Mandatory Morning Run

8:55 AM

That's when I woke up this morning. A reminder: my French oral proficiency interview was scheduled for 9:05 AM. I skyrocketed out of bed, jumped into running shoes and ran for it like the nerd that I am. I've been trying to wake up early and go for a morning run for so long. Well, I finally did it today. Although, I showed up panting, out of breath and about to throw up over my interviewer. The things I'll do to prove my love for French...

I also caught the end of my last Anthropology class. And we had our last class in writing sem today. It was quite sad...

Blah-ing Around

I'm so stupid. I missed my French oral exam. And now it's rescheduled for nine in the morning tomorrow! NINE. Back in high school, that would've been considered late, but after waking up at around 10:30 to 11 each morning now... this will be torture. I think I'll still be half asleep. Repeat: I'm so stupid! Je suis tres stupide.

And it's gotten cold, again.

Now that classes are over, papers are turned in... and there are no more big shows or anything of that nature... I feel really. really. bored. I thought I would be relieved to have some sort of break from work but now that I'm not busy anymore, I have no idea what to do with myself! It doesn't help that this is the intense study week for everyone else. So, I'm just blah-ing around until Slope Day and all that craziness begins. I'm ending early, too. May 10th! TIME FLIES.

Curiouser and curiouser fo sho | Crazy Stuff I've Been Up To

How am I still alive? Thinking back to last week, I can barely believe that I've made it through all the deadlines, final projects, and presentations. Let's see what I've been up to. I've...

Written a FULL documentary play.

Gave a presentation on tax deductions and postsecondary tuition rates.

Scored a two-year internship with the Herbert F. Johnson Art Museum.

Cranked out my final anthropology paper.

BS-ed a French final paper.

Assisted and modeled in the Cornell Design League Fashion Show.

















Spring Formal!




















Interviewed with The Laundress|New York for a summer internship.



















Started planning a potential California trip.

Just begun my final Theater paper...

Passed out.

It's about time I talked about it | Greek Life

I'm getting tired of Greek life. It's one of those things, where one aspect of it is both something good/exciting and bad/exhausting: social networking. I'll be the honest advocate and say yes, fraternities and sororities can be very superficial. Since when has knowing people and having connections matter so much? Maybe I'm not getting that connections is just another part of the general scheme of life. Connections: finding friends, jobs, freebies, etc. And since when was it necessary to be a part of an organization in order to feel accepted and have friends? That is the negative side. Cornell is a huge school - but it all boils down to this very small community of individuals. You begin to recognize people everywhere. I both love it and hate it. This is what I've realized: to be Greek is great, and fun, and amazing for networking. But one thing it is not: an identity. For this reason, I'm so thankful for friends who are not a part of this circle. They've kept me grounded.

Another thing I've asked: would I have ever joined a minority sorority? There are Asian (Asian interest, they call it) Greek organizations out there. But another thing I've realized: minority greeks are worlds apart from the general greeks. You would have never thought of that but really but I'm not exaggerating at all.

For one, there's the rush and pledging process differences. They are much more liberal in choosing pledges (partly because there's not that much of a selection, usually). But much more intense and serious about pledging. My pledge process was a whirlwind of countless events and opportunities to meet other Greeks. However, minority pledging is a time when you're meant to be "tested." There are a lot of sketchy, secret codes to follow. When you finally do initiate (or "cross"- they follow a totally different terminology which sounds kind of scary and intimidating in my opinion, but may have been developed for this exact purpose) it's a HUGE deal. Letters, hands signs, titles: all these little things suddenly gain such meaning. And even when you do finally initiate/cross, you are still considered a new member ("neo"). There's an obvious hierarchy and it all has to do with these customs, titles - an humanly imagined concept. I wonder if it derives from Asian culture. The older you are from an Asian standpoint, the more respect you receive.

They're making the hand signs for their sorority/fraternity.

We talked about it in my anthropology class for a bit. How do supposedly ordinary symbols and rituals suddenly hold such meaning? A simple hand sign or greek letter suddenly has intense value because you permit some people to use them and others not to. It's like negative reinforcement and slightly twisted. You make a certain individual's life hell, take away all dignity and self-respect to make a simple event hold such importance. The individual feels a hundred times more grateful, afterwards. But does this mean we should make one part of our life miserable so that we can really appreciate the other half? It's the same idea with people who have a problem with cutting themselves to ignore the personal pain in their lives.

To blow it way out of proportion, Hitler used some of the same tactics to slowly transform the Nazis into a full-on hate group using little rules that slowly brainwashed an entire nation. First, the Jews weren't allowed to have bicycles. Next, a curfew. Then, not allowed to own business. The Nazis had an intense pride because they gave symbols like the swastikas and Nazi salute great importance. Everyone felt bonded together.

I'm in no way comparing Greek life to Nazism. But just to prove a point that some ideas made me question the meaning of fraternal organizations. What does it even mean to be part of a fraternity or sorority? Is it an identity? Does one get sucked into it? Once you join one, will you ever have a life outside of it? Will your only friends be other Greeks? This is what I've been pondering lately. And, I'm beside myself with gratitude - no, not about my initiation - that being Greek is not my identity and I sincerely believe... well, if I even had the courage to ask myself and others these questions then really, I haven't changed one bit.

Recipe for a Perfect Weekend

I love how all the prefrosh think that all we do at Cornell is sunbathe in bikinis, gorge jump, eat, and play Frisbee. When I visited last year (it's been a year??), five feet of snow covered all of Ithaca. How I ended up here... that is the question. Anyway, let me first give a little introduction:

Every Sunday, my sorority has a chapter meeting to discuss all that's going on in and around Alpha Phi. Today, a woman from the health center came to us about nutrition. Apparently, a person whose mood dramatically improves as a result of good weather has a high dependency on seratonin. That means food, physical activity, and 60 degrees and over temp = happy. Welcome to the most amazing weekend I've had at Cornell, thus far and the beginning of a much needed love affair with this University of Diversity.

On Saturday morning, I woke up and threw on the oldest, rattiest pieces of clothing I owned and joined up with some people headed for Holi, an Indian holiday to "welcome Spring" (such a nice reason, huh?). It was INSANE. About a hundred or more students ran around Annabel courtyard, throwing colored powder at each other for three hours. I barely survived- we were all covered in color and looked like a complete mess. A random person had thrown yellow into my eyes and I needed a friend to guide me step-by-step to a bathroom.


At the end of Holi, someone came up with the brilliant idea to go swimming. Which eventually turned into a mass migration to the gorges. (You see why I'm amazed I ever found myself in a a college surrounded by waterfalls and cow meadows?) Imagine a crowd of paint-covered, barely recognizable figures splashing into the gorges. I think the water changed color after all that.

Yes, I spent most of this weekend outdoors. After our gorge-jumping-slash-color-cleansing adventure, we decided to lay out in sun, walk to Collegetown for bubble tea, get dinner. I ran back to get ready for a breakdancing showcase and going out. The perfect weekend. I ran-without going to the gym, got utterly messed up-intentionally, ate delicious food, and actually got a legitimate tan. Seratonin overload. This week will be bombarded with activities as well. It's officially Cornell Fashion week... our show is this weekend. And Formal is coming up. My INTERNSHIP INTERVIEWS. PRESENTATIONS. And, again I'm writing here when I should be writing for actual grades (I have a full documentary play to write tonight). Ciao, and have a good week. PS And yes, I did end my weekend night outdoors.

