Memories

“Memories, even your most precious ones, fade surprisingly quickly. But I don’t go along with that. The memories I value most, I don’t ever see them fading.” 

-Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go

I’m sitting on the dock in my backyard, legs dangling in the black water that is sparkling with the reflection of the million twinkling stars above.  I’m counting these stars with a best friend, delirious with fatigue and happiness and the unfathomable depth of the universe. Then we’re singing, belting out some song at the top of our lungs, letting the sound bounce across to the other side of the cove. We look out at the vast lake, and up at the crystal clear constellations, and in that moment, time is nothing and just existing is everything.

I’m standing on the porch, looking down at the lawn (far) below. I don’t remember the thoughts running through my head, but all of a sudden, I’m climbing on the railing. And I’m standing there, toes curling over the edge. I lift my arms up over my head and close my eyes, feeling the vertigo of the black swirling in front of my eyelids, my body willing itself closer to the edge. I open my eyes. And then I jump.

I’m with my family, in an unfamiliar city. Finally, we are all together, after years of being apart. We’re in a limo, for reasons I never really figured out. There’s laughter, and there’s no music, so I’m singing. I lock eyes with my brother for a second, and we both break out into cackles, because somehow we just know that something that’s in both of our heads is funny. And all of a sudden, the car is stopping, the door is opened, and we’re piling out. We’re at a monument of some sort, a monument that is roped off with a sign telling us to look but don’t touch. And then we’re running up the stairs, even my grandma, with the snow swirling around our rosy faces. I pause on the steps as my aunt tells me to strike a pose. After the camera clicks, I’m scrambling up and up, until I’m at the top. Gazing out at the city, and around at the faces of the people I love, I can’t help but smile. And really smile.

I’m laying on a bed, its not mine, it never will be mine. It’s foreign, the room is foreign, the whole place is a land that I don’t want to be a part of. I’m crying, sobbing hysterically all over the scratchy sheets that will never feel like home. I bury my head into the pillow and scream as loud as I can, just to prove to myself that I’m still alive. And no one comes running.

I put my hands to the black and white keys, and then my fingers take over, my muscles guiding them through a familiar melody. I play until I forget, until it’s only me and the sound echoing in the empty room, bouncing against the stark white walls. My fingers move gracefully across the ivory, and I'm amazed at their memory, unaffected by the events unfolding around me. I play until everything fades away. 

I’m running down the halls of my elementary school, feeling a sense of rebellion as I break the one rule that has been pounded into my brain over the years. I don’t have on shoes, and I’m sliding around on the tile in my socks. I laugh as I run faster, stop, and then slide as far as I can. I’m with friends, and they laugh and follow my lead. We pass a teacher, and my heart beats faster with nervousness. But she doesn’t scold—instead, she smiles.

I pull my suitcase over the lump of carpet that has folded up in the corner and walk through the sliding glass doors. My eyes search for a familiar car, but I can’t find it. The warm, humid air is like a big hug welcoming me home. I don’t recognize the car, but then I see her. My mom is still the same, glossy brown hair and beautiful, deep brown eyes that widen when they see me. I quicken my pace, but what is this that I’m feeling? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I drop the suitcase and am embraced in the best hug that there ever was. I crumple into her; every pore of my being feels a sigh of relief. My cheeks are wet but I’m not sad; I don’t know what I am. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m home.

xx

On Dreams

 

"At the end of it, she was still singing."

-1984, George Orwell

You know those moments when you wake up from a nap, and you have absolutely no idea where you are? For a second you feel as though you're having a vision, the room is a blur, and your mind is completely, absolutely blank. As scary as that feeling can be, sometimes I wish I could live in that moment. Like a newborn baby, your mind is completely blank--no thoughts except for when you're going to get your next breath. You've just stepped out of a dream world, and you're in this weird in-between space where real life is some far off stretch of thought that seems intangible. 

