I Sure Hope That Angel Got Into Grad School
(Song Analysis of Cruel Angel's Thesis)
It is the year 2015: high rise pants are back in fashion. Shinji is still a spineless coward, and angels are coming to kill off the rest of humanity. Neon Genesis Evangelion in a nutshell. The opening song to the show begins by introducing the simile, “like a angel who has forsaken sympathy, rise up, young boy, and make yourself a legend” which suggests that even though Shinji is basically an incompetent diaper, he must prove his self-worth to his father. Like how Shinji is constantly running away from reality, the song also makes reference to this with another simile, “but you’re gazing at me as if you cannot see” which reaffirms that he does not want to face the problems that plague him.
When Shinji was first introduced to the literal underground organization of NERV, he did not have any previous knowledge of his father’s work, and he was essentially oblivious to the situation that would soon unfold before him. His relationship with his father was estranged, so his only motivation to go was because his father finally said he “needed” Shinji. When the song says, “it’s summoning you with a touch like a sigh”, this represents the brevity (like a sigh) of Shinji’s time actually feeling needed. His father, Gendo Ikari, was only using his son to further his own personal gain — to eradicate the angels using giant robot-like machines called “Eva”s.
Upon this discovery, Shinji immediately refuses to do what his father demands. Gendo then guilts him into doing it by wheeling out a beaten, badly injured girl called Rei. Shinji eventually complies with his father’s wishes and realizes that in order to save Rei, he will have to pilot the Eva. Instead, he does this for himself rather than for his father. The song also hints at this deviation from the path Gendo set for him, by using personification to say, “these wings on your back are just waiting to guide you; the future will soon set you free!” This development of Shinji’s self-discovery comes to a screeching halt when his world begins to slowly fall apart with the introduction of a new problem: Kaworu.
Upon meeting each other for the first time, they form an incredible bond. Kaworu then probably became the most important person in Shinji’s life. Like the song states, “you’ve slept for ever so long… embraced in affection and cradled with care,” Shinji grew up as an introverted child. As new people were introduced to him, he didn’t know how to act or behave around them, with the exception of Kaworu. Shinji felt completely at ease with his new friend — to the point where he even used Kaworu as his confidant to share concerns about his father and matters regarding the angels and piloting the Eva units. When Shinji first begins to feel that he is finally breaking out of the cage his father set him in, this is when, “morning’s approach comes an echoing cry; it tells you to wave your dreams goodbye”. This segment of the song foreshadows Kaworu’s death; killed by none other than Shinji himself. Kaworu was essentially the embodiment of Shinji’s hopes and dreams. A perfect being. He was, quite literally, Shinji’s angel.
Shinji soon falls into even further decline as he slowly begins to uncover the horrible truth about his father’s organization and the deeds that have occurred behind the scenes. Just like Shinji was crushed by the disbelief of Kaworu being an angel, the song parallels this segment of his life by personifying the moon and adding, “and the moon is shining above; it wishes to show just how fragile you are”. The moon symbolizes enlightenment, as it is “shining” down on Shinji to show how he truly is, despite all of his efforts to become more courageous. It also symbolizes the dark side of nature, as it was Shinji himself who ended up killing Kaworu once it was discovered that he was really an angel. The song ends where it began, once more stating that Shinji should, “rise up, young boy, and make yourself a legend”, which also fits in with the ending of the show where Shinji finally learns to accept himself for who he is. Though he initially may still hate himself, he says that he will also be able to learn to love himself.
When Shinji was first introduced to the literal underground organization of NERV, he did not have any previous knowledge of his father’s work, and he was essentially oblivious to the situation that would soon unfold before him. His relationship with his father was estranged, so his only motivation to go was because his father finally said he “needed” Shinji. When the song says, “it’s summoning you with a touch like a sigh”, this represents the brevity (like a sigh) of Shinji’s time actually feeling needed. His father, Gendo Ikari, was only using his son to further his own personal gain — to eradicate the angels using giant robot-like machines called “Eva”s.
Upon this discovery, Shinji immediately refuses to do what his father demands. Gendo then guilts him into doing it by wheeling out a beaten, badly injured girl called Rei. Shinji eventually complies with his father’s wishes and realizes that in order to save Rei, he will have to pilot the Eva. Instead, he does this for himself rather than for his father. The song also hints at this deviation from the path Gendo set for him, by using personification to say, “these wings on your back are just waiting to guide you; the future will soon set you free!” This development of Shinji’s self-discovery comes to a screeching halt when his world begins to slowly fall apart with the introduction of a new problem: Kaworu.
