moon river

“My words are unerring tools of destruction, and I’ve come unequipped with the ability to disarm them.” ― Maggie Stiefvater, The Raven Boys. Moon River, named after the 1961 hit from Breakfast at Tiffany's, was created on the 2nd of November, 2015 for the sole purpose of making room for one's thoughts. From the author's blank pages to your glowing screens. Welcome to Moon River, my huckleberry friend.

[anyaspov]

Death By A Thousand Cuts 

You miss me. You miss the way I'd struggle to get into the front seat of your car, muttering an apology as I took another extra second to hop in right next to you. You miss trying to coax the truth out of me and getting me to open up, because you did. "Are you having a good time today?" you'd ask. And, I'd laugh and say, "I think you already know the answer to that." And you'd never take that for an answer. To you, nothing was real until I said it. And I'd say it and say it until I no longer became afraid of speaking things into existence. You miss kissing the back of my hand in your car. You miss kissing me in your car. You miss running your hands through my hair and pulling myself closer to you right before the traffic lights went green. You miss making me coffee and flipping pancakes properly to impress me. You miss pinning me to the bed in the morning, trying to bargain for five more minutes of shut eye, and you miss the way I'd argue and eventually give in, because I never could deny you anything. I still can't. You miss everything. You miss me. And, you miss me like I miss rolling my eyes as we kissed in public photo booths. You miss me the way that I miss feeling embarrassed in the back of a taxi, pushing you away and giggling like a child. "The Grab driver doesn't need to see or hear any of this," I'd laugh. To which you'd reply, "I don't care." And you never did. I was too self-aware — too cautious of my surroundings, but you tied me to you, and slowly, nothing else began to matter. The city was ours, every single corner of it. The pavement had our names written on its roughest cracks, as you spun me around while we crossed the street. We painted the city with every step we took, illuminated it with each kiss. Now I come back and drive past your house — past the kitchen where we once ruffled through your mother's German cookbooks — and it takes all but one traffic light to bring me to pieces. I miss you as the sun shines through my living room; that never happens anymore. You miss me from a sofa in one of the coldest places in Europe. You miss me half as much as I miss you, and, god, I wish you'd tell me. 

[anyaspov]

August Slipped Away Like A Moment In Time

I haven’t been counting the days. I never wanted to, anyway. Putting a definite number on how many days it’s been since quarantine started would mean forcing myself to face the reality of how long it’s been since I last saw you. How long it’s been since you and I broke up. I haven’t been writing for many reasons; reasons that differ each day, depending on how conveniently it matches the moment. But the truth is, it’s always been about preventing myself from writing about you. After pouring my heart out in a lengthy memoir, I decided that I would put the pen down, and stop adding pages to an already finished story, though in my head, my words were practically begging to be written out, because as much as it pains me to admit, part of me still believes that this isn’t the end of our story. Part of me believes in miracles working and prayers getting answered. Part of me believes in how the tiniest smidge of hope is all it takes to ignite the greatest difference. Part of me believes in good people and good things happening. Part of me still believes that as long as you and I still breathe, this isn’t truly over. That perhaps someday, your eyes will meet mine again, though they are older and wiser, with the lines beside them more defined because you’ve always been insistent on not wearing sunscreen. And when they meet, everything will fall into place. You’d have outgrown everything that held you back from being the version of yourself you’ve always deserved to be, and I’d be making my wildest dreams come true one step at a time. And though the world might have left a few chinks in my armor, the heart I carry would still be as golden as it was the day you met me.

These past few months have been entirely about trying to scrub myself clean of all traces of you. The process has been painstakingly slow. I progress in undulating motions, with some days harder than most, but little by little, I am learning to get a grip on my life again. Little by little, I am teaching myself how to live life not without you, but after you, for I simply couldn’t revert back to my previous ways prior to your appearance. It’s an arduous thing to get used to, but I’ve also never backed down from anything. I’m a big fan of biting the bullet, and I bite down hard. It’s a process, flushing you out, but it works. Although some days it doesn’t. Today was one of those days. I saw a photo of you before you left. There are days where I can freely look at you and not feel everything come rushing back, but today wasn’t one of those days. I’ve spent so much dedication over the past couple of months trying to have your existence written out of my memory, I’ve forgotten that, once upon a time, you and I were parked right in front of your house, and when you kissed me, I thought to myself, “I will never be able to write about anything else ever again.”

