Greetings avid readers!
I will no longer be posting on Blogspot because a new website has captivated my fancy. So, roll up your sleeves, grab a dictionary, and come join me at the new (and improved) Elpis -- Happiness is only a click away!
Note: Tweeks and adjustments are still in due process (if time permits) for the website; hence, please feel free to send feedback on whatever significant alterations ought to be implemented. Suggestions and observations are always welcomed!
Monday, June 4, 2007
Never a Dull Moment In University Life
The past 2 weeks and a half have been frantic – Classes started, my health insurance company disowned me because they failed to tell me I’m supposed to fax them a full-time student certificate for every semester, moved into my friend’s condo, met up with friends before they left for vacation or summer school, went to the hospital, etc. etc. though not in that specific order.
Exactly two years ago, I experienced a medical problem that had my entire family fearing I developed cancer. A procedure was done to investigate the abnormality, and the doctor concluded that it shouldn’t be of anything to worry and sent me off with some prescription medications. The symptoms ceased the following week.
Unfortunately for me, the complications came back last month, and I refused to inform my parents of it because I didn’t want them blowing the situation out of proportion, much like they did the last time, but the symptoms worsened within half a month. Which brings me to a question – Do you think that perhaps the body, given that it is separate from the mind, can understand the mind’s thoughts and, thereby, respond by taking a certain course of action? It’s an elusive argument because you can’t execute an unquestionable experiment to assess the conjecture, but I inquire on such a vexing lemma because after the thought – Perhaps I should see a doctor again – crossed my mind, the symptoms intermitted the following day, as if my body was responding – Hell no, I’m not going to be given sedatives and undergoing that procedure again. Alas, I was reprimanded and a hospital visit was imposed upon me last Tuesday, and the procedure is scheduled to proceed on the 29th of this month, granted that the people working at my health insurance company acquire some brains.
The condo I’m staying at for the summer is moderately comfortable. The only qualm I have of the conditions is the person with whom I live. She’s a dear friend of mine; however, I have yet to see such a degree of domestic incompetence in the past 20 ½ years of my life. Perhaps her ineptitude at such chores is borne of her periodically insurmountable laziness or merely apathy (she is a business major, after all). I haven’t identified the definite cause, yet.
Being here, I feel like a motherly figure again, something from which I’ve been meaning to stray away simply because I want to enjoy my youth while I can still manage to move around without hearing my hip crack. I worry about her ability to take care of herself in the future, but I can't help but break out in laughter every time the thought that one of these days, she will have to manage everything herself acrosses my mind. Unless, of course, she finds an uxorious partner.
Two days ago, I asked her to toss the salad and she managed to "toss" some of the salad onto the floor. Yesterday, I went out to dinner with family friends, and she ended up having half a cucumber for dinner. Fortunately, I was perceptive enough to order an extra rainbow trout entrée and took it back for her. The poor child – Half a cucumber for goodness sake! Today, she wanted to make oatmeal for me, which resulted in an explosion of soymilk-soaked oatmeal in the microwave and then asked me how to come about cleaning it. Watching Wendy commit domestic blunders anon is a laugh and a half; she never ceases to humor me -- This is definitely going to be an interesting 2 months.
Ah, it's nearing 2am, and 8 hours of classes tomorrow to look forward. I best get some sleep.
Until next time, my little munchkins.
Exactly two years ago, I experienced a medical problem that had my entire family fearing I developed cancer. A procedure was done to investigate the abnormality, and the doctor concluded that it shouldn’t be of anything to worry and sent me off with some prescription medications. The symptoms ceased the following week.
Unfortunately for me, the complications came back last month, and I refused to inform my parents of it because I didn’t want them blowing the situation out of proportion, much like they did the last time, but the symptoms worsened within half a month. Which brings me to a question – Do you think that perhaps the body, given that it is separate from the mind, can understand the mind’s thoughts and, thereby, respond by taking a certain course of action? It’s an elusive argument because you can’t execute an unquestionable experiment to assess the conjecture, but I inquire on such a vexing lemma because after the thought – Perhaps I should see a doctor again – crossed my mind, the symptoms intermitted the following day, as if my body was responding – Hell no, I’m not going to be given sedatives and undergoing that procedure again. Alas, I was reprimanded and a hospital visit was imposed upon me last Tuesday, and the procedure is scheduled to proceed on the 29th of this month, granted that the people working at my health insurance company acquire some brains.
The condo I’m staying at for the summer is moderately comfortable. The only qualm I have of the conditions is the person with whom I live. She’s a dear friend of mine; however, I have yet to see such a degree of domestic incompetence in the past 20 ½ years of my life. Perhaps her ineptitude at such chores is borne of her periodically insurmountable laziness or merely apathy (she is a business major, after all). I haven’t identified the definite cause, yet.
Being here, I feel like a motherly figure again, something from which I’ve been meaning to stray away simply because I want to enjoy my youth while I can still manage to move around without hearing my hip crack. I worry about her ability to take care of herself in the future, but I can't help but break out in laughter every time the thought that one of these days, she will have to manage everything herself acrosses my mind. Unless, of course, she finds an uxorious partner.
Two days ago, I asked her to toss the salad and she managed to "toss" some of the salad onto the floor. Yesterday, I went out to dinner with family friends, and she ended up having half a cucumber for dinner. Fortunately, I was perceptive enough to order an extra rainbow trout entrée and took it back for her. The poor child – Half a cucumber for goodness sake! Today, she wanted to make oatmeal for me, which resulted in an explosion of soymilk-soaked oatmeal in the microwave and then asked me how to come about cleaning it. Watching Wendy commit domestic blunders anon is a laugh and a half; she never ceases to humor me -- This is definitely going to be an interesting 2 months.
Ah, it's nearing 2am, and 8 hours of classes tomorrow to look forward. I best get some sleep.
Until next time, my little munchkins.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
M.I.A.
Alright, I lied -- Entries will not be published posthaste. I wish there were more hours in a day, but there simply aren't. Come back by Wednesday, and I assure you -- There will be an entry waiting for you!
Monday, May 28, 2007
Alive and Kicking
I’ve been rather laggard in the blogging department as of late simply because I haven’t the time to sit in front of my laptop like the couch potato that most of us truly are behind that thick layer of vivacious disguise.
There’s been a deluge in Houston for the past couple of days. Ok, maybe deluge is a slight exaggeration. Nonetheless, I haven’t seen the sun in almost a week and am beginning to miss that recalescent, titian orb.
… I actually had a better topic to discuss, but some music and a good book seem more adequately satisfying than demoralizing the male gender per observations from these past few days. The main objective of this short entry was purely to inform -- I’m not dead, my vigilant readers who don’t like to leave comments; my brain has merely been momentarily preoccupied. So stay tuned for new entries will be arriving posthaste!
There’s been a deluge in Houston for the past couple of days. Ok, maybe deluge is a slight exaggeration. Nonetheless, I haven’t seen the sun in almost a week and am beginning to miss that recalescent, titian orb.
… I actually had a better topic to discuss, but some music and a good book seem more adequately satisfying than demoralizing the male gender per observations from these past few days. The main objective of this short entry was purely to inform -- I’m not dead, my vigilant readers who don’t like to leave comments; my brain has merely been momentarily preoccupied. So stay tuned for new entries will be arriving posthaste!
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Shake It Like a Polaroid Picture
I’m looking forward to tomorrow evening. A group of friends and I are going to a Greek bar called Byzantio that features belly dancing on Thursday nights. It’s definitely an atmosphere I have yet to experience -- I’ve been to clubs with hip-hop music raging in the background, but Mediterranean music? It simply sounds delightful. The bar also doesn’t ask for your ID when ordering alcoholic beverages so I expect my friends will be drinking, perhaps a lot. So the question remains -- Who will be the designated driver?
Unlike most of my friends, I’m not an ardent alcohol consumer -- Every once in awhile, I’d have a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon or, even less frequently, some beer. Hence, I don’t mind being the designated driver again; however, I don’t want to be restricted to not being able to have any alcohol due to the predisposition that I am always the responsible one. What if I’m inspired by the environment and am compelled to indulge in a fruity margarita? Or if someone offers to buy me a drink, would my response have to be “Sorry, I’m baby-sitting my friends you see intoxicated and disoriented in that corner over there?” I suppose their safety matters more to me than a glass of fermented carbohydrates, which is why when Elena called about the driving contention, I volunteered without hesitation.
Tonight, 9 high school friends and I enjoyed a catch-up dinner/chat at Panera Bread. The main topic presented was how absolutely old we are getting. The feeling of old age doesn’t quite hit you with a WHAM until you realize “Wow, so-and-so got married this past Saturday” or “Yadda-yadda is engaged to blah-blah-blah.” One-forth of my life is over! Hopefully, the remainder of my life will be more productive than the rut I’ve been leading thus far -- More fun, more mirth, more loving, more living.
What proceeded was a discussion of plans for tomorrow night to Byzantio. I was advised to wear a “figure-hugging” outfit, preferably a dress or skirt, because I have a “bombshell hourglass figure” that they “would give anything to have.” They demanded that I find an outfit tonight and send them a picture and added, “We’re going to make sure you look hot.” Although I appreciate their concern, I'm capable of sprucing myself up. Ah well.
Since my revelation that my mother’s skewed conviction of my body image should not become my assessment as well, I haven’t had the chance to purchase any dresses and/or skirts, and unfortunately, I left many of my accouterments at my friend’s apartment in Austin. I did,
however, find 2 ensembles that I think are potential contenders.
