#and apparently somehow my beans had been too dry and too wet at the same time

[wolfythewitch]

Beaaaaans

#zombie au #ive had beans only once in the past ten years #and i posted a picture to twutter about it #and apparently somehow my beans had been too dry and too wet at the same time #having no point of reference i enjoyed my beans #blissfully unaware of the standards of bean taste and thus it had exceed all my expectations

[hannahsfanficsforyou]

A Whole New World pt. 6

I sigh as I finish drying off and put on some shorts and a tank top I bought the other day. I walk back into my living room and Aaliyah is sitting on the couch and I sigh as I look over “yeah yeah I’ll spill the beans, god, okay well I went to give his jacket back and oh yes if I didn’t think I could embarrass myself anymore than I already had I was dead wrong. Mira told me where to find him in the guild so I go into the room hes in and I am so stupid I didn’t realize what it was in the first place, it was a damn like public bath and I manage to TRIP into the DAMN BATH AND I FALL and of course hes right THERE and i got his fucking coat wet and I looked down and realized he was naked and it wasn’t just like a pool” I say in a dramatic way with my head in my hands groaning loudly. “Oh, wow, I don’t even know what to say really that’s hilarious but, did you see it? Like how big was it.” Aaliyah says while smirking.

“GOD I don’t know I looked and as soon as I saw his lower half was fucking naked I didn’t stare long enough to see how big his dick was, and oh yeah even better I got so embarrassed that my magic went a little haywire and I made flowers and vines literally bust out of the ground. So that was great they need to call a gardener or weed exterminator to go fix the bath area because of me now. And damn it I got his fucking jacket wet.” I rub my face and groan loudly again.

“God we need to go on a job tomorrow, start saving money, and maybe have a nice relaxing shopping trip.” I say looking at Aaliyah “Yeah, doing jobs will help us train which we really need and honestly maybe we should go somewhere to practice our magic too not just on jobs because we really need to get stronger, ohhhh and I met someone from our guild today.” Aaliyah says to me.

I raise an eyebrow “Oh yeah, thats cool I feel like there are a bunch of people who we haven’t met yet, I feel like I only ever see Laxus, but we did meet Nab and Mira and the guild master, oh yeah and that stripper guy Gray I think, but who did you meet? I hope they were nice, I feel like everyone has been so friendly.” I ask while sitting down on the couch next to her and putting my feet up on the coffee table in front of it.

“He was nice, I actually bumped into him and asked if he could tell me where the bookstore was since I was just wandering around trying to find it, he was going there too so we just walked together and I didn’t even find out we were in the same guild until we introduced ourselves at the bookstore. He was sweet and helped me reach a book, he has really nice long green hair too, but ehm yeah he was really helpful.” She said and I eyed her then grinned.

“YES, you have found someone I can tease you over nowwww, I bumped into Laxus the first time I met him and now you bump into a man and he just happens to be in the same guild? Ah, fate is a funny thing.” I say giggling.

Aaliyah playfully glares at me “I thought you didn’t believe in fate and does that mean you think you and Laxus are fated then? Because I think you are, I mean how many times can you interact with a person like you and Laxus have before you realize you like each other and should go out? Apparently a lot for you two.” I wave her off, “blah blah, maybe I do like him but I mean come on hes a hunk, I said it before I’ll say it again I don’t even know the man I couldn’t possibly want to go out with him, I would love to see him in that bath again.” 

I shake my head to stop my thoughts from wandering too far into dangerous erotic territory and I cough. “So, anyways I was thinking we should go out to eat for dinner, maybe try to find some places with food we like. Just to relax and have a nice night.” I suggest.

“Hmmm actually that does sound nice. Freed was telling me some places he liked on the way to the bookstore I think I remember a few that sounded good, let’s go.” She says hopping up. “Hmmm you and Freed huh, kind of a weird name.” I say scrunching up my face and she eyes me “any weirder than Laxus?” I stick my tongue out “fair enough fairy enough, let’s go.”

We walk out of the dorms and the sky has started to get dark, “Hm, perfect time for dinner, I’m already starting to get hungry.” I say as my stomach rumbles to confirm my hunger. We walk along the streets of Magnolia taking in the early nightlife. Everything is starting to come alive from people coming home from their jobs and wanting some relaxation with their friends.

The low sun casts a beautiful orange pink glow on the city and the summer breeze gently warms me and I smile. This place is truly magical isn’t it. I feel so at peace here, brimming with life and possibilities. Aaliyah leads us down certain streets as she reads a map she bought earlier. “Here, he said this place had really good food for dinner.” She says pointing at the sign ‘Little M’s’ I shrug “I trust you and I’m sure we can find something good in there.”

We walk in and I gasp softly, “damn, it’s gorgeous in here” I say while looking at the ceiling with multicolored lanterns all over, which made the whole restaurant glow and give off a light pleasant atmosphere. My gaping mouth slowly turns into a smile as we sit down at a table for two “I hope the food here is as good as the way it looks, man holy shit this is the prettiest restaurant I’ve ever been in.” I say still in awe, and Aaliyah nods also looking around at everything. 

The bar was wide and had an aray of drinks to see behind the counter and Aaliyah catches me gaze “oh no, don’t even think about it, not tonight at least, no more rubbing yourself up on hunky men alright, you are a lightweight anyways.” She says to me and I make a face “pffft, come on I was just admiring, I’m here for the food alright, no alcohol, it wasn’t even my fault, dumb wizard alcohol didn’t even taste like it had any liquor in it.” A waitress comes up and hands us both menus and asks for our drink order “I’ll have hmmm, what do you recommend that’s sweet” I ask “well, I personally love our peach milkshakes, the peaches are locally grown and the whip cream is homemade as well, it’s delicious.” I nod “oh yeah I’ll take that and a water thank you.” Aaliyah orders a watermelon iced drink and a water. 

We look over the menu and several things catch my eye, eventually the waitress comes back over and I order the Blue Sky Bolognese and Aaliyah gets the Fresh Kagoshima Ramen. We talk about everything that’s happened since we got here and laugh about how we already have so much going on and how we really need to train more and drink our drinks while enjoying ourselves. Eventually our food gets out to us and we dig in. “Ohhh wow, your friend Freed was right this is so good man.” Aaliyah nods in agreement “oh mine too, we should come here more.” We eat while listening to the soft music being played.

“Excuse me ma’am we would like our ticket now.” I say to the waitress as she passes us “Oh, well this kind man actually paid for your tab hes right up on the second floor.” She says pointing up at a table on the second floor right next to the edge where I could see and I grip my fork. “Laxus...Are you kidding me. I’m gonna, God help me I don’t know.” I sigh as the waitress looks concerned for me but I hold down my anger and Aaliyah tries to not laugh at me getting red in the face again.

