really?

Quite a few oddities and stupidities happened during the time I was absent from posting entries unrelated to school work.

I know, I know... Posting assignments from school is a cheap way of making sure something is still being posted here. However, this is my blog and I reserve the right to be cheap lazy posting whatever and whenever I want. I am an artist, damn you!

Yep. I'm reminded why I didn't want to get a job in advertising agencies. It's the same mentality over and over again. The mentality of an artist. The mentality of being high and mighty. The mentality of (thinking of) being superwitty, supercynical, superknow-it-all with that smarter-than-thou attitude. I am pissed, but I will persevere. Albeit with being silent and hiding in the dark. Like latent disease.

On to school work! Last week, I had Saturday and Sunday off since there was no dance class nor dance conditioning class. I had a submission to be critiqued coming up and I felt imperative to imprison myself in the barricade of my little apartment and just write. I lived like a hermit. I ate little, I didn't shower. The new vacuum cleaner that I just bought was lying there in its uselessness. I will have to clean up my apartment this morning.

The reason why I felt it was necessary to cram myself up from Friday to Monday, was because my submission would be a long one (it was 69 pages at that time). We are required to submit a big chunk of work (around 100 pages and more) two weeks before the actual reading and critiquing session. My classmates and I have been handing out stories of ten pages or fifteen, and we are always given one week to read and write our critique. With the length of my submission, I wasn't sure if I was supposed to turn it in a week or two weeks before.

Regardless, I finished the draft. Then, proudly and happily, I shot an e-mail to my professor, Lysley Tenorio. I wrote that I had crammed myself in and was finally done with the submission and whether I should turn it in on Wednesday, October 12 to be critiqued in the next two weeks, November 2. That's right. I wrote "two weeks".

Mr. Tenorio replied to my e-mail, saying that two weeks would mean turning my draft on October 19. He told me take time with my draft, to cut out any unnecessary scenes and edit out things.

I was flabbergasted. I replied to his e-mail, sheepishly saying that clearly, my mathematical genius had eluded me yet again (I was being ironic, as if you couldn't tell).

Nevertheless, I'm happy I still have time. I can't say I'm doing a good job with cutting and shortening the draft, though. It's actually expanded into 72 pages of double-spaced, 12 pt. Times New Roman.

Oh, and to help me with my writing, I bought tons of books about cats! Can you guess what my submission is? I will try my best to review all of them.

Now another topic: public transportation.

I'm happy with BART and AC Transit is sufficient. Let's talk about the latter first.

AC Transit here in the East Bay is the equivalent of Lamorinda's County Connection, in that there's always a seat for everyone. The good thing is that, well... there's always a seat for everyone. The bad thing is that it means not many people use the public transportation. Therefore, unlike the SF Muni buses which are always full no matter what hour or what day, both AC Transit and County Connection's services are somewhat limited.

The AC Transit bus, the one that goes from the bus stop near my apartment to Rockridge BART where I usually start my BART ride to SMC or FCBD studio, arrives every half hour. I've missed the bus more than I care to count as it just wheeled pass by me when I was still a block away. That means I have to either sit and wait for another thirty minutes or walk six blocks to another bus stop that is passed by a bus line that arrives every fifteen minutes.

Apparently, as is evident in the picture to your left (or above), AC Transit won the 2006 National Best of the Best Award, whatever it is. Now, don't get me wrong. There are nice AC Transit bus drivers who will acknowledge you coming in and paying your fare (I use Clipper Card. The fee for each ride is, oddly enough, USD 2.10. I don't feel like fumbling around to get the ten cents). There are those who are also nice enough to reply to your thank you when you hop off.

Then there are the jerky drivers who make you know that they have the worst job in the world and that your very presence on the bus is only making them feel more miserable.

Now, on to BART.

I like BART. There have been news written by some New Yorker about the unsanitary conditions of BART and Muni. Ha. Their subways and buses aren't exactly clean.

Still, after reading the article, I felt compelled to try not to sit down. At least not for a while. Commuting from Rockridge to Orinda/Lafayette and to 16th Street and Mission is a long voyage. I have to sit down.

The picture to your right (or above) has a spelling mistake. Can you guess which word? The photo was taken at Orinda BART station on Tuesday, October 4, 2011.

Just tonight, as I was coming home from FCBD studio, the stations after I got on were swarming with Cal fans. You know, the blue and yellow team of Berkeley or something. I don't really know.

Anyway, those Cal fans were pushing and shoving their way into the train cars. I was sitting happily in my seat (thank goodness), and we heard screams as people pushed others to get into the train. I'm telling you, I was reminded of Jakarta where people are rude and impolite and can't even form a proper line.

Then, the BART operator tried many times to close the doors but he couldn't because people were still jamming the doors. Then finally, he succeeded. We saw that there were still many people being left behind at the Civic Center, Powell, Montgomery, and Embarcadero stations. It was around 9.30 PM.

When we arrived at 12th Street Oakland Station, the Cal fans had decreased in numbers, as they had hopped off along the way. Still, there were some who stayed. And then, again, the BART operator seemed to have difficulty in closing the doors when we finally heard him saying, "Please keep your heads inside the train. It's much safer that way."

We all laughed. Some ignoramus felt like being killed.

This particular BART operator is just amazing. He's the guy who always reminded us to keep the seats near the door for wheelchair users and the elderly because "A) it's common courtesy and B) it's the law." and to not put up our feet on the seats nor the windows because, "It's a karma thing."

I promise that if on my last day (or night) in California, he's the one operating the BART train, I will have to tell him how much he's made me laugh.

That's a photo showing an advertisement at the 16th Street & Mission BART Station.

Now back to the Cal fans.

Apparently, so many of those creatures study in UC Berkeley. Well, it's not a surprise, really. I mean, they do sport the familiar blue and yellow insignia of Cal.

