WanderLust

It Happens to the Best of Us?

2009-06-27T22:18:00.000-07:00

Skipping ahead to Saturday, about 3 days after we arrived. We headed to the coast to catch a ride to the island, Koh Samed. We got dropped off at a resort on the sand surrounded by turquoise water and jungle greenery. When we got there it was boiling hot, and the rooms weren't ready yet.

We killed the next hour by playing pool under the shade of a straw canopy and ordering cool fruity drinks. I couldn't take it anymore. I already had my bathing suit under my dress, so I threw it off and ran towards the ocean. The water was pretty warm too, but it still felt good. I may have been imagining it, but it felt . . . saltier. My skin stung a little when I got out.

Then we took our bags to our rooms and headed to the pool. Someone was renting mopeds out right by the resort, so we each picked one for 300 Baht ($9)for 24 hours. I picked a red and black one.

We'd visited this same island last year, and it was my favorite part of the trip. I loved exploring the island and all the different beaches, resorts, and jungle areas on the moped. I wondered how well I'd remember to ride, but I took off just fine.

We stopped to eat lunch at a restaurant on the beach. The huge exotic trees decorated with bright Chinese laterns reminded me of the teacups ride at Disneyland. A ton of seafood, as usual, so delicious.

Then we took off to explore the island. Most of the boys went on ahead, but they'd stop and wait every so often. I didn't care how fast I was going because Kop and Rose were behind me. I wanted to take my time and enjoy the scenery. But we kept passing a lot of the beaches, and I wondered what the plan was.

Gop was in front, though and I figured he knew what he was doing. Because it was just narrow dirt roads littered with sharp rocks, you had to be careful. Cracks made by the rain posed the worst prolems; except, of course, the off-road taxis that took up the entire road and flew around corners at scary speeds.

I got to the top of another steep dirt hill. But this time, I found myself automatically in a rain crack. I tried to turn out of it, I was going pretty slow . . . but I felt myself falling. I don't remember if I screamed before or after I hit the ground. I just remember screaming as loud as I could so someone would know I fell. I knew I wasn't going to be ok.

The bike fell on me as I slid over jagged rocks downhill. My foot was the first thing I saw. The top of my right foot had been split open. It's an eerie feeling looking at your own flesh and muscle. I could see down to the bone. I glanced at the rest of my body to find that the whole right side had been shredded, especially my right forearm. I prayed that God would take care of me. I was in His hands now. We found out later one of the brakes didn't work.

I thought about what a small island it was. We'd probably have to go back to the beach, take a boat back to the main land and find a hospital. I didn't know how it was going to work out. Could I last that long?

I heard Kop and Rose ride up asking if I was ok. I tried to sit myself up so they wouln't freak ot too much, but I couldn't. They saw the minor cuts first. "you're ok" they said. I shook my head and pointed to my foot.

Gop had reached us by this time. "Oh my God, Oh my God, we have to get her to a hospital," he said. He picked me up and carried me out of the road.They poured a water bottle over my gash to wash off the dirt that covered my whole body. The blood washed down over my rainbow sandals, turning the leather red. That's when I started passing out. I knew I was in shock. I knew I should be feeling more than I was. I knew that it would hurt more later.

But for the time being, I was feeling warm all over. Their voices started fading out like someone was putting a blanket over my ears, or like I was hearing them from under water. I didn't want to open my eyes anyway. I didn't want to see it. But Josh kept saying "keep her awake!" I didn't want to be awake.

They shook me gently. "Serena! Stay awake." "No!" I snapped. I just wanted them to let me fade out, it would be easier that way. It was a pretty deserted road, but by then a passerby had stopped and they had carried me to the front seat. I remember thinking "this guy probably doesn't want a bunch of blood in his car."

But as soon as they set me down a taxi pulled up. "Ok, I'm sorry we're going to have to move you again," Gop said. I groaned as he handed me to Kop and Rose who were sitting on the benches in the bed of the off-road taxi. Kop held my legs and Rose held my head and arms.

I tried to support myself as much as I could, because when they tried to keep me upright over the bumps and jolts they'd inadvertantly grab my cuts. It was a struggle to stay on their laps. Rose, a typical Asian woman, weighs about 100 lbs. Every time we flew over a rock or bump and slammed back down I felt like I was crushing her.I kept saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I was probably bleeding on them.

Every time I'd cringe or moan they say "We're almost there . . ." But we weren't. They actually had no idea where we were going. Thank God there was a clinic on the island for accidents just like that. We finally pulled into a gated courtyard that looked like a cross between a junkyard and an apartment complex.

To the right was what looked like a little office. There were signs in elementary English instructing us to remove our shoes. Kop slipped his off as he carried me like a baby into the room. I looked around, thank God- it looked clean. The man at the front desk stood up and motioned us into a side room with a hospital bed.

He put my foot on somethin that looked like a Bar-B-Q grate. He washed my wounds with water, which felt good. Then he told me he was going to inject the anisthetic. I was scared, because I heard that hurts the most. He held up a long, thin needle. I asked how far it would go in.

Rose translated and they both looked down at me. "He says you don't need to know," she said. Dear Lord, not what I wanted to hear. Oh well, can't change things now. I turned my head so I couldn't see and bit my finger. I must have still been in shock because I was completely calm. I didn't even cry the whole time. The doctor kept telling (Rose to tell) me it was ok to scream.

I'll never forget that: "Scream! It's ok to scream, just scream!" they said as the needle went deep into my open wound about four times. I didn't. What's the point? It wouldn't make it feel better.

That's when Kop walked out. He couldn't watch anymore. He later told me how deep the needle went in, and when he injected it- blood squirted out everywhere. Then the skinny doctor touched my ankle. "Pain?" he asked. Damn it. "Yes," I said. He had to inject me twice more.

Then he roughly stitched me up. The thread felt really thick. The boys had arrived by then. They asked if they could watch. I told them they better take pictures becuse I better at least get a good story out of this. They said they felt wrong taking pictures. "Do it!" I said, "I want you to!"

But then the doctor pointed to my shredded right arm, and Rose said "he thinks you might need stitches there too." That was my breaking point. I was trying to be brave but I didn't think I'd have to do it twice. But Josh shook his head "I don't think you need them there."

