I should be over it

I should be over it. Or, at least, that’s what the people around me seem to think.

But those people don’t understand how much my first semester college changed me. I used to keep my distance. I pushed people away. I didn’t open up.

In the fall, though, I opened myself up to an unlikely friend. I spoke so easily, so confidently. I felt as though I didn’t have to hide who I really was. I felt like I could be more honest than I had ever been.

I felt like I could trust someone, which is something I’ve struggled with in the past. Whenever I was feeling down, this person would cheer me up.

I know now that I should’ve never depended on one person so much, but granted, I didn’t have much of a choice. This was my first time in a new environment and a new town, and this was one of the first people I got to know.

So I let my guard down. And I was just myself: sassy, analytical, goofy, cynical-some kind of contradiction, I guess. I thought, this is great. I should do this more often. Be exactly who I am, and if someone isn’t okay with that, then move on. 

As it turns out, this person I befriended wasn’t actually okay with that. Come to find out, months later, this person actually had an issue with pretty much everything I did. And there were signs that he felt this way all along, but I ignored them. Whenever he got mad or annoyed or distant, I found ways to blame myself. I made excuses.

But really, there is no excuse. I am who I am, but when I talked to him, I had to spend so much of my time justifying that and I shouldn’t have to. It’s hard to convince yourself of that though. When you see someone a certain way at first, it’s hard to change your mind, even if it’s “obvious” to everyone else. After all of this, I became overly apologetic. And it sucks.

And I should be over it. Except this person is not the person I thought he was and it hurts. It makes me feel like so many things were a lie. It makes me feel stupid. It jumbles up my memories and makes me wonder what I interpreted correctly, or if I was wrong about everything.

Is this how the first year of college ends?

This week I found out that one of the most trustworthy friends I had made isn’t really trustworthy at all.

Is this how the first year of college ends?

This week I found out my best friend at college is transferring schools.

Is this how the first year of college ends?

I have no idea what I want to do for my career. I have no idea what I’m doing at all.

Is this how the first year of college ends?

For a brief moment, I thought my work was the only thing going well for me. Everything seemed so promising in that way. Then, this week, that all fell apart.

Is this how the first year of college ends?

It feels like the beginning all over again, just with new bruises, new questions, and faded answers.

I should be over it by now. But how can I “get over” an entire year just because it ends? Frankly, I have no idea where to begin.


I don’t have the slightest clue

Last year, I could’ve told you with the utmost perceived certainty what I wanted to do. Not just that day. Not just that year, even. But for a very long time.

Now, I don’t have the slightest clue.

College has taught me that I love learning. I love exploring. I want to know so much and do so much and be so much. I’m a writer. But I don’t have interests that solely, or even mostly, reside in journalism. For so long, I’ve tried boxing my interests in. I’ve tried putting labels on what I like and don’t like, on what matters the most to me, on what my one true passion is.

But I don’t have one true passion. I have lots of them. So many things in this world excite me and give me energy. They exhaust me on some days, but I keep going back to them. I can’t keep myself away from the stories and adventures and problems.

I want to ponder and have deep conversations and wander. And what I want to do cannot be confined within a single degree. What I want to learn cannot be labeled “anthropology” or “journalism” or “women’s studies” or “religion.” Unfortunately, “the world” is not a college major, but I’m trying to just take in as much as I can.

I don’t have the slightest clue what I want to do. I want to read lots of books and write lots of stories and go lots of places and share lots of laughs and adopt lots of animals.

I want to study different languages and religions and go to South America and collect knowledge, not things.

There’s no reason to distance myself from the truth; the truth is that I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing or what I’m looking for. I’m an academic and an artist, both logical and emotional, both realistic and idealistic. What do I want to do? I don’t have an answer. I simply have questions. I simply want to know more.

Things I learned this year

1. I am a major nerd and embracing that is so much fun.

I went into college thinking I would major in journalism and minor in design. Then I started taking college classes and remembered how every subject intrigues me. I try to go to all events that I can and I just really, really love to learn. I didn’t used to think I would go to grad school. Now I realize I might keep going to school for many years because I want to learn everything.

