"This Night is Flawless" *

New beginnings! Catch me on over here from now on: http://slightlyoutofreach.blogspot.com/
Thanks for a great 4 years!

Taylor Swift "Enchanted" *

With Love,
Melidee

"I believe, with Hegel, that transcendence is absorption" *

 Rookie mistake: wearing these shoes during the 12+ hr hike up Bosque El Impossible while in El Salvador.

Oh, dear. February is almost over and I did not blog. I really need to make time to write up some of the silly thoughts zooming back and forth in my cabezita. I have lots to say but I'm sleepy and have to wake up early for a morning jog, lesson planning and adding the final touches to my room remodeling (6+ months and it's finally feeling a bit like a room of my own). The biggest thought plaguing my mind right now is this insatiable desire to go hiking this weekend; the snowy mountains a few miles away from my house are looking breathtaking. It seems that most of the friends I have left are too busy to deal with little ole' me and my 'weird' thoughts. My parents and brother all have lives of their own so I think I might have to quench my arduous appetite for trekking the monstrous, though embracing, landforms all on my own. Actually, nothing sounds better than some good quality time with madre nature; I have so much thinking/evaluating to do. Perhaps, my iPod and Infinite Jest* shall suffice as my trusty companions; good music, great literature and peace of mind knowing that no one will impose their wants and needs on my hiking trip.  Yeah, that sounds like the perfect plan and it shall be done. [Confession: I still really wish I had somebody to accompany me this weekend; I miss conversation. I want the option of discussing Hegelianism with someone. I miss you, SM].

 

"No Basta" Franco DeVita

All my best,

-melidee

* in D. F. Wallace 's Infinite Jest.

Real Dreams

Cheltzie, her bf, his brother, and me. Angel is missing from the photograph as he was the photographer.

Hello! Quick one (although, truthfully there's nothing more I need right now than to sit down and crank out a 10 page update [catharsis, you know] but my tears will have to suffice until time for a day-long coffee shop rendezvous with my MacBook is permitted). Basically, I felt compelled to share what is now my absolute favorite photograph ever (in which I am depicted, I mean). 

Last month, for the first time in my life, I had an 'adult' New Year's Weekend. By this, I mean that it was the first time that I did not have the pleasure of hugging my family as I welcomed the new year. Instead, I fled Los Angeles for San Diego (not a dramatic trek, I know) with two of my best friends. So basically, I said goodbye to what should have been the best year of my life 2010 and welcomed the year I went off to Peace Corps or began grad school 2011 at a random gay club named Rick's on University St, two miles from Downtown SD. I received no hugs (the club was too crowed) and, instead, was drenched in $2 champagne by a not-so-nice couple on the platform directly above myself. Additionally, I wore 4 inch heels (I love heels - in theory and on other people; I, myself, completely suck at enduring the torture) and was literally sitting in mixture of vodka tonics and puke at the corner of the bar. 

Eventually, my friends and I made our way back to our cute boutique hotel room and I changed into boots, instantaneously converting my outfit into the perfect mix of cool. With my new comfortable shoes, I decided to accompany my best friend Angel out to the bars in the Gaslamp District (a block or so from where we were staying) to continue with the New Years Eve festivities. Since the U.S. has an uber lame nightlife and final call is at 1:20am, (In Santiago, that's when we left our hotel to get the night started, what gives? We need to calm down in the States) we quickly rushed into the first bar that let us in - which ended up being a really fun bar (something that bars tend to lack here, in my experience). We danced while simultaneously singing yelling the words to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" (of course) at the top of our lungs. It was my turn to buy drinks so we got two Stellas and went about our night for exactly 10 minutes before we were kicked out and sent home. 

The rest of the night was a mess full of drunken yells, drunken tears (from him, not me) and a pit stop to the local 24 hour Subway (who knew those existed?) because he [Angel] was hungry. Overall, we had a good, necessary conversation so that made it all a bit better. I must admit, however, that it was a slightly disappointing beginning of the year. Alas, I'm one of those people who finds the end/beginning/New Year's Resolution thing a bit annoying and obsolete (not the resolutions, its limiting [one day] disposition) because of its arbitrary nature. However, as my dear friend Cheltzie Lee and I enjoyed our Indian brunch the next day, I eavesdropped on the conversation the two middle-aged women beside us were having. I was intrigued by what they were discussing - the importance & significance of the first purchase of the year. I quickly scanned my previous night's transactions and realized that the only things I had purchased in 2011 were those two beers at that fun Don't Stop Believin' bar. I was immediately filled with a slew of sadness because I did not want beer to define my entire year. I then chuckled because I remembered how I didn't really believe in that sort of thing (or, not seriously at least). Then, I realized that even if I did believe that my first purchase of the year would, indeed, define my entire year - then I would just have to construct this purchase (these beers) into a positive one. 

That night, New Year's Day Saturday, was the best night I've had since my days drunkenly trekking down Providencia to and from Subterraneo. It was one of those nights filled with a chill, nonchalant, underhyped air that can, truly, only be provided by good company. Cheltzie Lee's boyfriend and his brother joined us for dinner (Thai). It sounds absolutely ridiculous but that table was filled with such love (this was only the second time I'd met her boyfriend and first time meeting his brother, mind you) and comfort, that I immediately knew it would be a great night. Maybe, that's what made the difference - the fact that I told myself that it would be a good night. Either way, I felt this because of the company I had. The night consisted of dinner (with two rounds of warm sake) followed by an hour at an amazing Irish pub with a really fun Flogging Molly cover band. During this hour (while the band took a break) we all got to know each other a bit and, as repetitive as it's beginning to sound, I felt so comfortable. The night ended with us stumbling into a chill bar that served as a mini nightclub with the funnest DJ. We danced and drank the night away, met some interesting characters, and I solidified a strong family-like bond with the amazing company I've kept. This seems like an odd statement when discussing a night of bar hopping, but this is pretty much the entire point. For the past 22 years of my life - and the past 8, in particular - I can hand pick the times (situations) I've actually felt at peace and comfortable. There are not too many of them, but most include: times abroad, times with my family, or with my best friend Jess. Being comfortable, to me, instinctively translates into being happy. Since my comfortable-to-uncomfortable ratio is a bit on the unequal side, I basically tend to stay away from social gatherings or anything that requires a bit minimum socializing. I figure that I should not voluntarily submit myself to such torture. However, this recluse state has also brought on such a tender sadness. 90% of the time I am at peace with my choice of trading in uncomfortable situations for that morose seclusion. However, that was when I could take refuge in school and work. Post-grad has been a bit trickier. Thus, as much as I try to throw myself into my job, good literature and excellent music - the marginal cost of this sadness is suddenly becoming too high a price to pay. So, for this reason, I've agreed to finally spend time with my beloved friends - the ones I've so boorishly neglected. 

