Hello, 2010

Only four hours left of this year.

It's been a monumental year for me, I suppose. I finally cured myself of my long-term illness, so to speak. I emerged from my first semester of college bloodied and wounded confident-wise, but still standing. I finally sparked some personal interest back to my beloved story, which had its first taste of near-death during its 11-month drought. I sang in front of an audience for the first time (and never intend to do so again). I experienced the best summer of my life -- truly getting to know my cultural roots and my extended family and meeting some of the most amazing people I'll be keeping in touch with for a long time. And of course, there have been a lot of good memories with my childhood friends and my immediate family. 2009 was insane but it was an exciting end to the decade and to my childhood.

I don't think I ever actually wrote down my goals/resolutions for 2009 -- and I don't remember them anymore anyways. But I figure it'll be good to write some down so I can check up on myself as the year goes on:

1. Lose weight. Although I didn't gain as much weight as I expected, pounds are still pounds. I need to stop eating so much junk food when I'm stressed. And play more tennis.
   
2. Be nicer. I have a horrible tendency to be snarky or just plain antisocial -- perhaps not intentionally, but still not very friendly nevertheless -- something I didn't really become conscious of until I went to college. I will be a friendlier person -- for example, wave to people when I run into them instead of casting my eyes down or admiring a distant tree and pretending I don't see them. On a similar note...
3. Be better at keeping in touch. Not that I'm going to start signing online and using Skype or AIM more often, since I can never get anything done that way. But at least keep some semblance of a friendship intact.
   
4. Improve GPA. Ideally, I've learned from my mistakes this semester and won't make the same mistakes again. I'll start getting good scores right from the very first midterm instead of scrambling to top my scores and playing catch-up for the rest of the semester.
5. Finish EP. I know some of you are cracking up. But I'm giving myself the goal of finishing the entire damn thing by the end of 2010. Though I haven't been updating, recently I've been spending every single day revising the storyline. I've got a long way to go, but the fire is back and the writer's block is gone.
6. Chill. The lyrics of "Street Spirit" by Radiohead are dark and despairing. But the song ends with the repeated line, "Immerse your soul in love." If I go through another quarter-life crisis, this time I'll know who to talk to and who's there for me.
   

And now, like everyone else who is making these top-ten lists at the end of the year, I think I'll make a list of Sophelia's 2009 Top Ten Posts ranked in order of which posts I like the best (rather than number of comments, since there are plenty of posts I am fond of that nobody commented on). Yeah, I know -- I'm egotistical. And they are:

10. Anatomy of a Train Wreck. Okay, so maybe "Your Classmate" had a point about me talking about my roommate on my blog. But I ended up placing this one at No. 10 because, to be honest, writing about Marlowe (who I get along with perfectly fine, to set the record straight) taught me two things: 1) The characters in my writing are dead nothingness compared to someone as colorfully alive as Marlowe, and 2) If I want my characters to be real, they need to be as detailed right down to the idiosyncrasies as when I write about Marlowe. Everything is a learning experience!

9. Revisited. It's not my best. But I felt like I had to pick this one because it really felt like a return to the old style my blog used to have, when everything was ambiguously symbolic.

8. Disney Princes. I feel I'm almost obligated to pick this one on the list somewhere. Why? Apparently my blog shows up when you try searching for Disney Princes on Google Images. I might disable my site meter for my own sanity, but it's been useful in relaying to me that apparently, this is probably my most popular post in terms of hits. I, however, don't think it's my best piece of work -- hence why it's at No. 8.

7. Alternate Ending. Another short, artsy piece. Yeah, I have a thing for Greek mythology.

6. The Pane of Glass. I didn't win the caption contest that I Wrote This For You held -- I have a feeling my morbid tendencies don't exactly complement the uplifting poetic lines on that beautiful blog. But I still like what I managed to come up with. Even if it is pessimistic.

5. The Countdown. I have a tendency to write in third person. This was one of those moments. It's a pretty accurate snapshot of my last few days of summer before heading off to college.

4. έρωτα και τον θάνατο. Yes, I had to use Google Translator for that. It's Greek for "Love and Death." One of the more artistic pieces in my repertoire, and certainly one with an idea I've thought about a lot. Seems to be my theme. Haha.

3. Letter from an Upset Swine. The unusual thing about this post is that I wrote it frantically last minute during print date when we realized that there was an empty space on one of the opinions pages. I picked this one just because I'm impressed with how I manged to churn out something remotely funny under pressure with so little time.

2. And They Lived Happily Ever After. It's a personal thing, I suppose. But I'm fond of the rhythm of this one.

1. The Case Against Snow White. In terms of my cynicism and sarcasm, I don't think any other post on this blog can top this. Not to mention, this is one of the few posts that actually made me laugh aloud as I was writing it. (Yeah, I was very pleased about my Edward Cullen/Evil Witch jab... cough. I'm not that narcissistic, I promise.)

And now, I have finally finished writing the post: it is 1:20 AM PST and I should be going to sleep. No -- I was not writing this for five hours. I finally ventured out of my cave (aka my room) and hung out at J's house with my closest high school friends. Now I really regret not hanging out with them more while I've been home. I already miss them like hell. But on the bright side, I get to see my "sisters" tomorrow. Tonight was the blue moon -- I can't say anything out of the ordinary happened. But I feel hopeful... that this year's gonna be a good year.

*hums the Black-Eyed Peas song*

Avatar

It's interesting coming home and seeing what has changed since you've been gone.

Of course, some things never change. My dog still plays cute to every human lady, equating those who cook to those who can feed him. My father still spends hours on the computer looking at online shopping bargains on slickdeals or woot, resulting in a modern-day version of the Twelve Days of Christmas. (lalala...on the fourth day of Christmas, my father bought for me... four DVDs, three vinyl bags, two ceramic mugs, and a Movado watch -- apparently it's luxuryyyyyy!!)

