Isla Vista Solidarity, UCSB Gaucho Pride, and Honoring What is Lost

In the wake of the tragedy in Isla Vista, the UCSB community has encouraged a week of remembrance and solidarity. Today was to show our Gaucho pride. I am an alumnus from the class of 2007 but moved back to the Santa Barbara area in 2012, just outside of IV off El Colegio. It was weird being back so close to my alma mater and I had mixed feelings about being close to IV now that I was a bit older and less of a party-goer. Such worries were for nothing as we often found ourselves driving or biking(!) into IV for a drink, dinner, and even to yes, party. Isla Visa itself has changed alot just from 2007, but what remained was the feeling that this little bubble made up of thousands of UCSB students among many other residents, was one of endless carefree youth. From freshman to seniors, to alumni and life-long IV residents, it was a place made up of sorority and fraternity houses, shabbily decorated apartments littered with beer cans and mismatched furniture, late-night eateries to satisfy hangovers, and young minds and hearts learning to live on their own for the first time. I made many good choices and probably even more bad ones in Isla Vista, but I don’t regret any of it.

I have felt many things the past few days, ranging from sadness, grief, horror, and disappointment, but what has stayed on my mind the most this past week was my anger at what six young lives were robbed of. These lives were cut short and can no longer continue to make the memories, mark the moments, worry over the mistakes, take the chances, and then look back at it all with fondness and maybe a twinge of regret. They don’t get late nights studying. They don’t get to enjoy a beer after a final. They don’t get to be young and silly. They don’t get to meet first or true loves. They don’t get to finish school arm in arm with their fellow students after years of incredibly hard work. They don’t get to be alumni and share in the pride of a common experience. This is just a fraction of what they get robbed of. The vanished potential and the unfulfilled lives have gotten lost in the mix of what the media wants to showcase.

It’s why there’s been so much pride on my various social feeds for the community and for their fellow Gauchos, past and present. This week of solidarity has been about honoring the memories of those lost and creating hope for a well-loved community. That network has really bonded across social media channels, geography, and time to join in their grief, hope, and camaraderie. I cannot help but feel such sadness because like so many other alumni and current students, there is such incredible fondness for the time we spent growing up in IV, UCSB, and Santa Barbara. There is pride in who we were, what we’ve become, and the communities that helped us get there. My sadness is tied to the joy I felt as someone who was once like the six who were killed and sorrow that these young men and women won’t have the chance to make all the good decisions or mistakes that you should be making in your late teens and early twenties. They’re now people to remember, not people who get to make memories. “It’s unfair” doesn’t even begin to encompass what has happened.

Earlier today a very good friend from UCSB and I were chatting and I couldn’t help but feel that the unsaid undercurrent of our conversation was the need to talk to a fellow alumni. And combined with my feelings of sadness and anger, was that small feeling of gratefulness. Not just for the place and time, but most especially for the people who helped shape the person I am and still continuing to try and be. College does not define any single individual, but I would be underplaying its role in my life if I said it was just four years at school. Many fellow Gauchos are still good friends and if it wasn’t for some freshman roommates who happened to know each other, John and I wouldn’t be together today.  So I just want to say thank you to all my fellow classmates and all the Gauchos in the world out there trying to make their mark. It’s just a small ‘thank you’ for being part of my life and teaching me so many different things that still follow me today. We can honor the six by living our lives with dignity, kindness, and a desire to be good.

A special prayer goes out to these six who are making so many of us out there in the world today feel a bit of Gaucho pride:

George Chen
Katherine  Breann Coooper
Cheng Yuan Hong
Christopher Ross Michaels-Martinez
Weihan Wang
Veronika Weiss

#gauchostrong

Friday Favorite Links

* It’s getting hot again and since Santa Barbara always feels like a summer kind of town, I’ve been wanting to find a proper beach blanket. I’ve been using an old plaid picnic blanket but it’s not really suitable for the sand. I’ve been obsessed about buying the perfect Mexican blanket like this one using non traditional colors or even this one from Peru.

