How immense the burden of the Second Semester Reputation has bestowed upon me!

I think the Second Semester Slump is displayed through my lack of concern for grades. It is definitely not normal for me to be simply "curious" of my grades in particular classes.

And definitely not normal that I haven't started on the homework due tomorrow. Or study, for that matter.

Talking about Rejection.

April 1st is just around the corner, but colleges and universities around the country are already posting online notifications. It's the time of the year where students from around the nation are either joyous or devastated.

I've had the opportunity to be on both ends of the spectrum. A rejection letter is painful, but a beautiful learning experience that I shall bring forth in all aspects of my life. An acceptance letter is a joyous occasion, but it makes me wonder how the rejected students must feel. Some could wonder how I, who may have not shown extensive enthusiasm towards the admissions process, could be accepted whereas they, who have done everything possible, who have wished and prayed and hoped and believed, was rejected. I wish to do everything in my power to comfort all these applicants because I know how it feels to want something so much yet be so distant.

Perhaps this outcome may be unfair. But an acceptance is not everything; it does not guarantee a life without worries or a successful future or even happiness. Know that those individuals who were offered an acceptance letter may not be any better; they are not of a higher rank nor do they have superhuman capabilities. We are all cut from the same cloth; we suffer from worries and stress and celebrate on occasions and break down from time to time; an acceptance letter does not make that any different.

Though it may not sound like it now, you will be okay. With the passage of time, any feelings of sadness or resentment will fade. That may take weeks, or possibly months, like it did for me, but soon this tide shall pass.

I'm reading Atonement

And I love it and I love the characters and the plot line and everything around me seems florid and whimsical even though I'm taking a calculus test tomorrow. I can't wait to envelope myself into the tragedy and I can't wait to finish it over the weekend and have time to digest what happens despite the fact that I have a bazillion other things planned but I will read it on the metro and snicker at the funny bits and cry at the sad bits and I won't even care if people look at me strangely because I'll stand up and say "Ladies and gentlemen, this is how you write a book!". And I won't even care if they think I'm psychotic, because sometimes I think I am.

I can't wait to stop caring about college and school and simply enjoy basking in the sun on a Saturday afternoon and sprawl out on my deck and gently turn the leaflets one-by-one with my neighbor's dog howling obnoxiously in the distance. I simply don't care because I have a good book.

I am working. I feel empowered.

Bonjour mon cherie! Today, I am working/ studying. But as you can see, I am on the internet, so I'm really not studying. I really hate this chapiter of chemistry.

Additionally, I've skimmed throgh some of Sylvia Plath's poems. They're pretty depressing, but I found one that I actually enjoy because it mirrors the way I feel about family reunions.


Family Reunion
by Sylvia Plath



Outside in the street I hear

A car door slam; voices coming near;

Incoherent scraps of talk

And high heels clicking up the walk;

The doorbell rends the noonday heat

With copper claws;

A second's pause.

The dull drums of my pulses beat

Against a silence wearing thin.

The door now opens from within.

Oh, hear the clash of people meeting ---

The laughter and the screams of greeting :



Fat always, and out of breath,

A greasy smack on every cheek

From Aunt Elizabeth;

There, that's the pink, pleased squeak

Of Cousin Jane, out spinster with

The faded eyes

And hands like nervous butterflies;

While rough as splintered wood

Across them all

Rasps the jarring baritone of Uncle Paul;

The youngest nephew gives a fretful whine

And drools at the reception line.



Like a diver on a lofty spar of land

Atop the flight of stairs I stand.

A whirlpool leers at me,

I cast off my identity

And make the fatal plunge.
 
Have a lovely & productive Sunday!

A (Good) Idea.

Is it weird that I live vicariously through the Queen of Butter, Paula Deen?

Right now, she's making maple-glazed pork cops, sweet mashed potatoes, and vanilla cupcakes.
Instead of indulging in the art of eating after exercise, I like to watch Paula make the fattest dishes and I feel so much better.

Is that normal?

Instead of...

Instead of reading my English book, I am looking up french curse words I can use tomorrow. Am I a good student? I think so.

Almost Lyrical

Hello my darlings! People always complain about losing an hour of sleep with this daylight savings schedule, but for some reason, I find solace in knowing that at 6:22 pm, I can still see blue sky.

Whenever I'm in a good mood, I like to read. And a couple of months ago, I found this terrific website to peruse, full of personal essays and the like. Here is the link to the Morning News. It's so fascinating and amazing and a whole slough of positive adjectives I can't formulate in my head right now because I just had a refreshing nap, and ate too much sugar, and am extraordinarily happy because my mother is preparing a delish dinner.

Enjoy!