But it's a little jarring to realize that time has continued moving once you've left. For instance, I grew up with Long's Drug Store nestled squarely in the neighborhood plaza a block away from my middle school. Now? I still can't get used to the bright red "CVS/pharmacy" sign. The Chinese restaurant next door to it? I don't even know the new name; I still call it by the name it's had since I was in kindergarten.

Then there's my tennis coach, who dropped a bombshell (or make that an asteroid capable of wiping out the dinosaurs -- might be a more apt description) on us when we went out to eat lunch with him and SC and her mother. Somehow, in the past few months -- even before I had left for Taiwan, even with all the private lessons my brother has had with him since I've been at Duke -- he had neglected to mention the fact that not only does he have a girlfriend, but that said girlfriend is six months pregnant. You imagine the scene -- my coach shows up at BJ's an hour late (somehow, he thought we were meeting at Benihana's and waited there for more than a half an hour). When he finally appears with the mysterious girlfriend he'd mentioned he was bringing, we see a beautiful five-foot-eight blonde visibly pregnant and wearing high-heeled boots (how she managed THAT is beyond me). My mother couldn't stop staring at her pregnant belly; I couldn't stop staring at her hands to see if there was a ring.

What else has changed? In the past, I almost never watched movies while they were in theaters. My ever-frugal parents would always say, "What? Three stars out of four? Wait until the DVD comes out and borrow it from the library! Save money!" And now, two weeks since I've been home, I've watched in THE ACTUAL MOVIE THEATER (gasp!) The Princess and the Frog, Up in the Air, and Avatar -- and more than likely, I'll be watching Sherlock Holmes and Nine at some point before I head back to college. Of course, my parents take me and my brother out to watch these movies early in the morning when the tickets are the cheapest -- but hey, a movie is a movie.

While we're on the topic of change, let's talk about Avatar, which is supposed to change the world of filmmaking as we know it.

This was actually one of those movies I felt obligated to see, not because I was dying to see it. It felt like everybody I knew had already watched it or had planned to watch it but couldn't because tickets were sold out for the next two days. Or at least, that's what my coach said. I'm guessing he didn't bother trying to watch a morning show.

In certain ways, I have to say that the film lived up to its hype. I'm not sure if James Cameron came up with the story all by himself, but I am very impressed by the depth to which the Na'vi culture was developed in the movie. The whole funky hair connection with animals and plants? The psychedelic flora and fauna? (Pokemon can dream all they want -- they're never going to evolve into creatures as badass as those in Avatar)

The actual storyline, on the other hand? Somehow, I feel like most of the two-and-a-half hours was dedicated to showing us the culture of the Na'vi, which is fascinating and all but left me feeling dizzy (probably due to hunger) by the time we got to the second hour, which was already past my usual lunchtime. I could probably spoil it for those of you who haven't seen it, but I won't -- not that it matters, anyway. I already knew it was going to end somewhere along the lines of Tarzan -- forbidden love across species/social strata/whatnot would be cleanly resolved with one lover assimilating into the other's culture, the bad guys who resort to gunpowder and violence would die, and Mother Nature would live to endure the onslaught of civilization another day. Whoops, did I just give the story away? My bad.

Tarzan and Jane... in blue?

Neverthless, I have to say that it really is one of those movies you're obligated to see. Otherwise, when the one you've been crushing on stalkerishly for months (and who is totally aware of it -- the crush part, not the stalker part) finally has the balls to go up to you and say with romantically tinged poignancy, "I see you," and you go home weeping about how lamely invisible you are that someone has to announce triumphantly you that he "sees" you, and then months later when you finally get around to watching Avatar because your local library finally processed the DVD, you realize he was trying to proclaim a starcrossed love for you akin to that of Jake and Neytiri and that you completely bludgeoned your chance since your only response had been to look at him dumbfoundedly with horrified despair...

... don't come crying to me.

Disturbia

I've been having recurring dreams. Ones that are more violent than usual.

The dreams keep taking place at the same place -- at a steampunk version of my high school, with stone walls covered in nets of ivy. Some students travel to and from school in horse-drawn coaches, and yet there is still a parking lot packed with cars -- perhaps it's at a point in time when gasoline has become a rare, expensive commodity.

I keep seeing death in these dreams. Every morning, there are cries that more bodies are hanging in the courtyard. Something about how the stress at school got to them, that's why the rumors say. I don't know.

The first night, I dreamt I had to complete an obstacle course akin to the dungeon puzzles in the Zelda video games. I was working alongside S, who was completely decked out in steampunk attire -- top hat, vest, watch-chain, coat. I don't even remember what we were trying to achieve. At one point, we had to climb a flight of stairs inside a stone tower, and at the top we had to shoot arrows at a silver eye switch to unlock a door. As much as I can remember, I woke up before we managed to reach whatever goal we had been striving for.

The second night, I remember the bodies more clearly. I still remember recognizing who was hanging there. It scared the shit out of me. I quickly left the courtyard and headed towards the parking lot with Gov. J. There was a black Mercedes with tinted windows lurking in circles inside the parking lot. It reminded me of a shark. I darted in and out of the rows of cars, trying not to stay within its view. Gov. J didn't do the same. In one quick instant, the car suddenly turned and purposely slammed into her. I couldn't see the driver's face; the headlights were too blinding. I could hear bones breaking. I remember trying to scream but nothing came out.

For now, I will just assume that these dreams are the effect of having watched too many violent films recently. I'd much rather not analyze this too deeply, because otherwise, you'd probably come to the conclusion that there is something very wrong with me. Then again, according to the dream dictionary that G gave me last year, seeing others being hanged is a sign that money is going to be tight for awhile -- which really is no surprise at all.

