Internet Friends are Real Friends Too

Disclaimer: This is a long one, folks, so strap in.

Let’s talk about internet friends.

In 2008, I joined a little website called Stardoll. It is an online fashion and social community where you can create your own avatar, compete in various fashion competitions, make friends, and so much more. I was twelve years old and for a while, I hid the account from my parents because I was afraid they wouldn’t let me have it because it involved talking to strangers on the internet. I was responsible with it, though; I never gave out any personal information.

About a year after I joined the site, I met a girl with the username jonasfan_smile. After a while, we exchanged first names. We chatted every time we were online together and bonded over our love of the Jonas Brothers. I didn’t know it was possible to feel such a strong connection to someone I had never even met. Skip forward a couple of years (maybe more, my memory is foggy) and we exchanged full names and sent each other friend requests on Facebook. Her name was Abby Johnston. After more talking, we exchanged phone numbers. I waited until I was home alone, called her up, and sat by my window so I could see when my parents came home. I was paranoid beyond belief and I hated that I went behind their backs, but I knew they wouldn’t understand. I could practically hear the conversation in my head. They would say she’s probably some forty-year-old predator living in his parent’s basement trying to kidnap young girls. But I knew this wasn’t the case. She was my friend. I knew her.

Fast forward to 2013. After much conversation, Abby and I agreed that it was time for us to meet in person. At this point, we had been Skpying and texting daily, and my parents knew about her (after much explanation). Sixteen-year-old me put together a PowerPoint presentation that laid out the details of my trip to South Carolina to meet my internet friend, prices and all (after all, I am my father’s daughter). I could tell they were very hesitant, and looking back on it from an adult perspective, I can see why. What parent in their right mind would send their teenage daughter halfway across the country for a week to stay with people she has never even met? I tried my best to make my case, to make them believe that I did know her. She wasn’t just my internet friend; she was my best friend. Ever. Period.

Eventually, they agreed to let me go, which I know couldn’t have been easy on their part. Summer rolled around, and I was finally on a plane. This was the second time I had ever flown and the first by myself. When I arrived at the Charlotte airport, my stomach was twisted into unbelievably tight knots. But that all disappeared when I saw Abby and her mom waiting for me by the luggage carousel. We hugged and laughed and took pictures, and I couldn’t believe that she was there, standing in front of me. Finally, after all those years of Stardoll messages and Skype calls, my best friend was standing right in front of me. I’ll never forget that feeling.

Fast forward to about 2015. I was living in the UNO dorms with Rachel. She played video games a lot, and eventually I got back into them too. I used to play shooters with my dad and brother, but I never got super into video games. She told me about a YouTube channel called Achievement Hunter, and I wasn’t sure how watching someone play video games could possibly be interesting, but after some coaxing, I gave it a try. And from that first video, my life changed.

From there, I got into Achievement Hunter’s parent channel, Rooster Teeth. When I say “got into” what I really mean is dove in head-first and haven’t come up for air since. Via the Rooster Teeth Facebook group, I joined a group chat of other fans. And that is where I met my new internet friends. Erin, Haydn, Holden, Justin, Taylor, Jose, Alex, and all my other RT Squad friends have given me so many laughs and virtual hugs over the past two years or so. We Snapchat each other daily, and a few of us are even meeting up at RTX Austin this year (Rooster Teeth’s annual internet/gaming convention). Even though I’ve never physically met them, these are my people. I know them. I know what jobs they have, who likes pineapple on their pizza, what kinds of games they like, what keeps them up at night, what fast food they get at 1am, and more.

Finally, around April of 2017, a young man named Alfredo Diaz made his first appearance in an Achievement Hunter video. From there, I found his Twitch channel and tuned into his streams every now and then. From the very first time I typed “Hi everyone” in the chat, I knew this was where I belonged. They paid attention to me. They cared about what I had to contribute, and that matters when you feel alone in the world.

