A Study in Life

I did it. I am finally 100% sure that I'm graduating on March 25.

The last few days have been alternately stressful and boring. With over a week and a half still stretching out before graduation preparations start, I've been forced to clean and fix my stuff. I'm writing again, after a short break due to the exhaustion of finals week. And yes, I refreshed my AISIS page in the hope that my grades would finally be up.

Sunday night, I was sitting in my bed, wondering if I should call it a night at 7:14 p.m. (I'm trying to catch up on sleep and fix the battlefield that is my face okay.) I got to thinking about what I wanted to do when I arrive in Toronto, and the plans I'm working on for the rest of the year. That ballooned into a sheet of paper listing down things I'd like to accomplish in the near future. So without further ado, my goals:

What do I want to do in the next three years?

1. Become a published author.

This can happen. I'm watching Marissa Meyer do it right now. This is basically the dream of my life, so I'm not going to let anything get in my way. I'm working to achieve it at this very moment.

2. Return to Philadelphia for a visit.

It would be really nice to walk around my old neighborhood and see how much things have/haven't changed. Seeing my old schools and meeting old friends would be lovely. Maybe I'll even find that I built everything up in my head because of how much I missed my home. Maybe it'll be just as great as I remember.

3. Have my own apartment.

Over the last year, I've learned how to live (relatively) alone. Roommates don't count because they're not family. I like the independence and I think I've grown to need it, but I would still want to be close to my family.

4. Have my first kiss.

I think this is pretty self-explanatory. I waited because I do think it's something special and I don't want to waste it. I have had opportunities--mostly at parties--but none of them have been appealing to me. I'm not asking for a Prince Charming or even a Darren Criss, but it would be nice to know that my first kiss went to someone I truly respect and like.

5. Buy myself a new laptop.

I'd like to be secure enough in my work to do this for myself and not be given things anymore. And yes, I just really need a new laptop.

6. Work at a publishing company, in some capacity.

If I don't ever ever ever get to publish my own work, I think I'd be happy to still be in the industry, helping to spread the love of books to people all over the world. My friends here want to open a publishing company that's more in tune with the pulse of ordinary Filipino readers--not the academe--and I want to help, even if I'll be 7,000 miles away.

7. Make a real snowman.

...Yes, I suck at this. Don't judge me. :(

8. Go to a Nerdfighter concert.

I just want to party with this amazing community that has inspired me so much in the last two years. Someone help me make this happen please?

9. Finish NaNoWriMo/Script Frenzy both in one year.

I can feel it. 2011 is MY WRITING YEAR.

10. Learn to cook.

My mother is going to be so happy about this, you have no idea. She's been on my case about learning to cook so I can be more independent and after a year of living off the cafeteria and deliveries, I have to agree.


I also decided to do another list that's more long-term:

What do I want to do by the time I'm 30?

1. Write the first book in a series.

I've had a series in my head for a while now, but I just haven't had the time to plan it all out. Hopefully, I'll be able to do this within the next two years, but I won't feel bad if I don't get to it right away.

2. Visit California and Seattle.

I've always been an East Coast girl, so I really want to find a way to see the West Coast in the next few years. I have a ton of friends in L.A. and San Francisco and I hear there's a great writing scene up in Seattle. These three spots are on the top of my list, though I'd love to see Vegas and Portland too.

3. Visit Ateneo.

Hopefully I'll have enough money saved up to come see my friends here and visit the university by the time I'm 30. The nostalgia's coming at me more and more these days and I haven't even left. Ateneo's really become a second home to me in the last four years and I'm going to miss the campus and people.

4. Be in a committed relationship.



5. Throw my brother a graduation party.

He's hoping to graduate by 2014 with a major in psychology and then go on to med school. I don't know where his plans for the priesthood are going to fit in, but I'm just so proud of him.

6. Send my parents on a well-deserved vacation.

I'm not going to aim for Paris or London or whatever, but it would be nice to book a relaxing trip for my parents to thank them for all the sacrifices they've made for me and AJ.

7. Be on Jeopardy.

LIFE. LONG. DREAM. Haters to the left.

8. Be fluent in French.

I don't have any excuses for this, especially since I'm going to be living in a country that has French as a second language.

9. Spend a weekend with my best friends from .

I'm putting this in the 30-list because it's going to take a while to get everyone together. Girls, can we make this happen?

