Undergraduate Failings

I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm not really cut out to be a good college student, in all her stereotypical glory. I only just realized this sobering truth in its entirety this weekend, during the Centennial celebration for my lovely alma mater.
In the days leading up to the start of the Centennial festivities, I had whipped myself up into a reminiscent frenzy, thinking back fondly on sun-dappled courtyards and classes full of critical thinking and writing and reading; adrenaline-fueled days and nights of dance practices, performances, and midterms, with little time for sleep or food, but plenty of coffee; and the general freedom to pursue learning in its various manifestations that college affords us. I imagined myself descending upon my college campus (which, I should probably add, lives right across the street from my medical school campus) in a triumphant return, mingling with friends from various circles, both academic and social, and shedding all remnants of the social awkwardness that plagued me through much of my freshman year. It would be wonderful, I thought, and was exactly what I needed after a long seven weeks fraught with frustration and heartache, with small happinesses sprinkled throughout. Take me back to where my young adult self first began, I thought, and my heart and life will flourish once more, invigorated by the tree-filled vistas of college.
Here's what actually happened: I rather enjoyed a talk by a prominent genetics researcher, due partly, I'm sure, to the fact that I was able to sit alone in a large venue for the talk. I tried to ask a question about gene therapy at the end of the talk, but the question period ended before I found my way to the mic. However, the question period did include a woman asking an inscrutable question about seahorses and platypuses (surely the plural of that should be platypi?), and another woman inanely telling the speaker that his IQ must be "as high as a hot summer day in Texas," which was mildly infuriating because, well, a hot day in Texas is slightly above 100 degrees F, and an IQ of 100 indicates average intelligence.
I went to Alumni Pub Night the following evening, again anticipating self-assuredness and effortless mingling, a cool beer in my hand throughout. I spent the evening chatting with friends who all still live in the same city where we went to college, and I drank a very sweet cider which, at first sip, I wasn't sure was alcoholic. (It was, I later discovered.) I stood about awkwardly silent at times, unable to muster up the social energy to shout over the loud music just to have small talk with people I see all the time anyway. I saw almost no one I had been friends with in college, but had since lost touch with. I did, of course, see people who had never been my friends in college. I was also mildly alarmed at the number of men there shooting close-lipped smiles at any women who happened to glance their way. One of them asked my Taiwanese friend if she was from Korea as I stood by acting nonchalantly deaf. I feigned my disinterest so well that the next time I looked around, she had slipped away from the entire scene, leaving me frighteningly within range of Mr. Smiley's advances. I retreated post-haste. The night passed by in a vaguely-bored blur, and I woke up the next morning utterly exhausted from having only 5 hours of sleep the night before.
My next, and last, attempt at partaking in the Centennial festivities also fell flat. I headed over to one of the dorm common areas as the sun was beginning to set on Saturday evening, excited to participate in a reunion with both alumni and current students involved in South Asian Society, my extracurricular of choice when I was in college. Of course, I was the second person there, and the other girl there and I sat around coloring (the activity was intended for children of alumni who were on campus for the weekend) for about a half hour before anyone else showed up. In the mean time, we ended up talking to the wife of an alumnus, a dentist, who was spectacularly rude enough (at least in my opinion) to tell me that she thought the idea of being a specialist in pediatric genetics was "depressing," and that being a doctor was "a hard life." Thank you very much, woman with whom I have no connection. I am aware that the life ahead of me isn't going to be easy as pie. I appreciate your words of wisdom. Eventually, other alumni from our club trickled in, and we enjoyed some catch-up conversation before everyone else headed off to the glitzy "Finale" event, held in one of those amazing tents, complete with open bar and tons of free food. I hadn't bought a ticket to the Finale since I had  originally planned to attend the football game earlier in the day, and I wanted to give myself plenty of time to study for my exam coming up on Friday. Sadly, I decided right before the game to skip the game and study in the afternoon instead, and by then it was too late to buy tickets to the Finale. I had originally told myself that I would study on the idyllic campus of my daydreams for a couple hours before watching the light show that was to take place on the Academic Quad later in the evening while my peers were at the Finale, but after watching my friends walk off in their nice clothing, I just felt too defeated by the whole affair to stay around, and instead I bought Taco Bell and went back "home" to watch television online with my Dog-in-Law. I later heard that the light show was was downright breathtaking, but I couldn't bring myself to drive all the way back to campus for the later showings. I just gave up the whole night, and, indeed, the whole Centennial affair, as a bust.
I've realized, as I hinted earlier, that I don't naturally function very well in prototypical "college" situations. I don't like shouting over loud music at bars. I hate talking to random guys at bars. I'm not very good at mingling. I am, at heart, an introvert, and when I'm in big social situations, it helps me tremendously to have one person, be it a significant other or close friend, to cleave to throughout the event. I have a couple people in my life who have played such a role for me in the past, but I don't feel like I've had a huge group of friends who make my heart swell with emotion because they so wholly represent college to me. Actually, I should amend that: I can call to mind a few situations and friend groups who do indeed make me feel that way, but I don't feel like I am able to recall the emotion when placed back in the same friend groups or situations. All of that just seems lost to me. Is it like that for most people? Am I the odd one out? I really just don't have a clue. All I know is, I'm fairly certain I like the idea of college far more than the reality of it.

The Truth Is, I'm a Man.

A few days ago in one of our Behavioral Science lectures (psychosexual development, ie how people grow to "act" like their gender), the lecturer spoke briefly about a study that explored the difference between how men and women attempt to understand themselves and others...essentially, how do the two sexes approach relationships? The study concluded that while men feel that by understanding themselves, they can understand others, women go about things in the opposite way: by understanding others, they can understand themselves.

Funny thing is, I take the male approach much, much more than I do the female one. I am a personal essayist. I take a lot of pride in, and derive a lot of joy from, the fact that people think I know myself well. I am confident in who I am; I love holding forth on my beliefs and past and the way that I see things. I guess that sounds a little narcissistic..but all that is to say that I really do place a lot of value on understanding myself, and I think that by knowing myself well, I can manage my world, and my life, more effectively. Sadly, I've found that life doesn't quite work that way. I used to think that as long as I could regulate myself and my actions, I could deliberately and carefully guard and nurture my relationships with the people I care about. If I can control myself, why wouldn't the things that I call mine--that is, my relationships--also be in my control, right? But alas, I may have to modify my approach.

