Full Circle in Carolina Blue: Five Years That Changed Everything

Five years ago, I walked onto UNC’s campus for the first time, a hopeful high schooler dreaming of the future. As graduation approaches, I reflect on the unforgettable memories that have defined my time at Carolina. UNC has been so much more than just a school—it’s been home.

Thank you, Carolina, for everything. I may be leaving soon, but a piece of my heart will always be in Chapel Hill.

Today, I opened my Snapchat memories, and a moment from five years ago appeared—a memory that felt like a message. On this day in 2019, I was visiting Chapel Hill for the first time, touring the University of North Carolina. It was the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, so the campus was eerily quiet, with barely any students around, and a strange stillness hung over everything. But somehow, that wasn't what I took away from the day.

That day, I found where I wanted to spend the next four years of my life. Even with a mask covering my smile and the muggy weather trying to dampen the experience, I knew UNC was where I belonged. It was an instant, unshakable feeling.

Over the following months, I tried to suppress that excitement, deflecting whenever someone asked me where I’d go to college. I toured Clemson, visited NC State, and kept searching. But none of them felt like UNC.

When my acceptance letter arrived, I remember the surreal rush of joy. Driving home from cheer practice that day, I felt like the sunset was a celebration just for me, glowing on the horizon as I let myself imagine a future in Carolina blue.

From then on, it was a rollercoaster. The summer before freshman year, I cycled through every emotion—anxiety, excitement, fear, joy. Arriving at Granville Towers on what felt like the hottest summer day, I was both thrilled and terrified. Would I make friends? Would I love it as much as I thought? What if I couldn’t handle being away from home?

But UNC found ways to ground me. I remember that first day of classes, wandering the paths with Apple Maps pulled up, and feeling lost and exactly where I needed to be. I remember my first football game, standing in a sea of Carolina blue, swept up in the energy and pride that seemed to pulse through every person there. I remember Halloween, late nights out, and my first basketball game, all these “firsts” that made UNC feel more like home with each memory.

Then there were the hard days—when I missed my family so much it hurt when I doubted I’d make it through a tough class, and the days my tiny dorm room felt more like a prison cell. But even then, when winter break rolled around, I couldn’t wait to return to school, to the life and independence I was beginning to build.

I finally found my rhythm, balancing classes, friendships, and fun that Spring. And then, just when I thought I couldn’t love UNC any more, our men’s basketball team made an unforgettable run to the NCAA Championship. I felt on top of the world. When my mom came to help me pack up my dorm room that spring, I cried as we drove back to Hickory, listening to James Taylor’s Carolina in My Mind and feeling so profoundly lucky to call this place home.

For the past three years, I’ve tried to convince everyone I know that UNC is the best school in the world, and every word was spoken from the heart. It’s in the little things: the smile you exchange with a friend on the quad, the laughter that fills Davis Library when late-night delirium sets in, the Bluesday cheers at He’s Not Here, lunch breaks in Lenoir, and the nervous jitters of Dey Hall (you know what I mean). It’s in those first warm spring days in front of Wilson Library, and the hopeful sip from the Old Well on the first day of classes. Each memory is part of why UNC feels like home.

In my final months here, I’ve found myself in a quiet denial about graduating and leaving this place. When someone asks what I’ll do after graduation, I wince, unable to picture a world that isn’t in Chapel Hill. But this morning, when I opened that Snapchat memory five years ago, I was reminded just how long this journey has been and how much UNC has given me since that first visit.

Five years ago, I stepped onto this campus for the first time, and something inside me knew it was home. It’s surreal to look back on everything that’s happened since then—the friendships, the challenges, and the memories that have shaped who I am. And while I can’t stop the clock from ticking toward graduation, I can choose to be grateful—for the moments of joy, struggle, and self-discovery that have defined my time here.

For the last time, I will sway back and forth with my friends to Hark the Sound in Kenan Stadium. I will join the last Swag Surf in the Dean Dome, laugh over my final blue cup as an undergrad, and take in every view and sound of this little town full of love. Then, I’ll pack up my car and say goodbye to Chapel Hill, knowing that Carolina will always carry on in me.

UNC, you have given me a community, memories, and a sense of purpose that will stay with me forever. Thank you for being everything I dreamed of and more. I may be leaving, but a piece of my heart will always be here, and Carolina will always be a part of who I am.

Listening to the Little Girl Who Loved Stories

After changing my major more times than I can count, I’ve finally found a path that feels like home. Sometimes, the journey isn’t about sticking to a plan; it’s about listening to the passions that have always been there. Here’s to finding joy in the unexpected and building an authentic future. Enjoy my second blog this week where I dive into my lengthy academic career.

