14 Years Later: Noemi

Dear Molly,

        So, back to the series of entries on relationships with people. Up next, in honor of 20 years of life today: Noemi Summer. (Noemi Anais Sophie Arellano-Summer, if you're being technical.)

       Harken back to Kindergarten. In the cafeteria, you spot a girl in a different class with pink Barbie glasses. You think to yourself: I hope she didn't take the last pair. If I ever need glasses, I want ones exactly like those! (Alas, when you actually did get glasses, in third grade, you had outgrown your pink phase. Your fist pair were brown.)

      First grade arrives. You befriend Hannah McDonald, and on the playground at Emerson, she introduces you to that girl with the glasses. You learn that her name is Noemi, not Naomi or Noamy. You like her right away, even if you seem to do about seventy-five percent of the talking. (You've since learned how to keep your mouth shut and give other people a chance to get a few words in, and she's no longer quite so shy. Now it's about fifty-five forty-five.)

      You spend time with each other on the playground and after school at Kid's Club. Handball on the Wall, never again after 2nd grade, though. Eventually, you invite her to your house for a play date. Two klutzy gradeschoolers kick around a soccer ball and eat popsicles on the back porch, and a friendship is cemented.

     Simpler times. Remember those giant bouncy balls with handles you could sit on and hop around? To a pair of seven year-olds: "This is paradise." "This is the life." It sure was.

      Not much changes in second grade. You only see her once it twice in third grade though.

      But when fourth grade rolls around, you're thrilled to learn that Noemi will finally be in your class. Thank goodness for GATE. 

      One particular memory comes to mind: Puddle Jumping. Emerson's blacktop has a lot of divots, so after it rains, water collects. One day at recess, you're both bored and an ingenuous idea strikes. Go jump in the puddles, because you can! Subconsciously, you both probably knew that it was a stupid thing to do, and a recipe for facing the discomfort of wet pant legs for the rest of the day. But you're only young once. If college students jumped around in puddles, they'd get some pretty intense stares. 9 year-olds, not so much. It's a memory to treasure.

      Fifth grade begins, and it's an enjoyable year. You go to Camp Hi-Hill which was a lot of fun. You finish at Emerson. On the last day of school, the parents set up a photo booth of sorts, and you take a picture together. It's still on a shelf in your room.

        Middle school starts at Stanford, and it's a bit of a culture shock. You're thankful she's right there with you. Seventh grade comes, seventh grade goes. You manage to survive eighth grade Algebra.

       Having her with you was one of the reasons you choose to go to Poly for high school. You'll always remember making empanadas in ninth grade for that weird science project. 

      After your nervous breakdown in tenth grade, she's the only friend you see with any regularity. It's then you realize she's not going anywhere. She'll always be there of you need her for anything. 

      It was a relief to go back to Poly for your senior year, and graduate beside her. She goes to Boston University now, and you miss her every single day.

      So 14 years later, here we are. You have a best friend for life. Noemi is kind, caring, and extremely intelligent. She loves with her whole heart. You're infinitely grateful she's been a part of your life for so long, and she will continue to be. 

      These are the days, now and forever. 

Song of the Day: The Days by Avicii
Under the tree where the grass don't grow
We made a promise to never get old
You had a chance and you took it on me
And I made a promise that I couldn't keep

Heart ache, heart break
All over town
But something flipped like a switch when you came around
And I'm in pieces, pick me up, and put me together

These are the days we've been waiting for
Days like these you couldn't ask for more
Keep 'em coming
'Cause we're not done yet
These are the days we won't regret
These are the days we won't forget

These are the days we've been waiting for
Rattle the cage and slam that door
And the rhythm is calling us as we're not just yet
These are the days we won't regret
These are the days we won't forget

Out on the midnight
The wild ones howl
The last of the last boys have thrown in the towel
We used to believe we were stars aligned
You made a wish and I fell out of time

Time flew, cut through
All over town
You make me bleed when I look up
And you're not around
But I'm in pieces, pick me up, and put me together

These are the days we've been waiting for
Days like these you couldn't ask for more
Keep 'em coming
'Cause we're not done yet
These are the days we won't regret
These are the days we won't forget

These are the days we've been waiting for
Neither of us knows what's in store
You just roll your window down and place your bets
These are the days we won't regret
These are the days we'll never forget

And these are the days
And these are the days

Love, Molly

Ouch

Dear Molly,

      You've thought long and hard about this: How come people suffer, how come people part, how come people struggle, how come people break your heart? Break your heart? (Thank you, Coldplay, for so eloquently putting feelings into words.)

      No doubt have you suffered. You've obviously struggled. But why, why oh why, do you continue to give your heart away to a person you think of as a friend, again and again, time after time, only to watch it break into a million little pieces? Haven't you learned by now?

