Is it really that hard to spare a little something for someone on the street?

My sister told me once when she was driving home from work, she had a box of free donuts next to her (she and I, like many shameless others, are greedy suckers for free food). There's this one homeless man she'd recognized on the streets pretty regularly on her commute from city to suburb, and this time, with that box of donuts next to her that she unarguably did not need, she'd determined to give it to him.

But when time came for her to roll down the window and give that box of food to him, she didn't do it. As soon as she passed him, hands glued to the steering wheel in front of him, she broke down, and that's how my mom received her on the phone minutes later–in tears and practically unintelligible. (She was actually genuinely freaked out hearing my sister in such a distraught state, thinking some sort of disaster had occurred.)

When I first heard the story and then relayed it to my best friend, I received and retold it with amusement and a few chortles here and there. And my best friend agreed, yes, it was actually quite funny in retrospect, especially if you personally know my uptight older sister (and the fact that she was on her period at the time). But then, she said, with wrinkled brow and concerned visage, that my sister had had good reason to cry.

It was sad.

And after that, I started noticing. A couple of my friends in college would stop a car full of people to provide the bus fare a ragged old woman was requesting at an intersection, or fish some granola bars out of a backpack to give to a young man begging for food. Once I noticed the man in front of me stop to wave over an injured man with a sign, standing in the rain, to give him an unopened bottle of water.

The majority of people do not fall into that sparse category of three or four individuals who would open their windows to give away something of their own to a complete stranger who may or may not actually be in need. And I think many people are scared to give and scared to roll down the window to someone who isn't immaculate and presentable and "normal." I can't say I'm not one of those people, because I am. I've had a pack of M&Ms or a box of leftover (and absolutely delicious) truffle fries on me before, innocuously sitting in the passenger seat, but I never even made a move to press the button and reach out to a stranger. It's such a simple gesture. Press a button, reach out a couple feet, make barely any contact to someone on the street, hear a "thank you" or "bless you."

Why is it so hard?

My dad, like my sister, is uptight and operates primarily out of caution. He doesn't like to take flyers from people on the street, he tries not to make eye contact with strangers; he frequently interrupts a seemingly just fine moment with "WAIT. Careful, careful–". (My poor dad is often the butt of family jokes precisely because of his extremely cautious nature.)

I grew up with that very American mindset that people who are homeless have reasons behind it.
Like perhaps they didn't work hard, or they chose that lifestyle (sounds crazy, but I've actually heard of people who do prefer living without a home), etc. etc. But life isn't black and white like that. Sometimes misfortune befalls someone all at once, and Murphy's law just strikes without mercy. It might be a veteran stripped of his/her government promises post-war, and cumbered by multiple injuries; or maybe it's just a victim of a seemingly spazzing economy.

But here's the thing. I decided yesterday, it doesn't matter if these people begging–for lack of a better word–for just about anything someone could spare to give them deserve that generosity, if you could even call it generosity (because what's so generous about giving away leftovers, right?). I don't think it matters if that person on the street is actually homeless or not, is someone who was struck by misfortune or caused it himself/herself. How is anyone ever going to know or truly judge if someone "deserves" a fellow human being's kindness? Probably never.

In the end, I believe it's your own willingness to break the seal, the stigma, and reach out for that very first time, that actually has a place in the debate of what "matters" and what doesn't in the grand scheme of things.

Chances are, if you do it once, you'll do it again, and again, and then, at some point, you will end up giving something to someone who does indeed deserve a little bit of kindness anyway.

Each time I made no move to help out someone emitting a specific and obvious plea for help, I was left thinking about those 20 seconds of pointless internal debate for hours after. (By the way–this is the grand result of those cumulative hours of pensive thought and self-beating-up.) I've resolved, next time I'm in the car with some presentable food, snack, and/or drink with me, I will give it to someone who seems to need it more than me. I will make eye contact (NO you wouldn't dare, my dad would say), roll down the window, and reach out to hand over something that's mine to someone I'd possibly never ever interacted with before in my life. I'll probably feel so much better after. It'll probably make my day, and chances are, it'll make that stranger's day too.

The College Life

I was pondering what to title this entry, since every inane idea that came to mind was... well, inane.

Anyway, as my freshman year in college has officially concluded, I've decided to try and sum it up, this time not with my quotes, but with others'. Mostly others'. Actually I haven't decided yet if I'm going to do another journal-entry-snippet post... It's quite likely I'll be too lazy to do so.

Here we go. Brace yourselves. Because this is what life at Rice is like, apparently. My life? (Special thanks to my friends for unwittingly providing quality comedy material.)

"I've gone to Starbucks four times these past four days." -Bailey

"I had a dream that ______ was my boyfriend and he lost a scuba diving slipper, so I was looking for him the whole time to return it to him, but then I had all these cacti and I couldn't fit them in my suitcase!" -Linda

"I'm already drunk." -Unintentionally dumb friend at 9 p.m.

"We need to find you more girl friends." -Austin

"If your life were a montage, it'd just be you eating a burger in slow motion." -Andrew

"Remember when we used to get lost coming back from Duncan?" -Linda again

"I was 45 minutes late to my exam." -Me :(

BONUS ROUND

Guess the speaker!

Name bank: 

Shaian

Andrew

Austin

Bailey

Meera

Akeem

Carolina

Linda

Tirso

(Can be used more than once)

1. How are your ovaries?
2. I woke up in a puddle of drool. 
3. You should come eat with me otherwise I'm just going to eat dinner in my room. 
4. Why are you always so hungry? You are a small person with a big appetite. 
5. We're gonna get destroyed tonight. 
6. Hey did you sleep last night? Oh... me neither... 
7. It's only a mile... Eh, let's take an Uber there.
8. I haven't been to my morning classes in two weeks!
9. Where's the easy mac?? Can we bring down like 6 of them?
10. Oh whoa you have friends! No no, I'm surprised and impressed only because I don't have any, you see.
11. I gotta say, it feels good to have finally made it. 
12. Are we playing Neopets tonight? 
13. Hey, could you get me some dinner? Yeah, just bread and peanut butter.
14. FREE FOOD!!!
15. Sperm is so basic.
16. Can I use your toaster oven?
17. So we found this Smashburger outside in the lobby and I kind of want to eat it... can I use your toaster oven?
18. We're such pieces of shit. 

Answers:

1. Shaian   2. Linda   3. Meera   4. Austin   5. Shaian/Tirso   6. Akeem   7. Linda   8. Shaian   9. Andrew   10. Meera   11. Tirso   12. Carolina   13. Bailey   14. Bailey   15. Linda   16. Andrew   17. Shaian (and Andrew)   18. Everyone.

Okay, in all seriousness though, I really had an amazing freshman year, and a lot of that has to do with the wonderful people I'm around daily. Rice is awesome. And I'm so excited to welcome the five (!!!) students from my high school joining me next year. 

Yehhhh NorCal. 

Privilege.

Warning: The following contents may suffer extreme self-indulgence. 

This is what I call the perpetual complaint. And it began as a random musing, a result of what my roommate says is "diffuse thinking," about extroversion and introversion and the attachments to physical appearance. Then it, like many other things that begin as a simple seed of wonderment, blossomed into a fully-fledged complaint.

