about a glow stick he happened to find on the ground (I warned him not to pick it up). And it was fun.
The next day, I felt productive and took a stab at getting ahead on work, which was indeed a smart decision. Later that day, I met up with CJS again and we watched Ocean's 11 (I'd never seen it before). It was asdghjflewoiwehqjfnmv *insert heart eyes here*
So yeah. That was my first weekend. Pretty solid, I think.
Now it's on to the next one.
Hasta la próxima,
Much love xoxo
Maya
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Baby Steps
(I actually meant to post this last night but apparently I fell asleep...Whoops)
Hello dearest fluffernutters.
I just looked up that word and it actually looks somewhat delicious.
Anyway.
Guess who finished her first day of Junior yearrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr???
ME! I did! 100% moi! I did I did I diddd
As Dora would say: We did it! We did it! We did it! Yeah! Lo hicimos! We did it! *insert creepy Dora music here*
Okay, sorry about that. It had to be done.
Let's just start with the fact that yesterday was a really super shitty day. That being said, I woke up at 6:30am on the dot without an alarm. I know. I'm just cool like that.
Unfortunately, it took two blow dryers, four separate outlets, and twenty minutes to blow dry my hair after I'd showered. But hey, one's gotta look good on their first day of school as an upperclassman :)
I was quite happy with my outfit, if I do say so myself (YD's girlfriend's hand-me-down dress and a pair of painful heel boots XD). I actually put makeup on for once in my life. Not a lot, but just enough to feel like I was more than just boring haha
Also, might I mention that the absolutely lovely Hannah Banderob has been paired as my roommate for this year and so far it's going fabulously <3 She's such a dear.
Anyway, so I headed to Abbey breakfast around 7:40 and met up with Claire Bear and saw CJS. The rest of our crew was being musical with Schola (I think that's how you spell that...)
Next was church, where I just sorta zoned out for an hour and marveled with Claire at Schola's new sound.
Then was the first assembly of the year, in which new teachers and faculty were announced and Liam and Sydney gave a speech about cyberbullying and Ruda came back with another announcement as DJ Ruda. It was fun.
My first class was Art History. I believe that went swimmingly even though I only knew half the people in my class. After that was Algebra 2, in which I struggled to remember what a function was and how to convince Mr. C that I'm not stupid. Next I had a free period (Thank Heavens) but I was hungry so I got lunch with G block huehuehue :P I chilled with Emma and Brandt and the blondes for a while before leaving back to my dorm to sort through the rest of my crap.
At 1:30, I strolled into the RLH with a very different group of people to join for Mrs. Bonin's Lit 3 class. Here she decided to make fun of me and call me a twelve year old. I kid you not. I will get you back, Mrs. Bonin, just wait for it...
After talking about summer reading and book reviews and Twilight (I have no idea how the topic came up), I went back to Benets for my dorm picture and to prepare for the play auditions.
We still have another day of auditions to go, but I think they went decently well. I gave it my best, at least. The turn out was better than I expected, considering most of our actors graduated last year. I was there with Meagan and C which was the highlight, by far.
To cut it short, then I had dinner and went back to my dorm to take a nap cuz I was exhausted for no reason. And so now I'm writing this. (Mainly just for me to remember my first day hehehe)
Basically, this year will be stressstressstress but I gotta take things one step at a time.
Baby steps.
Then it'll be okay.
Hasta la próxima,
Much love xoxo
Maya
P.S: I saw Jay and gave him a hug today!
Hello dearest fluffernutters.
I just looked up that word and it actually looks somewhat delicious.
Anyway.
Guess who finished her first day of Junior yearrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr???
ME! I did! 100% moi! I did I did I diddd
As Dora would say: We did it! We did it! We did it! Yeah! Lo hicimos! We did it! *insert creepy Dora music here*
Okay, sorry about that. It had to be done.
Let's just start with the fact that yesterday was a really super shitty day. That being said, I woke up at 6:30am on the dot without an alarm. I know. I'm just cool like that.
Unfortunately, it took two blow dryers, four separate outlets, and twenty minutes to blow dry my hair after I'd showered. But hey, one's gotta look good on their first day of school as an upperclassman :)
I was quite happy with my outfit, if I do say so myself (YD's girlfriend's hand-me-down dress and a pair of painful heel boots XD). I actually put makeup on for once in my life. Not a lot, but just enough to feel like I was more than just boring haha
Also, might I mention that the absolutely lovely Hannah Banderob has been paired as my roommate for this year and so far it's going fabulously <3 She's such a dear.