Other girls I've talked to have said that they really are the opposite way: they love to understand what makes other people tick, to people-watch and hear about others' backgrounds. I suppose I enjoy that, too. I like a good personal essay as much as the next girl. But I suspect that I don't actively unravel and engage the things I learn about others, don't come to understand how others' pasts and beliefs and experiences will color and inform their actions, their prejudices, their weaknesses. It's an interesting dilemma.

In short, though, turns out I'm kind of man-like. Maybe I should try being more of a woman and see if that wouldn't make things better. I hate to break it to myself, but I suspect it's never quite that simple...

Thanksgiving

I love that the one holiday that is truly American is Thanksgiving. What a lovely concept encapsulated in just one word: giving thanks.

Let me be honest about something: I don't love the holidays the way most people do. I'm in that somewhat pitiful minority of the population that dreads the holidays because they inevitably bring with them filial strife. There is nothing intrinsically festive about the Christmas season for my family, and trying to bring a holiday spirit into the house during that time sometimes feels a bit forced, even futile. Layers of issues emerge during this time, not least of them the difficulty of being an immigrant family. So I always tiptoe around the holidays, because I never know what they will bring. One day the family could get along wonderfully. The next we could frown at one another terribly.

Let me be honest about another thing: it's been a tough year. I've cried a lot, questioned a lot of things I've taken for granted all my life, and had really high ups and really deep downs.

And yet.

I still want to give thanks. So here goes:

I'm thankful for my friends, who have proven their incredible worth to such a degree that I cannot begin to express my gratitude. I'm thankful for the family that could only cause me so much heartache because they have given me so much love. I'm thankful for college and all that it has taught me. I'm thankful for the words that help me make sense of this world. I'm thankful for the music that has so often been my loyal companion. I'm thankful for critical thinking. I'm thankful for being a medical student, difficult as the road may get. I'm thankful that despite legions of unhappiness, I am still surrounded by joy that can't be kept down. I'm thankful. And I'm glad there's a holiday that reminds me to take a moment, or a day, or a week, to give thanks for all that is good in my life, because there is so much. What are you thankful for today?

The Good, the Bad, the Ugly

The Best: I met Amy Tan tonight! I love her books, though I haven't touched one in ages, and I didn't even get to hear her read because I had to leave early, but meeting her was such an honor, and I got her to sign my yellowed paperback copy of The Joy Luck Club and take a picture with my sister and me. All in all a pretty great Monday night.

The Great:

1. I went to a reading last Tuesday evening by my wonderful former creative writing professor, Emily Fox Gordon (www.emilyfoxgordon.com). She is one of the most intelligent authors I've ever read--in my adult life, other than when reading, say Moby-Dick or Midnight's Children, never have I had to look up words so many times while reading a book. Emily's cadences are nearly always spot-on, and I am so proud to have been taught by her. She struggled with trying to write fiction for many many years before realizing that personal essay was the genre for her (and, I think, the genre for me--this is the class I took with her), but she had to write two memoirs and one novel (the last a triumph for her, because she never thought she could write fiction) before FINALLY getting to publish a collection of her personal essays entitled Book of Days. I bought this book at her reading and had her sign it, and she signed it "To Chaya, one of my very favorites," which made me feel really special. I'm hoping to have lunch or coffee with her some time in the near future. That reading came at the perfect time: between my first medical school exams. It reminded me that there's a whole other amazing and happy side to me and my life that isn't sciencesciencescience, and I had nearly forgotten about that aspect. So it was just. Great.

2. I've realized that I can count on my best friends to see through my facades and know exactly, exactly when I need them and to be there when I need them, and that is comforting in a way I cannot even express. I don't know what I'd do without the wonderful people I have in my life.

The Good:

1. I've made soup twice since moving into my apartment, and both times, the soup has come out great. Really, great. This is absolutely wonderful, partly because I love soup, but also because I've always, always wanted to be a wonderful recipe-less cook like my mother, and I'm finally starting to edge towards the possibility of that. I've eaten tons of sub-standard Indian food (prepared by myself) for the past few years as I've tried to find my cooking rhythm, and I'm finally starting to get that magical intuition that all Indian mothers seem to have. And my newfound cooking savvy seems to extend to pastas and soups as well! This is wonderful news.

2. I'm one block into medical school, and I've not only made it so far, but enjoyed it. I'm a little loath to begin studying again now that a new block has begun, but I'm hoping that my enthusiasm will grow slowly but surely.

3. The new Sara Bareilles album is filling me with great joy. How wonderful when an artist one loves proves her worth with a second album that is quite possibly better than the last.

The Bad:

1. It's 9:10 PM and I've only reviewed one of the four lectures I had today. And I wanted to go to bed early tonight as getting up early (after four days of vacation) was particularly difficult this morning.

2. Crazy as it sounds, medical school is the simplest, most manageable thing in my life right now. On the one hand, this makes medical school not so bad. On the other hand, it shows how much of a struggle many other things are being right now.

The Ugly:

1. I'm trying to write a piece for my medical school's literary magazine, and I'm running into problems from the outset. I haven't written anything worth anyone else's revisions in an incredibly long time, and I really want to make this piece great, because I know there's substance there. I just feel like the lolcat in that lolcatz picture, the one that's sprawled across a keyboard with the caption "Writer's block. I haz it."

2. I just want so badly to be substantive, real. I feel that I'm not really either.

Like a Duck to Water

Crazy as it may sound, that's the way I feel that I've taken to medical school. To be perfectly honest, I wondered for a long time whether medical school was the right path for me, even as I was interviewing and deciding where to go to school. Once I got here, though. I quickly [very quickly] learned that it was exactly where I wanted to be, where I was supposed to be. Perhaps it's just the excited flush of new experiences and new friends, or the joy of learning, or the even greater joy of finally starting on the path toward my chosen career, but medical school, though challenging no doubt, is proving to be much, much better than I had anticipated.

I've been taking classes for five weeks now (our orientation was six weeks ago), and it feels like forever. I barely have a memory of the summer that was before school began. We've covered in five weeks what a college course would have covered in at least 2/3 of a semester, encompassing two tests or more. And we still have one more week of classes before we finally have an exam over our first "block" of material.

