Merrick @14npereira - Tumblr Blog

The Real M.V.P.

How would you respond if, when you met your college suitemate for the first time, she informed you that she had a “selfishness plan,” the goal of which was to become so selfish over the course of 6 months that eventually she wouldn’t care about anyone? I didn’t know what to say either.

In the weeks that followed, I became thoroughly versed in the language of Yale, got my first glimpse of what college life was like, began to sift through the whirlwind of information that is the Yale Blue Book, and got to know my suitemate, Guadalupe (Guada), more. Evidently she got to know me and the rest of our suitemates more as well, because one morning I was startled to find all of our names in a ranked list on our whiteboard. Guada informed us that this was her way of telling us where we each stood in her mind at the beginning of each day. Acts like bringing back food for the suite would get you promoted; acts like insulting Guada’s goddess, Kim Kardashian, or any picture of a pug would get you demoted beyond belief. The highest honor (which Guada awarded herself) was being dubbed “The Real M.V.P.” I attribute my failure to ever reach this position to my disapproval of Kim K. This disapproval occasionally landed me in the lowest possible position: W.P.L., short for “The Worst Player in the League.”

Following her rearrangement of the rankings, Guada continued her morning routine by looking at herself in our mirror and exclaiming “I look HELLA cute today!”, taking a selfie, and trotting out the door. Occasionally, she’d pop her head back into the doorway to yell to anyone in our common room “Don’t get shot today!”. Then she would do her hand signal where she took her middle finger and pointer finger (separated at a right angle), bring the “V” up around her eye (on more than one occasion, she would do this part too quickly and end up punching herself in the face), say “deuces,” and leave.

While I must admit, I was alarmed at first at the prospect of living with a person who informed me that if I were to get injured in a New Haven dark alley and couldn’t move, she would just leave me there, I grew accustomed to Guada’s presence in my life. It became very normal to come back to the suite and see Guada sprawled out on the couch taking selfies. Or laughing both hysterically and lovingly at pictures of pugs. Or Kim K. It was perfectly ordinary to see her bouncing off the walls and going generally insane with the only explanation being: “I ate a snickers bar.” Nothing was unusual if Guada moved forward to give me a fist-bump only to yank her hand away at the last second. I didn’t bat an eye when she tried to start the rumor that her roommate, Ella, “eats babies in the corner in the dark” as a response to Ella being told that she was a saint. I wasn’t alarmed that, after I had put her battery-powered nerf gun together for her, she shot me in the face...and then again while I was in the bathroom. Basically, I got used to Guada’s antics.

The crazy thing is Guada kept us laughing. At the beginning of the year, when everyone was trying to get to know each other and there was a whole lot of nervous laughter, Guada got us all genuinely laughing. And we all were closer for it. Of course we all knew that she wasn’t in fact narcissistic or insane, but when she put on the Guada show, everyone came around for a good time. Guada is a natural comedian, but more importantly a natural friend. See, the really ironic thing about it all is that first encounter -- being told about the selfishness plan. It’s ironic because Guada is actually one of the most caring, considerate, and ultimately selfless people I’ve ever met.

We all saw Guada’s softer side when she showed us her purple, stuffed unicorn which she had named “Eunice,” when she told us that she made her bed so that her roommate's friends could sit on it if they needed to, and when she did a suitemate’s laundry for her because she was sick. One night, when Ella’s sister was coming to New Haven to visit, Guada waited in the common room so that when they arrived, they would have the room to themselves and space to settle in without having to worry about disrupting Guada. Also, every time any of her friends has a midterm, she sends them a good luck text just minutes before the exam to show that she’s thinking about them. Contrary to what she says, Guada is an extremely considerate individual. She gives herself entirely to any problem that any of her friends has -- she’ll drop anything in an instant to help.

Guada is actually a bastion of humility. She puts on a show, but truthfully, Guada is an amazing person who has accomplished so much in the face of a lot of hardship and never talks about it. I have never heard Guada genuinely and honestly brag. Knowing that Guada is kind and selfless, it may seem strange that she can pull off such an intensely self-centered show. I once asked Guada about this, and she told me that she just likes making people laugh. It sounds so simple, but that’s what makes Guada the glue in all of her friendships. I’ve never met anyone with such a knack for bringing people together. Honestly, I can’t imagine our suite without Guada; she so consistently fills it with laughter that it would just be so empty without her.

