As far as I know, I’m the only me I know, but then again, that’s only as far as I know. (Catch-22 anyone?). My name is Vivian Milan and I’m an English major (No, I don’t plan on being a teacher and I want to do something with writing, in case you were wondering what I could possibly do with my English major). I want to make a difference through my writing. I want people to read articles I wrote and be able to empathize with them, argue about them, laugh or be left pondering about them. I want to be more of a Robert Frost kind of person instead of a @BobbyChills kind of bro.
I’m in the midst of figuring out who I am and what I want to do with life and the only way I can think of figuring that out is through writing (It’s also the only way I know how to). I want to be perceived for my own identity, not a stereotype. I’m a thinker and a questioner and a music listener/lover/obsessor and an interpreter and a reader and a fangirl and just me. I am me and I can only hope that is good enough. If not, I could probably get a reality TV show.
I’ve been known to tell/scream to people that they are acting like children. Upon several occasions, I’ve confiscated people’s phones when I didn’t like their behavior, I’ve told people their actions were stupid and they should reevaluate their lives, and I would even discipline them by explaining what they did was wrong and why they shouldn’t do it again. With a burst of lightning and dramatic orchestral music playing in the background, I realized I was acting like a mother to my friends.
This can’t be happening… I thought to myself. How did I get to be the mother of my friend group?
You’ve heard the term in the Declaration of Independence. If you’re a Kid Cudi fan, you know he has a song entitled “Pursuit of Happiness.” Or if you’re a movie buff, you know of the Will Smith movie, “Pursuit of Happyness.” But what does the pursuit of happiness really mean?
Well, no one actually knows. It’s been interpreted in so many different ways that’s it’s hard to describe exactly what it means. Pursue what you think will make you happy. Duh. But what will make you happy?
That, dear reader, is up to you and only you.
Patience is the key to everything you want in life! No, that’s not necessarily true. Patience is super important. Yeah, but not entirely the point. Rome wasn’t built in a day, in fact it was built with patience and marble. Still not what I’m looking for.
Okay, I’m terribly impatient, but I never knew how important it was to be patient, until I applied for six internships for the summer, and ended up only getting one.So, let’s go back. I applied to two internships in March for the summer and did not get either of them. I heard back within a day for each one,
I began my time at SJU as a Communications major, but after my first semester decided to switch over to the wonderful world of the English major. It was potentially the greatest decision I made while at Saint Joe’s. Don’t get me wrong; I know a lot of Communications majors who love what they do, but Communications just wasn’t the major for me.
Because my parents were concerned about what I could do with an English major, they thought it would be best that I declare a minor. This presented a new problem for me because I had no idea what to minor in.
I’ve never believed that silence is golden. To me, silence is more like tin, or copper, or one of those elements on the bottom of the periodic table that no one knows about, but is still there. Don’t get me wrong; I have learned to cope with silence to a certain point. Admittedly there are benefits to silence.
It’s suffocating, yet calming. Frightening, but comforting. Lonely, but filling. But, you can only go so long without sound. Without the voice of someone else, without music, without the sound of the gentle rain falling on your window.
I haven’t quite figured out how to deal with silence,
- The family tree is more than an alternate universe that doesn’t make sense. It is a way of life.
- You know everyone in the house by name
- You know the honorary residents by name and preferred couch
- You contributed to the atrocity that is the kitchen sink
- Any noise/unusual occurrence was because of the ghost
- Even though you constantly denied there being a ghost
- You have left stuff in the living room including, but not limited to laptops, phones, chargers, books, mugs and school supplies
- But also you have complained about the mess in the living room
- You know who’s in the shower by their singing voice
- Speaking of singing,
Someone actually said that to me once: “You’re eating by yourself? At least your food will keep you company” and then proceeded to laugh at their own, not so funny joke. There was one thing I was determined to do before I finished my freshman year: Eat by myself. The majority of the time during my freshman year, I never ate alone. Now you’re probably thinking, ‘well how is that a problem if you’ve never eaten by yourself? Clearly, you’re so charismatic and wonderful that people would always want to eat with you.’ Yes, that is true, but the thing was,
As an English major, I do some weird things. I am unreasonably attached to literary characters, I throw books across rooms when I don’t like the endings, and I fan girl over authors. One of my favorite authors of all time is Ray Bradbury. Bradbury taught me the secret to writing, which just happens to be one of the secrets to surviving life. You can’t let anyone disrespect your opinions. They’re YOUR opinions! It is indeed very possible to change your opinions, but it is absolutely never, ever, EVER okay for anyone to make you feel as though your opinions are somehow irrelevant;
My favorite band, Fall Out Boy, has a song called “Sophomore Slump Or Comeback of the Year” and this song has puzzled me since—well since I was a sophomore in high school. The majority of Fall Out Boy’s songs make me think, because their lyrics are never as simple and mundane as they are now. You used to have to think about what they were trying to get across to their listeners. This song in particular bothered me because it was set up as a choice. Do you have a sophomore slump or is this your comeback of the year?
