a work of art

sometimes i don't believe in coincidence. but if its not a coincidence, what is it?

this weekend i saw a lot of beautiful things.

last friday, i went to lunch with my best friend and we got lost. she picked me up from the tower where i work and i told her to make a right at the stoplight when i meant to tell her to make a left. mind you, we didn't actually have an idea as to where we were going to eat. so she made a right and this made me nervous since i'd never gone in that direction before. that road ended and i told her too late to make a left. so she had to make another right. that road curved around and became another road. and all around us were the hills and the bluffs. we followed that road and found ourselves by the beach. we both agreed that it was perfect.

we had lunch at fashion island (a silly name if you ask me, but i'm not rich so what would i know about the names for rich-people shopping centers?) which was also good. we decided to try something new so we bought some Red Rock Chili. that day was my turn to pay for lunch so i told her it would be alright if we bought some dessert. i wanted cookies and she said that was fine. as we came out of the foodcourt, a seabreeze hit us and she says, "hey, do you think we could see the ocean from over there?" we went past the carousel, past bloomingdales, towards the escalators. and when we reached the barrier, we did indeed see the ocean. it was magnificent. there are certain moments in your life when you see something and the way you feel in that one moment effects everything around you. in that one moment, the light was white, not yellow, and the shade from the trees looked blue, not gray. and the breeze smelled lively. after a couple of minutes, we decided to find that dessert. we ended up at the hagen daaz, but they sold cookies there too, so--being difficult as always--i asked if they could put some of the cookies at the bottom of the cup and put the scoop of icecream on top. that was perfect too. as we ate, a bird came to us and ate some leftover rice that was left by our table.

as we were driving back, i saw a strange shaped cloud in the sky. then i realized that it wasn't a cloud, but it was snow--the last vestiges of snow atop the mountain. i felt strange, because the snow looked so lonely up there. then the road curved and became culver and we had a full view of the deserted marine base with the jet hangers sprawled atop the land.

that was a nice day.

saturday, the next day, was the day we were to go to David's bridal to try on our dresses for my sister's wedding. my sister finally decided on the color red.

now. last time i wore red, it was to my junior year homecoming dance, and a friend of a friend said i looked Chinese. i suppose there's nothing wrong about that...its just that i'm not Chinese, and i do not wish to look like one. needless to say, i was very nervous about the fitting.

then i saw the dress my sister chose for me to wear as her maid of honor...

...and it was beautiful.

it is a deep red, not as bright as the dress i wore previously, and its made of satin so it has that lovely sheen to it. its a simple cut really: strapless with a skirt that bells out very slightly--only it has this special drape across the front that's hard to describe and its attached to the left side of the dress at the waist by a diamond brooch that isn't gaudy but simple. and that's the best thing about it: its simple so that it does not outshine the bride's gown, but its still lovely.

all of us finished fitting our dresses within the hour. this includes shoes. all throughout, my father keeps calling my mother. by the time we've finished, he and my sister's fiance and best man had been to three tux shops. we gave them a very hard time about that when they finally met with all of us back home.

for school, we are reading The Labyrinth of Solitude by Octavio Paz and for me its a frustrating read. its prose, but Paz is a poet, so its filled with the things you would most likely find in a short, metered, compact poem. there are plenty of paradoxes and irony and juxtapositions--so many, in fact, that i grew weary just reading three pages. its like trying to swim through mud; the text is that rich. what he is doing in the book, essentially, is trying to explain the identity of Mexico and the Mexican to his readers and this is something complicated in itself. he complicates it further with the language he uses. it doesn't help that we are reading an English translation of it. granted, its a good translation--or so i've been told--but there are plenty of ideas lost in translation, and i bet if i knew how to read Spanish it would make a lot more sense to me.

