The sun crept in, like a mosaic, spattering patches of light on the faded wall, piecing together the memories that had broken into an array of different shades. My head rose with every swell and fall of his chest, his pulse a soft note in my ear. With every beat came a new breath, a warm wind, swaying my hairs into a scattered disarray. Then the sun came up, the shadows faded, every moment, every movement, was cast into an unyielding light as the darkness disappeared. I held my breath fearful of losing this peace, the blanket that kept us safe. Morning came, and the light brought with it our reality.

The one thing about this semester that has driven a wedge between me and spring is that I'm not home at 3:00 to watch the Ellen DeGeneres show. I silently curse my parents for settling in Wisconsin and subjecting me to winters filled with a cold kind of unhappiness that only longer nights and tulips can cure. If I can't dance with Ellen at 3:00 to lift my spirits, I will dance to myself tonight and hope that in 5 years time there'll be love where ever I go.

It still feels so surreal to me that in four months, less than half a year, I'll be done with my undergrad career. It doesn't feel at all like the four grueling years of high school that I was eager to get out of before it even started. And sometimes, it's even hard to remember that I spent a year at Milwaukee, eating in the cafeteria, and getting used to being in college. I was rereading a journal entry from my freshman year at UWM just a few days ago, from my first week away from home actually. I had just gotten off the phone with Maryam and sat to write about how homesick I was, and how much I missed the spontaneity of senior year and how we used to skip class, drive to Milwaukee, sip coffee along the lake at Alterra and talk about our futures. What we dreamed of, what we hoped for, and on numerous occasions tears flooded over these conversations as we assured each other that one day those lists of hopes would become a reality. I sit here now nearing my 23rd birthday, and I shed a few tears thinking of what we've become, where we've ended up, and if any of those dreams are still relevant or were upheld. I think of those days when I would have to explain to my mom why she was signing the detention-excuse slip, not because I was getting in trouble, but because my best friend and I were dreaming of where we would be when we were 23. A lot has changed since those days when we dreamt of freedom, of clarity, of love. I have never adjusted well to change and this semester is no different than those of the past. I don't know how long it will take my head to adjust to new academics, my heart to learning to accept something new. But continuously I remind myself that new will eventually fade and become familiar and the uneasiness that sometimes engulfs you when you're least expecting it, will become something more manageable.

It has been an exhausting two years; there are so many memories that I will take with me and leave behind those things left unsaid and hurt feelings that aren't worth more heartache. I’ll remember those early stages when everything was so wonderful that we were both blind to any flaws or imperfections, when the light cast on each other was so clear and perfect. It takes a lot of courage and strength to stand up for what you think you deserve, and to give in to vulnerability for something, or someone, that you love. After everything that I've been through these past seven months, the heartache, the uncertainty, both sometimes so strong that the sadness is crippling, it’s hard to step back and remember the person that used to shine, the person that wouldn't stand for any of this. I am beyond excited to begin my next chapter, to pursue something that I love and am encouraged by my family and friends who continuously remind me that I’m worth it, that my future is going to be wonderful, and that I will be surrounded by people who appreciate me for everything that I am, and no less. Every moment I have spent filled with sadness or joy has gotten me to where I am, and while as rough as it has been, I am endlessly growing as a person because of it.

My Friday night included watching a woman on a PBS cooking show steep fresh rose petals in milk, topped with miniature marshmallows to make ice cream, with an incredible degree of enthusiasm. After this, I decided I need to get out more often.

Earlier this week after my sisters left Madison I surprised myself with how much activity I did outside of my house. On New Years Day I started the year off well by a relaxing trip to Target. I usually snag an americano at the Starbucks before roaming the store for hours, until I find myself in the hardware department looking at home decor supplies for the home I don’t own. Then I realize I've ended up in the baby clothing aisle and onlookers are stuck wondering if my over sized down winter coat is just my frumpy Wisconsin nature, or to conceal something else. I like to leave them guessing. But it’s true – with coffee in hand I find leisure in shopping every aisle in the store, for things I never knew I needed.

After earnestly stopping post-checkout and questioning my need for that cherry-crush ICEE, I've realized that I poorly planned my trip and notice that the next #2 bus back downtown doesn't come for another 30 minutes. I contemplate if I should sit at the Starbucks like any other normal person and pretend talk to someone on my phone, but instead I decide to cross the street to Metcalfe’s Market, a nicer grocery store in the area. I walk in behind another woman about my age, maybe a little older and who actually has dinner guests for whom she is shopping, and walk discretely behind her to navigate my way to the produce department. Here I pretend for a bit to be interested in the different selection of fruits, the variety of vegetables. But this is only in an effort not to alarm anyone with the speed and voracity by which I mean to head directly to the meat department. Upon finding it I’m surrounded by mounds of specialty cuts of beef that I can barely grasp - cuts like oxtail, short ribs, and any kind of steak you can imagine. I conclude this is why I could never become a vegetarian: the dose of excitement that pulsed through my body upon seeing such a selection was exhilarating. And probably unhealthy. I like the feeling of standing in front of an exotic cut and eyeing over, pretending if nothing else, to shoppers around you that you know what you’re looking for. Grabbing a couple packages of beef short ribs, I head to the stock and soup aisle.

If you've ever shopped at any grocer on campus you know that veal stock, the backbone of rich slow cooked dishes, is impossible to find. I doubt I reached anyone with that last sentence. Regardless, I find myself in the stock aisle debating over whether I can justify spending Christmas money on a couple quarts of veal stock to keep on hand. I can’t imagine what the older man next to me was thinking, because in my race to find the butcher I forwent the shopping basket entirely and was now standing holding carton trays of bloody meat. My parents would want me to spend my Christmas money on something I’d enjoy, right? I’m sure a couple quarts of veal stock and pounds of bone-in beef ribs weren't exactly what they had in mind. But this is exactly what I envisioned when they had given me a cast iron dutch oven for Christmas. I headed over to the checkout with my treasures, trying to balance my meat and stock and was barely greeted by a young man who rang me up, probably thinking it was odd when I pulled out a $50 bill to pay for today’s goodies. But it was the older woman who bagged my finds (making sure to separately bag the meat!) who gave me a warm smile on the other end as I was leaving. I had a feeling she knew how tender my braised short ribs in veal stock and red wine would be. Because only older women and lonely 20-something foodies really do.

Red Wine Braised Short Ribs
Serves 4

Ingredients
3 tablespoons olive oil
4 bone-in beef short ribs (2 pounds)
1 onion, finely chopped
1 large carrot, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 tablespoon flour
500 ml (about 2 cups)dry red wine, such as Cabernet
500 ml veal or chicken stock
3 springs thyme
1 bay leaf
salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Directions
Before cooking, bring the ribs to room temperature for at least 30 minutes to an hour.Season the ribs with salt and pepper. In a large, heavy pot heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Add ribs to the pot and cook over moderately high heat, turning, until they are well browned, about 15 minutes. Remove the ribs from the pot.

Heat the remaining oil in the pot. Add the onion, carrot and garlic, cover and cook over moderate heat until slightly softened, about 5 minutes. Uncover and cook until the vegetables are lightly browned, about 3 minutes longer. Stir in the tomato paste. Add the flour and cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Add the wine and veal stock, throw in thyme springs and bay leaf and bring to a simmer.

Return the ribs to the pot. Partially cover and cook over moderately low heat until very tender, about 2 hours.

Transfer the ribs to a plate and strain the sauce and skim off the fat. Return the sauce to the pot and boil until reduced to about 2 cups, about 10 minutes. Return the meat to the sauce and simmer over low heat until heated through. Serve with creamy mashed potatoes and greens.