who were generally in happier mood either recovered from their illnesses faster or rarely fell ill. After some research, Dr. Kataria decided to try it out for himself so he gathered a group of friends and headed to a parc in Mumbai where they would laugh at jokes.After a few days, they ran out of jokes and wanting to continue on with this practice, so Dr. Kataria did more research and discovered that the body cannot tell the difference from a real laugh and a fake one, and that you reap the same benefits from both. Interesting, I thought. The video concluded with endless laughter and love beaming from it. Considering my laughoholic nature, I figured this would be a great experience and given my thoughts on my thesis subject, it just seemed like the universe was showing me the next step. 

   I had asked my parents permission to attend this retreat, and to be honest, I had just started working and the retreat had a heavy price tag but I knew very well that the value of the personal gain was incomparable. So I asked, and they were hesitant. In fact, they hadn't approved. 
  So, with deep regret, I informed Salimah that I was not able to attend the retreat and she replied with, "I had to fight for what I wanted and couldn't accept 'no' for an answer from anyone".

I woke up bright and early this morning to the bright rays of morning sunshine peeking through my window. I woke up, stunned, and in panic thinking it was late in the morning and how awful it was that no one had woken my up for my first day back at Marianopolis for summer school. I anxiously grabbed my phone from my nightstand and saw that it was barely 6:30 AM. "Thank the Lord Jesus and Krishna", I thought, as I lay my head back on my pillow and lay there in bed allowing my breath to return to its normal pace and staring out my crocheted curtains at the bright blue sky with intermittent clouds. "It's going to be a beautiful day", I thought. I lay there quietly for a few more minutes until I heard my door open and my father's head peak out the small slit. We briefly discussed my mode of transportation to school that morning and he closed the door and proceeded to carry on with his morning routine. I finally rose out of bed at 7AM, played obstacle course to my way to the door through the two full luggages and array of randomnities lying on my bedroom floor and proceeded to brush my teeth. 

I was excited. 

After numerous outfit attempts, I finally settled for a casual 3/4 sleeve khaki dress with a tall collar and a slim brown waist belt. I was going for something sophisticated yet casual. I grabbed a binder with a new pad of loose leaves, a couple stationary items I had not seen since my finals at U of T, and filled up my bag with the food my mother had prepared for me for the day which included freshly cut mangoes, shrimp noodles from supper, a roti bun from our restaurant, as well as a banana and a Nutrifresh bar that would undoubtedly get squashed in my bag and would inevitably end up in the trash. I grabbed the keys of my father's new Intrepid, probably the 8th or 9th car in the last decade of my father's, as well as my bagel with cream cheese and headed out the door. The warm breeze that met me as I walked out and the sunshine's bright rays seemed almost as if it was smiling back at me. It was a wonderful morning indeed.

I proceeded to start my ride for the day, adjusted the mirrors, seating, radio station, and steering wheel and took off for my first stop of the day: Marianopolis College. The ride was pleasant. I listened to a few radio stations with the generic top 40 playlist and some whacky news they like to throw in for "entertainment". I finally took the Saint-Jean exit for my school and wandered for a solid 20 minutes before finding parking a couple blocks down. I didn't really mind it as the weather was gorgeous and anyone would be a fool for not taking full advantage. As I finally made it up the hill to the entrance of Marianopolis, I realized that I had not recognized a single face. I won't deny that it was definitely uncomfortable at first. I vaguely remembered seeing D209 as my classroom and proceeded to the left as I entered the building. I still remembered that the whole school was connected through the 2nd floor so I knew I would eventually end up passing D209. Luckily, it was much closer than I thought and the small rooms took me by surprise. I had spent countless hours in numerous classes in these small classrooms and it is only after returning after a whole year in university that I realized how quaint and intimate the classrooms really were, especially at Marianopolis. I briefly looked around, didn't recognize anyone and proceeded to sit in the 2nd row. I sat there and recognized a few faces but always turned down to my phone to avoid eye contact. To be honest, I was a little embarrassed. And then, a few minutes later, Waishnavi, a family friend, walks in with a puzzled look on her face. I was shocked. I fibbed and told her I was taking this class because I dropped it in my last semester. I wasn't sure how to say that I had outrightly failed the course so I figured a little fib wouldn't hurt. 

In the entirety of my Marianopolis career, never had I ever taken a course with Porfessor Vukov. He was of average height and had a mix of black and white short curly hair, and an accent of which origin I could not fathom. He walked in and started his lecture with a warm, friendly tone.