Lepisosteidae

I went to a meeting with a biology professor today - she’s one of the top geneticists and she’s basically a huge portion of why I wanted to go here, and I’m blown away by this campus yet again. One of the higher ranking professors made time to meet with a freshman about essentially nothing, and another TA, a professor/lab instructor, and a Peer Lead Instruction instructor all invited me into the (admittedly hilariously shabby) biology lounge to chat. I’m dubious about spanish, in agony over how much I’m having to spend on books, and frustrated with banking in general, but the half hour I spent in that department felt so incredibly good. It’s what I love, and I’m finally in a place where I can let that love grow to its full potential. Work expands to fit the time given to it; the way I feel about cells and anatomy and natural selection is being given proper due and it’s growing. That’s worth every bit of the homesickness to me.

My CSEM read an exert from Nabokov’s Lectures on Literature and as much as it pains me to admit it, the introduction to that text explained - succinctly, beautifully, and perfectly - why I write, why I read, and why I view creation of artistic works as something that’s essential to human nature.

“Time and space, the colors of the seasons, the movements of muscles and minds, all these are for writers of genius not traditional notions which may be borrowed from the circulating library of public truths but a series of unique surprises which master artists have learned to express in their own unique way. [...] The material of this world may be real enough (as far as reality goes) but does not exist at all as an accepted entirety; it is chaos, and to this chaos the author says “go!” allowing the world to flicker and to fuse. It is now recombined in its very atoms, not merely in its visible and superficial parts. The writer is the first man to map it and to name the natural objects it contains. Those berries are edible. That speckled creature that bolted across my path might be tamed.

“It seems to me that a good formula to test the quality of a novel is, in the long run, a merging of the precision of poetry and the intuition of science. In order to bask in that magic a wise reader reads the book of genius not with his heart, not so much with his brain, but with his spine. It is there that occurs the telltale tingle even though we must keep a little aloof, a little detached when reading. Then with a pleasure which is both sensual and intellectual we shall watch the artist build his castle of cards and watch the castle of cards become a castle of beautiful steel and glass.”

After some initial homesickness and roommate issues, I’m pretty happy. Not, per se, madly and passionately and deeply in love, but I think how I feel about Bryn Mawr is a slow thing - it’s not liable to burn out any time soon.

Two of my three classes today were excellent; biology thrills me, and I have a meeting with an amazing professor tomorrow just to talk about majoring and so on. Anthropology seems like it’s going to be amazing. I went into intensive spanish and immediately started freaking out, so I’m going to drop down to a more manageable level with a professor who is rumored to be excellent.

I think some of the things I’m phenomenally glad about right now are my friendships with upperclasswomen; I’ve met some amazing people in my class, but knowing these amazing strong women and being able to drop by their rooms and just hang out - or having them come by mine - is maybe one of the highlights of my life right now. It’s sort of a method of detox - these people really are family to me and being with them is really good.

In other news, parade night was fucking amazing - my favorite part was obvious to BMC people, but it has to be said that the sheer levels of inebriation reached by the seniors pulled a close second.

(ANASSA) KATA KALO KALE IA IA IA NIKE BRYN MAWR BRYN MAWR BRYN MAWR YOUR MOM.

1. How to make a latte.
2. That quads seem to house completely awesome people.
3. That Bank of America is completely useless, and that their hold messages become progressively more annoying the longer you’re on the phone.
4. If you see someone being assaulted, according to the instructions on our rape whistles, it’s a really good idea to open your window, stick your head out, and begin blowing the whistle. You know, as opposed to calling campus 911.
5. Hanging out with people you already know and love is the best possible end to a day, especially a) when they are amazing and b) when they have amazing chairs.
6. ORIENTATION SUCKS.

I haven’t been updating lately, largely because this is a for-college blog and short of buying insane amounts of file folders and pillow cases, I haven’t been doing much in the way of college. However, inspired by Tom over at Atomic Nerds, I figured I’d share a mysterious animal story of my own.

A couple years ago, I was living in an apartment, and due to limited space, a real fish tank wasn’t exactly an option, so I was keeping bettas. We had quite a few of them, mostly set up in critter cages (which are square plastic tanks with plastic lids) and for the most part, they were pretty happy fish.

One day, though, one of the bettas disappeared. There had been a lid on his tank, but suddenly I came home and there was no betta. He wasn’t in one of the other tanks, he wasn’t caught in the filter, he wasn’t anywhere on the floor or behind the desk the tanks were on. The dogs hadn’t been uncrated, so there was no chance that he’d leaped out and fallen victim to their snacking tendencies. He was just gone. I reached the conclusion that he’d been the subject of some sort of betta alien abduction and got a replacement.

