Posts Tagged ‘the future’

Fun-MUN

Tuesday, February 22nd, 2022

Last weekend was my second excursion to Fugaziland, otherwise known as Washington, D.C. Instead of engaging in punk rock rambunctiousness like last time, I had a much more formal mission: my first Model UN conference, the North American Invitational Model United Nations. I had always been interested in Model UN, but I never embarked on it until the beginning of the current school year. I’m very glad I did. Never would I have thought I would have an experience like I did at this past conference before I started college.

I wasn’t used to being around people my age who weren’t the same people I saw every day at school, and it was a little strange how everyone looked so familiar yet so unfamiliar. But I got used to my surroundings quickly. I joined the crowd of gussied up teenagers checking their notes and crossing their fingers, and I fit right in. Transplanted from my usual surroundings into a swanky Hilton hotel, I found myself representing Hong Kong in the C40 Cities Climate Leadership Group, working with other high schoolers to tackle the problem of urban greenhouse gas emissions. It was a lot less nerve-racking than it sounds, especially considering that the real world implications of those decisions weren’t actually weighing on us. It was a fascinating and enriching time hearing the stances of everyone else’s assigned city, which resulted in some heated debate despite the general consensus that climate change equals bad, and working out alliances and plans. Many sixty-second speeches were given and many notes were passed.

Our committee meetings were spread across four days with plenty of time to explore the hotel and the surrounding city (within the radius designated by our advisors) in between. On Friday my school’s delegation took the metro to see the Capitol building (from a distance) and the Washington Monument (which I got to lean against). It was slightly surreal being where a homegrown coup against democracy had been attempted, even if it was from afar. When you spend so much of your life picking up on worldly events from afar it’s interesting to find yourself at Ground Zero, even after everything seems to have settled. I felt similarly watching the news about Russian escalation in Ukraine on the flatscreen in my hotel floor’s lobby while waiting for the extremely congested elevators. So many monumental changes happening while everything else in life seems to remain just as it was…I read a good Tumblr post about this phenomenon the other day—diary entries from the past casually mentioning the beginnings of large-scale wars and man’s landing on the moon beside daily routines and boy gossip. There’s more than two sides to every story, I guess.

At least, the metro looked gorgeous.

But at the conference I didn’t feel like I was just sitting idly by while everything happened around me all at once. I had a role to fulfill and duties to undertake, and I engaged in them successfully. On top of that, socializing was easy considering that almost everyone else was a stranger. I met people from New Jersey, California, Mexico, and Puerto Rico to name a few, and everyone was friendly and open. No matter where we came from or what our committees were, we were all united by the same purpose: to solve some problems and flex some mental muscles. That uniting factor really opened up my horizons much more than being trapped in a high school I never made where everyone else has been BFFs since their elementary years. And in the end, through these alliances and plenty of teamwork, it did really feel as if we had gotten something done when our draft resolutions passed. We had shown our ability to take responsibility and work together. It was a truly liberating experience in every sense, and I almost wished it didn’t have to end.

The day after I got home, it was abnormally nice out, nice enough to take a walk through the neighborhood in a three-quarter sleeve cardigan and my favorite leather-y jeans. If only the weather had been so agreeable down in D.C. It was brisk the entire time we were there, and the winds almost bowled me over as I stalked the street down from the hotel for Thai food that Saturday. I didn’t actually think my group would be leaving the hotel throughout the weekend, so I didn’t pack a coat or gloves. I made do by layering the three blazers I’d brought along. I think it’s going to be a hip winter fashion trend next year for those who follow the philosophy that “beauty is pain.”

The attire of champions.

But upon returning home, I got to crack open my bedroom window (in February!) and let the fresh air float in without freezing to death. There’s something about the spring air that stirs something inside of me, that end of seasonal dormancy. It makes me feel as if things are happening as opposed to having to wait for the world to unthaw. I know things are happening for me, no matter how frustrating life may be at times. In the next few months, my concept of normalcy will be changing, and it will resemble the freedom I experienced last weekend more than what I’m going through now. I couldn’t be more jittery—in the best way possible, that is.

No, We Kent

Friday, January 21st, 2022

It happened.

The Kent State Honors College finally decided to cut out my anxiety and send me the fateful email.

I’m accepted!

Actually, they sent it to me six days before I actually saw it, so it’s on me that I let the uncertainty persist for that long. I thought my radar scanner was in perfect condition—I guess not!

Despite that error, my hard work has paid off, and all my fantasies of exploring Kent’s annals on weekends and participating in the May 4th Task Force feel more concrete. I’m well aware that unexpected roadblocks will appear and unexpected opportunities will arise, but those uncertainties haven’t taken away any of my anticipation. It’s exciting to know that I’m considered a worthy candidate.

