If I hadn't ripped my jeans, I would have never learned to sew part 1

"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

--John Lennon


Okay, I changed things. Take a deep breathe, everything's normal, I just gave my blog a new name and edited the layout so all the pointless stuff was at the bottom. (if you want to change the language or search for older posts, just scroll all the way the bottom). 

I know you all missed me and my pointless, ever charming blog entries; don't lie. I haven't written for a few weeks because I was pretty busy living life and everything. I know, I can't believe it either. I was all ready to give you readers a riveting, action packed play by play of my two week vacation I depressingly just finished, even drafted the entry in History class as I always do, but as I sat down to type it out, I had the brilliant idea to get philosophical and intense instead.Sorry if you aren't following any of this. I feel like my brain might need to be checked into rehab.
So my last blog entries have been totally flawless, yeah? Life is good and easy and France is everything and nothing I expected. I couldn't have asked for much more... but nothing can be perfect forever, am I right? If I had come to France and spent the entire trip eyeing beautiful men, eating mayonnaise and Nutella out of the cartons, and living a life of ease, I would have had a great time, sure, but I wouldn't have come home all that changed except that my pants wouldn't fit anymore. I like to think of it in terms of the metaphor I came up with last night: if I hadn't ripped my jeans, I would have never learned to sew. While you are convulsing in the pure brilliance of that, I shall tell you how this is actually a literal statement. Last week, as I was getting into the back of my host family's car, I managed to rip a noticeable hole directly next to the crotch of my jeans. Classy. Now I have always been confident that there are two types of people in the world: Those who own more than three pairs of jeans and those who don't. You will understand how blatantly depressing the hole was for me if you also fall into the second category. I stared at my jeans for a long time that night, considering my options: Beg my host mother to sew them, send them back to the USA and beg my biological mother to sew them, or throw them out. I took a break from sizing up the jeans to get something from the bathroom, and as if a message from a mother somewhere herself, on the bureau in the bathroom stood a miniature sewing kit you might have gotten for free in a hotel room before the recession. I eyed it up and down, wondering what it wanted with me. Than I cautiously grabbed it and ran for my jeans and spread them out in front of me before my actual senses kicked in. I got out a needle with the thread pre strung for me, dark blue, and sat there staring at the jeans for a very long time, deciding what to do. Than I started to sew. I can't sew. But I tried and I closed the hole and I'm wearing those jeans as I type and honestly that was one of my biggest accomplishments to date. Sewing her own jeans, who would have thought Maya could do that? I certainly had no faith but now I see that ripping my jeans was pivotal for my growth and that brings me back to my previous point that if I wasn't going through an incredibly hard time right now, than maybe when the time comes for me to return, I will be the same person I was when I left. And in my mind, the whole trip will be a waste if that's the case because I've been living with myself for 16 years and now I am finally starting to live myself. Does that make any sense? I have a lot more to say but I want to get this entry out before my mother starts a riot. Expect part 2 in the near future (by the end of this week) and enjoy your life. LOL what? Also, I'm writing consistently from now on, despite the three week break so keep checking back.