The Best Day of My Life (so far)

I had an utterly, insanely, and absolutelyamazinglycrazily surreal weekend. Why?

I experienced the one thing I have been waiting for since 2010.

I met One Direction.

It was the best experience of my fourteen years of life. I love those five boys. I truly, really, do. How to even describe, to fully express the love, is beyond me. When you carry love with you, love for boys who do not even know you exist as someone other than just a simplified “number one” fangirl, it weighs you down. It literally feels like a stone, a stone that sits in you, that makes you stronger, but also holds you down. It seems impossibly silly, so stupid, to call my insatiable obsession with a boyband love. And maybe, maybe it is sort of silly. I put so much energy that I could be investing in actual hobbies, in people closer to me, into strangers. Strangers who do not truly see me. Right?


These boys, they are not strangers. I am not trying to claim that I personally know these boys, that I really and truly am in love with Harry, Niall, Zayn, Louis, and Liam. And yet, I somehow feel the love. I feel the love as prominently as I feel it for anything else in my life. I’ve truly, honestly, really, have tried as much and as hard as I possibly could have to know these boys. I love them. Since the moment I first watched the What Makes You Beautiful music video (circa their tattoo-less days), I felt that… feeling. These boys have changed my world. I have never truly been made as impossibly happy, as giddy, before this band. Everything they are, everything they represent, is what I think makes a role model. See, they’re not perfect. Hell, what “role model” is perfect? I wouldn’t want a squeaky clean, almost eerily flawless idol. I want real. I want genuine. And that is the whole essence of One Direction. Their honesty. Their realness. Have you ever heard one of them apologize for who they are, for the flaws that make them human? Why would we want them to mask themselves, to wear a facade of perfection before they become unrecognizable? To all of those ignorant adults who don’t want their precious children corrupted by pop culture, I’m sorry, but you need to take a step back and understand just what you believe.

These boys make mistakes. That is exactly why I love them so damn much. They make mistakes, but so do I. The thing is, I don’t enjoy making these seemingly horrible mistakes, but the boys have taught me this: It’s totally and completely okay. There is nothing wrong with me. I am human, just like all of us. And their intentions are always the best they can be. Everything they do, they do with their fans, with their family, blood and not, in mind. One Direction are, well, selfless. Even if you loathe their music, you cannot hate on them as human beings. You don’t have anything to hate. Happiness is something hard to come by in these kind of freaking horrific years of high school, of adolescence, of “teenagerism”. And so, why would I ever even feel the need to apologize for that one slice of happiness?

I love their tattoos, their witty, stupid knock-knock jokes, their ability to make me drop everything I’m doing to pre-order their new album. I love their stage presences, their differences, their similarities, their postures, their mannerisms, their girlfriends, their relationships with their families, their outfits, their silly dances. I just love them.

These boys mean the absolute, literal world to me. And so when I say it meant everything to meet them, it sincerely did. I have waited for four years, and four years seems like forever in my span of things. Everything is rushed, except for this. I waited and it happened. I dreamed, and that dream became truth. Reality.

On Saturday, September 13th, I went to the One Direction concert. The drive was painfully long, with the most apprehensive feeling I have ever felt in my whole life. I don’t know why. See, I had no idea I would be meeting the boys. I just believed I would be going to the concert, and still having yet another time of my life. I always do.

Two of my best friends (and fellow “crazed” Directioners, mind you) came along with me to the concert, along with my willing mother (who I am very grateful for). 5 Seconds of Summer went on, and who, please no fangirls murder me for this, I don’t quite love, but they were admittedly quite likable (Amnesia is my jam). After the opening performance, it takes about an hour or so before 1D goes on (yes, I did go two nights so of course I know this). During this long, long, hour, my friends started giggling. Literally, squeal-like, frantic, giggling. As in the most stereotypical “girly” giggle you can think of. I was bemused, of course. I had no idea what was happening. Our seats were killer, and I had no idea why my mom said “We have someone we want you to meet”, why we would leave them. I followed them all, their hands pulling mine along. It soon became quite evident that we were doing something sort of restricted. And as a man came over and started to lead us backstage, it quickly and completely clicked inside of me.

I was meeting them.

