So I came across this letter that I wrote to my dad when I was 9? 10? Not totally sure because there's no date. I think it's really funny - SUCH a little brat. Oh, erm, Children's choir was this thing at our church in Ras Tanura (the smaller compound we lived in in Saudi before we moved to Dhahran) where we had to sing such songs as "Doubting Thomas" and that "Yes Lord I will come and follow you" song. We also had to wear really stupid looking blue and white robes. I hated it with a burning passion. I had to sing AND play the piano which I remember thinking was brutally unfair. It was also on during the one good show that came on all friggin week. Mr. Martin was a family friend, my teacher, and the head of Children's Choir. So naturally I was pushed into Children's Choir against my will and forced to play the piano because I was asian. But actually he was really the nicest man and is one of those great teachers you always remember.
Daddy,
I asked Mr. Martin today if I have to come to Children's Choir any more. He was very manipulative and said, "Sure, why not?" Well, I was shocked and offended when he didn't let me answer. I do not think it is fair that other people get a choice to what they want to do and I don't. Mr. M. thinks he can run my life just because he is my teacher for 2 measly subjects. I suggest that you either call that man up and give him a piece of your mind and or forbid me to go to C.C. And So I leave it up to you, as my father, was it right to manipulate a young vulnerable child, to brainwash her? I think not. It is up to you. Do you want to base your decisions on a loudmouth? An imposer? A manipulative man? NO! And so, I trust you to make this decision rightly, by picking my side of course so that I can watch Christy.
So my favourite part is that last line where I clearly went to all this trouble just so I could stay at home and watch Christy. Also that I clearly had just learned the word "manipulative." Needless to say, I remained in Children's Choir.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Let me dream all the time
"Let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad...Let me be ragged or well dressed. Let me be sincere-be deceitful. Let me be truthful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost." - Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
Read a bit of "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" for probably the fifth time last week at Pei's and I've been wanting to read it again ever since, and I'm also wanting to read more of Middlesex than the like 20 pages I've managed. I also want to read Little Bee.
I'm supposed to be indexing for the bar, but instead i've been obsessing over my new apt. Painting and deciding on renovations. Except we might not put in the new kitchen cupboards now - it's not really my decision so I have to wait and see, BUT I have ideas for what to do even if we don't get new ones. We actually are only doing renovations because of the state the apt was left in after the last tenants - they clearly had food fights like every night for a year. Seriously - even after like three days of cleaning some stuff was still unusable. Anyways, thank-you old tenants for being so disgusting we are getting new things now. I guess. Either way i'm excited for my apt - it's not in the best location in terms of being near work, but I like the area and I'm used to it. We'll see how it goes during articling, I'll be there for at least a year which is pretty good after living like a vagabond for awhile (and my whole life).
It's funny now that we've painted I've been fixated on like tiny little details I can't get out of my mind that I've always wanted for a home. Now that I feel like the colours are mine, I want everything else to be too - so like I've been thinking about this beautiful light fixture we saw at RONA- kind of a mini chandelier, all sparkly - I think it's called a "glacier" chandelier. It's not over the top really, but very pretty. What else - socket covers (dunno what they're called) and doorknobs! I'm going to be looking for pretty ceramic ones with flowers and designs. Dining room chairs - we saw the nicest (and most reasonably priced) ones in Ikea that are the comfy, cushioned, fabric-covered ones. There was one design that was a suede tan and one that was tan and white stripes - I liked the latter best and so did my mom. I've been Trying hard to keep it not so girly but it's an uphill battle. The furniture I think will mostly be brown-black wood (the cheapest kind from IKEA) which is NOT girly at all.
I'm just so excited to have a kind of permanent place!
Anyways we've agreed not to do much more until after the bar exam cause all this stuff can take so much time. I'm gonna be sleeping on the floor until we get movers for the bed. I hate that we have to take it apart (it's IKEA of course) and reassemble, but s'ok. But my parents have been ammaazzinngg helping move and setting up and getting excited with me for the new place. Moving from Tanaz's place was today and not so bad. As per tradition we congratulate ourselves after every little thing we do and eat yummy food for a reward (Iranian today).
Listening to "Orange Sky" again and again and again... Oh and also Joe Purdy "The Pretender"- and enjoying being home and stalking my cat despite being super allergic.
Read a bit of "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" for probably the fifth time last week at Pei's and I've been wanting to read it again ever since, and I'm also wanting to read more of Middlesex than the like 20 pages I've managed. I also want to read Little Bee.
I'm supposed to be indexing for the bar, but instead i've been obsessing over my new apt. Painting and deciding on renovations. Except we might not put in the new kitchen cupboards now - it's not really my decision so I have to wait and see, BUT I have ideas for what to do even if we don't get new ones. We actually are only doing renovations because of the state the apt was left in after the last tenants - they clearly had food fights like every night for a year. Seriously - even after like three days of cleaning some stuff was still unusable. Anyways, thank-you old tenants for being so disgusting we are getting new things now. I guess. Either way i'm excited for my apt - it's not in the best location in terms of being near work, but I like the area and I'm used to it. We'll see how it goes during articling, I'll be there for at least a year which is pretty good after living like a vagabond for awhile (and my whole life).
It's funny now that we've painted I've been fixated on like tiny little details I can't get out of my mind that I've always wanted for a home. Now that I feel like the colours are mine, I want everything else to be too - so like I've been thinking about this beautiful light fixture we saw at RONA- kind of a mini chandelier, all sparkly - I think it's called a "glacier" chandelier. It's not over the top really, but very pretty. What else - socket covers (dunno what they're called) and doorknobs! I'm going to be looking for pretty ceramic ones with flowers and designs. Dining room chairs - we saw the nicest (and most reasonably priced) ones in Ikea that are the comfy, cushioned, fabric-covered ones. There was one design that was a suede tan and one that was tan and white stripes - I liked the latter best and so did my mom. I've been Trying hard to keep it not so girly but it's an uphill battle. The furniture I think will mostly be brown-black wood (the cheapest kind from IKEA) which is NOT girly at all.
I'm just so excited to have a kind of permanent place!
Anyways we've agreed not to do much more until after the bar exam cause all this stuff can take so much time. I'm gonna be sleeping on the floor until we get movers for the bed. I hate that we have to take it apart (it's IKEA of course) and reassemble, but s'ok. But my parents have been ammaazzinngg helping move and setting up and getting excited with me for the new place. Moving from Tanaz's place was today and not so bad. As per tradition we congratulate ourselves after every little thing we do and eat yummy food for a reward (Iranian today).
Listening to "Orange Sky" again and again and again... Oh and also Joe Purdy "The Pretender"- and enjoying being home and stalking my cat despite being super allergic.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Drinking Life to the Lees - Ulysses by Tennyson
I feel so inspired by this poem right now (below) - and I'm well aware that I'm in pre-exam thoughtful.crazy.weird mode, where it's all really just procrastination.
And I'm listening to this. It's "All My Days" by Alexei Murdoch:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_R5IQoIYvTM
Back to the poem - oh my, that part -
~~~~"Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."~~~~
- those last lines take my breath away and fill me with so much hope and awe. They speak directly to what Tennyson said this poem "gave," which was his feeling of "going forward and braving the struggle of life." To me it's also about looking back - no - actually, being present in a really beautiful past (battles on windy Troy, that gleaming untravelled world) in a spiritual and visceral sense. About reminisces (ah even that's not even strong enough because he is THERE in the past). And restlessness that continues even now, even as he is dying, to not only see but be a real part of the great wide world. And despair too that his life's journey is ending, but hope! in his son, in the notion that "some work of noble note may still be done," and that "'tis not too late to seek a newer world." In short there's a lot going on for me in this.
The part about carrying on in strength and the part "I am a part of all that I have met" make me remember those I've met who do soldier on (and I'm thinking of the Tibetan freedom fighters in particular), silent and humble and so graceful in their bravery. More graceful than I could ever be. Braver, stronger, more determined (tha-tha-tha-that don't kill me...) Fighting for a country and a whole people's identity and preservation. And Jaysylan from Chennai, as well as all the other kids. Because I still think about them often and where they are and I'll pray tonight that they do have the strength to keep going and studying hard and being good because I know they will need it. And because I don't know, can't fathom, how hard it must be for them to continue down the "right" path. I can't do justice to their struggles. But I can think on them. We are so apart but they are always in my thoughts (maybe because I have a picture of them on my desk haha).
And the part about the "strength which in the old days moved heaven and earth" - well Ulysses in his hubris/delirium is talking about himself and his mariners back when they knew youth I guess, but it triggered something else for me. And though it's a bit unrelated, it's Easter so I can talk about how this reminds of Jesus and his sacrifice. And of God's strength and love and how in His strength, He will ask us always, no matter what, to return to Him. Even now, even after what came before and no matter what may come, we can return. Harvey and his friend Joe and I went to Emily's church yesterday and though it was fun and irreverent at times (OK I have to relive this - HAHA during communion the pastor gave Harvey side-eye like he didn't belong there, when we ate the bread I was thinking in my head omg Harvey is going to say "this tastes like shit" and about two seconds after I thought that Harvey said "this tastes like shit," there was an interpretive dance i couldn't even WATCH man it was so funny, and we went to Congee Queen after YUM. HAHA and that confessions sticky notes thing - "I procrastinate", "I'm mean to people", "I killed a man", "I eat too much candy" - what the - back that truck up HAHA "Harvey don't even look at me right now. I WILL pee my pants."), the pastor preached a sermon about why the cross is so meaningful to Christians and why Jesus, the very personification of a strength that moved the heavens and the earth, died and had to die so cruelly for us. And how it means that God implicated himself in our salvation in the most personal and painful of ways to show us the great stake - the greatest stake - He has in our salvation and in our being faithful followers. To lay a personal claim, through the sacrifice, to our love, forgiveness, kindness towards each other. I thought that was really beautiful. The pastor made it accessible by likening it to a situation where you listen to other people's problems and try to help them in a real way (which we do all the time) and how at the end, you are implicated. You are invested, and you feel for the outcome. It brings God closer to think of Him that way. It also helps to think of His love as the love my parents have for us - the kind of love where every success is their success too and every failure something that they share and suffer through as though it happened to them.
