ruminations

I began writing this post a week ago, and it was essentially done when I wrote it on Thursday. A week has gone by, and now I have more to think about and reflect upon. Unfortunately, this week has not been as blithe as last week was. Updates written today (July 6) are in red. 7/9: This must have been really confusing the first two days this was up, because I actually didn’t remember to highlight these sections in red in WordPress, although they’re in red in Word. Lol, my mistake. 

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Every night before I go to bed, a compulsion to check the door comes over me, typically before I brush my teeth. I go to my front door and check the locks, make sure it’s closed, and then go to the back door and do the same. I must do this, although I automatically lock the door behind me when I come inside or leave. Sometimes I do it twice, or three times.

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notes on a read-through of my manuscript

It’s that time of the year again! I have some spare time, and I say “Alright, let’s work on these manuscripts!” only to run into the same issues again, as I have already talked about in an earlier post. Yet, as I read my work over and over again, and grow older with it, I am becoming more and more aware of the things I do as a writer and why I do them. So I’ve compiled some observations.

I read my own work differently than I read a book. I suppose this seems like a rather self-evident statement, but I noticed that when I read my manuscript on my computer or in print, I find that I am way more focused on editing and pruning that I would be with a book. I suppose this is because I can edit my work, while I can’t edit Native Son, but I also find that when I am reading, I am less concerned with the author’s convention, or the crafting of the narrative voice; I am less concerned with the craft of writing as it pertains to a faceless, eternally different author. I find that I am the same way when reading my friend’s work. I can’t help but read them into the text, and I don’t like this, because I don’t want people to read me into my texts, although that’s going to be impossible for the people I know closest who are reading my work. Without knowing the author and having a window into their mind, texts seem to exist only as consumable forms of media, and do not carry with them any contextual weight regarding their production.

Having Microsoft Word read me my manuscript helps. I suppose it makes things feel a little more real? There’s a function on Word 2016 (I’m not sure if it’s on older versions) that lets you read a document aloud. I ran Protean through it while I was a little down and self-reflective, waiting on my friend (who’s already on the path to writerly stardom) to respond to my rather anxious Facebook message. As I listened, I put away my laundry, and found that I was sinking into the story, less focused on that narrow, indistinguishably hairline boundary between good writing and overexpression. I just let the story unfurl, and I found that my anxiety was shifting from being weirded out by my own writing to being immersed in one of the anxiety-riddled sequences of the book. My works are imbued with a dark humor which makes me laugh (and I suppose that’s all that matters?) but this is to lighten a text which is nevertheless about being anxious. The entire story is about miscommunication, miseducation, mismanagement of emotions, of relationships. The sequence that the robot-person read aloud was quite heavy, but also quite immersive. I wonder if this is how people read texts… the robot voice put a distance between me as writer and me as reader, a necessary middleman. I find that I quite like the manuscript now. I just wish that I could find a voice that’s a little better at pronouncing the words and making them sound like human text.

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out of the frying pan, into the fire

 

I graduated two weeks ago. It wasn’t that momentous an occasion. For one, I always feel weird about these “sad” situations. It makes me feel cold when I realize that I am not sad to say goodbye to people. It’s not like I’m happy to say goodbye; I find that I brace myself for these situations weeks in advance, and therefore don’t feel much at all. I don’t really say goodbyes, because I am doubtful I will never see my friends again. Those who I may never see in person I will see online, on Facebook or Instagram, cyber-agoras. It is unlikely that I will completely drop out of contact with those I care about, and so saying goodbye to someone’s physical form does not seem to move me much at all. And saying this may make me seem cold, but I can’t do much to change how you read me, or how you read the way I read myself.

I am in New Haven, staying with a graduate student in the comparative literature department. New Haven is a nice town; I can already tell I am going to like it a lot. I’m taking the Latin class I’ve talked about, and it’s not too bad. While I think it’s annoying I have to learn Latin, I have a knack for languages and in many ways consider myself an amateur linguist. Latin, as a classical language, has a lot of features I’ve only been able to study on Wikipedia pages, and learning it will definitely help me understand how French and Portuguese and other Romance languages function, even if the utility of Latin will not necessarily intersect (at least directly) with my research.

I am set to move into my apartment in about a week. While I have been enjoying my time with my host, I feel like a burden nevertheless and will appreciate having my own space and not being a squatter in hers. Only time will tell.

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finals

 

I have a lot of things on my mind, and I’m kind of too tired to really formulate them into nice, flowing paragraphs. I just need to reflect.

