Whatever you do... I still love you.
Blood is always thicker than water.

 - Just Jack, Blood

-+-

"Bro, I gotta do it.  I gotta change my Xanga layout.  It's been ages.  It's been years!"
"Does this mean I won't be there in all my bubbly goodness on your page anymore? … It's okay.  It was time anyway."
"Yes.  I feel like four years after I have quit MapleStory… is time."

Backstory on the banner:
Microbial test to investigate the capacity of fermentation and respiration.  Microbes are initally cultured in a green specific media, and the thin white layers are mineral oil, which block oxygen from reaching the media.  The media is highly permeable to air, so cells in the test tubes without mineral oil must be capable of respiration, while cells in the presence of mineral oil must be capable of an anaerobic pathway for survival.  If the media changes from green to yellow, then that means that metabolism has occurred and the organism is capable of that particular pathway.  E.g. the rightmost two test tubes were cultured with the same bacterium, and thus the bacterium was capable of both respiration and fermentation.

TL;DR:
In aspirations to accurately portray myself, I looked for the nerdiest photos I own.

-+-

As I drove along the streets of Elk Grove, I was elated to catch up with my dear high school friend, after not having seen each other in more than half a year. 

Every time I uttered a word, she seemed to heave a heavy sigh of relief.  The last time I saw her was prior to The Break, so I caught her up on my life and my new love for research.  Every sentence I spoke appeared to assuage her of seven months of worry.

I used to be fairly passive in our conversations, and I used to be very nervous about spending time with her.  I didn't have many close friends in high school, so whenever we would spend time together during those years, it was always the biggest deal for me -- "I'm actually making… a friend?!"  I remember how clammy my hands would get, because I was so nervous that I would do something that would screw everything up and ruin our friendship.  It was as bad as First Date Jitters.

But this time, I was just excited to see her again -- no anxiety, no worry, and no jitters.  I was excited for her to meet the new me.  I told her, "Yes, you may recall that I was pretty kept to myself before, but the break-up drove me to become more social.  It's quite natural to me now.  I've actually experienced a lot of self-improvements."  She enthusiastically replied, "I can tell!  You're really diving into things well now, Christa!"

(S-s-s-score!)

Eventually, one of the topics that inevitably came up in conversation was our respective break-ups this year.  She described, "Yeah, so after our break-up, I went through my Dark Era…"

She said the last two words with a tone of, "You went through a break-up too, so you know what I'm talkin' about!!"

Except... I didn't.  I was confused for quite a bit.  It took me another second after that to realize what that says about myself.  I pondered it over, and realized that my so-called "Dark Era" lasted the total of about two days, when I very immediately sought to pick myself back up, and then never looked back.  I recalled how much everyone kept insisting that it was okay to just hole myself up in my room for a few weeks and just be sad, and how much I refused to listen.  I recalled how much I pushed myself from the very start, and it made me smile.  Because it worked.  It worked like hell.

(D-d-d-double score!)

When we arrived at the restaurant, it should've felt strange.  It was the exact same group of friends, minus one.  There was usually a boy sitting next to me that would have his arm around me, while I quietly listened to conversations in introversion.  He wasn't there this time.  And this time, neither was my introversion.  I had my priorities straight, and my focus was on, "I... HAVE MISSED... THE HELL OUT OF YOU!"

Guiltily, I woke up that morning with a motive: "I will show them that I am doing amazingly.  I will show them that I am not the same girl that they knew seven months ago."  It was very new for me to share my input and engage in storytelling with this particular group, but I immersed myself as much as possible.  And for the most part, it felt so natural.  It felt so organic.

Except at one point, they asked, "So what's new with everyone?"

As an awkward turtle by nature, it felt obligatory for me to say, "Well, uh, there's that one thing that everyone already knows about, haha!"
"Hahaha!"
"Hm?  I don't get it."
-- "UHH, that Phuc and I broke up!"
"Oh, THAT.  EVERYONE KNOWS ABOUT THAT." 
"Way to be blunt, man!" 
"JUST SAYIN'."
-- "Haha, well yeah, I figured!  I just realized that I actually haven't seen you guys since before we broke up, so... that's actually something new that's happened since I last saw any of you!"
"That's right, huh?!"

