46 posts tagged “growing up”

I don't pray every night or morning, but I do make it a habit to floss my teeth (gums?). I am very grateful for the friends I have and my knack for the English language and pretentious punctuation. I am grateful that I can liken my mother to Wonder Woman - really, she helped me clean my room, the seven dimensions of which I wouldn't inflict on anyone - without sounding like a total kiss-ass. My denim genes (that's right) and my not-quite-but-almost-designer jeans, and my infallible ability to laugh at any given situation. But seriously, now. Remember that curve ball? The pendulum has been swinging lightly back and forth, well I need a huge swing in my favor. Kthxbai.

Respectfully submitted,
Kendra

P.S. A more sturdy alcohol-tolerance would be splendid, but I won't push it.

The apartment, the cupboards. I came out of the bathroom earlier and reached over to chuck my clothes in what would've been a makeshift hamper outside of my bathroom door. After cleaning around my desk, I reached over towards the right to what would've been a wastebasket. It's funny how your body is conditioned to certain habitual maneuvers. I'm tired beyond comprehension, but I'm sure some introspective post will be written about life as an undergrad. Some things don't change. :o)

The students in Beijing believe that the backdrop of our campus at St. John's in a travel piece is digitally manipulated. True, I suppose adjusting the contrast could work in our favor. The thing of it is, a blue sky is an anomaly in Beijing. Production and development are costly, costly in more ways than one. The Blue Sky project was launched about ten years ago to provide Beijing with about 100 days with a blue sky - smog is the norm there.

I am concerned. Concerned that this new generation of students - myself included - are among the most deflated of youths thus far. Why is it that inspiration is so fleeting? In Balzac and the Little Chiense Seamstress, the protagonists discover a trunk full of banned books that give them a glimpse outside of Communist China. My father lived it. He studied Marx & Engels before the Red Guards destroyed a generation of education along with over 7 million precious texts. Watched teachers and intellectuals being beaten and humiliated. He, as were the characters in Balzac, was sent to re-education camp where tilling the soil was the only objective and intellectualism was viewed as pathological.

The little seamstress is a run-of-the-mill country girl whose fate was intertwined with making clothing for villagers and probably marrying into another mundane livelihood dictated by the menial. She then learns to read and has her companions read from these Western texts - Balzac and Shakespeare among others - and has the cliched epiphany of life outside of her own. To their surprise, she packs a bag and leaves the village, only to disappear.

I'm at such an impasse right now that I'm not sure how to reconcile with this. Lately, I press the snooze button and allow myself maybe just forty minutes to get ready. I lie in bed, curled in the fetal position, half awake, prolonging the remnants of REM sleep for up to half an hour sometimes. It's a good day when I've packed most of my stuff the night before, disastrous when I haven't. I graduate in five weeks, and I haven't the faintest notion of where one thing ends and another begins. We're so preoccupied with text messages and to-do lists, that we leave so little premium on the oft-trivialized pursuits of self-definition, self-discovery, and social change. We've resigned to the prospects of McCain's victory in November; hell, I'm surprised the State's putting a fight up against congestion pricing here.

It's hard enough getting people to RSVP or return e-mails, how fathomable is a social movement? Disturbing, indeed. Maybe we're the ones here who have normalized the smog around us. Blue skies mean little if there's always so much shit up in the air.

What inspires you? I can't give you a concise answer, at the moment. I gather that, by this point in time, inspiration won't come in a trunk or within the auspices of a clear day. Prove me wrong; that is all I ever ask for before I go to bed.

I was a lot like you when I started college; I wanted to chase the dream of making an exorbitant amount of money, live in the city, rub elbows with the rich and famous. But then when I interned at VH1, my supervisor who practically lived in her office would talk about how she partied with Denzel Washington last night. And then I looked at her and realized she had nothing to really show for in her forties." - an old co-worker.

Last night, FJM and I were talking about the long and arduous path to self-actualization and how he has undertaken this feat. You know, pumping and truncating Maslow's classic hierarchy of needs: optimizing and pushing the envelope on the human condition. I alluded to how he reminded me of the teacher, whom I declared as "perfect," in almost every sense of the word. A perfect contrivance, nonetheless.

