survival!

I have now officially completed my first set of university exams. I think this calls for a celebration of sorts. Commencing now: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And I'm not just !!!!!ing because I'm done, it's not simply an excitement of completion mixed with relief at having eked out a survival in these trying times. It's a celebration of completion and utter delight that I ended my examining on a high note as well. 

I began with Molecular Genetics, last Monday, confidently, at least familiar with the material and a feeling of warmth and love for it. I took the exam in Whitworth Hall, which is the grand old quadrangle building of little turrets and vine-climbed faces and grey stoned walls and by now you really should have inferred that it is Hogwarts. My graduation ceremony will take place in this building -- if and when, of course. Other than that, I really have nothing to do with this building. I registered in there way back in September. Sometimes I walk through it just to walk through it. I wish every building on campus looked like this one.

Little did I know I'd get the chance to roam its grand halls and dark marble floors once more. (I actually don't remember if it has marble floors, but it adds to the effect, therefore, it has marble floors.) Taking my exam in Whitworth Hall was awesome. One) because I liked the subject material and therefore looked at everything in a positive light, and two) because I felt like I was -- wait for it -- taking my O.W.L.s. Oh, Harry Potter, referencing you will never cease to make the fangirly nerd child inside me leap for joy. Even though I am thoroughly convinced that my Hogwarts letter is lost in the post, that exam experience almost makes up for it. The ceiling was the Great Hall's ceiling. The walls, the desks, the rows of students, the proctors (invigilators as they are called, apparently, which to me sounds like they all want me to choke and die), everything delighted the HP nerd that makes up my essence. You're laughing now, but one day you'll get the chance and you will understand. Even that Harry Potter world thing in Orlando will most likely not suffice.

Steering clear away from my trip to the insane asylum (see above), I come to last Tuesday, on which I came face to face with the Biochemistry exam. Oh, Biochem. How I wish you had a throat that I could clench in my fist, stab with my HB Number Two pencil and rip to tiny tiny shreds. Not even then, NOT EVEN THEN, will I feel repaid for the horrors to which you have subjected me. 

You think I'm exaggerating. Believe you me, I am not.

Biochem went horrendously, as I expected it to. I took it in a giant gym too so that wasn't even worth the trek it took to get there. If I pass that exam, I will have been blessed with a miracle. A pass here is 40%. I was struggling to get FORTY PERCENT. I'm not even going to go into details about the grading and scoring and examining because it upsets me that much. 

Then, the next Monday, I had my Body Systems exam. I felt pretty confident about it before I went in but it went alright, I suppose. Just about as good as Molecular Genetics, which didn't go amazingly well but merely went. I guessed a little too much, perhaps costing me some negative marks but I can't stare at all those blank spaces, listening to their beckoning voices telling me to fill them in, fill them, filllll themmmmm, and simply ignore their requests, can I? They'll be my downfall, I swear. 

Then, today, Wednesday, I had the exam for which I knew absolutely nothing. At least with Biochem, as I was studying, things looked familiar enough that they could point their little amino acidy faces at me, jeering at my lack of understanding, dancing across the page in a sordid can-can of taunting molecules. Don't laugh, it happens. And it hurts my feelings. With Introductory Chem, however, nothing was familiar. I spent the entirety of yesterday afternoon reading through my lecture notes and slides and past exam papers, urging something, anything, to stick in my head. The simple things were easy -- electron levels, sp hybridization, molecule structures. Then, it was about 7pm when I started hitting the things I didn't understand at all: aromaticity, resonance, chirality, etc etc. These notes could have been written in German and would have made more sense to me. Then to make matters worse, I soon reached the bits of notes that didn't even sound familiar. Things like alcohols and ketones and aldehydes and carboxylic acid and oh my goodness. But let me tell you this: despite having agonized over aromaticity and whatnot for the last month or so, I could not confidently grasp any of that crap. I did however learn how alkanes form alcohols and how alcohols form aldehydes and ketones and how those can become hemiacetals and hemiketals and then thiols and thioesters and ethers and esters and Markovnikov's Rule and what will form if this reaction took place or that one or this one with the double bonds. I learned all of this and more in record time, between the hours of 11pm and 3am last night. From there I moved on to thermodynamics and Gibbs Free Energy changes and endo/exothermic reactions. I was on fire. 

