Liz

The best relationship I have and have ever been in on a friendly level is one with a girl called Liz. She is incredible. Gentle and kind, hilarious and accepting. She is passionate and willing to go out on a limb for me. I adore her and I think I know why I love her so much.
Our relationship started oddly. She escorted me to the airport on the day of my vacation to Hawaii. Here's the catch: she had never spoken to me before. I fell in love with her spontaneity then and sent her a postcard from my vacation.
One day, when I had come to school with a relatively stuffed school bag, some children came to ask me what I had in it. I responded that I had a flight scheduled for Hawaii that evening, which meant that I had to bring my luggage to school and go straight to the airport afterwards. With this in mind, about seven of my peers offered to actually take me to the airport, she was one of them. Obviously, I accepted their kind offer.

When the final bell of the day rang, a few of those children and I met at the front of the school and waited for the rest of the kids. While we were waiting, a girl asked us where we were all congregating to go. One of the boys with me answered her. Her response stunned me a little bit, considering the fact that I didn't know her. She asked if she could join us. To the dismay and implicating dirty looks of my original group, I said yes. I thought "the more the merrier", right? She tagged along, pushing her bike with her to the Canada Line station. Along the way, I spoke to the people I knew, mainly avoiding her for the thought that she was strange, and so that I could retain my precious image with my group. A few of the kids I knew told me that that girl was very weird and that that was the opinion of the majority of the student body. I didn't doubt him. Not many people would invest the time or effort to take a stranger to the airport.

At the Canada Line station, part of the group decided to stay at the mall after eyeing a "ridiculously" good sale. One kid got a call from his parents ordering him back home. Another said he lived right around there and was going to go home to study for a test the next day. And then there were five. Two of them got on the Canada Line, but in the opposite direction. Now it was myself, my friend and the strange girl. My friend, for the sake of not being the only one left, made up some excuse as to why he had to leave, and left me with this bizarre child.
Naturally, I thought that she would excuse herself as well. Why would she want to go all the way to the airport with me?

To my surprise, she said she would take me all the way to my departure terminal because she knew that I would get lost. 

"You don't know me, how do you know if I have a good sense of direction, or if I'm gonna get lost?"

"I've heard stories about you - I know you get lost often. And I know that if you were to do this trip by yourself, you might not even make it on the right plane."

"Okay, I didn't realize people tell stories about me, so who are you."

"I'm Liz!" She said in the bubbliest, most enthusiastic voice I've ever heard.

And she went on to tell me about herself, and we got along quite well, despite being from totally different social standings in the school. She seemed to know a lot about me. Every time I would ask her how she knew all she did, she would reassure me that everyone else knew it too. She would go on to say that I would probably notice this if I wasn't so caught up in my own world. It was one of those situations where everyone knows your name, but you don't know anyones.

Anyways, we got to the airport, and Liz informed me that my flight would be at the sign that said "US Departures". 

"You must fly a lot" I said.

"No, I've actually never been on a plane in my life, but I have common sense, unlike you!" She stated.
I didn't want to argue with her over the common sense statement because I figured that everyone else thought so too. 

So we walked on over to US departures and, surely enough, there was my father. I introduced him to Liz and he told me to ask for her address so that I could at least send her a postcard. She had taken me to the airport after all.
As I said, I sent her that postcard, misspelling her name and some words in the process.

When I got back to school, I was greeted by a teacher who asked me where I had been for so long, and another teacher who asked me if my best male friend had locked me up in his basement for the duration of my trip. (I know, an inappropriate question from a teacher, even as a joke!)
After telling all my popular friends about the trip, asking my male friend why our teacher would feel the need to make said remarks, and asking all my teachers about what I had missed in the academic region of school, I found Liz (or, she found me.) She said hi, and it was as if she had opened herself up to me completely, telling me tons of stories about her family and life. Sadly, I didn't get to spend much time with her.
Even though we attended the same school, we had different cliques. Our friends were different, very different. Also, I didn't have many classes with her (just PE). Time, as well, was not on my side. There were only a few weeks of school left when I came back from the vacation. Regardless, she had claimed a spot in my heart.

I was quite pleased that school had drawn to a close because it meant that I had finally managed to rid myself of the clique, which I had inserted myself into. Considering that I wasn't coming back to the school next year, the last day of school was a freebie for me. I declined an invitation from my group in favor of having coffee with someone unaccepted by my circle. When that someone said some things that made me feel awkward, I excused myself from the coffee and went back to school. Going to my group was not an option because I really couldn't stomach having to look at them again, so I went back to the nearly deserted school. There was Liz, carrying a camera (to this day I have no idea what the camera was for) she approached me and said hi. I wasn't in the mood for chatting, or hanging out with her, so I told her that I had to go home.

"Where do you live?" she inquired.

"Downtown, far away. " I responded.

"Can I come?" I was dumbfounded and said yes.
She happened to have bus fare and asked me which bus I took. We walked to the stop and waited for the bus. Eventually, it came. We got on and talked. She turned my mood around. I went from sad and angry to happy and talkative. I told her about my extensive schooling, my extracurricular activities and about where I live. She talked about so many things that it would take too long for me to list them. When we got to my stop, we got off. I told her that I now had to transfer to another bus to make it all the way home.
"Maybe we should get something to eat." Stated Liz.
"Okay, where? I don't have much cash."
She looked around, saw a 7/11 and started heading in. I followed. We bought some high-quality corn dogs and chocolate bars, along with a disgustingly mixed Slurpee. It was a fabulous lunch.
Along the way, I pushed her to take a bunch of photos of anything and everything. I didn't want her camera to go to waste.
A few hours and a memory card full of photos later, we parted ways. I said that I should probably get going and she said that she probably should too. She used my phone to call her parents and tell them that she was alright and on her way home. I was astonished at how laid-back her parents were. They didn't seem to care that she hadn't told them about where she was. Anyways, she headed on over to the bus stop and I started walking home. It had been a really nice day. I had had great company and great climate.
That summer break wasn't plagued with baseball practices for Liz, and I, as usual, was completely free. We saw each other often. We went to the beach, to the pool and for countless picnics. I visited her at her place and she came to mine for dinners. It was a really nice break, during which, we made some truly unforgettable memories. The most prominent one? Second Beach Pool.
It was only the third or fourth time that Liz and I had gone out, but she was so open and honest with me that it felt like the thousandth for her. I was still hesitant. I didn't exactly want to pour my heart out to this bizarre girl. Anyway, that day at second beach pool made me love Liz for her kindness and question her sanity at the same time.
After that, we went out more. Quickly, we had visited just about every part of Vancouver together. Despite our differences in opinion about where to meet, we always managed to compromise. (She always succumbs to my wish of going to Downtown). We have done a lot, from pools to plateaus, we have seen just about everything there is to be seen.
I hope that we manage to stay friends for a long time and here's to 2.5 fabulous years of friendship. To the understanding and the memories we have shared. A good omen showed itself while I was writing this post - 10 000 views on this blog. Happy achievement, eh? Anyway, I can't wait to see Liz this Labour Day at Grouse Mountain to celebrate. Her birthday is always a great way to end summer break; to "go out with a bang". (I hope my cake turns out better this year than last.) I'll conclude my 50th post now, as I am at a loss for words and this conclusion is becoming long and lethargic. To end my substitute for a birthday card, I'll simply say: Happy birthday, Liz! Thanks for being a fabulous friend! I love you. 

Mom and Dad

As my break continues progressing, my life does not. I have been at a stagnant capacity both mentally and physically. It would be great if that stagnant pace was at an all-time high as oppose to a low, but hey, I guess consistency only comes in bad ways. That is a major part of the reason I haven't been writing as much as I would like. Oh well, bad things happen. 

It could be that melancholia and free time for pondering the complexities in life, which has inspired me to write this post. 

