A note to the Students I TA for

I'm sure a good number of you resent me. I know I seem harsh when I say you can't come into lab because you're not prepared or I can't accept some work which is overdue. Externally, the reasons are all the same: the rules are the rules, you and I both have to play by them. Internally, though, the reason I believe in those rules is this: I want to have a positive impact on your lives.

This is one college course: this is one grade that won't even matter in the long run. But I want to teach you stuff I had to learn during college. I seem just a couple of years older than you; in fact, I am about 5 years older, and to someone who has been through college, those 5 years seem like a lot.

I could be a schoolteacher and let it slide when you don't complete something in time, or neglect to wear your safety glasses. I could ignore the fact that you are unprepared for lab. But the truth is, I'm never going to. I want you to learn that you can't do stuff like that anymore. You're going to have to start setting alarms, start working on the homework early, start being responsible.

"But what does it matter if it's ACS format?" You complain. Of course it does. You are given instructions, and you need to know how to follow them. But it's not as simple as a brainwashing indocrination into being a humanoid robot for the good of society. The underlying rules, which I tried to explain to you, are that progress needs human beings to work together, and you can't work together until you speak each others' language. It doesn't matter where you're from in the world, or how much(or little) experience you have in the field; the minute you learn the language you're able to communicate results and opinions, you're able to contribute in a way only you can.

"Stop snooping on my paper, of course I'm not going to cheat!" I believe you. I don't believe you. It doesn't matter what I think, I'm going to keep hovering just to remove the temptation of sneaking a quick peek. I've never cheated; but believe me when I say I've felt the temptation more than once. To those of you who have worked hard and come into this exam, I'm trying to protect you and your hard work. I'm trying not to let the unfairness of the world into our little space. I'm trying to give you your best chance.

I don't want or expect thanks for this maybe high-handed but certainly well-intentioned thought process. I just want you to learn something.

Make Good Art

Neil Gaiman, in his commencement speech, says:

"Something that worked for me was imagining that where I wanted to be, which was an author, primarily a fiction, making good books [...] and supporting myself through my words, imagining that was a mountain, a distant mountain, my goal. And I knew that as long as I kept walking towards the mountain, I'd be alright. And when I was truly not sure what to do, I could stop and think about whether it was taking me towards or away from the mountain."

People work with freelancers because:

1. their work is good
2. easy to get along with
3. they deliver the work on time

2 out of 3 is fine!

I'm just a little behind, is all.

5 things learning English has taught me

1. How to write when you have nothing to say

No, really. Half the time, in the exam my pen's just scratching its way across the paper, desperately trying to string together words and sound coherent and meaningful when all I really feel is that I don't know shit. And I'm still putting together crap phrases that sound fittingly formal like 'and thus it can be concluded that...' or 'one can define intermedial narrative as '. 

Just like this dog. Yeah, this is my life now.

2. How to absorb from 300+ pages in less than an hour

...or, how I survived 11 exams on 11 days of preparation. Usually my English exams are right after my regular semester ends, so after doing exactly zero prep during the whole entire year, when I was supposed to be doing a 22-week syllabus, I end up trying to cram everything in a couple of days(and nights, because let's face it, nobody sleeps when their fear of eternal damnation failing an exam is at hand). And it sucks because it's all really interesting to me, but I just can't seem to study unless my pants are on fire.

Stop, drop and roll!

3. How to sound intelligent

It's taught me phrases and words like poststructuralism, and, honestly, the true meaning of words people keep throwing around, like 'metaphor', 'irony' and 'analepsis'.

I am fun at parties, actually. Thanks! :D

This way people think I sound smart when I open my mouth, even if it's only because they have no clue/no interest in what I have to say. And when I hang out with people who read a book a year, I become the intelligent one. (I'm crying inside, really)

4. The humanities are one giant slanging match

Everyone uses the fact that they were here first/last/sometime in the middle to justify how everyone else was wrong and how they are most definitely right. Dictionary writers believe that the older the definition, the better, even though no one uses the word 'housewife' for a sewing pocket; heck, no one uses 'housewife' for a person who stays at home to take care of the children, either, because it's so-20th-century.

The structuralists believed the realists were trash, the post-structuralists believed the structuralists had their heads screwed on wrong: and everyone talks politely but depreciatingly about how people of other movements were 'products of their times', forgetting that they themselves are products of their times too.

Well, you know what I'm doing.

5. A lot of different things are worth studying, for a lot of different reasons

And it's true, too. In order to satisfy my curiosity, I read widely, when you consider I've read Modern Quantum Chemistry and Image, Music, Text in the same school year. Both books afforded me real enjoyment and taught me real, valuable things. Yeah, I half-assed it, choosing to spend my time not wisely, but too well; with friends, writing and creating things, learning languages, travelling and seeing the world. Those things taught me a lot too, but without a formal curriculum and without those pesky tests.