The first one appears to be slightly flashy and juvenile with all the butterflies on the bottom. I did, after all, purchase this dress back in 7th grade. Perhaps it’s even a bit unchaste, to put it lightly, since I know my younger sister reads my blog.
The other ensemble seems more sophisticated but
almost too austere. Although, wearing this would ensure that no one will attempt to importune me or buy me a drink! There’s undeniable evidence that the majority of men who step inside a bar scan through the entire scene for the most lascivious female character for a quick fix; few actually look for a lasting partner in such an environment.
Thus, the latter dress seems to be more appropriate. Wouldn’t you agree?
Alas, it is time for bed. Au revoir until next time!
Unlike most of my friends, I’m not an ardent alcohol consumer -- Every once in awhile, I’d have a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon or, even less frequently, some beer. Hence, I don’t mind being the designated driver again; however, I don’t want to be restricted to not being able to have any alcohol due to the predisposition that I am always the responsible one. What if I’m inspired by the environment and am compelled to indulge in a fruity margarita? Or if someone offers to buy me a drink, would my response have to be “Sorry, I’m baby-sitting my friends you see intoxicated and disoriented in that corner over there?” I suppose their safety matters more to me than a glass of fermented carbohydrates, which is why when Elena called about the driving contention, I volunteered without hesitation.
Tonight, 9 high school friends and I enjoyed a catch-up dinner/chat at Panera Bread. The main topic presented was how absolutely old we are getting. The feeling of old age doesn’t quite hit you with a WHAM until you realize “Wow, so-and-so got married this past Saturday” or “Yadda-yadda is engaged to blah-blah-blah.” One-forth of my life is over! Hopefully, the remainder of my life will be more productive than the rut I’ve been leading thus far -- More fun, more mirth, more loving, more living.
What proceeded was a discussion of plans for tomorrow night to Byzantio. I was advised to wear a “figure-hugging” outfit, preferably a dress or skirt, because I have a “bombshell hourglass figure” that they “would give anything to have.” They demanded that I find an outfit tonight and send them a picture and added, “We’re going to make sure you look hot.” Although I appreciate their concern, I'm capable of sprucing myself up. Ah well.
Since my revelation that my mother’s skewed conviction of my body image should not become my assessment as well, I haven’t had the chance to purchase any dresses and/or skirts, and unfortunately, I left many of my accouterments at my friend’s apartment in Austin. I did,
however, find 2 ensembles that I think are potential contenders.The first one appears to be slightly flashy and juvenile with all the butterflies on the bottom. I did, after all, purchase this dress back in 7th grade. Perhaps it’s even a bit unchaste, to put it lightly, since I know my younger sister reads my blog.
The other ensemble seems more sophisticated but
almost too austere. Although, wearing this would ensure that no one will attempt to importune me or buy me a drink! There’s undeniable evidence that the majority of men who step inside a bar scan through the entire scene for the most lascivious female character for a quick fix; few actually look for a lasting partner in such an environment.Thus, the latter dress seems to be more appropriate. Wouldn’t you agree?
Alas, it is time for bed. Au revoir until next time!
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Enlighten Me, Muse
I’ve been feeling rather insipid as of late; I’m convinced it’s a side-effect of being on summer vacation after having such an assiduous year. Strangely, though, I’ve been quite busy these past few days, but these outings are just too… formal -- Reunions with family friends, rendezvous with business partners, etc. when, in truth, I simply want to go swim with the duckies living in the pond behind my house. Ah, to be a duckie, what a glorious life it would be!
Lately, I’ve been trying to re-hone my creative character -- I seem to have lost that ingenuity due to my narrow-minded goal for academic perfection, something that I have now concluded to be futile and a waste of my youth. You only live once. After receiving an 89 in Organic Chemistry Lab instead of the desired 90, I realized how trivial these numbers are to my life. My personality and desire to contribute in an industry should mean more to the ADEA than a series of arbitrary digits. Even if they reject my applications, I have back-up plans anyway. Presently, not becoming a lifeless zombie like so many of my other friends is of utmost importance to me. I want my childhood back!… So I started on an array of new projects recently.
Instead of spending hundreds of dollars on a birthday present that I don’t even know if my friends will like, I decided to make them something. Eight pairs of earrings were made to be distributed -- Dangling origami stars made of gift-wrapping ribbons attached to a silver hook. Blood was shed for these earrings because joining the star and the hook together is quite tricky and the instruments used were of primitive origin.
Back in the good ole’ days when my dad was still studying for his PhD, my family couldn’t afford the luxuries we take for granted today. I would always make my Valentine’s Day gifts instead of buying them like my classmates. In 4th grade, I made chocolate roses out of Hershey’s kisses for my peers. The chocolate was obtained from trick-or-treating on Halloween; the stems made
from grocery store twist ties I had previously grabbed a handful of whilst my mom was shopping; the green tape borrowed from our apartment neighbor; the red, plastic wrap from Saran wrapped cookies I had received from my friends; the leaves from my mother’s fake ornamental plants she had lying around our apartment; and the boxes for these roses folded myself from white cardboard paper I received free from my 3rd grade teacher. Since Father’s Day is coming up, I figured I’d make him 2 dozen of these chocolate roses. I’ve only managed to finish 6 thus far, albeit, at least I have appropriate materials to use this time.
My mother’s birthday is coming up in late June -- She’s turning a lovely age of 52. I’m making her a wind chime made out of origami and family pictures. I’ll upload a picture once I’ve managed to complete the project.
Yesterday, I mustered enough courage to take out my collection of Prismacolor® colored pencils, which I haven’t touched in much too long a time. I was slightly nervous that I had lost my artistic abilities, but I think the self-portrait turned out moderately well. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll
muster enough courage to take out my acrylics; I haven’t painted in well over 2 years. Or maybe finish that pottery painting I left incomplete 6 years ago…
But until then -- More shopping to be done tomorrow morning.
Au revoir my little munchkins’!
Lately, I’ve been trying to re-hone my creative character -- I seem to have lost that ingenuity due to my narrow-minded goal for academic perfection, something that I have now concluded to be futile and a waste of my youth. You only live once. After receiving an 89 in Organic Chemistry Lab instead of the desired 90, I realized how trivial these numbers are to my life. My personality and desire to contribute in an industry should mean more to the ADEA than a series of arbitrary digits. Even if they reject my applications, I have back-up plans anyway. Presently, not becoming a lifeless zombie like so many of my other friends is of utmost importance to me. I want my childhood back!… So I started on an array of new projects recently.
Instead of spending hundreds of dollars on a birthday present that I don’t even know if my friends will like, I decided to make them something. Eight pairs of earrings were made to be distributed -- Dangling origami stars made of gift-wrapping ribbons attached to a silver hook. Blood was shed for these earrings because joining the star and the hook together is quite tricky and the instruments used were of primitive origin.Back in the good ole’ days when my dad was still studying for his PhD, my family couldn’t afford the luxuries we take for granted today. I would always make my Valentine’s Day gifts instead of buying them like my classmates. In 4th grade, I made chocolate roses out of Hershey’s kisses for my peers. The chocolate was obtained from trick-or-treating on Halloween; the stems made
from grocery store twist ties I had previously grabbed a handful of whilst my mom was shopping; the green tape borrowed from our apartment neighbor; the red, plastic wrap from Saran wrapped cookies I had received from my friends; the leaves from my mother’s fake ornamental plants she had lying around our apartment; and the boxes for these roses folded myself from white cardboard paper I received free from my 3rd grade teacher. Since Father’s Day is coming up, I figured I’d make him 2 dozen of these chocolate roses. I’ve only managed to finish 6 thus far, albeit, at least I have appropriate materials to use this time.My mother’s birthday is coming up in late June -- She’s turning a lovely age of 52. I’m making her a wind chime made out of origami and family pictures. I’ll upload a picture once I’ve managed to complete the project.
Yesterday, I mustered enough courage to take out my collection of Prismacolor® colored pencils, which I haven’t touched in much too long a time. I was slightly nervous that I had lost my artistic abilities, but I think the self-portrait turned out moderately well. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll
muster enough courage to take out my acrylics; I haven’t painted in well over 2 years. Or maybe finish that pottery painting I left incomplete 6 years ago…But until then -- More shopping to be done tomorrow morning.
Au revoir my little munchkins’!
Friday, May 18, 2007
Take the Blue Pill or the Red?
I went out for lunch with my mom today, and I don't recall what triggered the subject but, absent-mindedly, I mentioned that I had donated blood again, before coming home. What proceeded can be described as a whirlwind of lecturing. Supposedly, 1. If I keep donating blood, it will become an addiction 2. I'm not healthy enough to keep doing this 3. Donating blood leads to weight gain. In defense, I refuted 1. I'm not addicted to donating blood; I just want to save lives 2. Not only did I not faint, unlike 2 of my other friends who came with me, I had strenuous exercises immediately afterwards each time, e.g. rowing practice, running 5 miles, etc. 3. You only gain weight if you gorge yourself with food in order to compensate for the pint of blood you've lost.
She subsequently stated that I can't save lives if I end up dying, that it's best I kept myself perfectly healthy now, get a well-paying job, and, then, become a philanthropist with my money. Why yes, mother, money can surely magically metamorphose into blood for cancer victims, severely injured patients, hemophiliacs, etc. I understand and respect her argument; however, the way I see it -- I don't have the adequate resources in terms of money currently to help anyone, hence, the best I can do is give others something of which I have a stockpile. People are suffering now; waiting until I am financially stable could take years.