The pastor also talked a lot about forgiveness. That made me feel so small, but I think I really needed to hear it. About moving forward in love, not looking back in anger (Oasis was onto something), and compassion. I think (no actually I KNOW) that I tend to see compassion and kindness and vulnerability as weaknesses in myself that need to be uh - not quenched per se, but curbed. Tailored. Used selectively. Because it hurts a lot to care (no matter what kind of care you're talking about - for friends or family or someone who is struggling) and sometimes it hurts so much it feels like it can't be the right thing. Not for survival's sake.
See, even in the past paragraph I've talked about myself so much - yet the pastor was talking about thinking of others first, putting how they feel before how we feel. The first thing I thought was man, what a way to get yourself absolutely friggin MASSACRED. The first thing I thought about was myself! And then I thought well what if the other people are shitty or not shitty but not deserving of such selflessness or thoughtfulness. All I can come up with right now is 1) stop thinking about yourself so much but also 2) learn to CONTINUE care and be compassionate in a real and helpful way ANYWAY.
I think that this also goes back to the poem - Ulysses says he has and will continue to drink life to the lees, says that he has suffered and enjoyed with those who have loved him and alone. It's about not holding back, and really LIVING. And if you're not thinking about yourself all the time, then maybe you won't get massacred. And it doesn't matter who you think is deserving or not - we all are. And here, for me, I will have to remember that everyone has a backstory. And I will have to remember and use my theory of mind skillz (thank you Emilie for teaching me about this by having to listen to your Master's thesis haha) to remember the very simple thing, the thing that I forget on a daily basis, that my perceptions and thought processes and motivations are different from those of the people in my life. Everyone's insecurities and desires and needs are distinct. Everyone has his own way of thinking and seeing the world.
I try so hard to understand people and how they deal with situashes but sometimes I just can't. And we can't let that frustrate, but just keep on being ourselves and trying to be good, though we may not want to be good and though it's hard. And understand things in our own ways and bring that to the table in my friendships because hopefully it's all valuable in some way. Sometimes in my friendships/family-ships I feel so close to shutting down because I. just. can't. understand. Or I feel like I'm always reaching out. Or I feel like I am being reached out to and it's so difficult to reciprocate and express. This is where I can soldier on in my own life and be strong. This is all in theory. Sometimes you just need to shut down. And that might be the best thing to do. And I don't actually know what I'm talking about.
Ah, one more thing. We all can have too much hubris and arrogance - I know I do sometimes. And the pastor said that it is when we try to BE GOD that we push Him away and it is when we act like God's love, through God, that we are closest to him and closest to realizing our faith. So it might seem otherwise but I'm not religious at all, this sermon just inspired me. I thought about CONTROL here and how I have tried SO HARD in the past to control all these situations in my life. And I will likely continue to try to control a whole slew of things I cannot and I realistically know I cannot but I'll do it anyway. We all want to control everything. As soon as we can't, at least for me, I feel powerless and fearful. Man, I feel like it's the exercise of the ultimate strength to let go when we must and this ridiculously unattainable wisdom to know when we have to let go. It's the Serenity Prayer really: "God, grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the Courage to change the things I can; and the Wisdom to know the difference." This might be my biggest flaw.
I feel like I now need to talk about what I'm thankful for. I don't know why - it is Easter not Thanksgiving. And all this was brought on by this poem. But I'm grateful:
1) For my friends and my family.
2) Honestly I've so grateful for modern day communication that lets me keep in touch with my Saudi friends, with my Harvard friends, with my Hotchkiss friends and, my Amsterdam-exchange friends, and, yes, my LSAT friend (singular). I just watched this TED (which I LOVE btw) talk on how the internet brings us closer together and I hearted it because I so firmly believe that too.
3) I feel not stressed out these days even though it's near finals (well, it's on and off, but it's nothing like 1L/2L) and I'm pretty grateful for that although I'm also kind of terrified about failing because of the lack of THE FEAR. Ok though there is an argument that this crazy feelingsy blogpost is solely brought on by exams, as per the pattern. It's true. For some reason the fight or flight makes me want to sit down and write about this poem which turned into some kind of uncomfortable sermon/gawd help us. That is pretty anti-evolutionary if you ask me.
4) Yesterday I was thinking that I have made real friends in Toronto and I remember how I really thought that would never happen. We had a party recently for Tanazy's bday and SO MANY people came and it was SO much fun and we danced all night.
5) Oh and yes, I'm grateful for music which gets me through every day (I'm obsessed with Hey Daddy by Ursher right now and the new BEP: "Imma be rockin like this" - SUCH a good beat. And for mellow, Alexei Murdoch, "All My Days").
6) I'm grateful for whatever voice is inside me that helps me move on from one thing to the next, from one chapter to the next. Without that I would be stuck. stuck. stuck.
7) I'm grateful that I have people in my life who tell me when I am being irrational or selfish or mean or inappropriate. Keep me in check guys.
8) I'm grateful that my roots are here now - my parents and Tanazy who is my family too.
9) I'm grateful that I'M ALIVE because I had a fire in my room earlier this semester which was honestly quite terrifying and entirely due to my own carelessness and stupidity. And a really yummy smelling candle. I'm also grateful that I'm not horrendously scarred although it WOULD be easier to take the Phantom's role in "All I Ask of You" with the facial scarring. THE FIRE STARTED AT MY PILLOW! On a second note I need to either get my computer fixed or stop taking it so personally and getting offended when people comment on the damage.
10) I'm grateful that my sister got into such good med schools because she's the smartest, most rational and also the strongest person I know. Also that SHE's alive because someone broke into her apartment recently :( It was scary.
11) Now this sounds so stupid and frivolous but maybe one of the best things about this semester has been ZUMBA which is this dance-exercise class. I go twice on Mondays because that's the only day i can go. Oh what can I even say about ZUMBA - anybody who knows me knows I'm just obsessed with it now. My friends and I do it and it makes me feel SO ALIVE. It is so. much. fun. I just love dancing to the hip hop songs especially. And body rollin and pumping and booty shaking makes me feel so good :). Like a Wo-Man. Haha. I literally look forward to Mondays now. That's HUGE. ZUMBA IS life piled on life.
12) I'm grateful that I've started to SLEEP again too. I was not sleeping earlier because I was stressed out but I'm getting better and better. Btw, I am NOT grateful that I feel like I'm getting old! I see under-eye circles :(.
13) This is something else I'm really truly grateful for. And that is the MOOT Emily and I did this year. Actually, not only the moot, but also the minimoot I did in Media and Defamation and the presentation I did in Legal Archaeology. Cause anyone who knows me also knows that I loathe public speaking and I get real nervous. Not so much for the Legal Archaeology but for the others. And that's one thing that influences how I think about litigation, because I DO really like litigation, but the public speaking thing...and so the fact that I was able to do the Moot and feel good about it and even insist on a rebuttal! makes me so HAPPY. I feel a great rush after speaking....I'm happy to know I can do it and that it makes me feel so good.
14) I'm looking SO MUCH FORWARD to this summer, when I might go see exchange friends and DEFINITELY will see Becky, Chris, Kari, Tim, maybe Ryan in DC, where I will see Sarah, Ticcy, Tanaz of course, Carol, Ruba, and any of the other Aramco Brats in Houston, and Cathy and maybe Elena in California! I still must plan a trip to NY to see Sumes and Amy and Dickyi of course and everyone else in NY. I'm hoping this summer will be magical (post bar of course) like all the other summers I've been lucky enough to have and it will be hot and I will always be sweaty and I will be sun-kissed and come back to start articling totally refreshed. It's starting to get warmer now!
Ok It really is time to go now - I have to either sleep or continue working on this paper on privacy (ironic after I've posted such personal things, but I think that they're things we can all think about). Yay, I posted again! And *pats self on back* I feel like I have finally kept in line with what this blog is supposed to be which is *attempts at honesty*. *Pat, pat*. OK going to bed.
ULYSSES
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades [1]
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments, [2]
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end, [3]
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge, like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus, [4]
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle--
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd and wrought, and thought with me--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads--you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, [5]
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
~ Tennyson ~
And I'm listening to this. It's "All My Days" by Alexei Murdoch:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_R5IQoIYvTM
Back to the poem - oh my, that part -
~~~~"Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."~~~~
- those last lines take my breath away and fill me with so much hope and awe. They speak directly to what Tennyson said this poem "gave," which was his feeling of "going forward and braving the struggle of life." To me it's also about looking back - no - actually, being present in a really beautiful past (battles on windy Troy, that gleaming untravelled world) in a spiritual and visceral sense. About reminisces (ah even that's not even strong enough because he is THERE in the past). And restlessness that continues even now, even as he is dying, to not only see but be a real part of the great wide world. And despair too that his life's journey is ending, but hope! in his son, in the notion that "some work of noble note may still be done," and that "'tis not too late to seek a newer world." In short there's a lot going on for me in this.