It's weird, and I still consider myself mostly a failure, but I'm content with what learning English and Chemistry has taught me over these last five years.

Disappointment.

Re-reading my old blog posts makes me wonder where that girl has gone. The one who approached every new thing with wonder; didn't just sit there passively, letting all the entertainment wash over her. The one whose primary time-suck wasn't that ridiculous website where you don't even need a brain to scroll down and find something funny and/or droll.

She loved to read, and to recommend books to friends.
She'd be ashamed to find that every single book she'd bought in the last six months was lying in her room, unread and unloved.

She loved to write, and imagined wild scenarios, with axe murderers and witches, demons and princesses, and, of course, little kids going on adventures.
She'd be sad to realise the last couple of months the only thing open in a word processor was coursework-related. No original ideas, no time devoted to actually hammering out some stories.

She was big-mouthed and opinionated, and passionate about the books/movies/tv shows she watched. Not someone who googled for every silly thing, but who composed her own thoughts, and sat and wrote them down for the world to refer to.
She'd be depressed when she knew she hadn't had a new thing to say on her blog for months now, except for her (extremely shitty) love life, and rice cooker recipes.

Ah well. Depression comes and goes. I should know.

Laters,

Katze.

Rice cooker recipe #3

These are difficult!

So this is just regular pasta, boiled with a little salt until al dente, then instant soup powder added because:

a) It was the only thing to hand

b) I like instant vegetable soup

and 

c) Yes, I'm completely nuts, thanks for asking. :D

It tasted great, and would've been greater had I been able to actually eat it. Was wolfed down by my ex-roomie :'(

Anyway, till next time!

Gingerbread Man

Am I a fan of Ed Sheeran?

Well, yeah. I squee and aww all over his most recent interviews. I jump from statement to statement about his tattoos and his love life... but it all comes down to his music. His passion. More importantly, his job. And every time, every single effing time, I get all these feelings. Awe. Frustration. More awe. More frustration. And then overwhelmingly, motivation. Inspiration. He’s only two years older than me, and he’s achieved so much in life.

We’re so different, and yet I want to be who he is. I figured out what his motto is, on a recent interview. I’m definitely going to try it out.

He said, “I try to choose a role model, and then be 2x better than them. Work 2x as hard.” (I’m paraphrasing, but that’s what I got out of it)

Well, Ed, it’s time for me to try to work 2x as hard as you, then. Because eff this life where I’m holding myself back because I’m too lazy, too comfortable. People would kill to have the opportunities I have right now, and all I’m doing is sitting on my butt pretending that everything will work out somehow. Well, guess what. It doesn’t work that way, not if you want something as bad as Ed does. And he got his birthday wish three years in a row!

How many times have I got my birthday wish?

...

...Never.

When is a good time? When I'm out of school? When I'm out of college? When I'm stuck in a job I don't like, doing something I don't believe in?

How about now?

Sometimes I think I sound like one of those self-help websites, the ones that claim they'll help you help yourself or whatever that is.(My guilty pleasure when surfing. Shh, don't tell anyone.)

Also, been reading a LOT of Brandon Sanderson. He's another one who pushes himself, and a true inspiration.

Rice cooker recipe #2

So here's a second recipe!

This is Penne with bottled Arrabiata sauce. It's (surprisingly :P) easy to make pasta in a rice cooker. Just add water and... ah ah ah, I'm foreshadowing :P Here's the recipe:

Ingredients:

Dried pasta, Penne                    ~200 gms (I think? For one person, basically)

Bottled Arrabiata sauce            ~50 gms (One would suppose)

Olive oil                                    A shot, in the pasta

Salt and Pepper                         To taste

Method:

1. Place pasta in cold water(it comes from the cooler on my floor, okay!) add salt, and heat
2. It takes longer in a rice cooker than on the stove: it takes about 20 mins to cook
3. When done, drain (most of :P) the pasta water out of the cooker, then add a bit of oil, and about as much sauce as necessary
4. Add salt and pepper to taste, cook a little longer but not too long

I usually don't need any more salt, but pepper(and the associated chilli flakes and italian seasoning) is useful if the premade sauce isn't spiced to your liking.

I've made my pasta out of those Chefs' Basket erm... baskets! Their sauce is actually really nice, and they really do provide everything you need to make yummy pasta. Even in a rice cooker. Especially in a rice cooker.

Cooking is super fun.

Rice cooker recipe #1

So here's my cute little 0.6L rice cooker:

And here's recipe #1:

Ingredients:

1 pack Act II popcorn

Method:

1. Dump pack of popcorn into rice cooker
2. Tape button down, else it'll pop up before the popcorn is done
3. Shake at intervals to prevent burning
4. Cover with cloth (but make sure the steam vent is clear) when popping starts-- it can get quite violent.
5. Shut off when popping stops almost completely
6. Enjoy! :D

It turns out surprisingly well. Been a while since I posted, thought I'd make up for it with a string of rice-cooker recipes :D

A Playlist

A run-down of songs currently on my favourite playlist:

1. Best Day of My Life by the American Authors

Because I was planning to make a video with my wingies, to this soundtrack. It seems highly unlikely that it’ll ever get completed now, but I’m not giving up just yet. Also, it’s an enjoyable song when I’m in the mood for something peppy and happy-sounding.

