Category: Misc.

Misc., The "Something" Series: Season 3

Something Not Worth Stressing About: A Grace Monologue.

liz

The curtain finally covers the front of the stage. Our first show of the production has officially concluded. I could only hear a consistent ringing in my ears; it was like my body was not registering what was going on around me. I couldn’t have seen him. That wasn’t Jamie. How would he even know I was here? Maybe he didn’t.

Once the curtain completely closes, the rest of the dancers begin to celebrate finishing the first show of many more to come this year. I tried to cover up all of the thoughts roaming in my head when I saw Maurice and Aimee running toward me. I didn’t want to think about this any longer.

“Girl, we did it!” Aimee said excitedly, giving me a huge hug. In true Maurice fashion, his way of celebrating is staying in place, twerking any ass he may have. Aimee pulled out from the hug and took a good look at me. “You were so fucking amazing for your solo! Like holy shit! Like the way you did this,” Aimme said as she demonstrated a part of the choreography. I couldn’t help but laugh and be grateful for the support.

“Girl,” I said back to Aimee. “Don’t act like you didn’t own the ‘Detail’ number! You were angelic.” I look at Maurice, who joins in on our conversation. “Maurice, I couldn’t look at anyone else during the ‘Endless Time’ piece. You were fierce as fuck!”

“Fierce runs through these veins, sweetie,” Maurice said as he pretends to flip his hair. “I can’t believe the first show is already over though! I feel like we’ve been working for this for years now.”

“And watch the other shows just fly by,” I added to the conversation. Some of the other dancers come to us, which then Aimee and Maurice walks off with them to celebrate. It wasn’t long after that I felt someone touch my shoulders. Jamie?

I jumped before turning around to see who it was. Sahim.

“Congratulations on completing the first show, tiny dancer,” Sahim greeted me; his smile wide across his face as he grabs me for a hug. “You looked so beautiful on stage. Seriously, you were breathtaking.”

“Thanks, Sahim,” I said, smiling as I looked at him. “I didn’t know if you were going to be able to see it or not.”

“Of course I would’ve,” Sahim reassured. “Your solo is the best part of the production.” I feel my face get hot and red with his words. Sahim pulls me closer and looks at me and smiles. I look at him, feeling warm and comfortable after my head being all over the place this past hour. I appreciate Sahim being here, supporting me and for encouraging me every step of this process, but that quickly fades when I take a good look at him. This man is perfect, so why do I feel so sad?

“Dancers!” The director’s assistant called out to get our attention. “It’s time for curtain call!” The dancers begin to get into place on stage. Sahim lets go of my arm and walks away from the area, allowing me to line up for the curtain call. I

take a deep breath and smile as the curtain opens and reveals the audience. Row by row, the dancers bow as the audience cheers, and it was soon about to be my turn. I hold hands with the other dancers in my line and walk up towards the front of the stage. I immediately hear Skylar yell out my name from the audience, which makes me laugh as I bow. Coming up from the bow I opened my eyes to see tonight’s audience one last time. I see Sahim at the corner of the stage, clapping and cheering as I’m on the stage. Then, my eyes immediately met with Jamie’s, who simply claps his hands along with the audience.

I feel my heart stop for the slightest moment. Thank god the curtain closed right after. Closed, as in never going to have to see him again.

…

I walked out the side door of the dressing room to see Skylar standing there with a bouquet of flowers. She’s with Summer and Ethan, her boyfriend. Both women smile at me once they see me coming towards them.

“Congrats, Grace!” Skylar said out loud before looking over at Summer. “You didn’t tell me you had family here in Korea!”

“I see you two have met,” I said as I looked at Summer, nodding quickly. “Summer’s my mom’s niece; Skylar’s my cousin from my dad’s side.”

“It was nice to meet you Skylar,” Summer said.

“Girl, call me Sky! We’re family,” Skylar politely suggested. It makes Summer laugh. It was nice to see both sides of my family come together to support me in this big milestone in my life. I hope I’m able to do the same for when Willow gets older. I look around to see if Shawn was with Jamie or if I needed to run before he did. I looked at Skylar before asking; she didn’t look like she was hiding any big secrets. Did she know Jamie was here?

“Where’s Shawn?” I asked Skylar, kind of nervous to hear what she has to say.

“He said he had to run to the bathroom,” Skylar answered. Right. The bathroom.

I simply nodded my head, not trying to make it obvious that I knew more than I was leading on. Why am I letting something like this bother me so much?

He was just another person here at a show in his native country; who cares? I’ve lived my life this long not having to think about or feel anything for Jamie for the last 6 months of my life, and it honestly felt great to not sit around and wait to feel special or validated by the person that claims they love you. I look over at Sahim talking to the other techs in his area, smiling. Happy. Probably feeling great about the outcome of the first show. He has been by my side through this entire journey of preparing for this show. His presence has never made me question whether or not he wanted to be with me. Tonight, I should’ve been celebrating with Sahim and my family, and instead I’m letting someone else influence my emotions.

“Grace,” I hear Sahim call out my name. I look at him, who then smiles and waves his hand towards his direction. I smile back and walk towards Sahim. This isn’t something worth stressing about, Grace.

This isn’t something you need to be stressing about.

Misc.

Either This or That: A Prologue.

liz

My mom always makes a big fuss about Christmas, which is fine and all, but sometimes I feel like she gets a little crazier as the years’ pass. This year in particular is my parent’s 25th year anniversary. Apparently, my mom and dad got engaged on Christmas Eve and every single year she tells the same story about how my father gifted her an ornament, but then he accidentally dropped it and bam – there goes her engagement ring. It’s a cute story, but it’s literally 2043; nobody does corny little things like that anymore… well, besides my twin sister’s sappy-ass boyfriend.

My twin sister, Dylan, has fallen head over heels for Nathan; a guy in our grade that is the lead guitarist and singer in his band. Their music is cool, but I still don’t get how Dylan ended up with a guy like him. Dyl isn’t ugly or anything, I mean she looks just like me, but Nathan is always fumbling over his words whenever he gets around her, it’s actually disgustingly cute.

Anyway…

My mom walks into the living room in the loudest outfit imaginable; little jingle bells are attached to the hem of the skirt, and every light on in the house is reflecting off of her top. She has her hair up in a bun with a reindeer headband on her head. She throws on her apron and opens the oven, but then closes it after checking on the food. She looks at me sitting on the sofa on my phone without a care in the world.

“Reagan,” my mom calls out for me. I look up from my phone and in her direction. She looks stressed out, which isn’t a shocker to me. My mom is literally Christmas-zilla. “The family is coming over in a few and you’re not even ready yet!”

