On overcoming existential loneliness with the realization of existential freedom (how to get to this point? I still don’t know):
Does this new fulfillment empower us to love in a new way? Instead of trying to use others to fill our aching existential Void, do we now appreciate them for the persons they really are? Has our former need to cling to others disappeared because their absence does not throw us back into loneliness of spirit? If we discover how to live beyond existential loneliness, are we empowered to love from fullness rather than emptiness and need?
- rachel’s ~*wall*~*
- strawberry matcha latte + boba from boba guys
- sunset at the highline, objectively the best park in the world
- several street view photos for which I stopped directly in the middle of the walkway and valiantly risked my life for the sake of PHOTOGRAPHY
In the spirit of college student spontaneity (or would it just be called procrastination?) and a caprice centered on sheer infatuation with New York City, I hopped on a Bolt Bus into the city with a few friends.
I went into the city with new friends but also met up with an old friend and fellow salami lover, Rachel. She lives in East Village, a quaint and thriving place with small eateries crowding every street and young people out late into the nights. I’m thankful for the slowing down of life over fall break and getting to hang out with my high school friend, no impending obligations or deadlines to worry about. We always eat until we fall into a vegetative food comatose, which I’m sure helps with the carefree attitude too. This time around, I explored and roamed the city with new friends. Sitting on a bench at Union Square Park to people-watch and digest the exorbitant amounts of food we ate, peering down the aisles and shelves of books at The Strand, and walking along the Highline during golden hour–the meaning these places and experiences is imbued with isn’t exclusive to the locations themselves. Even though I’ve been to New York more times than I can count, the city feels like a new place each time I spectate with different people.
Gazing out a floor-to-ceiling window and looking down on the miniature, toy-like streets, I felt a weird sense of reticence. If I lived here and could see the entire expanse of the city every day from my couch or from the bathroom sink while I brush my teeth, would I feel the same pang of affection each and every time I glanced out the window? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s best if I don’t wind up living in this city–I’d never want to get used to this place and have it lose the sparkling feeling of excitement and newfangledness. It’s human to take what’s there for granted and to yearn for the things out of reach.
The summer after my junior year of high school, I attended a pre-college program at Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, New York. I grew enamored with the buzz buzz of NYC, the clanking and clattering of the subway, and the vitality/vibrancy of all the streets, with its swarms of people, all with places to go and things to do. The breadth of the city astonished me…hey, look at me: a small girl inside an entire city, a needle in a haystack. But the city seems to shrink each time I come back. I’ve grown more familiar with the subway routes (although I am still perfectly capable of hopping on the completely wrong subway). I expect the drifting smells of food vendors and car exhaust and am no longer disarmed by the density of skyscrapers. My sense of complete anonymity, immersion, and smallness has faded a bit over all my visits, leaving behind weird traces of nostalgia and a reluctance to grow up.
Here is the theme of the movie of my life: the vie to reconcile with this concept of “growing up,” a Holden Caulfield-esque rejection of adulthood. Maybe I’ll be ruminating over this until I’m 90 years old…
timestamp: 3:36am. I need to sleep earlier.
Every Thursday morning, when I witness the sunrise through my window on the 17th floor of Harrison and after I lethargically click the “submit” button for my comp sci homework assignment, I tell myself incredulously, “It’s Thursday…I live to see another day.” Wednesday’s constitute the weekly apex of assignment deadlines, stress, sleep-deprivation, and all the classic college student tropes that are pitiful but altogether relatable. I’ve fallen into quite a consistent routine: I submit the first assignment around 10pm (for which the deadline is 11pm). Then I proceed to start Latex’ing my next homework problem set. Every Wednesday there’s a creeping feeling that I won’t make it, or that tomorrow is some insidious doomsday. But every Thursday morning, no matter how sleep-deprived I am, I feel relieved–relieved to see the sun, relieved to have survived another long Wednesday night, relieved that I get a new day to breathe and reset.
That’s the weird thing about life. You think you won’t make it. There’s no way. There’s so much. All at once. It’s too much.
But somehow you muddle through all of the shit. Who cares if you fell 1000 times on your way? You’ve lived to see another day.
A few months ago, I wished for nonexistence…emptiness…reprieve from the senselessness and absurdity of being alive; why was the pace of life so consistent, relentless and unforgiving? Couldn’t the clock slow down a little? Give me a chance to catch my breath and figure out all these pesky things clouding my mind?
But I lived to see another day and another… and another. Isn’t it ironic and unfortunate (and maybe stupid) how the worst experiences help you grow the most? I guess Nietzsche was right.
I’ve lived to see another day, and seeing the light has never felt so sweet. I feel so FREE right now. I had two midterms today, both of which I’m upset about because I know I could have performed better if I had had better foresight, been more disciplined, and worked harder. But I’m trying to…let go. I’m still working on keeping my head above water, meaning not sweating all the small things like my midterms or my homework grades. Fall break is in 2 days, and I plan to aggressively chill.
I am the physical manifestation of stress right now. A chain of irresponsible decisions to procrastinate due to various excuses has led me here….I have 2 midterms this coming Tuesday, but I have 7 hours of class tomorrow followed by 4 hours of grading other people’s midterms oh boy. I’ve forgotten how exactly to decompress lately…sitting at my desk thinking about the impending doom to follow my midterms did nothing for me except send me off in a spiral of panic and anxiety…I sat and simmered in my own stress for at least 30 minutes, even resorting to lying down on my bed. Even now, it is 11:40pm and I still have to study for two subjects that I almost entirely don’t know. My brain is eMpTY. EMPTY.
Oh man. I know that these tests won’t make or break me, but they sure as hell will make me unhappy when I walk out of them feeling like a mound of braindead mush…aaaaHHAHHHHHHHHHHHhhHH (my perpetual inner monologue).
