Envy is a dangerous thing.
For the past few years, I would envy the Size 0 girl with the tiny waist. Pinterest is the worst when it comes to keeping away from the perfectly toned women. But a question continued to probe my mind:
Do you have to be a Size 0 to feel confident?
My first few years of college, I was a Size 0. I worked at A&F, I had a wonderful boyfriend, yet my constant criticism of my body shape never disappeared. Mind you, I was size 0. You find there is always something to critique about yourself, and at the time, I focused on my calves.
I reached my peak after my 21st birthday, going up 4 sizes in a matter of one year. I didn't notice the weight until someone told me I looked healthier.
Fast forward to early this year, I had gone up 8 sizes from my Size 0. Once again, I didn't notice until my mother asked me if I was pregnant. We were purchasing pant suits for a conference, and I had a hard time fitting into an 8P. Had I really reached size 10?
That question alone lead to a constant paranoia of my body shape, constant criticism of how my body shape could be better, how my calves could be slimmer, my stomach be tighter, my arms be more toned, and the thoughts didn't stop. Even when my boyfriend called me beautiful, I would hide my body, believing that the compliment was not genuine.
Exercise was one thing I could not do. When probed, "Well, why don't you exercise?" I would respond, "I don't have time to exercise, I am way too busy."
Today, on September 3, I can happily say that I feel great about myself. Size 6, but I feel better about my body than I ever have.
The secret, yes, working out helps, yes, drinking water helps, yes, eating clean and healthy helps, but when it comes down to confidence, that comes from motivation. Motivation has driven me through the muscle cramps and the sweaty forehead, through that burning in my glutes and hamstrings. My motivation is not to reach a Size 0, but to feel healthy about my body. Eating well and devoting a few minutes every day to exercise gives my body energy and endorphines, and I feel great, I feel beautiful.
At Size 0, I was self-conscious. At Size 6, I will beautiful.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
So I think that I have finally hit that point. The point at which reality sinks in, and the realization that things are changing becomes ever so clear.
My Intercultural Communications class described multiple stages of culture shock. As I continue to transition further into independence away from home, family and my friends, I can see these stages in clear perspective. While I consider myself versed in these phases, nothing can prepare me for the emotions, no matter how prepared I may be.
Stage #1: Wonder
As I arrived on campus for the first time, I was excited at the newly updated room that would be my home for 2 years. The furniture was comfortable, the walls were white, the bed was queen-sized, all of this space for me! My very own kitchen, my very own pots and pans, all of this, just for me.
The first stage is very exciting because it's new, the possibilities are endless and we find ourself blind sighted by the multiple ideas that float into our head.
I had lived in a residence hall for the past 4 years, it felt absolutely surreal to have a place all to myself. For the first time, this place was an apartment, not a dorm room or a residence suit or whatever, this was an apartment. I felt mature and independent.
Stage #2: Frustration
Arguably the most difficult phase is the phase when your independent status kicks in. The norms are different, people react differently, people speak differently, you realize that you are an outsider on an alien planet and this makes you uncomfortable.
The simplest thing, such as holding a door open, or a simple smile seemed normal in Columbus, but each time I approach a door, no one stands the extra 2 minutes to wait for you. People at the grocery store do not say "excuse me" if they cut you off with their shopping cart, or the cashier doesn't ask, "how are you today."
And it's frustrating, to say the very least, when your idea of comfort turns 180 degrees.
Stage #3: Depression
I think this is where I am, this feeling of being stuck. I find myself asking, "What did I get myself into?" Home seems so far away.
You start to generate a list of things that you miss:
Jenis Ice Cream
Northstar Cafe
Betty's Fine Food & Spirits
Giant Eagle Marketplace
Cuzzins
Skyline Chili
Friends
Cazuelas
Aab India
Kooma
Momos
Easton Mall
Christian...
But while I am still traveling through the stages of culture shock, I look forward to the next phase of acceptance, understanding the opportunity of my situation, and finding new things to replace the old.
Culture shock is not avoidable, but can be made easier by mental preparation.
I'll keep you updated as I continue on...
My Intercultural Communications class described multiple stages of culture shock. As I continue to transition further into independence away from home, family and my friends, I can see these stages in clear perspective. While I consider myself versed in these phases, nothing can prepare me for the emotions, no matter how prepared I may be.