In a City by the Sea

Sometimes, the very idea of waiting for something makes it more exciting. But sometimes, that excitement shrivels as soon as that waiting ends. Then, you are left feeling disappointed and, most importantly, at a dead end. How could something you've anticipated so much leave you so empty? I've struggled with the concept of disappointment, but I think I'm too much of a romantic to not be disappointed.

My mother once told me of a patient who, after getting both his legs amputated, still requests the nurses to scratch the pads of his feet. I think it's all psychological, some game our brains tediously play with our minds. It's rather formulaic and, thus, could be applied here. The feeling of dejection eats away at you, and though the wound of intial rejection has healed, that silver strand of feeling is persistent and awakening.

 I am only human; I know that rejection will reach for me. But with its occurance, I start to question my ability to be good enough. Perhaps it is because I am too uptight about everything, but everytime something I'd consider horrendous happens, I feel this wave of anxiety. It hits me full-force and a sea of sadness washes over. It's the darkest, scariest feeling in the world, like all rays of light have been absorbed into this superficial black hole created by myself.

 Do you ever feel this way, too?

One of my favorite attributes about myself is my free-flowing emotions. It's such a gift to not be callous towards life. I love meandering through it twists and turns with passion. That way, I at least know I exist and am not some 2-dimensional form, just ink on paper.

So when dejection hits, I cry. Sometimes I scarcely well up, and sometimes I cry like a Italian. After the storm passes, this tremendous feeling of relief sweeps me away to bigger and better lands. And ultimately, I feel exponentially relieved, and ready to face another day.

Because we were all new kids at some point.

Second Semestersssssss

 (via armchairspasm)

I love how I felt about second semester during first semester. I thought of it as some odd destination, between trying and trying to not fall asleep in class. But now that I've reached such a landmark, it's really not anything special or historic. Everything's pretty mundane and beige.

Not only is youth wasted on the young, but so is the desire to self-educate, especially now. Yes, we've always thought of second semester as a brief precursor to the Summer of Our Lives. But saying those things and actually following through are two completely different categories. I cannot understand those individuals who are willing to sit back and relax and not concentrate on school. Not only are quizzes and tests ongoing, but more importantly, education is ongoing. Why would someone choose to not be educated on new topics? How can they not be motivated to grasp information of various realms?

It's an honor and privilege that we did not earn the right to. After all, we were chosen to live in this particular world. But every atom belonging to underprivileged individuals in devastated worlds belongs to us; residents of other worlds are similar to ourselves. So what did we do to deserve such extensive education?

Every time I see someone not putting in effort into their schoolwork or listening in class, it's frustrating. We all know that school can get repetitive, and I'm in no way in love with the system, but at least I hold respect and appreciation for an institution. Just because colleges and universities may not pay particular attention to second semester grades is no excuse for deterring. There are whole worlds to be discovered, if you just listen.

An Almost Letter

Recently, it has come to my attention that certain colleges send out their version of a progress report/interim before The Final Decision is let out. Of course, I chuckled at the absurdity of an almost letter...and of course, I received one today. 

"Dear Ruoxi: I hope I might satisfy your curiosity at least in regard to your application status to the [School Which Shall Not be Named]. Because of your stellar application and strong potential for contribution to our community, you will likely receive a thick envelope in just a few weeks!".

Number one: the letter comes in a skinny envelope. your heart shutters. it's the beginning of the end.
Number two: you open it, briefly skim through. the words "stellar" and "strong" pop out. your heart soars.
Number three: you see the word "likely". what the fuck?
Number four: you read the last sentence. it's an ultimatum. YOU BETTAH KEEP UP YOUR GRADES OR ELSE.

So, I will "likely" be accepted on April 1st. Unless, of course, individuals of Einsteinian (or less) strength lie in
that final pile of applications.

What's your softest patch of skin?

My softest patches of skin are my inner upper arms. It's so sooth and delicate, like the feel of baby powder on silk. Sometimes, I like to rub my face against it; then, I can truly feel how rough it really is.

Frailty, thy name is woman.

One of my previous posts involved the question of happiness. Is there a point in which we can reach its apex? What is the meaning of happiness anyway? I think ever since I started questioning my ability to be not only content, but truly happy, sources of joy and excitement have seemingly been lifted away.

Now, I am surrounded by Sylvia Plath and T.S. Eliot. Why absolutely depressing is that? And I realize that I'm so easily stirred by the slightest mishap; I'm overly emotional and I seem to lack a fervent amount of zest for life. To state it simply, I think I'm in a slight rut, except it's really a trough. I'm watching life swim by overhead, but I have neither the ability nor strength to extend and reach.

Maybe it's just the winter blues. I can't wait for spring; it weaves an extensive fabric of sunshine and warm air and I can't wait to be immersed in such an idyllic setting again.