April 18, 2002 Thursday
While browsing some of my contemporaries' pages, I noticed that many have started interacting with their visitors via a kind of running journal. After reading through a couple, I came to the conclusion that I liked it, I like it a lot, as a matter of fact. Not only does it allow the writer a chance to have a cathartic moment with no repercussions but it also may allow some readers to share in the moment if it's something they haven't experienced or maybe even let them know they're not the only ones feeling a particular way.
Now, even though I'm a writer, I have a very difficult time with spontaneous writing. There's no time to play with structure or cadence, with wording or shades of meaning. But, I see this as a challenge to overcome, and for better or for worse, those of you who, in a moment of boredom have stumbled upon this link and actually stuck around (Thank you!), have become my guinea pigs, or critics, whichever you are more inclined to be... So with no further ado, perhaps I should just start writing?
I've come to the conclusion that I would rather have a bad day or a good day than a so-so day. With the first two, there's emotion, there're memories, there's some lesson to be gained. With the latter, there's nothing. It's a vast wasteland with nothing memorable or touching. Usually after these so-so days, I come home and feel lost for some time. I just kinda stand in the middle of my room, as if in an attempt to get my bearings in a day that had no particular direction. It's extrememly frustrating! There's no sense of accomplishment of trials overcome; nothing! Have you had days like these? They're almost more exhausting than the really bad days, I think. Or maybe I'm just too demanding; for some reason I feel that I have a right to demand more from the day than it's willing to offer forth...
The other thing that I've noticed during my time in college is I've conditioned myself so that even when I have finished all of my homework, studying, chores, etc. I still feel as though I should be doing something - and that something does not include any of my favorite leisure activities for some reason. Go figure! The moment that I sit back with my chosen pleasure book for that week, a little voice in the back of my head starts up with the "What about-" questions. "What about chemistry? What about that physics quiz? What about the ecology midterm two weeks from now?" So on and so forth. What kind of world is this that I feel guilty for relaxing when there's nothing left for me to do? Oh, wait, there's always scrubbing down the refrigerator, mopping the floors, and washing the floorboards.... Uh huh, yeah, right. I think I would like to blame this particular psychosis on the famous American work ethic. You know the one. The one we had hanging over our head when we were in elementary school and we had to choose between cartoons (that only lasted for an hour or two anyway) and getting right to our homework (because you know it gets up and runs and hides if you don't tackle it immediately upon arriving home. You mean, yours doesn't do that??). Anyway, I suppose there's some good in having a healthy drive to be productive but 24-7? I have to recondition myself to understand that in real life, down time is perhaps the most productive type of time one can spend...
Well, this was rather blah, but it's been one of those blah days so I'll be sure to come back with some piss an' vinegar or sugar an' spice soon. It may end up that I'm talking to no one... or to myself. I don't like the way either one of those sounds but c'est la vie, I suppose! Either way, I'll just keep writing. 'Til later!
***
April 22, 2002 Monday
Uhgg! A two midterm day. Those are absolute killers... I'm sure there are some out there who can sympathize with me.
Okay, I've come to the conclusion that I hate money. Whatever happened to the barter system? I know what happened, people realized (in all their materialistic glory) that trading this for that was no way to build prestige or "wealth". I mean, how could you say that you were better than this other guy over there if he could barter for the same amount of bread or milk as you? Personally, I think money is entirely over-rated. At least, the worth that we put in it is over-rated. Now, the single parent who is trying to support their family will most likely give me the evil eye and say that I've been spoiled and can't possibly understand that value of a dollar. But think, if money was never an issue, people could do things for free, give things away, because it doesn't cost them anything to procure it.
I suppose where I'm going is this: college costs a lot of money; this is nothing new. And yet, for an occupation that can support a family in some comfort, one needs must acquire a little piece of paper that says he has some how made it through four years of higher education. So, in a sense, college education is a requirement if you don't want a menial or fastfood type job. And yet, to get this education, that has now become a necessity for a successful adulthood, we must break our parents, drain any retirement they may have accumulated, work ourselves to the point where we struggle to stay awake in those lectures that we're paying thousands of dollars to attend, and then stress that even after we graduate we may not a find any room in our chosen field because modern society changes so frequently. Does this make any sense? It seems that there should be greater aid for those of us who have chosen to better ourselves, and thus society, by attaining that higher education. Intellectual community service. Obviously our government, and thus our colleges, do not feel as I do.
