If you're unlike me and wish to not fall into awkward situations, that is. (If the previous statement does not hold true for you, by all means, do whatever you want.)
Never, ever find yourself in a compromising position five minutes before the bell rings for the end of school. Near a door that many, many people use to exit school grounds.
Or, you know, be in any compromising position, ever. Especially not in your econ class.
But I digress.
Anyway. I had a much more emotional post, but I thought that would bring a damper onto an already much-depressed blog, so I will sum it up in one sentence, "My parents think I'm rather apathetic but that's okay." There was much more detailed analysis that went into that post, but said analysis made everything too melancholy for my tastes, so you, as my wonderful reader, now have the watered down version.
Also did you know I am extremely ticklish in all but the only two places people would probably never tickle me in? I never knew that before. Just goes to show you learn new things every day.
Since we're already on random idea-jumping topics, I have decided that I am going to wear a math/science/tech-related shirt every day of the week this week. So far I've worn the varsity math shirt and the robotics shirt, and I have the shirts for the rest of the week all planned out now! I also never knew I had access to so many geeky shirts. This is amazing.
And since we are talking about geeky things, there is a math meet tomorrow! I am so excited. And I will promise that this time I will not skimp out on the descriptions and I will try to actually talk about what happened, instead of simply going over vague things. Although math meets aren't as generalizing-hilarious now that both Mario and Irving aren't here anymore.
No more "Irving, BATHROOM?" jokes. Such a pity.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Why X? Part II
To continue on from the previous list, with the disclaimer, once again, that this is merely a parody and not to be taken too seriously:
But my reason for choosing Cornell rests on one simple fact: when I visited the electrical engineering labs, I saw xkcd on one of the doors. Now I know that xkcd is probably the most over-quoted webcomic for any engineering department, but to actually see it on a door? Wow. (We will ignore the fact that the only other engineering buildings I have seen are Princeton's and Penn's, and I have not entered any of these buildings.)
The two-story white library with the teahouse by the side was also nice. I mean, there is only one college library in the entire world that looks like the library in Harry Potter, right? Right? What other school could have possibly come up with such an original idea? Impossible! I also really liked the green armchairs. Except I didn't like their color. Oh, wait, that's one of the official colors of Dartmouth. Never mind, I really liked the green armchairs.
Aside from that I must regrettably say that I have not been on campus, not even once. And that I know relatively little about Duke. As in, I know it is called Duke, and it has a tower, and it offers limited financial assistance to international students, but that is all. I don't even know how many tulips are on campus, although I should know, because that is the other (non-blown-up) picture of campus I have from the brochures and after staring at that for over five times I should probably just start counting the flowers.
I also love the sheer size of McGill. With over 25,000 undergrads to make you feel your significance. And 8,000 grads. Although honestly that is nothing compared to University of Toronto, which has over 55,000 undergrads and 13,000 grads. Now that is huge.
Why Cornell?Despite many, many failed attempts, I have finally managed to visit your campus (although I did, unfortunately, miss the tour). And I must say, Cornell must have my favorite campus by far. What is not to love about a campus that looks like it copied from architectural styles from all over the continent and dumped them all into one plot of land? Especially when you have Victorian-Gothic (please spare me the Harry Potter references), Neo-Classical, and sheets-of-glass-glued-together-modern all within walking distance.
But my reason for choosing Cornell rests on one simple fact: when I visited the electrical engineering labs, I saw xkcd on one of the doors. Now I know that xkcd is probably the most over-quoted webcomic for any engineering department, but to actually see it on a door? Wow. (We will ignore the fact that the only other engineering buildings I have seen are Princeton's and Penn's, and I have not entered any of these buildings.)
Why Dartmouth?I have to say, when I first visited the campus I was instantly drawn in by the Green. Or more like I thought, "This grass is kept in pretty good shape considering it's probably covered under snow for half the year." My lawn, in comparison, looks exactly the same except it receives much less snow (and probably more sunlight). I love grass. Grass is so good for rolling around in and getting bugs in your hair to freak out your mother.
The two-story white library with the teahouse by the side was also nice. I mean, there is only one college library in the entire world that looks like the library in Harry Potter, right? Right? What other school could have possibly come up with such an original idea? Impossible! I also really liked the green armchairs. Except I didn't like their color. Oh, wait, that's one of the official colors of Dartmouth. Never mind, I really liked the green armchairs.
Why Duke?I love all the brochures Duke sends me, especially those with that one picture of the tower during sunrise or sunset or whatever it is. Since I don't really have any other blown-up pictures of campus I will assume that the rest of the campus is just as magnificent, because Duke doesn't have anything to hide, right? They just thought I would enjoy staring at the tower five or ten times, right?
Aside from that I must regrettably say that I have not been on campus, not even once. And that I know relatively little about Duke. As in, I know it is called Duke, and it has a tower, and it offers limited financial assistance to international students, but that is all. I don't even know how many tulips are on campus, although I should know, because that is the other (non-blown-up) picture of campus I have from the brochures and after staring at that for over five times I should probably just start counting the flowers.
Why Harvard?I am not applying to Harvard, nor does Harvard require a "Why Harvard?" essay, so this is not necessary. I am putting it in here solely because otherwise I would be jumping directly to M and I felt the gap was too wide.
Why McGill?I have previously mentioned that there is a cute red-head at McGill who is also extremely nice and helpful, but Yuma might not appreciate that as a reason for why I want to go to McGill. So instead I will talk about the over-ten-stories tall buildings on campus that are not dorms but, well, instructional buildings. Nothing like a skyscraper-like chem building to make me feel like I'm in the city. Especially when four or five firetrucks pull up right underneath it, sirens all blaring.
I also love the sheer size of McGill. With over 25,000 undergrads to make you feel your significance. And 8,000 grads. Although honestly that is nothing compared to University of Toronto, which has over 55,000 undergrads and 13,000 grads. Now that is huge.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Something To Muse Over
As if I don't do enough of that these days. I checked my "thoughts" tab and I have 17 of those pesky things. Talking about various things that quite honestly just repeat themselves over and over again. I have no more original thoughts, just trite sayings repackaged in shiny word wrapping.
I would be sure I am boring people, but I only have five people who read my blog, so there is not much of a problem there. And I missed the disjointed way of expressing my thoughts, because it was so easy to digress forgivingly and hide my thoughts behind beautified words and phrases.
. . .
Stella first transferred to our school in grade nine, and our first impression of her was "bookworm and computer geek." She was the girl who read in all of her classes, going through a book every three days.
I was the girl who read while walking down the halls, narrowly avoiding trees and lamp posts and the tangy metal lockers painted brown-green-blue. Who volunteered at the school library in part so she could get new books before everyone else saw them.
Maybe we were destined to be friends.
Or maybe we were only friends because we sat next to each other in BTT, and I was the only girl in the class aside from her who knew how to code a website.
On the bus ride to Niagara Falls she, horrendously bus-sick, slept on my shoulder, and I wondered, what happened to Nora? Since when had I stopped sharing everything with Nora and hung out with Stella instead? Nora, who was as close to a best friend as I had ever had. Stella, who I now walked home with for lunch every single day.
The week we got back the principal's office called for Nora. She went and did not come back for the day. Later on she told me the principal accused her of changing her (and a lot of other people's) grades in our science teacher's grade-book.
"Do they think that, even if I did change it, I would be so stupid as to give myself a really high grade?"
That was what she said. She thought another friend of hers was responsible.
But I remembered doubting her, even though I would have trusted her just a year ago. And I wondered how that had happened. How I had come to realize she was not all that innocent.
. . .
The first time I went back I met up with Clover and JJ. We watched movies at Clover's house and played some Wii game. Then we walked through the dark roads near Finch and Vic Park to JJ's house. Her parents were still awake, anxious, because she had called nearly an hour ago and forgot to call later.
As for my parents, well, they had no idea I was walking outside at midnight.
There are a lot of things my parents did not know about me. A lot more things they still do not know about me. Late-night excursions outside was only one of them.
But for some reason nearly all of these things involve night-time.
I may have a too-deep love for the night. It is, after all, where my dreams flourish. Entangled. Silvery-black. I have written about dreams, and written about night, and I must have written about hiding things from my parents.
So when we stayed up until three in the morning, watching silly dramas that made no sense and trying hard not to sleep, I should not have felt odd. Not at all.
Not nostalgia. I do not know what that means anymore.
. . .
I can feel it in my throat, first. A tingling feeling that trickles down to my stomach. I refuse to believe it is my heart. It strikes when I am at my house, or else when I am with a friend, or else when I am at a party. It is perhaps envy, I think, but that cannot be so when I am alone. It should not be nostalgia, as I am wont to believe, because how can you be nostalgic in your own home?
House, I mean. How can you be nostalgic in your own house?
But the tingling, breath-taking feeling lingers. It starts to hurt to breathe. I am longing for something, I realize. Desperately longing for something that is not quite there. I am reminded of it alone, or else with friends, or else with strangers. It is there when I laugh. It is there when I cry.
Undefinable. Yet ever present.
I think I want something tangible, because I am too materialistic to want something intangible. I want something I can touch, something I can hold. Something that does not ring in my ears as laughter does. Something that smells sweeter than the crumpled shirt by my bed.
I want it so badly I cannot breathe. I can only want. I let it fall down my throat, and when it passes I am normal again, only left with a faint maybe I should.
Maybe I should. But what is it that I should?
I call it nostalgia, even though it cannot be nostalgia, because how can you be nostalgic when you are still in your own house?
Such a ridiculous notion.
. . .
I still talk to Stella sometimes. She is the same. Bookworm. Computer geek. School-hater. A little bit paranoid. Very much so adorably hilarious. I think that is why we all loved her.
She took onto me because I was slightly more computer-literate than everyone else. Not by much. And because I put up with her rants. In return I learned about the precarious situation I was placing my computers into (the ever-present and ever-imminent bot-net threat), why I should play whatever game it was that she was interested in at the time, and someone to walk home with for lunch.
Where she would complain about vegetables.
And we would both agree that we liked potatoes.
She is the first person I talk to when I am going through my list of Canadian friends. And the one who always responds.
But I have not seen her in years.
I always think I am about to lose her. So close. One of these days she will just be a name, and I will stare at it and never muster up the courage to talk to her again. One of these days I will forget the Toronto skyline, forget the summer bright nights and the TTC through Vic Park-Finch-Don Mills. Where Fairview is. The newly renovated Fairview, all huge and glamorous and confusing.
The feeling in my throat is back again.
