Midnight heartburn

Sometimes I like sleepless nights.  I toss and I turn, unwilling to succumb to the insomnia until finally I relent.  It’s usually a result of some bad culinary decision I made in the evening.  This time it was popcorn, beer, chocolate cake frosting and 2 bites of extremely spicy Szechuan food. 

I got up, had a glass of water, responded to some pending e-mails, checked facebook, wrote in my journal, read an old journal, text messaged some friends.  I really hope I didn’t wake them; it was 2:50 am after all. 

I heard a tap-tap on my bedroom door.  I knew this would happen.  I had woken up my light-sleeper, super sensitive roommate, AKA, my dad.  “What’s wrong?  Are you ok?  Why aren’t you sleeping?  Aren’t you tired?  How long have you been up?  What did you eat last night?”  I answered his questions, reassuringly.  He followed me to the kitchen as we chatted politics.  Appropriate 3 am conversation.  He went back to bed and I stayed on the computer, chatting with friends in different time zones. 

I contemplated making lifestyle changes; I do enjoy sleeping the whole night through and not having heartburn.  But if I did that, when would I write?  What would be my inspiration for these quirky blog posts?  Then I laughed to myself, if something is going to happen, it’s going to happen.  If you want something bad enough, you will make it work.  I am inspired by all sorts of things, late night heartburn and sleepless nights are fine and dandy but I could use some healthier inspiration.  

This is the life

"This is the life" sighed Inma, the director of the study abroad program in which I participated 2 falls ago in Cordoba, Spain. We lay on the warm sand in La Jolla, California. Although it was completely overcast, the weather was very pleasant and we were enjoying one another's company, along with another student with whom I had studied abroad with. We watched a surf competition and chatted. To her, this was a typical Sunday in Southern California, and maybe it is, although it was the first time I had ever seen a surf competition and I rarely go to the beach to lounge.

We hadn't seen each other since I left Spain in December 2008. According to all the students on the program, past and present, she is the program Mommy. She is fluent in both English and Spanish (not to mention Italian among others) and so when we were homesick or did not understand something about Spanish culture, our host families, or bureaucracy, she was there to explain it to us, in perfect, British accented English. She also knew all the best places to go in Cordoba, for tapas, wine bars, etc. She always was pleasant and helped us with contacts, or just plain giving advice. She never did anything FOR us, she just guided us, pointed us in the right direction, and let us find our own way. For her I am thankful. She is one of the most balanced people I know. She is so lively and natural. She can have a good time just about anywhere. She will get up and dance at a dinner party, or drink sangria with you in the back, she loves to make conversation and does so with everybody. She is a beautiful person and a wonderful soul, I hope you have an Inma in your life.

I also got to thinking, human interactions are really beautiful. I never understood why there was such a stigma about people spending time with people outside of their age group. I have always had friends who are much older and younger than myself. I love it. I feel like I learn so much from them and when I talk about things that I think are "normal" or "outrageous" I hear their perspective. It's a wonderful thing. My 12 year old problems were quite silly when I explained them to a friend going through a divorce, or another friend who had just lost a loved one cancer. I guess this was something I always yearned for as all of my family, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc. lived halfway across the world from me. So I adopted my family. All of the neighbors growing up on my block became my aunts and uncles, I won't say grandparents, so as to not offend anybody, but I had a hefty lot of aunts and uncles. I spent my weekends traveling from one house to the next, enjoying a cup of tea with Sally from down the street and cookies at Chris and Jeff's. I would accompany Margaret to the post office and we'd stop at the cafe downtown for a brownie, and occasionally she'd slip a "bad word" when somebody cut her off. Tony next door had me help with the yard and Joel even employed me in his living room lab. All that I'm trying to get out of all of this is that we can learn so much from all of the people in our lives, even if we just have a conversation with them. We often times find ourselves so caught up in our to do lists, run this errand, and that errand, go to this store and call that person and forget where we are, that there are other humans around us from whom we can learn so much and brighten our days.

Focus on What You Have

I have recently been consumed by the incessant thoughts of a failed friendship. The subject comes up in all of my conversations and when I am idly sitting in class, at work, in bed, on the bus, etc. my thoughts linger to this friendship that will not seem to work no matter how hard I try to force it. So therein lies the problem. I am trying to force it. I have learned through many experiences in my short life that you cannot force anything. If something is meant to happen, it will force itself upon you, no matter how hard you try to avoid it. And the same is true for the converse, if something is not supposed to happen, no matter how hard you try to make it work, nature will not allow it.