My streak started to die around 4am when I was getting quite tired and delirious and trying to read about oxidization and reduction and I don't even know what because I didn't properly learn that material at all. In fact, I gave up on the last two lectures, leading to my inability to answer two entire questions (this also means two pages) on my exam this morning. Honestly, I don't care. I went to bed at 5am, I woke up at 7.55am for breakfast, dragged myself into the dining hall, mushed some Special K, attempted to make facial expressions, and then walked back to my room to get dressed. 

My exam started at 9.45am and I was ready. Since it was written and not MCQs and also not negatively marked, I didn't feel as daunted by this exam. Plus, once I got the paper, I realized it was exactly like all the practice exams I had done and I whipped through 10 questions out of 12 without much hesitation. I knew I wouldn't be able to answer 11 or 12 because they were specifically on the information I didn't know. Instead, I went back through the exam, counting up the points I think I possibly got, not giving myself full scores, maybe being a little lenient and I came up with 84 out of 120, which is a flat 70%, which is a First. A FIRST! Have I explained what that means?

70-100% = First Class honors

60-70% = Higher Second Class honors

50-60% = Lower Second Class honors

40-50% = Third Class slash Wow You Don't Really Deserve An Award But We Had to Make One Up to Make You Feel Better honors

Anything below 40% = FAIL.

I really want an overall first, of course. You'd think it would be easy. I struggled for 40 this semester on my exams. But I felt darn good about Intro Chem. I promised Amina I'd buy her an ice cream if I got a first on any of my exams bar Molecular Genetics because of how much whinging and moaning I'd played for her ears about my doomed failure. She just might be enjoying some soft serve come results time but I don't want to get anyone's hopes up, namely mine. But still. I feel good and that is a wonderful, glorious feeling.

Let's see if it lasts through results day. Dun dun dunnnn. But for now, I'm done, I'm done, I'm done!

exams / second semester

I realize that despite this whole blog being about my university experience, I have not once mentioned classes or anything remotely academic. I do go to classes, believe you me.

Currently, I am in the middle of taking my first semester exams, which unfortunately came after winter break meaning I had to study and panic when I wanted to sleep and hang out. I'm telling you, fate hates me. Just when I thought I'd finally get to experience the college phenomenon of taking exams before break and actually having a break, I get this. And to put wound in my sa--, ahem, to put salt in my wounds (that's a saying, right?), my high school has decided to switch it up this year and changed its schedule so that exams were before break instead. The year after I graduate. Seriously?

Anyways. For the first semester, I took Body Systems, Biochemistry, Molecular Genetics, and Introductory Chemistry. Every Friday afternoon and sometimes Mondays, I had a three hour lab (aka practical). Once a week I also had an hour tutorial which is just a small group meeting with some people on my course and a lecturer in Neuroscience teaching us ... how to write essays? How to make posters? Random information I haven't found useful yet? 

We don't get proper homework; instead, we have weekly online assessments due every Friday (or so) based on recent lectures. These assessments amount to 5-10% of our overall grades. Final exams count for the remaining fraction. Entirely. We do not have quizzes or tests or midterms. Just these assessments and final exams. 

I am not a final exam whiz. I do well throughout the year and then hope my final exam grade won't pull me down too far. In this case, I have nothing to do well on throughout the year. And therefore, I am screwed.

