University of Minnesota - Twin Cities
Recently, the idea of attending an out-of-state university has surfaced: University of Minnesota - Twin Cities. As I type this, the hear of the spring sun reminds me of Minnesota’s treacherous winers.
I’ve always been an advocate of living life without any regrets and relishing the spontaneity in every moment that arises in our lives. This is the perfect opportunity to put my words into action.
If I were to go to University of Minnesota - Twin Cities, I would know only one person. Scary as that may seem, it actually excites me. The idea of new adventures with fresh new faces in an unfamiliar setting—it all seems too much like a very thought out Shane Koyzcan poem. (Did I mention that University of Minnestoa has a club specifically for people interested in Slam Poetry! If that didn’t seal the deal, I don’t know what will.)
Even more my mom and my grandparents have no qualms about the six-hour distance. It’s only because a branch of the church I grew up in is twenty minutes away from the university. Regardless, it is still a step in the right direction. I understand letting go is going to be difficult.
More importantly, the programs at University of Minnesota are fitting for my career plans. The theatre program at Minnesota is far superior to the program at Loyola University of Chicago. I will be entering Loyola with at least twenty credits (equivalent to a minor!). Minnesota is willing to take “3s” for credit! In addition to all of this, I got accepted as a part of their honors program!
Loyola is a great school-don’t get me wrong; however, Chicago will always be there waiting for me!
I’m currently planning a visit to the University of Minnesota during my spring break with my mom and my grandparents. To be honest, though, I kind of don’t want to. I would rather of to the university blindly this fall. Stupid right? But only then can I truly embark on an unpredictable journey.
After getting rejected from Northwestern University, searching for another school never became about finding the “right fit.” I know that no other school will win me over the way Northwestern did. It was blatanly obvious that planning out my entire college education was a poor decision. My rejection should have been the only sign I needed. But like Joseph Campbell mentions in his framework of a hero’s quest, “refusing the call” simply prolongs the inevitable.
Months passed and I ignored the six other colleges I was accepted to because of loyola. Two days ago, it was as if Hedwig himself delivered the Golden letter from U of M. I was awarded in-state tuition the day after I found out I could afford Loyola in the hefty sums of several loan packages.
It became clear an is becoming clearer the more I dwell on the thought of moving out of Illinois. It gives me shivers thinking about it (and no I’m not talking about Minnesota’s frost winter). The kind of shivers that come from nervousness, and anxiousness, and excitement. And like I always say: The vitality of life is not defined by our victories our our losses but through the empty pass inked with the constant growth of the mind’s curiosities.
The vitality of life is not defined through our victories or our losses but through the empty pages inked with the constant growth of the mind’s curiosities.
I’m a performer. Not a stupid ranking.
Screw speech. Screw Jan. Screw regionals. I’m angry. and upset. Hope the opportunity costs are worth it.
Yesterday I became Conference Champ for Poetry!
Very great way to end the regular season :]
La la la la la
I am. I am. I am… I stutter because the word refuses to come out. I try again. I am. I am. I I I I ammmmmmmmmmmmmmm… AHH! Even as I elongate my phrases to search for this word, it refuses to cough itself out of my voice box. BUT I SHALL PREVAIL. As I was walking home from school, an electric mixtures of oranges, yellows, reds, greens, and a touch of periwinkle blue of a worn out noodie blind my vision from a distance. Ow… I arrive home and the aroma of fishsticks mixed with burnt barbeque sauce and old vinegar disables my nostrils conjuring up a sneeze followed by several other powerful sneezes. I run to my room. “Run” is really the wrong word. The clanking of my toes and the howling noises of my sweat bounces from the wooden flooring onto a glass table and finally reaches my naked cat roaring feline profanties in his sleep. (Probabaly because he’s naked.) I am now searching for my lucky, yellow handkercheif but the sneezes have been accompanied by watering of the eyes. Carefully, I open my drawers one by one. Each drawer feels slightly different. I open the drawer containing the the handkerchief and ridges of my decayed teeth cut my finger open. In order to stop my bleeding, I open up the cage containing my rabbit, stick my finger in his mouth, and allow him to suck me dry! Hours later, I hear my naked cat and my rabbit gossiping about my finger. My rabbit described my finger as a fat, tender piece of crocodile skin dipped in thick almond milk topped with hot sauce and sugar free hot chocolate syrup. So WHAT am I? I guess that’s for you to answer.
