BRIGHT RED BOOTS

Changes

2012-01-31T22:03:00.000-08:00

I haven't been posting because I've been spending most of my time wondering why the world isn't in a constant state of existential crisis. At the end of (almost) 4 years at UCSD, I once again find myself faced with the inevitability of having to uproot my life and move it to a place yet to be defined, for a time yet to be defined and only partially of my own choosing.

It's a damn weird feeling. And it would be scary, if that scariness wasn't mostly overtaken by the exhaustion.

I love UCSD. I love my life here. I love the classes I'm taking and the job I'm working and the company I'm keeping. I'm not worried about what will happen when I leave. I'm tired of leaving.

But life keeps moving. And you have to keep moving with it.

Excerpts From My Personal Diary, Part 7 (Good)

2012-01-17T01:12:00.000-08:00

I believe that we live very short lives on Earth. I believe that before we go, we have a chance to make things a little better. I believe we choose to do so--choose to be that loaded word “good” in spite of the overwhelming clamor self-interests, simply out of love: love for others and love for the Earth itself. And I believe that when we die, we simply expire like a flame burning out in a puff of smoke, leaving behind an equally short-lived legacy.

That’s it. There are no fireworks at the end. The only thing you have to attain is peace of mind. And if you can do horrible things and still find your way there, then there’s nothing to prevent you from doing otherwise.

Good for the sake of being good.

Ringing in the New Year

2012-01-01T22:46:00.000-08:00

I had two of my wisdom teeth pulled last Friday and since then I've been living some sort of intensely unattractive couch-hobo life, so excuse the slightly late post! I figure as long as I finish this before New Year's Day actually ends, whatever deity governs over New Year's resolutions will excuse my procrastination!

Reactivate my Peace Corps application for departure in February 2013.
Get a 35+ on my MCAT and never think about organic chemistry again.
Learn to drive well enough to give other people rides.
Finish my last quarter at UCSD with a 3.8+ GPA and no regrets.
Develop something that vaguely resembles a saving account, and then take an entirely self-funded, no-loans vacation!
Form friendships with the people in my club.
Reconnect with friends with whom I’ve fallen out of touch.
Complete the unopened puzzle sitting in my closet.
Keep up with new album releases the way I used to before college happened.
Re-read The Great Gatsby, The Things They Carried, and East of Eden.
Read For Whom the Bell Tolls, A Farewell to Arms, Catch-22, Slaughterhouse-Five, and Of Human Bondage.
Put some paint on the graffiti staircase, while dressed as a ninja.
Remind myself that I’m 21 and I’m allowed to live a not-quite-figured-out life.
Ditch the personal journal (seriously, writing down miseries that aren’t even significant enough to be blog fodder is not therapeutic… it’s called ‘dwelling’ and it’s not helpful).
Participate in NanoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). For anyone else who is gearing up to participate, I recommend reading this (http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/10/04/25-things-you-should-know-about-nanowrimo/).
Take advantage of all the academic and career counselors on campus.
Re-haul and redecorate my room--and yes, that means finally tossing out my high school papers.
Make the extremely complicated and intimidating Ethiopian dish, doro wat (http://www.riceandwheat.com/2010/09/doro-wat-ethiopian-spicy-chicken-stew/).
Visit Alishan National Park in Taiwan, the only site I did not knock off my to-see list when during my senior trip.
Ask my grandma about her life before I lose the chance.
Be more brave, more (for)giving, and more honest... in short, be the bigger person I know is still hiding behind all the things I use to hold myself back.
Build a time capsule.

Happy New Year's, everyone!

Courage

2011-12-24T16:35:00.000-08:00

It's always the most unexpected moments that I feel the most insubstantial, like when I'm standing in the waiting line of a restaurant, the man standing next to me has the face of some pop star or model, and I'm forced to remember the weird blanched look on my face I caught just before rushing out of the house. I'm digging in my bag for chapstick and making excuses to go to the bathroom so that maybe this handsome stranger won't see me, but once there I look at myself in the mirror and realize that I look fine. Pretty, even.

It doesn't make sense to me, this need to be and feel beautiful. In my head, I know that I have never looked at a friend and thought, "Damn! She ugly!" and that somehow people must feel the same way about me. In my head, I know that I have bigger things to worry about. It doesn't change that horrible feeling of being ugly.

Here's what does.

I think of the people I love most. I think of how much I love the crinkle in their eyes when the smile, the cut and slant of their cheeks, their chewed down nails, the bulges in their hands. I think of that thing their hair does when they've been sleeping and the way their two front teeth peep out when they smile, or the curve of their stomaches and the dry skin at the bottom of their feet. And I think of the way all that is beautiful. How I can't even describe the beauty in those images. I think of how much my heart wants to burst with love and how badly it would hurt if I could never see those things again. I think of how bad a beating I would give these people if they ever told me that those parts of themselves are ugly.

You guys make me brave. And I think you're beautiful.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Horrible, Isn't It?

2011-12-23T21:19:00.000-08:00

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.

Neil Gaiman

Words With Friends

2011-12-22T18:02:00.000-08:00

Notification: "Qi" played 40 minutes ago.

Me: Ohmygosh!! No!! She played the cheater word!
Jennifer: ????

Chat from Vicky:
"Sorry, that was gross, lol."

- - - -

I love having friends that get me.

Platonic

2011-12-21T23:59:00.000-08:00

I stretch my arms around you, bringing
my elbows together around your shoulders.

I feel your hands pressing into my back, compressing
the ache in my heart. I hold my breath.

Count the seconds so I know when to let go.
Blink away the moisture in my eye.
Exhale.

Curse myself silently as I
take that cowardly step
out of your embrace.

Christmas Lights

2011-12-18T22:14:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting on the arm of the couch, winding up a string of Christmas lights when it suddenly occurs to me that maybe the purpose of relationships isn't to complete each other or teach each other anything. Maybe it's just as simple as helping each other out with the things we can't do. You can't roll a yarn ball. I can't remember the names of roads. Alright then, let's be friends.

Sorry-Grateful

2011-12-18T09:59:00.000-08:00

You're always sorry
You're always grateful
You're always wondering what might have been
Then she walks in

And still you're sorry
And still you're grateful
And still you wonder
And still you doubt
And she goes out

Everything's different
Nothing's changed
Only maybe slightly rearranged

You're sorry-grateful
Regretful-happy
Why look for answers
Where none occur?

You always are
What you always were
Which has nothing to do with
All to do with her

You're always sorry
You're always grateful
You hold her thinking
I'm not alone
You're still alone

You don't live for her
You do live with her
You're scared she's starting
To drift away
And scared she'll stay

Good things get better
Bad get worse
Wait, I think I meant that in reverse

You're sorry-grateful
Regretful-happy
Why look for answers
Where none occur

You'll always be
What you always were
Which has nothing to do with
All to do with her

Nothing to do with
All to do with her

Excerpts From My Personal Diary, Part 6 (Same Old Shit)

2011-12-17T07:22:00.000-08:00

Love is more than blind. Love is blind, deaf, dumb and probably shits itself in its sleep.

Excerpts From My Personal Diary, Part 5 (Guardians)

2011-12-13T11:53:00.000-08:00

An uneasy hope guards against the bitter reality. I walk the unsteady line between them. Reality keeps me on the ground; hope takes away the sting.

Company

2011-12-08T21:54:00.001-08:00

You know those days where you feel like everything you do is just there to plug in the space between you and the inevitable abyss below you? That even if you cured cancer or walked on the moon, nothing could bridge the distance between you and everything worth giving a damn about?

Oh. That feeling.

No, no! I don't mean it like that. It's just that... well, I feel like that too.

You think it'll get better?

It always does. You know that.

Excerpts From My Personal Diary, Part 4 (Hair)

2011-12-07T00:35:00.000-08:00

I want you to tell me that you like my hair and I want to know that you like my soul.

Self-Help

2011-12-04T20:56:00.001-08:00

I love self-help books. I love self-help books because I'm morbidly fascinated by how full of shit they are.

We pick up a self-help books because we want to know what is wrong with us. We already feel like shit, the books make us feel even more like shit and we think this will help us get out of shit.

Well let me tell you about an old adage: you can't fight shit with shit.

The things with self-help books is that they're always trying to paint a story. Either we're in some sort of spiral of death that requires immediate and drastic self-intervention ("He's just not that into you, stupid bitch," your Sassy Gay Friend says with a swish of his sequined silk scarf), or our miseries are all in our heads and we just need to yoga-think our way out of them ("This truly is the best of all possible worlds!"). That's not the way life works.

The real problem with problems is that we feel the need to overcome them or, at the very least, to not let them get the best of us. We feel the need to take some proactive, damage-controlling steps. I think that if we don't do something, then the problem has won.

Here is what I think:

It's not a contest. You don't need to beat anyone or anything. Some problems are beyond the scope of your physical, mental and emotional limits. It is okay to acknowledge that. It's okay to feel self-pity or rely on a friend or blow snot through a box of tissues.

There is only one thing we are responsible for when we encounter a problem: finding a way to move through it. Moving through it isn't an elegant process. Sometimes it gets messy. Sometimes you drag in people you shouldn't have involved. This is normal.

I believe that deep down inside, even underneath our own false hopes and biases and insecurities, we know what is wrong or not wrong with our relationships and our motivation and our careers. But we stop trusting those intuitions because there's so much information out there telling us what other people think.

Maturity isn't handling a situation in any one way. It's trusting yourself to know the way.

So put down the goddamn books.

Excerpts From My Personal Diary, Part 3 (Love Letter)

2011-12-01T01:38:00.001-08:00

From the moment I met you, my entire life began to unravel like a teenage love letter—bumbling, confused, indignant and wretched with hope.

Excerpts From My Personal Diary, Part 2 (Transience)

2011-11-30T00:46:00.001-08:00

Getting home always feels like stepping into a dream. The streets feel alien, morphed by the night air and the vagueness of my memories. The stacked up boxes in the garage grow and shrink when I am not there, living a life very much separate from mine. The doors creak a little louder than I remember; the carpet is a little softer; my bed a little bigger. The space of my room always seems to hold an air of dormancy in my absence, the sheets are patiently folded for me, the wide expanse of floor opens before me in the glow of the hall.

But leaving it seems hyper real. The gleam of the polished airport floors and security machines seems brighter than possible, the walls reach up to peak above me, the clammer is dramatized by the building’s acoustics. The plane is climate-controlled to be perfectly too cold, juxtaposed against the warm, uncomfortable press of other people’s elbows. Behind me, a student laughs too loudly into his phone. Next to me, a man noisily shuffles into the crinkling plastic seats. I am all too aware that I am an inch away from sleeping on his shoulder, but there is nothing I can do to get away. The air hostesses lipstick is too bright, her stretched smile looms over me as she hands me a glossy package of peanuts. The sun in the window gives me a harsh, burning stare; the ground below it, unnatural and enslaved to its symmetric grids of color.

Excerpts From My Personal Diary, Part 1 (Miles)

2011-11-30T00:23:00.001-08:00

That night, I realized that everything I needed to justify the way I felt about you was there in your voice, and in my voice, and the millions of miles it took for our phone signals to reach each other in space.

Violence, Terror and Silence

2011-11-18T16:15:00.001-08:00

I have been thinking about this topic for a long time. I wasn't sure how to start talking about it. I wondered if what I had to say even mattered, or if I had a right to talk about it. Wondered if it was too trivial. Wondered if I would incriminate or alienate or worry someone. Finally, after a week or so, I decided to simply to say nothing. It was easiest. I told myself that it didn't matter what I said or didn't say. That some stories can be buried, should be buried, are better buried.

It's so strange how telling a story can be so difficult.

Today in class we watched I Came to Testify. It is a documentary about the systematic sexual torture of Muslim women during the 1992-1995 Bosnian genocide, and how--for the first time in history--sexual violence because explicitly illegal in international law. Mostly it was about how the survivors of the war finally told their stories: the courage it took to face an international audience, the experiences they survived to tell, and the justice found in telling their story.

The first time rape was prosecuted in an international court.

One of the lawyers who had lead the trial on sexual violence said this:

Rape has always been an undercurrent of war. People talk about "raping and pillaging," and it just becomes a phrase that people don't think about. They just think it's an attack on the civilian population, raping and pillaging. I had heard that in Nuremberg, there was a discussion about whether to bring up the subject of rape because a lot of rape had occurred during and after the war, and someone made a comment: "We don't want a bunch of crying women in the courtroom." If you look at the pictures of Nuremberg, it's mostly men: the defendants, the judges, the prosecutors, the defense lawyers. In that kind of environment, women aren't given a place at the table, even as a witness in many cases.

A landmark case. Yet if you look at the Wikipedia page on the Bosnian genocide, there is still only a one word mention of the mass raping of women during the war.

Sex is always a difficult subject to talk about. It's something private, something left for the bedroom. Something taboo. Add in the horror, denial, and shame of sexual violence. The mothers who don't want to tarnish the reputations of their daughters. The husbands who don't want to admit that they could do nothing to help. The victims who have tried so hard to forget.

It isn't surprising that rape is so hard to talk about.

In everyday conversation, we treat it with a certain flippancy. "The exam raped me." "I raped that noob." As if turning it into a joke can make it any less grim. As if making it casual can take away the terror.

I have never been raped. I have never been the victim of a violent crime. To me, violence and terror is an alien concept. Something that I simply do not know, and God willing, may never know.

- - - -

It was snowing that day. The first time I had ever seen snow. It took my breath away. I couldn't stop trying to catch the snowflakes on my overcoat, the only way to hold them without having them melt immediately. I wanted to see what they looked like. They were nothing like the geometric caricatures I cut out on paper.

A friend, a mentor said he would walk with me. He wanted to enjoy the snow too. Besides he said, he needed to get something for his car. It was along the way.

All the while, the snow was falling. Airy little wafers, tumbling down from the night sky. They landed on the brim of my hat, the folds of my scarf. My outstretched hands. But they always melted. Melted when the hit the road, a sleek wet black.

But the cars! The cold metal kept the snow from melting. And there the snow was piled softly. I picked up a handful. I crushed it with my fingers. A snowball. My first one. I lobbed it at my friend. Aiming for his jacket. It crumbled on impact. He hopped back, yelled a HEY! Grabbed fistful of snow and aimed for my head.

We were yelling and screaming and laughing, running in circles around his car while dodging the missiles being launched by the other person. Running, and running, and running. Gasping in the cold air. Stop, I said. I can't breathe. Let's stop. Truce.

Alright, he says. I step away from my hiding spot. I walk over to his side.

Let's go back.

Before I know it, he's on top of me, pushing me into the car, snow shoved in my face. I can't talk. I can't breathe. I'm pinned between a 300 pound, grown man much older than me and the unforgiving, cold frame of his car. This is still snow in my right hand, so I shove it in his face. But I can't see and I can't move any of my other limbs. And I don't know how to tell him to get off me.

All I feel is the terror. The sheer, mind-numbing terror of knowing that I cannot make him let me go. That I have no power. Not even a voice. In this moment, I am completely under his control. I know that even my meager attempt to make him let me go--the snow I'm pushing desperately into his face--is going to fail. My arm is losing strength already. My ribs can't take in air with him on top of me. I can't hear him laughing through the snow and the pounding blood in my veins.

Let me go, my arm says. The only part of my body that can speak for me. But he doesn't hear its message. He thinks this is a game. He thinks this is fun.

I just keep hoping that he will stop. That he will realize that I don't want to be here. That somehow he will feel my fear and let me go.

I don't know how long this lasts. Finally, he lets me go. He is laughing. He is stepping away. Come on, he says. Let's go. I don't look him in the eye. Instead I look at the ground. I feel an obligatory laugh move out of my chest. It says to me, don't make this a big deal. It was just a game. Laugh, it says. Laugh and it will be okay. Laugh and forget that you were afraid. He is your friend. More than that, he is your mentor. You are not afraid of him. How could you be afraid of him? He is a friend. He is still a friend.

But I can't help it. I am so scared.

What happened?

- - - -

Paul Farmer says that it is important to bear witness to the violence of the world.

Paul Farmer is a Harvard anthropologist, an infectious disease specialist, a professor, a clinician and an activist. His work in Haiti has given him more than his fair share of testimonies. Through the deaths of friends and patients, through the military coups and the widespread human rights violations, he has been a voice for the people of Haiti, bearing witness to audiences such as Bill Clinton and the World Health Organization. When he speaks, he tells the stories of the Haitian people. He knows how easily a story is lost. How hard it is for a story to be heard.

Most of all, he knows that a story can change the world. That stories are the only things that can bring together people from all walks of life, and for a moment, help them understand the plight of others far away from them. Stories rise above the barriers of race and language, time and distance. Stories become greater than their speakers. They transmit lived experiences from human to human, shattering the illusions of safety and indifference we build.

This is why media is censored. This is why victims are paid exorbitant out-of-court settlements with gag orders. This is why no politician wanted to see published pictures of soldiers' coffins from Iraq.

Silence can ruin peoples' lives. If the Holocaust taught us anything, it was this.

Silence is more than a legal order. A law the prohibits a book or an image. Silence is in our everyday lives, in the social structures that make certain things okay to talk about and certain things inappropriate. Silence is the viewer on the couch picking a sitcom over the Oxfam ad. Silence is in the way we joke about homosexuality. Silence is wanting to believe something doesn't exist.

- - - -

I'm out of the snow. I'm in the foyer perched on the arm of a couch. Music is blaring in the room behind me. I push away the thoughts about the snow fight. Come dance with me, my friend says. A different friend. His hand is on my waist. Come on, he says, let's dance. I feel his palm in the small of my back, pushing me towards the music. Ever since he broke up with his girlfriend, his hands...

I try to be supportive. I don't want to hurt his feelings or make him feel unattractive. I skirt around the issue. No, I say, maybe later. I don't feel like dancing. An excuse, but mostly I just don't want his hands on me. He leaves me on the couch and goes back onto the dance floor. I stay where I am on the couch, talking to the friends and watching a game of Monopoly. I feel a hand go from the base of my neck, all the down the curve of my spine. He's standing behind me, grinning, making a joke about the way I'm sitting. Acting like I asked for it.

I'm looking at him with no expression of my face. No words in my mouth. Maybe I am channeling emotions from the snow fight, but I feel violated--like an important aspect of our friendship has been breached, but I don't know how to tell him that this is not okay. I don't know how to talk about it without making it a Big Deal.

Don't do that again, says the guy standing next to me. He's looking my friend dead in the face. His voice says, this is not a plea. It is not a request or a favor or a judgment or a warning or a threat.

I hardly know him. But his voice is my voice. It was exactly what I meant to say.

My voice. My body. My safety.

5 Ingredient Thanksgiving: Holiday Spice Cranberry Sauce

2011-11-13T17:13:00.001-08:00

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Nothing makes me happier than cooking for people I love and tucking away a good meal, sans TV. Since this year I have the rare privilege of going home to cook for my family, I can hardly hold back my excitement!

For a lot of people, college means Easy Mac and instant noodles, so the fact that I cook from scratch has been a source of bewilderment for many of my acquaintances. I've been called everything from "fancy-pants" to "prairie/pioneer woman" to "just-too-damn-bored," but the truth is, cooking from scratch is a lot simpler than most people think.

To prove it to you, ta-da! I give you "5 Ingredient Thanksgiving." My favorite holiday recipes, all using 5 ingredients or less! (No, I'm not cheating by cutting stuff out! I really don't use more than 5 ingredients!) If you're not going home for the holidays, if you need to cut down on processed foods or if you simply want to learn some quick-and-easy recipes, enjoy!

- - - -

Holiday Spice Cranberry Sauce

Prep time: Less than 5 minutes

Cook time: Less than 10 minutes

This recipe is a combination of my two favorite holiday treats: mulling spices (the blend of cinnamon, cloves, allspice, orange peel that creates "Christmas smell") and cranberry sauce! Since cranberries have such a strong flavor, it really isn't necessary to haul out your whole spice cabinet. A hint of cinnamon is more than enough. I also add some ginger to give it some extra kick and warmth, kind of like how people add cayenne chili powder to hot chocolate!

1 12 oz. package of fresh cranberries

1 cup brown sugar (white sugar is ok!)

1 cup water (or orange juice)

1 tbsp. cinnamon

1 tbsp. ground ginger

Directions:

Heat water to a gentle boil (small bubbles rising to the top).
Add sugar and stir to dissolve.
Wash cranberries, removing any that have gone soft.
Add cranberries to boiling water.
Turn heat down to low-medium and cover with a lid.
The cranberries will begin to pop, showing their white insides. Wait until they cook down to a dark, red mush. Stir occasionally.
Add cinnamon and ginger to your own taste. You can also add more sugar if you'd like.
Take off heat. The sauce will thicken as it cools so don't worry if yours looks a little runny. Pour into a glass jar (I use old tomato sauce cans). Allow the sauce to cool to room temperature before screwing on the lid, or else it will seal on tight!
Store in the fridge.

Yields approximately 20 oz.

I actually have no idea how long this keeps in the fridge because I always finish it! I add it to chicken, mix it into gravy, have it on breakfast toast, eat it out of the jar...

A (Somewhat) Definitive List of Things I Do When I Am Stressed

2011-11-09T20:28:00.000-08:00

Go through ModCloth's entire catalogue, add a lot of stuff to my cart and then exit the window before I spend all my money on funny bandaids and designer shoes
Stress eat until I feel sick, in this order of preference:

Chocolate-covered nuts
Chocolate-covered fruits
Chocolate bars with nuts or fruits or toffee or salt
Apple slices
Kettle corn
Popcorn
Chips and Pico de Gallo
Frozen blueberries
Frozen ravioli

Continuously sip water with my crazy straw cup
Paint my fingernails, repaint them because they don't look good enough or because I screwed them up fidgeting
Fake-clean my room by shuffling my piles of stuff to different areas of my room
Hover around the kitchen, opening the refrigerator periodically
Write a lot of half-completed journal entries and blog posts that I have no intention of posting
Brainstorm status updates that capture my angst with the perfect mix of self-ridicule and humor
Wash my face 5-6 times a day (approximately once every two waking hours)
Pick at my cuticles
Pick at my chapped lips
Twirl my bangs
Pull out all those weird super curly hairs on my head
Listen to depressing songs or hyperactive CDs on repeat (Partie Traumatic is a favorite, it's got a very appropriate whininess and desperation)
Swear a lot at very inappropriate moments in front of many strangers
Use CAPS
Forget what I'm doing in the middle of a task
Get sick
Eat the same meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner for many days in a row
Sleep in
Sleep poorly
Have guilt nightmares
Develop people-hate-me paranoia
Ignore my dirty laundry
Feed the paper piles on my desk/under my desk/on other peoples' desks
Engage in mindless repetitive motions (right now I'm using my thumbnail to make evenly spaced grooves in my chocolate almonds before eating them)
Ride the school shuttles instead of walking, even if walking is much faster
Stare into space as if space has the answer to all my problems
Re-watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Write long, tortuous (love?) letters, stamp them and then shove them into the "forget-to-send" portion my brain
Fantasize about how not stressed I will be in the future
Ignore the fact that I'm never not stressed in the future

10 of 21: One Day in Bed with a Book

2011-11-08T01:54:00.000-08:00

Usually I only get in bed to sleep, but something about catching colds makes me extraordinarily fond of my bedsheets. So tonight, when my flatmate nonchalantly lent me the book One Day, I felt compelled to read it out of a combination of guilt (I've read so little since college started) and laziness (too little willpower to do real work).

Perhaps I should just say, first off, that no one should read this book out of some aching need for romance. It's not that kind of book.

Reading One Day is akin to a long bout of people-watching (think Blue Valentine). It's a voyeurism into the lives of two friends, Em and Dex. Their lives are banal, frustrating and ordinary. Any potentially cheesy moments are undercut by the self-doubt in the characters' personal thoughts. But its pertinence comes from exactly these qualities, and the wary calm they find as they grow older.

One Day is a stripped-down narrative of life after graduation, capturing what some social scientists have called the second adolescence. The story is a modern bildungsroman that describes the coming of age that occurs after--long after--teenage years: the struggle and shock of finding a place in society after a life of booze and academia; coping with but trying to leave jobs one comes to hate; and falling in various degrees of love fueled by some combination of jealousy, obligation and loneliness.

The novel leaves you feeling lost and indecisive and somewhat anxious. But in spite of that--in spite of all the aimlessness and the futility and the half-realized hopes--I can't help but hope that my life plays out with half the bumbling affection that Em and Dex are able to retain, that one day I will share the same sort of fragile safety that comes with meeting the person you love.

- - - -

Thank you Katie for the CD and the card reminding me to get back on track with my 21 things. At first I didn't get your present, but after I read the card I felt really touched. It's weird how I think of most of my to-do lists as solitary endeavors. Getting your present reminded me that personal growth doesn't necessarily need to come out of acting alone. Growing up is always better with friends!

Peace Corps Withdrawal

2011-11-03T08:25:00.000-07:00

Thank you for informing the Placement and Assessment Office that you have decided to withdraw your Peace Corps application. Should your interests change within the next year, I have included the instructions for reactivating your application. You must request reactivation of your application within one year of today; otherwise your file will be shredded.

Please keep in mind that reactivation is never a guarantee and is assessed on a case-by-case basis.

To request reactivation, please contact the Education Placement Desk by emailing educationplacement@peacecorps.gov. You will then be prompted to provide the Placement Office with some additional documents.

Upon receiving this information, a Placement Specialist will review it along with your application and let you know whether or not reactivation can be granted. If so, your file will be transferred into an upcoming program. If not, your file will maintain in inactive status, and should you still be interested in Peace Corps, you can reapply again at the recruitment level by submitting an application on peacecorps.gov.

Thank you for your interest in Peace Corps.
- - - -

You never really get to know what life will decide to throw at you. A couple of weeks ago my grandmother fell. Since then she has been incontinent and unable to walk unassisted. My mom is her only child and because I am the only grandchild in a position to take time off, I have been asked to go to Taiwan. I will be there for about a year, immediately following my Winter Quarter graduation.

No one can really teach you how to prioritize all the conflicting family and personal obligations. It's been rough making plans to leave UCSD, to defer my Peace Corps application and to delay entrance to medical school. For now the idea is to go to Taiwan until December of next year, to return to take the January MCAT and then depart for Peace Corps in February. My sister will be taking my place in Taiwan, where she will be studying abroad for a semester. By the end of that time, our youngest sibling will have graduated from high school and my parents will have more freedom to move to Taiwan, if they choose to. Of course, that will be an even more complicated decision, not in the least due to Jennifer's medical condition.

Nonetheless, I have been extremely lucky to have my sister here at UCSD to support me. But most of all, I am extremely lucky to have my grandmother. The fact that she has lived alone for some many years is a testament to her strength. This past month has been a huge wake up call, and I am so fortunate to have gotten that call while I am still in a position to do something about it.

I look forward to getting to know my grandmother more, to being a better daughter and granddaughter, and to the rest of the time I have in San Diego.

Questions, or as the French say it, Questions (fr. accent)

2011-11-01T01:56:00.000-07:00

My grandmother is finally out of the hospital. I feel like a huge chunk of my life has finally settled down, even though I'm sure if I sat down to think about it, I would still be swarmed with questions.

("Should I buy my philosophy textbook or try to save money by paying attention in lecture?" "Who will write my letters of recommendation?" "Am I going to get in trouble with the teaching union for holding too many office hours?" "Why haven't I found love?" "Am I going to get CVD if I keep eating like this?" "Where am I going to get money to pay my credit card bill?" "Can I keep my job and take care of my grandma at the same time?" "How am I going to tell my dad that going to Peace Corps will require canceling my MCAT and losing $120?" "Why am I not asleep?" "If I leave the window open tonight, will it make me cold and sluggish tomorrow?")

Yes, but still. I feel like I've been up in the air for some time and it's nice to feel like I've finally touched on some solid ground. That's a good feeling. Now let's keep that rolling...

Happy belated Halloween and happy November! I'm almost 21!

My Friend Felix

2011-10-24T00:16:00.000-07:00

Tired, stuck with a soul that's been pulled like taffy. Little bits of me dyed into blue and white swirls, parceled out on wax paper. Sold, shipped, swallowed. A little sugar on the tongue; sweetness and a strangers' saliva. Then, gone. Never again a part of a whole. A sorry significance.

But you saw. Saw where I had come from; held me in love; gave me back my heft, my voice; put me here shattered but reborn.

My friend, FGT.

Repost: Grief and Literature

2011-10-21T13:50:00.000-07:00

Notes from a Dragon Mom: "This is a love story, and like all great love stories, it is a story of loss."

Gorgeously narrated NYT opinion piece on caring for a child with a terminal illness.

"Ronan has given us a terrible freedom from expectations, a magical world where there are no goals, no prizes to win, no outcomes to monitor, discuss, compare... We are dragon parents: fierce and loyal and loving as hell... Our grief is primal and unwieldy and embarrassing."

- - - -
NYT on Haruki Murakami, one of the greatest writers of our time.

Porridge

2011-10-19T21:20:00.000-07:00

I don't really know why I've become so sensitive. All I know is that the weirdest things suddenly seem to set me off. For now I only want to keep things simple. Bland, like porridge. Makes getting through the day just that much easier.

Lets me hush the din in my head that says, "I don't know what to do."

Peace Corps Medical Clearance

2011-10-16T21:29:00.000-07:00

I finally got my Peace Corps medical forms in the mail earlier this week. I took a look at them when I first got the package but have sort of set them aside until now. Phew, there are so many! They seem really intent on going through every minor detail of my health record and I have to get my first super exciting PAP smear (us ladies are supposed to start getting them after 21 anyway).

Because I'm a poor college student and because my parents are already not so thrilled about my decision to go to the Peace Corps, I'm really determined to get all my medical and dental exams done for close to zero dollars. That is going to mean a lot of calling around and bumming rides off friends. Especially with my overloaded school schedule, it's just not going to be an easy time...

On the plus side, I get my free flu shot this Tuesday! One of the perks of being a hospital volunteer, I guess. :)

Part of the Fringe

2011-10-14T02:08:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, there was a boy in my grade. He was tall and lanky, long hair, pale skin, clear blue eyes. He was the kind of kid who never fought back, kept his eyes down. One of those people who seemed to have been born scared. He never seemed to realize how beautiful he was, beautiful even in his fragility, clinging to the walls of every room like a ghost or a whisper.

What is it about people like that? Looking back I can't remember why someone so timid could draw so much scorn from so many smart kids. It was a sort of poison, the way disdain eventually spread over the whole school. He was that kid, the one who literally had nobody.

I talked to him once. I can't remember why or how. Only the sense of shame I felt from being seen next to him, and worse shame of not meeting his eye the next day. I wish I had known myself better. I wish I had mustered up more courage. I wish I hadn't been a part of the machine.

I can hardly remember him now. A kid lost somewhere in the back of our minds. A kid whose miserable life I helped shape. And I know I can't ever take back what I did to him. How he must have felt, what he must still feel. All the damage I helped cause, simply by saying nothing.

Today I made cupcakes. A small goodwill gesture in his memory. A personal promise to be better, to spread compassion. To teach my future kids better than I self-taught.

Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Maybe it's trivial. But seeing friends in my living room, laughing and playing Taboo, I felt like some piece of stolen happiness was returned to the universe. Like somehow there was still a chance to put some balance back into the void.

- - - -

1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 3/4 cups sugar
1/4 cup dark brown sugar
3/4 cups cocoa powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 eggs
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup hot water
4 packets instant coffee
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

Yields 24 cupcakes

1) Preheat oven to 350 F.
2) Add lemon juice to milk and let sit.
3) Add instant coffee to hot water and mix well.
4) Combine all dry ingredients.
5) Add remaining ingredients.
6) Mix well.
7) Bake for 20 minutes.

Modified from My Baking Addiction

Worlds Away, Worlds of Their Own

2011-10-05T00:41:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I like to imagine all the things I've lost are together somewhere, living a life outside of mine. Socks and keys and pennies and trinkets, stacked in gleaming little piles. Childhood toys left on school benches or inside sandboxes. That plastic purse with the crooked zipper. The used-up glowstick I saved from my first trip to the roller rink. My baby tooth. Scraps of ribbon. Scribbled drawings.

Old friends play in the world of lost things, bathed in the golden sunlight of late afternoon. In that world we never lost touch, never grew up and apart. The joy of their company continues long past the fights that took it away, stretches infinitely through the horizon like the sound of laughter.

Notes and verses trickle through my world, like a music box winding down. Songs whose refrains I remember only in snatches. Lyrics that used to keep me up at night. The silly rhymes we made up. Concertos my parents loved. Radio show jangles.

The world of lost things lives outside of time. Nothing rusts or loses its value. Every item, no matter how small, is a resolution. A question mark with an accompanying answer. A world aside from what could have been. A world of, simply, what once was.

Entitled

2011-10-04T12:00:00.000-07:00

The New York Times is currently polling its readers for their economic outlook and confidence in their employment status. One unemployed man in the Northeast reported that he was "worried because [of] too much socialism." Reading his comment immediately brought to mind John Steinbeck's quip: "Socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires."

You really have to admire the spirit of America. We're so convinced that one day we will become independently wealthy and enjoy entitlement tax cuts that we will turn down healthcare for our aging parents and our children. Meanwhile people around the world willingly send themselves to war for a government that would even consider such a measure.

Did I Get Negged??

2011-09-24T11:01:00.000-07:00

Earlier this week, I was having an intelligent, respectful debate/conversation with someone about moral dilemmas, altruism and idealism when I mentioned my Peace Corp nomination, teaching chemistry/physics in sub-Saharan Africa. We laughed a little about how unspecific that regional placement is, he asked why I had chosen to go there, and I explained that I hadn’t but had likely been placed there because of my past experience with French. That was when the conversation went downhill.

“Hahaha, you’re going to teach chemistry/physics in French?”

“I have confidence in my ability to teach chemistry or physics in French. I may have to rely on a dictionary for some terms, but we have 3 months of in-country training and I already understand the basic sentence structure from having taken high school French.”

Go the whole nine yards! »

Poem: Marriage

2011-09-08T10:52:00.000-07:00

I think this is another poem that I pulled off my friend Sarah's joint blog, but I am never entirely sure. I just save the things I like as unpublished posts and then randomly decide to share them when my own words just don't cut it.

Lately I've been unsettled, like I am no longer completely sure of where I am and whether I want to be here. I think it has a lot to do with seeing so many of my close friends head off to graduate school and start new lives. It's not that I am scared that I will lose them--I know I have lost them by the sheer fact that we will grow up without each other.

What bothers me is how uneven the losing is. It seems that they have so much to gain from the loss of me (making new friends and acquiring new knowledge), while I am left feeling a bit more empty. It makes me anxious because I, too, need to be distracted from the pain of growing apart.

So here is this poem: "Marriage" by Lawrence Raab. On the surface, it has nothing to do with how I feel at the moment. But at its basest level, it is about facing change with squared shoulders, "not thinking you have a choice."

Go the whole nine yards! »

Update: Songs I Hear

2011-08-28T12:19:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone! I have updated my music page with some of my new favorite songs. I have switched to using an embedded Youtube playlist, so hopefully we won't run into any more technical problems! I have also update to a different blog editor. Things are getting fancy up in here!

Sneak Peak of the BRIGHT RED BOOTS Playlist:

My Terrible Friend (Collaboration with Nataly Dawn of Pomplamoose Music)
The Dalton Academy Warblers from the popular television show Glee
Bjork cover which debuted on Bon Iver's current US tour
Philadelphia songwriter Kurt Vile, influenced by Bob Dylan and Fleetwood Mac
Brand-new Parisian model turned Afro-soul artist Imany Mladjao

Head to the playlist HERE or click the SONGS tab on top menu.

My Peace Corps Interview Experience

2011-08-27T18:07:00.000-07:00

Follow my Peace Corps application timeline here.
- - - -

My Peace Corps recruiter, Amber, and I met up bright and early this morning for my interview. I woke up at 6:00AM to get ready, so luckily we had arranged to meet at a local coffee shop that I had suggested via Yelp recommendations (Windan Sea on La Jolla Boulevard). Amber was a former PCV who had served in Namibia a few years ago, had extended her stay because she loved the program so much and applied for a staff position when she returned to the US.

PREPARING FOR THE INTERVIEW

The night before, I looked through the list of interview questions on Peace Corps Wiki, one of my favorite Peace Corps informational sites. I typed up some bullet points on every question so that I would have examples I would be ready to talk about during my interview. I decided not to practice, partially because I have some impromptu speaking background from high school debate and from club leadership. Mostly though. I heard that the interview style was very informal so I figured the recruiter would be more interested in getting to know me as a person rather than hear "perfect" responses. I did prepare a list of questions to ask after the interview, which I think is always a good idea no matter what you're applying to! Instead of doing interview drills, I packed my bag (I was planning on going straight to my hospital volunteering shift), laid out the clothes I was planning on wear (a formal business dress, on par with something you would wear to a business reception), and reviewed the Google Maps streetview so I wouldn't get lost. Then I went out with friends!

ARRIVAL

The bus driver wasn't familiar with the stop I needed to get off on so the street view definitely helped! I had also written down the address of the cafe so I was able to locate it just by reading the numbers off the buildings nearby (no smartphone so going old school!). I arrived with about 15 minutes to spare in spite of the bussing mishap, but the cafe had very few patrons so we had our pick of tables. Shortly afterwards, Amber arrived carrying a large computer bag and sporting colorful turquoise blouse. Although she remained courteous and professional, I definitely got the feeling that she could be insanely hyper and spunky given the chance!

Go the whole nine yards! »

Seeing Fireworks

2011-08-24T19:01:00.000-07:00

The closest thing to peace and serenity...

I spend the past 7 hours reading Student Doctor Network pre-medicine forums. (I'm not lame, just desperately bored!) Some of the threads were useful, some of them utterly lame, some of them were hilarious and some of them were 'sploding with trolls. But if you ever feel the urge to read pre-med forums at all, please please please do not skip over "When You Got In, How Did You React?"

I wish I could transmit the joy and pride I felt while reading this thread. It didn't matter which school the person got into, whether or not their parents cried... every acceptance story felt like my own personal victory. I'm sure everybody has some sort of personal accomplishment that helps them relate to these stories. But to find myself this deeply bonded? No. That comes from walking the pre-med journey.

Go the whole nine yards! »

Azure Ray & Neutral Milk Hotel

2011-08-21T08:39:00.000-07:00

These songs are perfect for all those days where the only thing you want to do is curl up in your PJs with a box of tissues and read The Time Traveler's Wife. (Admit it, you have those days too!)

- - - -

I never expected you to love me the way I loved you
To have you near was all I wanted to just to have you near
It's funny how you can forget there's a world outside yourself
Or the trees keep growing and the cars keep moving without you there
It's funny how you can forget how there's a world outside yourself
Or the one who loves you keeps on living without you there

I love how your eyes close each time that you kiss me
And when I'm away from you, I love how you miss me
I love the way your kiss is always heavenly
But darling most of all, I love how you love me

Gender and Staying in Love

2011-08-16T12:00:00.000-07:00

(Looking at this picture, I can't help but point out that gender and sex are two different things.)

I don't consider myself a very gender-aware person. If it weren't for the inescapable prevalence of male privilege and my overwhelming desire to never again clean my room, I would probably never think about my status as a woman. But I am very concerned about relationships and what it means to love another human (platonically or romantically).

I've been reading the articles "Goodbye Husband, Hello Wife" and "Trans Men and Queer Women: Who’s This Boy to Date?", originally posted on Yum & Yuk. The first passage describes a woman's decision to stay with her husband after he got a sex change. In the second essay, a transgender man talks about opening up to dating lesbian women.

After reading these articles, I have been thinking about my own openness (and lack of openness) towards dating same gendered/transgendered people. I consider myself to be hands-down straight. I have never felt sexually attracted to another female or even effeminate men. I love the way dudes are built in a non-specific way (the set of their hips and the way they fill in a t-shirt... etc.). But these things don't define the way I feel towards a boy the same way that, as I was scolding a friend recently, a girl doesn't stop loving her boyfriend just because he wants to stop eating meat.

I believe that love is capable of transcending gender boundaries because I think that love is more important than gender. And perhaps therein lies the logical fallacy: thinking that one priority can negate another simply by ranked importance, or simply believing in the omnipotence of love (too much time spent belting, "All you need is love!"). But assuming that love can trump gender, it seems to me that my decision to not date females is at least partially one of social upbringing.

Yet, at the same time, I am vehemently opposed to the idea that you can "un-gay" someone (shudder, Marcus Bachmann...) or that gays have an "un-straightening" effect on heterosexuals. In short, I am conflicted. I would really like to think that, if confronted with the prospect of a mid-relationship sex change, I would have the grace and confidence to accept the person I love regardless of his/her gender. But outside the world of pure speculation, I don't know if I would.

In a way, the question is not so esoteric as it would seem. Couples and friends decide on a daily basis whether or not their relationships will withstand change. Everyone draws their own lines about how much they are willing to self-revise in order to accommodate the people they love. Habits, personalities, identities--all these things fluctuate in a longterm relationship. Is becoming Catholic or becoming a vegan for a loved one (more or less socially acceptable changes) really that different from becoming a lesbian? If it is, how so and why? To the point of taboo?

Thoughts?

Street Art at the MOCA

2011-08-08T13:04:00.000-07:00

I'm falling horribly behind on my Write One Leaf project because I went to Los Angeles this past weekend to see the street art exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art. Just the act of paying to see graffiti was kind of bizarre in the first place, but being hawked over by the museum personnel was downright annoying. I got in trouble for putting my arm on a display case filled with sketches! Uhm what? You know graffiti is constantly destroyed by the elements/unhappy property owners/other graffiti artists right? This is the case.

It was even weirder was to hear all these hipsters contriving nonsensical remarks to each other about how intricate the artwork was. Definitely a bit surreal. I guess the artists who were commissioned to show their work thought so too because one of them decided to make a spooky alleyway that turned to reveal a hobo in the doorway with the intention of scaring the museum patrons. Kind of like, "Boo! You suckers would never survive in the ghetto."

The most bizarre part was this fake slum area filled with what I can only describe as slum paraphernalia: old gates and store fronts and broken down bikes. The area was built into alleys with life size buildings but a bunch of the neon signs were filled with cutesy phrases and images. In random places they had mechanical people or mechanical arms waving spray paint cans and playing spray paint sound effects. If realism could be ranked on a scale of 1 to Disney, this was probably somewhere along the lines of high school theater set. Even though I admired the work that it must have taken to set up, I couldn't help but think, "Is this supposed to be ironic??"

All in all, it was still really cool to see Banksy's stencils, OBEY collages, and Keith Harring's drawings in real life. It definitely showcased the brilliance of overlooked art. Some of the pieces just looked like plain old tagging to me but a good number of them were astonishingly artful, so much so that they could have easily been standard museum work. They also had the sketchbooks of graffiti artists, and they were all filled with drawings that I know I will never have the technical proficiency to replicate. The artists who were given gallery space did a fantastic job making the rooms unique and completely unexpected. And most of all, I just had a really great time hanging out with some of my coolest friends and eating good food!

1 of 21: Rag Rolls not Rick Rolls

2011-08-04T23:42:00.000-07:00

Since I've mostly just been describing things I'm doing, my writing is getting more expository than usual. This doesn't mean I've abandoned my old ways. Head over to A Month of Leaves if you're looking for something more creative!

- - - -

I have tried basically every traditional non-heat method of curling my hair. I have foam curlers and velcro curlers. I've pin curled, braided, plaited, bunned up, salt-watered.... But until recently, I have never heard of rag rolling. When I saw Kate Winslet in rag rolls during Eternal Sunshine and Kate Beckinsale in Through the Looking Glass, I just assumed the little bits of fabric where a whimsically interesting hair-do... probably because they used awesome cute rags and I used an old tee-shirt. (Function over fashion?)

Anyway, I love any sort of project that makes use of weird things lying around the house, so this was something I really wanted to try. I can't lie though... rag rolling my hair made me realize why I almost never curl my hair, deep infatuation with curls be damned--it takes a freaking long time! (I have a lot of hair.)

This is what I looked like after I was done. Nice dose of crazy for y'all. (It actually took some nimble fingers to get this done, so I would definitely recommend longer strips rather than shorter ones.) Went to sleep in these. Not the most comfortable thing ever, but definitely way better than using plastic rollers or bobby pins (major ouch). And when I woke up this morning...

Ta-da! Not bad! It took a lot less time than heat curling because I didn't have to (consciously) wait for the curls to set. And unlike curling with rollers, which gives you more of a tight roll, you get a nice, natural-looking spiral curl with a decent lifetime. Definitely less damaging than using a curling iron. And it's fun, free and easy!

5 of 21: A Dollar's Worth of Inspiration

2011-08-02T17:21:00.000-07:00

Every major designer I know/hope to one day emulate keeps an inspiration book, basically like a sketchbook but with things they like pasted into the pages. When they get stuck for ideas, they flip through their books to jog their right brains. When LOVE OF MY LIFE // COOLEST DESIGNER DUDE EVER David Sparks talked about his, I knew for sure that having a inspiration book must be the key to awesome. So I had to get one.

I happened to have some free time between volunteering and work today so I walked a zig-zaggy route to the School of Medicine and found myself backtracking to hit up the alternative bookstore on campus, Groundworks. They give away old, unused books for a $1 donation (no tax!) and I happened to pick up this little sucker!

Hideous cover design, right? I wish I could get paid to draw triangles...

But underneath the sleeve, it was bound with this gorgeous teal coarse linen. (I'm a huge sucker for thick, linen bound books.) And look at the pristine condition!

Even better, the inside was a perfectly complementary burgundy. My favorite color! It totally sealed the deal.

So I took it home and made it my inspirations book! Unfortunately, I tossed all my old National Geographics after moving out, but my friend forked over her Anthropologie catalog.

After I was all "inspirationed," I pigged out on the jam I made from leftover cherries, the ginger root powder and cinnamon I had lying in the kitchen. Yum! (I also baked a loaf of bread as a trial run for "16 of 21" so I'm basically living the life of a pioneer woman right now!)

Sex and College Debt

2011-08-02T08:16:00.000-07:00

Since I love browsing Craigslist, I've definitely seen the "sugar daddy/college sugar baby" phenomenon, in which older men seek out college students with debt in order to find younger companionship (I hate that word. It's such an euphemism). And just as with seeing all those advertisements to see my eggs for money, I might have briefly considered it, or at least joked about it with friends. Stuff like, "Don't worry! We could always become strippers if it doesn't work out!" But really, it seems more predatory than funny...

Because when you take the time to really reflect on ads for sugar babies/egg donors, you realize that they target people at their most vulnerable--people who are desperate to make ends meet. It's on par with the 'voluntary' sale of kidneys by debt-ladden donors.

New York University tops the list with 498 sugar babies, while UCLA comes in at No. 8 with 253, and Harvard University ranks at No. 9 with 231. The University of California at Berkeley ranks at No. 13 with 193, the University of Southern California ranks at No. 15 with 183, and Tulane University ranks at No. 20 with 163 college sugar babies.

Notice that the only PUBLIC schools making the top of the "sugar baby" list are from the UC system. With the recent hikes in tuition, I can't help but wonder how our school system is forcing students to take desperate measures like this. It seems unfair that students with a set financial plan to get through their schooling should suddenly get screwed over by such extreme price hikes. And I don't blame anyone who would resort to sex work to pay their bills.

But let's not call it anything else. It's sex work.

There's a funny thing about sex work. Traditional people always want to distance themselves from it by thinking of prostitutes as crack-addict women with low standards and even lower morals. Prostitutes become somehow sub-human, and their existence seems less threatening. On the other hand, "free-thinkers" always want to portray it as a woman's choice--that these women are empowered, proud, and that they have a right to do what they do. Some of these "free-thinkers" are feminists who want to restore the rights of prostitutes to basic human needs like healthcare. (We all know how prostitutes get thrown under the bus every time a new STD scare emerges.)

My big problem with the 'empowered prostitute' image (though I definitely think it's preferable to the 'crack whore' image) is how it is used by 'pimps' to justify what they do: provide realistic choices for smart people looking to get out of debt. Yes. Because we all know college students make absolutely intelligent life choices that they never regret, right?

Wade sees his company as providing a unique service, a chance for "men and women living through tough economic times to afford college." He bristles at the notion that he's merely running a thinly veiled, digital bordello, choosing instead to describe his site as one that facilitates "mutually beneficial relationships."

It really bothers me to think that schools market themselves as a way for their students to improve their life prospects only to send kids so far into debt that they turn to these measures. People go to college because they dream big. People come to trust and love their schools. Pin hopes on it. Wear its names emblazoned on way overpriced sweaters. And for those people to end up prostituting is... more than ironic. It's frickin' sad.

I wish instead of treating students like money mills, schools would take a closer look at what they do to their pupils. How debt changes the life of a student. And while I'm one of the lucky few whose parents shoulder the college finances, it makes me absolutely sick to think of what they're doing to my friends and fellow students.

6 of 21: A Leaf on Tides

2011-07-31T16:59:00.000-07:00

Write one leaf describing what you would write in the sand to be washed away by the tide.

I AM FOREVER walking upon these shores,
Betwixt the sand and the foam,
The high tide will erase my foot-prints,
And the wind will blow away the foam.
But the sea and the shore will remain
Forever.

Oceans always echo of Khalil Gibran. I think about the things I want to forget and the things I want to last forever and I think about the way those things sometimes intersect. I don't write. Words are too obvious. Words speak to others. Instead, I start to draw. I draw the crook and curve of a man's arm: a cradle for some squirming thing. I draw a head bent in wonder. I draw the arc of a precautionary shoulder. Something private. That's it.

- - - -

This post is the first entry of a challenge #6 to complete every Write One Leaf prompt for a month. The rest of the entries will be posted on my brand new side-blog, A Month of Leaves.

Learn more about the Write One Leaf project here.

Find the full list of 21 Things here.

21 Things

2011-07-31T11:20:00.000-07:00

Now that summer school is over, I have about a month and a half of the most free time I have had since starting college! I am driving myself crazy with the sheer anticipation of doing Whatever The Hell I Want. And since one of my mile stone birthdays is coming up this fall, I decided to make a list of 21 things I want to do before I turn 21. The challenge starts today!

1) Try rag rolling my hair.

2) Eat on a dollar a day for 2 weeks.

3) Go to a tattoo/piercings parlor.

4) Complete a (difficult) DIY project.

5) Keep an inspirations book.

6) Participate in a month of Write One Leaf.

7) Befriend a cat.

8) Take a staycation.

9) Couch surf with a friend.

10) Write a book report.

11) Eat a dish that someone else ordered.

12) Go Geocacheing.

13) Write a thank you letter.

14) Develop a roll of Diana film.

15) Abstain from buying new clothes for a month.

16) Bake bread for a friend.

17) Listen to a CD I should have listened to long ago.

18) Make ice cream/sorbet.

19) Sell clothes to a thrift store.

20) Master an ethnic dish... from scratch!

21) Plan my own birthday party!

Steel yourself for some heavy duty blogging and follow along as I cross all these things off my list! I added the list to my toolbar so you can track my progress with me. :)

Becoming Ordinary

2011-07-30T23:40:00.000-07:00

In my never-ending quest to become Perfect, the most precious moments of my life are becoming the moments where I feel absolutely ordinary. It's good to take a break from being the Laziest, Most Incompetent, Most Unstable, Least Studious Person Ever and realize that everyone is going through the exact same thing, and that all in all, we're not just awesome... we're ordinary. One part of a large sum of everyone going through the same thing.

Thank god for the spectacular people who make us feel ordinary.

Surgery as Sexual Violence

2011-07-27T23:04:00.000-07:00

I've been writing about rape, but gender violence comes in more flavors than lube: Some Indian Parents Using Sex Change Operations To Turn Girls Into Boys

When I thought about kids, I always wanted a boy most. It's not because I think girls are any less charming or valuable. I just thought that it was too damn hard to grow up a girl the way society is right now. I wouldn't wish that on my kids. Reading this article makes me realize that we need more girls who know what's up--who are damn proud of being born female, hardships be damned. And that has to start with me.

Follow Up: Rape and the "Slut"

2011-07-27T22:25:00.001-07:00

This comment was posted below the news article on the Toronto police man who suggested that women could avoid rape by dressing like "sluts."

I happen to agree with him. You dress like a slut you will get treated like one. And why should you blame the officer? It’s your society which turns women into chattel by making a half naked woman sell a pepsi or sprite bottle. That’s your progress, your business, your freedoms that the evil terrorists hate. Also, girls today dress like sluts so the whole lot of them take offense when someone tells it how it is. Kudos to you Officer.

Of course the men are responsible who perpetrate this, but seriously, when they chose their victim I’m sure that they searched for someone who was eyecandy to them. They wouldn’t say—choose a hindu or sikh or muslim woman who was covered in their traditional clothing.

It really hurts, offends and deeply angers me to see ignorance like this. Not just ignorance about 'sluts getting their upcomance' but also ignorance about the incidence of rape in Muslim societies (and of course the implication that women who choose to wear traditional clothing are sexually undesirable):

According to a survey conducted in 2008 by an Egyptian Women’s rights group, 83% of Egyptian women have been sexually harassed. The numbers for foreign women is a staggering 98%. Most of the men in the survey admitted they have harassed women and most of them blamed it on women for dressing provocatively.

What is worse is that the majority of women in the survey believe that women who dress immodestly deserve the harassment... Muslim preachers often rush to blame women as having “asked for it” or being “uncovered meat”. Even in Australia, an Egyptian Muslim preacher, Sheik al-Hilali, used the “uncovered meat” excuse to defend Muslim men who raped Australian women wearing bikinis on the beach... These kind of religious teachings are the reason behind honor killing, female genital mutilation and abuse, all of which are designed to tame women and set an example to the rest of society. (Article)

There is nothing inherently wrong with any religion or system of beliefs. The Bible has its fair share of discriminatory passages. Plenty of atheists hold misogynistic attitudes. A person's religious identification has nothing to do with their ability to rape or hurt: religion is cannot be used as a condemnation or an excuse. Where there is gender inequality, where gender inequality is made into a culturally-sanctioned norm, where gender inequality is instilled as part of ethical code; there will be gender violence. Most people are too cowardly to hurt other humans. But take away someone's humanity and someone's bound to use that vulnerability to feel their own power.

To quote Paul Farmer: "Rights violations are... symptoms of deeper pathologies of power and are linked intimately to the social conditions that so often determine who will suffer abuse and who will be shielded from harm."

Summer Reading Material

2011-07-27T20:23:00.000-07:00

Some articles I want to share:

SlutWalk is a rally and protest that began when a Toronto police man suggested to a group of college women that they should stop acting and dressing like "sluts" to avoid being raped. (I very briefly posted about the genderization of the word "whore" a while ago after having a conversation with a friend.) Jai talks about how she unwittingly came to be a "slut" and rape victim. Kate, of Eat The Damn Cake, reflects on whether slut is a word worth reclaiming. Both articles are poignant. I'm at a bit of an impasse myself, but I do know this:

Using SLUT/WHORE/HO
as a derogatory term is every bit as bad as
using GAY/FAG/RETARD/NIGGER.

It's just that we're so used to it, we forget what a disservice we do to ourselves when we use it. So from here on out, let's not say it anymore, m'kay? (Here is a poem precisely on this topic: Rape.)

On a lighter note: some boaters stumbled upon a drowning humpback whale, tangled in discarded nylon fishing net. Realizing that no one would be able to get to the whale in time to save her, they began cutting away the net with just one knife. After an hour, they finally set her free... and were rewarded with the best whale-watching experience of their life. It's a long video but I love the kid talking at 7:17. This kid didn't have quite so good an experience....

If you're not up for reading: Tom Waits give a great rendition of his song "Chocolate Jesus" via megaphone. (Anyone who can still sound like music through a megaphone has my respect. Doesn't he seem like he's on a soapbox and not a stage? It's fantastic.)

And live audio of my personal favorite Tom Waits song, "Falling Down." I posted lyrics to this song when I was thinking about the earthquake in Japan. But bad things have a way of bringing out the best of people. Say what you want about older generations. They may not know how to type or use tech support, but love? There's a difference in showing love and giving love. These people give.

Reflections on Chemistry: Nitrogen Heterocycles

2011-07-27T18:51:00.000-07:00

I nearly busted out laughing today in organic chemistry lecture when the professor referred to the nucleic acid bases (uracil, guanine, cytosine, adenine, and thymine) as nitrogen heterocycles. Not that they aren't heterocycles, but just that it was such a chemist's was of describing them. Biologists would never call them heterocycles (maybe because almost every biologically important molecule worth drawing out is a heterocycle). We just call them bases. Base: a word so innocuous a child wouldn't bat an eye. But if you really think about it, "base" is probably one of most idly understood words in our vocabulary.

From my biology background, I've always learned to think of the word base as a noun, base as an entity. A base is a base is a base. But that's not the way chemistry works. When a base becomes neutral, one puny hydrogen can take this "base" (this supposedly solid concept) and suddenly you don't have a base anymore. You take a base, you stick it in water, and before you even know it (even if you do nothing) some of your base is no longer base.

Isn't that weird??

So really the word "base" isn't so much a noun. It's an adjective. It's a descriptor--a descriptor of the potential for change. Not just any change, a certain type of change, and--above and beyond that--the ability to inflict change on another molecule. Isn't that lovely? How cool is that??

If only we has such elegantly simple ways to describe people who change us. We could chat on the phone saying things like, "This friend neutralizes me," and your listener would understand exactly how he/she has affected your life. Instead we fumble around for words, spend years and years crafting the perfectly punctuated poetry, just to describe these gorgeous little things we call changes. Love, hatred, fear, inspiration, growth, awareness... what are these but changes? Changes in temperament, in perspective, in hopes for the future. We buzz with change. Is it really so odd that molecules do too?

Poem: Berryman

2011-07-26T21:16:00.000-07:00

I will tell you what he told me
in the years just after the war
as we then called
the second world war

don't lose your arrogance yet he said
you can do that when you're older
lose it too soon and you may
merely replace it with vanity

just one time he suggested
changing the usual order
of the same words in a line of verse
why point out a thing twice

he suggested I pray to the Muse
get down on my knees and pray
right there in the corner and he
said he meant it literally

it was in the days before the beard
and the drink but he was deep
in tides of his own through which he sailed
chin sideways and head tilted like a tacking sloop

he was far older than the dates allowed for
much older than I was he was in his thirties
he snapped down his nose with an accent
I think he had affected in England

as for publishing he advised me
to paper my wall with rejection slips
his lips and the bones of his long fingers trembled
with the vehemence of his views about poetry

he said the great presence
that permitted everything and transmuted it
in poetry was passion
passion was genius and he praised movement and invention

I had hardly begun to read
I asked how can you ever be sure
that what you write is really
any good at all and he said you can't

you can't you can never be sure
you die without knowing
whether anything you wrote was any good
if you have to be sure don't write

--W.S. Merwin

Amy Winehouse

2011-07-25T16:35:00.000-07:00

Amy had one of the biggest souls a chanteuse ever had. No background musician could ever keep up with her. She sang songs from inside her head, didn't give a crap about her band or her stage and dressed just the way she was. She was a mess, yes, but she never once apologized for it. Courage like that just doesn't last in this world. RIP.

Congratulations, New York!

2011-07-25T11:01:00.000-07:00

Portraits From the New York City Marriage Bureau

At 5:40 p.m., Andy Berg, 41, and Dominic Pisciotta, 39, walked out of the building, their son standing between them. They had a reason for being last. Mr. Pisciotta, an employee at the city’s Department of Information Technology and Telecommunications, had been at the clerk’s office since 7 a.m., ensuring that those who had registered to marry online made it down the aisle. “It was a nice way to finish my work,” he said.

The men had not planned on marrying on Day 1, Mr. Pisciotta said, but their young children had been insistent. “We’ve been waiting for this,” said their 8-year-old son, Spencer Berg-Pisciotta, “since we were, like, 4 or 5.” (Article)

It's good to see so much love. Congrats to everyone in New York! :)

Writing and Laughing and Playing

2011-07-25T10:11:00.000-07:00

Today I want to write and laugh and play by the pool. Instead I am doing homework because my desire to not be a failure is stronger than my desire to eat like a real human and therefore must also be stronger than petty things like writing and laughing and playing by the pool.

The logic is that maybe by not failing, I will one day accumulate enough "life security points" to write and laugh and play whenever I want to. But really, anyone can tell you that this is a bit of a pipe dream. When you've learned to fear failure, you don't ever go back to spontaneous writing and laughing and playing. And when your friends catch the failure fear too, it's hard to find anyone who will write, laugh and play with you.

Safety is such a fickle and funny thing.

New Header!

2011-07-24T02:12:00.000-07:00

I'm really enjoying the new header I put on my blog. I think it gives the site just the right amount of hipster zen. (Not to mention that there is now a much needed splash of contrasting color on my blog.) ADMIRE IT!

(I found the stock image by googling "Hipster Tiled Wallpaper." Win.)

Poem: I Feel Horrible. She Doesn't

2011-07-23T23:36:00.000-07:00

Because I'm the kind of girl who reads bloggers who love poetry... instead of reading poetry directly. (No time, no books and Geisel is horribly, horribly disorganized.)

This one's funny (which is rare for me) but in a sad way (which is perfectly me). And it's a good reminder to myself not to take my recent too seriously. (I'm currently deep in the throes of PMS, finals and general life-woe. Does this mean I am once again contemplating a drastic haircut? Yes. Yes it does.)

I feel horrible. She doesn't
love me and I wander around
like a sewing machine
that's just finished sewing
a turd to a garbage can lid.

Richard Brautigan

I want this poem on a tote bag.

News Update: Norway

2011-07-22T22:24:00.000-07:00

Best wishes to our friends and loved ones in Norway.

(Jesus Christ, who does this shit??)

Oslo Bomb Attack | Summer Camp Shooting

Excerpt: Walking in the Rain

2011-07-22T13:46:00.000-07:00

Today, we’re walking together in the rain, and I’m quickening my pace because—after all, it’s raining. That’s what you do in the rain. And even though it’s coming down noticeably harder, it’s 80 degrees and I’m not cold, I’m just wet. My hair is stuck to my forehead and my T-shirt is soaked ... and I’m the only one running for cover. And I think: So what? It’s just water and in the middle of the January summer, it’s warm, refreshing water. Why run? Why do we run from the rain?

In my life back in the United States, I might run because I was carrying a leather handbag, or because I wore an outfit that shouldn’t get wet. I would run because rain dishevels and messes things up. Mostly though, we run because we just do; it’s a habit. I’ve done it a hundred times: running to my car or the subway station with a newspaper sheltering my head. I have never not quickened my pace in the rain until today.

It took all of my 27 years and a move to Africa, where I don’t have a leather handbag to shelter or a pretty outfit to protect. I’m wearing an old cotton skirt and a T-shirt, and I’m drenched, and I love it. I learn things here in the most ordinary circumstances. And I feel like a smarter, better woman today because I got groceries in the rain.

----

Excerpt from a compilation of Peace Corp volunteer letters.

Aesthetics

2011-07-21T20:45:00.000-07:00

It's funny how you can flip through hundreds of gorgeous, gorgeous paintings and feel nothing but the faintest detached admiration. Clicking through the images nonchalantly like bathroom reading. Walking through the millionaire's gallery like taking a promenade at the local mall. But then occasionally there comes that moment. Your breath catches, though you can't feel it. Crippled in the moment and all of a sudden, you know what it is to fall in love.

You never forget a painting like that. It carves its name into your soul like a proud lover on a tree trunk.

Repost: A Poem and an Article from Yum & Yuk

2011-07-16T07:55:00.000-07:00

Even after all this time,
the sun never says to the earth,
"You owe me."
Look what happens with a love like that.
It lights the whole sky.

--Hafez

I cried reading this NYT article: My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant

Yum & Yuk

Video Blog: Random Updates

2011-07-12T20:03:00.000-07:00

Here's a video of me talking to myself. Since I don't actually have time to talk to people anymore. AHAHAHA. Sad life. Also, I never realized that I say "like" so much. Or that I'm such an animated talker.... weiiird!

Space and Object

2011-07-06T22:03:00.000-07:00

Somedays I just want my life to disappear, all the photographs and the little bits of me scattered.

Here is my cup and here is my campus. I look at these things and wonder why they're even mine. Why does it have to be mine? I want to erase it all. Make the objects meaningless again. Slip them back into that space they came from before they met me. As if doing so I could disown even the memories associated with them. Pretend I never walked this Earth. Forget the things that tie me down into me. Drift into the in-betweens. Like the breath between waking and sleeping.

Phone Numbers

2011-07-03T22:31:00.000-07:00

Getting/being given someone's phone number is very problematic for me. I want to say the problem comes from deciding whether or not I'm getting any mad axe murderer vibes, if I want to call, and if so, whether the three day rule still applies. But really, if I am very very honest with myself, I'm trying to decide how much loyalty I have for someone I've never even dated.

(Sometimes I feel like I'm a really, really stupid person.)

When Humor Fails Me

2011-06-18T00:33:00.000-07:00

I don't get along with my parents. When I spend a lot of time away at school, I tend to forget this fact. I guess if I want to put some literary humor onto it, I would say that it's just too Dostoyevsky up in here. But I think the real problem is so worn-out and so insurmountable that it's not even worth talking about. I'm just glad to get away from it. And I'm scared that one day I'll end up trapped by it, living in a basement with people I have to try not to hate.

Another Year Down, Another Year to Go

2011-06-16T21:57:00.000-07:00

Almost exactly a year ago, my great friend and mentor lent me this book, How to Become a Straight-A Student. It was after a year of rock bottoms. I had gotten some of the worst grades of my college career, contracted a sapping series of illnesses at an inopportune moment, barely carried through on my responsibilities as a club officer, had my first serious arguments with my college friends, and began having serial nightmares over my purported failures.

Basically, it sucked balls.

Even though a lot of good things happened to me that year, I couldn't stop thinking about the things I had done wrong. I blamed myself and it haunted me like nothing has ever haunted me before. I was really lucky to have someone smack serious sense into me.

My friend had gone through something similar earlier in his sophomore year, but one day he woke up and just decided, "From now on, I will only get A's." It made all the difference.

I made the same vow a year ago. And today, I have finally reached my target GPA. (Woohoo!)

But I'm not just telling you this because I'm proud of my test scores. The story is not so simple as the transcripts would have told. A lot of things had to change before getting A's even became a possibility. Most of them had nothing to do with grades. In order to get A's, I had to muster up my shattered self-confidence. Really believe that I could do it, regardless of what had happened in the past. I had to push myself both when I was convinced I had done enough, as well when I was sure I had already failed. I had to hold myself responsible not just after I had made a mistake, but before I had committed myself to them. I had to sort out my personal life--everything from sleeping habits to how I treated my friends and family--so that I could devote comparable time to my academic life.

Self-discipline takes constant vigilance. I would have never guessed it. In fact, if I had known, I probably would have given up before I started. I have never in my life worried so much about doing something wrong as I did this past year. Some days the worry was dismissible, a small consciousness in the back of my brain. Some days the worry was a gnawing fear, ruining weeks on end. It was exhausting. Sometimes, I was sure I was going crazy.

It sounds horrible, doesn't it? And it would have been, if I hadn't known that every moment of it made me a stronger person. I was more proud of myself than I had ever been, knowing that I had done right by myself and by the people who loved me. I know a lot of people didn't understand it, the all-consuming need to rise above who I was. But surely you understand its counterpart? The freedom found in knowing I had not let anybody down.

I didn't just improve my grades. I improved myself. For once, I felt good enough to damn well forget what other people might think. By holding myself to higher standards, I could hold my head up higher, knowing that if I failed today, I would do better tomorrow. I forged a stronger relationship with my friends, returned all my important phone calls and emails (its harder than it seems), devoured everyone's advice and criticism, worked harder than anyone expected me to, and as a result, smiled a hell of a lot more than I thought I could.

Lesson learnt? There is always a better you out there. Don't be afraid to seek it out with a vengeance. You already have everything you need to get there.

Repost: You Don't Look Desperate

2011-06-15T19:36:00.000-07:00

This an excerpt of a blogpost from Eat the Damn Cake (click on the link to read the rest, including a very cute story of Kate's 3rd date with her husband). I really liked the forwardness in this post. I guess a bit of moxie is more charming that most people would think!
- - - -

Especially when you’re like me, and fall in love with a guy like Bear, who is really gentle and cautious and delightfully bumbling. That is my favorite kind of guy, and he needs a lot of pursuing. Guys like that don’t know that you’re pursuing them sometimes, unless you’re pretty obvious. And it’s in being obvious that the risk of looking desperate lies. Because in the obviousness are real feelings and desires. And once you’ve shown someone else what you’re actually, really feeling, you’ve made yourself vulnerable. And once you’re vulnerable— um…you’re desperate? OK, it doesn’t make sense. But that’s the way people think about it.

Am I Pretty?

2011-06-08T15:28:00.000-07:00

My self-esteem, especially when it comes to physical beauty, is simply deplorable. So when Sarah Von of Yes & Yes asked her readers if they thought there were pretty, it kind of surprised me when my inner dialogue said, "Well yeah."

It's hard for me to like the way I look because Taiwanese culture has very stringent notions of beauty. While boys do there fair share of following celebrity fashions, ultimately, smarts and having a prestigious career are their biggest markers of social success. Girls definitely suffer the worst of it. Doors close for ugly girls. Ugly girls can't go into sales or business or service industries. Ugly girls are never hired as secretaries or waitresses or flight attendants. Boys don't look at ugly girls, even if they are charming and sweet and intelligent. Hierarchies are built in schools, and the prettiest girls always float to the top.

When I am with Taiwanese people, I know I am being judged. Mothers, especially, are extremely concerned with their daughters' attractiveness because they know how much it hurts to be seen as ugly. I used to resent my mom for telling me I was too fat to wear something or that I should try icing the mole on my cheek so it would fade. I hated shopping for clothes. It took me a long time to realize that her criticism of me was a form of love. That, if it weren't for her own upbringing, she would have cared less how beautiful I was. She was afraid for me--afraid that I'd have to grow up under the stigma of being ugly.

Knowing that doesn't take the sting away when my mom, my aunts, and my grandmothers chide me for being too chubby or having skin that is too dark. Even now, after years of building up my own form of confidence, when a friend unwittingly remarks that my skin color is too dark to pull off a shade of makeup, it hurts so much that my stomach knots up in a ball of self-defense and shameful agony.

In my head, I know that I am better than that. In my head, I am an iron rod that refuses to bend with the wind. I refuse to go on a diet. I refuse to carry a parasol in the summers. I scoff at girls who straighten their hair and put on makeup to make their eyes look bigger. I go to school in sweats and pajamas, silently daring others to criticize. I avoid using cosmetics because I want people to see me exactly as I am, pretty or not. I love edgy accessories and the color red because the flashiness takes the focus off me. I make my virtual selves (photographs, Wii Miis, avatars) look ridiculous, so that I can disassociate from the way I look.

Am I pretty? I think I'm prettier than I let myself be. I'm afraid that if I learn to see myself as pretty, I will let the rest of me be overlooked. I'm scared to believe I am pretty because the joy of looking good is so easily disrupted by one bad photo on Facebook. I hate that the best pictures of me are the ones that that don't look like me at all.

But secretly, I'm learning to like the way I look. I like the way my eyes and nose and mouth come together, even when I think my forehead is too big and my jaw is too prominent. I hate my apple shaped body, but I love how my curves can fill in a dress. I admire the shape of my fingernails and ignore my knobby knuckles. My feet aren't dainty but I'm obsessed with how cheery my toes look painted for the summer and it makes me happy to dress up my ears with studs and chandeliers. I'm fascinated by the way my face changes when it smiles. I even started liking my tan.

It fascinates me to know that I've been parading around, scattering light, looking like me for so long and yet I never truly get used to seeing myself. It boggles me that after all this time, I still only like myself in increments, that the things that I like still change on a day-to-day basis. It amazes me when I find more things I like about myself. It's a bit of an emotional whirlwind to think so much about my looks but mostly, I'm proud. I'm proud of myself for saying yes to Sarah Von.

It took twenty years of collecting these little moments--twenty years of staring myself down in the mirror, twenty years of discarding belts and jackets and eyeliners, twenty years of deleting pictures--but I can finally like the me you guys get to see everyday.

- - - -
Note: Related post by Eat The Damn Cake about photographs and mirrors.

Applying Ethics

2011-06-06T14:23:00.000-07:00

I finally got the paper from my environmental ethics back and, in spite of my finishing it only minutes before the due date (hell yeah I roll like that), so now I can share a piece of it without worrying about being accused of plagiarism! This is the introduction and conclusion kind of re-worked into a mini-essay.

To the academically-rigorous: I realize that takes all the evidence out of the paper, but it was always meant to be read for its message not its research. I have no idea if any of you are fledgling bioethicists but feel free to debate in the comments. :)

- - - -

Without much knowledge of ecological movements or though-processes, I have been looking for my one correct paradigm since I first registered in our environmental ethics class. I was convinced that if I read enough books and investigated enough theories, I would eventually stumble upon it. This ethic would be something upon which I could invest the total sum of my intellectual energy and which I could use to inform my future conservation effort. Many of the other students in the class seemed to have either found their positions or, like me, were looking for that one beam of guiding light. Looking back, the situation had a Cinderella-esque “one foot, one shoe” naïvety to it. It took me a while to realize that the muddle of good-but-not-good-enough ideas was not there to confuse me. Rather, the blur and variety of solutions present in the literature was my solution.

Looking for a single environmental ethic is the equivalent of seeking a silver bullet solution. While many authors have been quick to point out one or even several factors contributing to the global environmental crisis, the focus on finding a scapegoat for our collectively environmentally-degrading actions have led to no real solutions, and instead created animosity towards others and ourselves. The ethics of late reflect the global frustration with our environmental situation, not an inspired move to save ourselves from it. Our scientists and our theorists document the damage well, but throw their hands up when asked for a way to move forward.

In the face of our current ecological crisis, academics and park rangers alike do not have the luxury of waiting for a movement to unite all movements. Indeed, I argue that they should not, even if they could. Ultimately, the number one priority should be to create sustainability, not to impose a particular ethical stance. Rather than condemning or advocating one set of values, a truly effective environmentalist must engage multiplex viewpoints to develop projects that generate support from many involved parties. To many, the idea of a flexible ethics seems counter-intuitive. Some people are concerned that this leaves little philosophical foundation upon which to justify any environmental action. However, looking back onto the field of conservation ethics—or any field of ethics, for that matter—philosophers and theorists have failed to develop any kind of ethics to move the larger public. What have these theorists missed?

The move towards a sustainable ethic requires not unification under a single banner of ethics, but under a quilt-work of synergistic ethical beliefs. Environmentalists seeking to halt and reverse the current ecological situation must engage and respond to—maybe even believe—a spectrum of ethical imperatives and rationalities. Conservationists must be willing to flexibly engage modes of thought and action to design maximally effective projects. While it is tempting to find a single scapegoat for the current environmental problems and while a definitive “enemy of the environment” provides a banner to rally behind, in real life pointing fingers fails to move a broad spectrum of people. In the end, such methods alienate would-be supporters and move counter to environmental progress.

Rather than waiting for an all-powerful ethos to pull people together, environmentalists should return to the basics. Few people would argue that destruction of the environment is itself a good thing. Start with that. Rather than trying to reframe centuries of human thought under one ethical imperative, build a variety of ethical imperatives to suit the people and the problems. Only then will environmentalists be able to generate the widespread support needed to dig ourselves out of this predicament.

Repost: ‎Stages of Stuff

2011-06-06T12:49:00.000-07:00

My friend Chu posted this on his Facebook and I thought it was too awesome not to share! Good luck on finals, everyone!

5 Stages of Finals Week:
1: Denial - "I have time to learn this"
2: Anger - "WHY HAVEN'T I LEARNED THIS?"
3: Bargaining - "If only I had a few more days....."
4: Depression - "I'm gonna cry now. I'm so stupid, why can't I do this?"
5: Acceptance - "GG. I'm screwed"

- - - -

Coincidentally Becky of Steam Me Up, Kid posted a video blog that pretty much sums up my personal experiences of using a webcam (right down to the kareoke stage!). Webcams do odd things to people. O_o;;

Video Blog: My New Teddybear

2011-06-03T20:35:00.000-07:00

Something I Like

2011-06-02T17:31:00.000-07:00

One of the most goddamn beautiful songs ever.

You Are All Breaking My Heart

2011-06-01T23:41:00.000-07:00

I can't focus on studying for finals or writing papers because all I can think of is trying to hold on to my last moments with friends who keep leaving me. I know nothing I say is audible because I keep crying, but if I could enunciate through my tears, I would say:

Fuck you. Fuck you all for leaving me. Don't you know I depend on you? How am I going to find friends that even come close to you? You're trying to kill me, I just know it. I can't believe you would do this to me. You SUCK. YOU SUCK SO MUCH. So fuck you, you motherfucking fucktards!

Staying True to Yourself

2011-05-27T11:19:00.001-07:00

I don't know what goes on during Spring Quarter that just makes peoples' lives go to shit but people have been coming to talk to me about their problems. That's saying a lot because my giving out advice is rare in the first place. Usually people don't seek me out because I am not very consoling or supportive. (I'm like life's red pen.)

Anyway, a lot of the advice I've been dispensing lately really boils down to this: stay true to yourself. It's such an over-used phrase, this "staying true to yourself" business. But what does it really mean and how do you do it? I guess part of the answer depends on you yourself, but this is the meaning I put to it:

Staying true to yourself means knowing yourself, maybe not in full--because does anyone ever really--but staying dedicated to knowing yourself and knowing yourself to the fullest extent possible. Don't lie to yourself about the way you feel. Don't say, "It's okay," when you're upset at someone. Don't fall for the guy you know you're not entirely happy with.

Staying true to yourself means looking for other options. It means that when one path doesn't work out, you shouldn't be afraid to take another one, even if it means dropping out of school and trying something different. It means sometimes you have to make risky decisions. It means sometimes you're going to have to be afraid.

Staying true to yourself means holding on to your end goals. If you're looking for love, don't settle for the person who gives you only comfort. If you're looking for success, don't settle for the job that gives you only monetary security. If you're looking for happiness, don't fake it so you can tell yourself that you're good with where you are now.

Staying true to yourself means patience and impatience. It means being strong enough to wait for the things you want most. It means fighting to get there at all moments of your life. It means wanting things with all the energy you can muster. It means knowing that you deserve more than mere contentment. It means knowing that you can be wildly happy--that only you can make yourself wildly happy. Staying true to yourself means you have to love yourself more than you ever imagined possible.

Admit that you're scared, or tired, or frustrated. Admit that you've made mistakes. But find the person you are underneath that and spend the rest of your life building that person up.

Respire (Breathe)

2011-05-24T21:29:00.000-07:00

I need to go back to studying for my conservation class but I wanted to share a music video my French teacher in high school showed us. The song is "Respire" (Breathe) by Mickey 3D and if you watch the video you will know what the song is about without my translating it! I particularly like these lines:

Ils te diront comment t'a pu laisser faire ca
De raboter, défendre, leur expliquer tout bas
C'est pas ma faute a moi, c'est la faute aux anciens
Mais y'aura plus personne pour te laver les mains

Rough "interpretive" translation:

They will say, 'How could you have let that happen?'
Whisper your worn-down defense, your explanation:
"It's not my fault, it's the fault of my ancestors,"
But there will be no one left to wash your soiled hands.

Video Blog: Narrative, An Elaboration

2011-05-18T20:49:00.000-07:00

I used to spend so much time editing videos down, but now that I'm too lazy to hide away all the loose ends, I can video post all the time! It's so easy! I don't have to edit my grammar and check my spelling! Maybe it'll help my interview skills... hmmmm....

Narrative

2011-05-17T21:41:00.000-07:00

READ THIS FIRST!!!!!!!!!
- - - -
No one gives a fuck about reality. The only thing that matters is how you narrate your personal experiences. Do I know, for sure, that he ever loved me? Do I know that that's what happened between us? I never asked. I don't want to know.

I tell the story in the way that lets me live with myself. I tell it so that I can make sense of the things that happened. I string together the incidents in a way that lets me go on living my life. I make it rational so I don't have to feel confused or lost. And then I move on.

Because heartbreak is not productive. And I owe more to myself.

Only Friends

2011-05-17T21:19:00.000-07:00

I think you end up with the person you have the most successful relationship with, not necessarily the person you love most. Believing that is the only way I can move on with my life and still be honest about the way I felt. I loved him. I still love him. I love him more than anything or anyone in the whole world. I love him so much I would have been anyone or done anything to be with him. And I was lucky enough to have him love me for exactly who I was, and in spite of who I was.

It's too easy to say that if you love each other, you'll make it work. That's not the way life works. Loving each other means letting us both live the best lives possible, and regardless of what movies and books say, other things do get in the way. We want to make our parents proud. We want to push our limits. We want to travel the world. We want to stay with our friends. I couldn't--wouldn't--wish for someone to drop all that for me. So I understand why he wouldn't let me do that either.

It doesn't make it less painful. But it makes it bearable--understandable.

I get out of bed, put on makeup, and see other people. I know well enough not to compare. I don't need to fall suddenly, deeply, thoroughly in love with anyone else. I just try my best to find someone who will make me happy, someone who I can have an honest and good relationship with, someone who makes life easy. And I stay only friends with the person I love most.

Video Blog: Damn You, Facial Dents!!!

2011-05-16T02:47:00.000-07:00

The thumbnail or preview or whatever-it's-called of this video totally makes it look like I'm crying. I'M NOT CRYING. This is an unedited, completely random video blog of me ranting about my goddamned "facial dents" (because the word "dimples" implies cuteness and these are suuuuper NOT CUTE!!!!). Watch it as a study break because it's short/brainless, and it might (hopefully) make you smile, haha.

I don't think I actually hate my facial dents that much, but I talked to a boy who I think is cute and he totally signed off chat without saying goodnight. Which is fine, because I know I totally do that to people too. But when I think someone's cute (I don't even REALLY LIKE this kid in that way, I just think he's cute/has good bone structure/etc.), any minor non-offense becomes a full-blown how-dare-you!/why-don't-you-like-me?? Hence, the obsessing over my hair and facial dents... as if I could somehow make people like me more by not having dimples...

Whatever dudes. Everyone's immature, right? And you know what? My facial dents are FRIGGIN' AWESOME. They're way cooler than someone who can't even properly finish a conversation within which I was totally witty and funny. And they're going to be there for me forever. Not like some random (admittedly attractive) dude whose name I will probably forget!

(Oh my god. I'm so stupid. Can we talk another day??)

Academically Faithful

2011-05-15T15:27:00.000-07:00

I've been lagging on blogging because I've been feeling consumed by my Conservation and Human Predicament paper. Even though I've been diligently (mostly!) reading all my sources, I really felt all writers'-blocked up in this shizz until I took a deep breath, and just started typing like I was writing a blog post. Maybe it's not the most professionally writing piece of essay, but it's me.

I guess I've always felt the need to be (what I call) "academically faithful" to myself. It's easy enough to pick a random topic and write an easy essay about the pros and cons of GMO use, but in the end, that doesn't really help me come up with a solidly satisfying method of thinking. Personally, I want to "get into the mind" of theorists. I want to read all the famous papers. I want to write to advocate a position I truly believe in.

I know there are so many easy ways out, but when you actually give your own education a chance, the results are amazing. You actually feel like you've learned, regardless of whatever grade you get. That's pretty cool, IMO.

Uploaded as an image to avoid Turnitin.com troubles, haha.

Hos Before Bros

2011-05-06T00:44:00.000-07:00

As a girlfriend, I promise to never befriend your boyfriends so that we can have completely guilt-free smack talk sessions. I promise to listen as you tell me all he has done to wrong you, and to tell you everything I've ever hated about his elbows (too pointy) and his eyebrows (too sparse). I promise to always think that you are too pretty, too intelligent and too put-together to be dating such a buffoon. I promise to take any of his tomfoolery as a personal affront, to always be ready with a ninja suit and toilet paper and to take you out dancing in between relationships.

Much love to the heartbroken tonight. You know I'm always on your team! <3

Osama Bin Laden

2011-05-01T20:37:00.000-07:00

All my life, I've heard about Osama Bin Laden. 9-11 was one of my first coherent memories. But when I heard the news, I just felt like crying--not for Bin Laden, but for the sort of situations that make killing a person something a nation is supposed to rally behind. War and conflict don't make any sense to me.

Snapshots

2011-04-29T18:54:00.000-07:00

While blog surfing, I came across this post by Rachel Hills about the impressionistic nature of writing, how you can write entirely true reflections of the people we meet, but still only capture one aspect of his/her person:

"That’s not say that what we write is untrue, only that by necessity it captures only a small part of any human being. As anyone who’s ever been profiled in the press - or seen an event or situation they’re close to profiled in the press - knows, there’s always a lot that is left out. A narrative is determined as much by what is omitted as by what is included."

I really loved reading this, because it's so true. For a long time, I felt like my writing was incomplete--that I had somehow failed to give the "big picture" in my writing or in my artwork. It frustrated and concerned me when people admired or demonized me by the things I wrote about my personal life. But now I realize that the very thing that I abhorred about my writing was the one thing that drew me to other people's.

The loss of specificity is what makes me love poetry and music. It lets me take a song and somehow make it my own. Spoon didn't write "Anything You Want" to capture the way I felt about my best friend. But the brevity of the lyrics, the things left unsaid, let me manipulate those emotions, so beautifully encapsulated in song, and make them applicable to the events of my life.

The thing about artistic portrayal, intentional or not, is that it can't ever fully grasp reality. It is, at best, a figment of a person, a peek into a memory. It files away the important angles: the sharp thrust of a chin, the bump of veins running through a hand, the peeping of toes through a fashionable shoe; and it leaves the rest of the details for the reader.

The not knowing is what makes individual creations real for other people. It's that gap that makes your moment someone else's. It's the impressionist's stroke that lets you add in your own memory of wind (how you love the way it feels brushing through hair, the push and swirl of air on your skin).

The ambiguity of writing is a gift--something that ties us together in the human collective, making our unique experiences common ground. Without it, we'd be so unbelievably alone.

JoHo

2011-04-27T22:44:00.000-07:00

There's something about cooking that is rendered completely useless when you're not cooking for someone. Which is why, even though the ganache broke at first and the cupcake batter was too runny and the food color was too dark in the icing, I am infinitely proud of my output today. Happy birthday, Jo! I've exhausted all meaningful words already, so just a short message--may we share many more meals to come, no matter where we end up in life!

VD

2011-04-21T21:11:00.000-07:00

I would really, really love to meet the sort of guy who--in the midst of a hot make-out session--stops and says, "Babe, you know I trust you and you trust me but we should both get tested for STDs, and then I promise I will f*ck your brains out whenever you want." I would pretty much marry him on the spot. Maybe. Depends on if he likes cats. And if he is scared of spiders.

Because the thing about VD (venereal disease, not Vampire Diaries--yes, I am saying this for your benefit, Chelsey) is, we all know the smart things to do about it, but we all think it's too awkward or weird or shameful to actually do those smart things. We think that as long as we kind of, sort of follow some of the rules (not sleeping around excessively, going to the gynecologist once in a while, getting the Gardasil shot, being with people we trust/love/have known for a long period of time), it couldn't possibly happen to us.

Well it's not true. And we know it's not true. But we act like it's true anyway.

I have yet to meet anyone who actually got his/her SO tested before getting sexual. (And I don't mean just before sex--virgins get horrible diseases too!) Even thinking about it right now, I'm not sure how I would bring up the topic. But you just have to do it. You HAVE TO.

Last night my apartment mate started asking me questions about herpes. I know I'm pre-med or whatever and I've taken all those sex-ed classes, but I don't know jack shit about herpes. Because I never actually thought it would happen to me or anyone I cared about. Turns out my apartment mate's friend had gotten herpes.

From her longtime boyfriend.

Who she slept with ONCE.

And then he broke up with her.

I thought it was shocking until I remembered the guest speakers who came in to the AIDS class I was taking last summer. A good number of them had gotten AIDS from their long-term partners. Partners whom they had loved and trusted, partner with whom they had envisioned beautiful, elaborate futures...

If you're reading this post, I probably know you. And I know that you're looking for more than casual sex. You want the right guy/girl. You want it at the right time. You want to do right by yourself, your friends, your family, and your lovers.

Well then, do it right. Do it right from beginning to nitty, gritty end. Just do it. If that person loves you, if you love that person, if that person is worth your time at all (love or no love), he/she won't hold it against you.

I'm not saying that people with STDs don't deserve to be loved. In fact, I have HUGE issues with the stigma of STDs. But if you're sleeping with a person carrying STDs, you should know about it. And you should educate yourself before taking any further steps. You can get STDs from oral sex. You can get them from anal sex. You can get them if the condom doesn't break. You can be born with them. But you CAN lower your chances of getting STDs dramatically with good meds, proper viral load testing, and protection. Every STD has its own peculiarities. So figure out what you're dealing with.

I'm not going to show you any gross pictures of STDs. Because the point of this post isn't to scare you. (Besides, you can all do Google searches if you're really curious.) Sex and sexual health shouldn't be about fear. It should be about loving yourself and loving the people around you enough to protect and empower yourself.

I promise, when the time comes, that--for the sake of everyone who cares about me--I will do it right. Please, for your own sake and mine, promise the same thing to yourself.

Long Lost Little Things

2011-04-19T02:01:00.000-07:00

Image Source: Exploding Dog

I think one of the most achingly painful things in ordinary, uneventful life is outgrowing an intimate connection. Sometimes you outgrow entire people, leaving friends and old loves behind. Sometimes you outgrow simple gestures that meant a lot to you, or the taste of a food that somehow you stopped eating. Sometimes you don't even realize you've moved on to that next phase of life until it's too late. You just look back one day, and something twists in your stomach because you know that that little thing won't ever happen again.

For a brief period of time not so long ago, I would wake up to dimly lit mornings. The apartment would be filled with this sighing of barely audible breathing behind closed doors. I would slip into a new change of clothes, wash up, wrap myself in a thin blanket, and grab an apple from the fridge and my phone from under my still warm pillow. I would tiptoe out onto the balcony, curl up in the cold metal chair, look out at the sky--a perfect Naples yellow, sun peeking out over the road--and soak up the grumble of early morning cars.