10. Visit the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

Jamie asked me yesterday why I put this here and not in my "next three years." When I go to WWOHP, I would like to enjoy the experience completely. I don't want to be sad that I can't load up on HP stuff or spend as long as I want in the resort. I want it to be a full-on week-long immersion in what I'm sure is going to be one of my favorite places in the world, and ensuring that is going to take time. But I'm going to do it.

And lastly...

LIFE GOALS

1. Adopt a child.
2. Give my parents a house.
3. See my brother happy and content.
4. Own a library just like Belle.
5. Write and love well.

To be honest, I'm going to be happy even if I only accomplish half of those lists. But I'm going to do whatever it takes to make it all happen, because they're going to make me the person I want to be.

Dispositions (Sweet and Otherwise)

Today was my last day of university.

My best friend Ace and I hung out almost the entire day, except for the four-and-a-half hours where I had class. We agreed that it didn't feel like the last day at all, but just another Thursday. If my planner wasn't in front of me right now--bleeding with black and red ink--, I could almost believe that I still have homework for next Tuesday. I can almost believe that I have the entire weekend to procrastinate and sleep.

My friends and classmates have taken to the end in different ways. Facebook contains a hodgepodge of status updates and posts that range from links to Vitamin C's music video for "Graduation" to a litany of curse words. Some people have admitted to crying as they type; others are heading to Cantina or Fiamma for a celebratory drink, despite the fact that we still have to get through finals next week.

If you had asked me in October, I would have told you that yes, the wait for graduation is excruciating. But now that it's on the horizon, less than 40 days away, I find that I'm scrambling for purchase on a road that's suddenly become very slick. I can't remember the last time I was able to sleep peacefully for a night, and I'm willing to bet that my friends can't either.

I attended my last novel-writing class this morning. We discussed The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, by Yukio Mishima, and its connection to Buddhism philosophy and Japanese aesthetics. D.M. Reyes, my professor, told us about a trip to Japan that he'd taken and one anecdote in particular caught my attention. His Japanese friends had insisted on taking a picture of him next to a rock, onto which was etched the quote "One day, one love."

These days, I find myself contemplating every single choice that has led me to this point. Nothing like a major life event to make one consider the weight of one's past decisions. Am I smart enough to keep my head above water? Are the principles I've adopted and believed in worth my life? What are my true passions? Do I really know who I am?

I may have hated living alone for the past ten months, but I would be the first person to admit--albeit begrudgingly--that the experience gave more than it took away. I had to face a lot of demons that my parents had shielded me from my entire life, and I had to choose what to keep and what to leave behind, with more than just material things.

In October, during the worst of my depression, I told Ace that I had to try to find at least one good thing to look forward to every day if I wanted to get by. I knew that my depression was getting worse when I couldn't even think of anything happy without it floating away as quickly as it came to mind. I'd lost the part of me that could accept a philosophy like "one day, one love."

I swore I wouldn't sink to cheesiness in this blog post, and I'm not. I'm far from being Pollyanna, trust me, and I wouldn't want to be her anyway. But if anything, the last semester's madness has shaped my disposition towards challenges like the ones I've faced over the past year. As Tumblr would say:

The Pursuit of Beauty: A Reflection on Writing and Friendship

"We're all reaching for beauty, and that brings on a solitary sadness that we must learn to live with."

With that statement, Dr. Benilda Santos--or as we know her, Ma'am Beni--closed the last session of the creative writing seniors' public conference. I sat there, watching and listening, surrounded by people, and wondered at the weight of such simple truths.

Last week, the chapbook launch made us feel as though we were on top of the world. I said in a previous blog post that seeing your work in other people's hands is one of the most surreal experiences a writer could ever have. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that, at least in my opinion, even winning an award can't compare to the rush of simple joy when you see a stranger reading and enjoying your work.

This week, the public conference hung over our heads and hearts, like the proverbial Sword of Damocles. The last few months have forced me to think about a lot of things, but first and foremost, I have had to consider why I even bother writing. I don't think there are words for the fear we collectively labored under over the last few days. Seeing a grade is one thing; defending that grade is another matter entirely.

I spent nine hours in a small cafe along Esteban Abada Street with my three best friends on Wednesday--the day before the defense. We huddled over our laptops, eyes swollen from lack of sleep, bodies slouched under the weight of multiple papers and projects. We had written our essays and been criticized and lauded alternately, but this defense added another dimension to the project: how do we speak about our poetics? How do we condense a fifteen-page essay into less than ten slides on a Powerpoint presentation and a fifteen-minute speech?