Upon meeting each other for the first time, they form an incredible bond. Kaworu then probably became the most important person in Shinji’s life. Like the song states, “you’ve slept for ever so long… embraced in affection and cradled with care,” Shinji grew up as an introverted child. As new people were introduced to him, he didn’t know how to act or behave around them, with the exception of Kaworu. Shinji felt completely at ease with his new friend — to the point where he even used Kaworu as his confidant to share concerns about his father and matters regarding the angels and piloting the Eva units. When Shinji first begins to feel that he is finally breaking out of the cage his father set him in, this is when, “morning’s approach comes an echoing cry; it tells you to wave your dreams goodbye”. This segment of the song foreshadows Kaworu’s death; killed by none other than Shinji himself. Kaworu was essentially the embodiment of Shinji’s hopes and dreams. A perfect being. He was, quite literally, Shinji’s angel.
Shinji soon falls into even further decline as he slowly begins to uncover the horrible truth about his father’s organization and the deeds that have occurred behind the scenes. Just like Shinji was crushed by the disbelief of Kaworu being an angel, the song parallels this segment of his life by personifying the moon and adding, “and the moon is shining above; it wishes to show just how fragile you are”. The moon symbolizes enlightenment, as it is “shining” down on Shinji to show how he truly is, despite all of his efforts to become more courageous. It also symbolizes the dark side of nature, as it was Shinji himself who ended up killing Kaworu once it was discovered that he was really an angel. The song ends where it began, once more stating that Shinji should, “rise up, young boy, and make yourself a legend”, which also fits in with the ending of the show where Shinji finally learns to accept himself for who he is. Though he initially may still hate himself, he says that he will also be able to learn to love himself.
A Variation of the White Lie Called “Lying Through Your Teeth”
It was then that I began to exchange greetings with the second big panic attack of the year. I swear, this woman was the source of all me agony. And she had me on a leash. Sit. Stay. Show, don’t tell. From beyond the sea of desks, her piercing eyes trapped me in the back corner of the classroom -- her next victim. My eyes fluttered open wide and I averted my gaze, but it was already too late.
“Joella,” she began, salivating, “why don’t you read a vignette you’ve written so far? Okay?” She continued in between sharp breaths.
Sheepishly turning my attention towards her, fiddling with and bending the corners of my paper in between my fingers, I lifted up the sheet in front of me. Blank lines glaring back, I looked up once more, and licked my lips. I began, “Um…” a gulp. “Um...I...I, uh… I wrote this vignette about a kid in my class who was always absent.” Though he never actually existed. “And, uh… he liked dressing up like a pirate sometimes.” I paused and looked at her once more.
“Are you reading from what you actually wrote?”
“No, I’m jus-”
“Read your vignette.”
Yeah, well if you had given us more than two day’s notice to get them done… It was as if she had planned this all out. She was out to get me. Still locked in her unmoving gaze, I squirmed in my seat. A cold sweat built up and beads inched down the sides of my forehead. Continuing as if I was “reading” at a kindergarten level, “Arthur… Kirkland… liked… pirates… he… was… absent… often… because… because…” I flicked my eyes up hoping to magically find the words to say, but instead was just in time to catch a faint smile plastered on her face. The second big panic attack and I had just started sitting down and were about to enjoy some tea. “Well, I, uh… I haven’t exactly written it yet… I just wrote my… my ideas out.”
She knew she had caught me off guard, and she was enjoying every second of it. The smile melted off her face, “This is honors English. I expect you to be prepared if you are going to stay in the class,” she paused, “Okay?”
And it was then that I took my first sip. Trying to swallow the lumps in my throat, the feeling dizzying, its sensation numbing. I could feel the blood pump through my veins and leave a tingling where it ran. My uneasy stomach churning; I felt like throwing up. And as I walked out of her classroom, the only thing I could do was cry like a baby.
“Joella,” she began, salivating, “why don’t you read a vignette you’ve written so far? Okay?” She continued in between sharp breaths.
Sheepishly turning my attention towards her, fiddling with and bending the corners of my paper in between my fingers, I lifted up the sheet in front of me. Blank lines glaring back, I looked up once more, and licked my lips. I began, “Um…” a gulp. “Um...I...I, uh… I wrote this vignette about a kid in my class who was always absent.” Though he never actually existed. “And, uh… he liked dressing up like a pirate sometimes.” I paused and looked at her once more.
