4:35 am. The first time all year I haven't hit snooze. I couldn't think about a better source of motivation for getting out of bed.
4:40 am. I'm up and shivering. Cold or nerves? Probably both. Black athletic leggings and my favorite Adidas tee. It's colorful and not too thin or tight. I quickly thank Adidas for making a women's athletic shirt that isn't skin tight. My Nalu sweatshirt goes in my Nalu backpack on top of my laptop with my Nalu sticker. Essentials you know.
4:43 am. Camera battery, check. Phone charger, check. Multitude of lenses and microphones and rolls of film, check. Headphones, check. My backpack gets wriggled closed and the weight pulls on my shoulder a little when I pick it up.
4:45 am. Window is locked, lights and fans are off.
4:50 am. The kitchen is dark and cold. I only turn on one light. Mornings are always better in the dark. Especially mornings like these. Protein waffles get thrown in the toaster and hard boiled eggs get salted. One, two, three, four, five, six and my glass is full with filtered water. The dining room is dark too. Light is flipped on and suddenly the nerves sneak up on me again. The more I eat the lighter my chest becomes. I can't wait to get out of here.
5:03 am. Uber arrives, headphones go in, laptop comes out. The next hour and a half is the most productive I'm going to be for awhile. Beats by Logic and Eminem and Amine and Rejjie Snow are the energy that flows through my fingers and keeps me focused. Just under 100 photos get personally edited. Color balance is altered, highlights are decreased, and blues are enhanced. As much as I love what I do, I can always feel Instagram and sponsorships and deadlines creeping up on me. That's why this time is my favorite and yet also the most stressful. Sometimes I feel like I'm living the life of a young adult coming out of college and a high school kid at the same time. No one said having three full time jobs was easy. But it's all worth it. It's all going to be worth it.
6:24 am. My favorite place in the whole world. With my backpack on my shoulders and my duffle bag in my hands I feel unstoppable. Like the world is my oyster... or something. Everyone looks really tired. HA can't relate. I am awake and energized and motivated and ready to take on the world, quite literally.
6:40 am. I aspire to be one of those woman dressed in uncomfortable business dresses and heels before 7 am. They always seem so put together. Besides being dressed to a T, they always seem to be carrying some important looking briefcase while they talk on their slick black iPhones that never seem to have a case. You have to be pretty confident not to protect your thousand dollar extra limb. Or maybe just rich.
6:45 am. As I clutch my most prized possession with sweaty hands, the nerves come racing back into my gut. Those little bumblebees that bzz bzz bzz in circles, pushing a knot up into my throat. That anxious feeling begins to slip away when I visualize the end result of all of this. Nerves just mean you're excited right?
6:51 am. Still here. That's the worst part. The waiting. And the watching. I used to be afraid of the people in uniforms here, but I've come to be indifferent to their harsh stares and uncalled for questions. My backpack is starting to get heavy. I almost regret bringing all four of my cameras. Visualize come on Marguerite, visualize. Think of the end result. The suffering is always worth it.
6:56 am. I glance at the people around me to pass the time. A women wearing a head covering that nurtures her multiple children. A man wearing a navy Armani suit obnoxiously yelling to someone through an earpiece. A boy about my age with only a backpack and a Tupac shirt. He looks up and we make eye contact for a fraction of a moment. I look towards a college age guy with cuffed jeans and a massive hiking backpack. He looks like the kind of person that knows how the world turns. Maybe we'll see each other on the other side and I'll talk to him.
7:08 am. Finally through the barrier of stress that most people experience. I wouldn't say the barrier causes me stress, I usually just take my time and deal with the annoyance of the uniformed people.
7:12 am. Yes! Finally! The best part. More waiting. Lots more waiting. But this kind of waiting just encourages the butterflies in my stomach. The bees are gone. Timelapses are set up and emails are read. Instagram posts for the week are formulated, hashtags are planned. Money via PayPal is accepted and photoshoots are booked. The rest of the world finally starts to stir.
7:29 am. A quintessential part to this experience. Water. More specifically, Fiji water in big liter bottles that I can distribute into my own reusable bottles hidden under my sweatshirt and cameras. Also pretzels. Pretzels are the best. Now more waiting.
