People always want to talk to me about the wild crowds at shows or the cool places I’ve seen and traveled to. They want insight and secrets, recommendations and tips, and they want to know about all the events and to be the first to hear about certain things. They want to be in the know; they want to be in my life. But the funny thing is that they have no idea what it really means to be IN someone’s life.
I’ve been feeling pretty limited on time lately.
Like, by the time I get up and get dressed, and maybe do a morning workout, then shower and decide what I want to wear for the rest of the day (which mostly defaults to stretchy pants and some sort of oversized top) and which coffee shop to settle into, it’s already lunch time.
Hello and welcome to the new and improved www.julianncheryl.com!
If you’ve been with me the past couple years and have been following my blog, you’ll know that this web address was formerly the home to a very personal project of mine. Don’t worry, those words are still very much alive and have just found a new home in the bigger scope of this space.
Here’s some honesty recap at its finest:
When I first found out I was being sent to Bali, my instant reaction was that I wanted to get it over with. Not a normal reaction when someone finds out they’re going on a fully paid trip to a beautiful destination halfway across the world, but that’s what happened internally. However, it was an opportunity and with that, I tried to see how early I could complete my booking, how quickly I could do the trip, and then come back home to Los Angeles and proceed with life. I think the real reason behind the resistance was that I had just started to gain a lot of momentum home-based wise with business things, and felt like being gone would hinder any type of progress. But what added to that attitude was that Asia had never been at the top of my list of places to visit. In fact, it had always been at the very bottom.
Leave it unsaid.
That’s the line I’ve been pep-talking myself with lately.
I casually told him I would text him when I arrived home, to check in and to see how things were going. I never did. I still haven’t. And maybe that was a total douche thing to do, and I’m a tool for not ever texting him back or reaching out. But I know myself, I know my heart, and I know how I am. As selfish as it might sound, I was just trying to save myself from puffy red eyes, a few more tears, and to spare myself from a little more heartbreak.
I woke up this morning in a hotel room, next to a pool, with a sunrise, on an island, overlooking the ocean in Indonesia. I have been traveling on these islands for about a week and a half now, and while it has been rather enjoyable soaking up some serious Vitamin D and sitting in nicely blue-tiled pools until my body looks like a giant prune, I can’t help but ignore the thoughts that have been running through this little brain of mine. I wasn’t planning on writing anything during this trip. Instead, I made plenty of notes in my iPhone of topics and experiences I was going to expand on when I was back home recovering from jetlag.
“From that initial outpouring of emotions and disbelief came the concept of establishing a permanent public memorial […] to deliver a message of hope for many generations to come.”
It was April 20, 1999, and what began as a normal day didn’t end up normal at all. It left people in shock, with countless questions, and a dwindling fear. I was merely in grade school when it happened, so I couldn’t remember much of the details from that day. I couldn’t perfectly recall how the world responded or the whirlwind of emotions I had gone through as a ten year old. Now almost twenty years later, the best I can do, is imagine what it would have been like to be there: to be at that school, to be friends with the victims, and to witness a tragedy that would have blatantly changed my life forever.
It’s strange every time I see him now every once in awhile because it usually consists of a quick wave and maybe a half-smile. And if we’re in the same room, then minimal to no eye contact is usually made.
It always comes knocking when it is the most inconvenient.
That particular day, it showed up while I was driving, on the way over to a friend’s house. I was ready for a full fun active day of pie eating, aimless adventuring, and of course photo-ing. Or at least, I thought I was before it arrived. There were no warnings at all. It was just like… BAM. Hello, I’m here, and I’m not sure how long I want to stay around this time so I’ll just play it by ear until I decide it’s time to peace out. And by “it” I really am talking about the random fever, the super numb feeling attacking my limbs like when you have poor blood circulation, and skin so insanely sensitive to touch, almost like having a million small needles being inserted into my body at one time.
When Adele’s record “25” first came out, I listened to it on repeat in my car for three months straight. If there’s anyone who can write a love ballad that sends chills down your spine, or make your heart hurt so hard, or cause river rapids to flow from your eyeballs, it’s Adele.