We cried. I'm not going to mince words. I'll tell you that we pulled at our hair and wrung our hands. My mom said we were treading the line into melodrama. My roommates looked terrified when I burst into tears yesterday morning, three hours before my defense. In that small cafe, my three best friends and I leaned on each other's shoulders, begged each other to read the changes we'd made to our speeches--infintesimal as they were at times--and generally wallowed in self-recrimination.

Why did we write about this issue? What if Dr. Brion or Sir Glenn or even Martin decided to ask why we chose to quote from a particular text or author? What if Ma'am Beni said that we'd misread and misunderstood Sartre's theory of criticism? What if we stuttered or stumbled or God forbid, couldn't answer the question posed to us by the panel? As I (apparently) told Ace and Jamie that evening, "The academic essay is not just a written explanation of why we write, what we write, and of our poetics and stands, it’s who we are as writers and as persons (it has become difficult to separate the two concepts, they have become one as far as we are concerned)."

I'm pretty sure it was the four of us who single-handedly finished the one Swiss Chocolate Caramel cake that the cafe offered.

There were moments during that long afternoon where our gazes would meet over the glare of our laptops. Ace would offer a grim half-smile, shrugging her shoulders and sighing. Jamie's eyes grew wider each time I saw them, rimmed with pink as she tried not to cry. Miggy would pull at my hair, laughing nervously and teasing me each time my iTunes went to a Darren song. It's a different kind of friendship that makes this easy comfort possible. We were terrified. But Mal Cobb had it right the first time:

You're on a train. A train that will take you far away. You know where you hope this train will take you, but you can't be sure. But it doesn't matter. How can it not matter to you where this train will take you?

Because you'll be together.

I would be lying if I said that everything went better than expected. Over the past year, I developed scars deeper than I believed possible, and there were days when I didn't think I had it in me to keep going. The thought of the darkness I lived in during September and October and December makes me shudder. But I have amazing friends who stuck with me the whole time.

The last 72 hours have been nervewracking and frustrating and frankly, indescribable. I gave all that I had, and when that wasn't enough, I tore open new parts of myself that I didn't even know existed. Writing is a solitary activity. Speaking about writing is a risk, and one that doesn't always pay back. But God, there are no words for how rewarding it is to know that YOU know why you write. I understand things about myself that I never thought I needed to know, and even if they are raw and scabby and painful, they are mine.

Ma'am Beni asked us where we see ourselves going after graduation. Did we plan to write or teach or just bum around for a few months? I'm afraid of the future, and the uncertainty that always seems to loom over my head. But I refuse to be discouraged. So when Ace passed me the microphone, I looked straight at the audience and said, "I'm going to write. I'm working on a novel, and I'd like to devote the summer to finishing and revising it. I want to spend the rest of my life writing." Nothing else could ever compare.

Paper Dreams

I write this still basking in the glow of last night's book launch.

Surreal was the word of the night. I don't think any of us were expecting such a lovely reception, nor the way it felt to be on the other side of the table. I still can't believe that I signed my books for people and that they actually want to read them. It is truly an astonishing thing to see the work you toiled so long over in people's hands, a real and tangible object.

I don't feel pride. I don't feel pure happiness. What overtakes me when I look at the photos and my own little collection of my friends' books is gratefulness. I am grateful to have been able to attend classes at a wonderful university. I am grateful for the professors and mentors who both inspired us and kicked our asses when they needed kicking. I am grateful for friends who have shaped new dimensions and perspectives in my life. I am grateful for a family that loves me enough to understand my need for creativity and art. I am grateful for the courage that keeps me writing.

I don't plan on letting this one happy night draw me into complacency. If anything, I am more determined to prove that I am worth the fuss. I will prove that my voice is worth hearing and I will love my craft.

--

7 days to the thesis presentation.

18 days to final exams.

58 days to my flight back to Toronto.

A Habitual Hazard

The lovely Marissa Meyer blogged about her writing/revision habits and I thought it'd be interesting to consider some of mine.

Clothing
- I don't usually wear special~ things when I write, but I do prefer being in pajamas. There's something comforting about the feel of worn old PJs that helps me remember to just write and not think about the implications or the results too much.

- I usually write at home, so I'm almost always in ratty t-shirts and shorts.

- When I go out to cafes, I prefer jeans and t-shirts and my favorite blue Chucks.

Food and Drink

- I like having at least one piece of chocolate around my desk for when I get stressed out.

- There are these amazing soft breadsticks that I found at the grocery store and I'm completely addicted to them. I feel like I'm going to go through withdrawal symptoms when I move to Canada, I love them that much.

