I’m Not Sorry

Hey guys! Sorry (once more) for the hiatus. Grad school is crazy busy. Plus, on top of that I was having some personal situations. Nevertheless, I am back. I usually like to post on odd-numbered days but seeing how busy I am, I have decided to try to post once a week. I can’t make any promises I won’t disappear again, but I’ll try my best.

Life has a funny way of coming together. We are born, we grow up and we die. But what happens between those lines? Well, life of course. However, we spend so much time trying to make life happen that we forget to stop and listen, to observe. More than that we forget to feel. We forget to take the time to actually laugh, to scream, to cry; and all these feelings just get bottled up. Much like Freud’s theory of the unconscious, these feeling will inevitably explode out of us. And a rainbow of anger, pain, and tears flows through us and out of us.

A couple of weeks back, in one of my classes; we were sharing creative responses to a peer’s past artwork. The process in itself became an emotional exercise because it touched upon the idea of being seen and heard by others. More than that, through the artistic response of others we were able to see ourselves and see how others saw us. In itself it was a beautiful thing to experience. However, as a classmate was sharing about a personal experience she had and how that responded to her peer’s artwork another classmate broke down. The topic being discussed touched upon a situation she had not been able to overcome and thus, had such an emotional and violent reaction to the topic. After her emotional overflow and her passionate explanation she apologized for her feelings and her behavior.

She was not prepared for what was going to take over her heart. She was not aware she harbored so many feelings for that topic. She however, admitted to not wanting to deal with the situation. She realized that it had happened in the past but she did not, or could not, handle it then. Since then she carried it and quietly fed it, without noticing; until that one day she let it all out.

Her situation made me realize how we slowly destroy ourselves. We place unrealistic expectations and pressures upon ourselves and expect us to take that beating day after day. It is one thing to have the outside world do this to us, but when we do it to ourselves it’s just plain destructive. We have to realize that we are not perfect, we are not robots and we can’t control everything. Bad things will happen to us, with or without reason; however it is up to us, in our due time, to work through it. The key is to realize that it did happen, and that we need to take time out to work it out. We can’t expect that bad feelings or situations to go away; it doesn’t work that way. We can’t expect that we can turn on and off our emotions when necessary. We have to realize that the more air we blow into a balloon the faster it will pop. We have to know when to let that air out, even if it’s little by little. It has to be a process which we have to work on. We have to realize that we NEED to take time out for ourselves. We have to realize that if we don’t take care of ourselves no one else is going to do it.

“But Wanda! I have so much work to do!”. Hey reader, I hear ya. Grad school is a crazy train fuelled by Redbull and kids with ADHD. In the real world there is no time to step back and enjoy the sun or the sound of the wind; but that’s where you come in. You as a person need to make a conscious decision to take care of yourself. You need to accept the fact that you are human and that you will burn out. And that it’s your job to take that day off, or go and take that sunset walk, or just sit underneath the Autumny tree. You have to make time to take time out. Care for yourself. Love every inch of who you are and what you are. Take that bubble bath, ain’t nobody gonna judge you. Eat that pizza, your mind will thank you. Know that there is enough time in a day for you to breathe, to scream and to cry.

It’s a process to know when to stop and when to make time. So it’s okay to break down every once in a while. You’ll get the hang of taking care of yourself as you slowly work towards it. In the mean time, if you find yourself crying or losing it, it’s okay, let it out. Don’t apologize for who you are. Don’t you dare say you’re sorry because you’re crying in front of a class. You’re human and you have a right to your feelings. Yes, crying in front of people will make them uncomfortable. And no, you won’t know who will react in a helpful way and who will simply walk away. Just know that you never have to apologize for feeling bad or for crying. You are human, you are imperfect and that is just fine.

Reader, care for yourself. Know your strengths. Know your limits. Don’t ever apologize for what you’re feeling (unless it’s irrational anger). Just remember to take time to work on your mind, your body and your soul. There is enough time in a day and there is space for you to do all these things and much more.