2. Problem by Ariana Grande feat. Iggy Azalea

Ariana Grande’s voice is incredible, though I don’t usually like these kinds of numbers. And the lyrics, of course ;)

Head in the clouds, got no weight on my shoulders

I should be wiser and realise that I’ve got

One less problem without you

3. Irreplaceable by Beyonce

I used to listen to this back in school, and downloaded it for old times’ sake, along with Miley Cyrus’ The Climb. Nice, empowering songs for those times when you feel like there’s nothing going for you.

4. F you by Cee Lo Green

Because. It’s fun to go, “F you!” when there’s no one else around. Especially if you have someone to target your frustration on.(No word on whether the frustration is deserved or not. Let’s just say it’s more satisfying to blame one person than to blame life for giving you lemons :P)

5. Tenerife Sea by Ed Sheeran

Self-explanatory. This song is beautiful, and I have it on repeat every night just before I fall asleep. TBH, I’ve done that with a fair share of Ed Sheeran songs, because he rocks.

6. Take Me to Church by Hozier

Somehow the first line sends shivers down my spine.

My lover’s got humor

She’s the giggle at a funeral

Actually, this whole song, and Hozier's voice... And once I begin singing the chorus, it’s hard for me to stop.

7. All I Want by Kodaline

Ah. Yet another from the Vampire Diaries. I love this show for giving me hours of entertainment, characters I can really get my teeth into, but mostly for all the new-old music it’s introduced me to. You can just listen and go, yeah, that’s from the Vampire Diaries. Slow, lovey-dovey, emotional songs to pair with slow, lovey-dovey emotional scenes.

8. See You Again by Wiz Khalifa and Charlie Puth

Thanks to my obsessed wingie. :* And the sentimental video we made for someone who won’t be around as often anymore.

9. So What by P!nk

Equal parts girl/rock-star power and revenge. Yeeaah.

So what

I’m still a rock star

I got my rock moves...

...and you’re a tool so, so what?

I am a rock star

I got my rock moves

And I don’t want you tonight

10. The Wrong Direction by Passenger

Because sometimes you just need to drown in your self-pity and equalize. Yeah, so I’ve never --insert romantic movie name here-- but I can handle that. I just need to wallow in my loneliness sometimes.

11. Superheroes by The Script

So The Script are officially my workout band. I listen to them when I jog, either outside on my iPod or on the treadmill, and they give me inner strength and motivation. I don’t know why, but I’ve put a lot of positivity into their songs, and I get it all back every time I hear another one. This song is just crying out to be a motivational enhancer.

You've been fighting for it all your life

You've been struggling to make things right

That's how a superhero learns to fly

12. Your Love is a Song by Switchfoot

Because my roomie was obsessed with it for a while, and these things transfer from one person to the other like viruses. Good viruses, but viruses nonetheless.

In other news, I feel really, really good. Yeah. Studying for my English exams, planning to have a whole lot of fun this summer, did well in my additional learning courses in college, don't cry over ridiculous things(although I did cry last night, but that was over a fictional character's fictional parents dying, so totally non-ridiculous ;) ). Yeah.

New Year's Resolutions

...which I am most definitely not going to talk about. I've spent so much time above the water that I'd almost forgotten what that secret underwater world looked like. But the real world stung me, hard and fast, and I retreated.

Now I've reconnected with what I've been missing. It feels good. It's a buffer between me and everyone and everything else. Nothing can hurt me.

...
...
...right?

I like sites like 9gag and Cracked because they provide me with interesting--occasionally disgusting--sometimes sweet information and make-believe. It's hard to distinguish between the last two categories. I suppose it's easier to just assume everyone on there has no reliable source unless their post absolutely convinces you that something is 'for real'. Because you don't want to believe and/or reproduce any of the information or stories on there unless you're damn sure that they haven't stolen it/photoshopped it/made it all up.

But they're hell entertaining.


Also. I can never have enough people to care about. The tugs in my chest don't pull too many ways, they just pull whenever you're around. So it's okay. I'll be there for you when I'm there, and that's the important thing, right?

(Of course, the same has to go for you. But it will.)

Declaration of Intent

So this week, in Renaissance and Restoration, I will be doing Thomas More’s Utopia. I’ve begun by reading the 30-page introduction and hope to give it a preliminary reading by tonight. I have, in fact, spent most of today 

a. doing nothing and 

b. reading a chapter of the Good Study Guide, explaining how to approach primary texts, which is actually very very useful.

