It's crazy to think back about some of my past experiences.
Some of them don't even feel real anymore, except for the fact that they are safely tucked away in my long term memory bank.
I will probably even remember them when I am old and gray, and at that point they will seem like ancient history.
Maybe even of someone else's life.
Will I even be able to recognize that girl that lived those moments and experienced those tidbits of time? For now I will document them, and then maybe later they will seem more believable.
Starting with my trip to Israel.
I traveled to Israel with my Grandma when I was 15 years old.
Primarily because she wanted me to connect with my Jewish roots, and thought a tour around Israel in it's entirety would do the trick.
I was able to place a note in the Wailing Wall, jump off of yacht diving board into the Red Sea, cover myself in mud at the Dead Sea, and soak in bathwater in the Med.
I partied on the beach with the city that received Saturday holidays.
I lovingly stared at the buff, gorgeous, tan, tall, dark men engulfing the country.
The women were beyond beautiful as well.
The US appeared pitiful in comparison.
I was dared to kiss the one boy I had a crush on during the trip while at a beach outing, and was romantically proposed to by another.
I felt awkward in my skin, as most teenagers do.
Especially as I watched the older groups of teens go off and explore the club scene and hook up with foreigners.
Yet, I was able to meet some cool friends - some that I still converse with now.
I greedily devoured fancy buffet dinners we were served at each new hotel we slept at.
I listened to the night sounds of the country where I was a newcomer.
The nights there seemed very different, in a good way.
Around me I watched local eighteen year old girls and boys prepare for their military terms, and had to acquire a certain level of comfort as guns and the rugged musty scent of worn uniforms surrounded us at every turn.
I stayed at a hotel that was around the corner from a terrorist bombing, which seemed unlikely except that the news of the attack was blaring in our hotel lobby.
However, we remained safe that night.
Days later our bus driver swerved to miss a camel on a mountain road and we watched a car with two women and a baby fly off a cliff.
We shuttered as we got a glimpse of their smushed car on the jagged rocks hundreds of feet below.
It was tragic; hard to forget.
Another weird thing that happened was that I got chased down the street by an oversized man with Elephantitis of the feet.
A mere innocent gaze from my direction energized him enough to take off sprinting in his small dusty foreign town.
Made me weary of making eye contact with older men ever since.
The last odd coincidental thing that happened, was that my Jewish Grandpa passed away while I was visiting Jerusalem.
My Grandma received the call while on our trip, shared it with me, and I was beyond devastated.
The tour guide received word of the upsetting event, told all of the travelers we were with, and they all did a ceremony to mourn for his death in a special spot in the city.
It was very meaningful.
Somehow the timing ended up being perfect in a dark type of way.
From all of the places I visited, Tel Aviv was by far my favorite.
It was an incredible city, that screamed "fun".
There were hundreds of those beautiful foreign men to gaze at in every direction.
Paradise.
The only downside was the overwhelmingly intense sunshine.
One second outside resulted in a red face, and massive aloe application shortly following.
These days my Grandma, who has aged incredibly since our adventure together, often brings up our trip almost forgetting that I was there with her.
She describes it as one of the best experiences of her life that she got to enjoy with her "first" Granddaughter.
Even if she doesn't realize it, I will always remember the trip.
It was the only time I've really gotten a chance to connect with my Jewish roots.