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[lizacollegewritingessaying]

My story about my first family reunion!

Kelsey Barnes

12/2/14

  The Gathering of the Irish

According to Erik Steel, “family reunions are advocated by organizations such as genealogical societies as a way to connect often-distant points in familial relationships.” Reunions help people meet relatives they might not otherwise come in contact with. Many family reunions incorporate genealogical or other family history presentations. There are many movies, TV shows and stories that portray family reunions, typically the whole scenario is supposed to be funny. You’ve got the crazy grandma that pinches your cheeks, the great grandparents that could stop breathing at any moment and don’t forget about the never-ending gossip about the ‘family drama’ that occurs throughout the whole event. I wish there was a camera crew at my very first family reunion because it would have made quite the episode of some ‘family reunions gone wild’ show or a hilarious movie.

When thinking about the concept of a family reunion it’s actually very strange. One member of the family decides they want to hold a gathering of our entire family, and being an Irish family that meant a lot of people. The idea of this reunion is to assemble members of our family from all over the place like some kind of army formation. If you had asked if I was excited to leave campus and drive hours to Jersey to reunite with my annoying grandma, crazy aunt and a bunch of other strangers I was somehow related to, the answer to that would’ve been a big fat no. My sisters and I most definitely were not looking forward to our first family reunion, but it meant a lot to my mom to have us there so we had to tough it out.

Considering we are an Irish family one would think we’d be a lucky bunch, but as history has shown our crew seems to get put into the unluckiest of situations. The van broke down on the way to Jersey, typical. We ended up having to stay the night in a Best Western hotel in North Haven, aka the middle of nowhere, and with that the weekend kicked off to a rocky start. My family can adapt to any situation so we made the best of it; we had plenty of laughs and went out to eat at a cute little restaurant. The next morning, and $1000 later, we were on the road again. That road would lead us to a group of outrageous family members - and 175 Pittsburgh Steelers fans in full Black/Gold in anticipation of the NY Jets vs. Steelers game the next day- running around the Courtyard by Marriott in Lyndhurst, NJ.  As payment for out flexibility and all around good behavior, Mom took us to Smashburger for lunch before we got to the hotel! Talk about the best burger and fries to pass your lips.

My sisters and I agreed to stay together as there is safety in numbers.  We devised a plan to watch each other’s backs and to keep an eye out for Grandma Wiley and Psycho Aunt Bridget who came all the way from California to torture us.  The thing about my grandma is that she has no filter; she says what she wants when she wants. She doesn’t consider anyone’s feelings so we just have to ignore it when she tells us what horrible children my siblings and me are. My wild Aunt Bridget on the other hand is flat out crazy. We have had a chaotic past and quite a lot of drama with this one, including us dealing with her disowning two of her children. It’s safe to say that the relationship isn’t the strongest.

 We finally arrive at the event with fake smiles plastered on our faces covering the fear we had of the strangers we were about to meet and the unknown events that were about to occur. The good news is we spotted our cousin Maggie, who we love, and were surprised as my mom said she wasn’t going to make it. Maggie, Aunt Mary Helen and Uncle Jack were there from Maryland and it was really good to see them because they are the family that we have the best relationship with. We used to spend holidays at their house when we were younger. They also used to take us in when we had to move from place to place like nomads because of dads job. I saw my mean Grandma Wiley and greeted her with a hug. We all went around hugging and kissing all our relatives. It was strange hearing people I could call strangers say, “I remember when you were just a tiny little baby!” It was also bizarre meeting people that I was somehow related to through our bloodline after hearing about them from my mom through the years.

Not a fan of interrogation, I was really not looking forward to all the questions I would be asked again and again throughout the reunion. “How’s school going?” “Do you like your classes?” “What are you majoring in?” “Are you staying away from the frat houses?” “How is your knee?” “Are you all healed up now?” I was really trying to avoid all these foreseeable questions that are major stressors in my life right now, but with no success - I couldn’t escape the inevitable. I answered them all with a smile on my face to make my mom and the jolly old people happy. The event was going smoothly at this point, there was some tension between two of my aunts that haven’t spoken to each other in nearly 20 years considering all the problematic situations aunt Bridget put her through but there were no fists - or tables - thrown.

As we were sitting down eating my Great Aunt Patty, who hosted the event, introduced the entertainment for the night as a tap dancing group. As the number started and the dancers came out it was the last thing I expected to see. These weren’t your typical tap dancers they were all old ladies and when I say old ladies, I mean really old ladies - all costumed in full on sequins from head to toe. My sisters and I had to hold back our laughter; we actually ended up getting into it as everyone started clapping and we really enjoyed their performances! The second number, ‘In the Navy’ by The Village People, my Great Aunt Patty joined the dance team; who knew my Great Aunt Patty was a better dancer than me? It was amazing to see these adorable little old ladies having so much fun with so much confidence. Turns out they perform at old folks homes and hospitals around the city.  The headliner of the evening sang 3 solos - she was 92 years old and wearing a full on feather boa.  These little old ladies have got spunk, sass and were very entertaining.

Slowly but surely our fake smiles became real and we realized that we were having fun. We learned to accept our wild family and go with the flow and not question why there were 80 year old ladies tap dancing and singing. They were so inspiring that we actually got up and danced before the night was over!

We loosened up and we had a lot of laughs with our cousin Maggie; it was so great to connect with her again. I remembered her being the bratty one when we were younger and now that we are both freshman in college we can relate on such a different level.  It’s amazing that I can say before the reunion I didn’t consider us friends, we were just related by blood, and now I’m hoping she can come visit for Christmas!

This was my first family reunion experience not just for me but for my sisters too. We essayed towards the realization that in the end, family is the most important relationships we will ever have.  Family is our past, present and future.  Family members are the ones that will always be here for us - no matter what - and we should always keep that connection strong.  Now, I find I might even be looking forward to the next gathering of the Irish Keating-McCormack clan! 

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

Ruijia Wang--My Experience with Acupuncture Treatment

Acupuncture has been both culturally and historically a part of traditional Chinese medicine for more than 2000 years. To understand what acupuncture is, we simply separate the word, acupuncture. The prefix acuate, means both “sharp” and “needle, while the word puncture, means “to make a small hole.” From the roots of the word, we have a sense that acupuncture is the practice of puncturing the body with needles. In China, we callthe practice 针灸(zhen jiu) which is made up of two characters zhen and jiu. 针(zhen) means “needles” which refers to acupuncture; 灸(jiu) means “slow heating” which refers to moxibustion, is a technique of using burning of mugwort over acupuncture points (Mark Crislip, Moxibustion, sciencebasedmedicine.org). Apparently, there are two techniques involved in the practice of acupuncture as we can see from the one compound Chinese word (Firebrace 102).

I believe in the benefits of traditional Chinese concepts and theories of medicine, like acupuncture. These traditional concepts represent the wisdom of Chinese values, in a holistic form of thought. Having personally received acupuncture also reminds me to trace back the history of the practice in order to learn from the ancients who first used acupuncture and the other forms of traditional Chinese medicine. The experience serves as a starting point and has sent me on a journey of pursuing an understanding of Chinese traditional medicine. In addition, I would like to explore the concepts of traditional Chinese medicine further. Perhaps, I may even be able to spread the knowledge I gain to make more people aware of the healthful benefits of traditional Chinese medicine, such as acupuncture treatments.

However, the procedure of today’s acupuncture is easier since it doesn’t include the application of heat through moxibustion. The treatment of acupuncture itself is very simple; but it is not just a system of healing, it is also the expression of thousands of years of Chinese culture. Chinese philosophy emphasizes on a framework of functional interrelationships between the acupuncture channels and organs and how they are connected. This philosophy is called holism, which is the core of most of ancient Chinese philosophy. The principle of acupuncture is to view our body as an interconnected system instead of seeing our vital organs separately or just treating the symptoms (Bai, Baron 3).

I still remember the first time I discovered that acupuncture was available on campus. Earlier this semester when I was walking through the campus center, I was caught off guard by the sight of oriental acupuncture charts and a body sculpture displayed on a table for the University Health Services. It was like bumping into an old friend whom I hadn’t met in a long time. I was surprised, because I thought the treatment would not be accepted or common in places other than China. I also didn’t realize acupuncture had been such a universally applicable treatment far beyond my homeland.

Based on my own knowledge, acupuncture has been original to China for a long time and integrates traditional Chinese medicine concepts. I am not quite familiar with the actual practice of acupuncture since I have never tried it in China. However, a friend of mine back in China had acupuncture treatment for weight loss. She went to the hospital regularly for a month and the acupuncture treatment worked very well on her. She had told me that getting acupuncture helped adjust her metabolism and endocrine system, and thus achieved weight loss.

Following my interests of traditional Chinese medicine, I started a conversation with the University Health Services providers who sat at the table at campus center concourse. I have learned from them that our school not only provides acupuncture, but also provides cupping therapy. Cupping therapy is another ancient Chinese form of alternative medicine which cups are placed on the skin to create suction thus mobilizing energy to promote the healing of a broad range of medical ailments. I had cupping therapy and I believe it was helpful in improving my overall, long term health. I received the cupping therapy at my grandpa’s home when I was living in China.

My grandpa served as a doctor in the army during the 1947 Chinese Liberation War. He was in charge of taking care of wounded soldiers by using simple, traditional methods due to the lack of the modern technology that is used today. Moreover, my grandparents apply ancient Chinese natural practices to support each other in their daily lives. Nowadays, they both are in good health and rarely go to see modern doctors. I am impressed by their persistent practice of traditional Chinese medicine, and they have sparked my interests to learn more about it. Surprisingly, I also learned from the University Health Services Providers that acupuncture becoming more and more popular in the United States, which is far beyond what I was expecting.

I was so excited for having the opportunity to receive this traditional Chinese medicine on our campus. I wanted to get the acupuncture treatment because I was feeling stressed out and I wanted to improve my overall energy function. As I went downstairs to the treatment on the day of my appointment, I felt a mix of fear and nervousness to try the procedure. Honestly, it was the image of myself lying on the bed with needles on my skin that made me feel the most anxious.

However, I felt a sense of welcoming when I arrived at the room in the University Health Services basement. The acupuncture treatment room was at the end of a hallway. The door was left half open. The room was a quiet area with bright light and warm colors surrounding me. To my left, a line of scenery pictures hung on the wall as if I was walking into an art gallery; to my right, a line of red chairs was sitting against the wall quietly. The whole context of the room helped calm me down a little. A bed was right in front of me with a soft, green curled shape and a pattern sheet covering it. Everything was so neat and peacefully.

As I walked through the door and sat down by the desk, the doctor began asking questions of my general health condition while a dark of cloud of anxiety ballooned into existence above my head. I felt scared about getting acupuncture. Then the doctor asked me to take off my glasses and socks, and directed me to stand in front of the bed for a check-up. He was checking the flow of energy inside my body, from top of my head to my arms. The check up took a few minutes and then I laid on the bed with rolled up sleeves.

Facing up toward the ceiling I could see a string of colorful butterflies hanging over my head. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. The treatment room was comfortably warm with soft light which helped to ease my tension. The cloud of anxiety began to dissipate as I began to grow more comfortable in the environment. Before applying the practice, the doctor touched my arms, legs and toes to feel for heat, cold, and energy flow. I took another deep breath as the doctor pulled out of the acupuncture needles and said he was going to put one in my right leg. At the same time, a voice was echoing in the back of my skull: “It will just be like a mosquito bite and takes only a second.” Initially, I felt a tiny bit of pain when the first needle penetrated my skin, but it went away as soon as the doctor turned to another spot on my right arm. He explained that our body is like a network of channels and energy is flowing in all these different channels within the body. The doctor continued to explain, saying that energy can help be restored by stimulating certain points. Acupuncture is the stimulant which helps to re-direct and normalize the flow of energy in our body.

The doctor put one last needle on top my head, which he explained will help to draw the energy up since it is the highest point of my whole body. The needles were left in place for about twenty minutes while the doctor placed heat above my feet and covered me in a white sheet to stay warm. I felt a nice and pleasant calm while my mind was floating in a dream-like state. I felt like I could fall asleep at any time with the drizzling dreamy thoughts hovering over my head.

I felt good and energized after getting the acupuncture treatment. Moreover, I gained some valuable traditional Chinese medicine concepts that I can apply toward my future. The experience also sparks my interests to learn more about acupuncture, particularly since I actually benefited from it. Based on my research, traditionally, there are 365 points on the body, and most of which have a specific energetic function. Acupuncture targets specific anatomical locations within the body. Acupuncture treatment focuses on the points where the flow within the channels in our bodies can be adjusted, in order to restore harmony (Firebrace 109). The Chinese culturally view the mind and body as an organic system. According to, Acupuncture Cure of Many Disease, “To the Chinese, a human being was a living unity, a field for the action and interaction of the invisible forces of life. The harmony of these vital powers within him was revealed by the health of the whole body…So the aim of the Chinese doctor was to correct the imbalance of the vital forces in the body” (Mann 3). Thus, balancing a status of harmony is valued highly among the Chinese.

My experience with acupuncture treatment was not scary as I thought it would be. The reality is, I have never felt more comfortable and so relaxed. The experience also gave me an opportunity to ask questions and pursue my interests in traditional Chinese medicine. Therefore, I recognize college is an experience to keep an open-mind and take chances. We will never know the answers to our questions until we try!

Work Cited

Bai, Xinghua, and R. B. Baron. Acupuncture: Visible Holism: An Original Interpretation of Acupuncture from Root to Tip. Oxford: Butterworth-Heinemann, 2001. Print.

Firebrace, Peter. Acupuncture The Illustrated Guide - Restoring the Body's Natural Healing Energy (New Ways to Health). First ed. New York: Hamlyn, 1988. Print. Three.

