the story i'm about to share would apply too to my chosen career path of medicine.
Haha ha...
I've recently experienced sheer contentment and I wanted to share this with you, since I have been sharing with you the source of this sheer contentment all along the way anyway!
I need to get back to studying for my O-chem midterm so I'm going to have to rush through this, but I might come back and pretty it up later to keep with the quality standards i set for myself here... and everywhere =p
This past Friday, after a long day of class I headed into the Bruin Store to check out if they carried any mustard colored Vans that I could splurge my Karaoke night winnings on.
They didn't.
But with what happened next I seriously did not care!
I ran into my photography teacher, which was cool because I hadn't yet apologized to him for missing class last week.
He took the apology very well. He responded by accolading my pictures and telling me that in every class he gets those people that are just in there, pointing and shooting and catching nothing. But my pictures were actually something to look at, and if I want to, I should really pursue photography.
I kept saying thank you and smiling. It felt/feels really good to know that I've created images that are worthwhile-- the validation of even a hobby skill is still really appreciated.
So yeah I was very content.
What a lame post. My apologies =)
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Hello Heart, Welcome to College! Part III --
"The Birds and the Bees"
So while I sit here enjoying myself and the air and the grass and the trees and the squirrel that came THIS close to me to find something in a hole in the hill that I was well-fated enough to be sitting by... a pair of hummingbirds enters the scene, swooping down from somewhere up above (where all birds swoop from) haha.
Well it's a pair of hummingbirds, and it's springtime, so you can probably guess what the conclusion is here.
But that's nothing I'm going to comment on.
I saw these hummingbirds, and then I noticed the couple a few meters away from me down the hill who had also noticed the hummingbirds. They had clearly taken an interest in this scene from the Discovery Channel, but from the slightly (and I wish I could describe this in other terms) immature looks on their faces, I could tell they weren't taking interest the same way say, an archaeologist takes interest in the Discovery Channel. Or the way my brother took interest in a pair of butterflies when he was a kid..
I was reminded of a time when my brother and I were playing together way back when. He must have been in elementary school and I think I had just entered Middle School. It was Spring Break, and we were running around in our back yard when a couple of butterflies flew over us, dancing around each other.
My little brother noticed them first, and he pointed out to me something he must have just learned in school, and in such a tone of wonder and amazement,
"Look! They're courtship dancing!"
...
It's funny because I remember the way I felt at that exact moment, and I feel it again and again every time I recall that memory. And usually in life the moments you most remember are the moments that evoke strong specific emotions, happy, sad, guilt, pride. But I remember this because of all of the different emotions I felt all at once. All driven by this little statement from this little guy. I was overwhelmed with respect and longing, for that sheer and untouched sense of innocence and wonder that children are really blessed with. "Look! They're courtship dancing!"He had said. --He was so amazed by this little ritual of nature, he was so purely happy to see in living color some little thing his teacher mentioned in class, to know what it was and have a chance to point out his newfound knowledge to me. I felt so good to be reminded of that in that moment, that sense of respect and awe, and so happy to see it in my brother, knowing that he was really living his childhood in that way, through wonder and admiration for the world. As good as I felt then, at the same time my knowing heart ached a little. Because nothing lasts forever and that was when I realized this. Me at that time, in middle school, I knew how kids could get. For some reason more kids laughed when we watched the "sex ed" video in 6th grade than in 5th grade. Dunno why that was and I'm not saying it's wrong to laugh, but I'm just saying that after a while that sense of wonder and innocence leaves some people. And maybe the sense of wonder does stay, and innocence stays, but the context of childhood doesn't, and again that thought just breeds a lot of mixed feelings.
But anyway, I really like that memory, and the feeling I get at the remembrance of taking so much enjoyment in learning new things and having respect for them. "Look! They're courtship dancing!" I'll never forget it.
So while I sit here enjoying myself and the air and the grass and the trees and the squirrel that came THIS close to me to find something in a hole in the hill that I was well-fated enough to be sitting by... a pair of hummingbirds enters the scene, swooping down from somewhere up above (where all birds swoop from) haha.
Well it's a pair of hummingbirds, and it's springtime, so you can probably guess what the conclusion is here.
But that's nothing I'm going to comment on.
