this nebulous in-between place

• How Men Change


• One exam left to go! If only I were motivated to study...


• so terrified i could cry, and so pointlessly scared

my life is a series of head/desk

Pop quiz!

1. How does Mei currently feel towards her CivPro exam tomorrow?

(A)
(B)
(C)
(D)
(E) All of the above

The answer is (E) all of the above! I'm sick of school. I just want these exams to be over - I almost want them to be over more than I want to do well. This is a scary thought, because the concept of not doing well (or at least not wanting to do well) is foreign to me. Terrifying, really. It's so unmitigatedly selfish. And I can make up words if I want.

None of this is helped by the fact that I feel fat. Well, no, I toss that word around loosely. I really mean that I feel unhealthy - law school, especially this past month, has been far too much a sedentary lifestyle. I really need to schedule exercise into my life, and stick to it. It's beneficial in so many ways.

Is it weird that I miss M all the time, even though we see each other a lot? They tell me it's not. Maybe it's a good thing. Then again, considering the long summer apart, maybe not.

Speaking of this summer, the interns (from NYU law! Columbia law! Yale law! and Princeton, fuck you all) have been emailing each other, doing basic introductions and discussing the type of work we'll likely be doing during our internship. There is talk of comparative law research and projects and legal work - the finer details escape me at the moment because I'm trying (more or less) to focus on finals; all that's really struck me is god-fucking-damn, these kids (all of them white, or, as J calls them, mini-Minzners, save T, me, and some older Chinese guy) are intensely interested in China and forward-thinking, proactive people. They are going to prepare for work ahead of time.

This makes me feel like crap.

This makes me feel like maybe, outside of finals, I should be doing some pre-internship intensive research into Chinese labor and immigration law. For all that I love China, what do I actually know if its laws?



Good times. Post-finals, I'll have write-on, packing, and extracurricular research to look into. When I go home to NC for a week, I'll have to make sure I see A, V, buy a UNC baseball cap, eat homecooked food, read at least one book for pleasure, pack for China, and continue extracurricular research.

Oh well. For all my griping, it's good to keep in mind that this summer is not meant to be all fun and games just because I'll be in Beijing (and with a friend). There's work to be done! (...but there's also people and places to see! Food to eat! KTV to attend! Somehow, fun will be had, I guarantee.)

Keeping up that sunny forecast, or trying. :)

life's little wake-up calls

Today, I was at Starbucks studying CivPro because it was gorgeous outside and I wanted to get out of my cave of a room. Sunny days are my favorite; they make me crave comfortable seats near huge windows with lots of light, a good drink or snack, and usually some music or a book. It was windy today, which was an excuse to claim a table indoors. I have a final on Thurday, which was an excuse to do work instead of running around outside having a life. ...Excuse or obligation? Sometimes I think I like being productive more than running about - bt maybe that's a sign that I really need to lead a less sedentary lifestyle.

In any case, as I was sitting, going over my notes and sipping at my iced espresso, the lady sitting next to me accidentally knocks over her grande latte. It spills all over the floor, fortunately missing me or any other patron but making a mess: one of those tragic accidents of everyday life that aren't horrible enough to make you feel terrible, but just bad enough to make you cringe.

What struck me, however, was not her accident, but my first reaction. I instinctively glanced away, towards my notes, and determined that I was going to ignore it entirely and pretend it didn't affect me in the least. I was going to just read and get on with my life, and let this stranger get on with hers.

Five seconds later, I was totally appalled with myself. I took off my earphones, asked if she was okay, asked if she needed help, got up, offered my napkins and started wiping down a chair. She said, "Thank you" and "oh you don't have to" and then a barista took over with a mop. So I sat back down, still incredibly surprised and not entirely pleased with myself.

Why would my gut instinct be to ignore her? Why would I wish I could just pretend it didn't happen?

This reflects so poorly upon my character. And the saddest thing is that I didn't used to be this way. Before, my first instinct would have been to leap up and offer help. Lately, it's been to valiantly ignore everything as if didn't affect me. I could argue that I want to spare the person the embarrassment of having everyone stare, but what kind of poor excuse is that? People appreciate help. They're going to be embarrassed no matter what - and a kind word and helping hand goes much further in alleviating that.

I just...I'm disappointed in myself. This is, I think, a wake-up call to let me know that I'm really not as good of a person as I thought I was. And it's not okay.

