"maturity"

This post all began from attending a journalism seminar at a graduate school, when a lovely man happened to sit next to me and say something kind.

I always let these opportunities go. I get so flustered. I become not myself. 

During the seminar on longform journalism, I ended up not paying attention and finding more excitement in drawing the guest speakers. I thought I was in my personal zone, by myself. But to my surprise, the well-groomed dashing blonde male graduate Journalism student next to me whispers over my right shoulder "That's nice." and I reply, digging my chin toward my chest, eyes looking somewhere I don't even remember, my mouth forming a pursed, smitten smile, "thanks." I felt my cheeks begin to blush then start to flare as I realize what just happened.

--

I never think I'm cool enough to associate with cool older people like that or people who think they're older and cooler or people who don't even think they themselves are cool but they are just older so they look cool. I feel like they don't appreciate me. Maybe that whole Perks of Being a Wallflower quote was right, "you love the people you think you deserve." I can't love or simply like these people even if they are just like me but happen to have a facade of cool. I can't do it, because I don't think I deserve it. So, I somehow make men who don't deserve me begin to love me instead. Like the security guard at the Met, and the regular at 30 Rock. That's what they all are. Regulars. But I know I'm not regular...

--

The fellow chats with the lady sitting on the other side of him. She is older than me. She wears glasses, an embroidered pencil skirt probably from Anthropologie with a nice blouse maybe from an indie version of Ann Taylor. She looks like she reads. She looks average height. She looks well-bred, appreciative of groceries at Whole Foods. She is "mature" I suppose. They talk about this discussion, exhibit their knowledge. I remain conversating through my red pen, sketching and taking notes. I am a party of one.

--

He quietly sneezes. I whisper bless you because I don't think it'd be awkward since he complimented my personal doodles. He takes a glance at me and hushes back thank you. We establish an official charming recreational relationship.

--

He goes up to the mic in the aisle to ask his question, to get his fair share of intellectual excitement. As he comes back to sit, he looks at my size 5 oxford shoes, and says he likes them, and excitedly shows me his, pointing out that our shoes are identical except his more manly. Of course, I had already noticed ten minutes ago that we were wearing similar shoes when he crossed his legs so his right foot flirted with my personal space. I laugh, "oh yeah! they're the same! Except mine are ten times smaller." He says, "yeah, they're much cuter that way." He talked to me like I was just like him. I guess if I stripped myself of my insecurities, ignored the fact that he is kind of hulkingly dashing and I am miniscule-y young, we would be equals.

--

As the seminar is over, she leaves. He leaves. They talk about "J school." I put on my earmuffs, feeling childish as everyone else around me envelopes themselves in stiff coats and adult jackets. I proceed to wear my powder blue gloves with gold charms. He suggests grabbing coffee with her, talking about journalism thesis. I keep packing up, as if I have somewhere to go. I pretend I don't remember our recreational relationship, just like when I feigned surprise at our twin shoes and when I realized we are alike in our honesty, in our friendship, in an aspiration for intellectualism.

We are all leaving the auditorium and he pauses at the door, probably to catch her number. I walk past, I push the door open, I have work to do. I turn left and speedwalk down the block. I am busy. I make a right at Madison Ave. I just came here for business. I turn left on 33rd. I had no meaning, no place here. I sprint down the station steps, swipe my card and ride the train home. Every step reminds me of how much further I am from him. He's lost me. I lost him. Good. He probably forgot about me as soon as he left the building, while I just thought about how I needed to write out this powerful elixir of emotions that I am so frustrated to feel yet again but this time with a vengeance.

He has more mature friends anyway. He will probably have a sophisticated coffee chat on journalism theses with the glasses girl. They will exchange mature phone numbers. They will have a mature cup of coffee. They will have a mature date. They will exchange mature glances. They will make mature love.

But I realize, I am actually that mature. I am just like him. I seem incapable of accepting the fact that my size and my penchant for patterned earmuffs does not define my maturity. I am no longer of the maturity where I need to succumb to shyness if someone flatters my doodles. I can accept that as an adult, as a...wait for it...twenty year old.