“Oh that’s weird Freed is up there with him I guess they know each other.” Aaliyah says while she waves to Freed and I look up to the table to look at Freed but make eye contact with Laxus and his damn smirk as he waves at me and I just glare back, red in the face, “Laxus, if you can hear me, I swear I’m gonna, oh god I don’t even know where I’m going with that sentence, forget it.” I grit my teeth and put on a fake smile and wave sarcastically at him. “Okay time to go.” I say and get up and Aaliyah just sighs “you are so weird, a man pays for our food and you get mad”

I pinch the bridge of my nose as we walk out “I’m not really mad, it’s just I don’t like when people I don’t know pay for my stuff and I keep embarrassing myself in front of him and he keeps helping me, it’s frustrating, look that person is selling cute key chains I’ll buy him one as a thank you gift and give it to him real quick.” I say walking over and buying one that had a green leaf with a lightning bolt on top of it. I hold it up smiling sarcastically “perfect, cliche and everything. Ugh, I’ll show that bastard to buy stuff for me.” I grumble and we walk back into the restaurant and head up to where his table is he turns around in his seat and smirks like he was expecting me.

I give a sarcastic smile as I approach him “well well, I was wondering if you were going to come up here and thank me.” He says sounding absolutely sexy with his deep voice and I have to stop myself from blushing just hearing it. I clear my throat and hold out the key chain “Right yeah thank you, and here it’s a thank you and a sorry for getting your jacket wet and everything else that I did.” I say not looking at him “So, this is what you meant when you didn’t finish your sentence of ‘if you can hear me I swear I’m gonna’” My eye widen at his remark “well good to know you somehow have super hearing as well as lightning magic.” He shrugs as he takes the key chain and his fingers brushed against mine, they felt incredibly warm and they look so big, I wonder how they would look holding mine. 

I once again shake my head “Hm, cute, It’ll be my good luck charm for the S class quest me and my team are leaving on tomorrow morning, probably won’t be around for a month or so.” He says looking at the chain and my heart sinks a bit “oh, well, erm stay safe I guess, and good luck.” I say and Aaliyah says the same to Freed who has been sitting and watching our conversation from across the table.

They both thank us and we turn and leave once again. “Damn, they are going to be gone a whole month, that... Hpmh that sucks, won’t have any eye candy for a while, but this gives us time to train without me getting distracted so, that’s a plus.” I say and Aaliyah nods but we both stay silent thinking about the two men who we will probably not be able to get out of our minds for a whole month being gone as we walk home.

[sunshineoptimismandangels]

Blind Dates and Other Misunderstandings (A Klaine Fic)

Chapter: 2 of 4

Status: WIP with daily updates For: The lovely @miasswier Beta: My dear friend @theatrevicki Summary: This is for miasswier who prompted: Kurt and Blaine’s parents were all friends in college and ever since Kurt and Blaine came out they’ve been trying to push them to get together because they just really want to be in-laws.  

FF.net | AO3 Part 1

October

Kurt rushed into the building, breathing quickly and glancing around until he saw the sign for the elevators and the one pointing to the stairs. He made a snap decision and sprinted towards the stairs. He only needed to get to the third floor, running it would be faster than waiting for an elevator. And he knew if he was late, he might as well not show up at all. 

