More to Life

Admitted, I got my luggage this time around, so my transition back to school was a bit smoother than it could have been. Nevertheless, an average transition back to school isn't any good to begin with.

School greeted all of us on the first day back with a ton of rain. It rained, and rained, and good thing I had my umbrella, but I still got wet. On Monday I also got my astrophysics midterm back--not something I wanted to see so soon. I got 58%, and the mean was 75%! I don't know how that happened. Well, actually I guess I saw it coming. Eh, can you blame me anyway? It's astrophysics. I do have to rant though--I got a big zero on the last question even though I worked through everything. Unfair? I submitted a regrade. We shall see, I'm not banking on anything better than a 65%... And at a cut-throat, competitive school, being below average is bad no matter how far below...

Tuesday saw me back at work in the physics department (job #1). Wednesday led me back to work teaching (job #2). Thursday night ushered in my first 5 hour night's sleep. Tonight I completed all of my history readings for the first time before class tomorrow.

Today in my writing class, my turn arrived to sacrifice an essay to the unpredictable forces of public critique. It's not too bad in the sense that I get to sit back and let other people do the talking while I just jot down notes and try not to get too upset or offended. Everything was unraveling all right until one conspicuous girl decided it was her turn to go off.

OK, I appreciate honesty, but how do I reconcile that with wanting a little more respect? "I think your essay is really generic" she stated emphatically. "Blah, blah, blah," she rambled on telling me how unoriginal my writing is and who knows what. Dang! Then the teacher commends her for being so honest. Whatever. You got to have some nerve to denigrate someone's work like that in front of a whole class of students. I'm not asking her to be dishonest or beat around the bush. Say what you gotta say, but can you at least make some effort at being polite, or at least a little more constructive? Hmph.

More than anything, this first week back just dunked me into the hellish routine of school that makes me so miserable. Helplessly falling behind in school work despite best efforts; teachers piling on readings and assignments; feeling like a zombie on no sleep; having no time to catch up, absolutely no time to do things I like (I'm writing now on borrowed time); feeling my heart involuntarily beat faster, pumping hi-anxiety blood through my body; always rushing from place to place, always on the go... You get my flow...

So it hasn't been a week yet and I'm starting to feel the pain. I think I might be getting a bit sick. Hmmm. My body is telling me something. Understood! I got it! Give me some time, I'm plotting our escape. Be my vessel, we'll ride out these rough waters and then it'll be smooth sailing... I hope.

Ugh, I just need a year and two months. Can I hang in there?

Yes, I know I've very creative when it comes to blog titles.

So I got back to smalltown, NY about an hour behind schedule. Despite the delay the trip was a bit more impressive than usual. Nomrally, we get a tiny plane that feels like its going to come apart in flight--loud engine noises, bumpy ride, realllly tiny seats. This time we got a new small plane! It was a bit bigger (four seats in each row!), had pleather seats, and new sleakly designed plastic armrests... Also, instead of having to get off the plane and walk outside to the 2-gate airport, we actually for the first time used the walkway to get to the gate.

Oh and did I mention that my luggage arrived this time? How's that for impressive. I do feel a bit bad about it. Once the carousel stopped spitting out luggage, a dozen of students lined up to put in claims for lost luggage. What's up with losing so much luggage? Just isn't right...

So I'm back at school now. I finally settled into my dorm around 11:45 p.m. last night, and had to wake up this morning for classes. It's kind of an abrupt transition from vacation to school mode--just a short night's sleep.

So this is the homestretch. I have to hold my breath and close my eyes and hold on to my sanity real tight for the last couple weeks until the freedom of summer. This week isn't too bad. The onslaught resumes next week with a paper and an exam and a problem set due, and I'm sure this list will get longer as the week progresses.

But for now I need to brace myself for the hardships of school again. It's back to 5-6 hours of sleep a night. Back to coping with high stress and adrenaline levels. Back to putting up with lots of people who frown a lot. Back to putting up with professors' quirky personalities. Oh, and back to the grind of working two jobs. Oh man.

I just don't have the nerve for this anymore!

While many Americans and others will be celebrating Easter today, I'll be doing something I've done a lot in the past year: flying. My lovely spring break has to come to an end, and that means coming a full circle--away from school and back to school.

This break was a decent, but mostly much needed, escape from school. Instead of the grind of working two jobs and trying to keep up with five classes, the only thing I had to keep up with was myself. For a little over a week, things ran at my own pace. I could stay up as late as I wanted, or crash as early as I wanted, and sleep as much as I wanted. I could watch all the TV my heart desired, find some precious time to delete several hundred e-mails, and even devote some much needed TLC to this blog. I went on a movie splurge and watched five: Hotel Rwanda, The Terminal, The Motorcycle Diaries, Connie and Karla, and Love Actually. I had a blast. I relished the freedom of break, and sucked in every cinematic moment I watched. As much of a knowledge thirst-quencher school is supposed to be, it left me really hungry for other things.

I also started to look forward. When high school ended it was like reaching the end of the tunnel just to head into another one--that of college. Finally, I can see a real light at the end of the tunnel, and hopefully not one that leads to another tunnel. More than ever, I'm looking forward to my freedom to live.

I've busted my ass at school for the past year and a half, and when I get back now, I plan on meeting with my academic advisor to see if I can get final approval to graduate in May 2006, a full year early. If that works out then I've already crossed the half-mark of my college edumacation! You know, after the halfpoint it's all downhill from there.

After college I'm looking forward to taking a year off, more than anything. It's time to live something closer to the life I've dreamed of... Maybe go on a roadtrip across the USA, or get a really cool job, or finally find some serious time to devote to my friends and family, or maybe all of the above. During this break, I've also spotted a potentially nice graduate school program... Don't worry, I've learned from my "mistakes," and I think this one will suit my needs a lot better... but that's way down the road.

For now, I have to get through the mess I got myself into a couple years ago, try to remember who I am, stay true to myself, try realllly hard not to breakdown (too much), and hopefully have some fun in the process.

Happy flying! If I lose my luggage one more time....

I do prefer to make my posts a little more light hearted than this, but this is important. I just saw the movie Hotel Rwanda. This movie is based on the true story of a hotel manager who saved over 1,000 Rwandans during the genocide that resulted in the murder of over 1 MILLION Rwandans only ten years ago. The movie was amazing, and I'd highly recommend seeing it. A true story of the struggle to survive and the mayhem and disgust of genocide...

I've learned a lot about the Holocaust. 6 MILLION Jews and 5 MILLION homosexuals, gyspies, and others killed in the German concentration camps only 60 years ago. Never again. We say. We've learned our lesson about genocide. Never again...

And yet, since the Holocaust it's happened again and again. (Numbers cited from Wikipedia)

• 3 Million Bangladeshis killed in the Bangladesh Liberation war of 1971.
• 1.7 Million Cambodians killed between 1975-1979.
• 2 Million Sudanese civilians killed since 1983, and the killing still continues today in the Darfur region of Sudan.
• 1 Million killed in Rwanda in 1994.

And of course, these are just numbers, failing to even begin to do justice to the true magnitude of such annihilations. Every person has a story. Think too, of all the families torn apart, or all the people who survived, but severely wounded.

After the Holocaust we said never again, and yet is has happened more than once. We have convinced ourselves that with the United Nations and all the human rights groups the situation is under control. The truth is much the opposite. When Rwanda needed help, Western governments pulled out their civilians and turned their back on the genocide.

Who's going to prevent these tragedies from happening again? Who's going to make them happen never again? Ultimately, we will. If we don't, no one will. We means each and everyone of us. In this interconnected, interdependent global village, our selective ignorance lets hate and killing thrive elsewhere. Education is our power. If the media won't report it, dig around, reach out to other outlets. Listen, learn, make your judgments. Act on them.

Rebuild Rwanda.

Learn about & stop today's genocide in Sudan.

If you don't, who will?

Oooh!!! And don't get that twisted with the kind of "Oh" that Ciara and Omarion are singing about these days. Oooh! That really hurts! is what I'm talking about.

I had a dentist appointment today, and no, unfortunately it wasn't my routine half year check-up. Last time I had one of those, back in January, the dentist declared that some of my sealant came off and uncovered a tiny cavity. I was a bit bummed; I hadn't had a cavity in some ten years. But I comforted myself in the fact that it was tiny, and the doctor said it used to be covered by sealant--so it wasn't something new.

So I showed up for my tiny cavity procedure today all cool and nonchalant. Whatever, tiny cavity. My memory of getting fillings didn't strike me as too painful. The assistant to the dentists opened the door to the waiting room and mumbled my name. "Yep!" I got up and walked right up to her. She greeted me with a frown, though, and that's when my confidence started to wane.

Flashback to second grade, that assistant frowned at me as if I was a naughty little boy for having a cavity. She told me to sit on the patient chair, reclined it back, and announced, "I'll get started with the topical before the novocaine."

"What?!?" I blurted. I thought I heard correctly, but that jargon didn't sound too good. She repeated tritely, stuck a Q-tip type thing up against my gums, and left the cubicle.

I tried to stay calm, but I couldn't help it; my heart started to beat hard in my chest. Topical?! Novocaine?! I wasn't sure what those things meant, but they really didn't sound good. I tried to think back ten years to my last cavity, and I couldn't unearth any memory of those terms... The Q-tip topical started to make my gums tingle. Uuuhh....

This was supposed to be a small cavity, I told myself, so it can't be too bad. It can't! The dentist rolled into the cubicle and started making small talk about the snow and the weather and wanting it to be spring already. I tried to smile and mutter some sensible responses, but it was a bit of a struggle with a cotton-stick stuck up my mouth. The dentist removed it, and said, "Ok, let's get that novocaine in there." He hovered his head over my face, and I knew that was my queue to open wide.

The dentist stuck some tool up my mouth and next thing I knew a needle penetrated my gums. Oooh!!! Was not expecting that!!! My eyes opened wide, and I made tight fists with my hands. The needle pushed in deeper and deeper up my gums. Oh man, oh man. Since when did a TINY CAVITY require a nasty shot?!?

The dentist left me in my shock and misery and told me he'd be back in a few minutes. I felt my gums and cheek start to tingle and get all numb. All right, I reckoned, it can't get any worse than that. But of course, you probably know that I wouldn't be writing that if it didn't get worse...

The dentist and his assistant came back to the cubicle dressed like they were heading to war or something. They wore these blue masks covering their noses and mouths and these black-framed glasses covering half their faces. Uh-oh. I felt like I was in some cheap Sci-Fi film, with two aliens peering down on me curiously and preparing to dissect.

The dentist (lol, okay this is the 4th paragraph in a row I'm starting with "the dentist," anyway...) moved his head down closer to mine and I knew to open my mouth again. In went some metal tool and next I hear a drill go off IN MY MOUTH. It made that high-pitched, fast, spinning noise, and then the dentist brought it up against my tooth and suddenly I felt bits of tooth shavings fly across my mouth. Uuugh, since when did this become part of the deal of filling a TINY cavity?!? The drilling went on for a few minutes, long enough I was almost grateful for that shot.

Well, I survived the ordeal, but there's this nasty silver-gray dot in the back of my mouth. So ugly. Well at least no one can see it unless they're inspecting my mouth in a way they shouldn't be. Now excuse me while I go brush my teeth. LOL

I know... I need to get with the program. Who uses the same blog title for three entries in three months?!?

I just can't really think of any other way to put this. There's just no rest for the weary in this world! Or at least for me, in the past two weeks. This should explain my silence (though I've noticed my excuses for not posting have increased a lot in the last couple months, hmmm).

This week was the last week before spring break. Those of you have even have the vaguest memories of school ought to know how stressful this notorious week is. It's the midpoint of the semester, so all the midterm evaluations, tests, essays happen all at once. Professors seem to think they're so smart, unique, and timely. Puh-leaze.

Anyway, I had four papers due this week, in addition to a midterm to survive, a problem set to complete, and a presentation to pass. Two weeks ago I realized all the work that I had coming up for this week, so I vowed to myself to be super efficient and work ahead. Riiight.

Well, I'd like to think that the intention was truly there this time. It wasn't my procrastination that got to me this time. On Monday I suddenly woke up with a nasty cold. At first I didn't think it was too bad, but it got bad fast. Plus only ONE of my nostrils got totally jammed with mucus while the other one stayed fine. That just drove me nuts!!! My point is, though, that I had no energy to do more than the work I absolutely had to finish. I was exhausted.

So when the weekend rolled around, I found myself going through a full-blown panic paralysis thinking about the unreal amount of stuff I have to get through this week. Well, you know how these things go. You always get by somehow. In my case it just meant a lot of stress and much less sleep. And of course, getting by has nothing to do with doing well, so I won't even comment on the quality of those papers, that midterm, problem set, or presentation! It's over!

I was totally dead by Monday night, but I dragged myself through Thrusday and I was ready for a total breakdown once I stepped onto the bus to the airport. I handed in my last paper and left as fast as I could. By the time I got on the first plane I zonked out completely. Yes, the sweet breakdown.

Even with the naps on my two airplane rides, things just can't seem to go too well. I got to baggage claim and my luggage, once again didn't arrive. What a riot! I've been flying for 19 years and never lost my luggage. All of a sudden I lose my luggage twice in a row! But please, who has time for this, I'm just home for a short break. Give me a break from all this airline madness! I just want my stuff, and I just want to unwind for a couple days!!!

I get home and a few hours later the snow starts falling like I don't even know. And it fell, and fell some more all day long. Good thing I flew in a day early, at least.

The last crummy item of this post is that I come back to hear this story about how my dad thought he had a heart attack over the weekend. On the drive back from the airport my dad starts telling me about how he spent 15 hours in the ER over the weekend because he had chest pains and his hand went numb for hours. Please, quit the cigarettes already! I don't even feel like ranting about this one, too weary!

I've spent too many hours of the last couple weeks worrying about 45 minutes today that would determine my fate for the next year.

Housing.

I don't even know what to compare it to. One day we log on to a website to find out our lottery numbers and times to show up for registration. Then there are two weeks of suspense. Some people pass them frantically trying to find friends, or friends of friends, who have better numbers than them. Some people just don't care. Some people plot conniving ways they can bend the rules to get what they want.

Campus housing is hard to come by here. It's guaranteed for freshmen and sophomores. But that's it. If you're a junior, senior, or anything else, kiss any sense of confidence in your future campus housing plans bye-bye.

Last year I wasn't desperate and sneaky enough to try too hard. I was a rising sophomore. I had a number. I knew I'd get by. I guess I didn't realize how bad "just getting by" can be. Small, dirty rooms; industrial-sized, dirty bathrooms; strange, scary roommates can guarantee a living nightmare, even if you're still getting by...

I learned my lesson last year. So this year when I got a loser housing-number, an alarm went off. Not only could I get screwed this time, I could have literally ended up homeless. I casually brought up housing with everyone I know in hope of identifying someone with a better number than me who can pull me in with them. I found a generous friend with a number better than mine, but still bad enough to risk getting wait listed. Opportunities came up, I looked into all the respectable options and held by breath a couple times trying to figure things out, but I decided to play it safe and to play it by the rules...

But I've learned enough to know that playing by the rules is enough to qualify you as loser, and sometimes even the rules seem a bit whack. Students with disabilities get nicer, bigger, better rooms just about whereever they want. Surprising how for a couple months during the year the number of "disabled" students on campus suddenly spikes. Or it's funny how some people kiss up to those they despise just to get a free ride on their lucky lottery number. Or some desperate students picket the lines as the first lucky ones go to claim their rooms in hope that someone won't have the guts to say no and will pull a complete stranger in with them.

These loopholes exist for a reason. A kid in a wheelchair deserves a bigger room with a bigger bathroom. Or a student who wants to live in a double should be able to pull in his or her best friend so they can room with a friend rather than a stranger. But to see people taking advantage of these things to the extreme makes me want to puke. Depending on how aggressive and how low you want to stoop, sure, yeah you can get yourself housing.

I went with two of my friends to sign up for housing today, knowing full well that I may come back with a slip indicating my wait-list number. Fortune struck, we met a friend who had a better number than any of us and offered to pull us in. Together we rushed to the lines for the new dorms. We all lived in ancient buildings this year, which have their character... but it was time to move on up.

As we entered the lines with some 20 students in front of us one of the staffers started shouting, "only six more rooms open here!" He came up to us and told us he'd hate to see us wait in line just to get turned back. We looked at each other worried, but stood our ground. Eventually they started shouting, "this is the last room!" But then the next person would approach, "this is the last room!" Everyone got rooms. Of course, the people before us were supposed to get the "last room." By the time it was our turn the line had cleared up. I suppose enough people got the message that they decided to try their luck elsewhere.

