What if I took off a year, or two, or three, or five?
What if I spent some time growing up? What if I learned how to cook and how to look for jobs? What if I learned how to make friends in the real world, how to reach out to communities and people, how to interact as an adult, how to not be alone? What if I dedicated myself to real-world activism? What if I learned how to make change happen outside of college campuses, and what if I developed skill in the areas of direct action, mobilization, and making change happen?
What if I took some time to find myself? What if I read all the books I never had a chance to read? What if I transitioned to a place I'm comfortable in? What if I changed my gendered last name to my stepdad's gender-neutral Nagai, and started going by Cale? Doesn't mean I want to live male full-time, but maybe dress androgynous more often than I do feminine? What if I figured out what my political beliefs really are? What if I decided if I'm a radical anarchist or a libertarian conservative, or, more importantly, what if I discovered how to do radical anarchist activism even though I have fiscally conservative beliefs? What if I advocated for the well-being of marginalized groups I don't belong to, and what if I made some change?
What if I moved in with my step dad in Chicago? What if I grew closer to him and opened my life up to him? What if I made up for all of those years growing up without a father in my household? What if I discovered my place in Chicago, fell in love with the city? What if I worked there, advocated there, dreamed there? What if I went to the Art Institute every weekend? What if I traveled? What if I found a job abroad, maybe in England? What if I came back to DC after a while and worked here, lived my life here? I really don't want to leave this city...
What if I came back to school later, after I learned who I am and figured out why college is going wrong? I remember my first month in school, feeling thrilled with my classes, thrilled with my homework, growing intellectually every day. I remember telling someone how happy I was, how I can't imagine a place I'd be happier than a college campus. Then why is it still going wrong? Why don't I like it here, even though I was sure I would? Why is there something missing in my life, and I can't tell what it is? I can't find what I'm looking for if I don't know what it is, if I don't know who I am. I can't find what I'm looking for here.
What if I still got my PhD someday? What if I came back to finish my undergrad at the perfect school, in the perfect place?
What if?
15 October 2010
09 October 2010
Left-leaning quasi-social libertarian.
aka My Political Identity, Part II. Here is my original post on the topic. I've changed since then, so here's another post on politics.
It's impossible for me to talk about my political identity without discussing my political background. Doing so would probably lend me to more criticism and misunderstanding then I think I deserve, especially from the far-left folk I care most about.
My family is primarily Libertarian, though they vote Republican because they prioritize economic issues over most social issues. Their perspective is such for really good reason. My family is from the Soviet Union. I've been taught the horrors of a Communism and Socialism since I was a young child. One story particularly sticks out. My mom recalls sitting in a classroom as her teacher spoke of the merits of Communism. The teacher told her of how, when the country is Communist, she would be able to enter a store and pick up anything she needs without worrying about money. My mom glanced at her worn shoes, thinking of how she could use a new pair, and how great Communism would be, because then she'd be able to do so. Later, she realized that, if she was shown this store, she'd grab more than just the one pair of shoes that she needs, because that's human nature. Another story that has always shocked me was an anecdote about how med-school required students to talk a semester off to work on a farm due to government policies. Such tales have made me very critical of leftist thought.
Both of my parents are immigrants who built their lives from nothing, and are now upper-middle class. My mom is a doctor who immigrated as a single mother of two children, lived for a while with an income of zero and on welfare, but succeeded in passing the necessary exams and pursuing a career as a neurologist in the United States. Although she was lucky that she had already completed med-school in Russia, become an MD in the US was not an easy process: she spent months reading medial texts and looking up every other word in the dictionary because she had never used English medical vocab before. My stepdad started his first enterprise when he was sixteen years old and an international student in Detroit. Although he never earned a college degree, he now owns a very successful small business that he started. Thus, the spirit of enterprise and praise of fiscal independence has always been important in my family, and fiscally conservative views were always viewed in a positive light.
