Moved.

It is difficult to consider the year in its entirety. It's end was the beginning of assurance and hope for happiness, gradually strangled and eventually defeated; it's middle was idle and aimless, part laughing reminiscence, part wrestling with the implications of leaving and coming back. And it's beginning was another life altogether.

There have been moments when life really seems like a dream and I hardly able to believe that I am living it. I have had greater joy doing something I love even more than I realize I did. I have been reminded, time and again, of what is and should be important to me.

I confess, sometimes it is enough; sometimes it is not.

The crossroads are a strange place. For even as I stand here gazing critically at the past, peering uncertainly into the future, it is difficult not to feel even a little bit hopeful.

For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice.

Airports are like a whole different dimension. Especially when you get stuck there.

It began as a 6 o'clock flight. Mechanical delays and a mechanic appeared and puttered around for two hours, after which it was decided the mechanic was not qualified to fix whatever was wrong.

Would I be able to get out of the airport on that night? Uncertain. And then, news! They would send another plane. New departure time, 9.40 pm. Rejoice.

Two hours later, upon returning to the gate to board, more news. A delay. Alas. New departure time, 11.30 pm. Went to buy a book and settled in.

11 pm, 23rd December: boarding time, went to the gate. Found a long, long line. Uh-oh. Secondary plane delayed either by more mechanical failures or the weather. Not really sure which. Don't really care.

In line, wonder if I will actually get out of this airport before Christmas Day. Once again, as it was before, I feel this would be so much more bearable with someone to share it with. At some point, as the line is moving very slowly along, news comes that they are creating a flight to leave the next morning at 9.30 am. At least is something.

1.30 am, 24th December, Christmas Eve. Finally reached the counter. Got ticket.

Later. At least as a student, my idea of sleep and when it should be undertaken is pretty flexible.

Philly to LA. The final two hours are the longest two hours of a journey ever. The descent is the somehow the slowest I have ever experienced, not that going down faster would necessarily be a good thing.

Time of arrival: 12.45 pm LA time, 24th December. Hurray!

The This the That the Then

I didn't realize people are already more than halfway through their holidays. I didn't realize YLDP is already over. I didn't even consider the fact that, back there, people in churches the country over are probably preparing for their annual Christmas presentations. I haven't spared a thought for the traditional end-of-the-year events that must be going on, or even remember the routine very clearly any more.

I spend too much time in my own head. I think about the capricious nature of papers and how they distort time and space. I think about the past and regrets and wonder why I feel the way I feel. I try to figure out to where the inspiration and enthusiasm has fled. I wistfully wish for its return, knowing that half the battle lies within me myself, if only I can believe it. I wonder what I have to do to haul my sorry ass out of this morose and selfish funk. Not spend so much time in my own head.

I think about how long it has been since I last spoke to my family. I try to remember when I last wrote a letter. I wonder where the time goes. I berate myself for letting time slip through my fingers. I see people walking around in a daze at eight in the morning and know they haven't been to sleep and probably won't go to sleep until they can no longer function or have a little time to spare, whichever comes first. A thick concentration, product of deadlines and desperation, fills the air like a weight. Nothing in our heads but books and papers and research and writing and information and knowledge and, in a pause for breath, why?

And now it is over I am ready to return, to fight again and hope this time to prevail, for every new beginning is the opportunity for things to go differently, it must be so we must believe it must be so (and try not to think about every other time and every other hope), else turn now and walk away. Until all that tumbling mountain of junk, tilting the fulcrum of remorse, the pressure and the weight, will metastasize into... anger. Enough to flood the veins and propel the blood into once again being alive.

And flip the coin.

It wasn't as bad as it sounds. I did the library camp-out, it was simultaneously hellish and an incredible high. As to the why, why, to be human, of course.

Leaving for California tomorrow. How exciting.

Water, water everywhere. It hasn't stopped raining for two days and everything is wet and juicy. Water trickling down the paths, water gurgling, water pattering against the glass and the wind howling around the corners of the building.

I just want to curl up under warm covers and go to sleep.

I hate questions like what is art and what is reality. I am banging my head against an existential wall.

Where I Live

The common room, i.e. what you will see when you first open the door to the suite.


And this is from the other end of the room. Yes, I did bring those lanterns from home.


The lamp we bought because there is only one light, leaving this side of the room in a constant shadowy twilight. Also, Vietnamese caligraphy.


Mulan poster Lina just had to get after we put up the decorations and realized how Asian the whole place looked (you know, comparatively).


Something from Vietnam, something from Puerto Rico, something bought here. Can you guess which is which?


The table, at which we (or some of us, at least) partake of many meals of instant noodles.


Our chopstick holding ducky. He's very unstable and tends to fall over at the slightest provocation. As you can see, we've tried to prop him up with the lanterns.


My room, from the door. Desk is on the right, bed is on the left, cupboard/wardrobe straight ahead.


Desk. It gets progressively messier as the week goes by.

Now, the room is so small I couldn't get any good shot of the other side. But trust me, you aren't missing out on much. There's the bed, a small shelf above the bed with lamp and more books on it, dirty laundry bag and the shelf with toiletries. Moving on...


Out my window.


The tree that keeps direct sunlight out of my room. Staring at it also keeps me sane when I'm trying to think of a thesis statement.

I used to think that grownups were wise and smart and could just think really fast to come up with answers to my questions.

Now I know the truth of the matter is simply this: they have had more time to think, to learn and to practice. Only in this, do they (we?) have the advantage over children.