We got our rooms, got our singles, and left. I felt elated to get the single in the nice dorm I wanted. But I couldn't help feeling queasy about the whole experience. The more stubborn you are, the more chances you have of getting what you want even if you're not supposed to. Is it fair that people who actually listen are the ones who get screwed over? And what if we never met that guy who pulled us in early? And what about all the people who came before us and were politely, obiedently waiting their turn? And was there a reason they were shouting, "last room"--to reserve enough rooms for the rising sophomores?

In a tight housing situation like this, someone's pain is always gonna be someone's gain. But is it fair that the pushy, lying, deceitful ones are the people gaining? Or have we already determined a couple centuries ago that fair is obsolete?

Thinking back on my education, and all the things I've learned, and the privilege I've had of getting a good edumacation, I can't help but wonder about my miseducation.

Many people argue the virtues of education. It can open minds, enlighten, teach tolerance, an ability to problem solve, work in teams, cooperate, and think through complex issues. Education is a way to create a better society.

With all the wonderful facts and study skills that my education has taught me, I've noticed one thing to be almost consistently and painfully lacking. My education has rarely, if ever, cultivated my voice, taught me to be articulate, to communicate a position that is genuinely my own, and to be bold about it. What good is an education that teaches all the facts and figures without equipping people with a way to communicate and apply them?

Looking back on my education, this de-emphasis on communication is what I consider my miseducation. Towards the end of high school, after years of acquiring knowledge, I began to feel myself bursting with ideas about life, people, how things could be. I went out on a limb and got involved in civic life. I spoke out, in school, on the capitol steps, in the senate, with friends. My arguments may have been awkward, unpolished but they were mine, and they came from somewhere deep.

High school wasn't too conducive to developing my voice, but classes were smaller, and discussion was sometimes emphasized. Even then, the scope was often quite narrow, or too focused on summary, fact and fiction, right and wrong.

Coming to college is when I noticed this miseducation kick into overdrive. I found myself sitting in giant lecture halls with 300 other students. Questioning, clarifying, expressing ideas, analyzing was just not possible. I sat, fought off my drowsiness, listened to the professors, and carefully jotted down as much as I could. The lecture style was so popular on campus, even in many of my smaller classes I came to listen to the teachers ramble, slap overheads on the projector, and tell me what I should and shouldn't know.

"College is about thinking critically. You won't be able to memorize facts anymore and hope to get an A." I heard this from professor upon professor. Critical thinking was the buzz word, like a hot commodity. But like most fads, underneath the glitz and the hype there was nothing. Critical thinking was something I was taught not to do. Often times, the thinking just wouldn't flow on its own. E-mails from professors were not always answered; questions were brushed off; the confusion remained the same. I could walk the extra distance and go to office hours, but I found them to often involve playing a cruel game with the TA or professor: kiss up, beg, plead, belittle yourself, and if you're lucky, get the answer.

Come to office hours, ask questions, study, and think about it: think critically. But the reality was quite the opposite. Sit on your ass in class, take notes, be quiet, don't question, don't be seen, don't be heard, grab the grade, get out.

Exams and essays were often my first and last chance to "think critically." In biology, questions appeared that didn't even vaguely resemble things we learned about. "We're asking you to think critically on the test," they told us. The only problem was that we were hardly given a chance to "think critically" in this way before hand. Or in history, after weeks of listening to the professor yack, an essay topic would arrive. "I'm asking you to synthesize the readings and interpret them," the professor explained the assignment. But this was our first chance to synthesize and interpret. Expressing an opinion became a dangerous thing. It meant putting our grade on the line and risking a lot. So the safest thing to do was to repeatedly read my notes until the professor's opinion became clear, and then to recast those thoughts in my own words. We'll make him happy if we agree with him, he'll reward us with a good grade. Besides, professors are supposed to know the right answer; they don't seem too tolerant of disagreements...

