As Americans, we live in a world obsessed with food. Food trends like fashion, photographs like a model and advertises like a car salesman. For most people, food is somewhat uncomplicated; they eat multiple times per day and typically strive to follow some sort of diet and inevitably fail miserably.
But for me, food is dangerous. I don't have an anaphylactic allergy to any food, but I do have extreme food sensitivities that were mostly diagnosed via alternative medicine testing and a "wait-and-see" approach (eat the food, see what happens, and if it's bad, avoid it in the future).
I can't handle dairy (I'm lactose intolerant but also have strong sensitivities to casein and whey). I don't tolerate egg yolks. My stomach seizes up in pain when I eat broccoli, cauliflower or eggplant, and large concentrations of soy wreak havoc on my digestive tract.
I'm also a reflux kid (despite having major surgery to curb its extremity back when I was 11 years old), so any spicy, citrusy, acidic or fried is either off limits or must be eaten very sparingly if I'm feeling well on a particular day.
Then there's my hypoglycemia, meaning my blood sugar tends to be too low. Although it's semi contrary to my basic instinct, I have to avoid foods that are high in sugar because they overwhelm my body and my blood sugar crashes.
With all of those limitations, my diet becomes bland and boring. For a while, I spiced things up by eating cheese (the only dairy I could semi-tolerate) with high doses (4-6 pills) of Lactaid, but I have been completely dairy-free since December 4 due to long-term weight loss and digestive tract inflammation.
Living with severe diet limitations is second nature to me because I've had stomach problems for my entire life. When I see other people eat the foods I have to avoid, my immediate reaction is concern. "Why are you eating grilled cheese with tomato soup?" I'll wonder to a friend. "You're going to get sick!"
Of course, my friends won't get sick. I don't have many close friends that have involuntary dietary restrictions. Some of my friends choose to limit their diets to become vegetarian, and others don't eat certain foods for religious reasons, but, aside from one friend with a nut allergy, none of my friends actually get violently ill the way I do when I eat.
I've learned to make light of my food allergies. I like to call my stomach my "dairy detector" because if I don't know that there's dairy in a product and mistakenly eat it, I will unfailingly get sick within 20 minutes of eating. Because I grew up in a kosher home, I didn't realize certain products we tend to eat with meat meals (such as mashed potatoes) had dairy in them.
When I was 17, I lived away from home for the first time (aside from Jewish summer camp, where counselors were aware of and helped me manage my food allergies) while attending a summer creative writing program at Brown University. I went with my friends to the Providence Place Mall and had a piece of corn bread with a cup of chicken soup only to get extremely nauseous shortly after. I called my mom to ask her what could have possibly made me so sick, and she laughed at me when she informed me that corn bread is traditionally made with milk and butter. Oops.
My college friends were pretty impressed by my stomach in my freshmen year when I ate an arm of a gingerbread man and still managed to get so sick that I had to go up to my room, take my nausea medicine, and spend the rest of the night recuperating from the affair.
At times, I'm very bothered by my food allergies. I'd love to be able to go to a restaurant like everyone else and eat whatever I want. I hate scanning a menu and immediately having to cross off 3/4 of the options due to my dietary constraints. I long to enjoy a macaroni and cheese bar or participate in the frozen yogurt craze like everyone else. I have to buy basic products that are more expensive, such as egg beaters and almond milk, than their mainstream counterparts. For me, every meal is a consideration based on how much protein I'm getting out of it and what nutrients I can get into my body out of limited options based on how my stomach is doing that day. I can't really eat thoughtlessly or skip a meal because I'm tired or too busy to eat. Plus, I don't know anyone else who is like me, so sometimes I lead a very solitary lifestyle in that I have no one to confide in who fully understands what it's like to be me.
But at other times, I'm thankful for my food allergies. My diet keeps me thin without having to work at it, and it teaches me inherent self restraint when it comes to eating. I'm also very lucky that while I live with the constant knowledge that food is dangerous in that it can make me extremely ill, it will never threaten my life. There are so many other people these days who don't have that luxury. One minor contamination can cost them their lives.
I don't really know what the point of this post is. Mostly, I just have food allergies on the brain because I haven't been feeling well this week, so I'm constantly thinking about what I can eat in order to avoid feeling more sick while still managing to get the necessary nutrients into my body hopefully at least three times in one day.
There's also this story of a teenager who died. She was from Hopkinton, and she was seven days away from her 16th birthday when she died of an anaphylactic reaction. I don't know the details of everything and I didn't know her, but my heart goes out to her friends and family for the loss of a young girl who was robbed of a life beyond 15 years old that she should have gotten to live.
A website has been established in her memory, so if you have the time, please check it out.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
A heart birthday and marathon tragedy
Today is April 17, two days after the devastating bombings at the Boston marathon. It also marks six months and three days since my friend Marisa died. Perhaps most significantly, it is 11 years since my friend Marisa was given the gift of life, a heart transplant which enabled her to live an extra 10 1/2 years.
I knew Sunday that this week would be difficult. Sunday was the six month anniversary of Marisa's death, and with her heart birthday approaching on Wednesday and the marathon on Monday, I could not stop thinking of her.
You see, Marisa's heart and the marathon are very much connected. Her heart came from a marathon runner, Dr. Cynthia Lucero, who passed away after collapsing during the 2002 Boston Marathon. Dr. Lucero died from overhydration, but as an organ donor, she would live on through complete strangers who, thanks to Dr. Lucero's selfless choice, received a second chance at life. She lived on for 10 1/2 years through Marisa.
I was nearly 12 when Marisa received her heart transplant. She was one of my closest friends, and for a while before the transplant, she was hospitalized and very, very sick. I missed her in school, in art class and on weekend nights, when our whole group of friends would go to the movies or have sleepovers.
Marisa was always the life of the party. It was so quiet without her around. She was loud and adventurous, always up for anything and always smiling or laughing or dishing out the latest in 12-year-old gossip. It was hard to believe that that Marisa was the same person as the pale, tired girl in the hospital who fought even just to breathe. Marisa had a heart condition her entire life, but from the way she normally acted, you would never know it. That April, Marisa could not put up a front anymore. I don't think I realized at the time how precarious her situation was. I just assumed she would get her heart and everything would go back to normal. As a 12-year-old, I had no idea that many people die waiting for the organ that will save his or her life.
But Marisa was one of the lucky ones, and after she received her heart, she recovered and got back to living life as normal. The only difference from my point of view was that she now had two birthdays. I was thrilled by this. Marisa's actual birthday is July 4, and I always missed her birthday because I went to overnight camp during the summer. Now, she had a birthday that I could be home to celebrate with her.