But perhaps "blossomed" is not the correct word for this subject. Considering it's a complaint, and a ferocious one at that, "exploded into a monster with snapping jaws" might be more accurate (since that's somewhat akin to what I'm feeling right now). Here is the simple fact, one that has been reiterated again and again by the introverts all over the world: We live in a world modeled for extroversion.

And here's another: We live in a world built for good looks. The other day, I randomly wondered to myself how many objectively (well, as objective as it gets) good-looking people are introverts, not extroverts. I could come up with three, maybe four people. I'm sure if I actually combed through my whole Facebook friend list or something, and then checked all my yearbooks (and maybe my sister's too, just for good measure), I would find several more. In any case, here's the thing–most good-looking people are extroverts. I pondered this notion aloud to my roommate, and she suggested that this might be causative. Good-looking people are raised, most often, knowing that they are pretty, and so they feel more confident, and attract more attention since others gravitate naturally towards them. So, the extroversion would seem to be something that is the result of nurture rather than nature.

I'm sure this isn't always the case, but I can imagine this occurs fairly frequently.

We live in a networking world. This is a world of fake smiles and tinkling laughs and necessitated charm. Our society lays it out for us, plain and simple: If you want to succeed, you have to do this and this and this to get there. You have to be a certain way–act a certain way, look a certain way.

And that, most often seen in the business world, is something that I think sometimes stems from that pesky thing called participation in the classroom setting. When I say participation, I don't necessarily mean public speaking; I think those are two separate things. Participation is the phenomenon that is valued very highly by certain instructors, and I can understand why, I suppose, particularly in language classes. Titillating discussion might not occur if there is not motivating factor behind it, if there's no grade attached to it, and participation, for many classes, is what can drive discussion and development of ideas. Writing seminars, for instance, language classes, humanities course–all of these seem to need participation to fully effectuate the learning experience.

But maybe it's because the system has functioned in such a way for so long that the motivation behind participation has been cemented as a point-based structure. And at this point, I am severely tempted (and will indulge that temptation) to quote Daenerys Targaryen–"I'm not going to stop the wheel. I'm going to break the wheel." My level of irritation with this heavy emphasis on participating for the sake of points, which results in fancy but empty answers pulled out of brown-nosing students' butts, has reached such a point that yes, I want to break this system. It just seems wrong that from such an early age, institutions beat into students the notion that they have to be a certain way to succeed. They have to learn a certain way and adhere to the nature of the formulaic classroom to be a "good" student.

Society has basically taught us that "shyness" is a fault. Introversion does not equal shyness, though that's a common misconception. Even though shyness can overlap with introversion, either way, the two are lumped together in a negative waste bin. My French textbook literally states that "timide" (shy) is a "défaut" (a fault). That doesn't seem right at all.

To be shy, or quiet, is not a negative characteristic. Just like being outgoing or bold, it's how such individuals choose to act that ultimately determines the level of positivity or detriment. There is significant merit in the ability to listen, and, like Nicole Krauss said in The History of Love, there's a treasure in silence. Perhaps more relevantly, however, is the fact that, like curse words, knowing when to use one's voice in necessary and important situations heightens the level of attention subsequently given. Think of it this way: If you speak all the time, many people will get used to your voice. And the likelihood of foolish phrases slipping out, mixing in with the wise words you have to offer, is much higher if you're totally okay with verbal communication (aka, verbal filter is lower). On the other hand, if you take the time to listen, as often quiet people do, and thus have the cushion room to carefully choose your words to form a specific and well-catered opinion, you're more likely to prove your point effectively. Plus, if people aren't used to your voice being blasted everywhere at all times, their ears will probably perk at the sound of your unique and individual voice.

I know some people make it seem like introverts are unique snowflakes and heighten the merits of introversion to the point of stuff like "quiet empowerment" and "silent but strong" and so on and so forth. No, I don't think introverts will take over the world, and no, I highly doubt we're unique snowflakes. Fact is, most people have a little bit of both introversion and extroversion.

But, it's wrong to proclaim introversion, shyness, and/or quietness are undoubtedly "faults." Introverts might not be out to take over the world, like creeping vines or something, but we have a level of additional staunch because society caters to outgoing fellows. So whoever says we should "get rid" of the qualities that make us introverts should watch out.

Nothing rankles more than inconsiderate, hasty, willful ignorance.

To Darling Globbee–

Oh happy 19th to my best friend and other half! There are few with whom I can let loose my awkward tongue and unleash that ungraceful, socially inept self completely, but Glorby is top of the list.

I don't know if anything I can write here will amount to the ever so lovely post you wrote for my 18th, but I can try my best. 

Say all you want you're tanner... we're both ridiculously pale

The initial years of our friendship was interesting. You were probably the absolute most stubborn person I knew back in the day, in Mrs. J's class when many an argument cropped up, whether it revolved around the merits of dogs or your skipping preschool. Nevertheless, we frequented at each other's house and hid from our parents when it was time to say good night. I think, after we realized that hiding under the dining room table wasn't exactly a covert spot, my sister introduced to me and I introduced to you the excellent dark corner of her closet space, which was blocked by a number of winter clothes boxes. 

I don't think we ever got punished more than we should have been for dragging out the long hours of the night... (at like, 8 pm.)

We even roped your Bobo into playing our ridiculous pretend games. Well... I suppose most of them were my ridiculous pretend games (who came up with the Little King??). You entertained my self-indulgent storylines like a truly good friend; you would be Milo during Atlantis reenactments while I would always be Kida (sorry), and I would make you act out scenarios where I would move away and you would be moping around mourning my absence. 

That sounds terrible. 

Well. Moving along... 

You stepped into the shoes of the much-coveted role of Pluto in our third grade play "Vacation to Mars" (remember your furry white muffler? Actually I don't know if it was actually a muffler since Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire Fleur was "wearing" a muffler, I think on her head, and your muffler was like... arm sleeves or something), and later in the year I was the frog who wanted to see the tops of the trees in "Rumpus of the Rainforest." 

In fourth grade we got in trouble with Mr. Lyon for saying "Yesssssssssss!" (dragging out the 's', yep) in his absence. It was strictly forbidden. 

Actually I think I got the class in trouble... oops.

In fifth grade we were in separate classes, and well... many things came to a head that year. We tried to shake off a harmless girl who wanted to hang out with us by engaging in several ridiculous schemes. We trailed rose petals as a "false" path, and then hid in a janky staircase probably leading to the janitor's storage room while said girl was probably looking for us. You were ashamed. At the time, I was not. 

And then later that year, I took you for granted. Because of our many inane arguments about the the behavior of seagulls and whatnot, I decided I didn't need the "unnecessary drama." You are a very persistent fellow, however, and insisted on worming your way back into my life–you dropped silly notes on my desk (with drawings of Calvin and Hobbes), brought me candies from Powell's, etc. Basically, it was something akin to Phoebe's attempt to 'cut out' Monica (in Friends). 

The dark days. Actually, you look pretty nice!

