Although I shouldn’t be too surprised, since I have the tendency to ask uncomfortably personal questions myself. I limit this only to the people I feel close to, and for me, I can count the number of those people on my two hands. I try to show interest in other people’s lives, and this is my way of doing it. However, I try to make sure we are in appropriate situations, and not say, at a large gathering where someone’s grandma who can’t remember why she’s there can hear my reply. Awkward!

Maybe if we have kids, I will understand this drive to have other people bear offspring. But until then, everyone else should lay off the baby comments.

One of the books we recently read was The World To Come by Dara Horn. Technically it’s for young adults, but books are books, no matter what the level. This particular book is full of symbolism and metaphors. Most of them are Jewish, as the book is about a Jewish family and their legacy, but there were a lot of different things that were tied in: how to live life, how to enjoy life, what the meaning of life is, ect.

Now, as much as I enjoy philosophy, metaphors and Judiasim, I felt it was a bit much. Certainly the young adult thing could have thrown me off from the very beginning, but I made it all the way through the book. In the last 30 pages or so, I really felt a shift inside of me. By the end of the book, I loved it. I was able to look back and think: whatever age, whatever the author’s intended meaning, I really enjoyed this book.

I read this book and immediately started the next book of our book club, Run by Ann Patchett. Similarly this book seemed to probe the meaning and importance in life–indeed, perhaps all literature can be boiled down to this basic meaning–but this was done through the tale of a biracial family. It was a very touching book and a fast read. Yet, when I first heard that this would be the next book for the book club, I didn’t want to read it.

I’m not really interested in heartwarming stories in the traditional sense. When I read, I try to fill in gaps in my world. I read classic literature, modern Latin American authors, and other random works. Perhaps it’s because I did so much research on genocide, human rights, and issues of identity that I think this is too simple. It’s purpose is to go straight to the heart and offers little for the mind. And yet, at the end of Run, I was glad I had read it. I never would have picked it up on my own, though I had previously been told to read Bel Canto by Patchett.
In the end, I enjoy my book club, not just for the conversations we have after the book, but for the experience itself of stretching myself when it comes to literature. I am also a part of a human rights reading group that I enjoy for exactly the same reasons. We alternate fiction and non-fiction, and I have learned a lot from those books. One of the greatest accomplishments of a book is to get yourself out of your own positionality and see another person’s viewpoint. By extension, I believe this should be the highest goal of a book club, whether the cover appeals to you or not.

PS. Sorry this blog is so corny.

My mom is schizophrenic. Her mother had been schizophrenic as well, and it made my mom’s older sister and brother tired of dealing with it. They were both afraid of the suicide attempts, the erratic behavior, and the fear of just never knowing what will happen. With both of my mother’s parents dead, and a deadbeat ex-husband (my sister’s father), my sister and I are the only family my mom has left. I am the only one she can depend on, and because I live so far away, my sister is the only one my mom can shower her abundant love on.

For years my mom was on medication that subdued the voices in her mind. She was able to cope with being an older parent because in a lot of ways, my mom was made to be a mom. She is very nurturing and always puts her children before herself. However, she has recently been in and out of the hospital for a year now. The hospitals can’t seem to keep her long enough to get the right combination of medications. Like most people with mental illness, my mom is both schizophrenic and depressed. She alternately sleeps to much, or not enough. And every change in her lifestyle is a potential sign that something is wrong. But now, she not only faces exorbitant amount of health care bills, she also faces the loss of my sister. My sister’s dad, despite his inability to be responsible for anything at all (bills, picking children up from school, holding down a job), is fighting to take my sister out of the state.

I have no opinion about who should get custody. Maybe it’s a betrayal to my mom, but I seriously wonder if it’s right to put my sister through this amount of instability. But I am realistic in thinking that this is the rest of our lives. You can’t just pretend your mother doesn’t exist, or that she is perfectly healthy. My mom will never be cured of her illness. Instability will also be a part of my sister’s life simply through her father. I once waited two hours for him to pick me up from a softball game. That’s no way for a child to grow up either. Whatever happens, I can only pray that my sister can create for herself, a belief system or outlook on life that can still give her hope, love, honesty, sincerity and integrity. Growing up in this kind of situation is not easy. Maintaining a system of values can be skewed when it seems as if life is unfair. But life is unfair, and there has to be more to life than simple equity, that keeps you, me, us, going. Some say it is God, some say it is love, some say it is sheer natural instinct. Whatever it is, and whatever it is that my sister decides upon, I hope it is one where she can find joy in the midst of it all.

