Hey everyone! I just wanted to remind you all to embrace every moment because our time here is limited. Life gets so busy, but it's crucial to remember that we're only here for a short while, so let's make the most of it! I'm incredibly grateful for the universe blessing me with a healthy body, a healthy mind, and everything else I need for a fulfilling life. Let's start with my arrival into this world on September 14, 2006. My early years are a bit hazy, but I've been told that I was quite mischievous and loved taking my toys apart. I was ecstatic to start school at around 4 or 5 years old and got involved in nursery school and karate. I've always been passionate about learning, and I'll never forget the pride I felt when I scored 98% on a final exam, ranking first in my entire class. However, that joy faded a bit when my name was omitted from the award ceremony list and my scorecard was tampered with. It was a tough reality check for me. Afterward, I was feeling a bit down, but my parents took me to a Gift/Toy Shop to buy me a gift to cheer me up. I was stubborn and insisted on receiving an award/gift from school on a stage, but they bought me an expensive gift anyway, which I didn't accept at the time. Now, it's one of my most cherished memories, and the toy is proudly displayed on my memory shelf. This experience toughened me up and taught me some invaluable life lessons. Since then, I've grown to achieve a 2nd Dan Black Belt in Karate and I'm currently pursuing higher studies. I'm sharing this story not for your sympathy, but to illustrate that life often gives us a reality check. Maintaining a positive mindset has been crucial for me. It's not about the circumstances or the situation, but what we take from them that truly matters. I've also discovered that physical exercise has been a secret to building mental strength. Just a favor to ask: if you make a decision, keep it to yourself until you've applied it in your life. Also, it's best not to give advice on matters that you haven't personally experienced or don't have expertise in. Ananda, or true happiness, is within each of us. Start your self-discovery journey and embrace it. If you'd like to hear more about my life events, feel free to ask!

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The gringa had lived in the Colonia San Rafael neighborhood of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico for over thirteen years, gringa being the local word for an American woman living in Mexico. The old Mexican man with a limp reminiscent of Charlie Chaplin's "Tramp" had lived in the neighborhood too, probably his entire life. The two passed each other many times walking down the hill, and every time the old man saw the woman, he said to her in English that one word that he apparently knew: "mo-nay." Time after time, the same word, "mo-nay." She grew annoyed with him, thinking, "Is that how he sees me? As only a source of money?" It isn't that she never gave to people in need -- she did, often generously, whatever she could. It's just that his one word was so constant and such a habit that it really got on her nerves. Not wanting to encourage him, she either ignored him or said, "No no tengo nada ahorita." “I don't have anything right now.” And walked on quickly. This went on literally for years. At times it almost seemed like a joke between them, him saying "Mo-nay" and she saying, "Nope, nada." And then one blinding hot day, the sunlight bouncing off of everything so much that your eyes hurt, he said something different. "Mo-nay. Hun-gray." She stopped and looked at him, as if for the first time. It had never occurred to her that perhaps he actually was hungry. She felt ashamed, and she took him over to the nearest tienda and asked him what he wanted to buy. His needs were simple: a bolillo--a small loaf of white bread--and a Coke. She bought them and gave him twenty pesos for a refresco later. And she asked his name. "Rubén," he said. "Mucho gusto, señor Rubén. Nice to meet you. Soy Frances," said she. After that, their relationship was different. He no longer was some needy old man, he was Rubén. Sometimes when he saw her, he still said, "Mo-nay" but it was different now that she knew his name and so if she had a few pesos with her, she gave them to him with a smile. And often, before leaving the house, she remembered to think of him and would grab a couple of coins in case she saw him. Sometimes, when he saw her, he didn't ask for money, but asked, in a neighborly way, "A dónde vas? Where are you going?" Or, "¿Acabas de volver del Centro? Did you just get back from town?" And she would talk to him for a few minutes. One day he was walking down the hill with his customary limp that spoke of hip problems, and she said, "¿Adónde va, señor Rubén?" "Where are you going?" And he said, "Estoy caminando para hacer ejercicio y conocer a mis amigos.” “I'm walking for exercise and to meet my friends." And she thought, "Wow, he knows he needs to move his body and he needs to socialize." She thought about this unexpected friendship that they had, and what a gift it was that his presence in her life had helped her shift her perspective from seeing him as someone who was needy to someone who was her neighbor, living life in his way, making the best of his circumstances, just as she was. She realized that he had caused her to confront her own unconscious bias. This was a big step, and she wanted to memorialize it by having a selfie with him. One day he was walking up the hill at the same time she was. "Would it be okay to take a photo with you, señor Rubén?" she asked him in Spanish. He said yes right away. Halfway up the hill, they stopped and looked at the camera. She was wearing her pandemic mask; he was maskless and wearing his battered hat. She stood a little back from him to try to keep "safe social distance." The birds were singing in the tree behind them and she felt happy for this moment. It felt to her like an achievement. There's still a long way to go; no doubt there are many more unconscious biases in my mind and heart. But I, the gringa in question, will always remember Rubén and the gift he brought me. The cost of a few bolillos and some Cokes is a very small price to pay.

