daily thoughts

June 8, 2022

I am forcing myself to type out a couple of paragraphs before I go to sleep simply so I can attempt to build this writing routine again. A quick story about today's morning (which will of course begin with an explanation of yesterday night, because if you haven’t figured it out yet, that’s how things work here—I say something and then contradict it myself just a few letters later). I tried to sleep early yesterday but my body literally could not find a shape to sleep in. I normally sleep on my left side, (which is why I think that side of my face is lopsided) but yesterday I think my collarbones crashed into each other or something but I felt this blinding pain and had to roll into a ball to stop it. I tried sleeping on my right side but it just didn’t work for me. Sleeping face down never works for me and I’m sure you can imagine why. I tried sleeping face up, completely on my back but Jesus Christ, that just felt like I was begging for a ghost to crawl on my bedroom ceiling and stare me down. Also felt like I was at the hospital and doctors (not even hot doctors, I mean completely masked up doctors with gray straw-like hair poking out of their caps) suddenly found the illness I’ve been plagued with for my whole life (yes I think I’m chronically ill with something but I don't know what it is, either that or I have a bone disease because what my knees do to me sometimes isn’t normal, and a hard poke shouldn’t hurt as much as it does). My solution was to keep watching tiktoks for another hour to make sure I got extra tired. 

I finally did fall asleep around 3 am, with my right arm around my pillow and my head stuck above it, left leg over my back kneecaps. I woke up at 7 am with no feeling in my arm, still recoiling from an insane dream (I’ve had way too many strange dreams lately it’s scary). Then my friend texts me that she cant pick me up for yoga and so I try to fall asleep again, to no avail. 

I did cut my hair though, and for once in my life it was done exactly the way I wanted (to be fair, I hate speaking up during haircuts so the 78 other times my hair wasn’t done the way I wanted, it was 96% my fault). I kinda felt like she was leaving my front hair longer but I decided it was my brain convincing me of that so I didn’t even dare to look in the mirror and instead prayed to the lumberjack property brother (their show was playing on the tiny tv) that it was the same length throughout. The property brother came through! Thank you, my scruffy, flannel-wearing guardian angel. 

Love,

Rix 

June 7, 2022

God, hello. I am so sorry about not writing, (this time for real, not like when I left for a month out of pure laziness) I’ve actually been extremely busy. I had AP exams, finals, graduation, concerts, Disneyland, and parties. I have been taking the last week to sleep, so my schedule has been sleep at 3 am wake up at 2 and just find things to entertain myself with in between (70% if the entertainment has been binge watching anything I can find, which has devolved my brain function to the point where I watched 2 movies back to back and got so bored with the second one that instead of accepting the boredom and looking for another movie, I minimized the screen and began playing subway surfers on my iPad like a sticky-handed 3 year old (I realize just now this completely refutes the “I’ve actually been extremely busy” statement (see above.) , but whatever) ). This week, however, I've decided to completely uphaul my schedule, image, and overall my life. I opened a book for the first time in weeks yesterday (please dont think it was a literary fiction about existentialism or a dystopian society or something smart, it was a downloaded pdf on my iPad  type of book, and those types of books are books horny millennial women on their iPad read, not what a hot coffee drinking, (feel the need to clarify that I don't mean hot as in appearance, I mean hot coffee drinking (I don’t give myself that much credit yet, remember my crippling self-image issues?)) mysterious college student reads.

 The college student vibe is what I’m reaching towards currently. I love my hometown and the people in it, but it’s so extremely boring and it's so hot right now that I can’t even randomly go for a run to explode the thoughts in my mind (which to my defense, I have done before). I’m so excited for college in the fall it's insane. Which is why I'm starting my little revolution right now. So far, I’ve booked a haircut, a facial, and an 8 am yoga class tomorrow. I'm getting new glasses this week, which is probably good since I haven’t gotten my eyes checked in two years and haven’t changed my contacts in months. I of course, will be trying to pick out college student vibe glasses (which do not look good on my long face, and I will be dissatisfied with my pick so I'll go back and change them for squarer ones that I will be even more dissatisfied with for the duration of my time with them). Fun fact— when I take my contacts off I can't see faces if they’re more than five feet away! Concerning? Maybe. Have I done anything about it? No!

I have so many little stories to tell but I’ve realized I’m not good at combining the stories with my daily thoughts, so I’m going to add a new page and HOPEFULLY begin writing little scenes that happen to me. The first one will be the experience I had with a police officer at 3 am after a party. I’m going to keep myself accountable for it though, so the first one will be coming today. 

This wasn’t very good or informative or nearly revolutionary, but at least it's here. That’s a terrible disclaimer and is probably a logical fallacy or something but I am going to get ice cream with my family so goodbye. 