I was invited to a group chat full of people from Alfredo’s community, and they welcomed me with open arms. I don’t remember what my life was like before I met Alli, Gill, Hawk, Will, Hanson, Lexie, Kate, Andrew, Vol, Dark, and everyone else in the Sauce Pot (or whatever the name was changed to this time). Even though the 217 messages can be a lot to catch up on sometimes, I enjoy every second with these people. We share our problems and offer sympathy and solutions. We gush about Achievement Hunter, k-pop, attractive celebrities, food, dogs and cats and birbs, and tacky memes. They make me laugh when happiness feels impossible. They are my family, as dysfunctional as we are, and I can’t imagine life without them now. Some of us are also meeting up at RTX this year, and I can’t wait to take selfies and make more memories.

So before you go judging someone for having “internet friends,” think about the way your “real life” friends make you feel: cared for, respected, loved. Internet friends are real friends too. They give you all that and so much more. They give you a place to be free to say how you feel without judgement, a platform to share your opinions or discuss the latest internet trend, and most importantly, just like the friends you see every day, they make you feel like you matter in this world. I think we could all use a bit of that these days.

Tyler: A One Year Reflection

How has it already been a year since we lost you? I remember that morning as vividly as if it were yesterday. I was about to leave for class when I got the text from my friend. I didn’t believe it. I know people say that all the time when they’re trying to deny something, but I literally didn’t believe it. My brain couldn’t even comprehend it. I read the text over a dozen or more times, and then it slowly started to register with me. I crumpled to the floor and barely felt it when the tears started streaming down my freshly made up face. Numb.

No matter how much grief I experience in my life, it never fails to surprise me. I hadn’t seen you since I graduated from high school, 3 years prior, but for some reason, losing you stung more than I thought it would. I guess it just goes to show that some people stick with you in ways that maybe you can’t even understand. I’m still trying to understand. 

As I reflect over this past year, I think about what it means to grieve someone over time. I’ve been through all five stages (although I think I’ll always be struggling with acceptance), so now what? 

I will cry today. There will be no shortage of tears shed, but I will also think about what you mean to me, what you stand for. You were kind, hilarious, cheerful, and passionate. You were one of the few people in life who wasn’t afraid to be herself. While these things are hard to be sometimes, I want to get better at embodying them. 

I haven’t told anyone this whole story yet, but part of the reason I got a daisy for my second tattoo this year is because it stands for cheerfulness, and it always reminds me of you.

So I guess when I say that I don’t know why losing you hit me as hard as it did, I’m lying to myself. I know why. You were all of those things that I aspire to be. You represent a positive part of my high school experience, a reason I can look back on those years with fondness. 

So thank you, Tyler. For being my band buddy. For being my inspiration. For being my daisy. 

Top Ten Albums of 2017

It was a very music-filled year for me, as pretty much every year is. So I figured why not create a list of all the albums I enjoyed listening to that were released this year. I’m awful at picking favorites, so these are just in release date order. Each one came to me at a different point in my life this year, and each one affected me in a unique way. So, without further ado, here are my top ten albums of 2017, along with two songs that stood out most on each album.

1.      Divide – Ed Sheeran (March 3)

·         What Do I Know? – about how music can change the world

·         Bibia Be Ye Ye – music video was made in Ghana featuring the happy residents

2.      Love Is Alive EP – Louis the Child (March 24)

·         World On Fire – about how the world covers up problems instead of facing them

·         Slow Down Love – awesome vocals and beat

3.      Memories…Do Not Open – The Chainsmokers (April 7)

·         The One – very relatable song about struggling to express emotions

·         My Type – about always falling for the same type of person

4.      Harry Styles – Harry Styles (May 12)

·         Carolina – really cool vibe, definitely more mature than One Direction

·         Sweet Creature – beautiful guitar and lyrics

5.      High Enough EP – Alexander Jean (June 26)

·         Fuck You No One Loves You Like Me – fun to sing loudly in the car

·         Wouldn’t Change Anything – beautiful harmonies from Mark Ballas and BC Jean