Then, rather than crickets chirping, my other friend contributed an anecdote about Phuc, which caught me off-guard.  I wasn't sure if she was aware that it was the first time I've ever heard ANYTHING about Phuc since The Break.  Externally, I just nodded and smiled, feigning a look of mild interest; on the inside, my heart was in my throat.  It was just so... weird for me.  I became so accustomed to living a life completely parallel of his, that hearing his name in stories was such a strange experience.  'So that's how he's doing, huh?  Yeah, that sounds like him.'

After we all hugged each other goodbye, I wondered if anyone will ever awkwardly bring me up in anecdote when chatting with Phuc, as unlikely as that might be.  

I just know that if it ever happens, his mental reply won't be, 'Yeah, that sounds like her.'

It'll be more along the lines of,

'... Wow.  Damn.'

"Don't forget me," I begged.
I remember you said, "Sometimes, it lasts in love.
But sometimes..."

- Adele, Someone Like You 

-+-

"You probably read that I am cynical when it comes to love."
"You're just disenchanted.  How could you not be after what happened? …  The way that you write and how hope just shines out of your writing screams that you still have hope underneath all of whatever happened to you.

I could be wrong."

Please, don't be.

You can be wrong about anything else, everything else, you can be wrong about every single claim about how incredible I am, how selfless I am.  Everything else, I can spend my entire life without.  Because it doesn't matter whether or not I actually hold claim on extraordinary.  I'd still spend every waking day aspiring for extraordinary.

But this...?

This, it breaks my heart to imagine a life without.  I have seen the face of hate, I have seen the face of lies, I have seen the face of ignorance.  I know what it is like to feel dispensable.  I know what it is like to devalue love, and to depreciate affection.  I acquired bitterness, but I'm tired of the taste.  I want to put down my sword and shield, but they're bound to me by chains.  And the very thought of hate winning the war, of hate winning in the face of love...

So please, just don't be wrong about this.

-+-

Music is the greatest measure of my life.

I look back on the last seven months, and I don't only see events and milestones.  Every smile, every tear, every laugh, every face, and every leap of faith is accompanied by harmony.  Every memory is riddled with quarter notes and accidentals.

For me, listening to an evoking song is the same as staring down the miniscus of a graduated cylinder.

I used to always measure the quality of my relationship with Phuc by my emotional reaction to John Mayer's "Slow Dancing In A Burning Room."  As the tune ran across the words, "You were the one I tried to draw," I would always be consumed by tears -- I knew that I was losing my muse.  When the lyrics cried, "I'll make the most of all the sadness; you'll be a bitch because you can," I felt a dagger in my chest.  It rung with me as a reflection of my shortcomings, and made it so much easier to blame everything on myself.

It was also how I fell upon the initial epiphany that I was beginning to move on from The Break.  I was driving through Merced, with the air still heavy of summer heat, when Adele's "Someone Like You" started playing on the radio.  And the lyrics evoked… joy.  I was overwhelmed.  I gasped, under my breath, "…Oh my god, I'm getting better."  I rolled down the windows of my car in celebration, and spent the rest of the drive with my hair being tousled by the warm winds.  I felt so free.  It felt so new to breathe.

It soon became second nature to distinguish between the stages of my life by song.  Early on, I sustained on songs that specifically revolved around recovery from heartbreak.  But at some point, I stopped skipping every love song on my iTunes in rage and exasperation, and they eventually fell back into the identities that they had before I met Phuc: run-of-the-mill catchy melodies.  Yet, as I saw the repercussions of kindness and my disillusions increased, love songs became fountains of wishful thinking for me.  That maybe someday, I won't be so jaded anymore.

Yet, it's when the beat drops that attention is uniquely captured.  There is confusion, but then the song always pulls you back in.