I am also planning to do Wordsworth, in Augustans and Romantics, since I have the necessary books and all. I’m actually looking forward to it, since I like Wordsworth, and I like reading poetry(even though analysing it is beyond me. For now, anyway).

For Victorians, I begin with Robert Browning(gasp, more poetry). I know next to nothing about the Victorian period, having done no background research on it, but I will. This should be fun. :D

Finally, for Varieties of English DX. I still don’t have the book, still haven’t ordered it off of Flipkart. I must be out of my mind! But it’s okay, since I have two of the other set texts, and the study guide to start me off. I’ll just pad my knowledge once the actual book arrives. I suppose.

Now to start! :D

Retreat.

All the music I hear is conspiring against me.

Social media is plotting my mental defeat.

Am I going mad? (No.)

Am I driving myself insane? (Yes.)

Endsems are almost here. I gave my quizzes with my eyes barely open and the thoughts buzzing like wasps in my head, the kind of wasps that go round and round with no sense in my room when it's late and it's almost like they're manifestations of some vague horror movie ghost(thankfully no clearer since I watch horror movies with my eyes closed and my ears pinched shut).

And now? Everything is in my head, right? I mustn't admit any confusion, my misery is all made-up, after all, I have everything to be thankful for and nothing to dread.

But like I said. Everything(everyone??) is plotting against me. I have no defenses(I leave chinks in my armor, all over). My heart keeps up this dull throb of pain and the thoughts buzz in my head.

Situation: unnecessarily complicated(by me, of course).

It's true. The guilt bogs me down. I hesitate to admit my feelings of inadequacy and woe. Especially woe. People will think I've gone mad(I have gone mad).

I'm retreating.

Bookbucket Challenge

I haven't read nearly as much as I should have, and not half as much as I must. So the books I list here are what have helped shape some part of my life, hopefully not a major part, as I hope to read many, many, many more. Note that none of them are particularly highbrow reading, in fact, more than half of this list comprises children's books, without which I wouldn't be here.

I attempt to go chronologically and figure out what each book taught me. This way, I can remove the ones that are irrelevant and say I tried if I go(inevitably) above the limit of 10. :P

1. The Mallory Towers series by Enid Blyton, particularly book 5(I think!) the one in which Darrell writes a play and everyone is so pleased and proud of her. I am not kidding. I've come to a conclusion that only an author can represent in words what it means to be an author, and to love the craft of writing. And each time I read another account, whether fictional or non-fictional, about writing, I'm buoyed up by it(See 'On Writing', below). I remember why I write. This was the original source of my infatuation with wordsmithy. (also, where I learnt the word 'idiot' :D )

2. Harry Potter, particularly the lulls between the publishing of book 4 and 5, 5 and 6, and 6 and 7. These periods almost beat out the actual readings of the books, on the day that they were published(or a few days later, if my too-slow-at-reading brother got them first), filled as they were with conjecture, speculation, and a memorable complete fanfiction that was way more imaginative than book 5, in my humble opinion. (also, where I learnt the word 'moron' :D :D )

3. The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke. I'm not sure why, but it meant a lot to me. Particularly the parts about escaping reality and imperfect lives with perfect endings. Also one of the first books I ever read which sympathised with both sides of an ongoing(although small-scale) war.

4. A Series of Unfortunate Events, mostly books 1-5. Because those are the ones that I read and re-read until I went crazy. And they taught me that it's okay to ask about things, like how something works, or what the meaning of that word is.

5.  Fairest by Gail Carson Levine, and, relatedly, First Test by Tamora Pierce. Kickass female pro tags rebelling against the world, magical realism, anyone? These are the good kind of book for a young girl, telling her the right things: you can do anything, be anything. You might have to push harder than anyone else, but you can do it.

6. The Princess Diaries series, particularly the third or fourth book. Actually, more or less the whole series. See what I mean about kickass female protags above. Also, the way that Mia grows throughout the series and, well, saying that caring about certain things like shoes or TV shows or silly books doesn't make you less smart or less useful to society really boosts someone who does care about these things but doesn't want to think she's just a, you know, fluffy-headed girl.

7. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. Because this was the first time that I realised that books could be irresponsible and immoral and yet so good. (Oh, he gets his comeuppance, you say? Well, he lives for years before happens, in a kind of consequence-free zone, so there!)

8. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. Passionately in love with one of the characters. Engrossed in a different world from dawn till long after dusk. This is the power of a book.(And it taught me, without shoving it down my throat, about politics and war and all that jazz.)

9. Short stories by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. Because he's the kind of writer I would give an arm and a leg to be. Who sees the dark side of humanity and presents it to us in a wry, what-can-you-do sort of way. I worship him and his writing.

10. The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde. Putting the idea into my head that all books are related. And that  everything, everything: in fact, reality itself, exists to be played with in words, those magnificent things.

