Stories

I woke up this morning from a global-set dystopian nightmare with the moral being that stories are very important. The universe clearly doesn't take lightly to me putting romantic dreams on a pedestal. Naturally, I restored this post.

When Michelle Trachtenburg died (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Ice Princess, Gossip Girl,

Etc. ), Sarah Michelle Gellar used words like “sister” to describe her. 

Now that I’m watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and sadly nearing its end [SPOILER], I have seen for myself that Michelle plays a sister who was actually designed to be a key. Aka she’s not Buffy’s original sister. Nor Sarah Michelle’s. And yet…

Life is a performance, no? But then, along the way, some things become real. If I'm not mistaken, existential crises occur when these stories unravel.

But correct me if I'm generalizing.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that, maybe, like the skyscrapers of Boston that my nephew was uber excited to see this past year, our stories rock our world. Though things may change in the future, my nephew is currently not nearly as intrigued by the skyscrapers of New York They're just not a part of our family story yet.

This year in Boston, I climbed a Dick's sports rockwall the day before birthday with my fam cheering my on. My nephew told my dad

the next morning that I climbed high as the sky. So perhaps Boston has no ceiling to him whatsoever. :)

And hey, maybe it shouldn't.

Boston was where I lived with his parents before they moved to greener pastures. I mean this literally. We had a tiny little concrete yard and now they have a lush green one that my brother-in-law has to mow. But in Boston we had the ocean at our fingertips. Luckily I never took this for granted, going on sunrise runs and sunset walks almost daily. Yes, it did coincide with an orthorexic phase of mine, and the start of the pandemic. But it was filled with great memories nonetheless.

All this to say, Boston is integral to our story.

Honestly a lot of people I grew up with in CT claimed that they'd never return, but have. And love it. Perhaps I drank the wrong water growing up. Deep down I always knew I’d end up by the Boston harbor. And soon I’ll be moving even closer to it! Goodbye Somerville hello North end. 🍕 Hoping my Italian improves with this change. It will be a new storybook for me, after an incredible time in my current abode. Trying not to get teary about it. Though listening to Celine Dion’s Because You Loved Me isn’t helping.

 A few months ago, I interacted with a solo diner who was reading a beautifully bound book. Turns out she bound it herself. She didn’t like chatting too much, so I let her be, after gushing very quickly about how cool I think that type of art is. 

Karma’s funny, ‘cause later I found myself walking around with my nose in a book with the World Cup vibes happening all around me in the heart of Boston. A Scottish man said, “Must be a good read.” It was. Cause I was very interested in this year's world cup. I wanted to capture the full story, not just tune into the end. It took a lot to pull me away. Mainly work, and apparently a really good book.

The point is, life is made up of stories. But if we take some of that sentence away, it leaves that life is made up. And yet, my heart screams while watching the episode of Buffy where Dawn (Michelle Trachtenburg) hears her own sister say she isn’t real. Because she is. She so is. She’s flesh and blood. Just like us. And no one gets to say otherwise. 

Okay maybe I don’t have a point here other than to say books and stories are amazing. And that there’s nothing truly fictional about a story, other than maybe a nonfiction ;). 

Let’s keep reading those bound books, shall we? And create chapters of our own lives. <3

Yours Truly,

Meli

^^this pic was taken I believe in high school, but as you can see some things never change :P