I Cannot Say

What was the last thing you searched for online? Why were you looking for it?

If I revealed the last thing I searched for online, it would be the name of the person I was stalking.

The why is obvious—I wanted to know if this person posted anything on their social media accounts that would give me a bit of insight into something I was curious about.

Why do we stalk people from the shadows?

I will be the first to confess that it gives me a thrill. As open as I can be on my blog, I can be just as closed off in real life—but the downside of that is that it’s hard to let people in and it can get really lonely sometimes. My experience these past several years with letting people in has, without fail, ended in disaster. I don’t know if it’s the generation that we currently live in that makes people fickle, or if it’s due to my sheltered upbringing, or my expectations are way off—or a combination of any of these options—but the end result has always been incredibly disappointing.

I read somewhere recently that everyone being online gives people the illusion of options so no one wants to be loyal and committed anymore. It really resonated with me and makes so much sense. The emotional nakedness that comes with face-to-face interactions, especially in todays hookup culture, is harder for most people than being physically naked with a stranger they just met.

Third base now means posting someone on your Instagram story!

First base is sex.

Crazy. Completely and utterly bonkers. I genuinely don’t like this bandwagon we’re all on and I want to get off.

But back to my stalking. As much as I hate it, I also secretly enjoy the thrill. But along with this, I am totally aware of how toxic it is and I’m looking forward to the day that I will no longer have the urge to stalk anyone because of how in love with my own life I will be.

And I’m taking that one to the bank.

What’s in a Name?

Where did your name come from?

I always hated my name when I was growing up.

Why did my parents have to name me something so borinnnggg?

Why couldn’t they have named me something more exciting, like Cleopatra? Or Leah? But no, instead, I had to share my name with multiple cousins.

Larisa.

So unremarkable. I refused to be called by that name, so my older sister gave me another name, Loren, and I eagerly accepted it instead. My mom even fell in line and called me Loren during my formative years.

It wasn’t until I had to start using my name legally for work that I truly accepted my name, but I still had to stress to everyone that it was “Larisa with ONE s!” I had no idea who this Larissa character was that everyone tried ascribing to me.

That, in turn, got me the actual moniker of “Larisa With One S.”

“Good morning Larisa With One S!”

“Good morning Debra.”

Anyway, after a while, I stopped fighting it and finally accepted that this was indeed my name and that trying to run away from it was futile. Strangely, whenever I’d read about a character in a story named Larisa (with one s), I’d always like the name and immediately felt drawn to the character.

I also love it when a romantic interest calls me by my name. Why does it feel like a caress?

Oh, I should probably answer this prompt question—where my name actually came from. It just came from lack of creativity and lack of baby naming books in the Soviet Union where I was born. Larisa is a common Slavic name and my parents didn’t have a Larisa yet so they bestowed it upon yours truly upon my birth.