I guess the truest compliment I could give to Guada is that, even on my rankings, she’s definitely still “The Real M.V.P.”

Bring It On.

4th quarter, Junior year. This means I'm officially a rising senior. Yikes.

5 years and 7 months ago, I stepped onto Castilleja's grass circle as a student for the first time in my starchy, new dress whites, unsure of what the next 7 years would bring me and where they would take me. I positioned myself directly underneath the yellow flag. I was too scared to talk to anyone and only knew one person in my grade. I stared straight ahead to watch Ms. Lonergan deliver her Welcome speech. My knees were literally shaking.

Fast-forward 5 years, and I was standing across from where I was that first day of sixth grade, under a royal purple flag, and in my dirty, tight, and still starchy dress whites. I was talking to all of my friends that I hadn't seen over the summer, and was laughing too hard to even hear Ms. Kauffman begin the opening remarks. I was truly relaxed and happy to be back after a fun summer.

Clearly, I had changed a lot in those 5 years, but even so, the last 7 months have probably changed me more than those 5 years combined. They put my leadership skills to its greatest test yet. They challenged my ability to persevere, yet still maintain balance. They forced me to grapple with difficult social issues. They made me confront my core values. They also made me lose a lot of sleep. They allowed me to grow up.

Basically, Junior year has really helped me mature. I'm not the same girl that I was that first day of sixth grade, but I haven't completely lost sight of her either. She has shaped the experiences that brought me to where I am now. Junior year has been the test of all that change--it checked to make sure I was changed for the better.

So, in about 5 months, I will be a Senior, standing under the bright red banner at the edge of the circle. My classmates and I will (hopefully) drive our cars around the circle, honking and cheering as we pass the underclassmen. We will wear red feather boas and red converse under our much too short dress white skirts. We will listen to the opening speech because a lot of it will be about us. We will run across the circle to tie the freshmen ties, and we will sing the only line in the school song that everyone knows. We will have a whole new slate of challenges to tackle.

Senior year is around the corner, and I'm not scared because I think I grew up just enough to handle it. I am as ready as I'll ever be and more ready than I've ever been. Bring it on.

Seniors

I've spent the majority of the calendar year thus far with a group of about five or six seniors. I had known that time would come long in advance, but nonetheless, when robotics season came around, I found myself feeling nervous. I didn't really know them that well. I'd assumed they were decent people, but if I were being completely honest with myself, I would admit that I was initially intimidated by them.

They were all smart, funny, respected, driven, and overall well-regarded by the community. They had survived almost all of high school, and in my wide eyes, they were wise and accomplished role models. It appeared, to me at least, that they were perfect. And then there was me: the scared junior whose parents actually enforced the curfew for new drivers, often forcing meetings to end early and abruptly. At first when I was with them, I found myself very self-conscious, as though any mistake I made was further illuminated by their brilliance, when put in comparison.

There were times when it seemed as though they could do no wrong, and I could do nothing but fail. But then I realized that they would never get to know me and I would never get to know them if I was worried about everything all the time. So I lightened up a bit, and the reaction was instantaneous.

They accepted me with more warmth than I could've ever hoped for. They made me feel like I was just another one of their friends. They made me feel like an equal. They made me feel like I was part of a group. They made me feel like a senior.

At this point, I consider these girls to be some of my closest friends. I can go to them for advice about anything, and I trust them 100%, no matter what. They have honestly shaped me so much over the past few months, and I am so grateful. In fact, I'm still just grateful that they opened up a spot in their circle just for me.

Sometimes, I forget that I'm still a junior, that they're going to graduate in the spring, that I'm going to be in the audience and not next to them as they're handed their diplomas, that I'll still be here next year, and that they won't. When I'm jerked back to reality and reminded that I'm not a senior, I can't help but feel lucky. I'm so lucky that I was ever able to be so close with this amazing group of girls, and lucky that they were able to shape me into a much better person. I don't know what I'll do without them next year, but I know with absolute certainty that I'll shed a few tears when I'm in the lab, and they're not next to me.