We've changed quite a bit since elementary school, obviously, and you still love to pick arguments with me every so often because you find it fun, but it's all in a light-hearted manner. In a way, I think it kind of shows how we really were meant to be friends, and how I now realize how much you really mean to me and how glad I am that you decided I was worth it to expend all that effort.

I probably would've given up in that situation. 

But then again, opposites attract. If you had been me, and had given up, we would not have spawned the brilliant "Saratoga Tales." We would not have ever found ourselves in Edith and Gladys, nor Helmut and Günter (our Navajo identities continue to escape me, unfortunately). We would never have discovered our affinity for the Swiss Alps, nor our desire to form makeshift house-elves. We would not have formulated a magnificent house plan (no stairs!!!) complete with an electric dam and a lab for Edith's animal behavioral science experiments. 

Anyway... thanks for being my holly bush. I couldn't ask for a better, more enduring, more beautiful companion. I wish we could be together for each other's birthdays. Alas, we are not a train's ride away from each other as you'd hoped. I remember when I read that in the yearbook (for we had not read each other's answers to the "best friends since childhood" section prior to receiving the official final draft from the journalism department), I teared up. Like for reals. I'm not trying to be cliché or dramatic or anything, even though it really sounds like that. 

You're special. Who else would let me call you every week amidst endless midterms and papers and berating professors, amongst woes of threatening Bs and scary news editors? Every time people ask me whom I've stayed in touch with back home, and I say that we try to call each other every week, I am met with an expression of impressed wonderment. 

Yeah. That's us. We make long-distance work! (I will refrain from using any expletives, for your benefit.)

Fellow munchers

Thank you for many things–for being my fellow indulger of aphasia (I just spent 2 minutes Googling that word), for being a great storyteller, for coaxing out that weirdo I am meant to be, for being a buddy in floor flubbing, for showing me the glory of OPO, for keeping me grounded, for being the voice of reason and goodness (for what, 12 years of my life?), for you know... just being. You are great, and kind, and golden. I love you and your love of egg-yolk yellow and eccentric (sometimes ugly) clothing (like that pillbug jacket and the fluffy brown and pink parka that actually looks quite nice on Cherry), your ability to thunder up the stairs on all fours, your sliding down the winding banister (while I was anxiously biting my nails), your halo of crazy baby hair, your bizarre eating habits (like digging away at the center of soggy sandwich bread and then leaving a whole bunch of crumbs on my couch), and... well, the list goes on and on. 

We've survived the sister code, my friend! Actually–we've beaten it! We both liked the same boy (whey-hey!), applied for some of the same colleges, got in a major tussle at one point in history, shared grades and GPAs with each other, and here we are. (I  mean, just last week you were the first person I confessed my first semester grades to.) 

Well, there are drunk people outside my door, on my first night back at college after Christmas break, and I hate to make excuses, but they do interrupt my sentimental trains of thought. 

You are nice. Enjoy your final year as a technical teenager, my dearest :) Don't listen to Beyoncé (just this once!!!). You are irreplaceable, and my bridge over troubled water!

I hope you will continue to be my life dance partner!

(Belated) Obligatory New Year's Post

Every new year, my sister asks her friends and family (so that would include me, ha ha) to list their top 3 memories of the past year.

Last year, every "top" memory of mine involved food... Luckily, 2014 had a little more variety!


March 24, 2014: I got into Rice. What a feeling, what a feeling. I don't know if I can duplicate that mixture of surprise, elation, and gratitude.

View from the academic quad on a lovely September day 

Hawaii with Jennifer (8/5/14-8/12/14): My sister gifted me with a trip to Hawaii for my graduation/18th birthday present–all paid for by her (perks of having a sibling who works?). It was a true vacation, and quite the bonding experience!

View from Diamondhead  

Rice University, October-ish/November-ish: Settling into college can be disconcerting, but getting into the groove of things is incredibly gratifying and elating. I think this was around the time my roommate and I really became closer (then again, I'm pretty terrible at estimating time), which was an integral part of my first semester. It helped a lot that the weather began to level out and lose that awful humidity characteristic of the Texas summer. 

Coming home was a lovely feeling, though :) I really appreciate NorCal for what it is! 

Happy New Year! 

First Step Outside?

So we've reached the official conclusion of my first semester of college. It's so weird... Quite a few people have said this single semester of college has taught them more/been more enjoyable than four years of high school combined.

Hm... I wonder if I would go so far. Certainly, college is radically different. The freedom is overwhelming and almost intoxicating. You're surrounded by the types of people you've never encountered before. You're shoved into situations you've never experienced before. You're forced to think about yourself perhaps more than you ever had to before.

Now, most people know I'm notoriously lazy. SO. Instead of languishing over a reflection of my first semester at Rice University, I decided to pick some excerpts from my journal entries over the course of this first half of the school year. Should be interesting.

Brace yourself, this is going to be looooooong.

August 18, 2014: First Day of O-Week
Feels more like summer camp than anything else, to be honest. We pull in and upperclassmen are cheering and cheering; like whaaaat it's the second hour of kids moving in and they still have bucket loads of energy! Crazy stuff. Anyway, I go and do all the usual stuff, pick up my keys, take my photo, get the t-shirt etc. etc. and then successfully (!!!) navigate my way to my dorm room in this unfortunately rather old and dinky residential college (with hallway bathrooms, ick).
...
Anyway, we go down to the commons and get into our o-week groups. Everyone has been amazingly friendly and it's pretty awesome; I'm not nearly as nervous about like having someone to sit with or anything because of the awesome atmosphere. The whole day is packed through, though. Bonding with your group of like eight or so other students, then bonding with your 'sister' o-week group, then change for dinner and the matriculation ceremony. The matriculation, besides the very high school graduation-like experience of long speeches and lots of sitting, was incredible. There were freaking fireworks as we walked through the Sallyport archway, to raucous cheering from every which way. And those fireworks were the best I've seen in a long, long time. Some fluttered out after bursting like falling grains of rice (heh), and others billowed out like jellyfish caps. Best of all, in my opinion, was the incredible, resounding boom before every firework released, preceding the ear-splitting crack/pop. And it all echoed throughout the front courtyard. It was beautiful and very special. Sigh. I love Rice.

O-Week group: "Stitch, Don't Kill My Vibe"

August 22, 2014: Last Day of O-Week
I have to say, I am actually really nervous about "dis-orientation". Not just tomorrow, but the next few weeks, and maybe even this whole semester. Joan said that first semester was tough for her, and she's the kind of person who can be friends with literally everyone; she was indeed "friends with everyone", but was unable to make any real connection until second semester and, as a result, felt extremely alone throughout the first part of freshman year. That's actually very scary, especially since I am so not the type of person who can go and be friends with everybody. I'll just be like... lonely.

Upon reflection, though, I'm quite surprised by how much I loved O-Week. Usually, this is so not my type of thing, the whole summer campy feel and everything, but it really was amazing how they were able to make nearly everyone feel at home at some point or another. I think it was a good place to start. And I love all my advisors, and pretty much my group members too (and my sister group!), so I think they did do a good job matching people up. Upon observation, it seems that the coordinators grouped certain types of people together, and it really appears seamless for the most part.