I started making Marisa heart birthday cards yearly. After Marisa's death in October, her sister found one of those cards still taped to her wall (Marisa was a bit of a pack rat). I now sleep with that card and a framed picture of Marisa on the nightstand next to my bed. I stopped making those cards for Marisa once we went to college, and we drifted apart the way hometown friends often do when they go away to college. She went to Edinboro in western Pennsylvania while I went to BU. Because I was in the heart of Boston, I celebrated Marisa's heart birthday in conjunction with the marathon every year.
BU is situated right on the marathon route, and each year, tons of students head down to Beacon street, Kenmore Square or Copley to cheer on the runners. I went to the marathon with my friends through college, and every year I would be sure to tell anyone I talked to about the marathon and how a marathon runner saved my friend Marisa's life, how she was finally able to lead a normal life because of her transplant.
But last February, that normal life ended when Marisa developed post-transplant lymphoma. The treatment for it weakened her transplanted heart, and while on vacation with her family in Cape Cod in September, Marisa got very sick. She was medflighted to Brigham & Women's in Boston where she went into cardiac arrest and was without a heart beat for 40 minutes. Marisa somehow pulled through that night - she was a true fighter - but two weeks later, after progressing all the way to a step-down unit, Marisa suffered a second heart attack. This time she was without a heart beat for 25 minutes. Marisa survived the heart attack initially, but too much damage had been done to her weakened heart. She passed away a week after the second heart attack.
While Marisa was in the hospital in September and October, the doctors and nurses marveled over the fact that this was the patient with Cynthia Lucero's heart. They remembered Dr. Lucero even though she had passed away over 10 years before because she was the marathon runner that passed away. In the years after her transplant, Marisa volunteered at the marathon as a way of giving back to the woman and hospitals who saved her life. There would always be a connection between Marisa and the marathon because of Dr. Lucero.
And so I knew Monday, the first marathon since Marisa's death, was always going to be difficult for me. I was supposed to be working from 8 a.m. - 4 p.m. and then I was supposed to go to an event at Forum (exactly where the second bomb went off) for the Joe Andruzzi Foundation with one of the writers from the website I work for. I was hoping that staying busy during the marathon would keep the sadness of Marisa's death away and allow me to appreciate the day and what it did for Marisa all those years ago.
I wanted Marathon Monday to be a happy day, a day of celebrating the extra 10 years Marisa was gifted with, a day to honor Marisa's memory. One of my friends was stationed at the finish line during the day, and I asked her to hold up a sign with Marisa and Dr. Lucero's names on it as a way of keeping their memories alive at the marathon.
Two hours after my friend took a photo of the sign, the bombs blew up right near where she had been standing. Luckily, she had left the area quite a bit before the bombings. Suddenly, a day I was struggling with became a day of horror and tragedy for hundreds of thousands of people.
I can't make sense yet of Monday's bombings and the marathon and Marisa and the way all three are interconnected. I can't stop asking myself, what if I had gone to that event a few hours earlier? What if my friend hadn't left the finish line?
Today, on Marisa's 11th heart birthday, I'm still trying to recover from Monday while also trying to figure out how to spend this day. Do you celebrate a heart birthday after someone's heart has stopped beating? Do you celebrate anything just days removed from a terrorist attack that killed and maimed ordinary civilians? Do you celebrate when SWAT trucks and the national guard occupy your streets?
I don't know the answers to any of those questions. All I know is that I don't feel much like celebrating anything.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Remembering Newtown through Noah
Almost a month ago, this entire nation was hit hard by the Newtown school shootings. Among the dead were 20 first-graders, six staff members and the shooter's mother. The idea of so many innocent lives taken far too soon is devastating, and it hits me very hard. I'm not sure if it is because I've lost two friends who should have had many years left to live (my friend Scott passed away when he was 18 and my friend Marisa passed away nearly three months ago at age 22, but neither were murdered or died a violent death) or if it's just because I'm human, but I can't stop thinking about the innocent victims of this shooting.
On Twitter, I've seen a few people suggest a "One Name" initiative in which people try to remember the name of at least one victim for the rest of their life. Too many people remember the shooter's name in these type of tragedies while the victims' names end up forgotten.
So, as my New Year's resolution, I decided to join in on remembering one name of a victim. The victim I chose is six-year-old Noah Pozner.
Noah Samuel Pozner was the youngest victim of the shootings. He celebrated his sixth birthday on Nov. 20, just 24 days before he was murdered. Noah was shot 11 times, and according to gruesome details from The Jewish Daily Forward, Noah's mouth and left hand were completely destroyed by the gunfire.
But Noah was more than just a victim of a horrific crime, and it was because of his life and not the way that he died that I chose to remember Noah.
Noah has a twin sister whose name is Arielle, just like me. I have two older brothers (as mentioned frequently on this blog), and people have always thought my brother Ben and I are twins. We are two years apart, but I can see why people sometimes think we're twins.
When we were younger, we never allowed anyone to separate us. At day camp, we pretended to be the same age so we could be in the same camp groups, and in ski school, we did the same thing. To this day, Ben and I will do things people often attribute to some kind of twin ESP: we will show up somewhere without having seen each other beforehand wearing matching clothes (or the same color scheme). We order the same food at restaurants without talking to each other beforehand, text each other the same thing at the same time without knowing the other has sent the text message and so on. A few times, while we've been in different states, we've even gotten sick with the exact same illness at the exact same time. My parents call us "Frick and Frack". We don't know which one is which, so the nickname is more like a joint name for us.
Ben is one of my very best friends, and I can't imagine not having him around. By all accounts, Arielle and Noah were best friends just like Ben and I are. I talk to Ben every day, and I know no matter where we are, I can always call him about anything. A part of me hurts for Arielle Pozner knowing that she will no longer be able to have this type of relationship with her brother.
Based on the photos, Noah was a beautiful little boy with big, twinkling blue eyes and a cowlick on the right side of his forehead that seemed to represent his mischievous streak. Noah grew up in a big family. He had three older siblings aside from twin Arielle: Danielle, Michael and Sophia. By all accounts from his family, Noah was full of personality and love. According to his uncle, Noah was already a great reader, something in which I also excelled at a young age. Noah was a playful little boy who struggled to stay still and enjoyed pulling pranks. He had dreams of being all kinds of things when he grew up: a doctor, soldier or taco factory manager. According to his sister, Danielle, Noah could be quite stubborn, and he always marched to the beat of his own drum.
Noah's grandmother asked in a post to remember her grandson as an "impish little rascal", not a victim. So that is how I will remember Noah from now on -- as a little boy who loved life and crammed as much fun as he could into his short time here on this earth no matter the punishment. I'll remember him as a brother, a son, a nephew, a grandson, a cousin.
And I will remember his name. Always.