2. I can get a BS and still be a badass.

During my first semester, I learned about growth vs. deficiency motivation, which basically means there is no such thing as a bad decision, just a decision made for a bad reason. I used to make a lot of those. I used to hold myself back with the dumbest excuses. I originally wanted to get a BA to be different. I wanted to do so many things just to be different. But even though I’m going to get a BS now, I’m still different. I’m still the same person and I should make decisions without worrying about other people’s opinions of me.

3. I have a lot of inner strength.

I’ve had to regularly deal with some interesting people. I spent much of this year listening to people freak out about the littlest things and convincing them that it would all be okay. But in turn, I realized that all of the little things I used to worry about aren’t a big deal and I’m a stronger person because of it. I’ve embraced the idea that “you live and you learn,” because even some of my worst moments have been great learning experiences. As long as I’m learning, I’m growing stronger, and I don’t regret the mistakes I’ve made.

4. I shouldn’t wait around.

I often wait for people to approach me. This actually only applies to my relationships with people because career wise, I go after what I want. People have questioned me about this, asking me why I fearlessly approach my career goals but shy away from letting people know what I really think. I guess I don’t have an answer. What I will say is that the song “Almost” by Bowling For Soup is basically my love life in a nutshell because it seems that every story I have about relationships contains the word “almost.” I have this problem where I don’t want to appear needy or too interested, but then I just look like I don’t care at all and people get bored. One time, I almost took control and went after what I wanted. My goal is to delete “almost” from that sentence.

5. I’m always learning.

As I said before, mistakes are cool. Mistakes build me into the person I am. And mistakes used to terrify me. Now, I’ve messed up so many times that it really doesn’t faze me that much. It all goes back to growth vs. deficiency motivation; if I had a good reason for doing something and it had a bad outcome, I don’t want to regret it. Because not doing something because I’m afraid of screwing up is definitely deficiency motivation.

6. I don’t know what I’m doing (and it’s beautiful).

I used to find comfort in being “sure of myself” and having everything together. Then my second semester of college rolled around and I started juggling so many things because of my numerous interests and I started waking up right before class (I used to go to class half an hour early). Honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing. I want to do so many things. I have to prioritize and maybe some people think my priorities are misguided at times (I know they do. I’ve been told). But if I tried to pretend like I knew exactly what I was doing, I would never discover anything new. Before I started college, I didn’t even know what anthropology was and now I’m studying it. It’s pretty cool, and avoiding the opportunity to grow like that is no fun at all.

7. I should be more spontaneous.

I would say that the majority of my best experiences were not planned whatsoever. Unexpected things change you and you can’t predict it.

8. I should prioritize my health too.

I often choose to drink coffee rather than sleep. I sleep for about two hours per night. Then I got sick one day and slept through my classes and the doctor mentioned mono. I realized that I can’t let myself get to the point where I put everything else before my health.

9. My career doesn’t have to be what I always planned on it being.

Over the weekend, I had a bit of an identity crisis, which I admittedly have fairly often because I’m interested in so many things. I started thinking that I’m not sure if I can spend all of my time writing about cool things instead of doing cool things. I try to do both, but it can be difficult to manage. Even though no one ever told me to be a journalist, it’s what I’ve planned on for so long that it just feels like what I’m “supposed” to do. I recently remembered that the possibilities are endless, and there’s nothing wrong with exploring those possibilities. I am a writer for sure. But I am also many other things and I want to create a career where I can use many of my passions. I don’t have to do what everyone else is doing if it doesn’t make me happy. My career isn’t about them or what they want; it’s about me and what I love.

10. Embrace new beginnings. 

Have I ever been in love? Yes. With my fall semester of college. I just have so many feelings about my first semester of college and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still find something new. I’ve been trying to hold onto that semester, re-watching the films I watched in class before walking home on fall evenings, listening to the songs that I played on repeat as I discovered more about myself, missing the buildings and classes where I met my first college friends. My fall semester was magical, and I can by all means hold onto that magic. But there is magic elsewhere too. I tend to view everything in terms of “the end.” The end of the semester. The end of the year. The end of the relationship. The end of the best moments I’ve ever had. Instead I should focus on the beginning. I should trust my ability to discover and create magic again, even if it’s not the same as before. It could even be better. But I’ll never know if I’m so caught up in the ending, dwelling on the perception that the best moments have already concluded.

