The End, The Beginning

There was a Boy. There was no Boy. There was a boy between the states of Boy and Non-Boy.

Now, there is not, and never will be, a Boy.

I tore up the "Happy birthday, with love" card. I threw away the dried purple flowers. I deleted the phone number. I trashed eight years' worth of emails. I removed contact information, email addresses, and screen names.

When I get home, I will burn the letters, throw away the Prom corsage, throw away the movie ticket of the first kiss.

There is no more Boy, there is no more feather. What for eight years was the greatest joy of my life was for six months the worst thing to ever happen to me.

There is no more Boy, the scale tips up, and my life can begin again.

Anticipation

Because I was doing research at the University this summer instead of going to France with my family, my relatives teamed up to get me a plane ticket to go see them this winter.

It means that:

1. Grandmother The Cook will spoil me rotten and make me more food than I can eat. And I will eat all of it, because Mother will not be there to tell me that it's really not a good idea to eat three servings of apple beignets.

2. Tiny Grandmother will take me shopping in bookshops and teach me how to knit (again) and take me skiing (maybe) and make tarts with this autumn's preserves of rhubarb and coings.

3. Radio Grandfather will take me to his English Club's first meeting of the semester so he can brag about how well I speak English and take me to the celebration for his 60 years of amateur radio and show me how he can sort of use his computer now and ask for a lot of advice which he will promptly forget.

4. Grandfather Busy Bee will show me the latest extension he's built to the house and the new aviary I've been asking for since I was seven and play endless games of belote and shiftily try to cheat and pretend to look offended when we of course call him out.

5. Cousin Baby Bird won't be the baby bird I fed mushed peas to because she turned nine yesterday, but she will still take my hand and drag me to her secret fort and snuggle with me on the couch or play mommy.

6. Cousin Grand Loup will boast of his newest football victories and pick on his sister a little until mother makes him stop.

7. Aunt Raspberry will talk to me about science and research and my love life.

8. Godfather and I will have awkward conversations because our relationship has always been awkard.

9. Aunt and Uncle Ebay will make witty cracks and be slightly pushy and over-generous.

10. Gay Uncle will call me "ma puce" and "ma grande" and challenge me to checkers and petits chevaux and tell funny stories and about whichever Parisian wildlife he has recently adopted as a pet and then remember suddenly that I'm a lot older than he remembered and talk about how I could almost fit in his pocket when I was a baby.

10. Godmother will be the bustling, busy, wonderful woman she always is and take me shopping for purses and shoes and make cracks she thinks aren't that funny but really are side-splitting and maybe will get angry and yell a lot because she gets tired.

11. Bearded Uncle will be loud and ask me about my life and career and not really take me seriously and be a bit scary although he doesn't mean to be.

12. Eldest Cousin will be overbearing and a bit annoying and parading her new boyfriend.

13. Boy Cousin will be in Cold Country With Bears and Moose and Mounties.

14. Favorite Cousin and German Cousin might ignore me a bit because I don't wear makeup or watch TV shows or listen to top 40 music or party a lot.

15. Distant and Not-So-Distant Relatives Who Show Up To Family Gatherings will tell dirty jokes and drink a lot at the New Year's reveillon.

16. I will get to eat my first galette des Rois in six years, a real one, with frangipane and a fève and Grandmother The Cook will accidentally give me the slice with it because she knows it makes me happy.

17. There will be snow and fireplaces and a hot iron in my bed to warm up the sheets before bedtime.

18. Winter potatoes will be suitable for making pommes dauphine.

19. The hilltop tower in which Radio Grandfather and Tiny Grandmother live will be very windy and shake a bit windy.

20. Most of all, there will be family and lots, lots of love.

I'm leaving on the 27th, and I can't wait.

Crystal ball

I tend to be eerily accurate with my predictions.

There was The First, of course. You could say it was love at first sight, although it wasn't. It was a certainty, a fact: I didn't know his name, I had never had a boyfriend, I never expected to have one, yet I knew that by the end of the year we would be together. I didn't go out of my way to make it happen, but it did. As I knew it would. And, again as I knew it would, it ended.