“Mom, Milo, and Sophie aren’t coming for like another two hours,” I said, slowly getting off the sofa. “And you know Micah and Rosie are always late. I’ll get ready when the time gets closer.”

“I need your help setting up the table, and getting the gifts together for everyone; there’s simply too much for us to do to have you sit around and wait last minute,” my mom argued as she took a tray of food out from the oven.

“Can’t you get Dylan to help?” I whined, not really wanting to have anything to do with the preparation process.

“Dylan is on her way to pick up Nathan with your father,” she answered. “Please, Reagan; get dressed and help me get things together.” I rolled my eyes and headed for my room. I wanted nothing more than to hide under my covers and just disappear for the day. But whatever; I guess I have to go and get an outfit together for this Christmas party.

I eventually exited my bedroom in my holiday outfit. My mom turned around and looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“What?” I questioned.

“Nothing,” my mom answered. “You’re just… really dressed up for a little family Christmas party.”

“Mom, you literally have bells attached to your skirt,” I laughed as I pointed out. “You’re still the queen of Christmas even in my little sparkly red party dress.”

“Well, I like the dress on you,” my mom smiled as she continued prepping in the kitchen. My mom was definitely an interesting woman. She’s a retired dancer-now-business-owner of the Castro Dance Academy; something that she created when she was young. She sometimes felt more like a friend than a mom, but when she felt like my mom, there was no doubt she was my mom. Despite our major differences, I think between my sister and me, I am a lot more like my mom, which is annoying but inevitable at this point.

“Is Dyl wearing a nice dress too?” I asked.

“I actually didn’t get to see what she was wearing, but you know it’s probably something really outside of her comfort zone if Nathan is coming over,” she answered. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed the file of clean dishes to place on the dining room plate. “I think she’s nervous.”

“I’d be too if I brought a boy over around this family,” I said without even thinking twice. “Like, Dyl has not only two older brothers but a twin sister that would literally knock that guy’s teeth out if he breaks her heart.”

“Nathan is a nice guy,” my mom stated. Nathan was a nice guy, but there was always something off about him that I could never put my finger on. “I hope that you will meet a nice guy like him in the future.”

“Please,” I scoffed. “Nice guys don’t exist in the city.”

“Your father was a nice guy,” she mentioned.

“Yeah, well dad was in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you,” I rolled my eyes and said to my mom. “Dad doesn’t count.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short,” my mom put the oven mitten down on the counter and looked at me. “You’re a beautiful and smart young lady, and any man would be glad to be with you.” I didn’t say anything back; not because I didn’t have anything to say back, but because there was nothing else to say back. I didn’t really want to date after my last breakup. My high-school sweetheart ended up being another girl’s high-school sweetheart, and it nearly fucking crushed me finding out that he was eventually going to leave me for this other girl, which made me even question if I was pretty enough to even keep a guy in my life. I eventually turned my sadness into some dark humor and here I am, trying to somewhat make it in the city as an aspiring female comedian… because fuck men and their dominance in this business to begin with.

“Yeah well I wear men’s repellant as perfume so,” I said as I finished setting up the plates on the dining room table. “That’s not going to happen.”

…

It was so good to see Nate after him being on tour for the last three months. He walked out from his gate at the airport and immediately saw me and smiled. I don’t even think I heard my dad call out my name once I started to run toward Nate. I wanted nothing more than to jump in his arms and kiss him.

“Nate!” I called out for him as I ran towards him. He dropped his bags and embraced me as I hugged him Gosh, it felt like heaven being able to touch him in the flesh again. I missed him. I missed us.

“Hey, Bob Dylan,” Nate laughed as he called me by my nickname. Nate thought that “Bob Dylan” would be a cute nickname even though it’s not really a nickname. Still, it was cute that he had a cute name for me. “I missed you.” He gave me the softest and most gentle kiss. I can’t lie; I definitely wanted more.

“Not as much as I missed you,” I stated. “Seriously, I’m so glad that you’re here.”

“Me too,” he said as we continued to walk toward my dad. When we finally get to him, I can feel Nate quickly letting his arm go from around me. I still find it funny that even though Nate and I have been dating since high school, he was still nervous around my dad.

“Nice to see you, Nathan,” my dad gave Nate a stern handshake.

“It’s nice to see you too, Mr. Kamalani,” Nate answered. My dad didn’t say anything back, we just began to walk toward the parking garage where we parked. It took my dad quite some time to get used to Nate and me being a couple. He very much scared Nate shitless when we started to date, but I think after a while he got used to it and even started to like Nate… I think. My dad acts like he does, but my dad’s not the greatest actor; he’s a music teacher for a reason.

The car ride back home was the most awkward part of the day. I sat in the front seat with my dad in the driver’s seat as Nate sat in the back seat with his bags. I couldn’t help but check on him through the rear mirror every other minute.

“So, Nathan,” my father began to say. “How was the tour?”

“It was amazing,” Nate said with a smile on his face. “Such an amazing experience to open up for such a great band.”

“Who did you guys open for?” My dad seemed like he was genuinely interested in Nate’s music career. I sometimes think that he only likes Nate because he was a musician, or maybe that was the reason he was so cautious with Nate like musicians know other musicians?

“Tales of Thomas,” Nate answered. My father didn’t react, probably because he doesn’t know the music scene that Nate plays in. In a nutshell, Tales of Thomas was a heavy metal band that, well, is notorious for heavy mosh pits and tons of crowd surfing. I saw them in concert, but from what Nate has told me; it’s a concert that you have to have health insurance.

“How many songs did your band perform?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. They performed five.

“Five songs,” Nate answered. “For one show, we were able to do six and an encore. It was so dope.”

I looked at my dad, who continued to look forward at the road as he continued to listen to Nate talk about his tour life. While I loved when Nate spoke about his music career and tour life, it would always make me sad when he did so. I loved that Nate and his band were finally blowing up and going to different cities to perform, but I missed when Nate was in his basement still making music every day after school. I love Nate, but sometimes I felt like Nate and I were more so in a long-distance relationship the more recognition his band was getting.

I catch my dad looking at me, in which I looked at him back and flashed a smile, letting him know that I was okay.

…

Reagan: Is that what you’re wearing to the party today?

Reagan looked at Dylan as she entered the house. Dylan looks down at her outfit; a pair of jeans and a thick, knit hoodie with black and white converse on. Dylan looks back up at Reagan.

Dylan: What’s wrong with it?

Reagan: You’re going to make me look overdressed if you wear that!

Dylan: Then why are you wearing that fancy dress to this holiday party?

Reagan widened her eyes to emphasize her point.

Reagan: It’s a holiday party! What do you mean why I’m wearing this! Dyl, please go and put something else on so I don’t look stupid.

