so, i just watched garden state for the second time in two days-- i've found that when im not watching it, i'm thinking about it. not because it changed me, or because it affected the way i see or think, but because it told me what ive been thinking. it told me exactly what i posted about before (which is kind of weird)(see 10/2/04). the thing is, whether you're 17, or 27, or 57, we all have this common link-- we're all searching for something, constantly, endlessly, painfully. but theres this beautiful mutual understanding that we all have with one another and with ourselves: we know that in order to find home, we've got to get a little lost. and being lost is where life gets interesting; its where we make the stories we tell our kids about, its what we think about right before we go to sleep in our safe, comfortable beds. and its the fact that we change our definitions of what is security and what is uncertainty so often that proves that we're growing.
i guess this movie did that for me.
there's no "between the lines" crap to think about. it's all there, sincerely, wholly, candidly.and before i knew it, i found the best and worst parts of myself in each character, and i connected on an entirely knew stage: i connected with myself.

yesterday while walking to the parking lot, trying to avoid the puddles (because the rain had just stopped), i was looking at the ground around me reflecting the parking lot lights, and all of a sudden i saw heavy rain drops start to fall into the puddles just a few feet ahead of me, while i was standing, dry, rain-free. it lasted for a split second, and within moments i was drenched, but it was long enough for me to tell myself to remember that instant forever, because for some reason, after that, it didn't feel so bad to be in the rain

colin hay- i just dont think ill ever get over you

god this song is beautiful. it makes you feel like when you hit your funny bone or fall on your ass; it hurts and part of you wants to cry and the other part wants to laugh, and at the same time that your eyes tear up, you smile. its happy sadness, or, im okay sadness
i think it feels like that

its number 5 on the garden state soundtrack- if you have the cd and havent listened to this song, do-- if you dont have the cd, find some way to listen to the song.

few things feel better than feeling capable.
capable of doing anything, really, from climbing mountains, to aceing that test, to running a marathon, to living your dreams. and i think thats what i've taken away from this experience. not just confidence (because confidence can easily screw you over) (i already had confidence), but the sensation of feeling that i can do this. i think its something we love to hear ourselve say, and love even more to believe, but nothing can replace what its like to feel it. and i think its such an integral part of my life and how i want to live, that im surprised i've gone on this long without it, or at least without acknowledging it. i think that now i can always remind myself that im capable-- even if im not, i can try to bullshit my way through it-- and i can really try to move, not just forward, but in all sorts of directions, and see beauty in both my triumphs and my failures.

Now i appreciate days when the sky is so clear you feel like you can look through it, when it feels like the sun is patting your shoulders, when the clouds are moving faster than your breath, when you can lie on your back in the grass and forget yourself and hear nothing but a song playing in your head, and when a run-on doesn't feel like a run-on at all.

i really have to get a new calendar, i desperately need the perspective

in an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
the government has decided to allot
each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

when the phone rings, i put it
to my ear without saying hello.
in the restaurant, i point
at chicken noodle soup. i am
adjusting well to the new way.

late at night, i call my long-
distance lover and proudly say:
"i only used fifty-nine today.
i saved the rest for you.

"when she doesn't respond, i know
she's used up all her words,
so i slowly whisper i love you,
thirty-two and a third times.
after that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

-jeffrey mcdaniel, the quiet world

stole the air from my lungs

this is my year

The buzz has begun again as it has every year, arriving with the changing leaves of the numerable deciduous trees on our campus: college applications. As an insider looking around, I’ve noticed the pressure mounting for quite some time; for about as long as we’ve been in high school. It’s a frightening process: trying to condense four years of your academic and extracurricular achievement on an 8 1/2x 11 sheet of paper; and even worse, trying to sum up your intellectual, personal, and social being in 500 words or less. Perhaps what makes us most nervous is the fact that we might not be who those college admissions officers want us to be, that maybe we’ve wasted our years in high school taking the wrong classes, joining the wrong sports, or focusing on the wrong subjects. There are countless things wrong with the application process- from the unbalanced emphasis of test scores over personality to the limitations we put on ourselves trying to be the “well-rounded” student we hope they’re looking for. It is in this twisted form of prostitution that we try to sell ourselves, wrapped up in the perfect package, ready and willing to be molded into the leaders of tomorrow. But what if we’re leaders now? What if all this talk about needing to be chosen is just another way of learning to choose ourselves over everything else; what if it’s about putting ourselves first, and not allowing a letter to determine just how worthy we are of greatness. Regardless of where you start, more important is the journey you take to end up where you want to be. College is just part of that journey, part of our never-ending quest to make a difference; and while it may change our lives, may alter our futures, may even change us as people, it is only as big and bad as we make it. College is like any other test- it can make us or break us. But it cannot measure how capable we are of fulfilling our potential. It’s alright if an admission’s officer doesn’t see it, as long as you do.

