I want to be a better person, I really do. I honestly don’t think it’s fair that some people are just born nice

So basically, I’m a failure.

I thought I had it all figured out. This whole thing that happened to me, the whole crazy year, the trials and nisyonos and feeling broken, over and over, I thought I had grown through it all.

That I would look back one day and be all like, “Mhhm, was losing my ability to dance tough? Well, sure, but I became the amazing person I am today because of it,” and everyone would be all like, “Oh, she’s sooo inspiring.”

’Kay, so add delusional to my list of faults. But still, I really thought I had changed. No, I had felt myself change. My mind was open to noticing others and their needs, it was like getting peripheral vision for the first time; suddenly I saw those around me and not just my goals ahead.

But after what Goldie told me… she’d basically said I’m a thankless spoiled brat and I brought all the bad feeling in the house onto myself.

Not in those words, obviously, the girl is super classy, but I got the gist.

The truth is I want to be a better person, I really do. I honestly don’t think it’s fair that some people are just born nice, like Goldie, and other people, like yours truly, are born with a mouthful of obnoxious comments in their arsenal.

I ponder all of this while packing away the Pesach dishes. I always feel bad for the Pesach dishes, they have such a short time to shine. It’s all about them for eight days, and then it’s goodbye until next year… it almost doesn’t seem worth it.

I shake my head. I’m losing it.

“Are you okay, Belka? You look kinda weird.”

“Gee, thanks, Chemia.”

He shrugs, grinning.

Well, at least he doesn’t think I’m awful.

I’m totally embarrassed of Goldie now, just by the way, so there’s another burned bridge right there.

A loud honking breaks through my reverie and a slow smile breaks across my face.

Ah, tradition. Since Atara’s family has Esmerelda to clean and put away the Pesach dishes, Atara’s mom is free to stand in line in the pizza store and then stop by 7-Eleven for Slurpees. Every Motzaei Pesach that I can remember, they’ve dropped a Slurpee off for me, you know, in commiseration of my enslavement, and it’s nice to know that despite everything that’s happened this year, some traditions are sacred.