Monday, 3 December 2007

“Where's it gonna end
When's it gonna stop...
Or at least slow down so maybe I can get off,
My world's tied to the tickin' of a time clock …”

Given that this semester is almost over, I thought it would be appropriate for me to write an end-of-term blog. I’ll probably write again in the next few weeks (but no promises because finals are starting soon) and maybe during the Christmas break too, but we’ll see. For now, here’s to the end of my first semester at Mt A:

I can’t believe how fast this semester has gone by: It’s already December 3rd (Happy Birthday, Appa!). Sackville is snowy again. Tomorrow’s my last day of class. I have my first final in 5 days. Everyone will be gone in two weeks …

I’ve been in a bit of a daze all day. I’m feeling fairly noncommittal about everything and it feels like I’m just living through the hours, plodding along, with no real purpose or interest. It’s a little depressing, really. It’s probably because there’s nothing left to do but study, now. It’s hard to shift gear from getting work done at the last minute and goofing off the rest of the time to studying for hours upon hours every day. It takes a lot of effort. It’s sort of like getting up out of a really deep, comfy couch: “Do I have to?”, “FINE!!”, big groan, grumpy face, plod, plod, plod …

I discovered that Meal Hall is the perfect place to study but they’ve started playing really terrible Christmas music which, sadly, sounds like the result of a choir of castrati mice being let loose into a recording studio. It’s horrible. That, and the fact that I’ve given up coffee just make it a depressing place to be. Yes, I gave up coffee. Studying for Plant Bio forced me into a frenzy of drinking somewhere around 6 cups of coffee every few hours and I was a bit worried I’d give myself cancer or ulcers at the very least. I miss coffee …

Anyway, finals are around the corner. And then it won’t even be two full weeks left before everyone goes home and I’ll be all alone in Sackville. Well, hopefully not ALL alone. I’m hoping the bureaucratic powers-that-be will have mercy on my brother and my boyfriend and they’ll be able to come be with me. If it doesn’t work out, there are going to be three very sad people on three corners on this gigantic continent feeling miserable about having to be alone on Christmas.

Despite what all the whining in my blogs might lead you to think, though, I’ve had an incredible first semester at Mt A. I’ve made wonderful friends, I’ve learned lots, I’ve done some pretty cool things, I’ve been very drunk and very sad and very happy, I’ve been to some pretty cool concerts, I got to listen to amazing people talk (Yann Martel(!), for example), I’ve been dropped on my head (sorry Nathan. You definitely saw it coming though …), and so much more. And it’s been good. Not always happy or fun, but good. Every moment is one moment closer to everything I’m trying to accomplish and everything I want to be.

I am tired though. I’d really love to just go to sleep. You know what, that’s another problem. No matter what I do, no matter how much I want to, no matter how many times I say, “Ok, I’m going to bed,” I still find myself awake at 12:30 every night and I still find myself cursing my stupidity at 6:30 when I’m trying to wake up.

Sigh. Tonight the studying starts. For now, though, I’m listening to mellow music on the radio (interrupted by horrible Christmas shopping ads. I hate this manic consumerism!!) and taking a bit of a break.

I hope all of you (if you don’t hear from me between now and then) have a wonderful Christmas. I’ll be back with you in January at the very latest …

For now ...

Sunday, 18 November 2007

Snowy Sackville (a little late ...)

Me on the football field right outside Thornton. That is my first snowball. The first snowman that Kelly and I tried to make collapsed because my snowball was rather pathetic and didn't hold the weight of hers. It was awesome all the same ...

A little while later. The snowball was getting bigger but it was also becoming more like a sushi roll which is why it fell apart later.

Reveling in the snow. The first snow.

That's the field. It's a bit dark in this picture. It was actually kind of impressive.

That was me and my name written in the snow. It didn't come out all that well. My A's were tilting to the left in a slightly drunken way. Not quite sure how that happened, really.

The view of the parking lot from my room. Same night of the first snow.

The parking lot the next morning.

That's looking out of the second floor kitchen (right across the hall from my room) looking up towards the rest of campus. On the right is the East side of Thornton. The near left is the East side of Edwards. The on the left in the distance is Hunton and on the right in the distance is the new student center that's still being built. The football field is on the right in between Thornton and the new student center.

Same place zoomed in a bit.