11. On Writing, by Stephen King. Is it weird that I began reading his actual fiction, the books he's known for, The Shining, It, Carrie and Under the Dome, after I read his treatise on putting words together? But this is the one book, which, for me, encapsulates a writer's life.(Yes, alcoholism included.) Over the years that I've read and re-read it, I've begun snapping off screenshots of the most useful writing advice I've found, and collecting them all in a folder titled 'Writing'. I fondly presume that I'll end up making a scrapbook out of these gems someday, to refer to when I'm complacent or (much more likely) disillusioned.



These are by no means my favourite books. That would require another list, which would definitely not be limited to 10 or 11. They are the books that I grew up with, the ones I tip my chin to, the ones that, embarrassingly or otherwise, made me who I am.
Also, others I was considering but didn't mention: The Liar by Stephen Fry, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery, things by Sir Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, Diana Wynne Jones(who are all inspirations just by having existed in this place and time), LOTR, and many, many more.

Admiration

You. You out there, yes you, who I've been stalking all over the internet, who manages to do everything he wants.

You've done all I have and much, much more. You leave me speechless at the thought that someone like you can actually exist.

I envy you the fact that you're not allowing your laziness to get the better of you: that you can be dedicated in a way I've only ever dreamed of being.

A dream? I have a dream, too. But I'm crap at reconciling it with my reality. I know the ideal case, because I struggle to achieve it; give up, believe that no one can be that ideal case. And you prove me wrong, again and again. I'm impressed, just like everyone else is.

I want to know you(I suspect a lot of people do).

I want to be you(Even more people, I suspect).

And you just foil my ideas of spending my life gently drifting down the stream of compromise and mid-level achievement. You make me want to do more and be more.

K.

Ineffective and Oversensitive

...is how I feel.

I'm used to these feelings, and used to getting over them, mostly by the tried-and-tested technique of escapism and transference to fiction. But my mechanism is rusty; has been for the last few months. I'm not sure at what point I stopped expressing myself creatively, but it's driven me quietly insane.

Yesterday I began to brood on two characters I'm putting through their paces before they get to their happily-ever-after. I spent about half-an-hour on them before I was forced to give up: and that half hour wasn't enough, either, because it took so long to get into their heads and really feel the story.

I can't take it anymore, though. I thought I'd try making a straightforward list and publishing it. No names, no details. Just some steam-letting.

1. Ridiculous is how I feel. Being ignored is the second shittiest thing in the world, the first being ignoring someone when you really don't want to. And in the end, even surrounded by people, you feel like something's missing. A whole bunch of someones are missing.

2. When something mars an otherwise perfect memory, there's nothing you can do about it other than brood and feel the hurt as if it was fresh. And it ruins every good thing you felt about the past.

3. Panic. My favourite emotion, I do believe. I'm very good at the irresponsible action--useless panic combo. Usually followed by a deep sense of self-disappointment.

That's all, folks.

Cooking Adventures

I was thinking of titling this blog post 'Culinary Adventures' but then decided against it since nothing I've done so far can be called 'culinary' in any sense of the word. I've cooked, yes. Not much more.

Also, of course, since I tend to write fiction, the days are not in any real order. Was the food real? Well, I ate it, so I ought to know.

For my mom. Because cooking is hard.

Day 1:
I try to make instant food. It's terrible and I never want to eat instant food ever again.

...Day 14:
I eat a Hot Pocket for the first time. Suddenly my freezer is up to its ears in Hot Pockets.(Pepperoni pizza. Yum.)

Day 3:
I adventure away, making some variation of paella, which in my case turns out to be chicken with rice and tomatoes. It tastes waaay better than it sounds.

...Day 26:
I am proficient at making(fake) paella, it being one of the few dishes I already have the ingredients for. *sigh*

Day 5:
I try to cook a chicken breast. Meanwhile, mashed potatoes, which are great :D

Day 6:
The mashed potato leftovers with bread make wonderful burger patties. They are a little too... buttery and creamy though.

Days 7-25-ish:
I can't be bothered. I eat out, order in, and have some more Hot Pockets.(Meatballs and mozzarella. Yum.)

Day 26:
I'm fed up of eating junk. I make(even more!) paella.

Day 27:
I stuff a chicken breast with bacon and cheese. And smoked ham. Maybe some more cheese. I eat my guilty feelings together with the chicken.

Day 28:
You can cook bacon in the microwave?!

Day 34:
Mm. Microwaved sausages. Easy to make: and best of all, can be grabbed from the microwave as you're running out the door in the morning, late.

Day 39:
I toss some pre-cooked cocktail shrimp in some pre-made cocktail sauce. Side of pasta--argh, the pasta's burning! Or... something! --one pasta-related emergency later, the dish is actually pretty decent.