It’s time to address the elephant in the room. Yes, I’ve changed my major—several times. Reflecting on my journey, it’s almost laughable to think I ever believed I would thrive in a STEM field. We need to rewind to the beginning to truly understand my decision-making process.

In the bustling days of college applications, I was determined to declare an engineering major at every school I considered. For Carolina, that meant choosing Biomedical Engineering, the only engineering program offered. I even explored other STEM-focused universities, thinking I might find my fit there if UNC didn’t resonate with me. Yet, none of those places felt quite right.

Looking back, I realize I was never truly convinced that Biomedical Engineering was the path for me. I admired being a woman in engineering, where females were still a minority. Graduating at the top of my class, I felt the weight of expectation—many of my high-achieving peers were heading off to become doctors or nurses, and I felt an unspoken pressure to follow suit.

The title sounded impressive. I can still picture that moment on my senior night for cheerleading, striding onto the field as my name, university, and major echoed through the air. When they announced “Biomedical Engineering,” I smiled, yet deep within, a voice whispered that I was not meant to tread that path. But I kept the mask on, convincing myself I could do this.

When I arrived at college, I began chipping away at my general education requirements, carefully avoiding biomedical engineering classes. Instead, I stumbled into a course that would change everything—PLCY 101: Introduction to Public Policy. As a first-year grappling with the challenges of college life, this class was my sanctuary. It was engaging, thought-provoking, and delved into topics I had longed to explore.

By the second semester, the act of maintaining my engineering façade became unbearable. I didn’t yet know where my journey would lead, but I knew I had to escape the confines of biomedical engineering. With a mix of apprehension and relief, I changed my major to Public Policy, knowing that this choice could evolve as I did.

This was my first glimpse into the depth and richness of majors at Carolina. There were so many subjects to explore, and so many paths to wander. I even contemplated applying to the Gillings School of Public Health, yet that too didn’t resonate with my heart.

What I rediscovered, instead, was my passion for connection and creativity—an undeniable thread that wove through my life, waiting for me to remember it. I enrolled in an Introduction to Advertising and Public Relations class, taught by the inspiring Gary Kayye. The moment I walked into that classroom, I felt a spark. The course became a highlight of my semester, igniting a joy I hadn’t felt in years.

In the quiet moments, memories of first grade resurfaced. Every week, we were challenged to write and illustrate our own stories. I still have those stories—my first characters, plots, and worlds I built with crayons and bound with staples. Even back then, I felt the thrill of crafting something uniquely mine. Reflecting on that time, I wondered, “Why did I wait so long to embrace this part of myself?” The little girl who loved stories never left; she was just waiting for me to catch up.

Creativity was always my companion—whether I was lost in the pages of a novel or painting my imagination onto a canvas. In this new academic landscape, I could feel my love for storytelling bubbling to the surface, vibrant and alive.

As I embraced this journey, it became clear: my path was unfolding gradually, yet it felt undeniably right. I decided to marry my Public Policy degree with Media and Journalism, a union that allowed me to weave together my interests in research, politics, and the art of storytelling.

In a world that often celebrates certainty, my journey of changing majors has taught me the beauty of flexibility and exploration. Each twist and turn has been a vital part of my story, guiding me toward a path that feels authentic and fulfilling. It’s a reminder that our dreams can evolve, and it’s okay to step away from expectations—whether from others or ourselves.

So, if you find yourself questioning your choices, remember: it’s not just about finding the perfect major or career; it’s about reconnecting with the passions that were always there, even if they were buried under the expectations of others. Embrace the journey, the unexpected turns, and the stories—your stories—that shape who you are. Because, as I’ve learned, sometimes the little girl with her stapled-together stories knows more about your future than any plan ever could.

A Story of Women (Fans) in Sports

Growing up, I never questioned my place as a sports fan, but over time, I realized that women’s voices are often sidelined in sports spaces—especially in football. For every woman who’s faced doubts in sports fandom, I’m here to say: We belong. More women in sports make the community stronger, louder, and more connected. Check out my latest blog, where I dive deeper into my journey as a fan and why representation matters.

Growing up, I never quite grasped that women were often sidelined as sports fans, especially in male-dominated spaces like football. I’ve always been outspoken at games—cheering at the top of my lungs, wearing my team’s colors with pride, and refusing to hold back my passion. I was a cheerleader in middle and high school, proudly the loudest one, determined to make sure our players felt supported.

Loving sports felt natural to me. I never saw myself as “lesser” for being a devoted fan. In 2015, when I was in 7th grade, my all-time favorite team, the Carolina Panthers, was having an unforgettable season. That year, we were undefeated until the Falcons broke our streak. It stung to lose, especially to a division rival, but somehow, it only solidified my loyalty.