I'm on a diet.

... well, sort of. I'm eating healthier. With little indulgences every now and then.

Every time we workout and find ourselves in a lazy rut, my friend and I have a bunch of motivational words, which we yell out like a woman giving birth. Here's some example, feel free to try them out: "SWIM SUITS," "BEACH," (for my friend, she's from Los Angeles) and "SPRING FORMAL," and "FASHION SHOW" for me.

This dress on the left is what I'm wearing to my Spring Formal. Cute, n'est-ce pas? I'm really getting into more Spanish-Italian trends.

So, I'm on a "diet" for now. Sigh...

A Panic Attack

"THERE ARE 18 DAYS OF SCHOOL LEFT. 18!! EIGHTEEN. ONE-EIGHT. TEN PLUS EIGHT EQUALS EIGHTEEN DAYS OF SCHOOL LEFT. Was is going on in the world?? "

-Me to a friend at the cafe in the Hotel School over sandwiches

Battling Karma, Fate, and the Weather

This is a question I've been pondering: Am I genuinely loving Cornell/Ithaca or am I just loving the weather and where I'm at in life at this time? How much choice do we actually have over our emotions and general temperament? I keep thinking back to my first semester of college. If I could pick one word from the English language to sum it all up: angst. Yes, angst. Angst, as a single, pre-med, miserable freshman. Now, as a (still single) content, Art major, almost sophomore (did I just say sophomore?), I have to wonder: is this karma? Am I being repaid for the shitty semester I had last year? And if so, does this mean that I will have to return to a shitty next semester so that my karmic cycle is not off balance? That would... suck.

Everyone is amazed that the past few days have been nothing but beautiful weather. Bear in mind that beautiful weather in Ithaca just means sunshine. However, all of us know that this can't go on forever. So, we're all holding our breath, here. This string of perfect days has to end some time. I won't be surprised at all if I wake up tomorrow and see snow blizzarding outside my window. Around this time last year, I came to Cornell for a hosting weekend (oh I see so many kiddies walking around outside, oh the memories!) and it snowed. It was April.

Weather does affect mood. You can't argue that it doesn't. Walking to go to class - in sandals and a sun dress - definitely beats snow boots and jacket (and scarf, gloves, hat, earmuffs...) But when will this nice weather end? When will my happy semester end? We shall see. I've learned never to get too comfortable. That's when the unfortunate surprises occur. On a different note, I have two weeks to lose ten pounds. Yes, that's how much I've gained since I last got measured for the Cornell Design League's annual fashion show. Don't ask how I became a model... and definitely don't ask how I started to actually like Ithaca until the snow comes back again.

Cornell Model United Nations

This is what's up: for the past few days, my life has revolved around CMUNC. Myself and a few other poor sleep-deprived individuals have:
1, herded 500 high school students to various dining hall locations in full business attire
2, began calling students by country names or simply "delegate" (i.e. "Mexico, stay on the sidewalk!" "Shut up, delegate!")
3, banged a gavel
4, used the exact phrase, "Are there any points of motion on the floor at this time?" probably fifty times
5, dealt with delinquent delegations and students who stormed a glass door to escape the Delegate Dance
6, ate tons of pizza
7, acquired a posse

So, my weekend has felt like two weeks. And although, I've done hours, upon hours of voluntary work... I've actually done none. What's it all for? Why same as always of course: to save the world!

April Fool's Weather

I woke up early this morning to drizzle and grayness. Some days (or weeks) really make you not want to get out of bed. But do we ever have a choice? I had a bunch of things to do and too much going through my mind. So I threw on rain boots, scarf, wool coat as quickly as possible and headed out. April Fools. The weather was California warm- I felt like an eskimo. Lighter apparel and a pair of shades later, I ran to my belly dance class. Forty-five minutes of twirls, swirls, and exotic middle east music always makes my day. But as soon as I left the studio, it was showering outside. Another evil joke.

This oscillation between showers and blinding sunshine would continue for the rest of the day. Someone needs to make a t-shirt, "ITHACA IS A TEASE." Take a look at this: The walk to the library-bright, warm, and windy. Dinner-downpour, cold. Now-sunny, showering. Every possible combination of precipitation and cloud coverage occurred today! It was as though the weather became some sort of mood ring for my emotional state this week. Or wouldn't it be nice if it really was just a joke? What if someone really is waiting to pop out, "April Fools!" style?

An amazing sunset is setting outside my rain drop-speckled window. Across campus, people are studying for prelims. Some may be eating at dining halls, or riding buses, or running an endless track on the gym treadmills. This routine is endless... but then again, maybe some people are sitting inside, too. And thinking about the stupid weather and whatever drama the last heartache has brought. Thinking if it had all just been one great April Fool's joke.

Hoping to Set a New Tone for a Busy, Dramatic Week

The beauty of life is that we are ourselves but we can also use imagination to be anything (doesn't it sound like a reading rainbow song?). So, we can imagine to be in the shoes of other people and wonder why they act a certain way. I'll quote Einstein to back this up: "Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited; imagination encircles the world." So this is my secret weapon and I'm sharing it with everyone out there (guess it's not a secret anymore). Whatever bad and terribly sickening circumstances finds you, remember that you have a mind- so use it.

When I was little, I had a love affair with a book titled The Little Princess by Frances Hodgsen Burnett (check spelling of author?). This very precocious girl is sent to boarding school, while her father goes to war. The stupid headmistress hates the brilliant girl but sucks up to her because she's mad wealthy. But, the girl's father dies and she is supposedly left penniless because rumor says her father lost all his money before his death. Out of anger, the stupid headmistress makes her a scullery maid. Tough times come about but in spite of all that, the girl rises above all the hatred and humiliation using her imagination. For a seven year-old girl, it was a beautiful story. This wasn't a typical children's book about "self-esteem" (i-think-i-can-i-think-i-can) or believing in yourself. It was pure beauty because that girl was so above all that. She didn't have to prove anything.

It was a beautiful story. And it still is. Imagination, sounds pretty vague, but that's what makes it seems like magic. I'm not going to oversoul this term to death. But lately, I've been finding that imagination and inspiration and peace may be all the same thing. That's my sappy, bohemian moral for the week.

The Soulless Ethnographer

That's a picture of my friend, Frantz in Paris. What a model of diligence. Let's call it, "The Opposite." In that, I mean the opposite of what I always do at 11:51pm on a school night. Procrastinating!

I've got an anthropology essay to write. National Geographic type of writing is not easy at all. One has to seamlessly weave together bits of theory, personal experience, splendidly detailed observation, and at the same time, make everything sound original, creative, fresh, and provocative. And keep the inevitable biases on the DL. No problem? Sob.

Essays are my thing. I'd rather have them over anything- exams, problem sets, presentations, orthodontist appointments. PLEASE, let me just write you a five-page, double-spaced, one-inch margin paper.