He started unbuttoning his coat on the way up and had it halfway off when he banged through the door to the third floor. The first thing he saw were glass doors etched with the words Rhodes Casting. Kurt smiled and checked his phone. He wasn’t late. He wasn’t early either, which he always tried to be for auditions, but after the subway delay, and not being able to catch a cab, and spilling coffee all over his shirt (thank god he had a spare in his messenger bag to change into) he felt lucky to be there at all. He straightened his shoulders, tried to steady his breathing and walked confidently into the office. “Hello, I’m here to audition for-” Kurt began, smiling at the receptionist, but she just glanced up at him, pushed her glasses up her nose and then pointed with a pen to the right. Kurt glanced that direction and his shoulders dropped – there were already over a dozen young men about his age waiting. “I have an appointment?” He tried. The receptionist didn’t even glance up this time. “So do you all. Write your name on the clipboard – we’ll get to you.” Kurt nodded and wrote his information down on the clipboard before briefly scanning the group, not giving any one person much attention, though he did recognize a few faces. For as big as New York was, Kurt was always surprised at how often he went to casting calls with the same handful of actors. Kurt folded his coat over an arm and spotted an open seat. He started uncurling his scarf from around his neck on the way. He slid his scarf off right as he got to his seat, and somehow, with an accidental flick of his wrist, the end of his scarf whipped directly into the face of the person he was about to sit next to. It actually made a slapping sound. “Ohmygosh! I’m so-” Kurt started to apologize before he realized it was even worse than he’d realized. When he’d spilled his coffee earlier, he apparently soaked the end of his scarf without even noticing, and now he’d just smacked some poor unsuspecting victim in the face with a wet, coffee-stained scarf. “No! Oh no.”  Without even thinking about it, he grabbed the dry part of his scarf and started dabbing at the stranger’s face to dry it. “I can’t believe I did that. I’ve been such a klutz all day-” A sound was coming from beneath the soft folds of his wool scarf – was that coughing? Choking? Was the man… laughing? Kurt quickly moved his hands and scarf away from the man’s face, realizing that he was making things worse. Who would want a stranger to wipe coffee of their face? All eyes in the waiting room were on him and Kurt felt like turning on his heel and just marching right out. This was just not his morning. “Really, I’m sorry,” Kurt hurried to explain, “I don’t know what-” Kurt’s mouth and throat went dry, his words ripped away from his lips, as his eyes landed on the face of the man he’d just accosted. Fuck. Honey golden eyes looked back up at him in surprise and the man’s brows lifted in recognition. There was beat where they just looked at each other until the man’s face broke out in a radiant smile. A smile Kurt immediately recognized. “Kurt Hummel?” The man said, just barely holding back his laughter. “Blaine.” Kurt’s voice was small and too high-pitched. He no longer wanted just to leave the room; he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. Out of all the ways to run into Blaine Anderson again, hitting him in the face with a disgusting and wet scarf in the middle of a crowed waiting room seemed particularly mortifying. “What is this?” Blaine deadpanned, glancing at the scarf in Kurt’s hands “Psychological warfare on your competition?” Kurt sucked in a deep breath and then Blaine’s words sunk in, “No!” Kurt shook his head bunching the scarf up and taking a small step beck, “No, I would never. I didn’t mean to, and I didn’t know it was you.” “Kurt, calm down, I was kidding.” Blaine was smiling again, and Kurt wondered if he was always this cheerful – and devilishly good-looking. “I just…” Kurt glanced around the room to see everyone quickly look away as if they hadn’t been watching. Kurt could feel his face heating up. “I’m sorry,” Kurt said, and quickly turned away before Blaine could chew him out, or worse, be nice about this. He hurried to the only other empty chair in the room, which was luckily as far away from Blaine as he could get in a small waiting area. Kurt pulled out the script they were all auditioning with, and though he had it down by heart, he started to read over it as if engrossed; doing everything he could not too make eye contact with the gorgeous man across the room. Even if all he wanted to do was look up and check to see if Blaine was watching him. Slowly but surely, they started calling names back to audition. Some actors were back there for half an hour, while some were there no more than 10 minutes before they were sent away. Kurt’s stomach tightened, he’d been that guy before, the one they took one look at or heard his higher than normal voice and gave a polite, “Thanks, but no thanks” too. That was just the way of this business. As the room started to empty, Kurt couldn’t help but steal glances at Blaine Anderson, who alternated between looking at the script, looking at his phone, or just sitting still with only his leg jogging. Kurt tried to be sly about it, but he couldn’t help but study Blaine’s nervous expression; he was just as handsome with a furrowed brow and chewing on his lip as he was with that dumb, dazzling smile he had. Kurt found himself thinking back about that day at the Lima Bean, even though Blaine had been late – Kurt was unmistakably rude, he’d know that as soon as he left, but didn’t have a way to change things. Now Kurt had a second chance to talk to the guy he’d heard of all his life, or at least an opportunity to apologized for his previous behavior. Kurt took a deep breath and placed his script back in his messenger bag before walking back over to Blaine. “Um… Can I sit here?” Blaine looked up in surprise but immediately nodded. Kurt sat quietly for a moment; he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous around Blaine. “If you don’t like to talk before an audition or you’re already in character, just say.” Blaine put down the script he was glancing over, “No, it’s fine.” “I wanted to apologize.” “Kurt, I know you didn’t mean to hit anyone with your scarf.” “Not for that… Um… I mean yes. I am sorry about that. But… this summer when we met?” Blaine lifted a brow and nodded. “I was rude to you. I shouldn’t have just left, and I didn’t give you a chance to explain why you were nearly an hour late, and I almost immediately regretted my boorish behavior.” “I…” Blaine opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, shaking his head and looking perplexed, “An hour? Kurt, I was 10 minutes late, max.” “No…” Kurt answered slowly; he remembered that day clearly, “I’d been there since 9:45am which is when my dad said we were going to meet.” Blaine’s eyes widened and then he took a long breath, rubbing his forehead before he started to laugh. “What?” Kurt’s own lips were nearly quirking up in a smile; Blaine’s laugh was so infectious. “My mom told me 10:30am. So yes, I was definitely late but not… an hour? You waited almost an hour for some person you didn’t even know? And then I just breezed in – no wonder you were so mad!” Kurt let that information wash over him. He didn’t know how their respective parents had gotten things so mixed up, but it did put the whole situation in a new light. “I thought you were standing me up and then I thought, yeah you came, but you were an hour late and obviously didn’t want to be there!” “I wanted to be there, Kurt,” Blaine said, his face growing more serious, and damn his eyes were intense, his earnest expression made Kurt shiver, “I promise I wanted to be there. I don’t like blind dates in general… but I’ve wanted to meet you for years. I can’t believe I blew it so badly.” “You didn’t.” Kurt shook his head and let a true smile form on his lips. “I mean, we could start over?” Blaine nodded eagerly and started to respond- “Blaine Anderson?” They both looked up at the sound of Blaine’s name. A middle-aged woman with dyed red hair and a tired expression stood by the door that everyone had been disappearing behind all afternoon. “I guess I’m up,” Blaine said, standing reluctantly. “I know you’re my competition, but break a leg, Blaine,” Kurt said, and was rewarded with a flash of a Blaine’s stunning smile as Blaine gathered his things and followed the woman back. Blaine was gone about 20 minutes before he came out again. Kurt was ready to try to strike up a conversation, but he was called in next. Blaine shot him a thumbs up as they passed each other, and Kurt was too nervous to say anything. He really wanted the audition to go well. He also really wanted to talk to Blaine more, but it seemed like he was missing out on that chance – again. Kurt’s audition went fairly well; at least they let him get through the provided script and asked him a few questions. He never really knew where he stood with casting directors; they had some of the industry’s best poker faces. He hitched his bag on his shoulder and thanked them again for the opportunity as he exited the office and walked back to the waiting area. There were only two people left in the room and Blaine wasn’t one of them. Kurt let out a disappointed sigh. It seemed like getting to know Blane was not meant to be. “Kurt!” Kurt turned towards the sound of his name and saw Blaine stand from where he had been sitting – out of the way near the elevators. Kurt felt his heart beat a little faster. “What are you still doing here?” Kurt asked as he hurried over. Blaine shrugged, “I wanted to see how things went for you and I…” His cheeks grew a little rosy, “I wanted a chance to talk to you more.” “Oh?” Kurt couldn’t help but bounce on his toes a little. “I’d like that. We could compare audition notes. Besides, I owe you a cup of coffee?” Blaine laughed, “Do you?” “If you aren’t busy now-” “Yeah! Yes, I’d like that.” Blaine’s eyes were sparkling. “I noticed a coffee shop on my way in, want to try it?” Kurt felt a little giddy. For months, Blaine had been popping up in his mind, with his gorgeous smile, and beautiful eyes and over-the-top, but still somehow charming classic clothing – and here Kurt was getting a second chance to make a first impression. No way was he turning that down.  “That sounds great.” “My parents will be thrilled,” Blaine joked, as he pressed the elevator button. Kurt’s excitement suddenly took a blow. Oh yeah, their parents. Now he was nervous again. He wanted to spend time with Blaine because he was cute and interesting and sweet, but without all the pressure of him being Blaine Anderson. “Um yeah…” Kurt began, “Mine too, but maybe… I mean we should just be friends, right? This could just be a friendly cup of coffee. Not a date? Nothing to get our parents all worked up about.” Blaine nodded, not seeming phased, “I’d really like that.” The elevator binged open and they walked in sharing shy glances. “My dad said that New York was a big place and I’d never have to see you again, and here we are running into each other at an audition.” Blaine bit his lip and smiled before speaking, “I’m really glad we did.” “Me too.” Kurt agreed, squeezing the strap of his messenger bag in excitement, “Really glad.” ________________________________________________________ “Mercedes, call me back, we have to talk! I met Blaine Anderson again and just had the most wonderful time.” Kurt sighed happily, “Call me!” ________________________________________________________ “So wait, in a city of eight million people, you ran into Kurt Hummel? “Yes.” “And was he as rude as ever?” “No! No, Cooper, that was all just a misunderstanding.” “Uh huh, and was he as hot as ever?” Blaine felt his cheeks warm up, “Um, yes… but more than that he’s just... god Cooper, I really like him. I mean, we’re just going to be friends, which is fine, but I’m so glad I ran into him.” Cooper laughed from the other end of the call, “Just friends huh? Let me know how that works out.” Blaine rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but think of Kurt’s sweet smile, beautiful blue eyes and charismatic personality. He would have been fine with their coffee date being a real date, but it was okay that it wasn’t. Really. “It will be fine,” Blaine insisted even as his stomach flipped over and the thought of Kurt’s lovely voice, “No worries there.”

#klaine drabble #sunshine's fic #klaine prompt

[nathanielxxgrey-blog]

New Boy in Town || Nathaniel & Freddie

@freddiewatts

Freddie, who generally made a habit of avoiding Bean Me Up on principle, had made an exception this morning. Not because he was in search of coffee - he’d gotten his tea at The Black Tap, as per usual when he was out - but because he was in search of Iann. And when his friend had proven elusive in his usual haunts, and hadn’t yet responded to the fairy’s texts - such a rarity that Freddie assumed his phone simply had to be off - Bean Me Up was left as the only likely option left.