She subsequently stated that I can't save lives if I end up dying, that it's best I kept myself perfectly healthy now, get a well-paying job, and, then, become a philanthropist with my money. Why yes, mother, money can surely magically metamorphose into blood for cancer victims, severely injured patients, hemophiliacs, etc. I understand and respect her argument; however, the way I see it -- I don't have the adequate resources in terms of money currently to help anyone, hence, the best I can do is give others something of which I have a stockpile. People are suffering now; waiting until I am financially stable could take years.
As we were walking to the grocery store, I mentioned how wonderful the weather in Houston has been since I've been here and jokingly stated that God must love me (since Houston's known to have 104+ Fahrenheit temperatures during the summer). Mom muttered back, "Everyone loves you. If you keep doing things to hurt me, though (in reference to blood donations), I won't like you anymore."
I laughed because I found the situation to be quite ironic. My parents have considerably different personalities and perspectives.
I love both my parents dearly, mind you; however, observations of their actions and personalities throughout these past 20 years of my life made me realize how much I would loathe myself if my character became a silhouette of that of my dad. He's a loving father, but he's rather inept at keeping his temperament at a stable level -- Many a time, my mother and I would find him having verbal fights with strangers due to a minor disagreement. At other times, we would lose our appetite at a restaurant because he can't stop complaining about how poor the service is or the lack of sufficient shrimp in his platter. I honestly don't know how my mom has managed to deal with my dad's detestable disposition, but I unequivocally commend her for it.
That being said, I thought my mother would understand why I regularly donate blood. Perhaps her motherly instincts surpass her normally altruistic nature. I have yet to decide whether I should disobey her and proceed to continue my donations and not inform her of the matter, or actually listen. Afterall, Mothers don't always know best.
It Came With a Bang
Ever have moments where revelations just hit you with a sudden bang, as if someone whacked you upside the head with a frying pan? Alright, maybe not so grotesque but nevertheless. Today was an unusual day of sorts; perhaps it's due to the fact that I only slept for 3 hours the night before.
I went to the mall today for new clothes even though I can't entirely afford such indulgences currently, but I desperately needed new jeans. Consequently, I purchased 2 pairs of jeans, 1 skirt, and 3 unbelievably adorable tops totaling a sizable $138.
For the past 3 years I loathed shopping for clothes -- It seemed to be more of a chore than a luxury. Now that I reflect on that disposition, I realize why: My darling mother. Much like my mother's foul perception of what defines intelligence, her assessment as to what denotes beauty is likewise as skewed. I've always had artistic, creative, and intuitive intellect but none of that "book-smart" flair. Growing up under the shadows of my closest friends who'd been valedictorians, saludatorians, etc. had never served to uplift my already depraved self-esteem, especially since my parents place so much emphasis on being the best. As for beauty, looking like one of those Victoria Secret models would elate my mother beyond belief. That's not to say she doesn't consider me beautiful; she has, however, quite a few times insisted that I skip meals so I'll become the "skinny person" I once was, which left me feeling disgusted about my self-image -- I am fat and ugly, and no one will ever love me. My love for shopping soon slipped away, and I became repulsed at anything that would reveal a smidgen of my skin -- Hooded, over-sized jackets and t-shirts became my favoured articles of clothing. Primping became taboo.
Today, 3 years later, I realize how much I shouldn't care about what my mother perceives as beauty. I love my body. I'm not fat, but I'm not starving, either. I'm "curvacious" as many of my friends have commented. I am capable of doing a dress justice whereas others aren't. I have muscles, not merely skin and/or bones. That being said, my new wardrobe differs drastically from that of before, and I'm delighted I no longer fear what others may think and let that directly affect how I feel about myself.
I'm beautiful, and that's all there is to it.
Additionally, intellect is not solely based on how much of the textbook material you can regurgitate in a minute whilst having a conversation that pertains to a specific subject; it's the maturity and rationality of your statements in reference to the subject.
I'm an intellegent being and I will never let anyone tell me otherwise again.
I went to the mall today for new clothes even though I can't entirely afford such indulgences currently, but I desperately needed new jeans. Consequently, I purchased 2 pairs of jeans, 1 skirt, and 3 unbelievably adorable tops totaling a sizable $138.
For the past 3 years I loathed shopping for clothes -- It seemed to be more of a chore than a luxury. Now that I reflect on that disposition, I realize why: My darling mother. Much like my mother's foul perception of what defines intelligence, her assessment as to what denotes beauty is likewise as skewed. I've always had artistic, creative, and intuitive intellect but none of that "book-smart" flair. Growing up under the shadows of my closest friends who'd been valedictorians, saludatorians, etc. had never served to uplift my already depraved self-esteem, especially since my parents place so much emphasis on being the best. As for beauty, looking like one of those Victoria Secret models would elate my mother beyond belief. That's not to say she doesn't consider me beautiful; she has, however, quite a few times insisted that I skip meals so I'll become the "skinny person" I once was, which left me feeling disgusted about my self-image -- I am fat and ugly, and no one will ever love me. My love for shopping soon slipped away, and I became repulsed at anything that would reveal a smidgen of my skin -- Hooded, over-sized jackets and t-shirts became my favoured articles of clothing. Primping became taboo.
Today, 3 years later, I realize how much I shouldn't care about what my mother perceives as beauty. I love my body. I'm not fat, but I'm not starving, either. I'm "curvacious" as many of my friends have commented. I am capable of doing a dress justice whereas others aren't. I have muscles, not merely skin and/or bones. That being said, my new wardrobe differs drastically from that of before, and I'm delighted I no longer fear what others may think and let that directly affect how I feel about myself.
I'm beautiful, and that's all there is to it.
Additionally, intellect is not solely based on how much of the textbook material you can regurgitate in a minute whilst having a conversation that pertains to a specific subject; it's the maturity and rationality of your statements in reference to the subject.
I'm an intellegent being and I will never let anyone tell me otherwise again.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
I Spy With My Eyes... A Dirt Pile
It's been awhile since I've last blogged through no fault of my own. Once finals time rears its ugly head, there's no telling as to when I'll actually have "leisure time." This semester seems to be different, though. Perhaps due to my willingness to expand my horizon ever-so-slightly socially, my schedule seems a bit more spontaneous. The majority of my time was spent out dining, volunteering, and such. An abridged synopsis for Saturday is as follows (other days not included due to time limit hindrances):
Saturday 5/5/07:
Saturday 5/5/07:
1) Volunteered for Trash to Treasure 2) Transferred 100-some trashcans from someone's backyard to the trunk of a beat-up contraption the workers call a "car" 3) Ripped my favorite pair of jeans right in the crotch area whilst transferring, said, trashcans
* Murphy's Law: "If something can go wrong, it will" -- Pants rip, volunteering location farthest location on-campus, 35-minute walk back to dorm wearing ripped pants the day UIL competitions are held on-campus, i.e. people are omnipresent.*
I received quite a few awkward glances but was unwavering: A mindset was established requiring myself to exude an aura of confidence. My theory proposed that if I act sanguinely it would somehow mask the attitudes and opinions of others. I reached a state whereby I simply didn't care what others thought of the situation. So I have an enormous hole in my pants, you have a problem with that?
4) Gathered a group of friends to assist me in my search for new jeans at the mall 5) Bought 3 new shirts instead of pants 6) Ended up going to CiCi's Pizza to eat 7) Managed to devour 15 slices of pizza 8) Sat around for an additional 3 hours at the restaurant discussing names and causes and effects of low self-esteem (A general consensus was met regarding the name Roy -- It personifies a rapist)
Today was pretty much hell. I had stayed up late the night before because I couldn't resist watching Moulin Rouge on TV, which motivated me to demonstrate my vocal skills... until the wee hours of the morning. An 7am alarm had been set for my Genetics exam (the following morning). I accrued a whopping 1.5 hours of sleep. In order to keep myself awake, I purchased a grande-sized cup of caffèllatte this morning in hopes that I would be able to manage staying awake for at least half of the 3-hour exam. The exam wasn't too horrendous, albeit, I was unable to recall anything pertaining to the functions of the proteins at the polyadenylation site for one of the questions. Anyone know?
Because summer classes don't start until May 30th, I planned on staying at home for a week. I, however, had barely started packing the night before and my dormroom check-out time was scheduled at 2pm (it was 12pm at that time). One suitcase the size of a breakfast table was intended for stay at Austin in my friend's apartment whilst the others needed to be packed and transferred to my car within 2 hours. Running to the garage with my international-travel-sized suitcase took about 12 minutes, driving to my friend's apartment took an additional 10 minutes, and dragging the 60-some-pound suitcase by myself up 2 flights of stairs required another 10 minutes. I then had to drive my friend to work (15 minutes) and acquire a temporary permit (valid for an hour) so I can re-park in the parking lot closer to my dorm hall. By the time I made it back to my room, it was 1:10pm. I then had to pack in a maniacal manner. That, however, wasn't tedious at all compared to what came next. All the moving carts had already been lent to other students so I had to manually deliver each box, bag, suitcase, etc. to my car in the 95 degree Fahrenheit Austin weather. It took 20 minutes for me to get one particular suitcase in my car -- I simply had no strength left to lift the 50-pound luggage up off the ground and position it into the trunk. I honestly don't know how I managed to accumulate all the items in my dormroom, but it took me 6 trips to finish loading my car, and each trip left me panting without breath. My muscles were aching; my head was throbbing; my feet were burning. Heck, who am I kidding? My muscles are still aching.
After loading, I had to clean the entire dormroom spotless -- Mirrors, sink, microwave, refrigerator, cabinets, floor, etc. I suppose I received my fair share of strenuous exercise this morning.
