#i mean unless i get off the waitlist for my top choice

[amazingspidermans]

GUESS WHO IS GOING TO COLLEGE FOR FOUR YEARS COMPLETELY FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

[petite-film-society]

A Guide to the Waitlist

If you got waitlisted by any schools this application season, I know exactly how you feel, and I’m so sorry that you’re going through this. It’s so frustrating to see all your friends committing to schools and getting excited about next year when your future is still filled with uncertainty. Now is a really stressful time for anyone on the waitlist (the seemingly never-ending waiting period before commitment deadlines..). If you’re currently waitlisted, I’m here to provide answers to the questions that plagued me my senior year, because college admissions are a nightmare, but you can get through this!

Should I accept my waitlist offer? What if I received multiple offers?

Accepting a place on the waitlist isn’t binding like early admission, and there’s no fee either. There is no limit to the number of waitlist offers you can accept, so don’t worry about trying to pick a favorite or decide which school you’re most likely to get off the list for. College admissions are ridiculous and nonsensical and sometimes your logic and reasoning just don’t hold up against that kind of madness. So unless you’ve decided you’re no longer interested in attending a school, you should accept the waitlist offer. I was waitlisted by six schools my senior year, and eventually got off the waitlist at Berkeley, where I’m currently studying. At the time, I felt like it was such a long shot that it almost wasn’t worth it, but it paid off in the end! 

What do I do once I’ve accepted my offer?

Once you’ve accepted a place on the waitlist, some schools will have additional questions about why you think you would be a good fit for their school, what you’ve done since your application, etc. This would be a great time to talk about any successes you’ve had second semester, or any way that you’ve grown since your first application. It’s important that you don’t just summarize your original application - admissions officers already have that information and are looking to see something new. You should treat these questions with the same level of importance as your original essay questions. Make sure to edit them, have a parent/teacher/awesome writer friend look over them for you! I also find that it’s helpful to ask other people when you’re trying to come up with ways you’ve grown - an outside perspective can help you to avoid downplaying your success if you’re anxious about sounding narcissistic. 

What if my school doesn’t offer additional questions? 

If your school doesn’t ask for additional materials, it’s still nice to send an email to the admissions office to let them know that you’re still committed to the school. Make a point of highlighting the reasons you think you’d be a good fit for the school and how you’ve grown since your first application. Make sure that your email is polite and respectful, and that you don't badger the committee with multiple emails. You want to show your commitment to the school, but don't go overboard. Don't get any of your friends, family, or mentors to send additional letters for you. One is enough!

How can I found out my position on the waitlist?

Some schools do rank the students on the waitlist by number, but most will re-evaluate their waitlisted students when a spot opens up. Even if the school you're waitlisted at uses a ranking system, I promise you will be so much better off not knowing. You have no control over the situation anyway, and rankings are just a cause of even more stress. They also don't mean much in the grand scheme of things, because sometimes a hundred students are accepted from the waitlist and sometimes none are. Knowing your rank won't be that helpful in determining your chances of acceptance - I know it's tempting, but it causes more problems than it solves.

How will I be notified if I get off the waitlist?

If you get off the waitlist and are offered a spot at a school, you will get an email notifying you and probably receive a packet in the mail as well, just like standard acceptance procedures. You don’t have to keep logging back into the admissions site to check your status. I promise, you won’t miss the notification. Try not to check your email more than once a day - otherwise you will drive yourself absolutely insane.

Should I commit at another school even if I’m on the waitlist at my top school?

Absolutely! Waitlists are strange and uncertain. Sometimes tons of students get off the waitlist, and sometimes none of them do - it’s always good to have a back-up. If you do get off the waitlist at a school you prefer, you can always change your commitment. 

Will I be at a disadvantage if I attend a school where I was initially waitlisted?

No; what matters is that you get accepted in the end. You may end up with last-choice housing if you get off the waitlist really late, but you’ll still get to choose your classes at the same time as everyone else, and there are no restrictions associated with having been waitlisted. As an incoming freshman, I was worried that getting in from the waitlist would make people take me less seriously or that I wouldn’t be able to live up to the standards of the other students, but that’s so not true! Nobody cares whether you were waitlisted or not. You still got in, just like everyone else. And as for keeping up with the other students, I pulled off a 4.0 my first semester even though I was a waitlist student. It might be a little intimidating, but just remind yourself that you wouldn’t have been admitted if you couldn’t handle it! 

What if I don't get off the waitlist?

This is why it's so important to commit at a back-up school. How many people get in off the waitlist depends on how many people accept their initial offer. In some cases, that means no one will get accepted off the waitlist. Usually July is when schools make the final call on admissions. At that point, they will let you know if there's no more room at the school. Obviously this is really hard to hear, especially if you've been waitlisted by your dream schools. To soften the blow, I suggest focusing as much as you can on the things you love about the school you committed to. Remind yourself that everything happens for a reason. I was waitlisted and ultimately rejected by my dream school, but ended up instead at a school that turned out to be a really good fit for me. I've had a lot of great opportunities at my school that I wouldn't have had at my dream school and made some wonderful friends. Be open to the possibilities of your new school! And if you spend a year at your college and still don't feel that it's a good fit for you, you can always transfer.

Best of luck to all of you! Remember to take time to relax and enjoy life without worrying about college admissions 24/7. I know it’s hard to believe it now, but where you go to college really doesn’t define you. As long as you work hard, you can be successful absolutely anywhere. And as always, feel free to message me/send an ask if you have any questions/concerns, or just want to talk :)

Sincerely, Jo.

[haikuna]

Sunnyside

A/N: It’s been a year since I’ve written anything substantial and I’m kinda happy with this one. This fic was written as a gift for one my favorite kiddos Keet aka @tickles614. I love her to death and I wish her a very happy birthday! Enjoy!

Gif belongs to @nakamotens. 

