You had had friends all your life. A giggly group of girls to cling to all through elementary school. A little clique in the back corner of high school classrooms. Intellectuals you could have stimulating conversations with over top ramen in your college dorm.
You moved from friend group to friend group seamlessly, never getting past surface level knowledge of each of them. You rarely found one person you could spend an unending amount of time with. And you thought this would last your entire life - you had come to the conclusion that best friends or soulmates just weren’t for you.
Then in waltzed Lin, frantic and messy and completely out of your comfort zone that you couldn’t help but feel that unfamiliar pull. He was funny and charming and the kind of artsy cute that would have made a younger you scoff.
by the time u read this i’ll be in Puerto Rico visiting my fam and getting my tan fleekd!!! So basically what im trying to say is, I’m going 2 be M.I.A. for about a month & a half :( since i wont have my computer with me SIGH
& i WISH i was like those simmers that just build up like 2 years worth of a queue lmao (i wish) SADLY Im not gonna be posting for a bit!! DONT MISS ME TOO MUCH! i might be able to answers asks here and there though!!!
anyways ya thats it see yall on the flipside love u all u all mean the world to me ty for ur support !!!!!! ILL BE BACK
Knowing Lauren and Lucy has dated and now no longer does is like watching a great movie with a sad ending. It’s like being satisfied knowing how great it was, how special it was, even if it didn’t end as much as you hope for - because you know it happens to people. Some couples don’t last, but that doesn’t mean what they have wasn’t real.
It was real, romantic even. But It has ended. It’s tragically beautiful.
my dad and i were talking about maybe going to visit our family in puerto rico this year and ive always wanted to go since i was little! he’s already been looking at flights and places to stay so hopefully it actually happens
Summary: Chris finds Natalia in the middle of a panic attack in the bathroom during an Evans family reunion. Warnings: Angst, slight language, depression, anxiety, mentions of child abandonment Dedication: @mumbles411 Word Count: 2,036
She was drowning in a sea of utter darkness, too defeated to kick her legs to shore, too angry at herself to allow any soft glow of light break through – too far gone.
Undeserving. That’s what she was. What she had always been.
She sunk deeper and deeper into the black hole until the air became extinct. The abyss of the dark ocean, where everything was nothing.
Just like her.
There was no salvation, no rescue, and she had come to terms with that. She had brought herself here, to this place, after all. She did not feel worthy to survive, anyway. She did not feel worthy at all.
Although my visit home to Puerto Rico was only 10 days long and I was only able to use 8 of those days to the fullest I definitely lived them to the fullest. Visiting friends and family, spending time at parties, climbing cliffs and swimming in the ocean, eating all the amazing food I could and bathing under the warm sun in the welcoming sand; it felt like days and months had gone by. It felt like I had never left. I didn’t want to leave. There is such a nostalgic feeling when one returns to a place they call home, where they feel truly connected to the nature and the people around, where they smile when they hear the music and the air fills their lungs with familiar smells. I missed the smell of salt in the humid air and nothing beats the feel of the sun hitting your skin after being exposed to the cold for so long. Thank you @smokingmydekushrubs for letting me stay with you so many days, dragging me around to all these adventures and being an awesome brother.
I always feel conflicted when reblogging pictures of Puerto Rico because I want people to see how beautiful the island is, but I also don’t want to reblog and boost some random white tourist’s work… because I’m bitter that I can’t afford to visit.
When I first came to the United States and was struggling to learn English, people often asked me, “What language do you think in?” The question always surprised me because I wasn’t aware of language as much as the need to express myself. I usually replied, “I think in the language I’m speaking.” But I was confused afterward, wondering if that was true. It didn’t seem so, because many times I ran out of English words into silence, trying vainly to translate a word or phrase from Spanish, the only language I spoke until I was a teenager.
We migrated to the United States from Puerto Rico in 1961. My siblings and I spoke no English. There were no bilingual education programs at the time, and we had to learn the language as best we could on our own. At home our relatives spoke Spanish, but as my siblings and I became comfortable with English, we spoke both languages, changing from one to the other easily. We’d start a sentence in Spanish and midway switch to English. Sometimes we used our bilingualism to confuse adults who couldn’t keep up with the swift changes from one language to the other.
When I visit Puerto Rico I’m disoriented for a day or two and must get used to the rhythms of the language all over again. Over the five decades since I arrived in the United States I’ve remained fluent in Spanish, so it annoys me when Puerto Ricans tell me my Spanish has an accent. Years of speaking English almost exclusively means my “r’s” don’t roll with the same precision.
Often when emotion rules I’m silenced by the inability to find the right English words. I usually end these internal struggles with a mental shrug and “as we say in Spanish,” prefacing the expression. The moment I’ve said it in Spanish a loose translation comes to mind and I wonder if I’d be more articulate if I only spoke one language.
Over the years, I’ve thought about these issues, especially when I tried to raise my children to be bilingual. I learned that given a choice, children will speak only one language; that of their peers. But I insisted that my children at least feel comfortable in Spanish. It made it possible for them to get to know their maternal grandparents, aunts, and uncles, cousins. It also gave them access to a bigger world. They know that there are cultures with traditions that may differ from what they’re used to in the United States.
It’s my guess that people who are monolingual by birth or choice don’t think about these things. They don’t stop in the middle of a sentence to search through a world of cultural and linguistic expressions that will voice their feelings. They don’t worry about what their families think of their children who can’t speak the mother tongue. They don’t lose sleep over whether they’re making a mistake by insisting that their children understand a language and culture they can visit, but never belong to. But I worry about it and try to seek answers in my own experience. By retaining my Spanish and ties to the Puerto Rican community, I’ve enriched my life and the lives of the people around me.
I’ve become a hybrid; a bilingual, bicultural person able to move from one culture to the other without too much shock. Now people rarely ask me what language I think in.
But there was that night years ago, when I was kissing my four-year old boy goodnight, and Lucas whispered in my ear, “Mama, what language do you dream in?”
“Bilingual Dreamer” by Esmeralda Santiago first appeared in the Christian Science Monitor (August 20th, 1987)