So we arrived in Evanston today; move-in and the start of
Welcome Week, are tomorrow, which is insane. None of this feels real. Everyone
else has already been in college for what seems like forever, and though my
awkward limbo state for the past two weeks has been, well, awkward and limbo-y,
it felt familiar still – it was like summer hadn’t ended, like I was hanging
around the house waiting for friends to come back from vacation.
We’re staying at this hotel in downtown Evanston,
approximately six or seven blocks from my old house. It’s been 8 years since we
moved, but I’ve visited Evanston nearly every year since then – either being
dropped off or picked up from the buses for camp. Honestly, it feels wrong to
be here again, like I’m moving backward, regressing, instead of moving on. I
can’t help feeling like maybe I made a mistake, that I should’ve chosen a new
town for college. The weird combination of familiarity and strangeness is just
so disconcerting – I know this town, remember its streets, and yet I don’t
belong. It doesn’t feel like home, but I know it used to be. Besides which,
there isn’t nearly enough greenery – and I already miss the river.
I have this feeling I’ll be fine once I’m on campus; we
never actually spent much time in Northwestern, and unlike downtown, my
memories of it aren’t filled with awkwardness and a sense of non-belonging. Because
the thing is, because we’ve visited so much for camp, my memories of this place
aren’t the over-idealized childhood versions – they’re the awkward, middle
school and junior high, and even high school realities, the times when I was
just with my mom or my dad and we wandered around looking for a place to eat
dinner, and I was either itching to leave or unhappy to be back.
Maybe it’s just because I didn’t live here in junior high/high
school, which is when I really found my footing in terms of friends, but in my
memory, the people in Evanston are different from the people in St. Paul. Not
as nice, not as much like me, people I will always feel a little on edge
talking to. And I know, that’s not true, I just made a few bad friend choices
in elementary school, and the students at Northwestern aren’t necessarily like
the people from Evanston, and the reason I feel such a disconnect with some of
the people at camp is because they all know each other from high school and have
similar experiences they can bond over, but fears and feelings aren’t always
subject to logic or reason.
(I don’t really think this post makes that much sense, but
that’s okay. I feel better for having written it, putting my words on…well, not
paper, but you know. Down somewhere.)
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Rambulations
I keep getting the urge to make video blogs and I feel like this is indicative of the fact that I should write more real blogs, since really they're kind of the same thing in different mediums. Anything I would want to talk about in a video blog, it feels like, I should want to talk about in a normal blog, right? Right. Plus, I don't know how to edit things, and also my voice is sort of too loud for my recording device and I hate listening to myself talk.
The past few days have been weird. Now that the state fair is over, I have a completely open schedule, and nothing to fill it with but projects, packing, and reading. Many (i.e., all) of my friends who are going to college this year have already left, most other students (including my sister) have started school, and here I am, watching Netflix, trying to make a quilt, and deciding which sweaters I really need to bring to NU and which can stay here. It's like being in limbo; everyone else keeps talking about their roommates, and classes, and what they're doing, and I'm just biding my time.
It all feels unreal. I think if I still had friends here, it would seem like summer is still going on, and I would be distracted, but being all alone and waiting for college to start gives me plenty of time to think and reflect on how truly removed this all seems. I've been thinking about college for so long, imagining what it would be like, the classes I'd take and the people I'd meet - it still just seems like a daydream.
Sometimes, when I get in moods like these, I start to question who I am. What life is. Why it is I like what I like and don't like what I don't like and whether or not I'm actually alive and a person or if I'm not some pod-person imagining all this like in the Matrix - or maybe I'm in a dream like in Inception. There's this really great word that someone made up - sonder - which I always think of when I start to feel like this: "n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk." Or, in my own much-shorter-but-also-more-confusing way, the sudden understanding that every person feels their own life and their own them-ness in the same way that you feel your own you-ness. That to them, their actions and feelings are valid and reasonable, in the same way that you feel your own actions and feelings are reasonable. And it's related because along with that understanding comes the question of how real your own life is - if you can detach these other people from their own experiences and lives in your heads, who's to say your own experiences are valid? I'm not really effectively getting my point across here, I don't think.
I've been reading a little more lately, which quite honestly doesn't help with this whole thing. Somewhere in my head, the characters and things that happen in books have always seemed like they were in some way real. I know, on an intellectual level, that there is no Hogwats - but on an emotional level, especially when I'm actually reading the books, that universe isn't completely a fantasy. And when I start to believe in those fictional places and people, it makes my own life feel even less real.
Okay. I'm going to stop before I become completely nonsensical.
The past few days have been weird. Now that the state fair is over, I have a completely open schedule, and nothing to fill it with but projects, packing, and reading. Many (i.e., all) of my friends who are going to college this year have already left, most other students (including my sister) have started school, and here I am, watching Netflix, trying to make a quilt, and deciding which sweaters I really need to bring to NU and which can stay here. It's like being in limbo; everyone else keeps talking about their roommates, and classes, and what they're doing, and I'm just biding my time.
It all feels unreal. I think if I still had friends here, it would seem like summer is still going on, and I would be distracted, but being all alone and waiting for college to start gives me plenty of time to think and reflect on how truly removed this all seems. I've been thinking about college for so long, imagining what it would be like, the classes I'd take and the people I'd meet - it still just seems like a daydream.
Sometimes, when I get in moods like these, I start to question who I am. What life is. Why it is I like what I like and don't like what I don't like and whether or not I'm actually alive and a person or if I'm not some pod-person imagining all this like in the Matrix - or maybe I'm in a dream like in Inception. There's this really great word that someone made up - sonder - which I always think of when I start to feel like this: "n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk." Or, in my own much-shorter-but-also-more-confusing way, the sudden understanding that every person feels their own life and their own them-ness in the same way that you feel your own you-ness. That to them, their actions and feelings are valid and reasonable, in the same way that you feel your own actions and feelings are reasonable. And it's related because along with that understanding comes the question of how real your own life is - if you can detach these other people from their own experiences and lives in your heads, who's to say your own experiences are valid? I'm not really effectively getting my point across here, I don't think.
I've been reading a little more lately, which quite honestly doesn't help with this whole thing. Somewhere in my head, the characters and things that happen in books have always seemed like they were in some way real. I know, on an intellectual level, that there is no Hogwats - but on an emotional level, especially when I'm actually reading the books, that universe isn't completely a fantasy. And when I start to believe in those fictional places and people, it makes my own life feel even less real.
Okay. I'm going to stop before I become completely nonsensical.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Your regularly scheduled general media update
The Things I Have Been Watching, Listening to, and Reading
1. Most recent: Dr. Who. I started it earlier this month, and am absolutely loving it. Honestly, I have no idea why; when I first began, I was really put off by pretty much every character, and even Google'd "How to watch Dr. Who" in a vain attempt to figure out what I was doing wrong. This led me to an article which suggested watching the first episode with Matt Smith as the Doctor, which I promptly did, and was inspired enough to go back and have another go at the first season. By the end, Christopher Ecclestion started to grow on me, surprisingly, and I was actually sad to see him replaced by David Tenant. I won't lie, the whole ambiguous romantic thing bothers me a lot, and if I watch it for too long I get the urge to speak in a British accent, but still. It's steadily climbing up there in my list of favorite television shows.
2. I've also returned to the vlogbrothers (hence all the references in the last post) and am now approximately 90 videos away from being up to date (considering I was about two years behind last time I went hardcore and tried to catch up, this is extremely impressive). Again, if I watch it for too long, I start to want to speak like John and Hank. It's sort of weird.
(I just watched three episodes of Dr. Who, and right now as I type this I am imagining Mickey saying all of it. It's exceedingly disconcerting.)
3. Fight Club. Read it, feel slightly disturbed, liked it more than Gatsby or Animal Farm though. Good writing/lyricalness but completely depressing worldview (may have been point, do not really care though).
4. The Dark Knight Rises. Saw it on a day off at camp. Not the biggest fan of Anne Hathaway; I felt that Marion Cotillard had waaaaay more chemistry with Christian Bale. Also, not sure how I feel about the return-to-first-movie plotline thing; in the first movie, the whole thing seemed far-fetched, and I felt the same way this time when they re-introduced the Brotherhood. I don't know, I just really like The Dark Knight because it felt like something that could almost happen. Not actually, but the Joker was just such an effective villain, and so completely terrifying, that it was always going to be a tough act to follow, and quite honestly, I find the whole idea of a Brotherhood of awesomefantasticninjafighters to be a little campy. I'm not sure if that effectively conveyed my feelings, but oh well.
5. Other movies I've watched: The Immortals (epic and bloody with hot people and I swore a lot while watching it), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (I wasn't as impressed as I wanted to be), A Knight's Tale (oh hey there Heath), Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog (I did not see that ending coming)
1. Most recent: Dr. Who. I started it earlier this month, and am absolutely loving it. Honestly, I have no idea why; when I first began, I was really put off by pretty much every character, and even Google'd "How to watch Dr. Who" in a vain attempt to figure out what I was doing wrong. This led me to an article which suggested watching the first episode with Matt Smith as the Doctor, which I promptly did, and was inspired enough to go back and have another go at the first season. By the end, Christopher Ecclestion started to grow on me, surprisingly, and I was actually sad to see him replaced by David Tenant. I won't lie, the whole ambiguous romantic thing bothers me a lot, and if I watch it for too long I get the urge to speak in a British accent, but still. It's steadily climbing up there in my list of favorite television shows.
