Fasting

     This is seriously weird. Since I basically just decided to fast for Yom Kippur yesterday, I'm not exactly prepared for the whole fasting thing. I had lo mein and two glasses of water for dinner last night, so basically no proteins or carbs were chilling in my stomach, waiting for today. I'm empty-tummied.

     But surprisingly, it's not bad. I'm not ravenous. It feels a little uncomfortable, like I keep saying to myself, "Huh, you know, I feel kinda off. I better have some lunch." But my family's being pretty considerate and not eating foods that have glorious wafting smells. And it's pretty nice to be reflective today.

     I feel very isolated in terms of religion. When I was younger until a few years ago, I used to be very proud of the fact that I was "half Jewish." And I was, I was proud to have Jewish roots and to be one of few kids in school to be celebrating Passover in the spring instead of Easter. But then I got new and argumentative friends ^^" and with that came the realization that one cannot be half a religion! It makes no sense! You believe in one religion, not two. That was when I felt stupid and stopped saying I was Jewish, lest people figure out that I was honestly just a non-religious kid who liked being different.

     Then a few things happened. I read Life of Pi. My high school merged with our neighboring town, in which probably 1 of 5 kids had a last name ending with -berg, -stein, or -witz. And I stood up to my argumentative friends!

      It's true that I'm not religious at all. I don't believe in a higher power. When I light candles on the menorah or drink grape juice at Passover (too young and innocent for wine), I don't do it solemnly or religiously at all. But I kinda feel a kinship to other Jews. My ancestors are Jewish, and half of my family too, and although I don't really practice religion, I think it's safe to call myself a Jew. Not in the religious sense, but Jews are a group. They're like an ethnic group. They stick together. And I like being a part of that.

     So I think it's my responsibility to at least know what I'm celebrating when it's Chanukkah or when I'm going to a Seder, or whatever, whenever. I owe it to my ancestors to fast on the beginning of the new year, even if I'm not doing it for God. I'm doing it because, heck, I can! And to me, that's just the way I want it to be.

     So shana tova, everyone! (And T minus 3 and a half hours until I can have pizza!)

The worst possible thing

http://www.risingsun.org/polBlogs.cfm?doctype_code=TENTHILL&doc_id=16139

I'm trying to stay positive. It could be worse. What if camp were ending in 10 years? What if this were camp's last year? But right now, it feels like the worst possible thing, and I feel so selfish because all I'm concerned about is that now I won't have fun being a second year. F*CK THIS. FOUR WEEKS IS NOT ENOUGH. AND THEY HAVE TO F*CKING SELL RED HOOK. So much for how how 1935.

A quality quote.

He aprendido que un hombre sólo tiene derecho a mirar a otro hacia abajo cuando ha de ayudarle a levantarse.

—Gabriel García Márquez

I only learn what's interesting

     I hate my classes. I'm so disappointed by my school. Spanish class, I was so excited for it—it's nothing.

     I feel nothing when I'm going to school. I know my grades are slipping, but there are so many better things to do. I wish I could make my own school, one where all I did was learn languages and learn, in general. Is that so hard?

     COÑO

Hiking thoughts

     This weekend has been pretty great so far. I had a good day Friday, and Friday night I went to our school's football game (our school is notoriously bad at football, but people go to these games religiously for some inexplicable reason). It was great! I bonded with people simply by watching this really, really drunk guy run around doing somersaults. He did a perfect cartwheel, too. He probably  couldn't even do a cartwheel sober, but I think he was so hammered that it probably reversed his gymnast abilities.
     And today I went hiking with my dad and got new boots! I really love hiking. I forget that I do when I don't do it for a while, and since the last time was THE HIKE at camp, it's been a while. But seriously, I love it so much. I'd hike every day if I could. There's just something about it. The way you get into a trance—I guess that's it. For overthinkers like me, it's so refreshing because you don't even have a choice, you just cannot think. It's just "left foot, right foot, left, right, watch the rock, left, right" and all of your emotions aren't even present. We were out there for hours and I wasn't hungry, I wasn't thirsty, I wasn't tired. I just wanted more. I wanted to go for miles. I love it. And especially backpacking, I feel so self-sufficient, knowing I have everything that I'll need right on my back. Camping and hiking. Nothing but the essentials. A rain jacket, some boots, a water bottle, and a few granola bars. That's the life.
    And the quality bonding time with my dad! ^_(\ I really love those times when I realize that my parents are actual people. I realized that a lot when I came back from camp, and I've been trying not to forget it. But I really admire both of my parents, a lot. Today I just felt inspired by my dad. He's so passionate about running. He was in the army for almost 6 years. He's been to Korea and can speak the language relatively well (and I let Soo be the judge of that). He's just so self-motivating. I love self-motivators. I look up to them so much, and I try to be one when I can.
     But once I can travel and do stuff, I'll be the biggest self-motivator out there. That's a promise.