But in this case, I'm feeling really uninspired. I have this phobia of writing on the laptop. Blank word documents are intimidating! So, I've been handwriting everything first and it hasn't been a problem... yet. (I'm trying to keep my mind off of a senior thesis) It's been a smooth ride till now. Anthropology is owning me. I'm no national geographic reporter or Jon Krakauer. But you know, why can't I scribble something out? Anything... and now, it's 12:02 am. I'm a picture, titled "Soulless Ethnographer."

Too Cha Cha for a Spring Formal?

My collection of dresses has exponentially increased this year. Anyone who needs to borrow one, feel free to help yourself to my useless closet! Paris, mixers, formals, etc... I've never needed so much formal wear in my life. A good secret: Forever 21. Cheap, one time wear dresses.

On the Verge of Sounding Morbid

The other day, my parents and I drove down to Westchester to visit my grandparents. Correction, my grandparents' graves. We've been making this trip for as long as I could remember. I HATED it and being surrounded by tons of (shudder) dead bodies. We would buy flowers from a nearby shop and set them at the bottom of the marble wall of dead bodi- er, crips. Then, we quietly, nostalgically stood in a line for what felt like an eternity.

This time, it was the same ordeal. We drove down; I fell asleep for the entire ride. As we entered the gates of death (literally), I waited for the weird, shuddery, life-after-death thoughts to wash over me. But they didn't come. It was very interesting. The building seemed quiet and cold as usual. I was relaxed, though. The place was thoughtful, peaceful. Instead of feeling horrified at the thought of decomposing bodies within these walls, I felt okay. The place was seeping with MEMORY. Oddly, at the verge of sounding disgustingly psychotic, I took a great interest to construction of a neighboring mausoleum. I mean, you know that dead people are in there, but really! Do you know how that's organized?

There's something so taboo about anything associated with death. But this need to be politically correct has forever drawn people to the subject. And then I got to thinking about it. (Well, you really can't help thinking about death when you're in a cemetery) DEATH. We try to prepare for it by planning out the details of our insurance, funerals, must I say, coffin and crip preparations (God, always the pressure to not offend people slash political correctness). "Well, we can put you on a waiting list of people who want these better crip locations but they'll be more expensive. This place is filling up pretty fast. Or I can sell you one but it'll take two years to complete. God forbid, anything happen in the next two years... But if you need one right away, I can do my best to manage that, too," explained a (god!) crip salesman to my parents. Okay, at this point my calmness vanished. My parents are looking to reserve a place at this mausoleum for themselves. Me, calm?

I am way past the verge of sounding morbid. I am jumping off the cliff of morbidity. But these things bother me. Life insurance bothers me. Young women marrying eighty year-old tycoons bother me. This gamble called LIFE/DEATH is a disturbing, yet terribly interesting idea. It was a good thing that I felt oddly calm that day. The salesman, my parents, and I discussed death as though we were talking weather. Unpredictable but something we're paying good money to take the edge off of our fear for its unpredictability. Should that bother me, too?

UNDER CONSTRUCTION | What am I really talking about here?

Lately, I've been going through one of those nostalgic, "finding my place in the cosmos" phases. It all started a couple of weeks ago when I realized I haven't really read read a book in what felt like years. That, combined with dramatic, yet predictable, mood swings and a pathetic writer's block, prompted me to confront my mind. My mind is a sputtering of blahblah's and accumulated brain trash, a state of being also known as frustration. Frustration: discovering that I actually possess very little originality. And that I have no gift for language after all. My style is... eh, up and down. In addition to all of that, I've become a total wallflower. I've got this slush pile of muddied-up, untranslatable ideas.

So continuing on with this story (see, brain freeze!!!)... A couple weeks ago, I went to the Cornell store and bought a pile of books off the New York Times bestsellers list. I was going to reinvent my inner bookworm. I started reading and have been reading all this Spring break, only to further confirm my fears: Yes. These writers are... incredible... outstanding... The little gold sticker on the cover flap is winking at me with a smug, "Yeah! You're a failure!" glimmer. Yep, I'm a complete failure. I've discovered that this ivy-league education has amounted to NOTHING so far. A couple mis-learned chemical equations and concepts of modern art, sure. But still, I'm trapped in a huge confused haze. I'm bothering myself with a steady stream of annoying, philosophical questions. What am I doing with my life? What have I ever been writing about? Why do I feel as though I'm always making the same points? These annoying little thoughts are like mosquitoes, invisible but so prevalent. They'll bite, pinch, nag someone into a stupor. Am I making any sense?

At this point, I started going through all my old blogs and writings like a damn witch hunter . "God, what was I talking about?" "This is ridic."There goes my autobiography. A mess of unfocused, rambling, run-ons that sometimes will have me questioning my high school English education that maybe never taught me why it is so bad to have run-ons in writing when I could actually have prevented the usage, and thus, should probably relearn my grammar and then, now I can finally prevent run-ons! What am I really talking about here?

I'm nineteen years old and I've been eating, drinking, traveling, learning, laughing, sleeping, crying, writing some good stuff, writing plain crap, questioning, rebelling, dancing, thinking, testing, working, growing, changing, singing badly, fighting, loving, driving, running, yawning, and sneezing for a good while. There are good experiences but worse, regretful experiences to confront. The Poughkeepsie Journal, of which I blog for, says I'm a teenager writing about my adventures at college. But am I really doing that? I must admit, most of my adventures have been away from school. School can become so routine; all the weeks' events melt and flow into one another. And before you know it, you're a graduating senior, waiting in line for that rolled-up piece of paper. What have I been learning? What have I been writing about? What do I want to write about?

Now, I'm reading. Tearing through newspapers, magazines and paperback novels, hardcover bestsellers, nonfiction, fiction, self-help, resource. Envious and disturbed. I've got this living, breathing address on the world wide web. But nothing real. It's UNDER CONSTRUCTION. And I've got to figure out what am I really talking about and what do I do with the next four or five years of - no, not my life - other people's lives, our lives. So, that's my spring break in a nutshell. Am I making sense? Oh gosh, I've written one big fat entry, again.

Do NOT Go See The Other Boleyn Girl

The Other Boleyn Girl was SUCH a terrible movie, lacking any sort of plot development. I felt as if I were watching a film on fast-forward. I understand that the book had a lot of twist and turns and the director couldn't include all of them. However, to then shove as much as possible into two hours? All the while, the film ignores historical fact and creates such monotonous, boring and above all, horribly predictable characters. It was just too much. And such an insult to some great actors. I was hoping to at least see qualities of a modern, but still true to history and literature, production. Maybe, something along the lines of the mini-series The Tudors. Although both are not accurate, at least the latter develops its own style. The Other Boleyn Girl was utterly predictable and looked like it was shot in the '70s. It should have focused on just one motif throughout the play. Even Anne Boleyn, a character who is supposed to be intensely dramatic, really interesting, and witty with tons of complicated schemes and fancy ideas... was just a screaming, shivering blob. Hmm. Maybe, I'm too harsh of a critic but really, I would highly recommend you spend your $10 on something more interesting!