JLC and I were placing our bachelor degrees on the proverbial tipping scales to gauge what "careers" awaited us with this piece of paper. "We might as well just wipe our asses with a BA in liberal arts, " I said. "Or roll it up and smoke it." Because short of a PhD, we'll be resigning ourselves to the prospects of administrative or executive assistantship jobs for a few years. We'll have our MAs before the age of 23, and that in itself will still not bear the fruit of our ambitions at the age of seventeen, when we thought we would change the world.

But what exactly is a PhD? An MA in this city is as ubiquitous as Halal carts in Manhattan. DM scored a fabulous job at a notable accounting firm with her undergrad degree and a great amount of high school peers have either dropped out of college and settled for working in "personal enterprises" or nothing pursuant to high school. A PhD really is just a pretty huge dick.

I have this crushing fear that I'm settling. Crushing because I'm numb enough in various body cavities to not realize I'm selling myself short. But who are we to judge ourselves objectively behind a 3.9 GPA? My professors have expressed this agenda they have for me to get that pretty huge dick. My chairperson would find it a travesty for me to simply retire upon receipt of my MA. My mom and I discussed life after college - a few years of some administrative or analyst job - before I decide to climb the academic ladder some more.

I have this unnerving worry that I'm compromising my convictions when it comes to people. But what are convictions for Scorpios if not stubborn dogmatism?

Oh how I miss that naivete of high school. That influx of passion circa sophomore and junior year of college. We thought college and degrees boasted innumerable options for us. I don't regret an academic career in liberal arts, it's greatly shaped how I am, for better or for worse. I do know enough about myself that I'll always be doing something more than the 9-5 job.
 
I sometimes wonder what my life would've entailed if I and my parents subscribed to the "American Dream" imperative impressed upon first generation children. If I'd gone to St. John's for Pharmacy - something that virtually anyone I encounter asks me if I'm studying, because of academic association - and not something in the humanities. Or if I was adept in math and became an accountant. Law school is still an option, but I'd have to think about that years later. Or if I had the requisite long-term Asian boyfriend to whom I could refer in family settings, and not have predominantly white guys pick me up at a variety of hours at night. "You're seeing who now? What happened to [redacted]?"

I'd like to believe in the hypothetical. That everything that reveals itself to me is conflated with an endless array of missives and alternatives. I think I'll take my time with self-actualization, not that I'm impossibly far from it. Post-graduate degrees and doctoral dissertations can be deferred, as can that elusive six-plus figure salary. Being twenty-something can't.

from someone who knows enough about me and my material to write this:

It's never bad to keep in contact with [redacted]... I'm sure they know how to party a bit. Fiercely independent people are driven to accomplish something, you're not sure what you're driven to do yet, but you clutch your independence very tightly. I think you need to reconcile the independence you get from your mother with your stubbornness not to be pigeonholed into a career which is what she is trying to get you to do. Mother's really do know best. I think eventually you'll find a cause to devote yourself to and then be able to find a man to come second, but right now your self-doubt is coming from the fact that you're still searching for that cause and putting relationships off while you search... tho in the dim-light of 5am it seems like the search is a poor reason to stop love from finding you...

In a city where dating has been synonymized (is that a new word I made up?) with a variety of terms that run the gamut of "clerical," can we say the same about friendships?

On dating and relationships, I've heard and experienced the application process: many have a list of criteria with which to use as a yard stick to meet people. We look at prospects as drag-and-drop options and comb through the quantified qualities that would best suit our wants and needs. "It's a revolving door." "Bait, catch, release." "There are many fish in the sea." "Men are falling from the sky around me and yet I still stay with the same asshole."

What about friendships?

Surely there's a BEST friend in here!

I have many great friends - salt of the Earth in each their own respective ways. But it's like an ever expanding palette of personalities. Some challenge me and keep me on my feet, some keep me in touch with my roots, stay up with me late at night while berating me for being a steadfast procrastinator, keep me writing, meet up with me spur of the moment for a night out, keep me from quitting my job - you get the idea.

But sometimes, seasons waver between a bunch of variables. Earth tones are less used, certain colors are reserved for specific days, a need to cultivate a newer blend, and they get placed in the back row. Try as we might, we'll never toss away these because they'll still be there at the behest of a need to use it again.

