11/10, no. 67

Yesterday, I was scheduled to register in the window of 3:30pm-4pm. I wasn't stressing out over classes, which was odd for me, especially because everyone else was stressing madly. I was unusually calm. Perhaps because I've become increasingly numb to the GPA of academia, who knows.

At around 2:00pm yesterday, Richard asked me if I'd go on a Target run with him. Under his assurance that we'd be back by 3pm, I complied. We borrowed our friend Alex's cheap, ghetto '99 Jetta and trekked the eight-or-so miles to Target. All was fair in love and automobile, until we came back to the car after buying Richard's much-needed supplies only to be hit with a whole lot of Murphy's law; the car wouldn't start up, and something in the hood was making sounds that it definitely shouldn't have been making. On top of that, my phone bill wasn't paid so I had no signal anywhere, so Richard and I had to share his cell phone to call Alex as we alternated because I had to call my roommate to ask her to register for me. We popped open the hood and about a half an hour later, the car started up again.

I wasn't stressed at all though. It was an odd, nice feeling. I think that, during the process, Rachel (my roommate) was more stressed than I was!

I had a minor epiphany during this - life isn't going to be about stressing out to register for classes, it's about Murphy's law and accidents happening and fixing mistakes and learning and waiting and having small adventures like broken down cars. 


The relevance of the photo pictured lies in the fact that Paris, coffee, streets, shops, and people-watching are beautiful things that I would love to be encompassed in my life as well.

11/9, no. 66

Walden Pond, Concord, Massachusetts

One of the reasons as to why I love that my dad used to live in Boston is his awareness and understanding with the city, a familiarity that often makes him want to seek other destinations when we go back east. So, instead of simply dwelling on the city (which I would not mind at all), we often go other towns in Massachusetts, like Medford, Gloucester, Rockport, and Concord (which is perhaps my favorite place in Massachusetts after Boston). For those unfamiliar with the small town, it was residence to authors like Louisa May Alcott (Little Women) and Henry David Thoreau (philosopher, various works), and it's also home to sweet ol' Walden Pond, which is an incredible domain of tranquility and history. Thoreau lived on the shores of the pond where he found inspiration and a breath of writing. What I love about it is its plainness; all it really is is a small area of woods and a body of water (with a bench underwater, which is so creepy and beautiful all at once). Its significance lies in its history. One could be walking around and unknowingly be meandering the home of one of the great minds in transcendentalism, since there exists virtually no publicity or means of tourist attraction. In fact, most people at the pond (when I visited) treated it purely as a beach and nothing more. Did they not feel the monumental atmosphere of intellectual capacity that once lived in this area? It was all in my head.

It
was
all
in
my
head.

And here's the not-so-secret truth: I'm infatuated with water.

11/9, no. 65

MIT reexamines campus efforts after 2 suicides.

It's a loose, invented rumor that MIT, one of the most prestigious universities in the world, has the highest rate of suicides in its student body. But with five suicides within a three-year span (between the years of 1998-2001) and counting, this seemingly mythical rumor begins to purge itself of its fictitious nature.

During their undergraduate years, many of my relatives (including my uncle) lived at MIT's MacGregor House, a dorm with a sad history of multiple student suicides. I can only imagine the shock and horror running through not only the immediate family of the victims but also that of the suitemates, the resident advisors, the neighbors, those who shared a "good morning" glance upon waking hours.

My heart goes out to all the friends and families of these students. Despite speculation of the immense stress and, as far as I can tell, impossible workload at the university, we will never know the exact precipitate, the specific collection of thoughts that ran in these students' minds as they made their final decision. Because of this, MIT has dramatically increased their mental health services - and I mean dramatically. Although this is a substantial effort by the administration, I feel that many of the cases they handle are dealt with to unnecessary extremities and exaggerations that result in academic expulsion of some students, which I believe is an extraneous and inappropriate move.

In short, do expand mental health services. Do watch out for students. But please, do it ethically - apply proper counseling or therapy as needed, administer medication when essential - just don't remove students from the undergraduate endowment by ignorantly deeming them "mentally unfit" for such ridiculous reasons. 

11/7, no. 64

Up and down up and down up and down up and down up and down up and down.

11/6, no. 63

Fun fact: none of these pictures were photoshopped! All taken with a simple point-and-shoot 5 megapixel camera, thanks to my friend Kelsey. This past weekend I went to Auburn, Washington, and stayed with a few people from UPS for a Fall Conference at a small retreat site that hugged this beautiful lake. Incredibly beautiful. $$$$$$$-worthy, I felt so lucky to be there. Anyway, it was an incredible time of bonding, understanding, learning, and talking. Philosophy chats (on Kierkegaard, on shame, on beauty) on the lake with some canoe tag, anyone?
I'm constantly mesmerized by the beauty here in Washington. Everyone makes fun of me for it, because I come from such an artificially created town (with modern city plans/blueprints, etc - Orange County is essentially processed food and Washington reminds me of organic food, like from the farmer's market). While canoeing, I saw a bald eagle. At this point I'm just rambling random things I saw and experienced this past weekend. I was prayed for and I got angry that I couldn't see/feel God the way others can. Ultimately, this lake and this site and this weekend were all so beautiful in infinite ways and I'm so thankful I had the opportunity to experience all of it.

11/2, no. 62

I went on a low for a bit today but I read an old blog post that made me really happy and I also phoned a good friend so I'm on an up right now and what I should be doing is celebrating my up by having a dance party but it's cold, it's rainy, and I need to study, so I'll give myself the pleasure of writing for a few minutes before returning to my chemistry book.
I've been doing far too much wishing/complaining and not enough munching/adoring. So, to live up to my blog name, I'll describe my favorite food in the sub (our lazy name for Dining Commons): garden tortellini, served for lunch every Friday. It's delicious and vegetarian (I'm convinced that our vegan/vegetarian dining station throws crack in the meals - it's the best food in the sub!) and one time I got out of my afternoon class late and there was no more garden tortellini left. It's warm and full of variety (two kinds of cheese, all sorts of different veggies, multigrain tortellini pasta, the best veggie/tomato sauce in the world, etc.) which makes it perfect for the increasingly rainy and cold weather. Speaking of the weather, I finally caved and purchased a cheap pair of rainboots online. Eh.
I'm in the library and I think someone's watching me from behind. What I should think is "Fuck others' thoughts, I'm going to express myself without giving a damn about anything!" but instead I'm going to stop writing. Plus it's quieter to read chemistry than to type feverishly on a computer.

11/2, no. 61

I'm going to write as much as I can before I fall back into a low because I'm on a high right now (not a literal high induced by drugs, I'm just in a higher mood - as my friend Patrick puts it, M. Ward described it best for the both of us when he sang "I get so low I need a little pick me up, I get so high I need a bring me down"). So I'm going to try to write better, and I'm going to shove in as many words as I can before I get back down again.
In a mad state of lethargy, aloofness, and apathy, I quit Elements (my school's science magazine) along with just about every other club I had joined earlier in the year. I failed a couple tests, lied one too many times, and convinced myself that my life was falling apart (the usual symptoms of one of my "downs"). But yesterday I was up, and I scheduled an appointment with my chemistry professor (who, as it turns out, is incredibly sweet and remembers so much about my academic history from the top of her head, as if she's a close friend of mine. I also feel like she's on my side, which is behavior that I rarely ever associate with teachers). I made a schedule of things to do. I emailed my editor of Elements apologizing and asking if there's any way I can do anything to contribute, and now I'm back up writing about things I need to research in order to write about (solar sails...damn, I should've taken physics in high school), starting with smaller blurbs but I hope to work my way up sooner or later. I applied for a job (7-11, but I'll take what I can). I wrote post-its to myself with things to get done and things to change. These are the symptoms of my "ups" and they make me motivated.
I'm still procrastinating a shit ton and I still hate chemistry like the devil and I still don't know what I'm going to major in, but those are not issues that will kill me in the near future (and if they do end up getting to me, well then...fuck).