Earlier today, the beat dropped.  I never see Sacramento anymore these days.  Thanksgiving and this moment are the first times that I have been home since The Break.  So the thoughts, "This is where I used to go with Phuc..." are very new to me, but they're thoughts that I can't help but have.  I have the capacity to accept them as normal for someone in a situation like me, and I easily move on without losing my stride.  But it was strange to stand outside of the frozen yogurt place that Phuc and I used to go to every Friday after theater rehearsal, and to walk into the doors of the bowling alley that Phuc and I frequented when we took a summer class together at the community college.

It built up, and very abruptly, while I was waiting at a stagnant red light, the sounds all tuned out and I wondered,

"...Why did Phuc break up with me?"

It was a question that I went nearly seven months without knowing the real answer.  I look back, and I remember, "Our relationship isn't where I want it to be," and, "It's not the same anymore."  I remember, "Well, I didn't want to break up with you while you were sad," and I remember him angrily telling me that I was the one responsible for ruining us.  I recalled only vague explanations without a clear reason.

And then I remembered.

It was nothing short of a memory that I had blocked out.  We sat there together, on my small living room couch.  He sat to the left of me, holding his hands together.  My extremities were still numb from morphine.  I can't remember if he managed eye contact.

"I feel like if I stay with you, then I'm going to have a mental breakdown."

I sat there in front of the persistent red light, and while cars sped by me, and while the radio was playing at high volume, it felt like silence.  I was almost sad.

Almost sad, when I then remembered that I'm done with that now.  I'm done with every single fiber of that life now.  I am done with the girl whose lack of life revolved around worthlessness.  I want to go into the past and buy Past Christa a scoop of her favorite strawberry cheesecake ice cream, because I feel so damn bad for her.  I want to push the hair back from her face, knowing that she totally digs it when people do that, and tell her about the fuse inside her.  

She's blind to it, but there's a fuse inside her, longing for a blaze.  I want to tell her that all the song will come back to her life, that her deaf ears will soon behold themselves to symphonies and major chords.  But I can't, and it's okay.  That's okay.

Because she'll find out herself soon enough.

I sure did.

It's not the stones inside my shoes.
It's not the risk of what's to lose.

- Tokyo Police Club, Nature of the Experiment

-+-

"We gather here today to remember the brave, young, beautiful fish named Bunnie.  Contrary to her name, she was unable to hop.  Although the grace with which she swam could fool even the most experienced of rabbit watchers.  Rest in peace, Bunnie!"

It was a cute gesture to make for my Bunnie, who was a goldfish among goldfish.  After all, over her 6.5 years of life, Bunnie was present at every milestone of my adult life.  Because it didn't matter what I was going through, it didn't matter what fights I was battling -- we always had a standing appointment every morning and night for me to feed her food flakes, for six and a half years.  And she was always punctual.

Thank you, Bunnie.

-+-

I actually... astonished myself. 

I'll be honest, for a second, I was internally a little, "I don't deserve this.  I'm really not that special."  Then when the dust settled, it hit me.  That was the first time that the idea of "reciprocation" ever occurred to me. 

My first reaction was confusion.  I was in disbelief.  I immediately scoured through months of journal entries for evidence of otherwise, because I was so dumbfounded.

And when I was unsuccessful in finding a strong counterargument against myself, I was speechless.  I normally try to pursue more tact and more modesty, but I can't deny what happened.  I… amazed myself.

I was in disbelief at how foreign the idea tasted to my tongue.  In hindsight, it seems like something that must've been intrinsic, but no.  Every act of reciprocation was never identified as something brought on by my own kindness.  I never felt like I was responsible for anything good that has come my way, other than those earned by my own hard work, and by the accumulation of brownie points with the universe.  

I only saw kindness as kindness, and that was enough for me.  That alone was so fulfilling for me, that I never sought out for more.  All I wanted was to give everyone what I didn't have when I was alone.  All I wanted to was to give away everything that I was lucky enough to receive.  And the very act of giving was so gratifying, that I never even conceptualized the thought of being rewarded with kindness in turn.  If kindness was returned, then that was simply good fortune.  Good fortune and brownie points.

