On Choosing a College Minor

The fall of my freshman year, I wrote something on this blog about searching for my major.

I was like Link.

I was trying doors, searching for the key that would let me out of the dungeon. The battle was long and hard, but I did it. I picked up the treasure and got out of the room. I declared my major. I declared two majors. And a minor. I had escaped the dungeon, and I was proud of it.

Or so I thought.

It is now the fall of my junior year, and I'm still like Link.

I still haven't rescued the princess. I've slain a few monsters and gotten a sword, but there's still plenty of evil to defeat and a world that isn't very saved.

Somewhere in between the exhilaration of getting back out into the sunlight and looking forward at all the paths and doors I knew were ahead, I forgot that the path I was on might change. In fact, it probably would.

And it did. I found myself in another room. A room with lots and lots of doors.

It was smaller than the first room, and I had less time to get through it. I scrambled between doors, taking out monsters and getting a little battered and bruised until I figured it out.

Back in the first room, I'd picked up an extra treasure. I'd carried it around for all this time, thinking I could use it, and just recently I realized that I couldn't. It wasn't really helping me, and I didn't want it. So I set down that treasure called Computer Science so some other hero-to-be can come by later and find it in the tall grass. Maybe that hero will know how to use it with his other tools. Maybe it can become a part of that hero instead.

And now, here I am. Just a student of English, Greek, and life, with a few extra CS skills that I'm more than happy to hang onto and a load that's just a little lighter.

I'm like Link.

Link is on a journey. He's still discovering who he's meant to be.

And for now, that's good enough for him.

An Object In Motion

I'm not much of a science person, but physics holds a special place in my heart. Somewhere back in the hazy realms of middle or late elementary school, possibly in a fourth grade science unit that I vaguely remember involving wheels and rubber bands, my classmates and I were introduced to a man by the name of Sir Isaac Newton.

Back in ye olden times, Sir Isaac developed some laws that are now Indisputable Facts of How the World Works, and I'm sure they're actually more complicated than my fourth grade memories of them. It seems like the only one anyone ever remembers is the third one of the three -- for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction --  or at least that's the one that's most often quoted for whatever reason. His second law is the only one that can be crammed into three letters and a symbol -- f = ma -- although it doesn't make a lot of sense unless you know what the symbols mean. His first law is the law of a fancy physics term called inertia -- an object in motion remains in motion and an object at rest remains at rest unless a force acts upon it.

Wikipedia tells me that Newton was a "physicist and mathematician," but I think the name people would've attached to him back in his day describes it better -- a "natural philosopher." (Side note: I know natural philosophy was an actual area of study, but I'm looking at this as an English major, not a philosophy historian.) Sure, Newton studied lots of science-y things, but I think his laws go beyond wood on wheels rolling across classroom floors and blocks sliding or not sliding down ramps on desks. They're surprisingly applicable to other things. Like life.

Take his first law: an object in motion remains in motion and an object at rest remains at rest unless a force acts upon it.

I mowed my grandparents' lawn today. It sat in the shed until I opened the doors, turned it on, released the brake, and pushed down on the gas pedal. Friction and lack of energy slowed it to a stop when I lifted my foot. Newton's first law in action: an object at rest remained at rest until a force acted upon it, and once it was in motion, it remained in motion until a force acted upon it. Physics. It works.

I stopped by the grocery store to grab something for my sister on the way home, and I happened to bump into my cousin there. When I mentioned I'd just finished mowing Grandpa and Grandma's lawn, he asked if I'd be willing to do his since he wouldn't have time this weekend. I'd been up since before seven that morning, and in that time I'd cleaned a bit, gotten some things ready for next semester, spent over two hours driving, mowed one lawn, and scoured the grocery store for some random chocolate for my sister's baking project. The past two days I'd been cleaning and doing yard work. I wouldn't have time to mow his lawn later in the weekend; I was already babysitting. I'd only have time tonight. Tired as I was, I thought "why not?" and agreed to do it. And after dinner, I went over did it.

An object in motion remains in motion unless a force acts upon it.

Motivation is oddly like physics. A person (or at least an Erin) in motion tends to remain in motion. A person making progress wants to keep making progress. A person at rest tends to remain at rest. A person making no progress (or being lazy or bored, to paraphrase a favorite band of mine) has a hard time getting motivated to start making progress. Some days I get a lot done, and those days are when I have the motivation to keep getting things done. Other days... not so much.