And since Freddie and Ollie had been passing anyway…

He’d wrinkled his nose and decided to bite the bullet. It would be worth the few minutes spent in Tuah’s presence, he thought, to come in and monopolize a bit of Iann’s time and attention.

The only trouble, was that some daft git had been stood in the way of the door when Freddie’d opened it, and had ended up wearing his drink. A fact that said man apparently seemed to feel was somehow solely Freddie’s fault.

The fairy paused where he was as the other bloke spluttered and raged - Ollie bristling at his side - and gave the coffee-drinker a coolly unimpressed appraisal as he looked him up and down; taking in the painfully self-conscious, overly constructed ensemble, and the small splash of latte on his shirt, with a small snort of derision.

“Oi - I’d watch who you’re calling a bitch, mate,” Freddie said, “There’s some utterly enchanting women round here who’d have your guts for garters - literally - if you tried that on with them.” He narrowed his eyes slightly, straightening his own clothes. “And I don’t particularly care for it myself. So here, yeah?” With a small swirl of silvery dust, Freddie glamoured the wet stain into glittering white sand, and manipulated a small current of air to draw it into his palm. “Good as new.”

And he would have left it there - he should have left it there - but, being a fairy (and being himself), he couldn’t quite manage it. Not for this snotty little arsehole; or his affected overdone idea of fashion.

“Except…” Freddie said after a pause, a thoughtful considering sort of look on his face though there was a wicked glint in his eye, “-you really were bloody rude, love. And it’s far too early to have to tolerate that sort of appalling lack of manners.”

Freddie sent the pure white sand back in the direction it had come - only slightly lower - and let the glamour fall with a splash the instant it connected with the front of the other man’s trousers. “There,” he said with a sweet smile, “That’s much better. Now you look as though you’ve wet yourself; and on the way to the dry-cleaners you can think all about how better to comport yourself the next time you feel a bit hard done by.”

“Consider it a lesson in grace, hm?”

He would have a witty remark ready for the other if he wasn’t too stunned at what just happened. He felt the tingling sensation running through him when Mr. Fancy started wriggling his hand and some glittery dust covered the stain on his shirt and made it appear on his palm. Nathaniel placed his hand in his chest, his brows furrowing tightly and his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “How the Hell…” he said under his breath, darting his gaze between the silvery dust and the man’s face.

“What the -” Nathaniel took a step back when he felt the same tingling sensation as the dust swirled around him once again, causing the stain now to appear in front of his pants instead. It was one thing to witness some cheap trickery from afar, and it was another when it affected him personally. His frustration grew as he continued to link the extraneous events that had happened to him in the past months to this very outcome, a product of his overthinking and simply wanting to have something to blame for his stroke of bad luck.

Nathaniel could feel the air around him becoming staticky as his frustration increased, and a tension coiling tightly deep inside him as if waiting for release. He could feel something inside him began to shift, and if he wasn’t so absorbed in his own self-pity, he would’ve noticed it right away. Right now, he couldn’t stop the change that his body undergone.

“Thanks for the lesson,” Nathaniel glared at the man, his voice dropped a few octaves and sounded hoarser than his usual voice, like two stones had been grating against one another and lodged themselves in his throat. His eyes turned completely blue sans the small dot in the middle, and horns started to curve around his head from the base of his back skull. His nostrils flared as his hand trying and failing miserably to clean up the mess on his pants. “How mature of you to glitter bombed someone and play tricks on them after you’ve bumped into them. Making it look like I wet myself. What are you, fucking twelve?”

WIth an exaggerated eye roll he moved (glided) towards the counter and ordered his drink once again (he was determined to get his drink no matter what), dismissing the other completely. “What? You’re going to join him throwing glitter bomb at me too?” Nathaniel snapped at the barista when he noticed the other was looking at him than making his drink, narrowing his eyes as if to say ‘you better make my fucking drink, or I’ll call whoever’s in charge to make it for me’.

It didn’t seem to convey his message, however. Instead, the barista continued to look at him with a befuddled expression. Nathaniel was about to snap at him once again before the barista mused, “You always shift to your form whenever you’re angry?” Upon the look of confusion one Nathaniel face, the barista continued, “your horns are showing.” When he still failed to catch what the barista was saying, he was shown what the other meant with the other’s phone with its front camera opened.

“Oh my God.” Panic started to replace the frustration that he felt as he felt along the horns. “Where’s your restroom?” Once pointed towards the general direction Nathaniel quickly darted towards it to inspect himself. The stain on his pants was the least of his concern at the moment.

“Oh my God.”Nathaniel touched his face, which now felt rough to the touch, and he swore he could see an undercurrent between the lines. “No no no no no no. Change back. Okay. How do I change back?” He started pacing within the small space as he tried to remember how it went the last time.

#freddie001 #sorry this took so long >.> #swearing tw

[traviswsoul]