The Other Boleyn Girl | Actually Serious Books

I recently finished the book, The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory. It was a thorough account of a historical event, I believe. However, one aspect made me uneasy: it felt a bit overly romanticized. Mary Boleyn: sweet and innocent. Anne Boleyn: evil and ambitious. That was that. I didn't really have to finish the book without knowing how literary karma would complete the plot. BUT I will say, we all need one of those summer-beach-reads once in a while. It was a typical scandalous-romance-type read and I'm looking forward to see the movie, a scandalous-romance-type of chick flick.


My next recommendations: Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert and Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer. They're a bit more serious, though I'm hoping Eat, Pray, Love will be a good transition from humorous/serious to actual serious/serious.

SEVEN weeks

I'm sitting at my desk, and it is completely littered with empty water bottles, random books, a pot of dying flowers, and other dusty things. I need to do something about this mess. Tomorrow begins Spring Break; I really wish I was going somewhere warm and tropical. Actually, I'm taking a bus back to Poughkeepsie: more gray skies and dusty desks. I'm going to cement myself to my bedroom chair and crank out some internship applications. Quite depressing, in fact...

A grand total of SEVEN weeks have passed by since the semester has started. A blur of craziness. It's as though my life has completely flip-flopped because I cannot detect any similarities to the first seven weeks of last semester (as a baby freshman, can you believe it!). I had a sort of philosophical crisis this morning. I realized that after I return from Spring Break, well... it'll only be a few more weeks until April and then May follows... a whole ending of an academic year will have arrived. I'll be a SOPHOMORE.

Whatever happened to high school? Do I even remember middle school? Why does it seem as though running around on the soccer field of Hagan elementary seemed so vivid in my mind just a year ago? And who have I turned into now... I'll be looking for jobs and then I'll be a real person. By that, I mean a person who actually has bills to pay for and social responsibilities to uphold. No more of this nonsense, like sitting here at my laptop (a brave veteran, showcasing two broken keys) and brooding on this... well, nonsense.

So, I find it hard to believe that SEVEN weeks have gone by; a period of time I cannot redo or change. No doubt it's been a whole lot better than that messy, clueless first semester of college, however. It would be quite impossible NOT to change as a person after my cultural awakening Parisian holiday, Greek initiation, and reassessment of my academic plans and concepts of friendship. Goddamn, even Holden Caulfield would agree. I am still frustrated out of my mind, though. And with what, I can never quite figure out...

Passi, the French Rapper

Passi is the name of a popular French rapper. I had bought his latest album Evolution while in Paris and really enjoyed the songs. They're unique, and include a lot of social-political commentary. But, for some reason I cannot find any of his lyrics online. Everywhere I look they've been taken off the sites. It's really frustrating. I learned that his album was extremely controversial and maybe that's a reason? But if anyone could help that would be kewl.

Au Revoir

Bye bye Paris, bye bye France... Bisous bisous. Bye bye to baguette and cafe breakfasts. Farewell, romantic streets. Au revoir, metro. Goodbye wine... and croissants... green markets, bistros, cheese, black wool pea coats, clickety-clack heels during rush hour, my beloved guide bible, masterpieces of art behind glass, French MTV, Monoprix, snobby restaurant owners, Yellow lights at night, the Seine. Bye bye, bye bye. I don't know how I was living before, not knowing all of you. And now, adieu... giving you a wave soon from the other side of the ocean and a whole other side of living :)

Last Day in Paris

It's my last last day... so sad :(
I don't want to leave Parisssss... but lots to do until my 6am flight to Frankfurt, then JFK. Still need to take a lot of pictures and buy a lot of things!

Some Chapters from my Parisian [Ethnographies]

15e Arrondisement
Cafe, practically writing a novel

Chapter One: Some Realizations at Musee d'Orsay

So much has been happening and it's now been officially one week since I came to Paris... feels so much longer than that. Feels like an eternity (in an absolutely magnificent way, of course). I just returned from my first day of class at Alliance Francaise and now having a coffee at a brasserie near the apartment, determined to put on paper all that's happened so far. An impossible task seems like but I will do it somehow- it's a writer's responsibility to translate experiences and emotions, as indescribable as Paris, into penned words.

Fuck. Where do I even begin? The Louvre, Orsay, Sacre Coeur, reuniting with a high school friend... complete saturation of ideas and memories both distance and sharp. It's kind of like an impressionist painting: blurry up close, but vibrant, bold, and understandable from a distance. OK, let's back up then.

Last Wednesday and Thursday was my dinner with Frantz's friends and registering for my French course (which I've just begun this week). Previously, I had learned that the Musee d'Orsay was free on Thursday nights from 6pm on for those younger than 26 years old (this later led to a "teehee" sort of scavenger hunt for all free of charge events and other loopholes which most people don't know about). So armed with my journal and fully charged camera, I took the metro to the site and found quite a line to gain entrance.

I really had one thing on my mind as I finally entered the place: Impressionists. So, I took some quick pictures of the interior (it used to be a train station) and then bolted for the upper level galleries. Wrong move wearing heels that night... I completely killed my feet. But anyway, it wasn't on my mind all that much. The upper level gallery is like Impressionism heaven, with the ignorant swarming the well-known pieces. But I took my time. I feel as though I walk around Paris with my mouth wide open a lot. The symptons: neck cramps and dry mouth. The French prescription: down those bottles of wine like it's water!

There's no possible way to describe the Orsay collection of impressionists but I'll try my best. OK, imagine this: you're walking through a dream, as if on some sort of narcotic, in which monet pastels and vivid Van Gogh golds and blues and rosey reniors swirl about in some trippy sort of concoction. Yep, that's the closest description I can come to. It's life-changing, no joke!

On the verge of sounding like a complete museum freak/nerd/loser, I was so so excited to see Klimt (my idol) except, much to my disappointment, they had only a one single painting.... People were wondering why my expression kept changing from joy to hatred, back and forth. ONE SINGLE PAINTING of possibly the greatest emotional portraying artist ever...

After leaving Orsay, I wondered a lot about my life for some reason. I'm finding that Paris makes you do that. I decided to take a walk to St. Germain for something to eat and all of a sudden felt really... lonely but happy too... but sad at the same time (recall: scene from Montparnasse woman in film, Paris, Je T'aime) I've felt lonely at other times- my biggest worry about coming to Paris. It's like a lonely feeling in which I wish I had someone to talk with. But then at the same time, so happy that I'm alone and free in a sort of way. I was just like, you know what- I'm here, I did it, and to hell with people and disappointments. I started thinking about the past year a lot since last January when I was a senior in high school: I had a pretty rough year with relationships (friends, guys, parents, etc). But I feel like now, I'm ready to finally be by myself and accept myself. It's strange when it takes some crazy initiative and some kind of gut feeling to understand that. Whatever the case, I embraced it and was just like, okay- done with. So, I found an amazing creperie and ordered a crepe with everything on it and a glass of Chardonnay. It tasted as good as a painting.

