here

I know I haven't been around much.

There are a lot of reasons for this. Not all bad. Not all good. 

Mostly just a lot of what Michelle likes to call unbloggable.

I know that’s irritating and vague, but that’s how it works.

Sometimes, right-now-times, I need my life to just be mine, away from the vast interwebs. The vast interwebs that I love dearly.

I am here. Shoot me an email.

Drop me a non-spamy comment.

I’m not sure how much I’ll be around here, at least for a while.

But I’m still here.

I’m still good.

I’m still living life. 

The Nutritionist

yes. this. all of this.

it's still going

Before I start, let me just make it very clear that this is me needing to vent. I am aware of this. I am aware that things almost always look better with distance and time.

But right now time isn't moving fast enough and I'm feeling a little trapped.

***

I feel like I just finished something and before I can even start to breathe, there's something else I was supposed to have already begun.

It just doesn't stop.

I just want some time to appreciate the quiet.

Just a little bit.

And okay, while I'm talking in these big, broad terms, it's not all my classes. It's not everything.

It's a few (okay, one) classes that not only do I not enjoy, I feel like I'm constantly behind. And seeing as a lot of that is due to the teacher, there's nothing I can do about it.

See? It always comes back to me needing to let it go.

I need to go talk to the people who might be able to make a difference and then I need to move on.

Accept that it's out of my control.

Ha. I'm not very good at that.

The whole being chill thing isn't inherent in my personality.

***

Thanks for listening.

I'm going to go make Valentine's.

going

I am exhausted.

Sitting here, at my desk, I realize that all I want (need?) to do is sleep.

To curl up under the covers and hide from the world for a while.

This world that is so busy and crazy and complicated. If someone wanted to come and keep me company, that would be okay too. Just no thinking allowed.

I have been going going going since I got back from break and haven't really taken a second to stop.

....

Just be.

This amazing campus with activities and people and classes just goes. Constantly. We don't know how to stop and breathe.

How to sit without obsessively checking our email (or maybe that's just me).

So I got up this morning and finished my Spanish homework and wrote a letter to a boy who needs it (write one!) and talked with a professor and went to class and tried to not let my nose freeze and ate lunch and went to class and talked to a professor. And there were friends in there and long treks through the snow. A hole discovered in my rainboots. But mostly, the point is, I didn't stop.

There was always another and.

And here I was thinking I was doing well not working constantly.

I guess I have a lot to learn.

my holiday, in pictures

There were presents.

And Santas.

Pretty lights.

Snowmen.

Kitties.

Hot tea.

And snow. 

It was lovely.

catching up

I have changed.

So much.

I feel it deep within me. And I love it.

When I'm here, with my friends, talking about the present, I don't notice it. It's just who I am. It's who I've always been to them.

It's when I talk to people back home. That's when I notice it.

Because they haven't seen me change. For them, it hasn't been a gradual process. It's sudden and huge. And to me, they're still the same people that I left. In my head, I'm the one who left, so that means I'm the only one who's changed.

I notice it when I try to catch them up.

When I think about all they don't know about me, about my life.

Trying to describe it all, trying to put it into a nice little package, that's hard.

There is no way to do it. I don't fit into a nice little box.

I don't even know where to start.

on stories

What if I tried to write a story? 

Like an actual story: one with a beginning, middle, and end. 

This isn’t like me saying I wish I could sing. Or imagining a beautiful picture in my head and not being able to draw it. This is something I could actually do.

I think. 

I really believe that in me I have many stories to tell. Some of them small, some of them big. Maybe some of them are even important. 

But it’s up to me to find them. To work for them.

To take the words and images that float around in my head and put them on paper. 

Most of them come and go, without leaving a trace. I should write them down: I tell myself this all the time.

But the ones I really care about are the ones that stick around. They're the ones that mean something to me. And for that reason I think they could mean something to someone else.

Maybe.

Someday. 

After all, I have had my dedication written for years; isn't it about time I wrote a story to go along with it?

only six months ago

It seems strange to me that it was only a few months ago I was desperately packing boxes and checking my list.

I made trips out to the car, arms full of falling apart boxes full of memories and old tax returns.

I figured out how to turn on the sprinklers, and decided that was all I could do outside. I had the car parked in the driveway, full of what amounted to three people's lives, ready to run.

And then I waited. I watched the news. I answered the phone, communicated with neighbors and friends and parents who were making the long drive back home.

I don't think about it now. It gave me, gave many of us, a great scare, but no more than that. Our house and neighborhood are both still standing.

I walk around my house, surrounded by familiarity.

Now there is a revised list hanging on the side of our refrigerator. One that includes clothes for us, one that means drawers have been reorganized and sturdier boxes are close at hand.

It is strange to remember those few days. Especially that day when it was just me. I was the only one around. I was responsible. But I distinctly remember realizing that as long as I got myself and the cat out, we would be okay. The rest was truly just stuff. We would recover.

