Putting Down 40's

38. 37. 40. 39.  These are the scores from my past few MCAT attempts.  I'm so proud of myself.  Honestly, it's not the thought of all of the amazing programs I can get into if I actually score this.  I'm just happy knowing that if I commit my mind to something I will succeed.  I can do anything, the only barrier to success is myself.

I Been Had Nike Shorts

I just dropped arguably way too much cash on a few pairs of Nike running shorts .  I remember coming to school and realizing how differently I dressed than the people around me.  I tried to fight the urge to change my wardrobe, but I realized that fitting in a bit more would help my confidence.  I never thought I would spend this much money on clothing, let alone own so many boat shoes and neon colored clothing.  These shorts make me feel confident, happy in my own skin.

Move Over Santa's List

I HAVE OFFICIALLY MADE THE DEAN'S LIST FOR ALL FOUR YEARS OF COLLEGE!  My parents have never been more proud of me.  I remember my father's words when he dropped me off at school: "Study hard, be healthy, and make the Dean's list."  Well.. I did it dad!

Morality and Growing Up

Saturday Morning, 11:23AM.  My roommate Rachna just walked in.  She's holding her heels in one hand, and a gargantuan bottle of Gatorade in the other.  She looks like a wreck and smells worse, like alcohol and the flavor "red" (whatever that is).  About twice a semester, Rachna will get wasted at a party, go home with the first guy that gives her attention, and engage in animalistic sex for hours upon hours.  I never know what to say to her.  Part of me wants to scold her.  To remind her that our body is a temple and sex should be treated as sacred, as an expression of love. I sound like my mother.  The other part of me wants to ask her about every detail and live vicariously through her.  To enjoy her embrace of being a woman, with a free will, spirit, and body.  I want this freedom too.  Or maybe I want the idea of freedom.

Who Do My Expectations Belong To?

My own internal dialogue is louder than everything around me.  I can hear my own voice, soft yet willful.  Two other voices battle my own: that of my mother and father.  "Harvard, a real future, the ability to support my family, prestige. Certainty, Harvard, certainty, certainty."  My own voice yells back, "That's your dream, not mine".  The word "mine" echoes loudly in my head, down my throat, into my chest, until I can feel it beating in rhythm with my heart.