I’m still reeling from getting accepted, and I’m finding it genuinely hard to put into words all my pent up ecstasy. All I can say right now is that I’m truly honored to have the opportunity to attend a school with such history and contribute to its community.

Just seven more months.

Twenty Twenty Twenty One Hours Gone

Saturday, January 1st, 2022

Jeez, how did this year go by so fast?

In the midst of the chaos of 2021, it was actually a great year for me on a personal level. I remained dedicated to my studies and hobbies despite a worldwide pandemic and repeated human fallacy telling most people that giving up is the better option; I was able to go out and actually do things after a year indoors, meeting people I have always wanted to meet and going places I have always wanted to go; I started this here blog. I can tell that the person I am has become more mature and more realized, due in no small part to support from all the people I have connected with and the experiences I have had along my way. I’m grateful for all of it, and I know I personally wouldn’t want a do-over…

…even though the world could really use one. If this year proved anything on a major scale, it was that we as humans are all still self-obsessed, anxious, confused little babies with false concepts of freedom and liberty implanted in our heads, acting on our base impulses. Every headline about humans ignoring COVID safety protocol and media pundits taking advantage of ignorance for their own selfish gains has been more agonizing than the last. The Omicron strain doing its very un-sexy thing doesn’t help. I received my booster shot on Monday—and that’s after two jabs and a minor bout with the ‘rona—but I’m still a human. And humans are as resilient as they are fragile.

But then again, every year is its own strain of hell; COVID just made the flames higher and the stupid crap stupider. Being able to recognize that certain things are, at their core, extremely stupid and laughable is a really crucial part of making life somewhat enjoyable. And I sure did a lot of that last year!

So what does this year have in store? For me, it means escape—escape to the college of my choice and a chance to start fresh. It’s the only thing that seems certain when it seems like the ability to do anything exciting is based entirely on how reckless other humans want to act on any given day. It’s hard thinking about the future when things seem so murky. In the meantime I’m trying to follow the advice assorted elders push upon me: savor this time while you still can.

The mask mandates that are repealed or disregarded…the underlying shiftiness of newfound lukewarm winters…the recklessness of humankind on display everywhere from the grocery store to the Facebook feed…the creepy fake ducks I saw in a (most likely man made) pond outside a developed community I drove by last weekend…varying states of growth and regression, evolution and de-evolution…what a weird, fascinating time to savor.

Happy 2022!

Smooching The Moon

Tuesday, October 19th, 2021

It really does feel like time is a human construct sometimes. A month ago I was navigating train lines, electronic refrigerator doors in drugstores, and music festival crowds in Chicago, yet it feels like a lifetime ago. I have a long awaited trip to Cleveland and Akron in less than a month, and the wait feels like double that. In the meantime my schedule has been fuller than ever. It is as exhausting as it is worthwhile, and it feels like everything now is in preparation for the future. Whether that future is near or far depends on the situation.

A big part of my busy day, as always, is observing other humans, which is hands down one of my favorite hobbies. There’s nothing more fascinating than examining the personas people form in both real life and the digital world. There’s a lot of dichotomy involved with reacting to what others do. Example: knowing that there are couples whose supposed ultimate fairytale courtship moment of Luv included the phrase “I AM WEED” makes me simultaneously lose all faith in humanity and gain hope that I’ll someday find a boyfriend. It’s all about trying to maintain a positive mindset in depressing times. If even the most delirious, vapid, overindulged humans can find mates, that opens up a lot of doors for the rest of us. And you’re going to have to make judgments if you’re going to get anywhere. Too many people act as if they aren’t “judgmental” as if judgment isn’t an innate component of human/animal nature. Deciding that funky smelling milk isn’t safe to drink is as much a judgment as choosing the people you choose to surround yourself with. Some people are entranced by the stench of that rancid milk. If observation has taught me anything, humans are often very flawed creatures.

Asserting yourself and the things you associate with opens the door for others to make judgments about you. Too many people hide their best traits out of fear; too many people cover up their flaws to pass under societal radars. It makes you feel almost grateful that there are people so proud of declaring that they are, in fact, weed, because at least they’re being honest. This makes it easier for the rest of us to make correct judgments and stay as far away from them as possible. It’s going to be refreshing to indulge in some freedom of expression with people who aren’t afraid to be themselves and aren’t marijuana courtship string bean swamp creatures in the process.

