Moving Forward, Still

I blinked and tomorrow's June.

It blows my mind, how life can continue on while I'm stuck in this mud-pile of nonsense. It's like life keeps going and I'm stuck here, and try as I might--I'm having difficulty catching up. I think my heavy heart is keeping me behind; it's difficult to run when you're continuously falling.

But alas, here we are. This month, I've realized a few things:

1. I'm getting older and it's not gonna stop any time soon.
2. Life is always what you make of it.
3. "Shake the dust."
4. People walk in and out of your life--just love them and let them.
5. Happiness is self-created, most of the time.
6. I am resigned to a lonely living, but I'm okay with that.
7. Worse things could happen.
8. The ones who are left are the ones that love you most.
9. Disney movies can make you cry and they can fix anything.
10. Indulging oneself is not an indulgence, but a necessity.

Maybe they're simple lessons, but they are the ones I've learned to keep in mind the most often. This month I've learned more about myself than I've ever cared to and I've realized more still.

And spring is a time of rebirth, so maybe it's time to change things up a bit.

Shake the Dust

In life, everyone needs a little inspiration.

A motivation, if you will.

Something that keeps them going.

And keeps them going strong.

I want to share mine with you:

This is for the fat girls.

This is for the little brothers.

This is for the school-yard wimps, this is for the childhood bullies who tormented them.

This is for the former prom queen, this is for the milk-crate ball players.

This is for the nighttime cereal eaters and for the retired, elderly Wal-Mart store front door greeters. Shake the dust.

This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them,

for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns,

for the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children,

for the nighttime schoolers and the midnight bike riders who are trying to fly. Shake the dust.

This is for the two-year-olds who cannot be understood because they speak half-English and half-god. Shake the dust.

For the girls with the brothers who are going crazy,

for those gym class wall flowers and the twelve-year-olds afraid of taking public showers,

for the kid who's always late to class because he forgets the combination to his lockers,

for the girl who loves somebody else. Shake the dust.

This is for the hard men, the hard men who want to love but know that it won't come.

For the ones who are forgotten, the ones the amendments do not stand up for.

For the ones who are told to speak only when you are spoken to and then are never spoken to. Speak every time you stand so you do not forget yourself.

Do not let a moment go by that doesn't remind you that your heart beats 900 times a day and that there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean.

Do not settle for letting these waves settle and the dust to collect in your veins.

This is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling,

for the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacations alone.

For the sweat that drips off of Mick Jaggers' singing lips and for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner's shaking hips, for the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.

This is for the tired and for the dreamers and for those families who'll never be like the Cleavers with perfectly made dinners and sons like Wally and the Beaver.

This is for the biggots,

this is for the sexists,

this is for the killers.

This is for the big house, pen-sentenced cats becoming redeemers and for the springtime that always shows up after the winters.

This? This is for you.

Make sure that by the time fisherman returns you are gone.

Because just like the days, I burn both ends and every time I write, every time I open my eyes I am cutting out a part of myself to give to you.

So shake the dust and take me with you when you do for none of this has never been for me.

All that pushes and pulls, pushes and pulls for you.

So grab this world by its clothespins and shake it out again and again and jump on top and take it for a spin and when you hop off shake it again for this is yours.

Make my words worth it, make this not just another poem that I write, not just another poem like just another night that sits heavy above us all.

Walk into it, breathe it in, let is crash through the halls of your arms at the millions of years of millions of poets coursing like blood pumping and pushing making you live, shaking the dust.

So when the world knocks at your front door, clutch the knob and open on up, running forward into its widespread greeting arms with your hands before you, fingertips trembling though they may be.

Written and performed by Anis Mojgani

You've Got a Friend in Me

Watching Toy Story brings back some great memories.


It was Toy Story 2, actually, when Woody gets kidnapped by the chicken that works at Al's Toy Barn and is set to go to a toy museum in Tokyo. Crazy, the world of toys is. Buzz Lightyear, of course, and his gang of friends including Rex, the slinky dog, Mr. Potatohead and Porky the piggybank (which definitely isn't his name) end up saving the day and rescuing him from the clutches of evil. 


But behind every childhood adventure, is an adult lesson, I s'pose. Woody, at first, refuses to return to Andy because of the fact that he feels that in the future, he will be left alone anyway, when Andy is older and grown up. He obviously decides to return, and tells Buzz that he's not worried anymore, because the time he spends growing up with Andy is better than being watched from a glass perimeter, never to be touched again. And in the end, Woody says:

"And besides, when it's all over, I'll have good old Buzz Lightyear to keep me company. For infinity and beyond."