Yet, what I find most compelling about the book is the way Bassam seems to living in multiple layers of reality. From the very first chapter of the book Bassam sees events in the physical world as connecting with another philosophical or anagogical world. Roma is a city of great importance, though what that importance is I have yet to fathom though in my mind it is reminiscent of the poem Sailing to Byzantium by William Butler Yeats.

Despite the appearance of this dual reality, the real culmination of Bassam’s overlapping realities comes when he is in France. As he travels Paris he sees himself as a conquering general, cutting off the heads of noblemen and winning the revolution singlehandedly. Though the reader may doubt, as I did, that Bassam’s gripe on sanity was slipping, the doubts become lost as a complicated web of international terrorism is revealed. It is not so far fetched to see Bassam’s rebellious act of escaping the polarized country of his birth as revolutionary. He is the revolution of the revolution, precisely because he is a child of the revolution, having grown up and come to age in the midst of sectarian violence. Fighting communists, working with Jews, killing Muslims, none of it mattered because all of it amounted to was petty thieving, ruthless killing, and tiny men trying to make themselves kings of the garbage dump. The city Bassam grew up in was mere rubble, with bombs instead of stars, and bullet casings instead of marbles to trade.

Perhaps the most compelling part of the novel was its rich language and Bassam’s poetry-like stream of consciousness. If I took the time to look more closely at the analogies and imagery employed by Hage I am sure the richness of the text would become even fuller. But the simple act of reading this novel was so pleasurable that I am trying to get all of my friends to read it.

I don’t know you very well, but already you fill my heart and head, with long forgotten dreams and desires. When I was a child, I dreamt like a child. I saw the world arrayed in the splendor of love, hope, and equality. My parents taught me right from wrong, and like a child, I believe that the entire world operated on such simple principals. Justice was simplified to the basic understanding of cause and effect. And humanity was easily revealed in the goodnight kisses and impromptu gifts of adoring family and friends.

However, as I grew, the world revealed itself to be something completely different. Gone was the veil from my eyes and there, what stood before me, was a future cast in shadows. Humanity was suddenly hard to find, and as I traveled further from the comforts of home, I clung ever more tightly to my family and friends. They were the only ones I could depend on to bring sudden glimpses of light into my life. Finding the world operating on such cold principals of politics, power, and polemics made it difficult to remember what love, hope and equality were. I learned to hide my principals, my expectations, my character goals from the rest of the world. Fearful of derailment, not ridicule, I tried to hide my naivete, because I wanted to be taken seriously. I needed to be an adult, and as an adult, I had to understand the world as everyone else saw it. No longer could I see what I wanted in the world.

Then you came along. You came along with this vision of the United States and politics that advocated change. CHANGE. Your powerful words seduced me. What you said over a loudspeaker whispered to my heart to let go. To reveal my fearful aspirations that the world could look different. That the world WAS different. That humanity extended beyond my intimate family and friends to strangers on the street, living across the country and in another continent. Your words got me to think that maybe what the whole world dreamt of was the same, but that we were all afraid and so we chanted with the same cynical voice: power, politics, polemics.

Yet, even as my dreams begin to materialize with greater clarity, the voice of caution in my head grows ever stronger. Here is a man who has the power to break my heart. So I had to write this letter. I had to let you know what is at stake in this Presidential Election. It’s not just if you win, it’s what will you do when you win. What is your vision of this world?

e.e. cummings is one of my favorite poets. His words hide in my heart. Perhaps they will speak to your heart as well:

(While you and I have lips and voices which are for kissing and to sing with who cares if some oneeyed son of a bitch invents an instrument to measure spring with? each dream nascitur, is not made…) why then to Hell with that: the other; this, since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid.

