Dear Future Me:
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Dear Future Me:
Spring 2005: I am 10 years old. It’s 2 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon, and I’m sitting in a classroom. My blue and red Chinese dictionary is opened to “Jing” in “Jing Ji Xue Jia.”
About a month ago, my roommate Flora and I made the following list of must-haves and deal breakers for our future apartment:
Reservation for Two, Take One:
Computers should easily be able to connect to Wi-Fi.
The five of us sat in the corner of Molly’s. Marking the end of winter term, we celebrated our first, and most likely last, Thomas Jefferson High School Class of 2013 reunion at Dartmouth.
In elementary school, we learned that the seasons are caused by earth’s tilted axis and its revolutions around the sun. Differing amounts of heat and light strike the northern and southern hemispheres, resulting in distinct seasons dependent, in part, on earth’s position relative to the sun.
Retire (verb): to withdraw from one’s position or occupation; conclude one’s working or professional career.
First Floor Stairs
The figure skating team had our second qualifying competition this past weekend at Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia. We left campus Friday morning at 5 a.m., and we were supposed to arrive in Hanover late Sunday night (Monday morning?) around 12:30 a.m.
The following email was sent on Friday afternoon to the entire figure skating team:
We drive along the Hudson River, having already said goodbye to the privacy of a house rented by eight West Point “firsties” for the weekend. My friend, Eric, is behind the wheel of his grandfather’s Thunderbird, and I sit in the passenger seat — the only other seat in the car. It’s the perfect day to celebrate “100th Night,” with temperatures soaring above 40 degrees and wispy cirrus clouds accentuating the blueness of the sky.
I’m sitting on my bed wearing a large flannel over a free t-shirt. My laptop is open. There is only one noun on my Word document: “Love…”
I tie my left skate before my right, tightening and retightening my laces until the calluses on the outside of my pinkies turn red with aggravation. I zip up my green Dartmouth team jacket and walk toward the rink. My warm up begins in six minutes.
The day Dhruv and I created “Geo fun with Dhruv” was the day we sat next to each other in geosystems class during senior year of high school, terribly bored, having just finished a lab assignment that was supposed to teach us about wind patterns or rock formations. Four years later, I can’t even tell you which way the water is supposed to swirl when you flush in the Northern Hemisphere.
How many of Shakespeare’s works have you read?
I swallow three ibuprofen at once, hoping to quell the pain that has taken permanent residence in my lower back. Six more hours left on this flight home from Beijing, China, and I’ve already watched two movies, drank three large glasses of wine, failed to sleep twice and thrown away a half-eaten meal.
I walk to the stage, two-inch heels clacking on the polished wooden floor. I stand in front of the grand piano, looking out over the parents and students who have gathered for our annual end of the year recital.
June, 2052. Mimosa count: 4. We raised our glasses, (at least) one sparkling alcoholic orange beverage each.
I wait for the noise to die down in the crowded lecture hall. The clock turns 7, and I step out from behind the podium, activating my presentation. Holograms fill the stage, 3-D faces rotate and swerve amongst the surgical residents in the audience.