pura vida

I'll miss this view for the next few days 💔 (at 13th Floor)

✌️ (at Mudspot)

In which Chris and I look like normal, cute human beings (at ???)

🎉🎁🎊!! But you're like really old now #21 #happyhappybirthday (at NYU Hayden Residence Hall)

I feel ya, MoMA. #MeRightNow (at NYU Bobst Library)

Born Ruffians last night with @jakethebake 🎤⤵️😄 (at Music Hall of Williamsburg)

I have such a crush on new york (at washington square park)

We take Halloween very seriously (at Washington Square Park)

Three tomatoes are walking down the street – a papa tomato, a mama tomato, and a little baby tomato. Baby tomato starts lagging behind. Papa tomato gets angry, goes over to the baby tomato, and smooshes him... and says, ketchup. (at HALLOWEEN 2013)

I've been trying all day to decide what to post, or whether to post anything at all. After all, how do you sum up the hardest year of your life in a blog post without being a makeshift martyr?  So I'm not asking you to pity me, but instead to understand what the victims of Superstorm Sandy went through a year ago today. My town which the day before had stood pristine and soft, still sunkissed by the ending summer, was now a war zone. Pieces of people’s houses littered the ground, strewn about like industrial confetti. Ten feet of sand covered roadways and lawns. The house down the street was broken in half; the ones just three blocks away weren’t there at all anymore. A stairway – an indoor, go-upstairs stairway – lay broken and alone in a church parking lot. The island was divided in two, an enormous canal opening from ocean to bay. My house was filled with about two feet of water, a layer of sand, and suffered from structural damage as a result of being knocked off its foundation. The huge cedar tree in the backyard fell and crushed the porch, narrowly avoiding my mother’s bedroom. Everything downstairs was lost. The house was deemed unlivable; I was, for at least a while, homeless, and many had it a whole lot worse than me. This was a year ago today. I can still feel the thick emptiness inside me, can still hear the silence of no voices no electricity no cars no nothing, can still see the lights flashing and the town in silent chaos. I refuse to close my eyes to the sad and scary and incredibly difficult memories, because they've made me stronger and I am a different person for that. But it's also necessary to comment on the incredible compassion I felt within my town as we, all dumbfounded and distraught, tried to revert back to normal. We all were badly damaged but refused to be destroyed. Such a sad, chest-deep power of unity overcame the area, and for once in our lives our differences were remarkably trivial. Jersey, I may not always love you, but right now and in this context, I absolutely do. We're going to be better than ever, and we're well on our way to recovery. Everyone, be thankful for what you have. Relativize if that's what helps you but don't close your eyes. We'll be back.

The last photo I took before leaving town on the morning of Hurricane Sandy. I had no idea what I'd come home to. One year today. (at Home)

roomie bonding (at Café Angelique)

good morning 🔆 (at 13th Floor)