Then came the 3-hour drive home, which brings me to my next point: Texan landscape is wretched. Unless you are driving past a city or well-developed town, chances are, you will only see grass -- And no, not beautiful, emerald green grass but dead, yellow grass. Every once in awhile you'll come across a horse or cow gnawing on this dead, yellow grass. Appetizing. There are no significant landmarks on the majority of the Texan landscape. If you were ever lost, how would you manage to find your way when the surrounding is only comprised of flat, yellow terrain? Whilst on my way from Austin to Houston today, I drove by a mound of dirt approximately 10 feet in height I had never seen before on that road . 
It alarmed me at first because I thought I had taken a wrong exit unbeknownst to me since that mound of dirt had never been there before. The residents of other cities rely on monuments, buildings, rivers, etc. to help them distinguish precisely where they are. Down in the heart of Texas, away from cities, people recognize their location based on the appearance of dirt piles. Pitiful, isn't it? I'm definitely not staying in this state once I am financially stable. Although, there is an advantage to staying here -- Wide, vast terrain you can drive on to your heart's desire when feeling pensive.
It is time to catch up on my much needed sleep.
'Til next time, my little munchkins!
Friday, May 4, 2007
Faux Pas
I seem to have a penchant for discommodious faux pas and hence, I shall resort to sharing a past social blunder, merely for entertainment purposes for whom are stressed after a hard week's work.
Like most preteens, I had many extracurricular activities spread across my compact time schedule, which included the swim team (among others); like all the other preteens on the swim team, I needed multiple swimsuits so that I may wear one to Tuesday's event, while Monday's swimsuit was in the washer, and so on; and like most preteens, I was a miniature manikin for my mother who chose everything from the type of hairstyle I had to the design of the embroidery on my socks. So, after I enrolled in the Austin YMCA Swim Team, my mom immediately took the admittance as a greenlight signal to start shopping for the "perfect" swimsuits.
The first swimsuit she bought was a one-piece -- purple and made of velvet-- I didn't complain. The second was also a one-piece -- pink with white polka-dots-- Still didn't complain. The third was, again, one-piece -- pink with multi-colored rainbows stretched across every inch of the fabric -- I complained a little because it made me look ridiculous. Just hand me a big, red rubber nose to wear and I could definitely pass for an over-zealous circus clown. The fourth and last swimsuit my mom bought was a strapless two-piece -- teal-blue and black with ruffled fabric -- I COMPLAINED, but, of course, my mom wasn't going to return it because she liked it. So, at age 10, I wore my first strapless two-piece swimsuit.
Come Friday a few months later, I scavenge through my laundry looking for any of my other 3 swimsuits to wear to the competition. Failure prevailed. I was left staring at that teal-blue and black swimsuit in disgust; I probably wouldn't have hated it so much if it actually had straps for support.
Having won that night's swim meet remarkably, I was quick to jump out of the pool after the competition was over, forgetting that I was wearing that dreadful swimsuit. And the next thing I knew, half the audience was gasping. Apparently, I had lost my top to the greedy pool monster in that upward burst of propulsion. People ask me why I don't wear two-piece swimsuits nowadays, I'll tell you why: Bad Experience. At that point, I would have rather stood in front of the crowd in my multi-colored rainbow swimsuit wearing a big, red rubber nose doing the funky chicken dance whilst singing my ABC's than the status quo.
Like most preteens, I had many extracurricular activities spread across my compact time schedule, which included the swim team (among others); like all the other preteens on the swim team, I needed multiple swimsuits so that I may wear one to Tuesday's event, while Monday's swimsuit was in the washer, and so on; and like most preteens, I was a miniature manikin for my mother who chose everything from the type of hairstyle I had to the design of the embroidery on my socks. So, after I enrolled in the Austin YMCA Swim Team, my mom immediately took the admittance as a greenlight signal to start shopping for the "perfect" swimsuits.
The first swimsuit she bought was a one-piece -- purple and made of velvet-- I didn't complain. The second was also a one-piece -- pink with white polka-dots-- Still didn't complain. The third was, again, one-piece -- pink with multi-colored rainbows stretched across every inch of the fabric -- I complained a little because it made me look ridiculous. Just hand me a big, red rubber nose to wear and I could definitely pass for an over-zealous circus clown. The fourth and last swimsuit my mom bought was a strapless two-piece -- teal-blue and black with ruffled fabric -- I COMPLAINED, but, of course, my mom wasn't going to return it because she liked it. So, at age 10, I wore my first strapless two-piece swimsuit.
Come Friday a few months later, I scavenge through my laundry looking for any of my other 3 swimsuits to wear to the competition. Failure prevailed. I was left staring at that teal-blue and black swimsuit in disgust; I probably wouldn't have hated it so much if it actually had straps for support.
Having won that night's swim meet remarkably, I was quick to jump out of the pool after the competition was over, forgetting that I was wearing that dreadful swimsuit. And the next thing I knew, half the audience was gasping. Apparently, I had lost my top to the greedy pool monster in that upward burst of propulsion. People ask me why I don't wear two-piece swimsuits nowadays, I'll tell you why: Bad Experience. At that point, I would have rather stood in front of the crowd in my multi-colored rainbow swimsuit wearing a big, red rubber nose doing the funky chicken dance whilst singing my ABC's than the status quo.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Psychoanalyzation
* Random acknowledgement: It seems so much easier to write about my life than on observations and psychoanalyzations of the environment around me, which was what my previous blog site used to be based on. Memory of that superannuated website, though, warrants today's entry.
People -- Rather broad subject you might think, what could she possibly be thinking? Well, recently, I've noticed that people can be placed into a variety of categories pertaining to their social/public behavior. Other than your ordinary, stereotypical categorization (e.g. blondes, nerds, goths, jocks, etc.); there's a greater scheme.
Recently, one of my older friends finally opened up her grocery store, located in some random corner in town that I doubt I'll ever be able to find again. Everyone gathered in this newly furbished, crowded store to take advantage of the "Opening Day: Half Price on everything along with free Gifts if you exceed $50 in purchases." Unfortunately, there were only 2 cash registers; and what made it worse, only one of the registers was attached to a scale, making it impossible to accept credit cards on the other. And might I add, people need to learn to read prior to going shopping... When the sign says "Cash only" it means CASH ONLY.
Being as hectic as it was, I volunteered to help at one of the booths. Throughout the course of the day, not only was I yelled at by the customers for the cash register's inability to accept credit cards, but I was also reprimanded for people cutting in line. I'm sorry I don't have a cattle prod to herd all these inconsiderate whiners around? But, there were people there who understood and were considerate of how chaotic the situation was (with only 4 people working and a non-ending line of customers); not to mention some of the items were accidentally not price-tagged, and hence, a third line of people waiting to inquire on the amount of their items formulated.
The store opened at 10am and the lines still hadn't died down by 1pm, the four of us all working without having had breakfast nor lunch, except these other 3 people were getting paid for taking crap from these insensitive shoppers, in which case I will say: THE CUSTOMER IS *NOT* ALWAYS RIGHT.
Come 1:30pm everyone was exhausted; the customers, irriated. So, inevitably, a fight took place. Here is where I state how I have come to characterize people given these types of situations.
Whilst in the middle of placing a shopper's items into grocery bags, I hear screaming and look up. Initially, I thought it was just a typical argument between 2 people, but then I saw fists flying in the air. The raison d'etre behind this brawl? Person #2 cut infront of person #1 in the check-out line. Surprisingly, I actually felt sorry for the guy who let his anger and frustration get the better of him to lead him to physically abuse the other person for having jumped in line. Not only did this man embarrass himself AND his wife infront of a crowd of spectators, but he also has to drive home with his wife bickering from the passenger seat, criticizing him for having handled the situation in such a barbaric manner.
People characteristic of person #1 have serotonin and dopamine inbalances, making it hard for them to control their emotions... but that doesn't mean they can't!
Complainers:
Moving up the ladder, we have the people who whine to 1) attract attention and/or 2) make others see how much they're suffering- looking for sympathy, empathy, or whatever the hell they can get. Unable to understand that *everyone* had been waiting in line for eternity and that we were trying our best to speed the process up so the shoppers are able to return home quickly, these select few still consistantly inundate the staff with a plethora of insults and complaints even after every one of us apologized for the inconvenience.
It sounded something like this:
"Why is this so f-ing slow! I need to hurry home, can't you people speed up the process?! You want me to die of old age from waiting or what?!"
'I'm sorry sir, we're trying our best; but as you can tell, it's opening day and everything is extremely hectic.'
"I know it's opening day, I understand that.. BUT I NEED TO GET HOME!"
It seems as if these people see themselves as the sole ruler of the universe. Everything has to go their way, else, it's time to pile a barrage of criticisms until their every need is met.
Muttering Fools:
Now, when I say fool, I don't mean to ridicule this type of people. They are only foolish in that they *think* you can't hear them muttering under their breath when, in reality, the counterparty can hear every word, usually whilst laughing on the inside.
As the next group of customers approached the check-out booth, I was ready to receive some more verbal bashings. Two sisters stepped up to my register and with beaming smiles said, "You guys must be tired as hell! Definitely deserve a break, very busy day today." At this point, I was extremely relieved that there are still people out there who aren't so self-absorbed and constantly looking for self-satisfaction and self-justification. After some silence, they started talking again, except this time it wasn't directed at me; oh yes, they were muttering... "Can't believe they're so slow, taking forever."
"They need to hire better workers, see how slow she's putting my food in? And why do I need 2 bags for one bottle of sauce? She's just trying to waste our time."
