It’s midnight, and I’m sitting in my room in the dark, listening to New Young Poney Club. My mind feels like solid heat in this warm, humid air. It’s hard to think, and I wonder why I haven’t been writing recently.

About once a year, my mind shifts. It grows a year older in the way that my slowly decaying body or the marked calender can’t. It’s not so much a growth forward as it’s up, like Google Earth zooming upwards. Each year I need a new shell to live in. I have to abandon my old mind on the side of the proverbial high way and once more build something for my thoughts to be inhibited by. As I keep destroying old ones and tossing them out like used McDonald’s cups, the new ones’ designs change. The blueprints tell me to build it bigger and bigger until (look!) I can see my town. And (wow!) I can see my state. And (zogs!) I can see my country. It continues on and on. I keep breaking-rebuilding-making it bigger. In that order. Over and over. I go through a mental collapse (or at least I seem to) in between these growths, and the “how” changes. The “what” changes too. It’s not necessarily the scenery that’s so different, but what I look for in that scenery. It’s sort of like how I watched Donnie Darko over and over again so many times last year, looking for different things each time. One time I just payed attention to the sound effects and sound track. One time I listened to dialogue. One time I watched what was going on in the foreground and background. Right on schedule as I unusually am, this is happening to my world.

I feel like I’m making less sense than usual as I yawn over my keyboard. The humid air makes me paralyzed. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to, but I have to.

I have a lot of great things to write about, but now is not the time. Now is the sleep typing time, letting waves of indiscernible thoughts and emotions waft over me like this air and inputing them here.

101010,
Lindsea

Frankl, my dear, I do give a damn.

April 21, 2008 in LINDSEA, LOGIC | 10 comments

Part 1: You have taunted me with your philosophical ways.

“He who has a why to live for can bear with almost any how.” – Nietzsche

When I first finished Man’s Search for Meaning, by Frankl, I felt as though I had discovered something that I’d known all along but couldn’t express clearly (or at all). This is where I would find happiness, I thought. In meaning I will be fulfilled. It didn’t seem that it would be hard, because I’ve always been able to take my own personal meaning away from experiences and ideas. But is this the type of meaning that Frankl describes? Would I survive torture for these simple meanings and connections that I make with the world around me? After thinking about this for a while, I decided that he must have meant a bigger meaning, something much greater than these little observations I make about my world. So what is my why that Nietzsche talks about?

An infallible why, I’ve realized, is hard to find. Even the larger ideas of God or faith in a person or institution can crumble sometimes, and there is nothing left to hold on to. The ideas or faith may come back eventually, but it doesn’t change the fact that there are moments when they’re gone, and the suffering Frankl talks about seems meaningless. Because suffering for a meaning isn’t really suffering, it’s martyrdom. It’s done proudly and with reason. But suffering when that meaning is lost (albeit temporarily) is the worst kind of suffering. In the absence of why, the how becomes both infinitely bleak and impossible to overcome. (Though for me, luckily, it has always resolved itself eventually.)

When meaning is lost, is a sense of responsibility lost also? If it’s felt that there is no meaning or no purpose in a life, is there any reason to go on living it? Frankl says no, and it’s clear that those men in the concentration camps who have lost the meaning have no interest in life (that one part about the prisoner laying in bed all day, not eating, not drinking, defecating in his pants was gruesome). In the non-concentration camp lives, if meaning is temporarily lost, and responsibility is temporarily lost along with that meaning, doesn’t society impose certain consequences? For example, if a student temporarily lost her sense of the why that got her through the how of SATs and college applications, and went off to find her meaning again, wouldn’t she be punished by not getting into college and having all of those opportunities that come along with that? When does personal meaning take priority over society’s requirements for success? Or does personal meaning take shape when we assume our, and by direct extension, society’s, responsibilities? Do we really have a choice in whether we assume certain responsibilities, or do we have no choice but to empower ourselves and make meaning out of what we have?

Part 2: Your mysterious nature has obsessed me. And after a weekend of “meaning”, “existential vacuum”, “collective” and “individual” spinning in my mind over and over (causing me to brood like a misanthropic loner), I finally compressed some of my mad inner monologue.

The idea of not having any meaning in my life makes me think of the man lying in the concentration camp, smoking all of his cigarettes and throwing himself into the electric fence. It’s one that makes me think of a sleepwalker, numb to all pain and passion. It reminds me of overdoses, uncried tears, depression, tied nooses, a handgun, walking in the middle of a busy street, and emptiness. In the search for meaning in my life, there are times when these thoughts will happen, regardless of how together I may have it at one moment. A mind searching for meaning can easily become an existential vacuum, filled with meaningless suffering.