Truth be told, my friends and I have more 'not in common' than 'in common' but I'm now realizing that this is actually better. I, then, think of an episode of Boy Meets World where Erik and Jack are in the middle of a double date when they realize that they want to switch because they have more in common with each other's respective date. While attempting to seduce the dates into each other's arms, the girls realize what's going on. When Erik and Jack explain how they have more in common with their non-dates, one girl says something along the lines of: "Why would I want to be someone who is the same as me? Who eats a peanut butter and peanut butter sandwich? I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich." This always stuck and I always found this a bit (silly and) prolific. I guess, I've ignored it for way too long now. 

The point is, San Diego, my friends, the first purchase of 2011 beers, and - most importantly (for this post, at least) - this photograph, they represent my triumphant return to the social side of life. I'm choosing (closely and carefully) to detach myself from the recluse life I've led for 22 years. I'm in no way a social butterfly and don't intend on becoming on one. However, I am now letting myself take a breather from all this introspection (okay, maybe not) and allowing myself to have chill, underhyped nights with the people I love and am most comfortable around, In turn, I am putting myself in situations that will bring those temporarily moments of bliss. I'm also making myself take some of those usually uncomfortable situations (WeHo bars, for example) and making them fun and comfortable, all with good company. Hedonism, I suppose, is what it's called. Although, I'd rather not muddy it up with any more labels because I'm sure it'll spoil soon. That's the problem - I think about it too much, I feel like I'm spoiling it, and, of course, then set the course for the self-fulfilling prophecy to run its course. So there's that. 

I'm currently planning a mini trip to the Dominican Republic in early April for Cheltzie's bday. It's where I was planning to go for my graduation trip, before all the bad things occurred. I think a bit of redemption will be good for the soul. 

Wow, this post definitely surpassed its intended length. Not in the mood for editing (30 Rock marathon with the sister awaits), so I apologize if it's difficult to read. I'm not a writer, after all.

Today, I listened to the Vampire Weekend Pandora Station all day (which is what gave me the push to create this post) but I solely listened to my good friends Seasons while actually writing it up and, thus, inspired the (simple) title. So they're my recommendation for the day.

To good company.


With love,

-melidee

Al Qahua.

Sometimes I don't understand myself. That may or may not be the point. My nonfat latte just burned my tongue. I can feel the tiny bumps quickly forming. Now I have coffee breath: the absolute worst.  Breath that in the rest of the world is a result of something beautiful.  The strong stench represents a break from the day, a conversation with friends, a humble peasant breakfast - here at home represents the complete opposite. I take my coffee with a side of rest. My coffee break today consisted of one perfect line that triggered thousands of salty, embracing tears. Break is almost over. Off to hustle. Anotha day, anotha dolla, or something of the sort.


-melidee

Donde pongo lo hallado? - S. Rodriguez

I suppose I should begin writing again - this is a good warm up.

The interviews I mentioned last time, they both went. One well and I got offered a job and the other, not so much - however, I did not feel bad because it was a low-paying job that did not even require a high school diploma so eh, I just thought I could have fun for once, but it didn't happen and I'm glad for it. However, I did not take the other job either because that same day, I had a quick impromptu phone interview for a way more prestigious (I make or may not be using sarcasm) position - one whose job description actually requires a Bachelors Degree. Anyway, I interviewed and was offered the position immediately. I work part time and have a flexible schedule, but the best part is that I get paid relatively well. Frankly, in this economy I can safely say that I get paid really well - especially for the amount of work I actually put in. So basically I work less than what's considered 'part time' and get paid about the same as someone working full time at an admin position or retail position (which is what most of my classmates are doing). Anyway, it's not my ideal job, but I'm putting my noggin to good use and tutoring/teaching elementary school kids. I am incredibly grateful for my job. I'm also going back to school. After the traumatizing post-graduate experience, my life turned upside down. It's too long (and boring) of a story so I'll skip to the end: I'm studying to become a registered nurse. This is the tangibility I've been seeking. This way, I will be part of an extremely needed (and scarce) pool and I can actually, tangibly help, be it in the 'first' or 'third' world. I feel good about my decision.


Besides working, I help my cousins (one who's in college and the other a senior in high school) with school work all the time. I help with various subjects: AP Statistics, chemistry, college English, history, psychology, and even college applications. It's been really nice helping out. Although I don't miss college yet, I do miss learning - I discovered a love and fascination for math and science that I never knew I had. I love when my cousin texts me that she needs help with chemistry homework or her take home statistics exams because I quickly delve into relearning all the lessons in order to teach her. Her grades have greatly improve and I feel so happy I could help. Mostly, though, I get this tingly feeling inside, know that I slightly remember learning all this, but since then, it was for a grade (and to get to college) the material was overshadowed by the obsessive idea that it was all just a tedious stepping stone to bigger and better things (ha!). I, now, love going to Barnes and Noble during my work breaks and reading the AP Chemistry and Statistics books for fun. I'm extremely excited about taking biology classes for the RN program (although I can't seem to get into these pesky community college classes, they're all full. Here's to crashing classes for the first time!). What I mean to say is, contrary to whatever my last (ranting, depressing) post says, I love learning.

I've been studying for the GREs as well, though not as much. I will do so in time and will apply to a Masters program that I feel good about.

Other than that, my days are filled with family, Mexican & Salvadoran horchata and lots and lots of television. I truly love the idiot box - I allow this, mostly, because I actually believe that I'm not an idiot so it's okay. I probably am, though. Breaking Bad, Californication, Big Love, The Amazing Race, Two and a Half Men, India (along with the obvious Gossip Girl, 30 Rock, It's Always Sunny, The Soup, Real Housewives, etc etc). Anyway, basically I consume copious amounts of television, it's almost therapeutic, the numbing, and I'm okay with it. I read, too. I still love literature (again, contrary to what other posts may say).

You know what I miss? Pompous professors. Kyle, Theobald and my final English professor (whose name slips my mind currently) are seriously missed right about now.

Oh, I also spend my afternoons fighting housewives for good parking spots when I pick up my little brother from middle school; I actually kind of hate housewives-they're vicious when it comes to parking. Kind of reminds me of the old Asian ladies who push through anyone in order to get onto the BART and Muni first. My sister refers to them as 'her competition'. Ah, it's noticing the little things in life that really make it just a little bit more special. Do I sound like I just got out of rehab? I sort of just did, in a sense; I'm trying to fight the depressive and manic thoughts that ednos brings. The mind-consuming, obsessive, addicting thoughts are still here, I'm just dealing and living.