That is my wish for all of you, to find your infinity and to go beyond.

Friday Night Lights

Tonight was the night I embraced my singularity.

I got invited to a graduation party by a good friend of mine, so naturally, I made an appearance to show them all that I was alive and did indeed care enough to appear for the fun night. I didn't realize, though, that I'd be the only one who wasn't coupled up. It was weird, seeing all these happy couples and me, chilling and laughing, talking to everyone, but just me by myself. Not going to lie, I was a little bit miffed at first, kind of shocked, and maybe, just maybe, even a little bit sad. It was like the universe was rubbing it in my face that I was, at this moment, loveless and alone.

No matter, though. Because I woke from my shock and realized: I was happy.
Scratch that.

I AM happy. So the universe can suck it, because loveless and alone isn't so bad.

Somewhere

I have grown to believe and accept that in my life, I will be loveless and alone.

This is a statement of fact and honestly, I don't think I mind so much.

Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep Swimming

I'm convinced that these classes that I'm taking are going to make me give myself cancer every single time I catch a cold. So many diseases, so many body parts, so many things can go wrong, and naturally, we hope for the best but expect the worst.

Life's thrown many hurdles at me these past few months, and every single time I decide to give up, something (or someone, or many someones) decide to intervene, giving me no choice but to pick myself up by my bootstraps and continue my forward movement. I joke around, saying that it's like I go three steps forward and two steps back each time until one of my friends said to me: "Hey, that's still one step forward each time." Not really the answer that I wanted to hear, but okay.

The thing is, no one in my life will ever allow me to give up. Do I hate that? Yes, of course. I despise it with every ounce of my being. But do I love them for it? Of course I do. Hating them for it would be counterproductive and also completely and totally hypocritical--especially because I'd be the last person in the world to let them give up, and boy, do they know it.

Day 3 of summer classes is tomorrow, with Day 4 bringing two quizzes and more lectures and a lab. I think I may, in fact, be losing my mind. But I just keep swimming (like Dory!), even if I become a hypochondriac.

Thoughts on Mortality

The shower is really where I do a lot of my deepest thinking. Funny, right? It's also where I do my best singing. Bathroom acoustics are just so great. Check out those YouTube videos.

This morning, in between the shampoo and conditioner, I found my crazy thought: one day, there world will be a world without me and those that I know now because we will all grow old and eventually die. I know that this is not a mind-blowing thought, but this is where I started to get kind of freaked out. Everyone knows that they will die, eventually, but when you realize that as you live, you are dying, it becomes even creepier. Every single day you live is a single day closer to your death. It's frightening, almost, to think that there will be a point in time when you will be your parents' age, they will be your grandparents' age, and your grandparents could be dead by that time. It's frightening to think that in just a few years, even, you'll be entering the world of careers instead of academia, the world of making a living rather than planning a living.

Some day, you will be old and gray, maybe sick, maybe healthy, with some complications and the inevitable effects of growing old like wrinkling skin and short-term memories. Some day, you may find yourself repeating questions already asked and having to be reminded of the time, day, and names, incessantly. Some day, not all too far away, you will return to your second childhood, where instead of being the caretaker, you will need a caretaker.

Looking at it that way, the whole "live like you were dying" thing takes on a whole new meaning, doesn't it?

Walks Like Summer and Talks Like Rain

I love Train.

The title's from "Drops of Jupiter," which  is one of his more well-known songs, but I recently acquired his newest album and listened to it for a very long time, almost every day for a really long while. And they're cute songs. They talk about what music usually talks about, love, life, and starting over, but his are different. That's why I love Train. Why do you ask?

Because his songs never sound defeated.

Juggling

Hearing James Patterson give a keynote address is an experience I'm going to remember. This is going to be a short post, because I have three chapters of reading on cancer to do as well as reading on microbes and pathogens.

Where was I? Oh yes, James Patterson. He was hilarious, starting off by saying things like "I've never been in a room this full of Catholics since I saw the Godfather II." Hilarious, the man was, but he also spoke very poignantly on a variety of topics, his theme being that of stories--how everyone, every place, and each family, individual, and graduate had their own story, and how it was their responsibility to create said story. 

The most memorable thing he said in my opinion, though, was what he said about juggling. He told each of us that life is basically juggling five balls: family, friends, work, health, and spirit. Throughout life, we juggle them, trying to keep each up in the air and we soon learn that work is a rubber ball--if dropped, it bounces back. The other four balls though, the family, friends, health and spirit, are balls made of glass and when dropped, if they do not shatter, they are utterly and irrevocably changed. 