I had best friends in elementary and middle school. Yet it was a brand that the two of us shared, exclusively. B.F.F.'s and half-heart necklaces. Those tacky engraved mirror key chains proclaiming and marketing off our friendships. Having the class being thrown into a tailspin when we weren't sitting next to each other in adjacent desks one day.

Maybe I'm being pegged as cynical, but I feel that you can't get everything you want and need from one person, friend or otherwise. Because it's too much pressure. It's not for fear of losing him or her, because that's just silly and you shouldn't be touting around that label anyway, but because we grow and change and have many dimensions to ourselves. Because having a "best friend" connotes an unfair hierarchy of what shouldn't be quantified. How do you juxtapose an older, wiser, more-recent friend with a childhood one? How do you compare someone with whom you feel a rapport through wit and challenge with someone you just feel comfortable lounging around with? It's unfair to us and to them.

So rather than delegate rankings on friendship, I remain happy with my palette.

Got this from Dana :-). 100 things about me.

1. I have PMLE, photosensitivity wherein I can't stay in the sun during the summer without SPF 60+ - i think that makes me a vampire.
2. I have a large tattoo-looking birthmark on my left ankle.
3. My last three ear lobe piercings were administered in the basement warehouse of a supermarket. I have five in total.
4. This is the first time I've had male friends that I trust enough.
5. I've known how to cook since I was five years old. Stove-top oatmeal while standing on one of those plastic 99 cent chairs.
6. My sister and I got our family evicted from our first apartment. Setting boxes on fire, flooding the bottom apartment, running around wildly to episodes of Xena: The Warrior Princess.
7. I have trouble maintaining eye contract. Sometimes it's like a game wherein I get distracted from what the person is saying.
8. I am a vegetarian, have been for over a year. I find meat kinda gross right now. And I find it annoying when people ask me, like I'm an alien, "What do you eat?"
9. But this is the worst my skin has ever been. It's not that bad, though.
10. I could probably subsist on bananas with peanut butter alone for a long term period. And broccoli, let's not forget that. Yummm...
11. When I first got my period, the stain on my underwear was brown - my mom asked me if I crapped myself.
12. I lived through one of those classic Judy Blume-esque horror stories of virginity loss. I have no qualms about it and wouldn't have had it any other way.
13. Blogging has made me more appreciative of people and humanity in general.
14. I had my first O when I was fifteen years old. I think I lost count months later.
15. I collect vintage Archie comic books.
16. I once directed the Chancellor of Education of Australia on how to build a computer at the Javitz Center in Midtown. She gave me a mini stuffed koala and a Victorian football-shaped stress ball.
17. I kept up with the Lord of the Rings Trilogy because I was totally hot for Legolas played by Orlando Bloom.
18. I love my lips - they're full, but not obscenely so.
19. I really wish I could have a CraigsList "missed connection" moment - but that would entail my removal of my ipod earphones and staying awake on the train ride.
20. I have issues from Cosmo dating back to 2001. They're all the same things being repeated over and over again.
21. At the age of seven or eight, I would draw pornographic sketches of stick figures and had a sex-scenario involving Gaston and Belle. What is it about Gaston???
22. I am borderline anemic - I once fainted on an MTA bus because I forgot to take my iron tablets during my period. The bus driver got off the bus, went to the corner grocery store and bought me a Strawberry-Banana Tropicana juice box.
23. I sometimes have this insecurity that people would find my idiosyncracies to be fabrications, though I don't anymore because most people lived through them with me. This is because I've met many people on whom I've caught their lies. Like, really really stupid and bizarre shit.
24. I have more pairs of boots than sneakers - cowboy, Uggs, eskimo, motorcycle, Franco Sarto, Black suede flat heels, ankle.
25. I rued the size 10 days when I finally fit into my size 6 Old Navy jeans after battling the button and my gut for a good 10 minutes when I was a sophomore in high school. I'm a size 2 now and I irrationally feel bad about myself when they feel anything tighter than snug on me, though I eat a lot more than you would think I do.
26. I would rather be consistently thick and beautiful with a nice face rather than fluctuating five or so pounds which can show in my face.
27. I have a trail of freckles on the right side of my midriff that line up to look like the "M" symbol for Scorpio - even with the tail!
28. My boobs went down about two sizes after high school - along with my butt.
29. I NEVER match. Not jewelry, underwear, clothes, friends, attractions. I take pride in pulling off the thrown-together-last-minute look - like MK & A.