sometimes i think, that in making us do things that are difficult, in making us think about controversial issues, our opportunities to learn for ourselves is taken from us. so many students these days are forced to learn about racism and feminism and sexual orientation and politics and government and humanism and the dynamics of culture and language that we grow tired of such issues early on. ever since i was little, i was taught about Martin Luther King Jr and the Civil Rights Movement to the point where i am sick about reading books with racial issues. i can't appreciate anymore the importance of race and respect and tolerance because its been thrust in my face for so long. that doesn't mean to say that i don't abide by these things--that would by hypocritical for me to be racist against blacks if i'm not white myself--its just that i'm tired of discussing the issue. the same thing with feminism. i've been taught to have an opinion on it for so long that i don't care anymore: the whole idea of female rights has lost its value for me. its the same with Chinese-American history, the Holocaust. i feel that these things have been emphasized ad nauseum. it may be rude of me to say these things since, the Holocaust for instance, hurt many people, but there is no more room left for self-discovery. everything you learn has to be an issue that's debateable, that's current.

what about that man talking on his cellphone in the practice rooms? you could tell by just listening to his tone of voice that he didn't want to be talking to that person. what about that girl who wore a short, flimsy skirt and walked as if she were somebody special? what about the way that person tried to look at me without really looking at me? those are lessons too. if i stood in a public place without moving and staring straight ahead for a full ten minutes, would somebody notice? and if they did notice, what would they assume? that's a lesson too. not everything is as earth-shattering as racial injustice, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have the same capacity to teach.

we talk about thinking globally, acting locally for humcore. i believe that you can learn alot with just the things that are right in front of your face.

did you see the way that bird cocked his head when he looked at me? even he knew how to interpret what was important.

setting the tone

eleven years is a long time. eleven years ago, i was seven years old.

*shakes head*

i have come to realize that books from the library all smell the same. doesn't matter what library its from--langson, heritage park, or the one off of newport and main. they smell the same. i just finished an annotated bibliography for my paper and after opening six of the nine books i took from these places, i have come to this conclusion. its not a bad smell. its not even a public smell. it smells...yellow, like old paper, but not quite; and the pages always feel the same between the fingers. its odd, but i think i like it. its the smell of learning.

i suppose this only matters to me because i rarely checkout reference books from the library--that is to say, i usually do my research online. whenever i do get a book from the library, its for pleasure, and those always smell different since they've been opened more times.

i've also been remembering the strangest things at the strangest times. once, when writing another story in a notebook, i suddenly remembered how in second grade, we always had to get the church bulletin signed by the priest every sunday so that our teacher would know we went to mass. if we didn't, then we wouldn't be able to recieve first holy communion. i found myself wondering if the second graders nowadays have to do that--well, the ones that still go to Catholic elementary schools.

and then, lastnight, i had a dream that our choir was warming up for a performance, but the student conductor (she was a grad-student) had the wrong music: the words were the same, but the tunes were different. so she was conducting and giving us the wrong rhythms and cues. then the men started to sing their piece--only it wasn't a piece we ever rehearsed in class. it sounded exactly like the "Kyrie Eleison" that the Advanced Woman's Ensemble of MDHS sang eight years ago, only the words were different and the men were singing it. hearing that melody brought back so many memories. and when i woke up, i remembered how i had cried that one morning when listening to that song; i remembered hearing it later on and crying all over again, the tears smudging the penciled words on my paper. strange.

i remember getting a paper back for my junior year British lit class and seeing the comments my favorite teacher had written. "Don't be so obvious!" he had actually written that. there was no comment on grammar, diction, or paragraph cohesion. that was it and it perplexed me that he would write such a thing. isn't it better to be explicit when trying to support your thesis? was he trying to tell me that my paper was mechanic and had no art in it? i still can't reconcile the idea that subtlity in a paper is preferred by some people. but then again, he was irish, and a strange, funny individual. and i liked him for it, i still do. so many students loved him, that my senior year, someone dressed up like him for Halloween: the black brother's robe with the green cummerbund. ah, how i miss thee, Brother Aquinas!

and before i sign off, let me leave you with one of the many passages i had to memorize for that class. and mind you, we had to memorize it in the original language:

Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the ram his halve cours yronne,

