If life were made of only moments, you would never know you had one.

I had a moment!

My life has been a series of moments actually. And why?

My best friend has come to visit and we are currently share a bathroom. You know you like someone when they are brushing their teeth in the sink next to you and you can’t help but think they are adorable despite the minty white foam around their mouth that gives them a rabid appearance.

He makes me happy. We treated my little sister out to Ethiopian food for lunch today and it wasn’t incredibly awkward. We went on a double date with my other best friend and her boyfriend. While it was sufficiently awkward (because my best friend and her date are an awkward couple and I’m allowed to say that because they know it as well as I), it wasn’t too bad. Everyone got along. Conversation was steady. I only got last place in bowling once. Today was good.

Today was amazing. There were so many happy moments that I didn’t even realize how amazing the day was until I was contemplating life while watching the cute blonde boy brush his teeth in the sink next to me.

I don’t need fireworks.

I just need a moment.

And for today, amidst the string of moments, the best one was standing next to my best friend watching him brush his teeth.

Carry on my wayward daughter.

It’s Christmas.

Merry Christmas to you all, then.

I become very introspective on Christmas. Not sure why. Always been that way though.

I used to read a blog called “Wayward Daughter.” It was written by a lovely girl named Cait and she lived in Edinburgh…now that sounds like a story, doesn’t it?

I had a friend who lived in Edinburgh, Scotland. Her name was Caitlin.

She wore pretty dresses and drank loose-leaf tea and she lived with a man who was only a shadow in some of photographs. She would write to me, letters both long and short, and she would reveal little pieces of her life in little phrases without really telling me who she was at all.

I grew quite fond of the quirky girl in her quaint ways. I had never met her before but I considered her a friend.

Then one day, without any warning, on a warm September day when school had already started, the letters stopped. She stopped writing. There were no more pictures and the remnants of the girl and her shadowy friend were blown away with the winter wind and I forgot about her.

She didn’t even know I existed.

She was gone for 18 months. One not so very special day, she reappeared again for a moment. Her smile was weak and although I didn’t see them when she typed the note out, I could tell that her hands were shaky when she tapped out letters on her keyboard to say she was back and had returned to blogging, that she was sorry for how life had changed and she had forgotten about her little blog, that she was prepared to continue.

It was her last post.

I know it sounds stupid, but I miss her. I never commented or liked anything because I didn’t have an account at the time. I still wonder if it would’ve made a difference had I contacted her in some way.

Deep down, I know it wouldn’t.

How life has changed. I don’t recognize the girl I was last January.

Where did you go? Did you get lost amid the schooling and the papers, the labs and the exams? What path did you take that led you one way and this other girl here? What did you do that I can’t see you in the mirror anymore?

How life has changed. And yet, I can’t pinpoint exactly what is different.

Hello, girl I scarcely recognize with a faint sad smile on her lips. You have no reason to be sad at the loss of that former life and yet you are. You don’t regret the change but you did lose something. You wouldn’t mind it being lost as long as you knew what it was.

Hello, girl who dyed her hair slightly redder, who finds herself dating a different blonde boy, who claims a different major, who has scrambled together frail future plans, who wrote a book-length manuscript and started a blog just because she wanted to and wanted to be able to say that she could.

Hello self.

You exist. I know you exist. You know I exist. It’s a mutual agreement now.

Please don’t slip away. I like the way you are.

And yet I know you must change.

Merry Christmas.

I’m just blowin’ smoke…

The holidays were great.

Everyone’s happy and singing Christmas carols while nibbling on cookies shaped like the candy canes that they would later dip in mugs of hot chocolate. Everyone’s wearing ugly Christmas sweaters and exchanging White Elephant gifts. Everyone’s putting on their best face to see family for the first time in a long time, if not the first time all year.

The holidays were great.

If she tipped her face up slightly, the light would kiss her hunger-sharpened cheekbones just enough so that you couldn’t see the dark shadows that hovered in the hollows of her eyes. Her lips were thin and wrinkled and puckered so naturally around a Marlboro Red that you’ve thought she was born with a cigarette in her mouth. Glittery strands of grey hair poked out from her wavy mass of dark hair that revolted against the hairspray but the hardness around her eyes almost let her pull it off in a severe sort of way.

Merry Christmas to you too.

The holidays were great. The few family members that still talked to her gave her gift cards which she sold online for cash. Cash was easier to spend.

She never got them anything. Cash was easier to spend on herself.

She was surrounded by family members in her living room with forced smiles plastered on their faces, staring back at her. She picked up one of the frames and wiped the smudged glass with her sleeve.

There you go. Gotta put on your best face for the holidays.

