It was a unique experience for a typical transfer student who has never taken calculus before to sit in a M408K Calculus class. In every class, students solely work on problems, and the instructor does not lecture. I find it as a hassle to consistently work on homework/ pre-class assignments every other day. Surrounded by many students and intimidated by the teacher’s perplexing style of solving the problems, I begin to wonder how much I would learn in this class. As the instructor, Mr. Hamrick, speedily writes on the board, I try my utmost best to write everything down. Constantly, I think about whether destiny will support me as I try to give my all to this course. Will life be for me, or against me?

What the instructor taught was gibberish. His math problems written were indecipherable.  I was put in a perpetual state of confusion.  I knew I had to take action to make the most of my learning, right now, right here, if I wanted to apply to business school next year. Work hard. Learn the material. Get assistance. This year is my only shot to major in business, and the grade in calculus is also dependent upon it. There are two paths I can be headed toward. If I get to complete a business major, then I will get exposed to different business fields and careers within the Mccombs School of Business itself. If I do not get to complete a business major, then my true desire, time, and hard work to come to UT will not be entirely fulfilled. I will be stuck with only one major, Rhetoric and Writing. I constantly hope that destiny is there for me and that I ace calculus. Calculus at UT is completely different. It is the most rigorous course here. It is a course where one basically teaches his/herself how to do problems by reading the provided mathematical information online. What the instructor does is only go over problems covered on the online assignments. Calculus is a game of struggle that I have only some control over. However, destiny has the most control. Surely destiny does.

When I first came to Austin, it just wasn’t home to me. The first weeks of my freshman year, I dreaded waking up every day because I couldn’t wake up to the smell of Mom’s cooking, the sound of Newton barking, and the sight of my “princess” pink-painted bedroom walls. Instead, the smell of my roommate’s burnt toast, the sound of construction everywhere, and the sight of dull cream-colored walls – to which I pasted sticky notes with assignment deadlines on them – welcomed me as I opened my eyes.

One fine day, it hit me: the pride of being a longhorn. I saw people wearing the color I am wearing. I hear the voice of thousands singing the “Eyes of Texas” with me. With a dozen others I barely knew, I boldly proclaimed that UT will beat Notre Dame. I found pride in wearing burnt orange – pride that we share within the forty acres. Austin might not be home, but it sure is where I belong.

Mural at 24th, Courtesy of Carol M. Highsmith

West Campus at UT in Austin is a marvel, a wonder, a joyous scream, a sight to see, a first drink, a story to tell, a regret, a dream. West Campus is the wealthy and white, beer and cups and glass and drunken girls, cracked sidewalks and overgrown trees and dog poop, towering Greek houses of shining brick, sketchy alleys, bars and corner stores, endless apartment buildings, construction.

University of Texas at Austin. Courtesy of Reid Sullivan.

After the Longhorn’s promising win against Notre Dame, UT fans couldn’t help but boast. Talk of a revived tradition of football excellency blanketed the state, and headlines in the Austin-American Statesman were some of the more exclamatory ones I have read recently. My Facebook newsfeed temporarily forgot the current political situation and remembered the Longhorns in all their glory. Die-hards breathed a sigh of relief, as they no longer had to defend their support of a sub-par program by reminding everyone of the National Champion title given to the University nearly a decade ago, although it was still a recurring theme. We were set to win, set to finally be nationally ranked in something other than academics or swimming, something Texans care about.

And then, we lost.

Cue the slander from A&M fans, the defamation from over-zealous football fanatics across the nation. Texas is not making a comeback; Texas sucks, Strong sucks, it’s really a shame, UT is such a big school with enough money to hire a winning coach… all criticisms from the peanut gallery. I, on the other hand, could not care less about how our football team is doing. The sport is too slow, too boring for me to watch, and I really don’t like beer enough to appreciate the culture surrounding it. I must admit though, I have turned on the TV a couple of times this season. But it was not to watch men run into each other, or fans aggressively screaming into the camera; it was to see the 19 month old steer with tiny horns and a bewildered expression make his way into a stadium of 100,000 fans for the first time, and take his seat in his designated air-conditioned nook on the field.

The way I see it? Baby Bevo is alive, and he is going to thrive. Who cares about a winning record that has been soiled, we have a baby longhorn to spoil.