The football field the same morning. Every morning, I walk up to this point and then stop and look across the field to see the sun rising over the field. It's always gorgeous. These days the sun isn't up till later but I did look forward to this view every morning.

The East side of Thornton that looks over the football field.

I went for a walk that morning. This is Owen's Art Gallery looking in the direction of Thornton with the new student center in between.

My snowy foot prints ...

The Swan Pond. Found your Monster yet?

The hill (kind of) behind Hart Hall. The sun had come out and it was bright and gorgeous.

Yours truly.

O Canada!

The University Quad

My Friday Flowers. Still hanging in there.

Pretty. I think.

View of the sunset from my room.

My Favourite Things ...

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,
Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens,
Brown paper packages tied up with strings,
These are a few of my favourite things.

Cream coloured ponies and crisp apple strudels,
Door bells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles.
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings;
These are a few of my favourite things.

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes,
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,
Silver white winters that melt into springs,
These are a few of my favourite things.

When the dog bites, when the bee stings,
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favourite things,
And then I don't feel so bad.

Every day we’re adding to the years between ourselves and our childhoods that, in some cases, we’ve left quite far behind. Every day people take us a little more seriously, we use a few more big words and we try and act a little more sensibly. Some people are running headlong into the future away from childhoods they hated, some people are miserable and wish that life was as simple as when they were kids and still others, like me, have found a happy medium between being all grown up and being able to appreciate something with pure, childish wonder and happiness; and I think we can all agree that there’s no joy quite as pure and fulfilling as childish joy.

I feel like I say this a lot, but I had a pretty rough week this week. Because of Remembrance Day we had a four-day weekend that I totally abused and made shockingly little of and so the two midterms on Wednesday (one of which I got back on Friday and was a bit sad about) were slightly brutal. And not just in terms of grades - emotionally too. I was definitely grateful this weekend was going to come quickly because I needed a second chance at getting some rest and I, wisely I think, sought comfort in one of my favourite things: Disney.

As a kid, there was nothing better than watching Disney movies with my brother and my parents. I would like to think that every child of my generation and so, by default, every parent of a child of my generation, has seen all the Disney classics. And I’m talking true classics here: Dumbo, The Little Mermaid, The Lion King, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, Jungle Book, Bambi, One Hundred and One Dalmatians ... the Classics. I would like to think that not only have these parents and children seen these movies, but that they’ve also seen them HUNDREDS of times to the point where they’re imprinted on the collective consciousness of each family. That’s how I always watched them, at least …

Last night while Saturday night was turning Thornton into the usual scene of ridiculous behaviour (some day, when his guilt has faded a bit, you must remind me to tell you the story of how I got dropped on my head by a friend of mine), two friends and I were huddled on a bed eating chocolate-covered almonds, watching Aladdin and being childishly happy. I don’t want to offend any of my readers by suggesting that ridiculous behaviour generated by the consumption of varying amounts of alcohol isn’t as good as Aladdin but I will say that Aladdin is a special kind of good.

For the two-odd hours that we spent watching the movie (and re-watching some of the songs), I was happy in a way that I haven’t been in a long time. I would guess that it’s been five or six years since I last watched Aladdin and I was amazed at how every scene was still absolutely familiar, every song still so clear in my mind, every second of the movie still so wonderful.

Last night I went back to my room with ‘A Whole New World’ delightfully stuck in my head, a huge, stupid grin on my face and an incredible amount of gratitude for knowing that no matter how old I am, Aladdin will still be one of my favourite things and childish joy will always be within my reach.

Saturday, 10 November 2007

Sparkles and Snowflakes

Yesterday was Diwali in India and I wished I was there. Diwali at home means family, friends, food, dias, fireworks ... and here I am in Canada so incomprehensibly removed from home. I'm sad I missed it. For a few hours yesterday, I really, really didn’t want to be in Canada. I wanted to be at home with my parents and my brother having Diwali the way I've always had it.

In the end I think what I got – although it wasn’t home – was wonderful. An Indian professor and his wife invited me and other Indians at Mt A to their home for a Diwali dinner. I walked downtown, met a couple of friends who were also going and we walked to Dr Majithia’s house together. We were greeted at the door by their son wearing a kurta and the sound of people enjoying each other’s company. My Indian-ness failed me and I didn’t take anything for them. My mother would be ashamed (and now is, since she reads this. I’m sorry.). But everything else about that moment of stepping into a Diwali party was like it would have been at home. The next couple of hours were really nice. We chatted and ate food I didn’t realize how badly I missed until I was eating it.