Signing off,

TWS

Open Cage, Exit Bird

I come from a home where I was not given the freedom of choice. I was told what to say, what to believe, where to study and what to study. The first couple of years of my life I believed it was okay, because I didn’t know much. However, as my life in high school started shaping me and molding me into who I am today I started trying to go against’ the grain. Nevertheless, when you come from a house of old-fashioned people with authoritarian believes you don’t have much space to spread your wings. Of course that didn’t stop me from trying. I was forced to go to one university and when I tried to transfer to a better one, I was denied that choice. I was forced to study one thing and when I wanted to change majors I was forced to feel ashamed so as to having to have a double major in order to actually do what I wanted.  When it came to choose a graduate school and a major for my studies I was held back. I was constantly told to stay at home and to do what they wanted me to do. Yet this time I refused, I finally opened my wings and flew. I am here now, and I assure you that I never want to go back.
In this process of adjusting to my new life here in NC and learning how to be a graduate student I have found the one thing I have never had. The freedom of choice. Back home I was never asked what I wanted to do or how I felt about things. Instead I was prescribed a personality, a role, a strength, a list of abilities and a set of beliefs; all which were never mine. I realized, a little too late, that these forced ideas of me created in me an inescapable anxiety that drove me to self harm and suicide attempts. I looked for ways of communicating who I was and what I really was but in my home I never found ears to listen to me. Instead I had comments such as “you’re young, you’ll grow out of it”, “you’re being dramatic” or my favorite “you’re just emulating what your friends say.” In each statement I was denigrated and made to feel ashamed of who I was simply because it didn’t fit the lifestyle of my parents or because they didn’t have the ability to accept me for who I am.
We can’t all live out of dreams and hope, and so while I waited for my time to fly away from the nest I found like minded friends. I studied and prepared for a battle that I knew would take place sooner than later when I left home. Today, I am still in this battle where my parents believe that I will change and become like them; never knowing that I can never be anybody but myself. And that no matter how they see me, I finally like myself. I no longer struggle with having to suppress myself, to catch every word I say and be careful of saying too much. I am finally able to breathe and be happy as I was intended to be.
In my new home, because home is where the heart can rest, there is no judgment for what my mother would call ‘hippie thoughts’, where I do not suffer from ‘being perfect syndrome’ and am not forced to live up to the expectations of other people. And I am glad because I have finally found happiness. I am free to choose my life as I would like it to be; even if people don’t agree with it. I am able to say what I want to say; even if people don’t want me to say it. I am able to believe what I want; even if its not what I was taught. In short, I have found peace with who I am; I am working towards being who I want to be and forget who I was forced to be.
One thing I learned and I hope it resonates with you as you read this: No one can force their life on you. No one can make you believe in something you don’t believe in. No one can make you think or be one way just because this other person is that way. You, as a human being are worth as much as the person standing next to you and your right to live as you choose is as valuable as that other person’s life choices. Just because you were taught one set of values, or a doctrine or a particular way to live it does not mean you have to live by those things if you don’t feel it. Each person makes their choice, each person takes a path; don’t ever let anyone make that choice for you or guide you through the wrong path because you didn’t have the courage to see your value as a person. You are not anyone’s clone. You are not anyone’s doll. You are you, beautiful you. And people have to accept that.

Signing off, TWS

Caged Birds Don’t Sing

Silent drip drop from my face

Your empty stares, my colorful shame

I stop, my voice cracks

I swallow, I try to get back on track

Your judgment is amiss

Your expectations of me

Are more than I can bring

I apologize, my words trip

I stand up, I run from me

Trapped birds can’t sing

They can only flutter their wings

And you know this

You can’t stop what I’ve decided to be

I hold the sound in my beak

I stutter around in the hallway

I look lost, in my mind I am miles away

I know, I must go back in

Face the things I’ve brought up

I need to go back in

I have to finish my thoughts

I am ready to sing

But there is not time

And no one will listen to me

Signing off, TWS

Level Playing Field: What’s your Level?

In one of my classes we were asked to do an exercise that consisted of the professor reading out some statements and we had to either take a step back, forward or stay still, depending on the instructions. This exercise served to bring our reality and that of our classmates into perspective. At the end we were asked to write a reaction paper, and here’s mine.

 

I had seen this exercise done before in the movie Freedom Writers but it was done a bit differently. The professor made a straight line on the floor with duck tape and she had asked her students to stand at either side of that line; thus making two parallel lines. The instructions were that the students had to walk up to the line every time a sentence, which she read, related to them. At some point one student would be standing right in front of another student. This way they would see their similarities and feel a connection to their classmates. The purpose was to unify the classroom as a family.

In our case, I saw a different purpose. In our exercise we all started out the same and with each sentence that was read I saw how my classmates and I would take either a step in front or back. I realized that the purpose was totally different from that which I had first thought; and instead of seeing like my classmates and I were a united family, I saw the invisible differences that held us apart. In a way, it placed the silent reality into perspective.