So. As someone very aptly put it, we're not here to cook and eat food, we're here to survive, and I seem to be doing just that. And I know I sound weird and down about the whole cooking thing, but I actually kind of like it. It's fun, and I eat rather well(for those who are worried about me :) ), even if I do spend too much time in the kitchen.

Off to Washington(hopefully).

Life is Stranger than Fiction...

…Because Fiction has to be convincing, and Life doesn't.               -Neil Gaiman

I hereby decide to write another post. Why? Because of all-consuming jealousy, of course. What better reason could there be?

I don't write on serious topics. I shun life-altering truths and other such things. If you ever went through my blog, you'd find very superficial topics; all relevant to me, me, me. And that's good enough, because I use the web to escape from realities, from the world that freaks me out: so much that I wonder if there's a place out there for me at all.

But recently my life online has begun to merge slowly(and not without pain) into my real life. Mostly because I've neglected one in favour of the other.

(That's probably how it should be.)

Real life is painful, but its joys are so much more than the joys of the mind. The full-body-thrumming feeling you get when something goes terribly, terribly right. When someone says something that means a lot, even if it's just a simple thank-you. When you've caused tears and you know they're happy ones. And there's other feelings- when it's early in the morning or the night air is biting at your nose and you hear your heart pounding in your ears as you take a deep breath; you're so happy to be alive.

Even sadness has some undefinable quality: like that feeling after you've had a good cry and you know nothing worse can happen to you. The hurt of words spoken in anger, cutting you to the bone and leaving your inner self exposed to the world.

It's, well, it's all real.

And that is what makes me close my laptop, against all odds, and go out into the big, bad world.

Katze

P.S. I'm beginning to feel like a poet.

P.P.S. Meanwhile, trying to study the reasons English is a world language. Apparently, it's got to do with the English going to almost every country in the world. *shrug*

Also struggling with matrix representations of the Schrödinger equation. Well-balanced workload FTW.

The Adventures(?) of a Reluctant Trekker

Because someone suggested something similar and I'm at a loose end. Or something like that, anyway. The Trek mentioned below is the grandly-named National Himalayan Trekking Expedition 2013-14, Sandakphu-Gurdum, organized by the Youth Hostels Association of India; hereafter known as YHAI.

Disclaimer: This is a long post and will eventually be supplemented with pictures to make it less tl;dr. When I get them from the people who'd been taking them.

Day One:

We land in Darjeeling and it is effing cold. 

ONE picture with my dahling brother to commemorate. The concert stage in the background, if anyone cares.

We make very good time from Bagdogra airport via Kurseong, where we eat some okay-ish momos and I give fried momos a trial run--they are epic! and I solemnly swear to eat them again as soon as I can.

The heritage Himalayan Railway has no tickets for us, fortunately or unfortunately. It is a slow diesel engine which criss-crosses the road and follows along it for most of the way, so I don't feel like we've missed anything. In contrast, the cab journey is comfortable and quick. I meet people for the first time(they meet me too :D ) and everything is going swimmingly so far. Registration takes almost no time and we set off to explore the streets of Darjeeling.

Mall road is pedestrian-only and crowded with shawl, sweater and souvenir(or 'curio') shops. And, of course, with people. At the square at the end of the road is a concert organized through the Darjeeling Tea and Tourism Festival; there are a lot of people watching and listening, also singing and dancing(a little too merrily, if you ask me ;) ). ((I buy a book, a collection of Roald Dahl short stories to entertain myself.)) A wrong turning leads us down the road to the kabristan. Everyone is a bit spooked at this.

We finish off the evening with exactly 15 minutes of Dhoom 3, more than enough for me(Funny story there :D :D) and get some dinner/sleep.

Day Two:

We walk up and down a lot.

Us being all orderly and in line and all. Really.   Pic courtesy: Parin

We wake at a quarter to six, a respectably early time. Hot tea is welcome(I don't realize yet exactly how welcome it will be in the days to come). We jog up to the square and do some stretching, during which the (mean >.<) base camp leader gives us some good solid advice about acclimatization.

Then we get some hot kheer(yum) and the first in a long line of deep-fried foods, before we see off the day's group. One-two-one-two-three! Our hands are hurting from the clapping by the time all 45-odd people have crossed us. Back to the hostel hotel for breakfast, after which we are dragged hither and thither against our wills by the base camp leader, who keeps yelling and even threatens bodily harm at one point(credit someone else :D). Apparently the spirit of Christmas Day is lost on him :P.

We have some rather nice momos and tea at the intersection of the roads leading to the Japanese temple and St. Paul's. There's a verry verry interesting whistle.(And a verry verry steep climb up to some school where some movie was shot).

The afternoon is uneventful- some shopping and these really cool ribbons which can be simply pulled upwards to make pretty bows for the 'Christmas presents' we buy. My own present was a Kinder Joy(with Surprise! See my post on Joy).

