Maame's College Extravaganza: Cornell University

This summer I’m embarking on my giant college tour trip, my parents and I are taking the East Coast by storm from Ithaca to Boston. This has been, by all means, an Odyssey to get here (Mr. Rabiola would be so proud). We drove because, well, I don't really know why we drove. Still, we drove. It wasn't a bad trip, but it was the longest we've ever taken as a family. I like long car rides because it allows me to do my favorite things: listen to music, eat, and read. It's uninterrupted time to relax for me because no one ever tries to make me drive. I assume as I get older this relaxation period will turn into something very different when I'm the one driving for twenty hours and not reading "Americanah" to Laura Mvula's album and a bag of Oreo Minis. Nonetheless I still read some 300 pages of one of my first fiction books written for adults in the driving period. I've also memorized all of "Green Garden" both the studio and the Metropole Orkest (I prefer the latter version, but only marginally).

As I embark on this journey I find it best to describe each place we stop, or at least the interesting ones. My first stop was Cornell University to

1. Visit my sister; and
2.  Go on a tour of the school

Ithaca, NY is in Upstate New York. I'm from Kansas, so when they say it's flat, I always think about how my hometown has huge hills that are scary to walk up, and then I came here and I'll never think that again. In Upstate New York everything has a slope. In Ithaca if you look up from pretty much any point, you see rolling hills, maybe mountains, for miles. It's really beautiful when you don't think about how somewhere in the rolls and rolls of forestry hills exists a few packs of bears that are very prepared to steal your Tim Hortons.

On the way to the cabins you have to go through a dramatic ride through Upstate, and just before you reach the Arnot Forest you're so close to the forest that you can see individual trees. The trees in this area are very thin, but very tall, like a teenage boy with a pituitary gland imbalance, and the roads are always raised up by about 10 feet, unlike in Kansas. So, you can't really swerve around on the roads, unless you enjoy 10 foot car drops onto the family of bears that still want your donuts.

Ithaca itself is a lot different from what I expected. My parents told me it's just like our hometown: that was a lie. Ithaca is very much a different city. It has a vibe to it that I've only found in the East Coast (this isn't my first rodeo in the East Coast please see 2008 and 2010 of my memory for more details). The roads are narrow and the rent is very high. When you pass single family homes, more than one family lives there. The people are very similar to my hometown, I'll give Ithaca that.

It's probably because they're colleges of similar sizes, although my hometown doesn't house an Ivy. Wegman's is a grocery store that's always packed with people because of its many organic options. My hometown just opened its third organic grocers. Ithaca feels smaller, I think it stems from how different the college town area is from everything else.

I've enjoyed my time here, in Ithaca I mean. There is an avid Amish population, which really excites me because they've always fascinated me. The Snapchat filters for the city aren’t half bad, but nothing in comparison to my hometown. I'll give their filters a 6/10. My next stop is Boston to tour the plethora of colleges that exist within the area. 

Let me know if any of you have been to Ithaca. How was it for you?

Food

I like the foods that I like--I wouldn't say I'm a 'picky' eater, I just don't like a lot of foods, but I really like a few foods. This situation creates an atmosphere of longing and repetition. I've been waiting for my favorite foods to show up and chowing down since as long as I can remember. In pre-school I distinctly remember sobbing the day I had a doctor's appointment that ran late and made me miss my favorite lunch: meatballs.

As I've gotten older and started working the waiting part has kind of disappeared because I can just buy the foods I like. Here is a list of foods that I have arguably become addicted to:

1. 2012- Snicker's Ice Cream Bars
• Once a day, everyday for around a month I would walk to the Walgreen's by my house to buy exactly one Snicker's ice cream bar. 
• "Maame, what is this? Why didn't you just buy them in bulk, like, once a week?" Good question: I have no answer, I was a stupid tween--MOVING ON! 
• When I ran out of money from my babysitting gig and could no longer afford the ice cream bars I can honestly tell you that I had withdrawal symptoms.
•  Like a crackhead in prison, I was forced to move on.
2. 2013- Pirate's Booty
• Every week for 2 months I would buy exactly 2 bags of Pirate's Booty (2 for $4) from Dillion's and spend the whole week eating them
• One day as I was eating a bag, I realized that I had out-eaten them. They stopped being a treat, so I stopped liking them.
• A crackhead sees the light again.
3. 2014- China House
• Before an orchestra concert, after school on early release, after pay day, or when I felt like it I was at China House ordering sesame chicken, light sauce, pork fried rice and crab rangoon instead of egg rolls. 
• The only reason I stopped eating China House was because, well, actually I had it like two weeks ago, nevermind I still eat there. My addiction to Chinese food hasn't gone away.
•  I guess you could say I'm weaning myself off of it in the same way doctors wean crack babies off drugs; it's a gradual process.
4. 2015- The Waffle Iron
• Gourmet (?) $10 waffles that are literally burning a hole in my bank account and I still haven't stopped. 
• If you're a true fan, you'd know that since I was 5 on our family trip to New Mexico when I was first exposed to waffles, I've loved them. 
• A few months ago my friend Jessica, who is a true friend and a true fan, took me to get fancy waffles because she knows how much I love them and that's when it started.
• It's like I'm a crackhead living in a crack house.
• This is such a problem because I refuse to stay in my hometown forever, which means that I can't go once every other week like I'm doing now.

Me the year of the infamous doctor's
appointment, smiling through the pain.

I've worked at the same fast food joint for over a year now, and nearly everyday without fail (until she fell ill) this woman would walk in around 2pm and order a diet coke and two ice creams. It was like clockwork, we could always expect her. One thing to note about me, is how self conscious I am, especially when it comes to food. I hid my Snicker's bars, I tried to play Pirate's Booty off as just a snack and I physically cannot eat alone. 

The problem is when people point it out. Don't remind me that I've had the same snack all the time, don't look at me when my friends don't show up for lunch--just leave me alone until I'm 24 and have better self confidence as a result of my glo up and college degree. 

I'm not even going to say which restaurant it was because I'm so disgraced, but I made a misstep and was called out by a worker (who knows me because I'm always there) because I should know better because I'm literally always there. It was the most horrific moment of my life because I realized I'M THE LADY THAT WALKS IN A 2PM EVERY DAY AND ORDERS TWO ICE CREAMS AND A DIET COKE.

I've been trying to figure out the point of this post for a little over three hours and all I can come up with is that I really need to hurry up and turn 24 so I can have a masters degree and look so good that when people look at me funny for ordering a Chipotle burrito bowl with a tortilla on the side I will not care.

Either that, or I just hyper-analyze everything, especially when it comes to food, and I really need a chill pill and some more self confidence.

It's one of the two.

Summer

Summer vacation has always been a hotbed topic for me (pun intended). As a little kid I hated summer, I thought it was awful because of how much I loved school and, summer is, well, the opposite of school. I was actually jealous of the kids who had to go to summer school. I think everyone pretty much thought I was a dweeb-loser-nerd.

Either way as I got older, summer wasn’t that looming three month gap of nothing but rather a much needed relief: my driver’s license, car and expendable income from my job also added to my change of heart. 

As a youngster May to August consisted of two weeks of TV, church camp for a week, math camp for a week, 2 more weeks of nothing, another church camp, nothing, sleepaway camp, more nothing and the finally the next school year had begun! I hated the nothing parts of summer: I’d countdown to each camp date and once they’d end I’d wait anxiously for the school year to begin. 

I like being involved with something and being bored makes me physically ill even now. I’m not joking, I feel sick when I have nothing to do--or maybe just anxious, I’ve never really looked into it. Back to the point! Imagine a bone skinny, 5’5, 10 year old walking around her backyard trying to figure out how to read most comfortably in a tree. Now imagine that same dweeb-loser-nerd inside with a school size whiteboard writing and solving the longest long division problem possible just for fun because she finished all of her workbooks. That was me and it wasn’t a good look. I did everything in my free time: I wrote a blog, I rode my bike, I watched copious amounts of Doctor Who, I read Wikipedia articles for fun, I finished every workbook my parents bought me, I read every Abby Hayes book published to 2010 (and racked up a huge library fine because of it). I even learned how to make my own powerpoint transitions just to know that I could. 

Last summer was similar but different. I’m a bit taller now and I don’t weigh 92 pounds anymore. I spent my summer months volunteering all over town, babysitting, making fries at Wendy’s and pre-studying (pre-studying is when you read the AP textbooks over the summer so when the school year starts you already have an idea of what’s going on). I was never bored last summer, because there was never time to be bored--but there was no pressure and I didn’t have to use my brain. That’s where the break part comes into play: there’s no pressure to get an A on a Calc test or be awake by 6:30. 