I always wonder, what kind of "dude" will end up being the guy "for me?" I scan the list of males in my age range--all of them instigating negative feedback. But maybe, a daunting graduate student is something I should no longer be afraid of. Maybe I should realize, I can deserve a lot more than what's been said is love for the stereotypical college girl. I guess this is twenty. But who am I to know about age or about love, I am so small, I could never deserve something so mature.

the birthday suit & tie (sh*t, tie, sh*t)

someone asked me on my 17th birthday, "so how does it feel to be 17?" i say, "not too different." someone asked me on my 19th birthday, "so how does it feel to be 19?" i say, "...not too different." someone asked me the all too predictable question this year, "so how does it feel to be 20?" this time, to my own surprise i say, "i feel different." or more accurately...

if you'll recall with me from a tweet by my florentine chum @h_kimpossible -> "@erinykim re: turning twenty "BUT I FEEL DIFFERENT LIKE I FEEL LIKE A KIWI LIKE IT'S KIND NEW AND TANGY"" and that's literally what i felt like. not figuratively. literally. i felt the antennas of my soul tingling and i was fruit-ily evolving inside as if a warhead was sewn into my heart--ok maybe not that literally. i am by no means "older" in the mental sense. and that's why i'm not scared of getting "old," because i know my mind is still fresh, as proven by the weird ways i wear clothes (i'm pretty confident the quirky way i dress and some function of my mind have a correlation with each other). 

to be older, to me does not mean to be a grandma, to sleep early, to eat oatmeal, to pay taxes, to knit in a rocking chair, to stay in play my queue on netflix when everyone is out. to be "old" rings in a different negative connotation: the basic idea that the mind is not open. no matter how old i turn each february 26th, i know that i'll vie to keep my thoughts expansive, mind fresh, the world curious and keep things NEW AND TANGY LIKE A KIWI. i aim to never be afraid to say yolo. (BECUASE YOLO) to me that characterizes youth. a fearless, creative vision, essential to living.

so to illustrate my teen transcendence, naturally i found myself wearing the brightest stuff in my wardrobe and sparkly loafers and a peter pan collar. i must say, i am intrigued at how i never end up wearing the same outfit despite repeating the wear of these articles. i have actually been wearing like at least one of these pieces every/other day. and i'm quite satisfied with the birthday suit. 

 

this pose was inspired by the gap ad campaign for the the new 1969 skimmer. gap's ads are always so agreeable. i thought me mock-modeling would be fun/funny. 

can i tell you these cords have been my favorite pants ever. my other fav leg covering apparel (i.e. stuff that's not skirts, or shorts) would be my jcrew chinos that are lax and loose. these cords in comparison, are essentially the tightest pants i own, besides jeggings which are their own breed not to be compared with. when i visited previously free people, i found myself holding five pairs of corduroy pants to try on. the sales lady called me the "cord queen." i actually only own two pairs of cords, but i will nonetheless proudly be crowned the cord queen. thank you soho free people kind sales lady.

 shirt-zara, sweater-jcrew (surprisingly not crewcuts!), cords-free people, loafers-american apparel, socks-american eagle

song of the moment 

suit & tie - justin timberlake (should be more like "cords & stripes" according to my life)

ok originally that was simply going to be like the punchline of this blog post, but i got serious and starting writing lyrics tailored to my lifestyle. if you decide to read these lyrics (i recommend it, i am mostly happy with the results. they are my fav part of this post. actually maybe not, i really like my pants.) then listen to the actual song whilst reading. here we go

"cords & stripes" 

~*~i be on my cords n' stripes, sh*t, stripes. sh*t, stripes

i be on my cords n' stripes, sh*t, stripes, sh*t

can i show you a few loooooks? x2

i can't wait til i get on my peter, pan collar. 

goin out spiffed up, jus like a blogger

*awhh*~ 

i'll choke myself, but i just had to button it.