2. I've also returned to the vlogbrothers (hence all the references in the last post) and am now approximately 90 videos away from being up to date (considering I was about two years behind last time I went hardcore and tried to catch up, this is extremely impressive). Again, if I watch it for too long, I start to want to speak like John and Hank. It's sort of weird.
(I just watched three episodes of Dr. Who, and right now as I type this I am imagining Mickey saying all of it. It's exceedingly disconcerting.)
3. Fight Club. Read it, feel slightly disturbed, liked it more than Gatsby or Animal Farm though. Good writing/lyricalness but completely depressing worldview (may have been point, do not really care though).
4. The Dark Knight Rises. Saw it on a day off at camp. Not the biggest fan of Anne Hathaway; I felt that Marion Cotillard had waaaaay more chemistry with Christian Bale. Also, not sure how I feel about the return-to-first-movie plotline thing; in the first movie, the whole thing seemed far-fetched, and I felt the same way this time when they re-introduced the Brotherhood. I don't know, I just really like The Dark Knight because it felt like something that could almost happen. Not actually, but the Joker was just such an effective villain, and so completely terrifying, that it was always going to be a tough act to follow, and quite honestly, I find the whole idea of a Brotherhood of awesomefantasticninjafighters to be a little campy. I'm not sure if that effectively conveyed my feelings, but oh well.
5. Other movies I've watched: The Immortals (epic and bloody with hot people and I swore a lot while watching it), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (I wasn't as impressed as I wanted to be), A Knight's Tale (oh hey there Heath), Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog (I did not see that ending coming)
What I've been doing for the past two months
So the wheel of life keeps on turning, as it does, and things keep on happening, as they do, and wow I sound melodramatic. I am sure that's something anyone-who-actually-reads-this-on-a-regular-basis has missed.
I haven't written a post in awhile, despite the boatloads of time I have, mostly because I am lazy. I feel bad; I know there aren't really loyal readers out there or anything, but I really don't want this to turn into another side-project that I forget about and never revisit. It's just that senior year was absolutely 100% insane at the end, and then I was hanging out with friends and trying to do real life stuff as much as possible before I left for camp, and then I didn't feel like I had anything to talk about, and yeah. That's how you end up with three posts in 5 months.
Andbutso, I now have lots and lots and lots of things to talk about, and I don't know how. So, to steal a page from the vlogbrothers' book, I'm going to separate this post into parts; 7 of them to be specific, in chronological order
1. I got home from camp, and wrote a letter to camp because I was campsick, which is like being homesick but for camp. Yes. Sometimes I think the things I write would be so much more effective if I were reading them out loud, or rather, if John Green were reading them out loud. Like that sentence for example, try to imagine John Green reading it aloud in his fast voice, and it becomes so much better. If you're reading this and you don't know who John Green is, you should click the link to the vlogbrothers' Youtube channel above, because he and his brother Hank are awesome. We'll come back to this topic later.
2. After coming home from camp, I hung out with some people for a couple days, and then I went to Mackinac Island for our now-annual family get-together for my mom's side. It was not altogether that enjoyable, especially when we had to do the actually-hang-out-with-family portion. Like, I like my nuclear family - when I was just with my mom, dad, and sister, I had fun. And I like my extended family in small doses of time, when no one is stressed and there are adults supervising their own children. But I do not like being assigned the babysitter, particularly after a month of basically being a babysitter but also having real authority and not needing to deal with 5-year-olds, and actually being paid and yeah. I might have gotten a little angry after being forced to sit at the kids table one night for dinner. Also, our hotel was really far from like everything else on the island and also on a giant hill, and there's only bikes and horses on Mackinac, so guess what we did everyday. That's right. BIKED UP A GIANT HILL. Not so much fun.
3. I got a French exchange student, soon after I got back from camp. She was cool. I liked her. We did stuff. I also hung out with more friends during this period of time.
4. Exchange student went home, and I did more things with friends and people started leaving for college and I started vaguely trying to pack for college.
5. I found out where I will be living at college! It's the "communications" dorm, which means it has a lot of Radio/TV/Film (RTVF) people living in it and also two screening rooms and it seems awesome and I live in a single but that is okay because the rooms are suite-style so I sort of have like 7 roommates who I don't actually have to share a room with and there is a kitchen on my floor and a place to put luggage and bikes and my dorm's blog is actually legit and awesome and I am so excited fer kerllergeeeeeee.
6. I started work at the state fair. It alternates between mind-numbingly boring and semi-painful for my feet/knees/back, but I sort of like some of the people who also work there, so that's cool (also, making money is happyful). Many of them are under the impression that I'm about two years younger than I actually am, but whatever.
7. General books/movies/shows over the summer: separate post, because this one is already long and there are lots of things.
I haven't written a post in awhile, despite the boatloads of time I have, mostly because I am lazy. I feel bad; I know there aren't really loyal readers out there or anything, but I really don't want this to turn into another side-project that I forget about and never revisit. It's just that senior year was absolutely 100% insane at the end, and then I was hanging out with friends and trying to do real life stuff as much as possible before I left for camp, and then I didn't feel like I had anything to talk about, and yeah. That's how you end up with three posts in 5 months.
Andbutso, I now have lots and lots and lots of things to talk about, and I don't know how. So, to steal a page from the vlogbrothers' book, I'm going to separate this post into parts; 7 of them to be specific, in chronological order
1. I got home from camp, and wrote a letter to camp because I was campsick, which is like being homesick but for camp. Yes. Sometimes I think the things I write would be so much more effective if I were reading them out loud, or rather, if John Green were reading them out loud. Like that sentence for example, try to imagine John Green reading it aloud in his fast voice, and it becomes so much better. If you're reading this and you don't know who John Green is, you should click the link to the vlogbrothers' Youtube channel above, because he and his brother Hank are awesome. We'll come back to this topic later.
2. After coming home from camp, I hung out with some people for a couple days, and then I went to Mackinac Island for our now-annual family get-together for my mom's side. It was not altogether that enjoyable, especially when we had to do the actually-hang-out-with-family portion. Like, I like my nuclear family - when I was just with my mom, dad, and sister, I had fun. And I like my extended family in small doses of time, when no one is stressed and there are adults supervising their own children. But I do not like being assigned the babysitter, particularly after a month of basically being a babysitter but also having real authority and not needing to deal with 5-year-olds, and actually being paid and yeah. I might have gotten a little angry after being forced to sit at the kids table one night for dinner. Also, our hotel was really far from like everything else on the island and also on a giant hill, and there's only bikes and horses on Mackinac, so guess what we did everyday. That's right. BIKED UP A GIANT HILL. Not so much fun.
3. I got a French exchange student, soon after I got back from camp. She was cool. I liked her. We did stuff. I also hung out with more friends during this period of time.
4. Exchange student went home, and I did more things with friends and people started leaving for college and I started vaguely trying to pack for college.
5. I found out where I will be living at college! It's the "communications" dorm, which means it has a lot of Radio/TV/Film (RTVF) people living in it and also two screening rooms and it seems awesome and I live in a single but that is okay because the rooms are suite-style so I sort of have like 7 roommates who I don't actually have to share a room with and there is a kitchen on my floor and a place to put luggage and bikes and my dorm's blog is actually legit and awesome and I am so excited fer kerllergeeeeeee.
6. I started work at the state fair. It alternates between mind-numbingly boring and semi-painful for my feet/knees/back, but I sort of like some of the people who also work there, so that's cool (also, making money is happyful). Many of them are under the impression that I'm about two years younger than I actually am, but whatever.
7. General books/movies/shows over the summer: separate post, because this one is already long and there are lots of things.
Friday, July 27, 2012
A Letter to Camp
Dear Echo,
I don't what it is about you that keeps me coming back exactly. Everyone always talks about being who they are and the freedom to act like yourself - but honestly, I think I'm just as much myself at home as at camp. Looking at my experience from the outside, it doesn't seem like I should enjoy my time at camp as much as I do - all my good friends are at home, I don't know people as well.
And yet.
There is something undefinable about you, something that makes me miss you the second I'm gone. It's what makes me look through photos on Facebook, and sing campfire songs to myself in my kitchen.
You give me perspective all the time. You remind me how easy it is to have fun, without needing much planning or extra equipment. You show me how much difference one person can make, and how little effort it takes to pick up that piece of litter lying on the ground, or be patient with someone when they're being difficult.
You allow me to push the limits of my comfort zone every year. You have taught me that it's okay to ask questions, that people are seldom as scary as they look, and that the effort I put into something is directly proportional to the reward I receive from it.
I love so many things about you. Campfire songs, taps talks, kissing the moose (on the lips). The way the sun sets on the lake. Flo bread, weather characters, Wacky Wednesday (and MuuMuu Mondays). The stars on a clear night. Hot chocolate at every meal, the smell of campfire on everything, A&C, snaps, sleeping on the porch during a thunderstorm, music in the mornings, quotes at flag raising. You are my second home, the thing I wrote my college essay on, the place I will someday send my children and my grandchildren. I do want to wake up in the morning at dear old Camp Echo; it is indeed the finest place I know. Without a doubt.