-from "The General Prologue" of Geoffrey Chaucer's The Cantebury Tales

i don't know what to say. my friend just called me and said that someone we knew has died. he was in a car accident.

his name was Oscar Contreras, and many people knew him. he was a friend, in a way, because he was always so sweet to me. i can't believe that he's gone. i can't believe that he's gone.

the most peaceful shade of calm

its strange for me when someone says i am loved. i don't think i am the most lovable person--i think i am very difficult to love.

on saturday, yesterday, my mother and father decided to celebrate their anniversary (24 years). they would go to the spiffy restaurant that i bought them a gift card for. that would mean i would be alone at home saturday night. my sister insisted that she and her fiancee take me out.

i was reluctant because i'm tired of being the third wheel. first my sister, now my best friend. i like their company but, when it comes down to it, the couples hold hands and walk ahead while i trail behind.

i told my sister that i wasn't so sure about it, that i had things to do for school. she ignored me and said we would go out to a dinner. i figured sitting down and eating wouldn't make me feel like an unwanted addition to the coupling. i agreed.

i went to work saturday morning, got off at 6:00, then went home. we still hadn't decided what to do after dinner and i told my sister to tell her fiancee that i was tired and didn't feel like playing miniature golf or bowling.

she was standing in the doorway to my room while i said this and i was sprawled on my bed, feeling like i could lie there forever. then she said something that made me feel the aforementioned strangeness.

"he loves you, you know."
"what?"
"he loves you."

she meant her fiancee, my soon-to-be brother-in-law. she said that he had never had a sister before (only his rotten excuse for a brother) and that he enjoyed having me to tease and fight with. she said that it was his idea to take me out saturday night in the first place because he wanted to spend some time with me.

this made me feel strange. not uncomfortable, just...strange. i think it would be very difficult for anyone to love me, especially those outside of my immediate family. i love my best friend, but that is because we've been friends since before we could walk. i love my friends online (that means you two and i think you know who you are) but i've always figured that was a one-sided thing since i tend to overreact a lot--if you haven't noticed. and then here's this guy who's 25 years old and who i've only known for two years and my sister tells me he loves me. now that i think of it, she might have just said that.

*shakes head* on september 17, i am going to have a brother. what a life i shall live then.

tomorrow marks the beginning of week 7. three more weeks to research and write. three more weeks and then i'm free. then i'll be a sophomore in college. it goes by fast, doesn't it?

the week of meaning

this week has been...unbelievably unpredictable.

my research paper is driving me nuts. i think it is going to drive me certifiably insane by the end of week 10 when i hand it in. only three more weeks! i don't know how i'm going to do it! and it doesn't help that finding sources for my topic is proving to be very difficult. everytime i think about it, i'm caught between ambition and worry: if i pull it off i just might be distinguished, if i don't all that work would have been for nothing. and who's to say i'll survive this?!

my boss at work has been sick all week and is subsequently crankier than usual. every. little. thing. annoys. her. and its starting to annoy me. i do my best to help the customers while she's back in the room hacking away. and what does she respond to a customer who says i have been a great help? "she's okay." yeah, thanks a lot. even her tone was dismissive. i can't believe some people. you do your best and it doesn't mean anything if they're not happy. it makes me mad.

and then there was Tuesday. our director didn't show up for choir that day and as a result, i actually enjoyed rehearsal more than usual. this bass i have had a crush on since last quarter kept exchanging looks with me which made me happy and hopeful. they weren't even romantic looks, but it doesn' matter because the reason we kept exchanging glances was because we were thinking the same thing. the sopranos weren't performing up to parr on Tuesday and there was this one moment when they came in a measure early. i stopped singing and eyed the sopranos with frustration. then we glanced at each other. we did this a lot, and it wasn't conspicuous, but it seemed like a good thing.

oh, but that wasn't the end of it. when rehearsal was over, we all filed out of the room and headed in our respective directions. i found myself walking beside him. and you know what i did? nothing! i did absolutely nothing! my crush was walking beside me for at least five strides and i didn't so much as look at him! any normal girl would have taken advantage of his coming to walk beside her and actually say something. words aren't even necessary! just a smile would have done fine! and it wasn't as if i was occupied with my thoughts!