In the times of the vacuum, many unanswerable questions cross my mind. Questions like, Can I be an unhypocritical individual and still live amongst the collective? Do I have control over my life, or is it completely controlled by forces that I don’t have control over (such as society)? Will I ever have a solid meaning in my life that I can hold onto and trust? Are there any definite rights or wrongs? Does success come from within or without? Do I owe anybody anything by just existing? These questions feel like vultures circling in the sky of my mind, waiting for the kill.

I said in my last paper, “An infallible ‘why’, I’ve realized, is hard to find. Even the larger ideas of God or faith in a person or institution can crumble sometimes, and there is nothing left to hold on to.” I believe this is true. All of these things can be rendered meaningless in an instant. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I’ve come up with two possible solutions.

Solution 1: It’s true that religion or a person or an institution can all come crashing down, but I can still choose to put my faith in that thing and commit myself to it. Faith itself (not the religion, person, etc) is where the meaning comes from. Using these things as tools, I may be able to find my meaning. People find their meaning through these things all the time, and then find happiness; that’s why they try and convert other people. But I think it should be remembered that the path to meaning is different for everybody, and needs to be respected

Solution 2: The search for meaning in life can become the meaning itself. That is to say that the exact answer will never be found completely, but the search, with all of its critical thinking/feeling, journeys, failed paths, momentary disappointments and triumphs, love, suffering, happiness, etc, becomes more powerful and meaningful because I am constantly searching for that higher meaning. Solution 2 is like the meta search for meaning. It’s more lucid, because I’m always critically thinking about the events and feelings in my life, and questioning them. It’s turning life into one big trip around the critical thinking wheel.

As for the momentary periods of existential vacuum, those times go along with the territory of searching for meaning. Without empty space, nothing can be added or filled in. The existential vacuum could be the time when my mind is readying itself for another clue to the bigger meaning. It could be giving the Universe an opportunity to fill my mind. (In which case the vacuum itself becomes more meaningful, and therefore less of a vacuum.)

Or, the time of the vacuum and the filled space could both be illusions created by my own mind, and I might actually know what my meaning of life is if I free my mind and accept it.

Who know? (And if you do, tell me.)

Meme: High School Daze to Praise

April 12, 2008 in BOOKS | 12 comments

Meme Rules:

- Select and briefly review one teen novel, classic or modern, which is a sure antidote to the daze of high school.

-Title your post Meme: High School Daze to Praise

-Include an image with your post.

-Tag four blogger colleagues.

I’ve read a lot of books in my life, some painfully bad, some life changing. Bad or good, they’ve all taught me something about who I am and what the meaning of my life is. The perfectly organized printed words have always spoken to me deeply, of life, of love, of hope. The one book that has taught me the most about myself and the world, however, would have to be Gossip Girl.

Gossip Girl has given me so many insights into who I am as a person, and it’s educated me about how society works and what I need to do to be popular, which is the most important thing a person can be. It’s taken me on a journey of discovery, and now I know that what you wear really does define who you are. How could you forget the main lesson? No publicity is bad publicity, and you are no one unless you are talked about.

Of course, there is always the relationship advice that I’ve gleaned from its wondrous pages. Now I know that it’s ok to sleep with your best friends boyfriend, as long as she doesn’t find out. And it’s also ok if your boyfriend cares more about his pot stash than you, as long is he is hot and rich.

Since all of my friends have read it, it provides the valuable opportunity to have in depth book discussions on the subtext of this book. We ask essential questions like, is it moral to wear a Marc Jacobs bag from last season, even if you really like it? and what are the consequences of buying underwear from La Perla, even if no one is going to see them?

Gossip Girl gets you through those high school daze, because, first of all, it teaches you about the important things in life (cliques, gossip, important things to buy, your real place in life if you weren’t born into the right families), and second of all, because it is a book for the masses. It shows us that the rules society places on us are very important to our happiness. It is not good to be alone in doing something. It is not good to not have lots of friends. This book has taught me that it’s ok to be like everyone else. In fact, it’s better than ok.

You know you love me.

Xoxo,

Gossip Girl

Tagged:

Ah!!!

April 10, 2008 in LINDSEA | 5 comments

I wrote a post that made no sense but was really funny. It also outlined my two operations for this weekend that are to be completed. Then wordpress spazzed out and deleted it!!! Uncle Frick! This upsets me deeply.

I fear at this late hour, there is nothing for me to do but to return to my bed of pain. And I mean that facetiously. I am not in a literal bed of pain.
Quick outline of operations:

1. Operation Wacky: This calls upon the innate human need to leave the normalcy of sane insanity and bridge out into the depths of wackiness. Very existential.