I would be sure I am boring people, but I only have five people who read my blog, so there is not much of a problem there. And I missed the disjointed way of expressing my thoughts, because it was so easy to digress forgivingly and hide my thoughts behind beautified words and phrases.
. . .
Stella first transferred to our school in grade nine, and our first impression of her was "bookworm and computer geek." She was the girl who read in all of her classes, going through a book every three days.
I was the girl who read while walking down the halls, narrowly avoiding trees and lamp posts and the tangy metal lockers painted brown-green-blue. Who volunteered at the school library in part so she could get new books before everyone else saw them.
Maybe we were destined to be friends.
Or maybe we were only friends because we sat next to each other in BTT, and I was the only girl in the class aside from her who knew how to code a website.
On the bus ride to Niagara Falls she, horrendously bus-sick, slept on my shoulder, and I wondered, what happened to Nora? Since when had I stopped sharing everything with Nora and hung out with Stella instead? Nora, who was as close to a best friend as I had ever had. Stella, who I now walked home with for lunch every single day.
The week we got back the principal's office called for Nora. She went and did not come back for the day. Later on she told me the principal accused her of changing her (and a lot of other people's) grades in our science teacher's grade-book.
"Do they think that, even if I did change it, I would be so stupid as to give myself a really high grade?"
That was what she said. She thought another friend of hers was responsible.
But I remembered doubting her, even though I would have trusted her just a year ago. And I wondered how that had happened. How I had come to realize she was not all that innocent.
. . .
The first time I went back I met up with Clover and JJ. We watched movies at Clover's house and played some Wii game. Then we walked through the dark roads near Finch and Vic Park to JJ's house. Her parents were still awake, anxious, because she had called nearly an hour ago and forgot to call later.
As for my parents, well, they had no idea I was walking outside at midnight.
There are a lot of things my parents did not know about me. A lot more things they still do not know about me. Late-night excursions outside was only one of them.
But for some reason nearly all of these things involve night-time.
I may have a too-deep love for the night. It is, after all, where my dreams flourish. Entangled. Silvery-black. I have written about dreams, and written about night, and I must have written about hiding things from my parents.
So when we stayed up until three in the morning, watching silly dramas that made no sense and trying hard not to sleep, I should not have felt odd. Not at all.
Not nostalgia. I do not know what that means anymore.
. . .
I can feel it in my throat, first. A tingling feeling that trickles down to my stomach. I refuse to believe it is my heart. It strikes when I am at my house, or else when I am with a friend, or else when I am at a party. It is perhaps envy, I think, but that cannot be so when I am alone. It should not be nostalgia, as I am wont to believe, because how can you be nostalgic in your own home?
House, I mean. How can you be nostalgic in your own house?
But the tingling, breath-taking feeling lingers. It starts to hurt to breathe. I am longing for something, I realize. Desperately longing for something that is not quite there. I am reminded of it alone, or else with friends, or else with strangers. It is there when I laugh. It is there when I cry.
Undefinable. Yet ever present.
I think I want something tangible, because I am too materialistic to want something intangible. I want something I can touch, something I can hold. Something that does not ring in my ears as laughter does. Something that smells sweeter than the crumpled shirt by my bed.
I want it so badly I cannot breathe. I can only want. I let it fall down my throat, and when it passes I am normal again, only left with a faint maybe I should.
Maybe I should. But what is it that I should?
I call it nostalgia, even though it cannot be nostalgia, because how can you be nostalgic when you are still in your own house?
Such a ridiculous notion.
. . .
I still talk to Stella sometimes. She is the same. Bookworm. Computer geek. School-hater. A little bit paranoid. Very much so adorably hilarious. I think that is why we all loved her.
She took onto me because I was slightly more computer-literate than everyone else. Not by much. And because I put up with her rants. In return I learned about the precarious situation I was placing my computers into (the ever-present and ever-imminent bot-net threat), why I should play whatever game it was that she was interested in at the time, and someone to walk home with for lunch.
Where she would complain about vegetables.
And we would both agree that we liked potatoes.
She is the first person I talk to when I am going through my list of Canadian friends. And the one who always responds.
But I have not seen her in years.
I always think I am about to lose her. So close. One of these days she will just be a name, and I will stare at it and never muster up the courage to talk to her again. One of these days I will forget the Toronto skyline, forget the summer bright nights and the TTC through Vic Park-Finch-Don Mills. Where Fairview is. The newly renovated Fairview, all huge and glamorous and confusing.
The feeling in my throat is back again.
Friday, November 26, 2010
How Far I've Gone—And How Far I Still Have To Go
There is no way the title will fit into the small amount of space the link allows. I am being verbose, as usual. And there is a certain satisfaction to that—to just typing, or saying, words without thinking about their meanings. I have been doing that a lot, muttering phrases over and over again not particularly because I believe in them, but because I like the way they sound in my mouth, the rhythm, the comforting fact that I am saying something and the sound is resonating in my ears.
For someone who is completely musically challenged, I do have such a fondness for rhythms, beats, and rhymes.
Something about today reminded me of Dray. I forgot why—and I don't think it has to matter. I just remembered the roller-coaster ride he pushed me into. I don't remember how many times I had said "I'm sorry" even though I knew deep down it was not my fault. All I had wanted was to be able to talk to someone about things I was afraid to say to anyone else, and what better person than someone who seemed to understand and yet would never assign these thoughts to a physical being?
If I had to apologize to get him to stay, then I would. I had thought I would. Do whatever it took.
But I am such a selfish person. I want to think that I can sacrifice everything for someone else, but that is not true. And it was just as well. He was not really worth my effort, and two years later, I had stopped constantly searching for his presence.
I am mentioning this now because I think I am tumbling into a similar kaleidoscopic frenzy. This time with someone who is much, much nicer—and sometimes, honestly, I wonder what he sees in me. What am I really like to the outside world? Am I presenting an over-idealized version of myself by hiding my cynical (thank you, Cynthia, for introducing me to the word) side with my smiles?
I don't ever want to let go.
I am afraid, plain and simple. I am afraid that if I let go, I will never be able to hold on again. I am holding his hand and I think to myself, "This is it. This is all I ever want." I am walking down the hall and I wonder if I would be willing to freeze time and preserve this moment for eternity, because I am afraid that if I stumble on, I will somehow through my clumsiness break that delicate bond we share. And I am very, very clumsy. Much too so.
But when you step over the limit, momentum will bring you onward even if you don't consciously forge ahead anymore. And I can't stop myself. I am falling. I don't know how long I can hold on now (not to mention I have almost nonexistent arm muscles). I don't know how long my eternity will last.
Here is where I freeze. I know all the words. Live in the moment. Loved and lost is better than never having loved at all. But the words are failing me. I am hearing them, somehow here, somehow there, and they do not make sense anymore. They are mere sounds in the background. Rhythms, beats, and rhymes.
I am tired now. Tired but oh so happy. So I want to go on, because I am afraid of lingering behind and eventually being forgotten. I want to go on, wherever this may take me.
Do I have what it takes?
Does it even matter?
Especially because of all things, I should not be afraid of the prospect of a broken heart anymore. Not me, not anymore. Not here, not now, not ever.
Because I still have so much more to go.
For someone who is completely musically challenged, I do have such a fondness for rhythms, beats, and rhymes.
Something about today reminded me of Dray. I forgot why—and I don't think it has to matter. I just remembered the roller-coaster ride he pushed me into. I don't remember how many times I had said "I'm sorry" even though I knew deep down it was not my fault. All I had wanted was to be able to talk to someone about things I was afraid to say to anyone else, and what better person than someone who seemed to understand and yet would never assign these thoughts to a physical being?
If I had to apologize to get him to stay, then I would. I had thought I would. Do whatever it took.
But I am such a selfish person. I want to think that I can sacrifice everything for someone else, but that is not true. And it was just as well. He was not really worth my effort, and two years later, I had stopped constantly searching for his presence.
I am mentioning this now because I think I am tumbling into a similar kaleidoscopic frenzy. This time with someone who is much, much nicer—and sometimes, honestly, I wonder what he sees in me. What am I really like to the outside world? Am I presenting an over-idealized version of myself by hiding my cynical (thank you, Cynthia, for introducing me to the word) side with my smiles?
I don't ever want to let go.
I am afraid, plain and simple. I am afraid that if I let go, I will never be able to hold on again. I am holding his hand and I think to myself, "This is it. This is all I ever want." I am walking down the hall and I wonder if I would be willing to freeze time and preserve this moment for eternity, because I am afraid that if I stumble on, I will somehow through my clumsiness break that delicate bond we share. And I am very, very clumsy. Much too so.
But when you step over the limit, momentum will bring you onward even if you don't consciously forge ahead anymore. And I can't stop myself. I am falling. I don't know how long I can hold on now (not to mention I have almost nonexistent arm muscles). I don't know how long my eternity will last.
Here is where I freeze. I know all the words. Live in the moment. Loved and lost is better than never having loved at all. But the words are failing me. I am hearing them, somehow here, somehow there, and they do not make sense anymore. They are mere sounds in the background. Rhythms, beats, and rhymes.
I am tired now. Tired but oh so happy. So I want to go on, because I am afraid of lingering behind and eventually being forgotten. I want to go on, wherever this may take me.
Do I have what it takes?
Does it even matter?
Especially because of all things, I should not be afraid of the prospect of a broken heart anymore. Not me, not anymore. Not here, not now, not ever.
Because I still have so much more to go.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Happy Thanksgiving
I am thankful for a lot of things I don't really say out loud. Like I am thankful for the fact that I lost my blue and green pen. And I am thankful for my lack of balance when performing simple tasks such as walking in a straight line.
Oh, wait. I'm supposed to be thankful for good things, right?
Well. I am thankful for all of my wonderful friends (and ex-friends made not-current friends solely due to the lack of ease of communicating back in a pre-Internet era). I am thankful for my parents and their awesome sense of humor (even if I don't understand it half the times because they are very heavy on Chinese proverbs/idioms/folk lores/whatever else). I am thankful for Yuma for killing my sleep monsters (they have, unfortunately, been revived as of late).
I am also thankful for the delicious lemon meringue mini pie I helped to make yesterday. And by help I mean "force mini pie crusts into cupcake pan." It was good. Even though I don't really like lemon filling, or meringue.
I am thankful for my wonderfully hard bed because it is really huge and can fit two people on it even though there is only one of me. (I am also thankful that my window is really, reallylow large, but that is another story.)
And I am thankful that I will be getting a new laptop soon. Sony. Hopefully bright blue.
Oh, wait. I'm supposed to be thankful for good things, right?
