Hooker, Waitress, Model, Actress

A week in the life of an East Coast Renaissance Girl

I was back in the beat on the New York City streets (for exactly three days). My Uber driver said that where he is from, Maia means money, and I laughed and said, “God, I hope so”.

When I was sixteen years old, I bought tickets to see LA shoegaze band MILLY (rumored to be broken up by an Angelino from my class last semester) perform at Baby’s All Right. My friend who I’d originally asked came down with strep throat, and instead, I last-minute invited another girl in our friend group to come with me. That girl is one of the only people from my high school I am still friends with, someone unafraid to call me out and let me grow, someone I’ve cherished for years since.

That night meant a lot for me. It made me feel like the music world was something I could be a part of, something I was being invited into by those I admired. Though still a child, I felt like maybe, one day, I’d be a peer. I didn’t really fit in with the scene of people my age; I still don’t. For once, though, I felt like I could. The title of this page, Talking Secret, comes from a MILLY song I heard live that night.

I also met Martin that night, photographer extraordinaire. When I knew I needed new pictures for my site, there was only one person to call.

My stylist, one of my best friends, Emelia, comes ready to go with an oversized grey bag full to the brim with clothes. Emelia is effortlessly stylish, and instantly soothes my nerves. We play dress up as my sister passes judgement on my couch, and then we are off to meet Martin for coffee, tea, and breakfast focaccia by the waterfront.

Between bites, we catch up, talking about what it’s been like being in Boston these past two years. “I don’t really fit in with the scenes here, like I’m a little too edgy for the inner circle of songwriters, but I’m too soft to be punk, so I just kinda do my own thing,” I sigh, sipping my lavender mint iced latte. “But it ultimately has been great for me to grow.”

“So your brand is being a digital girl? I read your Substack; I have a lot of questions, but we’ll get to that.” I rub my shoulder. “I guess. I think I’m the brand. I think I just sell myself.”

The three of us make our way to the shoreline. I had been deadset on taking photos at Bushwick Inlet Park, where I used to play soccer, where I gave Aeriel her first blunt, where we’ve been locked in, where I grew from a girl into something else. “I’m really awkward,” I laugh as Martin pulls his camera out. “Just walk around, be comfortable. Just be you.” I feel the rocks under my feet, the sand crunching under my boots, as I try not to slip. I settle on a rock as Martin sits across from me, fixing the lens. “So, just talk about what you’re doing”

“I don’t really have a lot of control in my life. It feels really scary to lose your autonomy like that. So, my words give me some of that. I’m not really an abrasive person, but my words can do that for me. Say whatever you want, but I won’t let it bother me. I’ll give you everything about me.”

Immediately after the shoot, I am in New Jersey in a car with my mom and siblings. My sister (and fellow Substack-er) has been doing a camp on sports broadcasting, and we all go to the grand finale: a play-by-play of the Somerset Pirates, which are the Yankees Double A team. We indulge in sprinkle-topped soft serve and hot dogs as my mom and I embarrass my brother. The next night, I giggle with the three girls who I have grown up with, teasing each other over a Hugo Spirtz and a bowl of vodka pasta.

By Sunday night, I’m back in Boston, taking myself to the movies past sunset, clutching my purse as I wait at the station.

I wrote a song that I am very proud of called “Forever, For Now”, and I played it for my 11 am songwriting lecture, and I am still always shocked when my professor likes my work. “Yup,” he goes as the last note rings out, an unresolved chord. “That’s the stuff!” The song is my final letter-I-can’t-send. I love you forever, but I’m leaving you for now.

Tuesday flies by as eight hours of classes feel like nothing, even giving me extra time to hang out with Ethan. I have an hour to kill before I trek to Cambridge, and in seeking refuge indoors, I inadvertently sent myself on a spiral.

There is a girl that I have come to envy. I have a conspiracy theory that she will be my ex’s new girlfriend, and I now get why QAnon people really get their kicks off of this shit. It eats at me as I mute her on Instagram, avoid eye contact in public, and become physically ill in her presence. I am nauseous for hours, unable to shake how small I felt.

She is not the problem. I am. I created my own torture device, and it’s simply my mind.

I am a proponent of going out and sticking to obligations even when you don’t feel like it, so I listen to The Beach Boys on the bus to Cambridge, where Malavika’s boyfriend, Tommy, is on second at the songwriter’s night at a green awning-clad bar. The friend of the bouncer laughs as I flash my ID, but I’m too excited by the sight of Mal in front of me to give some sass.

Tommy is generally pretty quiet, but he truly shines on stage, his lyrics lingering in the air like molasses. I look over at Mal, her face lit up, and I can’t help but feel it too. It hits me that the love I have spent so long mourning could never hold a flame to what they have. What two wonderful people like them deserve.

After work on Wednesday, I meet up with Parker, who was one of my first friends in college. We ultimately ended up drifting apart with time and drama, but I’d always kept her fondly in my heart, and caught up with her on her quick move to Boston.

Though we met at music school, she is now set on making music videos, and on a low-top table, we talk about the switch. “I’m really excited for you, P,” I beam as a smile grows on her face. “You know I love music, like love it. But I don’t need to be the one making it. I will for me, but I want to be the one who sees it, who documents it. I want to make music to make cool videos.” She has always had an excellent eye, our friend group’s favorite photographer, with the ease and confidence only city-raised children carry.

I go home beaming about how magical it is to fall right back in love with a friend you’ve missed.

I am now in a groupchat of all the songwriters I met that fateful evening with Malavika and Tommy, and it has me scheduling things like “songwriting in the commons” in my calendar and “game night after Cantab”, and I feel like I might be on the edge of something really good.

I also feel like that about a pretty girl in my phone, but that’s for later assessment.

If you know me, you know I spend an unbelievable amount of time with my friend Ethe, who is my best friend in all of Boston, Massachusetts. We had agreed to finish our British cooking and romance reality show and play Monopoly, and now I have a Monopoly game set on my floor for the next week.

We laugh until our sides hurt as Ethe increasingly lost money and potentially hope.

I met with my career advisor, and she asks me what kind of jobs I’m looking for post-grad, and we end up with a very scattered list. “I think you’re really putting your best foot forward,” she says as I beam. “I know you’re a go-getter type.”

The Latin phrase our school lives by is “To be, not to seem”, and my classmates have been dissecting this the past few weeks. “I can tell you are one that is not a seemer,” my classmate says, and I hope that’s true. I hope I am as authentic as I believe I am.

There is only one reason I can think of that my friendships have been blossoming, and that’s because I stopped being obsessed with perception. My best friend Aeriel told me about this thing called “cool baggage” that her orientation students have to let go of to let themselves have fun, and I’ve dumped mine off and never looked back.

Summer is coming to a close, but I feel it. I’m on the edge of something great.

Dirty laces on perfect shoes

Things that inspired me this week:

• I Want Your Sex (2026, dir. Gregg Araki)

• I Just Wasn’t Made For Times Like These by The Beach Boys

• Piña Colada Matcha from Farmer’s Horse in Boston, MA

• The Heat on ITV. Please renew this. I have a twitter account dedicated to getting it renewed

• Granny Smith Apples for breakfast

• Playing Monopoly on the floor of my bedroom

Tommy’s set!

I loveeeeeee Baseball #america

Hiii! I wasn’t super motivated this week but you know I’d never miss a Talking Secret Friday! I love you

xoxo, Maia