Thus, I am primarily libertarian. With a few exceptions, I have liberal social views and conservative political views. My exceptions are as follows:
By quasi-social I hope to indicate the distinction between social- and individuals- libertarianism (and, as a result, social- and individual- anarchy). While individual libertarianism is based on individualistic, objectivist philosophies, primarily that of Ayn Rand, social libertarianism (and anarchy) is about communal, supportive environments with limited government. Although I definitely prefer social libertarianism to individual libertarianism, I hesitate to say I am a social libertarian, because this often implies libertarian socialism, which often implies social anarchy. Although I think social anarchy is awesome, although I sympathize with socially anarchist perspectives, although I think social anarchists are doing more today to help oppressed people than anyone else in today's society, I am not a social anarchist. Rather, I believe a socially anarchist society can be best achieved or approached not through leftist practices, but through libertarian and fiscally conservative measures. I do, though, envy the community anarchists tend to have. -sigh-
It's impossible for me to talk about my political identity without discussing my political background. Doing so would probably lend me to more criticism and misunderstanding then I think I deserve, especially from the far-left folk I care most about.
My family is primarily Libertarian, though they vote Republican because they prioritize economic issues over most social issues. Their perspective is such for really good reason. My family is from the Soviet Union. I've been taught the horrors of a Communism and Socialism since I was a young child. One story particularly sticks out. My mom recalls sitting in a classroom as her teacher spoke of the merits of Communism. The teacher told her of how, when the country is Communist, she would be able to enter a store and pick up anything she needs without worrying about money. My mom glanced at her worn shoes, thinking of how she could use a new pair, and how great Communism would be, because then she'd be able to do so. Later, she realized that, if she was shown this store, she'd grab more than just the one pair of shoes that she needs, because that's human nature. Another story that has always shocked me was an anecdote about how med-school required students to talk a semester off to work on a farm due to government policies. Such tales have made me very critical of leftist thought.
Both of my parents are immigrants who built their lives from nothing, and are now upper-middle class. My mom is a doctor who immigrated as a single mother of two children, lived for a while with an income of zero and on welfare, but succeeded in passing the necessary exams and pursuing a career as a neurologist in the United States. Although she was lucky that she had already completed med-school in Russia, become an MD in the US was not an easy process: she spent months reading medial texts and looking up every other word in the dictionary because she had never used English medical vocab before. My stepdad started his first enterprise when he was sixteen years old and an international student in Detroit. Although he never earned a college degree, he now owns a very successful small business that he started. Thus, the spirit of enterprise and praise of fiscal independence has always been important in my family, and fiscally conservative views were always viewed in a positive light.
Thus, I am primarily libertarian. With a few exceptions, I have liberal social views and conservative political views. My exceptions are as follows:
- I am uncertain about my views on abortion, except in cases where the life of the mother (or the infant?) is in significant danger. PLZDONTKILLME, I just have yet to find a convincing argument for the morality of terminating a pregnancy that doesn't also imply the morality of infanticide, the killing of certain mentally disabled folk, or the killing of other living people. I am fairly certain, though, that abortion should be legal, even if it is immoral, because of the right to property.
- I am not a proponent of an open-border immigration policy. I am an immigrant from overseas, and my family is very anti-illegal immigrant. I don't share their views, either, and I believe I am rather independent when it comes to my views on immigration, although I agree with Democrat perspectives rather than Republican ones. I completely disagree withe Republican techniques, such as the patrolling of borders and the deportation of individuals. Patrolling the borders really doesn't do anything other than prevent the endanger the lives of people and destroy border communities. Similarly, deporting undocumented individuals does nothing to solve the overall problem, especially when explicitly racist systems like the one in Arizona are created. I think there's no doubt that the government and business are at fault for the existence and the persistence of undocumented immigration form Mexico. In the past, businesses would bus Mexican folk to the US because they needed cheap labor. These businesses continue to hire undocumented immigrants very low wages. Unfortunately, our government discriminates way more against immigrants than it does against businesses, and there are no systems in place to prevent businesses from hiring undocumented folk. If these systems were put in place, undocumented immigration would become impractical, and the demand for labor would become obvious, and legal systems of temporary and permanent immigration from Mexico would be set up. These systems would also assure that immigrants will be paid legal wages, and the whole system will be better for everyone on both sides of the argument. (All this being said, I do approve of the Dream Act.)