Noah Pozner. Forever six years old.
If you wish to learn more about Noah, check out his grandmother's blog. Since he loved tacos, this website has been created where people can create tacos in memory of Noah. Lastly, if you wish to donate, the family has set up this website where you can make a contribution that will go toward counseling services, education and basic needs for Noah's four siblings.
On Twitter, I've seen a few people suggest a "One Name" initiative in which people try to remember the name of at least one victim for the rest of their life. Too many people remember the shooter's name in these type of tragedies while the victims' names end up forgotten.
So, as my New Year's resolution, I decided to join in on remembering one name of a victim. The victim I chose is six-year-old Noah Pozner.
 |
| Photo from www.farine-mc.com |
But Noah was more than just a victim of a horrific crime, and it was because of his life and not the way that he died that I chose to remember Noah.
Noah has a twin sister whose name is Arielle, just like me. I have two older brothers (as mentioned frequently on this blog), and people have always thought my brother Ben and I are twins. We are two years apart, but I can see why people sometimes think we're twins.
When we were younger, we never allowed anyone to separate us. At day camp, we pretended to be the same age so we could be in the same camp groups, and in ski school, we did the same thing. To this day, Ben and I will do things people often attribute to some kind of twin ESP: we will show up somewhere without having seen each other beforehand wearing matching clothes (or the same color scheme). We order the same food at restaurants without talking to each other beforehand, text each other the same thing at the same time without knowing the other has sent the text message and so on. A few times, while we've been in different states, we've even gotten sick with the exact same illness at the exact same time. My parents call us "Frick and Frack". We don't know which one is which, so the nickname is more like a joint name for us.
Ben is one of my very best friends, and I can't imagine not having him around. By all accounts, Arielle and Noah were best friends just like Ben and I are. I talk to Ben every day, and I know no matter where we are, I can always call him about anything. A part of me hurts for Arielle Pozner knowing that she will no longer be able to have this type of relationship with her brother.
Based on the photos, Noah was a beautiful little boy with big, twinkling blue eyes and a cowlick on the right side of his forehead that seemed to represent his mischievous streak. Noah grew up in a big family. He had three older siblings aside from twin Arielle: Danielle, Michael and Sophia. By all accounts from his family, Noah was full of personality and love. According to his uncle, Noah was already a great reader, something in which I also excelled at a young age. Noah was a playful little boy who struggled to stay still and enjoyed pulling pranks. He had dreams of being all kinds of things when he grew up: a doctor, soldier or taco factory manager. According to his sister, Danielle, Noah could be quite stubborn, and he always marched to the beat of his own drum.
Noah's grandmother asked in a post to remember her grandson as an "impish little rascal", not a victim. So that is how I will remember Noah from now on -- as a little boy who loved life and crammed as much fun as he could into his short time here on this earth no matter the punishment. I'll remember him as a brother, a son, a nephew, a grandson, a cousin.
And I will remember his name. Always.
Noah Pozner. Forever six years old.
If you wish to learn more about Noah, check out his grandmother's blog. Since he loved tacos, this website has been created where people can create tacos in memory of Noah. Lastly, if you wish to donate, the family has set up this website where you can make a contribution that will go toward counseling services, education and basic needs for Noah's four siblings.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Letters home from camp
When I was younger, I attended a Jewish summer camp, Camp Tevya. I started going to camp when I was eight years old (the youngest age campers were allowed to be) because my brother Ben and I were never apart when we were younger. I spent eight summers at Tevya as a camper, then went back for one summer as a CIT and one summer as a counselor. As campers, we used to have to write home three times per week.
This morning, while cleaning out the basement, my parents found boxes of letters my brother and I wrote home during the summers of 1999 and 2000. I was 9 and 10 years old and Ben was 11 and 12 years old.
The following are some of the letters we sent home. I spelled/punctuated everything the way it was spelled/punctuated in the letters.
From Arielle - Summer 1999 - 9 years old
"Hello! I finally got your letters. It is raining, thundering and lightning. The power is out so I'm writing by flashlight. Last night it was the same. Me and Ben have the same electives, tennis, field sports and basketball.
Love you,
Arielle"
"Dear mom,
I'm having an awesome time at camp. Yesterday we went to water country. I went on 4 rides! They were water slides and rides on the lazy river (a ride) I got stuck and my tube flipped over backwards. Can you go to newbury comics and get me six packs of poke'mon cards? Send them in a package. In a letter send 20 band aids with designs. DO NOT send them in a package. My bunk mates are really nice. Are you on medication for your bug? Do you feel better? I hope so. Did you go to the Cape? That's all for now.
Love,
Arielle
[drawing of person with a thermometer that says "don't look like this" next to a drawing of a girl stick figure smiling "look like this!!!!!"]"
"Dear mom and dad,
Hi. I'm having a great time. We're getting big sisters tomorrow. Send another package.
Love,
Arielle"
"Dear mom,
Hi. Send a package with poke'mon cards. I'm having a great time. It is shabbat. I'm happy.
Love,
Arielle"
"Dear mom,
I miss you very much. Camp is almost over. The Shira guy is weird. I will send you a birthday card tomorrow! Love you,
Arielle"
"Dear mom,
Do you have any spare toothpaste caps? Mine fell down the drain. I miss you very much. Tonight we are having a water fight against Yavneh.
Love ya,
Arielle"
From Ben - Summer 1999 - 11 years old
"Dear Mom and Dad.
Camp is great. I went on 4 different rides at water country. We went to roller land also. I threw up twice. I spent the night at the health center with Jake and Josh my 2 best friends. Kayla and Alana spent the night there too. I watched my cousin vinny home alone 2 and my best friends wedding. Today is Jakes birthday we had pizza (I did not eat it) I miss you a lot (since I'm sick).
Love,
Ben
P.S. can you send me some stamps?"
"Dear Mom,
Camp is great. I'm having the best time. I miss you more then Arielle. See you soon,
Ben"
"Dear mom,
Camp is great. I'm very scared of the thunder and lightning storms that keep happening this is the 2nd day in a row. I miss you a lot Reading you letters make me very Homesick. But my councilers have been so nice they are the best. Its thundering again.
Love,
Ben"
From Arielle - Summer 2000 - 10 years old
"Dear Mom,
I am 50/50. Camp is okay. I'm not breathing well. The food is bad. The weather is okay.
Love,
Arielle"
"Dear Mom and Dad,
I miss you. I don't want to stay 2 months. My stomach is not doing well and neither is my asthma. Also my wrist KILLS. I did not want to have to write bad news, but it is the truth. Good news: for electives I got cartooning and drawing, tennis and basketball. I am level 3/4 in swimming. Ben won't talk to me so you better write to him about it. I get headaches sometimes but they're very small. That's all for now.
