Partner In Crime? I Think Yes.

Okay so today I feel very very happy because I finally spoke to one of my best friends, from India, since like six months! It feels so good to finally catch up with her because I've missed her so so much! And she was one of those friends that moved to a different school before I left India altogether, so it was so hard to meet up with her because of our different and changing schedules. And, it's also hard to call her because of her sleeping schedules and of course the huge time difference.

But anyways, her name is Anvita. And I consider her my sister because we always act like sisters to each other. She became my first best friend ever when I moved to India and we just, I dunno, clicked I guess. We just have almost everything in common except for the fact that I'm not obsessed with Doctor Who, Avatar, and Legend of Kora (is that what it's called?).

But I haven't spoken to her in so long and I'm glad we finally spoke because I was really missing speaking to her and it was most definitely worth staying up till five am to speak to her. :)

I could go on and on about our momentous days together and how awesome she is and what great friends we've been but I don't want to bore you. And reminiscing will probably make me miss her more and possibly make me cry.

But I love her and she's my favorite bitch even though that's really cliché. <3

Fate By Photographs

My dad would always tell me stories about how when he living in the US he bought a nice manual camera called the Minolta (I think). And he'd always make my mom pose in his pictures. I have all the pictures to prove it.

Well, looking back at all those pictures, I realize how artsy and beautiful the pictures are. And my mom looks so young and beautiful. Sigh.

And now that I'm taking photography as an elective, this year, my dad fixed his Minolta and has given it to me to use. I don't think I've ever taken such care of an object before. I don't only take care of it because it is expensive and valuable but also because it is the benefactor of so many great memories between my parents and even though they are currently divorced it's nice to know that I'm the keeper of a link between them both.

But nonetheless, I love the red light inside the darkroom and I love developing my film. I love how my eyes need to adjust to the normal white light after half an hour spent in the darkroom (though sometimes when I'm having a bad day, the light forming blobs of blackness gets annoying). I love going outside to take pictures and I love it when my pictures develop the way I want them too. Because unlike my paintings and drawing, my photographs turn out just as I imagined it.

Basically, in some ways I feel like I was meant to stumble upon photography. But then again, maybe it's just one of those hobbies of mine that I abandon after a while.

Sweatpants and Dark Rooms

In an amusing train of events, I make a small mistake in my Photography class by shedding light into the dark room, and I'm already the center of attention. Unfortunately, not in the good way. Okay, so maybe it wasn't a small mistake. I might have potentially ruined my classmate's progress in developing their black and white photographs, but it wasn't like I did it intentionally!

But just like every dramarama, in High School, the truth is always overlooked and the gossip starts.

After the accident, I ran to the restroom, like anybody would; from utter mortification. Sitting, in the stall, I decide to turn to my favorite artist Dave Days. And just like in every High School scene in a movie, two girls who witnessed my accident strut into the bathroom (while I am listening to music in the stall) and talk about how stupid I am! I mean, they don't even know me!

So, here I'm just shedding some light (no pun intended) on how judgmental people can be so many times without even caring about how it could affect you. I mean, this has happened to me so many times by now...

I'm tired of letting people think they know me and stare at me because I decided to walk into school with mismatched clothes and/or sweatpants and messy hair. I'm not here to make anybody happy besides myself and I am certainly happy just the way I am.

Leprechaun... Not

Sophomore year starts and I already have the reputation of the shortest girl in our grade; aside from that girl who has that disorder that stunts her growth. Wait, maybe I have that too... I mean, I never ate well. I still don't. Which is probably the reason for my butt increasing two sizes since the last year.

But it's not like I'm abnormally short. No, wait... I am.

It's sad... I don't even know my own height. I guess I just don't want to know my height considering it won't reach the scale of five inches. I don't want to scar my mind with that horrifying... truth.

Suddenly, I have a sneaking suspicion that my height is decreasing by the day. And not in the scientific way where you shrink but then by morning your height is normal again. I mean, that is just cruel to all those short people around, like me.

Honestly, the worst part about being short is that you think you're as tall as everybody else in that room but in truth you're just the outcast with a terrible sense of fashion who looks like they should be ten years old when in truth you are fifteen and are eligible to start Driver's Ed.

Advice to short people (if there are any of these endangered species left in this world): Telling people you are from Irish descent always works. Unless you're a brown. Like me. In that case, I hope you like the phrase, "I'm not short, I'm fun-sized!"