The number was always easy to find, usually somewhere near the top of my recent calls list. But somehow the simplicity of picking though the appropriate plastic buttons gave me the courage and serenity to face the rest of the day. Listening to the static in the earpiece, the grumpy incoherent "5 more minutes!", the sound of rumpling bedsheets nearly 500 miles away, and finally the rush of running water and the brushing of teeth... I can't for the life of me remember the things we talked about after that. Maybe there would be a brief roadmap of the upcoming day, or a whistled song, or a wake-up pep talk. I only remember that somehow having those few minutes mattered to me.

When you get older, you spend more of your time doing the necessary things. Things like paying your rent and doing your laundry and filling out job applications. We get better at things like being productive and not waiting until the last minute--making "good" use of our time. But "good use" doesn't mean "better use" in every sense of the word.

We're still friends. I'm still forever grateful for our friendship. I know we don't care any less about one another. But it's hard. It's hard to lose the little affirmations. And it happens all the time. It makes me wonder what will get lost next, forces me to try harder to appreciate what I have now.

Love the time you have now. It's the only time you'll ever have it. (I'm not saying this in an ominous way. I'm saying it in a dearly-beloved-friend-let's-hug-and-remember-how-awesome-our-lives-are way.)

Love Love Love

2011-04-18T20:53:00.000-07:00

I wonder if I will ever feel the sort of love that makes other people (other people like me, I suppose) cry. You know, the kind of love that you just feel in your bones, even though it's someone else's. The kind of love you see on LGMH, or in stories about old people, or in Pixar films.... or in the blogs of extraordinarily.... ORDINARY people...

And that makes me think It exists! It's out there! But it doesn't happen to everyone.

Am I going to be one of those people?

It's kind of a scary thought. It's scary because, well first of all, I really don't know. And secondly, love is kind of a scary thing in the first place. It's all cutesy and easy in the movies, but in real life, it always seems to be disproportionately painful.

I'm 20 now. I don't think I'm completely hapless in the love department, though I've never had a serious boyfriend or even a semi-serious boyfriend. Most days, I'm okay with that (a little impatient, but still okay). Yeah, I do feel less "well-dated" than a lot of people, but I kind of see that as a perk--I don't do it unless I really feel it.

I could care less about dating (blech, gross, too much work, yadayadayada). But it's the REALLY FEELING IT part that bothers me a little. People around me think they are in love all the time. Sometimes I even think I'm in love (when I'm not). But really REALLY feeling it? Well, I don't know if I'm actually capable of that. And even if I am, I still get the feeling that it kind of takes a "perfect storm" for it to really happen.

I don't mind waiting for love. I just don't like that there's no assurance of it happening at all.

But I guess the same applies for worldly success, living a wildly happy life, paying my credit card bill, and all the other shenanigans I have planned (by planning, I mean wishing) for my future. So, really, it's just like anything else when you're 20 and your life is just barely coming together.

- - - -

DISCLAIMER (because I like to qualify my thoughts even when not necessary): I'm posting more personal stuff because I used up the last page of my pen-and-paper journal last night (sadness) and, in the interest of saving money, I'm trying not to buy a new one for the time being. When you get tired of excessive posting or excessively wistful posts, send me a new diary and I will gladly STFU.

((Conversely when I get sufficiently embarrassed I will succumb and buy myself a journal. But it's kind of nice to take down my public filter once in a while, right?))

Don't Google Me.

2011-04-18T15:01:00.000-07:00

I was listening to a standup comedy podcast by Jessi Kline about how she became addicted to googling herself and googling her ex's gorgeous new squeeze, so I decided to google Jessi to see what she looked like. (She's actually quite pretty.)

It kind of made me wonder what googling my name would bring up... I hardly ever do this, I swear, but I forgot to switch from Google Images to Google Web and OH. MY. GOD. the most unattractive photo of me pops up. Seriously, I'm in my volunteer uniform which is this gross teal color that people NEVER wear in real life (for good reason!), and my hair is a mess because I have to get up at 6AM to go to this volunteering shift, and I'd just finished a day at work, stocking stuff... AND I'm making this horrible goofy face because I really never thought that this would be the ONE image of me in public internet.

KILLL MEEEE!!!

Call me vain, but I've been having a pretty good week so far because I've actually been, you know, putting on clothes that I like and washing my face every morning and I really felt kind of pretty walking out the door but now I'm just... horrified.

But I'm too embarrassed to ask the person who took the picture to take it offline...

Because then I would have to admit that I googled myself and that I actually care about stupid things like this in a weird semi-serious kind of way.

FML.

Anyway. I'm off to google a.... (ahem) friend.....

(I don't think he knows about this blog so I'm safe... I think....)

(I know this is a little bit pathetic, but hey, when you give up Facebook for Lent, there's only so much entertainment in the world... Am I right, or am I right?)

The Poor Man's Predicament

2011-04-05T11:42:00.000-07:00

Flash died on Sunday morning. Slash is pretty damn happy to have the tank to himself. He's been zipping around it like a crazy person. I guess, all in all, I'm just glad that everything's over and done with.

In other news, I'm taking a class on Conservation and the Human Predicament (BIEB 176) this quarter. We just started splitting the class into case study groups this week and--no surprises here--I've enrolled in the Environmental Ethics section.

I always assumed the sort of college students who are interested in an environmental conservation class would be a little less ignorant about world issues, a little less tunnel-visioned than your average Joe Student, but I guess I highly overestimated wisdom's prevalence.

I'm really appalled by people who, by fault of exclusionary thinking, would let a few poor people die because they think the environment would be better off. But let's backtrack a little and first consider the question that was posed to us in class:

If you could save 50% of the world's biodiversity or eliminate world poverty, which would you choose?

Naturally, in a class chock full of environmentalists, many of them chose the first option. Fair enough. But the justification one girl was providing--and I was sad to hear her say this because I very much wanted to like the sort of girl who is a mousey-haired hula-hoop dancer--just made me sick. Here are some of the things she said to back up her claim:

"There will always be humans."
"We can always fix poverty, but the timeline for saving biodiversity is so much more urgent. You can't create new animals. "
"I'm not saying humans don't have intrinsic value, but Nature has more intrinsic value."

Let's examine this collection of statements more closely by simplifying them into the assumptions she was making:

1) "We can always fix poverty." --> Poverty is easy to fix.

Poverty is, to my knowledge, probably one of the least negligible problems on this Earth. No one wants to be poor. Wealthy people try to stay wealthy. Laws and practices that keep poor people poor are extremely difficult to change. Poor people are blamed for their poverty and so denied access to the very things that could help them escape poverty (education, basic health).

People die because they are poor. It's a fact that people don't want to look in the eye. We focus on the diseases that they get, or their unhygienic practices, or unfortunate events--but the truth of the matter is most people would not die if they weren't already vulnerable. And when we use terms like "vulnerable populations" let's not mince words about what they're vulnerable to: death. (Which may seem like an over-simplification--I mean surely they must be vulnerable to other things? Well okay. Abuse. But I don't know how that is much better.)

For every day someone lives in poverty, their lifespan shortens. So to act like solving poverty is a teapot you can leave on the back burner... well.

2) "Nature has more intrinsic value." --> Humans and nature are at odds with one another and Nature should come first.

Solving the problem of poverty is not, by any definition, at odds with environmental progress. Having been in the presence of Claude Jeudy of Habitats for Humanity Haiti this past weekend, I can personally assure you that any solution he has for the world's poverty crisis takes into account today's environmental imperatives.

In fact, I would say poverty is a leading cause of environmental degradation today. People chop down the forest because they need a paycheck. They burn kerosene because they can't afford electricity. They poach rhinos because that's the only way they bring in an income to sufficiently feed their families. They shoot cheetahs because if they didn't they would lose the livestock they depend on.

It's truly unfortunate when people fail to realize that you don't have to pick and choose the problems you solve. The world needs solutions that tackle multiple problems at once. (And it is with some humor that I say we need to "kill two birds with one stone." Dearest apologies to PETA.)

3) "There will always be humans." --> Individual human lives are worthless so long as human life exists in the form of the non-poor.

"There will always be humans" in the presence of world poverty because there will always be people who are not poor. Poverty means you can't buy anti-retrovirals which means you will die as a result AIDS which means your children will be orphans and yes, your country will collapse as its workforce dies out. But "there will always be humans" and those humans will be my mother, my father, my brothers, my sisters, my best friends and me because I am not poor and therefore this is not my problem.

But why does the population on Earth keep exploding? It's not the wealthy countries that have high fertility rates. It's the poor countries, because when you're too poor to afford contraceptives and you're too poor to keep the children you already have alive and well, you have more kids. Good luck saving the environment with the current levels of of population growth on your hands. Maybe if you're lucky, they'll die of their poverty before they can breed.

Okay, self. Deep breath. Let's lower that heart rate...

Anyway. You want to know which human lives are valuable? Read this story.** And don't you ever dare disregard that humanity again.

Maybe next time the question should be, "If you could save 50% of biodiversity by casting into abject poverty you and everyone you care about, would you do it?"

Flash, Update

2011-04-01T11:29:00.000-07:00

I went to bury Flash last night and he just barely waved a fin at me. I had to have Jo check to make she I wasn't hallucinating or dreaming or otherwise losing my mind, but he was definitely still just barely alive. I really didn't expect him to make it through last night either but he gave a a pretty vigorous (comparatively) good morning flop before I left the house. I think he was telling me not to cry and that he'd be around still when I go home later tonight. I believe him. No one wants to live more than Flash does--no one in the world of feeder goldfish at least. And I'll be there for him for as long as he can stand living.

In the meantime, I have excellent friends who are here for me for as long as I have to watch over Flash. Thanks for comforting me solely on the basis of my felt emotions rather that on the shoddy logic leading up to them.

Flash

2011-03-31T18:55:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning to check on you

knowing that you weren't going to be there.

I'd turned down the lights early last night just because I

knew this would be true

wanted you to have some peace.

It was just any other day, this day where I reached in to care for your lifeless eyes.

One final time.

Washed my hands, left the room.

Like any other day.

In ways, I was relieved to see you dead. You were always too intelligent to live out such an abysmal, crippling end. for that suffering to be fair. Too intelligent for you to have been trapped in such a feeble body, susceptible to the whimsical health of lower life organisms...

--Damn the biology that ensnares even the best of us!

You deserved more than that. Because you were

Always

more than that.

To anyone else, you may have just been a goldfish in a tank--no fancy coloring,

no flamboyant fins--but I knew you better.

And so

, my friend,

I miss you.

- - - -

In memory.

Wasting Brainspace

2011-03-28T18:06:00.000-07:00

Image Source: Exploding Dog

Hundreds of thoughts filter through my head every day. Some of them are significant and worth sharing like why isn't there a bigger emphasis on mental support services in middle schools and high schools when eveeerrybody knows that half of those kids are depressed or hurting themselves and as much as we stigmatize that as immaturity or "emoness" that's no excuse to leave them to their own devices, can't we show a little more love and DO something for them? and some of them probably don't need to be shared but are important in a different way like damn I really need to go see the dentist and get this wisdom teeth removed cause it just started poking out and it's coming in completely crooked and it's going to completely screw up my other teeth so maybe I'll call home about that tonight so I don't forget to make an appointment next time I fly back and by the way I should really figure out what I'm doing this summer so I can book my flights... but then some of them are completely futile like as much as I denied it, I really think I was half "in like" or whatever you call it with him and it just really sucks now that it's inevitably clear that it'll never work out, never could have worked out and I never should have let myself get suckered into feeling like that when it wasn't going to go anywhere but it's still really really disappointing and I'm pretty bummed out about it and now I've gone and ruined my day with realizing just how much I'm going to miss that freaking smile.

It's funny. It's always the completely futile thoughts that end up making you human. That end up dictating your moods. That make you connect to other people. That tie us all together in their "I shouldn't be thinking this but I am and I need someone to hear me out"-ness.

As I drift through my day thinking about all the ways I screw myself over with stupid thoughts, wondering if I'm upset enough about this to call my best friend on the phone or snuggle up to an apartmentmate at home, I can't help but think that at least my stupidity keeps me grounded. That way I'm not always that weirdo who blogs about fancyish academic ideas that no one else cares about or the robot who just works and works and never does anything wasteful. In that way, at least, I will always be okay--stupid thoughts be damned!

Spring Break Updates

2011-03-28T00:36:00.000-07:00

Just got back to and am (somewhat) re-situated in San Diego after pretty much the best spring break of my life. Even though the weather was a beotch this whole break, it didn't do much to dampen the ridiculously awesome time I had camping at Joshua Tree National Park, hanging out with friends in Anaheim and cheering at my club's District Convention. I've got scrapes on my knees, blisters on my feet and a ton of people to thank for it. I was almost tempted to break my NO FACEBOOK Lent vow because I wanted to go online right away to relive every moment of it! But, come to think of it, I might want to wait a couple days to give people a chance to upload photos...

ANGLES RELEASED

2011-03-22T11:18:00.001-07:00

Quickie post to let you all know that my favorite band, THE STROKES released their new album today! It's been playing on my computer constantly since finals week, so saying that I like it would be an understatement. Go HERE to listen to it, and the shimmy on down to a store.

The Best Soy Latte and Me

2011-03-15T20:23:00.000-07:00

While I was living the semi-charmed life of a student with no club obligations, I started visiting different coffee shops every Sunday. I would tote my Macbook and a fat stack of index cards to the end of bus routes, jaywalking foreign streets just to find my mysterious corner seat. For some reason I was always convinced that I would find that one special niche that would transform me into The Most Productive Person On Earth. Life inevitably got in the way of my search for the perfect spot, but I'm still convinced it's out there waiting for me. These places didn't work out for me, but maybe they will for someone else:

Ye Olde Bicycle Shop and Cafe (http://www.yeoldebicycleplace.com/): SDSU Area, University Avenue. The minimalist's coffee shop--I was truly boggled by this place. WiFi is pretty much non-existent (as in, I never actually connected to the internet) and there are close to zero outlets. It also didn't have air conditioning. And no sandwiches. It's more of a bike repair store than it is a cafe, but on the plus side, Facebook did not interfere with my studying at all. Also, it was kind of cute how well everyone knew each other. I was basically the only person the baristas didn't know by name and the only one who didn't come by bike, so I stuck out like a sore thumb. I guess the biking community is pretty closely-knit on University Ave.

Conclusion: I didn't hate it, and I wasn't really annoyed by the lack of amenities. I liked that they just didn't feel the need try to invoke some sort of high-intellectual, busy-bees-come-hither atmosphere. If you detest crowded coffee shops and like hanging out with bikers, this might be your place. Personally, I need my modern inventions. I use a Macbook, I'm spoiled.

Pannikin (http://pannikincoffeeandtea.com/): Downtown La Jolla, Girard Street. Easy to bus to from the UCSD area, most of the patrons here are way-healthier-and-wealthier-than-you old dudes who've retired from work (and church, apparently?) and drop by as part of their Sunday morning workouts. The chitchat is loud (just the way I like it) and there are a couple middle-aged computer surfers lounging around. Outlets? Not as many as I'd like, but enough for some polite swapping between neighbors when needed. Colorful decor, amazing lemon bars and sandwiches. The chai tea latte was disappointing. Lots of flies, so keep a paper towel over your meal.