The better half of my break has been spent watching "Videoflow", a daily show on MuchMusic. It plays the video of popular top 40 videos. It's mind boggling for me to realize that I have watched this show everyday for about 3 hours, considering that I don't care for the music, nor the pornographic videos. I would understand watching it for a day, but everyday - the same videos are played everyday. No variation, no education, nothing. I think that if T.V. shows were like food, and thus included nutritional value facts, the nutritional value of Videoflow would be 0. And that is the show that has consumed my life, but that is the sad reality. In fact, it is very likely that my I.Q. has dropped a good 10 points from watching the series. My sister, who is the one who is subjecting me to the to torture, enjoys it and would never stop watching it, but I think that that comes with age, and hope that she will grow out of her stage of resentful music. 

I've grown fed-up with Videoflow, and today, forced my sister to turn it off, which she took as well as could have been expected. I feel that I need to eradicate Videoflow from both of our lives, as it serves as a means for brainwashing. With about 20 days left in my break, I hope that I can avoid the sight of Videoflow. 

There is one good thing which has arisen from Videoflow. A song which discuses a topic which I have never written about, but which I have discussed a great deal with my friends. 

My swim club is located in a part of Vancouver with a large Balkan population, thus the ethnic makeup of my swim club is largely Balkan, myself included. This, of course, is contrary to my school, which is nearly completely Asian. As you can imagine, the mindsets, mannerisms, values and beliefs of Asian children and Balkan children are naturally very different.
I have had the pleasure of interacting with children from all sorts of different cultural backgrounds here in Vancouver. I have been inspired by them countless times, not only to write, but to think as well. As much as I love talking, I love listening to other peoples' thoughts, too. The one topic, which despite having been discussed a million times by my friends and I, has never been written about is that of leaving home.
It's a touchy subject for some, and the contrasting views I've heard on the topic are incredible. Nowadays, it is very common for children to leave home after graduating from secondary school. Sometimes, the move is out of necessity - their post-secondary education facility is in a different part of the world, a career opportunity awaits them in a far-away land etc.. Sometimes however, the move is out of vain. Sometimes, children want to leave home for "independence", or because their old-man is a "straggy delinquent". Leaving home is a fairly big decision. In some cases, it can be viewed as the quintessential step for becoming an adult; for becoming independent. It can even shape your life. It's a big decision, especially if your on your own financially. But I'll stop rambling about the importance of making that decision.
Before I continue, why don't you take the time to venture a guess about which group of my friends -the Balkan or the Asian- are insistent on staying at home. Have you met any people from either cultural group to have a better understanding of their opinion? Have you an opinion on leaving home yourself? If you guessed the Balkan, then you are correct! You finally managed to guess something right, eh?
See, my Balkan friends pray to not leave home.
In fact, as I was waiting for the bus one day to go home from my swim practice, I was joined by a Bulgarian friend of mine. I wasn't the first time I had taken the bus with her. She would come with me occasionally when her mother couldn't pick her up. Every time her mom did pick her up however, she would offer me a ride, which I usually declined. She lives in Yaletown: the Balkan district of Vancouver, if you will. She goes to the local high school, which has an ethnic make-up of mainly children of Eastern European descent. Her opinions, as you can imagine, greatly resemble those of her parents, whose opinions greatly resemble those of people from the Balkan region. Her high school is a little taste of our region in Vancouver. But that's beside the point.
On that day of waiting for the bus, we talked about stuff that we usually do. She told me about some of the people in her high school and how they were doing (I had attended elementary with most of those kids, but I ended up being deemed gifted and attending a school on the other side of the city for gifted children, while they stayed close to home.) Regardless, I like to keep in touch and indulge in a little bit of girly gossip - who's dating who, who's behaving erratically, and other stuff of that nature. On that day, she confided in me that her best friend, who happens to be beautiful, was allowing boys to LG hunt on her. My Bulgarian friend told me how she was trying to get her friend to stop returning the flirts, but was unable and asked for my advice. I told her to tell her friend what the coach in the movie Mean Girls had told the class - "Don't have sex because you will get pregnant and die!" She laughed and we kept talking. Somehow, the conversation led to the Bulgarian girl's sister, who had just graduated from high school. I asked what post-secondary institution her sister was going to attend. The girl looked at me with a near crazy look in her eyes and in a low, almost whispering voice, said "she's going to UBC" (the local university). She went on to say that I had spent too much time in my over-acheiveing school, so that I had become accustomed to hearing exclusively Harvard. "I can't believe you even asked that! Of course she's staying at home with us, why would she ever leave? I would never leave home, I just want to live with my mom and my dad for the rest of my life and get married and then live next door! Don't you, or have you become totally 'Asian-ified'?"
It's hard to describe the way someone from that part of the world speaks, but it's very distinct. I've noticed it in myself and in my parents and in my Eastern European friends. Other, exclusively Anglo-Saxon, people have pointed out that the way I speak is odd and "overly passionate". See, had I attended my local school, I would've never even toyed with the notion that I speak in a funky way. I also debate, and the only critique I ever get is that I am too passionate during my speeches. It's funny, I never knew you could be overly passionate in a debate, but I guess I was wrong. Okay, I can empathize with the Anglo folk. I speak in a way that is a little "over-the-top". I look like I am about to murder the opposing team in order to get the judges to agree with my proposition. To someone who has grown up in a sterile society, where fieriness is seen as a sign of weakness, I can imagine that someone's desperation and pleading of a case in my manner can seem intimidating. Personally, I think that it's an air about the speaker, which distinguishes them more than the words. This air is what attracts me to speaking to fellow Balkaners. It's just that "it" factor, which makes me feel at ease and understood and happy to talk.
I've rambled again. Let me get back to the point.
Remember how I talked about Videoflow at the start of this post? Well, remember how I mentioned that one good thing that came of it? A song called Mother and Father by a band from New Zealand called Broods. In the song, the woman says "And ever since I left my mother / It's much harder to know / How to live my own life here / How to make my own home". The lyrics got me thinking. Thinking about the things all my Balkan friends had said, especially the Bulgarian one.
Due to the fact that I hadn't attended a school with people of my own region in a while, my feelings about staying with my parents during adulthood hadn't been as strong. I hadn't really thought about it. I knew it was looming, but accepted it as a necessary evil of growing up.
After listening to the song a few times, reading the lyrics and so forth, I came to the realization that I never want to leave home. It may have been the fact that the song instilled a fear of leaving home in me, or that it just brought me back to my roots - I'm not certain.
Broods sings "I just don't want to wake up lonely / I don't want to just be fine", and neither do I. Life just seems so uncertain without my mom and dad by my side. I just don't know what I would do. I think that I'd feel lost, maybe even pointless. Life alone just seems too scary, too independent.  

