So tell me now where was my fault, 
in loving you with my whole heart?

- Mumford & Sons, White Blank Page

-+-

There comes a time in your life where you have to make a choice.

You have to make the choice to stop running, and to stop fighting.  You have to acknowledge that you don't have to win every race.  You don't have to climb every mountain.  Just the ones that really count.

Sometimes, you need to acknowledge when a mountain just isn't worth climbing.  When a battle just isn't worth fighting.

You knock over a domino, unaware of the tidal wave that you've started.  You try to chase them all, to pick them all up and put them back perfectly in place, unharmed and untouched.  You have to know when to throw up your hands, and go, "This just isn't worth it."

And I am

exhausted.

-

I sat there in the cold corridor, sipping my tea.

He chuckled, "I'm a pretty complex guy, Christa."

I gleamed, and brightly chirped, "omigah me too actually!  :O!!!!!"

He choked on his drink, as laughter drove water down his air valve, "Are you kidding me, Christa?"

I gasped, sporting my apparently well-known Christa's Confused Face, "Whaaat?!  I'm plenty intricate!"

He looked down, continuing to laugh, "You actually have no idea how predictable you are.  You have a lot going on, but underneath it all, you're pretty much completely driven by sweetness and kindness.  It really doesn't get simpler than that."

I pouted, gesturing at my head, "No, I got like... hella stuff goin' on in here, man.  I'm a freakin' enigma."

He smiled as he jokingly returned, "Right, Christa.  Whatever helps you sleep at night."

-

I kicked up my feet in my lecture hall, when my friend next to me shook her head.  "You're too nice, Christa."

"Thank you?" I said.

"No," she replied, disapprovingly, "that's not a good thing.  That's not a good thing."

-

"Why, Christa?  Why?!"

"Haven't you learned by now, woman?!  It's because she's so freakin' nice!"

-- "I felt... bad! ;o; I felt like I was being mean!"

"WHAT?  Don't feel bad!"

-

"It'd be really easy for me to take advantage of you, Christa.  Luckily, I'm not a bastard or an asshole."

-- "Haha.  I know.  I know."

-

I held his iPad on my lap while he drove down the long road towards campus.

He said, without taking his eyes off the road, "It's really frustrating how nice you are, Christa."

I looked at him quizzically, "How so do you mean?"

He explained, "I don't understand how you can forgive people so easily.  You can't just forgive people that screw you over like that.  You shouldn't even be giving them the time of day, you shouldn't even acknowledge them.  You don't have to be nice to people that do that to you, that disrespect you like that.  You have too much sympathy."

I glowered, "I know." 

"Nahh, you don't," he said, "and I don't think you can, because you're too damn set on the best in people.  You're too damn sympathetic.  You're too damn nice."

-+-

God.

Do I really have to do this?  I know it would all be easier if I could convince myself to keep believing it, to believe that I only pursue kindness for selfish reasons, for wicked reasons that can be resolved by cruelty.  But bottom-line, even if I did that, even if that's subconsciously true to the core, I still really don't want to be an asshole. 

(((

So we're done? This the real shit?
We used to hold hands like field trips.

- Childish Gambino, Heartbeat

Confession.

The biggest reason why I didn't like Childish Gambino: because you did.

Oh, how could a woman love a man so much, yet despise him so fervently at the same time?

Now that I'm no longer deflecting my hate towards you onto him, I can actually appreciate the artistic quality of his music.

Now, we roll down the windows, and yell out in war cries, as if in rebellion against my past, against our present, and against all future.

I wanted you to know
That I am ready to go, heartbeat
A heartbeat

"You know this song, Christa?"
-- "Haha.  Yeah.  Yeah, I do." 

-+-

-- "RLY?"
"yeah truth"
-- "dude... thanks." 

Finally, there is the inevitable, meaningless, petty, shallow, unspoken war that must always happen in these types of situations.  Females, amirite?