Well. I am thankful for all of my wonderful friends (and ex-friends made not-current friends solely due to the lack of ease of communicating back in a pre-Internet era). I am thankful for my parents and their awesome sense of humor (even if I don't understand it half the times because they are very heavy on Chinese proverbs/idioms/folk lores/whatever else). I am thankful for Yuma for killing my sleep monsters (they have, unfortunately, been revived as of late).
I am also thankful for the delicious lemon meringue mini pie I helped to make yesterday. And by help I mean "force mini pie crusts into cupcake pan." It was good. Even though I don't really like lemon filling, or meringue.
I am thankful for my wonderfully hard bed because it is really huge and can fit two people on it even though there is only one of me. (I am also thankful that my window is really, really
And I am thankful that I will be getting a new laptop soon. Sony. Hopefully bright blue.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Why X? Part I
From my personal experience, colleges like to ask, "Why -insert relevant school name here-?" Supposedly to weed out the students who have absolutely no idea why they want to go to a certain school and just picked it arbitrarily.
Well, I'm sorry to say this, but I am such a student. I mean, yes, I know why, say, I want to go to Penn or MIT, but why Williams? Why Dartmouth? Why University of Narnia?
(Okay, I would attend the University of Narnia for obvious reasons. But I digress.)
Anyway, I thought I might answer this question for a few schools that come to mind. To, well, get my brain flowing and to get these thoughts out of the way. (Disclaimer: None of these are exactly true. They are merely exaggerations and parodies.)
Don't get me wrong, I am all for views—I am a budding artist, you see, but I am a bit nearsighted. If I painted things that were close enough for clarity for most people but not close enough for me, my paintings would be all blurry and people would think I am an Impressionist, which I am not and never will be. But if it is far away enough, then everyone sees the view blurred and my poor eyesight is only a private matter between you, me, and the rest of the blogosphere.
I also absolutely adore (note the alliteration?) Brown's brick red walls that scream, "Hey, look, we want you to drown in this color that is the worst for your eyes!" Because I wear glasses and feel rather self-conscious about it, and would prefer it if everyone else could wear glasses along with me (although I suppose contacts would defy the point).
Aside from that, Chicago also has the most unique essay questions ever, which must be a representation of how unique the school is as a whole. And Chicago does not have an engineering school, so I can successfully crush my parents' dreams that I will become a second-generation engineer by attending this school and pursuing a major in caffeine studies instead.
The fact that if you walk for five minutes you will reach the other end of the campus is also a good thing. When I have hit the snooze button for the twentieth time in the morning and realize that I only have ten minutes to get to class, I would rather be able to spend five minutes putting on my make-up and five minutes dashing to class instead of all ten minutes dashing to class. It's always good to be prepared and look your best, right?
Well, I'm sorry to say this, but I am such a student. I mean, yes, I know why, say, I want to go to Penn or MIT, but why Williams? Why Dartmouth? Why University of Narnia?
(Okay, I would attend the University of Narnia for obvious reasons. But I digress.)
Anyway, I thought I might answer this question for a few schools that come to mind. To, well, get my brain flowing and to get these thoughts out of the way. (Disclaimer: None of these are exactly true. They are merely exaggerations and parodies.)
Why Amherst?From the moment I heard about your "thousand acre view"—and yes, it is a "thousand acre view," not a "thousand acre playground for all to use"—I have realized that Amherst is the perfect school for me. What other school could possibly provide me with a small campus and a view that I will most likely never experience up-front?
Don't get me wrong, I am all for views—I am a budding artist, you see, but I am a bit nearsighted. If I painted things that were close enough for clarity for most people but not close enough for me, my paintings would be all blurry and people would think I am an Impressionist, which I am not and never will be. But if it is far away enough, then everyone sees the view blurred and my poor eyesight is only a private matter between you, me, and the rest of the blogosphere.
Why Brown?I love Brown's idea that as eighteen and nineteen year olds, we can be responsible enough to choose our own futures. I mean, it's not like we're the bunch of kids who routinely binge-drink and throw up for fun, right? I love this sense of trust placed into me. I am all for trust. Trust is good because then no one ever suspects me when something bad happens.
I also absolutely adore (note the alliteration?) Brown's brick red walls that scream, "Hey, look, we want you to drown in this color that is the worst for your eyes!" Because I wear glasses and feel rather self-conscious about it, and would prefer it if everyone else could wear glasses along with me (although I suppose contacts would defy the point).
Why Chicago?Chicago has got to be the most unique school ever. It has coffee shops on campus! I cannot survive without my daily coffee in the morning. There is this annoying guy who always tries to harass me in the mornings but when he sees coffee in my hand he somehow thinks that I will dump it on him (which I could, but I am not that mean) and therefore runs away. So coffee is vital, and I am glad there will be plenty available on campus.
Aside from that, Chicago also has the most unique essay questions ever, which must be a representation of how unique the school is as a whole. And Chicago does not have an engineering school, so I can successfully crush my parents' dreams that I will become a second-generation engineer by attending this school and pursuing a major in caffeine studies instead.
Why Columbia?I love Columbia's miniature campus! Mini-things are all the rage these days, and the fact that Columbia's campus is so small will be such a hit! When I go to parties and people start bragging about their small campuses, I will only have to say, "I go to Columbia," and everyone will hush in awe and jealousy.
The fact that if you walk for five minutes you will reach the other end of the campus is also a good thing. When I have hit the snooze button for the twentieth time in the morning and realize that I only have ten minutes to get to class, I would rather be able to spend five minutes putting on my make-up and five minutes dashing to class instead of all ten minutes dashing to class. It's always good to be prepared and look your best, right?
Friday, November 19, 2010
Hi, My Name Is Awkwardsauce
My new favorite sound is "uuuuuggghhhhhhhhh." I like to say it until I run out of air and all that's left is a clicky sound that escapes from my throat (before I turn blue and gasp for oxygen).
But first things first. In English today, we were reading the next part of Hamlet, when we came upon this line by Hamlet, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." After much analysis, Mr. Littney said, "When you guys go off to college, you'll meet these kids who have never been outside their home state before, and you can say to them, 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,' and they will hate you even more."
I don't know how he says these things with a straight face.
Also, the movie makes the ghost's appearance so weird, awkward, and freaky all at the same time. And the blood oozing out of the king's ear? I'm beginning to think this is an R-rated movie.
Oh, and, Cammie had fabulous purple shoes today. I love all of her shoes, although I have to admit I loved the sequined one better. It made the floor sparkle.
I would like to expand further on the title of this post, but that would involve revealing secrets I am probably not at liberty to say, so just trust me on this one. I am extremely awkward. And did I mention I am awful at maintaining my balance? Absolutely awful.
But I am pretty good at alliterations.
That is good.
I also now have a functional scanner, so I am able to scan in my art and possibly post them on here, instead of relying on my utexas-trained mouse-drawing skills. I mean, you can only get so far if your main objects of practice are free-body diagrams.
So maybe you'll get to see picture-logs of stuff that happens in my day soon. Maybe. Maaaybe.
But first things first. In English today, we were reading the next part of Hamlet, when we came upon this line by Hamlet, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." After much analysis, Mr. Littney said, "When you guys go off to college, you'll meet these kids who have never been outside their home state before, and you can say to them, 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,' and they will hate you even more."
I don't know how he says these things with a straight face.
Also, the movie makes the ghost's appearance so weird, awkward, and freaky all at the same time. And the blood oozing out of the king's ear? I'm beginning to think this is an R-rated movie.
Oh, and, Cammie had fabulous purple shoes today. I love all of her shoes, although I have to admit I loved the sequined one better. It made the floor sparkle.
I would like to expand further on the title of this post, but that would involve revealing secrets I am probably not at liberty to say, so just trust me on this one. I am extremely awkward. And did I mention I am awful at maintaining my balance? Absolutely awful.
But I am pretty good at alliterations.
That is good.
I also now have a functional scanner, so I am able to scan in my art and possibly post them on here, instead of relying on my utexas-trained mouse-drawing skills. I mean, you can only get so far if your main objects of practice are free-body diagrams.
So maybe you'll get to see picture-logs of stuff that happens in my day soon. Maybe. Maaaybe.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Obviously, It's The Mustache
This is why Ophelia loves Hamlet so much, even though she knows Hamlet, as the prince of Denmark, will most likely marry one of his cousins instead of a "commoner" like her (she can be an aristocrat to some extent, though, as her father serves the King).
Because Hamlet has such a hot mustache.
At least that was the reason Mr. Littney gave us, as we were watching our version of Hamlet today (it's apparently the best DVD version that adheres to the text, although I am not sure which version it is except that the guy who plays Hamlet also plays Iago in the version of Othello that I watched last year).
I have to say, the whole premise of Hamlet requires a lot of willingness to accept otherwise rather ridiculous events. It does make the play rather humorous, and maybe Shakespeare was aiming for that, but honestly I would never believe it if someone told me, "Hey, that ghost won't talk to me, but he'll probably talk to the other guy."
Also, I saw way too many sex scenes from the movie for my comfort. Way too many.
I still love my English class. We had bagels yesterday, thanks to the wonderful efforts of Tabby and someone else (I forgot who). Food is always good, especially in the mornings, and especially bagels.
Plus, talking about whether Gertrude is an idiot or a whore is always fascinating (I think that she would have had no choice in the matter of her marriage, especially if she wanted to stay alive, although it can be argued that if she hated her situation she could have gotten Hamlet to just kill the king, so I don't know).
I would love to talk about my English class all day, but I did promise I will be productive, so I shall have to go back to work.
Because Hamlet has such a hot mustache.
At least that was the reason Mr. Littney gave us, as we were watching our version of Hamlet today (it's apparently the best DVD version that adheres to the text, although I am not sure which version it is except that the guy who plays Hamlet also plays Iago in the version of Othello that I watched last year).
I have to say, the whole premise of Hamlet requires a lot of willingness to accept otherwise rather ridiculous events. It does make the play rather humorous, and maybe Shakespeare was aiming for that, but honestly I would never believe it if someone told me, "Hey, that ghost won't talk to me, but he'll probably talk to the other guy."
Also, I saw way too many sex scenes from the movie for my comfort. Way too many.
I still love my English class. We had bagels yesterday, thanks to the wonderful efforts of Tabby and someone else (I forgot who). Food is always good, especially in the mornings, and especially bagels.
Plus, talking about whether Gertrude is an idiot or a whore is always fascinating (I think that she would have had no choice in the matter of her marriage, especially if she wanted to stay alive, although it can be argued that if she hated her situation she could have gotten Hamlet to just kill the king, so I don't know).