Then we went outside to light fireworks. And I missed Arjun, my brother. Diwali at home is something I associate mostly with him. He’s the pyromaniac who spends Diwali cheating death (or at least the potential loss of limbs) while he tampers with rockets and bombs all day long. He’s the one who gets such unbridled joy out of lighting a fuse and watching something explode. He’s the one who I’ve spent almost every Diwali with. If he had been there, I wouldn’t have needed to be at home. He would have been enough. Last night, Kavish Chandra was doing what Arjun would have done if he was there. Kavish was the master of ceremonies as far as the fireworks-lighting went and the joy Kavish got out of it was the same joy that I would have seen in Arjun. Knowing that Arjun was in Florida somewhere missing Diwali and home as much as I was only made it worse. I tried to appreciate it twice as much – once for myself and once for him. I hoped our twin connection would let me transmit some of that to him across the thousands of miles via that connection we might have.

There weren’t hundreds of fireworks like we’d have had at home. They weren’t breathtaking. They weren’t even that loud. But they were beautiful. The cold darkness of the November night was lit by golden sparkles and bursts of red and yellow and green and blue light. Kavish bounced around loving every moment of it. All of us were crowded up next to each other sharing the time together. We were quiet except for the ooh-ing and aah-ing at appropriate moments. It would have been the same at home. When the show was over we went back inside and continued laughing and being happy.

And then do you know what happened? It snowed. For a brief but absolutely glorious five minutes, it snowed. It was my first time seeing snow and in those few minutes, I was completely happy. It might sound a little silly and there’s no way I could ever explain what it was that made me feel the way I did. But it was pure, unadulterated joy. I stood absolutely still and stared up into the sky watching the snow fall …

Happy Diwali, everyone. No matter where you are or where you wish to be, no matter who you’re with or who you want to be with, I hope, that in the end, your Diwali was as great as mine …

Sunday, 4 November 2007

Friday Flowers

A week ago I was walking past Owen's Art Gallery and, in a bare patch of ground, I saw a cluster of little purple flowers poking out of the dirt. They hadn't really opened yet or taken much shape, so I decided to keep an eye on them and see what they developed into. A week went by and I hadn't thought about them much and then on Friday evening, as I was heading home after yet another depressingly horrible Chem lab, I had to walk by them and I did stop and look. They'd grown up out of the ground and some of them had bloomed but they were completely trashed. We've had some brutally windy days and I guess they couldn't take it. It looked a bit like a battle ground after a war. They looked completely battered and defeated.

I figured that since they were already broken, I'd pick some up and take them home and see what I could do with them. When I got home I couldn't deal with the mess that had accumulated through the week so I dumped the flowers on my table and went for dinner. About 45 minutes later, I came back to my room to find that every single one of them had opened. They were beautiful: purple petals with streaks of white and stunningly bright, saffron-coloured stigmas. I think the flowers were cold and unhappy outside. As soon as I brought them in, the came alive again. I gave them a safe, comfortable place the be and it made all the difference.

I took some of the flowers I picked up and give a few to Kelly and a few to Madeleine – just to spread the joy a little bit. I called them my Friday Flowers. My little bit of sunshine after a long and hard week.

On Friday, I felt a bit like those flowers. I felt battered and defeated. The lack of sleep, the stress, the anxiety … it had all built up and I'd gotten to the point where all I really want to do was lie down and sleep; find a little corner to crawl into to heal my wounds.

So I did. This was my first totally sober weekend in a long time. That’s pathetic in itself. Who’d have thought I’d become one of those stupid college kids who’s out of control? Bah. Anyway. I’m feeling better. Not great … but better.

Waking up this morning was rather painful. I wasn't ready for the harsh reality of Sunday morning. Today had that typical Sunday feeling ... You know, the feeling that comes from knowing you haven't made the most of the weekend's potential for getting work done, knowing that it's Monday tomorrow and you really don't have any time left, and knowing you've got to get out of bed because if you don't, you're losing those precious minutes - the ones you really can't afford to lose ...

