A Reflection on Cycles

I spent too long giving too much to someone who felt to push herself up she needed to pull others down, that there was a scarcity of room on the stage, that our voices weren't more beautiful as a chorus than they were as floating notes in the wind. 

I spent too long casting tears into an ocean of silence so deafening that it seemed to rationalize and justify her behavior, surviving it by treading water and cherishing the dolphins and sunshine that visited, kept me company, invited me to dance. 

It became a lesson in investment, a lesson in qualifying which risks are worth taking, which dividends are the most rewarding. I picked up my spirit, recast my chips on a blackjack table with rules I understood. 

And watched. 

And waited.

Adjectives

I write when I am inspired, when everything that rests within my heart and soul feels like it will bubble up to the surface ready to explode, a summertime soda shaken one too many times. I have not written much lately as I was not ready to say the things out loud that have been casting a shadow over my thoughts and emotions. That being said, the benefit of writing, particularly using a medium such as Blogger, is that my audience is anonymous. Yes, I can run Google Analytics if I so choose, and yes, to some degree I am aware that those views from Mexico are most likely from one asshole heartbreaker in particular. Outside of that, though, I might as well be sitting on the roof of Kerckhoff Hall again, letting the still air of a Hotel California night swallow the silence between two planets orbiting a sun doomed to implode.

In the past year, I have been called *in no particular order*:
~ cute ~ feisty ~ sexy ~ attractive ~ ambitious ~ charming ~ unique ~ weird ~

Cool story, bros, but let us think about things a bit differently. Shall we?

I am a woman. 

I am curvy and beautiful and soft and sensual and affectionate. I have a body that performs small miracles every single day. 

I am a woman. 

I am driven and hold myself to high standards and shoot for the moon. I have a mind that allows me to solve complex problems and achieve seemingly lofty goals. 

I am a woman. 

I am honest and strange and more comfortable in my own skin than I have ever been before. Despite everything I have held on to my ability to be vulnerable, to consciously choose to let others in.  

So, go ahead, tell me I am cute with my citrus print dress, backwards cap, and penny board. Feel free to call me feisty when I request that you leave because your antics are no longer amusing. You don't need to remind me that I'm sexy and attractive; I'm fully aware of my curves yo. When I surpass you as I tumble down my career path at lightning speed, I am happy to be labeled "ambitious." And when you are in the process of trying to piece me together, like a 1,000 piece puzzle, I will gladly accept charming, unique, and weird because an opinion without pi is just an onion. 

Nouns and verbs and adjectives aside, if you would like to paint my picture it would behoove you to remember that I am not trapped in the midst of a scream and there is not a hidden message behind my timeless smile. 

A House is Not a Home, But an Apartment Can Host Your Heart

I am forcing myself to be honest, for the sake of reflection, personal growth, and to remove the straightjacket constraining my lungs, my heart, and my thoughts. Up until recently, I never knew what it meant to feel "homesick." I had an idea, largely because I am not an idiot and am empathetically natured to a fault, but it was something I never experienced firsthand. Perhaps it was due to all of the movement in my life (New York -> New Jersey, New Jersey -> Texas, Texas -> Texas, Texas -> California, and, most recently, California -> New York)... or perhaps it was due to the people I cared about being sprinkled across the world, in the same way you would expect a toddler to decorate their own birthday cake. 

Moving to New York was in part inspired by a moonshot goal and in part inspired by the desperate sprint I started after my life in Los Angeles was shattered. A partner being accused of, arrested for, and convicted of varying counts of sexual assault will do that to you, I guess. Who would have thought? But despite the intentions that led me to the Big Apple, the impact has been transformative. I have become more resilient, independent, and brave. I walk with my shoulders drawn back, and I am unafraid to look up at the movement around me. There is no doubt in my mind that my current version of my self is who I am supposed to be at this moment of time. 

And a part of all this growth has been learning to grow roots, a rather foreign concept to me. Oftentimes I find myself struggling to connect with people who share stories of their hometown. By definition, a hometown is the town where one was born or grew up, or the town of one's present fixed residence. I didn't grow up in a particular town, I grew up in experiences, moments, and with people. I grew up that time my passport was lifted from my being on a flight to Germany. I grew up that time I said goodbye to Mayumi, after she succumbed to her eternal slumber. I grew up in the arms of my dad and Pumbas, and during the year I spent navigating New York City with Viv. 