My first exam was Molecular Genetics. Now, I said that my classes were not that enthralling, but when Genetics came to an end, I really was sad to leave it behind. I really truly enjoy Genetics and I would so be majoring in that if we didn't have brains. (Did I ever mention I was majoring in Neuroscience? I assume the majority of my readership knows this already.) Genetics was just full of all the basic biological functions that I love learning about -- DNA replication, RNA, protein synthesis, amino acid sequences, chromosomes, etc. And to top it off, I realized I really loved my professor. He wasn't particularly exciting or enthusiastic. In fact, he was quite monotone. But I stayed awake for every one of his lectures. (The other lecturer was Scottish and I stayed awake for his accent. I mean, for his invigorating slides on the telomeres' tendency to shorten with age.) But Lecturer Uno, it turns out, was pretty much made of awesome. In his deadpan tone, he slipped in little remarks that just killed me. In the first week, when everyone was suffering from Fresher's Flu and was coughing up lungs during lectures, he was the only one to stop his lecture and say, "Really? Does every single one of you have a cold? Really now?" which was brilliant. Later on, he told two guys to 'get a room' when one of them jokingly put his arm around the other. And last but not least, when he was figuring out an award for a girl who figured out what protein was on the front of his slides all semester long, he says, "Come to my office and I'll show you what I can do ... I'll give you the textbooks too." Made. My. Day. I really am sad that I won't have that class anymore. The exam was on Monday and it was alright. I think I passed, which is usually a good sign.

Body Systems was okay. I had a couple crazy lecturers who liked to speed through the slides so quickly that you pretty much had to acquire a skill that included writing down what was up, reading what you'd be writing next, and then guessing the entirety of the next slide to keep up. Simultaneously. Other than that, it was alright, talks of blood and air and veins and hearts. The exam is this coming Monday and should be fine if I review everything well enough.

Biochemistry was the worst class I've ever taken ever. Ever. Basically, one should have a thorough understanding of chemistry before entering this class. I mentioned that I was also taking an intro chem class. Because I did not have any understanding of chemistry. So while I'm learning the basics, Biochemistry has shoved me into the deep end, where absolutely nothing makes sense. It was horrid. The first lecturer was a kind-souled quiet woman who seemed to know her stuff but at the same time, really didn't. She was the one who told us not to consume polar bear liver because it contains so much iron that it would kill you. (Take note, Palin.) She also makes jokes that nobody laughs at, poor lady. Though, one time, she was explaining some equation about enzyme rates and yadda yadda which included the term [Et], E for enzyme, t for total, and brackets for concentration. When she read it out as 'E T,' she stopped, giggled to herself and repeated 'E.T.' and then continued her lecture. The second lecturer was a tall thin man who rambled on about processes and cycles and pathways that I will never remember or care to remember. Possibly the only thing I remember him saying in class was his explanation of entropy, which is a state of disorder. He showed us two pictures: the first was of a tidy room, very neatly organized, a small boy sat at the desk, doing his homework. The second was of that same room in total chaos, toys strewn about, things all over the floor, the chair toppled, boxes overturned. Our lecturer's glorious insight was this: "Now what I find most concerning in this second photo is that the boy is nowhere to be found. Just watch, you'll see him emerge from under the desk, a look of terror on his face, missing limbs..." Brilliance, I swear. The exam, however, was horrendous. I am quite positive I failed it. I thought that getting a 70% in any exam should be easy. I really don't think I even got the 40% I need to pass the exam on that one. Honestly. I can't even tell you how bad that went. Wait, yes I can. To illustrate, Becca got -- get this -- a NOSEBLEED in the middle of the biochem exam. Yep, a nosebleed. And there is no curve on our grades. Which is just fanfreakingtastic.

Lastly comes Intro Chem, which was a dull monotonous class on orbitals and Lewis structures and aromaticity and resonance and organic chemistry tidbits that I, as a biology student, will never use. Even the older students allotted to help us first years out didn't understand what was going on in my notes. I think that suffices for the explanation of that class. I am not looking forward to this exam.

Other than Genetics, my other favourite part of the semester was the practical section. I really love labs, which is a tremendously good sign if I want to go into research. I love microscopes and centrifuges and test tubes and pipettes -- I'm such an awesome pipetter, it's not even funny -- and GEL ELECTROPHORESIS. The blood testing was cool too! I got to see my blood cells agglutinate when put into a solution of anti-A antibodies. It was pretty sweet. 