Love, 

Rix 

May 12, 2022

This year literally flew by me. I feel like its been "the beginning of the year" up to now even. Honestly, after spring break (and the whole little jungle adventure that I have yet to talk about) happened, it feels like time isn't even time anymore, it's just like I wake up-go to school-go to the gym- and then its 10:37 pm and I'm writing entries while standing in front of my kitchen counter. I like doing these daily writings because it makes my days seem connected, which is something that isn't really happening lately. Every day feels extremely different. The "routine" of my life has been nonexistent, and I have something different to do every day. Today was so much fun though. We played volleyball against every class, and I got so excited I jumped out of my seat (multiple times, and I didn't even feel stupid for it, although now I realize my ass was probably right in front of a poor freshman's face every time I leaped, but they should blame their own classmates for being extremely intense players, not me for being dramatic). I love watching sports, even though I've never been a sports girl myself. I did play basketball for a couple years, and I was pretty okay at it (mostly because I towered over every other 12 year old girl on my team). You know what? I like where this is going, so let's dive into some (literally just like 3 of the 10, because there's so many more) of the multiple hobbies I've had over my life. 

The most intense one has been taekwondo.  My mother had a large part in me staying in that class (for ten fucking years). I had 3 different coaches. The first one was amazing (although that might be my brain speaking retrospectively because she got cancer in her leg (ironic but sad so you can't even joke about it) and had to leave 3 years into my practice, so it's totally possible that I think of her as a saint when she's not, but I'd rather glorify her (I have this thing with old ladies in my life, probably to fill in the gap that appeared when my grandma died, but again, put a pin in this, we'll analyze it later)). The next teacher was a younger one. Although for some reason I have a distinct memory of her telling me her car was a Nissan Tsuru and that those were the "los que son taxis" cars, the thing I most remember during her era was that she cut her hair like a boy, and bleached the tips of it gray-white. A shocker for me--a lot of things are, is it the catholic upbringing? is it the mexican culture? is it the bubble I was raised in? (OK warning the story gets a little convoluted here, but that's life so deal with it, but also pretty please stay with me, just for a minute) During this time, I was also attending gymnastics class.  If you know me personally, or have read some of these entries, you know I had (have?) a little (little?) thing with my size. I'm tall, and was overweight for most of my childhood. So, as you can imagine, gymnastics was not the best for me and my self image. once, my instructor made me do 60 situps when all the other girls did 30 because I "needed it." I would wear this Spyder brand black jacket over my purple leotard every single day in an attempt to hide my round stomach. Even in 100 degree weather--since we practiced in a literal garage without air conditioning, I probably looked absolutely psychotic. I refused to take it off. Thankfully for my already damaged perception, I became pretty good at spelling during this time, and finally convinced my mom that I had to drop out of gymnastics to study for the regional spelling bee. 

Back to taekwondo. My third and last teacher (omyGod I just remembered he's dead I'm sorry for the interruption, we'll get back to it in just a minute) was a man. I don't have the best track record with male teachers. A few years earlier, I took guitar lessons. My parents bought me an acoustic guitar with a case and everything. My mom called me her "taylor swift mexicana." The first class was fine, I was the only one attending, and I think I learned the first minute (not even, more like 20 seconds) of Feliz Cumpleanos. I also remember my teacher used numbers to teach instead of chords or letters. 3-5-5-3-5 is an instruction I have burnt in my mind, I think it's from a Lion King song. Anyway, first class, all good. Here's when it gets bad. I was like 3 minutes late for my second class. I take a look inside the room, and I see what looked like a testosterone conference. My brain saw MEN.  It was most likely only three boys who were no older than 12 (whose balls hadn't even dropped yet probably), but I was so freaked out I ran downstairs and hid in the restroom until I got thirsty. I went to get water and found my mom there. I have an extremely violent memory of what transpired after that, but I think my brain magnified it. Then I remember choking on water and tears, and 5 minutes later I was in class. I think I stayed in lessons for a year, but I hated it. I would ask to go to the restroom every two minutes. Sometimes I wish I stayed, because I love rock music now and would love to be able to play it, but I'm happy for my 7 year old self I gave up on it. Anyway, when we got a new male teacher, I was afraid it would go the way guitar lessons went (even though I was 6 years older and the only boy in the class was my brother). The teacher was brutal. Flexibility exercises made me cry multiple times. I wanted to drop out, but my mom said that I was closer to a black belt to a white one, so I might as well finish. She had been saying this since I first wanted to drop out, four years earlier, and my little brain couldn't compute that the math wasn't right back then. But now that my brain could do math, the math was right. So I stayed. I never got extremely close to my coach, but he was proud of me. I got my black belt in December of 2019. He passed away almost exactly two years later. 

(I acknowledge the sappy ending, but there's nothing I can do about it. He did die.) 

