I Dreamed A Dream

Dreams have always been something that has fascinated me. They serve as the most prominent medium through which our subconscious communicates with us. I can go dozens of nights in a row without remembering a single dream, and then I can also go weeks with nightly visits from my subconscious. Everyone dreams; it's just a fact of life. Some nights they can be pleasant, and others they can be terrifying. However, I always feel a twinge of exhilaration at the anticipation of dozing off, in case of what vivid splendors I may delve into.
   For the past several years, I have made a conscious effort to write down my dreams right away when I wake up. Often, I'll find that I can wake up from the midst of an captivating story line of my subconscious, I'll lay in bed for another hour thinking about it, certain there's no way I'll forget it after thinking so hard about it. Then, lo and behold, it's gone the moment I sit up. Through writing down my dreams, I've found there are a few different categories to them.
   First off, there's the good old fashioned nightmare. For example, when I was very, very young, I had a recurring nightmare of my Mom driving off a bridge into the Fox River, and beneath the bridge there were these trolls. The trolls forced us to do an obstacle course before they would let us go, and my Mom would always fall to her doom into the river while the trolls just laughed. Through the years, these nightmares have branched from bridge trolls, to house fires, to tornadoes, the usual.
    Then there are those dreams that absolutely make no sense, but while you're dreaming them, it seems completely logical. My favorite of these for me is when I dreamed the Blues Brothers were robbing my house, and they had already killed my parents. I was hiding behind my older sister's bed, when John Belushi points a gun at my head and says "gotcha".
    My most frequent version of dream is when I'm stressed or worried about something in particular, it will manifest itself and the dozens of ways it may play out in real life inside my head. These, in a way, are much more terrifying and disturbing than the classic nightmares. When I wake up, often I'll feel just more worried than I was to begin with, I'm not a fan of these nights.
    This brings me to my favorite: the pleasant dreams. Usually, for me, these consist of replaying some of the best moments of my life. It's almost as if watching these scenes as a movie, allowing me to relive these wonderful times. The memories don't play out exactly as they happened, usually my subconscious will throw in something weird to shake things up: perhaps a stray giraffe, or something of the like. Regardless, these are the dreams I look forward to and hope for.
    Dreams can be scary, interesting, meaningful, pleasurable, sensory, or simply a mode of communication with our innermost thoughts. I feel like my dreams let me know myself a little bit better each time. The effect these visions have over me is incredible. Sometimes, they can be so vivid, I can feel, smell, or taste these manifestations of my mind. Sometimes they can wake me in a cold and terrified sweat, other times they can find me waking up with a big smile on my face.  Regardless of what kind of dream I have, I'm always grateful when I get to experience them.

A Few Kind Words

    I first learned what a compliment was in my early days of elementary school. Our principal's name was Mr. Pauley, a balding man with a thick mustache and a permanent smile on his face. At the end of every school day, he would announce any birthdays in the school, followed by a joke, and ended his announcements with "Have a great day, and make sure to give somebody a compliment." At first, I didn't think much of his encouragement to say some kind words to someone everyday. However, looking back on it, I can't help but be impressed by how wonderful of advice that was.
   It's so simple. No cost, with the possibility for incredible payoff. You never know how much a compliment may affect someone. Especially when you pay one to someone you don't even know. Today, I was at a restaurant, just waiting at the counter for my order to be ready, when two of the workers complimented my hair. Nothing fancy, probably didn't take much effort on their part, just "I really like your hair". Maybe it's silly that such a thing could have such an effect on me, but it really made my day! I was so happy after that, it was so nice of them!
   I encourage all of you to follow Mr. Pauley's sage advice. Every single day, make it a goal to pay one person a truly genuine compliment. I don't care if it's a friend you've known for years, the sister you see every day, or the girl checking out your groceries at the supermarket. Everyone likes to be noticed and appreciated every once and a while. Whether you say some kind words about an outfit that strikes you as different or interesting, or something they do exceptionally well, it will make them feel good. I know whenever anyone compliments me, it makes me happy, makes me smile, gives me faith in how wonderful people can be sometimes.
   So I leave you with the parting words of my beloved principal, have a great day and make sure to give somebody a compliment". You never know how big of a difference a few kind words can make.

