101. for the first time, the last ones
i have this bittersweet notion of what "home" is. i've lived in this country for ten years, but i've always felt like a mis-matched puzzle piece. i'm feeling nostalgic for something i've never really known.
when i was sixteen, i was a sophomore in high school and still the 'new kid' (in fact i was always the new kid, as nobody new came to my high school after me). my english wasn't very good, and while i wasn't shy, i didn't have many friends (one or two). i was still riding the bus when everyone in my class was starting to get cars.
the music of my sophomore year is what stands out to me: i was listening to the strokes and the white stripes, and it's really the first time i started shaping my "musical tastes", away from all the pop music i had been feeding my musical diet with. everybody remembers where they were when they heard that sick bass and drum line from seven nation army or how familiar 12.51 from the strokes sounded -- familiar like a favourite t-shirt or the smell of your mother's perfume.
i was a tomboy, jock (sort of, because i went to a fine arts academy and we had no sports) and had a boyfriend, sort of. i had this weird, large, unwieldy life and this crushing loneliness and inexplicable sadness. i played the drums and i played the fiddle but i wasn't nearly as talented as anyone else at the school so my music was mediocre at best.
the summer before my sophomore year was the first year i ever went to california to visit my father -- my parents had divorced three years earlier, and my father wasn't even in los angeles for three days until he had to fly out to washington dc. i was left to figure out the city on my own -- a black kid in beverly hills, who could afford a driver every day. it left a bad taste in my mouth, and it took me a while to fall in love with the city. i'm not cool or chill enough to be a socal girl, but i can fake it with a smile and i have a great tan all year.
i'm not lonely anymore, but i'm still nostalgic. funnily enough, i'm leaving to make my own way back home.
when i was sixteen, i was a sophomore in high school and still the 'new kid' (in fact i was always the new kid, as nobody new came to my high school after me). my english wasn't very good, and while i wasn't shy, i didn't have many friends (one or two). i was still riding the bus when everyone in my class was starting to get cars.
the music of my sophomore year is what stands out to me: i was listening to the strokes and the white stripes, and it's really the first time i started shaping my "musical tastes", away from all the pop music i had been feeding my musical diet with. everybody remembers where they were when they heard that sick bass and drum line from seven nation army or how familiar 12.51 from the strokes sounded -- familiar like a favourite t-shirt or the smell of your mother's perfume.
i was a tomboy, jock (sort of, because i went to a fine arts academy and we had no sports) and had a boyfriend, sort of. i had this weird, large, unwieldy life and this crushing loneliness and inexplicable sadness. i played the drums and i played the fiddle but i wasn't nearly as talented as anyone else at the school so my music was mediocre at best.
the summer before my sophomore year was the first year i ever went to california to visit my father -- my parents had divorced three years earlier, and my father wasn't even in los angeles for three days until he had to fly out to washington dc. i was left to figure out the city on my own -- a black kid in beverly hills, who could afford a driver every day. it left a bad taste in my mouth, and it took me a while to fall in love with the city. i'm not cool or chill enough to be a socal girl, but i can fake it with a smile and i have a great tan all year.
i'm not lonely anymore, but i'm still nostalgic. funnily enough, i'm leaving to make my own way back home.