That's it: I'm blaming my lack of good writing on not having a room of my own. Or money. Having a puppy around doesn't help either.
I was thinking about this today after doing the SAT practice test in preparation for tomorrow's class. It must've been the fifteenth time Virginia Woolf's been on it, and I just hate it when they choose these passages and ask these really terrible questions about what is being implied, what does this word mean in this context, why does the author phrase this-and-this like so, etc. These kids have no idea what they're reading. They just know they have to do it as quickly as they can so they can go back and check over the sentence completions. And I'm the one telling them that's what they should be doing.
Tomorrow's the only day I actually have to get up early (7:45 am). On normal days, I've been sticking to a strict schedule: waking up at 10:30am, lying in bed until 11:45 or until Denny starts making a fuss, having some lunch at noon, dawdling until 2:30, then driving to work which starts at 3:00. You'd think I would've gotten a lot of writing or studying done, but I haven't. I don't know what's been keeping me. I haven't even found the time to read, and as you can see, time isn't really the issue here. The yoga place keeps calling me because they're surely baffled at why I dropped $400 on a three-month membership, but have only shown up once over the last three weeks. The truth is that I've been so busy thinking, and I've been happy doing so. I've only sent out two things over the last few months, one of which was a poem which was recently returned to me, and another is still pending and will most likely have the same result.
I don't know why I'm writing this after having disappeared for so long. It's maybe because I was so goddamn prolific when I was writing in this thing, and even afterward, enough to help me compile a senior thesis to graduate. I don't think that much has changed other than my physical location and the fact that I have a dog to whom I am entirely devoted, disgustingly so. But I've already been writing for 5 minutes, and that's about all my attention span can take. Why is it that I always write about writing? I never ever think about writing until I'm actually doing it. And then it's all I can think about.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
sorry!!!
Totally went MIA this week, I know. Still busy busy, but here are just some highlights:
1. McCoshed, then PMC'd after taking shots with (almost) every freshman at the DKE rush party
2. Got my bellybutton pierced at this really nice salon in NYC. Not shady at all, the entire place was filled with mirrors and lights and sparkly jewelry.
3. Turned my dorm room into a study because Dan's is so much nicer to crash in.
4. Can't say
5. Can't say
Will be up and writing soon enough, just need to settle down after an insane week of partying. Apparently it's good to "wander and gaze," or so my creative thesis advisor says, but I wonder if it's just me being lazy. First two days of classes were okay, skipped my first one because it was PDF. What else, what else...doing laundry now. Gotta run!
1. McCoshed, then PMC'd after taking shots with (almost) every freshman at the DKE rush party
2. Got my bellybutton pierced at this really nice salon in NYC. Not shady at all, the entire place was filled with mirrors and lights and sparkly jewelry.
3. Turned my dorm room into a study because Dan's is so much nicer to crash in.
4. Can't say
5. Can't say
Will be up and writing soon enough, just need to settle down after an insane week of partying. Apparently it's good to "wander and gaze," or so my creative thesis advisor says, but I wonder if it's just me being lazy. First two days of classes were okay, skipped my first one because it was PDF. What else, what else...doing laundry now. Gotta run!
Friday, September 7, 2007
a common gift
"All art is quite useless" --Oscar Wilde
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important" --Antoine de Saint Exupery, The Little Prince
For a while, I debated whether or not to paste my favorite chapter from The Little Prince here. I decided against it when I realized that it would be better, for those who haven't yet read the book, to experience it first alongside those quirky illustrations.
I think my senior thesis will be on waste and uselessness and beauty. Tentative, of course, as with everything else in my life ("What a lark! What a plunge!"). I had so much fun examining the Ellesmere Chaucer facsimile last semester that I even debated doing my thesis on a full interpretation of the illustrations: characters, borders, punctuation, etc. But it's been done already, I'm sure, and I quite like the idea of writing something original--an ambition which ultimately fuels the belief that English majors are really just making stuff up for the sake of argument. Which is true, sometimes, and not others.
Still, I love the idea of the time wasted as the measure for how much something or someone means to us. And isn't that intimacy also? No longer needing to do something, or saying something, and being comfortable just being? I've been racking my head to think of literary examples to support this, but it's hard considering "plot" usually means something is happening. And I really, and I mean really, don't want to dip into James and Hemingway. But what other book can compare to the Prince and the fox and the rose?
I remember the first time I read The Little Prince. I was in the second grade, and my aunt had given me the book to keep me quiet while we waited at a train station in Taiwan. I had decided, almost immediately, that I did not like the rose very much. She was mean and stuck up and all the Prince wanted to do was please her. But isn't that how sympathy grows? Each time I read the book, the last being a year or two ago, I began to understand--or better yet, to give the rose more meaning based on my own personal experiences, and how I myself wished to be viewed or treated. I began to create a fiction within a fiction, the same way I did for "The Lady or the Tiger," because it makes the story grow closer to my own life, and makes it fonder still.
Next week, I'm going to have to show my thesis advisors what I've done this summer. Having only a few poems and articles in tow, I'm afraid I'll just have to provide them the link to this site and cross my fingers. Incoherent writing is better than no writing, yes?
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important" --Antoine de Saint Exupery, The Little Prince
For a while, I debated whether or not to paste my favorite chapter from The Little Prince here. I decided against it when I realized that it would be better, for those who haven't yet read the book, to experience it first alongside those quirky illustrations.
I think my senior thesis will be on waste and uselessness and beauty. Tentative, of course, as with everything else in my life ("What a lark! What a plunge!"). I had so much fun examining the Ellesmere Chaucer facsimile last semester that I even debated doing my thesis on a full interpretation of the illustrations: characters, borders, punctuation, etc. But it's been done already, I'm sure, and I quite like the idea of writing something original--an ambition which ultimately fuels the belief that English majors are really just making stuff up for the sake of argument. Which is true, sometimes, and not others.
Still, I love the idea of the time wasted as the measure for how much something or someone means to us. And isn't that intimacy also? No longer needing to do something, or saying something, and being comfortable just being? I've been racking my head to think of literary examples to support this, but it's hard considering "plot" usually means something is happening. And I really, and I mean really, don't want to dip into James and Hemingway. But what other book can compare to the Prince and the fox and the rose?
I remember the first time I read The Little Prince. I was in the second grade, and my aunt had given me the book to keep me quiet while we waited at a train station in Taiwan. I had decided, almost immediately, that I did not like the rose very much. She was mean and stuck up and all the Prince wanted to do was please her. But isn't that how sympathy grows? Each time I read the book, the last being a year or two ago, I began to understand--or better yet, to give the rose more meaning based on my own personal experiences, and how I myself wished to be viewed or treated. I began to create a fiction within a fiction, the same way I did for "The Lady or the Tiger," because it makes the story grow closer to my own life, and makes it fonder still.
Next week, I'm going to have to show my thesis advisors what I've done this summer. Having only a few poems and articles in tow, I'm afraid I'll just have to provide them the link to this site and cross my fingers. Incoherent writing is better than no writing, yes?
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
i'm back!
Oh dear, where to begin? Ten days and a million bug bites later, I come back to another mess in the living room (a suitcase I simply refuse to unpack since move-in is in a few days) yet a distinctly clearer mind and outlook. Yesterday was spent fielding questions, particularly those regarding me and Dan and a certain photo album on facebook (or dare I say, a certain photo?).
But this is not a press release, and I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint those dear readers who have been checking back for all the juicy details. My silence, perhaps, is more an affirmation of this "tropical debauchery" that people have been speculating *wink wink. Of course, a longer post is to come: what I did, who I saw, every tiny little detail I'm afraid of forgetting, all the observations I hope to somehow incorporate into my poetry, the private jokes, the lovely moments that I can't help but share...it'll all be here. As much as I am a visual person, I find that the reason I don't take that many pictures (both on vacation and in general) is because I recall things more strongly if I write it down. Then, when I read it years later, I don't see those memories the way they appear in photographs (that awkward smile, the tourism, etc) but how I had intended myself to remember them--which is less an exercise in making things beautiful or fonder, but to preserve my mind and the way I loved the things that I loved, exactly the moment it all happened.