I don't even know how that'd be possible. My arm was shredded. Can you stitch broken skin? But he examined it and said it wasn't necessary. Thank God. He finished bandaging me up. When I looked close enough to a mummy they carried me out to the office to get medicine and pay the bill.

That's when the shock wore off. I was sitting at the desk chair, and it happened again. Like a wave washingover me I got extremely hot and everything seemed fuzzy. I felt like I was floating and I didn't know how to steady myself. Every thing they were saying felt like distant dream. I put my head down on the desk and grabbed onto the bottom of the chair. "I'm going to pass out," I whispered.

They got me some water and I sat for a minute. Everything gradually came back into focus. Then Josh carried me out to the waiting taxi. When we got to the resort and Gop carried me to the room, the staff greeted us with the most wide-eyed, open-mouthed looks of horor I've ever seen outside a movie.

The guy who rented the bikes looked mortified. Maybe he knew the brake didn't work. But who knew if that was even the problem. It was just a complete accident. When we got to the air conditioned room they laid me on the clean, white bed.

Rose kicked the boys out and got a wet wash cloth. She gently wiped me down and helped me change into pajamas. I still felt filthy.

Welcome Home

2009-06-27T10:35:00.001-07:00

This condo wasn't as nice as last year's, but still great. A huge living space and dining room ensures we won't kill each other. There's two couches and two rooms with queen sized beds, and two bathrooms. We agreed to a rotation of who sleeps where. I definitely didn't want any special treatment because I was the only girl. We're all paying the same amount anyway. Turns out the couches are more comfortable anyway ( : You'd be just as well off sleeping on the table if you're in the bed that night. So hard.

There's a small hallway that leads into the kitchen with a room not much bigger than a closet off to the right. Kop said it's the maid's room. Dang, I'd panic if I had to stay in that. Claustrophobia for sure. We just ended up keeping our empty bags in there.

As soon as we got home, we unpacked a bit and then sat at the table for "power hour." The driver had greeted us with two cases of Singha, Thailand's official beer. The rules are simple: you take a shot of beer every minute for an hour. Honestly, you get more full than anything. I've played once before, and made it to 36.

I have no intention of ever getting to the point of puking straight foam, which is a rumored consequence. The boys had a layover in Japan (mine was in Taiwan) and had bought painted shot glasses. However, they were huge. About a shot and a half.

We were snacking on things we'd picked up from 7-11 on our way to the condo, mostly weird flavored chips. Shrimp/seaweed anyone? I was so full by 40 minutes, I threw in the towel and just hung out.

We were meeting the owner of the condo (Kop and Gop's friend) for breakfast at 7, before he had to be at work. So we just stayed up. Since we didn't even get to the condo til 3, we started getting ready soon after power hour. It is amazing how gross I get traveling. A shower never felt so good.

Breakfast was downstairs in the main building, mostly American food with a little dim sum thrown in. Then we took off to explore Bangkok. We walked to the BTS (above-ground metro) and paid 20 baht (about 75 cents) to get dropped of at a central mall. We had completely forgotten how early it was- it wasn't open yet.

We went to Starbucks to wait. From previous experience I do NOT recommend getting coffee there in Thailand. Pretty much tasted like warm goat's milk. On our way back to the mall we noticed Thailand's usual street-dwellers: the homeless and dogs. THe homeless here are different though. They are actually incapable of working in some way, either crippled, blind or old. In sharp contrast to the fat, well-clothed homeless you find at freeway offramps in America, these beggars are actually starving, dirty, and shoeless with sorry excuses for clothes.

MBK (the mall) was so busy, with people, products, and smells. It's overwhelming. Every few feet there's a different, often contrasting, smell. It almost makes me dizzy. Ryan got a pair of the infamous knock-off jeans, then we headed to a restaurant.

It had a boiling pot of water in the middle of the table and we ordered all sorts of meat and vegetables to cook in it ourselves. The close proximity to a boiling metal pot made me laugh; if this were in America, there'd be a lawsuit a day. I was too tired to be hungry though, I hadn't slept at all on the plane.

As soon as we got back to the condo I crashed. I don't know how, but the boys headed straight for the gym. They woke me up to get ready and P'Rose came over to take us to dinner. (P' is a respectful prefix of someone's name if they're older than you). We took a taxi to a restaurant on the Mekhong river.

One of the best parts about eating in Thailand is the "family style" serving. We order at least a dish per person and all share.

Expect the Unexpected

2009-06-27T08:16:00.000-07:00

Day 1

Despite having only three days to prepare, an insufficient bank balance, and initially unconvinced parents, I left for Thailand on June 16. I bought the ticket the day before, then finally allowed myself to believe it was real enough to actually start packing that night. Packing for 3 weeks is no small feat and I reluctantly pulled an all-nighter.

The next day I was off to my "Happiest Place on Earth." I had visited last summer with some of my best friends, and I literally had the best time in my life. The people are friendly, funny, and hospitable; the food is spicy and delicious; and the sights are incomparable: from islands that are as close to paradise as you can get, to ornate golden temples and palaces, to exotic jungles and elephant rides.

Although I had to catch a different flight than my friends (with no complaints as it was $400 cheaper) I met some interesting people along the way. I even happened upon someone from Redlands with whom I had mutual friends! Ludacris.

However, you get what you pay for. The seats felt as if they were leaning you forward and there were no TV's, which is very unusual for an international airline. It ceratainly wasn't a deal-breaker though as I always come prepared with an excessive supply of books.

When I arrived at immigration I realized I hadn't been given an arrival slip (stating your reason for visiting, where you'll be staying, Passport number,etc)on the plane. Of course I waited 20 minutes in line before I was informed I'd have to fill it out. Being such a short form I expected her to hand me one. To my dismay she just looked past me and said "Next!"

I asked her where to get one, and she waved me off with a dismissive hand and said "somewhere over there," motioning broadly to where I'd just come from: a large room and hall. As soon as I turned to look where she was pointing, hoping to see some sort of sign, she screamed "You CAN'T stand here!!!!" so loud it made me jump. I felt my face getting hot, and I flushed with anger. Quite possibly the least helpful person I've ever met.

