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August 1st, 2014

Hello there, my friend.

My name is Angelissa. It’s pronounced like, “An-jel-iss-ah” - but if you find it’s a little much for you to say, Angela is quite alright..! I live in a beautiful little place called Minneapolis, Minnesota. Here the winters are long and picturesque, and the summers are sweet, like the taste of fresh fruit on a bright sunny morning. My heart finds peace in this place, but it also yearns for the someday-adventures that are woven within the places I’ve yet to go in this world.

I’ve been on a long journey of self-discovery, and so far, I’ve found myself in so many places. The best part is, like everyone on this earth, I continue to find little bits of myself each day. In the people I love. In a stranger’s uttered sentence. In a song that pulls at the strings of my heart. In the refreshing taste of coffee. In a profound sentence of a book. Or in the small quiet moments. My story is always being written.

Writing for altruistic purposes is an absolute passion of mine. I’ve been writing since I’ve been taught how, and I really want to spend my life helping other people with my actions. Especially my writing. Someday quite soon, I hope to share my experiences with others in book-form. And I hope that when I do, those words are able to resonate with some people. Even if it’s just one sentence that strikes a chord, and even if it’s just one person that it strikes a chord with. In the mean time I have this wonderful little blog that I’ve had since 2009, and this mode of expression makes me quite happy. I love sharing bits and pieces of my story and thoughts with you wonderful people.

If you have anything you want to ask me that I haven’t covered here, my ask box is always open. And if you need guidance, or someone to simply just talk to, I’m absolutely always here for that, too.

Don’t let the rivers and roads of this life overwhelm you, friend. There’s always beauty and raw goodness peaking out somewhere. You’ve just gotta look for it.

Angelissa

“I want to infect you with the tremendous excitement of living, because I believe that you have the strength to bear it.” - Tennessee Williams

August 4, 2014

 We were sitting on the sidewalk of her neighborhood. It was a crisp, cold night in March and I gently place my head on the neck of your shoulder. It fit perfectly, like key through a lock. We just stayed in that position, in silence, in stifled excitement, as our insides were burning with warmth, the only contrast to the outside temperature. It was pure bliss.

I was half asleep in the car and he gently touched my head and kissed my forehead. I am so happy to have been half awake to have witnessed this moment.

September 23, 2014.

 We were both sitting at the corner of his bed, with a small inch of space between them, as if they could accidentally touch at any moment.

 Lily stared at the floor. “Well,” she said. “This is it.”

 Mark was about to leave for college today. He was part of a program for high achieving kids that had to do intensive training two weeks before school actually started.

 She knew deep inside that this was the moment that everything would start to change. In the time that they spent together, he rapidly became the center of her universe. They talked on the phone every night until they fell asleep. She told him every single thing that crossed her mind.

 “The fact that you’re here makes everything better.” He said smiling.

  She wanted to think that they could get through it.

 September 25, 2014

 She could feel their love unraveling.

 He still hasn’t responded to her messages.

 Lily could feel herself staring at her screen, losing her sanity.

 She heard a notification. He finally responded. She could feel her heart beating a sigh of relief.

 It was just an email with the headline, “Urban Outfitters has Free Shipping on Orders over $100.”

 She knew she should be doing something else, anything else. But there she was, feeling her boyfriend slowly and slowly slipping away from her.

 September 28, 2014

 “Hey,” he said.

 “Hey!!!! I haven’t heard from you in such a long time. I miss you so much! How has everything been?”

 “Oh, it’s been good. Really really busy. Haven’t had time to literally do anything. Met a lot of new friends. They’re all really nice.”

 “Oh, that sounds really great!! Yeah, you haven’t been responding lately so I figured you’ve been really busy.”

 “Yeah, sorry. What have you been doing?”

 “Umm, I don’t know, nothing much. I’m honestly just so anxious for school to start and everything. Summer break has been going on for too long and I’m really excited to go to college haha. I went to the store with Amy the other day and it reminded me of that one time we-“

 “Lily,” he said abruptly, a bunch of people screaming and yelling and laughing in the background. “I really have to go. Sorry, it’s a mandatory event. I’ll call you back?”

 “Okay,” she said. “Talk to you in an hour.”

 She waited the whole night and he didn’t call.

October 2, 2014

Today, our creative writing teacher asked me my least favorite question. Creative writing is my favorite class, but I have a feeling I’m going to hate it already.

“So Lily, tell us about yourself,” Mr. Finkleman urged me.

I really disliked this question. There was so much that I could say. Well for one, I’m super clumsy, I spill things everywhere. I love pretending that I’m a famous Broadway actress, but I can’t sing and that’s a weird thing to admit. I feel like I dress just like an old grandma, but I feel like a young child sometimes. Doesn’t that make me sound like any other fourteen-year-old on the planet? It’s just better if I didn’t say anything at all.

If I said one fact about myself without the another, it would seem like I’m not revealing enough about myself, that whatever sentence I uttered would be the only thing that I’m defined by. And I’d like to think I’m more than that. Why would I want to reveal my secrets to a group of strangers? They don’t actually want to know about me. They don’t even care about me. The universe just so happened to place us in same group, in the same class, in the same city. I don’t think that’s a pre-requisite to suddenly be best friends. Why should I, attempt to condense my entire being to one phrase (a phrase that would most likely be misunderstood) to entire group of people who may or may not have any intention or interest in getting to know me? It’s a sham, a confusing social construct, like many others, that I never understood. The girl who said that she loves singing would be labeled in everyone’s heads as the singer and the guy who said that he has a pet turtle would be the turtle guy. The turtle guy could have more complexity than anybody in the entire room, but yet he will just be seen as the turtle guy because it is just what he felt like saying on that exact moment and it would have defined him. Yes, it’s just a start. It’s a way to “get to know each other” and it could be a bridge to more interesting conversations. But, I just hate it.

November 8, 2014

The drunk guy had long hair, wore black thick-rimmed glasses, and had a nice smile. They chatted about Bukowski, San Diego, and tattoos.

 “Look,” he said excitedly. “I stitched this tattoo myself.”

 He uncovered a wrist full of a lopsided heart sewn into his skin by string.

 “Oh! Wow. Interesting.” she said, pretending to be impressed when she was actually disturbed.

 “Yeah, pretty cool huh?” he smiled charmingly, reeking of alcohol. He put his arm around her.

 “I got it after my girlfriend broke up with me.”

 “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She said genuinely. “Do you want to talk about it? I recently got my heart broken too.”

 “It’s okay,” he said, smiling again. “She was a bitch and I got over it. Plus, it means I get to talk to pretty girls like you.”

 He leaned in. Lily knew what was coming.

 She felt his lips on hers. She pulled away immediately and ran out of the house.

 She biked home, in tears. How come so many people, friends and people in the movies, can kiss people they feel nothing for?

 She felt sad. Pathetic. Desperate. Even if it happened for just a split second, she felt so horribly embarrassed with herself.