Rix

May 11, 2022 

I have not found my iPad keyboard. I've had to resort to using my youngest sister's Chromebook to type these out. Since I don't have a laptop, I'm not really used to writing on these bigger screens, but it makes me feel so 2009 vloggerish that it makes the experience more whole. On the topic of technology, today I realized how bad with money I am (I've realized this years before, but today it really just materialized)(also realize now there is no apparent connection between technology and money in the sentence, so let me explain). When I finally get money from the college I'm going to, I'll use it for a laptop. Then, I'll sell my iPad and buy an iPad mini. This, in my head, makes perfect sense. But then today, an ad on twitter came up for a paper-simulating tablet. It literally looks like paper, but it's a screen. Graphs and sketches and arrows decorated the sepia pages. See, this is how they get me. I see the symmetrical drawings, the title banners, the connections, and the graphs, and my brain just jumps to the idea that I do those types of  drawings. I don't. I can't. I'm a messy writer, my handwriting is loopy and tight and when I write too fast I can't even re-read it. I have no use for graphs and charts. I'm not a mathematician. I do like making little mind maps, but I never make them, because what do I need mind maps for when I've got the notes app on my phone (see previous entry). That mathematician comment ties into something I added to my shopping list this weekend. Chalk. Japanese-turned-Korean chalk. Because apparently that chalk is the only thing mathematicians use on their chalkboards. Now, who in their right mind would ever want to buy a virtual notebook when they already have an iPad and an (albeit fake) Apple Pencil? Who wants mathematician chalk when pens exist? (if you didn't get it, the answer is me, no shame if you're a little slow to catch on, it happens to the best of us (I feel the need to clarify that was a bad attempt at a joke, I still have no idea how writing comedy works ))

I just honestly have this hyper fixation of writing on walls. I drew on our TV once when I was 3 or 4. With a black sharpie. (I also once dropped gum in between car seats on a 110 degree day, and played a plastic trumpet for 20 minutes straight while on a timeout, unrelated, but sometimes I think back on my early childhood and wonder what the hell happened to me during the ages 8-13, when I was introverted and calm, maybe all those years of quiet just exploded when I hit high school, or maybe it was starting school in the U.S., note to self to overanalyze that later). But yes, I like writing on walls. I want my house to have whiteboard walls and hanging chalkboards and legal pads on every surface. In elementary school, we would have to cover our textbooks in white paper. By November, the back of my textbook was covered (in blue, smudgy pen, no exceptions) in rough sketches of eyes, characters with speech bubbles, dots and circles, the front with noses and oranges and hands. I knew which textbook was which because of the drawings on the spine. Science? You mean the textbook with the series of various sized squares running down the bottom left corner? 

I like typing. For Christmas last year I got a Royal  royal blue typewriter. I wrote on it for three months, then my ink roll ran out and I haven't bought more. The click of the keys makes such a great sound. Even on this 2019 Chromebook, the click click click just makes what I'm writing feel substantial, and it also helps me write faster and helps the words flow. I'm tired, so this is all for today, but I will post a little scene  later tonight. 

Rix

May 10, 2022

Hi. I'm back. Sorry I didn't post for a while, (assuming you cared enough to notice, (not at all self-pitying, just trying to ground myself) if you did, thank you), but a series of mildly but not truly unfortunate events forced me (did they really-- or was I just too lazy to get back to writing) to stop writing. I will list them for you in order, because I hate it when things aren't chronological (actually, I don't mind it at all, its just a thing that sounds interesting to be a hater of, like I'd rather claim to hate non-chronological lists than admit I hate matcha or people that call food sexy, for example). Anyway, here goes

1. left to central mexico and forgot my keyboard at home. 

2. came back from central mexico, but had AP Comparative government to study for

3. Finished studying

4. Test happened

5. I kinda had a crisis so all I'd do was stay home and watch Seinfeld

6. Still kinda am having the crisis, but can't write about it yet. 

So yeah. In that lapse of a month and three days, I have successfully gone on a run, which was something I never thought I'd do. I've broken a pair of headphones (on the same night actually! are they related? that's for you to figure out!), ditched school with the senior class, used a squat rack at the gym (couldn't sit  down for a couple hours after that), redownloaded tiktok (but just to post not to  watch), and stopped using parentheses for good (joking, I love parentheses, if you ever catch me writing without them, just know the aliens have taken over. (and not any aliens, THE aliens) ). 

I'm a little more unhinged now that school is basically just me sitting in a chair, observing people (remind me to take a book and this laptop to school tomorrow). I also think I'll make this more personal, maybe write larger entries, because I have officially given up on being a notebook girl. It's just not who I am. And I'm not who I am for a whole lot of things, but being a notebook girl is not one of them anymore. ANyways, this was a little disorganized. Maybe tomorrow I'll tell you about how and why (the how is a little obvious, unless you're an alien who has forced me to stop using parentheses) I sobbed in my car on Sunday. 

