alas, i wait for more | fyu #8

Thursday, March 15, 2018

Hello, hello, hello.

I’m currently typing in Adobe Garamond, which is the font Harry Potter was printed in and which is, subsequently, my favorite font. Therefore, I am happy. (You won't see the Adobe Garamond part when you're reading this, which is a pity, but oh well.)

My schoolmates and I are currently rounding out Week Ten, which, for the quarter system, means next week is finals week. This also means that we’re nearly done with winter quarter, and nearly two-thirds of the way through the year, which means that I’m nearly a fourth of the way through my college career. What?!

I’m trying not to think about it. There are a few things that I’ve recently realized that I dwell on too much; one of them, probably the most prominent, is my future. My future is of major concern for me, particularly because I still have no set goal for myself. Some people want to go into research or become doctors or become accountants and for them, their paths are practically planned out, mostly because they’ve been traveled before.

But mine? Mine is still uncertain. And for now, it’s merely a waiting game; I think all I can do, at this point, is explore my options, work hard, and trust that where I end up is where God wants me to be.

Playing the waiting game is also a harder game than I initially anticipated. I’ve never been a terribly patient person, but over the past couple of weeks, I’ve understood more and more how truly impatient I am. Waiting for emails, in particular, is particularly loathsome. I can’t imagine how the pioneers waited for letters in the olden times. And when the world went to war? Can’t imagine how the mothers must have felt, not knowing whether their sons lived or died, or whether they’d even hear about it.

This quarter has been less of a blaze of glory that fall quarter was. I’ve joined organizations and volunteered for events and gone out to eat chicken wings and pizza that cost $3.14. I’ve spent days holed up in my room, trying to lose myself in books and movies and TV shows. I’ve done a lot and I haven’t done much. I’ve eaten cheesecake. I bought an exercise app. I’ve tried and tried and given up and given up. And I’ve realized that I want to stop living for myself—want to stop thinking too much into the future—want to stop incubating in my own head—and to instead, just work hard, and chill. 

And also go to bed early, and eat less cheesecake. Sleep is important. Sugar, not so much. Have a good weekend. This post isn't edited.

Lots o’ love,

what i must | fyu #7

Monday, February 26, 2018

monday, 12:55pm
I feel like myself for the first time in two weeks.

i took a lot of L's this week haHA | fyu #6

Friday, February 16, 2018

Hi all,

This week I somehow forgot a lot of things. I forgot that in order to go to wake up in time for class, you have to go to sleep at least seven hours earlier. I forgot that if you want to get good grades in class, you have to, like, put in effort. And I forgot what it feels like to feel unmotivated.

week five | fyu #5

Sunday, February 11, 2018

God bless:

making gratefulness a habit | fyu #4

Thursday, February 1, 2018

Greetings from the outdoor seating area of Muir Woods Coffeehouse, otherwise affectionately known as M.O.M. (Middle Of Muir)! Since my classes are mostly in Muir College this quarter, I’ve found myself more frequently joining the legions of students who take advantage of its fluffy sofas, comfy wicker chairs, and productive coffee shop vibe. Yesterday I spent two hours holed up at one of the tables, banging out my Spanish homework while nursing one of their specialty drinks--a Polar Bear, which is a white mocha swirled with caramel and peanut butter. (Another thing: I’ve discovered that UCSD has at least six different coffee shops around campus. It’s dangerous.)

happiness is a lot like french toast | fye #3

Saturday, January 27, 2018

Happiness is a lot like eating French toast. I’ve had it three times in the past four weeks (no joke), and nothing beats the feeling of cutting into the soft, warm bread with my fork, watching the syrup ooze into the whipped mascarpone topping, knowing that in just a few seconds, I get to roll the sweetness around on my tongue.

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