Nostalgia. What a funny word. Nostalgia: a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations. I think it’s funny because I can feel nostalgic for a moment that isn’t yet in the past. Nor does it have to be a happy association. I can feel nostalgia for the people who’ve hurt me so bad I feel like I’m running through mud after them. I can feel nostalgia for June 2nd, 2014: The (no longer since) happiest day of my life. I can even feel nostalgia for all of last May — when things were starting to look up, but was still the lowest I’ve ever felt. I can feel nostalgia for the time when I couldn’t feel anything at all. I can feel nostalgia when I’m on the beach after all this, running in my underwear out to the ocean and hoping it can hear my laughter and see me smile. All of these moments are indescribable. A fleeting second in my life, yes, but the memories will live on. Nostalgia is a word in which you feel sad for feeling happy. And I’m not sure whether that’s painful or beautiful or depressing. Maybe all of the above.
My whole life is dedicated to being loud. Being desperate. Being boisterous and discombobulated. Laughing obnoxiously just makes the joy more real. My laughter can speak for me. Believe me, you’ll know when my smile is real. It’ll blind you like the sun. It will sparkle like snow lying on the pavement beneath the moon. My wide grin and starry eyes can melt the hearts of many. And sounding conceited is not something I’m afraid of because speaking up intrigues people. I will yell from rooftops and scream from the sky with words like “I love you”. Beauty isn’t always soft with pale skin and pink roses. Sometimes those roses smell harsh and have thorns that will cut up your palms. And sometimes yelling out in pain feels a lot better than laughing so loud your stomach hurts. That’s just realistic. And so am I.
Imagine this: a sea of stars above our heads. The ocean expands with each breath you take, with each beat of your heart, each new star that appears as our eyes adjust to the night. Your eyes are as dark as the sky, but dazzled with stars themselves. Bursting with ravishing beauty, I’m struck with awe and hold back “You make me weak”. Although I imagine you might like to hear something like that. But I wouldn’t want to ruin this brief moment of wonder with tales of how beautiful you are. I shouldn’t demolish this instant with idle conversation. We don’t have enough time here. Appreciating this for what it is, for what it could be, is the best decision I’ll ever make. I think all of this quietly, because the stars in your eyes make me wonder; just as the stars in the sky make you. Then, you catch me off guard. Turning over, you ask me, “What are you thinking about over there?” with a voice soft and watery. And because I love you, I say “Nothing” with a smile and lie down next to you, fingers running through your silky hair, and I think more about being wonder-struck and what it means to be in awe.
I love mornings. And feeling silly just after waking up.
I love feeling protected by the love that surrounds me.
I love feeling the lightness in my chest and the weight in my head late at night when I’m talking to my best friend.
I love the cold, and how it reminds me of certain moments when I didn’t care about my purple fingertips or burning eyes.
I love the feeling of bliss when I’ve run out to the beach at 11 pm in my underwear.
I love laughing so hard my stomach hurts.
I love my favorite songs, and how certain lyrics just meld together and make so much sense.
I love balloons and watching them float away.
I love sparklers on holidays.
I love night-swimming.
I love the smell of you and how it lingers.
I love the words, “You’re so dumb”, said with a smirk.
I love giddy laughter and sad laughter and nervous laughter and sleepy laughter.
I love hearing voices get higher when they speak about something they love.
I love eyes that smile.
I love color, and how I know it’s a blessing when I see my favorite ones set the sky ablaze.
I love the night sky, and how gazing at the stars make me feel miniscule.
I love observing people’s quirks, and watching them fiddle with their hands during conversation.
I love the fire in my cheeks when someone compliments me, catching me off guard.
I love myself, and I’d be okay falling dead right this second if it means I’ve lived a life worth living.
So, this isn’t going to be my life story. But the important parts will go onto this blog… for everyone who wants to see it. And those important parts may transform a lot, hence the name, ArtsyRach— Artsy is a broad term that can be used to describe all sorts of artistic media (including writing, which is mostly what I’ll be doing) and even personality types such as mine (I hate to brag, but I mean, seriously); Urban Dictionary’s definition is, “One who not only enjoys the arts but also has a sense of style to reflect the scene”— which could generally sum up why I go from wearing pretty pink skirts to dark and tattered t-shirts in a nanosecond— sometimes even in the same outfit. But that’s beside the point. Just a heads-up though, I tend to talk a lot about worldwide social justice issues (and not in a social-justicey way). And also: personal topics in a way that others can reflect on, self-help prose, parts of my creative journey towards enlightenment, and other junk I care about. My ultimate goal is simply to inspire others. Young people like myself especially. Aspire to inspire, I guess you could say. So, to end my intro…here goes.