Out of habit when I moved to the East Coast, I continued to list my mother as my emergency contact – on doctor's forms, travel itineraries, HR files. It was impractical, I realized, because the very nature of an "emergency contact" requires that person to be able to respond immediately during an emergency. Being 3,000 miles away put my mother at a disadvantage, should something happen.

When I first moved to New York, the habit kicked in as I was filling out paperwork for my internship – but I caught myself, and decided to ask the HR coordinator if it would be OK to list my mother first, and then switch it later. It was January of 2012 and I knew nobody in the city. I had figured I'd wait until I met more people, and then go from there. The coordinator suggested I pick someone more local – a roommate or landlord, perhaps?

So I listed my roommate, who I'd known for a total of 48 hours at that point, and didn't even tell her about it. And as the years have passed, I never changed it; at some point, I forgot about it. Between 2012 and now, I've worked in the same building and lived in the same apartment with that same roommate, and somewhere along the way, I settled into a routine of "going through the motions." Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with New York the way a person "falls in love" for the first time at 16: infatuation mixed in with excuses for the moments that don't feel quite right.

And then, slowly, over time, I fell out of "love." And then, suddenly: a break-up.

This year was rough, and so many of my 2016 "favorites" were things that helped keep me distracted amidst all the crap that happened over the last 12 months. So, in no particular order, here's my annual list that I probably won't keep doing in the future because monthly favorites are way easier to keep track of than these end-of-the-year giant roundups that, inevitably, leave out many things from the first half of the year...

One disclaimer: not everything on this list came out in 2016. I'm just really late to things.

(Also, in preparation for my end-of-the-year lists, I asked my friends on Facebook what some of their favorite pop culture things were in 2016, and their super cool and interesting answers reminded me how behind I am on pretty much everything.)

The first photo I took from my apartment living room.

People often call New York City the greatest city in the world, though when I first moved here, I was warned that I would constantly feel exhausted just trying to walk down a sidewalk. And it ended up being very true, in my first year especially – whether it was on the streets or down in the subway, the amount of people constantly surrounding me became so overwhelming that all I wanted to do at the end of the day was shut my bedroom door and not talk to a single soul.

The last five years have been as exhilarating as they have been draining. When I look back at old blog posts or diary entries or letters from high school and college, I was never shy about declaring that someday I would live in New York. I'm glad I did it and I don't regret getting on that bus in 2012 with just two suitcases and a backpack, praying that I would find a place to live and a job one day.

But lately – the past 18 months especially – I've felt somewhat frozen in time. New York felt less like "home" to me in 2016 than ever before, and it hit me so suddenly back in the beginning of the year that my head and my heart were just no longer here. All of the excuses and the reasons I'd given for being in New York just no longer held up. I think I'll get into all this in a separate post because what I really want to talk about right now are the things I'll miss about New York. For as much shit as I've talked on this city, I've had some amazing moments here too, and I don't want to leave only remembering the bad stuff.

When you're a nostalgic person like I am, it can often turn into becoming a bit of a pack rat. I used to savor movie ticket stubs as if they were snapshots of the film itself, every coffee stain on a page of a book reminded me of a place or time, and even worn out pens had a story to tell.

But since I left home for college, I've moved every year (in D.C., I moved every month), and in the process, some of those things went into storage boxes or got lost to the wind. Sometimes, I'd carry things from place to place, even if they were never unpacked, because having them was some sort of comfort that I could learn from the past: from the mistakes, from the stories, from the triumphs.

When I moved to New York in 2012, I had no sense of how long I would stay – let alone, how long I would stay in one apartment. 2016 is coming to an end, and I've been in the same room. Sure, there's now a bit more furniture (and a lot more books), but this one space has been mine for almost five years.

I'm in this process of throwing a lot of stuff out. The idea is to tackle the room in sections – corner by corner, drawer by drawer – and re-examine the importance of holding onto items that aren't exactly necessary to keep in my life. In doing so, it's also led me to a box filled with old bank statements and birthday cards and deeply personal letters exchanged with friends from the other side of the country and, occasionally, the other side of the world.

Warning: Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life spoilers ahead.

Yes, we stayed up until 6 a.m. marathoning all four mini-movies straight. There was lots of coffee and snacks involved. And now that it's all done (I'm debating whether a re-watch is necessary for any deeper analysis right now, but I'm also very sleepy), yes – I have thoughts.