Also, my community of support appreciation friendship love is pretty boss.  It's flattering enough that there's someone in every universe that is willing to help me pick myself off the floor.  But then there's also those special few, that then not only help me find my way back, but even journey with me, and fight alongside me.  And even though it varies in degree, all of it has value.

"HOME SLICE, WE ARE TRUE BUDDIES. WTF"

-+-

I am intelligent and educated enough to understand that correlation does not equal causation.  I know the illusions that can be created through statistics.  I know the risks in making psychological leaps and conclusions.  

This is counter-intuitive to knowledge.  

I would fumble with the collar of my dress, or with the buttons of my phone, or with the keys of my laptop, flustered and taken aback, "What should I do?!"

"Nothing," he would state, "You don't have to do anything."

"But," I would return, "I can't be such a... such a dick!  I just can't be not nice!"  He's one of my best friends, and one of my measures of pure comfort with a person is how freely I use vulgarity.  I don't strew four-letter words between every vowel, but I do scatter the occasional curse word when I have conversations with myself, and I apply the same relaxation when he's sitting at the other side of the room, practicing Organic Chemistry mechanism problems on his whiteboard.

I remember the first time I went, "What the shit, man?" and he stopped the conversation, "Did you just say 'shit'?  It's so weird hearing you cuss, Christa."

But while leaning against his bed as he worked through O-Chem, my Immunology textbook laid on my lap, I tapped my thumbs against my cell phone, staring at the messages that concurrently read both so enigmatically and so familiarly.  Meanwhile, I worked through my laptop, surfing through the old banes and the old vices.

He pouted at me, "Why would you do that to yourself?"

The usual answer when I'm backed into a corner.

"I don't know."

I saw resolve.  To decide between staying in and watching Bones, or the untamed, heartless alternative.  There was just no question, whatsoever.

It's hard to deny my state of mind now.  There is a great amount of relief in finding yourself again.  In arming yourself with sword and shield, fighting your fights, and battling your battles.  In learning that your bad month was really just a bad month.  The new year has brought up both a whirlpool of change and a constant mountain, and it's impossible to overlook anything -- the mistakes, the events out of my control, the patterns, the coincidences.  And especially: the correlations.  

So, in the context of the hurricanes eyeing me outside, these transient yet everlasting late nights of quiet quarantine have been a godsend.  Thank goodness for a mental break under a familiar wing.

And now, I have a hugely busy and demanding week ahead of me.  Midterms, a high-stake deadline, and two of the biggest protocols of my entire experiment, all wrapped up nicely in what can only be accurately described as "Hell Week."

But I gotchu, brah.  I gotchu.  Hell Week will become "Christa Totally Dominates" Week -- or at least I sure can dream work my hardest towards!

You are beautiful,
but you don't mean a thing to me.

- Death Cab For Cutie, Tiny Vessels

-+-

'Omg, please work, Timing.  Universe, C'MON, you owe me this.  I've been saving up a LOT of brownie points!'

SCORE

-+-

Sometimes, your past surprises you in the most mysteriously unexpected ways.

-- "God, I can't believe it.  I'm just really weirded out by it."
"That's not weird that you're weirded out.  You're okay."
-- "Yeah, I know.  Just... god.  Weird."

It's induced some sort of mild version of a life crisis in me.  

It's neither logical nor does it align with my innate values, but these online journal things are for me to think out loud, right?  So I'm writing this while still flustered by this thing that should not fluster me, and now everyone knows a face that they don't know -- that I don't even know.  I don't know how long this has been the face that I don't know, but it makes no difference, because I'll never know it.  

Shit, I'm such a riddle right now (but not really).  