Through the years, my sons teased me about my good posture and how, while they were growing, I wouldn't tolerate slouching. “Mom's fault,” I'd say with a smile. Although no genius, as my sons often point out, they are also just as quick to comment on how much I do know. They call me a walking encyclopedia of nonsensical trivia. Once again, I shrug and say, Mom's fault.” While my mom was never what was considered a strict disciplinarian, when it came to schoolwork, she was tough. I remember as soon as I could talk, she'd drill me every me every Saturday morning. Using two pages at a time of the dictionary, she would read each word, emphasizing on its pronunciation, encouraging me to try and spell it correctly. Back then, luckily, the dictionaries were small. Mom kept track of the words I misspelled in order for me to study them for the following Saturday. By the time I reached Kindergarten, I found it easy to read whole sentences. Soon, my “home education” expanded adding Math to my list of things to learn. After my spelling and reading lessons, Mom gave me wo sheets of paper with arithmetic problems to solve. Mom never confined her idea of teaching to just schoolwork. She believed in a healthy mind and healthy body. While I'd be pouring over homework, if Mom saw me slouching, she'd quietly walk behind me and gently t ouch my back. With one finger. Without one word spoken, I would immediately straighten to a more proper position. For about five minutes a day, three times each week, I would have to stand with my back against the wall. “Touch your heels to the wall. Now, your butt! Head up and back; shoulders back! Stomach in!” I know, I know. She sounded like a drill sergeant, but it kept my posture intact and my spine straight. Most of my friends learned to cook while their moms stood at their sides verbally instructing their every move. Mom's method differed completely. Handing me a recipe, she'd back away. Her reason was simple. Anyone can mimic; anyone can follow step-by-step instructions as each is given. It's more important to read and comprehend. As she often said, “Following a receipt teaches you to learn to follow any instructions.” However, she remained in the kitchen with me – just in case. Mom believed in teaching by example, not by using a bunch of words. Too often, my friends heard their moms say. “Do as I say, not as I do.” Never once did I hear that phrase from my mom. I also never heard the more familiar, “Because I said so.” Mom would often take me for long walks in the park, weather permitting. At times, we'd go for a train ride to the local zoo or museum. Once a month from June to September, mom and dad would pack a lunch and we would head to the nearby lake for a picnic. In addition to schoolwork, mom taught me to appreciate the beauty of a flower, the wonder of a rainbow, and the compassion needed for those less fortunate (like the WWII Veteran who sat legless on the street corner begging for a few cents to help him get by. Even tough money was tight, we never passed him by without Mom dropping a few cents in his little tin cup. She also taught me that although life is not perfect, we must strive for that goal and not be disappointed if we fail. Mom taught me the appreciation of demanding work. “After all,” she said, “the harder you work the more you appreciate the end result. If things came too easily, we would take those things for granted.” Yes, mom taught me many things: reading, spelling, love, and life. Now, here I am in my seventies. Mom passed away a number of years ago but even at my age, I am in good health. I still sit properly, and my back is straight. While I never went to college (as I said money was tight), my knowledge and education about what matters is exemplary. I am not afraid to tackle new projects and while I strive to succeed, I don't sulk if I fail. I just change my attitude and try again. My sons now, are grown with families of their own and emulate Mom's parenting as much as possible. I insisted on rearing my children the way Mom reared me, with compassion, understanding right from wrong, a thirst of knowledge, and fun in doing everything. I have been a good mother and teacher to my sons (they told me to say that), and I can see what wonderful husbands and fathers they are in every way (their wives tole me to say that!). Mom would be so proud of them. The reason for our successes in maintaining such happy homes, I feel is simple. It's Mom's Fault.

