I don't recall when this journal lost its audience, or if I ever was writing for one. But I find some nights, where thoughts needed to be put down, and instead of a private, paper-pen diary, I write them here.
public/private spaces
the dichotomy of the two is never clear nowadays, but at times (times like these, I suppose), I want to tell you things.
It used to be that, well, I used to write of my heart, and its broken pieces. And the intended audience wasn't you, but rather he-who-was-never-named (but quite clearly, he broke my heart, or something like that)
And then there were the posts of sleep deprived nights, incoherent posts of things I thought to be so fitting.
eh.
now, it seems like this semi-private place has become a place of announcements.
And here it goes.
I took a leap of faith, and I leave for South America in August, for 11 months.
He will leave for Egypt as soon as I leave, and then France for 7 months. Yeah, that motherfucker's living my french wet dream.
It is time to grow some more, and to see how we can continue to love despite the distance.
We sat by the river today, I heard the water in my ears, just as I did in Puerto Rico so many many months (years?) ago.
tout va bien.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Monday, November 22, 2010
economy
I
it is somewhat intoxicating absorbing what you don't want to absorb, the mathematics of the life you're wishing to lead. the economy of words is lost on you, you spurt out words you don't want to be said, and in these exhilarating moments, you wish for someone to save you, take you away. or perhaps, just take your breath away.
II
between the hello and goodbyes, we seek comfort in the approximation of each human quality that we tend to deduce. between the polite smiles and awkward handshakes we find in the touch that lasted a second, a closeness, a sharing of melancholic sentiments. we are alone, in our worlds, apart, and yet intimate.
III
You.
you took my breath away.
IV
in these ways of love, as they used to say, amor vincit omnia.
V
and there we are.
--
I wrote this sometime in fall '07, and by winter '08, someone else had taken my breath away, and
and here we are.
it is somewhat intoxicating absorbing what you don't want to absorb, the mathematics of the life you're wishing to lead. the economy of words is lost on you, you spurt out words you don't want to be said, and in these exhilarating moments, you wish for someone to save you, take you away. or perhaps, just take your breath away.
II
between the hello and goodbyes, we seek comfort in the approximation of each human quality that we tend to deduce. between the polite smiles and awkward handshakes we find in the touch that lasted a second, a closeness, a sharing of melancholic sentiments. we are alone, in our worlds, apart, and yet intimate.
III
You.
you took my breath away.
IV
in these ways of love, as they used to say, amor vincit omnia.
V
and there we are.
--
I wrote this sometime in fall '07, and by winter '08, someone else had taken my breath away, and
and here we are.
Monday, October 18, 2010
rien que l'amour
one of these days they might ask me, in a language I have adopted,
"why did you leave?"
"why did you leave?"
Saturday, October 02, 2010
cet été là
Last summer was probably one of the best summer of my 23 years of life, and this is to say that I sure hope my future summers will live up to this summer ( I mean, I have so many more summers to look forward to!)
First of all, I graduated. (see post below)
and then I spent two weeks on the East Coast with the loves of my life (Vermont-NYC-Vermont-Maine-Montrèal), one month in Ann Arbor (of which various days were spent in the arb, one day at DEMF, countless dancing nights and vegging out on the couch in front of the TV guiltlessly), six weeks in a small village in Vermont speaking nothing but french (and a lot of partying), two weeks in Ann Arbor, six days on a fucking awesome hippie bus (of which 4 days were in Iowa not by choice unfortunately), three days in a dried out lakebed in the middle of nowhere Nevada (google Burning Man!) and jumped on a plane to Malaysia a day later.
And one month of Raya. Hell yeah.
BEST POST GRADUATION TRIP EVER.
I would love to write individual posts on my East Coast trip, on how much I want to raise my kids in Montrèal, on Middlebury, on the French, and THE bus, and Burning Man...
but y'know. that probably won't happen. ha.
First of all, I graduated. (see post below)
and then I spent two weeks on the East Coast with the loves of my life (Vermont-NYC-Vermont-Maine-Montrèal), one month in Ann Arbor (of which various days were spent in the arb, one day at DEMF, countless dancing nights and vegging out on the couch in front of the TV guiltlessly), six weeks in a small village in Vermont speaking nothing but french (and a lot of partying), two weeks in Ann Arbor, six days on a fucking awesome hippie bus (of which 4 days were in Iowa not by choice unfortunately), three days in a dried out lakebed in the middle of nowhere Nevada (google Burning Man!) and jumped on a plane to Malaysia a day later.
And one month of Raya. Hell yeah.
BEST POST GRADUATION TRIP EVER.
I would love to write individual posts on my East Coast trip, on how much I want to raise my kids in Montrèal, on Middlebury, on the French, and THE bus, and Burning Man...
but y'know. that probably won't happen. ha.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
the graduate reflects
It took me a long time to write this, between the traveling, and hanging out with friends before saying goodbye and some precious me time, I had thoughts, and it was hard to put these thoughts in writing.
So I graduated, and I have a college degree. And I got my official "Degree conferred" transcript with a list of all the classes I had ever taken. And grades.
I did it. I have a degree in Mathematics, with a not terrible CGPA. I want to tell you that it didn't matter what my final CGPA was, but it did. I worked my hardest my last semester, between my thesis and 500 level math classes and Catalan to not go below the standard I put up for myself.
But of course, in the end, it didn't matter. Anyone could tell you this. Anyone could tell you that your 4-year college degree is more than all the classes you had taken. And this is true, and I knew this, despite all the nights I was in tears thinking about why I don't have a 3.5 GPA.
I want to tell you that I am blessed to be able to experience this liberal arts education. I want to tell you that I am blessed to be able to step outside myself and observe the world.
For every American who asked me if Malaysia is in Asia, there's one American who knew more about our politics than most of my peers. And one who could talk to you about the ethnic conflict in Kyrgyztan. And another who can tell you what the Quran says about a certain issue from three different sources. And plenty who took the time to learn languages and cultures of others.
And really, there are stupid people everywhere. You can't avoid them.
But being abroad, being away from home, familiarity, feeling like a foreigner in a foreign world, has taught me to look at the world. And ask questions. And never settle for "I don't know". And to never judge too harshly.
So I really don't know what I am trying to say. I am glad that college is over.
But what now?
College for me was all about learning; learning how to do math which later becomes learning how to pass a math test when you have no idea what is going on in class, learning a new language, learning how to write, learning how to make it seem like you are interested, learning how to write a 10 page paper in 12 hours and still sound like you have been researching for the last two weeks... so many skills and knowledge obtained in just four years!
But knowledge is a burden, and I carry this burden with me every day and it just gets heavier day by day.
So I graduated, and I have a college degree. And I got my official "Degree conferred" transcript with a list of all the classes I had ever taken. And grades.
I did it. I have a degree in Mathematics, with a not terrible CGPA. I want to tell you that it didn't matter what my final CGPA was, but it did. I worked my hardest my last semester, between my thesis and 500 level math classes and Catalan to not go below the standard I put up for myself.
But of course, in the end, it didn't matter. Anyone could tell you this. Anyone could tell you that your 4-year college degree is more than all the classes you had taken. And this is true, and I knew this, despite all the nights I was in tears thinking about why I don't have a 3.5 GPA.
I want to tell you that I am blessed to be able to experience this liberal arts education. I want to tell you that I am blessed to be able to step outside myself and observe the world.
For every American who asked me if Malaysia is in Asia, there's one American who knew more about our politics than most of my peers. And one who could talk to you about the ethnic conflict in Kyrgyztan. And another who can tell you what the Quran says about a certain issue from three different sources. And plenty who took the time to learn languages and cultures of others.
And really, there are stupid people everywhere. You can't avoid them.
But being abroad, being away from home, familiarity, feeling like a foreigner in a foreign world, has taught me to look at the world. And ask questions. And never settle for "I don't know". And to never judge too harshly.
So I really don't know what I am trying to say. I am glad that college is over.
But what now?
College for me was all about learning; learning how to do math which later becomes learning how to pass a math test when you have no idea what is going on in class, learning a new language, learning how to write, learning how to make it seem like you are interested, learning how to write a 10 page paper in 12 hours and still sound like you have been researching for the last two weeks... so many skills and knowledge obtained in just four years!
But knowledge is a burden, and I carry this burden with me every day and it just gets heavier day by day.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
oh hello college life, how you passed by so swiftly
why i love you dear friends
because we sit in a circle, smoking or drinking or neither of those things, and just talk about things. things that matter, things that don't. we point at the world map, and talk about imperial powers drawing arbitrary lines. or sometimes we just stare at the map, and make things out of these arbitrary lines. we talk about the death of conservatism, and the bleak future of the republican party. or we just talk about how ridiculously short mc cain's arms are. we talk about the health care reform bill in detail. or we just laugh at the tea-partiers' attempt at spelling SOCIALISM. we talk about how kyrgyzstan's coup was led by a woman. or sometimes we struggle to spell the nation's name. and you guys talk about the different kinds of beer, and made me understand that bud light is shit,and how drinking good beer is better than drinking wine. then we talk about nationalism, and linguistics and music, and movies. and whales. moby dick. penis envy. the green revolution. the french. etc. etc. etc. and we debate, and argue, and make fun of each other. and this goes on for hours' end. and this is the way we party, sitting around in a circle, smoking or drinking or neither of those things and just talk about things.
why i love you dear lover
because we sit in bed, talking about things, kissing, reading in all the languages we know. and we argue and we debate. and i scream sometimes because you never want to lose. and you teach me about the indigenous people in Papua New Guinea or austronesian languages or the way the French political system work. and sometimes we speak in english, sometimes in french. sometimes i tell you to just say things in spanish because you always insist on your Spain accent. or i will read catalan poetry, and you would read to me your stories in Arabic, and translate them. and because we sit in bed, reading Borges together, being perpetually amazed by his stories. or you would read your fantasy novels, and i would read my realist novels, and we make fun of each other, and we argue about who has the better taste in books. and we plan our lives, we look up to the ceiling, and point to imaginary maps of places we would like to go, and we just plan our lives. sometimes, you fall asleep first, but you never wake up before me. and this is the way we love, sitting in bed, talking about things, kissing, reading in all the languages we know.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
and these are the people around me who had made my life here so wonderful. and i am nearing the end of my college career, and i really can't help but be so fucking nostalgic.
because guess what I still hate going to clubs, and i still hate huge house parties. SO FUCK YEAH FRIENDS FOR BEING AWESOME.
I also love you, my dear friends and lover because of the adventures that we took together. exploring the arb. going on a long-ass road trip. learning new things. and failing at new things. eating new things. experimenting with my attempts of making tea and different kinds of pie. or just doing something completely random (impromptu picnics and art jams).
and again, fuck yeah friends for being totally awesome and for being there for my tea parties!
love,
me
because we sit in a circle, smoking or drinking or neither of those things, and just talk about things. things that matter, things that don't. we point at the world map, and talk about imperial powers drawing arbitrary lines. or sometimes we just stare at the map, and make things out of these arbitrary lines. we talk about the death of conservatism, and the bleak future of the republican party. or we just talk about how ridiculously short mc cain's arms are. we talk about the health care reform bill in detail. or we just laugh at the tea-partiers' attempt at spelling SOCIALISM. we talk about how kyrgyzstan's coup was led by a woman. or sometimes we struggle to spell the nation's name. and you guys talk about the different kinds of beer, and made me understand that bud light is shit,and how drinking good beer is better than drinking wine. then we talk about nationalism, and linguistics and music, and movies. and whales. moby dick. penis envy. the green revolution. the french. etc. etc. etc. and we debate, and argue, and make fun of each other. and this goes on for hours' end. and this is the way we party, sitting around in a circle, smoking or drinking or neither of those things and just talk about things.
why i love you dear lover
because we sit in bed, talking about things, kissing, reading in all the languages we know. and we argue and we debate. and i scream sometimes because you never want to lose. and you teach me about the indigenous people in Papua New Guinea or austronesian languages or the way the French political system work. and sometimes we speak in english, sometimes in french. sometimes i tell you to just say things in spanish because you always insist on your Spain accent. or i will read catalan poetry, and you would read to me your stories in Arabic, and translate them. and because we sit in bed, reading Borges together, being perpetually amazed by his stories. or you would read your fantasy novels, and i would read my realist novels, and we make fun of each other, and we argue about who has the better taste in books. and we plan our lives, we look up to the ceiling, and point to imaginary maps of places we would like to go, and we just plan our lives. sometimes, you fall asleep first, but you never wake up before me. and this is the way we love, sitting in bed, talking about things, kissing, reading in all the languages we know.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
and these are the people around me who had made my life here so wonderful. and i am nearing the end of my college career, and i really can't help but be so fucking nostalgic.
because guess what I still hate going to clubs, and i still hate huge house parties. SO FUCK YEAH FRIENDS FOR BEING AWESOME.
I also love you, my dear friends and lover because of the adventures that we took together. exploring the arb. going on a long-ass road trip. learning new things. and failing at new things. eating new things. experimenting with my attempts of making tea and different kinds of pie. or just doing something completely random (impromptu picnics and art jams).
and again, fuck yeah friends for being totally awesome and for being there for my tea parties!
love,
me
Friday, March 19, 2010
thesis.
Chapter 1 : Discourse in Nationalism
Chapter 2 : Pitfalls of National Consciousness
Chapter 3 : National culture - Culture of Reading and Writing
Chapter 4 : Writing collectivity in Post-colonial literature.
.
.
.
.
.
I think I am suffering from some sort of impostor syndrome.
Chapter 2 : Pitfalls of National Consciousness
Chapter 3 : National culture - Culture of Reading and Writing
Chapter 4 : Writing collectivity in Post-colonial literature.
.
.
.
.
.
I think I am suffering from some sort of impostor syndrome.
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