As I’ve grown up I’ve written it all down. Since I was young(er) I felt this urge to capture pieces of my life for me to find as I grow: a dozen score drawings here, piles of photos there, and journals. There are always the unfinished journals. In becoming Sydney, I’ve loved. Tears and sore eyes have become all but unfamiliar. I travelled the world more times on a whim then on purpose. And, at times, I’m stopped believing in myself. It is my belief that throughout our metamorphosis into fully realized beings we maintain the essence of who we’ve always been. We all are of our good and all of our bad. We manifest our insecurities. We glow despite adversity. I am Sydney at any age.
In the spirit of celebrating my twenty-fifth rotation around the sun I want to share five moments from my adolescence and give a glimpse into my earlier writing, my state of mind as a youth, and, the history of who I was to understand who I am now.
January 16, 2012. Age, Eighteen.
What does it even mean.
A forehead kiss? The sweet comforting, that secure feeling. Tonight left me bittersweet. Bonds were broken because of the distance but, like all things, we were mended. You made me laugh loud, and smile hard and mad fiercely: all the things I take for granted. And, in my own way, I did for that you. No other pain from being crushed at your side felt sweeter.
A forehead kiss…
After you poked fun at the “cute” things I do, we’d play fight ‘til you held my hand and its chilling nature mimicked your past looks toward me: lifeless. So I hold it with both hands so you can feel as warm as I do whenever I catch you glancing over at me, only asking what’s wrong because I’m too coy to let you see the worth of it in my eyes. No boost to the ego in that.
A forehead kiss.
When I told you I’d miss you— sternly, so you’d recognize my genuine heart as the notes danced through the airwaves— I’d miss you most of all, I thought we’d be one again. But, then, this? While still in that embrace gazing I looked of longing; but you knew better. No reply. Eyes shut. Pure silence. Three to the temple, and I will never understand you.
August 23, 2007. Age, Thirteen.
It’s been nearly two years since my last log. Summer 2007 has been full of heartache, emotion, fun and a lot of growing up. In June, my first boyfriend broke up with me after a few months. The day we broke up he said that “I think we should be friends,” and I was crushed. When I asked him why, after all the things we’d been through, he replied, “It’s just not working out for me.” He gave me my first real kiss. I was devastated.
But later I discovered that he left me for another girl. But that girl doesn’t even like him, so he’s really sad. Hilarious! Now he’s with another girl, and I’m okay. After all this crying, I woke up one morning and felt fine. I’m okay.
September 15, 2013. Age Nineteen.
Where the hell were you last year? A kid by the name of Adrian posed this question last night at a apartment kickback hosted by a few of our mutual friends. I was the life of the party: social when necessary and chill when need be. I met a ton of cool people that I could consider friends and got closer to the friends I had so long craved a better connection with. Six week ago, the idea that this could actually happen was very foreign.
Jealously of the connections my friends had obtained at their schools had set in, and the idea to just tread water in the social sea of higher education was a fate I blatantly accepted. I had only a few friends left at this university, most severed by ending my last relationship, (I never mentioned him because it was short and never really worth it) and the rest transferred or graduated. I never thought that I would be truly accepted by those around me for whatever reason, so I didn’t try, and that thought held me back for an entire year.
Where the hell was I last year? I was hidden under the bed of my own insecurities and harbored anger toward my parents for forcing this school down my throat the last month of my senior year. With every fiber in my being I didn’t want to be here, so I wasn’t. “Being here now” was the first post I ever launched here, and it has been this blog’s mission statement ever since. In a way, I wasn’t completely living up to the standards I have given myself at the start of this journey and because of this, I never knew all of the great life opportunities it has for me past possible employment. New York was and is still an adventure. It doesn’t sleep and neither do I now: I network, I document, I design, I party, I hustle, I pass out, I get things done.
That’s why I networked at IBM college events on a school night and got job offers for design. That’s why I did tai chi with over 200 people on the Brooklyn peninsula by the bridge and saw the sun set. That’s was out until 5 AM this morning and took the dare to I make-out with the cute, laid back, kind of shy, sensitive guy from Brooklyn who loves Fooly Cooly and Fall Out Boy as much as I do that I’ve always wondered if he liked me back. Sparks flew in a tongue kiss and now I’m wondering what’s in store come Monday. I’m fully open; I’m absolutely aware. I don’t want to be asked, “Where the hell were you?” but if it’s necessary, “I’m glad you’re here now,” needs to not be too far behind.
July 14, 2014. Age, Twenty.
It rained most everyday this past week, but not today. I’m unsure whether this is is sort of, kind of, parallel to my desire to write. I’ve just been living, and allowing things to happen that are beyond my control and making the most of it. The rain has brought many things: mostly frizz and curiosity, but it also allowed me to make excuses to roam on my own and see Paris my way. I wrote in that mandatory online survey to St. John’s that I would try not to shut people out and be unafraid to take chances. I did well with the “not shutting people out part” until this week, mostly, because fuck it. Fuck it. I sought companionship but my roommate wasn’t that person, and everyone else came with a friend.
I was alone from the start and, even though I tried to ignore that fact, I had to accept it in the end in order to find my Paris, not theirs. Conversations with myself were what I needed more than any other escape and I found them in my solitude. I’m still a little worried about what lays ahead of me in the next few weeks but, honestly, fuck it. What’s done is done and out of my control for the most part, like the rain. I had to adapt to the rain and chill when unexpected and prepare in advance for things to be fine. I can take that with me now, and for that I am grateful.
I’m at a loss for words; I feel tired and excited and scared all at once. Isn’t it funny how these same emotions reappear as I sit and write this today in the airport as it did 4 weeks ago when I arrived? So much of me hasn’t changed. Maybe in time, like in all things, they will. They have to. The worlds are changing and being reborn as I will. Maybe I just need a little more rain.
June 13, 2011. Age, Seventeen.
I guess I’m here to express myself.
Probably here to post pictures…
Most likely not here to act like the cool kids, who think they’re deep and shit; I hope they know they’re not.
I guess I’m here to write random word vomit that may or may not touch people’s lives. Probably here to start some trouble, and end up in a fight. I’m not here to be a poser; I was never taught to be. Definitely here to change my world and myself while still behind a computer screen. Being here, NOW.
Hello, World. This should be fun.
SYDSUGOI SPEAKS 