      Pouring your feelings out to someone who you think you can count on can be a recipe for having your soul crushed into shards.

      Why do you keep torturing yourself?

      The Answer: You're probably unconsciously hoping that eventually, you'll hit upon a few more people who you actually can trust. People who will never let you down. Maybe you'll find that person through posting this blog entry. Or maybe, just maybe, one of those aforementioned people will reach back out to make amends. You're willing to give second chances, since one thing you never do is quit. You're trying not to push too hard, but you're stubborn. You see things through. You want to just let these people fade into your memory, but that's never going to happen. You're not holding your breath, but you just want answers.

      The truly painful part about all of this is that you're acutely aware you're bumbling, overbearing, and obnoxious. Your mouth runs much faster than your brain. You can be a brutal savage.

      You half joke to yourself "I kill friendships for fun!", if you ever need a reason to beat yourself up. You're not going to make a list of former friendships because that would just plain hurt too much.

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      Please, Dear reader, tell me exactly what I did wrong. I don't want to keep making the same mistakes. The whole "It's not you, it's me" bit can't possibly be true. Of course it's me, and you don't like me for being myself. I'm never going to change completely, but I'm beyond willing to adapt. I just want to be liked.

      One of the biggest problems is that most of the time, other people don't understand how deeply I've been hurt and the anguish and grief I have to live with. Pain that only gets stronger with each passing day.

      Or worse yet, people will cut off all contact, either intentionally or not. If someone doesn't reply to a message, my first instinct is that they're consciously avoiding me. And then I feel like a piece of shit, because it's obviously my fault.

      I'll stop at nothing. At this point I'll resort to sending out smoke signals to get an answer.

But before I start setting the world on fire, I'll make some honest attempts in some more conventional ways.

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Song of the Day: Welcome to My Life by Simple Plan

While you don't feel this way all of the time, lately, this has sort of turned into College Molly's theme song.

I think some people do know what it's like. For the rest, maybe this post can give them an idea.

Do you ever feel like breaking down?
Do you ever feel out of place?
Like somehow you just don't belong
And no one understands you

Do you ever want to run away?
Do you lock yourself in your room?
With the radio on turned up so loud
That no one hears you screaming

No you don't know what its like
When nothing feels alright
You don't know what its like to be like me
To be hurt, to feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one there to save you
No you don't know what it's like
Welcome to my life

Do you want to be somebody else?
Are you sick of feeling so left out?
Are you desperate to find something more
Before your life is over

Are you stuck inside a world you hate?
Are you sick of everyone around?
With the big fake smiles and stupid lies
But deep inside you're bleeding

No you don't know what it's like
When nothing feels alright
You don't know what it's like to be like me
To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one there to save you
No you don't know what it's like
Welcome to my life

No one ever lied straight to your face
And no one ever stabbed you in the back
You might think I'm happy
But I'm not gonna be okay
Everybody always gave you what you wanted
You never had to work it was always there
You don't know what it's like
What it's like

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one there to save you
No you don't know what it's like
What it's like

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one's there to save you
No you don't know what it's like
Welcome to my life
Welcome to my life
Welcome to my life

Molly

Who am I?

Dear Molly and World,

Some loaded terms: White. People of Color. Gender. Religion. Culture. Nationality. Ethnicity. Race. Familial Origin. 

A complicated puzzle. And is there really one solution? Not at all. Never.

Identity.

I live in arguably the most diverse place in the US, and for that I am grateful. My high school slices out into a pretty nice pie: Equal parts Black, Asian, and Hispanic, some Filipino, some White. I'd joke that Long Beach Poly has 31 Flavors of people. People would laugh, and agree. Where did I fit in?

When chatting with people, I often like to play the 'Guess my National Background' game as an exercise in cultural knowledge. And I get weird answers. A few people manage to hit the nail on the head, but more people come up blank. I am often asked in these situations if I am mixed. I am very not mixed.

With thick, curly, wild brown hair and green eyes, coupled with olive skin, I can pass as dozens of things. I have been pegged for various combinations of or singly: Spanish, Portuguese, Argentine, Brazilian, Israeli, Greek, Mexican, Norwegian, Swedish, Filipine, Native American, Czech, Polish, and German. The latest was a variety of Arab, from another student in my Medical Terminology class, who is Lebanese. Her first thought was that I wasn't American.

But I'm 100% Eastern European Jewish, or Ashkenazi. And very rarely can people guess that. If they do, they usually say "Jewish", and usually not right away.

