| Dear Life, |
[January 31, 2010 @ 7:19pm] |
I need to stop taunting you, huh? All those conversations while waiting in the security line about being delayed and missing the flight home all seem so tortuously ironic. I guess I need to stop the cynical and pessimistic comments.
My flight to Detroit was delayed a god-awful long time, so I missed my connecting flight to LAX. I am currently stranded in a Comfort Inn hotel until the next flight to LA tomorrow morning, but I'll undoubtedly miss another day of school. Slackers of the world cheer, the neurotics of the world (and my comrades) are freaking out.
The saying about misery loving company? TRUE. ALL OF IT TRUE. If I wasn't accompanied by two of my other club members (Zoe and Steffi), I would be a huddled mess of fail in the corner of the Delta terminal.
Oh, and the conference? Full of pretentious, clique-y kids. Not fun.
I missed my sister's birthday. I feel completely terrible.
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| expectations of success |
[January 25, 2010 @ 1:30pm] |
All the effort placed in appearing somewhat lucid leads to nothing less than a simple collapse when the day is done. I'm suddenly grateful that I didn't apply for winter session and that I stayed in Murrieta. As much as I like my club duties, the constant emails during break lessened that overall feeling of a 'vacation.'
Today, I said I was an active participant of MUN to a classmate as an icebreaker fact, and he grimaced, saying, "You're one of those people," with the implication of perfectionism and over-achievers laced the emphatic disbelief. Is that how people see these conferences and the participants? Because I'm one of the laziest people on earth with a terrible record of procrastination.
The people who win awards in these conferences are, oddly enough, the ones with a narcissistic adoration for their voice and intelligence: their recommendations are poorly researched and contrasting to their country's true policies, but it doesn't matter because they appear active as they fill up sessions with their mindless filibuster.
Stereotypes are terrible. I need to learn to be less judgmental.
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| a war of cynics |
[January 23, 2010 @ 4:23am] |
Oh, failberries. I signed up for the wrong committee.
What the hell possessed me to volunteer for the Disarmament and International Security Committee? I am not a right-wing person who fights for security and defense policies. My specialties are in development and human rights. Why the hell didn't I take the World Health Organization?
Oh, wait. The MUN president assigned me this.
Apparently, I'm supposed to have had my idealism crushed by the last three conferences. They said this committee would be perfect for me since I would already be ruthless.
Ha. Funny. I'm disillusioned, not cold-hearted.
So...yeah, I don't really know anything about weaponization or terrorism.
I see a future with a non-governmental aid organization. Fracking red tape bureaucracy...
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| 10, 132 minutes to go... |
[January 17, 2010 @ 11:08pm] |
I need to start developing interest in Azerbaijan soon, or this position paper is going to be utterly terrible. Whatever happened to cause this vicissitude to malcontent with my research needs to be slapped back to focus, otherwise I'll be the fatuous, nebbish delegate in Montreal, and this cannot do. This time I'll be competing with Yale, Princeton, Harvard, the Air Force Academy, UPenn...guh.
7 days to complete my position papers but my focus is pathetically capricious. I'm actually making a country profile (which isn't required) to create at least a semblance of attachment or pride for the country. All that's filtering through is that I'm supposed to be pompous because I own oil and my geographical position beside Iran both make me the USA's grudging ally.
However, the research is still making me drowsy. Heaven forbid what this new-found narcolepsy will do once school starts next week...
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| the only exception |
[January 13, 2010 @ 5:05am] |
In the realist's philosophy for political science, people act through their own personal interests, which are influenced by security and survival. We maintain our relationships with others through a comparison of power derived from their perception of economic and societal standing. The Hobbesian thought basically dismisses everyone as selfish and prone to conflict unless cooperation is absolutely necessary to gain what they need. Morals and diplomacy only provided unnecessary commitments and alliances.
Morgenthau and Machiavelli were some terribly cynical and disillusioned people.
Because it all sounds so...cold. We supposedly [should] befriend others for the sake of using them; they have a purpose in our greater plans that we exploit. Anyone who doesn't enable us to advance in life is useless to us. I'd love to say that I'm better that this- that I can befriend anybody. But I'm not. I severed friendships with people who were bad influences instead of helping them.
Nevertheless, realism requires a touch of rationalism to explain how people should be logical enough to view others as stepping stones to a higher rank. It doesn't take a genius to point out that people can be stupidimpulsive and illogical. And most of the time, we can't reason with what we don't know- pure reason is flawed when it assumes beyond its limits and experience.