I wandered around looking for papers laying about and thankfully found them quickly. I got back into a longer line and tried to look like I knew what I was doing. Hopefully I filled out the right form. A larger Irish couple in front of me glanced back. I knew they saw what happened and were just glad it wasn't them. A group of Thai men behind me clapped at a mosquito that was heading my way. I nodded and smiled.

I like how everyone nods at each other here, or puts their hands in a praying position in front of their face as a sign of respect or a greeting. Respect is such lost art in America. I'm pretty sure if I nodded as much there as I do here, people would just be slightly afraid of me, or think I have a tick.

I looked for the upstairs restaurant we'd eaten at last time that was to be our meeting point. But after I stepped off the elevator I wasn't met with the smiling faces of my friends, but construction and a roped off door with a sign reading "Sorry, Restaurant Closed."

They had given me the number of the driver in case I couldn't find them, because they hadn't bought an international phone/card yet. So I looked for an exchange booth, changed $5, and headed for a pay phone. One tiny problem. I forgot the driver doesn't speak English. I just kept repeating my friends names "Kop" "Gop" "lost" and "airport." I glanced helplessly at a young guy lounging in a chair next to the phone, obviously on break from the exchange booth.

"Do you speak English?" I asked, hoping he could translate my simple message. I was sure they'd landed already and had been in contact with the driver. He just smiled and shook his head. Hmmmmm. In times of need the "land of smiles" is more frustrating than endearing.

I walked to and fro covering as much space as possible. I tried all three levels and scanned other restaurants. I whispered a prayer for help finding them, I did not want my first hour in Thailand to be dominated by stress and fear. No thanks.

After about 30-40 minutes I saw a sign for a designated "meeting point" and decided to give it a try. I saw them immediately. Gop and Josh had split up looking for me, and came back shortly. They'd all been waiting at the restaurant (turns out I went to the wrong one) and had eaten dinner. Sweaty, tired, and starving, I had to make an effort not to resent them just a little.

But their excitment was contagious as soon as we got into the van. For three of them (Ryan, Josh, and Jason) it was their first time. Their reactions to everything were a sort of deja vu: The neon green and pink taxis, the palpable humidity, the beautifully-framed pictures of the King everywhere.

We arrived at the condo, and it was just like I remembered. Not that it was that long ago. Two men dressed in Marine-officer-looking attire with whistles waved us into the driveway and saluted us. The Bandara condos consist of two bright orange and white buildings, which oddly enough, fits in with Thailand's theme of shocking colors.

We were in the second building this time. After we checked in by showing our passports, we headed through the lobby of our building to the elevator. The lobby was actually an elegant-looking wine bar. Framed by ceiling to floor windows, and decorated in an edgy, minimalist style of black and white, it looked like a cross between a lounge and a spa. There was fountain and pond with lily pads under the stairs, but if you stayed too long there was a risk of mosquito bites.

Be Still

2009-04-22T14:55:00.000-07:00

For as long as I could remember ‘til about five years ago I envied the girl who could juggle her blessedly hectic lifestyle of school, work, friends, family and play like she had been born with magical powers. All I wanted was to be able to successfully maintain just two of those.

Although now I might look like I have it “together” sometimes, most of the times it’s only by accident. It might be because I’m no longer forced to shop at a second-hand store. But I swear it’s just cause I was born looking like a preppy spoiled little blonde, when in fact I feel like my soul and intellect resembles a more frazzled, sleepy, neglected-looking nerd.

Most of the time growing up, I had more free time then I knew what to do with. Of course there were always sleepovers at friend’s houses, video games, hide-and-seek with my hoards of cousins, tea parties, and riding bikes or having water-balloon wars with my brothers.

But I wanted so badly to be super-involved with EVERYTHING, however my reality constantly reminded me that we couldn’t afford for me to participate in sports, field trips took money, hobbies took money, and our regular moves disconnected me from holding on to a great group of friends for too long.

Instead, when I was young, I would read until I got in trouble, seriously. My mom would come in to turn off my light at midnight and find me still reading. She would be so exasperated, because she knew she’d be dragging me out of bed in the morning. So she’d turn off my light, and close the door. I’d wait five minutes . . . and turn it back on to continue for a few more hours.

As desperately as I wanted a routine, a busy schedule that would keep me occupied all day, and friends that I could count on having for longer than a year, I realize that the time I spent alone and frustrated gave me so much more than I could’ve realized.

I spent gloriously irresponsible amounts of time reading, writing, and reflecting on everything under the sun. I established myself. I was such a better person then.

Maybe that’s why people keep so busy. They realize that if they slowed down they’d have to reckon with who they’ve become, and where they’re going. If I remember correctly, the little demon in C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters didn’t even have to TRY and thwart the silly humans, as long as the humans were keeping shamefully busy- they did his job for him.

Or I’m sure there are those who’ve NEVER lacked a demanding schedule, and once they finally stop, they realize that they never had any goals to begin with- for the ideal person they want to become or what they want to accomplish and how (beyond getting through the day).

Just going with the flow can be a terrifyingly soul-stunting choice (or lack thereof). It’s easy for people to tell you who THEY want you to be. Who your parents, your friends, your teacher, your lover wants you to be. It’s scary when you have to determine who YOU want you to be.

Now that I have become this professional juggler of activities and relationships (whether I perform well at it or not) I’ve come to understand- the joke’s on me. I have turned into a clown that is juggling so many things I don’t know what’s what and who’s who. These once-coveted fillers of time have effectively robbed me of my identity, or at least my time to attempt to discover it.

You might think of Thoreau’s infamous escape from civilization as a mental instability or a social experiment. I think it’s heroic. After a clear view of both sides of the fence, I still find myself riding it. Despite my ever-increasing desire to regress back into that little introspective bookworm I started as, I am still drawn to interaction. It’s almost addicting- busyness.

Even if I try to turn off my phone and schedule a day off for myself, commanding myself in my FIRMEST of (mental) tones to read and journal- I don’t. I end up simply doing errands that I’d been neglecting. Frustrated with my seeming lack of control in my own life, I think “I just need to do it, I’ll get a campsite at the beach for a week without telling anybody, and just BE.”