Love,
Arielle"
"Dear Mom,
Remember to send AA batteries, like 20 of them anyway I miss you. Send 34 c stamps.
Love,
Arielle"
"Dear Mom and Dad,
This is my list to bring for visiting day:
A visor (A+F, Nike, or Adidas)
Gatorade: Blue, Red and yellow
Super Mario Deluxe, for color gameboy
Post it notes.
Gelly roll pens
3 more rolls of film for I-Zone and markers.
Guess what? Color War broke Monday night and I'm on Galil. Rachel is also on galil. Ben and I want to go home for visiting day.
Can you tell me how the all-star game was? Did Pedro pitch? How are you?
Also, can you bring the 4th Harry Potter book. There is so much time to read.
Love,
Arielle"
"There is 1 counselor that I dont like. It's Sharon she yells at us to get going but she just stays in bed and goes on dates with the maintince guys. When I was having an asthma attack it took her 10 minutes to figure out wether to ride with her boyfriend or go to the infirmary by foot.
Love,
Arielle"
From Ben - Summer 2000 - 12 years old
"Dear Mom,
Camp is great bla bla bla bla bla bla bla. By the way, can you send me a composition note book?
Love,
Ben"
"Dear Mom and Dad,
Camp is great. Today is July 4th it is also my counsolor Zack Sigel birthday. Wouldnt it be cool to be born on the fourth of July. Where is my clothes? If you havent sent my package of clothes yet please add 5 pairs of mess shorts. Thanks for writing.
In the envelope you see a peice of lather strap that says mom It is your Birthday present. Its a bookmark. I made in arts and crafts. I like to call it farts and craps.
There testing the fire works write now their really loud. Will you write to me about the pops 4th. Hows Mike.
Their was a big accident here with police and ambulances at least 3 cops. A kid was tubing and somehow his leg got caught in the motor of the boat and all of us had to go back to their bunks. I dont really remember if I told you that before.
The glass cover for the light and now theres glass all over the place. We just had a barbecue and I had the worst hot dog ever. Whats with arielle only staying 1 month. Why is she wearing a wrist guard on her arm for a brace.
I'm playing 4 square and writing this at the same time. So for this year is the best year ever. Do you know I'm writing whatever I think why I am writing so long. I'm yelling at kids for shooting me with water gun. Love,
Ben"
"Dear Mom and Dad,
I'm not in a very good mood write now. I just came back from lunch. First of all last night I got a chicken pattie with a sticker cooked on to it. Then at lunch I asked for PB&J and I got a jelly sandwich wich was cranberry sauce. Then my table counsolur who loves me :) made me bring it back. So I get one with peanut butter and jelly but the bread was stuck together so then we sent it back and the next one the bread was cold. I got to go.
Love,
Ben"
"Dear Mom and Dad,
Camp is great. Last night I got a bug in my ear and had to go to the informery. After you left I missed you a lot but now I'm ok. It is really hot hear. Is it hot there? How was the beach? Have you gon yet. I kind of need some more shorts so please send some.
Love,
Ben"
"Dear Mom and Dad,
Guess what I did at 5:30 am. I swam across lake Potanipo. It was a 2 mile swim and it took an hour. Their was 50 kids doing it and about 30 life gaurds like 10 of them were swiming 10 were funyaking and the rest were 2 motor boats with 5 people on them. Here is a diagram:
[rows of dots]"
This morning, while cleaning out the basement, my parents found boxes of letters my brother and I wrote home during the summers of 1999 and 2000. I was 9 and 10 years old and Ben was 11 and 12 years old.
The following are some of the letters we sent home. I spelled/punctuated everything the way it was spelled/punctuated in the letters.
From Arielle - Summer 1999 - 9 years old
"Hello! I finally got your letters. It is raining, thundering and lightning. The power is out so I'm writing by flashlight. Last night it was the same. Me and Ben have the same electives, tennis, field sports and basketball.
Love you,
Arielle"
"Dear mom,
I'm having an awesome time at camp. Yesterday we went to water country. I went on 4 rides! They were water slides and rides on the lazy river (a ride) I got stuck and my tube flipped over backwards. Can you go to newbury comics and get me six packs of poke'mon cards? Send them in a package. In a letter send 20 band aids with designs. DO NOT send them in a package. My bunk mates are really nice. Are you on medication for your bug? Do you feel better? I hope so. Did you go to the Cape? That's all for now.
Love,
Arielle
[drawing of person with a thermometer that says "don't look like this" next to a drawing of a girl stick figure smiling "look like this!!!!!"]"
"Dear mom and dad,
Hi. I'm having a great time. We're getting big sisters tomorrow. Send another package.
Love,
Arielle"
"Dear mom,
Hi. Send a package with poke'mon cards. I'm having a great time. It is shabbat. I'm happy.
Love,
Arielle"
"Dear mom,
I miss you very much. Camp is almost over. The Shira guy is weird. I will send you a birthday card tomorrow! Love you,
Arielle"
"Dear mom,
Do you have any spare toothpaste caps? Mine fell down the drain. I miss you very much. Tonight we are having a water fight against Yavneh.
Love ya,
Arielle"
From Ben - Summer 1999 - 11 years old
"Dear Mom and Dad.
Camp is great. I went on 4 different rides at water country. We went to roller land also. I threw up twice. I spent the night at the health center with Jake and Josh my 2 best friends. Kayla and Alana spent the night there too. I watched my cousin vinny home alone 2 and my best friends wedding. Today is Jakes birthday we had pizza (I did not eat it) I miss you a lot (since I'm sick).
Love,
Ben
P.S. can you send me some stamps?"
"Dear Mom,
Camp is great. I'm having the best time. I miss you more then Arielle. See you soon,
Ben"
"Dear mom,
Camp is great. I'm very scared of the thunder and lightning storms that keep happening this is the 2nd day in a row. I miss you a lot Reading you letters make me very Homesick. But my councilers have been so nice they are the best. Its thundering again.
Love,
Ben"
From Arielle - Summer 2000 - 10 years old
"Dear Mom,
I am 50/50. Camp is okay. I'm not breathing well. The food is bad. The weather is okay.
Love,
Arielle"
"Dear Mom and Dad,
I miss you. I don't want to stay 2 months. My stomach is not doing well and neither is my asthma. Also my wrist KILLS. I did not want to have to write bad news, but it is the truth. Good news: for electives I got cartooning and drawing, tennis and basketball. I am level 3/4 in swimming. Ben won't talk to me so you better write to him about it. I get headaches sometimes but they're very small. That's all for now.
Love,
Arielle"
"Dear Mom,
Remember to send AA batteries, like 20 of them anyway I miss you. Send 34 c stamps.