3 of my great grandparents were born in Russia, 1 in Lithuania. (That's my sad claim to diversity: I'm one-eighth Lithuanian.) Going further back, everyone comes from Eastern Europe. My sister is eager to do the spit test/cheek swab for the likely anti-climactic results.

Sam and I will use the term "off-white" to describe ourselves. It's a common feeling for people of Ashkenazi descent. We are lumped in as White, but we definitely are not Anglo-Saxon in the slightest. And we ain't Protestants either. Sam indeed was blonde as a youngin' and has blue eyes, but Molly does not. Molly physically resembles the stereotype of a Jew, mostly with the hair, and maybe the nose.

Our surname, Rosenfeld, is about as Russian-Jewish as you can get.

I grew up constantly jealous of those minority, mixed-raced and multilingual folks (Not any more). I am a purebred, for lack of a better word. I grew up speaking solely English at home, and a tiny bit of Hebrew twice a week. And I thought my cultural background was as boring as heck. Monochromatically dull. Never mind that I'm a religious minority. I just checked the White box, and it didn't feel right. It never has. 

I've been struggling more and more with my identity as of late. I feel like a misfit wherever I go, and more often than not. 

I'm yet to find my 'safe space'. And I probably never will. I've almost never felt out of place at the ice rink, but there are very few skaters my age. I feel comfortable in orchestra settings nine times out of ten, but that took years and years and the shedding of tears. Switching to cello did help. Well, not as a junior, but that's beside the point here. But some discussions don't belong there. At NFTY, no one really cared. We never talked about our nationalities. We were all Jewish. And I never would bring it up either. I didn't want to discuss supposed privilege. College is no better. I have plenty of individual friendships, but zero friend groups. Come to think of it, I've never had a friend group. I start to feel like a sort of third wheel, or even just included out of pity. And my closest friends are never really friends with each other. I'm eagerly anticipating the day when I make two good friends at once, and all three of us become close. And my family has struggled a lot this past decade. Half of my life. Nearly two-thirds of Sam's. Economically and emotionally.

Far and away, the thing that makes my blood boil the most is that numerous people on assorted occasions have tried to tell me it's no big deal: White is White is White. But that's the point. White is just another made up catch-all term. The whole concept of trying to box people up in neat little groupings is, in my honest opinion, stupid and unnecessary, but we do it anyway. We are all part of one race: The Human Race. 

I've never thought of myself as having supposed "White Privilege". Instead, I live in fear of Anti-Semitism.

With Trump the Moldy Cheeto in the White (HA HA HA) House and general race relations as horrific as they were 60 years ago, this has been on my mind a little too much as of late. Especially since the release of Wonder Woman with Gal Gadot, the appropriate identification of us Ashkenazi folk is being discussed.  

Am I White? Caucasian? Am I a Person of Color? Am I something in between? Am I something else entirely?

The conclusion I've drawn: Ashkenazi is Ashkenazi. Our culture is our own culture. Judaism is our backbone. Our link to the past, and one another. 

Being proud of my heritage is a long time coming. I think I'm almost there. I guess the clearest closure will come in 20 or so years with my own future children. Raising them in Reform Judaism. Doing a heritage project with them, like the one I did in first grade. We had to make a poster of our family tree. I learned that while I'm undoubtedly American, I'm only 4th or 5th generation. When I went to New York in 2011 with Grandma Phyllis, I learned that I did indeed have relatives pass through Ellis Island on their way to Michigan.

I'll pose the question again: Who am I?

The Answer: I am Ashkenazi. I am a friend, a daughter, a student. I am a writer, a musician, a figure skater. I am just one person here in this great big world, doing what I can to leave a mark and make a difference. 

I am me, and that's all I ever want to be. 

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Song of the Day: L'dor Vador By Josh Nelson 

I first learned this song when I was in youth choir at Temple. Yikes, that was a long time ago. 10+ years.

Anyway, it stuck with me. Not only does it have a beautiful melody, but the lyrics resonate. 

We all have a cultural history to share with the world, and the history of the Jewish people is mine. 

We are gifts, and we are blessings, we are history in song.       We are hope and we are healing, we are learning to be strong 

We are words and we are stories, we are pictures of the past 

We are carriers of wisdom, not the first and not the last 

L'dor vador nagid godlecha 
L'dor vador... we protect this chain 
From generation to generation 
L'dor vador, these lips will praise Your name 

Looking back on the journey that we carry in our heart 
From the shadow of the mountain to the waters that would part 
We are blessed and we are holy, we are children of Your way 
And the words that bring us meaning, we will have the strength to say 

L'dor vador nagid godlecha 
L'dor vador... we protect this chain 
From generation to generation 
L'dor vador, these lips will praise Your name

Dear Emi, Dear Sarah: The Most Painful Piece I'm Yet to Write

Today, September 10th, is World Suicide Prevention Day.