And there we go; life lessons from the creator of Maximum Ride.

Final Exam

This is not about a final exam, but rather about Final Exam, the book, the novel, catalogued under Dewey Decimal Number 617.092. Written by Pauline W. Chen, a surgeon with a specialty in what seems to be liver transplants and transplants in general, it is the book that finalized, concretized, and solidified my dream to become a doctor.

Funnily enough, the book isn't really about saving lives. It's about looking at death, a taboo subject in today's day and age and in society. As a student pursuing a healthcare career, it seems that death is forgotten even in the classroom. The focus, when teaching students, seems to be life--saving lives, quality of life, prolonging life--and many forget how death is such a large part of a profession that centers around life. This is what Dr. Chen teaches us in her beautiful memoir, a celebration of death and life, forever intertwined.

It is this memoir that has given me the beautiful image of what doctor I myself want to become. A compassionate, loving, yet dignified physician, wanting to save the world, but more importantly, wanting to serve my patients. Pediatric oncology is the specialty that I desire to go into, and child cancer is not a specialty in which death is absent. And though it will take a strong soul and an even stronger heart, my desire to go into this field is not to find a cure (although finding a cure would be a welcome occurrence), it would be to help that child forget, for even ten seconds, that they are sick or dying or hurting. My job will be to give them hope, show them that someone is there, and most of all, "as the Japanese say:" do them the honor of being worried about them and their well-being.

"That honor of worrying--of caring, of easig suffering, of being present--may be our most important task, not only as friends but as physicians too."

A Quiet Saturday

Passing showers are my favorite kind of rain.

Because underneath all the clouds and and torrential downpours, there is always sunshine, after a few moments of seemingly end-of-the-world deluges of water.

So maybe after crying, I'll see some sun again.

A Different Kind of Family

In this day and age, the word "family" can bring many images to mind. Different families automatically bring the usual single-mom/single-dad families, or divorced families, or joint-custody families, or step-families to mind and the becoming-more-usual homosexual families, with a gay couple raising their own children, either adopted or through surrogate families. But what I'm talking about is a family unlike any other, only because they've been here for me in ways and at times when even my own family has faltered.

Defining the word "family" can also be a difficult task, because there are so many variables to consider. From a biological standpoint, genetic identity is what is necessary when creating a family. When a single cell splits into two cells to form her "daughter" cells, her genes lie in the nuclei of her daughter cells. Likewise, when gametes (the sperm and egg) join to create the zygote that turns into an embryo which will ultimately become their child, their genes (from the sperm and egg) lie in every single cellular structure that composes their ever-developing infant. On a human level, the "blood is thicker than water" saying encompasses how most feel about familial relations--coming from the same ancestral line, sharing the same blood, and, in essence, the same genes. Delving deeper into thought, family becomes more than just blood--it becomes legal ties such as marriage or adoption, or even just remarriage and the joining of biological families to form even greater families.

My family, though, apart from being ever-growing and constant is none of those things. We aren't blood related, nor do we have any sort of genetic relationship, other than the fact that we are all human. The norms of "family" don't apply to us, because what family voluntarily spends more than six hours sharing a few cafeteria tables one Saturday a month for six months in business suits competitively speaking in order to gain passage to a national tournament in speech and debate? Not many, let me tell you that.

They say that in college, you expand your horizons and broaden your networks. And yes, I've done both, travelling out of my comfort zone, meeting new people and getting to know others who have many of the same interests and ambitions as I do, but none that I've met match my family, my family of forensicators. Because with them, what we have in common isn't our blood, our genotype, or even the fact that we're all involved in the same extracurricular activity. So what makes a family, then? What makes all families:

The unspoken, ever-present knowledge that through every trial and tribulation and under any circumstance, there is love and an outstretched hand.

And they will never even know how much I love them.
Or what they have done for me.

Boxed In

You are just a box now, you know
just sitting under my bed
and that shouldn't come
as a surprise.

I wrapped up every memory
and put it away
as best as I know how

the Sundays next to the Mondays
and May next to June,
all nestled in that box
haphazardly and waiting
for a day that will never come.

Sometimes,
I close my eyes and it startles me
that I no longer remember your face
or the sound of your voice
or even the things you used to say
to make me laugh.

Other times
the memory takes me by surprise
coming in a wave
almost like a seizure
reducing me to an uncontrollable mass
of anguish.

But now, more often times than not,
I just feel empty and aching
like the way you feel
when someone snatches something from you
so fast
that the nothing
leaves an ache.

How I hate aching,
feeling like part of me is gone,
put away in that box
that I threw hastily under my bed
to help me forget.

