The Terminal Radio

Because I've been messing around with Linux for the past few days, I decided the next best thing was to get FM radio in the terminal. Most radio stations now have streaming URLS that you can use to play a specific station inside of your own media player, so after poking around the internet looking for URLS for the stations I wanted, I made the choice of which media player I'd use to get it to work.

I went with mpv. It has a simple terminal interface that I'd already configured with my own keybinds. 

To start the radio, I typed:

mpv "stream_url" 

into the prompt.

Just like that, the radio station begins to play. 

According to my brief googling, streaming the radio via the internet (which allows you to listen to any station no matter where you are, obviously) is slightly different from listening to it with an actual FM radio. For instance, I noticed that during commercial breaks the stream played what I entitled "filler songs" that do not appear on the official station website's song history. They do, however, play when you listen on the official website. 

In order to conduct a proper comparison, I turned to the only real FM radio I knew I had access to: the car! Yes, it's common knowledge that pretty much all cars have a built in FM radio, so I took my Linux laptop to the car to listen to the same station at the same time. Sure enough, during the "filler songs" gaps (which can last quite a while), the car played advertisements instead. Konichiwhaaaa? To say the least, this was the first time I discovered this. Essentially, if you're in the car listening to the over-the-air station, you are missing out on several songs (that internet users hear) while commercials play. Even worse, because I was listening the same station for so long, I was able to listen to several of these filler song breaks, and it seems the songs they choose are vastly more varied and interesting than the ones on the regular program. 

The stream URLS are not immune to commercials, however. After a listening for a while without quitting or reloading mpv, the URL will start to inject commercials into the stream during the filler song breaks. In the terminal, I could see that these commercials were denoted by "adContext=abunchofrandomnumbers"". But, if you quit and reopen mpv during these ad breaks, the filler song returns (just like it would play on the website). 

Usually, when the radio host says the name of the next song, it indicates that the normal, real songs (that would be recorded in the song history) were about to return. I believe the official website omits any audio-commercials because the website is already riddled with visual ads all over the screen. On my particularly slow laptop, these consume an irritating amount of memory. Many times my computer has crashed because I opened the tab and poor little Linux did not have enough memory. Indeed, even on a lightweight distribution and using LXQt, one unassuming tab can overload the memory, just like it used to in ChromeOS. 

That was predictable. I am forever bounded at 4GB of RAM, no matter what OS I use. Thus I have to be careful when using my browser (and severely limit what I have open. YouTube notoriously devours memory, so when that tab is open, all others are at the mercy of it). 

This is where the terminal radio comes in clutch. There's something so charming about seeing the little "icy-title" and "pipewire" pop up in the terminal after running mpv, just like how a car might pull the ID3 tags on its shitty little player. Linux! It's a gorgeous day to be back.

We're back.

 We are SO BACK!

Don't worry, I already have my knee socks on.

I feel like I lost a part of me when, out of nowhere, my Arch Linux OS that was installed on an old POS computer nuked itself overnight and completely erased everything. I think it was because I let the laptop fully die, but to this day I don't know exactly why the OS just disappeared. For the months following this, I didn't use the computer nor any form of Linux--largely because I was distracted by a shining new Mac mini.

But I never forgot. I still remembered how frustrating (yet rewarding) it was to install Arch Linux from scratch, in the middle of the night on a weekday. I remembered how surreal it felt to be finally greeted by Konqi on a bright screen saying "Welcome to KDE Plasma!" after many, many attempts. And, I remembered how much fun I had experimenting with Hyprland and making a YouTube video on it.

All I wanted now was to get this OS back, so yesterday I randomly decided that it was time. After all, it has only made me rage about 3 times (that I can actually remember). I installed it rather unfaithfully with archinstall, but I figured I had nothing to prove. It worked, and now I'm back for good, with (I think) no chance of it nuking itself.

I had to choose a lighter desktop environment, because despite how much I wanted to convince myself that this computer could still realistically handle KDE Plasma, I knew it simply could not. For the few hours I did have KDE, the computer was quite slow and crashed frequently. Luckily, Lxqt is still a pretty solid DE despite not being as flashy and aesthetically pleasing as KDE (and, in my case, the experience I remember the most from last year).

Although it took around two hours today to configure my cursor and more hours annoyingly configuring ALL of the settings and tweaks that I honestly don't remember doing on my first install, I wouldn't trade Linux for anything.

A Tropical Refresher

I am astutely aware that I've neglected this blog for quite some time now. You see, it's quite difficult to brainstorm what to write, and coupled with the fact that this site has no true focus or specificity, I find it takes more energy to merely start than to actually compose. But obviously, I have started again. My soul yearned to put down the narrative pieces of my day, and I fear there is no better place to do so than here, where I essentially have no parameters to what I post—for better or for worse.