High school

Wake up, go for a run at 5.50. 
Come back, shower.
Eat oatmeal, leave for school at 7.30.
Finally get that note to the nurse because I was sick on the third day of school. (Read: it's not happening.)
Act like I have somewhere really important to go until class starts.
Go through my classes.
Eat lunch with friends, talk about friend stuff.
Go through more classes.
Talk to you-know-who after school until he has to go.
Go home.
Do homework.
Text friends.
Do more homework.
Watch part of a Shahid Kapoor movie, end it early out of guilt of not doing homework.
Do more homework.
Make lunch.
Do stretches.
Sleep.
Repeat.

Follow-up to last night

     OK, well, I didn't even know I had all that stuff in my head until last night, lol. I guess it all just wanted to come out.

     But honestly, it's not that I'm angry. That's really not it. It's just that I'm sad, that I feel like I only have two options—be crazy and have no one to be close friends with, or be withdrawn and have no one to be close friends with. I know those aren't my final options, but I don't know how else to do things. I just do not know what to do.

My blood, sweat, and tears post

     Aaaaaa. I have such anxiiiiiety. (As always.) I was just reading back in my blog, and I was so fresh and witty when I was younger, jeez. Now when I start to write a blog post or even a journal entry in a notebook, I overanalyze everything I'm writing and... I feel like I have no personality anymore. Honestly, I do. When I was at camp, I felt GREAT—I felt like myself. Anyone from camp can understand that completely. And now, it's not to say that I feel like I'm nothing inside, because that's not right. I feel AMAAAAAZING in my heart, because I'm so passionate about so many things now. In my room, at night, in the morning or at any time in between, I'm singing, I'm dancing, I'm speaking to myself in Spanish or in the dopiest Indian accent, I'm researching the shit out of Gaza and Amnesty International and the Hebrew alphabet and cooking recipes and stuff to do if I'm ever in New Mexico (to visit Maika, of course) or Hong Kong or Buenos Aires (MI CIUDAD DE UN OTRO PAIIIIIIIIS). My hair is insane(ly great?), it falls right above my shoulders and it's super curly. And I'm wearing clothes from girls from all over the world, from practically every continent.
     But here, on the outside, no one sees it. I don't even see it. When I look at myself from the inside, I see an awesome passionate girl who's loving life. But from the outside, I see me, just me, sad. Trying too hard to be happy when I'm not, comfortable when I'm not, social when I'm not. Faking it till I make it is great if I'm at camp; actually, it's not even great, it's just EASY AS PIE. I want to be confident? I want to be pretty? I want to come across as just a little older than I am? BAM. Done. Because at camp, girls weren't going around waiting for other girls to crack. It wasn't a competition. There was no girl hate, at all. And why should there be? Girls are ALL GIRLS. We all have something in common. Why should we pit ourselves against one another when we're all so fundamentally alike? It makes absolutely no sense.
     And it lowers your self-esteem so goddamn badly if this girl-on-girl competition stuff is going on from an internal place. Especially if you only just decided that you're hot stuff less than a month ago because 80 of the most caring people were all telling you so. You come back from camp like, "Hey guys, so I'm not skinny but I have shape, and that's cool, do I have to wear pants or shoes today or can I just wear boxers and bare feet, because that's cool, and does anyone want to know this quality dance that I learned from my friends at camp? It's Portuguese and you'd be so hep if you did it at one of those European teen clubs" and people smile, and laugh, and text you "haha," and those are the nice ones.
     Or they'll ask you questions: "Why are you wearing that necklace? Is that even a necklace? It looks possessed, like I'm not even kidding. Taylor, what the f*ck are you wearing now? Taylor, I swear to god, I thought you'd be over India by now, so what are you wearing?" You know what? Get your goddamn country right. That's a Korean necklace, and it's from a girl who became my sister in 7 weeks' time.
     I wish more people cared about the stuff that I cared about. Or, you know what, I really just wish that they respected that I care so much about certain things. And didn't call it a goddamn fetish. You know who you are. It really does hurt, actually. It's not like I'm joking. It's not like I just told a corny joke and you told me to get a life, or to leave. You told me to get a life when I was trying (and laughing, because I know I'm probably as graceful as a tank) to do bharatanatyam because it's something I think is fun and beautiful and comes from India, which is a country that I love and respect so much, and you told me, no, you didn't want to see my little f*cking Indian dance.
     Which is basically code for "No, I don't want to see your stupid dance, and if that's the kind of thing you like to do, I'll just do you a favor and let you know to your face that I don't even find it amusing that you think you're being cool. I wholeheartedly do not support you in your interests at all. Be normal for a change."
     It's not a joke. I'm not the jester of our friend group. I'm not doing it to make you laugh. For gods sake, I'm not even doing it "on purpose." Do you like playing soccer on purpose? Do you like eating pizza on purpose?
     It's me. It's just me. You can just consider India and accents and dancing part of my personality. Or just me. If you don't like India, you don't like me. If you don't like me, I guess I understand why you're doing this.
     Jeez. All of a sudden everything makes so much sense. In a really sad, terrible way, too.

