Getting My Head Out Of This Haze

I read about 6.001 today, the MIT course on Scheme, and in essence abstract programming. Is it a bad thing that I instantly thought of 6.01?

I once promised myself, on the campus no less, that I would never go back until I was there by my own merits. I never knew how true that would turn out. There was once upon a time I would say, "Oh, yeah, he's at MIT, no big deal." And I said it out of jealousy, because I really, really want to be there. Being related to something always hurts more, because you are so close, yet not there. Not quite good enough, or, in my case, not quite smart enough or special enough or whatever else it was.

The people around me have different goals. They want to get into the best med school possible. But it's similar, isn't it? And if I focused enough, I should be able to do this. But it means a kind of dedication and work ethic I haven't been able to muster up in a long, long while. I have been relishing in my newfound independence but I haven't been putting up much effort. This past semester has been a few months of rehashing things I have already learned and scrambling to put together things I haven't.

I have some good plans for next semester. I need to schedule them into my calendar, and more importantly, I need to follow my calendar more strictly, rather than just putting things on there. I think I can block out times when I will be able to get work done without being disturbed, and then fill them in week by week. After that, I'll also schedule in all the application work I need to get done, and studying, and it should work out nicely.

Other people can make it work. I don't believe I'm any worse than them.

So this is my next few months. Maybe I can even fit blogging in.

Capitalism And Outer Space

We were going to go to the Space Center today, and it would definitely have been neat. The last time I went to one, it was in Florida, and I remember looking over my head and pointing out the rusty orange and white rockets. That year I was seven, maybe not even.

Sometimes I think about being a third-generation engineer, and being in a family of engineers. It's like being born in a family of bakers, or cobblers or blacksmiths or tailors, except without a long term of apprenticeships. I was born predisposed to math, to science, born with my parents expecting that I follow their footsteps, if not completely then at least partially, into the scientific world.

My dad is lying on the bed now, snoring. A while after I got off the plane, maybe when we were in the car coming back from the airport, he turned to me and said, "It's still not too late if you want to change your mind and be a doctor." My mom says this sometimes too, in that joking yet all the same serious tone, "Are you sure you don't want to be a doctor?"

I tell them, "Yes, I'm sure. I want to be an engineer."

For people who come from this life they are not satisfied with it. They have worked hard, all their lives, fought against the waves of unfair disadvantages at an age where they should have had things under control and relaxed a little. They see people around them in seemingly easier lives, people who earn more (and money has always been an issue in our house), and they want that life for me, whether directly or vicariously.

. . .

These days, my dad spends a lot more. We went to the mall today, everywhere we go we look at the dazzling new clothes and bags and jewelry. He picks something out of the pile, points at it and asks, "What do you think?"

I shake my head. It is the wrong color, the wrong texture, or something, any excuse. He goes over to the stands of watches, stoops down and try to find the same style as the one on his wrist. That one he bought a few days ago. The strap is still too loose; it hangs low. He smiles when he realizes it is more expensive than the one he bought.

I am happy for him, proud, almost, that he is finally achieving the middle-class lifestyle he always wanted, yet also sad. There is something about the way he walks, shorter than ever before, that scares me. I am afraid that he won't be happy, I am afraid that he might lose this, I am afraid that after all these years of struggles he will look back and think, "What have I done with my life?"

And come up empty. I am afraid for him, even though he himself is not afraid. I am being paranoid again.

He walks up to the cosmetics counter. I watch as he talks with the sales lady, the two of them discussing the new brand of anti-aging cream available. He looks at the price and chuckles, shakes his head. "It's too expensive." And we leave. I wonder if he ever wishes he could afford this, for his wife, if he ever laments his inability to buy everything he wants for his family. I wonder if anyone will, in the future, do the same for me.

. . .

He woke up just now. Held my hand. Earlier today he had said, "The days pass by really quickly." He is going back in less than a week, to the misty southwestern Chinese city, while my mom stays with her parents until after Chinese New Years.

I am not sure what I want. In a few days I will be leaving too, heading back to icy Islandtown by myself. But in a few days I will be a few more days closer until Khajiit comes back. Those last few days, however, will be void of both, and they will be long and torturous.

. . .

In a few days, we will be headed somewhere. To the Gulf, maybe, or to Dallas or Austin, we are not sure yet. I am supposed to be the one planning all of this, but I have been way too distracted. When I wake up in the morning, I add up the hours to see if Khajiit will be awake, then I call him, and we cycle between being awake and being away and all of the other complicatedness of us being in different continents.

For example, right now, it is 8pm here, which means it is 3am over there, and way too early to call him.

He sent me photos of Paris today, and I really liked them, especially the one of the details on the Eiffel Tower, and the one where he is eating smoked salmon. Smoked salmon has other connotations for me, it reminds me of a summer that could have been had there not been other obligations, other obstacles.

They are all of the past now, although I still have the souvenirs. I still have a lot more I need to clean through before all the vestiges are gone, if that is even possible. I took out the wallet photo the other day. I had already changed the lockscreen image on my phone.

There are some clothes that need to be exchanged, photos returned, books taken back. We had really tried to make ourselves part of each other's lives, even though (and maybe even more so because) we could not be involved in person. I look at the calendar I now share with Khajiit, and it is almost empty, and that does not make me wonder because I know he will be with me, and those days he will not be are not for long.

. . .

My dad is considering moving back to the US again. My mom will surely follow him if he does. I may see them more often now. Maybe one day they will even settle, and I will visit them, just as other people visit their parents, without the hassle of trying to remember where they have ended up this time around. Although I will miss seeing new airports. I have seen many airports in my life and I am hoping to see more.

The First More-Than-Five-Hours Of Consecutive Sleep In A Long Long While

Also the first very long title in a long long while. I used to do this a lot and then title habits changed. Did anyone notice the comma streak I had a while back? Things like that happen here. I need to blog more.

Anyway, I thought I wouldn't have wifi here, because I have always been used to cheap hotels, but this one is actually really nice. My dad and I got a two-bed room, which also happened to be a two-bedroom suite, with televisions and phones in each room (and the living room), a full-sized kitchen, and two bathrooms. Two real bathrooms. Now all we need is a decent view.

But as I was saying, wifi, which means: a) I can finally go on Pandora again, and b) I can now chat with Khajiit all day long (also his name makes me miss Skyrim).

Yesterday's plane rides were pretty bumpy, or so I heard from the captain, but I fell asleep for most of it. On the first one, I woke up when the attendant came with drinks, asked for a cup of water, drank some, and fell right back to sleep. Trying to stay awake during the connection time was really, really hard. Good thing I was also really hungry, and in my 6am sleepiness I forgot to bring any US money.

But! I got off the airport, got picked up by my dad (after a while of him calling me trying to figure out where I was), and then he sent me off to a sushi buffet place while he went back to make conference calls to his workplace back in China. I got to eat a creme brulee for the first time!

Not much else happened though. I talked to Khajiit more, and today too, and now I'll be going out, as my dad says, to "see places," which upon further probing is going to be "Best Buy and maybe Walmart."

Shopping time!

Airplanes Again

Last year, when we were dropping my dad off at the airport, I remember wanting so badly to get off the car and blend into the busy, busy crowds looking to catch their next flights. I have an affinity for the air, half satisfied when my parents and I went on our first ever plane trip to the western half of the US, and half satisfied by my own trip back to China.

This time, Khajiit is going on the plane to go to France, and I will soon be taking one (or two, actually, if not three) to Texas. It is his, what now? Thirtieth time to France? And it is my first, to Texas, although anywhere in the South makes me smile. I am excited to see my dad again, after all this time, and I'm hoping that he'll take me around places during the holidays. I have always wanted to see what Texas was like, and another coastline state (maybe Louisiana too, if we're lucky) to my "been-to" collection is always nice as well.

By the time I get back to Islandtown, Khajiit will be in New York again, so the time zone won't be as much of an issue. I wonder how much I'll miss him though. I'll also get to spend a few days in Islandtown picking my life back together again, especially my schoolwork, and planning for the computer club's green committee events. It will definitely be busy next semester, but exciting too, and hopefully I won't make the same mistakes I made this semester.

Also I don't know if Zephy still reads this but I just remembered how she wants more tags so I'll tag her in here as well. I should email her too, along with Argon, and see how their fall semester went and how their lives are right now.

The End, This Time Really

It hurts less than I thought it would. Perhaps I had long ago gotten tired of it, and had only held on because of an ideal that no longer exists. It was almost a relief. I am not sure I should feel this way, but it is what it is. It was over a long time ago, he was right, and this time I actually agree.

I finally took off the ring. I saved the photos, but they are now only mementos of the past. There is only one thing I regret, and it's not ending this earlier. I could have saved him from more pain.

But it's over now.

Over, finally.

There is still so much that reminds me of him. I even wonder if he will still read this blog. After this post I might start talking about my day-to-day life again, instead of these incredibly cryptic posts. I would still like to be a part of his life, as the friends we never quite were, because we had rushed into things too quickly and out of them too slowly.