I was there for those defining moments, like when Josh Norman went toe-to-toe with Odell Beckham Jr. in a memorable clash with the New York Giants. Seeing that fiery rivalry immortalized on TikTok and Instagram brings back so much pride—I stood behind Norman then, and I still do, even if the brawling was a bit much.

And who could forget Thanksgiving Day? Our whole family, decked out in Panthers jerseys, gathered around the TV to watch us crush the Dallas Cowboys, my most despised team, advancing to 11-0. We yelled, screamed, and celebrated every play, believing in a win before it was certain. We might have even headbutted the walls in excitement, but that’s a story for another day.

These moments weren’t just fun; they were formative. Being a fan has always given me a profound sense of belonging, a feeling of being part of something bigger than myself. Football connects me to my family and friends, and it gives us this shared passion, something that unites us even when our team is struggling. I stayed up late to watch us win the NFC Championship, hosted in Charlotte and dragged my mom to Academy Sports afterward to get the Championship shirt. I remember us staying up past bedtime, buzzing with excitement. These memories are a testament to the kind of fan I’ve always been—committed, passionate, and hopeful.

But being a fan is as much about heartache as it is about joy. We lost that Super Bowl to the Denver Broncos, a loss that stung, especially given how close we were to glory. We were quiet on the drive home, the weight of a season’s worth of hope settling into silence. Even now, as the Panthers sit at 2-7, seemingly stripped of our best players (goodbye Christian McCaffrey, DJ Moore, Brian Burns, Frankie Luvu… and more), I keep cheering. It’s tough to hold onto optimism, but it’s the price of being a loyal fan.

Yet, what’s harder to stomach than losses is the dismissiveness that comes with being a female fan of football. For years, I've felt the unspoken judgment—the assumption that I don’t know the game, that my love for it is superficial or borrowed. I used to argue to prove my knowledge, but it felt futile against stereotypes cemented in people’s minds.

This disdain flared up even more when Taylor Swift started dating Travis Kelce. It’s as if her presence in the stadium became an excuse for some fans to undermine women’s place in the sport. Suddenly, the same people who mocked us for not caring about football were irritated because they thought we cared only because of Taylor. It felt like a double standard, a loud dismissal of the women who have been here all along. Seeing comments like, “She doesn’t even know what she’s clapping at,” is disheartening. This isn’t just criticism of Taylor; it’s an entire community of women fans being told they don’t belong.

As someone who’s been playing (and winning) fantasy football, who tunes into NFL RedZone religiously every Sunday, and who unapologetically yells for my team from the stands, Taylor’s presence feels like a beacon. She represents women like me who love this sport as much as anyone. Seeing her face criticism only reminds me of the resilience required to be here.

Since I was little, Erin Andrews has been one of my heroes—a woman who broke into sports media and thrived in it. She’s shown me that women can excel in this industry and that our voices matter and deserve to be heard. Watching her on the sidelines, calling games, and navigating challenges gracefully has always inspired me. I hope that one day, more girls see women like Erin and even Taylor and feel the same sense of belonging and representation they’ve given me.

Even as the world tries to sideline us, I’ll keep watching. Football is my passion, and I’m here to stay. I cheer for the women working in sports, for every female fan who knows this struggle, and for a future where we’re welcomed in this space, not questioned. Because we deserve to be here, just as much as anyone else. More women in sports media would strengthen the community, bringing new perspectives and deepening fans' connections with the game. It’s not just about seeing ourselves on the screen; it’s about ensuring every young girl who loves this sport knows that she, too, belongs.

Home is Where the Friends Are

As I prepare to graduate from UNC, I reflect on how my friendships have shaped my college journey in my blog. From navigating roommate life to forging meaningful connections, each experience has taught me the value of support and authenticity; here's to the best roommates and college experience.

One day, you're sitting on the couch in your first apartment, a place you and your friends—now roommates—are finally calling home. You're on the cusp of your sophomore year, and the air is filled with anticipation as you talk about classes, weekend plans, and new routines. You've just decorated your room, piecing it together thoughtfully instead of tossing items around as you did in your crowded freshman dorm. Something about it all feels real. Grown-up.

But in an instant, you're pulled back to the first time you were making decisions on your own: preschool. Without your mom by your side, you stood in a room full of kids, uncertain where to sit or who to talk to, wondering who might become your first friend. At that age, friendship was simple, even superficial. You spent just a few hours together each week, discussing favorite toys, the shows you watched, or what you had for lunch. Friendships were as easy as proximity.