So through my miseducation, I tacitly learned to be quiet, to swallow truths I didn't believe, and to force myself hard enough to repeat them like they were my own. I don't think I quite realized the extent to which that was going on at the time. Something didn't feel right, but I wasn't bold enough to make the statements about school I made right now. It was subversive, unorthodox, and most dangerous of all, people would disagree. But I grew discontent. Some life force in me felt suppressed.

That's when I officially started regular postings to this blog. It was a way for me to vent, since no one else wanted to hear it. Problems aren't normal, we don't want to hear them. If you're unhappy something's wrong with you. Venting enabled me to tap into my real feelings and emotions. For a long time, even on this blog I felt scared to be completely honest, or to boldly state my opinions. This self censorship still exists in me, but it's something I'm trying to teach myself to overcome.

Frustration and unhappiness just bred more of the same in bigger and badder quantities. By this year, I realized I've just taken too much shit. It really was time to start reclaiming control over my life and molding it into something I wanted. I started doing just that. This semester I found the courage to spare myself the misery of four science classes. I dug through the course catalogue for courses with material I could respond to: social psychology, writing about American cultural myths, history of American thought and ideology, anthropology of the university itself, and yes (my pleasure class) astrophysics.

Finally, I found classes with readings I can sink my teeth into. Readings that will make my blood boil a bit again. Readings that will make me respond with an opinion and find the passion to roar. But like I wrote in an earlier post, this is still college and it's still business as usual. Suppression is still more of the rule than the exception, which might even be worse with subjects that make ya want to dissect, analyze, and rally.

But today the energy bubbling in me finally burst to the surface in my history class. We have a discussion session a meager once a week where we are supposed to discuss some 300 pages of weekly readings full of powerful ideas in 50 minutes. This week's reading was Reinhold Niebuhr, a Theologian during the early 1900s who wrote in one book about social injustice, revolution, making the world more equal--stuff that makes me want to roar. We were heading down the regular track that discussions go down... students "disagreeing" (that's what's fashionable these days) with the text and not seeing any point.

"I don't see what his point is. I just don't agree with him," one girl began, "maybe I'm just a capitalist. I think it's fine to be rich. I don't see anything wrong with it, as long as I'm being a good person, so what?" And another girl added, "Yeah, I'll admit it. I love my BMW."

This was going downhill fast, and I wasn't having it. I waited my turn and spoke. I wasn't rude or impolite and I didn't tell the girls, "I disagree." I told them about the point of the readings, what he's getting at, how his argument applies to exactly the situation they're talking about: "you can be a perfectly moral person by society's standards, but it's the system that you're a part of, tacitly supporting, reinforcing, replicating with every compliant action you take that is the problem." For once I spoke and I felt it coming from the heart. My hesitations and stuttering ironed out into smooth-flowing, confident speech. I didn't cut myself off, I kept on going. I noticed those two girls nod in understanding, I could see a light bulb turn on. The teacher began to take notes on what I was saying, something she reserves only for rare occasions.

I finished. I felt a bit shaken, but I felt great. No, amazing. Then a light bulb of my own turned on. That was my voice, right there. I think it's been years since I've heard it come out with such force, confidence, suasion, and dare I say a touch of eloquence. It went contrary to much of what I had learned in the last few years. If you don't agree, don't say anything. Nod in silence, or spit out insignificant nonsense that you don't really believe. Ask a question, pretend you don't understand. No, I think I like it this new way a lot better. It's time to start dusting off that voice box; I plan on starting to make some good use of it.

So 1st I want to say something about my last post. I know I was heading down a slippery slope there, with the generalizations towards the end. Not all students studying animal sciences are obnoxious and narrow minded and care more about animals than humans. I can think of at least one person I know who's studying animal sciences who is a very nice person. So, if anything, take the end of that post as an ironic comparison between two girls who are alike in not the best way.

Item #2 on my agenda. School is so boring again. We're back to the same old drag. Problem sets, readings, exams, essays. Ain't nothing creative happening in these damn universities. Business as usual for a couple freaking centuries.

#3, which if you're perceptive enough relates to #2. You ever wonder how the world around us works? The people? The things we have and say and do? Education, work, life? Seems like it's all worked out so clearly, like if you really want to do right or do good for yourself there are just a certain things you need to get together. Man, but the way people chew on their shit sometimes and pretend it tastes good...