Anyway, I found a throng of students who obviously just came home from the very same game and they were waiting for the bus. This bus is the only night bus that will take me near my apartment and it shot straight from Rockridge Station to UC Berkeley where many of those fans live.

We hopped in and they began talking so loud and cheering and things and then we passed by Safeway and one guy cheered for "More beer! More beer! More beer!" and the other students went along until the lady driver grabbed her mic and told them to be quiet because they were on a public bus and not everyone on board was a student of UCB. The mob said sorry, but the same guy looked around and pointed that only few were not students until his friend scolded him and said it didn't matter.

One girl (an Asian-American. Geez, why do Asian-American girls have to be so damn irritating? They always seem to wear the skimpiest, sluttiest outfits when even their Caucasian and African American girl friends wear normal clothes. They always seem to be the loudest too) obnoxiously said to her friend (they were sitting near me) that the bus was a public place and so they had the right to exercise their freedom of speech.

Obnoxious and appalling. Thank goodness my stop was right after that. I am so glad that don't go to UC Berkeley.

That was rather ironic because as I was sitting on the bus one day, there was this poster on the back of the seat of a missing Asian girl. Her name is Michelle Le.

Well, that's it for now. Phew, I've blogged quite a long post, eh?

excess baggage

Well, here I am again at San Francisco International Airport, the SFO. It's pretty bland out here in the check-in section, but probably because it is just what it is: the check-in section.

I'm grueling over the fact that I might be charged for excess baggage. I mean, I won't mind paying, I just want to go home. I really do.

Everything in the two bags is essential to be brought home. I might not return with them when I'm going back in August, but I really need to get these things home.

It is now 3.58 PM. My flight is at 1.20 AM. The ticket counter is not even open yet.

I'm worried, but I'll blog later.

ADDENDUM:

I just got in! SQ took my baggage and even gave me a little tote bag so I can put some items from my overweight backpack in the tote bag.

Oh, and I had to endure the full-body x-ray. Well, no departure stamp or any immigration issues (it was cancelled in April 2011 - it was a legacy of Bush's era), but I JUST LOST MY FRIGGIN' PRIVACY.

It's like... someone just took a picture of my private parts!

Here's what a full-body x-ray looks like:

things i'll miss and won't miss

I'll miss:

1. My friends and teachers at EF school.
2. The MUNI (and the relatively convenient and fast rides).
3. The ClipperCard (and its convenience).
4. Windows and sunlight that goes through it and illuminates my room.
5. The cool air that deletes the need to install air conditioner.
6. Chinese Pancake with Rice that I purchase every weekend after dance conditioning class from a nearby Chinese restaurant.
7. The relative absence of noise from the streets outside.
8. People in the hostel and at the school that I can talk about.
9. The big city air and feeling and walking down UN Square to the BART station through the stalls selling knick-knacks and foods I never bought.
10. The proximity to FatChanceBellyDance studio.
11. RAs at the hostel.
12. Restaurants at the Fisherman's Wharf.

I won't miss:

1. The abundance of poo (hopefully excreted by dogs) on the streets.
2. Noisy bitches (boys and girls - mostly French speakers and Arabs) in the hostel and at school.
3. Liplocking students - minors or otherwise.
4. Said bitches who think they're cool either by talking so loud and socializing with many people or by being aloof and silent.
5. Seeing dirty syringes and condoms on the pavement.
6. The homeless people (although they are an interesting bunch of people).
7. Unfriendly hostel staff.

little town, it's a quiet village

Remember when I complained about Santa Rosa and Sebastopol? (Geez, I use the same opening for the blog entry)

Well, I'm damned now.

Okay, probably not too damned, as I feel positive about going to St. Mary's College, CA.

Yesterday, I spent the whole day going to SMC. It took me approximately 42 minutes from Civic Center BART to the Lafayette BART (the train departed at 11.18 and arrived at 12 noon). There was nothing wrong with the BART ride. It was not uneventful - just flat and nothing interesting, really.

The first thing that I saw upon exiting Lafayette BART station was a hill full of white cross. That'll be somehow serenely eerie when I board the evening train home. Or probably not serene. Just eerie, and in a whole lot of sense, cryptic.

Here comes the good news: the bus ride from either Lafayette BART station or Orinda BART station right to the heart of SMC (how convenient) takes approximately 25 minutes. However, the bus comes every two hours on certain periods. I had to wait for a full hour.

"Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," said Dorothy to her dog in Wizard of Oz. I didn't have Kitty with me (my sling bag is broken and my tiny bag is... tiny... and stuffed to max) to share that feeling, though.

I guess the reason that the bus frequency is kept at minimum is because no one really rides it. When I returned from SMC to the Lafayette BART station, there were only three passengers, including myself. The two of them descended shortly and I was the only one left for the whole ride. I am relieved to know that my evening classes won't be later than 7 PM. That means I can catch the 7.19 PM, the 7.41 PM, or the latest, 8.21 PM buses to take me to either Lafayette or Orinda BART stations. Now I only need to invest in a watch.

According to Google Map, it is a 5.1 mile walk from SMC to Lafayette BART station (am I being somewhat pedantic by writing "Lafayette BART station" over and over again?). It's not that it's not doable. It's just that on some parts of the roads, no pavement is available. I got off on the wrong stop on my way to SMC, but there was a hiking and biking trail that I could walk on. I can't ride a bike. I know, I've tried, I just can't. I can rollerblade, but I don't think the path will be smooth enough to do it. During the walk, I came up with a brilliant solution: Segway! Although, you know, with the current Segway price (I heard it could come all the way up to USD 8,000!), I'd rather drive a car.