But tomorrow,
tomorrow is a better day
because I will find the me among the you
and take it all back

because you are just a box, you know
and shouldn't be hurting me anymore.

And the Search Continues

I don't know who I am.

Startling thought, isn't it? I'm find that I'm plagued by it more often now, especially during the times when I feel like I'm most alone. My mom told me earlier that she can see and feel how lonely I am; that makes me sad, that someone else can see how lonely and depressed I am. You'd think that'd be a good thing, but I don't think so--because moms do this thing that when their kids feel one way, they feel the same way... except magnified to the nth degree. So for her sake, I hope she doesn't feel how lonely I've gotten because it could kill her. It almost killed me, after all.

It's funny, being lonely and alone. There are times when I am surrounded by friends, all whom I've shared a large part of my life with, and yet, I feel nothing. I feel no relief, no weight being lifted from my heart. I don't feel the same way I used to around them. You know, the way one feels when with friends--free and soaring, as if for those scant few moments, minutes and hours that you are together, your troubles have been lifted away. Now, I feel as if when we are together, they go to that place and I remain here, tethered to the ground and trapped betwixt and between the life lessons I have not yet learned while they move forward, continuously, leaving me behind.

And so even amongst those that love me, I am alone and lonely.
Lonely and alone.

And the only thing that soothes my broken heart and broken soul, is the single flame of a candle next to a humble shrine, sending up prayers in smoke.

Here Comes the Sun!

Weather can be such a downer, and for the past few days, it's been raining. And I'm not talking drizzling, I'm talking torrential downpour. Disgusting.

But this morning, as I woke from an amazingly deep sleep, I stirred to see the sunlight streaming through my vertical blinds and was elated, really, being that I've been home for a week and this is the first time I'm seeing sunshine at all. Crazy, I know.

So much has gone on in these past few months, that I find I'm at a loss. I don't know what I'm really doing or why I'm doing it or even if it'll all be worth it, like people keep telling me. Watching the current senior nursing class graduate earlier this week, after four long years of work and blood and sweat and late nights and tears, I was thrown for a loop. I was about to cry myself, wondering whether or not I'd ever make it to that level, where I was good enough to hold a pin and a tassel and a diploma in my hands, a graduate.

I am a worrier by nature, and it's sad sometimes. Because even when the sun's around, I still feel all the rain. But here's to looking forward--hoping the sun will keep on coming!

Being Home

It's almost been a week since I've been home. My grades have come out (and I didn't do too shabbily), my first academic year at college is officially over and I just had a birthday. Time flies.

I remember exactly what I was doing at this time last year. I had a boyfriend, we were about to celebrate our seven-months of being together. The forensics speech and debate team was getting geared for national competition, election drama was becoming more and more common place, and I was preparing a gift for a friend of mine. I was finished with APs and made a college decision, I was making plans for graduation, getting invitations to graduation parties, and looking forward to the summer that was so built with promise.

Sitting on my bed now, already, things are different. For one thing, I rearranged my room. So now my bed's in a different spot, as is my nightstand. I have my own printer now and I'm typing this on the computer that I got on Memorial Day Weekend, last year. It's weird to think that so much has changed. For one thing, I'm single now, AP exams and SATs feel like worlds away, as does high school--a life time ago. And me, I'm different. Being back is different, because now "home" has a different meaning.

It's no longer the place I live.
It's the place I come back to, always.

Things are Never as They Seem

"Get Service"

Watch it.

More than a Number

Everyone thinks that because college summer starts so early, we're scott-free after our last final. I beg to differ, because the worst part of college for me, is always waiting for grades to be posted.

Imagine hitting refresh compulsively, every five minutes. Then, every three minutes. And after that, just constantly hitting it, hoping you've just missed your grade and until all the letters start getting blended together. Not fun at all.

And then you remember: I'm not a 3.2 or a 2.5 or a 4.0 or a 3.87. That's not my name. I'm a Sally, a John, a Zach, an Alicia; I'm a person, not a number.

Rejoice, the ides of May!

So it's after midnight on the day after my birthday. Craziness, I know.

A lot of things happened to me during my 18th year, and not going to lie--this year, the good definitely came with the bad. I got my heart broken, my soul broken, my faith shaken, my friendships confused, and even more tragic: I think I lost a little bit of myself.

But what is it that I have seen?

Year in and year out, I can depend on my family, my bestest friends, and those that I love and those who love me because year in and year out, no matter how many friends I make or lose, when I turn around, those standing behind me are always the ones that are left.