The part about carrying on in strength and the part "I am a part of all that I have met" make me remember those I've met who do soldier on (and I'm thinking of the Tibetan freedom fighters in particular), silent and humble and so graceful in their bravery. More graceful than I could ever be. Braver, stronger, more determined (tha-tha-tha-that don't kill me...) Fighting for a country and a whole people's identity and preservation. And Jaysylan from Chennai, as well as all the other kids. Because I still think about them often and where they are and I'll pray tonight that they do have the strength to keep going and studying hard and being good because I know they will need it. And because I don't know, can't fathom, how hard it must be for them to continue down the "right" path. I can't do justice to their struggles. But I can think on them. We are so apart but they are always in my thoughts (maybe because I have a picture of them on my desk haha).
And the part about the "strength which in the old days moved heaven and earth" - well Ulysses in his hubris/delirium is talking about himself and his mariners back when they knew youth I guess, but it triggered something else for me. And though it's a bit unrelated, it's Easter so I can talk about how this reminds of Jesus and his sacrifice. And of God's strength and love and how in His strength, He will ask us always, no matter what, to return to Him. Even now, even after what came before and no matter what may come, we can return. Harvey and his friend Joe and I went to Emily's church yesterday and though it was fun and irreverent at times (OK I have to relive this - HAHA during communion the pastor gave Harvey side-eye like he didn't belong there, when we ate the bread I was thinking in my head omg Harvey is going to say "this tastes like shit" and about two seconds after I thought that Harvey said "this tastes like shit," there was an interpretive dance i couldn't even WATCH man it was so funny, and we went to Congee Queen after YUM. HAHA and that confessions sticky notes thing - "I procrastinate", "I'm mean to people", "I killed a man", "I eat too much candy" - what the - back that truck up HAHA "Harvey don't even look at me right now. I WILL pee my pants."), the pastor preached a sermon about why the cross is so meaningful to Christians and why Jesus, the very personification of a strength that moved the heavens and the earth, died and had to die so cruelly for us. And how it means that God implicated himself in our salvation in the most personal and painful of ways to show us the great stake - the greatest stake - He has in our salvation and in our being faithful followers. To lay a personal claim, through the sacrifice, to our love, forgiveness, kindness towards each other. I thought that was really beautiful. The pastor made it accessible by likening it to a situation where you listen to other people's problems and try to help them in a real way (which we do all the time) and how at the end, you are implicated. You are invested, and you feel for the outcome. It brings God closer to think of Him that way. It also helps to think of His love as the love my parents have for us - the kind of love where every success is their success too and every failure something that they share and suffer through as though it happened to them.
The pastor also talked a lot about forgiveness. That made me feel so small, but I think I really needed to hear it. About moving forward in love, not looking back in anger (Oasis was onto something), and compassion. I think (no actually I KNOW) that I tend to see compassion and kindness and vulnerability as weaknesses in myself that need to be uh - not quenched per se, but curbed. Tailored. Used selectively. Because it hurts a lot to care (no matter what kind of care you're talking about - for friends or family or someone who is struggling) and sometimes it hurts so much it feels like it can't be the right thing. Not for survival's sake.
See, even in the past paragraph I've talked about myself so much - yet the pastor was talking about thinking of others first, putting how they feel before how we feel. The first thing I thought was man, what a way to get yourself absolutely friggin MASSACRED. The first thing I thought about was myself! And then I thought well what if the other people are shitty or not shitty but not deserving of such selflessness or thoughtfulness. All I can come up with right now is 1) stop thinking about yourself so much but also 2) learn to CONTINUE care and be compassionate in a real and helpful way ANYWAY.
I think that this also goes back to the poem - Ulysses says he has and will continue to drink life to the lees, says that he has suffered and enjoyed with those who have loved him and alone. It's about not holding back, and really LIVING. And if you're not thinking about yourself all the time, then maybe you won't get massacred. And it doesn't matter who you think is deserving or not - we all are. And here, for me, I will have to remember that everyone has a backstory. And I will have to remember and use my theory of mind skillz (thank you Emilie for teaching me about this by having to listen to your Master's thesis haha) to remember the very simple thing, the thing that I forget on a daily basis, that my perceptions and thought processes and motivations are different from those of the people in my life. Everyone's insecurities and desires and needs are distinct. Everyone has his own way of thinking and seeing the world.
I try so hard to understand people and how they deal with situashes but sometimes I just can't. And we can't let that frustrate, but just keep on being ourselves and trying to be good, though we may not want to be good and though it's hard. And understand things in our own ways and bring that to the table in my friendships because hopefully it's all valuable in some way. Sometimes in my friendships/family-ships I feel so close to shutting down because I. just. can't. understand. Or I feel like I'm always reaching out. Or I feel like I am being reached out to and it's so difficult to reciprocate and express. This is where I can soldier on in my own life and be strong. This is all in theory. Sometimes you just need to shut down. And that might be the best thing to do. And I don't actually know what I'm talking about.
Ah, one more thing. We all can have too much hubris and arrogance - I know I do sometimes. And the pastor said that it is when we try to BE GOD that we push Him away and it is when we act like God's love, through God, that we are closest to him and closest to realizing our faith. So it might seem otherwise but I'm not religious at all, this sermon just inspired me. I thought about CONTROL here and how I have tried SO HARD in the past to control all these situations in my life. And I will likely continue to try to control a whole slew of things I cannot and I realistically know I cannot but I'll do it anyway. We all want to control everything. As soon as we can't, at least for me, I feel powerless and fearful. Man, I feel like it's the exercise of the ultimate strength to let go when we must and this ridiculously unattainable wisdom to know when we have to let go. It's the Serenity Prayer really: "God, grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the Courage to change the things I can; and the Wisdom to know the difference." This might be my biggest flaw.
I feel like I now need to talk about what I'm thankful for. I don't know why - it is Easter not Thanksgiving. And all this was brought on by this poem. But I'm grateful:
1) For my friends and my family.
2) Honestly I've so grateful for modern day communication that lets me keep in touch with my Saudi friends, with my Harvard friends, with my Hotchkiss friends and, my Amsterdam-exchange friends, and, yes, my LSAT friend (singular). I just watched this TED (which I LOVE btw) talk on how the internet brings us closer together and I hearted it because I so firmly believe that too.
3) I feel not stressed out these days even though it's near finals (well, it's on and off, but it's nothing like 1L/2L) and I'm pretty grateful for that although I'm also kind of terrified about failing because of the lack of THE FEAR. Ok though there is an argument that this crazy feelingsy blogpost is solely brought on by exams, as per the pattern. It's true. For some reason the fight or flight makes me want to sit down and write about this poem which turned into some kind of uncomfortable sermon/gawd help us. That is pretty anti-evolutionary if you ask me.
4) Yesterday I was thinking that I have made real friends in Toronto and I remember how I really thought that would never happen. We had a party recently for Tanazy's bday and SO MANY people came and it was SO much fun and we danced all night.
5) Oh and yes, I'm grateful for music which gets me through every day (I'm obsessed with Hey Daddy by Ursher right now and the new BEP: "Imma be rockin like this" - SUCH a good beat. And for mellow, Alexei Murdoch, "All My Days").
6) I'm grateful for whatever voice is inside me that helps me move on from one thing to the next, from one chapter to the next. Without that I would be stuck. stuck. stuck.
7) I'm grateful that I have people in my life who tell me when I am being irrational or selfish or mean or inappropriate. Keep me in check guys.
8) I'm grateful that my roots are here now - my parents and Tanazy who is my family too.
9) I'm grateful that I'M ALIVE because I had a fire in my room earlier this semester which was honestly quite terrifying and entirely due to my own carelessness and stupidity. And a really yummy smelling candle. I'm also grateful that I'm not horrendously scarred although it WOULD be easier to take the Phantom's role in "All I Ask of You" with the facial scarring. THE FIRE STARTED AT MY PILLOW! On a second note I need to either get my computer fixed or stop taking it so personally and getting offended when people comment on the damage.
10) I'm grateful that my sister got into such good med schools because she's the smartest, most rational and also the strongest person I know. Also that SHE's alive because someone broke into her apartment recently :( It was scary.
11) Now this sounds so stupid and frivolous but maybe one of the best things about this semester has been ZUMBA which is this dance-exercise class. I go twice on Mondays because that's the only day i can go. Oh what can I even say about ZUMBA - anybody who knows me knows I'm just obsessed with it now. My friends and I do it and it makes me feel SO ALIVE. It is so. much. fun. I just love dancing to the hip hop songs especially. And body rollin and pumping and booty shaking makes me feel so good :). Like a Wo-Man. Haha. I literally look forward to Mondays now. That's HUGE. ZUMBA IS life piled on life.
12) I'm grateful that I've started to SLEEP again too. I was not sleeping earlier because I was stressed out but I'm getting better and better. Btw, I am NOT grateful that I feel like I'm getting old! I see under-eye circles :(.
