The Lucky Resistance

They said that journalling helps. I already knew that. But since I've been numb all this time I've charted out my emotions instead of just feeling. Things go from terrifying to fascinating and back to terrifying. Humanity was never promising, but I naturally always wished to find the best in everybody and believed that there was much more good inside of them than bad. But people refuse to look at the facts, the law, the ramifications; begin to disregard common sense and decency; slip backwards into into ignorance. All the intelligence in the world cannot triumph over ignorance, only because ignorance in its purest form refuses to learn, to be taught. Where is the progress then? Where is the hope?

"Pressed but not crushed, struck down and oppressed but not destroyed, persecuted but NOT ABANDONED."

Maybe I was looking for something that was right under my nose. Just that phrase. Just that hope. Crawling back into the rows and columns of community to hear that verse. I collapsed on a bench only to be met with support. I've had so much support this year but refuse to become totally dependent, emotionally. I want to save so much, to heal so much, to be somebody who makes some sort of difference but does so with strength, dignity and confidence. However, there is just so much to fix and my head is filled with so many things from so many different directions that I wonder if all of my passion is being spread ocean-wide and inch-deep. Do I have what it takes to accomplish everything? What makes sense and what doesn't? What will kill me and what will save me? I am afraid of being too mentally exhausted to be able to have that mandatory go-getter attitude, but I go-and-get a lot of things.

No more limits.

If I need to do something, I do it. If I need to say something, I say it. If I have the ability to make it better, I make it better. Fulfillment comes in different forms, and it comes to me in a very strange way. It comes after a passionate discussion, a musical collaboration, honest contact, unapologetic intelligence, concrete community. It comes when I am not afraid, when I know exactly where my voice is, when my bathroom walls are covered in physics equations. Fulfillment comes to me and presents itself in an opportunity; often times it comes in silence and finds me when I need it the most. This is how I define or imagine a purpose for my life. This is how I manage; how I not only survive, but live.

Delicious.

The Elsewhere Otherwise Alternative

No complaining allowed, just honesty. Actually...we'll see.

I feel like a whole lot of people will make lists of the "Things I Learned in College" that have absolutely nothing to do with academia, and I'll admit, I do this occasionally as well. No shame in that. However, my list does have a bit to do with academia. Rephrase: I've a bone to pick with academia, at the moment.

This semester feels a bit different than the previous two. I've a little more time but a lot more stress. I've a couple more classes but a lot less sanity. I'm in charge of a few more things but I feel exponentially less important. Where is the balance?

Here's how it seems at the moment: I can study and review and communicate until my brain is just replete with knowledge, but it isn't making a dent. I can work all hours of the day, but it isn't making a dent. Fail fail. Lose lose. Because if I can't achieve 35 credits of awesome this year, I can wave goodbye to every honor organization, every honor course. Does that matter?

It does, and I'll tell you why. Not only do I lose my dignity but I also lose money. Thousands of dollars invested into who I am, into my higher education. Why does it all depend on a GPA when courses are designed to lower it? There has to be something more. There has to be another way, a better way.

But in about 24 hours, my aunt is taking me to get a decent meal. Not that I deserve it, or any of my precious friends, or anything else nice that is happening in life. A few hours after that, more nice things to come. I have a near future of "nice" and a distant future of "?". That's...comforting, at least a bit. At least I can turn a question mark. At least I can do my best. At least I can try and roll with the system.

And if nothing gets better? It isn't because I'm not trying; it's just because I'm not winning.

Delicious?

Panic Eve

Really?

It's been worse, yeah, but on a shorter timescale...ish. Biggest one last year: 18 hours. Never four days. Never. I've never never felt this dark for this long, or at least not in a while.

So there's an excerpt from the Vagina Monologues, I suppose, from one Latina to another. Something about a short skirt. A short, empowering skirt. A short, empowering skirt and how everything underneath it is mine. MINE.

So auditions are Sunday and Monday, but I think I've decided that my mental well-being can't take much more of that. It might be too much. One more tiny pick-axe chipping away at my soul. Don't need that.