Here's a picture of me in July '10, wasting away at a movie.

Summer '14 was a lot different in the way that it was the first summer that my sister was gone. I mean, don’t get me wrong she’s been to camps I didn’t go to and she got to tour the East Coast when she was 12 but I always knew that she’d be back for the school year and summer of 2014 was the first year when I knew definitively that she would not be returning. She didn’t die or anything, she just went off to college early to get some credits out of the way but still. That’s why I’m really glad I was so busy. There wasn’t enough time to sulk around feeling sad because there was a hospital patient who needed to find the Family Health Center or a Calc book that needed highlighting--I appreciated that. 

I think my point is that I’m kind of like squirrel, I need something to do at all times because my mind moves so much and I’m interested in so many things. I have no idea what I’ll do this coming summer--I have some camps lined up and volunteering in place but it’s worrisome. This is potentially my last summer at home because I don’t know what summer college I could go to or if I’ll take a senior trip. It’s my last summer to make count, college wise. I think I’m a little crazy about looking as good as possible to colleges, but I’m not going into the college process blindly. Summer is a time where I need a ton of things to do for my crazy brain to flourish so that it stops being so crazy. 

With my final AP test finishing today at noon, I can see summer in the horizon: summer looks beautiful and bright and happy, but a little bitter sweet. I have one more year of  high school and then I've done it, I will have graduated. I'm ready for the age of the free--I'm ready for summer.

Running

I really like the idea of exercise, especially running. The other day on a school trip my friend and I realized that our hotel had a gym. Mind you, it was a measly little trashcan of a gym with two treadmills (one of which didn't even have a phone holder), a stair stepper, a bike and some weights in a fairly small and musty room. But I didn't really care because putting on my exercise clothes and turning on my running playlist was enough for me to feel like I was in an episode of the Carrie Diaries, even though I was cursing myself with every step I took and also the part where I was not Carrie. No, I was one of her cool friends that live in the City that also happens to work out even on vacation and ultimately steals Austin Butler's character away from Carrie because of her toned physique due to hotel gym exercise. But the reality of this physical blasphemy didn't involve me being a man-stealer but rather a dream crusher.

I don't think people understand that even though I look like I haven't sweat in 13 years, I am actually a pretty athletic person...or at least I used to be. I played basketball all throughout elementary and middle school, tennis on the side and soccer over the summer just for fun one year. I don't hate sports. I like basketball because you have to do minimum three things at one time: set your feet, don't stay in the paint too long, get open, screen, remember the play, just kidding it fell apart, rebound. whatever, I'm getting dramatic you get the point. And with tennis it's a mental game of where you want to hit the ball, how hard, if you actually want to chase after that ball that's going to fall in the opposite corner, how are you going to unlock your inner Serena Williams. As for soccer, I have no idea I was awful at it but it's fun to watch. And sure I had to run to condition for those sports but it never really grew beyond a lull of hatred because I knew there'd have to be a point where we'd get to the good part where I could use my brain. Track was a different story.

Every time I move my legs faster than walking pace I crush my own dreams because honestly I just don't like running just to run. And I especially don't like running around a track aka the lost chapter of Dante's Inferno. I talk to people about why they like running all the time because honestly a little part of me wished I actually liked it and I'm always kind of hoping someone's reason will become my own; however, I am not a sponge so I can't absorb their reasons. Back to the point: I've heard that it relieves stress, it calms people down, it let's them think--essentially running is a poor man's Netflix and popcorn.

This is the only picture of me doing anything track related,
fake smile, ugly uniform and bad hair intact.

The only reason I started running was because my arms were pretty much the same size as my legs starting middle school--I was an actual twig and I read somewhere that you can get less bony legs from running, so I did. But after 7th grade I went back for the 8th grade season to hang out with friends (my legs weren't a huge issue since I stopped being 95 pounds). In 8th grade I was convinced that I would learn to love running if I did it enough, so I kept doing it. I'm pretty sure I got the idea of this do-it-til-you-love-it" mentality from an NPR segment where this man joined the army and ran all the time and one day it stopped being a chore. I am not the man from the NPR segment. I am 17 years old girl with long legs that I use for nothing except for exclusively owning capris (not by choice).

