Kissing Boys

What is it about love and the idea of it that is so consuming to us? Why do we crave the kiss?
Is it the feeling of being wanted that we become addicted to; the feeling of needing that security that you're not alone in the world and someone, anyone, cares about you?
Or is it the steadiness of it? The familiar hypnotizing pattern of motion. The movement between two people that never fails to make you feel whole in the ying- yang sense of the term. Is it the way that your dry bottom lip hits the enslaving moistness between the two of his? Why does it feel so safe?
Ever since prudish little me picked up her first Sarah Dessen book, the woman who inspired me to be a writer, I always wanted to feel whole. In everyone of her stories, there is the broken distraught girl who either feels alone because someone has died or her parents have been divorced. Then enters the mysterious tall, dark, & handsome. He plays her a song on his guitar and gives her parts of what she's lost and makes here feel complete again. The end, they live happily ever after.
Well what if Fabio never entered her life? What if she didn't meet her Romeo or never received her letter to Hogwarts? Then what? Does she just stay miserable and alone her entire life because she doesn't have a man?
I thought I had to be broken before I could be fixed. Usually when something brakes you fix it, correct? You take out your tool box of bandaids and screwdrivers and you put it back together.
I never knew until now, that things that are perfectly fine can be fixed as well. I never knew that I could be fine, and just improve myself from where I was. Learn to be better as I became better.
All I wanted was love, all I craved was a kiss. I was so empty without it because I thought if you're not being kissed, it means no one wanted to kiss you.  Not being wanted, as I'm sure we all know, hurts. And a kiss to a young girl, well, it seems like the most important thing in the world... So, in a sense, I am still a young girl.
It became worse as I started to hit those pre- high school teenage years. I watched all of my friends get boyfriends, have their first date, their first kiss. I was so happy for them, but it was hard being that redheaded girl the boys didn't like.
When I hit high school, things didn't change much. I still felt lonely, still wasn't the one guys were asking out. Like I said, I was that redhead girl, not the blonde, who liked alternative music, not Sean Kingston, and preferred poetry, not picking out my MySpace background.
So when I was asked out on my first date, by a senior boy, I thought I was finally having my Dessen moment. Finally thought I was going to get my happily ever after. It was my turn now, and I was going to let nothing get in the way of it.
Well, it was perfect. In every single way. He held my hand, could have great conversation with my parents. I'm pretty sure he was even hotter than any other guy I'd ever hoped would be interested in me. Plus, the fact that he was a senior and I was a freshman earned me major brownie points with my friends which helped make up for all the lost time I had missed out on. Things were finally falling into place.
I didn't want to notice the red flags because I thought they didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. They were minimal details that didn't fit into the storyline of my fairy tale.
Well, when you ignore things they catch up to you. And not pleasantly either.
I should have known it wasn't a good thing he didn't want me to hang out with my friends anymore, or that I was only allowed to wear certain things out of the house so 'other boys wouldn't flirt with me.'
I should have known that when he grabbed my arm or kicked me under the table when he didn't like what I was doing, that it wasn't right. And me ignoring it allowed it to escalate.
I just wanted to pretend it all wasn't happening, I wanted my romance novel love story, I wanted the kiss.

Remember the girl from the novel? The one who maybe had a drug addict mother, or a best friend who died in a car crash... The broken one. Well I'm going to write her a new story. One where ya, she had boyfriends, she had kisses... but the climax won't be in bed this time. It will be when she earns her law degree, or has her first art exhibit. When she backpacks through Europe and experiences the Trevi Fountain for the first time, not the Italian boy who works at the restaurant next to it.

Love stories are wonderful, and love it what drives a lot of people to do a lot of amazing things. But we have to learn to love ourselves before we can love anyone else.
Maybe if I write about the girl who fixed herself; well then maybe I can save someone from being like me, someone who now isn't just broken but can never truly be mended.
My cuts have healed and my bruises are gone. But the scars, mental and physical, will always be there.
A reminder of the danger, of kissing boys.
Seventeen magazine doesn't always have all the answers.

Can I go to the bathroom yet?

