I need them.
I think something I realized (once more) this week is that I am just trying to do too many things. And I feel like I can't do any of them well.
I heard someone use the term "live wire" the other night. I feel kind of like a live wire; spontaneous combustion feels unavoidable.
But hopefully, it is.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
Focus
I told one of my (wonderful) supervisors at work today how overwhelmed I was feeling and mentioned that I had been asked to speak to some of the undergrads about grad school. "I just don't know that I'm the person to talk to them," I told her, "Because I am a mess."
"It wouldn't be a good graduate program if it didn't make you cry," she said, handing me a tissue. "And that's what you need to tell them. You're the right person because you are real, and you aren't going to sit up there and pretend like you know everything and be all cocky."
Well, that's the truth! I feel like this semester has gone wildly different from how I expected, and how I wanted. And I have cried so, so much I annoy myself. So it's always good when someone tells me it is okay to be a mess.
I just hope I can pull it together to get everything done. I feel like there's so much I can't focus on anything. (Which may be why I am writing on this blog?) So then I feel like I can't start anything which means I continue to dither, overwhelmed. Bleh. I'm going to sit here until I have SOMETHING accomplished.
"It wouldn't be a good graduate program if it didn't make you cry," she said, handing me a tissue. "And that's what you need to tell them. You're the right person because you are real, and you aren't going to sit up there and pretend like you know everything and be all cocky."
Well, that's the truth! I feel like this semester has gone wildly different from how I expected, and how I wanted. And I have cried so, so much I annoy myself. So it's always good when someone tells me it is okay to be a mess.
I just hope I can pull it together to get everything done. I feel like there's so much I can't focus on anything. (Which may be why I am writing on this blog?) So then I feel like I can't start anything which means I continue to dither, overwhelmed. Bleh. I'm going to sit here until I have SOMETHING accomplished.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Frustrating
This writing business is extremely frustrating. I also feel like I'm too easily discouraged. I was telling DG about how I seem to fluctuate between confidence and extreme despair, and she told me, "That's grad school."
This made me feel so much better, that it is 'normal' to feel that way in this particular time and setting. Still, I wonder if I can do this... And if I can't, what else can I actually do? Sometimes, even the encouragement people offer is overwhelming, because if I fail, I also let them down. I probably should be less obsessed with failure. That's hard for me to do.
This made me feel so much better, that it is 'normal' to feel that way in this particular time and setting. Still, I wonder if I can do this... And if I can't, what else can I actually do? Sometimes, even the encouragement people offer is overwhelming, because if I fail, I also let them down. I probably should be less obsessed with failure. That's hard for me to do.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Darkness and Light
I've been thinking and breathing and dreaming about writing (possibly at the expense of actually DOING some). I was talking to a professor today and he told me that he had to learn that writing is not fun. I think this is something I have to learn as well, because writing has always been something I have enjoyed. I was one of those kids who wrote stories and poetry and thought that growing up to be a famous author was inevitable. That's partly why I majored in English undergrad. Writing and words felt natural to me. I love the term "wordsmith" because it's poetic and yet has such a practical ring to it. Now I'm faced with the reality of writing's practical side. Grad school forced me to recognize that writing is hard work. And that editing is involved.
I have a hard time with all this. I'm used to writing from a place of passion, and right now, it's hard because I have to work on two projects; one that I'm excited about, and my prospectus for my thesis, which, frankly, I find hard to even think about. I think, perhaps, another reason this writer's block is so shocking stems from the fact I have always been able to, even when I was severely depressed.
This is also something I have been thinking about recently. I think I've alluded to struggling with depression before, but not in detail; I have mixed feelings about putting this on the internet, but one thing I have concluded from the past seven years is that if nothing else, I have the power of sharing those struggles with others. There are many strands to this knot, I'm going to be selective about which threads I follow here, for various reasons. It is hard to pick a 'starting point' to this story; was it when my parents left me in the States to return to Thailand? Was it leaving Thailand? Was it feeling like I didn't belong anywhere and I never would? Was it the PA winter? Was it going home for Christmas and having to pretend I loved college? Was it the tsunami? It was all these things and more. All I know is that when I returned to the States after Christmas 2004, the cold did not leave me.
So let's start like this: I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression the spring of my sophomore year of college.