13) This is something else I'm really truly grateful for. And that is the MOOT Emily and I did this year. Actually, not only the moot, but also the minimoot I did in Media and Defamation and the presentation I did in Legal Archaeology. Cause anyone who knows me also knows that I loathe public speaking and I get real nervous. Not so much for the Legal Archaeology but for the others. And that's one thing that influences how I think about litigation, because I DO really like litigation, but the public speaking thing...and so the fact that I was able to do the Moot and feel good about it and even insist on a rebuttal! makes me so HAPPY. I feel a great rush after speaking....I'm happy to know I can do it and that it makes me feel so good.
14) I'm looking SO MUCH FORWARD to this summer, when I might go see exchange friends and DEFINITELY will see Becky, Chris, Kari, Tim, maybe Ryan in DC, where I will see Sarah, Ticcy, Tanaz of course, Carol, Ruba, and any of the other Aramco Brats in Houston, and Cathy and maybe Elena in California! I still must plan a trip to NY to see Sumes and Amy and Dickyi of course and everyone else in NY. I'm hoping this summer will be magical (post bar of course) like all the other summers I've been lucky enough to have and it will be hot and I will always be sweaty and I will be sun-kissed and come back to start articling totally refreshed. It's starting to get warmer now!
Ok It really is time to go now - I have to either sleep or continue working on this paper on privacy (ironic after I've posted such personal things, but I think that they're things we can all think about). Yay, I posted again! And *pats self on back* I feel like I have finally kept in line with what this blog is supposed to be which is *attempts at honesty*. *Pat, pat*. OK going to bed.
ULYSSES
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades [1]
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments, [2]
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end, [3]
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge, like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus, [4]
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle--
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd and wrought, and thought with me--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads--you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, [5]
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
~ Tennyson ~
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Coming soon: A photoessay of the life and style of Rebecca J. Hammer, Harvard College, '06, HLS '09
Rebecca J. Hammer ("Becky"), who graduated from Harvard of law schools (no, really) and the Harvard of undergraduate schools (yeah, I know) is now officially an NRDC blogger.
She is also block-mate, wonderful person, and pocket extraordinaire. She enjoys saving the environment, her new dog Walter, Chambord, and inappropriate dance parties. Check out her post about water resources as they relate to the climate problem at this link, which you must copy and paste into your web browser as I cannot figure out how to create a link. (If anyone knows how to do this please tell me).
http://switchboard.nrdc.org/blogs/rhammer/climate_change_is_about_water.html
Stay tuned for the life and style of Becky as she grows from a wee urchin to a passionate woman, saving the world one blog post at a time. But first I have exams.
She is also block-mate, wonderful person, and pocket extraordinaire. She enjoys saving the environment, her new dog Walter, Chambord, and inappropriate dance parties. Check out her post about water resources as they relate to the climate problem at this link, which you must copy and paste into your web browser as I cannot figure out how to create a link. (If anyone knows how to do this please tell me).
http://switchboard.nrdc.org/blogs/rhammer/climate_change_is_about_water.html
Stay tuned for the life and style of Becky as she grows from a wee urchin to a passionate woman, saving the world one blog post at a time. But first I have exams.
Amsterdam--the first few weeks in photos
Here is a photo diary of things that have happened since I've been in Amsterdam--this way I get to feed my new addiction of uploading pictures AND I don't have to write about them! Enjoy!
1) Melissa and I arrive with shittons of stuff in front of random De Key office and have to wait two hours outside in the rain with the shittons.
2) ISN introduction happens and I don't sleep for a week
3) Trip to Brussels and Bruges with Melissa, Steve, Jake, Dave, Olivia, Rushmila, Elon, and Jenn
2) Emily, Rosita, Raquel, Caroline, and Melissa visit and we go on a wonderful countryside bike tour and then out for a wonderful birthday dinner
4) I get to go on a boat ride thanks to my friend John from NYU!
5) Alykhan visits (he is working at the Hague) and visits again.
6) So I also visited Alykhan at the Hague--I went for the weekend so I didn't get to go inside the Peace Palace, where he works, but I DID see the inside of his amazing house. I pretty much did not leave, nor did I want to leave, the whole weekend. The night we were supposed to go out I changed into my pajamas and sat on the couch watching TV under a blanket to avoid going out. We went out anyway. It was the first time I've been in a real house since I've been here and I loved it. The day after I was a shut-in we did a compulsory bike tour around the Hague (saw the outside of the PP at least), ran some errands for Aly, and then we went to Zara. Alykhan knows me well (A: Where do you want to go?...Zara?...Do you want to go in? Me: I'd be OK with that *already locking up the bike*). I kind of love the Hague. Anyways, here are some pictures of his gorgeous living accommodation, courtesy of Allison Muth:
1) Melissa and I arrive with shittons of stuff in front of random De Key office and have to wait two hours outside in the rain with the shittons.
2) ISN introduction happens and I don't sleep for a week
3) Trip to Brussels and Bruges with Melissa, Steve, Jake, Dave, Olivia, Rushmila, Elon, and Jenn
2) Emily, Rosita, Raquel, Caroline, and Melissa visit and we go on a wonderful countryside bike tour and then out for a wonderful birthday dinner
4) I get to go on a boat ride thanks to my friend John from NYU!
5) Alykhan visits (he is working at the Hague) and visits again.
6) So I also visited Alykhan at the Hague--I went for the weekend so I didn't get to go inside the Peace Palace, where he works, but I DID see the inside of his amazing house. I pretty much did not leave, nor did I want to leave, the whole weekend. The night we were supposed to go out I changed into my pajamas and sat on the couch watching TV under a blanket to avoid going out. We went out anyway. It was the first time I've been in a real house since I've been here and I loved it. The day after I was a shut-in we did a compulsory bike tour around the Hague (saw the outside of the PP at least), ran some errands for Aly, and then we went to Zara. Alykhan knows me well (A: Where do you want to go?...Zara?...Do you want to go in? Me: I'd be OK with that *already locking up the bike*). I kind of love the Hague. Anyways, here are some pictures of his gorgeous living accommodation, courtesy of Allison Muth:
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Light Poetry
I went running today at dusk and it was the most beautiful light I've seen yet in Amsterdam--looked like fire. Look:
It made me think of:
i go to this window
i go to this window
just as day dissolves
when it is twilight(and
looking up in fear
i see the new moon
thinner than a hair)
making me feel
how myself has been coarse and dull
compared with you, silently who are
and cling
to my mind always
But now she sharpens and becomes crisper
until i smile with knowing
-and all about
herself
the sprouting largest final air
plunges
inward with hurled
downward thousands of enormous dreams
ee cummings
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Swine Flu Victims should be allowed to stand under Canopies
Two nights ago I was completely convinced that I had the swine. I had all the symptoms save the intestinal stuff (which is optional anyway). In a panic, I was googling lists of symptoms and mortality rates. I was supposed to be studying (finals are fast approaching) but since I figured I was dying I didn't really need to study anymore. Instead I talked to people about it:
1) Me: I have swine flu. I have all the symptoms.
Emilie (my sister): You don't have swine flu.
Me: Are you sure?
Emilie: Well I can't be sure of anything. Go to bed.
2) Me: I have swine flu. I have all the symptoms.
Dave: You don't have swine flu. *statistics that made me feel better*
3) Me: I have swine flu. Stay away from me.
Olivia: OH MY GOD YOU HAVE SWINE FLU. I probably have it to. We have to go to the doctor tomorrow. *freaks out about ramen we shared earlier*
I honestly think that two nights ago was one of the worst nights of my life. I don't know how I can be this crazy, but somehow I really did convince myself that I was dying of the swine and I spent the first half of the night in this weird restless half-awake state and the second half of the night watching dvds. When I woke up in the morning and realized I felt totally better, it was still sad to realize how insane I was. I also had extremely curious dreams, first that I had to be some kind of model and second that there was a fluffy blue bird with a long tail running around somewhere and we were trying to find it.
So last night we all went out--me, Jake, his friend, Livs, Gloria, her boyfriend, Dave, Kenny and his friends and Colin (all Canadian and American law students) and it kind of sucked. I wasn't even supposed to go out but I was supposed to meet my friend Dave who is in Amsterdam (although I stupidly didn't give him my phone number and we couldn't get in touch). In the beginning it was good--good company (hilarious--at one point Jake and his friend bust out a wolf mask and bandana):
So we're having good times. But halfway through a relaxing drink at the theater-bar we go to in Leidseplein, we're informed that there is a fire and everyone has to evacuate. It's pouring. There is a large canopy in front of the theater, but for some gd reason I am not allowed to stand under there. So a bunch of us are standing under the pouring rain while a couple of us are STILL INSIDE. As soon as I saw that like half the bar was inside, I reasoned that the rationale for not letting me stand under the canopy (quick evacuation, no blocking of the exits, etc.) had vanished. But every time I tried to sneak back under the canopy for a little coverage, I get someone literally taking my arm to push me back out and a disapproving "Frau..." or "Get out."