“Are you reading from what you actually wrote?”
“No, I’m jus-”
“Read your vignette.”
Yeah, well if you had given us more than two day’s notice to get them done… It was as if she had planned this all out. She was out to get me. Still locked in her unmoving gaze, I squirmed in my seat. A cold sweat built up and beads inched down the sides of my forehead. Continuing as if I was “reading” at a kindergarten level, “Arthur… Kirkland… liked… pirates… he… was… absent… often… because… because…” I flicked my eyes up hoping to magically find the words to say, but instead was just in time to catch a faint smile plastered on her face. The second big panic attack and I had just started sitting down and were about to enjoy some tea. “Well, I, uh… I haven’t exactly written it yet… I just wrote my… my ideas out.”
She knew she had caught me off guard, and she was enjoying every second of it. The smile melted off her face, “This is honors English. I expect you to be prepared if you are going to stay in the class,” she paused, “Okay?”
And it was then that I took my first sip. Trying to swallow the lumps in my throat, the feeling dizzying, its sensation numbing. I could feel the blood pump through my veins and leave a tingling where it ran. My uneasy stomach churning; I felt like throwing up. And as I walked out of her classroom, the only thing I could do was cry like a baby.
Organized Chaos
My sitting posture has become pretty bad over the years, not gonna lie. It’s become so bad, in fact, that I’ve had to start going to physical therapy to try and correct my internally rotated shoulders. Every Friday at 5 P.M., I grin and bear the horrible “wall sits”, as my sister calls them, and the painfully awkward conversations with my therapist as he bends my back so far I feel as if I may break. He asks me sometimes in a thick Korean accent, “What grade you are in?” and, “What do you going to studying in college?” to which I reply something along the lines of, “I want to continue to draw,”, but of course the words hardly escape my lungs because it’s hard to maintain a conversation when you’re being bent in two. The massages and hot pads he gives me to “relax” ironically have the opposite effect, probably because of the massage room’s stark white walls and sterilized scent that remind me so much of a hospital. The anxiety of each session gradually builds up and I always long for those 45 minutes to be over so I can go back home to the only place I can really relax — my desk.
Blue wood covered in post-its, crumbs, and stickers: at first glance, it probably would not come off as “relaxing”, but rather a chaotic mess of papers and miscellaneous food items with some cat hair sprinkled in the mix. But in all honesty, this is the place I feel completely at ease. Slumped back into my usual sitting position, with my thoughts to myself, able to really focus on what it is I want to do — this desk is where I will do it. With just enough room between old bowls and cups to draw, I lay out my ideas and let my mind flow onto the canvas. Whether I’m happy, sad, have too much homework; I draw. At least once a day. Something. Anything to help me practice and improve. My drive to do anything else isn’t nearly as strong. Over the years, it’s given me such a sense of satisfaction to see myself gradually catching up to, or even surpassing those I once thought of as light-years ahead.
Of course, sitting at my desk all day usually is accompanied by some scolding. Some of my friend’s parents have even gone so far as to label me the “bad example child” for almost dropping out of physics and wanting to study illustration. Hey, it’s not (entirely) my fault I’m mathematically impaired. And what ever happened to “following your dreams”? As far as I’m concerned, I’m doing just that. My therapist, too, lectures me about how I should, “sit straight back” and, “make better posture to get supermodel figure,” instead of staying slumped forward, pen in hand, all the time. All these people try to pull me away, but no matter what they do, I always find myself back at this desk. Fortunately though, I’ve been met with much support from my family; especially my mom, who has been encouraging me to pursue art ever since I brought my passion to her attention.
Sometimes, I’ll realize that I’ve fallen asleep with the cool blue wood against my cheek. A high school student falling asleep at her desk shouldn’t be anything new, but I get a completely different feeling than what is usually perceived by others. I don’t feel devoid of energy. I’m quietly buzzing. The feeling of being full after a good meal, and the hum of my space heater as it warms the room — comfort. It is in these moments that I can take the time to reflect on everything happening around me, everything that has happened, everything that might happen. It is in these moments, at my humble desk, that I can tell myself that I am perfectly content.