Pairing | Donghyuck x Reader Genre | Fluff, High School Au Warnings | None Word Count | 5k+

Lee Donghyuck likes to keep things on the sunnyside.

Dew Drops.

10 PM is rolling around when Lee Donghyuck stops to glance at you from the bottom rung of the jungle gym. He’s got dew drops in his hair and you on his mind, and moonlight seems like nothing, when your boyfriend’s giving you a look like pure daylight.

“It’s getting late,” he calls out to you, his hands finding grip on your ankles, as your legs swing about from atop the monkey bars. The wind’s running round the two of you in circles, biting in the way the winter air always is, and Hyuck doesn’t miss the way you’ve pulled your jacket around you tighter, closer, how you’ve folded your sleeves up and over your hands, and how your cheeks have turned a dusted rose. His grip on you tightens, subtle in the way he moves, as his lips curl into a Cheshire grin, “You getting cold yet?”

“Not yet,” You cast your gaze up at the sky, only for your eyes to return to him and all his mussed up glory. In a voice you think only you can hear you tell him, “You’re keeping me warm,” but most of you wants him to hear that too.

And he chuckles at that, takes his foot off the base of the gym and turns his back to you. His hands are in his pockets, his shoulders ever so hunched in the way they are at 10 PM when the lights are low and when posture means nothing since the only one around is the girl he already knows loves him too, “Yeah, well we better get home soon. You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you start being hopelessly in love with me,” he says, in a voice like honey, hands fumbling about behind him as they reach outward to find you, “Always happens at this hour.”

“Not a thing,” you call back, though you surrender to him, climbing down from your throne of rain weathered steel, before you’ve wound yourself around his frame, legs hooked around his waist, and your chin finding home as it settles into the curve of his neck, “I love you at all hours.”

He’s giving you a look of feigned disgust, but you press a kiss against his cheek despite it. You feel him melt against the contact, and he does so very little to hide it, only holds you tighter, while you giggle a sound like wind chimes, “And there she goes again,” he groans, though you know he doesn’t mean it.

The two of you say your goodbyes to the other kids in all states of trouble and doom, scattered about the playground of your old elementary school. Before the two of you can make your way completely off the lot, winds rushing past you in the forms of Na Jaemin and Lee Jeno, fast on their bikes, and careless in the way they choose to brake against the gravel.

“Heading home?” Jaemin asks through his signature grin, that splitting one only he knows how.

Donghyuck nods, and you do too, and your best effort is made to match your friend’s energy, though you know at this time of the night, your cheeks are weak from fatigue and chilled by that cool air that hangs about you. Your voice breaks out in a sleepy sound, your chin still propped atop of Donghyuck’s shoulder, and you’re speaking around a half-contained yawn, “Class at 7:30 tomorrow, Nana. As usual.”

“And back to jail we go,” Jaemin chuckles, shifting the gears of his bike as he prepares to set off again, “Get home safe, alright,” He says, his statement capped by a careful pat on your head, and then he’s pedaling off and up the highest peak of the playground, fist raised towards the sky, and his voice a careless song as he calls out, “FUCK SENIOR YEAR,” to no one in particular.

You find Jeno laughing beside the two of you, before his feet catch on the pedals of his bike and he follows where Jaemin goes, carrying on his friend’s song in his own quieter tone, before the playground in its entirety has erupted in the same calls of playful rebellion.

You gather what’s in you too, and raise a fist to the air to join, belting out a loud, “FUCK SENIOR YEAR,” beside the ear of your unsuspecting boyfriend, who groans at the action, before he chuckles and calls out too.

“Their parents are gonna kill em, aren’t they,” You inquire, as you settle yourself into Donghyuck’s embrace again.

He’s making his way off of the lot finally, cutting through the open field of grass, to the short cut he knows leads in the direction of your home. He laughs at your statements, sliding his hands out from his pockets to instead hook around your thighs for better balance, “If they cut it close enough to midnight again, yeah. And they’re stupid enough to, so you know they will.”

“Good thing I’ve got you,” You mutter, and your voice rides the motion of Donghyuck’s heavy footsteps, “Good boy like you won’t keep me out too late.”

“Oh yeah, I’m the best boy, sure,” he chimes out sarcastically, “Not like I’ve got a straight-laced girlfriend, who’s gotta be home before her parents decide being on the soccer team isn’t reason enough to not kill me.”

“The best boy.”

“Damn right I am,” his voice slips out in a tired huff, though you know he’s still smiling, “You heard back from Berkeley yet?”

You get quiet at that, tuck your face into the crook of his neck, like you’re trying to disappear. You know Donghyuck finds you utterly endearing when you pull things like this, but he’s known you long enough to understand when an issue runs deeper, when you’re not talking because you’re not sure how to, rather than when you just don’t want to.

“Y/n,” he sings out to you, “Babe, you’ve gotta at least tell me, if you’re not gonna tell anyone else.”

You contemplate giving in for a fraction of a second at the sound of his voice calling to you so sweetly, but embarrassment rushes back into your system when you think of that off-white letter that had come in the mail just a few days earlier, the one that told you you just weren’t quite good enough, “No,” you fire back just a second off beat, and you tuck your nose back where it was against the side of his neck, “You’re going to be mean to me.”

Donghyuck ducks into an alley made by two rickety houses, sets you down on your feet, and settles himself against the towering oakwood fence, “Well we’re not going anywhere until you tell me,” he says before he twists his body, so he towers over you, “And maybe, I might be mean, but that’s because you’re a nerd, and it doesn’t mean I stop liking you.”

“I just,” You start, and your eyes are looking anywhere but him, until you feel a hand on your chin, and his eyes are urging you to continue, “waitlisted,” you finally manage, and you fight the sense of shame that creeps up your nerves.

