Maybe

Random prose written while listening to "ceiling full of stars" playlist on 8tracks. Thought I'd try my hand at some improv, who knows. Here goes:

..........

Hi I thought I would share this story with you.

Um.

Okay, well. 

We were running. And it was dark. Like late. And I could only see the back of her dress kicking up in the wind and my god she was beautiful.

It was late. I was cold but she wasn’t. She never was. She was always warm. She just radiated like that. We ran all the way to the bay. I wanted to keep running, go to the water, feel the rocks, pick up crabs, but she wanted to stop, so I did.

We stopped and I looked at her and she took my hand and I gasped because she felt like stars exploding a billion miles away. She laughed and so did I and we heard waves slink away into the sea. 

Her laugh sounded like wind chimes and sunshiney mornings.

She pulled me close. “Hey, you’re cold.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Uh huh.” She pulled me closer.

I wanted to stay like that. Stand there til the sun came up. Maybe she did too.

I wanted to sit there and tell her about why I like crabs and that sometimes the coldest mornings at the bay are the coolest and that she was just so unbelievably funny and how much I wanted to kiss her and that I wished we could just stay.

I wanted her to stay.

She tugged on my hand and I looked up at her. Her smile faltered. She knew it already.

“I know,” I said.

“I know you know. I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be. I love you.”

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

She sat down with tears in her eyes and kissed my hand. She loved me too, I knew it. She didn’t want to leave either, I knew it. She wanted to stay. Here. With me. 

“Don’t go.” I said.

“Don’t.” 

“Okay.”

I wish she was still here. I wish she’d tell me about what the sky is like over there. And why she doesn’t like crabs. And if she knows that her laugh sounds like wind chimes.

Maybe she’s still wearing that dress. I hope she is.

..........

I don't know what that was about really. But I feel like it's something that happened. Or could have happened. Who knows.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

I Am From

Hello hi there my loves!

It's been quite a while, I'm super sorry. This isn't quite an update per se, but it's something to tide us over while I try to come up with a general update.

I wrote this for my Freshman Writing Seminar class––we were given a template based on George Ella Lyon's poem "Where I'm From" and were told to fill in the blanks. Figured I'd share :)

..........

I Am From

by Maya I. Wilson Estrella

I am from weathered chancletas,

from Dawn soap and tupperware,

I am from the concrete jungle,

the scent of fried salami.

I am from the blooming orquidias,

the caoba tree whose long limbs

I remember as if they were my own.

I'm from Eleven MnMs and crinkled noses,

from Abuelo and Abuela,

I'm from cackling laughter and petty grudges

and from picking our fingernails raw.

I'm from always be early and never be late,

and two wrongs do not make a right,

I'm from oraciones before bed.

I'm from Queens, New York and the

distant valleys of Ocoa.

Abuelo's dulce de coco and Grandma's tuna melts,

from Grandpa's unjust unemployment and

the politics he fought against.

Yellowed letters written in desperation,

carefully tucked in a forgotten box.

Memories of entire lifetimes scattered among

the new.

..........

Ta daaaaaa there you have it. I remember Yan Diego having to do this in like 6th grade and I thought it was the coolest thing ever :) I hope you enjoyed! Might be posting some other little things I've written recently at some point soon.

I love you all!

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

Time Capsule

Hello hi all.

I was attempting to write an actual blogpost for this (and I promise it is coming... eventually) but realized it is far too late and I am way too under-caffeinated so I'm resorting to slightly-very-cringey-at-best post. In short, I dug up some old writing pieces from twelve year old Maya, as in, weirdly religious, uncontrollably emo yet optimistic, using words I didn't really know the meaning of Maya. Sure she had some insight about quite adult-y things back then but she also very well may have been tripping off lack of melatonin production.

(Just for reference, most of these were written the summer I was away at Phillips Andover for weird artsy prep-school summer camp. Hence the odd prompts and shit. Carry on.)

Anyway. Here goes.

..........

"We carry around our own exits"

         We are the ones who decide how we finish. We make the best out of life, out of our opportunities, and how we decide to behave is what is going to be remembered. We make our own marks on this earth. I believe that we should all try our best, even when we fail; at least we worked hard enough to say that we put effort into whatever we did. From the day we are born, we carry around our ending, and we just have to find it. Our purpose of living isn't just trying to find our end, but enjoying the journey along the way. We are born, and we travel this long journey that leads us closer and closer to our end, but sometimes we just need to be reminded that it will all be worthwhile if we make it that way."We carry around our own exits,"... Yeah, that sounds about right.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

For whom do we express ourselves if not for ourselves?

   I usually ask myself the same question whenever I am about to make a decision: “Am I truly doing this for me, or am I trying to act like someone other than myself?”

