My Personal Bucketlist

50 Things I want to do before I die

1. Go to Italy, and visit where my great grandparents were from.

2. Go backpacking across America.

3. Meet Lupe Fiasco, and hang out with him.

4. Write a memoir.

5. Give a speech in front of 1,000 people, and be applauded.

6. Ride in a hot air balloon.

7. Work at an orphanage in a developing country.

8. Create a charitable organization to help those less fortunate in the United States.

9. Visit Australia, and swim in the Great Barrier Reef.

10. Record one of the songs that I wrote when I wanted to be a rapper.

11. Be on either Criminal Minds or Law and Order SVU.

12. Settle down with the love of my life, and have a family.

13. Truly become spiritual; be able to give myself over without holding back.

14. Become the kind of person that people can look up to, a positive role model.

15. Read every book on my list of classic books everyone should read.

16. Become financially independent.

17. Finish a scrapbook.

18. Go to the Olympics to watch the Field Hockey games.

19. Find a collector’s edition copy of the Time Traveler’s Wife, and have it signed by Audrey Niffenegger.

20. Find a way to reduce the stress my Aunt Peggy goes through every day.

21. Watch every classic black and white movie.

22. Start a high school field hockey league in Arkansas.

23. Have Marcelline officially added as my second middle name.

24. Meet the US field hockey team, and play around with them.

25. See every Broadway show that I have wanted to see.

26. Become a Christian Buddhist.

27. Be in the hall of fame at Hendrix College.

28. Cook a meal with Paula Dean and Bobby Flay.

29. Visit India.

30. Be on a cooking show on food network such as Iron Chef, Throwdown or the next food network star.

31. Start a restaurant.

32. Sew an outfit for myself that I can use on more than one occasion.

33. Travel again to Costa Rica.

34. Visit each of my college friend’s hometowns.

35. Score a goal in a field hockey game.

36. Become an Art Therapist.

37. Visit Harry Potter world in Florida

38. Get a job as a bartender, at least for a few months J.

39. Go to a world series or super bowl game.

40. Meet Derek Jeter.

41. Create my own fragrance.

42. Visit all of the concentration/death camps from the Holocaust.

43. Meet my half sister, though I don’t even know her name.

44. Have an article published in a psychological journal.

45. Run a 6 minute mile.

46. Have strong friendships.

47. Know when to ask for help.

48. Love, and be loved in return.

49. Be happy and have no regrets.

50. Live life to the fullest.

I've become so numb I can't feel you there

I hear the shaking voice on the other end of the phone. My body goes numb. The phone is pushed harder against my ear. She asks who it is for the second and third time, and I start to break from the inside out. How can she not hear me? Not know who this is just by the sound of my voice? I want to cry, but holding back tears I tell her one more time, “Aunt Rose, it’s me, Ali.” When my words make it through and she recognizes who I am, we have a conversation filled with silence and confusion. I tell her I love her, and she tells me she loves me. We hang up, and every tear I have been holding back streams down my cheeks.

Aunt Rose has been in deteriorating health for the past 7 years. She was a strong single woman, with more than a few marriage offers throughout her life. She helped my grandmother raise five kids when my grandfather walked out, as well as take care of her sick mother, while working on top of all of it. Everyone knew Aunt Rose; she would get a free meal from one restaurant, a discount at another because of her liquor licensing job. She was always seen around town in her Toyota Camery with Miss ABC on the license plate. Aunt Rose was a woman to look up to, a woman who worked hard and never wanted to be dependent on anyone. Now she is more than dependent on the nurse that gives her around the clock care. The home she once ran is now in the hands of my mom and her two sisters. She is trapped in a chair or hospital bed all day, because her body is too weak to move around anymore due to the disease that has consumed her body. Parkinsons has taken everything from her except for her ability to think. She can no longer articulate, but you know she is in there, you can see it in her eyes. Every so often, there is a spark of the woman she once was. A crack in the empty shell the disease has turned her into. Her talking is limited, and when she does speak, it is garbled and hard to understand.

My mom called me yesterday, and as she was talking I could tell that something wasn’t right. She had just come from Aunt Rose’s house, and my whole body froze anticipating the horrible news. I thought the day had come, the day that she finally has let go of this life that is filled with only pain and suffering. Aunt Rose however is still not ready, though she is right on the edge. My mom painted the picture of this poor old woman who stares straight ahead with glossy eyes and mouth hanging open. I am broken, inside and out. I cannot control the tears, they come in streams and there is nothing I can do to stop them. I am brought back to reality by the sobs on the other end of the phone. My mom is crying, and all I can say to her is “can I come home for the funeral?” It is inevitable, Aunt Rose will soon be leaving us, I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t get back for the funeral. My mom can’t answer for a few minutes but finally says, “We can do whatever you want. I just don’t want you to feel pressured to come home.” I think about everything that Aunt Rose has given me. She has taken on the role of my grandmother, how on earth could I not go home for it. I want to see her once more, I cannot imagine never seeing her again alive. My mom’s crying has subsided, but I still can’t get a hold on my tears.

