The other month, my Literature class was reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, when my teacher encouraged us to pay attention to the “language of flowers.” It was one of those afternoons where I was giggly and giddy, unable to focus or sit still. My teacher said that in the Victorian era, flowers spoke for people, that a rose might mean love, while a lily symbolized purity or grief. I remember finding that strangely pretty. Even something as small as a flower can have meaning i

I haven't had a solid night of sleep this week, but this week has also been one of my favorites. It's a very random week, just an...

I’ve been losing a lot lately. If this had been me a year ago, I would have been a wreck. I would have stared at my shelf, agonizing over...

The other day, my friend and I played a game. We called it The Alphabet of Illnesses. One by one, we went through the alphabet, naming...

I haven’t written in a while because of college applications. That sentence alone feels like the understatement of the year. These past...

Once in a while, I go back and reread my old blog posts. They’re kind of like reading letters from a past self I don’t fully recognize...

"You looked like you were about to punch somebody." That’s what my brother said as we sat together, replaying the video from my award...