10/31, no. 60

I've been on blogger several times this past week and almost every time I visit this site I begin to write a post, only to realize that I have nothing to say, and I subsequently delete the blank post. I still have not much to say. I go places but I see nothing, I am touched but I feel nothing, I eat and I taste nothing (which is perhaps the strangest sensation of all); I feel detached.

I guess that's all.

An edit five minutes after publishing this post: despite my indifference, these are things that have happened recently: I didn't care, I ate Indian food, I quit Elements, I failed a test, I dressed up, I vomited, I cleaned, I went to parties, I watched TV

10/23, no. 59

Last night/this morning/today is important because today I decided to be okay with moving on. Hurray.

10/22, no. 58

Everything seems much clearer and sharper outside. Backpacking and camping gives me really vivid dreams, and little is complicated when it comes to the outdoors. I'm going to save up and invest in a pair of stereotypical liberal arts attire (backpacking backpack and Tevas) and go out to Mt. Rainier or the Olympics more often, because a) I need to start taking advantage of PSO (Puget Sound Outdoors, the second most popular club on campus that goes on multiple trips - including kayaking, canoeing, hiking, backpacking, camping, rock climbing, etc - every weekend) and b) I love campus, I think it's beautiful, but a small vacation would be really nice.
Go outside. Things are better there.

10/16, no. 57

My breath of fresh air, my primary source of comfort and entertainment, my company with whom I feel infinite, my exhale after months of inhaling and keeping it in...thank you friends, I love you all.

10/13, no. 56

I have a lot to do. I just took a shower and granted myself another break...but really, I have so much shit to do that I feel like I need to just sit down and plan out how I'm going to do everything optimally, when in reality the smarter option would be to just get shit down asap. I'm in the in-between zone of calm and stress. I'm okay right now but my stomach is churning and I have an impending headache and I can feel the symptoms of nostalgic but unwanted stress coming back. But writing about it is so much more cathartic. I have a lab to go to. The fire alarm broke my concentration. I took a hot shower. I'm cold. I need to do laundry. I need to study for math. I need to study for history. I need to start my psych paper.

Wait, okay, I think I can do it.

10/11, no. 55

To one of my oldest and closest friends, to the most driven and dedicated girl I know, to the one I know I can always have fun with: today you are eighteen, a number in which society has injected significance. It means you've got all these new governmental rules, rights, circumstances, etc...but like any birthday, no real change is ever felt immediately.
But I see change. It's been a pleasure watching you grow to where you are now, a state of oxymoronic immature maturity.
On day one we were frazzled sixth graders attempting to get to our lockers, and my biggest stress in the world was part of my backpack was stuck in someone else's lockers, so as I became increasingly freaked out, you gave me a pair of scissors to cut it off. I remember this very vividly.
In seventh grade we lucked out and landed in the same math class and we thought we were the shit because we passed notes all the time without getting caught. Ten bucks Ms Wassel knew what we were up to the whole time. We thought we were cool because we were older than the genius sixth graders in that class, yet we were such idiots.
Freshman year we became excruciatingly close friends, sharing all our secrets about boys in cross country. I always looked up to you, because while I struggled to keep up with my grade in Biology, you were excelling; while I could barely run a 6:30 min mile, you were racing to the sub-6 zone.
Thank you for everything you've done. Quite honestly you're the last person I'd find inspiration in - you pile yourself with academics, you rarely sleep, you stress out nonstop - and yet you're the closest friend I'm motivated by. We're so alike and it's so reassuring to know we'll always have each other, even if we get so caught up with life that we forget to even speak to one another for weeks.
Happy birthday, Michelle. I know school is hard and neither of us are completely settled in socially, but I'm glad we can go through hard shit together.

10/10, no. 54

Although I fought hard to propel myself to study medicine in the beginning of the year, I still made sure I'd somehow stick to writing - something I'll always have. So I sought out to join the staff of Elements magazine, the science journal published on campus. I'm not necessarily writing about my passions like I did in high school (one of the great highlights of junior and senior years were being entertainment editor of the school paper. Even though our paper was overall crap, it was still so much fun making layouts, writing articles, delegating stories, and just informing the general public about awesome ongoing happenings in the arts industry...I would get stressed out, but it was really the best kind of stress). Instead, I'm writing about things I'm honestly rather unfamiliar with - microscopic protozoa, infectious parasites, etc - but it's all part of the learning experience which I'm profoundly appreciating almost every step of the way. Right now I'm writing about Toxoplasma Gondii, and I'm having a surprising amount of fun researching the obscure yet quite active/existent single-celled organism. I'm having even more fun writing about it.
Even though I might not be crazy about science, I'm glad I have Elements to write for; it's an assurance that further solidifies my love for all kinds of writing.

10/9, no. 53

One thing I really love about college is the fact that I learn so much outside of the classroom. This past weekend alone I learned how to properly knit and ride a bicycle, both of which I've been actively and almost constantly utilizing now. Knitting needs little mental energy yet requires pretty focused concentration, which are two traits that aptly describe my favorite cathartic guilty pleasures (like painting nails). Biking is a literal source of escape, everything seems so much more fast-paced and urban when riding a bike (but I'm probably biased seeing as how the only times I've biked are after the sun's gone down).
And then there are the lessons learned that could very possibly help me out in random corners, significant or not, of life: how and why you should only drink black coffee, how to take care of a completely shitfaced acquaintance, how to make houses/shoe racks/bookshelves/etc out of cardboard boxes, how to engage in conversation better (people love to talk about themselves, so to lessen the awkwardness you just keep asking questions and seem interested. Luckily the latter portion of this protocol isn't too hard because people, as it turns out, are actually pretty cool).
I've learned other things, too. I talked to a close friend's cousin, a wise senior at Middlebury, and he explained to me that one shouldn't be whoring themselves off to different careers by changing or idiotically majoring in a subject they don't love; rather, we should be examining ourselves, seeing what we do best because "life is about doing, not just learning; you're not going to be reading essays and writing theses when you're 40, you're going to be doing." Thank you, by the way.
And during another phone call with the same close friend last night I was told something I've been severely overlooking during the past year: "Ashley, I know you love journalism and English. You've been wanting to do that for years. It might not be the most marketable major, but it's what you love to do. So do what you love to do, and be the best at it." (Thank you, too). And it's true. All throughout middle school I'd be obsessed with writing and I made sure I would be at the top of the class in the field of English - in the eighth grade, I had an immense desire to study journalism in Germany. But when I was handed a fat slap of reality, I guess I took it the wrong way and looked at other fields and freaked out.
I'm in a big state of transition right now. I'm just focusing on the doing as of now, because regardless of my major, the "doing" will always be marketable and important. I don't think my reasons for studying medicine were ever even very strong. Things are volatile and tentative right now, which makes me feel like I'm walking on eggshells, but I'll figure it sooner or later.
Essentially, all my ramblings in this post can be summed up with the words of one of my favorite authors: "Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught."