I'm still winding down from the incitement of competition, except this is undoubtedly a transient fire.  Ha!  The funny thing is that I think that you, of all people, would know how unhealthily competitive I could get sometimes.  Less so, these days.  It's actually really nice just trying to be the best that I can be.  It doesn't tear me apart like it used to.  Not like when we were a "we."  oh but anyway--

E.g. around the corner: my first Valentine's Day in six years that I've spent alone.  That's not even the unsettling part.  It's that evidently, it won't be his.  And likewise, it's actually no biggie, because I'm not saddened or disturbed by it, and I've not been stricken into longing.  It's just weird.  It's abnormal, so of course I would acknowledge it.  It's the same level of weirdness as realizing, "So today would've been our six year anniversary.  Hm."  

Meanwhile, I've ceaselessly wondered if I'll ever meet someone again that I can feel romantic love towards, and it's now a question in full flourish: why haven't I found someone?  It's not a question asked in longing; I've never been that girl to go, "I really need a boyfriend," and I refuse to ever be that person.  But srsly, wounds dig deep sometimes.  I've pulled out the knife, and I research regenerative medicine, so shit heals fast.  But still, there are scars underneath the skin.

"You will always find someone, Christa.  It's an inevitability for everyone."

I feel like it's a justified fear placed on a well-calibrated balance.  My track record is pretty amazing, after all.  In a weird, twisted way, I'm actually kind of impressed with myself.  I've peered into the world of bounty.  Meanwhile, I'm also well-stocked in hurt.  While I'm reeling, I'm doing well.

But of course, hurt can scare a girl.  For example, I felt a ghost nearly a decade ago, and where I used to watch scary movies by myself in the dark, now I still can't watch commercials for horror films.  It doesn't detract from my quality of life on any level, but when I finish showering, I still hold my breath as I pull the shower curtain, in silent fear that when I draw the curtain aside, someone will be there standing in the middle of my bathroom.  

You touch fire, and the burn teaches you to not touch fire again.  So I light candles in fear of torches.  I light sparklers in fear of fireworks.  I light C-4 in fear of atomic bombs.

Yet even when I hold no match, somehow I'm still completely engulfed in flames.   What I am yet to realize is the scent of rain.  That's what I'd really want.  The crisp, refreshing feeling of rainfall against skin - against skin deformed by sparks and explosions.

However, I am actually perfectly satisfied by these warm days, sun high in the sky, kissing my cheeks with light.  I don't need rain.  After all, I did quit my dream job to be a farmer.  I have no crops to tend to.  Because at the end of the day, there's a horizon.  There's an opportunity to be seized.  There's a butterfly.  There are remedies for scars now.

I feel like I'm just saying a lot of nonsensical things now, and I'm just flourishing it to look less like a scatterbrained, unintelligible, enigmatic rant.  So I'm gonna give up and go back to the rigor of studying for tomorrow's midterm.

Unless, it all actually makes perfect sense, and I'm just none the wiser.

Sometimes, things just work out that way, don't they?

TL;DR: OH, WTF?  oh ok.  but wow yeah damn wtf

-+-

Best:

"She's pretty hot though."
-- "I know, right?  Dammit!  Dammittttt."
"Christa, c'mon.  Yeah, she's pretty, but that doesn't matter.  She's cute, but that doesn't mean that you're not.  For example, I'm not George Clooney, but that doesn't make me any less of a sexy beast.  So sure, yeah, she's cute.  But you're cute, too.  So it's okay."
-- "Damn.  That was actually very pleasant and comforting.  Thank you."
"In that case, you're hideous."
-- "WHAT" 

but no srsly, das pretty money

It's a small crime, and I got no excuse.
Is that alright, yeah?
If I give my gun away when it's loaded?

- Damien Rice, 9 Crimes

-+-

"Christa, you need to do something right to get that kind of praise, so in whatever it is you're doing, you're doing something right."

-+-

It's very interesting learning what events make you shudder, "God, damn it.  I just lost a moment."

It's the classic case of regret, of watching your life deviate from a certain path right before your very eyes.  It's funny, what will make a person regret, what can make a person whisper, "What if…?"