I've been so bewildered this past month by all of these returned acts of kindness, that it's thrown me for a loop.  When I first read the words, "Reciprocation is a minimum," I just thought that was just some cute, unique phrase to supplement a random act of kindness.  It made me blush, but I never even knew to identify it as something of application.

And I amazed myself with that.

Deep within my heart, I heard my improvements cry out, "Mutiny!"

I never even saw it coming.

It's okay to say you've got a weak spot;
you don't always have to be on top.
Better to be hated than loved for what you're not.

- Marina and the Diamonds, I Am Not A Robot

-+-

Had a beautiful holiday!  

Christmas Eve and Christmas were full of family, friendship, and adventure.  It was a very heartwarming change from years of lonesomeness.  I actually can't remember the last time that I had such a deeply satisfying Christmas.  

For one, I don't think I've ever before had the privilege of being invited to spend the holiday with another family.  And also, how often can people say that they spent their Christmas chasing a waterfall?!

I'm second shadow from the right.  Ha!

-+-

"I'm very dependent on the notion that no matter what happens to my heart, my heart can heal."
"You're not afraid of the pain during the interim?"
"I am. I always am. But it's always worth it."

These are conversations that I can't help but replay in my head.  It's impossible to overlook how much they have influenced me.

I've realized that I've developed a fairly high tolerance for putting my heart out on the line.  My trials have left it calloused.  It is hardy now.  It is easy to throw my heart into the wind when I am convinced that coincidences don't exist, and that every moment is an opportunity for me to do something greater.  It is easy to close my eyes and just jump when I can whisper to myself, "You've been through worse.  No matter what happens, you'll make it, because you've been through worse."  It is easy to be blatant when I feel no personal stake in it.  I can easily tell people about my history with loneliness and depression when I compartmentalize my mind -- "This story is to educate you, not because I have personal ties to it."  When I distance myself from it, reminding myself that it's in the past now, I am capable of allowing stigma to flow off the tongue.

So I am accustomed to being transparent.  Transparency is not an issue for me.

But I am not used to being so vulnerable.

"You project this persona of happiness.  It's amazing.  I also know that it's impossible to sustain. ... It means you're human.  And that's okay.  And that's what I've always wanted to find."

Over the last few months, the beat of my step has become formulaic for me.  As a former wallflower, I've needed to accustom myself to approaching social situations strategically.  But in that moment, I was so taken aback, that I dropped all of the equations and variables in my arsenal.

And I felt so… vulnerable.

There was something fantastic to it.  I got so used to the simple persona that I've built for myself.  I am used to the straightforward, the simplistic: hope, hard work, and kindness.  Sometimes, even I forget just how much more there is to me.  It's become so natural to me to only look outward, at the beauty of life and fate, that I forget to look inward.  I forget about just how simple I'm not.

It's hard to wrap my head around how I fell upon such a uniquely fulfilling friendship -- one that is not just enriching, but enlightening.  It's amazing when you inspire the inspiring.  When you motivate the motivating.  When someone can see right through you, when someone knows you're so much more than just the simple, cookie-cut person you've made yourself out to be.  When you're secretly able to reciprocate the gesture.  You invest in each other, you push each other, you influence each other, and it's astonishing how much you can learn about yourself from another person.  It's so hard to measure how much I've already gained from this friendship, that it's exhilarating.  

Every so often, you get to see the glimmer of a star.  You cross paths with people, friendships, and memories that are so far and few between, that you can tell that they are timeless.  

I am witnessing timelessness.  

It's more than something I am thankful for.  It is something that I feel privileged to be part of.

When I decided a month ago, "This is a person worth befriending.  It'd be criminal to settle for less!" I didn't realize just how srs bsns I was.  Cos' that shit was apparently SRS BSNS.

Serendipity, dear catfish.  Serendipity, indeed!

And so it is, just like you said it would be.
Life goes easy on me
most of the time.