that, curse it, was the end of it. he went to his dorm, i went to my car in the mesa parking structure and once i had shut the door i started yelling at myself--a litany of "why didn't you say anything, you coward?!"

that was my pathetic week. or maybe i'm pathetic and that was just a pathetic person's week. i still can't believe i didn't say anything. i am eighteen years old and this is who i am! a coward!

to top it all off, my mother and father keep giving me advice about getting engaged and married in the future. all these problems with my sister and her soon to be in-laws has made them anxious about my future decisions. my mother says that it is better if my husband loves me more than i love him to ensure his loyalty. my father says that before i get emotionally attached to someone, i should make sure their family and family history is acceptable. if they are not, i should dump the man. both my parents caution me about bad genes. if the man i want to marry has a history of down syndrome children, say, i should dump the man. i heartily disagree with all this advice. i don't believe in falling in love recklessly, but i also don't believe in giving up love because i might have a down syndrome child. i suppose i can say that because i've never had to care for one before, but what else could you do? abandon your true love because you don't want to deal with a mentally disabled child? that seems wrong to me. but maybe i am too softhearted. maybe i don't understand yet, how hard life would be.

i have said many times in the past that i do not want to get married. when i talk about having children with friends i always leave it up to chance. my best friend even said she imagines me with cats when i get old. right now, i am willing to believe this.

*shakes head* if it does happen to be this way, then perhaps i will be another Miss Rumphius. being an old maid is not so bad if you're a Miss Rumphius.

noteworthy musings

"vengeance is a cheap imitation of grief."

is that true? i would never relate vengeance to grief. could you grieve over things like loss of prestige? could you grieve over hurt pride? vengeance is taken on account of both of these things a lot of the time.

vengeance is like...i don't know. i've never wanted to avenge someone before. i remember last year when reading Hamlet, we talked about the differences between vengeance and revenge and redemption. why is it that we feel we must have something to compensate? why is it that some people differentiate between being lost and being taken? is it because loss implies that we had no control over it, that we had no responsibility, that something else was the cause of our grief? is it because being taken implies that someone else is at fault when it is truly their own or our own?

sometimes i think that redemption is more dangerous than vengeance or revenge. redemption guarantees being compensated, being made whole again. but with what? one may die in the act of vengeance or revenge without ever being given anything back. but one almost always lives after being redeemed and that takes more strength than a lot of other things--continuing to live.

there is something to be said about those people who are always so strong: they are nothing without their strength, they are no one. without something to fear, without something to contest, they are left with nothing. they do not live life, they endure it like the weight of the world is on their shoulders. sometimes i wonder about these people--what would be said about them once they have gone. "he was strong" or "she was strong".

today in discussion, our TA went off on a political science tangent because he is a grad student writing a paper on the spread of democracy. he said, in a nutshell, that the spread of democracy usually coincides with militarization. he used Taiwan, Japan, China, Indonesia, South Korea, and the Philippines as examples. in South Korea, the man who was rebelling against the dictatorship needed America's help and America agreed to help on one condition--that the new leader of South Korea implement democracy in their government. it was agreed. the same with Taiwan, they recieved our aid and in exchange they raised a democratic government. i don't know much about political science or sociology so i have nothing to base this knowledge on, but i think its interesting. reading imperialist and anti-imperialist documents last quarter, i found out that a certain figurehead in America believed that democracy, law, and order were all products of the Aryan races--or white people from Europe. some people--such as the Filipinos--were incapable of understanding things like justice and law and democracy because they were an ignorant race in no way as high-minded as white Europeans or Aryans. he used this reasoning to support his imperialist views: ransack the Philippine Islands and teach them democracy because they are ignorant! and in the process, exploit all the Islands' resources! in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, they called this Manifest Destiny.