A few days ago, I was invited by a relative to join them at a water park a few cities away. At first, I politely yet adamantly declined. Water parks aren't necessarily how I envisioned spending the last part of my summer, and less was I intrigued after coming back from such a dreamy time in Kauai. Although I declined, I was greeted by a text message later that evening saying that they had already bought the ticket. Now practically forced to say yes, I convinced myself that it might be an interesting way to spend the day.

Once we were on the road, my relative informed the that a friend of my younger cousin was to meet us there. It was apparently supposed to be a surprise, but I'm sure both of them knew each other was coming.

I hadn't known. I thought that, upon hearing this, I'd be awkwardly jostled between a "surprise" playdate with two people I hardly knew, but I can say now that this wasn't true. Everything was fine. Besides, I'm comfortable being alone anyway. 

They arrived shortly after us. It was she, her mother, and her younger sister. Immediately they wanted to merge into the lazy river, so without even having a say I joined them (my three cousins, plus the friend and her sister). The water was so shallow that I waded through the entire course like I was walking on a track. Maybe it was in my head, but the water—although technically blue—looked slightly murky. There was something so soothing about the repeated swishing of the water each time I dragged my legs. The slow-paced wade moved my mind out of the water park and into the picturesque sands of Polihale, moving closer and closer to the honey-hued sky of approaching dusk. A violent splash of cold water on my back by a stranger child took me out of my trance, right back under the dry sun and into the chlorinated enclosure.

The friend exchanged little words with me, and once we exited the river, the two went off to ride the taller slides. They invited me to come with them, but it was a hard pass; I hate the feeling of roller coasters.

It was then that I was completely on my own, left to wander aimlessly through the park. Strange. I glanced at so many people in a fascinating middle space between attractions or pools, where they walked in anticipation for the next hit of adrenaline, the high from their previous activity still lingering on their faces. They walked in a line, laughing and talking with pink-tinged cheeks as their faces slowly became morphed into one semi-consistent set of people. Don't be mistaken. I did not adapt a "main character" mindset where everyone around me was merely a non-playable character (to put it into my generation's terms). I was actually unconventionally interested in nearly everyone's business. I wanted to know what they spoke about, if they lived near, and who they were. Despite my curiosity, however, the image of the countless faces did little to reduce my growing feeling of isolation. So I did what any person would naturally do when they have nothing to occupy the empty parts of their mind—I continued observing. This special astuteness came to me in Kauai when, drifting between the crowds of people, I suddenly realized how interesting they might be (as I did that day). It's a shame that I'd never know. I kept going, hearing a mother tell her child to stay put somewhere on a bench; where was she headed? Then I passed by the Icee stand where several groups stood in line, and it reminded me of the time when I was in line for a burger shop with a brutal sunburn. There was little to look at in my setting; the sun was high, there were no clouds, and to my dismay there was an off-putting brownish tint to the sky. All the walking—and not really getting on any attractions—was making me tired, so eventually I retreated to our spot to sit and think.

I hardly got a few minutes to sit when, out of nowhere, the entire group came back to the seats. The two girls look liked they were enjoying themselves, but they said they had only been able to ride one slide. The line was that long? My relative asked where I'd been. I told them I was in the lazy river (I took another trip there in the midst of my wandering to float away like a lazy, thoughtful bum). Great, great.

We all agreed that we were hungry, so we headed toward the only "restaurant" in the park. Boy, was it expensive. As I was collecting condiments and napkins, the friend decided to exchange more dialogue with me.

"So, you're going to college?"

I nodded slowly.

"You drive?"

Nodded slowly.

"What car do you drive?"

"Honda," I muttered.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

No.

Obviously not. "Oh" was the only thing she said, and with that, the conversation was over.

We ate at our spot in the heat, but I was too hungry to even think anymore. The girls complained that they couldn't get their drink because there was too many bees flying around. I went to see for myself, and they weren't lying: the bees swarmed the fountain like madmen, desperate for the smallest drop of soda. That made sense.

Once we finished eating, the girls wanted to go on more slides, so I left the group again to do my own thing. I found myself in a line for a significantly smaller slide. Despite this embarrassing choice, the view from above was incredible. I could see all the tiny figures crawling across the paths of the park, and looking out past the grounds were the freeways and streets that fed into this surprisingly isolated spot. I leaned against the warm, sun-baked railing, admiring the view and the quiet, when finally I was standing just in front of the green slide. It was my turn! My heart fluttered in childish excitement. Of course teenagers can still enjoy water slides. Down I went, settling into the shock of the cold water, down, down. Inside the slide is perhaps the only time you truly get to yourself with almost no noise besides the sound of rushing water. In an unexpected way, the slide was how I was meant to enjoy my last days of summer.