“Waitlisted?” He repeats, like he’s trying out the word on his tongue. You roll your eyes at your boyfriend, who had likely never been graced with the bitter reality of rejection. A soccer savant like himself had little to worry about when it came to college and other futures. You often think that’s why he liked occupying his time with you, someone so grounded in reality.

“Waitlisted,” You say again, and your shoulders sink, “I suck, don’t I?”

“I mean, yeah,” He says, and before you can be too hurt by his response, he continues, “You had me thinking it was a flat-out rejection. Babe, you’re the only person I know that’d be so tilted over being waitlisted at one of the best colleges in the nation.”

“I didn’t get in,” You try to counter, and he cuts you off with a kiss that tastes like strawberries and a smile that feels like home and you know better than to fall prey to tricks like this, but Lee Donghyuck knows how to unravel you in ways like no other.

“Don’t care,” he says, with eyes the size of the moon, “You’re gonna get in,” his words carry on, his hand resting against your waist in assurance as his head tilts ever so slightly, “I’m the best boy, I would know. Unless, you think I’m not?”

And you giggle at that, that giggle that sets Lee Donghyuck’s heart aflame, and you nod, “You are the best boy.”

He’s happy with that answer, you know, because he leans in to kiss you once again, one that’s quick and fleeting, but tells you he loves you in all the ways you wanted most, and his hand has shifted from where it sat along the curve of your waist, sliding down your forearm until it links with your own. His head snaps up to the blackened sky, an expanse that sits on the edge of navy and remains stained by miles and miles of glittering stars. And even so all you can see is the dew drops that dance along the strands of Donghyuck’s hair, falling down against his cheeks, forming a kinda grin that matches your own.

It’s 10 o’ clock at night, but when Lee Donghyuck is looking at you from under that curtain of thick brown hair, you think you’re being flooded in daylight.

Red.

Prom night finds Lee Donghyuck on your doorstep, in the top half of his baby pink suit, and a mop of hair that has yet to see the teeth of a comb. You might’ve thought he looked perfectly normal, if not a little unkempt, had you missed his legs clothed in a pair of pink shorts, a shade off from his entire ensemble. They display his knees, in a horrible, scraped up state, quaking ever so subtly as they work fruitlessly to keep him upright. Donghyuck had told you the selling point of his prom get up would be his daring choice of pink.

All you really see is red.

You see it through the patches of gauze that have been haphazardly taped against his knees, falling apart and just about useless in their function, as they do nothing to quell the trails of blood that come dripping down his shins.

“Jeno didn’t have band aids?”

“Not a single one,” Donghyuck replies and shifts his body against your door frame, “He should be dead by now, I swear.”

You shake your head at that, kicking the door behind you as it moves to close again, “But he was willing to offer you his shorts.”

“That he was.”

“Nice kid,” you grin in amusement, moving yourself aside for Donghyuck to pull himself up and into your home. You hook an arm around his waist, and let his drape across your shoulder, up close seeing the disheveled state of his being, in perhaps an even greater magnitude, “So prom isn’t happening, is it?”

“Have a spare wheel chair?” He suggests, but only jokingly, as he hoists himself off of you to fall against the wall. His hands pat around at the surface in an effort to find his bearings as he heads in the direction of the bathroom.

“I think you’re being a little dramatic,” you call after him, with a shake of your head, propping your elbow up onto the bannister of the stairs as you watch your boyfriend fumble about your house, “But no prom it is.”

“No prom,” he calls out from inside the room before his head pops out to greet you again, and you see him throwing something at you with no warning. It falls to the ground, not unexpectedly, and Donghyuck rolls his eyes before he’s tucked back away under the iridescent light, “Nice catch, nerd.”

You ignore his taunts as you move from where you stand to pick up the item he so carelessly threw down, “You need any help in there?” You ask, though, you already know he doesn’t.  Donghyuck was always starving for your affection, but he cared less for being coddled.

You hear the sound of the faucet running, before Donghyuck seals the room with a loud bang and the undignified utterance of fuck. Donghyuck’s sitting himself on the floor right now, you can hear it in the clumsy thuds that erupt from the other side of the wall, “That wasn’t supposed to be as loud as it was, sorry.”

“S’okay,” You call back, taking a look at the sunflower he had chucked into the ground, perhaps not purposefully, but not gracefully in any discernable way. Its petals flare out in warm shades of gold, its stem cloaked in winding streams of ribbon.

The gift is almost elegant, you think. Too elegant for Lee Donghyuck. But then you see the ends of the ribbon, tied with little care or attention around a zip loc bag, filled to the top with Lucky Charms. Better yet, just the marshmallows.

And it’s that fact that made it perfect.

“This is a hell of a corsage,” you joke, leaning against the wall outside the bathroom.

“Like you would’ve wanted anything else,” he says back, his tone teasing to match your own. He throws the door open as he makes his way out, still limping in his steps, though you don’t think he really needs to.

He gives you a peck on the cheek — in the casual way he always does — before he’s catching your hand and guiding you to your living room couch.

 It’s horror movies for the two of you, hours wasted away against showings of Black Christmas and Shutter, until the room is flooded in moonlight, and you’ve become so entangled in one another, you aren’t quite sure what is you and what is him.

Donghyuck’s thumbs are tracing circles over the fabric that cascades over your hips, his smile making itself known against the curve of your cheek and you’re giggling again, and he never wants you to stop. It’s a mess, the both of you, with you all tied up in your skirt of chiffon, its color like sunset, and spilling around the two of you as you become a tangle of purples, pinks, and oranges. And Donghyuck brings his shade of red, tucked away under patches of white, but you know they’re still there in the way he kicks your legs away from his knees — the wounds still fresh and sharp in feeling.  

“Hey, I’m sorry I ruined prom night for you,” he manages out, a quiet sound against the screams and shouts that fire out from the speakers.

“You know I don’t really care,” You hum and shift your body so you lay on your back, settled into Donghyuck’s side and forcing him deeper in between the couch cushions, “Tickets were free anyway, only reason we were going.”