We are prepared, as a family and as a community. No one really thought, I don't think, that it would happen. But it did, and we were some of the lucky ones.

***

I'm talking about this fire from the summer.

living

Sometimes I am astonished by the pain that people carry around. Their histories and stories that lie hidden beneath the surface.

I am awed by the pain that people feel and experience.

I am saddened by it too.

Shocked.

I am impressed by people's ability to survive.

To function.

To live.

I am constantly shocked by people's stories, because it is so easy to judge and make assumptions about someone based on their outward appearances. But really, I should know better than most that what is on the outside is almost certainly not the whole story.

I am impressed by people's ability to see and find the good.

To see the beauty and take the time away from the pain to capture the beauty.

I need to be reminded that to be human and to truly live means to feel. To feel the euphoria and the excruciating.

Both are equally important.

Both make us human.

the vast world of the interwebs

There are so many places I am on the internet.

I exist on Facebook and here and another shared blog and school websites and professional websites.

They are all me, yes, but sometimes I get sort of confused as to which me I am embodying at the moment.

There are so many different facets of me, of my personality, and not all of them are pieces that I choose to share in every place. Either because of personal choice or merely the audience.

Sometimes, when I flip from one to the other and back again, from anonymity to full name and birthdate, I get confused. I get lost as to who I am supposed to be when and where.

I understand that part of this comes with the territory.

In many ways it is no different than keeping my personal and professional life different. Switching from class to interview to friends. All those people see me, but they don't see everything about me.

I think it just feels different online because there are so many different places and it is so easy to flip back and forth between them all.

It can start to feel like I'm getting a little lost in amongst all the descriptions of me.

That somewhere in all those adjectives and adverbs and long sentences, my true essence gets lost, because I am so preoccupied trying to figure out which true essence I'm supposed to be displaying.

The End of Another Year

It is the last day of the year.

I'm sure most of you are aware of that. Given this special date, I felt like I should say something. Something reflecting on the past year, looking ahead, making resolutions, choosing my word for the new year.

This year has been fantastic. Truly. Filled with huge changes. Filled with health and friends. New experiences and old comforts.

2012 really brought it.

Some of 2013 I can see.

In typical Tela fashion, I have it all mapped out.

Some of it, though, I can't see. It's impossible to plan it all out.

It will be full of surprise and love and heartache. I think that is a given for any year.

I will be challenged. I will continue to grow and figure out who I am and where I belong.

It will be a good year. Of that I am sure.

And, to all of you who maybe didn't have the best 2012 (there seem to be an awful lot of you):

I hope this year improves things. I hope you can find the laughter and love in between the hard times. I wish all the best for all of you.

Each and every one.

Happy 2013.

this crazy world

The truth of our world is that there is a lot of bad. There are unexplainable, bad, sad, evil, awful things that happen.

I feel like they've been piling up a little bit lately.

It is so incredibly to let them bury me.

To get caught up in the news of the bad.

All the negative reporting, the focus on the tragedies.

The deaths that happen around me. Some expected, some not.

Both ways, they still leave an impact.

For me, it's a matter of balancing the bad with the good.

It's a matter of living with my eyes open and allowing myself to feel pain and sadness. It's also a matter of finding the good. The in spite ofs.

The fact that in spite of all this, this awfulness, there is good.

There is joy.

There is love. 

a break

Last night was wonderful.

Last night was like a Friday in the middle of my week.

It was a night where I let myself off the hook.

It's been a hard few weeks. So I stopped. I did things for fun, I didn't worry about the papers to write or the fact that I had to wake up at 7 this morning.

I finally, finally, got back to the hospital.

Even though I was only being trained to volunteer, it invigorated me.

There's something about hospitals that brings me alive.

Even this unbelievably small hospital, that was "very full" with the same number of total patients that is an average day for the floor I volunteer on back home.

I can't wait to be back. In that environment, helping people, doing what I love.

Then I went and ate cookies and listened to Christmas music and made paper snowflakes.

Then I made some more paper snowflakes and talked and watched Doctor Who.

Then I wrote a letter to a friend. A long overdue letter. Telling her I love her. Because I do. I love them and miss them, all those people back home. Sometimes it's just easier and quicker to not think about that, to not stop and take a moment to actually think and feel.

Last night was wonderful. Just the break I needed, to be able to push through these last days of the semester.

from the weekend

Hello again. What is this craziness? Posting two days in a row? I think it's me being stressed and needing some small relief from homework.

It's possible, just maybe, that I'm letting the stress of finals getting to me.

We are fast approaching what is known on campus on "Hell Week" so I guess I shouldn't be all that surprised.

It's just that, well, a lot of things.

My mid-sems weren't that bad, I skated through high school (mostly because I was much more focused on my health than my education) and so haven't experienced hard core finals, and a bunch of other things too.

Anyways, I'm getting off topic.

I came here to talk about finding the funny amidst the stress. And how time management includes self-care.