I started shaking. Truthfully, shaking, as if a typical earthquake (which is not unusual in California) had started to pop up. Hyperventilating was also a huge part of my freak-out. I was smiling so widely my cheeks hurt. We waited in a line backstage, a black curtain separating us from the “boyband of our dreams” as my friend Stella, puts it. And then… it didn’t anymore.

There they were. Right in front of me, alive, and in the actual flesh. I could not even comprehend that these surreal beautiful people were merely a few feet away from me. Niall was dancing, laughing and tackling Zayn. My eyes met Harry’s, who evidently saw my extreme panic and smiled the most earth-shattering smile I have ever seen. He waved at me. It was one of the best moments of my four years of obsession.

I hugged them all, and they were the best hugs I’ve ever received. We all talked for a bit, and wow, it was insane. Paul waved me out and was one of the nicest security guards I’ve ever met (not that I know very many). It was quick, short and sweet, but it was perfect. So there you have it. I don’t want to give all the details of the experience, because the experience is something I want to keep, but that’s the gist of it. The conversations, I will say, led me to know that these boys are the sweetest, and most genuinely good people in the world.

It was everything. Sorry if you think I’m just a crazy, obsessed fangirl, I know I am, but what’s life without a little fangirl-ness? What’s the point if you can’t love who you want to love?


dress- H&M

shoes- asos

necklace- urban



Thank you, One Direction, for being you.

And, thanks for the midnight memory.

Yes, I did make a One Direction pun. Many more to come. 

fresh meat

Freshman year is already… well… a slippery slope.

I feel like there is so much room to fall, so much room to tumble downwards, yet also so much opportunity to rise, to open up, to become.

But how do you choose? How even start? It is all so utterly confusing, so unbalanced, to me. I am sort of at a loss to understand what exactly to do. I know that it’s only my first year of high school. I know I have a lot of time. I know college and… well, life… isn’t coming for a little while.

And yet…

I don’t really have that much time, do I? Four years is actually very little in the grande old scheme of things. When I entered middle school, I had seven years of school left. Now I only have four years. Four safe, secure years, right? That’s what I think they should be, but I know they won’t be. See, there is so much pressure now. Things are becoming all too clear, too soon, too fast, too much! I know we have time. I know we have so many options, but I think that is my issue. I don’t like all of the options. I want to do everything, absorb everything, and yet, I can’t. So how do you choose what you want, who you want to be, amidst a sea of choices? The butterfly effect is oh so evident right now, it’s too persistent. One little flap of the wings leads to a hurricane.

Choices are so… complicated. At least for me, the smallest little decisions seem like they’re going to add up to be my biggest definitions of who I am. But the thing is, as rocky and trippy and strange as freshman year is, it’s also brilliant. Why? Because we all have a chance. We all have so many chances to become, to do, to see, to just… live as we please. I love the responsibility we have over our own lives. The independence is different, it’s scary, but it’s so worth it. I feel like I own myself, instead of teachers and parents and other people, I feel like I have myself.

It’s so… weird.

I hated middle school, though, so this is better by any standard. The freedom is a new sense of self, a new occasion to be whatever I want. The responsibility feels… big. Like, as I said, this is all adding up to something that I don’t know yet. I know that one day, I’ll (hopefully) figure it out.

So here we are. High school. It’s uncomfortable, it’s amazing, it’s tragic, it’s four short years. There isn’t anything more to do, only to live the best we can. So I’m going to try.

Here we go. Let’s try not to tumble too much.

When Harry Met Sally (1989): Fashion in Film

One of my new favorite films, that I’d been desperately meaning to watch but forced to by my good friend Stella, is the iconic, fantastic, heartbreaking, and almost unfairly romantic is When Harry Met Sally. I absolutely love this movie, for oh-so many reasons that I won’t even go into (ranting Sof is not enjoyable Sof). But all you need to know is that it features young, naturally endearing Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan in New York City in 1989. If you have yet to watch this life-changing experience of a film, I suggest- no, I command you to go find it, whether it be iTunes, your parents’ old DVD collection (insane, right?), or even, perhaps, by finding it online somewhere (wink wink). I am not going to tell you any of the story, the plot, or really anything that will give the beauty of a classic away. Go. Now

As I watched it, I obsessively would keep my eyes on the gorgeous Meg Ryan’s style choices. I fell in love with both of the characters, (as any great film should make you do, usually) and I especially fell in love with the unique, 1989 standard outfits of Sally. I always say, if I could choose another time to live in, I would always choose the 80s. Perhaps all of the movies and television shows (Carrie Diaries, hello) I have watched have glorified the truth of the time period, but man, the style then seemed phenomenal. Ultra high waisted everything, so many collars, shoulder pads, and so much more. As a result of my love for Sally and even Harry’s unforgettable and on point outfits, I’ve decided to share a few of my favorite style moments from the film. Of course, there are some cringe-worthy choices, but we can totally and completely overlook them because pre-plastic surgery Meg Ryan (and Billy Crystal in leggings, need I say more?) could pull off anything. A talent indeed.