As we grow, relationships deepen, and our worlds broaden. Friends become more integral to our daily lives, sharing our classes, weekends, and even our innermost thoughts. Navigating friendships in college, however, is unlike anything before. It’s an era of transformation. School isn’t just school; it’s your life—and the lives of everyone around you. You find yourself faced with new challenges and are surrounded by thousands of new people. Most importantly, you gain friendships that feel like family.

Oddly enough, amid this new life, you find pieces of that little girl from preschool. The one sitting down on the first day, wide-eyed, holding her heart in her hands. Now, you’re learning to trust, confide, and rely on others in ways that remind you of simpler days. But these conversations—about classes, heartbreaks, ambitions, and disappointments—are infinitely deeper than your four-year-old self could have imagined.

And now, here you are, sharing this new life with them—each one bringing something unique into your day-to-day.

There's Taylor, my roommate since day one at UNC. Though we didn’t know each other before college, it feels like we've been friends forever. Taylor is the kind of person who exudes kindness and wisdom beyond her years, with a heart as genuine as it is generous. She’s effortlessly talkative, authentic, and quietly one of the smartest people I know—though she’d never admit it. Taylor is a friend who always puts others first, listens without hesitation, and makes even the toughest days feel brighter. She’s shown me what it means to have someone you can truly rely on, someone who knows you in ways few others do. We began this journey as strangers, barely knowing a thing about each other, and now, as graduation approaches, I can’t imagine my college experience without her.

Then there's Madison, the roommate I've known the longest and a friend I’m grateful to have discovered more fully in college. Growing up just 20 minutes apart, our paths crossed a few times, but it wasn't until we became suitemates during freshman year that our friendship truly took root. From day one, I knew we had found something special. Madison is witty, driven, and fiercely loyal. She’s one of the hardest-working people I know, constantly pushing herself to reach new heights. Beneath her strong exterior lies a vulnerability she shares openly, reminding me of the power of authenticity. We've shared countless laughs over the silliest things, effortlessly strengthening our bond, and late-night study sessions have evolved into deep talks about everything from our ambitions to life’s biggest mysteries. Madison is a grounding force in my life, always encouraging me to step outside my comfort zone and pursue my passions. Watching her journey toward becoming an occupational therapist has been inspiring; her dedication to improving others' lives is a testament to her heart and determination.

Finally, there's Hillary—the unexpected gem who entered our lives through the most unlikely channel: a Facebook message. After months of searching for someone to fill that last room in our apartment, her message was a breath of relief. What started as a practical solution quickly blossomed into a friendship we now cherish deeply.

Hillary’s warmth and infectious laughter made it feel like she’d always belonged from the moment she moved in. She strikes this effortless balance: outgoing and bright in every room she enters, yet quietly attentive and supportive in moments that matter most. Her positive energy fills the apartment, and with every small gesture, and every thoughtful check-in, she makes each of us feel seen, loved, and appreciated. With Hillary, our apartment became more than just a shared space—it became a place where everyone was truly at home.

Living together has woven our lives together in ways that are hard to describe. As roommates, we’ve shared more than just a space; we’ve shared our day-to-day routines, late-night worries, small victories, and even unspoken moments that only happen when you spend so much time with someone. There’s a comfort in knowing someone so deeply that silence isn’t awkward—it’s peaceful. We've had our share of disagreements over dishes, laughed until we cried over the silliest things, and learned to respect each other’s quirks and boundaries. Being roommates has made our friendship stronger and more genuine, letting us see and love each other for exactly who we are, in all our chaos and calm. It’s a rare closeness that has defined my college experience and will always mean home to me.

These friendships, unique yet woven together by shared moments and mutual support, have shown me a new dimension of being a friend, an adult, and a woman. Taylor’s kindness, Madison’s authenticity, and Hillary’s warmth have each taught me to embrace my strengths and vulnerabilities. In them, I see different reflections of the friend and person I hope to become—compassionate, genuine, and steadfast.

When I think back to that little girl stepping into preschool, wide-eyed and eager, it’s clear how much has changed. Yet, the desire for connection, understanding, and a place to belong remains the same. These friendships have been pivotal to that journey, showing me how to grow into myself while learning from the incredible women around me.

Friendship evolves as you do. Interests change, passions deepen, and suddenly, the friends who once felt like home are thousands of miles away. One day, you're sitting on this couch, gearing up for sophomore year, and in what feels like an instant, you’re sitting on the same couch, clicking “confirm” on your graduation application. You’re not 19 anymore—you’re 21, looking for jobs, scouting apartments in new cities, preparing to make new connections.

