How to know the sun is going to rise.

Today the sun rose.
Just like I said it would. 
"I used to be sad all the time too till one day I realized the sun is still going to rise tomorrow and it's going to set. Everything is always going to be okay." 
Today, the sun rose. 
It started out on the horizon, just a little sliver lighting up the sky just enough to begin to see the blue again. And then quickly it began raising even more and more. 
And now it's above us. It's shining as bright as ever. 
I was right. 
Yesterday the sun rose, too. 
It shined brightly in the sky and made me want to sing and dance and just lay in it. And then just as quickly as it came, it went down again. 
Tomorrow, the sun will rise then, too. 
It will rise far in to the sky and give us light. It will illuminate the places we walk to and the ground we walk on. It will illuminate things that have been there always, but that we've never noticed before. It will rise. And then, before you're ready for it to leave, it will. 
Just like it will today today. 
Because, today, the sun rose. 
But it's not as simple as that today. 
Because today, the clouds took over the sky as well. 
There's no blue. 
There's no chances of staring into the sun and burning your eyes. 
I don't want to lay out in it. I don't want to sign or dance or roll down my window and soak in every second of it. 
There's not a lot to soak in anyway. 
I don't see things as clearly, colors don't shine as vibrantly, and it's gloomy. 
I have thought on numerous occasions today that maybe I should have stayed in bed. 
Today, the sun rose, but it's not as simple as that.
But maybe it is. 
I can't see as clearly. I'm colder. I'm not soaking up anything.
But the sun still rose out of darkness. The sun is still working it's hardest to bring some light to the world, to make it possible for us to see better than we could in the middle of the night. 
Today, the sun rose. 
And tomorrow, maybe it will rise and shine brightly and there won't be clouds blocking it's rays and everyone everywhere will want to dance and sing and lay out in it again. 
But today, today it just rose. 
And that is enough.
"And I just realized everything is going to be okay. It really is." 
"It's not as simple as that."
"Sure it is."

Who am I? Memory 5.

Never ever saw it coming at all. 

It's alright... No one's got it all.

I'm sitting in the car. 
I'm waiting patiently for him to walk to the other side so we can drive home. 
We're quiet. He's always quiet. I'm always talking. 
"Look at the sky flash. I didn't know it did that." 
"It's because of the airport." 
"Oh.... Look at the stars. Aren't they beautiful tonight? I love it." 
"Sure." 
"I don't want to go home." 
"I don't want to take you home." 
"I love this song." 
"Okay, I'll make you a cd." 
"Wonderful. Please don't leave me." 
"Never."
"I want to keep you." 
"How long?" 
"As long as you want me." 
"Always." 


I'm standing in the doorway. 
My heart is screaming and begging and wondering why he is leaving. When did he change his mind? How did forever pass so quickly?


I'm standing under the stairs. 
For a second I feel as if this might be the rest of my life.
I feel whole. I feel like the world is mine. I feel like this is it.
And then I feel crushed. 
"200 books." 
"How many so far?" 
"9." 
This can't be my life. I can't be destines to have this. There has to be more. I need more. 
This can't be my life.  I never wanted this. 
I'm sitting under the stairs and for a second I feel like this is my future. That this is my life. This is the rest of my life. 
And there's no way out. 
I think of it in those terms and suddenly I can't shake the thought that I shouldn't be thinking of it as having no way out. Those arent the right words I should be using. But I used them. I thought them.

And I can't take them back.

You're getting sadder and sadder and sadder.... If I kiss you where it hurts, will you feel better better better will you feel anything at all?

I'm sitting in the grass. 

The sky is dark and for the first time in a long time, I can stare at the stars. 

My body hurts and I can't breathe and I'm breaking in to small parts. Opening old wounds as I allow myself to remember.

I'm on the couch. 

"I won't love again after this." 

"I prayed about it. We aren't meant to be together anymore."

"I love you so much." 

"This is really goodbye now." 

"I'll miss you." 

Some days aren't your's at all.

No alarms and no surprises.  