Why did I not spend more time with her?

Why am I so selfish?

I always had the idea in my head that Aunt Rose would be around forever. She was so tough, when I was younger, I could never have imagined her in the state she is now. I think subconsciously I didn’t want to go see her because I wanted to remember her as she was, not the deteriorating woman that she has become. I wish there was something I could do, but being so far away I can’t even comfort my mom. Instead, I find myself sitting on my bed, lost in memories of my childhood.

Climbing the tree in the side yard with my cousins.

Adventuring through the huge basement, filled with antiques, and other items that allowed my imagination to run wild.

Watching TV in grandma DeMarco’s old room, which has now become Aunt Roses room.

Going to the library and the park down the street.

Listening to the Italian House Party on the radio on Sunday mornings.

A beep brings me back. My mom had lost service, and I am alone. My mind is empty, I cannot comprehend anything. I am 20 years old but I feel like I am 7 again and it’s the night I watched my nana died. Nothing makes sense, I am cold and alone. Lauren is in my room with me, but I feel by myself. I hear the words she is saying but I can’t seem to shake this feeling of separation from the world. My mom calls me back, and she does finally make me feel better, but why am I kidding myself I am putting on a fake smile, laughing at jokes that for only a split second make me forget this loneliness. I am so used to my support system here, and without it I am crumbling. I know I have to be strong, but it is so hard.

For the love of the game

I am a woman.
I am a college student.
I am an athlete.
I am 19.
I am a mutt.
I am artistic.
I am in love.
I am a part of an amazing family.
I am blessed.
I am a Yankees fan.
I am from New England.
I am a psychology major.
I am religious.
I am confident.
I am friendly.
I am helpful.
I am shy.
I am a volunteer.
I am independent.
I am always in the mood for fun.


I took the 20 statements test in Cross-Cultural Psychology about a week ago. My professor told us to write “I am” 20 times and then fill it out according to who we were. I wrote the words “I am an athlete." Some people may not see why this fact is so important to me, but in being an athlete I am become a better person.

The fresh smell of fall, and the color of the leaves, hanging on for the last few moments due to the chill of winter that is in the air; it is field hockey season. I am obsessed. I can admit it. I love field hockey. Field hockey is what I grew up with and everyday I yearn for the freeing feeling the game gives me. The over whelming sensation of peace that holding my stick can bring; though worn and chipped it is a perfect fit in my hands. The turf beneath my shoes, the shelter I seek when everything is too much. Happiness comes over me when I am alone on the field with a stick and ball.

I am in control of this.

This is where I reign.

No one can get in my way, because this is where I can be me. Loud, confident, and at times even cocky, but thats ok because I am the boss here. I can’t be brought down, everything runs on my time.

It is not just a feeling.

It is the sounds.

The sound of a perfect shot hitting the backboard, the shrill double whistle when a goal is scored. The tapping of the stick against the ball, a clean click clack that keeps to a tempo that is always right. The empty thump of a ball hitting the hard foam of a goalie’s pads and sound of the one heartbeat of a team that works together. The silence before a corner, and then the rush of the play that follows the initial hit.

…The rush...

The undying desire to win.

The smell of victory.

A reverse chip that hits the top right corner, or a stroke sailing into the bottom left. The images of the goalie flying across the goal like superman, or the sweeper sacrificing their body to save a goal; I cannot get enough. I could play all night, and not have adequately sufficed my craving for the game.


Field hockey is my drug, and I am addicted.




I want my feet to feel home again inside my turf shoes, my shin guards wrapped around my lower legs, and the bandana tied around my head. I am ready to play, to take on the world, because I have learned so much from field hockey.

“Field hockey is a great deal like life in that it teaches that work, sacrifices, perserverance, competitive drive, selflessness, and respect for authority are the price each and every one of us must pay to achieve any goal that is worth while.”

I am afraid though, of what will come when in two years I will no longer be able to play. I will always have a stick and ball, but feeling the support of the team, the excitement of the fans and the proud smile of a coach when the team actually played well is something I will miss greatly. I hope and pray that I will find something as exhilarating and stress free as field hockey for when I am not longer able to stand on the turf barefoot feeling the rubber and plastic ground beneath me; my stick in my hands and a ball at my feet.

The one person I would give anything to see again...

Dreams are more than just visions in our heads while we are peacefully asleep; they are colorful interpretations of our fears, longings, and imagination. I rarely have dreams that I am able to remember vividly. The other morning I woke in tears from one of the most realistic dreams I have ever had. I cannot describe a more perfect dream, then the one that was cut far too short. It will never be able to come true, it is far past the impossible, into a realm that is beyond this world; I wish more than anything that I could have it again.

