Options Galore

I despise not knowing what I want to do with my future. I am not one to usually plan out my day to day tasks; I have a tendency just to do what I am feeling at the moment. I love spontaneity and being able to do things on a whim, I really do, and it is really not benefitting me in the decision process in any way. I just want to know! I find it sad that I really can’t say I know what I am passionate about, besides people that is, but there are sooo many different options and possibilities out there that have to do with people. I can’t even begin to create a list, go through it and see if any of them stand out to me. That would take years!

I have considered being a vet but decided against it because I do not like the thought of animals potentially dying in my care, I thought about having an art major but job findings are slim, then I looked into advertising and decided I did not like the thought of being manipulative, Spanish, but I was too scared to do the projects that I heard the other people had to do when they got into the upper level classes, communication studies, well, I am not really sure, just did not interest me, then fashion of some sort, but concluded it was a scene I did not really want to be a part of, then human resource management but I can’t see myself being stuck behind a desk or in an office most of my life, and now I have moved on to anthropology, but it is science based (I hate/suck at science) so we will see how long this one lasts me. Can’t I just be the travel channel lady and get paid to travel? That would be ideal. I feel like I have worn through most of my options at this point. I do not want to be picky but I do not want to be stuck with something I dislike. I think that is my greatest fear. Well, just be a stay at home mom you say…but I want a career, I want to be self-sustaining. Plus the fact I am not overly fond of children, at least not yet. Maybe when I am closer to being married will I reconsider, but definitely not at this stage in my life.

If someone were to come up to me tomorrow and asked me if I would like to look into my future to see where I will be in, let’s say ten years, I would say YES!!! You might be thinking, “well, where is the fun in that? Part of the fun of life is getting to those places.” I think it would be incredibly fascinating and helpful. Not only would it tell me where I would be professionally, but it would save me the heartache from looking into the wrong guys. Right? Who would not want that? But the chances of this occurring are not very likely, so I will keep trekking onwards and hope and pray God fills my heart with a passion so strong for something I can’t help but chase after.

Rollie Pollie's Escapade

I was taking a stroll a while back on a day much like today, simply enjoying the few moments I had to myself. I love the feeling of having the sun warmed smooth rock like surface beneath me, but this time around it was chilly, which meant one thing…rain. Before I knew it I heard the rain begin to fall from the large white masses above me. I scurried as quickly as my ten little legs could take me to the nearest building. It looked different than the rest with its foggy white walls and I became a little hesitant, but I despise the rain so I took the chance and squeezed through a hole towards the front. I cleaned the soot off of my back with a small leaf I found on the ground. Then I realized I found a leaf while inside of a building. “Well this is odd,” I thought to myself. I looked up to something completely unexpected, to something I had never before seen. Especially not inside a building! The outdoors was indoors. The place was coated in green life of all sorts. I looked twice to make sure I was not still outside by accident and sure enough I was not.

Out of pure curiosity of this new wonderland I was in, I ventured forth, slowly, taking in my surroundings. I heard water trickling around me and I was thankful to be out of the rain. But the water’s natural melody was not coming from outside but in front of me. “What is this place?!” I followed the noise which brought me to a lake. I made sure not to get too close as I am terrified of water. I continue to walk over a rock-like surface similar to the one outside that separated the two bodies of water when I heard voices. I did not want to be seen so I darted behind a shrubbery of sorts and waited for the voices to pass, but whoever it was decided to take their time. As I waited as quietly and patiently as I could, I failed to notice where exactly I had taken cover, directly next to the water! I started panicking. I knew if I left my cover I would be caught and I was more afraid of the thought of facing whatever was out there than staying put. I locked onto a small stem to be certain I was not going anywhere.