I MISSED YOU, 

love, rix

April 7, 2022

I’m pretty sure the cosmos came together today just to spite me. When I say this, I want you to imagine a bunch of planets and stars, all with distinct faces and of different pastel colors, sitting around a table made of silvery material, drinking a really dark and thick liquid that turns out to be dark matter. I’m pretty sure the scene played out something like this: 

“So, who are we going to make extremely self-conscious today?,” asks the giant magenta planet, Neptune sitting on the corner of the table, already drunk on the element that has eluded earthly scientists for decades. A really medium-sized orange Saturn with golden rings around their head pleaded, “Don’t be mean Neptune, it's never okay to make people feel uncomfortable with themselves, don’t you remember what happened when we accidentally made someone so lame and involuntarily celibate that they created that stupid thing, I can’t remember the name right now…” Jake cuts in, “Calculus?” (And yeah there’s a planet named Jake because not all of the cosmos have cool Roman names, some of them haven’t even been discovered, like Jake or his sister Cabbage, and besides it’s better to be named Jake than to be named L-4815 which is what scrawny scientists on Earth name the one thing they achieve by themselves other than taking a shower or smashing the curve on college exams) Saturn nods in recognition and silently wishes they hadn’t opened the “good” bottle of dark matter (called darkmat 209020000) they all had that one night when Earth was sedated because of her wisdom tooth surgery. It was kinda crazy for them to see how this weird human with a curly white wig (they had also made him bald, simply excessive cruelty that night, honestly) started playing with numbers and letters as if it was a girl's feelings. Jake kinda felt bad for him, because he wasn’t getting any at the time either, so he was also near combining two things that should never be combined. At least in Jake’s case, it was soy sauce and ice cream, not something that haunted students for centuries after the realization of lameness, in that guy Isaac’s case. To be honest, Jake could have been more destructive, possibly combining peanut butter and mustard and spreading it on a tomato. Thankfully for him, Venus finally had the guts (or enough darkmat 209020000 shots)  that night to confess her embarrassing crush she had kept in secret for light years. They have a baby together now, named Cabbagio. 

Anyways, after pondering on their accidental discovery of mathematics and physics and something called gravity, Neptune decides to convince the rest of the cosmos to go along with their plan. They explained that this wouldn’t be that bad, and that they knew the person, so they were sure the person wouldn’t do anything nearly as psychotic as create science because they knew them and they were too lazy. Even Saturn agreed at the end, because who doesn’t love tormenting those less powerful than themselves?

Together, they hatched a perfect plan. I can't really testify as to the specifics, since on my end of this story, their plan turned out to be something like this:

I was at the gym, on the rowing machine specifically, minding my own business. I always get really awkward when people go on the machine next to me, and in this moment I suddenly became paralyzed by the fear that my armpits were sweating extensively, which was probably true. I shit you not, as soon as my arms went up on the stroke right after the initial thought, I heard the words “Are you embarrassed of your armpits?”

  My podcast (Music Exists with Chuck Klosterman and Chris Ryan, 100% recommend) was harshly interrupted by a Mexican Dove ad. And of course it wasn’t a dove soap ad, because that was way too easy to ignore and because Neptune liked a challenge. It was a dove deodorant ad, saying something along these words (I did 15 minutes, okay 2 minutes, of research online to try and find the exact ad but I couldn’t, so here is the redacted and translated version)

Are you embarrassed of your armpits?

Do they sweat excessively?

Do they stain your clothing?

Well, with Dove deodorant, you don't have to worry!

I reasonably panicked and began to think it was a sign from the cosmos that I really was too sweaty, and I panicked some more because I realized I was wearing Suave deodorant for women, not Dove. Fuck you Neptune. 

Rix (fictional nonfiction)

April 5, 2022

 Not only am I graduating soon, leaving people who I’ve been to school with for almost 10 years, but I’m also joining people I met less than a year ago for the next four. Plans change though, and today I’m reminded of how quickly they change when I realize I’m joining less people than I thought. The crazy thing is, however, that the people I’m not joining will actually be fulfilling my dream of having people to meet in Boston. I’ll finally have friends my age to meet when I visit family, people who finally share in the love of the city whose love I had for myself for 18 years. It’s a serendipitous moment. Everything and everyone ends up where they’re supposed to. 

I didn’t get my braces off until June because of how much I would skip appointments, but because I went to the dentist a month late and had to wait 2 hours to get in, I saw an email on my phone, inviting me to apply to a summer program. I did my essays the day before the due date, and had no idea if I’d get in. I’m glad I didn't understand the magnitude of applying to the Neubauer program, because if I had known how much it would change my life I would’ve been paralyzed by the fear of what a lack of it would do to my future. Mango effect, if you will and if you read yesterday’s post. 

I got in. After the first week of the program, I became convinced that I got in as an accident. This is where the people came in. I swear the people I met through this program were gifted to me by a heavenly entity, because it’s insane how perfect they were. People I didn't know I desperately needed, and I met them over 7 weeks of zooms, each connecting through time zones across the US. Staying on FaceTime with them until 5 am while being an au pair to 5 year olds during the day wasn’t one of my best ideas, but I’m glad that I did. I’d take those levels of sleep deprivation any day if it meant I’d meet people like the Neubauers. 

By the time the summer ended I changed what my dream college was. 10 years of dreams and plans, not given up, but transformed into concentrated hopes. Hopes concentrated into 6 months, hopes granted little by little and then all at once. I become convinced every day that I made the right choice, and I think that’s why God made it easier for me to make it. 

