Letter to You. October 28, 2015

Dylan,

    Two years today and I'll be honest I wasn't prepared. I've been caught up in my own life - School, work, friends, whatever. 24 hours ago, at 3 am, it finally hit me that it was now October 28th. Memories flooded my mind - the same ones I've been reliving again and again since 2013. I tried to sleep and failed. I can't remember the exact pitch of your laugh or the funny way my name rolled off your tongue and trust me I'm pissed at myself for it. I went to my first class this morning, determined to make it through the day. I failed again. I spent the rest of my day at my workplace (on my off day) surrounding myself with my friends to keep from being alone. I fought back tears every time someone asked why I looked so tired or why I wasn't in class. Time and time again I repeated, "It's just a bad day." Every time I opened Facebook I found pictures of you and sweet messages from all those who care for you yet I remained silent. 

     Two years and I've already let the sound of your voice slip away. I can't bear to lose more of you. I love you and I'm sorry for becoming so wrapped up in myself. I know you wouldn't want me to hurt. I know you would do something stupid to make me laugh if you were here. I know I shouldn't dwell on the pain. But today, I have no insightful or inspiring words. I have only an emptiness in my heart, the missing piece that you took with you. I have only immense love for you. I wish there were more pictures. I wish I had videos of you so that I could hear you speak and laugh. I wish you could reassure me again. I wish I could voice my feelings without crying. But this year I cannot, and for that I am sorry. 
were with me today, you had to have been. You watched over me, as you always did, and for that I thank you. This post is neither carefully crafted nor does it make sense I am sure, however I simply don't care about that currently. I just needed to tell you - I love you. I love you. I love you. 

Good vibes and ice cream.

   Hi, my name is Kenzi, and I hate college. Really though. This post is just a slight rant, because at this point I'm feeling EXTREMELY stressed and I just need to vent. You might want to read it from a safe place. Ready? Mmk.

Part 1: Spring Broke.
    Spring break is the holy grail of breaks when you are in college. Seriously. (Some might say summer break, but I take classes year around so...it doesn't count.) The weather is lovely, and it comes at the point in the semester when I'm ready to give up most. HOWEVER. This spring break was broken. It rained. A lot. Bummer. But it didn't matter, because in college, you get homework over break. Now at first it wasn't so bad. I simply had to finish a drawing assignment I was already 70% done with. No biggie. But then, oh but then. Thursday before spring break started I had to turn in a film photography project. Now, for those who don't know, processing and printing film is ... Well. Not fun. It takes FOR. EV. ER. SO...I take my 4 rolls of film, (the project is to capture motion blur) and process it, and begin trying to print my required 6 photos. Oh look! Every last one of these photos is out of focus. I did not have a tripod. My project is ruined. I spend hours trying to work this out, only to end up on a puddle of tears and frustration. My prof kindly gives me a tripod (too little, too late) and says I can retry over spring break (grade deduction). Boom. More homework.
    On top of this homework, something else that a broke college student does on spring break is work. And work. And work. Apparently. Or maybe that's just the lot I was given. Generally I serve Friday night's, and a double on Saturdays and that's it (to ensure time for homework). On my spring break I worked Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and a double on Saturday. (Too all of you who work 9-5 everyday, or full time, or whatever, shh. I know my schedule isn't that bad, but I'm ranting remember?) So now my break is basically full of homework and work work. I am exhausted. I am stressed. I am bored. Wait, what? Spring break is over?! But...but...nooooo! *dramatic fist shaking* but alas. I digress...sort of...

Part 2: Reality returns.
    Fast forward. Today, the Monday after spring break. The worst Monday of all. I return to class thinking, "only 5 more weeks. I've got this. ". I try to ignore my stress level. Class 1 of the day: Spanish. Español esta no malo. Except, my lovely professor decided to remind me of the large amount of work I have to do in the next two weeks. Thanks for that. Class 2: Cognitive psych. Now, I love psych. I do. I'm generally good at it. This class, not so much. It's interesting. It makes sense in class. Hand me a test? Bam, D+...so obviously I'm already stressing out here. After that, I'm done for the day. I go home, try to be productive, and make my appointment to register for summer and fall classes. 1 class in May. 2 classes in June. July off. 16 hours in the fall. That's fun. Its not like I already want to drop out or anything, so I might as well pile it on right? I mean, why on earth would I let myself have a break? I'm superwoman. Except not. I'm freaking out. I want to stop going to college every single day. Seriously. But...moving on. At 5, I return to the darkroom to redo that photo project I mentioned before. Now if you've made it this far without feeling my stress, please pause to pop some popcorn, because we are about to start eating our feelings here. I spend a few hours printing when I started getting frustrated. My photos look exactly the same as the first set. Overexposed and blurry as crap. Why. Why. Why. I know I did it the way she said. Why can't I get this right? Suddenly I'm overwhelmed. Cue the anger, the hair pulling, and yes the waterworks. Also, mix in some embarrassment because I'm a 20 year old girl crying because she can't get her homework correct in front of another 20 year old girl who is have absolutely no problems. My project is due TOMORROW and is still not done. Guess who is getting a 0? 