I didn't think I was depressed. I thought I was being realistic. I thought I was facing the world. I thought I was being grown up. And I also thought there was no one who could help me. I couldn't bear to be around other people, but I was terrified of being alone, because I was afraid I would disappear (something I still struggle with at times). I remember leaving a party one night because I couldn't bear to pretend to be friendly and smile at the jokes a moment longer and seeing my shadow cast by a porch light. The shadow was the blackest black and it reflected how I felt. At that time, I took it as a sign that there would be light to dispel the darkness, but as the semester wore on, it felt more like that light just proved how dark it was. When my mother, terrified and heartsick, suggested I see a school counselor, I think I probably told her that it would do no good. I went because I wanted to make her happy.
The counselor gave me a questionnaire. When I returned it to her, she tallied the results and informed me I was, most likely, severely depressed. I could not believe her. Because to believe her meant that all my perceptions, the very way I saw the world, was flawed; it meant that the darkness was inside and I couldn't trust anyone, even myself. It meant that I had failed in some way, because there was no reason for me to be depressed (not true, but that is how it seemed to me). She asked me if I had ever contemplated suicide. I told her no, of course not! This was a bit of a lie. I had considered that I had the perfect method to die, if I wanted: a simple overdose of insulin and I would just never wake up. Now I can admit that the only reason I did not act on that knowledge was because I didn't want to have to put my parents through the bother of coming back to the States to deal with my funeral. That is how deep my darkness was.
And I couldn't tell anyone. I tried, a few times, which ended badly. (I was informed that I needed to pray more and that I shouldn't be depressed because Jesus loves me.) So I tried to hide it from everyone around me, because I didn't want to bother them either and I thought it was such a huge burden that everyone would break. At the same time, I felt like it was the only thing that other people saw, which turned out to be not true. Last year I was heartbroken to learn that one of my closest friends during that time, the friend without whom I literally would not have eaten, had no idea what was going on with me. I felt invisible and hyper-visible at the same time: people saw but no one could see me.
That is the thing about depression: it is isolating. I felt like I could not function, that any little thing might cause me to shatter into a billion pieces and I knew, I knew there was no one to put those pieces back together. Because of the few bad experiences I didn't trust anyone with the whole truth; not even my parents. (I didn't want them to worry; they were so far away and they felt guilty already about leaving me and they couldn't DO anything anyway.) I was so broken that any movement caused me to cut myself and it seemed like there was no way out, not even death.
Just as it is hard to designate a start to this story, it is hard to write a conclusion. Partly because I'm not done yet, and so the narrative is still going. I will say, I am no longer in that place. Writing this blog post has been hard in some ways because that time is hazy, and I'm fine with keeping it that way. I found a good therapist who walked through the darkest of darknesses with me, and I can truly say I have left that particular patch of darkness behind.
I had to learn to trust people with my imperfections (I am still not good at this). I'm learning to trust myself and believe that I have strengths that are valuable. I have to trust that people actually like me and want me to stick around. I'm learning to be comfortable as a visible part of a community. It is hard work. It will never be finished. (It's a process. I'm a process. That concept is so liberating. It means nothing is finished, nothing is final. There is always another chance, another option.)
There is light, and it does not hurt.
What does all this have to do with my thesis? I suppose, technically, not much, since I'm not writing about depression. But my struggle with depression continues to inform how I function and so in that sense, it is important. I am still unsure of what my 'normal' is, and I am often afraid that any strong emotion, any failure to function, heralds a return to the dark. And I'm afraid that I will fail at this thesis business; and if I fail, I don't know what I will do or what will happen. I always feel kind of precarious, you could say. I have to remember that before I can fail, I have to try. And it is so good to know that I am in a place, mentally and emotionally, where I can try. And that there are people here who will help me even if I fail.
I have a hard time with all this. I'm used to writing from a place of passion, and right now, it's hard because I have to work on two projects; one that I'm excited about, and my prospectus for my thesis, which, frankly, I find hard to even think about. I think, perhaps, another reason this writer's block is so shocking stems from the fact I have always been able to, even when I was severely depressed.
This is also something I have been thinking about recently. I think I've alluded to struggling with depression before, but not in detail; I have mixed feelings about putting this on the internet, but one thing I have concluded from the past seven years is that if nothing else, I have the power of sharing those struggles with others. There are many strands to this knot, I'm going to be selective about which threads I follow here, for various reasons. It is hard to pick a 'starting point' to this story; was it when my parents left me in the States to return to Thailand? Was it leaving Thailand? Was it feeling like I didn't belong anywhere and I never would? Was it the PA winter? Was it going home for Christmas and having to pretend I loved college? Was it the tsunami? It was all these things and more. All I know is that when I returned to the States after Christmas 2004, the cold did not leave me.