Upon reaching the bottom, all of the clammer returned, and I was taken out of my short moment of peace. I continued to ride the smaller slides, ironically reveling the lines more than the slide itself. I picked up on a few interesting conversations between stranger families and friends, but unfortunately I cannot remember what was said verbatim to jot them down. 

Towards the end of the day, I went to the wave pool with my cousin and her friend as the last thing to do. The disc jockey was long gone by this point, so the only noises that filled the air were the sounds of everyone's chatter, the sloshing of the water, and the occasional buzzer that signaled the start of the waves. The waves rocked me up and down in an extremely rhythmic and predictable pattern, each with a mechanically equivalent force and height. In other words, it was nothing like the real ocean. I remained stolid in the pool, even as everyone else seemed overwhelming amused by them. I missed the pristine waters of Poipu, gardens of green, symbols of my passion. 

After it was all over, all over, I was instantly and totally longing to go back already. 

The Town

Koloa was—is—a very cute little town. It's obvious that many other people around the States agree, for it is quite crowded during the summertime. I believe I've been there many times when I was young, but even with what hazy memories I have left, I know it didn't used to be so crowded. But nevermind this. No matter how many people are there, Koloa's charm is much the same—if not better. It's laid out in a line, with one margin having virtually nothing but trees and grass space, and the other side having some of the buildings raised on stilts. Along the Poʻipū road side is the famous fish market, and heading North towards Koloa road is where I think it begins to look like that the very cute old town. Unsurprising! A popular little town with so much history, in the southern side of the garden isle that's relatively close to Best Beach, it's no wonder I now think of it as an alternate snapshot of those dreamy towns in Lolita.  Except for the fact that it obviously isn't on the mainland, Koloa is as distortedly reflective to Kasbeam or Elphinstone as my new experiences and readings will allow it to be. That is, a lot.

Summer Saturday and Sunday

Saturday morning runs are the absolute best. Once I turn off the side street, the neighborhood seems to come alive again. Children are playing at the nearby park or riding their bikes, and couples are walking their dogs with a coffee in hand. As I zip by the houses, a sudden, strong smell of pancakes and fried bacon lingers for a few moments. It always catches me off guard (in a good way), and I like that I don't know what house it comes from. That alone makes it worth it, especially since I never get these smells on any other day of the week.

Then Sunday comes around. And it really, really reminds me of this poem by Louis MacNeice.

Sunday Morning

Down the road someone is practising scales, 
The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails, 
Man's heart expands to tinker with his car 
For this is Sunday morning, Fate's great bazaar; 
Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now, 

And you may grow to music or drive beyond Hindhead anyhow, 
Take corners on two wheels until you go so fast 
That you can clutch a fringe or two of the windy past, 
That you can abstract this day and make it to the week of time 
A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme. 

But listen, up the road, something gulps, the church spire 
Open its eight bells out, skulls' mouths which will not tire 
To tell how there is no music or movement which secures 
Escape from the weekday time. Which deadens and endures.

Seriously, these Saturday and Sunday mornings won't last forever. If the following Monday isn't already dreadful enough, then surely the passage of time to our deaths is! 

I love the line: "Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now,". Sure, we can do these great things to achieve something down the road, but what I think is more important is to enjoy the present and live in the moment. I could run intensely to train for a marathon, but I'm gonna continue to enjoy my morning runs.

Then comes the line: "A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme." Just like a sonnet, the Sunday morning feels perfect and whole and like it could last forever, away from our life... Cue the song "Perfect Day" from Legally Blonde. Saturday and Sundays really do feel like this song sometimes. I've talked about the freshness of Saturday mornings with coffee in my In-N-Out mug writing in this blog. 

But then..

"how there is no music or movement which secures / Escape from the weekday time."

Oh god. No amount of morning runs, coffee, sleeping in, pancake breakfasts, reading in the sun, sitting in the grass at the park, or ANY other pleasant activity in which we live in the moment can save us from the 

"weekday time". That is, Monday and its depressing routine. Or wait. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and ALL of the shit we do during those days. Work, school, chores, meetings, and other mandatory things that are ultimately aging us and leading us until the day we die.

Then the final line: "Which deadens and endure". 

Time is slowly killing us, but will last forever and do the same to the next generation of lives way after we've died.

While this poem may sound grim, it's not entirely saying bad things. Basically, we can enjoy the Saturday and Sunday mornings. Living in the moment and enjoying life's pleasantries is good for our soul. The "Perfect Day" does exist, but it is not forever.... Cue the poem by Robert Frost: "Nothing Gold Can Stay". Just kidding. 

But really. We should actually live in the moment while we can. 

Grab a coffee, grab a book, and let's escape reality for a bit in the sun. Monday's a whole 24 hours away.

