#......my anxiety has me over here googling things like “how to use a vending machine”

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Man the vending machine in the break room only takes cash T-T

I wanted a cherry coke

And I dont think I have enough change

[seungmin-wrecked]

Literally no one cares but here's my worst travel story:

So I go to a school 2-3 states away. Which according to Google, the college is a 9 hour drive, however, bc my family can't just drive 18 hours in one day to come get me and drive home, I normally take a train that goes across states. This train ride is about 6/6 and a half hours long. Not to mention :) the time you can buy tickets for this train at midnight and 3 am depending on which station you're leaving from (so if I'm heading back home, the train leaves at midnight. If I'm heading back to campus, the train leaves at 3 am). Keep this in mind :)

So the drive to the train station is a long one. It's about 4/4.5 hours long of a drive since the train station is in another state than the one I live in. So my dad decided to book a hotel like 15 min away from the train station, but not in the same city as the train station since prices were cheaper that way. We left the day before my train was supposed to leave so March 7th. We left our house at like 1 pm, and I had slept till 11 am since I had stayed up a bit late the night before. I slept in the car on the way to the hotel and was feeling pretty good!

We decided to waste some time looking around the town we were in, ate dinner at 3 pm, and actually had to go hunting to go find a place to print my train ticket since I had forgotten to (we eventually found a Staples 3 towns over and an abandoned mall that had bad vibes from the outside). Time passes and we head back to the hotel about 7 pm, but there's still a bunch of time before my train left. My boarding time that day was 4 am since daylight savings time was ending so we were supposed to jump forward, so it was really like my train was still arriving at 3 am. Amtrak suggests getting to the train station at least an hour before your train is supposed to arrive, so my dad and I agreed to leave the hotel at like 1:15 am. My dad fell asleep, but I was still pretty awake since I had gotten so much sleep already so I decided to read Manga on my phone until it was time for us to leave. We left the hotel on time, arrived at the train station early and thank goodness it was pretty empty. I managed to sit by myself and the train ride was relatively nice! Like it usually is.

Now here came the issue. The city I was arriving in, I knew about three people who lived there. One person I couldn't ask a ride from, another one I could have but there were already issues there, and so I asked the third person I knew there first. She was able to come get me!

.... Once she got off work!

...... At 1 pm.

Now I'm still very thankful she agreed to come get me, and I always will be. I have no idea how else I was supposed to make it to campus without her help, even though I would only be on campus for two weeks before getting kicked off.

However, my train arrived at 9 am. I had barely any money in my bank account and I had too much anxiety after sitting at the train station to get up and go get something from the vending machines, not to mention, I had no small bills on me. It was nearing 24 hours without substantial food, what I had eaten were some gummies my friend had gotten me for my birthday on the train, and that's it. It also came to my realization that while I was sitting there in the train station my p****d had started. There was no one in the station until about 11, since there was another train coming.

This lady approached me when there were like 5 other people at the train station (4 of them were Amish) and she asked me if she could borrow my phone to contact someone because she had left her phone in the Lyft she took to get to the train station. I figured why not and opened the app on my phone to dial phone numbers. This lady messes with my phone a bit and then hands it back to me with a new tab open with Lyft's customer service page open. I figured she was going to call her phone! Nope!!!! Now remember that I was reading Manga in the hotel room? Well I still had the tab up, and I can assure you that it was the one she opened the chrome browser up to. You'll never guess what fucking Manga I happened to be reading :)))) it was fucking Sekaii Wa (I can't remember the rest rn) but it's that one explicit bl Manga, and I remember being at a part where one of the character's may or may not have been naked :)) so I was fully screaming internally at this point. This lady had seen bl p*** on my phone and had given NO REACTIONS. She had to come ask to use my phone a couple of times bc she was trying to figure out what to do and at one point she just. Walked away with my phone.

After that had happened, a girl who looked very nervous came over and sat next to me, and asked me about how the train works since it was her first time. I also had to pee very badly at this moment too; I had needed to pee since I got off the train but was too nervous to get up and just go to the bathroom, not to mention I didn't have anyone to watch my stuff. I answered her questions and then asked her to watch my stuff. At this point I could create a temporary solution to the monthly problem happening and continue on feeling better about that situation since all of my pads/tampons were in my suitcase.

At this point it was 1 pm. For those keeping track, that is the time that my friend said she was going to be in work till, and a total of 22 hours since I had last eaten anything substantial. I was on my monthly, starving, sleep deprived, because also at this point I had gotten barely two hours of sleep on the train, which means about two hours of sleep in total for 22 hours also, and now irritated. I eventually get a text from my friend letting me know that she just got off work and was going to head home to shower and then come get me. I was just happy to know she was close to getting me.

3 pm rolls around. She arrives. I am tired, starved, irritated, in pain, and now surprised since my friend was NOT the only one to come get me. Oh no. Her mother had driven her and her sister to come get me. Which her family is lovely, they're so nice and really helped me out right before Christmas break when I needed to stay somewhere in the city before going to the train station at midnight. They pick me up, all is good. I'm still super hungry.

I am mildly lactose intolerant and when I am on my monthly, coffee messes me up (this is important for this next part).

Her mom turns towards me and goes "we're headed to Starbucks, would you like something?" my immediate response? Yes. Absolutely. My brain that is reminding me of the already horrid situation I am in, and telling me not to get coffee won though and told her no. I thought we were going to leave immediately after we came back to my friend's house. But oh no. She had laundry to finish, a resume to finish, and her mom wanted to take her to the grocery store to pick up stuff for her room. I went with for everything and ended up buying the oddest assortment of things (including almond milk, mandarin oranges, and canned soup).

My friend finished everything at about 6:30 pm and we were good to leave. I am so hungry at this point. Her mother had given me a slice of banana bread she had just baked and I had to refuse anymore bc I knew I would have eaten the whole thing given the chance. That was the most food I had eaten since 3 pm the day before. For those, once again keeping track, that is 27 hours. Again, I am in pain, irritated, hungry, and tired. We get into the car and as soon as we pull out of my friend's driveway I turned towards her and said "Can we please stop at the closest McDonald's. I am so hungry" she laughed and said sure. We passed at least 5 McDonald's. She then hits me with the "there's a Burger King like 45 min away, close to the school, can we go there?" and I just nodded my head bc I was just happy to be given the chance to eat.

We get to the Burger King and I am not kidding you. I ordered a Bacon Whopper with a side of large fries and large drink bc I was so hungry. I ate all of it before pulling into the driveway of my school. That burger is the size of my head and has enough fucking mayo on it for it to be it's own producer plant of mayo. It was heavenly.

I got all my stuff to my room (which was on the third floor of a building that only certain people could use the elevator) and passed out on my bed for an hour, woke up to tell my friend I was on campus. Did Not Touch My Luggage. And then passed tf back out till the next morning :)

TL;DR: I had the longest and worst travel of my life that lasted from 1 pm on a Friday till 7 pm on a Saturday, where I barely slept, ate, used the bathroom, and got heavily embarrassed.

[latetotherant]

“Are you rich?” Is Shrill too Economically Idealistic for Its Own Good? ••• By Meredith Salisbury

“Oh My God. What’s happening? I’m afraid that I am feeling myself.” These are the words we here Annie (Aidy Bryant) say to her best friend and roommate Fran (Lolly Adefope) while she’s dancing in a new dress and enjoying some new found self-love towards the end of the first episode of Hulu’s comedy Shrill. The show, which is based off of Lindy West’s memoir Shrill: Notes from a Loud Women, follows Annie as she navigates life as a fat millennial woman living in Portland, Oregon. Shrill has been rightfully praised for its blunt and realistic depictions of everyday life as a fat woman and for its nonchalant handling of abortion. For all the care Shrill puts into authentic depictions of Annie’s everyday life, Shrill does so at the expense of showing the larger and more systemic issues fat women face. The omission of these larger cultural forces makes Annie’s transformation seem idealistic, unrealistic, and impossible for the women watching replicate.

Shrill is set in Portland, Oregon. It makes sense that one of the most accepting and liberal cities in the popular imagination is the setting for televisions first radically positive representation of fat women. Like Portlandia, another socially conscious television show set in Portland, Shrill uses comedy to point out where its liberal audience fails in their liberalness. In Shrill, radical self love, queerness, and anti-capitalist ideals are all casually accepted from the get go. Annie’s parents praise Fran’s, who is a lesbian’s, love life with her rotating door of queer partners and Annie’s ex-punk gen-x boss Gabe (John Cameron Mitchell) vilifies “the establishment” regularly. In a way Shrill feels like it teeters on the line between comedy and parody. It is unclear that the Portland represented in Shrill is different than the one created by the sketch comedy show Portlandia. Carrie Brownstein, the creator and star of Portlandia, even directed the Shrill episode “Date.” The similarities between the shows’ representation of Portland is not necessarily a bad thing—Portlandia did a great job at pointing out to liberal people where their liberal ideologies fell short—and Shrill picks up where Portlandia left off and continues this crusade. The issue is that Portlandia was satirical whereas Shrill is meant to be realistic. Shrill, like Portlandia, does not take into account Oregon’s white supremacist past or the fact that Portland is the whitest large city in America nor does it acknowledge how Oregon is one of the most expensive states to live in and that Portland is experiencing an affordable housing crisis.

The fact that Annie and Fran are never plagued with systemic issues leaves room for the show to explore interpersonal ones like Annie’s relationship with her boss Gabe. Gabe is Shrill’s villain. He is the editor-in-chief of The Weekly Throne, the alt-weekly newspaper Annie works for. At first he frustrates her by passively blowing off her pitches and asking her to keep working her way up, but by the fourth episode, the one titled “Pool” he begins a crusade against fatness. After learning The Weekly Thorn can save “a buttload of money” if the staff can “pry [their] cheese-thighs off the couch more than once a week” he gets rid of the vending machines and requires the staff to do “one heart healthy grouptivity once a month.” At the first “grouptivity” Gabe mutters “lazy bodies lazy minds” under is breath. He goes on to question whether Annie takes work seriously and tell her that “success is about an effort” and that “[she] didn’t [try] today.”

