Reach for that light, we were told.

They gave us wings so we could. Then you went your way and I went mine.

My light was a small one, ten feet above the ground. It radiated heat all the way to where we had first emerged. It didn't take long for me to approach it, but I am not any closer than I was then. I have never been able to traverse the invisible barrier between me and that light. Every day its radiance grows brighter and every day I take in more. I can only beat my wings against the wall for so long. One day, I will break through and reach the light. This is all I live for.

I cannot see you anymore. You went after another light, a mysterious one impossibly far from where we were. It glowed so brightly at first and you were compelled. Every night after that it faded a bit more, became smaller and farther away... You never lost your obsession. Even when the light went out, you kept flying toward it. I could see you until that night. Now the light grows brighter, and I wonder where you are. Have you come any closer? Or has your light grown brighter because you haven't? I worry about you, about how far you'll have to fly only to hit a wall like I have. But that light is all you live for. Perhaps when you reach it it will envelop you like mine cannot.

Does anyone ever reach the light?



(background: my twisted mind is fascinated with those insects that throw themselves against the porch light til they drop dead. I once heard that moths are so attracted to light that they will keep flying toward the moon until they die, forgoing reproduction and every other purpose of their lives, and true or not this seems to have stuck with me for ten years)

Insomnia.

who needs sleep

http://www.flickr.com/photos/8473389@N03/5191948277

when you're here

http://www.flickr.com/photos/13382424@N00/4946934291

but there are so many people outside

http://www.flickr.com/photos/8749778@N06/2353500128

that I'm stuck here again

but I really just want to wander


http://www.flickr.com/photos/51035555243@N01/6577429683

I don't like spending this much time inside.


http://www.flickr.com/photos/45651718@N08/4699775305

Nothing has changed.

Everything has changed, but still I am the same.

You can't run and you can't hide from the demons eating you from the inside.

Anyway, I'm sitting on the step of Wigglesworth H at Harvard and typing while listening to noise off the street. No, I'm not locked out, I'm just sick of being locked in. Thank you for your concern.

I love it here. Everything is so much more human, and it's impossible to feel like you're not. I really am learning here. I've become that person who sits in classes they're not even assigned to just because they're interesting.

You know, the best things about knowledge and imagination are that they keep you company when you're virtually confined in a box. Boxes include, but are not limited to, dorm rooms, lecture halls, classrooms, houses, any place with four walls and a ceiling.

Why do I need an escape from my escape?

Here it becomes circular. I'd like to talk with my philosophy professor about the nature of escapism. I think it would be an interesting discussion.

This is why I can't become attached to anyone or anything here (sorry). I don't want to make it harder to leave when it's time to. I don't want an anchor anymore.

Day by day, I fight the fever alone.

Back from DMA!

I spent the beginning of this week at Drum Major Academy learning how to lead and perform in a marching band color guard. Obviously, I learned a lot of leadership tips, routines, and cool moves, but my favorite part of being there was probably my new friends and the crazy things they said.

So adding "and shit" at the end of any sentence makes it sound thug, right? Not really.

"I went to the bathroom and shit."
"I was in the pool and shit."
"I smell cookies and shit."
"I stepped in a puddle and shit."

And as my new friend Brooke said, "Make sure when you're twirling your flag to toss it and shit." I told her, "Raise your mace and shit!"


Stupidity never ends. That night, we were walking back to our dorms in a thunderstorm after evening sessions, and I heard a girl behind me say - wait for it-
"Good thing we're under a tree!"

*epic facepalm*

Stupidity is also not taking rehearsal seriously when you have a show to put together in 4 days. This is what stupidity looks like on the field.

Orchestra...

When the lead cellist doesn't know his solo and the concert is tonight.

Irony.

Today our school is having some sort of a day of action where faculty wear white shirts with their greatest  weakness printed on them.

My chemistry teacher is out today, and we did not have a sub assigned. Another teacher stopped by, realized we were unsupervised, and went to find out what happened to the sub.

It turns out our sub forgot she had a class to cover this period. Her shirt read, "perpetually late".

History class.

"The Scream by Edvard Munch. What art period do you think it's from?"

"Expressionism."

"What makes it Expressionist?"

"Well, Van Gogh drew it..."

Today is an important day for two reasons.

That awkward moment when your choir director tells the tenors to "grow some balls".