In the night we eat at Glenary's, which has good food and probably deserves its reputation. We're a little worried about breaking a healthy proportion of YHAI rules --and with good reason. We write an apology letter and get yelled at some more. Sleep follows.

Day Three:

We're finally off. Some teething problems.

Above the clouds. Is that Kanchenjunga?! 

We wake, eat breakfast, pack and are applauded off by the next group. It's about an hour and a half to the start of the trek at Dhotrey. There are some more momos waiting for us here, and (possibly more importantly) our guides.

We set off and everyone realizes simultaneously that they're wearing too many layers. Slowly the outer ones come off and disappear into rucksacks. As the day goes on, some of us note that our backpacks are too full of useless junk(not me, though. Really :P.) 

This first day is around 8 kilometres, six more or less upwards to Tonglu and the last two gently sloping downwards to our first camp. The climb is gruelling for someone who has never walked so much((carrying some 7 kilos)). Not tiring, oh no, I'm too reluctant a trekker to ever get tired, but breathing problems abound at higher altitudes, and I keep stopping, ostensibly to admire the scenery, but really to control my breathing and try to stop panting. I'm pretty much the last to arrive at Tonglu, our highest point of the day.

Eventually, as the sun is setting, we reach Tumling camp, gaining some wonderful views of the Zonga(That's Kanchenjunga to the uninitiated ;) ). Soup is followed by warming our hands at the fireplace, which is followed by coffee and the 'Campfire', basically a programme in which we entertain ourselves. I'm slightly sick, but gather that everyone is playing Dumb charades, and having a good time, too.

Day Four:

Worst. Trekking Day. Ever.

It's a relief to see the Kali(black) pokhri(lake).   Pic courtesy: Vigi

The night is uncomfortably cold, and so is coffee and breakfast. We set off to yet another speech; this is routine, and we'll be cheering every day at eight(maybe slightly later, depending on everyone's punctuality)

The Tumling camp leader wasn't kidding when he talked about ups and downs. We're just not prepared for two horrible, horrible kilometres uphill after eight fairly-decent kilometers straight but get by somehow. But at lunch, we know the worst is over, and have a nice, peaceful 4 kilometre walk to the next camp. This is the most fun we have that day, skirting several hills and keeping our destination, Kalapokhri, in sight for long periods. Or maybe I'm having fun because someone in our little group is making funny noises at the distance we apparently still have left(sorry :/)

At Kalapokhri, we see the sacred lake(pond? water source?) and get yelled at for not sticking together --like a family! A 50-people-long, disciplined family. We hang around outside as the winds buffet us. I'm feeling rather sorry for myself by the time the whole exchange is done. We huddle around some coals which feel good after the freezing cold wind. There is a very-ahem!-spirited game of Antakshari before dinner, and then it's time to retire for the night. I get no sleep, yet again. Other people also have no luck.

Day Five:

The final uphill stretch.

Steeeep.   Pic courtesy: Parin

We are a little jittery about the last six kilometres to Sandakhphu; it's what we've all been waiting for, etc etc. Also, the previous night hasn't been good for sleeping, what with the winds howling outside like banshees and witches.

But the distance gets eaten up quickly enough; and we barely have time to get really tired by the time we see the top. Sadly, the clouds have been accumulating near the mountains, and almost nothing can be seen of the Zonga.

That last stretch seems endless, with Sandakphu always in sight but never within reaching distance. There is no redeeming scenery since the clouds descended, either. We reach in time for lunch, and are promptly kicked out and told to come back by 5.

Singing is fun, and singing songs I actually know the lyrics to is fun-er. I barely even feel cold once we head back for some tea and pakoras. Before dinner is what everyone jokingly calls the Camp Candle--which is exactly what it sounds like, a candle instead of a campfire. Horror stories are told and everyone feels a shiver at the thought of a red eye staring back through a crack in the wall. Various other psychopaths and monsters haunt my dreams. However, at least I'm (finally) (actually) getting some rest.

Interlude:

Sunrise at Sandakphu.

Awesome pic by Jagannath, who takes awesome pics anyhow. Admire the beauty. I say to you, admire it.

At Sandakphu, I am determined not to miss the sunrise: never mind that I haven't seen a single one so far.

And I'm glad I woke up, no matter how much the cold bites my poor fingers and toes. The sunrise over the mountains cannot be missed. It is one of the best experiences I've had so far, and I crave experiences, so it was all worth it, every single minute.

I don't have the words to describe the colours and, simply, the feel. Amazing, it was. The Zonga was incredible, all of the mountain ranges were incredible, and so was Everest.

Going back to tea and breakfast is a regret-filled task.

Day Six:

We're going down. No, really.

We more or less skip downhill(at least, I do :P) for thirteen kilometres, with some more wonderful views, of valleys and mountains and little hamlets halfway down mountains. I hear some interesting conversation and watch a name being scratched into a nearby rock.