it's so fly (it's so fly) and it's all mine (and it's all mine)

hey baybeh, we don't mind all the bloggin

*hAAA*

cause if they study close, real close

they might street photograph somethin

it aint nothin but a blog post when the sartorialist does it

she so fly (she so fly) tonight

and as long as i've got my cords and stripes

imma leave it all on my blog tonight

and you got sucked in with my beehive

let me show you a few looks

all pressed up in shirts and brights

and i'm dressed in these pants that're tight

petite style is swingin in the air midnight

lemme show you a few looks~*~

i must say so myself, this is pretty freaking brilliant. or maybe i'm just elusively excited. 

potentially to be continued...i thought this song was just a repeat of the same verses but there are actually a lot of diff verses and lines so maybe i will continue this and even parodize jay z's (i think pathetic) feature. stay tuned ya'll. 

mostly about "community:" a hogdemapodge birthday post (dont worry, outfit pics included)

Foreword: this is about my life as of recent--school, eating in dining halls, my mother, my ponderings on social media and the lives that we lead. and most of all, this is about how I love life and am grateful for you.

--

I'm sitting in a Gallatin classroom for a Berlin study abroad information session. The adviser is describing the fellowship experience and the culture immersion that brings students together for an unforgettable month of summer in Europe. My heart swells.

I'm taking photos at a presentation for New York Fashion Week. I go up to an androgynous platinum blonde-headed model (the woman of my dreams that I never knew existed). Unabashedly I hold my camera awkardly close to her and instagram her face. I tell her, "You're really hot," with two thumbs up. I walk away, models' giggles trace behind my steps. My heart swells.

I'm spilling crumbs of a turkey sandwich in Downstein after I Skype with my mom. She wishes me a virtual happy birthday and tells me that she loves me. I look up to find a friend wave at me from across the cafeteria and mouths the same magical words, "Happy birthday." Oh, my heart.

One of these situations is just like the others (i.e. they are all alike, get on my level). Most of these situations involve crying--yes, I cried among college students during a Berlin study abroad information session, how nerdy and embarrassing.(.........ly awesome I am!!!)

While I was in Downstein, tears swelling for the love my mother has for me and the love I have for her, I see groups of friends sitting around. I don't know them. They know each other. Their arms are rested over the backs of their chairs. Napkins rest, crumpled on finished plates. They share jokes from TV shows. They talk to each other because they are friends. This is not an awkward date, there are no pretenses. They just share thoughts, unconsciously, with love. This is connection and community. This is what makes my heart leap and what makes me love this moment of being twenty.

--

I am fascinated by community. How people can be joined together through hashtags: 'Wow I love your #whitepeopleproblems joke I found through the hashtag.' 'Hey can we meet up? I found you through a #socialmediaweek hashtag and loved your tweets.' 'Dude your fashion blog is so fun, let's be friends?' How people's passions can intersect with another's dreams. How people's work can overlap projects with those of other visionaries. How people can simply comment on the show Community and the awesomeness of Troy and Abed. How people can share thoughts together out of a pure love for something, anything.

--

I am not fascinated by personal facades presented on a timeline. Instagram photos from last night flood my newsfeed. Oh is your political insight relevant for Facebook? I see some polaroids to document our many yesterdays, only to make our tomorrow's into another hazy candid moment proving we have lived yesterday. The friend I see on Facebook is not the edited person I am friends with in the flesh. This acquaintance with x number of friends and x number of likes on their latest status is not the person I want to judge them to be. The friends I adore on Facebook are not quite the friends I love in real life.

In a similar vein, I'm actually not fascinated by Beyonce. The celebrities I follow are not who they are in real life. And may I dare propose, the Queen Bey America bows to is another collection of performances played for her own self-directed timeline of life. We praise, we like, we heart it. But do we really know it? Do we really love it? Shakespeare was right--what's new--all the world is, in fact, a stage.