Since the cool kids in the psychology department let Briggs-Meyers tell them who they are, I gave it a shot. I was 50 percent introvert, 50 percent extrovert . . . who DOES that? No wonder I’m so torn.

It might be unrealistic of me to expect that I could keep the identity I had come to know so well, without accounting for the future variable of constant interactions thrown in. Is it naïve to think that I could remain unwavering regardless of new experiences and relationships? Only a fool thinks they aren’t changed by the company they keep. If Gandhi ever chilled with Hitler, I guarantee he’d end up a hater.

But don’t they say that Character is what you do when no one is watching? Then why isn’t it that Identity is who you are when no one is around? I guess we never allow ourselves a chance to figure it out, to prove ourselves. Perhaps it's true that the real " duty is ... to achieve authenticity for oneself" (SARTRE).

There is something so inspiring about one’s solitude in nature that is completely irreplaceable. The fulfillment cannot be gotten from a completed To Do List, an attended party, or even a satisfied familial obligation. In this sense I envy a completely different group, what they’ve done and their ability to remove themselves from busyness, obligation, shallow ambition, and human interactions only to BE. Like Ansel Adams, John Krakauer, Thoreau, and the list goes on.

The journey through the desolate dessert of sin was a necessary evil for many. To simplify, to identify, to prioritize.

I assert that our unadulterated identity and peace comes from honest, intentional pursuit of active and committed thought and prayer in solitude. But more importantly we need to learn to BE . . . . still.

Excerpt

2009-04-22T13:39:00.000-07:00

I walked into the room and everyone looked up. I smirked as I realized literally half the girls were wearing different variations of pink. I wonder if they’d planned it. Of course there was a small faction of “scene-sters.” But who are they kidding. With their incongruous style they sometimes seem even more desperate for attention than the preps, the only difference is they’re quieter.

I took my seat in the middle of the classroom. I know they’d expect someone like me to sit in the back, but a girl’s got to get the grade. There’s an undeniable bias teachers have against people who sit in the back. As long as they can see you’re paying attention or, in my case, making intermittent eye-contact, you’re ensured a better grade.

I threw my bag on the floor. It was a rough, black book bag I used as a laptop bag. Pretty manly, but it had been free. I slumped into my chair and took out my folder. I’d have to look especially interested today to make up for my arrival.

It’s not that I came in late. I just came in later. The professor had gotten so used to the ruling coterie’s habit of arriving ridiculously early, that he’d taken to starting class ten minutes in advance. Ugh, just like them- inveterate suck ups. I suppose I’d become notorious for my (apparently mortifying) practice of arriving on time.

I zoned out as some 19 year old boy spouted erroneous theologies he’d no doubt been hand fed by his parents or youth group. I’m sure he’d never questioned them. I almost felt bad for him as I pictured his certain disillusionment when he finally realizes the world isn’t rainbows and candy canes. I suppose we were all like that at one point. Some of us just pop the bubble sooner than others . . . or someone pops it for us.

Ahead of the Curve- Teaching Yourself to Surf

2009-03-02T12:58:00.000-08:00

If Blue Crush is your all-time favorite movie, Kelly Slater is your all-time favorite crush, you don’t mind severely chapped lips, and you consider yourself adventurous then it may be time to try your skills at surfing. But let’s face it girls, times are tight, and the probability of some talented surfer offering up his expertise cost-free is slim. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Step 1: SLEEP TIGHT Getting a good night’s sleep will do wonders for your energy and determination the next day- don’t underestimate it. Eat a light, but filling breakfast, like a bowl of oatmeal or some eggs and whole wheat toast. Don’t forget to grab some bottled water for hydration.

Step 2: GEAR UP Find appropriate gear. Along the coast, there’s bound to be a handful of rental stores you can choose from. You need a wet suit, rash guard, and a surfboard with a leash. A foamy long board is the equivalent of training wheels, and will give you the best chance to catch a wave.

Step 3: WARM UP If you are alone, make sure your gear is stashed in a safe place so you can go for a short 10 minute run. Afterwards it’s time to get down and dirty in the sand for a good stretching session. Cramping up when you finally get past the break is kryptonite.

Step 4: DRY RUN Lay your board in soft sand so as not to tweak the fins. Then position yourself on your board slightly edged towards the front. Practice some paddling strokes by digging out the sand directly to your side, keep fingers closed together with an open palm to create a sort of cup. Getting out there when the waves are fighting you is often the hardest part.

Step 5: POP UP Brace yourself by grabbing the rails (sides) of the board just behind your shoulders. After you’ve found your balance, do a quick push-up into standing position with one foot in front. Don’t worry about which foot should be your lead, whichever is most natural for you is the way to go. It must be a quick motion, otherwise you’ll lose energy quicker and just end up on your knees.
Step 6: FINAL WORDS When you feel comfortable popping up, it’s time to go for the real thing. Don your wetsuit, attach your leash, and head out. The only difference between practice and the real thing is, well … the water! But remember: it’s a crazy variable that must be respected.

QUICK TIPS:
• Always know your water before you surf. Go in for a swim first and familiarize yourself with the depth and any rocks or coral that could be dangerous.
• Don’t turn your back to a wave unless you’ve committed to catching it. Otherwise you’re in for nice tumble.
• Use your common sense when it comes to getting past the break. If a wave is already starting to curl, use a “turtle roll” and flip onto your back holding your surfboard tightly to your body. Essentially diving under the wave. If you can make it, paddle as quickly as you can to get over the wave.
• If you have difficulty popping up, try arching your back first with your hands gripping the rails, chest off the board-which gets you halfway there and helps to center your balance.

Media: The Two-Headed Monster

2009-03-02T10:41:00.000-08:00

Between YouTube, reality shows and the paparazzi, it seems that anyone can become an overnight celebrity. With global media “shrinking” the size of the world and opening more doors than once thought possible, is privacy a thing of the past?

While some willingly offer themselves up as a sacrifice to the reality TV gods (also known as producers), some are inadvertently thrust into the limelight due to public curiosity. It’s actually unnerving to think that because of some odd thing may have occurred in your life, complete strangers feel as if they have the RIGHT to know what’s going on.