Back to School

     Today was school orientation. Really depressing, honestly. But... I guess it's a plus that I'm moving up. And anyway, now I have something to look forward to: summer. I used to hate summers, but hey, camp! There's so much stuff I could possibly do to occupy myself now. It's great.
     After orientation I was in a really nasty mood, so I called my friend and we walked all over town. It felt really freeing, I don't know why. On the last morning of camp I talked with a counselor, my favorite one, about being bored. She said she never got bored when she was my age, but she grew up somewhere really cool. I live in such a goddamn boring place! There is NOTHING to do here. The most I can do is wait until I can drive places, or figure out how to use public transportation. Probably not happening. So I'm stuck here. But it feels great to just walk and talk. It's the best I can do right now, so I'm not complaining.
     Also, camp guys, check out Daphnie's YouTube channel because she has a lot of great covers, especially the Hebrew ones <3

Bailando

    My dance playlist! Most of these I learned in the art cabin at camp.
-Bailando (claro que sí): ESPAÑOL
-Ice Shipping Bagel/Ai Se Eu Te Pego: PORTUGUÊS
-Opa Opa (Ώπα ώπα): ΕΛΛΗΝΙΚΆ
-Chalifot: don't know how to say HEBREW in HEBREW
-Danza Kuduro: ESPAÑOL
-Marry Her Anyway: ENGLISH Y'ALL
-Balada Ao Vivo: PORTUGUÊS
-Vivir Mi Vida: ESPAÑOL
-Deewangi Deewangi: HINDI

A.C. (after camp)

     Ever since I got back from camp, everything is so. boring. by comparison. It's terrible.
     But really, it's OK. I've decided that I'm bored just because it's still summer and I don't really have too much to do right now. I'm going to my new school's orientation tomorrow, so pretty soon I'll be busy doing whatever I gotta do, and then I'll feel happier.
     I'm SUPER into international music now. And I think my India thing is finally over, but I have new places now! YEAH. Thanks to my sisters, my new points of interest are
Greece
Argentina
Brazil
Costa Rica (I don't even know why...)
Italy
Turkey
Portuguese
Greek
Spanish
Hebrew
cooking
dancing (haha, I know)
singing
taking risks
having fun
talking
teaching
giving Greek hugs to people
     It's great! I can't wait until school starts.
     Actually, I can, but it's OK ^^"

My favorite Indian songs.

Khudaya Khair—from this movie called Billu
Sheila Ki Jawani—from Tees Maar Khan
Chammak Challo
Lucky Boy
Laila Main Laila
Munni Badnaam
Teri Ore
Bolo Tara Ra Ra—Daler Mehndi
Tunak Tunak Tun— " "
Yeh Dosti
Kal Ho Naa Ho
Mauja Hi Mauja—from THE BEST MOVIE EVER, Jab We Met
Pretty Woman—from Kal Ho Naa Ho
More Sawariya
Phir Milenge Chalte Chalte
Marjaani
Nagada Nagada—also from Jab We Met
Jaane Kyun

My contemplative rainy-day playlist.

With some 80s pop thrown in. Sorry, I can't help it.

Father of Mine—Everclear

Santeria—Sublime

The Promise—When in Rome

Down Under—Men at Work

All Apologies—Nirvana

By the Way—Red Hot Chili Peppers

If You Could Only See—Tonic

Salvation—The Cranberries

Scar Tissue—RHCP

Landslide—Smashing Pumpkins

And No Quarter by Led Zeppelin. A great alone-at-night song.

Reflections.

     There's a lot of dress-shopping and clothes-shopping and everything-shopping since it's the end of the year, for dances and graduations and parties and whatnot. And so many permission slips. I love it. I love skipping class so much now. I've turned into this slacker who doesn't try during class or anything. I don't do homework so much. It's just not important anymore. I know next year's schedule already, so what's the big deal? No one cares what grades you get the third trimester. School's over. No one cares. I know I don't care.

     I also realize I've gotten a little manipulative. I don't like that. I've never been like that, and I don't want to start now. I'm hoping camp will revamp my mean and/or self-centered side and I can start school new and fresh.

What I packed for D.C.

This is my favorite picture.

I promise the two of us will do this someday. I promise.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

     My friend recommended that I read The Perks of Being a Wallflower the other day, and she's been gushing about it so much that I was kinda intrigued. I heard it was good, and short. And I figured I wouldn't have to think too much while I was reading it. I really like books like that. I've come to appreciate them now, now that so many books that I read are "deep" and I have to find meaning and symbolism in every damn sentence.
     So I started it last night. Finished it at about midnight. I was a little underwhelmed by it, but there were so many little beautiful parts that it turned out to be all right. I liked Charlie, a lot. I have this theory that anyone named Charlie is automatically a good person. My brother's name is Charlie, and he's the sweetest kid. I know two Charlies at school and they're both really nice. Charlie's just an agreeable name.
     Anyway, I didn't like how he was always smoking and tripping unnecessarily. I felt like that was out of character. But he was all right. I did not like Sam; I thought she evidently hadn't escaped her past (meaning her reputation as a sophomore). I liked the gifts Charlie got everyone, even when no one gave him anything in return, and his sweet little mixtapes, and the suicide note-turned-poem that Charlie read aloud. I really liked Charlie's teacher Bill, and I'm making a list of all the books he told Charlie to read for my own devices. Here it is.