   My parents have raised me to be my own person; they said it was okay to think and act differently, so long as I made smart choices.

   I always try my best to be confident in my own choices of thought and my own choices of action. I try my best not to let anyone tell me how I should live my life, or express myself.

   Everyone has their own moments of insecurity, when they try to be someone they’re not, or otherwise, they are pressured to. Of course, I’ve experienced those times when I just tried to fit in, where I’ve acted a little differently for the sake of people liking me, but I’m trying really hard to break that habit little by little.

   In conclusion, I am successfully trying harder every day to let loose and just be myself, no matter what people say. I am who I am; I was born that way.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

...Last Glances...

Have you ever felt the urge to look at that person one last time, but you didn’t, and that one decision haunted you the rest of your life? Well, that disgusting feeling has touched me more than once, and it’s scary to move on and look ahead when I think about it. You’re unsure; you feel cheated, that it might’ve been necessary to take a last glance, but your foolish mind blindly ignored your first instinct.

   First deaths always hurt the most. Especially when you knew that person. Especially when you were close to that person. And then you try convincing your brain that it’s not true, and your whole body goes in denial. Then it starts going numb, and when you’re numb, you’re not supposed to feel the pain, but it hurts more than it ever has before. And you try hiding it, and you try getting over it, and you try to remember his face, and you try to remember the last time he smiled at you… Then it all seems real and it all feels gone, like all those moments spent with him were wasted, and then you feel guilty for not looking one last time, just so you could remember those smiling eyes, and messy, black hair, and goofy laugh. Just one last time… And then the feeling clings to you forever.  

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

Where I’m going...

   Where I’m going, it’s full of hills; grasslands cover all that is seen. Hills over hills, meadows over meadows; it all seems pretty endless. At dawn, the sky is a pale pink; rays of purple and orange seem to burst from the heavens, kissing the soft earth on the horizon. Sheep start to graze lazily as the big, bright sun illuminates the land around them. There, I can run free, not a care in the world, just wandering and admiring God’s creation. At noon, I’ll retreat to the nearby woods, dreaming underneath its shadows. I’ll speak with the squirrels, sing with the birds, care for the deer, and keep the trees company. Where I’m going, the dawn simply lulls into dusk, and the days seem blissfully endless. There’s no need for sleep, for my sleeping days will be over, so I’ll take my time and wander. A young fawn will keep me company as I count the stars in the sky, telling the youngling stories of my adventurous days. The fawn will go to sleep and the night owl will whisper its call, and I know it’s time to wake up. Though now, it’s a dream, I know I will get there; someday, I promise I will. My days will pass by, but it’ll all be worth it, for in the end, I’ll have eternal peace.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

“The self is made manifest in the opposites and in the conflict between them. It is a coincidentia oppositorum (coincidence of opposites). Hence, the way to the self begins with conflict.”

-Carl Jung

What I interpret from this passage is that we create ourselves and improve ourselves through conflict. As crazy as that sounds, it is usually true in lots of cases, where the argument between two opposites brings them together. We see that mostly in family relationships. The conflict, when confronted, can clear out just what was needed to be said. This would explain coincidentia oppositorum.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

Grieving and Regrets

Cemeteries are full of memory and regret.

The headstones engraved with meaningless words;

The empty silence that reminds me of my loss;

The battered land that be crossed again and again.

Survivor’s guilt burns to the surface of my skin,

As I sit and rue for hours on end;

Hearing the humming songs in my head,

Swallowing my tears, for he’s not dead.

I turn around and almost swear that it’s him;

At least, I wish, oh! I wish it were him.

But it’s my old,

Sad shadow there, instead.

I faintly hear whispering words,

Hurtful words; Painful words.

I wish I could sew down my ears,

To save myself from this raging guilt.

Getting ready to leave is the hardest part;

Sometimes I wish I were dead so

I didn’t have to leave him.

Cemeteries are full of memory and regret.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

“A necessary end...” -Saltillo

   I race along the path of unknown as I swerve through the towering trees that try to manipulate me ~

I don’t let them. I cross many rivers, past mountains, past forests, hearing the echoes of the eery tree nymphs. I am running away, but I’m not sure from what. As I run into the unknown, horrifying memories of my past flash through my eyes. The intimidating trees offer no comfort as I weep. Proceeding along the path, I get distracted by the luring, angelic voices of the nymphs. I turn every corner, but there is no escape. The white voices surge through my brain. Full of frustration, I bound my way back through the remaining obstacles. The trees are clearing and the voices, fading. At last, I have reached the end of the path, and gratefully, I welcome my end.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those

who could not hear the music." 