Stage #1: Wonder
As I arrived on campus for the first time, I was excited at the newly updated room that would be my home for 2 years. The furniture was comfortable, the walls were white, the bed was queen-sized, all of this space for me! My very own kitchen, my very own pots and pans, all of this, just for me.
The first stage is very exciting because it's new, the possibilities are endless and we find ourself blind sighted by the multiple ideas that float into our head.
I had lived in a residence hall for the past 4 years, it felt absolutely surreal to have a place all to myself. For the first time, this place was an apartment, not a dorm room or a residence suit or whatever, this was an apartment. I felt mature and independent.
Stage #2: Frustration
Arguably the most difficult phase is the phase when your independent status kicks in. The norms are different, people react differently, people speak differently, you realize that you are an outsider on an alien planet and this makes you uncomfortable.
The simplest thing, such as holding a door open, or a simple smile seemed normal in Columbus, but each time I approach a door, no one stands the extra 2 minutes to wait for you. People at the grocery store do not say "excuse me" if they cut you off with their shopping cart, or the cashier doesn't ask, "how are you today."
And it's frustrating, to say the very least, when your idea of comfort turns 180 degrees.
Stage #3: Depression
I think this is where I am, this feeling of being stuck. I find myself asking, "What did I get myself into?" Home seems so far away.
You start to generate a list of things that you miss:
Jenis Ice Cream
Northstar Cafe
Betty's Fine Food & Spirits
Giant Eagle Marketplace
Cuzzins
Skyline Chili
Friends
Cazuelas
Aab India
Kooma
Momos
Easton Mall
Christian...
But while I am still traveling through the stages of culture shock, I look forward to the next phase of acceptance, understanding the opportunity of my situation, and finding new things to replace the old.
Culture shock is not avoidable, but can be made easier by mental preparation.
I'll keep you updated as I continue on...
Monday, November 28, 2011
My phone is dead...
Cellphones, stupid little time-sucking devices that have taken over our lives and conversations.
At least that's what I thought it should be.
So of course, I was surprised when my cell-phone stopped dead in its tracks, and all of its contents, messages, pictures and notes vanished. Then came the tears.
And I thought to myself, why am I crying about a stupid little device?
In our generation, we text, not talk. We email, not write letters. We post Happy Birthday on your wall, instead of sending a card. You can have a relationship without seeing someone, simply with your iphone, your blackberry, your droid, your palm... oh wait.
It's dead.
As I leered at the phone through teary eyes, I thought about how much that little bugger carried with it.
So many fights had started and ended with the phone. That phone went with me to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, to my family's first wedding, to my friend's graduation party. Roughly 2 years of use, that tiny phone had been through so much with me.
There were pictures of Hogsmeade, pictures of my white french bulldog, pictures and pictures of my various baking experiments. There are various recipes, tweaked after multiple batches of Coq Au Vin, Crown Roast and Braised Short Ribs.
I guess what upset me most, was the loss of all my text messages.
In times when I felt worthless or inadequate, I would read a text from Christian.
"You deserve the best, and that's what I intend to give."
or another text from Christian, "I hope one day you can see yourself the way I see you."
or one from my father:
"Who would think that I will be living in US, with a beautiful wife, beautiful children, beautiful home and driving nice cars. but most important, that my daughter will be graduating from OSU and another will be entering."
Read that, and tell me you feel inadequate, unimportant, small.
That's what this is about, the tears, the puffy eyes and the melodrama. It's about one text message.
I cannot count how many times I read and re-read that text message. And honestly, I'm amazed by how one message, 160 characters could hold so much power, so much significance. As I re-type that text, I cannot help but cry and smile at the same time.
There are times, too many to count, where we exert all our effort and despite our strenuous and tiresome diligence, we still fall short. I guess that's the mark of a human. We pray and pray and pray, and pray some more, just so that we might find the strength to go on and give one more push, and it still isn't enough. I can tell you by experience how many times I fail to understand and appreciate my limitations. At times, I have succeeded and come out exhausted but accomplished. And at other times, I have merely emerged, windswept and depleted.
Even Jesus needed someone to help carry his cross, even for a little bit.