So here I am, blogging away. Picking up the pieces and starting again ... just like I do every Sunday. Hopefully I can end this weekend as nicely as I started it: with simple joy coming from a simple thing – my Friday Flowers ...

Saturday, 27 October 2007

Hall Games

Due to a major scheduling goof-up and complete lack of foresight on my part, I, while still at home in India, made my schedule for Mt A to give me pretty much the worst Friday possible. I start with Ecology at 8:30 that leads into a fairly horrible Plant Bio lecture at 9:30. I have an hour off to breathe and check my email and such. Then have Chemistry from 11:30 – 12:20 and I’m always struggling to stay awake because that room is always so warm, I’m starting to feel hypoglycemic and I’m definitely getting my butt kicked my Chemistry lately. I have an hour for lunch and I head into an hour of Classics which, depending on the day, is either just as bad as Chem or rather interesting. And then, drum roll please, I have a gloriously painful three-hour Chem lab. 8:30 – 5:20 on a Friday. Part of me tries to convince myself that it only makes me appreciate the weekend more but I think I’m just fooling myself. All it does it make me hate Fridays more.

Yesterday was a slightly exceptional Friday. Ecology, which isn’t ever too bad, was fine. At the end of the class, Dr K, my Plant Bio prof, came into the room to tell us that our Plant class for the day was canceled. As I said to a few people yesterday, there was a small party in my brain. I had TWO hours of free time before Chem!! I, of course, studied Chem in the hopes of giving myself a better chance of having some idea what was going on in class. Needless to say, it didn’t help much. Lunch … Classics. I was falling asleep in Classics. We watched a pretty cool movie but these days, I’m tired all the time and I just don’t feel it until I stop moving. And as soon as I do, my body thinks, “Lack of movement = time to go to sleep.” And then it does. It’s a problem. And finally, Chem. It was a fairly straightforward lab that didn’t challenge what I already know about Chemistry. And, more importantly, I didn't feel like throwing myself out of the third floor of Barclay even once!

I ran back to dorm when it was over, unceremoniously dumped my stuff in my room, and went downstairs to find Nathan. “IT’S THE WEEKEND!!! AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!” There was some very cathartic yelling. It was great. I got my post-Chem Lab excitement out of my system during the time between getting home and finishing dinner and then I shuffled sadly back to my room, collected my large pile of Calculus notebooks and textbooks and trudged to the Library to see in the weekend with a few solid hours of Calc. woohoo.

It was good though. Tonight’s Thalloween and there’s no chance I’ll be able to escape the party because it’s in Thornton which will, sadly, be taken over by a bunch of drunken frosh running amok in my beloved house. It was good to get the ball rolling on the incredible amount of work I have to do; it was good to be doing something. I left the Library just after 10:00 feeling like I’d done something useful with my time.

I went home to find Nathan writing on my door wearing oven mitts and a cowboy hat. Charming. And you know what I did? I proceeded to have one of the best Friday nights in a really long time. I put on Dave Matthews, opened my door, and sat on the floor of my hall with my friends. And we talked and laughed. And then, we invented a Hall Game.

First, we discovered that our long, straight halls are perfect for kicking things in. Second, we found that rolls of green painters’ tape are perfect things to kick. And, third, we found that playing soccer/hockey (with brooms) in the hall was pretty much the best way to spend a Friday night. You’d be amazed at how intense it got. It was one-on-one, me against Christina. The phase of the game which was a bit like hockey fell apart pretty quickly when Christina broke my broom. There was a slight lull when we felt that maybe things were getting a bit out of hand but we remained undeterred. We decided, instead, that we’d stick with using our feet and, apart from another brief pause after we smacked our heads into each other during a rather intense struggle to gain control of the tape, we had a great time. It was like Calvin Ball. We kind of made up the rules as we went along, we cheated, we mocked each other, we definitely didn’t keep score and we had so much fun.

Hall Games. The best part of dorm life. The time when you feel like everything is going just fine and that you’re as happy as you can possibly be. The time when you feel like you are where you are meant to be …

Saturday, 20 October 2007

Second Chances

The last couple of weeks in the life of any Mt A student were pretty hellish. Procrastination, that evil force of destruction, gets to us all and suddenly instead of doing a bit of review before the midterm, one is spending a few days before the midterm studying that and only that and leaving everything else so that it just piles up and adds to the stress and the anxiety. When everything’s moving at such an insane pace, it’s hard, sometimes, to realize that we all need a break now and then. We all deserve time to take a step back and breathe.

