- French Friend: well, the total cost of me going to Med school is about 406 a year -
- American Friend: THOUSAND?
- French Friend: Um, no. 406 Euro. It sounds a little high but it covers the cost of my textbooks, extra classes and most of my housing. How much is it for you?
"When you’re in the position I’m in, you have two options: you can either shut yourself off from everybody, from the world, and not live a full life. Or you welcome everybody into your life and occasionally somebody will try to take advantage. And I’d much rather be that person who lets people in.” (Daniel Radcliffe photographed by Ernest Doroszuk)
i hope this woman lives forever
Albuca is a genus of plants originally from southern and western Africa. Many species produce flowers which release a sweet scent at night, but some are grown for their peculiar spiralling leaves.
Eyes open wherever I stand, and yet it doesn’t feel like my presence is a solid piece of the scene. Not in the sense that I feel transparent, a wraith to their opaqueness, but rather a solitary other. A supernatural something hidden by the guise of “yet another person here.” Everything that made me “me” is faux. It’s not really real. Though I know it is somehow real, in some degree. People equate the feeling to emptiness, a growing abyss, where the heart should be. I feel the BA-thump, BA-thump-bathump of my heart within my ribcage, so I know that it still remains and there is less frantic worry. Instead, I notice that there’s an absence around my while body, as if I am there but falsely so. Like an illusion. And my heart, my heart has this pulling, like a starving wolf yearning for the bloody meat of its recent kill. My heart, and my body, are both ravenous for things that this scenery fails to provide. There’s no nutrition for my soul here. I am the starvation artist of my own soul- but I lack any skillful flourish of style. My whole being drools for the nourishment that my world at this time is failing to provide, that I myself fail to take the courage to provide. I think it to be a crime against my soulful humanity to starve the very thing that makes me. And in my starvation there came a courageous hunger to triumph my condition.
"Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake”