by Vivian Luu
Copy Editor

I picked up my camera last weekend.

I hadn’t taken pictures in the longest time. My friends don’t like it when I take pictures of them and I don’t like taking pictures of myself. I don’t even like it when other people take pictures of me, though I do manage to flash a fake smile and pretend that I’m happy.

But I grabbed my Canon EOS and started flashing bulbs at random things in my kitchen: my teapot, a bunch of grapes that I had been eating, my half-eaten breakfast and my yard.

And then it hit me: Wow. I hadn’t been happy in a long time and this made me happy. As I paraded through my kitchen and took snapshots of everything in sight, I didn’t think about anything else.

Worrying about graduation was…nonexistent. Worrying about how much money I had… not on my watch. Thinking about Karl Marx and his theories on political economies…I was being artsy today—not philosophical.

So I thought to myself: Maybe this is what I’m happy with. I don’t like thinking about a lot of things. More or less so, I don’t like to worry. Doing things that take away the stress I have to deal with is kind of fun.

But then again, I’ve been working too hard and I might be a little loopy. I read too much poetry by Jacques Prévert, one of the most sentimental poets I’ve examined. On top of doing far too much research on R. Crumb, a famous cartoonist in the 60s, my mind might have gotten far too scrambled for my own good.

But hey, at least I tried to keep myself entertained. I think I’ll try finger painting this weekend.