"I shouldn't be required to pay for this kind of service."
Why must people put on a façade? Backstabbing isn't any better than blatantly telling the harsh truth or spitting out insults. And just for the record, I chose to *slowly* put her *glass* bottle of sauce in *2* bags so she wouldn't have the hassle of having to clean everything up in case she dropped the sauce and the bottle shatters.
Timid Individuals:
This category is pretty much self-explanatory. Although they are not entirely satisfied with how a situation is handled or degree to which it is handled (i.e. effectiveness, efficiency, competence), they are unable to take any action. Not only that, I had also noticed that those who are shy don't have the ability to defend themselves. Unlike the belligerent fellow, timid individuals don't stand up for themselves when someone cuts infront of them in line. I am not saying that fighting someone else for your rightful place is the humanitarian thing to do in situations such as these, I am merely stating that although it is obvious some people who are extremely timid feel adamantly about something, they refuse to make their ideas/beliefs heard.
Courteous and Considerate Personages:
This group of people is extremely hard to find... but when you do, make sure you befriend them and keep in touch because in all likelihood, you won't find another. In a world where 99% of the popluation believe that the "good guys always finish last," very few actually stop to consider someone else's feelings and walk a mile in someone else's shoes.
From 10am till 3pm I worked in this little store; and repeatedly, I was put down by these self-centered and ungrateful shoppers. But, every once in awhile, I'd receive an appreciative thank-you from a customer. No, not a "thank-you for getting paid to do this," not an automated "thanks for putting my stuff in a bag," and definitely not a "thanks a lot, now I'm going to be late for my doctor's appointment," instead... a thank-you for being there. Who would have the dignity, patience, and motivation to resume working if all he or she gets are insults anyway? Do you derive satisfaction through others misery? I certainly hope not.
These people made my day -- Learn from them.
People -- Rather broad subject you might think, what could she possibly be thinking? Well, recently, I've noticed that people can be placed into a variety of categories pertaining to their social/public behavior. Other than your ordinary, stereotypical categorization (e.g. blondes, nerds, goths, jocks, etc.); there's a greater scheme.
Recently, one of my older friends finally opened up her grocery store, located in some random corner in town that I doubt I'll ever be able to find again. Everyone gathered in this newly furbished, crowded store to take advantage of the "Opening Day: Half Price on everything along with free Gifts if you exceed $50 in purchases." Unfortunately, there were only 2 cash registers; and what made it worse, only one of the registers was attached to a scale, making it impossible to accept credit cards on the other. And might I add, people need to learn to read prior to going shopping... When the sign says "Cash only" it means CASH ONLY.
Being as hectic as it was, I volunteered to help at one of the booths. Throughout the course of the day, not only was I yelled at by the customers for the cash register's inability to accept credit cards, but I was also reprimanded for people cutting in line. I'm sorry I don't have a cattle prod to herd all these inconsiderate whiners around? But, there were people there who understood and were considerate of how chaotic the situation was (with only 4 people working and a non-ending line of customers); not to mention some of the items were accidentally not price-tagged, and hence, a third line of people waiting to inquire on the amount of their items formulated.
The store opened at 10am and the lines still hadn't died down by 1pm, the four of us all working without having had breakfast nor lunch, except these other 3 people were getting paid for taking crap from these insensitive shoppers, in which case I will say: THE CUSTOMER IS *NOT* ALWAYS RIGHT.
Come 1:30pm everyone was exhausted; the customers, irriated. So, inevitably, a fight took place. Here is where I state how I have come to characterize people given these types of situations.
- The belligerent type
- The complainers
- The type of people who mutter under their breath
- The shy ones
- Those who are courteous and learn to suck it up
Whilst in the middle of placing a shopper's items into grocery bags, I hear screaming and look up. Initially, I thought it was just a typical argument between 2 people, but then I saw fists flying in the air. The raison d'etre behind this brawl? Person #2 cut infront of person #1 in the check-out line. Surprisingly, I actually felt sorry for the guy who let his anger and frustration get the better of him to lead him to physically abuse the other person for having jumped in line. Not only did this man embarrass himself AND his wife infront of a crowd of spectators, but he also has to drive home with his wife bickering from the passenger seat, criticizing him for having handled the situation in such a barbaric manner.
People characteristic of person #1 have serotonin and dopamine inbalances, making it hard for them to control their emotions... but that doesn't mean they can't!
Complainers:
Moving up the ladder, we have the people who whine to 1) attract attention and/or 2) make others see how much they're suffering- looking for sympathy, empathy, or whatever the hell they can get. Unable to understand that *everyone* had been waiting in line for eternity and that we were trying our best to speed the process up so the shoppers are able to return home quickly, these select few still consistantly inundate the staff with a plethora of insults and complaints even after every one of us apologized for the inconvenience.
It sounded something like this:
"Why is this so f-ing slow! I need to hurry home, can't you people speed up the process?! You want me to die of old age from waiting or what?!"
'I'm sorry sir, we're trying our best; but as you can tell, it's opening day and everything is extremely hectic.'
"I know it's opening day, I understand that.. BUT I NEED TO GET HOME!"
It seems as if these people see themselves as the sole ruler of the universe. Everything has to go their way, else, it's time to pile a barrage of criticisms until their every need is met.
Muttering Fools:
Now, when I say fool, I don't mean to ridicule this type of people. They are only foolish in that they *think* you can't hear them muttering under their breath when, in reality, the counterparty can hear every word, usually whilst laughing on the inside.
As the next group of customers approached the check-out booth, I was ready to receive some more verbal bashings. Two sisters stepped up to my register and with beaming smiles said, "You guys must be tired as hell! Definitely deserve a break, very busy day today." At this point, I was extremely relieved that there are still people out there who aren't so self-absorbed and constantly looking for self-satisfaction and self-justification. After some silence, they started talking again, except this time it wasn't directed at me; oh yes, they were muttering... "Can't believe they're so slow, taking forever."
"They need to hire better workers, see how slow she's putting my food in? And why do I need 2 bags for one bottle of sauce? She's just trying to waste our time."
"I shouldn't be required to pay for this kind of service."
Why must people put on a façade? Backstabbing isn't any better than blatantly telling the harsh truth or spitting out insults. And just for the record, I chose to *slowly* put her *glass* bottle of sauce in *2* bags so she wouldn't have the hassle of having to clean everything up in case she dropped the sauce and the bottle shatters.
Timid Individuals:
This category is pretty much self-explanatory. Although they are not entirely satisfied with how a situation is handled or degree to which it is handled (i.e. effectiveness, efficiency, competence), they are unable to take any action. Not only that, I had also noticed that those who are shy don't have the ability to defend themselves. Unlike the belligerent fellow, timid individuals don't stand up for themselves when someone cuts infront of them in line. I am not saying that fighting someone else for your rightful place is the humanitarian thing to do in situations such as these, I am merely stating that although it is obvious some people who are extremely timid feel adamantly about something, they refuse to make their ideas/beliefs heard.
Courteous and Considerate Personages:
This group of people is extremely hard to find... but when you do, make sure you befriend them and keep in touch because in all likelihood, you won't find another. In a world where 99% of the popluation believe that the "good guys always finish last," very few actually stop to consider someone else's feelings and walk a mile in someone else's shoes.
From 10am till 3pm I worked in this little store; and repeatedly, I was put down by these self-centered and ungrateful shoppers. But, every once in awhile, I'd receive an appreciative thank-you from a customer. No, not a "thank-you for getting paid to do this," not an automated "thanks for putting my stuff in a bag," and definitely not a "thanks a lot, now I'm going to be late for my doctor's appointment," instead... a thank-you for being there. Who would have the dignity, patience, and motivation to resume working if all he or she gets are insults anyway? Do you derive satisfaction through others misery? I certainly hope not.
These people made my day -- Learn from them.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Rigmarole
Drama, drama, drama. Do you love drama? Everybody else does -- Except me. It appears that gossip seems to be the incandescent light bulb that attracts all insects (and I don't mean that condescendingly, mind you). So, you like drama? Well then, here you are: rigmarole for your entertainment.
Recall that I missed my pop quiz in Medical and Scientific Terminology? I got a chance to speak to my professor Friday morning about it, and he allowed me to redress it -- I received an 86. After that little adventure, I walked back to my dorm only to be affronted by my roommate (she attends the same class). The conversation went similar to as follows:
Roommate: Where'd you go?
Myself: To talk to the professor to see if I can make up my quiz.
Roommate: What'd he say?
Myself: He let me take it.
Roommate: You suck! (Then proceeds to turn the other way and ignores me.)
The professor is the sweetest little man (literally, he's shorter than I am) with the most adorable British accent and he let me retake the quiz that I missed because he takes remorse in over-worked students, which is quite rare at UT, whereas the person that I've shared a room with for the past 6 months and bolstered through all of her issues would rather see me fail than succeed in a class? Throughout the entire course, I've consecutively made grades > 90 on the exams whereas she's obtained < 68's. My apologies if she's slightly not up to par as far as academia goes, but hoping someone else does badly in no way brings up her grade; instead, it makes her appear selfish and Machiavellian. Friends wish for good outcomes among one another, not ill kismet. Needless to say, I was quite offended, especially after all the energy I've devoted catering to her desiderata.