Mann, Felix. Acupuncture: Cure of Many Diseases. Second ed. Oxford: Butterworth-Heinemann, 1992. Print.

Crislip, Mark. "Moxibustion « Science-Based Medicine." Moxibustion « Science-Based Medicine. Science-based Medicine, 18 Apr. 2014. Web. 20 Nov. 2014. http://www.sciencebasedmedicine.org/moxibustion/.

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

Zach Teplanksy--New Mountain, New Mind

We strayed of our course as we scaled down the steep mountain side, the exit out was no longer obvious, it was pitch black and we all stood upon an unfamiliar area of the mountain we had never climbed before. The group of us huddled for a second and Rachael called out for a moment of silence. I closed my eyes and everything was still.

Twelve of my new college friends and I decided to climb a mountain. I did not know much about the mountain we were headed to except I knew it was fairly average sized, and in the town of Sunderland, which is next to the town I currently stay in, Amherst Massachusetts. I am from eastern Massachusetts originally, which is much different from this more mountainous western part of the state.

The group of us drove down a long dirt road past some large houses that were located deeper inside the woods off the main road. The road was narrow and trudged up and down over the hilly rocky terrain. The comments from my friends and myself at this point consisted mostly of how impossible getting out of these houses’ driveways must be in the wintertime. A little bit of ice and their cars would be stuck in these woods for days, or even just some snow. I could not image living here during a tough winter. The road did not even appear thick enough for a snow plow to get by. After passing a few more homes scattered through the woods, we arrived at a small parking lot which we quickly turned into, anxious to get hiking before the sunset over the valley. All twelve of us piled out of the three cars we came in and brought ourselves right onto the trail.

Rachel, who has tallied up more adventures and excursions across the country then the rest of us, had been here before. She knew the two final destinations of the trails and called out, “Caves or fire tower?” my two friends and I made it clear we wanted to attend the caves, yelling out the word caves until it was heard over the other option, obviously winning that debate. We were on track for the caves and began to hike. I held behind toward the back of the group once we settled into our pace. The conversation was smaller at the beginning of the hike as we were adapting to the new atmosphere of the woods. It started about walking sticks and who uses them while hiking, talking about things directly related to our new location. My friend who was next to me explained how she and her whole family use them every hike they go on. I never understood a real need for a walking stick except for when I pretended to be a serious hiker when I was younger. However, I decided to make my own, which I kept for the remainder of the hike and almost brought home with me afterwards.

The hike upwards was at a brisk pace and we quickly scaled the mountain with no breaks. The conversation was quiet at this point as we were all saving our breaths for oxygen so we could keep our pace. The heat and light from the sun was beating down in our faces as if we were being interrogated even though the sun was beginning to set over the horizon. Most people had taken off a layer or two of clothing, as we were planning for a much cooler hike. After much sweat, leg power, and a little arm power from the help of my walking stick, we made it to the top. Yes I know. Not the caves, the top of the mountain with the fire tower. I guess my input on where we should be walking was no longer important because I had dropped to the back. Or perhaps my argument I had in favor of going to the caves I presented earlier was not as convincing as I thought it was. The group decided to get to the fire tower at the peak of the mountain before the sun had set, which I was completely down with. The fire tower did not appear that enormous compared to the mountain but it was elevated another hundred feet or so above all the surrounding trees. Without wasting time everyone ran to the tower and started up. I waited at the bottom thinking it would get too crowded at the top.

My friends came down and it was my turn to climb the tower. I started my ascent upwards, at first the tower got higher very slowly, it did not seem like it was going to improve my view in any extreme amount. The steps of the tower traded of directions back and forth and I began to get higher and higher. As I approached the top my hands and feet began to tingle as they do often when I am on the edge of a tall height. I realized I was getting high and kept going as high as possible. The wind was fierce. I could not hear anything but the sound of the wind slapping my face and meandering into my ears. I picked up my head after reaching the last step and peered out into the valley and the view was beautiful. I could see the whole valley I was in the center of and I could witness my new home from an all knew perspective. As I was enjoying the view, there was a harsh consistent wind in my face. The wind was as if there were a fan set on extra-high and the fan was the size of a wall. It did not falter at all unless it were to get a little stronger for a second. I stayed here for a few moments to take in the scene. Enjoying the stillness of the view with the rigid force of the wind pushing my body.

At the bottom of the fire tower we all chilled and relaxed before we hiked down. At this point the sun had set and we needed to start hiking downwards. Noticing the sun lowering, my friends were antsy to start down and nudged a few of us stragglers who were still in break mode. We started our descent down. A small amount of time elapsed before the sun was completely set and the night was pitch black. I could barely see the path but we were still hiking at our brisk pace, possibly even faster on the way down. Luckily I had my walking stick which was a tremendous help for my balance, especially because my use of sight was limited. During our descent we began to discuss the nature of dinosaurs and other beasts and animals that have lived on this earth in the past. We discussed how well people are suited for the earth (much better than dinosaurs) and the amazing feats we have come too, like the discovery of DNA and the ability we have to clone animals. I believe this praise of humans sprouted from the efficient way we scaled the mountain, but also how we noticed small details of the hike and environment along the way. I always enjoy the conversations I have with people out in the woods. The different environment sparks whole new kinds of conversation, ones that tend to stray away from everyday things. The most obscure and random things can trigger such new and different ideas. A change in stimuli, “something that excites to action or exertion or quickens action, feeling, thought, ect.” (dictionary.com), can make all the difference in ideas. A change in this can spark kinds of thinking and behaviors that one has not experienced before, if it is a foreign stimulus or one much different than normal. Once an animal is placed in an unfamiliar environment, it will start to engage in exploratory behavior. This adjusts the animal to its new surroundings and it quickly begins to adapt (Humane Endpoints). Animals, like us, can be easily stimulated by just a change in environment, something as easy as walking in an area with new scenery can make a huge creative difference in the way one thinks.

Among the interesting conversations we have, I enjoy the calmness of a hike at times, a calmness I had not felt yet. We had briskly hiked up the mountain in the heat, reached the very windy peak where it was in no way a still quiet scene. Then, we began to briskly walk down the mountain in the dark, the whole time holding conversations with friends. All of this was very enjoyable to me and kept the hike entertaining. I was entertained the whole time but the isolation and stillness of the woods I had yet to feel is a large part of a trek through the woods for me. My hike is not complete until I get to experience a moment of stillness. Up ahead I hear confusion about where to go next and I lose hope of my chance for stillness, until I hear my friend Rachel call out exactly what I needed to hear.

Work Cited

Dictionary.com. Dictionary.com, n.d. Web. 02 Dec. 2014.

"Www.humane-endpoints.info." Www.humane-endpoints.info. Web. 2 Dec. 2014. <http://humane-endpoints.info/eng/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=74&Itemid=160&lang=en>.

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

Racing through the Darkness- Shannon Largey

For New Englanders, the third Monday of April is a special day for one activity, running. This special Monday has been coined with the name Marathon Monday where top athletes from across the world participate in the Boston Marathon. World class runners finish the extraordinary race in a mere two hours while for me, a mile takes close to ten minutes. There is a very huge difference between these elite runners and their crazy training habits and I, someone that avoids running at all cost. With poise and grace, runners give off a natural beauty as they move like gazelles striding across the Savanna.  Millions of people participate in marathons, half marathons, 5K’s, themed runs, tough runs like the Tough Mudder and then there are those who stay far away from any such thing due to laziness, lack of motivation, and fear. 

My friend Bill has always told me, fear is “Fictions Events Appearing Real.” Many people fear being trapped in a room with millions of spiders or scary clowns coming close to them. The connecting link between fears is the mental component. The brain is powerful and can trick the body into feeling just about anything whether it is a real threat or not. For me, running is fearful. Will I be judged? Will I be abducted, like the many girls are in movies and like my mother always said would happen to me if I was alone at night? Will I do it wrong? Am I supposed to even run here? Why do people purposely put themselves through physical exhaustion for enjoyment? By the time I had thoroughly thought through all of these questions, my mind has wandered far into all the random places of my psyche and I feel as if my extensive thinking has been enough exercise for the day. 

***

I think back to the brisk air scraping against the very little bare skin exposed as I stopped to tie my sneaker. I placed my ear buds in, turned on my old workout playlist from my freshman year of high school and started up like a Formula 1 racer revving his engine as he crosses the starting line. With that, I began my run up by the Franklin Dining Commons. I ignored the little voice in the back of my mind of my mother sternly telling me, “Never go out by yourself at night.” I took off a little faster than I had expected to start with my run. Soon, I realized that I was in a near sprint as I was headed down hill and trying not to face plant within the first hundred yards of my run. Going down this random street in an unfamiliar part of campus confused me as to where I would end up but the glow from the street lights against the pavement reminded me of a scene that would have been depicted on an album cover. I started running by beautiful buildings which I had only heard of before. They looked old and historic with many stories they wish to tell after years of people running by.  I knew where I was but never from the context in which I was going by it.For me, not knowing or having a planned path was new. I was always used to having things planned ahead. Spontaneity is not something that comes easy to me, yet, I followed the wind and mainly the lit trail and continued on. 

Typically before anything, my body fatigues and starts to cramp up before any sort of good feelings come out of my running. Most runners claim to get a “runner’s high.” According to an article by K. Aleisha Fetters in Runner’s World Magazine, these highs probably helped our early ancestors on their long runs in search of food by providing them with natural painkillers. The researchers have found the main contributor in the brain are endorphins. If you have ever seen Legally Blonde, it is simply spelled out, “Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people don’t shoot their husbands.” Or as K. Aleisha puts it a little better, “Nature's home-brewed opiates, endorphins are chemicals that act a lot like their medically engineered counterpart, morphine.” The more endorphins produced the more euphoric feel runners seem to have. Another chemical produced in the brain that runners experience are endocannabinoids. Like they sound, these neurotransmitters are related to cannabis, pot, the hot, current, political debate.According to Matthew Hill, Ph.D., an assistant professor at the University of Calgary's Hotchkiss Brain Institute, “endocannabinoids, which are a naturally synthesized version of THC, are the chemicals responsible for the buzz that marijuana produces. The most examined endocannabinoid produced in the body, anandamide, is believed to create a feeling of calmness.” So to an outsider of the runner’s world, they really are “high” because of their runs. 

***

Mainly all I knew and could think was that my legs were moving me forwards and my mind was shutting out all the other shouting voices that were going back and forth in my head before. Running never seemed to hold any intrinsic value to me. I always seemed to feel like a foreigner to a very strange world whenever I thought of running. At my high school the track and cross country teams were a tight knit group that I could never quite figure out. I always wondered why they loved to do the one and only activity, which most coaches for other teams used as punishment, for fun and enjoyment. The elitist runners always kept to each other and always wanted more people to run. The thoughts of marathon runners or the speedy kids from my high school stopped interrupting my thoughts as I started to see the beauty surrounding me. Exploring beyond my usually nightly views amazed me as stars shown brightly against the black backdrop of the night sky. A sweet, serene calmness fell over me, similar to the feeling I get while in shavasana, corpse pose, at yoga. My body was light but heavy, calm but working, relaxing and enjoying every aching minute of the beauty and grace surrounding me in the clean air. 

Thinking back to my earlier days, I would much rather spend the time in the testosterone filled weight room building muscle rather than going for a run. As a high school athlete I placed all my abilities on my brute strength and never my speed simply because I was always told I was slow. Both realms seemed to be completely different. In my mind at the time it seemed that running only meant endurance whereas weight training meant power. Within my warped and twisted thought process it never occurred that I could have both or that doing both would be just as feasible. Within the filing cabinets in my head, the activity was classified in the “last resort” file of the “please don’t open” drawer, of the “practically Narnia” cabinet. Needless to say, I never woke up in the morning looking forward for moving at a faster pace than a brisk walk or slight jog and in doing so probably missed the biggest point to running.

***

I let my body just carry me up swerving paths wrapping my way around tall, new, beautiful science buildings I would probably never take classes in and through different Residential Areas that I may very well never live in. As I was cutting through by the Campus Center there were people walking toward bus stops moving like zombies from one of The Walking Dead commercials. It seemed as if we were in different realms as I speeded past them and they just stared going on their sluggish, monotonous way. I past the agricultural labs trying to see the various green houses and experiments set up within and down towards the Mullins Center, where thousands of miles are run each year in basketball and hockey games. Turning the corner I could see my end insight, home. The small city of eighteen to twenty-one year olds, Southwest beckoned me. The five large towers glowing in the distance created a picture-worthy image in my mind as my skin was burning under my bubblegum pink long sleeve t-shirt given to me by my powerlifting coach as sweat was dripping slowly down my back between my shoulder blades. This odd, perplexing sensational mixture of heat mixed with the forty-five degree night sent my body spiraling to figure what it should be doing. It kept going though. Chugging along as I nearly sprinted the last leg of my run just to get back to my home, get back to my normalcy, to think about all that transpired throughout my experience.

For my first solo run at night, defying my mother’s rules, my own old thoughts, and novice uncertainty of where to travel, at what speed, or what was even the proper gear to go out in, I finished my run with the feeling of accomplishment and contentment with little pain probably due to the endorphins and endocannabinoids but more likely to the fact my run was nothing as spectacular as the feats completed by marathon runners. I was able to start to see why people actually enjoy this strange activity. Running has now been re-categorized in the “not so bad” file within the “give it another shot” drawer of the “this is worth it” cabinet. 

  Works Cited

"Run the Original Historical Course." History of the Original Classic Marathon. Apostolos Greek Tours, 2013. Web. 16 Nov. 2014.

Fetters, Aleisha. "How to Achieve a Runner's High." Runner's World & Running Times. N.p., 25 Apr. 2014. Web. 16 Nov. 2014.

"Arachnophobia Quick Facts | Mental Healthy." Mental Healthy. N.p., n.d. Web. 24 Nov. 2014.