Day 28 Brook's Memorial Park to Sunnyside RV Resort 50 miles

July 31, 3:49 time, 2,044 caloires, 13.2 avg mph, 1,014; climbed After so many days resting up I was ready to ride. The campsite was great, I went to sleep at sunset reading Thomas Paine’s The Age of Reason, which is blowing my mind, and then was at with the sun at 5:30. This was a great execution of the morning routine so I was able to run through the breakfast and packing like a pro. This was greatly assisted by having a dry tent, I think I’m learning something about dew, I believe dew doesn’t settle through the night as much as it settles in the morning after the sun comes up. It makes sense, if the air around a colder thing heats up then the surface of the thing gathers dew, it’s just condensation I’m thinking. This lines up with my observation and is encouraging me to get up as soon as its light, I really hate packing a wet tent! Adapting my body to routine of the sun is really exciting for me, I have always been a morning person and believed this to be the best way to make the most of the day. I hope that I can keep it up when I get off the road. It makes me think about how much time I have been outside, and sleeping and waking without a roof over my head that normally allows my controlling of light, and so many other things. I am enjoying an learning a lot from the simplicity of a narrow realm of control and adapting myself to nature instead of trying to force all the elements to adapt to my lifestyle. But, don’t get me wrong, I’m also looking forward to sleeping in when this is all over and I’m back in my bed, I need some black out curtains. ;) However this morning I had almost pedaled out of the park before realizing I didn’t have my Garmin computer in its place, I turned around and dug it out of some pocket it didn’t belong in, I’ve got to unpack and reorganize everything soon. Because I am no longer on the coast I no longer have maps and planned routes, instead I downloaded a route on the Ride With GPS app and when I was setting it up I checked avoid highways. This was a bad move. I rode for a couple hours, the last few miles down the same road, I knew I had a right turn coming up and that it was going to take eight miles toward the next town. This road was deep grey gravel with some packed spots from driving but like cars do to roads like this the packed spots were rippled and a nightmare to ride over. I had a little hope that it might turn into a paved road so I went almost a half mile before throwing in the towel and turning around. The way back was downhill and there were several times I was certain I as going to crash as I drifted through the loose surface. Somehow I managed to not though and arrived back to where I started. I happened to just get phone service at this same time so despite the chaos I called mom right away because she hadn’t heard from me in a couple days, and I promised her that wouldn’t happen. She was at a computer and helped find my way, as she has always done so well, even before computers. I’m actually really grateful for this mixup because I ended up cycling through the Yakima Valley hop farms. Eighty percent of America’s hops come from here, they grow all different varieties, the ones hop fans are familiar with as well as ones they developed and cultivated ones found wild. I am a huge hop fan myself and have in the last year become for intrigued about how they grow. My local brew supply store had some for sale in the shop one day that you could grow at home, then I talked with a friend of mine that farms hay about them and we wondered if they’d grow in the Texas hillcountry, surely local Texas beer brewers would pay a lot more for Texas hops than what whoever pays for hay. The field is covered with a grid of rope and wire suspended twenty feet up in the air. Ropes are run from it to the ground, one for each hop vine in the rows. They grow tall wrapping up the vine and reaching for the sun, it’s a beautiful sight to see. I stopped as soon as I did, parked my bike and walked in to inspect what this was. It was a young plot and none of the plants had mature hops on them so I didn’t recognize them right away. I did have a feeling it was hops from the baby buds I found on them, I took a sample to ask someone later but I didn’t have to, down the road was a mature field with towering vines and fully developed fat hops. I was beside myself, my ideas were confirmed and they had been on my mind for such long time so to see it in person felt like the coolest culmination of my ongoing farming lesson that has been this trip. I continued to ride turn after turn through hop farms all at different stages of growth approaching harvest and delivering those delicious betters flavoring my favorite hopy IPAs. All day I had been riding through or along the Yakima Nation Indian Reservation and the Yakima River. I will take this moment to not start ranting about the genocide that created the foundation for our sprawling across this “great” nation and the irony and conflict that I feel about national pride because we collectively choose to ignore this fact……If you stole someone’s TransAm you wouldn’t go blasting around town, blaring Metallica, yelling about it with your mulleted head hangin out the window, flying a flag with you name on it would you? How long after it’s been stolen and passed down to your kids does it become appropriate behavior? This is why I have a hard time with the braggadocios pride on Independence day, why I’ll always bring up smallpox at Thanksgiving, and could only wear an American branded article ironically. Budweiser beer has the word America in the place the brand name used to be, it’s way out of hand. People keep realizing the truth in the line Not all Donald Trump supporters are racist, but all racists are Donald Trump supporters, and they also see them selves as the greatest patriots as well, only adding to my resistance to align where I’m supposed to, patriotism, its a no brainer right? You go all gung ho about where ever your from and allow ideas that’s it’s the best actually hold water. That’s insane, It’s like religions knowing that all the others are wrong and mine is right. Clinging to nationalism, hyper patriotism and rejecting things foreign or different are blatant signs of insecurity and self doubt, in some cases, in my opinion. But since I’m not ranting about the patriotic forgetfulness of the blood on our hands after “founding” our country I’ll move on to my next flat tire. The Yakima river took me into Granger, there are dinosaurs in Granger, all over the town, apparently its a ancient river bed and some of the first fossils were found there. There really cling to there dino identity in Granger, theres not much really to be honest. I needed to eat and managed to find the only restaurant in town that was inside a little Mexican market and meat shop. I had a great time visiting with the three woman sitting next to me at the second of the only three tables there. I drank a bottle of appeared to be Mexican version of pedialite, that stuff you give to babies when they are sick and need electrolites, which I sure did, it was hot outside. The bonus was it was Horchatta flavored! I love Horchata and used to order the cinnamon rice milk drink at Magie’s, my favorite Mexican joint in my home town. I hope I find that again some day! It wasn’t much further to the next town, I had options, I could have stopped there or gone on but I was in no rush and then my tire popped a quarter mile from the first gas station of the town so it was decided, Sunnyside Washington would be home for the night. I had a hell of a time changing this tire. The one tube I tried to replace it with ended up have a bad valve in it and wouldn’t take air, I only realized this after wasting a buck in quarters and a CO2 figuring it out. When I the bike was finally ridable and put back together I spent a while riding around this big little town. I checked the Big 5 Sports store and the Walmart. Little air guns and pellet guns use CO2 but they don’t screw in so they don’t have threads to use with my tire inflator. So knowing there was nothing left to do I cruised around eyes for a spot to camp. The back of the Walmart had a line of overhead bushes and right behind them was 8 foot lane before a huge endless corn field, it would have been perfect but it was still early, I could use a shower, and didn’t want to not be able to leave my stuff to go eat or get water. Sunnyside RV Resort was a much better option for twenty bucks. I met some wonderful kids too there that were really interested in me, my stuff, harmonica and had all kinds of random ass stories to tell me like, about the bug at school, the treasure he buried in the yard, and the youngest just mumbled stuff constantly. They were are dirty from playing outside all day and not afraid of their curiosity. The six year old gave me a blue magic stone which was one of the half glass marbles from a fish tank, I’m keeping it forever. The guy who ran the place sent me to El Valle for the Lamb Shank and Cadillac Margarita. The lamb was delicious covered in enchilada sauce served with rice and cheesy refried beans, I didn’t need any liquor though so I passed on the Cadillac. I went to bed full and happy I was back on the road and in the full swing of things.

PS. The encouragement from strangers and drivers everyday is amazing, powerful and really helps me push on sometimes when it’s slow. Please take note, If you want to express your excitement about seeing a cyclist on the road and cheer him on, be sure not to begin honking until after you have passed him and he can identify you as an ally by your fist pumping out the window. Ally’s honks don’t sound any different than Asshole’s

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 32. Move II. Part III. Sydney

Whew! Made it.

Writing this trilogy has been a massive project, written over four weeks and across several countries. From the start, I knew this was going be a long process given the epic, exciting, exhausting, and wonderful three months these posts had to capture.

Thankfully, with heavy use of bullet points, I’ve finally managed to post Parts I & II. That leaves me with one last post: our arrival.

Part III. The finale. Welcome to ‘Straya.

Technically “our” arrival was actually at two different times: Chelsay landed in Sydney on 1/31/18 while I didn’t arrive until 2/5/18. This keeps happening for one reason or another, but Chelsay & I never end up taking these 8+ hour cross-oceanic flights together. Over the past two years, we’ve combined for 13 flights over the Atlantic or Pacific, but somehow only been together for TWO of them!

Oh well, we bought enough Tylenol PM in the States to knock us out for the entire 24 hour journey anyway. Plus, Chelsay’s early arrival gave her a chance to scout neighborhoods before starting work, and she hit the ground running! Over a series of four days (and as documented in 857 texts), she covered nearly every neighborhood in Sydney, sharing valuable details such as commute times, home quality, and potential for spider infestations. She didn’t just settle for house hunting either, she also set up our bank account, arranged cell phone plans, AND found six Din Tai Fungs near our temp housing.

