Reporting Live

After having a brief conversation with someone I went to school with, he mentioned that he missed college, or at least the city.

I thought about it and realized .. I don't miss it. That's not to say I don't miss spending more time with the people I'd come to love, or that I don't miss random little things about the campus (like the fountain by Hunt-Cavanaugh or the way the leaves were always treacherously slippery up the Guzman Hill and by Sullivan Hall when I cut through the path between the trees because I was always late for work). But .. I'm okay. I see that part of my life as having lived out its short, four-year life. I gained the experiences I needed, I made life-long friends, I grew, I found myself, I figured some parts of my life out, I struggled and stared Death straight in the face and then told him to go fuck himself, I made it through and walked across that stage.

I was ready to go. I was ready for the next chapter of my life. I've somehow gotten to a place of complete .. peace. I'm no longer living in the past. I'm not looking at pictures from college longingly, wishing I could have more moments. Because somehow, having more would diminish the ones I already have. I know that I'll see my friends as often as our schedules allow. We won't lose touch that easily. It'll require more effort than just shouting down the hall, but it'll be worth it.

I've finally figured out how to live in the moment. I have no idea how, but God damn.

It feels amazing.

- May (you choose to live).

Graduation from college: best thing ever.

I don't know what happened.

I really don't.

I was depressed over graduating not too long ago. I was depressed over leaving my friends, over leaving the campus I'd come to call home for four years, over moving on to the next chapter of my life. I cried most of the ride home back to New York. I cried when I got home that night, listening to sad music (cue the "Here's To The Nights" and "Time Of Your Life" -- I even broke out "Friends Forever" from the 2001-ish era).

And now?

Now, I feel like I could conquer the world. I feel like nothing could ever get me down ever again. And, this is probably TMI, but I'm even PMSing and I'm still feeling awesome.

I don't know what changed. Something inside of me just clicked. I woke up and I realized that spending my life being upset, being regretful, being constantly stuck in the vortex of the past wasn't going to do me any good. It's cliche, but I started living in the present. And I've never been able to do it before. Not until now.

I've adopted new life philosophies. Primarily, the idea that this life is mine. No one else has it. No one else is priviledged enough to have it. No one else would make the same decisions that I've made and will make. And because this life is mine, and only mine, it's unique. It's worth exploring, celebrating, feeling, experiencing, and above all, living.

I could harp on the past 'til I died. I could spend my entire life looking back, rather than looking at the world around me. I could talk about how I wish I knew my birth mother for years. Eons. I could talk about how I felt a loss of identity because I didn't and don't know her. I could. But I've decided not to.

I've decided to take charge of my life because you know what? No one else is going to do it for me. No one else can. It's up to me to start living the right way.

So. I'm choosing life. I'm choosing positive things. I'm choosing friends. I'm choosing family. I'm choosing letting go when I have to let go. I'm choosing healthy food options. I'm choosing doing yoga. I'm choosing meditation. I'm choosing burning incense and chilling out. I'm choosing to be excited over the unknowns of life. I'm choosing positive energies, both giving and receiving. I'm choosing karma and improving this shithole of a world.

I'm choosing to live.

And I have never, ever felt more at peace with myself, the world, and the universe.

- May (you find your reason for life).

I've Got Blisters On These Fingahs!

My pointer, middle, and ring finger on my left hand hurt from the blisters that I've self-induced by playing the guitar so much these past few days. I don't really mind the pain. Does that make me a masochist? Hm. I probably am.

I still suck like a Dyson vacuum though. Despite all my practicing and the blisters and the hours of time put into it. My hand was just not meant to play a guitar I don't think. I can barely spread my fingers across an octave on the piano -- it's that much harder on a guitar, and I can't really stretch beyond two frets on a good day. Also, my left hand is kind of like the "very special" cousin twice-removed of my right hand and is not nearly as nimble or quick (jumping over a candlestick) as my right hand. Maybe I should try playing a lefty guitar. Or maybe I should get one made for kids. I bet I could reach more than two frets' worth on that.

A friend of mine yelled at me for downgrading myself to an electric due to my small hand-span. He told me that anyone can sound good on an electric (and I can even convince myself with a few songs that I'm moderately good and will soon become a rockstar) but that an acoustic is where it's at. There's nothing like the meaty, raw sound of an acoustic guitar. I explained that I would love to learn how to play it properly, but that my hand is the size of a four year-old's. He suggested I look into a Baby Taylor, which .. I may have to do, once I have money again.

So. My fingers are blistered. They hurt. They burn when they're near hot objects (cooking myself dinner tonight was fun). They ache when I touch them on things, rendering them near useless as they're fingers, used for touching. Still .. I guess it's all a good pain. Something about the greater good, sacrificing for the craft, blah dee blah.

I just have one thing to say: this better improve my chi or my in-touch-ness with the musical universe. I like to imagine John Lennon listening from Heaven, cringing every time he sees me grab my guitar and prop it on my leg. I imagine him going, in his Liverpool-ian accent, "Oh for Christ's sake, not 'er again!" and covering his ears. I also picture him hanging out with Gandhi and JFK.

Is that weird?

- May (your wounds heal).

It's Official.

I hate New England weather.

