Tag: life

A Quarter Of A Century Around The Sun

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The best part about having a summer birthday is being able to spend it by some body of water, enjoying the sunshine and beautiful summer weather.

The worst part about having a summer birthday (in the realm of first world problems) is that no one is ever around for the summer, making it difficult to actually have any company around said body of water to enjoy the sunshine with.

But a few of my friends would still be in the city for my birthday this year, so I planned to get a girl gang together to spend the day at Long Beach.

The vision

It would be a “hot girl summer birthday,” as Megan Thee Stallion would probably put it. Me and my friends would be soaking up sun and saltwater, lounging on a clean, pristine beach, while fantasizing that we were in San Tropez instead.

The plan was to make a pitcher of sangria in a half-gallon reusable water bottle and distribute it using mason jars. We would get lunch from one of the fabulous dining establishments that lead up to the beach, and at the end of the afternoon we would walk down the boardwalk for soft serve ice cream, covered in artificially-colored, confectioned sugar, and swirled prettily in waffle cones. We would have the makings of a perfect beach day, having everything but tiny paper umbrellas to stick in our drinks. 

There were several issues with this plan.

First: no alcohol was allowed on the beach.

Second: no glass was allowed on the beach.

Third: it was raining on the beach.

My hot girl summer birthday party was off to a rocky start.

The backup plan was to go to a karaoke bar, get a private room, and scream-sing angry girl music from the 90s while downing a pitcher of margaritas. Once it was obvious that it was going to rain all day, that was the plan we stuck with.

We decided to brave the storm at RPM Underground, a basement-like karaoke bar in Hell’s Kitchen that looks how I imagined it would if a bomb shelter had neon lights. 

My friends arrived one at a time, wind-blown and damp, but ready to sing. 

If the experience taught me anything, it’s that karaoke is one of the best ways to spend a rainy day and one of the best ways to spend a birthday.

RPM Underground didn’t have a pitcher of margaritas, but they did have a bucket of soju and there was plenty of angry girl music to go around.

My go-to karaoke song is “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks, the perfect song to let off steam as a woman. There was also Avril Lavigne, Alanis Morrisette, Taylor Swift, Pierce the Veil, Sade, Chappell Roan, and, at one point, Megan Thee Stallion. Singing in front of other people will make you realize just how talented those artists are.

Everyone had different taste in music, but we could all enjoy an off-key rendition of “Hot n Cold” by Katy Perry. We bopped around the room singing as poorly as we wished, downing the fruity bottles of soju, which are deceptively alcoholic. 

Once the party started to wind down, we cut the cake. I ordered a lavender chocolate mousse cake that I got custom-made with a fun inscription. 

We left the karaoke place after our two hours were up, full of chocolate cake and Korean alcohol, with our voices shot, but having had a fun time. This birthday party was one for the books, since it was spent in good company, cheering our drinks and serenading each other.

The smoothest karaoke song of the night

Once my birthday was behind me, I was ready to feel the lobotomy that apparently happens when you turn 25. Your prefrontal cortex is finished developing and finally you have common sense, or so I am told. 

Unless I am imagining it, I thought that I could feel the chemical change that my brain underwent. In some ways, it was like completing a level in a video game or taking a hit of someone’s ADHD medication: you’re locked in like never before.

Turning one year older feels strange when you’re concerned about the state of the world and I am more concerned with the state of the world than ever before, which is saying something. It makes it hard to understand my future and for the first time in my life, it felt like I couldn’t see my future all that clearly. 

I still don’t know what to make of this other than the fact that this might just be a part of what it means to be 25. 

No matter what, I intend to be hopeful as I enter into my 25th year. Everyone that I have spoken to about it has said that 25 is a great age. You’re close to 20 and you’re close to 30, with a quarter of a century lived, and hopefully, at least two more quarter centuries yet to live. The important thing to remember is that at 25, you’re still just starting out. There is still plenty of time for mistakes, new beginnings, career changes, breakups, breakdowns, and other epic highs and lows. 

And hopefully, many happy returns. 