 “Yeah, I know, fuck prom,” he says as he gazes over you. You’re giving a look that’s all fluttering eyelashes and curious smiles, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder in an effort to channel the overwhelming sense of affection that floods his system, “But you look cute in this dress. I felt bad.”

 “Not going to prom doesn’t stop me from looking cute in this dress,” you offer, and reach your hand off the side of the couch to grab at your bag of Lucky Charms, laying it across your stomach and moving to feed your boyfriend a few.

He grins, obliging your offer with not protest at all, and his voice rises in pitch again, “Yeah, that comes pretty naturally to you.”

You nod in agreement, snag a few marshmallows for yourself, and plop them into your mouth — none to gracefully, “So why’d you get dropped on my doorstep like a hit and run victim?

And Hyuck sighs at that. He’s heated, but only mildly, and he’s rolling his eyes at the thought, “Jeno,” He seeths, but his passion falls somewhat flat, “you know Jeno.”

“Yeah, Hyuck, Jeno who is my neighbor,” You ignore the grave tone of your boyfriend’s voice and continue to chewchewchew away at your snack, “He just dropped you off at my house. Of course I know him.”

“He’s an asshole.”

You shake your head in disagreement at that, “Well, no, I think he’s kinda nice.”

“Yeah, well he charged at me going like,” he pauses, as if to think, “40 miles per hour on his stupid skateboard-”

“I don’t think you can get that fast on a skateboard.”

“Okay, babe,” He silences you with a handful of marshmallows, which you enjoy with no hesitation, “can you be on my side for, like, two seconds?”

“Okay okay, Jeno was mean,” you chuckle, bend your torso at the oddest angle just to lay a kiss across the apex of his nose, “Are you okay?”

He nuzzles his head into the velvet bodice of your gown, his hair peaking up at you in wayward tufts at the crown of his head, before he looks to you, his lips tilted by the most artificial frown. He’s looking so absolutely foolish as the expression stretches down the expanse of his skin, playing across the golden, sun-kissed features of his perfectly imperfect face, “I’ve got two gashes down my knees,” he speaks through his turned down lips, “I need you to kiss me better.”

You raise a brow at that, and the splitting grin that plays on your own lips rivals the theatrics of his, “Oh, is that all?”

“That’s all,” He says, voice little more than a whisper, as his lips meet yours.

Tonight, Lee Donghyuck’s lips tastes like sugar. They’re a saccharine sensation that speaks of horse shoes, and pots of gold, and moons that are now splayed out about the two of you, caught in your hair and the space between your two bodies. You kiss him again, and take that sunflower of a corsage in hand, let the petals brush up against his cheek as you part.

 “What’s the sunflower for?” You ask with closed eyes, inching towards him once again.

 “Sunflowers, you know,” he whispers, as he ducks his head down and into the hollow of your collar bone, “They turn towards the sunlight.”

 “So, I’m you’re sunflower?” You inquire, and your eyes are fluttering open.

 He looks at you, a gaze that peers out from under the curtains of his eyelashes, “If I can be your sun?”

 And you kiss him again, surrender to his lips that taste like Lucky Charms.

 To the boy that tastes like sunlight.

Boardwalk.

Donghyuck thinks he may never escape you.

But then again, he doesn’t think he’d ever want to.

He knows this when he’s ambling about Santa Monica, having long since abandoned Mark Lee inside H&M after his poorly thought out proposal to buy matching camo bro tanks. Donghyuck knew the idea was a mistake and he took no issue with letting the idea marinate with his best friend just a little longer.  

Hyuck finds you on a bench outside of The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, a mango tea in hand, which you sip in between sobering sobs. He’d seen you only hours ago when he’d dropped you off at your front door after school, and you were dressed in those same black jeans, the ones torn at the knees, topped by the last hoodie he’d left at your place. You look cute, he thinks, but he hates it when you cry.

“Alright, princess,” He sighs, hands stuffed in his pockets as he makes a move to stand just in front of you, “Are you gonna tell me why you’re crying now, or am I going to have coax it outta ya like usual?”

There’s a look of surprise when you glance up to meet his eyes, of course, never expecting to see him here. Had you known your boyfriend would be wandering the streets of Santa Monica alone, you would’ve never came there to cry and drown your feelings in flavored teas. You swipe at your eyes with the back of your hands, thankful you’d had the mind to remove your makeup before you left home to wallow in your own thoughts, but what you do next, Donghyuck may never have predicted.

Donghyuck finds himself almost swept off his feet, but in a sense more physically than you typically manage. He rocks back on his heels when you’ve launched upward and into him, arms circling around his neck, and tears that soak the front of his army green jacket. A whimper slips past your lips in a sound that breaks his heart, so he pulls you closer to ease the pain.

He hears a muffled sob coming from you, a sound that hits his chest and dies in the moment it’s uttered. He thinks it sounds something like the word “accepted”, but then, he hears nothing else.

“What?” Donghyuck questions, his grip loosening around you.

You make no move to free yourself from his embrace, turning your head and when you speak, it’s in a voice that sounds like shattered glass, “I’m off the waitlist,” you pause, “They accepted me.”

And your voice is breaking, eyes clouded in hot tears that roll and roll and roll down your skin, tears like acid which burn away in their trails.

There’s a momentary pause as Donghyuck considers what exactly he’s supposed to feel in the moment. He settles on confusion as he cranes his neck to peer down at you, “Then why are you crying?”

“Because now I have to go,” you sob harder, louder, and you break away from him, hands shoving at his chest, though you don’t mean to hurt him, “I don’t have an excuse anymore. I have to go.”

Donghyuck shakes his head, but he can’t seem to understand you. Not with the tears running down your cheeks and onto the pavement. Not with the way you can’t seem to look him in the eyes.