Blue wood covered in post-its, crumbs, and stickers: at first glance, it probably would not come off as “relaxing”, but rather a chaotic mess of papers and miscellaneous food items with some cat hair sprinkled in the mix. But in all honesty, this is the place I feel completely at ease. Slumped back into my usual sitting position, with my thoughts to myself, able to really focus on what it is I want to do — this desk is where I will do it. With just enough room between old bowls and cups to draw, I lay out my ideas and let my mind flow onto the canvas. Whether I’m happy, sad, have too much homework; I draw. At least once a day. Something. Anything to help me practice and improve. My drive to do anything else isn’t nearly as strong. Over the years, it’s given me such a sense of satisfaction to see myself gradually catching up to, or even surpassing those I once thought of as light-years ahead.
Of course, sitting at my desk all day usually is accompanied by some scolding. Some of my friend’s parents have even gone so far as to label me the “bad example child” for almost dropping out of physics and wanting to study illustration. Hey, it’s not (entirely) my fault I’m mathematically impaired. And what ever happened to “following your dreams”? As far as I’m concerned, I’m doing just that. My therapist, too, lectures me about how I should, “sit straight back” and, “make better posture to get supermodel figure,” instead of staying slumped forward, pen in hand, all the time. All these people try to pull me away, but no matter what they do, I always find myself back at this desk. Fortunately though, I’ve been met with much support from my family; especially my mom, who has been encouraging me to pursue art ever since I brought my passion to her attention.
Sometimes, I’ll realize that I’ve fallen asleep with the cool blue wood against my cheek. A high school student falling asleep at her desk shouldn’t be anything new, but I get a completely different feeling than what is usually perceived by others. I don’t feel devoid of energy. I’m quietly buzzing. The feeling of being full after a good meal, and the hum of my space heater as it warms the room — comfort. It is in these moments that I can take the time to reflect on everything happening around me, everything that has happened, everything that might happen. It is in these moments, at my humble desk, that I can tell myself that I am perfectly content.
Literary Letter
Dear Mark Twain,
I must admit, I was slow to really get into The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, but it really grew on me as I continued. I think my reason for disliking it initially was because of Tom Sawyer and his influence on Huck, which remind me so much of a friendship I was in. As Huck began spending more time with Jim, and consequently, less time with Tom, he was able to enjoy himself more and he then shined as an individual. His days with Tom were spent stealing and lying — nothing good came from them, but the redeeming factor, for me, was that Huck started to reshape himself into his own image, rather than one of Tom. I feel the same way in that my friend was “infecting” me with her poison and slowly turning me into the kind of person I didn’t want to be.
When we first became friends in middle school, I really looked up to her and thought of her as one of the “cool kids”. Being me, I was never one of said “cool kids“, so of course I held her high on a pedestal and did what I thought it would take to gain her favor. Through all of the excessive swearing, racist jokes, and gossiping, I eventually came to realize that this was not the type of person I wanted to grow up to become. Even now, I still feel ashamed and appalled that I once even acted this way — all due to her influence. I can’t help but think that Huck would have eventually grown up to become more liked Tom, had he not set out on his adventure with Jim. This was the “break” that Huck needed to take a breath and digest all that would come of his and Tom’s friendship. Though he may not have realized, or felt it right away, Tom was slowly being washed off and Huck was transforming into his own person and following his own beliefs. Similarly, I felt that it was necessary to break off my poisonous friendship in order to correct my behavior, and not let my “Tom influence” continue to control my thoughts and actions.
It came to me later on that I didn’t have to latch onto her, and that I could find new friends who would accept me for who I am. Like Huck, my transition was gradual, and I probably didn’t even realize it up until my very own, “I’ll go to hell,” moment when I noted that I should do what I think is right. I, too, was faced with a difficult question: should I “rip up the note”? Or should I go back to my “Tom“? The epiphany that Huck had essentially mirrored what I had experienced as I flew from one friend, to others who were more accepting, tolerant, kind individuals. I found my Jim.
It’s not easy to discard someone you once regarded as a friend, but I now know that you can’t exactly call everyone a “friend”. It really is the effects others have that shape a person, and I’ve come to understand that I have to shape who I want to become, rather than let anyone else do that. Reading this novel really helped me reflect on the time I spent with my friend, and the negative impact she had on me. It makes me wonder sometimes, what kind of person would I be now if we were still friends? Though I am glad I was able to see that she was not somebody I wanted to associate with, and correct the problem before it grew out of control. Thankfully, Huck was able to become his own person while he spent time away from Tom. The relationships we maintain will ultimately shape the people we become.