7:38 am. My friends on the other side of the world are just about to go to sleep, so my Instagram feed is flooded with pictures of blurry nights and green trees. Girls at the beach. Guys at the beach. Guys DJing some event at a beach club. Girls modeling for some bikini company. I double tap and double tap and double tap until my thumb cramps. My mind drifts and the butterflies intensify. Only 20 hours now! Instagram makes me excited.
8:13 am. It's starting. The rich and famous get first dibs, per usual. The exceptionally old and exceptionally young go next. I end up last.
8:16 am. The grey landscape is extremely motivating. I've been waiting for this moment my entire life and now that it's finally here, I'm not sure what to do with my emotions. I'm more excited than anxious, but my anticipation levels are through the roof, so that's not saying much. I do a mental check of everything in my bags and make sure I have everything that's important.
8:20 am. Yet again I'm left clutching an item necessary for my survival in my clammy hands. The glossed paper bends and warps around my fingers. The people in uniforms on this metal passage are much kinder than those in the barrier. They welcome me with a smile as I step onto my home for the next 19 hours.
8:47 am. I'm sitting again. We all tend to do a lot of sitting in my favorite place. Now, this is my favorite and yet simultaneously my least favorite part of this experience. The window is the size of my head. I share my seat with an older gentleman with a flip phone and a bag full of medications. Good thing he's on the end. My bag fits between my legs and I have to shake my leg to keep my excitement under control. The uniformed ladies make announcements about finally leaving. I couldn't be happier.
9:03 am. Faster and faster and shaking oh my gosh, so much shaking. The butterflies seem to activate again and my stomach sloshes as the massive piece of technology does. There's a moment of weightlessness and I'm soaring into the sky. As we tilt up, I glue my face to the window and watch the grey prison shrink. I feel big and powerful and free. Escape, the greatest form of success.
9:05 am. Even the water is grey today. A monochrome paradise tenanted by moms and dads and siblings and students. For a split second I pity them. They will never experience this exhilaration at the level I will. I pity the fact that their dreams are small enough to fit into a mcmansion and their list of accomplishments includes their $100,000 Mercedes. The camera on my phone captures the scene playing out in front of me, or rather below me, just fine.
9:29 am. The nerves and excitement have settled down. My headphones are blasting hip hop over the roar of the massive engines powering our vehicle. My mind begins to relax for the first time in years and I finally feel content. That longing, that needing to move has finally been satisfied.
4:02 am. 9 hours of sleep and 10 hours of work later. 300 more photos have been edited and my awakeness from the day before is nowhere to be seen. I peek out the window, rubbing my eyes and trying not to wake the man next to me. The grey sea is gone! Azure waters approach, dotted with emerald pockets and the occasional village or resort.
4:11 am. Landing in 5 minutes. The local time is 4:11 pm. Welcome to Bali, Indonesia.
4:20 pm. Another painful part of my favorite thing. More waiting. We wait again for the rich and the old and the mothers with their toddlers. Then finally, freedom! I practically run off the aircraft. Actually, I do.
4:24 pm. My backpack thumping hard on my back and my duffle swinging uncontrollably. The airport is cold, very very cold and yet I'm still dripping in sweat as I literally sprint through the terminal. None of the signs are in English and yet I somehow feel more content and more at home than I would in New Jersey. I follow the crowd and my instincts and only slow my stride when I get yelled at by an armed guard by the end of the terminal. The uniformed men here definitely scare me.
4:37 pm. Smiles and laughter and tears and a lot of hugging. I'm immediately embraced by my best friends who I genuinely thought I would never meet. We stand together expressing our happiness for what feels like eternity and I realize this is exactly where I'm supposed to be. No more miserable school days in stuffy schools surrounded by people I don't care about and those who will never care about me. No more suffering silently in photography classes where I'm more experienced than the teacher or gym classes filled with people who complain about running and staying healthy. Everything I could ever want is right here. The people I've been talking to everyday for the past three years. The people who have made me cry from happiness or stayed up all night to help me with my homework. These are the people who made it work despite being on the other side of the world.
I'm finally free of the pressures of stereotypical American High School life. I can experience the world the way I want to now. Taking pictures and sharing my point of view with all, surrounded by the people who care about me the most. It feels so good to leave my life in New Jersey behind me. Finally, I can try and forget about the nightmare that was Sparta High School.
Marguerite Bysshe