-- Friedrich Nietzsche 

  And those who were classified as “different” were bullied by those who envied such personalities. And those who sang and spoke “to themselves” were thought to be mentally insane by those who could not hear the spirits. And those who loved with a love unlike any other were threatened and called “gay”. 

  This particular quote makes me reflect on many things, and think about many relating situations. This particular statement makes us question the society we live in. Is it truly that bad to be our own person? Why are we questioned about our own choices that we make in our own lives? I strongly believe that we are who we are, and no one is in a place to judge. 

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

Threshold- Joseph Campbell

  If I had been moved a moment too late, my life wouldn’t be as it is now; I would feel like my life was pointless ~ no purpose to my living.

   I was a mere nine years old when I was touched by a song, a song that would be the beginning of a whole new way of thinking. The speaker was a seven year old girl, who had recently had visions of the upcoming World War II; her innocence completely shattered. The tears that rolled down my cheeks by the end of the song were caused by the powerfulness of the words; the great emotion from the lyrics. I was quite naive at the time and didn’t understand war very much, but after hearing the song ~ interpreting it ~ I was changed.

    ...children...hurting...crying...needing...begging for someone to reach out and save them!

   All I could do was weep for those children who never got the chance to be kids; who were born into a world of conflict and danger. I had become extremely sensitive to war topics after that. Barely two years later, I had to read a book for school called: The Hiding Place. It was a personal experience about the Holocaust. I read that book page through page; I felt the fear and terror build up inside of me ~ and then I found what was missing in my mind: the amazing power of faith in God. 

   As long as the author and her family prayed to God for the forgiveness of “those poor men (soldiers who tortured them) who don’t know what they’re doing”, her family was always saved from the frightful beatings to come. This book literally changed my life. I am grateful for absolutely everything I am given and my life feels like it has a purpose now, even if I don’t know what it is yet, but God made me for a reason, and I’m sure I’ll find out someday.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

Holy fucking shit, that was a trip and a half. I hope that wasn't nearly as uncomfortable for you as it was for me. Seriously, why was I obsessed with aligning in mismatched formats??? for like? paragraphs???? Who knows. None of us may ever know.

I hope your day/night/hibernation is going splendidly! I love and miss you all.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya 

Into the Woods

"Get out. Walk the dog, go for a run, go—something, just get out of the house."

My godmother insisted that the three of us (Yan Diego, my godsister Elizabeth and myself, that is) go outside and get some fresh air after being cooped up all day.

I wasn't entirely opposed; I'm just not known for being the greatest pal of nature.

"Ohmygosh Maman, can we take the bikes out please, pretty please?" Elizabeth begged. She's a bike enthusiast, just by the way.

"Yeah, sure, just get the hell out of the house," was her mother's reply, not looking up from the newspaper in her hands.

"Yan Diegooooooo!!! Come onnnnnnn, I'll teach you how to ride the unicycle!" Elizabeth promised as she hiked her socks up to her knees.

Internally groaning because I knew I'd make a fool out of myself, I followed both of them out into the driveway. I hadn't set foot on a bike since I was 13 and ever since, I'd developed a serious fear of anything that could possibly injure me. I know that sounds pretty ridiculous—you know, living your life in fear and all—but I couldn't help it. I think the last time I'd gotten a scratch from anything but being clumsy was a solid five years ago. But I couldn't seem like the lame party-pooper so...

"It's easy. You just put one foot here, and then the other foot over there, and just start pedaling!" Elizabeth encouraged me. Honestly, if I was going to make a fool outta myself, I'm glad it was in front of her. She's just too good for this world.

"Oh dear Lord," I muttered, holding my breath to avoid Yan Diego's sure-to-come insults.

I placed one foot on one pedal and then the other foot on the other (only after asking Elizabeth how the breaks worked about five million times) and before I knew it, my shaky legs were moving in circular motions—almost too quickly.

"HOW DO I STOP?!?!"

"Hahaaaaaaa!! Sucker!!" Of course this would be the first of many insults coming from my older brother.

"Just use the breaks! You're killing it, don't worry!" Elizabeth reassured me from a distance.

I frantically looked down at my handles, which were fixed with about six too many switchy-thingys and gears and buttons and I couldn't help thinking why on earth you'd need to have this many options.

I slammed on the breaks just as I got to the edge of a very steep hill, nearly falling over. My heart was pounding in my ears. We hadn't been outside for more than ten minutes.

"You got it! Just try not to stop so abruptly next time," Elizabeth granted me a warm smile, expertly parking her bike next to mine.

"Yeah, just don't be stupid next time," YD said matter-of-factly. I bit my tongue.

