February 26, 2008

Broke

Shit.

I am out of money. I have no money. I actually, legitimately, have no money. In my two savings accounts and two checking accounts, there are currently $2, because each of the savings accounts needs at each $1 to stay open.

Also, I owe $200 on my credit card bill.

How did this happen? Because I have no job right now. I am a student, and I had about $500 worth of required books this semester. And I buy shit like coffee and candy, and I do silly things like order pizza from time to time. SHIT.

How am I going to get money?? I have no income. And no time for a job. And I do NOT want to be in debt. (I know that not being in debt is a privilege, but right now it doesn't feel like it.)

My parents and grandparents are all potential sources of money. In fact, they all have money. So it's not like I'm poor, because my family is not poor. My family is upper middle class. However, in my family, one does not ask for money. That is extremely out of the question. And even if I asked, I would probably not get any, because even the act of asking would deem me unworthy of receiving any money.

So, I will have to wait until I graduate to get any money. SHIT. SHITSHITSHIT.

Luckily, as a student living in a campus dormitory, I do not have any costly needs, like food and rent, that I have to pay on a regular basis. I need things like shampoo and toothpaste and tampons, but those are only occasional expenses. And money to print readings. SHIT.

HOW AM I GOING TO PAY TO PRINT MY THESIS?!?!?!?!

ohmanohmanohman I have never been in this situation before in my life.

December 28, 2007

The Years of Rice and Salt

I'm reading this fabulous book right now; it re-imagines world history, supposing the Europeans had mostly died out from the Plague in the 14th century (or whenever it was). This is an excerpt from later on in the book, Section 6, "Widow Kang." The point of view is a Muslim scholar; the location is what we would call western China, and the historical setting of the book at the moment in time in which this bit is written is that the two primary world religions--Islam and Buddhism--are clashing, and there is war and turmoil. (The bracketed [ ] inserts are my own.) (The time, in our Christian calendar, is about 1820 AD.)

Wealth and the Four Great Inequalities
The scattered records and broken ruins of the Old World tell us that the earliest civilizations arose in China, India, Persia, Egypt, the Middle West, and Anatolia. The first farmers in these fertile regions taught themselves farming and storage methods that created harvests beyond the needs of the day. Very quickly soldiers, supported by priests, took power in each region, and their own numbers grew, gathering these new abundant harvests largely into their own hands, by means of taxes and direct seizures. Labor divided into the groups described by Confucius and the Hindu caste system: the warriors, priests, artisans, and farmers. With this division of labor, the subjugation of farmers by warriors and priests was institutionalized, a subjugation that has never ended. This was the first inequality.

In this division of civilized labor, if it had not happened earlier, men established a general domination over women. It may have happened during the earlier ages of bare subsistence, but there is no way to tell; what we can see with our own eyes is that in farming cultures women labor both at home and in the fields. In truth the farming life requires work from all. But from early on, women did as men required. And in each family, the control of legal power resembled the situation at large: the king and his heir dominated the rest. These were the second and third inequalities, of men over women and children.

The next small age saw the beginning of trade between the first civilizations, and the silk roads connecting China, Bactria, India, Persia, the Middle West, Rome, and Africa moved the surplus harvests around the Old World. Agriculture responded to the new chances to trade, and there was a great rise in the production of bulk cereals and meats, and specialized crops like olives, wine, and mulberry trees. The artisans also made new tools, and with them more powerful farming implements and ships. Trading groups and peoples began to undermine the monopoly on power of the first military-priest empires, and money began to replace land as the source of ultimate power. All this happened much earlier than Ibn Khaldun and the Maghribi historians recognized. By the time of the classical period--around 1200 b.H. [ca. 600 BC]--the changes brought by trade had unsettled the old ways and spread and deepened the first three inequalities, raising many questions about human nature. The great classical religions came into being precisely to attempt to answer these questions--Zoroastrianism in Persia, Buddhism in India, and the rationalist philosophers in Greece. But no matter their metaphysical details, each civilization was part of a world transferring wealth back and forth, back and forth, eventually to elite groups; these movements of wealth became the driving force of change in human affairs--in other words, of history. Gathered wealth gathered more wealth.