Little things remind me of him now, and those moments which would have naturally been fleeting replay themselves against the familiar weight that settles in at the beginning of anything significant and beautiful. It's much like the end of Neruda's poem: "and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine"--which is to say, to need while being complete, to give without losing a part of ourselves. I spent part of the day packing away old trinkets, moving around pictures on my computer to less noticeable locations. This is not to say that I'm pulling an Eternal Sunshine, but I'm a strong believer that our past doesn't usually follow us by itself, and that we're usually the ones dragging it behind us or leaning against it out of fear of letting go and of "irreplaceableness." There's so much ahead of me right now that there's simply no space, not even an inch, that can accommodate what I once adored. So I'm letting it go. If I'm lucky--if I have the strength to keep up this optimism and faith in the future--better things will fly in and settle in those cleared out spaces, fit the way they're supposed to fit, and open up room for more. What is "meant to be" might not happen now, or months from now, or anywhere in the near future, but the truth stays the same: you'll never know unless you take those necessary steps and give it an honest try.
On a different note, my mother says I look like Victoria Beckham now, with the weight loss and all, and "it is not a good thing. I don't like that woman." Unfortunately, if I gain even a single pound, I won't be able to wear the jeans I bought, so no go lol. I can't even afford to buy new ones, especially after I saw the watch Dan's cousin Anita had on and had to have it. It's been two weeks, and he's already horrified by my shopping habits, I'm sure. Also, I'm really excited to go back to campus, even though I've done embarrassingly little in terms of thesis research. While assembling my portfolio today, I've decided that all my poetry is crap and I'll have to start from scratch. But since I've decided to quit my reclusive ways, the only option is to work harder to make time for some serious partying, so get ready for a busy busy year =)
But this is not a press release, and I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint those dear readers who have been checking back for all the juicy details. My silence, perhaps, is more an affirmation of this "tropical debauchery" that people have been speculating *wink wink. Of course, a longer post is to come: what I did, who I saw, every tiny little detail I'm afraid of forgetting, all the observations I hope to somehow incorporate into my poetry, the private jokes, the lovely moments that I can't help but share...it'll all be here. As much as I am a visual person, I find that the reason I don't take that many pictures (both on vacation and in general) is because I recall things more strongly if I write it down. Then, when I read it years later, I don't see those memories the way they appear in photographs (that awkward smile, the tourism, etc) but how I had intended myself to remember them--which is less an exercise in making things beautiful or fonder, but to preserve my mind and the way I loved the things that I loved, exactly the moment it all happened.
Little things remind me of him now, and those moments which would have naturally been fleeting replay themselves against the familiar weight that settles in at the beginning of anything significant and beautiful. It's much like the end of Neruda's poem: "and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine"--which is to say, to need while being complete, to give without losing a part of ourselves. I spent part of the day packing away old trinkets, moving around pictures on my computer to less noticeable locations. This is not to say that I'm pulling an Eternal Sunshine, but I'm a strong believer that our past doesn't usually follow us by itself, and that we're usually the ones dragging it behind us or leaning against it out of fear of letting go and of "irreplaceableness." There's so much ahead of me right now that there's simply no space, not even an inch, that can accommodate what I once adored. So I'm letting it go. If I'm lucky--if I have the strength to keep up this optimism and faith in the future--better things will fly in and settle in those cleared out spaces, fit the way they're supposed to fit, and open up room for more. What is "meant to be" might not happen now, or months from now, or anywhere in the near future, but the truth stays the same: you'll never know unless you take those necessary steps and give it an honest try.
