Four Years Ago

I'm leaving for Oxford today.  And even though this will be my second time there, I'm very anxious and nervous.  And excited.  And overwhelmed. 

It's as if I'm going there for the very first time again.  It's as if I'm still that girl from four years ago with braces (yes, I had them for a very long time) and a pink Razor.  It's as if nothing has changed during all that time. 

This is the part where I get nostalgic and talk about how life changing my first time at Oxford was.  And why I'm scared that this time won't measure up (or be better).

I remember getting off from the Heathrow-Oxfordshire bus (Oxford University is not in London, if you were wondering) being very cranky -- I can't remember why I was in such a bad mood, but I was.  I also remember dropping the f-bomb when I saw the cobblestoned streets -- like, how was I supposed to roll my suitcase on these?  And my shoes?  While I stood there rolling my eyes, I happened to make eye contact with this girl standing near me: we clicked.  She and I were basically thinking the same thing, and we started complaining together, and we ended up being super close.  My very first friend abroad -- god, she was (and still is) perf, and I don't know how I could've done it without her. 

We found our little group by the next few days.  We instantly fell in love with each other and somehow managed to hang out together all the time, albeit the lack of cellphones.  We were from all over the world and completely different from each other, but somehow we were perfect together.  To be honest, I can't even remember what we did that were so much fun -- I mean, I remember the big things like watching a Shakespearian play outside, going to bops and dances, walking around in the rain and taking touristy pictures, stumbling into a strip club named Yum Yum...  

I also met one of my best friends who I still talk to every single day (she isn't in the picture above, even though she totally should be).  My Canadian soul mate, who literally has stuck by me through thick and thin across the border.  It's funny when I think about how we've gotten closer rather than drifting away like a lot of friendships -- she literally is the best.  I mean, let's just say that my days are actually incomplete when I don't talk to her. 

And of course, my roommate, my hall mate, and my classmates.  Oh my god, it makes me smile from ear to ear just thinking about how incredible they all were.  I mean, I don't think I spent a single day being homesick or sad or anything other than having fun.  My roommate was always there for me, starting from pillow talks to dance parties to waking me up early so that we could get the best cereals.  My hall mate -- the best priest from Hamlet of all time -- was always around to give us her extra peanut butter (peanut butter was hard to find those days) and have sleepovers with us whenever we got scared.  My classmates, especially my partner in crime from Australia, made international law fun, which itself is pretty unbelievable now that I think of it. 

(Yes, we experienced 15 minutes of fame in London)

So what I'm trying to say is this: my first time at Oxford was so perfect that I'm scared that this time won't measure up to it.  I mean, obviously, I need to work a lot more and care a lot more, but what if those are the only things I end up doing?  What if I don't find people who will accept me for the loud biddie that I am, for the Ke$ha-loving philosophy major that I am, for the awkwardly blunt bon vivant that I am?  What if?

Well, if worse comes to worst, I'll have wine and Skype and #yolo with me.

*Special thanks to Grace, Abra, Allison, Sophia, Kimi, Katie, and Sherron for changing my life. 

Ride, Ride, Ride That Pony

If you thought this post was about anything other than camp,  get your mind out of the gutter and go look up "Ride That Pony" camp song.

Don't worry -- I don't blame you if you didn't know the song.  I mean, I didn't either until I went to my very first camp this year.  Yes, it's true: I have never gone to an overnight summer camp until I came to college.  And it was awesome. 

Now let me just tell you about Camp Kesem (and why you should donate your spare change to this great organization).  The national mission statement for CK is "to provide children affected by parent's cancer with supportive, lifelong camp community that recognizes and understands their unique needs" and "to empower college students to make a difference and build invaluable leadership skills by developing and managing every aspect of their Camp Kesem chapter." 

So what does this mean?  During the school year, all the selected CK members try to raise as much money as possible so that we can make camp happen for these kids.  (Hint: donate please!)  We also get our camp names and train ourselves to be special camp counselors, which sounds lalala, but it's actually intense.  Like, we even have tests that you have to pass (confession: I failed the bullying one oops), so we're not joking around here.  

And then comes camp.  Aka the best week of your summer.  I literally don't know where to start with this, because honestly I can go on for hours.  Like, I can tell you all about being a Dance & Drama chair with Belle (the love of my life) and how we wobbled a lot and taught kids to be fabulous.  I can tell you about the Color War and how I butt-planted (x5) during capture the flag and lost my voice cheering for my team.  I can also tell you about that time we had a giant ice cream truck come, that time we had a surprise pajama dance party, that time we had a guest scientist do cool experiments for us (she made hand sanitizer!), and and and--  

 God, I sound like a bunch of cliches.  But please bear with me, because I really want you to understand why this camp is so special.