Family gatherings were easy when no one could talk to you. There was no one to pointedly ask how your boyfriend is when they all know that he left you a few month earlier. No one to inquire after your friends when they recently heard that the best one left with your boyfriend. No one to make small talk and ask how work is going when they found out that you don’t work anymore after you were late one too many times.

Of course, then again, there was no one to wish you a “Merry Christmas”. The holidays were great.

Merry Christmas to you too.

Home is where my bunch of crazies are!

The family on my mom’s side is congregating and commiserating (my Aunt Whitney’s words!) in Connecticut for Christmas. I hear it’s chaos and a lot of fun — which sorta describes all our family gatherings.

Since we have such a large family, my Aunt Karise organizes a Secret Santa for the adults and for the kids. Once a kid turns 15, my Aunt Ashlin conducts an induction ceremony into the adult Secret Santa group.

By now, I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’ve mentioned 3 different aunts. Trust me, there’s more to come.

Since our family couldn’t make it, I presented my Secret Santa gift over Skype. My Aunt Kris (told you there was more!) held the camera and I performed an elaborate gift reveal to my Uncle Mike.

After the induction ceremony for one of my cousins and a slightly off-key rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”, I got off the loud chatter of Skype to hear the very quiet, very spacious, very lonely house.

I miss them. A few of them read my blog (hi guys!). I hope they know how much fun it was to Skype with them.

I miss you. Merry Christmas.

Let me tell you what I want, what I really really want!

Call me Ebenezer Scrooge.

I woke up this morning and mulled over certain things while sipping (okay gulping…I’m not the most attractive eater in the world — ask anyone I’ve eaten with) my mocha and I realized something.

I want a lot out of this life. Perhaps even worse is that I want to keep exactly what I have right now and keep it hoarded away in the private little safe I have in my mind so I can never lose it. I shall count the wealth of my memories and relationships everyday and bathe in it. I’m rolling in dough when it comes to the things that life has given me.

And if I’m truly honest with myself, I want a lot more than I think life would be willing to give. This fact will result in a lot of hard work on my part. And with a lot of hard work often comes a lot of failure.

I’m not sure I want that, even though I’ve been told that a little failure is good for us every now and again. Think of failure like the “juice cleanse” of life. It’s not necessarily a pleasant experience since it cleans you out, but those toxins need to come out and it might as well be sooner rather than later, ya?

But right now, I’m feeling selfish so I’m going to show you a brief (promise it won’t be anymore than 5…right now!) list of the things that I want from this life.

1) I think I want to visit Tokyo. This is a new thing on the list but I was reading Keiko’s blog and I think I might want to go. It seems cool and I love Asian food. So I’m officially going to add this to my list. It may be a bit impulsive, but I’m not actually doing it so I’m pretty sure that’s okay.

2) I think that I will get blue or purple hair sometime. This one is questionable but I’m experimenting with a Cherry Coke red right now and I’ve been admiring these lovely blue-headed ladies on Pinterest for awhile. Needless to say, this one probably won’t come to pass, but it’s got to go on here since I’ve been thinking about it.

3) I will drink Irish coffee in Ireland. This one doesn’t need an explanation.

4) I want to be accepted at the University of Michigan Pharmacy PhD program. This one will take work but if I could get any wish I wanted, this would be it. It’s renowned for it’s Biology and Chemistry programs and it also happens to be my favorite college. Check out my phone case, if you don’t believe me.

5) I want to paint some of my own art for my house when I get older. Have you guys ever been to those places where you can register and they teach you how to paint with an instructor (like Wine and Canvas etc.)? I love those places and I definitely want to do more of those. I have a lot of hobbies but I hope that I eventually have time to practice my painting and drawing skills.

Those all sound manageable, do they not? I’m pretty sure I can handle these (#4 might WILL take a lot of work) but I think it can be done.

Wish me luck.

Days like these let you savor a bad mood.

The sky was grey.

Not blue with no clouds. Not while with all clouds. Not blue-white with some clouds.

Not anywhere in between.

Just grey.

It didn’t seem an angry grey that boded the promise of an oncoming storm, a ferociously charged grey that barely restrained lightning, a growling grey whose rumbled thunder shakes the ground.

Not at all. This grey was unimposing. As if it coated the sky in such a neutral color so as to be forgotten.

My kind of grey.

The grey luster of a single strand of pearls. Elegant, but often worn with much louder, much brighter pieces of clothing that drew the attention of the wandering eye.

The grey of the package of Earl Grey tea. Simple and flavorful but often overlooked amidst the colorful flashes that advertised for Dragonfruit Devotion, Berry Kiwi Colada, or Raspberry Riot Lemon Mate.

