a note to abigail--

In the midst of all this, senior lockers and driving classes, spontaneous speeches and parking spots, applications and essays and rainy days and anxious letters--I find that through it, all I can think about is you.

I think about your excited laugh, and how I used to be able to summon it quite frequently.  I think about my first day of school freshman year, and how you sat with me and ate on the catwalk just 'cause I felt like it, and we threw chicken at the science class below and commanded them that they dance.  I think about our wide array of inside jokes, and our various matching outfits we'd wear the same day just to screw with people's heads, and that day we darted around Mihama with so much inexplicable joy we could only release it by running even harder, though our lungs were on fire.  We rested at that fried rice place and I then decided you were worthy of hearing Coree: the real story.  You sat there and listened as I poured out the dark parts of me and through the years, you helped me to realize that that was merely a dark chapter of the real story.  I think about our legendary pillow fight, and when your family had to teach me how to eat ribs for the first time.  I think about doing the dishes and the spectacular playlist that went with that, and how your dog quickly became smitten with me after I started speaking Japanese to him... apparently another language of love.  Suwate.... ;}
I hate that we don't talk very often.  I hate that I have no idea how your life is going, and I hate that skype Tuesdays stopped, and I hate that it's possible you don't even realize how often I think about you.  I would love to gush on and on about how every fiber of my being is consumed with thoughts of your well-being, but perhaps I'll just leave that vague.
I hate that you moved.  I hate that we didn't get to be best friends.  I hate looking at the gorgeous black and white pictures of you in my wall collage and thinking that's over... she's on to newer and bigger adventures.
Don't forget me, okay?
I'm here, on this little island, dreaming of being with you.

baby come back

We still cool?

Sorry I've not been posting here.  My B.....
I've redone the template and I've got plenty of new pictures and new thoughts
so maybe I'll give this another go.

There Is No Spoon

Father: Have you two skyped this morning?
Me: No.
Father: So... you skyped last night?
Me: Nope.
Father: Is there a reason why?
Me: .... no.

He's looking at me like his entire existence has been a lie or something.  My father can't comprehend this.  Funny he picked up on it, hah.

Well Then.

This is going to sound weird.
But I think I like being by myself better.

When I'm by myself, I don't care about what people think, and then... well, then no one can hurt me.  I'm tired of my callous getting thicker and thicker.  I'd rather just be left here, blissfully, completely alone.

I Changed.

There is something about being left completely to your own devices that makes one grow as a person.  I mean really.  If you're thrown to the wolves you either fight them off, learn to live with them, or get eaten and die.  If you're thrown into the sea you either learn to swim or you drown.  If your shoes leave a blister enough times in the same spot, then you form a callous to avoid further pain.  Vaccines are really just tiny bits of diseases, injected into us so that we can learn how to fight them off and avoid future sickliness.
We are built to adapt and survive.

And so I suppose I shouldn't be very surprised to realize that I am alone more often than I'm with people... and I don't mind anymore.  I prefer it, actually.  I get up everyday and I embrace the lonesomeness. 
But it's weird to think that now I'm the one standing in the room, making snappish comments towards the whimsical simpletons who enjoy getting under my skin just right.  I'm the one who's just too tired to go out on any spontaneous adventures.  I'm the one who wakes up and gets ready and sits through seminary, teeth gritted through the mindless contentions of the underclassmen, and then sleeps on the couch until school stars and then goes to class and listens and then eats a regular amount of regular food and then goes to more class and then rides the bus home and then finishes homework and then sits there on the computer until it's time to go to bed and repeat it all over again.  Day.  After.  Day.

It feels as if life it just a 3-D movie.  I'm watching everything and it's pretty interesting... but I just can't bring myself to care.  I am not involved.  I am no main character.
Am I even capable of caring?  I don't know.

This emotional callous of mine is just too thick.  I long for the raw, irrational, passionate emotions I used to base my every action off of.  Because even if often times I was stupid and dependent and immature and really flat out ridiculous, I genuinely cared about things.  I was involved in the lives of others and... well, at the very least I was involved in my own life! 

Some call it strength or independence. 
I'm starting to understand how overrated it is.

My Most Obvious Secret

I know I’m supposed to be moving on right now and everything… but…

I find that I can’t help but ask.