I wanted to cut these people from ear to ear. There was NO REASON why I, arguably a recovering swine flu victim (I know), could not stand underneath the canopy when there were still tons of people in the bar itself. Further, the first time I tried to come back under the canopy was in good faith, as I was trying to put my jacket over my head in preparation for observance of their stupid rule. This, of course, was not allowed. The situation was absolutely unacceptable. Should I have caught pneumonia last night, well...I am rational enough to realize that I would have no legal case against them. Fine. But was there even a fire? Methinks no--while there were like four policemen, there was not a single fire truck to be seen. Nor a single fireman. I was pissed by this point--did NOT enjoy being manhandled by unfriendly popo. Was pissed at myself for not giving my number to my friend. Was pissed that we couldn't stay in the lovely theater. All anger went to the Dutch government. I no longer wanted to support the tourist industry as manifested in Leidseplein.
Nevertheless, I joined in going in the rain to another bar that was literally filled to the tipping point. We left. Afterwards, we went to a coffee shop to wait the rain out. The rain didn't stop. The coffeeshop was entertaining because Jake's friend is a character--kind of funny in a mean way and was talking about how he wouldn't want to date us because we aren't blond. When we left, we tried to decide where to go. Livs didn't want to go dancing (the only thing I'd be willing to stay out for) so I left my bike in Leidseplein and we went home. We ate burger king and I fell asleep in bed while we watched Le Divorce. It was wonderful and I forgot about my grudge against the Dutch popo. Until I wrote this entry.
This morning I had to go back to get my bike. All these tourists asked me for directions, which is bizarre. I didn't know what I was doing but I liked being asked for directions. My mood improved instantly. I assumed the role of seasoned resident with gusto and directed a bunch of tourists in probably the wrong direction.
There were cool boat races in the canals on Nassaukade.
1) Me: I have swine flu. I have all the symptoms.
Emilie (my sister): You don't have swine flu.
Me: Are you sure?
Emilie: Well I can't be sure of anything. Go to bed.
2) Me: I have swine flu. I have all the symptoms.
Dave: You don't have swine flu. *statistics that made me feel better*
3) Me: I have swine flu. Stay away from me.
Olivia: OH MY GOD YOU HAVE SWINE FLU. I probably have it to. We have to go to the doctor tomorrow. *freaks out about ramen we shared earlier*
I honestly think that two nights ago was one of the worst nights of my life. I don't know how I can be this crazy, but somehow I really did convince myself that I was dying of the swine and I spent the first half of the night in this weird restless half-awake state and the second half of the night watching dvds. When I woke up in the morning and realized I felt totally better, it was still sad to realize how insane I was. I also had extremely curious dreams, first that I had to be some kind of model and second that there was a fluffy blue bird with a long tail running around somewhere and we were trying to find it.
So last night we all went out--me, Jake, his friend, Livs, Gloria, her boyfriend, Dave, Kenny and his friends and Colin (all Canadian and American law students) and it kind of sucked. I wasn't even supposed to go out but I was supposed to meet my friend Dave who is in Amsterdam (although I stupidly didn't give him my phone number and we couldn't get in touch). In the beginning it was good--good company (hilarious--at one point Jake and his friend bust out a wolf mask and bandana):
So we're having good times. But halfway through a relaxing drink at the theater-bar we go to in Leidseplein, we're informed that there is a fire and everyone has to evacuate. It's pouring. There is a large canopy in front of the theater, but for some gd reason I am not allowed to stand under there. So a bunch of us are standing under the pouring rain while a couple of us are STILL INSIDE. As soon as I saw that like half the bar was inside, I reasoned that the rationale for not letting me stand under the canopy (quick evacuation, no blocking of the exits, etc.) had vanished. But every time I tried to sneak back under the canopy for a little coverage, I get someone literally taking my arm to push me back out and a disapproving "Frau..." or "Get out."
I wanted to cut these people from ear to ear. There was NO REASON why I, arguably a recovering swine flu victim (I know), could not stand underneath the canopy when there were still tons of people in the bar itself. Further, the first time I tried to come back under the canopy was in good faith, as I was trying to put my jacket over my head in preparation for observance of their stupid rule. This, of course, was not allowed. The situation was absolutely unacceptable. Should I have caught pneumonia last night, well...I am rational enough to realize that I would have no legal case against them. Fine. But was there even a fire? Methinks no--while there were like four policemen, there was not a single fire truck to be seen. Nor a single fireman. I was pissed by this point--did NOT enjoy being manhandled by unfriendly popo. Was pissed at myself for not giving my number to my friend. Was pissed that we couldn't stay in the lovely theater. All anger went to the Dutch government. I no longer wanted to support the tourist industry as manifested in Leidseplein.
Nevertheless, I joined in going in the rain to another bar that was literally filled to the tipping point. We left. Afterwards, we went to a coffee shop to wait the rain out. The rain didn't stop. The coffeeshop was entertaining because Jake's friend is a character--kind of funny in a mean way and was talking about how he wouldn't want to date us because we aren't blond. When we left, we tried to decide where to go. Livs didn't want to go dancing (the only thing I'd be willing to stay out for) so I left my bike in Leidseplein and we went home. We ate burger king and I fell asleep in bed while we watched Le Divorce. It was wonderful and I forgot about my grudge against the Dutch popo. Until I wrote this entry.
This morning I had to go back to get my bike. All these tourists asked me for directions, which is bizarre. I didn't know what I was doing but I liked being asked for directions. My mood improved instantly. I assumed the role of seasoned resident with gusto and directed a bunch of tourists in probably the wrong direction.
There were cool boat races in the canals on Nassaukade.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Funky Mood Today
Today I met two great Dutch people.
O I noticed today that 300 people have viewed my blog! Or one person creepily continues to view my profile.
O I noticed today that 300 people have viewed my blog! Or one person creepily continues to view my profile.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
The Last Two Days in Paris
The second day in Paris was probably the most uneventful day, although there were moments of hilarity when Olivia couldn't get it up and was crazy grumpy because of it. You'll see what I mean.
It began with a late rise, yet again. We (Pierre, Dave, Andrea, Olivia and I) headed out to a Korean Restaurant for lunch that is, lucky for me, right across from Notre Dame! We had a delicious meal--I had chop che and Korean beef. Afterwards Dave and I wandered all around Notre Dame and admired the Seine. Although we weren't actually able to go in because of the massive line of tourists--a little disappointing, since I wanted to buy my mom a rosary. Later we started shopping and that was when the shitshow happened. Pierre, a fantastic gay man, made out like a bandit--a Boss sweater, a coat from Zara, a couple other purchases. I can't remember if Andrea bought anything, but she had gotten some jeans and glasses the night before. I was satiated by my purchases the day before and still riding the guilt train. Conspicuously absent from the list of successful shoppers was one Olivia Lee, who is usually the valedictorian of shopping. We saw her waning. We saw her giving up. So we refueled by buying delicious candy from a street-side vendor and began shopping. Mango--nothing good, as per usual. It was in Zara that the grumpiness really hit, I think. I was helping Dave pick out new clothes (he got a great new coat, a beautiful brown blazer and a couple shirts). Olivia was visibly peeved and made remarks such as "that looks bad, take that off," "no not that" and "that's an ugly shirt." When we suggested that there were ways to veto a potential purchase that did not involve such bluntness or hurt feelings, we got *the look*.
Why was Olivia grumpy? Why was she taking it out on other, unsuspecting shoppers? I'll tell you why: Olivia could not get it up. Once armed with potent shopping mojo, she was now shooting blanks, wandering from store to store, trying her hardest to want things, failing, and getting pissed as fuck at anyone and everyone who made purchases. Her little fingers itched to use those credit cards, but alas, we were in Paris and Olivia couldn't buy anything.
Olivia was unable to shop, and she didn't let us forget it. Whether we were in the bathroom, at dinner, in bed at night, walking the streets of Paris, we heard the forlorn cries of one who had been foiled in her heroic attempts to buy. We heard a lot of "I swear to God guys, this never happens" and "This has never happened before" and "I don't know why this is happening to me, this is totally unprecedented." We consoled her by telling her that it happens to everyone now and then. It doesn't mean that you're less than anyone else. But I was worried. What had I gotten myself into? I was firing on all cylinders and Olivia was not delivering as a shopping partner. My mind wandered back to the weeks before we went to Paris, where Olivia would express through multiple media, in multiple locations, and at inappropriate times one single thought: "I'm going to shop sooooo much in Paris." Was it all just a tease? Was my shopping partner not going to buy a single thing in Paris?
The Grand Blank was shot at Galerie Lafayette, where we had about 50 minutes to shop before they closed. We walked around, appearing calm, but in fact frantically looking for something that Olivia could buy. A cashmere turtleneck? No. A black bowler hat? But where would she wear it. We saw her favourite designers, but the stuff was too expensive, not cute enough, there wasn't time. Finally we ended up at Louis Vuitton, where a bag was fondled and admired and seriously considered. I must admit I advised against it. The store was closing in 10 minutes. I thought it might be a goggled purchase. It was like the end of the night at a borrel. You don't take home the first thing you see of the last few pieces of meat there. You'll live to regret it. Olivia decided to think about it.
We put it all behind us and went out that night. First, we went to Olivier's apartment. A fabulous and gay tax collector.
Olivier and his friends were talking politics or some such subject that I did not understand, so I started drinking. I started in on the punch. I switched to the white wine. I switched to another kind of white wine. And a third.
Before I knew it, Olivier was dancing, then everyone was dancing, doing ridiculous poses, and wearing French wigs and shiny jackets and boas.