6.      The Storm – ZZ Ward (June 30)

·         Help Me Mama – shows off ZZ Ward’s unique vocals

·         Cannonball (ft. Fantastic Negrito) – great melody with gritty lyrics

7.      Younger Now – Miley Cyrus (Sept. 29)

·         Miss You So Much – about missing someone you see all the time

·         Rainbowland – fun duet with Dolly Parton, back to Miley’s country roots

8.      Tell Me You Love Me – Demi Lovato (Sept. 29)

·         You Don’t Do It For Me Anymore – Demi nails the cascading runs

·         Sexy Dirty Love – I just love the melody and descending half-steps

9.      Colors – Beck (Oct. 13)

·         Wow – odd at first listen but grew on me, fun to dance to

·         I’m So Free – makes me feel free

10.  Homework EP – Darren Criss (Dec. 15)

·         Going Nowhere – a happy-sounding sad song

·         I Don’t Mind – Darren’s first single in many many years, and he nailed it

Exposed

I have been way too busy with the start of a new semester (my second to last one!), so I didn't have time to write a blog post this month. Instead, I have decided to share something I wrote last semester in my creative nonfiction class. It's about a fiction/nonfiction reading I went to (sort of like a poetry reading, but short fiction/nonfiction pieces instead). Here goes nothing!

Exposed

The street was lined with cars, so we had to park at the Supermercado down the street. My friend (we'll call him Andy for privacy's sake) and I listened to 80s music on the way there: Elton John, Hall & Oates, Kansas.

            “We’re listening to 80s music, by the way,” I said, flipping through my phone to find the playlist.

            “No shame,” he chuckled, settling into the passenger’s seat.

            We walked in late. They said it wasn’t supposed to start until 7:30, but they must have started early because someone was at the podium reading when we tiptoed in. There wasn’t anywhere to sit, so we stood in the back corner by the door. The sunlight pierced my eyes until it descended below the building across the street.

            I figured it was too late in the person’s story for me to understand what was happening, so I took to examining the room instead. The exposed pipes and electrical outlets on the ceiling matched exactly how I felt in that moment and throughout the entire night: exposed, vulnerable, an outcast. Everyone in the room looked like they belonged there, with their dyed hair, beanies, and fashionable clothes, unlike me in my oversized plaid button-up, black skinny jeans, and converse. Next to them I felt naïve and inexperienced.

            I still don’t know why I felt this way. I was part of the Writer’s Workshop, just like them. I even recognized a few faces from classes. But something about the atmosphere made me feel as if they were living in a whole other world that I wasn’t welcomed to.

            When someone would finish reading their piece of prose, I always thought the same thing: I wish I could write like that.

            “I’ve never read anything you’ve written, but I bet you’re better than eight out of ten people in that room,” Andy said later as we got into my car to leave.

            “I doubt it,” I said.

            All night long, I kept glancing up at the bare lightbulbs overhead, trying to tell my brain to stay focused on the reader. If I stared too long, the bulb would leave a bright imprint on my eyes so that, when I turned my attention back to the reader, their head was an orb of light, a faceless voice.

            As my mind wandered, I wondered what the people walking by thought of us, a bunch of young hopefuls huddled together in this small space, reading for the sake of hearing what our written words sounded like as they rolled off our tongues. Most of the people that walked by had headphones in or were on their phone.

Whenever I felt my mind begin to stray off track, I checked my phone for the time. I wasn’t itching to leave, but I was worried that Andy wasn’t enjoying himself because this wasn’t really his scene. He clapped when appropriate and only checked his phone in between readers, but I got the vibe that he would rather be somewhere else. So would I.