 She felt like calling a friend. Most of her friends would say people kissing other people at college parties are totally normal and there’s nothing wrong with it. Some would make her feel bad for even going in the first place. She decided not to call anybody.

 She sat on the floor of her room, wishing she could call the one person that would understand. The one person that wouldn’t judge her. The one person that would tell her that they didn’t think less of her because that happened. The one that always made everything better.

 But he was gone now and she was alone.

December 18, 2014

You’ll know, okay? You just have to let it happen. And then, probably when you’re not looking, you’ll find someone who compliments you. Someone who likes what you like, someone who reads the same books or listens to the same music or likes to trash the same movies. Someone compatible. But not so compatible that they’re boring. I mean, you respect each other’s opinions and you can laugh at the same jokes, but I don’t know…there’s just something about not quite knowing what the other person’s gonna do at all times that’s just really exciting.

January 14, 2015

 “I honestly don’t even know what to say anymore,” Julius said. “Lily, I’m your friend and I’m here for you and everything, but he’s all you’ve been talking about.”

 “I know, I’m sorry.” She sighed. “It’s just, I don’t know. It’s hard not to think about anything else. He’s tagged in so many photos on Facebook. He looks like he’s having so much fun.”

 “Listen to me and believe that what I’m saying is good for you,” Julius said slowly and carefully. “Block him. On everything. Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, whatever else. That’s the only way you can stop.”

 “But wouldn’t it make it seem like he won? Like I’m giving him all the power?”

 “I’m just going to be honest and say that I really don’t think he’s going to even notice if you deleted him or not, Lily,” said Julius. “Or even if he did notice, we probably wouldn’t really care.”

 She didn’t know what hurt more, the fact that Julius’s statement was right, or just having to admit that they were no longer going to be part of each other’s lives and it was actually a reality.

 Yes, this whole time she was sad, but something deep down made her feel like there was still hope. She just didn’t want to give up on what they had. There was something inside her that made her feel like one day, she would just wake up, and everything would be okay again.

 He would tell her he made a terrible mistake, that there was nobody as lovely or wonderful, and beg for her forgiveness.

 She was delusional, and she knew it.

February 15, 2015

"Comparison is an act of violence against the self."

Life, lately, has been a collection of things and moods too vast from one another to plaster a general definition to. Sometimes, life is downright exhausting and scary. Sometimes it’s exciting and hopeful. Sometimes it’s love-filled, while sometimes, it’s lonely.

This season of my life, is one that is forcing me to grow in uncomfortable ways. I find myself remembering my own advice, trying to put into action the knowledge I use to help others. Of course it’s a journey, as it is for everyone. And it’s not an easy one. But I am thankful that I’m in an environment that gives me room to grow.

Recently, I told someone I cared about something that’s been on my mind for a long, long time. It was hard and anxiety-inducing, but I knew I needed to reveal my truth to someone if I wanted to get myself out of this rut I’ve been in. Vulnerability is the biggest key to connection, and sometimes it serves as a catalyst for bigger, better things. I’m re-learning this time and time again.

I’m also learning that sometimes in order to grow we have to challenge ourselves. Not just face our fears, but work through them. And sometimes those really, really hard starts of a journey are the ones that have most growth-saturated paths. And we have to pursue them if we want the best possible lives for ourselves.

I’ll always deeply appreciate how sweetly soft spring sunsets are. I love how they strum the guitar strings of my heart and give my soul so much to drink in – from the light green buds that adorn the trees to the pastel skies. To the sun that glimmers through the awakened tree branches to the the lightly chilled air. It’s enough to make one wonder why they’d ever stay inside at the waning hours of the day.

A relationship doesn’t have to last forever to be important. Some of the sweetest connections we will ever make will exist ephemerally. They’ll rush in like a fragrant spring breeze, and like a change of the season, will be gone. But that doesn’t change that it waswonderful, and affected us in a way that nothing else could.

March 23, 2015

 It’s been a long time since Mark has seen Lily. He honestly didn’t know what to think when Lily abruptly contacted her after almost a year. He thought they wouldn’t ever talk again. He had already accepted it. It wasn’t that he wasn’t sad about it, he was just so busy with life that after so many new experiences and commitments, it just seemed like old history. History that did not have the need to be dug up again. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to catch up with Lily and see how she’s been doing.

 Her hair is longer now. He notices it’s a different color than before. Her hair is at the length where it hits the top of her eyes but doesn’t cover them completely. She looks the same. Her smile is the same. She still walks in the strange sideways manner she always did. The way she talks is almost the same, but there’s a maturity he notices that wasn’t there before.

 Maybe he did miss her.  We were sitting on the floor of his room, and I made sure there was reasonable amount of distance between us.

 “It’s been awhile since I’ve been here,” I said casually. It might not have been casual at all, though because my forced laughter was pretty painful.

 When I looked around, the furniture was still the same, but the things around his desk are different. The pictures on the wall changed changed though. She looks at the girl to the left of him in the group picture. She has a sweet smile, with soft and kind eyes. She knows he likes that in a girl. She wonders if they ever liked each other, but knows it’s not her place her ask. She imagines them studying together, walking to the dining hall together, hanging out with the same group together. She imagines them sitting next to each other in the lecture hall, her leaning over to him to copy his notes because the professor explained too quickly. She wonders if the girl was captivated by his intelligence. She wonders…

 “Lily?” Mark asked. “You’ve been zoned out for quite a while. Are you okay?”

 She nods her head. “Yeah, just looking around. Your room looks like it used to. Kind of.”

 “Haha yeah,” he says. “I just moved some stuff around but overall everything’s the same I guess.” He smiles calmly.

 Lily sits up and looks around for other things to talk about. “How has school been?”

 “It’s really good, I really love it,” he says. “It’s challenging sometimes but still fun.”

 His answer is so painfully vague that she hardly knows how to respond. What part is good? What does he mean by challenging? Why is he being so secretive? What can I even say to that?

 “Oh that’s good,” she manages weakly. She thinks about the time when he shared everything with her. His random thoughts, his worries, his fears. Everything. Now she has downgraded to recipient of empty adjectives and polite conversation.

 She didn’t know that talking to him again would be this painful. She thought she had moved on. Yet, the reminders of his life continuing and prospering without her still wedged a hole in her heart. They could never go back to the way it was before. He would never talk to her the same way or look at her the same way again.

 She felt so stupid for contacting him. For thinking she was actually ready. For thinking something good could come out of this. That she would be okay.

 Lily grew silent, angry with herself and angry at the situation that she got herself into. Mark wasn’t even asking her what was wrong.

 He didn’t know why Lily was being so weird. One second, they were talking about school and then all of a sudden, she gets so upset. That’s one of the things he didn’t miss about her. While she’s a deep and sensitive thinker, she takes everything too personally. He just didn’t know what. He was just talking about the day to day aspects of school.

 It just felt like everything he did could potentially upset her and that was hard to be around.

 He could see that she was really unhappy and quiet. But why? Weren’t they just having a nice, normal conversation?

  “What’s up?” he asks her.

 Don’t kill the mood. Don’t kill the mood.