Y’all. Why did I do Honors? Oh yeah, because I thought it would really help me get into grad school to see that I was pushing myself. Yet, as I am realizing, now that I’m in grad school, being in Honors at Swarthmore doesn’t necessarily mean you’re pushing yourself, because I could have taken these Honors courses and not have to take these stupid exams. without being an Honors major I took my first two exams (in Geographic Thought, a course I really enjoyed, although I don’t think I really grasp some of the problems we read about, and Black Cultural Studies, a course I took a year and a half ago) and the test were fine? I don’t think I wrote something good, but I made interesting points and tried to approach a complex topic in a way which drew together multiple authors, which is what I assume is the purpose of these exams. It’s not necessarily how poignantly you can respond to a question (which is inherently vague so as to remove the possibility of a one-answer solution), but how you can draw upon the materials of the course to construct an understanding of its subject material in response or in consideration of a vague, general question. Also the exam was open-notes, open-book, and so are all of my exams, and I have this annoying little voice in my head saying “why bother studying?” and I can’t not listen to it. I took my test today and finished with a lot of extra time, which kind of sent me into a panic because I wasn’t sure if I had just misread the questions. I have 5 more exams; one written, four orals. The next one is Monday. I then have 4 oral exams on the 15th and 16th.

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the body suite

I

When I was in Berkeley, I took a break from one of the information sessions for admitted students and went downstairs to the bookstore. I had realized that I hadn’t purchased any paraphernalia from any of the schools to which I had been admitted and I had always liked the Berkeley clothes that I’d seen at other students at Swarthmore. It was a typical shopping experience for me; I looked around, sort of scoffing at the expensiveness of most of the things I actually liked, before settling on the generic Berkeley sweatshirt that most people at Swat are prone to seeing me in, now. (I’m actually wearing it now.) Yet, I couldn’t find my size – M. There was either S, the size I eventually bought, and XL. As I looked at the XLs. I found this annoying, and asked the cashier if they had any Mediums in the back. She responded with a stern “No.” I then told her that it’s always so hard to find my size, although they had tons of XLs, a size I used to be able to fit long ago. And it was at that moment that I suppose she really looked at me, instead of giving a sort of rote response. And then she said “Wow, I could never imagine you in an XL.”

Many people at Swarthmore would not recognize the 11th grade Xavier if we were to randomly appear on campus one day, take a stroll across McGill, or sit in the BCC and wait to be seen. They would probably think he was one of my mythical siblings (everyone always assumes I’m an only child, and I’m not; I have three siblings.) I was far larger and far more aware of my body back then, and the pseudoconfidence I may exude now in this trimmer, slimmer form may fool you into believing that all aspects of that person, who existed for so much longer than the one who exists now, are gone or have been permanently changed. But that isn’t even remotely the case.

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why I declined my Fulbright

Lol. So I’m officially done! with all of my applications. I was accepted to the Master’s programs in Quebec and got funding to do them from the Fulbright Commission but I declined my grant offer today. When I got the email notifying for the Fulbright, it was like the same thing that happened before with other acceptances; looking at my phone, saying “Oh, wow” and going back to whatever I was doing, thinking, in the absence of emotion, about why I am so unimpressed or unmoved. I’m tired, and I’ve been saying the same thing for months. I haven’t even told many people about the Fulbright because I haven’t really considered it a viable option. I wanted to write (an actually brief) blog post about it, just to sort of formally announce that I got (and have declined) my award.

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yale-bound

So I wrote this blog post several weeks ago, and I for some reason never posted it, so I’m gonna post it now, but I’m going to add a short preface explaining where I am now. I also added some comments to clarify developments since this was written during my first wave of visits to Yale and Stanford (3/5 – 3/10) and my trip to Berkeley (3/17-3/20).


Soliders and Sailors Memorial Hall and Museum, University of Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh, PA

3/31 – I’m in Pittsburgh, presenting a chapter of my thesis which is just about finished. I have a bit of work to do, and my conclusion to finish, but  my thesis is essentially all but done. I have also committed to going to Yale University, after about a month of fretting and second-guessing and listening to people tell me what to do and give me copious amounts of unsolicited advice. Of course, it didn’t help that like, two days after I committed to Yale and declined my offers elsewhere that Stanford sent me a big fat fellowship offer, but I’ve stayed steadfast, realizing that even with that fellowship in addition to my abnormally large stipend at Stanford, the price of living in Palo Alto is so high that I’d likely not have much money left at the end of the day, fellowship or not.

I am ready to be done with the semester. I’m so close, but I still have a huge mountain (Honors exams, lol) to get over before I’m clear. Then, I have a week of downtime before I start taking this Latin class at Yale.

I am sooooo tired, but excited. I want to sleep for a month straight and wake up and it’s Senior Week, a full day after my Honors exam. I wish I could just go on autopilot for the next few weeks, but I need to be present, need to attend this stupid swimming class in order to pass and graduate, need to finalize my summer plans, need to find an apartment, need to….

Anyways, here’s the now anachronistic and probably confusing blogpost that I wrote and just got around to published. I haven’t even changed much, because I know it was super-angsty, and I didn’t want to adulterate any of that raw emotion, since this blog is essentially the only space I give myself to really be emotional. Continue reading “yale-bound”