That's how I spent my first semester. This second semester is going to be filled with Molecules to Cells, Drugs: From Molecules to Man (more biochem? I shudder at the thought.), Excitable Cells, Technologies of Everyday Life, and Psychology: Intro to Brain and Behaviour. Labs will be working a little bit different; instead of a weekly lab, I'll have 4 weeks of 3 labs per week on human biological topics -- I think I get to karyotype our chromosomes! So that should all be fun fun fun.

Alright! Off to study some more so that I don't fail, which seems inevitable sometimes so maybe I should quit and take a weekend trip to France. Sounds good to me!

PS Just as a bit of a side note: although I have publicized my feelings and current mental state about university a couple posts down, I'd rather they did not somehow reach my parents who would be a bit alarmed to hear I wasn't enjoying uni. So, if you've any way that could reach them through the grapevine, don't pursue it, please. I'd like to work this out myself without their worry (and my mother's 'I told you so's). Much love.

PPS I've noticed recently that I seem to type a lot more than I planned to when I start writing. I'd say that's a good sign, that I've gotten more comfortable with the blogging and the writing and posting and all that. But if you want me to shut up sometimes, by all means, let me know. I never know what people would like to hear or not. While I'm writing this mostly for myself, I still want your input too because, well, you choose to read it. Is there anything you want me to talk about? Anything you wished I'd spew on? OOH OOH! We could -- I say 'we,' I mean 'I' -- I could have a Q&A! I love Q&As. Anyone who still reads this, ask me questions! I'll post my answers after exam time has come to a definitive, resounding, glorious end. 

winter break

Good day, world!

I'm back in Manchester after a month-long break in Kuwait and California, both very good trips.

It started off with me setting off from Gabs to a taxi that would take me to the Piccadilly Train Station downtown. From there, I took a two hour train to London Euston Station, from which I then had to take another cab to London's Paddington Station, from which I took what's called the Heathrow Express train which goes to Heathrow Airport in 15 minutes (19 if you're going to Terminal 5). Every 5 minutes, I would receive a text from my dad making sure I was still alive. (Seriously, the entire world was worried I was going to fall into a hole or something on my own, navigating the countryside of England and the maze of London.) In fact, this trip turned out to go so quickly that even my father fell behind. While he was texting me to see if I'd gotten to Paddington, I responded that I was already on the Heathrow Express. It took me exactly 3 hours to get from Manchester to Heathrow, making it 4.15pm. 

My plane was at 9.45pm.

I walked into Terminal 5, lined up for the Fast Bag Drop -- I'd already checked in and printed my boarding pass online -- only to hear, a couple people ahead, the airline counter person tell the passenger trying to check in his bags that it was too early for him to check in his luggage. Too early? At that moment, I don't believe anyone could have been more 'too early' for a flight than I. 

When it was my turn, I gave the counter person a little innocent smile and asked if it was too early to check in my bags for my 9.45pm flight for which I have arrived at the usual time of 5 hours early. He looked at my boarding pass, counted the hours on his fingers and then proceeded to laugh in my face.

I went to sit on a bench and pulled out my phone. My mother and sister had just arrived from Los Angeles to Heathrow and my mom texted me to say they were eagerly awaiting our reunion! I texted back: You'll have to wait a little bit longer. Why? Because my parents were so overzealous in their efforts to make sure I did not die on my way to London that they made me take a train before two. Actually, they pretty much wanted me on a train at around 10am from Manchester but I shrugged them off and booked one at 1.15pm instead. Turns out, I could have booked one for 3frickingo'clock in the afternoon and STILL BEEN THERE TOO EARLY. Sigh.

So I sat around. Luckily, I was prepared for this kind of thing. I whipped out Brave New World (by Adlous Huxley -- it was pretty good but I liked 1984 better (the two are forever being compared and contrasted which is why I picked up BNW after I devoured 1984)) and read and read and read. In fact, I read so much that I finished the novel and had to rummage through my luggage to get out another book. Yup. That was when I started reading The Bell Jar, which was pretty great. In between all this literacy, I was trying to use up the 150 free UK texts I'd just received from my mobile carrier which, get this, began on the day I was leaving the UK and ended on the day I would return. I have such laughable fate, don't I? So I sat there texting every UK number I had in my phone, bothering my friends on their breaks, explaining my poo-y situation. 