If he is reading this, I would like to apologize. I know it won't make it much better, and I don't expect you to forgive me, but I am really sorry. If I had known how it would turn out, I would have chosen things differently, but as it is now I am just sorry.

I do not have the panic I had last time. None of the heart-wrenching feelings. It has truly gone on too long, and although I still love him, as much as I know how to love anyway, I don't want to hang on anymore.

It's such a strange thing to say.

It's been a year full of surprises at every turn, so I shouldn't be too surprised it ended up this way. I always knew I would be the one, but I never knew what that would imply. Now there is another foolish boy who is saying he won't mind if I hurt him, someone who doesn't believe me when I tell him I don't know how to love.

I am like a black hole, always wanting more, always reaching out but destroying what I get in the process. There is this hole in my heart that stemmed from my past and it's lonely, and it's never satisfied. I never learned how to properly keep a long-term relationship, not just with the people I love but with anyone.

Maybe one day.

But for now, it is the end, and an end that is, although slightly regrettable, at least not that painful.

It's Winter, But We Pretend Otherwise

I usually turn to Google for these types of things, because who else could I talk to? Who else would not judge me and still be impartial? But this phrase is too clunky to search, and even though I have broken it up into two chunks it is still not exactly what I was looking for.

The empty pocky wrappers lie crinkled in my trashbag. I have the remains of a bus ticket, snappy sorbet nail polish, and a rubber duckie to remind me of what once was, what I could have had and the neverending dreams. In my dreams they are eternal, and the objects mere crags to be avoided. They are faded souvenirs of a past life, a past lie.

I am at a crossroads now, more than ever, and decisions have always frightened me. I wrote my college app essay on road trips, on crossroads, and on choosing my path, but when it comes down to it I am a coward. I have lost my power to dream like I used to, and this upcoming trip to somewhere warm and nostalgic might be just what I need to bring some of that magic back.

A smile and a bit of panic. The past few days, I have been wavering, wondering, reconstructing my thoughts until they become tangled messes of strings. There are consequences to this. Whether I want to keep on dreaming or if I want to fall back into routine. The idealistic or the practical. Which one is which, I am not sure anymore.

I was once told to make up my mind. I was once told to focus on my goals. They are easy words to say but I have been trying to act them out and it is harder than I ever imagined. And now, as a coward, I am looking for that sense of security, that knowledge that if I take this step I will not fall. And what then? What if I do receive it?

Is it what I really want?

The End, Or Ostensibly

Outside, it is snowing.

There is not much more for me to say. I have wanted a lot and hoped a lot and wished for many, many things, and in the end they were, once again, not mine to begin with. I have horrible doubts now, and yet I wish for them to stay, because without doubts there will be truth, and I do not know if I can take the truth.

I have, once again, forgotten to heed my own advice. I have gone beyond where I should have gone, and have suffered as a result. There is not much left to say, except that I should have known this, and thus, I have no one to blame but myself. I alone could have prevented this. And yet I failed.

I once said to Tea that I wasn't sure about this. I told Yuma that this, whatever it was, was not to stay because I was incapable of it. Yet I still went along. I lost myself halfway and here I am, trying to piece myself together. It is always easier to lose yourself, because there are two people to do it, but much harder to find yourself again, because there is only one person left for that.

This ending is much like the previous one, and so I know how it will go. I know how I will respond and how everything will evolve because despite all these years I have not learned anything in this aspect. I know each obsessive move I will take, and how much they will hurt me in return, and yet I can't stop them. They are ingrained in my heart.

Perhaps this limbo feeling will last for another year. Perhaps shorter, perhaps longer. And then I will see how foolish I have been all along, and perhaps then it will finally end.

All of this has been a horrible, horrible dream. And yet, at the end, I don't want to wake up from it. I will drag the sleep and snooze as long as I can, I will because I always have, because I hate to be the last one. I hate to be left alone.

There were many things I wish I could have said in person, but alas, this end is much like the previous one, and even my method of saying goodbye is the same, because there is no other way. I am the one left behind, this time and the last, and something in me tells me I should not do this anymore. All of this trust, it hurts more in the end, and when the labyrinth is broken I must build it back up again, stone by stone.

But dwelling on the pain will make it hurt even more. Perhaps it is time again to say goodbye to another world, another place that is no longer mine. At least the memories will be kept pristine. And in a few years I will forget the pain and only remember the good, and I will be happy. I will. For a short time, at least, because happiness and love, they are not mine to have, and like Roscuro with his light, they are things I will never truly have.

The snow is still falling. The first snow of the year. I stare at his gray dot and know he will never come back. It is not in people's natures to do so, not for me, at least. I wish I could have said many, many things, and I wish I could have done so much more, but in the end they have all come back to haunt me.

At least the snow is constant.

One year ago, I should have known better. I should have said no from the very beginning.

But now, I do. And perhaps next time, I will know enough to do so.

Eckleburg's Eyes

Maybe I have misplaced my dreams.

I, too, am clinging onto a past that will not repeat itself. I, too, remember the precise moment we first looked each other in the eyes and knew. I had reveled in the frivolousness for as long as I could, but the dance always ends. The party always wanes. I am picking up the dirty vodka glasses and staring out my window. Across the water.

The light is still there, it is still beckoning to me.

It hurts me to know the night has ended, but promises of tomorrow dulls the pain. At least I am not deluded in the placement of devotion.

And maybe this is where I have gone wrong. I am hosting these grand, majestic galas every night. Throngs of people come, in their fancy cars and glittering dresses and shrill giggles. He comes too, his eyes lock on mine and I know they are promising a night of laughter and warmth. They are promising to make up for the other nights.

Those nights.

Those nights when I would beg at his door for him to come, and he would slam the door in my face. Those nights when he would say, "I'd love to spend the night with you, but there are a million things I'd rather do." Those nights, when, even though he would begrudgingly accept my invitation, he would yell at me and tug on my arms to make me dance faster.

We all know how this story was supposed to end.

There is a part of me that looks at my reflection and wonder when I will stop keeping up this charade. When I will have found what I am looking for.

I want him to show up uninvited, to offer me his hand sincerely, to hold me in his arms and tell me that I am the apple of his eyes. That there is no one else and nothing else that matters more to him, definitely not the girl who lives with him, the girl he calls his wife, his life, his future.

It is selfish of me. She is much more prestigious than I could ever be. Her words and her allure beckons thousands of people every year to pay her tribute, while I, in my loneliness, cannot even win over the boy who has sworn he loves me. I am throwing these parties, I am grasping at straws, but the night always ends, and he retreats to her shadows again.

And I cannot wait anymore. It will destroy me. It has destroyed greater people, people who have achieved much more wealth and honor than I ever have. These nights will one day consume me whole and spit out my bones in contempt. And the red ribbon will flutter, and the breath will slowly escape from my lungs, and the sounds of the music will fade.

I will be underwater, in the pool, with my eyes wide open, basking in the lulling silence.

We all know how this story ends.

You Don't Come Here To Work

Or so I have been told, by the computer club people. I spent four hours or so working on two half-written java programs, and although it's not as productive as I normally am, I did learn some new things. Like commenting with /** * */ (and more * if necessary) for java docs and using PrintStream to avoid typing out repetitive, long commands.

I also discovered a bunch of really creepy Windows backgrounds, had the most bizarre conversation on pedophilia that I ever have had (to be fair I have not had many of those to begin with), and watched our club presidents get turned into an arbitrary communist government's head officials.

Well, if you ever wanted to be surrounded by weird things at Fish Wings, you know where to go now.

Stories Of The Past

German, to me, is a true foreign language.

Whereas I can converse perfectly well in English, slightly less so in Chinese, much less so in French, and barely so in Spanish, I know not a phrase of German. I could not go up to someone in Germany and say, "Hello," in their own language, although I am sure if I said it in English there will still be people who understand me.

I know almost nothing of the German culture as well, and I am sure the bastardization of Oktoberfest that our university pushes out as a feeble excuse to drink (like they ever need one) is not a good representative. There is so much about the land I do not know, cannot ever know because I was not born and raised there. Even if, as a 20-something-year-old, I decide to move to Germany for the rest of my life, I will never know everything that a native German will know.

It is the subtle things. I am not sure I know all of those even in America, in Canada, much less in China. There are so many stories, so many faint traces of the past, that the Chinese value subconsciously, and that I am no longer a part of despite my Chinese heritage.

All I have are the visible things.

. . .

In Vermont, the mountains loom tall.

Not as tall as the Rockies, but mountains have no comparison. They are loners standing their ground. In Vermont, these mountains have seen through a revolution. They have weathered blood and rain. They have stood by as promises were made and vows broken and lives betrayed and dreams born.

As the car drives by, I look out the window. The lush trees of summer belie no hint of what Vermont is to most people, maple syrup and snow. I have told people Vermont is more than that, to many confused looks. I tell them it is a dairy state, perhaps not as famous as Wisconsin but a dairy state just as well. I tell them the history, the Green Mountains and their boys, Ethan Allen, Benedict Arnold.