It's okay to not be perfect, of course. It's okay to be selfish sometimes, naturally. It's okay to do the best you can for yourself. But you can't start rationalizing and justifying more and more things until you let yourself become completely self-absorbed and self-interested. You have to fight to maintain basic morals, ethics, and (I think) generosity of spirit. Be a decent human being. Be courteous and polite and helpful to the best of your abilities. Smile, say thank you, hold open that door. They're all little things, and they cost you so little, but they can go such a long way in improving the general atmosphere and brightening someone else's day. (I say this with experience after two and a half years working at Alpine - it was always the friendly, smiling, polite customers that made my day. Always. And sometimes just from so little.)

I joke around that the reason I can study in the courtyard, with lots of ambient (or even flat-out loud) noise, is because I'm self-absorbed and I can tune out other people's conversations (and, often, existences) to focus on me, and my work.

To some extent, that's true. To some extent, that's okay.

But I don't want to be so self-absorbed that I can't even bother to be a good person anymore just because it's not self-serving.

Hopefully this incident will remind me to make an active effort to be the kind of person I want to be.

try for an always sunny forecast

So 1L classes are officially over. All that's left of the year is exams and the write-on, then packing up and storing my things somewhere over the summer. At least my plans to China are set for the summer - it's exciting for sure.

In my excitement and pre-planning, I made a travel blog here. It's really not in operation until after I'm in China, but I like to get a jump on things. If I can get things done ahead of time, I generally like to, because it's a nice feeling to have things settled and out of the way. (I love ticking things off my lists, okay? Stop judging me! Speaking of lists, this site makes me so incredibly happy, especially because it's all basics, no frills, meaning you can't be distracted wasting time making lists instead of just doing whatever needs to be done. Also, having no dates for deadlines is a huge pressure off.)

I'm also a big fan of tables and charts! And calendars! Color-coordinated! Oh wow, I'm such a geek, but it's okay, because it makes me happy.

I was going to write a thoughtful post about parenting and what kind of child I'd like (and ruminations on the kind of parent I might be, or would hope to be), inspired by Yotsuba&! but...really, I'm tired. I'll save that for another time. But being a parent is, I think, both a terrifying and exciting responsibility (and joy).

I suppose I can only hope to do the best I can. For everything in life, really.

Thinking back, both Yotsuba&! and Smiling Pasta had good advice about the attitude to take towards life. Every day is the greatest day. If you believe that, don't let life get you down - make the most out of what you have. Just smile, and there's nothing you can't overcome. There is nothing so awful that you can't have a little faith. It's not to say you're never allowed to be sad, or disappointed, or upset. It's not to say that life isn't just plain unfair sometimes.

But in the end, nothing is so awful that you can't make it through. Life, really, is what you make of it. And that all comes down to the attitude you take.

For me, I guess that just means trying my hardest and hoping for the best, for my future kids, for my future job, for my future at large. For my friendships, my relationships.

I can't wait until exams and write-on are over. Not just to wrap up 1L year, but also because it means something else begins. Something new, different, for a change.

(And clearly the best way to face everything is armed with lists. I am still me, after all.)

it may be compulsive, but it's me

It's not that I'm dissatisfied with life. It's really that I hate having uncertainties in my future, when they are unnecessary uncertainties - things that could be resolved and set aside. Plans, they should be made, and followed. I want things done and out of the way, not hanging up in the air, unresolved and waiting.

This is about China, about travel, about living. This is about school, about my class schedule, about where I will live next year and insignificant little details like that.

It's not so much that I'm dissatisfied with life as I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated by not having concrete things. Look, I'm a list-maker. I'm a fucking INFJ - the J part means that I like organization, compartmentalization, making lists and fucking checking them off. I'm unhappy with not being sure about things that should easily be made certain of. I'm unsure about enough of my life, I'd like to think I have control over other parts, like knowing what I will do.

Maybe no one else is like this. Maybe no one else gets this. That's even more frustrating, because everyone else is willing to just let life go as it pleases, and think I just stress out unnecessarily about little details. I'm sorry you don't understand and that you don't feel the same stress to get things done, aren't under the same compunction to get things settled, but this is me, okay? This is what I need. This is what makes me who I am. And I'm sorry if you end up frustrating me because you don't seem to care at all about achieving the same ends. I'm sorry I can't just "go with the flow".

At least the weather is better today. I am the opposite of a night owl - maybe I'm more of a heliocentric plant. I need daylight, sunlight, to energize me and make me feel like I can face life (uncertain as it may be).

It's the insidious restlessness that makes me unhappy with the world. Let me fix this. Let me make something happen.

[x] The Greatest Love of All Time

Not my favorite, but the only thing close to original (for a given value of original) that I've managed to write in for-fucking-ever. Inspired loosely by Taylor Swift's Love Story. Oh shoot me. I take what I can get, okay?

This is a...vignette? I'm incapable of writing long things.

--

The Greatest Love of All Time

This is a love story, they tell you. It starts like this:

She’s crying.