Everyday I try to get up and partake in some form of exercise to stay in shape and keep myself healthy. My favorite choice is a nice bike ride before the world is awake. When the sun is rising, I can feel the cool breeze run through my hair, hitting my face gently while listening to the song of the birds playing above. It is a peaceful time for me to rejuvenate and reflect on anything mind pressing. On this morning, my peace was disturbed when two dogs viciously ran after me out of nowhere, trying desperately to grab a leg or deter me from my destination. “What did you do?” My friend asked me while I told her this story later in the day, “Do you carry a stick or something with you to scare them away?” I laughed lightheartedly, and shook my head, “No. I just pedaled harder and faster, using that fear and intimidation as motivation to keep moving. Eventually they became tired and turned around and it helped me achieve a good workout!” We laughed and moved onto our next discussion. It wasn't until the next day that I realized that this same scenario applies to our everyday life. When we have a goal in mind that we are trying to reach, of course there will be negative people coming at us. Trying to knock us from our path, barking at our heels to cause intimidation. That could also be our own inner voice, unfortunately. Should we let that stop us? No, absolutely not. We keep our focus forward and use their discouragement as fuel to light our fire that burns from within to help us pedal harder and faster to reach our goal. Sometimes I need that reminder, and this time it came in the form of two dogs. Thank you for the chase!

“Ayushi, could you wait back?” Mr. Bhati, our economics professor stops me from leaving the class for the period break. “We expect great things from you. Continue to work hard. I believe you can top the state and get the highest in economics this year.” ‘Sir, I will try my best.' I was the promise made eagerly, broken promptly. Dopamine, the pleasure hormone, is released not only after an achievement but also much earlier, in anticipation of it- A lesson I learned last week from Dr. Robert Sapolsky's lectures on neuroscience but one, my subconscious has always known. The reason this happens, Dr. Sapolsky explained, is that the dopamine release acts as a bait to encourage hard work towards success for more. I had chanced upon a shortcut- finding satisfaction in the multiple mini releases, never striving harder for better. I didn't last anywhere near the top. Instead, I was so nervous during the economics exams, I missed the last question. I wrote such elaborate first few answers that I felt short of time towards the end. ‘I knew everything but didn't keep track of time,' I repeat after being awarded the GMAT's penalty on not finishing a section. Twice. A stellar employee makes a major blunder in the second project she leads as an analyst. Yes, me. I crushed on my best friend for over four years, only to break up in a week fearful of the insecurities that started to pop up. He cares, he cares not. What if I start liking someone else? Will I be a cheat? Then and since, as I repetitively failed expectations, I also developed an acute phobia towards commitment. Almost chick, never chicken. Instead, the remains of an unfertilised piece of egg excreted monthly, promising potential, never promise! I didn't make it big. I didn't make it. Instead, I quit the job and made it back to my parent's house hoping to find something I was good at and happy to do. Two years and three jobs later, I am working with my sister to create a utilitarian art brand, still here, in my parent's house. We were starting to do well when COVID hit. Confused, scared with no clarity about the future. The extra hours and limited distractions struck at the rusting pendulum. Oscillating between the regrets of the past and ever-so dreadful ‘expectations' from the future, for once, I am struggling to gain a foothold in the present. Refreshing IG feed every hour no more transforms into an hourly wallow of self-pity looking at friends traveling or getting promoted. The world hit pause and now, most everyone is working from home, cooking, and reading. I fight temptation, delete IG to work, and work on myself. In those hours of uninterrupted introspection, I finally made the long-awaited tear-jerker of a ride 12 years back to when I was made to take accountancy, commerce, and Mr. Bhati's economics as my electives instead of biology, chemistry, and physics because father thought I wasn't dedicated enough to pursue medicine. I had not worked hard enough since. I don't know what contributed more to that prophecy. His words. My rebellion. Both. Sitting on the floor leaning on the wall closest to the router, I type a cover letter to what could have been an application to a med school until my ass hurts and my eyes burn. Desperate to compensate for the last decade, I spent the first few weeks of the lockdown learning to speak in French, cook, garden, write and invest. Days passed, became weeks. The initial enthusiasm started to wane because there was a lot of learning but as many results. I realized I was getting better at things I learned by doing like cooking, unlike those I learned passively about. I had to converse in French. I had to type, scribble, jot. Not just read books on it. Anything is easier read than done. Attempting to do everything, I wasn't doing anything well. I had to streamline my subjects. Call it greed, I chose to start with investing and designing. Impatient to recover all the past losses, I started out to make a few mistakes, costly ones but slowly I am learning to pick better quality companies. We are creating better designs for our art brand too, some that inspire for a happier present, others in the hope of a better future. Now, when someone asks me what I do for a living, I won't mumble that I am a Chartered Accountant and a CFA, distracting them with my academic qualification. As I think back to the still very empty bank account and the room I continue to inhabit in my parent's house, I now have hope. With every unrealized gain I make on the investments and with every positive feedback we get on our designs, I stand a little bit taller, my eyes smile a little bit wider. If tomorrow, I wake up to hear that quarantine has ended, I might not jump out of bed with excitement. After a long shower and a slow breakfast, when I step outside, it will be with equal amounts of hope and dread that the unknown brings. The world would have changed. I would have changed too. For the better.