Thank you to all of my friends who showed up for my birthday and made it truly special! And to everyone else who has a summer birthday like me: happy birthday!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my most recent blog post about how I did spend the day at the beach when the weather was permitting. 

12 Quick Pics To Convince You To Go To The Beach This Summer

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I love the heat and I love the beach, so when the weather started to get apocalyptically warm this summer, my cousin Olivia and I decided to spend the day at the nearest one. 

From Moynihan train hall, it takes about 50 minutes by train to get to Long Beach, followed by a 10 minute walk as the crow flies.  

The idea was to get some hard seltzers and sandwiches, purchased at our corner deli, and then spend the day on a clean, pristine beach, unbothered and beautiful. 

A couple of weeks before going with Olivia, I did a dry run. I put together a playlist, some new swimsuits, and a new beach blanket, then hit the beach. I was ready to lay out on the sand all day, looking like an American Bridget Bardot (minus all of her controversies).

The water was numbingly cold, but swimming around made it enjoyable. I spent hours floating in the water and fighting the waves, blissfully losing track of time. 

In the distance were cargo ships, silhouetted blue, and it was weird but cool to see freight being moved a couple of hundred yards away from the place that I was laying. Every few minutes it seemed an airplane flew overhead, flying a banner advertising something. 

Since I went during the middle of the week, the only people with me on the beach were teenagers. There I was with the youth of America, watching them stage wrestling matches in a circle behind the life guard tower, then disperse once they saw the cops coming. 

(Oh to be young).

I knew even then that I wanted more days like that where I could listen to Olivia Dean and read a good book on top of warm sand, forgetting about life for a while.

When we went together, Olivia and I got to relive our childhoods, throughout which we were mermaids swimming in the ocean. We did hand stands in the water, then immediately had to lay out on our sides on our towels to let the water trickle warmly out of our ears. It was the two of us together, excitedly squealing every time a wave rolled towards us and deciding whether to go over or under it at the last possible second. 

Clouds sailed across the sky, which was a perfect robin’s-egg blue. Seaweed brushed against our bodies as we swam out. 

When we weren’t in the water, Olivia and I sat on our towels, playing good music and chatting on what became a perfect Saturday. We both had playlists with about 8 different vibes, mainly containing songs about how the singer is young and will always be young (good luck with that).

After sufficiently tanning and swimming around, there was soft serve ice cream with sprinkles on the boardwalk, and then we called it a day.

By the time we were on the train going back, our bodies were briny, water-logged, and sun-drenched, but we’d had a good time. Being in the sun and the saltwater softened me. Swimming has a way of clearing my head in a way that nothing else does. 

Before the summer’s end, everyone who can should make a pilgrimage to the beach, if for no better reason than to quiet the noise of everyday life. You will get a nauseatingly picturesque day if you go to Long Beach where the water may be chilly but the weather is often beautiful. 

And if you ever need a “beachy and peachy” playlist to play at the beach, feel free to use mine:

Wait A Minute! by WILLOW
Why by Dominic Fike
Meet Me At Our Spot by THE ANXIETY, WILLOW, Tyler Cole
Ciao Ciao by La rappresentante di lista
Closer by The Chainsmokers, Halsey
Watermelon Sugar by Harry Styles
Summertime Sadness by Lana Del Rey
HOT TO GO by Chappell Roan
DtMF by Bad Bunny
Disparate Youth by Santigold
Rollercoaster by Bleachers
Champagne Coast by Blood Orange
Dancing On My Own by Robyn
All My Girls Like To Fight by Hope Tala
The Less I Know The Better by Tame Impala

(And anything by Olivia Dean)

Have a good summer!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel


P.S.: Check out my previous blog post about all of the books that I have read so far this year

Columbia University Graduation

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It’s official: I have graduated from Columbia University! 

My friends and I sat outside in our full regalia in 90 degree heat— meaning that we earned our degrees and then some. Everyone was sufficiently irritable by the time that our group was called, but happy, nonetheless with our accomplishment. 

We sat around in this apocalyptically warm weather, listening to existential speeches on the dangers and trappings of AI all while celebrating the creation of art in troubling times. 