The Second happened unexpectedly. He remained an uncertainty for some time, during and even after. I hoped, for what reason I do not know, but eventually that passed and I was certain once more.

The Third wasn't so much a certainty as a destiny: he was bound to happen.

He became The Boy.

And, by my current prediction, may very soon be just The Third.

The change may have been gradual, but, as always, a moment of clarity brings the prediction, and life is uncertain no more.

In one way, it was a certainty from the very beginning. By all the laws of logic, it shouldn't last. By all the laws of logic, it shouldn't have happen at all. The problem is, one stroke of good luck jaded me and made me think anything could happen, no matter how impossible or improbable, how far the distance or how disgruntled the parents.

The thing is, life doesn't happen that way. Life isn't a fairy tale, life doesn't always turn out well.

Until this Thursday night, I'd held the doctrine that everything always turned out okay. Procrastination was fine, I knew I'd get the project completed before the due date and do well on it. Getting sick was fine, I knew I'd eventually get better after one or two weeks. Having some accident or other was fine, I knew there was a grown-up who would come and make me safe and take the hurt away. Government papers and banks and forms and taxes were fine, I knew there would always be a knowledgeable grown-up who would take care of it for me. A long-distance relationship was fine, I knew it would keep going forever in the fairytale way.

But in real life, that's not how it happens.

In real life, sometimes you get bad grades, sometimes you don't get better, sometimes you have to get complicated and expensive surgery, sometimes you get in trouble, sometimes you have no money. Sometimes you fight.

In real life, you have to think about the future. Now is fine, but what about then? What about grad school? What about jobs? What about families? I have too much ahead of me to think about spending the rest of my life with one person and having to plan everything around that. I have too much ahead of me to wait forever until, by some miracle, we end up in the same place again. I have too much ahead of me to not explore the world and the people in it.

The bickering gets to me. Playful, pretend-playful, or neither, it's bickering and I can't stand it. I can't stand to be the perpetual cheerleader, to always try to find solutions to problem, to always say "That's OK, do what's in your best interest, I can wait another six months to see you." I can't stand to always have to defend my opinions on such and such, whether about a Halloween costume or cultural differences. I can't stand the long silences sometimes when he needs time to think.

I know him well enough to know he's thinking roughly the same thing.

I'd like to say I got my crying over and done with several weeks ago, but I know that when it does end, I most likely won't be able to help it.

I'm sorry, Boy. While you're doing your thinking, I'm doing mine, too, and this is the conclusion I've come to.

It was great while it lasted, and I don't regret it, any of it, but it feels like it's time we parted ways.

Sure, it may take some time to reach the actual end, but I don't see any way out.

Time to think and explore my new grown-up world.

Ernest

I remember the first time I met him: He was the most beautiful fish in the store.

Sparkling a dazzling array of blue and green, proudly flashing his fins to all who came near, his personality overflowed the bowl and permeated the few meters around. You could feel his disdain just by looking at him.

Ernest was a fish with character. He swam around while others napped, he lunged when others nibbled, he was furious when others were merely annoyed. Had he lived in his native Thai rice paddies, he would have been a king, a warrior, a splendid fighter.

Ernest was not a fish to be owned. He was a fish who owned, whose company he chose to share with y0u.

For an entire year, Ernest lived with me. His jewel tones danced back and forth behind the magnifying glass of the fishbowl, like a living, precious gem. Today, he decided to move on, to explore, blow bubbles, and nip at the rest of the Universe.

Ernest was more than just a fish. He was a friend, sometimes. He was an enemy, sometimes. He was a rival, sometimes. He was a confidant, sometimes. He was his own person.

Fare well, Ernest. May you find the juiciest and tastiest bloodworms in the Great Fishbowl In The Sky somewhere. I hope you find Michael Phelps and Galileo up there somewhere to keep you company.



