I'd usually refer Dalat as a ville, rather than a city. I call it ville with the whole of my innocent heart and girliest love. Every time I think about la ville, I always picture a large expense of blue sky dotted with cotton-candy clouds, vast greenery of forestry and streets masked with a thin layer of highland fog. I also think about him and myself when we sat on top of the hill on that chilly afternoon, looking down on the calm and lively city. There are so many emotions associated with la ville - from loneliness as the winds comfort me that day when he mistreated my heart, happiness when he held me tight under the soft sunbeam, to eagerness as the butterflies flutter in sync with the butterflies in my tummy that morning when I was waiting for him to pick me up or enormous sadness as the chills surrounded us when he told me he moved on. A multitude of nature imaginaries accompanied me throughout that lovely experience with my first love. I hold the city deep in my heart, as how we all would hold our first loves. But unlike how I connote him, I feel at peace whenever I imagine la ville. La ville has been genuinely kind to me. La ville is like an elegant mistress who possesses everyone's minds. Her every step emphasizes her gracefulness and sophistication. Her winds are soft, rains are gentle, even her silk-thin sunbeams are comforting as they cast upon the city-wide dewy branches. Just like him, la ville's inhabitants are kind. They are careful with their soft-spoken words, always politely start their sentences with a "dạ". La ville's residents treat each other with a type of authentic love that I would rarely find in the southern region and treat foreign visitors with tremendous hospitality. La ville even has a charm in her daily events. At night, she gracefully lays a light layer of fog to signal curfew hours. When morning arrives, her beams slowly pull away the layer to reveal the rustic lines of the French-styled streets soon followed with steady gusts of the gentle breeze. When it rains, la ville awakens the large mountainous branches to protect its equally thoughtful inhabitants - they greet each other with gentle smiles, friendly embraces, and frequent cups of warm tea. It's obvious to note that la ville is wholly verdant - you'll see an endless expanse of greens. La ville is famous for her romantic forests of pine trees, attracting couples for generations seeking for that rare feeling of bareness and unity with nature. I've seen all the seasons of la ville's: from rows of pink blossoms in the spring to green patches dotted with summertime lavender transitioned to fresh daffodils, all transformed to glittering fairy lights during festive seasons (la ville also notoriously hosts a large population of Christians). All year-round, though, are the lovely rows of colorful hydrangea grown outside the houses' short fences, wild roses in street pots, open coffee fields, and flower valleys. Essentially, every house embraces a French atmosphere with antique architecture and a generous area for greeneries. Personally, I reunite with la ville every year for her chilling aura... Taking a break from the bustling metropolitian cities and enjoying a stay at la ville always feel luxurious. However, the heartwarming people inhabiting at la ville are gems - interacting with them or merely enjoying hot cocoa as they go along their daily errands are the most enjoyable passtimes. The stress-free behavior relaxes even the most tense visitors. And of course, with so many tourists visiting each season, it embraces new trends and styles through the years. Despite this, the soul of the city remains - it's still the same ville I'd call home and the host to so many nostalgic memories and strong feelings. Although we'd normally atatch emotions with events and locations, la ville is different in the fact that my love for her and my former love are separate.

I took my second and hopefully final TOEFL test today. I think I did decently well... until I reached the last question. "Do you think to be more successful, businesses should spend a lot of money on advertizing?" For a split moment, I paused. I didn't panic, though, but I knew that I had to be unique out of all the other 30 kids answering the same prompt. Thus, I answered it through an Economics lens. Throughout the 30-minute writing time, I had this sense of fear, but it was accompanied by a sense of fearlessness too. I LOVE Economics, so there was no way I would miss an opportunity to talk about context and Economics to answer that prompt. I definitely answered the question and gave a lot of supporting evidence to elaborate my points. When the 30-minute approached, I was so satisfied with the essay. I genuinely loved that essay. It was literally a simplified but amalgamated analysis that I'd normally do for economics. But all the jubilation ended when I phoned him. "Oh yea, I did that before for another task and the score wasn't so well..." I began to feel worried. Is it true that being a risk taker is worse than sticking with the safe route? I knew what the safe route looked like, but I chose not to do it. I can't really explain my thought process, but I knew that I needed to talk about Economics (partly because the question was so business-oriented). Until I went home and I realized I spelled "advertising" wrong. The word was even in the prompt. Wow. Now I became increasingly more concerned. Yet, some forum online said that a consistently misspelled word would only cost a mark. I don't really know what this meant... but I'm just hoping that my score is around the desired range. It was fun while it last. But I'm so worried, though...

