A Heavenly Tapestry: The Splendor of Downright Blunders and New Directions

How terrible is retrospect. Everything is clearer, right? Shoot, I should have made a list before I went to Trader Joe’s; if I had, I would not have bought copious amounts of food, mostly cookies, I do not need. I should have called my friend a little more often. If I had made an effort, we may still have a relationship. That interview would have gone so much more smoothly if I had opened the stupid link to that research paper rather than simply scanning the abstract. I should have given that guy a chance. Humans, by our character, will always make mistakes and form regrets. Ever notice how many songs are composed of repenting lyrics, or how many simply state, “I’m sorry?” We are human so we are not flawless. I find that the extremely annoying aspect of mistakes is that whatever we did seemed right at the time. There is no way we can just get everything right to eliminate the concept of past mistakes altogether. We can make an attempt to be perfect, yet perfection is most definitely unachievable, unless maybe you’re a demigod, but let us admit even Hercules and Gilgamesh had issues.  ‘Would haves’ and ‘should haves’ can certainly eat away at our contentment, so why is it that we cannot seem to simply drive those out of our minds? I do not believe that our mistakes are the devil working within us, but they can certainly be demons.  Thankfully, though, God has our demons weaved into his masterpiece.

Every moment I consider a mistake I have recently made, my stomach drops.  I feel as though I have been punched in the gut, and all of my breath has left the comfort of my alveoli before I have the chance to shout a pathetic, “unfair!” I let that horrid, despicable mistake disrupt my sleep, feed my migraines, consume my day and my happiness. I become enveloped in a winter of blunders. I try to count sheep as I wait patiently for rest to come, but what happens when the sheep begin jumping back over the fence once they have already been counted? Subtraction? No, thank you. I simply fall into a disgusting, murky abyss of regret, and the effluvium of my mistake is overwhelming. However, God develops an unexpected anecdote for my chill, often when and where I least expect it.

There is one house on a corner near my apartment that I absolutely relish passing. While I will usually hang my head while walking, I'll always lift my eyes once I reach the sidewalk juxtaposed against this house. If anything, it forces me to look up. The building itself has nothing special about it. Moreover, the avenue is overtaken by the house's greenery-- large, fanning leaves, voluptuous flowers, branches that extend outward to reach for any oncoming passerby, and blades of bright green grass that tickle the legs of those who dare to cross their path. It's like an Eden amongst the maze of houses, classrooms, apartments, labs, stresses, and lecture halls that Berkeley has to offer. Do not get me wrong, Berkeley is a beautiful place, but this tiny area in particular never fails to lift my spirits. I take a few steps and I'm suddenly in the rain forests of the Amazon, or maybe the Indian forests, like in Jungle Book. It is my little escape, if only for a few fleeting moments. The summer time brings out the best in this little arena. It brightens the greens and, if I look up through the widest leaves, I can trace the plant veins that are illuminated by brilliant sunlight.

“When the world was all covered with snow, I forgot the colors that the grass used to grow,” sings the lead singer of the band Noah and the Whale in their song “Shape of My Heart.” I realize that I forget the colors. My mistakes and regrets blanket my world with snow, and my memory of the majesty of life is lost. When we fear the repercussions of the mistakes we have made, everything seems dark and bleak, and those shadows can remain with us for years to come. But this gloom is simply the winter. There will always be a spring if we let it happen. Although I may forget to ask for forgiveness for my mistakes, God makes sure that my band-aid takes the form of a second chance, a new opportunity, or simply the support of my friends and family. “You will surely forget your trouble, recalling it only as waters gone by. Life will be brighter than noonday, and darkness will become like morning,” reads the Bible (Job 11:16-17). We just need to be aware in order to recognize his hints of forgiveness or his artistic redirection.

I am no quilter, but I like to think that our mistakes are just another vivid addition to the gigantic quilt that the Lord is sewing with his amiable quilting group. He will chat with a bunch of old ladies (most likely our relatives) about his day of guiding life and making plans. Once the quilt is sewn, he will display it, like a tapestry, so that we may observe it in all of its glory. It shall be boldly titled, “Whoever’s Quilt: Mistakes, Achievements, and Overall Existence.” Or at least that is how I would like to envision it. I am confident there will be some repetition on my quilt because I have unquestionably made a few mistakes twice. There will be that time I scarcely studied for my first organic chemistry midterm and failed. A small, richly embroidered patch will contain an exact, thread-borne replication of my neighbor, who used to supply my brother and me with Twix bars and delicious, dinosaur-shaped cookies. My neighbor who never failed to give us a birthday card with five dollars nestled in its fold, who displayed portraits of us in her hospital room, who I should have gotten to know before she passed away.  Some patches will be filled with gray, miserable fabric, like the decay of winter. Yet, God and I will gaze at my quilt and appreciate its detail and beauty, and I will praise him on the stunning work he has deftly constructed.