Ernest the Ravenous Nymphomaniac Betta Fish
September 2008 - 15 September 2009

I'd like to thank the Academy

It takes a village to raise a child...

I owe this last year in great part to all of my friends.

The friends I met and have come to care for at the University, who are so very different and come from so many places, some of whom like Science and some of whom not, who wave to me on the street, sit next to me in class, grow and sell plants with me, who drop by and say hi to my fish, who study with me and so much more besides. Thank you so much.

The friends I haven't met but admire from afar, who practice the piano in the common rooms, who sing opera in the kitchens of the dining hall, who whistle in the construction sites, who carry teetering buckets of ice in elevators, who have matching umbrellas in the rain, who put clothes on the statue of Lady Artemis in the courtyard, who sing Disney songs in the shower, and so much more besides. Thank you so much.

The friends I met and have come to care for through this blog and theirs, people around the world with fantastic lives and open hearts, people who make me travel and dream and think and laugh and cry and so much more besides. Thank you so much.

The friends I'm a bit intimidated to call friends, but who are always so open and giving and selfless and so much more besides that I can't help but feel proud and happy. Thank you so much.

The friends I've known for a long time and spend my days with, who let me try a bite of their food, who watch movies with me, who talk with me until long past midnight, who curl up in a pile and sleep with me, who selflessly share both their germs and their cold medicine, who dress up in Star Trek costumes and make me laugh and comfort me and so much more besides. Thank you so much.

The friends I've known for a long time and don't spend my days with, who send me flowers and call me on the phone and try to educate me in the ways of the world and also the Internet and know much much more than anyone else and one sends me long emails and the other chats with me on Skype, and so much more besides. Thank you so much.

The friends who are friends by default because they're family. Some leave, some stay, some are confused and all are sad sometimes, but mostly they love me and each other and they are wonderful, they cook food and give me hugs and watch movies and listen to music and so much more. Thank you so much.

It takes a village to raise a child, and my village is the world. Thank you, world.

No news, good news

Today is one of those days when it's very, very hard to play the Glad Game.

This morning, I was happy to talk to Dad and Bro and Sis. They told me about their week and asked, of course, how college was.

Then:

-You're coming home the weekend of the 12th, right?"
-Of course! It's my birthday.
-Good, good... Uh, you know I'll be in Italy until the 13th, right?
-Yeah. But I would have liked to see you for my birthday.
-Ma fille, that conference has been planned for a year.
-I know. But still. I'll be back in the City by the time your plane gets back.
-The reason I asked was because, well... Your mother is leaving for France on the morning of the 12th. So you'll be taking care of your siblings for that weekend. Je suis désolé.

So that's it, then. My father will be doing math on the other side of the Atlantic, and my mother will be leaving us for approximately forever.

On my birthday.

I really want to remember the good things that happened today, the conversation with my aunt this afternoon, the picnic with Highly Selective Science Program, the new people I met, the card games on the old tables in the common room, the National Geographic article I had to read for homework, the splendid Texas sunset.

But really, I can't stop thinking that on Friday the eleventh, I will be stepping into a house with a Mother packing her suitcase, an empty spot at the table where Father should be, a Sis who will be laughing so that you can't see the tears, and a Bro who will act silly and not look at anyone because big boys don't cry.

And I'll put my stuff down and do homework and make dinner, and all that there will be on the TV we don't have is memorial programs for 9/11.

Anniversary

Tonight we celebrated an anniversary of sorts: more or less one year ago, my friends met Friend Who Likes Science Fiction through a game of Never Have I Ever.

So tonight, we gathered in Friend With Many Pairs Of Sunglasses and Crazy Redhead Mathematically Inclined Friend's room and talked and gossiped and asked each other questions until, well, now.

I think it is a remarkable aspect of our friendship that we all feel comfortable enough with each other to reveal intensely personal things, that no one felt surprised or left out, and that there was no need for secrets because everything was shared.