Dylan: Why don’t you go and change?

Dylan looked at her sister, to which Reagan rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth.

Reagan: Wow, Dyl; You’re really going to wear that outfit to a party that your boyfriend is going to be attending?

Reagan scoffed as she crossed her arms along her chest. Dylan scrunches her eyebrows together; annoyed at her sister.

Dylan: My boyfriend doesn’t care about how I dress up.

Reagan: Yeah, that’s what they all say just to get the girl at first.

Dylan: *defensive* How would you know? Carter dumped you in high school and you haven’t had a boyfriend since!

Without even realizing it, Reagan pushes Dylan away from her, which makes Dylan angry.

Dylan: Don’t be mad at me for speaking the truth!

Dylan pushes Reagan back, which immediately sets her off. She grabs Dylan’s hoodie and begins to fight with her; Dylan tries to fight back by grabbing Reagan’s hair. It’s not long after that their mom, Jennifer, and their dad, Milo Sr. come rushing into the living room to separate the girls.

Milo Sr: Hey! That’s enough!

Eventually, Dylan is pulled away by Milo Sr. and Reagan is pulled away by Jennifer. They continue to yell at each other from across the room as Milo Sr and Jennifer try to calm thier young, twin daughters before the holiday party later on. They look at each other knowing that they have no chance in ever calming these girls down.

Misc., The "Something" Series: Season 2

Something Like What We Used to Be: A Monologue.

liz

When I first moved in with my mother my freshman year of college, I didn’t know how well we would get along. My dad was still in Virginia, and he had no idea that I wasn’t actually living in the dorms. I lied to both my parents just so I could get the opportunity to live with my mother after not knowing her for the first 17 years of my life.

It was a hot afternoon in New York, and my mom came back from the pizzeria to get us some Italian Ices. I was convinced maybe we just shared the same taste in foods, but her coming back with a Rainbow-flavored Ice shocked me. It was my absolute favorite flavor of Ice.

We sat across the small table in the living room/kitchen area of my mother’s apartment. I looked at her as she scraped the surface of her Ice, scrolling through her cell phone.

“Mollie?” I called out for my mom. I was still uncomfortable calling her mom; I was thankful she didn’t force me to call her mom right away. She looked up from her Ice at me. I didn’t know how to phrase this right, but it was something I’ve wanted to know ever since I met my mom for the first time, back in her dance class at Waverly High.

“When did you know that you were in love with dad?” I asked. It took her a while to answer. She was deep in thought like she was going through all the years over in her head that she knew my dad. My mom, no doubt was my dad’s soulmate. He never had a girlfriend while I was growing up; it’s like he couldn’t love anyone else besides her, and from the looks of my mom’s apartment, it seems like the same goes for her.

“The moment I knew I was in love with your father was the night we slept together, back in high school,” she recalled. “Not because of, you know,” She was getting flustered and even though I felt some vomit rise up behind my throat, I knew what she meant by that. “The moment I knew I loved your father was seeing how happy he was when I told him I was pregnant with you.”

…

“You have some nerve coming here,” I said as I watched Jamie walk towards the cafe.

“Can we talk? It’s important that I talk to you,” Jamie stated. I look at the time on my phone and sighed.

“Well, it’s bad timing. My break is ending and I get out in about an hour,” I said. Jamie nodded his head and looked at me. I felt uneasy whenever he looked directly at me; he was the only person that ever looked at me like that.

“I can wait,” he said. Jamie was always a patient man, and I never understood how or why he was with me. He has no reason to sit around and wait to talk to me, yet he does. Throughout the rest of my shift, he sits on the boardwalk bench looking out towards the water. It wasn’t long until I clocked out for the day and left the cafe.

I slowly walk towards him at the end of the pier, sitting next to him. He looks up at me and scoots over to give me some room on the bench to sit next to him.

“Well, you sure stick to your word,” I say to break the silence. I don’t look at him, but I can feel him looking at me. I always knew when he was even when I wasn’t looking at him. It’s like my body can sense it, because every time he did, my body got warm.

“I’m assuming you know about what happened between Shawn and Skylar,” he began.

“You think? You know, that was really shitty of him to just break up with her without a real reason,” I began to vent. I wasn’t angry at anyone else besides myself. I feel solely responsible for Skylar falling in love with Shawn and getting her heart broken in the process. I shouldn’t have left Jamie’s number on my nightstand; I should’ve known better and threw it out as soon as I got it that day. Maybe then she wouldn’t have called Jamie. Maybe Jamie wouldn’t have felt like he needed to bring Shawn along with him to the Voyage that night. Maybe Skylar wouldn’t have met Shawn. Maybe Skylar wouldn’t be absolutely crushed if I never moved into her condo when I got to California.

“That’s why I came here to talk to you,” he simply said. “Shawn… has his reasons in why he did that,” I couldn’t help but scoff.

“Why am I not surprised that you were taking his side? I mean, I get it; you’re his best friend. You have to,” I shook my head and looked out towards the ocean.

“Shawn is on a group visa,” Jamie said.

“What the fuck does that have to do with Shawn being an asshole to Skylar?” I kept interrupting Jamie. I just didn’t want to hear the excuses.

“Aigoo, Grace can you just let me talk?” Jamie demanded. I looked at Jamie, not saying a word. “Kevin’s girlfriend in Korea, JooAh; she’s pregnant. He has to go back to Korea to be with her. Shawn, Kevin, and I are on a group visa. If one of us leaves, we all have to go too.”

My stomach knots itself up when I hear Jamie speak. All I can remember is Skylar asking me how was I able to go through this with Jamie throughout the years I’ve known him. “Love him, and then watch him leave over and over again.” I’ve watched Jamie leave more times than anyone else in my life. The first time it nearly destroyed me; it was like I was experiencing what it must’ve felt like for my dad when my mom left him when I was a baby. It was like I was experiencing how it must’ve felt for Max when I left him with our baby. I thought I deserved it, like this was life’s way of telling me that I needed to know what it was like to have someone you love just up and leave your life out of the blue. Needless to say, the first time was the toughest. The second time stung a little. The third, time I became numb to it. The fourth time I left, hoping it was the last time I saw him.

I scrunched my eyebrows, getting angry as Jamie spoke, excusing Shawn and what he did to Skylar. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t know the consequences that came with dating and falling in love with a man that literally could leave at any given moment. I should have warned her. I should have told her soulmates, or whatever the fuck Skylar called Shawn, weren’t real.

“Funny how it’s not the first time hearing you say this,” I spat back. Jamie looked at me, annoyed with my response.

