Holy crap how did SO MUCH happen in 2019. It was a wild year and just...wow.
January: Hiked Enchanted Rock with the cousins, Named a Regeneron Science & Talent Search Semifinalist, Competed at MIT's SciO Invitational and placed the highest I had ever before (1st,2nd,2nd,3rd) and met Petey. February: Competed at UPenn's SciO Invitational March: Went to Las Vegas for Spring Break (best vacation of my life), Traveled to College Station to compete at Science Fair State April: Attended MIT Campus Preview Week, turned 18 May: Spontaneous day trip to LA June: Interned for one month at Nanohmics, July: Hiked in Alaska, Lived in Fuzhou, China for a month (got tea at the Four Seasons, ate in Guangzhou's Buxing Street) August: Spoke in Austin's Chinese Community's College Panel, Moved to Boston September: October: Went hiking in New Hampshire November: Spent the weekend at Cape Cod, Surprised my mom and cousin by going home for Thanksgiving break, Saw REAL SNOW in Cambridge, Built my first legit snowman December: Cruised to Jamaica -> Cayman Islands -> Mexico
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Have you heard the sun crawl up the horizons? I haven’t. In the mornings, the cackle of her fires are masked by our box fan that runs through the night. Balanced precariously in the corner, it’s become routine. “Can you plug in the fan before you sleep?” my roommates and I say to each other, before dispersing to our own midnight worlds. All through the night, the fan’s strong rhythmic beats mask the depths of our sighs and furious undercover jostles, going strong into the morning. Day in and day out, our extraterrestrial friend’s arrival goes unheard.
So then I ask. Have you smelled the sun’s arrival? Have you smelled the char on the tips of your toes -- the same five toes that peek out beyond your covers as you laid asleep. Angled at the perfect position, they nestle on your sheets just past the shade of your window blinds. Your thermal-harmony is slightly unbalanced, but asleep, you don’t notice. You smell the dew-drops evaporate from their nocturnal stay, but this does little to arouse your thoughts. I don’t notice. Breath in, breath out. My focus lies elsewhere. Then maybe, you’ve seen the sun stretch its rays to selectively illuminate the room, though only briefly. However, probably not. Through your dream shut eyes, your arm slaps around the sides of your bed. You grab onto the first touch of cool pillowcase. Quickly, you bury your face until the pillow and all motion goes dormant. You’ve returned to sleep. But not me. Half-awake at first, I watch her crawl up the horizon. I watch her tickle my charred toes, and I imagine the dew drops outside shrivel under her heat. Snuggled warmly under my covers, I watch the sun rise. I follow. I throw the covers aside, and feel the warmth of her rays counter the cold of the Cambridge weather. My footsteps are damped by the padding of my slippers and the box fan. I tuck my laptop under my arms, hang the keychain of my headphones over my pointer finger, and grab the water bottle that sits on my desk. Coffee shop soloists pass through my ears. At this hour, my only friend sits outside, slowly rising. Sometimes, the water in the tea kettle starts to boil, and I watch the steam escape, as I prepare my early morning snack. I type focusedly on my keyboard the essays I’ve pushed back or the emails I’ve opened but starred for later. There’s no rush and every once in a while I raise my head to check on my friend. Outside the window, she continues her ascent. Horizontal line by horizontal line I cross off my todo list. Upload notes, edit the blog, email Amanda, or organize my google drive. One by one the mental sewage clears. Other days start with coffee fueled mornings. Before moving to college, the smell of Austin’s local coffee shop’s, Stouthous’s, almond milk latte would shake through my body. I would set down my short wine glass placed perfectly on the napkin before pushing my body into the iron weighed stubborn chairs. The bars connecting the chair legs would scrape against the concrete and you could almost see the chandelier grimace from the sound. I’d slide into my seat before picking up my glass again to take a slow sip. My teeth would block the crushed ice from joining their coffee counterparts in my mouth. I notice the bartender in front of me calling out the orders of elderly readers who sit by the Christmas tree and business men in suits who need a quick fix. To my left the expansive glass windows welcome my friend inside. I’m ready to work. Today, we are in Cambridge and the trek to coffee is on foot. Backpack strapped securely, I walk to Darwins, breathing in the early morning traffic. The heels of my boots tap - tap - tap until I hear the jingle of the door open to Darwin’s. “Small latte with almond milk for here” I recite, as I pull out my wallet by the blue Baker House lanyard, a reminder that this isn’t Texas anymore. I sit down near the window and watch the bustle of people filter through. Across the room, a mother spills her water bottle as she maneuvers her naive baby boy through the tables. Quickly, the people around her push back their chairs. Unionized, they collect the stray napkins lying around, temporarily forgetting the tasks plastered on their laptops. They have time to spare. My eyes are distracted on the son who doesn’t seem the notice the legion of strangers gathered around his stroller. Eventually, I pull out my water bottle from the side pocket of my backpack. I unzip the largest pocket to pull out my laptop, and I shove my hand down the outer net pocket to pull out a pack of gum. I take a sip of my coffee, licking the rim of my upper lip to erase the residue of my coffee’s foam cap. I smile and reconfirm that Darwin’s coffee remains superior to Flour’s and Starbucks’. I gradually pry open my laptop, careful not to loosen the screen’s hinges and begin. These hours escape the normal rush and pressures of time -- a gift to those who wake themselves before meetings and classes catch up and step on the heels of their feet -- a time when even the birds sing a little slower but just as heartily -- a moment to cherish the arrival of the overlooked sun. So join me one morning, and watch her return. Together, we will lift our heads from our laptops, journals, or pillows to bask in her shining and golden prowess. We’ll take a deep breath and remember what life was like before we tripped on our schedules and slept with our brows tangled from stress. |
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June 2020
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