... yeah. Maybe I should just watch chick flicks from now on.

Lost and Found

On a whim, I dug up the old Hello Kitty bag sitting on my shelf containing relics from my childhood.

I found a postcard from an old kindergarten friend who currently attends the same university. We don't talk anymore.

I found a pocket phonebook containing five phone numbers -- the five friends I was inseparable from back in kindergarten, only one of whom I still talk to today.

I found four memo books, all only half-filled with short stories that had been my attempts to pin down my dreams onto paper.

It was like looking at a collection of decomposing butterflies.

Revisited

She's careful not to tread over the cobwebs as the leaves crunch under her feet like insect carcasses. The obsidian shells of former winged menaces disintegrate and intermingle with the dust of her past.

Her past is not a glamorous one. The wooden foundations creak as she treads across the surface, groaning in danger of inevitable collapse. As she looks at the portraits on the dilapidated walls, she sees the glimmering naivete of the girl that had been phased out of her body, the girl who once crafted poetic declarations and perfected the art of writing stillborn love letters. The girl who no longer exists in this world.

With an idle finger, she brushes off the dust on one particular portrait on the wall. The photograph has been damaged, eaten away by bookworms and ravenous moths, by time. She cannot remember the face anymore.

Certain words have already reached her ears, words that neither shock nor disgust -- they merely confirm what she had already learned too long ago. She holds the frame in her hand, studying the holes riddled in the picture, obscuring the memory of the something that had once been everything.

With a smile, she gently places the frame back onto its spot on the wall. Smoothing out her skirt, she walks out of the house, sparing one last glance at the words of longing carved into the stripping wall-papered walls. She takes one last look at the monument to her former tormented passions. Then, with the flick of a wrist, she casts the match aside and watches the flames engulf her greatest shame.

The Princess and the Frog

You know you've grown up when you start thinking Disney princes are hot.

I suppose I'm what you would consider a late bloomer. Back when my friends in first grade were fighting over which of the Backstreet Boys they would marry, I was watching Sailor Moon wishing I could vanquish enemies with Moon Tiara Magic. With the Disney movies that were released during my childhood -- Pocahontas, Mulan, Tarzan -- my favorite characters were always the heroines. Think Pocahontas, Mulan, and Jane. The Disney heroes did nothing for me. Shang's topknot reminded me too much of the Chinese soap operas my parents would watch on TV where the characters would bow around bellowing at each other in loud archaic Mandarin before slashing each other to pieces. I was always too distracted by my mind's wandering thoughts about Tarzan's hygiene to be smitten by his gloriously exhibited muscles. (Then again, an elementary schoolgirl typically has no interest in that kind of thing... but I digress.)

In fact, now that I think about it, I can't think of any Disney princes I particular liked in my childhood. The only animated male character I recall being fond of was Dimitri from Anastasia -- and I feel like much of it had to do with his hair.

And then, as we all know, Disney went through a drought of animated princess films, conveniently during my adolescent teenage years. Pixar was charming but not at all a replacement for the emotional porn Disney romance movies offered -- toys, monsters, fish, superheroes, cars... mmm, where's the happily ever-after kiss in the sunset? I wouldn't say I'm a particularly girly girl, nor am I a needy girl desperate for a boyfriend -- but there's something about fairytales that make me happy in a sheepish, embarrassed sort of way.

So, now we have Sophelia at 18 years of age -- watching her first newly released Disney animated feature film as a legal adult. The Princess and the Frog isn't my favorite Disney film -- I'd still say some of the classics take the top spots -- but it still pretty damn good.

To set the record straight, I do like Tiana a lot. She's hardworking and ambitious -- not all ditzy or bimbo-headed. I've shredded Snow White to pieces in the past, and I'm happy to say Tiana is much more multi-dimensioned than the woman-child who always seemed to be singing about waiting for her prince to come. IN fact, it's quite refreshing to have a Disney princess who, on the contrary, actually has a GOAL in life other than marrying a prince.

Having said that, Naveen stole the show for me and has claimed the title for Sophelia's Favorite Disney Prince. (Maybe I should make him a certificate or something to make it all official.)

So why him, of all the dashing princes lined up on Disney's mantel of heroes? Well...

1. Two things -- hair and voice. With animated characters, that's what makes or breaks whether or not I like them. Hair is usually the deal breaker. Dimitri from Anastasia? Bingo. Haku from Spirited Away? When I mistake you for a blue-haired lady the first time I see you, you're off to a bad start. But voice can easily compensate for a less-than-swoon-worthy hairstyle -- though the only real instance I can think of is Howl of Howl's Moving Castle and his husky Christian-Bale-voice. (Christian Bale could probably make a pig-headed minotaur sound dashing.) I wouldn't say I'm particularly fond of Prince Naveen's accent (though it's charming to an extent)... but his curly hair? Bingo. Not to mention, the gorgeously ethnic look is a pretty nice departure from all the boring white Prince Charmings.

2. I know I've whined in a lengthy post about Disney's cardboard princes who don't have anything better to do than to marry poor persecuted girls. Naveen starts off as a hedonistic playboy who wants nothing more than to live the good life and hang out with pretty girls. By the end, he's done some growing up that would make any parents proud. I'm starting to think I have a thing for those stories where the flawed hero is transformed for the better by the story's end. Beauty and the Beast is an obvious one. Dimitri, who I have to keep reminding myself is not a Disney character, has a change of heart about money. Naveen? The arrogant playboy learns a lot from the stick-in-the-mud Tiana. It's the classic fictionpress cliche, and in this case -- it works.

3. My goodness, who doesn't like a character who seems to be just so happy all the time? From the very beginning, he's jamming around with the New Orleans jazz musicians, strumming on his little ukulele and dancing around with anybody. He and his froggie smile seemed pretty sleazy the first time around (to be honest, I didn't think I would like him at all when I first watched the trailer), but that wide smile certainly becomes Naveen's trademark feature. He just seems like the kind of guy you'd love to meet in person.