Most importantly though, she found her way to Sydney’s beaches. We were moving in early February, so everywhere we’d been over the past eight weeks was cooooold. London, Tokyo, Kyoto, Dallas, and Seattle, all in the middle of winter. I never want to forget FaceTiming Chelsay in the few days before I arrived… It was busy season, so I was calling late at night at the Expedia office, looking out at the dark, cold, and wet Bellevue skyline. Meanwhile, on the other end of the screen, Chelsay was in 85 degree sunshine, sipping acai smoothies at Bondi Beach, with the sound of waves crashing & tropical birds chirping in the background. It was an awesome light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel, but it also might’ve been the most jealous I’ve ever been. Thinking about it, the only comparative jealousy was when she ordered ribs at our 2016 Valentine’s Dinner in Copenhagen…

Alas, it wasn’t long until my arrival, and my flight in was a beaut. The connection was a disaster (delayed in SEA so I literally sprinted through LAX to barely catch my next flight). But with clear skies, these 30,000 foot views of Sydney reminded me why I was running. 

The day I arrived was actually Chelsay’s first day at work, but I didn’t mind being alone because the Eagles-Pats Super Bowl kicked off right as I walked into our temp housing. Is there a better way to shake off 24 hours of travel than watching Tom Brady lose in the Super Bowl?  Only if you follow the Philly Special with a jet-lag fighting coastal run immediately afterwards.  (Experiment: as I’m writing this, my guess is I’ll look pretty pale in this first few pictures. I haven’t checked, but watch this space throughout the post).

That first night, Chelsay and I met up at the pristine Royal Botanic Gardens, where we walked through magnificently manicured paths towards my first glimpses of the Sydney Opera House. With the Harbour Bridge in the background, Chelsay and I looked out in awe as we reflected on all the effort it took to get to that exact moment. Late night interviews, visa sponsorship stress, Primrose Hill celebrations, BuzzFeed article and YouTube Sydney research, rushed moving logistics, and most recently, airport sprints. An exciting but challenging past couple months, but we’d finally made it to our new home.

So, status check: I’ve finally arrived in Australia. Yes, technically that’s where this post was meant to begin, but it took 500 words to set the scene… Chelsay had now started working too. Meanwhile, I was very much unemployed.  Chelsay didn’t find out about Sydney until December, so with Christmas holiday, my US busy season, and the Aussie school summer break in January, I pretty much hadn’t connected with anyone in the city. Like I said, very much unemployed.

Networking wasn’t my only priority though. Chelsay and I also needed to decide on a neighborhood, find a house (and furniture, electronics, etc), WRITE THIS DAMN BLOG, and most importantly, plan our first vacation (Western Australia, which I’ll save to discuss in my next post).

All in, there was certainly enough to keep me busy for a few weeks. Despite being unemployed, I was genuinely “working” the same hours as Chelsay. I’d roll into Starbucks at 8, take a break at noon to work out and eat lunch (a deli chicken & pickle sandwich -- the unemployed man’s Chick-fil-a), then head to the park and hop back into emails, or cover letters, or letting profiles, or Western Australia logistics, or this stupid Six Sigma course I signed up for. It’s more fun to write about the “Welcome to Straya” stuff we got into (which I’ll do further down), but I also want to remember how I used my days these first few weeks. (Note: tan)

One more moving logistic-y thing before the fun: our neighborhood decision. With the London move, I spent a whole post discussing how we decided on St John’s Wood. I don’t need to do that this time. What I’ll say is that we knew Manly was the neighborhood for us all along, but spent a week or two trying to convince ourselves that it wasn’t.

Remember the post about Chelsay waiting to hear back about her interviews? About how I’d researched potential neighborhoods even though she hadn’t been offered yet? ...Yeah, I’d picked Manly all the way back in November. It’s a laid back coastal town, filled with friendly young families and expats, and a self-sustaining number of shops and restaurants. Actually none of those factors matter... Manly Beach is TripAdvisor’s Best Beach in Australia, so I could’ve just stopped there.

There’s one downside to Manly though: in a country that’s already remote, Manly might be the most isolated neighborhood in Sydney. The town, which was literally a quarantine from 1820 to 1980, is on the very edge of Sydney Harbour’s northern peninsula, right at the mouth of the Pacific Ocean. It would be an hour drive to CBD, but the more efficient commute is by ferry, which:

Only takes 20 minutes

Passes the Opera House each way

Gives you the chance to see the occasional whale or dolphin on your way to work

Costs $7.50 per person per trip, or $30 per day total

For about 10 days, that last bullet was a deal-breaker... We actually moved on from our dream neighborhood and started looking in Coogee, Bronte, Bondi, Surry Hills, and Double Bay. By the time our first day of tours rolled around, we’d narrowed our options to Bondi & Coogee, and Chelsay & I felt okay about a few of the homes we toured. We’d gone through all of our Eastern Suburb options in the morning though, so with half the day left, our agent proactively scheduled a few tours in Manly.

When we arrived, it was just so obvious that this was the place for us. It comes with all the perks of a slowed-down, chilled-out beach community (beautiful beach, best surf in Sydney, and I can walk around without shoes on), but still has all of the activities we wanted nearby (shops, restaurants, tennis courts, running trails, and access to all 20 of the Northern Beaches).

Chelsay and I had to make a big decision. We knew we needed to live by the beach… Genuinely, this might be our only chance to ever live by a beach, so we really don’t have a choice. Well, what is the best beach town for us? Manly. Okay, then that’s all that matters and we’ll flex our spending to make the commute work. …That said, you get what you pay for with these views every day.

So, we decided on Manly, and then we took the best property available here. It’s on a hill and might be the highest point in town (no need for a gym membership), but it’s also two blocks from the beach, has amazing views of Manly and Watson’s Bay, and is entirely renovated. We moved in, unpacked all the US boxes we hadn’t seen in two years (it’s crazy how much useless junk we owned), and made an infinite number of trips to furniture outlets. We’re still not completely settled, but very happy with our sunrise views, runs up & down the mile-long beach, and back-breaking wipeouts while boogie boarding (maybe I shouldn’t have been all the way out by the surfers?).

Now. Enough logistics - on to the activities. In our first month, how have Chelsay and I taken advantage of living in Sydney?

Well, it all started very touristy, with routine trips to the Harbour Bridge, Sydney Opera House, and Royal Botanic Gardens. These might be obvious, but there’s a reason they’re so popular, and these views could never get old.

After the established favorites, we started getting into more local cuts. On Valentine’s Day (which is not celebrated here at all), Chelsay and I saw the very funny An Act of God in Darlinghurst. Some of the play actually relied on audience participation, so of course Chelsay got picked (she’s a magnet – the same thing happened at the Robot Restaurant in Tokyo). Like literally every audience participant ever, we were awkward and so God (or at least the actor playing God) playfully joked around with us. We used an intermission bathroom break to dry off our sweat.  

Speaking of performances, we also saw an outdoor movie (I, Tonya) in Centennial Park. The movie was great but the real show came beforehand. As the sun set, while laying back in our bean bags and eating Oporto (the new & improved Nandos), Chelsay and I looked on in awe as beautiful reds, oranges, yellows, AND BATS filled the sky. WTF, is this normal?? I had no idea there were bats in Sydney, but apparently I was the only one. Everyone else just casually carried on like there weren’t rodents flying around above us.

Other unusual activities: Chelsay & I arrived right around the Lunar New Year, which comes with a host of bizarre festivities. ~20% of Sydney’s population has immediate Asian ancestry (with 7% actually born in China), so the holiday is a big deal here. Whether walking through food markets, past train stations, or under the Harbour Bridge, it was impossible to miss the unique celebrations.