Except for one thing. Perhaps we were all too tired at the end, or could not keep track of whose turn it was to ask and receive questions, but I never had the opportunity to answer "I write" to the question "What is one thing we don't know about you?"

On one hand, I feel that this is a very important aspect of who I am, but on the other, even if I had told them I kept a blog, I still wouldn't have told them what or where it was.

There was a night, some time ago, when a group of girls told each other some of their secrets and became very close together.

Since then, so much has changed, but tonight there was a group of girls telling each other almost all of their secrets, so much more intimately. They were already friends.

I am glad I have such friends.

Let's start at the beginning

For it is a very good place to start.

Packing, unpacking, repacking, losing things and finding them again, fitting them in the trunk of a very tiny car, carrying them up two flights of stairs, unpacking again, rearranging, sleeping, meeting with people, registering for classes, getting supplies, reading books, setting up University accounts, wondering where my roommate went, meeting with friends, taking a shower, discovering my roommate actually exists, finding classes, going to classes, telling friends about first day of class, missing friends who are not here, writing my little brother long emails.

I have been here, what, three days? And there are still so many things to do, to take care of, to see to.

I am, as always, and even more than last year, enjoying college. I love the dorm I am in. I love my quirky roommate. I love being able to spend so much time with my friends. I love the classes I am taking, even though I haven't been to all of them yet because classes started today. I love being back in the City.

Of course, not everything is rosy. I miss The Boy, I miss my family, I miss my little brother terribly. And, this year, I miss Beautiful Music Friend who is now going to Music School Very Far Away. I am dreading the beginning-of-school depression I suffer through every year no matter how well everything is going. Mother is still threatening to leave any minute, although Bro and Sis flat out refused to take the entrance exams she registered them for in an international school in France.

I shouldn't have listed the minuses after the pluses, but at least I saved the best for the last:

All of last week and then some, Girl In The Snow was here.

What does one say to a very dear friend whom one has not seen in five years? It doesn't matter. We recognized each other in an instant at the airport.

She is taller than me now, but her eyes, her hair, her face, even the way she twirls her hair when she is talking have remained the same.

She brought an album of all the pictures of her birthday parties when we were little and all the pictures of the trips we'd been on together. I had pictures of some trips and one of my birthdays. I didn't remember ever being so little as we were in the pictures, and I forgot some of the people who were there, but sitting down and looking at those pictures together was wonderful. We helped each other remember, people, places, and things, sitting together on the beach in Brittany, milking cows at a farm, the raclette dinner in the Alps, the mustachioed balloon and the pirate raid on the Musée National de la Marine.

At home, we talked about France. She told us about her school, Famous University With A Name That Sounds Like Sorbet. She told us about what had changed and what had remained the same in our neighborhood. She read at least half of my collection of French books.

Then, we took her places. We took her to see the City Back Home (or what little of it there is to see), the shops with their extravagant selections of everything, the cars with their extravagant sizes, shapes, and numbers, and the people, with their extravagant accents and bellies. We took her to Place Where The Alligators Roam, where birds abound, alligators bask, and giant spiders don't do much aside from spinning equally giant webs. We took her to Place Where Texas Was Born, then to the House Of The Last Texan President Which Happened To Also Be A White House, But Slightly Smaller Than The Other One. We took her to The City to tour campus and move my boxes in early to comply with University regulation. She met authentic Texans, ate authentic BBQ and burgers, listened to authentic country music, saw authentic armadillo roadkill, and was probably on the whole very disoriented. But she was happy.

She left Sunday morning, on a plane bound for Other City Where Presidents Live, to take part in a project restoring First President's garden to its historical conformation and search for artifacts.

I've talked to her since, and we can both tell that this time together, though short, has begun to fill the gap that naturally formed after such a long separation.

I'm very glad for it.

Remembrance of things past

I started reading Proust's book for several reasons. (And given up on it for many more.)

Firstly, one should be properly educated in the literature of one's mother tongue. (Literature is wonderful, but I don't mind being slightly more cultured in English than in French.)

