Icebreaking

Time to introduce myself to the online black hole where no one will read my posts, ever. Or maybe it will reach an alien in the nether space, where it will be poked and prodded for any sort of meaning.

Enough of that.

My name is Karen Lin, a Music and Comparative Literature major at UC Berkeley. This is my third year, and though I have no idea what I’ll be doing with my life, I’m currently aiming to take these three paths: journalism/writing, music performance/composition, or web development (this one’s the long shot).

I had a hard time thinking of a title for this blog that would define the essence of me. My first idea was “Little Green Notebook.” I write my deepest, darkest thoughts in a small green notebook and hide it in a drawer where nobody will see it. Usually I reserve the online world for information about me that people can never use to hurt or embarrass me. This blog intends to destroy that reservation, post by post.

As you can see, I didn’t use “Little Green Notebook.” Someone already took that URL, proving how unoriginal my title was. Fair enough.

So why “Oops, I’m a rabbit?” I was working on a Computer Science assignment the other day where we experimented with a webpage that consisted of morphs, trying to come up with a “self-portrait” that was good enough to send in to the instructors.

Clearly, I am not an artist. Then again, the functions were pretty limited.

I’ve had many people describe me as a rabbit, even though I’m mainly obsessed with dogs (No, I’ve never had one). Perhaps it’s my mannerisms or diminutive stature that earned me the title. In any case, I’ve embraced my identity as the bunny and sign my name with a tiny bunny drawing at the tail of the “n” in “Lin.”

I also find it hilarious that I might wake up one day and accidentally find that I’m a rabbit. But this scenario, where I suddenly discover that I am not who I was before, heartbreakingly echoes a similar truth: I might one day wake up and find myself with another wrinkle or gray hair. You get out of bed and find that your priorities and passions have changed. You check your watch to discover that you have less time you thought you had to live the life you want.

My motto is to be ready to die happily at any moment. If a natural disaster were to end your life within the next year, decade, century, you should be able to die knowing that you fulfilled your heart’s desire by living well, laughing well, and loving well.

Hope that wasn’t too morbid. I wish you heaps of happiness and acres of green grass inhabited by frolicking bunnies.

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