Kiana

My mind floats, as a five-star cruise ship does. This brain is a vessel of dreams, longings, thoughts—all sacred or diabolic.

My bones, I remember them straining to push through the 5 AM alarm. Silly, a 5 AM alarm for a 7:30 AM test. I took a bath without an ounce of consciousness. All was motor memory. I may have blinked a few times as I rode a jeepney, at 6:45 AM, which made the man I was sitting across from think that I was flirting. (“In this too young a time in the morn, dear sir??”) I was itching to get coffee, or to go back to bed.

The only good thing about waking up early is the warm feeling of recognition that tugs at me: The recognition that I am here, and that along with everybody else, I am moving about to go somewhere, to be someone. It’s like watching the waves in the ocean tumble about and wanting to reach and move in time with them. How I wish I can could close my eyes and store this feeling, so I can reach for it—as a thirsty person reaches for water—whenever I need to catch that vibe.

I arrived way too early for the college application test, so I hung out outside the testing room. There were three other women waiting, all of them on their phones. I wanted to talk to them, but I decided against it; I read The Waves on my phone instead. I’m at the restaurant-meeting part, the part where they bid Percival goodbye, when my reading is interrupted by three, four, and then five people pulling chairs. The sound of the metal chair legs against the tiles, gritty and annoying, snapped everyone in the room out of their respective worlds, out of their phones, making the newcomers, who already sat, fidgety, not quite knowing what to do, look around as if waiting for a cue, or a question. I met their gazes, inferring that they were also test takers. This brought to mind the part in The Waves I’d just read: “The hostility, the indifference of other people dining here is oppressive. We look at each other; see that we don’t know each other, stare, and go off. Such looks are lashes. I feel the whole cruelty and indifference of the world in them.” I nod and whisper, “Yes, and I am both you and the indifferent people.”

Last Friday morning was slow. It went slowly, more slowly than I would’ve liked it to. Midday came like a sharp intake of breath. The sun was scorching my brain, and my kindness toward the world dissipated.

Meanness comes naturally to me at the moment. People have been making me feel unworthy of generating kindness. This is a really bad thing, I know, but I can’t help it. Anyone can dub me “insensitive,” and it hurts me so much to think that. I remember the tone, the cadence, the lilt in someone’s voice whenever they show me how I appear before their eyes. I am so hurt, so hurt by the world. I feel as though I’m becoming a truly horrible, grouchy person—a way of being I’ve always avoided and feared.

What is happening to my mind? ♦

Keianna

April saw my call for late nights with friends, which I mentioned in an earlier diary entry, answered. I’ve been getting to experience those clichéd teen movie moments that I longed for, and I couldn’t be happier.

This weekend went to The Museum of Contemporary Art’s teen night “Go Home.” It was amazing. When I arrived with my friends Natalie and Paola, I was surprised by my friend Andrew who I haven’t seen in a year. Together we made made our own pins (beyond cute), took in a lot of amazing art, and saw some really cool bands. Our goal for the night was to each introduce ourselves to at least one new person. At first it was really intimidating because everyone there was so beautiful, but after convincing myself that, Hey! I’m beautiful too, duh! it was a lot easier, and I was happy to see how accepting and loving everyone was. It was a great experience and whoever decided to include tangerines and bananas on the snack table deserves a gold star. My friends and I finished the night the only way you can finish a night like this, with milkshakes and mozzarella sticks. How’s that for a Teen Movie Moment? ♦