- Damien Rice, The Blower's Daughter 

-+-

"I believe in good karma, so I'm sure you've must have done something really excellent to have deserved this."
"No, Christa, I'm just an asshole."
"Ha! Well, in that case, then at least this will still be a good adventure."

I faced my demon.

Somehow, I walked away unscathed.  Rather, as we drove along the freeway, drinking our Peppermint Mochas and singing along as Relient K blasted from my speakers, I felt... fulfilled.  I decided to take a leap of naivete, bracing myself for heartbreak, ready to create an enemy.  But instead, animosity turned into good company.  Instead, it turned into a memorable evening, full of song and laughter.

When we arrived at the BART station, we hugged each other goodbye and wished each other a merry Christmas, and I finally got my closure.

And my cardigan.

-+-

Everyday is a lesson.

Yesterday, I finally wrapped my arms around the saying, "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."

That famous quote never truly struck a chord with me, because it used to be very black and white for me -- I only recognized it in regards to being in love.  I used to only recognize it in the warmth of Phuc's feet tangled in mine, in those years before our foundation started crashing down.  I remember how Phuc and I would play our songs and just slow dance in his room, with my head resting on his shoulder.  We would close our eyes and just sway to the music.  Those moments were wonderful, but they became the only times that I could recognize love.  

I thought that over the years with Phuc, I learned everything there is to know about that legendary phrase.  I thought I knew every crevice of it like the back of my hand.

But now, when fear is finally beginning to fade into the background, and I am driven by love and love alone, I know that I never really knew a damn thing.

Because that thing they talk about in love songs is not the only kind of love that exists.  I was so blind to the rest of the world, that I never stepped outside to see that there's so much love everywhere.

There is love in academia, when I look through the microscope and see my insulinomas form islets with perfect morphology.  There is love in family, when every single conversation with my sister is riddled with inside jokes, from W'sup Walruses to Chimichanga Mountains.  There is love in compassion, when you sacrifice without blinking an eye, and you lose the capacity to waste a single thought on yourself.  There is love in friendship, in that warmth of belonging, in the smiles and laughter that you exchange, in the way that you get to carry each other.  There is love in hope, hard work, and kindness.

Aha! There it is.  I've been trying to summarize all my values in a concise, tact fashion, and there it is! 

Hope, hard work, and kindness. That's Christa in a nutshell, if you ignore "spaztastic" for a second.

And that is the greatest thing I've ever learned.  Well, there's that, and there's also the architecture of respiratory complex I of the electron transport chain, of course.  And also that one really wicked recipe for pigs in a blanket.

I feel inclined to add that someday, I actually do believe that I'll even feel that love again, the thing that they talk about in love songs.  I admit that right now, I'm still filled with cynicism when it comes to manners of the heart, but I wield the wholehearted hope that my wounds are reparable.  I've recovered in every other facet of my life, so there is no reason to believe that I won't recover from this repeatedly shattered heart.  I've listened to love songs in a gesture of idealism, with the words underlined with, "Someday, this song will be about me, because I am going to get better."

It's a blurry thought, but I can imagine it now. Whoever "we" may be, we won't be the only two people on earth.  Instead, we'll be on top of the world, handing out flowers to every passerby.  We'll be on a cloud, getting lost in each other's laughter, all the while letting our joy trickle down to the rest of the earth like raindrops, as our ceaseless sparks refract into countless rainbows.  We'll make wishes come true.

Or at least an optimist can dream.  Ha!

Until then, I've got hope, hard work, and kindness.  And that'll always be enough for me.

We do it for love. 

And I'll keep saying,
"how lucky we are." 

- Meiko, How Lucky We Are

-+-

"Christa, how do you find the time to be so nice and so perfect?"
"We were talking about people with positive attitudes, and I said, 'Christa...'"
"Christa, you're really popular."
"I have made it a personal challenge to find someone at this campus that Christa does not know, because she knows everyone at this school."
"My goal is to be as good as you at research, Christa." 

Each time, I have to do a double-take.  I fill with disbelief to the point of slow motion.  On the exterior, I try my hardest to appear to accept the compliment wholeheartedly and without hesitation.  On the inside, there are bells ringing and a chorus playing.  On the inside, I am crying with joy.  On the inside, I'll never really believe it. You're talking about... me?  What?

