A wired kid's story

Sleep eluded me as a child, but now it clings to me like a peel on a grapefruit.
When I was small, falling asleep was a nightmare. I tossed and turned until I felt lightheaded and my eyes ached from being forced shut for so long. I simply wasn’t sleepy. It didn’t help that I was a pretty anxious kid either. My mind conjured up horrifying images of Freddy Krueger rising from beneath the sheets and It the clown crawling toward my bed. Lack of sleep can put strange thoughts in one’s head. I also worried that my brain was shrinking from lack of sleep. I would do mental math problems to check if my intelligence was deteriorating. Fear kept my mind racing.
I used to pray desperately for sleep to come. It often took hours for sleep to find me.
Today, however, I can sleep like a baby and monsters no longer scare me. The only problem is I now feel tired at, ironically, nine o’ clock. I fall into deep sleeps, which does not bode well for a college student. I cannot get up for at least a couple hours when I nap. I have apparently unconsciously growled twice at my roommates whom I asked to wake me up so I could do homework. Recently, I accidentally fell asleep writing a paper on my computer and I woke up with my cell phone on my ear. My mom was on the line. I was two minutes into the conversation and I had no idea what was said.
I feel as though the sleep I missed out on as a kid tries to catch up with me these days. I cannot fight the love I have for sleep, but my sleep tendencies cost me serious study time.

A Veggie Story

I love vegetables.
I was browsing through the hot items on sale in this week’s Safeway ads, and bright, ruby red radishes caught my eye. It brought to mind the first time I had them at a big family get-together, which is a rare event nowadays. My aunt made a simple salad of greens that were still stuck to their stems, homemade vinaigrette, and several plump radishes. When I crunched into one, I found it mild in flavor yet surprisingly spicy. I haven’t had them since then, and I couldn’t resist buying some when I saw the bundles of fresh radishes nestled in the produce section.
I have many sweet memories of home and childhood attached to the smell, taste and texture of vegetables. Away from home for college, I miss tucking in to my mom and my aunt’s cooking. Bitter melon sautéed with eggs; crunchy cucumbers topped with bits of hot, salty pork; crispy red lettuce leafs wrapped around rice noodles and boiled shrimp; and sweet cabbage with tender bamboo shoots, mushrooms, baby corn, and chewy bean curd are only a few delicious dishes that we love and share. I especially crave my mom’s noodle soups. My favorite noodle soup is tangy from tomatoes and lime and I eat it with plenty of fresh mint and crispy bean sprouts. My mom passed on to me this love of noodles as well as spicy food. I have followed in her footsteps since middle school in generously sprinkling into every bowl slivers of the red chili peppers that come from my grandma’s garden.
I love vegetables, but not just because I enjoy eating them. They represent dinners at home with family. They are a comfort whenever I feel nostalgic for simpler times without the hectic schedule of college.

Bikes and me

I remember taking my first exploratory steps on the campus of UC Davis. I was troubled. I was overwhelmed. I was sweating. But this was due to neither the fear of failure as a college student nor the scorching heat of Davis on a typical June day. I feared for my physical well being as I crossed the campus street. The oftentimes deceptively smooth traffic flow truly is a flow. Traffic may slow down and a bike may wind around you, but it rarely stops. I humbly learned to cross the street anew as my pride took a backseat.
Accidents occur suddenly and more often on campus, in my experience, than on any street or highway. As a freshman, I wondered if I was simply meant to dash across before I collided with bikes coming at me at 15 miles an hour. Insecure, I stalked the commanding presence of large crowds and brave souls that dared to cross in the hourly rush. Otherwise, I threw caution to the wind and anxiously loped across the street in the widest void of bikes for which I could wait.
Success varied from day to day. I have been shoved aside by a speeding bicyclist twice. I have met solid masses of hurtling bikes that left me stranded in the middle of the road. I have awkwardly waited for huge gaps in traffic until I crossed, and sometimes a kind or confused bicyclist slowed to a crawl for me.
Once off the curb, one must simply keep walking. I have learned this much in three years. It is as much a mental as it is a physical feat to cross the street. There is calculating distance and speed, and having the nerve to plunge into the flow.