Through Gabe, the show pushes people who believe they are fighting against dominant culture to see that they still have biases they need to work on. Gabe is portrayed as a gen-x, ex-punk, and “feminist” through jokes about being the “original bassist in Bikini Kill,” by wearing band t-shirts for bands like Quasi (Janet Weiss of Sleater-Kinney fame’s band), and the fact that Gabe is played by John Cameron Mitchell who is an queer gen-x icon in his own right. We are led to believe that Gabe’s work was once gritty and boundary pushing. He claims when he was Annie’s age he was already “burnin’ shit down and fuckin shit up.” But, what we see now is someone who was on the right side of history, but lost his way as he became older and more financially stable. He is a former radical who is hindering Annie’s growth professionally and personally.

The way Gabe treats Annie at The Weekly Thorne is terrible. Shrill uses Annie and Gabe’s work relationship to drive Annie to find self confidence. The thing is for women work is not just another place for interpersonal relationships. It is a place that provides people with an income and (hopefully) benefits. Individuals need these to survive. In Shrill Annie never once thinks about the financial ramifications of her actions. At work she is not very professional. She is seen sitting on tables, hugging her boss when he gives her an assignment, pestering him about pitches, and posts an article to the paper’s site without permission. While some workplaces are significantly more informal than others, Annie’s behavior at work does not make it appear as though she values her job. Gabe is by no accounts a good boss and she has every right to be upset with the way he is treating her, but it is still fascinating to me that Annie never once seems concerned about the possibility of losing her job. She even quits in a fit of rage in the last episode. It is known that fat women face discrimination when they are applying for jobs and full time jobs in any media industry are nearly impossible to find these days. There is never a moment where Annie stops and worries about what the implications of leaving her job would be. Sure she stood up for herself, but at what cost? She walked away from an income and health insurance without batting an eyelash. What other millennial women who works in media could do that?  

Annie and Fran’s financial situation remains a mystery throughout the six episodes. How is it that two marginalized women in creative careers can have very little financial anxiety? The only inkling of concern comes from Fran when she asks Annie “Are you rich? That’s like $50 every time you have sex with Ryan” when she finds out Annie has been taking the morning after pill every time she has sex with Ryan. Annie never addresses this, she is rightfully preoccupied with the abortion she needs to have, but it still leaves the viewer wondering how she is finacially staying afloat.

Annie’s spending on the morning after pill is not the only unexplained expense in the show. A quick google search revealed that Annie and Fran live in a home that last sold in 2016 for $500,158 and rents for similar houses in the same neighborhood are around $2400 a month. It is unclear how they can afford to live there with Annie working for a small alt-weekly newspaper and Fran cutting people’s hair out of her house. It’s even more baffling when you add in the fact that Fran does not even require payment for her work. The only time we see her compinstated for her work she is paid in stolen clothes. How do these two afford a multi-bedroom house in Portland, Oregon, a place that is notorious for unaffordable housing, while working in independent publishing and freelance hair styling?

The walls of Annie and Fran’s home are adorned with art prints like this one that used to be sold at Otherwild and Fran is often spotted in Wildfang overalls and coveralls. Both brands have become trendy in recent years and are recognizable in queer urban circles as marker for a type of queer financial stability. Wildfang coveralls are the velour Juicy Couture track suit of lesbian culture. Rachel Syme explains that the “Juicy’s suit was just pricey enough to radiate status, but attainable enough to become a part of the everyday wardrobes of thousands of high-school girls.” Wildfang’s clothes do the same thing for queer women. Fran’s $188 coveralls signal to queer women watching that she is financially stable, yet still relatable, but it is never addressed how she got this way.

Annie quits her job in a fit of rage after Gabe writes a rebuttal to her article claiming her fatness. In this moment we see Annie stand up for herself. She calls Gabe a “bully” and tells him he is “stomp[ing] over an entire group of people.” We are supposed to cheer Annie on in this moment—she has finally began to believe in herself—but she just walks out of her job without any real concern about her future. This moment is the climax of the season. But what is she going to do now? Study after study has found that fat women face major discrimination when applying for jobs; especially in the media industry. I am proud of her for standing up for herself, but I do not see how any real person could do that without some type of financial safety net.