"How about we try this again, shall we?"

Gulping, I nodded my head, making sure to follow her very precise orders of holding the breaks as I went down the hill while allowing gravity to do the rest.

Just as I was starting to get the hang of it, Yan Diego zipped past me.

"Can you not? You're stressing me out," I yelled at him.

"You're always stressed out," he sneered, zooming by me in antagonizing zig-zags.

"Don't listen to him, you're doing really really well!" came Elizabeth's sure response before reminding me we could go as slowly as I needed.

It took me a couple of trial and errors to figure out the grass trails as opposed to the pavement we were previously on. I think it's about time I mention my godmother's family lives in the middle of the woods in Massachusetts.

After one particularly rough hill, I got thrown off my bike into some patches of clover.

As per usual, my brother zoomed ahead of us while Elizabeth stayed behind to make sure I was okay. It was almost frustrating, in a way. I'm an entire year older than her, she shouldn't have to be taking care of me.

She's a year younger yet she's smarter, stealthier, stronger, quirkier, and infinitely more capable than I. It was humiliating.

Maybe you should start going to the gym, Maya. You're really out of shape.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, let's keep going," I pulled out a tight smile before mounting my bike for the millionth time.

We'd been riding for a solid half hour now and I could already feel the sweat trickle down my back and collect into the bunched-up parts of my overalls. 

Now I remember why you hate sports.

I will admit, I felt a strong sense of accomplishment for having overcome all those rocks and roots and evading horse shit and dog-walkers. It was tough stuff, mind you.

For not having ridden in three years and jumping right into woodland bike trails, Elizabeth said I was doing fantastic and that she was proud of me, so there's that.

As it was nearing dusk, the mosquitos and flies and beetles and other winged creatures made their presence known by buzzing in front of my face every three seconds. Did I mention I'm not a nature person?

Then came my near-death experience. No, it wasn't as interesting as it sounds.

It was just another one of those stupid hills again and Yan Diego decided to park himself right at the bottom of the hill at the last second. Seeing as I was behind him and didn't want to crash, my instincts told me to swerve to the right—right into the swampy water.

It all happened so quickly, I can't exactly remember all the details. I just know one moment my hands were shaking and the next, I was pulling my laces out of the bike chain. Thankfully I didn't fall into the wet part, but instead got tangled in with a bunch of thorny branches. My heart pounded in my throat and my lips were dry as a board. My helmet clung to the sweat on my forehead and I was picking hair out of my mouth. I didn't have a single scratch.

You're not even hurt, Maya. Stop freaking out.

I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes but I didn't let them fall seeing as it was Elizabeth's idea to go biking and I didn't want her to feel bad. Besides, it would just give YD another opportunity to call me a baby.

"Hey, we all have bad crashes sometimes. It's all good," Elizabeth offered me a strong, tanned hand as she pulled me up from the dusty ground.

"Thanks," I mumbled, fingers still frantically shaking as they gripped the bike to pull it up.

And in less than a second, we were off again, stumbling through the woods like expert explorers. Or the other two did. The welt in my throat hadn't decreased and I had this bad feeling in my chest like I couldn't breathe. This was just what track season felt like, only worse.

"You sure you don't want me to stay?"

"Yeah, no, it's fine, you two go on ahead, I'll catch up in a bit," I promised Elizabeth, giving her a reassuring nod.

"Okay... Well thank you for trying, anyway! It really means a lot to me!" she shouted back as she pedaled off into the distance.

And then it hit me like a brick wall. All the anxiety I had felt during this entire time smothered into one big boulder. It just occurred to me I'd been off my meds for over a month now. And not intentionally.

Don't you dare fucking cry. Don't you dare. You're not a crybaby.

I suddenly realized I was all alone in the woods at night with zero sense of direction, a bike that was about twice my size, a sweaty helmet and a five trillion pound bag of anxiety.

Heaving sobs racked out of my body like too-tightly-contained oceans. I didn't want any passerby's to hear me so I kept silent, but my left hand latched onto my neck—the other gripping the handles of the bike—desperately trying to gasp for air.

You're overreacting. This is so pathetic.

Why was I freaking out? I'd only had a tiny crash scare, but no harm done, right? Why did it suddenly feel like the world was running out of oxygen and the trees only grew twenty feet taller?

I stared at my beat-up, red converse in order to focus on something. I couldn't remember where I'd read that but apparently focusing on small realities helps relieve disproportionate meltdowns.

My shoes were dusty now. As were the cuffs of my overalls.

Deciding I had better get a move on before I completely forgot where I was, I wiped the snot on my sleeve before grabbing hold of the handles once again.