Before I knew it hours had rolled past and we were due at Nuit Blanche. We went to some park for Nuit Blanche. We spent the night trying to steal red umbrellas from a display. Pierre stole one while Olivia and I sang and danced for the security guard. We went over to the silver coin display. We got us one of those. We ate crepe. We went pee in sparse bushes. I went twice. We tried to take the bus home and stole the bus sign. It was a wonderful night of random and senseless thievery in Paris.
The next day, Olivia finally claimed what was hers. Over and over again. It was her moment in the sun. It was working again. First we did brunch at Kong, which was made famous by the season six episode of SATC where Carrie does brunch with Petrovsky's ex ("hideous, just hideous"). The bread was delicious, the champagne cocktail was good, but the meal itself was disappointing. I had the seared tuna, but it was cooked the way through and I like it RAW. We went to le Marais area, which is the Jewish/Gay/Fashion district. I've never seen so many intensely stylish-no-expensively dressed people rounded up in one place.
The seal broke, I believe, on the way from the Kong to le Marais with O's purchase of a beautiful pair of Chloe glasses. After that we sailed through Le Marais like a dream, going into everywhere, taking it all in, and wanting it all. We went into beautiful boutiques with names I can't remember that had wearable clothes in gorgeous fabrics. I may have destroyed a pair of soft, yellow, leather kid gloves but let's not talk about that right now. We also went thrifting, which was the best part--I bought all those vintage bags I talked about in my "pockets" post. The vintage stores were buzzing and filled to bursting with crazy shopaholic women and their grabby hands. You had to act fast, act strong, and get out of there. Right after the thrift shopping, I bought my Longchamps bag. That was a rush. Olivia bought a beautiful, soft gray scarf from a great store that sells bath and body stuff. We went into this gourmet boutique where the owner could speak Japanese. I bought rosemary honey and Livs some tomato sauces. When we went to pay, the owner was at the cash register and singing along like a ridiculous human being to the music that was on while trying to impress us with shoddy Mandarin. He also drew Olivia "moonlight" in Chinese characters on the tissue paper he used to wrap up her purchases. We went into a shoe store and both bought ballet flats--her in patent black and I in camel. It was a wonderful day. Satisfaction was in the air. Olivia was beaming. We dropped our purchases off and stared lovingly at the rows of bags. Now how the fuck were we going to 1) get this on the train; 2) move this on our bikes.
No matter, we needed to get dinner. We headed for a Chinese restaurant, which is one of the coolest Chinese restaurants ever. It was beautiful and Frenchified, yet still in the Chinese style. It was just off of Champs Elysees. Me and Olivia had "Thai fondue", which turned out to be spicy hot pot! It was really good. We had dinner with some old friends of Olivia's--they are French, but I guess they met Olivia while studying in California on some sort of exchange. Afterwards, Olivia, Andrea and I browsed Virgin Megastore and picked out a British comedy to watch that night. When we got home, we watched the movie and snacked and packed and went to bed.
A couple more things-- near Andrea's flat is a street called Rue Montorgueil, a trendy street in the 2nd arrondissement (in the Châtelet-Les Halles district). It is all trendy young couples and food stores--butchers and vegetable and fruit stores and patisseries.
Always busy and always fabulous.
Also, when we were in the subway once, there was an Asian man busking there, playing a Chinese instrument called the "yi wu". Well halfway into his playing he stops and starts to sing a Chinese song in Mandarin. Me and Olivia just started laughing because his voice was kind of funny and the abrupt and random singing was just comical. THEN, he immediately stops singing and starts playing some kind of flute instrument. Me and Olivia are laughing even harder now, making jokes about how Asian people have to over-achieve even in the field of busking. Then a group of a guy and two girls who are Caucasian also begin visibly making fun of this man and his Asian music. Me and Olivia immediately stop laughing. Here's what happened:
Me and Olivia: *arguably racist laughter*
Olivia: *stops laughing and with a stony face* "Oh my God, are they laughing at him?"
Me: *with an even stonier face* "They better not be making fun of him, fucking racists..."
Olivia: "Oh my God, they are making fun of him...bitches...he's just trying to make a living."
Me: "I'm offended"
Olivia: "I'm completely offended. Racists."
Andrea: "I'm offended too. And I'm not Asian."
Don't worry, I know. A prime illustration of the double standard and lovin' it.
The train ride home the next morning was kind of horrific for me. As predicted, I had a hard time fitting all my new stuff into the tiny backpack I brought, so I had a huge Zara bag with me while trying to catch the train. Both Olivia and me were saddled down with all our new purchases. It was raining. My bag fell apart. My ticket fell on the train platform because of this. I didn't realize that until we were already moving. I searched high and low for my ticket and freaked out. I barreled through the train and spoke to the train conductor who was so nice to me but was basically like you idiot we have your train ticket. But the scare made me grumpy the rest of the trip and I wrote sullenly in my journal for the remainder of the trip. At least some angsty writing came out of the funky mood.
All in all I really loved Paris. I couldn't keep living the way we were or we'd be broke, I'd have lung cancer, liver failure, and probably heart disease from the way we were eating. However, it was a wonderful time and it really is a magical city. My favorite hour of the day (as everywhere) was dusk. At dusk, the light would hit whatever magnificent building we were near--Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Opera, and colour it golden. When I think back on the Paris trip, I'll think of that golden light on the most beautiful buildings in the world.
I'll think of pink and green macarons, soft leather bags, beautifully fashionable people, and the elegance of a city that makes you so grateful to be young.
It began with a late rise, yet again. We (Pierre, Dave, Andrea, Olivia and I) headed out to a Korean Restaurant for lunch that is, lucky for me, right across from Notre Dame! We had a delicious meal--I had chop che and Korean beef. Afterwards Dave and I wandered all around Notre Dame and admired the Seine. Although we weren't actually able to go in because of the massive line of tourists--a little disappointing, since I wanted to buy my mom a rosary. Later we started shopping and that was when the shitshow happened. Pierre, a fantastic gay man, made out like a bandit--a Boss sweater, a coat from Zara, a couple other purchases. I can't remember if Andrea bought anything, but she had gotten some jeans and glasses the night before. I was satiated by my purchases the day before and still riding the guilt train. Conspicuously absent from the list of successful shoppers was one Olivia Lee, who is usually the valedictorian of shopping. We saw her waning. We saw her giving up. So we refueled by buying delicious candy from a street-side vendor and began shopping. Mango--nothing good, as per usual. It was in Zara that the grumpiness really hit, I think. I was helping Dave pick out new clothes (he got a great new coat, a beautiful brown blazer and a couple shirts). Olivia was visibly peeved and made remarks such as "that looks bad, take that off," "no not that" and "that's an ugly shirt." When we suggested that there were ways to veto a potential purchase that did not involve such bluntness or hurt feelings, we got *the look*.
Why was Olivia grumpy? Why was she taking it out on other, unsuspecting shoppers? I'll tell you why: Olivia could not get it up. Once armed with potent shopping mojo, she was now shooting blanks, wandering from store to store, trying her hardest to want things, failing, and getting pissed as fuck at anyone and everyone who made purchases. Her little fingers itched to use those credit cards, but alas, we were in Paris and Olivia couldn't buy anything.
Olivia was unable to shop, and she didn't let us forget it. Whether we were in the bathroom, at dinner, in bed at night, walking the streets of Paris, we heard the forlorn cries of one who had been foiled in her heroic attempts to buy. We heard a lot of "I swear to God guys, this never happens" and "This has never happened before" and "I don't know why this is happening to me, this is totally unprecedented." We consoled her by telling her that it happens to everyone now and then. It doesn't mean that you're less than anyone else. But I was worried. What had I gotten myself into? I was firing on all cylinders and Olivia was not delivering as a shopping partner. My mind wandered back to the weeks before we went to Paris, where Olivia would express through multiple media, in multiple locations, and at inappropriate times one single thought: "I'm going to shop sooooo much in Paris." Was it all just a tease? Was my shopping partner not going to buy a single thing in Paris?
The Grand Blank was shot at Galerie Lafayette, where we had about 50 minutes to shop before they closed. We walked around, appearing calm, but in fact frantically looking for something that Olivia could buy. A cashmere turtleneck? No. A black bowler hat? But where would she wear it. We saw her favourite designers, but the stuff was too expensive, not cute enough, there wasn't time. Finally we ended up at Louis Vuitton, where a bag was fondled and admired and seriously considered. I must admit I advised against it. The store was closing in 10 minutes. I thought it might be a goggled purchase. It was like the end of the night at a borrel. You don't take home the first thing you see of the last few pieces of meat there. You'll live to regret it. Olivia decided to think about it.
We put it all behind us and went out that night. First, we went to Olivier's apartment. A fabulous and gay tax collector.
Olivier and his friends were talking politics or some such subject that I did not understand, so I started drinking. I started in on the punch. I switched to the white wine. I switched to another kind of white wine. And a third.
Before I knew it, Olivier was dancing, then everyone was dancing, doing ridiculous poses, and wearing French wigs and shiny jackets and boas.
Before I knew it hours had rolled past and we were due at Nuit Blanche. We went to some park for Nuit Blanche. We spent the night trying to steal red umbrellas from a display. Pierre stole one while Olivia and I sang and danced for the security guard. We went over to the silver coin display. We got us one of those. We ate crepe. We went pee in sparse bushes. I went twice. We tried to take the bus home and stole the bus sign. It was a wonderful night of random and senseless thievery in Paris.
