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And shouldn’t a fairy tale end with a Ball?

May Ball (at Clare Hall, Cambridge)

There was a snake charmer. And a silent disco. And “Surviror’s photos” of those of us who managed to be still standing at 4am.*

And – not pictured – a belly dancer, bollywood dancers, traditional Indian dancers, a play, shisha, gambling tables, masseuses, mehndi artists, an acapella group, a jazz quartet, and two djs. And a crepe stall at two in the morning because, after all, it’s not a party until there’s pancakes.

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daily life personal essay

The town on top of the hill. (In the flattest party of the country.)

The snow has finally melted.

I hated the snow. I was complaining about it constantly for the last two weeks, moaning and making every possible excuse to stay indoors. But now that it’s melted, I already miss it. I should have gotten a photograph. It was beautiful.

Not that Cambridge isn’t always beautiful.

My close-lipped brother – who speaks half a dozen languages but never uses more than half a dozen words to describe an experience (no matter how marvelous or harrowing), who says “fine” and can mean anything by it from horrendous to incredible, from whom getting a story is like pulling teeth, who has lived in Paris for nearly two years now but can’t be compelled to say anything more than that it’s “very French”, who studies at the Sorbonne itself and who himself is no stranger to some ornate facades carved from stone  – he said that Cambridge was a fairy-tale land.

He said that there I was in Cambridge living a fairy-tale life in a fairy-tale land. Actually, I’m sure he must have said academic. He said academic fairy-tale.

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daily life

I graduated!

This would be everyone. At my graduation!

This is what it looks like when (almost all of) your entire family comes to your graduation. From halfway across the world. (Because they’re just that amazing.)
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