Mess is Mine

Discretely trying to hide rosy cheeks, holding a bottle of white wine whilst typing out a message, I listened to the girl behind me succumbing to momentary sadness. She couldn’t stop thinking about the boy who wouldn’t give her a straight answer. I can say that I’ve experienced that one too many times. I’d wash away the inconsistency with cheap rum, and cheap heels. Cheap heels kill your feet, but you’ll only feel that in the morning (that goes for the rum as well). Today, you’re grateful.

Recently everything in my life has moved so quickly, hence a lack of posts. I bought $10 faux-leather sneakers before a job interview, because my shoes screamed “salt stains and 10 minutes to leave the house.” I entered into my attempt of the real world, and took my two year old cheetah coat with me, because it’s sort of a visual resume (or at least that’s what I tell myself). I took a 45 minute subway ride, and for someone that can barely be underground for one stop, I spent majority of it distracted and writing this.

They say choose someone whose heart is bigger than yours. I say it’s impossible. And I’m so silent. Here, there, anywhere because my mind is spinning a wheel of things I want to say but it doesn’t stop spinning or land on any answer. But to sit in silence is the loudest noise I could make. It’s a sign of proud defeat. Someone has finally shut me up. And I can take as many Buzzfeed quizzes as I’d like about whether his choice in Pizza toppings means we’re compatible enough to make this work, but none of that means anything.

Because the more I took care of myself, the better I attracted. That I should have taken blue ink, and written about myself and what I needed to work on. This is the journey, and the ride I was supposed to be on. And when I ran listening to Lorde’s Green Light, I was late to brunch and I realized that I can’t run, I’m not cut out for cardio but I’m heading towards that better version of myself at lightening speed. I don’t need to run from anything anymore because the more my cheeks hurt from sincere happiness, the more appreciative I am and grateful for many moments. 97 of them here, to be exact. 98 now.

And they ask why I took time to myself, and it’s because the sound of slammed Uber doors became as familiar as my alarm clock. To which I dreaded both. Instead, there’s someone opening the door for me now, and willingly I broke all my rules. Keep it hidden. So you can peacefully write. No face to a sentence. Yeah, that lasted briefly. Sorry, but the more I restrict myself the more I rebel. And!!!!!! I highly doubt anyone cares!!! Can’t hide behind this blog forever. (More on that to come)

I’m sitting cross legged, in matching socks (for once) typing this up from my palm sized Moleskine listening to John Mayer’s guitars. I get to wear my spring flood pants again, and I’m days away from finishing my undergraduate career. Then you’ll all get to see a physical form of what I wrote two years ago, and HOPEFULLY YOU’RE ALL FANS OF IT.

I forgot how much I missed the way my house has this distinct smell when the weather gets warmer. How much I love when the sun momentarily stops the rain, and everyone’s mood suddenly shifts to the tune of a Vance Joy song. This happened as I was walking over to a cinema I write about, but have never stepped into. There’s this wondrous lack of restriction, and everything I’ve learned on this journey has built potential not just for myself, but for others. I can’t tell you how many people have complimented me on my rosy/glowy complexion but there are many things to thank for that, because there’s so much good to come and a lot of it has found a place, or a saw a spark where there wasn’t a flame (Dua Lipa wrote that last sentence). Click.

Daniella

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