Last Day of School

Tomorrow is my last day of school.

It is also the first time I'll be saying that without knowing I'll be back at school after summer vacation. I have such a mix of emotions inside of me right now that it is truly impossible for me to explain everything I'm feeling in words.

Surreal seems like one of the most appropriate word choices to describe my feelings towards this chapter's ending.

There had been many long nights, days, wee hours of the mornings when I'd cursed school to no end. There were essays I dreaded writing and exams that I walked into with the utmost terror (not to mention messy bun, bags under my eyes, sweatpants and hoodie attire.)

As a well-practiced procrastinator, many of my essay-related experiences involved me... My bedroom. My two best friends on Skype (you know who you are.) At least five cups of espresso. Facebook. YouTube. Papers. Notes. Garbage can full of notes. My nearby clock (ever-so politely displaying hour after excruciating hour pass by.) Some tears. Many body stretches. Many long glances around my room which turned into daydreams which often turned into two-three minute naps. I can't forget the glorious sunrise in all of this. Because I'd be lying if I said that most of my work was not completed (or in the final stages of completion) with the motivation of that beautiful sun rising. It is here where I thank my printer for pulling through. It is my belief that few people know the true pleasure of hitting the "Print" button until they've been through university.

Then there were the exams. Hours and hours of lectures, homework and studying widdled down into a two hour exam that really mostly tests your ability to control your nerves in such a case and remember just about... well, everything.

Lectures. There were certain lectures that I've blocked and erased from my mind completely. Lectures that were about two hours and 45 minutes too long. Lectures where I recorded about one line of notes but successfully organized my iTunes library, or pulled off a silent skype conversation with a friend, or beat eight consecutive solitaire games in a row, or even lectures where I spent most of my time texting and flirting with a certain someone.

So all this complaining. I should be happy to go. I should be running out the doors. Right? But as I sit here at 2:45 in the morning thinking about how this may be the last time I express, "I should get to bed soon... I have an early class" I also think about the good experiences, too.

I remember the first really, really good essay I ever wrote. It was in my Mass Communications class in first year. It was about Barbie and how I supported her rather than tear her down like most others do. I loved that essay and damn, I did well on it. I remember by first Public Relations class with Richard and how everything he described in that class seemed to scream, "Meltab!" I remember the reassuring feeling I felt that day - like I was on the right track or something.

While I can't really put my finger on a "fun" exam, I do chuckle thinking about some of the stresses I went through prior to some midterms. Frantically texting with classmates... desperately flipping through notes after notes and units after units trying to discover what certain terms meant... I also remember that feeling of finally being able to flip over the exam booklet and quickly skim the questions in the exam. I loved the feeling I'd get when I knew answers... recognized words and terms...

Yes, some lectures were difficult to get through but I'd have to say that most of them were pretty great. I was lucky to have quite a few professors who are true gems and I'll remember those special ones forever probably. I loved when our whole class would get involved in a deep discussion. As a group of public relations students, we tend to be a vocal crowd. Yes, there were definitely some lash-outs and probably name-callings along the way, but when these moments happened they always made class exciting.

I suppose one of the things I'll miss most about being a student is this lifestyle. The very lifestyle I sometimes hated. The very lifestyle that kept me up and caused countless all-nighters. The very lifestyle that caused me to step out of my house looking like a zombie. The very lifestyle that had made me repeat to myself so many times... "just three more years..." "just two more years, you're half way..." "just one more year, you're almost done..." to... tonight. "One more day."

The "school" aspect of school has definitely played it's hand, but being a student has also been all I've known my whole life. After tomorrow, I will no longer be a student. I'll eventually be an intern and then one day an employee... or a traveller or a blogger or an owner or... something.

I don't know. I do not know what the future holds and I suppose that is one of the thrilling parts of all this, too. Throughout my whole life I've always been a student and always left school knowing I'd soon be back to continue being a student. That chapter will be over by tomorrow at 3:20 pm and a new adventurous one will begin. It's scary, exiting, sad, satisfying, gratifying... surreal.

So here's to the last of so many blog posts I've written in the middle of the night, instead of doing other things (like sleeping) to better prepare myself for school tomorrow. Thank you so much for reading and being a part of this night and perhaps all the others you have read about.

Here's to this past chapter. Here's to school and being lucky enough to attend it.

And better yet... here's to the next chapter.