When I was still in college [now that's a weird clause; I graduated from college almost a year ago. Imagine that!], I heard from a lot of friends in med school that trying to study all the information thrown at you is "like trying to take a sip of water from a fire hose." It's hard to actualize that kind of workload until you're experiencing it for yourself, but I'll have to say that the simile is quite apropos. I would like to add one of my own, though: each week, I feel as if I'm stuffing more and more compressible cotton balls (information) into a container with a snap-shut lid (my brain). As the weeks go by, the volume of the container gets more and more filled, and each week I'm having to push the cotton balls down, compress them as much as possible, then pull my pressing hand away as rapidly as possible as I rush to snap the lid shut on those overflowing cotton balls. It's a set of expectations the sort to which I've never had to rise before, and it's not easy.

But.

I'm finding that I actually like learning about feedback regulation in glycolysis, the muscle that makes my knee jerk in that famous reflex, the tendons visible beneath the skin of my hands. I like my classmates. Their intelligence, while a bit intimidating, is inspirational. Medical genetics and embryology, basically classes about every way a human being's development can go wrong, make me grateful that my genes contain no deleterious mutations, that the oddly-named Sonic Hedgehog signaling protein was present in all the right places and in all the right amounts so that my neural tube developed properly less than three weeks after my conception. There is so. much. to learn about our bodies, but how amazing to know how our muscles contract, that there are tiny little fibers that "walk" across each other every time our motor neurons fire and excite a skeletal muscle? Every time I get to thinking that this is just too much, that no one person can do this, I try to remind myself that so many others have gone before me, so it's possible. More importantly, one day I could be taking care of someone's motherfathersisterbrotherfriendhusbandwifechild, and I want to know everything I can so that I can take the best possible care of that person.

And it doesn't hurt that I still have time and energy to go out with friends on the weekends, talk to my roommate about our respective days daily, see friends from college, visit my family back home, and, yes, waste time every once in a while. More often than I probably should, in fact.

I've been watching Saved by the Bell in the mornings while I'm eating breakfast before school, and I can't help thinking that the theme for "The College Years" episodes is rather relevant to my current situation: "I'm standing at the edge of tomorrow...the future looks bright to me." I am so excited to be starting this next stage of my life, and I can't wait to be a real MD, with all the knowledge--and responsibility--that entails. Not to mention, it'll be nice to finally be getting paid.

"We're young enough to say, 'Oh, this is gonna be the good life.'" Good Life-OneRepublic

Saving CeeCee Honeycutt

I just finished Saving CeeCee Honeycutt by Beth Hoffman, which was kindly given to me by a friend who interned at Penguin this past semester.

A short summary: main character Cecelia Rose Honeycutt has looked after her psychotic mother for most of her twelve-year-old life while her father has been traveling for work--and also to get away from his family's problems. When her mother passes away in an accident, young CeeCee is whisked off to live in Savannah, Georgia with her great-aunt. Over her first summer there, she meets a host of eccentric and loving women who help her begin to heal all the wounds inflicted upon her by cruel circumstance.

The book is a love song to the South (and also a bit of a downer about the North, which I'm sure would rub a few people the wrong way) and a testament to the power of female companionship. It was a bit disconcerting, too, in that though it is an adult's book, it is written completely from the twelve-year-old main character's perspective, which means that sometimes the reader understands things the protagonist does not, and also that the writing seems a bit elementary at times, when really it's just reflecting the protagonist's point of view.

I was touched by the author's brutally honest descriptions of CeeCee's mother's antics, and of the pain that CeeCee feels because of them. A few quotable quotes:

"And now here I was...thinking about how much easier everything would be if my mother was locked up in a sanatorium. I sometimes even wished she were dead. It was terrible to think such a thing, but I just couldn't help it. I'm not saying I wanted to skip through life in a rosy blur from one Disney experience to the next--all I longed for was to know one whole happy day." (22)

"As I knocked on her door, begging her to let me in, I realized I had just taken my father's place: there I was, standing outside her locked bedroom door, frustrated and helpless and just plain tired. Tired of it all." (76)

"I wondered if I'd ever be so lucky to have a girlfriend I'd grow old with, a girlfriend who knew my secrets, my fears, my hopes--and loved me anyway." (111-112)

"I felt selfish and small as I watched my aunt from the kitchen window. She had given me so much, so freely, yet I was unable to do something as simple as sit at her side." (115)

"'But I guess some folks is willin' to pay anything for hope.'" (145)

"'Ain't no sun in the kitchen without your face lookin' up at me.'" (142)

"'Don't go wastin' all them bright tomorrows you ain't even seen by hangin' on to what happened yesterday. Let go, child. Just breathe out and let go.'" (290)

"'It's how we survive the hurts in life that brings us strength and gives us our beauty.'" (302)

Also, I'm not going to lie: with the book consisting of such a female-dominated world, I felt as if homoeroticism was the huge elephant in the room the whole time I was reading. Everyone's husband was dead or divorced with or absent in some other way, but there were just so many women. I almost felt like it was a slight cop-out on the part of the author. I'm not saying she needed some sort of graphic scene of homoeroticism, but she could have hinted at it subtly the way other things were hinted at in the novel. I do applaud her portrayal of free female sexuality, though.

Now You're in New York

Just because I haven't blogged about my India trip as promised (so much for putting pressure on myself; who was I kidding? Seriously, though, I will blog about it. Someday.) doesn't mean I can't write about the trip I'm currently on: visiting a friend from high school (and middle school) in New York City for a week! I was really excited when I first scheduled the trip, and I'm still definitely happy to be here, but upon consideration, I've decided that my trip here is too long: it spreads out the excitement a bit too thinly. Additionally, going to a tourist mecca like New York and staying with someone for whom this is just home dissipates a bit of the excitement of being in said tourist mecca. Still, I'm enjoying myself here, and have seen some wonderful things. For which reason I'm writing this post. So here we go:

The first night I was here (Monday), my friend and I had dumplings in Chinatown for dinner, which was pretty delicious. We then had our obligatory bubble tea and then sat around her apartment for a while before getting dolled up for a [Monday] night on the town! It was the birthday of two of my friend's friends, so we went to an Asian-themed bar called Forbidden City, where I imbibed a little. One of my drinks, called the Red Lotus, is pictured below. It had a lychee at the bottom!

The next day was cold and rainy, so we spent it inside at the Metropolitan Museum of Art!

This place is GORGEOUS, top to bottom. Beautiful architecture, amazing detailing in the ceilings and walls and everywhere, and the art is to die for. I really enjoyed this day, but by the time we got back to Katherine's apartment cold and a little wet, all I wanted to do was curl up with a movie and take-out, so we did just that: Thai food and The Time Traveler's Wife, which was a nice chick flick.

