On move-in day, my parents, my brother, and our two foster twins packed themselves into a truck full of my things and drove the hours to Iowa City, Iowa. I arrived much later than they did, but that's a separate story; a story from before. We met up with my two roommates, one a friend I'd cherished best since the seventh grade, and the other a girl I thought was a catty stripper with the main priority of bringing a T.V. (In reality, she worked for a wedding service, and that's why she worked late into the night. I also shouldn't have judged her for thinking she was a stripper, because those people are usually determined and make good money. Also, she wasn't even that dead-set on having a television. But this is all beside the point.) We took pictures, my family left, and I was left to my own devices. Rylie (not the suspected stripper) and I went downstairs to my then-boyfriend's room to help him and his best friend move in. Rylie helped my then-boyfriend sheet up his bed while I helped his best friend's mom sheet up his. In the room were the aforementioned, as well as the best friend's sister & who I assumed to be their cousin, while their brother roamed the halls. The cousin, who happened to be incredibly attractive but I didn't speak a word to, was hard at work assembling a very boujie television stand. I had light conversation with the sister. Once the beds were made and the boys were mostly settled, Rylie and I left, headed to more promising pastures, or something like that; probably the dining hall. Turns out, the cousin was not a cousin at all. Well, I suppose he was someone's cousin. He was the best friend's randomized orientation roommate, called John. John also happened to be randomized year-long roommates with a long-time crush of mine, who in turn happened to be my then-boyfriend's friend since elementary school. Those two were the only ones any of us knew that attended the "Downtown School," and they were also in the Des Moines Youth Symphony together. Anyway, just interesting to note. I quickly found out that John was an active guy, and being an active girl around a lot of inactive peers, I found this convenient. We started running together with a couple of those peers, which resulted in lots of adventures through downtown construction, spooky schoolbuilding basements at 5am, and scenic routes along the river. Soon school started in earnest, and our runs petered out. However, John started weightlifting. Eager for something to do with someone in the early hours of my days, I asked him every night if he was working out the next day, and if so when, and if so could I join, and if so where to meet him. Eventually he told me I could stop asking and just come every day, but I didn't believe him. I asked every night, usually just before bed, and we would send Full House gifs back and forth: "Goodnight Stephanie," "Goodnight Michelle."

John did some wild college things that I wasn't into, and also I was dating someone else, so we convinced ourselves that we didn't have feelings for each other. We genuinely "moved on." But some days, when I was asleep and my brain was awake, she wondered what it would be like to not move on. These dreams could never amount to much, though, because besides every obvious wrongness about the situation, I knew John didn't like me back. Of course the dreams still troubled me, as I was dating someone else. My then-relationship was not going great for me, or for us, and I had turned into someone I never wanted to be. Eventually it came time for me to end this relationship, but I made sure I knew that it had nothing to do with John. It truly didn't, though many people choose to believe otherwise. I knew John didn't have feelings for me, and I had genuinely moved past him in light of other, more pressing thoughts to occupy my mind. And so I moved on. I felt great; I felt free, renewed, and I threw myself into work and play with a refreshed sense of liveliness. I worked out with John, and he played his music in his headphones with one ear off to talk to me, and he got his smoothies, and he...let me try one...? And...leaned into me at the crossing light...? Confusing. But as the dead of winter pulled away, John pulled himself closer, and he was rapidly becoming the first person I wanted to tell any news, good or bad, which is a sure sign of a best friendship in any book.

One day, in February, it was 60 degrees. The ice melted enough for the grass to show, so John thought it fitting to bike to Hickory Hill Park to ride along the trails down there. He displayed unusual thoughtfulness and brought us some snacks, and a couple of flavored waters. Upon arrival, we quickly realized a bike ride was not going to fly. The ground was one giant ice slushee, flavored with mud syrup. I didn't think to taste it since the syrup had been sitting out all winter, freezing and thawing, which seemed like a bacterial breeding ground so I was not interested. We hopped off our bikes and began to walk the trails, but I didn't want my slides to get ruined, so I took them off, and walked in my socks. It was excruciating due to the instant soaking and freezing nature of the ground; my feet were in immense pain for the couple of hours we were down there. But eventually, I found a patch of moss to stand on, and it was a warm, squishy relief. I bounced on it a couple of times. "Do you like squishy things or do you just like moss?" A very weird question from John. Sensing I could be caught in an innuendo, I spat, "I just like moss." "You're so funny, Mekhia," he said. Tiny tinny alarm bells are going off in my head. Either a very creepy weirdo, or a teenage boy nervous because he likes me. I'm definitely rooting for the latter. Also we hang out every chance we get and he almost never says my name until now...? We returned to the dorms, my feet on fire, and retired to his room with a couple of friends. I was working on my blog, he was doing homework, our friends were transposing some piano music. My mom asked me to ask John if he could take our family photos, since he was good with photography. We went to dinner with our gaggle of friends. They had all been chilling at home, so they were energized, but John and I wilted after our adventure. We laid our heads down on the table and listened to people chat around us. Our friend Radha (piano transposer and vocal composer extraordinaire) asked to see pictures from the hike, so John handed her his phone. "Oh, this is a good picture of Mekhia." A what? John looks alarmed. "Oh, yeah. The sun was just pretty over the bridge and she happened to be standing there." Uh-huh. Funnily enough, I had taken a picture of John, too. Actually, it was a picture of a "label" on the "bridge" amongst the "winter foliage." In reality, John was crouching in the corner of the photo, in a Michigan Wolverines sweatshirt, taking a photo himself. I made it my lock screen. But why did he take a photo of me? And how had I never noticed a thing, gazing over the railing of the bridge?

