Sing your melody;
I'll sing along.

- Glen Hansard

-+-

"Christa, you know what you're worth.  Don't you ever settle for anything less.  I don't care if that means you have to be single for the rest of your life, because you are special.  If a guy isn't the best, then he just doesn't deserve you.  So don't you ever settle.  Have high standards.  You're worth it."

-+- 

What if you had to write a protocol for, "How to Be Extraordinary"?  What would you line its pages with?

When it first comes to mind, the first thing I think about are stickers.  My main priority is to flourish those pieces of paper with flowers and hearts, with stars and animal silhouettes.  I don't know what that says about myself.  I can't think of a single step off the top of my head, but I know that I would want that protocol to be as colorful and beautiful and eye-catching as possible.  

I know that I want to write it while I'm eating pancakes with a side of hash browns and a cup of orange juice.  I want it to be infused with the therapeutic satisfaction that I experience when I am eating an excellent breakfast.  Every time I flip through that protocol, I want to smile every time I see the little spot where I spilled some orange juice while I was writing it.  I want to go, "Man, I remember that orange juice.  Now that I think about it, that was really good orange juice.  I really need to buy that orange juice again sometime."

I know that the pages will be worn, and it will be very messy.  I will attempt to make it look clean and organized, but it will be torn and damaged from overuse.  It will be covered in annotations, from notes that I need to take as I go.  I will need to add so much more to the protocol that I did not anticipate when I was first compiling it.  There is only so much that you can prepare for, only so much that you can foresee.  The rest of it, you have to play it by ear, and remember every lesson that you learn as you as experience it yourself.  It is always different reading the protocol on a piece of paper, and practicing the actual technique.  You will learn that it is not as easy as it appears on print.  You will make errors along the way, and it is natural.  You will simply need to note all of your mistakes and all of your successes, because both are equally important to your personal growth.  Eventually, you will be able to perform like clockwork, and "extraordinary" will come naturally.

When it is time to consider the actual content of the piece, then that is where things get complicated.  How does one become extraordinary?  I feel like I have been wondering this question for the last four months.  The moment that I could grasp my fingers around the concepts of "ambition" and "determination," I have been daydreaming about "extraordinary."

For many restless busy days, where I barely have enough time to myself to breathe these days, I have wondered this.  But today... today is special.  Today is the first day that I am seriously contemplating the cheesiest answer ever: be yourself.

But as we all know by now, I do love the cheesy.  I love the lame.  I love the corny.  The cheesier, the better.

However, as overused and cliché as the line may be, I've never before actually considered it as a possible answer.  I've never even had it on the table.  I've never even had it in the room.  "Be myself?  Pfft.  Talk about useless and ineffective, amirite?  What good will that do me?  What a joke!"

Meanwhile, as I sit here, I am counting down the days until my life changes again, until the next time that I am hopelessly wondering, "What do I do now?"  The dust had finally settled from the last dozen times that my life was turned around -- I'm starting to adjust to the new niches that I've been falling into, and the conflicts that centered around me are finally settling down.  And the moment I became comfortable, a countdown began until the day that my life would change again.  I can count the days that are left with the fingers of one hand.

But the thing about countdowns is that I still have no idea what to do with them.  How do your brace yourself for, "Your life is about to change"?  Is there really any amount of preparation that can be done for something with that much weight?

And so, I remain hopelessly wondering, "What do I do now?"

There is one thing that I always do in the laboratory when I do not remember how to perform an experiment.  I dig through my lab binder, and find my old protocols.  I find the protocols that I made the first time that I endured the long, extensive hours of experimentation.  I find the protocols that I made from my experiences, from my adventures, from my lessons, from my amazing sources of guidance and support.  Each of these pages have been ceaselessly important to the success of my repetitions.

Thus, I know that this protocol will be invaluable to me.  I will struggle to recall the fine details of starting my life again, so I'll dig into the bookshelves upon bookshelves in my mind, and I'll grab my battered notebook labeled, "How to Be Extraordinary."

