I took 488 before I officially changed my concentration because I knew that as a writer, you had to keep writing. And writing. And writing. I knew that 488 would make me write a lot.

And it did! Just like my other classes- three stories over the course of the semester. Well, minus 288; we only had to write two for that class. Hands down my favorite creative writing workshop, because our class was awesome in general and because Afsharirad will always be one of my favorite teachers. A grad student, but a teacher nonetheless.

So for my stories this class, I wanted to do something different with my stories. 288 was Fiction Writing; I wrote about a badass, trapped casino shark named Chase who needed to break free from her adoptive and manipulative stepfather who owned the casino and a dream hopper named Ceyeri who faces the challenge of watching over a child named Skyler in his dreams. 388 was Intermediate Fiction Writing. I introduced a broken boy named Sam whose passion for the arts had faded along with his growing up and the journey to discover the feeling of being alive that the arts and humanities could offer. Interestingly, I had tied Peter Pan to those last two stories. Then, I drew inspiration from my Native American Lit class, where I wrote about Free-Running-Stream and the power of the Wolf that allowed her to break tradition to take care of her family and earn her rightful place as a Brave in her tribe. Lastly, I wrote about a broken family- with the mother gone, the father an alcoholic, the older brother Ty in college, and little Lillian, a bright, hopeful young girl who ends up in a coma and has trouble distinguishing between her dream and reality.

For 488, Advanced Fiction Writing, my first story came from a series of images that I held close to me. Instead of writing about action-packed or emotionally wrenching scenes, I wanted to be more reflective, to delve deeper and discover more about myself through my writing.

The first of these images were inspired by a quote- "The hardest thing to do when you go back underwater, is to talk about what the sky was like" (Iain Thomas). It immediately brought me back to swimming over the summer, looking up at the sky with my back at the bottom of the pool. My images began there- the pool and the sky, the park at night with stars above, looking out of the window on an airplane during a night flight, and the thunderstorm that happened, that I got caught in the middle of, when I was mowing the lawn over summer. Those were the moments where I felt like I had been swallowed in the midst of something bigger, and to fall into something bigger was to be alive.

My second story came from an idea Dawn gave me- trying to convey sound. How does someone even begin to explain what sound is like? I asked Genna, who can't smell, how she would describe smell. It's an idea, she said. You have to explain an idea. So through that, I wrote into existence a boy named Jesse and a deaf girl named Violet, and their friendship as they build trust despite the walls that might stand in their way, including her disability. It was more of a story than my first with a clear narrative and plot. I wrote that in three hours, and it's one of my favorite pieces.

For months now, wanderlust has been clawing at me. Spain helped some, but the prospect of grad school only strengthened the yearning to travel abroad. I miss it. I miss being in an airplane, being in an airport, seeing new sights and people and eating different food, being immersed in a completely different culture. I felt trapped. Raleigh, though a big city to some, was still just a tiny blip in the places I've come to know. From that came my third story, completed in an hour, the description of Spain, of Hong Kong, the need to be somewhere else. The idea of home.

As I tried to think of topics I could have written about, I came upon a lot of thoughts because of the reflective notion I wanted to have through my pieces.

1. My anger is silence. Literally anything would be better than silence. If I'm yelling, if I'm screaming and cussing someone or something out, it is much, much better than being completely quiet. If I had someone in front of me who did something so completely irreversible and I had entirely lost my marbles at that point, I would not hesitate to grab a gun and shoot out their kneecaps and leave them to die. Likewise, when I had witnessed betrayal at its finest over this past summer, I did not speak a word to him for a good hour, and everyone knew he deserved it. Not even my mother went to his rescue.

2. Home is where the heart is. Hong Kong, Morrisville, Cary, Raleigh. Spain- Madrid, Toledo, Barcelona. London, Kyoto, Osaka, Singapore, Taipei, Los Angeles. My father, my mother, my siblings. Dawn, Elora, all of my friends. A nice notebook and a few pens. My car. A cozy couch. A cup of tea. A microphone, a bass guitar. The Power Sound of the South. NC State. A sketchbook. A red watch, a small ring with the stone that had fallen out. A time-and-space-traveling phone box. A basketball court.

3. "All it takes to kill a man is a well-aimed hit...find the flow of the fight and control it." Sound advice from King Arthur, applicable in any metaphorical (or literal) situation at any point in time and space.

4. Deep breath, suck it up, and keep moving. Do what I do best- take the hit, recover, and keep walking. It sucks. It sucks a lot sometimes. But there is nothing worse than staying put, because soon after, it won't be someone else or something else that takes you down. You'll end up killing yourself. Keep. Moving.

5. I want the power to create and destroy. That's what drove me to apply for the Architecture program. Since a Master's in Fine Arts is out of the question because my parents don't want me to pursue Creative Writing (and let's face it, I was going to get off that train sooner or later). I see things differently than other people. I speak a different language. For some, they can look at a sunset and completely bypass it. Some will describe it in a scientific context, some will simply look at it and admire, some will start sketching it, and some will attempt to do it justice by way of words. Words give me the ability to create and to tear down. So does art.

6. Some people choose to be alone. Some people are just lonely. Where do I fit in that spectrum? I struggle with that question sometimes. I like being alone. But I like being with my friends and family as well. When do I feel lonely? When am I truly and actually alone? I've gotten the opportunities to fortify my friendships with so many this year, and so blessed to be able to do that. So blessed that I am loved- not by all, but by enough.

7. Love is not mine. Love is all God's, and I am just blessed, blessed, and blessed to be able to be showered by it. Love is beautiful. Love is wonderful. And love is terrifying. I will always believe that people are worthy of love. And I will help them fight for it, and will fight for it with them. The heart that is loving on the inside is no longer mine, because never will I be capable of loving this way. This is coming from the girl who will admire and will always be supportive of her friends and their relationships and whatnot, but who has lost faith in falling in love. Is it worth a shot? Not anymore.

8. You're looking for someone to come home to, and I'm looking for a partner in crime.