For fat women and queer women Annie and Fran appear to be wonderful role models. Annie is smart, and stylish, and finding her voice in a way many of us hope to and Fran is strong, and unwavering in her sexuality and standards. Shrill does a wonderful job creating inspiring role models, but Annie and Fran’s lives are impossible to replicate in everyday life. Throughout the season we see Annie strutting around Portland in a collection of adorable and perfectly tailored dresses. It turns out that almost all of Annie’s clothes were custom made for the show by costume designer Amanda Needham. Fran’s strength is a linchpin of the show and she is portrayed as the foil to Annie. In her review of Shrill Emily Nussbaum explains that Fran “specialize in brassy self-assertion, a bravado that doubles as a shield and as a weapon.”  and later explains that it’s Annie’s “niceness ... that fuels the show.” Fran’s self-assertion comes from her ability to opt-out of interacting with straight men, other than her brother or the occasional boy Annie brings home. Shrill leads us to believe that Fran’s lesbianism is what makes her that brash woman who refuses take shit and this is why she is able to empower Annie. Although all women are taught throughout their lives to seek the validation of men; coming out as a lesbian frees you from some of those expectations. Although male bosses, relatives, and friends still exist; there is no longer the expectation that one of the men in your life could be your future partner and this alleviates some of the compulsory need to please them. Annie on the other hand still believes she needs to placate a boy and win over a boss and those needs hinder her ability to stand up for herself. The thing is that queerness does not suddenly alleviate all of those pressures. As much as I would love to exist in a world without problematic straight men and the patriarchal nonsense they bring with them it is not possible. Fran has created a life where she only cuts cute girls’ hair and somehow still has a roof over her head a wardrobe full of $200 Wildfang overalls. Her queerness and lack of traditional employment may allow her to accept herself without pause, but the lack of hardship or pushback she receives is implausible and unlike the experiences of any queer women I have ever known or heard about.

Shrill represents a radical hope for fat women’s futures. It presents a nuanced depiction of the everyday struggles of fat women, but refuses to complicate its narrative with the broader and more systemic sexist and homophobic struggles fat women face. By diving deep into specificities it allows Annie to overcome her personal problems but misses the mark on addressing larger structural ones. In Shrill’s universe, Annie can quit her job without ever acknowledging how hard it is for fat women to get hired in the first place and Fran can live a blissful queer life in Portland without ever facing a racist or homophobic person. And both of them never have a financial care in the world while living in one of the most expensive cities and working in underpaying careers. I wish the lessons taught in Shrill were applicable to everyday life. I wish I could call out a fat-phobic boss on the internet without the fear of losing my employment and possibly my health insurance. I wish I could only cut cute girls’ hair and still have a roof over my head and some of the most stylish clothes in queer culture today. But alas I do not live in the world Shrill has created and I do not think I ever will.

[tominicholland]

Time of Your Life

Pairing: Harry Holland x Protagonist (brief, planned), Tom Holland x Protagonist (main, planned)

Synopsis: Jacob Batalon’s youngest cousin (Protagonist) is now – as of August – 18 years old. At the nearly-ripe age of 17, she accompanied her cousin to the Spider-Man: Homecoming premiere where she grows acquainted with the younger crowd of the star-studded cast and – most importantly – piques the interest of two Holland boys, Harry (who’s the same age) and Tom (who’s three years her senior).

Author’s Note: TOM HOLLAND AND HARRISON OSTERFIELD FINALLY MAKE THEIR WAY INTO THIS STORY WOOOOOO HOOOOOOO. In other news, this is kind of lengthy because it goes into a whole story about the protagonist’s school crush, Jake, and how much of an ass he is and how the Holy Trinity helps her forget the douche, and yeah. Such excitement!1!!!!! If you like stories about girls getting over fuckbois, read this!!!!! 

Trigger Warnings: Protagonist has somewhat of a breakdown, there’s mentions of suicide but they’re brief (not even central to the plot) 

Word Count: 2,992 

Part I // Part II //Part III: The Holy Trinities   In which the protagonist learns of the two holiest trinities out there: Intellectualism, False Hope, and Loneliness; Tom Holland, Jacob Batalon and Harrison Osterfield. 

My role in student government (ASB) was plain and simple as the Attorney General. Like the Attorney General of the United States, I basically represent the ASB in conflicts and preside over the “legal” aspects of clubs, such as the drafting of their charters and other procedural duties. Each day I’d be allowed to leave Study Period fifteen minutes early to assume my position at the front desk of the Student Government office and consume my lunch before parents, staff and students came barging in with worthless questions and futile threats. Study Period was with Vicky, Sam, Imani and Carlos in Mr. Rosenblatt’s class that day, and we noticed that he was unusually irked with us. Normally, he’d pull up a sixth chair whenever First Period classes served as Study Period homeroom and openly prattle on with his favourite students, but that he didn’t seem quite in the mood. Neither did I, after Third Period, in between.

I’d already had a whole block period – two hours – of the four of my friends jabbering about how, technically, if the premiere was going to supplant my prom experience, Harry Holland could be my “date,” and I’d grown sick of it. On top of that, during Third Period AP Calculus, I’d dozed off after the sugar in the Slurpee wore on me. Jake was in the class with me and, just like in Mr. Rosenblatt’s class, he sat across the room from me. Instead of ignoring me, his chair was perfectly positioned to give him a spectacular view of my drool dripping onto my textbook and the scaly calculator imprint on my cheek when I finally woke up from that glorious slumber.