While I'm turning though its pages in fond reflection, I'll know that this book of memories will be in my heart forever.  I will cherish the way that it'll reassure me, "Christa, you're one in a million."  I'll brush my hand against its carbon pages that tell me, "Christa, always do what you love.  Don't compromise what you're passionate for.  The things that you love are what make life worth living."  My eyes will well up as I read the words, "Christa, you are going to do great things with your life.  I know it."

When I flip through its pages, for once in my life, I will fondly realize the truth in, "Be yourself."

So with an open heart, I try to believe that no matter where life throws me this time, I'll take a deep breath, protocol in hand, and I'll be able to face it yet again.  All I know is that no matter where life takes me, I will be more than enough.

I will be extraordinary.

"But sometimes hope isn't enough. Sometimes, the damage done by hate and by haters is simply too great. Sometimes the future seems too remote. And those are the times our hearts break."

- Dan Savage, founder of the "It Gets Better" project

-+-

I've honestly always despised the phrase, "Haters gonna hate."

I suppose it's really such a trivial thing to get set off by, but it still never ceases to frustrate me. I just hate that it makes it sound like hate is normal.  Because while hate is common, hate really shouldn't be stamped as normal. Hate, in any form, should never be accepted as a social norm. It makes it sound like hate should be received with apathy and nonchalance.  But hate should never be ignored. Hate should always incite change, it should always inspire a revolution towards kindness. Hate should never be shrugged upon. Hate is an enemy, and it should always be something that we continually seek to overcome. Hate should never be looked upon with indifference. Hate needs to be unacceptable.

I am blessed to feel amazing every morning when I wake up and every night when I go to sleep. I am blessed to be surrounded by people that care about me and help me carry my sword and shield.  But behind that, I am a girl that has freshly recovered from depression. Over the past few months, I have built many pages in this Xanga in regards to that. In my shadow, there is a past where I felt alone, and empty, and worthless. There was a past where I did not expect to allow myself to live long enough to see age twenty-two. This nightmare was the reality that I lived with, everyday for months, as recently as sixteen weeks ago.

So everyday, I still step forward with caution. Everything I have now is amazing. I am truly grateful for the place I am now. But that doesn't change that the most frequent obstacle for people recovering from depression is relapse. I have been depression-free for three months now. And I am always afraid of relapsing.

Whenever I feel empty or whenever I feel unmotivated, it sets off every single alarm in my being. The second I notice it, my heart drops, and I mutter a, "Dear god, no." I have been greatly fortunate in that it has always been transient, and that I have always been overreacting. My situation is the same as sneezing and your first reflex is to conclude that you have typhoid fever. But turns out, sometimes college students really do just get unmotivated just because studying is boring.  Thank god. But it doesn't stop the worry, and it doesn't stop the prayers. "Please, I want to stay okay. I don't want to go back to that place." It doesn't stop the fear. Everytime I want to grow relaxed in my efforts, when I feel like being alone and antisocial like in the old times, I remember, "I have to keep working on myself if I want to stay better. I can never stop working. I can never give in. I can't let myself go back there."

Similarly, my paranoia also makes my heart drop deep into my stomach whenever I hear anyone joke about or mention depression or suicide. If it has even just the slightest undertone of truth behind it, I cannot let it go. A month ago, I was walking with a then-acquaintance, and I told him playfully, "Im'ma kill you!" He replied, half-jokingly, "That sounds pretty welcome right now, actually." But I took that shit seriously, and I promptly decided to devote the rest of that entire weekend towards making sure that he was okay, and I continue to try to be there for him when he is feeling low. I was talking with another friend more recently, and he casually said, "I haven't really been happy in years," and since then, I've been texting him several times a day just to let him know that he's not alone.

Because I've been there. I've been in that place. I remember being there, and I remember how much I wanted out, as helpless as I felt. As the hate against me accumulated, I felt like the only choices I had were to get better, or to leave this world. And I felt like I was too weak to do the former. And that left...