It made me uncomfortable to see how much farther some of my classmates were; especially when they were the traditional Caucasian North American students. As a designated ‘minority’ I am told constantly, even in my home land, that no matter how hard I work I will never be able to stand shoulder to shoulder with said Caucasians; and this exercise made that statement a physical reality. I personally don’t consider myself a minority but I, and others, can’t help but to feel identified with this ideal of the lesser when it’s all we are fed even at home. Seeing how my fellow classmates went further than me made me aware of how those cultural ideals are real.

At the same time, this exercise brought an awakening between the myth and the reality of what it means to be a ‘minority’. As I stood, mid-way away from my fellow Caucasian classmates who were in front of me, I looked back and I saw some of them behind me. In that moment I realized that yes, race had a greater hand in placing me where I was but it was also the opportunities I was given. My parents may not be rich and I am the product of the public school educational system, but I had done fairly well for myself. I mean, I am in graduate school after all. In reality, race and cultural values, pull you back but I believe that it is our actions that pull us forward. It is a sort of fighting for your life kind of struggle, where you can sit down and believe you are all those negative stereotypes or you can try to null that stereotype and rewrite it.

Another thing I noticed throughout the exercise was that some sentences talked about our ancestors and I had no problem with that until I noticed I don’t know much about them. When talking about family, my mother and father mostly mention the immediate family like grandparents and at times great-grandparents. However, if I ever asked my parents about how our people came to be they’ll probably give me the generic story about the Puerto Rican mixture of the Spaniard, the African slave and the native Taino. And I know that, what I don’t know is if we were part of the Spaniards who owned land or if we were the slaves who worked it. I’m pretty sure we don’t have much or any Taino heritage because if we did our noses would be sharper and longer, and our hair would be straighter and not so wild and curly. So, as the sentences were pronounced I tried to make a coherent answer for myself and not being able to come up with one I ended up just standing still. It worries me that I don’t know about my ancestors and I believe this exercise has ignited my interest in my search for my real roots.

Finally, the there was one thing that really struck me about the exercise and it was at the end when the professor said “that white board is the American Dream, how close are you?”. That one question knocked the wind out of me and left me more confused than the heritage situation. As a ‘minority’ I am told that my definition of the American Dream is a revised and limited one. Yet, as I was standing in that one room, three feet away from that board, I noticed that I wasn’t that far away. So in a way I am in the right track to my dream, which is not necessarily the American Dream but part of it; but at the same time I am being held back by my mind-set and my perception not only of me but of my classmates. Believing that I am lesser than them is what keeps me still; it is that which makes my potential tank and causes self-sabotage. Also, believing that I am better than those who did not step next to or ahead of me creates a poisonous effect because it makes me feel superior and blinds me to that other person’s needs.

In conclusion, the level playing field exercise did the opposite of the Freedom Writer’s exercise. It made us see that we are not all equal and that, like a game, we are at different levels. At the same time it made us more aware of the struggles our classmates are going through. It broke some stereotypes we may have had of each other and it made us realize that even though we are in different stages of life that we are all there, in that same room, working for a common goal.

Signing off, TWS

P.S. Here’s the LEVEL PLAYING FIELD document if you’re interested in duplicating the exercise.

Blue Fly Suicide

He just kept buzzing. Up and down, in and out. He followed me to the bathroom. He sang me to sleep. He made sure there was always enough for me and him to eat.

He would only stay a few days. You see, his clock was tickin’. I just never thought he’d leave so quick.

He just kept buzzing. Making sure I knew he was there. He laid kisses on my head, kisses on my chest. I gently swatted him away.

He saw me in eight ways. All kaleidoscope and strange. He had no love for the outside world, none that he could tell. I always found him by the window sill.

He just kept buzzing. Enamored by my art. Astounded by the colors, but no other caught his eight ball eyes like blue. If only I knew.

He dreamed of blue. To dance within it was his only calling. To splatter his wings in that primary was his mission. And he did accomplish it, to my dismay.

He just kept buzzing. As he drowned in blue; the only love he knew. His golden body now dressed in navy hue.

He reveled in the feel of that silky liquid. Made sure every inch was covered and plastered. With his last breath he modeled for me. He asked me, “am I art yet?”

