As is so often the case, the proof is in the details, which reveal her wide-ranging knowledge.
Having discarded my African journey as a viable essay topic, I was persuaded by a small but disproportionately influential constituency to narrate the convoluted soap opera, melodrama also called my life.
Because I am a relatively private person, I have disclosed my story to only a few travelers I have encountered along my way. As a child, I could emerge from a household teeming with turmoil and tension and saunter into my first period class with a ribbon in my hair and a gentle smile sketched across my face.
From their perspectives, my subject was strategically chosen when I submitted my down payment for my community service trip to Africa last spring break.
Despite the indelible mark my Malawian excursion left upon my perceptions, I have an intrinsic, unexplainable aversion to turning that experience into a Hallmark postcard.