As the time slowly passed I surprisingly grew a little more comfortable with the thought of being so close to water, I was even able to look at it long enough to notice that there were things moving in it. I looked closer to see what they were. Low and behold they were fish! At least I was pretty sure they were, I had never been close enough to ever see for myself, but I have heard enough stories about them to have an educated guess. They were so brightly colored in contrast to the dead guck resting below them. I was mesmerized by what life they had; darting here and there, exploring what was around them as if they had never seen it before. One dashed behind a flower that had fallen from a plant above into the water but it was snagged on a rock and only half of it had gracefully found a home in the water. It danced with the fish as another glided behind it. I was beginning to feel drawn to the joy they seemed to be experiencing. I left my post in order to get a better view. My curiosity was overcoming my fear and I inched away from the edge of safety. I sat there, on a smooth, deep green colored leaf and stared in awe at what I had been missing out on my entire life. “I wouldn’t get too close if I were you,” came deep, wise voice on my left. Without noticing, I was only inches away from where the water meets the edge. Startled, I scampered backwards onto safe ground and looked to see who was talking to me. It was a snail. Its curlicue shell was once a pearly white but had now become a dull off-white from years of wear and tear, its body awkwardly coming out and slowly turning towards me and hoarsely said, “You can never be too careful around Boris,” then turned and parted ways leaving a gooey trail on the rock behind him. “What an odd fellow. Who is Boris?” I circled back to return to this new and exciting view only to stare into black, beady eyes warning me to stay away. I was so frightened I ran full speed back onto the smooth, rock-like surface not caring if the voices saw me in my frantic state and then back through the hole with which I entered.

I finally calmed down enough to realize I must have been in there for hours as the rain had passed and the warmth was beginning to reappear beneath me. I continued on my way reminiscing of the time I almost overcome my fear of the water and I was pleased.

Comida Comida

Holy buckets I like food. Good food that is. Not necessarily the food here at Iowa State. I will give it some credit though…I have had some tasty things, but it is still nothing comparable to good ol’ home cooking. I almost picked a college that was ranked second in the nation for its top quality food because I love it so much and I was quite frankly a little nervous about how I would make it at a big college university’s mass produced grub, but I am getting by. I must say that I am incredibly spoiled because my mother is an amazing cook with Italian being her specialty of course. Bolognese, pasta e lenticchie, pasta e piselli, pasta e fagioli, braciole and risotto of all shorts just to name a few of my favorites. I have been so fortunate as to have someone who will always have a warm, well-balanced and scrumptious meal prepared for us by the time dinner comes around. She was even willing to make a random assortment of snacks for when I still lived at home. I miss it incredibly.

I am sad to say that I did not learn the ways of my mother until towards the end of my senior year in high school when I finally realized that I was going to be living on my own and would need to know how to cook. Unfortunately I have not been able to put this little bit of knowledge to use at all considering the lack of a stove, oven or even a sink in my residence hall. But oh how I wish I could cook. Even right now at 10:23 pm.

I went on a little recipe scavenger hunt online last night which was probably a bad idea. I saw numerous recipes that looked delicious and I am dying to try them out…but I can’t. It sucks even more knowing that I can't possibly get anything that i looked at in any of the dining centers or most likely any of the restaurants around Ames although I have not tried them all out yet so I can't say for certain. And what sucks even more than that is the fact that I kept accidentally stumbling upon recipes that dealt with chocolate. I gave up chocolate for lent and I have been craving it for the past couple of weeks. It must be God's way of testing me.

I am looking forward to the day when I finally own my own kitchen, however junky or small it is, just as long as I can prepare a little something to satisfy my hungry and adventurous belly.

The Vicious Cycle

Today has been an interesting day of sorts. To start things off, I was only able to get about three hours of sleep because I really wanted and need to get a good grade in my anthropology class since there are only two exams all semester so I stayed up until the wee hours studying for that along with another exam for Spanish.

I was hoping to do some studying in my eight o’clock health and nutrition class this morning to refresh my brain a little before my anthropology exam at nine since I do not have to worry about missing anything in that class because nothing ever happens and I do not have to pay attention because she does not give exams. Perfect. When I approached the classroom at 7:56 this morning, I notice the lights were off. I thought, “Well this is odd. I checked my email this morning and it did not say anything about not having class.” I opened the door just to double check and I see that the class is full, so I venture in farther to try and figure out an explanation as to why the lights are off. I see my professor and I immediately understand and then I start to laugh. She is standing at the front of the lecture hall dressed in all black, including a black cape tied around her neck, face painted white, hair slicked straight back and also whitened. Behind her the PowerPoint reads, “Blood, blood pressure, and protecting the blood.” Eerie, dark music starts to play and a light shines on her face casting shadows as if she was about to tell a scary story. She throws her arms up and her cape flies up with them. She starts talking in a crazy accent. I sit down, my mouth agape and in awe with the fact that she actually came to class dressed as a vampire. I could not help but wonder what her husband thinks when he sees his wife dressing up to go to work like that, or seeing the faces of the passerby’s as she drives to work. The thoughts and expressions probably were not much different than the ones in that classroom. I thought maybe the lights would come back on once class actually started, but nope, it was dark all hour which made studying difficult and staying awake difficult. I realized I was not the only one struggling keeping my eyes open, a good quarter of the students were dozing. I had an occasional chuckle when she would slip out of the accent and then realize a few sentences later that she fell out of character and it would sporadically start back into the stereotypical vampire accent overdramatizing it and then it would begin to fizzle out again. Towards the end of class I was beginning to get pre-test jitters. This was a big one and I really did not want to mess it up. I packed up my things early and snuck out a minute early so I could beat the crowd.

On my way over to Kildee I was giving myself mini quizzes recalling what I stayed up late studying for. I am not sure what my anthropology professor was thinking when he decided he wanted to test us over thirteen chapters out of sixteen total in the textbook, which is over 77% of the book and amounts to 330 pages, no study guide, review session or curve. “Just take a stab at it, I am sure you will be fine if you study a little bit every night”…WHAT?! That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard! He is going to narrow thirteen chapters into fifty questions, how am I supposed to even know what to study? Stressful. What are we going to even talk about for the second half of the semester? The TA’s hand start handing out the exams five minutes early and I take a deep breath, pull out a fresh mechanical pencil and begin. I immediately start panicking. Of course I would not study the stuff that would actually end up on the test, so I take an educated guess as they always say and start filling in the bubbles praying that I picked the “best” answer. But only twenty-five out of the fifty are multiple choice. Now I have to fill in the blank for thirteen chapters of vocabulary without a word bank. Ugh. Then there are short answer questions regarding a few anthropological sites out of the twenty we studies and we have to tell why they are important to anthropology’s research. Eek! Then we have to fill in a chart listing off all of the species in a certain category of monkeys and where each of them live in the world. Shoot me. I could have slept three extra hours and my grade would probably not be any different. Frustration. So I treated myself to a latte.

Reflective Essay-Week 7

In the article “You’re Short, Besides!” author Sucheng Chan tells her story of what life has been like being handicapped due to having pneumonia and polio as a child. She grew up in a country and in a home where her disability was often looked down upon because it was often believed that she must have led a sinful and destructive life in her previous lives or that it was a result of her father’s rambunctious behavior as a young man. The search to find a school that would accept her was almost as difficult as finding the money to pay for the American school she ended up attending along with the cost of hiring an “amah” who would take care of her while at school. She excelled at school and was the star of her class. When moving to different countries, Chan notices the difference in the way different cultures will react to her disability. Her life has its shares of troubles and trials but that never held her back.

Most people probably cannot relate to Chan’s condition and the struggles that she goes through daily, but through her very descriptive language you feel as if you can be a part of her story whether you are that small girl asking why that person is in a wheelchair or are the one who has befriended someone with a disability. She wants to make the story as real to the reader as possible. She also does this through the organization of her article. The chronological order of mini autobiography is effective and only makes sense. It allows her story to naturally progress in such a way so her audience can easily follow.

Through her persistence and life examples, Chan comes across as being a very strong willed and adamant character. She does not want to be pitied simply because she cannot walk like everyone else. Her tone contains a tinge of bitterness. She dislikes that no matter where she seems to go, people do not know how to treat her and respond to her handicap, even her friends and a professor whom she admires. People go about it a number of ways, making fun of her disability, asking what happened out of curiosity, ignore it entirely and say she is capable of things she knows she is not. She is real and vulnerable to the audience.

Chan’s use of imagery, organization and tone all play a large role in making her paper an affective one. Her strong use of emotions and the pictures it provides draws in her audience while the organization keeps them reading a naturally flowing article. Although her tone may not be the most uplifting, it undoubtedly adds to the imagery and the gives a better representation of what Chan goes through on a regular basis.