Signing off, TWS

She Could Not See Me

She could not see me

Even in the nearness, she could not see my eyes

She could not see the distance in my soul

But in that room she could hear the echo

The rattling of my bones as I took a breath

Sobbing uncontrollably, wheezing in the process

She could not see me up close

She could not see me even if she chose

But she could feel every vibration of my soul

She could feel my struggle and my hold

She could not see me sitting there

Vulnerable and bare

She could not see me through her empty stare

Yet she could speak louder than anyone

A low whisper, an encouraging laugh

It was enough to know that I was not alone

In the room that shrunk with my every word

And yet she had not left

She could not see me

And most people with sight couldn’t either

She, with her sightless eyes and her soft-spoken voice

Could give me back what most people couldn’t

Signing off, TWS

Boss

New place, new university, and but of course, new job. For anyone who does know me, they can easily tell you what a workaholic I am. I mean, I love helping people out, especially if it gives me experience in a desired area, discipline or just plain ol’ money. And even if I don’t get anything in return, I’m still happy helping out because that’s how my grandpappy taught me. He would always be helping people out, even if he didn’t know what he was doing. I remember this one time we were in a town we’ve never been before and we didn’t know anybody and we were there because he had a doctor’s appointment; and there was this one lady in a car and apparently it had broken down and her 12-year-old son was trying to push the car. My grandfather instantly stopped and went over to help them. Needless to say he was late for his appointment but he was happy because he helped someone.

And I guess I got that from him. He would always tell me to do things right or to not do them at all. Hence, I grew up with a need to be busy and a desire to help. That, apparently, is how I’ve landed all my jobs. My professors found out that I’m hardworking, responsible and have a good sense a humor about being over worked. And I am very grateful to all of them, because I know that it was that which I learned with them that has brought me here.

However, I believe what really helped me through the process was that each one had a different way of being a boss and a leader. My first job was an editorial job with Dr. A. She was the kind of boss that would give a million tasks but didn’t give you a deadline and still knew you would have it done the next day. She was mostly touch and go. She would give a particular task and if I did well she would give me harder things to do. Her particular method helped me develop myself as an independent professional and a student. She knew I wasn’t going to screw up and if I did, she would be there to guide me back to the right path.

The second boss I had was Dr. V; he was a funny one. He was (and is) a great man with a lot of responsibilities, and just like me he likes to take on all the jobs that are offered and slowly transition from the old to the new. His way of being a boss was a trying one but worth the struggle. He believed that the people he employed were capable of working with the most minimal of instructions; and it was true but a bit hard to transition into. He would tell me to do one thing and walk away; and if I had a question he would ask me what I thought was the best way to do it. He taught me how to make decisions and how to be creative about my decisions. He taught me how to have initiative and to always think one step ahead.

The last boss I had at my old university was Dr. C. She was my main mentor and undergrad mother (now she’s my fairy godmother).  She was more direct with what she wanted me to do. Her method was always to think big but she wouldn’t build everything in one day; no, she would ask me for specific and small things which in the end would turn out into this big wonderful project. She would also ask me to do computer based things which I had never done but I knew that if she had asked me it was because she trusted me to know how to fix it. And I did fix it. I did learn and even implemented things I had learned while using Myspace. Her method taught me to think in a bigger scale but to build that thought step by step; she taught me to step out of my comfort zone and learn new things, even if I never use them.

So every boss, in a way, has been a mentor to me. And all their love, care and leadership brought me to this new job with Dr. K; which is a whole different world from me. She’s calm, collected and tranquil. She believes in silence and in working things at a slower pace. While I’m a Chihuahua on redbull mixed in with a parrot who’s going through sugar rush. So yes, we are two different universes in alternate realities. However, from the little time I have been working for her I have noticed that her peace and tranquility does good to me. When I’m anxious she reminds me that there is enough time for X project. When I’m lost she assures me that she can teach me. And when I do something right she gives me positive feedback.

Yes, I am a little anxious as to how I should act around her and what I should say. But it’s a work in progress and I believe that as I am trying to get use to her tranquil pace she is getting accustomed to my Tasmanian Devil pace.

As far as this whole experience goes, I am still taken aback at how much space there is for me to grow and to smooth out some rough edges. I am also very surprised at how every aspect of this new life is a new learning experience. And I believe that’s what makes this whole trip worth the work. I came as one person and I know that when I leave I’ll be an even better person. And I hope, that where ever I go I am able to meet people like my ex-bosses and new boss, who will teach me their method and through their way I will learn my own.