To Kill a Mockingbird
Peter Pan
The Great Gatsby
The Catcher in the Rye
The Fountainhead
This Side of Paradise
On the Road
Naked Lunch
The Stranger

     Incidentally, I'm reading On the Road right now. It's a little slow to start, but I'm definitely going to give it some time because I loved The Dharma Bums, and I've heard On the Road was the original Beat book and all. But the thing is, I loved Dharma Bums more or less only because of the places Ray went, and how he lived, and what he ate, and how he dressed and all. He was just so thoughtful about all that stuff. I really appreciated it. But I found Kerouac's wording to be a little pretentious. I find that with a lot of writers, which is sad. But I can't help it. So many people are projectors. Even me, I guess.
     You know, that really is sad.

People on trains.

Ever since I watched Gandhi I've been interested in trains. I'll see if I can get some nice pictures of people riding in trains in cool places. Not just India.

Champaran to Manhattan

Last post today. I've been reading a lot of Rookie articles about people who live in the city, as well as planning the apartment with K., so I'm in the spirit of the city. Location change: Champaran to Manhattan.

Dreams.

     Also I had this really alarming dream last night in which someone very dear to me told me they lied to me about something very important. Then I woke up and dreaded coming to school, but it was 3.19 in the morning and I didn't realize it was just a dream until about 7.15 when I got up for real.
     But it was one of those dreams that told me something about myself, and that was the interesting part, because it expressly told me through a person that I was "unnatural about love," something like that, and that's why I don't like doing some things that are supposed to be nice in a relationship. I don't know what my audience is like, so I won't go into detail. But it was interesting. Especially when I realized it was true. And also why I don't make eye contact a lot with him. I don't know why, it's just that I don't want to. It's uncomfortable. Same with kissing. It's just something to get done. I don't like doing it. Honestly, it's a little gross. I wish I felt the same way he did. Why does everything like it? What do they feel? I feel nothing.
     Either way, I've come to respect my dreams one way or another. I do think they're pretty reflective of what's going on in life, so I'm going to pay more attention to them and analyze the more realistic ones. Just another interesting thing to do. I might even keep a dream journal...? I tried to do that when I was younger, but I can't write when I'm half-asleep and I don't want to lose any sleep if it's a school morning/night.
     Also, Dreams is a good song.

In defense of unwinding.

     I feel a little sad because this past Saturday and Sunday, I learned how to master a weekend. I honestly think I was happy the entire time. No boredom. Hardly any 2048. No sadness. No FOMO even. Yeah, that's come back.
     I digress. I can't relax. Too many group projects and I can't relax. All I want to do is read and run and talk to K and listen to music. I have so many things I can do. I want to take a long shower. I want to do planks on the floor. I want to type lists of food I'll have in the apartment. I want to start playing tennis again this season. I want to get the same feeling of my 800m last track meet. I want to style my books. I want to read Rookie articles. I want to blog the whole damn day. I want to write to Mia and Tess and Siena. I want my allergies to be bad on a hot late afternoon just so I have an excuse to turn all my lights off in my room and lie in my chair with a cold washcloth over my inflamed eyes and listen to my 80s Pop and Smashing Pumpkins radios on Pandora. I've gotten very attached to Sugar Ray and Simple Minds.
     Is it so hard? As we get older, we get bored. Why did we have nap time in kindergarten? No one ever napped; I remember spending that time lying on my towel and learning how to make animal noises from Brett. My brother actually gets in trouble for not wanting to lie down and close his eyes. But as 5- and 6-year-olds, our minds are too active. We're sort of ADD. We can't just stop everything. Everything's too exciting. But now! Now if we had nap time, everyone would love it to death. It'd be the best if we had nap time. Or if we could have less work. Or just start school later. My point is that we need more time to recharge. We're swamped with work, and we come home to homework, and we don't have any constructive free time. And school's too structured. I read an article on Rookie when I was supposed to be working on my Iwo Jima works cited—WHICH I COULD DO IN FIVE MINUTES ANYWAY—about this guy who went to this high school that gave credits for going to museums. Museums, dammit. I'd go to a museum. I'd love the hell out of a museum if I had one around. I guess I just wish I could drive. I'll never get bored then.
     Above all, I realized I hate working in groups. I'm a procrastinator, but it honestly works in my favor. I go at my own speed and produce my best work the few days before something's due. I can't stand people pressuring me to do this and that. I don't know why; I just can't. And I hate presenting with other people. I wish we could have relax days. I wish I didn't stay home the other day from allergies; now I'm all enticed by the idea of keeping my brain home from school. I wish I lived in a city; I'd have so much fun stuff to do. I don't need friends. I'm not sure I have too many anymore. But I guess I'm more of a lone wolf for now anyway.

Ragusa

I'm sitting on the front steps reading The dharma bums. My hair is curly. I ran a few miles at track. I can hold the lotus position for a few seconds and balance only on my arms. I can do side planks, left and right. For lunch I had avocado and lemon juice on toast. Great stretch on Boston Radio on pandora. Now I'm listening to 80s Pop Radio. Hall and Oates, and I Ran So Far Away. Later Papi and I are planting herbs in the cutting garden. Even later Maman is taking me to see an Indian film called The Lunchbox.