Make It Stop

Sounds are wonderful things. They can inspire and ignite emotion through music, speeches, sighs, even breaths. These little vibrations, which enthral your eardrum into pounding signals like a jungle drum to your brain, can move you, but of course, there are two opposite directions in which you can move. Music, for example, can make one person elated and cause depression in the other. Drake's song "Started From the Bottom" is a perfect example of the varying effect any set of sounds can have on different people. I remember a time at school when, in an effort to seem cool, one stupid child blasted the song on his backpack speakers. He walked the halls of the school from one side to another, with nothing -and I mean nothing, the boy didn't even have a shirt on- but the aggressive thumping sounds of "Started From the Bottom". 

Naturally, it was hard for me to focus on the music. Such a sight was not a regular occurrence, even in my school of teen pregnancies and drugs. (Speaking of drugs, I presume the child was on drugs.) Anyway, as the boy walked past people, I observed their reactions. Truly, very few of my peers were as genuinely awed as I was at the sight of a boy in nothing but underwear and socks pacing through the halls with a backpack. I feel that it is safe for me to separate the student body into two groups: Drake fans" and "Not Drake Fans". The titles speak for themselves, but I will elaborate a little more. The "Drake Fans", well they grooved and moved their crotches and butts in a sexually provoking manner. They would come close together and rub genitalia together, mind you, they had clothes. The "Not Drake Fans" would simply stay back and throw boos at the shirtless jukebox. They didn't so much as give a second thought as to why a boy was marching through the school half-naked, rather they criticized his choice in music and encouraged him to try certain other genres. 