Stein, Alan. "How Far Do You Run During a Basketball Game?" USA Basketball. N.p., 7 Aug. 2012. Web. 24 Nov. 2014.

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

Chase Webber Essay

The wind was cold, very cold. It whipped through my hair and nipped at my cheeks as it whizzed by. My mouth was dry and my skin frozen. I put my head back in the car and rolled up the window. It was a cloudy, fall Saturday afternoon and I was flying down route 89/91 in the family van. The destination was an “old oak tree” we called our grandfather. This was part of the required visit to the rural wild of Burlington, Vermont we made every year to see him. I was home from college and I was ready to see as much family as I could. My sister was on her phone, I was looking aimlessly out the window and my parents were discussing some form of politics. All was well.

We finally crawled out of the car after what felt like years of space travel. We greeted my grandfather and got right back in the car, damn, and took him out to lunch. We caught up and made his day with this simple gesture. Once we dropped him back at his house we decided we weren’t ready to go all the way home quite yet, so decided to take advantage of the light we had left.  If you’re familiar with the Burlington area, which we certainly weren’t, you know there isn’t exactly a lot to do. However, one large claim to fame it does have to offer is Lake Champlain, the largest lake in New England. I myself had never been there and neither had my sister so it seemed like the perfect adventure. Many years ago we had owned a house on Lake Ossipee in New Hampshire. We enjoyed the lake almost every weekend with tens of other people; I guess you could say we were “lake people”. So with our curiosity in hand and also a GPS, we headed west.

In only about 20 minutes we arrived at the shore. “Is that the Pacific? No, that’s a lake!”, I thought to myself as we parked in a nearby restaurant and I gazed over the water. This lake was bigger than anything I had ever seen, and I couldn’t even see all of it. It was so long and wide I couldn’t see the shore on the other side, in any direction. I remembered what I had read a while back, that after 10 miles of open water the curvature of the Earth makes it so you cannot see anything past that. This lake crushed those numbers. The width was about 15 miles and the length over 75! I was absolutely intrigued by this beast and I wanted to know more. We visited the lake Champlain Maritime Museum where we learned more about the lake’s formation andfamous sailors/discoverers, and had a quick snack.  After googleing a few more indepth questions of my own we were ready.

Eager to admire the lake’s beauty farther, we boarded an hour-long viewing boat that took us to the other shore and back. Along the way we had some amazing views of the distant Green Mountains of Vermont and the forests that engulf them. The lake had a good breeze; I was later informed it has its own pressure system and impact on local. The boat had three stories and from the top deck we were about 50 feet in the air. By the time we reached the middle of the lake the shorelines looked like a small ant town. The waves were almost ocean sized on that day, and bobbed and chopped through the water like a line of marching soldiers. The soldiers stabbed and fired against the boat, exploding into the air with every confrontation. The music on the boat was dramatic, Coldplay to be exact, and the mood was eerie. The weather soon followed and the wind picked up and the clouds swirled. This was not in the forecast. Before anyone knew it we were hit with a downpour. Luckily it was brief, and the weather again assumed its “just cloudy” status. After a good soak, more sightseeing and getting some good pictures, we were back on the dock. 

Nothing wraps up a good visit to a new and unknown place like a souvenir! It is precisely on such a quest in the gift shop that I learned of the Lake Champlain monster; a green serpent looking fellow sported on some of the t-shirts. He reminded me of the lock Ness monster, and after asking a local worker, I found out his story isn’t much different either. Many “sightings” of this creature have been reported and he has become a famous, cute icon and part of the area. After our shopping spree and getting my legs back under me after all the rocking on the boat, it was finally time to head home. I will never forget my first trip to Lake Champlain with its awe-inspiring beauty, quaint surrounding towns and the great Champlain Monster. 

The trip together as a family was truly special to me. With me having been away at college most of the last three months it isn’t often anymore that we get to go on trips like these as a family. It is also something you don’t value when you’re young, the moments your family “dragged” you to some seemingly pointless thing. Looking back however, those are the best of times. This trip was amazing and certainly topped the list. I didn’t realize how close it made us, and how much fun I could have on a simple afternoon by the lake.

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

Me, You, And My Meditation- Madison Cormier

I push through the door, and the subtle smell of feet and rubber mat drifted over me. As my eyes scan the room, I see that directly across from the door there is a wall of windows. Two walls are covered in mirrors, and the last is covered with storage bins and contains a door that lets you into the closet where all the supplies are kept. I pad over to the closet, pick out a mat, walk over to the open floor, and set my mat up. I sit cross legged on the mat and observe the people sitting around me. This class was called Broga and by the name of it, I expected it to be filled with mostly “bros” but that was not the case. It was a pretty evenly split between boys and girls. I hear bits and pieces of conversations between some of the girls next to me, but none of them were interesting enough to make note of, mostly just smalltalk. I shift uncomfortably back and forth on my mat. I was nervous that I was the only one in here with no experience and that I would make a complete fool out of myself. My mind was also wandering back to all the assignments I had waiting for me when I got back from the class. I just wanted the class to get over with so I could go back and do all my work. Finally, the instructor, Sara, came in and the class started.

Like I had said earlier, I thought that I may be the only person in the class who had not taken that class before, and as we started our warm up I realized I was right. I was looking around and everyone seemed like they knew what they were doing; I just felt out of place and uncomfortable. Wanting to find a good class to take pushed me to forget about all the little side thoughts running through my head and focus on the instructor and do my best to follow what she was doing. The less I thought about doing the moves perfectly, the more comfortable I got with doing the positions. The beginning of the class was mostly stretching, and then as the class continued, the music started getting more intense as did the workout. At the peak of the class, we worked on our core front and core back. Personally, I was not thinking I was going to sweat during a yoga class, but this obviously was not a normal yoga class. I have not pushed my body as much as I did during that one class. The moves tested my balance and strength simultaneously and it was very difficult, but also very rewarding because I felt empowered when I finally did the moves correctly. After the routine peaked at the core, the workout slowed down again, and began to be more about relaxation and stretching. 

During the last song of the class, we did a meditation type routine. Meditation techniques have been used for thousands of years, and initially were used to deepen understanding of the forces of life (Meditation). More recently, it is used for relaxation and stress reduction (Meditation). There are many types of meditation that focus on different types of relaxation and express different ways to reach it. The type of meditation we did was known as Savasana pose where you lay on the mat with your palms up and eyes closed. As we did this, Sara talked about relaxing all of our muscles. As the song progressed, the deeper I felt myself sink into the mat. Sara told us to clear our minds of everything that we were thinking about and as my mind wandered away from worry, I became even more conscious of my muscles sinking deeper into the mat below me. My mind was clear and every part of my body felt like a feather. My eyelids got very heavy and before I knew it, I was asleep.

When the song was coming to a close, Sara told us to start waking up our bodies by wiggling our extremities little by little. I woke up from what felt like a very deep sleep, and moved my fingers and toes. At first, they did not feel like they were a part of my body but the more I moved, the more I came back to myself. I sat up on my mat feeling refreshed physically and mentally. All of the stress of the assignments I had due, were a distant thought for the time being. The relaxation piece at the end of the workout was by far my favorite part. I completely enjoyed the class because it combined a workout with meditation, but after completing the routine, I am considering taking a class just for meditation; it made me feel more rejuvenated than any amount of sleep could. I believe that meditation is a great way to relax and get your mind off stressing issues, even if it is just for a short amount of time. Making time in my day to just let go of everything on my mind and take a break from the constant fast pace of my life from now on is going to be a priority of mine. 

I believe that college students should all participate in some type of activity that they enjoy doing outside of school. Doing any activity you enjoy can relax you and allow you to get your mind off things. I would recommend trying a meditation type or yoga class because making time to relax after doing homework for a couple hours makes it easier to focus on doing more work afterwards. It is nice to be able to step back and get your mind off all the pressing things in life for awhile, and participating in meditation will allow a college student to do this. 

Works Cited

"Meditation." Take a Stress-reduction Break Wherever You Are. Mayo Clinic, 2014. Web. 16 Nov. 2014. <http://www.mayoclinic.org/tests-procedures/meditation/in-depth/meditation/ art-20045858>.

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Enjoy The Show-George Hatzipetrou

Sparkling dresses and long trench coats flushed together scurrying into the Boston Opera House along with pearls for the ladies and polished slicked hair for the gentleman. Every woman was wearing heels. It was a rather frosty night. They skittered along, voluntarily fallen into the braced arms of their dates as they would laugh, entertained by the anticipated heated entrance while in the meantime they waited amidst the raw November winds. As I enter the theatre I am greeted by gilded walls and high ceilings with hanging chandeliers. Velvet colored rug coats two sets of spiraling stairs that conjoin on the above balcony. Every woman was tall and gleaming and beautiful or perhaps they were all just melded by the opulent detail of the hand carved golden bordering that seemed to be melting and dripping upon us. Women lusciously yet carelessly hung on to tipping martini glasses as they adjusted their purses and made sure not to laugh too loud.

I was now at the stairs. All alone. My sister and her boyfriend brought me along to see the play “Mama Mia” which I had seen in the movie theaters along with uncomfortable seats, spilled popcorn butter, and an overweight middle aged man’s predisposed disdain for a movie he paid $8.50 for. He had read several reviews coming into the movie and badly needed his own assessment of the matter. Sure we were all about to watch the same show, “Mamma Mia”, but the entire place seemed to lack appetence. I paid attention as a handsome man took the hand of his woman as she picked up the dangling ruffles of her dress and they made their way up these stairs.

Eventually everyone settled into their seats appropriately intoxicated and bleakly staring at the red curtains, as if they weren’t even prepared to be amused but rather belonged there on a Tuesday night under a savory painted ceiling. The curtains slowly unfasten and the first act begins. We are immediately introduced to Donna and her daughter Sophia both in Santorini, Greece. Sophia is now getting married and not knowing who her father is, she secretly invites three of Donna’s past lovers, Sam, Bill, and Harry, in hopes that her true father will walk her down the aisle. Donna originally was heartbroken by Sam, an American architect, and decided to flee to Greece with two men on separate occasions. In the midst of Sophia’s wedding, Donna invited her two best friends: Tanya and Rosie.

The first few scenes struck me as oddly unprepossessed and naked. Between the exaggerated emotions stringed out by cheesy lines and elegant clothing, it felt like even the producers themselves made it hard to really get involved with the emotion of the play and the play itself just seemed suited to the overall sensitiveness of this entire experience: high quality entertainment in a really beautiful ballroom. But, without the entertainment? People all around me, I felt, were ready to fall over. Their crossed legs and stale makeup was starting to freeze over as they rigidly stared onto the stage.

The play itself was nothing short of predictable at first, and maybe that’s why everyone was here in the first place. All the men in the musical insist they really are the father and they all have their own individual scenes with Sophia while Donna’s two spontaneous friends urge her to relive their younger years and be free again (all the scenes lack extemporaneous quality by the actors on stage and more fittingly so, extemporaneous reaction by the statue crowd.)

As the second act was about to begin I realized something: The play had used its own medium, the fanciness of the opera house and the embellished screenwriting to lure its audience in to the idea that brought them here in the first place. The play could now become vulnerable and allow the audience to become vulnerable as it had already won them over. After the second round of drinks and an unchallenged high class palette, the audience was all too comfortable back in their seats under the spell of the play.

Now the play, with it’s audience firmly under it’s belt, began to morph a bit. Harry offers to Donna to pay for the wedding, and they reminisce about their summer fling. Then Sophie arrives and Donna helps her get dressed. She cannot believe her daughter is going to be a bride. Donna admits that her own mother disowned her when she learned that she was pregnant. They reconcile and Sophie asks her mother if she will walk her down the aisle. Sam arrives and tries to speak to Donna again, but she does not want to see him, and asks him to leave. He refuses, and a bitter confrontation ensues. After a little more talking, Donna tells Sam that he broke her heart, presumably when she found out he was engaged. Finally, it emerges that the two still love each other dearly, albeit against Donna's better judgment. The last song in the scene described above, “The Winner Takes it All”, for once becomes a sentimental supplement to the story line rather than a voluptuous-sounding piece of etiquette. The musical has picked up a beat and the audience now is swarmed by a non-controlled experience. Whatever happens in the last twenty minutes of the play is no longer a glistening cocktail party. It is a display of art and literature and a final testament to newly arisen audience solicitude for the turnout of events for poor Sophia and her wedding.

Now it is wedding day and Donna is walking Sophia down the alley, and the father situation is left unsettled as Donna announces to everyone that a father is present however they would all have to be content with being one third of a father and part of her life. Now even the audience made room for some sympathy for all three fathers. Then Harry is announced to be committed to a gay relationship.

 Suddenly, Sophie calls a halt to the proceedings. She is not ready to get married and Sky, her husband, agrees with Sophie about not getting married. Sam seizes his chance and proposes to Donna in order to prevent the wedding preparations from going to waste. He explains that he loved her, even when he left to get married. It is revealed that he called off the wedding with his fiancée and came back to the island, only to be told that Donna was going out with another man (Bill). He went back, married his fiancée and had children but he got divorced. Surprisingly, Donna accepts and the whole audience, it felt like, was ecstatic in the stitching of an emotional hole newly torn by the play in the first place. The final song of Donna singing “I do I do I do I do I do” rang through the audience as they now got up from their seats revitalized.

The heart of the play had won us all over in the most disadvantageous field, or maybe the most advantageous field. Nonetheless the natural tendency to fall in love with the winsomeness of the performing arts overcame the comeliness of the event itself.