I would love to talk about my English class all day, but I did promise I will be productive, so I shall have to go back to work.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Interviews, Take Three
Okay, fine. Take two was my Penn interview, in which my interviewer said, "I have to write a paragraph or two about you to give to the school, so what do you want to talk about that you haven't mentioned in your application?"
Quite literally.
It's almost as bad as McGill's major scholarship's essay prompt #3, namely, "Write a letter of recommendation about yourself in 3rd person."
Ginny is a good student. Ginny does not like talking in 3rd person. Ginny thinks this is enough fooling around.
So onwards to take three, my MIT interview. Courtesy of MIT's "please contact your interviewer before Dec. 10th if you are applying regular decision," or something along those lines, I had a nice surprise when my interviewer contacted me in mid-October.
But anyway. We met at Starbucks, and luckily it was not as awkward as Ariadne had described it, namely because there was this group next to us who was talking animatedly and thus did not really notice us. We talked while my interviewer took notes, and then I waited while he took multiple phone calls (one in some language that I was pretty sure was not English, and two from his daughter who I think was close to missing some sort of deadline for applying to med school and was panicking—also, Gretchen, you should've gotten my interviewer, you could've talked so much more about med school and stuff).
All good stuff. I mean, what could go wrong during an interview? (Cue lots of little kids running up and down the cupcake display, screaming in delight every 20 seconds. Yes, this really happened.)
I had also asked Yuma to meet me at Starbucks (some time after my interview), so when I was done I looked around for him, but he wasn't there yet. So I went downstairs, bought a cup of hot chocolate, and went upstairs again to see if I had somehow not seen him.
Now imagine interviewer guy staring at me oddly. And me awkwardly going downstairs again, where, thank goodness, I found Yuma coming up the stairs (apparently he had gotten lost while biking down some street I have never even heard of before).
Later on, we (mostly Yuma) discovered that another guy was up there being interviewed. By my (well, I guess he's not mine anymore) interviewer. What fun.
To make up for the week of weird (I use the term loosely) interviewing, Yuma and I sat outside Starbucks for an hour actively confusing Brian, who was asking for senior write-up help. Which, by the way, I have decided I am not going to write. But I do need to order the yearbook soon.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Fires and Gas Leaks
I am not sure which one it is (if it is any one of them), although I am leaning towards the latter. Mainly because nothing smelled burnt (I know the smell would also be there with the gas leak, but I am overlooking that part). Gretchen fretted over her notes for nothing, which, in the long run, is good because her notes are safe (for now).
But it was a small waste of a free-lunch-hour. Not that I did anything really productive anyway. I spent most of first lunch talking with Clay about Candide and museums, and then Yuma came along and we started to put up posters for the shoe collection NHS is hosting. But it was nearly second lunch by now, and since we were hungry, we just went down one hallway that was conveniently on the way to lunch and stapled posters on any bulletin board we could find, including the one in the music corner (also, thanks to Clay's height, we managed to staple a poster on the board above the doors when you're walking from the art wing to the music area).
We spent around fifteen minutes eating during second lunch (and also congregating with Tea, Gretchen, Dora, and Brunhilda) when the fire alarm went off. I was just done with my lunch (my lunch-eating speed has increased dramatically over the years, and I think it also applies to any-food-eating-speed as long as the food isn't too cold or hot), but unfortunately, I did not have my jacket with me, so it was a very cold wait outside. Offset slightly by the warmth Tea provided (that Bruney was not willing to take part in).
Five minutes into third lunch, we were allowed back in. Everyone else went back to their classes, and Yuma and I stayed behind for Clay to finish his lunch. Then, we circled another hallway and stapled some more posters along the way to the English/SS learning center.Completely out of convenience because there were lots of bulletin boards in that particular hallway.
The rest of the time was spent (for me, at least) reading some of the 40+ new updates from my 100+ blog subscriptions. And printing out an article for Middle East, which I should be reading and infecting with marginalia now, instead of typing this.
(P.S.: Before I go, I'd like to take this opportunity to announce that I have painted my nails three different colors, instead of two. I really like the shiny silver. Also, as I was walking down the hall to get my jacket, the girl who sits to the side behind Yuma in English—I don't know her name—told Clay that she never realized he was that tall, since she usually sees him sitting down in class. And Joss said he will probably go to the next Science Bowl meeting, since he won't have rowing anymore.)
But it was a small waste of a free-lunch-hour. Not that I did anything really productive anyway. I spent most of first lunch talking with Clay about Candide and museums, and then Yuma came along and we started to put up posters for the shoe collection NHS is hosting. But it was nearly second lunch by now, and since we were hungry, we just went down one hallway that was conveniently on the way to lunch and stapled posters on any bulletin board we could find, including the one in the music corner (also, thanks to Clay's height, we managed to staple a poster on the board above the doors when you're walking from the art wing to the music area).
We spent around fifteen minutes eating during second lunch (and also congregating with Tea, Gretchen, Dora, and Brunhilda) when the fire alarm went off. I was just done with my lunch (my lunch-eating speed has increased dramatically over the years, and I think it also applies to any-food-eating-speed as long as the food isn't too cold or hot), but unfortunately, I did not have my jacket with me, so it was a very cold wait outside. Offset slightly by the warmth Tea provided (that Bruney was not willing to take part in).
Five minutes into third lunch, we were allowed back in. Everyone else went back to their classes, and Yuma and I stayed behind for Clay to finish his lunch. Then, we circled another hallway and stapled some more posters along the way to the English/SS learning center.
The rest of the time was spent (for me, at least) reading some of the 40+ new updates from my 100+ blog subscriptions. And printing out an article for Middle East, which I should be reading and infecting with marginalia now, instead of typing this.
(P.S.: Before I go, I'd like to take this opportunity to announce that I have painted my nails three different colors, instead of two. I really like the shiny silver. Also, as I was walking down the hall to get my jacket, the girl who sits to the side behind Yuma in English—I don't know her name—told Clay that she never realized he was that tall, since she usually sees him sitting down in class. And Joss said he will probably go to the next Science Bowl meeting, since he won't have rowing anymore.)
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Interviews, Take One
It went well, suffice to say. I wish to say no more on the topic anyway.
Instead I will talk about my day, prior to 3pm. In multi this morning, Tea brought some problems from the previous Math Prize contest (oh, I don't think I've mentioned this before, but this Saturday Tea and I are going to participate in this really neat-sounding contest—that is, if we don't get lost on the subway first). The ones that Tea had not already solved were hard. I should probably do some practice problems, but I need to squeeze in the time first.
Some time later (this time warp features a momentum physics lab, a really productive bio period, and a lunch consisting of pumpkin pie and pad thai), I was stuck in French, encore. I tried to focus, really, but it was just not going in. But I did catch part of the ending to "La Belle et le Bête," before the really dramatic part was cut off by the bell. Such is life.
I also spilled silver nail polish on my quarter-grades-release-form. Apparently that means I should apply to "make-up school," if there even is such a school. I think it would just be a class under some broad major such as theater production or something (note my ambiguity: I know nothing about this subject at all). I have to admit, Clay does not make the best of jokes, although it's cute in its own way.
On the bus ride home, a group of guys were trying to get this guy who I shall now arbitrarily name Kirk (the go-to name for guys I will never again mention) to do something with a poster. Their exact words involved "freshman" and "gift," and Kirk was (I think quite rightfully) suspicious.
The guys said everything was fine, and Kirk replied, "No way. I can sense a prank when I see one, and that's definitely a prank."
So the guys unwrapped the poster, and apparently it was perfectly fine (I didn't see, I sat in front of them).
Still. Doesn't this just scream, "Hey, there's something wrong here!"
I really should learn how to drive soon, and escape all of this craziness.
Instead I will talk about my day, prior to 3pm. In multi this morning, Tea brought some problems from the previous Math Prize contest (oh, I don't think I've mentioned this before, but this Saturday Tea and I are going to participate in this really neat-sounding contest—that is, if we don't get lost on the subway first). The ones that Tea had not already solved were hard. I should probably do some practice problems, but I need to squeeze in the time first.
Some time later (this time warp features a momentum physics lab, a really productive bio period, and a lunch consisting of pumpkin pie and pad thai), I was stuck in French, encore. I tried to focus, really, but it was just not going in. But I did catch part of the ending to "La Belle et le Bête," before the really dramatic part was cut off by the bell. Such is life.
I also spilled silver nail polish on my quarter-grades-release-form. Apparently that means I should apply to "make-up school," if there even is such a school. I think it would just be a class under some broad major such as theater production or something (note my ambiguity: I know nothing about this subject at all). I have to admit, Clay does not make the best of jokes, although it's cute in its own way.
On the bus ride home, a group of guys were trying to get this guy who I shall now arbitrarily name Kirk (the go-to name for guys I will never again mention) to do something with a poster. Their exact words involved "freshman" and "gift," and Kirk was (I think quite rightfully) suspicious.
The guys said everything was fine, and Kirk replied, "No way. I can sense a prank when I see one, and that's definitely a prank."
So the guys unwrapped the poster, and apparently it was perfectly fine (I didn't see, I sat in front of them).
Still. Doesn't this just scream, "Hey, there's something wrong here!"
I really should learn how to drive soon, and escape all of this craziness.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Chill, Duuuuuude
When I walked into my English class today, I was the only one in the room except for Mr. Littney (well, okay, Mario walked in a couple seconds later). Mr. Littney was writing something on the board, which I made out to be our latest in-class "assignment," which was to write about our experiences with listening to our audio books.
At the bottom, Mr. Littney wrote, "Low stress, 10 points." Along with something else that I don't remember, but most likely along the same lines.
Eventually, people started trickling in and started reading the assignment on the board. Or more precisely, they all chose to read the second part rather than the first, which was the actual assignment.
Then, Sergio started laughing. Confused, I turned to look at the board, and saw that Mr. Littney had added this line:
"Except for Dino. He should be stressed."
The rest of the day was less interesting, save for perhaps Kathrya's eyebrow-wiggling (and Julie's response), or the ten minutes or so I spent with Cheshire today (I spent a good part of my time trying to think about what I could say and now I have a topic + there is something with me and talking about social studies related subjects lately).
Minor issues with today:
My ankle hurts. Still. Actually, I think it's getting worse, but maybe that is just my impression. At any rate, I am glad I did not wear my high heel boots today. That would have been even more painful.
Also, I need to do something about the awkwardly inopportune situation situations. Or just walk faster. Either way should work.
