I ate a peach. Over the sink. While the juice dripped down my chin and finally drops of it hit the metal. And for that moment very few things seemed to matter. Not my grades, or my NHS admittance chances, not where I was going to be in 20 years. The only thing that mattered for that brief moment was the peach flesh—gold and juicy. Its fruity fluids getting my hands all sticky. And that’s when I realized that everything in this world goes down. Just like the juice, like the sun-colored flesh dropping into my stomach, like the fuzzy peach pit hitting the trash can bottom—we all fall. So the real question that should be asked more often is not, ‘are you okay’ but ‘are you okay with falling?’ Which leads me to conjure images of the absolutely perfect student—stiff and serious, always sitting up straight at her desk. And I sincerely wish that one of these days I could hear her laugh. And not that polite, subdued, fake and forced laugh. But some real, uncontrollable, totally inappropriate sobs of laughter. The kind that come across while sweet peach nectar dribbles down your skin. Because the key to enjoying the downward fall of life, is to be able to laugh at your own clumsiness.