Foriegn Affairs

Exister, c'est oser se jeter dans le monde.

Friday, September 8, 2017

It's Not a Goodbye, It's a See You Later

As most of you know, my brother left on a 2 year mission to a group of islands that show up as a speck on the map. Additionally, my sister and I have both left home and are now 18 hours away from home and live in a different timezone.
For 18 years, I have had my family's constant companionship. I love living with my family, and some might say that I am a homebody. To be honest, the most fun, caring, and hilarious people I have ever met just happen to be the ones that I share a last name with. I count my blessings that I grew up in such a wonderful home environment where saying good-bye is so hard.
Before my dad dropped Matthew off at the MTC (the place where missionaries learn the language and other skills before they get to their final destination), the triplets plus my dad went out to breakfast. IT WAS SO SAD! Seriously, inside I felt like I was shriveling up inside. All of my problems with school (which aren't many) seemed so childish. My brother was literally leaving for two years, and I was worried about a stats class?!
After a solemn ( and teary) breakfast, we dropped Chloƫ off so she could get to class, but not before I demanded one last triplet hug. Even sitting here now, I still can't fathom that I may not be able to do that again for two years. When Matthew dropped me off at my dorm, we walked all the way from the parking lot to the front door. That walk felt like it was two seconds long. I didn't cry, but I was really, really close.
Later that night, I called my dad and told him how upset I was that they made us triplets, which sounds silly now (but makes sense if you have a multiple). Just imagine losing a limb, or some object that you use every day and is important to you- and then not having it.
I am so thankful that Matthew has decided to serve a mission, and I love telling people about the crazy place where he'll serve, but at the same time I just want to be able to pick up my phone and tell him a crazy joke. I guess I'll just have to save them all up for two years.

Thursday, August 10, 2017

The Audacious Adventures of MBE

Wow. This place feels like home.
A home that I have completely neglected for almost an entire year. However, the best part about a home is that it wherever and whatever you make it. And I am so excited to say that I am back (hopefully at least for the near future).
I honestly don't know what this blog will be about. My thoughts? My writing? Some cool art or more adventures I've had? I can't really see myself becoming famous or getting sponsorships or being published and famous, but I can see myself posting my true thoughts.
I don't know who will see my words, but I hope that whoever is reading this will see who I am through my thoughts. Even if nobody sees this, I can't wait to see my creative life.

Friday, January 13, 2017


Her heart broke into a million jagged pieces. She felt as if it was blown to smithereens, shards of red tissue littering the cold tiles of the bathroom. Gasping for air, she opens the window, the chilly air of January blasting her face, making her feel something while at the same time numbing her. Wordless sobs and shrieks are shouted into the breeze, lost in translation.
What did I do wrong? Why did he go?
A million thoughts swirl around her brain like a cotton-candy machine, raging inside such a small space. After heaving her last shouts, she leaves the window open, the white currents swirling matching what is going on inside her. Without taking off her day clothes, she climbs wordlessly into her queen bed with Egyptian cotton sheets and white down comforter tucked around her. With all her words gone and used up, she tries to drift into a sleep, but fails. Dried mascara is caked in lines down her face, creating a permanent reminder of what tragedy had happened earlier. That night, she can't seem to feel comfortable or cozy. She is suddenly created with the harsh cold of the open window, the blank white walls, and lack of life in her residence. Outside, she hears the noise of the city, the vibrancy of the lights casting a spotlight on all the life that is taking place outside her door. It is almost like the city itself is mocking her--her pain, all the destruction that had taken place that night. Trying desperately to lull herself to the sweet release of sleep, she remembers all the good times, the late summer nights that smelled like hope, the butterflies that hatched in her stomach, and the laughs that left her ribs aching, lungs struggling for air.
She fell asleep with a smile and mascara tears on her face.

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Rainy Days

The brownstone glistens from the rain, shimmering from the light coming from the lamposts dotting the streets. Even though the street is busy, because after all, the city never sleeps, on the sidewalk is a different story. Since the pavement is also equally coated with rain, the gravel crunches under each footstep, reminding the person that at any moment, they could lose their step. Even though the sky is pitch black, you can tell that the clouds are threatening to spill over at any moment and unleash the biggest storm that only happens during the winter.
If one was to watch through a taxi cab window, they would see the scurry of pedestrians trying to avoid the sprinkling and misting of the rain. For others that are more prepared, their umbrellas act like a beacon in the crowd, with polka dots to plain black designs letting outsiders catch a glimpse of who they are. From that window, you might also see some taking their time, relishing every moment in the rain. For those rare people, their good fortune is the bad luck of the majority.
As on all rainy days, comfort is the priority. Whether it is taking off damp socks after reaching a destination, wearing blankets draped around our bodies like expensive fur capes, or eating a hot meal, we all search for comfort.
On these days, we revert back to our youth, were only the necessities of life made us excited. We want for nothing more other than something cozy and warm, and nothing more than that.
As that brownstone glistens, the inhabitants of the building are curled up, reading a book, eating, watching a movie, or maybe staring out the window, watching the pattering of rain. In all their minds, nothing could get better than this moment, right here, right now.