- I usually drink water (no coffee unless it's a Starbucks light mocha frappuccino), but when deadlines come around, you'll find that I drink at least one Sprite a day. I KNOW, I KNOW, it's a horrible habit. But it calms me down more than any other drink.

Location

- I mostly write at home, at my study desk. I used to write on my bed (well okay, last year, my desk was connected to my bed so I was always there), but lately, the temptation to sleep is overwhelmingly strong so I don't do that anymore.

- Living along Katipunan Avenue is great, because there are a bunch of cafes where I can hang out and write in. I prefer the smaller Starbucks next to the grocery store because there are less people that I know (well okay, this USED to be the case) and it's quieter. When I need internet for research, I go to either Kenny Roger's/Seattle's Best Coffee or this new place called Eat! that not many people know about.

Miscellaneous

- I tend to have playlists for every story I'm writing. They help get me in the mood to write, and inspire the rest of the piece. For example, the YA novel I'm working on now, The M&M Conundrum is written to this playlist:

Nerdfighterlike- Hank Green and Katherine Green
So Nice, So Smart - Kimya Dawson
Paper Cuts - Boy Least Likely To
Hey Molly - Mike Lombardo
Tech Romance - Her Space Holiday
Good Weekend - Art Brut
Computer Camp Love - Datarock
Chemical Love - Charlie McDonnell
The NaNoWriMo Song - ALL CAPS
Here Comes My Baby - Sons of Admirals
More Than Alive - ALL CAPS
WWW Girl - Kristina Horner
Do You Like Me - ALL CAPS
Strange Charm - Hank Green
Science vs. Romance - Rilo Kiley
She Blinded Me with Science - Thomas Dolby
For You To Notice - Dashboard Confessional
Falling for the First Time - Barenaked Ladies
Anyone Else But You - The Moldy Peaches
Indigo - Tom Milsom
If You Wanna...I Might - hellogoodbye
Nerdfighteria Island - Hank Green
Play Three Again - Backseat Goodbye

- I can't write for more than an hour straight. I always have to get up in the middle of it and take a walk or read or dance.

- I have this awful habit of pulling on my hair when I'm stressed out. It's pretty long now (almost halfway down my back) so I end up playing with it a lot.


So those are my writing habits--what are some of yours?

--

There are only 3 weeks left in the semester. I gave myself a paper cut yesterday printing out various essays I had to write for one class. I feel like this is an accurate metaphor for my life right now. Also, this gif:

Running Revisions

In case you didn't know, I'm a creative writing major in my last semester of university. If I were asked for a word that defines this time in my life, it would be REVISION. I'm editing everything in my life, choosing what lessons to keep and what to throw away, solidifying the characters I've grown to love and picking off the ones that bog me down. People who I thought were friends have proven their true colours, and things I thought I knew turn out to be something completely different. As a writer, it's difficult to separate the way I view life and the way I conceptualize my stories.

Revision is a key element of the writing process. Tom Jenks goes so far as to claim that "in essence, writing is revision." Any writer that has tried to get their work published knows the frustration and confusion brought on by the need for revision. How does one know what to change? But I really like this line--do I have to take it out just so I can feel like I've done something to the piece? How do you know when you're done revising and the piece is as good as it can be? The answer: you don't.

Maureen Johnson wrote a blog about the process of revision that she follows, and I typed out her four guidelines onto a sticky-note on my desktop. They've been useful questions to ask and rules to follow when I work on my stories, but as my senior year has gone on, I find that I've begun to apply the same rules and questions to my own life.

1) How much time do I have?

When you're staring down the barrel of a gun named Graduation, it can be difficult to actually enjoy the fact that it's your last year of university. Instead of looking forward to freedom, I've sunk into reminiscing over junior year and the way January 2010 was nothing but relaxed reading and trips with my family. These days, even the new Trenta size that Starbucks offers is tempting. One all-nighter in two weeks? Try three consecutive nights without a wink, and follow that up with two midterm exams and you have my last week in December.

I mark down the days left until finals (34, to be exact), and the number immediately sends my shoulders slumping in dismay. Just over a month to get my life into order and prove that I'm worthy of the cap and gown I've been dreaming of for six long years.

There can be no room for fear, not to mention time. When I revise, the deadline always looms near, pushing me to buckle down and be more ruthless and objective. With only one week left in January, there's no accounting for cowardice or laziness. It's now or October, and I've made too many plans for the HP premiere in July to fail now. Revision, whether in life or on the page, is always marked by time. You should already know your characters well enough to understand how they work and how your words help or hinder them. You should already know the habits that break your stride and the things that keep you going.

