hwealnegn
When I first think of history, I think history class. Which is immediately followed by APUSH with Mr. Arnold. Oh 3B42. I still find it intriguing how the entire row ended up attending college in Boston: Harvard, Olin, MIT, Wellesley. Funny how life works sometimes - and funny how I've been saying this quite a bit now.
It was a montage. What's a montage? I don't actually remember. I think. Dang SAT vocabulary. A montage... A mountain of things? Or montage as in facade. I think it's the former. Reminder of why I'm an engineer as opposed to an English major, I suppose.
Vodka. A drink. Alcohol. Why is it that once they hit the prime age of 18, they have a sudden obsession with it? Actually, many have a perchance for it before this age, I suppose. But I think the major, conspicuous breaking point was this past summer.
Am I foreign? Or am I a native? I was born in the US; I carry a US passport, grew up here for nine years. When I'm in Taiwan, then, I am foreign. Kind of. But then I come back again... and I am foreign. So where do I truly lie?
That was completely hysterical - so hysterical that the milk she was drinking shot out of her nostrils, so hysterical that she couldn't breathe, so hysterical that her stomach hurt.
My bookshelf is a clutter, containing old textbooks, past worksheets and notes, overdue library books that have yet to be read, empty paper bags from past shopping sprees, plastic containers, vitamins, yarn. A complete random mess.