I haven’t counted the days because I didn’t want to know how long it’s been since you’ve been gone. I haven’t written at all because I didn’t want that to be true. But after months of not writing, I have unfortunately come springing back to you.

[anyaspov]

No, I don’t think I will.

I don’t think I’ll write another page for you. Not even a snippet of a sentence. You buried me while my heart still screamed out your name; my body barely cold from the warmth of your bed, which it had only left mere hours ago. It took you a split second to erase us, flinging our memory away like a loose thread from the sweater I almost took home — almost — while it takes me season after season, flowers bloom and wilt again. I’ve wrung my hands in attempt to scrub them clean, but the memory of you lingers like a bloodstain reminding me of the greatest murder in history. Only it’s my blood on my hands. I bleed onto myself whilst the hands that once caressed me remain immaculate. Flowers bloom and wilt again on the grave you dug and buried me in. Flowers bloom and wilt again, and my words water them ceaselessly; my words erupting from a reservoir, for once upon a time, not too many moons ago, you had built all my hope a home. And they grew and grew each day, until I could stand at the very top and see the entire world from the most picturesque views. But the higher I rose, the harder it became to retain my balance. I had lost my footing, and fell to the ground — a long way down that showed me a kaleidoscope of everything we were made of, until I hit the ground, and everything came shattering in fragments. We were made of stardust, born of stars that have long since died down. A faded picture centuries old, a tale from a bard long since erased into blur of history. My pen will run dry, and I will no longer force myself to bleed for ink. I will no longer write about you. No, I don’t think I will.

[anyaspov]

June 26, 2020: Today, Nimitz has officially spent 24 days living with our family, which, come to think of it, is somewhat crazy. I barely felt the time slipping past, and I don’t know if that has anything to do with quarantine, my completely messed up body clock, or me just getting used to him. Probably every single one of those combined, honestly.

Our girl, Pepper, had fallen ill and eventually passed away a month into quarantine. I think her death hit mom the hardest, because Pepper had spent most of her time with our parents. She was our first indoor dog, and the first one to actually go places. Needless to say, my mom was practically heartbroken, but frankly enough, I just couldn’t bring myself to feel as bad as the rest of my family did. The first and last time I grew attached to a dog was when I met our family’s first Labrador, Dino, when I was around three. It’s a pretty generic thing for all dog owners to say, but I stand firm on my belief that Dino was the best dog, and that still rings true to this day. It was because of him that I had become completely enamored with Labrador Retrievers, and it was the memory of him that brought our family Nimitz.

Nimitz was a dog that required a considerable amount of convincing. First, I had to convince my dad to let me get Nimitz (which didn’t exactly pose a challenge, considering how much my dad wanted a Labrador, too), and then he had to convince mom. Trying to coax two people into welcoming Nimitz to our home doesn’t sound like much, especially with my dad on my side, but my mom has always been hellbent on not adopting larger dog breeds. They shed, eat, drink, pee, and poo in larger quantities. All valid points as to why one should really think things through before adopting a larger dog. But, I grew up with four large dogs who greeted me with the most enthusiastic of yaps and happiest of barks every time I came home from school, so in my mind, bigger dogs equated to bigger love. And that made everything worth it. Just ask anyone who’s seen Marley & Me. I was getting a Labrador, and that was that. Though unbeknownst to me, it was easier said than done.

Nimitz used to be a different dog. In fact, he used to be a girl. Finding an available dog that fit the budget wasn’t a walk in the park. There weren’t a lot of people with available puppies, to begin with. It was almost as if they’d gotten rid of them mere weeks before my dad and I started looking. We eventually found one, though, who lived a little more than an hour away from us. Normally, that shouldn’t have been a deterring factor, but due to the strict lockdown rules regular citizens (emphasis on regular citizens, because political figures seem to be exempt from this) have to follow, we also had to consider the dog’s accessibility. Pet transportation was a tad over the budget, so we agreed on fetching her after the lockdown. But, due to a string of events, and time rolling by, someone else had adopted the dog, and for a while, my dad and I didn’t know what to do. We had sniffed out every single ad on the marketplace, there was nowhere left to look.

But that was until dad found our Nimitz. The actual Nimitz.