Katherine was busy the next day, so I ventured out into the city by myself. I was a bit nervous, but with the expert advice of hopstop.com, which gives public transit directions for many cities, I got to and from the New York Public Library, which took my breath away repeatedly with its sheer beauty, safely. The library is celebrating its centennial next year, so the front of it was covered in drapes while it was being cleaned, as a result of which I couldn't get a great shot of it. Notice in the picture below, though, the lion (one of two) in front of the steps leading up to the library. Mayor LaGuardia (whose namesake is one of the two airports here in NYC) named them Patience and Fortitude, because he thought those were the qualities New Yorkers would need to survive the Great Depression. I spent the majority of my afternoon in the library, part of it on a free public tour, and part of it just walking around and marveling. Trust me: there was much at which to marvel. Beautiful!

Thursday afternoon (we've been skipping breakfast altogether and starting our days around lunchtime), Katherine and I went to SoHo, a district known for shopping and food (sounds like a lot of other districts...). We ate fusion dosas (Indian rice crepes, often stuffed with curried potatoes) at Hampton Chutney Co. I wasn't terribly impressed with the food, but it was an interesting experience nevertheless. We then browsed the stores in SoHo. I bought a slightly unnecessary shirt at H&M, but not much else.
We swung by NYU, Katherine's alma mater, and Washington Square Park on our way back to her apartment. The park is really beautiful, with the gorgeous arch depicted below being the standout feature. Similar to our tradition with the Sallyport at Rice, students at NYU aren't supposed to walk under the arch in Washington Square Park at all until they've graduated. Katherine and I walked under it together, officially marking her graduation from NYU!

Special note: outside of Washington Square Park is one of my favorite things, so far, in this city: A DOSA CART! Two men stand there and whip up masala dosas (as I mentioned before, that is an Indian rice crepe stuffed with curried potatoes). I haven't tried out the cart yet, but I plan to before I head back home.

Next on our trip back to her apartment was the Strand, a bookstore the logo of which is very recognizable (red oval, white lettering, says "The New York City Strand: 18 Miles of Books"). This place had TONS of books, and as I was browsing the fiction stacks, I realized that they probably carried one of my favorite books that was stolen along with the rest of the contents of my friend's gym bag when I let her borrow it. So I asked the friendly people who worked there if they carried The Tale of Murasaki and they sure did! This was probably my favorite purchase so far of the trip. = )

Thursday night I had the best burger ever at the Shake Shack, located in Madison Square Park. This thing didn't have a veggie patty; instead, it contained a portobello mushroom coated in cheese...and deep fried. Sounds horrible for your health, and probably is, but it's also incredibly tasty. The Shake Shack also has great custard desserts called Concretes, because they're theoretically thick as concrete. They start with a normal flavor of custard, and you get to choose your "mix-ins." Amazing! Go here when you come to NYC.
Katherine was also busy on Friday, so I spent the afternoon (which started out so hot I really thought I would melt) in Times Square and Rockefeller Center. Here are the obligatory shots of the billboards and digital displays of Times Square:

I explored the flagship Toys'R'Us, which has an actual ferris wheel contained within the store. Kind of amazing. My favorite part of the store, though, was the public restroom on the top floor. I was beginning to get desperate when this one came into view. Yay for Toys'R'Us. I also explored the M&Ms store (three floors of merchandise dedicated to M&Ms! Amazing), which put the nearby Hershey's store (one floor and tiny) to shame. The other stores I visited (Gap, American Eagle) were not quite as impressive. I caught a glimpse of the inside of the under-construction flagship Forever 21, and it was CAVERNOUS. I actually thought I was confused for a second and was looking into an under-construction hotel lobby. That's how huge it was. I wish it had been open while I was in Times Square...

It took me a while to find Rockefeller Center, but with the help of the handy dandy map I procured at the visitor's center in Times Square (go there when you're here, too; it's useful for good maps), I eventually got there. Back in 2006 when I visited NYC with my family, my Dad and I woke up at 5 AM or so on two consecutive mornings in order to be part of the crowd that cheers during the Today Show. This show was a big part of my life growing up. I would wake up to the opening strains of the theme song every morning during middle school, and I almost always watched it in the mornings before going to school. I'm not as into it anymore (Katie Couric is gone, and she was my childhood idol!), but it still holds a special place in my heart, as does Rockefeller Center. So it was fun being there and just looking around. Also enjoyable is the NBC experience store, which contains memorabilia for tons of NBC shows, from The Office to Saved by the Bell to Friends to The Today Show. Check out the clearance section! Here's a shot of me in front of Rockefeller Plaza. I look a little dumb, but I guess that's okay. It was still very sunny and pretty hot at the time:

And that has been my trip so far. Think of this as my halfway-done report. I still will have to blog about today (Saturday), Sunday, and Monday. Sneak preview: today we saw the financial district in downtown Manhattan, and tomorrow we're seeing an off-Broadway play: Avenue Q! Exciting!

Note: Post title lifted from, of course, "Empire State of Mind."

In My Day...

Today seems to be the day to romanticize the past [and revile the present] in lab. As I walked by our second-year grad student at her lab desk, she stopped me to say that she just wasn't in the mood to do anything today, not work on her papers, not work on her presentations, not shop for furniture, and not even work on her computer. To put it simply, she's kind of in a funk. Not ten minutes later, one of our postdocs told me, "Chaya. Life just gets harder from here on out. I'm just telling you that right now. It just gets harder." As I told her, that's probably true. And as she herself admitted, there are also many good things that happen in adulthood, things that seemingly outweigh the difficulties. But to her, the difficulties still win out.

It is true that as we grow up and begin our careers and train for our professions, as we build relationships completely outside the realm of our lives with our parents and siblings, as we, effectively, develop our own personas, new and whole perceptions of who we are as people and how we fit into the world, our responsibilities grow. We take care of ourselves physically, financially, and in other ways: we do our own laundry, clean [or not clean] our apartments when and how we want, and take ourselves wherever we want to go [literally], instead of waiting for our parents to take us there. Yet with all this new responsibility comes so much privilege, so much power. Isn't it great to develop a stronger sense of yourself, to make deep and lasting friendships, to mold your opinions and beliefs and wash your own clothes and drive yourself wherever you want to go?