SMC was so peaceful when I arrived. It was the off-season I assume. Had I arrived in the Fall, I would have been freaked out with so many people. It's just amazing how I felt the need to be with people, yet crowd seems to make me feel uncomfortable. That's why I chose to live on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley instead of North Berkeley (YES, I'VE FOUND AN APARTMENT and have signed the contract! I'm moving in on June 15), because, in the words of Virginia Woolf in The Hours, "I choose not the suffocating anesthetic of the suburbs, but the violent jolt of the Capital."

Well, Telegraph Avenue is not exactly the Capital, but I hope you get the picture.

With the absence of the Clipper Card in the public transportation in Moraga, and the total uselessness of the said Card in BART stations in areas outside San Francisco, I won't be using it when I return. I've calculated the costs. It's much, much cheaper to pay for one-time bus rides and refill the BART card.

Now that everything is settled, I can't wait to go home.

Still, one more question ensues: I won't be living in San Francisco anymore; I wonder whether or not I should change the title of the blog and if I should, to what?

awards, goodbyes, little miss sunshine, and fisherman's wharf

There will be times when I gloat, and no matter how often those moments appear, I never seem to be able to show off my academic intelligence.

This is the first time.

Yes, yours truly here is the recipient of the Award for Academic Excellence for being a student with A+ average. You'd better believe it. I didn't believe it myself but then I opened my score card and there was that A+, neatly printed on the paper. A miracle. What's next? A cure for AIDS?

That wasn't the only award I received, though. On Memorial Day's BBQ Party at Mr. Stephen's, I also earned a gag award that said "Most Original and Only Bellydancer". I love that award so, so much, and keep it close to my heart.

I know I'm backtracking in this entry, but please bear with me as I'm going to backtrack once more.

The day before graduation day (here's the timeline: graduation day was on Friday, June 3; Memorial Day BBQ was on Monday, May 30) - Thursday, June 2, after a nice lunch at Grande Kamekyo across EF's Fisherman's Wharf, Leo, Rex, and I decided to walk to the beach. It was a nice, sunny day, although the wind was cold. And so we chatted.

"I've been here the longest," Rex said with a cigarette wedged between his fingers.

"How long?" I asked.

"Fifteen months."

I gasped. "Fifteen months?"

He nodded. "I started in Oakland. They didn't have UP (University Preparation - language drills, application assistance, gmat/gre/toefl preparation, truckloads of books enough to give us hernia) program then, but I had paid, so they put me in the AY (Academic Year [General English] - mostly fun, games, light grammar, virtually no books). I was in AY for 6 months, then I got into UP for another nine months."

"How was it?"

"Well, at first, I couldn't even say a word in English. The first day, I didn't even smoke because I didn't have my lighter with me and I didn't know how to ask for fire. After it became unbearable, I just asked the other students, 'May I have fire?'"

"But that's great! I mean, it's also common to ask for 'fire' when you want to light up a cigarette," I said.

"Yeah, but the other students were also as stupid as I was and they didn't know what I meant. It took us a while," he laughed endearingly.

I'd heard the same thing from my friends: Najla (an Arab), Andrey (Russian), and Leo as well. They had benefited a lot from staying in the USA and just talk. There is a huge improvement between when I first met Andrey and Leo and now when I'm talking to them.

On Friday, just before all of us went to Tiernan's for the graduation ceremony (it was dreary outside and our principal said that the weather didn't permit us to hold the event on the beach), we watched the conclusion of Little Miss Sunshine in Lauren's class. I cried a bit while watching it, I didn't cry at all during the graduation ceremony, so it was reasonable when I burst into tears in the middle of the night as I watched Leo's videos featuring collage of the students' photos.

And so, what else could I do but write a poem?

fisherman's wharf

there is always the pain of meeting someone,

and getting to know that someone for the briefest moment,

but it feels like it's been a lifetime.

and then you have to say goodbye.

this pain;

it rips open my chest and crushes my heart.

this pain;

it will always be there.

but I have the memories to remind me

of the magical moments of friendship.

five damn months

and the pain when I said,

"what the hell am I doing here?"

are gone.

that pain disappears.

but this pain remains.

and I hope

not even senility

nor dementia

nor all force or disease on Earth

will wipe away the memory

that feeds this pain.

for I know I can take it.

I can live with it.

but I sure as hell

can't live without the memories

of my friends

of the classes and the books

of the bus rides and car lifts

of the here and now

of fisherman's wharf.

and so I cry

as if each choke

each tear

could ease my suffering.

and yet I smile

for it is not a suffering

but a privilege

an honor

of sharing lessons

of learning and teaching

of murmuring and wailing

of walking down the corridors

of fisherman's wharf.

house hunting

I kind of understand why it's hard for ghosts to let go off a house they're haunting. If you found a perfectly good home, why would you want to leave?

My being admitted to St. Mary's is, without a doubt, very exciting. It's one of my dream schools and I believe that St. Mary's MFA program in fictional creative writing can really ameliorate my writing skills. I need the discipline and catalyst to write. Furthermore, I need to find my true voice without sounding as if I'm trying too hard.

Nevertheless, that excitement comes with a price: I have to find an apartment. I'll be commuting to several areas: Moraga (where St. Mary's is), Alameda (FCBD East Bay class), and San Francisco (FCBD regular class & Dance Conditioning). I once visited North Berkeley to see a nice little cottage and was immediately smitten with the serene atmosphere. It was Friday evening yet it was so peaceful and quiet.

I told my parents that I didn't want to live in the in-campus housing because I'd be lazier than ever. I need to commute, to go people-watching and sight-seeing, to gather inspiration along the way, to eavesdrop on conversations between lovers, among friends, among frenemies, to see same-sex couples holding hands when strolling down the road and have my brain struck with ideas. In other words, I need a little Viagra for my writing, and being confined to a beautiful hill won't do any good to my shaft of inspiration.