I find it interesting the ways human nature and the natural world reflect each other. So intricately designed and connected that even art and science meet. It seems I can't escape the mysterious beauty of that even after I've taken my last science class.

I don't think I'd want to, either.

Treasures of Darkness, Take II

Every summer, we have a goal of cleaning out my closet. I remember having this goal in the fourth grade. I had it last summer. And probably most in between. Needless to say, the closet has built up a few layers of miscellaneous objects over the years I avoided this task.

I spent last summer with quite a few boxes full of college things piled up in my room, and when I made it home after finals this year, I decided that this summer, I wanted them out of the way. In a closet or something. A closet with space for all my college stuff.

Oh.

Well, I guess ten years is more than long enough to put off a chore, so I actually got to it. When you haven't cleaned your closet since the fourth grade, you find some interesting things buried in there. For example:

• An old English worksheet on writing theses, including a practice thesis on why the Wonder Chef, a completely innocuous character who gives the player recipes in the video game Tales of Symphonia, is evil.
• My glockenspiel from Kindermusick. Apparently, I knew what a glockenspiel was when I was in kindergarten. I'm kind of impressed with my little self. I think I also had a dulcimer with only two strings. Its body was made out of cardboard.
• An old vocabulary exercise in which I use vocab words to write a story about Voldemort making his Death Eaters throw a birthday party for a very reluctant Severus Snape.
• A sticky note containing the following list (how these things are related is completely beyond me):
• Jones soda bottles
• snuggies
• cereal marshmallows
• screws (Phillips/straight)
• musical instruments (C, F, Bb)
• Draco Malfoy
• An extremely bizarre short story about a guy named Fred who hitchhiked to Albuquerque with three cats (all named Fred) and then mailed himself in a box with the cats back to a gas station where the protagonist’s older brother worked. There were also a lot of clay turtles involved.
• Chao comics. Lots and lots of chao comics.
• A blue work shirt with the name “Dean” on it in red. It was my Science Olympiad team shirt in high school. One of my other friends was “Steve,” if I remember correctly. We also had “Scott,” “Bob,” and “Bobby,” among others. I think one of our lab coats was named “Gertrude.”
• A page of physics notes including an explanation of gravitational potential energy becoming kinetic energy via drawings of a turtle, said turtle on a roof, and said turtle falling off said roof, as well as the following two quotes from my physics teacher:
• “The only thing in the universe that’s zero Kelvins is Voldemort’s heart. But using his heart at the center of your heat engine is probably hard, because he’s mean. And he has magic powers. He could turn you into something, like a newt.”
• “If you can invent a bucket that can hold fusion, you’ll win the Nobel Prize. If not for physics, then for peace. Because you could solve all the wold’s energy problems. Unless you gave it to a country that wouldn't share.”
• An undated tardy excuse note from my freshman year of high school that I never had to use and I believe I saved with the intention of using it my senior year. Still never used it. Alas.

This is why closets need cleaning out periodically, folks. Sure, because all that random old stuff builds up in there, but maybe also because there are a few childhood treasures hidden in there, too.

Treasures of Darkness, Take I

Crazy Sibling Road Trip Chronicle

A few weeks ago, my siblings and I found out that Brandon Sanderson, a fantasy author whose books we really like, was doing a book signing in the Chicago area. That eventually morphed into this:

Yup. The Sanderson Sojourn 2014, as my sister named it, or as I've been calling it, Crazy Sibling Road Trip. The three of us jumped in the car with some carrots, Oreos, a plush guinea pig, and seven copies of his books (among other miscellaneous things) and headed on down to meet Mr. Sanderson at a Barnes and Noble in Skokie, IL.

It. Was. Awesome.

We got there a little after eleven Chicago time, which left us with just under three hours to grab lunch and await Brandon's arrival. Which wasn't really a problem -- we just settled down with the books we'd brought (well, the books Matt and Ani brought, as I don't actually own any of them myself) and got to reading. Not only is a bookstore a nice place to hang out for an hour or two, a few other Sanderson fans were starting to show up. We started overhearing snippets of conversation going on around us about characters we knew and plotlines we'd followed, which was really cool. I love reading and discussing books, and suddenly I found that my siblings and I were sharing this common link with some complete strangers. In a way, it's hard for me to explain what a neat experience that was. I could go on for a lot longer about how essential stories are to our human experience, but we haven't even met the author yet, so I'll leave that for another post (or, as a friend of mine and fellow Sanderson fan would say, that's a sermon for another soapbox).

