Today I woke up feeling not quite put together, and after a string of minor incidents I pretty much went to pieces. Not in a bad or depressing way, not in a completely liberating way either. In the Adams bathroom before my mock interview I thought, how little and how much people know of each other. There's so much feeling between people that goes unsaid. There's so much I see of people that I wish I could let them know that I see. At the same time I know there's much more. I thought about other people's thoughts. And I thought, how many thoughts like these do people have while standing around, washing their hands in a public restroom, checking their mail, walking to class? Probably an endless amount. How much do I miss?
Then I had my mock medical school interview, and it hit me that I am going to be a doctor someday. Where I'll be doesn't matter very much when I think about it in those terms. Very, very soon I'm not going to be a college student anymore. I feel so small. We grow to fit the expanse of our environment, and then we move to places much bigger. Sometimes I would like to crawl back into the smallest space I can remember, when my world was the four walls of my teeny bedroom. When I could fit all my favorite trinkets on a little plastic yellow chair and point to that spot as everything I had. As a kid my room was a complete mess, but everything on that chair was carefully ordered. Sigh sigh sigh.
After my interview, I went to our last ASK reflection session and I was given a piece of paper that told me I made life lovely and a little pot of burnt orange roses and my little self distinctly crumbled at that moment. My mind spun and spun, thinking about the people here and how they give me such clear, strong images of how I would like to be. Such lighthearted fun while the weight of what they give was pulling me inside. So many feelings at once, I've been trying to fit everything together, but there's no order, none whatsoever. Growing up happens in so many directions.
I came back to my room, chose a playlist and started writing in my personal journal. I haven't written much in the past couple of months. Not just because I was busy, but because I was trying to get outside of myself, to share the things I'd normally hole up in there with other people. But I think I miss myself, I miss that relationship. I realized that ultimately, that's who I will always return to, and I don't want to abandon that. I also realized that another reason it's been hard is because I have no idea what's going on with me. Everything's so disconnected, and I have no concrete words for how I feel. I wanted to write and write until I had nothing left to say, but I flipped the pages and found that I had only a few pages left. It wouldn't feel right to start a new one until after I leave Boston, so I saved them.
I did start a list of what I would like. Just anything. Things I'd like to do, have, see. In the process of doing that I started crying and I went on crying for a good twenty minutes as my playlist drifted through Rachael Yamagata, Joni Mitchell, Oasis, Iron & Wine, the Chili Peppers, Coldplay. All these sounds that have become such a part of me. I wasn't sad, I'm not sad. It was just a too-much-feeling cry, and I'm sitting right in front of my window and in front of the sky that will not stop raining after days and days of gray, and I thought of what Jackie said about crying with the world, and I felt like it was all right.
This song by Heather Nova is about how all that's left of a beautiful night fits into a paper cup. How nice that would be. It reminds me of that moment in Garden State when she catches his single tear in a paper cup. Yes, it might be nice to be contained. But spilling over is what we do.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Monday, May 8, 2006
hudson river valley
This past weekend I took my last trip to New York to see Andrew. There's still graduation, but we both knew that would be different. We had such a good time. I got there Friday afternoon, and he'd pulled an all-nighter the night before so we took a late afternoon nap. He's always so still when sleeping, whereas I move around a lot. But I find that when we nap I stay still too, like the calming presence he has when I'm awake translates to my sleep too. I was surprised to wake up an hour later to find his hand still on mine, the way we'd fallen asleep.
After dinner we went to a bowling alley, which was packed because I guess there's not much else to do in those little towns. I didn't do too well, though I still think it's partly because my bowling ball was too light! Anyway, I felt like we were on a junior high date, not that I ever went on dates like that in junior high. I like having a sense of that innocence at this stage in my life.
On Saturday we went on a mission to find a KFC, because I'd been reading about KFC in my Food & Culture book on my bus ride over, and I developed a craving for it that wouldn't go away. It's always been my favorite fast food chain. So we found one on the internet and went out to look for it. The directions were screwy, and we stopped at two gas stations for assistance before getting there. Once there we got a bucket of extra crispy chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, cole slaw and biscuits. Mmmmm. We headed back to West Point and had a nice short walk from the parking lot to his room. His campus is so incredibly beautiful. Green everywhere. He brought back a blanket from his room and we had a fried chicken picnic at Trophy Point, which is where the first two photos below are from. We took our time eating, and enjoyed lying atop soft ground and grass. The sun kept shifting, making us unbearably warm at some points and comfortably cool at others. It made me very aware of the environment.
I thought I'd never post photos like this but I love these, and want to remember them. He's always been a natural at these take-it-yourself pictures. I love how green everything looks in the background.
The bottom two, and most of the photos at the end, are from Bear Mountain Park, where we went on Sunday. It was gorgeous. The water was so green, there were so many people out doing family things. I'm always amazed by the sheer amount of trees in that area. After that he drove me to the train station so I could head back to the city. I've always loved that winding drive amidst the high hills from the Peekskill train station to West Point, or the other way. The first time I experienced it was during winter, and I've seen it through the seasons. It's breathtaking each time. I get really dizzy in his Jeep, which makes the breeze from open windows more refreshing. The trees stretch on and on, and even though it's all green, the view seems to change with every second. During this drive we stopped at the viewpoint, which I've wanted to do for awhile. It was beautiful, but not the same as seeing it from the moving car. I realized that I think a lot about those trips to his school in terms of motion and stillness. I feel so settled while moving along that road.
After dinner we went to a bowling alley, which was packed because I guess there's not much else to do in those little towns. I didn't do too well, though I still think it's partly because my bowling ball was too light! Anyway, I felt like we were on a junior high date, not that I ever went on dates like that in junior high. I like having a sense of that innocence at this stage in my life.
On Saturday we went on a mission to find a KFC, because I'd been reading about KFC in my Food & Culture book on my bus ride over, and I developed a craving for it that wouldn't go away. It's always been my favorite fast food chain. So we found one on the internet and went out to look for it. The directions were screwy, and we stopped at two gas stations for assistance before getting there. Once there we got a bucket of extra crispy chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, cole slaw and biscuits. Mmmmm. We headed back to West Point and had a nice short walk from the parking lot to his room. His campus is so incredibly beautiful. Green everywhere. He brought back a blanket from his room and we had a fried chicken picnic at Trophy Point, which is where the first two photos below are from. We took our time eating, and enjoyed lying atop soft ground and grass. The sun kept shifting, making us unbearably warm at some points and comfortably cool at others. It made me very aware of the environment.
I thought I'd never post photos like this but I love these, and want to remember them. He's always been a natural at these take-it-yourself pictures. I love how green everything looks in the background.
The bottom two, and most of the photos at the end, are from Bear Mountain Park, where we went on Sunday. It was gorgeous. The water was so green, there were so many people out doing family things. I'm always amazed by the sheer amount of trees in that area. After that he drove me to the train station so I could head back to the city. I've always loved that winding drive amidst the high hills from the Peekskill train station to West Point, or the other way. The first time I experienced it was during winter, and I've seen it through the seasons. It's breathtaking each time. I get really dizzy in his Jeep, which makes the breeze from open windows more refreshing. The trees stretch on and on, and even though it's all green, the view seems to change with every second. During this drive we stopped at the viewpoint, which I've wanted to do for awhile. It was beautiful, but not the same as seeing it from the moving car. I realized that I think a lot about those trips to his school in terms of motion and stillness. I feel so settled while moving along that road.
Monday, May 1, 2006
a new time
This weekend has been the first time in an incredibly long while that I’ve felt like I was living the parts of college I love most. I feel like I’m at school again, and more myself, more a part of the outside world, sensitive to its pleasures.
On Thursday night I had dinner with Julia, my thesis advisor and a grad student in the English department, at the Adams Faculty Dinner, along with Victoria Wang and her TF for Sex & Sensibility in the Enlightenment. It was so much fun to hear gossip about celebrities of the literary world, to share our infatuation with the absolutely gorgeous Zadie Smith, to find that people with literary lives also have normal lives much like mine. It was like a dinner with girlfriends, and books weren’t nerdy but instead the common thing to love, in the same way a group of junior high girls could bond over clothes and boys. Every profession or passion occupies its own little sphere, and it was nice to be a part of that.
On Friday night we went to Café India for Andrea’s birthday. The food was unbelievably heavenly. The sauce for the chicken tikka masala was creamy, rich and light at the same time, so full of subtle and strong spices and tastes. I can still remember lifting the spoon warmed from the heat of the dish, carrying just the slightest bit of sauce, to my mouth. I like introducing myself to meals by getting the hints of flavor where they’re most strong—in sauces, broths, and the like. That first taste is always the best, but it’s wonderful when each bite after that is almost as surprisingly good as the first. The naan was fluffy and warm, and so comforting, and so good with the sauce from my meal. The company, too, was warm and comfortable, and the evening was still bright when I returned to my room, making me feel spring very deeply.
On Saturday night Amy, Jen and I went to Maciej’s birthday party and Mather Lather. After Amy and I got dressed we looked at each other and just started laughing. I rarely wear shorts in California, and here we were, looking like we were heading to the beach on a cold East-Coast night. It actually wasn’t as cold out as I had anticipated, though later when we were heading back I felt like my unprotected toes in flip-flops were definitely going to get frostbite. We went to Maciej’s first, but we were early and no one was there (not even Maciej) except a couple of his roommates who were nice enough to make us (several) drinks. There ended up being a line for drinks later so it was nice to get first dibs on sake. Their music was amusing, a mix of cheesy dance staples, old old old popular songs and year-ago favorites. We went semi-nuts when they played Real McCoy. While there, Amy ran into a coworker from HSA and his friend—nice, endearingly dorky but somewhat sketchy people who became defining symbols of the night’s later craziness.
We headed to Mather Lather around 11:30, which is Harvard’s infamous foam party. Suds pour in waterfalls from machines high above, and the floors are soaked in bubbles. I love how we can be crazy but still prudish compared to everyone else. We’d been embarrassed by our shorts but we were surrounded by girls in bikinis. We all squirmed when we took off our flip-flops and stepped onto the slippery floor, and none of us liked the sensation of accidentally brushing soapy skin with strangers. Jen and Amy are without question the most fun girls ever, and the best protection from sketchy boys with Asian fetishes. Although at one point I was really frightened that they were going to leave me behind in an attempt to evade aforementioned sketchy duo, and I was not ready to be stuck with that. While this is bothersome, I imagine it’s much worse being a guy, and seeing girls run away from you. Anyhow, it was a much-needed release to drink and dance and laugh, all to extreme levels, and also to jog a little in the streets because it was cold.
On Sunday night, we had Yardfest with BEN FOLDS. It was an amazingly beautiful day, and the steps of Widener were spotted with people, and Sever Yard was overflowing with Harvard sweatshirts. We staked out a spot near the stage of Memorial Church, and wandered a bit before the show started. Amy got on a tire swing and went flying through the air, courtesy of my dorm crew partner who was kind enough to push her. Not much later the concert started, and it was so so wonderful. That piano live gave me goosebumps; he tears that thing to pieces in one song and puts it back together in the next without blinking an eye behind those dorky glasses. He made up a bunch of little tunes throughout the show, including one centered on Eliot House, moving between major and minor keys to convey different tones—so creative and talented. Favorites include Kate (!!), Bastard, Jesusland, Rockin’ the Suburbs, Cooler Than You, the incredible encore of One Angry Dwarf.
What I love most is how his blunt humor can melt into incredibly moving and delicate feeling. When he ended the show with “Not the Same” he introduced the song by telling us it was about a man who climbed up a tree while on acid, and after coming down, decided to become a pastor. He commented that we should look into using this tactic to revive Southern spirtuality, making us laugh. Then he taught us a three-part harmony, splitting up the audience into people with low, high and higher voices. The night was dusk-colored by this time, and the huge crowds had dissipated a bit, so everything was a little more solemn though no less energenic. The sound of all of us creating this music in the night was so lovely. A little surreal to think how nice it sounds collectively, even as I’m sure most of the individual voices (like mine) are not musically-inclined. Then he sang sweetly and poignantly, and at the end, stood up conducting us in our harmony, going back and forth between sections of the crowd and motioning for us to go lower, higher, faster, slower. With the backdrop of Memorial Church (which looks so beautiful at night) and dark blue night skies, with the many voices permeating the air, it did feel spiritual.
It made me think, feelings are so seamless.
On Thursday night I had dinner with Julia, my thesis advisor and a grad student in the English department, at the Adams Faculty Dinner, along with Victoria Wang and her TF for Sex & Sensibility in the Enlightenment. It was so much fun to hear gossip about celebrities of the literary world, to share our infatuation with the absolutely gorgeous Zadie Smith, to find that people with literary lives also have normal lives much like mine. It was like a dinner with girlfriends, and books weren’t nerdy but instead the common thing to love, in the same way a group of junior high girls could bond over clothes and boys. Every profession or passion occupies its own little sphere, and it was nice to be a part of that.
On Friday night we went to Café India for Andrea’s birthday. The food was unbelievably heavenly. The sauce for the chicken tikka masala was creamy, rich and light at the same time, so full of subtle and strong spices and tastes. I can still remember lifting the spoon warmed from the heat of the dish, carrying just the slightest bit of sauce, to my mouth. I like introducing myself to meals by getting the hints of flavor where they’re most strong—in sauces, broths, and the like. That first taste is always the best, but it’s wonderful when each bite after that is almost as surprisingly good as the first. The naan was fluffy and warm, and so comforting, and so good with the sauce from my meal. The company, too, was warm and comfortable, and the evening was still bright when I returned to my room, making me feel spring very deeply.
On Saturday night Amy, Jen and I went to Maciej’s birthday party and Mather Lather. After Amy and I got dressed we looked at each other and just started laughing. I rarely wear shorts in California, and here we were, looking like we were heading to the beach on a cold East-Coast night. It actually wasn’t as cold out as I had anticipated, though later when we were heading back I felt like my unprotected toes in flip-flops were definitely going to get frostbite. We went to Maciej’s first, but we were early and no one was there (not even Maciej) except a couple of his roommates who were nice enough to make us (several) drinks. There ended up being a line for drinks later so it was nice to get first dibs on sake. Their music was amusing, a mix of cheesy dance staples, old old old popular songs and year-ago favorites. We went semi-nuts when they played Real McCoy. While there, Amy ran into a coworker from HSA and his friend—nice, endearingly dorky but somewhat sketchy people who became defining symbols of the night’s later craziness.
We headed to Mather Lather around 11:30, which is Harvard’s infamous foam party. Suds pour in waterfalls from machines high above, and the floors are soaked in bubbles. I love how we can be crazy but still prudish compared to everyone else. We’d been embarrassed by our shorts but we were surrounded by girls in bikinis. We all squirmed when we took off our flip-flops and stepped onto the slippery floor, and none of us liked the sensation of accidentally brushing soapy skin with strangers. Jen and Amy are without question the most fun girls ever, and the best protection from sketchy boys with Asian fetishes. Although at one point I was really frightened that they were going to leave me behind in an attempt to evade aforementioned sketchy duo, and I was not ready to be stuck with that. While this is bothersome, I imagine it’s much worse being a guy, and seeing girls run away from you. Anyhow, it was a much-needed release to drink and dance and laugh, all to extreme levels, and also to jog a little in the streets because it was cold.
On Sunday night, we had Yardfest with BEN FOLDS. It was an amazingly beautiful day, and the steps of Widener were spotted with people, and Sever Yard was overflowing with Harvard sweatshirts. We staked out a spot near the stage of Memorial Church, and wandered a bit before the show started. Amy got on a tire swing and went flying through the air, courtesy of my dorm crew partner who was kind enough to push her. Not much later the concert started, and it was so so wonderful. That piano live gave me goosebumps; he tears that thing to pieces in one song and puts it back together in the next without blinking an eye behind those dorky glasses. He made up a bunch of little tunes throughout the show, including one centered on Eliot House, moving between major and minor keys to convey different tones—so creative and talented. Favorites include Kate (!!), Bastard, Jesusland, Rockin’ the Suburbs, Cooler Than You, the incredible encore of One Angry Dwarf.
What I love most is how his blunt humor can melt into incredibly moving and delicate feeling. When he ended the show with “Not the Same” he introduced the song by telling us it was about a man who climbed up a tree while on acid, and after coming down, decided to become a pastor. He commented that we should look into using this tactic to revive Southern spirtuality, making us laugh. Then he taught us a three-part harmony, splitting up the audience into people with low, high and higher voices. The night was dusk-colored by this time, and the huge crowds had dissipated a bit, so everything was a little more solemn though no less energenic. The sound of all of us creating this music in the night was so lovely. A little surreal to think how nice it sounds collectively, even as I’m sure most of the individual voices (like mine) are not musically-inclined. Then he sang sweetly and poignantly, and at the end, stood up conducting us in our harmony, going back and forth between sections of the crowd and motioning for us to go lower, higher, faster, slower. With the backdrop of Memorial Church (which looks so beautiful at night) and dark blue night skies, with the many voices permeating the air, it did feel spiritual.
It made me think, feelings are so seamless.
Monday, March 27, 2006
growing (say yes)
A little while ago, Andrew told me to say yes. It was early morning and I didn't want to get up, I didn't want to start the day, I didn't want to study, I didn't want to continue this trajectory of going through the day that I'd adopted in the past months. I said no, and he said yes, and helped me get up. That day was a hard one, one of the most difficult I've had, and after the intensity of it had subsided a bit, I decided I would apply that thought to everything--saying yes, yes to being happier, yes to dissipating this all-consuming anxiety, yes to being okay with certain circumstances, yes to being thankful, yes to putting my idealized principles to real practice.
Since then, maybe I've had sporadic spurts of being true to that sentiment, but mostly I've been waiting. Waiting for the sleepless nights to pass, for my self-pity to cease, for my bouts of meanness to stop. I didn't take care of myself very well, and I haven't liked who I've been lately. Constantly working, isolating myself, wallowing, putting him through it, repeating myself without progress. In retrospect, I don't regret the way I've handled things. I don't think I could have come to where I am without it. Finding myself without the kind of control I've closely guarded all my life has made me think about what it really means to own your own life.
For me it has a lot to do with summoning the strength to give into weakness. A few weeks ago I woke up with morning dreariness clinging so tightly to me I couldn't do much of anything. I wrote to Stephen, because my brother has no illusions about me and there is never any shame, and though I later assured him I was fine as I usually am after the morning phase passes, he wrote back. He told me I should go home for spring break, and the sudden, irrepressible urge to do that was overwhelming. I'd been planning on staying in Boston, and pushing through the loneliness, being stronger than I have been. The incredible sense of relief I felt at the prospect of home made me realize how tense I had been. He told me to give him the dates, and found plane tickets for me himself, something that I would normally have done and something he would not have normally done for me, having always been the older brother to push me to be independent when everyone else wanted to hold my hand. At the time, it didn't feel good to need that kind of reliance. I called Andrew to tell him about it and burst into tears in the process, something I'm more prone to than I like to admit. Lately, anything remotely poignant or reminsicent or emotional has the potential to call forth tears. I felt better afterwards, and he has never perceived me as weak for needing him, which has been so conducive to changing how I view myself and relationships between people.
That was the first of things that I started to do for myself to get out of this slump. Another was to actively seek the company of people I love, or at least, to stop so consciously being alone. I realize now that I can’t blame isolation on anyone except myself. Very soon I won’t have these wonderful friends around all the time, and being with them in small ways over the past weeks has made me remember, really remember, that there are things other people can do for me that I can’t do for myself and vice versa. Once he envisioned a time for me when “upon reaching out, you will find others already extended towards you.” I am finding this more and more true, in the people who have really meant something to me.
Another thing I started to do was running in the mornings. As of late waking up insanely early against my sheer will and against my body’s tiredness has been the quintessential emblem of my frustration and anxiety with things beyond my control. So I decided that one, I need to have some sort of control over my physical and emotional self, and two, in a related sense, I need to have more control on how my environment affects me. I haven’t run while at college for a couple reasons. Mostly, I’m lazy. But I think I could’ve gotten over that if I really wanted to, and it has more to do with the fact that running outside has been so closely tied to my life in California, reminiscent of those after-school days at Bellarmine, in warm, lovely Bay Area weather. Freshman year here I was pretty homesick, and despite how much I liked it here, running in the cold would have made the contrast between the West and East Coasts all the more distinct, and I didn’t want to stir those sharp sentiments. This time around, I knew I couldn’t be so bound, and that I should make something new. And it came to encompass my life here rather than there, dependent on this time and experience, at the same time that it was just a part of me, no need for a sense of anywhere in particular. The first day I went out it was gray and drizzly, and my hair was soft from the light rain afterwards. The hot water from the shower felt cool against hot skin, and my body ached from the tightening of loose muscles and loosening of tight feelings. Mornings are not so hard this way, and are gaining a lovely air.
Around this time I also started reading Ian McEwan’s “Atonement” for English, and I finished it on the plane ride to California. What an amazing, amazing book, one of those simultaneously life-reflecting, life-changing books that will never loosen its grip on you. There’s more I want to share about it, but maybe for another entry; my experience with its story seems to be a story itself. What was most significant in relation to all of this was that it was the first time in a long while that indulging in fiction felt liberating and not, as it has felt lately, limiting. Hard to describe, but it was the comfort of passions that are forever. And I think about how certain things can be forever in spite of what everyone tells you, because they come to mind and heart over and over again. This makes impending goodbyes a little less permanent, my fears of forgetting a little less frightening.
Most of the time, these things take a lot of effort and I'm tired, but there are moments when it comes naturally and I work for those. I often lapse back into the me of the past few months, but try to ground myself in these new and different days. So, home I went and home I am, and when I return I hope I’ll bring back with me a slightly better person.
Since then, maybe I've had sporadic spurts of being true to that sentiment, but mostly I've been waiting. Waiting for the sleepless nights to pass, for my self-pity to cease, for my bouts of meanness to stop. I didn't take care of myself very well, and I haven't liked who I've been lately. Constantly working, isolating myself, wallowing, putting him through it, repeating myself without progress. In retrospect, I don't regret the way I've handled things. I don't think I could have come to where I am without it. Finding myself without the kind of control I've closely guarded all my life has made me think about what it really means to own your own life.
For me it has a lot to do with summoning the strength to give into weakness. A few weeks ago I woke up with morning dreariness clinging so tightly to me I couldn't do much of anything. I wrote to Stephen, because my brother has no illusions about me and there is never any shame, and though I later assured him I was fine as I usually am after the morning phase passes, he wrote back. He told me I should go home for spring break, and the sudden, irrepressible urge to do that was overwhelming. I'd been planning on staying in Boston, and pushing through the loneliness, being stronger than I have been. The incredible sense of relief I felt at the prospect of home made me realize how tense I had been. He told me to give him the dates, and found plane tickets for me himself, something that I would normally have done and something he would not have normally done for me, having always been the older brother to push me to be independent when everyone else wanted to hold my hand. At the time, it didn't feel good to need that kind of reliance. I called Andrew to tell him about it and burst into tears in the process, something I'm more prone to than I like to admit. Lately, anything remotely poignant or reminsicent or emotional has the potential to call forth tears. I felt better afterwards, and he has never perceived me as weak for needing him, which has been so conducive to changing how I view myself and relationships between people.