But rather than wait until I decide to re-watch it all now or not, I wanted to jot down some initial reactions because posting anything on social media right now is cruel and I don't want to accidentally spoil anything for anyone.

So, this post has spoilers. Seriously. Last chance to duck out.

When Jimi Hendrix took the stage the morning of August 19, 1969, at Woodstock, he launched into a guitar solo of the "Star-Spangled Banner." It was unrehearsed, but not new — he's played the anthem on stage plenty of times; on that Monday morning, he was filling time. Delay after delay had pushed his set and by Monday, a large part of the crowd had left. Not that that took away from the power of the moment: if you listen closely to the live recording, it's both gritty and pure and, I would argue, patriotic at a time when patriotism was being questioned.

Some people called it disrespectful, but what I don't think they got was that, in those four minutes, the "Star-Spangled Banner" was more than just a song. Hendrix made the National Anthem an anthem for a generation of people who felt that their country didn't care about them, a country that was drafting them to war to die. And if you listen carefully to the way Hendrix jumps from fret to fret, interrupting his own interruptions with Taps, using (some say, overusing) the whammy bar and wah-wah pedal in a way that's distinct to his sound, you'll hear imperfection that tells a story people weren't sure how to articulate. At that last note, there's a sustained silence, and then Hendrix launches into E7#9, known as the Hendrix chord, that begins "Purple Haze," a song unambiguously about getting high.

When asked about it later, Hendrix didn't talk about the performance as a protest or a symbol. "I thought it was beautiful," he said. It was.

Because even with the "unpatriotic" interruption, Hendrix remained unapologetic in his art. Because even if it felt like the country was turning against you, the music could still go on. As long as we create — unapologetically — we can change it.

The D train came on the A/C line yesterday. I wasn't expecting it because down at Broadway-Lafayette, there were dozens of signs announcing the D was not running over the weekend and to take the F instead (underneath some of those signs were other announcements about the F being out of service too). But as I was bopping down the stairs to the new Lady Gaga album, I saw a D leaving the station. But by the time I had let two F trains pass, I assumed I was mistaken and got on the third F to arrive. When I got off at West 4th to take the A/C up to Columbus Circle or the Upper West Side (whichever train came first), the D suddenly showed up.

It was unexpected and I wasn't sure what route it would be taking or where it would end up, but I got on it anyways and was pleasantly surprised to find myself where I wanted to be, at Columbus Circle. I probably could've just taken the F to the 1 at 14th and been fine, but this was faster, though it did come with the risk that I'd end up far from where I thought I'd be.


That's all to say: New York City drives me crazy. I don't know if it's never not driven me crazy. And yet, it's familiar. I've only ever ridden the train the wrong direction once, and it wasn't even when I was new here; it was because I was so used to one route that I forgot I was supposed to be going another way once.

It's safe to say that most people I know these days would be surprised to find when I'm part of any sort of fandom. Part of me thinks it goes back to the time in middle school when I went to an early screening of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in costume, and some of the "popular kids" from my class saw me and made fun of me the next day at school (to them, I now say: ha). So it's rare to find me fangirling over anything IRL (until you begin a conversation with me about, say, Shakespeare or America's Next Top Model), but when the opportunity to attend a Gilmore Girls festival came up, I couldn't say no.

My love for the show (and passion to argue about the show) is well-documented. Every Tuesday night at 8PM, you could find me in front of my TV anxiously awaiting a new episode. It introduced me to new music and movies and authors, and it got me interested in what journalism could be. Every Christmas, I'd ask for the DVD sets (yes, I do own all seven seasons), and when Netflix added the series to its offerings, I binge-watched it all immediately.

But this isn't a post about my obsession; let's get to the topic at hand: this past weekend was the first-ever Gilmore Girls Fan Fest up in Washington Depot, Connecticut (the town that inspired Amy Sherman-Palladino's Stars Hollow). It was a completely fan-driven event with no affiliation to Netflix or the show, but some of the cast and crew came up for the weekend, and there was everything from panels to charity events to screenings and more.

I don't have a mentor – which is something that I've been thinking about a lot lately as I try step back and take these "big picture" looks at my life, my career path, and my future. As someone who's desperately in need of being creative at all times, I've found myself a bit out to sea when it comes to figuring out what to do or where to go next. I've said this before to a couple of people, who all argue that I don't really "need" a mentor. But...I don't think I'm done learning yet (who is?). In fact, I've sort of found myself in this rut where I'm not learning as much anymore.