*shrugs* i still think democracy is not for everyone. i don't care what that man said about eugenics and the superiority of the Aryan races. i think eugenics is ridiculous and inhumane.

a woman was playing her cello in the foyer of the practice rooms today. i hid behind a corner and listened to her play for a bit, but then i had to go and practice myself. i usually prefer the practice rooms in AITR, but you need a special key to access them that only music majors are allowed to get. at least i am comforted by the fact that there is no foyer in AITR and therefore no place where a celloist with a huge cello could practice. so they go to the mesa practice rooms...and so do i.

lol, this saturday was my great aunt's birthday, so we drove up to Torrance early to help decorate the backyard. i didn't have time to change out of my work clothes before we left so i went as i was, wearing black pants and a white button up shirt. i felt distinctly unappealing--but this turned out to be a good thing because a "young man" about my age came over to drop off some food for the party and all the old ladies kept giving me these looks: see, there is a nice, attractive, Filipino that would do well with you. how come you don't have a boyfriend yet? would you like us to introduce you? no, thank you. i hate when people do that. one of my dad's friends is even now trying to set me up with his son--who by all accounts is a bum. yes, i am Filipino, and no i am not ashamed of that, but i will choose whom to love, no matter who he is. so don't you dare try to set me up with someone. *huffs* geez! its not like my father is offering a dowry to any suitors and all i do is embroider all day! what about my internship in London? what about my trip to Paris and Madrid and Rome and Austria? there is no way i will let anyone try to set me up with someone when i have so much left to do.

and with that, my anthropology lecture is going to start in fifteen minutes. its been grand! stay away from matchmaking relatives and ponder the limits of democracy.

the yellow city and its wall

they say you dream more than 1,000 dreams each night but that you never remember them in the morning--or, if you do, they are strange and fleeting.

but i want to record this dream before all the details are lost to me. i am not interested in symbolism and interpretations when it comes to dreams. what interests me are the feelings i have, the emotions that pass through me in my dreams. and this particular one has left its mark on me, so much so that i don't think i will ever forget it.

this dream was one of many that i had lastnight, but the ones before were disjointed and surreal as most dreams are.

as in a dream there are some things that you just know without having to see any background. i believe that in this case, i was part of a class from a certain school or university. we were traveling the world and at the same time overcoming certain obstacles. now that i write this, it doesn't sound right, but its the best that i can do.

i was standing in the center of a city with tall buildings, but they were clean and they were not hard steel and glass, but made of clay, it seemed, or at least clay-colored and there were no asphalt roads. there were large clouds in the sky, whose underbellies were yellow and gold with the sunlight. i'm not sure what time of day it was--only that the sunlight shown in such a way that glazed everything in sight with a yellow or cream-colored light. it looked liked sunset and dawn all at once.

i was standing in the center of a yellow city.

and before me was a great, high wall that led right up to the clouds it seemed. it was made of paper--parchment paper, or papyrus paper, or maybe even bamboo paper, but it was not the average printer type. it looked like a large scroll had been unrolled from the heavens--it looked almost like a waterfall only it didn't billow or move it looked solid with ripples and creases in it--and if the creases were large enough, they made ledges where one could rest if climbing up the wall. and as i watched, this is exactly what my class did.

there were at least almost a hundred of us and i watched as they all tackled the wall, wearing no harnesses or no gloves--they climbed simply as they were dressed: some in jeans and a t-shirt. it was a windy day and the better climbers progressed faster than others.

then time elapsed, as it does in dreams, and suddenly i was not watching people climb, i was climbing, and i was alone, the only one climbing beside me was my best friend who was weeping with fright and i just knew that the only reason why i was climbing was because she couldn't do it alone and i didn't want her to feel afraid.

we were near the bottom--everyone else had already reached the top and were waiting for us. the details of the paper wall became clear to me then. the creases in the paper were treacherous. some of them looked like handholds, but if you gripped one and tried to pull yourself up, it would rip in your hands all the way down until you were at the bottom and had to start afresh. there were also no rocks as there are on rock-walls in rock-climbing centers. there were only slings of rope which were even more difficult to use because of their unsteadiness--rope ladders are harder to climb than solid wooden ones. once, my foot in a rope sling, i made a grab for a crease of paper and it ripped in my hands. all the while my friend was weeping beside me. i don't remember ever reaching the top.

