Diary of a young college girl with street punk aspirations
Join me as I revisit diary entries from 19 years ago and try not to die inside
Growing up, I lived a somewhat sheltered life under the watchful eye of my traditional Puerto Rican parents. It was by no means oppressive, but it was a life that felt finely curated. They kept a very close eye on the friends I kept and they tried to ensure the activities I did, the media I consumed, and the clothes I wore were all appropriate for the future they pictured for me.
In their dreams, I was to be a respectable, articulate, well-educated professional who acquired a high-paying job, perhaps as a lawyer or a doctor, before settling down in the suburbs and giving them grandchildren. I would hopefully go to an Ivy League university, or if not, at least a very prestigious one, where I would spend my days studying and my nights engaging in intellectual discourse.
I had other plans. Since my pre-teens I’d been dying to break free from the watchful eyes of my parents. But unlike most teens on the eve of their college experience, I didn’t dream of binge-drinking, or drugs, or racking up body counts. No—all I wanted was to live out the wild punk rock life I’d always dreamed of. To be honest, I didn’t really know what that looked like, but when I met Jeff, the gruff and scraggly punk who always had ripped jeans and a dumpster-dived bagel in his hands, I knew he’d show me the way.
The following are some diary type recollections from about 19 years ago, chronicling my short time spent with Jeff during my sophomore year in college. Rereading these entries made me cringe (I’m far too earnest), but it also took me back. Back to a time when I thought the only way to be punk was to court chaos and distance myself from the “normies.” Also back to a time when everything felt so important and life-altering and every thought I had felt profound.
Please note, these entries are largely unedited, leaving most of the weird grammar/punctuation, poor sentence structure, confusing conclusions, and unfortunate slang intact. May we not judge young Marissa.
September 12, 2006
That night I was bored out of my mind and out of things to do, and no doubt feeling sorry for myself. We were the last two people hanging around the venue, clearly both hoping for some sort of opportunity to present itself. I’d seen Jeff plenty of times before, but we’d never talked, but I suppose we were both desperate that night, or perhaps it was finally time to accept the obligatory bond that must form between any two tight-pants-wearing, scummy looking kids in a small city. I brought him back to my dorm room where we listened to his militant anarcho-political street punk CD. The kid was clearly reppin.
It was getting late and as I was walking him out, Jeff spots this perfectly preserved, barely eaten birthday cake, still in its case, peeking out of the hallway garbage can. It had the name of my dorm RA (resident assistant) Jenny still written on it in pretty pink frosting. Jeff took it out of the trash cuz he was hungry and didn’t give a shit. We hurried outside, only to run directly into Jenny which caused Jeff to drop the cake face down on the ground. Jenny looked at us with a face of confusion and disgust as I stood there, contemplating whether or not to be mortified. Jeff grabbed a handful of cake off the ground, shoved it in his mouth while looking directly at Jenny, then ran down the street. I looked at Jenny for a few moments, then figured, "ah, screw it,” as I grabbed a handful of cake and ran after Jeff, laughing hysterically. The thing is, college is a sort of self-contained community and if you don’t fit in, you’re stuck there, standing stagnant in your own awkwardness and embarrassment. That day I decided I’d break free for a time, and just run as far away as I could. That semester was defined by running.
September 14, 2006
Jeff and I met up again after my classes. We had no real plans, but this time we were joined by two other kids I had never met before. They decided we’d sneak into some abandoned buildings and scale some rooftops, and just kind of explore the dead parts of the city. I wore the wrong shoes and almost fell face first off of a roof. "I don’t wanna die in Wilkes-Barre..." The 16-year-old kid who could never get my name right offered to make sure I didn’t die. I took him up on his offer.
October 12, 2006
They handed me a heavy metal rod and asked me to keep watch as they tried to lock a gun-wielding pimp out of their abandoned building squat. Hooded and clad in all black, I was ratty and pretty shady looking and standing in the middle of the sidewalk in broad daylight. They busted out and we ran for our lives as people came storming out of the building behind us. I swear police never come to Wilkes-Barre...
November 21, 2006
My university life and nightlife collided as my three new acquaintances followed me home to my dorm, kicked down a bunch of news racks, and pulled a campus fire alarm (much to my surprise). I joined them in running away into the night.
November 30, 2006
Things settled down for a little bit and I decided to spend a night in Dairy Queen with my college roommate. As I bit into my ice cream sandwich I got a call from Jeff who told me that he had found a dead body. "What the hell?! Where?? What are you doing about it?" It wasn’t exactly what I had initially expected. Turns out he "fell" into a mausoleum and found a skeleton. He invited me to help him dress it up and stage a photo shoot, to which I declined.
December 8, 2006
Rooting through trash tells a lot about local businesses. For some reason the video store throws away a whole lot of porn.
December 27, 2006
We found some cool stuff in the abandoned trains, but after lying face down on the concrete for a half hour, hoping the cops didn’t see us, something sort of hit me. I was applying for an internship the next semester, and there I was, hiding out directly across the street from the business I was applying to. And I could almost swear I had spotted one of my college professors earlier that night. I realized that if I was gunna "tear shit up" (as the one guy I know always used to say), it was gunna bite me in the ass since I was doing it in my own backyard (figuratively speaking). The kids I were hanging out with came from the next town over, but there I was, night after night, doing a good deal of incriminating things, then tidying up for class the next morning and praying to God no one saw me. I was pretty much having the time of my life, but I realized that it was only a matter of time before my two lives collided and left me incredibly screwed. Plus, if it ever came down to it, I didn't trust I had any friends willing to bail me out.
January 2007
Eventually winter break came and I decided to lessen the distance I put between myself and the college community (a bit reluctantly). When the next semester started up, I saw Jeff once more walking through my campus as I was on my way to a class. I had to decline his invite to jump freight trains, but I'll admit there was some hesitation.
Nowadays I actually have recollections of going to class, but I haven't exactly been able to break the habit of lingering in the streets looking for chaos. And by no means would I ever try and say I’ve abandoned some of my older habits because I’ve “matured” or grown out of a phase, because frankly I find that the most offensive and ageist phrase that is constantly used. The fact is, living double lives is immensely tiresome, and pretty hard to consistently pull off. Let’s just say things have been put on hold, until I can get to a place where one life can fit right along with the other…
Do you remember how life felt back in your late teens/early 20s? Do you find it painful or refreshing to look back at things you wrote in your youth?
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I reread it and I just want to be your cool older punk rock buddy! This is just so perfect, I feel so much.
I adore your writing in the not creepy way. Jesus this is awesome