"The Gift of Fear": Why I'm Thankful for Hypervigilance

A while back, I read through the comments on a post in a forum- I think it was r/LetsNotMeet, where people share stories of true close encounters they've had with dangerous people- about a book called The Gift of Fear. It sounded incredibly intriguing- especially to me, with my rampant anxiety struggles- so I hopped on Amazon Prime and snatched it up immediately. 

Written by security and violence prediction expert Gavin de Becker, its purpose is to help readers avoid potential trauma and teaches us to recognize precursors to violence. de Becker stresses that although the world at times can seem unpredictable and chaotic, the fact is, violence is inherently predictable, and by recognizing pre-incident indicators (PINS), we can try to avoid it.  The author focuses mainly on situations that one may encounter day to day- at home, at work, in public places.

de Becker, at the beginning of the book, stresses that although violence can be perpetrated by anyone, women are more often the victims of structural violence. "To be politically correct," de Becker says, "would be statistically incorrect." Essentially, he's saying to put aside the #NotAllMen argument for a second, and consider the situations that are really happening to women- what women do you know who hasn't been intruded upon, violated by, or made to feel threatened by a man in her life? 

If it's hard for you to think of an example for yourself, consider this: these things happen to us so frequently that it's socialized, at times, to feel completely normal. "Not taking no for an answer" is one of the PINS. How many stories have we heard or told about a guy who accosts us at a bar or some other public place and won't leave us alone? 

At the very least, they're annoying. At worst, they're terrifying. 

While reading The Gift of Fear, I'm reminded of instances in my life where I've felt threatened and been in situations that if it were not for my hypervigilance, I may not have gotten out as easy.

Sometimes it's hard to explain why I feel uneasy in situations, especially to people who cannot relate. I once had a creepy encounter in a vast, darkened parking lot in college which left me pretty shook up, so later that night, I told my boyfriend at the time about it. He didn't really understand why something so simple as a man walking extremely close behind me in the dark, for longer than he should have and then repeatedly asking if he could talk to me, would freak me out. I'd get a lot of the same responses from guys when I told them about pickup trucks slowing down to talk to me, people approaching me in carparks, being present in situations that turned violent, or where I left before something bad ended up happening.

At one point, de Becker discusses how on occasion, when people feel threatened, or plan on threatening someone, they'll make a joke about it, which might come out of nowhere, but really is a result of their subconscious picking up on clues- or a clue that reveals their true intentions, if it's someone intending to perpetrate violence. 

When I read this, I had a flashback to a previous relationship. About halfway through that year, I started sleeping with a knife under my pillow. My significant other happened upon it one night, and said, "Oh, is that for me? Are you afraid of me?" 

I didn't think much of it at the time, but then again, I didn't really know the entire reason why I felt I needed to keep something around to protect myself with. And I wasn't sure why they would ask me that.

A few months later, I broke up with this person. The day after that, they told me that they had been violent towards a previous girlfriend. I won't go in to the details, but it's definitely something I'm glad didn't happen to me.

There had been other signs too, other things that happened that I now understand could be classified as physically and psychologically abusive, but none made me afraid for my life. I'm certain I dodged a bullet, but some people aren't as lucky, and their situations become far worse.

These are only a couple examples of things that have happened to me where I'm certain fear played an important part in saving my life. But another thing I can thank my anxiety for is that whenever I'm in a crisis, I'm so used to needing to quickly solve a way out of the situation, that I'm confident in my abilities to make the right decision under pressure. Adapting to panic disorder means adapting to time-sensitive situations: assess the problem, identify your options, make a plan, and carry it out. Nowadays, I'm rarely ever in a situation where I'm not prepared, because I've imagined all possible outcomes, and I don't make decisions lightly. 

As I've learned to adapt to my panic disorder, I've gotten better and better at doing this more quickly. Most of the time, it involves relying on pre-incident indicators and assessing my surroundings. Gavin de Becker essentially tells us in The Gift of Fear to embrace our intuition, the signals that our subconscious relays to us based on our surroundings, because most of the time, it's right. 

This is not to say that we should be going about our lives afraid, or that women should walk about the world with a victim mentality. But the truth is- and I've said this before- the threat of violence never really goes away, because it's everywhere, no matter where you live or your economic status or how old you are. We should simply be smart about the situations that we encounter, because there's bound to be one sooner or later. 