Beyond all the camp songs and s'mores and dance parties, these are children who are going through incredibly tragic things in their lives, children who are bravely facing their realities and hoping for the best, children who are still just kids.  They fight over things and giggle about crushes and run around screaming and cry for losing a game -- like, despite what they're going through, they're still "regular" kids, you know? 

You get to see how unfair life is, how fragile life is, how beautiful life is.

You get to see how courageous and strong people are. 

You get to see how you can help and make a difference.

And that's why Camp Kesem is so special.

"Non nobis solum nati sumus." (Not for ourselves alone are we born.) -- Cicero 

Biddie Reads: The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

I have to tell you the truth: I only picked up this book, because I saw a picture of young Joan Didion online and thought she was pretty and witty.

 (Obvi not my pic)

Call me superficial, but whatever -- at least I'm literate, and that's what really matters.  

I was a little doubtful when I bought the book, because 1) nonfictions are not my usual go-to, 2) especially memoirs about death, and 3) the cover of the book was visually uninteresting.  The whole "don't judge a book by its cover" doesn't really work for me when it comes to actually buying a book, because if I'm spending money on it, then it better look good!

Anyways, despite all this, I sat down with my stuffed animal sheep (my favorite reading companion) and read the first chapter and fell in love. 

The book is essentially about how Joan Didion dealt with the death of her husband/best friend/fellow writer, who unexpectedly passed away while they were having dinner during Christmastime.  And you know, I honestly thought this was going to be super cliched and maudlin, but it was anything but.  

First of all, her writing is incredible.  It's raw, it's bare, it's very vernacular, and it genuinely feels like she is sitting across from you and telling you all this.  Actually, let me scratch that: she's not even telling you all this, she's telling herself all this and you're just listening along.  She's not trying to dramatize the situation with superfluous words; she's not trying to lecture you on how to deal with death; and she's not trying to prove to people how strong of a person she is. 

All she's trying to do is figure out what's happening and find an explanation for herself, because she's confused and lonely and alive.

I literally had to take breathing breaks while I was reading this, because I was just drowning in every emotion in existence.  I also had to get up and hug my Mom, because I was just so thankful to still have her around.  (And because Anna Lee is my everything.)

This is my favorite quote:

"People who have recently lost someone have a certain look, recognizable maybe only to those who have seen that look on their own faces.  I have noticed it on my face and I notice it now on others.  The look is one of extreme vulnerability, nakedness, openness.  It is the look of someone who walks from the ophthalmologist's office into the bright daylight with dilated eyes, or of someone who wears glasses and is suddenly made to take them off.  These people who have lost someone look naked because they think themselves invisible.  I myself felt invisible for a period of time, incorporeal.  I seemed to have crossed one of those legendary rivers that divide the living from the death, entered a place in which I could be seen only by those who were themselves recently bereaved.  I understood for the first time the power in the image of the rivers, the Styx, the Lethe, the cloaked ferryman with his pole.  I understood for the first time the meaning in the practice of suttee.  Widows did not throw themselves on the burning raft out of grief.  The burning raft was instead an accurate representation of the place to which their grief (not their families, not the community, not custom, their grief) had taken them." 

So if you want to take a break from "lolz wut" lingo and read something beautiful, read this book!  You will age emotionally like ten years, and you will also come out appreciating all the people you have in your life (which you should be doing anyways). 

Work It

I'm moving to England in a few days (insert a high-pitched squeal here), and I'm starting to get a little overwhelmed by the amount of things I need to accomplish before my departure.

Thank god the music video for Britney Spear's "Work B*tch" came out today, because it was better than my morning coffee.  You want a hot body?  Obvi.  You want a Bugatti?  Yes (although this is not my dream car).  You want a Maserati?  Again, not my dream car, but sure.  You better work, bitch!  Nothing better than Britney Spears giving you a pep talk.  

Yes, even though the government has shut down, this biddie is still going full force. 

And to continue going full force, I have decided to share some of my "power up" songs that keep me going whenever I hit a sluggish hour:

1. "Work" by Iggy Azalea 

2. "Roar" by Katy Perry  

3. "Acapella" by Karmin

4. "Upgrade U" by Beyonce

5. "The Motto" by Drake

6. "Handle Me" by Robyn

And finally, channel your inner Karl Lagerfeld:

(Obvi not my pic)

Destiny is for Losers

I had to read about fatalism in philosophy, which is basically the idea that everything in existence is fated to exist for some sort of necessity.  In other words, we really can't do anything to change what is to come (because it's been fated), and we really can't do anything beyond the scope of what we already do (because it won't make any difference).  No matter what decisions we make, and no matter how much illusion we have of free will, the ending that we're going to get is inevitable.

