I’ve never had much of a problem voicing my opinions. While the other little girls dreamed of becoming princesses and singers and Malibu Barbie, at age four I knew my destiny: to be the first president of the United States. (Yes, first. Get over it, Washington.) My first order of business? Securing an official campaign manager. Alexander, my younger brother, agreed to the position once I made promises of candy and Pokemon cards. Together we were the perfect team. We spent afternoons painstakingly creating our very own newspaper – entitled Arianna’s Paper, naturally. Illustrations went along with the heartwrenching articles: me, as president, listening to the concerns of the common folk. Signing autographs like the hot commodity that I was. Even handing out wads of cash to anyone hanging outside the White House. Then my dreams were cut short when my parents broke the news to me that I was a tad late in the running.
Not a lot has changed since then. Many of my passions remain the same: my love of politics, which has included multiple political internships and a borderline unhealthy obsession with The Colbert Report; my love of art, which has since then led to work as a teaching assistant and model for art classes (unfortunately, not of the “draw me like your French girls, Jack” variety); and then, of course, my love for writing. Also my overinflated sense of entitlement and Kanye West-sized ego. But back to the writing. It was my senior year of high school journaling really became apart of me – when I won the “It’s Always Something” contest dedicated to my idol, Saturday Night Live’s Gilda Radner. Because Gilda passed away from cancer, Gilda’s Club in NYC sponsored a national writing prompt for teenagers to also share their experiences with cancer. It was my mom who urged me to enter and submitted my paper, actually. To be honest, I wasn’t exactly leaping at the opportunity to have strangers learn of the many ways I lost my loved ones to the same ugly thing.
But the funny thing about that trip to New York, where I was introduced to the other winners, panel of judges, and published authors, is that a weight was lifted. There was something comforting about hearing my thoughts read to an audience, as much as they reflected a not-so-comforting time. There was something about writing what I felt.
Since then, I’ve made it a point to record the daily happenings of my college experience. Unfortunately, I never kept tabs on my last semester in Madrid, probably because it was simultaneously filled with some of my life’s greatest and worst moments. Those closest to me, especially those in El Dorado Hills, know the first chapters of my time abroad were complicated. I’d be lying if I said it was easy to be thousands of miles away, drinking sangria and museum hopping, all while knowing the hardships my friends and family faced back home. Luckily, these days are a lot different.
So it’s safe to say I’m back to my usual smartass self, now with the added comfort of being able to freely gossip about my peers without having them as Facebook friends. Over the next few months, expect tales of jetting off to various countries, introducing myself to the local bars and clubs (well, maybe I’ll skip over those parts for the sake of my future children…), struggling to use English money, and occasionally attending class lectures. You’ll learn of the cities I fall in love with, the friends I make, and the annoying classmates I wish a lifetime of tangled headphones and horrible Spotify playlists upon. In conclusion, I’ll do my best to keep the snark and bad political jokes to a minimum. Can’t make any promises, though. Cheers!
The Art of Being Basic 