By this time, the bookstore people had started setting up chairs for the event, so we joined the growing cluster of fantasy fanatics like ourselves and claimed some seats. There weren't a whole lot of people there yet, so we got to talk with some of the others who were most excited for this. Everyone was really friendly -- I made a comment to my sister across the aisle about a book and other people chimed in. We had several good discussions going until the man himself arrived.

Meeting an author whose stories you love can be a little scary. What if he's nothing like the person his books make him seem to be? What if he's really not interested in his readers? What if he turns out to be a really talented jerk?

It blows all those fears out of the water when he turns out to be fantastic human being. I was extremely impressed with him. Personable, passionate, humble, intelligent, genuine -- in short, he struck me as a really great guy. He had a lot of great things to say about writing and answered quite a few audience questions. His books have shown me how important faith is to him, and I'd love to talk with him about it some time. His talk made it even more clear to me that he loves his work and loves his readers. He also has book signing down to a science, despite the colossal stacks of books some fans (like my siblings) brought. It took us about an hour and a half, give or take (probably give), to get through the line, and there were upwards of a hundred people ahead of us. He signed all of them while talking to us -- and not just small talk, a quick bit of quality conversation about his books -- and pausing for a picture.

And here we are. Matt was very excited to get a question about the cosmere answered (for those interested in and in the know about the Sanderson 'verse, highlight to read the minor spoiler for the Stormlight Archive: he confirmed that Hoid has used Shadesmar to world-hop). That itty-bitty object Brandon's holding is a miniature copy of the book he was touring for, Words of Radiance, that Ani put together. I can only take credit for doing the cover text and getting the art down to size. She also put in the inside cover art in the front and map in the back. Most of the pages inside are blank, except for the first two. Ani wrote in "for Brandon," our names, the date, our hometown, and a quote from the book ("Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination."). He broke into this huge grin when Ani handed it to him, as if the day hadn't already been made for us.

Unfortunately, the day didn't end without a hitch. We stopped for some Chicago-style deep dish pizza before heading back home, and although it was delicious, our car was broken into while we were at the restaurant. We'd taken almost everything of value with us (thanks, God!), but we lost the back window of the car and my brother's bag. Although there wasn't anything in it that was monetarily very valuable, he lost the two books that Brandon had signed for him.

It was a cold drive back along the freeway, but we made it back in one piece, thankful that we were all okay and not much was lost. (However, I'm never parking in downtown Chicago ever again. Two busted windows is more than enough, thank you very much.) Despite the somewhat bitter end to it, it was a fantastic day. I didn't get the chance to ask him my question, since the line had to keep moving, but that's okay. Meeting him was phenomenal, and I'm sure I'll have plenty more to discover about it in his future books. Besides, the Sanderson Sojourn won't end in 2014 -- siblings need some traditions, after all.

More pictures can be found on Facebook.

Unlikely Soul Mates

It occurred to me recently that science loves poetry.

True enough, you don't run into very many poems about magnesium sulfate or the phosphorous cycle. We tend to think of poems as generally emotional things, not scientific. When my English class discussed what makes a poem last week, we threw around phrases like "metaphorical imagery," "language play," and "condensed emotion." All of these are true -- to a point. We also offered ideas like "structure," "surprise," and "patterns of sound." Again, all of these are true -- to a point. It's hard to sit down and say, "This is what a poem is. This is what a poem isn't."

Science, on the other hand, seems to thrive on definition. The word science comes from the Latin verb scire, to know. We think of science as specific. Science means knowing things. Science means systematic procedures. Science means testing. Science means proving.

That, however, is where we're wrong. My biology prof told us that if we took anything away from his class, it should be this: science cannot prove anything. Broadly speaking, the best you can get in science is a hypothesis that's been supported enough times, in enough ways, and by enough people that it becomes a theory. Math has theorems, theories that have been proven. Science does not, because it is empirical -- powered not by definition, but by observation.

Poems, my English class noted, are snapshots, moments and thoughts picked out of life and arranged into words. This is especially true of lyric poetry, the type we were mainly discussing in class, and to an extent of narrative or story-telling poetry as well. In short, poetry, too, thrives on observation. If you do not observe -- see, hear, open your metaphorical and literal eyes and ears -- you cannot write a poem.