Finally, we reach Gurdum, slightly late for lunch. ((I finally find the time to read that book but nod off after two stories)) In relief, I sleep for 12 hours straight, and would sleep some more if we didn't have to leave in a mere half-hour. 

Apparently, everyone else does something Campfire- and dinner-related; but I can't be sure, as I am dead to the world during that entire time.

Day Seven:

I bid my comfy bed in Gurdum farewell and move off.

Beside the river. Hypnotising.   Pic courtesy: Parin

We go down through some rather pretty forest trails, before reaching a river. The river is a-ma-zing, and I am tempted to stay on the first bridge I come to, staring at the hypnotizing eddies and currents below my feet.

Of course, that's not strictly allowed, and I tear myself away from the wonderful mountain river, with its smooth stones and white caps, to continue along a straight-ish trail that's crossed several times over with little clear streams, all leading to the main river. The river-sound makes for a wonderful soundtrack for the first part of the trek.

Eventually, we come to the scary, shaky rope bridge which is supposed to hold only three people at a time, two of which are usually posing for a photograph. Everyone crosses this way and then runs down to the riverbank, balancing on various rocks on the way.

We wait for the last group to cross on the rocks.((I have my story-telling skills insulted. I hope this blog post doesn't suffer the same fate >.<))

A little ahead of the rope bridge is the place where we have lunch: another opportunity to connect to the beautiful river, and some really nice khichdi. The last few kilometres are much fun; we see some nice views of the various valleys, we also sing some more, and talk and dawdle and generally enjoy ourselves. There's no painful uphill/downhill. This is the (trekking) life. We reach Rimbik.

There's a felicitation ceremony that's almost slipped our minds, but we're just in time for it. We listen to a lot of speeches, some suggestions for improvements(more exercises?! The horror!) and are given medals and certificates. One gala dinner later, it's time for bed and happy dreams.

Epilogue:

Still a reluctant trekker. Had infinite fun on this trek. Was a bit like prison, lots of rules, but I'm guessing that's why the trek was so peaceful, because everyone had to listen and most everyone did.

Made a new friend or two; had a blast for New Year's in Darjeeling. Couldn't have imagined a better way to spend the last week of 2013. :)

Do I want to go trekking again?

No.

Will I go trekking again?

There's a high probability that I will.

Will I enjoy it?

But of course.

Under the rose

 It hurts for someone to read something that isn’t meant to be read. For me, a diary has always been for my eyes, and my eyes alone. 

 I’ve written in them when I was happy and when I was sad, frustrated at the world and at myself, and when I was happiest and most content, too. When I began accessing the internet, and realised all about journals and things, I began to feel that, here too was a place where I could express myself without people caring or judging me(of course, that was before the age of youtube comments). 

 When people began to read and discuss my blog with me, too, I felt acutely uncomfortable, because I never thought my writing would matter enough for people to read it, keep it in mind. That itself is not particularly a bad thing, but to think that people who know me are reading it, and judging me by what I think about, what I write about: It does two things; one, it makes me put an automatic curb on what I say. So now, when I write my blog and think something slightly unconventional or controversial, I pull myself back a bit, hesitate, because

- what will people say? 

 Which is why I feel violated and/or threatened when people read my diary. I’m not saying, of course, that my blog is so private or so personal that readers should not read it. But my diaries, all the ones I kept since I was around 11 or so, yes, that is something I never wanted anyone to read. 

 And I know that it's hard to understand why it’s so important to me, but believe me when I say that I wrote whatever I did safe in the knowledge that no one need ever read it unless I showed it to them, and now that knowledge is gone, for everything in my collection. The feeling I get when I read back my old things is replaced by this dread in the pit of my stomach, saying, has someone read this or seen that? And it makes me terribly, terribly unhappy. 

You don’t know how much. 

I may as well burn the books now, for all the comfort that they give me.

Katze.

P.S. Inspired by the only writer around my age who I really look up to. I didn't think I'd have the guts to post this, but I did.(Or do, rather.)

Mid-Endsem gloominess, hurrah.

Hope

It's probably fitting for me to follow up a blog post on how I hate myself and my writing, my life etc. etc. with a blog post on hope.

I'm feeling hopeful.

I wrote around 4,000 words yesterday. They were doubtless not some of my best words, and I know I'll have to rewrite and rewrite until I go insane, but somehow, I'm more hopeful about this story now. I don't know if it'll be any good, or even if I'll want to rewrite it after I finish the first draft: but something in me says:

COMPLETE IT. One way or the other, finish it, and we'll see what happens in the end. Hopefully something good will come out of it.

I really, really believe this, and that's all I have to hold on to.

My goal for today: 13,295 words. :D That is a lot, considering my word count is around 6,000 at the time of writing this blog post. But I'm going to make it interesting somehow. And I will COMPLETE IT.

Katze