I must admit, I was slow to really get into The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, but it really grew on me as I continued. I think my reason for disliking it initially was because of Tom Sawyer and his influence on Huck, which remind me so much of a friendship I was in. As Huck began spending more time with Jim, and consequently, less time with Tom, he was able to enjoy himself more and he then shined as an individual. His days with Tom were spent stealing and lying — nothing good came from them, but the redeeming factor, for me, was that Huck started to reshape himself into his own image, rather than one of Tom. I feel the same way in that my friend was “infecting” me with her poison and slowly turning me into the kind of person I didn’t want to be.
When we first became friends in middle school, I really looked up to her and thought of her as one of the “cool kids”. Being me, I was never one of said “cool kids“, so of course I held her high on a pedestal and did what I thought it would take to gain her favor. Through all of the excessive swearing, racist jokes, and gossiping, I eventually came to realize that this was not the type of person I wanted to grow up to become. Even now, I still feel ashamed and appalled that I once even acted this way — all due to her influence. I can’t help but think that Huck would have eventually grown up to become more liked Tom, had he not set out on his adventure with Jim. This was the “break” that Huck needed to take a breath and digest all that would come of his and Tom’s friendship. Though he may not have realized, or felt it right away, Tom was slowly being washed off and Huck was transforming into his own person and following his own beliefs. Similarly, I felt that it was necessary to break off my poisonous friendship in order to correct my behavior, and not let my “Tom influence” continue to control my thoughts and actions.
It came to me later on that I didn’t have to latch onto her, and that I could find new friends who would accept me for who I am. Like Huck, my transition was gradual, and I probably didn’t even realize it up until my very own, “I’ll go to hell,” moment when I noted that I should do what I think is right. I, too, was faced with a difficult question: should I “rip up the note”? Or should I go back to my “Tom“? The epiphany that Huck had essentially mirrored what I had experienced as I flew from one friend, to others who were more accepting, tolerant, kind individuals. I found my Jim.
It’s not easy to discard someone you once regarded as a friend, but I now know that you can’t exactly call everyone a “friend”. It really is the effects others have that shape a person, and I’ve come to understand that I have to shape who I want to become, rather than let anyone else do that. Reading this novel really helped me reflect on the time I spent with my friend, and the negative impact she had on me. It makes me wonder sometimes, what kind of person would I be now if we were still friends? Though I am glad I was able to see that she was not somebody I wanted to associate with, and correct the problem before it grew out of control. Thankfully, Huck was able to become his own person while he spent time away from Tom. The relationships we maintain will ultimately shape the people we become.
The Portfolio Lady From KCAD
I was already anxious enough from having to return to school in a few days, coupled with my strange aunt coming from Hong Kong to visit soon, and college applications that still have yet to be submitted. The only thoughts that raced through my head: Will my SAT scores be sent out on time? Were the essays I wrote good enough? Will my portfolio meet all of the necessary requirements? For me, holiday break could hardly be called a vacation. I was holed up in my room — “hibernating” according to my mom — religiously checking my email.
It was the first time in years I had done this, but instead of excitedly waiting for new messages from my friends, it was murderous intervals of refresh after refresh of an almost empty inbox — just waiting for news regarding any college I applied to. My eyes scrolled up and down the page every time I clicked back into the tab. Spam. Spam. Junk mail. No, Amazon, I don’t care about your deals. And just when I was about to give up my “inbox stakeout” of sorts, I froze as I saw a reply to an earlier email I had sent.
I had almost forgotten that the director of portfolio reviews had asked me to clarify which drawings I included were done from direct observation. I didn’t want to remember that I forgot to include such an important detail in the descriptions for each piece. I froze and my face flushed red as I nervously opened the email. I was sure that nobody else had made such a dumb mistake as me, and that she only replied to my email to berate me.
Shaking, I lifted my gaze from my keyboard to the screen and was surprised to see the word, “Congratulations” start off the first sentence. What? “Congratulations on a successful portfolio review!” What?! “Based on the quality of your work, I am recommending you for a portfolio scholarship.” What?!?!?!?!?!
I was now shaking for an entirely different reason.