Yet, it is so difficult to get a decent apartment in a safe environment with just enough leverage for a first-time international applicant with barely there credit record (I don't normally use credit cards) and references (I suppose I can get references from my current Residential Advisors at the hostel). Additionally, time is running out. I'm going back to Indonesia on June 18 and returning to the USA on August 10. I really hope to resolve this matter before I leave. All those listings, including Craigslist, barely show apartments or studios that are available in August. I won't be in the USA for the whole month of July 2011. It would be an utter waste of money to pay a month's rent without actually staying in it.

On Mr. Stephen's suggestion, I have also included Orinda and Lafayette in my search, thus broadening my range of possibilities.

There are certain things I look for, though: the house must be in a quiet and safe neighborhood with quiet neighbors, preferably furnished with wi-fi and comfortable bathroom, lots of natural lights, and close to BART station. And under USD 1500 per month. And, contrary to popular belief, I do not require the presence of a naked butler.

Anyone willing to help?

a day around town

It always amazes me that by chance, I get to see Marvel movies. I sat through dastardly boring hours of Iron Man and Ghost Rider, cringed at Elektra's anticlimax ending, and decided to stop Daredevil DVD on the thirtieth minute. Marvel movies have that typical mind-blowing setting and effects but completely shallow story line with no character building. And the enemies are just too easy to defeat.

That is the case with Thor. Even with prime stars like Natalie Portman, Stellan Skarsgaard, Anthony Hopkins, and poor, poor Rene Ruso (her character is even less significant than Winona Ryder's in Star Trek), the movie sucked. It is an action movie, I know, but it is just... boring. Even the 3D effects didn't help. The only time my eyes were wide open was when Thor and one other guy showed some skin. Yum. But the guy who plays Thor looks like he'll do better modelling skimpy underwear.

However, I very much enjoyed my time with my friends here. The four of us, Leo & Gunwoo (two Korean guys), Wei Ni (Taiwanese girl), and I ventured out first to Cheesecake Factory to have a really late lunch. Then Leo drove us to a distant land called Daly City where we met Yoomin and his girlfriend Lorene (both Koreans) and John (Taiwanese) to watch Thor. It was already 9.30 PM when we got out of the theater and drove to a Korean restaurant called Coco Ban near the hostel for supper. I indulged, and I didn't mind, because I enjoyed being with them.

Honestly, I miss going out with my friends back in Jakarta. I miss driving at nights when the flickering colorful lights cover the ugliness of the city. I miss the blaringly loud music and the laughter and the ability of speaking in Indonesian, the way my Korean friends talked to each other and to the hunky waiter at Coco Ban. I miss having to count my money and not spending it easily.

Still, today has been very fruitful. I have friends to laugh with.

John sat next to me at Coco Ban. He just got back from the dentist, and in the USA, a trip to the dentist costs a fortune. So we talked a bit while he ate his rice cake soup and I my vegetarian fried noodle.

"When are you going back to Taiwan?"

"June. For a month. I am sort of avoiding to join the military," he answered.

"Even when you're going to undergraduate school here, you have to go join the military service?"

"Yes. Even if you're gone for more than ten years, when you go back, the government will ignore the fact that you've been gone, and you'll still have to be drafted."

"Will you go to war?" I asked with a rather nervous pitch.

"Possibly."

I looked at him, at his smooth, boyish skin and his hair the color of dyed copper. He wanted to cut his hair Korean style, he said, but didn't want Americans to go near it, so he let it grow long; his bangs were covering his eyes. He's only 18 years old, nearly a decade younger than I am. He has his life ahead of him. I cringed at the thought of war.

I know how wars change people. There are homeless people in the area where I live in San Francisco. One of our classmates made a research and he found out that a portion of the homeless people were Vietnam veterans who returned to the USA with damaged mental conditions. The US Government decided to cut back funding to mental institutions some years ago. When the asylums closed down, the patients couldn't find anywhere else to live but the streets. These were the people who fought for the USA. These were the veterans who had to kill to live and suffered because of the guilt.

Under the somewhat dim lights of the restaurant, I saw Leo sitting across the table. He had served in the military for two years, but he didn't have to go to war. He didn't have to lose much of his innocence in glorified violence. I glanced back at John who was slurping his soup. He could only eat soft food, at least for the time being, until his teeth recovered.

"When is your next appointment with the dentist?" I asked.

"Monday. I spent USD 1,800 today."

My eyes were wide open, shocked to hear the staggering amount of money he had to pay for one visit.

"This soup is just rice with water," he complained.

"Like porridge," I agreed.

"I eat like a homeless person."

"No, John, a homeless person can do better," I said, and he laughed so hard that I started giggling.

The wind blew with so much gusto that night that it almost threw me off balance as we walked back to Leo's car. Even with a full stomach, I could feel the bitter cold seeping under my skin and frosting my tropical bones. I wondered if those homeless people I saw sleeping on the streets covered with layers of cloths were warmer than I was.

I wondered if I were ever going to be homeless, wandering around with nowhere to go. No soil to root my feet in. No roof to cover my head with.

joannie's lunch & breakfast: love at first munch

The concept of luxury has become somewhat distorted these days. Decades ago, it was about tangible objects; now, it has stretched itself to include time. Indeed, with only a forty minute lunch break, time is a luxury for people who consider idle rumination during eating a form of therapy. I happen to be one of those people, and, as a person confined to the somewhat upscale Fisherman’s Wharf area of San Francisco, I have two options for lunch: prepare or purchase it. The former is virtually out of the question, since I am a sloth. Consequently, every day I have to venture out there to seek a convenient restaurant. And by convenient, I mean price, distance, cleanliness, and availability of vegetarian dishes. All other priorities such as atmosphere and the staff’s friendliness have been rescinded.