Why do we romanticize our pasts so much, anyway? Yes, life is hard now. There are always struggles. But wasn't life also hard three years ago, when I spent the entirety of my freshman year trying to figure out how to transition to college life, constantly sick because of the mold infestation in my dorm room, struggling with making friends and figuring out who I was? Weren't there responsibilities in high school, too, when I woke up at 5:45 (I can't believe I did that anymore) to get to school by 7:10, spent seven hours in school, drove home in a car without air-conditioning in Houston, and also had homework to keep up with?

I'm not saying that romanticizing the past is a bad thing. In fact, it's probably a great coping mechanism. If we don't pick out the best parts of our pasts to focus upon as we look back on different stages of our lives, we would probably have a pretty hard time moving forward, especially if we truly believe that things only get harder as we get older. Additionally, romanticizing the past is one way to help ourselves grieve the closings of different chapters in our lives. If I weren't convinced now, as I am, that South Asian Society (the club that has shaped my college career in deep, unalterable ways, the one I have loved for four years) is somehow "different" now than it was when I was a freshmansophomorejunior, then I would be devastated at the prospect of leaving it behind at the end of this semester. It helps to tell ourselves that things were better before, because doing so makes letting go easier.

But maybe we should go about all of this in the opposite direction. Rhapsodize about our futures instead of longing for our pasts. The truth is, the future is bright, and we have a lot to look forward to. Yes, we'll miss what we had before, but we'll also continue growing and moving and becoming the people we were always going to be, and that's a good thing, if you ask me.

Or maybe we should just forget about yesterday and tomorrow and figure out a way to love today for exactly what it is.

We Should Be Happy, That's What I Said from the Start

This morning I took a partially eaten box of Club crackers to lab. Starting two summers ago, one of my labmates, James, has consistently kept dark chocolate chips at his bench, and I spent many a quiet lab afternoon munching on those dark chocolate chips and chatting with him and the rest of my labmates. Unfortunately, I don't have much of a sweet tooth, and dark chocolate chips don't exactly fill me up. So forever, I've been telling myself that I need to bring savory snacks into the lab for everyone to snack on. Finally doing what I've told myself I would do for so long really felt good. Even better was that I finally got to snack on crackers in lab! And the best was that my labmates enjoyed [and are still enjoying] the crackers as well. I didn't realize until some time in my college career that I'm turning into my mother in the sense that I love it when people eat food I offer. So to see the cracker box slowly emptying brought me more joy than something like that normally should. Ha.

You know how people talk about the straw that broke the camel's back? I feel like eating three Club crackers on my way out to the parking lot after my day in lab was that for me, except in a positive way. It was the one incident in the day that made me realize that, once again, I'm happy today. There are just so many reasons to be joyous. The weather was beautiful today, and I ate lunch outside with two of my closest friends. I started a new mapping project in lab, and if things go well, I'll leave the lab [forever, which makes me sad] two weeks from now having mapped two mutations in about 10 weeks. Actually accomplishing things in my labwork makes me feel so good. I got to leave early today, and beat traffic coming home, but also managed to do real work in lab--yet another thing to be happy about. Last but not least, it didn't hurt that I wore a bright red shirt today that made me feel pretty. Course, I ruined the whole look (tunic and skinny jeans) by wearing chunky flip-flops, but said flip-flops are very comfortable, so I'm okay with that.

I very recently reconnected with two friends I haven't really kept in touch with throughout college (one via facebook message, the other via phone), an act definitely galvanized by the funeral I went to last weekend. That it was so simple to get back in touch with those two, especially one of them, that all it took was one facebook message, one phone call, made me feel...hopeful. It's great to make new friends, but the Girl Scouts weren't kidding when they said, "Make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other's gold": there's nothing like the comfort of knowing that someone who knew and loved you back in your middle school dork days is still at least mildly interested in your life and your future.

And a lot of other things are going well in my life right now: my family, my future, my love life. There's just a lot going right, right now. It feels a little precarious, but hopefully life will stay this way. = )

"Hopelessly, the hope is we've got so much to feel good about." (Good Life-OneRepublic)

Note: Entry title is lifted from a line from "Happy" by Nevershoutnever, some of the lyrics of which confuse me, most of which make me, well, happy.

Good Week

I found myself unaccountably and unusually happy yesterday. Starbucks gave away free brewed coffee to every customer who brought in a travel mug, and I took advantage of that promotion before I left for work, which meant that I was sipping on an inordinate amount of coffee all day long. I've found that, oddly, caffeine tends to make me feel sanguine, so perhaps that's what spurred my happiness. Additionally, over the past two days, prospective students [high school seniors] have been visiting Rice for the annual "Owl Days" event. I love witnessing their eagerness and awe as they experience college--for many, it's the college they've already decided to attend--firsthand for the first time. I miss that feeling. Prospective students, or prospies, as we call them, always make me smile. It has also helped that in just the past eight days, I've:

1. Gotten my new cute netbook
2. Decided to go to Imogen Heap's concert--and purchased tickets for said concert!
3. Decided to go see John Mayer AND Owl City (it's like my dream come true!) in concert
4. Had dinner with an amazing group of friends who always have me laughing like a maniac and feeling loved
5. Booked a trip to New York City to visit a friend right after graduation
6. Had a ridiculously good end-of-college night on campus

Ostensibly, it's been a relatively good week. Then again, it's also been an unpleasant week in many ways. A friend of mine from high school passed away on Easter, and I went to his funeral and wake this past weekend. I've been to too many funerals for people my age, but this was the first one for a person I could truly call my friend. I have a lot of memories with this guy [granted, they're mostly from middle school, and thus at least 8 years old], and he was truly a nice person. I'm still sad about his death, but more than anything it's made me painfully aware of how precious my own life is.

It's amazing how forcefully perspective can be pushed upon you--and also how easily it can slip away.

Spring Road Trip

Every year Rice gives its students a four-day weekend in early April, a break called spring recess. Freshman year, I went on a short trip to Austin during spring recess, to visit friends at UT. Starting sophomore year, I've gone on road trips with my incredible friends to various and sundry places in Texas: South Padre Island sophomore year (quite possibly the most epic spring recess ever), Corpus Christi/Port Aransas junior year (tons of fun, one highlight being that we saw real porpoises in the Gulf of Mexico), and San Antonio and thereabouts senior year.