I saw these hummingbirds, and then I noticed the couple a few meters away from me down the hill who had also noticed the hummingbirds. They had clearly taken an interest in this scene from the Discovery Channel, but from the slightly (and I wish I could describe this in other terms) immature looks on their faces, I could tell they weren't taking interest the same way say, an archaeologist takes interest in the Discovery Channel. Or the way my brother took interest in a pair of butterflies when he was a kid..
I was reminded of a time when my brother and I were playing together way back when. He must have been in elementary school and I think I had just entered Middle School. It was Spring Break, and we were running around in our back yard when a couple of butterflies flew over us, dancing around each other.
My little brother noticed them first, and he pointed out to me something he must have just learned in school, and in such a tone of wonder and amazement,
"Look! They're courtship dancing!"
...
It's funny because I remember the way I felt at that exact moment, and I feel it again and again every time I recall that memory. And usually in life the moments you most remember are the moments that evoke strong specific emotions, happy, sad, guilt, pride. But I remember this because of all of the different emotions I felt all at once. All driven by this little statement from this little guy. I was overwhelmed with respect and longing, for that sheer and untouched sense of innocence and wonder that children are really blessed with. "Look! They're courtship dancing!"He had said. --He was so amazed by this little ritual of nature, he was so purely happy to see in living color some little thing his teacher mentioned in class, to know what it was and have a chance to point out his newfound knowledge to me. I felt so good to be reminded of that in that moment, that sense of respect and awe, and so happy to see it in my brother, knowing that he was really living his childhood in that way, through wonder and admiration for the world. As good as I felt then, at the same time my knowing heart ached a little. Because nothing lasts forever and that was when I realized this. Me at that time, in middle school, I knew how kids could get. For some reason more kids laughed when we watched the "sex ed" video in 6th grade than in 5th grade. Dunno why that was and I'm not saying it's wrong to laugh, but I'm just saying that after a while that sense of wonder and innocence leaves some people. And maybe the sense of wonder does stay, and innocence stays, but the context of childhood doesn't, and again that thought just breeds a lot of mixed feelings.
But anyway, I really like that memory, and the feeling I get at the remembrance of taking so much enjoyment in learning new things and having respect for them. "Look! They're courtship dancing!" I'll never forget it.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Hello Heart, Welcome to College! Part II --
"The Grass is Greener on This Side"
Lo Ling; April 4th; 3:45PM; the grassy hill to the right of Janss Steps (going up); feeling: content
(So I'm typing up a post that I wrote out during the day on the back of my EEB 100 lecture notes that I was attempting to study while experiencing "the grassy hill" for the first time)
(Part I is coming soon) (Yes I know... I'm pulling a "Star Wars"... releasing episodes 5 6 and 7 before 1 haha-- but it works out!)
So it's Spring 2008, my 6th quarter at UCLA--
and I'm finally REALLY enjoying this place. Maybe it's the weather.
I got out of class today at 2, and making my way back to my room I realized,
there is no way I'm going back to my room when outside it looks like THIS.
As I slowed my pace to bide myself time to figure out exactly just where then I would be spending my time, I noticed... the hill. The grassy hill that slopes gently down between Janss steps and the walk extending from Bruin Walk.
I step over the curb and wa-la, here I am. That was easy. I pick a spot-- which is easy given the vast expanse of green hill around me, and set myself down along with my stuff. It's definitely getting a little chilly and I'm sitting in the shade, but once I'm here, I realize that sacrifice is worth it just to be in this place where everything finally does seem to be a little slower, brighter, better. Greener.
I've been "studying" ahem... pleasantly enjoying myself and the grass beneath me for a while when I get a phone call from Rachel, and I mention where I am. Immediately she expresses how she's always wanted to do that, and be "one of those people" just laying out on the grassy green hill right next to Janss Steps. She just can't muster up the courage though, she admits.
Wait... Courage? To take a step over a 5-inch curb?
For a while I don't understand what she means by turning what I am doing, along with my hill-hugging peers, into a test of courage. But as the bells in Powell ring a signal of the hour, a rush of students finally free from class enters the scene, and what she's saying makes total sense.