Love, Anri
I don't what it is about you that keeps me coming back exactly. Everyone always talks about being who they are and the freedom to act like yourself - but honestly, I think I'm just as much myself at home as at camp. Looking at my experience from the outside, it doesn't seem like I should enjoy my time at camp as much as I do - all my good friends are at home, I don't know people as well.
And yet.
There is something undefinable about you, something that makes me miss you the second I'm gone. It's what makes me look through photos on Facebook, and sing campfire songs to myself in my kitchen.
You give me perspective all the time. You remind me how easy it is to have fun, without needing much planning or extra equipment. You show me how much difference one person can make, and how little effort it takes to pick up that piece of litter lying on the ground, or be patient with someone when they're being difficult.
You allow me to push the limits of my comfort zone every year. You have taught me that it's okay to ask questions, that people are seldom as scary as they look, and that the effort I put into something is directly proportional to the reward I receive from it.
I love so many things about you. Campfire songs, taps talks, kissing the moose (on the lips). The way the sun sets on the lake. Flo bread, weather characters, Wacky Wednesday (and MuuMuu Mondays). The stars on a clear night. Hot chocolate at every meal, the smell of campfire on everything, A&C, snaps, sleeping on the porch during a thunderstorm, music in the mornings, quotes at flag raising. You are my second home, the thing I wrote my college essay on, the place I will someday send my children and my grandchildren. I do want to wake up in the morning at dear old Camp Echo; it is indeed the finest place I know. Without a doubt.
Love, Anri
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Hunger Games AVENGED
So in the scatteredness (is that a word?) of life and stuff, I forgot to write a blog post after I saw The Hunger Games. That is about to be remedied
I went twice, once at midnight and once with my family at a more normal hour. The midnight one was sort of weird; I felt a little dead and empty by the end, just because it was so late. It was nice to see it again while I was actually able to comprehend and detox after in a coherent way. At the same time, it wasn't like I didn't understand or felt tired during the first viewing; I just couldn't really spend time thinking about it afterwards.
Thoughts are as follows:
-The book translated SO WELL to screen. It really read like a screenplay, so the transition to film was beautiful.
-I love how they managed to work in details about the arena and the world in the movie; in the book, Katniss internally narrates, so it was great that they used things like commentators to provide that background information
-Lenny Kravitz as Cinna was creepy. Sorry to everyone who loved him, he just did not do it for me. In the books, Cinna is very clearly NOT interested in girls; Lenny Kravitz didn't manage to convey that in the movie. There were times when he seemed gay, and times when he seemed oddly touchy and it was like the two had a Thing. Which was not okay.
-At first, I thought I didn't really like the way President Snow was played, since I pictured him as a walking skeleton, but on the second viewing I decided I was okay with Donald Sutherland. It wasn't exactly how I pictured it, but it worked.
-JOSH HUNKERSON WELL HELLO
-The scenes with "I volunteer as tribute!" and Rue were heartbreaking but amazing.
-I don't like that they turned Haymitch into a "ha ha funny sarcastic drunk guy who supports Katniss" instead of the cynical, caustic, and extremely traumatized alchoholic that he should be.
-I LOVE YOU STANLEY TUCCI NO MATTER WHAT COLOR YOUR HAIR IS
Also just saw The Avengers.
-It was epic
-It was awesome
-It was funny
-HI CHRIS EVANS
-HI MARK RUFFALO
-HI JEREMY RENNER
-HI ROBERT DOWNEY JR
-ScarJo is a badass and awesome and yes.
I went twice, once at midnight and once with my family at a more normal hour. The midnight one was sort of weird; I felt a little dead and empty by the end, just because it was so late. It was nice to see it again while I was actually able to comprehend and detox after in a coherent way. At the same time, it wasn't like I didn't understand or felt tired during the first viewing; I just couldn't really spend time thinking about it afterwards.
Thoughts are as follows:
-The book translated SO WELL to screen. It really read like a screenplay, so the transition to film was beautiful.
-I love how they managed to work in details about the arena and the world in the movie; in the book, Katniss internally narrates, so it was great that they used things like commentators to provide that background information
-Lenny Kravitz as Cinna was creepy. Sorry to everyone who loved him, he just did not do it for me. In the books, Cinna is very clearly NOT interested in girls; Lenny Kravitz didn't manage to convey that in the movie. There were times when he seemed gay, and times when he seemed oddly touchy and it was like the two had a Thing. Which was not okay.
-At first, I thought I didn't really like the way President Snow was played, since I pictured him as a walking skeleton, but on the second viewing I decided I was okay with Donald Sutherland. It wasn't exactly how I pictured it, but it worked.
-JOSH HUNKERSON WELL HELLO
-The scenes with "I volunteer as tribute!" and Rue were heartbreaking but amazing.
-I don't like that they turned Haymitch into a "ha ha funny sarcastic drunk guy who supports Katniss" instead of the cynical, caustic, and extremely traumatized alchoholic that he should be.
-I LOVE YOU STANLEY TUCCI NO MATTER WHAT COLOR YOUR HAIR IS
Also just saw The Avengers.
-It was epic
-It was awesome
-It was funny
-HI CHRIS EVANS
-HI MARK RUFFALO
-HI JEREMY RENNER
-HI ROBERT DOWNEY JR
-ScarJo is a badass and awesome and yes.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
A New Layout for Blogger and Nostalgia
I leave for what? A month? And this is what I come back to. A completely new layout. I have to say, it's much prettier than the old one.
Things have been happening, as they often do. This being senior year and all, a lot of those things are lasts. Tonight was my last high school orchestra concert, and tomorrow will be my last high school band concert. Neither of these facts have hit me yet; I haven't felt the urge to cry, I haven't gotten too nostalgic. It doesn't really feel like I'm leaving. I am though.
The thing is, sometimes I feel like I realize things earlier than other people seem to, but the true weight of the realization doesn't hit me until long after. I realized at the end of swim season how final this year truly was, but now I just don't feel all that emotional about it. When other people start talking about how sad it is, then I get sad. When I really think about it, I get a little upset. But unless I try and make myself feel these emotions, they just aren't really there.
When we moved it was like this too. I knew all the facts early on; I had resigned myself to moving two or three years before we ended up leaving. My dad kept being transferred, from Washington D.C. to San Francisco, and then to St. Paul - and every time I was told we might move. So that by the time we did move, it was no longer a surprise. I'm not sure I cried when we left, or in the weeks before it. I was upset, to be sure, but it wasn't until we were in Minnesota that I really got into it. After I came home from camp, I cried myself to sleep a couple of times. So right now I'm excited for college, but I'm sure two weeks after everyone's left I'll just have a breakdown.
That was the first thing I wanted to say about nostalgia. The other thing is slightly more complicated, and harder to describe.
As backstory: I am a nostalgic person, in case you haven't figured it out. I own nearly every Disney soundtrack to the movies I grew up with. I regularly rewatch movies from my childhood. Reliving the past is something I do on a semi-regular basis.
Today, as I mentioned, we had our orchestra concert, and afterwards we went out for ice cream. There was a large group of us, so we ended up outside, and in the course of our conversation, I brought up the fact that when I was little, we had a very large (and I mean, really large) bin filled with toys from McDonalds. I had nearly every character from Anastasia, Tarzan, Mulan, Hercules - I would re-enact scenes, and have characters from different movies meet each other.
Anyway though, so I mentioned this bin, and right after I said that we had all the Tarzan toys, one of the people I was with started flipping out. He was almost crying, but happy at the same time - the way you get when you feel nostalgic. That's what was happening. He said he was "remembering his childhood" - as if somehow, he had managed to forget it.
I couldn't understand. The other people I was with started to remember other things too - like the Beanie Babies you could get for a while - and he was getting more and more freaked out and agitated, but again, happy too. After awhile I left, because it was getting out of hand (we were outside, it was pretty late, and it didn't seem appropriate to be screaming). But I can't get over what he said at first - "I'm remembering my childhood." How could you ever forget that much of it? Maybe it's just because I'm constantly reminding myself, but the things from my childhood are never far from my mind. When I start to get excited about old toys or shows or movies with people, it's because I'm excited by the fact that someone else remembers them too - not because I ever forgot. I always thought that was normal, but maybe I've been wrong. Maybe sometimes people do lose track of what the past was like.
The weird bit for me was that this guy is someone who's very in touch with his inner 5-year-old. So for him to become so upset and seem so completely awestruck by these memories was unsettling. In the end, I feel like it mostly just ends up being a product of the energy of so many people combined with the emotion of our last concert, but I can't help but wonder if that's how everyone else lives - forgetting about the past and being surprised when it does appear. It would explain a lot about politics.
Things have been happening, as they often do. This being senior year and all, a lot of those things are lasts. Tonight was my last high school orchestra concert, and tomorrow will be my last high school band concert. Neither of these facts have hit me yet; I haven't felt the urge to cry, I haven't gotten too nostalgic. It doesn't really feel like I'm leaving. I am though.
The thing is, sometimes I feel like I realize things earlier than other people seem to, but the true weight of the realization doesn't hit me until long after. I realized at the end of swim season how final this year truly was, but now I just don't feel all that emotional about it. When other people start talking about how sad it is, then I get sad. When I really think about it, I get a little upset. But unless I try and make myself feel these emotions, they just aren't really there.