I flashback to the time I sat in Phuc's car, crying in his arms because I was so nervous, anxious, and afraid of hanging out with his friends.  I spent the entire party with my hair covering my face, trying my best to stay out of attention's way, trying my best to evade conversation with anyone other than Phuc.  Soon afterwards, I relapsed into depression, because it was so difficult to endure that evening that it broke my heart.

Damn, son.  How far we've come.

-+-

In the lab, everything is business as usual.  I have my daily laughs with my lab tech, I engage in small talk with the graduate students, I overview the day's work with my post-doc, and I work experiments from morning until the sun is just past the horizon.  The only real difference is that I've gained awareness of the fact that I walk around the lab with my hands grasped behind my back and I wonder, "…how long have I been walking like this?  Do I always walk around the lab like this?"

Outside of the lab, it's very different.  The town feels empty, with nearly everyone back at their respective hometowns.

It's an interesting experience for me, because over time, I've become very accustomed to the beat of maximizing my social impact.  For the first time in months, there's no one to visit in the library, there's no one to buy little thoughtful presents for, there's no one to take out to lunch, and there's no one that I feel inclined to impress (outside of proficiency in research techniques, of course!).  I'm used to moving at high speeds to prevent my friendships from falling into transience.   I always feel driven to reinforce my presence -- I always feel like I can't let myself fall into "out of sight, out of mind."  These friendships are genuinely truly rewarding and these personalities are extremely enriching to my life, but admittedly, part of it was driven by fear. 

For such a bleeding optimist, I can be rather pessimistic.  For instance, I'm persistently afraid of going back to that place, where I was surrounded by people, but was so heartbreakingly alone.  I need to make strong, lasting impressions, or else I feel threatened.  I need to be impactful, or else I feel like loneliness and depression are chasing me, eager to restore my former captivity.

But for once, that's a battle that I don't need to fight.  It's a formula that I don't need to solve.

Because I left my house this morning with an amazing revelation.  I looked up and down the street, and the houses all seemed so empty with all of the other students gone home for winter break.  At that moment, I realized that even at the moments that I'm completely alone, I don't feel a drop of loneliness.

My improvements since The Break have a reputation for sneaking up on me by surprise.  They never happen in gradients, where I feel a little better, then a little better, until I'm completely scar-free.  They always happen in mutiny, in sudden uprisings; they always stay hidden in the depths of my heart, eager for glorious rebellion against my doubts and my fears. 

I immediately felt capable of stopping and not only smelling the roses, but taking the time to delicately trim them of their thorns so that I can offer them in a fragrant bouquet.  A restless race to the bus stop turned into a morning where I took a pause to feel the textures of frost on my car window, and closed my eyes to appreciate the crystal lattice structures that created such intricate grooves and ridges.  For that moment, there was no worrying about social cues, about manners of the heart, about the success of my experiments, or about the many expectations that are on my shoulders.  For that moment, there was no battle, and there was no formula.

As I breathed in the crisp morning air of Merced and watched the sun peek through the overcast, I found a shard of my heart.  I picked it up, and I returned it to its rightful place:

on my sleeve. 

Put your heart back in your pocket;
pick your love up off the floor. 

- Mika, Pick Up Off The Floor

-+-

"Look at Christa, she's still laughing!"
"Well, of course Christa would be.  After all, it rains when Christa cries.  No, scratch that, it snows when Christa cries."
"Hey, I want snow!  I want to go skiing!  CRY, CHRISTA!”

I love my lab.  Somehow, it still shocks me when they express their affection for me.  I always feel so privileged to be the bunt of every joke.  More often than I should, I dare to think that I'm no one, that I'm no one special.  My lab always proves me wrong, time and time again.

A grad student pointed out that next semester, I'm going to become the senior undergraduate of the lab -- the undergraduate that's been working there longest out of everyone.  I didn't realize it until that moment.

The Veteran.