Throughout it all, I never felt that I had a fixed residence. I had an address, a roof over my head, and a room with my possessions. I had walls and windows and doors, but nothing that resembled what I have heard a hometown can look like. I found my hometown, a place where I am growing up and a present fixed residence, in New York, in my apartment. I found a place I enjoyed returning to, I found a safe haven, and I found a home. However, it wasn't until my recent travels and a recent threat to the security of it all that I realized what I had found. 

I spent a couple of weeks back in California, saying what felt like a last final goodbye for the time being. When I initially left, I was running away. It's not something I care to admit, but it's the truth. I found myself in a flurry of pain, a blizzard of confusion and betrayal and fear. And I ran. I ran as fast and as far as a U-Haul could carry myself and my life in two feet by two feet boxes. This time around, though, was dramatically different. I had emerged from the ashes, a baby phoenix, with a plumage I was proud to display. I reconnected with old friends, new friends, my LA familia, and communities I have actively missed over the course of the past year. And throughout it all, I felt the itch to return to my New York nest. A feeling that lied deep in my heart and my gut, close to nausea but even closer to something I could not quite pinpoint. A feeling that can only be described by the audible symbol "homesickness."

I came home to the familiar smells, sights, and sounds of a place I can finally call home, knowing that it would be occupied with an element of strangeness. A species newly introduced into an ecosystem that had found its harmony. But, due to what felt like the perfect storm... and I mean that in the Castaway Wilson the beach volleyball sense and less the thunderstorms I love watching from the windowsill sense, it turned out that it wasn't quite a match and the domino effect led to a great deal of housing insecurity. While it's beginning to look like things will right themselves shortly, the fear, sadness, and sense of loss I felt was unexpected. And all I can say is that, I am reveling in the fact that I have a place to host my heart for the time being.

This One's for You, Dad.

I am the daughter of an immigrant, a suitcase and a small belt in a blizzard that could never quite freeze quiet persistence and passion and joy.

I am the product of intoxicating citrus, of two trees that might not have created a grove but surely provided nourishment (sometimes with a bit too much pulp).

I come from the smell of eggs with mushrooms and onions in the morning, and the sound waves created by opinions clashing on long stretches of road. 

I leap from cliffs with a running start in a quest to briefly glimpse the moon, fighting gravity and doubt and heartache with every weapon in my arsenal. 

I come from everywhere and nowhere and the places in between somehow simultaneously cherished and forgotten as memories collect dust and cobwebs. 

I wear my heart on my sleeve and fall in love with the people on the subway, dancing along to the communal hum of the thump-thump, thump-thump.

And throughout it all I can say through and through, I am my father's daughter.

I care for you, I talk to you
In my deepest dreams, I'm fortunate
We got a friendship, no one can contest it
And not to mention, I respect you with my all

Release

I have been unable to write anything decent for a while now, despite having a self-imposed "one horrible poem I will probably regret publishing publicly a week" quota. It is partly due to lack of inspiration, but it is largely due to lack of motivation to let my thoughts and feelings flow through my fingers as I search for the right letters, words, and punctuations on the keyboard before me. I wonder if poets and lovers and dreamers had this same problem with the typewriter, a device that rewards the emotion and soul you put into it with an experience full of sensations.

the sound of each key imprinting itself upon the paper ... 
the sight of vulnerability as it's constructed in written form ...
the feeling of a tangible product that breathes life and existence, a physical representation of joy and sorrow and fear and anticipation and hope...

I have been unable to write anything decent for a while now, because I have been holding my breath. It is partly due to the shifting ground I find myself standing on, but it is more largely due to internalizing factors so far outside of my control that they might as well be determined by how the stars are aligned. I wonder if it is possible for your mind to suffer the same way from asphyxiation as your brain and body would, if somehow the pieces of your heart not responsible for pumping blood to your extremities can also die from a lack of oxygen. 

the sound of the beat that drives you slowing down to a barely there tempo...
the sight of silver stars you admire when you emerge quickly from darkness...
the feeling of hands and arms and legs and bodies intertwined through the holes in the wall between you...

I have been unable to write anything decent for a while now. 

So please, do not mind me while I try to take another breath. 

A deeper breath, one I can finally release. 