The Gift of Fear has its flaws, but it's certainly thought-provoking, and I think it's something that everyone, especially women, should take the time to read. I'm positive that there's information in there that anyone can take to heart. The concept of embracing fear is strange, but it can really be useful. de Becker instructs us to trust our fear: trust it to carry you up and out of the room to safety, trust it to help you assess your surroundings in a split second to figure out how to extract yourself from a threat. Essentially, fear- and I don't mean the idea of cowering, shivering panic and despair, I'm referring to our inherent animal reaction to external threat- is something to harness and glean power from in dangerous moments and guide us to self preservation.

Why I'm Mad, and Why It's Not Just About Me

OH BOY.

I was going to pound this out in a little Facebook status, however, it became rather long so I thought I'd transform that nugget of anger into a blog post. Grab a snack.

As almost all of you know, yesterday was the Women's March on Washington, to support the continuation of women's rights, and to protest a misogynistic campaign, and now, administration. In addition to the March in D.C., many others were held in cities across the nation and around the world in solidarity, with unprecedented turnout. I couldn't go to the one here in Grand Rapids, but I am happy to say I know lots of people around the country who attended marches in their respective cities. It's awesome to see so much support for women and I think it's a promising look at what's to come in the fight against inequality and injustice.

In these past few weeks of increasingly polarized social media opinions in the midst of our new president's transition to power, I've had a few people inquire to me about how I am personally oppressed by inequality or certain legislation (or lack thereof), or why I care, if I'm white, educated, and middle-class.

Well, briefly I'm a woman. And I got like 1 or 2 problems that I'm mad about.

HOWEVER, my staunch support of progressive legislation does NOT come exclusively from the fact that I myself am a woman with 1 or 2 problems.

It's because I know that there are plenty of other people besides me who feel worried, uneasy, and afraid as well- way more than I am. White women experience sexism, but women of color are subject to both sexism AND racial prejudice. I care about their equality, even though as a caucasian female, I don't share their experience. I care about people that come to this country in hope of finding a safe place to live with their families, no matter where they're from. I support the fight for equality for ethnic minorities, and people who are transgendered, even though I am not representative of either of these groups. I support people who are physically and mentally disabled. I'll gladly allow a portion of my wages to go towards welfare, because I don't think it's so terrible that because of that a disadvantaged family gets to buy the food they need to survive- the same idea applies to if there were legitimate universal healthcare in the States, if part of my taxes go towards someone getting free access to lifesaving medication, I'm not going to be mad. Like...good! I'm glad I could help!

My point here is that most of the reason I feel so strongly about this is not because of what may happen for me, but what might happen for so many other people in this country. The rhetoric, proposed policies, and political appointments of this administration threaten so much of what we have worked hard to eradicate, and are still working towards. Don't get me wrong- I wasn't born woke, none of us were- and I've become educated over time, like everyone else. I believe everyone has the capacity to learn empathy and gain a greater understanding of the struggles that other people might experience, and I hope that the fight for progressive causes will help other people to work past their ignorance.

It may be a revelation to those questioning support of pro-equality causes that altruism plays a large part in many of these ideologies. Care about other people, regardless of any benefit for yourself. It doesn't matter if you haven't witnessed prejudice or hate firsthand, that doesn't mean it doesn't happen and shouldn't be addressed. Just because you may not understand someone else's religion or lifestyle (provided it's not harmful to others, but that should go without saying) doesn't make it unworthy of respect. I don't know, if I had to simplify it, I'd just say, think about something besides your own self-interest. Understand that people feel afraid, and do not gaslight their fear as being invalid just because you can't relate.

Essentially, what I think it boils down to is that it is important to acknowledge that there are other people besides you, with issues different from yours and struggles that you may not understand, who need things that you may not. We do not all experience life the same way, and we NEED to acknowledge this. We aren't all blessed with the same abilities in life, and we need to support equity and equality until it's a reality for everyone. 

What bothers me most is that we still have to wake up and fight for this shit. I haven't been on this godforsaken garbage ball for very long, but in my years I've seen so much pushing and pushing and pushing just for everyone to have a fair change at a good and pure life free of fear, and it's crazy to think we still aren't there. Three years ago when I was working in Chicago with organizations like the SPLC and HRC (I know I talk about this a lot, but it's really these experiences that made me so passionate about this stuff today), it seemed like we were almost at the top of a buttery smooth slide towards safety and equality. I never thought that we'd get to a point where we had to pick up and start again, but here we are. But if there's one thing I know, it's that we've sure as shit got the strength and ability to fight for as long as we have to, until we're finally where we wanna be.