After rereading the email to make sure I didn’t horribly mistake what she wrote, I checked the attached portfolio review form with comments she had added. My face lit up as I savored each one. “Lovely composition.“ “Confident mark-making.“ For the first time in what seemed like forever, I actually felt good about something I had done. The first half of the year has been a seemingly endless battle trying to complete a sea of college applications and lengthy forms. It was just beginning to dawn on me that I was actually closer to victory than I had imagined. I pushed away the negative thoughts that had plagued me up until then as I realized that being accepted to and going to college might actually be a reality for me — and the smiley face that was drawn onto the edge of my portfolio review form only helped reassure that. After reading the email once more, I closed the tab, took a deep breath and wobbled downstairs for a much-needed glass of water.
It was the first time in years I had done this, but instead of excitedly waiting for new messages from my friends, it was murderous intervals of refresh after refresh of an almost empty inbox — just waiting for news regarding any college I applied to. My eyes scrolled up and down the page every time I clicked back into the tab. Spam. Spam. Junk mail. No, Amazon, I don’t care about your deals. And just when I was about to give up my “inbox stakeout” of sorts, I froze as I saw a reply to an earlier email I had sent.
I had almost forgotten that the director of portfolio reviews had asked me to clarify which drawings I included were done from direct observation. I didn’t want to remember that I forgot to include such an important detail in the descriptions for each piece. I froze and my face flushed red as I nervously opened the email. I was sure that nobody else had made such a dumb mistake as me, and that she only replied to my email to berate me.
Shaking, I lifted my gaze from my keyboard to the screen and was surprised to see the word, “Congratulations” start off the first sentence. What? “Congratulations on a successful portfolio review!” What?! “Based on the quality of your work, I am recommending you for a portfolio scholarship.” What?!?!?!?!?!
I was now shaking for an entirely different reason.
After rereading the email to make sure I didn’t horribly mistake what she wrote, I checked the attached portfolio review form with comments she had added. My face lit up as I savored each one. “Lovely composition.“ “Confident mark-making.“ For the first time in what seemed like forever, I actually felt good about something I had done. The first half of the year has been a seemingly endless battle trying to complete a sea of college applications and lengthy forms. It was just beginning to dawn on me that I was actually closer to victory than I had imagined. I pushed away the negative thoughts that had plagued me up until then as I realized that being accepted to and going to college might actually be a reality for me — and the smiley face that was drawn onto the edge of my portfolio review form only helped reassure that. After reading the email once more, I closed the tab, took a deep breath and wobbled downstairs for a much-needed glass of water.
Concentration (64?)
What sat in front of me was a list of potential topics, each of them holding some special meaning to me. There were no repeats, with only some minor hesitation on the art sub’s part, that is. And as bad as I was at keeping up with the clapping game, I was at coming up with a theme for my senior year art concentration. My sketchbook had turned into a mess of rogue pencil strokes and cross outs and scribbles and ideas that were “just not good enough”. It was the source of all my frustration. Everything that I was comfortable exploring for a whole year did not have a strong enough message for her. It went against all the advice I was given prior to her arrival: “choose something that you can connect with.”
The sub and I sat quietly, unspeaking, but sort of humming back and forth to each other in some sort of alien “art room language”. It was a wordless exchange that only served to instill the feeling of incompetence in me once more. She looked at me almost questioningly as her gaze coaxed out more beads of sweat than the stagnant summer air of the cluttered art room. I averted my gaze, and instead, glanced around the room. My eyes darted from table to table — at everyone who had already come up with a solid concentration topic. I wasn’t comfortable going along with the sub’s suggestions; mostly because of my fickle nature. I wanted something I knew I could stick with for a whole year. As I sat down and the bell rang on the last day of class, I started my summer vacation with a pit in my stomach and the feeling of uncertainty.
The sub and I sat quietly, unspeaking, but sort of humming back and forth to each other in some sort of alien “art room language”. It was a wordless exchange that only served to instill the feeling of incompetence in me once more. She looked at me almost questioningly as her gaze coaxed out more beads of sweat than the stagnant summer air of the cluttered art room. I averted my gaze, and instead, glanced around the room. My eyes darted from table to table — at everyone who had already come up with a solid concentration topic. I wasn’t comfortable going along with the sub’s suggestions; mostly because of my fickle nature. I wanted something I knew I could stick with for a whole year. As I sat down and the bell rang on the last day of class, I started my summer vacation with a pit in my stomach and the feeling of uncertainty.