The poofy bob, the wispy bangs, the burgundy peter pan collar, the oversized blazer- need I say more? It all works, somehow, impossibly… it just does.




I really do love Sally’s outfit here, I must admit. The long brown coat, the adorable bright turtleneck, the high waisted jeans… Something about the whole outfit, which is typically seen as more masculine, makes her look all that much more feminine. 




Sally’s baby pink dress is simply adorable. It’s effortlessly feminine and chic, yet the scalloped neckline also adds sort of a playful nature to her look. Mixed with her messy, big blond hair, it looks gorgeous.



I think this is my favorite style moment from the movie. Sally looks cute as ever, with a classic, thick cropped turtleneck, a black skirt, tights, and boots- it all flows together so simply and almost artfully. Harry definitely steals the applause, though, because his iconic chunky white cableknit, paired with the bright blue skinny jeans and sneakers, is just, well… awesome.


Nobody else in this world, so far as I know, can pull off high waisted bermuda shorts, kneesocks, a button up, and a slightly large cardigan except for the one and only Meg Ryan. Kudos to you. 





This is one of the most iconic and well-known stills from the film. They both look wonderful, with Harry’s simple yet very city-like outfit, and Sally’s remarkably perfect getup. The hat, the high waisted harlem pants, the floral button down, the chic blazer, the bag…. it all just looks absolutely stunning. And with the lovely colors of fall behind them, the whole damn scene is perfect.

It’s a beautiful day to dream. 

abbot kinney blues

Yesterday, my good friend Roxy and I were inescapably bored at my house, so we decided to go to a pretty busy and touristy street: Abbot Kinney. For those of you non-Los Angeles bred, (I envy you) Abbot Kinney is an artsy and annoyingly crowded little area by Venice… aka, by the beach. It was insanely hot outside, and me being me (an avid lover of the gloom and cold and a passionate hater of heat), I needed to get ice cream and something cold to drink. We stopped to grab a sandwich, which I inevitably dropped about three seconds after taking one heavenly bite. That’s typical for me.

Anyways, we really just strolled around for a few sunny hours and thankfully bought some delicious ice cream from Nice Cream- I really recommend it if you ever stop by LA- and also some frivolous but equally delicious ginger/mint homemade limeade from an eclectic little cafe. Afterwards, us being typical Los Angeles, creative-minded, and maybe slightly narcissistic teenage Instagram using, blog-loving, girls, we took about a gazillion pictures around the more residential area of it. It was also an unexpectedly amazing day, something I will talk about in a later post.

Here are some of the many photos I took on my little day trip. What are your plans for the, if any, rest of your summer?

It’s a beautiful day to dream.
















Not So Clear

I’ve been in a bit of a strange place lately. Not physically, like I’ve been stuck in Antarctica like in Where’d You Go, Bernadette, or anything (spoiler alert), but in my head. I’m going to be in high school in just about two months. That’s pretty damn terrifying. I’m in this bemusing time of uncertainty and, well, the opposite of clarity. I don’t know what you would call it, but it certainly isn’t pretty. It’s uncomfortable. I dislike the blurriness of the situation. As you can most likely assume, I do not like the uncertainty. Life, currently, as life is always, is so damn uncertain. I am going into this completely new place, with completely new people, with completely new expectations and thoughts and gestures and necessities and desires and messes and traumas and experiences. I have not the slightest idea what to truly and actually expect from it. Obviously I can attempt to guess my way into high school, to think that my friends will still be my same friends and that those people I’ve been avoiding will still be avoidable and everyone will be the same, just a little tiny bit different, and that life will continue as it always has- dull, barely energetic, and familiar. Comfortable.

Of course I can imagine this, and I can try as hard as I can to make it my truth. But that’s just it- it will be my truth. Not anyone else’s. My sameness will not excite anyone. 

