I swallow cold air and bite frosty wind, leaping out of my dorm for a late night jog. Wearing a thin jacket and shorts, I let darkness envelop me and whisk me away from my essay due in two hours. As my feet pound the pavement, each thump in rhythm with some trashy pop song, an old friend assaults me, appearing from the shadowed buildings of colonial Williamsburg. He asks if I’m really making the most of my time at college, if I’m really doing all that I can, if -
A tree branch trips me and I hit the ground with a thud. Continue reading
“Forgive her,” the man says.
A mask hides his face and a grey cloak covers his body. He holds a sleek whip, its length running along his arm. I cannot move, trapped by invisible bonds that tie me to the floor. His fingers caress the whip and I shake my head. Continue reading
I love my college. The people act with consideration and compassion, the academics keep my mind alive, and the opportunities available continue to amaze me. But all of this – the social life, the challenging schoolwork, the myriad of commitments – comes with a cost: stress. Continue reading
A minor spat with the roommate, a lot of reading, not much time to relax, some forced socializing, a lost room key – all of that and more, in my first twelve days at college. Continue reading
You win some and you lose some.
Go me! Or rather, go all of you! Today I reached 4,000 comments and noticed that my review of Snow Flower and the Secret Fan marked my 400th post. I was writing an overdue response to someone today and realized that I started this blog back in December of 2010, which means I’ve been active for almost three years now. I cannot convey how blessed I am to have this haven to return to whenever I wish, full of support and splendid people. If you care about anything statistic-related when it comes to blogging, I’d say comments count the most – just because they show an exchange of ideas, passion, and a plethora of other wonderful abstractions. Continue reading
I am not who I used to be. When I was younger, people scared me. I latched onto my dad’s leg at any family social event; I always chose a corner to stay in when I was with kids my age. But as the years passed, I gradually grew more comfortable with people. It was like learning how to swim. At first I stuck to the strokes I knew best – the close friends and topics of conversation I could handle – then I went further and further into the deep end, experimenting and learning new techniques, even if it was awkward and scary. Now, with introversion still my constant companion, I don’t mind speaking to strangers or large crowds. I really enjoy it, sometimes.
I planned to make this post about my physical illness, but changed my mind at the last moment. Just know that I was so sick I went on a retail therapy binge and bought these two beauties – The Moon and More is signed!
But that’s not why I felt like I was fading away a few days ago. Do you know what it’s like to disappear? Continue reading
“I don’t want my son reading trash and wasting his time.”
My mom spewed those words at me several times in my teen years. She said that in reference to most of the YA I read, some of the nonfiction I dabbled in, and mostly anything that wasn’t strictly “literature” or science/math related. Deep beneath her blunt delivery lay good intentions: how could I be successful in school and in life if I spent my time reading about teenagers falling in love and doing drugs (or, er, each other)? As an incoming college freshman, how will I survive without a vast repertoire of literary references and knowledge about the subjects that matter? Continue reading
Contrary to the excitement promised in the title, it’s time for a dear diary post! If only I were a celebrity who was famous for no real reason, then I could get away with writing these and still be loved… or at least liked… by someone…
Do not play Candy Crush. This is not a warning, this is a promise: if you play this wretched game, you will live to regret it.
What have I done all summer? Continue reading
One week ago I turned 18. Since then I’ve been dealing with bouts of depression by drugging myself on Queer as Folk. In a perfect world I would write “hey, guess what guys, I’m not a teenager anymore, so no more angst on this blog!” But this is not a perfect world, and I am not a perfect person. Adult angst exists. I just need to conquer it. Continue reading
By the time I was ten, I wanted to dye my hair blond. At 12, I wrote in a journal that I was going to run away. Around the age of 14 I fought for people – but most importantly, myself – to accept me irrespective of my sexuality. 16 marks the period in which I discovered my purpose, to make a change. In one way or another I’ve done all of these things, through various proxies like bleach on a best friend’s toothbrush or a personal blog I’ve come to call home. Now the question remains: what is 18? Continue reading