 Lily wanted to be the fun girl. The girl who changed. The girl who’s not always so emotional and sensitive.

 “Nothing!” she says unconvincingly. “I was just thinking, no big deal.”

 “Oh okay,” he says, no longer concerned about her state of mind.

 Why couldn’t he tell that she didn’t mean it when she said she was okay? Does he even know her at all? Or does he know but just doesn’t want to deal with it?

 Lily could feel the bitterness rising up again. She wished it wouldn’t. She wished they could have a light, casual conversation and be a light, casual girl.

 “Everything is obviously not okay, Mark.” she snaps. “I wasn’t talking for so long. You’ve known me for so long and you can’t even tell?”

April 2nd, 2015

I’m mad. I’m just so angry. I hate everything. I hate the way my roommate walks to the restroom. I hate the way she closes the door. I hate the way I look in the morning. I hate how people don’t respond quickly enough. I’m just so unhappy. Every time I open Facebook or Instagram or Snapchat, I feel insanely depressed. Everyone’s hanging out without me again. Everyone’s smiling. Why can’t I do that? My life is good. I just have to keep telling myself that. It’s good. I can afford higher education, my parents love me, I have friends. `

I’m so scared of things happening, things that might not even happen. I don’t even know what I’m doing or thinking. I feel my heart beating out of my chest. I feel like I’m being pushed to the ground and being forced to stand up at the same time.

April 3rd, 2015

 I’m sitting in my bed, with blankets wrapped around my knees. I know that there are two routes to take — lay back down or get up and start the day. Now I know that one choice is more appealing and the other is the right one, but I knew deep down I would make the wrong one.

 I lay back down on my bed, feeling warmth and relief in addition to the guilt and anxiety picking at me, telling me there’s so much to do and so little time.

 I did not move.

 The thing was, I really wanted to. I wanted so badly to be able to just jump off my bed and take on the world with open arms and a wide smile. I mean, who wouldn’t? I just couldn’t. The very thought of just waking up and starting my day made me so emotionally exhausted and I just couldn’t handle that. The only thing I wanted to do was lay in my bed and not talk to anybody or do anything. I didn’t want to kill myself, but I just wanted to just be there and not exist. I didn’t want to die, if that makes sense. I wanted to press the pause button on my life, but not stop. I wanted to take a breather without everyone zooming past me.

  It all sounds so incredibly selfish, to have the desire to halt the lives of others in order to make myself feel better about myself.

 I’m incredibly selfish.

April 10, 2015

 I looked out the window and I felt a rush of emptiness, a good kind. I drove past the familiar signs, the local park, your neighborhood.

 I felt absolutely nothing.

 I was numb. I felt empty, but not lonely. It was as if I was waiting for the pain to come, for the rush of pain that I was so familiar with to fill my body, the aching that I had experienced so long, the kind that I thought would never go away – but it never did.

 I turned on the radio. “The Scientist” by Coldplay was playing.

 Nobody said it was easy, It’s such a same for us to part.

 Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard.

 Oh take me back to the start.

April 23, 2015

When you feel you have lost everything, you still have

books

unexpected kindness in strangers

the rest of the world to travel

languages to learn

animals to take care of

volunteer work to do

the power of a good night’s rest

the changing of seasons

infinite things to learn

billions of people to meet and possibly love

billions of people who might love you back

May 2nd, 2015

I feel like I lost a bit of my soul. There are times when I truly do feel like I am growing so much from doing this program, where I am constantly out of my comfort zone, but there are just times where I feel extremely inadequate as well. Two things that I desperately wish to improve are public speaking and leadership skills. I’ve known and I’ve always known, I’m not a natural born leader. not in the way that I enjoy being a follower, because I hate that too, but I like to influence in a way that is more backstage or based on inspiration rather than being strict and imposing order. Basically, I’m an individualist. I feel uncomfortable telling people what to do, or when I do I feel really bad after. I care a lot about whether everyone is happy, whether or not everyone hates me, whether or not I am doing okay. It’s so annoying. I’m improving and I’ve become a lot more assertive and confident — which is a good thing!

But, at the end of the day when I reflect on all that has happened, I always wonder if I was being too strict, too harsh, or too mean. The Taiwanese/Chinese education system is completely different than the one in America because they expect perfection and obedience from their students. This is not a stereotype — it is a reality. On the days where I felt like the kids where doing really well, my teaching assistant told me they were being really bad, which confused me. our standards are just completely different. i think a little bit of talking is ok, it’s having fun, but she thinks of it as being uncooperative.

I’ve just never seen anyone yell so much at a student and feel that it’s completely normal. But, she says she is just doing that so they won’t ever misbehave. In America, even in the Chinese school that I went to, it’s very rare. Maybe that’s why students at my high school didn’t really respect the teachers? I don’t want to get into this so much, but there are pros and cons to both education systems. I want to be a teacher that the kids like, but I also want to be a teacher that they respect and won’t take advantage of as well. it’s extremely hard to balance. don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed my experience a lot so far. It just opened my eyes to a lot of things I need to improve on. Finding a balance between strict but not authoritarian and kind but not weak is not something that just applies to my teaching. it’s something that is necessary for many important parts of life. If I want a high paying job or if I want to be a good parent in the future, If I want to teach again, if I have to make a presentation or speech in the future, if I have a job interview… then I must practice my speaking and confidence in being assertive.

May 14, 2015

i’ve really been enjoying my classes this quarter- thank God for humanities classes, am i right? i’ve been finding everything we’ve been learning in communication especially fascinating. anyone who knows me well basically knows that i overthink everything and spend a lot of time dissecting and analyzing conversations (which could be both a good thing and a bad thing). well, that’s literally what we do in that class!

at first it got me really excited, but i’m starting to wonder if it just exacerbates my overthinking. one thing we learned about was powerless language, and how speaking like that could set an impression of insecurity and incompetence for speakers. some examples of powerless language are phrases like, “i think”, “kinda”, “possibly”, “i guess. starting sentences like, "im not sure but..”, “i know this sounds crazy but..”, “sorry but..”, and hesitation phrases like, “um” and “uh”. reading about that made me seriously re-evaluate the way i speak because i say every. single. one. of those powerless phrases on a daily basis. i thought about it a lot. i realized i’m apologetic to almost everything all the time. if someone bumps into me, i’ll most likely say sorry for being in the way, even if i wasn’t. if someone hurts my feelings by saying something offensive, then i’ll most likely apologize for being sensitive or upset or overreacting about it. yet when i say something that might accidentally offend somebody, i apologize profusely because i was being insensitive. even now, writing this..i feel the urge to apologize if i am being over dramatic.

i don’t know, just even finding out that the way i talk is considered a language “style”, and how it could have so many negative consequences such as built up resentment for others or a shell of passiveness and insecurity, and an increased likelihood to be taken advantaged of is really bewildering. it’s also eye-opening. i mean, it feels better to not rock the boat, stay out of conflict, keep the harmony, etc etc. but it makes for a lot of built up unhappiness. i don’t want to be that, you know? it all seems easier said and done. “just be more assertive.” but once i do that, it’s like “why are you being so aggressive, demanding, selfish, etc”. it seems as if it’s impossible

May 30, 2015

I’m currently writing this in Embarcadero Hall because I’m participating in 24 hour improvathon!! I’ve been here for 4 hours so far and 20 hours to go. It’s one of my most favorite things to watch and I’ll miss it so much! I don’t think I can actually stay here for 20 more hours because I’m getting really sleepy and my parents are visiting tomorrow but I’ll try the best I can. This is just a quick post because I’m trying to be consistent. today is also the best day ever because my dream of going to usc journalism school came true!! as long as I maintain a good gpa this quarter which I’m not sure I can do but I will try as hard as I can. all I know is never to be anxious and just trust in God. I’m so so so happy.