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

Take A Hike- Katie Feeney

Rhode Island is very flat. With a name like the Ocean State I guess that should be obvious but when I entered the Pioneer Valley I was shocked by the 360-degree view of mountains. They seemed like a looming reminders of no longer being in the comfort of my tiny home state. As I drove around the new landscape I was awe struck by how these rock formations jutted out so suddenly behind the quant townhouses of western Massachusetts. Back in Little Rhody I loved exploring the multiple environments- kayaking along the winding rivers, nature walks through the woods, roaming the rocky shores or multiple chasms. Through the lens of my limited experiences I had always thought that I had hiked one of Rhode Islands “mountains” in my past eighteen years, but it wasn’t until I had come to college that I realized by definition of both mountain and hike were a stretch. Seizing the rare opportunity of a day off, four of my friends and I decided to leave UMASS and take a hike. I was eager to soak up the grandeur of the environment around, but the experience ended up meaning so much more.

 Five girls jammed into an old Mercedes four door pulled up to the entrance of the Mount Tom State Reservation. It must have been comical to watch us try to figure out where to park, pointing out all the windows until finally settling on an incline that was a bit too steep for comfort. With our bags stuffed full of stolen dining hall food we zipped up our brightly hued fleeces and headed upward. Continuing along the road we arrived on the five of us began to speculate whether the whole way up would be this easy- looking back it’s pretty clear we hadn’t mapped out our adventure in advance. Eventually the winding pavement led us to a crossroad. We stopped and tried to decode the pixelated map pulled up on our iPhones, soon becoming frustrated by the complexity of the snaking trails. Giving up we decided to leave our destiny to fate; turning off our phones hoping we wouldn’t get forever lost in the bowels of Mt. Tom. Continuing on a little further we stopped at a trail sign in front of us, giggling at its name (T Bagg Trail), before deciding to continue on the paved road a little longer. We filled the time gossiping about our floormates as we got further up, realizing our multiple layers of winder breakers and fleece seemed a little ridiculous. After shedding a vest and a sweatshirt I was ready to continue and get into the forest. We ventured off the safety of pavement and into the rocky unknown.

As we left the road I began to realize why there weren’t many people hiking at this time of the year. The naked trees had dropped their burnt brown leaves to create a wet blanket beneath our feet, slipping under us while we ventured down an incline to the trail. Not only this but the blanket had disguised the interweaving network of roots that reached out to trip us. We had to grab onto the spindly branches to keep our balance nearly the whole way down. But once we made it to the small river that coiled up the mountain we were ready to commence. Connected by a multitude of rickety wooden bridges we crisscrossed the brook watching water skippers scamper across the surface and small fish swim below. Following the blue paint that marked our onward voyage I thought to myself- this is just like a Rhode Island nature walk; man was I about to be proven wrong.

At some point we came to another crossroads forcing us to decide wheter to go on a gravel path or upward along a steep rocky climb. Thinking we should challenge ourselves we push upward and onward, through the jutting rocks, all the while slipping on leaves. It was at this point that I started to see the “health benefits” of hikes. I was no longer prancing through the forest with my friends; my legs began to beg me to slow down as I quickly became out of breath. The incline didn’t appear to flatten any time soon as we marched on and I was becoming increasingly intimidated by the thought of continuing on. But I pushed forward, slightly distracted by the continuous babble of conversation between my friends and I. The main subject seemed to be our shock that we had never tried to do anything like this hike before. We were awed by how much fun we were having while getting a great workout at the same time. Our days of Zumba and cardio kickboxing were over; we vowed to become regular hikers.

We could see the peak now, and I’m not really sure why but it reminded me of an Indiana Jones movie (I think it was a combination of the jutting rock formations that resembled crumbling ruins and my own imagination that I had conquered some great feat). The slippery carpet of rotting leaves broke at the peak to reveal archaic stone steps leading to a rusting monument of a ski mountain of past years. The one time lift tower was now reclaimed as a viewing station, posing as the one hint of human intrusion in the browning foliage. Its blue chipping paint seemed to be an omniscient warning of weather beaten metal of questionable strength. As we approached the tower a middle aged woman stumbled down the steps, looking a little green as she mumbled about the rickety incline. My extremely acrophobic friend Sara was already full of trepidation but upon hearing this she was determined she couldn’t make it all the way up.  To make it worse the miniscule stairs were open metal bars (revealing the serrated rocks below), creating an unnerving illusion that the steps all blended together. But we made it up, literally one step at a time, climbing the four flights leveling out to a stable viewing platform. Ahead of us we could see miles of untouched nature, an ocean of ruby, jade, gold, and emerald, the mountains cascading over each other like ebbing waves. All we could do was stare for a while; amazed by the foliage and the fact we could see the UMASS library like a small buoy in this sea of peaks.

As we ate our sandwiches and fruit salad on the landing of the watch tower we began to discuss our day. My friend Laura explained how she was never in an “outdoorsy” family, going on only the occasional hike with her cousins as a kid. Keegan on the other hand grew up going to her vacation house in Vermont, where she would spend summers exploring the lake and wooded land around her secluded home. Sara and Melissa were somewhere in the middle, kind of like me. They had grown up spending time outside with their family, but would never considered themselves seasoned hikers. And even though we all came from diverse experiences previous to this excursion, all five of us agreed that this had been one of the greatest days we had spent at UMASS. It’s not that we hadn’t been having the time of our lives before this- we’ve all loved it here- but there was something different about this day. As we walked down the steps, watching Sara once again struggle to get past her fear of plummeting to the rocks below, we discussed what made this day so great. Was it the fresh air? Or maybe getting some much needed exercise outside the rec center? Could it simply have been spending the day with your best friends? Or had we discovered our secret love and affection for hiking? One thing is for sure the day changed not only the girl with no hiking experience from Rhode Island, but everyone who went with her. As we retraced our steps down the mountain we made a promise to each other that this would not be a one time thing- we would continue down the path of regular hikes, fresh air, and new experiences.

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

Communication

Englishwiting 112

Tiankai Zhang

Nov 25th, 2014

Final

                           Communication

In the past, I would have never attended a meeting talking with others in my own initiative. Not for being shy, but I am always not good at communicating, and also have no interest in it. Avoiding talking as much as possible may be the best the way to describe my life. However, things were changed a month ago on my birthday. My parents had a serious talk with me and told me I am not kid already, so it’s important for me to learn the skill of communication before getting into the society and I felt the talk did make sense to me. Several days after that I have received an email looking for international student volunteer to have a meeting with a foreign language student to improve both their language and communication ability. It was a good opportunity for me and I have applied for it.

     As there was no topic being limited for this meeting which meant we could talk anything we wanted. There was nothing much for me to prepare about the content. So I have made plenty of prepare works for how to feel easy to talk with others and reviewed it again and again until I felt I was ready. The meeting place is on the basement floor in the library. Before getting into the room, like what I have learned from the preparation, I took a deep breath. One person I met was a sophomore student named David whose major was Chinese with history minor. After greeting, we should have begun to talk. But to our surprise, both of us did not talk first and the silence lasted for about ten seconds. It seemed like I have met a guy who was not good at talking either. I thought “This is a meeting, to talk and communicate, we cannot just sit there and say nothing”, so I started the talking.

 First, we practiced talking in Chinese with some base sentences through David’s book. The process didn’t go as well as I expected. I don’t know if it was because he was not good at communicating or lacking of words, but each time he got obstacle, he had to stop and showed an embarrassed look. Even when I tried to explain with simpler Chinese words, it was still difficult for him to restart the conversation. Base on such situation, we fell into silence again, going to be failed of the meeting. Suddenly, I recalled I could explain in English. Using that method, it became much easier to show David the better way to speak Chinese. And it went well after that.

Finishing the one-hour talking, it seemed we could leave. As I am taking a history class this semester while getting a lot of difficulties and David is the history minor, I asked him if I can get some help from him and he agreed. But at this time, on the contrast, it was my turn to get embarrassed. When talking about some special history events and people’s name, even using simpler words by David, I still didn’t understand. And he could not explain it in Chinese like I tried to express in English before. To solve the problem, we had to use the electronic dictionary and google search with the mobile phone. He typed the English words and I tried to find the Chinese meaning in the website. Undeniably, it was really a special way to communicate with the help of electronic tools. During the talking, I just realized we gradually felt relax and could express more fluently than the beginning moment. And we also found the same interest we had, the video games, which we could not stop talking after started. We talked about the game company, the game maker and everything related to the games. The scene was totally different from the beginning that we both felt embarrassed. We got no pressure and obstacles, talking what we liked, that was the real communication, I thought.

     Through the conversation, we have both changed a lot, from nervous to easy. Why we have changed so fast in such a short period of time? Is talk a significant conversation skill and should be proved with lots of time? I think just because talk is a special thing that unlike other objectives, it is a communication both in oral and mental field of two speakers. Whether good at the conversation or not which is not depending on how much have been practiced, it depends on the both side of people. How they feel each other’s way of talk and is there any same hobbies of them. More deeply, do they have the similar sense of value? All the factors influence the process of conversation. Also, “There are certain situations, typically encountered while traveling, which result in strangers sharing what would ordinarily be an intimate social space such as sitting together. In such situations strangers are likely to share intimate personal information they would not ordinarily share with strangers” (Liz Galst) shows that the first conversation between strangers will more easy to share their information just like we found the same interest during the conversation.

      After this communication, I have realized that the reason why I was not good at talking is lack of practice, and worried too much. Talking with people is originally a kind of communication, which could happen at any moment. I cannot avoid it all the time so why just face it actively. Take it easy, and it will not be so trouble as I always think.

   "Cornered: Therapists on Planes" article by Liz Galst in The New York Times 27 September 2010, accessed 28 September 2010

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Jamar Hawkins - Serenity in Meditation

I have always been skeptical of the less scientific phenomena. I have never believed in palm reading, fortune tellers, magicians, or psychics. My friends mostly believe in these types of things, but I never did because there is no proof. For most of my life, I have found my disbelief useful. I have never had to fear ghosts or monsters. However, I have been known as untrusting and skeptical because I was never able to believe something without proof. I ask a lot of questions about many things and often make things more complicated than they need to be.

When I first heard of Qigong, I could not believe that people of our time actually believed in it. It struck me as some old ancient Chinese myth that was far outdated. I would have never taken the class by myself, but my mother wanted to take Qigong to help with her anxiety. I never realized that there was science behind the effects of Qigong because it was just so old. All of the evidence came far after it was created, which was over three hundred years ago. Qigong promised many results, but the explanation as to how it worked was not as publicized.

What Qigong is, is a deep-breathing exercise that allegedly helps reduce stress, build stamina, and enhance the immune system. A participant will slowly move limbs, usually the arms, while consciously controlling slow breaths, in hopes to build strength and stamina. It is supposed to strengthen the muscles by allowing “qi,” or energy, to transfer throughout them. All these things simply can result from deep-breathing, a few breaths slightly more dramatic than the ones that I already take. I had a very difficult time believing this. I had never believed that deep-breathing was useful or that stress was a “real” issue and even after the first class, I just felt tired. However, to an extent I was convinced towards the end that serenity truly is vital to health.

I tried Qigong with my mother during the long weekend. It was her idea and I did not approve at all, but my mother did not want to go alone. I was incredibly skeptical of the truthfulness of the effects of Qigong. However, my mother had faith that Qigong would help with her anxiety. I am personally more able to trust medication than the older remedies. The class costed $10 and was in a small room. I believed it was a huge waste of money, but my mother paid. I was incredibly reluctant to participate. I had no respect for Qigong or any other deep-breathing courses.

When I started taking Qigong, I didn’t exactly feel calm. The room was small and crowded and there was a dog in the next room that kept on barking. The instructor began the class by dimming the lights and asking us to close our eyes. We were told that this would help us visualize the energy flowing through our bodies. We began by breathing in slowly with our arms horizontal with our chest. As we breathed in, we had to raise our arms to our heads. As we breathed out we had to move our arms back down to our chest. There was a water fountain that I spent most of my time focusing on. I found the sound of the fountain quite soothing and it helped me to relax. Often it diverted my attention from the class and made it difficult to focus. My instructor once spoke to me about how anxiousness is common for Americans. She said that the country follows the principles of capitalism. We are always competing with one another because we know that everyone wants the fastest and the cheapest. We never settle for the second best or wait for the second fastest and we know that employers will not accept us as the second best for the position. Instinctively, we cut corners to find a cheaper or a faster way to do things. So when we breathe it is quick and not thorough, but enough to keep us going. She seemed to believe that Americans were in the greatest need for deep-breathing. I noticed that I did become very bored when we did the class. I am not used to just standing around for so long. I could not focus on the instructor’s directions because I was so impatient and anxious to be done with the class.

My life had always been cluttered and disorganized. I always have had to rush through things for different reasons. Most often, it’s a due date or deadline. I am used to constant stress and never really am able to relax. My lifestyle does not really fit meditation because my schedule is too spontaneous. When I did try meditation, I found that I could not stay focused on my breathing and visualizing energy flowing. I need to be entertained constantly or kept busy at the very least.

I tried Qigong two more times and I began to feel slightly different about it. Although my mind would still wander, I found myself more able to think about things I needed to do and do a better job organizing myself. Keeping with class quickly became easier and I was easily able to see the benefits of relaxation time throughout the day. Relaxing breaks actually did help me to transition between tasks and I found myself spending more time to think instead of just “winging it” all the time.

I feel that this experience was enlightening because it allowed me to compare my habits with a different group of people. I never understood how stress filled my life is because everyone else’s was about the same. My instructor taught me that it actually is something that I could work on. I was able to see meditation as something helpful and productive instead of just a waste of time. I am glad that I was able to try a new thing that I previously did not think I would like at all and end up learning to appreciate a new thing and building a new skill that can help me in life.

