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Hanna Roberts
註釋A collection of Hanna, much like a smack of jellyfish or a parliament of owls, is a singular noun that describes many parts. Thousands of tiny details consolidated into one being. The word collection, so carefully deliberated, is reminiscent of art, glorious masterpieces like a rare Vermeer accumulated and exhibited with tender care and beaming pride from the collector. I am this collection, I am this collector, I am this Hanna. I am this Hanna who so loved the idea of an assignment fashioned by me, with loose guidelines and broad prompts so as to foster a creation of the self. I am this Hanna who is so thankful for a teacher who doesn't just work to fill a box in her grade book, but to help us grow and develop a voice to speak to us throughout our lives. The sixteen different instances for me to learn about myself and express it through the immaculate artistry of carefully selected words was quite the tempting romanticism. Sadly, late Tuesday nights diminished many of those words into a thirty-minute rush while attempting to compose a design adequate enough to appear creative to finish for the deadline and to maybe go to bed before midnight. These rushed assignments, however, are quite accurate reflections of the times they were written in; a blur of my last two years of high school. They have been stuffed with four-page essays and AP Chem gibberish, laughing friends with salty winds blowing our hair in our faces and dead pointe shoes, an overabundance of Netflix leaving behind a golden light to peeking through the windows of memory, cast like the first pink-yellow ray of the sun filtering through tempered green glass on the morning of Spring Forward, and glitter stuck in my hair from our last victory cry. High school has been a crazy, wonderful ride and I cannot wait to make millions more memories in the years to come.