I myself have never been  truly suicidal. But during some of my worst depressive periods, I would occasionally fall into catastrophic thinking traps regarding my own death.

What would happen if I were to be in a fatal accident of some sort? If I were to suddenly get sick and die? How would people react? How would they grieve?

How would I be remembered? A sunny, smiley, loving child? A person who was equally passionate and compassionate? A miserable ball of mental illness? The Girl Who Persevered?

That one kid?

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          I didn't used to think about death very often. Fortunately, I never had to deal with prolonged grief in my childhood.

     My grandfather died in 2005, when I was six. Most of my memories of my Papa Ernie are vague at this point. I do remember his funeral. I sat there feeling numb. I didn't cry. He was 81, had a long and wonderful life, and was no longer suffering.

       My great uncle died in 2013. Uncle Arnie had been in poor health for some time. His memorial service was a month later, and it definitely was a celebration of his life. I loved all of the memories everyone shared, especially my mom's. She told a story from my parents' wedding reception in 1992. Everyone was having fun dancing, and the DJ started a conga line. Uncle Arnie wound up leading it, with some comically small hand gestures. Anyone else would've looked disinterested bordering on pathetic. But he was just dancing the way he knew how to.

        I tried my hardest to genuinely empathize with friends and classmates who were dealing with the loss of a loved one, but I couldn't completely relate.

     But this past year, I witnessed the suicides of two high school classmates. And both hit me harder than I ever thought the death of a classmate I barely knew could. Two devastating blows. When I'd finally recovered from the first, which took about 6 months, the second came only a few weeks later.


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     Emilio, who went by Emi, was a senior in Poly PACE. I'd only met him once, but I liked him right away. He was a fellow orchestra member, helped teach art classes, and was very gifted with Japanese as well. I remember he had an amazing smile, the kind that could light up the room. You couldn't help but smile back.

     During that brief meeting in front of the music room, he seemed content, peaceful, and happy. But in December of 2016, the middle of his senior year, he ended his own life.

     I'd known Sarah since 2005, when she was in Kindergarten. Her older sister Hannah, well known for being talkative and outgoing, was a good friend of mine in elementary school. Sarah was much more shy and gentle in comparison, and I definitely considered her my friend too.

      All three of us loved Build A Bear, and were very attached to our pets: Hannah had her pink poodle Curly, I had my bear Leonna, and Sarah had her kennel club dog Scruffy. I fondly and vividly remember celebrating Hannah's 8th Birthday with the McDonalds. We went to the Build A Bear in Downtown Disney where we each picked out a new outfit for our stuffed animals. I still have the second grade journal entry about that day, complete with a pencil drawing of Leonna in her new shirt embroidered with flowers and matching jeans.

     I didn't see her much after I started at Stanford. But I watched her grow into a talented musician, playing flute, and she was in QUEST at Millikan. And at the end of her junior year, battling depression and OCD, she ended her own life.

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     In the span of six months, I got two massive slap-in-the-face reality checks. I'd just gotten through the numbing pain of one suicide and was finally coming out of a depressive slump that lasted the better part of the spring semester. And then another one happened.

     It took a lot of time to deal with the grief from Emi's death. On June 13th, exactly six months later, I shared a letter I wrote to him on social media.

      Here's the text: 

Dear Emilio,       It's been six months since your death. Some things have changed, some haven't.  I only met you once, in front of the music room last year. I introduced myself, and I liked you right away. You seemed like a nice person, had an amazing smile, and were someone I wanted to get to know better.        Then in December, I was scrolling through Instagram and I saw Jared's post. And I felt my heart drop in my chest. Not sink, but drop. I felt numb. Here today and gone tomorrow really does happen. Suicide can hit close to home.       I got really depressed again in March, to the point where getting out of bed in the morning was an accomplishment.        But I started to feel better when I realized I need to make myself happy. Sure, I've always been good at pleasing everyone, but often at my own expense. But I can't let other people's actions or lack thereof dictate my feelings. I thought: "What Would Emi Do?" He would probably want me to be happy.       Last week, I had a lot going on, which makes my insomnia worse than normal. My thoughts start to race when I don't get enough sleep. I was walking to the doctor's office, and stepped on this, and picked it up. Now it's my "lucky rock", but also my "worry stone". I hold it, turn it over in my hand, rub it with my thumb, and think of you. I've been trying to find my own spirituality for awhile. I've come to the conclusion that I'm an agnostic Reform Jew. I believe in karma, omens, and cosmic coincidences.        I'll never know why I went through all this shit in these past few years. We'll never know what we could have done to save your life.        Emi, I'm writing this to let you know you've helped me find some of my inner peace after almost 19 years. And I hope you've found yours.  Love, Molly

  

        I had high hopes for a peaceful and fulfilling summer. And that flew right out the window when I got sick during camp training and had to leave before the kids even got there. So I was already in a woe-is-me state because the past two summers involved grand plans of working at Girl Scout Camps that I went to when I was younger. Grand plans of being away at Camp Scherman for six weeks smashed in a matter of days because of bad luck, awful timing, and circumstances beyond my control. And then, I got word of Sarah's death.

