Would you stay with me anyway?

Nine minutes ago*, I finished the last final of my junior year. Now I will share with you a list of lessons learned from my third year in college. I’ve been (somewhat) consistent since freshmen year, sophomore year, and half-way through junior year. Here we go once more:

  1. I finally found my walk-up song (shout out to Sarah and Acy). It’s Anyway by Tori Kelly. Go listen to it, text me if you agree, or suggest another song that embodies my essence.
  2. It’s never too late to make new friends.
  3. If you want a tattoo, go out and get one (after saving up, of course).
  4. There might be days when you break down crying, but it’s okay because your family and friends are only one call away (especially if they’re your ‘favorites’ on your phone).
  5. Go to lecture as often as you can muster up the courage to because reviewing 300+ slides in the span of two days before your final is demoralizing.
  6. Sitting outside and basking in the sun is therapeutic.
  7. Chirping birds at 5am is stress-inducing.
  8. Dance whenever, wherever, and with whomever.
  9. Make playlists even if you’re not “into music” because then I can add you on Spotify and stalk you on another social media platform.
  10. Be bold even if your hands are shaking and your breath is wavering.
  11. Pay attention to your school’s basketball team because when a stranger in a bagel shop in NYC starts a conversation with you about their recent win in the ACC championship, you want to say something more substantial than “Uh huh? Really? Wow!”
  12. Invest in a white noise machine.
  13. When a friend calls you and needs you then all you need to do is simply listen.
  14. Find yourself and when you do, revel in it.
*It took me a while to finish writing this post…

I’m incredibly tired and my body is going against my mind*

*A text sent at 1:58pm on April 25, 2017 by E.K.

Three papers for a total of 25 pages over a span of three days. I’ve known about this hellish week since the beginning of the semester, but I didn’t actually begin to panic until last Thursday. Since then I have been internally screaming, gulping too much coffee, and taking naps at 10pm so I can wake up at 1am to begin my long morning.


Here’s to the last week of my junior year.



We do not exist to enlighten you.

I support affirmative action, but I recently encountered someone who firmly disagrees. I was in a position in which I could not bring up my opposition or break down her argument. I will deconstruct her here. I mean, I will deconstruct her argument.

  • Colleges claim affirmative action increases diversity of the student population, but what is the point if there are student groups like Asian Students Association or Black Students Movement?

In other words, students of color stick together and don’t integrate themselves. Thus, affirmative action achieves nothing since the population is not diverse.

Why are you opposed to the idea of having spaces where white people are not found? Note I didn’t say “allowed” because both student groups are explicitly clear in being open to non-Asian or non-Black students. Spaces without white people are not products of reverse-racism. These spaces do not exist as part of a system of oppression. Rather, they exist as a counterbalance to the system of oppression. Let me simplify it for you.

This university is predominately white. This town is predominately white. This state is predominately white. This country is predominately white. White people make up the majority.

ASA and BSM are two student groups in a predominately white space on four different levels (see above). If racism is defined as oppressing people based on their race and/or ethnicity, then where is the oppression taking place? Are you, a white student, affected by the existence of a predominately-Asian or Black space? If ASA or BSM were to disappear, would you be affected?

The answer is no. You would continue to live in a predominately-white space. Talk to me when these groups gain ACTUAL power and begin to shape your life to such an extent that you fear for your existence.

People of color do not exist to educate you. We are not tokens to flash at others so you can taunt your wealth of diversity. Why do you assume that these organizations are proof of the failures of affirmative action? Why didn’t you ask yourself, “Hmm, where are the white students and who are they sticking with?” Oh, I know where they are. They’re over there in Frat Court. I’m sorry. Aren’t you familiar with the Greek system? The historically racialized institution that systematically excludes minorities. Is the Greek system another example of a shortcoming of affirmative action? Or do your examples only work if you target students of color and their supposed inability to fraternize with other races?

By the way, if you’re wondering why there isn’t a group similar to ASA and BSM for white students then look no further, I have your answer.






I am not a hoarder of material goods, but I tend to hoard burdens, concerns, anxieties, fears, and grudges. A quick perusal of my previous posts will show you that I often depict myself as a laden down individual. Burdens abound and muscles are knotted. I am perpetually wound up.

That is until a month ago when I let things go.

It was as if a giant crane had taken ahold of me and began to tilt me until everything that I had tucked away was shaken out. Disappointment in my best friends was tossed aside. Worry about my post-graduation plans was chucked. Fear of leaving my comfort zone was flung aside. Obsession with my past pains was lobbed. Everything was ejected. I had remnants, but nothing was whole. I had to begin again. The task of collection was renewed.