I thought that this experience would instill confidence in me, that I would want to participate in something like that one day. But it ended up doing the exact opposite. I couldn’t picture myself reading my stuff in front of people in a million years. I would much rather keep my writing tucked away in the little manila folder on my computer desktop, safe from judging eyes.

I know that this isn’t practical. I know that if I want to be a writer, I have to eventually share my writing with others. It’s just so hard, allowing myself to be vulnerable and exposed to the immediate praise or rejection of the personalities in the room. I always tell people that I would much rather sing or read in front of 10,000 people than 10. Intimacy and rejection: two petrifying words that I have yet to conquer. Maybe I will, someday. But not today.

Mind over Mountains over Matter

Earlier this month, I took a little vacation to Colorado with my best friend. We needed a change of scenery and a break from the stresses of life. Along with new tan lines and a new Facebook cover photo, the mountains taught me a thing or two about life.

From far away (and at first glance), it was difficult to truly grasp the size and majesty of the Rocky Mountains. They loomed in the distance as a gentle reminder of their presence, but nothing more. As we drove through the valley, the wall of land rose up in front of us like New York City skyscrapers, intimidating and awe-inspiring. As we spiraled up the dirt road towards the trail-head, we were enveloped in a canopy of trees, so much so that I almost forgot we were ascending a mountain. The hike up was no different.

At about the halfway point on the trail, there was a break in the trees, and we could finally see just how high up we truly were. The Denver skyline was nowhere in sight. I took a moment to breathe in the mountain air and bask in the beauty of the minuscule world below. I felt a slight tug on my brain from the part that reminds me how small I am in this world, how insignificant. It receded as quickly as it had come.

Once we finally reached the end of the trail, we climbed the 143 steps to the Devil’s Head Fire Tower Lookout. As I walked around the outside of the tower, taking pictures of the view, I stopped for a moment and lowered the camera. You could see at least a hundred miles in each direction, and Pike’s Peak towered in the distance. So close yet so very far away.

Everything below was so small. I could pinch the tree tops and rock formations between my thumb and forefinger. The horizon, usually at eye level, appeared to be above me; no matter how high up you go, there is always room to go higher.

While standing atop a great mountain made me feel small, it also reminded me that even the smallest things have meaning and purpose. Without the bees, the beautiful flowers we saw during our ascent wouldn’t exist. Without the trees, the sun would have burned us up. Without each little individual rock and piece of earth, the mountains wouldn’t even have come to be in the first place.

Everything in this world, no matter how big or small, is valuable, including people. Even if it may not seem like it, the world would be completely different without you in it. You affect people’s lives even in the simplest of ways, ways that you might not even be paying attention to.

People matter. You matter. No matter how small you might see yourself in comparison to the mountains that life throws at you, you matter. No matter how many people tell you how worthless and minuscule you are, you matter.

I think the Matt Smith’s Doctor said it best: “900 years of time and space, and I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important.” You were zapped into existence for a reason. Don’t waste it obsessing over what others think of you. Be strong. Be courageous. Be the mountain.

Body Image

This is not going to be one of those posts where I say a bunch of negative things about myself and end with “but I love myself anyway!” This also isn’t me trying to get attention by saying negative things about myself in the hopes that people will say nice things about me. This is just me, as raw as it comes.

I’ve always been one to compare myself to others in every aspect of my life, but especially when it comes to appearances. No matter how often people tell me how beautiful I am, I can’t help but think about how there are people that are prettier than me. Clearer skin, more toned legs, flatter stomach, more voluminous hair, etc etc etc. I’m trying so hard to love the body that I’ve been given since I’m lucky enough to be blessed with good health, but I’m always going to want what I don’t have.