Anyway, so I headed to Abbey breakfast around 7:40 and met up with Claire Bear and saw CJS. The rest of our crew was being musical with Schola (I think that's how you spell that...)
Next was church, where I just sorta zoned out for an hour and marveled with Claire at Schola's new sound.
Then was the first assembly of the year, in which new teachers and faculty were announced and Liam and Sydney gave a speech about cyberbullying and Ruda came back with another announcement as DJ Ruda. It was fun.
My first class was Art History. I believe that went swimmingly even though I only knew half the people in my class. After that was Algebra 2, in which I struggled to remember what a function was and how to convince Mr. C that I'm not stupid. Next I had a free period (Thank Heavens) but I was hungry so I got lunch with G block huehuehue :P I chilled with Emma and Brandt and the blondes for a while before leaving back to my dorm to sort through the rest of my crap.
At 1:30, I strolled into the RLH with a very different group of people to join for Mrs. Bonin's Lit 3 class. Here she decided to make fun of me and call me a twelve year old. I kid you not. I will get you back, Mrs. Bonin, just wait for it...
After talking about summer reading and book reviews and Twilight (I have no idea how the topic came up), I went back to Benets for my dorm picture and to prepare for the play auditions.
We still have another day of auditions to go, but I think they went decently well. I gave it my best, at least. The turn out was better than I expected, considering most of our actors graduated last year. I was there with Meagan and C which was the highlight, by far.
To cut it short, then I had dinner and went back to my dorm to take a nap cuz I was exhausted for no reason. And so now I'm writing this. (Mainly just for me to remember my first day hehehe)
Basically, this year will be stressstressstress but I gotta take things one step at a time.
Baby steps.
Then it'll be okay.
Hasta la próxima,
Much love xoxo
Maya
P.S: I saw Jay and gave him a hug today!
Sunday, September 6, 2015
The Little Princess
Mami took Javi and myself to watch The Little Prince last night.
If there are any words I could use to describe that movie, they would be "simply magical."
Hands down, it's probably one of my favorite movies of all time now. Heck, even the trailer had me in tears.
Meanwhile, Mami and Javier thought it was "okay."
I'm sorry, friends, but "okay" is just not acceptable. It is nowhere near the appropriate opinion to have about this movie because it's so goddamn special to me now that it can't be considered anything less than divine. Besides, I could relate to the Little Prince on so many levels. hehe I guess that makes me The Little Princess :)
I cried a total of three times. Call me a sap, or a romantic, or a hopeless empathizer for humanity, but nothing will ever take away my ability to feel the world on such an emotional level.
Fuck it, I don't even know if I'm making any sense right now but the fact of the matter is my heart is fragile. Very much so. And I am a complete sucker when it comes to poetic romanticism and childhood memories and innocence and special bonds with people you never would have met otherwise. This movie is full of all of those things and so I couldn't help but sob with a heavy heart, and not even just at the sad parts; I would find myself crying because the feelings were just all so human.
And so that is why I was royally pissed off at my mother and my ten-year-old brother, who apart from having much-too-literal minds, just couldn't appreciate the writing or the artwork or the music of any of it on the same level as I did.
My father, on the other hand, is a lot more like me. He's a romantic and feels for the world the same way I do. He understands metaphors and symbolism and can appreciate beautiful artwork when he sees it. Besides, a large plot point of the movie is about an old man teaching a little girl how to be magical and find her inner value again, and that's kinda what my dad has done for me throughout my entire life.
Yes, history says my parents named me after Maya Angelou. Either coincidentally or on purpose, I will never know, but the name Maya means magic, or illusion. And my dad has spent my whole life telling me I just don't quite belong on this planet, that I am most definitely some magical creature far above our own species and have to tolerate lowlifes like him on a daily basis.
Now, I'm not saying any of this to sound like I'm diving in over my head here or anything. I'm just telling you the story how it is.
So my dad raised me believing I was magical.
When we lived in New York, he'd take me to the park across the street from our house in the evening, just as it was about to get dark. Right around the time all the fireflies would come out. He'd spend hours teaching me how to catch them. It took a while seeing as my hands were a bit too small to trap any. We'd never keep them though. We never brought out a jar or anything, like some people do.
When I'd get frustrated at my lack of success, Papi would catch about five in one hand and let me peek inside the hole between his finger and his thumb. I'd watch those fireflies light up and disappear, time and time again. And then we'd let them go. I'd be giggling the whole time until my mom would call us back inside. My dad said he sometimes mistook me for a firefly as I ran around that park at night, giggling until I couldn't breathe anymore.