That's when a friend calls to ask "Is everything okay? Can I help you." or when a text message reminds you of how much you are worth, and how in the face of defeat, you still are one heck of a person.
It's hard to rely on others, and it's hard to share the load and trust someone else. I'm not saying it's easy, but having friends like Carly or Kathy, having a sister love and embrace your inner nerd, having a boyfriend constantly tell you how much you are worth, or having a father telling you how proud he is, is just enough to get you past the finish line.
It's not the phone I miss, or the SIM card or that stupid little slot I had to wrestle with to charge my phone. No, it's the messages I miss, messages that I re-read when I do not feel good enough.
At least that's what I thought it should be.
So of course, I was surprised when my cell-phone stopped dead in its tracks, and all of its contents, messages, pictures and notes vanished. Then came the tears.
And I thought to myself, why am I crying about a stupid little device?
In our generation, we text, not talk. We email, not write letters. We post Happy Birthday on your wall, instead of sending a card. You can have a relationship without seeing someone, simply with your iphone, your blackberry, your droid, your palm... oh wait.
It's dead.
As I leered at the phone through teary eyes, I thought about how much that little bugger carried with it.
So many fights had started and ended with the phone. That phone went with me to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, to my family's first wedding, to my friend's graduation party. Roughly 2 years of use, that tiny phone had been through so much with me.
There were pictures of Hogsmeade, pictures of my white french bulldog, pictures and pictures of my various baking experiments. There are various recipes, tweaked after multiple batches of Coq Au Vin, Crown Roast and Braised Short Ribs.
I guess what upset me most, was the loss of all my text messages.
In times when I felt worthless or inadequate, I would read a text from Christian.
"You deserve the best, and that's what I intend to give."
or another text from Christian, "I hope one day you can see yourself the way I see you."
or one from my father:
"Who would think that I will be living in US, with a beautiful wife, beautiful children, beautiful home and driving nice cars. but most important, that my daughter will be graduating from OSU and another will be entering."
Read that, and tell me you feel inadequate, unimportant, small.
That's what this is about, the tears, the puffy eyes and the melodrama. It's about one text message.
I cannot count how many times I read and re-read that text message. And honestly, I'm amazed by how one message, 160 characters could hold so much power, so much significance. As I re-type that text, I cannot help but cry and smile at the same time.
There are times, too many to count, where we exert all our effort and despite our strenuous and tiresome diligence, we still fall short. I guess that's the mark of a human. We pray and pray and pray, and pray some more, just so that we might find the strength to go on and give one more push, and it still isn't enough. I can tell you by experience how many times I fail to understand and appreciate my limitations. At times, I have succeeded and come out exhausted but accomplished. And at other times, I have merely emerged, windswept and depleted.
Even Jesus needed someone to help carry his cross, even for a little bit.
That's when a friend calls to ask "Is everything okay? Can I help you." or when a text message reminds you of how much you are worth, and how in the face of defeat, you still are one heck of a person.
It's hard to rely on others, and it's hard to share the load and trust someone else. I'm not saying it's easy, but having friends like Carly or Kathy, having a sister love and embrace your inner nerd, having a boyfriend constantly tell you how much you are worth, or having a father telling you how proud he is, is just enough to get you past the finish line.
It's not the phone I miss, or the SIM card or that stupid little slot I had to wrestle with to charge my phone. No, it's the messages I miss, messages that I re-read when I do not feel good enough.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Legos
This quarter I am enrolled in a Design Minor class. I did not expect much from this class having experienced the major classes, but this class has proven to teach me more than I expected. I would like to share with you a paper I wrote as a journal. I found it to be very powerful.
Beginning to read the assigned chapter, I immediately found gratification in the use of one five-letter word: legos. Immediately, Tim Brown launched into the conversation of playing with these brightly colored bricks to create dinosaurs, planes, cars, houses, buildings and robots and prototyping at such a young age. I admit, it is fascinating and eerie to think that at such a young age we are innovators, inventors, creators who build on the world of imagination, with minimal knowledge of physics and limitations. The only limitation is the number of blocks I have in my hands. I find it funny how we invest most of our time, effort and money on one branch of our interlocking web of brainstorming, when the best innovators and the most successful ideas come from children who do not know what the word innovate even means. Honestly, there’s a shred of jealousy and pride in my emotions in regards to this idea. Genius lives in the mind of a toddler, and is much more of a rare occurrence to myself, a 21-year old adult. There must be something irregular about our education process if after education and college, we contain less genius than we did 20 years ago. Or here’s a thought… what if it’s not our academic system but our social system that leads to the demise of genius? Are we so inclined to fit in our society that we let go our imaginative ideas and forget about daydreaming and building robots? Here’s a crazy idea, let’s have the children create the ideas, and we, the willing and able adults create the prototypes and continue the process with the aid and imagination of a toddler.