Heartbreaks are just awful in general but my first heartbreak was where I lost everyone I loved. This heartbreak would teach me that even my own family will be the cause of my first and worst heartbreak. They would be the ones that I needed to be protected from. I was a bit naive and never dealt with anyone lying to me. At 16 years old, I lost my family which consists of my 4 girl cousins , my best friend Jenna , and my boyfriend Jose. My cousin Denise, who started doing drugs at the time, thought that she could blame it all on me. I heard she said things like I bossed her around and made her do all these horrible things like stealing cars, stealing money and I made her sneak out of the house all the time. I couldn't believe what was going on because first off I had no idea what the drug was at that point and I didn't even know she was doing drugs. But it would explain the pure evil I saw in her eyes. She couldn't stop lying and honestly I think after a while she believed her own lies.She kept the lies going with not even caring what this was doing to our family and most of all to me. My other 3 cousins never came and questioned me about it and just chose to forget me. With so many lies and gossip pointing the blame in my direction, they just assumed and believed her. They altogether stopped any contact with me for years. I'm talking about my group of girl cousins who I grew up with. They were there for every birthday, every holiday, every summer, and every weekend to hang out and have sleepovers. SInce we were babies, we have always been inseparable. Their parents stopped any contact with my parents. I was not expecting my cousin to ever do this to me. Next in line, I lost my best friend Jenna who went to school with me. My cousin met her through me and got her doing drugs as well. Once again my cousin and Jenna blamed everything on me so they could still hang out and get high together. In front of our parents, they told everyone that it was me with the drug problem. I broke down begging Jenna to come out with the truth. I was crying so hard that I couldn't even talk. I just remember looking at both these girls who I loved more than anything and saw they didn't even care. They showed no emotion whatsoever as I poured my heart out to them. I was even apologizing for their own mistakes. I was trying to crack one of them but they let me leave Jenna's house that night so heartbroken. I was just devastated. Luckily my parents at least believed me, but I still felt so defeated. Last person I lost was my boyfriend which was my first boyfriend that I ever loved and lost my virginity to. We had been going out for about 8 or 9 months and he broke up with me at the same time this whole drama thing is going on with my cousin and Jenna. I find out months later that he was sleeping with my cousin and doing drugs with her while we were still together. My cousin destroyed my life overnight and I knew I was never gonna be the same. After that, I didn't leave my bedroom and I stayed in bed. I felt pathetic and just worthless. It changed my whole personality and changed my whole life. I turned to drugs months later and I really didn't care what was being said after that. I was already known for being a drug addict. I was not responsible enough to make a good decision on how to deal with the pain. I only blame myself for that though. The pain wasn't my fault. That was out of my control. But the struggle was what I am to blame for. I let so many people affect me. I let them all hold the power to my happiness which wasn't healthy. I think it's safe to say I loved them too much. I learned that forgiving those who never apologized or even acknowledged what they did to me is one of the hardest things I ever had to do. It's been 17 years since this happened and I should be over it right? With this being my family that did this to me , I still see them on holidays and sometimes for birthdays. We act as if nothing had ever happened. I just know if we were to talk about it, the conversation will never gonna go the way I want it to go. I have to keep it bottled in and act like I don't think about it everyday. My cousin is sober now and actually did 5 or 6 years in prison. She has still, to this day, never admitted anything to me about anything. I feel like she totally took advantage of who I was. She knew I wasn't gonna snitch on her and she knew I wouldn't bring anything up and confront her about it. She played her game with all her lies and she knew I loved her so much that I wouldn't blow her cover. Maybe it's my fault I didn't object but my words meant nothing to anyone. You want to know the worst thing about pain? It's only yours. People won't understand your pain. Even the ones that have caused it may not even realize it. Other people will tell you to get over it and tell you to just move on. My cousin may be able to forget what she did to me but I will never be able to forget. More than anything, I wish I could.

