Part of me disappeared. There was a pocket of time in my life where I spoke up in class. I made friends with people from all over the planet. I ran miles everyday. I felt almost guilty for eating or even speaking to others until I got my run in. I wore glasses. I straightened my hair, continuing in the tradition of what I was trained to do with my own head.
I flirted too much. I had a group of guys who used to call me Ms. Mocha. I went to musicals and opera recitals. I danced every week. I did handstands in yoga class.
I fell in love with someone who never loved me back, someone who could make my throat dry up and stomach flutter simultaneously. I traveled to Costa Rica. When I or a friend was heartbroken, we threw Chocolate and Champagne nights. I said goodnight in Japanese to my roommate. I spoke about August Wilson. Sometimes, I felt like I was sauntering for no good reason.
I had two close friends but had a sneaking suspicion I was the third wheel.
I was away at college.