It wasn't easy to get my parents' permission to go on that first trip in sophomore year. It was the first time I would be traveling such a long distance with friends, and it also was a trip involving boys, both facts which gave my parents pause. Thankfully, though, they eventually relented. It's funny to think back to the frustration I felt two years ago about my parents' worries, because now it's almost a matter of course that spring recess (and fall recess, which is the first semester parallel) means that I'm going on a road trip with my friends. I'm so happy I had these road trip experiences in college. It's these that cemented my friendships, and our trips gave birth to countless memories, quotable quotes, and new musical finds.

This year, as I mentioned, my friends and I (five of us total, which I think makes this our smallest trip to date) went to San Antonio. We'd already been there once before (for a fall recess) to go to Six Flags Fiesta Texas, so this time around we day tripped at Lake Travis and Enchanted Rock. I didn't join my friends at Lake Travis (met up with friends at UT instead), so I can't write about that, but I did enjoy Enchanted Rock.

Enchanted Rock is located outside of a little Texas town called Fredricksburg, known for its proud display of German roots and its antiquing. I think the hill itself is just a large rock formation made of pink Texas granite (which is quite lovely). The entire park is really well-maintained and pretty. We walked along really clearly marked trails to a pseudo-summit of sorts, and sat in the sun for a while to catch our breath. I felt a bit silly because there were a lot of older people walking up and down and around the hill fearlessly, but I was definitely treading with caution, especially on the steeper parts. Really there wasn't anything to be worried about, but it was just something I wasn't used to. So of the four of my friends, one started feeling a little sick when we were sitting at the summit, so she and I laid down in the shadow cast by a big beautiful boulder while the guys climbed further up and explored for a while. It was a really gorgeous day as far as the weather was concerned, so laying in the shade was absolutely glorious. We also got to take in an amazing view of the sky. There's nothing quite like a Texas sky.

After the five of us met up again, we all went back down the hill and waded in the small, clear creek at the start of the trail. The water was so clear you could see the pebbles below, and we saw quite a few tadpoles and some sort of tiny crustacean in the water. It was really lovely. We stopped in Fredricksburg for ice cream on the way back to San Antonio, which was a great way to end a really pleasant afternoon. Below are a few pictures from the day:

The beautiful sight from the beginning of the trail

The group, excluding me. It was a sunny day!

The guys on the climb down

The girls = )

Lovely deciduous trees--I missed these so much while I was in India!

Me and the best friend. We looked disgustingly like a couple with our unwittingly matching outfits.

Feet picture in the creek! The pebbles blend into our brown skin.

Okay this is blurry, but Texas wildflowers [this photo was taken on our drive back to Houston] are gorgeous.

A New Hole in My Face

I had no idea what to title this post. "I Got My Nose Pierced"? "Getting My Nose Pierced"? "Nose Piercing"? So I called it the most ridiculous (and true) thing I could think of. I do indeed have a new hole in my face. On the right side of my nose, to be exact. My mother tells me that the piercing is in the wrong place on my nose, that it should be a bit lower and more forward. Unfortunately, she [and a nice old lady that we're family friends with, and my gay best friend, all three of whom told me my nose was pierced in the wrong spot as soon as they saw it] is completely right. But since my piercing was four (or five, depending on which side of the international date line you were standing on) days old by the time my mom pointed out the problem, there was nothing I could do about it. It's all a bit upsetting, since I was really pleased whenever I saw my nose ring in the mirror before the misplacement was pointed out, but now when I see it I can't help wishing it were shifted slightly. I have to get used to it though, and I'm sure I will, because I'm stuck with this piercing for the rest of my life. All in all, I'm pleased; it looks much better than I thought it would. A recap of the experience:

I got my nose pierced in Little India in Singapore, at an Indian jewelry store called [charmingly] Ani Mani Porchalai. [and by charmingly, I meant slightly ridiculously] I stayed with my closest girlfriend from college and her family while I was in Singapore, so both she and her mother accompanied me to the jewelry store. The whole process was relatively unceremonious: we walked in, said I wanted to get my nose pierced, and the jeweler called over the resident piercer. I chose the nose ring I wanted (small, gold, with a diamond-looking stone) The piercer dude asked me which side, I said right, and he marked the spot with a pen [ah if only I had asked him to move it!] and then handed me a Q-tip dipped in anesthetic ointment to rub on the spot. I rubbed, the jeweler told me to close my eyes and brace myself, and the piercer began to pierce my nose. Without a piercing gun. Instead, he stuck a sterilized needle into the stem of my nose ring, and proceeded to poke a hole in my nasal cartilage with said needle. Since the outside of my nose was anesthetized, it felt at first like an ant bite, a prick:

[my friend has a fantastic SLR camera, so she took pictures for me]

But as the needle penetrated the skin and began going through my actual nose, I started to feel the pain a bit more:

It definitely got to a point where I was thinking "when is it going to end?!" as he was piercing. I'm proud that I didn't scream, but I definitely whimpered a little. Getting your nose pierced is no joke. It hurts. Thankfully, the pain of piercing is the worst of it; during the recovery period, the area around the piercing was a bit swollen and tender, but I was pretty much completely healed in four days. So overall: yay! I got my nose pierced! I survived, and it looks pretty good. Sadly, the nose piercer guy definitely said that I have a "thick nose" and it was a bit difficult to pierce. FML, a little. For most of my life, I've had a bit of a complex about my nose being large, so it was kind of the cherry on top of the sundae (in a non-good way) to hear that. I wasn't really hurt; I mostly found it funny, in a sort of wry way. I mean how many people are told that their nose is thick? Ha.

Aaand hopefully this is the first of many posts about my Asia trip now that I'm back home. Hope you found this one entertaining!

Born Confused

The title of this entry is a reference to the book, by Tanuja Desai Hidier, of the same name, and not a descriptor of me. If anything, I think I was born utterly confident of myself and my place in the world (the expression on my face in various baby pictures attests to this). It's now that the confusion has begun to settle in.

I borrowed this book, along with two others, from a friend shortly before leaving for India, and brought all three with me to read while I'm here. So far, I've read three books in toto: Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie, Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin [itself borrowed, funnily enough, from the aforementioned friend] and 2 States by Chetan Bhagat. I thoroughly enjoyed all three, though the first was definitely the most literary, if you will, of the bunch. The other two were good stories, and I read both in two days flat. They're the sort of books people in India would call good time-pass: not exactly life-changing, but entertaining, and not a bad way to spend a few hours of your life. Especially when I was reading 2 States, and now while reading Born Confused, I found/ind myself looking up from the pages of the books groggily, having forgotten that I'm still in India, or that the day has progressed around me while my nose was stuck in a book. I can hardly remember the last time I used to feel this way.

