*Chilché title bout college to be inserted promptly*

If I learned something this week it’s that college tour guides have and uncanny talent of walking backwards for extensive periods of time. I’ve been going around from campus to campus this entire week looking for the hook where I’m to spend the next four years of my life. What is my perfect fit? Is it the amazing prestigious combination of purple and white with a touch of elitism sprinkled with small town humility? Maybe it’s maroon and silver spiral of high-class hipsters who want to change the world one ridiculous prompt at a time. Or, could it be that imposingly bright combination of blue and orange whose dome is as big as the dreams and wallets of the people who end up going, but who care less about what anyone could say about them. It just might the speck of yellow and blue in the middle of a mountain with, well it has just about everything and nothing I could ever want. Could it be that my perfect hook is the world renowned twang of blue and silver who’s at the capital of honest and celebrated –often times overlooked – idiocracy*? 

If you guessed that I’m referring to Northwestern, University of Chicago, Syracuse University, Ithaca College and Georgetown then congratulations, you know a whole lot about different universities in the USA and probably went through or are going through what I am right now. Looking at these schools It got me thinking about what type of person I want to be. Obviously I want to be a journalist, a writer, someone who has a lot to do with words and little to do with anything but the construction opinions of helping to build the foundations for intellectual chaos. But, who else do I want to be? I think that’s what all this searching process actually is looking for, not an institution where your gonna sit your ass in for the next four years and get the education you need, I mean what you do with what you learn is what matters anyway. What this endless search and application process does to you is that that force you to think about what of yourself you want to develop the next years to come. That’s really a tough question to ask any 17 year old. Forget the mayor, that’s the least of your worries, where are you gonna feel home.

The only thing I have certain is that I’m going to have to become the girl that can endure snowstorms because all of the campuses I looked at will be burred under snow by mid-November. If I don’t become that girl you’ll see less of me that you already do.

As I look outside the window of this fast moving train into the wilderness of red, yellow and green (borderline hipster cliché I know) I just think about what the fuck am I to do, and the answer always seems to be that I’d look amazing in orange.

 

 

*It’s funny that my computer is trying to correct this word into democracy

 

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Reality Check

There is one reason I truly hate TV and cinema: their romance stories.

It aggravates me how those talented writers from hell come up with the most perfect story lines and scripts, and leave girls like me with preconceived ideas about a type of love that can only be found in fiction. The reality of it is, romance in dead and so are those extravagant acts of love that came along with it. Now a days, if a guy decided to order take out after sex is a romantic act that’s supposed to woo us away; and the idea of a guy chasing down a plane with a motorcycle and asking the love of his life to marry him is so far fetched that only a teen drama writer could think it up (I actually feel pathetic wishing it would happen to me).

The reality of everything is, that if you fall in love everything will blow to pieces. If you’re not in the relationship with the person, you’ll always be waiting for it to be like the movies. That big realization that your supposed to be together, which usually happens when one or the other is about to leave town, or marry someone, or die. Then, miraculously the other person makes it in time and no one leaves town, they marry each other, and no one dies. If you are together, then the girl will always be waiting for those big affectionate details that we all read about; she will be highly disappointed to realize that those big affectionate details will never happen because well, all great romances are written by women, and men have no sense of what actual wooing is.

I hate it when my mind goes all pessimistic on love – I love love – It’s just that I’m tired of thinking that it’s like the movies and books and shows I see. Even if two people are perfect for each other, that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen (and no amount of chocolate or alcohol can fix that, trust me). Even if things seem like their “meant to be” and everything feels perfect, doesn’t mean that it’s going to happen. And even if you can actually imagine being with the person, it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.

Sometimes I wish I could write my own love stories and watch them come true before my eyes, words aren’t that powerful I guess.