I see it now as they come down the walkway, looking ahead, me looking over at them. Here's me and there's them, just a few meters away. We're in the same place, ... but we're really not. It's true, all that separates the grassy hill from the walkway up to class is your basic, everyday, completely nonthreatening curb, around five inches wide, low to the ground, barely there. But the crazy thing is, no matter which side of it you are on, in your mind there is much more to that curb. You know what it's really separating. On one side, it's the rigidity and structure of the stairs and the neatly paved walkway with a straight path leading to class... versus, the grass that grows freely in every which direction under the sanctuary of the trees, and while everyone on the other side is rushing to and from somewhere important to go with focused and somewhat sterile looks on their faces, on this side here you sit, in an island of vibrant green in the midst of ever-so-appealing relaxed looks and comfortable, eased body positions of the ones here finally able to feel the breeze of the air they breathe. That curb sure isn't just a curb anymore, its the border into another world. And just like the courage it takes to step into any unknown territory, yeah! I can see how taking that small step takes courage. Lucky lucky for us, the challenge in this lasts only a second or two as you lift one one foot over the curb and then the other, and then... now you are on the inside, looking out. And that is really how it feels. And that's really how long it takes.
Just a breath and a step and then you're there and it wasn't that bad at all. And now you're here in a place where you get to be the one happy, fresh, vibrant yet relaxed, looking out at the line of student bruins marching to Bruinwalk, while the squirrels frolic around you... haha. Actually I'm serious about the squirrels.
Lo Ling; April 4th; 3:45PM; the grassy hill to the right of Janss Steps (going up); feeling: content
(So I'm typing up a post that I wrote out during the day on the back of my EEB 100 lecture notes that I was attempting to study while experiencing "the grassy hill" for the first time)
(Part I is coming soon) (Yes I know... I'm pulling a "Star Wars"... releasing episodes 5 6 and 7 before 1 haha-- but it works out!)
So it's Spring 2008, my 6th quarter at UCLA--
and I'm finally REALLY enjoying this place. Maybe it's the weather.
I got out of class today at 2, and making my way back to my room I realized,
there is no way I'm going back to my room when outside it looks like THIS.
As I slowed my pace to bide myself time to figure out exactly just where then I would be spending my time, I noticed... the hill. The grassy hill that slopes gently down between Janss steps and the walk extending from Bruin Walk.
I step over the curb and wa-la, here I am. That was easy. I pick a spot-- which is easy given the vast expanse of green hill around me, and set myself down along with my stuff. It's definitely getting a little chilly and I'm sitting in the shade, but once I'm here, I realize that sacrifice is worth it just to be in this place where everything finally does seem to be a little slower, brighter, better. Greener.
I've been "studying" ahem... pleasantly enjoying myself and the grass beneath me for a while when I get a phone call from Rachel, and I mention where I am. Immediately she expresses how she's always wanted to do that, and be "one of those people" just laying out on the grassy green hill right next to Janss Steps. She just can't muster up the courage though, she admits.
Wait... Courage? To take a step over a 5-inch curb?
For a while I don't understand what she means by turning what I am doing, along with my hill-hugging peers, into a test of courage. But as the bells in Powell ring a signal of the hour, a rush of students finally free from class enters the scene, and what she's saying makes total sense.
I see it now as they come down the walkway, looking ahead, me looking over at them. Here's me and there's them, just a few meters away. We're in the same place, ... but we're really not. It's true, all that separates the grassy hill from the walkway up to class is your basic, everyday, completely nonthreatening curb, around five inches wide, low to the ground, barely there. But the crazy thing is, no matter which side of it you are on, in your mind there is much more to that curb. You know what it's really separating. On one side, it's the rigidity and structure of the stairs and the neatly paved walkway with a straight path leading to class... versus, the grass that grows freely in every which direction under the sanctuary of the trees, and while everyone on the other side is rushing to and from somewhere important to go with focused and somewhat sterile looks on their faces, on this side here you sit, in an island of vibrant green in the midst of ever-so-appealing relaxed looks and comfortable, eased body positions of the ones here finally able to feel the breeze of the air they breathe. That curb sure isn't just a curb anymore, its the border into another world. And just like the courage it takes to step into any unknown territory, yeah! I can see how taking that small step takes courage. Lucky lucky for us, the challenge in this lasts only a second or two as you lift one one foot over the curb and then the other, and then... now you are on the inside, looking out. And that is really how it feels. And that's really how long it takes.
Just a breath and a step and then you're there and it wasn't that bad at all. And now you're here in a place where you get to be the one happy, fresh, vibrant yet relaxed, looking out at the line of student bruins marching to Bruinwalk, while the squirrels frolic around you... haha. Actually I'm serious about the squirrels.
weekly image
i really like this picture and it kind of looks pixel-ly in the sidebar so I'm reposting it
my friend rachel grabbing a water somewhere way up north campus
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