Tomorrow, June 5, is my last day at The College of Staten Island High School for International Studies. Tomorrow, will also be the last day I'll ever get to skip gym class and nap in the senior lounge.
When I chose to go to a scary new 'International' school in eighth grade, instead of a pretty safe- choice private school, my parent's should have known then that it would set the tone of my decision making for the next four years.
I have made some pretty stupid mistakes. Dated the wrong guys, wore the wrong clothes, made the wrong friends... I even got some really shitty grades here and there too.
But the beautiful thing about high school, is that we learn our mistakes and decisions do not define us. What defines us is how we choose to handle the outcome of them.
I can honestly say I love every single one of my fellow Dragons, even if one of you did sleep with my freshman year boyfriend. (Everyone has redeeming qualities, right?.... Maybe?....)
Hate is a pointless emotion that I choose not to possess. Hate to me is wanting to see someone else is some sort of emotional or physical pain. Someone else's pain could never be my gain.

Going into high school I thought I was going to be that cool- but- not- cool outcast artsy girl who wore all black and supported obscure humanitarian organizations. Well, I may to this day be known as 'Unicef Girl,' but it turns out I became the preppy cheerleading captain who found out she could not wear black, she is a ginger, and it makes her look like a bruised pale pumpkin. I also found out that stereotypes are one of the largest causes of violence in this world. Labeling someone different automatically makes them unlike you, leading to the hate of things unfamiliar and unknown.
We're all the same. My blood is as red as yours.
When someone asks me, "Do you consider yourself a hipster or a prep," (which I assume is because I'm a vegetarian & also a cheerleader) my answer is always, "I consider myself Victoria."
You and I, we all have our own stories, we all have things that divide us. But it is those things that divide us that we can not let separate us, but bring us together.
High school has taught me to embrace, to love, and to never judge.

I auditioned for the Graduate Address at my school's graduation this year. Although I didn't get the part, I would still like to share it...
*Note before reading that in my school they lock the bathroom for ten minutes after every period starts to promote not wandering in the hallway and all of that fun stuff that we still do anyway*

In a perfect world, we don’t have to worry about terrorism, war, gender equality, or if it’s ten minutes after the period so we can go to the bathroom.  Everything that’s happening in this world around us, it’s scary, no doubt about it. It’s not easy to wake up in the morning and say, “Today I’m going to do something good for myself and the world.” I don’t know about you guys but the first thing I think about when I wake up is where the closest cup of coffee is.  In the wise words of a teacher that many of us have had the privilege of being taught by in the past four years, “We all make choices.”  Yes, our world is not perfect. Yes, it’s not easy to succeed or be successful. & Yes, you do have to wait another five minutes to use the bathroom, it’s still locked.  But. We can choose to change. Change ourselves, change our surrounds, our outcomes. & change the world.   The beauty about the College of Staten Island High School for International Studies, is it gave us the choice. The choice to be ourselves, the choice to challenge ourselves. The choice, to discover ourselves.  Every morning when you walked in that door, you knew you were going to learn not only something new about the world, but about yourself as well. If you’re sitting in a seat right now with a cap and gown on, you can say you have been personally victimized by Regina George, I mean CSI HIGH... But in the best way possible. YOU have learned that maybe you don’t want to be an accountant, but an archeologist, that you want to be a teacher just like one of the many you were probably inspired by in high school, that you want to join the peace core, become president, BE THE NEXT GHANDI...  CSI has taught us that it’s perfectly fine to not be extrodanary though. That being normal is AWESOME. Ya, PHd’s are great, but so are the men that work hard every day delivering our mail. Maybe none of us will be visiting the moon anytime soon, but maybe every single one of us in this room is going to push ourselves to exceed our own limits and become a better us. Become better people. Become better global citizens. The beauty about education, especially a one like we have been provided with the past four years, is that you can do whatever you want with it. You can take this diploma from this stage in a few moments and say, “I earned this, I deserved this, and now I’m going to do what I believe is best for me with it.” Knowledge is the key to all doors. My parents always told me that an educated person can conqure the world. Well Mom & Dad, I took you very literally. Because at CSI, my fellow classmates and I conquered every obsitcle we were thrown. We worked our butts off, we made it into some of the top colleges in the country, and with the help of the amazing support system we’ve had for the past four years, we are here today.  It is because of CSI that every one of us has discovered things about ourselves we may have never known. It is because of the hallways with every flag you could ever imagine, the teachers that never gave up, the students with a friendly smile, the mini fridge in Ms. Lentini’s office, the welcoming energy the school gave off, that we were able to be ourselves. & because we can be ourselves, we can be and do whatever. Mine & your possibilities... They are endless.
Congrats class of 2013, your ten minutes after the period are up, you may go to the bathroom now. 

