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This morning was better.
I woke up to a flood of light pouring into the half-circle shaped window that adorns the top of our regular, rectangular window.
A well lit room,
In a surprisingly comfortable bed,
After a decent night's sleep.
Anything a girl could ask for, yeah?
I lied in bed for a brief moment.
Annoyed.
Why was it so bright? It was only nine o clock. It's too early for it to be this bright.
Why was it so hot? Why did the A/C shut off? I can't get out of my covers, because I would just feel so exposed in front of my roommate.
Why was I awake? I've only been asleep for a few hours, surely I have a couple more in me.
I lied in bed for a brief moment.
Unsure of what to do with myself.
It was as if I forgot how to go about with my life. My day.
I forgot how to get out of bed, and go to the bathroom, and brush my teeth, and fix my hair.
I forgot how to wake up and just know what I was going to do with my day.
I sat up.
Now what?
Am I hungry? Should I eat breakfast? Should I shower? Should I get dressed and leave? But then where do I go? What do I do?
I lied back down. Unsure. Unsure of everything.
I called my sister.
It was a brief conversation. Nothing too extreme. Nothing too important.
But talking to her,
Hearing the familiar elevator noise as she descended to the first level of her work,
Hearing her scold the children in the background,
Hearing Stella laugh into the phone,
I felt connected.
So I said goodbye, hung up, got out of bed, walked to the kitchen, toasted a bagel thin, smeared it with natural peanut butter, poured myself a glass of water, and went back to my room.
Then I turned on my iPod speakers, and proceeded to play music as I ate and tidied up my room.
And when I started rifling through my new closet, trying to decide what to wear on a day that I had no plans, Scythian Empire by Andrew Bird came on.
And something sort of hit me.
Andrew Bird was playing,
As I got dressed in my own apartment,
In my well-lit shared room,
With a surprisingly comfortable bed,
After a decent nights sleep.
And I felt good.
And I think about what to do today. And all the possibilities.
I think about walking to the campus,
And walking around, trying to get a feel for the next nine months of school,
And I think about driving around trying to get to know the town.
And I think about coming back to my apartment in a couple of hours and making lunch for myself.
Getting out a pan,
And chopping up up spinach,
And melting cheese onto my eggs,
And I feel good.
And I think about how easy it will be to drive home for the Death Cab for Cutie concert tonight.
And how easy it will be come back to Orem.
I think about how easy it is to go back and forth between a place I know and a place I will know.
And I'm comforted.
I'm not gone.
I haven't left.
And neither have you.
You,
The universal comfort that I need,
Are in Salt Lake.
And Salt Lake
Is right around the point of the mountain.
And on the weather settings on my phone,
And the concert tickets on my wall.
Salt Lake is here.
And even though not everyone I need is in Salt Lake.
Even though they'll be scattered all over the place.
Logan, Virginia, New York.
I'm not far from the things I know.
50 miles, 100 miles, a thousand miles away.
It doesn't matter where I am, I don't think.
And I think I know that now.
And it was all because of Andrew Bird.
And the flood of light that's pouring into the half-circle window that adorns the top of our regular, rectangular window.
- Adriana
It is 3:19 AM,
I am sitting on a couch that is not mine,
In a living room that is not mine,
Attempting to avoid sleeping in a bed that is not mine.
Even though
All these things
Are now mine.
Tonight I moved into my new apartment.
It’s a lovely apartment,
Close to the campus,
Large kitchen, large living room, friendly roommates.
But also,
Far from everything I know.
Far from a place where I know people, the city, places.
Orem is lovely.
I’ve lived here for only a couple of hours, and I can already tell I will get along with my roommates just fine.
They’re a great bunch.
But I feel so disconnected.
From everything.
This place doesn’t even have internet.
I mean…. really.
Really.
Moving is a good change.
A very positive one.
A very necessary one.
But I think I’m more scared than I thought I would be.
Today as I drove with my sisters on the way to Orem, Ingrid asked me
“What are you going to do all week?”
My immediate answer was, “Well, I’m coming up to Salt Lake on Monday, and for a bit on Wednesday.”
And then she asked “Yes, but what about the rest of the week?”
And I paused. I didn’t know what to say. What was I going to do with the rest of my time?
I’m suddenly on my own, with all this free time, to do whatever it is I want to do.
What do I want to do?
I know no one. I know where nothing is here.
I’m forty five minutes away from home and I’m in a completely different world.
I feel hundreds of miles away from everything.
I’m not homesick, I don’t think.
It’s not that I want to be home under the warm protection of my parents.
It’s not that I want to be sleeping in my wonderful full size bed.
It’s not that I want to be in a place where I know I will have internet in the morning.
It’s not that.
I just want to feel close to people in my life.
I want to have the option to see them as I wish.
I’m friendsick.
Siblingsick.
Yousick.
I’m uncomfortable.
So.
I am listening to the album Two Way Monologue,
Blogging,
Drinking water,
Trying to feel close to something as everything moves farther and farther away.
Trying to feel comfortable.
And just as it starts to work slightly,
I remember that I’m typing this post in a Word document.
Which I have done several times before.
But the difference now is that I’m not home.
Which means I won’t be able to publish this post in the morning when my mother turns on the internet.
Now,
I’m in my new internet-less apartment.
Internet-less whether it be night or day.
And now I have to go hunt down a free Wi-Fi spot.
Just so I can get on the internet to post this.
…
Thank goodness my phone has 3G.
Time to search for a Barnes and Noble in the Orem area.
-Adriana
Edit: WE FOUND WI-FI.
Hallelujah, all.
Hall-e-lujah.
Question:
How much would you spend on a quality backpack that you'd love as if it were your child and you would carry it around everywhere and have lots of adventures with it and love it and love it and never let go?