I had just finished a game and was walking off to the sidelines. I took off my equipment, and put everything away in the neat and orderly fashion I must have it in. I was so tired, so it must have been a good game, though I am not sure who we were playing. As always, I knew my friends were in the bleachers waiting for me and my fellow teammates to make the trek across the field so they could congratulate us on a game well played. With my large bag in one hand wheeling behind me, and my stick in my other, I began the 60 yard journey across the turf.

I looked up when I was about halfway across; what I saw made me let go of everything I had been carrying. A set of bleachers off to the side, not connected to the others, was where they all were gathered. The first person I saw waiting for me was my Uncle Jo Jo. He was perched next to the bleachers in his wheel chair with an unfamiliar woman standing behind him. She was rummaging through his bag that was slung over the back of his chair; she must have been his nurse. My eyes continued down the line, my Aunt Peggy was sitting next to him, with her arm wrapped around my Aunt Rose who sat to her left. Aunt Rose looked frail, but nothing to the way she had looked the last time I had seen her. She had a huge smile on her face. Her eyes lit up, there was a spark behind them. Happiness, I haven’t seen it inside her for a very long time. Sitting in front of them were two women, one with long hair the color of my own, the other with short dark brown hair. I looked from one to the other and recognized one of them. Ruthie, my mother’s best friend, had the dark hair; the second woman however was hard to place. She looked familiar, but only slightly. It hit me hard when I realized who she was. My father’s mother, she was so beautiful. I had never met her before, she looked so young. I could see a bit of my father in her, this warmed my heart more than words could explain. Once I got a hold of myself I looked down to pick up my belongings and continue walking to see the people who had never seen me play before. I looked up again about to take my first step, and in that moment caught a glimpse of the one woman I would give anything to see again. The white hair, those big glasses, her short though very cute body standing in front of me.

My grandmother, my Nana, my Nana Marcy--------------- she was here.

Unable to control myself I started running. I had nothing in my hands anymore, nothing mattered. I was going to get to hug her, tell her I loved her, tell her I missed her, I ran as fast as I could but not fast enough. Tears were streaking down my face. Her smile comforted me, but all too quickly began to fade. I woke up. This could not be happening. I cried harder than I have ever cried over losing my grandmother, crying tears of anger, sadness, and disappointment.

I was only 7 when my grandmother died, but I can remember her so clearly though. Watching TV while she sat in the blue armchair claiming she was just resting her eyes, playing card games, and doing puzzles, and just feeling the love that she had for me. I distinctly remember the last car ride I had with her alone. She had this small cute red car. As we drove up my driveway I turned to her and asked, “Nana, will you ever leave me?” She looked at me and told me she never would. She has kept that promise. I feel her around me all the time. She is my guardian angel; there to protect me, keep me safe. Doing little things to let me and my whole family know she is around.

She used to stay in my bed room with me, and if she had not gotten sick, she would have been moving in. To this day, the TV in that room goes on by itself. My mom has told me ever since it started happening that it was just Nana’s way of telling us she had come to visit. She also tends to take things that I have been looking for. I mumble under my breath something to the effect of, “Nana! Put it back” and with in a minute I usually find it.

That morning when I woke up and had calmed down, I realized she had come to me for a reason. Nana wanted me to know that she has always been watching me that she has seen me play, she has seen me grow into the person I am today. She has visited my dreams in times of lonliness, sadness, or just when she knows I need someone. I love my Grandmother, Marcelline Benoit, more than life itself, and I hope that some day I will have the ability to influence someones life the way she has mine.

I did not die

Do not stand on my grave and weep
I am not there I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in the snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am a gentle Autumns rain
When you awaken in the morning hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
I am the birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
So do not stand on my grave and cry
I am not there.... I did not die

Into the Dark

Into the dark


I followed him,
Followed him into the dark.
Cautiously, ready for anything.
Butterflies had taken over my stomach.
A chill had run down my spine,
As cold as the concrete beneath my shoes.
The moon shining through the window,
A spotlight at my feet, but not showing my future path.
Where am I going? Who am I following?
I thought I knew, but now I’m not so sure.

I have never allowed myself to keep my eyes open. I squeeze them shut, letting the man take the lead. As long as his fingers are entangled in mine, my heart stays at a steady beat. This feeling of euphoria doesn’t last forever though, because he always lets go. He takes that steady beat from me, leaving me with a whole in my chest that grows larger as the days go by. I am not aware of his intentions at the beginning; I am just swept away into a state of happiness, following blindly and carelessly as he leads me through those happy times into the depths of despair. He knew what he was doing; he had it planned all along. I cannot begin to put the blame him or on anyone but myself, for I was the one unable to see the truth.
But…

Did he not have a limit on cruelty?

How much was he willing to make me suffer?