So let's start like this: I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression the spring of my sophomore year of college.
I didn't think I was depressed. I thought I was being realistic. I thought I was facing the world. I thought I was being grown up. And I also thought there was no one who could help me. I couldn't bear to be around other people, but I was terrified of being alone, because I was afraid I would disappear (something I still struggle with at times). I remember leaving a party one night because I couldn't bear to pretend to be friendly and smile at the jokes a moment longer and seeing my shadow cast by a porch light. The shadow was the blackest black and it reflected how I felt. At that time, I took it as a sign that there would be light to dispel the darkness, but as the semester wore on, it felt more like that light just proved how dark it was. When my mother, terrified and heartsick, suggested I see a school counselor, I think I probably told her that it would do no good. I went because I wanted to make her happy.
The counselor gave me a questionnaire. When I returned it to her, she tallied the results and informed me I was, most likely, severely depressed. I could not believe her. Because to believe her meant that all my perceptions, the very way I saw the world, was flawed; it meant that the darkness was inside and I couldn't trust anyone, even myself. It meant that I had failed in some way, because there was no reason for me to be depressed (not true, but that is how it seemed to me). She asked me if I had ever contemplated suicide. I told her no, of course not! This was a bit of a lie. I had considered that I had the perfect method to die, if I wanted: a simple overdose of insulin and I would just never wake up. Now I can admit that the only reason I did not act on that knowledge was because I didn't want to have to put my parents through the bother of coming back to the States to deal with my funeral. That is how deep my darkness was.
And I couldn't tell anyone. I tried, a few times, which ended badly. (I was informed that I needed to pray more and that I shouldn't be depressed because Jesus loves me.) So I tried to hide it from everyone around me, because I didn't want to bother them either and I thought it was such a huge burden that everyone would break. At the same time, I felt like it was the only thing that other people saw, which turned out to be not true. Last year I was heartbroken to learn that one of my closest friends during that time, the friend without whom I literally would not have eaten, had no idea what was going on with me. I felt invisible and hyper-visible at the same time: people saw but no one could see me.
That is the thing about depression: it is isolating. I felt like I could not function, that any little thing might cause me to shatter into a billion pieces and I knew, I knew there was no one to put those pieces back together. Because of the few bad experiences I didn't trust anyone with the whole truth; not even my parents. (I didn't want them to worry; they were so far away and they felt guilty already about leaving me and they couldn't DO anything anyway.) I was so broken that any movement caused me to cut myself and it seemed like there was no way out, not even death.
Just as it is hard to designate a start to this story, it is hard to write a conclusion. Partly because I'm not done yet, and so the narrative is still going. I will say, I am no longer in that place. Writing this blog post has been hard in some ways because that time is hazy, and I'm fine with keeping it that way. I found a good therapist who walked through the darkest of darknesses with me, and I can truly say I have left that particular patch of darkness behind.
I had to learn to trust people with my imperfections (I am still not good at this). I'm learning to trust myself and believe that I have strengths that are valuable. I have to trust that people actually like me and want me to stick around. I'm learning to be comfortable as a visible part of a community. It is hard work. It will never be finished. (It's a process. I'm a process. That concept is so liberating. It means nothing is finished, nothing is final. There is always another chance, another option.)
There is light, and it does not hurt.
What does all this have to do with my thesis? I suppose, technically, not much, since I'm not writing about depression. But my struggle with depression continues to inform how I function and so in that sense, it is important. I am still unsure of what my 'normal' is, and I am often afraid that any strong emotion, any failure to function, heralds a return to the dark. And I'm afraid that I will fail at this thesis business; and if I fail, I don't know what I will do or what will happen. I always feel kind of precarious, you could say. I have to remember that before I can fail, I have to try. And it is so good to know that I am in a place, mentally and emotionally, where I can try. And that there are people here who will help me even if I fail.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Inspiration
I suppose, that since I realized Sunday night that I have a crazy amount of work to do before I leave these shores on December 15, this blog will start to focus more on the process of writing, rather than my obsession with walking. Such is the season. It's invigorating, to be honest. I think I might need intense pressure before I can accomplish anything, which indicates a very stressful (but hardly dull) future.