It’s almost the end of the semester. Or maybe it’s almost the beginning of a magical summer, an extraordinary second year of college, and more adventures to come.

This realization hit me yesterday and I proceeded to change the wallpaper on my phone for the first time since last summer. In the morning, I went to a building I’ve never gone into before. I decided that I want to live on the opposite side of campus instead of staying where I am. It’s the simple things that change your world. And I’m beginning to realize that I can’t expect to change the world while leaving my world untouched and unchanged and unaltered. You have to screw up a few times before you can do things right.

Dream big,


something better

I admit it: I dwell. I don’t mean to. I would love to just move on, but that’s hard for me. Instead, I constantly think about what I could’ve done differently. I wonder what I did wrong. I try to reimagine those moments and keep them even though they disappeared months before.

I’m easily reminded of pieces of my past. Nostalgia gets to me and never really stops.

Until I find something better.

In my moments of dwelling, I used to think I’d found nothing better than what fell apart because I couldn’t get anything better. I somehow convinced myself that I had already achieved the most that I ever could. That I already met the people I clicked with the most. That I couldn’t move forward, only take a few steps back.

When I think of “moving on,” I think about coming to turns with something. Not being happy. Not feeling fulfilled. But accepting the fact that things aren’t the way they used to be and dealing with it.

And if that were the case, the whole notion of “moving on” would suck. I’m not sure if anyone else thinks about it that way, but I only ever thought that I could “move on.” I never really considered the possibilities of moving forward.

Until I allowed myself to have something more.

Because the world doesn’t just hand you everything you want. You have to go find it for yourself.

Dwelling stopped me from searching. From finding. From discovering.

Something better wasn’t just going to appear out of nowhere if I didn’t go out there and try to make something happen again.

It wasn’t impossible to find something better. It was actually easy. I just had to go out into the world and take a chance on people.

It’s not the same as before. My memories still resurface. But this time, I won’t obsess over what I could’ve done better. I’ll keep trying and learning. I’ll do better.

Miss Independent

Maybe calling myself “independent” is a way to glamorize that I like being alone. I don’t have a problem admitting it; though I love people, I also treasure my alone time.

I recently went to a concert alone, and I actually received a comment about that being “so sad.” I wasn’t sad, so I don’t know why this person was. That’s not to say that I like going everywhere alone; I was writing a story about the concert and when I’m working, I like to be focused and alone. But without even knowing the circumstances, people were so shocked and sad that I would go by myself.

I know some people who refuse to eat alone. I don’t have a problem eating alone. I often prefer it. Some people are terrified of being alone, and I treasure it. That doesn’t make me a better person, just a different one. And for some reason, people find that hard to comprehend.

For some reason, people think “alone” automatically means “lonely.” People think that  I couldn’t possibly choose to be alone. Because, to them, if I had the opportunity to surround myself with people, surely I would.

And maybe that’s true for some people. Some people are both alone and lonely, searching for people to fill them with energy and comfort and a sense of belonging. I love being around people, but it also drains me. I’m the most energetic writing in the middle of the night, accompanied by no one but the sounds of soft music and my keyboard as I type. I’m the most energetic sitting in an empty room, flipping through the pages of a magazine and sipping on coffee. I’m the most energetic when surrounded by my own ideas and the possibilities they could create. And around certain people, I’m energetic too. But I need the balance of both. I need late nights alone with words on pages. I need late nights with people with words floating quickly into the air around me. Some people make me feel like I belong. But to me, it’s more important that I feel as though I belong on my own. And I do.

Sometimes, I want to be around others. I want to tell jokes and laugh and connect with people. I want to be inspired. I want to have deep conversations and hear new stories. But sometimes, I want to sit on the floor and scribble words into a notebook. Sometimes, I ignore text messages for a few hours simply because I don’t feel like responding. Sometimes, I look at the world as an outsider surrounded by groups of people, not because I’ve been unfortunately excluded, but because I chose to step back and take the world in. Because I want to be aware. Because I want to know people, but I also want to know myself.

Sometimes, I have to get away and go for a long walk by myself. Sometimes, I want nothing more than to go on a long walk and have a deep conversation with someone else.

This isn’t one of the romantic comedies or pop songs where “miss independent” falls in love or becomes cool and worthy then abandons her sense of independence. This is my journey, and sometimes, I need to explore on my own. I might be alone. I might be lost. But I’m not in search of someone else; I’m simply discovering myself.


