Translocation

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!

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.

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!

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!

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!

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’!

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.

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 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:

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!

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.