We’ve also managed to make friends in our first few weeks here. In London, it was tough to get together with other couples because our friend group was always travelling. We’d try to grab dinner or drinks with Brooke & Mike or the GEP crew, but genuinely have to schedule six weeks out because they’d be in Rome for two weekends, followed by Chelsay & I’s trip to Iceland, and then their parents would be in town, etc. With Australia, our vacations will be longer but more spaced out, so we have more weekends in Sydney for BBQs or hikes or time with friends. This social renaissance started in our first few weeks, with boating in Sydney Harbour (where the captain didn’t tell us there were sharks in the water until after we finished swimming), picnics on Manly Beach, and a couple’s hike from Spit Bridge with our Manly friends, Pete & Megan.

Chelsay and I also got out for a day-trip on our own, venturing an hour from the city for an 8 mile hike through Royal National Park. We heard about some Figure 8 pools on RNP’s coast, so arbitrarily found a loop trail that could take us there. I knew the pools themselves would be cool, but the prettiest views came from the hike itself: untamed palm jungles, coastal breeze along the headlands, and expansive coastline as far as you could see. (PS, update on my tanning experiment: solid coloring in the first few weeks)

To go with all these activities, Chelsay & I have also started to establish our inventory of food options, including: Sunset Sabi’s Japanese fusion, 678 Korean BBQ, Three Blue Ducks’ breakfast, Coogee Pavilion drinks, Harajuku Gyoza, The Whiskey Room, Bill’s breakfast, Thirsty Bird fried chicken, Bulletin Place cocktails, Mappen soba, Alice’s Makan Malaysian, Vic’s Meat Market brisket, and everything that was going on at the Grounds of Alexandria.

What has been the biggest highlight of our first month though? Without a doubt, it’s been Manly itself. We’ve only been here a week, but I already love this neighborhood so much. It feels like a resort town (which it was, until Aussies discovered flights to Bali). It’s so rare to find a place that offers quality, cleanliness, activities, and beach vibes. In Manly, the locals are as warm as the weather, the views are breath-taking, the restaurants are delicious, and shoes are definitely optional. After three months of bouncing around, Chelsay and I couldn’t have found a better place to finally settle.

Summarizing my last three posts, we moved from London to Sydney.

Okay, that’s over simplifying things because this prolonged move took three months and covered FOUR continents. Instead, I’ll use the bags we lived out of to summarize how far we’ve come.

On December 12, as Chelsay and I closed the door to our London flat for the last time, we knew we wouldn’t have our own home again until we were settled in Sydney. For the next 12 weeks, we’d be living out of the same bags we rolled around Heathrow that day.

First stop for our bags (and us): Japan, where we experienced the neon lights lifestyle of Tokyo, and enjoyed historic holy temples in Kyoto. Next, our bags arrived in Dallas, TX, where we busted out our specially-packed Christmas sweaters and cherished being home for the holidays. We then temporarily unpacked our bags for a month in Seattle, where we spent January reuniting and reminiscing with family and friends. Then, for the last leg of our trip, our bags caught a one-way flight to Sydney, where we wore the swimsuits we’d packed while it was snowing in London.

Now, as I write the last sentence of this three-part moving post, our bags are empty and stored away, finally unpacked in their new home. 

[studiomaya]

Introducing Meg

You know how little kids say whatever they want, whenever they want? They aren’t self conscious. They aren’t worried that the world won’t like them if they mess up.

I spent my elementary school years in and out of school. My parents were pretty careless about pulling me out if they were traveling, and sticking me back in when we got back. They liked to do their South Asian travel during the winter, which allowed them to miss monsoon season, but wasn’t really ideal for my school year. I really don’t think it mattered much, and maybe because I was in public school in New York City, I don’t think anyone at the school cared. I had some math workbooks that my mom picked up at the grocery store, and I did those off and on. I was pretty good at math and it was kind of fun to finish the books. And I read. I read and read and read. So whenever I got back to school and suddenly had to draw a bean plant and name the parts, or had to do long division on the blackboard, it was never a problem. And I was a real talker, so if we had to discuss poetry or a book, you could hardly shut me up.

In sixth grade, everything changed. My parents decided that I needed something more rigorous and that they would be more careful about snatching me out of school to go on long trips to weird places. I still went on some pretty strange trips, but they were a little less scattered, more concentrated during the summer and school vacations. My dad teaches South Asian history at the New School, my mom runs an antique shop, and both of them thought that it would be better for me to have more challenging schoolwork. They have some friends who somehow got me an interview at this fancy school on the upper East Side—not one of the crazy elite schools, but it was still posh, compared to what I was used to. I remember the interview well—I wore these dusty brown Doc Martens and cotton harem pants that I had made myself, and I must have looked a sight! The headmistress was almost like a cartoon character, she was such a type—poofy white hair, pink sweater, pearls—and thought I was hysterical. I found out later that I was getting a big scholarship. I don’t know whether it was because we couldn’t afford it or whether they thought I needed to be rescued from the perils of public school.

The kids were pretty nice but I had a hard time getting to know them. They did soccer together after school, or dance, or music lessons. They all knew each other, and their parents knew each other. My parents were not really in the loop on school, and since everyone lived all over the place, there wasn't a neighborhood you could draw on to meet people. But everyone was well-behaved, polite, and seemed to care about school and grades a lot more than they had at my old school in Greenwich Village. I knew that I wasn’t like them, but it didn’t bother me terribly. I wasn’t like the kids at my old school, either, and it had never caused any problems for me.

But things took a weird turn at some point that first year, when we were supposed to do a research report on a foreign country. It was an oral report, but we also had to put together some sort of illustrated brochure thing to turn in. I was super excited. I mean, this was my life. I had been to so many different countries, I could speak a few different languages, and dinner at home with my parents was all about which tribal motif was embedded in what carpet from which village in Afghanistan. This was my thing and I was so excited to share. And I was excited to hear what everyone else had to say. You didn’t exactly discuss foreign countries when you went out for recess. I don’t think anyone knew much about the stuff that lived in my head. The girls talked about pop music and movie stars, and I was okay with those subjects. The boys talked about sports, which I knew nothing about, but that was okay because anyway the boys and the girls were starting to separate and do their own stuff that year. Everyone knew that my family and I had traveled a lot, but everyone was so polite about it, as if it would be rude to pry. So I was thinking that standing up in front of the class would be my chance to tell everyone about things that were so important to me.

I remember what I wore the day of the presentations. I was doing Pakistan, a country where we had spent a lot of time, so I wore a shalwar kameez, which are these baggy pajama pants and a tunic and a scarf. It’s what girls wear in Pakistan every day—it’s not some kind of dress-up thing or special occasion get-up. When I walked into the classroom, everyone stopped talking and turned to stare. These were all kids that I had been friendly with since the start of school, kids that I ate lunch with and compared notes with during math class. I didn’t think wearing a shalwar kameez was such an earth-shattering thing, but everyone looked amazed. I started to feel a little funny. I heard one guy say to someone, “Is there extra credit for wearing a costume?”

