four scarce hours

I’m driving back up to school in about an hour.

It was nice to have a weekend at home, especially when only three weeks lay before me until freshmen year becomes sophomore year. And when after those three weeks pass, I’ll be on a plane to Colorado for a month.

I always look forward to the four-hour drive to and from San Luis though, because it’s one of the few times I actually spend time alone with myself. I’m looking forward to time alone with God, time alone with fresh air blowing through my windows, time alone with the mellow artists playing from my iPod. I was born an introvert and I’m still an introvert, so I cherish these few instances when I can just get away from all the people. I love people, but I’m an introvert…too many people drain me. I seriously don’t know how I survived living in a dorm without collapsing, because there are always people around. (and they always happen to be loud people…haha.)

I even made myself a “car ride” playlist & I’m stoked cuz I just downloaded a bunch of albums that I wouldn’t be able to at school. I swear, Cal Poly binds its internet so tightly up there, I anticipate trips home so I can fatten my library with new albums. But this one includes Coldplay’s new album (AMAZING btw) “Viva La Vida” and The Frames and The Kooks.

See you in four!
Chappie

106

My dorm room is starting to feel less and less like home.

I just packed about half it to go back to Anaheim tomorrow–half my wardrobe, cleaning supplies, books, books, and more books. As I was packing, I started having one of those “life flashes before your eyes” moments where I found myself in September standing in room 106, an empty, white, and ugly space. But a vibrantly-colored comforter and lots of 4×6 pictures on the blank walls went a long way.

This space became my home and I fell in love with it. 13 by 9 feet is small enough to provide a sense of intimacy, but large enough to provide an atmosphere for friends (and guitar hero). It invites the sun to peek through my blinds every morning and stays until it sets every night above the hills. Like my bedroom at home, this space is my place of refuge. It’s where I plop down on my bed after a strenuous 4 hours in health and arch history lectures. It’s where I laugh hysterically with my roommate during the day and chat deeply with Ondrejko and Fossi at night. It’s where I meet with God and tell Him about my day and He tells me about Himself.

The problem with dorms is that the rooms seem to be like cells lining the corridors of a prison, where each room seems to be exactly the same (because they are in plan) and stripped of all individuality (we all get the same ugly furniture). But after this year, I’ve learned to appreciate that fallacy, the well-kept secret that dorm rooms are actually very lively and unique in their own quirky ways. My neighbors are in tripled rooms with bunk beds, the girls across the hall have a serious ant problem, and my room is the “handicapped” room (aka, our door is larger than everyone else’s). And everyone, including my roommate, thinks our room is larger than all the others–the truth is, our room is actually the same size, but Katie’s closet is 4 inches smaller than mine to make room for the widened door. I still don’t have the heart to tell her…

But Sequoia Hall and beloved room 106 have definitely been good to me. I won’t ever have the chance to live this close to campus again–and be on the first floor, in the closest dorm to campus. ever. again. Not only am I bummed that in three weeks this dorm will disassemble, but I’m bummed that I’ll have to strip my room of its color and its personality and its life, reducing it back to the three bare walls I first shook my head at in September.

C’est la vie,
Chappie

when your mind’s made up

what are you afraid of? what are you looking for? what is it about her that makes you run? And her? And her?

Choosing someone to date shouldn’t be this difficult. You know exactly what you’re looking for, you’ve narrowed down the key characteristics, but you’re yet to make a move. We’re here at Cal Poly, one of the most (if not the most) Christian campuses in the state. Good Christian girls are practically scaling the walls in San Luis, but you’re yet to choose one. I really don’t understand.

Are you really afraid? Of what, exactly? If you can be friends with so many girls, why can’t you just date one of them? Why do you play this game of flirt, “phase” date, then drop her to find a new “girl of the moment?” I hate seeing you down, seeing you in a state of mopey-ness, seeing you staying in on a perfectly wonderful Saturday night.

I’m praying that you find her, the one girl you’ve been holding out for. God must be reserving her until you grow into yourself first and then grow out of your selectiveness. When your mind’s made up, I hope she knows how lucky she is, how important she is to be the one you’ve finally chosen. She’ll be the only one you haven’t serial dated then dropped the next day.

Why do I even care?  I’m just an item you’ve crossed off your to-do list.

C’est la vie,
Chappie

one in the afternoon

It’s become a daily routine. I unlock my door and open it to a room that is stuffy and dark with windows closed and blinds down.  I glance to the left corner and find my roommate (often with the boyfriend) tucked under her sheets.  And my clock reads 1:15 pm. PM.  As in afternoon.  As in YOU SHOULD BE AWAKE by now.

If you have ever shared a room or have ever been in a similar position, you know what this scenario feels like.  You are 1. ashamed for opening the door too hastily & loudly, 2. embarrassed that you live with someone who doesn’t have a normal sleeping pattern, and 3. annoyed that you have to be in this nocturnal mindset at one in the freaking afternoon.

I’ve actually enjoyed this freshman experiment, the experience of living on my own, living in the dorms with complete strangers, and living with Katie.  I think having roommates are one of those aspects which really build your character; they teach you that you’re not entirely normal, that you’re paranoid about the dumbest stuff, that you need to look beyond yourself and see the world from another pair of eyes.

Katie and I have this really interesting relationship of detached adoration for each other.  We both appreciate each other, but seldom admit it. I don’t understand her sarcastic sense of humor or her friends.  I don’t understand how she can let 2 weeks worth of laundry pile up on her bed and never think about simply throwing it all in the empty hamper waiting patiently in her closet.  I don’t understand how she never gets nervous about starting architecture projects 8 hours before they’re due.  We get ready in the morning before architecture without saying a word to each other.  We laugh hysterically at the stupid things we hear as people walk by in the hallway.  We gossip viciously about our neighbors and annoying co-Sequoians.  We have intense conversations about life at 2 in the morning before finally surrendering to our heavy eyelids.

I appreciate Katie and I’m glad we have had such an interesting journey through our first year of college together.  She’s the first person I’ve ever shared a room with and I’m the first person she’s ever shared a room with. Probably the last…haha.  But for some reason, next year when I open my door to a bright sun-light room with my bed made at 1 in the afternoon, I think I’m gonna miss this strange darkness and playing this game of midday silence.

And I think she’ll miss walking into a room with a well-made bed and clean floor.  Oh college.

C’est la vie,
Chappie

lazy sunday

This feels nice.

I’m sitting at my desk on a cloudy Sunday afternoon while John Mayer serenades me with “Why Georgia” and Kobe shows off his one-handed dunks for me on ESPN. The computer model I’ve been working on for the past week has somehow completed itself and looks pretty accurate, so I’m carefree at the moment. It reminds me of home. I wish all Sundays could be this pleasant.

I woke up this morning and discovered that our bathroom door is handle-less.  Somebody stole our door handle. At first I was annoyed because hello, how are we supposed to get OUT of the bathroom? But now I’m amused because our current handle is a strap of duct tape that you tug on to pull the door open. College at its best…I swear.

C’est la vie,
Chappie