When our mistakes ruin our day, when they blind us to the splendor of living and of God, when they keep us awake at night; then they form into satanic, ugly little things. Everybody makes mistakes, everybody fails. That’s called living.  The bible reads “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). In other words, our mistakes open new opportunities for God to work through us. Life is hard. It is difficult to determine whether or not the events of our life is indeed God’s plan, but really, the best we can do is trust in God, and know that he is steering us in the correct direction—that his quilting needle is working with purpose. We need to relinquish ourselves and fall into God’s grace. I personally wrestle with this concept, especially considering that I am a self-proclaimed control freak. But here it is, simply stated, in the Bible, “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; ⁶ in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight,” in Proverbs 3:5-6. Alright, this is no excuse to stop trying altogether. We cannot refuse to study for the MCAT and still expect God to find us a spot in Harvard Medical School, or walk late at night around Downtown Berkeley, without BearWalk, expecting God to protect us. Yet, it is pleasant to know that He is holding our hand as we meander aimlessly throughout our attempt at being human. God created man imperfect, but brilliantly imperfect. The peculiar, seemingly flawed works of art often emerge above the rest. Picasso, for instance, created incredibly distinctive paintings that will forever be etched into the minds of humanity.  The Mona Lisa has no eyebrows, yet if she had some she would probably be just one more Italian woman. Without mistakes, we would not learn, we would not relish our symbolic springtime, and life would lose its beauty. For if we were absolutely flawless our quilt would lose its interest—our painting its character. 

Problem-Solving

I guess I've come to the conclusion that, really, there are more important things out there than whether or not I get that research position. There will be others. Yes, people have told me this quite often, but I needed to mull it over and realize it for myself. I'll get to where I want to go somehow, even if my path is obscure. I have no medical condition. I'm going to dinner with my family in ten minutes (Ethiopian food). I have friends, a roof over my head, an abundance of food (especially carbs), and an amazing university that I easily walk to and attend every single day.
What's important to me? What's important to me is knowing what is going on within people, and how to fix it. Everybody's broken, in one way or another, so why can't we repair them? I'm speaking both in the physical and emotional sense. Our mission on this earth ought to be how to spread the love we have for one another, for humanity. I could get all spiritual. I could throw in God, and say we are meant to spread God's love, but it's definitely deeper than that. Anybody, even the most devout Atheist (ironic, right? but so true) should be in it for the long haul when it comes to showing people what love and caring for one another is truly about. Believe me, I hate being preachy, but how many people go about their lives thinking of nobody other than superficial, self-absorbed things (Herb and Frank for example ;)?

That's what doctors and researchers do, right? They're problem-solvers.

They'll Say No.

Interviews suck. They always fail to get a point across. I'm terrible at organizing my thoughts in person, especially when I'm meant to discuss situations I've never before encountered. Situations that take experience. I don't know much about immunology. I've simply taken a two biology courses with a small section upon the subject. Do I know what I want? NO. I want to do something meaningful, something with molecular biology. But, how am I meant to decide when I've barely touched the surface of the field. The majority of the classes I've taken are chemistry-based. Of course I would be interested in biochemistry, that's essentially all I know. THERE'S SO MUCH MORE OUT THERE. There's immunology, there's genetics, there's biochem, there's neuro for God's sake. I'm supposed to be passionate about a field. I'm only twenty. I have yet to take an upper-division science course. Shit, I have yet to have a BOYFRIEND.
I'm passionate about changing the world in some way. I'm passionate about making a place for myself in history, in scientific literature (upon what, I have no idea). I'm passionate about traveling, about fixing myself, and about caring for others. Shoot, I'm passionate about my oatmeal every morning for breakfast. How the hell am I supposed to convey my passion for science and discoveries in an audible, comprehensive form when I'm in an interview setting. When all I can think about is: "Wow, he just used a lot of terminology that I have yet to learn, and THIS IS SO COOL! I just want this position so bad." He probably thought I was simply interested in inflating my resume, or he must have assumed that I was getting in way over my head.
I was speechless. I was in awe of all that the lab had to offer. I was astounded at the accomplishments of that professor, of my interviewer, of the lab itself and its researchers. I just want to be something. I have no experience, but I want some. Doesn't he realize that? Doesn't he realize that I'm so young, and I have so much ahead of me-- so much to learn, so much to experience?
Yes, it's out of my hands. There's nothing I can do. But what if that next kid walks in, spouts out all of their research about the lab, spouts out exactly what the lab has accomplished so far, tells that interviewer all about the research that the freaking student has yet to participate in. I should have researched more about the topics, but even if I had, what would that do? The guy went on about EVERYTHING that the lab was doing and the prior research the professor had published. I probably wouldn't have gotten one word in edgewise. There may be other opportunities, but what if I want this one? I'm interested in medical research and global health. I want to be a part of that.
How am I supposed to become participate in the scientific community... if nobody wants me?