With my cool beans O-Week brother, Tirso

August 29, 2014
So, we had House Church tonight, which is like fellowship I guess, and it was led by Daniel (Du) and Cindy; a bunch of us Jonesians went together since it was at our college (there are six other House Churches located at various residential colleges)–me, Jin Hee, Shannon, Kallen, John, and Wesley. There was another freshman named Raymond who was there, but he's from Baker and he went to Daniel's high school, so he's connected in a different way. Anyway, it was really refreshing and nice to kind of belong somewhere, and it felt very much at-home and warm and welcome. Typically in large groups, I have a hard time being myself and exhibiting actual personality traits; usually I'll clam up and over-filter so then I end up appearing somewhat bland and boring. But, since it was such a familiar environment filled with genuine people, I could actually open up comfortably. Obviously nerves lurked around but it was definitely a wonderful change. It's good to know that there are resources like that. So, I'm very grateful for Daniel and his outstretched arms (figuratively, obviously).

September 1, 2014
Staying up late is a fascinating phenomenon. At a certain point, the strenuous strain of keeping one's eyelids lifted morphs from an activity borne of leisure to one sustained by competition; at 2:30 AM, the main motivation becomes 'How long can I keep this up for? I bet I can stay up the latest.' And the words that come tumbling out of exhausted participants' mouths are a mix of ridiculous, clever (in no other situation than this godforsaken one), and undeniably hilarious. Because everything is either funny or exasperating past 3 in the morning, honestly. Today becomes tomorrow, and the day becomes either extremely late or extremely early; the revelation is that, at approximately 4:30 AM, it becomes 'early' rather than 'late.'

And at 5 AM, when some normal human beings actually awake from a 6-hour snooze, the combination of lightheadedness and floaty consciousness does not make anyone still standing (actually sitting, if one wishes to delve into the nitty gritty details) feel like a winner. Yet, group dynamics still apply, even in the dark stretches of the night-morning transition. Group dynamics are, apparently, timeless. There's the need to remain relevant in conversation, and the necessity of occasional contribution, lest one become an observer rather than a participant. And when seated within a group, it's often better to be a participant.

September 15, 2014
General updates: BHANGRA TEAM YESSS I'm so happy I made it!! But I'm super busy now... First paper due this Thursday, Thresher copy editing work to do tonight, French test on Wednesday, and a shitton of readings to complete. The one blessing today came in the form of a cancelled class, so I have a little more cushion time today. I think that's all I can remember for now. Peace out. Gonna go work now and try and ingest some caffeine to stay alert. BAI!

Awesomesauce Bhangra team (missing a few)

October 21, 2014
Rice is awesome possum, and it's been all cool beans and fun and games. Sort of. I mean I need to get my shit together and stop oversleeping (happens way more often than it should), and study more for French in particular because wow I still suck so badly at that, but so many other things have been falling into place; it's amazing. Like I'm assistant copy editor at the Thresher now?? I'm a freshman, and a total noob with journalism, and this is just too cool.

Roomie and I are way too cool, too. Like, wow I did not anticipate us becoming this close. She's so fun and it's just great to be around her. I'm glad we have such similar habits, esp. when it comes to social activity. We're both so alarmingly lazy and hungry all the time; it's both fantastic and tragic. We've fostered such bad habits in each other, but it's brilliant. It makes me laugh.

October 24, 2014
Something I've been thinking about lately: my motivations for doing certain things. For wanting to get a job, for instance (besides federal work study, of course), for striving to take 20 credit hours, for feeling this need to get involved with more clubs. I can't pinpoint exactly what the motivation is/was, but I know it's not necessarily a pure one, one that comes purely from me (à la Ayn Rand's objectivism). I know that I wasn't doing many of those things for myself, which is important to me. I just felt like I was trying to prove something to.. someone, or anyone... I don't know. It's just strange.

October 30, 2014
Well hello so I'm currently in my room... by myself... because Linda is mysteriously not present. I came back from Bhangra and she wasn't here... I imagine I made for quite the pitiful portrait because I was like studying French and singing along to "Love is an Open Door" in the room all aloney on my owney HAHA I bet it looked very, very sad indeed. I love my new Disney playlist on Spotify ahh it's the greatest. Sadly, that epic Mulan haircut song is unavailable for some atrocious reason... I never realized how freaking awesome the Mulan score was though. It's so good. That blend of traditional Chinese instrumentals and fantastic orchestration is just brilliant. It's been stuck in my head for a couple days. Actually a medley of Disney songs are just running through my head all day (errrryday) now hahaha it's ridiculous. I'll go traipsing up the stairwell singing "Almost There" and come back down singing "Can You Feel the Love Tonight." If this continues, an intervention may be in order.

Also, I was SO hungry after Bhangra (killer practice oh my freaking goodness... several run throughs, plus nonstop saap rehearsing... just ugh), but I didn't want to walk all the way to Tirso/Wesley's room and get a hot pocket (plus that's unhealthy and I need to get back to better eating habits), so I've been stuffing myself with really unappealing, healthy, organic snacks... The depressing thing is, I've finished my kale chips. Yeah. KALE CHIPS. They were mango habanero and it was rather strange-tasting. Now I want them again though because I want salty things. So I ate some pistachios, but I get sick of them after a while... and then I started eating this whole grain oatmeal bar and it's actually quite good! I'm pretty sure my palette is just dead after all that healthy stuff though. That's probably why the oatmeal bar tastes good because like... It's just so healthy looking. Even the packaging... Geez, food these days... I miss chicken bake. Linda doesn't know what it is!!! Oh, the abomination... I mean, she has Costco in Florida, and somehow she doesn't know the chicken bake. I'm like salivating thinking of it now.

Also, I have decided I am not exactly the biggest fan of modernism/Virginia Woolf, and it will take a LOT of focus and a LOT of time for me to chug through Ulysses. If I ever attempt that monstrosity.

Esperanza 2014 with Wesley (editing creds to him)

November 3, 2014
Super cool Sunday service (now technically) yesterday. There was a guest speaker named Ralph... er, I forgot his last name.. But he's the founder of an organization called As Our Own, which basically aids female orphans in India who would otherwise be targeted for sex trafficking. It was really, really interesting and deeply affecting. The speaker talked about how many of those girls, in previous organizations, were basically being set up for poverty, because they would be taken care of in orphanages that were understaffed and overflowing, and then they would be taken back by extended family who would ship them off to be married at the tender age of about fourteen years; that marriage would be riddled, usually, by abuse and further poverty. Those girls were undereducated and basically given lessons only in like basket-weaving and whatnot, which, according to the speaker, was pretty much no progress at all.

Anyway, I actually paid attention the whole service; it was really engaging and definitely something I was interested in, particularly because.. I don't know, sometimes there are those thoughts where one thinks, what would have happened if I were born into a different life? Those girls can't possibly be so different from us, we who live sheltered, privileged lives on the other side of the world. Especially with the high Indian population with which I was raised, and the Indian culture I'm part of now here at Rice, it was really... I don't know. It hit kind of close to home, I guess. The primary area the speaker discussed was Mumbai, by the way. I don't know, I hope I can revisit that organization some day and do something with that, because... yeah, girls need help in other parts of the world. In MANY parts of the world.

