The Diary of Queen Mothy |
The Old Weakness in Its Brightest Colors written @ 11:10 PM on September 05, 2002 I hate brooding over anything that's past anymore, but sometimes I catch myself at the lowest of moments. Today I walked into the Honors class house earlier-- just because I wanted to enjoy a nice walk in the sun-- and I was about to go down into the lounge area when my professor for immigration experiences asked to talk to me. Belle wanted to reiterate how much she appreciated my journal entries, how insightful I was, and how my writing was some of the strongest she had ever seen in a freshman. "So what happened to that last entry?" Let me tell you about that "last entry." We had to answer a question and write our thoughts about a story by Maxine Kingston. I remember reading a story by her my junior year in high school when she described torturing a Chinese classmate in the girls bathroom, but I digress. This story was about an aunt she did not even know she had who committed suicide in China because of the shame wrought by the birth of an illegitimate child. The family and the village felt so disgraced and dishonored because the society's social structure was shaken, and they diliberately forgot about the aunt. I was quite horrified and distressed by this story, and I could not understand why on an unconscious level. After all, I've read of characters who suffered worse fates. Even so, this story disturbed me significantly, and my journal entry came out like garbled Dalai Lama subliminal, prophetic... stuff. I didn't understand what I wrote. And nor did she. Because of my past journal entries, she was a little concerned that she hadn't "complimented" me enough on my "fine writing abilities," and she was afraid I was thinking to stop putting in the great effort I had before exhibited. She warned me that the grade on this one was low, but she offered me a chance to rewrite it. The fact that she was giving me "specialized treatment" for my writing wasn't what bothered me though. In fact, she rather made my day when she offered to support me in my writing endeavors. She seems to have great confidence that I'll be one of the 20 students picked for the Dalton Conley luncheon in two weeks. No. What bothered me was the fact that after the first two journal entries in which I explained how choosing a college was the hardest thing I ever had to do and explained my woes with RISD, I suddenly realized I was wearing my RISD T-shirt in front of her, and thereby exhibiting what has undoubtedly become one of my greatest weaknesses. Okay, I hate lying to myself. My whole college decision is still weighing down in my mind, even though I am becoming quite satisfied and happy here at NKU. But I hate how for the past two weeks I have been brooding over it and keep thinking to myself, "If I were at this other school, what would I be doing right now? Who will I have met?" I don't want to think about it anymore! It's the past. And yet how can anyone blame me when I staked my entire life around getting into RISD? I must have known that no matter what school I ended up going to, I would always be dreaming about the "what ifs." That this brooding was inevitable. But I hate it. It's become a weakness that I habitually display unknowingly, a black hole in my being. I can't go on thinking about it. "So why did you decide to come to NKU?" Answer A: Actually, I was *supposed* to go to this other school... but money talks... Answer B: Because it was the only place out of the six colleges I applied to that gave me an opportunity to double major in what I truly want to do. It's not that I'm unhappy and dissatisfied. I am achieving a lot using the the little I have been given thus far. Adjusting has been a little strenuous, but everything is working out almost exactly according to plans, and I haven't a complaint in the world with my new life! I just wish this old demon would die. I felt like such a fool in front of Belle. The old arguments and rant fest aside, I'm happy to report that I'm becoming a new kind of artist: a tattoo artist. Okay, before you gasp in horror and wonder what the water at NKU is doing to Sam, it is not a change in major. Rather, just a bunch of people, my roommate included, have asked me to design tattoos for them. Is that neat or what?! She and Steph #2 are going later this afternoon to get them done, and I'm going with them. No, I will not be getting one myself-- rather, I always wanted to see how they were done, just so I could watch in fascinated horror. Mom is going to freak. "Guess what! I went to a tattoo parlor!" ".... WHAT."
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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