Chapter 2: The Monsieur Cravate Rouge incident at Musee du Louvre

The next day, I let myself sleep in (we're on Friday, now?). And then I washed up, left a note for Frantz, before heading for the Louvre. It was kind of exciting. I've seen the pyramids before but never actually the museum. And all that fuss fuss with Mona Lisa, of course.

Recall my obsession with researching free stuff? Another tip: the Musee du Louvre is free every Friday night for those under 26. I think I will visit again this Friday because it was truly larger than I had ever imagined and I didn't even see half of it, seriously.

Total price of sites seen so far = 0 euros :)

While in queue, a funny thing happened to me. Someone mistook me for a French speaker.

"Parlez-vous anglais?"
I turned around, "Oui! Hi, I speak English."
A wave of relief over the man's face.

The were Irish, living in London: Garry and Lorcan. So friendly, too! I explained the under 26 rule and they were appreciative of that. Funny how strangers meet and become friends... We ended up exploring the Louvre together and the visit was really enjoyable. They're both incredibly funny and I discovered a humorous way of viewing art. I can't look at a certain piece without remembering my own sort of connection with it (thanks to Garry's unique commentary : "Evil cherubs and hermaphrodites define mid evil art")

I think we became a bit too attached to the exhibitions however. I've always had a thing for Egyptian art and that's where the Monsieur Cravate Rouge incident took place. We were taking pictures with a statue when all of a sudden, this man wearing an obscenely loud tie, attacked us. NO, not literally but verbally, "What eeess zeees?! WHERE IS YOUR REELATIONSHIP WEEF ZEEE ART?," grabbing my book which we placed beside the statue. We were shocked into utter silence, looking like a herd of retarded cows no doubt. He thrust my book into Garry's hands while I had visions of the French news stations reporting, "Three tourists were physically dragged from the Musee du Louvre tonight after obnoxiously approaching an ancient artifact valued at more than their life's worth..."

But you know what? The stupid man wasn't even a museum worker. He was just another measly tourist himself. Wth. I wanted to slap him across the head with my book and be like, "I have more relationship with this art than you will ever have, sniffing around this museum like it's a graveyard and not the most amazing collections of artwork that this world has possibly... ever... seen!!" Touche.

Monsieur Cravate Rouge hardly ruined our night however, more like made it. We had a laugh over food and drinks at a nearby bistro after the museum closed for the night. Those Irish were possibly the funniest tourists I've ever met while traveling... I had a coffee and they, beer, while we discussed everything from religious philosophies to the gay community. Then, I totally pulled a Cinderella as they announced it was getting close to midnight. I had told Frantz I would be home by 9 or 10pm. Panicked, I took their emails and apologized, while I ran into the nearest metro.

Chapter 3 : A Bit of Paris Nightlife

Back at the 15th district, I sprinted to the apartment and... he wasn't there. Total relief. He had decided to see a movie with his sister and would be back by 12:30. Time for a new chapter called: Chrysan convinced Frantz that he is not old and you cannot POSSIBLY go to bed at 12:30 on a friday night. Good heavens...

Frantz returned and I, of course, said it was time for some nightlife. I am 18... almost 19 after all. Some groans and I-am-too-old's later, we were both headed for les Doubilles (spelling?) which turned out to be a regular, what-you'd-expect sort of bar/club except the music was exceptionally well mixed (wish I could see the DJ). A bit overpriced in drinks, however, but a new experience and for Frantz too I guess: "That was the easiest time I've ever had getting into this place." Next, we decided to check out Chez Regine, which is off the Champs Elysees. It had an annoying bouncer who insisted it was too late to go in. All those "never give up" mantras from grade school finally paid off and I used my bit of French to get to go in the club.

Chez Regine was nice but the bouncer was right... it was winding down. We had one drink and found a taxi stand to call it a night. We arrived back around 5:30am and for some reason, I was completely energized! I was online doing some emailing and checking my Facebook when I saw some pictures that an old classmate and friend had uploaded: they were of Paris! I was seriously excited so I left a message on her page. Then, I fell fast asleep...

A Paris Guide

"I'm not suggesting that there should be two names on every book, and I'm sure that, years from now, young writers will still turn to the Bukowskis and Kerouacs for models of how to tell stories that matter. It would be nice to think there was another model, though, one that could inspire a pair of young, edgy writers to walk along lonely railroad tracks, kicking rocks and running dialogue back and forth for the story they were writing. Or better yet: a husband and wife team in Nikes, debating about how to close a novel chapter as one folds laundry and the other changes a diaper."

Here are some tips that may be handy the next time you, or anyone you know, may be traveling to Paris:

1. If you are under 26 and traveling sometime before June 30 2008, do not even consider paying for any sort of entrance fee to the big museums:

FREE

Wednesday evenings at the Centre Pompidou from 6 pm to 9 pm ;

Thursday evenings at the Musée d'Orsay from 6 pm to 9:45 pm ;

Friday evenings at the Musée du Louvre from 6 pm to 10 pm ;

Saturday evenings at the Musée du Quai Branly from 6 pm to 9 pm.

2. If you're staying for more than 3 days, definitely buy a weekly pass. The metro is god. However, they stop selling weekly passes after Wednesday because the cycle starts every Monday.

3. Buy fruits/vegetables/flowers/cheese/meats from the markets- so much fresher than the supermarkets.

4. Cafe meals are kind of a rip off; best just get a glass of wine or a cup of coffee when you're needing a break. They don't give you evil stares if you have just one drink and stay there for like 3 hours (unlike the U.S.)

5. Don't buy a whole baguette if you're just eating by yourself. They go stale really easily... if you buy just a demi-baguette, or half of it, you'll only end up spending like 45 cents... fresh and yummy! It's always easy to go into another boulangerie and get more, kept warm too, if you want more than that...

6. The tour eiffel really isn't that great to go up (except if you want to be all romantic with someone else and eat at the expensive restaurant.... eh, save it for a wedding proposal). There are tons of other, even better, views of Paris. The view from Montmartre by Sacre Coeur is freeeee and spectacular. Anyway, I think it's better viewing the Eiffel tower which lights up really prettily at night than actually being in it... I still want to go to Trocadero which is supposed to have the best view of the monument :]

7. Make an effort with the French. I feel like people understand you more when you say it with a cocky-yet-somehow-polite attitude...

8. Wear tons of black (at least in winter). Berets are surprisingly not cheesy...

9. Don't forget to say "Bonjour/Bonsoir" and "Au Revoir" profusely. And "Pardon"/"Excusez-moi" too.

10. Paris being expensive is a common misconception. There's always some clever ways to avoid opening your wallet-- you just have to be creative like... taking a regular commuter bus that shows some amazing views instead of that 20 euro tour on a similar bus, only labeled "Paris Tourism" or buying a great bottle of wine at the market where they can be as cheap as 50 cents! Accept stuff when it doesn't go your way (which will definitely happen); Lastly, be spontaneous and love the city and love your bit of FREEDOM before having to go back to chaotic New York :\

Some great links:
NY Times
Voice of a City (Real Parisians dish some secrets...)
Paris Nightlife
Map of Paris

And others to follow...



Cheers! Bon Sante!

Cuisine and the French Alliance

15e arrondisement

"Everyone has two countries, his or her own-- and France."