Discovery Museum, Newcastle upon Tyne

Queue the carnival music. Come one come all to the amazing show. The Circus, presented by Austin Texas. All are welcome. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, step right up. Enter our tent. Be prepared to be amazed. You won’t believe your eyes. Enter the city limits for the most amazing show on earth. Yoga enthusiasts contorting their bodies in crazy ways. Students jumping through fiery hoops to stay in school. I ask you, do you want to come and play? Would you like to stay? Young adults juggling new jobs and high rent. Football enthusiasts catapulted through terrible seasons, full speed ahead. Drunk bar hoppers in a balancing act. Bearded ladies and men in dresses. I ask again, do you want to be amazed? Fasten your seatbelt, its going to be a weird ride.

A flag sways with the wind and the crowd… “Live Music ‘Capitol’ of the World”? Close enough, stranger. I get that being at ACL is exciting and that you’ve probably been dizzy and allergy-ridden since you got here, but unless you know something I don’t, your flag is a lie; the Capitol is definitely not keen on live music.

I’d love to imagine that somewhere at the Capitol…

behind the elaborate marble walls confining all sorts of political shenanigans from the public eye/ear/nose,whatever you may,

between the elegant oak? mahogany? pine? bookcases housing chronicles of our vast Texan legacy,

beneath the enchanting garden grounds serving as walkways to think or to people-watch or to enjoy both nature and history,

…hides an endless supply of disco balls and strobe lights and glow sticks and piles of hallucinogenic drugs suited to supply a city-wide rave.

A sight to behold, that’d be. I think you meant “capital”!

Imagine.

I made a new friend from France last Wednesday. At the weekend, I took her to Sushi Zushi, probably the best Japanese restaurant in Austin.

When we entered the restaurant, waitresses wearing Kimonos, said “Kon’nichiwa” to us enthusiastically. They served us tamari, miso soup, ginger, and mustard. The cook rolled the sushi perfectly so that when I sank my teeth into half of it, the other half was still tight. “Sushi is the most famous kind of food in Japanese culture.” I told my friend.

Once I was ready to satisfy my sweet tooth, the Mochi ice cream hit the spot. There are six flavors to choose from; I personally chose the green tea flavor. When the medium sweetness interior mixed with the slightly bitter exterior and when the soft ice cream mingled with the solid bun that encased it, my taste buds went mad with delight.

“I love the food here! Do you feel the same?” I asked her.

“Yes!” she replied, “This is the best Chinese food I’ve ever had!” she shouted out.

Colorado River in Austin in Texas is an artwork, an angel, a blue bow, a gift of nature, a moment, a memory, a momentum, a moan. Colorado River is the moving and still, birds and trees and grass and leisurely boats, stony pavement and tiny islands and lively picnics, classic collections of luxurious hotels, five-star restaurants, buildings and magnificent bridges, and over crowded cafes, and cocktails and people.

     A mess of keys jangle in my hands as I search for the one designated for my front door. I finally locate the key and maneuver the old lock just right so it will grant me access to my apartment. Immediately after I open the door my stomach drops as I am greeted by what could only be described as chaos.

Burning apartment gif from google images.

The couch has been moved diagonal to the window, the coffee table on it’s side. I see our blinds are crooked; the floor lamp has fallen to the ground. Living in West Campus my first thought is, “Shit, we’ve been robbed.” But that quickly dissipates as I look to my left and see and my roommate atop a bar stool with a broom in hand. “What happened here?” I ask in disbelief. I see terror in her eyes and her hands are trembling as she responds, “Roach.” The roach is the robber. 

It was a sunny day. I was standing by the Littlefield Fountain, watching the great work by sculptors. The water burst forth in an endless flow, sprays shining brightly under the sunshine. The sound of rushing water echoed with the laughter of people walking by. So obsessed with the rapid water and the magnificent sculpture, I could not look away.

Then suddenly a boy came to the frame. With curly hair and a white shirt, he did not interrupt the harmony and beauty of the whole. Rays of sunshine fell into his face and his white shirt. Water stopped. Time stilled. He stood there, looking at the fountain. I stood there, looking at him.

What’s his name? Which college was he in? Moody? McCombs? LBJ? I wanted to meet him again! I wanted to know more about him! I internally shouted to myself. The boy seemed to have a magic power that captured my mind. However, I had never seen him again since the “fountain meet.”

A few weeks later, I walked past the fountain again and thought about when I could meet that boy.

“Hey Jenny!” my friend Jack patted my shoulder and I turned to him.

“How’s everything going?” he asked me.

“Good.” I replied.

“Tell you what, I just saw a really cute guy in this gay dating app! See?” He shouted aloud and showed me his phone.

It was the boy.