I do not wish those choices on anyone else. I never want suicide to be an option for anyone. I know what it is like. I know what it is like to just lie there, preparing to die, because there is simply no other choice. There was no other way to get myself away from this pain and loneliness. To get away from this hate. I would imagine the celebration that would happen the day that I left, and how so many people would be happier if I wasn't around anymore. How all the people that hated me were right all along, they were so right. And it was torture. I do not wish that amount of suffering on anyone.

There is an enormous sadness in my heart whenever I learn about a young person taking their own life. I may not have ever seen their face before, I may have not ever heard their name before, but it still always affects me.  I know the stages that prelude a decision like that. There is no greater torture than being at a place where ending your life becomes the only choice left. It is the greatest amount of loneliness imagineable.

In spite of everything that I know was happening, I still do not know how he made that decision.  I do not know how he chose to ignore my wounds and ignore my confessions, and chose to let me wash in hate.  I understand the defeat, and I even understand the giving up. But I do not understand the choice of ignorance.  He saw the pain, but he chose ignorance. And I saw it as proof that I was not worth saving. And I do not understand that.  If I were him, I would not have been able to sleep at night. I do not blame him for what I went through. I saw his frustration, and I saw him crumbling under the weight of my baggage. I know why it happened, but I just don't understand how he could make that decision and still manage to sleep at night.

Maybe it is because I have been there before. I have stood in front of the mirror, hating myself to the very core, but only truly wanting to be saved. All you really want is to be saved, whether that be by getting better, or by death. All you want is to be saved.

So it has become impossible for me to witness that kind of hate and just accept it, because I know what that kind of loneliness is like.  And possibly just as damaging, I know what it is like to have your pain be ignored.  So I cannot sleep easily if I let a comment like that go ignored, because I know how much that hurts.  I cannot sleep easily knowing that I am allowing hate to run rampant.  I cannot sleep easily knowing that my choice could be the difference between saving a life and losing a life.

I was once ashamed and secretive of my history with depression.  But I cannot squander the toil that I have endured, and the lessons that I have learned.  The hope that my pain and my experience can inform someone, inspire someone, help someone... that is far more important than my inhibitions. 

A critical lesson that I have realized is that hate cannot be ignored.  Hate is not a taste that you can allow yourself to acquire, hate is not something that you can allow yourself to become numb to.  Hate must always be our foe.  We must identify it as the chain that we hope to break free from -- "We shall overcome."  So never turn a blind eye to hate.  Acknowledge it, and fight it.  It will be difficult.  Hate is everywhere, and it is powerful.

But life is always worth more than that.

Life is always worth fighting for.

I don't know how much more love this heart can lose,
and I'm dying,
dying from the exit wounds.

- The Script

-+- 

So I think I had a cute day in the laboratory today. 

I very casually told the other undergraduate in the lab that my classmates were playfully teasing me for being a huge nerd, and my lab technician was outraged.  I guess I said it out of context, because I earnestly was being truly nerdy – I was just gushing about my awesome lab report format, and how I was freakin’ stoked that I took photos of my agar plates so that my report could look legit.  I really 100% deserved that "nerd" comment. 

However, my lab members took, “My classmates were teasing me that I’m a nerd!” as that my classmates were insulting me, and my lab technician became very defensive of me, “WHAT?  CHRISTA, NO.  YOU’RE AWESOME.  You know what, fuck these kids!  Watch them say that when you’re their boss!”  The grad student that I was shadowing gave me a similar pep talk, except she did so with substantially fewer amounts of entertaining vulgarity and moral outrage.  So I was pretty taken aback, not only because I thought I was making such a casual comment, but I mean, wow.  It was already enough to realize that my lab members were fond of me, but there’s still yet another kind of warmth to learn that they’re protective of me, and to see them all get ready to just leap out of their lab chairs and fight whoever dares to cross their precious "wondergrad."

Afterward, the other lab members treated me to some coffee while I was running my protein assay, and I just felt like a SCIENTIST.  “Oh, yeah, I’m so busy and tired running this long experiment, so I would love if you could get me a latte!”  And I always perceived coffee as undergraduate duty (even though they’ve never made me get them coffee, as much as I really do offer), so it was really something when the lab members wanted to get me coffee!

