Thursday, July 8, 2010


I have strong sensory recollections. Whenever the smell of coconut lime hits my nostrils my brain is flooded by flashbacks of scenes from all-state chorus junior year. I remember scrubbing so hard to get rid of the disgusting smell of a spray-tan went bad, the funny red shirt from wal-mart, sitting in bleachers all day with people I hardly knew, and the goosebumps that come from being a part of hundreds of students singing in perfect harmony.

This is true with music too. Just today I was listening to ‘Mosquito’ by Ingrid Michelson, and I was overwhelmed by the images that flashed through my mind. They were ones of this past year in my apartment. The strongest one was of RA training when I was living there by myself and attempting to organize the mass chaos that surrounded me. This of course made me sad—and apprehensive. I was again hit by a bulldozer full of uncertainty as I look forward to the next year. I am still in mourning over leaving Northwestern and all that this place held for me. I know that all will be fine but fine is not the last four years. I will never again be able to live with my closest friends and have so many others in near proximity. I am afraid. I am scared that all the friendships I worked so hard for and cared about so deeply will change and fade. I am angry. I am frustrated that life works this way and people don’t spend their lives traveling in packs.
But most of all, I am grateful. I have been so completely and utterly blessed by the students and professors that I learned to call friends. I will hold the memories of these times dearly and when I listen to certain music, smell a select scent, or see a once shared sight I will be reminded. Whatever the circumstance, I will remember and be thankful for the laughter, the pain, the sadness, and the excitement, but most of all for the people I experienced those moments with.

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