“Anything tangible that lets us explore an idea, evaluate it, and push it forward is a prototype. I have seen sophisticated insulin injection deices that began life as legos. I have seen software interfaces mocked up with post-it notes long before a line of code was written.” The more I think about it, some of the most aesthetically pleasing objects are ones that are imaginative, simple, fundamental and elementary. I included an image of insulin pumps on my first project on innovation. They are attractive because there is something elementary and almost childish about the idea. Ipods are the same way, they are colorful and simple with only four buttons. And in these simple objects that are successful, we can see the lego mock-ups, or the post-it layouts. The winning designs allow us to think simply, with the mind of a child, or even take our minds back to the time when we were once all geniuses. Apple designs are a good example, my mother who has trouble reading her email can work an ipod. Why? Because it’s so simple, a child could use it. I think this is the idea here, simplicity, but not aesthetic simplicity but simplicity of the product itself. We can forget being adults, forget about paying the bills, or balancing checkbooks, or writing an essay, we allow the product to take us to another place and time. The more I think about it, the more I wish I could be a kid again, and forget about GPAs and exams, where is the fun we used to have? I may be completely wrong, but I do believe we are created as humans who are innately genius, we are visionaries from birth, but society molds and shapes us to fit with the cookie-cutter standard, and we come to lose our whimsy as time passes. I think it’s important to remember who we are, and in this sense, we are all designers, we are all inventors of lego robots, engineers of spaceships, masterminds of genetic manipulation, we make what we want to make and we live the uninhibited life. “This shift from physical to abstract and back again is one of the most fundamental processes by which we explore the universe, unlock our imaginations, and open our minds to new possibilities.”
The next one will be about Disney.
Beginning to read the assigned chapter, I immediately found gratification in the use of one five-letter word: legos. Immediately, Tim Brown launched into the conversation of playing with these brightly colored bricks to create dinosaurs, planes, cars, houses, buildings and robots and prototyping at such a young age. I admit, it is fascinating and eerie to think that at such a young age we are innovators, inventors, creators who build on the world of imagination, with minimal knowledge of physics and limitations. The only limitation is the number of blocks I have in my hands. I find it funny how we invest most of our time, effort and money on one branch of our interlocking web of brainstorming, when the best innovators and the most successful ideas come from children who do not know what the word innovate even means. Honestly, there’s a shred of jealousy and pride in my emotions in regards to this idea. Genius lives in the mind of a toddler, and is much more of a rare occurrence to myself, a 21-year old adult. There must be something irregular about our education process if after education and college, we contain less genius than we did 20 years ago. Or here’s a thought… what if it’s not our academic system but our social system that leads to the demise of genius? Are we so inclined to fit in our society that we let go our imaginative ideas and forget about daydreaming and building robots? Here’s a crazy idea, let’s have the children create the ideas, and we, the willing and able adults create the prototypes and continue the process with the aid and imagination of a toddler.