I also actually really love it when the entire lab is bustling with nonsterile experiments, which is what happened today – our tech was doing cell counts of bone marrow samples, my post-doc and I were running an enzyme-linked immunosorbent assay while I was shadowing a cell stain, and another grad student was doing transplant analysis.  The neat thing about nonsterile experiments, is that we're not all separated because we're in the various sterile rooms.  Instead, we all sit at our respective lab benches and chat with each other across the room while we’re all pipetting reagents and cell samples.  All of us in our lab coats, just driving science forward! 

I contributed to the conversation by inspiring the aforementioned rage, and by cheerfully telling everyone that it was my sister’s first day in her lab at Stanford, and I was wondering out loud about how her first day was going.  I told them, “Yeah, she’s normally really really sarcastic, so it’s really something to see her so enthusiastic and sincere!”  While looking at his mouse analysis, a grad student replies, “So basically, she‘s the complete opposite of you.”  He immediately transitioned into a flourished impression of me, “WEEEEEE TIME FOR SCIENCE, TEE HEE HEE~!~!~!~!”  This, of course, inspired my lab technician to also do an impression of me, followed by, “Right, THAT’S what I still had left on my to-do list. ‘Make fun of Christa.’  Sweet!  Thanks Christa, good day!”

I concur. Good day!

except for the part where i got zero time to study for my midterm, but that's a story for another day LOL D:

Live high.
Live mighty.
Live righteously.

- Jazon Mraz

-+-

"Ha!  Now there's that smile.  It's such a 'Christa' smile."

-+-

More and more, I'm discovering how difficult it is for a situation to be "larger than life."  I would watch those shows, with their formulated scripts and their formulated lines, and just shake my head.  I wonder about the likeliness that I could live a life like this, with its adventures, its emotions, its depth.  My answer to myself is always, "Impossible."  Until it happens to me.

Life, as it turns out, is pretty big.  I don't know why that's such a revelation to me, but it truly is.  I've spent years in the same niche -- same daily routine, same sheltered life, same boyfriend, same group of friends.  I never left my comfort zone, and thus, life seemed so simple and straightforward.  But now, I'm learning all over again that life is elaborate in its intricacies.  The moment that I think I have things figured out, the carpet gets swept from under my feet, and I'm falling into new territory.  Right when I manage to pick myself back up, I fall down into somewhere new again, and the cycle is yet to cease.

It is a daunting task to try to describe how much my life has changed over the past several months.  Yet, somehow, in a lot of ways, it really hasn't.  Just as life is full of unexpected turns and surprises, history never ceases to repeat itself.  And sometimes, people really just don't change.

Recently, I've been learning that I'm not really as different a Christa as I've perceived.  Somehow, underneath those months of manic depression, underneath all of that bleeding pessimism, underneath that introversion, underneath that shaking mental and emotional health, underneath the "I give up"s and "I'm worthless"s and "There's no point"s, there was a girl. 

Underneath all of it, there was a girl. 

There was a girl that loved to bake, that daydreamed everyday about her wedding, that wants an amazing bathroom in her house when she has a family of her own.  There was a young woman that was really passionate about the happiness of others, and loved to get little gifts for her friends just so that they would know that she cared about them.  She had a great capacity for empathy, and got worried if anyone in a 50-foot radius was sad.  She had immense integrity, even when her prudence made her the uncool kid on the block.  She had enormous passion for whatever she enjoyed -- cooking, knitting, museums, traveling, shopping, ice cream.  She never did a damn thing without putting her entire heart into it -- unless it was, of course, super boring.  But it didn't matter that she lacked talent, because she had spirit.  It didn't matter that she only knew how to knit linearly, because she still put her whole heart into those scarves.  It didn't matter that she didn't know how to cook a damn thing -- she loved working in that kitchen, and would not trade those late, messy evenings concocting pies and cupcakes for anything.