It took me four months to find a place like Joannie’s Lunch and Breakfast, which, surprisingly, is just around the corner. I did not have high expectations about this place. After all, it is an eatery that offers the standard breakfast and lunch of Americans: pancakes, waffles, burgers, and sandwiches.

I had my reservations about this place when I first entered it. I wouldn’t call it shabby, but I sure wouldn’t call it stylish either. It is a standard, family-oriented restaurant: no opulence, no pretense. And yet, my doubt was cast away when a delightful Chinese waiter promptly took me to the table that subsequently becomes my regular place, and gave me the menu. A quick menu scan revealed that the establishment, much to my joy, offered vegetarian options for burgers and sandwiches, using mushroom patties. I was smitten, but still unconvinced. I ordered a portion of Vegetarian Garden Burger with French Fries (I love carbs).

In spite of the restaurant’s crowdedness, my food came rather quickly. In fact, it was too quick: I did not even finish my ponderous thoughts of the meaning of life. All of my grandeur fantasies were reduced to an approving growl of my stomach when the waiter came to my table, serving a big plate of ye olde’ classic burger and fries, with a vegetarian twist. I am no hermit: I take pleasure in being a glutton, and the food presentation, though standard, was pleasing to the eye. The aroma was so delectable that I dug in without a moment of hesitation.

The restaurant had me at first bite. The burger was succulent yet crunchy at the same time. I have savored many a vegetarian burger, yet this one was by far, the best. The delicious mushroom patty was roasted to perfection. On top of it were fresh onions, lettuce, and tomato slices. These were placed firmly between two sweet sesame seed buns (again, I love carbs).

Even the French fries helping was generous. These weren’t the usual, fast-food type, stick thin fries dipped in residual fatty oil, nay. These fries were fat, fresh, yet crispy to the core. The only flavor enhancer I could detect was salt.

After devouring my meal, I dabbed my mouth and its sides with the napkin, smiling from ear to ear, satisfied like a kitten that had just lapped away a bowl of milk. Why did it take me so long to find this gem? I kept asking myself. Perhaps it is the location, and yet it is just around the corner. For an $8.00 quick lunch, the experience sure exceeded the expectations: a worthy vegetarian feast, not five minute away from EF, in a clean establishment, and yet, there’s more: WiFi connection is available and the friendly waiters, as Chinese as they are, speak in perfect English, much better than the employees of Bank of America. How can you not love a place like this?

guess what came in the mail

I just got accepted at St. Mary's College of California for the MFA program in Creative Writing in Fiction.

This is...

This is clearly, one step, no... ONE LEAP towards world domination literary world domination becoming a disciplined writer that I wish to be.

So umm... I went on a shopping spree on Amazon.com and bought three books out of my very long wish list and now the books are here.

Or were here, since I got the books yesterday and I've been reading my first one called Lover of Unreason by Yehuda Koren and Eilat Negev. It's an interesting biography about Assia Wevill, Ted Hughes' other woman in his marriage to Sylvia Plath. Even as a hardcore Plath fan (I'm going to have a bell jar tattooed on my arm this year), I find Assia's character sometimes endearing. I'm on page 73 (of 227 - my God the fonts are small and the book is quite big) now and I just adore how the two authors described Assia's life in a neutral, academic way.

Next up is The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (edited by Karen V. Kukil). I had no idea that this book would have 675 pages with the same small fonts and relatively same book size with the Assia Wevill one.

Then again, it's Plath. I always have high expectations on her work and she never fails to impress me. And yes, I'm writing in present tense.

The final book will be Snow by Orhan Pamuk. I read My Name is Red years ago and was absolutely smitten by how Pamuk wrote it. I fell in love with him (and found out that he's rather cute - HAHA. This is absolutely not professional or academical whatsoever). I just picked Snow out of the blue. This will be my second Orhan Pamuk, so I don't really know what to expect.

amy tan on creativity

This one is an assignment in the Lecture & Listening class.

Amy Tan, the celebrated American novelist of Chinese descendant, delivered an interesting presentation hosted by TED.org. She spoke about the three Ns. The first N is Nature. Creativity may come naturally, from an abnormal chromosome produced by our brain. This chromosome makes us generate ideas. She mentioned about depression, that great artists such as Van Gogh, Sylvia Plath (my favorite poet/author), and Edgar Allan Poe suffered from depression. The second N is Nurture. Childhood trauma can be really good materials. She gave an anecdote that when she was young, her IQ test told her that she was going to become a brain surgeon, so she studied lots. The last N is Nightmare.

In a nutshell, Tan summed creativity as the sense of inability to repress looking at anything in life. As a writer, it is important to be able to receive inspiration from everything. She also stated that creative people are multidimensional, able to see through multiple layers of an issue. This makes sense since the ability to see and analyze many layers becomes the backbone of a rich and vibrant writing. In her presentation, she talked about how she received her inspiration, an experience that she described as ambiguous. She needs moral ambiguity to write stories. This moral ambiguity creates a sequence of responses and intentions, the fuel of her stories.

I am still in the middle of reading The Joy Luck Club, the first of her novels. The Joy Luck Club explores mother-daughter relationships of four women and each of their mothers. More specifically, Chinese mothers who went to the United States, seeking for a better life and future. All of the women had a somewhat murky past. They found each other through a Mah Jong club that they named “Joy Luck”. Friendship bloomed in that club, as well as competition. Being very close to my mother, needless to say, there were instances when I found myself crying on the bus while reading the book. The book itself is almost autobiographical to Tan’s life. Facets of her and her mother’s history serve as the basis of the stories in The Joy Luck Club.