I find running very boring and I don't like having to go through my own thoughts while my throat burns. This is my thought process when I run:
I really just don't get it: am I supposed to keep doing the same thing the whole entire time for nothing? Isn't that what babies do? They want to play peek-a-boo over and over again, and just like peek-a-boo this got boring after the first minute. 

I recently stopped feeling the shin splints and muscle pain I acquired from my fantasy man-stealing and a couple things I know are true:

1. I wanted to break that stupid treadmill into pieces
2. Afterwards I was really surprised that I:

• A) actually finished; and
• B) didn't pass out afterwards
• C) even thought that running would be a good idea

Long story short: no matter what I do I'm going to hate running, it's in my blood, it's in my brain, it's in my heart and I can't change that. My best options are to stop watching reruns of the Carrie Diaries and get over my Henry David Thoreau-like attitude of falling in love with the ~idea~ of things and get real for a quick minute.

Great Expectations

I have an issue with expectations: I always place mine too high. It really doesn't matter who I have expectations of, a crackhead, my parents, a rando, a good friend, literally anyone except for myself and it's becoming a problem. I don't think that I lack confidence, I've actually been working really hard on building that aspect of my life, I think it's more that I push myself really hard so when a teacher says the class "struggled" on a test or something of that nature I look to myself before anyone else: which brings me back to expectations.

There's this new show called Child Genius on Lifetime, I think and it's really interesting. Basically really important people (the proctor is a former astronaut) make a bunch of little kids stand on a podium and answer questions that are really hard. I know it sounds bland, but I root for some of those kids as if they were my own blood (YEJI I'M ROOTING FOR YOU!!!). I'm getting off topic. Anyways, they have a gifted education specialist who has little confessionals where she discusses how most gifted kids tend to act.

This is Leland Melvin, he's the proctor of Child Genius and has the hands-down best portrait I've ever seen.

I'm not trying to toot my own horn or anything but I tend to relate to what she says because I was, still am whatever, a gifted kid. But on the latest episode she said how a lot of gifted kids have really high expectations but tend to downplay them in order to cushion the blow and that's when it hit me (pun intended)--I DO THAT ALL THE TIME.

Okay let's share some secrets: last year I applied to be on this teen panel and it was a very intense process of lots of recommendations and applications. I kind of had it in my head that I was a pretty great student: I tried really hard and took difficult classes plus I had the grades to prove it, so when I got my rejection email I was devastated. I'd been checking my email vigorously all week in hopes that they'd tell me to pack my bags because I had been chosen, but instead I got a short email about how it wasn't a me thing, it was a them thing and how "many exceptional students applied" and that this rejection "shouldn't discourage me". I got off my shift at work, sat in my car and cried for a solid 10 minutes probably. I hadn't really spoken about it in depth because even though I ~thought~ I was going to be chosen, I didn't want people to think that I ~thought~ that I was going to get it and I didn't want myself to think that I ~thought~ that I was a shoe-in. It was a huge mess of getting my hopes up and then squishing them down just for them to rise again until finally, concretely they fell.

That's what worries me. I've already taken the SATs for the first time and then Subject Tests in May, plus AP tests in May, plus the ACT that's still looming and then the huge elephant that is college applications, I can't help but think in the back of my mind that I'm going to have high expectations because I put a lot of effort into everything, only to have the same fluctuation in my mind that could very well result in the same rejection template with different words printed where the parentheses once were.

I've been trying to keep myself balanced and stay positive. I know where my mind tends to lean towards and I know how it affects me. I'm not trying to be a Debby Downer, but sometimes you have to hope for the best but expect the worst and that took me a while to figure out and I'm not sure I have the balance quite right, but I can only hope that over time it won't be so hard to think that way.

I always have issues making points with my posts, however, this one for me is very straightforward. Having high expectations isn't always a bad thing but it's a balancing act. I'm only 17, so I have a lot more to work on but I went from a 12 year old who was scared of criticism and failure to a teenager who is more confident and comfortable sharing her work with everyone and now always expects some sort of response no matter how good or bad, so I'd say I've come a long way.

I may not always show it, but I tend to get very anxious and nervous when I really want something, but now I know that everything can't always go my way and I can only hope that when my time comes to "glo up" I'll be ready.