As a fledgling, a mere child when it comes to social circles, this is where I see the most hesitation, and its consequent missed opportunities.  I've always been one to learn and adapt quickly, but this is not some story of, "It'll be easier the second time because you've encountered it before."   I barely stopped being a wallflower just two seasons ago, but already I know that I can be a butterfly for years more, and this will still remain an invariant.

Because I can still watch you walk away and not know what to do.  I can still see your profile in the corner of my eye, and not know how to react.  It will always be a window of possibility.  It can get smaller, and it can get more opaque, but it will always loom there, effortlessly.

Because when I turned the corner and saw you, I didn't know what to do.  I can smile and wave, I hug you and start conversation, or I can freeze, and by the time that you are already long out of sight, I still can't decide on an action.  Yet, in both instances, I somehow realize all the same, that I just lost an opportunity.

And then: "God, damn it.  I just lost a moment."

Rate yourself and rake yourself.
Take all the courage you have left
wasted on fixing all the problems 
that you made in your own head.

- Mumford & Sons, Little Lion Man

-+-

-- "Don't burn out!  I know from experience how unpleasant that is."
"How did you get yourself out of it, Christa?"
-- "Well... I had people like you."

-+-

I'm the exact opposite.  I can't stand that spot.

I think that's one of the beauties of humanity that I'm thankful for.  We all have our own distinctively different ways of being human, all the while having more overlap than any of us could ever imagine.

I am also thankful for learning that "being human" does not always imply "being weak."  It does not necessarily have to mean sin and vice.  It is not always so criminal.

For example, there's so much humanity in touch.  Skin against skin.  The tactile sensation of fingertips against arm.  Of cheek against cheek.  It's like sunshine.

Yet sometimes, nothing compares to the warmth of a smile.  Not your standard photo perfect smile, no.  The smile where you feel hearts turn aglow, the smile where the colors of the world just become a little more radiant.  It's one of those things, y'know?  It's the kind of thing that makes you forget everything else.  Everything can be going to shit, everything in the entire world can feel like it's against you, but it's that warmth, it's that humanity that pulls you out of all your self-doubt, all your hesitation, and all your inhibition.

Some wicks burn faster than others, and some candles make me feel warmer than others.  Some fall onto the realm of sparks, while others still are a blazing fire.  But nonetheless, every flame is beautiful.  Every ember brings ardor.  

They capture you.  They seem to transcend reality, in the way that you cannot grasp them, yet you can feel them.

You feel that blaze, and that burn makes you wonder how you ever believed it to be fictional.  How could you ever let it be stolen away from you?

But finally, you realized that you were just a lamb, just a poor little thing eaten by a wolf in sheep's clothing.  You succumbed to self-doubt, hesitation, and inhibition.  But then, you realized that you've fought wolves in past lives, and that it is a battle that you have won before.

So you'll win it again.  You'll not only reclaim that fire, but you'll reclaim your humanity.

You spent a month looking over your own shoulder, but now... now, never look back.

I believe in you.  You've got this, soldier.  

I'm just gonna run right through the rain;
I'm just gonna dance right through the pain.
I just wanna feel that rhythm, feel that drum -
let my heart beat louder,
let my heart speak louder than my head!

- Charice, Louder

-+-

"Christa, I'll repay you by continuing to be a total ass to you."
-- "Real cute."
"It's the least I can do." 

-+-

Awesome.  So awesome.

My day in the laboratory was especially exhausting today!  I've been mentally preparing for it for the last week - we've been referring to today as "my crazy day" for a while.  Four stem cell protocols performed concurrently with two insulinoma cell protocols!  So I spent all morning running between the lab and the tissue culture room, keeping track of four different timers, and by the time I was four hours into the protocols, I was dropping containers and pipette tips everywhere - although I'm unsure if that was entirely fatigue or if it was also my natural clumsiness.  I walked away from the lab with an enormous headache from overwork, and was forced to spend the greater part of the afternoon physically crippled by pain and collapse. 