My friends and I sat in the tiny but mighty writing section, shaking our tambourines. Every school was given a prop; ours were tambourines for reasons that would soon become obvious. 

Official picture from Columbia’s instagram page. Note how I am the only one not looking

The highlight of the ceremony was John Baptiste’s surprise musical performance. As an honorary doctorate of the School of the Arts, Baptiste stopped by on his way to the final taping of Late Show with Stephen Colbert to treat us to his musical stylings.

He sat down at the piano, opening with Für Elise before moving on to a truly modern rendition of “if you’re happy and you know it” to which the writing section got to shake their tambourines. His fingers fluttered over the keys like it was nothing, while singing effortlessly, like he was just opening his mouth and pouring out beautiful music.

That night, we had a separate graduation ceremony for the School of the Arts in which me and a few of my friends walked across the stage and accepted empty envelopes for diplomas that will be arriving in the mail in the coming weeks. 

One professor semi-praised AI in his speech and was promptly shouted down (praising AI to a group of students who just went into hundreds of thousands of debt for a job in an industry that will probably no longer exist in a few years during one of the worst job markets in recent history seems like peak tone-deafness to me).

I had a fun time as I celebrated the last graduation of my life (though I would not turn down an honorary doctorate one day). 

My time at Columbia was extraordinary. I met some pretty amazing writers, and with that, some pretty cool people, but most importantly, my writing has been shaped and sharpened, more than I ever thought possible. Sitting there, in the blistering heat, I thought about all of the work that I put into it, how I hardly slept as I rushed to finish submissions, gave and received feedback on novels, and read all kinds of fiction.

Regardless of what the future holds in terms of AI and other existential threats, I will keep writing.

A shoe change happened

Now I am on to the next thing, like working to finish and sell my debut novel.

I am a lion. Hear me roar!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my blog post on my previous college graduation

And for the lady, perhaps some recommended reading…

Experts Only Music Festival

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A couple of months ago, my mother called me up and asked me if I wanted to go to this “music thing” that she heard about in her neighborhood that weekend. I said yes, unaware that this “music thing” was the New York City music event of that weekend. 

It was the inaugural Experts Only festival, a music festival hosted by DJ John Summit on Randall’s Island. The DJ played house music the entire afternoon. 

Experts Only was the whole nine yards: food stalls, merch stands, beach balls bouncing off the top of the crowd, a woman dancing on stage at all times, and someone who was clearly on ecstasy and therefore not dancing at all to the beat. The whole thing was like a big high school football game, only instead of tailgating you’re eating from a food truck in the middle of a field surrounded by 300 strangers and instead of showing off your school spirit you’re showing off every inch of your body that you’re legally allowed to show.

I was entirely unprepared for the music festival that I walked into, wearing a long sleeve black shirt and jacket. I was the most fully clothed person there, aside from my mom. I looked like a narc.

Everywhere I looked, there were sheer body suits and crop tops. Ass crack and butterfly tattoos were also very much in, as were pashminas and chainmail waistbands. Influencers and wannabe influencers posed for pictures in their outfits. The event was in full swing.

We danced our way to the front of the crowd, squeezing through the mesh of bodies, and when we needed a break from the dancing, we sat in a field drinking vodka lemonades and eating street tacos. 

My mother nodded along to the music. I jumped up and down like a lunatic.

We got there in the early afternoon and then stayed late into the night, technically morning. At the end of the night, we caught the ferry, with me limping from how hard I danced. I ended up pulling a muscle in my leg and then freaking out that I had a varicose vein, because of how it was bulging out of my calf, but it was worth it to experience such an awesome music festival.

It’s not often that I get to be pleasantly surprised when an impromptu weekend hanging out with my mother turns into a wild night of drinking and dancing at a New York City music festival. My mother, despite having a good time, has decided not to join me next year.

This was my first time at a music festival, but I am determined for it not to be my last. This year, I will be sure to return to Expert’s Only in a crop top with my friends, ready to have more vodka lemonades and street tacos, like the twentysomething that I am. 

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel