Dear Readers,
This is an unusual post for me. I decided when I started this blog that I would put out each post with a purpose, and this is what I have tried to accomplish with each post. Each has a resolution, a point on which I've focused or a note of hope to end on. Which is where I've differentiated in this post: I have no point, just a bunch of feelings wadded up inside me like a discarded rag.

I focus way too much on the past. I find this much easier than focusing on the future, because the future is an uncertain gray space in my mind; the past is vivid. I find myself going over things I could have done better in the past, those moments when I should have (or shouldn't have) said something, the things I wish I could erase and rewrite in my own colorful language. Then I find myself wishing I could rewrite myself. There are moments when I want to be the shy wallflower sitting in the corner or the first one to make an impression. I wish I had more imagination, less social restrains, and a bigger sense of my own impact on those around me.

So, no, I don't have a moral for this story; but I'm finding out that life doesn't have a moral to its story. So, that's the moral for today: no moral.

Poetry

So a good friend of mine asked me about any recent poetry I have written, and this is the first poem that I have worked significantly on. At the moment I'm trying out new ways of poetry; while I emulate the poetry of Eavan Boland and Seamus Heaney, I want to see what different subjects and voices feel the best. I wrote this poem thinking about the 2 months I spent living on the Sea of Cortez on my uncle's boat. He cleverly named his boat "Odyssey", and I took this theme a bit further, especially in the last lines of the poem.

I guess you could say that this poetry is my attempt at being mysterious and ambiguous, but I really enjoyed writing the imagery in this poem (but maybe took it a little too far...?). Let me know what you think!

We Cut Through Waves of Glass

We cut through waves of glass, letting
the sprays of crystal liquid grow around the prow
like shimmering baby’s breath in the morning
light. The blue air rose from the water,

Biting our exposed skin, while the liquid velvet
underneath beckoned us into its silky

Depths. Dawn dispersed the siren’s cry
as the blushing clouds above us became
varnished in gold and the sea submitted
to the color of the sky.

The chains rattled in your hands,
groaning about their disturbance as rivers

poured down their caked sides, rumors of
lotus on their lips. We revolved around
the table, stringing coordinates and
compasses together to form a journey.

Do you remember it? The air blocked
our passage, the sea mirrored the deepest

fears of shadow, broken only by the
sound of waves across the water. You
found peace among that black liquid, a sweet
drowning in the silence; I lost you in that

instant, saw you fade away to only an echo.
The mountains tore the horizon.

The ocean swirled in circles around our
ship as we pierced through the glass to
make it home to a wife and son long
lost in the midst of all this.

[no title]

Dear Readers,
I have never written poetry before...that is, before tonight. I was hit with a moment of brilliance while I was at work tonight: I wanted to write a poem. Why? Well, my main motivation was to get it published of course! At Westmont there is an organization called "The Phoenix" that celebrates the fine arts by publishing/recording original works in the Westmont community. I thought it would be a great opportunity to see if I could get something published, so I wrote this poem for the event. Now, here is where you, my dearest readers, come into that equation: I want your feedback! So, either email me or comment on this blog how you liked the poem and if there is anything I should fix. Please keep in mind that it is due Jan. 30 (3 days away), so hurry with the feedback/suggestions/comments. PS, I also need a title.....


Fall reminds me of my home,
dead dry cracked skeletons hanging
lifeless from tree branches,
as if a sponge has gone and soaked
up all the moisture in the air.

Where I come from is hot and dry,
Barren hills of fruitless wheat
meet the eye in pure cascades.
They call it golden summer grass,
But I know better than that.

I would always wonder on
the winding roads and turns,
dodging trucks to Sacramento,
how long it takes to climb
those dehydrated hills of windblown weeds.

It didn’t seem so steep at first,
the peak barely scraping the sky.
I was confident then, my dad
more cautious of the climb.
Fractured land, taut and red,

Crumbled beneath my eager feet,
broken by gray bones, the stepping stones.
I reached the top in no time
at all, the earth below a sea
of gold. The hill swelled in

Seconds, piercing the cerulean sky.
“One foot in front of the other”
my dad would mutter: determination
made it to the top. Thorns and briars,
ticks and sticks all came home with us

That night, a membrane of memories...... (see below!)
that can’t be scrap-booked. Fall remains
in me. Dry weeds and atrophied
earth stay at home, waiting for my
return.

......(alternative ending) That night. The membrane of memories
converges and in an instance,
the golden sea swallows me whole.
Fall reminds me of my home,
the brittle leaves crackling under
my feet.

The Agony.....Or the Ecstasy?

Dear Readers,
There is nothing like a good night's sleep. Yes, it is raining outside and I am trapped in the library right now, but I'm absolutely OK with that because of one thing: rest. Which is the reason I'm writing this: I'm in a good mood at the moment.

This semester has dragged on and on for me; all two weeks of it. Really, right now I just want to be off-campus, preferably in Italy (where I am applying to for the fall semester!).

I'm closing in on my third year here at Westmont. These years have been the most productive, stretching, and enjoyable years of my life; yet, there is still a part of me that wants to get away, to experience the world outside of Montecito. I really have nothing to complain about: my semester looks great this year, I have an amazing schedule, I'm involved in countless activities around campus, and I feel like I'm still learning at an exponential rate. But, for all of this, I want to leave. Its the strangest thing knowing you should love and appreciate the place you are at, but still long for a place far away. I don't want to go home; I want to go around the world, although not quite in 80 days.

So, what can I conclude? This semester is shaping up for me nicely so far, but there is still that longing, nagging feeling that I should be across the globe. Maybe I don't have a conclusion for myself: sometimes we have to live with the uncomfortable, to bask in the ambiguity, to wade into the unknown. And that is what I hope to accomplish this semester: become comfortable with the uncomfortable.

Sticks and Stones

Dear Readers,
I have a boulder hanging over my head. Actually, three of them. On the imaginary timeline of the semester which gives me a general scope of limits, there are three humongous projects due, all within the same week. Its terrifying to think that all this research and writing will have to be done by then, but I still find myself procrastinating. Why is that? I'm excited about the projects, want to research and discover, explore the possibilities. Yet, every time I'm at the computer I find myself slacking off instead of working. This isn't like me at all. Maybe I'm having an identity crisis.

I have a problem with the execution of plans. For example take two summers ago. I planned my whole summer out, created lists of exciting trips, daydreamed about the fun things I would fill my time with. Then what did I do? Lay on the couch the whole summer! There is something satisfying about making plans, tediously weaving the strands of time together in your head to form a picture of what could happen. But it never gets done. Plans like this help me get through the semester: I create a time for myself when I have nothing else to do but sit down and read a book or go out to coffee with a friend. But when the time comes around, I'm too lazy to actually get up and do it.

The good thing is, my friends, that I've realized the problem. No longer do I tell people that I would like to talk to them with no intention of ever following through with the action. I go on coffee dates, stop in the middle of homework to check up on my roommates, and drop by my friend's rooms just to say hi. Its tiring, annoying at some times, inconvenient at others, but most of all, its satisfying. I'm true to my word, and true to my work. I get things done! Yay for me!

Creature Comforts

Dear Readers,
I miss my Brit Lit book. Remember that thing? It looked like a large paperback brick, was about 3,500 pages long, and consumed my life for the past year. It was my baby. I carried it around everywhere, whether it was to coffee, the DC, or even all the way home on long weekends. It fit into my arm like a puzzle piece; it just felt right to have it by my side at all times. This attachment wasn't extraneous or delusional: I needed my Brit Lit book by me at all times. At every spare moment, I got a jump start on the reading that was due the next week. I wasn't overachieving; I was finishing the assignment the only way I could. It consumed my life, but this wasn't a bad thing. I enjoy reading with all of my heart; I love being able to say that I have read a certain passage or take a pity quote from an author.

I have found out this semester that there was a certain comfort in my Brit Lit book. It was so predictable. Every assignment consisted of reading (which could be found on the one page syllabus folded in between the pages of my book). There weren't multiple books to keep track of, no special papers or projects that were assigned. Every day we would take a quiz then have 2 hours of lecture. Every couple of weeks we would have a test. That was it: simplicity and elegance in a college course. But I've graduated since then to other English classes. More specified English classes, ones that you have to write papers for and give reports in. This scares me: it's not predictable! Every class has a different date for each project, each project has certain specifications, plus the regular reading that comes along with it. I'm going out of my mind trying to think of what is due in the next week that I get so overwhelmed by just those facts that I completely miss the regular homework assignments.

I haven't quite found a moral to the story yet. I'm still getting used to the different schedules and classes that are being thrown my way. I'm absolutely enjoying every minute of the classes I'm enrolled in, but they are a lot of work (though I think worth the effort). But the good thing is that I'm a junior still: I have a year and a half yet to figure it out.

The Seventh Day

Dear Readers,
Its been a hard semester for me so far. Enjoyable, yes; relaxing, no. Rest has been a problem for me ever since I came back to Westmont. Of course, this problem did not just start inexplicably when I came to Santa Barbara; it has been building up in my daily routine for quite a while.
The root of the cause is that I don't find enjoyment in the things that I used to. My entire Ripon Christian experience consisted of basically two different mindsets. There was the hard work and dedication that I put into learning, as well as the time that I put into extracurriculars, musical and athletic. This was my 5-day work week, the time when the main amount of effort and exertion of my mind and body was poured out into those five days. I got a social, educational, and physical respite on the weekend: I would stay cooped up in our house, surfacing once or twice for a walk around the park or for church, maybe even a party once and a while. These days were wasted in electronic (yet ignorant nonetheless) bliss, eaten up by computer games and endless TV shows. This was how I relaxed, and it worked for me at the time. Sure, it wasn't the most wholesome or enriching use of my time, but it wasn't like I did that all the time; it was reserved for the weekends, something that I looked forward to, a goal that I worked towards.

I'm in college now. My world has been turned upside down; actually, more like bleared and smeared. My worlds have collided, to use a quote from Seinfeld. School and home are no longer separate entities to me. I no longer have the usual 8 hour school day with unlimited (OK, from 4-10pm) hours at home that I could fill my time with. My days are now filled with classes and commitments - I don't have spare time! Between 2 jobs, 3 classes, 4 singing groups, and 3 meals, I can't seem to find any time to take out of my schedule for the main purpose of relaxing. Not only this, but the times that I actually do have to relax are taken up with trying to figure out the best way for me to relax. I don't find the same enjoyment in the computer and the TV as I used to - to be honest, I'd much rather be reading a book. But the problem with this collision is that I'm afraid that my school work would interfere with my relaxation. Let me make this clear - I'm afraid that the reading I do for leisure will becomes confused and intermixed with the reading I have to do for my 2 English classes; bleared and smeared you might say.

Although this seems to be quite the paradox of a situation, don't depress yourselves gentle readers. I recently talked with a professor who offered me some sage advise: write. Therefore, I am going to be trying to take more time out of my schedule to do something which I love. And, thanks to this blog, you get to see the fruits of my labors. They might be short posts, they might be absurd or fragmented, and they might come at irregular intervals. But, know this my dear readers, you will be hearing more from me from now on. That I promise.