I'm trying to remember why winter was my favorite season for so long - I love and miss summer so much. The desert makes it all that more depressing. I've learned to love living here though. If anything, driving through the vastness of Joshua Trees while Voxtrot or Girl Talk play on those sporadic sunny days - makes me appreciate this life more and more.

Once in a while I really really really miss Santiago de Chile. The picture accompanying this post is just one of the funny, ridiculous memories my roommate Lidia (the most amazing Russian girl I've ever had the pleasure of living with) and I shared on a cold July Santiago night. Our room lacked the proper tools to open a cheap bottle of Chilean wine but it was almost 12am, time to leave for the bars, and we did not want to spend a million bucks to get shwasted so we looked for any resource possible to open that damned bottle - a make-up (we thought) would do the trick. Poor cleaning ladies the next morning who had to deal with wine splattered all over our bathroom (The counter, the toilet, the walls, the ceiling). Our frugality lead to us downing the entire bottle with the cork floating about the bottle and the make-up brush still stuck inside. I don't share this story because it's wild or insane (because I have plenty of those, too, but why) but because it's one of my favorite stupid, fun, cute memories with my old roommate who is currently off in Geneva, getting her Masters. I'm so incredibly proud and inspired.

Anyway, I'll leave it at that. Off to get exactly one hour of sleep before I have to be off to meet my best friend. We're going to a taping of Let's Make a Deal! And yes, we're dressing up: he's a flying pig and I'm a koala. Oh, to live in Los Angeles. Pictures forthcoming.


PS, just to get this off my chest, Blogger. I've sort of been cheating on you with Tumblr for the past month. No worries, though, I mostly reblog pop culture things - totally different, sort of.



-melidee

'First World' Problems (Perpetuity Ensued).

My Floordrobe

I have about 50 unpublished posts under my "Saved as Drafts" section. I feel that....uh, I have thoughts to share--only, these thoughts are not necessarily complete. I really hate that - the ideal of finality, as if a thought needs to come full circle, have some sort of epiphanic orgasmic-like revelation. But perhaps it does; perhaps, these conclusive thoughts are the only ones worth sharing, or at least that's what the model has been for eternity. This new revulsion for me perhaps stems from the fact that every Jesus, Joseph and Mary seems to be having their moment of clarity (and, as this blog is a storied witness, I tend to have these quite a lot) or perhaps it's because I just don't care anymore (Although, between you and me, it might just be a case of the green-eyed monster; he's been plaguing me a lot lately). Just like my college education, I'd like to think that these so-called epiphanies that I've so carefully collected and stored - like someone exhibits a vivacious bookshelf, displaying all the literature that explains how worldly and cultured they are - have actually benefited me in one way or another. Lately, however, I've been dealing with a bit of graduate's remorse. I'm not sure if college was really all that worth it. Now, if I choose to go down this road, I'll probably self-destruct - so I won't. Instead, I'll tell myself that it really was worth the time, stress and money because I met some really inspiring people (none of them peers). Similarly, I'll tell myself that my epiphanies (if they can really be called that) have continually helped me get to where I am. It's just that, when I read other people's epiphanies, I can't help but chuckle - then I realize what an idiot I've been. I quickly shiver and, as my tomato red face would tell you, I'm ashamed - ashamed to think that I've ever felt that I was one bit original or strong, even. I've realized, more than anything, how incredibly ordinary I am. Everything I think, write, read and speak has already been done. My next step is to accept it and move along. I'm currently exhausted with all the reading I've done lately, so I don't want to write - I hate writing. I hate writing, I hate reading, I hate listening. I just want to say that college really messed me up. University's freakish psychosocial experiment deconstructed my entire being; it destroyed me. Even worse, there was absolutely no compensation, they've offered no help in reconstructing me. This is when my social conscious should be kicking in - this is when I should say what a privilege it is to even be literate, let alone be a young female (prestigious) college graduate. The thing though, is that I care about nothing. I am bitter. I am numb. I am also happy. I don't like realizations, expectations, or exploration. I like literary nonsense, I like psychobabble. I care about visible collarbones and rib cages. I care about my mom and dad and sister and brother. I care about being absolutely ignorant because the other side completely destroyed me. I don't understand any of my friends, and secretly admire some really distant acquaintances. Music elitists are slowly destroying my love for melody and lyrics, I hate how much power they have. I like my bony wrists and hands - that's it. I work hard to make sure the rest of my body eats itself away. I am jealous. I am average. I'm a coward. I cry whenever I read any critique and I don't do well with rejection (does anyone?). And before anyone jumps to the love conclusion - I mean rejection from a strictly human level, as in, a rejection or critique of my human introspective qualms. I wish I could tell anyone who dislikes me, that they are right in what they think and if they can just leave me alone. I want them to believe any aversive idea because I'm the coward who cares too much and not enough. Truthfully, I should, really should delete this thing, but I'll settle for privatizing for a while. I'd like to think that I write these for myself, but a diary would serve that purpose more adequately. I write this so that my sister and my best friends can read. Nothing more, nothing less. The thing is, I'm not sure they do, so I've kept it open for anyone else to see. I've had some kind words and some other ones too. The apparent (and already so exhaustively discussed, ahh) problem with the Internet is the case of screen balls, where hiding behind a screen gives anyone authority on everything. In that, I wish to be the average, ordinary, in the midst-of-a million people crowd in Singapore, person. I hate attention and I hate being singled out. I just want to write out my nonsense so that my sister and friends will see where my head's at without having to actually say it to their face. If anyone has a problem with me, you win. I lose. Can we leave it at that? 

I have two interviews soon: one for a company I absolutely despise, and one where I think I could be content. A few posts ago, I promised to never talk about this shit. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, self. I tried, I really did. Did I really? No. 

-melidee

"Watercolors, magnetic poetry, and a harmonica" *

 

 via

I just finished re-reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I feel like I really needed it. My introversion and constant introspection has been haunting me for the past 18 years (you know, around the time you're forced to socialize) and especially these past four years (particularly these post grad months where I'm expected prostitute myself network to find a job). Anyway, I've always felt so much love for Charlie but my love has grown even more so right now. I'm feeling better about life. Day 19 of rehab and I've finally had "The Breakthrough". I decided to take August off from everything (lets pretend these two Aug posts don't exist). Reality, fate and sick grandparents forced me to cancel my trip to Santo Domingo and my graduation present trip was canceled as well. As devastated as I was, I truly believe that the two virtues I've been lacking lately -patience and appreciation- are being tested and I am slowly (but surely) learning. So I sit here, watching my mommy live her life and daddy live his, my brother (who we've recently nicknamed Botwin because he's taken on a Shane-like appearance lately) blossom into a teenager and it all just seems to connect and feel real and happy and beautiful and all I can say is how truly blissful life is. I'm back to living a life full of instability and this is exactly what I've yearned for. I have college degree and about $40 to my name with no savings and no plans. I feel at peace.

