Rain Reflections

This will be my last post for a while. Embarrassingly, I have started a fanfiction account, and posted my first story last week. Fanfiction has a horrible reputation for being a site hosting some of the worst works of fiction known to man. Hey, they even took me, so I guess that is proof of their lack of taste. As I see it, the site provides me with an opportunity to hone my writing style, and to put get it out to a broad audience to view and comment on it. In the first three days since my story post, more than 400 people read it. There is nothing like receiving favorable comments and having people subscribe to your story. I have to follow up on that work now. I am going to spend the time I would normally spend blogging on writing and editing my work. I hope to raise its credibility and increase its viewership.

Another distraction from blogging is that I have started journaling again. I feel sometimes we document our lives too much and some thoughts should remain private. Life is good, so don't expect many updates from me, and wish me luck in finding a spot amongst all of the mediocre writing out there.

My last post before I go on hiatus is about rainy days. For the past couple of days, Los Angeles has been receiving rain. I enjoy watching raindrops paint the window panes of my house. They dot the windows and when they get too heavy, they run down the sheets in unpredictable patterns. The pitter patter gives a soothing beat to listen to. Outside, the plants take on a darker hue making themselves look more alive than usual. Life slows down to enjoy the phenomenon of life-giving water falling from the sky.

For me, I find a strong connection with rainy days. Whenever I view a rainy day, I feel like I've lived the moment before. In my mind's eye, I picture a cottage home. It's a one room house heated by a brick fire place. I look up and I notice the roof had beams running across it, and I can see the shingle pattern. I have windows in the walls. The windows are partitioned into four smaller panes. The windows even have shutters. Looking out the window, I see I have a splendid garden, which has that tame but slightly overgrown feel to it. The hedge rises to about waist height, but the plant that catches my eye is this tiny purple flower. The purple flower is button-sized with a black center. It's a rich hue of purple. Somehow, I inherently know there is nobody around for miles. In my mind's eye, in this setting, I watch the rain fall and am at peace with the world. I don't know where this image comes from whether it be from a vivid reading I received as a kid, a portrait I viewed or perhaps a past life. Do you ever have moments in life where they seem familiar to you? I receive similar feelings when I'm in the desert. A meditative calm settles on me, and I feel at home. The feeling is too familiar for a place I only see maybe once a year. These moments have to be from past lives. I do not believe God intended us to learn everything we had to in one lifetime, rather he keeps sending us back until we have learned our lesson. What are your thoughts on past lives and what moments have familiar feelings for you? I thought I would give you something to reflect upon in my absence. I hope all is well with you guys, and I'll see you around.

Oogle for Google

Google really dominates my Internet use, and with my life becoming increasing dependent on the Internet, Google has been dominating my life. Here are a list of products from Google that I use, with the most frequent listed first.

1. Google Mail (gmail)
2. Google search engine
3. Google Docs
4. Google Reader
5. Google Maps
6. Google Voice

and this doesn't even include things like blogger.com and youtube, which are both controlled and owned by Google.

I have yet to totally sell my soul to Google though. I'm refraining from:

1. Google Chrome
2. Google calendar (mostly. I have a shared google calendar with my project group, but I normally don't use it)
3. Google Wave (Have an account, never use.)
4. Any phone with Android platform.


And to think, this all started by a few smart men, working in a cramped room in a building that I walk by every week.

The Captured Peep

Last April, I wrote an article about catching the elusive chocolate peep. It has only taken me three years, but I am proud to say, I have finally captured it, or I guess I should say, J-Ho captured them. She spotted these sugary little bastards up in Seattle, Washington and was kind enough to mail them to me. Thank you Jessica for thinking of me and being so kind to take the time to mail these delicious morsels to me.

After I opened the package from her and discovered the marshmallow morsels, I didn't know what to do. Should I save the package as a triumph of perseverance, or should I eat them? It didn't take me long to decide. I took those delicious bunny shaped marshmallows, and proceeded to devour every last one of them.

They still had the amazing taste of chocolate and marshmallow being blended as one: the near-perfect s'more. Now, Just Born, the company who manufacturers the Peep, needs to figure out how to add graham cracker goodness taste to it.

I experimented with ways of eating them to maximize their taste. I would rip off the confectionary eyes, so it would be one less obstacle between man and marshmallow. Then, I tried several approaches to dividing up the marshmallow. I tried cannibalizing ears, head, and body. I tried splitting it evenly down the middle. Then, I found the correct technique. The true method of getting the most taste was biting off the ears, and stuffing head and body into my mouth. I let the marshmallow slowly dissolve in my mouth giving me complete satisfaction. My craving was finally appeased.