“Anything tangible that lets us explore an idea, evaluate it, and push it forward is a prototype. I have seen sophisticated insulin injection deices that began life as legos. I have seen software interfaces mocked up with post-it notes long before a line of code was written.” The more I think about it, some of the most aesthetically pleasing objects are ones that are imaginative, simple, fundamental and elementary. I included an image of insulin pumps on my first project on innovation. They are attractive because there is something elementary and almost childish about the idea. Ipods are the same way, they are colorful and simple with only four buttons. And in these simple objects that are successful, we can see the lego mock-ups, or the post-it layouts. The winning designs allow us to think simply, with the mind of a child, or even take our minds back to the time when we were once all geniuses. Apple designs are a good example, my mother who has trouble reading her email can work an ipod. Why? Because it’s so simple, a child could use it. I think this is the idea here, simplicity, but not aesthetic simplicity but simplicity of the product itself. We can forget being adults, forget about paying the bills, or balancing checkbooks, or writing an essay, we allow the product to take us to another place and time. The more I think about it, the more I wish I could be a kid again, and forget about GPAs and exams, where is the fun we used to have? I may be completely wrong, but I do believe we are created as humans who are innately genius, we are visionaries from birth, but society molds and shapes us to fit with the cookie-cutter standard, and we come to lose our whimsy as time passes. I think it’s important to remember who we are, and in this sense, we are all designers, we are all inventors of lego robots, engineers of spaceships, masterminds of genetic manipulation, we make what we want to make and we live the uninhibited life. “This shift from physical to abstract and back again is one of the most fundamental processes by which we explore the universe, unlock our imaginations, and open our minds to new possibilities.”
The next one will be about Disney.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Pause, Rewind, Replay
Looking back on old movies, there's always the popular kids, like Danny Zuko, and the losers, like Alfalfa.
And now, there's more than a hundred ways to call someone a loser. Dweeb, Geek, Dork, Nerd, Noob, Freak... I'm afraid to go on for fear of offending anyone reading this.
No, this is not a blog about nerds, so you can wipe that idea right out of your head.
Anyways, Nerds nowadays have classes. Let me explain. (I feel like Janice Ian in Mean Girls)
You have your Anima/Manga nerds, the kids who go to ComicCon dressed as a life size Pikachu, your music nerds, aka bandies/bandos/band geeks, Computer Nerds who people call on a daily basis only to realize that the virus on their computer came from the illegal downloading of music, or porn, Dorky nerds who trip up the stairs, Drama nerds... who can name the different musicals and plays of the century and twenty centuries before, Math nerds who spends time solving for x and y, or playing on their graphing calculator, Star Trek Nerds who wear badges on their V-neck sweaters and debate whether Picard or Kirk was better... and as you can tell, I really don't want to waste my time talking about all the different kinds of weird one can be.
All you need to know, is the lowest rated would be the guy who spends time ignoring his girlfriend to raid his level 80 Tauren Druid in Ice Crown Citadel. And the highest rated would definitely be the girl who makes her boyfriend sit through twenty hours of Jim Dale describe the tale of the magical world of an orphan boy with a lightning shape scar on his head.
The oddity about this obsession, is that I have only read each book once through. If anyone would ask, I would defend my honor and say that rereading the books diminishes the excitement associated with the unknown future of Harry Potter. In short, if I already know what is going to happen, what's left to read?
The novel of the generation, the franchise of the 21st century is nearing it's inevitable end. The release of the seventh, an final installment, The Deathly Hallows was described by Stephen King as a sadness, "an inevitable parting from characters who have been loved deeply by many." He continues to say, "No ending can be right, because it shouldn't be over at all The magic isn't supposed to go away."
It's like finding someone you want to grow old with. At first there's this bittersweet feeling that you won't have another first kiss, there's no reading into the signs flicking back and forth wondering if that smile meant a little more, there's no first date or holding hands for the first time, wondering if he's repulsed by your clammy hands, wet with the anxiety of the first date.
And then you come to realize, there's still excitement there, in the little things. Like, being nervous when he rings the doorbell to pick you up for dinner, or a little scared the moment you approach the 528608th kiss.
Harry Potter does not lose it's magic, no matter how many times you've read it. You still get scared when that hand reaches from beneath the depths of the black lake, or you still jump when you realize Nagini was there all along, waiting for Harry to return, and you still cry as Harry approaches Voldemort, knowing full well that "neither can live while the other survives."
The other day, I watched Zombieland, and I feel like I should end with his final rule on surviving. Sure, he's giving advice on surviving Zombies, but I feel it applies not only to Harry Potter, but on our lives, however mysterious or ambiguous it may be,
Enjoy the little things.
Monday, June 21, 2010
The One
From a young age, I was convinced there was only one person in the world,
one person you are meant to love, one person who has been placed on this world just for you,
one person perfectly matching everything about you.