Which I'm doing. Today I went for a walk with a friend and got a coffee and then watched SNL.

I think that encompasses all of the above for stress-relievers.

But I still had my freak outs.

Mostly because my internet decided that today would be an appropriate day to die.

I'm sorry, this post has no point.

You deserve a medal for reaching the end of it.

Because this is the end, promise.

Home, Part 2

Last time when I wrote about home, there was a very clear delineation in my mind.

I had my first home, the home where I grew up.

It's the place where my parents are. Where my kitty lives. Where I know everything and everyone. I have my routines and things are comfortable.

I had my new home.

My college home.

The place I was still figuring out, where I was constantly meeting new people and learning new things.

In the past two months, those lines have been blurred. Those lines between one home and the other are no longer quite so clear.

I now have friends here. Close friends, real friends. They're my people. The ones I laugh with and cry with. Ones I know I can lean on when the times get tough. It took the times getting tough for those bonds to form.

We live together and share so much. We learn and we grow and we whine and complain.

This is my home.

Yet, I still want to go home.

I want to go to my house, I want to see my parents. When I think of that home, I think of being wrapped up in the biggest hug. It's my comfort place.

I know that I will miss this place too.

I'm all confuzzled.

I guess I can have two homes. If that's what works for me, then it's perfect.

I've also really learned that it's the people that make a place what it is. It's the people I love and miss, no matter where I am.

far away

The worst thing, I have decided, about being far away from some of the people I love, is the lack of hugs.

Sure, I can write to them. I can talk to them. I can even see their beautiful faces.

But those times when I want to run around screaming because I'm so happy, or wrap them up when I'm sad, those I can't communicate.

Sometimes words aren't enough.

They can't communicate what I'm feeling.

Hugs are what I use when the words "I'm sorry" aren't enough.

Sometimes they just don't cut it.

So right here, these paltry words on your screen, these will have to do.

*hug*

Three Weeks

Currently, I am many things.

There are many me's. 

The one at the forefront is the stressed version of me.

The exhausted version.

Yet this me does not stop, because she cannot stop.

This me does not see any other option than to continue.

To make it through the next three weeks. To not lose it, completely. To be awake and mostly present. To work and write and plan and talk.

To be a student for three more weeks.

Then, I don't know which me will take over.

Probably the exhausted one will kick in after a few days. After I realize I no longer have to be "on" all the time. When it sinks in that I can relax; there's no where to go, no one to see, and there are other people who will take care of the rest.

I can't let myself go there yet, though.

I have to keep going.

I have to let the stronger me's take over, and keep me going.

Three more weeks.

I didn't quite make it to 10

I had every intention of participating in 10 on 10 today. Really, I even took the first three hours' shots. But then I was in Bio lab for the next three shots, and there's nothing like pippetting yeast to kill your photographic creativity.

Nonetheless, I thought I'd share some peeks into my life, from today and a few other times when I've pulled out my camera.

Letters

I desperately wanted a pen pal as a child.

I thought it was the coolest thing, sending letters back and forth across the world.

Even then, it was a novel idea.

The internet was already taking over all forms of communication.

I never let go of that dream, though.

When I was thinking about leaving for college, I thought it would be the perfect time to start writing letters. Not to go out pen pal shopping, but to use letter-writing as one way, in addition to all the technology, to stay in touch with my friends.

Surprisingly, some of my friends were on board.

We're actually writing each other real live letters.

Ones with stamps and everything.

I love it.

Every time I see a letter in my little box, it completely makes my day. I read my mail over breakfast and usually head off to face my day with a smile on my face.

It has been a wonderful way to connect (and reconnect) with friends.

There's something about putting pen to paper that makes it feel so much more personal.

***

I wrote a letter to friend, a long overdue one, last night.

And then this morning, I saw that the first task for The Happy Day Project was to write a letter. So perfect!

Unfortunately I sent off my letter before I could take any photographic evidence, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

home[s]

People laugh when I say "home" in reference to my dorm room. They think it's funny that I call it that, when everyone else says "dorm" or "room". But to me, that just sounds awkward.

And it's true, it has become my home.

Not just my room, but the whole place.

The campus, the people, the community that I have become a part of.

Feeling like I fit in a place, that's what makes it home to me.

That's not to say that my other home, the one I inhabited for almost 18 years, is any less of a home.

It's just....different.

In ways that I can't describe, that I wasn't really even aware of, until I got here.

Home.

This too, is my home.

This place where I fit and I know the routines and ways of existing.

I know this community as well.

It's been interesting, these few days of figuring this all out.

This fact that I now have two homes.

Two equally important places, but so completely different.

I also think that part of the difference stems from me.

I hadn't really thought I'd changed at school, not that I'd given it much thought.

I was still me.

Yet being here, I can feel the differences. The parts of me that don't quite fit with how I used to exist in this space.

I'm different.

And now it's a matter of reconciling the two different me's, within the two different homes.