Love is in the Air
J. Covarrubias

With the cold air of winter comes the sweet warmth of hot chocolate, wearing scarves, and holding hands. As the seasons change once again, we begin to experience what we as Southern Californians rarely see: winter. Rejoicing in the perfect weather to actually wear out pea coats and scarves, enjoying the beginnings of holiday celebrations, and realizing what forty degree weather feels like while wearing flip flops, the students of the RH seem to welcome the cold weather with great affability and enthusiasm. Yet it is significant that as the weather cools, friendships warm up. Recently it has become overwhelmingly noticeable to see our Regents walking two by two. Perhaps it is in the ritualistic hibernation of wintertime that finding someone to keep warm with becomes just a natural solution to keep warm. Some blame the flood of new relationships on the holidays, which are notoriously known to incite cheer and friendliness, while others see it as a “domino effect” on the populace, with one relationship provoking the next and so forth. Walking through the senior quad at lunch, however, the effect seems undeniably to be a result of “love, actually.” It has been likened to a lottery, in which during the springtime the names are thrown into a hat, and shaken through summer and fall, until just the right breeze moves in, and an unlikely person moves just an inch closer to keep warm.
You might wonder why clichéd high school romance should make this issues column, and I guess it is my place to explain the logic behind the madness, but I think Nietzsche phrased it just right when he said, “There is always some madness in love, but there is also some reason in madness.” The truth is, the friendships and relationships that grow and blossom through high school seem to capture the instance in which the wind rustling in the leaves and the warm breath from a sigh can dissolve all reason to grow up and yet give proof that we have. Having a reason to come to school, besides the thrilling adventure of a calculus test, makes each day all the more meaningful. As students, we are often so wrapped up into the ideals of teenage angst and the overpowering thought of destruction accompanying a “B” that we fail to see past ourselves for a second. The reason behind the madness is ultimately the fact that we start caring about someone else for a second. It is not in the “give a little, get a lot” kind of way, but in the give a little, feel better about yourself kind of way that we make it through the cold winters.
The Beatles knew it best when they said “all you need is love.” For us seniors, life seems to move to the beat of the newest Outkast song; so fast you forget the lyrics. Through the momentous last months of our winter in high school, I propose we stir to the rhythm of oldies, the classics, the ones you catch yourself singing in the shower. Perhaps the tune may not be about someone in particular for you, but it will remind you to love the time of year when love is in the air.

A few years ago my parents changed the locks of our front door. I don’t know whether it was out of a sense of safety or for piece of mind, but what I do know is that they didn’t tell me about it. After a couple of weeks of frustration trying to get in with the wrong key, I finally took a hint and asked my parents about it, and with an ease and nonchalance, they handed me the new key, wondering why I hadn’t asked them for one earlier.
For years I’ve come home on my own; with two parents working overtime all the time, I’ve always gotten a lot of time to myself. I’ve always entered the house with my own set of keys.
So when they changed the locks, I added a new key to my chain. It looks identical to the old one, so they’re impossible to tell apart. I know I should just take the old key out of the chain altogether- I’m sure it would be much easier. But I don’t. And so everyday for the past 3 years I’ve tried to open the door using the guess and check method. And the first key I pick is always the wrong key- and my gut always tells me it’s the wrong key. But I try it anyway. And every time I finally open the door I laugh at myself, and wonder why I don’t just listen to my gut, but then I think, at least I can hear it; that’s progress.

she's starting to believe

so this my crack at 100 grand....

"How does your American Dream compare to that of your parents?"