Love,
Arielle"
"Dear Mom and Dad,
This is my list to bring for visiting day:
A visor (A+F, Nike, or Adidas)
Gatorade: Blue, Red and yellow
Super Mario Deluxe, for color gameboy
Post it notes.
Gelly roll pens
3 more rolls of film for I-Zone and markers.
Guess what? Color War broke Monday night and I'm on Galil. Rachel is also on galil. Ben and I want to go home for visiting day.
Can you tell me how the all-star game was? Did Pedro pitch? How are you?
Also, can you bring the 4th Harry Potter book. There is so much time to read.
Love,
Arielle"
"There is 1 counselor that I dont like. It's Sharon she yells at us to get going but she just stays in bed and goes on dates with the maintince guys. When I was having an asthma attack it took her 10 minutes to figure out wether to ride with her boyfriend or go to the infirmary by foot.
Love,
Arielle"
From Ben - Summer 2000 - 12 years old
"Dear Mom,
Camp is great bla bla bla bla bla bla bla. By the way, can you send me a composition note book?
Love,
Ben"
"Dear Mom and Dad,
Camp is great. Today is July 4th it is also my counsolor Zack Sigel birthday. Wouldnt it be cool to be born on the fourth of July. Where is my clothes? If you havent sent my package of clothes yet please add 5 pairs of mess shorts. Thanks for writing.
In the envelope you see a peice of lather strap that says mom It is your Birthday present. Its a bookmark. I made in arts and crafts. I like to call it farts and craps.
There testing the fire works write now their really loud. Will you write to me about the pops 4th. Hows Mike.
Their was a big accident here with police and ambulances at least 3 cops. A kid was tubing and somehow his leg got caught in the motor of the boat and all of us had to go back to their bunks. I dont really remember if I told you that before.
The glass cover for the light and now theres glass all over the place. We just had a barbecue and I had the worst hot dog ever. Whats with arielle only staying 1 month. Why is she wearing a wrist guard on her arm for a brace.
I'm playing 4 square and writing this at the same time. So for this year is the best year ever. Do you know I'm writing whatever I think why I am writing so long. I'm yelling at kids for shooting me with water gun. Love,
Ben"
"Dear Mom and Dad,
I'm not in a very good mood write now. I just came back from lunch. First of all last night I got a chicken pattie with a sticker cooked on to it. Then at lunch I asked for PB&J and I got a jelly sandwich wich was cranberry sauce. Then my table counsolur who loves me :) made me bring it back. So I get one with peanut butter and jelly but the bread was stuck together so then we sent it back and the next one the bread was cold. I got to go.
Love,
Ben"
"Dear Mom and Dad,
Camp is great. Last night I got a bug in my ear and had to go to the informery. After you left I missed you a lot but now I'm ok. It is really hot hear. Is it hot there? How was the beach? Have you gon yet. I kind of need some more shorts so please send some.
Love,
Ben"
"Dear Mom and Dad,
Guess what I did at 5:30 am. I swam across lake Potanipo. It was a 2 mile swim and it took an hour. Their was 50 kids doing it and about 30 life gaurds like 10 of them were swiming 10 were funyaking and the rest were 2 motor boats with 5 people on them. Here is a diagram:
[rows of dots]"
Thursday, December 20, 2012
The true face of Asperger's
Ever since last Friday morning, I've constantly felt sick to my stomach. It's a feeling shared by most who have been following the story of the Newtown shootings. Over the last few days, I've forced myself to stop watching TV coverage of the tragedy and read less articles about it not because I don't care, but because I keep getting so nauseous from all of the reports.
Initially, like everyone else, I was distraught over the idea that a man two years younger than me would walk into an elementary school and murder innocent first graders. During the first few days of coverage, I was invested in finding out who the victims were, committing their names to memory and learning about their lives.
But as the days passed, more and more information emerged about the shooter, and that information was devastating for me. Many are saying the gunman had Asperger's syndrome, a high-functioning form of autism that severely affects a person's social skills and causes them to have intense fixations. Often, Asperger's is accompanied by other psychological disorders such as ADD/ADHD or Bipolar disorder.
People with Asperger's can lead normal lives. With the right help, they can graduate college, marry, own a home, hold down a job and have children of their own. Asperger's does not create killers. It does not automatically mean that a person, like the Sandy Hook gunman, is violent or dangerous.
I know this because I live with Asperger's every day of my life. My big brother has Asperger's, and he has turned into a wonderful adult who I am proud of every day.
My brother has had his difficult moments for sure. There have been tantrums and angry outbursts and hospitalizations. But throughout his 26 years of life, he has never once hurt anyone aside from himself, and I know he never would.
My brother is a high-functioning member of society. He is absolutely brilliant, graduating from his college honor's program cum laude and earning a master's degree six months later. He received top scores on the CPA exam, a test that approximately half of all candidates fail the first time around. He is an avid Patriots fan and goes to all home games. He has also developed a group of tailgating friends from years at the stadium, and after meeting them a few times, I can tell how much they all love my brother.
How could you not? My brother is one of the most generous people I know. When he takes a rare vacation, he drains his bank account buying gifts for everyone he knows. He loves Disney World and he loves children, and on recent visits to Disney, he has returned with an extra suitcase of gifts for my father's co-workers' children. One co-worker has a son with leukemia, so to cheer him up, my brother got him VIP tickets to Patriots training camp.
My brother is a great older brother as well. He and I both love Harry Potter, and when the books came out, I always used to go to the midnight Barnes & Nobles parties with him. Then we'd race home and read all night, and once we were finished with the books, we'd talk about every minute detail in them. (I only spoiled the ending of a book for him once - sorry about that!)
When the final Harry Potter movie came out, he took me to Universal Studios to see the premiere. We stayed in an extremely nice hotel a short walk away from the parks, and he took me out one night for the best steak dinner I've ever had. Originally, I was planning to pay my way for the vacation, but he refused and paid for my entire trip.
A few months ago, when I expressed a desire to go with my friends to the Taylor Swift/Ed Sheeran concert at Gillette Stadium next summer, my brother told me he also wanted to go and he would take care of tickets for everyone. So it was my brother who tracked all the emails for the pre-orders and sat in online waiting rooms to purchase the tickets.
I'm so lucky, for these and other reasons, that he is my brother.
When I watch television psychologists using Asperger's as an excuse for the Sandy Hook gunman's actions, I get really annoyed. At first, I was annoyed with myself, because for a split second I wondered if this could ever be my brother. I hate that I thought that, even though it was for less than a minute. Deep down in my heart, I knew my brother would never do something like this. He would never hurt anyone else, and he would especially never hurt a child.