However, the line is becoming increasingly blurred between innocent victim of media infringement and profiteer. Although it has only been 17 years since the premiere of the first reality TV show, MTV’s The Real World, people have gotten wise to the lucrative act of exposing the most intimate moments of life to the entire world (www.reality-tv-online.com). Some stop at nothing to get their 15 minutes, and accordingly, a large paycheck.

Along with every other topic that we, as the public, feel is necessary to cast judgment, we are also charged with determine the individuals’ intent. Was this just a scheme to sell the pictures at outrageous cost to the local rag? Was this a coincidence that this happened within a week of their new business opening? I suppose the general public has elected itself judge and jury in these matters.

Whatever the speculations, the investigative media serves a dual role. Initially the individual is exposed for whatever golden ticket they might possess; then the media proceeds to scavenge for any information that would insight the public’s adoration or hatred.

Of course the most recent example of this frenzy would be the woman dubbed “Octo-Mom.” It was amazing to me how quickly the public opinion shifted from amazement to outrage. When the first details were released about the rare birth of octuplets, there was a minimal amount of hype involved. After all, there are plenty of reality shows that covered this particular curiosity.

Attitudes certainly changed when further inspection of the mother’s situation uncovered some disturbing details. Attempting this kind of multiple birth is a difficult undertaking for any couple, let alone a single mother. When her lack of income and reliance on government assistance was revealed, it was opposed with the sort of passion that only those in extreme financial crisis could emit. Why should someone so blatantly irresponsible and so obviously taking advantage of the system be supported?

For me, the final nail in the coffin of Octo-Mom’s credibility was the attack by her own mother. Already overwhelmed with the burdens her daughter was laying on her shoulders, Angela Suleman related that she’d “never understand” her daughter’s decision in the matter ( www.news.aol.com). This may have been discounted as a bitter mother- daughter relationship, but when Nadya’s father asserted that his daughter is “absolutely irresponsible” and questioned her mental health, the cat was out of the bag (www.news.aol.com).

Tune In To: 'The Discovery Channel'

2009-01-16T10:20:00.000-08:00

In a country in an age of relativism, one begins to wonder if there are really any absolutes. It prompts an examination of one’s beliefs, ideals, and definitions of the everyday things: “How did I get that?” “Why do I think like this?” “Did I come to this conclusion on my own, or was I hand-fed?”

Before the beginning of my own self-examination and self-definition, I could be offended quite easily. I would constantly hear those older than me, college students mostly, call out young Christians. “The only reason you think that way is because you’re parents do, you’ve never questioned it,” they would say. Of course they applied this statement not only to religious views, but also political, social, racial, educational, and the list goes on.

I think anyone, when initially questioned about his or her beliefs, will respond in a very defensive manner, which of course I did. Sometimes, this can be almost unreasonable (although understandable). But hopefully, there is a second reaction, regardless of how much later it takes effect. Words are incredibly powerful, and despite the intelligence of the person wielding them, sometimes you can’t help but let them seep in.

I tend to be very introspective, and although opinions flow as freely as the extortionist-priced fuel we inevitably consume, sometimes I feel the need to actually stop . . . and listen.

After I allowed my pride to take enough of a hit to truly consider my beliefs and their original source, I began a fulfilling (while at times confusing and frustrating) pursuit. It led me through theological discussions, environmental research, many different schools, and even- many different friends.

I realize now that instead of a pursuing “truth,” I was really pursuing identity. Not that I didn’t have one to begin with, but just that I was so horrified with being . . . that person. That person that is so incredibly passive about their receipt of knowledge and opinion, that it’s difficult to take them seriously.
Please don’t misunderstand, it’s not even that I necessarily disagree with these types of people or their opinions at all, but often it appears that what they mistake for passion and personal conviction is actually just a desperate attempt to hold on to their safety blanket. AKA: pre-established ideas that were covertly passed off as their own since childhood.

However, I do respect a certain amount of teaching and instruction. Parents instill particular notions and beliefs in their child because they believe they’re right. Can you ever imagine raising your child with beliefs opposing your own? Not going to happen.

I suppose my issue is just with: never questioning anything. I’m not encouraging a complete upheaval of your personal world (or that of your parents). Because to me, that is just simply: rebellion.

Of course, there are rare cases of those who really discover themselves, by accident, in those situations. However, I feel like those decisions are made more in the frantic pursuit of independence rather than true identity. (Which is normal, but I want to distinguish the difference in motives, though subconsciously determined).
I feel like a line from the Bright Eyes song, lover I don’t have to love, completely exposes our need for purpose, even if it’s not our own: “I need some meaning I can memorize.”

So many go through life unmoved by a life-altering individual discovery, because it’s easier that way. I understand. When you begin the process of questioning, it feels like a slippery slope. Where will it stop? Will you end up an empty shell of the person you used to be? Will you end up a cynic, consumed with doubt? It can be daunting.

You would indeed be opening yourself up to the possibility that this whole time, you were wrong. Yet, if you sincerely believe in your opinions- then research, discussion, and examination will only strengthen your convictions. You can hold your head high, and say with certainty: this is MY story.

When have you EVER heard an inspiring story or a moving testimony, one that wrenched your gut from your body and left goose bumps in its wake, that began with “My parents told me . . .” No, it is the stories of personal mistakes, trial and error, zealous pursuit of self or God that led to knowledge, redemption, and true passion.
So the next time you hear a testimony lacking inspiration, an opinion lacking conviction, a person lacking self- you can just smile knowing they haven’t taken the plunge . . . yet; Unless, of course, that person is you.

The Difference Between Write and Wrong

2008-12-12T10:15:00.000-08:00

I've learned a lot about myself during the process of writing this semester, perhaps too much. In my opinion, journalists are confronted with numerous challenges when developing an article: from the broadest, most common predicament to the journalist faces their specialty problems which seem tailor-made to inhibit their progress. As is my case.
The most humbling is accepting an assignment in which you do not yet see the significance. Another challenge is one that relates to personal standards: research the heck out of your story, don't ask obvious questions, don't take the easy angle. The last challenge that is often the most difficult for many writers is the process of editing. There is a certain amount of objectivity required to discern, out of the hundreds of facts you may have, which are truly interesting and relevant.

