January 2018 – Costa Rica
The light disappeared slowly, then all at once over the horizon. It was like in the middle of the day when all I wanted was for the sun to go away because it was too strong and I didn’t want to burn but then it was gone
and I’m only left with stars
well, the fluorescent lights that replace them in the city night
that I thought were so pretty from afar
but they aren’t warm like you are
Colectivo 15, 27 marzo 2017
“I want something just like this”
The sun is setting over the skyscrapers of the city, silhouetted in different shades of pink. Still astounded by the underside of the bridge, so intricately painted with colors and patterns, though nothing can rival the sky at this hour
Every time I come into Buenos Aires, it just makes me want to come back. It’s like every city I’ve ever lived in is subconsciously competing with all the others, but this one might just come out on top.
Where you wanna go? How much you wanna risk?
It’s all so enough. Not to say that there’s nothing I could change, but I feel so happy. Baby victories, making my own life here. That’s the cool thing about losing it all and creating from scratch – when you do it right, it’s so rewarding to know you did it.
the road to Niagra Falls
Taylor Swift & Wicked blast from the stereo of the rented minivan where the four of us excited almost-strangers are about to embark on our journey. Classic CDs, courtesy of Steve, a soft-spoken English grad student, who I learn is uncommonly adept at capturing good band names.
We drive through the sunset that Friday afternoon to reach St. Catherine as early as possible (meaning 2 in the morning). White, blue, purples, and pinks cloud the horizon, but slivers of a faint orange sky shine through. Red brake lights & yellow headlights shine as we drive further through a flat, endless dusk
We share stories, the music closest to our hearts. I had no idea how much they would mean to me. We sing, carrying on, full of hope, though lacking sleep. Slow ballads float through the mom van, as headlights filter through the rain and windshield wipers
I lie down in the back, wrapping Lukas’ jacket around my arms, thoughts about love && the universe playing in tune with the music, their softly-spoken words passing through my mind
December 28, 2016
Highway 101, on the drive home from Pinnacles National Park
John Denver, “Wild Montana Skies”
John Denver’s Rocky Mountain Collection twangs from the stereo of our Vovlo cross-country wagon, the car that always came with us no matter where we went. My six-foot-two brother is squeezed next to me in the backseat, going on about “family time” as we annoy my sister with our loud camp songs and attempt to beat our father at a car game we never won as kids. Small-town signs and palm trees silhouetted through the windows against the clear California sky.
The orange of the sunset fades to pink, then blue, then black. The stars are indistinguishable from the headlights on the highway the closer we get to home. The music gets louder and the conversation quiets, until it’s just me, thinking, watching my inky country fly by. John Denver sings softly about the American Dream, the world I grew up idealizing: hard work, family, the wild West. It makes me so hopeful for my future, grateful for my freedom.
My whole world is open roads & endless possibilities
// initial Instagram post:
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