I know, however, that there are many people in the world who don't live with Asperger's, who don't know what it is or how hard people with Asperger's work to lead a normal life. This gunman will be their introduction to the syndrome, and they could easily assume anyone with the syndrome could be a killer.
But I just don't believe that's true. Just like there are people in this world who do not have Asperger's and become killers, there are others who do have Asperger's and become killers. There is no link between autism/Asperger's and violence. It's not the syndrome; it's the person.
I worry though, in the wake of these shootings, that my brother will be judged by others, that they'll think he's someone he is not or that they'll fear him. And I worry too for my brother. If I, who have little to nothing in common with the killer and victims, am so disturbed by this, imagine what it must be like to know that the killer has the same disorder that you have.
My thoughts and prayers continue to remain with the town of Newtown, Conn. and all those connected to the victims. My thoughts and prayers also remain with my brother and all people who have Asperger's as they struggle to reconcile themselves with this tragedy as well.
Initially, like everyone else, I was distraught over the idea that a man two years younger than me would walk into an elementary school and murder innocent first graders. During the first few days of coverage, I was invested in finding out who the victims were, committing their names to memory and learning about their lives.
But as the days passed, more and more information emerged about the shooter, and that information was devastating for me. Many are saying the gunman had Asperger's syndrome, a high-functioning form of autism that severely affects a person's social skills and causes them to have intense fixations. Often, Asperger's is accompanied by other psychological disorders such as ADD/ADHD or Bipolar disorder.
People with Asperger's can lead normal lives. With the right help, they can graduate college, marry, own a home, hold down a job and have children of their own. Asperger's does not create killers. It does not automatically mean that a person, like the Sandy Hook gunman, is violent or dangerous.
I know this because I live with Asperger's every day of my life. My big brother has Asperger's, and he has turned into a wonderful adult who I am proud of every day.
My brother has had his difficult moments for sure. There have been tantrums and angry outbursts and hospitalizations. But throughout his 26 years of life, he has never once hurt anyone aside from himself, and I know he never would.
My brother is a high-functioning member of society. He is absolutely brilliant, graduating from his college honor's program cum laude and earning a master's degree six months later. He received top scores on the CPA exam, a test that approximately half of all candidates fail the first time around. He is an avid Patriots fan and goes to all home games. He has also developed a group of tailgating friends from years at the stadium, and after meeting them a few times, I can tell how much they all love my brother.
How could you not? My brother is one of the most generous people I know. When he takes a rare vacation, he drains his bank account buying gifts for everyone he knows. He loves Disney World and he loves children, and on recent visits to Disney, he has returned with an extra suitcase of gifts for my father's co-workers' children. One co-worker has a son with leukemia, so to cheer him up, my brother got him VIP tickets to Patriots training camp.
My brother is a great older brother as well. He and I both love Harry Potter, and when the books came out, I always used to go to the midnight Barnes & Nobles parties with him. Then we'd race home and read all night, and once we were finished with the books, we'd talk about every minute detail in them. (I only spoiled the ending of a book for him once - sorry about that!)
When the final Harry Potter movie came out, he took me to Universal Studios to see the premiere. We stayed in an extremely nice hotel a short walk away from the parks, and he took me out one night for the best steak dinner I've ever had. Originally, I was planning to pay my way for the vacation, but he refused and paid for my entire trip.
A few months ago, when I expressed a desire to go with my friends to the Taylor Swift/Ed Sheeran concert at Gillette Stadium next summer, my brother told me he also wanted to go and he would take care of tickets for everyone. So it was my brother who tracked all the emails for the pre-orders and sat in online waiting rooms to purchase the tickets.
I'm so lucky, for these and other reasons, that he is my brother.
When I watch television psychologists using Asperger's as an excuse for the Sandy Hook gunman's actions, I get really annoyed. At first, I was annoyed with myself, because for a split second I wondered if this could ever be my brother. I hate that I thought that, even though it was for less than a minute. Deep down in my heart, I knew my brother would never do something like this. He would never hurt anyone else, and he would especially never hurt a child.
I know, however, that there are many people in the world who don't live with Asperger's, who don't know what it is or how hard people with Asperger's work to lead a normal life. This gunman will be their introduction to the syndrome, and they could easily assume anyone with the syndrome could be a killer.
But I just don't believe that's true. Just like there are people in this world who do not have Asperger's and become killers, there are others who do have Asperger's and become killers. There is no link between autism/Asperger's and violence. It's not the syndrome; it's the person.
I worry though, in the wake of these shootings, that my brother will be judged by others, that they'll think he's someone he is not or that they'll fear him. And I worry too for my brother. If I, who have little to nothing in common with the killer and victims, am so disturbed by this, imagine what it must be like to know that the killer has the same disorder that you have.
My thoughts and prayers continue to remain with the town of Newtown, Conn. and all those connected to the victims. My thoughts and prayers also remain with my brother and all people who have Asperger's as they struggle to reconcile themselves with this tragedy as well.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
"Constrained": a song about Harry Styles' jeans
So since I'm a directioner now and everything, I'm all up to date on everything going on in the One Direction world. Right now, there's some major distress over the whole "Harry Styles dating Taylor Swift" controversy (a relationship directioners have dubbed "Haylor"). People are writing break-up songs galore about this relationship, but I decided it would be more fitting to write a Taylor Swift song about how tight Harry Styles pants are because let's admit it, there is nothing that matters more in this world than the way Harry's pants fit. I wrote the song to the tune of Taylor Swift's "Mean". Lyrics and a way to play the original song are below.
Taylor Swift Mean by MoniiStyless
You, tried to be a rockstar by wearing skinny jeans and a plaid long-sleeve shirt
You, just look like your legs are choking got them feeling numb and tingly
You, with your wallet bulging out of your pocket again, we see everything through the fabric
You, zipping up the fly again
Well you struggle to take them off in just one single yank
But you don't know you look so dumb
Somewhere, I'll be, wearing jeans that actually fit me
and all you're ever gonna feel is constrained.
Somewhere, I'll be, jumping and dancing and kicking,
and all you'll ever be is constrained.
Why you gotta be so constrained?
You, with your skinny blacks and your hint of crack and your humiliation.
You have squeezed the life out of your balls again as if they weren't already dead.
I'll walk so comfortably while you limp around with no circulation.
You just want to feel your legs again
I'll betcha got bruises now, the price of bad fashion.
But the cycle ends right now, because you can't feel anything below
your hips it hurts like I can't know.
Somewhere, I'll be, wearing jeans that actually fit me
and all you're ever gonna feel is constrained.
Somewhere, I'll be, jumping and dancing and kicking,
and all you'll ever be is constrained.
Why you gotta be so constrained?