On Sunday night, I felt incredibly overwhelmed and went to sleep thinking I should just give up; let last year be the best year ever and quit while I'm ahead. (I can sometimes be a bit dramatic, but I really was not sure I could get everything done.) Key to this angst was a lack of paper topic for my independent study and a real sense of boredom about my thesis topic. (I feel sometimes like I've been so focused on Thailand I cannot do or see anything else and it is not a good feeling.)
On Monday morning, I woke up and was hit with the perfect idea for my paper topic. This literally turned my world sunshiny again and upset the general malaise with commitment and inspiration. School is exciting again. And the interlibrary loan department is going to hate me.
On Sunday night, I felt incredibly overwhelmed and went to sleep thinking I should just give up; let last year be the best year ever and quit while I'm ahead. (I can sometimes be a bit dramatic, but I really was not sure I could get everything done.) Key to this angst was a lack of paper topic for my independent study and a real sense of boredom about my thesis topic. (I feel sometimes like I've been so focused on Thailand I cannot do or see anything else and it is not a good feeling.)
On Monday morning, I woke up and was hit with the perfect idea for my paper topic. This literally turned my world sunshiny again and upset the general malaise with commitment and inspiration. School is exciting again. And the interlibrary loan department is going to hate me.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
CNX, here I come
I have tickets for Christmas. Buying them felt... kind of weird. First of all, they were extremely expensive, since, due to circumstances beyond my control, I was unable to buy them back in the summer like I had planned. But this is also the last Christmas in Thailand, since my parents are moving back to the States next year. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Now, I just have to write and write and write and stay sane and get through till December.
Now, I just have to write and write and write and stay sane and get through till December.
Friday, October 15, 2010
New York, New York
I haven't spent too much time in NYC, which sometimes surprises me, given how close it has been to me (comparatively) all these years I've been in PA. Once we visited when I was in ninth grade and we ended up walking from Battery Park to Little Italy because the family we were sightseeing with was convinced there was a scenic bus we could catch. We never found it, so we walked and walked and walked. In college I went to the Met and Chinatown but I've never just gone and walked around for the fun of it. (And I just remembered, I've been to PA Society twice, but since that was for my old job I blocked it out. Besides, I didn't see much of the city, although seeing power structures at work was certainly educational.)
Now the States has Megabus, though (this would have TOTALLY changed my college experience had they gotten here sooner), so my friend and I decided to just go up to NYC for the day. Getting up early and standing in line in the cold air reminded me of the times I took the Megabus to London. I don't usually travel on buses. My friend went to sleep but I like watching the scenery and I had brought some reading (which I actually did and I felt glee because it went perfectly with my thesis thoughts).
Philly is quiet so early and everyone is so bundled up because of the chill. Everything looks new in the rising sunlight. The scaffolding around Independence Hall looks like a wat (temple) out of the corner of my eye. So many overlaps. There was an elderly lady in a smashing trenchcoat sitting across the aisle from us; I want to be her someday, just jetting off to another city on a bus with a friend, regardless of age. We passed a billboard for free Qurans and a number for those who are curious to call. I wondered how many belligerent callers they get.
I love the curves of highways and the way they offshoot and interconnect (especially when I am not driving because then I don't have to worry about getting swept off the wrong exit). New York's skyline is beautiful and it amused me as we got closer that, for a city where people supposedly don't drive, there are a lot of cars. Then we got off the bus and the city swept us away.
It was a wonderful day. We had a vague plan (mostly involving where we wanted to eat) so we ventured into the subway system and promptly went the wrong way twice. But it didn't matter because we were on a timeless time table so we sorted ourselves out and made it to Shopsin's General Store, which was this tiny little stall in a Reading Terminal Market-type setting that had the BEST food ever. I had mac'n'cheese pancakes, which was a combo I personally would never have considered but was fantastic. Then we went to Sunshine Bakery and got cupcakes, which were pretty much heavenly. And then we walked a lot.
I had never been to the MoMA before. (Also, I love having a student id again!) There were some really interesting exhibits. My friend wanted to go to one on kitchens, and how they revolutionized women's lives. It was actually really interesting. One of the architects they showcased was a German lady who was passionate about improving the homes of the working class poor, and her desire for more efficient kitchens was to improve their lives and bring about a more egalitarian society. She was later ostracized after WW II because of her continued membership in the Communist Party. Fascinating. We also wandered through some amazing photo exhibits. One was comprised of women photographers from the late 1800s to the present and the other focused on the connections between photography and sculpture, and how early photographers wanted to draw connections between the two art forms. (I have to confess, as I walked through this exhibit, all I could think about was Benjamin's "Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction" and I KNOW I AM SUCH A NERD.) Also, there were some cool paintings. (Starry Night!)