So basically... I've spent far too much time writing about the wonders of an animated character. In other ways, maybe I haven't grown up at all. Not that I have a problem with it at all.

Sigh

How disappointing.

I'm Yours

This is the best thing that's happened to me today.

:]

Above the Clouds

She lives in a fairy tale
Somewhere too far for us to find
Forgotten the taste and smell
Of the world that she's left behind
It's all about the exposure the lens I told her
The angels were all wrong now
She's ripping wings off of butterflies
...
Her prince finally came to save her
And the rest you can figure out
But it was a trick
And the clock struck 12
Well make sure to build your house brick by boring brick
or the wolves gonna blow it down

-- "Brick by Boring Brick" by Paramore

Perhaps the best (or worst) thing about being buried alive is that the last thing on your mind is whether or not you're going to die an old maid.

I'm in my room sitting in a daze like a natural disaster survivor. I was planning to write something witty or cool but I can't shake off the nagging voice in my head telling me I should start writing my final paper and chemistry had such a pleasant morning sipping my brain juices like a zombified Edward Cullen and so my work ethic has completely gone kaput.

Adieu, adieu.

la lumière au bout du tunnel

The past three nights, I kept having the same dream.

My problems with my psychology grade were plaguing me even in my sleep. I'd dream of meeting my elusive professor, whether in the EMT classroom where I waited to take my TSOPS exams or on the sidewalk on East Campus. I'd dream that we'd come to a negotiation -- and interestingly, I always dreamed that things would turn in my favor.

I noticed other recurring trends. During these dreams, I was conscious that I was dreaming. I knew that I would wake up in a few minutes or hours and be sorely disappointed by the fact that it was only a dream. And yet I would keep dreaming anyway. Because I didn't want to wake up.

Today, it finally happened. It scares me how easily this could have ended differently. The professor hadn't responded to either of the e-mails I had sent. Gradyl's sister had helped me out by calling my professor's office and leaving a message under my name, since I was too afraid to call. There were no office hours listed on the syllabus. I was returning to the library after returning my bike keys to the Outpost -- and I literally had one foot headed in the direction of the library entrance before I swiveled back onto the path and headed towards the Psychology building.

I was already one step from walking away. I could have easily walked back to the library and none of it would have happened.

I walked up all the countless stairs. I didn't expect anything, and yet I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know what to do when, to my surprise, the door to his office was open. I had to stand in the hall for minutes, thinking about what I was going to do.

I won't discuss what exactly occurred during our conversation -- much of it was me being very timid and him giving me sagely advice about how to approach professors and how to negotiate with them in the future. All I will tell you (since none of my readers are Duke students, I'm at liberty to disclose this information) is that I was able to negotiate raising my B to an A-.

A part of me is wondering what other directions this conversation could have gone. For much of the conversation, we were talking as if I was trying to bring my grade up from a B to an A -- and he kept asking me what I would propose to do as an exchange to raise my grade. We weren't getting anywhere -- I suppose I should have thought it out beforehand -- until I told him that I would be satisfied getting full credit on the second discussion and thus raising my grade to an A-. I acknowledged that I had made a mistake and it would not be unfair if I received some punishment for not following the directions that 75 percent of the class had managed to do.

And so, my final grade for the class is an A-. I do not have to take the final exam tomorrow (which I unfortunately spent most of my morning studying for) because five points won't bring my grade from an A- to an A. I wonder if I could have effectively negotiated my way to an A. But a part of me thinks the result is fair. Some people do not have this conscience, but while I would be happy that my grade has been completely salvaged, I would also probably feel guilty if I walked away from the mistake with an A.

And that's how the story ends. For Psychology 11, at least.

On another note, I am having my own new thoughts about religion. I have not been involved in IV very much these days. Part of it has been the fact that I've placed other commitments before it. But here is the other thing.

When I cried on the phone to my mother on Wednesday night, she kept telling me how to say this one Buddhist prayer. She made sure I knew how to pronounce all the words and told me to use it as a way to meditate and calm myself down. After our call ended, she phoned my maternal grandmother and told her to pray for me. My mother, who has not been entirely religious at home, prayed for me the whole night. She sent me two e-mails in the span of a day, telling me not to give up and to have confidence in myself.

I don't know if I believe in prayers. But what I do know is that I passed my EMT exams and my psychology crisis has been resolved.

I didn't go to Large Group that Friday. My excuse to my IV friends was that after talking to my mother on the phone, I had decided I would devote the evening to studying. The only person I confided the truth to was E, that with my grandmother and mother praying for me to Buddha, there was no way I could go to a Christian worship without feeling despicable.

I really don't know.

I see the light at the end of tunnel. I want to go home so badly. I miss you all.

Labyrinth

Hiatus

I'm noticing that my resolve to write non-personal issues on this blog has completely dissolved. But I don't care.

I HATE THIS WEEK. AND I'M GOING TO HATE NEXT WEEK EVEN MORE.

This has been a horrifically terrible week, and it doesn't look like things are going to get better anytime soon.

On hiatus for the next two weeks unless I'm ranting and venting again. Good-bye.

Bane of My Existence

"Part of the art of mathematics lies in pausing for a moment to find an elegant way to solve a problem rather than rushing in headlong with brute force methods."

-- From my calculus book

pause.

AGHH.

---------------
Plug
I just had to share that I've been distracted from my studying for the last hour thanks to this site:

http://gofugyourself.celebuzz.com/

This is the first time I've had some good laughs from reading other people's writing. I always respect these kind of cynically funny writers, because every time I try to write posts in that style, I tend to lose patience or sound painfully disillusioned.