I was certain that I pressed the 'print' button twice. Maybe trice? I waited in agony and hoped that this school printer would actually wake up. "Hmm just give it a moment," the IT staff said, "you're too impatient!" I politely laugh to hide my embarrassment; deep down, though, what mattered at that moment was the 216 pages to be printed. After silently praying for something to happen, we finally heard the printer jizzing. "Listen, I hear it starting up! I'll be inside if you need anything." "Thank you, chú." As soon as he'd walked into the room, the jizzing stopped, followed by my light cawing on the glass wall to grab his attention again. This scene basically sums up my summer of junior year. That cyclical internal pain when the printer refuses to comply, but the rare and exciting moments when it does eject those tattooed, slightly warm 382 pages. When it was a bad day, of course, I had to take matters into my own hands. This meant bringing home the package of 500 pieces of paper and refilling the house printer so my dad wouldn't yell. However, the home printer can't print double-sided. This meant I'd have to split everything in half, wait by the printer to spool and straighten the second-run pieces that were double-sided, then figure out the pages' order because the machine printed faster than I could organize. The iconic burnt ink smell meshed with my internal flustered state, and these simple moments are truly what's worth living for. Ultimately, moment when I'd compiled the book (almost) perfectly, that deserving sigh of relief escaped.

"Dad, skip this song please!" Despite my desperate pleading, he didn't reach out for the forward button on the car's stereo. I turned to my left and signaled my sister to change the song for me, but she merely shrugged at my pouting face. I refrained myself from asking my mom, as she was finally dozing away from this exhausting 9-hour drive back to the city. For a moment there, I knew that this trip back was fated to be longer than the high-spirited visit of two days ago. Honestly, there was nothing wrong with the song, only that it was an overplayed Christmas song currently playing on a dull mid-June evening. Just a bridge away from our apartment but the usual 8 pm downtown traffic kept us on that road longer than we would've liked. This, unfortunately, meant that the song was the only thing I could cling onto until the car's movement could distract me from this seemingly eternity-lasting boredom. For some reason, I caved in and listened. "Long time ago in Bethlehem, so the Holy Bible said." I felt a shock from that one line. The shock wasn't the type that shakes your body, just a mental shock. But I never experienced these before. "'Bethlehem'..." my mind whispered, "it's one of the two holiest cities in Palestine. The Commission was granted international control of the city from the Partition of 1948..." I then found myself lost in thought. I began to reflect on my journey of discovery on the mysterious and sandy region; I reminisced on the painfully tedious process of researching an unknown political issue; I finally self-commended myself for the personal perseverance I had towards the notably complicated topic; I became appreciative towards the exciting but overlooked historical dynamics in the Middle East that I've become so entrenched about over the months. Most importantly, I wondered how was my mind was still wandering around historical politics and reacted so powerfully by a single stimulant. Nevertheless, I realized I felt an unprecedented connection to that song. I became more appreciative towards a simple piece that I'd overlooked for years. It was only through my self-driven Middle East exploration that instilled meaning in the lyrics. That little moment on the car, a surprisingly swift period for the song's 3-minute duration, enabled me to truly reflect on the transformative experience I had when I vowed to be determined towards studying the Middle East political events. The comforting and safe environment that I was so fortunate to be enclosed in that night made me realize the value of truly taking the time and devoting effort into learning history of a movement, a community, a race, a region so foreign to myself to ultimately allow myself to become more open-minded in this increasingly connected world. For the first time, I'd internalized and understood the song's resonance on a personal level. And with that came a sense of satisfaction - I'd never felt so fulfilled and accomplished in my entire life. I was genuinely so elated that I had to press the replay button.