On the topic of her desiderata -- The love interest that she has been pursuing for the past 6 months is finally one no more. To explain the entire story would require far too much time and typing, hence, the general perspective is as such:
Girl likes boy. Boy leads girl on. Girl fails to see but soon becomes obsessed with boy. Roommate of girl warns girl not to get close and to half-heartedly move on. Girl refuses. Boy does stupid stuff and girl gets hurt. Boy apologizes and girl forgives. Girl becomes more obsessed with boy. Roommate, again, suggests she forget about the boy and move on. Girl ignores roommate. Girl becomes so absorbed into boy that she fails exams, cries when boy hangs out with female friends, and constantly calls boy. Boy tells girl's male friend that he thinks she is clingy -- Girl is surprised, roommate is not. Girl gets hopes up too high after boy kisses girl and roommate tries to bring her back down to earth and fails to do so. Girl begins spending weekends at boy's apartment. Girl decides to transfer to boy's university despite everyone's disapproval. Mutual friend of girl and boy tells girl that boy doesn't want a relationship with her, instead, finds her crazy in character and is interested in another girl. Again, girl is surprised, roommate is not. Girl professes interest in boy no more, but roommate remains skeptical.
That more-or-less paraphrases the past 6 months of their relationship (or lack thereof) rollercoaster. Every minute of her life was filled with Blake, Blake, Blake -- She had fallen for this jerk and she had fallen hard. I've recently come to believe that men are simply not worth this sort of agony. Although most of my friends say that I am most likely the first to marry out of all of them, my morale on male decency is cynical beyond repair. Maybe Mr.Right doesn't exist, or I'm simply not looking in the most opportune locales. I refuse, though, to ever step foot in a bar to look for a partner -- That's just... not my character.
Moving on to the next topic -- Summer housing.
Ehh, it is getting late and I have an 8am class. 'Till next time, my little munchkins.
Recall that I missed my pop quiz in Medical and Scientific Terminology? I got a chance to speak to my professor Friday morning about it, and he allowed me to redress it -- I received an 86. After that little adventure, I walked back to my dorm only to be affronted by my roommate (she attends the same class). The conversation went similar to as follows:
Roommate: Where'd you go?
Myself: To talk to the professor to see if I can make up my quiz.
Roommate: What'd he say?
Myself: He let me take it.
Roommate: You suck! (Then proceeds to turn the other way and ignores me.)
The professor is the sweetest little man (literally, he's shorter than I am) with the most adorable British accent and he let me retake the quiz that I missed because he takes remorse in over-worked students, which is quite rare at UT, whereas the person that I've shared a room with for the past 6 months and bolstered through all of her issues would rather see me fail than succeed in a class? Throughout the entire course, I've consecutively made grades > 90 on the exams whereas she's obtained < 68's. My apologies if she's slightly not up to par as far as academia goes, but hoping someone else does badly in no way brings up her grade; instead, it makes her appear selfish and Machiavellian. Friends wish for good outcomes among one another, not ill kismet. Needless to say, I was quite offended, especially after all the energy I've devoted catering to her desiderata.
On the topic of her desiderata -- The love interest that she has been pursuing for the past 6 months is finally one no more. To explain the entire story would require far too much time and typing, hence, the general perspective is as such:
Girl likes boy. Boy leads girl on. Girl fails to see but soon becomes obsessed with boy. Roommate of girl warns girl not to get close and to half-heartedly move on. Girl refuses. Boy does stupid stuff and girl gets hurt. Boy apologizes and girl forgives. Girl becomes more obsessed with boy. Roommate, again, suggests she forget about the boy and move on. Girl ignores roommate. Girl becomes so absorbed into boy that she fails exams, cries when boy hangs out with female friends, and constantly calls boy. Boy tells girl's male friend that he thinks she is clingy -- Girl is surprised, roommate is not. Girl gets hopes up too high after boy kisses girl and roommate tries to bring her back down to earth and fails to do so. Girl begins spending weekends at boy's apartment. Girl decides to transfer to boy's university despite everyone's disapproval. Mutual friend of girl and boy tells girl that boy doesn't want a relationship with her, instead, finds her crazy in character and is interested in another girl. Again, girl is surprised, roommate is not. Girl professes interest in boy no more, but roommate remains skeptical.
That more-or-less paraphrases the past 6 months of their relationship (or lack thereof) rollercoaster. Every minute of her life was filled with Blake, Blake, Blake -- She had fallen for this jerk and she had fallen hard. I've recently come to believe that men are simply not worth this sort of agony. Although most of my friends say that I am most likely the first to marry out of all of them, my morale on male decency is cynical beyond repair. Maybe Mr.Right doesn't exist, or I'm simply not looking in the most opportune locales. I refuse, though, to ever step foot in a bar to look for a partner -- That's just... not my character.
Moving on to the next topic -- Summer housing.
Ehh, it is getting late and I have an 8am class. 'Till next time, my little munchkins.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
A Little Bit of This & a Little Bit of That
And yes... another late night studying for an upcoming exam (tomorrow night), however, this time, the exam's not as simple as merely memorizing terms; instead, I actually have to understand the material for Organic Chemistry II. Speaking of which, though -- I was up until 4:30am finishing up my homework Tuesday and completely overslept the following morning. Much to my dismay, my professor decided to have a pop quiz that morning... out of all the possible days, it had to be that morning. After some quick calculations, I realized that that one quiz is keeping me from getting an A in the class -- Bummer. Feeling indignant and rather moronic at the same time, I fabricated some lame excuse and e-mailed my TA asking if I can somehow compensate for my absence, even if it meant 'standing on one leg whilst singing my ABC's.' She gave me no forthright answer and directed me to the professor instead, who won't be in his office until next Monday. Argh. Albeit, I am positive he won't let me make up the quiz anyway.
Other aspects of my life are mundane as usual, although, I am having a tennis tournament against my friend Braden and am planning a surprise birthday party for Runjini. Her obsession with Final Fantasy XII has burgeoned to immeasurable proportions, so what better gift to buy her than that? My critique should only be taken half-heartedly, though, since I have yet to play the game, but it seems rather humdrum. The graphics are amazing, as I've seen on YouTube, but other aspects of the game hardly seem entertaining. Perhaps I've outgrown my childhood adulation for games.... Nah.
Although I've already sold my soul to academia this summer, I think I have better plans for the next. If everything performs according to plan as far as registration for classes goes, I should be able to take next summer off away from school and relish in the more pleasurable aspects of life. I'm not sure if anyone has heard of the Texas 4000 (T4k) but I'm currently looking into undertaking just that for Summer 2008. The organization consists of approximately forty individuals (mainly college students) who are chosen by a board of directors every year. Their goal is to raise $350,000.00 to aid in the fight against cancer per annum, spread hope within the cancer community, and raise cancer awareness as they bike across the country (4,690 miles or 7,548 km) from Austin, Texas to Anchorage, Alaska.
Each cyclist is required to raise at least $4,000 in donations from November till April, plan routes, find camping spots or hosts prior to departure, etc., and each day consists of 8 to 13 hours of biking (80 to 125 miles per day).
It's definitely something you have to allot an enormous amount of energy, time, sweat, compassion, etc. into but it's also something I really want to do. My neighbor, who's the most kind-hearted individual I have ever met on so many different levels, was diagnosed with breast cancer last year. My mother's friend, who has become a close acquaintance of our family, passed away a year ago from a malignant brain tumor. My father's colleague whom I've known since the age of 5 died from lung cancer 3 years ago. Alas, the list goes on. Cancer is such a pernicious disease that everyone should be aware of it and try to help those who have to endure such agony. T4k allows healthy individuals (college students, at that) to represent and bike for those who are unable to do so. It allows them to share the story of their personal experiences with cancer and chronicle their ride to show that through prevention, detection and treatment, one can achieve great things.
Other aspects of my life are mundane as usual, although, I am having a tennis tournament against my friend Braden and am planning a surprise birthday party for Runjini. Her obsession with Final Fantasy XII has burgeoned to immeasurable proportions, so what better gift to buy her than that? My critique should only be taken half-heartedly, though, since I have yet to play the game, but it seems rather humdrum. The graphics are amazing, as I've seen on YouTube, but other aspects of the game hardly seem entertaining. Perhaps I've outgrown my childhood adulation for games.... Nah.
Although I've already sold my soul to academia this summer, I think I have better plans for the next. If everything performs according to plan as far as registration for classes goes, I should be able to take next summer off away from school and relish in the more pleasurable aspects of life. I'm not sure if anyone has heard of the Texas 4000 (T4k) but I'm currently looking into undertaking just that for Summer 2008. The organization consists of approximately forty individuals (mainly college students) who are chosen by a board of directors every year. Their goal is to raise $350,000.00 to aid in the fight against cancer per annum, spread hope within the cancer community, and raise cancer awareness as they bike across the country (4,690 miles or 7,548 km) from Austin, Texas to Anchorage, Alaska.
Each cyclist is required to raise at least $4,000 in donations from November till April, plan routes, find camping spots or hosts prior to departure, etc., and each day consists of 8 to 13 hours of biking (80 to 125 miles per day).It's definitely something you have to allot an enormous amount of energy, time, sweat, compassion, etc. into but it's also something I really want to do. My neighbor, who's the most kind-hearted individual I have ever met on so many different levels, was diagnosed with breast cancer last year. My mother's friend, who has become a close acquaintance of our family, passed away a year ago from a malignant brain tumor. My father's colleague whom I've known since the age of 5 died from lung cancer 3 years ago. Alas, the list goes on. Cancer is such a pernicious disease that everyone should be aware of it and try to help those who have to endure such agony. T4k allows healthy individuals (college students, at that) to represent and bike for those who are unable to do so. It allows them to share the story of their personal experiences with cancer and chronicle their ride to show that through prevention, detection and treatment, one can achieve great things.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Monday Night Vigil
Although blogs pertaining to the Virginia Tech. incident are ubiquitous, it never hurts to add one more voice to the crowd, especially if the incident is as devastating as this.