"Incidentally", I'm making my brother read the novel this weekend. He'll soon begin middle school and I want him to go in with a good head on his shoulders. I'm sure he'll take it in as his own but I truly hope he loves it as much as I did when I read it years ago and as much as I loved it while I was rereading it today. 

Lastly, Bill and Charlie have given me the final push to face Ayn Rand once again. Since I began taking Economics courses, it's been my personal goal to read Atlas Shrugged when a Turkish macroeconomics professor challenged us suggested it. I failed the first time around (what college student has the spare time?) but I think it's time to try again. Maybe though, I'd like to start with The Fountainhead since I'd never considered it. I guess it's one of those pretentious type of things I have to get out of my system. I hope I can do it. Anyhow, off to my mandatory 3 mile run and yoga session at the park. You know that feeling Charlie describes where everything seems to be connected and you feel like you are part of the air? My evenings lately have been kind of like that. Mashallah.

The other day dad played "Moon Shadow" by Yusuf Islam Cat Stevens and I couldn't help but smile.
 

-melidee

"All lies are elaborate deceptions. Anyone got a match?"

 via

"El más terrible de los sentimientos es el sentimiento de tener la esperanza perdida." -Federico García Lorca

And so I begin. brb.

Corinne Bailey Rae "I Would Like to Call It Beauty" 

-melidee

الأسبوع الأخير

Favorite bar stamp: Potato @ Little Prague.

Quick post: I'm officially on my last week of living in Davis. Lately I've been thinking about this bubble very much because the prompt for my final Adv Comp paper is to write an introspective paper about my most educational experience while living here. To say that I'm going to miss this place would be the understatement of the year. I've done more growing up and soul searching here than I have my entire life. I mean, 18 to 22 is a pretty formative period so it's expected; university is a crazy experiment, no? Anyway, this four year long summer camp is almost over. Too bad I'm too stressed out to actually enjoy all my favorite things in dtown. Alas, Friday at 4pm I'll be finished with work and class so I'm thinking happy hour followed by dinner and one final bar crawl. I need some good old fashioned college fun. So the twenty-four million dollar question: the thing I'm going to miss the most? Everything.

♥

Simon and Garfunkel "America"

-melidee

Libre albedrío

"Maquette de décor pour 'Labyrinth' " by Salvador Dali 1941 (via)

Although humans possess free will (or more accurately, freedom of intention ), they have no power to create anything in the material world as this is entirely the province of God. This doctrine is now known in Western philosophy as occasionalism.

Man does not posses free will in the strictest sense, but does have the capacity to acquire, through an act of acceptance, the actions that God has already created for him.

Abu al-Hasan al-Ash'ari was noted for his teachings on atomism, among the earliest Islamic Philosophies, and for al-Ash'ari this was the basis for propagating a deterministic view that Allah created every moment in time and every particle of matter. Thus, cause and effect was an illusion. He nonetheless believed in free will, elaborating the thoughts of Dirar ibn Amr' and Abu Hanafi into a "dual agent" or "acquisition" (iktisab) account of free will.

While al-Ash'ari was opposed to the views of the Mu'tazili school for its over-emphasis on reason, he was also opposed to the views of certain orthodox schools such as the Zahiri (literalist), Mujassimite (anthropomorphic) and Muhaddithin (traditionalist) schools for their over-emphasis on taqlid (imitation) in his Istihsan al‑Khaud

In Asharite atomism, atoms are the only perpetual, material things in existence, and all else in the world is "accidental" meaning something that lasts for only an instant. Nothing accidental can be the cause of anything else, except perception, as it exists for a moment. Contingent events are not subject to natural physical causes, but are the direct result of God's constant intervention, without which nothing could happen. Thus nature is completely dependent on God, which meshes with other Asharite Islamic ideas on causation, or the lack thereof (Gardet 2001). 

All above via.

...

Last week I had to present on the Ash'ari School of Islamic theology as a reaction to the Mu'tazilte School. I found both extremely interesting, and, Asharite atomism in particular. While researching for my presentation, I felt like I was back in my high school AP Spanish Language class discussing libre albedrío with the astounding Dr. Gregoire. It felt nice to ponder about these things once again.

Accordingly, I'm adding two new reads to my summer list: 

Al-Ghazali's The Incoherence of the Philosophers (تهافت الفلاسفة):
Ibn Rushd's (Averroes)The Incoherence of the Incoherence (تهافت التهافت) as a reaction.

Led Zeppelin "Kashmir"

-melidee

"I have to lose my idols to find my voice" *

"Down by water's edge, under a dying tree
 I let my body slip, so dead inside of me" *

Voxtrot "Brother in Conflict" and "Ghost"*

-melidee 

"Whatever put eloquence in language"

  via

Moses and the Shepherd 

Moses heard a shepherd on the road praying,
“God, where are you? I want to help You, to fix Your shoes
and comb your hair. I want to wash Your clothes
and pick the lice off. I want to bring You milk,
to kiss Your little hands and feet when it’s time
for You to go to bed. I want to sweep Your room
and keep it neat. God, my sheep and my goats
are Yours. All I can say, remembering You,
is ayyyyyyy and ahhhhhhhh.”

Moses could stand it no longer.
“Who are you talking to?”

“The one who made us, and made the earth and made the sky.”
“Don’t talk about shoes and socks with God!
And what’s this with Your little hands and feet?
Such blasphemous familiarity sounds like
you’re chatting with your uncles.
Only something that grows needs milk.
Only someone with feet needs shoes. Not God!
Even if you meant God’s human representatives,
as when God said, ‘I was sick, and you did not visit me,’
even then this tone would be foolish and irreverent.

Use appropriate terms. Fatima is a fine name
for a woman, but if you call a man Fatima,
it’s an insult. Body-and-birth language
are right for us on this side of the river,
but not for addressing the Origin,
not for Allah.”

The shepherd repented and tore his clothes and sighed
and wandered out into the desert.

A sudden revelation
came then to Moses. God’s voice:
You have separated Me
from one of my own. Did you come as a prophet to unite,
or to sever?
I have given each being a separate and unique way
of seeing and knowing and saying that knowledge.
What seems wrong to you is right for him.
What is poison to one is honey to someone else.

Purity and impurity, sloth and diligence in worship,
these mean nothing to Me.
I am apart from all that.
Ways of worshipping are not to be ranked as better
or worse than one another.
Hindus do Hindu things.
The Dravidian Muslims in India do what they do.
It’s all praise, and it’s all right.