Love,

A simple 24 year old

If even half of his book is true, Sedaris has done more than his fair share of drugs and borders on retarded. While I do not trust in standardized tests, even my own SAT scores did not reveal my obvious brilliance, I just have to wonder what it takes to be a published author. The fact that Sedaris is so successful leads me to a series of doubts: 1) he is not really retarded; 2) he doesn’t really write his own books; 3) the reasons why books are successful is retarded; and finally 4) writing is not for the intelligent.

I am, of course, being a bit facetious when I write all of this because I do, honestly, believe Sedaris is brilliant. Regardless of what any test may say, he has a sharp sense of humor, a way with description and dialogue, and an understanding of what life is really all about, namely the mundane. But as I finished the book, I had a serious conversation with another aspiring writer about what really goes into writing.

What is it? And how do I cultivate it?

Yet, as I ponder the question of the future, I can’t help but see a fork in the road. Certainly human kind growing fat and lazy seems likely. But, just as technology is used to make life easier, it is also used to make life longer, safer, and more idealized. Medicine, gyms, diets are all created based on scientific principals with the basic goal of making human life longer, better, and healthier. In addition, medicine and science has also been used to promote a specific form of beauty based on outer appearance and weight. I can foresee in the future  humans completely encased in metal, much like Ironman. But instead of the metal being used as a weapon, it is simply used as a shield, designed to keep people safe from guns, knives, and germs. It would also keep people from the eventual saggy breasts, laugh lines, and other various signs of aging that are associated with growing older, and therefore closer to death.

The market would explode once these protective metal casings are created and marketed to the masses. People would buy them at lightning-fast speeds, believing it would make life safer. It would also give them a measure of control over what other people saw. The metal outer layer could be altered in any number of ways to look attractive. Of course, people who could not afford this protective barrier would be left vulnerable. Vulnerable to violence, to natural laws, and to time. Perhaps, overtime, these people, the poor people, would disappear as they are killed by illness, age, and bullets.

All in all, I’d say more films need to be made about the future, if only to remind us of the dangers inherent in near-sighted thinking. People at the forefront of technology, medicine, and other sciences need to contemplate their experiments and products with far more wisdom than perhaps the average admission counselor. Contemplating the ways our actions now could lead to a better, or far worse, future is the only way we can ensure a far more happier world than the one depicted in WALLE, 1984, or any other futuristic story.

As one could probably guess, that thought process ended abruptly when I graduated and decided not to go to graduate school immediately, but to work for a few years. All I really thought about was making enough money to live, which thankfully, after just getting out of college didn’t have to be very much. I worked for a non-profit for almost no money and then went back to graduate school. Life, however, threw a few curve balls and in my second quarter I had to drop out. Now I am back to working full time, but with a full salary to match the amount of work I do.

However, working full-time has it’s price. Rising gas prices, the cost of cable and Internet, and then the college loans and unexpected bills add up to suck any extras out of my pay check. Added to that is the frustration over co-workers. Seeing people come in late, take extra days off, and having to cover other people’s work loads just so they can twiddle their thumbs is frustrating. I ask myself the age old question: why do they get paid the same, if not more, than I, when I do more work than them? Thankfully, Father’s Day was this weekend.

Talking to my dad this weekend was like calling God. He always has something to say that I can learn and benefit from. This time, however, as I sat on my couch complaining about work, the advice he gave me was anything but revolutionary. He did not advocate for “telling” on my useless co-worker by reporting the behavior to my boss. He did not urge me to challenge the system by being open and honest and confrontational. Instead, he told me to work the way I know how to work, which is with integrity. He urged me to do the best job that I can do, but to also take pride in it. To recognize that I am doing the best I can, and to continue to derive some sort of personal happiness from my own work ethic.

However, he also told me to bide my time. To wait and have faith that I would, one day, get the opportunity to be validated. If not by my bosses, then by an opportunity to change the structure, to set the rules and standards, and to reward true merit. While my career goals aren’t necessarily to be the “boss,” I do pride myself on having my peers recognize my work. And for now, it is enough to keep me happy and content at my job.