time elapsed again and all of us were standing at the bottom of the wall. because we hadn't reached the top the day before, we were starting again from the very beginning. everyone who had already completed the climb were around us, waiting to watch our ascent.

but this time it was different. my friend and i were harnessed and given certain tools. i had rope burns on my hands so they allowed me to put gloves over them--something the ones before us did not have. as i was strapping them on, someone came up to me and gave me a hug. only it was more like an embrace than anything and he held me tightly. as in a lot of my dreams, i did not know who he was or his name, only that i trusted and loved him. he did not say anything and i never saw his face but as he held me tightly i felt that breathless despair come over me, feeling like i would never finish climbing the wall, that i would have to start from the beginning every day for the rest of my life, that i would never see this person whom i loved ever again because he would get tired of waiting for me.

and then the dream ended and i think i woke up. oddly enough, i was content when i first woke, happy to have gotten a decent night's sleep for the first time in a while. and then i remembered this dream and i haven't thought of anything else since.

for me it seemed so real. the wind on my skin, the feelings of fear and despair and anxiety and the crushing loneliness of climbing that paper wall with only my weeping friend beside me. with the knowledge that everyone else had finished but me. because it was so real, it couldn't have been a nightmare, even though i was afraid. nightmares are horrifying, but fear is so much more powerful than horror.

the only other dreams that have affected me this way had to do with the same kind of emotions: one involved a shooting at my highschool, another had to do with a war i was fighting in where my side had no hope of winning. but they did not horrify me, they frightened me--distrubed me--so much that when i went to school, i was afraid of hearing gunshots, so much that when i turned a corner, i was afraid i might see that enemy i had been fighting in the war. and they were only dreams.

i would never want my own mind for an enemy. i would never wish this upon anyone else, either. how could one survive if this were so?

by the way...

lastnight as we were just finishing dinner--my father and i--he started talking. we tend to have these discussions when we're the only ones eating, but this time we weren't discussing: he was talking and i was listening.

he spoke of the Philippines and of how life is there, how it was when he lived there. he said, with some bitterness, that even his job as a lawyer wasn't enough to support him, my mother, and my baby sister. being a lawyer, and my mother being a banker, earned them respect, but they could never make rent. he said that the govenment was corrupt and that the presidents were always afraid to create their own administrations because the people would rebel. people were bad there. but then he said something that made my heart clench. "People there, they're lazy; they have more than one woman, they steal, they cheat, they always want an easy way out. It is a beautiful country."

even with all the terrible things they had to endure there, it was still a beautiful country in his eyes. even with all the good things we can enjoy here, America is not beautiful.

he went on to say that democracy does not work for Asians and Filipinos. he said that Communism worked for the Chinese and that a Dictatorship worked for the Japanese and that our tyrannical Presidents worked for the Filipinos. he said that because democracy does not champion discipline, it was wasting its breath in Asia. and i think i agree. democracy is a western ideal and the people who so adore it are able to live within its parameters. but not everyone. some need discipline, they need a figurehead who can garner respect and wield fear. they need a leader who can keep them on the straight and narrow because focus is what wins the prize.

it was an interesting talk we had.

i don't mean to offend anyone with this post, and i hope my opinions aren't taken to heart. i am not attacking anyone or any country. it is just something to ponder.

AGAIN WITH THE JILTING!!!!!

they've screwed me over twice now!

today is thursday, my second chance to see that stupid show for humcore.

i wake up at 10:00, which practically ruins my entire morning and i am forced to leave all these things undone, leave an hour early from home and catch the 1:00 showing. i leave the house at 12:30 thinking i am going to be late. get to the university and find a parking space in the SC parking stucture in record time. i have ten minutes left to walk from the structure to HIB 185--which is just the right amount of time. i hurry anyway, but feel somewhat tiumphant because i won't be late, but even early.

i get to HIB 185 and what do i see?

