I am recalling a moment in the not-too-distant past. It's objectively quite a mundane moment, in the sense that it is one I have lived a multitude of times throughout my life—especially throughout the previous four years during my time at Stanford—but as I close my eyes and try to place myself back into those ten minutes, I cannot help but feel a fondness towards it. The moment I speak of is this: the time of our graduation was coming closer and closer and we were well beyond the stress of exams and projects, entranced into a routine that consisted of nothing but sleeping until the sun was well on its descent. Our current predicament was this: we had leftover money to spend but for some strange reason, all of the restaurants were closed for the summer. As such, we elected to spend this money on groceries (hummus, to be exact!) at the only grocer available, and I was tasked with retrieving these groceries, and additionally retrieving your bike. I skip forward now to the moment I speak of: wobbling ridiculously atop a bike that was much too small for my legs, carrying a ripping bag filled to the brim with overpriced chips, drinks, crackers, and of course three different kinds of hummus. It was an absurd balancing act, and I am sure if I were the one to observe another in the same situation as me, I would have been unable to stifle a laugh. The sun was shining immensely. It was when I was concentrating on maintaining my balance when I turned the corner and your monument of a building crept into my view. It was at this moment when a thought entered my mind. A thought that filled my heart with such vast happiness. I felt the joy creeping up from my heart and into my throat that I could not help but begin to chuckle to myself and beam up at that blaring sun. How ridiculous I must have looked! Tipping over on a bike as my groceries dragged through the road, nevertheless laughing into the air without a single care how I looked. See, when I turned that corner and saw that building, it was the image of you that entered my mind and filled me with warmth. I suppose it finally set in that I was coming home to you, and not a single thought otherwise could have made me happier.
Allow me to be candid for a moment. My time at Stanford was marred by boredom. I’m sure you have heard me say—on numerous occasions—how I despise all peoples at that place. Perhaps a more accurate statement would be to say that I am severely apathetic towards them. Since I was a child I have been interacting with the people who attach themselves to that school, so I suppose this feeling was well cultivated before I even set foot on the grounds to begin attending classes myself. I don’t believe I hate them, but I think it’s true to say that I don’t feel anything towards them, and further to the school. As such, I prepared to simply resign myself to my room, as I had very little interest in things outside of it. I don’t think this is something to pity me over, as I was quite happy doing this. Though there were moments of regret during my final year where I wondered if becoming more involved would have made for a more positive experience. As the ending to my years at Stanford came closer and closer, the more discontent I grew with not having accomplished much when it came to the social sphere. I had very little connection, and even less people I could realistically consider a friend. This was until I met you. Out of all the people I have met at Stanford from childhood until now, you were the first person I met who I truly felt a bond with. From our first conversation you captured my heart. Perhaps this is my long winded way to show my gratitude. I have not been good at saying it, so let me be direct: thank you, Kaitlin. Thank you for being the person that you are, unflinchingly and unapologetically. Thank you for seeing something in me that I fail to see in myself. Thank you for your sweetness (and your sourness!) Thank you for a month of love that astonishes me to believe I deserve. Thank you for existing in this world, and more than that thank you for allowing me to exist in yours. If all of my effort and struggle at that school culminated in me meeting you, then I cannot help but be eternally grateful for it. With everything I have I want to say: thank you, Kaitlin.
I once said that a hot Sacramento is the perfect time for hatred. I still believe this, and yet I feel no hatred in my body. How odd! As I am writing this, I am sitting on a rundown table that my parents persist in keeping in our backyard. I would have once said that the sun I feel on my back is unbearable, but now I am not so sure. I am looking up towards the sky—for me it is burning and blue and for you it is cloudy and poised—but beyond that I am looking towards the future. I am looking at you, not a pixelated image of you but the real you, beneath a cool September sky in California. I am looking at you sitting under the buzzing lights of a Seattle restaurant that we both silently agree is poor, but we are there nonetheless. I am looking at you within my arms and beside my body and sleeping quietly on the bed and looking out at the waterfront and laughing with a laugh that fills my mind up with joy, and for once this burning heat feels nothing but warm.