Home sweet home!

I'm finally home, after two weeks of overwhelming amounts of work accompanied by the expected stress, fret, and sleeplessness. My last essay (on international intellectual property rights law) was produced by an all-nighter which was half spent working, half spent digging up motivation to press on, and immediately followed by frantic packing, storing, and then driving.

On no rest, the hours I spent driving up a sometimes snaking and treacherous, other times straight, flat, and sleep-inducing were incredibly long. It was as if I was an overmatched boxer, thrown into the ring with a seasoned fighter. I could only run away from sleep for so long, and actually resorted to driving way too close to big rigs just to get a quick adrenaline rush in order to keep driving.

Thankfully, I made it home. Each of the three days I've been back have been stirring reminders of why I love Portland so much more than Los Angeles. Love it.

Rainbow Gold

As a child, you probably heard that there's always a pot of gold sitting at the very end of a rainbow. And if you were a greedy impetulant brat like me, you might have tried to follow a rainbow to its end (only to discover that no matter how fast or far you went, the rainbow would outrun you). Those pots of gold are in the upper echelon of elusive treasures, enthroned with its partners in deception the "Elixer of Life/Philosopher's Stone", "Atlantis", and "the plot of any movie starring a black comedian not named Chris Rock".

At school and in life, I feel like I'm chasing one of these fantasies. I keep running and running, farther and faster through time. For what? What's at the end? Happiness? I doubt it. Love? You'll have to prove to me love exists first. Success? An illusory concept.

Call me pessimistic. Call me jaded. Call me bitter.

The world is held captive by the murky fog of moral and political relativity. We approach a dangerous crossroads in American history where the path of least resistance leads to the demolition of a great nation. Brothers and sisters a few decades earlier have turned into partisan hacks, itching for their next bitter, empty argument. Instead of building this country up side by side, our countrymen have strayed from the course. They have taken the most beautiful of American ideals - individualism - and have turned it into something ugly by selfishly clinging onto differences between people instead of embracing them.

Instead of pressing on naively, we must backtrack as a nation. The hard path towards a moral surplus is uphill and understandably unbeaten. But when Americans make the choice to return to this path, they should not fear going at it alone. For in the blackest of times, the bearers of truth and justice shine brilliantly through the darkness to lead those yearning for a better nation into the future.

Someone told me today that I "look mad at being back at school". She was absolutely right.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a momma's boy. I like my family more than I like my friends; after all, they've spent the most time with me, and they've unwaveringly stuck by me for 20 years. That's why it's so hard to come back to school. Certainly, I cherish my friends here. I am blessed to have met so many great people in my college career, but it's just not the same. I wish I could export Occidental to Portland.

I've actually met some people who are reluctant to go home. Some have fallen out with their families, others prefer to be by themselves at school, and still others are able to call Oxy their "home". I can't call Oxy "home" at all - my heart isn't here. The educational component, both academic and introspective, are here. I'm learning tons, I'm building a career, a network, and solidifying the idea of who I am. Ultimately, though, every time I look up from my books, I'm looking north.

Oh well, it's another three days and I'll be back to watch the Davis Cup. After that, the longest two weeks of my life will drag by before I can go home.

Wait for me, Portland!

I love jumping: to and from hobbies and activities, academic interests, even circles of friends. It's a constant game of musical chairs, where the only scrambling, frantic participant is me. I think I might have some sort of ADD, fueled by the tandem of a strong inherent sense of curiosity and an environment that continually shifts.

I should settle down! My inventory of life's "get out of jail free" cards is running low, and already the rigors of real-life have begun calling my name, beckoning me to don a jersey and join the rat-race. But did I really race through my childhood for this?!

No. There's got to be more. There has to be more secrets, more adventures.