You

I spent about four hours today reviewing and grading scholarship applications submitted by a fresh batch of baby Bruins. Teenage bears who, for the most part, attempted to express all the pieces of their respective selves they felt comfortable sharing in one thousand words or less. Rubrics and instructions were distributed, outlining in seemingly objective but quite subjective detail what was considered "ideal" ... photocopies of deceased and processed trees that somehow were supposed to help you identify the perfect student. 

I'll probably never interact with these students, or if I do I won't be able to identify them as the ballet dancer, the one who quoted Lisa Vanderpump, or the one who strove to challenge cultural and social norms that oppressed her throughout childhood. Nevertheless, I have been thinking the following as loud as I possibly can on the slim hope that somehow stating my intentions to the universe will translate into tangible ripples.

To you, the applicant, and to you, the reader, you are worth so much more than the sum of your arbitrarily decided parts. You are worth more than a metric, more than a sliding scale, more than any number of points. You, you as your whole, you as your whole self, you are beautiful. 

I am a tiny potato, and I believe in you. You can do the thing. 

There Really is No Point to This One

I've been taking salsa dance classes for months now, relying on my gymnastics background to carry me through the patterns, spins, and cross body leads. While I have become acutely aware of how introverted I am and how awkward I become in response to strange social stimuli, I have also discovered how much I don't like to be led. I will go as far as dancing by myself and trying to reverse lead my male partner, to the point where I now feel as if the large majority of attendees have become terrified of dancing with me. This leads to further problems when I am the only woman in a group of men who shows up for the class. 

Normally, I see this as a great analogy for other parts of my life (the strength to be found in being vulnerable, the importance of asking others for help and support when you need it, the lack of pain experienced when they stop stepping on your toes, insert Hallmark card quote here), but today it just somehow felt like more of a bizarre slap in the face. Somewhere between the sexual innuendoes and that one guy who pulls me in too close for comfort, I gave up.

I woke up this morning, managed to get dressed, brushed my teeth with toothpaste instead of soap, didn't break anything, and even spent some time outside to soak in the warm weather. For context, previous mornings have included my bathroom flooding, breaking glass vials, forgetting to pack a change of clothes for after I work out, etc. I have a terminal case of the "morning stupids," where my brain refuses to function and relies a little too heavily on an autopilot based on how maybe a platypus would approach the world. They don't have opposable thumbs right? Or do they?

My commute to the gym featured catcalls, engine revs, honks, and leers. Several rounds of deadlifts, pushups, and box jumps later, I had again reached a point of zen. More catcalls, more leers. Rinse and repeat. Hopped into the shower and sang my heart out to tunes from the 80s, even managed to snag a banana and peanut butter for breakfast. Then, the real fun began. Enter entitlement, a warped perception that I'm anything but human, and people who just need to get it together. 

Where am I going with all of this? Public service announcement below. 

People, I have zero shits left to give. And this is a problem. Why you may ask? Because I have a lot to give (emotionally, mentally, physically, etc), and it takes a good amount of... well... for lack of a better term, a kinder term, or a more articulate term... it takes a lot of "shit" for me to reach this special place. That place where all I am asking for is a certain degree of mutual understanding, someone I can spoon, and the right to kick a punching bag. I can be your cheerleader, I can coach you through the game, I can even be the large one who runs around knocking the smaller ones down to create a pathway for you. (This is where my lack of football related knowledge becomes quite obvious.)

But right now? I'm playing quarterback, I'm running the field. And right now I can't be everything for everyone. It's not that I refuse to, it's not that I don't want to. It's that I can't. And as an empathetic, people driven person built to be depended on, this kills me. I have reached my capacity of support I can offer, shits I can give, and until some of you recycle them back you're going to have to sign up for the waiting list. 

The worst part? All of this has made me realize that in many of my relationships and friendships, I have set expectations that I can be the pillar of marble that withstands the test of time. I am expected to be "strong," whatever that means, when in reality I just need someone to tell me that yeah... it is all kind of fucked up. Granted, it's all messy and unstable and unpredictable and undefined in a really rich way, a way that I don't really want to change but would prefer to see how it all plays out... but it is still fucked up in it's own right. This is largely a result of my own doing out of a hesitancy to share too much of myself with most people. 

