I've seen a father tattoo his daughter's name on his arm after she died. I've heard about patients in palliative care who tattoo an inspirational quote on their body, something to give them hope, or maybe it's control, or maybe it's something to love about their bodies in the midst of abandonment, or maybe something to caress, maybe its a conversation changer, or maybe it's a coping mechanism, or maybe it's just...fun. It is not a flashy statement, it is just a statement.

I am here.
She was here.

21

The OR is a strange locale where efficiency and compassion mingle. An anesthesiologist asks the patient if they have any allergies, while a nurse reassures the patient's mom that everything will be okay. The child weeps in the most compelling and honest expression of vulnerability, while the surgeon ironically jokes about laughing gas as the cure for unfunny jokes. I am standing in the corner, watching this impressive orchestra tune its instruments, prepare for a performance and harmonize to play a beautiful chord.

I know what "cancer" is intellectually. I know that it has to do with the indivisible parts of ourselves that conquers and divides. Yesterday night, I learned about cancer on a personal level. I don't know what/to whom I am praying for, but I am devastated and sad. 

Please let everything be okay. 

Scientifically quantifying the feeling of singing together has been the best project I have ever worked on. 

Lonely corner of the internet,
Let me dust the cobwebs off you. There, that's better.

Every time I reach a transition stage in my life, I somehow always end up here. I have written in this space since I was 16, I am eternally thankful for blogspot, for giving me a space to write poorly.  It is probably the best gift I have ever given myself.

This week has been fairly rough. I wake up early, drink tea, and write in pretty stationery to make people think I have it together.  I don't have it together right now.  Caffeine isn't strong enough.  I have been fairly productive, but most of it has been wasted on worrying about the future and worrying about whether I should be worrying. Worry is a noun, something tangible and real. It is as real as the dream itself. Worry is a verb. It's an adverb too, a description attached to everything I do.

If I'm honest with myself, without being dramatic, I realize that there are brief moments of clarity when all the haziness dissipates and I stop worrying for a moment. I am honest with myself and my abilities. I am confident and funny. "There is so much I should be proud of! And thankful for!" I remind myself. I am not depressed, I am not sad, I am just impatient. But then I see some of my friends moving on to bigger and better things and I feel left behind, waiting for my turn if it ever will come.

So here I am... it is 10:04, September 2014. It is cold, bugs are getting into my apartment and I don't know how, and I am really sleepy. That's all. Hope tomorrow will be a better today. Today wasn't terrible but tomorrow will be better.