This One’s a Quick Thought

Thursday May 10, 2012

Monday December 31, 2011

The Next Morning

Monday December 19, 2011

I am going to die soon. This is not an expression of a diminishing will to live, but the mere assertion that with every second of every minute of every hour that passes I am brought closer to the inevitable. I have understood this for a long time now. How long, I am not quite sure.

Perhaps this first dawned on me when I  was twelve and I cut myself shaving for the first time. I watched in awe as the bright red blood dripped down my leg, intermixing with the hot water as it swirled down the drain. I thought to myself, I am dying.

Later that year I rode in an ambulance from one intensive care unit, to another, my tiny twelve-year-old body encased in a cocoon of white sheets. I felt safe; I thought to myself, I am dying.

I watched myself fade in the mirror with a sick satisfaction, I became healthy again. It was my own private joke. They did not understand, I was still dying.

I held a grown man in my arms as he sobbed over the death of his father, my grandfather. I thought to myself, I am dying.

I traced the silhouette of my beautiful best friend’s face in the air as he lay in his coffin, my eyes fixated on his chest as it neither rose nor fell. I thought to myself, I am dying.
I wished with all my heart I didn’t have to wait.

I took the train everyday with men in stiff black suits and eyes so empty they may as well have been dead. I handed in my assignments on time. I brushed my teeth twice a day, but forgot to floss. I laughed at all the wrong moments and cried at all the right. I kept myself up into the early morning hours pacing back and fourth, as my kitten slept soundly on my bed. I wished we could switch places. I fulfilled all my societal and self-proclaimed duties, knowing all the while that it was nothing but an intricate dance with the delusion of eternity. For, I know with certainty, that with every sunrise and every sunset I am brought closer to my demise.

I am dying.

Saturday September 24, 2011

It would be impossible to contain the essence of a man as beautiful and complex as Tom within the boundaries of written word. He was a true rarity in life; the kind of human that left a profound impact on all those he encountered. He embodied an element of truth so powerful it was only natural that his friends and loved ones would look to him as their leader and teacher. Through him his friends and family learned what most take a lifetime to figure out. He possessed a never-ending well of love, the kind of love that kept you digging for more.

Tom was devoted to his friends and family with a fierce sincerity. Yet while he lived for few reasons other than to serve those he loved, he never once swayed from his beliefs and guiding principles. He taught us to be true to ourselves and consequently brought together the most incredible and unique group of people. He taught us to break boundaries and stand up for what we believed in. He taught us how to love unconditionally.

Rest in peace Thomas. You were the best friend, the best brother, the best boyfriend, the best son we could ask for. You were our rock, our glue, our everything. We would have never made it this far without you and we will never forget everything you have done for us.

After my grandfather passed away this past summer Tom said something to me that really stuck with me. He said, “the world may suck but life is a very beautiful thing. Part of life is death and as much as it is hard to accept, it is also a beautiful thing.”

May the force be with you.

Love,

Sarah and Rhonda

Sunday September 11, 2011

Isn’t strange how few true opposites exist? Yet something in the human psyche forces us to construct a world of false parallels. Darkness is not the opposite of light, only the absence of it, just as white is the absence of color, and cold is the absence of heat. Peace is the absence of war; good is the absence of evil. Happiness is the absence of sadness and life is the absence of death. We have divided the entire human experience into pairs as if to make the harshness of reality more palatable.

Wednesday August 3, 2011

“Spirituality consists in the added meaning that is inherent in even the simplest human actions. It may take the form of faith, thought, art, or love, but it always involves a choice, an act of the free will, as opposed to emotion which is a passive reaction, imposed and sometimes uncontrolled: an ocean of difference between the two. Emotion is to spirituality what physical attraction is to love.”

-Tariq Ramadan

Monday July 25, 2011

New life plan. Feeling somewhat op-ti-mis-tic.

Wednesday July 20, 2011

The curse of being a first-generation-anything is that you don’t belong anywhere.

Sunday July 17, 2011

“Language is never neutral.”

-Paulo Freire

Thursday July 7, 2011

This One’s With Feeling (One More Time)

It was a nothing day - she could tell from the way the light poured through the window at all the wrong angles. She stared at the ceiling and willed herself not to go to class. She told them that her stomach hurt. They didn’t believe her but knew not to question; her personal days were nonnegotiable. The rational part of her mind told her that she had all weekend to be nothing. The realistic part of her mind told her that ten personal days would not be enough.
“You want to believe that there is something special about your sadness,” said her sister as she walked out the door. I want to believe that I don’t exist, she answered in her head. She was smart enough to know she wasn’t special.
What if he sends her letters? She thought she could suffocate herself with the pillow at the stray thought. What if no one ever lied and everyone meant it when they said that they loved you? She looked at her hands, cracked and dry and peeling from the desert heat. Who could love hands like that?
She calculated numbers in her head to quite the thought. She got up and put on the boyfriend-jeans that were still loose enough to remind her of when she was skinny. She put on her grandfather’s shirt that she stole when her grandmother was cleaning out the closet after the funeral. She moved from the bedroom to the living room couch where the ceilings were higher and her dreams would have more room to swim. Eventually, the sound of the decade-old fan would lull her to sleep. In the meantime she would imagine suffocating herself with the pillow.