November 6, 2014
Well, this is a salute to the end of the WORST hell week I've had in a long, long time... I think I've totaled maybe nine and a half hours of sleep? It's been absolutely terrible... OH my goodness I am so ready for the weekend. SO READY. Plus, there's no FWIS class tomorrow Yay!!! I'm going to sleep at a semi-reasonable hour tonight.. as in around 2 AM hahaha or it might turn into later, since Linda and I tend to get rather exuberant. Overly exuberant, one might say...

Ended up loving my FWIS classmates (MIA Dr. Klein!)

November 24, 2014
In FWIS on Friday, we'd read a couple essays by Zadie Smith and David Foster Wallace to get a handle on personal essay writing (because that's our final paper... 10 pages long, eek), and Zadie Smith's was about the differentiation between joy and pleasure. Reminded me of AP Lang when we talked about true happiness and all of that stuff (who was it that said that thing about pigs and whatever? I can't remember for the life of me, omg help)... Anyway, she referenced Julian (lol) Barnes, who said that basically it "hurts as much as it's worth." I just thought that the way that's put is incredibly poignant and relevant... Like that's so true, and it's phrased so perfectly. That's such a wonderfully tragic way to sum up the things that give us true joy in life... The magnitude of pain at the prospect of losing that joyous thing is indeed equal to the magnitude of its worth. I also thought that it could be interpreted to mean it's like, how much you're willing to work for that which gives you joy... you know, like a relationship, for example. A true relationship takes so much sacrifice and work and effort, and the payoff is... well, you get what you give, and vice versa, pretty much. At least, that's how it's supposed to work... hence, "it hurts as much as it's worth."

So I brought that up again in House Church since the topic was identity as followers in Christ, and... actually I kind of forgot how it relates, but I swear at the time it was relevant haha. When we did sharing and stuff, I talked about my escapist fantasies of like.. changing my identity and others' perceptions of me. I genuinely thought that I could let out that closet wild child on weekends, at the very least. But.. well, Jones party happened, and while I was slightly proud that I could pull game, there was no way I could go through with something purely hormonal and in the moment. I think way too much for that shit haha.

Dhamaka 2014: SAS Cultural Show

December 7, 2014
So! Thanksgiving break! It was quite lovely, as I spent it with Shannon's fam-bam. They're so nice and cool; it was a real blessing to have that opportunity to spend my break with them. I mean if I had stayed at Rice... that would've been a sad time. A very sad time indeed. Not much else to report, though we did stop by San Antonio for an evening and saw THE ALAMO omg it was too cool. I have to go back to San Antonio sometime next year or something, and during the daytime so I can actually go inside. That's so awesome.

After Thanksgiving break... well, I got back on Saturday, so a day before Linda (most people came back on Sunday) and it was quite interesting having the room all to myself for a whole evening. I guess it wasn't that strange since she does spend some nights over at El Boyfriend's place, but it has a different like feeling when she's in a different state, you know? So yeah that was that... And then she came back and I was very happy! We went and studied together outside before it got too windy, and then we came back and watched not just one Hunger Games movie, but TWO. Oh dear. We were way out of control that day lol the procrastination struggle was too real. It was super nice though, I actually missed her quite a bit over break. I missed Rice...

Hm, I told Shannon that, and she was like, "Yeah, it's tough. When we're at Rice we miss the people back home, but once we're home, we miss the people at Rice. Wherever you go, there's always someone who means something to you who's somewhere else." Weirdly profound... it'll just get worse as we continue to grow older... I mean when are all the people you care about going to be all in the same place again? I thought maybe your wedding, but.. Hm. Just something very... sobering. I guess.

December 12, 2014
Okay hellooooo it is Friday! But somehow it doesn't feel like a Friday... I dunno. Because there were no classes this week soooo.. every day was a weekend? I have no idea lol it feels so weird. Anyway! I'm hungry even though I ate lunch like an hour and a half ago. I am concerned for my tummy. So yesterday... Oh man I did nearly nothing yesterday. I watched a bunch of Buzzfeed videos instead of studying, and then I ate dinner... and then I went to see Christmas lights at the zoo with Wesley! The Christmas lights were kind of disappointing... Vasona Lake (back home) is so much better... and San Jose's Christmas in the Park is far more impressive. I don't know what it was; maybe the lights were too spread out, and maybe the decor was a bit lazy, it just overall wasn't very dazzling.

And then I came back, watched some more Buzzfeed videos, then watched Game of Thrones when Tirso returned haaaaa yesssss. As usual, Tirso had his very unnecessary commentary at the ready and at one point he was like, "Where are the subtitles?! I need my subtitles!" and Miguel was so funny, he was like "Why don't you just shut up and listen?" ahh so great. But I'm happy now Linda's interest has been piqued and she wants to watch more of Game of Thrones yay the kingdom is expanding!

December 16, 2014
I miss Cali so much..

Lol I think I'm going to go back and look at my old entries now.. It's just interesting, we've come pretty far hahaha I honestly didn't expect much of this.

Oki bye.

*Thank you, Rice. I think this is the best I could have asked for. 

BUMP.

The illustrious Samuel/Samule/Samool has written many a satire (of my writing...), but I think this one is moste excellente (and more than just a little accurate). Please, review the following:

13 reasons you shouldn’t date an English major

1. He’ll collect your grammer
2. Even if he’s not your what grammer means
3. But a lease he reads a lot of books
4. That means he knows Socrates
5. He say yo Soc wassup
6. And Soc like what is what
7. daaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwg
8. He’ll be metally untabled because he spends all his time reading books
9. And will ask you for hermione and say shouldn’t it be pronounced
10. her-miyone? he’s broke
11. because he is always thikning maybe ill be a writer
12. which is a bad idea because if hes a writer he’ll be an English major
13. and then nobody will date him
14. toldya he knows Soc; he unravels in circles.

(But if you break up with him be prepared to be destroyed by words you didn’t even know could be used that way. )

(k.)

*original post can be found here

Translation

I dreamt that you stood by my bookshelf and flipped through the pages of my favorite book. The rustles and scents rolled off of you like a release of dandelion seeds tumbling through the air, drawing eyes toward–

I dreamt that you took my hand and led me and we danced seamlessly, circulating like the steady chime of a grandfather clock, familiar and safe and warm, your nose just above mine, lips so close but not quite just there, though we breathed the same air.

Inhale

Exhale

I dreamt of the strength, firm beneath my fingers, that I could reach out and grasp without fear. Apprehension did not hold me back, it was absent and the barrier between mind and movement too evaporated in favor of boldness. The swelling in my chest, the roiling, the blossoming, that pains but pleasures like the tearing of muscles that rebuild–

I dreamt:

that I allowed myself to give you permission to set the butterflies afire in my stomach so I can jump in the deep end

that I unclenched my fists and the butterflies, they will burst in a flurry of wings and cloud the air we breathe when they scramble out from my throat to be swallowed by you.

