One of Those Nights
It's one of those I feel so nostalgic and poetic that I have to write nights. I can't believe I've gone so long without writing despite that so much has been running through my mind and schedule this entire quarter (eight weeks in already, can you believe it?). It's been a hectic quarter, keeping up with two jobs yet again. Admittedly--though not surprisingly--I haven't been keeping up with schoolwork, but when do I ever?
Classes have been quite unexciting, but that's probably my own fault. My post-postmodernism seminar is full of interesting ideas and theory and is taught by one of my favorite UCLA English professors (the only reason I enrolled, really). But I never say anything in there. I halfheartedly flip through each week's novel on Sunday night and frantically skim the secondary readings two hours before class. Even when I do have something to offer to the discussion, I immediately internally deem it irrelevant because I haven't read enough of anything to really know what I'm talking about. In other words, I invalidate my ideas and subsequently remain silent for three whole hours while the other 11 people in class are jabbering their respective intellects away.
Meanwhile, in political science, I just don't do anything. Following a four-hour work shift, I reluctantly trudge to class, and whether I stay awake or fall asleep doesn't really matter to me, because I can't--or don't--pay attention either way. On Monday, I slept for the entire first hour, and then had no idea what the professor was talking about for the second half of lecture. And it's not even like I try to go over lecture material when I come back to the apartment. I haven't opened the book since the midterm, which I suspect I did not perform very well on.
Lastly, poetry workshop is extremely underwhelming. I thought that it would be constructive and fun, and I understand that classes like these are what students themselves make of it. However, the professor still plays a large role in establishing a vibrant environment and setting for students. Simply put, my professor doesn't do that well. Often, she seems disinterested and bored, and follows a strict structure of: read poem, wait for student responses, critique responses, question poet, then ask poet if she/ he has questions, and end with "Did you get enough feedback?" It's tiring. What bothers me most is that she tries to tell us what poetry should or shouldn't be. And I understand and respect that, because she, as a "published poet" and an English professor, would know. On the other hand, poetry is free expression, and I firmly emphasize the modifier. If we want a word to signify one meaning and not another, if we want to employ metaphor instead of analogy, etc, then we should be free to do so without being told, "Well, that's not exactly what it means." Perhaps this is just me not taking constructive criticism well. Regardless, I'm just a bit disappointed by this course.
Other than that, I'm now enrolled in the education studies minor. I have no idea how that's going to help me in the future, because one does not need the education studies minor in order to get into the education field. In retrospect, I should have applied for the accounting minor from the very beginning, and graduate within three years. I've been doing that a lot lately--in retrospect. I don't know yet that I quite regret anything, and I do know that it isn't too late for anything. But I have become so complacent that I just don't want to change anything anymore. Rather than actively trying to figure and plan things out, I have taken to lazily sitting around and letting things pan out. It's terrible, I know. It's changeable, I know. I know, I know.
Those two words will be the demise of me, if they haven't already proven to be. Clearly, I know, and I acknowledge. Yet, I don't do. Complacency and laziness at their finest.
And yet, I keep looking for jobs. My (daytime) schedule is already so hectic and booked up between jobs and classes, but I continue to scour the career center website and Google for summer internships and part-time positions all the way from the San Gabriel Valley to the West Side. I don't know why I do this to myself. When I'm doing nothing other than class, I feel unsatisfied with myself. When I'm working too much, I feel unsatisfied with my schedule. One job is too boring, two jobs too busy. At one point this year, I seriously considered taking on two jobs and an internship--on top of a full-time course load I told myself, "So many people do so much more. So I must be able to do it, too, especially since I never do anything else." Eventually, just the thought of transporting from one job, one class, one home to another became dizzily overwhelming, so I just dropped the internship. In retrospect (there I go again), it was a great opportunity that I probably should have taken.
But I've learned in the past year or so that opportunities are always present. You just have to actively seek and pursue them. And though there are plenty, not all of them may be right for you. But each one is, at the very least, a learning experience about not just the world, but also yourself. My parents expect me to, by now, know what I want to do and how to get there, to have decided on my future. But I've always believed that there's room to grow and learn about yourself no matter how many years you've previously spent doing so already.
So, I don't know what or how I'm going to do or where I'm going to be, but I will keep opening the doors when opportunities knock and hopefully continue to learn about myself, and from there, see a clearer path for my future.
On a different note, lately I've been wondering whether I have become exceedingly sensitive or whether the world has just been meaner to me. Most obviously, I've encountered worse customer service than ever recently, and have been dubbing so many places "ONE (Yelp) STAR!" Drivers have been jerks. Boss yelled at me. And on goes the list. Then again, bad customer service, rude drivers, and mean bosses have always been present. So maybe I have become more sensitive. The other day, I cried because my car battery died. My coworkers must have thought I was insane. One of them said, "There's no reason to cry. Everybody's battery dies. It happens every day," as I ashamedly sniffled away the last of my tears.
But...
All this isn't to say that I'm not happy. I'm certainly a bit lost, as I have been for the past two years. And worries and concerns have been popping up left and right for the past several weeks. But I am, overall, quite satisfied with life, because love is great. And that's about as sappy and vague as I'm going to get tonight.
Wait, I have to rant about London again. I miss it incredibly immensely. The other day, I dreamed of standing among a crowd on the Piccadilly Line heading toward Heathrow Airport. The conductor announced something about Green Park being the smallest station and having to go up the stairs and go back down another set of stairs to get to the next line. I woke up, longing to be in London again, envisioning Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, Holborn Station... Thinking about London makes my heart melt a little bit every time. I don't even know how to explain in words how much I love and miss the city. If I had the chance to go there for a teaching gig, I would take it in a heartbeat. If I could suddenly afford to go there, I would immediately. It's just so darn wonderful. And having read Tom McCarthy's Remainder (set in London) for class this week definitely did not help with my London-sickness.