I experienced the adrenaline-filled feeling of a group interview. it reminds me of those discussions in english class i had in high school where i never had a chance to talk, but today i talked. it wasn’t a lot, but i knew that i had to be more aggressive if i wanted to be heard out of 30 people. and i’m really happy i did talk a little at least! and i reconnected with someone who went to my high school but didn’t know very well and we’re so similar and we studied together and it was a good part of my day. we decided that even if we don’t get the job we’d try volunteering at some other places too. This took me a long time to think of. but i don’t think thinking of three good things always has to be something really huge, so i’m glad i have friends here to talk to and help me on my homework and hang out with! Sometimes I look back at things that are sad or have changed and it still gives me that dropping feeling in my stomach. or when i don’t get something i really really want or something i really want to happen doesn’t happen. but, what really heals me and helps me is just knowing that He has a perfect plan for me. It’s like this one quote about why an owner doesn’t give his dog chocolate even though the dog whines and pleads- because he knows better and knows that it would kill him. so I try to think of that and apply it to me! i keep listening to “I surrender” because it’s just something i need. I need to surrender my life and be okay with whatever He has for me. It’s still hard sometimes. but when I am reminded, I feel much better.

If you’re reading this you are loved!

The end

2014 was about learning self worth and self acceptance, realizing that I don’t have to hate myself and gouge my value on other people. This year was more about learning to love life and practicing how to be more selfless and living with the intention of thinking more about others and not myself.

 I’m flashing back to the beginning of 2015, it feels like so long ago. I was at Santa Barbara, second quarter, still adjusting. I was hating my roommate, trying so hard to get good grades to go to USC, starting to feel more comfortable in EPIC but never really feeling a sense of true belonging, starting to hate Communications and wondering why that was even my major, considering going into Psych if the whole USC thing didn’t work out but not really sure if it was for me, and still slightly bitter and heartbroken from September 2014 and hating myself for still feeling that way after so much time has already passed.

 There’s this thing about sadness that I felt during this time in my life. It was a deep reservoir inside my body that refilled itself as if by magic, never ending. It was insecurity, anxiousness, and bitterness, that constantly flowed into my life and though I tried building dams to keep it at bay, still found a way to get to me, no matter how strong or how high enough I thought they were. You think, things will be okay. Everything will be okay. Then, the waves swell and crash and crash and crash against the walls you built to protect yourself, the walls that you build to pretend that you’re fine and suddenly you’re drowning, the water of the depression pulling you under, filling your lungs, blinding and deafening you with its noiseless seduction.

 I was like that for a really long time, mostly around April and May, when I started writing on my Tumblr three things that were good about everyday (unslumping series) in order to stop myself from forever falling victim to my sea of self-pity and desperation. It wasn’t always so bad, some of my closest friends at SB are some of the best people you’ll ever meet. But, you can be around the best people in the world and still be unhappy when you’re alone in your room at the end of the day if your joy doesn’t come from within yourself. Praying and trying really hard to seek community really helped me. And I had not been Christian for that long of a time, but I truly know that it was during these times where I felt like drowning, those were the times I felt more of God’ love and Light than I ever did before.

 The Light is getting a terrible fever on my 19th birthday but still having some great friends celebrate and eat with me despite feeling dead inside. its having people to share your feelings with in the middle of the night and study until sunrise with at the Davidson Library with a coffee and blueberry muffin. The Light is randomly meeting your future discipler in the car on the way to spring retreat and forming a meaningful friendship where two very similar people can sharpen each other through Christ. Its forgetting to wake up for your final and your friends coming into your room to wake you up. It’s getting the acceptance package from your dream school in the mail on the last day they send out letters and crying and crying and crying. It’s a better and improved relationship with my mom and my brother. It’s finding small reasons to be happy about life every single day. My third quarter at Santa Barbara was definitely my favorite one.

 The summer of 2015 was constantly spent outside of my comfort zone. Rural Taiwan, humid, no wi-fi, tiring, frustrating. But also, rewarding, exciting, new, and always interesting. Li Xin Junior High School, I will always remember you and miss you even if you made me realize I never want to be a teacher.

 Fast-forward to the first semester of my sophomore year of college. It was hard at times, but these have definitely one of the best five months of my life. I just absolutely love this school. I feel like coming to USC was one of the best things that happened to my life. In a lot of ways, I felt like I started my freshman year of college over again, in terms of adjusting to a new social and learning environment. The difference is that I’ve spent a huge majority of my time alone and learned a lot about being independent, about the difference of being alone and being lonely, and know a lot more about self-discipline than I did before. Being around a bunch of people who have the similar goals and are as passionate, if not more passionate about the same things, really pushed me to put in more effort and achieve a lot more than I ever thought that I could. I really enjoy most of the people I’ve met in annenberg, in intervarsity, and just around school. It’s so funny (and by funny I mean amazing) how everything falls into place right when you think everything is shattering.

 There are people in the back of my mind that i talk to less now, but still think about often. Some i have hurt, some that have hurt me. I’m sorry to the person that deserved our dream more than I did and didn’t get it too, I hope you know that you are and will continue achieve so much in your life wherever you are. I’m sorry to my first friend on campus that we were both emotionally unstable and couldn’t support each other. I’m sorry to people that I might have lashed out at for simply having a bad day. I’m sorry that I can be a pushy person sometimes.

 I’m still learning how to be a better person. If you have ever hurt me, I forgive you too. I want to believe that we are all just humans trying to be better people. Hoping 2016 will be the year that you do everything that you have always wanted with your life.

 This ended up being much longer post than I anticipated, so thank you for reading up until this point. Excited for winter break and to be doing some decluttering, road-tripping to San Diego, reading until the early hours, compiling my favorite quotes, exploring nice cafes and cool walls, re-watching my favorite television series again and again, and spending time with my family and catching up with old friends. The best is yet to come.

0 notes

thisisatester · 7 years ago

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 But he was gone now and she was alone.

November 8, 2014

The drunk guy had long hair, wore black thick-rimmed glasses, and had a nice smile. They chatted about Bukowski, San Diego, and tattoos.

 “Look,” he said excitedly. “I stitched this tattoo myself.”