This stemmed mostly from repeated viewings of Disney classics. These include, but are not limited to: Aladdin, Snow White, Thumbelina, The Swan Princess, The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast. Beliefs that lead to thoughts of ultimate happiness, neverending bliss, fantastical memories and happy endings. Princes who were perfect in every way, who did everything for you and who made your life happy no matter the cost they had to pay. Evil monsters who needed to be slayed by your one and only. Dragons and dwarves, elves and fairies, Narnia and Hogwarts.
I hate to admit it. I really do.
It's like... learning that that present waiting for you on Christmas morning was not Santa Claus,
but bought for you by who else? Your parents.
Sorry if I ruined Christmas for you. You'll get over it. I did.
Or even better,
coming to the consensus on your 20th birthday, and your Hogwarts letter is not 9 years delayed, but is never going to arrive by way of Owl delivered-post.
I know, I'm still saddened.
(Now that I think about it, my day will most probably be spent watching classic Disney movies. That, or Harry Potter for the ump-teenth time this month.)
Anyways,
Love.
I think these films reiterate that this so called "love" exists to fruitfully, so perfectly and so divine that it was the one thing we were meant to live for. That once we found it, we could live happy without pain, without sacrifice and without sorrow.
Most importantly, how do you know it you've met... "the one?"
It's taken me years to discover the truth.
This belief, though highly romantic, is incredibly bleak and pessimistic.
What happens if we never find the one?
Most of my revelation came from the evaluation of the other important people in my life.
Not to say in any means that I am polygamous or committed to multiple men, I'm simply referring to my few friends whom I spend hours talking to one the phone about Glee or Harry Potter. I'm referring to my sister, who listened to all my whining about men and still gives me advice after all these years. I'm referring to my classmate whom I come crying to about all the medical possibilities or psychological help that I may need. Even my mother, who annoyingly gets upset if I return at 9pm from a day with my boyfriend.
How about them? Do we not love them?
People say there's different kinds of love. It may be true? But I implore you to think about this.. Are all loves equal? I'm pretty sure if I lost my best friend, it would still hurt as much as my boyfriend breaking up with me. I really think it's all one thing.
And I really think that there's no single person meant for us, there are multiple people that we can love. In every place, we love someone.
So what about love?
I used to think love was just happiness.
Then I used to think love was about kissing.
Then sex?
Then I used to think love was about being with someone all the time.
About holding hands. About getting nervous before dates.
I'm pretty sure I've found it, and while it might include these things, there's so much more.
It's about giving up the last bite of your favorite dessert because they want it too. It's about loving all the things that we find annoying about them. It's about sacrificing 20 swipes for them just because you love eating pancakes with them. It's about driving 2o extra minutes in a dying car everyday just to spend 6 hours of the day with them. It's about staying with them while they're abroad, getting an education or fighting for our nation, it's about waking up next to them every morning. It's about fighting and crying, but then telling them I love you despite all the harsh exchanges. It's about promise.
A promise is all it really is.
With your family, a promise to provide and support in all affairs, financial and personal.
With your friend, a promise to listen and provide comfort.
With your significant, a promise to embrace and live forever right next to you.
With yourself, a promise to be true to everything you stand for.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
On Advising
Here I lay, flat on a Twin XL Bed, lined with two sheets. Beside me, a box of tissues accumulating into a small pile dampened with tears. The walls are bare and white, and the room is empty, save for me, the campus furniture, and a fruit cup to last me the night.
I am reminded of exactly one year ago. I was...
excited by the new job and its prospects,
sad in the ending of my first year in college,
worried about the entrance in a new relationship over the summer,
yet tickled by the thought of my new boyfriend,
nervous about what the summer at home would be like,
anxious and impatient for my floor, and my residents.
It's funny how during my previous schooling, I loved the arrival of summer.
This only made me nervous.
Flash forward to September 4.
I moved in to Morrill Tower,
in a rush, unpacked all my clothes, which I had stuffed in a rather large hockey bag,
and placed every item in its rightful location.
One hour later, I was skipping to the Fisher School of Business, excited by the very thought that Chris was no longer 3 hours away, but minutes.
That very first day, we spent eight hours, lying in this same bed, talking,
just. talking.