The next day, Olivia finally claimed what was hers. Over and over again. It was her moment in the sun. It was working again. First we did brunch at Kong, which was made famous by the season six episode of SATC where Carrie does brunch with Petrovsky's ex ("hideous, just hideous"). The bread was delicious, the champagne cocktail was good, but the meal itself was disappointing. I had the seared tuna, but it was cooked the way through and I like it RAW. We went to le Marais area, which is the Jewish/Gay/Fashion district. I've never seen so many intensely stylish-no-expensively dressed people rounded up in one place.
The seal broke, I believe, on the way from the Kong to le Marais with O's purchase of a beautiful pair of Chloe glasses. After that we sailed through Le Marais like a dream, going into everywhere, taking it all in, and wanting it all. We went into beautiful boutiques with names I can't remember that had wearable clothes in gorgeous fabrics. I may have destroyed a pair of soft, yellow, leather kid gloves but let's not talk about that right now. We also went thrifting, which was the best part--I bought all those vintage bags I talked about in my "pockets" post. The vintage stores were buzzing and filled to bursting with crazy shopaholic women and their grabby hands. You had to act fast, act strong, and get out of there. Right after the thrift shopping, I bought my Longchamps bag. That was a rush. Olivia bought a beautiful, soft gray scarf from a great store that sells bath and body stuff. We went into this gourmet boutique where the owner could speak Japanese. I bought rosemary honey and Livs some tomato sauces. When we went to pay, the owner was at the cash register and singing along like a ridiculous human being to the music that was on while trying to impress us with shoddy Mandarin. He also drew Olivia "moonlight" in Chinese characters on the tissue paper he used to wrap up her purchases. We went into a shoe store and both bought ballet flats--her in patent black and I in camel. It was a wonderful day. Satisfaction was in the air. Olivia was beaming. We dropped our purchases off and stared lovingly at the rows of bags. Now how the fuck were we going to 1) get this on the train; 2) move this on our bikes.
No matter, we needed to get dinner. We headed for a Chinese restaurant, which is one of the coolest Chinese restaurants ever. It was beautiful and Frenchified, yet still in the Chinese style. It was just off of Champs Elysees. Me and Olivia had "Thai fondue", which turned out to be spicy hot pot! It was really good. We had dinner with some old friends of Olivia's--they are French, but I guess they met Olivia while studying in California on some sort of exchange. Afterwards, Olivia, Andrea and I browsed Virgin Megastore and picked out a British comedy to watch that night. When we got home, we watched the movie and snacked and packed and went to bed.
A couple more things-- near Andrea's flat is a street called Rue Montorgueil, a trendy street in the 2nd arrondissement (in the Châtelet-Les Halles district). It is all trendy young couples and food stores--butchers and vegetable and fruit stores and patisseries.
Always busy and always fabulous.
Also, when we were in the subway once, there was an Asian man busking there, playing a Chinese instrument called the "yi wu". Well halfway into his playing he stops and starts to sing a Chinese song in Mandarin. Me and Olivia just started laughing because his voice was kind of funny and the abrupt and random singing was just comical. THEN, he immediately stops singing and starts playing some kind of flute instrument. Me and Olivia are laughing even harder now, making jokes about how Asian people have to over-achieve even in the field of busking. Then a group of a guy and two girls who are Caucasian also begin visibly making fun of this man and his Asian music. Me and Olivia immediately stop laughing. Here's what happened:
Me and Olivia: *arguably racist laughter*
Olivia: *stops laughing and with a stony face* "Oh my God, are they laughing at him?"
Me: *with an even stonier face* "They better not be making fun of him, fucking racists..."
Olivia: "Oh my God, they are making fun of him...bitches...he's just trying to make a living."
Me: "I'm offended"
Olivia: "I'm completely offended. Racists."
Andrea: "I'm offended too. And I'm not Asian."
Don't worry, I know. A prime illustration of the double standard and lovin' it.
The train ride home the next morning was kind of horrific for me. As predicted, I had a hard time fitting all my new stuff into the tiny backpack I brought, so I had a huge Zara bag with me while trying to catch the train. Both Olivia and me were saddled down with all our new purchases. It was raining. My bag fell apart. My ticket fell on the train platform because of this. I didn't realize that until we were already moving. I searched high and low for my ticket and freaked out. I barreled through the train and spoke to the train conductor who was so nice to me but was basically like you idiot we have your train ticket. But the scare made me grumpy the rest of the trip and I wrote sullenly in my journal for the remainder of the trip. At least some angsty writing came out of the funky mood.
All in all I really loved Paris. I couldn't keep living the way we were or we'd be broke, I'd have lung cancer, liver failure, and probably heart disease from the way we were eating. However, it was a wonderful time and it really is a magical city. My favorite hour of the day (as everywhere) was dusk. At dusk, the light would hit whatever magnificent building we were near--Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Opera, and colour it golden. When I think back on the Paris trip, I'll think of that golden light on the most beautiful buildings in the world.
I'll think of pink and green macarons, soft leather bags, beautifully fashionable people, and the elegance of a city that makes you so grateful to be young.
Paris
The train ride to Paris was relaxing—Dave, Olivia, and I talked, ate, and listened to music. Olivia and I listened to Dave’s ipod while he djed for us. Most of the time, dead on. We got to Paris-Noord pretty late—I’d say 11 or 11:30 and we walked to Olivia friend’s Andrea’s place. I was so ecstatic to be in Paris. Even when the train was delayed, I felt no annoyance because in my head, I still couldn’t believe that we were going to be in PARIS. When we got off, I was inappropriately starry-eyed and exclaiming about everything like an idiot, even though Paris-Noord is in a pretty shitty part of town and by no means the beautiful Paris that everyone knows. Even though I've been there before. “Look at these beautiful cobblestone roads,” “look at that gorgeous balcony,” “mmm, those falafels smell like Paris” and you get the idea. Annoying, moi. Olivia was in her element and of course wearing her Mongolian sheep skin vest. She speaks perfect French, so was able to navigate us around that night while we tried to figure out where Dave was staying and then where we were meant to be. Andrea lives in the troisieme arrondissement and there are a lot of little not-quite-fashion clothing stores around her, so we had a good time walking towards her place. Her apartment is on the sixth floor of a building with gorgeous, big blue doors and it is incredible.
It is the apartment of her friend, who either is an artist or knows an artist well. The living room is red with this great, larger-than-life portrait of a really funky, hipster girl on the wall.
The kitchen is clean and small and chic—the fridge is made of mirrors.
There are painted wooden beams in the apartment. Her roommate has his rooms on one side of the apartment. Then on the other side of the apartment, there is a fairly large room with a closet, shoes, movies, etc. and what is usually a futon/sofa, but now it is O and my bed. Connected to the room is a gorgeous bathroom, all small, shiny black tiles and clean. To the left of the bathroom are stairs leading to a small loft, just big enough for a bed and a few extras.
That’s where Andrea sleeps and she has it made up really nice with fairy lights all around her bed. In short, the apartment is gorgeous. One thing I’ve noticed though, (this is true of Alykhan’s apartment at the Hague as well) is that the “shower room” doesn’t have a toilet, which is so bizarre to me. I suppose it makes sense—those two functions are totally separate, but it’s such a routine thing to go to the bathroom before one showers, isn’t it? Maybe not in Europe.
That night, Andrea’s roommate wasn’t home yet, so we hung out on stools in Andrea’s kitchen, smoking and drinking delicious red wine and talking about everything—school, men, partying, old boyfriends, jobs, where we are all from. It was enchanting to hear Olivia and Andrea speak French. I could understand most of it, although I can’t speak too well. We drank and smoked till about two. Andrea had early class in the morning, so we all went to bed. I really like Andrea—she is a super-stylish, kind of rock and roll chic, half Argentinian and half Spanish. She has a beautiful face and gorgeous hair golden-brown-dark brown curly hair and light brown eyes. She’s warm and open.
In the morning, we slept till around 11 because we were tired. It was freezing, so me and Livs ended up cuddling for body warmth in the morning. We got dressed and ventured out—we were going to St. Germaine to go shopping, but we ended up doing quite a lot—first we went to Le Procope, which is the oldest café in Paris and used to be frequented by George Washington. We had pate (which was like no pate I had ever tasted),
foie gras, which came with this delicious warm fruit bread and fruit compote, and escargot. Then we had fish and steak tartar. We drank kir royals and wine. Olivia at one point said: “I feel like I’m on the Titanic” and it was totally justified. The surroundings were so classic and French and luxurious, we were surrounded by old rich French people. The service was impeccable, meaning the waiters would stand in the doorway at all time with their hawk-like, unswerving gazes fixed on each table they were responsible for. The perfect first meal. There was a French couple near us who were eating and drinking slowly. They were impeccably dressed, the man in a suit and the woman in a sharp green pantsuit. What was weird was that she had thrown her shoes off during the meal. Is that OK?
