I just needed to express…

…the irony of writing “Self De-stressing Remedies” for the winter issue of Mochi. Really, as someone who is “taking a step back” in her relationship (in a good way), has been having trouble falling asleep within two hours of lying in bed, and has six books to read before crafting one out of three papers due next week, I somehow don’t think I’m in the position to tell others how to de-stress.

Mm mm good

There’s nothing like hot cocoa on a blustery day. Or, if that blustery day is today when you have cramps and a sore throat, honey and chamomile tea. But for such a nose-nipping and symtpom-ridden afternoon, I’m feeling surprisingly content. Maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that my meeting was cancelled and I now have time for a much coveted nap, or that my suitemate has smothered the common room with a tree and other festive decor. But as I think about life and people and wax nostalgia on the way home, I find myself thinking about the holiday season.

This might be a little latecoming (surprise, surprise), but for the first time since I started college, I didn’t fly to the Big Apple for Thanksgiving. The situation was particularly upsetting when I discovered I won’t be seeing one of my high school friends over winter break, but I got over myself when he told me why: two days before Christmas, he’ll be donating bone marrow to save a little child’s life. I always knew he was something else, but I just wanted to share with everyone how amazing and generous he is. And I also can’t help but be extremely nervous and scared for him — he will be undergoing a major surgery, after all, and one which is supposed to be considerably painful — but I won’t tell him that because he’s still “really calm and rational” and I don’t want to trigger the first freak out sesh. In any case, if you’re interested in following the story, he’s decided to record every related episode on his blog.

As for missing out on the secret Thanksgiving dinner menu my friend planned in New York City, Joe and I planned a menu and whipped up a decent meal of our own. And by “planned a menu” I meant I searched for all our recipes on epicurious.com all alone, and by “whipped up a decent meal” I meant Joe set off the fire alarm.

Twice.

The first time, he sloshed turkey juice on the electric stove. Out of ignorance — “I thought it was water so there would only be steam!” — and probably out of laziness too, he let the mess smoke until loud sirens and flashing lights went off. The second time, the spilled turkey juice in the oven began to smoke when I preheated the oven for my apple pie. I turned on the fan and opened the windows, closely escaping another evacuation. Until the genius opened the oven again in wanting to investigate and let out more smoke.

I’ve never been more embarrassed. As we slunk out into the open cold, after hiding in the next building for a good five mintues, we saw the maintenance guy sitting on the windowsill, awaiting our return. As was my RA. We loitered on the stairs for as long as we could, then unlocked the door to face the threats: “I called the cops off this time, but if the alarm goes off one more time tonight, the fire department is coming down and we’ll have to pay a fee — DON’T do it again.”

But dinner, when we finally got around to it, was actually quite good. Roasted garlic and chive mashed potatoes, sauteed green beans with onions and bacon, honey-glazed sweet potatoes, cranberry and pomegranate sauce, and orange and strawberry sangria — mm mm good.

For the first time ever, I also had a bonding moment with my sister over Thanksgiving break. I got a very personal glimpse into her life when I was going over her college application essays (yeah, remember those?). In one of the essays she shared a series of events that she’s been dealing with for the past two years, the effects of which I’d notice but hadn’t guessed the reasons for. A series of events that quite frankly remind me of the few skeletons in my closet, which I plan to share with her when I go home this winter. In the past years, we’ve stereotypically turned to our friends at school as teenagers do, but now that we’re both a bit older, I’m hoping we can really start to count the other as one of these friends.

Now, Thanksgiving is all over, and along with that holiday the random 15C nice days of winter. But this also means it’s time for Christmas lights and all that cheer. For some unexplanable reason, streets of light-decorated, life-size gingerbread houses and rows of glowing trees make me incredibly happy. They’re simply unbelievably warm and fuzzy. They evoke images of steaming mugs of hot chocolate in front of chestnuts roasting on an open fire, without fail. They’re the only thing that makes the unbearable cold and fake snow outside okay.

And as the semester comes to a close and friends begin to graduate, I find more justification for the sentimentality to carry forth. I begin to think about those I’ll miss, those I’ll always have a soft spot for, those I can’t live without. A lot of these are my friends from high school. There’s just no replacing the people you grew up with. I remember freshman year in college, when I tried so hard to make friends like everyone else was doing. Many nights, we stayed up exchanging life stories and fusing bonds. But then there are those with whom you have nothing to share — because they were already there. Like I said, irreplaceable.

It’s now time for my nap. But if this not-so-small dose of sappiness still isn’t enough for you, I suggest checking the “100 Little Things That Renew Your Faith in Love” in the December issue of Glamour — it embarassingly melted my heart and partly inspired some of this post.