That was the first of things that I started to do for myself to get out of this slump. Another was to actively seek the company of people I love, or at least, to stop so consciously being alone. I realize now that I can’t blame isolation on anyone except myself. Very soon I won’t have these wonderful friends around all the time, and being with them in small ways over the past weeks has made me remember, really remember, that there are things other people can do for me that I can’t do for myself and vice versa. Once he envisioned a time for me when “upon reaching out, you will find others already extended towards you.” I am finding this more and more true, in the people who have really meant something to me.
Another thing I started to do was running in the mornings. As of late waking up insanely early against my sheer will and against my body’s tiredness has been the quintessential emblem of my frustration and anxiety with things beyond my control. So I decided that one, I need to have some sort of control over my physical and emotional self, and two, in a related sense, I need to have more control on how my environment affects me. I haven’t run while at college for a couple reasons. Mostly, I’m lazy. But I think I could’ve gotten over that if I really wanted to, and it has more to do with the fact that running outside has been so closely tied to my life in California, reminiscent of those after-school days at Bellarmine, in warm, lovely Bay Area weather. Freshman year here I was pretty homesick, and despite how much I liked it here, running in the cold would have made the contrast between the West and East Coasts all the more distinct, and I didn’t want to stir those sharp sentiments. This time around, I knew I couldn’t be so bound, and that I should make something new. And it came to encompass my life here rather than there, dependent on this time and experience, at the same time that it was just a part of me, no need for a sense of anywhere in particular. The first day I went out it was gray and drizzly, and my hair was soft from the light rain afterwards. The hot water from the shower felt cool against hot skin, and my body ached from the tightening of loose muscles and loosening of tight feelings. Mornings are not so hard this way, and are gaining a lovely air.
Around this time I also started reading Ian McEwan’s “Atonement” for English, and I finished it on the plane ride to California. What an amazing, amazing book, one of those simultaneously life-reflecting, life-changing books that will never loosen its grip on you. There’s more I want to share about it, but maybe for another entry; my experience with its story seems to be a story itself. What was most significant in relation to all of this was that it was the first time in a long while that indulging in fiction felt liberating and not, as it has felt lately, limiting. Hard to describe, but it was the comfort of passions that are forever. And I think about how certain things can be forever in spite of what everyone tells you, because they come to mind and heart over and over again. This makes impending goodbyes a little less permanent, my fears of forgetting a little less frightening.
Most of the time, these things take a lot of effort and I'm tired, but there are moments when it comes naturally and I work for those. I often lapse back into the me of the past few months, but try to ground myself in these new and different days. So, home I went and home I am, and when I return I hope I’ll bring back with me a slightly better person.
Thursday, February 2, 2006
being put back (together)
Today I was maybe the most broken I've ever been, at least about something closely personal. Given my experience and my significance in the whole scheme of things (making the most of our "little lives" as Parker said in the last line of his last lecture), this isn't saying much. But it took me by surprise. It's always come naturally to me to be optimistic, even while recognizing the inevitable and persistent presence of pain--of not right, of inexplicable, of unfairness, of why why why. For a long time I believed so strongly in certain ideals that it never occurred to me that I would have to defend myself for finally having the opportunity to follow them. Today I found myself actively fighting off cynicism from all sides. They call it knowledge and experience and result of simply living in the world for longer than I have, and I'm lulled into their dictates and their warnings. Is this what people become, hardened and accepting of what they deem reality? Do they advocate principles only to back out when they finally get the chance to carry them out the hard way? Their talk of pointlessness makes me so angry, and so hurt, that for a moment I think that I am in fact shrouded in ignorance, that these feelings shouldn't fuel my actions because they're too intense, too irrational. It's understandable that they want to protect me from suffering, but from that I learn that sometimes the best way to take care of people is to let them hurt for the sake of something better, more significant, despite being less immediately tangible or clear.
I asked, what is so wrong with wanting to value something for what it is rather than what it will be, and I was told, it's only like that in the movies. I've lived like that for as long as I can remember, through images and quotes and vague notions of love. The difference between that and what I have now is that I'm finding this fantasy world achingly real, and for that bit of life I'll fight, even if it's just us against everything else.
I asked, what is so wrong with wanting to value something for what it is rather than what it will be, and I was told, it's only like that in the movies. I've lived like that for as long as I can remember, through images and quotes and vague notions of love. The difference between that and what I have now is that I'm finding this fantasy world achingly real, and for that bit of life I'll fight, even if it's just us against everything else.
Monday, December 12, 2005
short walk
Today I walked from Central to Harvard, a short twenty minutes, but it made me feel so much better. It was my favorite kind of day, sunny and cold. I love the cold, because I’m sensitive to it. I like that it has tangible effects on me, how it makes my face flushed even though I’m so dark-skinned and my lips parched so that every bit of moisture can be felt in contrast, like when I run my tongue over them in the dry air. I’m glad snow has finally come, and that it always remains a presence long after having fallen. The paths have already gotten slushy and brown, but I don’t mind that; that’s the way it goes. The piles of snow in areas where people don’t venture are still bright white, and I’m grateful for being able to see it in its original form, while it makes its way from up there to down here. Nothing else is so visibly untouched, and the after-process of our boots and tires muddying it makes me appreciate it more, and is itself a phenomenon that's valuable, and something I enjoy being a part of.