Last weekend I went apple picking. Apparently it's the Canadian thing to do. So I did. And it was really, really nice. It was a morning designated to taking a break from studying and getting a much needed change of pace. The nicest part of it actually, was the drive back. At one point, we were at the top of a hill with seemingly endless stretches of gorgeous flaming red and orange and yellow on either side of us. The sky was dark with impending rain and the clouds seemed heavy like they were pressing down on us. The air was full of that pre-storm tension that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The music in the car was just the right volume, we were going at just the right speed, it felt like just the right company – it was a pretty perfect moment.

On Friday night Thornton House got drunk. Friday night at the end of a long and crazy series of weeks and we made the most of it. Trip to the liquor store, softball in the rain, hysterical running around stealing hats and keys, being carried up and down the halls upside down and slung over someone’s shoulder … good times. I love nights like that. Believe it or not, it’s not about the alcohol and the ridiculous behaviour. The great part is watching the house come together. We’re all friends, we all know each others’ names, we all get along … It’s like a big family where we accept each others’ faults and failings and love each other no matter what. Seeing that is what I love most about nights like Friday. It makes me feel good about where I am and who I’m with.

The hellish two weeks are over. I got the breather I needed.

I have a midterm tomorrow afternoon and once that’s done, I have just under two weeks to re-establish normality in my life. The plan is to reboot. Reset the entire system and start again. I’m going to change the way I study, the way I get my homework done, the way I spend my time. The great thing is that even though one set of midterms has gone by and I definitely didn’t do as well as I’m capable of doing, it’s not too late to reorganize things. There is such a thing as a second chance and, if you recognize it for what it is early enough, it’s easy to take it. Sometimes we wish that we could go back in time and change things but that’s really quite impossible. It’s ok, though. It’s never too late to fix something.

I’m headed back to dorm now. My Classics textbook awaits me. My second attempt starts now …

The Monster of Swan Pond

Have you ever wondered if there’s a Monster in Swan Pond? (And here we’re talking, Harry Potter Giant Squid Monster. Nothing scary. It’s not going to eat you. In fact, if you fall out of the boat, it’ll make sure you don’t drown. It’s a good Monster.) It could be true.

Every place has its quirks. Every town has little things that make it special. Sackville is no exception. It’s a town of what, three thousand people? You’ve got Main Street: Bridge Street CafĂ©, Ducky’s, the RBC, the Dollar Store … “downtown”. You’ve got a slightly bizarre profusion of churches, funeral homes and bars. You’ve got the Swan Pond and the Waterfowl Park. You’ve got Mt A. Sackville is an odd little place with an odd collection of things that is my life for the next three years.

I went for a walk down Bridge Street a couple of weeks ago. It was Thanksgiving weekend and those of us who stayed in Sackville to work had decided to take a break. We walked all the way down to the broken bridge at the bottom of Bridge Street and then all the way back. I’d never walked that way before and I hadn’t realized there was even anything there. It’s strange that, in a town this small, there’s still stuff that I’ve never seen or even heard about. I admit I’ve not been here long but really, everything is five minutes away in Sackville – I wouldn’t have expected to find that there’s so much that I don’t know about.

We had a good time that evening. We played the Throwing Things off Things Game. We looked for the biggest rocks around and then launched them off the bridge into the frighteningly deep and quicksand-y slush below. We marvelled at the disgusting squelching sounds and came up with theories about which person if thrown off the bridge, at which angle, would make the most satisfying noise and the biggest crater. We talked about what the cross between a Polar bear and a Grizzly bear would be like and whether it should be called a Grolabear or Pizzly. There was a lot of laughing.

On the way home, the sun was setting in front of us and the trees and buildings were silhouetted black against the orange sky. The light was a little eerie and we began to feel like at that moment, something totally weird could happen, and we’d have to take it in our stride. It is Sackville after all. Strange and mysterious Sackville. We started talking about the Monster in Swan Pond. It’s what represents everything that’s here for us that’s still undiscovered: everything that there is to do that we haven’t done yet, every new experience that we have, everything we learn, everything that moves us forward in life.