Silence

I lied. Let me post something personal one more time.

During my last EMT-B class today, one of the paramedics gave us a final talk before he released us for our lunch break. "This is going to be a hard story for me to tell," he said, leaning onto the podium with an expression of utmost somberness. "But it's something you all need to hear before you walk into this profession."

He told us about the emotional call he and his crew were dispatched to Wednesday night. They were met at the door of a residential home by a distraught father whose infant daughter had suddenly stopped breathing. The paramedic brought the daughter into the back of the ambulance where they applied an EKG to monitor her heart. When he saw the flat line -- asystolic -- that appeared, he already knew that the chances of bringing her back were less than four percent. As they ventilated the daughter and tried to regain a pulse, the father opened the back doors of the ambulance and tried to be with his daughter, but due to EMT standard operations, he was asked to step out of the ambulance. The infant daughter was transported with lights and sirens to the hospital, but deep down the paramedic knew. When the father and mother finally arrived to the hospital, the doctor was the one who had to tell them that their baby girl was gone.

It doesn't seem to make any sense. The girl's twin brother was perfectly healthy. He was still alive, and now she was dead. As far as we know, she had become just another statistic in the fatality count for Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

"I have to admit to you all, I've been suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder ever since this happened," the paramedic told us. "Logically, I know that I did all I could have done. When it comes down to the percentages, there was nothing I could have done to bring her back. But I'm still left feeling as if I could have done something to save her. I know I will be fine in a few weeks, and I will be able to go back to work as usual. But I know that there are others who won't be able to handle it. So now I'm telling you all this. Think about how you will be able to handle it if a patient dies under your care. If you cannot, then this profession is not the right one for you. And it's not shameful to admit so at all; in fact, it's a noble thing to do."

I talked to my friend and EMT classmate S about this as we ate dinner this evening. We speculated how we would react in the situation. When it comes to me, I really have no idea how I would react. I am convinced that my tear ducts did not mature properly, because I will barely shed a tear when everyone around me is weeping. I do not cry when I watch tragedies -- despite the fact that they are my favorite literary/film genre. I did not cry during the "Every Fifteen Minutes" presentation on the consequences of drunk driving when boxes of tissues were being passed up and down the bleachers. After Iris died -- the first personal death I ever experienced in my life -- I never cried for anyone's death again -- not Elissa, not Marcus, not Mrs. Edwards, not even my maternal grandfather, whom I hadn't seen for nearly a decade. But that sure as hell doesn't mean I couldn't feel it.

The reason why I love tragedies, why I prefer songs in minor keys, is because of that deep stirring nothing else seems to evoke for me. Gut-wrenching may be cliche, but it is the best description I can think of. It's a weight somewhere deep inside of you, twisting and churning in your insides. At least, that's what it's like for me. It's painful but it's relieving. Nothing else makes me feel quite so alive.

There's a girl I knew once. Her name was Elena. Other than a handful of people, I never developed real friendships with the girls I met through tennis tournaments. It is difficult to be friends with the girls you are pitted against in matches. Girls take losses personally. They won't speak to you if you beat them in a match until the next time they turn the tables and beat you. While I wasn't close with Elena, she was at least one of the girls I was friendly with. While she was competitive, she was a cheerful girl who never hesitated to say hello to me. We grew up together in a sense, as we moved up through the USTA junior divisions together. I watched her transition from a girl in cotton t-shirts and braids to a young lady in dri-fit Nike dresses and silver hoop earrings.

If it weren't for Facebook, I don't know when I would have found out. I don't know when I would have learned that Elena had died in a car accident this evening.

I'm not sure why it is affecting me so much. Mrs. Edwards died just a week ago, and while I loved her as a teacher, I only felt a graze of pain. I suppose part of it is that Elena is my age. When you are an eighteen-year-old college student, you don't think about dying. Your eyes are locked onto the future. You have dreams. When you're suddenly reminded of your mortality in this way... it is like a kick in the gut.

I can still see Elena in my mind, despite the fact that I haven't spoken to her for two years ever since I quit playing tennis tournaments in the middle of my junior year. I can still remember her mother, the way she referred to her cell phone's battery life as "juice", the way she would watch her daughter's matches from behind the chained fence with her sunglasses shielding the emotion in her eyes. I can't help but wonder how her mother is doing now.

I've been doing a lot rethinking about my story these days. I've reached the point in my life where I can see the grains of sand slipping down the hourglass. My goal is to finish it by the end of 2011. It may be near impossible, given the increasing workload I will be receiving with each following semester. But something inside me has been nagging me not to put things off much longer.

In my spare time, whether on the bus or before drifting off to sleep, I spend a lot of time thinking about it. Why did I create a character whom I knew would be dead right from the start? Why did I create a character like Rory knowing I would never give her the chance to live? Rory is based off of another person I barely knew whose passing also affected me in a very strange way. As I've been spending more time working out the details in the storyline, it occurred to me just how much of a presence death -- be it Rory or Charlotte's mother -- plays in each half of the story.

And I don't even know why I have this bizarre relationship with sadness. A masterclass pianist once asked my former piano teacher if I had ever been through a traumatic event. The answer was no -- my parents were happily married, my best friends were alive and well, I had never been through life-changing hardships like poverty. He was surprised by the capacity of sorrow I could feel and interpret, despite the fact that absolutely nothing "sad" has ever happened to me in my life.

Am I cut out to be in the medical field? It's funny. I spend so much time stressing about insignificant numbers like GPA's, and in the end I feel like none of it has anything to do with numbers at all.

Phantom Limb

Phantom Limb - the illusion that a limb still exists after it has been amputated, sometimes with pain

Some nights, you'll wake up screaming. Your heart thuds against its cage, rattling all your bones until your whole body is aching. It was uncaged once, you know -- your heart, that is. It's impossible to lock something up inside once it has already tasted freedom. It becomes claustrophobic. You try to keep it safe but all it does is shrivel and wither until all you have is nothing but dust.