It’s not Me that’s glorified in acts of worship.
It’s the worshippers! I don’t hear the words
They say. I look inside at the humility.
That broken-open lowliness is the Reality,
not the language! Forget phraseology.
I want burning, burning.
Be friends.
with your burning. Burn up your thinking
and your forms of expression!
Moses,
those who pay attention to ways of behaving
and speaking are one sort.
Lovers who burn are another.”

Don’t impose a property tax
on a burned out village. Don’t scold the Lover.
The “wrong” way he talks is better than a hundred
“right” ways of others.
Inside the Kaaba
it doesn’t matter which direction you point
your prayer rug!
The ocean diver doesn’t need snowshoes!
The Love-Religion has no code or doctrine.
Only God.
So the ruby has nothing engraved on it!
It doesn’t need markings.
God began speaking
deeper mysteries to Moses. Vision and words,
which cannot be recorded here, poured into
and through him. He left himself and came back.
He went to eternity and came back here.
Many times this happened.
It’s foolish of me
to try and say this. If I did say it,
it would uproot our human intelligences.
It would shatter all writing pens.

Moses ran after the shepherd.
He followed the bewildered footprints,
in one place moving straight like a castle
across a chessboard. In another, sideways,
like a bishop.
Now surging like a wave cresting,
now sliding down like a fish,
with always his feet
making geomancy symbols in the sand,
recording his wandering state.

Moses finally caught up with him.
“I was wrong. God has revealed to me
that there are no rules for worship.
Say whatever
and however your loving tells you to. Your sweet blasphemy
is the truest devotion.
Through you a whole world is freed.
Loosen your tongue and don’t worry what comes out.
It’s all the light of the Spirit.”

The shepherd replied,
“Moses, Moses,
I’ve gone beyond even that.
You applied the whip and my horse shied and jumped
out of itself. The Divine Nature and my human nature
came together.
Bless your scolding hand and your arm.
I can’t say what has happened.
What I’m saying now
is not my real condition. It can’t be said.”

The shepherd grew quiet.

When you look in a mirror,
you see yourself, not the state of the mirror.
The fluteplayer puts breath into a flute,
and who makes the music? Not the flute.
The Fluteplayer!

Whenever you speak praise
or thanksgiving to God, it’s always like this
dear shepherd’s simplicity.
When you eventually see
through the veils to how things really are,
you will keep saying again
and again,
“This is certainly not like
we thought it was!” 

-Rumi

"Ideal, ideal, ideal!" 

Jamila. al-yaum, Rumi.


-melidee

"I'm sorry you think I'm dead" *

via

"Studying is hard and boring. Teaching is hard and boring. So, what you're telling me is to be bored, and then bored, and finally bored again, but this time for the rest of my life? This whole stupid country is bored! There's no life in it, or color, or fun! It's probably just as well the Russians are going to drop a nuclear bomb on us any day now. So my choice is to do something hard and boring, or to marry my... Jew, and go to Paris and Rome and listen to jazz, and read, and eat good food in nice restaurants, and have fun! It's not enough to educate us anymore Ms. Walters. You've got to tell us why you're doing it."

It's so incredibly difficult to be appreciative of things that feel common, or worse, things that we feel entitled to in the first place. However, we should and must take the time every once in a while to consider simple historical facts. As sons and daughters of this latest generation, we tend to overlook the fact that it has taken humanity a very long time to get to where we are. I think this generation, and our (I'm convinced flawed) ability to quickly adapt to new technologies and ridiculously senseless services, has severely disabled us to look beyond ourselves. We suffer from chronic egocentrism (only in the sense that we are actually very self-conscious; we think we're the center of the universe, always) so it's nice to have sobering moments. With that said, here I go. I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to finish my undergraduate studies. I am so incredibly lucky to be an educated individual. I am so ridiculously appreciative to all the courageous and inspiring people who paved the way for me and my fellow marginalized peoples. Because of them I have the luxury of choice. I can choose to continue my studies, I can choose to get a job, I can choose to stay at home and start a family. This is a big deal and I think we have been too haste in forgetting. I think of all the women I grew up around (my mother, my aunts, the ladies at temple and church). Absolutely none of them had that luxury of an education. They didn't have a choice. I guess, in some respect, luxury is the wrong word because it implies that an education is a pleasurable, self-indulgent activity. And truthfully, at least considering the state of the entire world, it kind of is. I can only hope that this erroneous concept will be modified to better represent how essential an education truly is.

Yesterday, I watched the film An Education and afterward, quickly tracked down the Lynn Barber memoir that it was based on. Besides developing a total girl crush on Carey Mulligan, the film encouraged me to evaluate a couple of questions I've been struggling with lately. Alas, I'm done with university (while Jenny was a 16-year-old working to get into Oxford) so I suppose my circumstances are a bit different but, lately, I've been craving some superficial mind-numbing fun (I had an Entourage marathon last weekend so that's probably why). I don't think the desire for a shallow good time is a necessarily bad thing; what I do find troublesome is that it would be relatively easy to get lost in the glitz and glamour of that world; I mean, it happens all the time. So while Jenny was being seduced by David, art, France, jazz, cigarettes, restaurants, dance clubs and weekend trips, I have to admit that I, too, was being seduced. See, this is exactly what I've been craving lately; a cultured, fun, charming older man to show me the world. However, the latter half of the movie was (intentionally) sobering. 

There were a couple of scenes in particular, that brought me back from seduction. When Jenny accuses the amazing Miss Stubbs (who had always believed in her) of being 'dead' for not having the life that David had, recently, offered her, I was hurt. As the film hit its turning point and Jenny is at her lowest point, she has the opportunity to visit Miss Stubbs' adorably vibrant flat. Quickly, Jenny realizes how alive Miss Stubbs actually is, and the lovely home she has made for herself was visual proof. Almost instantly, I thought of one of my favorite essays, Virginia Woolf's "A Room of One's Own". It's incredible to me how, to this day, the idea that only a man can offer a woman these things is still so enticing. Miss Stubbs (even in this day and age) was a breath of fresh air. And yet, like I said before, I'm dying for a cultured older man to show me life. 

Personally, the most insightful part of the film was when Jenny yells at Headmistress Walters about how hard and boring the lives of ordinary people are and how pointless her education is. I love this simply because I kind of agreed with her, strictly in the sense that I completely disagree with her suggestion of mutual exclusivity. I agree that we need to listen to jazz, read, go to Paris and have fun! I completely disagree with the use of "or" (see above).