She still makes all those odd faces and she still makes all those weird sound effects.  She's still a huge nerd (perhaps even a bigger nerd now, if that's even possible), and she still loves Harvest Moon.  Her old botany passions still spark up whenever she walks through the nursery of a hardware supply store.  She still has zero passion for sports, but she still tries to keep up with them anyway just so she can keep up with the conversations that happen between the men in her life.  She still has a crush on fluffy animals, and she still loves going to the pet store just to look at all the critters, because it makes her feel like she's at a zoo.  Twist ending -- she still loves zoos.  She still wants to go back to Disneyland, she still wants to roll in all the kitsch at Las Vegas, she still wants to see New York, she still wants to attend a live taping of Conan O'Brien's talk show (in whatever incarnation it may be in), and she still wants to change someone's life.

I feel like I'm finally waking up.  I feel like I'm not just meeting myself all over again, but I'm discovering myself for the first time, too.  I'm learning about the things that people see in me, that before, I never chose to see in myself.  There was a veil over my eyes, choosing to see only the very worst in me.  Yet, there is so much more.

I forgot about the dreams and ambitions that was hiding under the surface.  As it turns out, underneath all the pain... there was a fuse.  There was a fuse that was sitting there, all along, underneath all the dirt and baggage, just waiting for a spark.  And the moment that I kissed the world goodbye, it wasn't a flame that set off.  It was an inferno.  And now, the sky is saturated with fireworks.

It's extraordinary, but as enthralled as I might be, I'm not blinded by all of the lights.

After all of the sparks, you're left alone in the dark.

I want to say, "I hope it lasts," but this is not something that relies on hope.  This is something that depends on my own resilience, strength, determination, and hard work.  And before, that was something I was so scared of.  "I'm not strong enough."  But today, when I reflect on the work that I have ahead of me, I'm okay with it.  I know that no matter how this ends, I'll get through it.

After all, I know who I am now.  I know what I'm worth, and I know what kind of potential and promise I have.

You're going to be just fine, Christa.

You'll be just fine.

No one understands me quite like you do,
through all of the shadowy corners of me.

- Landon Pigg

-+- 

"You know what?  You really encourage me to be myself, and I don't think I've articulated how appreciative I am of that.  Before, well, I kept trying to change myself for the people around me, and it just never felt natural.  But for once, being myself feels like it's actually... good enough."
"But why did you ever try change who you are?"
"I don't know.  I guess I just wanted people to like me."
"Christa, we all want to be liked by people.  But if you change yourself just so that people will like you, then you lose your own identity.  You lose who you are, and that's not worth it.  But, what confuses me is... I don't know why you'd even want to change who you are.  Honestly, a lot of people pale in comparison to you.  You really shouldn't even be listening if anyone tells you otherwise, because you're probably better than them anyway."

Damn.

-+-

What are they like, the skeletons in your closet?

You're an impossible person to comprehend.  I should despise you.  I should be putting a 50-foot pole between you and me.  I should hate you, and I should be disappointed in you.   I get so angry at you sometimes, and you make me so confused -- your mind is impossible to interpret, and your passive-aggressive words keep biting me like a harsh winter.  You are possessive, even though I was never yours.  You get so derisive when I walk away.  You make me so exasperated.  I can never understand what is happening inside your head.

But you're such an anomaly... that it's fascinating.  I just know that behind this front, there's a story.  You're a train wreck that happens just outside of my field of view, but I can see the hordes of ambulances and police sirens surrounding you, trying to save the people strewn about in your wreckage.  And I can't take my eyes away.  I am wondering what is happening, wondering what kind of disaster lies ahead. 

I just want to know what your real story is, and what your ending will be.   I just want to know, can someone fix you?  Or will you always be so bitter, so one-track minded, so apathetic, so jaded?

Wherever I walk, my eyes search for you, to behold you in all of your disaster.  Every time I step into a room, I must search everywhere, scan all of my surroundings.  I must reassure myself that you are not in the room, before I can keep moving with a clear conscience, to know that I am steering clear of your catastrophe.  Otherwise, I feel like I am off-guard.  I feel vulnerable.  I feel like I am susceptible to your bullets.