Why is she crying? you ask. This is a love story. Shouldn’t she be happy and in love, flushed and breathless? Shouldn’t she laugh and smile and have a hand to hold, and a man who loves her to kiss? Shouldn’t she have promises of now and forever, until all her tears dry up?

This is what you’ve always hoped love would be like. You’ve never actually been in love, you think. There have been crushes, flutterings, butterflies in your stomach – but nothing quite so big, so monumental and momentous, as love.

You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve imagined it to be everything beautiful and splendid – a rush of feelings so intense that you won’t be able to contain them. You will shout to all the world, even silently, about love, love, love. Your eyes, your smile, your very pores will exclaim to everyone who passes you by: I’m in love. I am loved. This is love.

This is what you imagine love to be like, so you’re at a loss when the story begins:

She’s crying.

There’s no rain, no torrential downpour to match her mood, no light shower to gently streak her windowpanes like tears. It’s dark outside, though, because she’s wasted the entire day away in misery, pale and gray. Her hair is tied neatly behind her, her clothes immaculate – she made every effort to be okay this morning, so she could face the world and take it on. No one has to know, is what she thought that morning. I’ll be fine.

It’s all fallen apart, and now she sits immaculate on her bed, crying. She feels like she’s choking on her heart, feels like it’s risen up in her throat until she can’t breathe, and aches all over.

You want to reach out to her, maybe hold her. You’re tentative though, because you don’t know her. You don’t what’s wrong. What happened, you want to ask, but there is no answer. What brought her to this point?

How is this a love story? you wonder again.

Maybe her boyfriend (husband?) left her. Maybe he cheated on her – but, no. You think she’d be angrier if it were that. She seems too heartbroken. Maybe he died.

She seems young, so her boyfriend (lover?) must be young as well.

How tragic it would be to die so young. You would cry, too. (At least you think you would. It’s hard to judge, when you’ve never been in love.)

She wipes at her eyes, and you can read the weariness in the slow movements of her hand. She’s tired. Tired of crying, tired of feeling like the world has broken her. It’s easy to see, and it leaves you conflicted. Is there anything you can do to help her? Is there anything you might say to console her? Are there such things as the right words?

You wish you knew what was wrong.

Someone enters the room, an older woman. She gathers the girl in her arms, holds her close, and speaks quiet words into her ear. When she leaves, your protagonist lifts her chin. She looks suddenly determined, more certain of what she wants, like she has purpose. Her face is still streaked with tears, wet lashes dark in the fading light.

She moves with purpose. Something is clutched tight in her hands – a small vial. She is uncapping it. You don’t understand. You don’t understand how this is a love story, if she is alone and unhappy. You don’t understand why she is lifting the vial to her lips, draining it with an elegant tilt of her neck.

She’s beautiful, you think. She’s young. She reminds you of someone you know, someone you want to protect and keep from the toils and wiles of the world. You hardly know her, but suddenly you are desperate for her to be happy, to live freely and laugh joyously. You want her to love, to shout it to the world to know, and fear clutches you when she swallows that last drop.

The vial falls to the ground.

She follows soon after, an inelegant collapse onto the floor, her immaculate clothing at last disheveled. Her face is pale, still damp with tearstains.

This is a love story, they tell you. You feel like a stone has settled into your heart.

How can this be a love story? How can this be anything like love, this story that makes you want to gather her up and cry into her hair? She is so young, so sad. You don’t understand. This is nothing like fireworks or moving mountains or birdsong. This is nothing like love.

You turn away as an outcry is raised, and rushing feet fill the room, crowding carelessly near her body.

This is a love story, they tell you. It ends like this:

He finds her and his cry raises goosebumps along your skin. It’s chilling, the anguish in his voice; it breaks him. He lands on his knees, pulling her towards him ever so gently. He sobs, laments. He kisses her one last time, murmurs prayers into her hair, despairing.

So this is he. This is her man. (Boyfriend? Lover?) This is her heart, her love.

Her love cannot exist with her. You realize this before he does. You’re almost calm when he pulls out a vial. This is familiar, too terrifyingly familiar. You almost don’t flinch when he drains the poison and the vial clatters to the ground as he slumps over.

So this is love.

So this is love.

But then she stirs. And then she screams, because no, no, no, she never meant for it to end like this. It was supposed to be different. He was supposed to understand. He was supposed to wait. She only ever wanted to be with him, only wanted him, only wanted—

She wails, and you know what happens next.

Everyone knows what happens next.

She grabs the dagger and plunges it into her own heart.

She’s crying.

You look away as she collapses onto him, star-crossed lovers thwarted even at the end. They’ll have eternity, but will forever be long enough? He didn’t understand. She didn’t wait. They were in love.

