The Longer Ones

Friday, September 2, 2016

Petrichor

It's a fun word. It's the smell of grass after rain. A little background from my personal life, I lived in California for two years (specifically the Bay Area). It's a pretty chill place, there's In-N-Out, lots of longboards, we always say "hella," and currently we're in a drought. It's been a while since the last time I felt rain on my face, and I've missed it.

Until rain finally came.

It gave me a dreary reassurance that life keeps on going. I should really get a grip. In fairness the day started out in an incredible way.

Last night, (so technically not today, but I'm the writer so shut up and accept my disillusioned view on time) I went to the Coldplay concert in Salt Lake City. It was absolutely incredible. There is no other way to phrase it. Even with a million billion words, it will never be enough to describe the sheer raw talent and awesomeness that is Coldplay.

P.S. Coldplay is my favorite band... it is my guilty pleasure and this is the only band I will ever sing with, cry with, and feel absolutely fantastic with, possibly all at the same time. I have fangirl-ed for this band many times and I can't believe I saw them in person.

And like a joyful commercial break, welcome back to real life. There were a lot of clouds today but it was alright because it helped cover up the heat. Late that night my sister lost her parking spot so I had to call people around and we deregistered the car and re-registered the car under my name, so we can park legally. It was probably 3 am when I got home and I was feeling dead, without a voice (literally), and wanting nothing but sleep. And then my pants vibrated. I had an email about homework that needs to be done by 6 am. I worked on it and I fell asleep an hour later.

I woke up late for school but it was okay because Coldplay filled me with love and I was willing to hug anyone who ever mentions their name. It was a beautiful day, the clouds were rolling through Timpanogos and I can feel a nice breeze, and wow I'm inserting a lot of unnecessary details. Let's skip forward. I found one of my friends and I decided to help them out with homework. It's been a while since I've done trigonometry. I got the hang of it though and it was comforting because she was helping me too. We were both tutoring my roommates and it was like we were a team at first, busting through every differential, matrices, and sets. I realized I was forcing it though.

In my school, instead of the typical party culture in almost every college, there is an intense marriage and dating culture. I cannot emphasize this enough, and I can't believe I let it affect me to this extent. I feel like I'm forcing myself to like a girl I have barely even met simply because she can speak in math. And as great and rare of a skill as that is, a relationship should be built more on just one specific characteristic, isn't it? I barely knew this girl at all. I barely know any of my friends at all. And yet somehow, in this strange land called Utah, there has already been 1 marriage (in the first 5 days), 3 relationships, and apparently dramatic semi-spiritual love letters to RM's or missionaries currently on missions. AND THAT'S JUST WHAT I KNOW ABOUT SO FAR. Everything is going extremely fast, and it needs to stop. I need to stop. It's as if there is an unwritten obligation to relationships with people I've never even met. And somehow it's just everywhere. Somehow everyone is wanting and not necessarily feeling. Though I am in a fairly religious institution, the line between love and infatuation is blurry, and this institution is no exception from it. Maybe it's in the air we breath. Or whatever else comes out.

I walked out of that study session a bit confused, not because of math, but because of what I want to do next. I'm not sure. And that's okay. Because at least I'm not alone. When I took my first step outside, the heavens opened and it was beautiful. A guy saw my Coldplay shirt and started playing "The Scientist" on the ukulele. The air smelled like petrichor.

No comments:

Post a Comment