Last night I sat on the steps of some park in Ridgewood, in the lotus position, by myself, distractedly texting but enjoying being on a corner. I felt like everything was a triangle and I was the pinnacle and everything was pointing to me. Then I had to go and I watched Wadjda at home and didn't eat dessert.

I don't wanna be tied down.

     Sigh. I'm too immature for a lasting relationship. It's a long story and no one really wants to hear about this stuff anyway, but... I guess he's attracted to my goddamned mood swings or something. But I'm done with commitment. I feel too young anyways. I'm just not ready for that yet. I like liking people, just liking them. Any further than that, and I get uncomfortable. Or I lie. Not healthy.

     On a happy note, I just made Toll House cookie pie. And I'm re-reading Gone With the Wind. Because of something—someone, someone no one would ever suspect that I think about—that I was thinking about over break. I'm going to keep this inside. No one can know. Especially not him.

      And I bought more avocado, and tonight I'm watching My Girl with some friends. And I don't have t.b.! ^_(\ I had to get a test for camp. The doctor said it was stupid as hell to, but whatever. Now I know, hey?

My two favorite things don't work.

     Meaning India and Cary Grant. Okay, I honestly prefer James Stewart to Cary in terms of looking good in movies, but... No, you know what, I can't make that kind of decision. It would be barbaric to do so. I can love them both.
     And Ravi Teja is still hotter than the two of them combined.
     I watched Gunga Din when we got home from the grandparents' house. Most racially offensive movie I've ever seen, my god. I was going to text K when I saw the back cover because the synopsis included the fact that the main issue was that some Indian guys were part of this bloodthirsty cult that worshipped the Hindu goddess Kali (who had some intense fascination with killing people), and he was the one who taught me about Kali in the first place, but I'm glad I didn't because I would be embarrassed if he ever looked up the movie. It was that disgusting.
     The entire movie basically consisted of Cary and some other British guys with those nasty late-nineteenth-century mustaches, constantly beating up like ten riled-up "Indians" at a time, never mind the fact that the latter were wielding guns and riding temperamental elephants. It was so stupid and clearly the Indian guys were going to lose, but I got so sick of Cary strangling and roundhouse-kicking five men per second that I wished he would just fall in a hole or blow up or get trampled or something.
     The Brits did this while simultaneously throwing around sticks of dynamite and riding horses and coming up with witty comments as bony little guys in turbans and beards ran around with bayonets—all right, the other two guys were stiffs. The witty commentary was just Cary. That guy is just too perfect for words. He's definitely in the top five on my Attractive White Guys list.
      I digress. I cynically type "Indians" because none of those sonuvabitches were even Indian, and that is just wrong. For god's sake, the title character, Gunga Din, was played by an elderly Jew! They must have blackfaced themselves or something. It was gross. When I wasn't trying to gore my eyes out using my barrettes (the only relatively sharp things I ever have on hand) because of how terrible the movie was, I kept thinking, "Jesu', and to think I watched Gandhi last night. Puts this goddamn production to shame. Dressing fat, middle-aged white men in turbans and loincloths does not make an instant India. To shame, I tell you.

Hey shona.

     Yesterday was such a great day. Today was actually almost as good. The rude awakening is that I always have the best day of a vacation right before I have to go back to school. The same applies to camp, or a school year, or anything else. I wish I could find some kind of balance. But no, and I'm sure there's a term for this—the grass is always greener?—but I can never be happy with what I have. When I have free time, I'm bored and wish I were at school. When I have a structured schedule, I get tired and stressed and wish I had some free time. It's a pretty vicious cycle. I wish I could cut it out. But I can't.
      See, this is why I could never be a Buddhist. I get too stressed out about things. And I over-think everything. In the words of Mr. Monk, "it's a gift... and a curse."
      Some gift.
     Anyway, today was Easter and all, and my hair was very curly and I was happy, even though I didn't get to ride my bike at all. We went to the grandparents' house and had a pleasantly action-packed egg hunt, pleasant because none of the cousins had tantrums. It was great.
     About half of the time I hung out with the adults and gossiped about my grandpa's brother's family and listened to plenty of venting about the NYC fifth-graders-have-to-goddamned-APPLY-to-MIDDLE-school experience that the twins are going to be going through in a year or so.
     About a third of the time I hung out with the kids and sang Panjabi MC at them and practiced my Hindi and annoyed the hell out of them until they chased me down and tickled me and threw, or attempted to throw, those plastic red and yellow balls you find in those IKEA ball pits.
     The rest of the time (see how I so craftily hide the fact that I can't do math) I just lay on the short brick wall of the driveway, barefoot, listening to Enya or Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head or my new Hindi podcast.
     Pretty sure the neighbors thought I was completely bizarre. I kept having these conversations with myself, just over and over again, "Hello, what is your name—hello, my name is Megha, and what is your name—my name is Asha—Asha, your name is nice—thank you!" But in Hindi.
     I just love all the words for 'thank you' in other languages. Especially Asian languages. And I can't get enough of comparing words in languages that are really similar. Example: I know probably two words in Arabic, one of them being 'thank you'—'shokran.' In Hindi, 'thank you' is 'shukriya.' I love being a word detective!
     God, I am such a geek. A word geek and an Indian geek. Well, hey, at least I find simple excitement in my life. And if when I go to India, at least I won't sound like a complete gringo.