10/7, no. 52

My roommate (largely my primary source of socialization) is out at a Yom Kippur service so tonight is just me and a large cardboard box.
According to an article on HubPages, here are my options:
1. Cut windows and door holes in it. Instant house!
2. Open-side up: Go for a boat ride!
3. Hide in the box, crouching, open side up.
4. Walk around your home with the box over your head so that you cannot see.
5. Open-side down: New kitchen table!
6. Don't have pants? Cut a hole the size of your waist in the bottom of the box. Then wear it! It's just like pants, only better because it's a box!
7. Call your friends and tell them to come over, because you have a big surprise. Then show them the box!
8. Invent a new sport or game!
9. Ring neighbors' doorbells, holding box. Ask them if they lost their box.
10. Keep stuff in it.
Although this list becomes progressively lame, it boosts my self-esteem by making me feel somewhat creative. It's going to be an interesting night.

10/4, no. 51

Premise: I'm a student not of the current "omg look at me I'm taking so many pictures in college of me and alllllll my new friends, look at us here at parties omg greek life omg football games omg night out haaaa i'm having so much more fun at college than you are!" trend. Sometimes I envy those who publicize their great and fun new lives, but I'm not going to pretend that I'm having a blast. I'm not. I have fun here and there, but in many ways has UPS surprised me (unfortunately for the worse).

First, the University of Puget Sound is a nationally ranked liberal arts school in the Pacific northwest. The campus sits in an awfully suburban area of Tacoma, which lies about 30-40 minutes away from Seattle. Luckily, the campus is beautiful, but as aesthetically pleasing as UPS is, it is still very physically small, which means two things: yes, you don't mind staying on campus, but its location renders it too easy to get stuck in a suffocating bubble. Moreover, the school (although private) runs on an extremely tight budget, as UPS is virtually in debt. I feel like the cause of this is because UPS offers immense amounts of scholarships, which is good, but in the long run it often seems as though public schools offer more opportunities and services than UPS (lack of transportation, relatively large class sizes even for a liberal arts school, etc).

Second, UPS is a liberal arts college. Liberal arts schools are notorious for harvesting a collective student body that emanates two things: diversity and a love for learning, neither of which can be easily found here. It's essentially a slightly more mature version of high school. UPS seems very hypocritical to me in that the school prides itself on diversity. Sure, there are tons of students who differentiate from one another in sexual orientation, but in terms of ethnicity? Not so much. Moreover, I have only met a select few students (in all grades) who have really showed a love for learning. Everyone else seems to be on one set major tract, complaining about all other required classes, which in itself is a direct contradiction to the philosophy of a liberal arts education.

In short, UPS may have the best intentions, pride that brags about their quintessential liberal arts approaches, and advertisements that boast diversity, but ultimately the school falls short on all three. Because of this, in March I will apply to transfer to eight schools, primarily in the east coast.

Don't worry, Boston, I haven't forgotten about you.

I'll probably be posting another blog post soon, one that appropriately summarizes my issue with choosing the right major. Until then.

10/2, no. 50

50th post. Hurrah.

A word about guilty pleasures: I'm full of them. 'Party in the USA' by Miley Cyrus, 'Too Cool' from Disney Channel's Camp Rock, ABC Family's Pretty Little Liars, 90210 on CBS, Give Me Everything by Pitbull...but they're just biting my nails, they're French fries from McDonald's, they're bean and cheese burritos with extra guacamole from my favorite Mexican joint, Pedro's.

10/2, no. 49

The absence of my roommate on Friday night left me with immense hours of pure solitude and free time. I stayed up until 4:30am (a recurring weekend trend apparently) cleaning the dorm to perfection so as to surprise Rachel, and with the few extra empty hours I lazed around researching internships, crafting my own personal letter of inquiry, watching Mad Men and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia (two great watches, by the way), and listening to/watching/feverishly stalking Adele and the beauty that is her voice. I also made an attempt at writing a blog post, during which I had to stop because I couldn't handle the incredible artificiality that emanated in my blogged voice. I also had to stop because I realized that I tend to write extremely long, run-on sentences - just a bad habit, you'll find me doing that quite often (exhibit A: second sentence of this blog post).
Anyway, Friday night was good and it actually really made me feel somewhat at home (finally) with all the freedom to do whatever as I was completely alone in my living quarters. I read books and course requirements and other helpful sources that allowed me to narrow in on what I want to do in life (that's what it was! I was blogging about my problems in deciding a major because I had so many issues with chem this week...note to self, Ashley, you write HORRIBLY when you're stressed and wired). And I concluded that it's okay if I am not completely sure as to what I want to do right now, but seeing as how I started the year with the intention of completing a pre-med-based course requirement schedule, I'm going to finish the semester completing the hell out of those requirements. So I made an elaborate plan to sleep in on Saturday (yesterday) and get shit done.
But instead...I went to a cheese festival, a thrift store, and a cupcake shop, during which I planned to study like hell Saturday night (last night).
But instead...I imbibed in my first glass of college. Vodka in teacups while discussing Russian history with my roommate and two other friends wasn't a bad idea. The entire time I was amazed at how quickly alcohol affects the body, and I kept trying to look that up, and I was both amazed and embarrassed at the rapid effects of Asian glow, and I kept laughing at everything, and I kept announcing that I had to document the moment because it was my first time drinking in college so I wrote in my journal in front of everyone and I took a couple pictures.
No, I did not get drunk. I still hate the taste of alcohol. I only had a little bit (the equivalent of 1 1/2 shots, apparently) which was enough to make me giggle obnoxiously at everything. But I made people give me math problems to ensure I was alright. Okay, there we go - I've discovered something about myself: I'm lightweight. Laugh all ya want.
I now have a closer understanding of why people drink. I probably won't do it too often. I really don't like the taste.

On another note, I made (and by 'made' I mean 'threw a frozen pre-made platter into the microwave') paneer tikka masala with spinach basmati rice last night, and it was absolutely delicious.
On another note, I made (same definition of 'made' as above) samosas...and they were subpar, unfortunately. At least this will make me appreciate samosas at decent Indian restaurants more.
On another note, I already knew this part before but I must broadcast: Masala flavored naan and spicy hummus from Trader Joe's...the two foods that comprise my new 'eat good shit' diet.

William Burroughs, by Allen Ginsberg
 “There is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt. It is a duty to take this risk, to love and feel without defense or reserve.” ―William S. Burroughs

9/30, no. 48

Friday morning, 2:30 am
Ashley: *Walks into the lounge and sees one of the couches flipped over* Why is the couch upside down?
Anissa: Ryan turned it into a spaceship.
Ashley: Oh, okay.

Little things like this make things a little better, bit by bit.

9/28, no. 47

For a long time, I was into things like Boston and crappy old cars. And then I was distracted, which was fun, and then I was sad, which was not fun, but now I feel so free because I'm looking at all the things from which I was distracted! Boston is so beautiful, and I'm feeling an immense desire to walk through Boston Commons and the North End right now...it's the perfect antidote to life. Plus the air is so fresh in Boston, especially in the spring, which is a huge contrast to the nostalgic smokey thick air in the underground city of Boston, that which is the T (subway system), which I also love so much. God I miss Boston.
And for a long time I wanted to drive an old crappy cozy car, one with cloth seats and not a high-tech GPS and media screen for an auxiliary ipod but a drive for a tape, with warm couch-like seats in the back perfect for cozying up with friends after a bonfire or something with tons of food and blankets and music.
When I was distracted, I shifted from wanting to go to Boston to being comfortable with the idea of living in LA (although I never gave up on Boston entirely), and while I wouldn't mind LA, I still don't feel like that's where I belong. When I was distracted I also shifted from a vague desire for junky '98 Corollas to learning about top of the line specs, rims, tires, bodies for cars, and I had an interest for minimalism, the modern look of coupes, a 6-cylinder engine...but that's just not me. I am back to where I was. I am at an equilibrium. Being distracted can be fun. But I'm getting better, and it makes me feel so free from a phase of myself.