I went and got some juice from Cafe Nero. I watched the same 3 Nokia ads over and over and over on the big digital billboards. They were actually pretty awesome adverts. My grandmother called to check up on me. My other grandmother called to check up on me. My dad called. I saw some people dressed as a princess, a donkey, and the Burger King. I watched a woman extract -- I kid you not -- the entire contents of a picnic from her purse. Really now?

Finally, I checked in my bags, walked through security -- WHERE I DIDN'T HAVE TO TAKE OFF MY SHOES OR TAKE MY LAPTOP OUT OF MY BAG: TAKE NOTE, AMERICAN AIRPORTS, TAKE VERY DETAILED NOTES. Sorry. Airport security gets me very riled up. Then I called my mom to see where she was at in this giant expanse of a terminal. She said she was sitting under the huge bubble lights (turns out, there are three sections of bubbley lights, good thing we were in the same one). I stood at the railing and looked down into the lobby/shopping area and spotted my mom and sister and told my mom to look up. I waved and she waved and then I could hear her start to cry so I laughed. And I went down to meet them and it was oh so precious and lovely and she told me I looked skinny and I told her she got tears all over my face.

After that comes Kuwait for a couple weeks, which was good. I ate SO MUCH. And got addicted to a Turkish soap opera dubbed in Arabic. And I read some more -- Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut, pretty swell. I studied the smallest bit. I played with my cousins, met some friends, sat with family. Ate, ate, and ate. And my mom showed me this amazing thing called a sweater shaver that shaves off all the little beads of fluff that collect on your sweater from friction and washing and use. It's incredible. I am going to buy one for myself.

Then we flew back to London -- all the fields were snowed and frosted over:

Then we flew allllll the way back to Los Angeles (I used up some more texts when we stopped over in London) and I was finally home. I met my dearest Amanda at the airport because my dad picked her up on the way and we went to In'N'Out together and then dropped her back off at school. Then we went home and I swear I could have cried I was so happy to be back. I wanted to kiss the walls and my bed and my stripes and my desk and my fridge that has food in it. I snuggled my cat and my pillows and traced my books and petted my desktop. I did a little dance in the bathroom that I don't have to share with 11 people and wear flip-flops in the shower. I hugged my TV. It was glorious. The short short couple weeks (10 days) that I had there were also pretty good. I slept a TON, ate some of my favorite meals, visited FSHA for a day and felt like the most loved person on the planet, went to my old creative writing class which was awesome, went shopping, drove around, ate, slept, saw a couple friends, rejoiced in the fact that I was in the same time zone (approximately) as everyone else for the first time in 3.5 months. I loved being home. All too soon, I was packing again and off to the UK. I was sad to leave but now I'm just super super excited to go back to California and it will be fantastic. This summer. Which is simply too far away. 

I enjoyed this at LAX's international terminal. Bring your attention to the third flight down for Airline Mexicana. Notice it's destination. Then notice that it is currently boarding.

How great is that?

Then I hopped on a plane (the fourth one down) to London, spent a couple hours in Terminal 5, then took a 40 minute plane to Manchester so I wouldn't have to drag around my luggage across England again. 

Overall a good but very very short winter break. Next year, I think I'll just spend it at one place instead of on three continents. Although all the flying made for mass amounts of movie-viewing. I watched "Mamma Mia", again, because it is the essence of awesome, "City of Ember" whose original book I'd meant to read years ago, "Breakfast At Tiffany's" -- over two flights because the first time my TV decided it hated me and didn't want to work -- which was cute and funny and I really do love Audrey Hepburn now (I'd never seen a movie of hers before, shocking I know). I also watched "Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist", some episodes of Fawlty Towers, and an Indian movie called "Kismet Konnection." I think that was all? I feel I'm missing a couple. Oh! "Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day" which was really sweet. 