Organization is such an essential part of developing any written piece. After changing my major from English to journalism, I ran with the possibilities and options that this new creativity allowed. However, I might have gone a tad overboard in creative license and completely forgotten any sort of standard or restrictions in writing, leaving me wandering in the overwhelming clutter of my mind.

Writing for me is a necessity. I really couldn't imagine how insane I would go if I couldn't organize my thoughts on paper. I'm such a visual person, that anything auditory is just gibberish. It's almost a handicap, I swear. My friend had the same work schedule for years, but he'd never written it down, so I'd always ask him- "when do you work again?" Thankfully he's quite patient ( :

Almost three-quarters of the paperwork I have in my house consist of lists: To-do lists, To-call lists, Homework lists, To-buy, To-save for, etc. I suppose I need to get all my worries and nonsense out of my head in order to focus on more pertinent issues.

I never recognize the significance of my thoughts until they're in writing; it's like they don't exist. If you don't think I'm crazy yet, just wait. Most of the time, I'm incredibly busy. I get so caught up in everyday tasks and obligations that I don't have time to get lost in my thoughts, let alone write them down.

This unfortunately comes with its own little quirky consequences. If I haven't written for a while I start to think in narrative. That's right- I begin to NARRATE my own life, like I'm a character in a book. It's pretty weird, especially when I don't realize I'm doing it!

"She walked to her car, trying her best not to think about him. Focusing instead of the cold weather she shivered. 'It's FINALLY winter!' she sighed. Immediately she began a mental inventory of her closet. 'Ugh, I don't have any winter clothes,' she thought. Growing up in Southern California all she ever really needed was a coat to put over her summer clothes.

'Hmmm, I probably need to invest in some actual winter stuff. She watched a professor walk by wrapped in a cozy-looking scarf with chic boots that came up to her calf. 'Adults have winter clothes. Adults are organized and put together. I wonder if I'll every feel like an adult?' She shook her head and thought 'most adults probably ALSO have decent bank accounts to allow for such expenses.' Just a few more months and she'd be done with school. Maybe then, she’d leave the world as she knows it behind . . . and finally grow up."

If you've seen Stranger Than Fiction you could better understand my dilemma. To fix this problem, I force myself to keep writing tools with me at all times- to prevent a complete psychotic break institutionalization:

"Hey what's she in here for?"
"Oh her? She thinks she's living in a book, she only talks in third person."
"Oh that's terrible!"
"Yeah, if only she would've taken the time to write...."

Another important habit I've found useful (which I'm sure almost everyone has discovered before me and has been keeping it a secret) is simple goals. I have a tendency when writing, whether journaling or writing for assignment, to digress on a whim. Especially during journaling, which is usually completely without direction, I jump from subject to subject in more of a rant than anything.

On bad days, all I want to do is to spill my guts without inflicting harm on another human being. But in the future, when I go back and read my entries, it's as if another person had written it. In the chaos of pure passion my writing is reduced to a fifth grade level, with horrible grammar, misspellings, and the occasional profanity. If nothing, it's incredibly amusing. But it has also served another purpose in revealing to me the pitfalls of chaotic writing.

As an experiment, I begin to give myself "assignments" - focus for my scattered musings. The results blew me away. Most of my thoughts on the specified subject magically condensed, clarified, and flowed to create a coherent article.

Being such a disorganized wreck for so long, I finally discovered for myself the secret everyone had been keeping from me (or so I thought): FOCUS.

I Need Africa.....

2008-11-24T15:59:00.000-08:00

“I need Africa more than Africa needs me” The thought of a contributor needing the cause more than the cause needs a contributor seems to be more common occurrence; especially considering the fad of celebrity-endorsed charities, international adoptions, and every student on campus trumpeting some sort of cause.
It appears that in an attempt to define oneself, portray an image, or sincerely help out another human being there is actually … progress. Does it matter what one’s intentions are? Or is it the outcome alone that should motivate our participation?
For so many, the opportunity to get involved and “make a difference” awakes a warm fuzzy side that reminds us of the glowing look on our mother’s face when we “shared.” Now that we are out of strollers, pigtails, and elementary school, has the need for approval of good deeds subsided?
I should think not. But I have come to the conclusion that it does not reduce the result of the gift, action, etc. The only thing it affects is the deep advantages it bestows on the giver. Of course, praise, admiration and respect among other things will accompany “good deeds.” However, the general “high” that many seek from giving of themselves can fade quickly, and they’re left with nothing.
Although in my opinion, selfish intentions do not negate the “good deed,” it sucks the core out of the action. I’m here to tell you about the mocha club.
This isn’t about fasting from your mocha cravings twice a month so that you can whine to your friends about how you’re such a martyr. This is about the knowledge that in other countries, your donation makes a significant difference. It is the realization that your excessive addiction to the habitual Starbucks run is just that, excessive. You have excess while others don’t necessities.
The mocha-club is a community based organization where members donate $7 a month, the cost of two mochas, to help a variety of causes in Africa. Whether or not your intentions are pure, that for you to decide, but know that you have an obligation… to reject ignorance, and accept responsibility.
For more info check out mochaclub.org

Others

2008-10-30T23:53:00.000-07:00

Here are some other blogs I've found interesting in relation to philosophy. I don't necessarily agree with all of them- but that would be a boring, bias exploration if I did. The End

http://existentialist.blogspot.com/2005/11/henry-david-thoreau-of-philosophy.html
http://blog.sofeminine.co.uk/blog/seeone_226870_5047928/Be-David/the-social-philosophy-of-Confucius
http://blogthoreau.blogspot.com/
http://www.arashworld.blogspot.com/
http://happinessofbeing.blogspot.com/
http://adventuresinexistence.blogspot.com/

What Are You Waiting For?

