Zig a Zig AH

:) I can't wait for December 7.


New Courses.

There were days in high school where I didn't eat food, because I felt physically full from reading a really good case study for history class, or from a lively discussion in TOK. I wondered if I would always be that hungry for information.

College was that drowsy feeling you get after Thanksgiving dinner- I really shouldn't have taken that second language course, maybe that double major was a bad idea. I could only regurgitate so much for tests before I grew sick of it. I graduated with a B.A. in Psychology and scholastic indigestion.

It took me about a year to recover from sixteen rigorous years of academics, but I finally have that feeling again- the starving need to sit down in a lecture and just consume everything presented to me. Knowledge is, again, something to be seasoned, savored, devoured.


It's easier to feel infinite at sixteen.

"And in that moment, I swear we were infinite." --Perks of Being a Wallflower.

High school was where I lived. When I think about my time at Franklin, I remember those years of my life as feelings, sensations:

-Josh Holland driving the girls home after a midnight prank gone awry. Carol and Jen rode in the truck bed, blankets tucked up to their chin. The wind whipped my hair out of the little window in the back of the truck, and my neck got cold.

-My name announced at the Academic Decathalon junior year. I was numb and didn't realize that my team mates had pushed me on stage until I felt the gold medal around my neck.

-Feeling people whoosh by me as Aidan and I swing a circle on the dance floor. My prom skirt kept catching on my heels, ripping the hem- I didn't care.

-Listening to the ocean outside of my tent, huddled against my ten classmates to keep out the chill. I can hear them breathing, feel them shivering.

College was where I grew. I came to UCLA and almost cried. I will never again drive down 8 mile road looking for the bonfires. I will never again cut class to get lost in San Franciscto. I will never again stand on a stage out of breath, my friends applauding me for the hours of rehearsal I put into my senior dance show. Life was now stories and scenes, memories like movie clips, flat and spotty. Over four years, my mind grew numb from memorizing facts and figures and statistics. My fingers learned to fly over keyboards, and forgot how to draw meandering designs over the palm of my hand. I learned how to down sidecars and mocha lattes, and forgot how comforting a cup of cocoa was. I grew resigned that I would never feel moments of amazing anymore.

After nearly five years, I finally had a moment in Los Angeles. Driving down Wilshire with my window rolled down, serenading at the top of my lungs barely remembered lyrics to the other car. The other driver, my emotional twin, is singing along, laughing and keeping pace with my erratic steering. I sang until my throat hurt. I wanted to reach out and grab her hand, and say thank you.

College is over, and I can live again.