Gate D11 Seat 27A

I swore To myself I'd write before I touched down in Paris. Do me a favor and read between the lines on this one. Pay no mind to the disorganization, the rambles, the sweaty palms and emotional jargon this post is about to contain...in just a short while.

Propped up cross-legged in a leather airport chair. I'm beyond gracious for the Starbucks I stumbled upon moments ago. Approaching the gate, not a single Starbucks in sight. What airport, international none-the-less, doesn't have that gold mine in a cup? Just my luck, this one did. I swear I heard angels sing.

Miami International, Gate D11. It's quickly approaching. Surrounded by strangers catching up and joking in an unrecognizable language. I'll assume it's French but I'm not willing to confirm it. At this very moment, it just occurred to me:  the most 'foreign' place I've ever been is El Paso, TX. There aren't beaches in El Paso. Definitely foreign.

'The moment.' The moment I've had branded on my calendar for months. The moment typed in all caps accompanied with little airplanes and strokes of emotion. It is here.

Four months ago I stood in my parents driveway begging and pleading her not to go. Heaving, gasping for air, doubled over in physical pain, piercing eyes met mine. Regretfully forcing her to second guess her decision, if only for a second, fearing I would not be okay without her. For the fist time understanding what "take care of yourself" meant. Take care of myself?! I wanted to shake her and say, "THAT'S WHY I HAVE YOU!" Too self-absorbed in the moment to form sentences. All she could fathom was, "should I go get Mom?" My countdown began the very next day.

Writing this, seat 27A houses the emotions of that night. Fighting their way out in the form of tears. Pain has ceased but recounting how vulnerable I felt is a horrifying realization. Sounds dramatic; I'm well aware but I'm also aware that grasping our relationship from the outside, is beyond challenging. It's rare and it's natural. We communicate silently through our eyes. In our early twenties, we whisper and giggle and hold hands under the covers in our childhood bedroom. My heart aches for those who never experience a relationship of this magnitude.

Less than twenty-four hours from now, we'll be [by choice] sharing a tiny bed, holding hands and whispering months and months of stories early into Friday morning. Longing for this for so long, it's just now I realize why the anxiousness feels absent. She hasn't felt it either. Initially, my heart ached. Are we OK being far away from each other? Have we grown apart? Has this destroyed our precious relationship?

Surely not but we have changed as women. We've grown wings; we've ventured beyond what is safe and what is cozy and what is expected. Conquered fears, overcome adversity and proved to ourselves we are strong and independent and adventurous; bound and determined to be better than we were yesterday. I believe I wrote--and if I didn't, I surely intended to--this would be our chance to grow separately together.

That, we did.

I land on unfamiliar soon, welcomed by all the familiarity I can guzzle at once. From there, we will embark on our next adventure, together. Four months ago I prayed that nothing would change between us. Appreciative for unanswered prayers, things have surely changed.

We are better women than we were four months ago; we are changed for good.

Giggle sweet nothings

One of those I'm-in-a-funk-and-have-no-idea-why kind of days. How badly I want to write something wonderful; something I can sip in at a later date and love it. How I'm convinced that will make this bad  weird indescribable mood more enjoyable. Well today, I've got nothing.

A day where I long for my sister. Not sorority sisters. Not best friends. Pure flesh and blood that knows what and how and when to say exactly the right thing. She never has the answer and she knows that. We talk things out; we talk life out. Memories reemerge to link us to better days; to happier times. We giggle sweet nothings and we hold hands. Hold tight, linking not only hands but souls knowing, we're never alone.

Regardless, today I feel a little something like that. Alone. Disconnected. Lengths of time from my best friend; my greatest confidant; my other half

That's a wrap...

I know I've absolutely neglected this blog for the past few months but in my defense, I was waiting for the perfect moment. Most people say that when starting a blog, to just write. I could write all day long; write about what I think, what I feel, things I should change and adventures I should take but trust me, if I blogged about every thought that popped into my little head, I'm not sure even I'd be able to keep up.

The next few months will be about me and (and like it says in my profile) my attempt to discover myself & my place in this world. Surely I'm destine for things greater than excessive tweeting and celebrity gossip. The catch? (please note the blog title) My sister is gone for four months. Yes! 4. Cuatro. Quatre. She is studying abroad in Dijon, France until mid-May. I will be on my way to Pari come May but until then, I have no choice but to look at this tervis tumbler half-full.

Her flight left the homeland exactly 24 hours ago and we've already exchanged four emails. Not nearly enough, if you ask me. I've had my moments where I cried like a baby and to be-quite-frank, it was refreshing. Now that I'm finished with that, it's time to put on my big girl panties and conquer the world alone until I'm reunited with my left hand. Only then will we set out on a totally new adventure. We explore Europe as one. When I get my hands on her, she'll never leave me again. If bribery doesn't work, I'm not afraid to take drastic measures.

Until then, look out world, here I come...well, here comes half of me, since the other half has flown the nest, left the coup- ya get my drift.

Here goes everything!