 

Signing off, TWS

Veggie Tales

Things up here near the sky are very different. One of them is their way of welcoming people. I already told you about the mixer, now let me tell you about the Potluck I was invited to. It is sorta part of the welcoming ‘orientation’ for my program but it is professor and supervisor free. It was organized by the second year cohort of my program; and the purpose behind it was to welcome us into the family and to give us a hand in setting up our roots and goals in the program and university. I was very excited to find out that I had been invited, because me being the big unpopular dork I am, I thought I’d be left out of any and all parties in my program (just like my old program).

All excitement aside, I was a bit adamant to go and participate in the potluck; the first reason being that I was going alone and I knew nobody. I know what you’re thinking reader, “But Wanda, the point of the whole thing is so you can meet people!” Yeah, I got that, but sometimes logic fails when you’re scared out of your mind to do new things. I took this fear and I molded it into two fool-proof excuses as to why I couldn’t go. The first excuse was that it was too far away and that I didn’t have a car. The second excuse was that I didn’t know what to cook.

I played around with these two excuses all the way to the week before the potluck. I mean, I had nobody to force me into doing it and the excuses provided me, to myself, a perfect reason as to why I should miss out on a great opportunity to make friends. Of course, dear GB is always a step ahead of me. She nagged me all the way, from the first time I told her, until I caved in. She kept insisting that it did not only give me a good opportunity to meet new people, I would also be able to install myself into this new culture where, apparently, cooking is a necessary skill. I, not being keen on cooking, wanted to bring wine or chips. GB would have none of that and kept ogling me to do it. She reminded me of the wise words of our mentor Dr.C, where she insisted on the importance of going to all the parties at the start of the semester. She told us that that made our presence known to our other classmates and by doing that they would get accustomed to us and inevitably invite us to other parties and gatherings.

Desperate for friends and scared shitless, I decided to make some mixture sandwiches and some baked tortilla cinnamon chips. It was the easiest thing to do and the only things I knew by heart. The sad part was that I noticed that all other guests were bringing vegetarian dishes. There I knew that I had made a mistake. You see reader, I am an adult who despises veggies. I can eat the basic stuff you find in a salad but anything beyond that is just icky. I felt myself backtracking; more scared of eating veggies than when I was at my grandmother’s at the age of seven.

GB, after a long laugh, started giving me recipes for vegetarian dishes. However, I refused them all. I knew that my dishes would not be popular or even eaten at all, but I decided that those dishes demonstrated who I was and what I knew and where I came from. And I was not going to change my dishes just to please a group of strangers. If they liked my dishes good, if they didn’t well their loss but in the end they would see that that was my cooking, my choice and my personality.

I hitched a ride with a one of the second year cohort students. She was very nice and polite. Upon arrival I was thoroughly scared. I was hoping to see one of the girls I had met the day before at the mixer but no luck. I found myself awkwardly standing at the kitchen with a plate of food I knew I didn’t like. However, I did my best. In a fit of nervousness I picked what I thought I would like to only find out I hated it all. I ate it with little to no gusto. And with every bite I noticed how miserable I was. I kept contemplating how stupid I had been in going there. I was not part of them. They were healthy hippies, with a taste for happiness and positive energy. I was a mildly unhealthy farm girl with a taste for angst, anxiety and sarcasm.

At some point, in my pity party of one, I realized how foolish I was. So the food was not to my liking. So the people were different from me. So this was new and I was scared. Nobody forced me to go to the party. It was all me. GB only made me see how stupid I was being. I was the one who decided to be there at the party, to go to this university, to walk out of my comfort zone and make it big in a place where nobody knew my name. In that moment I swallowed that disgusting vegetarian food (which I am sure I would have enjoyed more if I had had a vegetarian palate) and started talking to people. I made myself known to some people of my new cohort. I played with the dog. I talked to the girls I met the day before. And I even had a really good talk with the host of the potluck. When I finally let loose and enjoyed myself the time passed quicker (the wine also helped). By the end I didn’t want to leave.