What really irks me is this, though. Our society has condoned the paying of multi-million salaries to men and women who play for a living. They may or may not have graduated from college. So millions of dollars are being paid to athletes, movie stars, etc. while there are hundreds of thousands of college students around the country - and around the world - who, in my mind, could be putting that money to much better use. Now, I'm not saying that I don't enjoy watching those athletes or stars as much as the next person, so in a sense, I too am part of the problem. But it is a problem, is it not?
So I guess to kinda wrap up this tirade, my conclusion is that all our education prior to college is free due to the fact that the government has deemed it a necessary part of our healthy develpment. Now society has decided that college, too, is practically a requirement. When will our funding kick in? When we're all tens of thousands of dollars in debt well into our thirties thanks to multiple student loans? When our parents have to worry how they're going to send our siblings to school because they're already tapping into the savings meant for their future? And, thankfully, my situation is pretty mild because my parents have done a fantastic job of handling their money... But it does seem to me that it's those of us stuck in "the middle" that suffer the most. Those near the bottom are offered scholarships due to "finanacial need" and those at the top don't have to worry about the money issue...
But who said life was fair, right??
***
April 25, 2002 Thursday
It's a wonderfully breezy night up here tonight. I absolutely love the wind. There's something cleansing and purifying about it. The way that it touches you everywhere, inside and out, dances over your tongue, down into your lungs, waltzes through you heart and into every cell, slips down your collar and up your sleeves, prancing with delicate little steps along you spine and appearing as goosebumps beneath your skin. Do you ever feel as though the wind connects us all? Who else has been touched by this particular breeze? Whose breath is mingling with your own? What secrets does it whisper in your ear in a thousand different languages? Does it steal your spirit, spiraling it up and away into the sky, begging you to play and dream, to travel with it to places you've never seen? It does for me... Wind must be my element, it speaks to me, grounds me even while lifting me up. It makes my eyes widen with wonder and possibility. It's stimulating and reassuring all at the same time. A friend... Think of all it could teach us from all that it's seen and experienced. A true traveler through time, bringing bits and pieces of the past into the present and promising to carry us into the future. Yes, I love the wind. It's a full-body hug, a blanket embracing me, accepting me...
~~~~*~~~~
Old cultures use to believe that if you were to say a person's true name three times, you would have some control over them. They believed very much in the power of a name. I think that this sentiment must still reside at least a little bit in our contemporary society. Think of how much time and thought parents put in to finding just the right name for their children: Will it represent who they are or will be as a person? Will he or she be made fun of because of it? etc... How often have you learned someone's name and go, "Yeah, they look like a [insert chosen name]." What makes a person "look" like a particular name? Does the person take on certain characteristics that seem to be associated with that name or does the name take on the characteristics of the person? How can two very different personalities both "look" like the same name? Have you ever been curious about this? Perhaps I just have too much time on the brain... A definite possibility! But I do think this has something to do with our fascination with the meanings behind names. We just can't help wondering how well we match up against the "personality" of our name.
I'm going on and on about this because I find it curious how strongly we identify ourselves by our names. Think of how insulted we may get if someone doesn't remember our name. It's almost as though they don't find us important enough to remember. And yet, isn't it enough that they remember us, even if they can't remember our name? No, because in our minds "us" is "name". If you don't agree, I invite your thoughts on this! Please, share!
Now, to delve into this topic of names from a personal point of view. Usually, when I'm speaking with someone that I know fairly well or that I'm related to, my mind automatically ignores my name in the conversation, unless it is said to get my attention. I've been thinking about this phenomenon and I can only conclude that this happens because in the conversation, the speaking of my name is not important, it does not communicate any information and so my mind focuses, instead, on the relevant parts. But I have recently come across someone for whom this is not true. Whenever he says my name, I feel myself focus everything on him. I think that part of it is in the way he says my name. It's not quite tentative but not quite sure either. As though he's trying it out, getting it right, and asking my permission all at the same time. He says my name to elicit a response, very different from how other people usually use my name. Family use it to communicate a sense of intimacy. Friends, perhaps, to bring home a point. But not him. I could almost believe that old belief that saying a person's name three times brings them under your control; it sure feels that way when he speaks my name. It's almost as though I've awoken that self-realization, "Oh, yeah, that's me." It's quite a nice feeling. And I've noticed that because of him, I'm picking up more often when other people use my name. Very odd.
Well, I do believe I've rambled on enough on this. It's just, the feeling was strong enough and has been occupying my thoughts long enough that if I didn't share it, it might become rather consuming and I can't afford to let that happen. My thanks for your attention. 'Til I find something else to babble on about! Fare thee well!