I don't own anything that isn't black, so I would have probably been out of place anyway

Nooch: A Vegan Tale (fiction)

The Fresh Market is dead this time of night. Most people complete their grocery shopping early in the morning, or shortly after work. Of course, many grocery stores do not have windows to the outside world, so if you were stuck in the aisles for many hours, you may lose track of time. When you finally leave, it may be days from when you arrived.

Tonight, I am not wearing a watch, and my phone is dead, so I'm left to judge the passage of time from the cycles of my panic attacks that have spun for at least an hour. I'm in the dairy aisle, and I am panicking because there is nothing here that I can buy.

I have recently become a vegan, and it is today that I finally realize the true tragedy of this lifestyle- the prohibition of cheese.

The majority of my life has been spent consuming bountiful amounts of grilled cheese sandwiches with avocado and provolone, homemade macaroni and cheese, cheese eggs, pizza, warm goat cheese salads, fettuccine alfredo, mozzarella sticks- the list could go on forever. Few days have gone by in my life where I have not consumed cheese of some kind at least once, but for the past couple of weeks, this constant pattern in my life has been cut short.

Right now, in front of the frosty, neon-lit case of sealed bags of cheddar, pepper jack, provolone, and havarti, my eyes begin to well with the profound feeling of loss. A single tear falls from each eye and lands with a quiet splash on the package of neufchâtel I am holding.

Out of the corners of my eyes, I see fellow shoppers staring at me with looks of pity, or amusement. They do not know my plight, how dare they judge me.

"Vesti La Giubba" begins to surround me, perhaps from another dimension, or perhaps from the store Muzak stereo. How fitting the song is for my despair- the notion of smiling on the outside, but weeping bitterly within. Pavarotti's aria fills my ears with sorrow as I understand that I cannot continue this life much longer...the portrait of happiness, pure plant-based health on the outside, but in my heart I am devastated by this loss of my truest joy.

As my breathing begins to shake with the inevitable sobs that will overcome me, I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder. I am startled. Slowly, I turn around to face this person.

It's Joaquin Phoenix.

Bearded, wearing a red flannel and his sunglasses, and holding a small goat under one arm. My brow furrows as I stare at him, perplexed.

"Joaquin," I say, "What are you doing here?"

The goat bleats, and Joaquin smiles. He places a finger to my lips.

"You need to follow me now, child," he whispers. I nod, speechless.

He reaches for my hand, and I glance down at the basket I'm holding, which so far, contains avocados and lentils.

"Can I....can I bring this?"

Joaquin shrugs. "If you want," he says, "But know that far greater treasures await you than dried beans and overripe stonefruits."

I look down at my avocados. "How do you know they're overripe?" Does he have X-ray vision?

"You can tell by checking where the stem has been broken off...if it's green there, then you know it's ready. If it's brown, you've waited too long. Yours are brown, as far as I can tell."

Shit.

I place my basket on the ground next to the cheese cooler. Then I take Joaquin's hand, and follow him  and the goat down the aisle.

We weave through various aisles of Fresh Market. No one seems to notice us or the goat. Where could he possibly be taking me? Finally, we arrive at the world foods aisle. Mexican, Asian, Mediterranean, and Dutch delicacies line the shelves. I want a bottle of Jarritos, but Joaquin cautions me that I cannot touch anything in this aisle, not yet.

We stop walking.

"Wait a moment," Joaquin says. "Hold Rutabaga." He holds the miniature goat out to me. I take Rutabaga, who looks at me curiously through sideways pupils.

Joaquin fumbles through his pockets for something. Out of nowhere, he produces a tinfoil hat, and hands to me. I exchange the goat for the hat, and place it securely on my head.

"Is this one of the originals from the set?" I ask.

He looks puzzled. "Hmm?"

"You know, from Signs?"

He chuckles. "Oh no," he says, "I made that one at my house."

Joaquin picks up a bottle of Sriracha, and hands it to me.

"Now, I want you to turn around in a circle three times, and then place it back on the shelf."

"Um..."

"It's very important that you spin exactly three times. Slowly."