My point?

    I'm stressed. I'm exhausted. (If you know me at all, you know that I don't sleep well anyway). I'm eating my feelings, which leads to guilt, which leads to an internal battle with myself over my appearance. Then my Brain decides to add, "Not only are you stressed and fat, but you're also lazy, you're face is broken out, and you suck at everything." Thanks brain. So basically, my life right now is me arguing with myself over school and weight. I feel as if I have no time for homework for 5 classes, no time for work work, and no time to take care of myself, much less time to spend with friends/family. I'm exhausted, and have no motivation to work out or study or even get out of bed most days. I am in a rut. Seriously. Added bonus: go ahead and ask me what I plan to do with my degree. Or maybe ask if I'm going to grad school. If you do though, bring a tissue and pint of ice cream because the answer is a big fat I DON'T KNOW, followed by a side of tears, some binge eating, and some guilt.

    I guess there isn't actually a point to this post. It's just word vomit. I feel slightly better I suppose, and if you actually read this entirely, kudos to youdos.

     I guess I will make my point this: prayers, good vibes, good luck charms, time machines, ice cream, French fries, videos of cute animals, motivational stickers, and pity appreciated.

Thank you. I'll be here all week. End rant. 

The art of loss.

     No matter who you are, where you are from, or your age, at some point in your life, you WILL lose someone.  People pass away, it is simply what happens.  I do not say this to be insensitive or apathetic, but rather to say, life ends in death.  At some point, if you have not already, you will lose someone and death will become real to you.  Maybe it will be a grandparent, a parent, or a friend (or a pet), by old age, heart attack, or car accident.  Life is unpredictable, and death even more so.  

   I am no stranger to the death of loved ones.  I lost three grandparents at a young age, however, and the thought of death was nothing big to me.  I was a child, and I did not really understand the fact that they simply were no more.  I was told, "They have gone to live with God. You will seem them again in heaven.", and that was that.  When I was 16, I got my first taste of how cruel death really was when a friend and classmate fell asleep at the wheel and died in a head-on collision.  I thought to myself, and probably voiced, "Wait...this is not right...he was only 17." Yet death is no respecter of age.  J.J. and I were friends, but not extremely close.  I cried, I was hurt, I was angry, but I still did not fully understand.

J.J. and I, Freshman Year, 2009

    Fast forward almost 3 years.  October of 2012.  Another friend, another car accident.  This time, the boy, Tyler, and I had been closer.  We had "dated" briefly in Jr. High.  He had been my homecoming escort when I was in the tenth grade.  His little sister was one of my best friends.  Again, I cried out to God, "Why?"  After all, he was young, and healthy.  He had a wife and a small child.  This was unfair.  Again, I cried, I was hurt, and I was angry.

Tyler and I, Homecoming 2010

    Another year went by - October 2013.  All was well, I still thought of my friends, and missed them.  But I had healed.  It had been 2 years since I graduated high school. I will repeat myself, death is no respecter of age, or persons, or relationships, or anything at all.  My cell phone rang, and part of me to this day wishes that I had never answered the call.  Another car accident, but this time, my best friend from high school.  No, I told myself. Not him, not Dylan.  I was hit with immediate pain, and then guilt.  When was the last time I had talked to him? Seen him? What did I say?  Did he know what he meant to me?  Over the next several weeks,  I tried to wrap my head around Dylan's death.  He had always been the person I could talk to about anything.  He was the type of friend that you go go weeks or months without talking to, but when you did talk, it was like no time had passed at all.  He was sweet, and happy, and funny, and wonderful.  Dylan was a funny joke, a giant hug, and an AMAZING person.  Dylan was my senior homecoming escort. We sat together on every bus trip.  We bought each other lunch, and drove each other around.  We skipped class together, and every morning of my senior year, I was met with a giant hug.  Why did it have to be him?  This time I was very angry.  I questioned God over and over, "Why? Why? Why?"   