When we moved it was like this too. I knew all the facts early on; I had resigned myself to moving two or three years before we ended up leaving. My dad kept being transferred, from Washington D.C. to San Francisco, and then to St. Paul - and every time I was told we might move. So that by the time we did move, it was no longer a surprise. I'm not sure I cried when we left, or in the weeks before it. I was upset, to be sure, but it wasn't until we were in Minnesota that I really got into it. After I came home from camp, I cried myself to sleep a couple of times. So right now I'm excited for college, but I'm sure two weeks after everyone's left I'll just have a breakdown.
That was the first thing I wanted to say about nostalgia. The other thing is slightly more complicated, and harder to describe.
As backstory: I am a nostalgic person, in case you haven't figured it out. I own nearly every Disney soundtrack to the movies I grew up with. I regularly rewatch movies from my childhood. Reliving the past is something I do on a semi-regular basis.
Today, as I mentioned, we had our orchestra concert, and afterwards we went out for ice cream. There was a large group of us, so we ended up outside, and in the course of our conversation, I brought up the fact that when I was little, we had a very large (and I mean, really large) bin filled with toys from McDonalds. I had nearly every character from Anastasia, Tarzan, Mulan, Hercules - I would re-enact scenes, and have characters from different movies meet each other.
Anyway though, so I mentioned this bin, and right after I said that we had all the Tarzan toys, one of the people I was with started flipping out. He was almost crying, but happy at the same time - the way you get when you feel nostalgic. That's what was happening. He said he was "remembering his childhood" - as if somehow, he had managed to forget it.
I couldn't understand. The other people I was with started to remember other things too - like the Beanie Babies you could get for a while - and he was getting more and more freaked out and agitated, but again, happy too. After awhile I left, because it was getting out of hand (we were outside, it was pretty late, and it didn't seem appropriate to be screaming). But I can't get over what he said at first - "I'm remembering my childhood." How could you ever forget that much of it? Maybe it's just because I'm constantly reminding myself, but the things from my childhood are never far from my mind. When I start to get excited about old toys or shows or movies with people, it's because I'm excited by the fact that someone else remembers them too - not because I ever forgot. I always thought that was normal, but maybe I've been wrong. Maybe sometimes people do lose track of what the past was like.
The weird bit for me was that this guy is someone who's very in touch with his inner 5-year-old. So for him to become so upset and seem so completely awestruck by these memories was unsettling. In the end, I feel like it mostly just ends up being a product of the energy of so many people combined with the emotion of our last concert, but I can't help but wonder if that's how everyone else lives - forgetting about the past and being surprised when it does appear. It would explain a lot about politics.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
La dee dah
I would just like to post so that no one thinks I'm dead. This time of year is hectic.
I found out from five of my college so far: in at University of Wisconsin (that happened a while ago actually), in at Smith (they let me know early, I sort of flipped out), in at University of Washington (...though they never actually sent me an acceptance letter, they did send me financial aid, so...), in at Northwestern (with double legacy, so make of that what you will), and waitlisted at University of Chicago (which is pretty much cool, because that means I don't have to figure out the whole no-engineering-program-but-a-really-strong-economics-program-what-do-I-want-to-do-when-I-grow-up thing).
I got the National Merit Scholarship; $2,500, which isn't much, but you take what you can get.
This upcoming week I find out about everywhere else; to be honest, at this point, it just really isn't all that exciting. Too much build-up; I was ready for this news two months ago. Now I just want school to be OVER.
My ethnography is almost over - I just have two more sessions this week and then some interviews. Did I ever talk about that here? I talk about it so much in real life that I've forgotten...
Well, on the off chance that I haven't, it's essentially just an assignment for English that involves me joining a different subculture temporarily and studying them. And then I write a paper about it. So. I chose an arts high school semi-nearby - they have to audition, people come from all over the state. It's been kind of really interesting actually, and I'm really liking it. There was some initial drama involving getting enough hours and shit, but it's all worked out for the most part.
Let's see, what else is happening in my life...Ultimate has actually, legit started...grad parties are being planned (there was some minor drama with that too...)...oh and prom. Prom, prom, prom. People have started getting asked, even though it's not until May, and let me tell ya: it's more than a little depressing. Much as I may talk the talk of not caring, I do. Not overly so, but still; it'd be nice to get asked. It's okay, I've already resigned myself to some classic RomComs for that night.
I found out from five of my college so far: in at University of Wisconsin (that happened a while ago actually), in at Smith (they let me know early, I sort of flipped out), in at University of Washington (...though they never actually sent me an acceptance letter, they did send me financial aid, so...), in at Northwestern (with double legacy, so make of that what you will), and waitlisted at University of Chicago (which is pretty much cool, because that means I don't have to figure out the whole no-engineering-program-but-a-really-strong-economics-program-what-do-I-want-to-do-when-I-grow-up thing).
I got the National Merit Scholarship; $2,500, which isn't much, but you take what you can get.
This upcoming week I find out about everywhere else; to be honest, at this point, it just really isn't all that exciting. Too much build-up; I was ready for this news two months ago. Now I just want school to be OVER.
My ethnography is almost over - I just have two more sessions this week and then some interviews. Did I ever talk about that here? I talk about it so much in real life that I've forgotten...
Well, on the off chance that I haven't, it's essentially just an assignment for English that involves me joining a different subculture temporarily and studying them. And then I write a paper about it. So. I chose an arts high school semi-nearby - they have to audition, people come from all over the state. It's been kind of really interesting actually, and I'm really liking it. There was some initial drama involving getting enough hours and shit, but it's all worked out for the most part.
Let's see, what else is happening in my life...Ultimate has actually, legit started...grad parties are being planned (there was some minor drama with that too...)...oh and prom. Prom, prom, prom. People have started getting asked, even though it's not until May, and let me tell ya: it's more than a little depressing. Much as I may talk the talk of not caring, I do. Not overly so, but still; it'd be nice to get asked. It's okay, I've already resigned myself to some classic RomComs for that night.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
The Band Went Down to Nashville
...and it was equal parts badness and goodness.
Badness:
-Two 18-hour overnight bus rides + staying up late cause I was with friends + early morning wake-ups both days we were in Nashville = total of 28 hours of sleep, tops, over the course of 5 days. I do not do well without sleep; the day after we got home, despite taking a nap and having a full night's rest the day before, I had this horrible empty feeling and a splitting headache all day. It disappeared today, probably because I slept for 12 hours last night.
-Despite the fact that the trip was only four days long, we still managed to have some drama/conflict/annoyances. Yay.
-Though I love large crowds of people, I hate when all the people in the crowd are from the same place/are together - i.e., 250 students on a band trip together.
-The first day we were there, it poured all day.
-I think I lost our family's copy of Spirited Away.
-Nashville, while certainly not without its charms, was not as cool as New Orleans, which was absolutely beautiful.
Goodness:
-Travel is pretty much always good; it's just really nice to get away.
-I'm so happy I roomed with the people I did, because they were/are awesome. In general, the people I hung out with on this trip were great; the drama came from people I didn't spend much time with.
-I didn't feel the need to buy as much while in Nashville, so I spent a lot less than when we went to New Orleans.
-The final day in Nashville was much, much warmer, which made up for the first day.
-In fact, that final day in general was awesome. We got to see the choir perform at the Rhyland, the jazz band played at a restaurant where we ate, and I learned how to line dance.
Badness:
-Two 18-hour overnight bus rides + staying up late cause I was with friends + early morning wake-ups both days we were in Nashville = total of 28 hours of sleep, tops, over the course of 5 days. I do not do well without sleep; the day after we got home, despite taking a nap and having a full night's rest the day before, I had this horrible empty feeling and a splitting headache all day. It disappeared today, probably because I slept for 12 hours last night.
-Despite the fact that the trip was only four days long, we still managed to have some drama/conflict/annoyances. Yay.
-Though I love large crowds of people, I hate when all the people in the crowd are from the same place/are together - i.e., 250 students on a band trip together.
-The first day we were there, it poured all day.
-I think I lost our family's copy of Spirited Away.
-Nashville, while certainly not without its charms, was not as cool as New Orleans, which was absolutely beautiful.
Goodness:
-Travel is pretty much always good; it's just really nice to get away.
-I'm so happy I roomed with the people I did, because they were/are awesome. In general, the people I hung out with on this trip were great; the drama came from people I didn't spend much time with.
-I didn't feel the need to buy as much while in Nashville, so I spent a lot less than when we went to New Orleans.
-The final day in Nashville was much, much warmer, which made up for the first day.
-In fact, that final day in general was awesome. We got to see the choir perform at the Rhyland, the jazz band played at a restaurant where we ate, and I learned how to line dance.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
One more thing
And also, I will be seeing The Hunger Games at the midnight premiere. I am extremely excited.
Colleges, Nashville, and general life updates.
I just looked through my web history on Google and it's like reliving the past three years - the school projects, the various life events. Also, it's terrifying.
I am sometimes really leery of the Internet. Like, it's really freaky how much shit is out there, logged and ready to be used - but at the same time, it's almost comforting. I will never really disappear. There's no way for me to be erased without a trace, because my entire life has been tracked. And for someone who is as nostalgic as I am, it's like a little trip down memory lane - the equivalent to going through my "special bins".
Anyway, that wasn't what I was going to discuss in this post originally. I was going to do small life updates.