I don't know that I will ever be able to properly articulate my thoughts about Facebook. I distantly participate in it, but mostly detest it. The one thing I can define that contributes to my bad Facebook after taste is that this social "network" lacks community. I go online and I look at 'cool people' and lives I've only intersected with once or twice. Or I look at edited punchlines people want to share because maybe it's a cool story that 20+ people will 'like'--i.e. tangible proof of success. Clicking through Facebook, through curated cover photos and capricious likes, I do not feel like I'm part of a community--I feel ever so alone. I miss the crumpled napkins on plates that held Hayden cookies. I miss the polaroid-ed moments that made me feel so alive. Instead of enjoying anything, instead of living my life, instead of being myself, I suck a facade of a reality in and I miss it all. I miss the lives around me. I miss being myself.

--

"Students definitely come away from the Berlin course excited and wanting to stay or visit again. Studying Berlin's art, history and growth builds a connection among students different from anything else." Salty tears wet the rims of my eyes in Gallatin. My heart leaps not because I want another instagram photo of the Berlin Wall, but because I have tasted community in my life. Listening to the adviser's words, the sugar of that human love lingers on my tongue. Real life, to me, is characterized by community. I live for the connection that lies between two people, and the many webs of people that ensue from connecting two people to another two and the four to eight to twenty four to infinity.

I remember my mom. Far away, I cannot hold her, I cannot tell how fast or slow her heart pulses at night, but I know she is joyful for me. She loves me beyond words could sing, she loves me beyond my stupid efforts at comprehending. We are an expensive and difficult plane ticket apart, and yet, we are together. We're connected.

This is community. being able to say that I have love in my life. The love of my friends who decide to text me good tidings, the love of a professor who thinks of me during her busy week to gift something for me, the love of a friend I've only met a few weeks ago who draws a cupcake in a fancy Papyrus-y card for me, the love of my friends who decide to record a ridiculous video emotionally reciting a ridiculous poem complete with ridiculous drum beats.

As I celebrate the end of nineteen going on twenty and a fresh start saying goodbye to any awkward judgments that come with saying I'm ___teen yrs old, I'm not scared. Mostly I am in love with life. I am in love with the fact that I cry during study abroad information sessions and I am in love with the fact that I am overwhelmed with joy to see friends talk without pretenses in dining halls. I am happy to be twenty, to be nineteen, to be tomorrow, to be yesterday to be or not to be to be whatever.

After all is said and done, I don't mind that I haven't broken records with an Oscar in my hand or that someone else is doing that instead. I don't mind that I'm not on Facebook enough or I'm not like any sassy fake fashionista out there. I am happy to be me. I'm happy my friends are real no matter what any social media says. I'm happy I can connect with an androgynously beautiful model through words. I'm happy to be alive. And most of all. I'm happy to be alive with you.

<3 br="" nbsp=""> To make a long post even longer and more arduous to scroll through:

And I wore this cardigan two days in a row. Don't judge. Actually go ahead. I like it.

(So many people were just staring at my tights whilst I was gallivanting in the city.)

I honestly have no idea what I just wrote up there, but I do have an idea of this happiness I feel aftering having written it even if it is 2AM and I am going to writhe in pain from having to do homework all day on my birthday. Having written this post, I am quite happy. I hope it does a little something for you, too.

Love,
Erin

song of the moment
Anything from Michael Jackson's This is It and some Dr. Dre here and there (though not while reading this blog post, I don't think the moods would jive. actually....)

two journal entries on my mother because it's the least i can do

1/10
Yesterday's good night was the sweetest and most melancholic good night. With a sliver of white light aching in through the narrow crack between door and its frame, I lay in the dark, on the floor beside my mom on her bed, pillow appropriately plumped, mind ready to gradually fade into the womb of sleep and solitude.

