I have had a headache for the past three days. I thought I was just hung over, but Sunday ended days ago, and I have become pretty good at avoiding my hangovers. I’ve started to have water parties at 3 AM, usually by myself, sometimes with others, and sometimes with others and with pasta.
I used to think that I could google search all of the answers. This has helped me a lot, and maybe even people around me. I learned how to hard-boil an egg, but not before messing up the first time. I once told a classmate that he probably had appendicitis, and he did.
When I was a pre-teen, I googled my emotions and I felt so explained. Google told me that if you cross your legs a certain way, it means you like someone. I thought about that when I first crushed on a boy in my latin class. So it didn’t work, but at the time, I felt like google at least provided me with a behavioral protocol (a horrifying concept now.) I haven’t done this in a long time. (googling things I mean). Maybe I’ve just felt wholesome in college. But that can’t be true, not if you look at everything that I’ve done to become wholesome. So I’m not sure why I stopped googling my emotions, but I know that recently I have wanted to.
I think that at age twenty-one, I am a lot more complicated, or I have at least realized that I am more complicated. I just want to understand why some things are painful, like my headaches. I found out on google that my headaches have been caused by my teeth clenching habit. I do this whole clenching thing when I sleep. I’m surprised that I sleep enough for this to even matter. I’m kidding, but I’m not totally kidding. I’ve opened google chrome’s “incognito” window at least twice tonight, because I’m too embarrassed to have “how to accept things” or “why can’t I put career goals before people” in my search history. But I haven’t even gotten that far, because I’m almost certain that there is no satisfying answer.
I haven’t written on tumblr for a long time because I don’t think that anyone reads what I write. I wouldn’t read what I write. This post belongs in a notebook, but I lose my notebooks. Every single one. I lost an 80 page reading for tomorrow, so instead I am drying my eyes out in front of a laptop. (My opthamologist said that my dry eyes explain my decline in eyesight at night. Unfortunately, I lost the bottle of eyedrops he prescribed… and the slip with prescription information).
But I know why I am posting this. I am posting this because sometimes I go through my tumblr archive. I read about my reflections from age 19 and I can’t believe that I used to think so much of the world. I miss finding meaning in everything.
Right now, I want to graduate because I’ve gotten a lot out of Wesleyan. I want to leave Wesleyan with this healthy impression of my undergraduate education. I do not want the master’s degree that this place is offering me, for free. But who the hell gives up a FREE master’s degree for … well see, I don’t even have a plan B. The restaurant I worked at for years back in New York City shut down. I have a bedroom in Queens, and I have parents that ponder my future daily. I have friends who are going to go places because they are ready to float on with no anchor (something that I loved for so long that I now find less and less appealing every minute of the day), or because they want to pursue graduate education right away, or because they have found year-long employment someplace new.
I’m clenching my teeth as I write this, so I should probably go eat some vanilla yogurt so that I stop, and because it is my favorite. This is the first time I’ve felt truly negative about my future and about the rest of my senior year. I KNOW that I won’t feel this way forever, so I’m ARCHIVING this lil emotion, so I can remember that this happens.
Day 3 in Shanghai, China. The smog is real. This is my family’s hometown.
my saturday essay for gawker in case you missed it. i love their weird photoshops.
"It’s an open secret that all Asian-American grocery stores contain tiny, hidden portals to each other, as well as your childhood. No matter where you go, you will find the snacks you ate after school when you were eight years old; the plastic stool you used to sit and take baths on when you were a toddler; the pastel clothespins that your extended family use to hang-dry their shirts.
I wandered in, wanting to fill up my empty corner of the pantry. One thing no one tells you when are nineteen and preparing to move into a new house for the first time is that you will need to stock your kitchen with all the spices and pastes and implements that you were so fortunate to be born into, the silver spoon of the first-generation American youth. The spice drawers in the kitchen of the house I grew up in have a thin film of chili and curry powder on the bottom; that’s how lucky I was to be born.”
A lot. A LOT.
-3 dance shows this weekend.
-1 ten page paper this week
-my last neuro. paper for the semester due tomorrow (today?)
-2 midterms this week
-one master’s program application handed in
-one audition recorded (lol?)
-some hours devoted to sleep?
-4 cafe shifts this week, two of which need coverage.
-people on my mind, always on my mind, are people
help help help. I don’t think I can do this, but I have to, and wow, I will.
It’s kind of beautiful that I saw this sunset too. Wesleyan is such a common moment.
22. Youâve all kissed one another but have denied it as having passed smoke to one another.
My best friend, Rebecca Suzuki, wrote this about our group of 4 best friends. Correction: soul mates.
Sunday night, I found myself staring at my unpainted nails, unable to do anything with that information. Information regarding my unpainted nails, information regarding a conversation that was happening before me, with me, for me, at me. I just wish I had painted my nails first, so that I could pick at the nail polish, instead of saying “I’m thinking, sorry.”