Don't Give Up

I just want to stress the importance of not giving up.

Whether it's chasing a dream, going for a job, losing weight, marrying someone... giving up is always going to be an option. And it will almost always be the easier alternative.

But the true joys in life are worth it I'm sure. They're worth the time and effort. If you think about long-term happiness... it's just got to be worth it. Don't give up. Don't give up trying hard, eating right, working out, saving money, making videos, writing music, loving someone, fighting for something that matters.

But most of all, don't give up on yourself. You're the one who's going to get you there. You're the one who truly is the key to your own happiness.

You can do it.

Just don't give up.

Not Helpless

Ten months ago I read a book that changed my life. Skinny Bitch by Rory Freedman and Kim Barnouin really did an outstanding job at making me take a look at myself and my body and the way I feel about my body. My body is a temple and what I put into it is what I will get out. If I eat unhealthy and gross foods I will, in turn, feel unhealthy and gross. Simple idea. Makes sense, doesn't it?

As I was reading this book there was a chapter called "You Are What You Eat" and the beginning of this chapter gave a warning. The authors explained that this particular chapter would reveal graphic information about the ways in which most animals are bred and slaughtered in order for us humans to eat them.

At the time, I literally read about two paragraphs and decided I was not ready to continue reading this chapter. I loved meat. It was summertime and I loved bacon in the mornings on the patio, I loved BBQing, I loved my dad's Armenian food dishes (many of which contain meat) and my closest friends and family know that I more than enjoyed my drunken street meat in the city whenever I was there.

The thought of becoming vegetarian had crossed my mind several times since I was about eighteen years old. I'd catch a snippet on the news or in the paper about the improper treatment of animals here and there and I'd feel sick about it. But then I'd smell the bacon or the BBQs or the rotisserie chicken at my place of work and realize I wasn't ready to give up meat. It was not my right time yet.

About a month after skipping this chapter my curiosity began to get the better of me. While hanging out with some friends someone eventually turned on a disturbing PETA video that had me in tears. At that moment I decided to reach for my Skinny Bitch book and read the chapter. Right then and there. With all my friends around I ignored them for about twenty minutes and read. I read everything.

When I finished the chapter I decided I no longer wanted to eat meat. Right at that moment I felt sick about it and simply did not want to have anything to do with what is going on in slaughterhouses and farms.

At this point I did not call myself vegetarian. I was not ready for such an extreme title and responsibility. What if this moment of pure disgust did not last long? What if I couldn't resist an intoxicated bite of pepperoni pizza? I simply said I was "not currently eating meat." In my mind I told myself that it is okay if I do eventually eat meat. This is just something I'm doing right now. Right now eating meat does not feel right for me. Right now I'm not eating meat. I may one day, but not right now.

About a month later I went to California where my Armenian family served me homemade Armenian food. I had a bit of chicken (at this point I had not made it official to anyone that I was 'vegetarian.') I felt sick for about twelve hours after I ate that meal. Upon my arrival home I knew that meat would be out of my life. I was ready. Upon my return I officially called myself Pescetarian (no land animals; but occasionally will eat seafood. Often an in-between stage for meat eaters to vegetarians.)

Before I stopped eating meat I was easily irritated by vegetarians or vegans who preached about the negatives of eating meat. I respected them for being vegetarian but at the same time I wanted respect for my choice as well. I promised myself I'd never be that kind of vegetarian.

People often ask me why I do not eat meat anymore... a few reasons. Meat has been proven to be extremely hard on human's digestive systems; our bodies simply are not made to naturally consume most meats. Hence, this feels like a healthy choice for me. I also have zero desire to eat an animal who was killed while feeling terror, confusion and panic.

"BUT MELISSA! If the animals are dead ANYWAY then it doesn't matter if you eat them or not! They're already dead! Someone else will!"

- 98% of meat-eaters.

Response: I chose to give up meat for me. Not for anyone else. Not to impress anyone or to become an activist. I started this because it felt right for me. I do not want to eat those animals. Whether "they're dead or not and someone else will eat them" did not affect my decision. I simply wanted a guilt-free eating experience.

Truth is, giving up meat was one of the easiest things I've ever done. I never thought I'd say that. Ever. But it was. Once I reached a point where I knew that it was time, I just stopped.

Jump to today. A friend of mine posted a disturbing video of animal cruelty titled From Farm to Fridge.