Nimitz as in the dog we’ve all come to know and love on @tanyasca’s Instagram stories, as in clumsy Nimitz who still falls over whenever he runs a little too fast, Nimitz with the shit eating grin (quite literally shit eating), Nimitz who makes sure I don’t get more than three to four hours of sleep on most nights, Nimitz who peed on mom’s favorite carpet, Nimitz whose worst enemy is the shower head, Nimitz as in the same dog who taught me a million things about responsibility.

They say dogs are ranked by difficulty. If I had to place my Nimitz on that specific scale, he’d probably be borderline difficult. My mom would beg to differ and put him right in the center of the difficult category, but I know he has more than a few redeeming qualities to make up for it. He bites like he hasn’t bitten before, but when he snuggles into me at nine in the morning, I also know that somehow, my dog might actually love me.

Nimitz came into my life at the perfect time. Weeks before he arrived, I was sobbing into the night, 25/8. I won’t go into detail; I’ll save the rest for a different blog post, but I know that it goes way beyond making me way too preoccupied to even think about what worries me. I knew I wanted a dog, but I guess only now do I realize that I needed one. I needed Nimitz. I need him like he needs me to tuck him in next to me at night, so he gets an uninterrupted seven hours of sleep. I need him like he needs me to give him the occasional belly rub on lazy weekday mornings. I need him like he needs me, because god knows where he’d be without me.

And god knows where I’d be without him.

[anyaspov]

June 12, 2020: Ich wurde 18 in Quarantäne (und ich bin jetzt blond)

[anyaspov]

Quarantine Day ?? (I don’t keep track): Here’s me as the family coat of arms.

[anyaspov]

May 08, 2020: Anya celebrating VE Day’s 75th year mood board.

[anyaspov]

Enter The Stranger (Separate We Come, Separate We Go)

She had once been a naive pessimist who lived and swore by the word impossible. She thought achieving a multitude of things were impossible, she thought the world being as kind to her as it was to others was impossible, she thought living the life she read about was impossible. Why? Because nice things don't happen to people. The books she read were pure fiction, the movies she saw were only silver screen dreams — in reality, life wasn't as vivid. Its technicolor hues lacked the character fictional worlds possessed. 

But cut to the next scene. 

Enter the stranger. Enter the plot twist. 

 He looked at her with a purpose he had yet to be certain of, and one that she, at the moment, wasn't aware of. She now realizes that his purpose was to prove her wrong. Oh, how hellbent he was on proving her wrong. 

In the blink of an eye, the words in her novels solidified in the form of molten brown eyes, forged together with milk and bone. And from the moment he smiled and said his very first words, she knew that she was doomed. Truly and utterly doomed. He offered her his left hand, while he held her heart in his right. 

Everyone was a little in love with him. He could ask the sun to shine a second brighter, and it would. He could ask the rain for a slight kiss, and it would come upon him in the lightest of drizzles. The moon itself would voyage down from the cosmos if only he requested it. He could ask the sea stop being blue, and it would turn into anything but. 

He loved the world, and in return, the world would've done anything he asked. 

And so did she. The world would've given him anything he asked for, and while she didn't exactly have the world at her fingertips, she knew, without a doubt, that she would have given him everything there was. No questions asked. 

One look into his eyes sent her spiraling, for those eyes were eyes she'd drain oceans for. His smile was a sight she'd wage wars for. She would circle the world on foot to hear his laughter, and move mountains if it meant placing a smile on his face. 

But, enter the stranger, enter the plot twist. The plot twist that made her insides twist in every direction, because as much of a fairy tale as it was, all tales must eventually come to and end. And it was this very ending that kept her blinking in the wee hours of dawn, as anxiety gnawed at the depths of her soul. She knew this was too good to last. 

Enter the stranger; something someone she never anticipated. 

But the departure of the stranger was a completely different thing altogether. 

And so, separate they came, separate they went, as they walked past each other in hushed silences, burying the past two years in the grey of history. 

The stranger had indeed been right all along. Nothing was impossible. Him coming into her life surely wasn’t, but him going just as quick as he came was an impossibility she barely had enough time to prepare for. 

And so, separate they came, separate they went, their penultimate parting. If by happenstance he entered her life again, he would once again enter it in the same fashion he once did many moons ago; as a stranger.

[anyaspov]

Long Overdue, But Here We Are: May 22, 2019

Hello, reader. Assuming that you aren't me, as I am the only person that sometimes checks up on this little space between what's real and what isn’t, I need you to know two things:

I haven't written in a while long, long time.