All this is why I think scientists often turn to the psalms, the Bible's big book of poetry. I still remember Mr. E reading Psalm 8 to us back in Chem 1 my sophomore year of high school and telling us he thought it was David's answer to an essay question he'd given us on our final exam. Last week, my bio prof read part of Psalm 139 to us. And the psalms aren't the only poetry in the Bible. Science is often drawn to -- and, unfortunately, almost as often placed in contest with -- the beautiful poem that opens the Bible.

The word poetry also has classical roots -- the Greek verb ποιεῖν (poiein) means to make or do. Doing and knowing go hand in hand. You can't do very well without knowing, and knowing without doing is pointless. Sure, you can do science without reading poetry and you can write poetry without knowing much science, but there's a sort of mysterious beauty in the communication between the two that you'll be missing out on.

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,
And daub their natural faces unaware
More and more from the first similitude.

from Aurora Leigh by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Fresh Start

Two posts in two days. I'm on a roll here.

I decided this afternoon that today is a fresh start. Or maybe a "clean" would be a better adjective than "fresh." Not in any sort of dramatic, life-changing, gigantic sort of way. Just small. I took a shower. I organized my desk. I sorted some old papers into folders. I rearranged my bulletin board to have space for next semester's schedules. I cleaned out my email inbox and moved around some files in my computer to make it a little neater. I talked to my advisor about future courses and travel plans (actually, that was yesterday), found out about some things going on this weekend and next, made some phone calls, finally got to deliver some Christmas presents entrusted to me by a friend studying abroad, and did my readings for class tomorrow. Now I'm sitting here listening to instrumental soundtracks, drinking a cup of tea, and pondering what to do for my final creative project for my class.

For supposedly having a more relaxed schedule, interim has kept me surprisingly busy. To be honest, I'm tired. I have been all day. With people around all the time, sometimes into the night, I get tired. Even so, there are good things going on around me. Good friends, good conversations, good classes. I'm glad for those. Living in constant community is tiring, sometimes stressful, often busying. And it's good, even though I don't always feel like it is. It's challenging me to grow and teaching me how to live well with other people.

Today is a fresh start. I'm not beginning a new semester or moving to a new place or choosing a new major. I'm just starting fresh.

For now, that's good enough for me.

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New hagah post: A Map and Some Directions (miscellanea)

Multae Linguae

It's January! As a matter of fact, it's been January for about three weeks now. Which really means I haven't done any posting here yet this year. I thought it was about time I changed that, although I don't really want to post here just for the sake of posting here; that is, I don't like to say anything if I don't have anything to say. This is possibly why I have trouble making small talk. But that's another tangent entirely.

Granted, I don't have much to say at the time being -- you can probably expect a little more coming once I finish up my interim class on creativity and I talk about that -- but I have one little thing to say. It actually happened a while ago, but when I looked back I discovered there's no record of it here. So here you go, blog. An update on my life.

Remember this? The part where I said I wasn't going to be a Greek major, and then noted that I'd likely be eating my words a few months from then?

Yeah, that happened.

I am now officially unofficially (that is, have updated my program but have yet to declare) a Writing and Greek major double major with a Computer Science minor. And sorry, Plato, but if I can get away with getting my credits from tragedy and epic poetry, I won't be spending a lot of time with you. I'm confused enough when I read you in my first language.

That's a funny thought -- my first language. I'm nowhere near fluent, but to an extent, I'm becoming bilingual. Trilingual if I count Latin, but I've already lost enough of it to Greek that I don't really count it any more. (I guess that makes it ironic that this post title is Latin, doesn't it?) I can't speak my second language very much, since none of its native speakers exist any more, but the fact remains that I can speak some of it. I can read some of it. I do so on a semi-regular basis. I asked for a book in it for Christmas, and I read it nearly every week (even if it is while someone else is reading the English aloud).

I'd like to learn another language, one that's still alive and being spoken and written in regularly today. I don't know when that will happen, because one new language is keeping me busy enough now. I'll add it to my imaginary list of things I'd like to do in the future, and we'll see what happens.

Prosetry

New hagah posts:

• Blue and White (prose)
• The Silver Chair (poetry)

Dichotomy

Warning: prepare for rambling. Finals week does that to you.

