Art History and Curating was far more grueling than I had imagined.
There was nothing romantic about it. There were only endless literature reviews, artwork analysis, and exhibition planning.
But I loved it. I loved it madly and desperately.
I loved running my fingers along the edges of century-old catalogs. I loved finding the perfect angle of light for a piece in a dim gallery.
In those quiet moments, I could feel a steady, deep power.
It was not a power I needed to look up to. It was not a power I needed to chase. It was in my hands. It was mine to control.
During my first semester, I practically lived in the library and the museums. When finals came, my curatorial proposal ranked first in the entire department.
I took a photo of the grade report and set it to private, visible on
