Chapter 20: Hate the player, not the game.

board games were a highlight of my life when i was younger. i considered myself to be quite the connoisseur of board games, with a collection that could put anyone to shame. you name it, i probably had it. however, one of the greatest banes of my existence at the time was the fact that my sister would always beat me. it seemed to be just one of those unfair advantages of being older, but i was so angry. what about the fact that she came into this world before i did gave her the right to win every time? would her 2 years and 10 months advantage over me always make her smarter than me, better than me?

i thought that board games were merely child's play until i realized that they are really the capitalist world's way of grooming children into being able and contributing citizens of society. that is, it's the world's way of teaching children how to "play the game..."

what the hell is this game??

i've heard this phrase so many times that it doesn't even register with me anymore. but what is it! the only thing i can recognize around me are the strategic moves that people put out there, movies aimed to advantage themselves while disadvantaging others. i've noticed the poker faces of people who know what they are doing, and don't let anyone else in. i've also noticed how some people foolishly let their hands show, telling everyone and everything what they have. but what's the prize?

i'm sure there are famously pastoral poems out there that would say happiness, hope, etc. but no, there has to be something more. but i cannot figure this out! and yet i play, with no end in sight. because not playing means not living, and as long as i have breath within me, i have no choice but to live. and so i play.

Chapter 19: Family Tree

i don't think that i am of the generation of students who began to learn that families come in all shapes and sizes. my picture books had a very clear blue sweater wearing father, pink dress and apron wearing mother, baseball playing timmy, and doll playing sue. and, of course, a dog named rover. all of them blond.

in this day and age, however, i've noticed that these same books now show families in all their glory and differences. there are the single parent families picnicking together, the homosexual couple taking their child and puppy for a walk, and the interracial family having dinner together, sitting across from people who may not look like them. i am in complete and utter support of such training for children because it really does prepare them for the real world. such people exist, and they will come across them. maybe not when they are 9 years old, but at some point.

the one thing that my education did not prepare me for was the differences within the families themselves. the only thing that i can assume is that others are also not prepared for this because it seems as the most intolerance i feel is from within my own family. this isn't an emo cry out for help against the oppression of my parents. this is a question posed to all those family who live thousands of miles away and who i feel are strangers to me: why?

i feel it the worst when i see other extended families getting along swimmingly. and i hate that i want it; that closeness between cousins and aunts and uncles. as much as i try to forget and tell myself that this has nothing to do with my everyday life, when it's staring at me in the face, i want so much to reach out and touch it. that nearly physical warmth that seems so genuine. i won't be selfish, i just want a taste. no matter how hard i try, i just can't get it.

Chapter 18: Time.

i am late to everything.

despite how ostentatious that statement may look, this is not something that i am proud of. it really is amazing, however, that this happens because no matter how early i leave (read, plan on leaving), i am always about 10 minutes late. sadly, i can always be later than this, but never earlier.

i've always wondered what the world looks like 10 minutes before i saw it. i imagine that it is a completely different place, one that i would never be able to recognize. i've also wondered about all the misfortunes and opportunities that i have missed because of my lateness. despite wondering about these things, i cannot seem to change my timing.

unless everything else were to start 10 minutes later than intended.
a girl can dream.

Chapter 17: Life.

what constitutes a truly morbid thought? what pushes a person across that thin line between a contemplating philosopher to a depressed maniac? how do you know where you fall?

i've always thought seemingly morbid thoughts as far as i can remember. the idea of death and what it must feel like to die has always intrigued me. no, not in a "ooh, i want to try!" kind of way. more of a fascination of sorts. with the idea, with the after-life (is there one? isn't there one?), the idea of a soul.

what attracted me most to death was the dignity in it. a lot of people say that the expression on a dead face is that of peace and serenity. honestly, i've always seen a look of pretentious dignity, nearing haughtiness, never quite there. a kind of pride that you see in a living person who walks into a room and owns it. you are probably just sitting there, minding your own business as you sip your drink, when you are compelled by an urge to look up at the door. and there she is, that person who can command the attention of the entire room, relishing in the delight of all eyes upon her and her alone. as you look around, you realize that others were just as transfixed as you were. you revere and envy her for this unseen power over others. this is what i see when i see death.

