Here I dreamed I was an architect
Today I spent the afternoon catching up with a friend home from college for her spring break. At first we talked about basic school happenings and what had changed since she had graduated last year, but then the conversation deviated to college life and future plans and other grown up things. Even though she's a year ahead of me, I think we're both equally freaked out about having to choose our life paths and fending for ourselves within a few years. There's nothing like spending 6 months away from one of your best friends and then reuniting and sharing your new tales and experiences to keep a conversation going. Or maybe she's just homesick and I'm dying to hear news from the world outside high school and New Orleans. Who knows.
After spending a couple of hours at the coffeeshop, said friend and I went to the nearby park to kill more time before we had to head back to school (me to pick up my brother, her to crash the school musical rehearsal). Oddly enough, the park we went to was the one I associated with many of my definitive childhood moments. When I was little, the Indian association my family belonged to always used to have spring picnics at that park. I remember playing on the swings for the first time, trying to tag along with the 6-year-olds (I was 3 at the time- don't ask how I remember this) at the monkey bars until one of them told me that only 6-year-olds could play on monkey bars, always coming in 2nd place in the running events (even though I was always placed in the older kids race), and spending time with my then best friend Rani (name changed). Rani and I were in an awkward age group; everyone else was either at least 2 years older than us or 3 years younger. Stuck in the middle, we became thick as thieves, sharing secrets, reading and discussing Harry Potter, wondering what middle school and growing up would be like, ranting about how the older kids always excluded us, and promising that we would always be best friends. Sadly, middle school came around and she was adopted by the older kids. She then promptly left me in the dust, taking pride in excluding me from every single party and function she could get away with. Meanwhile, the adults started praising her as a rising star; it was as if I had fallen off the face of the earth and no one cared.
I suppose some of my bitterness towards all superficial things India-related is partly due to Rani; she was my best friend and then she suddenly dumped and betrayed me. And then to top it off, all the other adults in the community exalted her as the beautiful, adorable, clever darling, only noticing me as the shy tag-along who, according to them, should act more like her. No one ever saw the shallower sides of her nature, how she was so predictable, how she could never follow through on anything or convey a sense of depth or understanding or compassion over anything; no one ever realized that half of her original mannerisms and doings were things she stole from me. I guess one reason why I'm so eager to get out of here is because I'm sick of being in her shadow, especially when I know I don't deserve to be. She may have gotten into the University of Pennsylvania early, but that doesnt' make her any better of a person (especially since she has taken maybe 2 APs at most and spends her free time killing her liver). Once I'm out of here, I'll finally be able to shed the last layer of my gawky adolescence and get rid of the awkwardness and hurt and anger I experience every time I'm forced to go to an Indian function and hear about Rani. Maybe I'm across as bitter and jealous, and I probably am, but it's irritating to be compared for 7 years to your former best friend who didn't even know that India was in Asia.
(photos of no relevence to the post, just felt like ending it on a more upbeat/artsy mood. Woot for stage lighting and Doc Marten imprints)
After spending a couple of hours at the coffeeshop, said friend and I went to the nearby park to kill more time before we had to head back to school (me to pick up my brother, her to crash the school musical rehearsal). Oddly enough, the park we went to was the one I associated with many of my definitive childhood moments. When I was little, the Indian association my family belonged to always used to have spring picnics at that park. I remember playing on the swings for the first time, trying to tag along with the 6-year-olds (I was 3 at the time- don't ask how I remember this) at the monkey bars until one of them told me that only 6-year-olds could play on monkey bars, always coming in 2nd place in the running events (even though I was always placed in the older kids race), and spending time with my then best friend Rani (name changed). Rani and I were in an awkward age group; everyone else was either at least 2 years older than us or 3 years younger. Stuck in the middle, we became thick as thieves, sharing secrets, reading and discussing Harry Potter, wondering what middle school and growing up would be like, ranting about how the older kids always excluded us, and promising that we would always be best friends. Sadly, middle school came around and she was adopted by the older kids. She then promptly left me in the dust, taking pride in excluding me from every single party and function she could get away with. Meanwhile, the adults started praising her as a rising star; it was as if I had fallen off the face of the earth and no one cared.
I suppose some of my bitterness towards all superficial things India-related is partly due to Rani; she was my best friend and then she suddenly dumped and betrayed me. And then to top it off, all the other adults in the community exalted her as the beautiful, adorable, clever darling, only noticing me as the shy tag-along who, according to them, should act more like her. No one ever saw the shallower sides of her nature, how she was so predictable, how she could never follow through on anything or convey a sense of depth or understanding or compassion over anything; no one ever realized that half of her original mannerisms and doings were things she stole from me. I guess one reason why I'm so eager to get out of here is because I'm sick of being in her shadow, especially when I know I don't deserve to be. She may have gotten into the University of Pennsylvania early, but that doesnt' make her any better of a person (especially since she has taken maybe 2 APs at most and spends her free time killing her liver). Once I'm out of here, I'll finally be able to shed the last layer of my gawky adolescence and get rid of the awkwardness and hurt and anger I experience every time I'm forced to go to an Indian function and hear about Rani. Maybe I'm across as bitter and jealous, and I probably am, but it's irritating to be compared for 7 years to your former best friend who didn't even know that India was in Asia.
(photos of no relevence to the post, just felt like ending it on a more upbeat/artsy mood. Woot for stage lighting and Doc Marten imprints)