30. I'm a lot more confident - delusionally, even - on paper than I am in person.
31. I have a crooked smile because one side of my jaw is longer than the other.
32. Would you believe that I once considered majoring in communications? A marketing director of a publishing company told me I should be in PR.
33. Bubble tea is therapeutic. It really is!
35. I had a customer from American Eagle follow me into the parking lot after work when I was a sales associate.
36. I'm president of my Honor Society and I hate the red tape that comes along with it.
37. I can speak English, Chinese, French, and Italian. Even the guttural 'r's.' I once overheard old Italian women talk about penises in Italian and sold a pair of pants in SoHo to visitors from Italy: "Ti piace la colore de pantalone?'
38. I like it when white people are multicultural. When they have multicultural friends and don't find it weird to go to an Indian restaurant or Chinatown.
39. I think I'm either tall (5'6") or men keep getting shorter.
40. I LOVE tall men. It's not just about feeling small and protected, but so much more than I care to deeply analyze.
41. The bedroom is the only place that I allow myself - actually crave - being dominated.
42. Kissing with less tongue is a lot more intimate and sexual than vice versa.
43. Conversation is most definitely a form of foreplay. I've only had one guy with whom I've felt like that.
44. I shamefully take pride in that I don't look like a "normal" Asian girl.
45. I always have people question my ethnicity - Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, mixed, Cambodian...one time a priest gratuitously deconstructed my face before a class and said that I don't have the skin color of a Chinese person, my eyebrows, eyes, and hair. Thankfully my professor interjected with a joke and said I look Polish.
46. I only discovered last year that my grandfather is Manchukuo/Manchurian - he is one of the descendants of Empress Dowager, from the last Dynasty. His parents had to change their last name to conceal this after the end of the Qing Dynasty.
47. I think people wHo tYpE LiKe DyZ past the age of 19 should be prevented from procreating.
48. I was and am raised in a matriarch. My mom has and still does have final say and the goods to back up her power.
49. When asked about my heritage, sometimes I tell them "Oh, my grandfather fooled around with a Peruvian missionary" and they believe me.
50. I've had poison Ivy twice. One time I was bored and used a binder clip to pull open the liquid-filled bumps. It was clear, like water. Ewww.
51. I take really piecemeal and stupid things seriously, but I shrug my shoulders when it comes to the big stuff.
52. I think people who wear metallic belts, chrome-y nail polish, metallic/opalescent lipstick, lip gloss - silver/gold flats are okay, i guess - should wear paper bags on their heads.
53. People who I think are cool and are "in" with me are instantly "fucking in love" with me because I'm incredibly candid off the bat. And I love making people laugh, it's even better when it's unintentional.
54. I hate small talk and I can smell fear, overcompensation, and overtime.
55. I have no regrets, though if I had the opportunity to make a few alterations, I probably would.
56. I've met three people through the Internet - one of whom I dated, two of whom read my blog often and I consider good friends.
57. I get dragged into helping people, a lot. And sometimes I don't do it out of altruism, but because it's an ego trip.
58. Employees at Abercrombie & Fitch take themselves and their looks too seriously. A lot of them are pretty fug.
60. I hate my nose.
61. I don't like feet. You could be a foot model and I still wouldn't like them.
62. Sometimes, when I'm really really turned on, I will take care of myself three times a day, or in a row. And I always finish. ;-).
63. Sometimes an unseeming and boring person can totally get a double take through a witty sentence or music selection. I heard a guy blasting RHCP's "Can't stop" while on the bus and I was totally curious.
64. I've learned that looks and six-packs don't matter - I've been attracted to intelligent sexy-ugly guys.
65. I don't get it when white guys try to speak on the behalf of the sociologically handicapped - like they share our pain.
66. I hate it when people go out of their way to be politically correct. "Dark-skinned people, Oriental people, et al." It really grates on my nerves and makes things unnecessarily awkward. One of the best conversations I've had was on a date where we each discussed things we didn't really like about each race.
67. I think anything adorning those Louis Vuitton, Coach, Dior, Fendi and even Burberry patterns are aesthetic monstrosities. I've written about how these low-grade brands further perpetuate the myth of the middle class.
68. My sister and I are two dichotomous halves of a whole - sometimes we're missing parts that each other possesses. Though if we combined them into one person, we'd take over the world. Or a municipal city..okay, an apartment complex.