On a different note, my mother says I look like Victoria Beckham now, with the weight loss and all, and "it is not a good thing. I don't like that woman." Unfortunately, if I gain even a single pound, I won't be able to wear the jeans I bought, so no go lol. I can't even afford to buy new ones, especially after I saw the watch Dan's cousin Anita had on and had to have it. It's been two weeks, and he's already horrified by my shopping habits, I'm sure. Also, I'm really excited to go back to campus, even though I've done embarrassingly little in terms of thesis research. While assembling my portfolio today, I've decided that all my poetry is crap and I'll have to start from scratch. But since I've decided to quit my reclusive ways, the only option is to work harder to make time for some serious partying, so get ready for a busy busy year =)
Saturday, August 25, 2007
where did this all come from?
I'm taking an extremely necessary break from packing. Due to my horrendously indecisive nature, I've decided that the best way to avoid having to pick one thing over the other is to bring everything. Then let my sister dutifully scold me until I reluctantly remove a single dress, or a tank top, or a few pairs of shoes that yes, I know I probably won't wear, but what if?
With that said, I will be back September 4th, and will definitely write more when I get back. I'm totally psyched. Unfortunately, there's still a shitload of stuff on the couch that I need to either put away or pack, so I'm going to do that. Have a happy rest of summer!
With that said, I will be back September 4th, and will definitely write more when I get back. I'm totally psyched. Unfortunately, there's still a shitload of stuff on the couch that I need to either put away or pack, so I'm going to do that. Have a happy rest of summer!
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
above the surface
I'm planning on applying for another credit card because using a debit (my so-called "invisible money") is just getting dangerous. I just swipe it, and totally forget it until weeks later, upon checking my balance, I realize that nearly a grand is gone--which leads, inevitably, to a completely freak out, rapid scanning of the different transactions, then embarrassed resignation as I realize that yes, I did spend all of that on clothes and shoes and Sephora.
My mom came back from Taiwan yesterday, and it was great to eat one of her dinners again. While it's true that I can technically cook, I don't particularly make the best meals. And she bought me the necklace I'd been eyeing at Tiffany's! Not to mention a bunch of clothing and delicious teas and pastries. She also brought back a stack of letters that she had written to her family her first few years in the U.S. Apparently, there are stories about me when I was a baby; for instance, "Tiffany has a really bad temper. My mother-in-law agrees. We have to keep an eye on her." But that's all my mom's told me so far, and since I can't really read traditional characters, I'll have to wait for her to get over jet lag and get through the rest of the stack.
It was really funny watching my dad take over the role of home maker the two weeks my mom was gone. He was so cheerful about everything, even laundry, but by the second week I could tell he was getting a bit tired and frustrated with having to figure out what to cook/eat for every meal. For a few nights, he would pick up stuff from Whole Foods, and then none of us would have to worry at all. I can't imagine having to work and take care of house work, but I guess it's just something most of us will have to deal with eventually.
On a completely different topic, one of my happiest moments last semester was realizing that one of my favorite English professors got manicures regularly. It made me feel less superficial and brought more hope into my life. Still, she's the only one I've seen thus far...hmm
My mom came back from Taiwan yesterday, and it was great to eat one of her dinners again. While it's true that I can technically cook, I don't particularly make the best meals. And she bought me the necklace I'd been eyeing at Tiffany's! Not to mention a bunch of clothing and delicious teas and pastries. She also brought back a stack of letters that she had written to her family her first few years in the U.S. Apparently, there are stories about me when I was a baby; for instance, "Tiffany has a really bad temper. My mother-in-law agrees. We have to keep an eye on her." But that's all my mom's told me so far, and since I can't really read traditional characters, I'll have to wait for her to get over jet lag and get through the rest of the stack.
It was really funny watching my dad take over the role of home maker the two weeks my mom was gone. He was so cheerful about everything, even laundry, but by the second week I could tell he was getting a bit tired and frustrated with having to figure out what to cook/eat for every meal. For a few nights, he would pick up stuff from Whole Foods, and then none of us would have to worry at all. I can't imagine having to work and take care of house work, but I guess it's just something most of us will have to deal with eventually.
On a completely different topic, one of my happiest moments last semester was realizing that one of my favorite English professors got manicures regularly. It made me feel less superficial and brought more hope into my life. Still, she's the only one I've seen thus far...hmm
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