Team 1700 Has Done It Again! 2 for 2!

Most people would read this title and think that some sort of team given the number 1700 has won 2 out of 2 competitions. I am sorry to say, they would all be wrong. The title refers to the fact that over the course of the past school year, Gatorbotics Team 1700 has attended 2 competitions and has won an award at both. Most people are probably now thinking, well, that's basically the same thing, right? Actually, no. It isn't. FIRST robotics has awards for many different categories, most not even associated with having a competition-winning robot. Team 1700 won an award at CalGames for a video submission...by virtue of being the only video submission. Recently at Portland, they won the Entrepreneurship Award, symbolizing their supposed organized nature, financial responsibility, and professional demeanor.

It is at this point that most people would scoff and ignorantly decide that Team 1700 failed because they haven't won the competition. If I were to then jump in with a bit about how winning isn't important and how they've learned so much, most people would probably deem this a cliché and stop reading. While I believe those aforementioned clichés in their entirety, I will offer another interpretation.

In just two competitions, Team 1700 has climbed the FIRST award hierarchy. If we extrapolate this curve of improvement, we should hope that by the time SVR is over, the girls of Team 1700 have another award under their belt: Chairman's, perhaps? In the robotics world, Chairman's is a big deal. Past winners of Chairman's tend to be highly successful in competition and also tend to get somewhat inflated heads and over-confident strides after winning the award. And here comes the whole point of this whole post. Team 1700 would be excited, shocked, grateful, and happy forever, if they won Chairman's. It would never get to their heads because they know what it means to work hard, only to meet failure. They've been there before. The simple fact that Team 1700 got so excited over two smaller awards (smaller than Chairman's, that is) and over achieving their own goals suggests an enviable contentment and joy that we are now hard-pressed to find at competitions. They know why it is important to cheer for every victory, no matter the scale. Essentially, regardless of the outcome, we can expect to find the girls of Team 1700 sitting together, laughing, smiling, crying because some are graduating, and probably eating a world-famous voodoo donut. Their small, little team has an incredibly large, insurmountable energy that simply exudes positivity, and I'm absolutely sure no team can match it.

So I guess it has become that cliché. Team 1700 will never take anything for granted because they are so happy all the time. But here's the thing: if you don't know exactly what everything I've just described feels like, it will always seem like a cliché to you. In fact, unless you're on Team 1700, it will always be a cliché to you.

A Very, Very Long Reflection

The following post is about the past year. I do not believe I can do a year justice in a measly 500 words. Therefore, I caution you and would like to say that I wrote this mostly for me. So I'm sorry that it's long, but that's how I felt it should be.

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Robotics season officially ended two days ago. However, we didn't finish everything we were hoping to finish, and as a result, I will still be working in the lab every day until competition (an additional two weeks). But that doesn't faze me. Symbolically and technically -- according to FIRST -- the robotics season is over.

This means a lot of things for me as a leader as well as me personally. As a team member, I am nervous that we won't have enough time to finish the rest of the designing we need to do. I am concerned that the robot will break before it can compete. I am worried that something will go wrong.

However, for me as an individual, this symbolic end to robotics this year has brought me a resounding feeling of accomplishment, pride, and serenity. Even though I am sad that the seniors that I worked with and befriended will be leaving soon and that I will no longer eat dinner every night with the whole team, I can't help but feel really proud of what we as a team and I as a person was able to do. Obviously, I feel a sense of pride about the team because we managed to build a functioning robot in six weeks. But why, you may ask, must I separate this from my personal feeling of pride? The short answer is that those two feelings are entirely separate and derived from completely different sources. The long answer is the following:

At the end of last year, I was offered a leadership role on the robotics team for the next season, and I was overjoyed, even in spite of the ensuing yet temporary drama. Shortly after came course selection time. I signed up for a rigorous course-load and had my stubborn heart set on taking every one of those classes. I argued with the administration and got them to sign off, along with my advisor.