1. I got into Smith! Yayy!! The letter had a cute little personalized message on it, which mentioned my essay, and it was kind of awesome. The best part was that it was a surprise because it came early. I really hope the rest of my letters come in like these last two have (got into UW-Madison too) - unexpectedly. I'm going to be a nervous wreck if I know the decisions are coming.
2. I will (hopefully) be shadowing soon at this performing arts school for an ethnography I have to write and research for CIS this semester. I'm super excited for it - like, I have been talking about it all the time, which I'm sure is kind of annoying, but whatever. I'm still not sure if it'll work out, but I'm crossing my fingers.
3. I am going to Nashville in three/two and a half days! It's our bi-annual band trip, and there'll be another 18 hour bus ride, so it's both extremely exciting and extremely daunting. I still need to pack and gather supplies and stuff, so I'll be doing that over the next few days.
4. Related to Nashville, I made a scavenger hunt for my sections' page in the band booklet thing that'll be given to everyone, and as a part of that, I made Waldo out of clay. I also made the other characters from those books. I'm planning on hiding them in our hotel, and hopefully someone on the trip will find them. If not, I think I'm going to stick them in random places, and put little notes on them so that people will find them and email a gmail account I just created and then re-hide them, so there'll be like a giant Where's Waldo game kinda, and I really really want it to work, and be super cool, but I'm trying to be realistic.
So yes. That is what is happening right now with me. Now I have to go edit my Personal Literacy Narrative.
I am sometimes really leery of the Internet. Like, it's really freaky how much shit is out there, logged and ready to be used - but at the same time, it's almost comforting. I will never really disappear. There's no way for me to be erased without a trace, because my entire life has been tracked. And for someone who is as nostalgic as I am, it's like a little trip down memory lane - the equivalent to going through my "special bins".
Anyway, that wasn't what I was going to discuss in this post originally. I was going to do small life updates.
1. I got into Smith! Yayy!! The letter had a cute little personalized message on it, which mentioned my essay, and it was kind of awesome. The best part was that it was a surprise because it came early. I really hope the rest of my letters come in like these last two have (got into UW-Madison too) - unexpectedly. I'm going to be a nervous wreck if I know the decisions are coming.
2. I will (hopefully) be shadowing soon at this performing arts school for an ethnography I have to write and research for CIS this semester. I'm super excited for it - like, I have been talking about it all the time, which I'm sure is kind of annoying, but whatever. I'm still not sure if it'll work out, but I'm crossing my fingers.
3. I am going to Nashville in three/two and a half days! It's our bi-annual band trip, and there'll be another 18 hour bus ride, so it's both extremely exciting and extremely daunting. I still need to pack and gather supplies and stuff, so I'll be doing that over the next few days.
4. Related to Nashville, I made a scavenger hunt for my sections' page in the band booklet thing that'll be given to everyone, and as a part of that, I made Waldo out of clay. I also made the other characters from those books. I'm planning on hiding them in our hotel, and hopefully someone on the trip will find them. If not, I think I'm going to stick them in random places, and put little notes on them so that people will find them and email a gmail account I just created and then re-hide them, so there'll be like a giant Where's Waldo game kinda, and I really really want it to work, and be super cool, but I'm trying to be realistic.
So yes. That is what is happening right now with me. Now I have to go edit my Personal Literacy Narrative.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
THE FINAL QUESTION
Yes, there are four total, but I modified an old college essay answer for one, so I didn't have to brainstorm on here.
It's time for the community/family/things about them that were important to my personal development! Yaaaaayyyy!
Can I real quick just point out bullshit this question is? Like, my family and my community have affected me in pretty much every single possible way you could think of. Nearly everything about my family has been important to my personal development, so yeah. Broadest question ever.
I can't decide if I want to talk about diversity or not. Like, it's sort of easy: my mom is Japanese, my grandmother is very obviously a first generation immigrant who still has difficulty speaking in English about 80% of the time; I went to an elementary school that was very diverse, had a strong focus on diversity, both racially (especially with regards to the whole MLK thing) and in other ways, namely that it was the designated school for disabled students, so we had a whole bunch of people in our classes with developmental/mental/physical disabilities. Moving to Minnesota, there's the whole Hmong/Somali aspect - so there's religion and smaller minorities.
At the same time, I feel like it's a little disingenuous. Like, in some ways my surroundings have been very diverse, but in many ways, they also haven't been. I'm not close friends with anything who isn't middle class and raised in America. Most of my classes don't have that many people who aren't white. Also, I've tried to write that response multiple times, and I just don't know where to start.
Unfortunately, I also can't come up with any other answers either. I could talk about how weird my family is, but that's hard to explain.
So um yeah, I just don't know what to do. That's pretty much all this post is about. I'll probably end up writing about diversity, but ugh. It's just so awkward.
It's time for the community/family/things about them that were important to my personal development! Yaaaaayyyy!
Can I real quick just point out bullshit this question is? Like, my family and my community have affected me in pretty much every single possible way you could think of. Nearly everything about my family has been important to my personal development, so yeah. Broadest question ever.
I can't decide if I want to talk about diversity or not. Like, it's sort of easy: my mom is Japanese, my grandmother is very obviously a first generation immigrant who still has difficulty speaking in English about 80% of the time; I went to an elementary school that was very diverse, had a strong focus on diversity, both racially (especially with regards to the whole MLK thing) and in other ways, namely that it was the designated school for disabled students, so we had a whole bunch of people in our classes with developmental/mental/physical disabilities. Moving to Minnesota, there's the whole Hmong/Somali aspect - so there's religion and smaller minorities.
At the same time, I feel like it's a little disingenuous. Like, in some ways my surroundings have been very diverse, but in many ways, they also haven't been. I'm not close friends with anything who isn't middle class and raised in America. Most of my classes don't have that many people who aren't white. Also, I've tried to write that response multiple times, and I just don't know where to start.
Unfortunately, I also can't come up with any other answers either. I could talk about how weird my family is, but that's hard to explain.
So um yeah, I just don't know what to do. That's pretty much all this post is about. I'll probably end up writing about diversity, but ugh. It's just so awkward.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Other questiony things I should answer.
"Describe a mistake you made or a challenge you faced. How did you respond to that mistake or challenge, and what did you learn from your experience?"
I went back and forth on whether or not to post this one, because it really is quite personal. I wrote about a mistake, and since it wasn't all that long ago, and I wasn't all that young, I feel a little leery of sharing.
Understand that I am not a very touchy-feely type of person in real life. Large displays of affection generally make me feel embarassed. I cry all the time at books and movies, but I don't cry in real life all that often. I try, generally, to keep my moods in check. So sharing something, especially something I'm not proud of, is difficult at the best of times.
So anyway. I could have copped out of this, and wrote about how big of a mistake pretty much my entire sixth grade year was, since I decided it would be a good idea to become friends with the "popular" group of girls, and I was pretty much miserable for the first half of the year. But that would be making myself a victim, which feels wrong. It feels insincere. And as you'll all see, this entire story is about being honest.
So it was freshman year. I was in French class. We'd had to do some sort of group project, and I forget who I worked with, but it was definitely someone I knew reasonably well, which makes the entire thing that happened mildly less mortifying.
Anyway, so Madame is handing our scores back, and I notice that despite the fact that I scored one point lower than my partner in a category, I have the same score as her overall. Which meant Madame had added the points up wrong.
Now, not as any sort of justification, but have you ever had a teacher that drilled it into your head that if there's a mistake in your favor, you shouldn't tell them? Especially when it's a small mistake. Well, I had a teacher like that freshman year, and I'd had teachers like that before, and I wasn't sure if Madame was a teacher like that or not at that point in the year, so I guessed. Of course, I guessed wrong, and obviously my own desire not to lose a point played into all of this; still, that was part of my reasoning.
I would also like to acknowledge how stupid this whole thing was right here. I mean, it was a point. I have a feeling it wasn't even a point that would change what letter grade I got on the project - maybe make it an A minus instead of an A. The point (ha!) is, it wasn't worth lying about. But again: I was a freshman. I didn't understand how unimportant that point was. I was just starting out high school, and it had been told to me over and over how much harder high school was than junior high, so I treated it like every point was the one that would eventually get me into college or not.
So anyway. Madame asks if there's anything anyone would like to say, questions about scores, etc., which should have been my cue to speak up, but I didn't.
Somehow, she sensed this or something, because after making that announcement, while people are kind of chattering, she comes over and asks our table if there's anything wrong. And I can't lie to her when she asks that directly. So I tell her, in my bumbling and inadequate French what's wrong, and she goes, Oh, yep, that's a mistake, and then she holds up my paper and says to everyone, "Check, make sure your score adds up, Anri just found a mistake in hers." And then she looks at me over her glasses, and asks me in a low voice, "Were you going to tell me otherwise?" And what can I say? So she gives me this really disappointed look and walks over to mark the change.
I wanted to become invisible, right then and there. My partner had heard, and was looking at me, and I was turning bright red (fun fact: when I get embarassed, the tips of my ears get really how and turn red. It's weird). To top it all off, she comes back and returns it to me and says, "I'm feeling nice, think of it like a holiday bonus," and gives me the paper back - she didn't take away the point. But the look she gives me while she does it - I never, ever wanted to see that look again.
For the rest of the year, I thought Madame remembered and was judging me. I still sometimes think she does. And I know my partner remembered, at least for a time, because I do remember it being brought up after a little bit of time had gone by.
