I started reading through some of my old blogs earlier this week. It made me wish I was still blogging as often as I did back then, as it serves as quite a history lesson, though rather embarrassing at times (Tangent: Circa early 2009, references to the now-bf begin showing up more frequently, paired with questions from a confused girl who likes spending time with said boy). Not that I ever wrote in the most polished or beautiful manner, but I also wonder if my writing has been stifled from numerous lab reports, concise papers, and neglect. But alas.

It makes you snicker a bit to read these entries from a wide-eyed me wondering what it's like to be 19, or 20, or to have my own apartment, or to pay my own bills. Written when I was just switching majors and debating leading a small group, so unaware that three years later I'd be...well, here. I guess the same will be the case in another three years later when I look at my current questions about leaving the Yellow House, what it'll be like with D out of class, or making a new home in Sacramento. Yes, Sacramento.

Speaking of, I am once again reminded how much I dislike limbo states. I ideally won't move to Sac till August, yet part of me wants to start packing things away in boxes. I must also remind myself how dangerous packing is for me: once I start, I don't like to stop and I end up finishing all the packing in two days. Uh, yeah, especially during finals week. 

Yesterday I woke up and didn't want to get out of bed, and by the time the night ended, I wondered why it wasn't Wednesday already. And today was slow-paced and I'm tired and don't want to do work. And my next two days are pretty dang booked. My crankiness and lack of motivation might be because I'm sleep deprived. Actually, there's a good chance it is, and I'm just haven't realized how important sleep is to my life. Something about sleep = rest = physical energy (I also recently relearnd that food = energy).

So maybe tonight, this time, I'll go to sleep and figure everything else out later.

(Crossing fingers that productivity kicks in tomorrow. Or Saturday at latest).

Today I read remarks written by a dear friend I respect. She's finishing law school this year, and she reminds me: Human rights means nothing if not that every single life is worth fighting for. Every single life – all 7 billion of us, from the world’s wealthiest man to my newborn nephew, we are all worth fighting for. Justice, mercy, truth – these are not empty ideas or futile dreams. No, as evidenced by the work and life of people like today’s honoree, these ideas are reality – and that reality is a choice. That reality is our choice. That reality is my choice.

Today I cleaned my room and consolidated some of my stuff into boxes. I'm going to leave this home of mine in several months, and it's hard to get off my mind. Boxes are collecting in the corner, and I'm starting to get rid of a few small things now because I'll have to do it eventually.

I found 8x10's I printed that fall after Kolkata 2010. 2010. Nearly two years ago. I fear that summer will fade into my memory, till all I remember is the serene lake and the beautiful sunsets. Yet there is the sardine-packed trains and the ignorance and the fact that our friend Sandip ended his life last summer, unable to withstand the loss of his girlfriend who thought death was better than the arranged marriage she was about to be forced into.



Today I hand-wrote letters to Stockton's 8th graders, telling them they can finish high school and college. I don't tell them the odds are against them and that other districts have more resources than they do.

This is a fragment of a thought I don't want to forget

Think honestly about one's motivations for civic engagement and the importance of a humble, meaningful approach