Secondly, one of my favorite books, Dinky Rouge Sang, is based on it. (Once I got past the good part in Proust, I lost interest because I was running the other book through my head and enjoyed it a hundred times more now that I know where it came from and how remarkably it played off it. Proust may be a dense read, but that passage will go down in my favorites.)



Thirdly, I will very soon be remembering things past.



Girl In The Snow is coming to visit.

I am excited, terrified, elated, apprehensive, reminiscing.

We haven't seen each other in years, but it seems like only yesterday we painted that silk scarf together. Only yesterday, we built blanket forts and spilled eucalyptus oil. Only yesterday we curled up to read comics. Only yesterday we built robots out of cereal boxes. Only yesterday we built out invisible castle in the courtyard. Only yesterday we wrote poems for our mothers and scouted the flea market for bargains. Only yesterday we smuggled fish under banana peels and bread in our pockets. Only yesterday we hid behind the green bench to sneak a bite of snack during recess. Only yesterday we met and fell in love.

She said she found an album of pictures of The Class Trip and will be bringing it for us to peruse and reminisce over.

I can't wait to see her. I can't wait to show her my world, how I've changed but stayed the same. I can't wait to see how she has grown and remained herself.

I'm terrified, just because, but I really know that it won't matter at all.

I'll mix the past with the present, and introduce her to my friends and drive her around and show her my Texas, but every time I'll look at her, I know I'll be seeing the little girl in the snow, holding her father's hand, and I'll fall in love all over again.

Going to meet my (match)maker

Girl From Nicaragua is defending her dissertation on Monday.

Accordingly, various relatives (from Nicaragua, Chile, the Honduras, and Guatemala) have come to visit and are now staying at the apartment.

Apparently, her last roommate was named Claudia, but she neglected to tell her family that she had moved and was now living with someone not only whose name was not Claudia, but was also not a native Spanish speaker. I can mangle my way around a basic conversation, but I confused myself and I accidentally started talking German because I couldn't remember Spanish for "excuse me". Fortunately, they caught on and switched to English.

Then, later this evening, after my roommate took them on a tour of the City, I was enthusiastically greeted by her aunt as I came down the stairs for a drink of water.

"Claudia!" (Roommate: Wrong name, Auntie Rosa) "We found for you a boyfriend!" (She already has a boyfriend, Auntie Rosa.) "He's handsome!" (He's French, too.) "He said he was Frances, but I think he is from Ukrainia." (Uh, I do already have a boyfriend, Auntie Rosa...) "He very handsome. Next time, we take you, you see him! You can have two boyfriends!"

This is going to be a very interesting week.

Raptors, rabid bears, and other terrifying things

Just kidding. There aren't any raptors or rabid bears here.

There are, however, terrifying things looming on the horizon.

Such things as meeting The Boy's family tomorrow.

Not just a five minute conversation on the doorstep, but a real, honest-to-goodness sit-down dinner at a restaurant with The Mother and The Father and The Sister.

It was the Boy's idea, and I fully supported it, even pushed it. I wanted to meet his family.

Until it was for real, so very, very real. Until now.

Now, I am utterly terrified. What if I trip? What if I spill my glass? What if I say something stupid? What if I make a complete fool of myself?

I'm sure they are lovely people, and they won't mind.

But what if, what if they don't like me? What if they ask awkward questions? What if The Sister takes siblingly action and plots my untimely demise? What if they turn out to be velociraptors in disguise and eat me?

I know it will all be fine. We will have a wonderful time, pleasant conversation, and there will be good feeling all around.

But no matter how logically I think it through, I am utterly, completely, and absolutely terrified!

Dinner and a movie

Halfway through the week already, and what better way to celebrate than with friends, food, and films?

Cooking Buddy came over for dinner, as has become, I suppose, somewhat of a tradition.

Since the beginning of June, she has visited once every week or two to help me make a delicious dinner and watch a movie.