From the classical period to the discovery of the New World (say 1200 b.H. to 1000 a.H.) [ca. 600 BC to 1600 AD], trade made the Middle West the focal point of the Old World, and much wealth ended up there. At about the midpoint of this period, as the dates indicate, Islam appeared, and very quickly it came to dominate the world. Very likely there were some underlying economic reasons for this phenomenon; Islam, perhaps by chance but perhaps not, appeared in the "center of the world," the area sometimes called the Isthmus Region, bounded by the Persian Gulf, the Red Sea, the Mediterranean, the Black Sea, and the Caspian Sea. All the trade routes necessarily knotted here, like dragon arteries in a feng shui analysis. So it is not particularly surprising that for a time Islam provided the world with a general currency--the dinar--and a generally used language--Arabic. But it was also a religion, indeed it became almost the universal religion, and we must understand that its appeal as a religion arose partly from the fact that in a world of growing inequalities, Islam spoke of a realm in which all were equal--all equal before God no matter their age, gender, occupation, race, or nationality. Islam's appeal lay in this: that inequality could be neutralized and done away with in the most important realm, the eternal realm of the spirit.

Meanwhile, however, trade in food and in luxury goods continued all across the Old World, from al-Andalus [the Iberian Peninsula] to China, in animals, timber and metals, cloth, glass, writing materials, opium, medicines, and, more and more as the centuries passed, in slaves. The slaves came chiefly from Africa and they became more important because there was more labor to be done, while at the same time the mechanical improvements allowing for more powerful tools had not yet been made, so that all this new work had to be accomplished by animal and human effort alone. So added to the subjugation of farmers, women, and the family was this fourth inequality, of race or group, leading to the subjugation of the most powerless peoples to slavery. And the unequal accumulation of wealth by the elites continued.

The discovery of the New World has only accelerated these processes, providing both more wealth and more slaves. The trade routes themselves have moved substantially from land to sea, and Islam no longer controls the crossroads as it did for a thousand years. The main center of accumulation has shifted to China; indeed, China may have been the center all along. It has always had the most people; and from ancient times people everywhere else have traded for Chinese goods. Rome's trade balance with China was so poor that it lost a million ounces of silver a year to China. Silk, porcelain, sandalwood, pepper--Rome and all the rest of the world sent their gold to China for these products, and China grew rich. And now that China has taken control of the west coasts of the New World, it has also begun to enjoy a direct infusion of huge amounts of gold and silver, and slaves. This doubled gathering of wealth, both by trade of manufactured goods and by direct extraction, is something new, a kind of cumulation of accumulations.

So it seems apparent that the Chinese are clearly the rising dominant power in the world, in competition with the previous dominant power, Dar al-Islam, which still exerts a powerful attraction to people hoping for justice before God, if no longer much expecting it on Earth. India then exists as a third culture between the other two, a go-between and influence on both, while also, of course, influenced by both. Meanwhile the primitive New World cultures, newly connected to the bulk of humanity and immediately subjugated by them, struggle to survive.

So. To a very great extent human history has been the story of the unequal accumulation of harvested wealth, shifting from one center of power to another, while always expanding the four great inequalities. This is history. Nowhere, as far as I know, has there ever been a civilization or moment when the wealth of the harvests created by all has been equitably distributed. Power has been exerted wherever it can be, and each successful coercion has done its part to add to the general inequality, which has risen in direct proportion to the wealth gathered; for wealth and power are much the same. The possessors of the wealth in effect buy the armed power they need to enforce the growing inequality. And so the cycle continues.

The result has been that while a small percentage of human beings have lived in a wealth of food, material comfort, and learning, those not so lucky have been the functional equivalent of domestic beasts, in harness to the powerful and well-off, creating their wealth for them but not benefiting from it themselves. If you happen to be a young black farm girl, what can you say to the world, or the world to you? You exist under all four of the great inequalities, and will live a shortened life of ignorance, hunger, and fear. Indeed it only takes one of the great inequalities to create such conditions.

So it must be said that the majority of humans ever to have lived, have existed in conditions of immiseration and servitude to a small minority of wealthy and powerful people. For every emperor and bureaucrat, for every caliph and qadi, for every full rich life, there have been ten thousand of these stunted, wasted lives. Even if you grant a minimal definition of a full life, and say that the strength of spirit in people, and the solidarity among people, have given many of the world's poor and powerless a measure of happiness and achievement amidst their struggle, still, there are so many who have lived lives destroyed by immiseration that it seems impossible to avoid concluding that there have been more lives wasted than fully lived.

