Sitting here in my dorm, I can’t help but wonder what has led up to this moment. Is it by some coincidence that I am sitting in this exact position? Or is it that of fate, the ever elusive future that seems to drastically change before my eyes. I mean, I’m in no way qualified to explain myself. Who am I really?
Well, for starters my dear readers (haaaa, just kidding because no one is reading this) I am a collection of those around me. Yes, I was made by my parents (thanks Mom&Dad!), but what makes me, me? Is it the wavy red hair? Or perhaps the way in which I pronounce the word bag? (BAE-g. not BAH-g) No, that’s just my Canadian upbringing. Honestly, I don’t know what makes me, me. According to my philosophy professor, Nicolas Michaud (fab teacher, TAKE HIM), I don’t actually exist, which is ultra depressing, but I guess that’s life.
So, I will just sit here, drinking my Straw-ber-rita (which is hella good, by the way), pondering the ponderings floating in my brain. Actually, I think I’ll watch some Veronica Mars.