I never realized before just how many people look like you until I became intensely paranoid over the idea of bumping into you.  There's a lot of people with your frame, your height, your hair.  There's a lot of people that walk like you, and dress like you.  Too many people, because it never ceases to make my heart stop as I do a double-take to make sure that it's really not you.

It's one thing when I don't find you.  There is a huge wave of relief, but there seems to be a perpetual anticipation.  There are undertones of dread, yet there is also disappointment. 

Other times, you are the epitome of, "Be careful of what you wish for." 

I see your profile, and I wonder if you are going to turn around and see me.  Sometimes, you don't, and I evade your radar.  Other times, when I see you, it is after I have already drawn your gaze.  I then wonder how long you have been looking at my profile, wondering if I was going to turn around and see you.  But our eyes meet, and we smile at each other.  It is the polite thing for us to do.  I raise my hand and wave at you.  You nod and wave back.  Then I pass by you, inches away from grazing your shoulder, neither of us making a sound.

My phone is always my saving grace.  The air becomes tense and we both wonder what to say, if we should say anything at all.  But if I look down at the buttons in my hand, pretending that I am preoccupied, then we can both pretend that nothing awkward is happening. 

We pretend that you never said those things, and we pretend that I never asked you if we could still stay as "just friends."  I pretend that I've never heard all those stories about you, and you pretend that you barely know me.  We pretend we never spent those late nights rolling in laughter, and we both just keep walking on by.

Sometimes, this campus is too damn small.

Today, I sat down on the bus, waiting to go home after a long string of classes.  This boy sat down next to me and greeted me with a compliment.  He seemed friendly and charismatic.  I wanted to introduce myself, and make a new friend.  But I saw the way he was stealing glances at me.  I saw his interest.  I saw his fascination.  And I decided I couldn't go through all of this again.

And it makes me wonder if... I'm going to end up as jaded as you.

LOL, so I guess it was true, I was never cut out to be cold-hearted and nonchalant after all. >_>

Leave all your love and your longin' behind --
you can't carry it with you if you want to survive.

- Florence + the Machine 

-+-

"...Christa, you're important."
"...What?  That's kind of random."
"I mean it.  You're an important person.  The world would be affected if you were gone.  People's lives would be different than if you weren't part of them.  You're a person that makes the world different by being part of it.  You're important."
"Really?"
"Yeah.  Like, who else would take care of your insulinoma cells?  Your children would all die!"
"OH DEAR GOD NO, MAH BEBBEHS!!"

-+-

So apparently I can be very captivating.  If by captivating, I mean odd.

I've been developing a lot of invaluable networks this summer, but the single most unexpected network that I expected to get affiliated with is frat culture.  Mind you, it's all been without a drop of participation -- I'd still much rather spend a Friday night eating ice cream than go to a frat party.  But it's a wild culture shock to even acquaint myself with; I didn't even know that they hosted frat parties on Tuesday nights.  Tuesday nights!  I'm so sheltered that I'm still so, "BUT HOW CAN THIS BE, THAT'S A SCHOOL NIGHT!  THERE'S CLASSES ON WEDNESDAY!"

Yet it has yielded one of the most intriguing friendships that I've formed since I've moved back to Merced.  Recent times have been spent just feeling like I'm the most unique person on earth, because while frat culture is foreign to me, this kid was just as equally brand-new to Prudent Studying Geeky Asian Nerd culture.

When I first met the kid, he looked at me like I was an exotic animal at the zoo, with just a lot of intrigue and wonder.  He went, "It's really nice meeting a girl like you, you're so rare.  I'm really used to meeting a lot of slutty girls that just want to drink and have sex, but you're a good girl.  When I first saw you, I was like, 'Who is this dumb girl?' because that's usually the only type of girl that I see around here, but you're actually really sweet, sincere, and smart.  You're really refreshing."

And I just sat there, baffled and speechless.  So I've never heard... any part of that, ever in my life... ever.