So you're lying there, and all of a sudden it hits you: like those giant tidal wave dreams I have, where one wave comes, and you're bobbing up for air, and as soon as you try to breathe in, you suck in salt water from the next giant wave that is crushing you back to the ocean floor. And you try to sit up, but then an even bigger wave is roaring past you, twisting your body in ways that it would never otherwise move, pressing you against the sand, leaking into every pore of your skin. The reason I went to sleep in the first place was to avoid the life that is hurdling towards me as I open my eyes and the desk across the room comes back into focus. But even the dream world wouldn't let me off the hook--gulping in the sea, the pressure of the incoming waves threatened to pummel me into oblivion. 

So I took a nap today. And the tidal waves came. And I had that moment of pure bliss when I woke up, realizing I was free from the ocean but not completely understanding that I was a live, functioning human being who had a to-do list that was lingering on a Post-It note inside a bulging Lilly Pulitzer planner. I'm not exactly sure why I have these dreams, but my psychologist mom has said something about anxiety and feeling like you can't handle everything that life is throwing at you. Well, that's probably true. Sometimes I'm so overwhelmed with life (insert: school, extracurriculars, thoughts, my ever-racing mind…) that I just feel like I'm going to explode. I get hyper-focused on this world that exists primarily to maintain my GPA and stack my resume, and I forget about things like the green grass peaking out from the melting snow and the sound that the birds make as they emerge from their winter-perch on the highest branches. Anyways, so I had one of those freak out moments today where I felt like I was not worthy as a human being because I couldn't focus on my assignments (how do we get these crazy thoughts into our heads, anyways??) so I literally stopped, took a step away from the world, and forced myself to sleep. And then the waves happened, reminding me I couldn't avoid life forever.

But something else happened. Something that reminded me just how far I've come in my journey to accept myself and appreciate my life. After I came to and blinked my eyes a couple times, slowly passing from the dream world, to the blissful in-between, to reality, I started singing. Literally. Something in me just upwelled and I felt like humming a little tune. For some reason, everything I had been worried about before just slipped away and felt like another life ago. Who cares if I make an agreement mistake on my French composition if I can still breathe and walk and tell my parents that I love them? Seriously, life has so much more to offer than red pen marks on a 12 point font, Times New Roman-filled page. So after I sang my little song, I laughed. To myself. For no one to hear but me. And for once, that was enough. 

It was enough to know that I was happy with myself, with my life at the moment. Sure, I may sometimes feel lonely, but I'll always have Me, and Me at the moment was singing. Pretty good company, no?

So if you're feeling like you just can't, like the world is crashing down, like the waves are sucking you under, close your eyes (nap or not) and realize that your life is so much more than this. Spontaneously bursting out into song is a stretch, I admit, but even just cracking a smile can make you feel that much better. Prioritize your happiness, and everything else will fall into place. 

xx

On Angels

"My body is weak, but my soul is still strong."

My heart aches. Every crevice of my body feels for the families, friends, and loved ones of those who have taken their own life because they felt there was no other way out. The importance of keeping mental health at the forefront of your life has never been more apparent than now--four Penn students have died since the beginning of winter break, two of the deaths being ruled as suicide. This absolutely tears me apart. I have such a soft, gentle soul, and it is breaking. I want to run to everyone out there on Locust Walk and tell them they are meant to be here. You have a purpose. You may not know what it is (I am still figuring mine out), but you have one. And I love you. Yes, I dare to say it. I L-O-V-E each and every single one of you, because you are, consciously or not, shaping my experience here. 

I look back on dark times in my past, and I realize just how incredibly blessed I am to have had a group of people around me who truly cared for my health and wanted me to be here--and wanted me to be happy. They lifted me up when I no longer wanted to take part, they prioritized me. And I want to be that for other people. I feel that part of my purpose is to share my experiences, open up, and tell the world that it's okay to feel this way. Not only is it okay, but you have resources, you have help. There is always a way out. It may not be obvious to you, but just voicing your feelings to someone else opens up thousands of other doors you may not have even seen. 

We've all heard the phrase, "Life is hard," but somehow we think that we are supposed to just be able to get through it. Push on, trudge forward, alone. Well, if you're trudging, I encourage you to find someone, anyone, and ask for help. Find me. I will envelop you and take on your burdens and lift you up. And I can only hope that anyone else would do the same.