- While the former two represent my exceptions to socially liberal views, this one is my exceptions to fiscally conservative views (although this does border on a social issue, as there's no clear line between social and economic questions). I think the government, ideally state and federal, rather than local governments, should do everything they can to fix racial segregation in education and improve schools for poor folk, especially poor people of color. This is a huge problem that cannot be addressed at local levels, and there's no excuse that such horrifying differences in education continue to exist today!
By quasi-social I hope to indicate the distinction between social- and individuals- libertarianism (and, as a result, social- and individual- anarchy). While individual libertarianism is based on individualistic, objectivist philosophies, primarily that of Ayn Rand, social libertarianism (and anarchy) is about communal, supportive environments with limited government. Although I definitely prefer social libertarianism to individual libertarianism, I hesitate to say I am a social libertarian, because this often implies libertarian socialism, which often implies social anarchy. Although I think social anarchy is awesome, although I sympathize with socially anarchist perspectives, although I think social anarchists are doing more today to help oppressed people than anyone else in today's society, I am not a social anarchist. Rather, I believe a socially anarchist society can be best achieved or approached not through leftist practices, but through libertarian and fiscally conservative measures. I do, though, envy the community anarchists tend to have. -sigh-
To the radical anarchist asking a Republican to dance - Andrea Gibson, Say Yes (I think).
07 October 2010
Lessons of a Canvasser
I spent the last few weeks working as a canvasser on the streets of DC, primarily around Dupont Circle. After a few weeks of work, I quit. Although I was really good at it and got paid really well, canvassing proved to be more emotionally exhausting than I was able to handle, and as the cold, rainy days of fall came about, I simply could no longer subject myself to the stress and the rejection. In those weeks, I learned some real-life lessons that I never expected to learn. Here they are:
1. Sexism is real. Being someone who is perceived as a female and working on the streets put me in a position where I had a lot of sexism directed at me. It was frustrating. The mildest form was when people would call me "cute" when I came up to them. It was totally infanticizing and disrespectful. Worse were comment from men asking me to look at them or to pay attention to them: not because they were interested in what I was doing, but because they felt entitled to my attention. The company I was working for is an environmentalist group, and one of the worst incidents was when a man asked me to look him in the eyes because "all green people have green eyes". When I ignored him, he shouted after me, insisting that I should give him my name so he could call my boss, because he'd signed up for the e-mail list yesterday. It was disgusting. Another awful incident was when two men who I approached stopped to listen to what I was saying, and then began asked me about my accent and started asking me to speak Russian, commenting on how cute and hot it is. Feeling insulted, I asked them if they want to sign up or not in a rather aggressive tone, and they commented on how "bossy" I am. This double standard made me really upset. When will there come a day when people perceived as women don't experience misogyny on the streets?
2. On being overlooked. A canvasser is overlooked. The reactions of the folk I approached quickly began to eat away at my heart. People looked right through me, or they didn't look at me at all. Some people wouldn't react at all when I approached, pretending that I didn't exist. Some people gave me those facetious smiles. Some people would straight up make rude comments about wanting to be left alone as I approached them. Being overlooked hurt, yet I am privileged. I am white, I am visibly middle-class, I was visibly employed, I speak Standard English (be it with an accent). I felt entitled to the attention of the people I approached, not consciously, but because I've always felt entitled to attention before. What about people who don't have my privileges? What about poor people of color on the streets? How about homeless people asking for some money just to buy lunch? What about the folk selling things like Street Sense in DC or Voice in Denver? I've never experienced such rejection before, but there are people who experience it every day, people who live in rejection, who are perpetually overlooked by passerby's and politicians. Like Andrea Gibson said in the poem For Eli: "One third of the homeless men in this country are veterans, and we have the nerve to support our troops with pretty yellow ribbons, while giving nothing but dirty looks to their outstretched hands".