I'm really not looking for the platitudes and the encouragement, I'm looking for someone I can actually be honest with. Someone that I can be intimate with and not worry about them becoming disturbed by the fact that I am flawed. Someone who I can lay everything down on the table with and crack a few good jokes about the ridiculous things that occur in my life. Someone who is willing to join me on the balcony in between waltzes and giggle at the madness below. And someone who is just willing to, despite it all, tumble back down to the dance floor and salsa on two. Someone who is willing to lead me, unafraid to be led by me. Someone who understands that at some points all you can do is let your hair down, throw your head back, laugh, and know that you're in it together. I don't need a cheerleader, I wouldn't have made it this far if I did. Excluding fleeting moments of anxiousness (apologies if you happened to witness one), I have learned to have faith in myself. I don't need a coach, as most of the lectures and observations are already running through the tangled webs that reside within my brain. I do sometimes need help clearing the path because while I am armed to the teeth in survival skills, others might have additional resources and insight. What I want, though, is a teammate. An equal. Someone as full of life and love and laughter, someone as equally flawed. Someone who has similar grand dreams of and for the world around them, someone who is humble yet not insecure. Someone who can match me point for point, a rapid tennis ball of energy bouncing off of rackets with strings pulled taut. I'm running the field, looking to score, and it's all more entertaining with a partner in crime. 

Reading this back, I actually have no idea where I was going with it. Whelp. The next one is on me I guess. 

I'm Here

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" is pretty much a load of bullshit. (Give me a break, I usually keep things G rated. Just call me "Disney hipster princess" why don't you... I do prefer Thor though.) 

I don't know the history of this particular nugget people love to share... I don't know the how or the why of it, but what I do know is that it is false. Entirely untrue. It is also probably one of the worst pieces of "advice" offered when someone is going through a particular trying time in their life, whether it's recovering from a relationship ending overnight with an arrest or the realization that the other person simply no longer cares enough to make it work. 

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger... if you're referring to the workout I did this morning. I thought, honestly, that I was going to die about halfway in (make that a quarter of the way in), and I'm sure certain muscles of mine will be a little bit better prepared for the next round. Ladies and gentlemen, tickets for the gun show will be available never.

To many people, I'm a smile, a laugh, a joke, a cheerleader, cute, playful, charming, welcoming, and a whole host of other things that range from patronizing to complimentary to true. I will admit I use this image of myself as both a way of viewing the world and as an armor for protection. 

What most people don't know and what I don't share is that I've gone through quite a lot of rather horrible events thus far. To be honest, I think there is only one person who is aware of the extent of it all and she's named after a warthog in a Disney movie because we had strange adults in our past lives. Yes, I realize that it's hypocritical to share this with you, the stranger reading my blog, and you, the familiar face I hope is reading this as well. 

Time and time again, people told me that every obstacle would make me better prepared for the next one. Every life ended, every trust betrayed, every bit of abuse, every failure, and every disappointment is supposed to somehow make me bionic. 

Well, I'm calling bullshit. What doesn't kill you doesn't make you stronger... it just makes you "you." It alters your sense of self. It changes your life path. It becomes a part of your history, your present, and your future. 

What doesn't kill you... can make you stronger, but it can also make you smarter, it can also ground you. And, it can also bring you to your knees. I don't know if you've ever had a sink or swim moment, I really hope that you haven't. I had mine this past May, in a spring full of white hot pain. What didn't kill me brought me to my knees, literally at one point when merely dragging my body up from the cold, hard sidewalk of Kelton Ave felt like a feat I would never be able to accomplish. I reached my moment and for a while thought about what it would be like to just... sink. To descend to the bottom where the numbness whispered promises to take my pain away. 

But, in the moments of the final decision I saw a hand reach out. In fact I saw several, and I made a decision that if I was going to stand again I was going to dance. I was going to twirl, to pirouette, to close my eyes, and to lose myself in the music of life. I was going to appreciate the notes and the rhythms and the beats for what they were, no more no less. Because life is literally too short and too fucking fragile. (Whoops, I did it again.) I wholeheartedly believe that everything has led me to this moment with you and my "self." 

It's the reason why I now try to take risks (even though I'm writing this here because I lack the courage to say it aloud and even though I am too afraid to ask for more while my intestines feel like they've temporarily decided to dance the conga), it's the reason why I make it a point to explicitly tell people why I love them and how appreciative I am to have them in my life. It's the reason why I smile when it rains, and it's also the reason why I allow myself to feel sorrow and anger and hurt and disappointment. It's all a part of the game, baby, and I'm not here to win. I'm here to play. 