There are three things I no longer know, with one being something I'm not actually sure I ever knew in the first place.

Let's just dive in head first, shall we? I think we all know I lack the creativity to simultaneously beat around the bush and make it seem worthwhile, for I am a shoddy writer at best. I can't believe how well this is going, to be quite honest. Usually, this is where I start to mess up. I should probably just hush up and go straight to the point as previously planned.

So, I haven't written. My previous post implied a lot of contradicting tones that made me sound like the annoying, angsty manic pixie dream girl in a bad local indie, but then again, I'm sixteen, so maybe I am her. And in that badly written post, I tried to explain why I wasn't writing, and I'll have to give angsty manic pixie Anya at least a slice of dignity and a sprinkle of credit, because despite the disgusting word choice, she was right in describing the way I felt. I wasn't writing because school caused me to not want to write anymore. I can't tell you how badly I wanted to kick my shoes off the moment I got home, and just start writing with immense fervor, whether it be on paper or digitally, but that person just ceased to exist. The moment I set foot in my bedroom, the only thing you'll catch me doing is imitating Steve Rogers at the end of Captain America: The First Avenger--sleeping my existence away (I mean, come to think of it, sleep is kinda like a taste of death, but I could be wrong, though we won't exactly know because I am very much alive and I intend to keep it that way for as long as possible). In the academic months, my day to day life involved school draining me so much, to the point where sleep had become a privilege and not a right. I no longer had the energy to work out like I used to, and I no longer read for leisure, because keeping my eyes open was already a feat in itself. In short, I couldn't write because I was tired. So, so tired, it had gotten to an extent where I could no longer feel anything, because I didn't have the energy to appreciate life as it was happening. On a much lighter note, though, I am now on day four of my summer vacation, and one of my main priorities is to write more. Therefore, rubbish or not, expect me to be here more often.

Now, on to the three things I no longer know:

I don't know what I want. As much as I love my friends, I don't like discussing the near future with them. Why? Because . . . I can't say anything. Literally. They talk over me about what they know about law school and what they think it's going to be like, and I can't agree with them when I think they're being right and I can't tell them when I think they're wrong, because for some reason, I don't have a say in discussions like that, try as I might to participate, which kind of offends me because I'm fairly certain I grew up around enough lawyers to have a clear idea of what law school is like (because I've always, always asked), and it isn't really anything like my friends think it is. I'm not claiming to know everything about it, because, duh, I've never actually been to LS, haha, but I do know that I know enough to make me both want it and not want it. Before trying to learn as much as I could about being a lawyer, I was sure that it was the path for me. Hearing about what my relatives have done greatly impacted the way I saw the profession growing up, and they made it seem so incredible. They made me believe that I was bred for it. That I could do it because they could. But now, I realize it isn't exactly like that at all, because there's always the possibility of me being a, you know, humongous failure. Plus, if I were to pursue law, it would take up so much of my time, I don't think I'd be able to go around the globe. Sure, I'd have time to travel, but the thing with me and traveling is that I really do not want to be a traveler, I want to be an explorer. There's a difference. I don't want to be that one girl who vacations and leaves after two weeks, I want to be someone that quite literally experiences a culture, and doesn't just witness it. To make things simpler for both of us, I'm talking about being gone for months, not just days or weeks. Although I don't intend on doing that forever. I think I'll go from country to country until I find the right one, and then that's when I'll settle down. I can't exactly do that while I'm in law school, can I? So I guess it'll just have to come after (let's be real, how impractical would it be to learn a country's constitution, and then leave?). What I'd do in the meantime is the real question. Do I become an au-pair? An English teacher? A writer, which I'm deathly afraid of because I've always questioned my competence as a writer, and never did I feel satisfied with anything I've ever created. An airline clerk? I have no idea! But I do hope I get a desk job somewhere cool and preferably social media oriented, because as much as social media sucks, I pretty much exist there. Almost every single adult has told me that they used to say the same things growing up, but nothing really worked out, so I should just give up on it. I don't tell them I don't acknowledge that type of feedback (it's wrong to discourage other people from chasing the same dream because you didn't get to chase it when you had the chance) for I am still a nice person, regardless of how bad the advice is. In summary, yes, I'm driven, but I am also very confused.