San Francisco to Champaran

Another location change.

San Francisco, CA, USA.
Champaran, Bihar, India. This place was predominantly the setting of Gandhi. I researched the hell out of this place.

Movies I've watched over break.

-Gandhi—I watched it tonight; blew me away. One of my favorite movies in a while, and I've seen plenty of good ones. Long live Gandhiji, all I'm saying.
-Steel Magnolias—watched it a few nights ago. I cried a few times. And the way Sally Field has those outbursts where she goes from sad, to mad, to scared, to sad, to cracking up... She's probably my favorite female actor.
-Funny Face—watched it tonight as well. Not impressed with Audrey Hepburn's acting or dancing, ever. Not impressed with the movie as a whole, but that dancing scene in the bar was priceless.
-Some Like it Hot—I forget when I watched this, but it was great. Joe E. Brown or whatever his name was, with the mouth? So good. Nobody's perfect.
-On the Waterfront—only caught the last third of it, but it was so powerful really. Marlon Brando, the original 3D actor, in On the Waterfront, the original mafia movie. 
-Suspicion—a Hitchcock, with Cary Grant. Other than that, unmemorable. Plus it was a young Cary Grant. Ew. He's too blocky when he's young. Cary's like cheese, improving with age.
-Breakfast at Tiffany's—was so unimpressed with everything about this movie except Audrey's outfits that I more or less called it quits about a third of the way through. Maybe next time.
-Ta ra rum pum—Hindi movie; don't remember when I watched it. Good though. The guy was pretty attractive also. ^_^
-Sukitte Iinayo, aka Say "I love you"—okay, not a movie, an anime. But I watched all thirteen goddamned episodes yesterday when I was sick. It was so cute, and it made me want to live in Tokyo all over again, or at least a small city.
      That's all I can remember. I'm positive I've watched more. Sorry to the ones I've forgotten.

My love list.

I've finally gotten happy with break, and it feels pretty good. To maintain my inner happiness or what have you, I'm gonna make a list of things that I love right now.

I love avocado.

I love composition notebooks.

I love the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

I love Ravi Teja.

I love gel pens.

I love writing letters.

I love The Clash.

I love yogic flying.

I love Mary Janes (the shoe, not the nasty old-people candy).

I love Malcolm Gladwell.

I love newly painted toenails.

I love doing stretches.

I love Raj (my chick).

I love cup ramen.

I love Punjabi parents.

I love acting.

I love screenplays.

I love Buddha by Deepak Chopra.

I love Tollywood.

I love TM.

I love New York City.

I love goblin sharks.

I love the young Josh Hutcherson.

I love curling up in the sun.

I love wispy hair.

I love thin ankles.

I love the sound of water.

I love being elusive.

I love lying down and thinking.

I love reminiscing.

I love talking to old friends.

I love coconut water (but only that certain kind).

I love pickles.

I love grape juice.

I love Passover.

I love playing piano.

I love The Cranberries.

I love Gervita yogurt in France.

A semi-sadistic love letter-turned-screenplay I sent Mia.

Purén to San Francisco

     Since I change my Blogger location so frequently, I think I should keep track of what they are whenever I change. My logic is to keep my future self informed of what cultural obsession I'm going through at which time.
     So, former location: Purén, Nahuelbuta, Chile
     New location: San Francisco, CA, USA (future self, I'm sure you'll remember why)

I'M .25% INDIAN! JOIE!

     Me, myself and I had a nice little understanding this past weekend since he was away. The three of us decided to stop texting so much, and ALSO TO STOP PLAYING THAT DAMN DOGE 2048. Even though it is such wow. Anyways, we're going to make a conscious effort to stop lazing around and gain back our pre-Fieldstone motivation. Er, pre-8th grade... What I mean to say is... Pre-him. Sigh. Yeah. Him. That's not to say that it's his fault I'm like this, but... It's my fault for starting all this. Oh well. It's my fault for provoking this in the first place, and I guess it's now up to me to get us both out of what we started. It's a time and energy suck for me, but it's good for him... That's why it's hard. I've tried to come up with happy mediums, but I never live up to what I say I'm going to do about it. Well, maybe this'll be it.
     Since we're not going anywhere for break, I figured I should have a list of things to do while I'm home. As follows.

MY PLANS FOR SPRING BREAK:
-clean out closet
-go spring shopping; i.e., go to Uniqlo and call it a day
-hang up prayer flags
-hang up Shakespeare and Co. poster
-finish Buddha picture and hang it up
-download Third Eye Blind, Cranberries, Cars, etc. CDs
-watch Om Shanti Om, Balupu, etc.
-email Shama... God, I am really going to miss that kid. She's so great... I miss her already. It was so great being her tutor. I'm definitely going to keep in touch with her when she's in Andhra Pradesh or whichever state it is that she's from.
-don't play sudoku, or 2048, or doge 2048 ^_(\
-read Ishmael
-run a lot
-stretch a lot
-jump rope and use sidewalk chalk and do dips and planks
-play Bridge Over Troubled Water and Moondance better
-learn chess again... I really want to do that.
-work on that book folder thing
-cook; i.e., fry ramen and vegetables and call it a day
-hike—go to Campmor or something for boots for camp
     I love how I just realized that I didn't tell any of my friends about the whole camp ordeal except Krupal. Wow, me.