Thank you all for the best birthday. Ever. Again. <3

Coming Home

Is it crazy that I revel in waking up in my own bed and to the normal up-the-stairs-down-the-stairs runs of my family members and the bowls in the fridge and the green tea on the table?

I think not.

Theme from Freshman Year

The professor told me to
         go back and write a page tonight
         and let it come from me
         because then, and only then,
         will it truly be.

Is it really that simple?
I am not-yet-nineteen, born here, in America.
I go to school here, in a small bowl of a town,
a suburb if you will, in a flood-zone.
I am not the only one of Asian descent in my class,
and from the main campus,
I cross the lobby and enter a shuttle bus
that takes me back to my dorms,
where I sit and now type this page.

It's not easy to know anything
at the age of not-yet-nineteen,
but I guess I am everything that I see and feel
and hear and all that I touch and all that touch me.
I hear you--can you hear me?
I'm talking to you on this simple modern page
of text typed in pretty fonts.
I like to learn, and read and understand things,
and I never ask for birthday gifts.
Being me doesn't make me the same
but different
because I do like some things that
other people like
but my page will not be white,
because I am more than just a color.

And even though sometimes
I don't like you,
we learn from each other
and that makes us freer.

This is the theme from my freshman year.

Based off of Theme for English B by Langston Hughes

┗(＾0＾)┓)))(((( ┏(＾0＾)┛

Those are the happy dance men that will show me the happy dance when I am finally done.

Seven down, two to go and the last two left are Music Theory and Nursing. I get nervous around exam time, especially with nursing because it's so very subjective. The thing with nursing is, our tests are all multiple choice, but all the choices listed under each question are right. Our job, as nursing students, is to pick the "most right" answer, aka the answer that will most likely save a life. Not only that, but the questions are long. You read them and then you forget the question you were trying to answer. There's tons of use in studying, trust me. But it's not your normal run-of-the-mill studying by making flashcards or outlining chapters. It's just reading. And reading. And reading. In the hopes that on the test, you'll be able to apply the bounty of knowledge in your mind. Great stuff.

I'm going out tonight, though, with a bunch of my music major friends to celebrate our almost being done and my birthday coming up this weekend. It's just another year and just another day, to me. But I'm so glad that I have friends (sisters, really) who think it's worth a mani-pedi in our college town's local nail salon.

And I leave you my dancing men until I can post once more.

┗(＾0＾)┓)))(((( ┏(＾0＾)┛┗(＾0＾) ┓))))((((┏(＾0＾)┛

┗(＾0＾)┓)))(((( ┏(＾0＾)┛┗(＾0＾) ┓))))((((┏(＾0＾)┛

┗(＾0＾)┓)))(((( ┏(＾0＾)┛┗(＾0＾) ┓))))((((┏(＾0＾)┛

Pain is Inevitable

I am an individual with loads upon loads of problems.

For one, I think too much, which causes me to stress out unnecessarily. I also have a tendency to let myself be abused by others and I also have crazy thought patterns that cause me to be freaking out about everything all the time. It tends to disrupt the normal, day-to-day activities of daily living, especially when you take each rejection or each "low" grade as a prediction of your future. Problems, yeah, I know.

I put myself through unnecessarily anguishing processes of wondering, uncertainty and trying to figure out whether or not people like me. It's just something I do. I love everyone, so I want everyone to love me back, but I've learned that sometimes that's not always possible. Once again, problems, I know.

And so, I've realized that throughout life, I've sweated the small stuff. I've worried about the future. I take the weight of the world upon my own shoulders and am convinced that I can change it. No, save it. I've done every single thing that life philosophers tell you not to. And I've learned nothing, but I've been hurt a whole lot.

The one thing I've learned?

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.

Breaking

The chill of the night air
numbs it,
but only a little.
A dull roar is better than
the screaming,
or so they say.

I was hoping to make it go away
as I whispered prayers
to distract me
asking God to help me
figure out why I suffered anyway.
But who am I to complain?

Everything happens for a reason.

And then, the irresistible urge
to make my outsides
match my insides
so carefully, so cleanly
that it'd be invisible to the naked eye,
and only I would be able to run my fingers
over the secret braille embedded,
deliriously.

Damn the dams that break
when I think I've finally built them strong enough.
But even broken
no tears cry
even though I will them to come
praying for reprieve.

And it is dry
with the sun having beat too hard,
shining much too bright
its light being shared
even when all that was wanted
was darkness.

Drought, they say.
I say poison.

Damn the dams that break
releasing the runny red sands
of a prayer turned to blood.

Lessons Learned in the Office

Midday post, I know, crazy.