Common Application

"Please write an essay (250-500 words) on a topic of your choice or on one of the options listed below. This personal essay helps us become acquainted with you as a person and student, apart from courses, grades, test scores, and other objective data. It will also demonstrate your ability to organize your thoughts and express yourself."

   250-500 words. The fate of my future will be judged upon these words. Under a thousand words make or break my admittance into my dream school. Any admissions officer I've spoken with has told me that a really fantastic essay can set a college application apart from the others; it can even turn a denial into an acceptance. However, it goes both ways. A truly awful essay can deter the university from allowing you to attend their prestigious institution. 

   So, with this enormous amount of pressure weighing on the 500 words I choose to submit to the Common Application, I begin to go through my options. I could decide to use one of the topics provided by the Application itself. There are the typical prompts: explain a significant event in your life, discuss a person who has had a large influence over your life, etc. Seeing as I really don't know what the admissions offices are looking for, going off of one of the provided topics is a safe bet. It's safe, it's easy, it's...common. I want to do something new. Something these admissions officers haven't read a million times before.

   Deciding against the given topics, I'm left with one option: "Topic of Your Choice". While it sounds like I've narrowed it down, I've really done just the opposite. There are infinite possibilities. I could talk about anything. I could discuss how my sister's illness impacted my life early on, and inspired me to want to enter health care. Maybe I could write about how my privilege of travel opened my eyes to how different cultures of the rest of the world live besides my own. I could talk about how Swedish Fish are arguably the best movie theater candy there is if I wanted to.

    My mind swims with ideas. With no specific direction to take, my brain just shoots all over the place. I jump from topic to topic. I don't want my essay to be boring. I want it to be different...almost quirky. However, I can't have it be too weird, or controversial, or irreverent. Eventually, with all of this worry, and how much pressure weighs on this essay, I just get frustrated. What do I write about when I don't know what I'm trying to write about?

   My mom advised me to start with something I'm passionate about. She said that if I wrote about something I care about, something about which words will flow freely from my fingertips, that my passion and interest would come out in my writing. She said that's what makes a piece of writing come alive. Never underestimate the power of passion.

Take Me Out To The Ball Game

     As I walk through the crowds of people, all clad in the team's signature colors, the excitement is palpable. A woman checks my ticket, and I'm officially allowed into the stadium. Then I find myself immersed in a world of souvenir and food stands, all things branded with the team's logo. My nostrils are infested by the smell of ball park hot dogs that aren't quite the same anywhere else in the world. Eventually, I manage to weave my way through the shops and to the darkness of the tunnel. I know what's before me, I know what's to come. I had seen pictures of Wrigley Field before. It had been shown in countless movies. But as I neared the light at the end of the tunnel, and the anticipation peaked, I could not have been prepared for what I was about to experience.
    The brilliant sunlight made the bright green of the baseball diamond absolutely blinding. The sight of the players, the enormity of the 50,000 person stadium, the smell of the field, it was all so overwhelming. Foam finger in hand, I took my seat, the players warmed up, the national anthem was sung, and it was time. Play ball!

    My dad decided that it was his right and his duty as a father to take each of his daughters to a Cubs baseball game at Wrigley Field at least once before we graduate high school. Last year, right before my older sister's graduation, my dad fulfilled this wish for her. Today, my time had come. I have never been one to appreciate sports. Yes, they can be fun, but if I'm flipping through channels on TV, I would never stop and watch a baseball game. I expected that I would somewhat enjoy this event, but eventually find myself keeping an eye on my watch out of boredom. I expected to make this a check off of my bucket list, and then never wanting to go back. I couldn't have been more wrong.
    There's nothing quite like going to the ball park, Wrigley Field at that, the ball park of all ball parks, with my dad, and experiencing the competition, the rush, the camaraderie of the sport. This game was extra special to me, because the Cubs were playing the Cincinnati Reds - the same team they played when my Dad saw his first Cubs game as a little boy. Back when he brought his own catcher's mitt, dreaming of catching a fowl ball. Before today, I had no special attachment to the Cubs, or baseball in general. However, whenever a player did something remotely good, I would find myself standing and cheering at the top of my lungs. At the seventh inning stretch, I knew I was hooked on the excitement of the game. As I stood with my dad, his arm around me, as we screamed the words to "Take Me Out To The Ball Game", Cracker Jack and peanuts in hand, I knew nothing could be more special between a father and a daughter.