It was a much-needed opportunity to wander. From Central to Harvard you just walk straight along Mass Ave, which is good for me because I don’t have to pay attention to where I’m going. Listening to songs also made me go from sense to sense, thought to thought. The acoustic version of Matchbox 20’s “Push” must be the most-played song on my iPod over the last two years; I can’t even begin to describe the nuances of why it’s the perfect song for the settings in which I use my iPod (walking, driving, passengering, flying). The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” always makes me happy, remembering how very early on it fashioned the standardly romanticized image of what love was like, and feeling that it’s okay to indulge in that. Lisa Loeb’s “Stay” made me remember the scene in Reality Bites where Ethan Hawke stands in his doorway and Winona Ryder stands on the street (or was it the other way around?) and they just look at each other. Having grown up a bit since seeing the movie, I know how long that short distance feels. Sarah McLachlan’s “Fallen” made me think of Aud, Victo and Kristen and our drive to Topanga Canyon in LA when we quietly listened to her Surfacing album, and made me miss my friends back home a lot. Aud once described the friends she made in high school as “quality” people. You meet quality people at all stages in your life, but in high school it’s not about the people who are going to change the world or who have accomplished a million and one things you’ll never be able to do; it’s just those people who quietly move you, with ordinary and natural qualities that you don’t realize are rare until much later. RHCP’s “Scar Tissue” started playing around the same time I suddenly thought of my dad, which seemed fitting because I’ve always thought of that song as lonely and tough. I thought about how much I really love my dad, and how my anxieties about whether things I do are worthwhile dissipate a little when I think about the ways he found to make his life important.
Thinking about my dad made me think about my family and Christmas and going home. Everyone gets cynical at some point about the materialism of the holidays, and I see the danger of that. But giving gifts has always been the one tradition my entire family adheres to, and maybe it seems hollow that it’s the one thing we do for one another even when some of us are going through periods where we’re not speaking to each other. I can’t exactly explain it, but it’s always been a deep thing for us, and I don’t think giving things has to be superficial and commercial. I really love to think about and to give gifts, and to surprise people with something you remember about them, or something you remember them saying or seeing or feeling. It’s about connection, and it just so developed that this connection arose from possessions because when all else is a mess you can at least turn to the concrete. I was thinking about that during the Kuumba Christmas concert too, where the beautiful beautiful sounds and people and energy remind you that the spirituality that underlies the holidays is just connection in any form. That memory made me think of how pretty the snow looked that night, after that amazing snow thunderstorm. I feel lucky to have the kind of winter that I do.
It was a much-needed opportunity to wander. From Central to Harvard you just walk straight along Mass Ave, which is good for me because I don’t have to pay attention to where I’m going. Listening to songs also made me go from sense to sense, thought to thought. The acoustic version of Matchbox 20’s “Push” must be the most-played song on my iPod over the last two years; I can’t even begin to describe the nuances of why it’s the perfect song for the settings in which I use my iPod (walking, driving, passengering, flying). The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” always makes me happy, remembering how very early on it fashioned the standardly romanticized image of what love was like, and feeling that it’s okay to indulge in that. Lisa Loeb’s “Stay” made me remember the scene in Reality Bites where Ethan Hawke stands in his doorway and Winona Ryder stands on the street (or was it the other way around?) and they just look at each other. Having grown up a bit since seeing the movie, I know how long that short distance feels. Sarah McLachlan’s “Fallen” made me think of Aud, Victo and Kristen and our drive to Topanga Canyon in LA when we quietly listened to her Surfacing album, and made me miss my friends back home a lot. Aud once described the friends she made in high school as “quality” people. You meet quality people at all stages in your life, but in high school it’s not about the people who are going to change the world or who have accomplished a million and one things you’ll never be able to do; it’s just those people who quietly move you, with ordinary and natural qualities that you don’t realize are rare until much later. RHCP’s “Scar Tissue” started playing around the same time I suddenly thought of my dad, which seemed fitting because I’ve always thought of that song as lonely and tough. I thought about how much I really love my dad, and how my anxieties about whether things I do are worthwhile dissipate a little when I think about the ways he found to make his life important.
Thinking about my dad made me think about my family and Christmas and going home. Everyone gets cynical at some point about the materialism of the holidays, and I see the danger of that. But giving gifts has always been the one tradition my entire family adheres to, and maybe it seems hollow that it’s the one thing we do for one another even when some of us are going through periods where we’re not speaking to each other. I can’t exactly explain it, but it’s always been a deep thing for us, and I don’t think giving things has to be superficial and commercial. I really love to think about and to give gifts, and to surprise people with something you remember about them, or something you remember them saying or seeing or feeling. It’s about connection, and it just so developed that this connection arose from possessions because when all else is a mess you can at least turn to the concrete. I was thinking about that during the Kuumba Christmas concert too, where the beautiful beautiful sounds and people and energy remind you that the spirituality that underlies the holidays is just connection in any form. That memory made me think of how pretty the snow looked that night, after that amazing snow thunderstorm. I feel lucky to have the kind of winter that I do.