And I'm here to reach out my hand, to pull you up with me when you're ready to dance, whether you're on your knees or just simply taking a moment to kneel and breathe. I've been learning how to salsa, and it's not nearly as fun when you don't have a partner. (I'm also decent at the cabbage patch and can shopping cart like nobody's business.)

Who.

A coworker I greatly admire and thoroughly enjoy working with (mainly because he introduced me to the phrase "amazeballs") asked me, "So what do you want to do?" In a moment of spontaneity, I gushed to him about my dream of one day becoming a sociology professor. The idea of conducting research about the world around me and fostering spaces in which developing minds can participate in fruitful conversations excites me. As a people driven, relentlessly curious, general athlete who is an extroverted introvert, I have known for a while this could be one of many career paths that would be incredibly fulfilling. 

But like I said, this is just one of many career paths I see ahead of me... After a ten minute flurry of words and the realization that maybe I should have somehow translated my dream job into my current company's landscape (because you know, we have a Learning and Development division... which he works in...), I walked away feeling uneasy. I'm at a fork in the road... scratch that, it looks more like an octopus with tentacles loosely waving in front of me, beckoning and calling me to choose an arm in the deep sea. (I really like ocean, deep sea, and water metaphors, similes, and analogies. Let it wash over you.)

There are many opportunities and roles that interest me. There's a reason why my last career path decision had me agonizing over the fields of public policy, technology, and advertising/public relations. For me, the "what do you want to do" question is stressful and, let's be honest, ridiculous; I'd much rather be asked "who do you want to be."

Five, ten, fifteen, even twenty years from now, I might be in a position that looks drastically different from what I'm doing and where I'm working now. I'm entirely ok with that. Remember how I mentioned that I was relentlessly curious? Well, in a nut shell it means that I'm reading about the history of different mathematical concepts, while learning HTML, while chatting with... a genius? a friend? a matching puzzle piece? (not sure which symbol really captures it... let's just call them a platypus) about the effects of gentrification, while dancing in my underwear to music in French, while flexing my event planning skills, while reflecting on upward management within a nonprofit environment. I'm people driven and care more about leveraging my unique set of skills and resources to help others, whether they're a teammate, a friend, a family member, or that stranger I have yet to meet. 

So, who do I want to be? I want to be someone who is mindful of the amount of space they take up in this world. I want to create ripples of love, joy, and happiness throughout the universe. I want to never lose sight of the beauty that is life, to continue to feel mudita, to never forget how important it is to tell others that you appreciate them. I want to love, to be loveable, and to be loved. I want to be that beam of support that holds up the family house, while being brave enough to ask for reinforcement when I need someone, something to lean on. I want to have the strength and resilience of my immigrant father, the kindness of my grandfather, and the too school for cool vibe of my best friend. I want to take risks, to be courageous, to runs towards the roar. I want to be sunshine and a drifting light that makes the darkness a little bit easier to navigate. 

So now it's my turn to ask you. Who do you want to be?

Glasses

Another year has come and gone, and I have the battle scars to prove it. In my wildest dreams, (most of which revolve around lions chasing me in the savannah, my teeth falling out, and people failing their interviews), I could have never predicted the whirlwind that would be 2014. Too often I felt as if I could only observe from afar, as my mind could not and refused to comprehend what has been my reality. There are few things stranger and more uncomfortable than spending days floating above your life, picking everything apart with a fine tooth comb to deduce what led you to your highest highs and your lowest lows. But with time and distance, all things become memories and stories shared around a fireplace. They become chuckles, tears, and lessons learned, ultimately strengthening your heart and your mind in ways you could have never imagined.

Happiness and loneliness are choices you make, they are not states of being bestowed upon you like birthright crowns. 

I don't believe in the "your glass is either half full or half empty, pick a side and stick to it" bullshit. As a general practice, I find dichotomies to be tall tales told by those wishing to grossly oversimplify life. Could you imagine looking at an old photograph or a memory, striking out the gray parts to only focus on the black and white bits? Didn't think so. Your glass is is a result of all the times you filled it to the rim and all the times you depleted its contents. Everything in my past has led up to this moment here with you, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Why not choose to embrace it? Why not revel in each and every moment for what it is and not what it should be, or what you want it to be?

We are bound to hurt and to be hurt, yet you should grant others the opportunity to gain your trust.

