No — I never gained the "freshman fifteen" as a first-year in college. I actually gained the freshman thirty; and trust me, that is something to brag about.
There are three things you must declare before starting your stay at a university — your residence hall, dining plan, and major. Back in the fall of 2014 when it was my turn, I declared all three. The following spring, I declared a fourth
A commitment to a group of women whom individually are walking, rare prototypes of beauty. These women are sober of the desperation to be ordinary, while their minds are bejeweled with the determination to be extraordinary.
This crown, I know, will never slip. This crown, I will wear for the rest of my life, knowing that these women — my sorority sisters — will be there to break its fall whenever I need someone to tilt my chin back up.
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, what you see on the outside, is a spectrum of women so diverse, divine and fine.
Class by class, no two sisters contrast. Our shared vision of multiculturalism honors more than the skin tones of our ancestors, and the cultural traditions we learn from each other to celebrate together.
The relationships I have with my sisters are not toxic, rather they are intoxicating. My sisters fuel my urge to be indestructible. My sisters blot away my doubts. My sisters prime my intuition with optimism. My sisters are the artists behind the record deal I was obligated to sign because their pieces of advice are too good to be one-hit-wonders. My sisters tilted cement into the trenches of my heart that I weathered down with my tears. My sisters helped me rebuild the armor I thought I lost completely when I was too weak to admit that I didn't have all the strength to repair myself.
