There's got to be more to life...

There's got to be more to life than constantly thinking, "I'm graduating in a month. What the heck am I going to do now?"

You want to grasp everything at once, and you're afraid that if you let things slip through your fingers, you won't get a second chance. It's difficult trying not to let your tears spill over because you're completely freaked out and yet happy at the same time. But it's not confusion that's sweeping over you in the middle of walking through the rush hour commute. You know, by using your reason, that you hold these conflicting emotions at the same time and that they are valid because you're feeling them, right now, breathing with every senseless heartbeat beating through your chest.

But you also know that you can't drown in your tears forever. You have to rise above it and find your way back. You know, deep down, that there's nothing else you can do except to keep holding on, to keep trying to find out what's out there, never losing the hope that eventually, you'll find your own place in the world. And maybe someday, someone with whom to share your world with.

The Tricky Part

Ever feel that you'd rather read an entire shelf of library books on breathtaking stories, fascinating histories, and weird science that actually excite you and get you asking questions instead of numbing your mind with another term paper you have no desire to write?

And it's not that you're lazy. It's that school somehow became... a little less inspiring, maybe a little bit stifling. Like your curiosity grew into this electric ball of frenetic energy and you can't stand the thought of sitting through another boring lecture taken verbatim from the textbook. But you persevere anyway because you want that diploma and it's your meal-ticket to the future. Your future. The title of being an honors student doesn't even matter as much as it used to...

What matters the most is discovering that you have this natural inborn curiosity about the world and how it works and that you want to make something beautiful to inspire ideas in people. Like leaving a legacy behind, an imprint, some kind of indication that you lived and that you contributed something to make this world better off than it was before you became inspired.

The tricky part is figuring out a way to never lose that part of yourself, the part that never stops believing, the part that allows you to embrace the possibilities and work through the mess to find out the world's essence. To find the beauty, the truth, and the light in yourself... and to inspire others to see that in themselves. 

Me, Myself, and Psychology

Me, myself, and psychology:

- An internship for Seminar in Psych Services
- Psych Collective event-planning and communications
- Psych Convention e-mail correspondence
- figuring out which MA program to apply to (Educational Psych concentrating on Learning Theories or Program Evaluation? At Hunter or at Touro? Or should I just go with Speech Language Pathology??)
- figuring out when to apply to aforementioned MA programs (for Fall 2012 or Fall 2013?)
- Job-searching

Thank goodness I have a writing journal to keep me calm, cool, and collected (for the most part). Having said that, I need to write more posts with actual substance in them, rather than just checklists and verbal spews of messy poetry and purple prose. I need to get back on track.  I'm not myself without my writing.

Yup. The plot is TBD.

Poetic Prose: The Seemingly Nonsensical Logic of My Disquieted Mind

So many thoughts lingering in my mind, at the tip of my tongue, waiting for my lips to form the words that would breathe the sounds to life. I'm living in a mess of indigos and violets, my poetry blurring into my prose. I haven't felt this way about writing in a long time.

How does one convey emotion through images, rather than merely tell?

Perhaps that's precisely what has been troubling me about my writing. I have the paintbrushes, the paints, and the canvas. Perhaps I need to trade in these old specs for a new set of lenses. Maybe I just need to hone my brush strokes. Or maybe...

Maybe I just need to get my hands to stop shaking.

I flip through old diaries, the paper cracked and crisp betwixt my fingers, until I feel peeled and distant from the teenage girl who authored them. I slam each diary shut. I wish for a furnace, but burning these well-worn leaves won't stamp out the invisible imprints that the past has branded in my mind. But that teenage girl, the one who bared her ideas on those personal pages, will forever remain a part of me. She's grown up and she's moved beyond the silly narration of those pages (I can only hope).

I stare at empty pages as my thoughts dance in circles, waiting for my voice to give them weight. Instead, they linger, waiting for an unassuming passerby to catch the barely audible whisper.

So this is my journal of discontent, my heart's manifesto, the seemingly nonsensical logic of my disquieted mind.

Clearly, I still have a lot of figuring out to do. I won't cross my fingers, though. I need to write.

False Starts & Indefinable Fresh Beginnings

False starts and fresh beginnings. We've all had our fair share of those.

Just when I think that things are finally falling into place, life shifts and I'm thrown against a corner with the breath knocked out of me and my heart making a break for it. The problem is, my heart's got nowhere to go. The exact direction has yet to be determined.