As per what is now tradition, we cooked our dish with plenty of garlic (which she loves and the taste of which I have discovered under her tutelage), our dessert with plenty of chocolate, and vast amounts of cheese in-between.

As a movie, she chose Chocolat, which I'd heard about but never actually seen.

As movies go, the plot was enjoyable. But as accuracy goes... Anachronisms aplenty and little attention to detail. However much I delighted in pointing out every fault I found, I cannot pretend to be immune to Johnny Depp's charm nor to Chocolate, that luscious ambrosia.

Cooking Buddy has said that next year, when she has an apartment and I have none, we shall continue these meetings, to tackle both the culinary and cinematographic worlds as well as for the sake of good food and good company.

On Religion

I recognize her.

I sit down next to her, ask her how she is doing. We begin to talk about classes and research. She works in my Seminar professor's lab, which I admire and have visited several times.

We sit in silence for a few minutes.

She turns to me and asks quietly, "Are you a believer?"

"Pardon?"

"Are you a believer--are you a Christian?"

"No."

"What is your faith? Do you have a faith?"

"I used to. I don't anymore."

"I believe that all who call upon His name shall be saved. This is my stop, but call me if you want to talk about it."

She walks off the bus.


I know her, but not that well. We played together in a quintet several weeks ago, and are both part of Highly Selective Science Program. Other than that, I've never seriously talked to her or become acquainted beyond the exchange of names.


After some thought, I realize that I answered her incorrectly. I do have a faith.

On Earth, I believe in life. I believe in all things that grow and live together, forests and oceans and deserts. I believe in chemistry, in DNA and proteins and neural impulses. I believe in psychology, in stimuli and intentions and learning. I believe in physics, in protons and neutrons and electrons. I believe that life is far too complex for a human mind to fully understand, a dimension beyond our own where those sciences interweave and interact perfectly to make the world such as we know it.

In humans, I believe in love. I believe in kindness and friendship and love, in peace and freedom and equality. I believe in what has failed to be, but may yet be, what is seen as weakness but conquers all.

In the Universe, I believe in what I do not know. I believe in planets and their suns, galaxies and nebulae and black holes, photons and pions and muons, the four forces and the Higgs boson. Once again beyond our comprehension--how could we fathom anything as gigantic as a single galaxy, let alone the whole of the Universe, when we are mere specks who once believed--and still do--that they are the center of everything? How could we understand anything as minuscule as a neutrino, which passes through our body by the billion every second and at the same time dictates the behavior of the Universe?

That is what I believe in. That is my faith.

Bonding time

In the last couple days, I have barely seen my roommate (or rather housemate). We both work all day, and she is finishing up her dissertation so she stays in her room for extended periods of time.

However, tonight we had dinner almost together and watched a movie.

She'd originally brought the movie so she could watch it in her room while I had two friends over, but Crazy Redhead Mathematically Inclined Friend remembered at the last moment that it was her sister's eighth grade graduation ceremony, so the evening was rescheduled.

We talked about where we came from, what we did, what we liked. She likes seafood and I like cookie dough. I think seafood is too chewy and she could never fathom the idea of eating cookie dough. She's thirty-one, I'm eighteen. She studies Anthropology, I study Biology. She wants to move back to Nicaragua, I want to stay in the US.

She is very nice.

We watched "The Dark Knight," and were both very glad not to be watching it alone when the scary parts came up.

I have no idea what one is supposed to do when one lives with a complete stranger, but I think this may be working itself out very simply. What a wonderful feeling!

Lifesaver

For several hours now, I have been trying to write my final research paper. Unsuccessfully.

I have scanned in twenty pages of my lab notebook, annotated dozens of pictures of electrophoresis gels, and written two pages of scientific background. But, for some reason, I can't bring myself to write the actual paper. I can't concentrate.

The paper is due tomorrow by 17:00. Tomorrow, we are leaving at 9:00 to go home so that we may attend my yet nameless friend's recital. I am not sure that I will be able to access Internet before the deadline, so I am attempting to turn in this paper before we leave.