And I can see the tears falling from your eyes, trying too hard to take a deep breath
With that stupid zipper popping out of place and you're always noticing
You're cramped up and aching from your skin-tight, stupid jeans
Stuck and waddling down the street 'cuz they're too tight
And all you are is constrained
All you are is constrained
And it's hurting, and it's ugly, and it's not good fashion
and constrained, and constrained, and constrained, and constrained
And somewhere, I'll be, wearing jeans that actually fit me
and all you're ever gonna feel is constrained
Somewhere, I'll be, jumping and dancing and kicking,
and all you'll ever be is constrained. Why you gotta be so …
Somewhere I'll be wearing jeans that actually fit me
And all you're ever gonna feel is constrained
Somewhere, I'll be, jumping and dancing and kicking
And all you're ever gonna feel is constrained
Why you gotta be so constrained?
All photos via paulways-watching-1d.tumblr.com.
"Constrained"
Taylor Swift Mean by MoniiStyless
You, tried to be a rockstar by wearing skinny jeans and a plaid long-sleeve shirt
You, just look like your legs are choking got them feeling numb and tingly
You, with your wallet bulging out of your pocket again, we see everything through the fabric
You, zipping up the fly again
Well you struggle to take them off in just one single yank
But you don't know you look so dumb
Somewhere, I'll be, wearing jeans that actually fit me
and all you're ever gonna feel is constrained.
Somewhere, I'll be, jumping and dancing and kicking,
and all you'll ever be is constrained.
Why you gotta be so constrained?
You, with your skinny blacks and your hint of crack and your humiliation.
You have squeezed the life out of your balls again as if they weren't already dead.
I'll walk so comfortably while you limp around with no circulation.
You just want to feel your legs again
I'll betcha got bruises now, the price of bad fashion.
But the cycle ends right now, because you can't feel anything below
your hips it hurts like I can't know.
Somewhere, I'll be, wearing jeans that actually fit me
and all you're ever gonna feel is constrained.
Somewhere, I'll be, jumping and dancing and kicking,
and all you'll ever be is constrained.
Why you gotta be so constrained?
And I can see the tears falling from your eyes, trying too hard to take a deep breath
With that stupid zipper popping out of place and you're always noticing
You're cramped up and aching from your skin-tight, stupid jeans
Stuck and waddling down the street 'cuz they're too tight
And all you are is constrained
All you are is constrained
And it's hurting, and it's ugly, and it's not good fashion
and constrained, and constrained, and constrained, and constrained
And somewhere, I'll be, wearing jeans that actually fit me
and all you're ever gonna feel is constrained
Somewhere, I'll be, jumping and dancing and kicking,
and all you'll ever be is constrained. Why you gotta be so …
Somewhere I'll be wearing jeans that actually fit me
And all you're ever gonna feel is constrained
Somewhere, I'll be, jumping and dancing and kicking
And all you're ever gonna feel is constrained
Why you gotta be so constrained?
All photos via paulways-watching-1d.tumblr.com.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
How I fell in love with One Direction
It wasn't supposed to happen. I haven't been in love with a boy band since I was eight and 'N Sync was popular. But it did happen, and here we are.
I'm 22 years old and I'm a directioner.
It started innocently enough. I'd heard the song, "What Makes You Beautiful", on the radio a few times and it was pretty catchy. Although I didn't know the words, I started figuring it out on my keyboard since I was too cheap to buy sheet music and wanted to play something new.
A few months before, in March, One Direction played at Agganis Arena, approximately 20 feet from my dorm. I wasn't at the concert or in my dorm room at the time; I was covering a hockey game at Northeastern. I remember coming back from the game and meeting up with my friends at T Anthony's for dinner, and while we were eating, some huge tour buses drove past. This is a pretty common occurrence since a lot of bands play at Agganis.
I had no idea who they were though. BU would send us emails letting us know who was playing at Agganis, but concerts happen so frequently that I never read those emails. When the tour buses drove past, I remember my friend Jill pointing out the two bands - Big Time Rush and One Direction. She mentioned one of the bands had a show on Nickelodeon. None of the rest of us knew who they were, and we made fun of her for liking Nickelodeon bands.
Later in March, I had another close encounter. I was covering BU hockey in the NCAA regional in Minnesota, and One Direction happened to be performing in Minnesota at the same time. My friends on the BU hockey beat and I went to the Mall of America to check out the roller coasters and stores, and apparently One Direction was there signing autographs. Jill texted me to tell me to get their autographs, but I once again just made fun of her for liking a kid's band.
(I'm not sure why these two encounters are significant, but I felt like they should be included in the story, so there you go.)
Anyway, I figured out "What Makes You Beautiful" by ear on the keyboard in my dorm room until I had it down. Then, in May, my friend Annie made a video of me for a project for class. She asked me questions about graduation and life as a senior in college. I gave her depressing answers and then played a bit of the One Direction song on piano for her as a joke.
I normally have terrible performance anxiety when it comes to playing piano, and it was the first time I'd really ever been filmed by anyone for playing (I'd done a couple videos of songs I knew for close family and friends, but those were filmed by my computer webcam). After Annie filmed me, I thought it was kind of cool to have myself on video playing piano. Somewhere along the line, this one-time, spur-of-the-moment One Direction piano-playing thing turned into the idea of playing a One Direction medley and putting it up on YouTube for my friends to enjoy.
Since I only knew "What Makes You Beautiful", I had to find some other One Direction songs to add to the medley. That's when I found "One Thing" and "Moments". By this time, I had graduated and was back home reunited with my piano, so I had plenty of time to work on the songs. I listened to them over and over again on YouTube since I didn't have any One Direction songs in my iTunes library.
One night, I found myself going through the One Direction channel on YouTube. Instead of just watching the videos of "One Thing" and "Moments", I found a few video diaries on the One Direction VEVO. As it turns out, the guys in One Direction were hilarious. Bored and jobless (and with nothing else to do at 2 a.m.), I looked for more video diaries from them and discovered the diaries they had done while contestants on The X Factor UK.
Everything went downhill from there. These guys were even funnier than I first thought. They acted like a bunch of teenagers, and I was missing that lifestyle since I was recently graduated and unhappily entering the adult world and all. I got sucked into the YouTube machine and gradually watched pretty much every interview, stunt, performance etc. that One Direction put on YouTube. I was learning more and more about their personalities and therefore beginning to care more and more about what they were doing.
Nighttime YouTube viewing gradually shifted into daytime Google news searching to see what was going on in the One Direction world. I found Sugarscape.com, a British gossip site that publishes hilarious articles about One Direction and other celebrities. Then, I got caught up in the Tumblr world.
