Probably going to regret this, but here goes:
It would be appropriate that the first post I write is on an airplane. I always seem to be on one of these things, I guess that’s what happens when you’re a product of divorced parents.
My name is Isabella, and I’m what you would call a modern day princess. You know in all the shows about the ridiculously wealthy people theres always one girl that fits, but doesn’t? Well that would be me. Don’t get me wrong, you ask anyone who really knows me and they can’t imagine me traveling something that isn’t first class or not having walking closet — one of my prides and joy mind you — but I swear theres more to me than the bubble I live in, and there are days that I wish this bubble didn’t exist; then I remember how much I enjoy being driven around everywhere and that desire to burst this metacognitive economic paradise goes away. It makes for good writing, people feed of the life of people like me (that sounded a lot less snobbier in my head).
Any who. Like any princess, my boyfriend is pretty much perfect, my friends are alcoholics, shopaholics, equestrians (could you get more pertinacious than that?), and and my family is anything but functional. Like I said before, my parents are divorced, and family drama is something I’m so used to I’m pretty much immune to it. I also have a Persian cat. My life revolves around my two homes, Colombia and the Dominican Republic, as well as New York City, Miami, and well, Ithaca. Could I be a more stereotypical and cliched white girl with money? I mean I don’t like Starbucks so I guess that makes me special?
As I write these words I’m hours away from landing home, where a week of blood wars, empty bottles are the norm the that bubble traps you; I’m stepping into a snow globe of glitter.