As I've been thinking about all of this, I started to wonder if I was alone in being mentor-less and wondering why (Am I too stubborn to take advice? Too arrogant to think I can get by without a mentor? Should I have worked harder to identify a mentor and keep in touch with people who could've served as mentors? The answer to that last question is most likely, yes.), I decided to take my inquiry to Facebook (like all good, serious inquiries, of course) and ask my friends about whether or not they have mentors – or if they're like me and searching for one.

There's an episode of Parks and Rec where a pregnant Ann is hiding from Chris because she wants to complain and vent, but every time she does, he immediately jumps into problem-solving mode. She ends up finding temporary refuge in some of the office gang who get together semi-regularly to vent, and she says: "You know what my biggest complaint is? I have a million things I need to complain about, and I can't take them home because Chris is the most considerate person in the world, and he just wants to help me, and then I feel bad about that, and then I get annoyed that he wants to help me, and I feel even worse about that!"

We're two months away from Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life, and I've been binge-watching all seven seasons to prepare. (OK, let's be honest: I'd be binge-watching whether Netflix was doing a revival or not!)



Gilmore Girls has always been my "comfort show," the show I've turned to when I'm feeling sad or overwhelmed. It's also been a show I've watched with family and with friends, and laughed over and repeated the lines and shared inside jokes for years and years and years.

It's also a show that's given me a lot of life lessons, and on every re-watch of a season, I feel like I'm learning something new depending on where I am in life and what character I'm identifying with. Here are a couple of those lessons (just five for now, because if I don't limit it, I'll go on for paragraphs and paragraphs and paragraphs...) – mainly seen through the eyes of Rory, who I always identified with because we were closer in age while I was growing up and watching in real time (I also may or may not have majored in journalism because of the character...*cough*...):

1. Don't let relationships consume you. In Season 1, Episode 8 ("Love and War and Snow"), a newly coupled Rory and Dean are so focused on each other, that Rory doesn't realize she's been blowing Lane off. And if you've ever felt like a third wheel (I think we all have), you'll know it pretty much sucks. Later in the episode, Lane awkwardly runs her fingers through her high school crush's hair and when she tries to talk to Rory about it, they end up fighting. "I don't need you to be sorry," Lane says to her at one point. "I just need you to be there."

I've been the person before who's been ditched when her friend starts dating someone new, and I've also been the person who's done the ditching because of a new relationship. Both positions are crappy ones to be in. It's all just a matter of balance, right? Be happy and in love! But don't forget about your friends – especially when they need you the most.

I've always loved paper planners, but I've always been horrible at maintaining one. Often times I would buy a planner (or be given one) and only use it for a month or two before losing it or falling out-of-date with it – usually because my Google Calendar served as a better alternative, and I keep my phone on me at all times and spend my life sitting in front of computers; or, because, I am an absurdly stubborn perfectionist and one mistake or missed day in my planner throws me off.

So when everyone and their third cousin started talking about bullet journaling, I was immediately both interested and skeptical: interested because it seemed to combine my two favorite things (to-do lists and neat schedules), but skeptical because blank pages were too big of a canvas for me to screw up and give up.

But a couple of months ago, I decided to take the plunge and see what all this chatter was about – and now I'm the one preaching to everybody about the magic of bullet journaling. Bear with me.

Joan Didion once famously wrote: "Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends."

August is over. In some ways, it feels like the end of a very long year – a year filled with rainbow cakes and last goodbyes, pink forms and purple flowers. And when all that's said and done, life still goes on: texts and emails and cross-country flights, all reminders of the 3,000 miles between my head and my heart.

But my life hasn't stopped. I walked through my door to mail, a stuffy room, and a nearly-blind dog rushing over to say hello. Tonight, I will go to bed, and when I wake up, it'll be time to get back to work.

This is a reminder that life goes on. Some days will feel frantic, others will feel slow. All of those days will feel like a blur – but I'd like to focus my vision in these last months of 2016. I won't make any sweeping declarations on how I'll do it yet, but we'll see where my brain takes me.

I filmed this a bit ago, after the AAJA convention, but didn't get around to actually editing it because life's gotten a little (a lot) stressful. Also, as I was editing it, two things became clear: 1) the video quality is terrible, sorry (not 1080p womp womp); and 2) I spent half of this video just rambling about me being anxious at VidCon.