I don't know my writing style. And I don't know how to find it. Growing up, I've always tried to brush it off whenever people would comment on my writing, because I didn't want to be known as the girl who wrote. In The Fault In Our Stars, Hazel talked about how she didn't like it when everyone referred to people who died from cancer as just cancer patients. She didn't like it when people made it seem like the person was, well, just cancer on legs. That's kind of how I feel about writing. I never wanted to let my skill become me, like, embody me entirely. I didn't want to be the humanized form of writing, but after years of trying to fight that image, maybe it's just what I am. Maybe I'm just a bunch of words hastily strewn together, and then given a nice pair of lungs and a beating heart so I could pass for a person. For the entirety of my duration in Casa del Nino, I was pretty much known as the girl who wrote, and that kind of sickened me, because I knew I could do a handful of other things, too. I enjoyed acting, as well as singing and learning other languages, and preaching useless facts about humanity and history, but no one really paid attention to those, because, again, I was the writer. That was it. You get one specific talent assigned to you and you're branded for life. Once I moved to San Beda, I tried my hardest to conceal the fact that I was a writer, though it was pretty much a fruitless attempt. And you know what? I think I'm fine with that. Maybe I like being a writer now. Maybe I've always liked it, and only now have I actually, truly, come to terms with it. But I can't exactly call myself a writer without knowing my writing style, so I guess we're stuck in a bit of a crisis! Sometimes I sound like an overenthusiastic British school girl, sometimes I sound like a very serious middle aged man without any time to waste, but most of the time, I think I sound chiefly American . . . which is boring and flat, and I think I blame that on the obscene amount of American literature (and media) I was exposed to growing up. In summary, yes, fine, I'll admit it, I'm a writer, but I am also very confused.

I don't know who I am. I don't know who I am, and I think it's probably best to just start screaming because I don't know where this ends and where it begins. Kind of like an earthworm--which one's the anus, which one's the actual mouth? And in giving you that bit of information, I've just proved that I know more about the average earthworm than I do about the average lanky, Chris Evans-obsessed sixteen year old girl otherwise known as Anya. Listen, I do love my new school. It has shaped me into a far happier person--I'm happier by 3000 times--but it has also introduced so many new facets of my personality, I can no longer tell which ones I truly am and which ones are just passing phases. It has also introduced me to so many new interests. Take theater, for example. I knew nothing beyond Miss Saigon up until my arrival, and yet fast forward to months later, musicals have completely consumed me. And while expanding my knowledge of the arts isn't particularly a bad thing, there have also been certain changes that have only been contradicting, to say the least. I didn't like where I was before, but that doesn't mean I didn't like who I was. The old me was basically a watered down version of myself, but she was more . . . wholesome and a lot closer to God. I think that's what I miss the most, to be honest. My relationship with God. Because I feel like the sudden surge of liberation has caused me to become more lax in terms of guilt and religious identity. Having a subject specifically for World Religion helps a whole lot in making sure you aren't a close minded prick, but at the same time, you can't study it without questioning your own personal beliefs. I've known I wasn't Catholic for a couple of years now, but if I'm not Catholic, what exactly am I? I was sure I wanted to be a born again Christian a year ago, but at present, being a reform Jew also kind of appeals to me. I’m still leaning towards the former, though. I guess only time will tell, but for now, I don't know who I am. She's so different from who she was before, but in both ways good and bad, so this new skin will require some time for me to grow accustomed to. In summary, I don't know who I am anymore. This confuses me the most.

And that's the update. The 411. If you skipped through the whole thing because you knew I'd give you a full rundown in the end, I spent the past three paragraphs explaining that I wasn't writing because I was tired and confused. Wow, I totally should've just given you this little gift of a sentence instead of letting myself babble on and on about things that won't directly affect the grand scheme of the universe, but then again, the whole point of this blog is to let me babble, and in that sense, this space does kind of become my own personal universe. Welcome to the place where I talk about things that are real (my life and the way I feel), not real (things that I yearn for and sometimes the way I feel), and half real (dreams that are slowly coming true, and again, my feelings).

This is Moon River.