Conclusion: I don't really mind flies. I would go again and try a different drink. If you study well around strangers and ambient noise, if you're looking for a "classic coffee shop experience" and aren't too picky about your beverages (I'm not much of a connoisseur either), you might like this one!

- - - -

Tomorrow, the search continues! I have the day off from work and my only obligation in the world is to live and breathe lecture slides. Meanwhile, here's the down low on the coffee shops on campus (I left out the Fairbanks stands since I don't really go to them often enough to know).

Expresso Cafe Roma (http://www.espressoroma.com/): Price Center, UCSD. For some reason, an appallingly small number of people on campus know or frequent Cafe Roma. The coffee is INTENSE. It will leave you jittery for hours, no matter how sissy a drink you get. I'm pretty caffeine intolerant but I can't help loving the coffee here. The monthly specials are always fantastic. Lots of natural lighting and some student concerts at night. Outlets are sufficient. Basically my favorite coffee place on campus. Even though it's a bit out of the way for me, I will gladly detour. The parmesan bagel is amazing and there's a great selection of other pastries.

The Art of Expresso (http://www.artofespresso.com/): AKA Mandeville Coffee Cart, UCSD. This being La Jolla, the outdoors area is always breezy and beautiful. It can be hard to see your computer screen on brighter days but it's soooo nice.... Secret indoors area inside the theatre building with a few sparsely scattered seats and (from what I could find) just two outlets, but the coffee is a good and there's plenty of places to move to on campus, so locations not a big issue. Not too many things to choose from food-wise but what they do have is good. I'm in love with their blended coffees and their selection of bagels. I starting coming here more often because the coffees at Cafe Roma were just too caffeinated for anything by intense study sessions and Mandeville Coffee Cart was perfect.

Peet's Coffee (http://bookstore.ucsd.edu/hours.htm): RIMAC Annex, UCSD. I've always liked Peet's Coffee and this is a legit store, not like the Peet's they used to put in the dining halls. They have brand new ACS computers and printers, and since most students don't venture all the way out to Eleanor Roosevelt College, it's pretty calm. Lots of natural sunlight and comfy couches. I especially like their extensive collection of recent magazines. No, not Glamour. TIME (my love)!

Perks Coffee (http://bookstore.ucsd.edu/hours.htm): UCSD Bookstore, Price Center. Meh... I think the coffee is overpriced and the drinks are boring. But a lot of TAs and professors seem to like it.

Thoughts for Japan

2011-03-15T17:08:00.001-07:00

Maybe it's the fact that two minutes ago I downed a coffee and inhibited all my cAMP phosphodiesterases, but just now I was suddenly struck by a feeling of panic over the earthquake in Japan. I guess, I never fully processed the event since it seemed so far away from

(me in my little bubble of finals worries)

I don't really have friends currently in Japan. I don't have any family there. I, for all intents and reasons, don't really have a claim to any sort of informal citizenship there; just some vague memories from my stay there almost 10 years ago.

But from my brief tourist-y exposure to Japan (distant as it may be), I feel attached to it--like I always meant to go back to this long-lost memory: find the flat we lived in, play with the pigeons that sat in my hand, eat at the restaurants I had loved.

I don't really know what to say to properly express the sense of mourning I, simultaneously appropriately and inappropriately, feel. So, I'm going to sign off with the words of Tom Waits; I think he says it all.

Go on down and see that wrecking ball come swinging on along
Everyone knew that hotel was a goner.
They broke all the windows, they took all the door knobs,
And they hauled it away in a couple of days.
Now someone yell timber and take off your hat
It’s a lot smaller down here on the ground
You’re falling down, falling down, falling down.

Oddity

2011-03-10T19:28:00.000-08:00

I wonder if there's anyone quite like me.

As I catch a glimpse of myself in a window--

I give myself a silent feminist critique about how much I like my hair.

As pain radiates through my arm from walking into a railing--

A man walks into a bar and says, "Bartender." A Jezli walks into a bar and gets tenderized.

Texting on the way out of my my second final--

Me: Are the exp points we gain from studying worth the hp we lose from sleep debt?

Oddity #2: Depends on how close you are to the final (boss). Also depends on if you have access to save point + tent.

Even in this frumpy stressed-out state, I love myself.

Ash Wednesday

2011-03-08T21:34:00.000-08:00

I wrote a post for International Women's Day but then it didn't save and I am in too... eclectic a mood to rewrite that post.

For Lent, I gave up two things: Facebook and talking to my annoyingly talkative and annoyingly annoying housemate. I felt like I would slip up on the Facebook thing, so I told myself that if I did, I would have to talk to aforementioned annoying housemate. It was sort of a humorous resolution. I wanted to see if I could get away with mumbling noncommittal noises for 40 days without her noticing. Plus, I kind of looked forward to not having to think of civil things to say to her every time she assaulted me with her presence.

Well ironically, I ended up breaking the second resolution first. When I got home with Jo, our annoying housemate was asking to borrow Jo's printer. I was hightailing it to my room when I overheard, "Can I borrow your printer?" became "Well I hope it's okay, because I used it anyway" as Jo walks into the room and sees that our annoying housemate has clearly been in there trying to use the printer.

I've always felt that our annoying housemate used ridiculous apologies in order to get away with making our lives difficult. She apologizes profusely as we do her dishes, apologizes profusely for always taking our things. She says to Jo, "I'm sorry! I understand if you never want to talk to me or see me again! I'm sorry! You probably think I am the creepiest person ever!" Listening to Jo NOT yell at her was probably the most distressing thing of my life.

So I talked to her. Because I would have felt like a god-awful friend if I didn't. Because defending the feelings of someone I love is more important to me than respecting the civility between me and a housemate I know I hate. I ripped her up pretty badly. I told her it was not cool to use other people's things without permission, to go into other people's private spaces. That apologizing is a cheap way of getting out of doing something that she should have never done in the first place. That living with each other, we expect a certain level of respect for one another. That there's a level of trust needed when we all leave our doors unlocked.

The only time I felt even mildly bad was when I said, "What are you going to do next? Walk into my room to use my laptop without telling me?" In my head I was admonishing myself, You can't say that. You can't extrapolate into the future. "No, I would never do that," she stammered. But I finished my rant and I slammed my door to let her know the conversation was over. I opened my laptop to see the Facebook login page open. It was in pirate. I don't use pirate, but I know who does.

To say I knocked on her door is an understatement. I hit the door. I yelled at her. I said, "Fuck you." I kicked a cardboard box across my room. I have been putting up with this for two quarters now. I get things back and they're broken. Or I don't get them back at all. I listen to her inane and racist comments/complaints/bitching. I watch her insult my friends. I hear her trivialize things that I would consider to be my core values. I've watched her insult Christianity, Native Americans, the Chinese, the Japanese, the Germans. Every time I see her, I can feel stress building up in my body. Being in a room with her makes me feel dirty. Eating things she's touched makes me feel dirty.

I told Jo that I couldn't believe our housemate would lie to me and not even face me when I caught her. I told Jo that I shouldn't have to hit her door, that if anything, I should be bitchslapping her. After a couple minutes, our annoying housemate opens her door and says, with that stupid kicked-puppy expression on her face, "You can hit me if you want. Do you want to hit me?" Another damn stupid apology. So I just told her to go back to her room, that I didn't want to see her or talk to her.

I think I'm going crazy. I think I hate her so much it's driving me mad. I don't think I've ever hated someone so much. I don't think I've ever had to spend so much time around someone I hated. I'm scared by my own ability to hate. I'm scared by the violence in my anger. I'm scared because I didn't think, never would have thought, that I could hate someone like I do now--do the things that I did a couple minutes ago. I didn't think the sound of a door jarring against its frame could make such a ruckus. I couldn't believe the way my voice resounded up and down the stairs.

Who am I? Do I really do this stuff? I always thought I was a nice person. That in spite of my slightly bombastic talk, I was a mild-mannered person. I thought I could see the good in every person. I thought I was sweeter than this. I thought I had more restraint.

I'm glad I did it. I'm fucking glad. I do not question that. I can't say I feel bad at all. So I don't know why I feel so damn confused. Even though I don't like being violent, I feel like I should have slapped her and in retrospect I really want to.

Deep breath.

A Bio Major's Thoughts on Essays

2011-03-08T16:03:00.000-08:00

As I trek across campus at top speed to turn in a paper:

1) This is not my preferred method of getting adrenaline rushes.

2) Creatine phosphate for the win.

3) My thesis is really kind of stupid.

A Poem from My Friend Sarah

2011-03-06T02:55:00.000-08:00

Youth by W.S. Merwin

Through all of youth I was looking for you
without knowing what I was looking for

or what to call you I think I did not
even know I was looking how would I

have known you when I saw you as I did
time after time when you appeared to me

as you did naked offering yourself
entirely at that moment and you let

me breathe you touch you taste you knowing
no more than I did and only when I

began to think of losing you did I
recognize you when you were already

part memory part distance remaining
mine in the ways that I learn to miss you

from what we cannot hold the stars are made

Chocolate has trace amounts of it too.

2011-03-05T15:08:00.000-08:00

Me: "Well they had the one with ginger but I was like, 'I need something with cyanide in it.'"

Jessica: "What?!???!?!"

Me: "Almonds. They have trace amounts of cyanide."

Finals week always make me crave cyanide.

Pet Peeves: Obstacles for the Weekend Warrior

2011-03-05T14:04:00.000-08:00

It makes me really angry when people talk to me in that "why are you calling on a weekend" tone. I'm calling you because I'm working on a weekend. Okay? Meet me halfway here and let's get this shit done so we can BOTH move on with our lives.

Image Source

Lessons from the Kristan Lab

2011-03-04T19:57:00.000-08:00

So, I finally left my first job. It's real. I've turned in my final paycheck, I brought in farewell cupcakes, I hugged my bosses (whom I adore). This is real.

I feel strange, even though in the moment I was kind of numb to it. I know I can go back any time I want to visit, but it feels like I've closed some kind of door behind me or revoked my membership to some sort of... well I'm not old enough for country clubs, so the dinner club of some tacky chain restaurant?

Anyway, I need processing time so here is a post I started writing a long time ago when they first started interviewing new people for my job...

- - - -

The cat has gotten out of the bag (and made several laps around the neighborhood) by now about my decision to leave the Kristan lab at the end of the quarter. It makes me ridiculously sad to see my boss interviewing newbies for my position, because I still am very much in love with my job there. I love the people, I love the environment, I even love the leeches. But I've outgrown my duties there and in order to move on, I have to 'move out' so to speak.

I'd never had a job before this. I was the girl who was so freaking intimidated by applications and putting myself out there that I wouldn't step up to the Novice Policy Chair position, even though a bunch of people told me to, until the girl who got assigned the position quit knowing she wasn't capable of handling the job. Now I've started a 2nd job, become a board member and a family head for a UCSD organization, directed committees, interviewed and been interviewed, sat on a district committee, written proposals, started new projects, hosted a humongous fundraiser, co-founded a new project--and basically just GONE for anything that I found compelling. Here are my tips for getting, keeping and LOVING a job--paid, unpaid, menial or completely fascinating:

Handling Interviews:

Everyone can give you the generics of going to an interview: dressing appropriately, being on time, following up, even what to say to not make an ass of yourself. But most of the time, out of everyone who does all these things, only ONE of the people who "does the right thing" ends up getting the job. What can you do to be that one person?

Being qualified is not enough. Especially at the undergraduate level where you are most likely overqualified for the job to begin with (seriously? I learned how to take out the trash when I was a kid), by far the most important thing is to have a genuine interest for the job. Psych yourself up. It might be the most boring task in the world (autoclaving = boring), but remind yourself what this job will help you do, whether its to get your feet wet in research or that even though the job sucks, the hours are great and will give you time to do other stuff. Don't apply for a job you're already convinced you'll hate. You'll hate it, and you most likely won't get the job anyway!

A lot of people ask me how I got a lab job. I got this job because I came in to my interview, took a tour of the facilities and fell in love with the lab on the spot. My lab manager knew that and she basically hired me on the spot, sent me an email to confirm within 24 hours and I started the next week! Our lab works with leeches so the fact that I was fascinated with them made me an instant hire. Now as I see her interviewing applicants for my position, I realize that I wasn't just lucky to get the position. She's been looking for people who have exactly my reaction the whole 20-or-so years she's been interviewing people for this job. And the people who get hired are consistently the ones that genuinely want the job.

It doesn't matter if you're shy and awkward. When I started my interview, I was so nervous because the guy before me walked out looking super confident and polished. (Total private school type if you know what I mean.) I was like, "No way in HELL could I top that!"

Lesson learned: Attitude is more important than poise. In fact, throw poise out the window. Be polite, but don't be afraid to show your "child-like enthusiasm" if that's what your best feature is.

Following Up:

I applied for another job on a whim. I wasn't doing a lot with my extra time, and I wanted to expand out of the Kristan Lab. When I got a secondary application from the Glass Lab, I was super surprised and I decided to just go for it and decide whether I wanted the position after learning more. Even though I didn't have the same immediate infatuation with the Glass Lab as I did with the Kristan Lab, after interviewing I knew that the position in the Glass Lab was more along the path of what I wanted to do with my life later on.

I came out of my interview not feeling so great. I'd tried really hard to show my interviewer that I was interested in the position, asked a ton of questions (because, hey, if I didn't get the job I at least wanted to learn about what sort of research was going on at UCSD in exchange for the time spent), but the lab manager had asked a lot of questions about exactly how much time I could dedicate to their lab, knowing that I was working another lab job. When I left, I didn't feel like I had made a convincing case telling her otherwise. But I knew that I would accept the job if it was offered to me, and I knew that that was enough to fight for it.

So while I was reflecting on the interview in my head, I turned around (I was on my way home), headed to the nearest library, and immediately sent the lab manager the times I would be available to work, showing her that I did have the time to be an active part of the lab and showing her that I wanted the job. The next day, she called me to ask me if I would be interested in come in the following Monday.

Lesson learned: Be direct. The best way to dispel an employer's doubts about you is to tackle them head on. Be timely and motivated. The early bird gets the worm. If I given my lab manager time to contact other people, I'm sure the position would have been filled before I could even object to the issues raised against me. I feel like I cheated everyone else who interviewed, but the feeling is one of VICTORY!!! Hahahaha.

Being On the Job:

No one, not even Candide, could possibly live through their job without becoming sick of it at some point. The truth of the matter is that jobs get routine, you have other things on your mind, and at some point you just don't feel as motivated as you did when you first started. If you still want to keep your job, DO NOT GIVE IN TO THIS FEELING. If you don't want to keep your job at all, drop it like it's hot.

My job at the Kristan Lab is downright gross from an objective point of view. I give blood to leeches, dump out the bloody water, scrub dried blood off things, drain out poopy water... but more than a year later I still love coming into lab. How? I learned this from my lab manager, who has worked here way longer than I have: I stay positive. In fact, I stay so positive that I've thoroughly convinced myself that my longest, bloodiest days are my favorite workdays. (Yay non-routine thing to do, yay more hours of pay, yay fat leeches!)

- - - -

By the way, I noticed something funny about my diction. I never say "I quit my job." I always say, "I left my job" or "I've moved on." Big difference. (Trust me to analyze my own subconsious for rhetorical devices.)