3. Environmentalism for the elites. I was canvassing for an organization that partnered with sustainable businesses in the area, creating a network of local, eco-friendly business. I collected e-mail addresses for people to receive discounts similar to Groupons in their inbox. Everyone working for this business was so passionate about what the were doing. They wanted to truly make change happen, they wanted to expand nationwide, they wanted to do something great. They were truly great people with great intentions. The "rap" I would say when I came up to people started out with "we want to make green living affordable for everyone". Every time I said it, I felt like a liar and a traitor. Here I am, walking the parks, intentionally avoiding people I knew don't have e-mail: the poor, the homeless. Yet here I am, saying we want to make green living affordable for everyone. Who is everyone? Why does everyone never include poor folk? Environmental issues disproportionately impact poor people of color, such as communities in developing countries threatened by climate change and pollution or residents of neighborhoods like East St. Louis that are built in the gutters of industrial waste. Poor folk of color cannot access green food, much less any healthy, affordable food due to the lack of supermarkets in their neighborhoods and the lack of public transportation to access supermarkets elsewhere. We never hear about those people when we discuss the environment. Mainstream environmentalist movements ignore and erase the lives of poor folk of color. So these young, passionate, optimistic, well-meaning entrepreneurs like the people I worked for simply don't know about these issues. These things don't ever cross their mind, so no one ever bothers to help the people that truly need help. Environmentalism is environmentalism for the elites.
4. What now? I fell in love with the streets during those weeks working as a canvasser. I grew close to the sidewalks I walked and the parks I frequented. I became attached to the faces I saw and the people I passed by. But my heart grew weary and weak. What does it mean to think these thoughts? What does it mean to write them down? Here I am, flaunting my command of "big" words, sharing my knowledge of academic studies on marginalized and oppressed folk, listing all these -isms I've never experienced, yet I'm not doing anything to help anyone. Sure, I do trans advocacy on campus, but what does that really mean? I'm not saying I shouldn't be helping the trans folk on campus, but what bout poor trans women of color, who are most likely to be attacked and murdered? What does it mean to read about their murders but to do nothing? What does it really mean to care? What does it mean to ask these questions? I want to do something, but I really don't know where to start. I think I'm going to start reading about and learning about direct action again. I was really inspired by the Food not Bombs people that I saw at Dupont every Sunday serving food to anyone who wanted it, and I know that's a prime example of an anarchist direct action organization. But reading won't do much, either. Direct Action is about acting, not reading, and, well, I don't know where to begin. But maybe I did begin. Maybe step one is learning, and maybe this is a process I'm working towards.
1. Sexism is real. Being someone who is perceived as a female and working on the streets put me in a position where I had a lot of sexism directed at me. It was frustrating. The mildest form was when people would call me "cute" when I came up to them. It was totally infanticizing and disrespectful. Worse were comment from men asking me to look at them or to pay attention to them: not because they were interested in what I was doing, but because they felt entitled to my attention. The company I was working for is an environmentalist group, and one of the worst incidents was when a man asked me to look him in the eyes because "all green people have green eyes". When I ignored him, he shouted after me, insisting that I should give him my name so he could call my boss, because he'd signed up for the e-mail list yesterday. It was disgusting. Another awful incident was when two men who I approached stopped to listen to what I was saying, and then began asked me about my accent and started asking me to speak Russian, commenting on how cute and hot it is. Feeling insulted, I asked them if they want to sign up or not in a rather aggressive tone, and they commented on how "bossy" I am. This double standard made me really upset. When will there come a day when people perceived as women don't experience misogyny on the streets?