This is their land. And the land never lies.

Vermont now is a peaceful state, or as peaceful as it can ever be. The green pastures and overarching trees lull people into a sense of nostalgia. It is the old East, and it still retains its dark past and poisonous shadows, but for now it is peaceful.

We stop at the rest area we always stop at. There is something to be said here, about habits, about coincidences, about many things in life that fit into convenient stories.

But we get off, stretch our legs, go inside and look at the map tacked onto the wall as if it were the first time we were seeing it. We take our hands and measure the distance we have traveled, and how much more we still have to go. We, too, are re-enacting history. We are forging our own terra incognita and charting them to fit the terrains of our hearts.

. . .

Our family is a family built upon road trips.

Ever since we got a car, back in 1999, every trip I had made that did not involve going somewhere half a world away were road trips. I have a special attachment to the land, to the roads. They are what I grew up on, like some kids grow up on sunshine and lemonade and backyard gossip circles.

We were living the American Dream, in a silly, distorted way. We would walk the sidewalk paved in gold and drive down every road. We went out west, we tried our hands at the "work hard and strike it rich" model. We walked out with resilient, optimistic spirits and an oddly-formed humor and our own shot at the American middle class, along with red knots hung on our doors and plastic bags stuffed inside our dishwasher for later use.

I built my dreams on the road. Trips were no longer about the destination, but about the journey in its most literal way. I hated it when the car slowed to a stop, because that meant the journey was over and the destination was here.

And once the destination was here, it would be over all too soon.

The first time we traveled to somewhere not half a world away in a plane, we went to Las Vegas. We hopped out of the plane and onto another car and headed straight for Grand Canyon. We were on the road, the only thing I was familiar with. Arizona roads are not anything like Massachusetts roads, but they are still roads. The desert sings its own song too, one of pioneers and settlers and miracles and tragedies and thousands of years of heritage shuffling in the wind.

But the destination.

The destination was different. The Grand Canyon was something beyond my imagination, beyond even my appropriations of its grandeur.

This was the first trip where we wanted to come back immediately, and the first trip where we were not driving all the time, where we had time to sit and watch the snow drift down without shivering in a car.

. . .

We read an interview of Murakami by Spiegel in class a few weeks ago. Peter said that Murakami was arrogant. He cited the two places where Murakami was asked about other people's books, and once he replied, "It's boring," and the other, of J. D. Salinger and his book Catcher in the Rye, "He did not win his fight against his poison," or something like that. He definitely mentioned the poison.

I do not remember the book as much as I would like to, but I do remember the poison part. I remember Holden Caulfield saying everyone was phony and thinking, that is true, that is very true. I have still not forgiven the backs.

I, too, write from my poison. I draw my sources from the darkest tortures of my mind and place them on paper. The pen is my sword, the page my battlefield, and I am waging war, against my past, against my fears, against my madness.

What that says about me, and about the stories I write, I am not sure. I write about death, even though I have never experienced death that hit too close. Is that symbolic of something? What of Katie when she sees Nick's ghost haunting her mind? Is that symbolic of something?

. . .

Pain is always close to me. So is separation.

Jessica asked me the other day how I dealt with it. The whole long-distance relationship thing. She was missing her ex-boyfriend. I told her we set aside time for each other. And as I was saying those words I felt the hypocrisy inside me.

Over the weekend, I went on a trip with our university's queer group to a cabin in a rural part of the area. One of the nights, we had a talent show, and one guy sat in front of the keyboard while another sang Coldplay's "The Scientist." I heard the words, "Nobody said it would be easy," and I could not stop the tears.

I had not spoke of the late night calls, when we would both be so exhausted and yet so mad at the other and so frustrated with ourselves. I had not spoke of the boxes of tissues lying in my garbage bin, the tear stains still on my laptop, the ribbon tied precariously on the ladder, the coins strewn on a grassy field near the river. Some nights I think I must be psychotic, to know how much this hurts me and yet still hang on.

I still wear the half of the ring, even though I know he does not wear the other half anymore. The other day someone in my English class saw it and asked, "Are you married? Are you engaged?"

I wish I knew the answer, but I am not so sure it is all that I need anymore. Yuma once said he was living through things day by day. I am not that kind of person. If I let things fall day by day, I will eventually lose it. It is what I do with everything.

Here, yet again, it is the journey, not the destination. I must remind myself that, and yet the destination blurs with each day.

. . .

I do not actually know much about my past.

For the past sixteen or so years, I have gone around piecing together my identity. Where do I belong? There is that generic statement of my heritage, what am I in terms of Chinese or American or Canadian or some mix of the three. But for me, this question is personal. It is tied with my longing for the road, my sense of safety among the land.

It is a question of where I belong, physically, not in terms of ethnicity or some arbitrary, culturally-entrenched definition.

If there is a past for me, it is a constant search for a place I can call home. Somewhere along the way, I have lost it, and I am now on the trek to rediscover it. Everything else is blurry. What places I have been to, what people I have talked with, they are constantly replaced with the new places I go to and the new people I talk with. I remember snippets, like Polaroids pasted in a scrapbook.

But this time, I do not want to let go. I do not want to forget. There is something here that is worth hanging onto, something that vaguely reminds me of what I never had.

Something not visible.

Sleep Deprived

I am surprised this is not a previous-blog-post-title.

To be fair I have stayed up later than this for more consecutive nights, most of them involving Yuma coincidentally also staying up very, very late and even more coincidentally we would be talking with each other. Those were the days I fell asleep in my afternoon classes (hello, econ) and generally felt like my head was exploding.

Well, hello, college.

In what could possibly be either a really good decision or a really stupid decision (or both, they're not mutually exclusive), I joined Fish Wings' computer club. I have not had a good track record with computer clubs, and I definitely have not had any track records with a computer club that requires weekly office hour commitments. So this could turn out to be a major time-sink (three hours a week is a lot of time, and although I could always program or whatever during that time, the nerdy people + constant availability of various games I refuse to download onto my lappy because it will suck all remaining spare time from me = not a lot of work done).

My weekends are also paaaacked. And not even with partying like Jessica is doing every Friday (along with the rest of her very, very busy schedule). I'm doing things like learning self-defense and planting trees.

And debugging Eclipse. Because this thing will always find some way to tell me, "Hey, I know you've been using me the same way 100 times now and I haven't given you any trouble, but guess what?"

Ubuntu does that to me sometimes too with the header style.

Maybe all this technology is realizing that I am an aspiring electrical engineer and has decided to repeat my FSAE subteam leader's favorite phrase, "Electronics always fail."

At least blogger is semi-functional and only does weird cursor jumps.

Circuits And Math

Both of which are very, very interesting, although I may be in the minority for believing so (in my house, at least). I woke up today at 10:30, agonized over what to wear and what to bring and what I should do for the rest of the day, then headed over to the computer science building, which I know I called something at the beginning of my Fish Wings posts, but I can't recall anymore. I went up to the third floor and found the lab for my programming class, and two TAs.

This was for ROM, because our lovely captains wanted to see if FPGAs (field-programmable gate arrays) were suitable for our cause, and if so, how complicated would they be to learn. The first time I had ever heard of FPGA was two weeks ago, when one of the captains sent my research partner and I an email. And my research partner, who fortunately is at least in computer engineering, but unfortunately is in his first year taking all the basic math and science classes, know nothing about it as well.

So I asked my TAs (I think they were for my class? Although on the board several other classes were written) who I should talk with, and they directed me to this mobile robotics lab in the electrical engineering building (of course it would be in a building I go to almost every day and yet still have no idea what's inside). I got to talk with one of the grad students who was (and maybe still is) a TA for a class that I am supposed to take in the far far future that is exactly on FPGAs. Well, and a bunch of other things.

Before this, I already knew the basics of FPGAs, like how they're programmable on the machine-code level and they process in parallel, which reduces their processing speeds greatly. But the grad student gave me a lot of interesting information on FPGAs (like they take a long time to learn to program, in the ballpark of 3-4 months for what we want to use it for, which is positioning with advanced sensors), along with other things that I have always heard of but never actually understood, like Arduinos and BeagleBoards. The latter is really fascinating, as it's just like a computer with similar processing chips and ports and circuits, but on a much smaller scale and only on one board, and it runs linux by default.

Or, well, I think that's what it all is. I might have gotten a few concepts mixed up here and there, because so much of it was completely new to me.

I guess this means that we won't be using FPGA for our main processor in the robot, because our competition is coming up within a year and I don't think it's exactly a good use of time to spend a couple months just figuring out how to use something and then programming the algorithms that go on top of it. But it's definitely something that would be nice to explore for the future.

(On a slightly related note, every other Tuesday a guy is in the all-things-electrical lounge offering sessions on building electronics and selling kits, and I know he was talking about Arduinos. Maybe I should get one myself and play around with it.)

And now this post is getting rather long, so I'll save the math (Brahmagupta! Archimedes!) for next time.