During my elementary, middle, and high school summers, my sister and I would go to the library every two weeks (or whenever our books were due) like clockwork, to return the read ones, renew the unread, and select a fresh new pile of books to delve into. Somehow, that ritual became more and more diluted as I entered college and neared its completion, so that the two-week stretch I still have in Chennai, with little else to do but read books during all my free time, feels almost like a foreign concept to me. But I'm beginning to remember and love the way I used to feel about books, when they were just stories to dive into and not literary masterworks to analyze, as I began to see them in college.

All of that, though, was a preface to the real topic of this entry, which is Born Confused. I've known of this book's existence for quite some time, first becoming aware of it around that time somewhere during high school when books about young adults searching for their South Asian identity became all the rage. I never read it, though, because I was a bit disillusioned by some of its kindred spirits, which portrayed petulant children of immigrants who just didn't get "it"about their heritage and somehow managed to find "it" by the end of the book. I thought this one started out a bit the same, but as I'm getting further into it (it's rather long for a book of its genre), I'm beginning to relate more and more to the protagonist. The poor girl (Dimple) is completely lost about Indian culture, and somehow seems less Indian at all junctures than her very-much-white best friend, a "friend" who manages to outshine her, ignore or not notice her feelings, and steal the spotlight away from her whenever possible. It actually really makes me angry. The boy that Dimple's parents think is perfect for her (he being super-Indian and all that), the boy that she never thought she would like but actually ends up falling for, is also the boy that her best friend decides to set her sights upon, oblivious to the fact that Dimple still likes him. (Though, to the best friend's credit, Dimple never comes right out and says so, which is both infuriating and completely relate-able; she doesn't think anyone would ever prefer herself to her best friend, so when the boy seems to like the friend [though any non-idiotic reader would see that he likes Dimple], she doesn't speak up for herself, because who wants to put herself on the line like that?)

Anyway. I'm really not liking the best friend in this book. And though the book has its cheesy made-for-immigrant-kids moments, it still has strong imagery and some rather lovely phrasings, not to mention characters that really do jump off the page. I'm thinking Dimple will end up with the boy her parents think is perfect for her. Or at least I hope so. Let's see.

[Interesting aside: Something Borrowed, borrowed from the same friend who lent me Born Confused, also features a protagonist whose best friend has always overshadowed her--and always been allowed to do so. Interesting that my friend called both of these two of her favorite books. I wonder if there's something to the similarity of the characters that speaks to my friend's own personality.]

And There'll Be Sun Sun Sun...

I feel almost guilty [almost, but not quite] that I'm enjoying temperate, sunny weather in Chennai, India while my friends back home shiver in 40-degree weather. Then I remember that I'm covered in mosquito bites (and getting more by the minute) and I don't feel so guilty anymore. This, my friends, has been the [happy] refrain (happy refrain, that's from some song I think...anyone know which? "And we will sing this happy refrain..." something like that) of nearly all the postcards I've written so far--and I've only written ten out of the 28 or so I'm to write from India. Funny story: the postcards, which feature scenes only from South India (in fact, I think, only from Tamil Nadu--which makes me happy because yay South India!) cost 6 rupees each. Postage for each one to America costs 15 rupees each. To be expected, but it's still pretty funny.

Other news:

1. My cousin who picked me up at the airport is a pretty darn good driver, which is saying something because driving in India is insane.
2. I made enchiladas for my two cousins here in Chennai for tiffin yesterday. (I love the word tiffin. Tiffin tiffin tiffin.) They rather enjoyed them, but now I have lots of refried beans and tortillas and enchilada sauce left in the refrigerator. I'll have to get my aunt and uncle to eat an enchilada or two later today.
3. Yesterday I showed my cousins (Abhi and Akhil, so I can stop writing "my cousins" all the time) the video for "Down" by Jay Sean on my iPod Touch (yay iPod which has proven so useful on this journey so far!). It was rather an interesting moment, just because there I was, Indian by birth but thoroughly American, showing my Indian-Indian cousins an r&b song by a British-Indian guy. They didn't really say whether they liked the song.
4. I bought myself Indian shampoo on the first day I got here. I'm really fascinated by the concept of beauty products and cosmetics made solely for Indian women. Foundation that's actually brown? Yes, please! (Okay fine, you can get brown foundation in the States, too, but it's different here. It just is. Plus, cosmetics are a bit cheaper here.
5. I won't be leaving India for another five weeks, but when I do, I'm going to go crazy buying Indian packaged food. We've been to the grocery store twice already to buy enchilada supplies, and I've begun to scope out all the types of noodles and sauce mixes and soups I can buy to fill up my soon-to-be-emptied suitcases. Yay empty suitcases! Speaking of which, when I was unpacking the things my parents had bought for our extended family here in Chennai, I found that it brought me great joy to begin clearing out my suitcases. It generally bring me joy to throw things out or get rid of things: papers, old ticket stubs, and so on. This is not really a very good thing, I'm afraid, because it's nice to hold onto objects that carry sentimental value. But I've never been very good at that.
6. There's a store near my uncle's flat that sells fresh chips. Kind of like a donut or bagel shop, except with chips. There are chips made of all sorts of vegetables and tubers: plantains and potatoes and lots of other Indian vegetables that I don't know the English names for (or the Tamil names, come to think of it...). I need to hit that place up soon because chips in India (even regular potato chips) are FTW.
7. I'm planning to get my nose pierced this Saturday. I'm pretty nervous about it, not so much for the impending pain, but because I really don't know how I'll look with my nose pierced. Truth: it could turn out really terribly. Also truth: I don't really care that much. I've wanted to have my nose pierced ever since I was a little girl. My mother has her nose pierced, like my grandmothers and most of my aunts. It's just something Indian women do. So hopefully the next time I blog I'll be able to tell you what it's like to get one's nose pierced in India. Let's cross our fingers for a no-harrowing experience!