Which is what the video is about: social anxiety. This time around, I don't really have a rundown of "surefire tips" like I did on networking as an introvert, but I do have some bits of advice that I've gotten from other people over the years...

I'm a massive introvert. When I tell most people this, they try to tell me I'm mistaken because I seem quite extroverted. (As mentioned before on this blog, I guess I'd consider myself more of an...ambivert?)

One of the hardest things for me to do, as an introvert, is network. Walking into a room full of people I don't know makes me anxious and tired. They don't really teach you in school the "right" way to network, and I don't think there really is a "right" way to do it, to be honest. Everyone has different styles and personalities, and what might work for one person won't exactly be right for you.


That's my way of saying: these tips are not definitive, surefire ways to become a networking expert. Over the past couple of years, as I've gone through networking events and talked to other people about networking (particularly, with my friends who are also introverts), I've learned a handful of things that might be helpful.

Be OK with failure. Failure is a part of life.

I say this as someone who needs the constant reminder, I think, more than others. I've blogged before about my penchant for starting and not finishing projects, and even when I did finish a project, it resulted in me falling off the face of the earth for...well, arguably, I'm still hermiting.

I think when it comes to creative endeavors – particularly when there's nothing holding you accountable (like consequences at work or in school) – failure to see a project through hits hard. For me, when I begin something like a blog or vlog series, I'm putting 100% of my heart and mind into it. Or, at least, I want to put 100% of myself in it. When that energy starts to slip, I panic and then wait until I feel like I'm in the "right" place again. But that ignores the initial purpose of so many of these personal projects: to help put me in the "right" place.

I think my biggest challenge these past few years – and even more so these days – has been to create without consequences. Just...make stuff. And yes, that's advice I've written multiple times on this blog, but a reminder never hurts.

I wrote a blog post for my pal Phil over at Angry Asian Man while he's taking a much-deserved break...

"We never talked about it. The word "undocumented" was nerve-wracking, confusing, and -- as it's been argued in my grandfather's circumstances -- not exactly true. Growing up, my sister and I were told many stories about our family history, but we had also been taught a moderately conservative stance when it came to immigration, about the "right" way to do things and the hard word that comes with that journey.

Which is why when, during a visit to California in April, I sat down with my mother to talk about this in-depth, she didn't use the word -- at least, not at first. Let me explain."

OK. I'm going to do it. After five years of living on the East Coast, I'm taking the plunge: I'm going to buy a rice cooker.

Every time I tell someone I don't own a rice cooker, they stare at me with eyes that say, "But how?" mixed in with the more awkward, "Don't you eat a lot of rice, because....you know..."


If you know me, you know I've been lazy about cooking over the last couple of years, despite having a decently nice kitchen. I could lob my various excuses at you about why that is, but that's irrelevant here--

Except...actually, it is kind of relevant. What if I buy a rice cooker and don't use it that often? And because I was raised by a family who made their American Dream a reality thanks to being chefs, buying a cheap rice cooker would be side-eyed so hard. Trust me: I asked them and they all recommended the Asian brands. Those ain't cheap.

When I first moved away to college, I felt this sharp jab in my chest every time I thought of home. I had spent 18 years of my life living under the same roof as my parents, and suddenly they felt so far away. I was excited about the next chapter in life, but it still stung every now and then when I thought about how much I missed singing along to the radio with my mother in the car and how those days of picking peaches with my father and sister in the backyard were gone.

When I left college and parted ways from my roommates, my friends, my soulmates, I felt that similar sting. When I left California, that feeling was there too. And all the while, I knew it was nothing new -- when you spend an extended period of time away from the familiar, it's bound to hurt a little. Especially when you don't know when, or if, you'll see those faces again.

My 94-year-old grandfather was put into a nursing home a couple weeks ago. It was supposed to be temporary, and now it's permanent -- although nobody will say that word exactly, because the rest of that sentence is "permanent...until he goes." We don't really talk about death and things like that so candidly (which is perhaps why I'm terrible at handling grief), but I can't stop thinking about how, for the first time in 70-some years, my grandmother doesn't know how her husband is.

About nine years ago, my grandfather had a stroke. The doctors had said they weren't sure if he'd make it, and even if he did, they only guessed he had a year. That Christmas, he hugged everyone.