[anyaspov]

Update

Everyday, I tell myself I’ll make a concrete attempt to start writing again. I yearn for the time when my words could come from a boundless source, like a chasm that knew no end for as long as my heart could still beat. I have forgotten the feeling of trying to make sense of how I felt as I put my soul into each word I wrote, appreciating those emotions in the process, to compromise for the hatred I felt towards them. It took me more than four whole months to realize that apart from having school run me dry, I might’ve been avoiding writing because I haven’t felt anything strong enough in so long that I felt compelled to write. Ironically, I am no longer existing and finally living, but I just can’t seem to feel anything anymore. Not to discredit my happiness, but I just can’t seem to do anything with my heart in it. When I write, I think more than I feel, and God, I hate it. Sometimes I wish I could just drown out the noises in my head, harmless as they are. They’re just so damn loud. I want to write with my soul again, I want things to make sense again, I want to have something to look forward to again, I want somebody to make me feel like I want to write--like I want to live--because I’ve been doing it for myself for almost seventeen years, everything has become so lackluster. I feel glued to the bottom of a stagnant pond, as I watch the rushing river in the distance. It’s always the same old things, the same old places, no new faces. I would die for something to shake me up, hopefully in the way that I need it. This is disenchantment and I need change.

[anyaspov]

one two three

10. 07. 17 a reupload

I II II Aon, dha, tri. Eins, zwo, drei. Un, deux, trois. Odin, dva, tri. Uno, dos, tres. One, two, three.

I. Aon. Eins. Un. Odin. Uno. One.    

The first time she'd been foolish, she had been a mere child not quite eight. A little too tall and a little too full of character, she ventured into the void of the unknown for the very first time: She had begun to let herself care for a boy. The boy: Also not quite eight. A little too short for her liking, but none of that mattered, because the only thing she bothered to care about was his taste in novels and the way he told his jokes. Everyone was a little in love with him. He was a prince. They fell for his name, she fell for his words. He talked, she listened in adoration. The boy was a myth whispered among the length and breadth of the entire locale. It was nothing but chaste adoration, but for some reason still unknown to her to this very day, she let it grow like a parasite for four years of her life, and it consumed her. Innocence was all there was to it, until it all went sour as they grew older, and she wondered if she liked him at all or if she just thought she did, because everyone around her wanted her to. In the end, she loathed herself to such an extent. In the end, she was left in pieces. In the end, she picked herself up, and proved resilience. 

II. Dha. Zwo. Deux. Dva. Dos. Two.     

The second time she'd been foolish, she was no longer as tall, and no longer brimming with character. It was as if the vivid pigments that made her up began to dilute and tone down, although only in the best way possible. She had learnt, she had grown, and it was because of loss that every single change that took place became possible. Lissome and hopeful, she teemed with questions brought upon by adolescence and self discovery. She found herself in a new environment for the first time in six years, and every single detail left her in a very claustrophobic space between wonder and sheer terror. But funnily enough, she relished every single bump and turn that got in the way of her. And one of those turns brought her a familiar name with a face that could only be alien to her. Old and new. Familiar yet foreign. The bump was a boy. The boy: A little too tall for his own good, and it seemed that his size was something he still wasn't accustomed to. He had the heart of a child (and the mind of one) combined with the strength of a man. He was bits and pieces that didn't seem to be made to fit together, yet the show he put on entranced people effortlessly. Everyone was a little in love with him. He was a prince. They fell for his face, she fell for the careful way he listened to her words as if they were the only things that mattered. She talked, and for once, someone listened. He had sparked change in her in a way no one else ever had. He had no words, but in him she found hers. Before she knew it, she wrote each night with fervor and vehemence she never knew she had and with words she never knew she could conjure. He had her breathing life onto stark white sheets of paper. They were twin stars that collided, but the collision only birthed a catastrophe--it birthed a black hole. Their epilogue consisted of what could only be called a celestial tragedy. And once again, she loathed herself. Once again, she was left in pieces. Once again, she tried to pick herself up and prove resilience. And she was stuck trying for a very long time, and it would be even longer until the next time she fell victim to her own foolishness. III. Tri. Drei. Trois. Tri. Tres. Three.     