It was raining when we got out of the museum. I know I'm just in love with cities at the moment, but it really was beautiful, although very cold. The umbrella forest was a bit annoying, of course. And our bus stop had randomly moved a street over so we were glad we made it! And then we had to sit, wet and shivering until we got back to the Mainline. But it was totally, totally worth it.
Now the States has Megabus, though (this would have TOTALLY changed my college experience had they gotten here sooner), so my friend and I decided to just go up to NYC for the day. Getting up early and standing in line in the cold air reminded me of the times I took the Megabus to London. I don't usually travel on buses. My friend went to sleep but I like watching the scenery and I had brought some reading (which I actually did and I felt glee because it went perfectly with my thesis thoughts).
Philly is quiet so early and everyone is so bundled up because of the chill. Everything looks new in the rising sunlight. The scaffolding around Independence Hall looks like a wat (temple) out of the corner of my eye. So many overlaps. There was an elderly lady in a smashing trenchcoat sitting across the aisle from us; I want to be her someday, just jetting off to another city on a bus with a friend, regardless of age. We passed a billboard for free Qurans and a number for those who are curious to call. I wondered how many belligerent callers they get.
I love the curves of highways and the way they offshoot and interconnect (especially when I am not driving because then I don't have to worry about getting swept off the wrong exit). New York's skyline is beautiful and it amused me as we got closer that, for a city where people supposedly don't drive, there are a lot of cars. Then we got off the bus and the city swept us away.
It was a wonderful day. We had a vague plan (mostly involving where we wanted to eat) so we ventured into the subway system and promptly went the wrong way twice. But it didn't matter because we were on a timeless time table so we sorted ourselves out and made it to Shopsin's General Store, which was this tiny little stall in a Reading Terminal Market-type setting that had the BEST food ever. I had mac'n'cheese pancakes, which was a combo I personally would never have considered but was fantastic. Then we went to Sunshine Bakery and got cupcakes, which were pretty much heavenly. And then we walked a lot.
I had never been to the MoMA before. (Also, I love having a student id again!) There were some really interesting exhibits. My friend wanted to go to one on kitchens, and how they revolutionized women's lives. It was actually really interesting. One of the architects they showcased was a German lady who was passionate about improving the homes of the working class poor, and her desire for more efficient kitchens was to improve their lives and bring about a more egalitarian society. She was later ostracized after WW II because of her continued membership in the Communist Party. Fascinating. We also wandered through some amazing photo exhibits. One was comprised of women photographers from the late 1800s to the present and the other focused on the connections between photography and sculpture, and how early photographers wanted to draw connections between the two art forms. (I have to confess, as I walked through this exhibit, all I could think about was Benjamin's "Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction" and I KNOW I AM SUCH A NERD.) Also, there were some cool paintings. (Starry Night!)
It was raining when we got out of the museum. I know I'm just in love with cities at the moment, but it really was beautiful, although very cold. The umbrella forest was a bit annoying, of course. And our bus stop had randomly moved a street over so we were glad we made it! And then we had to sit, wet and shivering until we got back to the Mainline. But it was totally, totally worth it.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Transitions
Today I decided to just go downtown and walk around with my ancient camera that I once dropped out of a window in England. I felt a little weird to take pictures; I didn't want to stand out as a tourist. I was amused by how much this bothered me. A challenge to accept my eternal Otherness?
I did not expect to have so many adjustments this semester. I really, really didn't. But over the last few months I've struggled with a growing sense of just... discontent, I guess is the best way to put it. It was hard to parse out, because technically, life hadn't changed all that much, except for the fact that I was no longer living in the city and it is hard to admit how much I miss it. I wasn't sure what, exactly I was longing for. I knew it wasn't Thailand, exactly, because I do really feel that my visit there this summer was a benediction of sorts. That one week I spent in Bangkok, it felt that Thailand was finally, truly, really mine, and that is enough. So I was at a loss to figure out what I was missing. I mean, it's kind of obvious, now. I miss living in the city. Horribly. Everyone I do admit this to informs me that they knew I would. How did I not know? I mean, how did I not know as strongly as they seem to? I feel that I try to plan and make the best possible choices and then I find that somewhere I missed something and wildly miscalculated.
