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Stuffed Hearts

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February can be a long, dull, gray month. The holidays are over but the sun hasn’t decided to come out yet. There’s mud everywhere and way too many smashed worms on the sidewalk. There’s an explosion of pink hearts around the fourteenth, but if you’re single that doesn’t really help much. All it does is remind us that, yeah, we’re still single. To all you happy couples out there I have only one word of advice: chocolate. But as for the rest of us, we may need a little something more to get us through our February malaise.

I recommend community service. Last night I participated in a Phi Eta Sigma event where we sewed little hearts and made valentines for children in need. They’re intended as comfort objects for children who are ill or who have recently lost a loved one.

When I was first born I was very sick. I had accidentally inhaled my meconium  (feces) in the womb and I had the umbilical cord knotted around my neck. I came out gray. One of the nurses was kind enough to make a little picture of me for my mom. I still have that picture today. It hangs on my wall, surrounded by my karate trophies. Mom has told me many times how happy that image makes her, how it reminds her of the healthy strong woman I’ve become. Before we move this summer, she’s going to get a picture of it to take with her to our new home. Being able to do something similar for a child in need is very rewarding for me.

I’m not the world’s best sewer. The last time I sewed was in elementary school, under the supervision of a crabby old woman named Winky Cherry. I was more interested in getting each project done fast than doing it well (I was in elementary school). I switched to knitting in fourth grade and haven’t looked back since. As a result I had to get well…creative with some of my stitches. But everything held together and in the end I had two little puffball hearts to give to children as comfort objects. Personally, my favorite comfort object is my cat. But stuffed hearts are good to—for one thing there’s a lot less kneading involved.

It felt really good to be able to do something for someone else so I definitely recommend it to all you fellow singles out there. And you know what, I recommend it to all you starry-eyed couples too.

2/4

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Three or four times a day, a plane will fly over the University of Puget Sound. Professors will pause mid-sentence as they teach, waiting for the noise to fade, while students walking below will take out their earphones and search the sky. Sometimes they will see the plane, low over the campus; other times the clouds will hide the jet from sight. But no matter the type of plane or the time of the day, one thing never changes—the silence that follows.

I leave the library, head back to my dorm. It’s overcast, but the sunlight still peeks around the edges of the clouds. I think about what homework I have left to do. No, don’t think of that. I think that I haven’t posted on the blog in a while. Two weeks? That’s a while. I think, What can I write about?

Today the Finnegans Wake reading group recommences—that is, after a break for winter vacation. I remember just as I enter my dorm. It meets in ten minutes. So I say bye to my room and head back out. I’m convinced that Joyce is someone I will never understand. Reading his work is like trying to get to the center of a giant lollipop, lick by lick. And when you get there, you find a giant cricket; you prod it with your tongue to see if there’s something more, and then you vomit. Or else you’re just not getting it. We get through about a page each time we meet.

Then that’s over and I think I can go back to my room. But I remember that I have to meet with a group for a project that cannot wait, and that I’m late. I sigh, or groan, or do both at once, and fast-walk to the library, because what is life if you’re not tracing and retracing your steps? Out of the library, into the library. I take the steps by two and find the room they’ve set up in. I forgot my laptop.

But this isn’t a record of a twenty-year-old’s angst.

 

A plane crashes in Taipei.

 

I’m outside in the drizzle, talking to a friend I haven’t talked to in a while. He’s telling me about the snow on the East Coast, how cold it is right now. A plane flies low overhead; I am deafened to my friend. I raise my voice to speak, but I’m not getting through. I wait it out, try to walk in the opposite direction.

The plane passes and everything is silent. I sigh and tell him I’ll talk to him soon, I have to go now. A lamplight turns on above me. The sun sets behind a mountain; it has just risen in Taipei.

Back at my dorm, a suitemate of mine is eating a lollipop. He sucks it for a while, then bites, cracking it in two. He throws the stem in the garbage can. Want to go to the library tonight? he asks.

Maybe I’m just not getting it.

Where do I Know you?

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This past Wednesday I saw someone I knew while I was going to the library to print out my response paper and we started a conversation. During that conversation, we discovered that neither one of us remembered where we had met each other. We still haven’t figured it out yet.

UPS is a small school so you will run into faces you recognize. You will not necessarily remember, the names, majors, or places attached to those faces. If you’re lucky you might recall some random fact about the person i.e. that they once worked a lousy housekeeping job at a hotel somewhere. Tonight I had the following conversation.

“I know we’ve met but I can’t remember where. Can you tell me?”

“I’m in your memoir class and I’m a friend of Laura’s. We’ve eaten lunch together.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Don’t feel bad though, I didn’t specifically introduce myself. I’m just really good at remembering faces.”