But before drifting into that soporfic space, my mom sprinkled a noise into the night, "Erin?" It was like at a sleepover when there's only the tick of the clock keeping friends awake and someone breaks the silence, "Hey, you still up?" and I just replied, "mom?" She said, "I just wanted to say good night" (in Korean). I wasn't sure what I was hearing. She had never woken me up before in the recent times we've slept side by side together in these cramped Korean spaces. She hadn't done this nocturnal double take. But complex labyrinths of thoughts inundated her head and somewhere that night, the maze led her to think of me.
Because she knew if she could think of her daughter, she could at least get close to falling asleep. Her daughter was her last and only hope to rest.

The chaos that is consuming her body and life drowns all the strength and positively that characterized her. But she swings her thoughts toward me. she knows that God is with me. He has always been, in her eyes. for her, I am proof and a living hope that even in this darkness, there is a sliver of hope glinting through the doorway.

During the day, she groans, cries about how each breath is a fight. Each fight is a miserable loss. To eat, to sleep, to see hope in a next moment, to just live normally once more. But this night, she found assurance in that she has a daughter under the provision of God, protected by Him. She relayed to me, when she has raised a child like me, what else does she need. Solace rests with her because she knows I live and live beautifully in her and God's eyes. She send these words to my sleepy ears, but I think she was speaking aloud these honest beatitudes more for her own sake.

After brokenly and faintly sung hymns, she found sleep. The ebb and flow of her heavy breathing was life. She is safe somewhere in a world away from the stupid tantrums that implode reality. She is safe in sleep. And this makes me happy.

Each of her snores like bites of dessert. They bring joy, they feed the basic, human appetite for delight. she is happy when she is sleep. She is dreaming of me. And I lay awake, in awe of this kind of love, thinking about how beautiful it could be if she could sleep and stay in this place of peace forever. But I admit, I hope it isnt time for that eternal slumber just yet.

1/14
Apparently something good happened today, but why am I crying.

I have seen her go through so much. Every passing day a struggle, a fight. Every passing breath a memento of mourning and grief. But today something good happened in this series of miserable events. I don't even know how to respond, I'm not used to her finding joy in any home anymore. I only find the words to say thanks to God because that's what I know is always relevant to say.

I've seen her hurt so much. And in this moment where her drowning world found a earth, land, something to hold on to, no one celebrates for her. Just one joyous thing. She's so excited that she even suggested champagne. She is so happy because there is this action of hope in front of her face, a tangible visible piece of a dream coming to life. A breath of freedom, of knowing herself for one second. Yet nobody else realizes what a happy moment it is for her. Happiness, it's been so long. Happiness, why will no one celebrate with her?

Today she had a spur of peace, and they respond to her surprisingly joyous call for champagne by telling her to deal with it by celebrating in silence. Closed mouths, muted thoughts, another push for mourning. Another day reminiscent of grief. What is wrong? Why is still no joy to sustain her in the midst of this rare jewel of hope? When can she finally find a community of love, where each breath is expressed to celebrate her strength, to voice the love she deserves? When can we all sing the song that has so long been hidden in her misery?

oh silent night: a huge blog post for hugely awesome friends and holidays

foreword: i tried to keep the following thoughts and emotions in one paragraph (LOL, what a joke on my part). then i started writing and it kept going and i decided, imma just write dis for myself. i think these next paragraphs were written more to for me--not for me to read, but for me to write.

POST SCRIPT IN THE FOREWORD. after writing all this i have decided this makes no sense and you shouldn't read it because i think it's dumb. but at least you have some photos if you don't read it. heck i dont even know if you're reading this.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

cousins, brothers, sisters. aunts, uncles, grandparents. relative seems to piece family back into place when it's the holidays. no matter what the cost, nothing stops family from getting together during "the most wonderful time of year." thanksgiving gets close to winning the award for best family-gatherer, but christmas gets me out of school for like friggin 4 weeks. thanksgiving? 2 days--the winner is obvious.

despite the obvi ness of family getting together during the holy holidays, for me, it's always been a rough ride. it's just the four of us--my brother, my mom, dad, and me. but we're all somewhere else. we're all up to something at different parts of the world. this year, i felt the distance, but more than the distance, i felt the brokenness that lies between the cracks that have always existed in our four piece puzzle.