2. Operation Get-Life-Back-In-Order: Switch my down duvet to my organic New Zealand wool blanket. Put clothes away. Map out study schedule for the rest of the year. Make hipster PDA. Make list of priorities. Don’t make a list of things that you need to do in Operation G-L-B-I-O and put “make list of priorities” at the end of said list. It’s obviously is a sign that your priorities are out of order.

So that is it my friends.

Oh yes, and in Operation #2, it included skyping with Tutu and Sean, and WRITING BLOG POSTS FOR Students 2.0 and PGC. Because, gosh, when was the last time you did that you lazy mistress of death? (And by “mistress of death” I mean myself. It’s a nickname that we have for me. And by “we” I mean myself as well, and not some group of people living in my head. Glad that clarifies things.)

This needs to come to an end now. I’m frightening the children.

Experimenting with writing styles…

April 4, 2008 in FICTION, LOVELY NONESENSE | 1 comment

This is an article I wrote for the school newspaper’s April Fools edition. It was published in the Sports section. I’m writing it from the point of view of someone who hates sports.

I was planning on spending a couple of hours writing a response to Satre’s Humanism of Existentialism, but I put it aside when an unnamed sports fan insisted that this may be the last chance to attend what he referred to as a “championship”. I was not eager; I confess I don’t know balls. I am no a sports fan.

I went with him to this game for two reasons only: 1) to shove the most convenient form of high glucose corn syrup I can find into any/all open orifices and 2) to seek out the clandestine contrast between brown and pale skin on the upper thigh. After seeing the teenage boy’s short shorts in Basketball Diaries, I was determined to seek out the illustrious Tan Line. I find the line between tan and ghostly white on the thigh area very fascinating. To me, it is the highest form of avant garde art.

Balls. What are balls any ways? Think about it. Balls sum up the Great Human Condition. They go one way across the field, only to be pushed back to the other side. There are no exits for the balls. They must remain in the game forever. It’s Tragic. I wept bitter tears over my ketchup-smeared hot dog. “The balls! The balls! The horror!” I muttered.

As I was sitting there in the stands weeping like a senior that has just received their first rejection letter, an enthused fan ignited the crowd with something called “The Wave”. For those of you unfamiliar with “The Wave”, it is a cult-minded movement of the body, where people raise there arms and gyrate their hips in synchronicity. It all happened so fast that I was left sitting alone in a forest of swaying, fleshy limbs and sensible shoes. “NO!” I cried. It quickly became clear to me that I was in the midst of fascist anarchy at its purest mob-mentality form. Hallucinations that I doubt the most pitiful LSD victim ever saw flooded my senses; swastikas swirled and “Hiel Hitler!” echoed in my ears.

Then it hit me: what I should really be afraid of are the losers. These people may all be on some Spectators High now, but later they will have come to the Championship as Princes only to leave as Toads. That, I have now learned, is when the Fear hits. The Fear can be seen in the deep black pits of the losing side’s eyes. Soon the black pits become satanically red. This is when the Fear grips the observer like a cold, spiny hand around the neck. The Fear’s slow thighs follow you, even the next day, even to the concession stand.

But let’s not worry about the Fear now. I have come to the grand Sports Ring to see SPORTS, not bawl hysterically over balls and break out in nervous sweat because of the Fear. No one can be expected to handle a situation like That.

Let’s get back to some semblance of sanity. Tan Lines. The Tan Line is a sacred thing. To outline the brief history, the first recorded Tan Line was in 369 B.C., during an interglacial period (also known as global warming). The Neanderthals drew elaborate pictures on the cave walls of hunched men with toga-like tan lines on their shoulders and calves. The Tan Line took a quick break during the first Olympics, where the players went nude. It was a happy one for the nudists and voyeurs but a very, very sad day for the Tan Line.

But what these boys—or should I say men?—wore went below my lowest expectations, literally. My ideal, The Great American Shorts, are supposed to come up to the athlete’s upper thigh, showing off the contrast of white to brown. These shorts shocked my system beyond recognition, coming down to the fool’s MID CALF! How am I supposed to observe the Tan Line? How dare you suck out all the joy and happiness from this reporter’s life. Yes, you. I know where you live. This covering of thigh brought out the raging feminist in me. This isn’t the 1800’s, for God’s sake. I really am not offended by seeing some ankle.

Sitting there in the stands, I contemplated my situation. This “game” had been going on for what seemed like days. Was I merely waiting on these ridiculous elevated benches for something that would never come to an end?

And then it came. The purely sublime end buzzer.

Oh yeah, the score was 75-43.

What do the Rocky Horror Picture Show, education, and blogging have in common?

April 4, 2008 in SCHOOL | 3 comments

“I would like, if I may, to take you on a strange journey.”

Hint: It’s not transvestites…

The answer: People who entered into it are never the same when they come out.

