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The Kitchen
Somewhere between the smaller moments around the dinner table, loading up the dishwasher plate by plate, and sneaking leftovers into my mouth morsel by delicious morsel, I realized that this was the last time. I felt the waterworks coming and just though “Oh my lord. Here I go again.” I looked around at the kitchen, knowing that this would be the last time for a long time.
I would often run through this very kitchen, on the new linoleum floor, flying through doorways and the innocence of childhood. Not soon after did I get my first crush on the boy from next door over by that rusty oven. Sometime after that, my Aunt Jessie ran through that stained glass door, waving her law school acceptance letter in her hand. She came back that next Christmas with books, bags, and a boy in tow. The summer after, my family spent day after day preparing every little for their wedding day, noticing that the linoleum flooring was starting to creak. In that kitchen we had a goodbye dinner when my parents and I moved to Michigan. Around this table, everyone spent countless hours playing scrabble when my great grandmother past away. On that stretch of granite counter, my aunts and I start dish washing assembly lines after the big family dinners. On that island smack dab in the middle, I blew out my candles on my sixteenth birthday. Somehow, through all the ventures of my life, I find myself back here, accruing in wisdom each time, in this very spot, at this very table, in this old kitchen. Now I sat there with my family for the last time, but it didn’t feel so bad. Goodbye only meant that hello would come sometime soon.

The Versatile One
Since that fine August morning on which I first came into this world, I became a part of a family that spoiled me with love. Every second, those around me showered me with attention. Those first four years can be categorized as the wonder years—the years that I know I experienced nothing but pure pleasure from blowing bubbles from my spit and letting out gas. Like the saying, however, all good things came to an end. Entropy of the Parmar family marked the end of the wonder years. Today, everyone works at keeping their immature grudges; I, at keeping everyone together. I become mediator, building bridges between family members when they show their stubborn genes most, so I listen to the nonsense that both sides have to vent out so that the two parties maintain civility. I become the one with the dirtiest job because I have “reached the age” to work in the kitchen, yet I don’t have enough experience to partake in actual cooking. Because of this, I get left with the fantastic job of taking care of garbage, filled with fantastic odors like three day old eggshells and inedible animal remains. I become the babysitter because, although I do not have enough experience to stir butter chicken until I can taste the creamy goodness through my nostrils, I somehow have gained the ability to tame four feisty little boy cousins. So, as always, I don my war paint and play army guys or re-enact the Pirates of the Caribbean scenes, pummeled from every direction by a sugar-high elementary school kids. My putative roles make me break out, break loose, and even break down, but being on the giving end of the wonder years feels good.

Love Actually Is…
I vividly remember the first time seeing Love Actually. I sat there in that East Lansing walk up in my broken heart pajama pants, hoarding down soul healing Ben and Jerry’s ice cream by the spoonful while the biggest storm of the season slowly brewed outside when I hit that play button. Funny how rain began pelting the windows at the exact moment Hugh Grant narrated those dreadful words: “Love actually is all around us.” The king of romantic comedies had spoken, and I gave that Toshiba television my two scents by throwing a bowl full of popcorn at it. Humans have made progress of epic proportions over the past two hundred years, but we have yet to gain autonomy from the pain of love. It has never been easy, nor will it ever become easy. I only walked away from the perfect guy two days ago. I just spent the last Valentine’s Day with Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet, and a package of Milano cookies, while the one right before that I spent a wonderful evening receiving flowers and some serious serenading. I drove home after talking to an awesome guy singing “Wild At Heart” by Gloriana one day, and straight to my best friend’s doorstep the next day singing “All By Myself” by Celine Dion. Despite all of this, however, the human optimist in me still beckons for love.





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crrraziinluv93 said...
Mar. 26, 2011 at 11:58 pm
Thank you! They aren't actual diary entries, but their based off real ones. It mirrors the fluxuation in tone in my diary however, with a common voice. I'm glad you enjoyed it!
 
Becca H. said...
Feb. 2, 2011 at 10:34 am

I loved this. This piece had the perfect combinations every good writing should have: It was inspiring, It made me think, I could relate to it, It brought back old memories, and it was unique. I hope to someday be able to create something as naturally beautiful as this.

One question: are these your actual diary entries? If so, sounds like you practice elegant writing often. Kudos!!!

 
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