Searching for Meaning on Google

In conversations with certain friends, I find myself giving them a laundry list of things I have to do. “I have two midterms on Tuesday and Wednesday, I need to go to a STAND meeting, go to a TA meeting, grade my students’ homework assignments, figure out what I’m going to teach them in section…” It’s as if I have to prove to them that I’m utilizing my time at Berkeley, perhaps on more than the academic front. It’s verbal diarrhea, really, because even as I become conscious of the words coming out of my mouth, I can’t seem to stop myself from saying how I need to write a paper and update the financials for ASHA. I do have a lot to do, but I wonder if I am eager to prove myself to those around me. It’s as if by spilling my daily “To Do” list, I am forcing them to see that I am useful, intelligent, and capable. Or maybe I’m just trying to get myself to believe that I possess these qualities.

Berkeley has forced me to confront so many realities in such a short time. I’m no longer the high achieving, eager to learn and can’t wait to tell you about it, social justice minded individual that I was in high school. In high school I had a sense of purpose and was driven towards the goal of becoming a doctor. I read Paul Farmer’s works and thought about medical anthropology. Learning about microlending made me want to pursue global health and development. I felt like my options were infinite and my capacity to create change was real. My first year of college was a slap in the face as I struggled in my economics and chemistry courses, and the second year was no easier. I learned that I not only didn’t know how to approach school, but that I also lacked the ability to get along with everyone as my roommates and I alienated each other. My third year has come to an end and I’m left more confused than before–about my education, my friendships, my future.

So I’m sitting here, looking up interpretations of song lyrics by the Silversun Pickups to see if people have the same ideas about “Well Thought Out Twinkles” that I do. When our perspectives about the meanings collide, I have to relish the bits of certainty when they come. In the end, any kind of affirmation is comforting.

I’m Not Saying Sorry or Please

Whenever I’m in a difficult situation, I can always count on one of my friends to say the inevitable. “I’m sorry.” No matter how far I’ve come in dealing with the situation, those two words always make me regress and I just become sad again. I have one friend in particular who complains to me about everything from not being able to eat certain foods to the dirty dishes that her roommates haven’t gotten to yet. I sit and listen, offer advice, but never say that I’m sorry. I’m sick and tired of being shortchanged on advice and instead being given the two words I loathe to hear. I literally cringe when the aforementioned friend says them. It’s the easy way out–she doesn’t have to think of any solutions, as I’ve always done for her. Because in reality, who is sorry? And what does it do for the person? Instead of saying “I’m sorry,” people should just be up front and say what they really mean: “I’m glad I’m not in your shoes.”

X and Y

I was reading Stephanie Klein’s blog (seriously, she’s a phenomenal writer so check her out) and was struck by the question she asked David Sedaris at a reading, but even more by what his response was.

I asked him the exact question I was asked at my own reading, the same question I always ask authors. “Is there anything you regret writing that was published?” He responded with a story about a French teacher of his. He wrote about how awful she was in a magazine, and a while later, he received thirty or so head-shots of people with a note attached on the school letterhead reading, “these are all the people you hurt by writing that article.” “But that’s not what I regret,” he added. “What I regret is that I didn’t show her funny side too. Making someone mean is easy.” Making someone human is hard, I thought.

With that, I thought about how I’ve criticized my roommates for the countless crazy things that have happened over the past year. Making people out to be mean is easy, but it’s also important to remember the good. Coincidentally, Manu gave me advice last night that was along the same lines. He said that I have really bad memory when it comes to people–I tend to forget the bad things that they do to me once something good happens. I think it’s more that I carry the weight of the bad that happen and blame myself for it–they did it because I didn’t do x, y, and z. And so I try to do those things with the hopes that things will get better, but in the case of my apartment situation, things haven’t gotten better.

I don’t really know what I’m getting at with all of this. I’m just really tired of living here because it’s not what I had hoped for at all. Not even .2%. I thought that living in an apartment with your friends meant that we would ask each other about how our day went, talk about our stresses with classes, eat dinner together once in a while, laugh about stupid stuff and quote Anchorman together like we did last year, and just support each other. But we don’t even keep our doors open for each other. Or at least it’s not open to me. But they’re human too and I need to remember that. Maybe they have a lot to say about me and I don’t realize it. At any rate, I am ready for a change.

Balancing Equations

Relationships can be 1. generalized 2. balanced 3. negative. I never thought seriously about my relationships and reciprocity in these terms–if I did something for a friend, it was because I really cared for them and that was it. I’ve never really had “balanced exchanges” until I came to college. This, however, tends to be with guys only (in monetary terms of course). I’m in a rough place right now and as I attempt to find the bigger picture, I find myself stuck on relationships.

During junior year, CI made a trip to Winters for our first Rural Plunge. Everyone knew what Urban Plunge entailed since it had been done for so long, but Winters was new territory. We met in the CLC early in the morning (or was it after the regular school day had already started?) and had a mini-mass. We expressed our goals for the trip and our expectations. A candle or two may have been lit. Things seemed to going fine–I remember Natasha had bought me a hashbrown from McDonalds. I hadn’t had a Mickey D’s breakfast since soccer tournaments in 7th grade but remember the hashbrowns being pretty tasy. I wouldn’t call them delectable though. I ate that potatoey mass and was on my way. We were all laughing and talking in the huge van that Mrs. S and Dell had rented, Dell was driving. I remember because as we were on the bridge she was driving awfully close to the person next to us and I feared for that small little car just a bit. But I trusted Dell completely. And then it happened. As we were on our way to Winters, my hashbrown was on its way back up and we stopped in some parking lot with a Burger King on one side and a little Mexican restaurant on the other. I puked in between the two on Nat Garcia’s shoes as she rubbed my back and talked me through the loss of my breakfast and dignity. I felt embarassed not only because I had become sick during a 2 and a half hour trip but also because I had yacked in front of and on Natalie. Perhaps it’s best that we didn’t have the perception of relationships being balanced then. I don’t know if I could have taken Natalie puking on my Chucks.