I was just about set to turn everything in when Ms. Mourad approached me. She told me that while she respected me for taking on a challenge, my course list (which included her AT Chemistry) coupled with my extracurriculars would be enough to drive anyone to meltdowns and general insanity. Ms. Mourad is someone who I really do respect and admire, and I will go to great lengths to defend her, but here I knew she was wrong. I told her that I knew I could do it, that I would work as hard as I needed to to do everything, and that I would refuse to do anything less. She smiled at me, narrowed in on me with a long stare, and said, "I know you can do it, but I don't want you to lose yourself and your happiness in the process. You're going to have to accept less than perfection for you to achieve this."

As a perfectionist with mild OCD, this was hard to hear. But I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep if I weren't challenging myself in every way. I thanked Ms. Mourad for her advice, then told her I was still going to take those classes. She grinned and told me she knew I was too stubborn to give it up.

That summer, I worried that I wouldn't be able to prove myself, that I wouldn't be able to complete all my activities, that come robotics season, I would break down, and, most importantly, that I would fail my team. The fall was hard. Balancing water polo and a robotics off-season tournament, CalGames by name, was far more difficult than I could've imagined. Nonetheless, I survived it, but looked towards the official build season with immense trepidation. I was going to be a second semester junior -- which, from what I'd heard was ten times more difficult than what I was already struggling to keep up with -- and I would have to be at robotics until absurd hours of the night/morning. "Nervous" was an understatement.

Before I knew it, I was crowded around a computer in Guatemala watching the challenge air, and soon after answering dozens of emails from the rest of the leadership team. As my time in Guatemala came to a close, I couldn't stop thinking about what lay ahead for me. Our plane landed, I went to bed late, woke up the next morning, got in my car, and arrived at robotics.

The season was in full swing. And I was expected to lead a subteam on prototypes that I had barely even heard about. I did the best I could to jump right in and make a smooth transition. It was not easy. And if I thought this one day was hard, how was I even going to begin to survive the rest of the season?

Well, I did, and I had a great time doing it. I'm not going to make it long and tell you about the laughs, the late nights, the chronic exhaustion, the feeling of working forever, the smiles, the tears (both good and bad), and the joy. I could ramble more about the tough decisions, the long car rides, the infinite number of Coupa and Peet's runs, the green cathode lighting, and the hooks on Neil Parker. But I won't. That would take far too long, and that would be mixing my role as a team leader and my role as an individual. As I initially said, my feelings as a leader and my personal feelings are separate and they will remain that way.

I will, however, tell you that, on a personal level, I am proud. Hopefully, now you know why. I did what everyone told me I couldn't do, and I did it without losing myself. I proved not only to others, but to myself, that I can do something if I set my mind to it and that I can shoulder responsibility.

So, that is why my personal feelings of pride are derived from a different source than my team feelings are. I am proud of the team because of what we did, and I am proud of myself for what I did in spite of what I was told I could do.

My Brother Leland

My whole life, I've been incessantly reminded that between my younger brothers and me, I am the hard-working one, Leland is the smart one, and Aidan is the creative one. As annoying as I find that statement, I must admit that it's based in truth. I do work hard, Aidan is creative, and Leland is smarter than even he realizes. Sometimes, he needs a little reminder.

I don't think he knows, but I'm in awe of Leland in so many ways. He was class president at CSUS all throughout middle school, was invited to play on the 8th grade soccer team when he was a 6th and 7th grader, and built a solar oven for a 5th grade science project in which he combined the 2 most effective solar ovens written about by National Geographic to create an even more effective one. He has an astounding memory--although he uses it to memorize football statistics instead of algebra equations, if he cares about something, he'll memorize ever letter of it. Leland can also make friends much more easily than anyone else I know. 5 minutes in a room with 10 other people is enough time for Leland to make 10 new and close friends. However, he has always put family first, even before his millions of friends.

