chronicles

Happy Valentine’s Day!

No, I’m not… I’m not being facetious, I swear. Just because I don’t have a beau with whom to celebrate means that I have to lounge in my pajamas while testing out my Domino’s-Ben-and-Jerry’s combo recipe and watching JennaMarbles bitch about cinnamon on YouTube? No way, man. Replace viral videos with terrible chick flicks starring beautiful people, and I tried that already when I was 18 years old. But a lot has changed since then. JennaMarbles hadn’t been invented. I couldn’t yet buy wine for myself. And I was still living in the Midwest.

Now, I live in Cambridge, a place where all the expectations of growing up in Missouri are reversed. My peers don’t have significant others, and it certainly doesn’t bother them. They are too busy with perfecting the balance of hard work and enjoying their youth. Suddenly, I’m an a place where my perspective on life isn’t just recognized— it’s the norm! Good God, pinch me.

You see, growing in the rural Midwest, people were always suspicious non-obsession with boys. Why is finding Prince Charming not your priority, Kasia? Why are you so focused on school and books and writing? In short, what is wrong with you? Even my sister, who is still in high school, recently informed me in a Skype session that she had found the man for me to “marry.” When, in an irritated mood, I retorted in defense and asked her to stop with this unsolicited advice, she responded, “Well obviously you’re being defensive, so there is some truth to you being lonely.”

On the contrary, little sister. In my entire life, I’ve never been happier. My favorite activities are reading books on my own and dancing with friends, and I’ve done plenty of both this year. For the first time, too, my impulse to not give a rat’s ass about a boyfriend has been received as perfectly normal. Before, I felt lonely for two reasons. First, I was met with that ubiquitous response, “there must be something wrong with her.” Secondly, any “romantic” experience I’ve had so far—whether it be dating or hooking up with a guy in a club—has left me with that disgusting sinking feeling in my stomach…just pure, elemental self-loathing.  If countless hours of pouring over poetry and novels (gross, English major) have taught me anything, a guy worth having should make you feel good about yourself. 

But the fact is, I can finally accept myself as an independent young woman. I now understand that I was never solely lonely (I’ve got the most wonderful friends in the entire world). Instead, I was upset that I was unable to conform to expectations. Now, I know better; finally, finally, I’m becoming comfortable in my own skin. I’m happy for those who are in relationships (perhaps the most telling change of all), which is why I honestly do hope that you have a lovely Valentine’s Day. But if you’re single, this message is for you: don’t despair. If romance isn’t your priority, there’s nothing wrong with you. It only means that you’re driven in some other way, whether it be for your career, religion, family, or whatever else… and that’s just fine.

 I will certainly be celebrating Valentine’s Day; I’m about to shower before cocktails and dancing with my friends. And since I’m on Tumblr, I might as well say it: my ship is Kasia x Self-Respect.

In the next week, this blog is about to undergo some MAJOR changes.

I won’t tell you everything, but I will say that the reasons are both professional and personal. So, here’s the short version: I haven’t been updating my study abroad blog for a while, which is largely because I thought I lost my mojo. I was having trouble creating my experiences into stories— but what I did notice was how much pleasure I got typing up (currently unpublished) movie reviews, social observations, and all-around pop culture commentary.

So instead of pining over my loss of ability to write a story, I’m going to publish on topics which I enjoy. I hope the more I write, the more I will be able to stretch myself creatively, and eventually, I’ll return to my roots: a good story.

In any case, this is all to say: expect some kinks on my blog for the next few days.  Time for a MAKEOVER.

I plan on updating InTransit too, but probably not in the way you expect. So stay tuned, you Saucy-Faces!

(…forgive me. I just read Pamela for supervision, and my, my, that book is essentially just a collection of vulgar names to call those devious women-folk.)

I promised to edit an essay for my little sister by tomorrow, which is why I was digging through the documents saved onto my computer. I found her essay, but I also found a word document called “writing in Poland,” with about ten unfinished pieces from my holidays. I had already forgotten it. Was I really visiting my family in Poland only three weeks ago?

It’s probably not a good idea to publish it, but I’m so sleep-deprived I don’t care. Here is something of a journal entry that made me particularly sad to read, and not just because I referred to myself in the third person.

Kasia had forgotten how to write. Not logistically, of course. She still knew her alphabet. She knew how to hold a pen to paper. And she knew how to type on a computer. And she hadn’t forgotten how to write everything. She could still write a mean essay and a damn good journalism article.     

But there was a reason that she wanted to study English in the first place, and that was because she wanted to be a writer. The kind of writer who knows creativity, and can write a story that sucks the reader into a different world and then lingers in the reader’s mind for days, months, and years afterward. And this was what she had forgotten.

