By Leanne Park
There were a couple murmurs, but no one raised their voice. It was a warm August night, way too warm for the 50 or so of us to be learning a hip hop dance on the third floor of a parking structure and yet, there we were. With sweat dripping down everyone’s faces, everyone seemed focused on learning the audition piece, but no one seemed particularly frustrated. Everyone except for me, that is.
Brows furrowed and lips pursed in irritation, I probably did not look approachable by any means. I had danced all throughout high school, even performing at pep rallies in front of hundreds of students, but, at the time of this audition, I hadn’t danced for two years and it was hitting me pretty hard that my skills had turned rusty. Even though it was the first of three audition days for USC’s competitive dance team, Chaotic 3, and we had two more days to practice the dance before the actual audition, my heart sank as unflagging doubt seized and took over my initial hopes of making the team.
I contemplated not going through with the final audition. I discussed it with multiple people, complaining about how hard the piece was, and voicing my doubts. However, something told me not to give up that easily. I was a transfer student who fought for my admission to USC and I was determined to make the most of my two years as a Trojan. In my head, I imagined myself being on a USC dance team and I knew that I would hate myself forever if I didn’t at least try. So for the next two days, I practiced the dance feverishly, watched the video of the choreographer a million times, and performed it in front of any and every mirror that I came upon. I wanted to impress the team more than ever. Continue reading “And 1, 2, 3, and 4. Any questions?”
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.
Continue reading Nostalgia
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.
Continue reading Buried or Marinated?