2. On being overlooked. A canvasser is overlooked. The reactions of the folk I approached quickly began to eat away at my heart. People looked right through me, or they didn't look at me at all. Some people wouldn't react at all when I approached, pretending that I didn't exist. Some people gave me those facetious smiles. Some people would straight up make rude comments about wanting to be left alone as I approached them. Being overlooked hurt, yet I am privileged. I am white, I am visibly middle-class, I was visibly employed, I speak Standard English (be it with an accent). I felt entitled to the attention of the people I approached, not consciously, but because I've always felt entitled to attention before. What about people who don't have my privileges? What about poor people of color on the streets? How about homeless people asking for some money just to buy lunch? What about the folk selling things like Street Sense in DC or Voice in Denver? I've never experienced such rejection before, but there are people who experience it every day, people who live in rejection, who are perpetually overlooked by passerby's and politicians. Like Andrea Gibson said in the poem For Eli: "One third of the homeless men in this country are veterans, and we have the nerve to support our troops with pretty yellow ribbons, while giving nothing but dirty looks to their outstretched hands".
3. Environmentalism for the elites. I was canvassing for an organization that partnered with sustainable businesses in the area, creating a network of local, eco-friendly business. I collected e-mail addresses for people to receive discounts similar to Groupons in their inbox. Everyone working for this business was so passionate about what the were doing. They wanted to truly make change happen, they wanted to expand nationwide, they wanted to do something great. They were truly great people with great intentions. The "rap" I would say when I came up to people started out with "we want to make green living affordable for everyone". Every time I said it, I felt like a liar and a traitor. Here I am, walking the parks, intentionally avoiding people I knew don't have e-mail: the poor, the homeless. Yet here I am, saying we want to make green living affordable for everyone. Who is everyone? Why does everyone never include poor folk? Environmental issues disproportionately impact poor people of color, such as communities in developing countries threatened by climate change and pollution or residents of neighborhoods like East St. Louis that are built in the gutters of industrial waste. Poor folk of color cannot access green food, much less any healthy, affordable food due to the lack of supermarkets in their neighborhoods and the lack of public transportation to access supermarkets elsewhere. We never hear about those people when we discuss the environment. Mainstream environmentalist movements ignore and erase the lives of poor folk of color. So these young, passionate, optimistic, well-meaning entrepreneurs like the people I worked for simply don't know about these issues. These things don't ever cross their mind, so no one ever bothers to help the people that truly need help. Environmentalism is environmentalism for the elites.
4. What now? I fell in love with the streets during those weeks working as a canvasser. I grew close to the sidewalks I walked and the parks I frequented. I became attached to the faces I saw and the people I passed by. But my heart grew weary and weak. What does it mean to think these thoughts? What does it mean to write them down? Here I am, flaunting my command of "big" words, sharing my knowledge of academic studies on marginalized and oppressed folk, listing all these -isms I've never experienced, yet I'm not doing anything to help anyone. Sure, I do trans advocacy on campus, but what does that really mean? I'm not saying I shouldn't be helping the trans folk on campus, but what bout poor trans women of color, who are most likely to be attacked and murdered? What does it mean to read about their murders but to do nothing? What does it really mean to care? What does it mean to ask these questions? I want to do something, but I really don't know where to start. I think I'm going to start reading about and learning about direct action again. I was really inspired by the Food not Bombs people that I saw at Dupont every Sunday serving food to anyone who wanted it, and I know that's a prime example of an anarchist direct action organization. But reading won't do much, either. Direct Action is about acting, not reading, and, well, I don't know where to begin. But maybe I did begin. Maybe step one is learning, and maybe this is a process I'm working towards.
03 September 2010
Update
I barely posted at all this summer, and I haven't posted anything since moving to DC and starting school at a new institution, so it's time for an update.
I always struggle in a new place. Within a day of moving here, I felt like I was always alone, while others were already spending time with friends, going out, and having fun. It was the same feeling I had a year ago when starting CU: I spent at least two months crying almost daily and resisting a depressive relapse. It was the same feeling I had four years ago, my sophomore year of highschool, when I moved to Colorado and struggled with the most severe and longest-lasting episode of adjustment depression of my life. It was the same feeling of loneliness, helplessness, incompetence. I began to wonder how many times I'd have to feel this way, whether there would ever come a day when I'd be comfortable talking to someone I don't yet know. I began to wonder: "why me?"; what can I do differently, and why does it never work?; no matter how much I try, I'm still alone, and other are not. I began to get jealous. I felt bitter towards everyone around me. I began to hate humanity, and I began to hate God.