And maybe the crescent moon lashes that sweep across your cheeks will flutter in tandem like the way we move when we dance.

The dream:

You were in it but it was about me. What holds me back. What prevents me. What strikes lancing barbs in my chest.

Outside of the dream, I just might smooth away the choking tingles and reach out, so maybe we'll dance again. You are sturdy and stable and solid, and I, a bendy tumble of waves and sensation. We, a unit. If we dance, you and I, as one, a smile will break through, that was held back by fear and stiffness and norms and–

there it is

release

*lovely source of de-stressing at around four in the morning (the college struggle is so real)

How to, as a Proclaimed Scrub, Still Look Awesome

A question has arisen: Can a declared scrub still pass as an above-average-looking human being?

Challenge accepted. 

All you scrubs out there, I got you. Don't worry. I mean, I'm not going to put on airs and act like I always look great; I definitely have full-on scrub days when I don't even really pass as... human. But, on average, I like to think (and I believe others do too?) that I look better-than-acceptable.

Here are some tips to achieve you-don't-know-I'm-actually-a-scrub status, without sacrificing all hope of comfort.

1. Harem pants/draped pants. What a blessing. You do need to make sure the top is fairly fitted and/or cropped, otherwise you'll just look like a sack. 
2. Dresses. To be honest, I never really understood this logic; so many female scrubs have told me that dresses are absolute scrub-savers, because they take zero effort. That's not really the case for me, because dresses are personally worry-inducing, but see what works for you. Logically, I suppose it'd be very simple to pull one over your head and be good to go. 
3. High-waisted shorts. Find a pair that fit you perfectly (none of those that give you wedgies and/or leave behind those oh-so flattering pinch lines) and hold on tight. Try to get a black pair, a denim pair, and a white/mint/miscellaneous-color pair. High-waisted shorts elongate the legs and can go with any type of top. 
4. Loose sweaters/cardigans. Soft, feminine sweaters are super comfy and still constitute second glances. A flash of the collarbone is pretty on point.
5. A maxi skirt and tucked-in tank top. It can look exceptional with the right colors/patterns/fabrics, and it's so effortless. 
6. Lace shorts. They will get you so. Many. Compliments. I kid you not. They're fairly easy to style, and people notice. 
7. Tie a simple tee, short-sleeved or long-sleeved. It's sexy and helps streamline an outfit. 
8. Brandy Melville. Enough said. (Yeah, I know, my California is showing...) So comfortable and still cute. 
9. Get out of your bed and plan your outfit out the night before. If you're really not feeling it, just wear the next day's ensemble to sleep. (We've all been there... don't be ashamed.)
10. If you do have a day for sweats (or a couple...), make sure your face looks good that day. You have to make a sacrifice somewhere. Either you have to spend time on your bodily ensemble or you have to make an effort to... well, make up your face.
11. Make sure at least once a week, you actually attempt to look nice. As in, you put on a two-piece ensemble that required some coordination and thought (e.g. a pale blue high-waisted skirt and burgundy crop top paired with some strappy sandals), and brush your hair.

Conclusion: It's all about balance. Sadly, a scrub can't go full out scrub without appearing to completely fail at life.

Source: Experienced scrub who suffers from extreme chronic laziness. If I can do it, you can do it. 

The Woes of a "Workout Noob" Part 2

Oh yeah. There's a Part Dos. Are you ready for this?

Shit is about to get real. (Just kidding. Maybe.)

This is basically "The Woes of a Workout Noob Getting Schooled by a Workout Pro."

So I, the workout noob in question, received the great privilege to tag along with an experienced workout... dude... and learn from his techniques.

I think I was somewhat wrong when I thought that was a great idea. I knew I had misgivings for a reason.

So when I initially noob-ed around alone, at least no one was actually watching me. I could tell myself that it was just me feeling embarrassed for myself, and no one was judging me because you know, people have better things to do. Like do their own workouts.

However, accompanied by someone who was specifically meant to show me the ropes, I pretty much had no choice but to be watched, and bear that burn of a superior's gaze.

Oh, the self-consciousness that ensued.

And when that fellow demonstrated certain techniques, I mean... I had to watch in order to understand, right? But that was so weird because I was basically just staring at his muscles! And I just felt very... invasive. I felt like I was ogling blatantly or something! Like... do I stare directly at them? Do I watch the weight? How often do I look back and forth? Or should I watch from the mirror's reflection? (What's wrong with my brain?!)

And when a friend of said fellow's showed up and for some reason decided to sit and chill for a while near where we were working out, I flubbed the forearm curl thing whatevers (I'm not going to pretend I know all the terminology)... yeah, I saw that smirk. (I see you! I know you're judging me! I know you're laughing!)

Then there were these insidious thoughts that cropped up, like "Oh, I bet these people are thinking, 'That girl is such a noob. That poor guy, trying to teach her how to lift–are those five-pound weights??!!"

(Yes, my consciousness works against me most of the time.)

Obviously, when working out with a higher-up, my awareness of my weakness increased tenfold. Like at one point, during the isolation curls (I don't know what it's actually called; please don't make me try harder than I have to), Mr. Workout Pro tried to make me go up a weight thing (also don't know what the proper terminology is), and ummm.

Yeah that didn't go well. I could not lift the stuff (I'm so articulate). It was sad.

But wait! Don't you run off thinking that I am ungrateful and self-pitying (I mean I am the latter, but whatever)!

There are great things that come with a personal trainer-type buddy. Now I know what that triangular seat thing is, and now I know where some of the weights are! I know where the towels are (yay) and in a sense, I, oddly enough, feel less stupid in some aspects when exercising. One noob makes a workout session a chore, essentially; two noobs make the escapade hilarious and mutually embarrassing so that the humiliation sort of gets cancelled out in the process (and turned into a joke); but one noob and one pro make for an informative and somewhat reassuring experience. It might seem paradoxical in context with my crippling insecurity showcased above, but it's overall a lot better to work out with a Workout Pro than alone.

Indeed it's embarrassing having someone witness the absolute degradation of my alarming weakness, but it's also pretty cool to work out side by side with someone who clearly knows what the heck he's doing.