My parents love to tell the story of when I was 4, and he was 2, and we were both at the park. A big kid was following me around and bothering me. Eventually, he pushed me down the slide, and I was a little shell-shocked. Leland saw my face, turned around, and punched the big kid that had scared me. Of course, my parents yelled at him for punching and he hasn't really done anything like that since, but his protective and deeply sensitive nature has remained untouched and untainted.

I would be lying if I ended this post by coming to a deep emotional epiphany in which I resolved to never fight with Leland and never think negative thoughts about him ever again. He's my brother, and I guarantee you that we will continue to fight, and I will continue to be just a bit envious and resentful of his natural and raw intelligence. But I know that no matter what frustration I feel towards him, those feelings are only skin deep. Deep down, I will be awed and amazed by him for the rest of my life.

Aneesha's House

I have metal shavings in my bra; I am covered in wood dust; my hands and arms are cut all over and covered in grease. Oh, and by the way, I am not in my own house.

Yes, we actually worked to the point at which my mother deemed it "too illegal" to break my 11:00 curfew by "THAT much," so I crashed at Aneesha's house.

This is not going to be another one of those "robotics has taught me so much" posts, for which I am so well known. This is not going to be a long series of statements elaborating my on physical and emotional state's dependence upon our robot's functioning. This is not going to be a place for me to remind everyone who complains about being at school until 8 that I am there much longer. This is about how I got to be where I am right now: Aneesha's house.

I met Aneesha in 9th grade when we were in Ms. Contento's spanish class. "I didn't like you when when I first met you," says Aneesha with a smirk, "you were annoying." Thankfully, though, she got over my being "annoying," and we soon became friends.

Over the course of sophomore year, the face that I matched with the name "Aneesha" got a lot more dimensional. I realized that although she is incredibly smart and wise, she is equally modest and contained. She can be shy, and she can be loud. She laughs at me, and she laughs with me. But perhaps more importantly, she is the person I most often seek out for advice. I know I can trust Aneesha with anything, and I do. Whether it be trouble with peers, teachers, friends, or family, Aneesha never fails to give me the right answer.

This year, I got to know her even more. After long hours spent together during robotics and finding out I was her ringee, we became true friends. She began to come to me for advice as well. It really struck me that someone who was my superior in so many ways treated me as an equal in every way. Aneesha has stood by me when I needed someone to lean on and stood up for me when I couldn't do it myself.

I've realized that the truest friend is one who, after working late with you, takes you back to her house so you don't have to drive. Aneesha, I'm going to miss you so much next year!

To Be a Junior

To be a junior is to be more than just an eleventh grader. To be a junior is to embark on an exploration of both yourself and your life.

To be a junior is to feel a new form of all your feelings. To be a junior is to often be over-emotional. To be a junior is to bond with your classmates, as you cry, laugh, complain, stress, and smile with each other. To be a junior is to deepen the camaraderie in your class. To be a junior is to form new camaraderie with all those who have been juniors before: teenagers, alums, and adults alike. To be a junior is to experience one of the many teenager rights of passage.

To be a junior is to take a lot of classes that are all rigorous. To be a junior is to plunge into a new chapter every week, if not day. To be a junior is to view learning in a different, but faster paced, light. To be a junior is to foster a new inquisitiveness from within yourself. To be a junior is to come to love learning and to value your education. To be a junior is to appreciate all that you have, including all that you complain about.

To be a junior is to always be busy. To be a junior is to give up your favorite TV shows in order to make more time for homework. To be a junior is to prioritize work, because there is not physically enough time to do it all. To be a junior is to associate the idea of being home with the idea of being stressed because of homework. To be a junior is to never stop. To be a junior is to test yourself and your limits.

To be a junior is to realize that all the bad parts also come with the good parts. To be a junior is to love both parts.

A Different Perspective

I was given a book for Christmas entitled The Hidden Reality. This book explores the basics of string theory and the multiverses that emerge from our recent studies and advances in the field of string theory. Essentially, string theory proposes that instead of viewing the fundamental units of matter as point particles, we should view them as oscillating strings, whose properties are attributed to its vibrational pattern. This theory, if proven correct, would provide us with the grand unified theory that eluded Einstein, and it would resolve the current mathematical conflicts between quantum mechanics and general relativity.

