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.