"When you truly reflect on life, you come up with such creations. I like the way Adiela has weaved simple poetic stories out of the complex strings of life in which humans remain entangled. From social to soul exploration, all has been done and depicted neatly in this poetic beauty. As a poet, I especially relate to the poetry style that is made very understandable, yet churned out of an ocean's depth." - Ruchika Pahwa Available here: https://adielaakoo.wixsite.com/writer/shop

Aloof? Aloof you say? I'm so sorry if I made you feel that way. It's really not my intention, Though the reaction is of my own invention. You see, long ago I built a wall, A defence mechanism as I recall. So for me to draw close, is still very hard, After misplacing that important trust card. #AdielaAkoo Get Lost in a Quatrain here: https://adielaakoo.wixsite.com/writer/shop

Excited to announce that I have been invited to do a poetry reading at The Alan Paton Literary Festival, being hosted at Eden Lassie, in the beautiful Tala Valley 🙏🌹 Come and get Lost in a Quatrain with me on Saturday the 7th March 2020 from 15h00-15h30 I will be reading poetry from my book as well as some new, unpublished poems Love to see you there 💖 💖#AdielaAkoo

Today at work I overheard someone bad-mouthing me. Not just anyone, though. My manager. The person who had been mentoring and teaching me since I started working at that company only six months back. The person with whom I shared an office with every day. Moments before, I had made a minuscule mistake while talking to a customer on the phone. She was quickly able to correct me before the phone conversation ended, so in the end, everything was fine. Apparently, I was wrong though, and that mistake made it necessary to vent to a co-worker about. This particular woman didn't have a quiet voice to begin with, so it wasn't hard to pique my attention. When I heard the harsh whispers I immediately froze. My ears went into an ultra-satellite mode. I could feel all the blood rush from my head. My hands got icy cold. The thuds from my heart were rattling my chest. My emotions shifted rapidly between anger, sadness, confusion, embarrassment, and betrayal. The next thoughts that flashed through my head were that I needed to put my two-week notice in. There was no way I could show my face around here again. Why do people do that? Why do people have to talk negatively and gossip about others? Unpleasant flashbacks to high school were triggered. It was all childish and stupid, coming from someone who knew better. Even though I tried so hard to barricade them, the tears started to spill out, along with a few stifled sobs. I was truly hurt. I already didn't enjoy being there as it was, and hearing those hurtful remarks didn't make it any easier. Since I was still relatively new, I realized it was inevitable that I would make mistakes. But of course, nobody wants to make them. We want to achieve perfection and excel at our jobs. Nobody wants to be the straggler who doesn't know what they're doing. The person who gets dirty looks or eye rolls when they're struggling to complete a task. This was one of my worst fears coming true. When she casually returned to the office, all my bottled up emotions exploded and I confronted her about it. It all kind of gushed out without me being able to control it. Normally that is something I wouldn't have the guts to do because I hate confrontation. But for some reason this time I shakily stood up for myself, like facing a lion in a den. She seemed shocked that I had been able to hear the private conversation and admitted what she had done was wrong and not appropriate. She repeatedly apologized while I tried to get my crying convulsions under control. I could tell she felt bad, and I'm glad she did. I replay that moment back in my head and am so proud of myself for saying something. If I hadn't, she probably would have kept at it. Even when you don't think you have the courage inside yourself, it'll emerge when you truly need it. This was a brutal reminder to always be kind to others. Even though it's tempting, it's important to avoid the addictive habit of gossiping. You never know who may be listening.