I figured--why not? This has been on my mind since earlier today anyways, and I have a final in an hour. My brain's fried from reading about nursing and health economics and I just need a break from life. So here it is, my midday post. Almost sounds like a meal.

So I work in one of the coolest offices on campus, not going to lie. We're in charge of the large donor events and all that good stuff, so it gets to be hectic and fun all at the same time. Earlier this morning (when I came in) one of my supervisors (I have two) and I were talking about how quickly my freshman year went. It seems like just yesterday when I was coming in for interviews, and now, I had been a student rep at two events already, given a speech at one, and was saying goodbye for the summer in a scant three days. Insane, I know. Our conversation strayed to the relationship phase of life, one that I sometimes resent lacking in, other times something that I rejoice in (being single, that is). And she said something very poignant, that I hope I remember that someday when I think I've met that special someone. Here it is:

The person you're meant to be with will make you the best you that you could ever be.

They will never take away from you.

And when you give them half of yourself, they will give you half of themselves back, so that you are never left broken--you are always whole, with them.

How cute is that? How true is that?
Forget my definition of "true" love, because in my head, true love comes and goes. You never end up really living with a soul mate because they're the ones that break you, the ones that make your life turn around. So it's not true love that happens once in a lifetime....

It's just love.

I Have This Problem, You See

of never knowing
when I should stop
or go
or start thinking
or not think at all.

There's this thing they tell me
that I'm too "stressed-out"
but I don't think that they see
what I see
and must overcome.

I don't think they see
what I see
when it comes to my dreams
and my ambitions
and reality
so maybe I am an idealist
but dreaming never killed anyone
and I dare to dream
(and know) by nature.

Maybe the way I handle things
isn't always the greatest
but sometimes I turn around
and wish I were different:
dumber, so that no one would abuse me
angrier, so that no one could hurt me
colder, so that it would be harder for me to love
and then I'd be a shell of myself
removing from the world everything it thought me to be.

I have this problem, you see,
of thinking too much and not enough,
of talking too loud but not saying much,
of stressing out about too many little things
and not realizing what a new day can bring.

I have this problem, you see.

Ode to Final Exams

Oh, finals.

I took an exam this morning (Principles of Chemistry) and have been studying all day. I studied psychology already... our exam is on late adulthood and death and dying. How fitting, considering that's about how I feel right now. Not even joking.

Ear training (Part II) is tomorrow too along with psychology. Guess who's still got chord progressions and intervals to memorize? Music's a lot more complicated than it seems, not going to lie to you all. And here I thought I could get away with just playing, but no, of course not. Because in order to break the rules, you have to know them, and apparently, learning is half of a very, very long battle.

Anatomy on Wednesday on the reproductive system which is both enlightening and mortifying at the same time. It's just interesting and creepy that a single body can undergo so many changes. The uterus, for example, is the size of a PEAR. A pear-sized item can a hold a baby? No wonder you get stretch marks when you're pregnant.

Thursday is music theory day! More rules of music to memorize and understand and it's going to be crazy, but I'm not particularly worried. Not right now, anyways.

Friday is nursing. The killer. Worth 30% of my grade and only one of the four grades for the class. It doesn't help that I'm absolutely borderline right now with my average just over the A- range. It needs to stay there. I need my report card to not have blemishes (and yes, I am a paranoid overachiever).

Hopefully I make it home alive.

Dreaming of Home

I can't wait to get home from college.

Mr. Jollibee and my favorite people in the world!

The best adoptive family anyone could ever ask for. Seriously.
FORENSICS FAMBAM.

The Babyfrosh!
The best little siblings ever.
And the people I always depend on.
More than a team. LHS 4n6.

Not-so-little brothers of mine.
Part of the reason that I keep trying, legit.
They don't know it, but they make me smile.
All the time.

Once again, can't wait to get home.

Keep Moving Forward!

Not gonna lie, Meet the Robinsons is most definitely one of my favorite movies. And yes, I'm a sap because it always manages to make me tear up.

This movie is definitely a kid's movie, but there are so many undertones that make more than just another Pixar film. First of all, any Pixar movie that's supposed to be a kids' movie is never just a kids' movie. Take Toy Story 3, for example. To the little ones, it's the ending of a saga of Buzz Light Year, Woody and the gang, and their adventures. To all the high school seniors of the class of 2010, that movie was the culmination of all of our growing years--it was the movie that sent us off, to grow up with Andy.

Crazy, I know.

Meet the Robinsons is kind of like that. It's all about adventure: there are epic battle scenes, and crazy flights through space and time, but the hidden message is so much simpler. The main character constantly wants to go back to the past, to his mother, because he wants to change it in order to give himself a better present. What he realizes in the end, though, after glimpsing his future, is that looking back doesn't do anything for you--it's moving forward. 

