Entries for January, 2007
Until I moved up to this little town in southeastern Washington, I was never really one to enjoy cold, grey days. But lately I've been more appreciative of the wintry season and just how beautiful it can be outside. During my first week here at Whitman, I was greeted by a gentle touch of snow, almost as though the weather was putting on a little show for the silly California boy buried in four layers of clothing. I, being the tropical creature that I am, immediately scampered outside to mingle with the soft snowflakes and make my acquaintance with the cold droplets of snow melting on my tongue. The soft crunch of powdered snow is, I quickly discovered, an indescribably joyous sound, and I have taken advantage of every opportunity to share this revelation to unimpressed friends and dorm-mates.
As I walk to class in the morning, I can see my own breath and realize I can no longer feel my ears. I see the ducks ambling lazily along the grassy edge of the stream that meanders through campus, happily unconcerned with the musings of Franz Kafka or the moral dilemmas of Aeschylian theatre. Already the ultimate frisbee team is on snow-white Ankeny Field taking a jog, a jumbled mismatch of pink sweats and turquoise beanies and yellow scarves and orange windbreakers, an exclamation of colors in protest against the grey skies and bare trees around them. The hip-hop pumping through my headphones sounds almost sacrilegious - metered rhyme and rhythm in opposition to the natural, flowing poetry of my surroundings. I fumble with the iPod with numb fingers and the sultry voice of Joss Stone allays my unreasonable discomfort a bit. I feel a tap on my shoulder as a classmate joins into step with me. I'm slightly embarassed at not hearing her voice over the music; we exchange greetings and fall into a light conversation about Herodotus' elaborate description of the Ionian Revolt on our way to class. It occurs to me that suddenly, it's not as cold as I thought it was.
There is something about this place - the weather, the people, the trees - that makes me feel like an intruder upon something organic. I am a sidewalk city boy, clothed in urban vanity and caked with Hollywood glitter; I carry the scent of choking smog and greasy downtown burger joints. My walk feels like a saunter, my accent is indistinguishable from the drone of The OC playing in the lounge. I have an identity, but it's difficult to define it when all I see are stereotypes of who I'm supposed to be.
Yet somehow, I feel as though I belong - that the way I talk, the way I look, the way I think, all contribute to the collective human experience here. I may not own a North Face backpack or a hideously '90s wool sweater. I may not go cross-country skiing or whitewater rafting in my spare time. I'll probably break my face trying to learn how to throw a frisbee. But I'm me, and I'm here. And you know what?
I like it.
Written by jihwan at 12:32 AM.
In this wide universe of fortuitous events and linked events of veiled chance, in the seemingly indistinguishably twisted strings of fate, destiny, and choice, in the infinite strands of seconds, minutes, and hours wrapped like silk around our existence, there is always that one tiny loose thread which you dread with all your being. Achilles, in all his glory, could not forsee that fatal strike, that otherwise negligible prick in the midst of chaos and death. As he raged in battle, the sunlight glinting off his armor and blood dancing on his blade, he was nigh invincible - he was meant for greater things, to conquer all he saw worthy and impress his will upon those who would obstruct his path. All but that one instant: at that single moment in time and space when the arrow pierced his heel he felt the searing pain of mortality. Destiny, they said. Fate, they said. Achilles knew better. It was neither destiny nor fate. It was just bad luck. Dude probably walked under a ladder that morning or something.
I am Achilles. Or at least some weak, blurry-eyed, sniffling, congested, throbbing, sneezing metaphor to him. Or whatever. The point is, I leave tomorrow for 25-degree climates, and I have the dumb luck to catch the bug in Southern-freaking-California. How do you spell IRONY again?
The last thing I want to do is spend the flight and the drive to school feeling like the bubonic plague incarnate. But hey, that's how it happens. Lots and lots of Airborne tablets and gallons of Nyquil are my best friends right now, and I'm so drowsy I'm amazed I've written this much so far. I've got to catch up on the updates, so here goes:
Merry Christmas.
Happy New Year.
Goodbye, and I'll see you during Spring Break.
Written by jihwan at 11:56 PM.