Dear Mom,

                                     
   
When I was a little girl, you used to take me to coffee shops. (In fact, that was probably where my caffeine addiction roots began). I was your little mini-me. I remember the matching tye-dye dresses we had, but instead of being embarrassed, I embraced resembling my heroine. I cannot complain...your love was- is- ever so strong that nothing can make you love me any less.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to those days in hopes that we could make light conversation like we used to. Instead of talks consuming student loans, work, how busy I am, how dirty my car is, how dirty my room is, how completely a mess I am to you, I just wish we could go back in time a little. Perhaps right before life caved in on me prior to college. Where you had zero expectations of me and only wanted to talk to me for the sake of knowing me, not to tell me what to do. Because mom, though you may dislike the idea, I am not a little girl anymore. Trust me, I've walked the street without holding your hand before. I've learned so much in my two years in college that believing I have not changed is...well, ludicrous. Sure, I am not a perfect person but I am a young adult. I am learning, exploring, observing, experiencing. I guess now I want you to be proud of the person I am becoming, not disappointed at what I am not. Would you like to know my political beliefs? What I am learning about in physiology? Or if I know about disease A or disease B? What about how I feel about myself and my interpersonal confidence? Do you want to know about my relationship? See mom, the superficial, insubstantial things act as barriers, and I cannot connect with you anymore. Yes, believe me, I know there are fingerprints on the bathroom mirror. I know my trashcan is full. I know these things. But I, ashamedly, do not know that you would prefer to focus on the person occupying the room rather than the mess that occupies it.

I know my transitioning into adulthood is not easy for you, as much as it isn't easy for me. I feel like this bizarre looking caterpillar with funky colors in a cocoon because it's not really a caterpillar anymore but certainly not a butterfly yet. Or a pubescent teenager who's half child half woman. I feel strange, too. I'm right smack in the middle of that bridge crossing into a frightening part of my life. I know to you I am a mess, literally and figuratively. What I hope for ----

[12:07am. You opened the door to my room, walked over, and hugged me tightly. Then you smiled because you noticed I fixed my broken knob from my library set. "I love you. And your room doesn't look that bad". You're calmer now.  I smiled. "Hm, maybe just get rid of that bag over there from Christmas." I agreed. It's as if nothing ever happened. We're off to have tea in five minutes.]

What I hope for are moments likes these.

Treat Yourself to A Good Life...

   

 

My oh my, has it been forever! I've been stuck in a constant routine for so long and I guess I forgot about you. Poor you, journal blog thing.

     For about 7 months now I've been adapting to my new school. This rapid change from a large, public school to a tiny, private one has been rather...interesting, simply put. I've been enjoying the feel of my intimate classes and routine conversations with professors, the perks of private schools. But in the transition I think is where I found myself, much like a robot, absorbed in my work completely. I found out that midway through the first semester, my petite, blond, fair-skinned roommate has a darker skin tone than I! Perhaps because I am often found in my room, studying or if not, then watching Supernatural on my laptop or watching my tadpoles grow. Whatever it is, I'm in my room.

     Case in point, when you find yourself so absorbed in your own world-intellectual, artistic, entrepreneurial, etc- you often forget to live in the moments in front of you. We are all so busy competing in one giant rat race to become a successful [blank] that we let time slip before us until we cannot regain it any longer. Shoot, I'm 20 and I've yet to do something so ridiculous and beyond me...my bones, my heart, my soul is waiting for an awakening. Though my heart yearns for some stimulation, I'm found behind piles of books, only to let my mind make up fun things for me to do.

     So I've decided and made it clear to myself that I will finally do something for me. Not for future Savannah, but for the Savannah in the present. I have said it a million times but I will do some form of theatre. I don't care if I have to play Servant #10, I am doing it. See, I've found that limiting my mind's capacity to only my current surroundings does not only weaken who I am meant to be, but it makes life dull, uninteresting, and painful. For once in my two years as a college student in all of my twenty years, I am going to treat myself to a good life. Not a successful one, but a good one. Being successful does not guarantee happiness. It is in the process of maturation on the path to a good life where you will realize you are successful all along, because you are on your own path, not anyone else's.

     So present Savannah, I am expecting bags under your eyes, tan skin (come on, at least darker than your roommate's), and a magical gleam in your eyes next time you visit. Because then only will you be working incredibly hard doing something that makes you pumped for life each and every waking second of your everyday.