9/27, no. 47

When light strikes the cornea, it bends--or refracts--the incoming light onto the lens. The lens further refocuses that light onto the retina, a layer of light sensing cells lining the back of the eye that starts the translation of light into vision. For you to see clearly, light rays must be focused by the cornea and lens to fall precisely on the retina. The retina converts the light rays into impulses that are sent through the optic nerve to the brain, which interprets them as images.

9/26, no. 46

I hate sleeping when I'm sick because it's so hard to fall sleep and stay asleep.

Last night I had a dream that my Psych 101 teacher used to be a serial killer but that was in his long-forgotten past so it was okay, but my Chem 110 teacher turned out to be this insane serial killer who was active with her murders. She held my class hostage in an old castle, and when the police came and arrested her, she kicked me down the stairs.
When I woke up this morning I realized I had slept through my alarms, which was sort of nice to know. It was 10:56 and I thought, "Hmm maybe I can rush and make it to chem" and then I thought "Wait...chem...why do I have bad feeling about chem.." and I remembered my nightmare and I hid under the covers where I stayed for about ten minutes.

9/26, no. 45

"Good people don't just happen." Maybe these words will get me through the month.

On another note, it's raining. It's raining an ample amount (in between sprinkling and pouring, that's how much it is raining) and people say it's going to rain in this manner almost every day for the rest of the year. That's okay. But most people here don't wear rainboots. I don't have rainboots yet, but I don't want my feet to get wet. Little is worse than wet feet.

9/25, no. 44

For the first time, I'm 1166 miles away from home and I'm sick all at once. It doesn't feel any worse necessarily, sickness is sickness after all. Instead of my mom to check my forehead and diagnose my symptoms, I have myself (and Richard, my fellow pre-med warrior down the hall). Lots of fluids, tylenol, Ricola - that's all the same - but instead of my mom's homemade soup I have my Lipton instant chicken noodle soup, something I got sick of after three servings. It does the job, so I can't complain.

Something I sort of actually miss: a quiet house. My whole family is comprised of generally quiet people (including relatives, when sober), so the house would be quiet throughout the day and silent between the hours of 10pm and 6am (my alarm would break the silence and shake the house).

But it's a little different here. People lounge around right outside your door having fun and being liberatingly loud and exercising the no-quiet hours policy of the weekend. It's a wonderful thing to be a part of, not so wonderful when you're trying to sleep.

It's okay. I'll adapt.

9/21, no. 43

lesson of the moth

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

don marquis, 1927

9/21, no. 42

From last Saturday until yesterday evening, I did nothing but stay in bed. I skipped a few classes...just to stay in bed. I felt so drained and empty and I just cried and cried for reasons and for no reasons. It felt like I was missing a huge part of my brain, leaving nothing but gaps and emptiness that would take much too long to regenerate.

Around 8:30pm I found the extreme will power to get out of bed, get dressed, look somewhat decent (as opposed to bed hair, oily skin, tear-stained cheeks), and go to Lighthouse, the underground (literally - it meets in the basement) Christian fellowship.

I felt suddenly comfortable being here. I came home to my dorm to see my roommate and some floormates lounging around the room, and I announced the fact that I needed to clean (my dorm had been stinkin it up for a while, and I also felt that my OCD roommate would eventually file a complaint). I'm not consistently the cleanest person, but I find myself going through random sprees of cleaning, during which any speck of dust will drive me crazy. Basically, if I'm gonna clean, it's gotta be an all-or-nothing type of job.

And so my room is clean. And the conglomerate of books that once cluttered my desk (because we use our bookshelf for food) is now neatly sitting in my unfortunately empty bulk cardboard box of cup of noodles. My shoes, which were once scattered around the room, are sitting neatly in the makeshift shoe rack I made (aka my cardboard printer box). So screw you girls at USC and U of Arizona who actually spend money on such things...you guys are idiots, I hope you know. You oughta be ashamed of yourselves. I pity the fool who delves in such decadence.

I also bought a journal on Amazon that is arriving today. I call it "How to be okay while not being with some people and also how to lose weight because my stomach wants me to look like Buddha." (The latter part of the title may be put on a three-month hold seeing as how my parents sent me a "care package" aka "let's get you fat for the holidays so we can throw you in the oven and carve you" package. Just kidding, I know it's out of love...plus I asked for it :P)

On a sidenote, my roommate and I have recently come to the grave conclusion that our dorm hates us. Todd/Phibbs building decided, "Hey let's take the only two girls who wanted to go to Amherst - which has one of the best dorms in the country - and give them the smallest, shittiest dorm in the entire building!" We woke up one morning, got out of bed, and felt extremely cold water surrounding our bare feet - the loosely positioned outlets had caused our refrigerator/freezer to shutdown in the middle of the night, and thus all the ice in the fridge had melted overnight and gave us a warm (but not really) welcome in the morning. And those huge ass mosquito eaters still love our dorm. Really, they do! They (about 10 or so of them usually) all just hang around until we sleep, waiting to rape us or some crazy shit like that.

I've found little to no desire to shop online on Anthropologie/J.Crew. I tried using that as retail therapy over the weekend, but to no avail. Does this mean I'm changing? I don't know what's going on. J.Crew is so pretty. Oh wait, it's probably because I have $3.81 in my account right now.

So these are the trials and tribulations of your typical non-white American girl. They're essentially an off-shoot of "white girl problems," but we get to also complain about white people too and render their problems our problems. It's kind of fun.

9/20, no. 41

Somehow, you see beauty in her, a pile of broken bones, and you know you can repair these bones to create a human. Your unfailing faith in her keeps her somewhat stable, although she doesn't realize it. The pile of bones is a beautiful thing to none but you, and you cradle these osseous sticks, these rigid organs, these weak, weak, ugly bones. She, the crooked broken skeleton, awakens from her comatose. For the very first time, she sees you. Both nervous and ecstatic and unaware how to act, you approach her with open arms, and she falls into you.

It isn't long before these bones you hold grow into a human that holds you back. With eyes anew, she sees your broken heart and the malignant pain in your body. Out of love, she attends to such injuries, and you both grow.

And soon, peculiarly, like the progression of life, the conclusion resembles the introduction. Little else is on her mind besides you - caring for you, attending to you, loving you. She soon realizes that she would be a pile of broken bones had it not been for you. She then sees the necessary attachment, how she needs you, she needs you.

But as her dependence grows, you see the charm in separation as you feel as though your work here is done. You've created a human, a monster, a body of feelings and thoughts and emotions, and you try to make this easy on her, the human, the human human, and you fill her with empty words, hollow promises of complacency, and when she's holding onto you tight (she fills you with warmth now that she is no longer a scattered distribution of mineralized osseous tissue, so she can hold you just as warmly as you once held her) and you say no, no, no, it's better, you'll be better, and you finally get her to let go of you as her human emotions set in and tears begin to drown her face and you are finished...what about her?

9/17, no. 40

A life in lists, III.

1. Skipping my first two classes...so I can study for those two classes.

2. Reusing old posters to make a giant paper crane about half my size.

3. Talking about genitalia for three hours on an almost daily basis.

4. Finding a lost lacy red thong hanging from a pipe in the boiler closet.

5. Being woken up by Richard at 2:30am and seeing his panicked face, smelling smoke, hearing the obnoxiously loud fire alarm...all to realize 1) some idiot from another floor left his pizza in the oven 30 min too long and 2) I was the only one who had to be awakened (everyone else was coming back to campus from a party or was playing video games).