At the time, I was pretty sure that he was just being a frat guy and giving me frat guy lines, but as we became legitimate friends, it turned out to be true, no exaggeration -- I was the first "good girl" that he met since he moved to Merced two months ago.  But I do suppose that is the consequence of living at a frat house, lol!  So when he wanted to escape the drinking and the sluttiness that was apparently perpetually happening at the frat house, he'd text the quirky, prudent, nerdy, good girl, and we'd eat ice cream or I'd make noodles, and we'd watch movies and old cartoons, or just talk until the early morning instead.  I initially thought he was an evil creeper with frat guy motives, but turns out, he just really needed to be around a person that wasn't part of that other culture.  He just really needed to be around a girl that wasn't out to use him for liquor or sex, that he could have a real conversation with -- "You're the only decent girl in this entire town."  I became someone that he could complain about frat life with, which in turn educates me with insider information about frat culture, a.k.a. "O_O oh dear god."  But he really just stays on a nonstop, bewildered rant, "Wow, you're so different.  You are just the nicest girl in all of Merced.  And you're also really weird."

I also learned that not all frat house inhabitants are stereotypical bros, manwhores, and douchebags (although most of them still seem to be).  But when I met this kid and all his frat cohorts (who are a completely different story all on their own), he was the last person that I'd expect to sing the VeggieTales theme song with me, or to know the names of all the characters on my various Sanrio memorabilia.
"HEY, it's Keroppi!  You have a Keroppi!"
"....wtf" 

But two days ago, over boba milk tea, he tells me, "You know that day when you first 'saved' me from that party?" 
"Yeah, 'cos I'm awesome.  Wuddup."
"Well, I was actually going to leave Merced the day after."
"Huh?  Where would you have gone?
"Anywhere.  Anywhere that wasn't here.  I just really hated Merced.  I was sick of this town, of all of the partying, and of all of the girls."
"Really?  But you're still here.  ...Wait.  WAIT.  Do I have to do with that?!"
"Well, you made me less angry, and you made me hate Merced a little less.  Turns out there's some good in this town after all."
"SO IN OTHER WORDS, I'M A BOSS, UNNGHHH"

Like, how are you supposed to feel anything less after being told something like that?  To learn that, without even trying, by just being yourself, you were the reason that someone decided not to give up?  I feel like I've obtained a huge achievement in my plight to socialize!  Like that one achievement where you're playing your video game and you're like, "Damn, that's a difficult one! But that's an awesome trophy if I can get it!"  It's one of those.  And I got the trophy.  Hint: it was a vanilla framboise.  And it was amazing.  But damn, how many brownie points do I get for that one?

It's so à la The Odd Couple, but methinks this is the start of a wonderful friendship!

Cruelty makes its holes,
but on the shoreline,
time will make its promise.

- Stars 

-+-

"Christa, I can't imagine you sad."
"Hm?"
"You're just so happy all the time, I can't imagine you sad.  Wait.  Actually, yeah, I can imagine you sad.  Actually... I can imagine you really depressed.  Like, really just in a deep, intense depression."
".......What the hell was your train of thought just now!"
"You're just so expressive for everything.  For example, I'm starting to get used to all of your faces.  You have all these faces that you make for every single thing.  It's very 'you.'  I mean, you have the worst poker face I've ever seen, and you cry over trees.  You're really sensitive."
"..what the hell"

People have a lot more to say to and about me than I've ever expected.  It's weird to even conceive that people take the time to even think of me.  

There's stories about me circulating through the grapevine, stories that could have only diffused if I was the topic of the water cooler conversations.  For example, I would tell a story to only one person in the laboratory, then by that time the next day, everyone in the lab knows.  Promptly, I would call everyone up and go, "DUDE, I THINK THEY TALK ABOUT ME."

There are even opinions and thoughts forming about me that could only happen if people are taking the time to invest in my stories and my background, to actually take the care to ponder my mannerisms and to take interest in my interests.  For example, people actually look up my stem cell research to see what I do in the lab!  And this whole time, I thought I was just giving a nonsensical ramble that was equivalent to talking to myself, in one ear and out the other.  Like, even this whole Xanga, I still have really sincere shock when people reference to it or comment on it, because I get very, "...ppl take the time to read this?? O_O."

