The rows of chairs are about half-full in the semi-large auditorium. Some of the girls scribble madly on the meager desk space afforded them, trying to balance notebooks and sefarim as the amplified voice emanating throughout the room belays quips and intelligent comments interlaced with the language of ages. Other girls attempt to do the same but are unfortunately suffering from yet another sleepless night and space out or fall asleep entirely throughout the fifty minute class. Yet others have different agendas, the thick booklet awaiting the imminent test on all things Jewish surreptitiously sitting before their roving eyes, or a sheet of writing paper atop their notebook as they diligently record their surroundings. Those who arrived early enough have snagged the advantageous seats behind the thick pillars supporting the library above us, hidden from view of the podium. The reader for the day has an expressive voice, albeit very American, and she reads without a hint of hesitancy, periodically interrupted by a deep Hebrew explanation.
The recent threats dealt by the school administrator to send all transgressor home has resulted in an almost complete absence of knees in sight, as each girl is left fearing for her prospects after being kicked out of seminary. Uggs are still being worn a year after their prime, Naot slowly taking over as the culture of the surroundings seeps in in spite of most girls' alternate desires. Backpacks are slightly rare, school bags and Le Sportsacs pretty much reigning. The retro eighties poof is cooling down a little, and girls are finding other ways to disguise grown-out bangs. Japanese hair straightening set thje stage for those lacking it to blow dry their unique locks.
The stronger personalities sit quietly, awaiting discovery, some more patient than others. The rebels are all disguised by their own desire to be there, the buried beliefs flaring of their own accord at familiar utterances of idiocy. The longer they stay the more familiar they become with this new system and canon, anticipating correct answers with a calculated guess rather than a blank stare.
What any of us will be at the end of the year is anyone's guess.

Mom took the huge TV box that her company had acquired, and got a big pink bow to stick on top. Nony, dressed in sweats, scrambled into it when Dad finally got home. Mom, Nemo, Beth, and I all assembled in Beth's room where the box was stationed. Beth was clapping her hands in glee as we presented Dad with the box for his Chanuka gift. A look of disappointment on his face at the apparent television set only increases our excitement as he prepares to leave the room without glancing inside the box. Mom urges him to open it. “I can see what it is,” he declares, the disappointment palpable by now. Mom keeps urging him until finally he acquiesces, opening the flaps with reluctant hands as Nony stands up inside it, putting her arms out to him. The look on his face is so priceless … Dad clutches at his chest with one hand, scrambling for purchase on the wall with the other as she climbs out of the box. As we all stand around, he hugs her like there’s no tomorrow.

i spent shabbos in paradise.
it was as though the world stood still and held its breath as i discovered the plane of existence covered in greenery, where not a hint of negative energy could prevail. I tried to understand why so many things that remind of me home only allowed me to feel as such on a subconscious level (i felt it enough to ignore kol isha), and realized it was because every positive experience at home is tinged with a multi-levelness that is never pure. There is always another side in my home, be it negative, sad, angry, depressed - perhaps it is healthy, perhaps not. In any case I have the constant reminder of a dark side and for one shabbos, just one, I was able to see a world where that is not so. Of course, I have my theories, but analyzing is not on my agenda this time. The purity of being there, the fact that weather itself stood still so that I was unhindered by a jacket - the whole thing was like floating on air.
for now, i have found paradise ...

So I'm weird. Get over yourself. I am not generic; I am not the norm. For crying out loud, people really don't change between elementary school and post high school. I will get henna tattoos even if I know I'll have an allergic reaction because I like the way they look. I will let my friend cut my hair at two in the morning because I am not attached to the dead cells that only seem to improve my appearance because they're shiny. I will argue with teachers about dangerous topics because that is my right. I will sing in the shower for absolutely no reason at all.
To anyone mainstream who thinks they might get along with me - here's a heads up: you don't know me well enough.

how relative is reality?
in a sense, reality is measured by a majority rules system: taking a step further, statistics. what color is blue? what is paranoia? am i pretty? all depends upon the greatest number of people agreeing on a set measuring rod.
but what if i am in the 20% of people who is not in that greatest number? my reality is someone else's. i am accomodating another person's standards. that's simply unacceptable.
every person has a natural internal biological clock. a day to each person is in the vicinity of 24 hours, but not exactly. it is different for each individual. so there.
i want to make my reality my own.