I’ll be forever thankful for cohort 7, for those sleepless nights, for people that I met by chance, but that made a part of me whole, and for their ability to hold me until I reached my true dream. 

Riqui

April 4, 2022

I had the most amazing fruit today. It was a mango, sliced into thick slices, each unique in size and shape, covered with a dusting of sweet chili powder and half an inch of chamoy. All of this, arranged into a large clear plastic cup, for 50 pesos. It wasn’t cold, so it was the perfect temperature to bite into. I swear to a heavenly body that this mango would’ve solved impotence, ignorance, illness, and other issues that affect the human population across our earth. I’m convinced this mango had the ability to make me grow a third boob or a first dick if I wanted to. 

(To be 97% honest, I didn't know where this was going but now I think I do.)

But then this got me thinking. What if I never eat a mango that's as good as the mango I ate today? Will I even remember how great the mango was? What if I die and this was the best mango I’ll ever have, never again eating a mango that comes close to surpassing it? Will all the mangos I eat be short of that bar, that standard that the world set randomly for me today, against my will? (I do realize that this is the second time I use food as a metaphor for a life issue, but then again, food makes up a larger part of my life than I wish it should, so this doesn’t surprise me even though it might surprise you)

However depressing this might sound, I actually disagree with the negative interpretation of this fruit’s message. (Please keep in mind I’m fully aware of the fact that I sound like I’m on drugs, no need to remind me) To me, what this mango means is that I got to experience it as it came (haha, came). Since I was fully in the moment, with no expectation for all the future mangos I’ll consume in the next 60 years (yeah I’m being modest with my life-span because who am I kidding), the love for the mango was captured in those moments I ate it, and in the remembrance of it hours later. When I gave the mango-seller 2 dollars and 8 pesos, I had no idea how it was going to taste (obviously like a mango, but who knows? Maybe I could’ve recorded the first ever case of a mango tasting like gasoline) like, so I had no big concern if the mango was going to meet my expectations, which made the goodness of it more intense. That’s what I have to remind myself of: that it doesn’t help to have set expectations for experiences that are a tossup, chance, fate, accident, or coincidence, and it doesn’t help to think of future experiences that are also a tossup, chance, fate, accident, or coincidence, because they’re not real yet. You cannot replicate an accident. 

 Serendipitous mango I guess. Cool band name idea. 

Riqui 

April 3, 2022

I’m sorry for not writing this weekend. Yesterday night I really did want to write, but I had left my iPad keyboard in my room but I had already gotten everything ready to sleep in my brother’s room (which is more like a guest room/storage unit, so there’s more of a chance that you’ll find foreigners or the guitar I never learned to play from 5th grade in this blue sea-themed room than my brother sleeping) and I didn’t feel like tripping over legos and books and jeans and a pig and a random friend of my sisters’ that was sleeping over, just for a keyboard. I do regret this though, because my emotional state at the time was one that was perfect for writing down. I’ll do my very best to recapture it tonight, about 22 hours after the original feelings left me once I gave into sleep, comforted by a striped blanket and the allure of change. 

I realized 22 hours ago that every single time I come home from a party, I get depressed. It doesn’t even have to be one of those big parties where I have to wear heels and do my hair, it can even be a 22 person party/hangout in my friend’s yard who lives 7 blocks away from me. I first started isolating these feelings last year, when I hung out a lot with friends who lived on the other side of town. At the time, I had a crush on a guy within that friend group (to be honest, it was way more than a crush, so I think the more appropriate name for it would be a soul-crushing interest). I would get to the party, excited, feeling pretty and bold, with the possibility of new developments to tell my friend about on a WhatsApp voice memo at 2:43 am as soon as I got home.

Nothing ever happened.

Not any random flirting, not a one-on-one conversation, not even an intense look I could dissect and obsess over for the next week and a half. I would leave these parties feeling like the ugliest person to ever walk the planet. I was convinced no one would ever be interested in me, that no one would ever see me in that way. I would drive home, alone, playing the music I had queued for my drive on the way there, music that now sounded like lost chances to me. There was this one stoplight that would bring tears to my eyes for no good reason. I would always get there on the red, and would have a good minute to contemplate everything that was wrong with me and how un-crushable of a person I was. (I know this is extremely whiny and you’ll be rolling your eyes at the level of melodrama but just think of times you felt like this and you’ll understand how I’ve been feeling every weekend for the past year). 

It's now a year later. I hang out with different people. I have more fun at parties than I did last year. I’m more happy with myself and who I am than I've ever been, but without fail, I get that stoplight feeling so hard it makes me drowsy. I feel so extremely alone at some moments while at parties that it feels like I’m in a glass box and everyone’s looking at me, or more like everyone’s in the glass box except me. 