Coming home to news describing why the person you had shared some of the most intimate parts of your self with is now rocking an orange jumpsuit is horrifying (for all the reasons you just assumed and because orange looks good on very few people). Later learning that there were friends, using this term loosely for now bear with me, living right next door (literally) who knew for months on end the progression of events that led up to it is even worse. It's a revelation that forces you to hit pause and reevaluate all of the relationships in your life. It starts with you wanting to throw everything away and move to a sloth sanctuary. It progresses towards an attitude that maybe you deserved it. It evolves into an opinion that it's okay to be reserved, but that it takes as much if not more strength to be vulnerable than it does to hide beneath armor. And it concludes with the theory that consistently the risk of trusting others is worth the reward. And after this particular metamorphosis, you try even harder to not cause others the same pain.

Love your friends and family up close as life permits, but always love them out loud. 

There is absolutely no way to predict what tomorrow will bring, and it is a grave mistake to underestimate the importance of letting the people in your life know how much you love and appreciate them. I learned early on in life that conversations can quickly go from a cancellation of dinner plans to a one sided chat in which you will never again hear a response or their lovely, quiet song. That distance is just a number of miles or kilometers, and doesn't mean that they are any further away from your heart. Consciously, and purposefully, let those you care about know through your actions, and when you build up the courage your words. *Disclaimer* It may make for some "squishy" times, but some of my favorite things are squishy... Ok, maybe not. But you get the point.  

Sending my love to all of those who have claimed a piece of my heart throughout the years. And also wishing for banana pancakes, gluten-free banana pancakes because breakfast. (Listen, if you haven't picked up by now that I'm a bit quirky I'm not really sure what to say...)

xoxo, Thor

I Am...

I recently completed my year of service with City Year. I can easily say that it has been one of the most challenging years of my life, and at times felt like the high school experience I never had nor ever wanted. At times, I felt like I had lost a piece of my "self," and it was an incredibly disheartening feeling. However tomorrow is a new day, filled with new promise and a new chapter of my life.

As Senior Corps Members, my peers and I participated in a mid-year retreat after returning from winter break to recenter and brace ourselves for the final half of our program. At this retreat, we were asked to write a poem based on Tennessee writer Jo Carson's book Stories I Ain't Told Nobody Yet that was tailored to our year so far...

I made a "U" throughout the country,
and added the "CLA" when I came to receive an education.
I am from Paulo Freire, bell hooks, Mignon Moore, Terri Anderson, Jennifer Brand and those who changed my horizons, my perspective, my life.
I am from dialogue cannot exist without humility, and no I won't settle for a heteronormative, patriarchal, discriminatory society.

I am from a school in Rosemead. I am from Arlington Heights.
I am from Temple Intermediate School and Arlington Elementary.
I am from a group of students I fell in love with day after day.
I am from prepositional phrases, "put the Nintendo DS away," and "no you can't play with my phone."
I am from silent protests on the cold, hard concrete and the countdown to the egg drop.
I am from hiding in the savanna from lions, stretching to connect with underwater creatures, and watching life size dinosaur puppets with terror.
I am from Project Bruin, salt art, and writing autobiographies.
I am from my Project WILD monsters both big and small. I am from exploring life with future leaders and Brandon Lee and Diem Le.
I am from late night planning sessions and dim sum weekends.
I am from that history book that made a bridge to physics and WWII.
I am from the creation of a sustainable mobile library.

I am from everywhere and nowhere.
I am from snow tunnels, parched throats, and visiting the happiest place on earth. I am from the cold and the heat and the places in between the couch where the remote would fall while watching strong female leads with my dad and rottweiler. I am from insomnia and late night adventures, escapades, and escapes among lovingly worn pages. I am from wiping the sweat off my brow and fighting my way to victory. I am from card games and pomegranate seeds on a dirty floor by the air conditioning.
I am from hunger and thirst, but I never felt starvation.
I am from a habitat of Bruins, but I come from a nest of Eagles that lost their way. I am from midnight strolls in Paris and broken hearts in Apt 411 on Kelton, a street as dark as some of my thoughts.

I am from Los Angeles Unified School District where blank walls submit requests to be reinvented. I am from Haunting Melody and Sweet Rhapsody and the shade of my teammates.
I am from late nights, early mornings, and "I've made a commitment and I'm strong enough to make it to June."
I am one of many seeking to tear down prison walls.
I am from "it's going down we're yelling timber" and #uptownproblems #I'maddictedtoStarbucks.