I walked side by side with that bike, up rocky trails and down steep and bumpy hills. It'd been an hour since I'd seen the other two.

It occurred to me that I could die in these woods. I could just sit down and no one would ever find me if I didn't want them to. I couldn't tell you why such a thought was equally alarming and calming. I guess the whole humiliating ordeal made me beg for invisibility.

You're such a wuss. Get over it.

Mile after mile passed on and that bike wasn't getting any lighter. One man even stopped to ask me if my bike was broken. He had passed me on the trail three times already.

I finally came upon a sliver of land I recognized, and an old couple walking their dogs said hello to me.

"Hi, how are you?" I gave them a polite smile and a nod and just as swiftly was on my way.

It was the first time I'd heard my own voice out loud for almost two hours now.

"It's not fun to be lonely," I thought to myself as I carried the ever-growing burden of a bike up yet another hill.

It was nearly dinner time when I made it back to the road we were first on. Exhausted and very dizzy, I told myself there were only two hills left.

"But these ones are paved, so they're not as bad," I thought, knowing water would be at the top of those hills.

The house came into view and I walked in covered in sweat, mud, dust, and red welts from where the bike dug into my shins. I made it.

I couldn't think of anything better than taking an ice-cold shower and downing an entire gallon of water. I was also outrageously hungry and for some reason, I didn't have the slightest idea why.

I allowed ice water to wash over my face and trickle down onto my chest and legs. I suddenly wanted to cry all over again but I had no reason to. It was all over now. I was back home and comfortable and hydrated again and just a tiny bit sore, but that was no reason to cry, was it?

I guess that's what happens when you get off your meds for too long.

I was done with biking.

Low Lie the Fields of Athenry

To those of you wondering what exactly occurred on our heavenly trip to Ireland, I am here to rid you of that mystery. On our very last day, Mama Kerr asked us all to close our eyes and picture every last moment and jot whatever our sentiments were down into a notebook before we lost those memories forever.

I'm afraid I cannot say I managed to keep a journal for the London side of things simply because we were so darn busy the entire time. That's not to say we weren't busy in Ireland, because we were—it was just a different kind of busy. Nonetheless, I wanted to share my journal entries with you because I cannot express how unbelievably amazing the whole experience was for me.

That being said, it is a helluva long journal entry, so if you're planning on reading the entire thing, you may as well get a snack or something... We'll be here for a good while.

..........

My dearest Maya:

I write to you from Ireland on the 12th of June, 2016. You are about to get on a plane headed straight toward London, England and who knows what wonderful experiences you'll encounter there. For now, I want to write to you about the past week in hopes that you won't forget. The moment we boarded the coach bus from PAS, I knew we were in for a treat. The excitement hadn't hit me yet and I chose to nap on my own all the way to Logan.

Upon arrival, the usual banter ensued and after getting our boarding passes, immense panic swept over me because I realized my seat was the farthest away from the group. Papa Kerr fixed that for me, thankfully. In the meantime, I was developing a helluva fever to the point of tears and almost passing out. I am so grateful to Caellum and Conor and Claire and Mama and Papa Kerr for taking care of me while I felt like shit.

The flight was long and uncomfy but we made it through—yes, I got to sit next to CJS. Arriving and noticing the time switch was the strangest thing. Stepping out into the Dublin airport and seeing all the Gaelic written on signs was quite bizarre, but expected. I didn't feel entirely foreign and for some reason, the excitement/shock hadn't hit me yet.

That day, we waddled onto a bus (my fever was back) and we made our way to Trinity College. Our tourguide, Byrne, was an absolute babe but he was totally gay. I would have enjoyed the scenery and everything, including the Book of Kells a lot more if I had not been so ill. Nonetheless, we went off to eat at this little place and the food revitalized me a bit. (P.S: THE SODA BREAD WAS SO DAMN GOOD!) We entered a record store, listened to some funky music, walked through a silent writer's museum and made our way back to our awaiting castle.

Seeing her from a distance was truly breathtaking and I wish I could recapture that moment over and over again. Seeing all the cobwebs and suits of armor decorating the halls was so surreal. I felt like royalty. That night was a blur of hot and cold flashes, blaring music, pillow forts, snuggles, and mixed feelings. I was out before I knew it.