Two Birds With One Very Linear Stick

Here is the problem: whenever I have about more work than I can handle reasonably (or when I think I do), I want to procrastinate. Aside from RSS and Gaia and about a bunch of other things blogging is the next one.

But! I can make this productive! I have a linear algebra quiz in about two and a half hours, and I can take notes here while I blog (and/or mindlessly type).

This is inspired by Yuma's rather nonfunctional blog now, and I would link, but it contains his real name and mine, which would make all of these nicknames rather silly and pointless.

Anyway.

Determinants and eigenvalues. The chapter where I actually learned new things.

• The most generic way of finding the determinant of a matrix is to take one row/column and add all the (entry * cofactor of entry) for that row/column.
• Cofactor = (-1)^(row# + column# of entry) det (matrix without entry's row and column)
• This technically works with 2 x 2 matrices, but what you're essentially doing is ad - cb anyway.
• This process is officially called the cofactor expansion. I always think of it as the "reduce the matrix the determinant way."
• SPECIAL CASES:
• if one row/column is all 0, then obviously expand along that row/column = det(matrix) = 0
• if the matrix is an upper/lower triangular matrix, multiply entries along diagonal (this one's easy to see)
• det(k*matrix) = k^n * det(matrix)
• det(transpose of matrix) = det(matrix) since rows/columns preserve
• det(matrix A * matrix B) = det(A) * det(B); and the extrapolation of det(matrix^k) = det(matrix)^k
• Row operations & determinants:
• 1. interchanging = -det(matrix)
• 2. multiplying one row by k = k det(matrix)
• 3. adding mults of one row to another = det(matrix)
• 1 because of signs of cofactors; 2 because of factoring; 3 because of same entries in two rows
• If det(A) = 0, no inverse (gasp!) and otherwise, yes inverse where det(A^-1) = 1/det(A) (sort of like the "inverse" of a number).
• Matrices can be blocked off to make calculations easier (if applicable). Only helps if you can make a square block of 0s.
• Adjoint of a matrix is the transpose of the cofactors matrix (matrix with cofactor of each entry in place of the corresponding entry).
• For matrix A: A * adj(A) = det(A) * I = adj(A) * A and adj(A) / det(A) = A^-1, where the proof of the second comes from the dividing everything by det(A).
• det(adj(A)) = detA^(n-1) where A is n x n; derived from above formula
• Cramer's Rule: so confusing to write... (to find nth x, replace nth column with constant column in coefficient matrix then find det (that) / det(A)) however it's more difficult to calculate for larger matrices and therefore only useful in theory
• Diagonalization is useful for calculating powers of square matrices (that can be diagonalized).
• If a square matrix can be diagonalized, then P^-1 * A * P = D, where P is an invertible "diagonalizing" matrix (so many terms) and D is the "diagonalized" matrix.
• P = eigenvectors of A and D = eigenvalues of A, in respective order (eigenvalue 1 matches with eigenvector 1 in column location).
• Eigenvalues: AX = xX where x is a constant (the eigenvalue) that is usually lambda but I can't type it easily.
• Generally, eigenvalues are found by solving the characteristic polynomial, which is det(xI - A) = 0.
• The eigenvectors are found by solving for X when the eigenvalues are plugged in for (xI - A) * X = 0.
• side note: tr(A) is the trace of A and is the sum of all diagonal entries
• For P to exist, # of eigenvectors = # of columns in A (or the total multiplicity of the eigenvalues, or the # of rows in P)
• Similar matrices are similar (no pun intended) to A and D pairs, but the other matrix need not be D.
• if A ~ B (~ = is similar to):  A^-1, A^T, A^k ~ B^-1, B^T, B^k for k >= 0 respectively
• if A ~ B: det(A), c(x) of A, and eigenvalues of A = those of B; by this the matrix A has similar properties to the eigenvalues of A, e.g. if x^2 (the eigenvalue of A) = 5x, then A^2 = 5A.
• if A ~ B and B ~ C then A ~ C

 The rest is just stuff from before.

My other work consists of writing the two paragraphs I have blocked out for my paper today (I have the topic sentences and the research, so that should be easy), as well as another location-specific paragraph that I need to do a bit more research on that hopefully won't take too long, and hopefully I can tackle another part of my paper (bring it to three full pages) as well.

Then I have reviewing for my Java midterm, so I need to start on my assignment as well, since it's been said that having that done before the midterm is good review.

My mom suggested I listen to French radio, so I could do that in my spare time. I also need to start researching for Robot On Moon (hey, ROM is also Royal Ontario Museum!), and sign up for a project for FSAE, and talk with the person in charge of notes, and review at least calc and hopefully physics too, and finish my letter and send out the food, and write my story, and fit in all my Halloween parties, and figure out my linear algebra assignment eventually, and stop typing "assignmnet" every time I mean "assignment" because terminal doesn't recognize it and spits at me every time I do so.

But. First. Fooooood.

The Past Few Weeks

I have been going to my classes every other class. Sometimes it is intentional, like today, when I skipped my linear algebra class to attend a soldering tutorial that was probably more informative and productive than any single lecture I have gone to for linalg. (I stripped wires and made pretty twists with them and soldered them together with decent speed! That has to be one of the more productive hours I have ever spent in a long time).

Other times it is accidental, like today (again), when I woke up in the morning and it was 9:45 and my java class started at 9:35, and I was groggy and on the top bunk without any proper outdoors clothes on or any breakfast in my stomach, and the earliest I can have all of that done would be by 10, and then 5-10 minutes of walking to class would leave me with 15 minutes of lecture time left. So I promptly fell back asleep.

I asked Jessica later on about what the prof talked about in class today, and she said, "Calling a private property in another class with a public method." Which is, well, what we learned on Monday. I even have rather nice notes for that day.

I think it was on Monday, too, that I left my java class and, after buying yogurt and granola for breakfast, hurried to my linalg class and read the part in the textbook where I thought we had gone over the class before. And I went into class an hour later and proceeded to hear about the same things I had just read.

As Yuma puts it, "Why are your classes so useless?"

I like to believe that it is only so because I am in this limbo mode right now where I can't actually take the exciting classes. But I do have some neat classes next semester, like intro to computer engineering and engineering economy, as well as differential equations which I've heard is actually tough (or maybe they are making it up just like they are making up how difficult linear algebra was going to be). Also I will have no more English classes next semester and, as long as my 93% fixed schedule (based on rough approximations) is not changed by the higher beings who design the electrical engineering curriculum here, I will never have an official English class again.

Or maybe they do this English thing at grad school too. Who knows. I think they should do it every year but I suppose the workload (essay-writing) does add up.

. . .

I found a couple of tunnels under my school. This would sound so much cooler if I also put in, "I sneaked past -insert integer here- security guards and ducked under the camera and picked the lock on the grate and lowered myself into the tunnels," but alas, that was not the case. These tunnels are university-sanctioned, opened for the special purpose of allowing us to get to our classes without freezing ourselves to death when it is -40 degrees Celsius outside and the snow is piled higher than your head.

On the bright side, some of these are steam tunnels, which means they'll be extra-cozy in winter. On the not so bright side, they have operating hours, unlike the buildings themselves, so any late-night cramming session during finals time will necessarily involve walking through the snow.

I am not sure if our school has drains, which I have heard is also a good place to explore in the winter, but those are definitely not sanctioned and will require a lot of time and effort and luck to discover.

Roofs, however, are open (free?) to people who find the doors open at the right time. It is apparently not a rare occurrence. I have yet to be on a roof but that should be fun too.

. . .

Boys are weird creatures. I am sure this has been stated before (I vaguely remember this particular statement or a variation of it on my blog, and possibly on Kathrya's blog too although I can't remember if either is true), and I am aware it is a gross generalization, so I will restate this. Some of the boys I have encountered lately are weird.

The other day I went to the basement of the math and science building, and these two guys were selling white coffee to fundraise for some student group (I think it was Malaysian or some other Southeast Asian group, the guys told me but I don't quite remember). I asked them what white coffee was, and one of the guys explained (different coffee brewing process + condensed milk), and then took off the "$1" sign and said that they were running low anyway, so he gave me a free sample. Then they packed up so quickly and left the table before I even left.

Today, as I was walking down the escalator, one of the guys in my class walked past me, obviously in a hurry. He then held the door open for me, even though I was not even close to the door, so I half-ran to get the door so he wouldn't wait too long.

Maybe the midterms are addling with their brains.

I would love to extend this to girls too so this doesn't resemble a gender stereotype, but unfortunately I am not meeting enough previously-not-well-known-and-probably-will-never-know-well girls to have any concrete examples.

. . .

Thanksgiving weekend was good. It involved lots of fish (alive, raw, microwaved, hot-potted, stuffed-toy-ified), a trip to the depths of Chinatown, friend-visiting, mall-bridge-hopping, movies (some good, some dreadfully slow), and a variety of other things that may or may not be appropriate to put on here. A blackboard was acquired, kitties were petted, and a bunch of pretty much useless RAMs and hard drives were lugged back up the hill.

