Spending Holidays Alone is Weird

and reminds me how awkward a stage of life your early 20s is. It's like, I'm not still living at home with my family, but nor have I truly established a permanent independent life with a family (biological or chosen) of my own with whom to celebrate. I'm too old for one option and too young for the second, I suppose. 

Anyway, I'll spend today partaking in that reason for my New-Brunswick-independence this summer, actually doing some of the reading for my independent study/thesis research that I've been woefully neglecting over the past two weeks. I think I'll treat myself to a burger and fries from the restaurant down the street for dinner so I can feel patriotic. 

Everyone needs a private party sometime though:

 

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge: Day 14--Letter to Your Favorite City

Dear Chicago,

I have to be honest, I was worried about meeting you. Before I left I wondered who I had become, how I could agree to spend so much time with you before I even knew you. I'd had bad experiences with cities before and didn't think I could grow to be that kind of girl. I'll admit it, I used to discriminate against cities; I talked shit about y'all all the time.
And then I met you...and for the first two weeks or so, I hated you. I was scared and I was lonely and I thought all my stereotypes about places like you were coming true. Then I stopped being a little bitch and decided to get out of my comfort zone of home and work, even if that meant exploring by myself, which was a RADICAL concept at the time. 
And a few weeks later, you had totally and completely enchanted me. Suddenly I was using Google Maps to take a series of trains and buses like you were my turf, exploring your countless festivals and street fairs and museums on free days. I went to your parks and swam in your lake--which, btw, totally revolutionized everything I thought of lakes as being--and made a bucket list I didn't come close to finishing. You gave me friendships like I'd never had before, showed me what happens when you play along with random somewhat sketchy guys you meet in public places, taught me to be entirely comfortable with public transportation (who knew you could like standing on the subway? It reminds me of what I imagine surfing would feel like...), gave me my first club experience, got me to experience art, and taught me to be less afraid of the dark. KO told me once about his "DC-face," a serious look he had to put on to ride the train to work in that city, and I guess you inspired something similar in me, Chicago: you taught me to look uncertainty in the face bravely. You taught me to make short-term plans and act on them. You taught me how not to look lost and how to understand North, South, East, and West finally. You taught me to be okay doing things by myself, which is invaluable. You also gave me the second experience of my life in which I was surrounded entirely by strangers and had to make friends. You introduced me to artisan jewelers, Arts Districts, FARMERS MARKETS, and taught me to make earrings and bracelets and to belly dance and to salsa and opened me to the fact that naturals had a real-world community off the internet. You gave me free concerts and strange pizza and Greek, Indian, and African foods for the first time. Oh and brie! You gave me a rich mentor who had a part-time apartment bigger than my house in NJ, along with my first country club experience and a VIP pass to visit the Natural History museum after-hours. You made me stop giving a shit about rain. You introduced me to BLACK schools with black teachers and staff, a concept that blew my mind. You got me to talk to high school kids without feeling totally awkward. You gave me my first real-world work experiences. For the first time in my life, I felt totally independent, and I will always treasure you for that.  You made me feel GROWN.
I can't wait to see you again, Chicago. I was so jealous when KO got to visit you. Perks of living in corn-country, I suppose. We will meet again. Maybe for grad school if I can build up a tolerance for snow...

Affectionately,

Maya

PS: Don't tell New Brunswick, but it just can't compare to you. 
PPS: Oh, how I wish I had been 21 when we were together... 

Look Out, World!

So I had a random idea when Skyping with KO last week, and then I mentioned said random idea when on the phone with my mom the other day, who seemed generally supportive. Then last night while I was "work"ing I found myself perusing the interwebs in search of the closest DMV (which is evidently called the Motor Vehicle Commission now) location to my house in NB and/or to campus, and evidently it's not bus-able [which is ironic, imo], but nonetheless I will find a way to get there, because (drumroll please):

I'm gonna get my learner's examination permit!!! (That's evidently what it's called when you're a first-time driver aged 21+.)

Fuckyeah stayin on that grown-ass woman game. If I can live by myself in a house, pay rent, pay bills, commute to work, be getting ready to graduate, and try my hand at grown woman things like falling in love, I should be able to drive myself places. My little sister is learning to drive before I am, and that's just not cute. So I'ma get on that. I have to retake my written test because my passing score expired a little over three years ago...[and I just don't remember any of that shit anyway]. So let's add that to the list of things I'm studying for this summer, in addition to thesis and perhaps the GRE. Furthering the modes of independence=I'm excited!   