Who am I? Memory 4. Fat.

It's lunch time. 
"You got too much pudding. No wonder you're fat." 
I'm not fat. 
"You ran the mile in 12 minutes? You should work out more." 
Maybe I'm a little out of shape. 
"You shouldn't stick your stomach out like that, you're just stretching it so it can get fatter." 
Oh. Maybe she's right. 
"I think at recess, you should run. I'll time you."
Yeah, maybe I can get in to shape...
"Your shirt is a medium? I wear a small." 
Oh. I thought medium was normal... Maybe I am fat...
"My mom only eats a banana some days and she's healthy and skinny. Maybe you should try that."
Yeah. I should. 


I was only 8. 
How could you tell an 8 year old they are fat like that?
How sad it is that an 8 year old is so willing to believe it for the next 11 years of her life. 

Who am I? Memory 3. My testimony.

"What are you?" 
"What do you mean, I'm a girl." 
They laugh at me. 
"No. What religion are you?"
I pause and pick bark off the tree next to me. 
"I don't know, what is that?" 
"Do you believe in God?" 
"Yeah." 
"Then are you a Christian or a Catholic?"
"I don't know." 
"You're probably Christian." 
"Yeah... Probably."
"Thank goodness you're not a Mormon." 
I go quiet. That name sounds familiar. 
Two days later, I go to church. That night, I ask what we are at dinner.
"We are Mormon, Maren." 
"Oh." 
I slouched in to my chair and began to lightly cry. 
I don't want to be a Mormon. Mormons are evil. They don't believe in Christ. Some man wrote The Book of Mormon in prison. He made it up. I must be evil. 


"You pray funny." 
"Why don't you  just call him God instead of Heavenly Father?"
"You need to clasp your hands when you pray, not fold your arms." 
"When Satan comes, don't give him the number 666. That way you won't go to hell." 
"My church has been around longer than yours. That proves it's true and your's is fake." 
I believe them. 


I'm sitting in Young Women's. 
"God loves you."
"You can be with your family forever." 
"You're going to be okay." 
"There's a plan for you." 
"Christ died for you." 
I start to believe them. How can this be evil?


I'm sitting in Seminary. 
"Underline this..."
"Don't you love this part here..."
"Look how amazing this next verse is..."
"I'd like to bear my testimony." 
"Christ died for you." 
This is it. 


I'm sitting in Sacrament meeting. 
"I know this church is true." 
"I'm alive because of this church."
"He thought your name on the cross." 
"He love us." 
"Through Christ, everything is okay." 
"You can do it." 
And it comes to me. 
The Church is true, He did think my name on the cross, He does love me, through Christ, everything WILL be okay, and yes, yes I can do this. 


I'm sitting in my car. I'm praying. 
Please. Please listen to me. I need to know what is true. I need to know. Not just believe. Not just accept. I need to know. 
I'm begging. 
I'm crying and I'm begging and for a moment, nothing in the entire world matters more than the answer I want to receive. 
It comes. 
"I love you." 


I'm sitting here. 
I'm thinking back to first grade. 
"What are you?" 
I hold little first grade Maren's hand and whisper "Tell them. Tell them you're a Mormon. Tell them how much you love it. Tell them how true it is."
Or at least, I would, if only I could go back. 

Who am I? Memory 2. The Beach.

My mom's hand is in mine. 
Or rather, mine is in her's. Because mine was a lot smaller.
The sun is setting. 
"Look, it's a Lion King sun." 
"Yes, Maren, it is. It's a San Diego sunset." 
There's a fire going on to the left of us. Teenagers hanging out at the beach. They are laughing and their hot dogs smell amazing. 
I see people in love. 
I'm only 3, but I want that. 
I imagine what it will be like to be in love. I imagine having a family and a home and having someone look at me just. like. that. 
My mom pulls me closer to the water. We stand there, hand in hand. 
"Dig your feet deep in to the sand." 
There's sand in between my toes and on top of my feet. I push them in a little further.
"On the count 3, jump back out of it." 
I nod and giggle.
1
2
3
We jump. 
"Now watch." 
I stare at my feet. They're so little compared to my mom's. 
A wave comes up and washes them away. 
My feet are gone. 
I'm no longer a part of the sand. 
I'm no longer a part of the beach. 
I laugh and we do it again and again as the sun sets. 