I've decided that the complete lack of blog posts in November proves that my decision to refrain from tackling NaNoWriMo this year was the correct one. November is crazy enough by itself without attempting to cram fifty thousand extra words into it. Don't get me wrong -- I enjoyed NaNo while I did it and even wrote a whole post on why I did it last year. It just took me that year to learn that it's okay to say "no" sometimes. I still wrote a bit at the beginning of November, although I didn't even try for a novel. Given all the crazy projects I was working on for the past month, though, I don't regret it.

Classes are over for the semester, and I'm a paper, a project showcase, and three finals away from wrapping things up. Leading up to this week has been an odd sort of feeling. I've been both extremely excited for the end of the semester and extremely sad that it's coming. I suppose "bittersweet" would be an appropriate word here, except that seems to imply some sort of connection between the bitter- and sweetness. It's odd because there isn't. There's the strong sense of bitter and the strong sense of sweet, and there's very clearly no connection between them.

To be specific, I have a few classes I really don't want to end and one that I really do. (There's also one I'm pretty neutral about, but that's neither here nor there, as it were.) There's also the straight-up odd sense of "it's finals week! Now I can finally relax from all the busy craziness!" (I blame all the projects for the-class-which-will-not-be-named, personally.) I mean, I have plenty of work to do, but the break from routine schedule is nice. I'm sure this is more of a typical feeling than I make it out to be, but who knows.

Here's the real point of this post, I guess: I'm still here. I really just wanted to post something on this blog so that I remind myself to keep it going. In the midst of all the busyness and crazy, life goes on.

So does finals week, for that matter. But we'll get there.

It's just a matter of time.

More Fiction!

New hagah post:

• The Janitor's Daughter (fiction)

IST: Ordinary Miracle, Sarah Mclachlan

I like to think that when God does miracles, He doesn't always do the supernatural type. I think He often works through the coincidental, the trivial, the mundane. We just don't always recognize them for the miracles they are.

I think it's a miracle when I look out my window and see for just a second a sky filled to the brim with different shades of cloud over trees ranging from green to red, a blue jay, and a rabbit.

I think it's a miracle when people build relationships on strong foundations and know that they can talk about anything and everything and know that there's no judgement, just love.

I think it's a miracle when I can curl up inside, watch the rain mist over the ground, stay warm and cozy and dry.

I think it's a miracle when we learn in chapel how to dance an Israeli dance and it doesn't matter if we mess up or what because we're just here to celebrate our great God.

I think it's a miracle when I can funnel my thoughts into words and my words into a device that will send them almost instantaneously to someone I care about, whether they are steps or miles or half the world away.

I think it's a miracle when people living in a community they didn't even arrange themselves can grow together and love one another and have good relationships with each other.

I think it's a miracle when I can take joy in something simple and laugh at silly things.

I think it's a miracle when my sister folds a piece of paper into a crane or a flower or a bear or any one of a hundred other things.

I think it's a miracle when we're invited to join in a story so much bigger than ourselves, when we can run and not grow weary, when we can rest, be still, and know that He is God.

What miracles are hiding around us today?

Doubts and Conversation Hearts

New hagah posts:

• God Even Uses Candy Conversation Hearts (prose)
• Nagging Doubts (poetry)

Inner Soundtrack: Sleepless Night, Fernando Ortega

This week at my floor's Bible study, we talked about how sometimes God works "behind the scenes," so to speak. We also talked about some times in our lives when we'd seen concrete answers to prayer.

I didn't think much of it during Bible study, but earlier that day, I'd gone to the registrar's office to fill out a form that would change my program of study from undecided to a Writing major with minors in Greek and Computer Science. I'm still not positive that this will be my exact program, but I needed something down before next week so my ducks would be in a row for academic advising. Since I think I'll most likely be doing something like this, I went and filled out the form so I could think about getting into the right classes next semester.

Filling out that form changed not only my course of study, but also my advisor. This had me a little worried. My current advisor was in the Classics department, which I needed for my minor, but I would also need an advisor in the English department for my major.

When you've only had two professors in the entire department and only liked one of them, getting an advisor in the department can be a little unnerving. I was a little bit afraid that I was going to be assigned to that prof whose personality clashed so badly with mine. More than a little bit, if I'm being completely honest. The only other profs in the department that I'd sort of met where about three who had given guest lectures in my English class. One of them stuck out to me as one I liked -- maybe she could be my advisor, I thought. But I didn't know, and since I wasn't sure at the time if I would keep my old advisor or not, I didn't fill out the advisor request line on the form.