Mission Control, We've Made Contact.

It's interesting how, no matter how many people fill a room, it's so easy to feel so incredibly lonely. Many of us spend the majority of our lives in relatively little company-- two or three close friends, maybe three family members. Most of the time, even in a crowded library, it's simply (to follow the saying) me, myself, and I (is it pathetic that I kind of hope that somebody will approach me to initiate a conversation?). I eat lunch alone, I work out alone, I sit in my room alone. Even in my crowded apartment, I'll feel like the most desolate person. However, singularity does have its many advantages. Meditation in a group is generally unproductive. You can't really look inside yourself if the eyes of ten others could be upon you, or at least I can't. Maybe that's just me. I am a little paranoid after all. Neither can you really get anything purposeful accomplished, academically speaking at least. I can't read a novel with three other people, nor could I write this posting without being alone.
The thought of groups usually stresses me out. Group work? Gross. Ironically though, once I'm actually in the group situation, I'm not bothered. Unless it's a party with over fifteen people, then I get a little overwhelmed. I know this sounds terrible, but the worst group situation might possibly be church events. I love the people, but it's incredibly bewildering when you love everyone and you want to say hi to everyone and ask how they're doing and your friends are trying to talk to you and there's that cute guy in the corner you've always wanted to talk to but there's so much noise and if you don't talk to that girl you haven't seen for two weeks you risk never talking to her again or maybe even hurting her feelings and those sorority girls seem so judgmental so should you try talking to them at all? Ugh, then I just unzip a Sarah-sized hole in the earth, crawl in, and sit in the fetal position. But, when it's just a few close friends, it can be the best thing ever.
Is it sad that I almost feel like I have to keep a time-clock to hang out with people? I punch my card, go get coffee with two friends, clock out, and get back to my life as an individual. I earned some overtime by going out every night last weekend. Long vacations though can be the most depressing time ever. One summer, in middle school, I didn't see anybody. I saw my family at night, but during the day I was alone. I didn't talk to any of my friends. I left the face of the earth and played video games for hours on end. As a consequence, I fell into a deep depression and almost began counseling sessions.
We thrive on human contact. I don't understand how hermits can do it, unless they have multiple personalities. Granted, I don't understand socialites either. Silence can be golden.
When I haven't seen anybody for a while, I scour Facebook and pretend I have a social life.  Perhaps that's why such a majority of the population can spend hours on Facebook at a time. They look for reassurance that there are other people in the world. They post their statuses because they have no real person to tell about their day, or that incredibly delicious coffee drink and scone they indulged in.  Alone. I usually get annoyed by Facebook-- not only because it wastes my time, but also because I am reminded that other people are out there being social, taking pretty pictures, and apparently having a good time. Yes, yes, this is rather hypocritical and shallow on my part, and again it's one of my many faults that I'm working on. Sadly, though, I've always felt like being outgoing and purposefully surrounding yourself by friends at all hours of the day is only a matter of social convention. We form groups because that's what people are supposed to do. The cool people always seem to be surrounded by people, right? But then again, I think the true reason ought to be, and perhaps is, that we converge simply because we enjoy the company of others. They are stress reducers. They keep our mind off of the wrongs of the world and our obligations to work and school. My depression stems from my forming a black bubble of terror and anguish that grows the longer I allow my mind to eat away at itself. Seeing other people reminds us how to be quick-witted and how to empathize. Seeing other people reminds us how to be human.

Our Fallen Leaf Brethren.

Photos in this post not taken from the internet... for once :)

If one glances at the sidewalk in Berkeley, particularly up in North Berkeley, or in more residential areas, one would notice spectacular leaf stains decorating the concrete. Definitely reminiscent of by-gone days of leaf imprinting in elementary school, or perhaps a high school biology class, the stains impart a delicate glory that seems to appear just for the end of winter. They could be present all of the time, and I just haven't noticed them before, but they are especially distinct recently. Maybe it's because I've been walking rather than biking. Hence, I've had many more opportunities to stare blankly at my feet as I trudge to class and my sight has traveled to the many shadows that the leaves have traced along the path.