He, of course, goes on to build an empire of inventions and gadgets with his motto, "KEEP MOVING FORWARD," on a banner flapping in the wind. And while we can only hope to aspire to our life philosophy on a banner flapping in the wind, it still says something: nothing's wrong with paying tribute to the past. But trying to change it is fruitless. 

I know I control my future. So even though there's pain in life, I choose not to suffer.

At least, not for too long.

Classical Music and the Reproductive System

Yes, this post is probably going to be as weird as it sounds.

Not going to lie, diagrams in my anatomy textbook are pretty much the closest thing I've ever been to the male anatomy. And learning about this kind of thing is part of the reason why I want to be a doctor. And no, not because I get to learn about sex. It's so much deeper than that.

The body is so complicated, and yet so simple. We're human beings, with a trunk and appendages that allow us to walk and talk. And yet, did you know, that the tiniest part of your inner ear contributes to how you balance? Or that the smallest changes in the acidity of your blood (and by small, I'm talking decimal points), could kill you? Or that sexual arousal occurs because of temperature changes and the swelling of blood vessels?

The things your body does, they're extraordinary.

I think it's crazy that the scrotum is so sensitive to temperature change that its muscles contract and it brings itself closer to the body to keep it warmer. I think it's insane that the female body knows exactly when and how to release an the egg and that the ovum actually develops inside a larger cell that protects it. It's also cool how hormones work, because they save the baby from being devoured by antibodies of the body.

When learning about this kind of thing, you learn so much about the wonders of the human. I honestly don't understand how people don't believe in God, or any god, when they realize that a single body has almost five liters of blood circulating in it, or that kidneys filter more than a hundred liters of fluid daily. They're fist-sized. Filtering over 100 liters of blood. That means your blood circulates twenty times a day or more through fist-sized structures capable of adjusting the ion concentration in your blood or responding to hormone secretions so that you don't get dehydrated. And everything is run, while you're thinking of finals or school or family, involuntarily. So call me a dork, but I think bodies are masterpieces.

That means everyone's beautiful :)

I'm Not an Expectant Mother

When I first join the blogging world, I, of course, was perusing the many blogs that are all over cyberspace, finding ones that I was interested in "following" and getting updates from, and finding others that I thought were quaint and intellectual, all at the same time. What surprised me most, however, were the many mothers that had blogs, devoted to their unborn children, their already born children, and just their families in general.

I was in awe of the amount of love these mothers had--so much love, that they were able to blog about it, dedicating even more time to thoughts regarding their children and their lives, as a result.

I myself am not a mother, nor am I even close to becoming a mother. In fact, responsibility like that begins to scare me. To be responsible for the lives of others, completely dependent on you, completely under your care--that's a lot to handle and it could make any single person who's not ready for it, absolutely insane.

So yes, this is my weird Mother's Day post. Happy Mother's Day to the woman who has always and still does take the best care of me ever, knows me inside and out, and tells the truth even when it hurts. And Happy Mother's Day to all moms--without you, who knows how the world would be.

Post-Juries

So I went in and I performed.

And it didn't go the way I wanted it to go, but then again, when does anything we ever plan go the way we want it to go? There were some tears and there were some greats, but altogether, it was a great day. I messed up my Bach... a lot. Butchered it, I think. But I'm told it wasn't awful, although it was obvious. I think in piano language that pretty much amounts to the same thing.

I also heard some sobering news: the instructor that I know and love so well is no longer going to be with us next semester. And so my fellow piano majors and I are going to be handed off to another teacher, once more. It does make me sad, but at least I know the pieces she's chosen for me are her last gift, her last legacy with me.

I've learned a lot of things in these past few days. I get tired often, I get frustrated, and even more than that, I am hard on myself. And sometimes, in the end, I have to realize that I am good enough... if only I have the strength to believe that I am.

The things that juries teach you, you know?

Pre-Juries

There's nothing more nerve-wracking than waking up in the morning knowing you're going to have to sit in front of a panel of judges and play your heart out to them for your final grade.

Got your heart racing, doesn't it?

I'm actually kind of excited to play my Bach and Beethoven, getting my first exam under my belt while still  getting some bonding time with my fellow piano and music majors (all seven of us in this program). I can't wait to hear what everyone's playing and what's going on with everyone else and most of all, I can't wait to be with them--they are my people more than anyone here I've ever met. We've all got our quirks, we've all got our problems and flaws, but what I love best about music majordom is this:

We don't hang out together because we've got music in common.
We love being together because we're different.