That's what it was like every night for me, you know. I'd close my eyes, recount how many nights I've drifted off to sleep with your voice in mind, saying my name again and again like a prayer. It's the voice that won't go away. Pounding in my head, like Metis hammering the helmet for Athena. But it wasn't wisdom that cracked open my skull and ripped reason and rationality into shreds.

I had to cut myself from you. Do you understand? I was sick, I was diseased. You were the one who infected me, caused all my former wounds, those ancient ruby lips to pucker and swell. I'd remember the last time the razor danced across skin like a ballerina en pointe, or an ice skater carving figure eights into the frosted surface of the ice. I'd remember the last time I allowed someone to find their way into my skin, lapping up the blood with a cat's darting tongue. A beautiful parasite. I was afraid that you would suck me dry.

I had to sever you from me. Do you understand? It was the only way. That's what I keep telling myself. It was the only way.

2 Cents

"Romantic comedies and dramas are emotional porn for girls."

-- [I forget. This was someone's status on my Facebook news feed.]

Saturday Blues

Feeling blue today. I don't even know why exactly. I'm sick with a horrendous cough. I feel unproductive even though I've spent most of my afternoon working and sleeping. I suppose it's just one of those days when you wonder what the heck you're doing here.

I just want something to happen. Even though i don't know what I'm waiting for.

Fragment .04

Freya. Frida. What's in a name?

It's not the first time it's happened, she muses wryly. Much to her surprise, she is far less upset than she would have expected. Oh, she'll admit it's pathetic -- that he effectively butchered her name, demoting her from Norse Goddess to Spanish painter. She is still wondering how the hell Lennox managed to forget her name. There was a time when he would look her in the eye and address her by name. Freya. Freya, are you coming with us? Perhaps his memory really is as terrible as they say. Or perhaps she really is that forgettable.

Freya. Frida. What's in a name? As long as she exists in his world, she will be content to bide her time. That which we call Freya by any other name would wait just as patiently until the world spun off its axis.

Steps Ascending

I ran down the stairs and into the garden,
Put both my hands into the soil.
In the spring, you will bloom,
Like her heart, through the blouse, in the back of the ambulance,
As it turned and turned down the streets
(One more turn, won't you come back to me?)
As it turned its red lights,
You were turning into red roses
Red roses
Red roses
Red roses
I'm not giving up.

- from "Steps Ascending" by Thursday

"Aurora Maciel. Clearly, I've overestimated your intelligence. Did you really think Roseanna was Briar Rose?"

If Layla had walked up the stairs minutes earlier
If Rhys had left her room minutes later

Maybe then the princess wouldn't have been ensnared in endless sleep
-- in death --
Maybe then the color wouldn't have drained
Until all that was left of her
Was the remains of the White Rose

---------------------------
Geoff Rickly, vocalist and songwriter of Thursday, told an audience that this song was written for a childhood friend of his who was killed in a gun accident before they could make amends after they had gotten into a fight. So if you and your friend are fighting over some stupid retarded bullshit, be the better person and make things better before that person is gone.

[/end public service announcement]

The Underground

This is the underground. Amidst the bacchanalian revelry, the spiked goblets of tropical ambrosia, the lithe shadows intertwined under the peeping moonlight, you'll find it. Maybe you won't see it at first. But it's there. Sometimes it will warm you like a smile; other times it will crush you like a clenched fist. You might mistaken something else for it -- that happens often. You miss the signs, the small tiny shoots darting out of the soil. But one day, it will grow. It will sprout from your chest, tear your soul from its flesh. It's a pain and ecstasy you have never felt before, as if the beating, bloodied fist within you has pummeled its way out of its cage.

One day, you'll find it. If I am still here.

Fun Way to Procrastinate, No.1

So I was sitting in my room on this cold October day with my roommates, attempting to finish my problem set for chemistry. My roommates were talking about their dream weddings and whatnot; I listened amusedly but didn't really contribute to the conversation since I was getting increasingly pissed off at Webassign. Anyways, F brought up the topic of www.morphthing.com, where a program will morph two pictures to produce either a picture of the potential child or just a simple composite of the two pictures.

So basically, F and I have been spending the last hour wasting time on this website. F has been mixing her face with actual people we know by creeping for pictures on Facebook. I have actually been trying to maintain some sort of work ethic, so instead I have just been selecting the prepared celebrity images and doing my homework while I wait for the images to process. Right now, this website is being ridiculously slow, so I'll just post the results I ended up with thus far.

I'm kind of annoyed how they seem to all look the same. But I guess it makes sense.

Chris Pine

Cilian Murphy

Orlando Bloom

Gaspard Ulliel

Sadly, the picture of me and Prince Charming (aka James Marsden)'s kid was crushingly disappointing, and so I will pretend I never even attempted to do so.

Alright. I need to stop creating pseudo babies with these untouchable celebrities. Peace out.

Life Goals

I feel I owe you all a more substantial post than what I have been writing these days. But it feels as if my creative energy has been completely sucked out of me.

We are currently reading The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot in my English seminar. It's not perfect (I'm still trying to wrap my head around the way Eliot ended the novel... it was a little reminiscent of Slideshow's bus accident ending for Mixed Signals), but I do like it very much. Eliot's writing is lush and vivid, and it's a style that I admire. A sophomore friend and classmate of mine pointed out that the summary on the back cover of the book is rather reminiscent of a Korean drama.