This weekend was the weekend I didn’t know I needed. This weekend was the weekend that I received so much unsolicited advice that really inspired me to be the kind of person I want to be. That made me more self-aware.

I first realized and admitted that I was wrong about something. And that’s a surprisingly powerful feeling.

After that, I talked with one of my bosses and was told that I should share more ideas. My boss said, “I wouldn’t be talking to you right now if I didn’t think you had ideas worth hearing.” Those words really changed something within me. For the past few weeks especially, I’ve been afraid to share my ideas out of fear of looking stupid or unimpressive. But people want to hear my ideas, even if they don’t necessarily like them. Ideas build real, tangible things. But they don’t build anything if I simply keep them to myself.

I needed a break. But I also needed people to challenge me to do better and open my eyes and explore because recently, I’ve fallen into the same routine. I’ve become afraid when I used to feel so sure. I walked into my first meeting with confidence and I vocalized my ideas and I don’t know what happened to that. But I’m bringing it back.

I don’t want routine. I don’t want strict schedules. I want to write stories that matter. I want to impact people. I want to be aware of the world around me.

In the past few weeks, I got so caught up in other things that I distanced myself from who I am.

I am reserved. I am quiet. But I am also full of ideas and words and stories and passions that could exist in the real world if only I spoke up.

I’ve said it again and again that I don’t want fear to silence me.

But fear still wins sometimes.

It still stops me from telling people how I feel and sharing ideas that I love and talking to new people.

I could tell you that I’m not afraid. But I am.

Fear should excite me rather than scare me. Fear should help me chase my dreams, not run away from them. Because when fear chases me away, I’m only running towards what I was afraid of all along: failure.

Messing up is not failure.

Failure is messing up and not taking accountability and learning from it. Failure is giving up. Failure is not even giving it a try to begin with. Failure is letting “what if” make its way into my vocabulary, weaving itself into sentences that could be better stories.

Stories that matter. Stories that are built out of ideas. Stories that are built from failing and learning and trying again. Stories that are worth hearing.


“I guess you didn’t care, and I guess I liked that.”

Taylor Swift can really speak the truth sometimes. Because I seem to always put so much energy into relationships with people who don’t care about me or about anything. And I’m usually aware of it on some level. I always know that these people are not overly concerned and a little self-involved. I always know that they won’t text me “good morning” or buy me flowers. I always know that they won’t care about what I’m doing or who I’m with.

And I guess I like that.

I’m not the romantic type. I like my space. I like my work. I don’t want constant text messages or compliments because it doesn’t seem genuine to me and frankly, it just annoys me. Sorry (not sorry), it’s who I am. I don’t want flowers because I can’t keep them alive for more than about five seconds. I don’t want people to constantly question me about my whereabouts because I am my own person.

I’m independent and an introvert, so I never like people who I think will constantly be around. And in result, I surround myself with people who are just never around. I make excuses for them. I convince myself that one day it will be different. I play back their positive characteristics in my head. I fall into the trap all over again.

I’m also the queen of trying to rekindle old flames. I can’t just let go without giving people numerous chances to be the people I want them to be. I know that people aren’t perfect, but at the same time, I sometimes give them too much credit. Some people are never going to care. And I’m starting to realize that there’s nothing to like about that.

It’s one thing to be passionate about something and not center your life on relationships. It’s something completely different to not treat people well because you only care about what directly impacts you. I always hang onto people who do the latter and it fills my life with so much negative energy. I keep rekindling fires that really only ever existed in my mind.

The fire was there, sure. The connection was there. But I created it on my own. I built the fire and kept it burning with possibility. With little moments. With faint sparks.

I firmly believe that you have to try, rather than simply wonder, “what if…” so I keep tossing wood into a fire that kept flickering inconsistently, back and forth, over and over again. Because I couldn’t give up on it.

Throughout all of these negative relationships, I was always my own source of light. I could convince myself that other people kept it burning, but really, they only weakened the fire I had already built on my own.

I tried. But now I know.

You don’t care. And I can’t change that. I can’t add more wood to the fire to reveal that you’re simply misunderstood. No. You’re not worth the trouble.