Crockfishing

Thursday, July 29th, 2021

If I owned a nickel for every hard choice I’ve had to make, I’d own a bank’s equivalent, and should the rapidly rising pace of their prevalence keeps up, I’d be a millionaire by the time I get my bachelor’s degree. Since everything seems dire and of utmost importance in these modern day end times, I’ve developed a tendency towards perfectionism in my decision making, and it is both grueling and ultimately satisfying.

Every choice forces the possibilities left behind to die, opening the door to more choices. Fish hatch from eggs only to give birth to more when they mature. It’s an endless cycle. Every choice has impact, which not enough seem to realize, and seeing others make horrible decisions, while painful, comes as no surprise at this point. When boostered by a false sense of superiority, you gain lenience and begin to cut strings between you and your fellow men. What you do matters not as long as it benefits your wants, even when others may need the complete opposite.

When others look down at you from the higher rungs of their constructed Social Ladder, on the other hand, methods of survival must be utilized. Situations must be utilized down to the pinprick, and every move must be made like a chess game. Sense must be made in a world gone mad, reaching a point where what others deem as weird becomes common and not repulsive. Case in point: I keep getting this Captain Beefheart song trapped in my head to the point where mentally reciting it’s lyrics—

I’m gonna grow fins
‘N go back in the water again
If ya don’t leave me alone
I’m gonna take up with ah mermaid
‘N leave you land lubbin’ women alone!

—has become a cute ritual in maintaining my sanity. I guess some people’s blues are gill-bearing, and I guess that includes me. Considering how chronically perseverant I am, I always thought I was more like a cockroach. Maybe when my concerns regarding climate-induced end of the world scenarios become reality, I’ll be among them. If only the things I have actual control over were the most of my concerns. But I don’t plan on riding some easy path of acceptance. I can’t let myself succumb to that, and it pains me to see others do so, blowing their potential in the process.

I could choose routes that serve only to dim my bulbs, routes that satisfy others at the expense of what I truly need. Instead, I make myself that fish out of water, searching for the right pool.

And how right it will be.

Super Sixteen

Saturday, June 26th, 2021

With my birthday rapidly approaching, I’ve been thinking a lot about the tight situation my age places me in. I currently stand on the edge of girlhood dipping my toes in the pool of womanhood through college visits and driving practice. Bound to an environment I’ve spent a good amount of my life preparing to be ejected from, I study and learn from the adults I hope to be like when I “grow up,” sophistication and immaturity mingling within my cells. It can be infuriating at times. I think to myself often, Why can’t I just start living my own life already? But I am already living my own life; I just need to gain enough experience to unlock the independence I crave, like a video game.

One year of being eligible to drive. One year until being eligible to vote. Seventeen.

As excited as I am for my seventeenth rotation around the sun to begin, I am also aware that the actual date of my turnover will not be the most splendiferous. This is because my calendar is already lined up with numerous exciting adventures, primarily concerts, extending even into next February. This more than makes up for the lost year of 2020, when all my plans had to be cancelled or moved online thanks to systems that place profits over people and people who have been brainwashed into agreeing with that.

I hope to, in a manner, undergo a more positive form of brainwashing in the coming months. It will be refreshing to have conversations with like-minded people in person and to be enlightened by live performances that no livestream can truly match. Experiences such as these are like hearty salads for the brain; faux news and fanaticism are McDonald’s. My teenaged brain is still being molded by the world around it, so I might as well ensure that my influences are positive ones. With each of these experiential gifts comes more of the know-how that I strive to harness, which is worth so much more than any physical object.

And now, we wait.

Flash Flood

Sunday, June 13th, 2021

The five hour drive was worth it. Kent was a success!

From exploring the town Wednesday night to touring the campus the next morning, my time in Kent was a fascinating and eye opening experience. I was not sure what to expect, as judging a location’s current condition when most of your knowledge comes from its history can be difficult. Yet I was overall extremely satisfied while I was there.

Twelve beaming floors of library at Kent State.

My primary gripe: leaving so early. We stayed just one night, and a large part of me wanted to do nothing but continue wandering the campus in the burning heat, taking in the brutalish buildings and towering trees, fantasizing about undergraduate life. Chances to escape from my usual surroundings are often scarce and always short lived, making every drive home something to dread. Too often these excursions seem to zip by in a flash in retrospect, which is what I guess results from savoring something so much that you let go of some of the uptightness you’ve grown accustomed to and start living in the moment…not that’s a necessarily bad thing.

This temporary change of scenery extremely refreshing for my psyche, but it was also enlightening to spend time in a place that holds both historical significance and increasing relevancy, especially since learning of the massacre that occurred on campus in 1970 left a large impact on me. It was a genuinely sobering experience to walk where four young innocents had their futures obliterated decades ago, the same grounds where modern youths currently prepare for their own postcollegiate lives to unfold. Seeing markers for where protesting students were shot and the sectioned off areas in the nearby parking lot showing where the four were killed seemed unreal in the moment, and my emotions only began to really hit home after leaving. I was able to leave that campus with feelings of actual hope of an actual future. Allison, Jeffrey, Sandra, and William suffered a very different experience than what I would envision for myself or anyone else.

