"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

'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

"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

"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 

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

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

Deja ya de tejer sueños en tu mente*

I've been engaging in an incredible amount of eye rolling lately. Life seems to lack the verisimilitudinous details that can really only be created by a piece of well written literature or lyrics, even. Of course, I suppose I could be a bit less passive about the entire situation. So what do I do? Oh, you know, take the afternoon off to reread some Kafka. God, could I be any more pretentious? Haha all I can think of is that scene from The Squid and the Whale: "Yeah. I mean, it's gross when he turns into the bug, but I love how matter of fact everything is." "Yeah, it's very Kafkaesque." "Cause it's written by Franz Kafka." "Right. I mean, clearly." I absolutely love that film, I think it perfectly captures the essence of the incredibly flawed human idiosyncrasy known as arrogance and portrays it as the childish behavior it is; I suffer from chronic arrogance, I'm trying to get better at it but people make it really difficult. Besides that, what else? Oh, I accidentally binge ate today then engaged in some damage control, typical bulimic stuff. Am I the only person who thinks artistic license is the absolute most incredible concept ever? It used to drive me nuts in high school, poetic license in particular, because I spent countless nights memorizing different metric, line and rhythmic patterns (I still have nightmares about iambic pentameter) then came along these license holders who screwed everything up.  I actually never recovered my love for poetry, I'd be fine if I never had to read another poem ever again. Well, maaaaaybe some Pablo Neruda in the original Spanish, but I digress. I love witty use of artistic license. Symmetry is beauty, they say. I'm not sure. Happy Monday!
 
"Penélope" Joan Manuel Serrat*

Photo via Fotografie de Moda

-melidee