I still can't wrap my head around that.  I exist in other people's lives?  What?!  I've always perceived that once I'm out of your face, I'm out of your mind.  But apparently that's not always the case.  Damn.

The chatter about me is received with mixed reviews.  It used to haunt me to think of people talking poorly of me, but now I'm more geared towards, "WAIT, PPL THINK I'M EVEN WORTH TALKING ABOUT??? O_O!"  Because the bottom line is, I'm actually existing.  I'm impacting the people around me, enough that they think of me or even want to chat about me.  That very concept is something unreal to me.  My footprints aren't just being washed away by the ocean.

In other words,

SUPPPPPPP BITCHEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS CHRISTA IN THE HIZZOUUSEE

Dude, does anyone say "hizzouse" anymore? ...I DON'T CARE D:

IT'S STILL COOL IN MY HEART

If I was an old-school fifty-pound boombox,
would you hold me on your shoulder wherever you walk?
Would you turn my volume up in front of the cops,
and crank it higher every time they told you to stop?

- Gym Class Heroes

-+-

"You're something else, Christa.  You're really interesting.  I've never met anyone else like you."
"Wow, really?  You think so?  I always thought I was rather plain. [laughter] But I guess that's because I'm used to the world from my own perspective, so everything I do seems normal to me.  Like, say, buckling in my stuffed frog for all my roadtrips?  I do that shit all the time!  SO BAM, NORMAL!"

But then again, that was coming from someone that's never met a person that plays Punch Buggy before.  Aka, WTF?  Amirite or amirite?

-+-

I feel like I might as well give up on settling into comfortable situations.  

I thought that summer was already hugely eventful on its own, but these past two weeks of Fall semester are really trying to give summer a run for its money.

I spent months adjusting to my summer habits.  Even being able to develop summer habits felt like a huge accomplishment after the break-up.  But I finally got used to the flow and rhythm of the laboratory, and fell into habits in socializing -- church group on Mondays, dinner parties on Tuesdays and Fridays, evenings of long summer walks and stargazing at the park whenever we could fit them in.

But the enormity of change that can occur over the course of weeks, days, minutes, seconds, is mindblowing.  The last few weeks have felt like one long hallucination, especially when remembering how much comfort I was in several months ago.  It feels impossible for everything to be anything other than a dream, no matter how much anyone corroborates otherwise.  Timing and I have had our ups and downs over the last several weeks, but Distraction and Overthinking continue to be the bane of me.  I've encountered my first case of college "drama," but I'm just mindbogglingly fortunate for my amazing support networks.

School started, and I had to compromise my devotion to the lab.  My schedule has to re-adapt to studying, and now I feel completely out of touch with co-workers, friends, and time.  My class schedule doesn't let me go attend my church group anymore, and no one has time for long summer walks anymore.  What once settled into a comfortable routine of friendship is once again demanding a lot of effort to maintain.  But this time, in contrast to the last many years, I'm trying to not let apathy defeat my friendships.

I also found myself just abruptly diving into a completely new, different culture.  It happened with the utmost subtlety.  I didn't realize that I was going down the rabbit hole until I was already face-to-face with the Cheshire Cat.  I didn't know that there was so much gravity in just walking down those stairs, smiling, and introducing myself.  I didn't know that just trying to accumulate good karma would have so many repercussions.  It's unbelievable how much can arise from sheer coincidence.

I'm at the point where I'm wondering how much weight is on every little thing I do.  I used to think that only huge events can bring about huge change, but the last few weeks have been definitely suggesting otherwise.

It brings about a lot of questions and doubt in my everyday routine.  What will happen if I take the bus home, or if I ask for a ride?  What will happen to me if I walk to the left instead of the right?  What will happen if I take the elevator instead of the stairs?  What will happen if I make that stop, or if I just keep driving?  What will happen if I ask for your name, or if I let you remain a stranger? 

Will it be nothing, or will it change my life?

Who cares if it has absolutely nothing to do with absolutely anything?  Dude.  It's a kangaroo.