A memorial for the four slain students by the parking lot where they were murdered. The lot is still in use.

The abuse of illegitimate authority that resulted in the May 4 massacre remains the same today, albeit in more refined form. At Kent State, the memorials and informational placards are the most blatant reminder of why the good fight is still worth fighting, though the somewhat seedy wooded areas on the outskirts of the town that we got lost in upon our initial arrival also seem to serve that purpose. I remember reading that, during that period of turmoil and pain, Kent State’s liberal students considered the campus an “oasis” from the surrounding deep red territory. Living in an area where I am constantly bombarded by Trump 2020 signs alongside various less explicit methods of bigotry, I can’t help but feel for them. If only life was just and everything was easy.

Despite this, the chances of me joining their ranks as a “Golden Flash” have only become more likely since my visit. Kent State genuinely felt like a place I could worm my way into and find plenty nourishment. Brand new things and brand new places often have an atmosphere of impenetrability and intimidation, as they are associated with breaking out of one’s comfort zone and embracing a new world. But I didn’t feel as much like a fish out of water in Kent. Actually, my visit felt more like I was entering a comfort zone of sorts. It was a comfort zone formed by both the assertion of myself as an independent person and constant reminders of history and the experiences of others. But isn’t that a fundamental—albeit complicated and looming—aspect of the human experience?

All There Is

Saturday, June 5th, 2021

In examining the world around me, I constantly find myself longing for something more.

Over time I’ve become extremely tired with my current, mostly static environment, one that I still have around a year to revel in before the onset of college. Example: I went on a spur-of-the-moment excursion today for a nearby town’s annual neighborhood yard sale. The majority of that time was spent marching through a small town sidewalk hell hole in overwhelming heat spying nothing but baby clothes and grimy rom-com DVDs. Such a scene serves as a textbook example of what I hate about my current location, the fuel for my daydreams of mid-century minimalist abodes and illuminated action cities. (Don’t get me started on how today’s sights support my attitude towards society as a whole, or we’ll be here all day.) I insist that my reveries are not entirely selfish, though it is impossible for any human being to truly escape their innate ego. All human beings have the right to live life in the way most fulfilling to them; cruel societal barriers say otherwise.

The only items I acquired on my misadventure were found far away from those goons in a completely different part of my area, in the much shadier suburban driveway of an older yet lively woman who was inviting and didn’t have a vengeful Trump sign hanging outside her residence. My finds screamed of hope chest material: A classy button jacket for when the weather gets chilly, a simple red and silver necklace to spruce up dinner dates that I’ve never been on, and two matching cummerbund sets for when me and my future hubby want to have some fun at fancy dinner parties. All this investment for six dollars. If you couldn’t tell, I’ve thought out what I’d like my future to hold quite a bit.

I am fully aware that, in order to make my hypothetical future happen in some capacity, I’m going to have to work. No matter my determination level, I’m still going to have to negotiate with everything else happening around me. Both roadblocks to progress and unexpected opportunities are guaranteed to emerge and run me off track. My plans could very well become fragmented or shattered entirely.

It’s also hard aspiring to resemble one’s heroes in life, even though the circumstances they gained their success under have gone extinct. Comparing the past to the present is a natural reflex—for me, at least. Too many assume that our present is automatically better than our past solely because, according to some, the forward movement of time always signals a positive societal progression. This is not the case in a world as chaotic as ours, and if anything that trajectory is burrowing deeper and deeper into the pits daily. While I do witness many notable changes occurring on a societal scale, these changes are rarely positive. Bigotry and idiocy continue to be normalized, causing most attempts at progress to function as largely meaningless, superficial pandering. Knowing that the world you live in is a much tougher sell in a multitude of ways than it was even ten years ago isn’t comforting, especially when it feels like the end of the world is always just around the corner. Time machines don’t exist, and the flying cars that were promised to us decades ago are nowhere to be found.

I’ll be in Kent, Ohio in four days to observe the grounds of its college campus. It will not be the Kent, Ohio it was years, months, days, seconds ago, despite being probably best known for its undeniable history. Maybe Kent State will fulfill the hopes I’ve set aside for it. Maybe it won’t.

All I can do right now is wait.

My Side Of The Story…Again

Tuesday, May 4th, 2021

Today marks the fifty first commemoration of the 1970 massacre at Kent State, where four students were murdered by the National Guard at a peaceful anti-war protest.

