Category Archives: USC

Why I am Best Friends with A Ninety-Year Old

By: Jackie Kim

Ever since I was young, I’ve had a great relationship with people who were older than me. I’ve always loved visiting my grandparents’ home, something that plenty of my peers despised. I’ll certainly never forget the time when my grandma whispered in my ear that I was her favorite grandchild and the feeling of guilty satisfaction and pride that welled in my heart. Later, when I moved to America in middle school, I was on texting basis with the majority of my teachers in each of the schools I attended.

During high school, I discovered my love for the nursing home. I found talking to and interacting with the residents naturally easy and comfortable, and it wasn’t long before I started traveling to the home twice a week to provide company to the senior citizens. Whenever I walked into the toasty nursing home, the residents’ faces melted into crooked smiles. I loved how they called me “Jackie Wacky” and “Honey,” how I always had to assure Audrey that I’ll always love, how Carol snuck me the centerpiece after I told her I loved flowers, and how Ken always asked for a kiss before I left.

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Nostalgia

By Kamille Robertson

As my final year at college wraps up, I find myself nostalgic for my past experiences yet hopeful for the unforeseen adventures to come.

-Nostalgia: pleasure and sadness that is caused by remembering something from the past and wishing that you could experience it again.

I remember the day I was accepted to USC. My mom called with the news that a big white packet had arrived.  I furiously drove home, repeatedly playing in my head my grandma’s words of wisdom, “If you get a big packet from the school, it means you were accepted. If you get a small letter, it means you weren’t”. I got home and there it was – a big white packet. My mom was already on the phone with my grandmother, crying hysterically. I ripped open the packet, extracted the letter, read the word “Congratulations”, and began to cry as well.

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Buried or Marinated?

By Amy Herrmann

 
“Would you rather be buried or marinated?” he asked me. There were six of us sitting on couches in a room adorned with a world map and whiteboard next to the writing center in Taper Hall. I had been a conversation partner for four years at that point: long enough that I had learned to effectively facilitate a thought-provoking discussion among students of diverse backgrounds, but short enough that it had yet to become boring.
 
I suppressed my laughter and replied, “Definitely marinated,”launching into a light explanation of the difference between being marinated and cremated so they would understand why I would rather be slathered in barbecue sauce than reduced to basic chemical compounds. We then resumed our more sober conversation about death and mourning rituals in different countries, exchanging stories and information about our respective traditions with curiosity.
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