I should probably mention that I've hated it for a long time. Probably since I first step foot on the soils of the small Ocean State four years ago. I came ill-equipped to my first year of college: no rain boots, no rain coat, no umbrella. Sure, it rains in New York, but not like New England.

I smartened up my second year. I bought a pair of rain boots from Target.com and they have probably been one of the best investments I ever made. I now have a rain coat, too, after having needing one when I lived in London for a month.

But as I sit at my desk, the tips of my fingers nearly blue and frozen and falling off (okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit), with the roar of the wind and the rain crashing against the bricks outside of my apartment ... I realize how much I really do loathe the weather.

Yet.

I'm going to miss it in 12 days. I'll pack up all of my things and leave this room the way I entered it -- empty, without personality, without sheets on the bed or crap all over the floor (not literal crap, mind you), without the drawers full of clothes and things, without laughter and tears and memories. It'll hit me during the first rainstorm of the summer, back in New York. I'll pull out my boots and my rain coat and somehow ..

I'll feel incomplete.

And maybe, just maybe, a little, tiny piece of me will miss the freezing cold of a New England rainstorm in the beginning of May. Maybe a little piece of me will smile nostalgically as I think about how it can still get so cold, even when it's in the midst of Spring. Maybe a little piece of me will even miss hearing the roars over the Red Sox winning a -- you know what, no. That won't ever happen.

Sorry. I'm clearly getting delusional.

- May (you let go when you need to let go).

A Week Before It Ends

So, classes officially end in one week from today.

I've been in complete denial over the fact that everything's ending. That's not to say that I'm not excited over the next chapter -- I've finally come a place where I can accept and even get pumped about what's about to come -- but I'm not quite ready to say goodbye to people yet.

Then again .. are you ever ready?

One thing that I will be glad to leave behind will be the oppressive conservatism of this school. (I won't name it, but let's put it this way -- it's Catholic, it's run by the Dominicans, and .. it's Catholic). They banned the Vagina Monologues four years ago and cited some ridiculous reasons as to why. I think one of them was actually that the play focused too much on women's sexuality, rather than the other gifts that they possess. Well, yeah, that's nice. We are more than a vagina, but the play, written by a woman, shows how we can write, we can act, we can perform, we can sing, we can do anything. And ignoring the fact that women are sexual, like this administration and Church like to do, doesn't mean it's not there -- in fact, it makes us want to rebel more.

I've been in some form of Catholic school since I was three years old. THREE. I've had this stuff force-fed to me a billion times over. For a while, I accepted it, because what else does a stupid little five year old do? You follow the words that teachers tell you without having the cognitive ability to ask deeper or search farther.

It wasn't until I got to high school that things changed. I was thrown into a Theology class that was unlike anything I'd ever had before. She wanted us to question our beliefs. She wanted us to really find out why things were the way they were, figure out what we didn't support, what we did. She explained that in questioning something and searching for the answer, it brings us closer to the origin of it all. Of course, she was also the teacher who told us morbid details of people jumping from the top of the Twin Towers (9-11 happened in the beginning of that same year, and I'm in NY). That left me with a distaste for her, but I never forgot that eye-opening experience.

We can't just accept what we hear or "learn" as truth. We have to delve deeper. We have to ask questions. We have to ask as many questions as we can until we're satisfied. And I don't think we ever will be -- we have to keep learning.

I cite that Theology class, ironically, as the beginning of my fall from Catholicism. I attended Church less and less (except when mandated by the school), and by the time I reached college, I was pretty sure I didn't believe in anything spiritual anymore.

Then I went through another transformation. I went on a religious retreat with one of my room mates. For the first time in my entire life, I felt connected. I felt in sync with the people around me, with the world, and most importantly, with God. I remember sitting in the on-campus chapel after our return, begging God to always stay with me, to never let me forget those feelings or those experiences.

Of course .. I did forget. I forgot, mostly on purpose, the ridiculous dogmas of the Catholic Church. I felt they only hindered me from having a more poignant relationship with God/She/It/Whoever. Remembering when to sit, when to kneel, what to say, what to do .. It got in the way. It complicated something that was meant to be simple.

I stopped going to Church. This year, my mom didn't even ask me to go to Church with her on Easter. I knew that signified something big, because I'd always been the Chr-easter Catholic (Christmas/Easter). Those were the two holidays where I'd go to Church, mainly out of guilt, but not this year. I was demoted to a Chralm Catholic (Christmas/Palm Sunday).

Now that I don't have to worry about that, I was able to enjoy those miserable 40 days of Lent. I ate meat on Fridays because I wasn't going to abide by some thousand-year-old ritual that was introduced to save money on meat (that's the real reason for it; the Bible doesn't say anything about sacrificing meat). I ate meat on Fridays because hell, I wanted that Prosciutto sandwich from Au Bon Pain.

I know that it's about sacrifice, but I gave up other things. I didn't need some old man in expensive, Italian silks, living in his own zip code thousands of miles away from me to tell me what I had to give up in order to feel closer to God.

He doesn't even know me.

... So, I started out talking about how it's a week before the official end of my collegiate career. I ended up talkng about how I dislike the Pope. Like I said in my introduction post, I have one of the shortest attention spans known to mankind.

Hopefully you can keep up.

- May (you live the life you want to live).