I had first learned of the massacre in a book about the 1970s that I had rented from a library as a middle schooler. It shocked me, as did reading of other protests and more subterranean movements of rebellion that came into fruition in reaction to the Vietnam War, and I never forgot about it thanks to the ever-striking image of a young teenager kneeling over the body of Jeffrey Miller. Down the line, I would become more familiar with the event after learning that one of my greatest role models, Jerry Casale of the musical group DEVO, was present at the protest and was forever altered by it; he had been acquaintances with two of the students killed that day. [Last year, coinciding with the event’s fiftieth commemoration, I wrote on my Instagram about the great influence that Jerry’s story had on me; it is a much better read than this post.] It was only then that I became exposed to the true horror of May 4th’s aftermath—misinformation campaigns brainwashed the majority of America into believing that the students were to blame for their deaths while Kent locals flashed each other four finger signs—”at least we got four of them.”

Not much has changed in terms of illegitimate authority silencing the voice of reason and filling the masses with pro-complacency propaganda. To this day, some still consider the protesting students to blame for not being armed, even though it would have been even easier for those in power and the public at large to demonize those students had they been given the ability to fight back, and who knows how many more would have died that day had both sides been exchanging gunfire. (Ah, the irony: the oppressed can only rise above via force, yet that force gets them an even worse beating from their oppressors, who have the power to use the same tactics scot-free.) Even more people continuously bend over backwards to excuse the abuse of power and proliferation of idiocy that has become the status quo. Popularizing and normalizing alternatives remains difficult; not many have the guts to nip the hand that slaps. Some brave souls do, even if mainstream acceptance seems out of reach. Jerry Casale himself, who obviously has much more authority on this subject than I do, has been outspoken against injustice in all forms through his work; see this essential article from last year’s commemoration. Many more also worked to promote the truth about Kent State, such as Alan Canfora, who was shot on that day and passed earlier this year. Others across the planet who were not there, including myself, cling to a similar fire of urgency, militancy, and passion, having never fallen prey to the mainstream’s program.

Not many, but some.

It’s a bit surreal observing the commemoration this year, as I have plans to visit Kent State this summer as a prospective student. Having been aware of the university’s history for a while now, I always wanted to step foot on campus to at least pay my respects; simultaneously, I do find the university appealing as a place of higher learning to attend. I’ll admit, it would be pretty neat to help keep the memory of Kent State alive from Ground Zero.

But no matter where I attend college, I still plan on continuing the legacy of those brave individuals who came before me, even if I know it won’t be easy.

My deepest respects to all of those who keep raising awareness of Kent State and all who continue to fight the good fight.

It Ain’t Over ‘Til It’s Over

Thursday, April 22nd, 2021

Small victories, small victories.

It’s Earth Day today, which ironically coincides with my recent contemplation of world “suckage.” Pardon my language, but as beautiful as our planet is in it’s natural state, the society we humans have built on top of it overall really, really sucks.

Alleviation of such man made suckage most often comes in the form of small victories, such as, say, a court case outcome, while large scale victories—abolition, revolution, the like—are extremely rare. Large victories take even more strenuous amounts of effort to achieve than the small, and they require the sacrifice of the participant’s personal comfort. In a world as individualistic as ours, no one wants to give up what they have grown so accustomed to, no matter how harmful the underlying factors may be; those who do are looked down on as insane. Simultaneously, large victories are so often associated with past cultural shifts that many believe that movements of similar magnitude are not needed anymore; the work was, in their eyes, already done before they were born. Under these circumstances, small victories are enough to satisfy any rebellious blood lust that still lingers.

And as for the people making everything suck in the first place? They’ve just gotten better at convincing the masses to get on their side. Modern society provides just enough comfort to quell the spirit of rebellion in the vast majority. A roof above your head and a cell phone in your hand are all you need to be “okay.”

Actual change takes mobilization and determination in the face of adversity, and despite how fun talking about societal revolution is, we’re simply not at that level of mass mobilization and determination yet. Looking at how tight conformist society has its grip on the populous, we may never reach that goal. Will the majority of the people whose lives have been unjustly ended receive true comeuppance on a societal scale? Most likely not. I’m not trying to be pessimistic; I’m just being realistic.

And I wish it didn’t have to be this way.

But giving up in the face of such adversity is the coward’s option. Take some time out if you need, but leaving the fighting spirit to wither and rot just makes the tyrannical grip tighter for all of us. Keep the memory of your fallen comrades alive. Walk, talk, and breathe in their names. Get out of bed. Do something.

Make Planet Earth proud.