Sudden memory.

     A nice time was also when I discovered Magic Pop after Blue Tree. After Blue Tree was a really nice time. I remember Siena had some in her room at the end of the hall. Her room was next to Cat and L's.
     God, I love Magic Pop. It has a good smell.

Part 1 of my rejuvenation.

     Can I just say this. I was thinking just now, because my neck is kind of sore and my pillow won't cradle my head right, so it hurts more obviously. I really hate when this happens. Anyways, I was just thinking and reading this Chilean girl's blog, and listening to the Clash and Boston, yes, still, and I was wondering why I just don't write anymore. I mean, I used to write every waking hour when I was younger. Reading and writing. I'd write stories and make up characters. Even songs. Write lists. I always used to love to do that. Not to-do lists, but list lists. Anything. Character lists.
     When Kim used to babysit G. and I, we convinced her to participate in this "spy game" that I made up. I remember it perfectly well. We used to go to DePiero's and eat doughnuts there. Sometimes we ate inside. I remember one time some blue-hair came up to us while we were eating and I was making Kim laugh. She came up to us with the nicest, widest eyes, and was all, "Children, you really are so lucky that you have a mother as kind as this. You're beautiful children and you're so lucky that your mother takes you places like this." And she just kind of nodded to herself and went on her way. Kim thanked her retreating back while she was laughing.
     Recently I found the spy list. I remembered how much I loved making up names. I'm pretty sure I found it one night when I was bored and K wasn't replying to my emails because of the crappy connection or something. In one of my journals in my nightstand. God, I had so many. Always writing in journals. Writing anything. Everything. My lists. Sluggy Dugwerth stories, I loved those. Even in first grade. And I had such advanced writing. Using dialogue and proper punctuation, and paragraphs, and impressive vocabulary, everything. The whole shebang. It's really impressive to look back at now.
     I remember one story I wrote in first grade, about puppies. I loved animals then. Like Charlie does now. I suppose I was the original Charlie, but on a much lesser degree. I digress. In that dog story, everything I did was first-grade impeccable. I mean it. No kidding, I was a born writer. I used this black marker that I had, permanent, probably my first permanent marker. And I had this journal that was white, spiral ringed. Big hearts and, hmm, flower petals all over the cover. I loved that journal. I wrote my stories in it. That was my first-grade journal. I loved that thing, I tell you. I really got so attached to my journals over the years. Even if I only used them each periodically. I mean, I might've had seven journals, but I only used two or three usually. I really have always been like that, and I still am. I haven't found a constant medium for my writing really. (Not that I even write anymore... Jesus. Growing old has done this to you, don't you understand? I miss me sometimes.) Which brings me back to the reason why I wanted to post this originally.
     Remember how I said I was thinking? I was wondering why I wasn't creative anymore. For obvious reasons, K. But... There's gotta be more reason behind it. It can't just be him. And I realized... Was I more loath to write when I got... technology? In elementary school I was almost perpetually euphoric. I used to skip down the big hill on Grand Ave. on the way to school. I used to say I was "flying." I remember I always wanted to fly. My mother says I actually used to get jealous of cardinals and all in our old yard, when I was really young. Because I couldn't fly like them. That's really sweet. That's the kind of kid I was. Jealous of birds. And although there's nothing that I hate more than reading into things unnecessarily, because sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, is that symbolic of me now? I mean, right now I always feel a little stuck. Wishing I was older. Wishing I could travel all over, hike all over. Get my own apartment, at least. Is that why monks appeal to me so much? Being alone with nature? I know that's why I liked The Dharma Bums so much. Their freedom to exist. And that's all K and I talk about. I think freedom really appeals to me. I mean, obviously it appeals to everyone, but... I'm not sure. Maybe it's independence that I like. Again, that's not to say no one else wants to be in charge of themselves, but do you get my drift? I want to fly. Like those damn birds when I was young. Huh. I really hate being "astute" like this, though. It makes me uncomfortable. I don't want to be a try-hard. Especially not to myself.
     Now I'm in a trance. I love it! I love writing. Writing is my fuel. I remember! Taylor, you're right, it was so good! I need to learn from Young Me. Read! Write! Be healthy! Ha-HA! Hoo! (The latter being Japhy's Indian cry.) My god, do I feel happy now. I know it's a good sign when I've tuned out to my music, even. I bet if I put the Ramones on now, I wouldn't even be paying attention. This is the year I lived off of 4shared.com. Quality site. The only MP3 site I trust. And it has most of my music, even La Mer, that week when I was obsessed with it after hearing it on Lost.
     

Tonight's unenthusiastic book list.

     I guess I'll be writing now. I said I would, so here it is. I just was at the Boy Scout spaghetti dinner, looking nonchalantly at him practically at the whole time. And he served my parents. ^_^ it was cute of him.

     My book list, then.