This last line, in particular, was my favorite: "It's not enough to educate us anymore Ms. Walters. You've got to tell us why you're doing it." I love this simply because it made me realize how incredibly blessed I am; I don't have to ask, I already know "why."

And on a strictly shallow side note: the styling for the movie was amazing. She looked stunning.

Facundo Cabral "No Soy de Aquí"

 

-melidee

It's a luscious mix of words and tricks *

Hiking up to Tio Chalba's house, Ahuachapán, El Salvador.

A conversation I had a few weeks ago that, for some reason, seems to still linger in the back of my mind:

"He told me, 'That's great, but are you sure you are prepared to handle failure?' "

"What did he mean?" 

"Well, working in the development field you are pretty much guaranteed to fail 90% of the time. I mean, it makes sense if you think about it. If we were succeeding, conditions would be much better, no? Instead, things only seem to be getting worse. Most development work is failed policy."

"Right."

"So this means that the people preparing these policies, in other words, the people we hope to be in the future, are failing at their jobs. Not purposely of course, it's just an impossible field. We're actually crazy for wanting it so much."

"Haha. Yeah."

"You know, I've always been a good student. I don't really know how to fail."

"Yeah. Me neither..."

 The Shins "Caring is Creepy" *

-melidee

I. am. happy. That's just the saddest lie *

Altes Brot ist nicht hart, kein Brot, das ist hart.
Se isto é verdadeiro, por que eu não posso estar feliz?


Kid Cuuuuuuudi *

-melidee

Transcendiendo el Llorazgo.

Me, doing the only thing that truly makes me happy: getting lost in a new city.

I'm not really sure how to deal with death. I've never really had to, I mean. Both my paternal and maternal grandparents are alive and relatively healthy. I was too young to remember when my great-grandparents passed away so, sadly (or fortunately?), I have no connection. I know that death is inevitable (unless you're the 12th Shi'a Imam Muhammad al-Mahdi who was born in 689 AD and is currently in Occultation. The dude is 1321!) but from what I can tell, I will be horrible at dealing with it when the time comes. When Aaliyah died, I skipped church and stayed home to cry. When Heath Ledger died, I left work early, cried but mostly sat in silence because I could not comprehend how it was even possible. I 'dealt' with it by writing a letter to Matilda in form of a blog post here. When DJ AM died, I sat in my living room crying; I've never understood why his death, in particular, hurt me so much-I'm not a huge fan but there was something about the entire situation-his essence, his notoriety, his addictions, the people he was surrounded by, the tragedy behind it all, and the fact that, at the end of the day, he literally seemed like a down-to-earth guy who just so happened to be surrounded (and loved) by all these 'famous' people. The point is, if I broke down for these people, who I, essentially, only 'knew' through the way they were marketed and portrayed - how will I react when (God willing, not anytime soon) someone I personally know dies?

I had someone relatively familial die this week. She was sort of an aunt and my sister's godmother. Like I said in the intro sentence, I'm not really sure how to deal with death (does anyone, Mel?). I was not particularly close to this person, but I happened to live with her my senior year of high school because of technical reasons. When I got the news of her death, I cried a bit, but mostly, I felt too disconnected with the entire situation (her family-half of whom are also my family-and I do not get along). I am too far (emotionally and physically) to assess the situation. I feel awkward and terrible. Even worse, I cannot help but think that she might be in a better situation now. Ugh, doesn't everyone always say that as a sort of comforting/coping mechanism ? Truthfully, this woman suffered a great deal in her life. She  also was not the nicest person in the world. She was a harmless woman with a strong opinion and even stronger personality. Thus, by the end of her life she had no one; she literally floated from couch to couch, taking as much pity as she could conjure up. She had no children and left only a husband who was living working in Massachusetts. She was loved, in a certain (unconventional) way. 

This is just one of those situations that's very difficult to process. All of the factors seem to add up and her tragic life is difficult to take in. While trying to assess the situation, it hit me -or my ego, rather -how incredibly God-complexed I am. What makes me think I have to right to assess and determine how her death should be taken in (if she's better off dead, etc)? Death is death- it's so final (in this world, at least, and depending on your personal beliefs). As I sat out on the green grassy hill overlooking the pond, barefoot, and watching the sun fade away, I had a moment of clarity; it was one of those moments where I swear I could feel heaven. I had a rush to my head (possibly due to the split second euphoric state I self-induced) and I could see everything. Unfortunately, the only thing I was left with was this cliche: Life is precious (I really wanted something new and exciting). Actually, it was more like: Every single life is equally precious. And that's it.
 
Anyway, this dear lady (God bless her and rest her soul) also made me reassess many aspects of my life. I've decided to be slightly more open-minded about things (namely: having children, relationships and-just maybe-marriage. Okay, maybe not. Or...I don't know). I still firmly believe that certain people are not meant to have children and I still think that I may be one of those people. It's just...it's a bit sad that this lady will be buried today and she won't have any offspring to say their final goodbye. Children do not validate people, it's just, I feel like if she could have, she would have wanted children. I guess what I'm getting at is that I should be more grateful that I (presumably) actually have the option. 

All this talk of life and death made me think about the way we live our lives. The way I currently live (with respect to the way my entire family and all my friends live) and the way I hope to live a nomadic life (with respect to the way all my successful college friends hope to live) is so different from the people around me. I thought about Voxtrot and the lovely "Raised by Wolves" lyrics: I will never live like you / But you will probably die like me / Oh lovelessly, an ending / Full of God, and God makes plenty. Esto es lo que e sentido toda mi vida. I've also had "Ghost" on repeat the entire week; it takes up an entirely different feel when you listen to it with the death theme (that it was originally intended for) in mind; so beautiful. The point is not to relate life and death back to these songs but, rather, for me to constantly evaluate and question the way I live to make sure I'm following my heart. I need to make sure to always keep this in mind; instead of just daydreaming about how I hope to live my life (always remembering that if I want to make God laugh, tell him my plans) I need to wake up and just do it. 

I fear normalcy and calmness way too much. I cannot, and will not, allow myself to be scared into a comfortable life. It is not what I want; I've never had a stable, comfortable life (besides these past four college years and the bubble is quickly driving me insane) and I never want one. Eighteen years I've been trained with the skills to survive extreme instability and it's the only time I've truly felt like my life had a purpose. If I ever begin talking (or writing, rather) about jobs, positions, salaries, resumes, interviews, loans, debt and all that shit as if it were actually important or relevant to life (especially when there is true tragedy and anguish occurring outside this mind-numbing dystopia) please let me know. Anyway, I just opened my little black notebook and, in it, found the infamous Trainspotting quote:

"Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit- crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food in your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who need reasons?" (I promise not to turn to heroin).

