Oh I like this very much.

My, how time does fly!

I’d like to address racial identity today. That doesn’t sound like a good start.

Growing up, my sister looked a lot like our Italian father’s side of the family. She had the lovely tan-able olive skin and brown hair, completely arresting and sparkling dark. I, however, looked much more like our European Cocktail mother- pale skin, blue eyes, freckles, predisposed for awkward teeth, etc.

Because of this, at family reunions, or even just a dinner at my Maw Maw’s house (three types of pasta, two meats, one appetizer, two desserts, standard!) I always felt very aware that I did not look like The Family. No Mafia references intended, because, as my Aunt always reminds me, “the mafia doesn’t exist. It’s just made up by people who are trying to put Italians down!” But, even though my sister looked the part, I was the one who cooked the part. That was the dumbest sentence. But truly, to this day, if someone enters my home, I instantly want to cook them something.

The second time I became aware of my Whiteness was in middle school. Being from San Antonio, a city with a mostly Hispanic population, I grew up thinking that I was a minority. In middle school, however, everyone just assumed that my sister’s dark skin and hair meant that she was also Hispanic. They were often confused when they found out that we were sisters and usually assumed we had different dads. However, that sort of thing just happened a lot. Ah well.

So on we move with our little lives, and my sister and I grow up into adults who don’t really think about race that often. But then the other day, I noticed an insecurity of my sister’s and I think I figured out the cause. A little backstory- my sister has lupus (my little Lupe Fiasco, as I like to call her) and along with that comes a sensitivity to sunlight. Thankfully, she tested negative for dumb ass vampire disease. But any way, because of this photo-sensitivity, she can’t tan anymore. If she goes out in the sun for too long, she’s sick for the next week. So the last time that she was in town, she kept bringing up how pale she looked and how she thinks she would look better if she was just a little bit darker. I think that the attention she received (all positive, mind you) for being able to visually identify herself with the cultures around her was not something she necessarily noticed, because to her, it was always there. Now that she no longer looks a lot like everyone else, she suddenly realizes the security she no longer has.

But most importantly, we were the cutest kids alive.

I need to be in the pacific northwest sooner than I am going to be in the pacific northwest. I know this summer in Seattle is going to be great, but it is not happening right now. My mind does not like linear time. “making up memories of you, but for now, your pictures will do”

(via fuckyeahtreehouses)

But probably this would be the best place for me to live.

Weddings are good, weddings are great, but boy, after weddings, I sleep in late!

fuckyeahtreehouses:

miss-mary-quite-contrary:

queenofpentacles666:

frommoon2moon:

freespirit-:

elige:

(via caeruleangypsy, driftingypsy-deactivated2009090)

Oh, the miracle of walking, of flight, the beauty of running screaming. And ah the miracle of standing still. Be grateful, movers. Shakers. This too, this mobility, shall pass.

Some nights it is difficult to make sense of my sensibilities. I am a rational person who is sometimes overcome by anxiety or paranoia. In these instances, my mind splits into two separate yet unequal beings. One part of who I am in this instance frets and worries about the most ridiculous things. This part of me has seen too many horror films or Canadian PSAs. The other part thinks that the paranoid side is stupid and childish and filled with terrors unfounded, but is too scared by the thought of What If to actually speak up with enough volume or force to actually matter. And so I remain, silly in my fear, and helpless to rid myself of paranoias that I know are unrealistic. Thus I find that my mind is in half, and that neither hemisphere is a place that I would like to call home. But hey, I can always play Diner Dash, right?

I like the song “High and Dry” by Radiohead, but the expression confuses me. I’m trying to imagine a situation where someone would rather be low and wet, or high but definitely not dry and vice-versa.

Oh wait, it was about ships. I should have known. It’s always about ships, isn’t it?

My sister just turned 23. Where is the time going? Why do we keep moving through it? It’s something alright. 

There are some First World Problems that I have that I feel embarrassed about- my shower water not being quite hot enough, “but how will I ever pick which dress to wear tonight? I have sooo many!”, etc.

However, I even if I might feel a little silly about this, I really hate the lack of food selection in Abilene. Yes, I know, and I am grateful that I have access to varying forms of clean and cheap food. However, I just can’t stand how far I live from good sushi. The picture is from when I was in LA over Christmas, and everywhere I turned Bento was available for less than ten dollars. The only decent sushi place is just that- decent. Oh, also, they cover all the sushi with sauce. I hate it when places do that!

I think I’m just ornery because my tummy has been hurting all day and I just want some Miso Soup! Is that too much to ask for?