I sat at my desk, flipping through my notes, but I wasn’t thinking about my presentation. I was suddenly thinking about the last time I had worn that shalwar kameez, running around the gardens of Shalimar in Lahore, surrounded by cascading fountains and apricot trees. I had a friend in Lahore, a much younger girl named Rihana, the daughter of one of the caretakers at the house where we usually stayed. I was always put in charge of Rihana so I had to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid, like fall into a fountain or slip and break her neck on the wet marble. She talked a mile a minute in Urdu with an adorable lisp, switching into accented baby English when I complained that she was going too fast for me to catch everything she said. I had not seen her in a couple of years and I wondered what she was doing. I thought of the sunset’s glowing reflection in the pools at the park, the evening call to prayer, and the scent of jasmine at night, which is always so much stronger than in the day, and to my surprise and dismay I could feel tears in my eyes. It was like being homesick, except that I was homesick for a place that wasn’t home.

I tilted my head back so that the tears wouldn’t actually run down my cheeks. I could see the other students milling about. The girls with their flat-ironed hair and perfect manicures and Ugg boots, the boys with their Under Armour and their crew cuts. The girl who sat in front of me was digging around in a Louis Vuitton briefcase. I suddenly felt quite bizarre, sitting in a classroom on the Upper East Side in my shalwar kameez. Maybe I’m exaggerating how weird it felt, looking back on it now. When I think about it, it’s like I’m floating above the class and looking at this one weird girl with her dark green tunic and pajama pants and frizzy red hair in a scrunchy, in the middle of a sea of perfect straight hair and Abercrombie jeans. I look so strange. And I think that was the first day, ever, that I felt as strange as I probably had always looked.

The first student to present her country was the girl with the Louis Vuitton briefcase, Alexandra. Her country was Egypt. I had been really looking forward to her presentation. I had a lot to say about Egypt—I knew Egypt really well. I even spoke some Arabic, although it wasn’t as good as my Urdu.

But as the presentation unfolded, I became increasingly dismayed. I think she must have lifted the whole thing from Wikipedia or the CIA fact book. Facts and figures galore and estimated GDP. A long, tedious discourse on the pharaohs and the pyramids. I bit my lip, trying to keep the expression off my face. How does anyone make pharaohs boring, I thought. Alexandra continued on, pushing back her smooth, blonde hair repeatedly with a practiced gesture. A sparkly bracelet slid up and down on her wrist.

After she had said the word “Muslim” and “Islam” about ten times, I raised my hand. Alexandra stopped speaking, clearly startled.

“There are Copts, too,” I began. I stopped. I hadn’t meant to stop her in her tracks, but I had feeling in my chest as if I would burst—and maybe she was getting to the Copts and wouldn’t mind some engagement with the class.

Alexandra shot a look at the teacher, who had retreated to the back of the room to listen and take notes.

“Copts,” she repeated.

“Coptic Christians?” I added helpfully.

“Oh. Right. Um, Christians in Egypt,” she nodded. She looked again at the teacher for help. The teacher remained impassive.

There was a silence. I felt eyes on me. I didn’t dare turn to see the expressions on the faces of my classmates. I knew instinctively that I had done something very wrong by speaking up.

But I couldn’t stand it. This was no introduction to Egypt, a country I had loved for as long as I could remember. Egypt was the land of pyramids, it was true. But it was also the land of so much more—Muslims and Christians, a huge entertainment industry that delighted the entire Arabic-speaking world, a Nobel-prize-winning novelist. It wasn’t this dry, boring place that she was describing, and if all you could say about the population was the name of the majority religion, you were entirely missing all the energy and conflict that made it such a dynamic, passionate culture.

“Thank you for your question, Meg,” the teacher said in a carefully neutral tone.

I felt sick. I had done something wrong, and I honestly had not meant to. Everyone was going to hate me now. At the same time, I felt angry. There was nothing wrong with my intentions. I wasn’t trying to make Alexandra look foolish, but she apparently didn’t have anything in her speech about the real Egypt.

My palms were sweating. I felt like I couldn’t move in my seat.

As other students got up one by one to give their presentations, I got to work on my own script. I had written it out in outline form on note cards, but I now took a pencil and started to draw lines through parts of my speech.

It was bad enough that I was going to have to stand there in a shalwar kameez. There was no way I was going to give the delighted description of the Lahore of my younger years that I had planned.

They would never understand the people are the heart and soul of a culture, of a country. They would never understand. I had to just try not to be laughed at, try not to upset the balance.

So my speech was shorter than planned. I started with a casual reference to my clothes and made a joke about pajamas. The class chuckled politely. Most of what I said was not actually written on my cards. I made up some facts and figures about population and chief industries, and then recited a brief history of the partition of India and the creation of Pakistan in 1947 from memory. I didn’t say a word about the labyrinthine alleyways of the market in Lahore, or the jasmine vines in Shalimar.

As I spoke, I looked around the room, but I didn’t see the faces. They were a blur. I could have imagined anything I wanted on those faces—disgust, contempt, amusement—but I don’t even remember them because I was just trying to get through the five minutes that I was standing up there in that outfit. Here’s something really strange—I could still smell jasmine. And I could feel my eyes filling up. I was sniffling and tossing my head because I didn’t want the tears to run down my face. I think maybe this would have qualified as some kind of panic attack, because I was imagining everything—the jasmine, the reaction of the kids, all of it. It wasn’t actually real. But everything, the emotions and the blurry audience, felt so REAL, and my stupid speech felt like something out of the dictionary.

There was polite applause when I sat down. My stomach still felt funny—when I get that angry, burning feeling inside, sometimes it feels weird in my stomach for days afterwards.

I actually got a B+ for that presentation. The weird feeling in my stomach came back when I saw the grade. I saw the brief comment on the front page of the brochure, something mildly critical about my artwork, before cramming the pages into my folder. I couldn’t stand to look at what exactly the teacher had said, but I am a pretty sucky artist, so I told myself that since my parents weren’t helping me to illustrate my work like the other parents did with their kids, I was obviously not going to get a top grade for that assignment. I buried the sense of disappointment and frustration, thinking that I was just glad to get out of that project without further embarrassment. No one had ever mentioned my Pakistani “costume” that day, and Alexandra remained carefully friendly, although she and the other girls remained a little too polite and a little too cordial—I knew that I wasn’t ever going to be their “type” anyway.

On my way out of the classroom on the day that we got our papers back, the teacher stopped me and waited until everyone had exited the room. He spoke kindly.

“You know a lot about foreign countries,” he said to me.  I nodded.

“You’ve had an interesting life. You know much more than other kids your age.”

I nodded again.

“You know, some people study foreign cultures their whole lives.”

“I know. My parents—“ My voice suddenly choked on me and I stopped. I tried to clear my throat.

The teacher smiled and cocked his head. “You’re way ahead of most of the kids. But eventually you’ll be able to find people who share your interests. You’ll get there.” He patted my shoulder.

I really appreciated his kindness. And I understood what he was saying. That I was only weird—among my classmates. They were the normal ones, I was the weird one. I was going to be okay if I stuck to weird people like me.