Romance Fails In Fiction Tag

Some Other Recent Romance Posts:

Discussion: Who Would You Pick In This YA Love Triangle?

THE VALENTINE’S DAY WRITE TAG!

Power Couples Book Tag

The Book Courtship Tag

Discussion: What Makes A Good Book Boyfriend?


Rules:

  • Please PINGBACK to Kate @ Melting Pots and Other Calamities.
  • You can choose ten romance fails from ANY media you like: books, movies, anime, manga, T.V shows, or Webtoons. You can even mix them up if you want.
  • You can choose funny fails or serious ones; for the serious ones, phrase it humorously. Remember, this is a fun tag! It’s not meant to be serious.
  • Mention who’s who in the fails. (I.E, who fails and who is the recipient of the failure). If there isn’t  recipient, per se, just state the couple (or non-couple).
  • Optional: Rank the failures from least extreme to most extreme.
  • 5 failures at LEAST.
  • Tag as many people as you want, but at least one person.

These fails are less about the biggest fails in fiction and more about the first ones I thought of – but they are fails.


5 Romance Fails in Books

Blue/Adam
(The Raven Boys)

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I LOVE The Raven Cycle books, a lot. Adam and Blue are a relationship set up to fail from the beginning, but it doesn’t make it less of a fail.

Cammie/Josh
(I’d Tell You I Loved You But Then I’d Have To Kill You)

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Book Review: I’d Tell You I Love You, But Then I’d Have to Kill You

Cammie spends the whole book sneaking around and breaking rules and lying to data Josh, only for him to be completely irrelevant by the next book because he can’t handle the weirdness and has his memory wiped. Definitely a romance fail.

America/Aspen
(The Selection)

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There is no plot aside from the love triangle, but its an obnoxious one. America obviously loves Maxon, but can’t get over Aspen when he’s always there, despite having been the one to break up with her. Three books of being annoying for me reason. Ugh.

Vivi/Jonah
(When We Collided)

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Review: When We Collided

One of the few YA books I’ve ever read where a couple didn’t need to be together forever in the end. Its okay for a first love not to be a forever love. I love their relationship, and in the end they fail as a couple but its supposed to be that way. I love this book.

Romeo/Juliet
(Romeo & Juliet)

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I don’t think a romance fails list can exist without them. Its literally the biggest romance fail ever – they died, stupidly.


5 Romance Fails in TV

Rachel/Joey
(Friends)

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I HATED this ENTIRE plot line.

Barry/Linda
(The Flash)

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This was always set up to crash and burn.

Nate/Serena
(Gossip Girl)

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Nate is probably the most good-hearted character. I love him. He and Serena are a mess as a couple, but great as friends.

Betty/Jughead
(Riverdale)

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They’re cute enough in the show, but Jughead IS SUPPOSED TO BE ASEXUAL AND I HATE THE ERASURE.

Katherine/Damon
(The Vampire Diaries)

Series Code: VD112c

They are such a mess. Poor Damon.

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Review: The Last Five Years

 

Image result for the last five years


In New York, a struggling actress (Anna Kendrick) and a successful writer (Jeremy Jordan) sing about their failed marriage from two perspectives.


The film’s song numbers follows the musical’s, alternating between Cathy and Jamie with a song or two sung by both.

“Still Hurting” – Cathy

Depressing but one of the best break-up/grief songs I’ve heard.

 

“Shiksa Goddess” – Jamie

I love this song, its catchy and the foreshadowing is so good.

 

“See I’m Smiling” – Cathy

Cathy going OFF is one of the best parts of the musical.

 

“Moving Too Fast” – Jamie

My favorite song of the musical.

Also the last few lines is basically what every college student feels always:

“I’m feeling panicked and rushed and hurried
I’m feeling outmaneuvered and outclassed
But I’m so happy I can’t get worried
About this singular impression
I’ve got a singular impression things are moving too fast.”

 

“A Part of That” – Cathy

You can almost start to forgot that things are gonna end poorly, and then you get to this song. This song makes me hurt for Cathy more than Still Hurting does.

 

“The Schmuel Song” – Jamie

This song is really cute. And such a lie.

 

“A Summer in Ohio” – Cathy

This one is really funny.

 

“The Next Ten Minutes” – Jamie and Cathy

The one time their timelines cross each other. Really sweet.