They are delicately beautiful, these stains. The mementos of autumn and winter. In memoriam: the leaves of the past, left to reside forever (figuratively speaking) upon the cold concrete.
How appreciable they truly are. They remind us, remind me at least, that there is beauty in the world. In this school that can often serve as a prison, there is a God. In this community whose social hierarchy obscures what we ought to truly care for, there is a hope. In this world, in which mothers are diagnosed with tumors of the stomach, fathers die of brain cancer, children are forced to wield automatic weapons, and human beings collapse from malnutrition, there is a promise of heaven and forgiveness.

There is one house on a corner near my apartment that I absolutely relish passing. While I will usually hang my head while walking, I'll always lift my eyes once I reach the sidewalk juxtaposed against this house. If anything, it forces me to look up. The building itself has nothing special about it. Moreover, the avenue is overtaken by the house's greenery-- large, fanning leaves, voluptuous flowers, branches that extend outward to reach for any oncoming passerby, and blades of bright green grass that tickle the legs of those who dare to cross their path. It's like an Eden amongst the maze of houses, classrooms, apartments, labs, and lecture halls that Berkeley has to offer. Don't get me wrong, Berkeley is a beautiful place, but this tiny area in particular never fails to lift my spirits. I take a few steps and I'm suddenly in the rain forests of the Amazon, or maybe the Indian forests, like in Jungle Book. It's my little escape, if only for a few fleeting moments. The summer time brings out the best in this little arena. It brightens the greens and, if I look up through the widest leaves, I can trace the plant veins that are illuminated by brilliant sunlight.
But how can nature, how can God, give us peace when He often destroys the people we love, or is writing the end of earth's history? Nature gives life, God gives life, and both bring death. They go hand-in-hand, because God is nature. A gorgeous view of, say, a mountainous scene turned brilliantly gold by a sunrise encompasses God's glory. Likewise, could destruction be seen as God-given as well? He can give and he can take away. A friend of mine once noted, and I completely agree, that the terrible things that happen are God's way of reminding us that there is good in the world. A loved one dies, and a family comes together in such a way that they are nearly unstoppable.  It's like those images that sometimes surface, with the "We shall overcome" quote, of a tree sapling rising from the ashes. The leaf stains, too, are God's reminder. Yes, the shadows of the past do exist, and the memories of our losses remain, but if we happen to glance upward a bevy of dazzling, green leaves is there to greet us.

x-ray crystallography

There truly is a beauty about x-ray crystallography. That a minute protein, capable of catalyzing chemical reactions, can be elucidated in such a way that scientists can view the twists and turns of its amino acids never fails to astound me. That Linus Pauling was a genius. He invented it right? I think so.
I've always been fascinated by the biochemical and the immunological. The differentiation of T-cells. The apoptosis of invading pathogens as the natural killer cell injects its poisons.
How fragile the human body is.
John Keats died of tuberculosis. He will never be forgotten. My historical lover.
The flicker of a candle as it sits in an open tin jar, vaporizing the oils to emit a scent that languidly radiates the room with the slight smell of rose petals.
What does it take to play the violin? Pure determination?
I feel like I live for other people, and I don't want to, but it just happens.
People say that history paints the future, but can the future be mapped out? No.

Is there a time to be a bitch?