So, what was the point of that trilogy? (Click here to start from the beginning) Well, for one thing it was supposed to entertain you. But actually, it’s supposed to teach you a lesson. I know, I know this isn’t an after school special and I should’ve warned you from the beginning, but hey, I’m almost done. I get complimented on my fake Toms whenever I wear them, and I can’t help but laugh because I’m reminded of the weekend I had when I got them. It took a while for me to realize it, but that’s a pretty great story.
Vivian’s new shoes were pretty great. They were comfortable and they just happened to be the same color as her raincoat. Nicole and Vivian took the magical subway across the city, and walked the rest of the way to the art museum. It was a cloudy day, but fortunately it was a pleasant 70 degrees outside. They walked through a park and past the Ben Franklin Parkway.
The second part to your favorite (okay, second favorite) trilogy! Catch Part I here and stay tuned for Part III next week!
Vivian and her dear comrade Nicole had planned to journey to the Philadelphia Museum of Art to see the Impressionist exhibit. Vivian was so excited to go, but her feet were so sore, she was kinda exhausted and on top of all of that she overslept. She whirled around her room like a tornado picking out whatever clothes she could find and throwing on the first pair of shoes she could find. She ran to the door and power walked to the train station (Vivian’s not much of an athlete,
Once upon a time, in a land not far away at all, a pretty awesome, snarky, fan girl who just coincidentally happened to be named Vivian wanted to have the best weekend ever. She was going to go to a Twenty One Pilots concert on a Friday, visit the Philadelphia Art Museum on Saturday morning and spend the whole day in the city, then on Sunday go to another concert. It was supposed to be the best weekend ever. It was the complete opposite of that. Stay tuned for the next few weeks for the full trilogy!
Let’s begin at the concert.
1. The part of a racecourse between the last turn and the winning post
2. A final stage
Well my fellow Hawks, it’s happened, we’ve reached the homestretch, the final countdown, the end of the beginning whatever you want to call it. The final two weeks of the semester where it’s perfectly acceptable for me to cry hysterically to Adele’s new album (perfect timing by the way, Adele you beautiful land mermaid), catch the sleepy ha ha’s because I’m sleep deprived and will laugh at everything (literally anything and everything) and most importantly,
I was lucky enough to meet Cheryl Della Pietra, the author of Gonzo Girl on October 27th. I read her book for my literary journalism class and, honestly, I loved it. The novel is based on Pietra’s time as Hunter S. Thompson’s assistant. Hunter S. Thompson was an American writer who wrote about politics, his own life, and oh, you know, just the mass amounts of drugs he took and alcohol he drank.
Pietra read from her novel and answered questions from the audience. People asked her about her time with Thompson, what inspired her to write the book,
What does it mean when you go home and it doesn’t feel like home? Obviously, it’s your home, but it doesn’t feel right. Maybe you felt the same way. Maybe your home didn’t feel the same and you can’t figure out why. When you’ve been at college for a month and the only thing that got you through midterms week was knowing that you would be back home for a few days to unwind, eat some home cooking and procrastinate doing the work that was assigned during break until Tuesday night. What happens when you walk into your bedroom and you don’t recognize it?
At some point or another, we have all been told not to compare ourselves to others. However, like most advice that is given, it is much easier said than done to follow. If you’re like me, you probably rolled your eyes, denied ever comparing yourself to others and then exclaimed ‘this is America!’ Comparing yourself to someone else may not seem like such a bad thing, but in reality, it’s one of the worst things you can do.
Sometimes people compare themselves to others to see how much better they are than someone else. For example,
Making friends is difficult. Sometimes you act differently (potentially more apathetic), or you feel the need to hold back (like when someone says the ending to How I Met Your Mother wasn’t that bad and you don’t want to scare them with how unbelievably angry it made you) or quite simply, you don’t want them to think you’re weird. Well, there’s good news. It’s basically what every Disney Channel original movie has tried to teach you, but you didn’t really pay attention because of the song numbers and ridiculous outfits. Just be yourself. People WANT to know about your obsessions,
College, as you’ve probably been told a thousand times, is a time for new experiences, trying new things, having adventures and so on. People never tell you what they’re talking about when they say “new experiences,” but I can tell you, they are most definitely, without a doubt talking about doing laundry. You’d be surprised at how many people have never had to do their laundry before coming to college; I know I didn’t. I didn’t want to wait until my 20s to learn how to do my laundry, although Rachel from FRIENDS made it seem cool. I actually had to call my mom to have her explain how to do laundry over the phone.
Whenever anyone asks me whether or not I have siblings I never cease to be stunned. I always respond with a quiet “What?” when really I mean “What?! How could you not know I have siblings?!” It is a simple question with an even simpler answer: yes. I could even eliminate the bonus questions of how many siblings do you have or are they older or younger by saying, yes I have two older sisters. You are probably wondering “What is wrong with this girl? People are just trying to make polite conversation with her. How could they possibly know she has siblings if they just met her?
If you would have asked me in April of 2014 where I was going to go to college, I would have told you I was going to La Salle University. I would have told you I was going to major in journalism with a minor in the fine arts and live in the honors house in the middle of campus. I even wrote La Salle University under the “Where we’re going” list of colleges on the whiteboard in Mr. Rubino’s class. It was basically official.
I think I always knew it wouldn’t work out. When I gathered my sisters and parents to tell them I decided to go to La Salle,