The words escape me. What was I thinking? Why did I say that? I can't take it back. Did he really mean what he said? The part about me being a "worthwhile challenge"? I can't for the life of me, fathom why.

All I did was paint the world the way I saw it. The way I dream it, sing it. Live it. The way I twist my doubts, wring them in my hands and set them free, turning them into hope. Hope for the better, hope for the right answers, hope for the possibilities, hope for the future. All this, my odd and misplaced philosophy. Yet I never once considered myself to be a philosopher. I'm just someone who likes to think.

Am I really that strange? Am I really that crazy for thinking that I can live my life outside the confines of a  black-and-white box? Am I foolish to believe that I have the freedom to choose which combination of right ideas will be the hues that color my world? Am I naive to believe that I am the master of my doubt, that I can bend my doubt like a helium balloon and set it free so that it does not stomp on my free-spirit?

Sometimes he talks a mile a minute, and I'm still hung over the first words that left his lips.

I don't know why I bother so much.

Arguing in circles. There's a reason why they're pointless. You forget why you cared so much in the first place. Taking a stand and then you forget your purpose as you trip over the semantic wires you used to tie up your argument. You then end up tying your own tongue with words you hope you won't have to eat later.

In the middle of washing dishes, in the midst of reorganizing my bookshelves, in the hours I spent at the laundromat watching the clothes spin in repeated circles, I felt it: that first inkling, that indefinable emotion, the way my heart slowed down for just a tiny beat the moment the thought surfaced in my mind: it bothered me.

It bothers me that I care.

It bothers me that I'm even writing this, wondering why he's even got me thinking about questions that I thought I answered long ago based on the premise that you can't always ask the same question twice. Situations may be similar, but there will always be the nuances, the subtleties that people often tend to look over and forget. There are black-and-white issues, but there aren't always clear-cut answers. The circumstances determine the form the answers will take, so I have come to believe, and continue to believe despite his prior efforts to change my mind.

Why did he want to change my mind so badly anyway? It bothers me to think that he cares about what I think. It bothers me even more to think that I could be completely off the mark in making this assumption.

I don't want to think that this is another one of those false starts, another one of those foolish moments when my imagination usurps my reason. It's a scary thought, one that leaves me awake at night, awaiting the next day with breathless anticipation.

Do dare give this thought, this breathlessness, weight? Do I dare utter the words out loud, write it down on paper, record it into this media for all the world to see?

I'm not sure if I will just yet.

But I'm not going to cross my fingers or twiddle my thumbs while the hours pass. Instead, I think I'll reorganize my closet. Read a book. Take a walk. Write some more crappy poetry until I finally get the words right. Maybe then I'll have some more answers, whatever form they shall take. Maybe then I'll finally step up with the courage to say the very words I dare not speak.

I'd like to believe that it's just the sun rising, gently brushing new colors onto a fresh beginning. Whatever this is, whatever it turns out to be, I hope it's all for the better.

Maybe it won't even bother me at all anymore, and I won't mind so much that I care. This should be interesting.

Esc

I think I've grown a little rusty in writing poems. I just hope I can learn a few more tricks and techniques once I take that poetry workshop this semester.

Until then, this is one of the things I have to work with, called "Esc." Feel free to be as honest as you want to be and let me know what you think of it. Writing is a learning process, after all. Thanks!

"Esc"

The never knowing

The moment you shake your leg, tap your foot,

Rake trembling hands through your hair, 

Teeter in your seat

Wonder if the message you sent

Ever reached the inbox

"Delivered," your screen reports

Yet you feel anything but saved

"Delete" you want to press,

But you can’t backtrack to that space

Shifting restlessly

So you go to your bed and lie in it

Sleep, that natural route of circumvention,

When one drinks dreams from that cup called denial

You never authored anything

Your fingers never touched that keyboard

Your prints aren't etched between each binary-embedded word

Each invisible pixel between the spaces of each

Letter you wish you’d never typed

The only thing retracted:

The only thing that ever mattered and meant the world

And even when the sunlight spills through the window and

Hits the speckled eggshell walls of your room

You’re sitting up, listening to your lungs expand and collapse,

Watching the shadows rise and ebb as the

Reasons dance around and around, and

Once again elude you

Say Goodbye and Embrace the Change: Hello, 2012

Why, hello there, familiar strangers. Yet another chapter has closed as we now ready our pens to write a fresh new page.