I rekindled a friendship with someone who housed me when I moved out. I made up my mind to take a year off after graduation despite qualms of losing my edge as a grad school applicant. I spontaneously accepted an offer to study abroad in London. I counted my blessings. I let go.

And I felt lighter than ever before. I was happier than last semester at least.

Last semester, I took delight in sleeping. I could escape into darkness and absence. I actually wished to stay asleep forever. I sought to be gone.

Now I seek to be present for I am happy.

But please don’t mistake my smile as a constant. Sometimes, I will cry because I am lonely. I dwell on the what-ifs. Doubt creeps in again.

I feel myself winding up and easing into what I have always known and understood to be familiar to me– anxiety and depression.

Catching myself, I stiffen and force my body to relax. The distance between the familiar and unfamiliar widens. I am righting myself up.

I’m beginning again and I have only Him to thank.


Another Sunday

The Church is not meant to be intimidating. People are supposed to come and feel welcomed. Yet I have heard countless tales about the hurt and bitterness inflicted upon people by the Church. They always say, “I left because of the Church.” Although what they mean is, “I left because of the people who were supposed to welcome me, but turned me away instead.” It was the people who were intimidating.

I can relate to these stories because I used to resent the Church. It was the first place where I felt so lonely and upset about myself. I had one friend– my cousin. My name was easily forgotten and I felt invisible. I especially hated retreats because there were group activities such as relay races and skits. These games were meant to forge bonds, but instead, they clarified the absence of relations.

It’s like when you’re in gym class and you’re the last to be chosen for a team. You’re not last because you suck. You’re last because they didn’t remember to include you until the absence of everyone else made you apparent again.

I hated the Church for making me feel invisible and unwanted. I silently cursed the girls who would walk up to me with huge smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. I fumed when I saw my peers chasing the upperclassmen because they were so desperate to fit “in.” I cried when I realized that I had no friends.

And the whole time I blamed the Church. Now I have divvied up the blame. I look back and realize what I could have done, but I also look back and remember the many times I openly resented the Church and they openly ignored me. They viewed my resentment as my problem. My bitterness and my anger were mine alone in their eyes.

They forgot that I was a part of their community. They forgot that a community exists so what is mine is ours. They forgot to untangle themselves from their own lives long enough to pause and see me standing there. Alone. Sad. Bitter. Fearful. Upset. Shy.

The Church has hurt many people, but the Church is not God. The community is not God. I am not God. They are not God. God is God and Him alone.

So if the Church isn’t God then what is it?

The Church is supposed to be the church. The church with people who are broken like me and seeking to be made whole again. The church that is imperfect because we make up the body and humans are imperfect.

I haven’t figured it out yet. I don’t know how to help those who have been, are hurt, or will be hurt by the Church.

But I do know this– the Church does not exist to save us. It is Christ alone. We must not place our faith in a building or a group of people. Nor can we burden the church and its people with our anger. Anger fuels hate. God is love so where will you find Him if you have nothing but anger and hate tightly clenched in your hands?


If you don’t even notice someone from your community is missing, shame on you.



“How are you?”

“I’m doing better.”

Better isn’t equivalent to good. The -er indicates a difference from a previous state. Last semester, I wasn’t doing so well, but now I’m better. I’m not wholly healed though.

“Better? What do you mean?”

Well, I don’t know. All I can say is last semester is when I felt like I had fallen into a deep ditch and I had no intention of crawling back out. In fact, I was content on the ground. My body didn’t ache. My heart wasn’t broken. My mind was empty.

“How did you fall?”

I’m not sure. I can’t trace my depression back to a single source. It wasn’t because of a boy nor was it because of my busy schedule. And I can’t tell if my diluted relationship with God was a factor. All I can say is that I fell and it felt really good to turn my back on everything else.

“What changed?”

To be honest, nothing changed and that’s my biggest fear. What if I wake up and I’ve fallen again? I get the itch to stumble every now and then. I’ll wonder, “could I skip these classes and still pass? what if I called in sick to work? do I really need to meet up with them?” The list of possible ways to avoid all interaction, to stay in my room, to not get up still exists. I push it out of sight, out of mind, but it bobs up like a buoy.

There isn’t a lesson learned from this experience because I think I’m still going through it. I haven’t yet climbed out, but I’m on my way.