However string theory does not only allow for strings; it also suggests the presence of 2-dimensional membranes that we may be living on. If this is the case, there may be other membranes containing other universes. In other words, we may not be alone. Our entire and seemingly enormous universe may be but a single plane in a sea of other similar planes. There may be no such thing as "unique." To further our feeling of insignificance, another foundational idea in string theory suggests that our whole life is a hologram, and that we are just playing out pre-written instructions located at the edges of our cosmos. Simply, we are nothing but puppets. Free will and all those other notions of our lives may be only an illusion.

After reading this book and mulling it over a little, I was forced to consider the role of string theory in both the scientific community as well as my own life. As it stands today, string theory is far from being considered "proven." I know many scientists have dedicated their entire scientific careers to string theory, and I know that, if proved, it would forever change our understanding of the world. The scientist in me wants to prove string theory and finally reach the grand unified theory. However, a small part of me still wants to think that I have some importance, that my life has meaning, and that I can think and act for myself and from my own free will.

I think that I still want to matter, even if it's just a little bit.

Being Average

I stand at an average height of 5'3" (5'4" if I round REALLY generously), have brown eyes and hair (the most common coloring for these features), am part of a normal family of five, grew up in sunny and ordinary Burlingame, have a regular intelligence, and drive a silver Prius (the most common color of the most common car in the Bay Area). I am, without a doubt, average.

Over the past 3 years, I have heard approximately 175 senior speeches. However, this year, I think because I know many of the seniors well, the speeches have forced me to confront my normality. Many of the speeches have outlined incredible and life-changing adventures in the lives of the seniors. In other words, each girl has an extraordinary story to tell. And me? I can't really think of any story I have that would wow anyone. I didn't have any gaping abnormalities in my childhood, and my appearance is, as outlined earlier, ordinary.

I'm not saying that my own life pathway isn't unique, because technically no one has lived the exact same life as me. I am merely claiming to have lived the "typical" American life -- fortunate, but routine. I'm not sure yet if that's a bad thing or a good thing. Maybe it's just a thing -- a normal thing.

"Abuelos"

I bowed my head to enter the tiny, dusty structure with tin walls and wooden supports. A small, wrinkled woman greeted me with a hug and then directed me to a wooden plank resting on two cinder blocks. She smiled at me, showing her few and crooked teeth, then made a motion to indicate that I should sit on the wood. The woman sat on a small stool facing me. She was wearing a traditional Mayan outfit that, to a trained eye, indicated her guatemalan heritage as specifically one of San Juan La Laguna. Her legs fidgeted uncomfortably in the mass produced shoes to which her feet were still unaccustomed. Long, silver braids cascaded down her hunched back, and wrinkles rippled across her arms, legs, and face. Despite her age, the woman's hands were still and unwavering as she pointed at me and smiled. A single dash of sunlight escaped the tin barrier to graze her eyes. The wrinkles on her skin contradicted the vitality in her eyes, which suggested she was no more than ten years old. Her eyes burned brightly throughout her tales of oppression, war, poverty, and loneliness. The stories were progressively more upsetting, yet they only seemed to kindle the light in her deep, brown eyes. Fundamentally, her eyes were eternally happy and content, just as her soul was.

When I left the house, the single word impression that remained with me was "satisfaction." This woman, who had lived through some of the worst years in Guatemala's history, who had no material luxury, who had been through some of the greatest hardships known to humanity, was absolutely and unequivocally satisfied. Suddenly it hit me. And it didn't hit me as a feather hits the ground; it hit me as fireworks hit the night sky. I have so much more in the way of material luxury than most of the people here, but they are happier. Some of the poorest people in the world are the happiest and therefore truly have the most. Why live a luxurious life if it isn't one of satisfaction? The truth is, there is no good reason to live in a state of discontent, and I couldn't definitively state that I was not living this way. It was then that I resolved to live a life of raw meaning rather than one of artificiality. Essentially, I resolved to live.