Yet, no matter where life takes me, I know I’ll always come back to this feeling—right here, on this couch, in this town, with these friends. Nights that stretched till dawn, laughter that felt like the best medicine. As I grow into adulthood, into new friendships and the ever-evolving journey of womanhood, these memories will be my anchor—a reminder of the laughter, love, and lessons that have shaped who I am and who I’m becoming; I wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

Words That Shaped Me: My Favorite Reads

When I realized I have only a few blogs left in the semester, I knew I would have to write about my love for literature before too long. In my first blog this week for Gary Kayye's Branding of Me class, I navigate my journey with reading and do a short review on some of my favorite books.

I have spent the past several weeks blogging about the things I love—from football to music, sharing the parts of my personality that make me me. But as the semester quietly reached the halfway mark, I realized this blog wouldn’t be complete without one last love letter—to books.

When I was little, I would read the required books for school, but I never felt quite connected to them. Instead, I’d constantly check out my own favorites from the library, reluctant to trade them for what I thought were much less interesting reads. I was drawn to stories that made me feel something. At the time, that was Mary Pope Osborne’s Magic Tree House series, a series that took me to worlds beyond my own.

As I grew older, my relationship with books changed as I tried to find stories that resonated with me as a young adult. But when the pandemic hit in 2020, books became my lifeline. With a newfound need for hobbies and ways to fill long, quiet days, I wandered into Barnes & Noble with no book in mind, but I knew I wouldn’t walk out empty-handed.

Since that day, I’ve come to proudly call myself a reader, discovering books that have changed me in ways big and small. Here, I’m excited to share my most beloved books—the ones I’ve rated 5 stars and can’t stop thinking about.

Love and Other Words by Christina Lauren

I discovered Christina Lauren’s Love and Other Words through TikTok, where her books had already started captivating hearts across my feed. This was one of the first novels I picked up when I was getting back into reading, and it’s lingered with me ever since in ways I never anticipated. Lauren’s storytelling alternates seamlessly between Macy and Elliot’s childhood and adulthood, tracing how love can evolve over the years, and how experiences—both joyful and painful—layer themselves into relationships and deepen even the simplest connections. Reading their story felt like growing up with them, navigating life’s complexities, and learning the beauty of quiet, enduring love.

Macy and Elliot’s relationship is a gentle, grounding force in the book that feels comforting and familiar. There’s nothing flashy about their love; it’s built on shared quirks, an admiration for words and stories, and small, everyday moments that carry a surprising intimacy. Their bond grows in whispered conversations and shared books, in moments that feel like secrets only they understand. Lauren crafts the narrative with a delicate, slow build, hinting at the depth of their friendship in the past and gradually revealing the history that binds them. When the pieces come together, their story feels as inevitable as it is heartwarming.

This book wraps you in warmth like a hug on a winter’s day, showing how love can be breathtaking and deeply familiar. For anyone who cherishes the slow burn of romance and the comfort of stories that feel like home, Love and Other Words will be a favorite that stays with you.

Daisy Jones & The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Daisy Jones & The Six didn’t just rekindle my love for reading; it ignited a deep passion for writing, music, and Taylor Jenkins Reid’s incredible storytelling. Set against the gritty, electric backdrop of the 1960s rock scene, this novel unfolds in an interview-style format that pulls you into the lives of Daisy Jones and the band The Six as they navigate the exhilarating highs and devastating lows of fame, drugs, heartbreak, and self-discovery. Each character, from the enigmatic Daisy herself to the diverse and complex band, feels painfully real;  I forget they were mere figments of fiction sometimes.

The novel’s structure adds a unique dimension to the storytelling, making it feel like you’re eavesdropping on intimate conversations and confessions. You get a front-row seat to their struggles and triumphs, loves and losses, and the turbulent dynamics of their relationships. Reid’s writing is vivid and evocative, painting a picture of an era where the music was as much about the chaos of life as it was about the melodies. You can almost hear the chords of their songs resonating in your mind as you read.

If you’re a ‘watch first, read later’ person, the Amazon Prime adaptation of this book is fantastic, capturing the essence of the characters and the vibrant energy of the music scene. My mom even shared that the show helped her visualize the characters in a way that made their stories leap off the screen and feel alive. But for me, experiencing the book first made the journey unforgettable. Reid’s narrative is vulnerable and raw, diving unapologetically into the heart of rock and roll and reminding us that real art often emerges from the depths of pain and struggle. It’s a powerful exploration of creativity, relationships, and the relentless pursuit of authenticity. This is one you’ll want to add to the very top of your reading list.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

If Daisy Jones & The Six introduced me to Taylor Jenkins Reid’s talent, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo showcased its full depth. Everyone I’d talked to about this book was obsessed, so I approached it with high expectations. Somehow, it managed to exceed every one of them. This novel isn’t just a love story; it’s an intricate exploration of identity, resilience, and the complex woman behind a dazzling public image.