Don’t you ever stop for a moment and remember stuff?

Don’t you ever put a little pause on life and think to yourself, “Oh my god.  That is over and done with.  That will never be my life… ever again.  No matter what anybody says or whatever I want to happen, it’s done.”

Yeah we’ll be happy.  We’ll be fine. Life will change and evolve and new things will bring us joy.

But doesn’t it bother you that it won’t be with me? 

Is there a little space inside of you where you know I belong, but I’m just not there to fill it?

I think of the last time I saw you.  That night... the way it felt to walk up the steps to my porch and try not to look back--try to be strong.
What I would do to be in that moment again and have the option of turning around and begging you to stay for just a moment longer. 

Frankly, you make me feel absolutely stupid.

But I just can’t help it.  This is me.  I am weak and dependent and I miss you.

Still.

Just as much as the day you left.

An Update.

Within the Rose

Stitched With History

You fit me better than my favorite sweater...

3 Weeks Away

Around you:

In private:

Thursday.

I can has come home now?

Please?

Cold is the Night

 

cold is the night without you here...

Backspace

This was a day I've been dreaming about for years. 
I remember those crisp, cool green sheets... turned stuffy and damp as hot tears of fright flowed out of me, Avril Lavigne's serenades my only friend or comfort.  I remember that summer when the world was screaming at me to come outside, to talk to someone--be a normal 12 year old.  I also remember the endless sea of lies and excuses that I cried for myself, so that I would always have a way to avoid the world and anyone in it that didn't feel like home.
All I wanted was to go back.  And quickly, too, before we were too late and people made inside jokes without me.  Maybe they'd even be about me. 
I remember staring out those windows full of lights, hating everything--the sounds, the scents, the patterns.  I could feel some little part of me trying desperately to jump.  I still don't know if it was a jump for suicide, or freedom.
I dreamed of coming back to them.  Of being remembered... fixing things before they were neglected for too long.
My dream came true.
But then I remember the days when things slowly started to feel like home again.  When faces were home.  When I developed a "ushe," both at restaurants and for my weekend plans.  I remember crying for the first time over a boy... but I remember laughing for the first time because of one, too.  Those nights that taught me exactly what I will become, and yet exactly what I can't become.  Making secrets for myself so that I could have some to tell, getting caught in the net they tangled, and then cutting my way out, much stronger than I was before that mess.  I remember what it felt like to morph into a thespian... slowly, over time, with strenuous effort going into every step of the way.  The wind in my face and the jump in my heart as I jumped into the ocean for the first time.  Counting freckles and sins, unable to decide if I wanted them blemishing me or if I should avoid them.  Making another best friend all the way from scratch... because the more work that gets put into them, the sweeter they seem to be.

Suddenly everything vanished.

Erased.  I had a clean slate... time traveled to back then, back when I first learned how to love my surroundings.  Granted, it was only for a day.  A day to visit the past.  People say be careful what you wish for.  And while going back was in no way permanent, it was frightening--as if all of that foreverness could really be erased.
I put so much work into it.  Into myself.  I was just plain miserable sometimes, but I worked for those happy moments--I worked on growing as a person.
And now suddenly back then seems like yesterday, and today seems like an eternity.
Time is such a relative thing. 

The Hill

 

Where are you, my angel, now?

To Be a Fish...

I kinda feel like one right now.  Maybe one like on Finding Nemo, where they got tied up in a plastic bag and dropped in the ocean.  While I can see a lot more, flirt with the instinct that tells me this is where I really belong, I'm still trapped inside this bag.  I am still forced to watch helplessly while others get eaten by sharks and barracudas, or perhaps even play around with one another, wondering when it will be my turn next.

I am glad I'm not really a fish in a bag in the ocean.  

I am not having fun right now.

The Dreaded Sunset

Please let this be true.  I don't know what I'll do if it's not...

Nefarious Undertaking

We're going far in life, bud.  Don't forget the band.

(Possibly the last) Dear Abby,

Hey you.
Lover.
Twin.
Blogger buddy.
Partner in crime....
best friend.

Words could never do these past two years with you justice.  Ever.  But that won't stop me from trying.  I am not good at saying good-bye.  That is why I am going to write you this one, to make sure I get it right, even if I am about to go see you off at the airport.