* Discovered Canopy this week. Cool way to shop Amazon products and avoid its visually boring website. It’s like Amazon/Pinterest/Etsy rolled into one. I’m all for it. (Canopy)

* This Slate article is going around–Rob Lowe sending his son off to college. As someone who gets homesick on the regular, this line slayed me: “There is a little of that sense memory at play too, a feeling that I’m about to be left out of important events, separated from life as I know it, the world as I love it.” (Slate)

* We leave for Brazil in about a month. I haven’t gotten too excited about it yet, except window internet shopping for it. These travel notebooks by Midori are gorgeous and my brother just picked up this Everlane backpack I’ve been wanting for my birthday. More importantly, can one shop for six-pack abs? 

* I was both scared and amused watching this video. I think he just wanted a snack.  (YouTube)

Surprise Serenade

It’s warm in the evenings this week. So hot it makes my neighbors talk about the weather while I walk my dog in the morning. “It’s gonna be 90,” said the man who collects recycling as he bikes dumpster to dumpster.

I opened all the windows yesterday  in our apartment and considered purchasing a fan for the summer. It’s only April. Last night, I had the TV on low waiting for John to arrive so we could watch the Clippers game at a nearby bar. The apartment was dark because any light seemed to generate heat. And then I heard it. What I thought initially was someone’s radio was the sound of someone playing guitar. Across the street, separated by a small parking lot was a man on a bench playing guitar. In the fluorescent light of the laundromat he sat in front of, he played music on his electric guitar that carried across the neighborhood through the small amplifier in the seat beside him.

It reminded me of New Orleans. The live music at almost any time of day and night throughout the French Quarter. It was my favorite part of my favorite city I’ve visited so far. John and I would be walking back late to our hotel room on Royal or Frenchmen Street and someone would be singing or playing music. The night sticky and humid but neither one of us too in a hurry to get back to air-conditioned rooms. There’s no music in those rooms.

I turned the TV off in the apartment and found myself standing on our balcony listening to this impromptu concert. Funny, since a serenade is music played in the air, often by a man to his lover beneath a window. By then the evening had cooled a bit and faint traces of cigarette smoke lingered in the air courtesy of the chain smoker in the parking lot. The guitar player would take breaks every now and then–short–but those moments of silence pierced the night air with loneliness. It was as if last night, a misplaced summer evening, required music. The heat would diminish, but each pluck and strung of the man’s guitar felt like a coda to a day that just wasn’t quite ready to end. I stood leaning over the railway completely engrossed in the music. I always find it comforting that strangers can have such an effect on people. Street musicians and their gifts of harmonic distraction in an otherwise dull day of sounds.

Later, we would find ourselves in the parking lot on the way to the game reconsidering leaving at all. As we drove past the man, I told John to roll down his window. Just a little bit more I insisted, not wanting it to end.

I’m in the living room now, windows wide open, waiting for a man who isn’t my lover.

The Edge of 30

The year my sister and I turned 23 we were home alone in LA. We hadn’t planned it that way. But for some reason, after all the bleeps and pings of online notifications and texts of birthday greetings, we found ourselves just the two of us at home. My brother was out and so were our parents. Grandma was probably dancing somewhere and our dogs long past the point of playful and dozing off.

We thought maybe to call some girlfriends or go out for a drink, but our house is never quiet. There was something peaceful about watching nothing important on TV and letting another birthday slip by without too much fanfare. I”m sure we went to dinner the next night with family, but that night, my sister and I sprawled across the living room couches and let the hours pass.

We would spend the next few years marking our birthday milestones with a lot of activity and liquor. Renting a beach front room in Huntington and flying kites while tipsy (25). A Pink and White party we classed up with sangria and a Pinterest-heavy motif (27). Maybe it was to make up for that one seemingly lackluster birthday, but as I got deeper into this time called my late twenties, I found myself wishful for just a quiet birthday without too much attention.