A lesson in Courage This past year I had made a drastic change in my life. It has been something that I have wanted for quite some time and I finally made the leap. I was working the corporate scene for over 13 years and the rapid growth that I helped to foster became very overwhelming and one-sided by the owners of the companies. I was putting in 12 hour days consistently and working weekends either at home or going into the office. I had reached the highest level possible for someone that was not a relative and the advancement opportunities were non-existent except for a yearly raise. The workload was more than one person could handle and they were loathed to add extra bodies I quote" to keep a lean department." I presented on several occasions that I am overwhelmed and made the comment that deadlines for projects and reports cannot be met due to taking care of customers first as has always been their motto. I was tired a lot and missed so many family functions that I am embarrassed now as I look back and ask why? My immunity was low from the lack of self-care or lack of balance and I caught every cold or infection that came into my office which made an already hard situation worse. I stopped doing things that I love doing like this blog or other hobbies due to exhaustion for the most part. I had a revelation on a quote that I had seen that I cannot credit the author but it stated thus: "In a battle of egos the loser always wins!" That rang close to home for me because I realized that it was my ego that kept me going for years and the main owners ego was what drove him, a lot of times correctly, however when it came to his eldest and most loyal employees it produced a very toxic environment for the last couple of years. I feel that he wanted to retire and the truth was his son and son in law enjoyed the customer side of sales and did not step up to take on more corporate duties making him feel that he could not pull back on being at the office full time, he is 79 years old. I understand that but I felt instead of yelling and belittling them all the time it was his management staff that he took his feelings out on. His mood swings got to be uncontrollable and after the acquisition, I completed for him for his 4th business in the same exact month that we were implementing a new accounting software program with no added bodies I had reached the limit of my will. I plugged along from June 1st of this year until the end of October when I provided notice of resignation. I presented a graceful smile and stood upright and confident as I laid my post office box keys and the key to the building on his desk as I handed him the letter of resignation. I felt a burden release from me that was immediate relief. I made sure to quickly say this is for me and has nothing to do with money and please do not present counteroffers I am not that type of a person. I made the decision and it was done in my mind and no going back. Well for 3 days I had to endure the owners and Vice Presidents and wives of each wanting to meet with me to talk and ask me to stay or help them thru this project or that extending my notice at one point thru until year-end closings. I finally just said look that only benefits you and not me. The Vice President looked at me and said I understand and yes you are right. After 3 days of silence, they finally let us announce it to my staff. The owners and staff were all teary-eyed and I was smiling at each one and wishing everyone the best and telling them I will miss them, I hugged the owner and did the best I could to train and close out some personal business that I did on the side for the owners and family at the same time. The last day I worked was November 13th, 2018 and I feel like I have had the weight of the world lifted off of my shoulders. I am appreciative of all I have learned and glad that It has opened me up to other opportunities that I can't wait to pursue. I feel like I finally understand what is more important now. Balance is the key. If courage is needed for you in your life also, it is my hopes that you are able to summon the worth that you deserve.

Stop what you're doing. Please. Whatever it is, I need you to stop for a moment, and focus. Pause your music, put your food to the side, and just stop. It may sound like an odd request, but I need you to focus on your surroundings. To feel the texture of your clothes against your skin. Is the fabric soft? Rough? Pay attention to the air as it brushes against your lips and rushes into your mouth and lungs; feel your chest collapse when you breathe out seconds later. I need you to look up and pay attention to the details of the room you're in. Is it light? Dark? Colorful or dull or some combination of the two? Are you cold, or are you melting in the summer heat? Can you smell rain? I need you to feel your pulse. Can you feel your heartbeat? Good. I need you to hold your hand for a few seconds and feel the warmth of your skin—let your thumb drag against the top of your knuckles. What is that like? Had you forgotten what the feeling of your own flesh felt like? No? Okay, you can continue as you were. Resume your music, take another bite of your snack. I'm done asking you to actively participate. ...You're curious as to why I asked you to do these things, aren't you. Well, once upon a time, when I was very much a young child, I read a book where it was revealed that a minor character had been trapped in a book for fifty years. At the time, I hadn't paid much attention to it—the characters never lingered on that fact, not even the boy in question, so there was no reason for me to give it any mind. It certainly didn't help that the character was a villain in the story, one who did terrible, awful things, whom I was not supposed to sympathize with. It was never made into a big deal, so I forgot it. It was only when I reread that book for what was probably the sixth or seventh time that I actually thought through the implications of such a thing. Fifty years. What that it be like? To be stuck in a book for so long? I couldn't help but think it might be comparable to a box. A small, tiny box, with no light. Worse yet, you can't touch anything, can't feel anything. A normal box, at least, would allow you to feel the walls around you. You might hear the sounds made by anything outside the