So yeah: mistake I made. What I learned? That old saying about honesty is true. Be honest. Always. Omission is a form of dishonesty. And never try to hide anything from Madame.
(Now that I think about it, this probably also qualifies as the most embarassing thing that's ever happened to me. So now I have an answer for that question, should it ever come up.)
I went back and forth on whether or not to post this one, because it really is quite personal. I wrote about a mistake, and since it wasn't all that long ago, and I wasn't all that young, I feel a little leery of sharing.
Understand that I am not a very touchy-feely type of person in real life. Large displays of affection generally make me feel embarassed. I cry all the time at books and movies, but I don't cry in real life all that often. I try, generally, to keep my moods in check. So sharing something, especially something I'm not proud of, is difficult at the best of times.
So anyway. I could have copped out of this, and wrote about how big of a mistake pretty much my entire sixth grade year was, since I decided it would be a good idea to become friends with the "popular" group of girls, and I was pretty much miserable for the first half of the year. But that would be making myself a victim, which feels wrong. It feels insincere. And as you'll all see, this entire story is about being honest.
So it was freshman year. I was in French class. We'd had to do some sort of group project, and I forget who I worked with, but it was definitely someone I knew reasonably well, which makes the entire thing that happened mildly less mortifying.
Anyway, so Madame is handing our scores back, and I notice that despite the fact that I scored one point lower than my partner in a category, I have the same score as her overall. Which meant Madame had added the points up wrong.
Now, not as any sort of justification, but have you ever had a teacher that drilled it into your head that if there's a mistake in your favor, you shouldn't tell them? Especially when it's a small mistake. Well, I had a teacher like that freshman year, and I'd had teachers like that before, and I wasn't sure if Madame was a teacher like that or not at that point in the year, so I guessed. Of course, I guessed wrong, and obviously my own desire not to lose a point played into all of this; still, that was part of my reasoning.
I would also like to acknowledge how stupid this whole thing was right here. I mean, it was a point. I have a feeling it wasn't even a point that would change what letter grade I got on the project - maybe make it an A minus instead of an A. The point (ha!) is, it wasn't worth lying about. But again: I was a freshman. I didn't understand how unimportant that point was. I was just starting out high school, and it had been told to me over and over how much harder high school was than junior high, so I treated it like every point was the one that would eventually get me into college or not.
So anyway. Madame asks if there's anything anyone would like to say, questions about scores, etc., which should have been my cue to speak up, but I didn't.
Somehow, she sensed this or something, because after making that announcement, while people are kind of chattering, she comes over and asks our table if there's anything wrong. And I can't lie to her when she asks that directly. So I tell her, in my bumbling and inadequate French what's wrong, and she goes, Oh, yep, that's a mistake, and then she holds up my paper and says to everyone, "Check, make sure your score adds up, Anri just found a mistake in hers." And then she looks at me over her glasses, and asks me in a low voice, "Were you going to tell me otherwise?" And what can I say? So she gives me this really disappointed look and walks over to mark the change.
I wanted to become invisible, right then and there. My partner had heard, and was looking at me, and I was turning bright red (fun fact: when I get embarassed, the tips of my ears get really how and turn red. It's weird). To top it all off, she comes back and returns it to me and says, "I'm feeling nice, think of it like a holiday bonus," and gives me the paper back - she didn't take away the point. But the look she gives me while she does it - I never, ever wanted to see that look again.
For the rest of the year, I thought Madame remembered and was judging me. I still sometimes think she does. And I know my partner remembered, at least for a time, because I do remember it being brought up after a little bit of time had gone by.
So yeah: mistake I made. What I learned? That old saying about honesty is true. Be honest. Always. Omission is a form of dishonesty. And never try to hide anything from Madame.
(Now that I think about it, this probably also qualifies as the most embarassing thing that's ever happened to me. So now I have an answer for that question, should it ever come up.)
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Prez Scholar App: Question 1
Actually it's Question 2, because the first question asks how my family or community has shaped my "personal development", and I can't handle that shit now. So instead, let's start this all off with the following:
"Discuss some creative work that illustrates the way you see the world and the way you see yourself in the world. The work may be a scientific theory, novel, film, poem, song, or other art form."
To begin with, I would like to draw your attention to the idea that a scientific theory is a "creative work", because it speaks volumes to the type of people who are filling this thing out that any of them would write a quarter of a page about why a scientific theory is similar to their worldview and themselves instead of talking about a film or a book or a poem or pretty much ANYTHING ELSE. I'm not even sure I can really think of any way that would work. I guess maybe you could talk about how insignificant you are?
(Okay, now that I'm thinking about it, there are actually some really cool routes you could go - like, how amazingly improbable it is that I exist, as I am, and how absolutely unique it is that I do, and how mind-blowing it is to think that every single person on earth is similarly unique and improbable. In fact, if I could find a way to relate that to a scientific theory that I actually understood, I would write about it. Which really only demonstrates how sadly suited I am to be doing this, because despite what I may tell myself about not being a complete nerd, I totally am.)
Anyway, so I chose the movie versions Eloise at Christmastime/Eloise at the Plaza (they're kind of the same, okay?) so, um, yeah. Here we go.
Growing up, I was a scared child. All my favorite characters - from Flounder in The Little Mermaid to Piglett in Winnie-the-Pooh - were worrywarts, nervous and unwillingly thrust into adventure. I always was a worrier - one time, after seeing an article about the Beltway sniper in Time Magazine, I sat in the middle of the floor of our dining room, afraid to stand up because then I could be shot through the windows. I lived over 500 miles away from the nearest shooting, but that was still too close for me.
I didn't grow up watching or reading Eloise, much as I love her now. In reality, I probably would have been horrified by her messiness and blatant disregard for rules as a child - as a rule-abiding youngster, any hint of anarchy was terrifying. Instead, I have come to love her for the way that she represents what I would love to be - happy, weird, and completely free to be myself. The last two things are especially important, as they make the first one possible. The unhappiest moments of my life have come when I've been most untrue to myself. This idea of being honest to yourself is present everywhere in these movies - the plots are completely based on it. Eloise is always unforgivingly herself, and in this way, always manages to carry on, no matter what happens.
These movies are expressions of joy. In the end, though the world has so much sadness in it, it is a truly miraculous place - similarly, no matter what bad things happen to Eloise or those she loves, there is always that happy ending. I believe in happy endings. I believe that if we keep trying, if we strive towards love and friendship, if we are honest with ourselves, if we look for joy everywhere we go, as Eloise does, we can reach those happy endings. We can look back on our lives with content.
Yeah, like I said. I'll be editing these things, I just find it really helpful to start them off here.
BAI!!
"Discuss some creative work that illustrates the way you see the world and the way you see yourself in the world. The work may be a scientific theory, novel, film, poem, song, or other art form."
To begin with, I would like to draw your attention to the idea that a scientific theory is a "creative work", because it speaks volumes to the type of people who are filling this thing out that any of them would write a quarter of a page about why a scientific theory is similar to their worldview and themselves instead of talking about a film or a book or a poem or pretty much ANYTHING ELSE. I'm not even sure I can really think of any way that would work. I guess maybe you could talk about how insignificant you are?
(Okay, now that I'm thinking about it, there are actually some really cool routes you could go - like, how amazingly improbable it is that I exist, as I am, and how absolutely unique it is that I do, and how mind-blowing it is to think that every single person on earth is similarly unique and improbable. In fact, if I could find a way to relate that to a scientific theory that I actually understood, I would write about it. Which really only demonstrates how sadly suited I am to be doing this, because despite what I may tell myself about not being a complete nerd, I totally am.)
Anyway, so I chose the movie versions Eloise at Christmastime/Eloise at the Plaza (they're kind of the same, okay?) so, um, yeah. Here we go.
Growing up, I was a scared child. All my favorite characters - from Flounder in The Little Mermaid to Piglett in Winnie-the-Pooh - were worrywarts, nervous and unwillingly thrust into adventure. I always was a worrier - one time, after seeing an article about the Beltway sniper in Time Magazine, I sat in the middle of the floor of our dining room, afraid to stand up because then I could be shot through the windows. I lived over 500 miles away from the nearest shooting, but that was still too close for me.
I didn't grow up watching or reading Eloise, much as I love her now. In reality, I probably would have been horrified by her messiness and blatant disregard for rules as a child - as a rule-abiding youngster, any hint of anarchy was terrifying. Instead, I have come to love her for the way that she represents what I would love to be - happy, weird, and completely free to be myself. The last two things are especially important, as they make the first one possible. The unhappiest moments of my life have come when I've been most untrue to myself. This idea of being honest to yourself is present everywhere in these movies - the plots are completely based on it. Eloise is always unforgivingly herself, and in this way, always manages to carry on, no matter what happens.
These movies are expressions of joy. In the end, though the world has so much sadness in it, it is a truly miraculous place - similarly, no matter what bad things happen to Eloise or those she loves, there is always that happy ending. I believe in happy endings. I believe that if we keep trying, if we strive towards love and friendship, if we are honest with ourselves, if we look for joy everywhere we go, as Eloise does, we can reach those happy endings. We can look back on our lives with content.
Yeah, like I said. I'll be editing these things, I just find it really helpful to start them off here.
BAI!!