2008-09-10T21:51:00.000-07:00

So, is it bad that I am skeptical of love? Only God is capable of unconditional love, so maybe we need to lower our expectations a little. We can't expect another person to "complete" us. That's not possible. When we seek after God for our completion then, if he wills it, he could give us someone to enhance our lives and in doing so bring glory to himself. Because he is the creator of relationships. When they are done the right way, it makes him happy. But we need to stop looking for purpose in relationships. All that brings is confusion and heartache. It's a waste of energy. Thank God, if you are single, that you can use this time as a single person to build your relationship with him, thereby completing yourself. When the time comes, you'll be able to offer yourself to your spouse as a whole person, without putting unrealistic expectations on them. You can just sit back and enjoy them as a gift, an addition to your life, not a missing piece. Please try and put things into perspective people. Most of us will be blessed with a spouse eventually. So why are we in such a hurry? You're going to be with that person for the rest of your life! What's a few years difference? This time can be used to serve God and grow in a totally different way than you would if you were married! Every single person has the fear that they will end up alone, or have to settle in the end. But guess what? God doesn't have some twisted sense of humor, and he doesn't get pleasure out of seeing you sad! But what he does have is a plan for this period of your life. It is your choice to either fulfil his plan and his purpose, or to waste your time complaining about being single. God know's the desires of your heart! He's your Dad, and DOES want you to be happy! Stop limiting his love for you and his knowledge of your wants and needs. He knows.

Character

2008-09-10T21:50:00.000-07:00

So, I used to think that I had to try harder to be a better person. To be more more like Jesus. I needed to study the Bible more so that I would know HOW to achieve this lofty goal. I needed to be conscientious and make the right choices. But I have recently discovered that while this is a good ideal to work towards, it's not right. First and foremost I need to be seeking what's important to God, not me. I was so sure that me trying to improve my character, morals, and making sacrifices would make God happy. But, he doesn't simply want our sacrifices, he says he wants our obedience. At church, the pastor pointed out that Jesus cared about people. He cared about the ones who were hurting, confused, and seeking for an answer. So that's what we need to be concerned with. Not necessarily our own spiritual condition as much. I already have salvation! How selfish of me to ignore the need out there. If I were to commit to fully serving God, and being used for his ultimate goal, all of my desires to be closer to him, and a stronger person would follow. Sometimes we get so sidetracked with seeking the blessings, the byproducts, that we forget our mission. The great commission.

Universal Disclaimer

2008-09-10T21:47:00.000-07:00

UNIVERSAL DISCLAIMER: I don't claim to have this down. I'm a sinner. I'm right along side of you screwing up. I ignore God and disobey Him. But I also love him, and know that no matter what, He is worth obedience. Sometimes I get thoughts on it and want to write them down. And everyone always gets SO hung out on the hypocrite thing. Seriously, we're all hypocrites. I'm sorry if you had a bad experience with Christians preaching one thing and doing another, but that's life. That's not an excuse not go to church, or read your Bible. That's someone else's problem, don't claim it as your own. If we waited till we were perfect to say anything about God, or claim God, or tell our friends about God, or mention God on our MySpace, then nothing would ever happen. We're all human! I don't know if we're scared of misrepresenting Christ and screwing it up for people who are watching our example - which it totally ligit. But we're not preaching our perfection, we're sharing about HIS. And claiming Christianity, is claiming that you're gonna try to live your life in a way that would make God happy. We are going to miss sometimes! But that's okay, as long as you're TRYING. And don't kid yourself, you know when you are and aren't. There's a difference between a sin here and there and a LIFESTYLE of sin. Other times, people are afraid to claim God, because they are scared of getting called out when they screw up. But maybe. . . . that's okay. Maybe we need to get called out. "Hey, aren't you Christian? Why are stumbling drunk, past the point of no return?!" . . . . . . . Hmmmmm, yeah, good point, why AM I???? so please look past my unworthiness to write ANYTHING about a Holy God. And realize, that all I can do is try. here we go-

Surprised?

2008-09-10T21:46:00.000-07:00

Are you surprised? Well, you shouldn't be. Are you shocked that people don't meet your expectations, or worse- blatantly betray you? I'm sorry people, but there are only a few things in life that you can count on, and one of them is that people are CONSISTENTLY selfish! When it comes down to it, you can bet that in a sticky situation they sure as heck aren't going to pick your well-being over theirs! Survival instinct, my friend. You may be thinking- "what crazy twisted betrayal could have led her to such a glib way of thinking?" Well, there's a list, it may be shorter or longer than yours- who knows. That's not the point. I've seen your list too. That is what has led me to such a conclusion. Logically- wouldn't you rather count on something that shows up in every person in the world (selfishness) or hold out for an unrealistic ideal? The fact is- it's common sense.
Hmmm, actually that doesn't match up, cause if it was common sense- then everyone would have it (almost). And CLEARLY it is not common knowledge that very little should be expected of human beings in general. I'm not saying don't give people a chance. Of course, they can prove you wrong. But just take that instance where they proved you wrong and simply appreciate it for what it is- a conscious act against their very nature. If you take it in that mind frame, everyone's happy! Your don't feel like the rugs been ripped out from under you, because you saw it coming, and you jumped! And there isn't as much drama, because the culprit is completely thrown off by your reaction. priceless. stay on top.
You can think what you want, think I need therapy, pity me because I won't trust people. But, I bet, when you are all alone, and you felt like you've just been punched in the stomach because an inconsistency in your sweetie's alibi is glaring you in the face; or when a secret is betrayed and you feel like someone ripped out part of your heart and put it up for sale to the highest bidder on gossip ebay; or when someone crosses the line and betrays something you held so sacred (say marriage, anyone?), or when someone turns out to not be who you though AT ALL, after years of knowing them perhaps . . . . . You will wish- you will wish that you had assumed it from the get-go. You will wish that instead of being blindsided you foresaw the bullet coming. (although of course there is still pain) there won't be any sting. You can shrug, say "I guessed as much," and (I guarrantee) get on with your life ten times faster.
And really- there are great people out there. I LOVE people. I find them fascinating and engaging. I'm not saying people are evil. It's just that EVERYONE is capable of the lowest lows. People can do loyal things, or posess loyal qulaities, but in the end, no one is inherently loyal.
So even if I do have to go to therapy, to me, it is worth it. I would rather trust too little, than too much. Because if someone's gonna work hard enough to gain it, that might (keyword: MIGHT) be an indicator that they'll work hard to keep it. I just think it's funny, and VERY sad simultaneously that people give their trust away likes it not precious. They are so dumbfounded when people choose their own desires over loyalty. That is human nature.
I'm not justifying it. It's sick, and it helps me appreciate those who show themselves reliable in some situations. I really feel as if I genuinely admire good qualities more than the next person, because I expect less than the next person. No one wants to hear the story of the millionaire getting richer. It's the stories of triumph from the pits that intrigue the imagination. I'm watching you tell YOUR story. When you resist your selfish urges, I'm cheering you on more than anyone- because I didn't expect you to. Everyone else is unimpressed because they already hold you to an unrealistic standard. Yes, it may be nice having the benefit of the doubt, but friend . . . . . you have so much further to fall. All I'm saying is that it is just easier to see things how they are. Take your blindfold off, and stop crying when someone trips you. You've done it too.
Just as a side note, or er, end note-whatev: I don't think that a lack of trust automatically makes you a cold person. We've seen so much pycho-babble on TV, we assume we are professionals in what is healthy and not- especially concerning trust. People say, "you've got to trust, you've got to open up." Oh, do I? I don't think so, unless you are trying to convince me to trust you personally, then don't waste your time. Are you going to be there to pick up the pieces when my world's turned upside down by betrayal? Probably not. Then why is it a crime to protect myself?
I hope I'm not mean about it. Generally I think I'm a dang friendly person. Haha, it's silly- I was just told, people think I'm being fake cause I'm TOO friendly! Is it possible? Apparently. I'm sure my blonde hair and valley-girl way of talking doesn't help the matter. I realize it makes it difficult for people to take me seriously. I've tried to work on it, but unfortunately - my excitable, animated, shrill way of speaking is here to stay. Sorry! (definitely ruins any chances of being a lawyer, talk about glass-ceilings: mine's about a foot shorter than anyone else's) But when it comes down to it- I am sincere whether you recognize it or not. I'd rather be overly friendly than the alternative.
Okay, that was a tangent. All of this to say: You can love, and not trust, you can be friendly, but assume they will always choose their interests over yours, you can be open, but keep in mind that people are human. It's called a defense mechanism for a reason- it keeps you from getting hurt. I always thought I was an optimist because I'm a happy person. Negatory. I assume nothing of people, if not BAD things from them. I'm a realist . . . . . and I still manage to stay happy? Weird. Only by the grace of God.
Good luck. Keep human nature in mind at all times, so you never have to endure a slap in the face without already knowing it's coming