Because moods have been low. Spirit is in denial and distant. Intelligence took a dive. Panic symptoms higher than usual. I can't cry. So what is the deal?

Beats me. In all forms.

Funny Things

Here's how it seems:
I live in a cube.
I live in a cube with a girl and a lizard.
I leave my cube to go to Physics in the morning to learn about Electromagnetism.
I leave Physics in the morning to go to Sociology or Biology to learn about the Ecosystem.
I leave Sociology or Biology to go to Calculus IV to learn about Differential Equations.
I leave Calculus IV to go to Astronomy to learn about Cosmology.
I leave Astronomy to go to Choir to learn to use my Voice.
I leave Choir to go to Work to Teach Algebra.
I leave Work to go to E5M to Promote Social Justice.
I leave E5M and go back to my cube to do Homework and Things.
I live in a cube.

Here's how it is:
I live in a polygon.
I live in a polygon with a friend and a pet and a coffee maker and lots of pictures.
I leave my polygon because I haven't the slightest idea how to master Electromagnetism.
I leave EM because life is precious but friends are better, and everything is interrelated.
I leave again because math can be learned, can be solved; it's possible.
I leave math to go to a class in which I laugh and click and relieve stress.
I leave that to sing at the top of my lungs with beautiful people.
I leave rehearsal to learn from my students; to feel important.
I leave work to mix my passions with the passions of others; to stop a crime.
I leave to go back to my polygon; back home.
I live at home.

Delicious.

I've Been British RTed?

These past few days have been filled with incredibly good news. Elaborate? Nah. Nothing of substance is really actually going on in my life for once. If I tried, though, substance would show up. I'm not worried. It'll be here soon.

Here's the thing. I'm getting up early tomorrow to move back to the university, which sounds like love at first sight to me. Living there is like living in an asylum in the best possible way. That is why I must go.

For example, I dropped by yesterday and in the twenty minute span of me being in Holmes Hall, SO many ridiculous shenanigans took place. Long story short, I learned a very valuable lesson: do not attempt to use toilet paper that has been accidentally doused in scented oil. And then I'm left asking why these things ALWAYS happen to me...but really? I love my hilarious existence. A friend told me yesterday that I lived such an adventurous life while she had worked all summer, and I responded by pointing out that I've no money to show for all of my adventure. Looking back, though, I'd much rather have adventure than cash. So lets see how long I last with that mentality.

On a new subject though, I was explaining my hectic fall schedule to another friend, and like most people after hearing that list of nincompoopery, she asked if I wanted to kill myself, as if I made the rules for the university and had a personal death-wish. I said yes; and the sooner the better.

Obviously, I was kidding. But what am I doing all of this for? I've been flippantly telling people that, no, I'm not going to work for NASA--NASA will work for me. That's the plan. And I see no reason why not.

But then I realize how little I know. How hard I've been working and how much harder I must work. How much strife is worth it? How do I measure success, because I certainly don't measure it like the rest of the world seems to. Not deep down.

So here's the real answer. If you want to know what in the world I'm going to do with an Astrophysics doctorate, why the hell I am in love with Ireland so much, why I didn't choose music school over science school, why I've awakened the activist in me, here's why:

It makes me happy. This is the closest thing to fulfillment that I can find; everything that I do I have at least a little reason for doing. However I don't and shouldn't have a concrete plan for life; that's silly. I have a general outline that looks like a ball of yarn. It goes in a million directions but it comes together into a semi-perfect sphere. What is life if you can't enjoy at least a portion of the ride? It doesn't have to make sense. I do what makes me happy.

See, nothing of real substance here. Can't make this mean anything today, but like I said, I'm not worried. Substance is near. Stay tuned.

Delicious.

Justice And/Or Mercy

There is a song by Flyleaf called Justice and Mercy, and from the moment I heard it I was sold. Lyrically, it's empowering. Musically, it's powerful in itself. Theoretically, it's revolutionary. Literally? I'm not so sure. I didn't actually think about or decompose the words 'justice' and 'mercy' until this morning, when Pastor Marvin was talking about 'the demands of justice' versus 'the longings of love'.