     

     In the 8 months since Dylan's death, I've learned a lot.  I've learned 2 things primarily:

1.  Never EVER take people, or life, for granted.  Do you love your family, your friends? Tell them.  Show them.  Life is short, and fleeting.   Things happen, and people die.  Please, please, please remember that.  Treasure those people whom you care about.  Don't let them slip away.

2.  You cannot bow to the anger and guilt.  Chances are, you've suffered loss.  Maybe it made you angry, and maybe it shook you to your core.  That's what Dylan's death did to me.  For months, I bowed to the anger.  I was angry at God for taking my friend.  I was angry at myself for letting our friendship fall to the wayside after high school.  But one day I woke up, and I realized that Dylan would not want me to live an angry life.   If he were here, he would be doing everything in his power to make me laugh or smile again, and trust me, he could always do that.  God has a plan for everyone.  His plan for Dylan simply ended earlier than what I thought it should.  Always remember that God is in control, and everything will go according to His will.  

    Losing loved ones sucks.  There's just no other way to put it.  It really freaking hurts, and you know what? It's okay to hurt, but you CANNOT hold on to the pain forever.  Hold on to the happy memories.  Hold on to the times you smiled with that person, or the things you did.  Find things that remind you of those people, and smile about it.  The colors white, lime green, and pink make me think of J.J.  Cowboy hats, car hart vests, and jeans tucked in to boots make me think of Tyler.  What makes me think of Dylan? Most things, really.  Especially Bold flavored Chex Mix, I <3 Boobies bracelets,  goofy grins, big hugs...so many memories.  Of course, I still get sad. I still cry.  I still have days were I pick up my phone to text him.  It might get "easier", but it never goes away.  However, I know now that he would want me to smile, so that's what I will do, just keep smiling.

This is the last photo that Dylan and I took together, around a year and a half ago.  I love you, dear.  Thank you for being a part of my life.

  

Carpe diem.

Chase the sun

but embrace the moon --

Never stop running

until you can reach out your hand and

Seize the day.

The wonder of wander.

I fell in love
with the sun on my face
and the wind in my hair,
with the unknown path at my feet,
and the adventure of losing myself
to find it again.
I fell in love
with the very wonder of wander,
and I am never looking back.


   When I was about 14, I fell in love with the idea of travel.  Why? Who knows really, considering that at the time I had never been anywhere other than Branson, MO on family vacation.  Regardless, I longed to wander, and that sense of adventure has never ceased.  My very soul yearns to run, to explore, and to live a life of adventure.  I long to take a plane to a foreign land, to drive from coast to coast, to backpack across Europe, and to find myself in places that I have never been.  Maybe it sounds crazy, I mean, after all, one person cannot really do all those things, right? Wrong.  One person, if they really want, can do any things they can imagine, and I plan to do as many things as possible.

   My love for wandering culminated about a year ago with my first flight, and my first overseas trip.  As I boarded the plane from Houston International to Lima, Peru, I had goosebumps.  I was preparing myself to serve God and the people in Trujillo, and at the same time I couldn't believe I was actually doing it.  I was actually boarding a plane.  I was actually going to a different country.  The feeling was amazing, and to this day, still occasionally unbelievable.  I've been to South America? Oh, yeah! I have!

     This small adventure (more like 5,000 mile away adventure) sparked within me an even stronger thirst to explore. The thought never leaves my mind, and the dreams never die.  However, I find myself struggling, desperate for the funds and the chance to escape into the world, the chance to explore.  I will do it, that part is certain, but the 'when' of things eats at me constantly.

   So maybe I am just a dreamer to society, a modern day Peter Pan if you will - but even Peter Pan reaches Neverland.

Fearless, free.

The essence of my very soul
yearns to go,
to run,
fearless and free --
Searching for life
and for dreams
that make up me --
Attempt not to follow,
For I know not where I will be --
Nothing more than fearless,
nothing more than free.

Home is where the heart is.

I can hear the waves crashing

on the shores of my heart,

calling me away to a home

I have yet to know.