When I was younger, I dreamt of becoming a polka-dot umbrella. While my peers fixated on occupations in banking, archeology, and other fields, I aspired to "protect people from the rain" professionally.
"We're immigrating to America?" I equated moving to the United States with moving to a different universe.
I touched the fire. Well, sort of. Consistent chants of "Touch the fire!" hurtled by thousands of upperclassmen slowly dulled my judgment until I quasi-intuitively gravitated toward the bonfire.
I began laughing the moment I opened the thin, innocent-looking envelope. Someone, or perhaps more than one person, had anonymously mailed me a photo of an inside joke from my DOC Trip, scrawling various one-liners on the outside of the envelope.