69. I look like virtually no one in my family, maybe my Dad when I smile. My sister yelled "WHERE did you get your genes???" and my mother's coworker asked for my learner's permit to confirm that I was in fact my mother's daughter.
70. I know more about China, its politics, its history, the Revolution than those who spew "Azn Pride."
71. Almost everyone pegs me as being "white-washed." I find it offensive.
72. I sometimes wish I weren't so goddamn judgmental/critical. Ironically, it's what many people like about me and find really endearing about me.
73. JLC and I chased away our roommate last year into another dorm room. We were purposely unbearable. It was, however, for the best. She was in a better place after us. Stories to tell, though, really bizarre stories.
74. There are some guys that I've been attracted to or messed around with that have me asking myself "WHAT WAS I THINKING???"
75. I played the flirting game with my eyes with my graduate Statistics professor because CS said that he stares at me a lot. So I stared back and darted my eyes away whenever he'd look at me. And I was pretty bored and not paying attention to regressions. I kicked ass on the final, though.
76. I attract a host of men that I am not attracted to. They are usually a lot older and plain gross.
77. I get annoyed and can't concentrate when I haven't pooped in a day.
78. I've never been in love and sometimes question my capacity for a long term monogamous relationship.
79. I'm a creep, as in I can find a host of information about a given person, with time and effort. I know one of my exes has a second myspace used to meet girls. It was gross and the deal-breaker. You would never assume it from him, though. Many have had myriad dating profiles. None of them know that I know this.
80. I've had many intelligent conversations, but one of the most thought-provoking and random as hell questions I've been asked is "What would the world be like if cows were just completely eliminated?" I postulated the environmental effects, effects on the economy...
81. I may come off as an intimidating bitch but in truth, I'm as sweet as maple syrup.
82. I secretly wish to club those who interchange "your" and "you're" in their heads.
83. I will NEVER - almost never - give away my cell phone number to someone whom I've only known for less than an hour again. Hi Kendra, this is Gustavo, from Express. Call me back, do you remember me? Call me back when you get this, okay? Call me back. CG and I laughed so hard.
84. Some women don't have a prayer and I hate them for being ditzy airheads.
85. I don't think I hate hate anyone.
86. I really think I've met the greatest of people and had a fulfilling college experience, so far.
87. I have really strong and controversial opinions about private charities, religious fundamentalists, abortion, and child rearing.
88. I avoid cameras like the plague. Not only am I not photogenic, but I look very different on film than in person.
89. I don't like alcohol. I think it just tastes really repugnant. Maybe champagne is okay, though.
90. The best compliment I've ever gotten was pertaining to my wit. When I uttered "I'm a Jill of many trades," among other weird retorts, I was told that I was very clever. And when my blog was read by the same person, I was complimented on how I take grammar and own it, and that it was very sexy. Talk about hitting the right spots!
91. I've never had a capital B boyfriend.
92. My life is chock full of idiosyncrasies, but is more stagnant than it appears to be. Majority rhetoric, minority content. I'd like to balance these out, thanks.
93. My favorite text message ever received thus far is "Rorschach!" Totally random, totally in reference to a topic discussed the night before after which I'd completely forgot about it until I received it.
95. If my internet connection is slow, I can't watch a page load - I just can't. I'll switch to another tab and wait until it's completely loaded.
96. If you were to combine fictional characters to sort of pin me, it'd be Audrey Tatou's Amelie in Amelie, Julie Delpy's Celine in Before Sunrise & Sunset, and maybe the cliche'd Carrie from Sex and the City.
97. I bartended for Left Forum at the top floor apartment of the Village Voice building. I never thought I'd ever see such a lavish and beautifully decorated apartment in Manhattan. I rubbed elbows with famous sociologists and writers, one of whom I shamelessly asked to sign my copy of Implicating Empire.
98. I've had a large number of people tell me that I'm intimidating. DM actually refrained from saying anything when I was berating her about boys because she was afraid that I'd make her eat her words. :-\
99. My snobby command of the English language has caused me to purposely misuse hyphenates, just because.
100. I should've lost an eye, died, and/or suffered from bilateral numbness on the lower part of my face in this lifetime. I really truly believe that something or someone is watching over me. And though I don't pray, when I remember, I whisper 'thank you' before I sleep.