Save the Horses

I've always been... A bit rebellious. I don't like rules. I don't like definitions.
Growing up I also loved horses, as I do to this day. My Granddad in Ireland was a veterinarian, and I envied his way with animals, admired his one-ness with the breeds that he took care of and owned.
I remember the first time I went riding. I was six, the horse was six feet tall. But once I was up on the saddle, height and size were just an idea. Everything else was abstract except for the fact that hooves can hit the floor causing flight.
It was beautiful.
Back home in good ole' New York there were stables around the corner from my home. Carla, an old babysitter who I can remember loving dearly, would take me there everyday. It gave me a piece of Ireland. It gave me a piece of home.
We all know what it's like to have things taken from us, things we care about. So imagine little me being told that the stables were being knocked down to build condos.
I did what any sane seven year old would do... I made a bloody petition.
Not only did I get every member of my family to sign it, but I also had the entire second grade class practice their newly developed cursive skills on that piece of paper too.
I can vividly remember marching up to the men with the hard hats on their first day of construction. Vividly remember holding that piece of loose leaf, torn from my spelling notebook, in my hands like it held the cure to hunger and would solve all the world's issues. Vividly remember seeing their reaction as a four foot curly haired red head walked up to them like they were the reason Elvis had died over the toilet.
As I handed them that paper, that beautiful piece of paper, I realized that I can make change. I can do something important with this life I've been gifted with. Even at a young age, I just knew.
I'd love to tell you that the stables are still there, and that I visit regularly, but a few months later they were replaced by creme colored buildings with fake red window pains.
& that's when I became a feminist.

Saving Victoria

There are moments in life when your heart changes, and your energy alters into vibrant auras and sets your soul free.

I've experienced this a certain amount of times that I can only count on one hand, and for that I am forever grateful.

Do you know what it's like to be in a crowd full of ten thousand people and feel immense love for every single one of them? To pull emotions from the bottom of your heart and let yourself feel. To KNOW you are apart of something bigger then yourself, and allowing even your inner doubts to disappear and get lost in the movement? Nothing but joy comes to mind when I think back to November seventeenth. When I jumped on a bus at one a.m. from New York City to Washington D.C. with some of the greatest people I've ever met. We marched with ten thousand people to show the world that empathy isn't dead, that people care. Deeply.

That a generation can and will make a difference, and have the drive to stop at nothing. That we can put aside our own inner issues and self pities to wake up and realize that there aren't children who have the privilege like us to waste away our lives on Facebook and social media websites. That even at seventeen years old, we can change the course of history.

Everyone should be a person who believes basic human rights for all is a priority.
Before I found out about Invisible Children, before I attended their Fourth Estate Conference in 2010, before I wrote my college essay on them, before I attended MOVE:DC... Before all of this, I was Victoria.
I was Victoria who was so wrapped up in issues of her own that she didn't realize the bigger picture. So wrapped up in issues that I today can say where hardly of as much of an importance compared to the issues that children being abducted from their homes by a rebel group had to deal with.
Today, I am still Victoria. That little girl who was forced to grow up and learn a lot quicker then most within me will never die. But today, I am also Victoria, Victoria who knows what her purpose in life is. Victoria who wants to make a difference. Victoria who wants to leave her mark on the world.
Not Victoria who hid in her room every night and cried herself to sleep. Not Victoria who let a man take advantage of her. Not Victoria who didn't fight for what she thought was right.
Because honestly, I'm too bloody strong for that.
When I found out about the organization Invisible Children, it was like someone said directly to me, "Hey you, yes you, YOU can do something about this. YOU can change the course of history."
So I did.