And I'll lay this all out in a futile effort to answer if I was right to not follow you.
I think I might have been.
One day I'll know.
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| on ne sait jamais! |
[January 07, 2010 @ 9:20pm] |
On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.
I love Le Petit Prince to pieces. It's enough to distract me from studying Azerbaijan and typing up my newest round of position papers. Then again, reading the book is meant to be the optimistic slap to the face whenever I feel ineffably anxious. It reminds me to look at everything, not what instantly feels important.
Finally took a glimpse at my semester's grades and am a little baffled, in the good way. Tomorrow I can see if I can take more units, since I seem to be able to take the workload. I can only hope that the classes I need are still available...
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| bright like the sun |
[December 27, 2009 @ 3:28am] |
I haven't updated again in a while, and I really need to start doing so- even for the seemingly mundane features of my lifestyle. Should probably start specifying names and locations as well. More details and less abstract posturing, even though that is the preferred writing style. Imagery- show, don't tell.
But there's been more frequent lapses and blanks that I've been blaming on migraines and stress. It appeared logical and rational to account the inability to recall facts and people to such components. However, it's been affecting all my methods of thought. Even now it's difficult to format this entry because I can't remember the words I wanted to use- a constant tip-of-the-tongue phenomenon. Lately I can't talk without stumbling. The entire thing is frustrating enough to make me wonder if I'm mentally regressing.
I just need to start recording things again. Clear, concise.
( the mundane attempt at recollecting )
I can't remember much of November. Where did this semester go?
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| enough to matter |
[December 14, 2009 @ 9:38pm] |
| [ |
music |
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"Sometimes...Someone" - Yiruma |
] |
My concentration has been terribly affected, and it's deeply concerning when I can't focus long enough to finish reading a newspaper article of all things. Fixtures in the mind zone out to the point that I must absolutely drop everything to accept everything that I need to absorb at that moment. There is no point in multi-tasking at this point, but even attempting a single task requires a strain on my will. The listlessness hardly allows for a grasp of the present- 'What was I supposed to be doing?' I wonder. 'What was I doing right now?'
Information filters in through my short-term memory, and if I'm fortunate, some of it will trickle into my long-term. My sister explains it as a way of dismissing everything else as unimportant, but I want to argue that even the events I want to save are slipping through the gaping holes. When I look back on my notes or entries, I can't remember writing them. I should probably write more detailed entries to serve as fillers for my empty memory bank, but even that is difficult- my days are routine and forgettable.
[Just like me, really]
With these startling reminders of my goldfish mindset, I have to wonder how in the world anyone believes me capable of a leadership position. Secretary of Model United Nations, Deputy Attorney-General of ASI, girl in charge of handling fiscal certificates. How the hell does this happen?
Neat handwriting is such a deceptive facade of one's character.
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| color and madness |
[December 09, 2009 @ 5:34pm] |
I suppose I should finally update.
It's been a while, hasn't it?
Today I am still adjusting to California time, and perhaps maybe today it will be fixed. For the past three days, I've been up since midnight, sleeping only until 9 PM. It's a little surreal how it's been okay so far.
Coming back to class on Monday brought a pang of melancholy upon attending the first lecture. I miss Bonn already.
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| ages and ages hence |
[November 20, 2009 @ 1:26am] |
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
This stanza drifted into my head as I walked to class today, and it struck me- why in the world did I have to go through a damn road in the first place? Untrodden fields lay before me and I was still scrambling for binoculars to see ahead and check if I was going the right way.
(We'll add this metaphor for my failure to see small details in the big picture.)
The main problem, however, is that it is not mentally within my capacity to be unconventional. Robert Frost wrote The Road Not Taken about a friend who had gone to war- a person who, whichever road he went, would be sorry he didn't go the other because he was hard on himself that way. A lot of us have such a person within ourselves, and we lose footing when we wonder what could have been instead of what can be.
I'm not saying we should abandon our dreams and be more realistic. I don't think I could ever say that without a grimace anyway. I just think it's a matter of concern when you have to stop and wonder whose life you're living. I didn't see myself like this ten years ago. Ten years ago, I thought I was going to be an astrophysicist.
I know, I know. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? That makes no sense.
Things change, and I took a different road. Of course, it couldn't be as easy as moving the piece back to start. But it wasn't as bad as falling down the chute either. I crashed through some brambles and went off-roading for a bit until I ended up here. So for a while, I did essentially go off the beaten path. But then I'm back in an atypical road. There's even checkpoints, but they don't necessarily allot me more time.
