Before I had this blog I had another. I kept it from November 2014 until the following March and I also kept it to myself. Those months were the most precarious and the most outrageous. Full of rapid beginnings and brilliant emotion and endings so sudden they gave you whiplash, left you reeling- left me wanting to write. All of my posts from back then are hilarious and tragic and so beautiful.
(photo credit to molly)
I deleted that blog a long time ago but I exported all of the content and every now and then I go back and read it and remember what it was like to live life in a singular, blinding moment. It was that kind of time where none of us knew what the future would hold, but we had all taken the leap off safe ground into the unknown.
The fall I suppose – or for some of us, the flight.
Anyway this post was meant to be something different but for some reason I am still absolutely shattered and I ended up reminiscing instead of writing anything valuable.
So instead I thought I would share my FIRST EVER blog post with you. This is the first thing I wrote that I put online and probably one of the first things I wrote that, at the time, I felt really captured who I was and how I felt.
You can definitely tell how much I have not changed from the great adjectives and imagery I still use in 100% of the things I create – but honestly posting this for the first time was what created my passion for writing and sharing and blogging. I love so much that you write and that people read it, people listen. I also love that two years after writing this – even though at the time it was so personal for me – I can now share it with people I know without feeling scared or ashamed of it. If anything, i’m proud.
Also I graduated high school 2 years ago today everyone what a time!
Love you and see you tomorrow xx
My First Post, November 2014:
Leaving school isn’t about endings or leaving things behind- it’s about the things you’re taking with you, what you want to tuck into your pocket as you wander into the blinding lights of the future.
You may only have two hands, but that’s enough to grab what you love and hold it with all the strength you possess. Though in some ways you can’t help but panic. The days rush by your so fast, a greedy tide sucking grains of sand out from between your fingertips, you sometimes reach for what you didn’t think you wanted just because you want something.
But this isn’t bad because every bit of now means something.
The shaking shoulders of your best friend and the salt of tears mingling with the sweetness of pride and cheap lip gloss on your tongue. The scratch of the blue jersey against your cheek, the tight grip of their hands and the familiar shape of them, the way hugging moulds you together in a way that feels like home.
You hold onto the night, and the stars and planets. You hold onto the warmth of your friends hand and your hair flying back behind you and your fears rolling out the window as the wind races you down the road. You hold on to the music that leaks from the stereo and the grease of hot chips in your lap and the salt stinging your mouth and summer being something tangible- for a night being something you can feel.
You hold onto the screaming joy of someone you love winning something she has worked for. The weightlessness that pulls you onto your feet and into the air. The symphony of sobs and crying and screaming of the eight girls behind you as one of your own takes to the stage. The feeling of family with a group you share no DNA with, because what is DNA when you have tears and blood and sweat and stories? What is DNA worth when you remember the ache in your cheek and the bruising of your hands yet the way nothing hurt when you looked at the way the lights reflected off her, the way she shined.
You hold onto sharing beds and lights and minds. To whispered secrets and the soft falls of her hair in the sparkle of fairy lights. You hold onto the crinkles in the corner of his eyes every time he looks at you. How you can see all of her teeth when she laughs, orderly like small square pearls. The way she smells of coconut and pineapple and the coolness of the street corner as you stand and talk and talk and talk letting your voices weave with the stars in the blanket that makes up the night.
You have two hands.
Enough to grab what you love and hold it with all the strength you possess.