As I delved into the story, it took me a few chapters to get hooked, but once I was in, I was all in. The last 200 pages were everything I’d hoped for and more. With her calculating mind and unapologetic heart, Evelyn Hugo is a remarkable protagonist. She defies expectations at every turn, navigating through Hollywood’s unforgiving landscape with a blend of shrewdness and vulnerability. Through her seven marriages, we catch glimpses of the ‘real’ Evelyn—the one hidden beneath glamor and public scrutiny. Her story unfolds like a cinematic masterpiece, filled with heartbreak, ambition, and a relentless pursuit of her truth.

One moment near the end struck a profound chord with me, as it encapsulated the weight of her story and the heavy choices she had to make. It’s a testament to Reid’s masterful storytelling that I felt such a deep connection to Evelyn. She embodies power and the fragility of womanhood in a world that often seeks to diminish it.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo isn’t just a narrative about love and loss; it challenges societal norms and delves into the intricacies of what it means to be a woman in a patriarchal world. Celebrating resilience, self-discovery, and how women navigate their identities. This book is a stunning reminder that behind every public persona lies a complex and often untold story, waiting to be uncovered. It’s a must-read for anyone seeking a rich, multifaceted exploration of life and love, leaving you reflecting on the power of truth and the importance of owning one’s narrative.

Funny Story by Emily Henry

Switching up from Taylor Jenkins Reid, Funny Story by Emily Henry brings a fresh twist to my bookshelf. Henry has a rare gift for crafting characters who feel strikingly real, people you might meet at a coffee shop or pass on the street, with quirks and flaws that make them unforgettable. This book centers around Daphne and Miles, two delightfully unconventional characters who find themselves in an awkward, unexpected situation: after their respective partners leave them for each other, Daphne and Miles end up as roommates. What begins as a reluctant arrangement blossoms into a quirky, complex friendship with a laugh-out-loud funny and quietly touching chemistry.

Throughout the book, Daphne picks up the pieces of her life, discovering new layers of herself in a town she never anticipated living in and a home she didn’t expect to share with someone like Miles. Henry’s writing style brings a genuine authenticity to every page, pulling you into each character’s inner world with wit, warmth, and honesty. Daphne’s journey is humor in heartbreak, resilience in uncertainty, and hope in unexpected places. You feel her joys and setbacks as if they’re your own, and by the end, it’s impossible not to be moved.

If you’re a fan of romantic comedies, Funny Story—like all of Henry’s work—is an absolute treasure. It’s a beautifully layered story that proves laughter and love are often found in life’s messiest moments.

A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas

Here’s where I step out of my comfort zone: I’m not typically a fantasy reader, but A Court of Thorns and Roses series drew me in, especially with A Court of Mist and Fury. At first, I wasn’t entirely sold. Feyre, the protagonist, seemed like any other heroine in a fairy tale gone wrong. But by the second book, she emerges as a force all her own, and her journey is anything but predictable. I was engrossed in Maas’ world—where danger, romance, and magic collide on every page.

ACOMAF, as fans call it, expands Feyre’s world far beyond the initial love story. We see her struggling with trauma from the events in the first book, dealing with the weight of survival and the expectations placed upon her. She’s no longer just trying to stay alive; she’s learning to thrive, to take back control, and to protect those she loves in her way. Watching her come into her power as she learns about herself, her strengths, and the value of true partnership with those around her—especially with the complex and mysterious Rhysand—was immensely satisfying.

Maas doesn’t shy away from the darker, more painful sides of Feyre’s journey. She delves into what it means to confront your past and decide your future, no matter how broken you feel. While these books are lengthy, Maas keeps readers spellbound with fast-paced action, tender romantic moments, and a twisty plot that never lets up.

For anyone hesitant to dive into fantasy, this series is a revelation. It’s a story of love, redemption, and learning to rise from the ashes. A Court of Mist and Fury doesn’t just tell a tale of magic—it shows how one woman finds strength, heart, and fire within herself when everything else has burned away. This series is a transformative journey that I’m so glad I didn’t miss. I’m obsessed, I’m addicted, I could talk about these books for hours.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

Last, but never least, is The Book Thief. Surprisingly, this was a required read for class, but I’ve revisited it many times since, finding new layers of meaning with each pass. The story follows Liesel, a young German girl navigating the harsh realities of Nazi Germany, and is uniquely narrated from Death’s perspective. This choice adds a hauntingly beautiful layer to the narrative, allowing readers to explore the fragility of life and the resilience of the human spirit in the face of unimaginable horrors.