-+-

My optometrist took out a bottle of eye drops, and explained to me, "This will stain your eyes to allow me to see them better.  Ha, it's kind of like running a gel!"  

When I realized that he was referencing my laboratory research, I blushed at the ethidium bromide reference.  On the inside, a marching band was playing.  I was so stoked that I understood his joke.  It was the same marching band that played at the celebration of the first full science conversation that I could follow from start to finish.  TRIzol may have ruined my grad student's data, but because I understood her every complaint about TRIzol, it will forever have a warm place in my heart.

After I left the optometrist's office, I made a detour to buy a bottle of sparkling cider, and poured myself a lukewarm glass the moment I returned to my empty home.  I picked up my coffee mug off my table and gave myself a silent toast.  Today, after all, was a day worth celebrating.

I finally experienced it: a scientific breakthrough.  My post-doc and I made a huge achievement in our project today, and it was my hands that implemented the protocol.  We finally optimized one of our analysis protocols, a goal that my post-doc has been hoping to achieve long before I joined the lab.  It's hard to imagine that it was my hands that cultured the insulinoma cells that we analyzed, and it was my hands that performed the tailored two-day immunofluoresence protocol that ended with my post-doc leaping out of his chair to hug me, that ended with laughter and smiles ringing throughout the microscopy room, that ended with "Congratulations!" all around.

I never would have expected that such a barren town, empty after the completion of fall semester, could provide me with such a beautiful day.  Because seeing those cells, punctated with gorgeous green spots of Alexa Fluor 488 dye, reaffirming my proficiency in the lab, reaffirming everything that I love about scientific inquiry, was nothing short of beautiful.

-+-

There's a hurricane in my heart.  

My heart is being thrown in every direction.  Most moments, it feels warm and safe.  At others, it sinks far into the depths of my stomach, hiding in my pylorus in fear, sadness, embarrassment, and anxiety.  And then, sometimes it skips beats like a broken record, in a way that is almost frustratingly uncontrollable and undeniable.  But only almost, because the song is so beautiful that you keep playing it on repeat nonetheless.

There's so much that I've wanted to write about these past few weeks.  I've been studying and unable to update, and I feel almost as if I've sinned by not documenting all the warmth and gratitude that I've been experiencing recently.

But right now, I'm striving to ignore the way that history repeats itself.  I sat down with all intent to write pages and pages of my love for life and the lab.  But that message was the last thing I ever expected to see.  My heart stopped, but with little hesitation -- it's a much less beautiful song.  I'm grateful that my nap isolated me from the rest of the world, and so I dodged that bullet.  I now have time to make blueprints and strategies in my mind, but I can't visualize a smooth solution to this.  This has always been a rocky obstacle course, complete with flamethrowers and acid rain.  But I can't evade this.  I'm forced to play my hand, and all my cards are in the hole.  This is going to be unpleasant.  That was a heart-in-my-pylorus moment, and I'm sure that I'm bound for many more.  Damn.

But what I do know, is that sometime soon, I will finally sit here and write with peace of mind and get to say all the things I want to say.

Until then: damn.

Since you became a VIPerson,
it's like your problems have all worsened.

- Just Jack, Starz In Their Eyes

-+-

"Christa, this isn't your fault.  You did nothing wrong."

-+-

This is so frustrating.

I'm so sad right now.  I know things are going to be okay.  But the wound is still fresh, and thus, I'm so troubled.  I'm so troubled, and the wound is not even my own. 

Sometimes, I hate empathy.  Right now, I hate empathy.  Apparently, empathy is a very "Christa" thing for me to have, and right now, it sucks.  I'm just so stressed out and so unsettled.

What I hate the most is that I don't understand why kindness has to have repercussions.  I don't understand why love and friendship can have such consequences.  I feel like kindness isn't something that should be able to cause so much hurt.  Kindness shouldn't have side effects.  But it does.  It has consequences, and I don't know why.