As it turned out when I submitted the form, the registrar's office only specifically assigns advisors for majors. I could keep meeting with my current advisor on my own, but my primary advisor would change to a prof in the English department. So I handed over the form and spent a fair amount of time praying that night while I was trying to sleep that I would get an advisor who would understand me and who would be someone I could work well with.

I got an email the next morning that my program -- and my advisor -- had been updated. I went to the Calvin website and pulled up my program requirements. Lo and behold, I had a new advisor. And out of more than twenty professors in the English department, the registrar's office had assigned me to that one who had given the guest lecture in my class -- the one that I'd liked.

Some would call it a coincidence. But after all that, I would call it anything but.

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.

Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?"

Matthew 6:25-27

Colons, Links, and (Guess What?) Greek

Every now and then I have this thought, and usually it goes something like this:

"Greek is so awesome! Class today was so interesting. I wish [name of friend] could have been there; I bet they would have found our discussion fascinating. Maybe I'll go write about Greek on my blog. Oh wait, just about every other post on this blog is about or somehow mentions Greek. I need to write less about Greek. I thought I was an English major. Maybe I should write about something English-y. Or something about life. Or... you know. Something that's not about Greek. [At this point, anywhere from one to several minutes pass as I watch my cursor blink on my screen.] ...Curses. I'm just gonna have to write about Greek."

Here's the thing, though: I am not a Greek major. And honestly, I don't really want to change my major to Greek. (Now watch me eat my words a few months from now. It'll probably happen, knowing my track record. Maybe I'll double major or something. And now I'm getting ahead of myself. Please excuse the rabbit trail.) Don't get me wrong, I think Greek is awesome -- just look at all those posts I linked back there for a small sample -- but my real love lies in Biblical Greek. (Sorry, Plato. I'll probably put up with you for a semester so I can get my minor, but that's about it.)

As long as I'm overusing colons, here's the point of all that rambling: this post is going to be about Greek. Surprise! I'm sure I've given my if-you're-sick-of-me-talking-about-Greek warning before, but if you are, go ahead and skip to the end and read the new hagah post (which, incidentally, is entirely unrelated to Greek and to the rest of this post) linked there. If not... cool. Let's talk about Greek. Actually, let's talk about my Greek class.

Usually in Greek 205, we work on slowly translating our way through the book of Mark. Sometimes, we take rabbit trails. Sometimes, we take a lot of rabbit trails. They're usually important or relevant rabbit trails, though, and they're almost always interesting.

Example: today was a day of extended rabbit trails that took us through how Scripture is translated, the relationships between translations and interpretation, the implications and possibilities of human agency, the dating and authorship of some New Testament books that scholarship says could be vastly different from our traditional beliefs, what these verses from Revelation 22 could mean for how we look at the canon of Scripture, how the canon became canonical, the place and purpose of the Apocrypha books, and generally a big bundle of interesting things. And near the end of class we even translated a little Greek. Basically, way too many fascinating and huge topics for one fifty-minute class period or one blog post.

In short, there are a lot of things we don't know. And "a lot" is an understatement. "Things are always more complicated than we make them out to be," as our prof said near the end of our discussion. I do know this, though: I am blessed beyond what I could tell you now to be in a place where we are, as our prof frequently reminds us, a "Greek family" -- a group of people who are willing to struggle through texts and interpretations and ask deep questions about things we value and are just beginning, in some small way, to understand.

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New hagah post: Remember (poetry)

Kick-Off

That's the opening track from the first CD I ever owned by my favorite band. It seemed appropriate for this post, and there's a number of reasons for that. It's a new school year. I haven't posted anything for a month or so. I do hope you're not sick of me. And, well, I'm thinking of trying something new here to see where it goes.

So let's be more specific: this year, I'm starting two different series of posts on this blog.

The first series I'm calling inner soundtrack. I've had a number of ideas lately surrounding various songs that I know, and so I'd like to frame some of my thoughts on this blog with those songs. Those posts will all accordingly be labeled "inner soundtrack," and you can find a link to all the posts with that label off to the right below the blog archive.