This one episode helped see that change is eminent, especially when you go to a new place. You can’t just go to a place and expect things to go the way you feel more comfortable doing or being. Yes, I would have enjoyed a Puerto Rican potluck; which entails that I bring some chips and a soda and it’s the old ladies who cook. But I’m not in Puerto Rico, I’m in NC in the mountains, so high where I can almost touch the sky. People here don’t know me and that means I have to introduce myself and let them get to know me bit by bit. There is no “Oh, it’s just typical Wanda”, because no one knows Wanda. Wanda has to lead those who are willing to follow, to the wondrous and mystical land of Wanda. More than they getting use to me, I have to get use to them. I have to accommodate their culture, their personalities and mystical wondrous selves into my life. It’s a work in progress within a work in progress. And by letting them know me I will grow and learn from myself. And this is all a lot of work but if I want to grow, if I want to truly survive and be the best I can be, I have to do this. There is no more running to mom or hiding under my bed. This is me and I am here.

Signing off, TWS

P.S. This is GB’s contribution when the veggie freak out ensued.

f

Getting Mixed Up

Hello reader, long time no read. I apologize for these small hiatuses. Lately I’ve had a lot on my plate with sorting out university stuff, work stuff and now, first day of class. Also, it is fair to point out that I have not had anything important or interesting to write. I mean, I am quite normal. Too normal for my own good. I do meow through me window in hope someone will meow back; but that’s pretty much it.

Nonetheless, let me grace you with the oddities of my life. First off, as a new graduate student we are offered an orientation and a random pep-talk about how special we are and how we can totally do this. However, this one random talk was given two days before class. Of course, no matter how shy you are, or how much you don’t want to go, skipping the orientation is not an option. Either you go or you go. And so I went.

The orientation was not anything out of the ordinary. The usual ‘here’s where you add classes’, ‘there’s paperwork for everything’, ‘you guys are the 40% of the applicants who applied, congrats’, and so forth. It was a big group of grad students so there was no space for individual presentations and dumb icebreakers. There was, however, a mixer later that day at a nice restaurant/café/bar down the street (23 minutes away from my apartment). I, being socially challenged with a fear of big crowds, decided not to go. However, I was faced with the need to go because let’s face it, I’m alone and I want friends. So I was holding my fear with one hand and I was holding my need for friends on the other.

Whenever this type of problem surges I resort to my not so logical or democratic counsel which is consisted of Mr. Grumpy and Gringa Bestie. They usually give their opinion/order and the voices in my head usually come to a consensus of each opinion/order. In general, Mr. G and GB don’t agree on anything and it’s up to me to work as the tie breaker. However, this time they were both on the same page. They were clearly tired of me whining because I had no friends and I never went out to have fun so they decided to send me on my way to the mixer. At first I had conflicting emotions about it because I wanted to go but I didn’t want to walk 23 minutes to get there; it was at 7:00 and it got dark around 9:00. And if I didn’t meet anybody I was going to cry myself to sleep. You know, the usual. Then again, I really wanted to go out, and have an excuse to wear a dress, I wanted wine and I REALLY wanted to meet people. So after one hour of text-fighting with both of them I caved.

I was well aware how uncomfortable I was walking there. I felt self-conscious and scared. My legs were practically made of rubber and the stress was giving me a stomach ache. When I finally made t there I was able to actually get some words out to a group of people: “are you grad students too?”. And that’s how it all started. Before I knew it I had a glass of wine in my hand and I was talking to people from South Georgia, South Carolina, California and such. I met people here and there, guys, gals, and the unidentified gender.

At some point I met someone from my cohort. It was fine for a while but it was clear she had gotten bored with me and was ready to move on to the next person. I didn’t oppose her and just used the ‘I need a refill’ excuse.  I was calm and collected while I was being approached and talked to but when I came back that was not the case. The attention had shifted from me to anybody but me. I was no longer part of any group and I was just standing there drinking wine, a little too fast for my own good.

I finally caved and decided it was time to leave. I mean, I had been there for a whole hour. I came, I saw, I conquered (somewhat). Yet, I wasn’t ready to leave. I liked the feeling of meeting new people and the fact that people were surprised when I told them where I was from. As I was about to leave I spotted a girl sitting by the bar. I was not sure if she was a graduate student but I felt compelled to talk to her.

When I approached said girl, I found that that she was a grad student. More than that, she was part of my cohort and she shared the same concentration as me. And there was much rejoicing! At some point the other classmate joined the conversation and it was a pleasant conversation. We talked for a good 40 minutes until it became known that I had to leave because I needed to walk back home. She freaked and told me she would give me a ride. All in all, I got home alive and unharmed. I was very happy to have met two excellent people. We’re not besties as of yet, but it is always good to have a familiar face in each class.