When I was even younger, my mom was the one who worked all the time. My dad was a stay-at-home dad. And I was a bit of an attention whore, I will admit, even at the ripe age of 3. I demanded my dad's full attention at all times. He tells me now that it was exhausting but that it was totally worth it.
Since my dad was the only one at home, he was the one to take me to my swimming lessons, and ballet classes, and host my play dates, and pack my lunches, and pick me up from school. He was also in charge of doing my hair every morning. Now, my dad's hairdressing skills are limited to lopsided pigtails and one high ponytail. I preferred pigtails.
I will admit, he did get better at them over time, but I never really cared for all the sympathetic glances other mothers gave me. At 5 years old, I could care less that my pigtails were lopsided or that my dad had to carry my fluorescent pink ballet bag to class for me everyday. He was my Papi, and as far as I was concerned, he did all those things cuz he loved me very much.
My dad always tells me those pigtails I wore used to look like antennae, causing me to very much resemble a little bug of some kind. He swore that I flew like one, too. He's testified to my feet never touching the ground, saying I only flitted and fluttered when I walked. He said I was just magic like that.
My dad would also sing to me at night, after he'd finished reading about twenty bedtime stories, of course. To this day, I still remember me begging for him to keep singing Christopher Robin or Dona Nobis Pacem. And even after he'd left the room, I'd keep singing them to myself, trying to pretend like he was still there.
Now that I'm grown, of course I challenge and pester and give him a hard time. But I'm fifteen years old. I'm meant to do that. Besides, I won't act like it's not fun.
I'm not going to pretend that I'm all high and mighty though, either. After all, I am only fifteen. But I have grown up. Quite a bit, actually. And my dad knows that too.
But no matter how much I sass him back or challenge his own sarcasm or argue that I'm right, he still sees the little girl with antennae, fluttering about here and there, carrying a stuffed bunny in her hand at all times.
The other day, he came into my room to wake me up only to find me tangled in between my sheets, clutching that same stuffed bunny to my chest. I'm grown up but I'm still little. I'm still a kid that loves splashing in puddles and hates papercuts and won't eat her vegetables when she doesn't feel like it and giggles everywhere, no matter the setting.
And he knows that.
And he claims that's my best magic trick of all: choosing to stay innocent despite being surrounded by a world of darkness and chaos.
Now, he's not calling me ignorant or naive. What he means is that I still choose to see the good in people and I genuinely assume the best of every situation until proven otherwise, and yeah, maybe that makes me naive sometimes, but I'd much rather live a hopeful life than a hopeless one.
Papi taught me how to be magic and live and feel and just plain old be.
He taught me to love the unloved and to embrace the flawed and to accept myself as I am, imperfections and all. And if that's not considered some sort of magic, I don't know what is.
Wow guys. This started off as a movie review but then ended up just being a major shout out to my dad. Whoops.
#sorrynotsorry
Anyway, kid movie or not, I highly recommend you guys watch The Little Prince. I had to read the book when I was ten years old and granted, I didn't understand a lick of it then, but five years can do a lot to a person, and watching the movie—as slightly different as it was to the book—made me appreciate the story so much more. Please please please go watch it.
Hasta la próxima,
Much love xoxo
Maya
P.S: I have the best dad in the entire world and just because now that I'm older and realize he can also make mistakes doesn't make him any less of a hero to me.
If there are any words I could use to describe that movie, they would be "simply magical."
Hands down, it's probably one of my favorite movies of all time now. Heck, even the trailer had me in tears.
Meanwhile, Mami and Javier thought it was "okay."
I'm sorry, friends, but "okay" is just not acceptable. It is nowhere near the appropriate opinion to have about this movie because it's so goddamn special to me now that it can't be considered anything less than divine. Besides, I could relate to the Little Prince on so many levels. hehe I guess that makes me The Little Princess :)
I cried a total of three times. Call me a sap, or a romantic, or a hopeless empathizer for humanity, but nothing will ever take away my ability to feel the world on such an emotional level.
Fuck it, I don't even know if I'm making any sense right now but the fact of the matter is my heart is fragile. Very much so. And I am a complete sucker when it comes to poetic romanticism and childhood memories and innocence and special bonds with people you never would have met otherwise. This movie is full of all of those things and so I couldn't help but sob with a heavy heart, and not even just at the sad parts; I would find myself crying because the feelings were just all so human.
And so that is why I was royally pissed off at my mother and my ten-year-old brother, who apart from having much-too-literal minds, just couldn't appreciate the writing or the artwork or the music of any of it on the same level as I did.
My father, on the other hand, is a lot more like me. He's a romantic and feels for the world the same way I do. He understands metaphors and symbolism and can appreciate beautiful artwork when he sees it. Besides, a large plot point of the movie is about an old man teaching a little girl how to be magical and find her inner value again, and that's kinda what my dad has done for me throughout my entire life.
