Loves
Life is a lot about searching for love. Not just someone to love but things to love. Whether it is a color to paint a room, a home or a new T.V. show to watch everyone is constantly on the hunt for something they like. People need to obtain all these things to revolve themselves around constantly to the point where the bond evolves to an actual piece of them. Everyone has at least one item that conducts memories and emotion from a special place inside them. For some, there is an ancient artifact that almost directly leads them to where they are now. Like most of the other overweight children in America, my first love was food. I had a sweet tooth before I had grown teeth.
I suppose it started as a baby at my grandparent’s house. Before my mother had the chance to adjust me to baby food I would spend hot summer days in the front yard of my grandparents’ house sitting on my grandfather’s lap while he fed me ice cream. While my grandpa smothered me with ice cream my grandma would fill my bottles with fruit punch. My mom would be furious at the sight of the red stained bottles and yelled, “How many times have I told you? She’s only supposed to be drinking the baby formula!” Their excuse was always the same. “Well, she likes it. We just want her to be happy.”
There, in that moment was the first time I associated love and happiness; and it would not be the last. You always think if you find something you love you will be happy. I find that to be true. Surrounding yourself with things and people you love helps in a way to naturally better yourself and behavior. Finding something you love is the best feeling, it’s a rush of excitement and whirlwind of emotions that takes over you’re entire body. When love strikes it never leaves you, it is simply just put away somewhere inside you. It can hide or grow or it can guide you to a new love.
As a child I knew that I loved my grandparents and I loved food. I especially loved anything that reminded me of my grandparents. I remember spending endless hours in the pool in their backyard with occasional breaks to change into a dry swimsuit, eat, and watch T.V. while my food went down. It was a repeating cycle that lasted for years. It never occurred to me that a pool at my grandparent’s house could influence the items of my affection all the way into adulthood. My obsession with being engulfed by water lead to my infatuation with the beach. My interest extended from the pool to an entire world.
My love for animals grew more and more with every pet I have ever had. I was and am completely obsessed. If there were a career that directly involved nothing but cuddling and playing with cats and puppies all day it would be perfect for me. Not only would I be interested in the typical house pet but I would venture further to work with exotic pets. Perhaps even circus animals. However, spending surreal days at the beach had conceived a humongous attraction to anything nautical. My complete obsession however lied with the animals that reside deep in the ocean. I have always hoped to have the opportunity to live with every sort of sea creature, especially and octopus. Since then, oceanic creatures and plants have devoured my life as well as my room. I sometimes immerse myself in daydreams of residing in an imaginary house made of fish tank walls. I would wake up to the blue tinted sunlight and the bubbling sound of the tank filters. The fish would swim aimlessly as I wander the house doing everyday chores.
Going to a high school for the arts had its advantages. One of them being the exceptionally talented students. It was there at that high school where I met an artist. Through mutual friends we became acquainted and in a short period of time were inseparable. I could not stand the idea of belonging to another person so the amount of time we put into each other was at a standstill. I was sitting on my bed when he started painting a single wall. I watched him wondering how it would look when he had finished. A diluted mix of blue and green paint and water left a waterfall effect on the wall. It was beautiful just watching him move across the room while the paint dripped down. We talked while the paint dried and decided he would add the focal point another day. That day came and I enjoyed watching him submerged in his work. Purple streaks were spread across the long wall. He was done and my heart dropped. An enormous single octopus was beautifully spread across my room. It was no aquarium house but it was perfect and I was in love.
I suppose it started as a baby at my grandparent’s house. Before my mother had the chance to adjust me to baby food I would spend hot summer days in the front yard of my grandparents’ house sitting on my grandfather’s lap while he fed me ice cream. While my grandpa smothered me with ice cream my grandma would fill my bottles with fruit punch. My mom would be furious at the sight of the red stained bottles and yelled, “How many times have I told you? She’s only supposed to be drinking the baby formula!” Their excuse was always the same. “Well, she likes it. We just want her to be happy.”