Unable to Sleep

I am writing this because, for whatever reason, I am unable to fall asleep. I blame it on the temperature in my room. It's the best worst time of year again, so that means drowsily sunny afternoons and stuffy nights. Isn't it so irritating when you have the ceiling fan on to the max and the windows wide open, but the room still remains hot because there isn't even the slightest draft outside to pull the cold air in? Believe me, it's cool outside, but sometimes the air just doesn't want to settle inside the room. More annoyingly, some nights it will, and it's one of the greatest feelings in the world as you're lying awake in bed. Then, the very next day, the temperature will be lower during the peak heat hours but hotter at night because there's no breeze. I was thinking idly about running a large tower fan pointed straight at my pillow all night, but it's way too noisy and wastes electricity.

Obviously, I have little to complain about right now. The temperature during the day has actually been quite mild for summer, which only leads me to believe that August will be hellish. I fuckin' hate August. Every year, without fail, it seems to have the absolute worst weather of the year, and for most people it's when the looming return of school begins to creep up. I know people complain about the winter months (especially January), but I love these months for the early darkness, and I never have sleepless nights in the winter. 

Writing this has not made me any more sleepy or ready to crash, so now I'm going to sit here uncomfortably in this chair until I prefer to lay in my bed, and then hopefully that satisfaction of not sitting straight up will put me to sleep. 

Welcome to Monkey Land

Last week I visited the brilliant San Diego Zoo, one of the many iconic landmarks of SD and California as a whole. As I walked through the pathways in the Lost Woods approaching Panda Ridge, I couldn't stop thinking about the poem on the AP Literature exam titled "London" by Manmohan Ghose. In all of its glory, I remembered some of the lines by heart from reading it religiously during the test.

Here it is:

London

Farewell, sweetest country; out of my heart, you roses,

Wayside roses, nodding, the slow traveller to keep.

Too long have I drowsed alone in the meadows deep,

Too long alone endured the silence Nature espouses.

Oh, the rush, the rapture of life! throngs, lights, houses,

This is London. I wake as a sentinel from sleep.

Stunned with the fresh thunder, the harsh delightful noises,

I move entranced on the thronging pavement. How sweet,

To eyes sated with green, the dusty brick-walled street!

And the lone spirit, of self so weary, how it rejoices

To be lost in others, bathed in the tones of human voices,

And feel hurried along the happy tread of feet.

And a sense of vast sympathy my heart almost crazes,

The warmth of kindred hearts in thousands beating with mine.

Each fresh face, each figure, my spirit drinks like wine,

Thousands endlessly passing. Violets, daisies,

What is your charm to the passionate charm of faces,

This ravishing reality, this earthliness divine?

O murmur of men more sweet than all the wood's caresses,

How sweet only to be an unknown leaf that sings

In the forest of life! Cease, Nature, thy whisperings.

Can I talk with leaves, or fall in love with breezes?

Beautiful boughs, your shade not a human pang appeases.

This is London. I lie, and twine in the roots of things.

Now I think I know why I couldn't stop thinking about it. 

I left the group I was with almost immediately after we arrived at the zoo, excited by my solitude and readiness to explore. Ghose mentions "Farewell, sweetest country;", similar to how I was escaping the quiet, lonely suburbs to be reinvigorated in the great city. Before you highlight any contradictions, I don't consider a zoo (no matter how great its replication is) to be synonymous with countryside or nature. 

In the first stanza of the poem, Ghose lyrically bashes the countryside with repetition, listing things he's done that he's disliked ("To long have I drowsed alone... / To long alone endured the silence"). Ironically, the stanza disapproves of the peacefulness of countryside—where many retreat to to escape the busy and stressful city-life. For the rural dweller, however, the grass appears greener in the city.

I especially like the line "Oh, the rush, the rapture of life! throngs, lights, houses..." because, like Ghose, I enjoy the feeling of being surrounded by crowds of people and "raptures of life" that I don't know at all. The feeling of being swallowed by individuals and families walking through the paths of the African Rocks is not something you can easily attain. Just like the occasional child atop a father’s shoulders for a better view...how cute: “Get on my shoulder so you can see.” Ghose personifies the pavement: "I move entranced on the thronging pavement" (referring to the pavement of London streets), as if it gains life, a surge of energy from the "happy tread of feet" of those walking upon it! Indeed, every aspect of the zoo seems to come alive at the flood of people moving through. 

Can this poem get any better? Of course it can. I kept walking alone, making my way up to the polar bears, until I remembered the line: "And the lone spirit, of self so weary, how it rejoices / To be lost in others, bathed in the tones of human voices". Right! I was doing exactly that, admiring the animals alone as I listened in and "bathed" in the family conversations and remarks. Oh, and even in silence, for there was nothing quite like leaning against the railing of the enclosure next to everyone as we stood quietly watching the elephants eat. Somehow, it felt good to be lost in the others voices as I wandered silently from animal to animal.