Tan’s idea of creativity is relatable, at least to me. Creativity comes to me when I have an enquiry, when I begin to question aspects of life, and in some cases, of death. I sometimes make up my own answers and assumptions to some questions, as for the rest, I do research. The research depends on the time and resources. If I have enough time and resources, I’ll do a thorough analysis. If I don’t, I will have to be satisfied with what I have and go on with my life. Perhaps along the way, I will get more answers.

Nonetheless, these questions, including the what-ifs have become the source of my inspiration. I create a dialog within my head, with hypotheses and more questions. I will have these conversations until I’m ready to sleep. Usually they calm me down because I’m assured I will have enough to write.

Amy Tan believes that one characteristic of a good writer is that he or she never stops thinking. If that is the case, then I believe I have the making of a good writer.

the san francisco maritime museum

My last post was almost a month ago! I can't believe this.

I'm so sorry. I should've written more than currently. This is the third week of school and my schedule is so crazy. I no longer have Fridays for myself. I have to switch my FCBD classes to 9 AM or 9.30 AM at the latest so I can come to school on time at 11.30 AM.

And then there's the homework.

Therefore, I've decided to post my homework and assignments here. So I can always cherish them and their sweet memories since I may have to go home in June 2011. Am I sad? Disappointed. Heartbroken. But I'll make it.

In the mean time, this is a little write-up for my Research Writing class. It was a nice and sunny day so each of us was assigned to research something around the Fisherman's Wharf. I went to the SF Maritime Museum with Yoomin, a Korean friend.

The San Francisco Maritime Museum is located in the Fisherman’s Wharf area, more specifically, at the end of it. The museum overlooks the beach and is adjacent to the Aquatic Park. Its operational hours are between 10 AM and 4 PM. In average, there are around 200 visitors on weekends and 100 visitors on weekdays. The SF Maritime Museum currently exhibits four ship replicas: the Kenilworth, the Preussen, the Kohala, and the Flying Cloud.

The walls of the museum boast the murals by Hilaire Hiller. The mural, painted in 1938, was restored in 2010. The SF Maritime Museum has four floors: the first floor is used as senior center, the second (ground) floor is for exhibition, while the third and fourth floors are currently being restored. Due to budget cuts, these upper floors will finish their restorations in 2012. The SF Maritime Museum’s funds come primarily from the National Parks Services and admission into the museum is free, but it never hurts to put a little money inside the donation box on your way out.

I know the pictures here don't do the museum justice, so I'll try to take more photos on Monday.

it never rains in california

Today is the second day of the two-week Spring break and it's raining. I've cancelled all my plans (going to the cinema, going shopping, getting a haircut).

On my way up to my room after a very late lunch, I found a tiny pink rose. I don't know if it's still a bud or not since it's bloomed and it smells good.

And yes, I've also changed the blog's header and the background. I like the new look. It's less gloomy.

"Pink Things on My Window Sill"

Photos taken on Tuesday, March 15 2011

Using Olympus Mju 850 SW

people say the strangest things

During EF Graduation Day Ceremony for Late Winter 2011 Term:

A friend asked me to take a photo of her with one of her teachers. I don't know the teacher, though. So, click click, and this conversation happened:

Teacher (to my friend): So, are you leaving?

My friend: Yes. I'm going back to my country.

Teacher (to me): How about you?

Me: Oh, I'm staying until June.

Teacher (to my friend): I hope you wouldn't leave. (then looked at me and said to my friend:) I hope he'd leave, not you.

And I had that WTF moment. I mean... This guy is a new teacher and he didn't even know me. Am I that dislikeable?

In a Godiva Store in Westfield:

Supernice Salesgirl (to my friend): Here, why don't you try this? It's a new product! (handing a chocolate sample from her tray)

My friend: Oh my God, this is so good!

Supernice Salesgirl (to me): Here, you can try one too!

Me: Oh, no, thank you. I am prone to break-outs.

Supernice Salesgirl (to me): Oh, that's wonderful!

Right.

St. Patrick's Day Parade

Veronika and I went to the St. Patrick's Day Parade up on Market Street this afternoon. We were... late. Bahahahaha...

So we only got to see the last bits of the Parade. But it was fun. I got to see some of the shops on Market Street like the Westfield, which surprisingly was dark and kind of gloomy. I prefer malls in Jakarta. Then again, I don't know why I need to go to the malls here for.

Which reminds me... While I was there, why didn't I go to MAC (the make-up, not the fruit) to get the Strobe Cream? Ever since Princess Farhana recommended the cream. And I just feel that my facial skin needs some glimmer booster.

Oh, well... I've got plenty of time to go shopping later. Meanwhile, here're the pictures from St. Patrick's Day Parade.

Photos taken on Saturday, March 12, 2011

Using Olympus Mju 850 SW

broken things

In addition to being the week of the finals, which I think I've done pretty well, it's also the week of broken things.

To start with, I accidentally flicked open the W key on my notebook's keyboard. It began in the wee hours of Thursday morning while I was giving myself a crash course on GRE Math (test was on that day). I didn't know what happened, but I was in bed, working with my notebook placed on my lap and the big GRE book on top of the keyboard. I hastily get off the bed, I think to turn off my cellphone's alarm, and when I came back, the W key was already flicked open. I was already panicked because I hadn't studied well for the GRE Math test and then the incident happened. Turned out, there's no Acer service center in San Francisco, just generic computer services. So I took my tweezer and tried to get the pieces together with a tape. It's a bit awkward (and hard) now when I need to press the W key, but at least it's still working.