Jake had somewhat of a laugh and a smirk and a snigger, with dark coiffure of John F. Kennedy, Jr. volume. His lips were thin and his eyebrows the polar opposite, but somehow the lines of hair above his eyes remained symmetrical and tame. When he turned to the side, his profile was perfectly chiselled – his jaw and cheekbones formed a perfect triangle-like dip when he would suck his cheeks in, and his nose was big but not too big. And he had light brown skin, the perfect mixture of his father’s and mother’s. It was miraculous that this was what my mental capacities generated with a lack of sleep, and even more of a blessing that Jake was laughing more to himself that to his friends who were perplexed by rotations problems.

This reel of Jake’s amusement from my struggle to stay awake replayed and replayed in my head as I was fighting my anxiety to saunter towards Mr. Rosenblatt. Jake sat in the chair closest to his desk and the wall, so he had a perfect view of Mr. Rosenblatt on his desktop and anyone who came up to ask him questions.

As I approached Mr. Rosenblatt I saw Jake’s head perk up a little. His phony attentiveness became clear as his eyes skimmed lines of Shakespeare and averted to me. The brown circles rested on the left corners of his eyes as his smirk curled on the right side of his mouth. Indubitable eavesdropping done by the prettiest boy in school, and it was on my conversation.

I cleared my throat: “Mr. Rosenblatt?”

“Yes, Ms. Maja,” he scrunched up his nose like a little mole rat. Mr. Rosenblatt kind of looked like one but no one scrutinized his looks because we all knew he had breast cancer, and for our class, he’d missed the most days for chemotherapy. It fell under some cardinal sin to give him shit because he was dying.  

“I just wanted to ask if I could go to the ASB right now instead of later,” I prefaced. “I finished part of the CRQ’s in class but I wasn’t feeling well in calculus –”

Jake deadass cackled.

“Uhm, Jake?” Mr. Rosenblatt inquired. “Do you have anything to contribute to this bilateral conversation?”

“I’ll make it trilateral by letting you know that Maja did indeed fall into a deep slumber in calculus and I watched it from an admirer’s distance,” Jake’s charmingly apprised our teacher and caused Mr. Rosenblatt to chuckle along with him.

“Well, if that’s the case Ms. Maja, I’ll let you go to the ASB. It must be quieter there,” Mr. Rosenblatt was right. Everyone was still in Study Period and no parents, staff nor students could pester those in the office until lunch.

I felt all heat escape from my face as I turned a pale colour and dragged myself back to my seat to get my things. I reached for my backpack as Vicky asked, “Hey, where are you going?” 

“The ASB,” I said. I yanked my bag from the back of my chair and tossed it over my shoulder. My right hand shoved the door open when she exclaimed that all of them would join me; I used my foot as a door prop and said in a stern tone, “No. I’m gonna take a nap in the beanbag in the back office. I can’t talk.” I didn’t even have to fake being tired. A yawn escaped me at the perfect time.

“Oh… ok,” she said, taken aback. Somehow she and the others couldn’t put two and two together, that I was stressed above all things about this even though it was a month away, and if I really thought about it, it a few weeks away, and if I really, really, really wanted to torture myself, I’d realize that it was three school weeks away, right after exams.

Study Period was only about thirty-five minutes, so I had twenty minutes of napping time in total. Ideally I’d use the fifteen minutes to gather lunch, but seeing as I’d stopped by 7-11 earlier I bought myself some Hot Cheetos and a Caesar Salad to serve for my afternoon meal. I did, however, trot to the vending machine outside the office to get a blue Gatorade.

When I came back I popped my salad open and ripped the chip bag and dug in. The bell rang and I heard all the eager underclassmen literally racing each other to the lunch lines. I rolled my eyes and disturbed the desktop in front of me, launched Google Chrome and opened Twitter, hoping to find some interesting articles.  

The door swung open after a good ten minutes, while I was enjoying a New Yorker article by Jia Tolentino, who disparaged some book by Ivanka Trump. Lo and behold, it was Jake; lo and behold, I was stupid and almost choked on my salad.

“Oooh,” he teased. “Just the Attorney General I wanted to see.”

“I’m the only Attorney General,” I sassed.

“I know, I know,” he knew then that he’d be more circumspect in his statements. “I’m in the same AP Government class with you in Preston’s room. I gotta know how this shit works, right?”

He slammed his hands on the counter in front of me, stood on the tips of his toes and peered down at my screen. “God, you’re such a nerd,” he poked. “Always reading some dumb shit that’s not so dumb.”

He let the balls of feet drop back to the ground, placed his elbows on the counter, crossed them, and then let his chin rest on the formative lump of his hands. Jake was a south paw and his left hand overlapped his right. Always.

“Is there anything you’d like me to help you with?” I questioned.

“Yeah,” he had that smirk again, which oozed of a sort of brazenness and insolence that made me cower behind my laptop. “I want to take Sami to Prom.”

Everything by my eyes were completely frozen, and they gave him an icy glare.  

“Not your Sam,” this was a gratuitous reply. “Sami the soccer player.” I

 knew her – she was just as tall as I was (5’8), a bit more fit than I was (she was a tri-sport athlete, I merely did swim), was blonde (I could never compete there), and popular.

“And?” I’d no idea why he needed to tell me this.

“I just felt like I needed to tell you,” he teased.