 He uncovered a wrist full of a lopsided heart sewn into his skin by string.

 “Oh! Wow. Interesting.” she said, pretending to be impressed when she was actually disturbed.

 “Yeah, pretty cool huh?” he smiled charmingly, reeking of alcohol. He put his arm around her.

 “I got it after my girlfriend broke up with me.”

 “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She said genuinely. “Do you want to talk about it? I recently got my heart broken too.”

 “It’s okay,” he said, smiling again. “She was a bitch and I got over it. Plus, it means I get to talk to pretty girls like you.”

 He leaned in. Lily knew what was coming.

 She felt his lips on hers. She pulled away immediately and ran out of the house.

 She biked home, in tears. How come so many people, friends and people in the movies, can kiss people they feel nothing for?

 She felt sad. Pathetic. Desperate. Even if it happened for just a split second, she felt so horribly embarrassed with herself.

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thisisatester · 7 years ago

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What I learned about love from films

a guy's hands on the girl's face,

looking each other in the eye

making very clear that he needs her and is madly in love

bad boy falling for the good girl

big and far away houses

calm background song

drinking tea on a rainy day

hear only the background music when there's talking or other thing that makes noise, like crashing

holding hands

long road trips with friends

love scenes on record shops or libraries

man being violent to woman, especially if he's being jealous

saying meaningful things I'd never had the courage to say

scenes when parents are fighting and their children are listen to with the look fixed at the dark in silence

seeing the character writing on their journal

seeing the character's house for the first time

Slow motion and silent scenes, especially with characters running or screaming or crying

Taking a shower

The way a couple looks at each other

Tons of books all over the place

Waking up after a long nightmare

What the characters do when there's no one around

Kissing on the bathroom wall

Big bookshelf

Black and Grey walls

Letters on the special box

One memories at my bedside

Some cool photos

Sunlight in the morning

The smallest place ever

what i learned about love from you:

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thisisatester · 7 years ago

Text

you may think that every hello, what’s up, hi

will always end with goodbye.

and that every single door

soon won’t be open anymore.

That all your hopeless dreams,

Will go down the stream

and that every hardship, struggle and cry

will only multiply.

but don’t be so extreme —

not everything is what it seems.

every slammed and closed door-

will open up millions more.

all your hopeless dreams-

will one day be redeemed.

and every hardship, struggle

and cry will only pacify.

there’s so much in life to see,

don’t worry about what will be.

you’re a go-getter

life is always going to get so much better.

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thisisatester · 7 years ago

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perfection has always intrigued me,

It’s something I’ve never been

never a crisp white page in a new book,

too messy

all i’ve ever known is tea spilled all over my pages.

i am not sure when love became elusive

but what i do know, is that i forgot how it feels

my arms around your neck saying “don’t leave”

plans cancelled last minute, a text left on read

when i want my hand to be the only one you hold

to believe that every part of our story, is pure Magic.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

i think i ruin things on my own

rudely searching like

a cold stethoscope under your shirt,

my face a little too close to yours,

my breath too heavy, too inconsistent

when you are present

this is all i know how to do, be too much too much until

i begin to turn into every bad emotion,

every irrational fear,

every type of person i never wanted to be ⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

i don’t know what i mean when i say your love became elusive, (your) temporary desire, (my) fixation

is not even love

unmet expectations, missed calls

i lurk on social media

and feel my stomach hurt

when i already know my hand is not the only one you hold

that everything that i ever believed in, was never Magic.

2. Silence hung low over our home and my story goes beyond the sparkling dishes and clean sheets. I stole some of my mother’s broken pieces placed them inside of me. I never told her that I did. I kept bits of them under my tongue, in my head, in my bones. I remember the years that would follow where I would tremble when I heard his name. I was cold and soul and bitter. It was hard to be understanding, coping in a way that was considered healthy by society. When your home breaks, patience is learning to rebuild.

10/13/2018

I spent my whole life trying to feel less,

Because feeling more

made me feel like i was worth less

I have trouble holding back,

I tell myself it’s okay, it doesn’t hurt

As long as it’s my purest form of expression

I love too quickly

My heart breaks too easily

My wounds bleed too deeply

But I’d rather be embarrassing

instead of calculating

Explosive, instead of stifled

Naked, instead of filtered

You never used to be like this

my parents would say,

It gets harder and harder to be around you

It seems like we’re all in pain

because of me

My friends walk on eggshells

Trying not to upset me

I can tell it gets harder and harder to be around me

I don’t want us to all be in pain

because of me

I started taking antidepressants

Exactly one month ago

I’m proud to say

my darkness has went away

But I wonder if I am

still myself

I used to struggle with feeling too much

Because it made me feel like I was too much

Now It’s hard for me to feel

anything at all

But at least we’re no longer in pain

Because of me

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thisisatester · 7 years ago

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The lucky ones

Throughout most of my life, I’ve never actually wondered how my parents fell in love. I don’t know why, but it was only recently that I asked them to tell me the story of how it happened.

I’ve heard bits and pieces throughout my childhood — my dad immigrated to America from Taiwan while my mom emigrated from Hong Kong and they ended up working at the same bank together. While working at United National Bank, somehow something sparked between them. They worked at the loan department of the bank, where my mom was a loan processor and my dad was the loan department manager.

“Though he is very hardworking he yelled when things aren’t done the right way,” my mom said of my dad as her boss more than 30 years ago. “I came home crying to grandma so many times and she constantly asked me why I liked him.”

Their first “date” started when my mom and a couple of other co-workers at the bank planned to go bowling together. They were supposed to go out as a group but nobody else showed up. They spent a lot of time together that night and realized that they really liked each other. They started dating shortly after but kept it a secret at work. They recalled the thrill of clandestine meetings, the exchange of knowing glances across the room and the speculation of “do you think anybody knows?”on the phone at night.

Even today, my dad has a different personality when it comes to work. He’s considerate, funny and kind when we are at home. But when it comes to work, he’s cold, demanding and short-tempered. I find it extremely amusing to imagine my parents in a work environment together, with this type of dynamic, especially since my mom calls all the shots at home.

When I asked my parents about their first date, my dad didn’t remember what happened, but my mom did. It made me feel sad that he didn’t remember. How could someone be married and not remember something as significant as their first date? My mom said that after 28 years of marriage, things change and a lot of things aren’t worth being nitpicky over anymore.

She told me that it’s impossible to expect love to last forever. She said to me that even when I get married someday, I should never build my life around somebody in a way that makes me dependent on their affection for survival. She said it isn’t so much about never trusting them, but more about being able to derive self-worth from within and not another person. I can only hope to one day be as resilient and independent as she.

Everybody wants to believe that their parents are still as madly in love as they were when they met, but that isn’t realistic and it isn’t what always happens.

We read novels of timeless love and epic grandeur and wish that we could have that for ourselves. Once in awhile, we come across people who have somehow lit the match of love, with their relationship still burning just as brightly after decades past. We watch in awe at the rarity. We think that they are the lucky ones.