I might write about it, but definitely not from my perspective and not with any clear-defined names.

And we can also definitely glaze over the late-night drunk on deliriousness hours of insanity.

It was apparently also Denise's birthday on Thanksgiving weekend. It was a rather sad event for her, at least on the day of her birthday, because none of us were there (Sam went to her cottage, other people were otherwise occupied with their families) and she was sick. To make matters worse she spent the weekend at the studio working on one of her many, many projects.

Sam organized a belated celebration for her by taking her to a dumpling place (and inviting all of us). They were really good dumplings (I haven't really had a vegetarian dumpling in a long while, and the ones there were delicious), and Denise and Sam ate two platefuls. I would have ordered a plate myself, but earlier that day I had gone to the-dorm-with-a-good-caf and had gotten myself onion rings and cheesecake and chicken and noodles and broccoli and iced tea, and normally I could have dealt with the main meal but the combo of onion rings and cheesecake was rather filling already, so I was stuffed by the end of the meal.

So not many dumplings for me. So sad.

. . .

I am really tired now. I slept at 4 in the morning, because I wanted Yuma to read me a chapter from a story and he didn't want to, so I stayed up doing silly things. This is probably directly related to my inability to attend my java class this morning, which apparently was pretty silly too, so it all balances out.

I bought four books from the book fair yesterday, all on math and science, and I can't wait to read them. I also signed up for about a million email lists from various clubs around my school, and plotted them all on my calendar in hopes that by virtue of them being there, I will do them.

So far I have not gone to the computer-recycling club, nor the outdoors excursions club, but I have asked Jessica about the two competitions I was interested in (both require teams).

Maybe if I sleep more...

Weekends

Last weekend (it seems so far away even though it's only Tuesday), I went on a camping trip with a group of fellow engineers (and other people, who were mainly engineers' girlfriends/boyfriends). We left on what must be one of the most awful days to leave for a camping trip: it was rainy and cold. But luckily, we had plenty of firewood (and people bought even more after they got drunk), lots of food, and enough alcohol to put a liquor store to shame (we had plenty of cases of all sorts of beer, and other things people brought like rum and gin and vodka, and our coordinator brought boxes of wine).

I was probably one of the few (if not only) people who did not drink, but the food was really good. Our coordinator made chili, and we roasted spider weenies over the fire (and accidentally dropped what was probably an entire pack of hot dogs into the fire) and made s'mores until we ran out of chocolate and biscuits. Someone even roasted a pepper (and said, "It smells really good!" so everyone took turns smelling it).

I had way too much food for the night (I think maybe 4 or 5 hot dogs plus a ton of marshmallows and a tub of chili), but it was so good I couldn't stop eating. I probably burned all of the excess calories off during the night though, when I was freezing so badly I had a blanket wrapped around me, a down jacket on, and was still shivering through much of the night.

We talked about a bunch of silly things, like previous trips the other people had gone on, air force experience (a lot of people in our group had been in the army in some way), and generally Islandtown and other places. Then people started making up really dirty limericks and singing lewd songs, and cigars got passed around. I didn't like the smoke, plus I had drank too much lemonade, so I joined the bathroom excursion.

We hiked down the road, through many, many puddles (my boots are all disgusting now), and arrived at the bathrooms. When we got out, we saw that there was a playground nearby, so our temporarily appointed VP Acquisitions (we had VPs for almost everything, from VP Fire to VP Innuendo) decided it was a great idea to steal two of the kiddie cars in the playground (apparently the goal of VP Acquisitions was to get a golf cart, but that was too difficult), so two of the girls hauled the cars to our campfire.

I spent the rest of the night warming myself by the fire and stopping myself from eating more food. So obviously when I got up in the morning I went right back to the fire and, as the bacon was the only thing ready, I ate bacon. We had all forgotten to turn off the propane stove the night before, so we only had a little bit of propane left. Someone suggested we cook bacon over the fire, so we did that (in a pan and not on a stick, sadly). There was also instant oatmeal made in such huge batches that it looked almost homemade.

I must have ate 8 strips of bacon. So. Much. Food.

Then the group of girls I shared a tent with (and one of their friends and her boyfriend) decided to take a walk to the lake, and when we got there we wanted to walk around the lake. So we hiked through mountains of trash and sand and long reeds, and got to see the lake from all angles. When we got back, there was spaghetti cooking on the fire (food was definitely one of our themes), and it was delicious too. Too bad we had to leave soon after, but not before we finished the rest of the marshmallows, all of the beer, and someone roasted a banana.

On our way back, we talked about more trips (including a skiing trip that I'd love to go on), deteriorating bridges ("please don't stop under the bridge!"), and people who drank too much beer and needed to go to the bathroom (one guy was almost desperate enough to emulate Mario). If it were any warmer and drier I would have wished it lasted longer. As it were though, I was plenty glad to return to my warm, cozy room and actually sleep on a proper bed.

. . .

Next weekend I am going on another trip, except this time I am going to Beavertown (I had bought the tickets last weekend, and I am so excited). I already have my outfits planned out, because, obviously, this is the most important part. Well, also because Yuma said he would be in charge of planning the events, so that does not leave me with much left to plan for.

I told this to a guy I had met online a couple weeks ago (who knew about my situation with Yuma), and he said, "Bring pepper spray."

I hope I won't ever have to use that.

That aside, I am really, really excited. I'm hoping I will finish all of my homework before Friday, and then maybe skip out of my last class on Friday so I don't need to be at the bus station at 12 in the morning (although that is also a feasible option, if I had to), and then I'll skip my Tuesday tutorial so I can have three and a half days (and four nights!) in Beavertown.

But that means I have to work now, so off I'll be.

Busy, Busy Days

I went to the tech fair this week, and talked to several companies about internships and such. I had printed out 15 CVs, because Yuma had told me to print 40, and I think I still have 6 or 7 left. Thank goodness I didn't print 40. I would probably need a few more for the volunteering/exchange expo this weekend, if that, but otherwise I wouldn't need them until winter, and by then I hope to add a few more things on there.

I still need to research these internships I've learned about though. Maybe tonight, or tomorrow, if I get the chance.

Tomorrow I am going to buy tickets to Beavertown, unless my dad plans a spontaneous visit, which I hope he won't, and if he does I can always say that I will be out that weekend with friends. Which is technically true, if you discard the notion that Beavertown is so far away. Then I'll take the metro to the expo, because it is apparently along the route, and then I'll come back to Fish Wings to go on a camping trip sponsored by my department that will last half the weekend. Apparently this is the first time our department has done anything like this, and we're going to a place that even the coordinators have never heard of before they organized the trip.

In Yuma's words (sort of), if anyone died they would never host something like this again.

Yesterday I went to the SWE-like-group's committee meeting, and we agreed on a potluck dinner/drinks/karaoke night some time next month. And today I got a nomination form for class rep (I need 25 people to back me up), and signed up to take notes for other people in my class. I also emailed a group about being a math tutor, and another group about participating in their robot team.

Jessica, who has also signed up for all of these things (well, in the sense of plenty, not the sense of exactly the same), was wondering if she wanted to take on any more or if it would be too much for her to handle.

It does seem like there aren't enough hours in the day, although my classes are still going by as slow as ever. I can't believe a month has passed and I really can't believe how little I learned in linear algebra.

But there is linear algebra homework due on Sunday, and a debate I need to research for on Monday, so I will need to get most of it done before I go on the camping trip tomorrow. Less blogging, more working.

Electronics

As Nathan puts it, "Electronics always fail. Don't just take it from me. The guys who go on to become CEOs at Ford and [some other big car company whose name I have already forgotten] all say that they know shit-all about electronics and electronics always fail."

Very encouraging.

He then proceeded to show us a network problem he was having with the black box on the car. We spent a good hour there watching him put things together, and it was pretty fascinating (I never knew about breadboards before but they are the neatest things ever). Then we watched as he ran the program and explained that, once again, it was not working and he was not getting the data he needed.

Not to mention that the team is going on a pre-race event at Lakeside in a week, and he needs to get it working by then so the other teams working on the car can have the data they need.

I have a sort-of-like-SWE group mixer tomorrow evening, and there is the tech fair all day tomorrow, so I might go there on Wednesday night, if I'm not going to other companies' info sessions. I do want to check out the other parts of the car, and maybe do some data analysis, since that is always fun.

The rest of the meeting went by pretty uneventfully. I was hoping to see Peter so I could ask him where we were supposed to be on Wednesday for our English class, since we're starting on our research topics already, but he wasn't there (probably because there wasn't anything very important going on for those who are already on the team). I did see someone else from my English class though (what is with my English class and cars? I now know four people aside from me who is/will be on the team, out of a total of 25).