       I was sent right back to square one of the grieving process. I had a lot of time to just sit and think these past two months, which generally isn't conducive to my own well-being. It was almost a relief to start school, simply because it's something I have to do four days a week.


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      There's a specific song that comes to mind here; Jumper, by Third Eye Blind. Stephan Jenkins wrote it as a lament about a gay friend of his who died when he jumped off of a bridge. But it's evolved to be an anthem about struggle and triumph. It resonated with me during some of my darkest times. It reminded me that my life means something.

Lyrics:

I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend,
You could cut ties with all the lies, that you've been living in,
And if you do not want to see me again, I would understand,
I would understand.

The angry boy, a bit too insane,
Icing over a secret pain,
You know you don't belong.
You're the first to fight, You're way too loud,
You're the flash of light, On a burial shroud,
I know something's wrong.
Well everyone I know has got a reason, to say, put the past away.

I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend,
You could cut ties with all the lies, That you've been living in,
And if you do not want to see me again, I would understand,
I would understand.

Well he's on the table, And he's gone to code,
And I do not think anyone knows,
What they're doing here.
And your friends have left you, You've been dismissed,
I never thought it would come to this, And I, I want you to know.
Everyone's got to face down the demons,
Maybe today, We can put the past away.

I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend,
You could cut ties with all the lies, that you've been living in,
And if you do not want to see me again, I would understand,
I would understand,
I would understand...

Can you put the past away, I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend,
I would understand.


Now when I listen to this song, I cry.

I figured that the best way to come to terms with all of the pain from the past nine months was to write another letter to Emi, and now Sarah.

So I did.

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Dear Emi, Dear Sarah:

     The two of you lived a collective 34 years, 6 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days on Earth. Yes, I counted.

     You both had such bright futures ahead. No one I've ever talked to has an unkind word to say about you. I didn't know either of you very well. But between my own recollections and what I've been told, I know for a fact that in your lives, you both had contagious spirits. Smart, kind, caring, loving, talented: beautiful souls all around. 

      I'll never stop thinking about how somehow, something had happened that lead you to make your last decision: I've suffered enough, and everyone else will understand why I no longer want to live. Believe me, I know why you might have felt that way, but I will never be able to accept it. Today, National Suicide Prevention Day, is a day I never imagined I would have to personally recognize, especially not twice over.

    I hope that now, both of you have found your peace. You're no longer suffering. Unwittingly, you've helped me find some of my own. I now better understand my life's purpose: To help others achieve their full potential. I can help bring happiness to people, hopefully just by being myself. I can turn my dreams into goals. If I make someone smile each day, that day was worth it.

      Emi and Sarah, I think about you every day.  I'll never forget either of you, and make sure your memory isn't lost. I'll do everything in my power to live the best and most fulfilling life I can, an adulthood that neither of you reached.

      I agree with Debbie Friedman's words in The Youth Shall See Visions: We must live for today, We must build for tomorrow. Give us time, give us strength, give us life. Although your time on Earth is over, you two will forever give me an inner strength to be the best person I can be. 

     My chosen song for the you is The Energy Never Dies, by The Script. Yes, it mentions death explicitly, but it reminds me about the fragility of our existence. We should embrace every single moment we have.

   

Here are the lyrics:

I cross my heart and I hope to die
May God strike me down if I tell you lies
I'd stay here forever looking in your eyes
24/7, baby, 3-6-5

I'll take your hand and I'll hold real tight
I'll tell you life's just a blink so don't think twice
Let's catch the moment in a flash of light, woah
24/7, baby, 3-6-5

If we're gonna feel alive, then let's feel it now

We could all be blown to pieces
Because time's a ticking bomb
We could all be dead tomorrow
But our love will carry on
'Cause when you know, your days are numbered
And you're looking in my eyes
It's not the end, 'cause the energy never dies

Oh, oh oh, oh, oh

I fell for you and I never got up
I stay here forever 'til I turn to dust
Just take every minute make it last for life, woah
24/7, baby, 3-6-5-5-5