I used to believe that the only sort of love worth having was romantic and passionate, that the person that I imagine someday marrying must love me same way until we grow old — but then I realized that love exists in so many ways. Love is so fleeting — it doesn’t have to be wild and all-consuming in order to be extraordinary. It could be a steady hand to hold, a listening ear on a bad day, someone who chooses to try. Companionship and consistency is just as rare and valuable, if not more, than lust and desire.

Even though my parents’ love has changed, I feel glad to have been able to help them revisit their beginnings.

I am half of two amazing people that both really love me and the greatest love of all is the one that they gave to me.

I think that makes me the lucky one.

January 1st, 2016

There is a part of me that does not long to do a reflection because there is no way that I can convey everything that I have gone through and learned in this year without feeling like there could be a better way to do it. There are so many others things I could write instead: Letters to people I haven’t talked to in a while, thank you notes to teachers, lists of goals I want to accomplish for 2016, a bucket list, a list of my favorite bands, and it goes on and on. Yet, here I am writing something that I promised myself that I would do every single year to chronicle my personal growth, but now seems kind of narcissistic.

I’m still figuring myself out. I look at some things I’ve written only one year ago and cringe at some of the things I’ve said. Perhaps next year I will feel exactly the same way about this year. The experiences I had, the places I been, the things I learned, the things I accomplished, the things I have never said but wish I did— they’re all going to be a blur one day. Writing and reflecting on this is the closest I’ll be to experiencing the passing moments of my life again.

At this very moment of reflection, I can confidently say that 2015 was the best and most significant year of my life.

This ended up being much longer post than I anticipated, so thank you for reading up until this point. Excited for winter break and to be doing some decluttering, road-tripping to san diego (?), reading until the early hours, compiling my favorite quotes, exploring nice cafes and cool walls, re-watching my favorite television series again and again, and spending time with my family and catching up with old friends. The best is yet to come.

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thisisatester · 7 years ago

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redefining the meaning of an extraordinary life

The sadness is a deep reservoir that refills itself as if by magic. It never ends. It’s constantly flowing into my life and though I build dams to keep it at bay, it still finds a way into my life. It’s insidious like that, the sadness. You think the dams are high enough, strong enough. You think there’s enough support to manage it. You got this, you think. You’re okay. But suddenly the waves swell and crash and crash and crash against the walls you built to protect yourself and suddenly you’re drowning, the water of the depression pulling you under, filling your lungs, blinding and deafening you with it’s muted seduction. You’re trapped. You swim upwards, trying to find air - your lungs long for it; the taste of fresh air, to be reminded that you are a live but the water is never ending. There’s no reaching the surface. It looms forever in sight, growing clearer and more attainable then shifting away. You think you can reach out and touch it, if you just stretch your hand will break the surface and soon your body will follow but it’s just a trick. A mirage. There’s no escaping. The sea has claimed you for its own.

I feel like I lost a bit of my soul. I find that I am still healing from things that I feel like happened ages ago. And I’ve learned that that’s okay. There are no expiration dates on feelings. Maybe that’s because we’re organic beings – and we were never programmed to feel and stop feeling things according to a timely schedule. Maybe we need to remember that life has never worked that way and it never will. I don’t know, but I do know there’s something beautiful about all of it. Moving forward at your own timeline is reflective of what it means to be human.

I’m mad. I’m just so angry. I was okay the last time I wrote, but right now I hate everything. I hate the way my roommate walks to the restroom. I hate the way she closes the door. I hate the way I look in the morning. I hate how people don’t respond quickly enough. I’m just so unhappy. Every time I open Facebook or Instagram or Snapchat, I feel insanely depressed. Everyone’s hanging out without me again. Everyone’s smiling. Why can’t I do that? My life is good. I just have to keep telling myself that. It’s good. I can afford higher education, my parents love me, I have friends. I’m so scared of things happening, things that might not even happen. I don’t even know what I’m doing or thinking. I feel my heart beating out of my chest. I feel like I’m being pushed to the ground and being forced to stand up at the same time.

 I lay back down on my bed, feeling warmth and relief in addition to the guilt and anxiety picking at me, telling me there’s so much to do and so little time.

I did not move.

  It all sounds so incredibly selfish, to have the desire to halt the lives of others in order to make myself feel better about myself.  I’m incredibly selfish.

Throughout my whole life, I wanted to be extraordinary. I wanted to be successful and unique and seen that as that. Who doesn’t dream of bylines in national publications, their face on television, Forbes 30 under 30, or an offer from a renowned company?

We’d all be lying if we said we didn’t have some small desire to have that glory inside us somewhere.

Now that I’m graduating in May, I spend a lot of time thinking about what type of “legacy” I’ll be leaving behind.

Will it be for writing inspirational columns in the paper? Advocating for diversity and inclusion in journalism? Will it for be winning a startup contest? For running a successful blog with the right branding?

Sometimes on my darkest nights, I tell myself it’s nothing.

But, are we not more than titles and who we know and what we did over the summer?

For years, we stack our schedules with activities we know we don’t have time for. But we don’t quit these things because being overwhelmed is better than underachieving. We never stop talking about how tired or stressed we are. We skip class to work on homework for another class, go out when we don’t feel like it because we don’t want to feel left out. Then, we accidentally oversleep or forget important commitments, and then self-loathe for letting everybody down. And repeat.

Of course we are more than such superficial things. But, society simultaneously tells us to be ourselves and to enjoy these four years while stacking the pressure that somehow whatever we’re doing is not enough.

I knew something was wrong when I found myself feeling jealous of someone with an internship at a place I never even wanted to work at, but thought I did because everyone in my major wanted to work there.

If there’s anything that I’ve learned through my time in college, it is that chasing fleeting success is like drinking from a cup that will never quench my thirst.

Nothing will ever be never enough if I can’t appreciate life for what it is. If I get an accomplishment, it won’t feel like enough compared to someone else’s. There’s never time to revel in success because … that person already accomplished that two summers ago. There will always be more. And I will never feel like enough.

My heart breaks when I listen to people talk about how much they love life, how much beauty they see in people and the world around them. People who not only appreciate every little thing, but also have the hunger and immense joy and enthusiasm to serve this world and its people.

My heart breaks because I can’t see the world the same way these people do. At times, my happiness feels conditional. I only feel happy if I get that job, or that relationship, or that validation. How can we all be living in the same place, under the same God, and feel absolutely opposite feelings?

A quote from American author William Martin says that we should not ask our children to strive for extraordinary lives. He says while it may seem admirable, it is the way of foolishness.

Martin says, we should instead “find the wonder and the marvel of an ordinary life. Show them the joy of tasting tomatoes, apples and pears.

Show them how to cry when pets and people die.

Show them the infinite pleasure in the touch of a hand. And make the ordinary come alive for them. I know in time, the extraordinary will take care of itself.”

I used to tell my mom that the worst thing in the world to be is just like everybody else. To work a 9-5 and follow all the rules of society and then just die without leaving something epic and grand behind.

But now, I think the worst thing in the world is to not find beauty in simple things.