Obviously, sound can evoke a certain feeling in an individual. Generally, noise evokes bad feelings in people and music evokes pretty feelings in people. See, those students that didn't like the music from my example above, didn't like it because they didn't consider it to be music; rather noise. 

I was once the subject of a survey for my friend's project, where she would play sounds and ask the test group to rate how terrible the sounds were. There was beeping, barking and banging. I remember sitting there and wishing that the minutes would pass by faster so that I could get back to class. 

This is all pointless writing however, I want to get to the point. 

Last night, I went to sleep late because I was watching some interesting TV. The night prior I had went to bed at 2:30 in the morning and woken up at 8. When I woke up at 8, I was obviously tired, but the day started with a nice breakfast so I was happy. I promised myself that I would go to sleep early, but the TV didn't let me. This morning, I had no need to wake up early. I knew this when I went to sleep last night. I thought that I would sleep the day away and wake up in a state of mental clarity. I was wrong and my hopes were wrong. 

I was woken up this morning by a shrill-shrieking, no-good, obnoxious-barking dog and the construction crew, which sounds more like a destruction crew. Every morning, since the start of my break, this construction crew has impeded my sleep with their crashing and beeping and dropping. Every morning. But I'll get to the constructers later. Let's discuss the bitch.

Some poor, lonely soul, who is incapable of being dated has attempted to fill her life. How? By purchasing a mutt. This pathetic woman has come to accept the sad reality that, due to her appearance, she will never find a mate. Moreover, she has come to accept the reality which is her repudiating mirror reflection. But, due to her personalty, her ego, she cannot accept the fact that no one wants her. She thinks, no, she knows, that she is too incredible to not be wanted. She knows that she is the most awe-inspiring creature to have ever set foot on the planet. She believes that she is God's miracle. Too bad that no one apart from her mother feels the same way. 