Friday June 24, 2011

This One’s a Train of Thought

The hottest heat had yet to come and it was still possible to exist on shade and breeze alone. Windows left wide open, the soft summer wind danced through our homes ruffling our hair and leaving no corner untouched with its dust. We hardly noticed. We lay sprawled upon couches like ladies of the harem waiting for the wind to whisper to us the secrets of the streets. We took comfort in repetition and in the simplicity of our self-entertained lives. It was our temporary refuge from reality; a pocket of peace we had created among the endless havoc.

The first Friday came and went leaving the air saturated with the sticky haze of silence and fear. Accustomed to the dry heat, we could not settle with the new climate. Every day that passed chiseled away at our homemade asylum and before long the heat left us feverish. We were itching to respond to the call of the streets. Madness leaked through every crack, every vent in our ancient walls, luring us out into the unprotected open. Suddenly and all at once we felt invincible. Heads inflated with rage and feet restless for freedom we could no longer resist the magnetic pull of the outside. The necessary change became the moment and the excitement of the unknown could not be quelled.

Monday June 6, 2011

Humanity today is split into two halves: Those fighting for their piece of land and those fighting for their peace of mind. Sunday

Sunday May 8, 2011

This One’s a Train of Thought

I’m currently writing a research paper for my cognitive neuroscience class on the neurological basis of déja vu. What I find striking right now is that the persistence of strong reoccurring memories is consistently described as abnormal brain activity throughout the various papers I’m reading. Pause, come again? Well, currently on my memory feedback loop I’ve been returning to one specific memory. It all begins with American Cheese…

When I was a child upon returning to America I had this self-imposed tradition of taking a slice of American Cheese and a slice of American toast and making myself an instant mini-sandwhich. It was only while indulging on my artificially colored, preserved, and flavored cheese sandwich, that I was able to soak in the aroma of my American home, listen to the buzz of the central air condition and the neighbor’s dog’s barking. Only then was I able to verify that I was once more back in America.

From that memory I back track to the countless times my family driven to JFK airport. Without fail, it is always raining the day we leave for Syria. There is always traffic on the way to JFK. We are always afraid that we will miss our flight or that it will be cancelled due to the weather. It never is, and we always get there in time. I can paint a map of JFK in my mind. I know that terminal one is Air France, Alitalia, and Turkish Airlines; terminal 3 is Aeroflot and Delta Airlines; Terminal 4 is KLM. I know that the parking space is beyond annoying and terminal one is involves more walking than necessary. I know that the security personnel will be rude, and unaccommodating, especially if you are carrying a child. I know that on the upper floor of terminal one there is a McDonalds and a Chinese Restaurant that overlook the check-in area. I know that JFK has a distinct smell, which I can recognize the way some people pick up the sent of their own home after being away for a long time. This is the sent that sends me home…

Saturday April 9, 2011

THIS ONE’S OPTIMISTIC 

WE are all too familiar with the media’s tendency to focus on the horrific and the heart breaking in the aftermath of any given catastrophic event. The current on-goings in Japan are surely no exception. To counteract the negative attention Japan has been recieving from the media, and shed light on the positive, inspiring actions organizations and individuals have taken, my friend Aiko organized a film screening at the Mercer street Think Coffee last night. She began the gathering with a skype session with a correspondent in Japan, Adam Clark, who gave us a great picture of the efforts people have been taking to reach out and help others. Organizations that are bogged down by bureaucratic systems have really not been effective in their methods of aid in comparison with the individual, more personal organizations that are getting out there. A friend of AIko’s who is a photo student at Parsons, also introduced us to an organization she started, Red Dot Relief calling for photographers to donate a print or two to raise money for Japan. Following this discussion, Aiko showed three shorts by the Japanese animator Koji Yamamura, who I would highly suggest checking out if you are into the indie film scene. 

Anyways here are some of the organizations/individuals that Aiko made note of - check them out:

whoisadamclark.com

www.myjapanearthquake.net

reddotrelief.blogspot.com

happydoll.org

 Thursday March 31, 2011

“To live is to suffer, said Schopenhauer and Nietzche, who were both steeped in the teachings of Buddhism. To live is to love, asserted St Augustine, recalling the teachings of Christianity and the monotheistic religions. Aristotle’s syllogism is unanswerable: To live is to suffer, and if to live is to love, then to love is to suffer.” -The Quest For Meaning, Tariq Ramadan

Thursday February 3, 2011

Sometimes I wonder if it’s possible that humanity as a collective whole is evolutionarily regressing. 