box, but this isn't a normal box. This box is magic, remember, which means you can't see anything, you can't feel anything. I might go as far as saying that even something as simple and normal as breathing might be impossible. The complete and utter lack of anything would be more than enough to drive one mad after only spending a week in such a box. But fifty years? As someone who hasn't lived to be half of that yet, this is entirely beyond my realm of comprehension. It's a lesson in gratitude, though it might not look like it at first. It's why I began to put myself through that little exercise I asked you to do earlier. If you were to go fifty years without so much as a single breath, with nothing but your own thoughts for company...well, I don't think either of us want to know what that looks like. We rely on our sight, our hearing, our touch, everything, so much so I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to go without them. One or two, yes, but to lose all of them? To be stuck not only blind and deaf, but to be so lost there is absolutely nothing that will let you orient yourself? To be stuck in darkness without the pulse of your own heartbeat there to steady you? Truly, sensory deprivation is one of the worst tortures humanity could devise for itself. But...as awful as it is, that's what makes me grateful—the fact that I still have this. That I can take any moment out of the day and look around myself, hold onto the seconds as they slip by and comfort myself with the fact that I can still feel my sweater as it slides against my skin. I can still smell the laundry detergent that lingers in the threads of the fabric. I can hear my roommates bickering in the kitchen about who does the dishes and who picks the music. I can admire the way the light refracts through my window and pours tiny rainbows across the walls. It's odd, how much this tiny thought about a random character actually ended up changing my life so much. I've picked up another language —one that I can speak with my hands— and in doing so I've learned so much about people who live without their hearing. I've done enough research on the use of solitary confinement in prison systems and the negative effects it has on a person that I should probably just write my next essay on that. I wake up just about every day thrilled with that I still have as much as I do, and it encourages me to do my best. So, I was hoping that this lesson —as dark and terrifying as it might be at first glance— might help you, too. The world is a beautiful, beautiful, place, and I find it and all of its many gifts to be just so amazing. I think it's important we appreciate every little detail, no matter how small, for as long as we can.

It was the Monday after Thanksgiving 2018, and I took my 7-year-old daughter to a showing of "Ralph Breaks the Internet" right after school. I already knew that the movie theater was this kid's happy place, but this trip ended up being extra special. We were the only two in the theater. Not only did we loudly talk and make jokes throughout the showing, she got up and danced around the empty theater during the credits. I mean, ran up and down the aisles shaking her "groove thing" to "Zero" by Imagine Dragons. And then as we were walking out, she said, "I'm gonna tell them this is the best time I've ever had in this theater." And she did. Bless that teenage concession stand employee that listened to her speech and smiled at me over the top of her head. I think this is the first time I've fiercely hoped my daughter would remember a moment for the rest of her life. But the more I thought about it, I realized that it wasn't my first "memorable moment" at the movies. It's the summer of 1999, and I'm with a large group of friends heading to the movies. We've driven 20 miles to see the new releases playing at the Capri V Theatre in downtown Ottumwa, Iowa. More specifically, we're here to see "The Blair Witch Project." Now I can't remember all of the people in our group, but I do remember that I was the last person in line to buy a ticket and Jessica was right in front of me. Jess and I were both 16 at the time. There were two people selling tickets, and when Jess got up to the counter, one of the employees asked her how old she was. Let me reiterate that. They didn't ask to see her ID, they just asked her how old she was. And as I heard her say 16, my heart sank. "Blair Witch" was rated R, and now they weren't going to sell her a ticket. All of our friends ahead of us in line (some only 16, some older) already had their tickets, and to be perfectly honest, I was pissed off. She told the cashier that she'd like a ticket to see "Bowfinger" instead. I gritted my teeth and bought my own ticket to "Bowfinger" so Jess wouldn't have to go to the movies alone. In case you don't remember that film, it's a PG-13 comedy starring Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy. I'd like to tell you more of the plot, but I honestly don't remember. I was way too angry to actually pay attention. I do remember how Jess kept forcing herself to laugh too hard at the jokes and looking over at me in the dark as if she was trying to "will" me to enjoy myself. It wasn't going to happen. I was way too angry at her for "ruining" my evening. I was angry for her automatic honesty. Which, nearly 20 years later, seems crazy. I was mad at my best friend for telling the truth. I recently read a book by Gretchen Rubin were she writes that "what you do every day matters more than what you do once in a while." And while it's hard to believe that Jessica Eakins was completely truthful every single day, I do know that she was truthful MORE than once in a while. If there is an underlying theme in all my memories of Jess, it's that she was an honest friend that never set out to hurt anyone's feelings... but often told people what they needed to hear. The Capri V Theatre closed a year after Jess died. And I can't remember the last movie I saw at that location, and I honestly can't remember the last movie I saw with Jess. I often wonder if this moment - this "life lesson" at the movies - would even be burned in my memory at all if Jess hadn't died less than five years later. But it is. So strive to be honest... more than once in a while. Even if you end up forcing someone else to watch "Bowfinger."

