nostalgia, part 1

I just left Provo, where I've spent the majority of the last two and a half years of my life. I'm not yet officially a college graduate, but I have completed all my required coursework and will not be returning to that campus (probably ever. until I do). So, I think it's time for a little reminiscing of all the life college has given me. This is probably going to be long (and not just because college has already taken me five years), and pretty stream-of-conscious-y, so I won't be offended if you just scroll through looking for your name.  

Year 1 (Or, the Year in which she escapes Winter and learns that no boy is worth jumping off a sea-cliff for)

I left the Pacific Northwest with two suitcases bursting at the seams with unworn swimsuits and flowy dresses, and arrived in Hawaii with no suitcases. Sitting in the Honolulu airport, waiting for the Coconut Express, I met a girl named Janie, and we became best friends the way you do when you've both just left home and you're on a little island where you know no one. That night I sat on my bed (no sheets because my luggage was still missing), breathing in the unfamiliar humidity and listening to my Korean roommate breathe as she slept. Unfortunately, we were both incredibly shy, so that pretty much constituted our most intimate conversation of the entire year. My bags showed up later that night (much mahalo to whoever delivered them all the way to Laie that late), and I slept for the first time as a college student. 

After a week of exploring Hawaii and meeting other wide-eyed and sunburned freshmen, school finally started. My official plan of majoring in Intercultural Studies or Political Science seemed to evaporate along with the sea foam, and all of a sudden I found myself auditioning for the Vocal Performance major, which, goodness knows, my one year of voice lessons had surely prepared me for. By some stroke (whether of luck or humor), I was accepted, and started taking voice lessons with one of the most talented women alive. The hour I spent with her each week was equal parts voice lesson and therapy session, and though I left with my voice still lackluster and breaking at C4, I kind of felt like I'd grown up after every time I talked to her. 

I studied music theory, anthropology, American history, and decided to change my major at least three times. I danced the hula, and entertained notions that someday my fair skin would be tan enough that I would pass for Polynesian, but my blonde hair that was getting lighter every second I spent in the sun didn't factor into that equation. 

I went surfing once, and swam all the time. Janie introduced me to the show The O.C., and we spent every night with those dramatic California teens. I met people from dozens of different countries, and gave the wrong phone number to one boy. I jumped off a sea-cliff and fell madly in love no less than ten times. I sang in a choir, and though I loved every minute of it, felt pretty invisible. Transitioning from home-schooled, bagpipe-playing, ballet-dancing loner was hard, but at least there was no snow to deal with. And no matter how far away I tried to go to practice the bagpipes (which really wasn't that far away, I just got lost and kind of ended up walking in a circle), I would always attract a small crowd of people wondering who that really weird girl was and why she was playing such a loud, annoying instrument. 

All of a sudden it was time to leave, and though I'd thought I would be transferring to somewhere else, as I left I realized there was no way I wasn't going back to my island for the next school year. So I got on the plane, cried a little (a lot) at leaving, and then left again for four magical weeks of exploring Europe with my big brother. I was tan, idealistic and diagnosed with a gluten allergy. Freshman year was complete.