My name is Rachael. I am 20. I live in Philadelphia. I like writing, self-reflection, and introspection. I also like peanut butter cup ice cream and little white dogs. This is where I keep snapshots of my thoughts. All content under the “my writing and me” page is original and my own.
Dear You: May 24, 2012
Dear You,
We watched the old pine fall as we sang good morning to the light, to the air—hello world, we are back, welcome us, say hello. It crashed into the ground and disappeared into the sounds of nothing, and when a tree falls in a forest and two people are watching, they cannot hear it, how…
(via thecolouredwalls)
Socially Awkward
I turn to my friend on the train and giggle,
“He’s so cute!”
“So you gonna try to get with him tonight?”
“Haha, no.”
“What? Why not?”
“I don’t know how to flirt.” I pause. “Actually, that’s a lie. I can’t flirt with guys I’m attracted to.”
“Well, you better learn!”
I put my energy into talking to everyone except him. Maybe if he sees me laughing with everyone else he will become attracted to me.
He’s not even looking at me. I am Helga G Pataki. I am in fourth grade and my life is a Hey Arnold cartoon.
You start to doubt if men even find you attractive anymore. You can’t understand why—your breasts are still perky, your waist is still slim. Your eyes are wide and your lips are glossy. You smile and nod in all the right places. You say things like, “How’s it goin’ over here?” and, “Oh yeah, how was that?”
This isn’t okcupid. This isn’t a dive bar with sleazy men.
How do I even develop relationships in the real world?
No one is telling you that you are special anymore. No one is blowing up your phone with text messages that make you smile. Your bed is empty and it’s okay, you really don’t mind. It’s nice to sprawl out, stretch your legs from corner to corner, hog the covers all to yourself—
but sometimes, you just wonder. All the wondering creeps up on you, attacks you like an army of red ants. You wander around and stare at the ceiling, at the silverware, asking inanimate objects, “What is my life about?”
You aimlessly fumble around until the next bit of fun. Anything that provokes a grin. A wrinkly, tattooed drunk man says, “Look at you, cutie pie! You new here?” You smile sheepishly. A man with a ring on his finger sarcastically tells you, “Alright, Princess!” You laugh hard.
This is flirting. Easy when they’re unavailable, when I am disinterested because it doesn’t mean anything. Harmless. Feel how my body rolls when I let my laughter roar.
Overly-confident, cocky. Bright blue eyes and a V-neck. He puts his hand on my shoulder every chance he gets. I keep a watchful eye, waiting to see if he is doing this to the other women.
Am I flirting? I don’t know if this is flirting. I’m afraid to make eye contact. I fear laughing too hard. Keep the pitch of my voice steady. Do not giggle, do not act amused. I keep myself in check these days. No giddy feeling, no butterflies. Every human interaction is carefully crafted.
Is he gay? Why am I so attracted to men who don’t even blink twice at me?
Too many ellipses. Scrutinize. Would I sleep with this person? No.
The same wavelength. People have to be on the same wavelength. I need a person who will walk by me and say, “Merp.” The kind of person who drums on their knee and asks inanimate objects questions.
I need someone to be amused when I say, “I just found out beer on draft comes from kegs in the basement!”
“Where did you think it came from?”
Someone who laughs hard when I smile and respond, “The beer fairy.”
Memoir Reviews
“I liked this memoir because I think that everyone can find something in it to relate to: the fast-paced college life, meaningless relationships, first love, regretting leaving someone…any of this. I liked the ending; it wrapped the story up nicely, but left the end open so that there can be more in the future; and that’s life.” -Ms. Finnegan
“This piece literally seems like an assigned reading. It was that good. People talk about wrong tenses and pacing and shit like that in class, and that’s not something I ever notice. So I am not sure if it is a problem in this piece…however I am assuming it is not because this paper was fucking good.” -Mr. Crawford
“The writing was exceptional and the topic was captivating. I was drawn in immediately by the opening scene and couldn’t wait to see where the author went with it.” - Ms. Lorinczy
“I feel like the author is holding out on some of the personal details, which, if included, would be more interesting and refreshing. As is, the broad descriptions feel like she’s skirting around some uncomfortable details or that they are too difficult to describe succinctly.” - Ms. Small