And just to let you know. I mentioned before that I am forever trying to be on a flight seated next to a really cool amiable person (read: very attractive person of the male persuasion) and how I am always thwarted. This time, I thought, will be the time because I am on a flight on my own, there must be students flying back somewhere and I will succeed. Ahem. Not only did I not have my future husband sitting next to me, I had NO ONE sitting directly next to me. On both flight to London and to Manchester. There was someone a seat away but not in between us. Really now? I did however get to witness an interesting middle-aged German couple who seemed to have walked out of circa 1985 (mullet and baggy Mickey Mouse sweater included), who a) refused to sit down, b) stood in the aisle making out and swaying from side to side, c) decided to become best friends with their seat neighbor while everyone else was trying to sleep, and d) were utterly and obliviously mocked throughout the flight by surrounding passengers. It was hilarious. I actually started cracking up when a girl, waiting for them to move so she could walk past, gave me a look and shook her head laughing. 

And now I'm back. Kat and Becca left me a warm welcome note on my door:

If you know about The Game, sorry, but you just lost it. Hah!

Now I've got to immerse myself in the art of study. I shall remerge after exams are done or if I have some free time (hahahahahhahahaha). 

Happy second semesters! Hope you all had good Christmases and New Years and whatnots and that the transition back to school wasn't too strenuous. 

old coyote - the weepies

Ring around rosey game

Always ends the same way

We all fall down

Get up now, baby

Get up now, baby

It's your song,

It's your song playing.

the bell jar

This has been brewing for quite some time. It is a mix of past, present, and potential feelings and thoughts. I'm not quite sure that I can articulate everything that I need to get across but I have tried my very hardest. It is also a godawful long post of my broiling thoughts so feel free to pass.

In my first week of being in Kuwait, I read The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. I'd been meaning to read it for the longest time but I find it interesting that I ended up reading it when I did. It's a great book, a thinly disguised memoir of Plath's mental struggles in her early twenties. I didn't know quite what to make of it as I read it but once I'd finished, I missed Esther Greenwood's narrating voice in my head. 

It is so hard to organize my thoughts about this.

Leading up to the days that I was leaving Manchester (and going to Kuwait and reading The Bell Jar), I became more and more homesick and depressed. And insecure. And doubtful. 

The previous weekend, I had just heard from a former schoolmate that she had gotten in, early decision, to what had previously been my first choice school. My first choice school that had wait-listed and then rejected me this past summer. When I got the final letter, I was expecting it and I thought it wouldn't affect me that much because it had been long coming. But when I heard her fantastic news, something in me broke. A deluge of regret, doubt, stupidity, sadness, came rushing out to engulf and overwhelm me and send me spiraling downwards. All the old feelings of worthlessness and my shortcomings, all the questioning whys and how comes, all the disappointment came rushing back. 

Then I thought, why is this affecting me so much? Why should this even matter to me anymore? And I realized it mattered because I expected that once I got to Manchester and fell in love with England and university life, I would forget the struggle it took to get here. I would forget my misgivings, my failures, my rerouted dreams. Everything would just wash away in my excitement for being where I was. And it didn't, because it doesn't feel right yet.

I haven't gotten over my stupid little disappointments because I am dealing with the biggest disappointment of all. It's not that I am unhappy or that I am too homesick. It's that I feel like I have put myself in the one situation where I feel I am stuck. I feel stagnant, like I'm in Esther's bell jar. I hate feeling stagnant. I felt like I couldn't move forward and, of course, could not move back. 

Manchester has not, so far, been the perfect place for me. I've yet to meet the kind of people I would like to meet, the ones who inspire me just by their presence. I'm not having that much fun. Classes aren't that enthralling either. I'm not experiencing the great city of Manchester like I expected. I'm not feeling particularly stimulated by my existence right now. Whenever I think of existence, I think of a PostSecret that says quite plainly, "I want to do more than just exist." As of yet, I merely exist in Manchester, nothing more.

It took me some time to figure out why and, to be honest, I still haven't figured it out. I think one massive chunk of this whirlwind of disappointment is that I am very homesick. It's taking a lot longer to settle in Manchester than I expected, although I should have understood how far of a distance this move really was. College hasn't started to feel like home yet and I'm not sure how long that's going to take. 