Contrary to the strong woman I believed to myself to be in that moment, I was on the verge of tears. This was kind of brutal.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he went back on the tip of his toes again and looked at me over the screen. This time he was sterner and his rosy cheeks of douchebaggery faded into the pallor of a self-aware asshole. “I was just shitting around. Don’t cry. This is like sophomore year all over again when I sat next to you. I don’t want to get in trouble with the ASB Dean for making the Attorney General cry so just.. j-just..” he started laughing to himself again, as one would laugh in a surreal situation.

I swiveled farther away from him. Thank god for swivel chairs.

“Look, I’m trying not to be an asshole here, okay? I’ve been meaning to tell you this since last week. I figured Sam’d already told you because she was right behind me when I said it –”

My nostrils flared and my pupils shrank.

“Yeah, I know she knew and I know you know. I was only entertaining the thought of asking you, even went so far and thinking what it’d be like to have you as a date. You can fill in the rest. But I didn’t not ask you because I was judging your friends. I didn’t ask you because I don’t want to be the asshole who leads you on.”

As intense and painful as this moment was for me, I did my best to relive it just to clarify to myself that there was no yelling, no melodrama. Jake said this to me in hushed tones in a span of ten minutes and left.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Fifth period AP Chem was just god-awful. Carlos was there with me and I didn’t feel like filling him in on Jake or letting him copy my quiz on poly-atomic ions, so I walked up to the front of the class while our teacher, Ms. Romualdez, was lecturing and moaned to her about how I had to go to the nurse. I was a depressed, sobbing mess and needed to go home no matter what. She understood, and all twelve other kids in the class understood in respectful silence. And even though I was annoyed with him, Carlos was gracious enough to walk me to the front office, where Nurse Kelly was.

Nurse Kelly was the most neglectful nurse to ever make a cameo in my life. She dutifully attended to students who had more tangible sicknesses, but when a mentally distraught child came in, she was notorious for simply calling their parents and asking if they were stable enough to walk home. Granted, though she wasn’t a therapist or psychologist, she could have at least done more to help people who were sick of high school, as most people should for the sake of the youth. However, on this specific day, I wasn’t having it. I needed her sloppy caretaking to get me a pass off the premises of Hell and back into my bed. And she happily obliged.

When I got home, my mom was so concerned about me. She cupped my face in her hands and screamed at me, “Don’t tell me you tried to kill yourself, please, not like that one girl we read about when you were in middle school!” “Phoebe King? What? Mom, mom no!” I ripped myself from her grip and started marching up the stairs. “Mom, just leave me alone, I started crying because I didn’t get any sleep last night and I don’t understand Chemistry and equivocation in Macbeth!” I was already in my room when I screamed this last part: “I’M SO STUPID I HAVE TO USE NO FEAR SHAKESPEARE ON SPARKNOTES BECAUSE I HATE THE FOOTNOTES!”

My face sank into my pillow and my body relaxed as I fell into an effortless nap – a nap where you can’t forge an entire plotline in your dreams and can only remember the climax of whatever your soul told you mind to project. I felt like I was enjoying it until my phone rang. It was a Facetime video call from Jacob.

“Hey, Cuz, he greeted me. His face was at the center of the screen and I could tell he was looking down at his phone. I didn’t think he was at his house because I didn’t recognize the color and texture of the ceiling. “How ya doing? Tita (Aunt) told me that you had a shitty day.”

“Oh yeah,” I rolled my eyes and sniffled a little. I saw my face in the little screen thing and saw that my eyes were ridiculously puffy and red. “I just told her I had a shit time at school.”

“Hey, man you know me, I dropped out of college and now you’re our only hope. Ya gotta become a doctor or something,” he joked, “because if anyone had a brain like yours and didn’t do anything with it, that’d be a waste.”

I smiled. Jacob always lifted me up when I felt like I wasn’t enough for the world academically, so he had a bunch of canned pep talks that would get me to cheer up no matter how incompatible they were with the situation I was in. My self-deprecation was, to Jacob, the root of all evil, so everything could be cured if he tried to talk that down. I had to stop him here, though, because this wasn’t an academic struggle or an inadequacy. I felt heartbroken because of a boy.

“It’s not because of school being hard or anything, it’s just that Jake pulled an asshole move on me today,” and so I went through the motions of everything, with Jacob barely making any interjections like “daaaaaammmmnnn” like he does in interviews. He’s an all-around attentive person.

“So it’s because you’re too smart for him,” this wasn’t a question he was asking, it was a fact.

“I guess. If you want to put it that way. He made fun of me from the get-go about me being bookish. Always thought I was an undercover college student,” I chuckled and sniffled at the same time. “But like, I feel like I’m experiencing the Holy Trinity that all the nerd girls go through in high school: intellectualism, false hope and loneliness.”

“Aw,” I heard a voice say from the background.

“Wait – am I on speaker?” I asked.

“Uhhhhh….” Jacob was collecting details to build a story as to why we weren’t talking in confidence.

“Kuya (brother, older male cousin)!” I screamed. “Who is that?”