I haven't watched a video like this since nine months ago. I clicked play and within twenty seconds was crying. I simply cannot believe the kind of torture these animals go through to feed us.

I realize I'm about to go against what I'd said before (about how I would never be a preacher) but I'm asking that you hear this from me as merely someone who does not want to see animals being hurt instead of "that preachy, activist vegetarian biatch."

I honestly, have never, ever felt so helpless in my entire life. I'm sitting here at my kitchen table watching these defenceless animals going through actual hell and what can I do?

What can I do?

I'm filled with so much passion right now and I've never wanted to be a part of a change so eagerly in my whole life thus far. This does not have to be this way. There should be a way that people can eat guilt-free meat. A place where animals have a nice life and are killed with respect and the right treatment.

I personally, do not plan on eating meat, but I know there are billions of people who do and will continue to - and that is fine. That is their choice and I can respect that that is their choice. However, there must be some way to bring justice to the way in which these animals are treated.

After watching this video, writing this blog is literally the first thing I did. Still sitting here at the kitchen table with tears rolling down my face, hands cold and shaky. I don't know which organization to turn to, I'll have to do some research but I want to change this.

This is so wrong. I want to do something and be a part of an organization that I feel truly matters. Perhaps watching this video today has reiterated everything I needed to remember. I feel this overwhelming pull to act for these animals. This sense of helplessness felt terrifying. I cannot stand by and continue to do nothing. I'm going to try and make a difference. If even one little life is kept safe from torture I will be happy.

I can hear people's reactions to this post already. I can hear the negativity and the doubt and the tuning out, "there that girl goes... on a rant..." I don't care. Again, I'm doing this because it feels it's right. For me. Right now.

I'm going to do something.

I'm done with being helpless to the helpless.

The Second Time You Fall In Love

By Ryan O'Connell

"The second time you fall in love with someone, you’re going to feel so relieved. When you get your heart broken for the first time, you can’t imagine loving someone else again or having someone else love you. You worry about your ex finding love before you do, you worry about being damaged goods. And then it happens. Someone else loves you and you can sleep well at night.

The second time you fall in love with someone, it’s going to feel different. The first time felt like a dream almost. You were untouched, untainted by anyone. You accepted love with wide open arms and desperation. “Love me, love me, love me!” So you did. And then it fell apart and left you shocked to the core. You realized that people could be cruel and break your heart. You realized that people could stop meaning the sweet things they said to you just yesterday. So when you go into it again, you’re going to keep in mind everything that you’ve learned. You’re going to say, “Love me, love me, love me…until you don’t. In which case, I would like some advance warning. Thanks!”

The second time you fall in love with someone, you’re going to compare it to your first love. That’s okay. That’s natural. You’re going to be studying the new love with judgement and wariness. “My ex never liked broccoli. Why the hell does this one eat so much broccoli?!” Discovering that you have the ability to love multiple people who are different and feel different is initially very jarring. Loving an unfamiliar body will leave you disoriented and in dire need of a map. That’s okay too. That’s to be expected. Just ask the new love for directions.

The second time you fall in love with someone, you’re going to suffer from a bout of amnesia. You’re going to poke and prod at your lover’s body and be like, “Wait, how do I do this again? How do I love you? I think it starts with us having a moment together in some coffee shop, right?” It’s going to feel scary at first. Falling in love is sort of like riding a bike though. You never really forget.

The second time you fall in love with someone, you’ll be a more sane person. Your first love is when you get all of your insanity out. You behave like an insane monster because your mind is freaking out about all these new powerful feelings. By the second time, however, you have an idea of what works and what doesn’t. It’s by no means perfect. The insanity will make a cameo at some point. “Peek a boo. I’m here! Hope you didn’t forget about me!” But you can usually shoo it away after awhile.

The second time you fall in love with someone, you will hopefully have better sex. Do not quote me on this.

The second time you fall in love with someone will still be exciting and you might even talk about moving in together or marriage. It will feel more “adult.” You have no idea what adult love actually is but you think it involves making coffee for each other in the morning and maybe even getting a dog. “This is my dog, Xan. I got him with the second person I fell in love with because that’s what you do! The first person I was in love with would’ve killed a dog.”

The second time will not be the first time. The first time is an insane magical life gift that you can never reclaim. But that’s okay. The second time is more real anyway. The second time can involve some amazing love."