2) What is the most broken thing [about the story]?

The second story I wrote for my first fiction workshop was a love story set in the Salem Witch Trials. I was so proud because I'd managed to put in a twist no one expected: the boy would be the one to hang the girl who loved him. The reviews of my story were generally positive, except that each and every classmate wanted to know more about Thomas. Who was he? How did he fall in love with Hope? Why didn't he do anything to save her, if he really loved her? Suddenly, there was a big, Thomas-shaped question mark in a story that I thought said all it had to say.

The experience taught me that there is always at least one big thing that is broken in any story that a writer creates. It may be something that simply stirs the reader's curiousity or a huge gaping smoking hole that needs a good dousing by the author. Whatever it is, the author has a responsibility to the story to find that broken piece and transform it. Similarly, knowing your priorities is extremely important in life. These days, I find that my friends and batchmates are torn between living it up during the last three months of being a senior and getting to work on all the crazy deadlines that haunt our every night. For some of us, the struggle won't end in a diploma. But the obligation is there to fix up the broken parts of our lives and present a shinier work-in-progress on that stage.

3) Don't be afraid to edit big.

I love creating characters. Ever since I was a child, I loved to pick out names from baby books and imagine what kind of people they'd belong to, whether a Jonathan would be kind or a Bianca ditzy. Creating characters like the ones that occupy my thesis now are part of the reasons why writing is part of my nature. People are fascinating to me.

That said, it's understandable that I'm pained every time I have to set a character aside in the interest of improving the story. NaNoWriMo writers joke about adding a new character or killing one when things get slow and tedious. In revision, the joke isn't as funny. Writers strive for an organic unity in the story, and the characters one includes can either help build that unity or break it down. When they do the latter, removing them from the story can make more sense. Sometimes it's just necessary to leave a favorite character behind to give the story more room to breathe.

We all have those people in our lives. We may have known them for years or just a few months, but sooner or later, it becomes clear that there's just nothing there anymore. Sometimes the need for separation, for an editing of one's friends or acquaintances, is clearer, like when they've done something to hurt us or damaged us in some way. Sometimes it's a quieter realization. But it's a trial everyone goes through. Graduation means that, in all likelihood, we may never see each other again. Who is truly important to us and who can we do without?

4) Things are never as hopeless as you may think.

After the all-nighters and the hair-pulling and the stomach-clenching and the tears, sometimes it's easy to forget that there will be something worthwhile in the end. A story may seem impossibly difficult to edit properly. Classes with a difficult professor may seem endless. Life may seem like a laughing jester, delighting in one's torment. But you've lived and written and worked this long. So maybe it'll never be perfect. What's one more push in the grand scheme of things? For this girl, it's everything.

--

2 days to social theology immersion.

14 days to the Fine Arts Festival Book Launch.

20 days to the thesis presentation.

34 days to final exams.

72 days to my flight back to Toronto.

In Noctem

Six days ago, I woke up at 7:30 a.m. to pick up my graduation photos. I hadn't seen them since September, as I'd chosen to focus on actually making the photos reality. I knew they were going to be photoshopped, but I didn't know to what extent.

The first photo is much more noticeably altered than the second one. Thankfully, I still look like myself. Some of my classmates and friends are dealing with photos that look absolutely nothing like them, and as we're expected to attach these photos to our resumes.

My mother e-mailed last night asking me if I was planning on pursuing further studies in Toronto. I took a look at the continuing education programs at the University of Toronto and Ryerson this morning, and while some of the classes are appealing (Ryerson's Publishing Certificate sounds lovely), I don't know if I'm up for another two or three years of school.

I'll definitely be working as soon as I can find a job, and I really want to finish M&M Conundrum, revise it and start sending it out to agents before November. Half of me wants to take a break from all things academic, seeing as it hasn't exactly been working out very well lately. The other half is terrified that if I let this opportunity pass, then I may have an even more difficult time starting my career.

I'm lucky in that I have the option to take a break in between graduation and working. Actually, I might not even have a choice, as finding a job is not as easy as it sounds. It took my parents five months to find work in Toronto and that was with decades of experience. As much as I may dread buckling down and joining the real world, I know for sure that I don't want to have the uncertainty of unemployment looming over my head forever.