Addendums:
101. You CAN make friends with salad. :-).
102. I sometimes break into a fit of giggles upon hearing the word "areola."
103. Despite my bouts of anti-social tendencies, my friends mean more to me than they would think they do. :-)

nootlin, tlanip, akitla, talini, and so on, and so forth.

the inuit have over a hundred words for snow. we, as americans, have about twice that amount to express "i have no idea, but let me get back to you...or let me use a word to divert your curiosity." but the big word that stands out is "maybe." because as a society, our livelihoods are hinged on the collective suspension of finiteness, dogmatism. if we could pierce that veil of conviction, no matter how minuscule the opportunity, we'll do anything to inject ourselves into the exposed fissures.

maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. maybe they need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with."

maybe the past is like an anchor holding us back. maybe you have to let go of who you were, to become who you will be."

Charlotte: Maybe we should get married.
Trey: Alrighty.

Maybe there are no right moments, right guys, right answers...maybe you just have to say whats in your heart

Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate

because this double-syllabic word carries so much weight and so many different connotations. it's enticing. it's torturous. it's safe - a verbal "cover your ass" policy. it's diplomatic. it's daring. inviting. it's titillating. it's that placebo we need to keep us hoping, longing. it's that slippery slope that can lead us perpetually entertaining the 'what if' scenarios. it's that thing that straddles between the boundaries of 'yes' and 'no.' it's that negotiation tactic used to keep us from taking that poisoned apple: full-frontal cynicism. 

Jesse: Oh, God, why weren't you there, in Vienna?
Celine: I told you why.
Jesse: Well, I know why, I just - I wish you would have been. Our lives might have been so much different.
Celine: You think so?
Jesse: I actually do.
Celine: Maybe not. Maybe, we would have hated each other eventually.
Jesse: Oh what, like we hate each other now?
Celine: You know, maybe we're - we're only good at brief encounters, walking around in European cities in warm climate.

as pixelated as my future is, DM and i started entertaining prospective plans. plans - scary, right? peut-être France, forse Rome, anything to take a departure from maybe. from could've, would've, should've.

Meredith Grey: Maybe we like the pain. Maybe we're wired that way. Because without it, I don't know; maybe we just wouldn't feel real. What's that saying? Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop.

Meredith Grey: Maybe we're not supposed to be happy. Maybe gratitude has nothing to do with joy. Maybe being grateful means recognizing what you have for what it is. Appreciating small victories. Admiring the struggle it takes simply to be human. Maybe we're thankful for the familiar things we know. And maybe we're thankful for the things we'll never know. At the end of the day, the fact that we have the courage to still be standing is reason enough to celebrate.

Meredith Grey: I wish there were a rulebook for intimacy. Some kind of guide to tell you when you've crossed the line. It would be nice if you could see it coming, and I don't know how you fit it on a map. You take it where you can get it, and keep it as long as you can. And as for rules, maybe there are none. Maybe the rules of intimacy are something you have to define for yourself.

maybe you still read my blog. maybe i'll stay a little longer. maybe this just isn't right. maybe it's best that we stop questioning it - love - and accept the fact that it's undefinable. maybe some things are meant to be nebulous, because you can't contain it. maybe we've all been settling this entire time. maybe i'm a girl and maybe i'm a lonely girl who's in the middle of something. maybe it's just me. maybe tomorrow, i'll find my way home. maybe I could have loved you better. maybe you should have loved me more. maybe our hearts were just next in line. maybe everything breaks sometime. everything breaks sometime.

 and as for "if," i won't even go there...