This is a love story, they tell you. The greatest love story of all time.

Maybe, you think, you’ve never understood what love is about all this time.

fraying at the seams

Yesterday, I thought I would do anything to make you happy, because I hate to see you sad, and I want to make a difference. Today, I think maybe I should be more selfish because no one else is going to be selfish for me. Today, I think perhaps you should do something to make me happy, and give me a sign you care.

I would do so much for so many of you. It's hard for me to ask for things back, but that doesn't mean I don't need anything from you.

if you let it be this simple

I just want to make you happy. I just want to make you smile. I just want you to trust me and let me care.

Every friendship is made of this. This is L-O-V to the E, in every shape and form. Just believe in me.

Maybe it's time to look towards your future. Keep your eyes to the skies, and let your dreams fly.

2009 Men's NCAA Tournament

Bitches! National champions!

Fuck yeah.

looking forward into future mine

On a totally unrelated note, I'm so interested in how copyright works. Is Shakespeare public domain now? Does that mean derivative fiction can be published about his works? (The way all those horrible, horrible Jane Austen spin-offs about Mr. Darcy and his diary or what-have-you are now allowed to be put to print.) How does it work in the music industry? Taylor Swift's song Love Story is practically a fic in itself of Romeo and Juliet. It's sweet (and it makes me want to write...), but it's also makes me wonder how copyrights work.

Good thing I'm going to take Copyright Law next semester. :)

I can't decide between taking Internet Law, Trademarks, and International Intellectual Property Law for Spring semester. They're all similar and fascinating, but it all comes down to other factors like what professor teaches it, if I can build a rapport with and gain a reference from that professor, what time the class is, how the class is graded, and what the final's like. I need to go investigate these things.

Signing up for classes in law school is an art. It's not just about taking whatever you need to or think is interesting.

Fortunately, I've pretty much decided what my schedule's going to look like Fall semester: 12 hours + 1 hour journal credit (if I get on one...which I hope I do), which is few enough to allow for the crazy amounts of traveling and interviewing that fall recruiting will entail. No classes on Wednesday or Friday, either, as per my mentor's suggestion - it will also make for an easier time flying out on weekends to interview, since I won't have classes to miss and make up.

Classes for next semester look like: Copyright & Related Rights, International Law, Federal Income Taxation, and Censorship & Free Expression. Good times.

I have to make a note to remember deadlines for bidding on OCIs over the summer. Oh the summer. So many more details to work out, but I'm so excited. I love Beijing! Plus I will get to hang out with T.

The only sad thing about the summer is not getting to see everyone I want to see (for long enough). In particular...M and M. I will make it happen somehow, though.

[x] the fall of the greek

The Fall of the Greek
In the winter of eternal life, there was never promise of eternal youth.

Lind frowned at the little pot sitting on her windowsill. Sticking out a finger, she prodded its contents, then drew in a sharp breath and sucked her fingertip into her mouth. Tithonus was prickly as ever. Dead, but still prickly.

She looked around the room, gaze resting briefly on the wastebasket before flickering on by. She wouldn’t relegate her pet cactus to such a dishonorable disposal. She’d raised him for the better part of two years, after all, ever since she’d received him as a graduation present.

Besides, it would start smelling bad. Lind only emptied the trash once every two weeks. Not much usually accumulated; with her busy schedule, she was rarely in the dorm, puttering about and generating trash. Unlike, she thought unkindly, someone else she could mention.

She determinedly didn’t look at Jennifer’s half of the room, decidedly less neat than Lind’s, with clothes strewn haphazardly all over the place and books and papers stacked in messy piles on the floor. The hazards of the lottery system, Lind often thought, mouth twisting. Next year she’d have to be sure to request someone she knew to be an organized, sane person. No, next year she’d make sure to live off campus and drag Pan with her. Only a ridiculous amount of money—or some other near unattainable form of persuasion—could induce her to stay.

Leaving the window, Lind crossed the room to her desk and began gathering her textbooks. She didn’t have time right now to deal with her cactus’s tragic demise: Tithonus could wait two hours, but Global Econ couldn’t. She picked up her coat from where she’d laid it over the back of her chair earlier and put it on, wrapping her fuzzy blue scarf around her neck and swinging one end over her shoulder. Gloves and hat followed. Pennsylvania winters were bitter as a norm and she couldn’t afford losing fingers when she had two papers due next week. At last Lind collected her books in one arm, checked that her bag was replete with writing utensils, and let herself out.

She cast one last, vaguely nostalgic look in the direction of the windowsill before pulling the door shut behind her and locking it.

A vain death in room five-fifty-one and no one to mourn, she thought ruefully.