And, my Chicago interview tomorrow! To be fair, I don't really care about Chicago (not as much as some other schools, i.e. Penn), but it is still an interview and I hope everything will turn out great. Hopefully.
So all in all, not that many issues. It could have been much worse.
. . .
Still no story update today. Will it help if I link Beauty and the Beast instead?
At the bottom, Mr. Littney wrote, "Low stress, 10 points." Along with something else that I don't remember, but most likely along the same lines.
Eventually, people started trickling in and started reading the assignment on the board. Or more precisely, they all chose to read the second part rather than the first, which was the actual assignment.
Then, Sergio started laughing. Confused, I turned to look at the board, and saw that Mr. Littney had added this line:
"Except for Dino. He should be stressed."
The rest of the day was less interesting, save for perhaps Kathrya's eyebrow-wiggling (and Julie's response), or the ten minutes or so I spent with Cheshire today (I spent a good part of my time trying to think about what I could say and now I have a topic + there is something with me and talking about social studies related subjects lately).
Minor issues with today:
My ankle hurts. Still. Actually, I think it's getting worse, but maybe that is just my impression. At any rate, I am glad I did not wear my high heel boots today. That would have been even more painful.
Also, I need to do something about the awkwardly inopportune situation situations. Or just walk faster. Either way should work.
And, my Chicago interview tomorrow! To be fair, I don't really care about Chicago (not as much as some other schools, i.e. Penn), but it is still an interview and I hope everything will turn out great. Hopefully.
So all in all, not that many issues. It could have been much worse.
. . .
Still no story update today. Will it help if I link Beauty and the Beast instead?
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Organized? Me?
One of the math teachers who was also a club advisor of mine once said that she tutored a kid in middle school who was really disorganized, so she also taught him organization skills. She then went on to say, "I'm sure you're really organized. Girls usually are."
The other variation I've often heard is, "You must be really organized, since you're doing so well in school."
Both of which, I will prove to you today, are completely untrue. Not at all. Not even a little bit.
Proof #1: I have a huge stack of papers that consists of notes and handouts from all seven classes that I take this year. In no particular order. It has been steadily growing, despite my attempts to throw away things that are no longer relevant (i.e. tests and notes from a month ago).
Proof #2: I use the empty spaces in my assignment book as scrap paper for math and physics problems. Even if I have a notebook. Needless to say, I never write my homework in said assignment book.
Proof #3: I just cleaned out my blue backpack a while ago, and in one of the pockets, I found dry bread.
I don't even know where that came from, or why it hasn't turned moldy yet (I haven't used that backpack in almost two years, so the bread must have been there for at least that long), or what it's doing in my backpack, of all places. I dumped everything into the garbage can, but it took forever to get the crumbs out. Well, at least after half an hour's work, I have transferred everything from my original bag to my new backpack.
Of course, the laws of entropy will soon ruin all of the energy I've invested, but at least for now, everything is good. Neat. And too heavy, so I will probably have to return a few books to lighten the weight.
Anyway, my point was, not all girls and/or all people who are doing well in school are organized. Simply untrue. I am living proof.
(Also, yes, this entire post was mostly written just to talk about the elaborate process of cleaning out my backpack. And to also mention that I have bought two new bottles of nail polish—East Village blue and Prince purple—so I am very excited to start decorating my other binder.)
. . .
Unfortunately, no story tonight, because I need to study for the cell communication (I keep on envisioning cells using cellphones) and mitosis test tomorrow. Or more like, at least finish the homework.
The other variation I've often heard is, "You must be really organized, since you're doing so well in school."
Both of which, I will prove to you today, are completely untrue. Not at all. Not even a little bit.
Proof #1: I have a huge stack of papers that consists of notes and handouts from all seven classes that I take this year. In no particular order. It has been steadily growing, despite my attempts to throw away things that are no longer relevant (i.e. tests and notes from a month ago).
Proof #2: I use the empty spaces in my assignment book as scrap paper for math and physics problems. Even if I have a notebook. Needless to say, I never write my homework in said assignment book.
Proof #3: I just cleaned out my blue backpack a while ago, and in one of the pockets, I found dry bread.
I don't even know where that came from, or why it hasn't turned moldy yet (I haven't used that backpack in almost two years, so the bread must have been there for at least that long), or what it's doing in my backpack, of all places. I dumped everything into the garbage can, but it took forever to get the crumbs out. Well, at least after half an hour's work, I have transferred everything from my original bag to my new backpack.
Of course, the laws of entropy will soon ruin all of the energy I've invested, but at least for now, everything is good. Neat. And too heavy, so I will probably have to return a few books to lighten the weight.
Anyway, my point was, not all girls and/or all people who are doing well in school are organized. Simply untrue. I am living proof.
(Also, yes, this entire post was mostly written just to talk about the elaborate process of cleaning out my backpack. And to also mention that I have bought two new bottles of nail polish—East Village blue and Prince purple—so I am very excited to start decorating my other binder.)
. . .
Unfortunately, no story tonight, because I need to study for the cell communication (I keep on envisioning cells using cellphones) and mitosis test tomorrow. Or more like, at least finish the homework.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Hindsight Is A Spiteful Kid
The main problem with wanting to prop up your vanity (or just being over-eager in general) is, well, sometimes you wish you hadn't. Really. Not that, I, uh, have any experience in this field or anything. Uh-huh.
But I would like to take this opportunity to note that my ankle does not like me. I was walking from the dining counter to the kitchen counter when my left ankle decided to writhe in pain, and naturally I almost toppled over. Needless to say, it was not fun and resulted in me hobbling on the other leg for a long time (because I was afraid to see if my ankle was okay afterwards).
I have weird joint problems (as Tea nicely pointed out). That I will admit. This ankle thing could be related to my habit of sitting on my ankles, although it does not explain the relative lack of pain in my other ankle, unless I usually only sit on one ankle. I don't know—and I don't want to find out, because that would mean more ankle-sitting and possibly more pain.
Anyway. My mom and I went to Crumbs today, because two of my interviews to come (the early decision/action ones) will occur there. My mom's theory was that we should have a "mock interview" there and see how things go, since I am generally not good around strangers. Instead, the entire journey turned into a "What do you want to do in the future?" talk, but this time with a delicious apple pie cupcake, as opposed to the ordinary talks. My mom's idea of my future (and probably my dad's too, since they think remarkably alike) is that I have three choices: financial whatever, engineer, or doctor. (Okay, so I could have expanded upon the "financial whatever," but then it wouldn't rhyme.)
She is leaning towards doctor. Something about stability and lack of need for aggression.
We are going to Starbucks tomorrow (did you know I have never been to Starbucks, ever?) and figuring out what the second floor will mean for awkwardness in terms of interviews (Ariadne said it was pretty awkward since no one else was talking). I think I will get a hot chocolate tomorrow. Or whatever looks good. Any recommendations?
Also, in light of all the issues going on (primarily mine, but also everyone else's), I have decided that I need to take on a more optimistic, plan-oriented way of approaching things. Of course, I know it's not going to work out that way (I should know, the last few times I tried planning something always just happened), but I am setting some basic guidelines and then letting things roam. I have a December plan (if it ever will happen, that is). And plans are at least something to go by, when everything else is just so chaotic.
. . .
"You are Rena," he said, without any charm. Charm was not needed for those who were desperate enough to see him. "Changed, no doubt. How is the family?"
"Good," I replied. "Everyone who is alive is good."
"You mean yourself?"
So he knew. It should not have been surprising—after all, Allison Saint-Cross knew everything—but a part of me still wished he had not known, that I would be able to bring some shock into his hardened composure. I took his outstretched hand and allowed him to guide me inside the house out of habit. I knew the house better than he did, I had in owned this place with my childhood dreams. But habits, too ingrained in the mind, were hard to break.
"I thought I saw him the other day," he continued. "In a silver robe so characteristically his style. I thought, for once, I was wrong."
The unspoken words stung. Allison was never wrong. It could not have been Ciel. Ciel was—he was—I stared into Allison's eyes. "He came to you last, he must have wanted something from you."
"If he did, he did not tell me."
"Liar! You know very well what he wanted, you probably even gave it to him!"
"No," Allison said. "I meant, he did not come to see me. Not on that day."
"But he said he would," I said. "He told me that was where he was going. And everyone saw him in town, on Bayon Street, and everyone knows that if he was on Bayon Street then he must be—"
"Fate is here too, why don't you ask him?"
He was angry now. He had to be. Allison never mentioned Fate unless he was upset—he always preferred to ignore Fate's existence, as much as possible. I took my hand from his and leaned against the wall. "Fate. Is that why? Because you think Fate has to do with this?"
But I would like to take this opportunity to note that my ankle does not like me. I was walking from the dining counter to the kitchen counter when my left ankle decided to writhe in pain, and naturally I almost toppled over. Needless to say, it was not fun and resulted in me hobbling on the other leg for a long time (because I was afraid to see if my ankle was okay afterwards).
I have weird joint problems (as Tea nicely pointed out). That I will admit. This ankle thing could be related to my habit of sitting on my ankles, although it does not explain the relative lack of pain in my other ankle, unless I usually only sit on one ankle. I don't know—and I don't want to find out, because that would mean more ankle-sitting and possibly more pain.
Anyway. My mom and I went to Crumbs today, because two of my interviews to come (the early decision/action ones) will occur there. My mom's theory was that we should have a "mock interview" there and see how things go, since I am generally not good around strangers. Instead, the entire journey turned into a "What do you want to do in the future?" talk, but this time with a delicious apple pie cupcake, as opposed to the ordinary talks. My mom's idea of my future (and probably my dad's too, since they think remarkably alike) is that I have three choices: financial whatever, engineer, or doctor. (Okay, so I could have expanded upon the "financial whatever," but then it wouldn't rhyme.)
She is leaning towards doctor. Something about stability and lack of need for aggression.
We are going to Starbucks tomorrow (did you know I have never been to Starbucks, ever?) and figuring out what the second floor will mean for awkwardness in terms of interviews (Ariadne said it was pretty awkward since no one else was talking). I think I will get a hot chocolate tomorrow. Or whatever looks good. Any recommendations?
Also, in light of all the issues going on (primarily mine, but also everyone else's), I have decided that I need to take on a more optimistic, plan-oriented way of approaching things. Of course, I know it's not going to work out that way (I should know, the last few times I tried planning something always just happened), but I am setting some basic guidelines and then letting things roam. I have a December plan (if it ever will happen, that is). And plans are at least something to go by, when everything else is just so chaotic.
. . .