Day Two, we met Brian, our caterer, who cannot be described as anything other than dynamite. His explosive exclamations and delicious food woke up our bleary minds as we trudged through the Coach House. Okay, that bacon—beyond compare. I can still smell it now. Breakfast was loud and obnoxious and I was feeling more alive than I had the previous day. That day was meant for the walking tour and adventuring about Galway—a beautiful city, mind you. The day was sunny and beautiful. I got sunburnt that day. Who woulda thought? Lemme retrack real quick to the night before, though. On the way to the Castle, we had dinner at this tiny lil' plaza called—wait for it—Obama Mart. I kid you not. It was fucking hilarious. I got the best club sandwich I've ever tasted in my life at some rip-off Subway place and Caellum and Conor both became aware of and quickly addicted to this drink called Lucozade (—Get Gluced!) After that, we had a very hilarious and slightly delirious conversation about Michelle Obama and her obsession with sweet potatos (—Nuuuuuu Michelle!) I don't think I've laughed that hard in a very long time.

Back to Galway, our tourguide was the absolute best storyteller I've ever come across. He told us stories about Eugene Daily on the Titanic and the origin of the word Lynch and monkeys rescuing babies from fires. We ate lunch at this super cool tavern and Caellum bitched about Zoe for a while. We stopped by a little shop on the way back to the Castle that night and picked up some bits and bobs for snacks. On the bus, we decided it'd be a lovely idea to get Maya hyped on Gluc. So I did. And I went insane. I mean full on hyper, weird, crazy, screaming insane. It was very entertaining. So as we got back to the Castle ready to take showers, the guys thought it a lovely idea to lock themselves together in a bathroom for fifteen minutes talking about poop to prevent me from showering. Not five minutes after I get in the shower, Caellum is summoning me out for an "important meeting" which only turned out to be a gathering based on communally listening to the Cuil Theory. Worst eight minutes of my life. Later, we decided to play Catan, which was never finished and a lot more underwhelming than I wanted it to be. Everyone munched on Caellum and Conor's cheese minus myself because I thought it was tacky. I wasn't feelin' the people vibe and was extremely quiet and ready to cry myself to sleep. However, my lil' munchkin Emma turned my night around by letting us play with Play-Dough and eating chips with me and watching videos on my phone. Then, the Death Moth appeared. Emma thought it was a winged figure coming out of the shadows, so she screamed and then I screamed and we were a huge, loud, jittery mess. Eventually, we got Papa Kerr to get it out of the room so we could sleep in peace. And out we went—laughing is exhausting, anyway.

Day Three, or Thursday, was quite a long, fuckin' day. Think Cliffs of Moher and The Bhoirne in one day. Super fucking long. All I can distinctly remember is how much I seriously had to pee. Like, gee wiz, that was the most painful bus ride of my entire life. God bless Conor for being a good sport and helping me take my mind off it. I forget what we did for dinner, but I'm sure Brian whipped us up something fabulous. Later that night (as it would be our last night in the Castle before transferring to the Coach House), we thought it'd be a great idea to snuggle up in the Great Room surrounded by candlelight, telling ghost stories. It was freaky as fuck but honestly it may have been my favorite time so far on the trip. Mainly, it was Caellum reading off his phone, but his delivery really sold. Poor little Emma was spooked beyond belief and ended up crying a whole lot that night. I made her laugh, already half asleep, and apparently spent the next hour trying to calm her down. I was too tired to remember any of this, of course.

Day Four, or Friday, we had a wee bit of a sleep-in, thank God, but the ride to Cobh to see the Titanic exhibit took LITERALLY forever. Again, I had to hold my pee for far too long -_- The overall exhibit was pretty quick and underwhelming, although we got our own "tickets" and we were assigned real people. My name became Nellie O'Dwyer and Conor's was Martin Gallagher. I survived but he ended up dead, the poor thing. Soon after, Claire, Caellum, Sophia, Jimmy, Emma, Conor and myself decided to sprint up the steepest street I've ever come across in my life for some godforsaken reason. Turns out, us lucky seven got to visit a completely gorgeous, deserted church. It was massive with marble floors and stained glass and rose windows and tall columns. It was completely deserted apart from us and though none of us are strictly religious, I sorta felt like it was a very special, intimate moment we were all sharing. We proceeded to light candles upon our departure and left the place with a weird sort of glowy aura to us. Soon enough, it was time to get back for check-in. We made our way down some sketchy stairs—bumped into a cat on the way—and made a quick stop at Burger King cuz Emma had to pee. 

