physically impossible to do hw right now and it’s only the 1st weekend of the school year, damn


I keep dwelling on this application, I’ve already turned it in, there’s NOTHING I can do but I get this sinking feeling in my stomach and I wish that I could just know now. It will be devastating if I don’t get in (especially if Sami does). I don’t think it is possibly to express this much hope and desire in words. My heart literally hurts.

I hate how I can’t choose how I prioritize my life because I have to take certain classes and follow certain curriculum. Filling out applications for these summer exchange programs are SO MUCH MORE important to me than precalculus and memorizing names of scientists. 


Wax and wane and wax and wane and wax and wane. The moon can do this over and over again. For eternity. Yet when our connection wanes in the slightest, I become insecure and often devastated because I don’t have the security knowing that it is only a phase, that we will always grow back together and become full. 


Hope is an incredible feeling. The human ability to pour their heart into an uncertain idea or journey is amazing yet incredibly destructive. In 8th grade, I went to Europe with about 30 students for one week. Only one week. Despite the short trip, upon my home coming I knew something had changed inside me. Even though I had just returned, I longed for more culture, more adventure, more learning. Although my house was on a quiet backstreet, my room on the second floor, I had realized that my home was not a permanent residence. For me, home is airplanes, airports, hotel rooms, hostels, host families. Home is adventure. Now, I have a prospective trip to India. I am so hopeful. I can only wish that I won’t be devastated.


Time is a crazy thing if you think about it. The way it seems to inch by in school contrasted to feeling as if time is flying by, hardly giving you a chance to catch your breath. Time has been shrinking for us and I wish we could go back to January. To February. To a time when I denied my huge crush and to a time where I spoke only a few words to you. I want to go back and live it all again. I want to be able to watch you from afar like I used to, wondering who you were and what you liked and what sort of food you ate for breakfast. I miss the feeling I had back then- time seemed so endless… What happened? Well, we fell in love at the wrong time. Sometimes I wish I’d met you sooner but I know that everything wouldn’t have been the same and I don’t want to change a thing.

I want to become a better writer but not so I can write a best-selling novel or make heaps of money or even ever show anyone what I’ve written. I want to become a better writer so I can formulate the words for these feelings I have that cannot be described. I want to become a better writer so I can paint the world in different ways. So I can feel the flow of the words like the tide of the ocean, not a forced mechanical motion but a calm stream, punctuated with storms. I want to become a better writer so I can succeed and delve myself into the world academia if I please. But most of all, I want to become a better writer so I can tell you all the things that I can’t seem to say. So I can express how important the little things are to me. So I can illustrate everything about you that makes me fall more in love with you everyday. I want to become a better writer so I can describe the beauty of the world, of my world, which has increasingly began to center on you.


if someone came up to you and handed you a book and as you start reading it you realize that it’s a book about your entire life would you read it until the end?

He had thought more than other men, and in matters of intellect he had that calm objectivity, that certainty of thought and knowlege, such as only really intellectual men have, who have no axe to grind, who never wish to shine, or to talk others down, or to appear always in the right
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf


a juggler in a circus

careless and free.

tossing and heaving,

living and breathing.

he cares not if one ball

may slip

it is but a 

colorful sphere

with no harm in dropping.

one by one he tosses

them into the air

keeping everything afloat

in perfect harmony.

Lately, I have become the juggler.

but alas, these balls I toss

are not harmless.

I juggle my cares, my fears,

my worries.

I jest with my friendships, 

my family, my success

in a hopeless attempt

to keep them all from dropping.