“Do you have any tricks for that?”

“No, I’m just good at it.”

While this is nice for her, it doesn’t do much for the rest of us. My theory is that our minds are so stuffed full of academics that there’s no room for little details like people’s names, or by the end of final’s week, our own names. My thesis, internship, and connections presentation are all fighting each other for space in my brain. Things like other people’s majors don’t stand a chance.

When I forget who someone is I smile and ask where we’ve met before. This usually works pretty well. Most of us here at UPS are friendly. We’re not going to freak out if someone forgets a name. We’ll just watch you blush while we reintroduce ourselves. We may even tell you something new that helps you remember us next time.

So the upshot is; if you forget names you’re not alone. I do it too, more often than I would like. Also, if I forgot your name at some point, I’m sorry. Consider this my blush.

PS: I finally found out where I met the girl in the library. It was at logjam last semester. So there is hope.

How Do They Do It?

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When I was applying to college I was always curious about how much time studying and clubs would take up my daily life and if I would ever get enough free time. Or if it was alot of free time and I could frolic about campus. There’s the suggestion that for every hour you are in class there are 2-3 hours of work that you do outside of class. It’s not true for all of my classes.

Thought you would want a look at what my average week looks like. Though this isn’t standard for every student it gives a clearer picture. As I have mentioned before my planner is my life. So, I have everything in there.

On the left side, I have deadlines and weekly agenda. There is space for random notes and things and my daily checklist for the week.

On the right side, I have my actual schedule/calendar and a space for me to write my daily itinerary. I am only taking three classes this semester so my schedule is light. I color code things. Red is for school things for example.

I need to have that daily itinerary to actually see how much time I have to budget for certain things. It helps keep me in check. When I register for classes, creating example itineraries for each potential class schedule (I know I am crazy), I can tell if I am putting too much on my plate. I have an odd mindset where if there is an available time slot, I will fill it up with something thinking I have time for it and not thinking about the work for whatever activity.

I spend anywhere from thirty minutes to three hours on a class. When I took French it was thirty minutes since I pick up languages really easily. In my reading classes it takes an hour to two hours depending on the reading. And problem sets and computer science homework can take anywhere from two to four hours. NOT EVERYDAY OF COURSE. I pick my classes so I can TRY to have an A/B schedule.

Hope this makes the college schedule alot less vague! 

Night Showers

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The first floor in Thompson, the University’s Mathematics and Sciences building that forms one-half of the frame of a quadrangle with Harned Hall, is one of my favorite study locations, if only for the conference rooms that it offers. These conference rooms contain tables that, mimicking the macrostructure of the building, are arranged in outline of a rectangle, framing a vacant internal space. But that’s not important.

One night as we were studying, it began to rain. This was not out of the norm, being the Pacific Northwest. But it came down heavily, testing the glass windows, which was enough to grab our attention. I walked over to the windows and pulled the blinds. The ground of the quadrangle glistened with the spatter of the drops under the moon. Across from us, I could see other students gazing at the rain.

I took a chair facing the window and leaned back. Water streamed down Oppenheimer Café’s crag-like glass sides. The quadrangle itself glowed, though unlike anything I’d ever seen before; I couldn’t pinpoint it.

I asked my friends if I could turn off the lights.

I wasn’t wrong. The quadrangle was glowing, but not with the light given off by the buildings or by the light of the hidden moon. Not exactly. Rather, it glowed with light refracted through tiny globules of water. As light passed through the rain that had accumulated on the window-glass into the dark room in which we sat, the shadows of the room gave way to shifting spots of diluted light. Like sitting in a snow globe or in the middle of an aquarium. And I imagined it was snowing or that I was a fish.

A crow landed outside the window to escape the rain beneath an outcropping. It examined the dark room and the spotted glass that lined it. Looking closely at the droplets, it saw three figures in the room. Seeing that they were upside-down, it flew away.

A Bit More Light

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Some time ago, my friends and I bought a light-up Frisbee, which we played with in the dark at a park in Auburn. After that day, however, the Frisbee saw no activity, quietly taking up space on the floor of a friend’s room. Until one day, seeking a study break, my friend and I decided that we should enjoy the sunshine, and with sweatpants and jackets—for though it was sunny, it was cold—we exited Trimble Hall and sought a large, vacant place to waste time with a Frisbee.

We ended up in the Field House parking lot, which was relatively empty. I ran down the gravel, at first, outrunning, but then, running after, the saucer that arced above my head.

It fell about twenty-feet in front of me.

No worries, my friend said, as I picked up the glowing disc.

I flicked it back to him.