Walking from place to place, I get to see a new set of faces each step I take: "The warmth of kindred hearts in thousands beating with mine. / Each fresh face, each figure, my spirit drinks like wine, / Thousands endlessly passing."  just love the way Ghose describes the feeling of seeing a new face, because it really does reinvigorate your spirit to know that thousands of others are doing the same.

So I encourage you! Go to a new place with crowds and take it in, enjoy the sites, listen to the "murmur of men more sweet than all the wood's caresses", and light the fire in your life again. The place feels better when enjoyed by many.

After all.....

This is San Diego. I lie, and twine in the roots of things.

No Money Spent

    Today didn't go as planned. After parking in the nearly empty parking lot of the library (I guess I should've figured something wasn't right at this point, but it is a Saturday), I walked to the entrance of the library only to find that it was closed. I was more disappointed than I want to admit, but the library did say it was open online. I had no idea why it was closed. Alas, I headed back to the car without even getting a chance to look at the books with a sullen face. There wasn't anything I could do.

    But it was okay, since I had fun driving back home with the windows down. Instead of spending the day at the library, I took my notebook and paperback to the park to read in nature (which I also thoroughly enjoy as well). 

$$$ → ↓↓↓

    Well, anything happening in school is basically coming to a close as I get ready to graduate (thank god), so tomorrow for one of my last weekends in high school ever I wanted to head to the library the minute it opens. Why? There's a built-in discounted book store in the library where I can hopefully waste a couple bucks buying a few physical books. 

    Oh dear, I said a naughty word, quite a smutty word..."You may well shudder". In all seriousness, I recently bought a paperback copy of Lolita because I've been really invested into the book (yeah, yeah, snicker all you want and call me that.), and only now realized the genuine appeal of physical books. Does it still seem like a waste of money to me? Of course—you're literally paying for paper with ink, and from novels that are easily obtainable for free. Obviously that's not the point, though. The physical book is infinitely more efficient to comb through to look through for passages, and there's something charming about having geography to the text so to speak. Plus, it is satisfying to see your progress through a stack of slowly accumulating pages (for I am in fact a slow reader) rather than a mere percentage. For whatever reason, the book also smells absolutely amazing; I think I've developed an addiction to smelling the inside of the page every time I read. 

    But does this mean I'll stop reading on my computer or Kindle? Definitely not. I still like the fact that the Kindle is able to have any book I want instantly and give all the formatting options. For every other aspect of books, though, I think it's hard to disagree that physical books are just better.

    With that said, I say "hopefully waste" because I'm almost certain that the mini store won't have any of the books I'm looking for, but I guess I'll have to wait and see.

    

PaperQuest (pt. 2)

    Out of fear, I looked out the blurry glass of the front door for any signs of a person, but there wasn't anyone. I could not figure out what was causing my fear, but I knew it had to do with her. Later that afternoon I called Jason to meet up at the burger place in his area. He had a kin to seeing the best in people, and unfortunately it seemed like I always saw the worst in everyone. It didn't matter what scenario I was in. Walking through the halls of high school was fundamentally jostling between a room full of two-bit, two-faced things. Worse yet, the deplorable men around me tried to hide their "drive" behind masks and thus behaved outwardly horrendous (as do the women, of course). Or could it be that they may just be plain, bad people trying to reframe their debasement as a result of this "excess of desire"? Regardless, how could I care to be surrounded by people I didn't know, and even if I thought I did, still didn't? 

    Once somebody in my class tried to ask someone else what game they were playing, and in response the other says: "Do I know you?". At first I was offended, but then I questioned why the first kid would even bother. I was about to shrug it off, but something inside me was still annoyed at the second kid's impudence, so I said pretty loudly: "Does anyone even know you?". No, I did not intentionally try to sound like some white knight, nor was I defending the other kid. I simply didn't like his moronic, rude manner, and if I was anyone else I would've retaliated physically. Besides, what was this plump little idiot going to do if anyone punched him? If I was the other kid, I would've never bothered trying to find these people out, because in the end there's simply no point. Thus, my arm stands still.

    It wasn't just one person, either. No, it was in fact several people, so many that I'd go as far as to say that an unassuming person would probably make a rightfully educated guess that I hated everyone. Speaking for myself, I don't believe I have enough evidence to come to that conclusion yet, but at the same time that assumption is entirely inane... Nobody was safe from my silent judgement as I listened in on their ridiculous conversations. On one of my lasts days in hell, I overheard a few girls speaking loudly and with the most irritating intonation about the tritest, most non-comical thing (I can't even remember what it was), hoping in vain that something seriously bad—so bad that I can't even bring myself to write it—would happen to them to shut them up. What is it with girls and their inherent inability to be quiet? Now, reader, I know you may be quick to roll your eyes and think: "What a sociopathic, arrogant narcissist", but let me assure you that I am not the only one who feels this way. The difference is, however, that I don't dislike school for many of the same reasons. I was never made fun of, never bullied, and never had any extraneous issues in my life. Even with my relatively smooth living, I could never enjoy it.