All the world's various religions have attempted to explain or mitigate these inequalities, including Islam, which originated in the effort to create a realm in which all are equal; they have tried to justify the inequalities in this world. They all have failed; even Islam has failed; the Dar al-Islam is as damaged by inequality as anywhere else. Indeed I now think that the Indian and Chinese description of the afterlife, the system of the six lokas or realms of reality--the devas, asuras, humans, beasts, pretas, and inhabitants of hell--is in fact a metaphorical but precise description of this world and the inequalities that exist in it, with the devas sitting in luxury and judgment on the rest, the asuras fighting to keep the devas in their high position, the humans getting by as humans do, the beasts laboring as beasts do, the homeless preta suffering in fear at the edge of hell, and the inhabitants of hell enslaved to pure immiseration.

My feeling is that until the number of whole lives is greater than the number of shattered lives, we remain stuck in some kind of prehistory, unworthy of humanity's great spirit. History as a story worth telling will only begin when the whole lives outnumber the wasted ones. That means we have many generations to go before history begins. All the inequalities must end; all the surplus wealth must be equitably distributed. Until then we are still only some kind of gibbering monkey, and humanity, as we usually like to think of it, does not yet exist.

To put it in religious terms, we are still indeed in the bardo, waiting to be born.

From The Years of Rice and Salt by Kim Stanley Robinson, Book 6 "Widow Kang", Chapter 4 "The Afterlife", pages 407-411.

December 13, 2007

death

My friend died on Sunday. Or Saturday. Or Monday. The day doesn't matter, really.

And I don't know how to handle it. So far, I haven't been. I've been doing other things.

How do I wrap my mind around this?

October 12, 2007

dodging raindrops

When one experiences a lot of rain, one learns how to dodge raindrops and not get wet.

September 12, 2007

here I go contemplating my feelings again

I'm happy.

At least, I think I am. I'm happier than I've been in over a year, since the end of sophomore year. I was happy-ish living in Berkeley last summer, I was miserable in Munich for the first part of the year, I was somewhat happier in the spring. But I'd forgotten what it actually means to be happy.

The only explanation I can come up with is that I'm busy, and maybe the busier I am, the happier I am. I'm stressed, and occasionally the stress will override the happiness and I'll feel miserable, but that will only be in spurts; I know, because I've gone through it all before. But having things to do all the time, places to be, people to see, things to read... having all these responsibilities and things... it just makes me happy. I feel useful, and I don't mean that in a purposeful way; I mean, I'm not necessarily being useful to other people (or if I am, that's not what makes me happy). Rather, I'm using my brain capacity and my skills and abilities to do things. My mind is occupied. I'm being challenged, in lots of different ways. Suddenly my thesis is exciting rather than threatening.

And I'm happy.

September 06, 2007

11th grade

In the fall of my junior year of high school, I wrote on index cards most nights before going to sleep. I liked the idea of journals, but found blank notebooks intimidating so I wrote on index cards instead. With index cards, there are no expectations of something of length being completed. Each card is an isolated entry. But I keep them banded together and re-read them tonight for the first time in years. They both amused me and depressed me. Almost every card focuses on a really destructive friendship I had with this girl (I'll call her X) who I was pretty obsessed with. At the time I would never have admitted to myself that I was romantically interested in her, but from reading these cards, it seems pretty clear that that's what it was. EVERY SINGLE ONE talks about my relationship with her. The state of our friendship completely and single-handedly dictated my happiness on any given day. I thought I'd post some of the funnier/sadder moments from these cards:

10/28/02 Boy was today an interesting day. Y informed me that she is a lesbian! [...] Sometimes I even wonder whether I'm a lesbian because I haven't found the right guy yet. Not that I've found a right girl, but I'm not even attracted to any of the guys at school. I'm so absorbed in my friends. [And by "friends" here I mean "friend" which means X.]