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
A warning, of sorts
I've noticed for a couple essays and journals that I've had to write recently that for some reason, I find it easier to think here. Maybe it's because I don't need my words to be perfect the first time around, so I can just write down ideas and jump from thought to thought. Whatever the reason, I have a number of essay-esque things I need to write for the Presidential Scholars Application -
(Did I mention I'm a candidate for that? It's cool, but, well, there are pros and cons...
Pro: only about 4000 students out of the millions that take the SAT become candidates.
Con: only 141 of those 4000 actually become Presidential Scholars.
Pro: if you get it, you get to fly to D.C. and meet Obama!
Con: there's no money involved; it's not a scholarship.
Additional con: there are five essays I need to write for it. Most of them are supposed to be about a paragraph long, but the mondo-gigantic one is supposed to be 10,800 characters long.
10,800 characters is approximately four times the length of my college essay. It is about six pages of double-spaced text. I honestly don't know if they expect me to use all that space, but holy shit.)
- anyway, so I figured I'd write them on this blog, and then edit them for stuff like grammar and formality and language. I'll probably post them too, cause why not, so potentially expect some musing-y/personal blogs that are sort of boring in the near future.
(Did I mention I'm a candidate for that? It's cool, but, well, there are pros and cons...
Pro: only about 4000 students out of the millions that take the SAT become candidates.
Con: only 141 of those 4000 actually become Presidential Scholars.
Pro: if you get it, you get to fly to D.C. and meet Obama!
Con: there's no money involved; it's not a scholarship.
Additional con: there are five essays I need to write for it. Most of them are supposed to be about a paragraph long, but the mondo-gigantic one is supposed to be 10,800 characters long.
10,800 characters is approximately four times the length of my college essay. It is about six pages of double-spaced text. I honestly don't know if they expect me to use all that space, but holy shit.)
- anyway, so I figured I'd write them on this blog, and then edit them for stuff like grammar and formality and language. I'll probably post them too, cause why not, so potentially expect some musing-y/personal blogs that are sort of boring in the near future.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
This is how I think
A friend and I had to write a script for a video for Environmental Science for tomorrow, and this is what I ended up typing. I wrote it all in one go for the most part, starting off with what my partner and I had already worked out in class and then just continuing...a lot of the time I sidetracked myself and then went back and added an entire scene, and the Biblical thing at the end was just because I really, really wanted this whole thing to be like the Bible but with recycling, but we only have a minute and a half time limit, so. That was a long sentence. I don't know, I find it amusing. This is actually how I brainstorm too.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The Meaning of Life
When I was younger, I never understood why people wanted to know the meaning of life so much. I thought it was a stupid question – we lived our life, plain and simple. Why did it matter what our purpose on this earth was?
I can acknowledge, now, that it is a question worth seeking an answer for, though I don't by any means claim to know what that answer might be. What I do know, is that what the novels we read in CIS this year have done – what good books and stories everywhere do – is attempt to provide an answer, of sorts, for us. The very first myths were creation stories, told to explain how we came to be and give us some sort of insight into what it means to be human. Stories provide us with a reason for our existence and push us to seek an explanation for what humanity is. They ask us to wonder at what, exactly, our purpose in life should be, and how we should seek to fulfill it.
Part of the reason Never Let Me Go is so truly tragic is because we see ourselves in the characters’ lives: our own missed opportunities and confusion about life. At first, these characters may appear to have more of a sense of their place in the universe than we do: they have an ostensible reason for their lives, one that seems to make sense. They live and die to save others. But this is really the original question, disguised as a new one: why are these human lives worth more than their clones? What makes us human, and why is being human so important?
The answer to this question cannot be expressed simply, and many of these novels reflect this idea. Instead, it must be approached sideways, in a roundabout way, through stories. Many of the novels focus on the idea that the world is made up of grays, a mix of black and white. The most obvious example is Going After Cacciato, but it is a theme that returns, over and over. In the end, it all comes back to what I says to Coyote in Green Grass, Running Water: “There are no truths…only stories.” There are many, many stories; enough stories for every person, so that every person can build their own truth. In the end, everyone needs to decide for themselves what their “raison d’être” is. We all must find our own personal reason to live, and stories are there to show us how.
To do this, they must not only make us question our own humanity, but must also remind us of it. Some of these books moved me to tears, others to laughter; nearly all of them have led to some sort of love. And in the end, what could be more human than these emotions, love especially? It is love, in all its forms, that I find to be the most compelling argument for our humanity. One of the most important lessons these books have to teach us is how fragile life is, and thus, how important it is to find and hold onto love.
We will all die, and just because our time frame is less obvious than that of the characters in Never Let Me Go doesn’t mean it is any less concrete. Whether you believe in fate or chance, destiny or choice, death has no escape. This is not a reason to despair. “The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again…You know how they end, yet you listen as though you don’t,” (God of Small Things); we all know the ending to life is death, but what matters is not the destination, but the journey. We may live to be one hundred; we may die before we are thirty. The point of life is not how long you can go on breathing, but what you do while you are breathing. “We are only ever given just so much. But it is always, all we need,” (I Wrote This For You). Our time may be short, but if we use it to live life as fully as we can, it is as long as we could ever need. And because we may not be here very long, it is even more important to seize love when it comes around and express it when we feel it.
Nowhere is this more obvious than in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close: “I had never told her how much I loved her. She was my sister. We slept in the same bed. There was never a right time to say it. It was always unnecessary… Here is the point I’ve been trying to tell you, Oskar. It’s always necessary,”. When I read those words, I wondered: how often do I tell my parents I love them? What about my sister? I watched a video recently, and the man in it talked about how hard we all find it to say "I love you"; to parents, even more to siblings, and probably worst for friends. How do you tell a friend you love them, even if you do? How do you show it? We all forget how miraculous life is, how easily it can be taken away, and we all forget how easily everything can change: “It never occurred to me that our lives, until then so closely interwoven, could unravel and separate over a thing like that,” (Never Let Me Go). It’s easy to let love go, to assume that there will be another chance for us, but that’s never guaranteed. Death, which features in every book we read, is the only constant of life, and if we want love and meaning in our life, we have to make an effort. We cannot allow life to pass us by. Even more importantly, we cannot be like the many people in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close who shut themselves off from the world in an effort to escape from pain and death. “Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age,” (Dubliners). Better to risk death or pain, like Michael Furey, than to live on, without pain, yes, but also without true happiness.
(And if to be "human" is to love, what does this mean for animals? What about elephants, which, as Oskar pointed out, will gather around a recording of a dead elephant - a dead friend? What about the stories of dogs who wait for their masters to come home - stories like Hachi? Who are we to say that these animals cannot love, and how does this affect our treatment of them?)
Love is just one meaning of life though. In A Mercy, Florens finds happiness in freedom and independence, as do most of the women and men in Green Grass Running Water. The meaning of life, different for every person, can be found in stories, if one looks hard enough. It can be rooted in love, in the stories which reveal the truth of that love more than any final paper ever could. Or it can be rooted in something else. There are more than enough stories to go around.
(I have pretty much been using this blog for updates on shit I watch, and I feel like that is unfair (unfair to who, exactly, I have no idea, but whatevs), so I proudly present, above, the English paper I wrote about the meaning of life. Sort of. I edited the bits that were filler and/or boring and/or referenced the novels we read too much, and added in some stuff - for example, I obviously didn't turn in a final paper that had a paragraph in parentheses. I actually like this version more than the one I turned in - yet another instance where I probably should've written it, then gone back and edited, instead of doing it all in one go)
I can acknowledge, now, that it is a question worth seeking an answer for, though I don't by any means claim to know what that answer might be. What I do know, is that what the novels we read in CIS this year have done – what good books and stories everywhere do – is attempt to provide an answer, of sorts, for us. The very first myths were creation stories, told to explain how we came to be and give us some sort of insight into what it means to be human. Stories provide us with a reason for our existence and push us to seek an explanation for what humanity is. They ask us to wonder at what, exactly, our purpose in life should be, and how we should seek to fulfill it.
Part of the reason Never Let Me Go is so truly tragic is because we see ourselves in the characters’ lives: our own missed opportunities and confusion about life. At first, these characters may appear to have more of a sense of their place in the universe than we do: they have an ostensible reason for their lives, one that seems to make sense. They live and die to save others. But this is really the original question, disguised as a new one: why are these human lives worth more than their clones? What makes us human, and why is being human so important?
The answer to this question cannot be expressed simply, and many of these novels reflect this idea. Instead, it must be approached sideways, in a roundabout way, through stories. Many of the novels focus on the idea that the world is made up of grays, a mix of black and white. The most obvious example is Going After Cacciato, but it is a theme that returns, over and over. In the end, it all comes back to what I says to Coyote in Green Grass, Running Water: “There are no truths…only stories.” There are many, many stories; enough stories for every person, so that every person can build their own truth. In the end, everyone needs to decide for themselves what their “raison d’être” is. We all must find our own personal reason to live, and stories are there to show us how.
To do this, they must not only make us question our own humanity, but must also remind us of it. Some of these books moved me to tears, others to laughter; nearly all of them have led to some sort of love. And in the end, what could be more human than these emotions, love especially? It is love, in all its forms, that I find to be the most compelling argument for our humanity. One of the most important lessons these books have to teach us is how fragile life is, and thus, how important it is to find and hold onto love.