Sunday, December 4, 2005
thanksgiving
My family has never really been into Thanksgiving. In elementary school they make you write down what you’re thankful for, there’s a four-day vacation set aside for the event, Christmas songs start playing in the dining hall, and endless commercials on television depict family gatherings. So even without the actual celebration, it’s impossible for me not to be thankful for the family and friends, and the little and big things, that comprise my life around this time of year. But this year may be the first where I was consciously thankful for not just the things I have but for the things I value that could be for anyone, for everyone, now or in the near future or in the distant future. The moment I saw Seattle from the airplane, scattered lights against mostly black, I felt so grateful for cities, for groups of people in one place. I don’t live in a city. When we drove through his neighborhood in the dark, I could see the vague shapes of the many many trees and piles of shadowy leaves lining the sidewalks, and I was thankful for childhood. I never played outside in the streets of my neighborhood as a kid. We drove up to his house and I could barely take in everything because I was amazed by his front door for a good twenty minutes, after my two-second introduction to it. I can’t even describe or envision it anymore but I remember thinking that it instantly felt right for a home, for a place with stories, with a past, with people with collective experiences. Then seeing the photos on the walls and the old-fashioned bathrooms and the random oddities and the creaky attic, I felt such gratitude for what people put into their lives, and how they turn it into a tangible thing to remember and share. My house is ordinary and a place that I love for its association with good things but not a place that embodies those things, and I’d never seen a house quite like this one, where I could feel so much of what means something to people in each step of the wooden staircase. And that was the feeling of thankfulness I felt most intensely—I was so thankful for home—and I wasn’t even in my own home. It didn’t matter that these things were things I hadn’t experienced in quite the same way as I saw them; I still felt like I had them or could have them someday, and that other people could have it too. That these are just free floating entities that surround us.
With that as both the backdrop and forefront of my experience, the actual things we did were a lot of fun too. I got in late on Wednesday night so that was mostly meeting his family and seeing a bit of the house, and easing into contentment. On Thursday there was driving, viewpoints and outdoors. First we made a stop at the end of 35th (?) Avenue to see one of the floating bridges across Lake Washington. From afar it effortlessly slides into the water. In Viretta Park we saw the houses of Kurt Cobain and Howard Schultz (the founder of Starbucks). Then we went to the Japanese Garden, a small place that we needlessly navigated with a map, and drove through the aboretum. Washington is absolutely gorgeous, and despite hearing much about it from him, I was surprised. I don’t think I ever had any picture of what the state might look like. The trees change color, and I like the presence of water flanked by mountains. We visited the University of Washington campus and from there I saw a faint view of Mount Rainier, and I’d never seen a mountain like that before, nestled atop clouds so that it seems to rise out of nowhere, and glazed with such an ethereal white. From Queen Anne we got a nice view of the skyline, and in West Seattle saw the skyline across the water. I distinctly remember thinking how I like that water is such a part of all of our cities—Boston, San Francisco, New York, Seattle. I think our final stop was a Japanese/Asian market whose name I can’t remember, where we stood before rows and rows of colored packages of candy with hilarious descriptions and images. This amused us for a good bit. I remember thinking that it was good to laugh like that.
Then Thanksgiving at his house—the food was indescribably amazing and without a doubt the best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever had. I’ve never sat down at a table like that with all the traditional foods. It was an interesting group of family, and I was relieved that I wasn’t the focus of any conversation. Afterwards we just loafed, and it made me feel what it would be like if we had each other all the time and could revel in nothing-time.
On Friday we did the touristy, mostly indoors stuff. We went to the Experience Music Project which looks strange from the outside (it’s supposed to be a melted guitar) and houses some really cool music relics and paraphernalia on the inside. I liked how their exhibits on particular people displayed things that inspired them—other artists, books, people, anything. You see them interacting with the world just like anyone else would, taking from things they hear and see and incorporating that into their own art. The Northwest Passage focused on all the different movements the area contributed to the history of music, and I like thinking of music as germinating in seeds, pockets of the country. I also liked seeing all the handwritten notes, lyrics, personal writings—the physical and beginning steps of creative acts. After that we had lunch at the Space Needle; it was cloudy at first but cleared a bit later on, and was a nice way to be immersed in the drizzle and grayness that he so appreciates. Then we took the monorail to downtown, and that was one of my favorite parts of the day. It was cold, and there were lots of people on the streets, and you could see the outburst of the holiday atmosphere. An outdoors Starbucks stand handed us free samples of mint hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate syrup on top. We breezed through a couple of the malls, everything decorated and festive. Stepping outside of one we encountered a street performing group who sang amazing renditions of Under the Boardwalk and My Girl. We watched amidst a gathering crowd, before having a fun ride on the carousel. Then we went to Pike Place Market, where the fresh fish and seafood reminded me of San Francisco. He’d had a lot of memories there, and it was nice walking through the aisles and imagining him there at other times in the past. Then we saw the Seattle Public Library; with its clear ceilings and walls it must be wonderful to read there on sun-drenched days. We had dinner at his favorite Ethiopian restaurant, and left tired from full stomachs and busy moments.
We prepared for the two-hour drive to their little home in the country. Along the way we passed through a series of small towns, and I liked hearing about them. I like how that kind of thing matters to him, to know about the people and places around him. When we got to the place, I felt the way I did when I entered his house the first time. I stood there and fell in love with the house’s past. It was completely run down when they first got it, and they’ve built and painted and reshaped and fixed over the years. Such devotion, and such desire and potential; to believe in something like that and to stay committed to your changing visions of it, is so representative of what I would like to emulate. The sky was dense with stars, and it was quiet, and our own space. He built a fire, and we played board games and ate soup and crackers. I remember thinking before I fell asleep that I’d lost the sense of where I was situated, in terms of the year and geographical place—not just on a break in between months of school and not in Cambridge, but really, away and apart from all of that.
The next morning serious sunshine flooded the rooms and it was a gorgeous day. We put on boots (initially slightly ridiculous but almost immediately fun) to traverse the trails, and I liked hearing about the stories of the place when he was younger. I like to think of him in that open space. The drive back to Seattle was great, seeing all of the outdoors in the daytime. Snow on mountains, and sun shedding light on them. Later we drove along Lake Washington Blvd., which was absolutely beautiful, and I couldn’t imagine just living there without being constantly amazed. That was one of the nice things about it, the ease with which people lived there, taking the beauty naturally without losing appreciation for it. At night we went to Pioneer Square, a quaint shopping area pretty lighted in the early evening, and briefly visited the waterfront. Then his mother made us a delicious last-night dinner, and we spent much of after-dinner time taking the annual Christmas photo of he and his younger brother. His dad showed me the ones taken over the years (going backwards), and each one was more adorable than the last. It’s difficult to explicate how touching it was, to see how they valued little traditions at the same time that they strayed from the norm with their quirks and humor.