11/1/02 Good grief. This has been absolutely the weirdest week of my life. It starts on Monday with Y telling me she's gay, and then it ends on Friday with X and Z telling me they're in a relationship. [...] If they're all lesbians, why didn't any of them fall in love with me? Why am I jealous? How did I manage to have only two best friends -- X and Y -- both of whom tell me in the same week that they're gay? Am I gay? I don't want to be! Pleeeeease! Prove I'm not! Send me a guy! Or send me a girl for that matter to prove I am. Do something. My mind is reeling. [...] Spent time with A tonight. She and B and C are the only straights in this group! Besides me theoretically.

11/2/02 Today I'm almost positive I'm not gay.

11/6/02 Tonight X came over for dinner and then we went to Borders and sat in the cafe for a while and talked. I really do love her. I think it's because they're true friends, she and Y, and I really DO love them. When I find the right man that I can talk to as honestly as I can talk to the two of them, then I will love him. Probably a different kind of love, but I don't know. This love business is confusing.

11/22/02 Do I or don't I want to move to Germany for a year? [...] I'm thinking I may want to move away anyway. I can't seem to keep up a relationship with X. Is it me or her? I think it's her. I can stay friends with other friends just fine.

11/26/02 T frightens me. I don't want to hurt his feelings. I like him well enough. Just not well enough. I should just relax. He means well.

Seems pretty clear, doesn't it? And yet I had no idea.

blah?

I've been feeling uninspired lately. Or perhaps, rather, too inspired. I'm not quite sure yet what this blog is. Whether it's a place to talk about personal things, emotional things, or whether it's just a place to talk about ideas (political, philosophical, whimsical, etc). And most of the things that have been inspiring me lately have been personal. Either that, or it's something that I want to make into an actual essay, and actually publish, so I don't want to put it on a public blog that no one reads. And I've actually written drafts of things. We'll see if, since classes (and the beginning of what's going to be a hectic semester) start tomorrow, I actually polish the drafts.

Anyway, personally, I've been stressed and overwhelmed. The dilemmas over whether to write a thesis, over what classes I should take and why, over what I'm doing post-graduation, over my changing friends network, over my romantic relationship, over moving back to campus after a long time away, over being stress-sick, over the impending semester from hell (I know I shouldn't preemptively say that, because the attitude will make it true, but it's hard not to, with everything I've got on my plate)... I'm actually sick now, like I have a sinus infection or something. I feel like shit.

And now I have to go read 60 pages for my thesis, and write a 4-5 page response paper.

(It's actually not all as bad as I make it sound. I am, for the most part, quite glad to be back, and I am, though it may seem otherwise, excited for my thesis and classes this semester.)

August 01, 2007

piano

[I wrote this late last night, but the stupid internet was being finicky, so I gave up trying to post it. Here it is now, 16 hours later...]

I went to a concert tonight, where three young professional musicians played Brahms' first piano trio. And then I came home and cried, and cried, and cried.

I don't know why it is that piano is still one of the few things that brings me to tears. It's not like I spend lots of time dwelling on it, wishing I could play better, and it's not like I'm often inspired to sit down at the keys and just... play. Piano is no longer really a part of my daily life, and for the most part, I've moved on to other things, I think. Things like philosophy, literature, writing, politics, social engagement. Music keeps moving farther and farther back into my past, ever more just a thing of my childhood.

So why does it upset me so much when I'm confronted with it? I sit through a thrilling performance and I come home miserable instead of exhilarated. And it's not a grumpy, cross sort of miserable, it's a deep, throbbing, aching misery. As if someone I loved had died--my heart is just being squeezed and wrung out until eventually I'll just drop exhausted into a still, dreamless sleep. I just can't handle being confronted with the loss of piano.

I was twelve, and I'd been playing for six years, when I got my first injury, tendinitis in my right forearm. That slowed me down quite a bit. And then three years later I injured my right wrist again and got surgery for it a year after that. That more or less stopped me. For two years I couldn't play with my right hand, and while I, in an effort at being valiant, continued playing with my left hand, I also knew that I would never have a future in piano. So the same girl who at 12 had dreamed of becoming a concert pianist had at 17 abandoned all aspirations to and hopes of a career in music. I still play occasionally, but I rarely feel the impulse anymore, and when I DO play, I just get frustrated that I've lost so much agility and technique, and that I can't play as well as I could six years ago. And I just don't have the time to devote myself to piano again; I'm doing other things now, things that also are meaningful to me.