“Listen, Maja, I’m so sorry but my Beats ran out of battery and your mom really pressed me to call you, and you know you’re like a sister to me and I thought you tried pulling some weird shit in school so I called you and –” Jacob’s phone was snatched from his hand. It flipped onto the faces of two white guys – one shirtless with a killer jaw and brown eyes and the other in a black v-neck shirt, blond hair and powdery blue eyes.

“Hey, Maja,” the one on the right with the blond hair greeted me with an awkward wave. He had a deep voice that rung out in an English accent, and he pronounced my name with the stress in the first syllable: “Maaw-huh.”

“Hey,” the other one waved shyly.

“This is Harrison, but you can call me Haz,” the blond one smiled.

“And I’m Tom, and you can call me Tom,” he laughed lightly at his joke before he realized the gravity of the situation as Jacob walked into the shot from behind them.

Jacob placed his arms around Tom and Haz and sighed. “You said you experienced the ‘Holy Trinity’ of high school, but we’re the Holy Trinity from Spider-Man and we’re here for you.”

“Yeah,” Harrison – I mean Haz – added. “We hope you don’t mind that Jacob’s been talking to us about you, and all that’s been happening regarding your attendance at the premiere.”

“But – but we didn’t know about all this stuff about this other Jake until now, darling” Tom interrupted. “That wasn’t at all expected and we’re sorry. Jake’s Beats did die and we were in the hotel room with him and we can’t go out because there’s a mob of fans trying to take a peek at the Spider-Man suit –”

“Shut up, Tom, she doesn’t want to hear this!” Haz exclaimed.

Tom. As in Tom Holland.

Harrison. As in Harrison Osterfield.

Spider-Man and his lovely assistant were joining forces with my cousin to cheer me up.

“Well, the point is, darling, is that we’re excited to finally meet you at the premiere and we’re going to do our best to make sure you have a damn good time that you can rub in that arsehole Jake’s face.”

“Yeah,” Jacob nodded along. “And Tom, you can cuss, you know.” Tom looked quizzically at Jacob.

“It’s just weird hearing you say ‘arse.’ You’re not a euphemistic kind of guy in hotel rooms, usually,” Jacob giggled.

“Jacob, I’m talking to a lady. More importantly, your little cousin,” Tom explained.

After a few awkward exchanges of excitement and anticipation, we ended the video chat (well, I did, because Tom had the phone in his hands and didn’t know how to end the call).

“Dammit, how do I turn it off?” he yelled as Jacob, Haz and I laughed.

“Bye!” I waved at the camera and hit the red button. Back to my home screen. All I could think about was how stupid I was for not screenshotting the video call for proof that I’d spoken with Tom and Haz.

[japaneseeggplant]

27/10/17

6:33 AM Tokyo time

Good morning all. I am writing this blog post in the morning, yet again, because I got home too late to write a proper post, and only had time to get my things put away, take a steam shower, and then head to bed. It’s cloudy this morning, and the birds are happily singing. I’m happy it’s cloudy- I think I feel better on cloudy days, and I like the atmosphere more. I notice I tend to feel a little happier on sunny days, but not as physically well. The sun, even minute at 60 degrees, really can take the life out of me and feel exhausted.

Yesterday was a quick day, and I wish I might have slowed down more to enjoy the day more thoroughly. I think fast-paced Japan is starting to catch up to me. I went to Kamakura yesterday, first thing in the morning. This is where the Great Buddha of Kamakura statue is... I will include pictures. I’ve been here only once before, but with Sylvia. This time I was alone, and it was different. It was a very spiritual experience, and being a big fan of those, I was thrilled to go on such a good day. It isn’t very hard to come across spiritual experiences in Japan; you need not look very far and you will see great beauty and peace in most things. 

The train ride there was shorter than the ride back! This is because I made a huge mistake, one that couldn’t be avoided, that took me back to Tachikawa (where I change stations) on a local service train. It stops. At every. Station. But anyways...

The train ride there in the morning was very peaceful. I tried my first Japanese vending machine and was very pleasantly surprised. Of course, what I got wasn’t vegan, but, when in Rome. I got what is called a “Japanese Milk Tea” which is not really milk and tea, but more a royal, deliciously brewed cold coffee with a hint of caramel and milk. I took the train to the small sea-town of Kamakura, after an hour and 31 minutes, and I had met two foreigners traveling along the way, which made me happy. They were from Brisbane, Australia, and were here on holiday. They were very kind, and sweet, gentle people. I think they were happy to have a native english speaker on the train because I helped them a few times remember when to get off for their Kamakura stop! I think... even though they and I live in separate parts of the world, it felt like home to hear my native tongue and speak it. However, Japan now feels like home to me more than any other place, so the combination of all that was very solidifying, wholesome. It almost brought me to tears. I felt complete, and sure of myself. It was a good feeling. :)

When we arrived at Kamakura station, we bid our farewells and headed out. I said goodbye rather abruptly, not only because I am very shy, but because you have to be very quick and uniform getting off the trains. I headed out, not needing much of my google maps. I cannot describe the smell and energy of Kamakura. It is a seaside tourist town, but the smell of the town is very coastal indeed, much like San Diego on a sunny day with a lower temperature. It smelled of very, very light brine, maybe more of a tinge, and the warmer air brought a touch of humidity that made the energy feel vibrant and charged. 