The third time she'd been foolish, she was once again spry and vivid, although not comprised of the same colors that made her up before. This time, everything was different. She had changed, but not because of someone else. She had changed because of herself. She realized that she didn't really have to depend on anyone to change her or to make her a better person--she could do it herself. And to be quite frank, she did it even better than One and Two ever did. Was it self-love? No, but rather the realization of one's own self-worth. She had finally concluded that she didn't need a prince nor did she want one. Princes were for children in love with the idea of waiting to be saved, and she was not going to wait to be saved, she could save herself. But enter the stranger in her story. He wasn't a myth, he didn't come with an air of familiarity--he was a stranger. A complete stranger. And that was exactly what she needed. She was cautious, yes, but there was no denying that she knew that something was going to happen. It was inevitable. We all have a different definition of the word "happen", but in her case, she never really could tell what was going to happen. She just knew that something was going to happen. Unsure yet certain. Cautious but aware. This time, she was going to make better decisions. She knew better than to expect, but one must never run out of hope. And whether it be a scintilla of hope or blazing wildfire, it was more than enough. Hope was all she needed. He was hope. Everyone was a little in love with him, but everyone also somehow disapproved of him. Many people loved him, many people knew him, but the amount of people that loved him and knew him didn't matter to her. Didn't matter at all. Everyone fell for different aspects of him, but she fell for them all. For the very first time in her entire life, she had met a boy with words that could rival her own, and that changed everything. Boys like him don't turn into dust and have their names erased by history, boys like him were written about and immortalized in pages caged in leather. He talked, she listened, but she also talked and he also listened. Best of all: he remembered. They were like two flints exchanging sparks, and to her, that was a phenomenon that only existed in books she read at the crack of dawn. But this could be a dead end. This was treacherous. This could be the most foolish she'd ever been, but how come she doesn't feel foolish at all? Her life had reached a turning point. There were now more bumps and turns than ever. Each road more fickle and daunting than the last. Still, she held on, because at the end of every road, the image of him would always shine like a beacon of hope in every desolate corner she found herself in. So, what happened in the end? Where's the epilogue? Well, friend, we have yet to find out.

[anyaspov]

growing up and stuff

You know, I think it’s both funny and sad how I only seem to actually write when I’m on the verge of tears. It is Friday, July the 20th, 1132 hours. Just a few fleeting hours of my four month vacation left.

I did a lot of thinking this summer. I know how it’s a little cliche to say one summer changed you, but mine was four months long. I had all the time in the world to think and grow. But now that I must finally bid the past one hundred and seventeen days adieu, I realize that there was one thing I forgot to prepare myself for. I forgot I needed to grow up.

This summer, I did mature a lot personality-wise, but I just couldn’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that as I left tenth grade, I also left one pivotal element of my life: My childhood.

Only now does it dawn on me that things have been happening a little too fast. I used to think time stood still, but when you’re spinning too fast - so fast, to the point where you can’t even move a muscle - it does make you feel as though you’re standing still. It’s an illusion, like quite a number of things in life.

I grew up too damn fast and I took my childhood for granted.

Two days ago, my granddad and I went to the Plaza to buy hair dye. We didn’t take the car, we took a trike like we did in the old days, and as I sat in the trike, I realized we were mirroring the past. We would go to the Plaza, and I would waste my granddad’s money on toys. After that, we would go get an ice cream cone or two. 

That day was a really good one, but at the same time, things felt a little bittersweet. It comes with feeling nostalgic, doesn’t it?

I guess all I’m trying to say is, as senior high draws nearer by the second, I become more aware of the fact that I’m not a child anymore. I need to rise at four am, roll out by five, and arrive home more than twelve hours later. It’s such a huge step to take, and while I did look forward to moving when summer first started, I am now more aware of the sacrifices that need to be made, and how hard things could actually be. Still, I must remember that the good qualities outweigh the bad. Lately, I’ve been saying that senior high absolutely terrifies me, but now I realize that it isn’t senior high I’m afraid of - I’m afraid of growing up. 

I paid my new school a visit back in April, and a really good friend of mine gave me a brief overview of what life at school would be like. He gave really good advice, and I don’t know, I think that set the mood for how I felt about the school - excited. I guess I need to think about that day more often, because I’ve been having more days with fear reigning over hope and excitement. Having friends with firsthand experience helps a whole lot. For example, a week ago, I bombarded Jillian with so many questions, we ended up sleeping at 0300 hours.

Speaking of 0300 hours, I also didn’t give much thought to the fact that changing schools also meant a change of lifestyle, especially regarding time. A whole year of being SC President and coming home late might’ve prepped me a little, and joining academic competitions might’ve given me a taste of what it was like to wake up before the sun did, but still, I don’t think I’m completely prepared for this.