Rix

March 30, 2022

It's funny to see how different people think. I started going to the gym last week, and three people have already said something along the lines of “I’m so proud, you’re working to be better” to me.  At least it’s funny to me because I never in my life have thought that about someone going to the gym. It sucks how my brain would instantly go: that person is superficial and vain and insecure. Obviously, I thought of them in this way because those were the reasons I went to the gym. I was so insecure, and of course still am, but now my thought process is more along the lines of “at this point it's just laziness if you don't go.” This made me see how beautiful it is to think that people admire you, sort of applaud you, for things that you thought were insignificant. Since we value different things, we measure our self-worth in different terms. A gym bro measures his worth in the muscles he has, because to him they mean self control and persistence. A student measures their worth in grades, because to them they prove dedication and skill. What do I place my worth in? When do I feel proud of myself? 

I don't think I even value myself in that way. There’s nothing I currently do or work at that I see as a reflection of my skills. I think I only do things for entertainment or for fun, to occupy my time, nothing that really fulfills me. Do I do this to avoid the existential crisis that I’ve been sweeping over my psychological rug for the past two years? Yeah. Could it be that I participate in so many things to get validation from simply being part of something? Yeah. I’m hoping college will give me a passion I work to become better at, or that at least my classes are challenging and interesting enough that I like to dive into them. 

I have so many hopes for college that I’m terrified that it won't be as good as I hope it will be and I’ll be crushed. Everyone says that I’ll thrive in college, that I was meant to leave my hometown. But the truth is, my hometown has been fun. I don't have many complaints. In my head, this means I haven’t done my time in purgatory, which subsequently means college won't be my heaven. I’m afraid, and I'll write more about this tomorrow because my sister needs my iPad. Also this keyboard is not working, so good night. 

Riqui

March 29, 2022

Life has been (had been?) going so well lately that today I started getting scared that it would go down. Naturally, I’ve started trying to convince myself that it won't go down by asking myself “well, was life really that good last week, or are you just exaggerating it in retrospect?” just so I’m not paralyzed by the fear of riding a downward curve this week. My friend keeps asking me to go see a psychologist, to which I respond by taking a screenshot, posting it on my close friends story on instagram, acting like its all fun and jokes, and then telling him I can't go because I’ll lose my sparkle, to which he says “true,” and then we both go back to pretending like the thing I had said wasn’t actually that concerning and that I’m just somewhat accidentally funny, or just enough for him to keep joking like this and for me to keep ignoring his oh-my-god-im-actually-so-concerned-for-you tone in the few words he says. Oh my god I’m re-reading this and it sounds like I’m actually not doing okay, but I swear I am. I just like to be dramatic, especially when I write, just so I don't feel like my life is boring. I also realize now that writing makes me feel any feelings more intensely, to which I’m not sure how to respond to. 

I’ve also realized (I love how I’m acting like I haven’t known this all my life when I've actually just been ignoring it for 18 years) how sensitive I am to changes in people’s attitudes. Someone could literally make 20% less eye contact with me than usual and I become convinced that I somehow accidentally killed their pet frog and somehow forgot about it. I get so paranoid but then quickly remind myself that I’m just overthinking. I don't think this is anxiety, because it only happens every once in a while and I’m able to bring myself to reality pretty fast, but if it suddenly begins happening more often, especially if I haven’t actually killed your pet cat, dog, mouse, or bird (or even your mother!), then just remind me that I’m overthinking so that I won't go on a rant about it on a public website. Disclaimer- it is called a public diary (basically) for a reason folks, and to be fair, it is totally your choice to keep reading my rants in your free time. It's not like I came at you with a pink bedazzled gun pointed directly at your throat and asked you to open safari or google (would a gun to the throat even kill you instantly? Probably not, but too late).Thank you for doing so though (reading, not being my hostage), it makes me feel less alone. 

This is why my dream boyfriend would be someone so so connected to the earth that he reassures me every single time that I’m just overthinking. This sounds like he’d be an earth sign like me, so maybe a Capricorn man (Jack Schlossberg-Kennedy I’m looking at you). His commonly used phrases would be:

“No te preocupes”

“She didn't make a face”

“To be honest, she did kinda make a face”

“IM JOKING THERE WAS NO FACE”

“I’ll buy you a coffee”

A girl can dream.

Riqui

March 27, 2022

God I love backlit keyboards. They’re perfect for when I procrastinate all day and then open my iPad Logitech slim folio keyboard (I do not own a laptop) at 10:45 in bed while I’m still wearing jeans to write the day’s website post. What do you even call a website post? An entry? A piece?

I watched the Oscars today. I missed the moment where Will Smith punched Chris Rock though, so does it even count like I watched it? It got me thinking about the importance of watching events live. It's so cool to think that you’re experiencing the same thing at the same time as millions of other people are too.  I think that's the appeal of a lot of modern media. I remember waiting for the release of the All Too Well short film with my friends texting the groupchat like crazy. I’m not feeling this thing today. 