6. Getting 10+ people cozied up on Rachel's twin bed and watching youtube poop videos for hours.

7. Conversations about knitting, babies, circumcised penises, and the Bible - all in one sitting.

8. Crying all night and missing people and persons.

9. Losing and finding, finding and losing hope again and again.

10. The seemingly impossible-to-rid habit of bullshitting everything.

11. The shitty football team.

12. The even shittier jocks who think they're good. We lost to Occidental, I think that says enough.

13. My group of friends, comprised of 1) guys or girls in a long-distance relationship, 2) WASPs, 3) gays or lesbians.

14. The fact that if I need to bitch about something to the videogame obsessed-guys next door, they'll pause the game to listen to my vagina monologues. Thanks guys, it means a lot.

15. Trying like hell to be even somewhat qualified to major in molecular and cellular biology with an emphasis in neuroscience...for all the wrong reasons.

16. "But Ashley you can't get depressed! It hasn't even started raining yet!"

9/15, no. 39

There's a corner of your heart for me.
There's a corner of your heart just for me.
I will pack my bags just to stay in the corner of your heart.
Just to stay in the corner of your heart.

There is room beneath your bed for me.
There is room beneath your bed just for me.
I will leave this town just to sleep underneath your bed.
Just to sleep underneath your bed.

There's one minute of your day.
There's one minute of your day.
I will leave this man just to occupy one minute of your day.
Just to occupy one minute of your day.

Just to sleep underneath your bed.
Just to stay in the corner of you heart.

9/14, no. 38

You were just always talking about changing
What if I was the same man
The same I always was

All these things that you say
Like i'll forget about
The mind-numbing games that you play
I am a gentlemen
Didn't I pay for every laugh every dime,
Every bit in return
And then you feed me some lie
I wont hear one more word about changing
Guess what I am the same man,
same man I've always been

9/14, no. 37

I don't really want to make friends because I don't want there to be any chance of increasing distance between me and my friends at home. I don't see the necessity in going cock-hungry and meeting as many people as possible and making five thousand friends, so I stay in my room or go to Diversions Cafe to read or I go to the lounge to use the computer, etc etc. I still hang out with a few friends regularly, but there is so much more satisfaction in conversation with friends back home.

But I've recently discovered that this type of thinking is abnormal and weird, although it seems rational and quite normal to me. For the most part, everyone else thinks otherwise. And that's fine. I'm in no race to rush out and do five hundred different crazy things every day to bring home insane stories. I feel like this is normal. I feel like this is optimal. But it's getting clearer and clearer to me that my behavior is an anomaly in the long list of college students.

It seems as though people would rather assume that they'll always have you, and they'll run off doing all sorts of things and make little to no effort to maintain a solid relationship with you. They'll do all sorts of things that give them fun, tangible pleasure - partying, drinking, smoking - and that's all cool and I'm all for that, but it just makes me feel like a tired housewife. People get to go far and do all sorts of crazy shit while assuming that you stay home and manage the house. Perpetually remaining a housewife is so worth it even for just a little interaction (especially when you live so far away, a short conversation means so much. Five minutes of talking is worth the peculiar "she's antisocial" glances or "you shouldn't be late, Ashley!" or holding in urine in need of release). People overlook the fact that staying home too long will make my housewife behavior want to leave.

I realize that it's not too hard to get out and take advantage of the social shortcut of illegal substances or constantly finding things to do, but I don't feel any need nor urge to do any of that. All I really want is good conversation, which is something that doesn't need to end just by moving away. But in many cases, it does end.

I'm thrilled for my friends' new lives and new coming lives in the exciting realm of higher education. I'm overjoyed that many have found new relationships and friendships and lives of constant exhilaration and activity. I am so thankful that they're doing so well and thriving off of the utter pleasure they find in life.

I sometimes wish I had the desire to do so myself.

9/13, no. 36

(it's all bullshit, really)

9/12, no. 35

I sold you my hand once and you hit me in fear.

9/11, no. 35

For about one hour or one year or some amount of time in between the two, I partook in an intimate music session with Angelica and Daniel. I feel like I came back from a whole new realm that I never looked at. It was like I was leaning on a door all this time, and only now have I peeked inside to peruse around. From age 4-14, I was taught the science of the piano by a professional pianist and renowned professors, Mona Wu DeCesare and Ornela Ervin, and I played strictly what I saw in the language I was taught: the notes, stems, key signatures, time signatures, ornamentation, tempo, etc. This wasn't necessarily my life, but it was a huge part of it. It's among my few passions that I don't want to ruin by majoring/studying. The piano is still always something I have, it's my cozy socks and warm blanket.

Today was different. It's said that those who learn by the book at a young age can't improvise, and for me this is true. So as I sat seemingly hopeless as Angelica played a tune she made up on the spot and as Daniel played his own songs (something I've learned to enjoy is doing homework in front of his room when his door is closed and he's playing the guitar and singing because he's so musically inclined. Plus, he's brilliant at Chemistry so the close proximity is convenient if I need help). I was terrified because I felt 1) unoriginal 2) scared of condescension and judgment because of my juvenile impromptu pulled-out-of-my-ass piano noise. I set my shaky hands on the piano not knowing what to do, but Daniel just told me to start playing something - anything, so I began with a few elementary progressions and arpeggios. Still at a "piano block," he sat next to me and played a song he had made up that second. As I urged for that ability, I knew that want would get me nowhere, so I played whatever I could.

A few minutes of struggle and help later, we were making music.

9/11, no. 34

Here I am, a collection of dirty skin and weak heart and broken mind in a small cage. Go and share gossip with my loved ones, and bring them to come and laugh at me like you always have. Scrutinize my imperfections and mock me with your new followers, and I pray that one day my death will bring you more joy than my life could.

9/11, no. 33

Ten years. It's the life span of a prepubescent preteen girl. It's also the exact amount of time that defines a decade. Ten years roughly equates to the period during which certain genres of music, art, and/or ideas epitomize that decade. The past ten years have been a development of feelings and thoughts that allow me to sit here and have feelings that I were not able to have when I was 7 years old on September 11th, 2001.

9/11 was a horrific event that presented the United States with a graphic, extreme portrayal of terrorism, evil, and violence. Thousands lost a friend, acquaintance, idol, family member, role model, etc. I personally did not know anyone killed/injured/affected in the attacks, and although that did not lessen my profound sympathy for those affected, it just made it seem further away.

During the past week and a half, TIME (one of my favorite sources) released multiple videos, stories, and photos by those affected by 9/11. What stood apart in TIME's collection was the diversity in the testimonials - usually, the media focuses on students' perspectives on the attacks (on the day of 9/11, most of us were able to grasp the facts, and now we're growing with them) or children/family members who lost a loved one. TIME included all of these, but they expanded and took a different approach by not simply reflecting on that day and how many are still recovering, but also by sharing with the public the lives of others - flight attendants of planes whose passengers included terrorists with weapons, an employee at the World Trade Center who was at a wedding on that morning (she lost an immense number of her coworkers and friends; she was also in the committee to build a Mosque near ground zero, but was harassed because many chose to ignore the fact that that Mosque was to be a center to propel peace, hope, and other inspirational Islamic traits). There were hundreds of videos of a variety of people - all of whom were in some way deeply impacted by the attacks - and that presentation of diverse perspectives really put me in awe.