About six months later, we were moving, and I was going through a bunch of boxes, including an enormous tupperware thing full of office supplies that had been sitting next to the desk for a year or so. Kind of absently, I pried open a stapler to check if it needed refilling, and was met with the knowledge of what had happened to my fish. There was a tiny mummified betta inside of the stapler.

Somehow, he had jumped out of his tank - which had a lid on - and gotten into a sealed tupperware bin, further managing to wedge himself into a stapler. I’m never actually going to know how or why he did it, but I think the rules of darwinism and natural selection apply: being the fish equivalent of Houdini is, sadly, not a very useful trait for a betta.

The hardest thing about going away to college is figuring out what books to pack. I have three enormous bookshelves full, and I’m trying to limit myself to a box. Do you bring the books you’re likely to conceivably read, or the books that have seen you through hard times? New books or old books? Paperbacks, which save space, or hardcovers, which are sturdier? Books you’ve read once and loved passionately, or books you’ve read a thousand times and still aren’t sure how you feel about?

Most importantly, will my roommates judge me for my Jennifer Crusie novels, or secretly love them as much as I do.

This is just to say:

“I love you” is a lot harder for me than “I am in love with you,” and although I have only managed to say it once in four years, I love you - not profoundly, but simply, in a way where I could always count on you in the edges of my peripheral vision. You make me happy every day, even when I can’t see straight, and you are unconditional.

What matters most to me is that you’re a good man, and you’ve been here for me in ways I can’t even begin to articulate. No matter what happens next year: thank you, for being so right, all along, and for being so kind, and for making me a deliberate part of your life rather than an afterthought, and loving me as I am.

If you’re going to write “medium” on your salsa label, please ensure that it conforms to the general taste scale of medium salsa; i.e. when I take an unsuspecting bite on an unsuspecting tortilla chip, my mouth should not immediately burst into flames. In other words, if you’re trying to market a sinus remedy here, try the sudafed aisle, not my refrigerator.

Possibly this is a little too serious for a first blog entry, but J. made a post today which resonated in a lot of ways, about coming up for air after going through hard things and realizing your life really is okay. I had a period of four or five years where everything in my life conspired to drag me under. I dealt with both physical and mental abuse at the hands of people I called friends, I dealt with depression, and I think maybe worst, I dealt with loneliness. There were days I couldn’t bring myself to go to school because I couldn’t name a single person there who cared about me. I was so tremendously unhappy.

But the thing is? Things turned around. The past six months have been full of stress and difficulty and awful situations, but they’ve also been full of an untold amount of joy. I’ve always had a hard time putting into words how grateful I am for friends, but my life is finally, overwhelmingly full of really good people. I may not have a lot of friends where I’m living, but the two I care about most are some of the most amazing individuals I’ve ever met. Probably more importantly in terms of mental landmarks, I have finally reached a point where I trust that both of them love me back as much as I love them, even though one of them is male and therefore entirely without the gene that enables him to discuss affection. (I’m pretty sure he knows I love him; I’m also pretty sure he prefers that I show this affection by giving him half of my food at every meal.) I have my usual group of crazy, delightful people across the globe, in every avenue, and I love them, as well.

But more than that - I’m happy with my life. I’m happy with who I am, and where I’m going, and I am so unbelievably excited for next year. For a wide variety of reasons, I was really concerned that the concept of leaving home was going to be traumatic. I watched a lot of people fall apart over it, and basically I was told by a lot of people (on a lot of fronts) that I needed to be understanding because inevitably I would hit the same wall. But I haven’t. I’m going to miss people, and I’m reasonably certain that I’m going to end up in someone’s room crying over missing my dad, because I haven’t been away from him for more than a month since I was two, and we are peas in a pod, but -

I am deeply, passionately in love with where I’m going, in a way that I can’t manage to put into words, and I am happy with life, happy with myself, and happy with what I’ve chosen. More than that, I basically wake up every morning and go, “LESS THAN TWO MONTHS” because the people I’ve met so far, with a few small exceptions, are the most amazing women I’ve ever known, and the idea of living in the same square mile with all these people who are new and awesome, plus one of the best friends I’ve ever had, not to mention ACTUAL FOOD and a real biology department -

I am so far beyond happy with life I’ve actually inched over into loving it, which is a strange and uncertain new territory, but one that’s pretty damn welcome.

Introductions are possibly in order. I’m Tai, or possibly Madison, depending on whom you ask. I am also: 5′8” in socks, the sort of person who discusses ebola at cocktail parties, and not a fan of Faulkner. Then again, is anyone? This blog is liable to be about: college life, how difficult it is to find reasonably priced sheets, the beauty of science, and cheesecake. Everyone likes cheesecake. (And perhaps Faulkner would have been more successful if he’d devoted himself to baking it.)