And I’m wrong. So I won’t continue on like it. I want to change this year. I must change. Middle school were the worst three years of my life, so far. And yes, my problems, my battles, were far lesser than the worst battles to come, but it doesn’t matter because I’ll grow into my weaknesses just as I’ll grow with my strengths.

So high school is upon us. A terrifying thing. An unpredictably tumultuous year, perhaps. I just am so uncertain about it all. I like to know what to expect so that I can be prepared for everything. But I’ve never been in high school before, so I have not any intentions or desires yet.

I want to survive it, and as gracefully as I possibly can. It’s rough. But come on, so is life, and this is the beginning. I start in a month. It’s way too late for preparation. It’s time to face it. 

I think I can try to handle it. That’s the best that I’ve got. Hopefully, that will be enough for a while.


Not Quite a Poet…

Hello, wonderful readers. I’m currently at my summer program right now in Boston, but I’ve scheduled quite a few posts to be posted while I’m away, so please be sure to keep checking to see for anything new. 

As you may or may not know, I do indeed have a Wattpad (click here) to post my writing. I love to write. That’s probably quite obvious already, why else would I have a blog that’s literally all writing? I love writing on this blog, of course, but my biggest passion in writing is fiction as well as poetry. My poems are not breathtakingly wonderful, as fiction is most definitely my niche. They’re very all over the place and a little odd, but they’re me. I would definitely say they’re mostly quite dark. To me, all of my best writing comes out of darkness. I don’t really know how to explain it, but I feel that my writing isn’t sugarcoated or supremely “pretty”, I think of writing as art. And my art, just like any other, is supposed to make you feel something, naturally, and raw. It makes you think. That’s all I ask of you if you ever read my writing. I’m being honest and raw. I’m trying to be genuine.

So, in honor of this, I’ve decided to share some of my poetry with you all. If you’re too lazy to take a quick look at my Wattpad, all is well, hopefully this will sway you. Please just read the poem “Train” before clicking off of this page. It isn’t a typical poem, with rhyming and such. It’s more of a short story composed into a poem. Most importantly, as I do trust most of you but certainly not all, please do not steal the poems. I have put much work and effort into it and stealing it is just sort of… well, bitchy. Please do not be bitchy. I mean, if you want to steal it, I’m completely flattered… but please don’t. If anyone needs feedback or advice with writing, feel free to email me at (I’m getting a new one soon). Thank you, as always. I love you if you take time to read my little blog, and I’m always happy to read yours as well. So, go ahead and click on the wattpad link, and I will honestly appreciate it so much. 

It’s a beautiful day to dream.





Selfie Appeal

Selfies. They’ve become a commonly used, culturally known word in our society. Having a good selfie technique is like winning the internet Nobel prize. And yes, that is almost laughably sad, when you see the truth of the matter: We take millions of pictures of ourselves, posing in different, socially acceptable ways, and post them, hoping to gain attention/affection and be noticed, captioning them “Excuse my ugliness” in the hopes that someone will correct us, with the biggest threat being the amount of times people tap the “like” and “comment” button. And after all of this, the result is usually unintentional narcissism, with whispered words, if the picture is not acceptable to our peers, of how the person is “trying too hard”. If the selfie is good, though, then whispers still continue, of how “conceited” that person is. We crave acceptance, yet is there any, really? Today, unfortunately, things like the number of likes we receive, our Instagram ratios, our amount of followers, define who we are and how loved we are. The goal of today’s culture is not to be loved deeply, but only to be loved widely (thanks for this line JG), by people who do not even truly know who we are, only what they see and perceive by our social media. I, myself, am not trying to be overly superior by saying that I am not guilty of this. Of course I am. I used to be one of the most Instagram- obsessed, sadly. But now? I literally do not give a shit, because I’ve seen firsthand that no matter how hard you try, there is no perfect end result. I have friends who, no joke, it seems like they would sell their soul to get a certain amount of likes on their selfie. Listen, I’m not saying that posting a selfie is always conceited, sometimes it is a way for someone to be expressive or a way for them to quietly shine through insecurity. Creativity is delightful. But what certainly isn’t so delightful is this insane obsession we have with each other’s faces/bodies. If I want to post a selfie, let me post a damn selfie. Nobody can post anything on Instagram without getting instantly criticized, every flaw scrutinized and highlighted by others. This is what kills me. I’ll be with my friends, when suddenly one of them will whip out their iPhone, pull up a certain picture from a certain person, and criticize the picture, letting us all know how socially unacceptable certain selfie methods are. Usually, I roll my eyes and shut my opinionated self up before I say something a bit tooooo snarky. But what I really would love to do is yank the phone out of the person’s hand, and break into the song “Mean” by T-Swift, because, let’s face it, who doesn’t love a classic Taylor hit at perfectly appropriate timing with choreography and her signature head-whipping. Anyyyyways, I really don’t enjoy the extent of this once-fun trend. Although, now, I’m not quite sure you could even call it a trend. It’s lasted a long time, already, and it’s referenced recently in countless TV shows, movies, in live conversations, and even songs (Yeah, you know the one).