I prepared myself spiritually for the Great Buddha viewing. To most non-locals and Buddhists, the Great Statue is more of a tourist hot spot, and is not thought of more than that. But to me, this was very significant. I am currently still reading Old Path, White Clouds, but I am also working hard on emptying my mind of anxiety and fleeting thoughts, something I struggle with terribly. Many thoughts crossed my mind! And upon further reflection, how silly those make me feel! I would worry about only having three months to stay here, how horrid I would feel flying home, how anxious I was to do this, that, and the other thing. This was useless to me and I simply let go. It was then when the town became alive to me, rich in alien green, moss, and the faint echoing bells from a Somewhere. I was so happy, because I passed a few schools of children walking my way. This is perhaps my most joyous sight in Japan. Japanese children, when they are in elementary school, wear bright yellow fishing caps, and they hold hands cheerfully and skip down the streets in pure bliss and wonderment. The sight nearly brought me to tears; they inspired in me a lightness and tenderness that washed away my fears and doubts. Children are healing this way- they ignite an old instinct in body and mind that remind us to take care of our souls, and release worry from our mind.

When I arrived at the Great Buddha, I paid my entrance fee, cleansed my hands and soul with holy water, and entered the temple. It is suggested that before you enter you prepare yourself with reverence, so this I did. The sight of the Buddha always brings me great joy, because I think of all the peace and mindfulness that following a path of meditation has brought me. I think of the stories of the Buddha that I am reading now, and how wonderful to be there to see him in person. I cleansed myself with incense three times, then walked to the statue, clapped three times, then bowed with my hands folded palm against palm against my solar plexus. I learned to do this last time I was in Japan. It is the typical way Japanese will honor a shrine, statue, then pray to the god of their choice, and in instance, thank the Buddha. It is customary to then throw Yen into a holy box that echoes when the coins hit the inside, as an offering. 

I didn’t spend too much time here, I suppose because I simply didn’t feel the need. I knew I would be back, on a day less busy than Friday, and when it was cooler out. I headed back after purchasing some gifts (very cheap!) and I made my way back to the station. I stopped to look at the seaside market, which is HUGE, by the way! It’s one big street full of vendors and shops. I was almost leaving when I decided to take an alleyway at random. I’m overjoyed that I did, because I found the most precious gift for myself. It was a Japan East Railway Company lunchbox, in the shape and print of the trains. This, beyond anything I’ve seen so far, is the cutest thing in all of the world. It’s small, fits in the palm of your hand, and contains a bento box, which fits in the bottom. It has an open pouch at the top for extra food, which can be closed via velcro. 

I finally got home to Tachikawa two and a half hours later. Of course, this is not actual home, but the landmark most familiar to me for which I change platforms and take another train home. This is similar to arriving in Tempe after say, 8 or 9+ hours of driving in another state, and feeling “home”. I headed to a thrift shop where I stopped to check for anything new, then to a mall to get a new sweater. I’m running out of things to wear here. I packed as lightly as possible, and did quite well, but this does not bode well for a three month trip. 

After that, I went to Fussa for dinner. I no longer feel as guilty for eating at the same conveyor sushi place over and over again. It’s unbelievably cheap, very clean, very close, and most of all, familiar; the employees are starting to get to know me and that makes me feel more a part of. I tried two new terrifying foods last night. I stepped out of my comfort zone and decided to be brave; a rather rare feat for reclusive me. I sat next to an older couple, and the gentleman beside me had some strange shrimp soup with an ENTIRE shrimp, eyes and all, soaking inside. This is what I ordered first. It was not bad, to my surprise, although I did struggle to eat the giant shrimp (eyes and all). Then I had a strange dessert- a green powder-covered chewy square that you cover with black jelly. THIS was delicious, and I will order it next time I go. The night took a surprising turn for the worst, however, when an old woman with her family started to have a heart attack, or some sort of sickness. It was quite scary- the whole restaurant went quiet as the fire department arrived. This happened just after I received my check. It left me in a sort of funk, but I tried to put it out of my mind. 

My feet were aching, and I mean ACHING, by the time I arrived at my train station, so lucky for me my train was delayed by 20 minutes for maintenance. I waited on foot, then finally headed home. I must share the most joyous news... I walked home all by myself without GPS, just like in the morning! That was my first day GPS-free for walking to and from the station, which is great. I made myself memorize it, and I’m very proud and impressed with myself, because the roads are twisty and wind-y, and it is so easy to get lost in that 30 minutes. This truly is an accomplishment, and I feel more at home now than ever.

It’s 7:18 AM now.  I will get ready, dressed, then head out to Ikebukuro and Harajuku for some shopping fun. Not wanting to spend a lot of money, but I do need a mini back pack and at LEAST another sweater. So, the day should be fun.

It already is when I remember, at last, I am home.

Amanda