after getting lost in translation with japanese stewardesses of Japanese Airlines, i traveled across continents to find myself planted in a christmas that was missing someone. whenever i go to korea, he's always there. whenever i pass customs and stroll my luggage out of the airport, he's always there. or at least he's supposed to be. but he wasn't. well, i guess it's more accurate to say that he was there for a second, he picked me up at the airport and put me down and then he left my mom and me. alone. in a quiet home. no tree. no promise. just broken expectations of what family means to me. of what i thought home was supposed to be.

on the day of christmas, mom and i sat around and listened to my "AHHHHHH" playlist (i.e. christmas playlist, because christmas is worthy of screaming AHHHH) on spotify while trying to find some decent american films on demand via korean tv--no success. i didnt mind nor really notice him not being there until i called him. hey its a holly jolly day so i should call my pops even if he is dumb and not home on christmas, or so i thought. i dial his cell to face a redundant obnoxious ring. that's when his absence began to burn. 

underlying that situation, is my mom. she's in a very keen, sensitive, complicated and not happy state. her hurt hit me when she broke it down--erin, the house is so empty, her voice fragile, as unsteady and as thin as seran wrap. and while i sat and listened to her telling me what's happening with our family, while as i listened to a situation so real, i felt a sense of quiet like some haunting heatwave--except it was cold, like the chill i imagine it'd feel in an old abandoned haunted house. like in that one poem, not a thing was stirring not even a mouse? it was kind of like that--i felt the houses' silence, the vacancy of a family. the sad truth that was our state of a "merry christmas." the emptiness makes a home here, it stays and haunts, quietly whispering devastation through the my mother's veins, seeping in like some awful nyc humidity.

while i realized our situation--i will spare you and myself of the logistics, i tasted what it was like for many people, many quiet people, who don't actually have a merry christmas. who don't actually get to instagram a festive family photo. who don't actually have friends to tag in their facebook photos for holiday polaroids and camera photos. the emptiness pierces. to the experience-ee it is a quiet fog, but as my mom relayed those words to me, the situation's sudden overbearing nature was miserable and sharp. i can't even say i tasted this emptiness because i know i can't feel what my mom feels. a white man can't become a black man. a student can't become her teacher. a daughter can't become her mom. but the emptiness was right there before me and it hurt to see it and to know that it was so real.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i thought about that emptiness that some feel during the holidays. nobody to share a gift with. or maybe somebody, but then the list ends there. merry christmas, to nobody and nothing. i remembered a contrasting experience related to silence/emptiness after a shindig i held a few weeks ago. after some friends and i pasted scraps of paper together to make holiday cards and after we consumed apple cider and chocolate wafers and verde salsa and after many smiles and happy feet walked in and out the doors of my humble soho abode, a mist of a feeling came over me. i sunk into a silence from the absence of my friends who had once illuminated my night.

the small space was full of such laughter that even initiated crying--laughs on me. a corner of camera posing, a dollop of shouting at our cards for not being perfect and living up to our artistic dreams ("where is MINTY MOOSE"), a brief revisit to ol' degrassi. my not so capacious space was jammed with joyful noises, enough so to inspire an RA to tell us to shut up before quiet hours--of all rooms mine... LOL, they dun know me.

then after all that, when we finally got tired from camera posing, and finally acknowledged that our cards cant be perfect, and finally finished talking about degrassi, i sunk into the quiet and finished the night: i moved the mosaics of scrap paper from awkward table crevices. i whipped out my laptop. i updated my facebook photo to one from the night's collection of many poses. i wrote some of what youre reading write now in my tumblr journal as i always do when i feel moody. then i closed my laptop. all was silent. everything and everyone had gone.

despite the banter, car horns, obnoxious drunken discussion--i.e. the downtown soundtrack that invites itself into my room to make it so characteristically citylike, despite all that, for that moment, i realized how quiet my room actually was.

