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

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