i'm not the same survivor i used to be

Yesterday, I found out that someone I looked up to and respected made a Big Mistake. And it was in the worst way possible - the kind of mistake that rips up the hearts of everyone around them. As I left from hearing the news, I couldn't help but hold onto my quiet grief over the loss of one of the few Good humans almost as tightly as I held on to the boy walking beside me.

And my best friend told me she can't imagine how much harder it is for those that really knew him, knew both of them. And I'm sure that's true. But I also think it speaks to the immense loss that someone who only met him a handful of times can still feel this discouraged and betrayed. He Mattered. And now we'll never be able to look at him the same way, without the questions in our eyes. At least, I won't be able to.

I couldn't let the echo go in my head, even hours later as I lay next to my boyfriend, feeling every bit of our good intentions meeting more than halfway. And I know now that my fears are not meaningless or unfounded. This is what terrifies me about marriage and love and the worst of times - I'm terrified that I can't do it. I'm terrified that tomorrow I could hurt this boy who I am falling so hard for, that despite every word and kiss we mean with all of our hearts, that it still just might not be good enough. People FAIL. Miserably. I am no where near as strong as he was, so God, if he fell what hope do I have?

Good humans, Big Mistakes. And Love. I want to believe in Love! I want to wear blinders to all the numerous failures we make so I don't lose this fragile hope I have. But I also want to rejoice in the moments that we overcome those Big Mistakes. I just hope there are enough to make this pain worth the while.

what's a friday five?

Top 5 Upcoming Friday Fives
I know I've been absent, but there's been a lot of shit going down. As a disclaimer, these are not necessarily going to be the next five you see, just ones that may or may not arrive in the next couple of months. Credit to Adam for the idea. Have a suggestion for a future Top 5? Comment away.

1. Top 5 Lyrics - The main reason I haven't done this one is because there are SO FUCKING MANY lines out there that I adore - how can I narrow it down to five? I mean, I could do Top 5 Matt Nathanson lyrics, Top 5 90's lyrics, Top 5 lyrics from bands whose CDs I've stolen, Top 5 Lyrics that remind me of friends... talk about magnitude.

2. Top 5 Things I Like About Dating - Believe me, I will postpone this one for as long as I can, folks. I don't like the sappy, ridiculous posts any more than you do, but I think after all the ruminating I've done on the perks of being single, it's only fair to give the other side their turn as well.

3. Top 5 Things I Like to Photograph - I'm really excited about this particular one because each of my categories represent a particular facet of photography that inspires and moves me as an artist. One of the things keeping this one from going live is that I'm attempting to find one of my photographs that coincides with each topic, and we all know how much time I have to devote to that sort of a hunt.

4. Top 5 Things that Stress Me Out (Not school related) - Not the most uplifting topic, but you all should know. Just in case you decide you want to drive me crazy. The caveat about not being school related is because clearly, there are enough AU-based things to populate a list ten times that length.

5. Top 5 Weaknesses - I would like to think I don't have a ton, but there are clearly ways to get me. Some are funny, some are poignant and some are just pathetic.

someone like you and all you know and how you speak

He asked me what my issues were. I asked him what his were.

Apparently, I am afraid of attachment. He has trouble sharing his feelings.

We're now dating.

For someone as happy being single as I was, this was more of a fight than anyone could know. And at the same time, it was perhaps the easiest, sweetest and most right relationships of them all. I told him, had he asked me the night we met to date, I would have said no. Even a month in, I still told him I wasn't ready. But only two weeks after I said that... here I am. A girlfriend.

He taught me how to shoot a gun and drive a manual car. I taught him how to bake cookies. He loves the parts of me I try to hide, and I can't get over how he makes me laugh.

And I'm realizing, more than anything, that relationships are built on the differences, the pieces of ourselves that don't match up. And they're work to find the common ground, to open up, to let yourself fit together.

And it's the moments when you're sitting there and hands slide together and bodies curl around each other that you realize this totally absurd concept of (to quote my friend Tali) two independent people simply wanting to be together is actually possible. Not only just possible, it's the most rewarding feeling in the world.

carry all your gentlemen

A long time ago, Elie requested I write something about my brother, music and my guitar. I've been waiting for the opportune moment... it finally came.

I've had my guitar for almost two years now. It's hard to reconcile that much time passing, but it really has. I'll never forget the day I bought it, the boy I bought it with or the boy I bought it for.

Or the boy who wanted to take it to Nashville.

It's always been difficult to be Jason's sister. I don't know if it's a younger child syndrome thing, that he's able to do what I've wanted to do more than anything - perform music - or that my parents seem to defer to him and in turn, make me feel disloyal if I don't kowtow in return. Perhaps this all stems back to jealousy or something equally petty and selfish, but I would hope that after 21 years, it wouldn't be so simple.