I am from the laughter of my grandfather and the love of my grandmother. I am from the optimism of my father and the resilience and persistence of an immigrant.
I am from the beautiful voice of Mayumi and the "Anees I can't believe how far we've come" of my best friend.
I am from the god of thunder and lightning, "it's not easy being green," a cuddly porcupine, and Beijing.
I am from everything and nothing at all. I am Anees Tyaba Hasnain, and don't forget the Syeda beforehand.

It's Been a While

I am embarking on a road trip across the country to begin a new job in the Big Apple. From Syracuse to East Windsor to Grapevine to McKinney to Westwood to New York City, it tickles me how I have made a giant loop throughout the US. Each stopping point has marked a different chapter in my life. New York, where I was born, a result of two star-crossed Orange lovers. New Jersey, where I tumbled across yards and walked with dragons and ants alike. Texas, where I pushed myself to the limit and spent afternoons playing cards while eating pomegranates. Los Angeles, where I found my chosen family and changed my surname to Community Service Commission. And now New York, ______________________________________.

As I close the door on Los Angeles, I'm leaving without being able to say goodbye because I refuse to. My friends and family will be on my mind and in my heart for the rest of my existence. Geographical distance will not stop me from loving you all up close and out loud, but it may stop me from convincing every restaurant we go to that it's your birthday. Boo.

Y para mi ranita? Este poema es para él.

I miss picking avocados and the "eat this not that" debates in the grocery store.

I miss "Te amo de aqui hasta las estrellas" and enchiladita

and the comfortable silence of a long car ride. 

I miss let's go to that one place in Echo Park for tacos

and automatically cheering for the Puerto Rican queen on RuPaul's drag race.

I miss hey how was your day can I pick you(r spirits) up

and the giant stuffed teddy bear that takes up too much space on my bed.

I miss the lowkey trips for coffee and the highkey adventures at the happiest place on earth

(you thought it was Disney, but I thought it was the aviaries at the San Diego zoo).

I miss that time I was scared, I scared you in the middle of the night,

and let's see how cold the snow is.

I miss dancing as bunnies and owls, karaoke, and kbbq.

I miss not another chicken Cesar salad and traveling to the place of its invention.

I miss the smeared lizard on your back and your passion to make a difference and oh yeah did you hear about what Manny did today he licked a prize. 

I miss warming my hands against your skin and the notes from my secret admirer. 

I miss trying to make it through Star Wars and for being a bird Angel is the worst wing woman.

I miss you'll watch Frozen and I'll watch Pacific Rim and all the times we ventured into other worlds together.

I miss you.

Puzzle Pieces

Every year my mother's side of the family gathers at a picturesque lake in upstate New York. My family and I never went consistently, our trips being more sporadic than annual. One year, in particular, I went to Lake George with my arm in a cast. How I injured myself is a story for another time, but you can probably imagine how counterproductive it was to bring a young, energetic, and easily bored kid with a non-waterproof cast to a lake. (Cue canned laughter?) I spent what felt like most of the trip tackling puzzles, of what I don't remember, on a living room table in a stuffy cottage.

The frustration of finding two pieces that could fit together (but didn't quite) and the satisfaction of discovering a pair pushed and pulled me, both motivating me to find perfect matches.

I entered this world with everything scattered into one thousand pieces. Slowly but surely I find matches, pairs I would like to make fit, and pieces that will never belong to each other.

Over the course of time, I have begun to put the pieces together. I have felt what it's like to so wholeheartedly believe in and love the organization you are working for. I have felt what it's like to love and be loved. Even if these pieces were simply part of the deep blue background in an ocean scene, they centered me. They all at once reassured me and clued me in to the bigger picture. They give me hope that there's a point to all of the madness and that I can find my place in the world.

I also know what it feels like when the pieces don't match. When, as much as you try, you just can't make it work. You fool yourself into thinking that while the edges are rough, everything could be smoothed out. Your partner doesn't understand what "us" is worth, but one day, one day it will click for them. You desperately want to be part of a symphony, but you find yourself lost in a different rhythm. You spend your time at work counting down the seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, year until it's over, but you believe in the fundamental cause. You learn which pieces don't match, you're misled by the ones that seem to compliment each other.

