Our lives are measured in the distance between weekends, and dining hall food points, and filled versus empty notebook pages, and the moments when nothing else but now matters.

:~:

My room key is suspended from two black elastic hair bands that circle my wrist. I remove it and swing the small pendulum, strung across my index finger, back and forth. The motion is strangely reassuring and calming. It is something to have faith in. It is that which, when all else fails, is a constant.

:~:

Today, this was thrown back in my face.

Through a single synchronous event, I ended up having dinner with some of those girls I'd written about. Run into a friend, find out he knows the three random faces that I remember and suddenly I'm sitting in the middle of the dining hall eating my stuffed shells with them while trying not to drown in the pervasive, eerie feeling of deja vu.

Out of the several hundred people at orientation, I remember these three girls very distinctly, down to the details of some of their conversations I'd overheard, and where they were originally from. Out of the several thousand people living at my uni, my friend is having dinner with these particular three. Out of the two hours I could choose to eat dinner at the dining hall, I pick the one moment when they happen to be there in line.

:~:

"May your life be interesting."
Chinese curse