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My childhood perception of love was one of cosmic nature. I was convinced that my eventual love would rival the devotion from legends. Love would feel like Romeo seeing Juliet for the first time. It would be a holy call to action. I thought it would feel like how music makes it seem. I blame poets for my misperceptions.
When I first started listening to Mitski in 2019, I felt like I had discovered a prophet.
Your hobbies are dying, and I know why. You’re in the clutches of chemistry pre-labs, or maybe you’re slaving away at problem sets. Maybe you’ve been sacrificing your sleep for your 8:30 a.m. lab. Whatever it is, your hobbies don’t feel important in comparison. So, you haven’t touched a sketch pad in months, or maybe you haven’t done yoga since you came to Duke. You haven’t sung in weeks, or maybe you can’t remember the last time you wrote a poem. You haven’t been feeling like yourself lately.
I am a child of immigrants. My parents immigrated from India to the U.S. in the late 90’s. I live to make them proud, but I’m okay with that.
I have nothing against information, but we simply get too much of it. We’re constantly getting answers to questions we’ve never asked. I don’t lay awake at night wondering which plastic surgery trend is the hottest, but my phone thinks I do. Every minute, I’m being fed neverending spam emails, coverage on Twitter fan wars, ads for the newest weight-loss drug and memes about Kylie Jenner and Timothee Chalamet. The sea of absolute irrelevancy is harmful. I’ve gotten so used to consuming mammoth amounts of shallow information, I can’t even discern what information is important or accurate anymore. And that’s by design.
I have a confession to make. I didn’t wear concealer to class today, and somehow, I haven’t spontaneously combusted yet. I know that doesn’t sound revolutionary, but for me it is.
My 30-day trial run of being an adult has been a mixed bag of emotions. For the most part, I feel strange. Finally being on the campus that I was chasing my entire senior year feels strange. Being inundated with so many academic opportunities and no sense of direction without having my dog as solace is an uncomfortable purgatory. Only being in rooms with people who are either as smart as you or smarter than you toes the line between nauseating and liberating. I keep saying that I’ll feel better in a couple of days, yet I don’t know if I will.