2011 was definitely a year of change for all of us. As I sit here trying to think back to all that’s happened, I’m struggling to find the right words to string together to make sense of everything – the good, the sad, the bad, and the downright ridiculous. The images of 2011’s major events blur in a swirly haze in my mind: the passing of influential public figures who contributed to the arts and to technology, the opening of the Ground Zero memorial, the defeat of despotic leaders, the safe return of our troops, the wedding of a royal prince who found his princess, and a woman who’s famous for being famous somehow managed to get married and divorced within 72 days while also raking in at least $18 million. Of course, this doesn’t cover half of the things that happened in the past year, but it serves to depict how oddly scary and yet wonderful our world has become thus far.

Personally, I never actually thought that this year would truly bring change to my life. Sure, I made a list of resolutions for myself – that clichéd list of items that we’re never sure we intend to keep. But resolution lists won’t always help determine your future for you. Change is inevitable, but it’s up to you to decide how much you’re willing to embrace its unpredictable winds. 

Things I that never expected would happen, but did:

• I never expected to break out of my socially awkward shell, but somehow I managed to get over it and find the confidence to talk to new people. Granted, I still have some fears, but I learned to stop letting most of them get the best of me.
• I never expected to gain more insight about my career goals from completing an internship last summer and learn some valuable and translatable job skills, but I’m glad that I did. Hopefully, I'll find a job at a nonprofit organization and help others using my knowledge of psychology.
• I never thought that my family and I would move to a new address, but it’s happened. Despite the slight disruption it caused in my studies and in my social life, I’m slowly getting used to our new place. Plus, it’s warm and cozy.
• I never expected that I would actually take a leadership position in one of the undergrad clubs at my college, but here I am working closely with the other club officers planning exciting new events for the Spring 2012 semester.
• I never expected that I would get a host of new ideas for writing projects, even when I haven’t intensively worked on my novel in months because of college. I never expected that my first rejection letter would sting so much at first, but it’s actually made me more determined than ever to become a more effective writer. Sometimes the most humbling of experiences can motivate you to pursue your goals with more passion.

As for my 2012 resolutions, I’m going to keep it simple: I’m going to try to live each day like it’s my last.

This means that I’m going to try to be a good daughter, a good older sister, and a good friend. I’m going to compile recipes in a scrapbook with my sisters, and we’re going to learn how to cook new recipes. I’m going to view my world from different angles, and I’m going to create art out of it, even if I have rudimentary photography skills. I’m going to listen to new and upcoming music artists. I’m going to branch out and read philosophies I’ve never read before, even if doing so sometimes makes me want to throw the book against the wall. I’m going to explore the science fiction and fantasy genres more, and I’m going to do more historical research to further develop my characters and get that novel completed. I’m going to walk around my beloved New York City and I’m going to rediscover its hidden treasures amid both the glitz and the grit. I’m going to travel. I’m going to write poetry, and goddamnit, I’m going to sing my heart out.

I’m going to take all the lessons I’ve learned from my mistakes and with these, I’m going to close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’m going to open my eyes, my heart, and my mind. I will start anew.

Though the Mayan calendar ends in the year 2012 and people fret about the implications, I’m actually not too worried about it. The advent of 2012 is not the harbinger marking the end of the world, nor is it simply the end of another epoch. It's a new beginning. Every beginning has its uncertainties, but it's this very ambiguity that also gives rise to hope.

With the arrival of 2012, we raise our proverbial hats to the prospect of a prosperous, healthy, and joyous year. We look forward to the promise of a better future and compose lists of resolutions – that clichéd list of items that we’re not sure we intend to keep. We often criticize others for breaking their promises. Yet I wonder… Can we truly keep our own promises to ourselves?

I'll close this post with a song by Joy Williams.

Have a happy and healthy start to a new year, dear friends. 

This is your genesis. ;)

The Neophyte

Here is the poem I mentioned in the previous post, the one inspired by the music I was listening to the night I first started writing it. After many edits and revisions, I think I've finally got it. The most recent version is the one you see below. I tried to incorporate the use of more concrete images to give the words a life and personality all their own. Hopefully, I accomplished that. 

That's where you come in, dear reader. 

If you're feeling up to it, I'd love to know what you think. Be as constructively critical as you want to be, as I'm thinking of submitting it to a student publication at my college by the end of this month. And now, without further ado...