There, in that moment was the first time I associated love and happiness; and it would not be the last. You always think if you find something you love you will be happy. I find that to be true. Surrounding yourself with things and people you love helps in a way to naturally better yourself and behavior. Finding something you love is the best feeling, it’s a rush of excitement and whirlwind of emotions that takes over you’re entire body. When love strikes it never leaves you, it is simply just put away somewhere inside you. It can hide or grow or it can guide you to a new love.
As a child I knew that I loved my grandparents and I loved food. I especially loved anything that reminded me of my grandparents. I remember spending endless hours in the pool in their backyard with occasional breaks to change into a dry swimsuit, eat, and watch T.V. while my food went down. It was a repeating cycle that lasted for years. It never occurred to me that a pool at my grandparent’s house could influence the items of my affection all the way into adulthood. My obsession with being engulfed by water lead to my infatuation with the beach. My interest extended from the pool to an entire world.
My love for animals grew more and more with every pet I have ever had. I was and am completely obsessed. If there were a career that directly involved nothing but cuddling and playing with cats and puppies all day it would be perfect for me. Not only would I be interested in the typical house pet but I would venture further to work with exotic pets. Perhaps even circus animals. However, spending surreal days at the beach had conceived a humongous attraction to anything nautical. My complete obsession however lied with the animals that reside deep in the ocean. I have always hoped to have the opportunity to live with every sort of sea creature, especially and octopus. Since then, oceanic creatures and plants have devoured my life as well as my room. I sometimes immerse myself in daydreams of residing in an imaginary house made of fish tank walls. I would wake up to the blue tinted sunlight and the bubbling sound of the tank filters. The fish would swim aimlessly as I wander the house doing everyday chores.
Going to a high school for the arts had its advantages. One of them being the exceptionally talented students. It was there at that high school where I met an artist. Through mutual friends we became acquainted and in a short period of time were inseparable. I could not stand the idea of belonging to another person so the amount of time we put into each other was at a standstill. I was sitting on my bed when he started painting a single wall. I watched him wondering how it would look when he had finished. A diluted mix of blue and green paint and water left a waterfall effect on the wall. It was beautiful just watching him move across the room while the paint dripped down. We talked while the paint dried and decided he would add the focal point another day. That day came and I enjoyed watching him submerged in his work. Purple streaks were spread across the long wall. He was done and my heart dropped. An enormous single octopus was beautifully spread across my room. It was no aquarium house but it was perfect and I was in love.
Grandpa
In middle school the most insignificant things seem so intense and severe that when you are smacked in the face with real issues we cannot help but feel as our entire worlds are crashing down. The day that severely altered my entire being began unusually early for a Saturday. The few hours that were spent had given the impression that the rest of the day would go as well. Kayaking was a new hobby for my mother, sister and myself and none of us expected what would end our pleasant morning.
By the time we stepped back in the car, we were spent. Ready to go home and sleep the rest of the day away we got into the car. My mom’s cell phone had a surprising amount of missed calls and voicemails. My mom sat silently, something that hardly ever happens. She listened to the voicemails with a blank face and called various members of my small family. Because my mother spoke over the phone so often and so loudly my sister and I had learned to tune out her voice. Oblivious to the situation at hand my sister and I were too busy finding ways to jokingly pass time as we waiting to go home.
Crisis had struck and my mother had two pieces of important news for us when she had finally gotten off the phone. She began with the event of my great-grandmother’s stroke. My great-grandma had lived with us along with my aunt and cousins at the time. My great grandma, my nana, was in the hospital. She had the stroke early that morning and by the time my mom had called she was stable and doctors assured us that she would be fine. I don’t remember going to see my nana in the hospital before we left which leads me to believe she was indeed fine. She had my aunt there if she needed anything.
When she had finished explaining that end she moved on to the tragic incident that involved my most cherished person in the world. My grandfather from my dad’s side was now in a coma and in the hospital.
My grandpa had been fixing something on the roof while standing on a tall ladder. I never asked how he fell off the ladder because it never seemed right. I remember overhearing that the ladder’s foot had simply joggled out of place, or he had lost balance. There were no immediate signs of danger from the fall except for a red bump on the back of his head. Worried about the large bump my grandma drove him to the hospital. They waited over four hours in the emergency room for a doctor to see him.