We continued working out and spending every moment we could together, as we had for months. At one point we were spending seven hours of the day together on average, which was very impressive because we were both also throwing ourselves headfirst into the activities we loved, clubs and classes, adventures by our lonesomes, and spending time with other friends. Suddenly, my boulder of adoration for him that I'd been pushing up the hill every day began to slip from my grasp, and eventually began barreling down the greenscape. It might have been just one extra suspiciously admiring comment or conspicuous glance at me. But the boulder was rolling, and rolling, and gaining speed. Eventually, I grew tired of it. I could not live my life in genuine agony about this. Because I was! I was in genuine pain each and every day, like someone was pressing on my chest and hanging onto my shoulders for dear life. And I was not going to be that girl; I was sick of my body being an idiot. I actually wrote a poem on February 12 about him. Then, on the 24th, I wrote another, on the back of the first paper. John and I went to work out on the morning of the 25th, and I slipped it into my backpack to give to him later. When our exercises were done, I took it out and held it in my hand so I couldn't chicken out. I walked the entire way home with him, like fifteen minutes, with it in my hand. Lolo 'ole.

Sidebar, I used to watch movies sometimes at like two in the morning, after I'd finally finished my homework or given up (undiagnosed ADHD is a bitch when you start college courses at 13...actually, it just always is). I didn't have a T.V., and my laptop was not lightweight and almost 17 inches across; thus, I'd balance it on my knees or chest or something (this was before I started borrowing Ele's rump to prop up electronics). It was always a super weird vibe because it transported me, helped me wind down, gave me time for myself, and of course I always picked random movies off Netflix and we all know how that goes. Like, I'm a rom-com and fantasy girl, but one night I selected Roma in the wee hours of the morn. Watched the entire thing and sobbed. Ended up being the only movie nominated for an Oscar that I'd seen that year. Entirely in slangy Spanish and black and white. See what I'm saying? Such strange selections from me. Well one of those movies happened to be Love Rosie, which was a pick which from the outside actually did suit me. Glorious, glorious movie; truly a roller coaster. John one night suggested we watch something. Love Rosie had been incredibly moving to me, and I wanted him to see it (this was before they took it off Netflix and rendered it INACCESSIBLE). And yeah, maybe I was going for some subliminal messaging, but mostly I just wanted him to see the fruition of quality storymaking. He agreed pretty quickly, which was exciting. (Perhaps the moment he told me he actually really likes rom-coms is the moment I truly fell in love with him.) We were watching it in my room, because roommate-former crush-Downtown School-boy was being a prick or something so we headed up to my triple. We sat on my bed, which would normally disgust me, someone else's dusty ass on my sheets. But of course I didn't mind, because if I had to pick an ass to be in my sheets, it would be that one. (Hindsight 2020, my sheets were much more devoid of debris and stank back then, before he got involved. What can you do.) Anyway. I was going to tell him then, tell him something about how I felt. I wasn't sure what to say, but too soon he was bidding his farewell, citing exhaustion, his fish flops slapping the thin carpet on his way down the hall. Shit. The stupid pain was mounting, and I had to do something. I told Rylie, "I'm calling him." She gave me a nervous look, a small snort, and said, "Okay, good luck."

