Oh what a world.
Just when I think I've got all the problems in the world, things happen to make us grateful for even the pissier moments in life.
Last night I got a phone call from an old high school friend, one who told me the news that a girl several years ahead of us (but one who we knew, and her younger sister even more so) was killed in a car accident with her father on Tuesday. Both dead. This girl, Jesus. Her whole family was always so nice, always such a large part of my high school community. Both sisters attend Georgetown; we all just assumed they'd be the next greats to hit the political scene.
I didn't know her very well, but I saw her around a lot in school, knew her sister enough to say hey all the time, knew her enough to smile when I saw her. It's rattled me, a lot. Somebody nearly my age, this close to home--I've never had something like this happen before. I can't even imagine two family members just suddenly gone. I'm so sorry for her family left behind, and so sad that the world has lost somebody so brilliant.
This summer it seems like the world has become a tragicomedy of errors for me, with so much about life and death and love. It's hard to describe, but it seems like I'm constantly being pummeled with people and ideas and events that are making me really truly reflect on my own life, how much brilliance is still left in it, how much I take for granted and shouldn't, how it could be over in a snap or still give me years and years. How soon I'll be done with school and moving on with the Rest of Life, how much my heart effing aches to be in Washington and London and make my mark on the world, but still stay at Xavier for as long as I can. And how truly fragile life is. The other day my mom and I were having a deep chat in which she referred to the state of my current relationship as "my first love", emphasis on that last word, which got me thinking, I don't even know what love is. The man and I haven't said that word yet, but who's to say we arent? This could be love, or it could just be my first romance that didn't end with a giant bitter LOL at Cedar Point. I do know it's going to last. I do know that before, all I could write about were characters that trembled even as they held hands in an explosive sort of whirlwind romance with sharp dialogue and hard-jawed lust. But this one's quiet. It's steady. We don't have to be talking every second or living passionately from one bloody minute to the next, bashing into bistros or hanging from the sunroofs of limos. All it takes and all I want is our old-fashioned slow dance while he sings in my ear, or our fingers tangled while we watch The West Wing, chats in the dark common room about how we both have no idea where we'll be in ten years. The tragicomedy continues.
I'm so sorry for Fatima and her dad, and their family. My mom and I just sort of sat together last night, absorbing the news and sharing what we remembered, how awful it is. I hope you guys will keep them in your prayers
Be well, friends.
Last night I got a phone call from an old high school friend, one who told me the news that a girl several years ahead of us (but one who we knew, and her younger sister even more so) was killed in a car accident with her father on Tuesday. Both dead. This girl, Jesus. Her whole family was always so nice, always such a large part of my high school community. Both sisters attend Georgetown; we all just assumed they'd be the next greats to hit the political scene.
I didn't know her very well, but I saw her around a lot in school, knew her sister enough to say hey all the time, knew her enough to smile when I saw her. It's rattled me, a lot. Somebody nearly my age, this close to home--I've never had something like this happen before. I can't even imagine two family members just suddenly gone. I'm so sorry for her family left behind, and so sad that the world has lost somebody so brilliant.
This summer it seems like the world has become a tragicomedy of errors for me, with so much about life and death and love. It's hard to describe, but it seems like I'm constantly being pummeled with people and ideas and events that are making me really truly reflect on my own life, how much brilliance is still left in it, how much I take for granted and shouldn't, how it could be over in a snap or still give me years and years. How soon I'll be done with school and moving on with the Rest of Life, how much my heart effing aches to be in Washington and London and make my mark on the world, but still stay at Xavier for as long as I can. And how truly fragile life is. The other day my mom and I were having a deep chat in which she referred to the state of my current relationship as "my first love", emphasis on that last word, which got me thinking, I don't even know what love is. The man and I haven't said that word yet, but who's to say we arent? This could be love, or it could just be my first romance that didn't end with a giant bitter LOL at Cedar Point. I do know it's going to last. I do know that before, all I could write about were characters that trembled even as they held hands in an explosive sort of whirlwind romance with sharp dialogue and hard-jawed lust. But this one's quiet. It's steady. We don't have to be talking every second or living passionately from one bloody minute to the next, bashing into bistros or hanging from the sunroofs of limos. All it takes and all I want is our old-fashioned slow dance while he sings in my ear, or our fingers tangled while we watch The West Wing, chats in the dark common room about how we both have no idea where we'll be in ten years. The tragicomedy continues.
I'm so sorry for Fatima and her dad, and their family. My mom and I just sort of sat together last night, absorbing the news and sharing what we remembered, how awful it is. I hope you guys will keep them in your prayers
Be well, friends.