Yes, history says my parents named me after Maya Angelou. Either coincidentally or on purpose, I will never know, but the name Maya means magic, or illusion. And my dad has spent my whole life telling me I just don't quite belong on this planet, that I am most definitely some magical creature far above our own species and have to tolerate lowlifes like him on a daily basis.
Now, I'm not saying any of this to sound like I'm diving in over my head here or anything. I'm just telling you the story how it is.
So my dad raised me believing I was magical.
When we lived in New York, he'd take me to the park across the street from our house in the evening, just as it was about to get dark. Right around the time all the fireflies would come out. He'd spend hours teaching me how to catch them. It took a while seeing as my hands were a bit too small to trap any. We'd never keep them though. We never brought out a jar or anything, like some people do.
When I'd get frustrated at my lack of success, Papi would catch about five in one hand and let me peek inside the hole between his finger and his thumb. I'd watch those fireflies light up and disappear, time and time again. And then we'd let them go. I'd be giggling the whole time until my mom would call us back inside. My dad said he sometimes mistook me for a firefly as I ran around that park at night, giggling until I couldn't breathe anymore.
When I was even younger, my mom was the one who worked all the time. My dad was a stay-at-home dad. And I was a bit of an attention whore, I will admit, even at the ripe age of 3. I demanded my dad's full attention at all times. He tells me now that it was exhausting but that it was totally worth it.
Since my dad was the only one at home, he was the one to take me to my swimming lessons, and ballet classes, and host my play dates, and pack my lunches, and pick me up from school. He was also in charge of doing my hair every morning. Now, my dad's hairdressing skills are limited to lopsided pigtails and one high ponytail. I preferred pigtails.
I will admit, he did get better at them over time, but I never really cared for all the sympathetic glances other mothers gave me. At 5 years old, I could care less that my pigtails were lopsided or that my dad had to carry my fluorescent pink ballet bag to class for me everyday. He was my Papi, and as far as I was concerned, he did all those things cuz he loved me very much.
My dad always tells me those pigtails I wore used to look like antennae, causing me to very much resemble a little bug of some kind. He swore that I flew like one, too. He's testified to my feet never touching the ground, saying I only flitted and fluttered when I walked. He said I was just magic like that.
My dad would also sing to me at night, after he'd finished reading about twenty bedtime stories, of course. To this day, I still remember me begging for him to keep singing Christopher Robin or Dona Nobis Pacem. And even after he'd left the room, I'd keep singing them to myself, trying to pretend like he was still there.
Now that I'm grown, of course I challenge and pester and give him a hard time. But I'm fifteen years old. I'm meant to do that. Besides, I won't act like it's not fun.
I'm not going to pretend that I'm all high and mighty though, either. After all, I am only fifteen. But I have grown up. Quite a bit, actually. And my dad knows that too.
But no matter how much I sass him back or challenge his own sarcasm or argue that I'm right, he still sees the little girl with antennae, fluttering about here and there, carrying a stuffed bunny in her hand at all times.
The other day, he came into my room to wake me up only to find me tangled in between my sheets, clutching that same stuffed bunny to my chest. I'm grown up but I'm still little. I'm still a kid that loves splashing in puddles and hates papercuts and won't eat her vegetables when she doesn't feel like it and giggles everywhere, no matter the setting.
And he knows that.
And he claims that's my best magic trick of all: choosing to stay innocent despite being surrounded by a world of darkness and chaos.
Now, he's not calling me ignorant or naive. What he means is that I still choose to see the good in people and I genuinely assume the best of every situation until proven otherwise, and yeah, maybe that makes me naive sometimes, but I'd much rather live a hopeful life than a hopeless one.
Papi taught me how to be magic and live and feel and just plain old be.
He taught me to love the unloved and to embrace the flawed and to accept myself as I am, imperfections and all. And if that's not considered some sort of magic, I don't know what is.
Wow guys. This started off as a movie review but then ended up just being a major shout out to my dad. Whoops.
#sorrynotsorry
Anyway, kid movie or not, I highly recommend you guys watch The Little Prince. I had to read the book when I was ten years old and granted, I didn't understand a lick of it then, but five years can do a lot to a person, and watching the movie—as slightly different as it was to the book—made me appreciate the story so much more. Please please please go watch it.
Hasta la próxima,
Much love xoxo
Maya
P.S: I have the best dad in the entire world and just because now that I'm older and realize he can also make mistakes doesn't make him any less of a hero to me.
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