Zusak’s writing is nothing short of vivid; it dances between poetic and stark, painting rich images of a world steeped in darkness yet illuminated by small acts of kindness and love. Each character is unforgettable, from Liesel’s fierce loyalty to her foster parents, Hans and Rosa Hubermann, to the friendship she develops with Max, the Jewish man hiding in their basement. Through their lives, Zusak skillfully weaves themes of friendship, sacrifice, and the power of words, reminding us how stories can provide solace and hope even in the bleakest of times.

This book not only deepened my understanding of the Holocaust but also made me feel the warmth of friendship and family, illuminating how bonds can endure despite the chaos surrounding them. It’s powerful and emotional, with moments that tug at your heartstrings and linger long after the last page. Each time I read it, I discover new insights that resonate deeply, reinforcing its place as a timeless classic. If you’re ready for a book that changes you, that challenges your perceptions of humanity and compassion, this one is essential.

Through these five books, I hope I’ve given you a glimpse into the heart of my reading life: someone who loves a good romance thrives on heartfelt storytelling, and finds meaning in powerful narratives. Each story, in its way, holds a piece of me. If you’re curious to dive deeper, you can find my full reading list on Goodreads, where I explore all the stories that have brought me joy, comfort, and endless inspiration. Happy reading!

When Music Becomes Memories

Music leaves a lasting mark on us, shaping who we are and how we experience life. For my second blog post this week, I reflect on the loss of Liam Payne and the artists who defined my childhood, shaped my identity, and left me with memories that will last a lifetime.

Last Wednesday, I was sitting in my grandparents' home when I got a text from my friend that shattered me. “Liam Payne died,” it read. At first, I didn’t believe it. I had to Google it for myself, but before I could, another friend called, and my stomach dropped. It had to be true.

In an instant, I was transported back to 2011, to my cousin’s kitchen, where we spent countless afternoons watching YouTube videos. That was when we first stumbled upon What Makes You Beautiful. We played it over and over again, laughing and dancing. I had decided then that I was in love, not just with a band but with the entire experience of being a fan.

But if I’m going to talk about my love for musicians, it starts earlier—before One Direction, before Justin Bieber. It starts with Taylor Swift.

I was three when Taylor’s first album came out, but my older sisters had made her a staple in our home. I’d follow them around, singing along to “Our Song” and trying to keep up with their makeshift karaoke performances. When Speak Now came out, I was convinced I could sing just like her, choreographing dances in our dining room as if I were performing on stage. That was my first taste of truly loving an artist—of feeling connected to someone through their music.

As much as I loved Taylor, my heart soon shifted elsewhere—to Justin Bieber. My obsession with him was unmatched. I remember crying when my oldest sister got to see him on tour, then crying again when my other sister saw him on his Believe Tour. I would’ve given anything to be there. My room was a shrine to him: posters covering every wall, his albums memorized, and his face on everything from pillows to my iPod screen. In 2015, I finally saw him in concert, and at the time, it was the best night of my life.

But my fangirl journey reached its peak with One Direction. If you thought my Justin Bieber obsession was extreme, this was on another level. My mom’s car was filled with their CDs, and I played them constantly. I had bedsheets with their faces, bracelets, posters—anything I could get my hands on. My 10th birthday was spent at their concert in Charlotte, all five boys still together. The blurry iPod videos I have from that night might be my most prized possession.

I remember the heartbreak when Zayn left the band and the day they announced their “break.” It felt like mourning a loss. Their music had been the soundtrack to my childhood, and suddenly, that chapter was closing.

When One Direction’s 10th anniversary came around in 2020, I stayed up late, listening to their music and watching their documentary, reliving those moments one last time. Even now, when my friends and I sing along to old songs, it feels like we’re reconnecting with a part of ourselves we thought was gone.

In many ways, that’s what being a fangirl has always been for me: a way to hold on to the little girl I used to be, the one who believed so wholeheartedly in these artists and the joy they brought into her life. Today, I’ve been lucky enough to see Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour twice, singing along to my favorite songs from when I was five and the ones I love now. There’s something magical about growing older, but still carrying pieces of your childhood.

But being a fangirl isn’t always easy. People love to criticize the things you’re passionate about, to roll their eyes at the music you love or the posters you hang. Yet, there’s nothing more empowering than holding on to those memories and knowing they’ll always be a part of who you are.

I always imagined that when a member of One Direction passed away, I would be old, maybe with children of my own, and I would tell them all the stories of my childhood. I thought I would have the comfort of knowing that these artists had lived long, fulfilling lives.

But that’s not the case with Liam Payne.

This past week, I’ve struggled with the reality of his loss. It sounds silly, but Liam was a part of my life. I spent countless hours listening to his voice, following his updates, and watching him perform from afar. He wasn’t just an artist; he was a constant during some of my most formative years.