"Brought up at Dorlcote Mill, Maggie Tulliver worships her brother Tom and is desperate to win the approval of her parents, but her passionate, wayward nature and her fierce intelligence bring her into constant conflict with her family. As she reaches adulthood, the clash between their expectations and her desires is painfully played out as she finds herself torn between her relationships with three very different men: her proud and stubborn brother, a close friend who is also the son of her family's worst enemy, and a charismatic but dangerous suitor..."

I'll spare you all from the rest of the summary, but I think you get my point.

As it turns out, Maggie really does become torn between those three leading male characters. I won't spoil the plot for those of you who actually have time or are interested in reading this novel, but I admired how Eliot managed to lock Maggie into a stalemate. No matter which move Maggie made, she would either hurt her family, hurt her friends, or hurt herself. I couldn't help but imagine myself in her position. Which decision would I make? Would I forsake my family to remain loyal to my friends? Would I forsake my friends to pursue my own selfish desires? Would I suppress my desire, my love -- for the sake of family?

I am really glad I did not load myself with math and science courses this semester. This English class is quite refreshing, and I feel like there's a very different kind of thinking involved. Lots of critical thinking, self-reflection, and analysis.

On another note... I REALLY want to write. I've reached the point where I'm starting to feel that it's now or never. It's a little sad how one of my life goals is to finish writing EP, because at the rate that I've been updating, I probably won't finish until my first grandchild is born. Sadly, this goal seems less attainable than many of my other life goals, which include:

Watch "The Phantom of the Opera" on Broadway

Raise my own Japanese Spitz puppy.

Travel around France. (Maybe live there for awhile, if my French is still functional.)

Spend a year in New York City (that actually ties back to Broadway...)

And the most important of all, to get published one day.

I'd like to add more to this list, actually. But it's almost 3 am and I need to go to bed.

Will Power

I WILL beat the curve tomorrow.

I WILL ace my second chemistry tomorrow.

YAWWWWWWPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!

(Yes, that was my Whitman-esque barbaric yawp. After all the intense studying I've been doing this past week, I am going to be very depressed if I don't at least beat the average tomorrow.)

[edit]

I DID IT!!!! :D

Pulse 2

I want to tell you what needs to be said. But my tongue feels severed.

I can't believe it's already halfway into the semester. Our midterm grades were posted on Friday. Let's just say... my grades could be better. I feel like I've given myself additional stress with my pre-med plans; many of my peers are happy just to be passing their classes. But after my bad case of senioritis, I've learned that I will regret it if I don't immerse myself in work.

So basically, I am a workaholic.

I'm starting to realize just how much of a party school Duke is. At first, I thought all colleges were like this, but now I'm beginning to hear about what it's like at other schools. It is so easy to find parties here on the weekends. You just have to wander around West Campus and follow the scent of beer. Sometimes, the frats and sororities even post fliers around campus advertising their parties. The school doesn't do much to curb underage drinking either. I hear stories about how you have to "register" your parties with the school at Georgetown, and I can imagine how that system would NEVER work here at Duke.

Still completely sober, for those of you who are wondering. The friends I have been making are not partiers, and so I haven't felt the need to do so. I can live vicariously through my roommate F's regaling of her escapades (most recently: reaching third base with her close guy friend during Fall Break).

Oh my goodness. I am exhausted, and it's not even midnight. Good night, dear friends. I added a random poll for kicks. Feel free to contribute.

愛

Don't let go.

Apple-o-Gee

I was in the process of writing another cynical/sarcastic movie review, but I ran out of patience.

Fragment .03

This was the last place Freya thought she would find it.

There was that one time. Freya sat on the bus in the drop-off circle. After a few minutes of waiting, the bus driver ignited the engine and the bus began to move. But as the bus driver circled towards the exit, he detected a couple of students who had just reached bus stop just moments after he had driven off. "Sorry, guys. I'm going to circle back around and pick up those folks." He pulled the bus back into the drop-off circle and saved the students from waiting another ten minutes for the next bus to arrive. "It's like what they say," he said. "You can't withdraw if you don't deposit. What goes around comes around."

There was that other time, when the chatter of the dining hall was silenced in an instant by the clatter of a plate and dinnerware to the floor. The culprit stood motionless for what seemed like hours, horrified and embarrassed by what had happened. Freya turned to O, about to ask her if they should help the girl out, when without word, Lennox rose from his seat and bent down to the ground before the girl, sweeping the spilled food onto the fallen plate with the strewn fork. His silent act thawed the ice; others began rising from their seats to help clear the mess from the floor. Later, as Lennox returned to his seat across the table from Freya, K remarked, "I admire that, Prince Charming. Getting up to help the damsel in distress." Lennox shrugged as he sank his fork into the bowl of pasta. "She would have just stood there if somebody hadn't move first."

It's easy to forget just how small this world is. An article in the Boston Globe shared how a couple in France found a message in a bottle that a couple in Massachusetts had thrown into the sea many years ago. When they tried contacting the woman who had written the message, they were grieved to learn that the woman had died just last year. They had never met, and yet now, a death still left an impact, still meant something to someone's life.

Education in college is less about academia than about growing as a person. That's what she's beginning to find.

Street Spirit

Rows of houses all bearing down on me
I can feel their blue hands touching me
All these things into position
All these things we'll one day swallow whole
And fade out again and fade out

This machine will not communicate
These thoughts and the strain I am under
Be a world child, form a circle
Before we all go under
And fade out again and fade out again

Cracked eggs, dead birds
Scream as they fight for life
I can feel death, can see its beady eyes
All these things into position
All these things we'll one day swallow whole
And fade out again and fade out again

Immerse your soul in love
Immerse your soul in love

"Street Spirit (Fade Out)" by Radiohead

-------------------------------
I love this song.