Yes I admit, in some ways you are too old for me. The way you talk to children and activate a flashlight somewhere behind their wide eyes gives me shivers. The way you light something up in me makes me feel the same way, but sometimes I don't mind. Every now and then I catch you mention "but that was ahead of your time," and at first it doesn't bother me, but then I feel like I need to scrape my knees to catch up to you. But there's a way you bring me back to when I had just turned 13 - a new innocent spark under my small denim jacket, the calmness I felt listening to my favorite bands that were your favorite bands. You grabbed my arm and twirled me back to my favorite time in my life, riding around the block on my bicycle with my headphones playing the same music you were listening to in high school. I smell rain and I see tall trees that my eyes never saw the tops of, and I feel the smooth keys on my first keyboard I ever played when I unwrapped the shiny model on Christmas. I feel misunderstood again - in a good way. I feel smart, but I also feel like I'm ready to learn. Just when I thought I was trapped in this globe of uncertainty and confusion, you pulled me out and held me with your calloused hands and whispered lyrics to a song I've never heard before. I don't mind if you make me chase you - I feel the way I did when I swung on the swing set in primary school hoping to touch the sky with the curve of my toes. You take the bitter taste of dirt out of my mouth and drop a teaspoon of cough syrup on my tongue and I taste youth again. I love that you don't expect too much from me. I have looming due dates of papers over my head and voices singing that I'm a disappointment. With you, all I have is time. I have a full life ahead of me, that's what you said. I have nothing but time to waste with you while the world stops turning for that night. The little girl you dragged out from under me is frightened and won't let me enjoy living again. She's grown up before, and now that she's back again, she knows what you're going to do - she's seen it all before. Love and learning isn't all playgrounds and love bites and tire streaks in the driveway. It's scar tissue, obsession and smeared hearts on the face of the one who eats their heart out. You must never tell, she tells me. Do not let him know. I feel fire flaring up behind my neck when you whisper in my ear. I hear ghosts from the corners of my brain start to sing when you talk about the things you love. I feel a heavy weight on my heart when you hand me a shot glass. I feel it tugging when you become irritated when I get dressed. "Are you fucking leaving? Because if you want to leave, you can just go, I'll unlock the door for you," you hissed at me. I had to undo my dress and throw it on the floor for you to believe that I wasn't going anywhere. I heard police sirens and saw flashing blue and red lights, but they went away at the blink of an eye when you started to play love songs. I can ignore the signs all I want, but if they start to take away my sight, I will have to feel everything so intensely and blindly. I feel the wind brushing my long hair again while I sit outside by the lake at my grandmother's old house. I remember what it felt like to have my heart broken when I was little and not have anywhere to go but here. I close my eyes when we lay together in your bed and you roll on your side, and I come back to this place. I love it because even as lonely as I have ever been, nobody else has ever taken me here. Something about you forces me to experience everything over again and I feel immortal. I haven't spoken to you in months, I think it might even be a year. I fell in love with someone else. Younger than you, but still significantly older than me. Whenever she says "but that was ahead of your time," it reminds me of you and I wish I was nestled between your chest and your beard but I fell in love with someone else and you never bothered to text me again after that night that I made you walk home. I don't feel bad because you humiliated me in front of all your friends. I know you remember what happened. I drove by your house last night and I saw boxes piled up outside of your front door. You must have moved back to New Jersey finally, just like you told me you were going to do someday, using it as a reason why I deserved better. I see it now. I wanted to tip toe over and hide in the biggest box I could find and tie a long silky red bow around it, but I thought I might get tipped over on the way to the post office. I think about you a lot more than you'd think, you know. I see fragments of you in everyone I meet. You sneak your way into my thoughts very rarely, but still leaving me feeling refreshed. Feeling raw. Feeling free. Feeling immortal.