"Where have you been the happiest?" he asked me not too long ago. "UCLA," I said without hesitation. He nodded with a knowing smile, it's where we met and fell in love.

He told me that we were taking "a drive," and answered, "It's a surprise" every time I asked him where we were going. Seeing the Wilshire Blvd exit on the 405, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. UCLA and the surrounding Westwood Village holds for me some of the most wonderful memories, full of energetic youth and perfect contentment.

We walked around, hand in hand, laughing in between saying to each other, "remember when?"

Remember where we first met. I was sitting in the living room of my dorm transcribing a political science lecture from my recorder, him in a green sweatshirt arriving at the door, ready to help my very-sick-with-the-flu friend Susie with her English paper. "Have you guys met?" Susie asked cheerfully despite her sickness, "Jean, Chris. Chris, Jean."

Remember BJ's Pizzeria, where many of us gathered for my 20th birthday and where he surprised me with a pair of over-sized bright yellow funny sun glasses ("because you always loose your sun glasses"), a rubber ducky ("because you never had one when you were a kid, you were deprived!"), and a song that he wrote for me in commemoration of me not being a "teeny-bopper" anymore. ("Sweet Jean it's your birthday today, no more bop bop, teeny bopping around...")

Remember Westwood village, where we went after he looked at me anxiously one day and said, "let's go, now!" before our friends were about to invite themselves to come along. We walked around the village all night long, talking. That night we went home to a couple of very angry and very ditched, friends.

Remember Kerckhoff hall, where I used to doze off with another theory book on my lap, and waking up sleepily telling him that I was craving Didi Reese cookies at 11:50pm. He closed his book, "well, let's go!" he said, grabbing my hand as we dashed across campus and into town, trying to make it to the cookie shop before they closed at midnight.

Remember "cheap sub," the sandwich hut in town perfect for the college budget, we waited in line for a late night study fuel and sneakily, he held my hand for the first time.

Remember the old Bruins theater, where we had our first date, and Mr. Noodles across the street were we had numerous lunches and dinners and camped out to watch movies premier across the street.

Strolling through campus we came to the main attraction, Powell library to our right, Royce Hall to the left, a beautiful fountain in front of us overlooking Jans steps, and the perfect cloudless California weather above us. And there in the heart of it all, he knelt down and proposed.

"We are remembering memories and making new memories!" He beamed.

In the midst of enjoying lavender seared duck breasts over duck confit soaked in a port reduction and a glass of delicious Tantara Pinot, my finger glimmered in the dim candlelight. The ring greedily caught all the light the candle had to offer and generously released an array of blue, pink, and purple shimmers, shining with the promise of the best that is yet to come.