“I thought this was what you wanted, Y/N,” His voice is leveled as it tries to make sense of the situation. He’s navigating the air as best he can, but he can’t seem to find his ground, he tries to look at you, though you’re not looking back, “Isn’t it?”

You cry and cry and cry before you even think to look at him, and at some point, he wished you wouldn’t. Because the look in your eyes has him falling apart, and that breath you take as you try to force your words out all but kills him.

“Before I realized how far away it was from you,” you whisper, and your words fall apart into threads, “I don’t want to leave you.”

Your voices are dead in the air, and there’s a silence like suffocation, louder than the crowds that carry on around you. Santa Monica feels empty, and you’re left wondering if Donghyuck still remains too.

He’s still there, though, and you know from the way he’s rocking on his toes, from the raise of his brows, and the scuff of his shoes.

“Is that all?” he simpers, a look of inquiry tilting his features and his head, and he’s looking at you so expectantly.

“What?” You spit out in disbelief, and you find yourself almost angry. Almost. You’re not quite there yet, what with the way he’s looking at you so innocently under those lashes, and the way he moves his hand to take yours.

“Are you done?” He repeats, and thinks nothing of your tone.

“Did you hear what I just said?” You nearly scoff, feel the urge to tear your hand from his touch, but you’ve already melted against his skin, and he grins knowing you’ll never fight against it.

“Yeah,” he nods slowly, carefully, as he rocks on his feet again, “and I’m asking now if you’re done,” he pauses, though giving you little time to interject, “because if you are, I want you to follow me, and for just the next fifteen minutes, I’m going to need you to keep quiet, wipe those tears away, and just listen to me,” his hand that’s not otherwise occupied with yours finds it’s way to the side of your face, nudges away a strand of hair that’s fallen from your ponytail with the knuckle of his index finger, and his eyes have locked onto yours, a confident fire alight behind them, “For once.”

“Why aren’t you upset?” You whisper out dumbly.

“Because unlike you,” He sings out, and he’s got that smile again. The one that feels like daylight, like home and you’re melting in his hands again, “I already know everything’s gonna be alright.”

Donghyuck’s guidance leads you along the wooden planks of the boardwalk, headed to the very end of the pier. He’s got his hand in yours and his eyes set straight ahead, and he’s smiling, in a way you fail to comprehend. Santa Monica is sinking in a sky of violet and orange, colors that bleed into the ocean, as the waves slide and slide- one over another, and then again. And you find you can’t quite concentrate on any one thing. The sky is bleeding, and your boyfriend is smiling, and you can’t help the fact that you haven’t stopped crying.

“Ya know,” Donghyuck chimes, as he wipes another tear from your eyes without a glance down at you, “Berkeley, it’s not too far away.”

“It’s more than five hours,” you argue back, but you know he doesn’t care.

“And five hours isn’t too bad,” he shrugs, his feet stopping at the end of the pier, his body turning to face you as he props his arm up against the metal rails, “I do love driving.”

“You hate driving.”

“Yeah, but I kinda like seeing you,” He counters, a step taken to bring him closer to you, and he’s close enough to feel his breath fanning over the expanse of your cheeks, close enough to be blinded by the light of his grin, “Kinda love seeing you and I think five hours is worth it.”

You shake your head as he tries to close the space between you, your eyes trained on the ground, “But, are we gonna be okay, Hyuck?”

You see him thinking for a moment, glancing at your hand in his before he takes a second to look at that bleeding sky, and suddenly he’s winding himself around so he stands behind you, arms trapping you between his figure and the metal railings, “Alright, I’ll tell you what,” he says, and he rests his chin against your shoulder, “if the sun sets in a few minutes, we know we’re gonna be alright.”

You giggle a little through your tears that haven’t quite retreated, and you find yourself in awe of the way he’s got you smiling, when you feel like you’ve hit your worst.

“Of course it’s gonna set, Hyuck,” you answer him dumbly, and he smiles down at you, skin like gold and glowing under the orange hue of the sky.

“Then there’s no reason to worry, is there?”

And when the sun finds itself tucked away again, hidden beneath the horizon line, you find you’re only looking at Donghyuck. Looking at that smile that’s painted across his face, and at his hands that hold yours, no sign to say he ever intends to let them go.

You think the two of you are going to be just fine.

Sunshine.

“You didn’t check the weather?”

“No, I didn’t check the weather.”

“Of course you didn’t check the weather,” you huff and set yourself back into your seat.

“We live in California, Y/N,” Donghyuck fires back, and his voice is cracking at the ends. You giggle at the sound of his voice finding pitch, and he shoots a glare your way, before setting the car into park, “The weather never changes.”

The first day of summer following your freshman year of college finds you stranded on the side of a winding mountain road, in your boyfriend’s dying Honda Civic that you think could barely make the drive either way. The rain’s pounding down on the hood of his car, on the sloping roads, against each and every pain of glass, and you see nothing more outside but a haze of green that stains the sky and the ground, and the world seems like nothing around you. You think you should be scared, but then you’re safe where you are, with him by your side, and the rain, the lighting, and the roll of the thunder can’t hurt you when Donghyuck’s looking your way.

“So much for getting some sunlight,” you say teasingly, your hand pulling up on the lever that lets your seat fall back as far as it can.

“I’ll kick you out of this car, I swear,” He mumbles out, and he’s holding his phone out in front of him, looking for a signal he knows isn’t there.

“Alright, alright,” You laugh, and shoot him a toothy grin, one that tilts your lips in coquettish fashion, “But I know you wouldn’t.”

He huffs, stuffs his phone into the console and leans back too, “Shut up. I know you know.”

Sunshine’s the look Lee Donghyuck gives you when you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, windows cracked open so you can feel a sliver of the downpour that’s knock knock knockin on the hood, to the static hum of a radio that tunes itself against a lost connection. And sunlight feels so good when you’ve been deprived of it for so long.