This whole situation may seem like a no brainer to other people but I have to say, going out to a place you’ve never been to, with people you don’t know, in a town where you’re new at, can be extremely stressful. I’m sure that if I had not placed myself in that kind of situation I might still be bitter and alone. I’m conscious I stepped out of my comfort zone and went for it knowing that I might not get anything in return. But, as life would have it, my effort and stress paid off.

And I guess that’s the lesson of this post. The worst gesture is that which you do not do. Sometimes you just have to step up to the plate even if you don’t know how to bat. Yes, you make a fool of yourself but at least you tried. And that is all that matters; that at the end of the day you can just smile and say ‘Hey, I tried right?’. And  if it does work out, then that smile will be even wider.

For all of you out there, going through this or something similar, just do it. Go out. Go have fun. Of course, with the necessary caution and protection. Just don’t be afraid of life because it ain’t afraid of you.

Signing off, TWS

Not-So-Spidey Senses

Today’s blog post is brought to you by the maintenance man at my building and my not-so-spidey senses. Before we jump to 10:30 am when I had my run in with the handy-man, let’s go back to 8:45 am when GB called.

Last night I made the unhealthy call of going to bed at 3am. I mean, I didn’t have anything particular to do the next morning but it’s still not good for your body. Anyway, I went to bed pretty late and was off in dreamland when I got an unexpected call at 8:45am. Considering the fact that I was in the throes of sleep I could not make out who it was.

Each important person in my life receives a specific ringtone so I know how important that a phone call is. For example my mother’s ringtone is The Beatles’s ‘Twist and Shout’, while Mr. Grumpy’s is ‘Reindeers are Better than People’ from Frozen. And just like Mr. G’s, the ringtone that so urgently woke me this unnatural morning was ‘Do you want to build a snowman?’ from Frozen.

As the song went on I could only lay there in my bed, helpless to stop the music, wishing it hadn’t waked me up. And yet, with all that hate, I found mental strength to fight with Ana while she happily sang her song.

Piano intro. Elsa?

No.

Do you want to build a snowman?

Shut up.

Come on let’s go and play.

For the love of God, Ana.

I never get to see you…

And I picked up. Tired of fighting with a made up character I decided that the best way to end this one-sided fight was to answer the call. By then I had come to and knew it was GB. As I yell ‘What!’ on my side of the phone, she merely says ‘It’s raining and I’m waiting for the bus. Is it raining there?’

Sigh. I cave, we talk. 15 minutes later I’m back to the magical world of dreams.

A couple of hours later, around 10:30 am there is a knock at my door. I am too far gone to hear it. There is another knock at my door. I only hear a muffled sound that has incorporated itself into my dreams in the form of Michael the Archangel (Dominion) beating the crap out of David Whele. There is a knock and there is a voice.

Miss! Ah-bub-bah-dub-da da.

I hear nothing. More muffled noise. I am too consumed in my dream of shirtless Michael to move from my bed. I hear my living door open. I snap into sitting position. My mind is too foggy to know what is happening. Before I freak out I realize that if this person had a key to enter my home then it must be a person that works in the building. I walk into the living room. There is a man standing there. I can’t see his face since I am not wearing my glasses and all I see is a figure and everything else is blurred. He hasn’t seen me so I speak.

Hi. 

JEEZUS!

I’m sorry!

No, I’m sorry! I thought there was nobody here.

I’m so sorry! I was in deep sleep and didn’t hear anything.

It’s okay. You scared me, though. I’m here to fix your door. You can go back to bed if you want.

Nah, its okay.

Okay, I’m gonna fix your door and the other stuff you asked.

Thank you.

And I walked back to my room. Half stunned, half asleep. I run to get my glasses because I wanted to get a clear view of my surrounding and of the handy-man in case I needed to ID him for murder or any other type of felony. Yes, I’m paranoid.

When I finally get my glasses I become aware of what I look like. My hair, again, is a mess. My mouth reeks of death. And get this; I noticed that last night I decided to wear my too big, see-through white pajama pants with neon pink, polka-dotted panties and my psychedelic, cat in space pajama shirt which is easily 3XL. And no, I was not wearing a bra, again.

At this point I feel like giving no damns about how I am dressed. Yet, I start seeing a pattern in my preference for house clothing and am considering sleeping and walking around in a gala dress, full make up and awesome hairstyle every waking moment of my life.

Signing off, TWS