Seriously, friends.
How much would you pay?
Keeping this question in mind, let's move into the third episode of the viewer favorite:
Today we're all about backpacks.
As some of you know,And as all of you will know after the following sentence,
I am a backpack person.
At the end of junior year,
on Memorial Day in fact,
My sisters and I took a small day trip(per) up to Park City.
As Ingrid looked at snow shoes,
Astrid looked at regular shoes,
And I meandered through the store,
I saw something that would change my life forever.
There, hanging on a hook that was too high for my 5'1 stature to reach, was a salmon-colored Sherpani canvas backpack with a tan trim and lavender detail up the front.
And if that wasn't detailed enough:
I needed it.
I thought of a million reasons to have it.
And so I bought it.
At first, I felt silly switching a regular shoulder bag for a backpack.
I felt childish.
I was chided.
Questioned.
Laughed at.
Alright, I wasn't, but the first time people saw me with the backpack they seemed to cock their head to the side to let the sight sink in.
Eventually, it did.
And eventually I became comfortable with it.
And eventually I loved it.
I carried the backpack everywhere.
It was my bag.
It carried my wallet, my keys, my phone, my iPod, and other oddities.
Throughout my senior year of high school, I bought smaller notebooks and folders to accommodate it.
It was me and my backpack against the world.
My mom will still call me a kangaroo on occasion, commenting the fact that I always have a pack with me.
Either my Sherpani one, or a floral one that my sister bought for me as a graduation present.
Floral with brown straps, I decorated it with a Harry Potter keychain and a plush fox pin, and it became my companion for the summer.
As college approaches, I've only thought of things I will need to buy for my new independent life.
Pots, bedding, avocados.
But I completely forgot about the necessities.
Well, perhaps I didn't forget about them.
I just didn't think the necessities were… necessary.
Which is where our night begins.
I began my research on what backpack I would want.
Do I want another canvas backpack like the ones I’ve been donning?
Perhaps something a bit sturdier, like a rucksack?
Are these practical, due to the heavy lifting I’ll be doing in college?’
Then
I remembered reading about a girl who was a backpack enthusiast.
I looked her up.
This girl
Is awesome.
For several reasons.
She is a very talented artist.
She has mad style.
She is Chris Baio (the bassist for Vampire Weekend)’s sister.
And she introduced me to this bag:
I quickly became obsessed.
This backpack…
This.
Backpack.
Was perfect.
Roomy, sturdy, had plenty of compartments, and had a quirk to it that I absolutely loved.
The problem?
I had no idea what kind of backpack it was.
I searched for hours.
Trying to type keywords into Google.
“Retro backpacks”
“Retro school bags”
“Vintage school backpacks”
“Leather retro backpacks”
Why
Couldn’t
I
Find
This
Bag
?!?!?!!asapgkpeotksh
I stalked Al Baio in every possible way I could, trying to catch her mentioning the name of her bag.
No where.
It was if this backpack didn’t exist.
I looked through the pages of her blog,
10 pages
20 pages
30 pages
40 pages
Looking through picture after picture.
The bag came up several times,
But never was it named.
This bag was an enigma that I couldn’t understand.
A box I couldn’t open.
A club I couldn’t be a member of.
A siren - taunting me with its beauty, but never letting me touch it. Luring me in for the kill.
…
So I loved this bag a lot okay?
I continued to search, getting little hints along the way.
There was a similar version of the backpack distributed by United Colors of Benetton.
They seemed to be incredibly popular in Tokyo.
She said it came with a “raincoat,” which was essentially a large shower cap.
And when she posted a picture of it, the flyer that came with it was in some Asian language.
The only English letters spelling out EVA.
All great hints,
That led me nowhere.
Page 76 out of 77 pages on her blog.
And finally
This picture:
My chest swelled, my breath caught in my throat, I stopped moving for fear that the picture would disappear.
Asics Super Randoseru.
Asics Super Randoseru.
The picture even congratulated me for finally finding its name.
Why thank you, picture.
How kind of you.
After memorizing the picture, I frantically began to Google it to find out more.
Asics Super Randoseru.
Super Randoseru.
And eventually just “randoseru.”
I discovered it is a children’s backpack commonly used in Japan. Parents give their child a randoseru at the beginning of elementary, and they’re to use that backpack for the duration of their childhood education. It’s designed to withstand six years of day-to-day use.
So basically,
It’s awesome.
And also,
Unattainable.
I have no idea where to buy one at a reasonable price.
There are a couple on a sketchy Japanese website,
A few on Amazon,
And a bit more on eBay.
All more expensive than what I would usually spend on a backpack.
But,
I totally think it’s worth it but I might just be love struck that’s totally a possibility shut up.
So,
This is where we complete the circle of life,
Or the life of this post, at least.
And I ask you again:
How much would you spend on a backpack?
A backpack that you would use forever and would absolutely love?
Where do you draw the line?
I am having a very hard time drawing the line with this one.
It’s my money
I’m allowed to do what I want with it right?
Right?
I mean, that’s what adulthood is,
Isn’t it?
Adulthood is all about buying overpriced children’s backpacks.
I think.
I don’t know.
Sigh.
Maybe you should sleep on it, yeah?
Yeah. Go to sleep.
Have pleasant dreams of beautiful randoseru backpacks, my friends.
In the morning I fully expect you to have an answer to my question.
It’s an important one, homezzz.
- Adriana
P.S. Did anyone spot the Beatles easter egg in there? I bet you did, but didn’t understand it was supposed to be a Beatles easter egg until just now.
P.P.S. Lack of sleep does this to me, okay? Don’t judge.
P.P.P.S I love you all.
P.P.P.P.S xoxo, Gossip Girl.
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