Rocky Horror Picture Show has been on my mind (and its songs have been stuck in my head) ever since I rewatched it last night after taking some cold medicine and snuggling up to a box of tissues. It’s an interesting experience watching RHPS as you are falling asleep, slightly woozy from the Nyquil. Maybe “interesting” isn’t the best word. Perhaps, “disturbing” would be a better description? (I vaguely recall stumbling into the middle of the living room while my parents were reading, shouting nonsensically about Medusa and a transvestite from transsexual Transylvania.)

Regardless of the fact that I was being serenaded by the classic songs, “Dammit! I love you Janet!” and “Touch-a-touch-a-touch-me…!”, thoughts from the conversation I had earlier in the week came up, particularly about unschooly blogging. I wrote about this in my post Unschooled, and I’m going to touch upon the subject again now.

Blogging in a classroom can be unschool, but, like we talked about in the Teachers Teaching Teachers conversation, it can quickly become Boring (with a capital B, obviously) and constipated. Blogging is a great place to exercise the most important lesson teachers try to teach– thinking, and I get the feeling from teachers that they do want to involve blogging into their curriculum. A blog is a perfect place to express thoughts and ideas, to cultivate a person’s knowledge. I also get the feeling that they’re afraid to involve it for the exact opposite reason of why it could be helpful (the whole Boring with a capital B thing).

As a student blogger, blogging can seem like just another homework assignment, especially if they first found out about it through their teacher. I actually started a blog right before I was assigned to start one, so I had already explored some of the possibilities. I can still remember my first awkward steps as a student blogger, as shown here and here particularly. You may notice the reflections to NPR’s “This I believe” and “The Singer Solution to World Poverty” in the first month, and the SAT practice essay in the second month.

I have this thing that I do where ever I go, and that’s to take a certain place or situation and bring my own ideas and personality to it. I can’t really stop it, it just happens. That’s what started to happen with my blog. I *coughs sheepishly* started to ignore the assigned blog post suggestions and write whatever I felt like writing, in my own way. After a while, blogging became a part of my life. I even wrote a blog post when I first noticed how addicted I was to it.

And I totally realized that hardly no one read it, apart from an alcoholic teacher in Korea whose blog amused me greatly, and a couple of female artists and mothers. It surprised me that they actually cared. I honestly didn’t mind the low readership at all. I just happily wandered around the blogosphere having random conversations with other bloggers, including a couple that became famous (Petite Anglaise anyone??). They probably don’t remember me at all, but they inspired me nonetheless to keep writing. I kept writing, and expressing whatever slightly self centered insanity flowed through my mind and onto my blog, because it’s what made me happy. Aside from a place where I could let out my insane side without fear of being hospitalized (joke), my blog also helped me grow as person, because it became a place where I was totally honest with myself. It gave me a voice that I could express through writing. It’s been one of the best learning experiences of my life.

This is why I want teachers to bring blogs into their classrooms, and tell them what a great experience it could be for their students. So teachers, this is what I want to say to you: don’t waste your time assigning mundane blog posts that students must write. First, give them freedom. Second, tell them about all the possibilities of their blog, so they can easily test out different techniques and subjects. This is important, because even if you do give them freedom, they might not know what to do with said freedom.

I said it during the Teachers Teaching Teachers conversation (thanks for having the courage to call YouthTwitter schooly, Soojin!), and I’m going to be a human shaped parrot and say it again: If you allow students to have a blog, let them be their selves on it, because it’s hard to find yourself underneath the pile of mandatory homework assignments that usually require a student not to be themselves.

If I could go back to a year and a half ago when I first started my blog and have someone tell me all that I could do with it (flickr photos, posting multimedia projects, twitter networking, basically all of the things outside of just assigned blog post reflections), I would have been able to skip a very long process of figuring everything out. I wish someone could have shown me outstanding examples of other blogs in a variety of genres (art blogs, graphic novel blogs, technology blogs, sustainability blogs, news blogs, student blogs, short fiction blogs, photography blogs, the list goes on). I wouldn’t have had to go through all the trouble of finding them myself. It was a great experience, all of that self directed learning, but it honestly could have been done a lot faster and easier if I had someone to guide me.

Teachers are in the perfect position to gently guide their students to the greatness and uniqueness that they already have, but they might not be able to see themselves. Blogging is a great medium for that, if it’s done right.

To go back to my Rocky Horror Picture Show connection, students who go through their careers as students always come out different at the end. Blogging (although a semi-recent development) has played a pretty big role in my own career as a student. Once you enter the transvestite from Transsexual Transalvania’s castle (in this analogy, blogging), nothing will ever be the same.

Wow, that was dramatic.

Thanks to the Teachers Teaching Teachers thing, I got to meet some new student bloggers: Hannah, Tyrone, and Ben.