We could all be blown to pieces
Because time's a ticking bomb
We could all be dead tomorrow
But our love will carry on
'Cause when you know, your days are numbered
And you're looking in my eyes
It's not the end, 'cause the energy never dies

Oh, oh oh, oh, oh
'Cause the energy never dies
Oh, oh oh, oh, oh

There's no where, there's no when
There's no start, there's no end
'Cause this love, it transcends
I found you before and I'll find you again

There's no where, there's no when
There's no start, there's no end
So if we're gonna feel alive
Then let's feel it now, woah

We could all be blown to pieces
Because time's a ticking bomb
We could all be dead tomorrow
But our love will carry on
'Cause when you know, your days are numbered
And you're looking in my eyes
It's not the end, 'cause the energy never dies

Oh, oh oh, oh, oh ('Cause the energy never dies)
'Cause the energy never dies
Oh, oh oh, oh, oh ('Cause the energy never dies)
Oh, oh oh, oh, oh

I'll take your hand and I'll hold real tight
I'll tell you life's just a blink so don't think twice.

     I didn't have the chance to find either of you before, but I have no doubt that I will see you both in the next place. And believe me, the love both of you gave to the world around you has transcended. You will stay with us all, now and forever.

With Love, Molly

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In Loving Memory of:

E. E. C. 

February 3rd, 1999 - December 13th, 2016

and

S. E. M.

October 9th, 2000 - June 23rd, 2017

Dear Molly of September 1st, 2013

Dear Molly of September 1st, 2013,

      Can you believe it? That crazy idea to start a blog panned out indeed. It's been four years. Four years of pain, joy, numbness, self-doubt, and self-discovery.

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      Well, you have a new diagnosis. In addition to anxiety and depression, you recently learned you have a form of ADHD. That was almost a relief to find out; a justification of sorts for some of your academic struggles. Adding a few more letters to the alphabet soup of Molly isn't such a big deal. Hopefully, now your meds are properly adjusted.

      You're still a procrastinator and a Night Owl. Two things you're working to change. 

      You still love Long Beach. It's a great place to live, no doubt. Although you harbor mixed feelings about magnet programs, you are very proud to be a Poly alum. It was a hard fight to get there.

      Although high school left a lot to be desired, you're moving forward. You still feel misunderstood and tend to over think things, but that's just how it is. It's just how you are. 

      The biggest thing you've come to know since starting college is that for the most part,  people actually do like you. You're not thought of or remembered as weird or annoying. People appreciate your sense of humor; you do have a knack for making everyone laugh. That's just an innate trait you're lucky to have. And you're perceived as intelligent. That's something you didn't understand for a long time. You don't have to be a standout hotshot in everything to have innate gifts. And you do. 

      Your critical thinking skills have gotten you far, and will continue to do so. Just because your with spatial reasoning is bordering on subpar, your algebraic gifts are uncommon. You can word problem with the best of them. You have a knack for literary analysis.

      Your passion and drive have taken you far.

      Your love for orchestra is something that will never change. It's been 11 years since you signed up to do violin at Emerson. And since then, you've stuck it out. Three years with no less than four teachers at school and three separate private teachers, and you still kept it up. A blow to your ego in sixth grade didn't completely kill your confidence. Mrs. Brinker at Stanford helped you understand that you actually do have musical gifts, and Lisa Lewis helped you to reach your fullest potential. Mr. Osman knew what you were capable of achieving. And now you know that music is where your heart lies, and where you make the greatest friends. 

      You've found your home in ice skating, and have maintained your strong ties to the Jewish community. You're speaking Spanish comfortably enough in the real world. But most of all, your blogging has changed your world for the better. 

      The more you write, the more people read what you have to share. And sharing your story is something you'll never stop doing. 

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      Oddly enough, adding a song to every blog has been one of your favorite parts. Float On by Modest Mouse is one that you love to sing, and that has kept you calm when you need comfort in the form of music. 

     We'll all float on okay, no matter what. 

Float On, by Modest Mouse 

I backed my car into a cop car the other day
Well, he just drove off - sometimes life's okay
I ran my mouth off a bit too much, ah what did I say?
Well, you just laughed it off and it was all okay

And we'll all float on okay
And we'll all float on okay
And we'll all float on okay
And we'll all float on anyway, well

A fake Jamaican took every last dime with that scam
It was worth it just to learn some sleight of hand
Bad news comes, don't you worry even when it lands
Good news will work it way to all them plans
We both got fired on, exactly, the same day
Well, we'll float on, good news is on the way

And we'll all float on okay
And we'll all float on okay
And we'll all float on okay
And we'll all float on alright

Already we'll all float on
Now don't you worry we'll all float on alright
Already we'll all float on alright
Don't worry we'll all float on

Alright, Already
And we'll all float on alright
Already we'll all float on alright
Don't worry even if things end up a bit
Too heavy we'll all float on alright

Already, we'll all float on alright
Already, we'll all float on okay
Don't worry, even if things get heavy
We'll all float on alright

Already, we'll all float on
(Alright!)
Now don't you worry, we'll all float on
(Alright!)
We'll all float on

Love, Molly

Why I Skate

Ice Skating has been a favorite activity of mine for, gulp, 8 years.