So that was not working for me. I decided I’ll talk about my future interviews and Oscar speeches. I remember when I was younger (and still now, I won’t lie) I would imagine being at an interview with Jimmy Fallon talking about how I would imagine being at an interview with Jimmy Fallon talking about how I would imagine being at an interview with Jimmy Fallon. And then my brain would get kinda freaked out and I realized it was one of those never ending things. I never really actually thought about what would make me famous enough to be on Jimmy Fallon, or at the Oscars giving a speech, I guess within the imagination simulation it was just a given. Now that I think about it, it would have to be for acting, or for writing a book, or for writing a TV show or a movie, or directing something. I now want it to be for all three, on all separate occasions. I’d talk about growing up in Mexicali, about crossing the border, about catholic school, about the things that changed my life. Right now that list is kinda limited. In retrospect, I think the things that have changed my life are the following:

• joining mock trial freshman year of high school

• Getting into the UChicago summer program

• My grandma dying in seventh grade (or more like her life, not really her death)

• Going to Boston in the summers

• Reading? Probably 

The thing that gets me excited though, is thinking about how many more things will happen in my life that will be things-that-changed-my-life. Who knows? Ew I’m still hating this. Guess I’m uninspired. This happens sometimes, but then at 1:43 I might get a rush of ideas and maybe I’ll add something. But most likely I won’t. This will happen from time to time on this website. But it’s allowed because it’s a diary so it’s honest, I’ll promise you that. Goodbye If you read this go check out the new list I posted— Pinterest favorites. 

Riqui

March 26, 2022

I’ve tried so incredibly hard to be a journal girl. To have this one notebook, full of thoughts and gum wrappers and drawings and food stains and memories and stories and week old calc notes and ideas. (Brace yourself because I’m about to say something that I hate when other people say but the lament is perfect here) 

Oh how I’ve tried!

I have found notebooks around my house that are from as early as the failed-apocalyptic year of 2012. I have one from 2015, blue with hot pink flowers that my friend Emma got me as a gift from my confirmation, a thicker pleather one with a magnet strap thingy that closes it from 2017 from my old (old like principal from the past, not old like she’s old, which she’s not, since I recently learned she had time to steal money from the church and is now no longer an ordained (Do sisters even get ordained?) sister) principal when I placed 3rd in the regional spelling bee, one with a golden woman on it from my godmother/cousin who I have not seen in 3 years and who apparently now has visions of my dead grandmother, and one from two months ago with bees on it from the mom of the kids I tutor. 

All of them follow the same pattern. 

I skip the first page, as if I’d go back and write a table of contents for it or something. 

The first (or actually second) page is always so cute, always with an introduction. It usually goes something like “Hi, I’m Ana Emilia, and this is my journal.” 

In the earlier journals (think 2012-2017) without fail, I always manage to include a reference to my future political aspirations on the second-first page. There’s a drawing of me holding a guitar on one (reminder to write about my journey with the guitar eventually), another one with me in a pantsuit with a man’s tie on holding a baby, in which a speech bubble says “president. NOT First Lady.” With the most recent notebooks (think 2017-now) there's usually an apology and an explanation on the first page, saying how sorry I am about never writing or saying how much of a not-a-journal-girl I am. 

A lot, well actually all of these notebooks are started on a significant date. Either August 22-26 (first day of school for all of my elementary school career), or New Year’s Day. One random one starts on Christmas Day. By the second day of writing— January 2, August 27— you can already feel a sense of boredom. By January 3rd or December 27, there is nothing on the page. The rest are blank. 

I thought about ending it here with the “blank” and it would’ve been good but would’ve felt like too much of an on-purpose thing so now I’m gonna write about how I’m an iPhone notes girl. 

I think my problem with journals is that you have to take them out, and grab a pen to write and your hand has to get into the vibe of writing. This whole complicated (haha gen-z teenager is so lazy she doesn’t even like to write by hand) process is what makes notebooks so unappealing to me. I have to set time apart to write, and by the time I open to a blank page the thoughts have flown away. An iPhone (as much as I hate it) is always inches away from me, so it's easy to take it out and quickly tap out my thoughts. I did think about post-its as a solution but that would mean I’d have to be always surrounded by four walls of my own on which I could stick them on, which at the moment is not plausible. The ideal solution would be a brain implant that would capture my thoughts at the instant to which I could later go back to and retrieve the feeling completely. See, that's also a problem with me. I sometimes have intense flashbacks to moments in which I can't even remember the people or the time frame or even the setting, but the feeling, like the mental state I had at the time is clear. Kinda scary. 

Anyway, someone (preferably an interesting-hot guy with curly hair and a big nose and a stressful personality with a fast talking pace (basically Jesse Eisenberg) ) please invent that snapshot brain thing. And if you do and you read this after because I’ve sued you for it or something just be patient with me, I probably just want you to fall in love with me (especially if you are Jesse Eisenberg). 