“That was really uncalled for, Grace,” Jamie responded. “I just wanted to tell you that I was leaving to go back to Korea, and why Shawn had to do what he did.”

“Why even tell me you were leaving? You’ve done it in the past,” I began to talk just to talk. I felt like I never explained to Jamie why it was always so hard to trust him after the first time he left. He would come back, and I would fall into him deeper and deeper each time we saw each other, and then he would leave again. It was our tradition; for him to make my life feel like rainbows and butterflies, until he took that shit back with him on a 14-hour flight to South Korea.

“I can’t say the same for you,” Jamie snapped back.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I asked viciously. This was the first time Jamie was facing me, but not looking at me. He was angry, and he had some shit to vent out before he left again for good. What the fuck was the point of him even ever agreeing to hang out with me whenever I called him? Was he just trying to see if he still had that hold on me, wrapped around his finger, just living his American dream until he left it behind to go back home for months on end? What the fuck did Jamie want from me?

“You literally left New York without telling me, Grace!” Jamie finally admitted. I still remember the day I left New York almost 7 months ago. Ari told me to tell Jamie I was leaving and to have one last conversation to end this chapter of our lives for good.

“You need to have this conversation with him, girl,” Ari said as she poured hot water into the kettle and threw a couple of tea bags into the hot water. “He deserves to know why you went and did what you did.”

“What is the point?” I said, watching Ari set the coffee table up in the living room. “He’s gonna leave New York anyway.”

“Yeah, but that was his child too,” Ari said, annoyed. “Just because you don’t live with Willow, you still are allowed to know about her whereabouts and shit because she is your child. How would you feel if Max made decisions about WIllow without consulting with you just because you don’t live with her?”

“Max and I live in the same fucking state, Ari; it’s different,” I spat back.

“Yeah well, you’re both here in New York and are eventually leaving it so, how much of a difference is it really?” Ari questioned.

“I didn’t have to tell you anything! We weren’t together!” I emphasized to Jamie.

“You had admitted just weeks prior to you leaving that you had an abortion, Grace! How the fuck was I suppose to feel not ever having that conversation with you?” Jamie raised his voice. His voice always echoed when he was angry; probably because it didn’t happen that often. But when it did, it was more than just anger. It’s bottled-up shit that he hasn’t expressed or spoken to anyone about because he always tried to deal with it on his own. I didn’t say anything back, not because I didn’t have anything to say but because I wasn’t expecting Jamie to bring this situation up. Not now, not ever.

“You left me in your apartment and had Ari get me the next morning like I was some fucking garbage that needed to be gone!” I was angry. I remember being so fucking angry and heartbroken not seeing him in his apartment the morning after I told him about the abortion. “Jamie, you are so fucking good at leaving; did it ever occur to you that maybe every single time you did that shit, it affected me?”

“So you go ahead and get rid of our baby without ever fucking telling me it existed?!” Jamie screamed as the veins on his neck began to pop out. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

I began to feel the tears run down my face. I wasn’t sad but frustrated. Defeated. Exhausted. There’s simply no more fight left in my voice, and no expression left to express on my face.

“Would it have really mattered if I did?” I said softly as my voice became hoarse from yelling before. “You were in Korea at that point. I didn’t know when you were going to be back or if you were ever coming back…”

“I would’ve come back, Grace,” Jamie said, more regretful than confident.

“Yeah, and then what? Watch you be the man I always hoped you’ll be for me and then see you leave me alone in New York again; this time with a child?” At this point, this was the most honest I’ve been with Jamie since being in New York. Maybe I should’ve reached out to have this conversation sooner; maybe then all the time we spent together here wouldn’t have felt the way that it did. Maybe our motives would’ve felt more pure and real.

“People like us are not meant to stay together. We are not meant to carry lifelong commitments and bring them into this world just because one of us wanted to. I always thought I could change that and make people want to stay with me. But in the end, I was always left fucking alone; my mom left me alone, Max left me alone, and you left me here alone. And I refuse to let a child come into this world feeling alone, Jamie. I refuse to lie to myself and say this time would be different; that I would be the mother I always wanted to be for a child. But I’m not. I left my child the same way my mom left me, and I’m still trying to make it up to Willow before she learns to resent me for not being there for her. I refuse to be like my mother. I refuse to bring a child into this world just because the person I am in love with wants me to have the baby.” At that point, I couldn’t look at Jamie, and I couldn’t feel if he was looking at me back. It’s like I pulled all the power out of us and it’s not a blackout. We are both just searching for some light in the darkness, not realizing that everything around us is also surrounded by darkness.

Jamie didn’t say anything and I didn’t expect him to. So I sighed, and shifted my body on the ground of the pier; closing off Jamie for good.

“Not that it matters but I’m also leaving California. I’m going back to New York to see my daughter,” I admitted. “Because I owe her that at least, as her biological mother.” I began to get up from the ground of the pier; Jamie still sat there. It was like he was frozen in place. I know it took a lot to take it, but I know Jamie Kim. Jamie always deserved to know the truth, because he strived in knowing the truth in everything in his life.

“Have a safe flight back to Korea, Jamie,” I said half-heartedly, not wanting to continue this conversation. I felt naked, and I felt exposed. I felt like I just confessed my biggest secret out into the world, but I still don’t feel free. I begin to walk away from the pier, fro Jamie, and from this life that I so desperately wish I could have, but know I won’t ever get.

Because people like Jamie and I don’t stay together. Soulmates aren’t fucking real because they are so impossible to obtain or grasp. It’s like a piece of fiction.

The love I have for Jamie just feels like fiction; not real.

Misc., The Teenage Monologues.

One in the Same: A Milo Monologue.

liz

I reached into my bookbag to get out my notebook for band class, as well as my drumsticks. Huge drums surround me every 6th period, and I swear it makes me happier as the days pass. More of my bandmates come into the classroom, sitting in their assigned seats and taking out their instruments. As I tune the drums next to me, I hear a girl’s voice and immediately look up. It’s Sophie.

“Hey, Milo,” she greets me. I smile at her and give her a hug.

“Hey, Scout. Ready for class today?”

“Of course! I’m interested to finally see the piece we’ll be learning for the showcase,” Sophie answered excitedly. I smiled at her, but couldn’t help the other bandmates all look at Sophie as they passed by her. It annoys me that even a couple of days into school, they still can’t get over the fact that she’s one of the only girls in band class. Sophie looks at me and her smile fades; I guess she already knows what’s going on.

“Hey, don’t be down,” I reassured her. “Don’t let these boys make you feel like you don’t belong here. They don’t know your mad skills yet. She finally smiled again, which makes me happy.