Dear dumb girl in my AP History class,

"...Were the Powderpuff Girls based off Freud?!"

NO.

Makes me want to change my mind about majoring in Psychology.

Sincerely,

Someone who can take class seriously.

Adventures with Indian customers at JCPenney

My aunt works part-time at JCPenney. She likes to tell us stories about the customers she encounters. Her least favorite type of customer is the crazy Desi, who comes straight off a plane from India.

Crazy Desi customers usually shop in large family-groups. There is always a white-haired Dadi wearing a sequined sari and a bald Dada with bad hearing. They rarely speak English and love to exclaim loudly in Gujarati about the price and availability of things. If they do speak English, it's only to try to haggle with a store clerk, or inquire loudly about prices. If they see a clearance shelf marked "$2 And Up", they assume everything is $2. When they are told it isn't, they argue.

There are sometimes a few Aunties, also dressed in saris, with red bindis and frizzy hair tied back in a braid. They speak heavily accented English and smell like frying oil. They usually get stuck by the jewelry section. They like talking about other customers- and employees- in Hindi. My aunt deals with them by taking off her nametag, walking up to them, and asking in Hindi if they need any help. They are usually astonished. She doesn't look Indian.

Otherwise, there is a husband and wife, dressed in cheaply made American clothes, talking in accented English. There are ALWAYS at least two toddlers in strollers and Disney clothes, running wild and climbing on everything, screaming, "Amma! Amma!"

The worst is when a pack of Aunties walking in with a poor teenager. They always take her to either the childrens' section or the petites' section and pick out the cheapest and worst-fitting clothes to make her try, while constantly criticizing her.

Next time you go to the mall... watch out.

This is not meant to be offensive. My entire family is Indian, and no one-that I know of- has ever done any of this.

Chem lab rocks.

Today, my teacher handed out some white tablets to us. We cut them into small pieces with rusty razor blades. Then, we ground up the pieces with a mortar and pestle. Dust was everywhere, and we cut lines through it with the razor blade to make the portions equal. Losing some would have been terrible. When you get your hands on some, you have to use it well.

It was Alka-Seltzer.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

My teacher was the first to make this analogy, and half the class didn't understand it.

True story.

Dumb Girl #1: "Is socialism good or bad?"

Teacher: "Make your own decision! You have a brain!"

Student behind me: "Allegedly."

I love having subs. The sub in English today let me and my friend leave class half an hour early because we were done our grammar packets.

True conversation from history class yesterday:

Dumb girl #1: "Wasn't Christopher Columbus Spanish?"

Teacher: "No! He was Italian."

Dumb girl #1: "But he sailed for Spain?"

Teacher: "Yes, but he was Italian."

Dumb girl #2: "Wait, I don't get it..."

Dumb girl #1: "So why did he sail for Spain?"

*class groans*

Teacher: "Because they hired him to?"

Me: "Because they paid him to!"

Dumb girls #1 and #2: "But doesn't that make him, like, Spanish?"

Class: *collectively* "NO!"

Guy in the corner: "Oh my God..."

Guy behind me: *slams head on desk*

Teacher: "NO! That's like saying if you work for a European company, you're European."

Dumb girl #1: "But, you are..."

Me: *exchanges look with friend in next seat over and pantomimes shooting self through head*

Dumb girl #1: "...wait..."

Class: *speechless*

Dear dumb girls in my AP History class,

"Thesis" is not pronounced like "feces". No one wants to read your feces. Ew.

Yes, you do say an FRQ, but not for the reasons you stated. "F starts with the letter E so it's an FRQ" is not a valid statement. It doesn't make any sense whatsoever. To this, the only thing I can ask is what are you on?!

Sincerely, I don't want to live on this planet anymore.

So I walked into health, and the board was covered in index cards with sex-related terms on them. A normal day at UMAHS.

I see:

I think:

I do:

Flickr's picture. Not mine.

Unproductivity FTW!

OBSERVED

This weekend I went to Walmart and saw the strange sight of a man and a woman, both Indian, dressed in thick sweatshirts with fur collars, baggy jeans, and ratty old flip-flops. Now, it was barely above freezing in our part of the country. The couple was lingering beside the checkouts, evidently dreading stepping outside into the cold.

I don't know about you, but when I see someone dressed like this, I want to say, "Namaste, good sir, what time did your plane land?"