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On New Year’s Eve I got all dressed up and went out for dinner and a dance with some friends at a nearby Jamaican club. My friends and I were the youngest people there and I attracted some attention in the strapless dress I was wearing, one that hugged my curves as I danced to the sweet reggae music the DJ was playing. It was a good night though, we danced and ate good food and counted down in that special New Year’s spirit where everyone forgets that they are strangers and truly wishes the person next to them happiness.

We left tired and happy, but unfortunately without my passport. I went back to the club to get it a few evenings later and the atmosphere was decidedly different.

Well, I somehow survived two weeks of pure misery. I knew I didn't like it from the first, but it got really bad on day five. I spent the next nine days demanding to go home immediately. My mom decided to be useless, as usual. She called, but made me stay for the whole time.

I won't go into why it was so miserable, because it was a very depressing time for me. I suffered through it, and I cried. I don't know why. I'm disgusted that I cried, and if nothing else did, that made me suicidal. Even seven days after, I still feel like a filthy emo.

But there is something I wanted to say. Apparently, three years ago, they wanted to turn it into eight one week co-ed sessions. Why didn't they? Because a whole bunch of people sent in letters telling them not to. Why?