Rix 

March 23, 2022

This is going to be a story about a salad (and as I read this paragraph again I realize it's also about magnets, whatever,  just hang in there). I am of course hoping that you, even though I told you that this is a story about salad, will look beyond the petty moping about a green leafy vegetable and realize that this is petty moping about another subject, not quite green, not at all leafy, but at some point I did wish they were vegetative, so maybe there is a comparison there. But if anyone asks, this was about salad. 

Today I went to the gym because I wanted to be so tired before I went to bed that it would feel like when you’re so tired you’re lightheaded. I wanted to be this type of tired because when you’re that type of tired, as soon as your head hits the pillow your whole body feels heavy and you somehow stick to the bed. Now that I think about it it's more like a magnet sort of attraction. Remember, when in first or second grade you learned about magnets and you had to put the opposite poles together so they’d stick? And even when you tried to resist, the magnets would fight through the air just to get together and once they did they clashed a little but then eventually stuck together so hard you had to slide them away from each other using the edge of the desk? I realize now that these last two sentences won’t make perfect sense to you the way they do to me if you weren’t me when I learned about magnets, but I think you understood either way. Anyway, because I wanted to be so tired I figured it would help if my body was a little exhausted too, which is why I went to the gym. 

While at the gym, I was doing fine. My body started aching but I was able to suppress the constant reminders by reading, which helps only if the book is especially interesting, so I had to switch around books for a while until I finally got settled into the original book. Time moved slow at first, then as soon as I expected it to move faster it moved even slower. At around the 8:36 time mark (I was gonna stay until 8:45), I decided I would get a salad. This salad was going to be my motivation for staying an extra ten minutes (which was actually a break even ten minutes since I’d lost ten minutes already talking to people). So I pushed through because of the salad, even though I didn’t start working out with the intent of eating the salad (this whole story is making me sad that you’ll find it boring, but it was so good so stay if you want, or don’t (I realize that one of these days someone will take me up on that offer but that's a problem for future me, who i hope uses less parentheses). Anyway. I finished the workout and went downstairs to get a salad, and as soon as my two friends had gotten their salad, I ordered the same salad. 

They were out of lettuce. 

I was so shocked my eyes started watering, even though it was only salad, and even though I knew my friends would give me some of theirs. But I had hoped so much for my own salad, as a reward for working out those full 45 minutes instead of playing dumb and leaving incompletely. I went back to my chair and the first thing I did was post a story on instagram explaining the salad disappointment. I was flabbergasted. My friends kept offering their salad, and although I did take a good amount, it didn’t taste the way my salad would’ve tasted. The thing is, 20 minutes earlier, I didn’t even want the salad. Sure, I was gonna leave early, but the salad wasn’t even in my mind then. The salad dilemma, however, kept multiplying in my mind. I kept telling people what had happened. But it wasn’t even that bad. They were out of lettuce. So what? (I forgot to mention I couldn’t order anything else, they were out of food (you’ll have to trust me on this even though I know it sounds fake)) I had made the salad something it wasn’t, and I made it be the reason I finished my workout even though I started it without it. Now, instead of finishing (albeit half-hearted and short on time) the workout by myself and feeling somewhat satisfied, I came home thinking about the salad that I never had. The worst part is, I did have salad. Just not the way I thought I would. 

Magnets can repel, and that fact makes them magnets just as much as the fact that they attract makes them magnets too. 

Was this not as good as I thought? Probably. I want to finish this and sleep, and maybe in the morning it’ll be better than I thought. Or not. 

Riqui 

March 21, 2022

I don’t know how to write. I feel like I make my essays intoxicating, like when you put a bunch of girls together in the same bathroom and all you can smell is a thin heaviness that stuffs up the room. When I talk I don’t talk like this, or maybe I do, but my eyebrows and my hands and my eyes make it so that you understand the lightness in which my words are meant to be taken as. Is it my voice? Like my physical tone of voice that makes words sound like this rapid jumble of laughter, more floaty and skinny if that makes sense. Is it obvious that I have a little thing with weight? What I’m realizing now is that maybe it's my Spanish. Like when I talk I don’t mind mixing up languages or dropping in Spanish phrases or sayings because people around me understand them. I’m pretty sure it's the lack of Spanish. Or maybe I’m just a bad writer, which is something I would really hate to be. I don’t even think I’m a good writer, it's just that I like to write so it would be preferable to have good writing skills. Then again, my college essays are pretty good. But they are college essays so they have that voice of like accept me accept me accept me I’m broken and I’m letting you fix me. So who knows? Did I write all of this because someone told me they didn’t like a piece I wrote? Fuck yeah. In my defense, it was an assignment I did as a favor for them and I did write it during Econ and physics, and then again he is a guy. Is it that only girls get what I write? Thats always my fucking problem, only girls think I’m pretty, and now only girls like my writing. I’m fucked. I curse too much in English but it’s the only way I know how to make my writing sound casual since I can't use my usual óseas and fuera de curas and those Spanish glitter words I love so much. I want to write like I speak, because when I speak I make people laugh and I love that. Or is it that I’m not really funny by myself but only in conversations, you know, as a commentator and observer of whatever is already said or done?