For the past thirty minutes, I have been on the verge of tears. I know that this paper will not be graded very thoroughly, because my grades so far have been stellar, I know exactly what I am talking about, and the professor is too lazy to go in detail through every paper. And yet...

Five minutes ago, my phone rang. Fiery Comedian Friend wanted me to meet her in the lobby of my dorm for a few minutes. I was surprised, as she knew I was working on my paper and should not be disturbed. She insisted, saying that it was important.

I took the elevator downstairs and walked through the doors. Immediately, I was greeted with a massive hug. She handed me a paper bag and a bottle of milk.

"I got you cookies and milk to help with the paper!"

I burst into tears and hugged her.

She understood perfectly. "During my first year, one of my friends brought me milk and cookies during finals week. I figured you could use the same thing."

She is graduating in a week and has no finals to worry about. This small act of love and kindness may have saved my grade and my wits.

I am so very grateful for friends.

***

Speaking of which, thank you so much for the encouragements!


So here is a picture of a wandering turtle I took some time ago.

Time warp

Memories have a way of pouncing on you when you least expect it.

I was hunting around aimlessly on Facebook and discovered that many of the people I went to elementary school with had accounts.

I tend to be one of those people with freakishly good memory who remembers everyone's first and last names. I don't know if they remember me at all.

I haven't seen most of them since I moved away in 2001, and any of them at all since I moved away again in 2004. They, on the other hand, went to middle and high school together, and some are now even attending the same Universities.

Whenever I go home, I will attempt to find all of my class photographs.

I don't know where I'll go from there.

Reflections

I wanted to write about why I gave my friends their names, but as I was looking through past entries in search of their first appearances, I noticed several things.

One, aside from Mom, Dad, Sis, and Bro, I've only started naming people relatively recently.

Two, I've realized how much changed over the course of this year.

Three, there is one very important person I would like to present to you.

***
ONE:
The recurring cast of my life (the crowd of my close friends) mostly received their names all at the same time.

Bookish Friend - attends Hayloftes & Regal (chain of bookstores, renamed) more religiously than church
Friend With Many Pairs of Sunglasses - out of all my friends, she is the one with the most conventional fashion sense. There are (were) at least five pairs of sunglasses in her car at all times
Childish Booksmart Friend - she knows many things she read in books, and is very wise in some ways yet strikingly childish in others
Fiendishly Intelligent Friend - sharp as a razorblade
Artsy Friend - has arthritis in her right wrist from overexertion due to constant drawing
Crazy Redhead Mathematically-Inclined Friend - crazy, a redhead, likes math
Tiny Russian Friend - has the smallest hands of anyone I have ever met, speaks Russian beautifully
Friend Who Likes Science Fiction - Star Wars, Star Trek, all of the Internet, you name it, she's seen the movie(s) and read the fanfiction
Internet-Savvy Friend - knows everything about the Internet, down to the darkest corners

***
TWO:
So many relationships evolved this year.

I'm glad that the issues I had when I first began writing this blog have mostly cleared away. In hindsight, I see that most of it was caused by distance and by the--to me--still incomprehensible American laziness that submerges groups. Whatever it is, I understand that it won't entirely go away, but that next year will probably be much better as we will all be living in the same dormitory complex.

College is a time for making new friends, and I am immensely grateful for new and old alike. I am so lucky to have both at the same time, who all share incredibly strong bonds.

The Boy and I have recently begun a rather broad but oh so intense discussion of our relationship. There is so much time to catch up on, all these years when we could, we should maybe have said more than we dared. I feel that we are living this time now. Despite our familiarity, there were--and still are--many things under the surface. One by one, they come to light and are explained. This feels like a breath of fresh spring air and sunshine and hope.

***
THREE:
She is so very important to me, in many ways.

The First Reader. I created this blog with the intent that it be read only by those who stumble upon it, not by acquaintances who want to keep up with my daily adventures. Aside from two exceptions, I have not broken this rule. She was the one who first introduced me to the idea of a blog. Once I had begun writing, she asked to read it. Although I never explicitly gave her the URL, I gave enough clues that she succeeded in finding it.

