Then I turned 11, moved to Florida, and gained an unhealthy dose of self awareness. I was suddenly keenly observant of the bodies, emotions, words, and grades of everyone around me. I existed in a dichotomy where it was okay to play with Barbie dolls, break out the dress up box when my friends came over, and wear Harry Potter costumes to book releases, but only if I deliberately did so as to not conform to the standards that dictated pre-teen life. Had I engaged in any of these nerdy, childish activities without demonstrated my understanding that they were, in fact, nerdy and childish, I would have been banished to an even less cool lunch table.
This was the era when a birthday party consisted of my four best friends and I eating as much cake as we wanted and not talking about how fat we thought we were. This was when my (slightly age-inappropriate) birthday gift of Truth or Dare Jenga made me laugh uncomfortably because I didn´t know what all the words meant, and I never wanted to admit that to my friends.
This was a time when girls still wore Halloween costumes that covered over 40% of their skin but friendships could be formed and broken in the span of a three-hour party.
This was an age when labels - of popular, unpopular, jock, nerd, teacher´s pet, bad boy, class clown, and so many more - were somehow magically distributed and, even more shockingly, magically left unquestioned. When who I stood next to in a group picture might determine, and did, my best friends for the next year. When a Limited Too shirt was essential to be considered cute but then, overnight and without fanfare, American Eagle and Abercrombie suddenly swooped in and upped the ante by demanding we all now be hott and thin.
When people formed friendships that endure to this day, even though some friendships barely survived the 7th grade. When I met people I would never have guessed I´d still talk to. When we were all trying to figure out our place in the world.
When it was impossible for boys and girls to be friends without rumors floating around of a possible crush and, yet, my tight-knit group of Team C classmates (the school´s label, not ours) somehow managed to churn out amazing, creative group projects that were romance- and drama-free.
When we passed notes filled with goofy doodles and compliments like, "I luvvvvvv ur shirt!" but were also preemptively mean and hurtful to friends, lest we be the ones ostracized from the group. When friends were finally observant enough to tell us what they liked and didn´t like about us. When I heard the critique, the first of many times I´ve heard it, that I´m intimidating and cold.
When I didn´t realize how much it would sadden me one day to realize I don´t remember all of their names and I don´t know where they are now.
When I didn´t realize how much it would sadden me one day to realize I don´t remember all of their names and I don´t know where they are now.
When I once farted in class and blamed it on one of the girls below. (I´m really sorry. I´ve been waiting a long time to confess to that one.)
Middle School was a chance to let obsessions run wild. Like my obsession with TLC´s Trading Spaces. (Fun Fact: My one and only celebrity encounter, to this day, was the Trading Spaces designer Frank Bielec. He signed the newspaper article about him and told me I had beautiful eyes. I was literally rendered speechless.)
Or my obsession with World Vision that would lead me to raise money to build a school in Mozambique, influence me to study International Affairs at Georgetown, and inspire me to live abroad after college. And here I am, at 25, fulfilling my dream to work for them. It´s been a love affair with development work that, at age 11, made me want to grow up to "save the world" and, at age 25, leaves me wondering everyday if we can figure out a way to all save each other.
Or my obsession with the cutest boy in middle school who once wrote me a note telling me, "I like you a 6 out of 10," that made my heart beat wildly for days. This was a time when brushing shoulders and passing notes pushed the limits of my flirting abilities and when the thought of holding hands made my palms sweat.
Middle school was the time of our sexual awakening. Oops! Scratch that.
Middle school was the time when we were giggly over the fact that Fabergé sounded more like a line of lingerie than a master jeweler of the Imperial House of Russia. And whispering the word "lingerie" was the closest any of us came to a sexual awakening in middle school. And I got this awesome, homemade birthday present: a faux instructional pamphlet on how to make my own "Fabraje´ Lingerie." (Fun Fact: the supremely creative friend who made this for me now works in the fashion industry in New York!)
Middle school was awful and wonderful, as so many dichotomous things are. We were in a hurry to get out of there but scared of what was to come. We couldn´t wait to be in high school, but as soon as we stepped through those doors we, once again, had to figure out how to grow up right. And we did, eventually.
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