“Thanks, Milo. You always know what to say,” Sophie said. Our faces were pretty close, and she didn’t move away from where she was standing. It was weird with Sophie; I never knew if she wanted to be more than friends, but I was always worried to scare her off if I told her I wanted to be more than friends. We haven’t spoken about any of the kisses we shared when we were in middle school. Sometimes I feel like she just wants to forget they even never happened. Me, I can’t stop thinking about them.

“Alright, alright; excuse me,” another voice is heard. I turn around and see Aaron standing there, trying to make his way towards the percussion area to his seat. Sophie steps back and walks back to her seat. I rolled my eyes at Aaron. Always ruining my mood somehow.

Our teacher, Mr. Harrison, comes in and quiets down the class.

“Hello, everyone,” Mr. Harrison greeted us and placed his briefcase on top of his desk. “Today we are going to talk about the assignment that is due on Monday. It is simply just a one-minute piece of what instrument you play and one of your favorite pieces to play. As these will be your bandmates for the next four years, it is important that we know each other’s strengths and weaknesses in order to become one ensemble.”

I look at Sophie from the strings section. She takes notes in her notebook while everyone around her just sits there and looks at Mr. Harrison. I guess that’s what makes Sophie the smartest girl in her classes; she’s always writing notes.

I look to my left and see Aaron taking notes in his notebook as well. Might as well take notes too.

…

I walk into vocal early and see my dad sitting at his desk. He looks up to see who’s walking into his classroom.

“Milo?” my dad said. I went to sit at my set and placed my bag on the ground.

“Hey,” I responded back. My dad leaned on the back of his chair and crossed his arms.

“What do you need from me, Milo?” he asked. My dad always knew that whenever I needed something from him, I would be extra good or actually be in my dad’s presence like I wanted to. I sighed, letting go of the persona.

“Do you think Jennifer can let me use the studio on Saturday?” I asked.

“What’s wrong with the one downstairs?”

“It’s at the house,” I answered, looking at my dad like he wasn’t understanding.

“Milo, it’s still a studio place where you can practice,” my dad tried to convince me, but I didn’t want to change my mind.

“Please, dad? Sophie and I have an assignment due next week and–” Before I could finish my sentence, my dad smiles and laughs to himself before looking at me.

“Is this more about impressing Sophie than the assignment?” my dad asked as he crossed his arms. To be quite honest, it was totally about impressing Sophie, but my dad didn’t need to know that.

“No! It’s just,” I had a hard time figuring out what I wanted to say. “It’s just… that at home, everyone’s gonna be home! Jennifer, Micah, and the twins; I just want to have quiet space to work on this music assignment.” I don’t know if my dad bought it, and I guess I’ll find out since the bell for last period rings and the first person in class besides me is Aaron.

“Good Afternoon, Mr. Serrano,” my dad greets Aaron as he takes his seat. My dad looks at me before continuing. “You can take a seat, Mr. Kamalani.” I rolled my eyes and went back to my seat. More and more students come into the class and then my dad clears his throat to start today’s class.

“Alright, guys; I would like for you all to prepare a song for next week’s class. You will be performing it in front of the class! Please choose a song that you believe best fits your vocal range as this assignment will determine your specific section in this choir,” my dad walked to the blackboard and wrote a couple of words down before turning around towards us again. “This choir will have 8 sections: first and second for sopranos, altos, and tenors while finishing it off with baritone and bass. Please do not come into this class on Monday singing Mariah Carey notes if you know your voice can only go as high as a first alto or second soprano.” My dad stopped talking and pointed to someone at the other end of the classroom, I look in the direction he is pointing at.

“Question, Mr. Serrano?” My dad asked.

“Can it be an original song that we wrote?” Aaron asks. I feel Mollie nudge my right arm.

“Look at Mr. Over-Achiever,” Mollie teases. I don’t answer back, I just watch my dad and Aaron talk back and forth with each other.

“Of course! I’m not sure how many of you are dual majors,” my dad started. I roll my eyes at even the sound of my dad mentioning the dual majors. Yes, I am one myself, but I would never flaunt it to the other students who were lucky enough to get into one program. Aaron seems to find the opportunity to share his status no matter where he is.

“But if you are one,” my dad continued. “We would love to see any other talents you may have in this assignment. The more we know about you, the better the teamwork will become once we start learning music.”

“Might as well just share that you’re a dual major,” I whispered to Mollie, who laughs in her seat. I couldn’t help but mimic how fucking bratty that guy sounds. It makes Mollie laugh even more.

“Excuse me, Ms. Castro and Mr. Kamalani,” my dad looked over at us. “Please stop disrupting the class. This is your first warning.” When he looks away from us, I roll my eyes. It’s bad enough I get scolded by my dad whenever I get into trouble at home; it sucks I gotta get it from him as my goddamn vocal teacher. My dad kept teaching and I did nothing but hide my face with my hair, waiting for the class to be finally over.

Misc., The Teenage Monologues.

That’s High-School, Sweetheart: A Mollie Monologue.

liz

“Well, that’s fucking lame.”

I lay on my bed, talking to Ronnie on the phone. It sucks that I only get to see Ronnie in a couple of my classes, but even on the first day, we had so much to talk about.

“I know, right? Like I wish I was able to be in a class where there isn’t anyone from Beverly,” Ronnie said. Ronnie is like the girl version of my best friend. She’s really cool, and we got to meet when we were paired up for a project back in junior high school. She’s a band major at Waverly now, blowing the saxophone like she’s some Jazz musician. I’m forever making fun of the fact that she could probably serenade a boy with some smooth Jazz of his favorite rap song.

“Oh my God, seriously! Like Laurie is in my vocal class and I have no idea when or how she even passed the Waverly audition. Do you believe that bitch laughed at me during my introduction?” I vented out.

“Dude, she’s still caught up in the past. Like, let that bad energy go, sis,” Ronnie responded. I look towards my bedroom door, which opens slowly. I get annoyed when it does.

“I’m on the phone, Mom,” I quickly said before she could say anything to me. My mom smiled and looked down at my phone on the bed.

“Tell Veronica that you have to eat dinner and you can talk to her later,” my mom responded. I rolled my eyes explaining the situation.

“I’ll text you, Ronnie,” I said before hanging up the phone. I got out of bed and walked out of my bedroom in the attic. My mom followed me downstairs.

“Mom, why do you always have to ruin my conversations with Ronnie?” I complained.

“You know dinner is at the same time every single day, Mol,” my mom answered. “You just saw Ronnie at school a couple of hours ago; what is there to possibly talk about?”

“Everything, mom,” I honestly answered.

We both sit in the kitchen where my step-dad, Alex, is serving food on dinner plates.

“I hope my favorite girls are hungry,” Alex said while putting a plate of food in front of me. I look at it. It has a strange smell to it.