You’ve taken Donghyuck’s hand in yours at this point, pressing a kiss against its back as you settle down in this world that’s flooding in pouring rain.

“So what do we do now?” You ask, and your voice is soft.

“You wanna complain about how bad I am at planning surprises?” He says bitterly, and you giggle again.

You shake your head, sitting yourself atop your knees as you twist your body so it’s aimed at him, “I don’t care that there’s no sunlight, Donghyuck,” and your eyes have fallen down to your hands, “All I wanted was you.”

He smiles at that and meets you halfway with that kiss that tastes of the best the world had to offer. He’s sunlight incarnate, and he looks to you like you’re the only thing that matters.

The first day of summer finds the two of you in the backseat of his civic, and you’re seated between his legs with a smile playing softly on your lips. He’s got his hands in yours, his nose in your hair, and Lee Donghyuck has never been happier at any point in his life.

“How’s Jeno?” you ask, like you’ve asked about all the other boys, and you’re shifting around so your nose rests just against his chest.

“Still an asshole,” he grumbles about, and kisses your hair once again.

“Yeah and?”

He rolls his eyes, “And he’s still not very good at soccer.”

“And?” You press on.

“And Lee Jeno is doing fantastic. He’s alive and well and he sends you his best wishes,” he squeezes your hand just the slightest bit tighter, and he gives you a frown that reminds you of the night of your senior prom, the one where’d he come to your doorstep all battered up, all beaten down and heated over none other than Lee Jeno. He gives you that very same look, as his voices rises in a pitiful little song, “Now, can you care about me a little more?”

“Sure, sure,” You mumble out, and place a kiss against the fabric of his shirt before your eyes peer upward to meet his, “You know I missed your smile.”

He nods at that, like he’s known all along — you know that he has — and he’s got his lips pulled into a sly little simper, “You’ve been mighty deprived, haven’t you?”

You shrug, and settle deeper into his embrace, “I need my sun.”

He sings back to you, in that voice like honey, “And I need my flower.”

Donghyuck finds he’s perfectly at peace where he is in this moment, after all he’s got a girlfriend with a voice like summer and a laugh like Christmas day, so he thinks it’s only right he presses kisses like spring flowers across your cheeks, and watches them change colors like falling leaves. And it’s in this dying civic on the edge of a winding road that the two of you slip into slumber, to the song of the pouring rain, with drops that look like silver on the window panes.

When you wake up, you find the rain has stopped. Donghyuck’s still asleep and splayed across his leather  seats, his arm wrapped around you in the tightest grip, and you give him a peck on his cheek to signal him of the clearing conditions.

“The rain’s gone?” He asks around a yawn, as he cranes his neck to look out the window. You give him a sleepy nod, and his lips pull up again in that goofy little grin, “So now we head to the sunny side?”

You nod again but then, you think you’re already there.

[kitchenwitchknits]

What I’ve been up to lately

Okay, so I’ve talked about this on here before, but mostly in bits and pieces. Here’s the whole long story. (It’s long. My apologies.)

Back in late October/early November, I decided to apply to grad school. This was something I’d been going back and forth on a lot, mostly because my odds of getting into a decent program weren’t great. Not because I’m not a good student--my GPA is good and I can write a bomb-ass personal statement--but because the process of applying for an MFA in Acting (what I was going for) is rather...involved. Most good schools have a VERY limited number of spots, because the best programs provide a lot of one-on-one coaching and training. Because of this, they are often only looking for people who have already had some kind of professional experience, or at least aren’t straight out of undergrad. (I’m not straight out of undergrad, but last year I graduated a year early, so I might as well be.) And did I mention they don’t even LOOK at your GPA or references or anything unless they like your audition?

Oh yeah, that’s the other thing. There’s an audition. A BIG audition. It’s called the URTA audition and it’s a whole big complicated process. Basically, instead of auditioning for each school individually, you audition for them all at the same time. (Like, every grad school. Even the ones you’re not interested in.) Which makes things easier, unless of course you fuck up at the audition and then you have zero opportunity to redeem yourself. After you audition, you do callbacks/interviews with any schools that express interest in you that very same day. If a school is still interested in you after the interview, they’ll contact you about next steps. That’s usually when you actually fill out an application to the school. It’s all very backwards.

There are a few different locations for the URTA auditions, one of which was like a twenty-minute drive from my house. So wouldn’t you know it: I was in a show that weekend, and there was no working around it. So I bought myself a plane ticket and signed up for the auditions in Chicago.

I also needed an audition coach. (Well, I didn’t need one need one, but I was a bit out of practice and...it was a good idea, trust me.) I had many questions about this, the main ones being: “How does one even go about finding an audition coach?” and “What is a reasonable amount of money to spend on this?” Well, as luck would have it, my mom works at a university, and happens to be pals with someone in the theatre department. That person was able to give me a list of faculty I could talk to, and the first person I talked to turned out to be a perfect fit who also charged quite a bit less than I’d been anticipating. So that worked out well.

Anyway, the audition! It was a two-day thing. (The second day was optional, but it had WAY more schools than the first day including one of my first choices, so I did it.) I stayed in the hotel in which the auditions were taking place, which made things easier. Also, it snowed! Which was cool! But I digress. I did the first day of auditions, it went as well as it could have, I thought I’d killed it, and then I did not get one single callback.

That’s right. No callbacks. None. And I mean, it wasn’t necessarily because my audition wasn’t good. There’s...not exactly a shortage of white women in theatre, so a lot of schools were looking for men and/or POC. Sometimes schools want a specific look or character type, so I might just not have fit their mold. Some schools only had a handful of spots, or only recruit every other year. The list goes on and on. Or maybe my audition just wasn’t as good as I’d thought! That is also a possibility!

So by the second day, I was feeling great. Just kidding, I was ready to hop on a plane and go right back home where people tell me I’m a good actor and no one judges me. But I did the audition and...well. It’s a good thing I did.