“The Neophyte”

He thought himself a neophyte intellectual who lacked

The prerequisite pretension

Strumming his fingers through mental chords

Striking up a match,

Shaking jolts through dormant lords,

Inciting the vocal

Fuel of a generation

He played them all with his charisma,

Leaving them breathless,

Leaving them blinded,

Rapt by the rampant drumming and

Wondering after the true charlatan

He struck up a conversation

Summoning up his charm,

His weapon his gentle persuasion

As he blithely blew his game plans

Into the seamless curve of Gale’s ear,

Knowing full well that she’d leave him

Winded, shooting the breeze about

His wounds

Sunk beneath his psyche

She was half-tempted to grab the spade,

Twice-enticed to forge her verbal blade,

Deciding at last to pick up the scalpel

And knit her way through the fibers

Cloaking his core

Unwinding, testing out the theory of

How long until he cracks

And shows her she’s more

Than just a constellation in his rose-tinged sky

But she refrains, restrains

Chooses to smile and feign indifference

To his mad scheming

As her analytical wits crackle with

The spark that started it all,

The spoken verse that struck a chord

And cursed her with the scalding imprint of

His asymmetrical smile

Burned somewhere in the folds of her brain

And all she can think to say was DAMN IT.

Moving in the Middle of the Semester

Hello again.

Life has been crazy lately. For one thing, my family and I moved to a new apartment three blocks away. It's a little stressful right now trying to figure where all our belongings are located. Let me just say that proper labeling goes a long way. My parents didn't do a splendid job of it since the movers were already there taking our furniture out of our old apartment, so we couldn't find most of our stuff until we opened up random boxes and started unpacking things at the new place. It's a little further away from the subway, but I like our new street -- it's quiet enough and quaint enough that you can take a stroll through the neighborhood when you need to clear your head and think. Plus, it's only a block away from the laundromat, so weekend chores shouldn't be as difficult as it was before.

As for school... it's a struggle. Subjects are getting more difficult, and the course requirements are demanding. I have a group project and four research papers due by next month. I just hope I can still keep my head up from drowning in stress. Yet even through the all-nighters and the caffeine-infused study sessions, I'm still willing to embrace the challenges that the future may hold.

I haven't had much time to devote to my novel-writing because school and family has kept me busy, but I did write a poem late one night. It's amazing how music can inspire you to do something creative. While listening to my favorite stations on Pandora radio, I felt that all-too familiar itch to write. Words were rearranging themselves in my head, mixing themselves up with familiar lyrics, and creating new phrases I didn't ever want to forget. So I took another stab at writing a poem. It's a little different from my earlier stuff, but I'm glad that my writing is heading towards a new direction. I like to think it's progress.

I may have to read this book.

For now, I'm still reorganizing and figuring things out in my life. I'm not sure where I'm headed, or what I'm going to end up doing in the next five or ten years. I'm usually a meticulous (and okay, a somewhat neurotic) planner, but right now, it feels so good to just close my eyes and take a deep breath as I look out my new window at the calm autumn evening.

I kind of wish the rest of the country felt the same way. There's been a lot of unrest lately, what with the OWS movement going on in Manhattan and the upcoming presidential election next year. If only the world took a moment to stop spinning so fast... maybe people would see things with a better perspective instead of constantly taking sides in gray situations. There's always a side to every story; we cannot always presume to know everything. The best we can do is just, for once, learn to listen to each other and try to be understanding.

Of course, that's just the optimist in me talking. The pessimist in me just heaves a sigh and shakes her head. Oh well...

Until the next post, dear friends.

This is yours truly,
J.Day

Silly Little Thing Called Fear

It's 3 something AM in the morning and I can't stop thinking about what I'm going to do for the rest of my life. Find a job for next semester? Work in a lab while doing independent research?

Having choices can be a wonderful thing, but thinking about the possibilities can sometimes paralyze you with the fear of failure.

There are so many things I want to do, but so little time to do them. I'd like to think that I'm fearless, but when it comes time to mobilize and get things done, I feel a little frozen. Like a panic-stricken chicken running around in zig-zagging directions with its head dangling from the base of its neck.

Maybe I'm just over-thinking it. I shouldn't let fear of failure stop me from pursuing my goals and trying out new things. I have to learn to embrace it and accept it for what it is in order to fully overcome it.

No longer shall fear of failure paralyze me into inaction. I will pursue the things I want to accomplish.

For now, though, I really need to get some sleep.

Until the next post, dear friends.