So what’s my personal opinion on the selfie game? I hate the obsession, the care that goes into it, the competition. But I’m guilty of it as well. Selfies are like drugs, honestly, they’re extremely harmful but so addictive. Getting a “good” amount of likes gets me on this weird high like nothing else. And so, what’s the solution to this? To stop being so damn judgmental of everyone’s selfies. They’re pictures. How do they affect us, remotely, or at all? 

Don’t up your selfie game. Lower it, and so will everyone else.


Sometimes It Happens

“Not everything happens for a reason. Sometimes life just sucks.” -Alexa Chung I was recently perusing Tumblr, something I haven’t done in quite a while, and I came across this most fabulously accurate quote by one certain fashionista/author/model/perfect person, (in case you haven’t seen, it’s my idol, Alexa!). I don’t know if you’ve ever had what I call the “bat experience”, but it can be pretty damn amazing and pretty damn terrible at the same time. Basically, it’s when you come across some random picture/quote/gif/WHATEVER on Tumblr, and you suddenly have this sort of shaking epiphany that no, you are not alone in how you feel or think. Someone out there, somewhere, whoever it may be, has had the same experiences as you. Is it always a good thing? Hell no. But is it comforting? Extremely. I call it the “bat experience” because to me, the impact feels as if I am literally getting hit in the face with a metaphorical bat. Anyways, I did in fact have the Bat with this quote. See, I’ve recently been reading and studying quite a bit about the reality of our insignificance. Amongst these books, theories, and articles, I have found a great deal of truth in. I’ll go more into detail about what exactly these books are later on, but I’ll try to give you the general gist of the whole thing. (Keep in mind, I am no award winning scientist) We, as human beings, naturally all believe that there is a greater reason for us all. We typically believe that the Earth is placed exactly where it is for some grand plan, that the sun is there specifically to provide for us, that everything that we are and have become, every experience, every birth and every death, are for some purpose. We all desire a common goal: a purpose. I hate to break it to you, if you haven’t already figured it out, but, that’s just a whole load of bull-crap. Yes, we are humans, we are somehow miraculously able to breathe and live and die, but so what? The universe doesn’t care. The universe doesn’t anything, it just… is. We just… are. We are humans, because that’s just what is. I’m not extraordinary, but I am. See, it’s extraordinary that we are even able to be, but our being is not incredible. Does that make a hint of sense? I feel like this is an opinion, but I also feel like Alexa is also stating a fact. When shit happens, as it inevitably always does, (Thanks, Forrest Gump) it comes out of nowhere and usually to the best of people. You could be a good person, someone who always tries to do the right thing, but guess what- that doesn’t matter. Not one person lives a life with no suffering. And typically, that suffering has no reason. A person does not get cancer to learn about life, they get cancer because life sucks. And cancer is a monster, but sometimes it’s stopped and sometimes it’s not. You don’t get punished by breaking a bone, by getting sick, by anything of that sort. Good people are not getting into car accidents because “God needs angels”. They are getting into car accidents because they are accidents. You can’t control life, but there is no purpose to that. There are just rules of the universe, not for any certain reason, just because. I know this sounds awfully controversial, and like I should have some research to back up my theories, but these are not theories of mine. I have nothing against religion, of course, but I simply believe in science and what I’ve just said. I am not encouraging/discouraging anyone to be religious. Honestly, do whatever makes you happy. What I am saying is that religion cannot be proved just as a “purpose for our world” cannot be proved. Religion just is. We just are. See, nothing about life is “right” and nothing about life is “wrong”. We have morals, values, that we as humans believe will take us ultimately to our purpose in life, but nothing is actually as planned as we believe it to be. And so, Alexa is completely right. Of course I get frustrated with life, often going bonkers when shit happens for no apparent reason. But I’ve learned that usually, there is no reason, and I have to accept that. I don’t have to be happy about it, but I just have to accept that there is literally nothing to be done about it. The universe isn’t a devil or an angel, it doesn’t actually have manipulations or motives, it just is. And that, that is something I like to hold onto in moments of panic. How insignificant we are is actually pretty damn calming, if you stop to think about it. Riiiight… So I apologize if I just completely sounded like I’m trying to be some type of philosopher. Because philosopher, I ain’t. Basically, as I’m guessing my words were a little jumbled, here’s what I’m trying to tell you all, in a nutshell: Stop thinking that the universe hates you. The universe only hates you if you let it. 