A lot to write about since I last opened my journal, yesterday afternoon. After a dessert and cafe, I walked through the Eiffel Tower and took a metro back to the apartment for a siesta. Had tea, checked email and read somewhere that there's a flower market in front of Notre Dame. There was still plenty of time before dinner (9pm tonight...) so I went.


La Seine during the day.

Notre Dame and la Seine at night is a whole different experience. I couldn't find any sort of market and promptly got lost wandering the narrow streets of the 6th. Amazing places to eat there and a lot of bookstores- very artsy!

The apartment was smelling delicious when I returned. That's the strange thing about France: the men can cook. And not just like spaghetti with tomato sauce... or dialing the pizza delivery.

This kind of debate with Frantz for a while before we heard someone at the door: Pierre and his girlfriend, Jessica. Kisses all around and we stepped into the kitchen. Jessica is actually American and we started chatting right away, giggling at how the men are preparing the food. She's been in Paris three years now, one of which was a study abroad. I can tell she's thriving; her French sounds so natural. It made me wonder if I'll ever be that ambitious enough to completely adopt another culture as my own.

Great food, drink, conversation, and people. The next day, I had to wake up early to go to Alliance Francaise and take my registration exam. I was a little nervous to be honest but I got through all right (except for le sujonctif) and I've signed up to take an intensive course in General French next week (20hrs!). Wish me luck... classes start Monday.

Metro to Le Petit Palais

Le Petit Palais
8e Arrondisement

Le Petit Palais as opposed to Le Grand Palais?

Last night, I had a very good sleep and drifted off listening to some French couple arguing on the level below me. The walls are very thin... Woke up to Frantz's alarm going off in the next room quite a few times. Finally, he woke up and I joined him for some coffee and toast in the kitchen. he went off to work and I washed the dishes. Then, I washed myself up and went out. Beautiful, but cold, day!



I walked around aimlessly this morning until I found a metro (An image of the "Easy" button just appeared in my head: "That was easy!") I bought a weekly metro ticket and hopped on a train-- honestly having no clue where it was going to take me-- I ended up in Place de la Concorde!

I took a round about to the Champs Elysees until I reached Le Grand Palais: long line to see this train exhibition so I crossed the street and went into a smaller but equally beautiful building, le Petit Palais. Free exhibition today! One point for me...



I have to say the place was such a pleasant surprise. It was amazing! And all gratuit... I saw Monets in real life. I could practically reach out and kiss it if I wanted to (and promptly be dragged out by the museum guards). The best part was the diversity of the exhibitions. With museums, I can get bored fast if there's no variety. But Petit Palais had everything from ancient Greece to Modern and Contemporary. They even mixed in the contemporary with the classics under the same theme... really refreshing.



I spent forever in there. I had to drag myself away. Afterwards, I wandered into the left bank's 7th... always nice. I know it might be a tourist trap but the environment was so beautiful. Narrow alleys, cobblestone, boulangeries everywhere... I found myself right in front of Cafe Constant which I heard about before and so I decided to try it out. Turned out to be well worth it...

Getting Settled into the 15th and Bistro Dinner

11pm
77 Bis Rue des Entrepreneurs
15me Arrondisement

I knew I should've written down stuff before I went to bed... because I ended up sleeping the whole day! I seriously fell asleep around 9am and woke up close to 6pm. I was going to do some exploring... but alorssssss

This morning was very hectic. Everything from getting in tough with my taxi to figuring out how to get into Frant'z apartment. On a whim, I had booked a taxi shuttle to the apartment. I figured that I didnt wantto drag my bags through the metro. Thank goodness I did that because there was a strike today.

However, my taxi driver didn't know that I was on a different flight so I completely panicked. In the end, I sprinted to Terminal 1 and asked a man if I could borrow his mobile phone to call the company. The man was British and we finally found my taxi driver. Cheer!

Never take a taxi except to and from the airport. It's so worth it. First, no worrying about getting lost or having to lug bags. Second, fantastic views of the neighborhood. I just couldn't believe I was seeing the Eiffel Tower as we crossed the Seine into the 15th arrondisement. It looked surreal. Like we were in a movie...

This whole time I just cannot stop thinking that I am actually in Paris... in Europe... not in America... I'm actually in Paris.

I'm staying at 77 Bis Rue des Entrepreneurs. There's a huge gate with a little courtyard. You have to take a wooden spiral staircase or the tiny elevator to get to the apartment. It's small but cozy.

Tomorrow, I'm going to pay a visit to the French school and see if there's any way I can still take a course. If not, then I will have to figure out an itinerary. DEFINITELY want to hit up all the museums... It's like museum heaven here. Things to do: clubs, bars, cafes, shops, markets, theater, so much!

After unpacking and such, we went out to eat at a bistro... very late. Parisians don't start dinner until at least 7:30. I have no idea how they don't get hungry from lunch till then. I had a glass of red wine, sparkling water with a steak... apple tart with ice-cream for dessert! Very delicious...

Conversation was great, as well. I think he is getting tired of me exclaiming how I can't believe I'm here in Paris. And I still really can't! You know, most young people will say they want to do a lot of stuff but they never follow through. But somehow, I knew what I wanted and I actually went for it! Scratching off one New Years resolution :]

Happy New Years from Paris!

Bonding Over Airplane Delays

Gate 12, JFK
10:38am

Everyone is so angry! And for a reason... although I personally don't feel so bad (explain why in a bit).

So, I was sitting at the gate when a line forms at the desk. People look very annoyed. I find out that the plain has been delayed until 10:45. OK. No big deal. But soon I hear 11:25 and then 12:40? Then 2:30?! This is ridiculous... So, I wait in line to complain my part. My flight at Dulles leaves at 5:10pm. I don't care, I want them to change my flight. I'm never flying United again!

It's funny how strangers bond over troublesome ordeals like plane delays. There I was, in line with a whole bunch of people-- all different ages and ethnicities -- discussing this situation. One man obviously knew how to put pressure on the system. He stood in front of the airline official (this tall black guy) asking question after question... I felt like we were holding up a fortress. Another woman and I stormed the baggage claim. She shriked at the top of her lungs, practically bringing the other woman to tears. I met a man from Dubai who offered to share his dark chocolate and treat everyone to a New Year's drink at the airport bar. I didn't tell him I was underage heh.

Funny how close we all became in a matter of seconds. But I never even learned their names.

Luck must've been on my side though because I got a direct flight to Paris on Air France! Perfect. In a way this is a blessing. Must change a few plans and taxi bookings but I'm happy. Just have to wait around the airport for a long, long time... I'm starving - Time for some food and drink!

Reflections at JFK on New Years Eve

JFK Airport
8:22 AM

New Year's Eve!

I am so sleepy; I'm falling asleep on this coffee-smelling cafe table... here, at JFK airport. It's not like I didn't have a good sleep last night but a very anxious and nervous one.

So, this is the first time I'm traveling alone by airplane. And I think I've pretty much psyched myself out in imagining all the worst possible scenarios that can happen (from missing my flight to losing all my luggage to a terrorist attack while flying into Washington).