I don't exactly know what I want specifically, but I know what I don't want. I don't want to live like most of my friends and family. I don't want to push information (false info, at that) in a fucking numbers' game just for a stable paycheck. I don't think it's a bad way to life. I think it's most logical and most conformable way to life. It's the most 'human nature' way to live: we are selfish beings, it's the way we should live and the reason we've survived and thrived (eh) as a species. Well, I  guess I would rather be killed off as part of the crazy inept outlier. I truly am happy for all you folks who choose to live rationally to survive. Truthfully, I must state my gratitude, once again, because I actually have the option to live this way. The fact is, I have the option to live the overindulgent comfortable life that the entire world longs for (and only us privileged are 'entitled to'; so infuriating). However, I choose not to take it: that is pretty selfish. It's almost mocking, no? I realize this but I don't mean it that way; I am so grateful. I think we all know, deep inside, what we want and what we need. We must transcend the fear and just follow it. 

Rest in peace, Miriam.

Portishead, the entire Dummy album. Always. So. Damn. Good.

-melidee

Even if things get heavy...

 Graduation Day

The past month has been "life changing" to say the very least. In fact, I had an eight-page post that I wrote at the Starbucks next to the Burbank Airport while waiting for my ride. In it, I described my graduation ceremony, described Voxtrot's final SF show (it's been SO long, I know!) and rambled on about dear life in general. Sadly, I forgot to save the draft and since Starbucks does not offer free Wifi, it's gone. Since then I've been meaning to write up a similar post where I'd include other things like a description of the (life-changing) Silvio Rodriguez concert at the Gisbon in Los Angeles. Yes, you read correctly. I had the privilege and honor of seeing Silvio Rodriguez (aka the greatest singer/songwriter of the 20/21st century) in concert; there is absolutely no way I could ever describe how special this was to me. First, I never thought this day would actually occur since Silvio had not been allowed to play in the U.S. in over 30 years. Secondly, I had the privilege of sharing this special day with my father, the man who has been playing Silvio around me since I was still in the womb. I have many thoughts about this special occasion; Silvio was impeccable. The show was all acoustic and he played all of our favorites. He played about 5-7 encores and the crowd went wild with joy. However, I've decided that it would take too much effort to even begin to describe how special this experience was so I will leave it at that.

So, since the last post, I've graduated, went home for a bit, had a graduation party, saw Silvio, came back to Davis, have been working my butt off at work and am taking two summer school classes. One is an Advanced Composition writing class and the other is an Intro to Islam class. Though not required, I know that if I'm not in school for long, I begin to go insane.

With that said, the reason I write today is express a couple of thoughts. I come one of those inner city schools where teachers sit on their computers while the students do whatever the hell they want (I mean, they get paid either way so why bother control us?). For this reason, many of us inner city school products lack the most basic of skills. Now, I am not going to sit here and put myself down, I shad to get a certain GPA, take the same APs, SATs and ACTs and go through the same process as everyone else to get into universities. However, getting in is one thing but surviving college is a whole different story. I believe that the college institute and all its rigorous requirements is an efficient and fair weeding out process. I know so many who began college with certain majors and, after a couple of quarters, realized that they needed to switch concentrations if they planned on staying in school (pre-med to psych majors, namely) and everything worked out. I know even more people who simply could not handle it. The reasons for college drop-outs vary from voluntary withdrawal to academic dismissal; it is truly heartbreaking to see fellow classmates go because, for the most part, there is so much lost potential. I try to comfort myself by saying that everything happens for a reason, yet, in this case at least,  I am not satisfied. I think some of the dissatisfaction stems from the fact that I have worked extremely hard these past four years (Hell, the past eighteen years!) so when people I know have flunked out of college because all they cared about was partying all day, every day, I am slightly offended. Alas, that is why I say it's an efficient and fair weeding out process and this is how it works. Anyway, the point of this rambling is not to put myself on a pedestal because I did it: I finished in four years with two majors, never once failed a class, never once went below a 2.5  and for the past 3 years have been well above at 3.3 (freshman year was a slight adjustment phase), never have I been on any sort of academic probation (or even come close to!), I've had a steady 17+ hours (26+ during summers) a week job, and all my extracurriculars on top of the 20+ hours of lecture (academic year and summer school), not to mention all the homework and studying, all while supporting myself all four years (I pay everything myself). Oh yeah, and I've had to trek this unwandered path on my own because I am the first in my entire (70+ member extended) family to even come close to going to college, let alone graduate.

None of that bullshit is the point, the point is the following: Last week, my advanced composition professor returned a simple 500 word review I had to write for the class. For the first time in the past 18 years, my essay was completely marked up. Granted, I wrote the thing 20 minutes before it was due and it still earned a B+; still, I cried while reading the comments. While most comments asked to develop the themes (which was truly impossible with the 500 word limit) what hurt me the most was a tiny comment on the first page which said "Subject-Verb Agreement". I could not believe that I was mindless enough to violate one of the most basic grammar rules. I was completely embarrassed. Since then, all I can think about is what a fraud I am. Writing is probably the only tangible (eh, paper is tangible, lets go with it) skill I have. Writing is also one of my greatest passions in life. Side note: please do not judge my writing based on these frivolous blog posts, I'm usually half asleep when I write these rambles. After receiving that paper, I've been scared to write anything; it has been completely hard on me. It is so pathetic, but I've let my fear get the best of me. I absolutely hate being judged on things I am so passionate about, which is probably why I decided to not become an English major or why I have not yet submitted my Peace Corps application. It has taken me a very long time to even come onto blogspot because it's a constant reminder (a taunting one, at that) of all my fears and the stupidity of not even being able to write up a post for this blog that no one will ever read.

For today's assignment my composition professor assigned a book review by David  Foster Wallace titled "Tense Present". The essay was absolutely wonderful and if you ever have a chance to read it, I highly recommend it. The essay deals with the debate over Standard Written English as a dialect of English rather than the sole and truly correct form. It goes into the Descriptivist vs. Prescriptivist debate, which is really fascinating stuff. Anyway, the assignment asked us to find how Foster Wallace, in his essay, had violated the most basic grammatical rules. I focused on his strategic use of run-on sentences--something that has been one of my weaker points. I wish I could describe the entire essay but it would just be a pain and could verge on dull for those not interested in the debate, however, the point is that after writing my essay on his run-ons, something snapped in my head and I decided to give this writing thing a go. How? Well, what better way to jump back in than by writing the most ridiculously raw blog post ever full of strategic use of run-ons. Meaning? Well, I will not go back once to look over the post, thus, it will be completely unedited. Sentences structures, run-ons, spelling, subject-verb agreement, consistent tense, all of this will surely be violated one way or another. The point is to jump back in by going in as low as I can because there is only up from there. I swear, as I type this I am panicking at the idea of posting this. I can see all the rambling and I just want to go back and erase half of what I've written--but I won't. I'll let you judge me if you'd like; the point of this is to allow myself to be okay with being judged. I will learn to be more careful about my writing and will stop waiting until 20 minutes before something is due to begin writing it.