It all started with a napkin.  Not any special one in particular... for wiping purposes, it was actually quite flimsy.  Horrible at its job.
But for writing notes between booths at Coco's Curry, it was just perfect.
We jotted down our thoughts and gossip about Patrick and jokes and witty banter with such excitement, such elated giggles, I never wanted the day to end.  I knew there was something fantastic about this Abby Erdelatz... something that made me want to know her better.
Do you remember that first time we ate lunch together at school, and I convinced you and Alicia to go eat on the catwalk?  We were stealing cookies and chicken nuggets, and shouting at the science kids to "Dance for us!  Express the story of your people!!!"  Apparently a ton of this year's seniors were in class in that building, but didn't recognize us, and were calling us dorks.  I think they were just jealous they didn't think of it themselves.
The honor of being twins was one I could have never deserved.  Wearing matching outfits, spontaneous coordinations, being called Abby and having people just come walking up to me as if I were you.
Far East Drama.  Being room/bed buddies.  I remember you tried to get me into my pajamas because it was late, and while I tried to fight you off, Bailey shoved a mango in my mouth.  What an interesting way to find out I'm allergic to the things!  I was secretly scared out of my wits when we went down that latter to... well... the floor below us ;)  My favorite part was by far the window dancing.  You know what we did.
I will tell you I was secretly envious out of my mind when you managed baseball and the team liked you.  Though, thinking about it, I realize it would be ridiculous if they didn't.  You are such a fantastic, lively, easy to talk to person.
Racing at Mihama.  That sleepover full of secrets.  Microwaved cookie dough.  Whispering sweet nothings to your dog.  Dancing around while doing the dishes.  Oh!  Ooooh!  Ohh!  .... Oh.... ohhh.  That weird praying mantis pose thing we do.  Swing dancing on the stage and everywhere.  Naps on Deakins' couch.  Comparing each other in the mirrors at the beach.  Skipping/running through the halls of the 200's building, shouting "MAKE WAY, WE ARE FREE SPIRITS!!!" while crotchety old teachers tell us to slow down.  Typhoon days.  Typhoon nights.  Microwaving cookies every single day together.  Those moments where you'd defend my food against the predators we call friends more fiercely than even I would.  Those couple times I came to common ground and clung to you for deal life.  Relating stories about how awesome Olivia is to me.  Sharing awesome hipster music.  Venting my silly angers when I knew you were the only person who would always truly be there for me.  Being the d and the ! in David! just so we could be next to each other.  Kissing hand motions.  Questions and lessons on the basics.  That noodle gang we developed on a whim in the bathroom when we found that ramen in the sink and I tried to eat it (Pizza, pomegranates, or noodles?!?!).  Shunning Mauryn because we thought she had betrayed the gang.  Arguing over who would win in a fight (me).  Happy dances after people tell us they read our blogs.  My weird, geeky coder talk.  Staying up late at night to make that album cover for the indie/folk band we developed for our gang that will probably never actually play music.
There is just too much, Abby.  Too much we have experienced together... too much I want to experience with you.  Too much I could have experienced with you.
Also, too much you have to experience without me.
I love you so much.  This isn't easy for anyone, especially you, I know.  But wouldn't it be fun, helping our kids put together little sets in the yard so that can perform plays for us?  I can imagine us sitting together on lawn chairs, giggling wildly at the inside jokes we continue to develop even then, our husbands manning the grill, the little ones scampering around in the grass.
This is a visual I reserve for only the greatest of friends.

Though you're leaving, Okinawa is a place where, for those who deserve such to be true, people are never forgotten.  They live on.  They live on because of the adventures they had.  They live on because of the growth they made.  The tears they cried, the locals they interacted with, the oceans they swam in, the soba, curry, FamilyMart, and seemingly gross native foods they consumed.  Through the tolls they pay on the express way, the stickypix taken at Dragon Palace, the CDs exchanged, and the friends they made, people are remembered.  It's through little things... sometimes the wind imitates the laughter it has heard.  Sometimes people will look at a place where you stood and, for a moment, they'll be able to see you there... they'll be able to feel you there with them.

Both Okinawa, and I, will never forget you.

Your forever lover/twin,
Corenne

Dear Highschool Sweetheart,

Every Time You Go

And perhaps when I'm sleeping you'll get back on your feet