Last night made me realize how thankful I am for my family. I thought this trip would be an independent do-it-myself kind of thing and for the most art, I kept it a secret for as long as possible from my family! Why? Probably because I knew they would never let me do it or ask me a million questions which would make me doubt this whole experience. But once I told them (and allowed them time to cool off and take me seriously), my parents and relatives have been the biggest help ever. I had visions of myself dragging my luggage through the NYC subway and getting utterly lost. But thankfully my uncle let me stay in his home in Queens and woke up at 6 this morning to drive me to the airport.

I thought this experience would be empowering (which I hope it still will be in a way) but I've discovered how much I still need to learn and rely on others. Especially friends and family. I am so thankful for my French friend, Frantz, who has been generous to me thus far in letting me stay at his place and giving me all sorts of suggestions for what to do, where to go, etc. And I am so happy how easy baggage check-in was-- I felt so terrified that something wrong would happen (technical problems and such). From all my experience as a traveler, I've learned that a lot can go wrong... Thankful once again! (Bet you're really tired of hearing me repeat this...)

I guess while I'm waiting here at the airport, I've come to realize and reflect a lot. It is New Years Eve after all. Well, I'm going to proceed to my gate now even though istill have a lot of time. Be back in a bit...

Tons to Do

[Bretodeau, The Box Man] : Life's funny. To a kid, time always drags. Suddenly you're fifty. All that's left of your childhood... fits in a rusty little box.

Drove around SO much today... polluting the earth. I am thoroughly exhausted but packing must still go on. After breakfast tomorrow, my family is driving down to Queens to visit family for a pre-New Years dinner thing. And then the next day, I must wake up very early for my JFK flight to D.C. and then wait around for five hours to take my connecting flight to Paris. Tons to do... thoroughly exhausted...

Because I Felt Alive

[Translated from French]. "And then something happened, something that is hard to describe. Sitting there, alone in a foreign country, far away from my job and all the people I knew, a feeling came over me. As if I recalled something, something that I had never known and for which I had been waiting, But I didn't know what it was. Maybe it was something I had forgotten. Or something I had missed my whole life. I can only tell you that at the same time I felt joy and sadness. But not a great sadness. Because I felt alive. Yes. Alive. That was the moment when I fell in love with Paris and the moment I felt that Paris had fallen in love with me."

I apologize if all my blog entries from now address only one topic: Paris! I am getting so anxious with planning. A lot of planning must get done before I leave in a few days. [A lot of packing, too]. And a whole lot of research!

I didn't realize that so many considerations go into a trip. Where can I exchange money? Does my ATM card charge a fee/interest? Should I exchange money now? Transportation from the airport to central Europe? Will my friend leave me a spare key to the apartment? Is the 15th district part of Montparnasse? SHIT, I don't know all the districts and their corresponding numbers. OH BURSAR BILLS (scribbling down reminders). Will my cell phone work there? Should I bring my phone and buy a sim card? Or get a cell phone there? Where can I get one? How much? Note to self: remember to bring adapters. Very important.

So much to figure out. I am going a bit insane. But you know what... it's all very interesting and kind of fun... in a way? Cause I'm getting excited!

Oh, also: It's my sister's birthday today...

Happy 17th Birthday, Rosa!

Lounging Around in PJs

Needless to say, my early articles were shocking. I blew more interviews with famous musicians than I care to remember, and I learned the dos and don't of interviewing the hard way:

ME (FIRST QUESTION) : So Elvis, what do you hate most about journalists?
ELVIS COSTELLO : Fuckin' stupid questions like that, for starters.

Totally wasted the day.

It's nice sleeping in but it feels plain lazy to wake up around 2pm and feel like the whole day is gone. Just sat around, eating my scrambled eggs and bagel w/ cream cheese... watching Dr. Phil and Oprah. Really interesting show today... might wanna check it out here. I'm kind of glad I caught it because it cleared up a lot of questions I had before... starting to lean more on the "society and humanitarian" side of my education.

Should go do something productive now...

Guitar Hero and My New Holga

"But don't you find it boring to wear only two colors.?"

"Not at all. I find it liberating. I believe my life has value, and I don't want to waste it thinking about clothing... I don't want to think about what I will wear in the morning. Truly, can you imagine anything more boring than fashion? Professional sports, perhaps. Grown men swatting little balls, while the rest of the world pays money to applaud. But, on the whole, I find fashion even more tedious than sports."

"Dr. Malcolm," Hammond explained, "is a man of strong opinions."

"And mad as a hatter," Malcolm said cheerfully. "But you must admit, these are nontrivial issues. We live in a world of frightful givens. It is given that you will behave like this, given that you will care about that. No one thinks about the givens. Isn't it amazing? In the information society, nobody thinks. We expected to banish paper, but we actually banished thought."

Guitar Hero is slowly taking over the world. I still don't understand what's so fun about it? You're not even playing an actual guitar. You're just pressing color-coded buttons while demented cartoon figures sway on the screen. To be honest, I feel nauseous when I see it.

[Rock Band is a different story however.]

Moving on, I went to the mall today and didn't expect there would be so many people there. UGH. I hate the traffic jams and all the buying and buying and buying... and I especially do not appreciate all the little kids who try to hit on you [yeah, little kids!]

I was going to buy a bunch of dresses and shoes... that is, until I saw the lines! No way... so, I figured I would get some film for a camera my photographer friend bought me for Christmas: my new Holga!

At first I thought it was toy, but it's seriously awesome. I went to the camera shop but they thought it was a toy, too. Finally, one of the... ahem younger... sales person told me where I could get the 120 film (which they do not carry anywhere!) at this artsy place in the plaza near Marshalls. With nothing better to do, I headed over there and purchased two rolls of color film and had them show me how to load it and whatever.

Can't wait to try it out! These cameras are supposed to give you some really spontaneous pics with different sorts of effects. Some examples:

Like Christmas Morning

La luce che tu hai
I pray we'll find your light
nel cuore resterà
and hold it in our hearts.
a ricordarci che
When stars go out each night,
eterna stella sei
you are eternal star
Nella mia preghiera
Let this be our prayer
quanta fede c'è
when shadows fill our day

Sognamo un mondo senza più violenza
un mondo di giustizia e di speranza
Ognuno dia la mano al suo vicino
Simbolo di pace, di fraternità

We dream a world without violence
a world of justice and faith.
Everyone gives the hand to his neighbours
Symbol of peace, of fraternity

La forza che ci dà
We ask that life be kind
è il desiderio che
and watch us from above
ognuno trovi amor
We hope each soul will find
intorno e dentro sé
another soul to love

Let this be our prayer
Let this be our prayer, just like every child

È la fede che
hai acceso in noi,
sento che ci salverà

It's the faith
you light in us
I feel it will save us

There's something about Christmas morning that is just so old-fashioned and classically romantic. I got woken up this morning by my sister dragging all my blankets off of me.

I guess the grumpy and stressed mood evaporated over night and people finally cheered up in time for the special day! What a relief...

We opened presents and I ate my bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon [and a little red wine teehee]. Everyone already ate before me cuz I'm such a lazy bum and didn't wake up early enough. Here are the presents I got for my family:

Some M.A.C. make-up and brushes for my sister.