How far could he stretch my love?

Through out many hard times I wrote him letters, one after the other though in the end unable to send them. He received nothing but letters of my undying love and never ending gratitude for being with me....

Fabi,
There are times when I have absolutely nothing to say to you,
But then there are times I just can’t stop talking...

You make this feeling rise inside me, that I haven’t felt in a long time...

It’s like a feeling of confidence, not in my self, but in my heart…

“’cause I love the way you call me baby, and you take me the way I am…”

---------->I’m not quite sure if that makes any sense….

I know how I feel about you, and I don’t second guess it…
That doesn’t mean I never second guess our relationship…
Everyday it seems to get harder, like something inside me is about to burst…
But then it may be a hole inside me that seeing you may fulfill…

“So it's not going to be easy. It's going to be really hard. We're going to have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, for ever, you and me, every day.”-The Notebook

The idea is simple, but at the same time complicated…

Since the end of my last relationship, I have not been myself,
But you found the real me and brought it out…
I don’t have to hide anything from you…
And that in itself is amazing…

At times the feeling becomes hurtful, and almost frustrating…
But then it becomes stronger and stronger…

How can someone I haven’t laid eyes on in so long change me…
Can one person truly have that much of an effect…

As time goes by,
minutes become hours,
and hours become days…
eventually turning into months and soon enough a year…
and I still have not been able
…to touch you
…to hold you
…to feel you beside me
…when do I get to do what I dream about?

What more do I have to say…
I love your voice-----> when you sound cute and when you sound tough
I love how sweet you are, how brutally honest you can be, and how you make me feel inside… you have made me feel like a new person, I cannot thank you enough


“I can’t figure out the mathematics of this,

I just know I love you. I can't believe how

many times I'm saying it! And I never

thought I'd feel this way again, so

that's pretty phenomenal…but

I finally know what I want

and that, in itself, is a

miracle. And what

I want is YOU.”

-the holiday

“Because, I can see
us holding hands
Walking on the beach our toes in the sand
I can see us in
the country side
Sitting in the grass laying side by side”
-My love

P.S. I love you…

-Ali


Looking back on the ups and downs of our long year, I realize he tried to warn me. He told me countless times that it should be over, that it had been over. Instead of taking these statements to heart, I just cried and begged for him to take it back, to have him tell me he really loved me like I knew he did.

We have been broken up for quite some time, and it is now that I finally want to end it. I love him with all my heart, and that makes letting go even harder, but I have to. My life needs to not revolve around his moods, I am my own person. So I wrote him one last letter…

Fabi,
I am sitting all alone in my room, and as hard as I try to get you out of my mind I can’t. I really hate that you have such a hold on my heart, but I am breaking that tonight. No more of this up and down nonsense, my heart has taken far too many blows for this saga to continue. Love is not supposed to hurt this bad, you are like a deadly disease I have been fighting off, but it’s a losing battle. I am no longer putting myself through this, I am done. No I am not going to take you back, not now, not ever. You’re empty promises, lack of follow through and selfish behavior can no longer hurt me, I will not let them.
You have the nerve to write in one of your songs; “I love the way you tell me that you love me because I am different, and you listen when I’m speaking and I never lose your interest” and claim that I am the inspiration behind those words. You hit the nail right on the head when you said later in the same song, “why am I your happiness, I never seem to give it.” You knew even before I did that you were a parasite in this relationship. Just in it for you, taking all you can sucking the happiness from me slowly so I couldn’t see that you were doing. How can I have missed something so obvious, something that was so clear to everyone but me. You were never meant for me, nor I for you. I see that now and yes it hurts to know that I put so much into someone that was never at any point going to give me a quarter of what I gave them. As time goes by, this will turn into just another speed bump on the road that is my life. Right now may not be easy, but I will make it through, coming out with more that I should have ever expected.
I now know what to look for, signs that you gave me that my naïve young mind could not grasp. I had no reason to believe that one man could be so cruel. Looking back on our relationship, I see little red flares, indicating where I went wrong. Where I chose to take you back after you did something to try to hurt me; faking your death, a new “pretend” girlfriend, or just a break up you had been putting off.
This letter is not a means to make you feel bad for what you have done, but to make you see that I am no longer your doormat. You can not take your bad moods out on me, treating me like I am not worth your respect. I thought that I needed you, could not live with out you, and would not be whole if you just left me, but this is not the case. You are just a guy, nothing more, nothing less. A guy I had on a pedestal, for no reason out side of the fact that I was in love with you.
I care about you very much, I always have, I always will.
Love always,
Ali

If I finally cut all ties…

Maybe I will finally get that steady beat back.

Maybe the hole will fill up with the mended pieces of my broken heart.

Maybe I will learn to keep my eyes open next time because being blinded by love leads to nothing but broken hearts and nights of crying yourself to sleep.

Maybe I’ll be free.