Early Bird Special

           While I used to be an enormous night owl, morning has now become my absolute favorite time of the day. The few hours I have awake when the house is quiet are close to perfection. During the day, everything seems so fast paced and rushed, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. But in my head, where everything always seems hustling and bustling, my few hours of quiet morning hour just seem to slow everything down a notch or two. Being up so early, it feels okay to do mindless tasks. I can move my hands slowly and methodically as I cut fruit for my breakfast, and in turn, my mind can slow a bit. I can take a breath, think about the little things, the big things, or think about nothing at all. It's such a release from my normally worried, anxious and busy mind.

            Since I've started being up so early, I have fallen into somewhat of a routine. I wake in my warm bed. When I realize that no more sleep will come to me, I reach for my phone and check my e-mail and Facebook, read my Twitter feed, explore Instagram updates, the important things in life. Then, I figure I've laid in bed enough, and it's time to retreat from my down comforter. So, pulling on baggy, oversized sweatshirt, my feet touch the ground and my day has begun.

            I take my first steps outside my room and into our front hallway and take a deep breath. The silence is beautiful, and I let myself take it in. I make the journey downstairs and open the refrigerator, pulling out sweet fruits of every color, shape, and size. My favorite knife in hand, I slice up strawberries, peaches, plums, bananas, anything. With a sprinkle of blueberries and raspberries, I pour yogurt on top, and breakfast is served.

            Now I sit. Maybe with some soft television in the background, maybe just basking in the silence. And I eat. I try to focus on being relaxed. I let this time be just for me. I don't have to worry about making anyone else happy or entertaining company. It's just me. I can read my book, browse the internet, or simply just eat.

            Once I'm fed, I fill up my waterbottle, and it's time to exercise. If it's a really nice morning, I'll go for a walk outside. But usually, I just take a walk in my climate controlled basement on our treadmill. I walk for a half hour, not an extreme workout or anything, but it wakes me up. It makes me feel ready for the day. It energizes me. It's more time in which I don't have to think, or worry, just be.

            By this time, I usually have another hour or two before the rest of my family is awake. Sometimes I'll go out and do errands, like grocery shop or go to the library. Other times, I'll work on cleaning different sections of my room. I strive to get rid of one garbage bag of junk out of my room every weekend. Maybe I'll use the quiet time to work on writing a blog entry like this one, or researching colleges, or just simply and mindlessly browse Pinterest for delicious sounding recipes or cute outfits.

            It doesn't really matter what I do with this time in the morning. What really matters to me is that it is my time. Don't get me wrong, I always look forward to when the rest of my family is awake too and I get to spend the day with them. There's just something about this early morning time though. It brings me into the day refreshed and relaxed. Before, when I went to bed, I would get a feeling of dread if I knew I had to wake up early. Now, I go to bed, and I think to myself "I get to wake up and have my lovely morning in just a few hours!" Call me elderly, boring, freaking insane, whatever. I'll just take it as a compliment and order the early bird special with a smile on my face.

Short Lived...