In other news:

• Today marks the first day I ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner at a school cafeteria. I had an egg and blt English muffin sandwich and milk for breakfast, smoked salmon and shrimp sushi and peach yogurt for lunch, and pizza and lemonade for dinner (all the fancy stuff ran out by the time I got there). I am still $22 behind my spending schedule for the day. Tomorrow I will be $37 behind. I really, really need to increase my food intake and quality somehow without overeating. Or maybe, as Yuma says, I should exercise more. Maybe I could go up and down the hill every day like I used to?
• I found this really neat math genealogy website, and when I traced my math history professor, it went all the way back to Heisenberg and Gauss and Möbius and Copernicus and lots of other cool mathematicians. Also a really interesting thing was that when I started going really really far back (like 1400s) I would find that a lot people studied under the same people and then taught the same people and other mixed-up things like that. It's less common now because of all the people who are able to study math at a high level, but I suppose back then when learning was still a privileged thing to do, it was more common.
• I have, through some crazy notion, signed up to be part of a debate team in one of my 200-people-large classes. Only 20 people are debating in total. That is crazy, considering I usually never volunteer for anything even when 10 people are called for in a 25 people class. And it's on a topic I never did any research on. But I have lots and lots of time, I suppose. Which reminds me:
• I want to somehow pick up physics again, because I really don't know all that much about it and I believe it is rather necessary to know physics as an engineer. I have been telling myself that I need to get onto that but it's not happening yet, so I think I need to actually assign a fixed schedule, sort of like a class time, so I can get it done. Maybe two hours a day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, then an extra hour for reviewing calc. I could get that fitted into my calendar easily.

Also. People. Talking. About. Midterms.

Already.

I feel kind of silly because the past few posts have all contained some mentioning of grades, and while I do care I don't want to care too much to the extent that I won't get to do all the cool things I want to do on campus (EWB, FSAE, SWE-like group, youth outreach groups). Maybe all of this can be solved by writing shorter blog posts. These things take quite a bit of time.

Samosa Fridays

During dinner on Friday (at this retro diner-like place mixed in with a convenience store), Denise and I split a vegetarian dish that included stir-fried eggplants and other veggies, chickpea and pasta salad, hummus, and pita bread. I punched in my portion of the cost into my budget manager (the one I rediscovered today while cleaning out apps on my phone) and said, "I'm over my limit for food today already."

"What did you buy?"

"Well," I said. "I bought an omelet in the morning at the café, and it was really expensive, but it had really good Swiss cheese and—uh—what did I have for lunch?"

It took me a good five minutes to remember. "Samosas. I bought samosas. Three for $2. That's what I ate."

I still have over $1000 left in my meal plan for the semester, and I have to use it up or else it will expire. The problem is I don't wake up early enough to eat breakfast (or if I do it's a quick bowl of cereal), and sometimes I would go out to eat. Islandtown makes that really easy, especially since Fish Wings is located downtown and there are so many good restaurants around. The other day Denise and I went to this pub and they served the best jalapeno poppers I have ever had.

And the poutine here is heavenly.

Also I don't really eat on the weekends, because I hold crazy schedules and sleep in the early mornings and wake up at around 5 or 6 in the afternoon. Then I make bacon and onion and eggs and whatever else is really easy to cook.

I think I need to buy a bunch of pre-made meals from one of the cafeterias and stash them away for the weekends.

Also, as I was walking back from the metro, I heard the tell-tale party music of our engineering weekly drinking party. The last time I was there they had this really complicated drinking game involving a map of the world, except with bizarre names for the countries. I wonder if anyone (if there is anyone, that is) who is reading this can tell me what the name of that game is?

My mom called me later that night, and among other things, said, "Why are you eating out? You should eat as much as possible from your meal plan." Which is very logical, and would have been easy to do back home, but when you walk down a street and it's filled with all sorts of restaurants and eateries, and you're really hungry because you haven't ate anything for hours and all you've had was a glass of wine, it's not that easy.

Plus I would have needed to sneak into another dorm's cafeteria, since mine does not have one and the engineering one closes early on Fridays, and I didn't want to go through the extra effort.

So I really need to get the planning for food part down.

My mom also said, "I don't except you to get a 4.0 (she was talking about GPAs), that requires too much effort and it's not worth it, but you should aim for above a 3.9."

Gee, mom, there is such a huge difference between a 4.0 and a 3.95.

Ridiculousness aside, I still miss her. We talked for over an hour over Skype (and was interrupted twice by Yuma trying to video-chat me on gchat), and we probably would have kept going if it weren't so late and my mom was at her parents' place, where internet is limited. I won't be able to see her in person until summer comes around, and if anything does happen to me it will at least take her a couple of days to get here. That is something I still cannot wrap my head around.

I talked with Nora last night and she said she was at Gaussianville, which is around 7 hours away from Islandtown. A lot of my friends back from Lakeside are going to Lakeside University, and they are 6 hours away. Beavertown is 6 hours away.

This distance isn't too far. But it is far enough.

Since I slept most of the day away, I don't have much to say about my day. But Zephy sent me an email a few days ago (or was that yesterday? I can't remember) saying that her tag will be forevermore small because I will never have an  occasion to talk about her. So here I am, mentioning her so her tag might grow a bit.

Yuma will be back in a few minutes. He is such a silly, strange boy. I don't know what he wants anymore, but I'll take his happy days one day at a time.

Some Old Things In Drafts

"I know there's something in the wake of your smile, I get a notion from the look in your eyes, yeah."—Listen to Your Heart, Roxette


Molly Lambert has an interesting way of writing. She starts out with something ordinary, like telephone lines against a sunset, and expands it into something seemingly unrelated, like Hamlet, and then wraps it up with a post title and a link title that are completely different. And the pictures too. They make every post something special, something worth reading (it helps too that the pictures break up the dense text).

I wanted to clear out my drafts because the number of total posts was misleading (some of them will probably never, ever see the light of day) and also because I reread this the other day and remembered Molly. She is something special. She has since left "This Recording," but she was the reason I read through all of those wordy posts even though I knew I had assignments of my own due the next day.

There are days I wish I could write like her. But that takes skill. That takes discipline, tremendous amounts of it. And with my brain addled with lack of sleep and the instantaneous skimming I have acquired by reading through my collection of food blogs, I don't have that quite yet.

It is the difference between the good writers and the great writers, although I am not either yet, and perhaps at this rate never will be.

I still remember this particular post. Telephone lines breaking up the sky. Some sort of strange irony that they are not at odds but instead harmonious. I stared at two pigeons today in the middle of campus, watched them squeeze under the wrought-iron fence, their heads bobbing. I did not know pigeons bobbed their heads before "Pooch Café." Even though I must have seen a hundred pigeons before, if not more.

What else have I never known?

Yuma asked me today if I had read Tea's latest blog post, and of course I have. I am subscribed to her in my RSS feed, I cannot escape it. He said it reminded him of me. What were his exact words? Something about being angsty, and it not being the point that I refuted him with the concrete fact that I was not hurt.

But he is more often right than I am. Yesterday a boy in my English class (for engineers) walked with me to my next classroom, and told me he was going to go to the engineering library. He had taken the long way by walking with me, but he said the shortcut was closed. Yuma said he was "hitting on me," but he has been saying that about almost every boy I have talked with. Is he really right, or is he being insecure?

We are reading The Tale of Despereaux right now. Or rather, Yuma is reading it to me, chapter by chapter, on nights when we can both fulfill our promises. We are on the chapter where Despereaux's mother says, "Adieu." It is a sad chapter. There are more sad chapters following it.

I told him, "When we get to the happily ever after we will be able to live happily ever after as well."

His answer was, "We'll see." It is his answer for the future, for our future. He is living it day by day, that is his way of coping. I am living it by focusing on the end. That is my way of coping.

I told Nyx today that I might be visiting Beavertown during my Thanksgiving, and that if I do I would like to see her before I go back. She asked, "Are you going to see Yuma?"

And then said, "I heard you guys broke it off."

Have we?

Yuma introduced me last night to his going-to-forbidden-places-and-physics buddy as "my ex." He signed off one of his chats to me today as "my lovely." Maybe this is his double life, his way of separating what he feels and what he wants to feel. But I am assuming now. I am taking a literary book off the shelf and remarking on its symbolism without going inside the head of the author.

When he read my blog the other night Yuma said, "I always get nervous when you write about me. I don't know what you are going to say."

Maybe that is part of the problem. There is a part of me I do not speak of, a part I only write of. No matter how much we talk and how much he asks me, he will never know my true impression of him. Sometimes I do not know either. The words come out and they are just right, they hint at something I otherwise would never have guessed. Or they are not right, and I erase them, and try again and again.

One of my other drafts was about an airport terminal. Maybe I will post it some day when I have the chance. It is silly now, because I have fulfilled my flying dream, I have seen the vast blue sky at an altitude above the meanest rain cloud.

Here is an excerpt of it, of one of the very last paragraphs I wrote before I got distracted by something else:


I have not been imagining things for a very long time now. It is because of content—when I am happy, I tend not to want to escape through my mind. At least I thought I was happy. In many ways, I am. I love being able to lean back and knowing that someone will catch me before I fall. I love skipping down the halls and not being alone. I have had one too many solitary hopscotch games.


