Picture this: I get home Wednesday, April 19 around 2 p.m., my friends awaiting me on the couch. Their ominous presence concerns me. “Did someone die?” I ask jokingly, their scowls unmoving. Nervous, I await their reply, but truly nothing could have prepared me for what they were about to say. 

About a month prior, I had begun to prepare for what I had previously thought was the Coachella I would never go to — my mind quickly changed after careful consideration: that mixed with my friends expressing how much of a f—— idiot I’d be if I didn’t go and how stupid I looked by even considering not going. As part of these preparations, my friends and I took a vow of no social media the week following our Weekend Two Coachella excursion. The main reason: we wanted absolutely no information on Frank Ocean’s set. We wanted it to be a surprise! Oh, how naive we were.

Flash forward to that Wednesday, and I am standing in front of my friends. The same friends who have just told me that Frank Ocean has dropped out of Coachella. Devastated? For sure. Surprised? Well, I had my suspicions. I had a sense something had to go wrong. Seeing Frank Ocean perform live almost seemed too good to be true. I guess it was.

After that grave loss, my friends and I resumed our doom scrolling. I confided my sorrows to my mom (who had, and still has, no idea who Mr. Ocean is). And once we finished cleaning up our pity party, we excitedly talked about the good time we were still bound to have. I’d say my friends and I made it through the grief alright. And if anything, it was a blessing in disguise. 

The outfits were planned, the snacks were bought, and the liquid IV was flowing! Before I knew it, it was 4/20, and after spending the day *REDACTED*, I found myself drifting off to sleep, anxiously anticipating the weekend. 

My actual Coachella days consisted of dancing, trying extremely hard to pay less than $30 a day for food, pushing through the hoards of people, careful to not run over the actual children in attendance (I do find it hard to believe that any 4 year old likes Blink-182), and inhaling so much second hand smoke that Frank Ocean could have performed, and I wouldn’t have remembered. I’d say more, but everything you see, hear, and picture about Coachella is mostly true. I won’t bore you with the details, there’s already 500 vlogs already about it anyways. 

Sure, I was dirty the whole time. Sure, my feet were extremely sore. Sure, my lungs are now coated in dust. But, nothing could have stopped me from enjoying myself. A three-day vacation filled with nonstop music and dancing? Sign. Me. Up.

I really attribute my good time to my attitude. It’s difficult to have a hard time when you’re constantly grooving to the beats that you hear in passing, or giddily watching some of the best performers ever, even if you don’t know their music.

The best example of this? My boy, Will —  probably my favorite dancer on this planet. Not only are his moves sick, they make me laugh so hard. His dancing creativity and confidence is intoxicating too. I can’t help but let my inhibitions go and let loose just as hard as him. It’d be weird if I didn’t. So thanks Will for all your incredible dance moves, they made my Coachella that much sweeter. (Will pictured above).

So all in all, I had the best time. But without the help of my friends, the once-upon-a-time performance of the century, and sheer anticipation, I might have opted to stay home. At the end of the day, I went in with no expectations, and my only goal was to have fun. I think it was exactly that thought process that made Coachella exactly what I wanted it to be. A whole lotta fun.

So thanks Coachella for a wonderful time. I send you all my love. See you guys at Sun God.

Photo taken by Bradley Beggs of the UCSD Guardian