In short, for an honest conglomerate of recollections on September 11th, TIME is among the many good sources.

A lot can change or not change in ten years. So many citizens' "9/11 story" didn't end on 9/11. An ardent thank you goes out to all of those who displayed and/or continue to display explicit courage during the past ten years.

9/7, no. 32

The title that I find apt for this post is "Boston" by Augustana; the lyrics essentially reflect and closely define my entropic thoughts and feelings, but not in the conventional "boy needs to get away from girl" sort of way.

For what seems to be my entire life, I felt consumed, infatuated, and almost obsessed with the idea of an escape, a better life. I had my dreams (undergraduate years at Yale, transfer and obtain the accomplishment of a Bachelors of Science from Harvard and a graduate school education from MIT) but I was so immensely fixated upon the idea of setting a goal of some sort of escape, and attaining that goal.

The irony is that every time I would obtain such a goal, I would almost immediately look back, reflect, reminisce, miss, and ultimately long for my previous home.

Exhibit A: Moving to San Clemente. While back in Thousand Oaks, I would tell everyone how great San Clemente sounded - the great shopping areas, the miles and miles of beaches, the cute small-town lifestyle - and I sold myself the idea and I was so incredibly excited to move. When I did settle down in San Clemente, however, I cried on a daily basis, a symptom of first-time loneliness.

And now I am in Tacoma, Washington. Whether it was my juvenile habits of "escaping" or fate that brought me here, I'm living a life of greenery, environmentalism, studying, and prologues to new friendships. I'm learning from my old mistakes - sort of - so it's not as bad as my previous escapes were. Step by step I think I'm getting there. I trip and fall here and there but it gets easier to get up and go faster to catch up. I've discovered that it is possible to keep going - for a little bit - while looking back sometimes, but running with your head turned backwards can be a little exhausting after a long time. I just need to remind myself that even if it was my own mistake(s) that brought me here, I can't go back, I just need to look forward. So forward it shall be.

9/5, no. 31

Mom thinks that you're sad and that you're living alone,
And your friends think if you're sad,
You should call them more.
But the truth is that you never needed someone to comfort you.
Oh, you never needed someone to comfort you.

You're no god
You're no god
You will never leave this place
You will always feel alone
You will never feel quite clean in this new skin that you have grown until your old and broken bones are laid into their resting place,
just like the rest of human race.

Until I fall into my place,
just like the rest of human race,
Until I'm laid into my final resting place,
just like the rest of human race,
Who've done it without complaining all the way.

You're no god
You're no god
As long as you promise that you will never leave,
I need only worry about you and me.

We will never leave this place.
We need never feel alone.
We will learn to feel quite clean in this new skin that we have grown because our young and healthy bones would never lead us astray.
We will learn to feel quite clean in this new skin that we have...

We will learn to feel quite clean in this new skin that we have...
We will learn to feel quite clean in this new skin that we have grown because our young and healthy bones would never lead us astray

9/5, no. 30

A life in lists, part ii. To-do edition.

1. Clean my desk. I'll easily conform to the little idiosyncrasies I'm surrounded with, so I checked off the "neat" box on my housing application, although the entropy in room at home says otherwise. I knew that if my roommate maintains a neat living area, so will I. And both surprisingly but oddly naturally, I've been holding true to my strange pseudo-subconscious habit of conformity and keeping my dorm clean, neat, and fresh-smelling by utilizing our small fan and stealing Todd and Kevin's Febreeze occasionally. But this past weekend had a lot of ins and outs, which resulted in a lot of misplacement and lazy shrugging off of the clutter forming on my desk. Today I will clean.

2. Use the library more often. I'm accustomed to coming straight home after school, and college is unfortunately no different from that so far - I go directly to the dorm or sub after classes, usually to meet up with Todd and Rachel. But this is going to change. I'll spend a few hours studying in the library after classes to finish homework and what not, and afterwards I'll go back to the dorm. This will be of my best interest because not only will I be more proactive, but I'll also be spending less time in my dorm. My one of few complaints about UPS is that their library isn't open 24/7 like that of Boston College; it closes at two in the morning. I guess that's good for electricity and sustainability, but fuck it, I love the idea of an always open library too much. I guess

3. Use proper punctuation, capitalization, and grammar. Lists will not be exempt from this rule; I need to be more disciplined in my writing, even for my blog - or else I'll get lazy. And since I'm not a literary genius, I can't get away with broken writing rules, because I'll sound lazy or pretentious. I suppose that the first sentence of each bullet/number for each list may be the exception.

4. Stop sapping and be social. No more of this 'crying in front of the computer while in bed at night when you're roommate is out' business. No more excessive tearing up over missing people at home. Miss people, but don't let it hinder you from making memories and friends here. This one might be the hardest.

5. Take nothing but pictures. Leave nothing but tracks. This is a little saying I had to adhere to during my backpacking trip, and I most certainly am following this rule in my everyday life as well. Consume less (I've gotten rid of using disposable things, I love that my school promotes zero-waste events and habits!) and trash less. My beloved Nalgene water bottle goes everywhere I go, so no more paper soda cups are needed at the sub (our cafeteria). Or, if I must use paper soda cups at a restaurant or fast-food shack, forget those lids - they're unnecessary and are a big waste. Straws are also really unnecessary, but at least my school has biodegradable straws. Being green is a huge behavior at my school, and I actually feel a lot of peer pressure in being environmentally sound (pun!), which I'm really thankful for.

That concludes my heavily-commentated hitherto to-do list of the day/week/month/year. To finish, a couple poems from Courtney:

"Disfiguration Part One"

You have placed me in a jar

And here I sit

in a most undesirable position.

(I also find it difficult

to breathe).

It is unfortunate that

my vision must be so

blatantly one-dimensional

from this angle.

I cannot see

from the outside looking in.

How can you claim to care,

if you coerce me into this situation?

My posture erect,

I become a statue.

I am a statue,

that is my fact.

I begin to lose touch.

I am no stranger to my environment

(The atmosphere is sufficient).

And, if I may,

your name, sir?

"Disfiguration Part Two"

Sir,

here I stood vulnerable once

in front of you.

We exchanged greetings

and you informed me of

a sweet goodbye,

a graceful parting.

Yet here I stand

on my scaffold

for others to see -

a different me,

for I am a deformed face

of a once-young girl,

the girl you choked

while singing softly.

9/4, no. 29

it's been a real lazy Sunday, evidently. I walked to Life Center Church with Juhyun and Justin, where we met up with Talison, Kyle, and Todd. the service was really vibrant and the speaker, Pastor Jackson Senyonga from Uganda, was really charismatic. Justin, Juhyun, and I walked to Quizno's afterwards and then back to campus, where Justin and I met up with Angelica, Tom-Erik, Rachel, and Todd, and hung out in my dorm for a bit before heading over to downtown 6th ave to get some Indian food and just walk around. it was nice. we came back to our dorm building and played Mario Kart and did some work.

this is a poem my friend posted on her own blog almost four years ago. I never found any real significance for these words at least in the context of my own life - for all I knew, this poem's meaning was irrelevant to my life, as I had no boyfriend/serious love interest or anything. it's just the kind of poem that really caught my attention and stuck with me for all these years, as if I was subconsciously chasing the anxious feeling of this poem in order to render these words significant for myself.

anyway, this is it; she only had words, so I conjured up an unnecessary but somewhat apt title: To Boy.

You, sitting pretty there

With a handsome jawline and fine hair

Do give me a blank stare

As I tell you how my love does unfurl and flare

For your undying care.