By now, everyone has probably heard of the mass-shooting in Blacksburg, Virginia, unless (of course) you live under a rock. Like Rose, the author of another blogsite, I found myself crying after reading the story on the news section of my homepage. I became rather absorbed in the story, surfing the internet trying to find the most recent update on the murderer, the victims, the survivors. One particular story struck the proverbial cord:
Liviu Librescu was born in 1930 to a Jewish family in the city of Ploiesti, Romania. After Romania allied with Nazi Germany in World War II, his father, Isidore Librescu, was deported by the Nazis. Liviu as a boy was interned at a labor camp in Transnistria and later, along with his family and thousands of other Jews, was deported to a ghetto in the city of Focsani. Liviu Librescu survived the Holocaust and was repatriated to communist Romania where he became an accomplished scientist.
At age 76, Librescu was among the thirty-two people who were murdered in the Virginia Tech massacre on April 16, 2007. During April 2007, Librescu taught a solid mechanics class in Room 204 in the Norris Hall Engineering Building. On April 16, Seung-Hui Cho entered Norris Hall and opened fire on classrooms. Librescu held the door of his classroom shut while Cho was attempting to enter it; although he was shot through the door, he was able to prevent the gunman from entering the classroom until most of his students had escaped through the windows. He was struck by five bullets. Of the 23 registered students, one, Minal Panchal, died.
A number of Librescu's students have called him a hero because of his actions. One student, Asael Arad, said that all the professor's students "lived because of him." Another student, Caroline Merrey, said she and about 20 other students scrambled through the windows as Librescu shouted for them to hurry; she said she felt sure his actions helped save lives. Librescu's son, Joe, said he had received e-mails from several students who said he had saved their lives and regarded him as a hero whilst many newspapers also reported him as the hero of the massacre.
Stories such as this force you to think -- If I were in that particular situation, would I have helped those around me? Would I have sacrificed my life in order to save that of strangers I barely knew? Or would I have abandoned them in order to survive? Would I have had the courage to stand up against a mentally ill individual brandished with multiple weapons? Had I died, what would people remember me by? Have I accomplished enough in my lifetime to my satisfaction? Whatever the answer, I felt compelled to attend the candlelight vigil that my university held earlier tonight. Although Virginia Tech is some 1,300 miles away, such an occurrence can hardly be regarded as otherwhere; instead, it induces a feeling of communion, of empathy.
Prior to the ceremony, I was accosted by a reporter from FOX News who barraged me with a plethora of questions: Do you think this vigil will help the healing process of the alumni who are here tonight? Do you think what happened at Virginia Tech is similar to what happened at this
university 41 years ago? Has the incident affected you personally in any way? Etc. I answered the questions to the best of my ability, although I'm not sure if I offended anyone by saying "misery loves company or, in this case, grief loves company" infront of a camera that is broadcast through all of Austin. The university bell tower tolled 33 consecutive knells. Speeches were made. Candles were lit and alma maters were sung. An estimatd 2000 UT students attended the memorial.
It was a beautiful and touching hour I will forever remember.
By now, everyone has probably heard of the mass-shooting in Blacksburg, Virginia, unless (of course) you live under a rock. Like Rose, the author of another blogsite, I found myself crying after reading the story on the news section of my homepage. I became rather absorbed in the story, surfing the internet trying to find the most recent update on the murderer, the victims, the survivors. One particular story struck the proverbial cord:
Liviu Librescu was born in 1930 to a Jewish family in the city of Ploiesti, Romania. After Romania allied with Nazi Germany in World War II, his father, Isidore Librescu, was deported by the Nazis. Liviu as a boy was interned at a labor camp in Transnistria and later, along with his family and thousands of other Jews, was deported to a ghetto in the city of Focsani. Liviu Librescu survived the Holocaust and was repatriated to communist Romania where he became an accomplished scientist.
At age 76, Librescu was among the thirty-two people who were murdered in the Virginia Tech massacre on April 16, 2007. During April 2007, Librescu taught a solid mechanics class in Room 204 in the Norris Hall Engineering Building. On April 16, Seung-Hui Cho entered Norris Hall and opened fire on classrooms. Librescu held the door of his classroom shut while Cho was attempting to enter it; although he was shot through the door, he was able to prevent the gunman from entering the classroom until most of his students had escaped through the windows. He was struck by five bullets. Of the 23 registered students, one, Minal Panchal, died.
A number of Librescu's students have called him a hero because of his actions. One student, Asael Arad, said that all the professor's students "lived because of him." Another student, Caroline Merrey, said she and about 20 other students scrambled through the windows as Librescu shouted for them to hurry; she said she felt sure his actions helped save lives. Librescu's son, Joe, said he had received e-mails from several students who said he had saved their lives and regarded him as a hero whilst many newspapers also reported him as the hero of the massacre.
Stories such as this force you to think -- If I were in that particular situation, would I have helped those around me? Would I have sacrificed my life in order to save that of strangers I barely knew? Or would I have abandoned them in order to survive? Would I have had the courage to stand up against a mentally ill individual brandished with multiple weapons? Had I died, what would people remember me by? Have I accomplished enough in my lifetime to my satisfaction? Whatever the answer, I felt compelled to attend the candlelight vigil that my university held earlier tonight. Although Virginia Tech is some 1,300 miles away, such an occurrence can hardly be regarded as otherwhere; instead, it induces a feeling of communion, of empathy.
Prior to the ceremony, I was accosted by a reporter from FOX News who barraged me with a plethora of questions: Do you think this vigil will help the healing process of the alumni who are here tonight? Do you think what happened at Virginia Tech is similar to what happened at this
university 41 years ago? Has the incident affected you personally in any way? Etc. I answered the questions to the best of my ability, although I'm not sure if I offended anyone by saying "misery loves company or, in this case, grief loves company" infront of a camera that is broadcast through all of Austin. The university bell tower tolled 33 consecutive knells. Speeches were made. Candles were lit and alma maters were sung. An estimatd 2000 UT students attended the memorial.It was a beautiful and touching hour I will forever remember.
Air
The air was different today. Coolness with a touch of moisture and dark, high clouds that cover the sun. It reminds me of damp summer rain and dives in the pool, juicy watermelon that runs down your chin, of summer school PE and tackle rugby, playing tennis and soccer at dusk, my friends, of waiting with Meems in the rain, a single blooming tree cornering the back entrance, of Gelato at Piccomolo and ice cream at Coldstone, the strike of that first chord at Carnegie, of late night rendezvous at Starbucks, the soft creek of a childs swing (one that i've outgrown only in weight), the gentle rumble of my mom pulling in from work, T.S. Eliot and the Wasteland, "What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish?" Steinbeck and the Grapes of Wrath, Faulkner and The Sound and the Fury. I wonder how they felt. I wonder how you are... all of you from before and from after. I wonder about distance and forever.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Where Art Thou, Lady Luck?
It is approximately 2:30am currently, and I just finished studying for tomorrow morning's Medical and Scientific Terminology exam. The course itself isn't too demanding, however, the exams are abhorrent. Each exam covers roughly 1000 terms, yet, there are only 45 questions on the entire exam, meaning the other 955 words, (their descriptions, significances, repercussions, etc.) that I spent hours of my time memorizing and understanding were basically a waste of my time. The warrant for today's entry, however, isn't to spiel about futile terminologies; instead, a rant on other matters is in order.
Perhaps it's Karma, maybe I'm whiney, or, possibly, I lack the patience and empathy I used to possess -- I don't know. It seems as though Lady Luck has not been on my side as far as randomly selecting a roommate goes. I potlucked for a roommate my sophmore year of college hoping to expand my social circle, I suppose. Not only did I not become friends with my assigned roommate, I actually developed a fear for her. She's one of those... "angry people," as if the entire universe is somehow indebted to her and must yield to her every demand. 90% of her conversations incorporated some form of expletive, items were catapulted against the dormroom wall to express her frustration, tears were shed and conflicts were sprung when her mother couldn't answer a proposed question. The room was always filled with a cloud of alcohol and tobacco scent because she can't rid herself of her repugnant addiction. She always chose to either scream on the phone, watch TV, or invite friends over (sometimes all at once) when I'm in bed. I had a hectic schedule that fall semester with rowing/weight training from 5:30 - 8:30am, 9 - 3:30pm classes, and 5 - 9pm rowing practice, leaving little time for a nice sleep. She had to ruin the little time I had with her erratic behavior. It's not that I didn't make an effort to be her friend, either. My attempts were often reciprocated with a shrug, glare, or silence.
Come the end of November, I simply couldn't accept that environment anymore, so I filed for a room-change. My new roommate, who ironically has the same first name as my former roommate, is one of those... "vain people." High shrieks of laughter, southern accent, continuous phoning, multiple pairs of shoes of the same style but in every possible color, no sense of "quiet," indignancy, narrow-mindedness, unrealistic sense of self-worth, overly dramatic, and lack of courtesy pretty much describes the aura she exudes. Supposedly, the world revolves around her and her problems, whereby everyone should drop their current tasks in order to resolve her paramount issues. Additionally, she brings paranoia upon herself by over-analyzing the most insignificant elements and forces others to do so as well. She constantly pressures others to provide her with advice, yet, never applies any of them. Analogously, she's a Hummer running on an alkaline battery -- She instantaneously drains the energy shamelessly and directly out of me.