It's weird to think that I haven't eaten this type of Peep in so many years. The last time was senior year of high school. Having the opportunity to eat this treat which I associate with a Goo Goo Dolls concert and hanging out with Jessica, reminded me of simpler times. I will continue to look for the Chocolate Mousse Peep in Southern California, but my craving has been sated. At least for now.

Author's Note: I decided it was time to remodel the blog again, so I hope you like it. Some new features I added were links to your personal blogs and a fish bowl. The personal blog links can be found underneath our names. You can remove the links if you want to, but I figured if you were shamelessly advertising on our blog, we might as well make it official. The fishes at the top follow the cursor if you place it within the designated area. If you click, you can feed them too. I thought it added a nice natural touch to the site. The last thing I would like is removing the second Stephanie user on our site. It's a peeve of mine knowing it's the same user, but she has two different accounts to the site. Go MIT for making this more complicated than it needs to be! I'm not hating, just lovingly berating. Thanks to Andrew or Stephanie on whoever fixes it.

The Evolution of Writing

When I had to write my transfer essays, I wrote with an optimism that spoke of trying my best and how much fun I expected at [Insert Name] University. The student body would be diverse, and I would find a niche that I excelled in. The exciting academic programs I had read about on the school website promised to make my dreams come true. I would make sure that I succeeded at the school because I believed the school was perfect for me.

My father, who has been my editor for my entire life, read my papers and told me it was garbage. He said the essay spoke of naivety and that I did not spend the time I needed reflecting on the essays. I could not understand it. I had written with the same style I did my freshmen application essays. In fact, I've practiced this college writing approach with other students resulting in great success with their college admissions. So, why the harsh criticism?

My dad told me I could not write with the optimism of someone who didn't know what they were getting themselves into. I was a 21 year old adult. I had experienced my trial of college firsts. I had my first roommate, a roommate who dropped out because he was a depressed closet bisexual. I met new people, people who belittled me at times for the color of my skin. I experienced my first Midwestern winter, where snow quickly turns into hidden ice patches and slush. I learned I had Seasonal Affective Disorder, a condition where lack of sunlight leads to depression. I learned how boring a small city could really be. I experienced my first C's, D's, and F's. I fled into the World of Warcraft to lead a life which did not suck horribly. I had already experienced my firsts of college. I could not write with youthful optimism of the unknown. I had already faced it and knew of its trials.

I rewrote my essays. I wrote about my last day at Rose. It was the first perfect snow I had seen that year, blanketing the landscape like a postcard. I decided to walk around the campus to burn it in my memory. I had stayed up for seventy-two hours prior to my walk trying to figure out what direction my life should go. I was out of a school, and out of hope.

Prior to entering that college, I had worked tirelessly. I completed whatever I started. I was not a quitter. Throughout my high school career, I experienced success. I completed nine advanced placement courses, received the English Department award for being an outstanding student, became a California Scholastic Federation Gold Seal Bearer, and achieved other awards which separated me from my graduating class. All of those years of work meant nothing to the year and a quarter I had screwed up at Rose-Hulman.

I will never forget that last day at Rose-Hulman. Looking upon the clean, white snow, I knew I could get a fresh start too. I would survive somehow. I would build myself anew when I returned to the sun, to California. I wouldn’t finish my college degree in Terre Haute, Indiana; I would finish what I had started in Southern California.

I replaced elitism with humility and complacency with hardwork. A's I took for granted became something special. I did whatever I needed to do to succeed. I took a two-half hour bus ride to school when my car was broken, so I could make it to class. I took advantage of professors' office hours. I no longer identified myself with the awards I earned in the past. I simply want to work hard and take it one day at a time.

It was with this grittiness of experience that I wrote. I have looked into the abyss of defeat and slowly gathered myself. My fellow co-blogists cannot understand what I have gone through. You have no idea how bleak this world can be. You have not tasted humiliation. You do not understand the gift of trust. Universities will not trust me. I struggle day by day to have people believe I have potential. These experiences will continue to change my writing style. I will continue to experience firsts and learn how the world really is. Thank you dad for teaching me to write and think like an adult. You are an amazing editor who inspires me. As I evolve, my writing will evolve too.