13 Reasons You Should Date an English Major

Warning: Sweeping generalizations ahead

1. You'll never get bored. All those books she reads? Awkward silences, begone! She'll regale you with tales of murderous husbands, mind-boggling philosophies, thought-provoking revolutionaries, and an endless array of future dystopian possibilities. (It's interesting, I promise!)
2. Speaking of books, you won't even have to read certain books to reference them. You don't need Sparknotes–you have an English major to help you! And when you're talking to someone you need to impress, you can totally throw in that very-pretentious-but-effective Shakespeare line. (It's up to you to remember if it's Richard III or Henry V, though.) 
3. There will always be someone willing to edit your paper. Even if it's 15 pages long. And your grammar will improve exponentially. It's basically a rite of passage.
4. Love poetry, anyone? Love songs? Love... prose? You don't even need to ask for it (à la Sara Bareilles). And if she's multitalented, as the literary types often are, she'll probably serenade you or something too. 
5. Besides all that, she'll quote love verses at random moments, and it'll be beautiful. (Bonus points if you can respond, but if not... she'll understand.)
6. She thinks. A LOT. And while this might be intimidating, it also means she'll be considerate and extremely empathetic. All those years of "walking in the shoes" of the thousands of literary characters pay off. 
7. It's not hard to buy gifts for her. A thoughtful book choice is always appreciated, and since many literary types take the notion of "it's the thought that counts" seriously, the little things count (like handmade cards!). 
8. She'll dedicate things to you. And it'll be awesome.                   
9. She probably loves Harry Potter. (Why is this a reason, you ask? Um, when is it ever not a consideration when dating someone?!)
10. Dates will almost always be fun and quirky, unique and curious. And if you're lazy? No problem! Curling up with a fleece blanket and some hot chocolate is basically every English major's dream setting (although usually she has a book in hand rather than a... significant other in her arms). 
11. She'll always have coffee. 
12. She probably enjoys her alone time. Clinginess will not be an issue. 
13. She's smart. And passionate about the things she cares about. When is that ever a bad thing? 

But if you break up with her, be prepared to be absolutely destroyed by words you didn't even know could be used that way. 

*All in good humor, friends. 

The Woes of a "Workout Noob"

I am what one might call a "workout noob." Put me in a gym setting and my heart rate will take off, but not for the conventional reasons...

I'll get that burst of adrenaline from pure panic. Because I have no idea what to do when put in a workout environment.

Starting from last night, I had a sudden rush of inspiration to "get in shape." Oh, ha ha, naive little me, thinking that I can suddenly get pumped and know exactly what to do without any outside help. It's simple enough to do ab workouts from the comfort of one's dorm (not even with a proper mat, but on a slip-and-slide rug that was deemed "eh, good enough"), but a Rec Center with actual equipment and athletes?

Oh. My. Gosh.

I walked into the gym all chipper and ready to do my fancy little Blogilates arm workout, and then realized I didn't actually know where any of the equipment was. About 98% of the contraptions absolutely confounded me. I walked in a dazed, confused half-circle before deciding I needed a quick bathroom reprieve; I had panicked so hard that my bladder was in need of relief.

I almost left the gym.

Yeah, it took 15 minutes to walk there, and I nearly turned right back around to waste a total half hour of my day. That's how confused I was.

But nope, I had to come away with something (jiggly arms BEGONE!). So, I marched back into that cardio/weight room and focused my vision with all the strength I could muster, and eventually zeroed in on the dumbbells! I never thought I'd be so happy to see those stupid weights...

I worked out for 20 minutes. Wow. Go me. And it was so awkward. I wasn't sure where exactly I was supposed to stand, so I just faced the window with my iPhone on the window seat thing, Blogilates video playing. I imagine I looked very much like a workout noob indeed.

Good thing I didn't recognize anyone.

And I felt like when I left, all the people who were there when I first arrived were still in full workout mode. What's wrong with them?! How do people get so fit in the first place?? Where do they find the strength and willpower??

Oh man. Walking back, my arms felt weird. I had my water bottle and keys firmly tucked under my left arm, and so my right arm was awkwardly unoccupied. It was like, bouncing against my side with each step I took. At one point, I looked at my shadow and saw this weird... orangutan arm motion going on.

It was sad. I felt like a wiggly waggly inflatable man.

Oh well. At least I have super cute sports bras! (Spoken like a true workout noob, am I right?)

Time.

“...unfortunately, it's true: time does heal. It will do so whether you like it or not, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. If you're not careful, time will take away everything that ever hurt you, everything you have ever lost, and replace it with knowledge. Time is a machine: it will convert your pain into experience. Raw data will be compiled, will be translated into a more comprehensible language. The individual events of your life will be transmuted into another substance called memory and in the mechanism something will be lost and you will never be able to reverse it, you will never again have the original moment back in its uncategorized, preprocessed state. It will force you to move on and you will not have a choice in the matter.”

-Charles Yu, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe

Collection

1
The girl holds her keys looped round her fingers and leans against the doorframe. The boy halts in his slowing footsteps and tucks his hands into khaki pants pockets, looking at her with sleepy eyes. She crosses her arms loosely, and one side of her mouth tugs up; her eyes soften in affection, one that arrives most poignantly in the sweetly stinging past-midnight hours. The conversation drops in tone, slightly above a whisper, in accordance to the sudden peace that accompanies a stop in movement. There is no lingering awkwardness, no urgency. Just quiet, punctuated by muted murmurs.

2
A boy and a girl stand side by side at the top of a mountain; fields of gold roll on and on below their vantage point. The night wraps around them, soft and warm like a lullaby. The sky is incredibly clear where they are. The girl raises her eyes from the tops of the trees to the belly of the sky, silently counting stars, drinking in the child-like twinkles and winks. She blinks slowly, once, twice, wispy eyelashes dusting high cheekbones, and lowers her eyes slowly to catch the tender gaze of her companion. With slow assuredness, he reaches out and links his index and middle fingers with hers, a relaxed but clear gesture of steady affection.

3
Her head is heavy against his chest. It's a natural weight. Without it, he feels oddly absent. For her, not hearing his warm heartbeat beneath her cheek is a silence that presses in too tightly. They don't have to speak. They communicate with an index finger softly stroking up the spine, or a light tug of a belt loop, or a tracing of the left ear shell. Sometimes when they're like this, intertwined loosely, she'll draw back slightly and sigh almost imperceptibly, as he dips to brush his lips against her forehead, always a little bit off center. When in physical contact, they move in tandem.

*may be updated in the future if another romantic mood strikes me, haha

Unloading Part 4 (aka Here Comes the Barrage of First World Problems)

• Sometimes I'm casually cupping my chin, pen in hand, looking all attentive in class, when I decide I want to shift positions. And then the pen gets caught in my hair. And it makes a long journey to the end of that strand of hair. So I'm essentially brushing a lock of hair with my pen. In class. 
• Passive-aggressive bathroom behavior is all the rage here in the realm of communal restrooms. For example, I might need to go to the bathroom in a... special way, and coincidentally there's a girl brushing her teeth. So I'll brush my teeth too and try to out-brush her, in an attempt to get her to leave so I can do my business in peace. 
• Houston weather is bizarre. It will change over the span of twenty minutes, from heavy sheets of rain to stifling sunny heat. Everyone pretty much always has to have an umbrella on him/her. What an inconvenience. 
• As a Spotify newbie, I am very confused. I don't really get how the queue thing works, and how many times is one allowed to skip songs? After a while I can't skip anymore, and it's frustrating! And is there any way to just note which artists I want to listen to in the future without adding their whole track listing to the 'queue' thing?! 
• I love sleep. A LOT. Yet, I sleep ridiculously late for no reason in particular, and so I wake up like fifteen minutes before my first morning class begins. That means no time to properly do makeup, and no time to sit down and actually eat breakfast. Basically, I eat a bagel every morning. It's quite sad. 
• If one is without a car (and don't feel like mooching off of someone with a car), one must wait till Saturday every week to make a trip to Target for snacklets... and other things (although what else do you need besides food, really?). 
• Finally... there is a plethora of potentially brilliant classes one could take, yet there is simply not enough time. Even if somehow it's possible to wedge in the maximum number of hours, it may come at a high cost (of sanity). Ah, life is hard. 