Three schools wanted interviews that day. Six asked for a headshot and resume so they could contact me later. One school didn’t really express any interest in me, but I knew one of the recruiters and he was all, “Come to callbacks later! I want to hear about what you’re up to these days!” (Side note: I actually ended up getting waitlisted at that school. It’s all who you know!)

For the record, the reason why I got so many callbacks wasn’t *just* because I had a good audition. Because of reasons, the second day of auditions is a little weird. For one thing, there are more schools, and the schools themselves tend to have more spots. The other reason is that the second day has a lot of, for lack of a better term, cash cows. They are generally not the best programs, and they are run by dishonest people who prey on young recent college graduates who might unknowingly get themselves into ridiculous debt. You know the kinds of universities I’m talking about.

But I did the interviews and researched the other schools that had expressed interest, and while some of them were definitely cash cows there were a few that looked promising. A few looked great but weren’t MFA programs, and since I want to work at a university I need an MFA. (Stella Adler was one of them. They actually asked for a follow-up and I turned it down. That pained me a little.) My top choice by far was a smallish but highly-rated acting school in London. Because come on. LONDON.

The school in London actually hadn’t called me back. They asked for a headshot and resume, and when I went to drop it off they mentioned that they were doing a free workshop, not mandatory to be considered for the program, but I was welcome to drop by. I went because what the heck, and it was TOTALLY a callback. I mean, they didn’t call it that, but that’s what it was. At the end they mentioned that they also offered an MFA in Ensemble Theatre, which was focused on acting as well as writing, directing, devising, and basically working together as a group instead of each person doing their own thing. I raised my hand when they asked if anyone would be interested in that, and didn’t think anything of it. (Honestly, I mostly just wanted to be seen as someone who is Open To Trying New Things.)

So imagine my surprise when, about a week later, I got an email saying they wanted to interview me for the Ensemble Theatre MFA. At first I wasn’t sold on it, but then I read the formal course outline they’d attached to the email and DAMN. It’s a REALLY COOL program. They do a touring show in Europe! They have connections to theatre companies I’ve always wanted to work with! They offer an internship abroad! 

So I did the interview (which was via Skype--I didn’t, like, have to go to London for it). In the process, I learned two things. 1) The program is even cooler than I’d thought. (THEY HAVE A TIME SLOT AT THE EDINBURGH FRINGE FESTIVAL WHAT EVEN.) 2) There are only fourteen spots in the program, and usually only two go to Americans. I mean, the interview went well and everything, but that was discouraging.

The interview ended on a positive note (the interviewer really seemed to like me), but, you know, two spots. So imagine my surprise when I got in.

Yep, that’s right. I’m going to London in the fall! Unless I defer for a year, in which case I’m going to London in 2018! I’m so excited!

[stickerpaper]

6/10/17

I want to rip my heart of my chest. I hate this feeling of having it feel like it’s beating against me; it’s uncomfortable. I don’t think it’s something worth seeking medical attention for because it’s more about the feeling it gives me. I have different forms of anxiety and I think this is just one form. 

It usually happens when I’m relaxing, just chilling out. Then my heart feels like it’s beating fast when it’s actually not and I start to feel nervous. It makes me feel the need to pace around, flap my arms, scratch my chest, something like that. 

I didn’t want to post it earlier this week, but I think it’s been bugging me a little. On Monday, my dad got mad at me for no reason. He was yelling and scolding me and Stella. And when he sent me out to buy something, he was super cold towards me and expected me to know everything already. I don’t know, it was when he used his angry tone when he was yelling, the one that’s supposed to be intimidating. 

I can’t trust my dad completely. I feel like something might happen to me because of his anger. The last time he did something was maybe a year or more ago. But that last time was not fun at all. I mean I wouldn’t consider it fun unless you think that having your arm grabbed hard and tightly, being slammed against the top bunk bed, and having someone literally yelling in your face is fun. The last time, I seriously thought he was gonna to hit my face. It’s true when people say that you sometimes can’t just forget certain things. 

My classes for the fall semester were cancelled because I supposedly didn’t pay for them on time, even though I’m on a financial aid plan. I fixed it in a way, but I have to re-enroll. Two of my previously enrolled classes are waitlisted; they were classes I need in order to declare my major. And I know I’m not going to get them because they’re only for students who are pre-art major students, so they aren’t going to drop because they need to take those. I was very frustrated because all of the classes that were cancelled on me were classes I had a guaranteed spot in. 

I was trying to figure out what classes to take because I need to replace those and it fucked up my whole schedule. Then my mom started yelling at me about how I’m not listening or doing whatever she wanted me to do at that moment just because I was making my concentration face while I was looking at my laptop. I told her I was stressed out and when she asked me why, that’s when I started crying a lot. She told me that God stopped me from having those particular classes because it doesn’t fit his plan for me. She went on about God, which is a topic I’m not comfortable talking about with either of my parents. She said she didn’t understand why I was crying so hard, and frankly I don’t either. She asked me if I believed in Jesus and I had to say yes because I’m not about to provoke anything else bad. I really wanted to stop crying, but it was hard. 

And the thing is I really didn’t know what I was crying about. I’m guessing that it was all the stress, anxiety, and anger I had pent up inside of me that’s been building up ever since I came back home. And this whole class cancellation thing was just something that unleashed that all. Whenever I cry in front of her, she always asks me why I’m crying and my answer is always “I don’t know.” That isn’t a lie...I don’t know why I cry so hard sometimes. I’m not even trying to be a drama queen, it just happens and I hate it. 

She hugged me after that, probably because she felt the need to be more heart-warming after ranting about her own hardships and how God gave her things she didn’t want to have in life. I didn’t hug her back. I didn’t want her to touch me. In fact, 99% of the time, I don’t want anyone to touch me. It doesn’t matter who you are to me, stranger, acquaintance, close friend. If I don’t touch you first or say it’s okay for you to touch me, then don’t fucking touch me. 

