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.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Monday, December 26, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, December 23, 2011
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!
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!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, December 19, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
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 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?