(on a more positive note, I hosted my first radio show today. Things went ok. I had to frantically message other DJ’s to ask how to turn on the mic though. And I didn’t really know what to talk about…)
(I am stress. I am stress. I am stress………and I have no energy or time to do anything)
feeling weirdly nostalgic today. I am different. each and every day. I hardly recognize myself. (gosh was I a melodramatic tween)…
- I took an uber home….so now it’s 5PM. I slept, I ate, and I’m about to shower. Everything has been shaken up.
- Everything is work work work and difficult difficult difficult and everyone is loud and distant and strange and is this alienation of the modern woman I’m not so sure I am definitely self imposing my own loneliness. I don’t like this place it doesn’t carry good memories. It’s saturated with negative thoughts and melancholia and a desperation that disgusts me I want to go home! I miss solitude b/c no company is better than bad company. Tomorrow and then I’m done. And then there’s the rest of life. Ha
I think I want to be pretty. does this mean I’m selling out
- zap zap zap. I’m so tired of being zapped. it’s so hard to talk to people and it’s all my my my m m my fault expectations vs. reality will always be my downfall. my descent into some sort of dark unconquerable darkness
- a sense of too much to say, to think, the urgency of the moment, so quickly passing: and then, afterward, one wonder what it is all about, what is the point of it, never saying quite enough, never touching another person quite as one might wish… -joyce carol oates
- THIS IS A LIE
When school makes you feel like a piece of shit but you really didn’t need any help feeling like that in the first place
- march 2nd 3:36am “At least the bitterness is gone. I’m not bitter towards the people who used to be in my life anymore. And this is because they simply aren’t in my life anymore. That I used to know people and used to believe there was a connection is strange to me now. The alienness of people who used to seem so close scares me. It made me resentful and so bitter. I hated that people couldn’t see how much I was suffering. But this frustration has been replaced by numbness. I don’t know these people anymore. They don’t know me anymore. What’s in the past is in the past. What’s lost is lost forever. These were facts of life I simply couldn’t stomach. But now? I choose to let go. I choose indifference. I choose release. I choose to quit the bitterness. I want out. I don’t want to partake in this anymore. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore. “
“but why doesn’t it get easier? Is loneliness our base state? “
Among thousands of students, the large majority of which are geniuses in some form, I struggle to reconcile with my feelings of inadequacy–especially since I’ve transferred into the School of Engineering this year. By some odd stroke of good fortune and I guess hard work, I wound up receiving a teaching assistant position for the discrete mathematics course that all comp sci majors/minors have to take (CIS 160).
I applied for the position because I wanted to keep learning and to join a community of people in which I could grow. I acknowledge that I worked my ass off last semester and sold my soul to office hours and problem sets, so receiving this job feels like a validation of my plight. But working hard doesn’t necessarily equate to intelligence or deep understanding or teaching ability. When I tell friends and colleagues that I’m a 160 TA, they widen their glimmering eyes in what I perceive to be respect. This reaction makes me feel bashful and sheepish and confused and turbulent all at once. I want to exclaim, “Don’t you understand! I’m not even smart or qualified. I’m not a math whiz! LISTEN TO ME WOMAN. I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING OR EVEN WHO I AM.”
I held office hours today and walked out feeling like a desolate puddle of melted human. Understanding material sufficiently to execute a homework problem and mastering concepts so that you can dynamically bend and morph them into clear explanations are two completely different beasts. I have no confidence in myself, and that self-deprecation projects itself into my answers. I can’t stop thinking that if my previous self had me, Annie Su, as a TA, I would hate me. Why do I feel so drastically under-qualified for this job?
The TA’s for 160 are all quirky, intelligent, and nice people, and I’m grateful to have been extended a hand into this community. But being around these people throws me into a limbo of anxiety and self-doubt. This dude popped out of the womb doing math competitions. And that girl over there interned at Facebook, Apple, and SpaceEx. What am I but a small, random outlier? All I have going is hard work. Slow learning. Inquiry. I know that dwelling on what I’m not doing right is wasting what little time I do have to improve and learn…but I can’t help it.
I’m starting to learn more and more that I am not these people and never will be. I’m not an AMC champion or a genius software developer at the ripe age of 17. I don’t have any of those things going for me, but that’s ok. My own set of skills (not really sure what they are though) are different. And different != bad. What I like to talk about and ruminate over, what I read voraciously until 3am, what I’m curious about, what I think about in fleeting while on the elevator–these constitute who I am and what kind of person I want to be. Why do I fret over not being like the others? The world needs more kooks, right?
Then the disconnect between sound logic and visceral feeling sets in. I feel inadequate anyways. I feel small anyways.
Overall I am doing ok. Not many thoughts buzzing through my mind at the moment. I took these photos with my iphone and scurried back and forth in between standing weirdly and tapping the “take photo” button. Oh the things I do for CONTENT CREATION. Don’t mind the murder eyes on the righthand photo…so tomorrow is my first radio show session! I’m DJ’ing a talk and music radio hour Sunday’s at 9am. I haven’t broadcast this to my friends yet because I’m so self-conscious I don’t think I could speak candidly and openly knowing that somewhere across the Interwebs, some person I actively interact with is listening to me! ME! Talking about stupid things and playing weird music. The franticness of this past week with tight homework deadlines portends a bleak semester ahead of me…I watched the sunrise as I clattered away on my laptop keyboard, hazily typing up some pesky math proof. What a strange feeling. Ok, I formally petition for more hours in the day. Thank you sky god(s).
I just peered outside my window. I live on the 17th floor of a high rise, and the lights outside are twinkling so effervescently I swear it’s as though they’re alive, like the small fish creatures in Ponyo.