Alright, apparently there are no followers and I doubt there ever will be (I know, I'm an optimist) sooo, I'll just use this to organize my thoughts and to write for pure enjoyment.
Question: Is there ever a time to be bitchy? Do we ever have the right? I've never thought so personally, but recently my mind has leaned toward the wayside and I've concluded that maybe we do. Last semester, I made friends. Crazy, right? One I had known the previous semester via a mutual friend, and one I met in my physics discussion. The physics guy and I, let's name him Herb (I doubt he'll ever read this, he doesn't read much... but as a precaution we'll give him an alias), met when I introduced myself to him. I thought he was cute, and I heard him say that he was a music minor, which bumped him up on the cute scale, so I sat next to him and asked, "What instrument do you play?" And of course, knowing my luck, the guy ended up being a jackass. I thought he was cool for a few weeks, then, either because he became more comfortable with me or I with him, I soon found out that he was an arrogant, womanizing, self-centered, genuine jerk. Believe me, I could have used stronger language. So, Herb and my other "friend," let's call the other guy "Fred," soon developed a friendship of their own. They talked constantly in class, they would ask me to come study with them, then they would spend the study session talking about boobs and sex. Herb would say, "you know what? I'm a Christian so I can't have sex right? I'm missing out on so much! Why am I waiting? It's a screwed up system, I just want to bang a girl." I just had to sit there and send mental hate messages. The entire situation climaxed (no pun intended) in my last physics lecture. There was this guy, a really cute, intelligent, definition-of-cool guy who I always admired from a distance but was often too shy to talk to. That last day, I decided to sit next to him.
"Oh God," he said.
"What?" I asked.
"Are your friends coming?"
"I hope not."
"Man, they better not, they're soooo annoying."
I was mortified. Caesar (yes, another alias) obviously did not want me anywhere near him, because he knew that wherever I sat, my friends would follow. It. Sucked. My stomach dropped and I wanted to cry as I sat by waiting and praying that neither Herb nor Fred would show up. But, sure enough, they did. Herb, did I mention he was in nearly every one of my classes?, sat right next to me, picked up on my hate vibe, and said, "What's your problem? You seem pissed. You used to be cool. Are you sad?" Blah blah blah. "SHUUUT UPPP!!!!" Okay, no, I didn't say that, but I wanted to. Instead, I was just utterly cool with him and gave him short, one word answers. And at the end of class, I turned to Caesar and said, "Happy? They were quiet." "Yeah," he said. And left. I see him around, but he hasn't spoken with me since then.
To sum up, I feel like an idiot. Just that Caesar associated me with Herb and Fred, with people like that, stupid frat boys, that everybody  must have associated me with them. I'm not like that. I'm a nerd, I'm nice, I'm smart, or at least I like to hope I am...
Bitches.
Soooo, I made a promise to myself that I would disassociate from them. I had a plan. I would sit in the front, where they never sat, and I would avoid them at all costs. Yet, of course, come this semester, Biology 1B, Herb found me. He sat right next to me in the room adjacent to the lecture hall that people who were late were forced into so that we could watch the webcasted lecture. And he talked, and talked, and repeatedly asked what my problem was, and asked if I was angry because I wasn't in the actual lecture hall, "you would be," he said. And so, my bitchy moment came. "No, I just hate it when people talk so much to me when it's eight o' clock in the morning." "Douche-bag," he said. And that was it. I hope he got the idea. I'm over him, I can't stand him, his face, his condescending attitude.
But is that okay? I don't really feel like it was, but I guess it's the price I have to pay for befriending him in the first place.
I don't think anyone deserves to be spoken rudely to and I know I don't have the right to speak like that to anyone. But is it okay if it's for my own sanity? The Christian act would have been to just put up with it and perhaps voice my disagreement when Herb and Frank spoke like idiots. That would have been the right thing to do. It's just so hard to truly define what is right when it applies to my own sanity, but I guess if I look at it that way, that's just shows how selfish I am.

Are we weird?

This video really got me thinking.
http://vimeo.com/15995250

Wonderful, wonderful things.

Etsy.com is my new favorite site for gifts. Everything they offer is handmade, incredibly unique and whimsical. Love. It.

And of course, Anthropologie will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Especially the jacket.

Aaaand planning for a new haircut on Monday, I'm thinking blonde highlights (I haven't gone blonde in a long time) and side bangs. I wish I could do something like Zooey Deschanel, but I've done the dark hair look and I don't think I'll be able to pull that off again.

Sooo I'm thinking something more like this:

 We'll see how that goes. My hair is thinner, slightly redder, and slightly darker than this, but this'll be the general idea. Hopefully. I hate my hair. It's thin, there's fly-aways, there are baby hairs around the side of my face. I feel like it'll never work for me. Believe me, if I could beat it into submission I would. I just wish it were thicker. I think I have the smallest pony-tail in the world and it consistently looks like a forty-year old's hair. We'll see what my beautician can do, but it seems to me like a lost cause. Really, if you think about it, hair is a strange thing. We are the only animals that actually grow their hair long-- a strange evolutionary trait if you ask me. We uniquely style our hair, change its color, and put things in it. For God's sake, I saw a girl at the midnight Christmas service with tinsel weaved into her hair.  I love bobby-pins personally, they aid in that classic, hipster, adorable up-do that I try to (unsuccessfully) achieve.

Eh. I could probably pull off something like the image with the flower bobby pins above, which I absolutely adore. Hand-made flower hair pieces, sooo pretty.