Why the status quo has got to go

2008-09-10T21:39:00.000-07:00

I think that people blame too much on one another. Today the pastor hit on a topic that I totally agree with. (why yes I DO disagree sometimes- he’s human too) I think we generally know what kind of people we SHOULD be. We should be kind, sincere, caring, respectful, selfless, etc. But he said we should stop waiting around for that other person to BECOME respectable, before we respect them. We shouldn’t wait until they’re loveable to love them. Because, let’s face it, you’ve been loved a few times when you weren’t loveable.
Who are you waiting for to change? Is it your husband? Girl friend? Best friend? Mom? You think "If they’d only stop prying into my personal life I’d open up a little more on my own." Or "Maybe I’d call more if they weren’t so needy," "If he wasn’t acting so sketchy, maybe I’d be honest with him" etc.
When you take an honest look at yourself I KNOW you’ll find some part of you or your life that you’re withholding. Either because you’ve been hurt by that person, and feel they should learn their lesson, or you just flat out think they don’t deserve your love (respect, honesty) at all. We put qualifiers on the way we treat people. I’m not saying you shouldn’t protect yourself at all (I'm a fan of self-defense) but if both parties are unwilling to love because of this or that- where will that get you? Someone has to forgive first. Someone has to love first.
It’s not about who’s around you, how they’re treating you and what you deserve. It’s about the person YOU decide to be. If we adjust our style and approach for each person, according to how they treat us: we just become a roller coaster of emotion. We constantly feel disappointed. We keep score: "He cheated on ME first! Why should I care if I’m cheating now?" Uh . . . because it’s WRONG. It hurt you when he did it remember? You acting out of revenge or justification won’t heal you. It may hurt him back- true. But where does it stop? And while there are definitely times you can be legitimately upset if you’ve been wronged, you can choose to be the balancing factor.
I’ve noticed this trend especially in things like flakiness. I used to take commitments so seriously. If I told you I’d call- I did. If I told you I’d meet you somewhere- I did. I prided myself on dependability. I would be the one to call if you got a flat tire, cut your thumb off, or desperately needed someone to listen- and there’s no doubt I’d be there.
But I’ve grown so lazy and adapted to what’s accepted. (and this is just one example of how I’ve allowed myself off the hook) And seriously- EVERYTHING’S accepted now! It’s almost more taboo to call someone out on flaking then actually BEING flaky! That is sick! What the heck is up with that???? "Oh, I’m sorry I gave you a hard time for leaving Christmas Eve, saying you’ll be back in 10 minutes . . . and then not coming back!!" Sketch.
Anyway, the point is, you almost have to expect that when someone says they’ll do something that it is a completely tentative, casual plan. Even if it’s accompanied by an adamant "for sure I’ll be there!" I admit that I’ve excused myself quite a few times. I tell myself "eh, they’d do the same to me, I don’t really feel like going out, I’ll just cancel," or worse- avoid calling altogether.
But I’ve now come to the conclusion that’s not who I want to be. Regardless of who anyone else chooses to be. I really think we need to stop blaming the status quo for our sad lack of character, and step up to the plate. Don’t conform anymore to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind (Romans 12:2). Realize what kind of world this would be if you always pointed at someone else when you screw up and said "they do it too!" Guess what, you’re right.
There’s always going to be someone doing worse than you. But are you always going to measure yourself against someone who you don’t necessarily look up to? Really? People don’t become great by comparing themselves to those they wouldn’t want to become.
And of course, there is always the Golden Rule: Treat others as you want to be treated. In all honesty, 9 times out of 10 you probably won’t be treated the way you want. But you can still respect yourself knowing YOU are the person you want to be. So start taking responsibility for your actions, and stop making comparisons. Figure out how you’d want to be treated, the kind of person you want to be (start by thinking of the kind of person you’d want as a friend)- and don’t ever let yourself make excuses again for not being that person.