"Street Spirit is our purest song, but I didn't write it. It wrote itself. We were just its messengers; its biological catalysts. Its core is a complete mystery to me, and, you know, I wouldn't ever try to write something that hopeless. All of our saddest songs have somewhere in them at least a glimmer of resolve. Street Spirit has no resolve. It is the dark tunnel without the light at the end. It represents all tragic emotion that is so hurtful that the sound of that melody is its only definition. We all have a way of dealing with that song. It's called detachment. Especially me; I detach my emotional radar from that song, or I couldn't play it. I'd crack. I'd break down on stage. That's why its lyrics are just a bunch of mini-stories or visual images as opposed to a cohesive explanation of its meaning. I used images set to the music that I thought would convey the emotional entirety of the lyric and music working together. That's what's meant by 'all these things you'll one day swallow whole'. I meant the emotional entirety, because I didn't have it in me to articulate the emotion. I'd crack...

Our fans are braver than I to let that song penetrate them, or maybe they don't realise what they're listening to. They don't realise that Street Spirit is about staring the fucking devil right in the eyes, and knowing, no matter what the hell you do, he'll get the last laugh. And it's real, and true. The devil really will get the last laugh in all cases without exception, and if I let myself think about that too long, I'd crack.

I can't believe we have fans that can deal emotionally with that song. That's why I'm convinced that they don't know what it's about. It's why we play it towards the end of our sets. It drains me, and it shakes me, and hurts like hell every time I play it, looking out at thousands of people cheering and smiling, oblivious to the tragedy of its meaning, like when you're going to have your dog put down and it's wagging its tail on the way there. That's what they all look like, and it breaks my heart. I wish that song hadn't picked us as its catalysts, and so I don't claim it. It asks too much. I didn't write that song."

-- Thom Yorke

Tick Tick Tick

tickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick

I am up at 2:15 am when I don't really need to be. Why, you may ask??

BECAUSE I'M WAITING TO FIND OUT IF I'VE BEEN SENTENCED TO SEXILE!!!!

I had probably actually slept a good hour so when my other roommate woke up to tell me that we had been asked to leave through a text message from our other roommate. With much cursing and groaning, I woke up but refused to budge unless she came and kicked me out herself. I have nowhere to crash -- my engineer friends have midterms tomorrow, and my dear friend J is no doubt sleeping at this hour.

tickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick...BOOOOOOOOOOOOM. fml fml fml.

Heads Will Roll

Off off off with your head
Dance dance dance till you're dead

-- "Heads Will Roll" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Somebody needs to throw an Alice-in-Wonderland-themed dance party to this song.

----------------------------

I have so much respect for Beyonce after watching this video.
(The girl is an 11-year-old with leukemia.)

X______X

Well... I wouldn't say that the results of my chem test were disastrous...

But fuck. I need to work harder to beat the curve.

Pulse 1

Seeing how busy I've been these days, I may just resort to writing "pulses" so you know that I'm alive and why I have disappeared.

I forgot about what it's like to work. Like those moments when you quarantine yourself from the rest of the world with only your books, your pens, and your mp3 player with the skullcandy headphones. My work ethic requires a large activation energy, but once I finally force myself to work, I can sit there and study for hours. On the plus side, I love the good feeling you get when you know you've been productive.

So basically, I take my first test tomorrow. Wish me luck.

I'm taking a break to update my life, for those of you who no longer attend the same school as me. I can't really think of important things, but let's see what's on my mind. And I really shouldn't be doing this, so consider it your present from me.

1. I am currently taking EMT Basic classes in addition to my Duke workload. Yes, I think I'm a little insane. The hours for this class are ridiculously time-consuming. I actually just came back from my 6:00-10:00 pm class about half an hour ago. On the plus side, if I become a certified EMT by the end of this year, at least I know I have job options open.

2. I have two roommates. I have a ton of stories about F, the one who likes to party, but those are stories for a different day. Last week, she managed to hook up (her definition: make-out) with this guy in her Spanish class she'd been keeping her eye on. I have to say, I definitely noticed this guy when I first saw him during O week. I've never found anybody who quite fit the image of Rhys I had in mind -- until I saw this guy. And unsurprisingly, it turns out this guy is a model. I don't know how many shoots he's done or if he's a runway model -- but F and I found out that there definitely are pictures of him on Google. And this guy, as it turns out, is in my EMT class. I have a slight fear of beautiful people -- it's hard to shake off the feeling that they think they're too good for you -- but so far, this guy has been pretty nice. He even complimented my backpack.

3. Speaking of my backpack, I have been getting some attention regarding my backpack. If you didn't know already, this is my backpack, except in a magenta/hot pink sort of hue:

Yeah, pretty bomb, huh? There was one time, I was buying pearl milk tea at this campus cafe. When I turn around from the counter, I see a group of people eating a table all staring at me. I start wondering if there's something on my face until I realize that they're looking at my backpack.

4. The former editor-in-chief decided to take a stab at writing for The Chronicle. Unfortunately, I don't think I plan to stick to this. It sucks being at the bottom of the food chain again, being forced to run around all over the place to track down quotes and interviews. My article is due tomorrow, and I haven't even written it yet. With all the phone-chasing and treks across campus for interviews, I feel I should be paid to do all this work. EMT is taking up enough time already.

5. I love IV!

Alright, ciao darlings.

The Pane of Glass

Some days, the rain falls. Trickling down the pane of glass between me and You, a modern-day Pyramus and Thisbe. I can hear your candy-coated words, strung together like a caressing noose of promises -- but I can't see it. I can't feel it. I can press my lips to the wall between us, but all I taste are the saline beads of water streaming down down down, and I can't help but wonder if those are tears trickling down your face, or if I'm just licking away my own sorrow from the glass again.

---------------------------
"I Wrote This For You" is holding a caption contest for the above picture. Photo credit goes to Jon Ellis. All inspiration credit belongs to Iain Thomas and his phenomenally ethereal writing.