We stumbled out of there into the daylight, tipsy and full to the brim with rich, delicious French food. We saw the St. Sulpice, which is being renovated. Then we wandered over to where Olivia used to live, which is right by the Luxembourg gardens. We wandered around the Luxembourg gardens as well, which we crossed through to get to the Sorbonne. The gardens were not as beautiful as I had expected—more concrete than my taste, though to be fair we didn't see all of it. I think that the best part about it were the old French men playing chess. I was immediately transported back to Au Bon Pain in Harvard Square. We went to the law school at the Pantheon-Sorbonne to look around and I must say, I have never felt more ashamed of U of T’s basement classrooms. These French law students go to school next to the Pantheon, for the love of God. Their building is aged and majestic with old and musty hallways. There is must there. We have no such must. There is history there that you can feel it in the air. We have vending machines.
We then walked all around little streets near St. Germaine and went into boutiques with unexpected corners and expensive treasures. The weather was perfect: cool and crisp and sunny. Devastatingly, Olivia’s camera ran out of batteries so we were camera-less. The people around St. Germaine were stylish (nothing like Le Mariais, which comes later)—not necessarily my style (a little more bohemian and artsy and layered than I prefer), but it is Paris so everyone automatically looks great. The girls in the law school looked stylish and minimalist though. Then we went to Pierre Herme, which is famous for delectable pastries, in particular, their macarons. Surprisingly, it was almost all Asian people working there and there were probably 3-4 Asian customers during the time we were there (and the shop is small). Coincidence, but really interesting. I got something called “Desire”, which is a kind of fruity mousse with a lemony crust and strawberries. I also got macarons. We took our delicious desserts to Les Deux Magots, which is a café that Hemingway used to frequent. Since I am obsessed, obsessed with “A Moveable Feast”, it was perfect. We ate our desserts and ordered a bottle of champagne and drank and ate and smoked. The two French women next to us kept telling us how pretty and gracious we all were. It was delightful, though I’m not sure how pretty and gracious we were, considering Livs and I were all red from the champagne and stuffing our faces with dessert and guzzling champagne…When we left, Olivia and I were pretty much shit-faced, but her friend (who can evidently hold her alcohol better than two, glowing Asian girls) was fine. The people near the exit had a beautiful chow chow that we got in a cell phone picture. We stumbled over to the Louvre to go to the bathroom. I was pretty drunk but I do remember that we ended up paying a euro to go to the bathroom in some kind of bathroom boutique with like toilet trinkets and patterned toilet paper. But first we walked around the Louvre, which we caught in the perfect light—it was around 6 pm so the dusky light illuminated golden the creamy buildings and made them even more magnificent. Of course, then we stumbled over to Zara and I spent way too much money. Drunk shopping = not the best idea. Then we went to Mono-prix, where we did groceries and were, as usual, way too extravagant: rablechon and proscuitto, smoked salmon and blinis, tomatoes and yummy bread and custards and candy. Decadence.
We then came back to Andrea’s apartment. Her roommate Pierre was home (he is from Nice and also in law) and we all sat around (the three of us dead tired) smoking and talking about law and school and jobs. Livs and Andrea slept while Pierre and I watched tv. Then Pierre and I took a nap and by the time Andrea, Olivia, and I woke up, Pierre didn't want to go out so instead we just raided the fridge, ate, and slept. At the time, it felt right but it turns out that we missed our chance to go out and club in Paris. :( I suppose I will have to go back one day just for that.
If it sounds like this trip to Paris was frilly and and decadent and ridiculous, it totally was. Just the way I had hoped it would be. Days two and three to follow.
It is the apartment of her friend, who either is an artist or knows an artist well. The living room is red with this great, larger-than-life portrait of a really funky, hipster girl on the wall.
The kitchen is clean and small and chic—the fridge is made of mirrors.
There are painted wooden beams in the apartment. Her roommate has his rooms on one side of the apartment. Then on the other side of the apartment, there is a fairly large room with a closet, shoes, movies, etc. and what is usually a futon/sofa, but now it is O and my bed. Connected to the room is a gorgeous bathroom, all small, shiny black tiles and clean. To the left of the bathroom are stairs leading to a small loft, just big enough for a bed and a few extras.
That’s where Andrea sleeps and she has it made up really nice with fairy lights all around her bed. In short, the apartment is gorgeous. One thing I’ve noticed though, (this is true of Alykhan’s apartment at the Hague as well) is that the “shower room” doesn’t have a toilet, which is so bizarre to me. I suppose it makes sense—those two functions are totally separate, but it’s such a routine thing to go to the bathroom before one showers, isn’t it? Maybe not in Europe.
That night, Andrea’s roommate wasn’t home yet, so we hung out on stools in Andrea’s kitchen, smoking and drinking delicious red wine and talking about everything—school, men, partying, old boyfriends, jobs, where we are all from. It was enchanting to hear Olivia and Andrea speak French. I could understand most of it, although I can’t speak too well. We drank and smoked till about two. Andrea had early class in the morning, so we all went to bed. I really like Andrea—she is a super-stylish, kind of rock and roll chic, half Argentinian and half Spanish. She has a beautiful face and gorgeous hair golden-brown-dark brown curly hair and light brown eyes. She’s warm and open.
In the morning, we slept till around 11 because we were tired. It was freezing, so me and Livs ended up cuddling for body warmth in the morning. We got dressed and ventured out—we were going to St. Germaine to go shopping, but we ended up doing quite a lot—first we went to Le Procope, which is the oldest café in Paris and used to be frequented by George Washington. We had pate (which was like no pate I had ever tasted),
foie gras, which came with this delicious warm fruit bread and fruit compote, and escargot. Then we had fish and steak tartar. We drank kir royals and wine. Olivia at one point said: “I feel like I’m on the Titanic” and it was totally justified. The surroundings were so classic and French and luxurious, we were surrounded by old rich French people. The service was impeccable, meaning the waiters would stand in the doorway at all time with their hawk-like, unswerving gazes fixed on each table they were responsible for. The perfect first meal. There was a French couple near us who were eating and drinking slowly. They were impeccably dressed, the man in a suit and the woman in a sharp green pantsuit. What was weird was that she had thrown her shoes off during the meal. Is that OK?
We stumbled out of there into the daylight, tipsy and full to the brim with rich, delicious French food. We saw the St. Sulpice, which is being renovated. Then we wandered over to where Olivia used to live, which is right by the Luxembourg gardens. We wandered around the Luxembourg gardens as well, which we crossed through to get to the Sorbonne. The gardens were not as beautiful as I had expected—more concrete than my taste, though to be fair we didn't see all of it. I think that the best part about it were the old French men playing chess. I was immediately transported back to Au Bon Pain in Harvard Square. We went to the law school at the Pantheon-Sorbonne to look around and I must say, I have never felt more ashamed of U of T’s basement classrooms. These French law students go to school next to the Pantheon, for the love of God. Their building is aged and majestic with old and musty hallways. There is must there. We have no such must. There is history there that you can feel it in the air. We have vending machines.
We then walked all around little streets near St. Germaine and went into boutiques with unexpected corners and expensive treasures. The weather was perfect: cool and crisp and sunny. Devastatingly, Olivia’s camera ran out of batteries so we were camera-less. The people around St. Germaine were stylish (nothing like Le Mariais, which comes later)—not necessarily my style (a little more bohemian and artsy and layered than I prefer), but it is Paris so everyone automatically looks great. The girls in the law school looked stylish and minimalist though. Then we went to Pierre Herme, which is famous for delectable pastries, in particular, their macarons. Surprisingly, it was almost all Asian people working there and there were probably 3-4 Asian customers during the time we were there (and the shop is small). Coincidence, but really interesting. I got something called “Desire”, which is a kind of fruity mousse with a lemony crust and strawberries. I also got macarons. We took our delicious desserts to Les Deux Magots, which is a café that Hemingway used to frequent. Since I am obsessed, obsessed with “A Moveable Feast”, it was perfect. We ate our desserts and ordered a bottle of champagne and drank and ate and smoked. The two French women next to us kept telling us how pretty and gracious we all were. It was delightful, though I’m not sure how pretty and gracious we were, considering Livs and I were all red from the champagne and stuffing our faces with dessert and guzzling champagne…When we left, Olivia and I were pretty much shit-faced, but her friend (who can evidently hold her alcohol better than two, glowing Asian girls) was fine. The people near the exit had a beautiful chow chow that we got in a cell phone picture. We stumbled over to the Louvre to go to the bathroom. I was pretty drunk but I do remember that we ended up paying a euro to go to the bathroom in some kind of bathroom boutique with like toilet trinkets and patterned toilet paper. But first we walked around the Louvre, which we caught in the perfect light—it was around 6 pm so the dusky light illuminated golden the creamy buildings and made them even more magnificent. Of course, then we stumbled over to Zara and I spent way too much money. Drunk shopping = not the best idea. Then we went to Mono-prix, where we did groceries and were, as usual, way too extravagant: rablechon and proscuitto, smoked salmon and blinis, tomatoes and yummy bread and custards and candy. Decadence.
We then came back to Andrea’s apartment. Her roommate Pierre was home (he is from Nice and also in law) and we all sat around (the three of us dead tired) smoking and talking about law and school and jobs. Livs and Andrea slept while Pierre and I watched tv. Then Pierre and I took a nap and by the time Andrea, Olivia, and I woke up, Pierre didn't want to go out so instead we just raided the fridge, ate, and slept. At the time, it felt right but it turns out that we missed our chance to go out and club in Paris. :( I suppose I will have to go back one day just for that.
If it sounds like this trip to Paris was frilly and and decadent and ridiculous, it totally was. Just the way I had hoped it would be. Days two and three to follow.
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