The level of arrogance and obnoxiousness possessed by this woman is off the charts. She feels that she has the right to interrupt the slumber of the entire neighbourhood. Perhaps, she feels the centre of attention when her replacement-for-a-boyfriend, flea-bag begins to bark as if the apocalypse is arriving. Yes, that is what was occurring. That dog began barking and howling like there was no tomorrow.
I'll be frank, I have never owned a canine, in fact, I haven't even managed so much as a goldfish, so my critique of this woman could be wrong. The part about her ego, I believe it stands however. I believe that single persons, especially women, own pets in place of something any normal, reproductively functioning human female would want - children. Call me old-fashioned, but you know it's true.
My major problem, and the reason I have decided to massacre Jane Doe's behavior is because of her dog, right? Wrong. I am disgusted by Jane Doe for the simple fact that she, at that moment, felt no desire whatsoever to force her child into silence. I would actually venture to say that had that drooling, disgusting dog been a human child, the woman would have disciplined in a far harsher manner. It's quite true actually.
Take a look at the news for example. When a human is murdered in, let's say, a gang shootout, it is mentioned along with some statistic about murder rates. When however, an animal, like a cat for example is killed by a person, an international tribunal level  investigation is lauched. The person who is eventually found guilty of the kitty murder is sentenced harshly and spat upon by society. I don't know too much about cats, but I know that, if not neutered, they can produce tremendous amounts of offspring. What is a person to do with those offspring? Killing them is actually one of the more humane options. That way, they won't end up suffering through life as strays etc.. A human being should not be antagonized for the quick murder of an animal out of necessity. People should be criticized when they release their anger on animals and abuse them in horrific ways.
My point however, isn't the inequalty between humans and pets, it is Jane Doe's bitchiness. She let that dog bark into eternity. I was awoken, I was disturbed, and I was angered. I don't care much for alarm clocks, especially ones that bark and initiate themselves during my summer break. The world doesn't revolve around Jane Doe or her mutt. She needs to know that, as does her bitch. I think that her actions this morning qualified as "disturbing the peace". That is my diplomatic statement. Less diplomatically, I'd like to inform Jane Doe that if she were in any number of foreign countries, her arrogance and her makeshift community alarm clock would be quickly executed so that the human folk could rest.  Am I mean? I don't think so. I simply follow Mother Nature's system. I am a human, therefore I am superior to an animal. Now, I am going to tell you something shocking: I am not a vegetarian!
Now to get into the second part of my fabulous daily alarm - the construction crew. These are the men who so charmingly evoke crashes and bangs, which echo throughout the famously beautiful and peaceful Vancouver neighborhood of Coal Harbour. They are the producers of the sounds of metal clashing with metal, cranes smashing against buildings and notoriously, the incisive dinging of safety signals.
These construction workers have an ugly habit. Instead of working on a typical schedule of "nine-to-five", they prefer to work on a schedule more similar to that of a rooster. Work begins at the crack of dawn and ends around lunch. It's terrible. Call me crazy, but I like to sleep in. Isn't that normal? Shouldn't construction men also enjoy a schedule which allows them to rise after the sun? It doesn't make a difference to the building's construction schedule if they work early or late, right?
Another issue which taunts me is the level of noise that is produced from the building in question. Despite it being at a distance from my building, I can hear it as if it were being built in my living room. Is that noise really necessary? I don't think so. See, I think that those destruction workers enjoy, or at least, don't mind the sound. They have those massive noise-cancelling headphones on their heads, so they can't hear anything. Maybe it even makes them feel good to smash things around; empowering to say the least. A fetish, maybe a perversion, which makes you the king of the world. Again, I may be wrong. Maybe that is an unfortunate byproduct of building. Maybe that noise is the unfortunate byproduct of living in one of the most overly-priced, most in-demand neighbourhoods in the world. But maybe not.
Coal Harbour, the envied neighbourhood, the neighborhood everyone in Vancouver dreams of living in, has been polluted by the figurative screams of a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Coal Harbour used to have nearly everything. The marina, the beach, the Seawall, Stanley Park, tourist attractions, cafés and everything in between. It was picturesque. Now it really has everything; dying whimpers of dogs and construction included. It is famous for it's peaceful atmosphere and it's friendly people. But it is expensive (with good reason). It's one of those communities where Utopia seems a little closer. It used to be popular with retirees and yuppies, however, since adding "head-banging-heaven" to it's repertoire, it may just become a little more popular with the early-rising crowd. 

Child-like Innocence

Growing up I had always believed that the naïvety possessed by children was a flaw; that it held them back. I looked at grown people whose lack of understanding of society's functions held them back and concluded that my hypothesis must be true. Throughout my schooling in North America, I had seen tonnes of examples of kids whose minds have been poisoned by the media, older siblings and their schooling. Sadly, because of this, I thought that that was the right way to be, and in order to fit in, polluted my own mind with a flurry of things no child should know, but most children do. 

For as long as I can remember going to school, I had had one goal - to be popular, or at least, to fit in. I changed my personality the way a chameleon changes its colour, blending in to whatever scum I became associated with. I never really found a true friend; someone I could share my true colours with until grade eight. 

In a school filled with failures and rubbish, drug-dealers and users, teen pregnancies and sex - I found light. I found a true friend. Someone who I could be how I truly was around without fear of rejection and judgement. It was wonderful and very relaxing. In fact, all my cares about portraying a certain image flew out the window. My friend however, was not completely sane (I mean that in the best way possible). She was bubbly and bold and bright and all that stuff that makes one seem a little off. There was one thing that my friend lacked, and that was a sort of child-like innocence; a naïvety, if you will. Of course, I didn't mind that, because by the time that I had met my friend I had forgotten that I had ever had a grain of innocence in me. That is until my second friend came along.