The only positive that can possibly come out of these recent happenings is a heightened awareness of mental health issues on campus and elsewhere. Speak out. Be the voice. Remember that you have so much to give the world. And appreciate everyone around you, for they are shaping your future and they play a role in your present.

All those we have lost have a special place in my heart. They are angels in my pocket, reminding me everyday that I am not my circumstances, my GPA, or my social ranking. I am me, and I am worthy. I am meant to be here. And so are every single one of you.

xx

New Year

"And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good."-John Steinbeck

Looking back on 2013 brings up a whole load of emotions and memories. Being my last year as a teenager, 2013 didn't exactly bring loads of booze, boys, and other *insert crazy adolescent activity here*. No, while others were busy "living it up" or whatever, I was scrambling to keep my life together (or keep my life at all, really). I think my inner self aged about ten years in the span of the one, and now I'm stuck in this awkward limbo where I simultaneously feel like I'm in my mid-thirties and also like I missed out on my teenage years and want to rewind and do it all again. But then I remind myself that unlike many people do when a new year comes around, I don't want a clean slate. I can't afford to rid myself of all the things that have happened to me in the past year. Without the events that unfolded and the knowledge that I gained, I would be little more than a hollow mannequin, a shell of a person with all my hopes and dreams locked up somewhere deep inside and nothing to offer the world but an empty gaze and a blank stare. 

No, this year I'm not "starting over." Rather, I'm continuing. I'm soldiering on. I am working, working, working--on my self-image, on my identity, on my priorities. When I sat down to think about what I want to focus on in the new year, I thought that I pretty much had my priorities straight. Then I realized that, actually, for as long as I can remember, I have been prioritizing the externalities and the people around me and haven't really given a damn about myself. Like, to the point where my life didn't seem as important as other things. How in the world did that happen? Because without my life, I wouldn't be able to sit down with pencil in hand and make a priorities list in the first place. However my train of thought got there, I'm determined to stop it dead in its tracks and get back on the right path--a path where my health and well-being is front and center. Now, it's not a bad thing to care about others, and I would be fooling myself if I thought that I could tone down my concern for the people I care about. But 2013 has taught me that if I truly want to be able to give my all to others, I need to focus on nurturing my self and becoming confident in what I have to give. It's not fair to the world for me to be anything less than what I am.

Now that is a statement that my brain loooovesss to mix up and twist around and re-write and spit out something like "I have to be the very best I can possibly be in every way." And where, yes, this is true, I should strive to be the very best I can be, I have a tendency to re-focus this from where it really matters, like in the heart, the personality, and the personal effort, and tell myself that being my best means being the best. In school, in extracurriculars, in my choices, on the treadmill comparing myself to the girl next to me, at the table where I kick myself for not sitting up straighter. Yes, my perfectionism runs this deep. In 2014, I want to lose this belief--this belief that my personal best means being perfect. What is perfect anyway? If 2013 taught me anything, it's that perfect is just this myth that everyone creates in their head in order to give them a sense of purpose--something they feel like they need to work towards, to strive for. 

Well, this year I want my purpose to be much more than striving for perfection. Forget non-frizzy hair and a "flat" tummy, screw the wheatgrass shots and the non-scuffed boots and the nail polish that never chips. I don't want to follow the fads; I want to anchor myself in something deeper, something that will last. And I want to learn to embrace all that I am and forget about all that I am not. I am above average height, my laugh sometimes sounds like a hyperventilating donkey, I've got a Kardashian ass and the chest of a pre-pubescent boy, but I can walk, run, sing, hug, belly laugh, snuggle with my sister, jump, throw, pet my dog, give Eskimo kisses, fold my hands in prayer, and for all of that, I am thankful. My heart is passionate and beating, my brain is functioning full-speed ahead. I am so very capable--I just need to decide where and when to exert my energy.