Our next stop would be Blarney Castle (which was absolutely gorgeous beyond compare, to say the least.) The mere size of the place was obscene and the grounds were just covered in trimmed grass and beautiful flora. Our very first experience with the castle was the dungeon caves. I kid you not—one of the coolest places I've probably ever been in my life. However, the entrances were tiny as fuck XD so everyone else was cussing me out while they struggled to wiggle through. Conor and I even managed to sneak a kiss down there after everybody else had left <3 We went on to explore some other caves before deciding to make the trek all the way up to the top of the ruins. An endless flight of steps and secret corridors and heaving breaths later, we finally made it to the top. Luckily, my fear of heights hadn't kicked in yet, so I was still just enjoying the view. I swear, you could see the whole world from up there. We were hurried along to kiss the Blarney stone which supposedly grants you the "Gift of Gab", which I already had, thank you very much. Besides, the whole ordeal involved being dangled upside down over who knows how many feet above ground, just to kiss some stone that could potentially give you Ebola. You never know. As we were making our way back down, Conor and I did a little more illegal smooching before heading downstairs and rejoining civilization. The rest of the evening entailed walking through a poison garden which harvested marijuana behind bars, just so you know. We were free to roam the grounds until, yet again, it was time to leave. Thank God we were on our way to food though cuz I was SO hungry at this point.

As promised, we went to Mortell's which was Brian's family restaurant. He fixed us up some burgers (which were to die for) in exchange for a swear jar/bucket/type thing. Basically, you had to pay everytime you added "like" or "um" to a sentence. I never had to pay a cent :) On our way out, though, we experienced a series of events. Firstly, Emmett won an armwrestling match against Brian's 20-year-old son. However, his hat later caught on fire, so I dunno what that says about him. And then, of course, another inside joke was birthed (—Oo, oo, oo, n*gga moon!) I don't even know how that happened, to be honest. The rest of the evening contained a series of laughter derived from the strangest things. I'm sure they made zero sense.

(The next few events are by no means in chronological order because my memory sucks and I didn't write the order of events down in time cuz I suck.)

OHMYGOD I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO MENTION THIS okay so. At some point during the week I actually cannot believe I forgot about this shame on me we had the greatest privilege to have professional TRAD musicians play for us in our cozy lil' castle :) For those of you who speak English, that just means we had 3 performers come to our castle to play traditional Irish folk music. I may or may not have shed many tears. I kid you not, all three of them were beyond talented and charming and lovely and I just wanted to wrap them up in a bow and take them home with me. I'm blanking on their names but each of them played with such passion... I just cannot remember ever seeing something as beautiful in my entire life. One of the last solos played, though, was a piece called "Nora" by the violinist, who used a looping pedal and some cool other toys to enhance his performance. My dearest friends, only those in the room can testify to the magic that occurred then and there. Before I knew it, tears ran in thick gobs down my cheeks and I hadn't noticed until a fat one landed on my arm. Claire and Sophia were about in the same state as I was, while everyone else just sat there—completely mesmerized.

Another lovely thing we got to experience was this charming little man by the name of Mike, decked out in full, traditional Irish attire. He was generous enough to come by the Coach House and tell us all stories—either general folklore and traditions, or even some of his own personal accounts. I'm not gonna lie, this man was just about the sweetest thing you've ever met. He told us about how Ireland was no big deal, how the Irish are proud of their heritage but their history has humbled them enough that they're not so exclusive about it; he told us about the Irish as a long line of alcoholics, of young girls destined to marry boys they'd never met; he sang us songs and told us never to lose our faith—for that faith is the only thing that's kept the Irish alive. Goodness gracious, I'm getting goosebumps just remembering this treasure of a person.

At some point or another, we were also able to make our way to Doolin to see the Folk Festival. In all honesty, I preferred the little coffeehouse performances a million times over the large, pub-like presentations. We sat among some others on the floor, and listened while this tragic beauty of a young man named Tiz McNamara gave a stunning performance. The poor guy has gone through one helluva stormy life, and yet he managed to perform the most intimate of songs to us—making us feel like we were a part of it, too. God, I just wanted to stand up and give him a hug. For some reason, I also distinctly remember sitting alone outside the little hub on a wooden bench, drenched in rain and surrounded by severely drunk Irishmen. The smell of cigarettes lingered in the air.

Towards the end of the week, we also got to experience the Banratty Castle, where (believe it or not) Caellum and Claire got named Lord and Lady for the evening. It was pretty cool. Basically, we attended the Madrigal Banquet, which essentially brings you back into medieval times and lets you eat all this really good food for dinner. Super duper fun. I'm sure C and Claire both had major inflated egos after the whole ordeal. This also has nothing to do with actual planned events, but at some point during my stay at the Coach House, I decided I super didn't wanna wear pants and so I ran back and forth down the upstairs hall, wearing nothing but a semi-long T-shirt. It was hella fun. You should try it sometime.

And thus terminated the beginning of our adventures. I don't think I was ever prepared to say goodbye.

..........

Special thanks to Declan, Brendan, Natalie, Brian and DENNIS for making our stay one we will never forget. I pray I get to go back someday. You were all such kind souls and we definitely didn't deserve you.

Hasta la proxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

P.S: You're welcome, Fonts.