***
May 7, 2002 Tuesday
I'd like to apologize for not updating my story and poem pages with new work. I've decided to try my hand at literary contests and trying to get published and, unfortunately, many such opportunities require that the work be previously unpublished... Yes, that included on little, hole-in-the-wall sites such as this. As I said, my deepest apologies.
My great-grandfather has been suffering from Alzheimer's for some time now. But recently, the degeneration has seemed to accelerate greatly. My family decided that moving him to an assisted living facility would be the best thing since when he was living on his own, he would often forget to eat, he would leave the house at night and go on walks in his pajamas, and so and so forth. However, the move (as should have been expected) greatly disoriented him. There were no longer any familiar landmarks, no more old memories that he could still bring forth. Lately, he's been going into other resident's rooms, thinking it was his, and wandering around at night again... My family believes that it's time to move him into a place exclusively for Alzheimer's patients...
I didn't feel right about moving him for the very reason that was illustrated above: at least his home was something familiar, something solid. I still don't feel right about it but I'm hundreds of miles away so I can't help either. This disease leaves us all feeling so helpless... How do you care for someone who is slowly but surely slipping back into childhood? And slowly slipping into depression. Yes, because he can't remember that my family is visiting him, he thinks that his family is not visiting him and getting very depressed and lonely... About the only positive thing that's come out of this is that he's started putting on some weight (which he desperately needed!).
Some people tend to get frustrated when my great-grandfather asks the same question five or six times in as many minutes. I just want to cry. He was so strong, so bright, always aware of what was going on around him and in the world. He's traveled to the Middle East as a merchant marine and learned the ways of the stock market... And now, I look at him and see a lost child in a grown man's skin. Oh, he has his good days, when he's lucid and remembers but those days are rapidly becoming outnumbered by the bad days, when he may not even remember to shower or change into his pajamas to go to bed.
I pray that I never reach this point... I'd rather have my body fall apart than my mind. I have to wonder if we were meant to live as long as modern medicine has allowed us to. Perhaps Alzheimer's is just one message from nature. Is it selfish to want to live a long time? To take resources away from those newly born? Why do we feel that we're entitled to 80, 90 plus years when for so many, to reach those years is a medical success, not their own strength? I know this probably sounds callous, and I'm very sorry if it does. But I just have to wonder, when medicine can cure so many diseases and conditions that once kept our population in check, what will nature come up with next? Ours is the only species that has escaped the shadow of natural selection. Or have we? I keep thinking that nature is simply waiting, waiting to release something that will put us back in our place. A part of me wants that to happen. We've overstepped our bounds, taken too much and not given enough back. We've convinced ourselves that we own this planet, that it was put here for us and thus we can do with it as we please... Boy, are we going to be in for a rude awakening. This planet was here way before us and I doubt that it will just stand around while we destroy it. Because that's exactly what we're doing, one hectare, one oil tower, one ore mine, one sunken tanker at a time. You know in Matrix, when Agent Smith calls humans a virus on this planet? I think that's a very true statement. What was nature thinking when it chose us as the fittest? Did it realize that it had just rung its own death nell?
This probably sounds very melodramatic (and very far from Alzheimer's, sorry) but I don't think it's that far off. Look at global warming, the melting of the ice caps, the changes in global climate and weather patterns. The effects often are not as bad as environmentalists would have us believe but in their overstatement is a kernel of truth. There is not doubt that this planet is slowly warming up. It's been tracked, you can look up the scientific journals that say so. Wouldn't it be ironic if, in the end, the only ones we hurt are ourselves? If this planet is more resilient than we give it credit for, and we're not as resilient as we like to think? I mean, Earth survived a huge meteor, multiple ice ages, what's to say that it won't survive us? But will we survive us? And how many other species will we take with us on our way out? How many have we already taken???
***
May 27, 2002 Monday
I was raised with basketball, football, boxing, and any other sport that my father could sit through. Oddly, I'm not a competitive person, at least not with anyone but myself, but I will put everything else on hold to watch a basketball game. Take this year's NBA Playoffs, for example. I've sneaked my walkman into my physics labs to catch games and even skipped (gasp! Sadly enough, for me, that was a big deal) a physics lab to watch a particularly anticipated game.
