my hands smell like oranges

And oranges smell like Vitamin C.
Vitamin C, in turn, smells like "uh oh, Chery's getting sick."

Sitting in the VDC undergraduate lounge yet again, sitting on my foot, thinking about the foods I eat and how I could write a twenty-five minute long paper about this, in French, in 13 hours.

Me: I just want to blog.
J: You would.

So I finished my orange and blogged. I want to blog and I have been wanting to. therefore I need to, in a way. Before these words get backed up and I have to call a plumber, or before they shoot out of my fingertips like bullets from a loaded gun.

I recently found out that I'm not the only person in this wide universe who uses the "drafts" function in their cellular to keep track of running thoughts and creative strings of words. In his case he wrote a couple of stanzas of spoken word poetry, in my case I listed things I want(ed) to blog about. He read me his poem and I wondered if I could do this, like he said, just a thought. But I don't have time right now, what I have time for is to attend to the list on draft #35 of my cellular phone.

Right now though, my thoughts circle around Alternative Spring Break. It's a program that sends you to a particular destination, and so, instead of going home for spring break, you are sent there under a specific topic headline and you are given the task of learning more about that topic and giving back to your community in some way. The destination I seek is the San Bernardino National Forest, my topic headline being 'Giving Back to the National Forests.'

Hello, National Forests. I would like to be more near you.

My interview was this morning; I showed up early though my sinuses were clogged and I can only imagine that I sounded like some over-exaggerated germ-infested cartoon character. But I did my best. I talked with them, told them about myself (which I am remarkably terrible at doing), discussed what I consider my greatest achievement, all the usual interview questions. I'm not great at interviews. I know this.

After the formal interview was over, we talked about the different programs. The intern organizing the National Forests project was present and we discussed camping and being outdoors. It brought me back to all those hiking trips back in the day, with Girl Scouts or with my family or friends. And Marin Headlands in elementary school, Yosemite in 8th grade, even the camping trip I went on just last summer. The 2nd place Nature Award I got at Camporee...the late nights rubbing your toes together inside three pairs of socks because they still feel like ice. Building fires from scratch, trekking through switchback after switchback til we reach that glorious view, finding banana slugs to kiss. Grilling chicken and staring at our dust-decorated sneakers, everyone focusing in on one another and forgetting that such a thing called "wifi" and "Verizon Wireless" even exist. It's a whole nother planet.

Then it hit me just how much I want this experience. The intern said that one of her fears was how well everyone would get along, thirteen complete strangers in the wilderness, in unfamiliar conditions? It could be a recipe for disaster.

My mind flew to Grey's Anatomy and Meredith saying, "Pick me. Choose me. Love me."

And I thought, when she expressed those fears, how I could quell them. I feel like I could do this. This isn't another answer to the "why are you a great candidate" question, but then again, maybe it is.

I want this. Strangers sound so appealing. One week of ultimate bonding sounds so appealing. One week of being outdoors, of being far away, of giving back, sounds like the ultimate retreat for me, the best vacation possible.

I want this, badly. And the second that I realized just how much I wanted it, another emotion squeezed a spot open next to that desire. And that emotion was fear. Tangible fear that stepped on the toes of my plump desire and said "scoot over, exist less, so if you don't get this, your heart won't break."

I find out next Friday. Thankfully life is busy enough that I won't spend every waking minute thinking about how great of an opportunity this could be.

making wishes

Birthday candles, shooting stars, 11:11

So many people take these as opportunities to make wishes. As often as they come, I’ll grasp the moment and think of what I want most, and then close my eyes and hope.

“Why bother?” some say, “wishes don’t come true, anyway.”

Not to be a cynic, but I can’t help but agree.

Too often, wishes don’t come true, won’t come true. Should I stop asking for giant magnificent things, things that can’t happen in the blink of an eye?

If wishes came true…I would be living a contradiction. I may be somewhere else, maybe NYC. I would have much more money at my disposal, I would have my closest friends with me. I would have everyone, or I would have no one. I would start over with a blank slate, I would rewind, I would fast forward. I would have talent, stronger will, a better work ethic. I would have that missing something. I would have a secure promise of a successful future, and I would have this recognition of my potential and the knowledge that it will get me somewhere soon. I’ll have my name in the byline, my influence far-reaching. I would have balance and lose the in-betweens. And I wouldn’t get so caught in (what I know are just) momentary lapses, I wouldn’t get stuck in people-ruts.

But as life goes, and as wishes go,

none of these wishes I once made really came true.

I still make wishes every chance I get.

I consider it a moment to step back and pause the world, re-align yourself with yourself and forget about any outside influences puncturing your sphere. Brainstorm — think about what I do have, what I could have, and what I don’t want to have. And the wish I make is usually just for things like courage or focus or discipline, to reach my goals.

My wish is a recognition of what I desire, but that itself is not the wish. The wish is the means of getting there.

So every chance I get I make a wish,

not because I believe some divine entity will grant it to me,

but because it reminds me of what my goals are

and how I can do everything I can to make them come true for myself.

your mind is rather reckless

Jason Mraz concert last night! (:

It started off on a disappointing note. They played a video basically advertising the Gratitude Cafe and, I felt that he was forcing his beliefs on us, the audience... it felt kind of preachy. Mraz has turned into a hypnotic hippie, au-natural musician, zen-god of some sort. His music has definitely changed but it's a change that I embrace and enjoy. However when he tries to spread his influence through informational documentary-esque videos rather than through his music...well, needless to say, I object.

Anyway, the amazing part of the concert came soon enough. He played some old favorites, we sing/dance/steal things songs, as well as some new songs that I haven't heard before (What Would Love Do Now). By far my favorite songs were A Beautiful Mess and You & I Both...because, well, they're my favorite songs. His voice is so amazing live. Three times for Mraz, more coming for sure.

Other favorite moments:
-speaking French (:
-he sang part of Lucky in Spanish...swoon.

"Anything you want can be yours at any time."

He got his message across without any help from that useless video. I don't know... there's something of a freedom in what he sings about and what he conveys.

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On another note... I don't know what to make of the dreams I keep having. Have you ever had a recurring dream? Or in this case, a recurring dream figure? I can't understand this discrepancy between waking and dreaming, and the sharp switch from sleep to wake rattles me every morning, and I think it's the cause for me waking up glum and ill at ease.

Maybe I'm taking these dreams too seriously, but I've always been a strong believer that dreams are your subconscious trying to tell you something that your conscious decides to ignore. I've always looked up symbols and remembered my dreams and pondered over them, wondering what my waking self is missing that my dreaming self knows so well. I always take vivid dreams as wake-up calls...which is kind of ironic, I guess. Should I stop taking my dreams so seriously? Are they merely fantastical, convoluted imagery connected by a confused and over-worked waking mind? Or are they really...actually, substantial?

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Today, in concert hangover tradition, has been spent lazily and Mrazily. It's almost 1, I want to go back in bed, read a magazine, listen to my LOVAH, forget the world exists. Today I want my room and nothing else...maybe a cookie. Some nice company would be nice later on too.

J and I talked last night about college friends and home friends. It was nice to hear that someone is feeling how I am feeling, and thinking the thoughts that I am thinking. At school, everyone is in it for themselves. I think I need to work on remembering this more.

Duties await. Til next time...which will probably be very very soon. Is October my blog-frenzy month or something???

<3