Then, slowly, things began to clear up. I still feel like I don't have quite as many acquaintances as others, I still have nothing to do on weekend nights, and I still eat most of my meals alone, but things are better. My floor is amazing, and I've begun hanging out with the people on my floor. I've met people at the dining hall and in my classes. I've even spent time with people I met on the internet. I initiated conversations with people I don't know and approached people I've already met. I still have a long way to go, I have a long way to go even to catch up to where 90% of people around me are, but I've made a much better start than I did last year, and I feel much better.
I love this school. I couldn't have possibly made a better decision in transferring. There is much more of a sense of community. Half my floor, for example, are people who lived on this floor last year! Everyone on my floor is so nice, and we spend a lot of time together. We have meals together, we study together, we have floor-soccer and other floor events, and not only do people actually come, but almost everyone comes! The school is smaller, so the sense of community goes beyond just the floor. At lunch today, I ran into someone on the way to the dining hall, I ran into two kids from my floor and two people from my philosophy class while getting food, I ran into three people I know on the way out of the dining room.
The people here are really, really cool. Everyone has awesome dreams and goals, and it's really inspirational to live in an environment with such amazing people. Everyone here cares about the world and what's going on. The lobby has free newspapers which run out because so many people read them. In the floor lobby, our TV is usually turned to CNN. We discuss politics, passionately, arguing into the middle of the night. For fun, we go out to "the mall" and see the monuments.
The classes are much smaller and the professors are very accessible. I'm also thinking of changing my major. Although I love philosophy, without the linguistics minor, it doesn't quiet mean as much to me. I am going to try to get an interdisciplinary studies major, in which I write my own curriculum. I want to major in oppression, combining women's studies, sociology, international relations, and government. This will give me an amazing opportunity to learn about everything I care about. By expanding outside women's studies, I will be able to learn about oppression other than sexism(s), and I will be able to take many classes with some of AUs best departments!
Washington DC is so cool. It's such a fun, progressive city. I've found some really cool bookstores and coffee shops, and I've yet to go out clubbing, but when I do, I know it will be great.
Although I know this is perfect, I miss CU. I miss Gather, I miss QI, I miss my friends, I miss discussing kink in RL, I miss Alex writing sweet things on my whiteboard, I miss the flatirons, I miss the good weather and lack of mosquitoes, I miss Tracks, I miss the parties, I miss so much.
<3
I always struggle in a new place. Within a day of moving here, I felt like I was always alone, while others were already spending time with friends, going out, and having fun. It was the same feeling I had a year ago when starting CU: I spent at least two months crying almost daily and resisting a depressive relapse. It was the same feeling I had four years ago, my sophomore year of highschool, when I moved to Colorado and struggled with the most severe and longest-lasting episode of adjustment depression of my life. It was the same feeling of loneliness, helplessness, incompetence. I began to wonder how many times I'd have to feel this way, whether there would ever come a day when I'd be comfortable talking to someone I don't yet know. I began to wonder: "why me?"; what can I do differently, and why does it never work?; no matter how much I try, I'm still alone, and other are not. I began to get jealous. I felt bitter towards everyone around me. I began to hate humanity, and I began to hate God.
Then, slowly, things began to clear up. I still feel like I don't have quite as many acquaintances as others, I still have nothing to do on weekend nights, and I still eat most of my meals alone, but things are better. My floor is amazing, and I've begun hanging out with the people on my floor. I've met people at the dining hall and in my classes. I've even spent time with people I met on the internet. I initiated conversations with people I don't know and approached people I've already met. I still have a long way to go, I have a long way to go even to catch up to where 90% of people around me are, but I've made a much better start than I did last year, and I feel much better.