On the evening that I walked down Bridge Street, I caught a glimpse of the Monster. I caught a glimpse of all that this town – this odd little town – has to offer me. I found it in a walk on a Sunday evening. I could have found it in a classroom or in a textbook, or in a person I met in a store. I could have found it wandering around the Waterfowl Park.

So. Wake up every morning with the hopes of seeing something new. Of discovering something you didn’t know existed. Go find the Monster.

Monday, 1 October 2007

A little bit sick, a little bit tired … but filled with hope

Thursday last week – the 27th of September – was a month from the day I arrived in Sackville. My first full month in university is over, my first full month living in another country. I thought it was a pretty big deal. It’s one of those stepping stones, you know? It’s something that’s worth mentioning, worth being happy about. It surprised me to notice how quickly the time has gone. It doesn’t feel like I’ve been here a month.

Of course, I barely had time to think about it. Things are pretty crazy. It’s just that one doesn’t really feel it. You crib a lot about how much there is to do, or how much you hate this lab or that lecture but really, the routines are so easy to slip into. And routines aren’t necessarily a bad thing … they just are. After doing something a few times, you soon find you don’t need to look at the schedule you put on your wall. Your feet know where to take you. Things stop looking so new and strange, and you learn all the little shortcuts tucked away in the buildings. There’s a feeling that starts to develop where you find that you’re part of something that’s bigger than yourself. It’s bigger than your floor, your house, the South Side or the North Side. I’ve not been out of high school as long as a lot of other people I know, but it’s still a little strange to find myself slipping back into that mold. And it’s a good mold. For the most part, at least.

During a conversation I had with Chris Durrant, I told him that I was doing ok but that I was “a little bit sick and a little bit tired”. And then I added with an ironic little smile, “but filled with hope.” He smiled understandingly and said that that’s how it always is. I think that might become my motto for life in university. I’ve only been here a month but I can already see that it’s probably very appropriate.

There’s a lot to do, a minimum GPA to maintain, a scholarship to hold onto … it’s pretty heavy. But really, what have I done since I got here? A fair amount of reading, lots of homework, a bunch of labs, one pretty decent paper … the usual. Not very different from what anyone else has done. We’re all in the same boat. Thousands and thousands of people go to university every year and graduate and do perfectly well in life.

So yes … I’m a little bit sick, a little bit tired … but filled with hope. It’s a good school I’ve got here. Good friends, good classes, good things to spend my time on; lots of good reasons to get up every morning.

And it’s great. It’s everything I hoped it would be …

Thursday, 20 September 2007

A Whole New World

I’m 7,916 miles from Home – practically half-way around the world – and it’s a whole new world here. Sometimes, sitting in my room and looking out the window, what I see – the now-yellowing trees, the neat rows of houses, the conspicuous absence of cows wandering the streets – becomes strange in my eyes and I hear them screaming at me “This is CANADA!!! You are in Canada now!” For a moment, I panic and I can’t remember how I got here or how I’ll get back … and then it all comes rushing back to me …
Packing my entire life before this into three bags that I could just about carry by myself, crying a little as I said bye to my puppy, smiling as I said bye to my parents, 21 hours on the plane, 26 on the train ... it all comes rushing back and it sits like a huge weight on my shoulders. It’s a big trip I made. A big leap of faith … but I’m ok – a little shaken, but ok …
Slowly, the panic fades and I turn back to the task at hand, to the life I’ve so easily made here …
I guess I’m a Mountie now. I have the badge, I have the sweatshirt, I practically inhaled a giant bucket of ice cream at the Mount Alympics, but most importantly, I have this feeling. I feel the promise of next four years – how full and exciting and completely worth it they’ll be. I feel the midterms and the friendships, the 8:30 – 5:20 days and the warm Saturday mornings still in bed at 10:00. I feel my first, freezing winter in Canada and my breathless awe when I step outside and the all the trees – not just one or two – are red and orange and yellow and my picture of undergrad life in the West is proved correct. I feel my hopefully avoidable freshman-15 and my hunger for chapattis and dal. Most of all, I’m just happy. I’m happy in an overwhelmed, I-can’t-quite-comprehend-it, kind of way. It’s exciting – and I know I’m ready for it.
I have every reason to believe that I made a good choice. I have every reason to believe that I will grow to love this school, this tiny town as much as all that I left behind me.