The box you force yourself into is much, much smaller than you realize. Think of your favorite band. Geese. Super funky, hella crazy, but you discovered them on Spotify smart shuffle on a random Sunday night, and chose to give them a chance. Out came USC early decisions a few weeks later, and you held on dearly to Cobra by Geese to pacify you through the rejection. Now, think of someone you dislike. Kitty. Your classmate who’s terrible. Just… terrible. What if instead

Christmas songs are on the radio again. But I hardly even noticed. I live in a world of constant noise. I always have. I mean, “Come on! It’s L.A.!” ( I Love LA). It's how things work here. Get a grip. As a society, we pass by things so fast; time is always taken for granted. We only reach to grasp for something when it is gone. Distracted by the noise of the media, there is no real way to keep track of time. Like, what happened to Brat Summer? Ballerina flats? I seem to f

Collections and trinkets insulate my room, filling the mind with a comforting sort of white noise. This background hum helps drown out the doubt. It acts as an anchor: I am tightly held within a patchwork of myself, unable to float away. If my space were drained of its cluttered character, would I be whole anymore? I’m not sure. Nearly every person holds a subconscious, or in my case, conscious preoccupation with the material. We all wish to see ourselves through a certain le