Dating at BYU, Where's Waldo?

Silly thoughts from my Sophomore year:

"There are many fish in the sea all of a sudden equated to me, that the number of really good looking, available, and morally-compassed guys at the Y is like numberless concourses of angels. My problem is seeing that polar bear in the snow storm, or Waldo in the see of red and white-striped shirt-wearing crowd. So what if someone else matches the description of what you are looking, but isn't it? Wouldn't it be cool if you could put on 4D glasses and the one you are looking for popped out of the crowd? I suppose that would be demeaning to love and all that it is, and what we never fully understand. Technology and magic may be the appealing way to solve the problem, but if all problems had simple solutions... if it wasn't a challenge, would we try? Sort of like the dating philosophy of playing hard to get. Because the game is hard to play, we want to play it and move from dating frustration into level 2 - marriage. If, as I was tempted to wish, God did just point out my significant other, I might kind of resent the options. Love has to grow, and growing takes time and patience, and care in figuring out what seeds grow where, and weeding out the bad plants that get in the way. Catch a fish, throw it back. Catch another fish, and throw it back too. Just keep swimming. I suppose now I'm looking for a half polar bear, half fish, wearing a red and white striped shirt, and playing a harp on a cloud."

And to explain (as if one is needed, right?), check out the last item on the To Do List of the BYU Bookstore ad:

The thoughts that go through your head before you commit murder

Today my dad came home from work and excitedly handed me a large, clear, plastic container with air holes in the top. Inside was the prize of my insect collection. I was amazed at this critter's size, with a wingspan equal to the distance from my thumb-tip to pinky-tip as I gestured to him, “Hang loose!” Immediately upon seeing him I began vacillating about my initial intent to freeze him in all his beauty forever.

At my mother's suggestion, I decided to check whether he was endangered or not before making my decision. I Googled large moths until we came across the portraits of his family members. He is commonly known as a Black Witch moth, or by the superstitious of Hispanic descent, “Mariposa de la Muerte” aka the butterfly of death. I also learned that he was not an endangered species. So I was clear right? There were plenty more of them in the world. And it's not like murdering moths was new to me. I'd killed hundreds of bugs already for my entomology class last fall. Maybe I was losing my bug hunting touch, but then again, I froze a grasshopper just yesterday. So why couldn't I kill this one?

Well, he had soulful eyes, which upon gazing into I could not extinguish without feeling I was being disrespectful. And he was deserving of my respect.

His size (7 inches- large for even his kind) and his scars (large pieces of his hind wings were evidently missing) showed that he was superior not just in beauty within the insect world, but in prowess. His stillness within his plastic cage witnessed of his weariness. I felt his fear.

My greed could hardly compete with my guilt this time.

I wanted him, I really did.

Then I set him free.