“What the hell is it?” I asked while looking at the bubbling plate.

“Chicken cacciatore,” he answered.

“Chicken catch-a-who?” I looked up and looked at Alex. My mom and Alex met each other when my mom was in culinary classes for her catering business. They got married not long after that and have been together ever since. Alex was cool, chill; not demanding like how most step-parents are in those old TV movies. He’s always cooking something either really delicious or really questioning.

“It’s chicken in red sauce,” my mom explained. “You love chicken.”

“Yeah, when it’s either fried or covered in barbecue sauce,” I said, eating around the chicken. My mom looked annoyed at me, but I can’t help it; I’m a picky eater. Alex sat down next to my mom as we all began to eat dinner.

“So, how was your first day of high school?” my mom asked.

“It was cool, nothing special,” I said before I remembered what happened in vocal. “Our vocal teacher is Milo’s dad. Milo was trying to run for his life in that class,” I explained.

“Well, Milo knew that his dad was going to be the teacher for that class,” my mom responded. “I hope no one gives him a hard time in that class.”

“Milo just needs to stick up for himself, not let anyone give him any shit–“

“Language, Mollie.” my mom corrected me. I hated when she did that. Like I’m about to be 15 in a couple of months, yet my mom treats me like I’m 5.

“But yeah,” I continued. “Laurie Warren is also in my vocal class and she laughed at me after my introduction. I was ready to slap her so hard–“

“Mollie,” my mom interrupted. “You can’t be fighting in high school, especially not at a place like Waverly. You’ll get kicked out and expelled.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Just let a bully keep bullying me?” I asked, annoyed that my mother would even give me this talk after telling her what happened.

“You tell a teacher and they would handle it,” Alex chimed in. I looked at him like he had about 500 heads. What does he think this is? The old high school days?

“I do that, and the whole school laughs at me! Seriously is that what you want me to do?

“That’s high school, sweetheart,” my mom said, passing me the salad bowl. “You’re going to have to learn to handle situations in a mature, young lady-like manner.”

“Fuck that noise,” I said. My mother looked at me, angry at my response. “I’m sorry,” I sighed. I got up from my seat and left the dinner table.

“Mollie, you barely touched your dinner,” my mom called out. I didn’t even turn around to answer her.

“I’m not hungry,” I said while walking back upstairs to my room.

…

I slam my door shut and sit at my desk. I was so annoyed and angry that no matter what I shared, my mom always had to make it this big thing where I felt like I was always being scolded for something I said. That’s high school, sweetheart. No, it’s not! It’s the time of your life when you identify yourself as a person, and it can either make you or break you. I’m not going to let someone like Laurie Warren break me and my identity in high school. I will be remembered as one of the toughest and coolest kids in Waverly! I’m going to be the popular kid with the hot talented boyfriend and no one is going to bully me or tease me or laugh at me ever again!

…

“So, what’s the one thing you want to accomplish in high school that you didn’t in middle school?” I asked Milo. We sat on his front steps, eating ice cream cones on this hot, summer day.

“Passing my classes,” Milo began. I couldn’t help but laugh at his answer. “What?”

“Milo, I mean… don’t you want to do anything fun while you’re in high school? Go to a pep rally, perform somewhere awesome and famous, be popular or something?!” I asked.

“Popularity is a social construct,” Milo answered. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

“Only losers would answer a popularity question like that,” I stated, which made Milo suck his teeth.

“Whatever,” Milo replied. “I just want to go through the next four years without no major drama or bad memories. Beverly gave me enough to last me a lifetime.”

“Drama will always be around you,” I said. It’s true; even if he tries to stay out of the drama, he’s friends with the drama. I tolerate his new friend, Sophie, but I don’t trust her motives. Who’s to say she’s not secretly going back to Laurie and laughing about all the weird things he did or said to her? “Plus, Beverly’s drama is past us. That was immature drama. Waverly isn’t a place where drama like that would happen.”

“You say that now, but watch something happen where you feel the need to be the biggest and toughest girl in our grade,” Milo admitted to me. “You always have to prove yourself at a new school.”

“So what?” I responded back quickly. “No one is going to fuck with me in Waverly. I’m not scared of anyone that’s more popular, older; whatever than me! I’m going to make Waverly the years where everyone knows the name, Mollie Castro!”

“Okay, Mol,” Milo dismissed the conversation. I was annoyed he still didn’t have faith in me and didn’t support my goals. He’s too caught up being around Sophie Lee’s finger.

…

I look outside my window, annoyed at this day as a whole, and want nothing more than to sleep and start a new day. I look at the calendar on my desk and realized I have therapy tomorrow after school. I rolled my eyes, so tired of doing the same things that middle school Mollie was doing. I just want to become a whole new me. And I will because high school isn’t just high school! It’s where I’ll finally shine.

And like I said before: Fuck. That. Noise.

Misc., Overexposed: A Self-Love Project.

Overexposed: I have a problem.

liz

For those who know me and have been on the blog for years, you would know that I have no issue talking about the negative things about myself and about my life. Sure, I don’t really write about myself on the blog these days; but when I do, it’s because I need a space to vent and talk about things out loud. Also, I do it for the sole reason that maybe someone out there is like me and finally feels like they are being seen or they finally don’t feel alone and can fight their battles on their own.

Hi, my name is Liz, and I have a problem; an obsessive/controlling problem that affects my mental health.

I wish I could slap a label on it and call it a day. Is this just a more extreme side of my anxiety, or is this OCD at its finest? It would make my mind feel so much more at ease if I could determine what it is, yet I feel like I’ve been having this reoccurring problem for most of the year. Some months I’m completely fine and I’m chill, and then there are other months where I fuck things up so bad because I need control, I get obsessive with the control I need, and then get impulsive because I just want my mind to be at-fucking-ease. It’s gotten to the point where my impulsive behavior has become its own form of self-harm without me even noticing it.

For those who are newer to the blog, I deal with anxiety disorder and chronic major depression. I began to seek out therapy back in 2018 after my graduate studies, have been put on medication for my anxiety, and have had many ups and downs with my mental health. Therapy has always been helpful; it gives me half an hour to try and talk things out with myself and understand why I’m doing what I’m doing. I don’t remember when therapy began to not feel as helpful anymore in the long run, but I am aware enough to know that this problem I’ve been having truly stemmed from when I had weight loss surgery.

I kid you not, I fully understand why it was so crucial to get evaluated by a psychologist before you can get cleared for having surgery because this shit fucks you up mentally.

