Before the days of twitter, facebook, instagram…be honest…who had a livejournal? Please notice I am raising my hand high in the air, because I was obsessed to the zillionth degree with updating my el-jay on the daily. I suppose it was my early blogger instincts, but I started writing in senior year of high school, and continued all throughout college. I feel that, in my adult life, I should probably terminate and wipe out all remnants of those livejournal accounts, but I feel like doing that would be erasing a part of myself. And, not going to lie, I secretly love logging back in and re-reading old entries. I’m who I am today because of my history. I’m every version of myself that I’ve ever been, and I’ve always been one to “document” my life. Hence, why I’m a blogger now, taking pictures of my everything and instagramming my dinners. That’s why we all do it, right? To say, we are here, this is what we are doing, we are living, we are “right now”.
October 02, 2006: Pippin rehearsal tonight was awesome. We learned most of “War Is a Science” and even though my jaw hurts from making ugly-man faces for two hours, it was pretty fabulous. And I really love wearing my dance attire every night to the dining hall. I never feel as cute as when I’m wearing shorts, tights, leg warmers, and jazz shoes. I should just dress like that all the time.
October 03, 2006: From the book I’m currently reading: ”The comic musical theatre of Aristophanes has left a legacy of burlesque and burlycue, parody and satire, vaudeville and light opera, grand beauty, mechanical devices, subsidized theatre, songs of lyric beauty and high wit, and dances of character and vulgarity. It will be twenty-four centuries later and halfway around the world before all these elements appear together again.“ Reading things like that gives me validity and direction. It’s not just singing and dancing and mindless entertainment. It’s history.
December 14, 2006: Everything that is beautiful about the human body is accentuated in ballet; everything that is ugly is forgotten. I’ve been listening to Tchaikovsky ever since I returned to my dorm, and it’s just perfectly in tune with the time of the year, the biting December cold, the peppermint taste in my mouth, the soft glow of Christmas lights. And it’s also how I feel while walking home on the dark path in my long black coat, the black scarf, hair pulled back tightly in a conservative bun, black gloves, heels clicking against the pavement. Such a familiar walk, one I’ve been doing for three years now, but tonight I feel older, I’m graduating in six months, I’m leaving this place, not yet, but soon, and it’s all so different from how it was when I made this walk last year, or the year before that, and even the year before that, but it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m okay. Violins and christmas bells and stardust; oh December.
May 05, 2007: I’ve spent the past few days just lying out on the quad with my friends; Spring Fling is the best. We put all of our towels together to make a massive blanket that looked like an oversized quilt, with neon colors and a threaded sketch of The Beatles. We ignored the fact that the weather was a touch chilly; we put on sundresses and kicked off our sandals anyway. Yesterday I fell asleep on the lawn in the afternoon, and every time I would wake up and overhear a strange snippet of conversation or a burst of laughter, I would think: I have the best friends in the world.
October 02, 2008: I’ve been in Boston for a month now. I think it’s safe to say that September, 2008 has been epic. Earlier, I read Emily Dickinson at my favorite coffee shop by the huge open air windows. Today, it really feels like autumn. The air is getting that crisp feeling and my feet were cold today in my blue ballet flats. While I was reading, a gust of wind blew a pile of leaves into the cafe through the window. They swirled around the table legs and settled on the floor. The barista laughed and swept them up, although I wouldn’t have minded at all if they stayed.
December 15, 2008: In 365 days, my life has changed shape and color so many times. I don’t know how else to explain it other than that. One conversation over a glass of wine and a slice of chocolate cake. I can’t believe it lead me here. In love with a city, life, and so in love with love.
Reader Question(s): What makes you nostalgic? What are some of the ways you look back on old memories?