but in that silence there was an unheard din--the beautiful melody that is friendship. i realized how awesome the evening was, for me. i realized--yet again--how lucky i am to have friends like these. there was maybe 10 people that passed in and out those doors that evening, not too many, and yet each one meaning so much and breathing so much life.

in that silence, i felt warmth. as i walked around my room i felt the laughs and excitement and smiles that wandered the same space. yes, it was silent, but my room wasn't empty.

in that silence, i felt life. i felt joy because that is the scent of friendship. as a few true friends study abroad next semester and judging from my dynamic check-in-history (born in jersey, lived in south korea, lived in seattle, now in nyc--had to move all da time errywhere, thus less stable friends), i'm never sure who my 'best friends 4 lyfe' are. i feel inseparable with some people. i think they're awesome. we've got to be friends ten years from now.' and yet who knows. i always think i do, but looking back, i know nothing.

in that silence, i felt the present. i didn't feel worried about friends not getting along with others even if they're new. somehow my friends are awesome in the way that they can be awesome with new people since they are all awesome. do you understand?! it's magic. it's an open heart. in these moments i didn't worry about anything because i knew they were all my friends, not the cream of the crop of my favorite clique-y groups or whatever. it was all about the moment. IT WAS A CIRCLE OF LIFE

in that silence, it felt like a postcard or a polaroid. i felt reality from a few moments ago and i was soaking it in. the moments were musky in my head because they weren't happening in front of my face, yet, thinking in that silence, i felt everything. i felt love. i felt the silence unwrap itself into life, into the present, into friendship.

i can never thank god enough for the people that he has placed in my life. and i have come to terms with the fact that many of these people, i will not be in regular contact with 10 years from now. 1 year from now. or next month. or ever. but in that silence i felt a gratitude for the fact that i have these friends that i do today.

in that silence, i knew the warmth that lingered invisibly in my room might fade. in the same way, these friends may not even see me again, but i also knew that in the chaos that exists beyond my quiet space, in the chaos that is the city, in the chaos that is the noise of facebook and in the chaos that is the way of life, in the chaos is joy, a hushed peace and happiness. and that is what makes the holidays. that is what makes every day a bit more worth while. and that is what makes up for the emptiness.

merry christmas. and thank you for being my friend today.

(and if you're not, then, thanks for...reading!....?) 

photos and gifs--that's right GIFS--from the night (oh that merry x-mas sign is cute ikr. well i guess i'll laud myself some praise for creating it. actually no that's really vain. well, too late, just did. don't even know if you can laud somebody but i just lauded.)

 

photobombing per usual

trying to recreate brooklyn fierceness

for added hip points, put a filter on it. 

EVEN THOUGHT CHRISTMAS WAS A FEW DAYS AGO. MERRY CHRISTMAS. AND HAPPY NEW YEAR. like i said, the holidays are about them universal themes like joy, happiness, warmth and all that jazz, so why should we only be excited to say celebrate the season during the month of december? celebrate christmas all year round. #ErinsTwoCents #ErinsFiftyCents

 

song of the moment/the night

merry x-mas - dragonette 

a living paradox

sometimes i wish i could just know. god works in the most mysterious of ways and i know all his plans are for the better, but today, there was a moment where everything was the worst. because all that i knew was simply whisked away from me, all my plans and excitement and tantalizing concerns lost their magic because one big plan was taken out of my hands. i wish i could just know what's to come. i wish i could just feel. just be confident. just live without worry. i wish i could just know. 

it's funny how when something you had been banking just goes awry and the whole day looks dark to you. i had a weird perspective change today. for me, everyday is amazing, but because everyday is amazing, there's a thin film of monotony that blankets each day. when i see someone i know, even if they pass me by, i smile to myself and i'll hope they have a fab day. i'll sing songs to myself quietly as i walk down the maxed out, taxi filled streets to class. and today, once i got some bad news, even the sun didn't make things any brighter. every little wrong thing that i'd normally shrug off was suddenly something to make me cuss. 