 

“A Miracle Would Happen/When You Come Home to Me” – Jamie and Cathy

Just after the wedding for him, and just before the wedding for her. The contrast hurts but “A miracle would happen” is one of my favorite refrains in the musical.

 

“Climbing Uphill” – Cathy

This song stresses me out, and shows the first fractures in their relationship.

 

“If I Didn’t Believe in You” – Jamie

Depressing as all hell, but god do you feel like Jamie has a point for just this one song. He screws it up of course, but you feel for him here.

 

“I Can Do Better Than That” – Cathy

A GREAT song and its on my motivational study playlist.

 

“Nobody Needs to Know” – Jamie

One of the best cheating songs from musicals.

 

“Goodbye Until Tomorrow/I Could Never Rescue You” – Cathy and Jamie

Poor Cathy is so happy and Jamie is such a dick, especially knowing what you know from “I Can Do Better Than That”.

Throwback Thursday: Fences Performance Critique

Throwback Thursday, where, essentially I post old writing samples, essays and short stories that I dig up from my pile of hoarded papers and school assignments or from the depths of my computer. So everyone can see how my writing has changed/improved over the years.


Fences by August Wilson premiered in 1985. The play was adapted into a movie in 2016, with Denzel Washington and Viola Davis reprising their roles, of Troy and Rose respectively, from the 2010 revival of the play on Broadway. The movie adaptation highlights the way Troy is a tragic figure, rather than a merely a sympathetic one. Based on the written play, Troy is a character who has faced a difficult life and perpetuates this in his family life, cheating on his wife and holding his son back from his dreams. Washington’s portrayal highlights the sympathy you could have for Troy more consistently than the play allows, making it a story not only of the way oppression eventually beats a man down, but the way you build a life despite of it. The play leaves it to the audience to decide if Troy can be forgiven or not, determine for themselves if he has truly gone to heaven. However, the movie uses lightening as well as physical cues throughout, to lead us to the interpretation that Troy has gone to heaven, and is ultimately a tragic character, rather than merely a sympathetic but unforgivable one. The film version ultimately gives the ambiguous ending of the play, whether or not Troy could ultimately be forgiven by his family, a definitive interpretation that he would be forgiven, that his faults did not make him irredeemable.

Systematic oppression has put Troy in his position, and though he tries his best, he falls short of living the life he intends. The way in which Troy tries but fails to measure up is clearer in the film, going beyond the stage-directions, which do not indicate Troy is showing emotion his words aren’t conveying. The film shows more humor and kindness in Troy then his stern words alone suggest in the play. Just through reading the play, it is possible to interpret Troy has someone who has lived up to society’s expectation of him, being cruel to his son, and cheating on his wife. The ways in which you can sympathize with him only emerging in specific instances. This is brought out more fully with Washington’s portrayal of the character, shifting the interpretation of Troy’s character and ultimate fate from ambiguous to solidly tragic and forgiven.

Specifically, Troy’s vulnerabilities are clearer in Washington’s portrayal, with soft, sad smiles where the play had no written direction other than stern words – highlighting the way he wasn’t only criticizing Cory, but protecting the only way he knew how. The physicality of Washington’s portrayal of Troy (referring to his facial expressions and tone of voice) leads viewers to a more sympathetic and understanding view of Troy than readers of the script may walk away with. The tone of voice Washington uses in key scenes differs from the tone you would expect from the play-script itself. In his speech to Cory where Troy is lecturing Cory “Who says I have to like you,” (Wilson 37) he is smiling and affectionate, almost joking with his son, there is humor as well as a lecture, rather than just the stern lecture of sacrifice it is in its written form. This interpretation of the play in the movie is further expressed by Cory’s reaction to singing the song with Raynell in the end of the film. While the play never lets us know directly whether Cory himself has forgiven his father for his faults, thus furthering the allowance of the readers to make their own conclusions of his character, the film has Cory crying as he sings, as he takes his mother’s rant about the good and bad parts of his father to heart; Cory accepts Troy as a flawed man, but a man who tried his best nonetheless, and leads the audience to this same interpretation.