I don’t want to look back and think that I did not have time to enjoy anything because I was too busy feeling like I wasn’t doing the “right career moves” or talking to the “right people.” That would be such a life wasted.

Going against the current, I’m going to try worrying less every day about what my post-grad job is going to be or feeling jealous of those who appear happier or more successful.

I just want to focus on making the ordinary things feel special. I want to find joy in breathing in the beautiful southern California weather. In walking on our beautiful campus. On buying the same salad every Tuesday from Seeds. On taking the Metro line to Santa Monica.

If there’s any underclassmen or stressed senior reading this — ask yourself — how much of your schedule is filled with things that you actually want to do? How much of it is just things you’re doing to please someone or to impress people you don’t even like?

Success is different to everybody; what you want in life doesn’t have to be what everyone else wants. I’m not condoning a lack of ambition, but emphasizing the fact that it doesn’t have to be the be-all end-all.

Notice that the things that fill your heart with warmth are things that you did not have to look far to find: phone calls with your mom, surrounding yourself with people that make you feel seen, your favorite lavenders in a jar, midnight talks heart to hearts, singing in the car.

What if the only thing you left behind in your legacy was not a long list of accomplishments, but actual joy and love for life?

That sounds pretty extraordinary to me.

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thisisatester · 7 years ago

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“I wouldn’t tell them you’re Asian,” my cousin posed before taking another sip of his beer. He laughed – numb from his hushed inhibitions – and swiveled toward the cooler behind him, turning back with two beers in hand and tipping one in my direction. “Colleges don’t like to hear about how Asian you are.”

I took a swig. “What do y-”

My little cousin ran by, tripping on her oversized ao dai trailing behind her. Her face sparkled from the sweat along her hairline and loosened gold flecks from her dress finding their way up her hair. She pulled at my arm – “Chi Trà Mi! Chi Trà Mi!” – dragging me back inside. An overwhelming aroma of nuoc cham latched onto my nostrils, bánh mì crackled under my uncle’s rough hands, and steam rose from unwrapped banana leaves revealing an array of assorted delicacies. The whole room had filled up with hungry patrons.

My little cousin abandoned her grip, finding her way onto my grandma’s lap and blowing bubbles (from a plastic toy she charmed me into buying at phuoc loc tho this morning) along her path. In a few minutes, one of the older uncles would say a prayer. We’d devour the spread, and then we’d mingle or bet our tết money in bầu cua cá c�?p. It was New Years after all.

My cousin stumbled into my shoulder from behind me, interrupting my trance. “What were you saying?” I did one sweep around the room and flexed.

Why wouldn’t colleges like that I’m Asian?

My ethnicity was the last box I filled out on my Common Application. At 3am in the middle of the fall, I sat in the middle of my room – illuminated by the harsh glare from my laptop screen – apprehensive about what it would mean to check “Asian” on my college application. I read the articles – all the articles – and every single one echoed the same sentiment:

Never once had I even entertained the idea of hiding my ethnicity. I flaunted my culture, bringing pandan waffles to class in middle school and adorning my own room with small trinkets from Saigon. Being Vietnamese had always been a significant part of my identity, and yet for the first time in my life, my unwavering pride had faltered.

Both my parents were refugees. My mom left Vietnam on a boat, unsure of whether the tide would take them to the Philippines, America, or nowhere at all.

Oh.

She took care of her sisters while my grandmother, a single mom, worked several jobs just to make ends meet. My dad spent his childhood in Compton, then – displaced by a highway – his teenage years in Inglewood. Both my parents’ youth were marked by nothing but survival and uncertainty, and they raised me through the same lens. Instead of buying new school supplies in the fall, my dad meticulously taught me to tear the paper out from my half-filled notebooks. We refilled plastic water bottles, and cut around rotted/molded parts of our food. I grew up shaped by their perspectives – perspectives that have collectively formed what many consider the Asian-American experience.

These articles all came to different conclusions – that Asians need higher SAT scores, colleges are discriminatory, or Asian students are boring and abundant, to name a few – but nevertheless, every article seemed to imply one thing: being Asian is not good.

In the back of my mind was an even greater fear – that my experience as an Asian-American was not something colleges wanted. I had come across a perplexing paradox. I was being asked to share my story, while skimming the exposition. I was supposed to write about who I was while hiding an essential part of who I was. For the first time in my life, I wondered, is being Asian a bad thing?

. . .

So many people told me that to get into the schools I love, I needed to be “less” Asian; essentially, I was supposed to hide a piece of my identity just to get an acceptance. How stupid is that?

. . .

I checked “Asian” on my application. A message flashed across my LED screen moments later. “Would you like to save changes?” I hesitated for a moment. Disregarding the validity of the articles’ claims, I wondered. What if Stanford – my dream school, a competitive degree, financial security, and “success” – was just the difference between checking or not checking this box? I’d be stupid and naive to risk rejection, right? And yet I clicked save, because I’m Asian and damn proud of being Asian.

. . .

Your college application is more than just a college application. It is an opportunity to reflect on the last four years of your life, pinpoint what you value, and figure out the type of person you want to become one day. What manifested at the ethnicity section of my application was not something I expected would occur just months before – I sat at a crossroad, posed with personal inquiry. In deciding whether or not to check “Asian” I was signifying if I would be the type of person willing to sacrifice anything, even my identity, for success. Was I willing to do whatever it takes? Where did I draw the line?

. . .

Did any schools reject me because or my race? That’s a whole different discussion (that people are currently having) that I rather not get into, but I like to give some of the most respected universities in the world more credit than that. Regardless, it feels so damn good knowing that the schools that picked me, picked me for everything that makes me uniquely me. In fact, in my Duke supplement, I wrote about my “Asian immigrant parents,” and my other college essays all touched on the same theme. I did what everyone tells you not to do; I paraded my “Asianess” and I did it with stride.

No one ever told me about how rewarding it feels to be accepted despite your race. No one told me that being Asian was as much of an asset as I grew up knowing, deep down, that it was.

This is my advice for Asian students in a similar position as I was: you will hear plenty arguing to hide your ethnicity, but very few will tell you the opposite. Nothing can quite compare to knowing that you didn’t have to hide a part of who you are to be accepted – in college and in life.

Be proud of who you are. Be unapologetically authentic, true, and real.

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thisisatester · 7 years ago

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Common Application (Personal Statement):

The common app I wrote for Stanford was very personal so I’m choosing not to share it… BUT, I’m going to include the common app I sent to a bunch of ivies and other schools –

Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.

Every Sunday morning, I pull up last week’s This American Life podcast on my phone, lace up my running shoes, and begin my trek up Lone Mountain – a heap of dirt, gravel, and rock, sitting isolated amidst suburban wasteland. Reaching the top, I stare out at a lackluster view of Las Vegas’ silhouette, barely distinguishable through the dust and smog shifting with the desert breeze. I look down at the 600ft drop briefly, turn around, and begin my trip back home – only to repeat the same journey next Sunday.