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

The Pink Couch

Slamming the heavy oak door, she rushes over to the other side of the room, rain water squelching in her boots. Removing her bots in a rapid fashion, stripping the soaked wool socks from her feet and puts them on the hissing, chipped radiator. Removing her equally soggy raincoat, she goes to her coffee maker and opens up the white shaker cabinets to find her favorite roast. Starting the coffee, she walks upstairs and changes from her constraining work clothes and into the welcoming embrace of fuzzy gray sweatpants and matching hoodie. As the aroma of coffee beans diffuse into the air upstairs, she comes down the stairs, noticing the worn ikat patterned carpet that has permanently captured the size of her feet.
After the coffee is poured into an old mug from her high school days, she curls up on the pink couch. This pink isn't a little girl's pink, but more modern; a woman's couch. On second thought, she stands up and drifts to the fireplace, turning the gas on and hearing a resounding swoosh as heat comes. Grabbing a quilt made with love from her grandmother off a high wingback chair, she finally settles back on the couch. With coffee in hand, cocooned in a blanket, and the heat turned on, she looks content.
But she doesn't feel the same way.
The shifting of the apartment makes echoes in the empty hallway, bouncing off the barren walls. She thinks of no one home to greet her, smile, or even accompany her on rainy evenings like this one. All at once, she realizes something.
She is utterly alone, a girl wrapped up on a pink couch in the middle of winter with no one.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Writing on Writing

I know that I may never be a great writer. I add the word may because you never know, but as of right now none of my works are amazing enough to be considered an addition to literature.
Why do I write?
Mainly, I really like to. I don't like academic writing, but creative writing. I like to express who I am through words, and I feel like I can say anything I want to. It doesn't matter what I look like, all you see are the words I write (or type) on the page. There is something freeing about that thought that lets the writer lose inhibitions and become who they truly are.
I write for myself. There was a time where I started to write for another person, and I started to see my writing and thoughts go a direction that I didn't like. It became more of an attraction technique rather than a cathartic experience. I felt like I was trying to impress instead of express. Now I know that I write for myself. I hope that I inspire people who read this to look at things a different way. A small part of me also hopes that I reach an international audience and that people I may never see in my lifetime will remember what I wrote when they stumbled on my blog or clicked on the link.
Writing isn't a chore.
Right now, I am typing away on my MacBook, hearing the rain pound on my roof. Generally, I don't have a lot of time to jus write and type, but today I didn't have much going on. I like to wrap myself in a blanket, and get super comfy. I also really like to listen to R&B when I write, it gets me into a soul type of mood. I'm not sure if that comes across, but when I hear the lyrics "Georgia's on my mind" it automatically relaxes me.
My advice: find something that you love. It doesn't have to be writing, but find something and try and do it at least once a week. I have to admit, I aspire a little to be a well-known blogger, but even if it turns out I'm the only one visiting this blog, I will be okay with that. Choose to do something that you are passionate about, not something that you will receive recognition for.

"Passion changes everything."

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Love Is All You Need

Today I was thinking about love. Just in my school, I feel like we lack love as a student body. We are quick to undercut and belittle others. I also think that we lack love in the way we participate in school. Teachers give everything that they have to better students, but many choose to ignore the blessing that is teachers.
On my cross country team, I find that we lack love. One way to be a good teammate is to love one another. Without that bond, anything that is said seems fake. Over the years, I have had many relationships where I truly felt loved. I know that until the day I die, I will always remember them. That reminds me of the Maya Angelou quote that says that somebody might forget your name, but never how you made them feel, good or bad.
I want people to remember be as someone who genuinely cared about them and their well-being. I want to be remembered just like I remember certain individuals and the kindness and love that they have shown me.
I know that love would solve the world. If we learned to love others just like we loved ourselves, we wouldn't have as much conflict. I also know that people would be happier. It is hard to wallow in sadness when you are focused on serving others and their needs.
Love doesn't just have to be romantic love- it can be anything. Even a small act of smiling shows that you love that person. I am challenging myself to feel love towards others in a small act of kindness every day. In my own small way, I believe that I am changing my corner of the world by showing kindness and love.