The feeling of feeling it all again

emily ciavatta
Nov 1 · 3 min read

I was walking out of the bathroom at work, headphones in playing a Paramore song loudly enough that I didn’t notice someone was walking beside me. Turns out it was a girl I went to high school with. We had been in meetings together before but never acknowledged our one thing in common: Livingston, New Jersey. I’m not sure if she knew who I was in high school, but if she did, she probably thought I hadn’t changed. In high school, I also listened to Paramore in my headphones loudly enough that I wouldn’t notice if someone were walking beside me.

A few weeks ago I was walking down Himrod, having just left my friend’s apartment — also in Bushwick, but closer to Manhattan than my place in the same neighborhood. I heard someone yell my name and turned to find one of my friends from elementary school. She looked the same, spoke the same. It was a little awkward but we had stuff to talk about. Where are you living? What do you do for work? The weirdest part was that my dad had just brought her up a few days prior, reciting a story from my youth about the time she commented on his tattoo of my brother and I’s names.

I really want to be 23 forever, but only have about 7–8 months left. I find myself at a strange crossroads. I pay rent and my student loan bill each month, and my dad asked me last week if I want to ‘get together soon’. Adult things, despite being frequently asked if I’m years younger than I really am.

It’ll be a compliment when you’re older!

Ha, good! ’Cause I’m not getting any younger!

I dyed my hair back to black (dark brown) on Sunday. I’ve been doing this since freshman year of high school, and only had to use dye removal like, twice. Getting a second nose piercing is on my to-do list (amongst things like buy tampons and take out the trash). I got my first one after my senior prom, drunkenly, on the same boardwalk they filmed Jersey Shore. To top it all off, I still get sh*tty tattoos like I started doing the week after my 18th birthday. I have 20 now, despite my family’s requests for me to stop. While other aspects of my life have obviously changed since, many have remained the same, I guess. I have a tattoo appointment in exactly two weeks.

When I was younger, I used to dress up for house parties in tame ‘costumes’ to show up and say: wait, this isn’t a themed party? I thought it was funny and thrived off the short-lived high. I lived in the suburbs and there wasn’t much else to do. I’m going to a house party in Brooklyn on Friday and kinda want to do the same. Now, I live in the city and there still isn’t much else to do. But this time it’s because of those adult things.

I came home for the weekend. Back to the house I spent the first 22 years of my life in. I borrowed my dad’s car, drove too fast to get my morning coffee. My window was down and I was playing my music loud enough for the people walking by to hear. Something I started doing as soon as I got my license. I would say: I want people to know what I’m listening to. I don’t really care if people know what I’m listening to now, but I like the feeling of feeling it all again. It makes life feel still for a moment.

This time my mom is driving. The Cure is playing and she asks me if I’m happy. She saw me writing this down and asked about it, confused. I asked if she ever just writes things, too. No, I have too many other f*cking things to worry about. Maybe I finally do, too.

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