You will hear the shrillest highs and lowest lows
with the windows down when this is guiding you home.

- The Postal Service, Such Great Heights

-+-

It wasn't until around 9 p.m. today that I even remembered that today would've been my seven-year anniversary.

"What's today's date?" she asked.

"I got it!" I trilled as I brought up my calendar on my laptop, "October 28th!"

For some reason, that struck a chord with me as familiar.  I deliberated, 'October 28th… what's special about that day??'

It took a good ten seconds before I finally remembered that day in the park seven years ago.  And how absolutely heartbroken I was on the October 28th of one year ago.

"Huh," I wondered out loud upon my realization, "you know what's cool?"

She replied, "What?"

"I didn't remember until just now that today would've been my anniversary."

She supported me when I was a recovering mess a year ago, and she still supported me now.  "Forget about it!" she clamored before quickly changing the subject, "that's not important anymore!!"

I just laughed and nodded my head, and we went back to our day.

And that was how I spent my second solo October 28th.

I'm keeping it steady, that's just how I was raised:
head held up, walking tall into each broken wave.

- Delta Rae, The Morning Comes

-+-

-- "Bro, what the hell, look like you're happier to be seen with me!!!!"

Yet, this is all I managed to come up with.

After recovering from a defeated sigh, I realized that it had the perfect amount of pseudomystery -- "This is perfect for my blog!"  And so, a multimedia post was born!

As I now hit the homestretch of my undergraduate education, I've been pursuing to be less terrible at capturing memories.  "I'm such a bad Asian," I would pout, "I suck at taking photos."  Hopefully we'll start seeing more fun visuals on this site.  Then again, I always say things like that and never follow-through.  But still.  HOPEFULLY.

-- "Dude, I know you're hesitant, but I swear, we can actually make this whole BFF thing happen.  Let's totally keep in touch after we graduate.  Okay?  Like I mean that.  Like, mean that mean that.  Okay?"

He finally surrenders with a smile of humble defeat, "...Okay."

I could hear the subtle tones of quiet disbelief and pessimism, but we'll see.

Weeeee'll seeeeeeeeee....

dun dun DUNNN

If I'm butter,
then he's a hot knife.

- Fiona Apple, Hot Knife

-+-

"Flu shot!"  

It's a full-fledged battle cry, as he vigorously pokes me in my left deltoid.

I helplessly yelp in pain, "ahhhhhh you asssssssss"

-+-

I look on as he drives down the long country road for our regular carpool home from campus.  Our elbows are barely touching on the central armrest.  He's playing the new album by The xx, and I make a mental note, 'I love this song!'

When we make the turn into my neighborhood, I remember that I have good news, and I gleefully clasp my fingers together, eager to share.

"I'm all done with counseling!"

He turns his head towards me in acknowledgement, "Yeah, aren't you doing pretty well?"  I nod cheerfully.

I had been regularly seeing a counselor on campus, mostly to invest in the prevention of any more panic attacks.  The semester had a terrifying start, and I'd be damned if I didn't do all I could to prevent another frightening surge of anxiety from ever happening again.

He has a follow-up question, "So how exactly do you know that you're 'done'?"

I elaborate, "So my counselor gave me a bunch of coping therapies, and then she stopped and realized, 'But.. actually, you already did all of that,' and then decided that my next appointment's only going to be follow-up.  Man, can you imagine?  Last time I went to counseling was for my depression, wayyy back when, and I was a lost cause.  Now I'm going in for follow-up."

"Well, that's back then.  You're a different Christa now."

"...Thanks, man.  Hell yeah."

He nods, "Good."

"Ja dude," I agree, "hella good."

Sometimes, I feel that there is a certain amount of bravery needed to write.

There's a sense of permanence there.  When you scratch a jumble of thoughts into ink on paper, it's something that you can't come back from.  You can fade it out in eraser or annihilate it in a storm of ink, but it's already made its mark.  It's already crossed the line from vision to tangible.  To write is to create the moment that thoughts become real.  It's the moment that they leave our imaginations, and truly, they become something that we've brought into the world.

So when words are left unsaid, and thoughts are left unwritten, that is a game of caution and of prudence.  And, I dare say, one of cowardice.

I have much to say, but I'm lacking in articulation.

A coward unspoken, a coward unwritten.