Allie's All About Apathy (part III)
"You are Rena," he said, without any charm. Charm was not needed for those who were desperate enough to see him. "Changed, no doubt. How is the family?"
"Good," I replied. "Everyone who is alive is good."
"You mean yourself?"
So he knew. It should not have been surprising—after all, Allison Saint-Cross knew everything—but a part of me still wished he had not known, that I would be able to bring some shock into his hardened composure. I took his outstretched hand and allowed him to guide me inside the house out of habit. I knew the house better than he did, I had in owned this place with my childhood dreams. But habits, too ingrained in the mind, were hard to break.
"I thought I saw him the other day," he continued. "In a silver robe so characteristically his style. I thought, for once, I was wrong."
The unspoken words stung. Allison was never wrong. It could not have been Ciel. Ciel was—he was—I stared into Allison's eyes. "He came to you last, he must have wanted something from you."
"If he did, he did not tell me."
"Liar! You know very well what he wanted, you probably even gave it to him!"
"No," Allison said. "I meant, he did not come to see me. Not on that day."
"But he said he would," I said. "He told me that was where he was going. And everyone saw him in town, on Bayon Street, and everyone knows that if he was on Bayon Street then he must be—"
"Fate is here too, why don't you ask him?"
He was angry now. He had to be. Allison never mentioned Fate unless he was upset—he always preferred to ignore Fate's existence, as much as possible. I took my hand from his and leaned against the wall. "Fate. Is that why? Because you think Fate has to do with this?"
Friday, November 5, 2010
Funny How It Just Is Like That
I walked upstairs to put my coat in my locker this morning and heard the bell ring for the 10-minute warning. My bus had been relatively early (compared to the past few days), and I still had time to go to the Chinese thing Dora asked me to go to yesterday. I thought about going, but in the end, I decided on not going. Not with what I had been musing over for the past few days, anyway.
I went down the hall, hoping to see someone else I had in mind, even though I knew he would not be there. He had never been there on Fridays. And even as I walked past the door, I thought, "No way. I'm deluding myself."
And there he was.
I backtracked a few steps and went in, said hi. Made all the formal and non-formal greetings. It was such a normal conversation, on such a trivial thing, and it was just so relieving. I wanted that—I had missed that. He left when the 5-minute bell rang, and I left too, after a while, and I saw Micro and we talked about social studies (and our shared social studies teacher).
Yesterday, I moped about not knowing what I wanted. Confusion, yes. It is still muddled. But I do know, at least in part, what the things I want feels like. And being able to talk to Micro about the most ridiculous and pointless things felt like one of those moments.
The eyes too. I can't forget the eyes, and yes, it's the other stuff that counts, but I can't forget the eyes.
Not feeling guilty, that helps too.
Our greetings are less awkward now. A small improvement. And it somehow meant all the world to me. (Although it's still in less-than-ideal situations, where we find ourselves, that is. It always is, for some reason.)
In French, I knew I had lost it again. Any semblance to rational thought. A prelude, to when I would have to pull up those rusty French skills because I could not stop at the door. I should have known better, but when invited, I just could not stop.
The insane. I don't like insanity, because it is so infuriating most of the times, but I would rather be insane than nothing at all.
I asked Clay about California, wanted to know what it was like. More laid-back, he said. Northern California, at least, especially San Francisco. He is more of a west coast person. I always think I am more of an east coast girl, not just because I have lived here for the longest, but also because I dream of letting go and being free, but I never quite am. Tied back by traditions, you might say. The good old South Carolina, maybe even Charleston, made (more) famous by homeboy Rhett Butler.
I am getting a normal backpack for Monday. No more of this nonsense. I wish I could have some more time to talk to Argon, because I miss those moments dearly, and I even miss the illogical logic Reese always sprouts. His hand-motions. The way he always manages to exasperate and amuse me at the same time. And even as I am writing this, I know this is an easily solved problem. I shall just have to spend more time with them, all other consequences be damned.
Meanwhile, I am glad for Fridays, for how it just turned out like that.
. . .
No story update today. I'm bad, I know, it's only been the third day, but I really need to finish homework as well, and do lots of other things I promised myself I would.
. . .
On a more cheerful note, we worked on proofs in multi today, as Gretchen has already mentioned. Proof by mathematical induction. Number theory. Argon has a number theory binder full of really interesting notes, and I had borrowed it for a long while but never cracked down on any of it. For an entire year. I just said to myself, "I'll get to it one day, one of these days," and it never happened.
But now we are learning about it, and I am happy.
I also need to stop turning my back to Mercle in econ (also, who came up with such a name?). That I need to remember. I like him a lot, so he should not be ignored, even if it was unintentional. From now on I propose to sit properly in my seat, unless Mr. Wollen is going to write on the board behind me. In econ, we also compared water bottle designs and the demographic/socioeconomic group each design targeted. I volunteered my Hint water bottle, and Mr. Wollen said, "See, that's the exact same product, but packaged so it'll sell for more."
"No, it's not the same," Ali said. "That water's flavored."
"Oh," Mr. Wollen said. "Then you can justify paying more for it."
Not really. It doesn't taste that good. Not enough sugar. But I guess I should have known, since it does say on the label that it is unsweetened.
Oh, there was also frisbee today. I had considered not going, but I went anyway. There were only five of us, but it was still fun. Elaine came too, although she could not stay for too long, and she left before a real game actually began, but we threw frisbees around for a while.
. . .
Pandora is getting better at predicting my preferences now.
And that is the end for today.
I went down the hall, hoping to see someone else I had in mind, even though I knew he would not be there. He had never been there on Fridays. And even as I walked past the door, I thought, "No way. I'm deluding myself."
And there he was.
I backtracked a few steps and went in, said hi. Made all the formal and non-formal greetings. It was such a normal conversation, on such a trivial thing, and it was just so relieving. I wanted that—I had missed that. He left when the 5-minute bell rang, and I left too, after a while, and I saw Micro and we talked about social studies (and our shared social studies teacher).
Yesterday, I moped about not knowing what I wanted. Confusion, yes. It is still muddled. But I do know, at least in part, what the things I want feels like. And being able to talk to Micro about the most ridiculous and pointless things felt like one of those moments.
The eyes too. I can't forget the eyes, and yes, it's the other stuff that counts, but I can't forget the eyes.
Not feeling guilty, that helps too.
Our greetings are less awkward now. A small improvement. And it somehow meant all the world to me. (Although it's still in less-than-ideal situations, where we find ourselves, that is. It always is, for some reason.)
In French, I knew I had lost it again. Any semblance to rational thought. A prelude, to when I would have to pull up those rusty French skills because I could not stop at the door. I should have known better, but when invited, I just could not stop.
The insane. I don't like insanity, because it is so infuriating most of the times, but I would rather be insane than nothing at all.
I asked Clay about California, wanted to know what it was like. More laid-back, he said. Northern California, at least, especially San Francisco. He is more of a west coast person. I always think I am more of an east coast girl, not just because I have lived here for the longest, but also because I dream of letting go and being free, but I never quite am. Tied back by traditions, you might say. The good old South Carolina, maybe even Charleston, made (more) famous by homeboy Rhett Butler.
I am getting a normal backpack for Monday. No more of this nonsense. I wish I could have some more time to talk to Argon, because I miss those moments dearly, and I even miss the illogical logic Reese always sprouts. His hand-motions. The way he always manages to exasperate and amuse me at the same time. And even as I am writing this, I know this is an easily solved problem. I shall just have to spend more time with them, all other consequences be damned.
Meanwhile, I am glad for Fridays, for how it just turned out like that.
. . .
No story update today. I'm bad, I know, it's only been the third day, but I really need to finish homework as well, and do lots of other things I promised myself I would.
. . .
On a more cheerful note, we worked on proofs in multi today, as Gretchen has already mentioned. Proof by mathematical induction. Number theory. Argon has a number theory binder full of really interesting notes, and I had borrowed it for a long while but never cracked down on any of it. For an entire year. I just said to myself, "I'll get to it one day, one of these days," and it never happened.
But now we are learning about it, and I am happy.
I also need to stop turning my back to Mercle in econ (also, who came up with such a name?). That I need to remember. I like him a lot, so he should not be ignored, even if it was unintentional. From now on I propose to sit properly in my seat, unless Mr. Wollen is going to write on the board behind me. In econ, we also compared water bottle designs and the demographic/socioeconomic group each design targeted. I volunteered my Hint water bottle, and Mr. Wollen said, "See, that's the exact same product, but packaged so it'll sell for more."
"No, it's not the same," Ali said. "That water's flavored."
"Oh," Mr. Wollen said. "Then you can justify paying more for it."
Not really. It doesn't taste that good. Not enough sugar. But I guess I should have known, since it does say on the label that it is unsweetened.
Oh, there was also frisbee today. I had considered not going, but I went anyway. There were only five of us, but it was still fun. Elaine came too, although she could not stay for too long, and she left before a real game actually began, but we threw frisbees around for a while.
. . .
Pandora is getting better at predicting my preferences now.
And that is the end for today.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Going Down The Memory Lane
I do not do this willingly, oftentimes. Remembering the past is something that happens because I had, in my past self, left behind mementos for my present self to come across. Precariously. Because even the smallest things can trigger memories that do not belong—should never have belonged.
Today I was cleaning out my inbox, per usual, when I saw that I had a lot of drafts just sitting there. I opened them up one by one, trying to see if there were any I could delete. And of course, there were those I had previously mentioned in another cleaning-out-inbox moment, but there were other things too. Stories from once upon a time. Fragments of words—sentences—thoughts. Things I used to believe in. And maybe still do.
And a few recurring themes.
Confusion is one of them. I always write when I am confused. Count this as one of those times. I write about loss, and about getting lost. I write about regrets, and trying not to regret. Sometimes, I write about death. Usually I just imply it. I write about things I do not understand but wish I understood.
I write about real life, I just had never quite noticed it. I write about real life packaged in shiny wrapping paper made up of lies. Freshly embellished. Until all of the rough edges are hidden, and all of the raw emotions are curtailed, and all that is left is a neatly polished piece that is faintly reminiscent of reality.
Writing is just as much a lie as it is a reflection on the truth. And I must say, I relish in the lying as much as I do the truth-telling. It, in its own magical way, protects me from reality. So I write. A lot. In my continuous search for that perfect "real" that is not "reality." A safeguard.
But I am rambling. Digressing into the uncharted waters of my mind. I must have written about that as well.
. . .
This because I am not the perfect person I think a part of me envisioned myself to be. The other part scoffs at perfection. But none of that matters now.
I think what matters now is: I'm doing this for all the wrong reasons. Again.