I need to cut back on the metaphors.
There is something terribly missing, and I can't remember what it was. Maybe it's a who? This is concerning.
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| promises to keep |
[November 18, 2009 @ 2:30pm] |
Ambassador positions for the McGill Conference in Canada have been assigned, and I've been requested to represent Azerbaijan in January. All I can think of is, I'm honored, but please, one thing at a time. Germany isn't even a reality until next week at least.
Actually, at this point, I'd love one day when Germany isn't even mentioned. This entire semester has been nothing about that country.
Sickness has unexpectedly come at the most unwelcome time. Murphy's Law strikes again.
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| in midnights, in cups of coffee |
[November 16, 2009 @ 10:08pm] |
5 hours slept in the span of two and a half days.
There is no longer a question on what needs to be fixed. I see the grand picture, but I miss the details. I can tell you without hesitation where I see myself in five years, but the faltering surfaces when prompted further on the how and why. The 'how' sounds like a long process and the 'why' is only baffling because in this schizophrenic capitalist world, the concept of not wanting to be wealthy, famous, and prestigious doesn't make sense.
The goals need to be shortened into manageable terms. While the focus enabled a timely finish of the papers, I left plenty other things forgotten and undone. Skipped Japanese homework again, left my Japanese textbook and workbook at the house (so doing the hw would have been impossible anyway), my apartment keys are...somewhere in the house, I forgot to remind my sister to give me back the library book she checked out in her name so I have fees to pay and a hold in my registration, and the reading for my other classes have been terribly neglected.
Sometimes it's hard coming back on the weekend because there's always too much work to be done that can't when quiet time can't exist in the house. The most recent one was spent being shuffled around in rooms as my siblings all switched rooms. My sister left the guest room at last, but not without leaving half a city's worth of items to clean up. Kenny and Kristoffer also switched- Kenny back to his original, Kristoffer in mine. I slept on the couch.
The shuffle process explains the absence of half my belongings, which are scattered in three different rooms as they tried to figure out where to put me. I'm not complaining, since I don't necessarily need a room. In another time, I would have been more alert as I packed. Next weekend will be better.
One essay to go.
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| until it was a battle cry |
[November 15, 2009 @ 10:29pm] |
| [ |
music |
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"The Call" - Regina Spektor |
] |
Too many damn papers. I've settled it in my head that I can finish this before the deadline, and I'm going to do that, dark take it.
You hear that, world? I will take you on.
My sister says I haven't been launched into society yet. Frankly this means very little to me at this point in life. A classmate compared me to a slightly less militant Paris of Gilmore Girls fame. I took it as a compliment. Scary as that girl is, no one can say she isn't motivated.
Of course, I'll be needing a prescription to Xanax or Valium in my future if this keeps up.
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| now, now, and now |
[November 11, 2009 @ 3:09pm] |
Oh hellberries, why did I volunteer to be the MUN secretary? I don't have time for all this work. There are three books on Beethoven to read, a presentation handout to prepare, and those three position papers still cackling at me from a distance.
Does the club care about that? Of course not. They handed me next semester's class roster to organize, email contacts to search out, and plans for a website redesign.
The website can bloody wait.
The position papers might not be ready in time, and it's highly concerning.
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| be something fantastic |
[November 10, 2009 @ 1:14am] |
everything and nothing all at once.
Someone pull a Charlie Bartlett and find me Xanax please?
Lately, strange epiphanies happen to strike me as I stand at the bus stop. They've been harmless for the most part, considering little triggers like a tidbit of a passing conversation or even the blend of colors in an outfit will distract me into a story plot. If I had time, I'd probably be halfway done with the NaNoWriMo challenge with all the ideas popping up.
However, my most recent bus showed up late and gave me time to brood. I thought, What am I doing here? and then, How did I even get here?
Apparently, my weekday world is so scheduled that I let the entire day go by. I'd methodically attended my classes and then headed back for the 1:50 pm arrival of my 171 bus. If you ask me what I learned today, I'd have to check my notebook, which seems to have pages of detailed, handwritten notes that I can't remember taking. Odd.
I have three position papers to write and a half-hearted attempt at a presentation started, and for the first time since the semester started, I'm petrified because I don't know how to do any of them. Who flipped the switch on my automatic pilot? Why am I on manual suddenly? And where are my emergency brakes?
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| longing for being uninvolved |
[November 03, 2009 @ 4:20pm] |
Migraines and I were never this close of acquaintances before. Or is it more of a higher degree of dislike? Anyway, we have a relationship based on a mutual intent to destroy each other.