I moved schools after spending one year in that "ghetto" school. I went to one of the most tame schools in Vancouver. I expected that it would be tough to make friends, but I was wrong. Everyone was very social and welcoming, so I made friends and all was good. I felt accepted. After my best friends from that school had to move to different cities at the end of the year, I was sad. I knew that I'd have to make new close friends, but I wasn't sure who.
Miraculously, I was introduced to a girl who would go on to become a very good friend of mine. I have spoken a lot about said friend in past posts, so I won't reiterate. She is the polite and proper one. And she, well she is really different from my first friend.
She is the type of girl who would never utter an ugly word, but not because she refuses to let it slip out of her mouth, rather because she simply does not know such a piercing word. When I first met her, she was quiet and attentive and very prim. At first, I thought that the her way of being which prevented her from using swear words, or engaging in the sexually themed conversations of her peers; I later found out that it wasn't so much that as it was her  inexperience with such subject matter.
I was honestly appalled at her lack of knowledge of certain mind pollutants. Her mind was so pure and innocent, and I had grown to be so infected with society's wretchedness, that I was shocked. Due in part to her poshness, you would never be quite sure of whether or not she knew what you were talking about, as she would never ask. No matter what was being said, she managed to conceal the fact that she didn't have a clue quite well.
It took me a while of being friends with her to finally begin to distinguish her behaviours from when she did and didn't know something. Since the two of us rarely allowed ourselves to be thrust into regular teenage conversation about "hot guys" etc., I first noticed her lack of knowledge while reciting one of my posts to her. Since she is my biggest supporter in blogging, I subject her to the joy -or horror- of listening to everything I have to say. In her typical fashion, she always nods and smiles along, occasionally, she even rebuts a point I make or offers me advice for improving the quality of a post.  A few times, when I first began incorporating some "10$ words" into my posts, I would notice her pause before continuing to nod and smile - that was my key to realization. I then would proceed to ask her, "Do you know what that word means?" To which she would respond by shaking her head. "Then why don't you ask me? You can learn the word and make sense of what I am saying." She responded by telling me that she does figure out what I am saying through the context. Regardless, I encouraged her to ask.
To this day she doesn't ask me, rather I have to beat it out of her, but that's beside the point.
Because my friend is on vacationin Europe right now, we don't get to see each other in person. Luckily, we have email and Skype. After sending approximately fifty, near thousand word, essays back and forth to each other, she had gotten tired and requested that she see my face on Skype. Of course, this was fine. So, we agreed on a time, and made it happen.
We talked about regular things - how our respective breaks were going, how much we missles each other etc.. To my surprise, in the midst of my conversation, I heard my father make an inquiry to my mother. He asked her whether she and her friends spoke the way my friend and I were speaking right now when they were sixteen. I had to shelve the comment in the back of my mind, at least until the conversation was over, because I didn't want to be distracted.
At the end of our long Skype, I asked my sister what my dad had meant by the comment. She replied, telling me that dad thought that it was adorable. Apparently, our conversation seemed like that of a couple of pre-schoolers. But what was adorable? The way we were speaking to each other? At first, I brushed off the comment, but later, out of respect for my father's intellect, tried to find some merit to the comment. It was easier than I thought.
I looked back at the topics we discussed during the course of our conversation - blackberry picking in the park, future trips we were planning, future blog posts I was planning, what clothes we had newly gotten, the food we had eaten and how much we missed each other. At one point, I even put a blackberry up to the camera lens on my computer and said "here, try one!", to which she responded by putting a hand up to her camera lens, as to accept my blackberry, and mimicking the motion of eating.
Truly, the subject matter of our long conversation was so childlike that it was astounding. No gossip, no   hate, no mind-polluting topics. Our conversation was as innocent as that of a 5-year-old. Remarkably, I enjoyed it, and I realized that my friend and I always talked that way when we were together without our peers. She, being the incredibly sterile person she is, brings out a child-like innocence in me, which I thought that I had lost years ago. Moreover, I enjoy the innocence; it makes me feel like a better person.
I hope that she manages to remain the way she is in a rotten world because I want to draw some of that happiness from being around her. I am elated to have rediscovered the beauty of childlike innocence, because it is one of those small pleasures, which is truly beautiful and freeing, but sadly sparse.