The only thing that really scares me about living in this house all by myself

is that I have the most terrifying basement known to mankind. I went down there on my tour when I came to check the place out, and even the housemate who gave me the tour said she ONLY goes down there to do laundry or when a fuse goes out. If my memory serves me correctly and hasn't overly embellished to match my frightened state of being, there's like, sawdust on the floor and a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling and a very lonely washer and dryer sitting in the corner. Oh, how I wish my laundry basket wasn't full. 

If you don't get a post to something I've owned for more than five years later, you know the monsters got me. Please send a search and rescue party. Kthnx.

*gulp*

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Update: No no no. I went down there, there is no sawdust, there is only one light, it's on the opposite side of the room from the washer and dryer. There's lots of graffiti on the wall like this was once a crazy party house. There's a door down there on the back wall and I had no idea where it went which frightened me (I have now realized it goes to the like, storm cellar slanted doors on the back of the house). There's a weird like, half wall I can't see what's on the other side of. There seem to be lots of abandoned clothes around the washer-dryer, which have I mentioned were shrouded in darkness because they're on the opposite side of the room from the single light? I couldn't bear to take a step out of the little pool of light into the semi-darkness of the rest of the room, so laundry will have to wait until a) I get a flashlight, b) one of my housemates is around, or c) I have some visitor like my brother or T who can go down with me and ensure that I'm not going to die some horrible death washing my jeans.  

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Additional updates: So K told me to "man up" (there has to be a better way to say that to a woman, smh) and E laughed at my ridiculousness, so I decided to affirm my adulthood by going back down into the scary basement and trying this whole laundry thing again. And I went down and, lo and behold, discovered another light! Located conveniently directly above the washer and dryer. So my clothes are washing now, yay I have accomplished something today.

I'm beginning to realize that "independence" is a myth.

One of the things I pride myself on is being independent, most particularly in the form of being financially independent of my parents, and emotional independence in the idea that I am able to pick up the pieces and put my life back together by myself when it falls apart, even if I usually have awesome people to help me out. My biggest goal for this point in my life is to be, like, a self-sustaining individual, no matter what kind of partnership or arrangement I find myself in. On top of all that, I really really really don't like asking for help. It's a problem I'm actively working on, and I have gotten myself to the point where I realize that I can delegate things to other members of a group without compromising my self-respect, but not to the point where I am comfortable asking my parents for financial help again. It makes me feel like a failure. 

My parents disagree. My dad goes into his, "Maya, your whole life you've never asked me for anything. Finding out what you want for Christmas or your birthday is like pulling teeth. When I was a kid, I always had my hand out asking for this thing or the other thing [...] take this, and if you need more just ask." My mom says "I understand [your need to feel independent], but everyone needs help sometimes. I still have to ask for help sometimes. And this year I managed to put some money away for summer emergencies, so if you need help, just ask." It's strange how, as I get older and begin to start forging my way in the world, my parents somehow seem to be more there for me than ever before. Or maybe I've just begun to appreciate their efforts more.

But right now I'm struggling to figure out a way to even show my dad that I appreciate him this Father's Day, because I have $54.26 in the bank to last me until payday, which is not next Wednesday, as I was led to believe, but the Wednesday after. Which presents ALL SORTS of issues because it means I'll only get my paycheck for my first week of work before the end of the month, on on the first my rent is due and I need to buy my new train pass, and even if I could somehow not buy groceries for the rest of the month (false), my paycheck for one week of work only covers about half of those expenses. BUT my proposal for summer funding from my fellowship was approved on Monday, and should take approximately three weeks, which means $2732.69 will theoretically be direct-deposited into my bank account by the 27th and I'll be fine for the first/ever. 

Theoretically. Hopefully. But what if it's not? I recognize that I can go to my parents if I have to, and they are thankfully right now in a position where they can be of some assistance, but y'all know as well as I do that that's definitely the exception to the general rule. It's just dawning on me that like, independent individuals are still totally dependent on stupid pay schedules and slow offices to get us through life's daily trials and tribulations. Maybe independence isn't a goal I should be trying to meet, rather, I should just try to manage my interdependences in the best possible way.