I just wanted to give all my love away, I just wanted to give away every ounce of hope and friendship that I own.  I have so much to give, and I just wanted to give it all away.  And yet, it was punctuated with, "I care about you, and I love having you in my life.  But I need to make my intentions clear with you -- we're friends.  You need to know that.  We're only friends."

A heart broke today, and it was because of me.  It was necessary, but it was so difficult.  It had to happen, and it could've been so much worse, but it was so difficult.

Why does kindness have repercussions?  Why is it possible for me to be "kind to a fault"?  Kindness has been the most difficult thing that I have ever been challenged to compromise.  People need to keep reminding me that I need to hold myself back, that I need to hold back on my kindness.  It breaks my heart that I even need to do that.  It just breaks my heart so much that kindness has consequences.

Why do I need to hold back on love, when I have so much love to give?  Do I really have to just let it sift through my fingertips, and let it go to waste?  Why is too much kindness something that I need to "work on"?  Why is generosity and compassion something that I need to "work on"?

I feel like I have engaged in The Five Stages of Grief, even though somehow the "grief" at hand is kindness.  Kindness shouldn't be a grief, and yet I'm clearly in denial.

Deny it all I want, but I can't change that it was overambitious amounts of kindness that led to the heartbreak that happened today.  And I'm no heartbreaker. :/

"Christa, you can't help that you're awesome."
"Christa, you're the sweetest girl I've ever met, and I know that you don't want to hurt anyone.  I'm so sorry, honey."

:/

The sun, it rises slowly as you walk
away from all the fears and all the faults
you've left behind.

- Mumford & Sons, The Cave

-+-

"I swear, I'm full of more conversation topics than just compliments all around!"
"Haha, some people would find that to be more than enough.  And I thank you."

-+-

Tracing where I was this time last year, December is a powerful month.  December wields hope.  It wields the first glimmer of inner strength.

But December has always had connotations of love for me.  Christmas is my favorite holiday, and it always signals to me that even more love is right around the corner -- the new year arrives a week afterward, and my birthday comes a week after that.  So I've always adored Christmas, for as long as I can remember.  As a child, I loved the presents under the tree labeled with just an enigmatic "Christa" and nothing else, and having the wishful conviction that Santa came to visit me.  It's that same whimsy that I try to hold on to today.   

After all, life becomes so immense when you believe in magic.  But as an adult, magic comes in many different flavors now.  For me, it comes in the form of coincidence, it comes in the form of scientific discovery, and it comes in the form of perfectly compatible friendships – the kinds where you can finish each other’s sentences and your minds fit each other like puzzle pieces.  Or when you hold a conversation with someone and the dynamic is just perfect.  It leaves such an imprint on you that hours later, or days later, you still look back on that conversation and it just makes you smile.  And to think, that you just might wield that kind of sorcery; to think that just the thought of you can make someone smile, that just the thought of you can make a person feel warm and safe.  It seems miniscule, but I like to believe that it’s nothing less than enchantment.  That’s powerful.  That’s magic.

My first dream job was honestly to be a sorceress.  I used to watch Sailor Moon and Slayers for days without end, and so I grew up lost in magic and witchcraft.  Sometimes I feel like, in a much different way, I want to be a sorceress again.  It’s so cheesy, but I want to just have the wizardry to make people feel important.  I’m extremely straightforward when it comes to kindness now.  But there are some truly admirable wizards on this campus; there are just amazingly impressive sorcerers and sorceresses of endearing personalities, hardworking determination, ceaseless intelligence, and magnetic smiles.  They make you feel like you are committing a crime if you don't have them as a part of your life.  I still only dream of being that person.

Coming from my background, coming from years and years of feeling alone and unimportant, it is one of my highest priorities to contribute to the lives around me.  To my academic community, I want to give it my all to prove my mettle, to prove that I’m important and worthwhile.  To my social community, I want to give it all away, I want to give back every ounce of compassion that my friends have given me and then some, to let them know that they’re important and worthwhile. 

I’m done being stuck in a pause.  I’m done settling for less.  I’m done running in place.  I want magic.

I want to give it my all again.

Watch out, December.  I'll take you on.