I love this school. I couldn't have possibly made a better decision in transferring. There is much more of a sense of community. Half my floor, for example, are people who lived on this floor last year! Everyone on my floor is so nice, and we spend a lot of time together. We have meals together, we study together, we have floor-soccer and other floor events, and not only do people actually come, but almost everyone comes! The school is smaller, so the sense of community goes beyond just the floor. At lunch today, I ran into someone on the way to the dining hall, I ran into two kids from my floor and two people from my philosophy class while getting food, I ran into three people I know on the way out of the dining room.
The people here are really, really cool. Everyone has awesome dreams and goals, and it's really inspirational to live in an environment with such amazing people. Everyone here cares about the world and what's going on. The lobby has free newspapers which run out because so many people read them. In the floor lobby, our TV is usually turned to CNN. We discuss politics, passionately, arguing into the middle of the night. For fun, we go out to "the mall" and see the monuments.
The classes are much smaller and the professors are very accessible. I'm also thinking of changing my major. Although I love philosophy, without the linguistics minor, it doesn't quiet mean as much to me. I am going to try to get an interdisciplinary studies major, in which I write my own curriculum. I want to major in oppression, combining women's studies, sociology, international relations, and government. This will give me an amazing opportunity to learn about everything I care about. By expanding outside women's studies, I will be able to learn about oppression other than sexism(s), and I will be able to take many classes with some of AUs best departments!
Washington DC is so cool. It's such a fun, progressive city. I've found some really cool bookstores and coffee shops, and I've yet to go out clubbing, but when I do, I know it will be great.
Although I know this is perfect, I miss CU. I miss Gather, I miss QI, I miss my friends, I miss discussing kink in RL, I miss Alex writing sweet things on my whiteboard, I miss the flatirons, I miss the good weather and lack of mosquitoes, I miss Tracks, I miss the parties, I miss so much.
<3
10 August 2010
Annual Farewells
At the end of every summer, sitting around the campfire in the middle of the night, with tears either in our eyes or near our hearts, comes the time for annual farewells. I loved what I said this year, so here it is, edited and expanded, so I can share it with others and always remember it for myself.
Every day I wonder how I got here. I'll be waking up in a tent, or walking from the Dining Hall to Arrowhead, or holding a chicken on the farm, and I'll think - how did I get here? It was never my dream to be a counselor when I grow up, it was never my calling to work with children. Sometimes, I think I got here by accident - one day, I tripped, and next thing I knew, I was at Tomahawk Ranch. Well, it was definitely the best trip of my life.
I've learned so much at camp. I learned how to care for myself and others; I learned how to make new friends, but keep the old; I learned how to clean the bathrooms; I learned how to stay in touch through distance, how friends really can be forever; I learned what matters to me in the world, what I care about, what makes me happy; and, most of all, I learned how to call a place home. Before I came to Tomahawk, there was no place I could ever call home. The concept confused me, completely eluded me. But now I know what home is. Home is right here, in the mountains of Bailey, Colorado. There is no other home for me in this world.
Every day I wonder how I got here. I'll be waking up in a tent, or walking from the Dining Hall to Arrowhead, or holding a chicken on the farm, and I'll think - how did I get here? It was never my dream to be a counselor when I grow up, it was never my calling to work with children. Sometimes, I think I got here by accident - one day, I tripped, and next thing I knew, I was at Tomahawk Ranch. Well, it was definitely the best trip of my life.
I've learned so much at camp. I learned how to care for myself and others; I learned how to make new friends, but keep the old; I learned how to clean the bathrooms; I learned how to stay in touch through distance, how friends really can be forever; I learned what matters to me in the world, what I care about, what makes me happy; and, most of all, I learned how to call a place home. Before I came to Tomahawk, there was no place I could ever call home. The concept confused me, completely eluded me. But now I know what home is. Home is right here, in the mountains of Bailey, Colorado. There is no other home for me in this world.