A Long Time Coming

You sway the grassiest ripples of my heart 

soft, pliant, cast with a sheen 

heat the top of my head like a disc of sunlight

I've always wondered what it's like to love and be loved in return.

(The ache of mystery has been resolved.)

Catching a glimpse of your dusky skin is like seeing 

light glancing over inked text 

Falling for you is like wondering what's it's like to fall from air, from the window of an aeroplane 

There's the clench of the stomach, but an absence of true throat-squeezing fear.

Losing you to time--that enveloping, oozing entity--is like the dissipation of ideas 

Helpless to stop it, I can only hope to grasp 
a few of the remaining, drifting, flaxen strands, 

all the while watching the rest fade to forgotten nothing.

When I was younger I tried to make patterns out of velour carpeting, futilely lifting 

my own stories out of embossed fabric.

Now I trace lacy designs on the sinewy, raised canvas of your palms 

your face, your angled shoulders 

Lost, in the plains and ridges

I paint.

It's Hard.

(No, not like that!)

Do you think a boy ever understands how difficult it is to be female?

Being female entails quite a few suffocating constraints that one can never truly escape, despite our movement towards a more "modern", equalizing era. The sad thing is, we're always going to be pressured to look a certain way. We're always going to be belittled in some way by some misogynistic fools. There will always be sexism, the same way there will always be racism and homophobia. Those bigots will always be thriving and strong in some filthy, disrespectful corners of the world.

Being female means insecurity, from the start. Are there any girls ever who have never felt the soul-crushing, all-consuming pressure of being generically thin and beautiful? We have to be thin and beautiful. It's a requirement, we tell ourselves; it's practically a berating demand that we be so, in any way we can achieve it. And then we go after it for all the wrong reasons, these unhealthy notions instilled in us from the start; we exercise not to be fit, but to be attractive, and then diet not to be healthy, but to be pleasing to others. We'll hunt for that golden mean, in whatever shape or form we can find it in–well, in whatever shape or form that will allow us to be "pretty". It takes a considerable amount of commitment and time and effort to make oneself "pretty", if not naturally born such a way. Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder (yeah, keep telling yourself that), but that's not what society says, ever. Society is nearly always dictating.

Never does society say that it's okay to be disproportionate. Even if it was okay to be a bit on the plump side at a certain point in history, those women were still in perfect proportion with their more generous hips and rear end, possessing womanly voluptuous curves. And then those small-breasted girls in the '90s were stick skinny everywhere else, to form that highly coveted "willowy" body type. And then, worst of all, there was the "sexy supermodel", in the form of Gisele Bundchen and Cindy Crawford and so on. They just smashed every single girls' ego into disrepair, into dust, essentially, from young to old, all across the board.

Then there's the whole biological clock thing, which is completely unfair. Males never, at any point, have to worry about being too old to reproduce; their sperm will always wiggle away happily to reach the egg (unless they have low mobility, in which case, blame your genetics, maybe?). Females, in sharp contrast, are under constant pressure to settle down and get on with marriage, then get those kids marching out like some sort of clown car. We might live in a modern era where stay-at-home dads are not all that uncommon, and we may have near-obliterated the image of the "barefoot in the kitchen" domestic wife, but we can't play God and change the course of biology. Facts are facts. Women have to get moving fast if they want to have healthy children. 

Being a girl sucks sometimes. It sucks balls. Sometimes literally. 

Gross.

Aerial

For the first time in years, he looked out the window of a plane high, high, up 
And he saw

Those tiny lives, housed in the crooked, jagged formations of vehicles puffs of gasoline 

inscrutable from such height 

harmless from afar, perhaps

A tennis court half the size of his palm 

empty at the moment

And he wondered what it'd be like to witness a crime from above 

a simple mugging perhaps, in the narrow strip of a stringy alleyway, 

man versus man

Would it really be so different from seeing the crime down below, on land? Up close? 

Would he stop it then?

And the sudden dip of the plane smooths out the jarring whistle of air 

The landing, the rejoining the return of reality and everyday comings and goings 

A seamless blend with the glittering lights, lives.

Hello, my name is:

I'm a cliché.

There, I said it. After years of trying futilely to dig up random nuances that would prove that I'm a unique little star, a marbled grain of sand among billions of uniform specks, I've recognized it–I'm a cliché.

Yeah, so I thought I was pretty cool, with my little imagination and identity crises and "I'm totally not like other girls" attitude. Eventually my brain started yearning for a return; it was shouting at me, "hey, who the hell do you think you are, throwing me out and replacing me with some wannabe?"

I'm that girl who pretends not to be a romantic, but secretly yearns for the fireworks and explosive passions of angsty 90s dramas. I'm that girl with an inflated ego, but sporting a crushingly massive inferiority complex. I'm that girl who can be pushed over the edge, to near-tears, with a couple of emotional phrases. I'm that girl who thinks she's the best listener in the world "because I'm an introvert". I'm that girl who says "okay" listlessly but doesn't do. I'm that girl who thinks she can fix what's been broken beyond repair. I'm that girl who's "lost".

Or–I was?

Ha, nah, I still am. My brain wants to come back, sure, but here's the thing about me and pretty much everyone else (because I'm a cliché, there are others like me, right?)–we hear the logic. Oh yeah, we can hear it banging and clanging away from the outskirts of our extremely thick skulls. But we love to ignore. If there's something we're–I'm–truly, genuinely good at doing, it's ignoring. Willfully.

The only thing remotely special about me is that I've somehow mastered the art of balancing the ratio of milk to cereal. That's pretty fucking awesome, if I do say so myself.

Which obviously I just did, because this whole thing is about myself. Here I am, talking about myself like a self-absorbed brat masquerading as a thoughtful, introspective soul with the wisdom garnered from aging, teenage years. What a cliché, right?

The Strop

We are in a strop.
I don't care what you say
For it is what it is.

We are in a strop.
The bitterness of words left unspoken
Sit rancid on my tongue.

When our eyes meet
It's a tacit statement of everything we don't say
We just can't be the way we were.

As soon as I
See you, I think
Repulsion resentment regret

When you see me
I see it
Apprehension ambivalence aggravation.

We are not
We were never
A perfect unit, everlasting, connection.

I despise you.
I tell myself that every spare moment
Coaching my errant brain

Only way to cope
With the stagnant pull between us
Is to hate and hate more, to insert something anything--

Did you know?
History does repeat itself.
How many times has it been?

Once, twice, thrice--oh, third time's the charm
This time
It will be to break for good.

Inevitable
We fooled ourselves into thinking
We could bridge the distance, the distance that always was

Because
I thought the distance was the temporal
But it's the connection that proves ephemeral.

We could never stick
Like half-dried glue on styrofoam
We always peel apart.

And it's not that we are in a strop
We are the strop.

You
Me

It's not you me

It will always be

You                                                                                                                   Me