So here it is,  I hope this helps me with the rest of the writing I'll have to do during the next three weeks (I have essays due every day, summer school mode!).

Davis is beautiful during the summer, I have not had a chance to enjoy it because of work deadlines (we had our fiscal close soon so we were finalizing a bunch of budget stuff) and school. I have three weeks to soak it up as much as possible, then it's off to Los Angeles once again (well, traveling in August-I'm so excited!).

Last night, I had a dream in which my baby brother was severely injured. I hate those dreams where my family is hurt or dies, I have them way too often. Anyway, it made me miss my brother (and entire family) so much. Since then I've had Modest Mouse "Float On" on repeat because it's one of my favorite songs to sing when I play Rockband with my brother.

I'll begin posting more interesting stuff soon, I  have so many things I've been wanting to write about.
P.S. anyone watching the World Cup? My parents are huge futbol fans so I've been surrounded by soccer my entire life. Some of the earliest memories I have are going to every L.A. Galaxy home game at the Rose Bowl during the season. At first, I hated having to spend my weekends watching a boring game, but as I turned into a teen, I began to love it. I had the hugest crush on Cobi Jones and Kevin Hartman, oh man, it was ridiculous. Two days ago (Fourth of July) I began thinking why I did not have any memories of BBQing on the holiday. I, then, remembered that every 4th of July, as far as I can remember, we would spend it at Rose Bowl watching the Galaxy game and then the fireworks show (btw am I the only person not a huge fan of fireworks? I like the little sparkler things though). The point is this, I am so happy that people are randomly amped on soccer during the World Cup and although I realize it's all hype that will soon go away, it still makes me sort of happy. The thing I cannot stand, though, is when people opinan (means 'offer their opinion', sounded better in Spanish for some reason) about shit they know nothing about. I am definitely not the biggest knowledge filled super fan, but I grew up around soccer games and I love the sport (I used to play in Varsity but I was horrible!).  I swear, if I hear one more opinion from someone who has never given a shit about the sport before, I will burst. With that said, go Deutschland !


Last one, during my week off from school and work I watched all five seasons of Weeds on my parents On Demand cable thing and I am absolutely obsessed with the show. I secretly think it's because I am Nancy Botwin. Her fear of normalcy is something I can relate to all too well. I truly believe that my life will turn out to be some sort of twisted version of the show. Plus, I drink about 4 double shot iced lattes a day. Really, I am Nancy Botwin. I cannot wait for the next season to begin.


Modest Mouse "Float On" *


-melidee

Ni el recuerdo los puede salvar, ni el mejor orador conjugar*

The day has arrived! Here's a photo of my best friend and me Skyping hours before graduation day! She goes to UCSC and I go to UCD and we just so happen to be graduating on the same day, at the same time. It sucks because we both wanted to be at each others ceremonies but we figure the mystical universe wants us to have a deeper spiritual connection by experiencing the same life-altering symbolic ritual at the same exact time. There is no way I can even begin to describe what I am feeling right now but it's mostly anger. I attempted to decorate my cap by adding one of my favorite quotes: "You must now live what you've been reading about" (Shams to Rumi) but utterly failed so I had to cover it up with some ridiculously glittery, girly hearts. My cap now represents everything I did not want it to. Alas, it's only a cap...but, really, to me, it's more like an event I've waited for 18 plus years; graduating from college and transcending into that elite 25 percent of the population is the most bittersweet moment; it is something I needed to do in order to validate myself; to whom? I don't even know. It just sucks because you'd think that for an event you have waited for almost two decades for, things would be going a bit better.  You'd think that people so close to you, a family member say, would be more considerate on this most special of days. I have learned to live life with as little expectations as possible. I am not stressed in the least bit, I just want this to be over with. I wish I didn't feel this way, I have waited way too long to be this nonchalant. I remember being a little girl in the back seat of my dad's car, looking out the window, daydreaming of this day that felt like an absolute eternity to come. I have to be up in 2 hours sleep then wake up, to prepare the mimosa I will be drinking before the ceremony and get myself excited. I did write "alhamdulillah" on one side of my cap and that makes me feel a bit better about the entire situation. You were so young, baby, you were so young. In a few hours, my life will change forever (So dramatic, am I not?). Inshaallah, it all goes well; better than my finals were, at least. I'll post pics soon, I have tons of stuff to update on.

Please disregard typos, terrible writing and/or incoherency, it's 4:50am and I'm need to be up at 6:00am.

Seasons "Homesick Atom"

-melidee

All I ever wanted

 

I am not well today. In four days I am getting all I ever wanted. Ironically, all that's preoccupying my mind are superficial things like the fact that, besides getting a degree, the other thing I've always wanted is to be skinny--87 lbs to be exact (that's how much my mommy weighed when she was my age and she never lets me forget it). I suppose it's a defense mechanism. It would not be a superfluous notion to say that I have never in my life felt the degree of uncertainty I do now.  My dreams, those big dreams I've had since I can remember, are all gone. It's such a sad feeling, I'm having so much trouble dealing with this anxiety. Can someone please let me know it's okay that I don't give a fuck about getting a job, making money or having even the slightest bit of success? These are things I've never really wanted and I'm sure that I've made this clear. However, the difference in the current state I find myself in is that the my real dreams--getting a Doctorate's in economic development, going out and saving the world--they're all gone. I have this sordid feeling in my stomach, it's repulsive. The only dreams that have not completely vanished are my dreams of vagabonding; I've saved up enough for a trip but honest to God, right now, a one way ticket Portugal or Jordan feels right. If anyone is doing any traveling after mid August, get at me.  This is so frustrating, I cannot even construct a decently written blog post today. Don't you just hate when stupid shallow people try to sound deep? I promise that as soon as this is over, I will be the better person I am. I do not even recognize myself right now. I really need to complain about things that matter. I really should finish writing this paper and study for the last two finals.

Some Borges to remind me why I love what I do:

"One of the schools in Tlön has reached the point of denying time. It reasons that the present is undefined, that the future has no other reality than as present hope, that past is no more than present memory . . . Another maintains that the universe is comparable to those code systems in which not all the symbols have meaning, and in which only that which happens every three hundredth night is true."

- "Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius"

Dr. Dog "Pretender"

-melidee