Finals Week Blues

Hm, my readership's dropped significantly in the past two months.

...but I suppose that's natural, since I haven't been writing much of anything lately, much less anything interesting.

I do have a very feisty post in the works concerning an unfortunate racial remark I had directed at me the other week, but I'm so swamped with final papers and exams I won't be able to tackle it for some time. That's a good thing, however, since I have time to collect my thoughts instead of just ranting. It's really something that has to be understood from a collective level and not as an isolated incident. In the meantime though, I have more than enough writing to do: two more papers and I'll be home free.

At the same time, the end of this school year is, though much anticipated, also bittersweet. A lot of the friends I started freshman year with are graduating and moving to grad school, including some really close ones. Most of them are staying in the area, but it's amazing three years have gone by, a reminder that I am, in fact, growing up. Seems like all I obsess about nowadays are my post-undergraduate plans, and I still have a year left.

Nevertheless, I'm expecting a fun summer: I'll be living and working downtown, turning 21, and not taking any summer courses for once.


In other news, I'm so proud of my friends from Mahidol International College for participating in the "Pink Shirt" protests in Bangkok. Not affiliated with any political group, they're just average Thai citizens calling for an end to the violence that's dogged Thailand lately.

You tell them, girls! Maybe I'll get to join you in a few months...but hopefully this chaos will be resolved soon, and peacefully. I'm pretty impressed by the artwork that's emerged through the politics. I want to blow this picture up and frame it in my room:

Anyway, my Honors seminar was rescheduled from 3 PM Monday to 9 in the morning tomorrow, so I should crash. I'm a little peeved I took the course; I didn't need to, but did it for a friend, and as a result have looked at it as busy work all semester. But since it's only an hour long, it's really the last of my worries this finals week...

Where'd Winter Break Go?

I feel like just last week I was scrambling to complete my end-of-semester projects and wondering what to do with a whole month off. Yet, somehow or other, school starts Monday.

One of my professors thought this morning was the opportune time to reveal what book we'd need for his class, suggesting "Your best bet is to pay for expedited shipping." This strikes me a tad insensitive, but I'm trying to keep an open mind. (Until, at least, the second week of class.)

I looked at the book on Amazon and it seems like a collection of magazine articles on such arcane topics as...free market economies? Cultural politics? I skimmed the first few sample pages and felt it was a little dry. Maybe you can make sense of it? (The class is, by the way, Advanced Writing of Nonfiction.)

More dismaying is the recent news from the University itself. Apparently Illinois is in such bad financial shape that it's only given 7% of the funding it owes to my university. Because of this, the school's had to enforce furlough days on most of its staff, including my professors - one per month for the next four months, plus instituting a hiring freeze which effectively halts the development of our fledgling Asian American studies program. Furthermore, teachers aren't barred from taking days-off on class days, so I could be getting a lot of emails this semester saying, "Sorry kids, furlough." For professors who teach five days a week, this will be unavoidable.

The university's president hasn't ruled out the chance of things getting worse, either. He says: “At some point we will be unable to meet payroll and complete the academic year unless there are significant payments from the state as promised."

I keep picturing myself 40 years from now, seated around my friends at the AARP and reminiscing, "You remember the Great Depression of Twenty-Ten? They canceled class for two whole weeks!" (lol)

In any case, the new semester promises to be interesting. And a return to campus means...new cute boys! XD

Undergrad Blues

I had a long conversation with a friend last night about post-undergrad plans. He's a TA at the University of Chicago and owns two Master's degrees, so I trust he has a good sense of what goes on in higher-level academic circles and what it takes to get there.

The conclusion? Nothing I want to do is going to be easy.

Getting into grad school is hard. Getting a job in academia is harder. Writing a book is tough. Getting it published is even tougher. Having it be reasonably well-received is something you can only hope for.

And my dream book that involves traveling to six different countries? I don't even want to contemplate the odds.

Sometimes I feel like I should scrap my dreams for a nice desk job. But I guess no one said things would be easy.

You can become what you want to be, right?
The person who perseveres will prosper, right?
On rare occasions there will also be tears, won't there?
But nevertheless, brave the Pit.

This, my friends, is the handsome man's policy. ;-)

End to Indecision

Cost of summer tuition: $1,500
Cost of online homework passcode: $60
Cost of I-Clicker device: $25
Cost of lab manual: $12

Dropping Chemistry: Priceless.

Now if I could find a job...

The Return of Prince Charming

Remember Prince Charming? He and I have been hanging out lately, and I've got to say I'm surprised how much we have in common. At the very least, I don't know anyone else who gets quite as excited about Mesopotamian artifacts, or who can discuss the Aeneid, Book IV, having read it in Latin. Gay and nerdy: just the kind of friend I need.

