The one time I remixed cotton candy and clouds. Yum.
Hello there! My name is Richelle Villabona. I am a sophomore at Southern Connecticut State University, and I am majoring in Early Childhood Education, as well as Interdisciplinary. My second major consists of a Psychology minor and the other is self-designed, and let's just say it is "interpreting cultures with a focus in Spanish, while teaching". (A mouthful. I know)
I'm merely a body filled to the brim with love, just looking for the people and things that make me feel alive. And with every moment, I am thankful.
Last week, my friend and I went to go see a concert in New Haven. It was her birthday, and since she transferred schools from SCSU to UHart, we decided to surprise her. She loves Melanie Martinez, who was on The Voice a few seasons back, and we had seen her in concert last year, too. It has become sort of a tradition now.
Upon arriving a half hour late to opening acts, we found ourselves annoyed by these young teenage girls not having the proper concert etiquette. Granted we were at a smaller venue and it was not as formal as other concert places, but it was simply just rude. It’s a wonder why people pay to physically be somewhere, when they are just looking through the lens of their camera or phone. And before you bust me for taking this photo up top, it was the only photo I took. Some of these girls had their flash on while taking a picture, and if that weren’t bad enough they would keep the flash on with the video.
We felt that Melanie’s music was ranged for older teenagers, because of her ‘potty mouth’ at times, and there were babies in the crowd and young girls that really should have been in bed, because it was a school night. The young girl in front of us had to have been pushing nine, and she had an iPhone, scrolling through twitter and instagram throughout the whole concert. Then, there were unsupervised children and it was like, “Excuse me, where is you parent or guardian?” I, of course, could not save them all, and to be honest, they didn’t want saving, because they looked at me like I was a grandma. And to fit that age, when I was their age, I wasn’t allowed to cross the street without my father holding my hand. I still can’t.
To say the least though, the concert was lovely, even for those meddling kids. (Maybe, they weren’t meddling, but still.)
Whether it be the internet ‘traffic’ of a buffering page, or the actual bumper to bumper action on I-95, it is pretty safe to say that both are very time consuming and quite frustrating.
A couple days ago, my brother and I were stuck in some pretty heavy traffic just before the Whitestone Bridge in New York. We had just dropped our father off at the airport, and on the ride home, I was contemplating which homework assignments were due very soon. Though throughout the week I have been trying to hit the ground sprinting, none of my other professors have uploaded the necessary assignments and codes needed to complete the homework. This was my technological roadblock, and my professors who seem to be doing what they need to, are not moving this construction site along quickly enough.
Despite my internal meltdown, I figured that while we were moving approximately zero miles per hour under this sign in actual traffic, I would take a quick snap of it. My brother looked at me like a fool, but to be honest, “you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take” (Wayne Gretzky/Michael Scott). There is no way you could get a picture like that if the hustle and bustle of cars were speeding through right behind your rear. Nonetheless, the moral of this story is: if we decide to keep looking at the red lights directly ahead of us, or the loading wheel leading to nothing, we are aimlessly waiting for really neat things to pass us by.
Depending on the environment that I am in, I can either bang out a really amazing thing, such as a song, painting, or paper etc., or struggle creating even the slightest coherent sentence.
Let's say that the room feels like the inside of a freezer or the Sahara Desert on a really, really... really, hot day. There is absolutely no way that anything productive could happen in those settings. But now, let's move locations to a comfortable bedroom, where there are blankets and pillows galore. The room is lined from the ceiling to the hardly noticeable nail polish stained hardwood floor with familiar paintings and childhood knickknacks. The room is not just a room. It is now, and it forever has been a place to relax, a place to breathe, a place to be surrounded by light, but more importantly, a place to call home. And now, I welcome you to it.
(As well as, this really neat lamp, I picked up today. Welcome home, lamp. May you always keep the stars close by, because the actual ones are really impractical to reach.)