The second series is a little bigger, as it's one I've been thinking of for quite some time and have finally decided to give a try. Between college and a dry creativity well, I haven't written much lately. As I'm working on deciding on a major, likely in the English department, I've decided I want to start writing again, especially since that's one of the majors I'm considering. To that end, I'm starting my hagah series. Essentially, it's a place for me to share my creative writing endeavors with my friends and family. One of the reasons I've held off on this one for so long is because I have a slight paranoia about losing my works to the Internet, as it were, but I think with the settings and small audience I'm looking at, it'll be okay.

Since hagah is larger than inner soundtrack and requires a fair amount of organization (at least for my own sense of calm), it has its own site. I'll be posting links here whenever I update it, so don't feel you have to go out of your way to check it. I've been considering it long enough that I think of it more as its own project, so there's a welcome page on the site that explains a little more about the thought behind it. You can find the main page of the hagah site here.

And, as I've promised to link here whenever there's a new post on hagah, here are the pieces already available there:

• The Storyteller (essay)
• deeper and deeper... (found poem)
• Once, There Was a Place (speak aloud poem/prosetry)
• spearmint clouds (poem)
• Child of the King (short story)

I'm curious to hear your thoughts, both on this and on inner soundtrack once I get it going. Let me know, okay?

Lessons Learned from Working an Entry-Level Office Job

I still have a few weeks left of the aforementioned office job, but while I've been there I've been doing some thinking. And this is some of what I've thought. Who knows, there may even be more to come.

1. The value of my college education. Not to say I didn't appreciate school before, but I'm extra grateful for it now for several reasons. I get to study things I like, I have a varied schedule, and it means I won't be working at this job level for the rest of my life.
2. How to entertain myself when I can't do anything to entertain myself. This includes making mental lists, like this one, and a ton of imagination.
3. That I have a strong dislike of staples. Not the office supply store chain. The evil pointy metal things that jam up the scanner and give me headaches.
4. And that the staple remover is my new favorite office supply. I can tell that I've been at work too long when I see it next to the pile of mangled staples I've pulled out of papers and imagine it cackling gleefully.
5. How to send an email without agonizing over it for twenty minutes. Story of my life, right there. I'm better at short emails now. People get and send them all the time. I just had to figure that out.
6. The importance of menial tasks. Yes, they're tedious. No, no one wants to do them. But they have to be done, and when they are, they can make a world of difference.
7. How to take joy in the little things. Who knew sheets of paper that are actually not eight and a half by eleven for once could be so exciting?
8. That I appreciate variety. The days I enjoyed the most were the days my tasks changed up a bit and kept me doing different things.
9. How I tend to take technology for granted. Things like computers, networks, copy machines that can sort and staple, and Google searches make things so easy. I am infinitely spoiled to have grown up with them.
10. The encouragement of being valued. Similarly, I was reminded that I don't enjoy busywork. The moments that meant the most to me were when I knew I was doing something useful and that my work was appreciated. And even when I feel like the unknown shadow in the corner, I know there's Someone who sees the shalom I'm trying to bring and values me whether or not I succeed.

All to the Glory

Sometimes, living out my mittens can be a little tedious. Mittens aren't always very glamorous. Like spending my days at work uploading product pictures to the company's website. It isn't very glamorous. I complain about it on occasion (good-natured complaining, I hope – if that's possible?) to my friends. But it's a summer job, and it puts food on the college tuition payment table.

More than that, though, doing this work makes me think about my mittens. Can I bring shalom into the chaos of something like this? Does this dull work of downloading and uploading pictures of products even do that? Can a company website really use some shalom? Is this something I can do to glory of God, as if working for the Lord, not for men?

I've come to think the answer is ita. ναί. Si. Hai.

In other words, yes.

Never Have I Ever... Until I Did

This past school year has been full of surprises. Not necessarily in the sense of completely out-of-the-blue unexpected, but more in sense of looking back and thinking, "Oh. That happened? Huh. That never would have happened last year."

I guess it goes to show that while I'm just one short year older, I really have changed. College is different. I don't want that to be lording it over my high school friends -- as in "ha ha, college is better than high school; I'm so grown up because I've gone to college for a year" -- because, among other equally important reasons, that would show more than anything else that I'm not grown up in the slightest. And I don't pretend that I've learned everything there is to know about the world or even about college in just the past eight or nine months or so -- I still have a long way to go.