As evident by the driving force behind my last entry, I’ve been, generally, a little down. Thanksgiving was three days of pure happiness. The kind that hits you as you’re experiencing it, the kind that needs no retrospect memory to magnify it. It was impossible to say goodbye.
With that as both the backdrop and forefront of my experience, the actual things we did were a lot of fun too. I got in late on Wednesday night so that was mostly meeting his family and seeing a bit of the house, and easing into contentment. On Thursday there was driving, viewpoints and outdoors. First we made a stop at the end of 35th (?) Avenue to see one of the floating bridges across Lake Washington. From afar it effortlessly slides into the water. In Viretta Park we saw the houses of Kurt Cobain and Howard Schultz (the founder of Starbucks). Then we went to the Japanese Garden, a small place that we needlessly navigated with a map, and drove through the aboretum. Washington is absolutely gorgeous, and despite hearing much about it from him, I was surprised. I don’t think I ever had any picture of what the state might look like. The trees change color, and I like the presence of water flanked by mountains. We visited the University of Washington campus and from there I saw a faint view of Mount Rainier, and I’d never seen a mountain like that before, nestled atop clouds so that it seems to rise out of nowhere, and glazed with such an ethereal white. From Queen Anne we got a nice view of the skyline, and in West Seattle saw the skyline across the water. I distinctly remember thinking how I like that water is such a part of all of our cities—Boston, San Francisco, New York, Seattle. I think our final stop was a Japanese/Asian market whose name I can’t remember, where we stood before rows and rows of colored packages of candy with hilarious descriptions and images. This amused us for a good bit. I remember thinking that it was good to laugh like that.
Then Thanksgiving at his house—the food was indescribably amazing and without a doubt the best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever had. I’ve never sat down at a table like that with all the traditional foods. It was an interesting group of family, and I was relieved that I wasn’t the focus of any conversation. Afterwards we just loafed, and it made me feel what it would be like if we had each other all the time and could revel in nothing-time.
On Friday we did the touristy, mostly indoors stuff. We went to the Experience Music Project which looks strange from the outside (it’s supposed to be a melted guitar) and houses some really cool music relics and paraphernalia on the inside. I liked how their exhibits on particular people displayed things that inspired them—other artists, books, people, anything. You see them interacting with the world just like anyone else would, taking from things they hear and see and incorporating that into their own art. The Northwest Passage focused on all the different movements the area contributed to the history of music, and I like thinking of music as germinating in seeds, pockets of the country. I also liked seeing all the handwritten notes, lyrics, personal writings—the physical and beginning steps of creative acts. After that we had lunch at the Space Needle; it was cloudy at first but cleared a bit later on, and was a nice way to be immersed in the drizzle and grayness that he so appreciates. Then we took the monorail to downtown, and that was one of my favorite parts of the day. It was cold, and there were lots of people on the streets, and you could see the outburst of the holiday atmosphere. An outdoors Starbucks stand handed us free samples of mint hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate syrup on top. We breezed through a couple of the malls, everything decorated and festive. Stepping outside of one we encountered a street performing group who sang amazing renditions of Under the Boardwalk and My Girl. We watched amidst a gathering crowd, before having a fun ride on the carousel. Then we went to Pike Place Market, where the fresh fish and seafood reminded me of San Francisco. He’d had a lot of memories there, and it was nice walking through the aisles and imagining him there at other times in the past. Then we saw the Seattle Public Library; with its clear ceilings and walls it must be wonderful to read there on sun-drenched days. We had dinner at his favorite Ethiopian restaurant, and left tired from full stomachs and busy moments.
We prepared for the two-hour drive to their little home in the country. Along the way we passed through a series of small towns, and I liked hearing about them. I like how that kind of thing matters to him, to know about the people and places around him. When we got to the place, I felt the way I did when I entered his house the first time. I stood there and fell in love with the house’s past. It was completely run down when they first got it, and they’ve built and painted and reshaped and fixed over the years. Such devotion, and such desire and potential; to believe in something like that and to stay committed to your changing visions of it, is so representative of what I would like to emulate. The sky was dense with stars, and it was quiet, and our own space. He built a fire, and we played board games and ate soup and crackers. I remember thinking before I fell asleep that I’d lost the sense of where I was situated, in terms of the year and geographical place—not just on a break in between months of school and not in Cambridge, but really, away and apart from all of that.
The next morning serious sunshine flooded the rooms and it was a gorgeous day. We put on boots (initially slightly ridiculous but almost immediately fun) to traverse the trails, and I liked hearing about the stories of the place when he was younger. I like to think of him in that open space. The drive back to Seattle was great, seeing all of the outdoors in the daytime. Snow on mountains, and sun shedding light on them. Later we drove along Lake Washington Blvd., which was absolutely beautiful, and I couldn’t imagine just living there without being constantly amazed. That was one of the nice things about it, the ease with which people lived there, taking the beauty naturally without losing appreciation for it. At night we went to Pioneer Square, a quaint shopping area pretty lighted in the early evening, and briefly visited the waterfront. Then his mother made us a delicious last-night dinner, and we spent much of after-dinner time taking the annual Christmas photo of he and his younger brother. His dad showed me the ones taken over the years (going backwards), and each one was more adorable than the last. It’s difficult to explicate how touching it was, to see how they valued little traditions at the same time that they strayed from the norm with their quirks and humor.
As evident by the driving force behind my last entry, I’ve been, generally, a little down. Thanksgiving was three days of pure happiness. The kind that hits you as you’re experiencing it, the kind that needs no retrospect memory to magnify it. It was impossible to say goodbye.
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