For as long as I can remember, my father and I have congregated at the same place every morning- the bathroom. As I brushed and he shaved, we would take turns using the sink, never actually acknowledging one another, but always knowing the other’s presence by the humming of our respective tunes. Mine changed throughout the years; beginning as a school song or lullaby, it graduated to the newest Spice Girl number by the tender age of nine, and now varies from Broadway showtunes to top 40 hits. My father’s music choices have varied as well; I remember him humming old, unfamiliar Indian film songs, sometimes a smattering of newer numbers, and occasionally a recognizable tune that I could sing along to.
It’s no surprise that we start each morning the same way; music is a big part of our family- my dad is a musician and singer; his devotion to the tabla has played an instrumental role in how I was brought up. I’ve kept up the classical music tradition by my immersion in Bharatanatyam, a classical form of Indian dance.
My dad came to America when he was twenty-one and through a series of (chance, fateful, random) meetings and opportunities, wound up with a stable career and healthy family. He took a chance by coming to America- hopping from state to state, he worked hard at school and engineering, yet he continued to play for audiences across the country. As a young man, my father wanted nothing more than to perform, but he carried in his suitcase a greater sense of obligation and responsibility to the roots he had left in India and the seeds he would embed in this land of opportunity- and I don’t blame him; as the first in his family to come to this unfamiliar world of purple mountain majesties, to think of the pressure he felt is almost as overwhelming as the prospect of doing what he did. My dad put his dreams aside because he thought that if he could establish new roots in America, the ones he loved would have a shot at greatness, and that would make his sacrifice worthwhile.
So I know he understands when I tell him I want to perform. Despite the social stigma that the occupation of “actor” carries in our well-meaning, traditional Indian culture, he knows it’s in my blood. When I consider it, our dreams aren’t so different at all; it’s only a matter of circumstance. The twinkle in my eye is only a reflection of the stars I reach for- and I can’t help but have this feeling that he’s seen those stars before, he’s reached for them and that now, more than ever, his dream is for me to make mine a reality.
So when he joins me in singing a Rod Stewart classic, or when I try to keep up with a folk song in Gujarati, our native tongue, I hear more than just two raspy morning-breath voices. I hear music.


is it worth $100,000? please feel free to comment.

Yahoo! Photos - new york city

where i was supposed to be born

tomorrow im going to the place that i've been infatuated with for as long as i can remember. if it's possible, i feel like it's the place that i was supposed to live in. i know, it's populous- hell, crowded- for a reason: broadway, saks, the rockettes- what's not to love? but i feel like its different that i've known since i was eleven that will live there someday. it's weird but, i feel like a part of me is in the core of that big apple... or maybe its the other way around

ok, i enabled the comment thing on my blog. i'm not quite sure why; maybe it's out of curiosity or sheer hubris, i dunno. nevertheless, comment if you feel the need- if you have something to say, that is. if not, don't bother, you can post comments on my livejournal for frivolous matters. i think im a blog snob, maybe it's because i was a blog reader before anything else, and the blogs i read were really really good blogs... they were written by writers, you know? so i only blog when its important and when i mean it. so please, only comment if you mean it. you can join my elitist blog regime

from a mixed media piece by david wojnarowicz (read it aloud) :
"When I put my hands on your body on your flesh I feel the history of that body. Not just the beginning of its forming in that distant lake but all the way beyond its ending. I feel the warmth and texture and simultaneously I see the flesh unwrap from the layers of fat and disappear. I see the fat disappear from the muscle. I see the muscle disappearing from around the organs and detaching itself from the bones. I see the organs gradually fade into transparency leaving a gloaming skeleton gleaming like ivory that slowly revolves until it becomes dust. I am consumed in the sense of your weight the way your flesh occupies momentary space the fullness of it beneath my palms. I am amazed at how perfectly your body fits to the curves of my hands. If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth to this present time to me I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours I would. It makes me weep to feel the history of your flesh beneath my hands in a time of so much loss. It makes me weep to feel the movement of your flesh beneath my palms as you twist and turn over to one side to create a series of gestures to reach up around my neck to draw me nearer. All these memories will be lost in time like tears in the rain." - David Wojnarowicz [The Estate Project]
-brilliant

i'm lucky to be who i am, and i'm grateful for it. because while i don't always like my surroundings or the place i am physically, i always manage to stay in a healthy state of mind. i'm glad i havent compromised myself or my goals and opinions. i love me. and i think that'll keep me from screwing myself over.

i forget that living like weasels means living like weasels, not just dancing like weasels, or acting like weasels. it means doing everything intensely and sincerely.. to be a survivalist in everything you do. everything

i'm really enjoying this not having much to do stuff... i keep thinking im forgetting something. and lately i've been thinking about things that evoke really specific feelings but then i lose the thought and am left with the feelings, which range from one extreme to the other, but still manage to make me feel the way i feel when someone's just told me a really secretive secret and i kind of cant help but smile and not worry about what it is that im forgetting, because, really, it doesn't matter what it is, its just how it feels, right?
that was one sentence. now you know its foram talking, lest you forget.