A lot of my poor perception of myself comes from social media. As much as I hate to admit it because I love them, platforms like Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, and Facebook are absolutely terrible for your mental health. You can get stuck in a loop of checking each one and obsessing over someone else’s hair, clothes, lifestyle, etc. I do it all the time. Seeing all these girls on Instagram with their perfect makeup and trim bodies makes me hate myself to a degree that’s hard to put into words. I know that looks aren’t everything and they shouldn’t matter, but I’m only human. I try to remind myself that God made me the way I am for a reason, and that just because I don’t look like them, doesn’t mean I’m ugly. But reminders only go so far.

I rarely ever post selfies because I rarely ever take a selfie that lives up to my ridiculously high standards. My smile looks too forced, one eye is squinting more than the other, there’s a zit on my chin that no filter can cover up, etc. I can’t help it. I will always be my harshest critic. I’m trying to run more and lift weights and do some abs, but I don’t have the mental or physical energy to be consistent enough for it to make a difference. I would love to be able to accept my body as it is, but as of right now, I don’t have the mental capacity to do that. 

A Developing Dream

Whenever someone asks what I want to be when I grow up, I like to say that I’ve always wanted to be a writer, that it was burned into my brain since I was a little kid. But lately I’ve realized that that’s not entirely true.

As a kid, I loved reading and writing short stories. My imagination was infinite, so there was no end to the worlds I could create inside my head and on the page. There was no doubt in my young mind that I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. I wanted to write books like the ones I loved to read.

In my late elementary and early middle school days, I still wanted to write, but I developed a new hobby. I wanted to be a singer, a rock star, just like Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers. I wanted to write songs that made people feel inspired to follow their dreams just like I was. I began to truly fall in love with music and everything it stood for and made me feel.

(There was a brief point in my life, sometime around when I started show choir in middle school, when I wanted to be a dancer, but we don’t need to talk about that.)

In high school, I was introduced to the journalism world and considered that as a more “practical” career path than writer or rock star. I took part in an internship with the Ralston Recorder, and while I enjoyed my time there and learned a lot about myself as a result, I can’t say that I fell in love with the profession.

Later on in my high school career, nearing graduation, I was forced to decide where I wanted to attend college and what I wanted to study. As an extremely indecisive person, this was an especially stressful time for me. What did I want to do for the rest of my life? I sure as hell didn’t know. So, I Googled potential career paths for people who enjoy writing. This is when I decided that I wanted to be a copy editor at a book publishing company. I know, it sounds exciting. Basically, I would read through manuscripts for grammar, punctuation, spelling, sentence structure, etc. It’s something I’m good at and even enjoy. That’s when I chose to attend UNO and major in creative writing.

When I tell people I am a creative writing major and English minor, I get asked the same question every time: are you going to teach? I’m always offended by this question, not because I hate the idea of being a teacher, but because I hate the assumption that the only thing to do with a writing degree is teach. Strong writing skills are valued in so many professions aside from teaching.

As I think about my college graduation a year from now, I can’t help but look back on the question: what do I want to be when I grow up? I still want to write, I still want to make music, and I still want to edit manuscripts. But as of the past week, I’ve been considering something I never would have imagined myself doing.

On Wednesday, May 17^th, 2017, I got the news that my high school band director, Marty Frye, had very suddenly passed away. I didn’t realize how much of an impact he had had on me until he was gone. I’ll spare the waterworks because that’s not what this blog post is about. As I pondered the profound impact Mr. Frye had on my education, love for music, and confidence in my abilities, I became overwhelmed with the desire to have that kind of impact on someone’s life.

So now, as I sit here writing this, I can honestly say that my dream has changed once again. Surprisingly to me but perhaps not for everyone else, I am considering being a music educator. I still plan to graduate next spring, but I don’t want my learning to stop there. Perhaps, sometime down the road, I will return to school and get another degree in music education. Life is short, so I want to make the most out of my time in this world and impact as many lives as I can along the way, just as my music teachers have done for me over the years. I believe in the power of education, and more importantly, I believe in the power of music.

“Music, once admitted to the soul, becomes a sort of spirit, and never dies.” -Edward Bulwer-Lytton