I take the Sriracha from him, and do as he says. Then I put the bottle back on the shelf from which it came.

Joaquin smiles lazily, and I swear, so does Rutabaga.

"Now, my child," he says, "We are going home."

Okay...

I follow him towards the end of the aisle. I can't put my finger on it, but something seems different about the store now. The lights seem brighter, yet softer, less fluorescent. The air no longer smells of bleach, but of freshly baked bread. I hear the sounds of happy chatter, of laughter.

We emerge into the open part of the store, and I am astounded by what I see.

Rows and rows of organic vegetables, their shiny skins glistening in the large windows in the produce section. Hipsters in flannel and vintage leather, mulling around the bins, examining enormous heads of cauliflower. Joaquin leads me to the produce.

"See?" he says, pointing at the avocados. "All of them are perfect, every single one." And they are. I pick off some of the stems, and they are all bright green.

The fruit section is full of strange and wonderful things, starfruits with a waxy yellow skin, dragonfruits that are fresh, bright pink. The bananas are all perfectly underripe, and the oranges are all flawlessly round and unbruised.

We make our way to the bread section. Fresh crispy baguettes, plump loaves of sourdough, and pillowy rolls. The baker standing behind the counter smiles widely with beautiful ivory teeth, her dreadlocks falling over her shoulders, as she hands me a slice of organic, vegan banana bread. I taste it, and I feel euphoria engulf me.

Where the speciality cheese and deli should be, there is a hummus section, and it stretches as far as the eye can see: beet, white bean, roasted red pepper, black bean, edamame, as well as many other flavors I've never seen in my life.

"Where are we, Joaquin?" I ask.

"The D&W Fresh Market on Knapp street," he answers.

"No, but really? What is this place? Why is it so different, and so perfect?"

He smiles wisely. "This is the way every grocery store should be. Plant-based, free of the remnants of animal slaughter. Tell me, do you see any fresh meats? Chicken? The lobster tank?"

We walk towards that section, and it is nowhere to be found. No animal graveyards! Instead, there are coolers full of meat alternatives, Beyond Beef, Morningstar Farms, Amy's Kitchen frozen meals. I gasp. This place is wonderful. Instead of sad Italian operas, I hear an angelic piano tune on the Muzak. I feel at home, at peace.

Joaquin leads me to where the dairy aisle should be, and instead of regular milk and butter, there are endless soy and nut alternatives. But then I glance at the cheese section, which looks surprisingly similar.

"Do not be fooled...it's not what you think," Joaquin says.

I walk over to the cheese bin, and behold, it is not cheese I see, but cheese alternatives: fake mozzarella, provolone, vegan cream cheese, Daiya shreds.

I sigh. "These are beautiful, Joaquin."

"Aren't they?"

"But...I'm not so sure about these cheese alternatives, you know. Sometimes they just taste like rubber...or nothing at all. I'm impressed by the variety, for sure, but I cannot stand to make a cheese sauce with my macaroni with these. Believe me, I've tried, and it's just...not right."

Joaquin nods, understandingly.

"Please," I say, "Isn't there something that I can take solace in? Some sort of cheese substitute that truly satisfies my cravings? There must be."

He smiles.

"Well then...let me show you something."

He takes my hand again, and Rutabaga trots behind us as we head towards the dry goods area, the center of the store. As we walk, grocery store patrons smile and wave, and free sample workers hand us tiny cups of fried tempeh, vegan pudding, tiny vegetable kebabs. I'm no longer hungry, which is great, but the craving for cheese has not subsided.

We reach the baking goods aisle, where there is a bounty of vegan chocolate chips and baking additions, pie crusts made without butter. Gluten free flour, which two happy hipsters are holding bags of, laughing joyously. Ylvis' "Intolerant" plays on the speakers.

At the end of the aisle, there are bags and bags of grains, flour, quinoa, all sorts of goods. Joaquin picks up small bag filled with yellow flakes.

"This," he says, "is what you've been looking for."

I slowly take the bag from him, and examine the label.

Nutritional Yeast.

"What is this?" I ask. I adjust the tinfoil hat on my head, which has become somewhat itchy.

"Nutritional Yeast," Joaquin says, in a mystified tone of voice.

"Well, yeah...I can see that. But what is it?"

"Also known as Nooch."

"Okay. But, what does it do?"

