People say you are your most vulnerable when you’re in love. I used to think they were wrong about that. They just never experienced love the way I did. I felt like I could conquer the world, like I could do anything, be anyone. I wasn’t vulnerable. I was invincible.

But I get it now, and I really wish I didn’t.

Love is a twisted feeling. Well, feeling isn’t the right word for it. It’s not as passive as a feeling. It’s more like…a ribbon. Random, I know, but hear me out. You know that warmth that fills your chest when you take that first sip of hot cocoa? How it makes you all happy inside? See, happy is a feeling. Happy just happens. If you’re lucky, happy happens a lot. It floats in you, makes you all airy and light, tingles a bit. Sad, too. It sinks into the pit of your chest, tugs on whatever’s in its path, heavies your breath. Love isn’t like that. It wraps around your heart and weaves through your veins like a braided silk ribbon. It pulsates through you with every beat, nourishing you, renewing you, consuming you.

I am a feminist.

I am a feminist because my heart races when I’m walking down a quiet street and my throat closes up when I’m alone with a man in an elevator.

I am a feminist because the public space is not a shared space. It’s a stage that I didn’t ask to be on. Men leer at me like I’m on display, and women shake their heads in disapproval and disgrace. Their eyes choke me on my own air.

I am a feminist because of the times I’ve been hyper-sexualized as an "exotic, submissive Asian."  Let's be clear, I am neither.

I was never excellent. No, excellent was Emily from sophomore English who could recite Shakespearean monologues on a whim, or 6 foot Riley, captain of the volleyball team whose wingspan and vertical surpassed every girl on the court. They were my excellents. We all have them. The coveted few who have somehow managed to master the ropes of success and exceed all of our expectations though we paradoxically expect them to.

I was never an excellent. I held steadfast onto that mindset, clinging to it like a security blanket. I became complacent in the fact that certain ambitions were not fit for me. They were for the excellents to achieve. Instead, I stayed put on the outskirts of the spotlight where I felt safe, felt secure, felt darn right comfy in my blanket that assured me that this was my place. This was my full potential. I did it.

It’s no secret that the dating game has changed over the years. Baby Boomers aren’t shy to complain about the lost art of the “good ‘ol days” while us Millennials swipe left and right to find that special one. Wooing turned into a string of emojis, and deep phone conversations became ten-second snaps. We’ve cut straight to the chase. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not some old-fashioned Millennial still trying to cling onto that past. I’m all for the direction dating is heading. Life’s too short to wait around for that fairytale ending. By all means, take matters into your own hands. I guess what trips me up is our approach to dating.

I was talking to a friend not long ago who was clamoring on about how she was single for yet another Valentine’s Day. Her self-pity unpredictably evolved into self-confidence as she defensively attributed her singledom to her high standards. Without prompting, she began to list the qualities she was searching for in her beau.

“Someone who is both sexy and smart. Someone who doesn't take life too seriously but also someone looking toward the future for a stable life."

You must know the study abroad syndrome. I came down with this nasty travel bug myself. It’s hard to miss the symptoms as they so obnoxiously present themselves: a photo album of your friend in illusory contact with notable monuments, redundant declarations of wishing they were back there, unasked for comparisons of home to abroad. Those of us who caught it flock back to our homeland to paint a pretty picture of what studying abroad was like. All you hear is the flashy highlight reel. What you don’t hear too often is what happened behind the scenes: all the exhaustion and boy was there a lot of exhaustion – at least for me. I studied in Utrecht, Netherlands for spring semester 2015. My experience wasn’t picture perfect. It was far from it. So here’s my take on what studying abroad was really like.

She was only just a girl

merely of eight

with pig tails

a light in her eyes

when she first learned of hate.

Me,

she was told.

Smile, be gracious, be dainty, be a lady.

Be perfect for others,

but Me is who you’ll hate.