That’s probably why she hadn’t updated her study abroad blog for a while, and was focusing instead on her original tumblelog, typing up personal posts about New Years’ resolutions and pop culture analyses.  It wasn’t that she didn’t have the impulse to write, because she certainly did. And writing these dinky little articles not only came to her as naturally as tying her shoe, but she enjoyed it greatly too. Crafting each sentence, picking the right words. Making clever jokes here and there. It was great fun for her to write. But she could no longer write a story.

She didn’t know how to end this story, for instance. So she sat there, on a crowded bus, staring at the Polish dude on the television screen who was instructing passengers that gambling was strictly prohibited on the 15-hour ride.

She didn’t know how to end this story.

kasiaintransit:

“Just got paid, Friday night
Party hoppin’, feelin right
Booties shakin’, all around
Pump that jam, while I’m gettin’ down”

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the poetic chorus to “Just Got Paid” by the immortal boy band *NYSNC. What words of wisdom. How else would we know how to spend all of our hard-earned salary in the matter of hours? And on Friday night, too— way to keep the weekend sacred, boys. Particularly after a week of hard work and heavy thinking, Fridays and Saturdays are the perfect time for workers and students alike to blow off some steam and get rowdy, right?

Actually, Cambridge disagrees. As you’ll soon learn, Cambridge always has to be different, and nights out are no exception.

Before you assume that this is because Cambridge students are so studious that they never see beyond library walls, I will say this: Cambridge does know how to have fun. To a scary degree. Drinking could easily be a major here, along with dancing at clubs. From an outsider’s perspective, it’s actually quite impressive.

But, apparently Fridays and Saturdays are too mainstream for Cambridge. After all, several programs have labs or lectures on Saturdays, so it’s not as if a romp ‘round the town at 4:00 a.m. is the wisest life choice. Instead, everyone goes out on Sundays. And Tuesdays. And Wednesdays. And Thursdays. (And, hey- on occasion, Mondays.) Not only that, but certain days are reserved for certain clubs: Wednesdays are spent at Cindy’s, and Thursdays at Life.

For instance, last Sunday, I put on some lipstick and danced for a little while at a cocktail bar to celebrate my friend Liz’s birthday. And then I went back to my room to finish up my essay on Arthurian legend. (Don’t worry, Mama and Daddy. My supervisor praised the paper. I CAN do it all!)

Me, Sunday night. After a fair bit of dancing and before an even fair-er bit of writing.

“This warrants a tweet,” I thought. (Just kidding. I never think in terms of exciting words such as “warrant.”) So: “Cambridge is all about ‘work hard, play hard.’ Not necessarily in that order. And sometimes within the same night. Lesson learned.”

Lesson learned, indeed. I’m working on my essay tonight and tomorrow (yeah, Friday and Saturday) to avoid a self-inflicted curfew when we go out again on Sunday. 

Nice try, *NSYNC. At least you got it right with “Pop”!

“Sick and tired of hearing
All these people talk about,
What’s the deal with this pop life
And when is gonna fade out?
The thing you got to realize
What we doing is not a trend
We got the gift of melody
We gonna bring it till the end!”

Oh, wait…

Edit, 7:12 pm: I literally just heard outside my door: “You’re going out tonight? On a Friday night? …Why? Where?” Point proven.

Sometimes I write like that, especially on my study abroad blog (can I interest you in a follow?). Colloquial, with plenty of y’alls and I’mmas to spare.

And other times I write like this:

In this essay, I will engage in conversation with other critics, ultimately challenging them with my argument that Gawain’s character is neither inconsistent nor a trope for the Round Table itself, but instead is only human and thus powerless to uphold the ideals of Arthur’s chivalric code. Thus, honor and duty are rendered transcendent of human capability, even for the knights of the Round Table…

But it’s been much too long since I’ve written in AP style. Going to begin writing for a newspaper here, I think. It’s called The Cambridge Student. Who knows? Next month, I might shoot for a novel. A story about airports, Facebook profiles, and curbside prophets. A travelogue, and a history. A tale in which place becomes character. Not a philosophical statement- just a bit of vagabond fun. 

I’m not good yet, but I’ve enough love of words, words, words to spend hours reserved for sleep with pen and paper in hand.

mmkeppler:

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginning.  I wish someone had told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, but it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. Your taste though, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase; they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing we want it to have. We all go through this. So if you are just starting out or you’re still in this phase, you gotta know it’s normal and the most important thing you can do is to do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so every week you will finish one story. It is only by completing a large volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. I took longer to figure this out than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”

— Ira Glass, December 27, 2010

Thank God for Ira Glass.