I felt the need to control everything in my life when I started to lose a lot of weight really quickly. It felt amazing and this was the first time ever in my life that I was able to lose weight with the help of this surgery. My body at the time had to follow a strict diet plan in order for my stomach to heal so that I didn’t get sick. When I began to learn about my body and accept it for its changes, my body changes once again, leaving me worried and anxious that I was doing something wrong in my process. Even now, I feel my body changing and I’m back to now worrying or being anxious about something that even though I know is completely out of my control, I go ahead and try anyway. Hey, I did it once, why not do it again?

When I couldn’t control over the things I wanted to control, I began to control the things I do have control over. I’ve become obsessive about my appearance; I’ve dyed my hair and cut it and fucked it up for months on end because I had control over that. I impulsively bought clothing for the sake of “looking” and feeling better whenever my body hit a plateau. I’ve gotten so many piercings and then taken them out right after in the past year because I had control over what was going on on my body. Do I sound stupid yet? Because I feel stupid explaining it.

But, this is something I’ve been struggling with for months. I feel like I can’t describe it right to my therapist because even I don’t know why I do what I do. It wholeheartedly feels like no one else is fucking me up more than myself, which is so odd considering all I’m trying to do is take care of myself. Am I not capable of even doing that without becoming obsessive about it?

So here I am, feeling anxious and sick to my stomach because I’ve tried to fix and take control over something that I had no business in doing on my own, considering my record shows that I fuck it up every single time I do: my hair. Again, me being obsessed with my appearance because now I feel like I always have to be on top of it now that I’ve lost a shit ton of weight.

I know this post is coming off aggressive, and I apologize in advance for it. It’s just that I am so sick and tired of my brain telling me to do something out of impulse when really it’s just not worth doing. Don’t fix it if it ain’t broken! It’s been extremely hard to not second guess my every move when all I’m trying to do is let shit flow. It’s been extremely frustrating and tiring to have self-control over certain things in my life, like my diet and exercise, but not for other things. Sometimes, I do even have control over the things I normally have control over!

I guess what I’m trying to say is that this has been a problem of mine since the start of 2022 and maybe it’s time I address it in therapy. Maybe, the control I want is in knowing I have the control to speak this out loud to someone who can truly help and make me understand why I am acting the way I am. How do I even address it without always feeling completely psychotic and irrational? How do I explain that I am aware enough to know that my control issues are getting bad, but I don’t have the control needed to actually deal with it? How do I not feel like I’m being overly dramatic about something so stupid?

Maybe it’s something underlying that I’m not seeing right now. Maybe I’m trying too hard to figure it out, which then just makes me more anxious. All I know is that I’m trying to keep everything together while still trying to figure out how to do so.

i know it’s a problem, and it’s about time I address it.

Misc., Overexposed: A Self-Love Project.

Overexposed: Control.

liz

Control is a weird thing, isn’t it? People will tell you that it’s always good to have some self-control over your life because it can help you make the right decisions for them. Some people will say otherwise and tell you that needing control is a toxic trait that makes anyone who has it manipulative, and, well— controlling.

But, what do you say to the people who’s mental illnesses stem from being in control or having control over things? What if their need for control is what gets them through life & gets them through the parts of it where it’s so easy to lose your control? What if their need for control stems from a place of trauma; that they experienced parts of their life where they didn’t have control and self-harmed because of that?

Hi, my name is Liz and a major part of my mental health requires me to feel in control or else I become destructive.

I never realized that control was a huge challenge for me until I started my job in college admissions. From working in an environment where I had complete control in my work and what I did, I now was in a place where I was new and learning a million and one things in a way I wasn’t use to. For a lack of better words, the training was disorganized and spontaneous, which are two things that throw off my balance and routine and inevitably my anxiety disorder. Of course, an entire department can’t work around my mental health, so I try my best to work through it and take it one day at a time.

But I realized not saying anything or “riding” things out started to put a toll on me. There were days I felt incompetent because I didn’t know a certain thing, I grew frustrated because I felt like I never knew the complete right answer to the questions I asked. I think this is the first time actually saying this out loud, but there are days when I hate my job more than enjoy it.

I realized that control contributed to a lot of these feelings whenever I spoke about them to my therapist. She constantly reminds me that I can only control the things that I say and do, and the things out of my control, like other people’s actions and thoughts, are not mine to worry about.

But it’s easier said than done.

Today, I chose to come outside for a walk to get my head on straight. After three days (and really just an entire month) of up and down disruptive thinking and behavior, I needed to come outside and take in some sunlight and empty my mind of all negativity. I wanted to come out here and write this without any distraction and external factors that would take me out of this thought process. I chose to do that for myself because I am in control of my own actions.

I want nothing more than to feel okay that I don’t have control over everything that involves me. I want nothing more than to feel confident enough to not let these things out of my control interfere with the things that are in my control.

Most importantly, I want to stop harming myself to have some sort of control when I feel out of control. I want to stop plucking my eyebrows excessively. I want to not rip off my acrylic nails one by one and leave all ten of my fingers bruised and cut up. I want to stop thinking I have to discipline myself when I don’t have everything under control. I want my mind to stop telling me I’m this and that when really I’m doing just fine with what I’m giving.

I am not toxic for wanting control over my life, and I’m not a “control freak” when I say that I need to be in control over certain things. I need it because I know how bad things can get. I need it because there are days when I feel like hurting myself is the only way to have control over the emotions I am feeling land mask them with physical pain instead. I am not ashamed of saying I am a person that needs control, but I wish I was able to manage what is in my control and what’s not in my control better.

Because of my control, I will figure it out.

Misc.

Thoughts on Yesterday’s NYC Subway Attack.

liz

I moved to Sunset Park with my family 22 years ago. This neighborhood has been home to where both my mother and father grew up in, and one that my sibling and I have grown up in as well. I was 6-years-old. I traveled these streets with friends as a teenager. I visited these stores and parks as I was growing up. I went to elementary and middle school in the neighborhood and made friends with those who lived in the area as well.

Sunset Park is what we call “the melting pot” of South Brooklyn. In our neighborhood that expands 30 blocks and 4 avenues, we are surrounded by Hispanics, Asians, Jewish people, and a mixture of every other demographic in New York. It’s a neighborhood that you don’t hear much about in the news unless it’s about our annual Puerto Rican Day Parade on 5th Avenue or the Lunar New Year Festival on 8th Avenue.

So when the events of today’s horrible and tragic mass shooting happened within our neighborhood this morning, most of us– if not all– were left frozen in shock.

Around 8:30am on Tuesday morning, a gunman threw a gas canister in a Northbound N-train between the (presumably) 59th Street and 36th street stops. When the train pulled into the 36th street train station, the doors opened and smoke engulfed the train station. Dozens of people on that specific train cart fled the train, whether it was to run away from the scene or out of the train station, or to fall on the ground of the platform, bloody, waiting for help to come their way. In the end, 30 people were injured and/or hurt; 10 people were shot while on that train. As I am writing this, an investigation is still active and the suspect is still at-large.