Besides physicality, the other major way the film leads to the interpretation of Troy as a tragic character is lightning, most significantly, the lightning in the last scene. Troy’s brother Gabriel believes himself to be the archangel Gabriel, who is the messenger of God, and calls out for St. Peter to open the gates of heaven to let Troy in. The stage directions of the play indicate that the stage lights blackout after Gabriel blows his trumpet and the gates of heaven open to him, but it is ambiguous whether this means Troy has gone to heaven, or it is only a manifestation of Gabriel’s delusion, and could be played either way. The movie has bright gold across the sky, as the clouds part and open up, as the family stares up for several long seconds. The movie ends on golden light streaming through the tree into the backyard, rather than going straight to black after the sound of the trumpet. The end of the movie clearly lets you see that Troy has been forgiven in the eyes of God, rather than leaving it a possible manifestation of Gabriel’s mind.

Personally, my preferred interpretation of the play is to see Troy as a tragic figure, to see him as flawed but sympathetic, rather than irredeemable for his poor choices. Because he is flawed in a lot of ways, but he is human, and no human being has ever not made a mistake, including huge life-changing ones like his affair which results in Raynell. It is far easier to vilify someone, than to forgive them; it is easier to write someone off rather than look deeper into what lead to mistakes being made. Some of Troy’s choices were entirely on him, but others seem almost inevitable. He is harsh on Cory not because he doesn’t love him, but because systematic oppression has beaten his dreams out of him, and he can’t fix that for Cory, so he wants him not to be hurt by the battles Troy was never able to win. You can understand Troy’s behaviors, and forgive them, without excusing them. Troy’s motto seems to be “you gotta take the crookeds with the straights” (Wilson 94) and that is the interpretation of Troy’s character that the film leaves us with, which seems the honest interpretation. You forgive, because it is harder than anger, you take the good and the bad parts of life, and you make the best of the situations you have no power over, because you have power over yourself.


Works Cited

Washington, Denzel, director. Fences. Paramount Pictures, 2016.

Wilson, August. Fences. New Mexico Repertory Theatre, 1989.

A Guide to: College – Study Skills

I’m in my second semester of college, and, if you ignore that fact that I did not keep up with my blog at all, I did pretty well my first semester.

So, here are some of the things I learned, that might help you.


1 – GO TO CLASS

Go to class. You are paying to be there, and sometimes professors say things that aren’t in your textbook. So, even if the professor doesn’t care about attendance, go to class. Also, if the professor knows you and likes you, they may be willing to give the the benefit of the doubt and be a littler nicer on partial credit or short response answers.

Also in this vein – GO TO OFFICE HOURS.


2 – Get a Planner

You will not remember the due dates of everything. You will not remember the pages you have to read. Do not right it on scrap paper, you will lose it. And you’ll probably forget that you wrote it in your notebook if that what you do. Get a planner. Write down due dates, homework assignments, and exam dates.  Trust me.


3 – Rewrite Your Notes

For any class you feel shaky on, or that depends on memorization of specific numbers/steps/dates/names etc. you’ll benefit from rewriting all your notes to improve retention. For me, this takes the form of rewriting my physics notes into really condensed form. I rewrote my notes about three times, until I got all of the most important information onto about ten sheets of paper to study from – much easier than an entire binder’s worth of scribbles and doodles.


4 – Watch Videos

Crash Course

Khan Academy

Lectures that Professors Put on Youtube (Professor Leonard is a GOD for calculus)

It helps, especially for topics that the professor didn’t cover in depth, or for that class you missed, or for the topic you were zoned out/hungover for. Or anything that you learned in an 8:30 class.


5 – Find YOUR Study Space

Lots of people like to study in the library – I don’t like sitting in the library for hours, I don’t like it. I like studying in the lounge or my room. Where I can have a blanket and take my shoes off and lay across the couch and am allowed to talk to and whine with friends about my work instead of having to sit nicely and politely in the library. People work in the student Union, or the basement of the library so it doesn’t feel like people are looking at them. People work in empty classrooms, or basement lounges, or random nooks and crannies around campus. Find what works for you. Don’t force yourself to work in the library or your room if its not working for you.

Biannual Bibliothon – Write A Synopsis From The Villain’s Perspective

 Biannual Bibliothon – Day Two Challenge: Write A Synopsis From The Villains Perspective


This was forever ago and I didn’t participate really but this was in my drafts so enjoy!