The thing is, Jason is good. No, he's better than good, he is the most talented musicians I know and perhaps one of the few that will actually make it. And I'm not jealous that he's good, I'm not angry that he's going places. I know he works hard for his fame and deserves it. That's not what drives me fucking insane and makes me alternatively want to cry and swear I never knew him.

It's that... when I stand next to him, it's like what I do doesn't exist. It's not that I'm untalented, but my talents are not the type that get the spotlight like being a musician and having really spiky hair. And it's not that my parents don't love me or believe in me or support me, but it just feels so one-sided in the way they relate to us. Jason needs something? We'll give it to him. Jason's getting bad grades? Oh, it's because he's playing so much. Jason's coming to visit? Start making his favorite foods.

And I get caught up in this show of support for him. And I don't WANT to be! I am not an unkind person. Yes, I'm selfish. Yes, I can be cruel. But I'd like to think in general, I am willing to sacrifice for those I care about. Jason is not counted out in that crowd, but being his sister, him being the way he is, you give more than your fair share.

Last night, I asked him to name one time he'd done something for me. He couldn't think of a single time.

I'd finally had enough, you know? I was sick and tired of having to give up myself to make him happy. So when he asked to borrow my guitar, my beautiful guitar that was bought hoping it would help me fight those demons and any boys who ever broke my heart, I said no. Fucking no, Jason, you will not fucking take my guitar to Nashville, even if it's only for a month, even if you need it, even if I don't fucking play it. It's mine.

And for once, he had no claim. He had no right, and I had every to deny him the use of my expensive guitar.

I can play the piano. I can play a bit on the guitar. I still have these dreams that one day I'll have a hobby of playing open mics and opening for bands in the local music scene, have a few fans, make an EP and just do it because I love it. As I'm driving, I still hum little melodies and write lyrics on old paycheck stubs, hoping to write just one more song to play for my friends.

But I know that I will never be able to write lyrics like Missy Higgins or craft melodies like Matt Nathanson, though God, sometimes I have these words and notes inside of me that are begging to get out, and it fucking rips me up that I'm just too clumsy to shape them into the eloquence they deserve to be.

I will never be Jason. But that's never stopped me from trying.

Because when it comes down to it, I love him. I only wanted his acceptance. I've only ever wanted people to see me as his equal, not his little sister. And because I love him, I want him to be happy and I want his life to be filled with spotlights.

Because I love him, the place where my guitar normally leans up against my chest of drawers, is empty.

if not now, then when?

Last night, as a friend drove me home, I had the opportunity to look up, out through his sunroof, as we drove the streets of Reston.

Have you ever stared up at the world as you fly by at so many miles per hour? (I know my best friend has, and she even has a song that makes her think of me and my sunroof.) This was my first time, despite both of my cars having a sunroof - I don't recommend manning a car and turning your eyes up at the same time.

But last night, I saw the world in the most beautiful way.

The closest I can come to describing it is watching the world being blown around you - no, more like you're being blown around by the world. You feel small and insignificant and yet the air and stars and streetlights are there and real - you haven't escaped gravity, even though your heart is up with the moon.

That's worth something, right?

Oddly enough, it reminded me of how I felt looking down from Katzen 202. Only it was about as opposite as you could get - in one, I was suspended, watching the cars rushing along, minding their white dashes, and in the other, I was the one racing between the lines. But I'd be hard pressed to find another time where I felt more alive.

We are so intent on looking straight ahead, eyes on the prize. That's certainly necessary and good... but I can't help but wonder what exactly we're missing when we just forget to look up.

friday five

Top 5 Male Vocalists
You know how some guys are butt guys? Well, I'm a voice girl.

1. Matt Nathanson. Duh, right? Goes without saying that I love his phrasing, his vibrato, his tambre. Everything about his voice makes me want to dance and sing and cry at the same time. He's got this one fan who had to have a surgery that would render her deaf - her last action before the surgery was going to hear Matt play. I honestly can't say I would've done anything different.

2. Norbert Leo Butz. So, I'm definitely not into the Broadway scene as much as I used to be, but a few days ago The Last 5 Years came on my iPod, and I was reminded of what an amazing singer he is. When he sings "Nobody Needs To Know," that man is untouchable.

3. Freddie Mercury. I know, I'm not even the biggest Queen fan, but his voice is absolutely killer. It's so light and strong and amazing! I don't know of a singer that can match his range, with the exception of Steve Perry, but they're both dead, so it's not much of a contest.

4. Scott Terry. The singer from Ohio-based Red Wanting Blue is absolutely AMAZING. Their music, in general, isn't anything incredibly original, but it becomes extraordinary when Scott leads them with his deep, resonating, almost country voice. He sounds like Toby Keith, Mac Powell and Erik Palmer all in one, it's a pretty rad mix.