So here are 8 reasons why.

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1. Wonderful coaches who push you to do your best and take pride in your accomplishments as much as you do. From ones that you clicked with right away, to ones who had to grow on you, you've seen them all. You're grateful for the lessons they've taught you. Practice makes progress. Drive will take you far. Never give up.

2. The friends you make and the friendships you maintain every time you visit the rink. Every single visit, you meet someone new. Your ice skating buddies run the gamut. From the Tots, to a third grader with a sunny smile (when she actually smiles) who can spin with the best of them, to middle schoolers who you give advice to and share laughs with, to people your own age who skate with Disney and coach, to an English teacher at your old high school. So few of them are your age, but that means nothing. Not too many are at your ability level for both jumps and spins. And hardly any of them enjoy improvisation as much as you do. But it counts for diddly squat. You wouldn't have it any other way.

3. The results of dedicated training. Being able to land a jump or execute a spin almost perfectly after months of practice. Toe loop, cough, cough. Sit spin, you are slowly becoming less elusive.

4. A personal observation: At Lakewood ICE the skaters support each other unconditionally. There might be some club to club rivalry. But as individuals, the rink is one big happy family. You feel the love.

5. The ability to pick up skating lingo and feel like a pro. Shooting ducks, being a camel, and you know what a lutz is!

6. Being able to introduce your sport to others. It may be a bit counter intuitive to hole up in an ice rink in Sunny SoCal, but you started skating after learning to rollerblade at 10, An outdoor activity. Ice skating is not as difficult as one may think. You may have some degree of  physical advantage: relatively short and compactly built, with somewhat square hips and muscular legs. You fall a little short with flexibility. But there is no one body type for a skater. Fat, short, thin, tall, we've got it all.

7. If anyone ever starts to talk about sports teams, you can say your favorite pro team is the Anaheim Ducks. You'd love to try playing hockey eventually.

8. The creative aspect of it. You're not much of a dancer. But when you put on skates, you feel like a bird. You fly. And you can just let go, and move however you want to. You've always had a hard time doing that in dance class, but never when skating.

And you could go on and on...

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The point of making this list was simple. I just want to share a piece of my passion with the internet. Stuff like this just makes me happy. But I digress...

Song of The Day: It's Not Right For You, by The Script

Some things aren't right for you at all. Competitive swimming and learning how to draw come to mind. But the most important lyric in this song is "You got one life to love what you do." I think about that one line almost every day.

Oh, oh
Oh, oh

My head, my head is full of things that I should've done
My heart, my heart is heavy, and it sinks like a stone

She said, "Is this the life you've been dreaming of
Spending half the day away from the things you love?
It's not too late to do something new."

Yeah yeah she said, "It's hard enough trying to live your life
But not following your dreams made you dead inside
If you don't love what you do."

It's not right, it's not right for you (Oh)
If you even have to think about it (Oh)
It's not right, it's not right for you (Oh)
If you really have to think about it (Oh)
You got one life to love what you do

My hands, my hands are scarred by things I shouldn't have done
My feet, my feet are weary from all the miles that I've run

She said, "Open your mind, take a look within
Are you happy with the world that you're living in?
If not, you gotta change what you do."

Yeah yeah she said, "And lately I don't see you smile lot
Are you happy here with me and the things we've got?
If you can't say that it's true."

It's not right, it's not right for you (Oh)
If you even have to think about it (Oh)
It's not right, it's not right for you (Oh)
If you really have to think about it (Oh)
You got one life to love what you do

If we don't do something now then we'll never know
If we stay here too long then we'll, we'll never grow old
So, before it's too late and it's killing you, yeah
We've only one life to live, so love what you do

Oh, oh
It's not right, it's not right for you (Oh)
If you even have to think about it (Oh)
It's not right, it's not right for you (Oh)
If you really have to think about it (Oh)
You got one life to love what you do

In the end, in the end
Better hold 'cause you're taking it all in
In the end, in the end
You got one life to love what you do
In the end, in the end
Better hold 'cause you're take it all in
In the end, in the end
You got one life to love what you do

Love, Molly

First Impressions Can Be Deceiving: Milan

Dear Molly,

     Now a new blog theme, in addition to song lyrics at every occasion. Reflecting on relationships with individuals.