I called him, and he didn't answer. I waited for a response for a few minutes, but couldn't take it much longer and went to the bathroom for some fresh air (didn't find any in there, obviously; this was a freshman dorm). When I returned, he had called me back. I called him again, but he was trying to call me at the same time so it didn't go through, yada yada, you get the picture--it was stressful. Finally, I got ahold of him. "What's up?" "Can you do me a favor?" "Yes, absolutely!" His eagerness at once surprised and calmed me. "I need you to tell me that you don't like me back so I can get over it real fast." Instead of typing a bunch of spaces here, I will simply tell you that he sat in silence, not uttering a single sound, for a solid minute and a half. It was slightly nerve-wracking, but I'd said my piece. My only concern at this point was that our close friendship which made me feel alive and validated, like every past self of mine could exist alongside the current, could be destroyed forever, and he would never speak to me again for fear I'd jump his bones at every pause in conversation. So really, I had nothing to worry about. Eventually, he said, "I think this is something that needs to be talked about." Wow, very promising. Also disappointing, because I'd have to wait all night and probably for the better part of tomorrow- "I think this is something that needs to be talked about tonight." Okay, intriguing. Then I was asking him where and when to meet but he was ignoring me because he was apparently lying in bed staring at the ceiling. I blasted 26 by Caamp and sat with my knees to my chest atop our tiny dorm sink, screaming the lyrics and rocking back and forth obnoxiously. Eventually I moved to the ground and lay flat on my back, still shouting like a velociraptor to drown out the nervousness that plagued my ears in a low hum. Rylie, working on lab homework, blessedly powered through. John eventually summoned me to the BASEMENT. I plodded on down there and there he was, looking like absolute shit, might I add; eyes bloodshot, highwater pajama pants, t-shirt too small due to post-grade-school growth. And yet my heart was racing. I sat down across the table from him, and he showed me a video of a grandmother pepsiboarding herself in the face on accident with a two-liter bottle infiltrated by a Mento. We laughed at it a couple of times, and then he said, "I don't have the answer you want to hear." I said, "I'm not wanting a particular answer--I just want an answer." Because it was true. I just wanted to be free from this agonizing stasis. And sure, there would be a new pain, should his answer lead me in that direction, but I physically couldn't think about that. It couldn't exist, in my mind. "The truth is, I don't know. I don't know how I feel." Great.

The next day, we ate breakfast together as we always did on Fridays. John was unusually thoughtful yet again; I had a lot of anxiety meeting people places, and usually he would ignore said anxiety and ask me to meet him anyway. But that day, he found me at the door and showed me where we could sit. I left that afternoon for my brother's second official leap year birthday. On Saturday, I sent John a picture of Ele'ani at my side while I brushed my teeth. He asked me to wish Kian a happy birthday for him. I left early the next day, around six in the morning, to be back at campus early enough to have a nice full Sunday. John asked me to meet him at this amphitheater behind a building, and then proceeded to leave the building we were both in so I had to then meet him there. So much for the consideration. Anyway, I showed up, and he was lying in the grass. The weather was nice, windy but not too cold, even though it was March 1st. When he sat up, his back was coated in goose droppings, which I did not help brush off, because we obviously weren't dating, as was all-too-apparent, and thus I didn't have to make such sacrifices. He said, "I screwed up." Oh, great. He's upset because he led me on for the past couple of days. Here it comes. "Because I really, really, fucking do. Like you back." Oh, great! Score.

We took a walk on the paths around the river, and John made some super awkward comments about my "new life" consisting of waiting around while he took pictures, which was not very feminist of him, and therefore annoying. Apparently he was working up the nerve to kiss me and was very nervous the entire time, which did show. When we got back to our dorm, we grabbed some things we needed to take with us to breakfast, and then took the elevator down to the first floor with each other. That was when John kissed me, just once, and it was the best kiss I'd had up to that point. Very promising indeed. I shouted, "In an elevator!?" because my enjoyment of the kiss was somewhat stifled by my anxiety that when the elevator opened someone would see us, because I was very much terrified of participating in anything resembling P.D.A. at the time. We burst out of the elevator cackling, and bounced from wall to wall down the hallway to our friends' room, laughing hysterically together. When we knocked and opened the door, one of the guys was dismounting his loft bed directly in front of our faces, pantsless, and the other simply popped his head up like a bunny high on valium and stared at us through glassy eyes. Given this, we continued to laugh hysterically, much to the annoyance of the freshly-awoken, and we all went to breakfast together. Later that day, we went to Hubbard Park and played soccer with our friends. John and I kept bodyslamming each other for the ball, because apparently we couldn't contain ourselves. I don't blame us much, because our affection for each other had been growing each day for over six months. A little rough and tumble out in the open was in order. We got to date for about a week and a half in college, and we actually didn't hug until we'd been dating for a week, an act I was so stoked for because John would be the first person I dated that I could actually feel hugged by. Not to mention we were both absolutely jacked at that point. Ah, those were the days.