Prior to discovering One Direction, I wasn't well versed in the social media magnet that is Tumblr. I had gone on Tumblr a few times to see funny hockey and baseball gifs, but other than that, I didn't really know much about the site. Soon enough, however, I figured out how to search Tumblr for all things One Direction. I now know how to enter in the URL to find tags to filter what kind of One Direction content I'm looking for, and I developed a few favorite Tumblr sites that I now check every day for my One Direction news.
Until the fall, I refused to admit to myself or anyone else that I was a directioner. After all, I'm 22 years old, I've moved out of my parents home, I've graduated from college and hopefully I'll have a paying job soon. One Direction fans are supposed to be teenage girls who have yet to enter the real world. As time went on, however, I decided it was stupid to both deny and hide my fanhood.
In October, my life changed radically when a friend of mine whom I had known since I was five died of complications related to a heart transplant she'd had 10 years ago. My friend, Marisa, was someone who was fearless, outgoing and fun to be around. She always had a smile on her face, was always willing to try something new and would say or do anything, no matter how stupid it may have seemed to others. She embraced life and lived it to its fullest, and after she died, I vowed to do the same thing.
I decided that there were worse things in life than admitting to being a One Direction fan, things like cancer and heart problems and death. In the greater scheme of things, who cares how old I am or what One Direction's typical audience is? They're a band that I like, and I shouldn't be ashamed of that. Everyone has their own taste in music, and people are allowed to like whatever they want to like. You never know how much life you have to live, so why waste any time denying something you enjoy?
And so here I am. I'm Arielle, I'm 22 years old, and I'm a One Direction fan.
The medley that started it all (as you can see, I haven't quite figured out how to record something with good audio yet):
I'm 22 years old and I'm a directioner.
It started innocently enough. I'd heard the song, "What Makes You Beautiful", on the radio a few times and it was pretty catchy. Although I didn't know the words, I started figuring it out on my keyboard since I was too cheap to buy sheet music and wanted to play something new.
A few months before, in March, One Direction played at Agganis Arena, approximately 20 feet from my dorm. I wasn't at the concert or in my dorm room at the time; I was covering a hockey game at Northeastern. I remember coming back from the game and meeting up with my friends at T Anthony's for dinner, and while we were eating, some huge tour buses drove past. This is a pretty common occurrence since a lot of bands play at Agganis.
I had no idea who they were though. BU would send us emails letting us know who was playing at Agganis, but concerts happen so frequently that I never read those emails. When the tour buses drove past, I remember my friend Jill pointing out the two bands - Big Time Rush and One Direction. She mentioned one of the bands had a show on Nickelodeon. None of the rest of us knew who they were, and we made fun of her for liking Nickelodeon bands.
Later in March, I had another close encounter. I was covering BU hockey in the NCAA regional in Minnesota, and One Direction happened to be performing in Minnesota at the same time. My friends on the BU hockey beat and I went to the Mall of America to check out the roller coasters and stores, and apparently One Direction was there signing autographs. Jill texted me to tell me to get their autographs, but I once again just made fun of her for liking a kid's band.
(I'm not sure why these two encounters are significant, but I felt like they should be included in the story, so there you go.)
Anyway, I figured out "What Makes You Beautiful" by ear on the keyboard in my dorm room until I had it down. Then, in May, my friend Annie made a video of me for a project for class. She asked me questions about graduation and life as a senior in college. I gave her depressing answers and then played a bit of the One Direction song on piano for her as a joke.
I normally have terrible performance anxiety when it comes to playing piano, and it was the first time I'd really ever been filmed by anyone for playing (I'd done a couple videos of songs I knew for close family and friends, but those were filmed by my computer webcam). After Annie filmed me, I thought it was kind of cool to have myself on video playing piano. Somewhere along the line, this one-time, spur-of-the-moment One Direction piano-playing thing turned into the idea of playing a One Direction medley and putting it up on YouTube for my friends to enjoy.
Since I only knew "What Makes You Beautiful", I had to find some other One Direction songs to add to the medley. That's when I found "One Thing" and "Moments". By this time, I had graduated and was back home reunited with my piano, so I had plenty of time to work on the songs. I listened to them over and over again on YouTube since I didn't have any One Direction songs in my iTunes library.
One night, I found myself going through the One Direction channel on YouTube. Instead of just watching the videos of "One Thing" and "Moments", I found a few video diaries on the One Direction VEVO. As it turns out, the guys in One Direction were hilarious. Bored and jobless (and with nothing else to do at 2 a.m.), I looked for more video diaries from them and discovered the diaries they had done while contestants on The X Factor UK.
Everything went downhill from there. These guys were even funnier than I first thought. They acted like a bunch of teenagers, and I was missing that lifestyle since I was recently graduated and unhappily entering the adult world and all. I got sucked into the YouTube machine and gradually watched pretty much every interview, stunt, performance etc. that One Direction put on YouTube. I was learning more and more about their personalities and therefore beginning to care more and more about what they were doing.
Nighttime YouTube viewing gradually shifted into daytime Google news searching to see what was going on in the One Direction world. I found Sugarscape.com, a British gossip site that publishes hilarious articles about One Direction and other celebrities. Then, I got caught up in the Tumblr world.
Prior to discovering One Direction, I wasn't well versed in the social media magnet that is Tumblr. I had gone on Tumblr a few times to see funny hockey and baseball gifs, but other than that, I didn't really know much about the site. Soon enough, however, I figured out how to search Tumblr for all things One Direction. I now know how to enter in the URL to find tags to filter what kind of One Direction content I'm looking for, and I developed a few favorite Tumblr sites that I now check every day for my One Direction news.
Until the fall, I refused to admit to myself or anyone else that I was a directioner. After all, I'm 22 years old, I've moved out of my parents home, I've graduated from college and hopefully I'll have a paying job soon. One Direction fans are supposed to be teenage girls who have yet to enter the real world. As time went on, however, I decided it was stupid to both deny and hide my fanhood.
In October, my life changed radically when a friend of mine whom I had known since I was five died of complications related to a heart transplant she'd had 10 years ago. My friend, Marisa, was someone who was fearless, outgoing and fun to be around. She always had a smile on her face, was always willing to try something new and would say or do anything, no matter how stupid it may have seemed to others. She embraced life and lived it to its fullest, and after she died, I vowed to do the same thing.
I decided that there were worse things in life than admitting to being a One Direction fan, things like cancer and heart problems and death. In the greater scheme of things, who cares how old I am or what One Direction's typical audience is? They're a band that I like, and I shouldn't be ashamed of that. Everyone has their own taste in music, and people are allowed to like whatever they want to like. You never know how much life you have to live, so why waste any time denying something you enjoy?
And so here I am. I'm Arielle, I'm 22 years old, and I'm a One Direction fan.
The medley that started it all (as you can see, I haven't quite figured out how to record something with good audio yet):
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