Merlot Waterford glasses for my father.




A Coach wristlet for my mother - the inside is really pretty: all striped colors.


As for myself, I got some money for Europe, ipod speakers from my sister, and a purse! Very happy - I also got a phone call from my father's French friend living in Paris, which made me feel so much better about traveling there.

So later on, we are all going to the movies and dinner out. Last night, we went to Artist's Palate on Main street (highly recommend it for design sensitive diners - it's a beautiful & classy restaurant... Get the veal and Warhol salad. My family didn't like it that much though... like I said, design-sensitive diners!).

Okay, signing off. God bless and...

Merry Christmas!

Adolescent or Emerging Adult?

Cornell: The Year in Photos 2007

Merry Christmas eve! To be honest, it kinda feels like every other day - I have to keep reminding myself that Christmas is seriously here... again. What happened to all the hype and Christmas countdowns? I hate that I don't feel as excited as I used to [when I was little]. Makes me feel so old and like a grumpy grown-up.

I hate that grown-ups keep telling me that I'm an adult now so I'm expected to act responsibly and properly. And in the next breath, they tell me that I'm only soooo young and just a child. - only freaking eighteen years old and that I don't know anything. Would you please make up your grown-up, sensible, MINDS?

And grown-ups wonder why adolescents / emerging adults go through such storm-and-stress during this period in life?

Well, all is not lost. Tomorrow is Christmas and I don't really care whether I'm supposed to be an adult and approach it with a oh... Merry Christmas attitude or just prance around merrily like you're supposed to... I think we all need to be kids again... at least on Christmas. We are celebrating Jesus... as a baby - not an adult.

So Merry Christmas eve anyways. I think what I'm trying to get at is... remember the underlying meaning. Christmas... Christ, a belief and philosophy. Screw commercialism and consumerism.

I think my family is going out for dinner tonight and then 11pm church service. Time to get readyy!

Cheers,

Chrysan

Movie Critic Vocabulary

"A lot of people, especially this one psychoanalyst guy they have here, keeps asking me if I'm going to apply myself when I go back to school next September. It's such a stupid question, in my opinion. I mean how do you know what you're going to do till you do it? The answer is, you don't. I think I am, but how do I know? I swear it's a stupid question... I didn't know what the hell to say. If you want the truth, I don't know what I think about it. I'm sorry I told so many people about it. About all I know is, I sort of miss everybody I told about.... It's funny. Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody."

I went to my doctor's appointment two days ago and they gave me 3 shots: two in my left arm and one in my right. Well, my right arm is fine as normal but my left... it feels so sore and like, beat up. It was especially killing me last night, playing Christmas carols on the piano at the Pinna's household (a gig that I covered for a friend).

Today, church and lunch with Rosa. I was thinking about checking out a movie tonight... I'm usually not a movie person... but recently I've really felt like watching one in a real theater for change...

• I wonder if I am Legend is as cracked up as it's supposed to be.
• I wonder when Helena Bonham Carter will ever stop portraying scary women in corsets and frazzled hair like in Harry Potter, Fight Club... and now Sweeney Todd. Okay, one time I saw her in this victorian romance type of film and it was just so unsettling to see her actually happy and rosy that I was just like... No.
• I wonder if Juno had any influence on Jamie Lynn Spear's announcement.
• I wonder if I should read the book before seeing The Golden Compass (probably). Cause the movie will (most likely) screw up the book.
• I wonder if Enchanted will be dumb or not.

Anyway, enough of being a movie critic wannabe. I'm gonna get some work done now... much cleaning and planning and getting excited for Christmas to do!

Dreaming of Paris

From my latest obsession, a book that I dug out from the "Bargain, 50% off, moving address" pile [Bookmark Now]:

"That's how the story always goes, right? It begins with unemployment. A string of bad luck drives pen to paper, he churns out a few stories, blah, blah, blah... nobody thought it would sell... blah, blah... Harry Potter."

"But I didn't want to be a writer; I wanted to be a doctor. Or a lawyer. Something smart that required a Harvard Education. Meanwhile, I was writing constantly."

"How could I consider myself a real writer when I was sometimes paid in candy bars and glitter make-up? I may have built a T-shirt-buying, Internet-ad-clicking, Web-savvy audience with my bare HTML-novice hands, but I wasn't a real writer."

Lately, I've been thinking about my senior year and how completely devoted I was to my high school newspaper. Everything from designing, to pulling my hair out about finances and administration/authority figure battles, and the actual writing and assembling of articles to produce this real... document -- liked it all. In love with it...

I was looking at this year's High school newspaper. My sister had a bunch of extra copies and I totally ripped it from her hands and felt instantly transported back to that time in my life. It was a time when I stayed after school for hours, agonizing over the width and length of each line and making sure all the fonts and font-sizes were in order.

And since then, I don't know what happened with my writing. I could say it's been a love/hate relationship. Sometimes, I'll be like... WOW BRILLIANT IDEA. MUST WRITE. Suddenly, I transform into one of those coffee-drinking, cigarette-snubbing columnists crouched over an old Mac laptop (Albeit the smoking and Mac-owning).

Then other times I'm simply like: "I suck. I have no original ideas. I'm a wannabe. Better stick to this pre-med track. Or I will have no purpose in life."

But I always go back to my ex-lover (writing, that is). It's usually when I'm traveling in a foreign country and I have nothing else to do but scribble. I wrote my college essay about writing and this love/hate relationship. It's weird thinking that it was just a year ago that I was doing all this crap. Now, what? What am I doing now...

Definitely not writing. Except for some really bored and completely not there blog entries... OK, I admit. I'm not exactly doing my best. I'm not exactly even sure of what I'm getting at here... but I know that I keep trying to get at why I've been doing some absolutely crazy things lately. Which include randomly buying a plane ticket out of this country... all alone. Yep, by myself. Totally alone.

Maybe, I can pretend I'm on this spiritual "finding myself" type of journey. In my mind, I'm getting on this airplane, New Year's Eve, and something happens while I'm in the air. Maybe, I'll find out that I'm sitting next to some really important, intellectual person and we'll toast to a New Year and share turning-point experiences. And that'll mark this whole new life-changing experience and an amazing year of growing into my destiny. I'll get off the plane and immediately find a stereotypical Parisian cafe and start writing an amazing short story or poem a la Ernest Hemmingway (Oh, and um... just kidding about the poetry. Muahaha)

Then, Paris will open her arms out to me and I'll be like Wheee C'est La vie! Paris, Je T'adore!!!!! Oui, oui, oui!! Oh la la!!!!!! And throw off my black beret (dunno where that came from) and run into the streets singing something from Sound of Music. And there will be baguettes. Tons of them.. Just around.. chilling.

So, yeah. That's what I'm picturing in my mind. Some kind of romantic nonsense baloney like that.

But we all know that nonsense is just NONSENSE (if not baloney) and that will most likely never happen. So what the hell WILL happen? Got no clues...

Except I think it's time for me to start writing more, which is why it's the only resolution on my list... well, maybe dropping a few pounds wouldn't hurt either.