I'm a very passionate Lakers fan, I must be to put myself through the hell that I have to maintain my team loyalty even in the heart of Kings country. It's a genetic loyalty as my father is as well. So this current series of Lakers vs. Kings in the western conference finals has just been torture. We've managed to tie up the series 2-2, though how we managed that is in the realm of celestial aid. When I watch a game, my relatively quiet, hide-in-the-shadows persona makes itself scarce and I yell and curse at the television with the best of them. I don't know why. It's not as though the outcome of the game will impact my life in anyway - well, outside of the smug comments and grins from my Kings-fans friends. Kobe, Shaq, Horry, Fisher, and Fox don't know and don't care that I'm broadcasting my displeasure at their choice of shot to the whole bloody neighborhood. I'm not even a blip on their radar and yet my state-of-mind for the remainder of the day after their game is hanging upon the final score.
My fellow Laker fan friend and I were pondering this phenomenon, which causes thousands of people to rally behind a handful of people who PLAY for a living and make millions of dollars doing it. I mean, this isn't just true for basketball, it holds true for nearly every sport. So why? Is it our need to feel part of something bigger? A piece to a much larger picture, held together by the shared loved of the game. Is it a hangover from our gladiator days(for those from the Eur-Asian continent anyway)? Our lust for competition and physical battle that we've tamed down to just this side of civilized? I can't imagine fans of chess jumping up off their couches and giving their chosen player what-for after making a bad move.... It's just not a risky enough game. Perhaps it's a way for us to release those less-than-civilized urges and impulses without breaking away from societal guidelines.... Where else can you drop all pretenses, forget about polite language, yell, and throw things and be totally justified and even empathized with? Those are just some thoughts... For me, I think it's a little bit of each one... It feels good to put so much energy in something so petty because it DOESN'T matter; I have nothing to lose by caring about how the game goes. Though, sometimes I forget that it doesn't matter, especially when I've convinced myself a win is a sure thing. I love those Lakers but sometimes they just really make me irate. I never realized how frustrating it could be to watch a team that I know is the best in the league play like it's the first time they've set foot on a basketball court... I mean, they are getting paid those millions of dollars for a reason right? To play.
Although, for as much as I love basketball, I never have been able to reconcile just why they get paid as much as they do. Has it always been that way? Why do we value their services so much? Why is entertainment worth so much to us? And I realize that I'm just as guilty for perpetuating the unbalance. We must be very hungry for whatever it is that we get from the games. No one's ever been able to give me a good reason why other services that truly are vital to the continuation of our society are not valued so highly (i.e. teaching). It is truly an odd phenomenon... But, regardless of that...
GO LAKERS!!!
***
June 12, 2002 Wednesday
**My friend Jaz is over here right now making my apartment French toast. YUM!!!!**
Half-way through finals week and thank the higher powers for that! Three more days and I'll be rolling my way home for three glorious months of heaven submerged within the loving folds of my family's affection and care.
My friends and I have had many late night talks lately (a blatant attempt to avoid studying, I know) and we've all concluded that this year went too fast. It seems like we just arrived in the dorms as lost freshmen and now, in three months, we'll be strolling around campus as tempered three-years... where did it go? Was it lost in all those days of lectures and work? in the late night hours of studying and making midnight runs to the liquor store for chips and soda? I the precious moments of downtime when vegging was about all we were good for? Perhaps, when we find that land of lost socks, we'll discover where all this lost time went too... Because, if you ask me where it went, I couldn't tell you. The beginning of this school year seems so distant and yet my first day at college seems so fresh in my memory. So funny how that works...
Adults always complain how time goes too quickly. They always say how it was only yesterday this or it seems like not so long ago that... I always thought that they were just being sentimental about getting older. But now, I think I'm beginning to understand. If not the how, then at least the fact that it happens. It's really kinda sad when a young woman is sitting in a circle of her elders commiserating with them how time just goes too quickly and how with each passing year, it's only going to go faster. Is it because we're so busy looking to the future(that meeting next week, that party next month, that bill at the end of the quarter) that we forget to take a glance at the present? Or is it like something that I learned in my animal behavior class... Where our sense of the passage of time is directed by the rate of pulses of dopamine in our brain? Perhaps, when we're stressed (i.e. thinking about future engagements and the possible problems therein), the brain produces greater amounts of dopamine, or sends the pulses out at a faster rate and thus increases the rate at which we sense time passing. could that be the trick to time travel? is it really all in our heads? hmmm, I think I need to get more sleep before I start speculating about complex theories in physics.... Especially considering that physics is the chink in my armor at this moment... Have I told you yet that I HATE PHYSICS??? Sorry, had to get that off my chest....
And in three days, I'll never have to worry about physics or o-chem ever, ever, ever again!!!! Woooohooooooo!