I'm going to take a stab at blogging about my personal life, because all of the events I'm about to discuss happened so long ago that they're no longer relevant. That's a disclaimer.
2007.
I'm a freshman, living in America. It's second semester, and I feel like I've got high school more or less figured out. All I remember about that particular day (my memory aided of course by blog posts that you will never see) is that I talked to Katie in the dark room about my crush (oh to be fourteen again) during photography, and we bitched about our mothers.
2008.
I'm in Germany with chorus, and I'm dating a boy named Will. This day does not go as planned.
We spend the afternoon in Munich. I go shopping with Summer and some of her friends, and we have a long conversation comparing sexual activity to clothing chains in Europe (which, by the way, is a big place). Will is with the senior boys at an irish pub, drinking beer, which is legal for sixteen year olds in Germany (not to say that he was sixteen at all). I am not sure whether to be annoyed with him for drinking or for not inviting me.
Later we're at the hotel and he tries to take off my new sweater (pink, striped, from H&M, I hate that sweater and cannot wear it without thinking of this moment). I don't let him, and that put the nail in our coffin.
2009.
I'm in Italy with latin class. Those of us who are feeling rebellious at the particular moment (a figure guaranteed to be above 50% in a given group of high school students) are absolutely determined to get drunk. It's my first time hitting the town, as it were. If Will were here, he would make us find an Irish pub in Rome, but he's not, and none of us like beer anyway. Katie, Eleni and I wind up sitting in a cafe with a bottle of cheap red wine. Then Lindsay turns up, we finish the wine, and we tumble out into the streets of Rome. Lindsay finds a bar, and asks for something "hard and delicious." She takes the chaser shot of grapefruit juice first and it is abundantly clear that none of us have any idea what we are doing. I find a twisted pleasure in the fact that it has been one year since last St. Patrick's Day.
2010.
I have hit my stride in Switzerland. I have also found myself in a position of rebellion once again. I am generally dissatisfied with the administration at my high school, for reasons I can't remember (except that March tends to be the time for that kind of thing, don't you think?). Regardless, I'm feeling good about living there, even though no one at all seems to understand me. I wear green today, and ask others why they're not, and no one knows what I'm talking about. I guess St. Patrick's Day is a bigger deal in a country full of immigrants (some of whom are bound to be Irish) than a country decidedly opposed to immigrants.
2011.
I'm back in the states. It has only just occurred to me that this is the first St. Patrick's Day for which I've been in America since freshman year. It's a good day so far. I was only at post- until 2:30 last night, and I woke up at eleven feeling rested and excited. I'm wearing green.
Today is going to be good.
Love always,
Clara
2007.
I'm a freshman, living in America. It's second semester, and I feel like I've got high school more or less figured out. All I remember about that particular day (my memory aided of course by blog posts that you will never see) is that I talked to Katie in the dark room about my crush (oh to be fourteen again) during photography, and we bitched about our mothers.
2008.
I'm in Germany with chorus, and I'm dating a boy named Will. This day does not go as planned.
We spend the afternoon in Munich. I go shopping with Summer and some of her friends, and we have a long conversation comparing sexual activity to clothing chains in Europe (which, by the way, is a big place). Will is with the senior boys at an irish pub, drinking beer, which is legal for sixteen year olds in Germany (not to say that he was sixteen at all). I am not sure whether to be annoyed with him for drinking or for not inviting me.
Later we're at the hotel and he tries to take off my new sweater (pink, striped, from H&M, I hate that sweater and cannot wear it without thinking of this moment). I don't let him, and that put the nail in our coffin.
2009.
I'm in Italy with latin class. Those of us who are feeling rebellious at the particular moment (a figure guaranteed to be above 50% in a given group of high school students) are absolutely determined to get drunk. It's my first time hitting the town, as it were. If Will were here, he would make us find an Irish pub in Rome, but he's not, and none of us like beer anyway. Katie, Eleni and I wind up sitting in a cafe with a bottle of cheap red wine. Then Lindsay turns up, we finish the wine, and we tumble out into the streets of Rome. Lindsay finds a bar, and asks for something "hard and delicious." She takes the chaser shot of grapefruit juice first and it is abundantly clear that none of us have any idea what we are doing. I find a twisted pleasure in the fact that it has been one year since last St. Patrick's Day.
2010.
I have hit my stride in Switzerland. I have also found myself in a position of rebellion once again. I am generally dissatisfied with the administration at my high school, for reasons I can't remember (except that March tends to be the time for that kind of thing, don't you think?). Regardless, I'm feeling good about living there, even though no one at all seems to understand me. I wear green today, and ask others why they're not, and no one knows what I'm talking about. I guess St. Patrick's Day is a bigger deal in a country full of immigrants (some of whom are bound to be Irish) than a country decidedly opposed to immigrants.
2011.
I'm back in the states. It has only just occurred to me that this is the first St. Patrick's Day for which I've been in America since freshman year. It's a good day so far. I was only at post- until 2:30 last night, and I woke up at eleven feeling rested and excited. I'm wearing green.
Today is going to be good.
Love always,
Clara
1 comment:
OMG THAT NIGHT IN ITALY WAS KIND OF THE MOST IMPORTANT/BEST NIGHT EVER. or- first best night. It was then topped by every night in Italy after that, some nights throughout high school, most nights on the eurotrip, and then some nights in college.
But it was the first best night ever.
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