5. Patrick Stump. I debated a long time whether Patrick Stump or Caleb Followill (from Kings of Leon) would nab this last slot on my oh-so-exclusive Friday 5, and though Caleb's perfect rasp is incredibly hot, Patrick will always have my heart. In Folie A Deux he really steps up his vocal game, and even live, he's pretty near awesome.

face to fake

Today, I found myself in the oddest position of giving advice to a girl over a boy that has played her like a fine violin.

It was just SO bizarre! Because I could just see myself in her, feel her pain, understand every bit of confusion she was feeling. Because I was there, you know? For a year, I was in that zone, wondering, planning, debating. It's a tough maze to find your way out of.

"We can call it anything we want," I told her as we walked back to her dorm room so she could show me the profusely apologetic Facebook note he wrote her. "We can say we've been played, we're cynical, whatever. But deep down, it's simple - our feelings have been hurt. It doesn't matter that we're in college or 21, our feelings are hurt and it sucks."

I think you have to acknowledge these things before you can move on. I think that accepting that god, sometimes your heart just hurts for no logical reason is a step you need to take before moving on. That though it doesn't matter in the world, in the grand scheme of things, it matters to you, however tiny and insignificant you are. It matters.

I've been down the road she's looking at - wanting to make contact. Trying to phrase messages so clearly and calmly. Wanting to believe those pretty words, wanting to give someone the benefit of doubt, wanting to believe the past four months weren't a waste.

"We need to have a face to face," she said.

"Face to fake is more like it," I replied, thinking of Kevin.

logophilia

I started reading at a really young age. Stories about Snow White, dalmatians and strawberries are some of my earliest memories when it comes to books. From there, I expanded into fairy tales- runaway princesses, mountains, outlaws and gardens, historical fiction- India, Germany and America, and mysteries - Indians, coffee and the Nile.

I've always loved a good story.

I still have a few books from my childhood that I fought for on eBay (because I didn't want the new, ugly covers - I wanted the pictures that first drew me to the story). Every now and then, I go back and pull them out and a half hour later, I am full of happy thoughts. Who says I can't ride a train to a school to learn magic? Just because I'm 21, does that mean I can no longer live with the dragons and make cherries jubilee? Will the secret garden still let me in, even if I'm tall enough to see over the locked gate?

And so I keep searching for new stories.

I recently read a series that I am only a little ashamed to admit to enjoying. My friend loaned me the first book during a bad spell, telling me it would make me happy. I started reading it, telling myself only one chapter a day (two on weekends). But four days in, I was hooked. I couldn't put it down, and then I needed the second, third and finally the fourth. Within two weeks, I had finished them all and my friend was right- I was happy.

I realized, I still love a good story.

The writing sucks. It's juvenile, the heroine is annoying, the hero is melodramatic. There are so many "gasp"s and "complain"s and "sigh"s that I want to remind her of the amazing word called "said." It's ridiculous, fanciful, cheesy. And it's one of the most captivating stories I've ever read.

I want to believe in fairy tales. I want to believe in romance, in magic, in dragons and werewolves and vampires. I want to ruminate on evil and good and the best intentions. I want love, sacrifice and danger.

If these are the stories of the childhood, I don't want to grow up.

he took his straw, unwrapped it, and plunked it in my water

I'm a week out from Spring Break. And no, it does not escape me what I was a year ago.

I've got this book that's pretty much the most emotionally unhealthy item a girl could ever own - it's a large, black sketchbook that is filled with skeletons from relationships past. There are four chapters for four boys that each left their own mark on me, took their own little piece of me.

Yes, I look at this book when I'm frustrated and bitter and cynical. Yes, sometimes it just gives more fuel to the fire and keeps my depression burning. Sometimes it just makes me sad.

But really? Most of the time, I look at this book when I'm desperate to remember. Because life goes so quickly, and I can forget the details that I once worshiped. This book is filled with the tiny moments that one thinks aren't worth remembering because they're so easily collected - and then when they're gone, you wish you had just stuffed your pockets with one or two more for the road.

The details and memories keep me company. I like knowing them, I like being able to run my fingers over the artifacts and not be cut, just warmed by their existence. They are mine, you see, only mine. No one else (especially the boys who left them behind) will ever be able to touch them. That satisfies me, selfishly I admit, but it's such a rare treat for me to have something entirely for myself.

This life moves so quickly, changes so hugely, that these details are my most treasured items. In my memory, they will never change - I replay them over and over and thank God that for some reason I am able to recreate these snapshots of time frozen. I can't even begin to tell you the insignificant, ridiculous things I have collected in the most desperate cry for things to REMAIN THE SAME while I fight the most obvious losing battle in the history of the world.

Whether it's denial or courage, you can be the judge.

And despite my best attempts, my pockets are still only half full.