And then, I found a hole on the left knee part of my jeans. I've had these jeans for only a year, so I don't know what happened. Umm... okay. After reminiscing, I think I know. Back in Jakarta, I was on my way to a place and there was this kitten running in the street. The traffic lights turned red and it just stayed under a truck. So I got off from the car, crouched under the truck, took the kitten, and put it on the pavement. When I got back to my car, my left knee felt hurt. I guess it took a while for the jeans to get a hole. Oh, well. I'll get a patch.

After a hard day at school, I went back to the hostel and found my room opened. I almost screamed bloody murder. Apparently, a Mexican guy was fixing the plumbing system of the room above mine. I had to wait for two hours to get

back to my room that day. The Mexican guy came back again on the next day to fix the ceiling of my bathroom. He didn't really fix it well, though. I hope it's going to be temporary.

Well, it's spring break time. I really haven't planned anything... But I think I'll have to comb different parts of San Francisco every day. I have two weeks.

Then maybe, just maybe, I'll go to Las Vegas and Los Angeles.

Then again, probably not.

and so...

So I've been lagging behind my writing for the blog. But I have my reasons!

Don't believe me? Check out my dance blog, the pinkcoinbelt chronicles.

I'll blog more soon. Trust me.

Oh, and here's a piece of advice: when walking in any street in San Francisco, avoid eye contact with strangers, avoid talking to strangers, avoid strangers who approach you (especially those with dowdy clothes; except those with maps - they might be tourists).

The reason I'm telling you this was because some guy just approached me, asked me what date it was, I told him the date, and he kept asking, "What did you say? What did you say? What did you say?" and I knew he wasn't deaf.

Bone-chilling.

the hostel

No, I'm not going to be talking about that awful movie.

I live in a hostel, and it's a decent one despite its area (Tenderloin). The building was originally an old hotel. The hostel is a branch of the Hostelling International. There's also one just a bus-ride away. If my memory serves me right, it's directly behind Macy's, on the same street with Saks Fifth Avenue and Chanel.

That's right. It's just a bus-ride away to go to the glam from the ghetto.

Nonetheless, I don't know how much it is in the Macy's Hostelling-International. Must've cost a fortune.

The Hostelling International San Francisco (HI-SF) is for EF students and non-EF-students. It's good because of the relatively fast and steady wireless internet connection, its proximity to the school in Fisherman's Wharf, and... well, that's about it.

There are three Residential Advisors (RA) for EF students. They also work as front desk people. These three RAs are way cool. There's Anthony (I forgot his last name) who welcomed me and handled my arrival. Anthony seems to be wearing black nail polish, black boots, and black slick overcoat almost on a daily basis. There's Lydia Petrovich, she's really pretty and does flawless make-up. And there's Daniel Foerste (I wonder if I spell his last name correctly), an artist with multiple facial piercings. His illustrations of proverbs from all over the world are hanging on the walls of the mezzanine dining area.

The RAs might look cool and casual, but they're also very helpful. They try to make living in a hostel, with lots of weird and severely annoying people, almost bearable: check out that star chart picture.

Theey run room checks every Thursday evening, to make sure that we don't have food or drink (except water) in our rooms. You know, to keep the bugs away. A star is given to the cleanest room during the inspection. I got a star on the first week (I won't tell you which room I'm in, though).

I guess I can be clean afterall.

Oh, and that phallic green balloon has been taped on there for four weeks. It was significantly better (and funnier) during the first week. I thought the person(s) living there would just remove it after some time. Apparently not. I have to pass this pumped penis everytime I go out of my room because the door's right in front my door. After a while, it gets boring and slightly irritating.

Well, it's still raining outside. I don't know if I want to go to ODC. And yet I have to shop for grocery for the whole week. AND MY LAUNDRY!!! It's not going to dry fast. Not in this weather.

Now who the heck told me that it never rained in California?

f*ckin perfect

I don't know if viewing this video is allowed in Indonesia (sometimes it's not for many reasons), but here goes:

This song is by Pink. I love her so much. She's controversial, but she doesn't spread hatred (unlike Eminem, etc). She speaks about insecurities so many times through her songs. Plus, she's an adamant animal welfare defender. Can anyone be that perfect? Oh, and her husband, Carey Hart, is just a damn hottie.

To tell you the truth, "F*ckin Perfect" is my saving grace song for this week. I almost refrained from taking GRE. But I remember my mom - she obtained the certification of finances IN ONE DAY (!) (bless you, Mom!) and mailed it first class express so it reached me only two days later (!!). Right then and there, I told myself, I'd just die trying.

GRE is offered in many parts in San Francisco. There was one place where I could take on Wednesday, February 16. However, due to a mistake (on my part), I didn't get the confirmation from Boston University that I could submit the GRE scores later than the deadline (March 1). When I finally received the confirmation e-mail, I quickly registered for GRE and that one place was already full. The closest alternative date was February 18 (Friday) in a place called Oyster Boulevard in San Bruno. That's in Southern California. There were two alternative hours to start: 8 AM or 12 Noon. I chose to do it in the morning.

I worried about two things: getting there (I finally decided to take a taxi to go there and return by BART) and getting good score (I've only been in the GRE class for 5 weeks).

So I took a taxi from the hostel at 6.15 AM and arrived there 35 minutes later. I paid the driver USD 35 (including tip). It was hellishly cold. It's been raining since Monday. That's right. VALENTINE'S DAY! Sometimes the temperature could drop to 5 degrees Celsius. Then there was the wind that almost broke my umbrella (I bought a new black umbrella with cat pictures - so cute! The green Samsonite Mom gave would not withstand even the softest wind).

But yeah. Despite my hunger (although I ate breakfast that day), I could relax and got an okay score: 580 for Verbal (English) and 690 for Quantitative (English). GRE's score ranges from 200 to 800. Surprisingly, my Verbal score is way above the average score of graduate students admitted to Harvard. The score was sent to BU. *Cross fingers*

And surprisingly, my FCBD teacher, Ms. Anita Lalwani, also went to BU for her graduate degree.