As we tossed the Frisbee back and forth, a little Chihuahua came into view and began to walk down the length of the parking lot. We watched it reach the side of the street, then turn and continue down the sidewalk. I thought it might have been lost.

I’m just glad it didn’t walk into traffic, my friend said.

We continued tossing the Frisbee, every so often, trying a more difficult maneuver, such as curving the flight of the disc or, unsuccessfully, throwing it with a forward-flick. Each time we did so, the Frisbee slipped through our hands or flopped onto the ground. Disheartened, however, we would not be deterred. Each failure became a lesson, until finally:

I reared my hand and flicked forward with my wrist, launching the Frisbee from my hand,

It flew low with a slight arc and halfway to my friend began to wobble,

My friend ran forward and with arms outstretched and hands open,

His fingers closed around the spinning Frisbee.

It was a bigger deal than it seems. We celebrated, affirmed that our efforts had paid off. Though it was only a minor victory, we knew it reflected a lesson true of college and of life. Tired, we started to walk back. Before we crossed the street, in the hush of a passing car, I heard a faint barking. I like to think that that dog made it home.

A Few Things about the Puge I am Excited to Show My Best Friend

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My best friend from high school is arriving for a visit tomorrow. Here are just a few of the many many things I can’t wait to show her!

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1) The sunset behind Wyatt Hall, shining through the Chihuly glass sculptures.
2) Foggy morning walks across the South Quad
3) Rain against Oppenheimer’s glass walls
4) My colorful dorm room
5) The colorful dorm rooms of all of my friends
6) My friend Aidan’s fantastic audio set up, and the cool lights he was wired to it
7) Coffee in Diversions
8) The trees. So many trees.
9) Sitting in the bright upstairs room of Wheelock, in one of the little alcoves on the side, where three people fit like a puzzle
10) The cellar on Saturday night, when it’s full and the music is loud.
11) Playing music in the Piano Lounge
12) Norton Clapp Theater
13) Point Defiance Park
14) My classes, where discussions are deeper and more intense than I could have ever imagined possible in high school
15) My club meetings, where students are passionate and engaged about their acvitives, and really want to be there
16) Mt. Rainier if we’re lucky!
17) The way a group of people I didn’t know six months ago now know me and love me and make me laugh so hard it hurts—almost every day.

This is just a sample of the magic of the Puge. Hannah—I am beyond excited to share what life at UPS means. AKA—I love you a billion times over , get on the train so we can have a fabulous time together. See you tomorrow with a big sign and a big smile, my dear!

TGIF

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The transition back to UPS after the break can be a bit jarring, in the sense that flying in the Alps can be a bit bumpy. Over break my main responsibilities were drinking chai tea and reading chick lit, half the time I didn’t even have to get the tea myself. I was sick so my family got it for me. Now I’m back at school, I’m getting my own tea again (though admittedly it’s not that hard to take out a tea bag and fill it with hot water from the SUB). I’m also reading books with sentences like: “America is neither dream nor reality. It is a hyperreality. It is a hyperreality because it is a utopia which has behaved as though it were already achieved.” When I was on break all anyone asked me to deal with was reality, now I have to figure out hyperreality too. The whole thing seems very surreal.

But there are good points to coming back to UPS. The cherry trees are blooming and the SUB is serving Pork Hum Bao. We’re exercising our minds again, by force if necessary. I enjoy learning things and UPS is where I do that. Last semester I learned some Marx, some post-modern literary philosophy, and how to get nail polish stains off a carpet. This year I’m looking forward to learning what Henry Louis Gates wrote in his memoir and how to scuba dive. It involves oxygen and a wetsuit, and that’s pretty much all I know about it.

That being said, it’s a good idea to take some time for yourself. You can watch a movie, take a walk with a friend, or even make plans to become an international fugitive to avoid student loan payments. Take a deep breath and thank God it’s Friday.

I Remember

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I had forgotten what it was like here. Being home for a month had left me distracted by the dog and my best friend and my parents and my little brother’s infectious laugh and my older brother’s eyes twinkling across the dinner table. I had fallen back in love with the Bay Area, and the entire beautiful idea of home.
So I forgot what it was like here.

When I got onto my plane at OAK on Monday, I was tired, and I already missed my mom. My phone was low on battery, and the book I was reading was at a slow, depressing spot. In short, I wasn’t in a great mood. I wasn’t sure I was ready for a second semester. I wasn’t sure I was ready for independence again.

But then.

Then the shuttle pulled up in front of Wheelock, and there, waiting on the sidewalk with grins about to split their faces open, were two of my closest friends here. People who love me. People who laugh with me. People who make me whole. Continue reading →