The F word

What an eye-catcher: "The F word."
It's a word that is formal and familiar and sadly now distant for me: "father." I can never know how I'm going to feel about this particular hallmark holiday.  This year, I felt good; this is what, my ninth Father's Day without a father in attendance of this "holiday/appreciation day."  I've officially reached half of my entire existence coming to terms with this and I'm more equipped than ever.  I'm way less insecure than in elementary school when we took up class time to make arts and crafts.  Of course, I could give it to my grandpa, but it never was the same; I shunned the idea of looking for a substitute.  I only wish that we as a society could be mindful of the medley of family dynamics.  I didn't choose to not have a father at this time in my life and so why make it isolating.  At different times today on different platforms of social media, I've thought to myself "this makes me sad."  Frankly, Father's Day makes me feel isolated and I even drafted an Instagram post myself, but decided against it because how much of me is private and public seems to be a huge issue that I'm still sorting through.  This isn't a major breakthrough secret, but I am coming to think that sympathy doesn't come from a "like."  I'm not even looking for sympathy or empathy; I'm looking for expression and I'd rather do that here-- a place where I can explain myself fully.

My grandma, my mom, and I, we, all hate the idea of holidays and the byproduct of shallowness.  Every day should be full of appreciation, love, and reminders.

Here's to the post that never quite made it to Instagram

Even in dreams, I'm unable to talk to you.

These dreams are too real; they remain a projection of the reality that is our family's tragedy.

Yet still I am so grateful to call myself your little girl.

There is no other way to thank you for being the best man I will ever know.

Mommy and Daddy thank you for being the best parents-- for setting a precedent

of drunken funny faces and a splendid cd collection.

There are not enough days in my lifetime as your daughter to show my appreciation.

I'm also a brat so I'm inept at the whole showing thing.

Milan Part Two: Ciao Bella!

Milan will forever be my introduction to Italy.  Hopefully, there will be a lot of Italy that I get to see before any sort of conclusion.  I am honest with myself when I say it's not a perfect city; I was surprised by how local it really is because there aren't a plethora of touristy things to do.  But there are huge takeaways, there is tons of beauty in relatively low-key sights and I'm obsessed with Risotto alla Milanese.

To reiterate my Facebook caption of my current profile picture: (to clarify, the photo is of me adorably posing in front of Lago di Como in Bellagio, not the glorious goodness below)

I like risotto alla milanese

Yo, the Italian craze 

#bellagiobutnotlasvegas — at Lago di Como.

My love for risotto was reaffirmed and all white wine has earned its place as my true love.

*You can really see how much of a try hard I was with my outfits.  It is impossible to live up to an effortless European chic standard when you put in my kind of effort.

We like to call them Austin's "meme-ries," which are annoying yet endearing, exactly like him.

 

Milan Part One: Italians and their chic dogs

In a fashion-forward city like Milan, everything is fashionable (the most fashionable of them all being the dogs).

Spring Break 2015