As I've mentioned before on this blog, I'm an introvert. I know "introvert" is not synonymous with "shy," but I tend to be the shy kind of introvert. I don't like putting myself out there, and I don't like talking about myself. I'm not generally spontaneous, and I like having my ducks fairly well in a row as far as planning goes.

So as I walked across campus on the Monday of finals week, I was trying to figure out just why on earth I was doing so. My friend works in our campus's audio/visual department, and she had recommended me for a job. I was heading over to A/V to ask for my friend's boss, introduce myself, and find out about applying.

I could have just emailed her about it. No face to face communication, no being put on the spot, and a computer network between us. But when I sat down to write the email, I didn't know what to say. So instead I decided to walk over and say hello, which then turned into an impromptu interview -- and a job for this fall.

A year ago, I never would have done that. Six months ago, I never would have done that. Just this semester I was terrified of one of my profs for the first three weeks of class. Before now, I would have forced myself to agonize over that email for half an hour and then finally sent it off, fingers crossed -- or maybe never sent it at all. I wouldn't even have considered walking over to A/V to introduce myself.

But, against all odds and everything I've been for the past nineteen years of my life, I did.

Sometimes, I guess I even surprise myself.

Totes Legit Presh Adorbs

The other day I was sitting in my room studying when my RD came by putting up signs in the hallway. She had her one-year-old daughter with her, and since my door was open, our "dorm baby" (as the little one is often affectionately called) came wandering in for a visit. She is adorable.

I have this rocking chair on the floor in my room. Since I don't feel like describing it, here is a convenient picture:

Our little friend discovered the rocking chair, and it fascinated her. So my RD, RA, and I watched as she investigated the chair and realized to her delight that it rocked back and forth. Then she figured out that it was a rocking chair, and after a few tries, managed to actually sit down in it and tried to start rocking back and forth. Except she was too little, so mostly it just wiggled a bit. She was sad then, but I was still pretty impressed with her for figuring out what it was and how she was supposed to use it. Also, that was the most adorable thing I've seen all week. Or possibly all month. Either way, it made my finals week a whole lot better.

And now for something completely different:

Yes, that is a hippo in a rocket ship.

The end.

For the Sake of Humanity

Warning: minor rant ahead. Proceed with caution, and please, take with a grain of salt. I don't think rants are ever completely bias-free, and this one is no exception.

I am an English major. I am also, among many other things, a reader, a writer, a young adult, a student, and a person. But the main thing you ought to know for the next few paragraphs is that I am an English major. I'm an English major who will specifically be going for either writing or linguistics. In other words, grammar is quite important in my line of study.

Attention world: I am an English major, and I am sick of the grammar police.

I know, I know, English majors have a reputation for being the grammar police. I will not deny that I have been guilty on many an occasion. But sometimes I read things that make me want to find the nearest wall and hit my head against it a few times.

Now don't get me wrong – I'm against bad grammar as much as the next English major. I volunteer to edit papers and other writings for my friends, and I do correct a lot of grammar in those cases – because that's where grammar correcting belongs.

Recently I read a few very interesting articles on the Internet about very different topics (one was regarding the suspect of the recent bombing in Boston and the other was about being a writer). After reading the articles, I scrolled a little further down the page to the comments. I still don't know what kind of decision that was, but whatever the case, I glanced through a few comments. I'm sure the visible comments have changed by now, but two of them stopped me. On the article about writing, one commenter pointed out an obscure grammar error. The one that stopped me on the other article was a single line about how obnoxious she found the writing style.

I wish I could sit down and have a cup of tea with these people. I wish we could just have a conversation about these things. I wish they could see that they missed it.

It breaks my heart that these two people who took the time out of their days to read through those articles completely missed the point. There were so many things they could have said, could have thought – they could have agreed or disagreed with these writers and their articles, either one – but instead, they missed it.

I don't mean to say that they're wrong or that they don't have a point, because there's a time and a place for those things. On the other hand, though, I can't help but be sad for them because of what they could've seen, but because they were too caught up in preferences and protocol, they missed.

So please, be willing. Be willing to look beyond the errors and opinions and dig a little deeper. Be willing to be see meaning beneath the surface mechanics. Be willing to push through and search for truth even when the particular form is a little tough for you to swallow.

Doing this isn't easy. I've tried, and I don't always succeed. It's hard. But if you do, I don't think you'll regret it.

Please, don't miss it.