"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

"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

"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