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

Electrical Zumba

I studied for my electrical engineering exam intensely for the past few days. Tonight, my eyes were focused on the SI instructor reviewing the fundamentals for the exam. I wrote his notes so fast that I almost sparked a fire. I finished the SI session and wanted to take a break from studying. My friend suggested I do Zumba because it is lively and powerful. So, I decided to do Zumba to take break from studying.

I was the first person at Zumba. I found my instructor, Maya, listening to Spanish music and cleaning up after the last class. Maya wore a bright neon pink tank top and yoga pants. She came up to me with sparkles in her eyes and explained that Zumba is a Latin aerobic dance fitness program that focuses on cardio workouts. I asked, “Why Zumba?” She responded that she did sports in high school and wanted to stay in shape without solely working out. Maya tried Zumba last year and fell in love with the class. I felt like her zeal would make Zumba fun and entertaining.

            Before Zumba started, I spoke with another person in the class. Sarah wore a green sports shirt and black gym shorts. She was a freshman who usually worked out in the gym but never had taken Zumba at UMass. Sarah was looking forward to a fast paced class to end her workout. She advised me to pay attention to the instructor. I had an idea of what Zumba would be like, but I never could have prepared myself for what the class entailed.

            The class began with loud music and energy pumping dance moves. I was half asleep from studying for two days, and the music hit me like a brick wall. Maya suddenly started demonstrating the dance moves for the first song. I was not paying attention and missed every single move in the first song. After the first one, I received a mental tip from my brain to watch Maya and copy her dance moves. Thus, I began to dance. I tried to match the moves to the best of my abilities; however, I was confused when to hold a pose or when to do a certain move twice. My rhythm was completely off and I felt like a robot. The song ended and I caught my breath, unsure if I could continue.

            I then decided to get serious and entered dancing mode. I listened and watched as Maya demonstrated the dance moves for the next song. I was able to catch onto the rhythm when it started. What I did not take into account was the sheer amount of hip movement. I gave it my best shot, which created giggles among the Zumba class. The shame and embarrassment crushed me. The song ended and I was drained physically and emotionally. We were given a water break but smarty-pants me underestimated Zumba and did not bring water. The next song began to play and the moves blew me away, literally.

            The next song only had dance moves that used our hips and chest. I honestly tried as hard as I could to replicate the dance moves with no avail. Like before, laughter arose throughout the Zumba class. I used my willpower to finish the song. The chuckles during this song hurt. I did not realize it but the shame and embarrassment a person puts on himself or herself is many folds heavier than by others. The dance moves began to wear on me and I felt like a hollow shell of my formal self. The song ended and I was completely exhausted with no water but my desire to finish the Zumba class kept me functioning.

            The songs kept coming and I caught on faster. The dance moves reminded me of Dance Dance Revolution and electrical engineering. I followed Maya like a pro dance player in Dance Dance Revolution. The moves were difficult and came out fast like arrows. I started memorizing the dance patterns but I was drained and could not keep up. After missing a dance move, I quickly moved back in to the rhythm with the knowledge that if I did not, it would be too late. It was like electrical engineering; I thought of the dance moves as inputs and made sure the output was correct during Zumba.

            Halfway through the class, I started to go with the flow of the songs while dancing. The songs reminded me of the Spanish songs on my playlist. I was familiar with these types of songs and started to catch on even faster than before. While I was dancing more proficiently, my pride was hurt by every new dance move that involved hips or chest. It felt wrong when I would do a chest pop. I knew that for the rest of Zumba, my comfort zone would be broken farther.

            Towards the end, the dance moves were geared explicitly towards women. Beforehand, I heard that Zumba was a class for young women. The songs have moves for women which makes it difficult for men to enjoy Zumba. Jumping up and down with my legs spread apart, shaking my chest, and a whole list of other moves made me feel uneasy. I could deal with a single dance move like that for each song, but when every single dance move made me feel uncomfortable for multiple songs it became unbearable. There were fifteen minutes left of class; my eyes had large X’s in them. I was KO, knocked-out. It took immense willpower to study for my electrical engineering exam. I rerouted it towards Zumba to complete the class.

            I am a typical male who likes to look at the opposite sex. When I am in a large room filled with a few girls wearing tight clothing and dancing; it took me a lot of energy to not to just stare at them during Zumba. There was a main problem with this logic. I have to watch Maya because that is how I copy the dance moves. Every time we had to do something with our hips, I would look down straight to the floor but it was impossible. I was looking straight and obviously saw things that I would want to see in another situation on another day – but not tonight.

            The main session ended and the last songs were for Zumba toning sessions that focused on muscle building. My legs were aching and I was in disarray from my experiences throughout the class. These dance moves helped me cool down. I thought of these dance moves as dance stretches. The last song was especially relaxing; it slowly stretched our bodies and put us into a mental calmness. I entered an intense solitude state that could not be touched by anyone. I became a statue and slowly moving to the next stretch, forcing my body to break its limits. When the class ended, I felt satisfied and happy.

            Maya asked Sarah how the class was and Sarah said that she loved it and would surely come again. When I was asked, I said that I had a good time. I said goodbye and thanked Maya for the Zumba class. I hope the expression on my face did not reveal how happy I was. I began walking back to my dorm glad that I worked out after studying for such a long period of time. Zumba made me feel rejuvenated. I fell asleep confident and ready for my electrical engineering exam the next day.

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

Life in the spotlight by Shuaib Balogun

I have never been the outgoing type, to be honest. I have always been very shy. Before puberty hit, I was very short and stubby; in fact, some of my friends used to call me a basketball. This started when I was in lower school. My friends’ thought that calling me a basketball was just some pointless banter. However, this “pointless” banter made a large dent in my self-esteem. You would think that it was only my friends that made fun of me, but it was everyone. In my grade, boys and girls alike made fun of me to the point where I still shudder upon reflection. Ever since then, my self-confidence had taken a major dip.

Now fast forward to puberty; I grew about six inches in four months and I lost a lot of baby fat. Therefore, the term “basketball” lost it’s meaning. However, this did not stop anyone from calling me that. The name still stuck and my self- confidence was still at its abysmal low. I wondered, why me? I was neither short nor fat anymore, but still people teased me. Even until now, my lower schoolmates still make little jokes here and there about the “basketball” Shuaib. I tried to re-invent myself in a way that would be new even to me. For instance, I tried out for the basketball team, which seems pretty ironic. I know, but I still tried. It is safe to say that it didn’t turn out as planned. The “basketball” trying to join the basketball team didn’t sit well with most, which lead to an eruption of laughter amongst my peers.

A person who never made fun of me was Annie. We had been friends ever since we were kids. Like me, she was shy and quiet. I could not understand why, though. She was not like me in anyway; she had always been the poster girl for beauty in our school; nonetheless, she was still timid and calm. On some Saturday afternoon of year 13 in school, Annie invited me to come to a fashion show she was featuring in. I was reluctant at first, because I didn’t fancy it a really manly thing to do.

The phrase, “a really manly thing to do,” seems a bit sexist, but it runs deeper than some sexual claim. In the essay, “What About The Boys” by Michael Kimmel, he discusses the sexual bias towards boys. He talks about the “boy code”, which is a set of guidelines on what manly-hood entails. The first part of this boy code is titled “No Sissy Stuff”(Kimmel 99). It says, “one can never do anything that even remotely hints of femininity; masculinity is the relentless repudiation of the feminine” (Kimmel 99v). This idea of going to a fashion show consequently falls into the “No Sissy Stuff” category. This is because fashion implies an idea of beauty and art. The idea of beauty and art has been feminized and is seen as a “sissy” aspect of life for most men. However, my friend really needed me and I wasn’t about to let her down.

I went to the event with the faintest idea of what a fashion show was. For instance, I had always imagined fashion shows to be trains of women dressed in elegant dresses, with their gay male designers at the side-line of the runway cheering them on. This image is similar to the image I get when I think about a Victoria Secret store. Women and their gay friends going into the store while their husbands wait outside with that look of awkwardness about them.

As I entered, I was shocked to see the amount of men that were at the event. Before then, I had always thought of fashion shows as a feminine event. At that moment, I realized that fashion shows were for both genders. I saw fashion models of different sizes, races and genders. They were all different from the clothes they wore to their different hairstyle, but one thing was constant. One thing I could see in each and every one of their eyes – confidence. I could see how confident all of them looked, with their chins up and their eyes fixed straight ahead. They looked like they couldn’t give a care in the world about us, the people that were watching. They walked so elegantly and classy that they looked like royalty thus making me feel like a peasant. They made the catwalk look so easy as they strutted down the runway in their custom made tailored clothes and sparkling dresses. Then I saw my friend Annie; my word, she looked amazing. As she walked down the runway in her red dress and heels, I saw a new side of Annie I had never seen before - a side where her shy and quiet nature didn’t seem to exist. She was like a newer version of herself, an Annie 2.0 as you might say. I had known for a while that Annie had been modelling, but I could not even have imagined how glamorous the life of a model could be. With every single eye on her as she elegantly walked down the runway, I was desirous for that same kind of attention. So I made up my mind that day that I would try to model at least once in my life.

Now to the present, I am a freshman at Umass Amherst and I was wandering around campus on a windy day when a model try-out flyer basically hit me right in the face. I do not know if it was fate reminding me about my fashion model fantasy, but I decided that I was going to go. On the day of the model try-outs, I went to this huge room on campus where there were an astonishing amount of women but not so many men. At this point, I was really nervous because there were only two men there, one of them was the model instructor and I was the other. All the girls looked so professional, as if they had gone to a million model try-outs. For instance, all of them looked uniform in their white tops, blue trousers and heels. While I looked completely out of context with my hoodie and Addidas track bottoms. When the woman in charge saw me, she immediately knew I was out of place. She immediately came towards me and told me to calm down while she measured every inch of my body; and I mean every inch.

The “runway” was a tiny room on the 12th floor of Kennedy residential hall, UMass. Although it was small, it still had the same effect as a normal stage. There was a panel of judges at the end of the room that consisted of four women and a man, all five looked like they had been through a million model try-outs before. They looked at all of us potential models with such disinterest that it actually seemed encouraging for me to try my best. The room had pillars that were covered in mirrors, which reflected the images of everyone in the room like one of those creepy circus mirror mazes. There were also a bunch of really bright rotating spotlights, which reflected off the mirrors to generate a ray of light, which blinded my vision. In addition to the mirrors and the rotating spotlight, the sound of Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” playing in the background just added to the feeling of unease that I felt.

Next was the model walk sample by the model instructor. He dressed simple, he wore a snapback, a tank top, joggers and trainers; he looked like something cut out from the movie “Step Up”. He walked ever so calmly but he looked amazing, it seemed like he was walking in beat of the music. He looked so majestic, it all looked so natural to him like a manakin bird dancing to the sound of the forest. The instructor was flawless, he walked down the runway with such pizzazz that he seemed like the embodiment of swagger and poise. He walked so effortlessly that I was surprised when he told me he wasn’t even a real model. By the time he got to the panel of judges he simply winked, he didn’t even pose but that was enough to make the female judges swoon. He returned back to us and said the word “voila” as if to say that what he had just done was piece of cake.

It was then my turn to catwalk down the runway. It was unbelievable how nervous I was. I had performed plays and dramas in front of live audiences, in fact in front of hundreds of people, but this was different. Performing was different; I would be given a specific role to play whereas with modelling I was given the free role to walk however I wanted to. This amount of freedom to express myself was what made me feel so on edge. I did my walk while smiling uncontrollably, feeling like I had completely spoiled my chances at actually being a model. While walking I felt like I had lost control of my legs, they felt like wooden plank attachments to the rest of my body. Also because of this feeling of unease, I could feel an island of sweat forming under my armpits, slowly spewing through my clothes and dripping down my shirt. My walk was anything but flawless, however, I still managed to finish my walk and not trip.

Reflecting on this experience, although it didn’t completely fulfil my expectations of life in the spotlight, I am glad I went. Even though the thought of the vast amount of sweat dripping down my shirt doesn’t arouse me, I feel like it was life changing for me to dare-do something I had never done before. To get on that “stage” and show what I had to offer means more to me than modelling in real life. To prove to myself that I had the courage to go out of my comfort zone, definitely re- invented myself. A Shuaib 2.0 perhaps, a Shuaib who could go out of his way to do something he had never done before even if it made him look like a fool.

I finished my try-out and till now I wait for a response.

Works Cited

Kimmel, Michael. ”What About The Boys.” Other Words: A Writer’s Reader. Ed. David Fleming et al. Dubuque: Kendall Hunt, 2009. 91-110. Print

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

Noelle Koch

Liza Birnbaum

College Writing

2 December 2014

Final Draft

Spontaneous Trip to Northampton

            The pioneer valley was shaped millions of years ago from receding glaciers that stretched across the region. As these monstrous glaciers ripped through the region, they left behind sculpted mountains and the Connecticut River that have become the new backdrop to my life at UMass Amherst. Having just recently moved to the pioneer valley, most of my exploration has been limited to painted leaves and rolling hills of Amherst. The more I learn my way around, the more I feel accustomed and the more I feel at home.

Amherst is my home from when the summer nights begin to cool in September to when all the leaves blanket the pathways and the branches are left bare and exposed in the cold morning air of early December, and from when the winter winds terrorize late January to when the flowers find courage to peep out of the ground in mid-May. For all the other months of the year, I reside in Peabody, located along the north shore Massachusetts. The pioneer valley and the north shore are similar in that they are comprised of multiple towns or cities to create one community. However, they are very different. You won’t find any farms in the compact suburbia of the north shore. The pioneer valley is surrounded by mountains, while the north shore area is contained by the Atlantic and interstate 95. As well as geographical differences, I have been curious if the pioneer valley has any cultural differences from where I grew up.