But you look as though unaware

And my pleading looks contort into a glare

As I realize

Your silence screeches so loud

It deafens the air -

please, please

say you care.

9/4, no. 28

a life in lists.

1. cheddar jalapeno bagels

2. special k red berries

3. excessive doses of gummy vitamins

4. my blue nalgene water bottle. bpa free, bitches.

5. a small conglomerate of books on my desk - including The Bell Jar, The Time of the Uprooted, The Counterlife, Northanger Abbey, Born on a Blue Day, Better

6. Sudoku book

7. my dubbed insolvable Rubik's cube

8. my $0.99 plastic made in commie nation green bowl from Fred Meyer for my keys and ID card

9. yarn and knitting needles.

10. Gorp

11. my expensive Fossil keychain of a floral blue bird

12. Acco 100 ct. Jumpo Paper Clips

13. the small poster I made that says "Who are we to judge the alcoholic, the prostitute, the addict, or the criminal as if we are any better" in font size 58 bold Helvetica.

14. my European-style window next to my bed.

15. waking up to the tree whose branches caress said window.

15. not knowing how to count. this is number sixteen.

17. being constantly reminded of the vividness of life just by going outside, walking down the steps and seeing frisbee players or poets or writers or dancers or tanners or singers or sleepers on Todd Field

18. the video game noises heard through the thin walls from my neighbor's room...sometimes.

19. Soy chai from Oppenheimer Cafe; I've yet to try their dirty chai.

20. REI.

21. the random finds around Tacoma (all the old record stores, independent coffee shops, and utter abundance of thrift stores)

22. speaking of - my $3 long skirt and $6 flannel from Orange on 6th.

23. the people I've met! you guys are great...thank you for being wonderful

24. the people I miss! I am so so so incredibly excited for October Fall Break during which we can reunite and sing songs. you all are irreplaceable and I love you all so much.

25. the fact that Tacoma is great and all even though it's a suburb - it's nice, some parts are quaint, but it reaffirms my long-held promise to myself that suburban life is not for me, and thus I will never settle for or in one.

9/4, no. 27

what to do when the friends in your dorm are reflecting on nostalgic memories at 3 in the morning? reflect back also.

"if I can't have all of you, I'll take parts."

‎"If you could only see the beast you've made of me."

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference."

“Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings — always darker, emptier, simpler.”

‎"And if there's any time you want to waste, let me know cause I really wanna be with you."

9/3, no. 26

you gave me love

and showed me pain;

you granted me

some loss, some gain.

you shake the ground

on which I stand

(I shudder back --

you raise your hand.)

I see your face

of apathy

but I feel only

catastrophe.

your smile has charm

and crooked teeth;

the charisma works,

my anger seethes.

you took steps back

to make some distance

to render us broken,

like a shatter, for instance.

when we first met

my heart was whole

but your indifference

now pierces my soul.

9/2, no. 25

success story of the week: I have switched out of my 8am chem class, it is now at 12pm. I also victoriously dropped Math 180 and added Math 181 (integrals). my schedule now consists of three back-to-back classes from 10am-1pm on Mon., Tues., Thurs., and Fri., and only one 10am class on Wed. (and a three-hour night lab from 6-9pm on Thursdays). I call my schedule symmetrical (aside from the lab) and beautiful.

another small success story: during a 10-minute break between my Math and Chem class, I walked over to Oppenheimer Cafe (pictured), the greenhouse-like cafe that sits in the central plaza of the science buildings (if the science buildings were a donut, Thompson and Harned Halls would be the donut and the hole would be the central plaza and Oppenheimer).

in that short time of exploration, I discovered a few things about Oppenheimer.

first, it is small, and it is crowded (not necessarily by people, just be the awkward display of chairs, tables, and computers); ergo, I do not find it to be an apt study environment, which brings me to my second point: it is a bit disappointing, but it's something that I don't see being fixed. in short, it is a disappointment only because I had hoped for it to be my home during my undergrad years.

on the bright side (irony?), it has the best chai I have ever had. the steamed milk was foamy at the top, but not so dry - it was velvety, and the spices were strong but not over the top.

and so Oppenheimer will not be my fortress, but my General Supply Store for weapons (aka chai and coffee).

I didn't know how much work there would be until I started last night. I wish I had started earlier though, because I was looking forward to hanging out with Veronica, one of my RAs, and Tom-Erik and Angelica. so far I really like people on my floor. I still need to adjust from the "just stay in your dorm and skype with people at home!" Ashley to "you're going to be here for four years, make the most of UPS, not home" Ashley.

it might take a little time, but fingers crossed that I soon get where I need to be.

“There lies a man of my heart

A fine and complete work of art…

rest in the bed of my bones

All that I want is a home."

8/30, no. 24

being one of about four students on my floor with an 8am class, the nights and mornings are rough. everyone is hanging out, being young and loud, watching movies, playing videogames, going out, bonding and visiting other dorms, all within the late hours of the night that descend into early hours of the a.m. how I want to hang out, be young and loud, watch movies, play videogames, go out, bond and visit other dorms with them, but alas I find myself being cautious and sleeping at 11pm so I won't be late to chemistry. I don't know how people do it. I think it's too early to start the year going without sleep and with a lot of coffee, though.

meh. at least there'll be stuff to do today that isn't during the night-time. I'm going to the farmer's market on 6th ave with some floormates and friends today, and then attending Lighthouse with Todd and Emily. maybe that'll compensate somewhat for my lack of a nightlife.

also, I've eaten too many s'mores poptarts...too many. but what I love about this place is that you eat what you buy (instead of eating all the secretly super unhealthy foods your mother buys) - next time I go to Safeway or Met Market, I'll opt for more greens instead.

8/29, no. 23

8/28, no. 22

classes begin tomorrow, and I feel nothing. I'm not particularly excited nor nervous, I'm just taking it in as it comes. wow that is definitely what she said. anyway, I've been trying to put a label on my feelings concerning classes, but maybe labeling it is hard because there's really nothing to label. I'm taking chemistry at eight in the morning, four days a week, and I'm a little worried about that, but the thing is, I'm the one who consciously picked, chose, and fought like hell to add that class and I didn't do it just to pick my nose. I was set on taking Art Theory as part of my scholarly and creative inquiry core, but my schedule changed a little for chemistry and thus I am taking History 129: Mao's China instead. additionally, I'm taking repeat high school courses like intro to psych and calculus. I'm feeling okay and apathetic and okay. I really like the people here with whom I see regularly: my roommate, Rachel, is very sweet and maintains her socially calm personality; my neighbors Todd the red head and Kevin the other Asian, they're great friends, resources, and online pictionary buddies, and a rare but solid friend with whom to attend church/youth group (thanks Todd!); my musically inclined floormate Angelica, with whom I partook in a small impromptu jam session on the first floor of our building, me on the piano and her on the classical guitar - a mix of Goo Goo Dolls, Chopin, Spanish/Italian interludes, and other improvisions; Hannah and her eclectic group of friends on the third floor, who I see around and visit and am visited by, all of which brighten my day; my RA Daniel, who lives in the room directly across from us, and often blasts incredibly great music (when he's not blasting the music, I am). it's so liberating to always have my door open and random music choices of mine playing very loudly for people to wander in and out, whether they're stopping by to say hi or introduce themselves or ask for food or help or any question about classes or where a certain professor's office might be, whatever the reason - the idea of an open door is so new to me, as I kept to myself and shut the door at home, a result of teenage angst.

doors, arms, mind and heart wide open - I'll learn to love it here soon enough.