But there is a part of me that is the loner in the rain, the one who is perfectly happy to be cold and drenched and with no one else to reach out with a hand. The one who can watch snow drift for hours and be at peace, because there is not a soul to take this away. Not a soul to break the news of reality.

It is silly to mention this now. Yuma says there are boys here who will make me happy. Who I can cuddle with and not feel lonely. I always stop listening before he goes on.

Tea said I should only chase after him if I am absolutely, 100% dedicated. And I see why now. It is extremely frustrating to reach out every time and be rebuffed, to want to be upset but knowing it would only weaken my stance. On the bright side I will probably be much better at sales pitches by the end of this.

I am all out of milk now, although not yet out of cereal. I was going to buy milk this morning, or maybe Tuesday morning, but when you go to bed in the not-so-early morning you wake up in the almost-not-morning morning. And other things happen. Like today I went to a roundtable discussion with several other engineers from other years and with some company reps from this oil and gas company, and they have all been mentioning internships and Jessica and I are left with wondering what we should do.

"My GPA will be so good this semester," Jessica said. "I am going to get straight As because the classes are so easy."

I am going to get straight As too, or at least I have to, or else I will not have the 3.7 GPA I need to keep my scholarship. It is a scary proposition, but I have heard it is do-able. At least for this semester, which means I will at least have the money for next semester, and maybe I can live it out that way, or maybe I can just learn to the best I can and not worry about grades, because those things come naturally after learning.

And lots and lots of work. Which means lots and lots of time.

Yuma has repeatedly mentioned that I should just do the things I want to do and not worry about conforming to his schedule. But I cannot do that. Because if he is unwilling to compromise then the only way I will get to talk with him is by compromising myself. It is silly, it is hard, and it is taking its toll on my preferred bedtime.

I suppose that is inevitable.

Another Lazy Tuesday

I had set my alarm to 7:30, but seeing as I had slept only five hours earlier, I ended up barely dragging myself out of bed at 8:30, skipping breakfast to run to my meeting with my counselor.

Who, after asking me a bunch of questions including ones I had already filled out on a questionnaire, proceeded to tell me, "I think you're better off seeing [that other group of] counselors."

So I thanked him, left, and spent a good fifteen minutes figuring out where the engineering library was, because I was supposed to meet with Jessica to do our math history homework. I would link to the actual assignment, but that happens to be hosted on Fish Wings' official website, which would totally make the name "Fish Wings" obsolete, so I will describe the questions instead:

1. Multiply one mixed fraction by another mixed fraction using the ancient Egyptian way of doubling.
2. Solve an arbitrary algebra problem without using modern algebra and instead using false position.
3. Multiply two numbers in base 60 together in the Babylonian way. Divide two numbers in base 60 using the Babylonian reciprocal way. Ignore the fact that they had tables and therefore did not actually do that much math (not including time needed to make the tables, of course).
4. Solve a quadratic formula using geometry.
5. Solve a more complex algebra problem using false position again.

These questions took us a good hour (and I had already worked on some of them ahead of time), but they were also really interesting, especially the one where geometry was used to solve an algebra problem. I loved the proofs our teacher did in class. Maybe if I have time I can scan in a version of my own, but the internet probably does a better job of that.

After being productive, I went to the fancy-shmancy computer science building, which I will now call FSCS, and got an egg salad sandwich. It wasn't the best sandwich in the world, but it was alright. I liked the smoked meat one much better.

I also saw the new student lounge with plenty of people inside playing foosball, and I'll have to check that out one day.

I brought my lunch over to the architecture studio, just as Sam and Denise were coming out. We, along with two other people, May and Ralph, went to this deserted windowsill half a level below a lower tier of the roof, and after twenty minutes of debating and a lots of texts, we figured out that the windows facing us were those of Sam, Denise, and May's studio. Some guy inside waved at us, and we waved frantically back, but he got bored soon and left the window.

We then all went to get ice cream (Toonie Tuesdays!) and all chose the same base flavor coincidentally. I had maple walnut again with my base flavor, espresso, and it was really, really good. I don't think I'll ever buy ice cream anywhere else.

After that I went to my math tutorial, where we learned more about REF and RREF and my TA commented on my math shirt (and thought I was a math major). Some time after that I helped this middle-aged guy with both linear algebra and calculus, then got back to my dorm, decided to work, and ended up on RSS again. Oh, the wonderful life of internet.

On the Hill

There must have been a few months since I've last blogged.

I don't remember the exact date, although if I were less lazy I could search it up right now. I do remember why though. I stopped blogging because it just didn't feel right anymore, because I spilled my heart into this blog and suddenly there were things I could not say anymore because I could not let Yuma, who read my blog religiously, see those thoughts.

That is the problem with making your blog known to people you know personally. I had thought of starting other blogs on other sites, but they were too much of a hassle, too difficult to remember and too annoying to upkeep. College applications were coming up, papers to write, things to do with my life, and I didn't really need a blog, did I? Lots of people live their lives perfectly fine without one.

I read a few of Tea's last posts and they were nice. I miss the days when we all blogged like that. Julie doesn't blog anymore either. Neither does Gretchen.

Maybe I just miss those days in general.

I don't know if anyone I know will actually read this anymore. That's alright with me. Actually, it's probably better. I am writing this in hopes that Yuma will never read it, not that this will hurt him in particular, not anymore. But I would rather gain some last control over what I think and who I tell that to.

. . .

Yuma said he would be back late, maybe two or three in the morning. I told him I would wait for him. It always frightens me when I wait for someone, because I don't know if they will actually show up or not. I don't think I have ever admitted it on this blog (although I may have, I don't remember now), but I am a periodically insecure person. Yuma would attest to that. I alternate between believe I can do anything and have everyone believe me, and simply pondering over why anyone would care to even look my way.

Lately I've been thinking that I have never deserved Yuma's love. He did love me absolutely, maybe not unconditionally, but as close as you can without sacrificing yourself unreasonably. I never figured out why. Was it the way I looked? (He does have a preference for Asian girls.) Was it my intelligence, at least in terms of math and science? Was it because I talked with him a lot?

What was it exactly?

I remember telling Tea, a few days before or after Yuma first kissed me, that I did not know if I should really pursue this relationship.

Tea said, "Whatever you do, don't go into a relationship then break up and tell him, 'I've never loved you in the first place.' That hurts a lot."

I wasn't ready back then. Ten months and a world of turmoil later, I know how unprepared I was for everything that was about to happen.

And I am losing him now. I am losing Yuma, and I am afraid again. I am afraid of promising him that I will wait for him for the net four years, even though that is the romantic thing to do, because I am afraid that even if I wait these years I will still lose him.

This time, he is the one who says, "I don't love you," and he has every right to say that. I don't even have the consolation of thinking, "Oh, he's just an idiot who's making a big mistake and I'll show him."

Because I am that idiot. I made the mistake.

I don't know how this will turn out. I want to have him back again, I want to live through all those dreams we  said we would share together. I want things back to what they were once again, and I keep on thinking, "I never thought I would want to go back to my high school days again."

Because high school was hell for our relationship, but this, this is even worse.

. . .

On a more cheerful note, Fish Wings, which is what I am calling my college now, has been fine for me. I am taking five classes this year, one of which is only 1.5 hours a week and so is just half a class. I have made friends, both in my dorm and outside, and I have people to hang out with every day if I so chose.

I have been spending a lot of time in the architecture studio, because both Denise and Sam, two of my closer friends here, are in architecture. They have a very busy schedule, not just classes but actual studio work, so I drop by the studio when I'm free and just work there.

Kitty has also promised me that we would go shopping together once a week, although I might have to push off that until later because I still have lots of food in the fridge and no inclination to cook anything. Maybe I should buy more microwavable things though, to tide me over a few more nights.

I will probably be spending more time with Peter too, if he keeps on talking with me. I have already told Yuma and Tea and Reese and everyone I could possibly find who might be interested my freaky connection with Peter (we came from the same places), and considering I'll be joining Fish Wings' FSAE team, which he is also on, I'll probably be seeing him a lot and he'll be talking with me a lot.

And there are other people, like Jessica, who I am going to see a lot because she is in three of my classes. We will be working on our math history homework next Tuesday, and hopefully be as adept at figuring out problems as the ancient Egyptians and Babylonians were. And there is Ng, whose name I absolutely cannot say, and who is, in part, the reason for all of this. I do not know what to call him now.

 . . .

Yuma is back now. He is acting like he is fine now, that he wasn't ever mad at me because of what I've done. I don't know if I should believe him—and I desperately do, I really want to believe all of this is real. But I don't have much evidence to place my hopes on. I did sort of blackmail him, using his words, by using my health. I suppose it is some evidence for his still caring about me, but love and forgiveness are very different things from caring, and although I really hope this is real and I do have all three of them now, I don't know.

I don't know if this is just his way of placating me. If he is actually thinking, "Why do I have to put up with this pathetic, crazy, useless girl?"

I have fallen a long way from grace. But I do know the only way to make this even remotely true is to believe in it. I am not worthy, I know that. But I'll believe that by some miracle, I will find my wings again.