    I believe part of my cynicism was in part due to where I went to school, too. Once I attended a theatre performances early in the eighth semester (about to be freed!) at another high school not far from my own, and instantly I knew their school to be better. The grass was greener, damn it. I was about to enter the enormous performing arts center. My hands held the metal of the door, but my eyes looked straight ahead to the indigo sky without stars. The light pollution cloaked the sky, making it impossible for the stars to shine their way through. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful campus. The paths were illuminated by the intermittent glow of the street light, surrounded by flourishing grass kissed with the sweet, brisk air of early Spring. I imagined myself sitting on the outskirts of campus indulging in a read before class. Better yet, I thought of a lonely walk around the baseball fields with a hand in my pocket, hearing the crunching of the granular dirt in the infield as my mind wandered aimlessly. The students from the school wearing their sunshine faces didn't help make me feel better either. A twinge of jealousy and longing spread throughout my mind that day. How I wished I could've had even a sliver of this environment. Something inside me knew it would have made me less cynical of the entire experience, but I brushed it off when I remembered how little time I had left.

    Indeed, it would be wrong to say that my judgment of people was probably clouded by my, admittedly awful, contentions—not everyone was purely bad, but then again you never knew... When I walked into the restaurant and saw Jason already sitting in the corner, I knew I had to tell him. Holes began to appear in the plush of the "comfort "of senior year, ones that I'd begged for to disrupt the concurrent gloominess of the fast approaching real world. This didn't enter my mind at the moment I met her, as groaning with anticipation and fear of what Jason would say I tottered through the tables towards his booth. Then, reaching him, I boldly sat down without letting on about anything that was bothering me with a heroic decision to tell him about my uncovering, despite my problem sitting in front of me—he seemed especially made of steel right now. 

    "While I was standing there, I got goosebumps just looking at her. All I know is I don't like her." I said.

    Jason looked at me incredulously. "What, you don't even know her. She could be normal for all you know." 

    I took a sip of my water and slammed it down on the table. "Maybe you're right," I said. "But I'm not going to let it go until I know for sure."

    He sat back in his seat and avoided my eyes, taking a bite of his burger. "What the hell do you mean?"

    "Honestly, I don't know yet. Don't worry about it." I gulped down the rest of my water. 

    

   

(This is a work of fiction)

A Funny Moment

Today was one of the few days that I've felt happy. It was a long day; I had a Chemistry test and a Track meet standing in front of a four-day weekend. During the last Track event of the evening, one of my teammates hilariously started the race with an unbelievably quick stride. It was so fast that I heard nearly every runner in the race (about 25 people) burst out into laughter at the absurdity. Mind you, we were running a 3200 meter race, so getting out at that pace is not ideal. Racing is supposed to be serious, and typically people don't talk or laugh in the first 10 seconds of the race, but since it was the end of the meet and since nobody really wanted to run it, our minds were definitely in a place to laugh. That was probably the only time I've witnessed this. I think it made it better that the race had so many runners. 

And yes, I was also laughing until the 200 meter mark, finding it difficult to get myself together and lock in. What a funny way to end the day.

PaperQuest

Yesterday my notebook ran out of paper, so since it's the start of my spring break I decided to head out on a side-quest for another notebook. I guess my notebook didn't have enough to fulfill my constant flow of letters and words, unencumbered, numbered words; more pages and pages; pages for words; more words than I have ever heard. Fake things; real things; math; literature; on and on. 

    So I left this morning around 10 o'clock. The car didn't have much gas left, and because I didn't feel like paying for a refill and because the store was so close, I chose to go on foot. As I made my way down the street, I looked around. The day was bright and the weather cool, but a brown tint wreathed the horizon ahead. If there was one way to ruin a nice day, it was to be reminded of the displeasures of the current climate. 

    After about twelve minutes I walked through the front doors of the store. That heat... It was hotter in the store than outside. Annoyed, I hurried to the office supply aisle and scanned the shelves for the notebook. A pathetic selection of dusty notebooks that were likely second-hand leftovers were all they had, so I snatched three of the best looking ones and tucked them under my arm. 

    I checked out, placed the receipt in the bag, and strolled out into the now stronger sunlight as the automatic door made its wirr sound. On the way back I thought I'd be completely alone. I needed to be alone, for my mind was going crazy in anticipation. To my surprise and to my disappointment, I saw my cousin in the distance standing beside another girl whom I had no familiarity with. What was I going to do? I couldn't just ignore them—they were right in my path to the house.