            When a group of the friends called me up asking if I wanted to join them in their journey to Northampton, a hip town just a few towns over from Amherst, I was all over the offer. Despite the fact that I had class in an hour, I couldn’t let this opportunity pass me by. I could copy down the lecture notes later. My friend Julia justified it by saying, “I was skipping class to go on an adventure”. In my few months at college, I have learned memories are made by being spontaneous and taking risks. This was my chance to expand my horizons and learn something new. I will only be young once and I want to make the most of my experience. Mark Twain once said, “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”  I try to live by this mentality every day.

* * *

Within ten minutes, we hopped on the PVTA B43 Northampton via Hampshire Mall. The further we got from UMass, I noticed a change in the people on the bus. More I saw dreadlocks and hand-me-down clothes, and less was I surrounded by middle class city dwellers, who which my friends and I identify with.

            When we arrived in Northampton, I felt slightly out of place. While my friends and I sported our leather riding boots and black leggings, key components to a typical girl’s outfit, around us, other young people showcased their “hipster” attire. I couldn’t help drawing a connection between how people dress and what type of culture an area represents and how that might be related to its geography. My friends and I are all from highly dense suburban areas along the east coast. We became friends so easily because we all come from a similar culture - a culture that represents the mass culture of America. Northampton, and the pioneer valley, is surrounded by a rural barrier that has allowed the region to develop a more individualistic culture that does not necessarily follow all the current popular trends.

Keeping these observations and thoughts in mind, I began my adventure. Our first stop was to a Mexican restaurant called Buenos Y Sano on Main Street. The place was small and painted in warm reds and oranges. Authentic Latino music played softly in the background. I ordered a steak and mushroom quesadilla and a Dr Pepper fountain drink. It was not so much an uncommon meal to me, but it was still delicious.

            Our journey continued along Main Street to a small shop called Ten Thousand Villages, a fair trade retailer of artisan-crafted home decor, personal accessories and gift items from across the globe. The store owner explained to us what fair trade means. She explained it in simple terms that all materials and items are made by honest means and can be traced back to their origins. My curiosity provoked me to want to gain a greater understanding. Through some research, I found, “fair trade is a system of exchange that honors producers, communities, consumers, and the environment. It is a model for the global economy rooted in people-to-people connections, justice, and sustainability” (“Fair Trade”). Fair Trade helps ensure that farmers and artisans throughout the developing world receive a fair price for their products (ibid). Fair trade is on the rise, especially in the United States. Ten Thousand Villages is one of 390 retail outlets throughout the United States (“About Ten Thousand Villages”). There are others such as Fair Trade Federation, World Fair Trade Organization, and Fair Trade USA.

Despite the growth of fair trade, a redesigning of the global economy to model such people-to-people connection may be far-fetched on such a large scale. The intentions behind it are pure and honest. However, the mass population of the world would not take the time to care about and implement such thought-out business as do people in Northampton. Multi-million dollar companies have the most influence in the economy. They would rather have products made as cheap and fast as possible while paying little attention to overall quality of products and working conditions.

            The goal of fair trade is to stop this way of business, help third world countries, and sell products of the utmost quality. I was awed by all of the beautiful hand crafted items. There was everything from handmade bongos and maracas to jewelry and home décor. Every item had a tag on it that stated its country of origin. I bought a stuffed elephant made in Uganda. The elephant was so small, it could rest in the palm of my hand. It was made from a delicate cloth that swirled of green, yellow and dark blue. As I held it, I imagined a Uganda woman sitting outside her home on a sunny warm day, children running and playing around her as she chooses the pattern and sews the seems so precisely. I felt inclined to buy something, because even though I don’t believe in the movement of fair trade to begin an overall change in the world economy, I support its values and the motivation behind it.

            My friends and I stopped in a few more stores do some shopping. As it got darker, more people were out on the streets. Walking back to the bus stop, we passed by an older man playing a small harp-like instrument on the sidewalk. The music echoed from door to door and filled the night air. Despite the evening’s dropping temperatures, I was overcome by a warm feeling and a smile across my face. Northampton’s beauty lingers in my memory still, and I look forward to visiting again.

    Works Cited

"About Ten Thousand Villages in Northampton." Ten Thousand Villages. N.p., 2014. Web.

<http://www.tenthousandvillages.com/northampton/#about>.

"Fair Trade." Green America's Program: Economic Action to Create a Just Global Economy. N.p., 2014.

Web. <http://www.greenamerica.org/programs/fairtrade/index.cfm>.

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

The Café Enigma

Danielle Conceison

Liza Birnbaum

English Writing 112

2 December 2014

The Café Enigma

I was sitting in my room with my roommate one night when my RA knocked on our door. When we opened the door, she explained that she was going around inviting the girls on our floor and in the basement to come with her to Sweets N’ More, as she wanted to show us more of what there was on campus. Normally, I might have declined. Despite having lived here for several months now, I did not know most of the girls on my floor. Most of my friends lived either on a different floor of my dorm or in a different dorm altogether, and the friends I did make on my floor all lived in the same corner of the hall as me, so I never had to venture that far. It was my roommate and the promise of ice cream that made me go.

    About ten or eleven of us gathered in the lobby, and we made the short walk from Van Meter over to Field. Sweets N’ More was located just down the hall from the entrance. It made a stark contrast to the rest of the dorm. While the the hallways were white and plain, Sweets N’ More was an explosion of color and noise. The walls and furniture were light green, light pink, light blue, and other assorted colors. Along one stretch of wall was a series of photographs of the employees, along with a short blurb with questions ranging from normal (“What are you majoring in?”) to out of the ordinary (“Who’s your favorite member of One Direction?”). Pop music, particularly One Direction, blared from the speakers. The café, as the name implies, served mainly items such as ice cream and milkshakes, but also served breakfast items. The room itself was fairly small. It was a good thing there were not many people around, since the space between the counter and the wall was particularly narrow. Once everyone had gotten their order, we went out and sat at a larger table. I had just gotten some plain chocolate ice cream. Other people had also gotten ice cream, along with milkshakes and juices.

    I have never been one to frequent cafés before. I don’t particularly like coffee, and I’m very particular when it comes to how my tea is made. Added to that the fact that I’m from a small town where the closest thing we have to a café is Dunkin’ Donuts, I’ve never really had an opportunity or reason to go to one. I never quite understood the attraction to them. My roommate does; she often goes to the Starbucks in Amherst, gets a coffee, and does her homework. I, on the other hand, would much prefer spending time with a smaller group of people than go to a crowded area.

    Some people argue that the environment of a café is a more helpful work environment. First, it’s argued that having a bit of background noise is more conducive to working than either a completely silent environment or an incredibly loud one. Second, there is less pressure due to hours, as instead of working long hours in an office, you’re working in a café with hours determined by either the closing time or the power level on your laptop. Third, by not working in a typical work environment, it feels less like work. And finally, bringing a laptop to a coffee shop gives one the impression of having a purpose and removes the fear of being kicked out due to loitering (Friederdorf). While all acceptable reasons, I can’t find myself personally wanting to work in a café, in large part due to my having a difficult time working in a loud, public environment. While many people may prefer this background noise, I only find it incredibly distracting.

    The trip to Sweets N’ More wasn’t really a social one for me. The only people I really knew were my roommate, my RA, and one other girl from our corner of the hall. I’d seen the others before, but I couldn’t attach a name to the faces. Maybe because of that, I didn’t get the full experience of going to a café. From what I know, cafés are primarily social. People go to hang out with friends or to make new ones. The addition of being able to buy coffee, tea, and various pastries is only a bonus for those who are interested. It can be a chance to unwind after a long day and catch up with friends. As someone who feels uncomfortable in crowded places, this wasn’t a phenomenon I could really get into.

    The other girls definitely got that social aspect. While I sat quietly with my roommate, they were chatting and sharing stories and laughing with each other. Even though the usual coffee was replaced with ice cream and milkshakes, the attitudes were still the same. I spent my time listening to the others, people who were more used to this kind of social interaction. To someone like me, who’s not comfortable in large groups, it wasn’t easy to know what to add. To them, it came naturally. They were more at home in that type of environment than I’ve ever been, and it was obvious.

    Am I glad that I went? Yes. Would I have rather gone with friends? Of course. I don’t think that I’ll be going to other cafés around campus and Amherst, though, simply because I don’t like what they typically serve. If I wanted to hang out with friends, I’d probably choose somewhere else, and I’m not interested in going just to try to meet new people. Cafés simply aren’t my thing. But I may make an exception for Sweets N’ More every so often.

Works Cited

Friedersdorf, Conor. "Working Best at Coffee Shops." The Atlantic. Atlantic Media Company,

15 Apr. 2011. Web. 26 Nov. 2014.

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

Shannon Kim

“Oh My” Was Closed, So This Was The Next Best Thing

On a Tuesday afternoon in October, the crisp autumnal air breezed by, enough friction and cold to redden my cheeks. Satisfying sounds of crunchy golden and sienna leaves echoed underneath boots as pedestrians strolled down the concrete sidewalks. Veteran’s Day had yielded no classes and students of all ages were out, grasping the freedom they had before they were forced to return the monotonous routine of studying and suffering. The warm and welcoming summer days were fastly changing into dark, lonely autumn nights. My black rubber soles dragged down North Pleasant Street, trailing behind my three friends. I squeaked, “Hey guys, I have an assignment. I need to do something I’ve never done before.” Stacey, graced with golden locks and a bright smile recommended visiting the women’s sex shop, “Oh My!” in Northampton. I shot her strange looks but on the verge of desperation, I almost considered it. “Stacey, I want to write an essay, not an erotic novel.”

“What? I’m just trying to make things interesting....” She replied. My two other friends, Amanda and Amanda nodded in accordance with Stacey. Although they were both named Amanda, they could not be more different. Amanda was graced with a tall and thin frame. Her skin white as milk and brown specks on her face like a child’s “Connect The Dots” book. The other Amanda is pronounced Amonda because well, according to her, “That’s how everyone else in the world pronounces it.” and “I’m half Brazillian.” Amonda and I share a 11x6 prison cell on the third floor of a traditional New England styled dormitory. As we left the idea of  an overly bohemian, crunchy, granola-y Northampton in the backs of our clustered minds, our boots wandered aimlessly around Amherst Center, embracing the fresh air our dorms lacked. As the hours were whittling on, and the sun became shy, the four of us decided to stop by a drugstore before returning to the dorms. Stacey and the Amandas wanted to pick up make-up and chocolates. As the three were shopping, I aimlessly weaved in and out of the aisles. I now have sympathy for how my father and brother felt as I dragged them into over-cologned, night-club music blaring Forever 21’s and Abercrombie & Fitch’s during my “delicate” pubescent years.  I paced back and forth, hoping to find something to try for the first time. My feet halted in front of the hair-dye and my eyes grew wide. I would dye my hair for the first time.

We cut, wax, dye, heat and shave it. Hair is essentially dead cells, Keratin, a protein, layered to create a strand. Its filaments sprout through the layers of skin and create strands from the constant push through the follicle. All that sprouts out of our heads are some dead cells (Leffell 149). We forget the dead often: grandparents, pets and childhood dreams. What’s the big deal about hair?

Hair can be seen as a part of identity. Style, color and length are unique to each person. It is a symbol of our cultural background, as our genes determine color and texture.  Not only does it physically express who one is as a person, but also can represent a culture or society. The curly or straight tendrils in which fall on one’s shoulder is not just about the current trends but it describes who they are through texture, color and wave. Length can define gender, as long length hair portrays femininity. Thickness can show race and ethnicity. For example, the thickness of my raven hair indicates that I am Asian, but so does the embedded scent of Kimchi in my pores. The way mane is styled, whether grown long or covered can show religion or beliefs. However, hair is also malleable and can change in tandem as one’s identity evolves. I wanted to change my hair like how my identity has changed since I arrived to campus.

I no longer felt as if I were a teenager even though I have been eighteen since January. I felt as if I had shed the layer of timidness, judgement and reservation I wore throughout my high school. I wanted to be different because I felt different. I dragged my feet up and down the grimey CVS carpeting, contemplating my transformation. My friends appeared in front of me, cradling various beauty products and diabetes in different forms. The three stared at me with perfectly groomed raised brows. “What are you doing?” Blonde, corkscrew headed Amanda suspiciously questioned. Her blue eyes were narrow as she walked over and stared at the boxes of hair dye I stood in front of. I gave the three of them a half-smile, as if it were shy and hiding. She gripped the same box of dye I was holding and scanned the box. Stacey and Amonda walked over and began expressing a mixture of concern and support. They began discussing hair colors. I stumbled upon the idea of an at-home ombre dying kit. But the flash of horror raced in my mind as to how my hair could turn out to be colorblock more than a horizon of black fading into a warm gold. Stacey begged of me to go to a salon and that she would even find a hairdresser and make an appointment for me. Despite her begging, my heart was set dying my hair from a box like six in ten people, majority women, who are spent over $1.9 billion in at home hair dye in America (Holmes).

I swiped my overused debit card and strolled out of the store. Whilst walking towards the bus stop with distant voices of Amonda, Amanda and Stacey debating about my hair in the background, I could only think of the hair dye rustling in the red and white plastic bag as it swung, hitting my thigh.

I must say, being packed into a bus full of strange smelling strangers and being thrown into them by the force of the bus is a great way to get to meet new people. After I was released from the mass of passengers off the public bus, my friends and I arrived back to Crabtree Hall, our home for the year. Stacey and Amonda parted from Amanda and I. Our company was being replaced by homework and coffee,  unnecessary evils.

I traded my jeans and white blouse for a pair of running shorts and an old grey physical education t-shirt that lingered in the back of every pajama drawer it had ever occupied. My bright pink flip flops pattered against the grimy grey stained carpet towards two rooms across from me into Amanda’s room. She too had changed into some clothes she didn’t mind staining. And from the lack of experience on both ends, I hope that she too did not care if dye splattered over the purple camisole she was wearing.