We will all die, and just because our time frame is less obvious than that of the characters in Never Let Me Go doesn’t mean it is any less concrete. Whether you believe in fate or chance, destiny or choice, death has no escape. This is not a reason to despair. “The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again…You know how they end, yet you listen as though you don’t,” (God of Small Things); we all know the ending to life is death, but what matters is not the destination, but the journey. We may live to be one hundred; we may die before we are thirty. The point of life is not how long you can go on breathing, but what you do while you are breathing. “We are only ever given just so much. But it is always, all we need,” (I Wrote This For You). Our time may be short, but if we use it to live life as fully as we can, it is as long as we could ever need. And because we may not be here very long, it is even more important to seize love when it comes around and express it when we feel it.
Nowhere is this more obvious than in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close: “I had never told her how much I loved her. She was my sister. We slept in the same bed. There was never a right time to say it. It was always unnecessary… Here is the point I’ve been trying to tell you, Oskar. It’s always necessary,”. When I read those words, I wondered: how often do I tell my parents I love them? What about my sister? I watched a video recently, and the man in it talked about how hard we all find it to say "I love you"; to parents, even more to siblings, and probably worst for friends. How do you tell a friend you love them, even if you do? How do you show it? We all forget how miraculous life is, how easily it can be taken away, and we all forget how easily everything can change: “It never occurred to me that our lives, until then so closely interwoven, could unravel and separate over a thing like that,” (Never Let Me Go). It’s easy to let love go, to assume that there will be another chance for us, but that’s never guaranteed. Death, which features in every book we read, is the only constant of life, and if we want love and meaning in our life, we have to make an effort. We cannot allow life to pass us by. Even more importantly, we cannot be like the many people in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close who shut themselves off from the world in an effort to escape from pain and death. “Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age,” (Dubliners). Better to risk death or pain, like Michael Furey, than to live on, without pain, yes, but also without true happiness.
(And if to be "human" is to love, what does this mean for animals? What about elephants, which, as Oskar pointed out, will gather around a recording of a dead elephant - a dead friend? What about the stories of dogs who wait for their masters to come home - stories like Hachi? Who are we to say that these animals cannot love, and how does this affect our treatment of them?)
Love is just one meaning of life though. In A Mercy, Florens finds happiness in freedom and independence, as do most of the women and men in Green Grass Running Water. The meaning of life, different for every person, can be found in stories, if one looks hard enough. It can be rooted in love, in the stories which reveal the truth of that love more than any final paper ever could. Or it can be rooted in something else. There are more than enough stories to go around.
(I have pretty much been using this blog for updates on shit I watch, and I feel like that is unfair (unfair to who, exactly, I have no idea, but whatevs), so I proudly present, above, the English paper I wrote about the meaning of life. Sort of. I edited the bits that were filler and/or boring and/or referenced the novels we read too much, and added in some stuff - for example, I obviously didn't turn in a final paper that had a paragraph in parentheses. I actually like this version more than the one I turned in - yet another instance where I probably should've written it, then gone back and edited, instead of doing it all in one go)
Monday, January 30, 2012
I have seen the future
And it is hell.
Or, you know, the next four months will be at least.
I have moved from one CIS to another, but this new one promises to be both harder and potentially much less interesting. In Econ, we have some sort of big project due nearly every week for the rest of the year. I don't even want to discuss or think about math. There's an enviro project, which we are supposed to start this week, and which looks to be more work than I ever wanted to put into that class. Independent gym looks like it's actually gotten harder since last year (I knew I should've done this sooner...), despite the fact that the woman running it seems to be completely incompetent. And I have no idea how to go about getting my tech credit figured out.
Fucking fucky fuck fucks.
French and band are my sole respites.
/whining
Or, you know, the next four months will be at least.
I have moved from one CIS to another, but this new one promises to be both harder and potentially much less interesting. In Econ, we have some sort of big project due nearly every week for the rest of the year. I don't even want to discuss or think about math. There's an enviro project, which we are supposed to start this week, and which looks to be more work than I ever wanted to put into that class. Independent gym looks like it's actually gotten harder since last year (I knew I should've done this sooner...), despite the fact that the woman running it seems to be completely incompetent. And I have no idea how to go about getting my tech credit figured out.
Fucking fucky fuck fucks.
French and band are my sole respites.
/whining
Friday, January 27, 2012
Female authors
I don't know how much anyone has been following the current debate among the literary world regarding the NYT and NPR's unequal coverage of male vs. female authors, but I have been seeing quite a lot of it on Twitter, and so I went through and tallied a couple things. All fractions are female authors/total
Books read for Book Club (2011-12 school year): 0/5
Books read for Book Club (2010-11 school year): 0/7
Books read for CIS: 2/9
Books read for English (2009-fall of 2011): 1/14
Books read 2009, 2010, 2011, respectively: 55/99, 60/92, 29/75
So despite the fact that I read about equal amounts of female/male authors, I have only picked books written by men for the last five months. And in English over the past three and a half years, I have read a total of 3 books by women.
Books read for Book Club (2011-12 school year): 0/5
Books read for Book Club (2010-11 school year): 0/7
Books read for CIS: 2/9
Books read for English (2009-fall of 2011): 1/14
Books read 2009, 2010, 2011, respectively: 55/99, 60/92, 29/75
So despite the fact that I read about equal amounts of female/male authors, I have only picked books written by men for the last five months. And in English over the past three and a half years, I have read a total of 3 books by women.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Netflix: I has nao
Have had for a while, actually. IT'S AMAZING.
I have, over the past month, watched:
And, I just happened to be browsing, and do you know what I found?
HOUSE OF ANUBIS.
Y'all, that shit's about to be watched.
I have, over the past month, watched:
- Muriel's Wedding
- Waiting for Superman
- Drive Me Crazy
- The Men Who Stare at Goats
- Glorious 39
- Daniel Deronda
- Strictly Ballroom
- Kick-Ass
- Billy Elliot
And, I just happened to be browsing, and do you know what I found?
HOUSE OF ANUBIS.
Y'all, that shit's about to be watched.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Never Let Me Go
I'm trying to do a creative journal for English and this book, so I was looking up the movie in an attempt to figure out what the field described in the last paragraph of the book might look like, and I found a clip of the end of the movie. And I cried.
It's funny how the movie could do that for me when the book couldn't. I think that while Ishiguro's writing style lends itself well to a sort of detachment and distance that works with some of the central ideas of the book, those same qualities make it harder to truly connect with characters on an emotional level. Books, generally, make me cry because of the reactions of characters to trauma; I connect, generally, very strongly with the denial stage of grief in writing. On the flip side, this means it's fully possible for me to think a book is very sad, but not cry; without that reaction, it just doesn't hit home in the same way. For example, when Sirius died, I bawled like a baby, because of how Harry reacts, his realization that he won't hear or see Sirius ever again. Dumbledore's death, on the other hand, just wasn't all that sad , because that extreme reaction wasn't there.
Movies work in a slightly different way than books, so I think that while I require the same thing in order to cry for a movie, it can be expressed very differently. In a movie, I still need to see that reaction, but since movies have to show character reactions visually instead of descriptively, I need to see it in their face, and hear it in the music. Because of this, I think the scene at the end of the film, when Tommy is about to Complete, ends up being more effective than the book ending as a tearjerker. Even if that scene were included in the book (in the book, Kathy leaves before Tommy Completes), I don't think it'd be as sad for me. I can't fully connect with Kathy and Tommy in the book; their relationship isn't real for me, because of the detachment in the writing style. In the book, it just doesn't seem like Kathy cares for Tommy as much as she must, because the way she describes everything just don't fully convey the depth of the feeling. In the movie, it's possible to see how she's acting, instead of being told of it second-hand, and that makes all the difference. Even though all I saw was that one last scene, the relationship is there. The sadness of dying is there.
(Wow, I may have to use parts of this for my journal...)
It's funny how the movie could do that for me when the book couldn't. I think that while Ishiguro's writing style lends itself well to a sort of detachment and distance that works with some of the central ideas of the book, those same qualities make it harder to truly connect with characters on an emotional level. Books, generally, make me cry because of the reactions of characters to trauma; I connect, generally, very strongly with the denial stage of grief in writing. On the flip side, this means it's fully possible for me to think a book is very sad, but not cry; without that reaction, it just doesn't hit home in the same way. For example, when Sirius died, I bawled like a baby, because of how Harry reacts, his realization that he won't hear or see Sirius ever again. Dumbledore's death, on the other hand, just wasn't all that sad , because that extreme reaction wasn't there.
Movies work in a slightly different way than books, so I think that while I require the same thing in order to cry for a movie, it can be expressed very differently. In a movie, I still need to see that reaction, but since movies have to show character reactions visually instead of descriptively, I need to see it in their face, and hear it in the music. Because of this, I think the scene at the end of the film, when Tommy is about to Complete, ends up being more effective than the book ending as a tearjerker. Even if that scene were included in the book (in the book, Kathy leaves before Tommy Completes), I don't think it'd be as sad for me. I can't fully connect with Kathy and Tommy in the book; their relationship isn't real for me, because of the detachment in the writing style. In the book, it just doesn't seem like Kathy cares for Tommy as much as she must, because the way she describes everything just don't fully convey the depth of the feeling. In the movie, it's possible to see how she's acting, instead of being told of it second-hand, and that makes all the difference. Even though all I saw was that one last scene, the relationship is there. The sadness of dying is there.
(Wow, I may have to use parts of this for my journal...)
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