I see and hear so many people talking about wanting to reinvent themselves, thinking that shedding pounds or going gluten-free is going to somehow unlock the mysteries of life or release their full potential. Well, all I want is to stay exactly who I am, because I need more time to figure out who that is. I want to learn how to be comfortable in my own skin no matter what society tells me. So, dear 2014, don't hold back--throw it all at me. I'm strong; I can take it. I want to be tested, to learn, to experiment. I want to love deeply and walk boldly. And most of all, I want to be able to look up and enjoy life as it passes. My teenage years may not have been all that the young adult novels promised, but my twenties will be roaring. So come on 2014, I'm ready for ya. 

xx

"I like to dance…some nights, after dinner, my dad turns on some music and we dance."

-Madeline McCallum, journal entry, age 8

A Year Later

"She stared at the stars like they were pillows for her mind and in their light she could rest her heavy mind."

-Christopher Poindexter

It's crazy how even when you're not looking, life happens. Here I am today, looking back at where I was a year ago and trying to fathom how I got here from there. It was not a leap of faith--maybe that's how it started, but that's definitely not all it took. People talk like you just need to take that first jump and things sort of work out, but that's not how it works. (At least not for me…) No, the middle is filled with hard, drudging steps, long days and sleepless nights, and silent tears that not even you understand. Sometimes you see that light on the other end, but sometimes its so dark that you're left grasping for something, anything, to hold onto.

And the thing is, I'm still in the middle. I'm not at the end. (Is anyone ever, really?) But it's so necessary to stop and take account of all the places I've been. My journey is like those maps in rest areas (beautiful comparison, no?) with all the pins marking where the travelers are from. My pins are all spread out, from health to joy to heartbreak to sadness to grief and back across the map again. I picked up something valuable from each stop, no matter how crippling it was. One thing I've learned is you've got to extract the lesson from each experience--you've got to give it meaning. But at the same time, you've got to cherish the experience, then let it go. Set the candle on the river and watch it move off into the distance with each ripple and crest. My mind is so heavy with experience; I've got to breathe in deep and then let it all out.

And then look at everything I have around me, and be grateful. I am so incredibly blessed to be where I am today--and I was so incredibly blessed a year ago, as well. Blessed to have been given an experience through which I could really start to find myself, to cultivate a sense of self that had since been lacking. I am a work in progress, a timeline of hits and misses that add up to the unique position I am in today. The obstacles in my life remind me that I am moving forward. You can't hit a road block without first getting out there on the road. 

Throughout my life, I've always been searching for purpose. As a little girl, I wanted to know why. I asked questions and pondered things deeply, probably deeper than other kids my age. I was sometimes described as "quiet," but the thoughts in my head were very loud. I was always a thinker. I still am. And, just like when I was five, I'm still a purpose seeker. It's hard for me to just be. Well, one thing I've realized this year is that if I get anything out of my adolescent life it's that I've basically been straight-up handed a purpose. Something to fight for. Something to be a champion of. Something to make me a warrior. Like Charles Dickens says in Oliver Twist, "I cannot help this weakness, and it makes my purpose stronger."

Today, the snow is melting and finals are upon us. But I look deep inside and know that if I've made it this far, I can darn well make it further. 

xx

A New Day

"Each morning we are born again. What we do today is what matters most." 

-Buddha

The amazing thing about time is that it keeps going. It is divided up into todays, yesterdays, and tomorrows that fall about and tumble together into a somewhat confusing albeit exciting compilation that is our life. Yesterday does not determine today; rather, they meld together with the fading of the stars and the rising of the sun. One thing I have learned is that while one particular moment may seem all-consuming and like it is the defining moment of all of your days to come, in reality, it is just that--a particular moment. A mere flicker in the face of time and space. A wrinkle in time, if you will. What may formalize your day is just serving to mold you as a person, to give you the bumps and folds that are necessary to become the final product (which, arguably, you may never reach). The passage of time allows for experience, which is "a particular instance of personally encountering or undergoing something." So, by definition, things are going to happen to you. Good things, bad things, but mostly in-between, mundane things. We take these experiences and integrate them into ourself, continually forming a new being, a fresh self. Each morning we wake up with different happenings under our belt which have equipped us to see the world differently. To be trite, we live and we learn, no?