My obsessive need to plan everything is becoming a problem. I wish America was a polychronic culture that didn't devote such a high pedestal for finishing tasks by a deadline. Zombies and the supernatural no longer frighten me- instead, my sleeping hours are plagued with the same anxiety of my waking state, as if my mind is telling of things I should be doing instead of slumbering. Always these haunting whispers of hurry, hurry, rush, rush.
I almost want to take a drill to my head to relieve the pressure.
And then I remember that I'm squeamish. I reach for the Advil instead.
We measure time because we are a capitalist society that thrives on the monetary worth of each nanosecond. We've altered the numbers in the stock exchange so they can be precise decimal points instead of murky fractions. We create technology that makes us multi-task without wondering why, especially in its simplest forms, like the multiple tab options in our browsers or the endless functions now stuffed inside your cellular phone for your convenience.
But are we happy? Of course not.
Silly girl, that is not the meaning of life.
I officially hate clocks and my daily planner and my phone. I want to chuck them down a mountain cliff and then hole up in the remote caves for a breather because I'm tired and I just want to sleep but I can't.
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| take the cake |
[October 27, 2009 @ 10:03pm] |
Each breath we take in our bodies contains approximately 1% of the element argon. It doesn't react with anything specific, and our systems can't even break it down to something we can use. We breathe the argon in, and then we breath it back out. Nothing happens. Everyone breathes in, breathes out, and the argon atoms flit away through space and time.
At this point, you could be breathing the same millions of atoms as Leonardo da Vinci when he painted the Mona Lisa, by the apostles during the Last Supper, or even those velociraptors.
It's all interconnected. The debates of the Greek philosophers, the battle cries of Waterloo, the sighs of ancient lovers, and now, yours and mine. Maybe the element led me to you.
None of you are ever far from my thoughts, okay?
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| looking at closed doors |
[October 25, 2009 @ 3:07am] |
The past twelve hours have been such a rollercoaster of emotions that I have to wonder if I need something prescribed to maintain a balance. One moment I'm huddled corner in the bathroom, and the next I'm throwing out aggression on bowling pins.
A simple email finalized my expectations. It's funny how regardless of the formality placed in penning the letter, the same painful message comes through. There's no way around it. Try all the euphemisms you want, but the point is still made- you fell short.
Why was I in the bathroom? It was the only room with a locked door upstairs, and that was the farthest I could get. My sister barged in several minutes later and handed me a bottle of apple cider since she couldn't exactly hand me alcohol with the parents not noticing, so I downed that instead. And then I went bowling and attempted to shove everything that just happened behind me.
But I needed that outing. The house was becoming suffocating, and I always forget how terribly I miss everyone.
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| because we are too many |
[October 21, 2009 @ 9:06pm] |
It's always hard realizing how close you were to making it and then having to understand how you fell so short.
Today was spent ruminating the fugaciousness of my plans before I decided I didn't want to linger. Exner-san took me to get iced green tea lattes, I went on a total whim and cut my hair, Dani the roommate convinced me to go swimming, and then just a few minutes ago we ran across a highway for a random grocery trip. I'm adamant to skip the wallowing phase.
So now I'm going to throw myself into studying again though my A's amount to nothing.
It feels futile sometimes.
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| resolutions of mistakes |
[October 17, 2009 @ 12:52am] |
When things go wrong from silly mistakes, it's supposed to be healthy to laugh about it and move on after reminding yourself not to do that again. I envy people who have this ability to effortlessly carry on. I can't ever do that, and I don't know how this self-flagellating demeanor developed. A childhood filled with critical observations? Obsessive-compulsive strives for perfection?
It was a silly mistake. Moving on.
Writing memorandums of the law can be utterly dull because, of course, every single sentence has to cite which international convention or previous case such reasoning bears from, so the entire document appears to lack total imagination. However, there is a beauty to crafting such a lackluster work: every single word and its phrasing becomes significant in law because the art of the profession is detecting a loophole. It becomes nerve-wracking to form an almost perfect paragraph.
In fact, the conditions within a paragraph often become hellish, claustrophobic and impossible to withstand. The paragraph is married to its words and sentences, and each must fuse together the way a dog and its owner come to resemble one another. The paragraph has a life, a universe: one is given the impression that it has come into itself far before the writer puts words to the page—that each sentence knitted together cannot live without the other.
And how's that for a slice of fried gold? Lawyers aren't all boring.
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