YOU READ MY DIARY

I'm probably classified as a hoarder. I tend to keep little things from my past in hopes that it's relevant in the future. Okay, exaggeration, I'm a intellectual property hoarder. As long as I can remember I try to keep track of my thoughts, often time by writing them down--I run this blog for crying out loud! You know I'm a hoarder.

Anyways, tomorrow I'm going to wake up bright and early to get in line to meet Obama. I got my ticket the other day after a 4 hour wait in line and I'm ready for round 2 except the President will be there.

I've kept diaries on and off since I stopped being illiterate back around 2004. When President Obama was elected the first time I was 9 years old and you know I documented it.

Here are my thoughts on Obama going from Barry to POTUS.

(I took out the extra dramatic borderline offensive things I put about someone, I was 9 and it was a diary) 

If you can't read it in my chicken scratch it says:

"Dear Diary,

OBAMA WON! Oh yea! That's right Nov. 4, 2008 10:03 pm ct Barack H. Obama became president. I will not slack in school! I will sooo get Barack's autograph!"

I know what you're thinking "this post needs some salt!" but having the President of the United States in walking distance made me dig up my old thoughts and share them, and maybe in another 7 years I'll dig up this blog post and share it with some other people. 

Waffles (well sort of)

I am a very picky eater, remember that Arthur book where DW won't eat spaghetti: it was based on me. I don't like angel hair pasta or milk or unsteamed broccoli or a lot of other things; but, if I do like something I will embrace it wholeheartedly forever: waffles are the greatest testament to that claim.

I love everything about waffles. I prefer them over pancakes because the syrup get's stuck in the little boxes, I like that they're crispy on the outside and warm and chewy on the inside. I love going on vacation because the Marriot has the best waffle mix. I actually prefer waffle fries to regular fries because they closely resemble my favorite food. If I was on death row and they asked what my last meal would be I would say waffles with maple syrup, butter on the side, apple juice and bacon (all from the Marriot please). Even though I love waffles, I refuse to eat at the Waffle House because honestly the sign itself looks really beat up and I like my waffles to be quality. I'm losing track of the point here.

Today is exactly 3 weeks after my 17th birthday, or as most people like to call it Christmas. Nearly 52 weeks ago for my 16th birthday I asked my mom to buy me a waffle maker (in the store), she told me maybe later (which basically means no). (I thought about buying my own, but I'm a useless teenage girl who spends all of her money on online shopping instead of on important things like waffle makers). ANYWAYS I woke up this morning and in my mom's hands was a WAFFLE MAKER!! I know what you're thinking: "Who asks for a waffle maker you freak". And guess what my parents already know I'm a freak that's why they bought it for me!

Here are the first waffles made on my waffle maker. They're from scratch because okay is not good enough.

I know what you're thinking: this is a diary post, please put this somewhere else. But believe me there is a point to this post.

I'm not just a picky eater, I'm a picky person, point blank. If I don't like it I won't get it, I don't care if Obama gave it to me (okay maybe I'd accept it in person and not use it) I wouldn't want it. And this causes troubles with a lot of things, but it also brings along a lot of prosperity: it makes me care more about what I have or what I'm doing because I know it's exactly want. I see a lot of times that people settle for whatever's there, kind of like how I almost did when I wanted that $10 waffle maker at JCPenny in 2013, but my mom knew me so well she made me wait.

I know this sounds corny and stupid but we should all be the same way. I (was forced to) read "My Antonia" and "O Pioneers" and both women basically settled for the first lame-o guy that showed interest in them even though I was rooting for them to get a cute boyfriend the entire book! Okay back to the point: whatever you're going after make sure you reach for the stars please because no one wants to be 35 years old sitting around writing about the time they married the old neighbor boy who just lost his job in Alaska and wants to live on your farm and mooch of your October harvest (Willa Cather I'm talking to you don't avoid me even in the grave).

Why be mediocre? When you can be excellent? Why be lukewarm when you can be piping hot? There's not really a point to go half way and then turn around and go home, so just go all the way. If you have a deadbeat friend let them go and move on: dead weight is useless. I guess what I'm trying to say without sounding like a life coach is: don't be boring and lame because it's easy, don't avoid change because you don't feel like it and don't stay bleh because bleh is accessible.

I have a lot of people saying things about me all the time, but I'm having too good of a time being interesting and excellent to let them bother me and I'm sure everyone would too if we eradicated mediocrity.