All in all: I haven't had coconut water or roasted corn or mangoes or palm fruit (my mom says it's probably out of season, which breaks my heart a little) yet, nor have I gone to any temples, but I'm having rather a good time here so far. It's nice to be here A) in February, when the weather doesn't have me sweating constantly; and B) alone. I'm not being dragged around by the whims of my parents (my dad is usually fun when we're in India, but my mom goes insane, talking incessantly about how there's not enough time to do all the things she needs to do). Being here alone makes me feel grown-up, in a good way, and truly participatory in my experience here. I get to suggest what I'd like to do or where I'd like to go. Accordingly, Abhi and Akhil are supposed to take me to a coffee shop today, which should be a trip.

Being here is nice. I just hate that I'm missing such a big chunk of my life back home (seven weeks is a long time!) while I'm away.

Note: Entry title comes from "5 Years Time" by Noah and the Whale, which is a fantastic and fun song.

Fear of Flying [Things]

Seeing as how I'm leaving on a long international flight tomorrow afternoon, it's pretty darn good that I don't have a fear of flying. I associate a certain level of discomfort with flying, (I have gotten airsick once or twice, and being in the air for that long does weird things to my body) but I rather enjoy the important and excited feeling I get when I'm wheeling bags through an airport. Flying, therefore, doesn't really bother me.

Flying things, on the other hand, are a different story altogether. I've known for as long as I can remember (or as long as I've been articulating fears) that I'm afraid of moths and butterflies. They're so fluttery and fragile and you can just run into them at any given time. Something about those creatures really freaks me out. I didn't realize until I was about ten or eleven years old that the same kind of fear translates to birds. Again, something about their fragility and the fluttery way they move. I don't really think they'll harm me. I just don't like them near me, and I think it's because I'm afraid I'll hurt them. Anyway, I've recently begun to wonder if I'm as afraid of birds as I once was. I mean, I'll admire the occasional bird when I'm out running, and tropical birds are rather beautiful in pictures. And I've been wondering lately, in general, if the things we call our personalities aren't just cleverly constructed versions of ourselves that rigidify with time simply because we like the way they look and sound. By which I mean maybe I just think I'm afraid of birds, when really I'm not anymore. This morning, though, that theory was proven wrong. There was an unusually large contingent of blackbirds in the parking lot when I drove onto campus, and I only noticed them once I had already stepped out of my car. I walked around to the passenger side door to grab my backpack and purse, and was horrified to discover one of the birds sitting on the roof of my car once I looked up. As it flew away, I definitely shuddered and said "Oh my God" at least once or twice. So the answer is clear: I'm still afraid of birds. And probably always will be.

In other news:

1. I'm officially going to be a medical student at Baylor next year. I've broken the other medical schools' hearts by withdrawing my applications to them, and I've put down my deposit. I couldn't resist the siren song of the Texas Medical Center, even though I'd love to get out of Houston for the next four years. I keep telling myself that I'll leave for residency. I will. I will.
2. I'm leaving for India tomorrow afternoon, and will be carrying quite possibly the heaviest purse known to mankind (containing 2-3 books, a journal, a portable DVD player, two MP3 players, and my wallet, passport, ticket, etc...since when did I become such a wired, pampered American?) cleverly disguised within a backpack. I hope the airline will allow me to carry it on along with my rolling carry-on. I think I should be okay.
3. I'm having breakfast at EIGHT AM tomorrow with a friend who used to live in Houston but moved to Tennessee last fall and is in town for the weekend. I'm really excited about the seeing her part, but rather horrified at the fact that this makes two weeks during which I've had to be somewhere at 8 AM on Saturday. What's up with that?

Here's to a wonderful trip and blogging from Asia!

A New Beginning

I've officially defected from Xanga and come over here. I've been thinking about doing this for quite some time, (a bit idly, I'll admit) but I was hesitating because I always develop attachments to the things I use often--cameras, computers, glasses, cars, and also blogging sites, apparently. I felt a bit like I would be betraying my little ol' Xanga were I to start a new blog here. But since I haven't posted regularly in my little ol' Xanga for ages, I don't feel so guilty anymore. Besides, the Xanga had too much of my teenybopper past attached to it; perhaps that's why I haven't blogged much recently: it was slightly buried in the remnants of the past. Anyway, though, here I am!

Having graduated a semester early, I'm spending this spring semester working in my lovely plant genetics lab on campus (You're sure to hear more about it as time wears on. Lots of fun stuff happens in lab.) and going to India (to visit family) and Singapore (to visit a friend) for seven weeks! Which is a long time. Which brings me to the reason I felt like posting in the first place. I know the trip could be really good, if I went at it with the right attitude. I'm sure there will be many memories to be made, lots of fun to be had, much soul-searching to be accomplished [check it out--countable and uncountable nouns in that list, woot!] in both India and Singapore. Yet I kind of don't want to leave home. I feel like being gone for such a huge chunk of the semester will lose me the opportunity to watch my friends do a lot of interesting things--not to mention to do a lot of interesting things (i.e. go to Chicago over spring break, do random stuff in lab that both annoys and entertains the postdocs, linger obnoxiously long over lunch in South Servery, do movie nights and celebrate 21st birthdays and on and on) with my friends here at home. And I know I'll get homesick in India; I always do. Plus I've never actually gone there by myself before, so I'm slightly nervous about lugging around my bags and making my way through the airport and actually knowing what I'm doing.

All that being said, though, if this trip isn't going to suck, I need to get myself excited for it. So to that end, here is a list of things I am looking forward to doing during my trip to Asia:

1. Drinking fresh coconut water (eleneer; how the heck do you transliterate that?)
2. Eating palm fruit (or so I think it is; all I know is it's called nungu--again, how do you transliterate that?--in Tamil)
3. Eating roasted corn (suttu solam!)
4. Seeing Singapore for the first time!
5. Visiting the temples I love
6. Writing lots of postcards to friends back home
7. Getting to know my cousins better
8. Going to Pizza Hut in India; yay for paneer on pizza!
9. Making enchiladas for my cousin in Chennai
10. Buying clothes and shoes and earrings and other nonsense in Pondy Bazaar and elsewhere
11. Seeing parts of Chennai I've never seen before (hopefully this will happen)
12. Writing in my little green journal and maybe even conceptualizing a new piece!
13. Reading lots of books in my spare time

Right, that's a pretty good start, I'm thinking. But if I want to actually get on the plane, I need to pack, which means I need to get off the computer and get my day started, which I am loath to do, but I guess I should just suck it up. Hopefully I'll be able to update this once or twice while I'm in Asia so that I can show you guys what I'm doing over there. Here's to happy blogging!