so basically

I've discovered why I'm so boring.

I have no hobbies.

And people who aren't interested in anything are never interesting.

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Rewind to last February. I was still a first year in college trying to cultivate an identity, extremely frustrated with the status quo and itching to become someone new, so I decided to cut my hair short after almost ten years of having it past my shoulders. The act was committed in front of my closet mirror one year ago today with a pair of Fiskar paper scissors that I'd had since the second grade, and was not bad for a first time, self-inflicted attempt.

Since then, many things have happened on the unexpected side of change. There was winter quarter, probably the happiest quarter of my college experience based on a complete sense of contentment with my life at that time. Then in the spring there came a boy, and everything that comes with the entrance of such a person into one's consciousness, and there were all these emotions and fears and those moments of bliss. There was my first summer away from home, a job, an apartment, the coming of the second autumn which implies a greater sense of seniority. Doubt about who I wanted to become and what I wanted to spend the rest of my life learning. And heartbreak after heartbreak after heartbreak.

So here I am now. I don't know if this is what growing up is supposed to feel like, but while I've amassed a year's worth of experiences and gained more knowledge, there seems to me that girl who made the decision in front of that mirror was more alive than I am today. Alive, not because she was a better person, but alive because she actually believed in what she was doing.

I sound pessimistic. Laugh at me, dismiss me, but understand that I desperately want to know what I did wrong.