I will forever be thankful, forever grateful, that this organization doesn't just ask for your money and says 'goodbye.' No, they expect you work with them every step of the way. They ask you to get involved, they ask you to MOVE. They showed me I was worth more, that I can make someone's life worth more.

Thank you, Invisible Children, for your tenacious hope.

I believe

I believe in loves, firsts and lasts.
I believe in living.
Just purely, simply, living.
This world is so beautiful, and the sun is constantly shinning if you let it.
You just need to allow your self to accept and breathe and understand that this is the last time you can live this day.
This is the last time you can make something of this very moment.
Right now, if you want to, you can love.
Love your family, the pair of earrings your wearing, or the boy next door. There's so much and so many that will let you in. Embrace you.

I believe in obsessing over my curls,
being afraid to not photograph every moment of every day,
and being able making a difference.
I live by an old Franciscan blessing,
"May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done."
Amen.

Pearls & Cupcakes

Yesterday morning I was in a rush to get ready for school and of course, couldn't find my pants (this sadly happens more often then you'd expect.)  I got down on the floor, and using my iPhone as a flashlight, searched for my jeans under my bed.  Once spotted, I grabbed for them and when they were in my hands I saw that something had slid out from under the bed with them.  My pearl hoop earrings.
Earrings that I haven't seen since the last time they were given to me, which was Christmas 2009.  Earrings, which were given to me by a very special person.  I put them on because they just so happen to match my neckless, and ran out the door to get to school before the bell.
Three years ago, the end of August to be exact, my Mother & I drove down to Long Island to spend the day with my Aunt Carol, her sister.  She was bringing me shopping for outfits to wear my first week of freshman year.  My Aunt was one of those people where everything she said left you with a better understanding of whatever it was you were discussing.  She was extremely educated, and is the reason I am now applying to Liberal Art colleges to pursue my dream of being a writer.  She encouraged my passion in every which way and saw the potential in me that I hadn't seen in myself.
I loved her more then night and day.
As we were shopping, we came across the opening of a place called 'The Cupcake Gourmet.'  Being the sweet toothed girls we were with a passion for sugar and anything chocolate, we saw this as a perfect opportunity to get our daily fix.  Upon entering, the woman behind the counter told us that if we signed up for the emailing list,  we would receive a free cupcake with our order.  I picked out a peanut butter cup one.
Six months later, something happen that I never would have imagined on that blissfully perfect August day.  Six months later, I lost the person who understood me more then I understood myself and inspired me to always put one hundred percent in everything I did.
My Aunt Carol lost her battle with a lately caught diagnosis of melanoma.
After that, for the past three years, I would receive an email every month from The Cupcake Gourmet.  I would read them, and remember that August day.  They were my monthly fix of my Aunt.  They kept her spirit alive; almost like they were a gift from her to me.
Yesterday, I was sitting in art class, wearing the earrings which were the last gift my Aunt had given me before she passed, and I received my monthly email.  It's subject being, "The Last One."
As I played with the pearls in my ear, I read about how the cupcake shop was being closed down so it's owner could pursue her dream of being a personal trainer, and this was the last email we would receiver from her.
At first, I teared.  I no longer had my reminder of the woman I loved so much.  The emails in a way made me feel like she was still here, still ever present in my life giving me a little encouragement to keep going.  But then I realized that she had regifted me something I could physically keep with me at all times; my pearl earrings.
You always were a sneaky one, Carol.  I see what you did there... I love you more then night and day.

February

My eyes are closed

And there’s blood on the floor

Left from opened wounds

That have now turned to scars

I can’t get up

I’m glued to the floor

Water hitting my spine

Softer then before

From when your fist was in my face

Your emotions were on my skin

Your pain being pressed

Trying to let me in

Your eyes full of hurt

My body absorbing it

Marks of desperation

Trying to make me understand.

Holding me so tight

Taking my breath away

Not like when we first met though

But this time in forcing me to stay

Those ice blue eyes

Causing me more pain

Then your skin against mine

Forever marked from this display.