These days, all I do is reminisce. I wish I could create memories for TODAY so I wouldn't have to so dwell on the days, the months, the years before things got complicated.

Before my skin got bad. Before I got fat. Before my dad got cancer.

Those were the days. When I was beautiful and happy. I didn't--couldn't--possibly have known how good I had it. But now...living everyday wondering if I'll ever be so lucky again, gosh, I just can't take it anymore.

The writing on this blog has gotten worse. It is dry and uncreative because I am dry and uncreative, and sometimes, cliches seem to be the only words that are appropriate.

Life isn't fair.

The Middle East is calling to me. I HAVE TO get the CLS scholarship to study Arabic there again and/or go to Morocco with the Peace Corps. I want to learn Arabic for real. I want to eat falafel and smoke shisha and hear the call to prayer every day and be surrounded by the dust and smog of the desert.

So here is a reminder to myself: study you butt off! you're GOING. you and the Middle East will meet again.

One year ago...

I was sitting in Professor Bawa's office with Mitul discussing our presentation on the social construction of healthcare. I opened my computer to look something up. And there it was, my email welcoming me to the CLS program. I didn't know where I was going then, but I knew that my life was about to change forever, that I was going to have the summer of a lifetime in Tunisia, Jordan, or Egypt.

It was a magical moment. I remember sitting there, through the rest of the meeting, carrying on about the social construction of healthcare and forcing myself to contain my excitement. I walked around for months in a state of bliss.

As the specifics came in, as I found out I was placed in Egypt, the plane tickets arrived, the documents to sign...every annoying little preparation sent a surge of excitement up my spine.

Now, a year later, several of my peers from Egypt have found out that they will be returning to the Middle East to continue their studies.

I am jealous. I am longing. I wish I could have committed more of this year to continuing my Arabic studies. I wish I could have reapplied for CLS. I wish to be in my own shoes again. The ones from last year. Yeah, those shoes fit well.

Dear Alla Malovichko,

Thank you for making me feel special. I don't know what I would do without you.

Sincerely,

Tracy

These days, it feels like everything that can go wrong is going wrong. The big things have been wrong all along. But why is it that even the little things can't go my way?

Why is it that I can't even celebrate my 21st birthday the way I wanted to? That I have to stare at people's Facebook photos of their own birthdays in fucking Thailand, where I was meant to be, and LONG.

There is so much I want now. So much I need. I do my best to be a good person and a good friend and a good student and a good editor and WHERE'S THE FUCKING PAYOFF? Happiness and health for myself and my loved ones, that's all I ask for. I guess that's a lot to ask, but I'm reaching a point where I don't think I'll be able to take it any longer.

THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR ONE PERSON.

I don't feel loved. I don't feel special. Scratch the latter, I am especially unlucky all of a sudden. Special enough for ya?

God. When I get to thinking about how much has gone wrong lately, on both a large and small scale basis, I simply cannot believe my bad luck. When is it going to FUCKING END?

Yesterday I turned 21. It was a good day. It was a bittersweet evening.

I cried myself to sleep last night thinking of how the photo of us looked, how he looked, specifically. How you can see some things in a photo that sometimes you miss when you see someone every day: How you can see when someone is giving up, or when someone is growing old, dying.

I remember looking back at photos of Grandma Mae and knowing which photos were taken right before she died. You could see it in her hallowed cheeks. In her eyes. There's that look I can't describe, but can pinpoint when I see it. I didn't see it then when I saw her. Only years later, when I observed the photos.

I saw the same look yesterday on the digital camera screen. The same surrendering expression.

I hope my father is around for photos when I turn 22.