Okay, so, the midterm did not go well, but right after it, I did some math homework. That went well. (The following days of math homework did not go well, but we don’t have to focus on that part.) Also, we had our first lecture since the midterm today, and prof assured us that the midterm was meant to be, in fact, even harder than the final.

I’ve never had to work my ass off for school, which sounds like bragging (and it is, I guess), but that’s how it was. I am one of Those Kids for whom The System is designed for. So, I don’t know what it’s like to have to work hard in a course and then see reward. There came a point in my last year of high school math that I realized I was 4% from an A, the end was nigh, and it didn’t look like I was about to get high 90s marks on any of my coming assessments, especially for the final. I tried to work hard anyway. I finished the course with an 80%… which is nothing to stick your nose up at, considering it was Pre-Calculus 12, but it’s my only B in 3 years of high school. It hurts my ego! This is my line: “I’m a straight-A student… mostly.” Blech. Oh well. Moving on.

It’s looking like I’m going to have to work even harder for Math 180 than I did for Pre-Calculus 12. I don’t know if it’s going to work, since the only time I’ve ever tried was a non-success, but I’m damn well going to try. I ought to, considering I still want to minor in mathematics. I’d want to minor in it even if I failed. Mathematics is my abusive boyfriend, and I am a weak-willed, infatuated little girl, enticed by the magic of mathematics. I annoyed my two friends in Pre-Calculus 12 because every time our teacher explained something, and I understood it, I would say, “Math is magical!” But you know what? It is. I can’t get enough of it. Mathematics lets you play with it, lets you think you can manipulate it, but underneath it all, mathematics is always the boss. I know this relationship isn’t getting anywhere, but I’m addicted.

Can anybody count the adverbs for me? I’d ask you to count the colons and semi-colons, too, but I’m almost sure there aren’t any. At the first Arts One tutorial that I presented my essay in, I became aware of how many times I ended words with “-ly”. I found it pleasantly ironic that we hadn’t covered adverbs in my French lecture that day, which had been the class just before… naturally, we were going to spend half an hour on it in Arts One tutorial (albeit in English, but whatever.) If anything, I’m starting to realize just how reluctant I am. Maybe. Possibly. Perhaps. Almost. Is it symbolic? Maybe. Possibly. Perhaps. Almost. I’ll explore it some other time.

I cannot quit adverbs cold turkey! I’m trying, Crawford, I am. My understanding of addiction is limited, but I think there is this point in addiction where your body becomes reliant on the drug. You can’t take it because it’s bad for you (even if everything does look super cool and psychedelic), but you can’t not take it because your body can’t work without it anymore. That’s my writing and adverbs. I’m really trying. That’s adjustment number two. So far:

1. I need to work hard. 🙁
2. I’m quitting adverbs… cold turkey. Maybe. Possibly. Perhaps. Almost. (Also colons and semi-colons. Goodbye, beloved colons… I loved you so. I loved the way you turned my sentences into minivans, packing potentially endless clauses together into one monster of a sentence.) I know blog writing is different, and I don’t have to avoid them here, but I figure if I get into the habit in all my writing, I’ll be able to more easily avoid adverbscolonssemicolons in my essays.

The biggest adjustment so far, however, is not even academic. I moved to Vancouver when I was nine, almost ten. I went to the same school with a lot of the same people for seven years. Until I came to UBC, I did not realize how small town I was. I could trust that I would know someone in any class I joined, and if I wasn’t good friends with anyone, that meant I would do well in class because nobody would bother me. I was always able to Facebook message someone if I didn’t get the homework, though.

Then, all of a sudden, BAM just a number. It didn’t take long for my greatest fear to become that I would be friendless at the school of my dreams. I was rattling off to my boyfriend about how I was trying to make friends and how it was harder than I expected it to be, and he said, “Jia… it’s been two weeks.”

I’m not adjusted yet, but in the first week or two, I was definitely crying a little bit at night because I thought I was lonely. I don’t do that anymore. I’m adjusting. I’m trying to find this medium between the comfort of high school, home, my small town suburbia, and “the big leagues” of UBC. I didn’t want to go straight home today, because I only had one class, which is only 50 minutes long. I studied (sitting across from a friend–thank you, Arts One, for friends!) for half an hour before heading down to the SUB and getting some fries. As I walked back out, somebody was playing the piano, and it was a song I knew. I still had time before I had to go home, so I sat on a nearby bench for twenty minutes, and I listened.

The songs he played brought me back to sitting in my high school music room (home), listening to people play music. People who are now acquaintances, people who I can’t talk to anymore, people who I still love, all of them. The boy was also playing improv, so they weren’t the exact versions of the song that I knew, but they were still recognizable. I was listening to these familiar-yet-different songs, and I was listening to them at UBC. The comfort of home and the excitement of UBC merged together for me while sitting there, munching on my fries. I didn’t feel so lonely. I knew I was going to be fine. I was content. In fact, I am sure.

Maybe. Possibly. Perhaps. Almost.

I am content, no reluctant adverbs necessary.