Thursday February 3, 2011

“Death has nothing to do with going away. The sun sets and the moon sets, but they’re not gone.” -Rumi

Sunday January 9, 2011

Nowhere is the tug-of-war between old and new, east and west, more visible than in the very infrastructure of Istanbul. It is from this bubbling turmoil that a sort of vibrancy emerges, giving Istanbul a unique life and soul. Here, every cobblestone and every vine that crawls up a timeworn wall seems to whisper a tale. The richness of the culture and the unavoidable presence of history stimulates my mind and feeds my soul in a way that very few other places in the world do. 
Few cities can top the sheer grandeur of Istanbul. Its monuments stand as an inescapable testimony to its past. Here, one experiences the past as a part of the present, and as a result the city has formed a deeply complex and rich society. I am fascinated by the way these monuments have not only impacted the inhabitants of Istanbul but those who are merely passing through as well. I know a woman who entered Istanbul a Christian missionary, and after weeping at the Blue Mosque left a Muslim convert. In my brief time in Istanbul I aim to explore the spiritual past of these monuments and their modern day impact on the human psyche. 
This city is constantly reaffirming the connection between the physical world and the transcendental world. Yet, as westerners we are trained pragmatics and skeptics. We are all too quick to dismiss the life behind something that according to scientific law should be lifeless. However, as I make my way through this city there is an indescribable presence at every site I have visited and I am overcome with emotions that words simply cannot do justice.

Sunday October 31st, 2010

This One’s With Feeling (One More Time)

She sat down in the shower, a habit she had formed a time not too long ago, when standing expended precious energy. Back then she could not shower in hot water. The temperature difference that resulted in her body was too great and the discomfort afterwards was far too immense. Now she watched as the jets of hot water formed tiny pools around her feet and in between her knees and thighs. She did not want to see her reflection. 

What did it feel like?

It felt like going through puberty for a second time. The way a twelve year old girl wakes up one morning only to find that all her old clothes fit differently, tight in places she never knew could deposit fat. Except truthfully, she was never one of those scrawny girls who all of a sudden felt so exposed by the change in their body. She started out a five, standard. She climbed to eleven, too much. Then pummeled down to zero, too fast. Her life was soon ruled by a reverse logarithm of sorts. At sixteen she weighed less than she did at fourteen. At eighteen she weighed less than she did at thirteen. At nineteen she weighed less than she did at eleven. No, she was never one of those girls. 

Back then she had felt so three dimensional, so unbearably present, that the transformation was insignificant. But now everything had to be reprogrammed: her step, her walk, and her posture, all to adjust to the fact that she was no longer invisible. She could no longer weave through people unnoticed. She had a name, a face, a sense of being. Now she had muscle covering bones, fat covering muscles, skin covering fat. Limbs sealed together, heart pumping blood, brain firing neurons, all essential in the equation of being alive…

Monday October 4, 2010

“Life is tragic simply because the earth turns and the sun inexorably rises and sets, and one day, for each of us, the sun will go down for the last, last time. Perhaps the whole root of our trouble, the human trouble, is that we will sacrifice all the beauty of our lives, will imprison ourselves in totems, taboos, crosses, blood sacrifices, steeples, mosques, races, armies, flags, nations, in order to deny the fact of death, which is the only fact we have. It seems to me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death - ought to decide, indeed, to earth one’s death by confronting with passion the conundrum of life.” -The Fire Next Time, James Baldwin

Wednesday September 8, 2010

Humans are the only species that have what is known in the intellectual community as ‘freedom of reaction’. They are the only species that have the option not to be a slave to their own instincts. 

Consider this passage:

In zoology it is well known that if an animal starts an instinctual activity it often cannot break off in the middle; it is like a mechanism which once started has to be gone through, and that is what one calls the “all or none reaction”. If from outside you interrupt an “activated” animal in such a reaction, then there is the so - called displaced reaction, for in some way the accumulated energy has to abreacted. If you stop, say, two animals in the middle of a fight - before a natural decision has taken place, the victory or defeat of one or the other - then the animal will eat furiously, or scratch furiously, or do anything, which expresses a displaced reaction. The same thing occurs if you interrupt mating or eating; it is as though a mechanical process had begun which, if interrupted, has to be abreacted in another form. This means that the animal has, more or less, to go through with it to the end, even if in the middle it seems to have become meaningless. (Franz 44, Creation Myth)

Yet while humans have the choice to pause, to reflect, and to change their course of action, more than often they will succumb to the “all or none reaction”. They act without purpose or reason to satisfy a hunger or desire and will feel quite empty if they are unsuccessful, without even knowing why. They debase themselves to the level of their distant mammalian relatives, despite their capability to live as higher order creatures. 

Saturday July 17, 2011

“Anything, Anything would be better than this agony of  mind, this creeping pain that gnaws and fumbles and caresses one and never hurts quite enough.” -Jean-Paul Sartre