It may be that what makes me so sad is the feeling of bitterness of the injustice of it--why did I have to get injured? Why twice? Why me? I wasn't given the proper chance to develop my full potential, to show the world what This Pianist had in her. And I had ideas, I had lots of ideas about what I would play and how I would play it; I knew where I would perform and what I would wear at the performances; I knew who would conduct the concertos and which orchestras would accompany me. I only lacked technique, and that was the only thing that I was prevented from improving because of my injuries. So perhaps it is the bitterness towards those things beyond my control that makes me so emotional about piano today.

But I think there might be another piece, another reason why I mourn, and why I still can't move on and can't stop regretting. There's a large part of me that wonders whether I gave enough effort. If I'd tried a little harder, if I'd practiced more anyway, if I'd had enough motivation, if I hadn't given up--if if if--then maybe I could have succeeded anyway. It's this nagging feeling that I gave up prematurely, that, perhaps, I gave up because I knew I would never be the best, and couldn't stand being something less. I wonder whether I should have kept playing, kept going, kept giving all I had, and then, maybe, I'd have something to show for it now.

But I didn't, I chose other things. And now I'm at a point in my life where I'm going to have to start narrowing things down again, and start choosing some things over other things. Start working towards a career, in something. And I'm afraid, so afraid, that each choice to DO something means that I will have to NOT do something else, and that, ever after, that loss will torment me.

I can't live if I'm going to be constantly tormented by losing things that are important to me. But I don't know how to make it stop.

July 30, 2007

Some things change, and some things never do

It's odd being back in the town I grew up in. Everytime I come back, little things have changed. New restaurants and shops have opened, others have moved or closed, new houses have been built, others renovated or painted. Schools and parks get new playgrounds, streets get new stoplights and street signs. Little tweaks, beautification projects. The town is undergoing a continuous facelift. And every time I'm here I barely have time to see all the new changes before I'm gone again, and when I come back I've forgotten all the changes from the previous time, so they've all just built up and now it almost feels like a different town.

Since I've left, both the high school and the middle school have had massive construction begun and completed. New homes and suburban communities have sprung up on previously undeveloped land, so that the city has spread out, and when you're driving you reach its outskirts sooner than you used to. A new public bus system has been instated. The favorite local coffee shop has expanded to twice its size, and the best bakery in the state is also currently being expanded. Countless other little things have changed, so that I'm almost becoming a stranger in my own town. Or at least--a visitor.

Even in my parents' house, things have changed in my absence. It's been repainted. The kitchen has been renovated and expanded. The floor-to-floor carpeting in the upstairs hallway has been ripped out. My old room has been emptied of all things that made it mine. It's a guest room now. When I was drying the dishes for my dad tonight, I didn't know where anything belonged. It's all been moved around. Little things.

But in other ways, things are very much as they ever were. High schoolers still haunt the Spring Street Deli. The secondhand bookshop hasn't so much as replaced a decaying bookshelf. The farmers' market still bustles every Wednesday and Saturday, and the same farmers still sell, the same farmers who have seen my parents move here and have kids, who've watched the three of us grow up and run off, and who will always greet us with big smiles whenever we come back.

One of the farmers needs help on her farm, they're very behind, she says. I offered to help. Starting tomorrow--7am--I'll be going out to the farm a couple days a week for 9-10 hours a day to help them harvest. Gives me something to do, a reason to get out of bed. We'll see how it goes. I've never done farmwork before, or even really outdoors work at all. Somehow, despite always feeling like coming back here is like walking back into my past, things do change, and this is proof: I'm doing something new! Who'd've thought.

July 24, 2007

Rainbows

Just now, on my last evening in Munich, I was walking back to my room from running an errand and there was a huge, brilliant rainbow over my house. It seemed almost like a sign specifically for me: a rainbow, of all things, the queer emblem, and over my house no less--it was saying, "you've done what you came back to accomplish: you've made Munich yours." And now, strangely, I really do feel ready to leave.

I think the REAL reason why so many people don't like queers is that they resent the fact that we've got rainbows on our side :-)