"Oh, my child," he chuckles. "It's everything. All that the Nooch touches takes on that rich, umami taste of cheese. It will return to you the joy you have lost, and you will want for nothing in your vegan way of life."

I hold the Nooch in my hands. The bag is light, and I shake the contents around.

"Are you sure?" I ask, "It doesn't look like it will help. I mean, it just looks like yellow dandruff."

Joaquin laughs. "Trust me."

Once again, out of nowhere, he produces a bowl of familiar-looking macaroni and cheese.

"Is that Kraft Dinner?"

He hands me the warm bowl. "It only appears that way."

"Is it vegan?"

"Yes."

"Ugh, I hope it's not any more of that coconut milk cheese sauce. Can't stand that," I mutter.

I pick up the spoon and taste the pasta. It can't be.

The taste of cheese, creamy, and sharp, overpowers my senses. I am overwhelmed with nostalgia for a time before this vegan diet, before I lost the love of my life- forever, I thought. How wrong I was. I This tastes exactly like a creamy cheese sauce that I would make for my pasta. It even looks like macaroni and cheese, if the cheese weren't exactly as smooth. This just seems impossible; to get a flavor of cheese this accurate would take black magic, I'm sure.

I understand now that Joaquin was right. This is, indeed, what I've been searching for for so long. I begin to feel the pieces of my life fall back into place, the nagging panic subside in my chest. I can feel whole again. I don't have to sacrifice flavor and my favorite food for my happiness. The alternate universe of the vegan Fresh Market feels like a safe, warm place, where all my dreams could come true.

I understand now. Nooch is love. Nooch is life. I shall live and die by the Nooch.

"I love it."

"It's a sauce made with cashews, soy milk, carrots, and the Nooch," Joaquin explains. "If you've got a good food processor, you can make it at home. It will be like no Kraft Dinner you've ever had in your life."

I take a few more bites.

"Hmm. So, can I buy it?" I ask, handing the bowl back to Joaquin. He takes it from me, and places it on the floor for Rutabaga to finish off, which he does, gladly.

"Certainly."

I pick up a few bags of Nutritional Yeast, and place them in a basket that magically appears on the floor to my right, half full of organic, vegan treats that I planned to purchase, but could not find in the real Fresh Market.

Joaquin leads me towards the checkout.

"Wait," I say, grabbing his arm. He turns to look at me. "When I leave here, what will happen- will the outside be the same as it was before? Will my life be different? Will the Nooch disappear?"

He smiles at me gently again. "The world outside remains the same. When you leave the store, everything you buy will stay with you. The store will return to its natural state, and you will leave me in this parallel universe." He removes the tinfoil hat from my head, and crumples it, placing it back in his pocket.

I sigh, and stare at him. I reach out to pet Rutabaga, who Joaquin is now holding.

"I'll miss you, Joaquin. I'll never forget this journey."

Rutabaga squeals. Joaquin squeezes my hand gently, blue eyes staring back into mine. "I will miss you too, my young traveler."

"Will I ever see you guys again?"

"If you wish to return, just find the Sriracha, and perform the spell. You will find me."

I smile, and turn back to the checkout. Looking back at the actor and his goat, I wave. "Thank you, Joaquin, you too, Rutabaga!"

They watch me go, and I purchase my groceries.

Just as Joaquin said, the parking lot is the same as I left it. It's around 10:30 p.m. now, and I've only been in the store for half an hour, but it feels like I've been gone forever. I load up the car with my groceries and head home.

That night, I prepare a Nooch mac and cheese, and settle in for a relaxing night of Netflix. After I charge my phone, I check my e-mails for anything I have missed while I was out.

There's one e-mail in my inbox, from Joaquin Phoenix. The subject line reads, "To Maria." I open it, and it's a YouTube link.

Dear traveler: 

Here's the link to the documentary, Earthlings, if you haven't watched it already. I narrated it, in case you didn't know. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and make sure you share it on Facebook and stuff. I hope our paths cross again soon.

Your friend,

Joaquin Phoenix

xoxo

I laugh a little, and return to Netflix. My macaroni tastes wonderful. I have a feeling I will be enjoying grocery shopping a lot more from now on.

I'm Gonna Stop Being a Little Bitch in 2017: You're Welcome

I applaud people that can see their New Year's resolutions through to the end. Maybe I'm just deterred from making my own because of my inability to complete projects that I start, due to my crippling adult ADD and personality disorders? Despite that, I'd like to try it anyway. 