So I guess he's been living on borrowed time (though aren't we all?), but I think it's his nature to be scrappy. It's what you did to survive a war and coming to a foreign country and starting over again and again.

I've been thinking a lot about my grandparents since I moved across the country -- their past, our history, the moments I took for granted as a child when they would take care of me. People used to tell me how lucky I was to have three of my grandparents alive and able to see me grow up. I've never felt the weight of that sentiment until now.

Three months into the year, and I finally made a New Year's resolution: don't just be grateful, express gratitude. Send "thank you" notes, tell people you appreciate them -- even if the people helping you may not have honest intentions, still: say "thank you."

Everyone deserves some fucking kindness.


That, and more lessons from the month:

The McDonald's on the corner by the subway is gone. I don't know how long it's been boarded up, which is surprising because I walk past that corner at least once a day when I get off the 1 to head home.

But Friday, I took the 1 down to work — instead of my normal B/D route — and saw the corner in daylight. It couldn't have been a deconstruction that took place overnight.

I wonder what else has changed while I stopped looking, while my head has been down and buried in work. Somewhere between getting off the bus at Port Authority and March of 2016, my inbox and messages went from fun to buried by needs (I know we barely talk , but can you hook me up with a job? Can you cover this story? Can you meet my friend and give him a job?).

When did coffee dates and dinners go from catch-ups to business transactions?

Hey -- so I tend to get sucked down these rabbit holes online when I can't sleep. A couple of weeks ago, I was looking for an old email address in my Gmail archives and I came across an email from you that led me to another email and then another one and then a Gchat transcript and then links to posts on my now defunct Tumblr page.

Sorry, I'm having trouble getting to the point -- mainly because I've had a lot of points swirling around my brain for awhile, and I'm not sure which one is the most articulate for me to write down right now. Maybe none of them are.

The reason I'm writing this is because I'm turning 27 tomorrow. This is significant because -- well, let me rewind a bit first.

I had a really excellent fifth birthday party, if my memory serves me correctly. It was at Thee Upper Crust Pizza (now closed) next to my parents' regular grocery store and bank, and there was a magician who made tiny bunny rabbits made of red foam appear in my hands with a wave of a wand.

Don't forget to fall in love with your dreams.

Hell, don't forget to have dreams in the first place.

I think it's scary to have dreams, or to speak them out loud. Saying your wishes and desires out loud means that someone in the world can hear it and hold you accountable in the future -- and what if you fail? Can you still love a dream that seems far out of reach?

"Dreams never die," someone once told me. "It's people who give up on them."

What would it look like if we woke up each morning in love with the possibilities ahead of us?

If I were honest with myself, there are dreams I still have -- dreams for myself and my future, but also dreams for others, for the world -- that I don't necessarily have full faith and confidence in them becoming realities. But that doesn't mean they're worth working toward in some capacity, even in the smallest of ways.

It’s surprising to me how few Gilmore Girls references I’ve made on this blog in the 6-7 years I’ve been writing here, considering how deep into the world of Gilmore I am — from owning every season on DVD (even season 7) to binge-watching the series multiple times (it’s my comfort show).

Everyone -- I have a lot of feelings about this.

I was feeling sick a couple weekends ago, so I stayed in and decided to put my Roku to work. Monica had been recommending Switched at Birth for awhile now, and since it popped up at the top of my Netflix recommendations, I decided to give it a try.


If you know me, you already know I'm generally down for an ABC Family (now, Freeform) show. After all, the network has its surprising gems that you might not expect (Bunheads, anyone?).

The show reminds me a lot of Parenthood, which is another drama that was equally as captivating. What both shows also have, that intrigues me, are characters you both root for and hate throughout the series. There are some characters and storylines that are ripe for criticism, and often times I found myself wanting to throw something at the television when a character was being pretentious or judgmental or naive. If you were to read through my text updates to Monica while I was watching Switched at Birth, you'll see the constant flip-flopping I feel over individuals and relationships and storylines.