If there ever was a first time to begin with. And I was recently asked whether I would rather all of it never existed, this funny business with the past. Would I? I have asked myself that. Oblivion. Forget this ridiculous dream so as to forget the torturous crushing of hope. I think it can be boiled down to that.
But there is no what if? in this world. Another reason I dislike the past.
. . .
Paradoxical, of course, because I am dredging up the past with this.
. . .
Today I was cleaning out my inbox, per usual, when I saw that I had a lot of drafts just sitting there. I opened them up one by one, trying to see if there were any I could delete. And of course, there were those I had previously mentioned in another cleaning-out-inbox moment, but there were other things too. Stories from once upon a time. Fragments of words—sentences—thoughts. Things I used to believe in. And maybe still do.
And a few recurring themes.
Confusion is one of them. I always write when I am confused. Count this as one of those times. I write about loss, and about getting lost. I write about regrets, and trying not to regret. Sometimes, I write about death. Usually I just imply it. I write about things I do not understand but wish I understood.
I write about real life, I just had never quite noticed it. I write about real life packaged in shiny wrapping paper made up of lies. Freshly embellished. Until all of the rough edges are hidden, and all of the raw emotions are curtailed, and all that is left is a neatly polished piece that is faintly reminiscent of reality.
Writing is just as much a lie as it is a reflection on the truth. And I must say, I relish in the lying as much as I do the truth-telling. It, in its own magical way, protects me from reality. So I write. A lot. In my continuous search for that perfect "real" that is not "reality." A safeguard.
But I am rambling. Digressing into the uncharted waters of my mind. I must have written about that as well.
. . .
This because I am not the perfect person I think a part of me envisioned myself to be. The other part scoffs at perfection. But none of that matters now.
I think what matters now is: I'm doing this for all the wrong reasons. Again.
If there ever was a first time to begin with. And I was recently asked whether I would rather all of it never existed, this funny business with the past. Would I? I have asked myself that. Oblivion. Forget this ridiculous dream so as to forget the torturous crushing of hope. I think it can be boiled down to that.
But there is no what if? in this world. Another reason I dislike the past.
. . .
Paradoxical, of course, because I am dredging up the past with this.
. . .
Allie's All About Apathy (part II)
My first memory of Ciel was of his piercing red eyes. It was my favorite memory of him too, because in that memory he was calm. Solemn, yes, but not annoyed. I must have been four then, and he seven. We were in the study, and Ciel was writing something on the parchment laid out on the desk. I was too short for the chair and could not see what he was writing, so I asked him.
"None of your concern," he said, but it was without animosity. It was merely a response meant to stop me from distracting him. Later on, he would add the more biting words, but for now, he had not donned the cruelty children often had.
And it must have been this time when Allison Saint-Cross entered the study, his hands stuck in his pockets. Over the years, he and Ciel would often meet to discuss things that came with monetary value but was more often measured in lives and livelihoods. But for now, they were only friends.
If even that.
Allison saw me and said, "He's crazy, that brat." He was a few years older than Ciel, and had thought he earned the right to call him nicknames. Ciel looked up and frowned.
And it was now that I wondered why I did not have any memories of Ciel before this particular moment. It did not seem like a memorable occasion, nor was it any natural time for Ciel to enter my life. He was just there, and I had just accepted him into my life, even if he had never accepted me into his life.
When I climbed down the mountain and got to Bayon Street, I asked a few people if they knew of a store that sold wishes. They all pointed me down the street, where I found a small two-story house juxtaposed with the towering marble buildings so typical of Anna Marie. He was there already, waiting for me.
Allison Saint-Cross still had his dazzling green eyes, although he had grown his hair out longer, and it now trailed in wispy black strands down his head. He held out his hand and bowed slightly, so that his tall frame stretched and crinkled his shirt. He had the expression of a bitter man who refused to accept defeat. An expression I must have mirrored, because he laughed when he saw me.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Here Is To NaNoWriMo And Math Meet
Math meet today! The second math meet of the—do we call it a season?—started with me missing the last fifteen minutes of Middle East (which is such a boring class, although now I know what a caliph is, finally). I went downstairs and saw Tea and Gretchen coming the other way, and we all got on the bus (and eventually everyone else got on the bus as well).
Obviously, per math meet tradition, we talked about random things. I don't remember much of the conversation, because I was attempting to read the last 15+ pages of Metamorphosis on the bus, and then proceeded to get really nauseated. Not good. (Tybalt remarked that our bus ride was extremely bumpy—more so than usual—which I believe may have contributed to the cause.)
Off the bus (and into Spearheadville), we went into the cafeteria and were going to our usual table in the banished corner when some random girl said, "Is this the nerd conference?"
That comment aside, the pre-math-rounds-math-meet-time went really well. There was lots of food, lots of fun, and lots of hysteria in general, except I believe that either Gretchen or Tea may have better things to say about this because I was rather, uh... anyway.
I will comment on the rounds though. Round 3 was really straightforward, except I did 36 - 8 in my head and got 24. No idea how that happened. Round 5 was also okay except the last question, and we did not have to know sin 75, although I do know it rather well (for the time being) thanks to Bryant's wonderfully descriptive circle (read: circle with four dots). Round 6 was also okay, although I probably flunked out on the math because I got the second question wrong.
But I'm on B-team, so who cares?
Also, while going into round 3, I waited outside for a while with a bunch of Treeburg people who were extremely tall. In matching hoodies. Argon suggested that we really should get hoodies for math team. Uh-huh. Keep on dreaming, Argon.
This is the end of my math meet recount. Someone else pick up from here?
. . .
P.s.: The 2010 midterm election results are out! But they were close to expected, so not too much surprise there.
. . .
And, of course, I mentioned NaNoWriMo, and I have been seeing it around plenty of times, so I suppose I could take part in it too. Except mine will probably be NaReallyShortAndDisjointedNoWriHalfMo, if that makes any sense. I'm sure it did.
I was supposed to have an outline and notes jotted down before November began to give me a head start or something, but since I have my characters already (yay for recycling) and I only really write about one plot, that is not extremely necessary.
So this is the first edition of my ReallyShortAndDisjointedNovel. AlsoKnownAsALongShortStory. NotEdited.
In the morning, I came upon the cliff my brother used to call "Judgment's Edge."
Or, if he was feeling creative, he would call it, "The place where all the moping people come to mope and all the idiots come to make stupid poetry about things they'll never understand."
He was never a creative one. It was either plain and straightforward, or he did not bother with it. And I never knew how he put up with the stories we learned as little kids, but something must have stuck, because he remembered Judgment's Edge from a book our mother had read to us back when she still read. The book was about a boy and his two sisters, that was all I remembered. A boy and his two sisters, just like my brother Ciel, and my sister Celeste, and me.
I am not named after the sky. I am not a skychild. But in the book, the older brother and sister loved their youngest sister. They adored her. And that is all I remember from the book, aside from the ledge they called Judgment's Edge, where the brother and sisters went to pray for their mother's health.
Back then, we did not have to pray for our mother's health. These days, I did not have to either. I wondered if I had ever prayed for her.
I knew Ciel never prayed. Skychildren did not pray. They performed miracles because they were children of the sky. The ones who could survive anything. But Ciel did not pray, not because he believed himself invincible, but because he thought it was pointless. Or maybe the idea of it was too complex, too reliant on a faith he did not possess.
Faith brought me to here, I knew. A faith Ciel never took part in. The same faith—or lack thereof—that created this world.
Anna Marie.
I was in Anna Marie now. Kaniol. A hundred thousand worlds away from Nephria.
I was on Judgment's Edge, looking down on the glistening rooftops of the buildings of Anna Marie. The tall, pointy tower of the Sovereign's Castle. The sprawling gardens Seria Deshen took so much pride in maintaining. The grand magnolias of the DiGrant's front lawn. The town square. The bell tower of the library. The winding Crescentia that flowed through the east end of the city and sparkled under the morning sun.
It was beautiful. I wished I knew why Ciel wanted to leave here so badly.
To be continued next time I have something interesting to say.
Obviously, per math meet tradition, we talked about random things. I don't remember much of the conversation, because I was attempting to read the last 15+ pages of Metamorphosis on the bus, and then proceeded to get really nauseated. Not good. (Tybalt remarked that our bus ride was extremely bumpy—more so than usual—which I believe may have contributed to the cause.)
Off the bus (and into Spearheadville), we went into the cafeteria and were going to our usual table in the banished corner when some random girl said, "Is this the nerd conference?"
That comment aside, the pre-math-rounds-math-meet-time went really well. There was lots of food, lots of fun, and lots of hysteria in general, except I believe that either Gretchen or Tea may have better things to say about this because I was rather, uh... anyway.
I will comment on the rounds though. Round 3 was really straightforward, except I did 36 - 8 in my head and got 24. No idea how that happened. Round 5 was also okay except the last question, and we did not have to know sin 75, although I do know it rather well (for the time being) thanks to Bryant's wonderfully descriptive circle (read: circle with four dots). Round 6 was also okay, although I probably flunked out on the math because I got the second question wrong.
But I'm on B-team, so who cares?
Also, while going into round 3, I waited outside for a while with a bunch of Treeburg people who were extremely tall. In matching hoodies. Argon suggested that we really should get hoodies for math team. Uh-huh. Keep on dreaming, Argon.
This is the end of my math meet recount. Someone else pick up from here?
. . .
P.s.: The 2010 midterm election results are out! But they were close to expected, so not too much surprise there.
. . .
And, of course, I mentioned NaNoWriMo, and I have been seeing it around plenty of times, so I suppose I could take part in it too. Except mine will probably be NaReallyShortAndDisjointedNoWriHalfMo, if that makes any sense. I'm sure it did.
I was supposed to have an outline and notes jotted down before November began to give me a head start or something, but since I have my characters already (yay for recycling) and I only really write about one plot, that is not extremely necessary.
So this is the first edition of my ReallyShortAndDisjointedNovel. AlsoKnownAsALongShortStory. NotEdited.
Allie's All About Apathy (note the alliteration?)
In the morning, I came upon the cliff my brother used to call "Judgment's Edge."
Or, if he was feeling creative, he would call it, "The place where all the moping people come to mope and all the idiots come to make stupid poetry about things they'll never understand."
He was never a creative one. It was either plain and straightforward, or he did not bother with it. And I never knew how he put up with the stories we learned as little kids, but something must have stuck, because he remembered Judgment's Edge from a book our mother had read to us back when she still read. The book was about a boy and his two sisters, that was all I remembered. A boy and his two sisters, just like my brother Ciel, and my sister Celeste, and me.