Because until now I figured that justice and mercy were attainable concurrently.

Nope.

People want justice for those who have done them wrong, but mercy for when they themselves do others wrong. It's just so very human.

I'm not a fool. I don't really actually think that justice fully exists. We live in a relatively justice-less world, where getting away with it, whatever 'it' may be, is the only thrill that people want. Getting away with it is pretty simple here, because people have added fluff to justice. Fluffy minimum sentences. Fluffy parole dates. Fluff. Justice is not a fluffy word. It's heavy and it has its own baggage. Justice will condemn a person. Justice will assign and enforce responsibility. Justice will rightfully kill a person.

On the flip side, though, mercy exists a bit. Mercy is the reason that justice is so absent. America, or Michigan, or Ingham County, rather, will give second chances out like candy. It's a free-for-all. You've made a mistake? Oh, you've killed? You've raped? Well, darling, crawl onto the judge's lap and say you're very, very sorry; he or she will give you a stern talking-to and maybe even smack your knuckles, but then wipe your tears, pat your back, and send you on your way. So go ahead. Kill again. Rape again. Mercy will set you free, because mercy trumps justice here.

That is so unbearably twisted. Justice would condemn; mercy just...forgave. Flippantly. With disregard. I'm not so sure that was in the original plan for mercy.

I just wish that the two could coexist. Not a mixture of two extreme opposites, but just a cooperation. The ONLY place where the two meet is at the cross. The ONLY person who experienced justice and mercy concurrently is Jesus Christ.

Because the demands of justice required a brutal death, but the longings of love, this depth of mercy, required a second chance for every man, every woman, every child. Everybody.

It's massive. It's ground-breaking. Justice meets Mercy. North meets South. East meets West.

That means that there exists a hope for me. I deserve the very depths of literal, condemning justice, but I don't experience that. I get away with it, BUT more than that, though, I have the option to make things right. I have the option to experience mercy, but not without the requirements of judgment. I'm judged by what I do, and I am sentenced to death, but Somebody has mercy on me. This is important: the foot of the cross is where the two meet. It isn't anywhere else, certainly not any courtroom in America. Justice and Mercy, at the cross: the opposites coming together.

Delicious.

The Post-Eire Era

Update: I am in America, currently. Back from a ridiculously successful trip to Ireland, but not really sure what to say. I remember when I got back from Ireland for the first time, I sat down and typed out page after page of memories and stories and...I have just as many things to tell this time, I just would rather tell them to you face-to-face, if you ask. I'll tell you that Ireland is getting better. I'll tell you about the darkness but then I'll tell you about the light that is to come. I'll tell you about the huge amount of power in the land and sea. I'll tell you about the kiddos, about the parents, about the friends and foes. I'll tell you about the team, about the food, about the victories, about the laughter, about the tears, about the unity, about the signs, the wonders, the miracles. If you ask.

Because I'm head-over-heels in love with it; with it and the people within it. If you usually read my documentations of thought, you probably know this already. You know how much I felt like I had to go back. You know how addicted I am. You know how obsessed. You know, so you must know how incredibly good it was for me to breathe Irish air again. But that's all terribly dramatic, isn't it?

As I said, I'm in America. I look and feel like a wild child of the summer, complete with burned nose and wispy, sun-blonde hair. It is good to be home, whatever "home" is. I'm moving back to the university soon, where I will disappear into a void of scheduled pandemonium and all I will have to worry about is achieving seventeen credits of awesome. Well, that and swimming until my lungs give out. And fighting along with the colleagues as hard as ever to eradicate the existence of sexual assault. And grading a zillion math papers. And all the things that I do.

But when all of that smoke clears away, and I take with me the things I learn and the memories and friendships and empowerment, support, experience, growth, I will be left with opportunity after opportunity. I have a rough plan, but it's foolish to plan. So, version two of my plan, or Plan B, if you will, is to jump on every opportunity that I have enough sanity for.

So basically just do what I do always. Keep living life. Keep. Living. Life.

Delicious.