Day One: London

Yesterday I arrived in my absolute favorite city, the lovely, grey city of London. It was the official start of my quick European trip, and it was by far my favorite part (so far). There is something magical, exhilaratingly comforting, about the culture of England. There is this eclectic, creative mix of all types of people, of dreams that mesh in London. It isn’t like New York City, where the streets are packed to the max, hustling and bustling. London is incredibly unique, in an almost indescribable way. Any dream is achievable in London. As soon as I walked out of the plane, I had this strange feeling of simple belonging. I hope so strongly that one day I will be able to call myself a citizen of England. Every person I talked to was so lovely, polite, and genuinely curious. This was only my second time in London, and although I only had eight hours (layover), it was everything I’d hoped it would be and more. Here, I’ll share with you this incredible little adventure of mine.


Driving through Piccadilly and the legend appeared onscreen.


Oxford Topshop: a surreal heaven of impeccable clothes, stylish people, and CUPCAKES.


Said heavenly cupcakes.


I call this the classic “American Tourist” shot- Big Ben, and a double-decker. So unique.


My friend Anna and I in front of the London Eye, a la Topshop bag-reppin’


(Taken by Anna) The most perfect, classic gloomy London day. The drizzle was lovely, the whole entire trip was lovely.


(Yes, I am aware this is a very awkward photo of me) Me, in front of the one black telephone box we came across, representing me perfectly. And yes, there is indeed wifi there!


Sweater- Brandy Melville

Shirt- Brandy Melville (oops)

Pants- H&M

Shoes- Forever 21

Purse- Zara

Sunglasses- Topshop


I am currently working on renovating my fashion blog, but it isn’t close to being great. See you all tomorrow!

It’s a beautiful day to dream.

Off We Go- Music Edition

Today is my last day in the smog-filled, Celine-obsessed, dreadful, superficial city of Los Angeles (admittedly, it is my hometown that I loathe so much) for around nine days. Tomorrow, I will be jetting off to Europe. Last summer, I was also in Europe for around a month and it was phenomenal. Whenever I leave this city, it feels as if a suffocating, metaphorical weight has been lifted off of my chest. I will be visiting a few different locations, specifically around the lovely country of France. Here is my schedule for tomorrow (bear with me):

I wake up at 4:30 AM. We then proceed to drive to the airport, take off in a few hours, and arrive five hours later in New York City (unfortunately I have no time to go out of the airport). Quite a while later, we depart on a seven hour plane ride to London. I have eight hours in my favorite city ever, (score!) and then I take yet another plane to Nice.

Sounds just lovely, right? I am not a fan of airplanes, but the end result is usually always worth the torturous hours on the vehicle. I will be spending most of my week in the simply stunning and darling South of France, one of my favorite places that I’ve been so far. I will be in Italy for a bit, mainly in Rome. I am delighted to embark on this trip, of course, but the one thing I have no joy about is tomorrow’s plane-day. Let’s just say I have a “small” phobia of public restrooms. I have trouble with confinement, in the claustrophobic sense. Annnyyywayssss… as there is not too much to do for that amount of hours in an airplane/airport, I have made an overly long playlist of songs for my journey. I have decided to cut just a fraction of the very best songs on it here for you. Whether you’re in an airplane, boat, car, or even just simply taking a stay-cation in your own home, these songs will most definitely get you in the travel mood.

Au revoir!

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8tracks- @holidaygurl