I try not to seem uncomfortable when people, including friends, touch me, even if it’s completely appropriate. But internally, I feel like pushing their hands, heads, whatever they’re using to touch me, away. Some of it comes from trust issues and the possibility of bad intentions, but I think most of it comes from the absence of affectionate touch as a child and having been adapted to that as well as physical abuse I experienced.

It’s rare for me to actually love people touching me. Sometimes I’m perfectly fine with a hug or hand holding for a very short period of time. Other than that, I do not want or like it when people touch me. I don’t know how many times I need to emphasize this. I wish I could tell everyone this without seeming rude.

And then I got mad the same day of receiving that e-mail...I’m still mad. My mom sent me off to drop off paperwork for my sister right after I cried. I also had to order a cake for her. I just realized how many errands I do for her. That’s when I got mad because I felt like I’m not even her daughter. I’m just someone who lives in the same home as her, just doing things that she tells me to do because I have no other choice. There’s not much of an emotional connection between us. I can take part of that blame, but it’s not surprising since she pretty much neglected me when I was a kid. 

As I was walking back to my car in a parking lot, I felt like crying again. I was just so angry and frustrated with myself, disgusted even. I felt like throwing up because I hate myself and am disgusted with myself. I’m so tired of being depressed and angry all the time. That was one of the many moments when I realized how angry I really am. I’m irritable every hour I’m awake, and most of the time, I don’t mean to be. I’m just an angry person. 

My mom mentioned today how she was reminded of me as a toddler. She went on about how docile, quiet, and gentle I was as a young child. How sweet I was, how obedient I was, how I didn’t cry or get mad at anything, blah, blah, blah. Thanks, mom, for talking down on me right now when I didn’t ask you too. She ended with something like “I don’t know how you became the way you are right now.” Fuck, wow, I don’t know either, mom. 

I told Karina about me being mentally ill explicitly. I told her about me attempting to get better by going to CAPS on campus and how much time and effort it took me to finally go there for the first time. I also told her about how I stopped seeking help for multiple reasons. I don’t know if it gave her insight as to why I behave the way I do. But I felt somewhat relieved because I think my friends should know that I’m mentally ill. She didn’t question what I think I might have, she never got super serious every time I made jokes about death and self-deprecation (except for a few times when I guess I might have sounded serious), and she was encouraging and understanding when I told her about how I stopped seeking health. I’m lucky that all of my close friends so far have been understanding and open about it. 

[charissa-comm-blog]

Making a choice about organ donation will save lives

D66 made a new law that makes it mandatory for everyone who is eighteen or older to  register whether they want to be an organ donor or not. If they do not, they are automatically an organ donor. This got me thinking. I talked to my boyfriend about it and he told me that he is not an organ donor because he does not know his DigiD code, which you need to register, and he is too lazy to ask for a new one. He does want to be an organ donor though. I also do, and I found myself guilty of not being registered because it wasn’t at the top of my to-do list. This is why I think the new law by D66 is an effective law since many people are not registered even though they want to be an organ donor and this helps people to take action. I am going to illustrate how this can save numerous human lives.

2016 was not a positive year for organ donation in the Netherlands. 11% less organs were donated compared to 2015. Many people do not register as organ donors because they are lax. This is often because they do want to be an organ donor but it is not a priority so they never get to it. This results in the loss of human lives that didn’t have to be lost in the first place. A research that the ‘Centraal Bureau voor de Statistiek‘ did in 2012 proved that 38% of the people that are not registered as an organ donor, indeed want to be an organ donor. 11 million people have not made a choice yet which means that the 38% I mentioned earlier represents 4.180.000 people. I don’t know how to translate that to how many organ transplantations can take place if all these people had been registered, but  I can imagine that it is a lot and that is unfortunate.

Take responsibility Because of this new law by D66, everybody has to make the choice for themselves whether they want to be an organ donor or not once they turn eighteen. Without this law and them being ‘forced’ to make a choice, people often do not make any choice at all and let other people (deliberately or not) decide for them. In this case, this will be the doctor or next of kin. Dr. André Baranski, transplantation surgeon at the ‘Leids Universitair Medisch Centrum’, stated in LUMC’s annual report of 2015 that people often do not want to talk about whether they want to be an organ donor or not within the family circle. When someone suddenly dies, the next of kin often does not know what they should do and have to make a difficult decision in this already difficult time. An example is Anjo van der Mortel. She had to make the choice for her braindead husband. She feels like she did not get a proper goodbye right now because of it. It all happened fast because the doctors have to act fast and her husband died on the operation table instead of with her. She believes that you can not imagine what kind of impact this has on the next of kin until you are put in this position yourself. This is why it will cost less stress for the next of kin if you were to have made this choice for yourself and the next of kin will probably have more peace with it.

Save more lives It would save more lives if everyone has to make a choice. More people would register as an organ donor if they had to make a choice. The more people are registered, the more human lives will be saved. In Wales and Spain there are laws that are similar to the one proposed by D66 and there it does provide more organ donors. Menno Loos, the chairman of ‘Stichting 2 Miljoen Handtekeningen’, said that in Spain there are 36 organ donors a year per one million inhabitants and in the Netherlands there are only sixteen. Currently there are more than a thousand people on the waitlist for a donated organ. 150 patients a year die while being on that waitlist because the donated organ comes too late. Also about 100 people a year get off the waitlist because their conditions get so bad that an organ donation can not save them anymore.  

Altogether, it is wonderful that D66 made this new law that everyone who has reached the age of eighteen is an organ donor unless you explicitly state that you don’t want to. Nowadays people do not put any effort in registering themselves as an organ donor while they want to be. They also often leave the choice up to others which put them in a difficult position. Making it mandatory to register if you want to be an organ donor or not saves human lives. I registered the moment I finished writing this blog. I hope you will do the same.