    My thoughts consumed me while I treaded to where they were standing, acting like I didn't notice them from afar. My cousin perked up when she saw me. She waved with an expression of half confusion and half interest. 

    "What's up?" I began. In my mind I had no idea where this was going, but I figured a simple hello-goodbye couldn't hurt.

    "Not much, just hanging out with my friend," my cousin pivoted to her friend, then back to me. I didn't bother to look yet. "What are you... doing?"

    "Uh, I had to run to the store for some stuff," I said in embarrassment.

    "What stuff? Can I see?"

    She peered inside the bag as I opened it. "See, just boring stuff."

    "Oh," she shrugged. Then she turned toward her friend again. "This is my friend Cecelia. I've told you about her before."

    Now I finally looked at her. So this was the "Cecelia" that she mentioned before. She had wavy, chestnut hair past her shoulders resting behind her ear that was studded with diamonds. I stood close enough to see the constellation of freckles across her nose, and a pair of lightning blue eyes reflecting the sunlight of noon. Worst of all, I swear, her mouth, in an idle state, was turned up at the corners. I shuddered instinctively in terror.

    So what was the deal? I was forced to break the awkward silence that followed, and I was also suddenly aware that in examining her I was staring at her.

    "Nice to meetcha," I said finally. 

    Cecelia looked up at me. "Silly."

    Her voice had sleep. A soft, husky edge to it, and it could be so sweet as to be scary. But there must have been some knife in her throat; her voice cut me at that response. I stepped back in defense.

    "What? What's silly?" I asked nervously.

    Suddenly she formed a cat-like smile and acted as though nothing was said at all. "Oh, forget it. What did you say your name was?"

    I told her my name. A bad feeling came over me, so bad that I knew that I had to get home right now. I gave a curt good-bye and sped-walked the rest of the way, checking with great certainty that the door was locked.

(A fictitious passage)

    

Composition Book

 So much depends upon

My blue composition book 

beaten with age and use

beside my pen.

Oh, it rests, but soon

I'll dig with it.

What's Your Yam?

Put yourself in the shoes of the Invisible Man in the "Yam Vendor" scene you discussed yesterday. If you found yourself away from home, tell me about a food that would evoke a similar experience for you, and why it is significant to you--is it connected to a particular person, place, and/or event? What would it help me understand about you and your story?  

Slicing the tape that binds the box shut to reveal the bento inside is enough to take me “back, back.” Every summer when I was a little kid, my family visited relatives in the gorgeous island of Kauai, Hawaii. Some of my earliest memories are of the entire family getting together by the sparkling waters of Poʻipū Beach, grilling or enjoying Hawaiian bentos after a great day on the water. The bentos have an assortment of rice, half a hot-dog, potato, fried chicken, beef, macaroni salad, fried shrimp, and other things I can’t put a name to. If nostalgia was a food, this would be the one. It brings me a lot of joy, whatever joy is left in the world, to see my younger cousins from California experiencing the island for themselves for the first time, just like me and my previous generations did years ago. Admittedly it isn’t the same anymore (the island is overrun by tourism more and more each year), but I feel Kauai is as impervious to change as it can be. After reading Invisible Man, my “yam” constantly reminds me of how much you really don’t know what you have until it’s gone. 

Unlike the Narrator, eating the bento in Kauai would have strongest effect rather than in a random place. In a way it puts my mind squarely into a temporary visit of a second home—one that I rarely visit anymore. Nevertheless, as soon as I take the first bite lying on the blanket next to the ocean and the humid breeze begins to hit my face, it feels like nothing else in the world matters, and all my worries drift out into a calming wave...away and away.

Picking a Side → What I really didn’t expect

 Well, I’ve got to say, this blog has shifted over the past week. I've started to use a pencil and eraser, which is something I never thought I’d do. I always told myself that I hated pencils–hated the feel, the sound, the smell, the effect on the paper. But, after giving it another shot, my opinion has significantly changed. I bought a pack of U.S.A. Gold #2 Pencils yesteryear and tried it out, and now I’m hooked. The dark, rustic graphite stands out on the page as you glide your pencil across. On top of being a good core, the pencil is extremely smooth. I used to dislike pencils because they couldn't come close to the smoothness of any ballpoint pen, but now I feel as though it’s unfair to compare the two; you’ll obviously never experience the same feeling. Even though I prefer blue ink over greyish color, the earthy smell and scratchy sounds that emanate from your desk makes writing with a pencil worth it.