Day 3 of the blog challenges is hosted by Dominique @ Pirates and Pixie Dust. Her prompt is to write a synopsis from the villain’s point of view. Basically:

  1. Choose a favorite book.
  2. Create a blog post sharing your villain’s short synopsis.
  3. Visit Dominique’s original post and share your link in the comments.

I wrote a poem from The Evil Queen’s perspective from Snow White.

Read it here: Poem: The “Evil” Queen

Queens may not cackle
They must be fair
But they may poison apples
To kill an unworthy heir
Snow White falls
At the hands of The Queen
Yet home, Snow crawls
The how, yet to be seen
The winter princess with stars in her eyes
Just as well has blood staining her teeth
And though they cannot see her lies
The Queen sees the girl underneath
She just wished her stepdaughter knew
She was once the princess, too


I hope you guys enjoyed this!

Is anyone participating in Biannual Bibliothon?
Did anyone else write a villain synopsis?
Did you like this?

Let me know!

Throwback Thursday: 9th Grade – A Series of Vignettes: A Writing Project / My Version of The House On Mango Street

Throwback Thursday, where, essentially I post old writing samples, essays and short stories that I dig up from my pile of hoarded papers and school assignments or from the depths of my computer. So everyone can see how my writing has changed/improved over the years.

These are mostly true but very exaggerated stories as we had to emulate the tone and style of The House on Mango Street with our own autobiographical stories.


A Series of Vignettes: A Writing Project

My Version of The House On Mango Street


My House

(“The House on Mango Street”)

We moved to my house when I was about five. Through the entire moving process I screamed, kicked, and cried in protestation. But to no avail as we still moved to this house. At the time, I was an only child. But the time I was six, this was no longer the case. I got a little sister when I asked for a puppy, and the playroom got turned into a nursery much to my dismay. She got the bigger room because the front facing window made me nervous, I had watched too many movies and thought a burglar would come in at night. That never happened though.

Our house was new construction, and to me it seemed like it was on the edge of the universe because through the back fence you could see cornfields until I was about ten. A few blocks down there is a forest. I said we lived in the middle of nowhere. But we lived in a dull yellow, one-story house that I was determined to hate because I didn’t want to move. I am not the biggest fan of change.

Our house has two round, frosted windows in the front like eyes glazed over. Most of the back wall consists of rectangular windows overlooking the admittedly small backyard. The floors were tile, and seemed extra cold to my feet that up to this point had only ever lived in a place where the floors were carpet. I got used to it soon enough, but I complained constantly. Hoping this would convince my parents to let us move back to our old house.

There is no defining line in the front yard to show where our house ends and the neighbors begins. We usually end up mowing the grass because otherwise it ends up

looking like a jungle. A knee high, suburban jungle, but a jungle all the same. We have bushes right up against the wall of the house, and a tree off to the side that is perpetually overgrown. It’s too long branches sagging into the driveway. At night it forms a hand hovering over the yard. When I was younger I thought the tree looked sad, bending under the weight of its own leaves.

A lot of things changed when we moved to this house. Like the fact we were now closer to family and didn’t have to drive for so long on a daily basis anymore. And the fact I got to see my cousins more often as well. And then things changed again when my sister was born. I wasn’t an only child anymore. I changed from private to public school. The walls were repainted as well. I remember I wanted to paint my walls this bright turquoise color to match my Winx Club fairy poster. But we accidently ended up with baby blue. I sulked for days before I realized I liked this new color. We haven’t changed it since.

My house is the home I have lived in for eight years with my parents, my sister, and the pets we have had through the years. My house is one story, and is painted a pale yellow on the outside. The cornfields I used to see through the fence are now a park. And the backyard now has a pool. And my house looks different now from when we first moved in, because now my house is home.


Age Differences

(“Boys and Girls”)

My sister and I are six years apart. 1999 and 2005. Both of us born in October. Mine the 8th, and hers the 23rd. She has dishwater-blond hair like silk. And the kind of baby blue eyes newborns have, like she just never grew into her real eye color. Compared to me, my hair was brown-curls when I was her age but has turned into a light-brown/dark-blonde mass of frizz. Partially due to the humidity South Florida is famous for, part because I dyed my hair purple in middle school. My eyes used to be blue like hers and now they’re this hazel-gold-brown-green color that changes by the day.