   "It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." This is a saying repeated through cheesy novels and romantic comedies since the beginning of time. However, is it really true? Maybe it applies sometimes, but from all of the heartbreak I'm observing right now, it's hard to have much faith in the saying.
   Today started week three of a pre-medical institute at Washington University in St. Louis, the final week. Coming into the program, a group of thirty girls and guys are thrown together in a minimum security dorm, spending all day and all night with one another. I guess it should have been expected that bonds would be made and feelings would be developed. What I hadn't expected was that some of these feelings would be directed towards me. So, I had a decision to make. Do as the others in the program were doing and pursue a "relationship" that will meet an inevitable doom in three short weeks, or to not. Call me boring, too serious, a worrywart, whatever, I decided against it.
    I didn't see a big enough upside to the guaranteed sadness and pain that would ensue from creating any tight bonds with these people I'll more than likely never see again. Maybe that sounds cold hearted, maybe it is cold hearted. Three weeks just wouldn't be worth it to me. However, I was one of the very few in this program that felt that way. My prediction came true. Bonds were formed, feelings developed...to the point where almost no boys or girls were sleeping in their own beds.
   As one may assume, the second week was a romantic high for a lot of people here. There was a lot of hand holding, stolen kisses, relationship Facebook status alterations, the whole nine yards. But, anyone who's ridden a roller coaster knows that as exhilarating and wonderful as that high is, and as much as you may never want it to end, that high will eventually come crashing down. That brings us here. Week three.
   Realizations are beginning to come into focus. That inevitable end that once seemed so far off is now baring its ugly face. I went home for the weekend and relationships were at nauseating as could be. When I returned, loving gazes have turned to regretful glances. Holding hands affectionately is now desperately clinging to what they know is slipping away.
   Yes, the relationship high has indeed begun to plummet. Tears have already begun to flow in anticipation of the ride being over. So is it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? Are all of these tears and heartache worth it? Who's to say? But when my friend - one shedding tears over soon leaving this program and consequentially her "boyfriend" who lives overseas - asked me for advice, I knew exactly what to say. We have one week left. A third of the program. She's going to face pain either way at this point, the ride will end, she's already had the high, there's no getting off now. But the ride isn't over yet. She has five more days to finish up the ride of her life. Would it have been better if she had never invested herself in this to begin with? Is it better to have loved and lost? Who's to say?

Finding Your Footing

   In any new situation, no matter how big or small the change, there's always a period of adjustment. Sometimes the change is for the better, sometimes for the better, but regardless of the circumstances, the adjustment is never very fun. Personally, I am currently in the midst of a very new situation to me. This change involves being four hundred miles away from my parents, my sister, my home. Anyone who knows me at all knows that I'm close with my family, and I've never been away from them for any extended period of time before, especially not away from them with no friends, acquaintances, just a lot of unfamiliar faces.
  This is all exciting, scary, fun, and lonely at first, all at the same time. Most of the other kids at this three week pre-medical program have been away from home several times before and treasure the freedom it entails. However, over the last week of adjusting to this new environment, I've been feeling the opposite. I love what I'm doing; learning about the medical field, dissecting brains and eyeballs, meeting new people, it's all a lot of great experiences. Most of the people are fantastic, and it's so interesting hearing about their lives and how differently people from different states and countries live. But, I can't help the occasional wave of homesickness that washes over me.
   Of course, I've been able to keep in contact with my parents and sisters via Skype and texting. I stay in touch with friends over frequent e-mails and such. But, I've had many moments during this program in which all I wanted to do was to be able to grab my mom or my dad and just give them the biggest, tightest, I-never-want-to-let-you-go-hugs EVER. It's already been a week, so you'd think I would be completely adjusted by now, but this is all just so new to me. I realize that I only have one more year left of high school, and then that's it. It'll be the college experience, but I'll be gone for good. No counting down the days until I get to go back to the safe and easy environment of my childhood home, because I'll have to make somewhere else my new home. And that's scaring the living daylights out of me.
   However, maybe the fact that I'm getting this experience, scariness and homesickness and all, is a really good thing. Maybe it'll make the transition when I go to college for good a lot smoother and expected. It'll be less of a thrown-into-the-deep-end-of-the-pool feeling, and more of a gradual wading into the water; letting my body acclimate to the pool temperature before allowing myself to be completely submerged. Not to say that it won't be difficult a year from now, and I'll be getting ready to move into a university that will become my home for at least four years of my life. It'll still be a challenge, and I'll still get homesick. But they say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and this program is very far from killing me. In fact, I'm extraordinarily happy here about 75% of the time, and that percentage is slowly creeping its way upward. So I'm just hoping to come out of this program with a lot of great memories, interesting experiences, and a much stronger person.