My aunt was visiting me this past weekend, and we had an amazing time together (as always). She gave me advice that I really should apply to my life. She said she's tired of people focusing on things that they don't have, rather than what they do. Rather than obsessing over this friendship that I cannot seem to make work, why don't I focus on the wonderful people I do have in my life? The friends that listen to me rant and rave about this failing friendship. The friends that are always there, a phone call away, to listen to me cry, or tell me they love me and are happy when I am, who would do just about anything for me.

So that's what I will do, I will love my friends and family and give them the attention and respect they deserve, and you should to :).

Sand Bagger

My cross country coach in high school used to call the students who would sprint the last quarter mile of the course, the part where all of your friends/teammates/family members were standing cheering you on, Sand Baggers. He said if you had all of that energy left in the end you didn't try hard enough throughout the rest of the course. Ya, he's probably right.

I think my college career has been of Sand Bagging nature. I started off great, excited, everything sounded so scholarly and I didn't actually believe that it was happening to me. Biochemistry? No, I'm just taking classes, like high school. What does it matter if I like this or not. You just take classes, begrudgingly study, and then you graduate with a degree, right? Well there I was living in the library, moving from class to class as though I were a zombie, programmed to move from Center Hall 206 at 10:00 am to Peterson 108 at 11:00 am. I took notes, you know, wrote down what seemed to be important. I used highlighters, that means you work hard. I answered the questions the TAs would ask, only by reading off the notes I had taken, they usually asked questions with answers that I had highlighted, so it made it easy, or maybe not easy, but logical. People thought I had it together. I fooled them because I got dressed in the morning. Rather than come to class in my pajamas and UGG boots, I wore pants and sweaters, button up tops and scarves. This is partly how I was raised and partly because I am self-conscious of my body and if I look put together, I think I can mask my flaws. Furthermore I talk a lot, if I talk enough I'm bound to say something right, especially when I'm reading off of my "notes." So I did this, miserably, I would break down during finals every quarter, that is 12 times in my college career. (11 actually, I still have one more round of tear-filled torture, accompanied by excessive amounts of caffeine and angry phone calls to my Mom). I would break down, and fight with myself and my family about changing my major. We would decide that college was just stressful and you have to do something hard to get ahead in life. (What "get ahead in life" means I'm not so sure, but it sounded convincing, especially when spoken to me in Arabic by a mother whose voice could put out a forest fire).

Now I am in my last quarter in college. I am realizing that I have hated this all along. I have been miserable and it has stopped me from doing things I love. I have kindly declined hanging out with friends or attending events I would have enjoyed for the incessant feeling of needing to study. But I have also realized that I need this education to get to my next step. Which I think is grad school. No matter what it is I just need to get through, and I might as well give it my all, as I'm here, and I like to give things my all, if I commit to them, they deserve my 100%.

I received an e-mail from my brother yesterday. He is out of the country on a volunteer mission doing medical and dental relief. He ended his long e-mail with "How is school and life going for you? You have less than a month left, you better be working your ass off you sand-bagger, this is the final sprint!" He's so right.

Happy Mother's Day.

I often think of who I would be without the guidance of my mom. I would not be 1/100th the person I am today. To start from the most basic, washing my hands, using the restroom (pardon the vulgarity), eating, grooming myself, to even the most complex of situations, being able to handle situations such as consoling a friend in need, for example. I have learned so much from her in both direct and indirect ways. Watching her interactions with people and seeing her handle life with grace and beauty. I aspire to be half the woman she is.

Mama and Me, Summer 2009

In honor of my mother, and all mother's in the world:

The most beautiful word on the lips of mankind is the word “Mother,” and the most beautiful call is the call of “My mother.” it is a word full of hope and love, a sweet and kind word coming from the depths of the heart. The mother is every thing – she is our consolation in sorrow, our hope in misery, and our strength in weakness. She is the source of love, mercy, sympathy, and forgiveness. He who loses his mother loses a pure soul who blesses and guards him constantly.


Every thing in nature bespeaks the mother. The sun is the mother of earth and gives it its nourishment of hear; it never leaves the universe at night until it has put the earth to sleep to the song of the sea and the hymn of birds and brooks. And this earth is the mother of trees and flowers. It produces them, nurses them, and weans them. The trees and flowers become kind mothers of their great fruits and seeds. And the mother, the prototype of all existence, is the eternal spirit, full of beauty and love.

Gibran Kahlil Gibran