I woke up this morning not really understanding the severity of it all. I was getting ready for work like I would normally do, and checked the bus that would take me at least halfway to my job. There was only one bus on-route, which was an hour away. Yeah, that particular bus takes a while to come to my stop, but it has never been to that extent. When I got on social media to read more about what was going on, I couldn’t help but feel sick to my stomach. A train station, which is literally 10 minutes away from me and that I frequently go on to travel myself, was now a crime scene. It was now surrounded by NYPD, FDNY, and even the Bomb Squad. It was crazy to think something like that would happen so close to home. I stayed home for my own safety and to ease my anxieties of traveling even though it wouldn’t be on the train itself.

It’s now a couple of hours later and the helicopters aren’t as audible as they were when it was daytime. There aren’t sirens going off every 5 minutes like they were earlier on in the day. For the most part, everything has calmed down for the night, but it doesn’t mean that waking up tomorrow for the morning commute are going to be easy. Any New Yorker is.

For the families and friends who directly were affected by this tragic event, my heart goes out for you. These people were mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, friends and so much more to those on that train this morning. I can’t help but think about my own family and what they would have had to go through if one of us were involved in such a tragic event.

It hits you harder when you see your own neighborhood on TV with dozens of medical assistance, news vans with reporters, and NYPD activity as heavy as it was earlier today. You walk out of your house and it immediately feels like a scene of a movie. It’s unfathomable. It’s something that normally doesn’t happen. It’s something that shouldn’t ever happen to any neighborhood in real life. But sadly, it does, and for a neighborhood as amazing as SUnset Park, I am saddened that this tragic event will forever taunt the beauty behind this neighborhood.

We have to be better and smarter about what goes on into our neighborhoods. We need to end this non-stop violence on the subway and make New Yorkers feel safe again. We travel the 5 boroughs on public transportation, and to take that away from us due to the fear that our morning commutes on a new day or to go home after work or school will turn for the absolute worst. We need to do something about all this violence in our communities and enforce rules to help protect ourselves.

I will forever be a New Yorker, a Brooklynnite, and Sunset Park Resident (whether I move elsewhere in the future or not). We are strong, resident, and able to come together to fight what is right for our community.

Misc.

A Blog Update!

liz

Dear, guys – welcome back to Letters From Liz!

It’s been a hot minute since I did such a casual post like this, but I figured I write things in advance so I can let you guys know what’s to come for the blog!

Now, as most of you probably know, the blog has become a home for both The Teenage Tell-Tale and The Something Series for the past year. I’ve been really in love with being able to write for my writing universe and having them posted on a place where they can live and be read through other people’s perspectives! In my spare time, I’ve been a penpal writer to many people across the US (and some international penpal writers as well) and have shared my universes with a couple of them, which is truly exciting and makes me super happy!

While I have those two series scheduled for future posts in advance, I decided that with the holidays around the corner, it was only right to bring a tradition back to the blog…

The 12 Letters of Lizmas!

Get ready for 12 days of blogging, y’all!

For those who are new to the blog, 12 Letters of Lizmas is the official countdown to Christmas here on the blog! Starting on December 14th to Christmas Day, we publish a new blog post! Some posts reign tradition, like the year recap we reflect on Christmas Eve and reintroduce ourselves on the first day of Lizmas, plus more of our main characters and their stories will be told as well! Personally, I’ve been thinking about introducing a new series as well! They’ve been on the blog plenty of times before, so I figured I wanted to actually set a storyline/timeline for these two… I’m excited to show you guys who these two are!

For the time being, I’ll be going on a little hiatus until then to start prepping for the daily blogging!

Until the next one, and thank you for supporting the blog!

Misc.

Overexposed: Newfound Attention.

liz

When I was 18, I went blonde for the first time in my life. It wasn’t shortly after that I realized I was now getting attention from people who didn’t even know I existed. At the time, I really wanted people to notice me and pay attention to me because I was sad, lonely, and really depressed. I quickly learned that people didn’t really care about me as a person, and they didn’t want to get to know me as one either. The blonde hair went away 5 months later, my hair was cut shorter, and everyone stopped paying any attention to me.

Hi, my name is Liz, and one thing I am worried about down the line is getting unwanted attention from people because I’ll be thinner.

The fact of the matter is: I don’t know how much weight I will end up losing in total. Going into this process, I told myself that my goal was to at least lose 100 pounds; It was a number I never thought I’d be able to lose because it was such a large amount. But, It’s only been three months since my surgery and I’ve lost 50+ pounds in total already; who’s to say that by January, I’ll be up to 100 pounds lost in total? That’s only 6 months since surgery; and the effects of this surgery happen for the next two years of my life.

I’m worried because I don’t want the attention this transformation is going to give me. I don’t want strangers paying attention to me. I don’t want people that I knew in my past to just pop up out of nowhere and be like “OMG wow, you look great!” I also don’t want people, guys in particular, to now give me the time of day because I am thinner and “better looking” in society now. I just don’t want it.

But I know it’s going to come. It already is, in a way. Friends and family are telling me that I look thinner, and that I look “so much better”. In a way, my lifestyle and the way that I eat now or just having to tell new doctors my medical history puts the attention on me, and this idea that losing weight will make me feel happier about myself when it really isn’t why I did this in the first place.

If you’ve been here for awhile, you would know that I did this for my health. I was prediabetic early 2020, I had gained 20 pounds during the lock-down last year, and I was feeling 20 years older than I actually was. I was exceeding 300 pounds, and I knew that if I didn’t do what I needed to do, I would’ve gotten heavier than I already was. So, to already lost half of the weight I was expecting to lose, it’s pretty unpredictable to know where I’ll even be by the end of the year; this time next year even.

Although I won’t be comfortable with it, I know that the attention is going to come and I don’t know how I’m going to deal with it. I never truly gotten “positive attention” for my physical appearance, and to even get some of it now definitely feels refreshing and rewarding, but I know that when the weight loss becomes more apparent, I’m going to hear words like “pretty” and “beautiful” more than I ever heard in my life, and I just don’t know how to feel about the sudden compliments.

Maybe I won’t think anything about it. Maybe I won’t react as much as I think would. Maybe it won’t even bother me, or maybe I’m just overthinking things. Whatever comes my way, I just have to prepare myself; knowing that this journey is different than anything I’ve been through before and it’s completely okay to not know how to feel during it. I just know that I have to keep going, and keep doing it for the reasons that matter most to me.