Essentially, my personal goal for 2017 and onward is something less tangible than successfully maintaining a gym routine, finishing a home improvement project, or sticking to a diet (I will never stop eating garbage breakfast). 

I want to start doing everything I'm afraid to do, no matter how badly I do it, or how big the panic attack. 

Here's a list of times my anxiety has ruined my life- and I'm gonna tell you all of them, no matter how stupid they sound:

• Failing to submit multiple creative writing works because I was afraid of rejection, even though my professors said they were awesome and pushed me to do it.
• Overdosing on Xanax on a plane ride to Baltimore.
• Multiple trips to the emergency room each year because of a "blood clot" and "heart attacks"(spoiler alert: I had neither)
• Not taking a pole dancing class because I'm also terrified to perform in front of people, even though it's something I've always wanted to do.
• Not skydived even though I was given the opportunity
• Finagling my way into the Star Line captain's cabin under the guise of boat nausea, when in fact, I'm terrified of open water- not a total loss, but embarrassing nonetheless.
• Countless nightmare public speaking experiences.
• Buying a ticket to Booze Cruise and immediately before the boat leaves the dock, deciding to get off because I'm afraid of loud noises and drunk people.
• A newfound fear being in the open wilderness, in the forest, in the mountains, even though it is one of the only things that has ever made me feel alive and being in nature is my favorite activity.

It's also caused me some pretty embarrassing problems in my interpersonal relationships, to no end. For example, last year, I failed to make the short 40 minute drive to my best friend's house to celebrate her birthday, because I was too scared to drive an unfamiliar route. 

One time, my hot professor extended the offer for a coffee date (not in a romantic sense, most likely just to cultivate an academic relationship, much to my dismay), and I didn't go, because I was too afraid she would think me awkward. I also turned down a research opportunity with her because I was too intimidated by how cool and smart she was. 

Another time, I didn't meet up with a friend in Chicago I hadn't seen in forever, because I was too afraid to get on the train, and I was afraid to tell her that because I was afraid of what she'd think, so I told her I just had diarrhea instead (somehow that seemed like a better explanation than the truth).

How about every time I've tried to pursue a romantic interest, only to have it crash and burn because I'm too nervous to hook up with them? Oh christ, there were so many times- this could be a whole separate post. When I was eighteen, I had a huge crush on one of my friends (which she knew) and I had multiple opportunities to make a move, but never did anything about it because I'm a bitch and I was so intimidated (which she knew). Once, I cultivated a promising relationship with a taxi driver who was smart and funny and we liked all the same music, but when he invited me to go out I told him I was taking a nap, which as far as he knows, I never woke up from. The next summer I spent four months aggressively flirting with a coworker, so I finally slipped him my phone number at the bar and told him to text me- then when he did I told him I was too drunk to come over, even though I had only drank one vodka soda and was, like, fully capable of walking the 50 feet to his apartment. 

Fortunately, I managed to snag the boyfriend I have now, but the witchcraft of how that even happened is beyond anything I understand. Regardless, I'm so thankful.

Essentially, I'm good at barreling hard and fast towards opportunities in my life, and getting myself into situations where I can easily get what I want, in work, in school, in relationships- and then I just trip and fall on my face. Certainly, I've overcome a lot of my fears: I've flew on planes by myself, survived a year of graduate school, enjoyed a trip on a sailboat without dying, survived a rave, driven long distances without popping a chill pill, and splattered my writing all over the World Wide Web for everyone to see.

These are great successes, but they're few and far between. The amount of times I've come through and lived have paled in comparison to the number of times I've failed to do something fun just because I was afraid.  I could make a list of all the things I want to do, but that would make this post much longer than it needs to be.

Thus, starting now, I want success to the be rule, not the exception. I'm going to stop worrying what people will think about me, I'm going to trust my heart not to give out, and I'm going to trust that the ferry isn't going to capsize. I think I've come pretty far, and I'm proud. I'm just not the best Maria there is, and that's what I want to be.

In the words of Kylie Jenner, 2017 is going to be the year of just, like, realizing stuff.

I wasn't sure what to add for a photo so here's a picture of Dragon Fruit with no context. It tastes like kiwi with seeds that get stuck in your teeth.