The grey of the ocean on days when no photographers are there to document its understated beauty. After all, no one wants to see a motionless grey ocean on a post card.

There was nothing scheduled for today. Nothing important, nothing demanded, nothing at all to do.

I almost forgot the sky was grey.

My kind of grey.

Did someone eat an onion bagel?

Truth be told, this post has nothing to do with bagels or eating food of any kind. The title was inspired by my favorite movie: “The Devil Wears Prada.”

Needless to say, the movie has Anne Hathaway, Meryl Streep, and Stanley Tucci in it so obviously you need to go watch it right now if you haven’t already seen it. Actually, let’s be honest. If you already have seen it, you need to watch it again. Right now. Stop reading and go watch it.

…now that you’ve returned, I’ll continue this post so I can reveal what I really wanted to say to you.

I have a predicament, a puzzlement, a possibility of sorts that I have been entertaining for quite awhile.

I have been thinking of…drumroll, please —

— starting a fashion blog.

It’s different than what I’m doing here obviously, since this blog is mostly comprised of my own writing and the creations of others. I have a very defined sense of style and I would enjoy documenting it as it changes and morphs to my lifestyle. However, this would result in my having to take pictures of myself. While this doesn’t pose too large of a problem, it’s not a hobby I particularly enjoy since I still haven’t mastered the art of taking selfies (although my sister could help me out with that) and I don’t have any presence on Instagram (…it seems that I have a lot to learn from my sister in this department also) and I would taking pictures on my phone since I don’t have an actual camera.

That being said, I would still enjoy the blog. I probably wouldn’t have a huge start-up following, if at all. But let’s be honest, I didn’t have any of you lovely readers when I started this blog either. So I know it can be done.

I’ve entertained the idea for awhile now but I’m just now vocalizing it on here to see if I get any feedback or comments. I’m not sure that I want to start the blog while in college because I don’t have a ton of time to find locations to take pictures and even if I did, my campus is small enough that it would be awkward to see people I know while struggling to photograph myself. Obviously I would need a few trial runs.

So, to recap: I’m thinking about starting a fashion blog. The timeline appears to be after graduation, although there is a possibility of starting in the summer so I can experiment on my own and then transition into school. I would also need a camera, an Instagram presence, and practice photographing myself…so, it would take a lot of effort. It would be okay to take pictures on a I-phone for now, but if I wish to continue the blog, then a camera would be necessary.

Any thoughts?

This blog is where I dangle my thoughts and allow you to peer through them aimlessly and pick through them, scarf them down and digest them, to regurgitate them as thoughts of your own or just to process — for entertainment or whatever other purpose suits your fancy.

Feast yourself then. But don’t eat any onion bagels.

You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone.

I’m officially done with my third week of finals.

I escaped with a B in organic chemistry, dark circles under my eyes, and an extreme addiction to dirty chai — but I made it.

Now I’m home.

A part of me wonders if it’s wrong to be feeling the way I do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying my break. But I don’t want to be home. Every time I return to find my family more assimilated into the life here, I am reminded how much I don’t belong here. I didn’t move here from my hometown. I moved away to college and this is the occasional pit stop when they close the dorms.

There’s something off when I arrive here. Part of me wonders if it’s me.

I get the customary hugs from everyone and the “I’m glad you’re home!” I get to surprise my little brother at his school jazz concert and I get to help my sister edit a paper for school. Then, when the dust settles from my arrival and I noticed that somehow the dust of this place has been shaken off my shoes already, I slip into my basement bedroom to unpack. In the space of an hour, I am forgotten.

I have been replaced by my ghost.

“Remember when Sydney would cook dinner for us because she had the sloppy joe recipe memorized?” I am cooking right now! I cry out, only to find that my voice has been drowned out by the sound of food lifted to mouths, teeth chomping down on the same sloppy joe they just referenced.

“Remember when Sydney would play outside with me? I just offered to play with you but you didn’t want to go outside because you said it was too cold! I remind him, but he’s too engrossed in the football game on TV to hear my voice.

“Remember when Sydney would help decorate for Christmas?” I would have, but I was at school because I had finals!” I excuse, but they can’t hear me over the carols playing on the radio.

My ghost and I inhabit the same house. This house is haunted to me.

How can I come back here and belong when there’s part of me that never came and belonged in the first place? How can I come back here and sit at the dining room table when they have become so accustomed to the paler, less-real, distant version of myself sitting in that very seat? How can I come back and belong when they don’t need my contribution to make the family function normally?

Maybe that’s just it.

Maybe I can’t.