I remember how intimidated I was when we first met. Approaching cute guys is not my strong point. Just goes to show, you miss out on some pretty cool people when if you let looks decide everything.

***

On a completely unrelated note, I took my first Chem exam yesterday. The grade? A whopping sixty-five percent. My room mate suggests dropping the class for now and taking it at a junior college later if I decide to try nursing again. Other people are convinced I can still pull off a B. I'm not quite so sure. Decisions, decisions...

Going Hysterical (Without a Uterus)

I was the last person out of Chem lab today, and we weren't even doing anything particularly hard. Just a review of unit conversions and significant figures, but I haven't done math like that in almost 4 years (the semester of pre-calc I took my first year doesn't count). I was definitely out of my game, and it showed: with all those numbers swimming around, it took me twice as long as everyone else to work through a problem. Plus, I can never remember what's significant and what's not.

Chemistry is the first in a set of requisites I need for nursing school, a course I'm taking mostly for my mother's peace of mind, and as an absolute Plan B after graduation. Although a backup plan is practical, it also feels like a dead weight on my shoulders. It's a pain and burden taking classes for nursing school when I have no real intent of going to nursing school. At best I feel ridiculous, trudging through classes I have no interest in or aptitude for, and all for something that circumstances will have to force me into, kicking and screaming and gritting my teeth.

The word "hysteria" comes from the Latin word for uterus. Historically, the psychological stress and volatile emotions we associate with hysteria have been considered "womanly" afflictions, and thought to be a disorder of that organ. Caroline Casey notes that, throughout much of history, women have not been allowed to define their own lives. This is symbolized most aptly in the Victorian period - when the word "hysteria" came into common use - by the corset, which literally and figuratively squeezed women into a certain shape. No wonder, Casey posits, they went hysterical: they snapped under societal constraints, like fish wriggling to get free of the hook.

I feel like a sell-out taking the nursing track, like I'm not being true to myself. Although the image I have for the future isn't entirely clear, I know the general range of things I want to do, and none of them include administering tetnis shots to infants. (You shouldn't want me working with needles.) After 8 weeks of introductory Chem, I might go hysterical too.

I'm reminded of the popular Langston Hughes poem that asks, "What happens to a dream deferred?...does it explode?"

Afterthought: I realized the irony as I proofread: I'm rejecting nursing school, but my main reference point is rather medical in nature. Hm.

Show Me the Writing!

Those familiar with the hilariously-inappropriate Sesame Street spoof Avenue Q will have heard the song, "What do You do with a BA in English?"

"Four years of college and plenty of knowledge have earned me this useless degree," the song laments. "I can't pay the bills yet, 'cause I have no skills yet. The world is a big, scary place."

If I weren't facing the same predicament, I may find the song funny.

I racked my mind about it for months, but finally did what I said I'd never do: I registered for nursing classes. I'm still not convinced I want to commit to them, but the deciding factor was a practical one: I figure, if things aren't looking up for me and my English degree, I can transfer to a nursing school after graduation.

But it doesn't feel right. I always wanted to be involved with literature. To read, to write, to speak, to critique - that's what I always saw for myself.

As a kid, I never wanted toys. I wanted books instead. I grew up down the street from the public library and spent most of my childhood bopping back and forth between that and home, reading whatever interested me. I wanted to write; I wanted to illustrate. I even won a few young authors awards back in the day.

But to be honest, I don't actually write very much. Yes, I update this blog pretty often, and my school assignments turn out well, but when it comes to actual creative writing, I have very little to show for myself. For someone who's always professed the desire to write, I'm starting to get a little nervous.

So far, my translation projects have yielded just a few, short pieces of poetry, and I never find myself coming up with great ideas for vignettes and short stories. Maybe I need to reassess the kind of writing I want to do, since I seem to do better with nonfiction-type pieces and essays. In any case, if I don't produce soon, I feel it won't be long before the Reality Police come knocking on my door to demand, "Show me the writing!" Perhaps if I were friends with other literary types we could swap drafts and force each other to write. That way I won't feel like I'm groping through a void.

My mother was so relieved when I signed up for the pre-nursing track. It's what I was "supposed" to do from the beginning. She's even started speaking of nursing school as the goal instead of as the back-up. I cannot tell you how much I resent this.

My attachment to literature has been so deeply-felt, and for so long, that to dishonor the attraction by doing something else just feels wrong. It feels like I'm throwing away a natural interest and aptitude, and stifling a part of myself.

Only one thing to do: get creative. I won't end up doing nursing, not without a fight.