13 July 2010
First Memories
My frist memory takes place on the day I turned three years old. My family got me candy-covered gum, which I was very excitedly enjoying. Then, for a reason unclear outside a three-year-olds mind, I didn't want it anymore: I wanted it back in the package, exactly thesame as it was before I took it. I cried as my father molded it back into the shape it once used to be, but I'd eaten the candy, and the gum was a different texture and color than it was before. It was then I realized that change is irreverseable, and once something happens, you can't always undo it. And so I cried.
My second memory takes place that same year. I learned tying shoelaces by tying strings around chairs, so I was working on it in my dream (in sepia tones, for some reason). I woke up that morning and realized that in my dreams, I don't see from my own eyes, but rather, I see myself doing things from the outside.
My third memory is not too long after the other two. I woke up one morning, crawled out of bed, and walked down my hallway. At the end of the hallway, the bathroom door was open, and my mom stood there in her nightgown, brushing her teeth. At that moment I realized how special morning are, how different they feel from any other time in the day.
My second memory takes place that same year. I learned tying shoelaces by tying strings around chairs, so I was working on it in my dream (in sepia tones, for some reason). I woke up that morning and realized that in my dreams, I don't see from my own eyes, but rather, I see myself doing things from the outside.
My third memory is not too long after the other two. I woke up one morning, crawled out of bed, and walked down my hallway. At the end of the hallway, the bathroom door was open, and my mom stood there in her nightgown, brushing her teeth. At that moment I realized how special morning are, how different they feel from any other time in the day.
06 July 2010
Adult Friendships
In January, I travelled for a short weekend to Chicagoland for my mother's baby shower. There, I met up with a friend I hadn't seen in years. I attended Palo Alto High with her, and we were rather close that year. I'd seen her once since, when I returned to visit California in Spring 08. Now, she was going to college at Northwestern, and so she showed me the way around beautiful Evanston and introduced me to her University. It was wonderful to finally see someone I hadn't seen in so long, in a place so different than anywhere we've seen each other before. It struck a chord inside me. I can travel wherever I want now, I thought, and there will be someone there for me to say hello to. You see, those are the perks of adult friendships.
Adult friendships aren't based on daily attachments, on the gossip of everyday life, on weekend parties. They're based on love. On nightly cuddles, or bimonthly dinners, or that occasional trip to the hookah bar to discuss the world's inevitable collapse. Adult friendships can overcome anything. They stay strong through struggles and challenges, always there to pick you up when you're ready. They overcome distance, both the literal kind, where stretches of road lie between one friend and the next, and the kind brought on by too many slots filled in a schedule, so few hours free that you may as well be lightyears away. Adult friendships wait at the end of the phoneline and at the end of the week, with patient understanding. Adult friendships mean that if we haven't spoken in years, I can call you this morning, and we'd fall into each other's arms as if we were lovers just the day before.
My highschool friendhips have faded away and fallen apart. My adult friendships have remained, and new ones formed from the dust. I've reached a new phase in my life, I've found a new path in the world, and I've discovered a new kind of friendship
and a new kind of romance.
Adult friendships aren't based on daily attachments, on the gossip of everyday life, on weekend parties. They're based on love. On nightly cuddles, or bimonthly dinners, or that occasional trip to the hookah bar to discuss the world's inevitable collapse. Adult friendships can overcome anything. They stay strong through struggles and challenges, always there to pick you up when you're ready. They overcome distance, both the literal kind, where stretches of road lie between one friend and the next, and the kind brought on by too many slots filled in a schedule, so few hours free that you may as well be lightyears away. Adult friendships wait at the end of the phoneline and at the end of the week, with patient understanding. Adult friendships mean that if we haven't spoken in years, I can call you this morning, and we'd fall into each other's arms as if we were lovers just the day before.
My highschool friendhips have faded away and fallen apart. My adult friendships have remained, and new ones formed from the dust. I've reached a new phase in my life, I've found a new path in the world, and I've discovered a new kind of friendship
and a new kind of romance.
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