Like the ebb and flow of the ocean, our days are in constant flux. Sometimes we are riding the wave and sometimes we are crashing, flailing beneath the undertow. The thing about a wave though is that while it must crash, it must also recede back into the bigger entity that is the ocean, coasting along until the next tide. Similarly, while we have periods where we are at our lowest of lows, by nature we can't stay there. An object in motion stays in motion or whatever. We keep on moving.

And, if we are so fortunate, we are given another day! How wonderful is it to wake up to a fresh start (particularly today, a new month), knowing that whatever happened yesterday does not to bear on whatever is going to happen today? My September 30 was one of those terrible-no-good-very-bad-days, but I went to bed (fuzzy socks and all) determined to make my October 1st different. It may not be the best day I've ever had, but it won't be as bad as yesterday. All I want is change. And only actions beget change, so the outcome of this day is up to me--what will I do with the time that I have been given? While laying in my bed yesterday for hours upon hours, time a non-issue, I felt that this was my eternity. But, naturally (classic Madeline), I was wrong. A new day has come and a new me commences. What did I learn from my September 30th blues? That I can, in fact, stand up when I am down. That people do care about me and I am not all alone in this world. The world does not exist solely in my head, thank goodness. When I down, I need to get out into the fresh air (hello fall!) and realize that there is so much more than those thoughts swirling around up there.

So today I will pay attention to the leaves crunching under my feet, the slightly-warrmer-than-usual breeze on my cheeks, the way the blue sky outlines the ridges on the top of College Hall. Because tomorrow will be different, so I better enjoy today for what it is. Which is new. 

xx

Bravery Continued

"...For maybe you cannot ever really walk away from the things you most want to walk away from."

 -All The King's Men

I've been stuck for a while--not in the sense of staying still, of not moving forward, but stuck in memories. Memories of times past, of an era of my life that was so integral to the human being that I have become in the past year. Time really is relentless--when you're in it, you're really in it, and you're going through hell and back and it seems like all time has stopped and the only thing to pull you through the universe is the compass that you have to develop yourself. But when it's over, it's over, and suddenly you're back in real life, given the tools to make it through and time just keeps flying and you want to scream to make it stop but you have to learn how to live it. What I'm trying to say is that sometimes a life event can seem so life-altering and so all-inclusive in the moment(s) that it is impossible to imagine life outside of that period. But time goes on, and then you're out, and now what? Now you're stuck with this dream world of times gone by. Do you push the memories away, like it never happened? Or do you curl up into a ball and succumb to the flashbacks, letting them wash over you like a wave that beats gently until you're driftwood? 

I've found that what you need most is to try to incorporate what you learned from that experience into your new reality. And that takes more bravery. It's hard to face up to life after having been in a black hole an alternate universe for a period of time. It takes strength and integrity, a promise that you'll stay true to the person your experience has shaped you to be. It takes a belief in your ability to face what real life has to offer you. You must recognize the fear--the fear that real life won't measure up, the fear that real life will drag you down, the fear that life moves too fast, etc. Then instead of stuffing it away, you acknowledge it and carry it with you, all the time still moving forward. Conquering fear is doing, is living. Fear wants to keep you (or me, as of late) stuck, but if I've learned one thing, it's that you have to jump back in and embrace time again. Your fear is a part of you, your experiences are a part of you, but they are not you. You are a construct of your own making, susceptible only to that which you allow to creep in through your identity via self-doubt. My memories of an era gone by have haunted me only because I've let them do the haunting. I've been unsure of my next step, afraid to take the plunge back into really, truly being me. My next step is to use the memories to my advantage, doing them justice, taking what I've learned from my experiences and applying that to my life now, rather than letting them dominate this new reality. I'm afraid of letting go of who I used to be, who my Fear still wants me to be, but I must persevere. For I'll never know what could be if I never try, and living with regrets is not something I want to add to my list. So here's to new beginnings, to moving forward while still appreciating what has been left behind.

xx