Sometimes I imagine that if the doctor had paid better attention to my grandpa that I would still have him here with me. The doctor told my grandparents to go home and he was perfectly fine even after their requests for a better analysis. The next day my grandpa had a headache, which lead to his decision to take a nap. Hours later my aunt and grandma went to wake him up for diner and found him unresponsive.
What my grandpa had thought would be a short nap drifted into a coma and my grandma was issued the choice of leaving him in a sea of unconsciousness or to release him into the unknown.
My mother is known for her blunt honesty. Over time I have learned to appreciate this trait of hers. On the drive home she plainly admitted, “I know this is upsetting but your papa is old and I don’t think he’s going to make it.” In that sentence everything she said about my nana had disappeared from my mind, I was devastated. I burst out in tears as soon as I processed that sentence. My mom drove us home and instructed us to pack up some clothes while my uncle came over to talk to my mom about meeting us at my grandma’s. He was as upset as I was. He had every right to be. It was my grandpa who adopted him into his home and brought him to California after his family died in Texas so many years ago. My grandpa was an amazing person, perfection through my eyes. I had spent my entire life at my grandparents house I couldn’t possibly imagine a life without him.
It was almost too much to take in. As soon as we got home we packed in what felt like seconds and were back in the car without even changing out of our beach clothes. It was a quiet three-hour drive. I usually slept through the drive in order to avoid the agonizing motion sickness I endured. This time I couldn’t even process the nausea or headaches, they were nothing compared to the horror of possibly losing someone so near and dear to me. We drove straight to the hospital. It wasn’t until we saw that we were not the only visitors that I thought of how ridiculous I looked in my beach apparel.
I almost felt guilty for not changing when I received the blank faces of those aunts, uncles and cousins whom I hadn’t seen in years. I vaguely remembered images and names. I felt uncomfortable in their presence and I felt everything they must of thought of my mom. I am still unable to process how they could be so cruel and selfish. My mom was never one to let other people get the best of her. So she stayed polite and kept her distance and placed attention to need be.
Instead of going home with my mom and sister I stayed with my grandma and aunt for the week. So many people had come to visit that week, including my father who I hadn’t seen in years. I was shocked that he could go so long without giving so much as a phone call to either of my grandparents but suddenly stay in their house with me for the week acting as if it were perfectly normal. I was often unsure of myself around him and his new wife. I worried about the impression I would make and almost thought tragedy would lead to a better relationship between us. I was wrong. That’s when my grandma announced she would be letting my grandpa go.
My mom and sister returned during the latter end of the week. I wish my father and his new wife had the same maturity and sophistication as my mom. Their petty and spiteful attitudes resulted in a pact between him and a majority of the family giving my grandmother an ultimatum. They ambushed her into choosing if she wanted all of them to go leave or my mom leave. That was the first time I had ever seen my mom cry. I will always love my grandma for her response to my mom, “I don’t give a shit if they want you gone. I want you here. You could have never let us see our grandchildren but you kept us a part of your lives. We love you for that. He loved his girls more than anything! You are more of a daughter to me then my own son.” My mother couldn’t stand the idea of my grandma having so many people missing at a time when she needed them so she refused my grandma’s protests and we went home. I wonder a lot of how the funeral was like but when I really think about it, it would not seem to have any significance compared to my entire beautiful life with him.
By the time we stepped back in the car, we were spent. Ready to go home and sleep the rest of the day away we got into the car. My mom’s cell phone had a surprising amount of missed calls and voicemails. My mom sat silently, something that hardly ever happens. She listened to the voicemails with a blank face and called various members of my small family. Because my mother spoke over the phone so often and so loudly my sister and I had learned to tune out her voice. Oblivious to the situation at hand my sister and I were too busy finding ways to jokingly pass time as we waiting to go home.