Now, to some, my dad’s advice may seem counter to my initial thoughts in college. It is exactly my dad’s way of thinking that feeds into and supports our capitalistic economic system. Yet, what I value about my dad’s advice is precisely that: it is a way of being happy within a system I cannot change. Sure I could be a revolutionary and advocate for change. In many ways, I think I still am, as I firmly believe in human rights, fair trade, and social services. At the same time, I need to be happy now, in the current unfair way our world is organized.

What my dad has told me, over and over again, is that I need to be happy within myself and not let other people or events bother me so much. This is especially true of work; the only way I can achieve a life of fulfillment and happiness is if my standards are internal. If I have goals that I can control and work towards and ultimately fulfill. If I look to the world to satisfy me, or create a system in which I can prosper or feel nurtured in, I would be setting myself up for disappointment.

My boyfriend is a wonderland of information about music, popculture, and movies. My co-worker is an avid James Bond, Indian Jones, Star Wars, and soccer fan. My friend from college is an artist and has nurtured his artistic nature with knowledge about art, art history, politics, popculture, and wikipedia. I have noticed in my life a strange lack of any consistent, or sustained interest in any one thing. Sure I have all three Gidget moves (on VHS), but I never watched the tv show and have no trivia knowledge of the history of Gidget. I don’t watch any tv show religiously, am not passionate about one music genre, and could care less whether or not the Lakers win the NBA Championships. I watch CSI the most out of all tv shows, but please, do not give me a CSI tshirt for Christmas, or the episodes on DVD because I will not wear it or watch them again.

What is wrong with me? I love lots of things! My facebook profile can attest to it: sunshine, moving, reading, jogging, cooking, clutch and throttle (a tribute to earning my motorcycle license), and of course writing. I used to think Africa was my passion. African history in particular and human rights in general were of the greatest concern to me in college. However, after life hit me over the head more than a few times, my interest was wandered much closer to home.

Instead of Africa I think about the homeless man I give change to and who takes that as an invitation to hold my hand. I think of how the public transportation system in Los Angeles is horrible, and am amazed I used it exclusively for two years. I wonder about politics, health care, education, and whether people with mental illnesses should have places they can live where they lead as independent lives as possible, without drowning in medical bills and losing themselves to the fog of mysterious voices and uncontrollable emotions.

These aren’t exactly interests that can win me a spot on Jeopardy, or Beauty and the Geek (the reality tv show I would most like to be in). Instead, I am contemplating a life ahead of me distinct only in its lack of all-consuming passions. While maybe this shouldn’t be as depressing as it sounds in my head, my lack of interest scares me because it means I will never be great. I will not be the next great yo-yo champion, or the premier expert on Haruki Murakami. Anything I will be, will be due to some accident of fate or stroke of good luck. That idea doesn’t make me feel good.

My inclination is to think this has something to do with postmodernism. The idea that there is no absolute truth, that all experience is relative, is touted as a way of promoting peace and universal understanding. These ideas are heavily discussed in college and since I graduated from college I have become comfortable thinking about the world in such terms. Yet, postmodernism presents a problem when it comes to developing confidence in any one way of thinking or believing.  It is a fine line to walk, acknowledging the limits of the human experience and still holding on to beliefs whether they are religious or otherwise.

 For many people, postmodernism presents an opportunity not to choose sides, not to make a stand, and to change in any number of ways so as to bend to what is popular at any exact time and place. The people who use postmodern ideas to become chameleon-like are the people most uncomfortable with stubbornness. When I think back to earlier eras, being stubborn was a good characteristic. It meant you had some backbone. And while I can openly admit that being stubborn isn’t always a good thing, it’s not something I want to be afraid of either.

Now, I like to think that although I am stubborn, I am also the kind of person who can admit when I am wrong, apologize when I’ve hurt someone’s feelings, and revise an opinion as I grow and develop. In large part, I focus on cultivating those kinds of characteristics because they are necessary for building strong, authentic relationships. The people in my life are very important to me and I am not conceited enough to believe I am perfect. Change is certainly not a bad thing and if I can do things that can help me to be a better person, I am more than happy to do so. But I do believe that being a consistent, reliable person with known ethics and morals makes interacting with me easy. Here are your boundaries, trespass them if you dare, but do so knowing the consequences. It’s pretty simple when you think about it.