Whew! It’s been an insane week. From fast paced classes to one hour drives back and forth to a gig and a concert ending the week in…tada, a nasty cold. So first I’m going to ramble and rant a bit about my schedule and then I’m going to talk about how to remain sane when life becomes a mutant rollercoaster.  (<< whoa the imagery xD)

Ok my frens, LIFE IS TRULY AND TRULY INSANE FOR ANNA RIGHT NOW.  I have classes three times a week no problemo right? Well *smacks lips and rubs hands * let me explain...

*cue rant* I wake up at five thirty so I can have the time to pack a healthy lunch and supper (*nodnod* I’m not insane yet, you’ll see why), get dressed, pack my three bags (I swear I look like a backpacker every day…one’s for school books THICK ONES, the other’s for swim stuff, and the third is lunch bag.) and look decent. (Oh and did I mention I have to go shake my dad and brother awake about three times in the course of the morning before they arise?)

It takes one hour to get to school, ONE HOUR. No that’s not an issue with me anymore but this human bean can’t read or write in the car for her life. Let’s just say I’ve gotten over feeling like a big failure for that one practically wasted hour.

And then…school, school is incredibly fun and I have epic teachers and frens but honestly HOMEWORK. Then swimming, then college orchestra…I get home at TEN PM PEOPLE. TEN PM and then you know…HOMEWORK. Then my mom decided it would be a great idea to drag me to ANOTHER co op on Wednesdays which is one of the two free days in my week. Ok, it’s SO MUCH FUN *whines* but you know? MORE HOMEWORK! (and the classes? Entrepreneurship, finance and careers) << fun yet tough stuff peeps.

And this week…I did a gig with a band and then a concert, I was singing at the beginning of a horrid sore throat and bam, I’m fully sick and stuffy for the concert and now is the weekend and I’m praying I’ll be better before Monday because…falling behind…is a PAIN. *whines a bit more*

*end of rant*

Ok guys sorry *smiles guiltily* It’s out now…and I can be back to the positive side of how to handle life and also I AM REALLY SORRY for taking so long to answer your emails and comment on your posts (because honestly I want to dote and admire every single one of you but you know…life *sigh*)

SO How does one handle LIFE when things are so busy? Here are some tricks and tips and trust me I am preaching to myself here as well ;) I hope this helps my peeps.

A personal narrative essay I had to write for school :) Wanted to share it with you all since I missed this past Saturday's post...

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It was a pretty beaded bracelet: deep blue, white and shiny, graced with elegant thinness. I had bargained it out with the seller, and had gotten it for as cheap as I could and really it was nothing but elastic with beads strung on in bracelet form…but to me it was an absolute treasure. To rewind, it all happened on a trip…a trip I took with my choir to England and then Ghana. I was eleven and no doubt this trip was one of the biggest events that led to my coming of age. The bracelet I instantly put on my wrist, which since it was very thin, caused the bracelet to hang spaciously. That bracelet saw many of my adventures, it followed me onto a precarious swinging rope walk above the jungle and down to the ambassador’s house…it witnessed my plate of fries and rice with plantains neglected to the side and it even came with me to an orphanage. But mysteriously…it didn’t come back. And that’s where my story starts.

I think there was always something in my heart for orphans, maybe it sprung from reading Anne of Green Gables…or my mother’s magazines filled with tear jerking adoption stories. Anyhow it was deeply ingrained in my heart and my mind that one of the greatest things in the world would be to love and be friends with an orphan since my future of adopting one was far off.  I’ll really never forget that day I said goodbye to my precious bracelet for something much more precious.

Sweltering heat hazed in a cloudy gray sky, down below, the ground was colored deep ochre red dust. Entering a concrete rectangle of a room we endured some welcoming thanks from the leaders of the orphanage. The memories are blurry in my mind but I remember a few things clearly: a group of orphanage children dancing and singing for us followed by our performance. But those things don’t matter much to my story, what truly mattered was the moment we all flocked outside to play soccer. Instead though I decided to hang around the sidelines and talk with some children. The first person I encountered was a girl with ebony skin and shining brown eyes so I said hello and we hit it off. Though she looked no older than twelve she was in fact sixteen. I don’t really remember her name or everything that we talked about but I remember that when one of my friends said we had to go, I scrawled my name and address on a paper so that my new friend could write to me. Suddenly my eye caught my bracelet and flitted to her wrist to notice a pretty green and golden bracelet.

“Where did you get the bracelet?” I asked

“One of the girls gave it to me.” She answered taking my piece of paper and tucking it in her uniform pocket.

I stared at my precious bracelet and I wavered, but finally I took it off and handed it to her.

“Here...it’s for you.” I smiled at her.

Her brown eyes shone as she put the bracelet on her own wrist and she looked up at me and said thank you.  I don’t remember much else than the hug I gave her before rejoining my choir.

Days passed and I went home. Weeks and then months of eagerly checking my mailbox but my friend never wrote. Time may have passed but it never robbed the little spark of joy in that moment long ago…one that words can’t really explain; one that only the sparkle of an eye, a touch of a hand, or a shared memory can. Some days I still wonder about my friend; is she married? What does she do for a living? How did her life turn out? Does she still have my bracelet…or was it forgotten or broken long ago? I may never know the answers to these questions but that encounter so long ago taught me something I’ll never forget, something that’s repeated in my life over and over again.

Letting go is often a way of holding on.