There is no breathtaking view or unique wildlife to draw me to my hike: it is the piercing cold air and aggressive terrain that instead excites my core. My Sunday morning hike is a series of struggles: my lungs clambering for oxygen, heart tirelessly pumping blood, and muscles straining to keep up with my pace, but I embrace the struggle. I find my own form of truth and contentment along the uphill journey.

It’s my belief that just barely finding the will to take the next step, and then suddenly discovering yourself unable to resist taking another, is among the most unique and surreal experiences a person can have. While my body teeters at the edge of complete collapse, I feel the most alive. The feeling must be akin to what drove Amelia Earhart to new skies aboard the Friendship, or Philippe Petit to the top of the twin towers. It is the challenges – the pain, sweat, and long nights – that inspire those who push the envelope to never slow down. This love for challenges accompanied Earhart to her death, led Petit to bullfighting and carpentry in lieu of fading in his old age, and I to early morning hikes instead of sleeping in.

“Each atom of that stone,

each mineral flake of that night filled mountain,

in itself forms a world.

The struggle itself toward heights is enough to fill a man’s heart.

One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

~Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus

Like Albert Camus, I imagine Sisyphus – condemned to roll a rock up a mountain, only to have it roll back down every time he reaches the top – happy. It is the challenges, struggles, and tribulations that energize Sisyphus and my spirit, not the prospects of reaching the top of the hill.

Sisyphus found happiness and the meaning of life in pushing that rock. The meaning of life is simply living it. I live through my hikes, experiencing what life has to offer through getting up each morning and seeking out new challenges. It is where I am happiest, listening to Ira Glass tell me new stories of people I’ve never met, and their own quests for happiness, while I venture out on my own. My hikes remind me that the simple opportunity to take small steps, to look adversity in the eye and to conquer it little by little, is what I value.

I believe that life is a perpetual climb, but that does not make me feel hopeless. I am content in knowing that I am like Sisyphus, constantly climbing. In this intrinsically meaningless desert I will create and learn, continue to push this boulder of existence, of life, not because I will reach the top and be done, but because it is in living and understanding suffering in the hardest of times, in my daily struggle to comprehend just how absurd everything is, that I experience the most full and beautiful of life that our human condition can offer. The absurdity of our condition inspires me to make my own meaning of it all – to study life, history, and our place in it.

That is why I trudge on – learning, growing, and creating, focusing on the next step and never the last.

Short Takes:

Favorite books, authors, films, and/or artists

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (Book) – objective beauty, a love letter to the English Language 2. Bossypants by Tina Fey (Book) – my woman crush

Seven Psychopaths (Film) – what a trip!

Quentin Tarantino (Filmmaker) – artist, genius, mastermind…

Aaron Draplin (Graphic Designer) – a passionate eccentric

Newspapers, magazines, websites

Smashing Magazine – just great

PBS Idea Channel – is it how fast he talks or …?

reddit.com – lol

Most significant challenge society faces

I’ve seen my parents crash at the end of the week from being overworked. Society encourages this. America is overwhelmingly prone to depression and exhaustion, and that’s because we’ve put work over family, friends, and happiness, which is extremely unhealthy. We need to go back to finding a balance.

Last two summers

– burnt at the beach

– learned how to skate

– experienced summer!

Historical moment or event

The time Teddy Roosevelt got shot in the chest. The whole story sounds ridiculous – almost to the point that I don’t believe it. I’d want to experience it all – the shock, panic, and confusion – and when he still delivered his speech despite the bullet hole in his suit.

What five words best describe you?

Stressed and messy but fun

Intellectual Vitality (Idea or experience important to intellectual development):

My closet could be its own exhibit, boasting pieces dating back decades even centuries. Each new addition is evidence of a vibrant past, history substantialized through WWII patriotism in utilitarian-chic padded shoulders or 70’s liberation in soft cascading fringe.

When I started to make my own clothes, I saw how fashion also bridged the gap between my analytical and creative sides. Designs in my journal played with elements of geometry. I documented the way natural-fibers fared better than synthetic-fibers in heat and used chemistry to explain why organza curled at the mercy of a flame. Despite my analytical approach I let my imagination wander, embracing spontaneity and gripping my pencil loosely as ideas flowed onto paper. Like the corpus callosum I studied in biology, fashion connected both sides of me. It’s movement, design, and architecture all in one. It shows the world who I am and what inspires me.

My family thinks I’m shallow for loving clothing, but actually, my clothes have sparked my curiosity in history, culture, and design. Fashion is what holds everything together, with its ability to communicate ideas and movements, and to carry history in its threads. Learning the meaning behind each fabric, shape, or button, is exciting to me. More importantly, creating my own clothes has given me a love for combining all of what I know to create something exciting and brand new, energizing my love for learning and showing me that my education culminates in all of my pursuits.

Roommate Essay (Note to future roommate):

I’d text but I misplaced my phone… yes, again.

I left you a breakfast sandwich straight from The CoHo – for dealing with my mom’s insistence on taking a bajillion photos with her daughter’s “roomie” when she visited. Still getting to know you so I guessed your order, but who doesn’t love breakfast sandwiches? It might still be hot!

Anyways, have you heard of Cath in College? When I first watched her videos showing all the fun she has with friends at Stanford, I fell in love, promising I’d do the same. I love making videos – and as my roommate you just landed a lead role! Before you run to Ms. Nunan’s office for a roommate change – hear me out. Everyone knows Stanford is a great school and blahblahblah, but they never see what makes it so special. They don’t hear our conversations, hike the dish, or bike across campus at midnight. They see our team on the field but don’t stand in a crowd cheering alongside us. I know our room will be the room for pizza and video games, hangouts, or movie nights – let’s share our Stanford with the world.

It’s only been a few weeks but I can tell the next year with you will be a lot of fun (I say we seek out whatever upperclassmen paired us together, personally thanking them with my homemade cookies.)

I hope you love the idea as much as I do. (Also, if you see my phone, let me know.)

– Ty

What matters to you, and why?

It hurt that she didn’t remember me.

I could tell you every detail about my grandmother – from the peculiar way she dices mangoes to the smell of jasmine on her clothes. As her memory of me faded, my feeble attempts to reconnect fell flat. I shut her out completely: silence prevented the wound from festering.

As a young girl, my grandma turned to art when she first came to America. When I could first hold a pencil, she bought me a journal with a note on the back.

“When I couldn’t find the words, I’d draw”

Sitting in front of her, silent, I couldn’t find the words. Every page in my journal became a vessel for my most precious memories with my grandma: us walking the boardwalk or her chasing me down a park slide. When I showed her the drawings, I saw her brows furrow in recollection as she traced the graphite lines. For a moment, she was mine again. Art communicated what words couldn’t.

The choice between acrylic and oil highlights versatility, stippling graphite teaches me patience, and splashing watercolor pigment across paper makes me embrace my mistakes, but that is not why art matters to me. It matters because when I draw for my grandma, I am reminded that art can break barriers. When she whispers my name and shakes my arm, I prove that art is a language we can all speak.

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