i've always thought that a person's true worth to the world can only be determined by his/her funeral. that is the one time when every person you have affected significantly or slightly will be together in the same room at the same time. i think this is what saddens me most about funerals. though the person is lost, i am a firm believer in that each has his own time to go and we can't do anything about that. the reason i cry at funerals is because that person will never fully realize his/her influence in the world, how much he touched a particular person at any particular moment. he'll never realize that this loss has brought forth tears from eyes he never expected, and nothing from eyes he expected to be red and itchy by now.

i'm not going to throw out the cliches of "live each day like it's your last" or "if you love someone, tell them so everyday." let's be honest, in the middle of all those cell phone calls and emails, dodging cars as you cross the street and dodging your boss at work, buying that non-fat light latte with extra whip cream, these are the things we forget to say. all i'm saying is that when have lost someone who has touched you in any way - and i mean any way - shed a few tears. if this is not your style, remember them as you take an extra minute out of your day to close your eyes and just breathe, make a small offering in her name when you give a quarter to a bum, or just raise your morning cup of coffee to him in salute. i may not have any lofty ideas about life or death, but i do know that no act of kindness or compassion will go unnoticed.

Chapter 16: Action.

what if all the world really was a stage? who would you be everyday?

i've thought about this a lot. the idea that you can leave your house one fine morning and be someone completely different, a different character with a different past, present and future. some days, it's so tempting. other days, i don't want to be anyone else in the world.

sometimes it does feel like the world is one huge production. sometimes elaborate and gaudy, other times minimalistic and stoic, always a show. and the script seems to be ingrained in the very pores of our skin. a few lines:

"hi, how are you?"
"fine, thanks. and you?"

"it's such a beautiful morning."
"i know. i hope the weather lasts."

"does this dress make me look fat?"
"no."


as long as the correct answers are given, the wheels keep turning and the world is at peace with itself. however, change a word or two, like:

"hi how are you"
"awful. and yourself?"

time screeches to a halt, babies start crying, famine strikes. and yet, this answer might be coming from complete and utter honesty. the person who is awful is merely making a statement, and isn't even asking the other person to listen to exactly what is so awful. yet, the other person will walk away from that conversation uncomfortable and troubled, and will have it lurk in his mind for the rest of the day. any spare moment will be devoted to thinking about this conversation.

i think i may try a bit of impromptu acting in my life from now on. you know, just to shake things up a bit.

Chapter 15: Fireworks.

fireworks always makes me think of my childhood. they remind me of a time when things were never complicated than who got to be "it" first or what flavor of ice cream i wanted that day. though i carefully deliberated all of my choices, i realize now that many of them could have been made with my eyes closed and my finger pointing in any direction. i'm pretty sure that others also share this sentiment and love for fireworks. so much so that every 4th of july, hundreds upon thousands of fireworks are lit all over the country.

this year was no different, except for the fact that i was at school for the holiday this year. my friends and i decided to make a day of it with pancakes in the morning and then going down to the philadelphia museum of art to see the customary fireworks. as the eleven of us trooped downtown

i did notice the clouds out of the corner of my eye as i packed my umbrella and hoped for the best. as we crossed through the parade (just as the alien impersonators passed by. i don't know either.), a few more clouds rolled in and ponchos came out. lo and behold, the skies opened up and out poured the rain. the eleven of us crowded under what i could only call 2.5 umbrellas, shivering as it got colder and darker. a few of us remained hopeful, saying that the fireworks were coming any minute now.

we didn't know at the time, but aretha franklin performed about 50 feet away from us, but as the speakers weren't turned on, we had no idea. some of our party left around 10pm, which made sense considering we had been there since, oh, about 7, 7:30? the worst part of the night, as if it could get any worse, was at 11, when it was announced that there would be no fireworks that evening.

none. nothing. not even one little flare. i don't think i've ever felt so heart broken in my life. there went my one break from the everyday, my fifteen minutes of regressing to my 12-year-old self, my one chance at getting lost in nothingness as my senses were dazzled by lights of different colors and sizes.