I grasped the Garnier Olia hair dye in Medium Golden Brown in my hand. Amanda asked, “Are you sure you want to do this? If it turns out bad, you may have to just chop all your hair off.” I was nervous but yet I felt a ping of excitement and anxiety in the soul. I yearned for a change and I was so close to it. I ripped open the box and dumped all its contents on to Amanda’s desk. I picked up the black instructions page. A pair of black plastic gloves fell onto the ground. Amanda and I studied the instructions, hoping to become experts in the matter of ten minutes. Our eyes scanned the pages.

With bottles and gloves in our hands, we walked up the stairs, into the fourth floor, to the women’s bathrooms. The instructions were fairly simple; Mix bottle one with tube two and shake. Place in hair. Wait half an hour. Rise and shampoo. With surgical like intensity, Amanda and I mixed the chemical and precisely rubbed in the concoction into each part of sectioned hair. The scent was almost non-existent and it didn’t burn my scalp. We covered my entire head. We set the timer for 30 minutes. I was hoping for change and the only thing standing between transformation and I was half an hour of boredom. Amanda went to take a nap. I longed for one too but nothing could touch my hair. I sat, cleaned dishes and even attempted to complete homework. After an agonizing thirty minutes, it was time to become a butterfly. I washed my hair in the shower, waiting for the mud color water running from my hair to turn clear. I wrapped my hair in a blue towel, awaiting my reveal. I was going to be someone slightly different. A person who has changed but has little remnants of her past, reminding who she was only three months ago. I waited for the water to evaporate from my hair and with much excitement, I looked in the mirror and low and behold, there was no change.

My raven tendrils had barely been fulfilled the promise of medium golden brown #130. I woke up Amanda from her slumber, hoping to see if I was wrong, perhaps it was just my contacts out of focus. Amanda responded, “Uh... I mean your hair looks a bit lighter if you stand...wait….” her hands gripped my shoulders and moved my body next to her floor lamp, “right there.” My shoulders slumped down and forwards. The desperate quest to change myself that I stumbled upon was not meant to be. The leaves may drift to meet the wet gravel road and their colors may change but my hair won’t.

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

The Philosophical Fitness Class

Me, along with my two good friends Sophia and Vikki, like to force each other to go to the gym by going all together. We go to the on-campus rec center about once a week if at all, but its the thought that counts right? We began this effort in the beginning of the year by going to spinning classes and gradually moved on to just going to the gym and using the equipment on our own. Over time we found that spinning can get really old after a while. It sort of hurts your knees and when you get an instructor that doesn’t suit your fancy you can start to feel pretty stir-crazy for the hour-long class, not to mention the fact that no matter how many times you may adjust your bike, it is rare that you feel as though it is properly aligned to your body. So, we took a hiatus. It was only about three weeks ago that we tried again. That class was my last straw. It was time to try something new. 

What to pick? I went online and dabbled around a bit at the choices. It was important to me to find something enjoyable so I set out to try a couple different classes. I tried Cardio Kickboxing and I realized it is not my thing. I did a Zumba class because I find Zumba really fun given that I danced for a while throughout my childhood. I am familiar with Zumba so it wasn’t really out of my comfort zone. To my surprise I decided to try Pilates. I say that this came as a surprise because my mom has been suggesting I try Pilates for years, however, I always felt totally uninterested. It looked so boring and difficult. Thinking of my mother and dragging (reluctant) Vikki and Sophia along with me, we tried a class. We went on a Thursday evening and Jess was our instructor. Jess is actually the same teacher that taught the spin class that ended it all. I’m not blaming her though.

The class began and I realized I liked Jess a lot better as a Pilates teacher than a spinning teacher. I got a mat and put extra effort into stretching, for I only recently realized how direly important it is. I tried to push out the warnings I had gotten from others about how difficult Pilates is and just tried to focus in the moment. I focused on my “breathing” (whatever that really means) and on moving my muscles in isolated and controlled movements. This concept, I would later learn, is called dynamic tension (Chatraw 1). 

The whole experience “worked” as in, it wasn’t awful. There are times when I wanted to collapse because my abs or legs burned but it wasn’t like running miles upon miles and I barely sweat. I actually kind of liked it. It felt really good and I didn’t feel like it was that difficult. I found I could do pretty much everything if I focused and tried. 

A major thing that I noticed while doing Pilates is how similar it felt to ballet. This is particularly intriguing to me because I am a former childhood ballerina. I took ballet classes for years and still catch myself doing discrete footwork in the aisles of stores, putting my laundry away and other day-to-day situations. I love ballet but not enough to continue it as an art form in my adult life. I love the way ballet makes me feel and I got that same feeling from Pilates. This caught my attention.

Pilates, I discovered, has the same mental component of ballet. It is difficult, demanding and requires your focus but it has this same ‘pure’ energy that you can feel physically and mentally. I believe that you’d have to actually do it to understand exactly what I am talking about. It is sort of like yoga but it is more upbeat and active which I like. I don’t really like yoga; I find it boring. But, along with ballet and Pilates, all three of these activities work to unite your mind and body, all while strengthening it, increasing your flexibility and encouraging good breathing. What I like about ballet that I noticed is also a major part about Pilates is that Pilates makes you more aware of your body. This is most likely because of the concept of ‘dynamic tension’ that I mentioned earlier.  Ballet and Pilates make you more aware of your posture, your poise and your movements. You feel great from it. Like I said, it is a ‘pure’ energy.

I decided to do my research on Pilates and learned that the connection between Ballet and Pilates is actually real, recognized, and is not just my personal opinion. Pilates was invented by Joseph Pilates, a male, in the 1920’s. Pilates himself was a gymnast, skier, diver and boxer with parents who both worked in health-related fields. He began his invention of Pilates while teaching in an internment camp in England. This initial invention of his was called “Controlology”. Pilates evolved into a therapeautic exercise for injured athletes and dancers. In time, equipment developed and it really gained its popularity starting in the 1980’s. The modern-day Joseph Pilates is said to be Charles Atlas who has really emphasized the whole idea of ‘dynamic tension’, which is “the act of exercising muscle against muscle”. This is also referred to as “self-resistance” (Chatraw 1). 

So I was right. There is a huge connection between Ballet and Pilates. 

The great thing about Pilates for me in comparison to something like spinning is that although Pilates is challenging it is also gentle on the body. Spinning or running which I do sometimes are tolling on the knees, not to mention the issue of sweat. I really really hate weight lifting, I mean, I cannot do it. I find it so boring and unenjoyable. Fortunately, Pilates is actually a viable alternative to weight-lifting which, when paired with the added benefit of not really sweating, makes Pilates my ideal workout. 

Thinking about this Pilates class after the fact unexpectedly brought my wandering mind back to my gym class last year, during my senior year of high school. For our last unit which was called something like ‘Fitness for Life’ we focused on the importance of staying fit throughout your life. We were taught that to do so by finding an activity that you enjoy. During three weeks worth of class time we independently spent our time practicing an activity of our choosing in hopes that this would inspire us to maintain healthy lifestyles after graduation. I chose Zumba for my activity because I think it is so much fun. It ties in my dance background (I have done ballet, tap, jazz and hip-hop) and it is upbeat and fun. Like Zumba, I think Pilates can be one of these ‘lifelong fitness activities’ for me as well. Ms. Gorman would probably be proud that I am taking her unit seriously. 

Beyond finding a new fitness activity that I enjoy, I feel that to some extent I can interpret this experience as a microcosm of a larger life lesson; one that fits in nicely with being a freshman in college. Coming to college has been great but it has opened my eyes to the reality (or so I think) of the life that lies ahead of me, and to be honest, the whole realization has really intimidated me. Being a young adult has made me feel pressured to find something I am interested in and to pursue it 110%, that is, in order to feel that my existence is significant. I have many interests: drawing, music, psychology, writing, etc, but there is no single interest of mine that stands stronger than the others. What I mean by this is, just because I like to draw doesn’t mean that I want to become an artist. Likewise, just because I like music doesn’t mean that I want to become a musician. I am a psychology major but I have worried that if I become a psychologist I would miss out on pursuing my more creative interests. This would dishearten me. The whole thought process has been pretty anxiety-inducing and I know from talking to my peers that I am not alone in this. 

Trying Pilates and realizing how it can be a way for me to keep in touch with my interest in ballet without full-on dressing up in a tutu and performing at recitals has, over time, began to bring me peace in my worries. Just because I like to dance does not mean that I have to become a dancer if I don’t want to be, however, I can still incorporate this interest into my life in other ways. The same goes into all of my interests, new and old. I am realizing that people are complicated beings with infinite layers and crevices, and on top of this, they are forever changing and evolving. People rarely only have one interest, if that is even possible at all. This experience has brought me to remind myself that I can somehow find a way to incorporate many different interests into my life and that I am not confined to dedicating my life to one specific thing. I am glad I had this experience as the lesson I took out of it is invaluable. It has almost acted as a life-line in this period of uncertainty. The pressure of feeling as though I have to pick one thing and be amazing at it has only been detrimental to my creativity and happiness. I am relieved and surprised to find that this pressure is not the reality and is instead a matter of my perception. This experience has given me proof that there is always a way to incorporate anything you enjoy into your life somehow, no matter how random or casual the interest may be. Although college and the life that lies ahead still freaks me out to say the least, I will forever use this little anecdote as a reminder that it is okay to be a jack of many trades. I could not think of a more desperate and appropriate time in my life for me to have realized this life lesson. 

Works Cited 

Chatraw, Janel. “Pilates 101.” howstuffworks.com. HowStuffWorks, Inc. 15 January 2008. 23 November 2014. <http://health.howstuffworks.com/wellness/diet-fitness/exercise/pilates2.htm>

[lizacollegewritingessaying]

Weekend @ Wes

Emily Bisnoff

I’ve known this girl forever, we went to the same two week art camp up in the pine-scented mountainous woods of Idyllwild, California every year for seven years. Giorgia (with an i) graduated from an art high school in San Francisco where she specialized in the creative writing department. She’s exactly who you would expect a San Franciscan writer to be. She has most of her hair buzzed except for one long purple strip that she ties up in a topknot, and her wardrobe consists almost entirely of chunky sweaters and flannel button-downs. Despite having known each other for so long, we haven’t really seen each other in about 3 years. So when I found out she was at Wesleyan, just a 2 hour train ride south of UMASS, I knew I had to visit ASAP.

I probably should’ve checked in advance where exactly the train stop was in Amherst instead of showing up very confused and breathlessly lost five minutes prior to the scheduled departure. Thankfully, the train was late anyway and I got to sit on a secluded bench in the middle of nowhere feeling kinda like another dumb white person in a horror movie. Some other people started milling around a few minutes later. There was another UMASS student and 2 old women. We waited in relative silence. The train finally arrived and we all awkwardly shuffled up the steps with our luggage and waddled through the tiny train aisles before plopping down at the nearest empty set of seats. In front of my seat was a woman, I never saw her face just her laptop playing Scandal and her hands knitting something raspberry-red. Across the aisle from me was a guy with a beard peacefully eating a breakfast sandwich and looking out the window with his earphones in, sometimes he’d nod his head along to the music. The only other passenger I could see from my position was the one diagonally across from me, he seemed about college age and he probably spent about 15 minutes taking selfies. After that he just kind of fell over and went to sleep. I was inspired, and did the same.

The conductor came by and tapped on my seat, “Meriden is the next stop miss, you’ll be getting off at the doors to your right.” As I exited the train I saw an apartment right next to the train tracks with a big mosaic mural that spelled out “ART” in colorful glimmering tiles. A good foreshadowing to the place I was going next. Giorgia texted me to let me know that her and her friend were on their way to pick me up. I leaned against a wall and played games on my phone to pass the time. Just as some guy was trying to hit on me, my friend drives up and I make a quick escape. She runs out of the car and we hug and laugh, I throw my stuff in the back and off we are to Wesleyan.

At this point, I know absolutely nothing about Wesleyan except that two people from my high school class go there. As we arrive on campus It just looks like a weird tudor-style neighborhood, with compact, intricately detailed, and stylistically decaying houses popping out of the ground at seemingly arbitrary intervals like the first flowers of spring. Giorgia assures me that that’s just what Wesleyan is. We arrive at “Writer’s Block”, where she lives, a residential area specifically for writers. We arrive and she introduces me to all her housemates and friends. Meghana is from San Jose and is a very large and bright presence despite her small statute. Kate has a bright red bob with a wild smile and infectious laugh. Shay keeps her loose curls up in a bun decorated with real flowers and was the last to find out what was in the twister box. Michael is 6’4” and shy. Isaac is a talented musician with an awkward ear-length bob of thick black hair who’s just “always like that”. Yao is from Singapore and it’s impossible to tell when he’s joking or not. Levi is mean and snarky in that endearing way. Lastly, Monica is a sweet bubbly girl with a perpetually killer hangover. Giorgia is perfectly at home with this haphazard collection of artists. After only a few hours of talking, they welcome me into their strange home, The Collective Foot. I follow @collectivefoot on twitter now, their most recent tweet is “we love every poem more than kanye west loves kanye west”. They have a twitter romance with @WesWings (a campus cafe) in the same building as Writer’s Block. Sometimes they get free cookie dough.

“Yo we have a new handle!” Yao yelled as he reached for the common area fridge. Giorgia laughs and says “it came in yesterday!”. I peek over to see a sparkling, bright white fridge handle attached to the old off-white fridge. I don’t know what happened to the last fridge handle. Me and Giorgia leave Writer’s Block to visit her other friends, and we end up in in Anna’s room in another residential area on campus, WesCo. Anna has both sides of her head shaved and a lion’s mane of long, curly, glossy brown hair spilling over her shoulders. She has a roaring laugh and dances more than she walks. We solemnly discuss what type of bender from the Avatar the Last Airbender universe we would be; Giorgia and I are airbenders. Anna is a waterbender. Anna sits on a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup and I tell the story about how my R.A. thinks I’m “a peanut butter cup-hating lesbian sex addict”, not completely untrue. Anna laughs and we match on tinder as Giorgia and I walk out the door.