I'm also thinking about the future. I don't know where I will be next year or what I will be doing and thinking about this makes me want to withdraw so deeply into my metaphorical shell I never have to decide anything again. I'm tired of moving. More specifically, I am tired of continually starting over. I'm certainly not ready to buy a house and never move again, but I would like to stay in a place for awhile. In an urban setting.
That's why I went downtown today. And it was amazing how relaxed I felt the moment I got off the train. More relaxed than I have felt all semester. And I understood why it felt so off to call my current apartment "home" and why I feel so trapped sometimes. So I ventured forth as a fragment of the crowds surging through the city.
I love the contrasts you find in cities: the scrambled buildings and the always-already-forever unfinished nature of the metropolis. Something will always be under construction. Old row homes fight with sky scrapers for the sunlight. The sidewalks and pavements are eternal patchworks of haphazard repairs and slow wearing. I feel safe here. The sky scrapers are the bones of my chosen habitat: chaotic, changing, yet solid. Cities are structured chaos and this is why I feel at home in them. The buildings evolve and people pass through and I am always reclaiming always remaking my small part just like everyone else. It's okay to be lost here. I like being anonymous but not alone.
I missed my train back out. I think I did that on purpose because I was reluctant to go. So I sat precariously on the edge of a crowded bench and listened to the trains being called. Come visit more often, my old roommate urged me today. And I think I will have to. Today was also the first day in a long time that I felt like writing, and writing is kind of important at this point! I have to learn new ways to balance my school life and everything else. (Is there even an everything else? I should probably learn that too.) School has been all consuming and I've had no escape. I should get a train pass to counteract that feeling alone. And I need to do more walking in the city.
I did not expect to have so many adjustments this semester. I really, really didn't. But over the last few months I've struggled with a growing sense of just... discontent, I guess is the best way to put it. It was hard to parse out, because technically, life hadn't changed all that much, except for the fact that I was no longer living in the city and it is hard to admit how much I miss it. I wasn't sure what, exactly I was longing for. I knew it wasn't Thailand, exactly, because I do really feel that my visit there this summer was a benediction of sorts. That one week I spent in Bangkok, it felt that Thailand was finally, truly, really mine, and that is enough. So I was at a loss to figure out what I was missing. I mean, it's kind of obvious, now. I miss living in the city. Horribly. Everyone I do admit this to informs me that they knew I would. How did I not know? I mean, how did I not know as strongly as they seem to? I feel that I try to plan and make the best possible choices and then I find that somewhere I missed something and wildly miscalculated.
I'm also thinking about the future. I don't know where I will be next year or what I will be doing and thinking about this makes me want to withdraw so deeply into my metaphorical shell I never have to decide anything again. I'm tired of moving. More specifically, I am tired of continually starting over. I'm certainly not ready to buy a house and never move again, but I would like to stay in a place for awhile. In an urban setting.
That's why I went downtown today. And it was amazing how relaxed I felt the moment I got off the train. More relaxed than I have felt all semester. And I understood why it felt so off to call my current apartment "home" and why I feel so trapped sometimes. So I ventured forth as a fragment of the crowds surging through the city.
I love the contrasts you find in cities: the scrambled buildings and the always-already-forever unfinished nature of the metropolis. Something will always be under construction. Old row homes fight with sky scrapers for the sunlight. The sidewalks and pavements are eternal patchworks of haphazard repairs and slow wearing. I feel safe here. The sky scrapers are the bones of my chosen habitat: chaotic, changing, yet solid. Cities are structured chaos and this is why I feel at home in them. The buildings evolve and people pass through and I am always reclaiming always remaking my small part just like everyone else. It's okay to be lost here. I like being anonymous but not alone.
I missed my train back out. I think I did that on purpose because I was reluctant to go. So I sat precariously on the edge of a crowded bench and listened to the trains being called. Come visit more often, my old roommate urged me today. And I think I will have to. Today was also the first day in a long time that I felt like writing, and writing is kind of important at this point! I have to learn new ways to balance my school life and everything else. (Is there even an everything else? I should probably learn that too.) School has been all consuming and I've had no escape. I should get a train pass to counteract that feeling alone. And I need to do more walking in the city.
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