But exhausting lab days are common.  I've always been one to bite off more protocols than I can chew, sometimes even breaking my jaw trying.  However, today stood out, because it was my very first time necessitating my own experimental team.  Obviously, I needed to immortalize my achievement through blog!  

I actually had other scientists helping me with my experiment!  I had my own lackeys!   There was overlap between time points of my various experiments, so I actually got to recruit assistance and assign jobs to people!  I was preparing antibody solutions while another undergraduate counted my cells for me, I sent my post-doc to aliquot reagents for me as I harvested cells, I had cell photos taken for me while I needed to fix slides with paraformaldehyde.  

My goodness.  I actually got to delegate and give orders in the lab, and performed successful quality checks!  As I was creating additional antibody cocktails, I took note of an unused strip of foil on the lab bench.  I approached my post-doc, "Did you remember to cover the fluorescent slides with foil?"  His face dropped, realizing that my cells were currently enduring the pain of photobleaching by light exposure, "Oh no, I didn't!" and rushed away with the same motions that I usually made whenever he would correct me.  He came back after mending his error, and smiled with pride, "Christa, you're really like, the boss now!"

AKDJSKKLASJDFL YES

And I never wanted anything from you
except everything you had
and what was left after that, too.

- Florence and the Machine, Dog Days Are Over

-+-

I was in the middle of two concurrent embryonic stem cell protocols, when my post-doc poked into the tissue culture room, asking, "Do you need anything, Christa?"

I replied, exuberantly, "Nope, I'm good!  Thank you!"  However, he looked bummed out when I said that, so I went, "What's wrong?"

He pouted, throwing his hands up in a dramatic, exaggerated fashion, "Christaaa, you never need my help anymore!"

LOL AWESOME

-+-

As I stepped onto the bus, I saw a familiar face.  

However, I couldn't immediately recall his name or where I knew him from.  It was very similar to whenever I see a face that is riding on the cusp of familiarity and strangeness, when I quietly mutter under my voice, "Have I met you?  Your face is so familiar, I swear that I've met you somewhere before..."

I was leaning towards the side of, "Yeah, dude, I'm so sure that I've met this guy," and was even about to greet him when we exchanged friendly smiles.

And then I realized it.

Correct answer was: my ex.

It didn't hit me; it crashed upon me like a tidal wave.  I can only imagine this stranger's confusion at my face when I realized that he looks exactly like my ex.  I felt my face contort into odd angles and I felt my eyes make sincere attempts to escape from the confines of flesh.

'HOLY SHIT YOU LOOK JUST LIKE HIM. HOLY. SHIT. WHAT.'

My eyes were involuntarily locked.  Trapped.  Entranced.  Because it wasn't a thing of "sharing likeness" or something simple like that.  No where near.  The only difference that I could think of was that they dressed differently.  Maybe his hair is styled a little differently, but it's the same shade and texture.  That familiar furrow when he squinted his eyes.  The curvature of his nose.  The shade of his lips.  The curve of his cheek.  It was near perfect.  As I was sitting there, it was like I was sitting five feet away from a ghost.

It felt like a decade passed by, but even though I finally convinced myself that this person in front of me really is a stranger, I still sat in anticipation.  I was still waiting for him to go, "...Christa."  He found a familiar face (not me) and struck conversation (also not with me) and I sighed a deep, "Oh thank sweet baby jesus, at least his voice is different, oh my freaking goodness," although it still bore similar tonalities.  The same gravel and the same octave.  But I took what I could get.

As a detective on the side, I eavesdropped overheard that this doppelganger is a brand new transfer to the university, fresh on campus just this semester, joining our town community only two weeks ago.

Damn.  Sometimes I'm just like, "This freakin' school, bro.  This freakin' school."

Completely unrelated note: dudes, I really gotta handle how obvious I am when I stare at people.

.... ._.