I think another reason is my room. For one, I spend way too much time inside it, curtains shut so that people outside can't see in. I think seeing my room was my first disappointment. It doesn't look like the college dorm room I expected, but now that I've made it more my own, it doesn't bother me as much. But it still bothers me a bit. I think it's the high window and the fact that the majority of my light comes from the fluorescent light on the ceiling. My hall itself (the whole dorm) makes me feel a little cramped and disconnected. The common room isn't very common and it's not very active and social. It's too small. I thought that by living in such a small dorm, I'd feel more comfortable in such a huge university but now I wish I'd gone somewhere bigger. And I don't often notice the hugeness of the university even though I would have liked to go to a smaller one. 

Lastly, I've used the same phrase in every single one of the previous paragraphs: 'like I expected.' I think I expected too much and then wasn't satisfied. It was bound to happen because I set myself up for it. But that doesn't stop it from being any less disappointing. 

"The silence depressed me.  It wasn't the silence of silence.  It was my own silence."

All this makes me feel like I'm not at college. The campus doesn't feel like school because there's a main city road splitting it in half. The University is spread down this long road instead of being a cluster of buildings and dorms. It just doesn't feel like college to me. I'm sure I can't be the only one (I hope I'm not the only one) who doesn't feel like she's at college but I haven't heard it from anyone else yet. I don't know. I just feel something missing in my college experience so far. Maybe it was because I was prepared for an American college experience but took the leap across the pond instead and now find myself on unexpected grounds. 

I haven't been able to come to terms with any of this really because I am so bent on having the amazing college experience that I was told I would. I feel like I can't admit to everyone that I'm not having that amazing time because everyone is expecting me to. I'm in ENGLAND, for goodness' sake, I shouldn't be having a crap time. And it's not England that bothers me. That part is great. It's just. Sigh. What do I say to people when they ask me how fantastic Manchester is and how I must be having the most perfect adventure of my life? I put on a smile and respond quite positively because I know they don't actually want to hear that it's not so great yet. Who goes to England and doesn't have a great time? Then I wonder if everyone else who is supposedly having an awesome time is just faking it. But I really don't think they are. I think very few people are not having a genuinely good college experience. And everyone thinks I'm part of that grand majority who are living it up. I SHOULD be part of it. I am so fricking lucky to be able to be here, what the heck am I complaining for?

Now, take these overwhelming thoughts and feelings that I have just attempted to voice and come back to The Bell Jar. In my overdramatic state, I read this book about a girl falling apart, mentally and emotionally, because she merely exists. On the outside looking in, Esther Greenwood has a life other girls crave. She's got it all going for her, really. And then she goes insane, literally. Ever so quietly and unexpectedly, Esther takes a long trip downhill until she hits rock bottom and has to climb her way up. 

As I sat reading this book, I could hear my mother playing my graduation video for my grandmother in the living room. I could hear speeches being given, names called, diplomas given out. On that day, I still felt like I had all the potential in the world. College hadn't happened yet but when it did, it was still going to be phenomenal. It was like how Esther described her future:

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.  From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked."

Listening to this and reading the book at the same time, I felt like I was standing in the middle of these two extremes. No, I wasn't planning on going insane. But I felt like if I stayed going the way I was, it was likely I would have some issues. And on the other extreme was the ever-achieving potentialful student that planned on changing the world, the one staring at all the figs. Except I felt like, stuck in the middle, there were no figs, or at least none within my reach. In that moment, I felt like there was no way I could ever go back to being that ... promising? confidant? positive?

I tried to comfort myself by saying my parents would have never been able to send me to Brown. Like that mattered. I kept thinking I should have stayed in the States. I should have gone to UCLA. Wouldn't I have been happier? Wouldn't that have been fine and dandy? I could have been near home but far enough. I could have roomed with one of my best friends evaaar! But I know I would always wonder what it would be like if I'd gone to England. The What Ifs would not shut up. But then maybe they WOULD shut up because I'd be having such an amazing time? And I could always have done a semester abroad. That's what I should have stuck to, a semester abroad. Then if I didn't like it, it would just be one semester and then I'd be done. Then again, who's to say this wouldn't have happened to me anywhere, wherever I was? How am I supposed to know what place would actually be perfect for me? Who the hell allows an eighteen-year-old to decide her future? Seriously? I KNOW NOTHING.

