Dalit Yadegaran
“Why Do You Do What You Do?” I ask myself as I head out of my Arts and Architecture 10 class at UCLA, and head into the frenzy of fast paced college students, swarming about campus at noon.
No, I can’t say my alarm clock.
Too simple.
My responsibility and determination to strive for the top of my class at school?
Too cliché.
My alarm clock which hinders my sleep at around 7:00 am every morning?
Too common.
My passion.
Yes, that feels perfect. It fits just right; as if I’ve found my perfect prom dress.
My passion.
For life, for my best friend of 15 years, for the satisfaction after cooking a homemade feast on my own, for painting and sculpting, for dancing, for being serenaded, for vivacity, for scavenger hunts around Santa Monica with 20 of my friends, for capture the flag, for the smell of a crisp new book being paralleled by a timeless classic novel with molded pages; yet rich with annotations in blue and black ink, for three day weekends, for Grammy parties and Superbowl Sunday bets, for feeling European and fabulous each time I walk out of Zara, for my first pool party, for second semester senior year and first quarter of freshman year at UCLA, for completing my Bat Mitzvah reading and wishing my party slowed down, for boom boom Pau Gasol and the Lakers, for pathos ethos and logos, for being nice to strangers, for the voices of children living in Sderot who I met and told me how they are effected by terrorism, for using a cell phone to text; not call, for braces; twice, for traveling from the hot springs of Costa Rica to the isolated tranquil islands of Thailand, for Nutella, for loving NYC’s excitement, for LA because we really do have everything here, for smiles and yawns which are both contagious, for mechanical pencil refills, for earning a perfect score on a research term paper which examines the ins and outs of America’s health care system as opposed to Canada’s, France’s, and Cuba’s, for “tadeeg” and “gormesabzee,” for chocolate pancakes and bagels, for all of LA commuting to Las Vegas in the winter and Palm Springs in the spring, for my incredible Maja and Faja, for Psychology Today articles, for Canons and disposable cameras, for saving the ‘How to Operate’ handbook; but never opening it up, for seeing that a store has my name, for the goosebumps that form every time I drive past the federal building and see extremely dedicated individuals waving Iran’s pre-revolutionary flag as they make the peace sign with their fingers, for hikes at the crack of dawn, for runs down San Vicente whenever I get the chance, for walking into glass doors, for the first time we celebrated a birthday in a limousine, for embracing adversity and converting it into my triumph, for speaking in front of 3,000 people at once, for dressing up, for advocating, for my brother who would pick me up from school when he first got his license, for The Office, Entourage, and Gossip Girl, for the hidden and dying art behind Persian rugs, for getting on a big screen in Times Square, for loving unconditionally, for 500 Days of Summer: reality vs. expectation, for high school, for the first time I won first place after one of my hurdling events, for Caravane by Raphael, for my brother who is studying abroad, for Guetta and Bocelli, for sprints down the beach, for fistpumps and powpumps, for looking at an old picture and remembering every feeling and thought that was running through my mind at that exact moment, for Thanksgiving every week during Shabbat, for never tolerating disrespect under any circumstance, for analyzing Obama’s State of the Union address, for Fight Club, for Hakoach which will always have a strong place in my heart, for color books, for my AP Biology teacher Mr. Gaida, for basketball leagues at Westwood Recreation, for when we would all drive each other around without having had our licenses for a year, for craving a new album by JT, for Aroma and Urth, for being strong enough to make my own destiny rather than let my destiny make me, for being paralyzed by philosophy, for the fact that when two hearts race; both win, for holding onto fairytales, for replaying songs, for sleepovers, pillow fights, and no sleep, for Yoga and Pilates, for those little questions that your friends fill out and pop up on your Facebook wall; which everyone secretly loves, for reading the notes left in old yearbooks, for having an incredible sensation while watching the Olympics that for a couple of weeks we’re all united; Go World, for making the switch by going green, for the domino effect that comes from holding hands while ice skating when one person falls, for C&O’s garlic balls in Venice, for admiring the long struggle my grandparents have gone through from Iran to America and seeing everyone assimilate into the American lifestyle, for Coachella’s three day line-up, for surrounding myself with people who make me feel good, for the implications that are entailed by the letter Z, for furs; but not the type that comes from animals, for defiantly being who I am, and proud, for sunsets and views on top of the world, for vintage pearls from the 1920’s, for contemporary art, for ravioli pasta, for loving Italy, without ever having been there, for iPhone applications, for dresses and up-do’s from the Elizabethan era, for pink towels, for being an idealist, for believing in mind over matter, for supernova, for leading, for learning, for winning, for life.
“For Passion,” I thought, as a shy smile steals my face while I pace into my next Lecture.
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