Flaws, inconsistencies and all.

One More Time

And here I am again.

Sometimes, I wonder when the hard hits are going to stop. I wonder when someone will hear me and tell me not that everything will be okay, but that I am loved--no matter in which way.

I just want to know that eventually, something will go my way.

Keeping Me Grounded

No one likes getting beat or shown up.

Me? I don't mind so much. I like it when people are better than me. I enjoy it and am genuinely happy for those who succeed. I aspire to be greater than I believe myself to be, the others that are better than I am? They allow me to hope that there is only more to be gained through hard work and perseverance.

My thought for the night, before I retire and lay me down to sleep, is this: people are placed on the universe with different skills, different strengths and different weaknesses and the grass, no matter where we look, is always greener on the other side.

Being a humble flower, though, I don't mind all the green grass everywhere. It's strong, it's hardy, it grows wherever it wants to grow. So kudos to you, awesome greener blades of grass. You keep me in the ground, standing upright because who has a right to brag about being beautiful when only a few paces away, there's an even more beautiful flower surrounded by even more beautiful grass?

Not I.

A Little Bit of Bach

Bach is my best friend. And no, my his name is not "Bach," nor is he in college, nor is he no longer living. His full name is Johann Sebastien Bach. And what I know of him, I only know through the stories he tells me with his music.

Bach and I go back a long way, to my youth, actually, to the beginnings of my piano adventures. This month celebrates my fourteenth year of playing the piano and like all long-term relationships, it has been a wonderful and painful fourteen years. Together, Bach and I have tackled everything, from my first days at school, to my first audition, my first competition, and my first recital. Everything has been a whirlwind of events and as I look back now, remembering playing "La Cucaracha" in front of the large crowd of beginning piano students, I marvel at time has passed, now that I sit here, waiting to take my turn on Saturday for my college performance jury.

My best friend once again, accompanies me as I take the stage for the final time in my first year of college. Instead of an invention or a partita or even one of his minuets, this year, as a sign of my (finally) growing skill, I am finally worthy of delving into the Well-Tempered Clavier, playing the fifteenth prelude in the set of pieces. It is a beautifully arpeggiated piece of music, with the melodies traveling seamlessly between the left and right hands, allowing the listener to immerse his or herself in the music, forgetting the notes and listening to the story.

And perhaps that is why Bach is such a good friend of mine; because we are so much alike. Bach's pieces are known for simple melodies and interactions that make a single line into a masterpiece. He takes arpeggios and creates preludes. He takes short lines of exercises and creates inventions. His teaching methods and exercises become performance pieces and every level up, garners such a feeling of accomplishment, a feeling that cannot be matched. But the great ones are those who play Bach and know what it feels to have been possessed by the majesty that is a single melody turned into many.

Like his stories, I am a simple melodious line, sometimes beautiful and sometimes dark, but always melodious, always telling a story. Those who are willing to immerse themselves in my story are the ones that will hear it, for it is hidden underneath the simple melodies, forever intertwining.

Anchors, Lifelines, Roots

On my dresser here at school, I've got a single teddy bear, dressed in a green and white knitted sweater with a handwritten crayon index card sign on it that says "Come back and visit :)" It seems insignificant, sitting on the back corner of my dresser, only visible when I'm getting changed and you stare deeply into the dark corner of my closet, but quite honestly, it is the most important possession with me here at school (that, and my pillow pet, of course). 


Why this bear? It was a gift from very two special people in my life. And though they're younger than I am, for the most part, they are all the wiser. Unlike some of those that surround me from my day-to-day living, these two boys-now-men are not judgmental, they are true to their word, and most importantly, they know the secret to living a happy life: surrounding yourself and others with people that love you. Even from far away, they provide a backbone, support, and safety net for my worries, just as I provide them with a willing ear, a sounding board, and the same faith in their abilities as they have in mine (I hope I do, anyways). They are my anchors to this life and the next, my lifelines when my head's underwater, and my roots, keeping me grounded, humble, and strong.


It happens.
People are mean, they try and bring you down, they try to find the worst in you and bring it out even further. You are hurt, you stumble, or maybe you even fall. And then you tumble into a darkness so suffocating that you can't even turn your face to the sunshine anymore. And amidst the tears, trials and tribulations, you feel worthless, even though you know you are not. In the end, it seems to be you against the world because it's easy to forget that you have others around you who love you, care for you, and want you to be okay. 


Every day, I am surprised. Because who would've thought that in the darkest, most stressful, and most painful moments, all I would need is a teddy bear reminder and my two "little brothers" to keep my head above the water?