Back when I was in elementary school–around eight years ago–I used to be obsessed with pencils. Admittedly, more than an eight-year-old should be. My teacher had a system of pencils in which each student would receive their own, brand new, Dixon Ticonderoga Pencil that had their student number written on a piece of tape, wrapped around the top part of the pencil near the ferrule. The good part? You could ask one of the teacher’s aid (that attending the neighboring middle school) for a new, fresh pencil anytime you needed. I loved this system. I would constantly overuse or ruin my pencils just to ask for a new one, simply because I loved the feeling of a fresh pencil that was long and had an untouched eraser. I seemed to be the only kid in my class who cared about pencils that much. I remember stealing fresh pencils from other classes too: one time I sneakily tried to stand in front of it so I could snatch it off the desk from behind my back, but I’m pretty sure one of the kids saw it happen anyway. In other words, I was a fanatic for a long time throughout my early years of school.

Now that I’m back to using pencils, I think I’ve rediscovered why I loved them so much years ago…

Spam Vs. Bacon

 Yesteryear as I was eating at a Hawaiian-Themed restaurant, I noticed that the eggs with Spam were more expensive than the bacon. I always thought Spam was the cheaper option, so I did some research to find out that it actually is. The reason it’s slightly more at the restaurant was likely because they provided more pieces of meat. There was a slightly heavier amount of Spam than bacon, which causes it to be more expensive, even if Spam is just mystery meat… Or is it?

I love both meats, so it’s honestly hard to compare the two and figure out what’s better. Spam has a slightly unique flavor that can’t really be described or compared to any other meat. Technically, according to the company, Spam is made out of “pork with ham meat added”. It’s not really mystery meat, but I don’t really get a pork-y taste. Regardless, the salty, juicy flavor is perfect with a side of eggs and rice. The same goes for bacon. The smoky, salty flavor is perfect on a Saturday morning, even if it’s not that healthy for you. Oh, and the crunch is better, too.

If I were to choose one, I’d say that bacon goes better with slightly more things and smells more appetizing than spam. 

Either way, both are delicious. 

Remembering March/April...

We're almost halfway through the month, and already this March has absolutely not lived up to the last.

I felt a weird contentedness and an overall sense of elevated spirits last year, excited by my growing passion of writing in this blog and the track season that was in full swing. I think I feel less happy now because I'm realizing that my childhood is about to come to a complete halt, and the real world is about to hit me like a truck, as cliché as that sounds. Also, the weather has been pretty shitty (annoyingly hot), so I'm not able to post about the rain again. 

Here's a journal entry for my AP Lang class I wrote last year in April (which I know isn't march, but it's relatively close): 

The Google Doc File

Funny but only to me.

Today at another track meet one of my plastic water bottles opened up in my backpack and got everything inside soaked. Thankfully, it was disgustingly hot today (at least for a Californian), so most of my stuffed dried off pretty good after letting it sit in the sun. 

This has happened to me so many times before, it's not even funny. I think the cap unscrews just enough when I shove my track uniform and shoes in my bag with all the half-closed water bottles. As expected, all of my papers in the folders are only wet at the bottom. Seeing this, however, takes me back to the last time I was in Kauai and my aunt carried the iron from her hotel to a relative's house. The water inside the iron spilled all over the bag, making her book and her daughter's book have the same looking water stain as me.  What an odd way to get your stuff wet. At the time I thought it was kind of funny. My aunt didn't even seem too bothered by it. Today when I saw this happened to me again, I shrugged my shoulders with indifference and laughed internally in pleasant memory.

Liberty Paints

 KEEP AMERICA PURE

WITH 

LIBERTY PAINTS

Here's some notes I took in class about Chapter 10. Probably my favorite chapter in the novel (besides Ch. 13), and one of the best I've ever read. I was re-reading it and got sucked into the paint plant all over again—that's how well done it is.

Another panic

Yesterday on my way to school, I started to go without plugging in my iPod into the aux cable. At a stop sign, I fumbled around for it in my pocket and tried to shove the cable in, but for some reason it wouldn't budge (you can probably hear the internal "fuck!" through the screen). I pushed harder, but of course that didn't work either, so I gave up and went the rest of the way in silence. Now parked I shined a handheld flashlight into the hole, revealing a tiny piece of metal lodged in the bottom of the jack (now an audible "fuck!"). 

I spent the next few minutes hitting the iPod against my copy of Invisible Man to get it out until it finally relented and flew out. I have absolutely no idea where that metal was from or how it got in the jack, but for a minute I got scared this iPod would be done for.

This shuffle is probably one of the few things I really don't want to lose. I know people think it's "performative" or "doin' too much" to use an iPod instead of your phone, but this thing is small, doesn't need service, has its own battery, and just works. Apple Music has disappointed me lately with the unfortunate destruction of the radio and the new interface, so now I only use it on my computer and when I want to wear AirPods. 

No, I'm not trying to be different. I simply like this product for what it is.