I am almost 15. Almost old enough to drive. Almost an adult. Almost about to almost graduate. Almost about to go to college. Almost old enough to have to worry about it. She is almost 9. Almost in the fifth grade.

I’m a Libra, she’s a Scorpio.

We couldn’t be more different. We aren’t very close, but a six-year age difference will do that to you.

We are very different, but she’s my sister. And I love her.

I think that’s all that matters.


My Name

My name means “Listener”, which is funny because I love to talk. My name means unoriginal, it was one of the top five names of my birthyear. There is always at least one other girl or boy who shared my name. My name means never being told apart from those who share it. It means three tries before you get it straight which one I am. My name is Samantha. It is too long, too common, and sounds too much like an American Girl doll. I go by Sam. People say Sam is a boy’s name. I say its my name. I am only ever called Samantha by professional strangers (i.e teachers, doctors) and when I am trouble. Though in that case, I am called Samantha Aileen Bonge. My full name, middle and all.

Samantha is a mouthful. Its awkward in the mouth of non-English speaking relatives like an ill-fitting retainer. It doesn’t quite fit. They inevitably mispronounce it as Samanta, no h. The name Samantha comes from a TV I have never seen but both my parents have. The name Aileen comes from my mother’s sister, chosen because it begins with an A, and my father’s stepsisters and their daughters all have middle names beginning with A. Aileen means compromise, two families coming together. It means tradition, and forever being mistaken as my aunt’s child. As the other granddaughter, it means immutably being called Alien by kids who can’t read the Spanish name.

Bonge is a name that doesn’t exist. The sole relic left of a man I have never met, my father’s father. His name was too difficult to say in English, so it was shortened to

Bonge.
Bonge is like the name of a ghost. Maybe it existed once upon a time. Maybe it belonged to a family with twelve kids in a small Italian village. Maybe the father was fair-haired and the mother was brunette. Maybe their children were a dishwater-colored mix of the two and they shared the name. But Bonge doesn’t exist; it belongs only to the four people that live in my house. Bonge belongs to my parents, my sister, and me. Bonge sounds like a fairytale in a language you can’t read. My name is Samantha Aileen Bonge, it means listener, tradition, fairytale. But I go by Sam. And that’s me.

Street Cats

(“Cathy Queen of Cats”)

Unlike most kids who have a dog or a fish-tank, I have cats. Three of them to be exact. Max, Angel, and Jackie.

None of them are purebred. I don’t actually know what breed they are, any of them. They aren’t fancy hairless cats that everyone wants but are terrified of. They’re all rescues. They’re street cats.

Max came to our door during a thunderstorm before I was even born. He is about 16 years old now, at least in human years. He is an old, fat cat. He is diabetic as well.

Every morning my dad has to inject him with insulin. He is black and white like a checkerboard. But now his fur is slowly turning grey. He has trouble jumping up onto the bed and couch now, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s long out grown leaving dead mice as presents, but he does like to follow people around the house and hang out in the shower. He must be the only cat in existence that likes showers, running water and everything. He still hates baths though.

He doesn’t like my sister much. But he likes to sleep on my bed sometimes. My mom says he used to sleep in my crib. He’s been with us my whole life. My mom calls him

my big brother. I don’t know what I’m going to do when he’s gone. He wouldn’t be the first pet to die, but he’d be the first I’d never truly lived without. I don’t think he remembers life without me either.

We got Angel next. She’s the only girl. She’s white except for the grey on her tail and ears. Her fur is longer and fluffier than the boys’. She’s also far more antisocial than the others. She doesn’t really like anyone except me. I was maybe seven when we got her. We found her outside our church the day we went to sing for Easter. My parents wouldn’t let me pet her; worried she had rabbis and that I’d get filthy. I begged and begged to take her home. I felt bad for her all alone, little kids throwing chunks of granola bars and pebbles at her. She’s about 8-years old now, maybe 9. She was black with dirt and grime when we found her. Like the monster from black lagoon from that kids book. Skinny like a skeleton too. But I named her Angel before I ever knew the color of her fur.

Of course, she took some time to get used to our house. She’d hide under beds. Refuse to eat if anyone was anyone near her. She tore things up at night with her claws and teeth. I woke up on day to find the remains of foam blocks everywhere like a rainbow threw-up. She liked to bring us present too. Rats, lizards, small snakes, dragonflies. You name it. Their dead corpses haunted the hallways.