"[W]herever I sat - on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok - I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air."

"How did I know that someday - at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere - the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn't descend again?"

That was my depressive mode.

Then I figured I should snap out of it. A couple of my friends at uni in the States would listen to why I thought I was having a bad time and then they'd say they pretty much didn't do anything either but that it didn't bother them as much as it has me. But maybe that was because, again, I'd expected too much. Either way, I had to quit it and find a way to be happy even if I thought I couldn't. I would go out more, I would smile more, I would get off the computer, I would just not do what I've been doing. Instead of waiting to meet those people, I am going to be the kind of person I want to meet.

It shouldn't matter that I'm not at my first choice or that things were a bit suckish in the beginning. It was only the first three months. There is so much more time to be lived and made and experienced. Which seems kind of daunting right now but it shouldn't. It won't be. 

I shouldn't be looking for some amazing adventure that I am not having. I should see the amazing adventure that I am already living. Like I said, I am so lucky and blessed. I have fantastic friends all across the world and awesome people living on my floor and in my whole hall and on my course. It's always, always in the small things, but I think I was expecting something much bigger that it's taking me a little longer to appreciate them.

My friends and I have made a list. We are going to do awesome things and be awesome and do more than just exist. One day we are going to go around the city with just a camera. We are going to venture into the bits of town that we have yet discovered. We are going to find my mom's old dorm. We are going to Chinatown. We're going to eat out. We're going to live the supposedly amazing nightlife of Manchester. We are going to Liverpool. And Stonehenge. We are going to a football match. We will have cooking nights. We are going to find nature and live in it. We are going to make Manchester our own and it will be phenomenal.

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart:  

I am, I am, I am."  

PS: If you've gotten this far, I congratulate you. Please leave me a comment so that I can send you some cookies and hugs.

PPS: It absolutely sucks to be in this mind state and then watch "Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist" on the plane ride home because in this movie there is a girl named NORAH who goes to a school called SACRED HEART and is deciding whether she should head off to some college called BROWN.

To which I wanted to yell, IT IS NOT THAT EASY, HOLLYWOOD, OKAY?

updates

Hi, so far these are the updates I've made in my jetlagged state. They are as follows:

Oxford Revisited - Oct 20

Amina - Nov 3

November 4th - Nov 5

Talent Show! - Nov 5

Widnes & Bonfire Night - Nov 10

Action Palestine - Nov 18

Becoming Brown - Nov 28

Thanksgiving - Nov 30

Leicester - Dec 15

A Basement Christmas - Dec 19

And in case you missed them:

Fresher's Week & Cacti Sales - Sept 29

The Lewis Story - Oct 5

Adventures with Aamna - Oct 15

You can use the little tabs on the right to navigate your way based on year, month, and title. 

I will continue to let you know what's going down in this post aka it will be perpetually updated until it doesn't have to be anymore. Toodles for now.

2009

Happy New Year, everyone! Hope you all had a great January 1st and a spectacular 2009. As I said before, my resolution this year will be not to procrastinate my blogging. And not to procrastinate my studies. And not to procrastinate responding to people on Facebook. Maybe I should just not procrastinate, ever.

A moment from my day --
As we got into the car in the mall's parking lot, my uncle commented on how it was so hot that he couldn't breathe. And then commenced his own rendition of Chris Brown & Jordin Sparks' "No Air," which, in a thick fob Arab accent, went as follows: "No aiiiiir .. I cannot breathe when there is no aiiiiiiir ... something something no aiiiiir ... we cannot sleep ... we cannot breathe ... no aiiiiiir!"

To which my eight-year-old cousin huffily replied, after opening the window, "YES THERE IS AIR."

Prepare yourselves for a supermassive amount of posting in the next few weeks. If I fail all my exams, I'm blaming my adoring fans. That means you.