Man, she's smart.

strangers on the streets

I don't know in which part of San Francisco Mom and my brother stayed when they went for a visit in 2004. Mom said that the city was beautiful.

A lot of things could've happened in 6 years. Or Mom and my brother simply stayed in a better part of San Francisco. Either way, I don't think San Francisco is as beautiful as everyone has said. True, there's the glamorous Union Square and there's an area called the Geary Boulevard that's just so tranquil and serene and gorgeous.

And then there's Tenderloin and Mission with scattered used condoms and dog (I hope) poo on the pavement, the homeless and the crazy, and various other gritty stuff. Whenever I walk in the Mission district, I always encounter crazy people shouting about. When I was walking back to the 16th / Mission BART station, I saw two policemen searching an alleged drug dealer. One time, I saw a man kneeling and handcuffed in front of an adult store.

However, there are also homeless people in the most beautiful and upscale areas in San Francisco, such as the Fisherman's Wharf. Sitting in a cheap, Chinese-run "authentic Italian pizza" joint generically called "Pizza Zone" offers me a great view of the world. I'll be doing my homework while munching on my USD 5 slice of vegetarian pizza, looking out at birds (robins, pigeons, seagulls) and homeless people rummaging the dumpster across the road.

Looking (and videotaping) homeless people is evidently a lot different than interacting with them. One time as I was walking down Fisherman's Wharf, I walked pass a woman who suddenly stopped and called me. She said, "You! Your aura tells me that you've been broken-hearted twice, haven't you? Come here. Let me give you a reading."

Obviously, I was tempted. But I got a hold of myself and told her, "No... I was broken-hearted three times," which is obviously not true... Or half true. Or two-third true. I mean, I don't even have enough money to pay her to read me. And how on earth did she pick that number?

And then, as I was waiting for the bus on Van Ness Street this afternoon, a tall, dark stranger approached me. No, it's not as romantic as you think. In fact, it's rather disgusting. He was noisome and cross-eyed. He began with a little talk about what I was reading (I was reading the Word Smart book) and then he said my zipper was undone (my damn zipper of this particular pair of jeans always becomes halfway done though I've pulled it all the way up) and he asked my name (WHICH I NAIVELY GAVE AWAY - note to self: NEVER USE REAL NAME). And what started as quite an innocent conversation turned out to be weird: he asked for money. Luckily my bus came and I boarded it as fast as my dainty feet could carry me.

Now I'm becoming paranoid because this is where I usually wait for my bus to go to school every morning. Oh, well... I can always walk to school. OR NOT.

God, I'm such a weird-people magnet.

on losing

So I've lost two things now. I've lost one of my rings when I was washing the dishes and then my bluetooth stereo headphone when I was moving my things to my new room.

When I went home last Wednesday, I almost died. I could lose the ring and the headphone, but I can never lose my doll.

Her name is Kitty. She's been with me ever since I was in the sixth grade. I actually got her as a replacement for another doll named Kucil. I lost Kucil months before I got Kitty and when I lost Kucil, I felt like a part of me went with him. And I think I also lost a chunk of innocence when I lost him. I learned about losing and how to cope with it. I think I cried for weeks.

Kitty has come with me to many places in the world. She's been to England, France (twice), Greece, Italy, Japan, Singapore, Malaysia, and now she's here in San Francisco.

The thing is, the linens are replaced either every Wednesday or Thursday. I can never seem to remember. I always tuck Kitty in whenever I go to school. Usually during housekeeping days, I'd put her in the drawer with my clothes. However, that Wednesday I was late for school and I remembered that the week before, housekeeping was on Thursday, so I assumed that it would also be Thursday (the day after) and I just tucked Kitty in bed.

When I got home, I got new linens and Kitty was gone. I was hysterical. I went downstairs to the RA's (residential advisors) and they told me ask the cleaning ladies who were on the 5th floor. The cleaning ladies speak only Spanish and little English but they told me they had to check the laundry first, which is, thankfully, done in the same building. I filed a lost report on the front desk and then went back to my room. When I went out, the cleaning ladies had gone home and so I had to spend one night without Kitty, without knowing if she really was in the laundry with my linens, or lost forever. I shut my body down and just sleep. I didn't even bother to clean my eye make-up (I've started painting my nails black, worn chunky rings, and put on black eye shadow). I just slept.

I tried not to be panic when I went downstairs the next morning and asked if someone had turned in a kitten doll and the front desk girl shook her head. So I tried to eat something; I didn't eat anything for dinner. When I was done and ready to go to school, I saw the cleaning lady and I asked her about Kitty. She asked me my room and I answered my room number and she said she'd return it to my room. Although somewhat unsure, I still went to school.

When I returned, Kitty was there on my drawer.

So I went to Britex Fabrics on Geary Street to buy ribbons for Kitty and guess what I fooooooound... A VELVET BLACK ROSE!! Which was so pricey but I just had to buy it anyway.

I'd never going to go back to Britex Fabrics. It made me broke! Here the thing: It's situated smack dab in the middle of posh boutiques (Saks Fifth Avenue, Chanel, Armani, Macy's, you get the idea) in Union Square. It has 4 floors of PURE AWESOMENESS! You can get all kinds of fabrics, ribbons, buttons, just anything. But yeah, it is very expensive. Although, then again, I haven't gone shopping for a very long time and I have made a promise to Kitty and I've always wanted a black rose (AND IT'S FRIGGIN' VELVET!!) for my new Tribal Fusion costume, so... Yeah. Hahaha...

Oh, and there was another anti-Mubarak demonstration. It was bigger than the last week one in Market Street, though. This time they had a march. Someone actually brought a doumbek and played a Beledi rhythm.