The Fellow Musician. I first met her at a violin recital. Through her, I have learned so much. She is an incredibly talented player, and has given me advice and music. She supported me and comforted me through my ordeals in the musical world.

The Good Student. Not only is she talented musically, she is also one of the most intelligent people I have met and without doubt one of the most brilliant students to have ever attended my School in City Back Home. Reading her English essays about books I've previously read often provides much deeper insight than I would have been capable of.

The Gamer. She was the one who introduced me to Silly RPG. Once again, she shines in her knowledge of the odds and ends about the game.

But, most importantly, the Friend. For sushi and birds and frisbee games in the park, I will be forever grateful.

I've tried before, but I just can't find a name for her.



I'll keep looking.

With a little help from my friends

This is my story for today:

Several days ago, Tangobaby posted a story about a young woman and her children she had met on the street in San Francisco.

photo by tangobaby

That woman is Kelaya, and her children are Dorian, Kameko, and Marcus.

They are beautiful, but they are alone.

That is, they were.

Since that day, a veritable storm, prompted by Tangobaby's capable hands and bottomless heart, has risen to help this family.

I know not everyone can do something to help. But people know people who know people, and together we reach far. If you can help Kelaya and her family, here is how. And even if you can't, you can probably find someone like her close to you and do the same thing for them.

I know this is a lot to ask, but these are real people, just like every single person on the Earth.

Maybe we can't solve the world's problems all at once, but starting small does makes a difference.

Oh, I get far with a little help from my friends...
-The Beatles

Short encounter

During the day, the buses are never really full except around the hour, when off-campus students, having overslept, rush to class with their hair tangled and their clothes rumpled.

When I leave campus, I have company. Students go home after a day of classes. They stop in big streets with apartment complexes and little streets with houses, I stop at the grocery store.

When I am done, I cross the street and wait for the next bus back to the University. Usually, the I catch the same bus on the way back: the amount of time necessary for me to shop is close to that necessary to drive to the end of the line and back. The driver usually recognizes me.

Monday was a peaceful, warm afternoon. At a bus stop next to the wide open field of a park, two young women tried to get on the bus.

One of them asked the driver about the route, and he told them that it was the wrong bus. They laughed and got off.

I don't remember what the first one looked like, because I was mesmerized by the second one. She was wearing an instrument case on her back, too small for a cello and too round and wide for a guitar. A lute, maybe.

Her hair was brown, short and curly. And her eyes, her eyes...

You could see her smile in her eyes. You could see laughter, you could see happiness, you could see life in her eyes. She was beautiful.

The bus drove away.

A eulogy

You were a good fish, Michael Phelps. You swam around and around in your bowl, wildly splaying your fins at anyone who came too close, burying your head in the pebbles at the bottom when you were bored, pretending to be a shark when you were hungry.

You were a good fish, Michael Phelps. You kept us company. You were always there, blowing bubbles, when we needed a friendly fin to lean on. You were always there to act surprised when we made a sudden move. You were always there to entertain us with your twitchy antics.

You were a good fish, Michael Phelps. Ernest the Ravenous Nymphomaniac Betta Fish, although you never knew him, was destined to be your friend. Only your dazzling red could rival his enchanting blue, and your gentleness offset his aggressive antics. Mild-mannered Galileo, although weak and sickly, would have been the perfect third Fishketeer. Although I hope that Ernest and Galileo go on to lead long and blissful lives, I hope that you may all meet in the Great Fishbowl in the sky someday and together go on the adventures you didn't have time to lead during your short time on this Earth.

You were a good fish, Michael Phelps. May you rest in peace.

You were a good fish, Michael Phelps. We will miss you.

Michael Phelps the Betta Fish, not Michael Phelps the human. He didn't die, he just went back to SeaWorld.