-The World According to Garp, John Irving (and I swear to god I'm having so much déjà vu right now... I already wrote this...).

-(Rereading) The Dharma Bums, Jack Kerouac.

-I Am Malala, Malala Yousafzai.

-I Am Nujood, Nujood Ali.

-The Historian, Elizabeth Kostova.

-In the Garden of Beasts, Erik Larson.

-Into the Wild, Jon Krakauer.

     I don't feel like writing anything else, really. And I don't want this to become a commitment. Good night then.

Hai.

     I felt so unbelievably happy today. I hope I haven't maxed out on happiness, now that I've had today. I feel like I'm Stargirl, and ah she's a good memory to bring back. Stargirl and her wagon full of pebbles. I think if I had a happiness wagon, I'd have all pebbles in except one, maybe two. That's how blissfully happy I am.
     My interviews: done. My school week: practically done. No stress. Nada. I'm so chill. I'm at peace, in the moment. I'm going to ask if we can go hiking on Sunday again, and I can run down the trail with my hair blowing behind me and tears of peace just leaking out of my eyes. Tears of peace? My my. Yar, but my she was yar! And that's both a Philadelphia Story and Dharma Bums reference. Two things I like. Cary Grant, Jack Kerouac. James Stewart, Sean Monahan. Japhy Ryder. The ex-Marine from Paterson, New Jersey, a Jew. The original dharma bum Ray met on the Midnight Ghost. The Zipper.
     We're learning about Japan and samurai in world history. I keep thinking of Japhy, funny thing. Good old Zen Buddhism. And I also think about L and how she's doing, and then I think of that idiot at Blue Tree this past summer who decided to give herself "anime eyes." I remember she wore the same shirt every day, and she wasn't even residential. And that one hat. It was pretty odd. I didn't like her much. I don't much like anime elitists.
     I'm dead tired, honestly. My book smells good. ^_^ I think I'll crash about now. Tomorrow or in the near future I think I'll post a list, either of books, songs, or none of the above.

Place to be: Kopan Monastery, in Nepal

WHERE IS THIS KOPAN MONASTERY?

Peace of Mind

     I love this song now. I got into it after hibachi on Friday, when F was driving me back home with N in the car as well, and her mom started playing her Boston CD because that's just how she's like, and F started raving about Peace of Mind and Foreplay and all. I'm really into the former though, like really really. But Boston is the best in general. That, and All Day and All of the Night. So, Boston and the Kinks.
     Tomorrow is my interview for BA. Surprisingly, I'm not nervous yet. It's probably just the calm before the storm, and god does that sound ominous, but I'll take it. It's about a thousand times better than going ballistic with stress weeks in advance like I usually do.
     My mom was doing my hair for me and she said I've been acting happier in the last week. Maybe it's because it's my birthday, maybe not. I smiled to myself because I know the reason. At least one reason. I think it all started at hibachi with my film-night friends, and it got better and better because I was done with my Rising Sun interview.
     I'm also a little glad to be done with writing class in a few weeks. Even though I love being in the city and getting to walk around by myself like an independent woman or something, I don't like being pressured to write. Then again, if I didn't go out every Saturday morning to be constructive, my day would inevitably fall to ruin... I'd just lie around doing nothing. But the writing... The writing is so hard all of a sudden. I don't like to think, but I do like to think that it's some of his attitude rubbing off on me, and of course my "newfound" listlessness (wonder where that came from) has to do with it. I just... My mindset changes so often that I can't keep up writing a story. I think my problem is that I'm trying to write a "perfect story," or at least one that captures perfectly my essence right now. Unfortunately for me, that's pretty much impossible, seeing as my thoughts and even how I carry myself change so often it's not even funny. I can't keep up with myself, honestly. It's very tricky.

The dues I've been paying

Happy birthday, me.

I'm trying, see?

I honestly just looked at her, like, who are you kidding? Like I was the supreme being there. In fact, in North Korea, the only reason why the blind want to see is to fall on their knees and thank Kim Jong Un. Don't thank the doctor. Thank the supreme being. I saw it.

I'm really scared for my two interviews, Camp Rising Sun's on Saturday and BA's next Thursday. Like, really stressed. A lot. K tried to calm me down, but I ended up just getting mad at him, which is what always happens.

I would like to be more productive with my time. How will I do it?
1.) do homework
2.) stop talking to him
3.) be creative
4.) be responsible
5.) be engaged
6.) don't get sidetracked
7.) read
8.) run
9.) I hate running. Play tennis instead.
10.) don't use my phone and school iPad as much
11.) save for the cultural immersion camp
12.) find a purpose... No... Don't succumb to his ways now.
13.) write
14.) write down a list of all the things that I should do to achieve my own nirvana
15.) write more lists. I always used to do that.
16.) don't let them get too long. Long lists suck.

All I want is you—U2
Could you be loved—Bob Marley
Such great heights—cover by Iron and Wine
Demons—Imagine Dragons (only because of him)
Sunday Bloody Sunday—U2
Paradise—Coldplay
Jenny I got your number, 867-5309, or whatever the name of it is
Little rosa—?
Ringa Ringa—A. R. Rahman