We leave and walk to “Alpha Dell” a frat on campus that’s hosting Awkwafina, a NYC based rapper that we both love. We get there early and stuff our coats and hats in a corner. I leave to go to the bathroom and take a selfie in my “Faggot” muscle tank and flannel tied around my waist (really living up to my gayest potential). I come back and see The Collective Foot, dancing in a circle around Yao and Levi. They’re managing to dance the tango to Beyonce’s “Partition”. It’s actually pretty good. I get a tap on my shoulder and look down to see a 5’0” Natalie Chung, hailing from my high school, envelope me in a big hug and yell over the music “Emily! What are you doing here?!” I explain that I’m visiting Giorgia and she smiles and nods and takes a selfie with me on snapchat before telling me to have a fun night and dancing off with her friends. Finally Awkwafina comes on and we push our way to the front and dance and sing along to favorites such as “Yellow Ranger”, “Queef”, and “My Vag”. She’s dancing and spitting right above me in an oversized chili pepper-red sweater and the kind of glasses that an FBI agent in the 1960s would probably wear. Awkwafina tells jokes between all her songs, and plays little games with us. “I love Wesleyan!” the crowd screams. “You guys are so hyped wtf” the crowd screams. “How drunk are you guys?” the crowd screams. She asks a few people to come up and interviews them for no real reason, “I just like meeting people”. She finishes her set and asks if anyone wants to smoke her up after the show, she laughs more, and is escorted out by her entourage of hot, stylish, Queens-born queer asian girls. I wouldn’t mind having an entourage like that either.

Suddenly, a 6’3” figure loomed over me and I turned to face it. Chewing anxiously on the corner of his jacket, stood the infamous (and extremely attractive) Ben Velaise. I tell everyone I meet about him. He’s super tall, super gorgeous, super talented, super funny, and he lives in a fabulous house in Bel Air (adjacent to Beverly Hills) and throws without a doubt The Best Parties. His snapchats are all works of art. He rolls his own cigarettes with 24 karat gold papers. Why? Because he’s Ben Velaise. He owns a Louis Vuitton bong. Why? Because he’s Ben Velaise. If he asked me if I wanted to snort cocaine out of $100 bills off of swarovski crystal platters with him, I would. Why? Because he’s Ben Velaise. So, standing there in all his glory, still chewing on the corner of his jacket, hands deep in his pockets, and a big, bright white gleaming smile on his face, he says “EMILY! I’m so happy you’re here!” We talk for a little bit about how school is going and how much we miss LA, and I point out Giorgia to him, “I’m staying in Writer’s Block with my friend over there, with the purple hair!” He laughs and says he knows her and that they have a writing class together. He leans in closer, “She’s such an amazing writer, I’m so jealous.” He gets called over by friends so we part ways but he assures me that he’ll “def snap me more.” We hang out around there for awhile, I see Giorgia’s friend, Sallie, who picked me up at the train station. Sallie has long sandy blonde hair and kind green eyes, the sort of eyes that light up every time she slides out one of those easy laughs. I match with her on tinder too. We all stand in a little circle in the middle of the street, surrounded by people, lights, music, and the heavy smell of beer. Me and Sallie make eyes at each other. But eventually me and The Collective Foot go back to Writer’s Block for snacks and gossip. I don’t know half the people they’re talking about but I chime in where I can and enjoy their banter.

Giorgia and I sit in her bed with a tub of those really addictive tiny Trader Joes cookies and she asks about Angela. I furrow my brow and conveniently have a cookie at hand to stuff in my mouth, buying me a few seconds. Staring down at my hands as they fidget and writhe and fight between themselves, picking at each other's cuticles and scratching skin, my throat tightens. “I don’t know. I’m angry, I’m hurt, I’m sad, I miss her, but I don’t want her.” “She’s an asshole, you deserved better, you were out of her league to begin with.” Everything I want to say tries to come up my throat all at once like a geyser; I want to defend her actions, I want to drag her, I want to cry, I want relief, I want to forget, I want to remember, I want to move on, I want to wait-- I want another cookie. I nod and laugh and say that I know as I reach into the tub. Giorgia and I text everyday and we talk about everything. I know what to ask to change the topic, “How’s the whole Shana thing?”. Giorgia’s in an open long distance relationship with a nonbinary person back in San Francisco, but they’ve been having issues recently because even though Giorgia loves Shana a lot and wants to be with them, Shana just realized that they’re trans and Giorgia is uncomfortable because she’s not attracted to men. She feels guilty because she loves them, but she’s not comfortable being with a dude. She’s also been developing a crush on some girl named Ray, and feels even guiltier about that. It’s a really tough situation and it doesn’t help that Giorgia can be very anxious and she worries a lot. But she’s also smart, intuitive, and determined, she always ends up making the right decision. She’s been through a lot, but she’s always been a very loving and generous person, and she continually puts herself out on a limb for people she cares about. That takes a level of maturity and kindness that I really respect. Lightly dusted in cookie crumbs and fried in emotional tension, we knock out.

In the morning we slump downstairs in our sweatpants and, barefoot, walk into WesWings. It’s filled with people sitting at tables, eating, talking, walking around, waiting for food, getting drinks, walking in, walking out. Giorgia orders us two “Breakfast Pails” (with avocado, in true Californian fashion). The girl working the counter is gorgeous, tall with the richest brown eyes and her glossy hair gleaming like an ocean, Giorgia knows her and they chat. She brings out two closed chinese take-out boxes, and hands one to me. Giorgia tells me I’m not allowed to open it until we’re back upstairs, so we climb up again and sit in the Writer’s Block common area. Meghana is sitting in the big chair with her laptop doing work. Michael is making coffee. Shay and her girlfriend are probably having sex in her room, conveniently located right next to the lounge. Michael pours me and Giorgia some mugs of coffee and Giorgia gives me a fork. She announced that I’m “about to lose my Breakfast Pail virginity” and Meghana closes her computer, Michael sits down, and everyone whips out their phones to snapchat me. Very confused, and a little nervous, I open the take-out box to find a frankly terrifying indistinguishable mass of egg, hashbrowns, and avocado. With 3 iphones pointed at me, fingers poised over the snapchat record button, I dig up a blob and eat it. Holding back laughter, I say “this is fucking amazing”, and The Collective Foot laughs with me. Jao, Kate and Isaac trickle out of their rooms and join us, Jao finds a twister box hidden under Meghana’s chair. He opens it and doesn’t react. He passes it to Meghana, “yo open this”.

“Oh My God” Meghana screeches, she closes the box again and hands it to Michael, “what is happening?” he asks. Sitting cross legged on the floor, he looks around the room wide-eyed as Jao and Meghana snicker behind him. He lifts the lid off slowly, and there on top of the classic twister mat and spinner-- a giant butcher’s knife. We all erupt into confused laughter. Giorgia snapchats it “#thisiswhy”. it’s a Wesleyan motto sorta like “#zoomass”. As the rest of The Collective Foot wakes up and comes into the lounge, we make them open the box. Shay and her girlfriend emerge from her room and we tear Shay out of her girlfriend’s lap for a minute to open the box. She covers her mouth and laughs so hard she knocks herself to the ground and her strawberry blonde curls explode onto the floor, “Why is that in the twister box?!” she yells. We never actually found out.

Giorgia and I leave to get dressed and she convinces me to wear a button down with a t-shirt over it because her and Kate are trying to make it a fad. I wear a flannel, dinosaur print t-shirt, and a snapback. Giorgia says I look “faggie as fuck” and we head over to Duke Day. It’s a chill music event at WesCo, another residential hall. Everything at Wes starts with “Wes”. Walking into the building was like being slapped with a wall of smoke. The room had a dreamy feeling, the air hang heavy with streamers and glitter and the lighting made the whole room look red. In front there were couches and food, in the corner were tents filled with ball-pit balls, and right in the center were four giant posters littered with various art materials. Farther back was a stage with a live band and a dance floor. We made a beeline to Anna and her friends to join them on the couches. Giorgia pointed out a tall gorgeous black girl with a shaved undercut and dreadlocks stylishly arranged in a messy bun, every so often she’ll look over and stare at me. Her name is Maya, The Collective Foot calls her Giorgia’s “Rival Dyke” because they used to be friendly but Maya’s weird and wants to be the Dominant Dyke on campus or something ridiculous, Giorgia thinks it’s hilarious. In case it wasn’t already clear, lesbians are insane. Maya saunters over and gives Giorgia a little fistbump while maintaining eye contact with me, the tension is thicker than the smoke. I dart my eyes away towards the ball-pit tents. I see Ben Velaise in one of them and then we make eye contact, this time I wave and smile. The rest of Duke Day is pretty uneventful; we dance, we talk, we draw. Bored and tired, Duke Day seems to have no intentions of ending, so we ditch and go back to Writer’s Block. “I want you to be surprised by my poems!!” Giorgia says as she shoos me to take a shower while she gets last-minute advice on her poems for the WeSlam grand slam poetry competition. One of the reasons I came down was specifically to see her perform.

After I shower and get redressed, in a significantly sluttier but still very gay ensemble. Giorgia, Shay, and Shay’s girlfriend, Mikaela, are all waiting for me downstairs. We make our way to the Wesleyan dining hall, UsDan (why not WesDan? I have no idea. Nothing here makes sense). We grab food and all sit at a table, Shay and Mikaela are very PDA. Mikaela reaches over to steal a fry and a kiss from Shay and a sudden wave of bitter resentment washes over me. “I had that.” I feel like i’m Charlie in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, sitting on that candy striped boat riding through the dark, ominous tunnel. Lights flashing red, memories flashing on the walls, faces I almost remember coursing through my head. The familiar film of detachment washes over me, I avert my eyes when Giorgia talks to me and she furrows her brow in solemn solidarity.

After we eat, we head to the WeSlam Poetry Slam Competition, one of the core reasons why I chose to come that particular weekend was because Giorgia was competing. The WeSLAM Poetry Slam Competition, determines who will be on the WeSLAM poetry team and have the opportunity to compete nationally (Weslam). Earlier I had texted Sallie to sit next to me, and she did. I’m not a fan of poetry, so I can’t really attest to the quality of the poems performed, but the large auditorium was so crammed with people that they had to be turned away at the doors. The poems that were read all felt like they hit you right in the gut, some people in the audience cried and snapped. In all honesty, I only really listened to Giorgia’s poems, I spent a lot of the competition flirting with Sallie and whispering jokes in her ear. In the end Giorgia didn’t make the team, losing by .1 points. She was fine with it though, she always had next year.

Of course, we go out to celebrate. We end up back at Lan St. but this time we actually go inside one of those tiny, stylistically decaying tudor houses. There’s a live DJ crammed into a corner of the house, the heavy bass seems to hold the house together like a booming rhythmic skeleton. Giorgia starts making out with some junior I think I briefly met earlier, I don’t remember. I don’t really mind, I’ve never been an awkward person and I quickly dance around and make new friends. I meet some guys who are in a band that played at Duke Day earlier, they put a whipped cream can on the ground and everyone forms a circle around it and dances over it, trying to out do the last person like a game of H.O.R.S.E. I hear Kate’s laugh and turn to see Yao’s topknot bobbing above the crowd of people and use my elbows to push through the crowd. I greet them with hugs and smiles, Sallie’s there too and she smiles really wide and signals me to dance with her. The rest of the night is mostly a blur of lights, music, and Sallie’s face on mine.

The next morning I wake up in Sallie’s bed, she’s still asleep with her hair splayed across her pillow in a golden waterfall. Her nose ring makes her nose whistle a little bit as she snores. “going back to writer’s block to pack up, see u in a bit :)” I text her for when she wakes up. A little lost, I make my way back and Giorgia’s already making coffee. “Hey! how was your night?” “Good, I went home in Sallie”

“Nice! she’s hot.” I nod as I take a deep sip of coffee. Giorgia makes really good coffee, she has a little speciality coffee pot. It’s stainless steel with dings and stains all along its perimeter, she named it Mocha. Leaving Giorgia to The Collective Foot, I pack up all my clothes into my duffel bag and drag it down to the front door. Sallie’s here now in her car and I throw my bag into the trunk, Giorgia takes the back so I can sit shotgun. Driving back to the train station, I reflect on my visit while we talk idly. I think about Giorgia, and Sallie, but mostly I think about Angela. I feel the familiar weight on my chest and the film fall onto me, but this time it’s not so bad. The weight is smaller, the film is more transparent. I hug them both goodbye, and tell them to text me and that I’ll “def visit again soon!”. Giorgia promises to come up to UMASS sometime as well.

This time there are 3 other students waiting at the stop, two are from Wesleyan and one is from RISD. The RISD student is recording everything, her long black hair and bespectacled eyes obscured from view behind a large vintage video camera. This time I talk to the people at the bus stop, they ask me where I’m from, where I’m going, who I know at Wesleyan. She’s working on a film about her stay at Wesleyan for a school project, sort of the video version of this assignment. We talk and laugh a lot before the train arrives, it’s only five minutes late. I say goodbye and they wish we well, I never caught their names.

On the train, Giorgia texts me “how’re u feeling”. I sit quietly, sprawled across my seat with my feet up, and look out the window at the passing trees bursting with fiery reds and yellows. Smiling, I text back:

“really good tbh, i needed that, just to get away from everyone i know and let myself move on. i feel less depressed, less wrapped up in her. im gonna be ok”

Works Cited

"Tag Archives: Weslam." Wesleying. N.p., 17 Apr. 2014. Web. 02 Dec. 2014.