**I just found these lyrics while Googling! From Kelly Clarkson's Maybe:

I'm strong
But I break
I'm stubborn
And I make plenty of mistakes
Yeah I'm hard
And life with me is never easy
To figure out, to love
I'm jaded but oh so lovely
All you have to do is hold me
And you'll know and you'll see just how sweet it can be
If you'll trust me, love me, let me
Maybe, maybe

Someday
When we're at the same place
When we're on the same road
When it's okay to hold my hand
Without feeling lost
Without all the excuses
When it's just because you love me, you let me, you need me
Then maybe, maybe
All you have to do is hold me
And you'll know and you'll see just how sweet it can be
If you'll trust me, love me, let me
Maybe, maybe

I'm confusing as hell
I'm north and south
And I'll probably never have it all figured out
But what I know is I wasn't meant to walk this world without you
And I promise I'll try
Yeah I'm gonna try to give you every little part of me
Every single detail you missed with your eyes
Then maybe
Maybe, yeah maybe

One day
We'll meet again and you'll need me, you'll see me completely
Every little bit
Oh yeah maybe you'll love me, you'll love me then

I don't want to be tough
And I don't want to be proud
I don't need to be fixed and I certainly don't need to be found
I'm not lost
I need to be loved
I just need to be loved
I just want to be loved by you and I won't stop 'cause I believe
That maybe, yeah maybe
Maybe, yeah maybe

I should know better than to touch the fire twice
But I'm thinking maybe, yeah maybe you might

Maybe, love maybe

I got a hard dose of reality this past week. Myriad transgressions that all alerted me to the imminence of adulthood. Because for us, reality is partitioned by diplomas, degrees, and paychecks.

I'm a talented person - that's a card that I will not tacitly place on the table. But most of it is spontaneous - no, extemporaneous. Waking up in the morning and rummaging through a few drawers for an outfit to have people tell me they love how I dress - "it's very free-spirited." Doing research for a presentation in class the night before it has to be delivered. Reading the books required for the graduate book review the day before the assignment is due, only to start writing it at midnight into the wee hours. Majority rhetoric, minority content. And it makes me smug, because I can exert minimal effort dedication for that 4.0.

Ever since college, reality has been another compartmentalized entity that is completely divergent of the reality before. Reality consisted of syllabuses (syllabi?) and post-class evaluations. Countless all-nighters. Blue collar jobs. Drinking caffeinated beverages at inappropriate hours into the night. Doing laundry at unheard of hours. Dining hall food. Writing papers ad nauseam. Reading, reading, and more reading. Punctuation marks and past participles. Browsing the "missed connections" on CraigsList while bored in class. iPods and mp3s. Wireless internet. Charming the socks of professors. Calling out of work whenever because it's not "a real job." Organizing events for an honor society, designing flyers and mass emails. Juvenile-looking planners and pink highlighters.

So when I went home last week, my mom and I discussed my prospects after I get my MA. It wasn't a serious conversation, but an important one, nonetheless. DM got a "for real for real" career that she will most likely be working for good. DC is here for pharmacy, so we know what's going to happen after that. Myriad engagements and allusions in the form of elbow jerks to "finding someone." Life after school is going to be an awakening - not sure if it will be rude.

My mom jokingly lamented earlier this summer that she takes care of me and my sister "too well." And to a great degree, we've been spoiled. Because reality from hereon out consists of multiple things that run the gamut, many of which are abbreviated to mitigate how damn important they are. HMOs, 401Ks, CDs, Money Market accounts, IRA accounts (which I have, by the way), MAs, PhDs, JDs, MDs, EDDs. "It's going to be weird - where I'm going to work. Everyone's going to be pretty much the same, doing the same thing, unlike in school, where everyone wore different clothes and competed for grades," said DM.

I joke to my mom that there are two different extremes that characterize our immediate family. My dad has always been all heart and my sister is all brains. Whereas my mom is a disproportionate ratio of both albeit skewed to the side of the brains, I'm the exact opposite. I can only hope that I can balance these better, because I don't want to end up like my father. Passion fades.

Pulling all-nighters to write the perfect papers and cramming last minute for a final exam I can do. But compressing specific information like countless vocabulary words and quadratic equations into a week's worth of study for a standardized test, I can't. I was a fish out of water. Nothing calculated, inadequate preparation. While we sat in our individual cubicles, stripped of our possessions, each of us taking a post-graduate test, I could only feel the walls closing in on me quicker. Life isn't free-spirited anymore. It's tethered to rules and methods. I walked out because I needed to take a deep breath and reassess myself for the next time I take it. Because I have to start following the rules. I can't charm the socks off of a computer or the ETS. Life is a standardized test.

I would only like to bury my head back into the sand, thanks. I jest, it's not that bad.