Liam was the outspoken, charismatic one—the heart of the band in so many ways. You could feel his warmth and love even from the nosebleeds at PNC Music Pavillion. Losing him feels like losing a piece of my history, a part of my childhood that I wasn’t ready to let go of yet.

Liam’s death has reminded me of life’s fragility, of how we often take for granted the people and the moments that shape us. It feels like a punch to the gut, knowing that the voices and faces who carried me through so many phases of my life are not invincible. But, I’ve also found a renewed sense of gratitude in this loss.

Gratitude for the artists who were there when I needed them most. For the concerts that felt like the best nights of my life, the songs I played on repeat, and the memories that will last a lifetime. I’m thankful these musicians helped me grow, gave me confidence, and made me feel understood when nothing else did. Every note, every lyric, and every moment spent at those concerts has been woven into the fabric of who I am today.

The magic of music is that it never really leaves you. I’ll always carry those memories—the car rides filled with One Direction songs, the iPod videos from my first concert, and the friendships forged over a shared love for the artists who shaped us. Liam’s voice, and all the others who have been a part of my journey, will live on in the soundtrack of my life, echoing through every phase and every change.

No matter where life takes me, music will continue to be my constant, just as it always has been.

A Vote for Every Version of Me

Today, I cast my first presidential ballot, and it was a moment that’s been years in the making. In this week's blog for Gary Kayye's Branding of Me class, I challenge you to make your voice heard. Research, vote, and take part in shaping the future.

I was five years old when President Obama was elected, and I remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday. I remember what I wore to school, what I ate for dinner, and how my parents let me stay up late to see the election results. Our living room looked different back then, but the memory is vivid.

In typical five-year-old fashion, I was upset that I couldn’t vote. My kindergarten class held its election—mostly based on the fun of red vs. blue and elephants vs. donkeys—but that wasn’t enough for me. I knew my parents were heading to the local church to cast their ballots, and I felt ready to decide. After all, I had just learned which colors each candidate represented!

By 4th grade, I had another taste of political involvement. President Obama was running for re-election, and we held another mock election in class. Being the vocal kid I was, I stood in front of the room to tell my classmates how important it was to use our voices—at least in our classroom vote. My parents laughed when I told them later, but I was completely serious. Once again, I wished I could cast a real vote.

In 8th grade, I believed I finally understood what politics meant and how it affected daily life. Looking back, I still had so much to learn, but my history teacher made it all seem clear. He taught us that being a good citizen means understanding candidates' positions and voting. We watched CNN 10 every day, and during an election year, Carl Azuz seemed to talk about nothing but the first Tuesday in November. I cast my ballot in the class election, frustrated once again that I couldn’t go to the polls.

By my senior year of high school, the landscape had changed. COVID-19 meant no in-person classes, and, thankfully, no class election. But I was more politically aware than ever, thanks to the news I was consuming and the classes I was taking. I was just six months shy of being able to vote, and if you thought 8th-grade me was frustrated, you should have seen me then.

I stayed up late watching election results, in our state and across the country. I was a bored yet passionate teenager, deeply invested in the outcome of each race.

Today, I’ve finally cast my first vote in a presidential election. As I left the polling location with my "I Voted" sticker in hand, I couldn’t help but think back on all those phases of my life—the five-year-old who pitched a fit, the politically vocal 4th grader, the history-loving 8th grader glued to CNN 10, and the high school senior frustrated by being just a few months too young. Each of those phases led me here.

Voting isn’t just for me today. It’s for every version of me that wanted so badly to make my voice heard. It’s for all the women who fought relentlessly for the right to vote, and because of them, I can stand here today and cast my ballot with pride and purpose.

This vote carries the weight of those who came before me, shaping the future of those who will come after. I’ve carefully researched each candidate, thinking about the impact their leadership will have on my community, my state, and my country. This moment matters.

Now, I challenge you: if you’re on the fence about voting, I hear you. Democracy can be messy and frustrating—but that’s why it’s so important. Voting is how we hold our leaders accountable and demand better. It’s our chance to shape the world we want to live in, and that’s worth every bit of effort.

So, do what you can. Go cast your ballot.

If you still need to register to vote, visit vote.gov.

To find your polling place, head to vote.org.

For early voting or Election Day info, check out vote.org's early voting calendar.

To preview your ballot, visit vote.org's ballot information tool.

Need a reminder to vote? Sign up here.

And if you’re like that little five-year-old who stayed up late to watch the election results, pledge to register, so you’re ready to vote as soon as you turn 18.

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for letting me stay up late all those years ago. You created a core memory for me—one that makes voting something I’ll always look forward to.