And with that, I shall go to sleep and hopefully dream of London. Boy, do I adore that place.
Classes have been quite unexciting, but that's probably my own fault. My post-postmodernism seminar is full of interesting ideas and theory and is taught by one of my favorite UCLA English professors (the only reason I enrolled, really). But I never say anything in there. I halfheartedly flip through each week's novel on Sunday night and frantically skim the secondary readings two hours before class. Even when I do have something to offer to the discussion, I immediately internally deem it irrelevant because I haven't read enough of anything to really know what I'm talking about. In other words, I invalidate my ideas and subsequently remain silent for three whole hours while the other 11 people in class are jabbering their respective intellects away.
Meanwhile, in political science, I just don't do anything. Following a four-hour work shift, I reluctantly trudge to class, and whether I stay awake or fall asleep doesn't really matter to me, because I can't--or don't--pay attention either way. On Monday, I slept for the entire first hour, and then had no idea what the professor was talking about for the second half of lecture. And it's not even like I try to go over lecture material when I come back to the apartment. I haven't opened the book since the midterm, which I suspect I did not perform very well on.
Lastly, poetry workshop is extremely underwhelming. I thought that it would be constructive and fun, and I understand that classes like these are what students themselves make of it. However, the professor still plays a large role in establishing a vibrant environment and setting for students. Simply put, my professor doesn't do that well. Often, she seems disinterested and bored, and follows a strict structure of: read poem, wait for student responses, critique responses, question poet, then ask poet if she/ he has questions, and end with "Did you get enough feedback?" It's tiring. What bothers me most is that she tries to tell us what poetry should or shouldn't be. And I understand and respect that, because she, as a "published poet" and an English professor, would know. On the other hand, poetry is free expression, and I firmly emphasize the modifier. If we want a word to signify one meaning and not another, if we want to employ metaphor instead of analogy, etc, then we should be free to do so without being told, "Well, that's not exactly what it means." Perhaps this is just me not taking constructive criticism well. Regardless, I'm just a bit disappointed by this course.
Other than that, I'm now enrolled in the education studies minor. I have no idea how that's going to help me in the future, because one does not need the education studies minor in order to get into the education field. In retrospect, I should have applied for the accounting minor from the very beginning, and graduate within three years. I've been doing that a lot lately--in retrospect. I don't know yet that I quite regret anything, and I do know that it isn't too late for anything. But I have become so complacent that I just don't want to change anything anymore. Rather than actively trying to figure and plan things out, I have taken to lazily sitting around and letting things pan out. It's terrible, I know. It's changeable, I know. I know, I know.
Those two words will be the demise of me, if they haven't already proven to be. Clearly, I know, and I acknowledge. Yet, I don't do. Complacency and laziness at their finest.
And yet, I keep looking for jobs. My (daytime) schedule is already so hectic and booked up between jobs and classes, but I continue to scour the career center website and Google for summer internships and part-time positions all the way from the San Gabriel Valley to the West Side. I don't know why I do this to myself. When I'm doing nothing other than class, I feel unsatisfied with myself. When I'm working too much, I feel unsatisfied with my schedule. One job is too boring, two jobs too busy. At one point this year, I seriously considered taking on two jobs and an internship--on top of a full-time course load I told myself, "So many people do so much more. So I must be able to do it, too, especially since I never do anything else." Eventually, just the thought of transporting from one job, one class, one home to another became dizzily overwhelming, so I just dropped the internship. In retrospect (there I go again), it was a great opportunity that I probably should have taken.
But I've learned in the past year or so that opportunities are always present. You just have to actively seek and pursue them. And though there are plenty, not all of them may be right for you. But each one is, at the very least, a learning experience about not just the world, but also yourself. My parents expect me to, by now, know what I want to do and how to get there, to have decided on my future. But I've always believed that there's room to grow and learn about yourself no matter how many years you've previously spent doing so already.
So, I don't know what or how I'm going to do or where I'm going to be, but I will keep opening the doors when opportunities knock and hopefully continue to learn about myself, and from there, see a clearer path for my future.
On a different note, lately I've been wondering whether I have become exceedingly sensitive or whether the world has just been meaner to me. Most obviously, I've encountered worse customer service than ever recently, and have been dubbing so many places "ONE (Yelp) STAR!" Drivers have been jerks. Boss yelled at me. And on goes the list. Then again, bad customer service, rude drivers, and mean bosses have always been present. So maybe I have become more sensitive. The other day, I cried because my car battery died. My coworkers must have thought I was insane. One of them said, "There's no reason to cry. Everybody's battery dies. It happens every day," as I ashamedly sniffled away the last of my tears.
But...
All this isn't to say that I'm not happy. I'm certainly a bit lost, as I have been for the past two years. And worries and concerns have been popping up left and right for the past several weeks. But I am, overall, quite satisfied with life, because love is great. And that's about as sappy and vague as I'm going to get tonight.
Wait, I have to rant about London again. I miss it incredibly immensely. The other day, I dreamed of standing among a crowd on the Piccadilly Line heading toward Heathrow Airport. The conductor announced something about Green Park being the smallest station and having to go up the stairs and go back down another set of stairs to get to the next line. I woke up, longing to be in London again, envisioning Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, Holborn Station... Thinking about London makes my heart melt a little bit every time. I don't even know how to explain in words how much I love and miss the city. If I had the chance to go there for a teaching gig, I would take it in a heartbeat. If I could suddenly afford to go there, I would immediately. It's just so darn wonderful. And having read Tom McCarthy's Remainder (set in London) for class this week definitely did not help with my London-sickness.
And with that, I shall go to sleep and hopefully dream of London. Boy, do I adore that place.
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