but the weird thing is, this little dark revelation peeled off the film of monotony and amplified the awesomeness that really lies in everyday. i was having the worst of days. truth. but i wished everyone else had an off-the-wall amazing day. i don't quite understand myself, but after i got off the phone with news that demanded some annoying tears to tickle my face, i walked out of that place and had a bigger smile whenever i saw someone i knew. this dark magic put that positive fairy dust and oomph into everything. it was a punch in the face conducted by some tinkerbell. when people asked me 'hey! how are you girl?' yes. it was literally the most heart wrenching second of my life to say 'i'm good!' and now i really understand the value of asking someone 'how they are' but that magical smack in my face and thrust in my life made me forget my fears and remember my love. maybe it was the hurt that made me want to love even more. but in the end, i was less afraid to say hi, to reach out, i wanted to kiss everyone i knew--not like seductively. i wanted to make sure that everyone loved their life as much as i did and didn't in that moment. something moved me to move others. 

later in the day i was assigned to give a campus tour (relevantly, the new tour guides had our "track jacket ceremony" today which was our official "induction" to let us give tours! whuddup! so if you come here, maybe i'll show you aroundz!). besides being late to my exam, and other silly stupid things, i had to do a tour on top of it and i was like 'oh dreaded life, why must i show others around school today. i am miserableness and hatred of life. woe is me.' but no. i loved it. i was still having the worst of days. truth. but as i shared my story, i hoped everyone on that tour would love my school, would love learning. would love life. 

so today was the worst of days. truth. and sometimes i still wish i could just know what is to come, what is my life, what is. but when the cookie crumbles, you have crumbs, that still taste good. and when my life seems to fall apart, i realize i still have people, that still taste good. i still have these amazing (no more film of monotony applied) acquaintances--friends i see daily or faces that i wish were more embedded in my life or faces that i no longer even see. and no matter where my career, life, or i end up, i know i'll have people with whom i can share smiles with and people with whom i already shared smiles. as a matter of fact, i close this post to have some hot chocolate with a friend. and with that, i can only hope that anyone who reads this--maybe it's your worst of days, maybe you also wish you could just know--but i hope you know that there is still people, there is still love, and there is still life. 

"“I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.” -Audrey Hepburn

jacket - urban outfitters, tee - best coast band tee, shirt - nordstrom rack, skirt - urban outfitters, tights - gift, shoes - american apparel

song of the moment
"pack up your troubles, get your old kit bag, don't worry about the cavalries. i don't care what the whisperers say cuz they whisper too loud for me."

patterns and prints: CF D-four and mucho more

(click photos to make larger)

Junior Emily Warnock

i love how she matched her bright, patterned dress with a black theme. it really emphasizes the color and print. :)

outfit details:
caridgan - norstrom
dress - target

thanks emily!

as for my day, in english, we were assigned to write a "credo" in the form of a poem (i'll post mine sometime next week :D). so for inspiration, we read Robert Fulghum's All I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten and it may just be one of my favorite little writing pieces! & I thought I'd share it with you:

“All I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sand pile at school.

These are the things I learned:

• Share everything.
• Play fair.
• Don’t hit people.
• Put things back where you found them.
• Clean up your own mess.
• Don’t take things that aren’t yours.
• Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody.
• Wash your hands before you eat.
• Flush.
• Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
• Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
• Take a nap every afternoon.
• When you go out in the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands and stick together.
• Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: the roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
• Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup - they all die. So do we.
• And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned - the biggest word of all - LOOK.

Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and equality and sane living.

Take any one of those items and extrapolate it into sophisticated adult terms and apply it to your family life or your work or government or your world and it holds true and clear and firm. Think what a better world it would be if we all - the whole world - had cookies and milk at about 3 o’clock in the afternoon and then lay down with our blankies for a nap. Or if all governments had as a basic policy to always put things back where they found them and to clean up their own mess.

And it is still true, no matter how old you are, when you go out in the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together.”

&here's what i wore today :)

cardigan - papaya
dress - target
shoes - cathy jean