as we walked home in the rain, no less, i think the only words that were spoken were grunts of disapproval and sighs of regret. i couldn't remember ever being so disappointed in recent years. just as we passed a clearing in the middle of the city, we were overcome by the glorious sight of white lights and the loud boom of sparks. it was a miracle, i tell you, a miracle! all of us sat right there and watched as the next 15 minutes made our night. we waited an extra five minutes at the end just to make sure that there were no more. after seeing our hearts content worth of fireworks, we went home.

i don't think i've ever enjoyed fireworks more than i did that night. not only did the initial disappointment add to the effect, but spending it with some of the most amazing people i have ever met made it all the better. some how, that night turned people who i've been going to school for at least a year into people i've come to cherish and adore. haha, as cheesy as that may sound. and the best part of it all, is that the same feeling of ecstatic joy i get during fireworks, i now get whenever i see one of these people. i don't know about you, but i like a little cheesy-ness in my life.

Chapter 14: Romance.

i know everyone asks this question, but i have to ask it too: is romance really dead? well, damn. that sucks.

i really think, like every woman does, that i was born into the wrong century. where are the flowers, candy, little blue boxes, moonlit walks on the beach, candlelit dinners, oh come on don't make me go on!

i really started thinking about this last week when i was out to dinner with some friends. we were at a thai place near campus, a normal place that we tend to frequent a lot. towards the end of the dinner, i had to make a phone call so i left the table. upon returning, the faces of all the other 9 people at the table were so wrought with emotion that i was instantly curious to know what had occurred in that brief of expanse of time that i missed. the guys at the table were smiling incredulously at each other. the girls were looking at each other in complete awe and wonder. and one lone girl at the end of the table was sitting there with the most mortified look on her face. and a slice of cheesecake in front of her.

it seems that a boy from our year, who had been sitting at the bar when we came in, decided to send this particular girl this particular slice of cake. no one let her live this down, especially not the guys.

but honestly, i was kind of impressed. how many guys can really summon the courage to do something like that, and in front of all her friends? it wasn't even anonymous because everyone at the table knew that it had been him. yes, this action was met by laughter by most of the table, but i'm pretty sure that every girl secretly hoped that she was the one in that position. after all, what girl wouldn't want to be fawned over with a piece of really good cake?

Chapter 13: Sorry, you're going to hell.

the university of pennsylvania (penn) is known for its really beautiful campus. walking down locust walk as the flowers bloom and the cool winds gently sway the budding trees is one of the greatest things about going to this school. i can always tell when summer starts: people laughing and talking as they sit outside on college green with their lunches, professors making exceptions to rules to teach under the shade, and the crazy man thundering in the middle of the walk to all who will listen, all the while condemning all non-white non-catholics to the depths of hell. peaceful, no?

ask any penn student, and he/she will tell you of this man. as soon as the weather is just right, he comes in the morning, sets up his little placards, and gets to work denouncing everyone in sight. most people just keep walking right past, a look of outrage on their face when they hear what he says. but usually, that outrage quickly subsides once he is out of ear shot. a brave few will attempt to argue with this man, explaining how many of the greatest achievements of man were created out of diversity, but this tends to get pretty ugly. after all, the only way to deal with a man so in love with his own voice is to raise your voice a bit higher. and higher. and higher. until you and he are screaming.

despite how people react to him, and the reaction is always the same, he never fails to come out there and attempt his re-education of the masses. i'm sure that at some point, someone tried to remove him from the spot, but he changed his cries to, "the first amendment allows me to stand right here!" then the police men who glared at him slowly faded away, then the human activists, then the bums, then the people who were remotely interested, until all you have left is him.

the only thing that worries me about this entire situation are the people who walk by with indifference, shouting louder into their cell phones so their friend can hear about last night's drunken escapades. after all, "the other kind of evil we must fear most is the indifference of good men." i've come to find that once you start ignoring the little things, you move on to the medium ones, slowly working your way up to the biggest of them all. then it takes the death of 1.5 million children at the hands of the nazis to shock people into attention again.

i am comforted by those who stop and fight, who risk being late to chemistry again just to tell that man off. i am also comforted by the looks of outrage that i see on faces as they past by because at least realizing the wrong in something is just as important as fighting against it.