P.P.S: If you're wondering what "Nora" sounded like, this was Eoghan's earlier version: Nora.

The Daily Struggle

Hiya!!! This poem's written in a bit of a different... style, so to speak. Let's just say work today inspired this piece :)

..........

The Daily Struggle

by: Maya Wilson

I made friends with a wasp today.

There she was—flitting and buzzing about

In all her red and yellow glory...

Nah, I'm just kidding.

That motherfucker stung me, and she stung me good.

You could say I was squirming and writhing in agony or whatever,

but you'd be forgetting an entire half of the story.

You see, upon feeling the deadly thing's stinger,

I clocked that bitch right where it hurt

(Or basically all of her, if you wanna get technical.)

I guess I should've run away or something smart like that,

But you know me.

Cold-blooded ho. That's right.

My swing only seemed to piss her off more,

So she made a bee-line—or should I say "wasp-line"—

Towards me, ready to sting with her butt again.

Goddamn, not even Kim K's ass is glorified as much.

We circled around each other for a bit, each eager to strike

When the fuckin' thing attacked me a second time,

But you best believe I was ready.

I smacked that wasp with a flipflop and down it went.

Mission accomplished.

For those of you wondering whether all this really happened or not,

Of course it fucking didn't. And if you believed me even for a second,

You're a dumbass.

Carpe Diem.

..........

The lovely inspiration I find at work, oh it's just joyous...

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

On Crickets and Crayons and Wings

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

The Glowing Rocks

It was startlingly cold when Claire dragged me outside tonight.

Towels bunched up in our arms and flip flops hanging off our socked feet, we scuttled our way to a rather large patch of grass in her yard, careful not to wake the parental units.

We set down our towels on the dewy lawn when Claire deemed a spot worthy enough for stargazing. Giggling and rambling in excited spurts the whole time, I could hardly contain my eagerness.

You see, I've never been stargazing before. 

Okay, I did go once but we're not talking about it because it doesn't matter anymore.

Growing up in urban jungles your whole life can deprive you of a whole lotta Mother Nature.

We sat criss cross applesauce with our necks outstretched as far as they could go to catch a glimpse of the sky above us. The Moon was almost full but just as bright and beaming as any other day, yet for some reason He felt like hiding behind the trees.

The moon is awfully shy, I suppose.

The sky was covered in a thin blanket of fog way, way up for miles and miles and miles.

Claire proceeded to pull out her stargazing playlist which included Snow Patrol's "Dark Roman Wine", Crywolf's "Bedroom Eyes" and Koda's "The Take Down". She went ahead pointing out constellations and telling stories about her summers spent out on this exact spot.

"Claire, the world is so big."

"It sure is, dear,"

Our backs were facing the Moon, so I turned around and looked up to see the steady moving clouds flowing by Him.

"Hey look! They look like ghosts!"

The clouds had peeled back into thin wispy strips, gliding along the infinite ocean that is the sky.

The Moon shone brightly on them as they slid quickly away.

After a while, the Moon had made its way above the trees, shining an inexplicably bright light on our designated stargazing spot.

"Hey, Claire, looks like you've got a spotlight," I teased, laughing as she struck a pose and proceeded to try and make shadow puppets in the Moon's glow (they looked more like black blobs to me, but shh).

I watched as Claire laid back. Following suit, I hadn't noticed I'd gasped.

"Now we've got the best view," I wasn't looking, but I'm sure Claire was smiling in that knowing way of hers.

I wrapped my flannel tighter around my body, feeling the chills run all the way down to my toes. Whether it was the cold or my complete and utter amazement is beyond me.

"Hey Claire?"

"Hmm?"

"It looks like a big, blue lagoon. One of those creepy ones, you know? With the fog just barely touching the surface... And the stars are like these glowing rocks you try and grab at the bottom," I glanced at the Moon in my top right line of vision, "With a really, really big rock in that corner."

Claire laughed at me, "Yeah, a really, really big rock... You sure nailed that one, kiddo,"

She explained how the sky and the ocean were her two favorite things; how they were so similar and yet quite literally the complete opposite of each other.

It was so beautiful. It really, truly was.

"OHMYGOD IT'S A SHOOTING ST--goddammit, that's a plane."

My excitement was hardly crushed though, seeing as the rest of the constellations were enough to keep me in awe for centuries.

We hobbled back inside around 12:30 with cold feet and cold hands, both complaining about our terrible circulation and laughing off the stories we told each other while sitting out in the middle of the night.

Sitting out there, I knew I wanted to go to bed thinking the sky would wrap me in its unending blanket of glowing rocks.

I'm sure they're quite warm.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

P.S: Thank you Claire <3