I chalked it up to typical aversion to being that much closer to 30 and having to put myself into a whole new bracket: 18-24, 25-29, 30-impending doom. I used to think turning 30 was so old. Now I’m just terrified that I don’t qualify. I don’t feel like I’ve earned my adulthood. There’s a realness to these years where “I’m figuring things out” or “I’ll just see how this job goes” feels lame and inadequate. It’s as if ADULT is a costume and I’m playing at it. Though, I’m somewhat comforted by older peers who insist they haven’t gotten it all down. If that’s the case, give me your 401K and mortgage. That’ll get me in the adult club right?

Last night, on my 29th birthday, I spent most of it by myself. I met John later for rock climbing (there needed to be some sort of activity involved) and dinner. I insisted we stop at Ralphs to get a slice of cake so the day would feel birthday-y. Yet earlier that day, I was busy job searching, taking care of some party planning (for someone else), leaving the dishes and the laundry for tomorrow because birthdays aren’t for chores, and trying to feel some excitement. Instead, I kept thinking about my 23rd birthday and somewhere around 3 o’clock, I sat on the couch and caught up on Mad Men.

It was amazing.

It was quiet, strangely peaceful, and any anxiety I’d had about the last year and insecurity about adulthood slipped away. I don’t have it all figured out. I’ve maybe had a dozen mild crises this past year regarding my professional life. I’m not anywhere near where I thought I would be at 29, but lying there letting the hours pass felt right. Tomorrow, I told myself, I’ll worry about it tomorrow.

Maybe when I’m 39 the costume will fit better.

National Novel Writing Month – First Day, First Time, Oh November!

So, I finally decided to do it.

 

The first day of November officially kicks off National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. I had heard about this in grad school and always thought it was too crazy to even attempt. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of regret at not trying it out and possibly experiencing the thrill of accomplishing 50,000 words in just one month.

50,000.

I just needed to type that out one more time and see it stand there alone. It doesn’t seem possible.

When I was writing my thesis in grad school I struggled at times to just get small chapters out. I was hesitant to try this project, but a personal goal of mine this year was to take my writing more seriously. I knew after grad school that it was going to become easy to get lazy about writing. Part of the reason I started this blog was to do some sort of writing. NaNoWriMo is the perfect opportunity for me to get back in the groove of things.

I only realized it was starting two days ago and made the decision not to attempt any outline or plan. I had no idea what I was going to start with and fiction is something I like to read but have realized I’m not particularly skilled at writing. It was daunting, but thankfully, one of the helpful tips is to tell people you are doing NaNoWriMo. In a way, the more people that know, the expectation that I finish can’t be kept secret in case I likely give up in Week 2. I can’t give up because now everyone on Facebook knows I’m  actually going to write that book I decided to spend thousands of dollars in grad school for

Just kidding.

I do not take this month-long project and the hopefully 200-250 page result to be anywhere near book ready. It’s more like the long awaited kick in the ass I need to just write. Just write.

The beauty of the project is the inherent messiness of it. There is a push to NOT edit at all. I was warned that it would be difficult to silence my inner editor and I found myself doing that for the first few paragraphs, but once I started to ignore looking back, the writing came out much faster. It’s all about forward writing.

Again, I have no plan whatsoever and the first two pages were going okay despite a struggle about the voice. Because it’s my first time and I don’t want to give up too easily, I’ve fallen somewhere around fictionalized memoir. It really is heavy in the fictionalized part because the character breaks up a friendship by telling her friend, “I think your baby is ugly.”

So yeah, let’s just say, I would never do that.

But I can sure make my character say it.

In the end, my two goals for the month are  to write daily so I can hit the eventual goal of 50,000 words and two, to just keep writing even if this stuff is utter crap (which, of course it will be). Even if I start to hate the material and I change a lot, I can’t find that as reason enough to stop.

I’ve also registered with the main site and hopefully I can go to write-ins or meet other writers in the Santa Barbara and Goleta area who are attempting this same crazy feat.

First Day Word Count: 2,082.

Registration and FAQs about National Novel Writing Month can be found here.

Young Adult (At Heart)

It seems as if you can never outgrow certain things. In this case, the world of young adult fiction which is currently experiencing a sort of renaissance. Then again, how anyone can outgrow reading is beyond me.

