I turned twenty two last Thursday. At first, I woke up and looked out the window and felt a little older. And then I immediately remembered that I had left my Western blots in the wrong buffer last night leaving the lab, and hoped they were okay (they were). Maybe that’s what being twenty two is. A combination of feeling older, and little mistakes that feel bigger than they really are.
Ever since I got to college, I have decided to start taking birthdays seriously. I want each one to be memorable, usually with a trip attached. Needless to say, I have been lucky this year.
My actual birthday was spent in the lab, where the Malaysian visiting medical students, Jessica and Chee Sin, baked me a birthday cake, which was completely unexpected and super nice of them. It’s really nice to have friends my own age in the lab, especially after a summer in which I was by far the youngest one there. Afterwards, we went out to Back Bay for some good old New England seafood. My closest Wellesley friend, Vanessa, came in to join us before her play for class later that evening. It was a nice laid back atmosphere and we had a really interesting conversation about Malaysian and American life. I was happy everyone got along so well. Plus, real New England Clam Chowder. Enough said.
I had big plans for my birthday weekend as well. This was my first time really singlehandedly planning a group trip start to finish, and I’m happy to say I successfully pulled it off. We went to the ice castles. Yes, a castle physically made of ice. Yes it was amazing, and yes, I did sing “Let it Go” during the trip. We stayed in Sanbornton, New Hampshire that night. The ice castles involved more driving than I had realized, and we arrived late at night exhausted. Nobody really had the energy to drive another 30 minutes to dinner, but it was supposed to be my birthday dinner, and so we gritted our teeth and got off the couch and back into the car.
Friends!!!
What happened next can only be described as magical. We entered the restaurant, which can only really be described as someone’s wooden New Hampshire house converted into a dining area- to the sound of piano music. Live piano music, swinging and brilliant and full of hope. All nervousness about the choice(what did American tapas actually mean? mini hot dogs?) disappeared. It was homey and warm and as we made our way through course after course of delicious appetizers, some of which I will remember forever, I felt at peace, listening to my friends discuss pluralism to the lilting sway of the piano.
When we walked outside, it was snowing. Big, clumpy flakes, something out of a novel. I stuck out my arms and spun in a circle in the parking lot. Lucky indeed.
Ever lovely yours,
Eleanor