I have enjoyed completing my fair share of puzzles throughout life... galloping horses, puppies lolling in a field, a baby deer in the meadows. I'm even working on a very artsy owl right now...

The Bruin Leaves the Nest

Since my freshman year, I have been left behind by those older than me, those farther down the rivers of UCLA and the roads of life. I've gone through three years of what feels like abandonment, with many of them never looking back. They have gone on to graduate school, full time jobs, marriage, and, for some, families. They have traveled the world and seen so many wonders, and they have spent time in their hometowns. Every day I miss them, but I am so proud of all of their successes.

(I don't know when or why Facebook started announcing life events, but I have to say I'm not a big fan. I do not need to be reminded of how quickly my allotted time at UCLA flew by.) I, too, will begin to only look forward and will move on from the place that has been my home for so long now. I, too, will leave those younger than me behind in search of brighter and more beautiful horizons (or at least less smog ridden). And even if I stay here, things will never be the same. I will never be running on my way to class up hills and stairs at 7:46 am (thank god), but I also will never stay up all night giggling with friends in the dorms.

As my time here at UCLA comes to an end, I feel I am on the verge of a metamorphosis.

Arrived as a caterpillar
confined by my cocoon
Left as a butterfly
and I am flying to the moon.

All in all, I feel a profound sense of loss shaken, not stirred, with excitement for what the future entails.

Here's to my graduating class of 2013, and everyone who supported me along the way.
Here's to those who have touched my life in profound ways and have helped me grow.
Here's to being so thankful to have the privilege to attend college.
Here's to utilizing what I've learned and gained to help others.
Here's to Delta Terrace, Project WILD, the LGBT Center, and CSC, and the people who became a part of my family.

And here's to those who I am leaving behind. You are wonderful. You are lovely. You will soon be joining me with your dazzling wings to flutter throughout life. 

Resolutions

I have never given much thought to the spur of the moment resolutions I create at 11:59 pm, December 31. They usually do not amount to much. Last year I "kept it simple" and resolved to run a marathon (I hate running) and to learn how to play the guitar (but I did not want to pay for music classes). During this past summer, however, I made a to do list of sorts that I have been keeping up with. It started with me imaging my ideal sense of self (you can take the woman out of sociology, but you can never take the sociology out of the woman), and then I identified the qualities that Anees possessed that this Anees does not.

After returning to my white board off and on throughout the days, I came up with a pretty lengthy list. When I felt as if everything had been written down, I took a step back and examined who I was and who I wanted to be. What I would like to see in myself are the qualities that I treasure in my friends and family.

I don't have the list with me now, but here are some of the things I have resolved to do (and can remember).

I want to be:
          a dancer
                              kinder
                                                   fearless
                                                                       more trusting

                                                                                           and braver.

Farewell, Neverland

When I was younger, I used to desperately aspire to be Nancy Drew. I idolized her intellect, her seemingly constant traveling, and her endless determination.

Before her there were Mary Kate and Ashley, of course. I would roam around my neighborhood with one of my friends, pretending to solve crimes. This largely consisted of us, or maybe just me, imagining our neighbors were on America's Most Wanted. I have one very distinct memory about these pretend games involving a man mowing his lawn, two bicycles, and giggle fits turning into fear when we had finally convinced ourselves he had buried a body in his own front lawn.

My imagination was not always tied to solving mysteries. Oftentimes I would create elaborate tales about far away lands in which I was a leader (not always a princess). I had an imaginary pet that I took care of and nurtured, and I shared an invisible friend with two of my childhood best friends.

That sense of wonder, imagination, and curiosity in the world seems to be killed when we "grow up." We are expected to learn "truth", discard dreams for facts and figures, and adhere to a sometimes stifling notion of reality.

Perhaps Peter Pan had the right idea when he claimed he never wanted to grow up. Staying in Neverland and flying doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

I am applying for jobs now, and I move further and further away from my Neverland with every submission. Through education I wonder, I imagine, and I remain curious.

Through research, readings, and writing, I fly. I am anxious about graduating and leaving for even a brief period of time, and I know I will yearn for the comfort of a classroom, the anticipation of hearing your professor's opinion of a thesis, the way sociology helps me understand and process the confusing and surreal world around me.

When I am older, I desperately aspire to be _____. I idolize their...
intellect,
     constant traveling,
          endless determination,
               dedication to the community,
                    curiosity in the world around them,
                         and how they never left their Neverland.