Young adult novels are not merely for young adults anymore. With copies selling in the millions and being read by all age groups, it’s a growing genre proving that literature aimed at the young can be both impressive and formidable. Topics have always been wide-ranging, but I think good storytelling is key. No matter the target audience, good writing is blind to age.

The genre of young adult fiction is really flourishing these last few years and like all book trends, topics move in waves. We had vampires and other supernatural beings to the current trend of dystopian novels ushered in by the phenomenon that is The Hunger Games–which I’m glad to take part of. Speaking of which, it seems my next reads might be about mermaids as they seem to be the next big thing. 

A year ago I was living in San Jose, California with a part time job and lots of free time. Luckily, the South Bay Area has an amazing public library system. They have so many new libraries that have been recently built and an easy network for accessing books. I was pretty much devouring anything as good as The Hunger Games and came across a bunch of great reads–one classic and some recent publications.

Divergent by Veronica Roth

This was first published in 2011 and is the first in a trilogy (young adult fiction loves its trilogies, and then some). I actually just finished the second in the series which is called Insurgent while I was flying to those weddings earlier this summer. In my post Hunger Games haze, I needed more dystopian fiction and Divergent is actually quite good. I was actually more intrigued by how the society in future Chicago was laid out over the main character, Tris, and her motivations. She is much more of a typical romantic character and I realized I was skimming over sections that involved her and her boyfriend. I was much more fascinated by the organization of the population as separate factions, but that is not to dissuade you from checking this out as the second one gets pretty interesting. I’ve also read that the film rights have sold and they are in the process of producing it. Visually, this book has the foundation for a good movie.

Matched by Ally Condie

Like Divergent, society is divided in groups, which again I found fascinating. But a typical trope of young adult novels is introduced–a love triangle is involved. Sigh. I’m not sure anymore, especially after Hunger Games successfully underutilizing one, why these are necessary. Yet, I think as the target audience is probably dealing with first loves and hormones, I guess it makes sense. I’m all for female leads in books so I like this series in that regard. Matched is not as sharp or particularly outstanding in terms of the writing, but I’ve chugged along and earlier this year Crossed, the second in the series, propelled me forward. I could tell Condie had gotten better and it’s worth at least a library checkout. This is also in the process of trying to get film rights. 

Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare

This one is quite different from the above two. It’s more supernatural and a love triangle is involved, but also more compelling and interesting than in Matched. I’m not against love triangles, but you’ve got to make the trio involved have motivations outside of pursuing each other. Again, female protagonist who is coming into her own and the setting for this is London in the time of Queen Victoria. So it’s not only a young adult, but historical fiction. The book is not only part of a trilogy, but a prequel trilogy to Clare’s popular series The Mortal Instruments which–you guessed it–is being turned into a film.

Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card

Ender’s Game is a classic not only in young adult literature, but in all of science fiction. Novels like The Hunger Games are not new in pitting young people (sometimes the very young) against each other in battles of death. Ender’s Game also takes the time to develop the psyche and motivations of their characters and doesn’t shy from brutality. It was well-awarded when it was published and its reputation only mildly tarnished by its author’s personal views on subjects like homosexuality. Aside from that, on its own the novel examines life and survival and how we question that in times of war. The book is currently being adapted to film. I always imagined Harrison Ford in it, but not exactly as Graff. Looking forward to it regardless!

Overall, it’s exciting to see the onslaught of such good young adult fiction coming out. Sometimes it’s nice to take a break from heavier reads and escape a little. I also started to notice that much of the great fiction coming out comes from women authors. J.K. Rowling being the most obvious example whose famous series might have a central male hero, but without a certain witch, might not ever have graduated Hogwarts. There seems to be much disparity in adult fiction when it comes to awards and recognition often going to male counterparts, but in YA, it definitely seems to be a female dominated field. Not just in authors, but also in characters. The Atlantic ran a piece over the summer regarding that and it’s also an interesting read. It’s also a trend I hope never goes away.