Growing up is a strange experiment in keeping one's sanity. All the things that you never concerned yourself with as a child now cloud your brain and keep you awake at night. The morning was undesirable enough when all you had to think about was school, but now there are errands to run and appointments to make and people to interact with on a daily basis. There are decisions to be made that burn bridges and end parts of our lives, and the scariest thing is that we have no one to blame but ourselves.

I read dystopian fiction and it freaks me out a little bit how sometimes, I see the appeal of having things chosen for you by someone else. In the middle of all this uncertainty, I can understand why Jonas' friends and family in The Giver could enjoy not having to think for themselves, having their careers chosen for them and fitting them perfectly. I think of Matched and the way everyone is secure in their lives. In my darkest hours, sometimes I wish I could feel that surety, whether or not it's from my own choices or someone else's.

If I only knew how complicated being an adult would be, I would never have wished for it so much as a kid.

--

Countdowns:

5 days to social theology immersion.

17 days to the Fine Arts Festival Book Launch.

23 days to the thesis presentation.

37 days to final exams.

75 days to my flight back to Toronto.

Dreams, Disco and Duckie

2011 seems to like me quite a bit so far. Last night, I had a wonderful dream in which Darren Criss asked me to elope with him two years into the future. 24-year-old Angel, in her infinite wisdom and grace, accepted and we celebrated with a cake baked by our mothers. If there was ever a time to wish for psychic abilities, this would be it.

--

I've spent the last week-and-a-half of vacation at my aunt's house in Bulacan. The house is brighter and more colorful than any other place I've ever lived in, with orange walls, gold curtains, tangerine gates and a green roof. There are times when I am actually blinded by the sunshine reflecting off the walls. The new couch covers that my aunt ordered look like they were stolen right out of an Austin Powers movie. I'm afraid to sit on the cushions--the pressure might cause a disco ball to descend from the ceiling.

It's a strange place to live in, mostly because it doesn't seem to reflect much of the family that it houses. The exuberance of the colors are blunt in a way that my aunt rarely expresses herself, though she chose them. My cousin, her only child, prefers to lie in bed all day and watch television. They are a quiet family and yet their house is an indelible presence on the street. Maybe they're onto something after all.

--

Meet Duckie, my new planner:

It's the smallest planner I've ever owned, and quite frankly, the cutest. I'm trying to cut down on unnecessary junk in my bag and the hardcover planners I've used over the last three years were unwieldy. Duckie is small, flexible and holds just enough space to keep me organized. The cash flow notepages aren't so bad either. When I see my list of things to do on Duckie's smooth pages, they don't seem so scary. Kudos, Duckie.

Songs played: 54
Tweets sent: 25

Nouvelle Annee, Nouvelle Ange

January 1, 2011 9:14 a.m.

It's the first day of the year. I woke up no less than six times last night, a sick clenching in my stomach from the thought of the next three months. I bought a planner yesterday so that I could feel just a little sense of control over the 90 days that loom ahead of me, but I shake a little bit every time I see it. Bottom line? I'm scared out of my wits.

It's only hitting me now that this is it. The last 90 days of my education, where everything is on the line. Graduation is on March 26. My return flight to Canada is scheduled for April 1. Whether I like it or not, the next two months are going to make my life.

Part of me knows I can do it. I've hurdled scarier things before, not the least of which was a linguistic/cultural barrier that reduced me to tears more times in one week than I've ever had in my life before then. I find it telling that I created a survival playlist in October last year--last year, that's such a weird thing to say now. I once heard a quote that said something like "my favorite songs express my emotions better than I ever could," and this playlist exemplifies that right now. It's my state of mind in 25 songs.

I'm trying to remember what Mom tells me every time I get stressed out or panicky: just take it one thing at a time and pretty soon, it's all over and done with. I don't plan on having any resolutions for this year except to remember that. I'm a strong person. I'm smart, I'm resourceful, I'm creative. I have faith in God and in myself. I will do my best with the time I've been given and the gifts that God's blessed me with. There's a reason I'm the way I am right now at this very moment. It's not because of coincidence or chance. The experiences I've had came together to make me the person I am, and I'm not going to let myself give up on that, no matter how hard things get.

"One day I'll be 30, one day I'll be fine. One day I'll make fun of this dramatic life of mine. One day I'll be older, and then I'll write a book about the choices that I made and the chances that I took." Ten years ago, I wondered what it would be like to be 22 years old. I couldn't imagine it. Now I'm here, and 30 isn't that far away. But if I can just remember to take it one day at a time, and give each day my best, maybe it won't be so bad. "I can't be afraid, cause it's my turn to be brave."

Songs played: 29
Tweets sent out: 63