Well, I refuse to believe in this.

I just can't accept that we are all fated to end up in a certain way.  I mean, that just makes life sound sad and meaningless (oh hey existentialism) -- like, what are you supposed to live for?  And what if you don't like your fate?  What's the point in doing anything?  

I know my reasoning is purely sentimental, but honestly, so what?  I'd rather live blinded by passion and the idea that I have control over my life than to resign to fate.  I mean, life is worth it because we get to control how we live.  Whether you want to be an elephant trainer or a doctor, whether you want to get married and have kids or start a bunny farm, you have control over what you choose to do and what you choose not to do.

In middle school, I religiously read the Gossip Girl series by Cecily von Ziegesar (the books are infinitely better than the TV show, trust me), and there was this quote that really stuck with me.  And you may laugh at me, but I still think of this quote whenever I need a little motivation.

(Obvi not my pic)

The moral of the story?  Take control.  You do you.  Carpe diem.  YOLO.  Go throw some glitter and make it rain. 

Because You're Worth It

(Obvi not my pic)

Closet Staples

So I'm currently in the process of trying to fit my closet into a single "immigration" suitcase (which is surprisingly very small).  It's really stressing me out and I might end up with a few strands of grey/white hair, but it also got me thinking about what I consider my "fashion staples."

Even though there are a billion fashion articles on classic closet must-have's, I decided to make my own list and share with you all.

One.

LBD.  Le duh.  Or if you're like me, 3+ LBDs.  It looks good on everyone, and it's fitting for every occasion!

Just look at how perfect Audrey Hepburn looks in Breakfast at Tiffany's:

(Obvi not my picture)

Two.

A pair of dark jeans that you feel awesome in.  Look, we all know that jeans are super comfortable and versatile, and honestly I don't care how "low fashion" they are because I'm not going to stop wearing them.  I'm especially a fan of 7 For All Mankind and Joe's.  And even though they are a little pricy, they're totally worth it, because 1) you can literally wear them with anything, 2) they last forever, and 3) you really shouldn't have more than like 4 pairs of jeans.

Three.

A comfortable cardigan.  I mean, I just love cardigans, and if I could have one for every color, I totally would.  But for the sake of packing, I've resorted to two -- a black one and a navy blue one.  Some of the great (and affordable) places for cardigans are J.Crew, Anna Taylor, and Zara. 

Four. 

A white button down.  And other colors, too.  Button down shirts are great, because you will always look classy and very put together.  Oh, and if you're a brave soul, you should totally rock bright colors and crazy patterns!  (Snaps to you)

My favorite button downs are definitely Ralph Lauren's Oxford Shirts.  

Five.

Sweaters!  Okay, I totally lied about cardigans, because I'm pretty sure I love sweaters more than I love cardigans.  Lacoste has some really great colors, especially their green one!

Oh, and lopapeysa.  This is an Icelandic sweater that I've been trying to get for ages.  It looks like this:

(Obvi not my picture)

Six.

Northface.  So warm, so comfortable, so perfect.  Honestly, it's really worth it to invest in one. 

Seven.

Yoga pants/leggings.  #sorrynotsorry

Eight.

A peacoat.  I have one from J.Crew that I bought two years ago, and it's literally a life saver.  Peacoats are the reason you can look fashionable and be warm at the same time, and if that's not enough, then I don't know what is.

Nine.

Sweatshirts/pullovers.  In my opinion, the best ones are from your college, a group affiliation, or a sports team.  But Vineyard Vines has some great ones (but a little pricey), and so does Patagonia.

Ten.

Scarves.  Do I even have to explain this one?  Scarves are just perfect.  Especially cashmere ones, because they're so soft and warm and ugh.

Eleven.

A pair of boots, flats, and heels.  I'm lumping them all together under the shoes category.  I really love Lucky Brand's riding boots, because they have great colors and classic designs that fit you really well.  I prefer brown boots over black ones, but that's just me.  For flats, I have a pair of black ones from Calvin Klein that I love and a pair of nude ones from Tory Burch (obvi).  And as for heels, I'm a huge fan of BCBG -- I literally adore my black pair from BCBG Paris line.

Twelve. 

Hats.  I'm talking one baseball cap, one cute winter hat that isn't a beanie, and one lumberjack hat (yes, I'm weird).  My hair doesn't like to cooperate on a lot of days (perfect Asian hair genes never got to me), so hats are really my last hope to look somewhat normal. 

Now, let's just hope that all of these things can fit into my suitcase!  If not, I'm giving up and declaring myself a nudist.