But she calmed down eventually. But before then, she managed to break her leg by getting it caught on a tablecloth. It was wrapped up in a green cast for a few weeks. We stopped using tablecloths after that.

Max took to having a “little sister” fairly well. He took care of her. He also once got in a fight because of her. With a real street cat that tried attacking her. My dad had to

rescue Max. It was scary. But kind of cute too.

The last of the cats is Jack. He’s orange with brownish stripes. Like a perpetually infant tiger cub. I had wanted to name him Simba or Tiger. But my dad nixed those ideas right away. I was famous for awful names. So we picked Jack and that was the end of it, Jack was more my sister’s cat. She calls him Jackie. He’s the one that gets struck on the roof and drags bats and dying birds into the house. We got him from the FurBaby adoption thing at PetCo, he was going to be put down. His name had been Prancer, because his entire litter was named after Santa’s reindeer. I think that’s why he loves the roof so much.

He’s about 5 or 6 now. He’s smaller than the other two. But still bigger than when e got him. He’s fully grown now. He’s the one that attacks for feet under the covers and sleeps on the pillow next to your head. Guarding you through the night.


Blood is Thicker than Water

(“Louie, his Cousin, and his Other Cousin”)

Most people don’t really understand the phrase “Blood is thicker than Water”. It comes from a longer quote, “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb”. Most people see the first and know it means that family is the most important bond. But according to the second, the bonds you chose to form (i.e. Friends), are stronger than those forged by familial ties.

I like to think of it as saying some ties you make are more important than the ones we are born into. That there is something more to family than just sharing blood. Like marriage for example, you chose to form that bond.

I am very close to my maternal grandparents, very close to some of my cousins. But I am also very close to some family members to whom I am not strictly related to. With whom I do not share a single drop of blood.

Like my Mama Rosario. Who is not my mother or stepmother, but rather my grandmother’s best friend of almost sixty years. She practically raised me. She and my

grandmother have been friends since they were six years old in Cuba. For all intents and purposes, she is family. Though we are not really related.

Or take my tia Lily. She bought the blanket they wrapped me in when they brought me home from the hospital. Her daughter Alejandra calls me cousin Sammy. And yet I am not related to her. But she has been my mom’s best friend for about 20 years.

I am a firm believer in the fact that family can be more than blood.

Because of this, I have more cousins than I can count.


Here Not Everywhere

(“Those Who Don’t”)

I have always lived in or at the very least near Miami. We moved to Miami from Miami Lakes. Those are the only two places I’ve lived. In those two houses. I have never even left the East Coast. At least, not that I can remember.

Miami is a big city, even when you live in the suburb type neighborhoods like Kendall. Here we do not talk to our neighbors. We do not send children outside to play alone even for a minute. You don’t walk home alone, especially at night. Not even if it’s a block away.

Here, flip-flops in winter are acceptable.

Here, we roll our eyes at tourists who squeal at the sight of the beach, because we are all so bored of sand and waves.

Here, we scoff at sunblock and silently suffer sunburns because we are too used to it to be bothered by the red peeling skin.

Here, humidity is never less than 50%. And the temperature dropping below seventy degrees means its time to break out the sweatshirts and boots. It might as well be snowing. Most people here haven’t seen snow once. Haven’t even seen the leaves change colors. But ask any Ten-year-old and they could tell you exactly when its safe and when its not to be outside during a thunderstorm. Because why should a little bit of rain stop us from running errands. Because you’ve never seen a rainstorm until you’ve seen the 15-minute flash flood Miami gives you. There’ll be water up to your knees.

Here, almost everyone speaks Spanish. And no one looks at you twice if you switch languages half way through a sentence.

Forgetting a word in one language, or only knowing it in Spanish is commonly accepted.

But anywhere else, a bathing suit any where but the pool is out of place. As is a sweater when it’s hotter than 50 degrees.

Anywhere else, forgetting how to say something in English makes people think you hit our head and are speaking in tongues.

But remember, anywhere else, there’s always someone who has never seen the ocean. Never been to Disneyworld.

Everywhere is different. And Miami is sort of messed up. But so is anywhere else. But Miami is home. No matter where we end up going to college.