Portrayal

About 3 months ago, I got an ear cuff. In general, I avoid piercings, with the exception of a piercing on each ear lobe, because I think they project an image that doesn't quite fit me. Nonetheless, I got an ear cuff, a less permanent, but still visually similar, piece of metal that pinches the side of my ear, just as a true piercing would.

If I am so against piercings because of the way they look, then why did I get something that looks almost identical, even if it is not permanent? Truthfully, I got it to scare my dad. I knew that if I came home wearing that cuff, appearing as though I had pierced an unapproved part of my body, my dad would panic. Call me malicious, but after years of teasing and taunting from him, I had fun playing with his "deepest fears." Predictably, he was horrified and lectured me about how I would never get a job now and that was because I had "defiled" my body. After watching him hyperventilate for a few more minutes, I caved and showed him that it was fake. Regardless of the malice of my intention, I got the desired result. Why, then, do I still wear the cuff when I claim that I don't like the appearance it gives me?

I wear it because it is fun. I still get friends, teachers, peers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins to freak out when they see it, and I guess I enjoy watching people's perception of me change. I suppose I've cultivated a "good girl," "follows-all-the-rules" image over the past few years, and perhaps that is who I am, but to be honest, I don't really know that yet. If I don't know who I am, other people certainly don't, and I like watching them realize that maybe I'm not that person. It seems cheesy, but that one cuff changes the way other people see me, and maybe how I feel about myself too.

Here Comes the Stampede...

In a traditional family, "Thanksgiving" means the nuclear family of 5 -- the parents, one boy, one girl, and a baby (with a gender of the imaginer's choosing) -- sitting down with the grandparents at a small but neat dining room table, with the turkey placed last in the center of the table among plates of stuffing, mashed potatoes, and assorted vegetables, and flanked by tall, lit candles. After the turkey is set down, the last family member would sit down, and the family would join hands. They would say grace and then, for a quick moment, there would be silence. Then the father would begin to carve the turkey, while the family waited in an orderly manner to be served. After receiving a slice of turkey, each person would serve themselves and others some of the other dishes. Overall, thanksgiving in a traditional household is a peaceful and civilized event. Well, not in my house...

An outsider stopping by my house for Thanksgiving would open the door to a deafening noise. No, people are not waiting to surprise you with noise at the door; the house itself is just loud. Everywhere you go, every corner you turn, there are people making some sort of noise. People yelling, people laughing, people whispering quietly, people who think they're whispering quietly, people trying to shout over everyone else, people trying to find more people, people on the phone, people looking for their kids, people running to go outside, people chasing each other, people chasing dogs, people being chased by dogs, and many many more people.

Needless to say, I have grown up in a very "people-centered" family. What does this mean? It means that I often come home on normal school days to find people who I don't know sitting on my couch. It means that at family reunions, I probably know or recognize 20% of the people there. It means that anyone and everyone is invited for Thanksgiving.

Each year we host about 45 people for Thanksgiving. So this means my surrender of the privacy of my room, lots and lots of cooking (and therefore lots and lots of cleaning), heated family debates, frequent and loud demands for a grocery trip, arguments over which news station is better, and -- though it doesn't seem to fit with the previous things -- a lot of love. My family is crazy, loud, hot-tempered, and at times annoying, but deep-down, I know that I wouldn't be anywhere close to the person I am today without them. Sometimes, while we're sitting down at about 6 different tables, all yelling over who gets to serve first and spilling gravy everywhere in sight, I wonder how different I would be if I had grown up in that "traditional" setting. Sometimes I even begin to wish I could have that experience, even once. But then, when all 45 people jam into the basement to play Rockband and Snooker, I can't help but look around and smile. My family makes me happy, and I would never trade them for anything in the world. And, though I am nervously awaiting the stampede of people, I know that no matter what, I am thankful this year, thankful that I will get to spend Thanksgiving with the people I love the most.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

One Song

One song can change everything. It can turn a bad day to a good one, bring back a distinct memory or perhaps just a feeling, remind you of someone, and change the general mood completely. Sometimes it is for obvious reasons of associationism and the relationship between the song and and the feeling induced makes total sense. And sometimes you don't even know why.