The moment you've all been waiting for, whilst clawing through this monstrosity that is one of ADHD's VIP members compiling a memoir: The Proposal. Let’s just say I ended up getting left in a pitch-dark cemetery with a sciatica flare-up & Ele by myself, while John sprinted through the forest in the night with tears running down his face. Anticlimactic, I know. It’s a long story. After that evening, we laughed it off, and moved into an apartment of our own with a little yard and a monster tomato garden. Then Ele and I ditched him and we now live in Hawai’i, a few doors down from our little family’s future home. John is my best friend and we couldn't be more stoked to get married and have sleepovers for the rest of our lives. We hope we get to celebrate with you, but if not, thank you for reading our story! We can't wait for it to continue. :)

My story begins where we left off. You’ve heard the proposal story at this point. I have no comment, besides to say that it was a fantastic game plan, just poor execution by the team. Mekhia and I have been staying in Iowa City, pouring ourselves into our passions and our work, saving up to build a house in Ocean View, Hawai’i. WAIT. Hawai’i? We need to rewind for a quick second. If you asked 2012 John what state he was going to move to after college, he probably would have said Ohio. Settle into a house in Cincinnati, or maybe Columbus, or even Cleveland (if he was lucky). His state fair project in fourth grade was on Ohio, and one of his favorite vacations was to Mammoth Cave, Kentucky, because they got to drive through Ohio. Ask 2018 John, and he would have been more hesitant. Maybe move back to Michigan! Enjoy Lake Michigan and cloudy weather and nice crisp autumns and nice crisp apples. Early 2020 John had his eyes on the prize: Washington D.C. Making moves, wheeling and dealing, politicking to the top. Then came Mekhia, and much like when a small kid tried corn with butter for the first time, everything changed. And although Cleveland is like every kid’s dream city, I’ll miss autumn, and I won’t be politicking in D.C., there are one or two perks to moving to an island paradise with the love of your life. Some are obvious. -PERFECT weather. Every day. Mid-70s and sunny, ocean breezes and mountain nights keeping us cool. -*note* Great for couples gardening, couples house-building, couples running, etc. -Access to pristine oceanfront. -A culture that might have slightly more richness and history than Cleveland. -and so on… Some are less obvious. -The Kona Costco being RIGHT NEXT to the Goodwill, being very close to one of our favorite beaches, Kua Bay Bay Bay. -Perfect training ground to get Hānu (one of the family dogs, currently lacking in cardiovascular fitness) in shape to help me with my own IronMan training. -A chance for Mekhia and I to reconnect with Nature. (While living in Iowa City has had its moments, nature hasn’t exactly been a large part of our busy lives here.) -Perhaps running into Jason Momoa or the Rock at the grocery store. It’s not impossible. -and so on… and so on… In the meantime we will continue to stay in Iowa, playing music together, exploring old board games and card games, crafting new recipes, and selling our collection of vintage clothing and other miscellaneous thrifted items. I could not be happier with where my life is, and where it’s going. Many thanks for catching up with us, and hopefully we can see you in June. If not, give me a call and visit us whenever you can :)

We headed into surprisingly murky water at Kua Baybaybay, the wind characteristically blowing under the water and above. High surf that day. No sand. Stunning. "I'm going to take a while," I said, feeling the cold water on my thighs and already knowing I'd be a wuss getting in. "Okay," John chuckled. Just before he stepped in, he said he left our keys in his pocket. He jogged back to store them properly. I sighed with relief; that would have been terrible. Eventually we made it out, and John was trying to tell me that his love for me will always be enough, no matter what challenges we face, but he was doing so during a pretty big set...So I was nodding along as I listened, eyes glued to the horizon as waves charged toward us. He pulled a little baggie with a ring out of his pocket and asked me to marry him, again. I said yes, typical--just before diving under the next wave, still not really looking at him, but very happy as the silky water rushed around us. The ring was too big, but luckily he'd bought a smaller size for my anemic little fingers. It was in the car, so I clutched the current ring in my hand, scared it would fall off in the waves. We enjoyed jumping the rest of the set, my top slipping off a couple times, no big deal. Until John informed me he'd asked a couple of very sweet, middle-aged Hispanic ladies to record us this whole time. He brought the keys on purpose so he could go back and ask them to film. Sigh. Not much I could do at that point. I crawled up the rocks a ways away from the ladies because I'm embarrassingly antisocial, but they politely and excitedly corralled John & I for a picture of the two of us. John chatted with them while I rinsed off the salt. It was all so nice! Then we drove straight to the airport & John left me. HA. In all seriousness, he redeemed himself and now we're double engaged. He did leave, though. But next time he "visits," he'll be here for good!