This year, this year has been the journey of a lifetime,
and as I sit here, sorry, lay here,
I can't help but think of
1. What I expected from this job,
2. What I received.
2 weeks of training could never have prepared me for what I would go through,
yes, I knew policy, yes I learned about drugs and suicide, yes I learned about enhancing student life and creating community,
but what I,
what I got was not solely a community on a single floor, or free residency, or a nice single room,
no, I got something much much much better.
I think it began Autumn quarter.
My residents scared me, 57:1 ratio was intimidating, and to know all 57 names was a challenge I felt impossible. It was incredibly difficult to see myself as a role model. To take my opinion of myself, and to envision that I was a role model. As far as I knew, I had nothing to offer, but a pretty face and a nice smile.
I struggled to match each name with each face. Not to mention having the courage to walk into every room and just start conversations with people who were taller, skinnier, prettier, more athletic, more intellectual, more attractive that I am.
To them, i was the person to get them in trouble, I was the eyes of the university,
the authority figure to poke fun at and play pranks on.
To me, I was just one person they would go to if they needed.
I took the first ones for granted. I was surprised they approached me with their issues, and I heard it all, I heard it all from suicide, to homosexuality, to girls, to sex, to materiality, to slasher films and vampire obsessions. It didn't occur to me that they came to me because they wanted to, because they trusted me and I was a loyal ear.
The arrival of winter quarter brought with it thoughts I had never encountered before. I felt punished, like I was life's pitiful playtoy.
I had small bites that appeared every night, which worried me not only because something was happening to me, but because as the weeks wore on, the bites got worse.
Then I found out they weren't bites. Chris didn't have them, so what were they?
They erupted every night, behind my knees, my inner thighs, my arms, my neck, my stomach, my back, and they would start with one small circular red bump, and become clumps of swollen red skin that stained my entire inner thigh.
What was happening to me?
I would cry in the showers, scrubbing at my skin hoping the itching would stop, hoping the swelling would go back down, turning the temperature higher to burn it off.
And for some reason, Chris still found me as pretty as ever. He'd sit with me, and keep me calm, keep my mind off of the pain and off the thoughts that loomed repeatedly in my head.
Each morning I would wake up next to him,
but I would not realize it. Waking up meant a whole new day I had to face, and I didn't want to face it. Waking up would mean I would have to go to class, I would have to do work, I would have to face all my tasks, I would have to be awake.
So I missed a few classes. As I missed class, I would work on my assignment to turn in on time. And finally, I would turn it it, but witness the judgmental views of my classmates and my teacher... my imagination roared, "I wonder why she missed class?" "What's wrong with her?" "Does she do her own work..."
I failed the class.
I remember receiving the email and feeling as if my life weren't worth it. As if I were less than the dust bunnies on the floor beneath my bed. As if there were no point to living.
And I could see it, I could see images, not only images, but desires,
desires to walk out in front of a truck, just so that I wouldn't have to face life.
Blessed, I am so blessed that Chris sat with me, not knowing anything that just happened, but clutched my shaking body as my tears soaked his shorts.
For him, and for him only did I reject my desire to commit suicide. But my my was I so close.
Walking into my room the next morning, I heard the crunch of paper beneath my feet.
A hate letter from an anonymous resident of mine.
Was it ever going to end? Was this torture? Is someone finding this funny?
Why am I a role model?
Is there anything to me, anything to my existence?
By living, am I enhancing somebody's life?
I cried so many nights. Each morning my eyes were bloodshot, my lids puffy, and my nails bitten so low it hurt to put pressure.
The letter was right. I didn't deserve this job, I was no good, and I didn't do shit for my residents.
And somehow I found some unknown strength. To this day, I don't know what that motivation was, but I found it. No, not a person, not my design path or my family, or friends, not even Chris.
I hate to say it, but I think it was God.
I accepted my responsibility for my failure, I spoke to my residents to better the situation, and sought a doctor regarding the hives.
Here I am, the last left on the floor,
smiling at the friends I made, at the impressions I had left on the people of the 16th floor.
Despite all the tears and the late nights, despite the thoughts and the letter,
I'm alive, and I'm a different person.
I have made friends from residents,
I have made purpose from my trials,
I have passed my classes,
I have secured my position for next year,
I have made impressions on the other RA's,
and I am deeply in love with the man I will spend the rest of my life with.
Here's to 2010-2011 and a new Katrina.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)