I suppose certain aspects of my life have transformed me into a person who's less empathetic, patient, altruistic, and (in general) nice. I used to be regarded as being "too nice" to a point of unbelievable generosity. I hold a different perspective now -- Help what and when you can, but don't push yourself over the edge. You need enough energy for yourself first before you are capable of truly assisting someone else.
Good night, all.
Perhaps it's Karma, maybe I'm whiney, or, possibly, I lack the patience and empathy I used to possess -- I don't know. It seems as though Lady Luck has not been on my side as far as randomly selecting a roommate goes. I potlucked for a roommate my sophmore year of college hoping to expand my social circle, I suppose. Not only did I not become friends with my assigned roommate, I actually developed a fear for her. She's one of those... "angry people," as if the entire universe is somehow indebted to her and must yield to her every demand. 90% of her conversations incorporated some form of expletive, items were catapulted against the dormroom wall to express her frustration, tears were shed and conflicts were sprung when her mother couldn't answer a proposed question. The room was always filled with a cloud of alcohol and tobacco scent because she can't rid herself of her repugnant addiction. She always chose to either scream on the phone, watch TV, or invite friends over (sometimes all at once) when I'm in bed. I had a hectic schedule that fall semester with rowing/weight training from 5:30 - 8:30am, 9 - 3:30pm classes, and 5 - 9pm rowing practice, leaving little time for a nice sleep. She had to ruin the little time I had with her erratic behavior. It's not that I didn't make an effort to be her friend, either. My attempts were often reciprocated with a shrug, glare, or silence.
Come the end of November, I simply couldn't accept that environment anymore, so I filed for a room-change. My new roommate, who ironically has the same first name as my former roommate, is one of those... "vain people." High shrieks of laughter, southern accent, continuous phoning, multiple pairs of shoes of the same style but in every possible color, no sense of "quiet," indignancy, narrow-mindedness, unrealistic sense of self-worth, overly dramatic, and lack of courtesy pretty much describes the aura she exudes. Supposedly, the world revolves around her and her problems, whereby everyone should drop their current tasks in order to resolve her paramount issues. Additionally, she brings paranoia upon herself by over-analyzing the most insignificant elements and forces others to do so as well. She constantly pressures others to provide her with advice, yet, never applies any of them. Analogously, she's a Hummer running on an alkaline battery -- She instantaneously drains the energy shamelessly and directly out of me.
I suppose certain aspects of my life have transformed me into a person who's less empathetic, patient, altruistic, and (in general) nice. I used to be regarded as being "too nice" to a point of unbelievable generosity. I hold a different perspective now -- Help what and when you can, but don't push yourself over the edge. You need enough energy for yourself first before you are capable of truly assisting someone else.
Good night, all.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Food, School, and Life - What a Great Combination
Recently, I've realized that all I've posted on my blog are excerpts from random articles I found whilst surfing the internet, and that is simply unacceptable. I figured I should become a little more personal. So here you are:
Breakfast:
- Soy Milk
Lunch:
- Caesar salad
- Steak with pasta and green beans on the side
- Chicken noodle soup
- Hashbrowns
- Strawberry shortcake
Dinner:
- Peanut butter sandwich
- Beef jerky
- Sour Starburst chews
I've long since realized that my eating habits are (How should I put it?) atrocious. Although I feel pleasantly full and satisfied after every meal, it's definitely not good for my health -- Stuffing my face is certainly not the key to longevity by anyone's book. Henceforth, starting from tomorrow, I shall limit the amount of snacking I used to allow myself.
Other aspects of my life are equally as galling. Due to my excessive workload, I have to attend classes year-round in order to graduate within 4 years. I'm not, in the slightest sense, looking forward to classes this summer -- 9am till 10pm, Monday through Friday, with no breaks but one between 2 and 3 pm. Needless to say, I'll be a walking zombie on campus -- Everyone feel free to bring cameras and take pictures of this living spectacle. Living conditions, additionally, are still unsettled for this summer. My condominium for the upcoming fall semester is still being remodelled, which won't be completed until July rolls around, and I failed to apply for campus housing because I refuse to pay exorbitant prices for a room that resembles a jail cell at best. But no matter, I trust that all the pieces will fall into place (with slight adjustments with a hammer and chisel by my part) when the time comes.
A recent, spontaneous hunger for knowledge has imbued me. I don't know whence it came but it leaves me disappointed at times. All those years I spent bumming around I could have spent wisely accomplishing something productive. I now yearn for trivial information, historical facts, classical mythology, significant figures, computer programming, foreign languages, cultural traits, etc. but simply don't have the time or energy to imbibe all that. I suppose it's a luxury in which I will relish after I retire.
Alas, that is enough for today. 'Til next time, my little munchkins.
Breakfast:
- Soy Milk
Lunch:
- Caesar salad
- Steak with pasta and green beans on the side
- Chicken noodle soup
- Hashbrowns
- Strawberry shortcake
Dinner:
- Peanut butter sandwich
- Beef jerky
- Sour Starburst chews
I've long since realized that my eating habits are (How should I put it?) atrocious. Although I feel pleasantly full and satisfied after every meal, it's definitely not good for my health -- Stuffing my face is certainly not the key to longevity by anyone's book. Henceforth, starting from tomorrow, I shall limit the amount of snacking I used to allow myself.
Other aspects of my life are equally as galling. Due to my excessive workload, I have to attend classes year-round in order to graduate within 4 years. I'm not, in the slightest sense, looking forward to classes this summer -- 9am till 10pm, Monday through Friday, with no breaks but one between 2 and 3 pm. Needless to say, I'll be a walking zombie on campus -- Everyone feel free to bring cameras and take pictures of this living spectacle. Living conditions, additionally, are still unsettled for this summer. My condominium for the upcoming fall semester is still being remodelled, which won't be completed until July rolls around, and I failed to apply for campus housing because I refuse to pay exorbitant prices for a room that resembles a jail cell at best. But no matter, I trust that all the pieces will fall into place (with slight adjustments with a hammer and chisel by my part) when the time comes.
A recent, spontaneous hunger for knowledge has imbued me. I don't know whence it came but it leaves me disappointed at times. All those years I spent bumming around I could have spent wisely accomplishing something productive. I now yearn for trivial information, historical facts, classical mythology, significant figures, computer programming, foreign languages, cultural traits, etc. but simply don't have the time or energy to imbibe all that. I suppose it's a luxury in which I will relish after I retire.
Alas, that is enough for today. 'Til next time, my little munchkins.
Friday, March 23, 2007
It's Raining Mansions
(Article originally from Associated Press)
HONOLULU - Dorie-Ann Kahale and her five daughters moved from a homeless shelter to a mansion Thursday, courtesy of a Japanese real estate mogul who is handing over eight of his multimillion-dollar homes to low-income Native Hawaiian families.
Tears spilled down Kahale's cheeks as she accepted from Genshiro Kawamoto the key to a white, columned house with a circular driveway, a stone staircase and a deep porcelain bathtub. Her family will live there rent-free, but must pay utility bills.
"What we need to do is appreciate," Kahale said. "As fast as we got it, it could disappear."
Kawamoto, whose own eyes started welling up as Kahale cried, handed over two other homes Thursday to homeless or low-income families.
Kawamoto, one of Japan's richest men, said he plans to open eight of his 22 Kahala homes to needy Hawaiian families. They will be able to stay in the homes for up to 10 years, he said.
Native Hawaiians are disproportionately represented among the state's homeless and working poor.
Giving away mansions shows more dedication to helping Hawaii's homeless than just handing out wads of cash, he said. Asked whether he was concerned about losing money on the effort, he laughed and said: "This is pocket money for me."
Kahale's new house is worth nearly $5 million, an average price for the mansion-like dwellings on Kahala Avenue. It is one of the more modest homes in the neighborhood, many of which feature ornate iron gates, meandering driveways and sculptured gardens.
Kahale became homeless two years ago when her landlord raised her rent from $800 to $1,200, putting the apartment beyond reach of her salary as customer service representative for Pacific LightNet, a telecommunications company. She first stayed with family, then moved to a shelter in September.
HONOLULU - Dorie-Ann Kahale and her five daughters moved from a homeless shelter to a mansion Thursday, courtesy of a Japanese real estate mogul who is handing over eight of his multimillion-dollar homes to low-income Native Hawaiian families.
Tears spilled down Kahale's cheeks as she accepted from Genshiro Kawamoto the key to a white, columned house with a circular driveway, a stone staircase and a deep porcelain bathtub. Her family will live there rent-free, but must pay utility bills.
"What we need to do is appreciate," Kahale said. "As fast as we got it, it could disappear."
Kawamoto, whose own eyes started welling up as Kahale cried, handed over two other homes Thursday to homeless or low-income families.
Kawamoto, one of Japan's richest men, said he plans to open eight of his 22 Kahala homes to needy Hawaiian families. They will be able to stay in the homes for up to 10 years, he said.
Native Hawaiians are disproportionately represented among the state's homeless and working poor.
Giving away mansions shows more dedication to helping Hawaii's homeless than just handing out wads of cash, he said. Asked whether he was concerned about losing money on the effort, he laughed and said: "This is pocket money for me."
Kahale's new house is worth nearly $5 million, an average price for the mansion-like dwellings on Kahala Avenue. It is one of the more modest homes in the neighborhood, many of which feature ornate iron gates, meandering driveways and sculptured gardens.
Kahale became homeless two years ago when her landlord raised her rent from $800 to $1,200, putting the apartment beyond reach of her salary as customer service representative for Pacific LightNet, a telecommunications company. She first stayed with family, then moved to a shelter in September.
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