I was working with music playing softly in the background when the song "Human Nature" came on the radio. A feeling of security and home washed over me, and my mind was taken back to Thanksgiving last year. The feelings of love and family were so powerful, and, for whatever reason, I associate them with that song. I don't think we ever played it while the everyone was together last year, and the lyrics don't really ring true to our exact relationship. So why, then, do I remember Thanksgiving so vividly at the first sound of this song? I honestly don't know. Perhaps this song was playing in the background so softly that my conscious mind didn't pick it up, but subconsciously I did. That seems to be a more logical reason, but what if there's more to it? What if there is some deep spiritual meaning to it? Who knows?

I wish I could understand my own mind.

State of Mind

What do you do when you feel like everything is slipping out of your control, and nothing you do can reel it all back in? What do you do when the only solution to everything seems to be the pausing of time?

This seems like a dramatic response to having a lot of homework, but it's not just that. It's not just me that's busy -- my friends are also trying to stay afloat their own flood of work. This heavily limits the amount of time I can spend with them, which is particularly unfortunate because it is times like this of utter madness when you need your friends the most. Recently, I've felt that the craze of junior year has done its best to separate me from my friends with the onslaught of work. This past week has been particularly bad. With sports games, practices, work, and school, I feel as though I haven't spoken to, let alone seen, some of the people most important to me, the people who give me a sense of security, the people who truly are the "rocks" in my life.

That is why I want everything to be put on pause. If time halted for just a day, I would spend it regaining control. I would spend time with the people whom I love; I would rest and relax; I would, grudgingly, do some work in an effort to catch up.

You might say to me that this means I'll appreciate the time that I do get to spend with these people much more. Maybe you're right, but sometimes it's hard to see. Right now, I'm just looking forward to Thanksgiving break, when my massive family of around 45 people and friends whom I love just as much will congregate in my kitchen to cook, debate, laugh, and smile. Perhaps this is my buoy :)

Today, I dressed up as my water polo coach Christina Nawas for Halloween. I did it initially because the rest of the team has been convinced all season that we are "twins," if not in looks, in "souls." Although I disagree, I take it as an enormous compliment to be like her. At this point, the costume has become less about the joke, and more about the fact that probably no one has ever changed me more. She has been such an incredible mentor to me, in and out of the pool, and I'm sad to see my time on her team come to a close. I have known her for 6 years now (she has been my coach since 6th grade, and was my teacher in 8th), and I am proud to say that she has definitely rubbed off on me a lot! She got me started in robotics, and then this year, she dealt with my crazy schedule in robotics. I couldn't have asked for a kinder coach. Cheers to another great season's end, and to the most accommodating, friendly, wise, open, happy, energetic, and just overall best coach anyone could ever ask for :) Happy Halloween!

WHY: The Quest for Truth

To be perfectly honest, I'm a little scared. I'm scared that we're being lied to, I'm scared that I don't know what's going on in the world, I'm scared that I have to take news with a grain of salt, but most of all, I'm scared that we can't even trust our own government.

The Obama Administration, with evidence piling up against them, was forced to admit that despite having blamed the attacks in Libya on a movie entitled The Innocence of Muslims, the attack was, in fact, a terrorist attack that could possibly have been prevented. Hillary Clinton, as Secretary of State, was responsible for pulling security on the US Embassy in Libya. No one could have known that the attack was coming; one can only guess. But the one of the worst parts of this tragedy is the aftermath - WHY are we being lied to? WHY can't we know the truth? 4 Americans slain, and our own government intentionally lies to us about WHY. Recently, news sources have indicated that members of the administration were receiving real time emails during the attacks suggesting that it was a planned terrorist attack rather than a growing protest. So then WHY were we intentionally lied to? Even now, the administration is not revealing the full truth. The families of those killed have asked for answers, and both Clinton and Obama have refused to answer. New information comes out every day, and more lies are uncovered. And what is all this really for? The election. The safety and awareness of the American population apparently comes second to a scrutinized election.

This is just blatantly unacceptable.

Source: http://www.examiner.com/article/benghazi-attack-was-an-inside-job

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