Coming to the end of my freshman year at Texas Tech, I am faced with the fact that not only will I never be a freshman again, but I will also never be right here, right now. I’m leaving behind so many amazing people that have taught me so much about myself, the world, and all things Rap-related. I see the girls whom I’ve shared Wall Hall with slowly leaving me behind, and I have cried more tears than I’m proud of. From the random faces I passed in the hall, to the guy on the third floor that plays his violin at 3 o’clock sharp everyday, I have found a little bit of home up here in West Texas, and leaving for good is a heartbreaking prospect.
I’m so mixed up emotionally because I know that I will be happier at Baylor, but leaving behind so many friendships is not only frustrating but cruel. These girls were my family for nine months! I went to Shelby and Memory with all my frustrations, Emily with all my tears, and Kierstyn with all my insecurities. They know me, truly know me, and leaving that behind is like leaving my family all over again. Emily, thank you for mothering me, Memory, thank you for holding my hand through every crisis. Shelby, thank you for making me brave and pushing me out of the nest. Kierstyn, you are a sister, a mentor, a role model, and I will miss you every hour of every day. I love you all for just being there. I was blessed beyond words when I chose that empty room on the 5th floor and the amazing Alpha Chi Omega sisterhood.
So, I leave in two days. 48 hours with a bare room and three finals. I miss my sisters and my mom, Croissant Brioche and the salty girl at the cash register, and my dearest friend, Holly Draper, but all that aside, I will miss dusty weather, loud and kinda scary rap music, the back of Mem’s Jeep, and (I’ll admit it) Texas Tech.
Peace out, Lubbock
Throughout the past week, I have been creating little banners out of old tshirts. Each banner holds a word or saying that means something to me. Some are simple and just say things like “Hi,” but others hold greater messages that are tailored to me. My favorite little creation was this guy:
Each word I chose either describes me now or describes who I hope to be. It’s so simple and yet so real to me in my everyday life. I strive for calm and joy and bravery, and I tend to be a bit quirky all the time. I think these words can sum up who I am at my best and who I strive to be while at my worst.
Today was my last Horticulture Lab. It made me so beyond sad; even to the point that I had to leave without saying goodbye to my TA, Alicia, whom I have loved getting to know this semester. We worked with the art of Bonsai, using little Boxwoods and Juniper trees from the garden. I had so much fun designing my little Juniper, whom I have since named June.
Though I hate to say it, I won’t be going back to the gardens this year, but I got to see them in full bloom: I MEAN LOOK AT THESE BLOOMS!!
So long, Horticulture. You have helped me see beauty in all growing things, and taught me that time and patience is required to accomplish anything and everything in life.
Part 2: the sweetness of this circular food.
I dump my coins on the counter, desperately searching for 80 cents in the array of dimes, nickels, and pennies. I hand over my change, and with a look of triumph on my face, I choose the most colorful donut I spy. Instantly, I am transported to a brighter and more colorful world. I can only describe it as the equivalent of Dorothy stepping into Oz for the very first time, but instead of munchkins, I get sweet, fried, bready goodness. I feel like a five year old on a Sunday morning trip to Shipley’s donuts with my family. Abby, my older sister, always ordered the powdered sugar donut even though she wore it for the better part of the day, while Emma, my younger sister, always ordered the red-iced donut, whose flavor I still can’t figure out (maybe cherry, but it tasted like liquid Benedryll). I inevitably grabbed the pink with sprinkles with a side of chocolate milk. These are the images that flood back to me, and they are so sweet.
Part 1: The ease that comes with a cup of coffee.
In my hand, it takes me to a place where walking for hours by myself is acceptable, where thoughts come silently, threading together in simple waves of reality vs. imaginary. Simple yet so complex is its power to move me through time. Taking that last sip, I am woken up from my peaceful dream.
We’ve seen it. That simple and soft leather purse. The Transport Tote. That bag has been racing through my head for the last four years, and I never bought it because it’s nearly $200, and a college kid just can’t swing it. But low and behold, I found a beautiful mock that looks like an exact replica. Also, an added plus is that the mock is reversible between black and brown. REVERSIBLE. It’s priced at a steal of $48! The black goes with anything and everything, and the brown gives classic contrast. I can’t seem to put it down and for good reason! Grab it while you can. Your wallet and your ego will thank you!
This post is dedicated to the many loving button-down shirts hanging in my 2×4 foot closet.
I was eleven when my mother first placed a large, men’s shirt in my hands, but little did she know, she had started a love affair that would follow me even now, nine years later.
A good men’s shirt has character. It may be its pattern, thickness, softness, or even its color, but all the greats have that special something.
I love a good flannel shirt. Fit it onto a man with a killer bun and beard, and I am at your service. I am the proud owner of a classic tartan button-down. It originally belonged to my dad, but after taking a liking to one of my J. Crew finds, he traded me for the beauty in plaid.
I pair this top with any solid color pant. I think a black cigarette pant is the perfect canvas for really any men’s shirt because it gives that extra kick of femininity to an outfit that could go butch real fast.
I once owned a faded-red rugby shirt that could have fit an older Winston Churchill quite comfortably. It was large, yes, but it swallowed me with love and warmth. I miss that old character; I think I left it in Scotland when I was running with some cows and got hot (I was 12. I don’t know if that makes running with cows any better, but there you are. Judge me).
I still find shirts stuffed into the bottom of drawers that have my father’s initials monogrammed into the chest, and I wonder how I ever thought I’d get away with that. “Oh, you think this shirt is yours, Dad? No, it belongs to another DMJ. Don’t worry your senile head about it!”
I. Love. Buttons. No, seriously. The action of buttoning something is therapeutic to me. There’s a rhythm there that soothes me and makes me feel prepared for anything. I understand where tough businessmen derive their power, and I feel like I understand and am part of the code. Small-minded people may say that a tie can make or break a man, but all of us inside the loop understand the power behind the buttons. It’s comfy armor, man, and that’s all I’ll say about that.
How I feel when I wear a button-down?
I feel like a woman; a strong, man-commanding, free woman, and it feels awesome.