“It’s just another day for you and me in paradise” Yes, you are entitled to your #whitegirlproblems, but be aware that they are just that, because while you don’t have to be guilty that you are blessed while people are suffering, you should always be aware that you are blessed while other people are suffering.
You definitely tormented your parents regardless of whether they were divorced or not, because you know, you were a person, with so many feelings, that they didn’t understand. If you survived a 90s puberty, you probably spent a lot of time genuinely believing the whole world revolved around you, vowing to stick it to the man, and wallowing in your angst.
I embraced 90s alterna-girl angst at a very early age—it was my 10th birthday and amongst the gifts (Goosebumps books, Derwent pencils, those funny cardboard trees that grew psychedelic chemical leaves when you set them in the special solution), there was No Doubt’s “Just A Girl” CD single…
Chances are if you were born in the 80s your parents were Baby Boomers, who, after a wild foray into hippie culture at their tertiary educational facility in the 70s, realized that it was time to put down the bong, buy a house, get a job in the public sector and start raising a family. And what better time, they thought, than the 80s.
There are some childhood cartoons that seem to be universally remembered and continuously recalled in nostalgic conversation. It’s these shows that we all carry stories about, but what of the shows you watched just as vehemently, but for one reason or any other have fallen through the growing cracks in your adult brain?
My aunt had been waiting for us and she pulled me into her and kissed both my cheeks. With her arm around my shoulders she guided me through the musty apartment where remnants of someone’s lifetime—maybe even mine—hung on every wall and cluttered every shelf, pervading the dusty half light with a feeling that bordered on nostalgia, but that hinted at something far more ancient.
I’m still not sure what it is that makes two people right together—whether it’s us or simply a perfect alignment of circumstances in which a certain relationship can evolve—whatever, we are right together. In this vast city where everything and everyone is coming and going at a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it-pace, we found a way to stand still together.
I remember the first week I was in New York and I was riding the 6 with a girlfriend when a light bulb flashed above my head. We were on the 6. On The 6. J-Lo to this headline clips. I don’t think I need to recount the all-singing, all-dancing extravaganza that ensued.
We all have at least one proverbial The One That Got Away; some of us have more. That special someone that was a little bit too right at a time that was a little bit too wrong. That special someone who came along right when you were just starting to figure it all out; when you were so happy alone that the thought of sharing inspired anxiety instead of warmth.
Wait, has it really been an hour and half? Oh, how did this lovely scented oil get all over my face? I have to get up now. Getting up. Oh yes that feels nice. Standing. Walking. Floating. Float to the change rooms. Pick up my belongings. Do I have enough money for a coffee? No matter, the only thing that matters is being a good person. I should try much harder to be a good person.