8/26, no. 21

premise: as much as I loved backpacking, it's evidently not a huge part of my life (it was merely an incredibly significant three-day trip in my thousands of days in my life), and as such I do not necessarily gloat/dwell on every cherished memory of the experience all the time.

but there is one aspect in particular that was sort of neat: the vivid dreams. my leaders and my fellow backpackers attested to this; they all maintained that during every night of every camping/overnight hike of theirs, they've all had extremely vivid dreams. now I've awoken in cold sweats of fear and apparently I've laughed a few times in my sleep - but there was really nothing like this. maybe it was the heightened emotions surrounding my sleep - the fear of sitting around in the absolute dark with nothing but trees and logs and rocks and bushes to seemingly protect you, the spectacular view of the stars, so clear and close in the night-time sky, the constancy of the river, so full of life, which never slept, and waking up to fresh, cold air and drinking out of the lively river and a forest with light streaking through every small gap between all the forestry. I don't know what it is, but those dreams seemed so long, graphic, lifelike...I don't know if it's something I'll necessarily miss, but I do know that it's another interesting benefit of sorts to overnight backpacking.

8/25, no. 20

about an hour ago, I returned from one of the best experiences of my life: a three-day backpacking trip in the Olympic Mountains of Washington with ten other UPS students. we hiked up the mountain to Duckabush River, where we made our camp site - on a small clearing with a few logs and rocks, next to the river. it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen - it was like seeing Yosemite, but being able to touch and smell and taste everything, rendering the entire scene so much more believable. these fellow students are amazing and incredibly down to earth - they're from all over the map, from places like Minnesota, South Africa, Colorado, etc. I really can't write about every specific thing, as I feel it's best to save the specific aspects of beauty for my "privacy" I guess. but I'll just grammatically incorrectly ramble about random things I loved about the trip, including the completely clear sky, making the nights seem scary at first with all the trees but upon looking up at the stars (there are so many!!!!), everything seems closer and you don't feel too far away. drinking water straight up from the freezing cold crystal clear river that would always run fast with so much life. playing sardines throughout the mountain, allowing us to affirmatively dub the area the perfect sardine/hide and seek spot, undoubtedly. learning about people, their lives, their stories, and never stop realizing how beautiful they are. talking one on one with one of the seniors, Peter, and feeling a little more at home just by some solid conversation. sleeping in small tents, bundled up in warm REI sleeping bags with three others, making for some really warm atmosphere. discovering what little is needed to survive, and how organic, complete, utter bare naked nature is just the perfect introduction to a few years in a new area.

side note: this picture does not do Duckabush River Trail any justice.

8/20, no. 19

it's sort of unfortunate, really: I spent three years dreaming of a better life elsewhere, and by the time I finally get that better life at home, I've already sold my soul to the devil (metaphorically, that is; I already commit to an out-of-state school).

I hate being so conflicting - outside, I display optimism: "Puget Sound was my first choice, too!" "I love the area so much, and I'm so excited for this year!" but inside, I am cynical, and it seems as though I can only see what could be better - grammatical errors in the president's speech, flaws in organization of the orientation schedule, etc.

I have declared not only my major, but my plan: I did not come here to have fun; I merely attended this school because it was the most practical and financially efficient option, and I will use this option as a stepping stone for a better place, a better education.

I'm in the initial week of awkwardness, of meeting people, and it's a little excruciating to go through. I keep telling myself, "This, too, shall pass" but I'm not excited for the aftermath of settling in and meeting people either.

thankfully, my roommate, Rachel, isn't a huge social butterfly. she's socially calm and quieter, like me. we spend what little free time we have reading or going on the computer to finish some academic business (transcripts, etc). but she isn't antisocial, either - we both go out together for all the activities available for us. my other friend, Hannah, lives a few floors up and we spent the majority of our first day together. her roommate Madeline also seems very cool, so I'm completely satisfied with the people with whom I am associating myself so far.

8/17, no. 18

I love cheesy little similarities in life, like a date that coincides with a blog post number, or talking to a friend about something you know you talked about the year before on the date, it reminds me that some things are still organized, parallel, and/or constant despite worldly chaos.

but I am by no means organized/neat myself. my room is almost always an utter mess, my notebooks are always scattered (as are my thoughts), and there's a good chance that my future office will look similar to Jenna Lyon's J.Crew office (pictured). now this would be a good thing, a promising sign, an aesthetically smart idea for an office...had I graduated with a concentration in art history or fashion journalism. alas, I am interested in studying neuroscience (disclaimer: not for the money, as I'll probably make nothing and if I do make money, most of it will be given to my parents to constantly thank them and reimburse them for my younger years...either that or I'll donate to some charitable NPO. I highly doubt that I would ever make much money, but in the case that I shape up and end up making a decent salary, I'd donate or give it away somewhere because I would freak out if too much were in my account, out of fear of irresponsibility).

why neuroscience? as you may or may not know, I was originally interested in studying English and obtaining my Bachelor of Arts in the said subject. however, the career field is awfully limited, especially the "realistic" career field (teaching is not in any of my interests). that said, I researched other options - but to no avail.

this year, I took an advanced psychology and a higher level biology class. the units regarding neurology were extremely appealing to me, which gave me a sort of heads-up. if I could, I would major in psychology, but even that has limited/competitive career fields, plus my family would look down on that.

moreover, close friends in the present and past have dealt with or had family experience with neural injuries or disorders, many without a cure (such as Alzheimer's or schizophrenia) - I'm not the brightest of the bunch, but the stories I've been told and the pain I've seen has propelled me to do as much research as I can. if a Ph.D doesn't work out, I'll just study my brains out and attend med school and eventually hope for a research career...although I don't think I could ever handle med school.

8/15, no. 17

"everybody's gotta love someone

but i just wanna love you dear
everybody's gotta feel something

I just wanna feel you my dear
I know it's hard, I know its hard,

I know its hard to be in this position
if they stop loving you, I won't stop loving you
if they stop needing you, I'll still need you my dear"

I've made it to where I am - but, mind the cliche, and in all seriousness, I would not nor could not be where I am today if it weren't for those I've met and loved and spent time with along the way.

it's the journey that I will miss more than anything.

I want to gather around a table with my friends and look at every memory as if each active moment was a tangible piece of evidence for us to revel about. I want to say to each and every one of my close friends, "Come and see - look how far we've come." how far, and how much further we can go, the two of us or all of us or some of us - take your pick, we'll do it all, everything and nothing, just as long as we do it together.

alas, I cannot.

8/15, no. 16

How To Pack a Life In Four Days: A Tragedy

there are certain things I simply can't imagine. among these unfathomable notions include the idea of not seeing certain people for three months, not talking to these people on a regular basis, and literally living two states north. I feel like it's just going to feel like I'm at some sort of camp for a while, and I'll soon be accustomed to that camp, but it'll be long before I actually feel as though I am truly living in Tacoma. it's weird to think that the rest of my life could potentially be in Seattle, Washington - I know plenty of people who become so used to their college town and end up working and living in the same town/area. right now, I don't want that. I mean I'll be more than happy to land any sort of job, but it's just hard to imagine not coming back to those I love.

by "coming back" I don't necessarily mean coming back to San Clemente, though. soon after my youngest brother graduates high school, my parents will probably travel abroad for missionary work as a large part of their retirement. I'm sort of grateful for that - when I'm in my twenties, I won't have to be sucked in to this fishbowl. if my friends still live here (I hope not!), I'll of course gladly come to visit...but it's nice to know that I won't be landing here permanently.

my idea of "home" is being wherever I feel loved (The Head and the Heart reference!), not where my parents decided to move for a few years.