I am not named after the sky. I am not a skychild. But in the book, the older brother and sister loved their youngest sister. They adored her. And that is all I remember from the book, aside from the ledge they called Judgment's Edge, where the brother and sisters went to pray for their mother's health.
Back then, we did not have to pray for our mother's health. These days, I did not have to either. I wondered if I had ever prayed for her.
I knew Ciel never prayed. Skychildren did not pray. They performed miracles because they were children of the sky. The ones who could survive anything. But Ciel did not pray, not because he believed himself invincible, but because he thought it was pointless. Or maybe the idea of it was too complex, too reliant on a faith he did not possess.
Faith brought me to here, I knew. A faith Ciel never took part in. The same faith—or lack thereof—that created this world.
Anna Marie.
I was in Anna Marie now. Kaniol. A hundred thousand worlds away from Nephria.
I was on Judgment's Edge, looking down on the glistening rooftops of the buildings of Anna Marie. The tall, pointy tower of the Sovereign's Castle. The sprawling gardens Seria Deshen took so much pride in maintaining. The grand magnolias of the DiGrant's front lawn. The town square. The bell tower of the library. The winding Crescentia that flowed through the east end of the city and sparkled under the morning sun.
It was beautiful. I wished I knew why Ciel wanted to leave here so badly.
To be continued next time I have something interesting to say.
Monday, November 1, 2010
It's Been A While
Since I've written anything. I have been busy with a lot things, such as college applications (most obviously), but also homework and general procrastination. Very, very busy, so much so that I missed the last day to post in October and must now start in November.
What a tragedy.
Anyway, since I have fuzzy memory I will recount things in reverse order. Bear with me as we travel back in warped time.
Tuesday, Nov. 2nd:
Election day! Which means three things: a) no school tomorrow; b) going over to Tea's house to bake donuts with Yuma; and c) checking out how accurate Nate Silver's predictions are. Excitement levels in that order. My mom had no idea there was no school tomorrow, so I wonder what would have happened if I went out at 6:50 and walked to the library and spent my day there? Oh well, she knows now, so that's not possible.
Also, I am very excited to see how baked donuts will look like. And taste like, too. I am so glad I subscribed to, uh... around 109293874 food blogs while I was working on my college essays (i.e. procrastinating), because I would never have found the recipe without it.
Then, of course, actual election results! That, too, is exciting, but I guess it's not as exciting as listening to PM-wannabes dissing each other in French and gluing their hands into their pockets. But I suppose that is a purely Canadian thing.
Monday, Nov. 1st:
ED/EA applications are due today, and guess what? I don't have to worry about them, because I finished them! Yay! Other than that, the day went by fairly boringly. Oh, right, I fell asleep in French today, which was bad, because I was in the middle of a listening test. Luckily, I got through the first trial effectively, and I couldn't understand most of it anyway, so I guess a second listen-through wouldn't have helped much.
But I told my partner-in-crime-in-the-business-of-staying-up-late that I should probably set a bedtime, and he suggested, "11pm?"
Then I told him that I fell asleep in class, so he immediately changed it to 9pm.
Haha. As if. I barely get any work done before 9pm. But I do need to get to bed earlier, and preferably not spend half an hour trying to say "goodbye" in Welsh. Or Portuguese. Or Macedonian. Anyway, now we've set it at around 10-11pmish, which is a good time, I suppose. If only I can remember that, along with the fact that I need to bring lunch money (and money I owe Tea).
Also, NaNoWriMo is starting today! Anyone interested in starting a full-fledged novel (or, really, does anyone have the time to do that)?
Sunday, Oct. 31st:
Halloween! My parents and I went out to buy a printer/fax/scanner/copier/whatever-else-is-there machine. We went to Best Buy, and once there, my mom told me, "Can you look for some whiteout?"
"Mom, we're at Best Buy. Why would there be whiteout here?"
"Why not?" My mom said. "I'm sure they have some."
No, mom, they don't. I asked the guy at the front desk anyway, and he said he has never seen whiteout in the store. Ever.
Then I went to check out the iPads, and started playing Plants vs. Zombies, which is my favorite game of all iPad games. My dad came over and checked out the MacBook Pro to the side. I must say, I'm not a fan. Seriously, Apple. You were great a couple years ago with all those really colorful computers, but these days you're all white and black and silver. So monochrome. Even shuffles have color. Why not laptops?
Anyway, we also checked out several Sony laptops, and we wanted to see a few Lenovo ones too, but Best Buy didn't have any. Oh well. I'm hoping to get a new laptop soon, if only because I'm really, really tired of all the white (yeah, this laptop's white too) and I want to be able to bring it in to school to work on stuff.
Saturday, Oct. 30th:
We (my parents and I) went to the border early this morning (read: we left at around midnight) to sort out our visas, once again. It was fairly successful, and I even finished a lot of my reading/listening homework. Very productive. Then we came back and went to a Chinese supermarket in West Hartford, where I discovered supermarket-porn.
Well, okay, not really porn, but they were selling the herbal version of Viagra, except they call it deer's tail, so I had no idea what it was, and when I looked at the pictures they showed people in very... fascinating positions.
Ahem. Yeah.
When I came home I worked on my Chicago app, and I finished very late into the night (around 9pm, I believe). But Cammie's birthday/Halloween party was today, so I went over and shared in the movie-watching (Moulin Rouge), gossip-sharing fun with everyone else there.
Where, yes, major stuff were revealed, but at least on this blog that is as far as I'll go with it.
And in the morning (which is technically the next day, but oh well) there was chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream! Yay!
Monday, Oct. 25th to Friday, Oct. 29th:
I don't remember what happened here, except for a haze of college apps and late-night chatting with Yuma and maybe other things, such as, oh, Clay repeatedly asking Yuma and me whether we were going to frisbee. I got the message on Wednesday, thank you very much. I didn't really need the reminders on Thursday and Friday as well. But I think I'm just snappy because I am so exhausted by college apps and not sleeping nearly enough.
But that is all I remember, and all I can recall right now. Time to do homework and maybe, maybe, catching up on some sleep.
What a tragedy.
Anyway, since I have fuzzy memory I will recount things in reverse order. Bear with me as we travel back in warped time.
Tuesday, Nov. 2nd:
Election day! Which means three things: a) no school tomorrow; b) going over to Tea's house to bake donuts with Yuma; and c) checking out how accurate Nate Silver's predictions are. Excitement levels in that order. My mom had no idea there was no school tomorrow, so I wonder what would have happened if I went out at 6:50 and walked to the library and spent my day there? Oh well, she knows now, so that's not possible.
Also, I am very excited to see how baked donuts will look like. And taste like, too. I am so glad I subscribed to, uh... around 109293874 food blogs while I was working on my college essays (i.e. procrastinating), because I would never have found the recipe without it.
Then, of course, actual election results! That, too, is exciting, but I guess it's not as exciting as listening to PM-wannabes dissing each other in French and gluing their hands into their pockets. But I suppose that is a purely Canadian thing.
Monday, Nov. 1st:
ED/EA applications are due today, and guess what? I don't have to worry about them, because I finished them! Yay! Other than that, the day went by fairly boringly. Oh, right, I fell asleep in French today, which was bad, because I was in the middle of a listening test. Luckily, I got through the first trial effectively, and I couldn't understand most of it anyway, so I guess a second listen-through wouldn't have helped much.
But I told my partner-in-crime-in-the-business-of-staying-up-late that I should probably set a bedtime, and he suggested, "11pm?"
Then I told him that I fell asleep in class, so he immediately changed it to 9pm.
Haha. As if. I barely get any work done before 9pm. But I do need to get to bed earlier, and preferably not spend half an hour trying to say "goodbye" in Welsh. Or Portuguese. Or Macedonian. Anyway, now we've set it at around 10-11pmish, which is a good time, I suppose. If only I can remember that, along with the fact that I need to bring lunch money (and money I owe Tea).
Also, NaNoWriMo is starting today! Anyone interested in starting a full-fledged novel (or, really, does anyone have the time to do that)?
Sunday, Oct. 31st:
Halloween! My parents and I went out to buy a printer/fax/scanner/copier/whatever-else-is-there machine. We went to Best Buy, and once there, my mom told me, "Can you look for some whiteout?"
"Mom, we're at Best Buy. Why would there be whiteout here?"
"Why not?" My mom said. "I'm sure they have some."
No, mom, they don't. I asked the guy at the front desk anyway, and he said he has never seen whiteout in the store. Ever.
Then I went to check out the iPads, and started playing Plants vs. Zombies, which is my favorite game of all iPad games. My dad came over and checked out the MacBook Pro to the side. I must say, I'm not a fan. Seriously, Apple. You were great a couple years ago with all those really colorful computers, but these days you're all white and black and silver. So monochrome. Even shuffles have color. Why not laptops?
Anyway, we also checked out several Sony laptops, and we wanted to see a few Lenovo ones too, but Best Buy didn't have any. Oh well. I'm hoping to get a new laptop soon, if only because I'm really, really tired of all the white (yeah, this laptop's white too) and I want to be able to bring it in to school to work on stuff.
Saturday, Oct. 30th:
We (my parents and I) went to the border early this morning (read: we left at around midnight) to sort out our visas, once again. It was fairly successful, and I even finished a lot of my reading/listening homework. Very productive. Then we came back and went to a Chinese supermarket in West Hartford, where I discovered supermarket-porn.
Well, okay, not really porn, but they were selling the herbal version of Viagra, except they call it deer's tail, so I had no idea what it was, and when I looked at the pictures they showed people in very... fascinating positions.
Ahem. Yeah.
When I came home I worked on my Chicago app, and I finished very late into the night (around 9pm, I believe). But Cammie's birthday/Halloween party was today, so I went over and shared in the movie-watching (Moulin Rouge), gossip-sharing fun with everyone else there.
Where, yes, major stuff were revealed, but at least on this blog that is as far as I'll go with it.
And in the morning (which is technically the next day, but oh well) there was chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream! Yay!
Monday, Oct. 25th to Friday, Oct. 29th:
I don't remember what happened here, except for a haze of college apps and late-night chatting with Yuma and maybe other things, such as, oh, Clay repeatedly asking Yuma and me whether we were going to frisbee. I got the message on Wednesday, thank you very much. I didn't really need the reminders on Thursday and Friday as well. But I think I'm just snappy because I am so exhausted by college apps and not sleeping nearly enough.
But that is all I remember, and all I can recall right now. Time to do homework and maybe, maybe, catching up on some sleep.