Crisis had struck and my mother had two pieces of important news for us when she had finally gotten off the phone. She began with the event of my great-grandmother’s stroke. My great-grandma had lived with us along with my aunt and cousins at the time. My great grandma, my nana, was in the hospital. She had the stroke early that morning and by the time my mom had called she was stable and doctors assured us that she would be fine. I don’t remember going to see my nana in the hospital before we left which leads me to believe she was indeed fine. She had my aunt there if she needed anything.
When she had finished explaining that end she moved on to the tragic incident that involved my most cherished person in the world. My grandfather from my dad’s side was now in a coma and in the hospital.
My grandpa had been fixing something on the roof while standing on a tall ladder. I never asked how he fell off the ladder because it never seemed right. I remember overhearing that the ladder’s foot had simply joggled out of place, or he had lost balance. There were no immediate signs of danger from the fall except for a red bump on the back of his head. Worried about the large bump my grandma drove him to the hospital. They waited over four hours in the emergency room for a doctor to see him.
Sometimes I imagine that if the doctor had paid better attention to my grandpa that I would still have him here with me. The doctor told my grandparents to go home and he was perfectly fine even after their requests for a better analysis. The next day my grandpa had a headache, which lead to his decision to take a nap. Hours later my aunt and grandma went to wake him up for diner and found him unresponsive.
What my grandpa had thought would be a short nap drifted into a coma and my grandma was issued the choice of leaving him in a sea of unconsciousness or to release him into the unknown.
My mother is known for her blunt honesty. Over time I have learned to appreciate this trait of hers. On the drive home she plainly admitted, “I know this is upsetting but your papa is old and I don’t think he’s going to make it.” In that sentence everything she said about my nana had disappeared from my mind, I was devastated. I burst out in tears as soon as I processed that sentence. My mom drove us home and instructed us to pack up some clothes while my uncle came over to talk to my mom about meeting us at my grandma’s. He was as upset as I was. He had every right to be. It was my grandpa who adopted him into his home and brought him to California after his family died in Texas so many years ago. My grandpa was an amazing person, perfection through my eyes. I had spent my entire life at my grandparents house I couldn’t possibly imagine a life without him.
It was almost too much to take in. As soon as we got home we packed in what felt like seconds and were back in the car without even changing out of our beach clothes. It was a quiet three-hour drive. I usually slept through the drive in order to avoid the agonizing motion sickness I endured. This time I couldn’t even process the nausea or headaches, they were nothing compared to the horror of possibly losing someone so near and dear to me. We drove straight to the hospital. It wasn’t until we saw that we were not the only visitors that I thought of how ridiculous I looked in my beach apparel.
I almost felt guilty for not changing when I received the blank faces of those aunts, uncles and cousins whom I hadn’t seen in years. I vaguely remembered images and names. I felt uncomfortable in their presence and I felt everything they must of thought of my mom. I am still unable to process how they could be so cruel and selfish. My mom was never one to let other people get the best of her. So she stayed polite and kept her distance and placed attention to need be.
Instead of going home with my mom and sister I stayed with my grandma and aunt for the week. So many people had come to visit that week, including my father who I hadn’t seen in years. I was shocked that he could go so long without giving so much as a phone call to either of my grandparents but suddenly stay in their house with me for the week acting as if it were perfectly normal. I was often unsure of myself around him and his new wife. I worried about the impression I would make and almost thought tragedy would lead to a better relationship between us. I was wrong. That’s when my grandma announced she would be letting my grandpa go.
My mom and sister returned during the latter end of the week. I wish my father and his new wife had the same maturity and sophistication as my mom. Their petty and spiteful attitudes resulted in a pact between him and a majority of the family giving my grandmother an ultimatum. They ambushed her into choosing if she wanted all of them to go leave or my mom leave. That was the first time I had ever seen my mom cry. I will always love my grandma for her response to my mom, “I don’t give a shit if they want you gone. I want you here. You could have never let us see our grandchildren but you kept us a part of your lives. We love you for that. He loved his girls more than anything! You are more of a daughter to me then my own son.” My mother couldn’t stand the idea of my grandma having so many people missing at a time when she needed them so she refused my grandma’s protests and we went home. I wonder a lot of how the funeral was like but when I really think about it, it would not seem to have any significance compared to my entire beautiful life with him.