But isn't that what makes a good show? Investment in the characters? At least, for me it does. (And trust me: I have a lot of opinions right now about every character, including the characters that I'm still sitting here wondering, "Where the hell did they go?!" -- and if you watch the show and care to rant with me, you know where to find me.)
My original blog post on this was just me gushing on and on about why the show is so good, but I'll share a few non-spoilery takeaways instead to get my thoughts organized (and to try and convince you to watch, if you aren't already):

At the end of every year, I'm pretty convinced I haven't really learned anything. Which isn't true. There are "big picture" lessons I do take away from the year, but I often forget some of the other details of a week or month, lessons I should be taking with me as the year progresses.

So I'm going to start keeping an advice log for myself on this blog because it'll hold me accountable to not fall into the same old traps and the same old pity parties that generally tend to grab onto me and drag me down halfway through the year.

Also, blogging and writing is good for me. It makes me go less crazy in a day, and it also helps me sort out the thoughts that I tend to word vomit at Kristen every day.

Meet the Patels is one of those films where you know the tensions, and you can probably assume how it will end. But even if you're right, it's still one of the most delightful journeys to go on because you've become drawn into the hearts of the characters you get to know through the camera.


Although my own family has never been one to pile pressure on regarding marriage (although my mom did say half-jokingly to my grandma last year that neither my sister nor I were going to get married, causing complete panic and anxiety in my poor 92-year-old grandma's heart), I definitely get the cultural conversations in the film. Like how parents don't want you to date at all while you're in school because "it's a distraction," but then the second you're in the working world they want to know why you aren't married yet? Been there.

When I was little, my parents used to say things like, "Just marry a Chinese boy. It'll make things easier."

"What do you mean easier??" I used to ask.

Their answer: "He will understand our food, our traditions."

It was like we were on another planet.

I'm better at giving compliments than receiving them -- not that I receive a ton, nor do I necessarily want many. A "good job" once in awhile is always nice to hear, but anything more makes me uneasy.

This truly isn't me fishing more compliments, if that's what it sounds like. I've been thinking about this topic for the last month or so, and then today I had a meeting with a lovely individual that ended in her saying wonderfully complimentary things and my gut reaction was to say anything but "thank you."

Why is it so hard sometimes to just say "thank you"? I think a few reasons go through my brain when someone says something complimentary: "I don't deserve that," "Is he/she sincere?," "I can't look like I just agree with the compliment because it'll make me look cocky."

Confession: my biggest pop culture-related regret of 2015 was not watching Crazy Ex-Girlfriend from the start.

So, if you know me, you know I'm terrible at keeping up with television shows. Sometimes it's because I forget. Other times, I'm not home. I also don't really know how to use the DVR in my apartment (I know, I know). I often will watch season/series premieres, and then wait until weekends to catch up online on what I've missed.


Truthfully, I didn't tune into Crazy Ex-Girlfriend when it premiered in October on The CW because -- well, I couldn't really grasp what the show was about. The subway ads and the trailers that ran before web videos didn't capture my attention. Also, October was the month where all I did was wake up, work, go home, work, fall asleep while doing work...

The buzz kept growing for the show, and I kept putting the show on my "to watch" list, but didn't get around to actually watching until the Thanksgiving episode which featured a Filipino-American Thanksgiving. I found the show charming (My kind of dry humor! And it's partially a musical too! How could I not love it!) and bought the iTunes season pass for the show and made a mental note to binge-watch it.

After a lot of procrastination, I finally finished watching the eight episodes released this past weekend, and good Lord -- why did I wait this long to finish it??

My three main takeaways:

I'm no stranger to people getting close to me because they want something. This isn't a "I'm so successful in my career, everyone wants to be me" blog post, nor do I think that at all. But I get it -- if you have the ability to talk with someone who has a career path you're interested in pursuing, then you'd want to pick their brain, ask for opportunities, etc.

But the one thing that really pisses me off is when people try to take advantage of that.

When I got my first paycheck from Albertsons in college, my mom deposited the check in my account, withdrew a dollar, and framed it. She did this with my sister's first paycheck to, and said it'd be something we would want to look back on someday. "So you remember where you came from," she said.

I made $7.60 an hour pushing grocery carts and cleaning bathrooms. It wasn't glamorous, but I was 18 and I needed a job so I wouldn't have to go to my parents for every single expense: for school supplies or for that extra coffee. We had loans for tuition already, and I wanted to do my part to contribute, and also to start saving up when I could.

I left that job in January 2008. I hadn't been doing well -- personally, academically, mentally. After a series of events and the right people in my life, three years later by the time I was ready to graduate, everything had changed, and it's been changing ever since.