Years later.
I'm standing on the same beach. 
I dig my feet deep in to the sand as the sun sets with that beautiful Lion King sun. 
I jump back and watch the waves wash my only mark on the earth away. 
"You coming, Maren?" They have no idea what they are making me walk away from.
"Yeah." 
I walk away.
Maybe one day I, too, will show my daughter how easily washed away our mark on the earth is. 

Who am I? Memory 1. Eating.

"If you don't eat meat you are going to die."
I stare down at my plate and begin to cry. I'm going to die. That's all there is to it. I'm going to die. 
"Go to your room." 
I sit on the floor of my room, crying, making my barbies cheat on each other (my family let me watch far too many sitcoms). 
Hours and hours and hours pass. (okay, maybe only like 15 minutes.) My mom opens the door. 
"What are you doing?" 
"Nothing," I say, pushing my barbies underneath the bed quickly. 
"Are you going to come finish your dinner?" 
"No," I'm going to die. "Can I have ice cream now?" 
"No!" She yells, telling me to keep thinking about finishing my food. 
15 minutes pass and there's a bowl of ice cream in front of me. 


Years Later.
"I'll be surprised if you even live to be 16." 
They laugh around the table and I sink down in to my chair. 
I'm going to die.
No. I'm not going to die. I refuse to die. I don't care if I eat like crap. I want to live. 
Just till I'm 16. I need to prove them wrong. 
I can keep myself alive that long, right? 
Right? 


Thus, beginning a whole series of memories that involve eating.

Who am I?

June 8th, 1992. 
9:32 PM. 
San Diego, California.
I came in to this world, weighing an astounding 6 pounds. (Maybe average is a better word than astounding...) 
12 hours pass, and I'm in my home for the first time, ever. 
No, I don't remember it. But if I did, yes, I would be one of those prestigious assholes that would brag about it constantly. 
I'm 3. 
"It's a boy." 
I cry for hours. Or, at least, what felt like hours to my small 3 year old mind. 
I'm 3, a few months later. 
"We're moving." 
I don't understand. I tell everyone. 
Then we move. 
I'm 4. 
My baby brother is amazing. The world is amazing. I hate meat. 
I'm 6. 
I'm standing in front of mirror, thinking "It's my birthday. This next year, I'm gonna be so mature and life finally get's to start." 
I'm 8. 
I horrified my dad is going to drown me. But he doesn't. I get baptized and live through it. 
I'm 11. 
My best friend moves. I start to realize growing up can really be rather awful. 
I'm 13. 
I'm awkward. I'm getting paid to be someone's friend. 
I'm 15. 
I think I know what love is. And I'm sure the world will change for the better once I'm 16.
I'm 16. 
The world doesn't change. It still sucks. 
I'm 17. 
I'm crying in cars and graduating and sure the world will change for the better once I graduate and turn 18. 
I'm 18. 
I finally know what love is. But the world doesn't change. It still sucks.
I'm 19. 
And this, I really am. I'm finishing my 2nd year of college and working constantly and going to concerts and standing in line for movie premiers. 


But there's so much else to it. 
There's all these stories... 
So...
This is Who I Am. 
Entry one. 
Let the memories and stories, begin. 

How to feel alive.

"And I feel alive. Feel alive." 

We whisper the words back, growing anticipation when the words come to an end.

"And I feel alive. Feel alive." 

We grow a little louder, desperately filling the silence with our voices.

"And I feel alive. Feel alive!" 

No longer a whisper, just a little above normal talking range.

"And I feel alive! Feel alive!" 

Yelling now. 

"AND I FEEL ALIVE! FEEL ALIVE!" 

And as I scream the words in to a dark room full of hundreds of other people, I feel, for the first time in over a year, alive.