"The Darmok showings have been moved to HICF 100Q at the following times"

follows a list.

i went half limp half rigid with frustration. but no problem, unlike most of my peers, i know where that is and it isn't far. so--with five minutes left--i headed for HICF.

now, because my uni can be unbelievably "underfunded", HICF is a cluster of trailer classrooms. i wander through the maze of trailers past HICF 100 A,B,C,D,E,F,G,H,I,J,K, and L. but i see no 100Q. passing HTC 504A, i saw the time said 1:00 and i gave up. even if i did find the room, the capacity is only 10 and i wouldn't be allowed to enter because of fire regulations and whatnot.

i seethed as i walked up the two flights of stairs to this computer lab in HIB. but now i am just tired.

why? WHY?! why can't they make these things easy for you?!

now i have to skip my anthropology lecture just to catch the showing at 2:00! and my midterm is tomorrow! i have to watch this!

i'm glad there are people here aplenty or else i'd start throwing things. maybe even pointy things.

i've been jilted!

and i am extremely pissed about it.

the class that has been giving me grief from the very beginning--humanities core--posted a schedule of showings for this week. they pride themselves on focusing on all kinds of mediums: literature, scripture, architecture and art, and now film. we are to watch this show for lecture and the midterm on friday, so i checked the showings posted online and decided to go to the showing on tuesday at 1:00pm, since i have work on mondays, wednesdays, and fridays.

i and around 12 other humcore students waited outside HIB 135 for twenty minutes. i finally wondered why no one came to let us into the room for the showing and went to the humcore office for information. the woman there told us that the showing scheduled for 1:00pm on tuesday is actually in room 185. but since we had waited outside 135 until around 1:10, the class was full and we wouldn't be able to watch the showing. i was so mad that i turned my back on her halfway through her explanation and walked out. she didn't even apologize for posting the room number wrong! she made it sound like it was our fault for not realizing that the room number was an error! i can't believe these people! it was posted on their website! what we were supposed to think?!

you might think me rude for turning my back on her, but i was too angry. i might have said something i would regret if i had stayed. besides, there were the other 12 around me, so it didn't seem that rude. and the reason i am so upset is because i only have two available days to see that show before the midterm on friday. today and thursday. i wanted to see it today so that, if i needed to, i could have seen it again on thursday just to refresh my memory. now i'll only be able to see it once. not everyone that goes to university has time for these mistakes! i have a job! my mom is in Atlanta, Georgia this entire week, so i am expected to be home to help with dinner! i commute every single day, i don't dorm. i don't have time for these kinds of things! and gas prices are so high these days that i can't afford to waste my tank of gas. 13 gallons on sunday cost me $33.

*sighs*

have i ever mentioned how poor my family was when they first got here? it was just my mom, my dad and my sister. when they arrived they stayed with relatives in Gardena until they could afford to buy their own place--it was a garage being rented out by a nice family in the same area. it was there that i was born--in Torrance, into that Little Yellow House, as we called it. since i was born we've moved from apartment buildings around LA county down to Orange County: santa ana, tustin, and now here. all throughout my childhood, my asthma cost my parents even more grief and money. but now i can stand on my own two feet without wheezing, and we live in this townhouse at the base of the hills and plantations on property that's value has increased threetimes. i go to university that demands almost $3000 dollars from my parents every two months, no to mention my $200 dollar parking permit and my books every quarter. all this money and they can't even post a room number correctly on their stupid website.

*shakes head*

there is something to be said about institutions that get too big for their resources. they get sloppy and they raise tuition in order to support their sloppiness. get it into your thick heads that university is a two way street. we pay you to go to your school. but in turn, you must give us the tools we need for a proper education. i don't care if college is different from highschool and we are given our independence. their are basic things that need to be taken care of by the university and by it alone.

its no wonder UCI is being sued for their protestors. WAKE UP! maybe its not too late for you to fix the mess you have made, because the students are sure as hell not going to do it for you.