You know what? I think I just need to calm down. Overthinking has always been a friend of mine, but it’s a toxic type of friendship. I need to calm down. But first I need to figure out how.

I wish I never grew up.

[anyaspov]

Sugar Flush: A Mini Review

[anyaspov]

hey i look up to you and how you get so many interesting opportunities!! any recommendations/resources for someone who wants to have experience while still in high school. hope you get to see and answer this. thank you so much ❤️

Thank you! That’s so sweet. I really think you just need to put yourself out there (I cannot stress this enough), and be unafraid to try new things. Overcoming that certain fear takes some time, I’m honestly pretty sure it still haunts me, but all you gotta do is swallow it up, and carry on with life as it happens.

[anyaspov]

Hi! I love your posts just wanted to ask when did you stop eating rice

Mid 2015!

[anyaspov]

Hola, hej, hallo!

Lately, I’ve been getting questions regarding what I eat and what I don’t, so I’ve decided to share my first smoothie bowl recipe with the very few people who visit this space every now and then.

And while I do still occasionally consume fast food and pizza, I’ve stated that I mostly consume smoothies and slices of meat, but I’ve recently gotten into smoothie bowls, so there’s that addition. I absolutely love smoothie bowls. One bowl can keep me going for an entire day, honestly (but don’t do that. I don’t do it either). It leaves you feeling full, especially if your smoothie is thicker. I’m not too big on thick smoothies, but if you want yours to have that consistency, by all means, go! I recommend using unsweetened yogurt or Greek Yogurt for that. 

I think that’s enough chatter for now. So, without further ado, here’s how I blend my bowls!

Smoothie The smoothie’s really simple. You just need a couple of frozen mango slices, some frozen bananas, milk (any type of milk will do, but you could also use water), chia seeds (optional), and spinach! Sometimes I add oats and yogurt, and I do occasionally replace the milk with Yakult or any yogurt drink. Once you’ve gathered everything you need, just pop those items in the blender, and get blending!

Toppings This is my favorite and least favorite part. I didn’t know that was possible, but turns out it is. Decorating is fun, but it’s also kind of frustrating once the fruits start drowning. They’ll stay afloat if your smoothie’s really thick, though! You can use any fruit you want. I normally just opt for fruits we already have at home, like bananas and avocados. After that, I’ll add some granola and chia seeds. There isn’t really a specific amount you need to follow, but I do like my smoothies chunky, so I go a little ham on the granola. You could also add oats and a honey drizzle, but it’s really up to you. Once you’re satisfied, you can call it a day, and enjoy your bowl! I had this for breakfast this morning, and I’m still feeling quite full, if you ask me.

And that’s the end of this entry! Hope I show up again next week!

Until the next,

Tanya

[anyaspov]

Hey tanya I just wanna say that you’re beautiful and I was wondering do u follow a specific diet or workout to have that body? Do u ristrict some food?

Dankeschön! You are so kind. I don’t really workout anymore. I stopped in April when I started going to the summer job I had at that month, and have only worked out sporadically since. I use the Sworkit app for working out since it’s free and also because it’s the app I’ve been using since 2015. I don’t do a lot of cardio, and I never ever do weight training. I just focus on abs and core, but like I said, I really do not workout anymore (I literally haven’t worked out at all this week). As for the food, I don’t really restrict anything, I just watch what I eat. I don’t eat rice, though. I don’t really have a specific reason for not eating rice, I just don’t feel like eating it. What I eat on a day to day basis varies, but this summer, I’ve been eating mostly overnight oats for brunch, yogurt or a mango-banana-spinach smoothie for my afternoon snack if I feel like snacking, and for dinner I’ll have another fruit smoothie. If I’m still hungry, I’ll eat a few slices of meat and have a bit of soup if I like the soup we’re having that night. Although I do eat chocolate almost everyday. I know, I sound like I’m playing, but I swear this is 100% true. My mom’s totally on board with me eating healthier, so she gets healthy food for me every weekend. But that doesn’t mean I don’t eat pizza and fast food! I do, just not as often as I used to. Thank you again for sending this in! Mange Tak! Muchas Gracias! If you want me to make a blog entry about this, let me know. God bless! Have a great day. 

P.S. When you work out, it really helps if you have a great playlist. Focus on the song instead of the pain, haha!