     Up first, in honor of 19 years of life today, and 8 crazy years of friendship: Milan Perry.

                     *********************************************************************************

     They say there's love at first sight and there must be friendship at first sight,  but a relationship you now consider to be among your most treasured would actually fall under the category of distaste at first sight.

     First day of sixth grade. Stanford Middle School 1st period History.
Hello. Hello. Great.

     You quickly find out that you're both the hand-raising, high-scoring, bordering on know-it-all type. Neither of you were used to having an intellectual rival. The idea was appalling. You wanted to be the sole shining star! And that's not even mentioning that she played violin too. Was this girl out to get you? Bring you down? Why did she have to share History, Science, English, and Orchestra classes with you? Why couldn't it be someone you liked? You mostly avoid each other.

     Seventh grade rolls around. You find yourself together in English, PE, Orchestra, and History. Not again! In Mr. Waddles' English class, you're assigned a project: As a group, research a two-sided debatable topic and write an individual paper making the case for one side. No Spider Man or Batman, Coke or Pepsi, or Disney Channel or Nickelodeon for you! You wind up selecting the death penalty to research with Miriam and Milan. Because you knew you could trust them not to flake. And slowly, you become friends. Isn't that how all rivals wind up befriending each other, working on a middle school project about the death penalty?

     You find this turn of events much more amusing than she does. You can laugh about your blooming early days of friendship now. Like when she accidentally broke your glasses with a football. And specifically her great line: Do you play an instrument? She realizes that you sit next to each other in orchestra. You: I'll repeat that one when we're in a Retirement Home, sitting in rocking chairs, and we'll both laugh until our dentures fall out. A true gem.

     Seventh grade comes, seventh grade goes. You remember it all in living color, she doesn't.

     Eighth grade arrives, and you're faced with a major decision. Molly at Millikan, or Molly at Poly? She persuades you to pick the rhyme over the alliteration, and you are eternally grateful for that.

     High school. Long Beach Polytechnic Program of Additional Curricular Experiences. PACE. Sadly, it's a four letter word for a lot of people. For both of you, it definitely is.

     You stop talking as you both face demons. Feelings of inferiority. Falling outs. Financial troubles. Grade woes. Yet, you can sense that she's won't desert you when you need her. A fair weather friend she is not.

     She is among your closest confidants. One of only a handful of similar age/grade.

     You balance each other out. You both love to talk and talk and talk. Luckily the struggles of eleven year-olds are no longer an issue.

     You support each other. No topic is completely off limits.

     You teach each other. Fortunately, you have the same basic political views. But the cultures you were raised in are basically polar opposites. You teach her what it means to be white but not a WASP. Sorry. And Judaism and kindness. She teaches you what it's like to be raised more or less an only child of a single parent in more or less the inner city. And how tough it is to be a strong, independent, intellectual, black woman in 2017. You've both said some insensitive things over the years, but have learned over time that words sting, but they don't break you.

     You never hesitate to reach out to each other. The world is better when you converse, for a fleeting moment.

     And you could go on and on and on. But you don't have to.

     Milan means the world to you. Never forget it.

     Let's see how far we've come, Girl!

Song of the Day: How Far We've Come, by Matchbox 20

Hello
Hello
Hello

Waking up at the start of the end of the world,
But it's feeling just like every other morning before,
Now I wonder what my life is going to mean if it's gone,

The cars are moving like a half a mile an hour
And I started staring at the passengers who're waving goodbye
Can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time?

I believe the world is burning to the ground
Oh well I guess we're gonna find out
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come

Well I believe it all is coming to an end
Oh well, I guess, we're gonna pretend,
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come

I think it turned ten o'clock but I don't really know
And I can't remember caring for an hour or so
Started crying and I couldn't stop myself
I started running but there's no where to run to
I sat down on the street took a look at myself
Said where you going man you know the world is headed for hell
Say your goodbyes if you've got someone you can say goodbye to

I believe the world is burning to the ground
Oh well I guess we're gonna find out
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come

Well I, believe, it all, is coming to an end
Oh well, I guess, we're gonna pretend,
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come

It's gone, gone, baby, it's all gone
There is no one on the corner and there's no one at home
It was cool cool, it was just all cool
Now it's over for me and it's over for you

Well it's gone, gone, baby, it's all gone
There is no one on the corner and there's no one at home
Well it was cool cool, it was just all cool
Now it's over for me and it's over for you

I believe the world is burning to the ground
Oh well I guess we're gonna find out
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come

Well I, believe, it all, is coming to an end
Oh well, I guess, we're gonna pretend,
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come

Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come
Let's see how far we've come

Much Love, Molly