Why You Should Own A Pet Gerbil, Now

DISCLAIMER: The following is not meant to be taken seriously. The author and her friends do not wish harm upon any animal. Mosquitoes and flies aside.

Anyway.

Zephy and I were on the bus today, and we passed by the dog park. I pointed out that a lot of people were walking dogs, and then I asked Zephy, "If you had a dog would you walk it in the park?"

"Depends on what kind of dog," she said.

"I don't know—a long-haired dog, say."

"Are they hypoallergenic?"

At which point I remembered that I had forgotten that Zephy was allergic to cat and dog fur. So I said, "Probably not a long-haired dog then. What about chihuahuas?"

"My cousin has a chihuahua," she said. "It's named after my other cousin, so it's really confusing when we call its name. But I don't want a chihuahua."

"Hmm. What about—what else are you allergic to?"

"Cats, dogs, and dust. That's what the allergy report said."

"So you're not allergic to gerbils?"

"No, I'm not."

"So you could get a pet gerbil and walk it in the park! In one of those wheel things, except instead of staying still it would roll forward."

"You mean like a sphere?"

"Yeah! Except a wheel would be better, if it was wide enough so it wouldn't tip over. Because you could tie a leash to the side and—uh—walk it. But you probably couldn't really walk it since well—okay, maybe you could. You could pull on the string and then the wheel would roll and uh, the gerbil would just kind of tumble inside."

I guess this is why people "walk" their gerbils in stationary wheels.

. . .

Zephy told me that three people made AIME this year, including me, Tybalt, and some other person whose name she did not hear. But the cutoff score is 93, so maybe that last person was Sonny? It would be a bit annoying if he was the one, since he half-guessed his way there, but it's not like there's a prize for qualifying for AIME, so if he likes doing more math problems then good for him.

But I guess this means I should do more math problems. Instead of reading RSS every night. Although I am very up-to-date on various things such as the pseudo-flooding in Western Ohio, the near-Oscar-sweep for The King's Speech, and the various new functions of Google Docs.

You can't win it all, I guess. Not even golden statuettes that cost $150 each to produce.

. . .

I just realized today that Mr. Wollen's website says "First page you see" when you click his name from the school site.

He also has "First day of Spring!!!" on his March calendar.

I can't wait for spring to start, and for this snow to end. But I suppose I should get used to it, because I have now received both letters of acceptance and scholarship from McGill, and that is most likely where I will be going. So snow, hurrah! Good thing I'll soon be legal to drink, right? Don't they say cider's the best way to warm up on a cold winter night?

Or maybe that was hot chocolate. I like those better anyway.

I also need to choose whether I want to major in biomath or EEE. Yes, those are actual majors. I'm thinking that I'd rather major in biomath, since if McGill hadn't offered it I would most likely have gone for a biology or math major with the other as a minor. But EEE! If I minored in English (no way, but if I were to) it'd abbreviate to EEEE! And if I picked up economics as another minor, EEEEE!

Okay. That is not a good reason.

The real reason is that engineering is a rather fast-changing field, and it's something that generally does not require being in one place for a long time, and that's tempting. Dealing with high-tech is tempting too. As well as this whole "applied" business, because after all applied math goes hand in hand with engineering.

So I will ruminate for a couple of months and decide later.

I Haven't Forgotten This Blog Here

It's just that with life going on I kind of put this on the back burner (I think?) while I engaged in other activities such as reading a 150+ pages long play on a silly middle-class guy who wants to be a noble. Which reminds me, there is a new Noblesse update today, and darn it, Yuma, you have me hooked on it so now I cry, "OH WHY ARE YOU SO FICKLE YOU CLIFFHANGERS?!" every Tuesday night.

Not my favorite way to spend any evening. But I'll cope.

Because it is now 11:24pm and I don't have anything immediately interesting to say since act three of Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme has 16 scenes and I am only on the 7th (and I need to finish the entire play by Monday), I will instead pull up old things I have written as an offering to the Blogging Deities to secretly bribe wish for more posts to come.


HOW TO FIX THE ECONOMY 101:

1. Find “THE ECONOMY.”
2. Whack it with a hammer called “BUBBLE CRASH.”
3. “THE ECONOMY” should now be spiraling into a “RECESSION” which may result in a “DEPRESSION.”
4. Report to higher-ups of the “RECESSION.” Assign all blame to the shortest guy.
5. Watch as higher-ups fire the shortest guy. Propose “SOLUTIONS” to the higher-ups. Do not worry about what kind of “SOLUTIONS” to propose--they do not have to work.
6. Once approval comes from higher-ups, ditch “SOLUTIONS” and instead use money to buy lots of new “LUXURY ITEMS.”
7. The sale of “LUXURY ITEMS” will naturally result in a boost in “THE ECONOMY,” thus kicking it out of the “RECESSION” and sending it off to a new “BUBBLE.”
8. Sit back and receive praise from higher-ups and “MAIN STREET CITIZENS” for your wonderful “SOLUTIONS” to save “THE ECONOMY” from the “RECESSION” and imminent “DEPRESSION.” Everyone will have forgotten that you caused the “BUBBLE CRASH” in the first place because they will be enamored with you and will think you can never cause any harm. (Until the bloggers start picking you apart.)

HOW TO FIX THE ECONOMY THE HARD WAY:

1. Study economics throughout college and into graduate school, poring over numerous volumes of advanced economical studies and historical graphs and assorted other material.
2. Attempt to use knowledge in current circumstances.
3. Realize all is futile because you are the shortest guy in your group of economic advisors. (Decide to hide behind online personas instead.)

HOW TO FIX THE ECONOMY THE LAZY WAY:

1. Watch the “CLEVER ECONOMIST” and the “STUDIOUS ECONOMIST” fix “THE ECONOMY.”
2. Add yourself as a co-author in their final report.

There Was Snow, White Snow

Five minutes from the heavily anticipated announcement of whether we will have an early dismissal or not, Mr. Littney, who had earlier asked us to discuss all of the books we had read for class thus far, asked, "What would Gregor from Metamorphosis say if he knew that a snow day was coming up?"

We stared at him for a while, not quite understanding his question.

"I think he wouldn't even notice," Mr. Littney went on to say. "I think he would be so entrenched in his routine that he wouldn't even notice there was snow. What about Return of the Soldier?"

"Chris would probably be staring out at the snow and reminiscing some wonderful moment with Margaret," someone said.

For Brave New World, Sonny said, "I think there wouldn't be any snow. They would just make it go away." Some else said, "People couldn't have snowball fights unless they used complicated machinery that increased consumption."

For Hamlet, Cammie said, "Hamlet would probably be the superintendent, trying to decide whether we should have an early dismissal or not." And Mr. Littney added, "Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to have an early dismissal or to suffer until 2:15."

And for Aura, Mr. Littney said, "You look outside at the snow, and it is not snow anymore!" "And cats are burning on the trees," someone else added.

Oh, English.

(At the beginning of class, we had a one-minute discussion of the snow, which included Mr. Littney saying, "This is AP, get nothing and expect even less," in response to the collective groan when he pulled up the blinds so we could better stare at the tantalizing snow falling outside.)

. . .

We had our early dismissal, after all. I came home realizing that if we had not had an early dismissal, I would have had to explain multiple incomplete homeworks. And it wasn't that I had banked on the possibility of a snow day—I went to bed fully prepared to plot out my day according to the plan that there would be a full day of school.

There is lethargy in the air. Scatter-brained.

My back hurts. I thought it was because I sleep in shriveled-up positions, but now that I think about it, perhaps it is more because I had been leaning against unforgiving edges for a prolonged time yesterday. I am not the flexible girl I used to be, the one who could raise her feet to almost behind her head. That was years ago. This is now. This is painful.

I am tired, I am sleepy, and it is but a week since our last break. I slept a ridiculous amount during break, extended, 12+ hours. Sometimes 18. Sometimes more.

Sometimes I want to sleep even more, but it is now painful to lie down on my back, so sleep will, once again, be elusive.

. . .

My dad is talking about one of my cousins, who dated a boy in high school throughout college. The boy went to a better school. My parents often said that was the reason they broke up right at the end of college.

The cousin got a job half a country away, in a factory, and there, she met her future husband. Who cheated on her. She got a divorce and moved back home.

And in China, a divorce is still a huge deal. It is reputation-destroying. You won't ever be the same anymore.

At home, she found someone else, a man with a child.

Which is somehow even worse. These are some values I cannot, cannot agree with. But they are reality. I am not in accord with reality.

My dad does not approve of this relationship (neither does my grandmother, for that matter). He thinks it won't work out. Ever the optimist, he is. He will, most likely, have little say in this matter, but he has a lot of say in other matters closer to home.

. . .

The days are long, and the nights longer. Long Day's Journey into Night. I think I make up for my lack of TV-knowledge with a good deal of literary references. I am not sure if that is any better. If one is inherently better than the other, or if it is merely a change in perspectives and roots.