this URL may or may not age very poorly (maxwell's blog)

    Unlike the real ones, this bee spans nearly 3 feet in length, cannot fly (or move), and is entirely stuffed with cotton. With large deadpan eyes and an uncannily humanoid smile on its round, flat face, this animal is a beloved artifact from my semester in China, and a priceless symbol of my experience there.          When my school held an English spelling competition midway through the semester, I, as one of the only native English speakers, had an overwhelming advantage. But despite being pre-disposed to win, I was too disillusioned with the school to care about anything they did. I only really took part because it would've been inconvenient to drop the competition.     But in the final showdown, when I saw the bee on the auditorium's stand, offered up as a material reward for all my minimal efforts, that cynicism was side-lined by an unswerving compulsion to win     After securing the bee, I carried it around school for a wee...

      Happy memories. Dozens, hundreds of them, some from mere days or weeks ago, some from years past. Aren't they so nice and rosy? Especially compared to how sucky life feels right now?     When those memories pop into my brain, usually the first thing I do is crack a smile as I relive and replay them, the events of years ago bringing me joy as they did back then. And then the smile breaks, dissolved by a caustic sadness that rips me back to the present. Because nostalgia isn't just happiness, but envy too, directed at my past self, so reprehensibly capable of joy that handily outshines my present self's capabilities. I envy that mental hologram of a person, living blissfully in the past. Sometimes, I wish I could become him again.      What if I actually could, though?     The most recent memory which fit the bill of "constantly wishing I were back there" came from my semester in China, spending time with a friend who I'd met in mode...