On the book that my religion teacher always said was the greatest love story of all time

I’ve had to use the Bible as a textual reference for when I wrote my first two college papers, and I’ll have to use it again when I start on my third one — and these are papers for three different classes.

But the thing is, I don’t actually have to refer to it. Every time a paper is assigned, each of my professors have given several options as to what they can be about. Every time, I’ve gravitated toward the option that requires me to consult the same book I’ve studied over and over again for all 14 years of my pre-college education.

It’s weird; I thought I’d be sick of it by now. But interestingly, I guess I’ve come to regard it as some sort of comfort zone — something from home I can have here with me that I’m just learning to look at it in an whole new light.

The Successful Blocking Out of My Inner Asian, Part 2

“Is it dumb of me to not care about fulfilling the general education requirements? I thought about it, and I really don’t care about getting honors. But I’m wondering if I should.”

“You’re Asian. Don’t worry, you will be getting honors, regardless.”

“No, but I’m not the typical overachieving Asian — I only make an effort in group works, and in classes that really interest me. And I can’t get honors if I don’t fulfill the GE requirements.”

“We should just do what we want. As long as we’re comfortable with our decision, it’s okay.”

“Yay! That reaffirms my personal philosophy that it’s better to not care too much about grades.”

“I think grades aren’t the most important thing in college. In my opinion, it’s the critical thinking skills, the overall experience and how much we mature from it, the friendships and networking we make that are important….”

“I know, right? I feel bad for people who cry when they get C’s on tests.”

“Yeah! I’d choose, like, a concert anytime over studying for some test. I mean, ten years later, we’ll remember the concert, or the road trips we went on with our friends. Who’ll give a shit, or even remember, that you got a C on an Anthro paper?”

“Exactly. One of my best high school memories is talking with a friend until 3:30 in the morning, instead of studying for our history exam the next day. It was completely worth it.”

Things I No Longer Know How To Do

1. Sleep early.

2. Wake early.

3. Eat properly.

4. Not pick at my skin.

5. Not be attracted to people.

6. Be passionate.

7. Be productive.

The beauty and sadness of last-minute friendship

“It’s so sad that I’m getting close to all these people just as I’m about to leave.”

“It’s not sad. It means you have something more to come home to.”

The best minds of my generation (if I count as part of Ginsberg’s generation, or he as part of mine)

I was reading Allen Ginsberg’s Wiki page and it says that he died in 1997. I’d already been alive for a few years in 1997. I only ever knew him as a kind of famous poetry legend, so he’s always been sort of unreal to me. But the reality is that Allen Ginsberg and I walked the earth at the same time at some point and it’s only now, years later, that I realize it.

I don’t mean to be philosophical or cheesy. I was just thinking about it and how weird (yet not) it is, that the possibility of us meeting — however slim — once existed.

Oh, adolescence.

MY CHRISTMAS 2010 WISH LIST
1. Chocolate brown nail polish
(like Totally Toffee from Revlon, or a few shades darker)
2. GCs from Lay Bare or Strip
3. The limited edition two-in-one Everything Is Illuminated/Extremely Loud Incredibly Close (from Fully Booked)
4. I will never say no to black dresses.
5. Zac Efron

My friend asked what I wanted for Christmas, so I off the top of my head, I typed up then emailed her this list.

Rereading it now, I realize that all the items (except the third) are conclusive proof of what a girl I’ve become, an actual girly girl who likes dressing up and looking at boys. Gone is the tomboyish kid who believed that vanity was the greatest sin, that shopping was boring, that the mere sight of the opposite sex would give me cooties. Gone is the me of my childhood.

I am slightly saddened by and terrified of myself now.

Can my essays please just write themselves?

“I hate writing; I love having written.” (Dorothy Parker)